Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 438 | Page 5

'Mariana.'
Her personal appearance at this time, and for some following years, is
described by one of her friends as being that of a blooming girl of a

florid complexion and vigorous health, with a tendency to robustness,
which she unwisely endeavoured to suppress or conceal at the price of
much future suffering. With no pretensions to beauty then, or at any
time, her face was one that attracted, but baffled physiognomical art.
'She escaped the reproach of positive plainness, by her blond and
abundant hair, by her excellent teeth, by her sparkling, busy eyes,
which, though usually half-closed from near-sightedness, shot piercing
glances at those with whom she conversed, and, most of all, by the very
peculiar and graceful carriage of her head and neck.' In conversation
she was already distinguished, though addicted to 'quizzing'--the not
unreasonable ground of unpopularity with her female friends. Emerson
alludes to her dangerous reputation for satire, which, in addition to her
great scholarship, made the women dislike one who despised them, and
the men cavil at her as 'carrying too many guns.' A fragment from a
letter in her sixteenth year will illustrate her pursuits at that period:--'I
rise a little before five, walk an hour, and then practise on the piano till
seven, when we breakfast. Next, I read French--Sismondi's Literature
of Southern Europe--till eight; then, two or three lectures in Brown's
Philosophy. About half-past nine, I go to Mr Perkins's school, and
study Greek till twelve, when, the school being dismissed, I recite, go
home, and practise again till dinner, at two. Sometimes, if the
conversation is very agreeable, I lounge for half an hour over the
dessert, though rarely so lavish of time. Then, when I can, I read two
hours in Italian, but I am often interrupted. At six, I walk, or take a
drive. Before going to bed, I play or sing, for half an hour or so, to
make all sleepy, and, about eleven, retire to write a little while in my
journal, exercises on what I have read, or a series of characteristics
which I am filling up according to advice.' Greek, French, Italian,
metaphysics, and private authorship--pretty well for a miss in her teens,
and surely a promissory-note on the bas bleu joint-stock company!--a
note which she discharged in full when it became due. Next year (1826),
we find her studying Mme de Staël, Epictetus, Milton, Racine, and
Spanish ballads, 'with great delight.' Anon she is engrossed with the
elder Italian poets, from Berni down to Pulci and Politian; then with
Locke and the ontologists; then with the opera omnia of Sir William
Temple. She pursued at this time no systematic study, but 'read with the
heart, and was learning more from social experience than from books.'

The interval of her life, between sixteen and twenty-five, is
characterised by one of her biographers as a period of 'preponderating
sentimentality, of romance and dreams, of yearning and of passion.'
While residing at Cambridge, she suffered from profound
despondency--conscious of the want of a home for her heart. A sterner
schooling awaited her at Groton, whither her father removed in 1833.
Here he died suddenly of cholera in 1835. Now she was taught the
miserable perplexities of a family that has lost its head, and was called
to tread a path for which, as she says, she had no skill and no call,
except that it must be trodden by some one, and she alone was ready. In
1836 she went to Boston, to teach Latin and French in an academy of
local repute; and in the ensuing year she accepted a 'very favourable
offer,' to become 'lady-superior' in an educational institution at
Providence, where she seems to have exercised an influence analogous
to that of Dr Arnold at Rugby--treating her pupils as ladies, and thus
making them anxious to prove that they deserved to be so treated.
By this time, she had attracted around her many and devoted friends.
Her conversational powers were of a high order, by common consent.
Mr Hedge describes her speech as remarkably fluent and correct; but
deriving its strength not from fluency, choice diction, wit, or sentiment,
but from accuracy of statement, keen discrimination, and a certain
weight of judgment; together with rhetorical finish, it had an air of
spontaneity which made it seem the grace of the moment: so that he
says, 'I do not remember that the vulgar charge of talking "like a book"
was ever fastened upon her, although, by her precision, she might seem
to have incurred it.' The excitement of the presence of living persons
seems to have energised her whole being. 'I need to be called out,' are
her words, 'and never think alone, without imagining some companion.
It is my habit, and bespeaks a second-rate mind.'