CHARLOTTE SMITH, 1749-1806. MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH was the daughter of Nicholas Turner, Esq., of Stoke House, Surrey. Her father possessed another house at Bignor Park, on the banks of the Arun,' where she passed many of her earliest years; of which she speaks in the following beautiful stanza : Then, from thy wildwood banks, Aruna, roving, "How enchanting must have been the day-dreams of a mind thus endowed, in the early season of youth and hope! Amid scenery which had nursed the fancies of Otway and of Collins, she trod on sacred ground: every charm of Nature seems to have made the most lively and distinct impression on her very vivid mind; and her rich imagination must have peopled it with beings of another world."2 From a very early age she had an insatiable thirst for reading, and devoured almost every book that fell in her way. From her twelfth to her fifteenth year, her father resided occasionally in London, and she was, while still a child, introduced into society. She lost her mother when quite young, and when her father was about to form a second marriage, the friends of the young poetess made efforts, most foolishly, to "establish her in life," as it is called, and induced her to accept the hand of a Mr. Smith, the son and partner of a rich West India merchant. She was then but sixteen, and her husband twenty-one years of age. It was a most ill-advised and rash union, and productive of the most unhappy results. The first years of her marriage she lived in London, which was not at all congenial to her tastes. Subsequently her father in-law purchased for her husband, who was negligent of his business in the city, a farm in Hampshire. Here if possible, he did worse, keeping too large an establishment, and entering into injudicious and wild speculations. She foresaw the storm that was gathering, but had no power to prevent it. In 1776, Mrs. Smith's father died. A few years after this event, her husband's affairs were brought to a crisis, and he was imprisoned for debt. With great fortitude and devoted constancy she accompanied him, and by her untiring exertions was enabled to procure his release. During his confinement, she collected her sonnets and other poems for publication. They were much admired, and passed through no less than eleven editions. In the following letter, she describes, most graphically, The Arun is a river of Sussex county, on the southern coast of England. 2 Read a most genial sketch of her life in Sir Egerton Brydges' "Censura Literaria," vol. viii. p. 239; and another in his "Imaginative Biography." HER HUSBAND'S LIBERATION. "It was on the 2d day of July that we commenced our journey. For more than a month I had shared the restraint of my husband, in a prison, amidst scenes of misery, of vice, and even of terror. Two attempts had, since my last residence among them, been made by the prisoners to procure their liberation, by blowing up the walls of the house. Throughout the night appointed for this enterprise, I remained dressed, watching at the window, and expecting every moment to witness contention and bloodshed, or perhaps be overwhelmed by the projected explosion. After such scenes, and such apprehensions, how deliciously soothing to my wearied spirits was the soft, pure air of the summer's morning, breathing over the dewy grass, as (having slept one night on the road) we passed over the heaths of Surrey! My native hills at length burst upon my view! I beheld once more the fields where I had passed my happiest days, and amidst the perfumed turf with which one of those fields was strown, perceived with delight the beloved group from whom I had been so long divided, and for whose fate my affections were ever anxious. The transports of this meeting were too much for my exhausted spirits. After all my sufferings, I began to hope I might taste content, or experience at least a respite from my calamities!" But this state of happiness did not long continue. Mr. Smith's liberty was again threatened, and he went to France. His wife and their eight children accompanied him, and they spent an anxious and forlorn winter in Normandy. The next year she returned to England, and by her great and persevering exertions, enabled her husband to follow her. They hired a mansion at Wolbeding, in Sussex, a parish of which Otway's' father had been rector. Here she wrote her twenty-sixth Sonnet : TO THE RIVER ARUN. "On thy wild banks, by frequent torrents worn, Of early woes she bade her votary dream Thomas Otway (1651-1685), the celebrated dramatic poet, author of the "Orphan," and "Venice Preserved." While thy low murmurs sooth'd his pensive ear; The earliest nightingale delight to sing: Thy Otway's sorrows, and lament his fate!" It now became necessary for her to exert her faculties as a means of support, and she translated two or three stories from the French. Her husband being again obliged to leave the country, she removed with her children to a small cottage in another part of Sussex, and, while residing here, published a new edition of her Sonnets, with additions. She then tried her powers in another line of literature, and in 1788 gave to the public her "Emmeline, or the Orphan of the Castle," which novel was exceeding. ly popular. In the following year, she published another novel, entitled "Ethelinde ;" and to this succeeded, in very rapid succession, "Celestina," "Desmond," "The Old Manor House," "The Wanderings of Warwick," "The Banished Man," "Montalbert," and others, besides several beautiful little volumes for young persons, entitled, "Rural Walks," "Rambles Farther," "Minor Morals;"-in all about forty volumes! During all this time, she suffered severe family afflictions, in the loss of three children, as well as pecuniary trials in the adjustment of her husband's affairs. But the hour was arriving when grief was to subdue this long-tried victim. Her husband, it is said, died in legal confinement in March, 1806; and on the 28th of October following, she died herself, after a lingering and painful illness, which she bore with the utmost patience, retaining her faculties to the last. women. As a poetess, Charlotte Smith has been excelled by few of her countryHer Sonnets are "most musical, most melancholy, and abound with touches of tenderness, grace, and beauty; and her descriptions of rural scenery are particularly fresh and vivid." "But while we allow," says Sir Walter Scott, "high praise to the sweet and sad effusions of Mrs. Smith's muse, we cannot admit that by these alone she could ever have risen to the height of eminence which we are disposed to claim for her for her prose narratives." But, however this might have been during her life, and when Walter Scott included her in his library of British Novelists, Charlotte Smith is now most known and valued for her poetry. SONNET-TO THE MOON. Queen of the silver bow! by thy pale beam, And oft I think, fair planet of the night, That in thy orb the wretched may have rest: Releas'd by death, to thy benignant sphere, Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here. SONNET-ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE NIGHTINGALE. Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu! Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year! SONNET-THE HAPPINESS OF CHILDHOOD. Sighing, I see yon little troop at play, By sorrow yet untouch'd, unhurt by care, Lights their green path, and prompts their simple mirth, To wound the wretched pilgrims of the earth, ENGLISH SCENERY. I once was happy, when, while yet a child, And when, elastic as the mountain air, To my light spirit care was yet unknown, And childhood scarcely past, I was condemn'd, While Memory, with faithful pencil, drew And dark and stifling streets, the southern hills Advancing higher still, The prospect widens, and the village church For even those orchards round the Norman farms, Surpass not these. Where woods of ash, and beech, And partial copses, fringe the green hill foot, The upland shepherd rears his modest home; That from the hill wells forth, bright now and clear, Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers; And pansies ray'd, and freak'd and mottled pinks Grow among balm, and rosemary, and rue; There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow |