indulgent to female writers (listen to Christopher North purring over Mrs. Hemans!) until they stepped, like Charlotte Brontë, from their appointed spheres, and hotly challenged the competition of the world. This was a disagreeable and a disconcerting thing for them to do. Nobody could patronize "Jane Eyre," and none of the pleasant things which were habitually murmured about "female excellence and talent" seemed to fit this firebrand of a book. Had Charlotte Brontë taken to heart Mrs. King's "justly approved work" on "The Beneficial Effects of the Christian Temper upon Domestic Happiness," she would not have shocked and pained the sensitive reviewer of the "Quarterly."
It was in imitation of that beacon light, Miss Hannah More, that Mrs. King wrote her famous treatise. It was in imitation of Miss Hannah More that Mrs. Trimmer (abhorred by Lamb) wrote "The Servant's Friend," "Help to the Unlearned," and the "Charity School Spelling Book,"—works which have passed out of the hands of men, but whose titles survive to fill us with wonder and admiration. Was there
