herself a person of no
little celebrity in her time and place. Mr. Edgeworth, in his Memoirs,
pays a respectful tribute to Miss Seward's charms, to her agreeable
conversation, her beauty, her flowing tresses, her sprightliness and
address. Such moderate expressions fail, however, to do justice to this
lady's powers, to her enthusiasm, her poetry, her partisanship. The
portrait prefixed to her letters is that of a dignified person with an
oval face and dark eyes, the thick brown tresses are twined with pearls,
her graceful figure is robed in the softest furs and draperies of the
period. In her very first letter she thus poetically describes her
surroundings:--'The autumnal glory of this day puts to shame the summer's
sullenness. I sit writing upon this dear green terrace, feeding at
intervals my little golden-breasted songsters. The embosomed vale of
Stow glows sunny through the Claude-Lorraine tint which is spread over
the scene like the blue mist over a plum.'

In this Claude-Lorraine-plum-tinted valley stood the house which Mr. Day
had taken, and where Mr. Edgeworth had come on an eventful visit. Miss
Seward herself lived with her parents in the Bishop's palace at Lichfield.
There was also a younger sister, 'Miss Sally,' who died as a girl, and
another very beautiful young lady their friend, by name Honora Sneyd,
placed under Mrs. Seward's care. She was the heroine of Major Andre's
unhappy romance. He too lived at Lichfield with his mother, and his
hopeless love gives a tragic reality to this by-gone holiday of youth
and merry-making. As one reads the old letters and memoirs the echoes
of laughter reach us. One can almost see the young folks all coming
together out of the Cathedral Close, where so much of their time was
passed; the beautiful Honora, surrounded by friends and adorers,
chaperoned by the graceful Muse her senior, also much admired, and much
made of. Thomas Day is perhaps striding after them in silence with keen
critical glances; his long black locks flow unpowdered down his back. In
contrast to him comes his brilliant and dressy companion, Mr. Edgeworth,
who talks so agreeably. I can imagine little Sabrina, Day's adopted
foundling, of whom so many stories have been told, following shyly at
her guardian's side in her simple dress and childish beauty, and Andre's
young handsome face turned towards Miss Sneyd. So they pass on happy and
contented in each other's company, Honora in the midst, beautiful,
state