THE

LIFE AND LETTERS

OF

MARIA EDGEWORTH

Edited By

AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE

VOL. II

MARIA EDGEWORTH

MARIA _to_ MISS WALLER. 

COPPET, _Sept. 1, 1820_. 

I am sure that you have heard of us, and of all we have done and seenfrom Edgeworthstown as far as Berne: from thence we went to Thun: therewe took _char-à-bancs_, little low carriages, like half an Irishjaunting car, with four wheels, and a square tarpaulin awning over ourheads. Jolting along on these vehicles, which would go over a house, Iam sure, without being overturned or without being surprised, wewent--the Swiss postillion jolting along at the same round rate up anddown, without ever looking back to see whether the carriages andpassengers follow, yet now and then turning to point to mountains, glaciers, and cascades. The valley of Lauterbrunn is beautiful; a clear, rushing cascady stream rushes through it: fine chestnuts, walnuts, andsycamores scattered about, the verdure on the mountains between thewoods fresh and bright. Pointed mountains covered with snow in the midstof every sign of flowery summer strike us with a sense of the sublimewhich never grows familiar. The height of the Staubach waterfall, whichwe saw early in the morning, astonished my mind, I think, more than myeyes, looking more like thin vapour than water--more like _strings_ ofwater; and I own I was disappointed, after all I had heard of it. 

We went on to the valley of Grindelwald, where we saw, as we thought twofields off, a glacier to which we wished to go; and accordingly we leftthe _char-à-bancs_, and walked down the sloping field, expecting toreach it in a few minutes, but we found it a long walk--about two miles. To this sort of deception about distances we are continually subject, from the clearness of the air, and from the unusual size of the objects, for which we have no points of comparison, and no previous habits ofestimating. We were repaid for our walk, however, when we came to thesource of the Lutzen, which springs under an arch of ice in the glacier. The river runs clear and sparkling through the valley, while over thearch rests a mountain of ice, and beside it a valley of ice; not smoothor uniform, but in pyramids, and arches, and blocks of immense size, andbetween them clefts and ravines. The sight and the sound of the watersrushing, and the solemn immovability of the ice, formed a sublimecontrast. 

On the grass at the very foot of this glacier were some of the mostdelicious wood-strawberries I ever tasted. 

At Interlaken we met Sneyd [Footnote: Her half-brother, son of the thirdMrs. Edgeworth, and his wife Henrica Broadhurst. ] and Henrica in a verypleasant situation in that most beautiful country. We parted on thebanks of the lake of Brienz. On this lake we had an hour's delightfulsailing, and _put into_ a little bay and climbed up a mountain to seethe cascade of the Giesbach, by far the most beautiful I ever beheld, and beyond all of which painting or poetry had ever given me any idea. Indeed it is particularly difficult, if not absolutely impossible, togive a representation of cascades which depend for effect upon theheight from which they fall, the rush of motion, the sparkling and foamof the water in motion, and the magnitude of the surrounding objects. 

After passing the lake of Brienz, we came to the far-famed valley ofMeyringen, which had been much cried up to us; but, whether from theusual perverseness of human nature, or from being spoiled by the luxuryof cascades, valleys, and Alps we had previously seen, we weredisappointed in it, though, to do it justice, it has nine cascades. 

We slept at a wooden inn, and rose at three; and, before four, mountedon our horses, set off for the Brunig; and after having gone up LaFlegère at Chamouni, the crossing the Brunig was a small consideration. Brava! brava!

But--something happened to me and my horse; the result being that I wentup the Brunig and down the Brunig on my two legs instead of on thehorse's four, and was not the least tired with my three hours' scrambleup and scramble down. At the little town of Sarnen we ate eggs and dranksour wine, and Mr. Moilliet, Fanny, and Harriet remounted their horses;Mrs. Moilliet, Emily, Susan, and I went in a _char-à-banc_ of adifferent construction; not sitting sideways, but on two phaeton seats, one behind the other, facing the horses. Such jolting, such _trimming_from side to side; but we were not overturned, and got out at the townof Stanzstadt, where, after seeing in the dirtiest inn's dirtiest room agirl with a tremendous black eye, besides the two with which nature hadfavoured her, we took boat again about sunset, and had a two hours'delicious rowing across the lake of Lucerne, which I prefer to everyother I have seen--the moon full and placid on the waters, the starsbright in the deep blue sky, the town of Lucerne shadowed before us withlights here and there in the windows. The air became still, and the skysuddenly clouded over; thunder was heard; bright flashes of lightningdarted from behind the mountains and across the town, making it atintervals distinctly visible for a moment. It was dark when we landed, and we had to pass through two or three streets, servants, guides, bag, and baggage, groping our way; and oh, wretched mortals, went to thewrong place, and before we could reach the right one, down poured awaterspout of a shower on our devoted heads and backs. In five minutes, running as hard as we could, we were wet through; and Fanny, in crossingthe street and plucking at the guide's bundle for a cloak for me, wasnearly run over, but stood it; and, all dripping, we reached our inn, LeCheval Blanc. An hour spent in throwing off wet clothes and putting ondry--tea, coffee--bed--bugs, and sleep, nevertheless. 

We rejoined our landau and _calèche_ at Lucerne, and proceeded in themto Zug, where there is a famous convent or _Frauenkloster_, whichescaped being destroyed during the Revolution, because the abbess andnuns established a school for the female children of the neighbourhood, where they still continue to teach them to read and work: Madame Gautierhad desired us to go and see it, and to it we walked: rang at the bell, were told that the nuns were all in the refectory, and were asked towait. The nuns' repast was soon finished, and one came with a veryagreeable, open countenance and fresh, brown complexion, well fed andhappy-looking, becomingly dressed in snow-white hood and pelerine andbrown gown. Bowing courteously, she by signs--for she could speakneither French nor English--invited us to follow her, and led us throughcloister and passage to the room of the boarders; not nuns, only therefor their education. A pretty Italian girl, with corkscrew ringlets ofdark hair, rose from her pianoforte to receive us, and spoke with muchgrace and self-complacency Italian-French, and accompanied by way ofinterpreter our own conductress, who _motioned_ us to the sitting-room, where nuns and pensioners were embroidering, with silk, cotton, chenille, and beads, various pretty, ugly, and fantastical, uselessthings. Luckily, none were finished at that moment, and their emptybasket saved our purses and our taste from danger or disgrace. 

I had spied in the corner of the Italian interpreter's apartment a daubof a print of the King and Queen of France taking leave of their family, with a German inscription; and thinking the Abbé Edgeworth had a goodright to be in it, and as a kind of German notion of an Abbé appeared inthe print, and something like Edgewatz in the German words, I put myfinger on the spot, and bade the interpreter tell the nuns and theabbess, who now appeared, that we were nearly related to the AbbéEdgeworth, Louis XVI. 's confessor. This with some difficulty was putinto the Italian's head, and through her into the nuns', and throughthem, in German, into the abbess' superior head. I heard a mistake inthe first repetition, which ran, no doubt, through all the editions, viz. That we were _proches parents_, not to the King's confessor, but tothe King! The nuns opened the whites of their eyes, and smiled regularlyin succession as the bright idea reached them and the abbess--agood-looking soul, evidently of superior birth and breeding to the rest, all gracious and courteous in demeanour to the strangers. 

A thought struck me--or, as Mr. Barrett of Navan expressed it, "I took anotion, ma'am"--that Fanny would look well in a nun's dress; and boldlyI went to work with my interpreter, who thought the request at first toobold to make; but I forced it through to nun the first, who backed andconsulted nun the second, who at my instigation referred in the lastappeal to the abbess, who, in her supreme good-nature, smiled, andpointed upstairs; and straight our two nuns carried Fanny and me offwith them up stairs and stairs, and through passages and passages, to alittle nun's room--I mean a nun's little room--nice with flowers andscraps of relics and religious prints. The nuns ran to a press in thewall, and took out ever so many plaited coifs and bands, and examinedthem all carefully as birthnight beauty would have done, to fix upon onewhich was most becoming. Nun the second ran for the rest of thehabiliments, and I the while disrobed Fanny of her worldly spriggedcambric muslin and straw hat, which, by the bye, nun the second eyedwith a fond admiration which proved she had not quite forgotten thisworld's conveniences. The eagerness with which they dressed Fanny, thecare with which they adjusted the frontlet, and tucked in the ringlets, and placed the coif on her head, and pulled it down to exactly the rightbecoming sit, was exceedingly amusing. No coquette dressing for Almack'scould have shown more fastidious nicety, or expressed more joy anddelight at the toilette's triumphant success. They exclaimed in German, and lifted up hands and eyes in admiration of Fanny's beautifulappearance in nun's attire. The universal language of action and the noless universal language of flattery was not lost upon me: I really lovedthese nuns, and thought of my Aunt Ruxton's nuns, who were so good toher. Down corridors and stairs we now led our novice, and the nunsshowed her how to hold her hands tucked into her sleeves, and asked hername; and having learned it was Fanny, Frances, Sister Frances, wereagain overjoyed, because one of them was named Frances, the other wasAgnes. When, between Sister Agnes and Sister Frances the first, SisterFrances the second entered the room, where we had left the abbess, Mrs. Moilliet, Emily, and Susan, they did not know Fanny in the least, andHarriet declared that, at the first moment, even she did not know her. Mrs. Moilliet told me she said to herself, "What a very graceful nun iscoming now!"

After all had gathered round, and laughed, and admired, the abbesssignified to me, through our interpreter, that we could do no less thanleave her in the convent with them, and grew so mighty fond of Fanny, that I was in as great a hurry to get her nun's dress off as I had beento get it on; and when I had disrobed her, I could not think of a singlething to give the poor nuns, having no pockets, and my bag left in thecarriage! At last, feeling all over myself, I twitched my little goldearrings out of my ears, and gave one, and Fanny gave the other, to thetwo nuns; and Sister Frances and Sister Agnes fell on their knees topray for and thank us. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

PREGNY, _Sept. 6, 1820_. 

The account of the loss of the three guides at Chamouni is, alas! tootrue: three perished by stepping into the new-fallen snow which coveredthe crevasses; one was Joseph Carrier, who was Harriet's guide. Mrs. Marcet has just told us that, at a breakfast given by M. Prevost to M. Arago, and many scientific and literary people, a few days after theaccident, parties ran high on this as on all affairs: some said it wasall M. Hamel's fault; some, that it was all the guides' own fault. Onesaid he wished one of the English gentlemen who was of the party waspresent, for then they should know the truth. At this moment the servantannounced a stranger, "Monsieur Rumford, " the name sounded like as theman pronounced it, and they thought it was Count Rumford come to life. M. Prevost went out and returned with Mr. Dornford, one of theEnglishmen who had been of Dr. Hamel's party, who came, he said, to begpermission to state the plain facts, as he heard they had been told toDr. Hamel's disadvantage. He, Dr. Hamel, Mr. Henderson, and M. Lelleque, a French naturalist, set out: the guides had not dissuaded them fromattempting to go up Mont Blanc--only advised them to wait till athreatening cloud had passed. When it was gone, they all set out in highspirits; the guides cutting holes in the snow for their feet. This it issupposed loosened the snow newly fallen, and a quantity poured down overtheir heads. Mr. Dornford had pushed on before the guides; he shook offthe snow as it fell, and felt no apprehension: on the contrary, helaughed as he _pawed_ it away, and was making his way on, when he hearda cry from his companions, and looking back he saw some of themstruggling in the snow. He helped to extricate them, saw a point movingin the snow, went to it, and pulled out Marie Coutay, one of the guides:he was quite purple, but recovered in the air. Looked round--two guideswere missing: looked for them in vain, but saw a deep ravine coveredwith fresh snow, into which they must have fallen. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. LAUSANNE, _Sept 14, 1820_. 

Ages ago I promised myself the pleasure of dating a letter from Lausanneto my dear aunt, and now that I am at the place of which I have so oftenheard her speak, which I have so often wished to see, I can hardlybelieve it is not a dream. A fortnight ago we were here, returning fromour tour through les Petits Cantons; but at that time we could not enjoyanything, as we had heard from Sneyd, whom we met at Interlaken, ofLucy's [Footnote: Youngest daughter of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth. ]terrible illness. What a comfort to my mother to think that she wassaved by your Sophy's steadiness and presence of mind, and by Lovell'sdecision and Crampton's skill and kindness!

Yesterday we began our tour round the Lake of Geneva--Dumont, Fanny, Harriet, and I--in one of the carriages of the country, a mixture of asociable and an Irish jingle, with some resemblance to a hearse, from acovered top on iron poles, which keeps off the sun. It was late when wearrived here, and so dark, with only a few lamps strung across thestreet here and there, we could scarcely see the forms of the greatblack horses scrambling and struggling up the almost perpendicularstreets. How could you ever have borne it, my dear aunt? You must havebeen in perpetual fear of your life! Lord Bellamont's description of thecounty of Cavan--all acclivity and declivity, without any interventionof horizontality--I am sure applies to Lausanne. I am sure travelledhorses from all parts of the world say to each other when they meet inthe stable, "Were you ever at Lausanne? Don't you hate Lausanne? Howcould men build a town in such a place? What asses! And how provoking, while we are breaking our backs, to hear them talking of picturesquebeauty! I should like to see how they would look if we let them slip, and roll down these picturesque situations!"

Lausanne is, nevertheless, so full that we could scarcely find room; andafter Dumont and his servant had gone back and forward to Le Faucon, theLion d'or, Les Balances, etc. Etc. , all full to the garrets, we werethankful at finding ourselves in the worst inn's worst room, where, however, the beds were clean and good. We are not grumblers, so we drankcoffee and were all very happy; and while the rooms were preparingDumont read to us a pretty little French piece, _Le faux Savant!_

_Sept. 15_. 

Our first object this morning was to see Madame de Montolieu, the authorof _Caroline de Lichfield_, to whom I had a letter of introduction. Shewas not at Lausanne, we were told, but at her country house, Bussigny, about a league and a half from the town. We had a delicious finemorning, and through romantic lanes and up and down hills, till we foundourselves in the middle of a ploughed field, when the coachman's prideof ignorance had to give up, and he had to beg his way to Bussigny, avillage of scattered Swiss cottages high upon rocks, with far-spreadingprospects below. In the court of the house which we were told was Madamede Montolieu's we saw a lady, of a tall, upright, active-looking figure, with much the appearance of a gentlewoman; but we could not think thatthis was Madame de Montolieu, because for the last half-hour Dumont, impatient at our losing our way, had been saying she must be too old toreceive us. She was very old thirty years ago; she must be_quatre-vingt_, at least: at last it came to _quatre-vingt-dix_. Thislady did not look above fifty. She came up to the carriage as itstopped, and asked whom we wished to see. The moment I saw her eyes, Iknew it was Madame de Montolieu, and stooping down from the opencarriage I put into her hand the note of introduction and our card. Shenever opened the note, but the instant her eye had glanced upon thecard, she repeated the name with a voice of joyful welcome. I jumped outof the carriage, and she embraced me so cordially, and received mysisters so kindly, and M. Dumont so politely, that we were all at easeand acquainted and delighted before we were half-way upstairs. While shewent into the ante-chamber for a basket of peaches, I had time to lookat the prints hung in the little drawing-room: they had struck me themoment we came in as scenes from _Caroline de Lichfield_. Indifferent, old-fashioned, provoking figures, Caroline and Count Walstein in thefashions of thirty years ago. 

When Madame de Montolieu returned, she bade me not look at them; "but Iwill tell you how they came to be here. " They had been given to her byGibbon: he was the person who published _Caroline de Lichfield_. She hadwritten it for the entertainment of an aunt who was ill: a German storyof three or four pages gave her the first idea of it. "I never couldinvent: give me a hint, and I can go on and supply the details and thecharacters. " Just when _Caroline de Lichfield_ was finished, Gibbonbecame acquainted with her aunt, who showed it to him: he seized uponthe MS. , and said it must be published. It ran in a few months throughseveral editions; and just when it was in its first vogue, Gibbonhappened to be in London, saw these prints, and brought them over toher, telling her he had brought her a present of prints from London, butthat he would only give them to her on condition that she would promiseto hang them, and let them always hang, in her drawing-room. After manyvain efforts to find out what manner of things they were, Gibbon andcuriosity prevailed; she promised, and there they hang. 

She must have been a beautiful woman: she told me she is seventy: finedark, enthusiastic eyes, a quickly varying countenance, full of life, and with all the warmth of heart and imagination which is thought tobelong only to youth. 

We went into a wooden gallery reaching from one side of the house to theother, at one end of which was a table, where she had been writing whenwe arrived. We often took leave, but were loth to depart. Dumont luckilyasked if she could direct us to a fine old chateau in the neighbourhood, which we had been told was particularly well worth seeing--Viernon. "Itis my brother's, " she said, and she would go with us and show it. Thecarriage was sent round to the high road, and we went by a walk along ariver, romantically beautiful. Just as we came to a cascade and a woodenbridge, a little pug dog came running down, and the Baron and Madame dePolier appeared. Madame de Montolieu ran on to her brother, andexplained who we were. Madame is an Englishwoman, and, to my surprise, Ifound she was niece to my father's old friend, Mr. Mundy of Markeaton. We were all very sorry to part with Madame de Montolieu; however, wereturned to Lausanne, and Dumont in the evening read out _LeSomnambule_--very laughable when so well read. 

PREGNY, _Sept. 20_. 

Next day beautiful drive to Vevay, as you know. After visiting Chillon, where Lord Byron's name and _coat of arms_ are cut upon Bonnivar'spillar, I read the poem again, and think it most sublime and pathetic. How can that man have perverted so much feeling as was originally givento him!

Have you been at St. Maurice? If you have not, I cannot give you an ideaof the surprise and delight we felt at the first sight of the view goingdown through the archway! But what a miserable town! After Fanny hadsketched from the window of the inn a group of children, we finished ourevening by hearing Dumont read, incomparably well, _Les Chateauxd'Espagne_. In the night we were awakened by the most horrible femalevoice, singing, or rather screeching, in the passage--the voice of aperson having a _goître_, and either mad or drunk. There had been amarriage of country people in the house, and this lady had drunk alittle too much. We heard Dumont's door open, and he silenced or droveher away. 

Next morning we went, on part of the Simplon route which Buonapartemade, to St. Gingulph, where we spent some hours on the Lake. Dumonttold us he had been there with Rogers, who was so delighted with itsbeauty, that instead of one he spent six days there. 

Not having met the Moilliets as expected at St. Maurice, we became veryanxious about them; but upon our arrival at Pregny next day, found themall very quietly there. Mrs. Moilliet's not being very well kept them athome. Nothing can be kinder than they are to us. 

We dined two days after our return to Pregny at Coppet: the Duke andDuchess de Broglie are now there, and we met M. De Stein, [Footnote:Carl, Baron Stein, the Minister of Frederick William IV. Of Prussia. ] agreat diplomatist, and M, Pictet Deodati, of whom Madame de Staël said, if one could take hold of Pictet Deodati's neckcloth, and give him onegood shaking, what a number of good things would come out!

MALAGNY, DR. MARCET'S, _Sept_. 

We came here last Friday, and have spent our time most happily with ourexcellent friend Mrs. Marcet. His children are all so fond of Dr. Marcet, we see that he is their companion and friend. They have all beenhappily busy in making a paper fire-balloon, sixteen feet in diameter, and thirty feet high. A large company were invited to see it mount. Itwas a fine evening. The balloon was filled on the green before thehouse. The lawn slopes down to the lake, and opposite to it magnificentMont Blanc, the setting sun shining on its summit. After someheart-beatings about a hole in the top of the balloon, through which thesmoke was seen to issue--an evil omen--it went up successfully. The sunhad set, but we saw its reflection beautifully on one side of theballoon, so that it looked like a globe half ice, half fire, or halfmoon, half sun, self-suspended in the air. It went up exactly a mile. Isay exactly, because Pictet measured the height by an instrument of anew invention, which I will describe when we meet. The air here is soclear, that at this height we saw it distinctly. 

M. Pictet de Rochemont, brother to our old friend, has taken most kindpains to translate the best passages from my father's _Memoirs_ for the_Bibliothèque Universelle_. We were yesterday at his house with a largeparty, and met Madame Necker de Saussure--much more agreeable than herbook. Her manner and figure reminded us of our beloved Mrs. Moutray: sheis deaf, too, and she has the same resignation, free from suspicion, inher expression when she is not speaking, and the same gracious attentionto the person who speaks to her. 

CHATEAU DE COPPET, _Sept. 28_, 8 A. M. 

We came here yesterday, and here we are in the very apartments occupiedby M. Necker, opening into what is now the library, but what was oncethat theatre on which Madame de Staël used to act her own _Corinne_. Yesterday evening, when Madame de Broglie had placed me next the oldestfriend of the family, M. De Bonstettin, he whispered to me, "You are nowin the exact spot, in the very chair where Madame de Staël used to sit!"Her friends were excessively attached to her. This old man talked of herwith tears in his eyes, and with all the sudden change of countenanceand twitchings of the muscles which mark strong, uncontrollable feeling. 

