This singularly pedantic and self-sufficient lady, the wife of a man who figures for many years during the fatal struggles between the Stuarts and the Commonwealth, was one of those who, with some talent and no genius, contrive to bring themselves into notice by dint of resolute scribbling, and manage to attain a certain reputation by means of frequent assurances to the world that they deserve a high place in public estimation. She belonged to that class of ladies of rank who are not content to understand and patronize the works of persons of merit, but indulge the ambition of imitating them, and fondly persuade themselves that they can compete with the best authors of the day.

The innumerable books of this persevering authoress were the nuisance of the time in which she lived; and, although she reaped little but ridicule by her industry, yet her vanity was such that she never perceived she was being laughed at, and lived on in a fool's paradise of letters; glorying in her fame, and pluming herself as much on the literary reputation of her husband. In almost every age there has been some such self-esteemed Phoenix, whose harmless conceit does but little injury, but is, nevertheless, a general annoyance, except to the tradesmen she employs to print and bind the countless volumes with which she delights to adorn her own library.