There is something inexpressibly melancholy, awful, in this house, inthese rooms, where the thought continually recurs, Here Genius _was!_here _was_ Ambition, Love! all the great struggles of the passions; herewas Madame de Staël! The respect paid to her memory by her son anddaughter, and by M. De Broglie, is touching. The little Rocca, sevenyears old, is an odd, cold, prudent, old-man sort of a child, as unlikeas possible to the son you would have expected from such parents. M. Rocca, brother to the boy's father, is here: handsome, but I know nomore. M. Sismondi and his wife dined here, and three Saladins, father, mother, and daughter. M. De Staël has promised to show to me Gibbon'slove-letters to his grandmother, ending regularly with "Je suis, mademoiselle, avec les sentimens qui font le désespoir de ma vie, " etc. 

M. De Bonstettin--Gray the poet's friend--told me that in Sweden, aboutthirty years ago, he saw potatoes in the corner of a gentleman's gardenas a curiosity. "They tell me, sir, " said the gentleman, "that in somecountries they eat the roots of this plant!" Now they are cultivatedthere, and the people have become fond of them. 

 * * * * *

With M. De Staël and Madame de Broglie Miss Edgeworth was particularlyhappy. It had been reported that Madame de Staël had said of Maria'swritings "que Miss Edgeworth était digne de l'enthousiasme, mais qu'elles'est perdue dans la triste utilité. " "Ma mère n'a jamais dit ça, "Madame de Broglie indignantly declared, "elle était incapable!" She saw, indeed, the enthusiastic admiration which Maria felt for her mother'sgenius, and she was gratified by the regard and esteem which Mariashowed for her and her brother, and the sympathy she expressed in theiraffection for each other, and in their kindness to their little Roccabrother. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

LYONS, HOTEL DU NORD, _Oct. 22, 1820_. 

Lyons! is it possible that I am really at Lyons, of which I have heardmy father speak so much? Lyons! where his active spirit once reigned, and where now scarce a trace, a memory of him remains. The Perraches allgone, Carpentiers no more to be heard of, Bons a name unknown; De laVerpilliere--one descendant has a fine house here, but he is in thecountry. 

The look of the town and the fine facades of the principal buildings, and the Place de Bellecour, were the more melancholy to me from knowingthem so well in the prints in the great portfolio, with such a radiancethrown over them by his descriptions. I hear his voice saying, La Placede Bellecour and l'Hotel de Ville--these remain after all the horrors ofthe Revolution--but human creatures, the best, the ablest, the most fullof life and gaiety, all passed away. 

It is a relief to my mind to pour out all this to you. I do not repenthaving come to Lyons; I should not have forgiven myself if I had not. 

I have been writing to dear Mrs. Moilliet--nothing could exceed herkindness and Mr. Moilliet's. Dumont was excessively touched at partingwith us, and gave Fanny and Harriet _La Fontaine_ and _Gresset_, and tome a map of the lake--of the tour we took so happily together. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

PARIS, _Nov. 1820_. 

Never lose another night's sleep, or another moment's thought on the_Quarterly Review_ [Footnote: An article on Maria Edgeworth's _Memoirs_of her Father, full of doubt, ridicule, misrepresentation, and acrimony. Miss Edgeworth never read this _Review_ till 1835, when she was inducedto do so by a letter from Mr. Peabody alluding to it. It was thenpowerless to give her pain, for its anonymous falsehoods had long falleninto oblivion. ]--I have never read and never will read it. 

I write this merely to tell you that I have at last had the pleasure ofseeing Madame la Comtesse de Vaudreuil, the daughter of your friend; sheis an exceedingly pleasing woman, of high fashion, with the remains ofgreat beauty, courteous and kind to us beyond all expectation. She hadbut a few days in Paris, and she made out two for us; she took us to theConciergerie to see, by lamp-light, the dungeons where the poor Queenand Madame Elizabeth were confined, now fitted up as little chapels. Inthe Queen's is an altar inscribed with her letter to the King, expressing forgiveness of her enemies. Tears streamed from the eyes ofthe young Countess de Vaudreuil, the daughter-in-law, as she looked atthis altar, and the place where the Queen's bed was. Who do you thinkaccompanied us to this place? Lady Beauchamp, Lady Longford's mother, agreat friend of Madame de Vaudreuil's, with whom we dined the next day, and who had procured for us the Duc de Choiseul's box at the ThéâtreFrançais, when the house was to be uncommonly crowded to seeMademoiselle Duchenois in _Athalie_ "avec tous les choeurs, " and a moststriking spectacle it was! I had never seen Mademoiselle Duchenois toperfection before. 

MRS. MARCET _to_ MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

MALAGNY, _Nov. 15, 1820_. 

I cannot make up my mind, my dear friend, to take my departure[Footnote: Mrs. Marcet was just setting out for Italy. ] for a still moredistant country without again bidding you adieu. I have hesitated forsome time past, "Shall I or shall I not write to Miss Edgeworth?" for Ifelt that I could not write without touching on an article in the_Quarterly_--a subject which makes my blood boil with indignation, andwhich rouses every feeling of contempt and abhorrence. I might indeedrefrain from the expression of these sentiments, but how could Irestrain all those feelings of the warmest interest, the tenderestsympathy, and the softest pity for your wounded feelings? I wellremember the wish you one day so piously expressed to me that yourfather could look down from heaven and see the purity and zeal of yourintentions in writing his _Memoirs_; I am sure your HEAVENLY FATHER doessee them. And I feel that this unjust, unchristian, inquisitorial attackwill not only develop fresh sentiments of the tenderest nature in yourfriends, but also rally every human being of sound sense around you. 

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

PARIS, _Nov. 15, 1820_. 

You would scarcely believe, my dear friends, the calm of mind and thesort of satisfied resignation I feel as to my father's _Life_. I supposethe two years of doubt and extreme anxiety that I felt, exhausted all mypower of doubting. I know that I have done my very best, I know that Ihave done my duty, and I firmly believe that if my dear father could seethe whole he would be satisfied with what I have done. 

We have seen Mademoiselle Mars twice, or thrice rather, in the _Mariagede Figaro_ and in the little pieces of _Le Jaloux sans amour_, and _Lajeunesse de Henri Cinq_, and admire her exceedingly. _En petit comité_the other night at the Duchesse d'Escars, a discussion took placebetween the Duchesse de la Force, Marmont, and Pozzo di Borgo, on the_bon et mauvais ton_ of different expressions--_bonne société_ is an_expression bourgeoise_--you may say _bonne compagnie_ or _la hautesociété_. "Voilà des nuances, " as Madame d'Escars said. Such a wonderfuljabbering as these grandees made about these small matters. It put me inmind of a conversation in the _World_ on good company which we all usedto admire. 

We have seen a great deal of our dear Delesserts, and of Madame deRumford, [Footnote: First married to Lavoisier, the celebrated chemist, then to Count Rumford, the scientist, from whom she was separated formany years. She was now again a widow. ] who gave us a splendid and mostagreeable dinner. And one evening with the Princess Potemkin, whois--take notice--only a Princess by courtesy, as she has married aPotemkin, who is not a Prince, and though she was born PrincessGalitzin, she loses her rank by marrying an inferior, according toRussian and French custom, and they are, with reason, surprised at oursuperior gallantry, once a lady always a lady. But whether Princess ornot Princess, our Madame Potemkin is most charming, and you may blessyour stars that you are not obliged to read a page of panegyric uponher. She was as much delighted to see us again, as we were to see her;she was alone with Madame de Noisville, that happy mixture of my AuntFox [Footnote: Mary, wife of Francis Fox, elder sister of Mr. Edgeworthand Mrs. Ruxton. ] and Mrs. Lataffiere. We went from Madame Potemkin toMadame d'Haussonville's, with her we found Madame de Bouillé playing atbilliards, just in the attitude in which we had left her three monthsago. Saturday I had a bad headache, but recovered in the evening; andMonday we dined at Madame Potemkin's, where we met her aunt, a PrincessGalitzin, a thin, tall, odd, very clever woman, daughter to that PrinceShuvaloff, to whom Voltaire wrote eternally, and she is _imbued_ withanecdotes of that period, very well bred, and quick in conversation. Sheis always afraid of catching cold, and always wears a velvet cap, and isalways wrapped up in shawls and pelisses in going from house tohouse--_à cela près_, a reasonable woman. 

After leaving Madame Potemkin's we went to see--whom do you think? Guessall round the breakfast-table before you turn over the leaf; if anybodyguesses right, I guess it will be Aunt Mary. 

Madame de la Rochejacquelin [Footnote: Widow of the Vendean hero. ]--Shehad just arrived from the country, and we found ourselves in a largehotel, in which all the winds of heaven were blowing, and in which, aswe went upstairs and crossed the ante-chambers, all was darkness, exceptone candle which the servant carried before us. In a small bedroom, wellfurnished, with a fire just lighted, we found Madame de laRochejacquelin lying on a sofa--her two daughters at work--one spinningwith a distaff, and the other embroidering muslin. Madame is a large fatwoman, with a broad round fair face, with a most open benevolentexpression, as benevolent as Molly Bristow's or as Mrs. Brinkley's. Herhair cut short, and perfectly gray, as seen under her cap; the rest ofher face much too young for such gray locks, not at all the hardweatherbeaten look that had been described to us; and though her faceand bundled form and dress, all _squashed_ on a sofa, did not at firstpromise much of gentility, you could not hear her speak or see her forthree minutes without perceiving that she was well-born and well-bred. She had hurt her leg, which was the cause of her lying on the sofa. Itseemed a grievous penance, as she is of as active a temper as ever. Shesays her health is perfect, but a nervous disease in her eyes has nearlydeprived her of sight--she could hardly see my face, though I sat asclose as I could go to the sofa. 

"I am always sorry, " said she, "when any stranger sees me, parceque jesais que je détruis toute illusion. Je sais que je devrais avoir l'aird'une héroine, et surtout que je devrais avoir l'air malheureuse ouépuisé an moins--rien de tout cela, hélas!"

She is much better than a heroine--she is benevolence and truth itself. She begged her daughters to take us into the _salon_ to show us what shethought would interest us. She apologised for the cold of theserooms--and well she might; when the double doors were opened I reallythought Eolus himself was puffing in our faces; we shawled ourselveswell before we ventured in. At one end of the _salon_ is a picture of M. De Lescure, and at the other, of Henri de la Rochejacquelin, by Gérardand Girardet, presents from the King. Fine military figures. In theboudoir is one of M. De la Rochejacquelin, much the finest of all--shehas never yet looked at this picture. Far from being disappointed, I wasmuch gratified by this visit. 

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

CALAIS, _Dec. 5, 1820_. 

It is a great satisfaction to me, my dear Lucy, to feel that we are nowso much nearer to you, and that before I finish this little note weshall be still nearer to you in the same United Kingdom, so that ineight days we can have an answer to questions about you; what adifference from the three long weeks we used to wait at Geneva. 

And now, my dear Lucy, I must employ you to break to my mother animportant secret. Choose a proper time for speaking to her on thesubject, when she is not very busy, when her mind is at ease, that is, when you are pretty well. My aunts and Honora may be in the room, if youthink proper. Begin by saying that I know both my mother and Lovell areso kind and have such confidence in me that I am sure they will nothastily object to the introduction of a new person into the family, though they may perhaps feel a little surprised at hearing of my havingactually decided upon such a measure without writing first to consultthem. I have actually brought with me from Paris, and intend, unless Iam actually forbidden, to bring with me to Edgeworthstown, a Frenchwasherwoman. I cannot expect that Lovell should build a house for her, though I know he has long had it in contemplation to build a laundry;but my little French woman does not require a house, she can live in ourhouse, if he and my mother, and my aunts please, and I will engage thatshe shall give no sort of trouble, and shall cost nothing. She is a_sourde et muette_, an elderly woman with a very good countenance, always cheerful, and going on with her own business without mindingother people's. She was recommended to me by Madame François Delessert, and has lived for some time in their family, much liked by all, especially by the children, for whom she washed constantly, till one ofher legs was hurt, so that she cannot work now quite as well asformerly. But still she washed so as to give general satisfaction. Fannyand Harriet like her washing, and I am sure my aunts will like it andher very much; and I think she might, till some other place be found forher, sleep in my mother's dressing-room. 

And here, my dear Lucy, I beg you will pause and hear what everybodysays about this washerwoman and this plan. 

And after five minutes given to deliberation, go on and say, that if nobetter place can be found for my washerwoman, she may stand on mymother's chimney-piece! [Footnote: A pretty little French toy given byMadame François Delessert. ]

No more nonsense at present. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

CALAIS, DESSIN'S HOTEL, _Dec. 5, 1820_. 

Coming back to this place, to the same room where we were seven monthsago, the whole seems to me and to my companions like a delightful dream, but in waking from Alps, and glaciers, and cascades, and _Mont Blanc_, and troops of acquaintance in splendid succession and visionaryconfusion, in waking from this wonderful dream, the sober certainty ofhappiness remains and assures us that all which has passed is not adream. All our old friends at Paris are still more our friends thanever, and many new ones made. Every expectation, every hope that I hadformed for this journey has been more than gratified, far surpassed bythe reality; and we return with thorough satisfaction to our owncountry, looking to our dear home for permanent happiness, without awish unsatisfied or a regret for anything we have left behind, exceptour friends. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

MALI, CLIFTON, _Dec. 17, 1820_. 

We have spent a week here with Emmeline, [Footnote: The eldest of MissEdgeworth's own sisters, wife of John King, Esq. , of Clifton. ] and veryhappy I am that we were able to give her this pleasure. Zoe and Emmelineare very nice-looking girls, pleasing in their manners and affectionatein their dispositions. 

We are not, tell my aunt, likely to be drawn in to talk or take any partabout the Queen, as we know nothing of her trial. She sent notice toLady Elizabeth Whitbread that she would dine with her if she knew thehour. Lady Elizabeth answered that her hour varied from five to nine, asit suited her son's convenience. The Queen took it as it was meant, as arefusal. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

BOWOOD, _Dec. 20, 1820_. 

I write to you sitting in the bow (or beau, or bay) window of the roomwith yellow furniture with black stars, into which we were shown by LadyLansdowne. Oh, my dear Honora, how everything here reminds me of you!

Lady Lansdowne's reception of us was most cordial. She had been outwalking, and came to us only half dressed, with a shawl thrown over her. Lord Lansdowne is at Bath, at an agricultural meeting. Mr. And Mrs. Ordand their son, an Eton youth, are here; Lady Elizabeth and CaptainFielding--he is very gentlemanlike and agreeable; Mr. Hallam; the twoMr. Smiths, whom you remember, and Mr. Fazakerley--very clever; and bestof all, Miss Vernon and Miss Fox: she introduced to Fanny and Harriether niece, Miss Fox, very handsome and agreeable--not come out. 

EASTON GREY, _Dec. 26_. 

I intended this frank for my mother, but Mr. Ricardo turned it into Missinstead of Mrs. ; and why I asked for a frank at all I cannot tell, except for the honour and glory of having one from David Ricardo. He hasbeen here one whole day, and is exceedingly agreeable. This house isdelightful, in a beautiful situation, fine trees, fine valleys, and softverdure, even at this season: the library-drawing-room with low sofas, plenty of movable tables, open bookcases, and all that speaks the habitsand affords the means of agreeable occupation. Easton Grey might be ahappy model of what an English country gentleman's house should be; andMrs. Smith's kind, well-bred manners, and Mr. Smith's literary andsensible conversation, make this house one of the most agreeable I eversaw. 

At Bowood there was a happy mixture of sense and nonsense. LordLansdowne was talking to me on the nice little sofa by the fire veryseriously of Windham's life and death, and of a journal which he wroteto cure himself of indecision of character. Enter suddenly, with a greatburst of noise from the breakfast-room, a tribe of gentlemen neighinglike horses. You never saw a man look more surprised than LordLansdowne. 

Re-enter the same performers on all-fours, grunting like pigs. 

Then a company of ladies and gentlemen in dumb-show, doing a countryvisit, ending with asking for a frank, curtseying, bowing, andexit. --"_Neighbour_. "

Then enter all the gentlemen, some with their fingers on their eyes, some delighted with themselves. --"_I_. "

Then re-enter Lord Lansdowne, the two Mr. Smiths, Mr. Hallam, and Mr. Fazakerley, each with little dolls made of their pocket handkerchiefs, nursing and playing with them. --"_Doll_. "

Exit, and re-enter, carrying, and surrounding, and worshipping Mrs. Ordin an arm-chair. --"_Idol_. "

This does not do for sober reading, but it produced much laughter. 

_27th_

We have been at Badminton: magnificent: library delightful. Here, as atTrentham, a gallery opens into the chapel, also the village church, andhere is a great curiosity--Raphael's first chalk sketch of theTransfiguration; that is, of all the figures in the lower part:wonderfully fine, the woman kneeling, and the boy possessed, and the manholding him--admirable. Some fine pictures, too, though not a professedcollection. Saw in the park a fine herd of red deer, the finest, it issaid, in England. How shall I find room to tell you of the Romanpavements and Roman town found near this place, much better worth thanall I have been penning! For nonsense I always have time and space. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 21_. 

The Archbishop of Tuam breakfasted here this morning and sat with Lucyin her room: he said he thought he should be the better all his life forhaving seen such an example of patience and resignation in so young aperson. He says he was amused during the Queen's trial by the sight ofthe processions in honour of Her Majesty: the glass manufacturers withtheir brilliant wares, ladies in landaus with feathers, the mostextraordinary figures; and the Queen complains that her garden has beendestroyed and all her furniture broken by her polite visitors. 

_March 29_. 

_So_ you like to hear of all our little doings, _so_ I will tell youthat, about eight o'clock, Fanny being by that time up and dressed, andat her little table, Harriet comes and reads to me Madame de Sevigné'sletters, of which I never tire; and I almost envy Fanny and Harriet thepleasure of reading them for the first time. After breakfast I take mylittle table into Lucy's room, and write there for an hour; she likes tohave me in her room, though she only hears the scribble, scribble: sheis generally reading at that hour, or doing Margaret's delight--algebra. I am doing the _Sequel to Frank_. Walking, reading, and talking fill therest of the day. I do not read much, it tires my eyes, and I have notyet finished the _Life of Wesley_: I think it a most curious, entertaining, and instructive book. A _Life of Pitt_ by the Bishop ofWinchester is coming out: he wrote to Murray about it, who asked hisfriends, "Who is George Winton, who writes to me about publishing Pitt's_Life_?"

_April 21. _

Enclosed is a letter from our friend the American Jewess, [Footnote:Miss Mordecai of Richmond, on Maria's _Life_ of her father. ] written ina spirit of Christian charity and kindness which it were to be wishedthat all Christians possessed. It has given me exquisite pleasure; andyou know I never feel great pleasure without instantly wishing that youshould share it. Lovell has asked this good Jewess and her _futur_ tocome here, if she should visit Europe. He is at home now, and kind asever to every creature within reach of his benevolence. 

We have been reading Fleury's _Memoirs of Napoleon_. Get it in French:it is very interesting, or we never could have got through it in thewretched translation to which we were doomed. 

Tell Sophy that Peggy Tuite, who turned into Peggy Mulheeran, has had adead child. When my mother said to her brother, "Do not let people crowdin and heat her room, " "Oh, ma'am, sure I am standing at the door sincethree in the morning, sentinel, to keep them out, " the tears droppingfrom his eyes fast on the ground as he spoke. And all the time the old_ould_ mother Tuite (who doats on Mrs. Ruxton-dear) was sitting rockingherself to and fro, and "crying under the big laurel, that Peggy mightnot hear her. "

You may all praise erysipelas as much as you please, but I never desireto see or feel it again. Our boy, Mick Duffy, has been ill with it theseten days. Honora said to his father, Brian, "How can you be so fond ofMichael; now that he lives with us, you hardly ever see him!" "Oh, howcould I but be fond of him, the crater that sends me every guinea hegets!"

_July 8_. 

So Buonaparte is dead! and no change will be made in any country by thedeath of a man who once made such a figure in the world! He whocommanded empires and sovereigns, a prisoner in an obscure island, disputing for a bottle of wine, subject to the petty tyranny of SirHudson Lowe! I regret that England permitted that trampling upon thefallen. What an excellent dialogue of the dead might be written betweenBuonaparte and Themistocles!

Ages ago I sent _Bracebridge Hall_ to Merrion Street for you: have yougot it? Next week another book will be there for you--an American novelMrs. Griffith sent to me, _The Spy_; quite new scenes and characters, humour and pathos, a picture of America in Washington's time; a surgeonworthy of Smollett or Moore, and quite different from any of theirvarious surgeons; and an Irishwoman, Betty Flanagan, incomparable. 

_August 3. _

What do you think is my employment out of doors, and what it has beenthis week past? My garden? no such elegant thing; but making a gutter! asewer and a pathway in the street of Edgeworthstown; and I do declare Iam as much interested about it as I ever was in writing anything in mylife. We have never here yet found it necessary to have recourse topublic contribution for the poor, but it is necessary to give someassistance to the labouring class; and I find that making the saidgutter and pathway will employ twenty men for three weeks. 

Did you ever hear these two excellent _Tory_ lines made by a celebrated_Whig?_

 As bees alighting upon flowerets cease to hum, So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 

_August 8. _

We are all in the joy of Francis' [Footnote: From Charterhouse; eldestson of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth. ] arrival: Pakenham at the tea-tablehas been standing beside him feeding him with red currants well sugared, and between every currant he told us, as well as he could, the historyof his journey. "Talbot, " Lord Talbot's son, who is his schoolfellow atthe Charterhouse, was so kind as to go outside, that Francis might havean inside place at night. He met with so much good-nature from first tolast in his journey, he wonders how people can be so good-natured. 

 * * * * *

Many of Maria Edgeworth's friends in England having invited her to visitthem, she determined to spend the winter there, and set out in Octoberwith her former travelling companions, Fanny and Harriet, the two eldestdaughters of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

KENIOGE, _Oct. 23, 1821_. 

We have had a most delightful day, after sleeping well at Gwindu: wewere in the carriage and off before the clock had finished striking six. In an interval of showers in a bright gleam of sunshine we passed BangorFerry: breakfasted nobly. Mr. Jackson, the old, old man, who some yearsago was all pear-shaped stomach, and stupid, has wonderfully shrunk andrevived, and is walking, alert and civil; and his fishy eyes brightenedwith pleasure on hearing of his friend, Mr. Lovell. Fine old waiter, amatch in age and civility for the master; and a fine old dog, Twig, amatch for both, and as saucy as Foster; for Mrs. Twig would not eattoast, unless buttered, forsooth!

Then on to Mrs. Worthington: excellent, motherly woman, the Mrs. Brinkley of the slate quarries. Her first question about you and Williamwon my heart: she seemed so to have seen into you with that penetrationof the heart, which is full as quick as that of the head, if there beany difference. She furnished us each with a pair of Devonshire clogs, that fitted each as if made for us; and as young Mr. Worthington wasdisappointed by a sore throat of the pleasure of accompanying us, hegave us a note to Mr. Williams at the Quarries; and good, dear Mrs. Williams, in her white gown and worked borders, trampoozed with usthrough the splish splash to all the yards, and with her master of theworks showed us the saw-mills, and the mill for grinding flint, and forthe china works. 

Waiving the description of all this, I will not tell you of the quarriesand the glaciers of slates, because I wish Harriet to write her ownfresh account of her first impressions. I feel that she was even morepleased than I expected; and I rejoice that this first sight, which Ihad promised myself the pleasure of showing her, is secure. 

This day's drive through Wales has been charming: a few showers, butalways at the best time for us. I have at different times of my lifeseen Wales at all seasons of the year, and after all I prefer the autumnview of it. The withering red brown fern is a great addition of beautyon the white and gray rocks, and often so resembles the tint of autumnon beech trees, that you cannot at a distance tell ferns on themountains from young plantations, touched by autumn colour. 

We have just dined at this delightful inn, where you and Fanny slept in1818, kept as I am sure you remember by two sisters with sweet, good-humoured countenances: most active, obliging people. I think themost discontented of travellers--old growling Smollett himself, if hecould come from the grave in a fit of the gout--could not bediscontented at this inn. Fanny, Harriet, and I have just determinedthat, if ever we are reduced to earn our bread, we will keep an inn likethis. 

Lest you should think that all the little sense I had is gone tononsense, I must tell you that, during part of this day, we have beenvery wise. When there came ugly bits of the road, Harriet read outHumboldt's fifth volume; and I was charmed with it, and enjoyed it themore from the reflection that Lucy can share this pleasure with us. Shehas Humboldt, I hope; if not, pray get it for her. The account of thevenomous flies which _mount guard_ at different hours of the day is mostcurious. Humboldt is the Shakespear of travellers; as much superior toother travellers as Shakespear is to other poets. He seems to have atonce a _vue d'oiseau_ of one half of the world, and a perfectrecollection of the other half, so as to bring together from all partsof the earth, and from all times, observations on the largest scale, from which he draws the most ingenious and the most useful conclusions. I will write to Madame Gautier to beg Humboldt to send to me portraitsof the insects which appear on the Orinoco at different hours of the dayand night, by which the natives mark the hours: it will make a finecontrast to the Watch of Flora. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

SMETHWICK GROVE, _Oct. 25, 1821_. 

Here we are, my dear Honora, once more at the dear, hospitableMoilliets'; Emily making tea at the same well-furnished board, with hernear-sighted, beautiful eyes picking her way among the cups. 

We missed, by not arriving last night, a Frenchman who has beenseventeen years learning to play on the flute, and cannot play, and whohas been ten years learning to speak English, and yet told Mrs. Moillietthat he had a letter to Lord Porcelain, to whom his mother is related, meaning the Duke of Portland. He left this, determined to see theresidence of "Lord Malbrouke. " Mrs. Moilliet endeavoured to put himright, and to put the song, "Va-t-en Malbrouke" out of his head; but hequoted it with the authority of an old legend. "Blenheim, " Mr. Moilliettold him, was the name of the Duke of Marlborough's place. "Ah, _oui_, yes; Blenheim, I know that is the inn. " He would have "Malbrouke" as thename of the place. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Oct. 30, 1821_. 

We spent two days instead of one at Smethwick. Nothing could be kinderthan the Moilliets were to us; nevertheless, as dearest friends mustpart, we parted from them, and had a delightful drive to Woodstock. Fanny and Harriet will tell you of Blenheim; they were pleased, and youmay be sure I was happy. At Oxford by twelve: found letter from LordCarrington--most punctual of men--appointing the 29th. But no letterfrom Mr. Russell: sent the porter with note to him: "Mr. Russell gone tosee his brother at the Charter-house. " Porter trudged again with twonotes, one to Tom Beddoes [Footnote: Her nephew]--"not come up thisterm:" another note to Mr. Biddulph--most civil and best of Collegecicerones--arrived almost as soon as the porter returned with his "veryhappy;" and he walked us about to all those halls and gardens which wehad not seen before. Balliol and University gardens beautiful: at CorpusChristi beautiful altar-piece. Rested at Mr. Biddulph's most comfortablerooms at Maudlin: we went to Evening Service in the chapel: going infrom daylight, chapel lighted with many candles: dim light through brownsaints in the windows: chanting good, anthem very fine: two of thefinest voices I ever heard, one of a young boy. Good tea at Tetsworth:amused ourselves next morning reading like ladies, and watching from ourgazabo window the arrival and departure of twelve stage-coaches, any oneof which would have been a study for Wilkie, besides the rubbing down ofa horse with a besom: at first we thought the horse would have beenaffronted--no, quite agreeable. The dried flakes of yellow mud, firstbesomed and then brushed, raised such a dust, that in the dust, man andhorse were lost. 

Arrived here just at dressing-time. Lord Carrington had asked theLushingtons and Dr. Holland--can't come. Count and Countess Ludolfexpected to-morrow: he is ambassador from Sicily. Fanny says you and shemet them at Lady Davy's. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Nov. 2, 1821_. 

It is impossible to be kinder than Lord Carrington is to us: he wrote toinvite everybody that he thought we should like to meet. We have had Mr. Wilberforce for several days, and I cannot tell you how glad I am tohave seen him again, and to have had an opportunity of hearing hisdelightful conversation, and of seeing the extent and variety of hisabilities. He is not at all anxious to show himself off; he converses, he does not merely talk. His thoughts flow in such abundance, and fromso many sources, that they often cross one another; and sometimes areporter would be quite at a loss. As he literally seems to speak allhis thoughts as they occur, he produces what strikes him on both sidesof any question. This often puzzles his hearers, but to me it is a proofof candour and sincerity; and it is both amusing and instructive to seehim thus balancing accounts aloud. He is very lively, and full of oddcontortions: no matter. His indulgent, benevolent temper strikes meparticularly: he makes no pretension to superior sanctity or strictness. He spoke with much respect and tenderness for my feelings, of my father, and of the Life. 

We have had, besides, Mr. Manning and his son, very unaffected andagreeable; and Mr. Abel Smith, a nephew of Lord Carrington's; and Mr. Hales, an old bachelor diplomatist, who told me the name which the Abbéde Pradt gave to Buonaparte--Jupiter-Scapin. Does not this name containa volume?

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Nov. 4, 1821_. 

God bless Mr. King! My dear Lucy, we have the best hopes now that youradmirable patience and fortitude will be rewarded, and soon. Weregretted the three-quarters of an hour Mr. King might have spent withyou which were wasted at the coach office, but these are among the_minnikin_ miseries of human life. You must often wonder how people inhealth, and out of pain, and with the use of their limbs and all theirlocomotive faculties, can complain of anything. But man is a grumblinganimal, not woman. 

We are reading Madame de Staël's _Dix Années d'Exil_ with delight. Though there may be too much egotism, yet it is extremely interesting;and though she repeats too often, and uses too many words, yet there areso many brilliant passages, and things which no one but herself couldhave thought or said, that it will last as long as the memory ofBuonaparte lasts on earth. Pray get it and read it; not the plays orpoetry which make up the last volume--why will _friends_ publish all thetrash they can scrape together of celebrated people?

Mr. Hales, my dry diplomatist, tells me that Madame de Staël, he wasassured by the Swedish minister, provoked Buonaparte, by intriguing toset Bernadotte on the throne of France, and that letters of hers on thissubject were intercepted. You will not care much about this, but you maytell it to some of your visitants, who will be in due time as full ofMadame de Staël's _Dix Années d'Exil_ as I am at this moment. 

Here is an old distich which my dry diplomatist came out with yesterdayat dinner, on the ancestor of Hampden. The remains of the Hampden estateare in this neighbourhood, and as we were speaking of our wish to seethe place in which the patriot lived, Mr. Hales observed that it iscurious how the spirit of dislike to kings had run in the blood of theHampdens some centuries before Charles' time: they lost three manors inthis county, forfeit for a Hampden having struck the Black Prince. 

 Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, Old Hampden did forego, For striking the Black Prince a blow. 

When this is read you will say he deserved to lose three manors forstriking such a Prince. 

Besides two spacious bed-chambers and a dressing-room, munificent LordCarrington would insist upon our having a sitting-room to ourselves, andwe have one that is delightful: windows down to the ground, andprospect--dark woods and river, so pretty that I can scarcely mind whatI am saying to you. 

Yesterday arrived a Mr. Hay, very well informed about mummies and Egypt, talks well, and as if he lived with all the learned and all thefashionable in London: his account of the unrolling of a mummy which helately saw in London was most entertaining. All the folds of thethinnest linen which were unwound were laid more smoothly anddextrously, as the best London surgeons declared, than they can nowapply bandages: they stood in amazement. The skin was quite tough, theflesh perfect: the face quite preserved, except the bridge of the nose, which had fallen in. Count Ludolf, who has been a fine painter in hisday, says he has used mummy pitch, or whatever it is in which mummiesare preserved, as a fine brown paint, like bistre, "only bitter to thetaste when one sucks one's brush. "

Mr. Hay, I find, is private secretary to Lord Melville. It is too muchto have a Mr. _Hales_ and a Mr. _Hay_. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

GATCOMBE PARK, _Nov. 9, 1821_. 

We arrived here on Wednesday evening to tea--beautiful moonlight night. At the gate, the first operation was to lock the wheel, and we wentdown, down a hill not knowing where it would end or when the house wouldappear; that it was a beautiful place was clear even by moonlight. Hallwith lights very cheerful--servants on the steps. Mr. Ricardo very gladto see us. Mrs. Ricardo brilliant eyes and such cordial open-heartedbenevolence of manner, no affectation, no thought about herself. [Footnote: David Ricardo (1772-1823), long M. P. For Portarlington, agreat speaker and writer on Political Economy. He married Catherine, daughter of W. T. St. Quentin of Seampston Hall, York. ] "Mydaughter-in-law, Mrs. Osman Ricardo, " a beautiful tall figure, and fineface, fair, and a profusion of light hair. Mr. Ricardo, jun. , and twoyoung daughters, Mary, about fifteen, handsome, and a child of ten, Bertha, beautiful. 

I was frightened about Fanny, tired and giddy after the journey;however, her first answer in the morning, "much better, " set my heart atease. A very fine day, all cheerful, a delightfully pleasant house, withuphill and downhill wooded views from every window. Rides and drivesproposed. I asked to see a cloth manufactory in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Osman Ricardo offered her horse to Fanny, and Mr. Osman rode with her. Mr. Ricardo drove me in his nice safe and comfortable phaeton; Harrietand Mrs. Osman in the seat behind. The horses pretty and strong, and, moreover, quiet, so that though we drove up and down hills almostperpendicular, and along a sort of _Rodborough Siemplon_, I was not inthe least alarmed. Mr. Ricardo is laughed at, as they tell me, for hisdriving, but I prefer it to more dashing driving. Sidney Smith, who washere lately, said, that "a new surgeon had set up in Minchin Hamptonsince Mr. Ricardo has taken to driving. "

We had delightful conversation, both on deep and shallow subjects. Mr. Ricardo, with a very composed manner, has a continual life of mind, andstarts perpetually new game in conversation. I never argued or discusseda question with any person who argues more fairly or less for victoryand more for truth. He gives full weight to every argument broughtagainst him, and seems not to be on any side of the question for oneinstant longer than the conviction of his mind on that side. It seemsquite indifferent to him whether you find the truth, or whether he findsit, provided it be found. One gets at something by conversing with him;one learns either that one is wrong or that one is right, and theunderstanding is improved without the temper being ever tried in thediscussion; but I must come to an end of this letter. Harriet haswritten to Pakenham an account of the cloth manufactory which Mr. Stephens explained admirably, and we are going out to see Mrs. Ricardo'sschool; she has 130 children there, and takes as much pains as Lovell. 

_Nov. 10_. 

Yesterday evening a Mr. And Miss Strachey dined here: he pleasing, andshe with a nice pretty-shaped small head like Honora's, very agreeablevoice. Mr. And Mrs. Smith of Easton Grey had come, and there was a greatdeal of agreeable conversation. An English bull was mentioned: LordCamden put the following advertisement in the papers:--"Owing to thedistress of the times Lord Camden will not shoot himself or any of histenants before the 4th of October next. "

Much conversation about cases of conscience, whether Scott was right todeny his novels? Then the Effie Deans question, and much aboutsmugglers. Lord Carrington says all ladies are born smugglers. LadyCarrington once staying on the coast of Devonshire wrote to LordCarrington that his butler had got from a wreck a pipe of wine for £36, and that it was in her cellar. "Now, " said Lord Carrington to himself, "here am I in the king's service; can I permit such a thing? No. " Hewrote to the proper excise officers and gave them notice, and by thesame post to Lady Carrington, but he did not know that taking goods froma wreck was a felony. As pale as death the butler came to LadyCarrington. "I must fly for it, my lady, to America. " They were throwninto consternation; at last they staved the wine, so that when theexcise officers came nothing was to be found. Lord Carrington of courselost his £36 and saved his honour. Mr. Ricardo said he might have donebetter by writing to apprise the owners of the vessel that he was readyto pay a fair price for it, and the duties. 

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

GATCOMBE PARK, _Nov. 12_. 

We are perfectly happy here; delightful house and place for walking, riding, driving. Fanny has a horse always at her command. I a phaetonand Mr. Ricardo to converse with. He is altogether one of the mostagreeable persons, as well as the best informed and most clever, that Iever knew. My own pleasure is infinitely increased by seeing that Fannyand Harriet are so much liked and so very happy here. 

In the evenings, in the intervals of good conversation, we have allsorts of merry plays. Why, when and where: our words were--_Jack, Bar, Belle, Caste, Plum_, the best. 

We acted charades last night. _Pillion_ excellent. Maria, Fanny, andHarriet, little dear, pretty Bertha, and Mr. Smith, the best hand andhead at these diversions imaginable. First we entered swallowing pillswith great choking: _pill_. Next on all-fours, roaring _lions_; Fannyand Harriet's roaring devouring lions much clapped. Next Bertha ridingon Mr. Smith's back. _Pillion_. 

_Coxcomb_. --Mr. Smith, Mr. Ricardo, Fanny, Harriet, and Maria _crowing_. Ditto, ditto, _combing_ hair. Mr. Ricardo, solus strutting, a _coxcomb_, very droll. 

_Sinecure_. --Not a good one. 

_Monkey_. --Very good. Mr. Ricardo and Mr. Smith as monks, with colouredsilk handkerchiefs, as cowls, a laughable solemn procession. Re-enterwith _keys_. Mr. Ricardo as _monkey_. 

_Fortune-tellers_. --The best: Fanny as Fortune; unluckily we forgot toblind her, and she had only my leather bag for her purse, butnevertheless, she made a beautiful graceful _Fortune_, and scattered herriches with an air that charmed the world. 2nd scene: Mr. Smith andHarriet _tellers_ of the house--"the ayes have it. " Fanny, Maria, andHarriet, _fortune-tellers_; much approved. 

_Love-sick_. --Bertha, with a bow made by Mr. Smith in an instant, with aswitch and red tape and a long feathered pen. Bertha was properly blindand made an irresistible Cupid; she entered and shot, and all thecompany fell: _Love_. 2nd: Harriet, Mr. Smith, and Maria, all very_sick_. 3rd: Fanny, a _love-sick_ young lady. Maria, her duenna, scolding, and pitying, and nursing her with a smelling bottle. 

_Fire-eater_. --1st: Harriet and I acted alarm of _fire_, and alarmed Mr. Ricardo so well--he was going to call for assistance, 2nd: I was anepicure, and _eating_ always succeeds on the stage. 3rd: Harrietdevoured lighted spills to admiration, and only burnt her lip a little. 

In "conundrum, " Mrs. Osman was a beautiful nun; she is a charmingcreature, most winning countenance and manner, very desirous to improveherself, and with an understanding the extent and excellence of which Idid not at first estimate. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EASTON GREY, _Nov. 22, 1821_. 

Lady Catherine Bisset came with her two little nieces to call upon us, and Fanny won little Lady Mary-Rose's heart, partly by means of someMadeira and Portuguese figures from the chimney-piece, which she rangedon the table for her amusement, and partly by a whiz-gig, which Fannyplays to admiration. 

And what is a whiz-gig? If you do not know, you must wait till I sendyou one. 

Lady Catherine, when no one was seeing or looking, laid her hand on myarm most affectionately, and looking up in my face, said, "Do you know Ihave been half my life trying to be your good French governess. I loveher. "

We went to see her at her cottage, near her brother, Lord Suffolk's, andsaw many curiosities from Ceylon, made entertaining to us by thecomments and anecdotes of Captain Fenwick, who had been years at Ceylon. On our return we stopped to see Malmesbury Abbey--beautifully placed;the height of the arch sublime. 

BOWOOD, _Nov. 26_. 

We were fortunate enough to find Lord and Lady Lansdowne just returnedfrom their tour. They looked at the Pyrenees, but they could not go intoSpain, for the yellow fever rages there. A cordon of troops prevent anytravellers who might be disposed to brave the danger of the fever, andfire if any attempt is made to pass. Lady Lansdowne would quite satisfyyou by her love of the Italian women. Here are Miss Vernon, and MissFox, Lord Holland's sister, and Miss Fox, Lord Holland's daughter, andMr. Ogden, the widower of that beautiful and extraordinary lady whom wemet here three years ago. He has a great deal of cool, grave, gentlemanly humour, and has been amusing us with an account of his visitto Bowles, the poet, yesterday, and his musical sheep-bells and hissusceptibility to criticism and his credulity. He wrote with all thesimplicity of egotism to Murray to desire him, whenever any one who cameinto his shop was seen to look into the review of his controversy withLord Byron on Pope, to pop into his hand his pamphlet by way ofantidote. 

Miss Vernon and Miss Fox are both very agreeable, and Miss Fox, [Footnote: Mary Elizabeth, who married, 1830, the third Lord Lilford. ]the young lady, beautiful, timid, and charming. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

MALL, CLIFTON, _Dec. 3, 1821_. 

Our visit here and its object have been happily accomplished, my dearmother, for my sister and Mr. King seem quite pleased and gratified. Emmeline looks and is in much better health than when I was here before. I must go to breakfast now as the carriage is to be at the door to carryus to see Mr. Miles's pictures. 

CIRENCESTER, _Dec. 5_. 

Our picture day at Leigh Court surpassed our expectations. Poussin'sfamous "Land Storm;" "St. John, " by Domenichino, the most striking, witha divine head of our SAVIOUR, by Leonardo da Vinci, and many others tootantalising to mention. Mr. King, Emmeline, Mr. Elton, and ourselves, filled the coach. Mr. King in high spirits, talked all the way there andback, and was exceedingly entertaining and instructive. He has greatvariety of tastes and acquirements, and we were delighted to hear him. 

There was a large party the last night at Clifton, and I heard one newthing, a great deal to hear at one party. This new thing I shall keepfor Pakenham; I wakened this morning with an intention of getting upremarkably early to write it for him, and I got up thinking myself amiracle of virtue and peep-o'-day woman; but lo! and behold, it was justnine o'clock. Good-bye to Pakenham and the Deadman's head, of which myown was full two seconds before; all that could be done was to scuffleabout the room and rummage the imperials for gowns, frills, shoes, andgloves; all happily found, and on the right owners, and lookingcharmingly, ma'am, by breakfast time. Fanny and Harriet in their lilacand maroon tabinets. I am now writing in a delightful armchair, high-backed antiquity, and modern cushions. Company at dinneryesterday--Lord and Lady Bathurst, Lord Apsley, Mr. William Bathurst, Lady Georgiana, Lady Emily, Lady Georgiana Lennox, Major Colebrook, andMr. Fortescue, whom we met at Paris, very agreeable, "melancholy andgentlemanlike. " The conversation goes on here remarkably well: LadyBathurst is perfectly well-bred and easy; Lord Apsley and Lady Georgianavery agreeable. 

The Duchess of Beaufort's French governess published in 1817 a storycalled _Valoe_, which threw all high-bred London into confusion. Everybody, who is anybody in it, under feigned names, the picture of allthe persons, manners, and character of all the young ladies who aresupposed to file off before the Duke of Devonshire. No wit, buttittle-tattle truths. You can't buy the book if you were to give youreyes for it: all bought up by the Duchess of Beaufort. [Footnote: It waswritten by a governess whom she had dismissed. ] Lord Apsley, who has acopy with all the names in it, lent it to me. Fanny had a pleasant ridethis morning with Lord Bathurst, Mr. Fortescue, Major Colebrook, and Mr. Bathurst, who all returned charmed with her manner of riding, and shewith her ride. Harriet and I had driven out with Lady Bathurst and LadyGeorgiana--a delightful drive through this magnificent park. The meetingof the pine avenues in a star--superb. "Who plants like Bathurst?" etc. We saw Pope's seat, and "Cotswold's wild and Saperton's fair dale"--amost beautiful dale it is. 

News from the best authority; probably it will be in the newspapersbefore you see this: Lord Wellesley is to be lord-lieutenant, and Mr. Goulburn, secretary. 

_To MISS_ HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

WINCHESTER, _Dec. 12, 1821_. 

Lest you should be staying in Dublin, I write this epitome to tell youwhat we have done. We spent two days at Cirencester, very entertaining. Delightful woods. 

Friday to Dr. Fowler's, Salisbury, and stayed till today afterbreakfast; our four days deliciously spent. We have seen SalisburyCathedral, and Wilton, pictures, and statues, and Lady Pembroke and herchildren, worth them all. 

We were at Longford Castle yesterday; the strangest castle in the world. Finest private collection of pictures I have seen, or at least that inwhich there are the fewest indifferent ones. 

We have seen Stonehenge! and spend to-morrow with Mrs. Moutray at Mr. Coxe's, Twyford. 

THE DEEPDENE, _Dec. 19_. 

We arrived here on Saturday. The first day there were Lady Mary Bennet, Miss Burrowes, and Prince Cariati, a banished Neapolitan, in verylong-skirted coat, which he holds up by tucking one hand inside behind;good-humoured, and plays all sorts of _petits jeux_. Mrs. Hope hasrecovered her beauty, and she and Mr. Hope are as kind as ever, andasked affectionately after you, and so did Henry. 

Mrs. Hogan, excellent Mrs. Hogan, has grown much older, but in all otherrespects the same, and next to our own dear Mrs. Billamore the mostactive and attached person in her station I ever saw. But why waste mytime on housekeepers, when I should tell you of Lord Burford and hissisters, Lady Maria and Lady Caroline Beauclerc, who arrived on Monday, and Lady Westmeath and Mr. Smith (_Rejected Addresses_), and Mr. Lock, son of Norbury Park Lock: all _come_ to _go_ to a ball at Dorking, ofwhich Mr. Hope is one of the stewards. 

The Lady Beauclercs are beautiful, in the Vandyke style, and LordBurford very handsome, and so is Mr. Lock, with a curly head. 

Fanny danced a great deal, and Harriet two quadrilles and Sir Roger deCoverley, which ended at six in the morning. We met at this ball Mr. Greenough, and Mr. Angerstein, Sneyd's friend, very agreeable, and Mrs. Hibbert, of the beautiful cottage, and Lady Rothes. Mr. Smithexcessively entertaining; he sings humorous songs of his own compositioninimitably. Alas! he went away yesterday. 

The evening after the ball they played at "the ring, " a ring held on astring in a circle, and the fool in the middle seeks and challenges anysuspected hand. This morning, the moment breakfast was over, they wentinto the _hall of the marble table, _ and there played at _petitspacquets_ (not time to describe), a great deal of running and laughingamong pretty men and pretty maids. 

As I stood at the window with Mr. Hope looking at a ring of companyplaying French blindman's-buff, we agreed we had never seen more beauty, male and female, collected in a circle of fourteen persons. 

Mrs. Hogan has just announced the arrival of "Prince Cimitelli, andanother name, ma'am, which I am ashamed to say I can never _twist out_rightly, is to come here to-day. "

Mr. Smith told Fanny that he had intended to put me into the _RejectedAddresses_, and had written a part in the character of an Irishlabourer, but it was so flat he threw it aside. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

FROGNEL, HAMPSTEAD, _Dec. 29, 1821_. 

We read--I mean we have heard read by Mr. Carr, who reads admirably, half the first volume of the _Pirate_, stopped at the chapter endingwith the description of Norma of the Fitful Head. We were much pleasedand interested, especially with the beautiful description of Mordaunt'seducation and employments: the sea-monsters, etc. , most poetical, inScott's master style: the manner in which, by scarcely perceptibletouches, he wakens the reader's interest for his hero, admirable, unequalled by all but Shakespear. Wonderful genius; who can raise aninterest even on the barren rocks of Zetland. Aladdin could only raisepalaces at will, but the mighty master Scott can transport us to themost remote desert corner of the earth, ay, and keep us there, and makeus wish to stay among beings of his own creation. I send a sketch of theroom, and how we all sat last night as happy as possible listening toMr. Carr reading; show this ground-plan to Honora, who knows the room, and she will _insense_ you. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

FROGNEL, HAMPSTEAD, _Jan. 2, 1822_. 

We have been enjoying in this family every delight which affection andcultivated tastes, and cheerful tempers can bestow. Upon neareracquaintance I find Dr. Lushington worthy of the prize he has obtainedin a wife, [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth's old friend, Miss Sarah Carr. ] andI have heard from friends, who differ from him in political opinions, such honourable testimony to his integrity and strength of mind that myheart is quite at ease about her happiness. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

FROGNEL, _Jan. 3, 1822_. 

I believe I left off where I had mentioned the _Pirate_, which I hopeyou are reading to my aunt. The characters of the two sisters arebeautiful. The idea of Brenda not believing in supernatural agency, andyet being afraid, and Minna not being afraid though she believes inNorma's power, is new and natural and ingenious. This was JoannaBaillie's idea. The picture of the sisters sleeping and the lacing sceneis excellent, and there are not only passages of beautiful picturesquedescription, but many more deep philosophical reflections upon the humanmind, and the causes of human happiness, than in any of his other works. The satire upon agriculturists imported from one country to another, whoset to work to improve the land and the habits of the people withoutbeing acquainted with the circumstances of either, is excellent. I amsure my uncle will like and laugh with Magnus Troil. It is wonderful howgenius can make even barren Zetland fertile in novelty. Both Morton andTom Carr are very amiable and both handsome. Tom dark, like an Italianportrait; Morton fair, with light hair and quick-colouring with everyemotion: a high sense of honour, chivalrous sentiments, and delicacy oftaste. 

New Year's Day was Mr. And Mrs. Carr's wedding day, and it was kept asit always is, with family rejoicings; Dr. Holland, as he has done formany years, and Joanna Baillie and Miss Mulso, an intimate friend, aniece of Mrs. Chapone's, dined here, which, with the whole family andourselves, made a party of twenty. Mr. Carr gave many toasts; some soaffectionate they made the tears roll down the cheeks of his children. In the evening there was a merry dance, in which Joanna and her sisterjoined, and then as agreed upon, at a given signal, we all ran up to ourrooms and dressed in different characters. We did not know what theothers were to be, but Fanny was a nun in a white muslin veil anddrapery over her black gown--dressed in a moment, and I fell to deckingHarriet, a pert travelled young lady just returned from Paris, in theheight of the fashion: feathers of all colours, gold diadem, a profusionof artificial flowers, a nosegay of vast size, rose-coloured gauzedress, darkened eyebrows, and ringlets of dark hair which so completelyaltered her that no creature guessed who she was till Mrs. Carr at lastknew her by her likeness to her mother; she supported her character withgreat spirit. I was an Irish nurse in a red cloak, come all the way fromKillogonsawee, "for my two childer that left me last year for foreignparts. " Little Francis was Triptolemus, in the _Pirate_, an excellentfigure, and Mrs. Carr his sister Baby. Isabella, an old lady in anold-fashioned dress, and Laura as her daughter in a court dress andpowder; Anna, a French troubadour singing beautifully and speakingFrench perfectly; William, the youngest son, a half-pay officer, king ofthe coffee house; Tom, a famous London black beggar, Billy Waters, witha wooden leg; Morton, Meg Merillics; Dr. Lushington, a housemaid; MissMulso, an English ballad singer; Mr. Burrell (I forgot to mention him, an old family friend at dinner) as a Spanish gentleman, Don PedroVelasquez de Tordesillas; very good ruff and feathers, but much wantinga sword when the wooden-legged black trod on his toes. In the scuffle ofdressing, for which only ten minutes were allowed, no sword could befound. From the quickness of preparation, and our all being a familyparty, this little masquerade went off remarkably well, and was verydiverting to the persons concerned. 

I heard yesterday from a friend of Lady Lansdowne's that Miss KittyMalone has had the operation performed upon her eye; saw the ring onAlexander's finger, and exclaimed, "How happy you must be, sir, who cangive sight to the blind!"

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

MISS BAILLIE'S, HAMPSTEAD, _Jan. 12, 1822_. 

I have been four days resolving to get up half an hour earlier that Imight have time to tell you, my dear Lucy, the history of a cat ofJoanna and Agnes Baillie's. 

You may, perhaps, have heard the name of a celebrated Mr. Brodie, whowrote on Poisons, and whose papers on this subject are to be found inthe _Transactions of the Royal Society_, and reviewed in the _EdinburghReview_, in 1811. He brought some of the Woorara poison, with which thenatives poison their arrows and destroy their victims. It was his theorythat this poison destroys by affecting the nervous system only, and thatafter a certain time its effects on the nerves would cease as theeffects of intoxicating liquors cease, and that the patient mightrecover, if the lungs could be kept in play, if respiration were notsuspended during the trance or partial death in which the patient lies. To prove the truth of this by experiment he fell to work upon a cat; hepricked the cat with the point of a lancet dipped in Woorara. It wassome minutes before the animal became convulsed, and then it lay, to allappearance, dead. Mr. Brodie applied a tube to its mouth, and blew airinto it from time to time; after lying some hours apparently lifeless itrecovered, shook itself and went about its own affairs as usual. Thiswas tried several times, much to the satisfaction of the philosophicalspectators, but not quite to the satisfaction of poor puss, who grewvery thin and looked so wretched that Dr. Baillie's son, then a boy, took compassion on this poor subject of experiment, and begged Mr. Brodie would let him carry off the cat. With or without consent, he didcarry her off, and brought her to his aunts, Joanna and Agnes Baillie. Then puss's prosperous days began. Agnes made a soft bed for her in herown room, and by night and day she was the happiest of cats; she wascalled Woorara, which in time shortened into Woory. I wish I could windup Woory's history by assuring you that she was the most attached andgrateful of cats, but truth forbids. A few weeks after her arrival atHampstead she marched off and never was heard of more. It is supposedthat she took to evil courses: tasted the blood and bones of herneighbours' chickens, and fell at last a sacrifice to the vengeance of acook-maid. 

After this cat's departure Agnes took to heart a kitten, who was veryfond of her. This kitten, the first night she slept in her room, onwakening in the morning looked up from the hearth at Agnes, who waslying awake, but with her eyes half-shut, and marked all puss's motions;after looking some instants, puss jumped up on the bed, crept softlyforward and put her paw, with its glove on, upon one of Miss Baillie'seyelids and pushed it gently up; Miss Baillie looked at her fixedly, andpuss, as if satisfied that her eyes were _there_ and safe, went back toher station on the hearth and never troubled herself more about thematter. 

To finish this chapter of cats. I saw yesterday at a lady's house atHampstead, a real Persian cat, brought over by a Navy Captain, herbrother. It has long hair like a dog, and a tail like a terrier's, onlywith longer hair. It is the most gentle, depressed-looking creature Iever saw; it seems to have the _mal du pays_, and moreover, had thecholic the morning I saw it, and Agnes Baillie had a spoonful of castoroil poured out for it, but it ran away. 

Joanna quoted to me the other day an excellent proverb applied tohealth: "Let well alone. " If the Italian valetudinarian had done thishis epitaph would not have arrived at the _sto qui_. 

Captain Beaufort tells me that they have found out that the wool underthe buffalo's long hair is finer than the material of which the Cashmereshawls are made, and they are going to manufacture shawls of buffalo'swool, which are to shame and silence the looms of Cashmere. Would mymother choose to wait for one of these?

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

HAMPSTEAD, _Jan. 14, 1822_. 

We are come to our last morning at this hospitable house. Mostaffectionate hospitality has been shown to us by these two excellentsisters. I part with Agnes and Joanna Baillie, confirmed in my opinionthat the one is the most amiable literary woman I ever beheld, and theother one of the best informed and most useful. I wish you had seenJoanna and Agnes each evening laying Fanny's feet up on the sofa, spreading their bright _Stuart_ plaid over her, and a silk handkerchiefhooded over her head so comfortable and so pretty, as Joanna said, shelooked like one of Guido's pictures. 

An hour after I had read your letter, arrived the gentleman who franksthis letter, [Footnote: Mr. Abercromby--Lord Dunfermline. ] one of themost sensible, well-bred conversers I ever heard. He began by giving usan account of all Lord Wellesley has been doing in Ireland, andentertained us for three hours with anecdotes of Fox and Mrs. Fox, andLord Grenville, with whom he has been staying at Dropmore. He said thatwhen he first went there and heard there was no company in the house, hewas frightened out of his wits at the idea of a _tête-à-tête_ withsilent Lord Grenville; but to his astonishment, he found him_tête-à-tête_ the most communicative and talkative of men; he had onlyto ask him what he pleased to set him off delightfully, like thePrimate; those who can venture to talk to him freely, please him, andconquer his constitutional bashfulness. At breakfast he has three orfour spaniels jumping upon him, he feeding, and protecting from them thenewspaper, which he is reading all the time. He is remarkably fond ofchildren. Mr. Abercromby saw him with two little boys, sons of a friend, and all the morning he was diverting them in the library, hunting forentertaining books and pictures for them. Such a new idea of LordGrenville!

SIR JOHN SEBRIGHT'S, BEECHWOOD PARK, _Jan. 16_. 

A very fine park it is, with magnificently large beech trees, which welldeserve to give their name to the place. The house, a fine-lookinghouse, was a convent in the days of Edward VI. Library forty feet long;books in open shelves, handsome and comfortable. Dr. Wollaston kindlyrecognised Fanny. Mrs. Marcet--we were glad to secure her. Mrs. Somerville--little, slightly made; fair hair, pink colour; small gray, round, intelligent, smiling eyes; very pleasing countenance; remarkablysoft voice, strong, but well-bred Scotch accent; timid, notdisqualifying timid, but naturally modest, yet with a degree ofself-possession through it, which prevents her being in the leastawkward, and gives her all the advantage of her understanding; at thesame time, that it adds a prepossessing charm to her manner, and takesoff all dread of her superior scientific learning. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

BEECHWOOD PARK, _Jan. 17, 1822_. 

I have this moment heard an anecdote, which proves beyond a doubt--ifany doubt remained--that Walter Scott is the author of the novels. Heedited _The Memorie of the Somervilles_, and in the MS. Copy are hismarks of what was to be omitted; and among these what suggested to himthe idea of Lady Margaret and the famous _dis_ jeune which His Majestydid her the honour to take with her--continually referred to by anancestor of Lord Somerville's. 

We have spent two days pleasantly here with Dr. Wollaston, Dr. And Mrs. Somerville, Mr. Giles, and Mr. Franks, besides our own dear friend, Mrs. Marcet. Mrs. Somerville is the lady whom La Place mentions as the onlywoman in England who understands his works. She draws beautifully; andwhile her head is among the stars, her feet are firm upon the earth. SirJohn Sebright himself is very entertaining--quite a new character: heamused me incessantly: strong head, and warm heart, and oddity enoughfor ten. He showed us his pigeons, one which he said he would not partwith for a hundred guineas; he took it up in his hands to show me itspretty white head, but I could not see the difference between it and onenot worth ten shillings. The pouting pigeons, who have _goîtres_, asMrs. Marcet said, are frightful; they put in their heads behind thesebags of wind, and strut about as if proud of deformity. We saw fourAntwerp pigeons, one of which went, Sir John told us, from Tower Hill toAntwerp in six hours. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

MARDOAKS, _Jan. 19, 1822. _

We called at Hatfield on our way here: a fine pile of old house withmany pictures--Burleigh, Cecil, Leicester, and Elizabeth. Do youremember meeting Lady Salisbury [Footnote 1: Amelia, daughter of thefirst Marquis of Downshire, and wife of the first Marquis of Salisbury. She was burnt to death in Hatfield House, 27th November 1835. ] at LadyDarnley's? little, lively, good-humoured, very alert and active. What doyou think of her fox-hunting, though past seventy? Mr. Franks and Mr. Giles, whom we met at Beechwood, and all the young men, declare that sheis more lively and good-humoured out hunting than any of them. An oldgroom goes out with her on a hunter a little better than her own, alwaysa little before her, to show her where she may go, and turns to herevery now and then, "Come on! why the d---l don't you leap?" or "Youmust not go there! why the d---l do you go there?"

We arrived here in our usual happy time--firelight, an hour beforedinner: most cordially received both by Sir James and Lady Macintosh:house pretty, library comfortable, hall and staircase beautiful: housefilled with books. 

I must tell you an anecdote of Wilberforce and a dream of Dr. Wollaston's. Mr. Wilberforce, you know, sold his house at KensingtonGore: the purchaser was a Chinaman, or, I should say, the keeper of achina-shop in Oxford Street--Mr. Mortlock. When the purchase-money waspaid, £10, 000, and the deeds executed, Mr. Mortlock waited upon Mr. Wilberforce, and said, "This house suits you, Mr. Wilberforce, so wellin every respect, that I am sure your only motive in parting with it isto raise the money: therefore permit me to return these title-deeds. Accept this testimony of esteem, due to your public character andtalents. "

Wilberforce did not accept this handsome offer. 

Dr. Wollaston told us that he was much pleased with his own ingenuity ina dream. He wished to weigh himself, but suddenly fell, and was hurriedforward on the ground till he came to a spot where the power of gravityceased to act. He bethought himself of a spring steelyard, and with thejoy of successful invention, wakened. Sir John Sebright, however, wouldnot allow Wollaston to be proud of this, as it would have occurred tohim, or any one acquainted with the principle of a steelyard. We arguedthis point for a quarter of an hour, and each went away, as usual, ofhis or her original opinion. 

HERTFORD COLLEGE, _Jan. 23_. 

Do you recollect a Cornish friend of Davy's who supped with him thenight when Lady Darnley and the Russian Prince and the Sneyds werethere? and Davy saying that this Cornish friend was a very clever man, and that he was anxious to do him honour, and be kind? This Cornishfriend was Mr. , now Dr. Batten, at the head of Hertford College. He hadwith him a rosy-cheeked, happy-looking, open-faced son, of nine yearsold, whom we liked much, and whose countenance and manner gave the bestevidence possible in favour of father and mother. 

Le Bas is as deaf as a post; but that is no matter, as he is professorof mathematics, and deals only in demonstration. He has a verygood-natured, intelligent countenance. He laughed heartily at somenonsense of mine which caught his ear, and that broke the mournfulgravity of his countenance. 

Fanny had some rides with little Macintosh while at Mardoaks--Robert, avery intelligent boy of fifteen, little for his age; like his father, but handsomer, and he listens to his conversation with a delight whichproves him worthy to be the son of such a father, and promises futureexcellence better than anything he could say at his age. Sir James isimproved in the art of conversation since we knew him; being engaged ingreat affairs with great men and great women has perfected him in theuse and management of his wonderful natural powers and vast accumulatedtreasures of knowledge. His memory now appears to work less; hiseloquence is more easy, his wit more brilliant, his anecdotes morehappily introduced. Altogether his conversation is even more delightfulthan formerly; superior to Dumont's in imagination, and almost equal inwit. In Dumont's mind and conversation, wit and reason are keptseparate; but in Macintosh they are mixed, and he uses both in argument, knowing the full value and force of each: never attempting to pass witfor logic, he forges each link of the chain of demonstration, and thensends the electric spark of wit through it. The French may well exclaim, in speaking of him, "Quelle abondance!"

He told us that, at Berlin, just before a dinner at which were all theprincipal ambassadors of Europe, Madame de Staël, who had been invitedto meet them, turned to a picture of Buonaparte, then at the height ofhis power, and addressed it with Voltaire's lines to Cupid:

 Qui que ce soit, voici ton maître, Il est, le fut, ou le doit être. 

Fanny and Harriet say that Macintosh has far surpassed theirexpectations. The two new persons Fanny wished most to see in Englandwere Ricardo and Macintosh: she has seen them in the best possiblemanner, in their own families, at leisure not only to be wise and good, but agreeable. Harriet and she have heard more of their conversationthan they could in a whole season in London. Think how happy I must feelin seeing them quite satisfied. Sir James and Lady Macintosh seem tolike them, and I and they delight in Miss Macintosh: she is one of thebest-informed and most unaffected girls I ever knew, with a sweet voiceand agreeable conversation. 

GROVE HOUSE, KENSINGTON, _Jan. 27, 1822_. 

As if wakening from a long dream, I find myself sitting in exactly thesame comer, on the same chair, in the same room where Fanny, and Honora, and I were three years ago! Lady Elizabeth Whitbread [Footnote: Eldestdaughter of the first Earl Grey. ] looks better than she did when we lefther, though much thinner: her kindness and the winning dignity of hermanners the same as ever. She was at breakfast with us at half-past ninethis morning, when she went to her church and we to Kensington--Mrs. Batty's pew--Harriet and I. Fanny stayed at home for the good of herbody, and Lady Elizabeth left with her, for the good of her soul, thatwicked _Cain_. [Footnote: Lord Byron's _Cain_, which was preachedagainst in Kensington Church by Mr. Rennel. ]

Miss Grant will be here on Monday, absent a fortnight nursing Mrs. Nesbitt. A new dog, Jubal: Lady Elizabeth heard one of the little Battyssay, "Lion has _hatched_ a new dog, " and the sister correcting her, "Oh, my dear! _hatched!_ you mean _laid!_" Jubal is very like Lion, onlyyounger and handsomer: milk-white, and shorn poodle fashion. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

GROVE HOUSE, _Feb. 1822_. 

I am glad you like the preface to _Frank_: the engineer and thescientific part will tire you--skip and go on to the third volume. Delightful breakfast to-day at Mr. Ricardo's. We have this last weekseen all Calcott's principal pictures, and those by Mulready, an Irishartist: one of a messenger playing truant; the enraged mistress, and thefaces of the boys he is playing with, and the little child he had thecare of asleep, all tell their story well; but none of these come nearthe exquisite humour and ingenuity of Hogarth. I have the face of thatimbecile, round-eyed, half-drunk friend of ours in the corner of the"Election Dinner" now before me, and I can never think of it withoutlaughing. 

We have seen Sir Thomas Lawrence's magnificent picture of the King inhis coronation robes, which is to be sent to the Pope. [Footnote: Now inthe Lateran Palace. ] He flatters with great skill, choosing everycreature's best. An admirable picture of Walter Scott; ditto ditto ofLady Jersey and Lady Conyngham. Lord Anglesea came in while we were withSir Thomas: he is no longer handsome, but a model for the "nice conduct"of a wooden leg. It was within an inch of running through Walter Scott'spicture, which was on the floor leaning on the wall; but, by a skilfulsidelong manoeuvre, he bowed out of its way. His gray hair looks muchbetter than His Majesty's flaxen wig--bad taste. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

KENSINGTON GORE, _Feb. 6, 1822_. 

A dreadful storm two nights ago, which blew down two fine old trees inthe park, and a miserable wet day, in which we made our way to thedentist's. 

Colonel Talbot dined here--cast in the same mould as all the otherTalbots I have ever seen: his face has been bronzed by hardships, and_scorched_ by the reflection from American _snows_: his manner ofspeaking slow--not too slow, only slow enough to be calmly distinct; andwhen relating wonders and dangers, gives you at once the certainty oftruth, and the belief in his fortitude and intrepid presence of mind. Herelated the visit from his European friend, when he had built his loghouse, and was his own servant-of-all-work; and gave us an account of anattack of the Indians upon Fort Talbot. He gives me the idea of the mostcool courage imaginable. I could not help looking at him, as if he wereRobinson Crusoe come to life again, and continuing stories from his ownbook. He has now a very good house, or palace I should say; for he isnot only lord of all he surveys, but actually king. 

Do you recollect American Mrs. Griffith writing to tell me that Mr. Ralston would come to see us, and my extreme disappointment at hisfinding in Dublin that Miss Edgeworth was not at home, and so not goingdown to Edgeworthstown, and not seeing Lovell's school? He has found usout now, and Lady Elizabeth invited him here. He has travelled over halfEurope and is going to Spain; but upon my giving him a note toMacintosh, with a draft upon him for five minutes' conversation, andnotes to some other celebrated people, he, like a sensible man, determined to delay his journey on purpose to see them. Lady Elizabethhas been so kind to ask him to dine here to-day, and commissioned me toinvite whoever I pleased to meet him. First we wrote to your brother, but be could not come; and then to Dr. Holland, but he was engaged toHolland House. In his note to me he says, "I have seen Mr. Ralstonseveral times, and have been greatly pleased with his ingenuousness, acquirements, and agreeable manners. " His father and mother aregrand--and what is rather better, most benevolent--people inPhiladelphia. Meantime I must go and write a letter of introduction forhim to Count Edouard de la Grange, who is just returned from Spain toParis, and may serve him. But I forgot to finish my sentence about theinvitations to dinner. My third invitation was to Mr. Calcott, thepainter, with whom we made acquaintance a few days ago. He has been morecivil than I can tell you, promising us his ticket for the Exhibition, and preparing the way for our seeing pictures at Lord Liverpool's, SirJohn Swinburne's, etc. ; so I was glad to have this opportunity of askinghim, and he breaks an engagement to the Academy to accept of LadyElizabeth's invitation. 

Now I must "put on bonnet" to go to Lady Grey's. She is the mosttouching sight! and Lady Elizabeth's affection and respect for her! Shehas desired to see Fanny and Harriet to-day. 

_Feb. 9_. 

Like a child who keeps the plums of his pudding for the last, but who isso tedious in getting through the beginning, that his plate is takenaway before he gets to his plums, _so_ I often put off what I think theplums of my letters till "the post, ma'am, " hurries it off without thebest part. 

In my hurried conclusion I forgot to tell you that Mr. Ralston haslately become acquainted with Mr. Perkins, the American, who has triedexperiments on the compressibility of water, the results of which haveastonished all the scientific world. 

Wollaston, as Mr. Ralston affirms, has verified and warrants the truthof these experiments, which have not yet been published. The mostwonderful part appeared to me incredible: under a great degree ofcompression the water, Mr. Ralston said, _turned to gas_!

_Feb. 20_. 

Lady Lansdowne was here yesterday while I was in town; she heard thatFanny and Harriet were at home: got out and sat with them: veryagreeable. Lady Bathurst has been here, and Lady Georgiana: asked us toa select party--Princess Lieven, etc. , --but we declined: could not leaveLady Elizabeth. I do not know that there is any truth in the report thatLady Georgiana is to marry Lord Liverpool: I should think not; for whenwe were at Cirencester, Lady Bathurst read out of a letter, "So I hearLady Georgiana is to be our Prime Minister, " which she would not havedone if the thing were really going on; and when I went to LordLiverpool's a few days ago, he was in deep mourning, the hatchment stillup on his house, his note-paper half an inch black border. If he were_courting_, surely the black border would diminish, and the hatchmentwould be taken down. I wish it were true, for I like both parties, andthink it would be remarkably well suited. 

_Feb. 24_. 

Yesterday Captain Beaufort walked here to see us, and then walked withHarriet and me to Lady Listowel's, _ci-devant_ Lady Ennismore, lookingjust the same as when we saw her at Kilkenny: excessively civil to us. Two curious pictures there done by an Irish boy, or man, of the name ofGrogan, of Cork: one of these is an Irish wake; there is a great deal oforiginal humour and invention in it, of the Wilkie, or, better still, ofthe Hogarth style. 

But all this time you would be glad to know whether I am likely to havea house over my head or not? it cannot be decided till Tuesday--8, or12, Holles Street. 

Yesterday we went to see Mrs. Moutray at Mr. Sumner's most comfortableand superb house. She had been to see the poor Queen's pictures andgoods, which are now for sale: a melancholy sight; all her dress, evenher stays, laid out, and tarnished finery, to be purchased by the lowestof the low. There was a full-length picture of her when she was youngand happy; another, beautiful, by Opie or Lawrence, standing screwing upa harp with one hand, and playing with her little daughter with theother. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

8 HOLLES STREET, _March 9_. 

We are comfortably settled in this good central situation. We were lastMonday at a select early party at Mrs. Hope's. The new gallery ofFlemish pictures given to Mr. Hope by his brother is beautifullyarranged. 

I have had the greatest pleasure in Francis Beaufort [Footnote: Brotherof the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth. ] going with us to our delightfulbreakfasts at Mr. Ricardo's--they enjoy each other's conversation somuch. It has now become high fashion with blue ladies to talk PoliticalEconomy, and make a great jabbering on the subject, while others whohave more sense, like Mrs. Marcet, hold their tongues and listen. Agentleman answered very well the other day when asked if he would be ofthe famous Political Economy Club, that he would, whenever he could findtwo members of it that agree in any one point. Meantime, fine ladiesrequire that their daughters' governesses should teach PoliticalEconomy. "Do you teach Political Economy?" "No, but I can learn it. " "Odear, no; if you don't teach it, you won't do for me. "

Another style of governess is now the fashion, --the _ultra-French_: alady-governess of this party and one of the Orleans' or _liberaux_ metand came to high words, till all was calmed by the timely display of aball-dress, trimmed with roses alternately red and white, --"Garnitureaux préjugés vaincus. " This should have been worn by those who formerlyinvented in the Revolution "Bals aux victimes. "

Yesterday we breakfasted at Mrs. Somerville's, and sat in herpainting-room. Left her at one o'clock, and went by appointment toLansdowne House. Lady Lansdowne quite affectionate to Fanny and Harriet;had fire and warm air in the superb new statue saloon on purpose forthem. Mrs. Kennedy, --Sir Samuel Romilly's daughter, --came in, invited tomeet us, very pleasing manners. Mrs. Nicholls, --Lady Lansdowne'sniece, --"I like that you should know all I love. "

Then we went with Captain and Mrs. Beaufort to Belzoni's tomb, --themodel first, and then the tomb as large as life, painted in its propercolours, --a very striking spectacle, but I need not describe it; thebook represents it perfectly. 

Next door to the tomb are the Laplanders, the man about my size, atwork, intently, but stupidly, on making a wooden spoon. The wife wasmore intelligent: a child of five years, very quiet gray eyes. In themiddle of the apartment is a pen full of reindeer, --very gentle andravenously eager for moss, of which there was a great basket. This moss, which they love as well as their own, has been found in great quantitieson Bagshot Heath. 

We went one night to the House of Commons: Mr. Whitbread took us there. A garret the whole size of the room--the former chapel--now the House ofCommons; below, _kitcats_ of Gothic chapel windows stopped up appear oneach side above the floor: above, roof-beams. One lantern with onefarthing candle, in a tin candlestick, all the light. In the middle ofthe garret is what seemed like a sentry-box of deal boards and oldchairs placed round it: on these we got and stood and peeped over thetop of the boards. Saw the large chandelier with lights blazing, immediately below: a grating of iron across veiled the light so that wecould look down and beyond it: we saw half the table with the mace lyingon it and papers, and by peeping hard two figures of clerks at thefurther end, but no eye could see the Speaker or his chair, --only hisfeet; his voice and terrible "ORDER" was soon heard. We could see partof the Treasury Bench and the Opposition in their places, --the tops oftheir heads, profiles, and gestures perfectly. There was not anyinteresting debate, --the Knightsbridge affair and the Salt Tax, --but itwas entertaining to us because we were curious to see and hear theprincipal speakers on each side. We heard Lord Londonderry, Mr. Peel, and Mr. Vansittart; and on the other side, Denman, Brougham, andBennett, and several hesitating country gentlemen, who seemed to bespeaking to please their constituents only. Sir John Sebright was asmuch at ease as in his own drawing-room at Beechwood: Mr. Brougham wethought the best speaker we heard, Mr. Peel next; Mr. Vansittart thebest language, and most correct English, though there was little in whathe said. The Speaker, we were told, had made this observation on Mr. Vansittart, that he never makes a mistake in grammar. Lord Londonderrymakes the most extraordinary blunders and _mal-à-propos_. Mr. Denmanspeaks well. The whole, the speaking and the interest of the scenesurpassed our expectations, and we felt proud to mark the vastdifference between the English House of Commons and the French Chambredes Députés. _Nevertheless_, there are disturbances in Suffolk, and LordLondonderry had to get up from dinner to order troops to be sent there. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

8 HOLLES STREET, _March, 1822_. 

Your brother Francis is kind to us beyond description, and lets us takehim where we will; he dined with us at Mrs. Weddell's, --this dear oldlady copied last year in her seventy-second year a beautiful crayonpicture of Lady Dundas, --and here we met Lady Louisa Stuart, Mr. Stanleyof Alderley, and many others. 

Yesterday we went the moment we had swallowed our breakfast, --N. B. Superfine green tea given to us by Mrs. Taddy, --by appointment toNewgate. The private door opened at sight of our tickets, and the greatdoors and the little doors, and the thick doors, and doors of all sorts, were unbolted and unlocked, and on we went through dreary but cleanpassages, till we came to a room where rows of empty benches fronted us. A table on which lay a large Bible. Several ladies and gentlemen enteredand took their seats on benches at either side of the table, in silence. 

Enter Mrs. Fry in a drab-coloured silk cloak, and plain borderlessQuaker cap; a most benevolent countenance, --Guido-Madonna face, --calm, benign. "I must make an inquiry, --Is Maria Edgeworth here? and where?" Iwent forward; she bade us come and sit beside her. Her first smile asshe looked upon me I can never forget. 

The prisoners came in, and in an orderly manner ranged themselves on thebenches. All quite clean, faces, hair, caps, and hands. On a very lowbench in front, little children were seated and were _settled_ by theirmothers. Almost all these women, about thirty, were under sentence oftransportation, some few only were for imprisonment. One who did notappear was under sentence of death, --frequently women when sentenced todeath become ill, and unable to attend Mrs. Fry; the others comeregularly and voluntarily. 

She opened the Bible, and read in the most sweetly solemn, sedate voiceI ever heard, slowly and distinctly, without anything in the manner thatcould distract attention from the matter. Sometimes she paused toexplain, which she did with great judgment, addressing the convicts, "_we_ have felt; _we_ are convinced. " They were very attentive, unaffectedly interested I thought in all she said, and touched by hermanner. There was nothing put on in their countenances, not anyappearance of hypocrisy. I studied their countenances carefully, but Icould not see any which, without knowing to whom they belonged, I shouldhave decided was bad; yet Mrs. Fry assured me that all those women hadbeen of the worst sort. She confirmed what we have read and heard, thatit was by their love of their children that she first obtained influenceover these abandoned women. When she first took notice of one or two oftheir fine children, the mothers said that if she could but save theirchildren from the misery they had gone through in vice, they would doanything she bid them. And when they saw the change made in theirchildren by her schooling, they begged to attend themselves. I could nothave conceived that the love of their children could have remained sostrong in hearts in which every other feeling of virtue had so long beendead. The Vicar of Wakefield's sermon in prison is, it seems, founded ona deep and true knowledge of human nature, --"the spark of good is oftensmothered, never wholly extinguished. "

Mrs. Fry often says an extempore prayer; but this day she was quitesilent while she covered her face with her hands for some minutes: thewomen were perfectly silent with their eyes fixed upon her, and when shesaid, "you may go, " they went away _slowly_. The children sat quitestill the whole time, --when one _leaned_, the mother behind set herupright. 

Mrs. Fry told us that the dividing the women into classes has been ofthe greatest advantage, and putting them under the care of monitors. There is some little pecuniary advantage attached to the office ofmonitor which makes them emulous to obtain it. 

We went through the female wards with Mrs. Fry, and saw the women atvarious works, --knitting, rug-making, etc. They have done a great dealof needlework very neatly, and some very ingenious. When I expressed myfoolish wonder at this to Mrs. Fry's sister, she replied, "We have todo, recollect, ma'am, not with fools, but with rogues. "

There is only one being among all those upon whom she has tried to makesalutary impression, on whom she could make none, --an old Jewess. She isso depraved, and so odiously dirty that she cannot be purified, body ormind; wash her and put clean clothes on, she tears and dirties them, andswarms with vermin again in twenty-four hours. I saw her in the kitchenwhere they were served with broth: a horrible spectacle, which hauntedme the whole day and night afterwards. One eye had been put out andclosed up, and the other glared with malignant passion. I asked her ifshe was not happier since Mrs. Fry had come to Newgate. She made nodirect reply, but said, "It is hard to be happy in a jail; if you tastedthat _broth_ you'd find it is nothing but dishwater. " I did taste it, and found it was very good. 

Far from being disappointed with the sight of what Mrs. Fry haseffected, I was delighted. We emerged again from the thick, dark, silentwalls of Newgate to the bustling city, and thence to the elegant part ofthe town; and before we had time to arrange our ideas, and while themild Quaker face and voice, and wonderful resolution and successfulexertions of this admirable woman were fresh in our minds, morningvisitors flowed in, and common life again went on. 

Three or four of these visitors were very agreeable, Sir Humphry Davy, Major Colebrook, Lord Radstock, and Mrs. Scott, --Mrs. Scott ofDanesfield, whom and which we saw when at Lord Carrington's. TheBellman. 

_April 3_. 

Fanny and Harriet have been with me at that grand exclusive paradise offashion, Almack's. Observe that the present Duchess of Rutland who hadbeen a few months away from town, and had offended the Lady Patronessesby not visiting them, could not at her utmost need get a ticket from anyone of them, and was kept out to her amazing mortification. This maygive you some idea of the importance attached to admission to Almack's. Kind Mrs. Hope got tickets for us from Lady Gwydyr and Lady Cowper; thePatronesses can only give tickets to those whom they _personally know_;on that plea they avoided the Duchess of Rutland's application, she hadnot visited them, --"they really did not know her Grace;" and Lady Cowperswallowed a camel for me, because she did not really know me; I had mether, but had never been introduced to her till I saw her at Almack's. Fanny and Harriet were beautifully dressed: their heads by LadyLansdowne's hairdresser, Trichot: Mrs. Hope lent Harriet a wreath of herown French roses. Fanny was said by many to be, if not the prettiest, the most elegant looking young woman in the room, and certainly"elegance, birth, and fortune were there assembled, " as the newspaperswould truly say. 

Towards the close of the evening Captain Waldegrave came to me with Mr. Bootle Wilbraham, who has been alternately Wilbraham Bootle and BootleWilbraham, till nobody knows how to call him: no matter for me, he cameto say he was at our service and our most devoted humble servant to showus the Millbank Penitentiary whenever we pleased. He is a grand man, andpresently returned with a grander, --the Marquis of Londonderry, who byhis own account had been dying some time with impatience to beintroduced to us; talked much of _Castle Rackrent_, etc. , and ofIreland. Of course I thought his manner and voice very agreeable. He ismuch fatter and much less solemn than when I saw him in the Irish Houseof Commons. He introduced us to jolly fat Lady Londonderry, who wasvastly gracious, and invited us to one of the four grand parties whichshe gives every season: _and_ it surprised me very much to perceive therapidity with which a minister's having talked to a person spreadthrough the room. Everybody I met afterwards that night and the next day_observed_ to me that they had seen Lord Londonderry talking to me for agreat while!

We had a crowded party at Lady Londonderry's, but they had no elbows. 

_April 4_. 

I recollect that I left off yesterday in the midst of a well-bred crowdat Lady Londonderry's, --her Marchioness-ship standing at herdrawing-room door all in scarlet for three hours, receiving the worldwith smiles; and how it happened that her fat legs did not sink underher I cannot tell. The chief, I may say the only satisfaction we had atLady Londonderry's, while we won our way from room to room, nodding toheads, or touching hands, as we passed, --besides the prodigioussatisfaction of feeling ourselves at such a height of fashion, etc. --wasin meeting Mr. Bankes, and Lady Charlotte, and Mr. Lemon behind the doorof one of the rooms, and proceeding in the tide along with them into aninner sanctuary, in which we had cool air and a sight of the greatSèvres china vase, which was presented by the King of France to LordLondonderry at the signing of the peace. Much agreeable conversationfrom this travelled Mr. Bankes. We heard from Lady Charlotte that herentertaining sister, Lady Harriet Frampton, had just arrived, and when Iexpressed our wish to become acquainted with her, Mr. Bankes exclaimed, "She is so eager to know you that she would willingly have come to youin worsted stockings, just as she alighted from her travelling carriage, with sandwiches in one pocket and letters and gloves stuffing out theother. "

Enter Mr. And Mrs. Hope. Mr. Hope, characteristically curious in vases, turned me round to a famous malachite vase which was given by theEmperor of Russia to Lord Londonderry--square, upon a pedestal high asmy little table; and another, a present of I forget who. So, you see, hehas a congress of vases, _en desire-t-il mieux_?

Many, many dinners and evening parties have rolled over one another, andare swept out of my memory by the tide of the last fortnight: one atLady Lansdowne's, and one at Mrs. Hope's, and I will go on to one atMiss White's. Mr. Henry Fox, Lord Holland's son, is lame. I sat betweenhim and young Mr. Ord, Fanny between Mr. Milman (the Martyr of Antioch)and Sir Humphry Davy (the Martyr of Matrimony), Harriet between Dr. Holland and young Ord: Mr. Moore (Canterbury) and old-ish Ord completedthis select dinner. In the evening the principal personages were LordJames Stuart and Mrs. Siddons: she was exceedingly entertaining, toldanecdotes, repeated some passages from _Jane Shore_ beautifully, andinvited us to a private evening party at her house. 

We have become very intimate with Wollaston and Kater, Mr. Warburton, and Dr. And Mrs. Somerville: they and Dr. And Mrs. Marcet form the mostagreeable as well as scientific society in London. We have been toGreenwich Observatory. You remember Mr. And Mrs. Pond? I liked him forthe candour and modesty with which he spoke of the parallax disputebetween him and Dr. Brinkley, of whom he and all the scientific worldhere speak with the highest reverence. 

We went yesterday with Lord Radstock to the Millbank Penitentiary, whereby appointment we were met by Mr. Wilbraham Bootle. We had the pleasureof taking with us Alicia and Captain Beaufort. Solitary confinement forthe worst offences: solitary confinement in _darkness_ at first. Thereare many young offenders; the governors say they are horrid plagues, forthey are not allowed to flog them, and they are little influenced bydarkness and solitary confinement: oldish men much afraid of it. Thedisease most common in this prison is scrofula; and it is a curious factthat those who work with their arms at the mills are free from it, thosewho work with their feet at the tread-mills are subject to it. 

Adieu. I must here break off, as Mrs. Primate Stuart has come in, andleft me no time for more. The Primate has recovered, and has set outthis day with his son for Winchester, to see some haunts of his youth, takes a trip to Bath, and returns in a few days, when I hope we shallsee him. 

_April 6_. 

I left off in the Millbank Penitentiary, but what more I was going tosay I cannot recollect; so, my dear mother, you must go without thatwisdom. All that I know now is that I saw a woman who is under sentenceof death for having poisoned her sister. She appeared to me to beinsane; but it is said that it is a frequent attempt of the prisoners tosham madness, in order to get to Bedlam, from which they can get outwhen _cured_. One woman deceived all the medical people, clergyman, jailer, and turnkeys, was removed to Bedlam as incurably mad, and fromBedlam made her escape. I saw a girl of about eighteen, who had beeneducated at Miss Hesketh's school, and had been put to service in afriend's family. She was in love with a footman who was turned away: theold housekeeper refused the girl permission to go out the night this manwas turned away: the girl went straight to a drawer in the housekeeper'sroom, where she had seen a letter with money in it, took it, and put acoal into the drawer, to set the house on fire! For this she wascommitted, tried, convicted, and would have been hanged, but for SirThomas Hesketh's intercession: he had her sent to the Penitentiary forten years. Would you not think that virtue and feeling were extinct inthis girl? No: the task-mistress took us into the cell, where she wasworking in company with two other women; she has earned by her constantgood conduct the privilege of working in company. One of the MissWilbrahams, when all the other visitors except myself had left the cell, turned back and said, "I think I saw you once when I was with MissHesketh at her school. " The girl blushed, her face gave way, and sheburst into an agony of tears, without being able to answer one word. 

Yesterday we breakfasted at Mrs. Somerville's, and I put on for her ablue crape turban, to show her how Fanny's was put on, with which shehad fallen in love. We dined at Mrs. Hughan's, [Footnote: Jean, daughterof Robert Milligan, Esq. , of Cotswold, Gloucestershire. ] niece to JoannaBaillie: select party for Sir William Pepys, who is eighty-two, a mostagreeable, lively old gentleman, who tells delightful anecdotes of Mrs. Montague, Sir Joshua, Burke, and Dr. Johnson. Mrs. Montague oncewhispered to Sir William, on seeing a very awkward man coming into theroom, "There is a man who would give one of his hands to know what to dowith the other. " Excellent house of Mrs. Hughan's, full of flowers andluxuries. In the evening many people; the Baillies, and a Miss Jardine, granddaughter of Bruce, the traveller. We carried Sir William off withus at half-past nine to Mrs. Somerville's, and after we had been gonehalf an hour, Mr. Pepys, a _young_ man between forty and fifty, arrived, and putting his glass up to his eye, spied about for his uncle, discovered that he was gone, and could not tell how or where! MissMilligan, sister to Mrs. Hughan, told him Miss Edgeworth had carried himoff. His own carriage arrived at eleven, and carried Mr. Pepys, byprivate orders, not knowing where he was going, to Mrs. Somerville's. Wehad brought Sir William there to hear Mrs. Kater sing and play Handel'smusic, of which he is passionately fond. It was worth while to bring himto hear her singing, he so exceedengly enjoyed it, and so doesWollaston, who sits as mute as a mouse and as still as the statue of aphilosopher charmed. 

I forgot to tell you that Lady Elizabeth Belgrave, [Footnote: Daughterof the first Duke of Sutherland] as pretty and winning as ever, came tosee us with Lady Stafford; and yesterday, the third time of calling ather door, I was told by a pimpled, red-blotched door-holder that "herladyship was not at home, " but after he had turned the card to anotherform out of livery, he said, "My lady is at home to you, ma'am. " So upwe went, and she was very entertaining, with fresh observations fromParis, and much humour. She said she was sure there was some peculiarcharm in the sound of the clinking of their swords in walking up anddown the gallery of the Tuileries, which the old stupid ones pace everyday for hours. She says she has met with much grateful attention fromthe royal family, and many of the French whom she had formerly known, but cannot give entertainments, because they have not the means. TheCount d'Artois apologised; he has no separate dinner--always dined withthe King, and "_very_ sorry for it. " Lady Stafford asked us all todinner, but we were engaged to Mr. Morritt. She is to ask again afterour return from the Deepdene, where we spend Monday and Tuesday with thedear Hopes. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

8 HOLLES STREET, _April 10, 1822. _

The great variety of society in London, and the solidity of the senseand information to be gathered from conversation, strike me as farsuperior to Parisian society. We know, I think, six different andtotally independent sets, of scientific, literary, political, travelled, artist, and the fine fashionable, of various shades; and the differentstyles of conversation are very entertaining. 

Through Lydia White we have become more acquainted with Mrs. Siddonsthan I ever expected to be. She gave us the history of her first actingof _Lady Macbeth_, and of her resolving, in the sleep scene, to lay downthe candlestick, contrary to the precedent of Mrs. Pritchard and all thetraditions, before she began to wash her hands and say, "Out, vilespot!" Sheridan knocked violently at her door during the five minutesshe had desired to have entirely to herself, to compose her spiritsbefore the play began. He burst in, and prophesied that she would ruinherself for ever if she persevered in this resolution _to lay down thecandlestick!_ She persisted, however, in her determination, succeeded, was applauded, and Sheridan begged her pardon. She described well theawe she felt, and the power of the excitement given to her by the sightof Burke, Fox, Sheridan, and Sir Joshua Reynolds in the pit. She invitedus to a private reading-party at her own house: present only herdaughter, a very pretty young lady, a Mrs. Wilkinson, Mr. Burney, Dr. Holland, Lydia White, Mr. Harness and ourselves. She read one of herfinest parts, and that best suited to a private room--Queen Katherine. She was dressed so as to do well for the two parts she was to performthis night, of gentlewoman and queen--black velvet, with black velvetcap and feathers. She sat the whole time, and with a large Shakespearbefore her; as she knew the part of Katherine by heart, she seldomrequired the help of glasses, and she recited it incomparably well: thechanges of her countenance were striking. From her first burst ofindignation when she objects to the Cardinal as her judge, to her lastexpiring scene, was all so perfectly natural and so touching, we couldgive no applause but tears. Mrs. Siddons is beautiful even at thismoment. Some who had seen her on the stage in this part assured me thatit had a much greater effect upon them in a private room, because theywere near enough to see the changes of her countenance, and to hear thepathos of her half-suppressed voice. Some one said that, in the dyingscene, her very pillow seemed sick. 

She spoke afterwards of the different parts which she had liked anddisliked to act; and when she mentioned the characters and scenes shehad found easy or difficult, it was curious to observe that the feelingsof the actress and the sentiments and reasons of the best critics meet. Whatever was not natural, or inconsistent with the main part of thecharacter, she found she never could act well. 

We spent three days at Easter at the Deepdene; the company there wereMr. C. Moore, Mr. Philip Henry Hope, Mr. And Miss Burrowes, Mr. Harness, Lord Fincastle, Lady Clare, and Lady Isabella Fitzgibbon, and LordArchibald Hamilton. Deepdene is beautiful at this time of the year--thehawthorn hedges, the tender green of the larch and the sycamore in fullleaf. 

To MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

HOLIES STREET, _April 20. _

We are going at two o'clock, and it is now half-past one, to a privateview of Sir John Swinburne's pictures, and we are to dine nine miles outof town, at Flasket House, with Mrs. Fry. 

Barry Fox came yesterday to Grove House, and looked much like agentleman, as he is, and seemed pleased with his cousins, as well hemight be. 

I wish, my dearest mother, you would write a note to Dr. Holland in yournext; he has been so kind and sympathising. [Footnote: On the death ofMiss Edgeworth's beloved "aunt", Mrs. Charlotte Sneyd ofEdgeworthstown. ] Miss Bessy Holland has come to stay some weeks with herbrother--good for her, and for us; she is very amiable. I find a cardfrom Jeffrey was left here while we were at Grove House. 

Just returned from water--colour pictures; some of Prout's of old townsabroad, like Chester; met there--not at Chester--Lord Grey, Wilkie, Mulready, Lord Radstock, and the Miss Waldegraves, and Lady Stafford, who has more ready and good five minutes' conversation than anybody Iknow. She says the French have lost all their national recollections; intravelling through France she asked for various places famous inhistory, of which they had lost all memory. 

Carriage at the door, and I have not begun to dress!

_April 24. _

The day before yesterday we saw Mrs. Tuite at Lady Sunderlin's. Theyhave an admirable house. Miss Kitty Malone sees, and is most gratefulfor it. 

Mrs. Fry's place at Flasket is beautiful, and she is delightful at homeor at Newgate. 

Paid a visit to Lady Derby; full as agreeable as when we saw her, halfas fat, and twice as old; asked most kindly for you, and received yourdaughters with gracious grace. 

Monday, went with Mr. Cohen and Mr. Cockerell to St. Paul's; he showedus his renovations done in excellent taste. Dined at Miss White's withMr. Luttrell, Mr. Hallam, Mr. Sharpe, and Mr. And Mrs. StewartNicholson; she is Lady Davy's half-sister. Most agreeable conversation;no dinners more agreeable than Lydia White's. Poor creature! how she cango through it I cannot imagine, she is dying. It is dreadful to look ather!

In the evening at Miss Stable's, Anna's friend; met there Mrs. Cunliffe, who was Miss Crewe, very agreeable and, though not regularly handsome, very pleasing in countenance and person. 

Tuesday, spent a happy hour at the Museum. We dined at Mrs. Marcet's, with only herself and children. Then to an "at home, " at Mrs. Ricardo's, merely for ten minutes to see the famous Mr. Hume. Don't like him much;attacks all things and persons, never listens, has no judgment. 

_May 3. _

Since Harriet last wrote we have been to Harrow to hear the speeches ofthe first class of boys, our future orators. It was a very interestingscene, attended by many ladies, as well as gentlemen. Two of thespeeches were from _Henry IV. , _ one the crown tried on, well repeated. The situation of the school is beautiful, the lawn laid out with greattaste; the master, Dr. Butler, a very well-informed agreeable man, witha picturesque head. We had a very elegant collation, and I sat beside avery agreeable thin old nobleman of the old school, Lord Clarendon. Uponthe whole, after hearing the speeches and recitations of these youths, Isaid to myself, how much better my father taught to read and recite thanany of these masters can. 

_May 10. _

The sudden death of the Primate [Footnote: Hon. William Stuart, Archbishop of Armagh, fifth son of the third Earl of Bute; he marriedSophia, daughter of Thomas Penn of Stoke Poges. ] and the horriblecircumstances attending it have incapacitated me from any morehome-writing at this moment. Mrs. Stuart gave him the medicine; he hadtwice asked for his draught, and when she saw the servant come in sheran down, seized the bottle and poured it out without looking at thelabel, which was most distinct "for external application. " When dying, and when struggling under the power of the opium, he called for a penciland wrote these words for a comfort to his wife: "I could not have livedlong, my dear love, at all events. "

_May 22. _

I enclose a note from Lady Louisa Stuart, the Primate's sister; it ismost touching, especially the account of the feelings of hisparishioners. 

We have been at the Caledonian ball--Harriet has written a descriptionof it to Pakenham; and also to a very pleasant dance at Mrs. ShawLefevre's, [Footnote: Daughter of Lady Elizabeth Whitbread, married toCharles Shaw Lefevre, afterwards Viscount Eversley. ] where Fanny andHarriet had good partners. 

I have subscribed £10 to the Irish poor subscription. Spring Rice, whomI very much like, tells me he has been touched to the heart by thegenerous eagerness with which the English merchants and city people havecontributed to this fund. A very large sum is already at his disposal, and he has wisely considered that if this money be not judiciouslyapplied it will do more harm than good. He has done me the honour toconsult me about his plan, of which I enclose a copy. 

At Captain Kater's breakfast yesterday we met Greenough, CaptainBeaufort, Warburton, and young Herschel, a man of greatabilities, [Footnote: Afterwards Sir John Herschel, the famous astronomerand philosopher. ] to whom Sir Humphry Davy paid an elegant complimentthe other day in a speech as President to the Royal Society. "His fathermust rejoice in such a son, who secures to him a double immortality. "

Just received yours of the 17th. Curious that you should have beensaying to me the same thing I was saying to you about the Irishsubscriptions. Poor Peggy Mulheeran! her letter is most pathetic. Fannyand Harriet are at this moment dining at dear Mrs. Lushington's, and Iam going alone to a dinner at _Lydia's, _ to meet Sidney Smith--_they_come in the evening. We met Lady Byron lately at Mrs. Lushington's. Dinner at Lord and Lady Darnley's--all manner of attention. Greenoughhas been most kind; admirable collection of fossils--taking out all histhousand drawers for us. Bellman. 

_May 28. _

In the hurried life we have led for some weeks past, and among the greatvariety of illustrious and foolish people we have seen pass in rapidpanoramas before us, some remain for ever fixed in the memory, and somefew touch the heart. We have just breakfasted with Spring Rice and LadyTheodosia. She has a placid, amiable, and winning countenance--prettycurly-haired children, such as you or Sir Joshua would paint. 

At this breakfast were Mr. Rice's sister, Lady Hunt, a charming woman. Mr. Grant, our late secretary, with sense, goodness, and indolence inhis countenance, and Mr. Randolph, the American, very tall and thin, asif a stick instead of shoulders stretched out his coat; his hair tiedbehind with a black ribbon, but not pigtailed, it flows from the ribbon, like old Steele's, with a curl at the end, mixed brown and gray; hisface wrinkled like a peach-stone, but all pliable, muscles moving withevery sensation of a feeling soul and lively imagination; quick darkeyes, with an indefinable expression of acquired habitual sedateness, indespite of nature; his tone of voice mild and repressed, yet in thisvoice he speaks thoughts that breathe and words that burn; he is one ofthe most eloquent men I ever heard speak, and there is a novelty in hisview of things, and in his new world of allusions, in art and nature, which is highly interesting. 

Besides the pleasure we should naturally have taken in his conversation, we have been doubly pleased by his gratifying attention to ourselves, and, my dearest mother, still more by the manner in which hedistinguished your Francis, [Footnote: Her half-brother, son of Mrs. Edgeworth. ] who was with us. Spring Rice told us that Mr. Abercromby, who had met him at Joanna Baillie's, told him he was one of the finestand most promising boys he had ever seen. 

Do, for heaven's sake, some good soul or body, write forthwith to BlackCastle, and learn whether Aunt Ruxton likes the gown I sent her--graycloth. If not, I will get her another. 

FROGNEL, HAMPSTEAD, _June 3. _

A few lines ever so short and hurried are better than none. We gave upour house and paid all our bills on Saturday; left London and came toFrognel [Footnote: To Mr. Carr's]--delicious Frognel! Hay-making--profusionof flowers--rhododendrons as fine as four of mine, flowering down to thegrass. All our friends with open arms on steps in the verandah to receiveus. 

A large party of Southebys, etc. , including Mrs. Tuite, put by forfuture description. Second day: Wollaston, Dr. And Miss Holland. Harrietsat beside Wollaston at dinner, and he talked unusually, veiling for herthe terror of his beak and lightning of his eye. He has indeed been verykind and amiable in distinguishing your daughters as worth speaking to. 

To-day I came to town with Mrs. Carr, and my sisters, and the MissCarrs, and they went to a Prison Discipline meeting to hear Macintoshspeak; but I was not able to go, and have done worlds of business since. 

We have changed our plans a little: going to Portsmouth first, and toSlough on our return; we were to have gone by Slough, but the Prince ofDenmark and the King going to Ascot took up all horses and beds, so wewere obliged to go the other road. 

51 MANCHESTER STREET, LONDON, _June 10_. 

We have accomplished, much to our satisfaction, our long-intendedjourney to Portsmouth. On Tuesday, at nine o'clock in the morning, wefound ourselves according to appointment, in our own dear carriage, atyour brother's door, and he and Francis seated themselves on thebarouche seat. The weather was bronzing and melting hot, but yourbrother would insist on being bronzed and melted there during the heatof the day, in a stoical style disdaining a parasol, though why itshould be more unmanly to use a parasol than a parapluie I cannot, forthe sense of me, understand. 

Lady Grey, wife of the commissioner--he is away--ordered all the worksand dockyard to be open to us, and the Government boat to attend uponus; saw the _Nelson_--just finished; and went over the _Phaeton_, andyour brother showed us his midshipman's berth and his lieutenant'scabin. And now for the Block machinery, you will say, but it isimpossible to describe this in a letter of moderate or immoderate size. I will only say that the ingenuity and successful performance farsurpassed my expectations. Machinery so perfect appears to act with thehappy certainty of instinct and the foresight of reason combined. 

We took a barge to the Isle of Wight--charming day. You take a sociable, and the _Felicity-hunter_ goes in it as far as the horses can take him. It was the most gratifying thing to me to see "Uncle Francis" and all ofthem so happy. We slept at Steephill; and in the morning went to seeCarisbrook Castle. Dined at Portsmouth with Sir James and Lady Lyon. 

But oh, my dear mother, at the little pretty flowery-lawned inn where wedined on our way to Slough, as your brother was reading the newspaper, he came to the death of our dear Mr. Smith, of Easton Grey. At SirBenjamin Hobhouse's, a few months ago, he was the gayest of the gay, andshe the fondest and happiest of wives. 

At Slough we saw the great telescope--never used now. Drove toWindsor--building and terrace equal to my expectations. At night theclouds were so good as to disperse, and we saw a double star. 

 * * * * *

Miss Edgeworth's wonderful conversational powers, combined with herhomely aspect, and perfectly unassuming manners, made a great impressionupon many of those who met her in London. Ticknor says of MariaEdgeworth: "There was a life and spirit about her conversation, shethrew herself into it with such _abandon_, she retorted with suchbrilliant repartee, and, in short, she talked with such extraordinaryflow of natural talent, that I don't know whether anything of the kindcould be finer. "

On 27th June Miss Edgeworth returned with her half-sisters toEdgeworthstown, taking up the thread of her domestic affairs as if therehad been no interruption, and she immediately set to work on the sequelto _Harry and Lucy_. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 23, 1822_. 

Honora is staying at Lough Glyn with Mr. And Mrs. Strickland; they aremaking judicious and incessant exertions for the relief of the poor andthe improvement of the people in their neighbourhood. It is veryextraordinary that, in the part of the County of Monaghan to which Mr. Strickland went last week for flax seed for the poor tenants in hisneighbourhood, he found that there is plenty of everything--no distressfelt. The famine seems to have been as capricious as the malaria inpassing over some places and settling upon others. Here we go on in ourparish without having recourse to public subscription. 

_August 7_. 

We have just returned, all of us, from walking two miles on theMullingar road, in hopes of meeting Francis, who was expected in achaise from Mullingar, as the coach _sleeps_ there. Just as we hadreached the hall door by moonlight, in despair, we heard a doubtfulnoise, which none but a maternal ear--a very nice ear on someoccasions--could judge whether of cart or chaise: it was a chaise, withFrancis in it; and here he is, one of the most agreeable and happy boysI ever saw. 

I have written to Walter Scott, claiming his promise of coming here; butI doubt his being in Ireland: I agree with you that his play is verystupid. Joanna Baillie [Footnote: Halidon Hill] suggested the subject, and he wrote it as a contribution to a miscellany formed of_voluntaries_ from all the poets and wits of the day, to make a fund forsome widowed friend of hers in great distress. He wrote it with goodintentions; but, as Madame de Staël says, "Les bons intentions ne sontpour rien dans les ouvrages d'esprit. "

Never read _The Lollards_ if it falls in your way, unless you like tosee John Huss burned over again. What pleasure have people in suchhorrid subjects?

You ask me what I am doing besides _Early Lessons_, and if I have madeany progress in "Travellers. " [Footnote: A tale she had thought ofwriting, but she never even made a sketch of it. ] Do you think, mydearest aunt, that I can write _Early Lessons_ with my left hand and"Travellers" with my right? You have too good an opinion of mydexterity. I assure you it is all I can do to satisfy myself tolerablyas I go on with this sequel to _Harry and Lucy_, which engages all myattention. I am particularly anxious to finish that _well_, as it wasmy dear father's own and _first_ book. As it must be more scientificthan the other _Early Lessons_, it is more difficult to me, who have solittle knowledge on those subjects, and am obliged to go so warily, lestI should teach error, or pretend to teach what I do not know. I havewritten about fifty pages. I fear you will not like it as well as youwere so kind as to like _Frank_. I could never be easy writing anythingelse for my own amusement till I have done this, which I know my fatherwished to have finished. You will see in Dr. Holland's letter someadmirable hints for "Travellers, " and I expect many more, from you, dearaunt: we will talk it over in the days of October. How many things wehave talked over together! _Rackrent_ especially, which you firstsuggested to me, and encouraged me to go on with. 

_August 10_. 

My dear aunt, I know how you must have been shocked when you heard ofthe manner of Lord Londonderry's death. As Dr. Holland says, "If we wereto have looked from one end of the British Empire to the other, we couldnot have pitched on an individual that seemed less likely to commitsuicide. "

Whitbread, Sir Samuel Romilly, Lord Londonderry--all to perish in thesame manner!

_Sept. 10_. 

In this frank you will receive a copy of a very interesting letter fromFanny Stewart. The post and steam vessels bring the most distant partsof the world now so much within our reach that friends cannot be muchmore separated by being at "Nova Zembla, or the LORD knows where, " thanby being in different counties of the same kingdom. There is FannyStewart dining with Sneyd's friends, the Bishop of Quebec's family; andyoung Mountain was in Switzerland when we were at Interlachen with Sneydand Henrica, and the year before at Ardbraccan and Edgeworthstown. Things are odd till they pair off, and so become even. Sneyd andHenrica, who were at Geneva, have been invited to the Baron Polier's, near Lausanne, the brother of Madame de Montolieu, whom I told you of. Madame Polier was the intimate friend of an intimate friend ofHenrica's, Miss French, of Derby, who has married a Cambridge friend ofSneyd's, Mr. Smedley, and they are now on a visit at the said MadamePolier's--a Derbyshire party in the heart of Switzerland, and by variousconnections _felted_ together!

When Honora is on the sofa beside you, make her give you an account ofFrancis's play, _Catiline_, which he and Fanny, and Harriet and Sophy, and James Moilliet and Pakenham _got up_ without our being in thesecret, and acted the night before last, as it were impromptu, to ourinexpressible surprise and pleasure. Francis, during his holidays withus in London, used to be often scribbling something; but I neverinquired or guessed what it was. Fanny and Harriet, in the midst of thehurry of London dissipation, and of writing all manner of notes, etc. , for me, and letters home innumerable, contrived to copy out fair for himall his scraps; and when put together they made a goodly tragedy in twoacts, wonderfully well written for his age--some parts, for any age, excellent. 

After tea the library became empty suddenly of all the young people. Myaunt Mary, my brother Lovell, and I remaining with Quin, who had dinedhere, talking on, never missed them; and the surprise was as great asheart could wish when my mother put into our hands the play-bills, andinvited us to follow her to her dressing-room. 

 CATILINE, A Tragedy, in Two Acts. 

 Catiline (in love with Aurelia) Francis. Cato (father of Aurelia) Pakenham. Cicero (in love with Aurelia) Harriet. Caesar Moilliet. Aurelia (daughter of Cato) Sophy. Julia (wife to Cato) Fanny. 

We found Lucy on her sofa, with her feet towards the green-house; ahalf-circle of chairs for the audience, with their backs touching thewardrobe--candlestick-footlights, well shaded with square sofa-cushionsstanding on end. 

Prologue spoken by Harriet; curtain drew back, and Catiline and Aureliaappeared. Fanny had dressed Francis, from Kennet's _Antiquities_, out ofan old rag-chest, and a more complete little Roman figure I never saw, though made up no mortal can tell how, like one of your own doings, dearaunt, with a crown of ilex leaves. Aurelia was perfectly draped in myFrench crimson shawl; she looked extremely classical and pretty, and hervoice was so sweet, and her looks alternately so indignant to Catilineand so soft when she spoke of the man she loved, that I do not wonderCatiline was so desperately enamoured. 

Pakenham was wonderful: he had received no instructions. They haddetermined to leave him to himself, and see what would come of it. Hehad brought down an old wig from the garret, and Catiline and Cato couldnot settle which it became best or worst; so Catiline wore his ilexcrown, and Pakenham a scarlet cap and black velvet cloak, his eyebrowsand chin darkened, a most solemn, stern countenance, a roll of whitepaper in his hand, the figure immovable, as if cut in stone: the soul ofCato seemed to have got into him. I never heard any actor speak better, nor did I ever see a part better sustained; it seemed as if one saw Catothrough a diminishing glass. In one scene he interrupts Cicero, who isgoing off into a fine simile--"Enough: the tale. " He said these threewords so well, with such severity of tone, and such a piercing look, that I see and hear him still. His voice was as firm as a man's, and hisself-possession absolute. He had his part so perfectly, that he was asindependent of the prompter as of all the rest of the world. 

Moilliet recited and played his part of Caesar wondrous well. You maythink how well Pakenham and all of them must have acted, when we couldstand the ridicule of Pakenham's Cato opposite to Moilliet's Caesar. Oneof James Moilliet's eyes would have contained all the eyes of Cato, Catiline, and Cicero. Fanny, as Julia, was beautiful. 

BLACK CASTLE, _Dec. 6, 1822_. 

How do you all do, my dear friends, after last night's hurricane?[Footnote: Numbers of the finest trees were blown down. The staircaseskylight was blown away, and the lead which surrounded it rolled up asneatly as if just out of the plumber's: roofs were torn off and cabinsblown down. ] Have any trees been blown away? Has the spire stood? IsMadgy Woods alive? How many roofs of houses in the town have been blownaway, and how many hundred slates and panes of glass must be replaced?The glass dome over the staircase at Ardbraccan has been blown away; twoof the saloon windows blown in. The servants in this house sat up allnight; I slept soundly. My aunt, roused at an unwonted hour from her bedthis morning, stood at the foot of mine while I was yet dreaming; andshe avers that when she told me that eight trees and the great greengates were blown down, that I sat up in my bed, and, opening one eye, answered, "Is it in the newspaper, ma'am?" When I came out to breakfast, the first object I beheld was the uprooted elms lying prostrate oppositethe breakfast-room windows; and Mr. Fitzherbert says more than a hundredare blown down in the uplands. 

Now I have done with the hurricane, I must tell you a dream of Bess's:she thought she went to call upon a lady, and found her reading a pioustract called "The Penitent Poodle!"

_To_ MRS. O'BEIRNE. 

BLACK CASTLE, _Jan. 15, 1823_. 

We are delighted with _Peveril_, though there is too much of the dwarfsand the elfie. Scott cannot deny himself one of these spirits in someshape or other; I hope that we shall find that this elfin page, who hasthe power of shrinking or expanding, as it seems, to suit the occasion, is made really necessary to the story. I think the dwarf more allowableand better drawn than the page, true to history, and consistent; butFinella is sometimes handsome enough to make duke and king ready to bein love with her, and sometimes an odious little fury, clenching herhands, and to be lifted up or down stairs out of the hero's way. Theindistinctness about her is not that indistinctness which belongs to thesublime, but that which arises from unsteadiness in the painter's handwhen he sketched the figure. He touched and retouched at differenttimes, without having, as it seems, a determined idea himself of what hewould make her; nor had he settled whether she should bring with her"airs from heaven, " or blasts from that place which is never named toears polite. 

 * * * * *

In May 1823 Miss Edgeworth took her half-sisters Harriet and Sophy toScotland. It was a very happy time to her, chiefly because there shemade an acquaintance with Sir Walter Scott, which soon ripened into anintimate and lasting friendship. He had already admired her stories, which he spoke of as "a sort of _essence_ of common sense. "

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

KINNEIL, _June 2, 1823_. 

I wish you were here with us. We arrived between nine and ten lastnight. The sea-shore approaching Kinneil House is exactly the idea I hadof the road to Glenthorn Castle; the hissing sound of the wheels andall, and at last the postillion stopped where one road sloped directlydown into the Frith of Forth, and another turned abruptly up hill. Hesaid, "This is a-going into the water; I ha' come the wrong way. " And upthe narrow road up the hill he went and turned the carriage, and downagain, and back the road we had come some little distance, and splashacross to a road on the opposite side, and then by the oddest back waythat seemed to be leading us into the stables, till at last we saw thedoor of the real house, an old but white-washed castle-mansion. Ashort-faced old butler in black came out of a sort of sentry-box backdoor to receive us, and through odd passages and staircases we reachedthe drawing-room, where we found fire and candles, and Mrs. Stewart anda young tall man; Mrs. Stewart, just as you saw her at Bowood, receivedHarriet and Sophy in her arms, spoke of their dear mother and of Honora, and seated us on the sofa, and told Sophy to open a letter from Fanny, which she put into her hand, and "feel herself at home, " which indeed wedid. The tall young man was no hindrance to this feeling; an intimatefriend, a Mr. Jackson, who has been staying with Mr. Stewart as hiscompanion ever since his illness. 

We passed through numerous ante-chambers, nooks, and halls--broad whitestone corner staircase, winding with low-arched roof. Our two rooms openinto one another--mine large, with four black doors, one locked and twoopening into closets, and back stairs, and if you mount to anotherstory, all the rooms are waste garrets. Mrs. Stewart told us thismorning that there were plenty of ghosts at our service belonging toKinneil House. One in particular, Lady Lilyburn, who is often seen allin white, as a ghost should be, and with white wings, fluttering on thetop of the castle, from whence she leaps into the sea--a prodigious leapof three or four hundred yards, nothing for a well-bred ghost. At othertimes she wears boots, and stumps up and down stairs in them, and acrosspassages, and through bedchambers, frightening ladies' maids and others. We have not heard her _yet_. 

When we looked out of our windows this morning we saw fine views, and inthe shrubbery near the house some of the largest lilacs I ever saw inrich flower. From another window, half a mile length of avenue withgates through which we should by rights have approached the front of thehouse. But all this time I have not said one word of what I had intendedto be the subject of this: Lanark and Mr. Owen's school. I am calleddown to Lady Anna Maria Elliot; [Footnote: Afterwards Countess Russell. ]my mother may remember her in former days--she is said to be like DieVernon. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDINBURGH, 32 ABERCROMBY PLACE, _June 8, 1823_. 

You have had our history up to Kinneil House. Mr. And Miss Stewartaccompanied us some miles on our road to show us the palace ofLinlithgow--very interesting to see, but not to describe. The drive fromLinlithgow to Edinburgh is nothing extraordinary, but the roadapproaching the city is grand, and the first view of the castle and"mine own romantic town" delighted my companions; the day was fine andthey were sitting outside on the barouche seat--a seat which you, mydear aunt, would not have envied them with all their fine prospects. Bythis approach to Edinburgh there are no suburbs; you drive at oncethrough magnificent broad streets and fine squares. All the houses areof stone, darker than the Ardbraccan stone, and of a kind that is littleinjured by weather or time. Margaret Alison [Footnote: Margaret, daughter of Dr. James Gregory, married to William Pulteney Alison, Professor of Medicine in the University of Edinburgh. ] had takenlodgings for us in Abercromby Place--finely built, with hangingshrubbery garden, and the house as delightful as the situation. As soonas we had unpacked and arranged our things the evening of our arrival, we walked, about ten minutes' distance from us, to our dear old friends, the Alisons. We found them shawled and bonneted, just coming to see us. Mr. Alison and Sir Walter Scott had settled that we should dine thefirst day after our arrival with Mr. Alison, which was just what wewished; but on our return home we found a note from Sir Walter:

"DEAR MISS EDGEWORTH, "I have just received your kind note, just when I had persuaded myselfit was most likely I should see you in person or hear of your arrival. Mr. Alison writes to me you are engaged to dine with him to-morrow, which puts Roslin out of the question for that day, as it might keep youlate. On Sunday I hope you will join our family-party at five, and onMonday I have asked one or two of the Northern Lights on purpose to meetyou. I should be engrossing at any time, but we shall be more disposedto be so just now, because on the 12th I am under the necessity of goingto a different kingdom (only the kingdom of _Fife_) for a day or two. To-morrow, if it is quite agreeable, I will wait on you about twelve, and hope you will permit me to show you some of our improvements. 

"I am always, "Most respectfully yours, "WALTER SCOTT. 

"EDINBURGH, _Friday. _

"_Postscript. _--Our old family coach is _licensed_ to carry _six_; sotake no care on that score. I enclose Mr. Alison's note; truly sorry Icould not accept the invitation it contains. 

"_Postscript. _--My wife insists I shall add that the Laird of Staffapromised to look in on us this evening at eight or nine, for the purposeof letting us hear one of his clansmen sing some Highland boat-songs andthe like, and that if you will come, as the Irish should to the Scotch, without any ceremony, you will hear what is perhaps more curious thanmellifluous. The man returns to the isles to-morrow. There are nostrangers with us; no party; none but all our own family and two oldfriends. Moreover, all our woman-kind have been calling at Gibbs'shotel, so if you are not really tired and late, you have not even pride, the ladies' last defence, to oppose to this request. But, above all, donot fatigue yourself and the young ladies. No dressing to be thought of. "

Ten o'clock struck as I read the note; we were tired--we were not fit tobe seen; but I thought it right to accept "Walter Scott's" cordialinvitation; sent for a hackney coach, and just as we were, withoutdressing, went. As the coach stopped, we saw the hall lighted, and themoment the door opened, heard the joyous sounds of loud singing. Threeservants--"The Miss Edgeworths" sounded from hall to landing-place, andas I paused for a moment in the anteroom, I heard the first sound ofWalter Scott's voice--"The Miss Edgeworths _come_. "

The room was lighted by only one globe lamp. A circle were singing loudand beating time--all stopped in an instant, and Walter Scott in themost cordial and courteous manner stepped forward to welcome us: "MissEdgeworth, this is so kind of you!"

My first impression was, that he was neither so large, nor so heavy inappearance as I had been led to expect by description, prints, bust, andpicture. He is more lame than I expected, but not unwieldy; hiscountenance, even by the uncertain light in which I first saw it, pleased me much, benevolent, and full of genius without the slightesteffort at expression; delightfully natural, as if he did not know he wasWalter Scott or the Great Unknown of the North, as if he only thought ofmaking others happy. [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth describes Sir WalterScott in her _Helen_: "If you have seen Raeburn's admirable pictures, orChantrey's speaking bust, you have as complete an idea of Sir WalterScott as painting or sculpture can give. The first impression of hisappearance and manner was surprising to me, I recollect, from its quiet, unpretending good-nature; but scarcely had that impression been made, before I was struck with something of the chivalrous courtesy of othertimes. In his conversation you would have found all that is mostdelightful in all his works--the combined talents and knowledge of thehistorian, novelist, antiquary, and poet. He recited poetry admirably, his whole face and figure kindling as he spoke; but whether talking, reading, or reciting, he never tired me, even with admiring. And it iscurious that, in conversing with him, I frequently found myselfforgetting that I was speaking with Sir Walter Scott; and, what is evenmore extraordinary, forgetting that Sir Walter Scott was speaking to me, till I was awakened to the conviction by his saying something which noone else could have said. Altogether, he was certainly the mostperfectly agreeable and perfectly amiable great man I ever knew. "] Afternaming to us "Lady Scott, Staffa, my daughter Lockhart, Sophia, anotherdaughter Anne, my son, my son-in-law Lockhart, " just in the brokencircle as they then stood, and showing me that only his family and twofriends, Mr. Clark and Mr. Sharpe, were present, he sat down for aminute beside me on a low sofa, and on my saying, "Do not let usinterrupt what was going on, " he immediately rose and begged Staffa tobid his boatman strike up again. "Will you then join in the circle withus?" he put the end of a silk handkerchief into my hand, and others intomy sisters'; they held by these handkerchiefs all in their circle again, and the boatman began to roar out a Gaelic song, to which they allstamped in time and repeated the chorus which, as far as I could hear, sounded like "_At am Vaun! At am Vaun!_" frequently repeated withprodigious enthusiasm. In another I could make out no intelligible soundbut "Bar! bar! bar!" But the boatman's dark eyes were ready to start outof his head with rapture as he sung and stamped, and shook thehandkerchief on each side, and the circle imitated. 

Lady Scott is so exactly what I had heard her described, that it seemedas if we had seen her before. She must have been very handsome--Frenchdark large eyes; civil and good-natured. Supper at a round table, afamily supper, with attention to us, just sufficient and no more. Theimpression left on my mind this night was, that Walter Scott is one ofthe best-bred men I ever saw, with all the exquisite politeness which heknows so well how to describe, which is of no particular school orcountry, but which is of all countries, the politeness which arises fromgood and quick sense and feeling, which seems to know by instinct thecharacters of others, to see what will please, and put all his guests attheir ease. As I sat beside him at supper, I could not believe he was astranger, and forgot he was a great man. Mr. Lockhart is very handsome, quite unlike his picture in _Peter's Letters_. 

When we wakened in the morning, the whole scene of the preceding nightseemed like a dream; however, at twelve came the real Lady Scott, and wecalled for Scott at the Parliament House, who came out of the Courtswith joyous face as if he had nothing on earth to do or to think of, butto show us Edinburgh. Seeming to enjoy it all as much as we could, hecarried us to Parliament House--Advocates' Library, Castle, and HolyroodHouse. His conversation all the time better than anything we could see, full of _à-propos_ anecdote, historic, serious or comic, just asoccasion called for it, and all with a _bon-homie_, and an ease thatmade us forget it was any trouble even to his lameness to mount flightsof eternal stairs. Chantrey's statues of Lord Melville and PresidentBlair are admirable. There is another by Roubillac, of Duncan Forbes, which is excellent. Scott is enthusiastic about the beauties ofEdinburgh, and well he may be, the most magnificent as well as the mostromantic of cities. 

We dined with the dear good Alisons. Mr. Alison met me at thedrawing-room door, took me in his arms and gave me a hearty hug. I donot think he is much altered, only that his locks are silvered over. Atthis dinner were, besides his two sons and two daughters, and Mrs. Alison, Mr. And Mrs. Skene. In one of Scott's introductions to _Marmion_you will find this Mr. Skene, Mr. Hope, the Scotch Solicitor-General (itis curious the Solicitor-Generals of Scotland and Ireland should be Hopeand Joy!), Dr. Brewster, and Lord Meadowbank, and Mrs. Maconachie, hiswife. Mr. Alison wanted me to sit beside everybody, and I wanted to sitby him, and this I accomplished; on the other side was Mr. Hope, whosehead and character you will find in _Peter's Letters:_ he was veryentertaining. Sophy sat beside Dr. Brewster, and had a great deal ofconversation with him. 

Next day, Sunday, went to hear Mr. Alison; his fine voice but littlealtered. To me he appears the best preacher I have ever heard. Dined atScott's; only his own family, his friend Skene, his wife and daughter, and Sir Henry Stewart; I sat beside Scott; I dare not attempt at thismoment even to think of any of the anecdotes he told, the fragments ofpoetry he repeated, or the observations on national character he made, lest I should be tempted to write some of them for you, and should neverend this letter, which must be ended some time or other. His strongaffection for his early friends and his country gives a power and acharm to his conversation, which cannot be given by the polish of theLondon world and by the habit of literary conversation. 

_Quentin Durward_ was lying on the table. Mrs. Skene took it up andsaid, "This is really too barefaced. " Scott, when pointing to thehospital built by Heriot, said, "That was built by one Heriot, you know, the jeweller, in Charles the Second's time. "

There was an arch simplicity in his look, at which we could hardlyforbear laughing. 

_June 23_. 

I remember, my dearest aunt, how fond you used to be of the song ofRoslin Castle, and how fond my father used to be of it, from havingheard you sing it when you were young. I think you charged me to seeRoslin if ever I came to Scotland; this day I have seen it with WalterScott. It is about seven miles from Edinburgh, I wish it had been twiceas far; Scott was so entertaining and agreeable during the drive thereand back again. The castle is an ugly old ruin, not picturesque, but thechapel is most beautiful, altogether the most beautiful florid Gothic Iever saw. There is infinite variety in the details of the ornaments, andyet such a unity in the whole design and appearance that we admire atonce the taste and the ingenuity of the architect. I wished for you, mydear aunt, continually during parts of the walk by the river and throughthe woods--not during the whole, for it would have been much too long. How Walter Scott can find time to write all he writes I cannot conceive, he appears to have nothing to think of but to be amusing, and he nevertires, though he is so entertaining--he far surpasses my expectation. 

Mr. Lockhart is reserved and silent, but he appears to have muchsensibility under this reserve. Mrs. Lockhart is very pleasing; a slightelegant figure and graceful simplicity of manner, perfectly natural. There is something most winning in her affectionate manner to herfather: he dotes upon her. 

To MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

CALLANDER, _June 20, 1823_. 

Here we are! I can hardly believe we are really at the place we have solong wished to see: we have really been on Loch Katrine. We werefortunate in the day; it was neither too hot, nor too cold, nor toowindy, nor too anything. 

The lake was quite as beautiful as I expected, but that is telling younothing, as you cannot know how much I expected. Sophy has made somememorandum sketches for home, though we are well aware that neither pennor pencil can bring before you the reality. William [Footnote: William, one of Miss Edgeworth's half-brothers, had joined his sisters atEdinburgh. ] says he does not, however, fear for Killarney, even afterour having seen this. Here are no arbutus, but plenty of soft birch, andtwinkling aspen, and dark oak. On one side of the lake the wood has beenwithin these few years cut down. Walter Scott sent to offer theproprietor £500 for the trees on one spot, if he would spare them; butthe offer came two days too late; the trees were stripped of their barkbefore his messenger arrived. To us, who never saw this rock coveredwith trees, it appeared grand in its bare boldness and in strikingcontrast to the wooded island opposite. Tell Fanny that, upon the whole, I think Farnham lakes as beautiful as Loch Katrine; as to mere beauty, perhaps superior: but where is the lake of our own, or any other times, that has such delightful power over the imagination by the recollectionsit raises? As we were rowed along, our boatman, happily our only guide, named to us the points we most wished to see; quietly named them, without being asked, and seemingly with a full belief that he wastelling us plain facts, without any flowers of speech. "There's theplace on that rock, see yonder, where the king blew his horn. " "Andthere's the place where the Lady of the Lake landed. " "And there is theSilver Strand, where you see the white pebbles in the little bayyonder. "

He landed us just at the spot where the lady

 From underneath an aged oak, That slanted from the islet rock, shot her little skiff to the silver strand on the opposite side. WhenWilliam asked him if the king's dead horse had been found, he smiled, and said he only knew that bones had been found near where the king'shorse died, but he could not be sure that they were the bones of KingJames's good steed. However, he seemed quite as clear of the existenceof the Lady of the Lake, and of all her adventures, as of the existenceof Benledi and Benvenue, and the Trossachs. He showed us the place onthe mountain of Benvenue, where formerly there was no means of ascentbut by the ladders of broom and hazel twigs, where the king climbed, with footing nice, A far-projecting precipice. 

At the inn the mistress of the house lent me a copy of the _Lady of theLake_, which I took out with me and read while we were going to thelake, and while Sophy was drawing. We saw an eagle hovering, and, moreover, Sophy spied some tiny sea-larks flitting close to the shore, and making their little, faint cry. Returning, we marked the place wherethe armed Highlanders started up from the furzebrake before King James, when Roderic Dhu sounded his horn, and we settled which was the spot at

 Clan Alpine's outmost guard, where Roderic Dhu's safe conduct ceased, and where the king and he hadtheir combat. I forgot to mention a little incident, which, though verytrifling, struck me at the moment. As I was walking on by myself on theroad by the river-side leading to the lake, I came up to a Highlanderwho was stretched on the grass under a bush, while two little boys intartan caps were playing beside him. I stopped to talk to the children, showed them my watch, and, holding it to their ears, asked if they hadever seen the inside of a watch. They did not answer, but they did notseem surprised, nor were they in the least shy. I asked the man if theywere his children. 

"Mine! oh no! they are the sons of Glengyle--the Laird of Glengyle, hewho lives at the upper end of the lake yonder--McGreggor, that is, _the_McGreggor, the chief of the McGreggor clan. "

Rob Roy and his wife and children rose up before my imagination. Timeshave finely changed. It may be a satisfaction to you, and all who admireRob Roy, to know that his burial-place is in a pretty, peaceful greenvalley, where none will disturb him; and all will remember him for ages, thanks to Walter Scott, a man he never kenned of, nor any of hissecond-sighted seers. By the bye, Harriet on our journey read _Rob Roy_to me, and I liked it ten times better than at the first reading. Myeagerness for the story being satisfied, I could stop to admire thebeauty of the writing: this happens to many, I believe, on a secondperusal of Scott's works. 

FINISHED AT TYNDRUM. 

Very good inn at Callander, and another at Loch Katrine--both raised bythe genius of Scott as surely and almost as quickly as the slave of thelamp raises the palace of Aladdin. We spent one day and part of anotherat Callander and Loch Katrine, and yesterday went to, and slept at, Killin, along a very beautiful, fine, wild, romantic road. At Killintook a very pretty walk before tea, of about two miles and a half, andback again, to see a waterfall, which fully answered our expectations:you see, I am very strong. I had taken another walk in the morning tosee the Bridge of Brackland, another beautiful waterfall, with asix-inch bridge over a chasm of rocks, which looked as if they had beenbuilt together to imitate nature. 

We are reading _Reginald Dalton_, and like it very much, the secondvolume especially, which will be very useful, I think, and is veryinteresting. I am sure Mr. Lockhart describes his own wife's singingwhen he describes Ellen's. 

We hope to reach King's House to-night, and at Inverness we hope to findletters from home. We are all well and happy, and this I am sure is themost agreeable thing I can end with. 

To MISS RUXTON. 

INVERNESS, BENNET'S HOTEL, _July 3, 1823_. 

I sent a shabby note to my aunt some days ago, merely to tell her thatwe had seen Roslin; and Sophy wrote from Fort William of our visit toFern Tower: good house, fine place; Sir David Baird a fine old soldier, without an arm, but with a heart and a head: warm temper, as eager aboutevery object, great or small, as a boy of fifteen. He swallows me, though an authoress, wonderful well. 

Our Highland tour has afforded me and my companions great pleasure;Sophy has enjoyed it thoroughly. William has had a number of objects inhis own line to interest him. From Fort William, which is close to BenNevis, the highest mountain in Britain, we went to see a natural orartificial curiosity called the Parallel Roads. On each side of a valleycalled Glenroy, through which the river Roy runs, there appear severallines of terraces at different heights, corresponding to each other oneach side of the valley at the same height. These terrace-roads are notquite horizontal; they slope a little from the mountains. The learnedare at this moment fighting, in writing, much about these roads. Somewill have it that, in the days of Fingal, the Fingalians made them forhunting-roads, to lie in ambush and shoot the deer from these longlines. Others suppose that the roads were made by the subsiding of alake, which at different periods sank in this valley, and at last madeits way out. The roads, however made, are well worth seeing. We had amost agreeable guide, not a professed guide, but a Highlander of theMacintosh clan, an enthusiast for the beauties of his own country, and, like the Swiss Chamouni guides, quite a well-informed and, moreover, afine-looking man, with an air of active, graceful independence; of whomit might be said or sung, "_He's clever in his walking. _" He spokeEnglish correctly, but as a foreign language, with _book_ choice ofexpressions; no colloquial or vulgar phrases. He often seemed to taketime to translate his thoughts from the Gaelic into English. He knewScott's works, _Rob Roy_ especially, and knew all the theories about theParallel Roads, and explained them sensibly; and gave us accounts of theold family feuds between his own Macintosh clan and the Macdonalds, pointing to places where battles were fought, with a zeal which provedthe feudal spirit still lives in its ashes. When he found we were Irish, he turned to me, and all reserve vanishing from his countenance, withbrightening eyes he said, as he laid his hand on his breast, "And youare Irish! Now I know that, I would do ten times as much for you if Icould than when I thought you were Southerns or English. We think theIrish have, like ourselves, more spirit. " He talked of Ossian, and saidthe English could not give the _force_ of the original Gaelic. He sang aGaelic song for us, to a tune like "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning. "He called St. Patrick Phaedrig, by which name I did not recognise him;and our Highlander exclaimed, "Don't you know your own saint?" Sophysang the tune for him, with which he was charmed; and when he heardWilliam call her Sophy, he said to himself, "Sophia Western. "

The next day we took a beautiful walk to the territory and near theresidence of Lochiel, through a wood where groups of clansmen andclanswomen were barking trees that had been cut down; and the faggotingand piling the bark was as picturesque as heart could wish. 

This day's journey was through fine wild Highland scenery, where rocksand fragments of rocks were tumbled upon each other, as if by giants ina passion, and now and then by giants playing at bowls with huge roundbowls. These roads--some of them for which we "lift up our eyes andbless Marshal Wade, " and some made by Telford, the vast superiority inthe laying out of which William has had the pleasure of pointing out tohis sisters--beautifully wind over hill and through valley, by the sidesof streams and lakes. We saw the eight locks joining together on theCaledonian Canal, called Neptune's Stairs; and at another place on thecanal William, who had been asleep, _instinctively_ wakened just in timeto see a dredging machine at work: we stopped the carriage, and walkeddown to look at it: took a boat and rowed round the vessel, and went onboard and saw the machinery. A steam-engine works an endless chain ofbuckets round and round upon a platform with rollers. The buckets havesteel mouthpieces, some with quite sharp projecting lips, which cut intothe sand and gravelly bottom, and scoop up what fills each bucket. Atthe bottom of each are cullender holes, through which the water drainsoff as the buckets go on and pass over the platform and empty themselveson an inclined plane, down which the contents fall into a boat, whichrows away when full, and deposits the contents wherever wanted. If youever looked at a book at Edgeworthstown called _Machines Approuvés_, youwould have the image of this machine. It brought my father's drawings ofthe Rhone machine before my eyes. 

The whole day's drive was delightful--mountains behind mountains as faras the eye could reach, in every shade, from darkest to palestIndian-ink cloud colour; an ocean of mountains, with perpetuallychanging foreground of rocks, sometimes bare as ever they were born, sometimes wooded better than ever the hand of mortal taste clothed amountain in reality or in picture, with oak, aspen, and the beautifulpendant birch. 

At Fort Augustus the house was painting, and the beds looked wretched;but all was made plausible with the help of fires and fair words, and weslept as well, or better, than kings and queens. As to any realinconvenience at Highland inns, we have met with none; always good fish, good eggs, good butter, and good humour. 

Next day we had another delightful drive: saw the Fall of Foyers: finescrambling up and down to a rock, and on this rock such huge tumbledownstones, like Druids' temples, half-fallen, half-suspended. The breathwas almost taken away and head dizzy looking at them above and the depthbelow; one could hardly believe we stood safe. Yet here we are safe andsound at Inverness, the Capital of the North, as Scott calls it. ThisBennet's Hotel, where we are lodged, is as good as any in London orEdinburgh, and cleaner than almost any I ever was in, with a waiter theperfection of intelligence. We are going to see a place called theDream, the name translated from the Gaelic. 

I forgot to tell you that, when at Edinburgh, we went to see Sir Jamesand Lady Foulis's friends, the Jardines, who were also friends ofHenry's. They are in a very pretty house, Laverock Bank, a few milesfrom Edinburgh. We "felicity hunters" have found more felicity than suchhunters usually meet with. 

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH. 

KINROSS, _July 23, 1823_. 

I left off in my yesterday's letter to my mother just as we werechanging horses at Dunkeld, at six o'clock in the evening, to go on toPerth; but I had in that note arrived prematurely at Dunkeld, and hadnot time to fill up the history of our day. Be pleased, therefore, to goback to Moulinan, and see us eat luncheon; for, in spite of Mr. Grant'scontempt of these _bon-vivant_ details, habit will not allow me todepart from my Swiss, Parisian, and English practice of giving the billof fare. 

First course, cold: two roast chickens, better never were; a ham, finernever seen, even at my mother's luncheons; pickled salmon, and coldboiled round. 

Second course, hot: a large dish of little trout from the river; newpotatoes, and, as I had professed to be unable to venture on newpotatoes, a dish of mashed potatoes for me; fresh greens, with toastover, and poached eggs. 

Then, a custard pudding, a gooseberry tart, and plenty of Highlandcream--_highly_ superior to Lowland--and butter, ditto. 

And for all this how much did we pay? Six shillings. 

Our drive in evening sunshine from Moulinan to Dunkeld was delightful, along the banks, no longer of the dear little, sparkling, foaming, fretting Garry, but of the broad, majestic, quiet, dark bottle-greencoloured Tay; the road a perfect gravel walk; the bank, all the way downbetween us and the river, copsewood, with now and then a clump of finetall larch, or a single ash or oak, with spreading branches showing thewater beneath; the mountain side chiefly oak and alder, a tree which Iscarcely knew till Sophy _mentioned_ it to me; sometimes the wood brokenwith glades of fern, heath, and young _stubble_ oaks, all the way up towhite rocks on the summit; the young shoots of these stubble oaks tintedwith pink, so as to have in the evening sun the appearance of autumnrich tints; and between these oaks and the green fern and broom a giantrace of foxglove, which I verily believe, from the root to the spike, would measure four good feet, all rich in bells of brightest crimson, sobright that they crimsoned the whole bank. 

All these ten miles of wooded road run, I understand, through theterritory of the Duke of Athol. Now I see his possessions, I am sure Ido not wonder the lady left her lack-gold lover in the lurch for"Athol's duke. " Along the whole road he has raised a footpath, beautifully gravelled. Oh! how I wish our walks had one inch off thesurface of this footpath, or that the African magician, or the Englishequally potent magician of steam, could convey to my mother's _elbow_ inthe Dingle one yard of one bank of the gravel which here wastes itspebbles on the mountain side! How in a trice she would summon round herher choice spirits, Briny Duffy, Micky Mulheeran, and Mackin, and howthey would with shovel and loy fall to!

Through the wood at continual openings we saw glimpses of beautifulpaths or gravelled walks, which this munificent duke has made throughhis woods for the accommodation of the public. I forgive him for beinglike an over-ripe Orleans plum, and for not saying a word, good or bad, the day we met him at Mr. Morrit's. 

At Dunkeld, alas! we bade adieu to the dear Highlands. I have not timenow to tell you of Killiecrankie and Dundee's Stone. 

Arrived at Perth at nine o'clock: tea, with silver urn and silvercandlesticks, and all luxurious: cold chicken, ham, and marmaladeinclusive. 

The drive from Perth this morning to Kinross is beautiful, but in a morecivilised and less romantic way than our Highland scenery. We are nowwithin view of Lochleven, Queen Mary's island. 

During this morning's drive, Sophy sang "In April, when primroses blow"most charmingly. Her singing was much admired in Edinburgh by Sir WalterScott, etc. , but still more at Mrs. Macpherson's. One day, she sangseveral of Moore's melodies, and some Scotch songs. Mrs. Macpherson, whois excessively fond of music, was so charmed, she told me afterwards shenever heard a voice she thought so sweet and clear, and unaffected. Sherejoiced to hear it without music, or any accompaniment that could drownit, or spoil its distinct simplicity. She observed what a charm there isin her distinct pronunciation of the words, in her just emphasis, and inher never forgetting the words, or keeping you in any anxiety for her, or requiring to be pressed. "How delightful, " said she, "to have such anaccomplishment, such a power to please always with her, withoutrequiring instruments, or music-books, or any preparation. " I was afraidher singing of Scotch might not suit the Scotch, and she never venturedit till we were at Mrs. Macpherson's, who was quite charmed with it. Indeed, her soft voice is very different from the screeching somesongstresses make, with vast execution. I am particularly full of thepleasure of Sophy's singing at present, because I felt so much delightfrom it when I was just recovering from my illness. I did not think itwas in the nature of my body or soul to feel so much pleasure fromsinging or music; but the fact is as I tell you. After three nights ofpulse at ninety-six and delirium, in which I one night saw the arches ofRoslin Chapel, with roses of such brilliant light crowning them that Ishut my eyes to avoid the blaze; and another night was haunted with thewords "a soldier [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth had been reading Stewart's_History of Highland Regiments_ the day before she was taken ill with anattack of erysipelas. ] of the forty-second has lost his portmanteau, "and continual marching and countermarching, and rummaging of Highlandofficers and privates in search of it, and an officer laughing at me andsaying, "Don't you know this is a common Highland saying, A soldier ofthe forty-second has lost his portmanteau? It means"--but he never couldor would tell me what it meant, when another officer said, "Madam, thereis a Lowland saying to match it"; and this also I could never hear. Another night the words of a song called the "Banks of Aberfeldy"crossed my imagination, and a fat, rubicund man stood before me, continually telling me that he was "John Aberfeldy, the happy. " I cannottell you how this John Aberfeldy tormented me. After these threehorrible nights, when I awoke with my tongue so parched I could notspeak till a spoonful of lemon-juice was inserted, I asked Sophy tosing, and she directly sang, "Dear harp of my country. " I never shallforget the sort of pleasure; it soothed, it "rapt my" _willing_ not my"_imprisoned_ soul in elysium, " and I was so happy to feel I could againfollow a rational chain of ideas, and comprehend the words of thebeautiful poetry, to which music added such a charm and force. She sang, "Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, " and "Farewell, butwhenever you welcome the hour, " and "Oh, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me?"and "Vive Henri Quatre!" which I love for the sake of Mrs. HenryHamilton, and for the sake of Lady Longford's saying to me, with amother's pride and joy in her enthusiastic eyes, "My Caroline will singto me at any time, in any inn, or anywhere. " I am sure I may say thesame of my sister Sophy, who will sing for me at an inn by my sick bed, and with more power of voice than all the stimulus of company andflattery can draw from other young ladies. I never wish to hear a finesinger; I always agree with Dr. Johnson in wishing that the difficultieshad been impossibilities, with all their falsettos and tortures ofaffectation to which they put themselves. How I hate them, and all theaimings at true Italian pronunciation and true Italian manner, whichafter all is, nine times out of ten, quite erroneous, and such as theItalians themselves would laugh at, or most probably no more comprehendthan I did De Leuze repeating the "Botanic Garden": I was just going toask what language it was, when my mother, good at need, saved me fromthe irreparable blunder by whispering, "It is English. " The words were, I believe, all right, but the accents were all thrown wrong. As LadySpencer said, "It is wonderful that foreigners never _by accident_throw the accents right. " Milton says:

 For eloquence the soul, song moves the sense;

but if he had heard Moore's poetry sung by Sophy, he would haveacknowledged that song moved not only the sense, but the soul. 

I have dilated upon this to you, my dear Lucy, because you have at timesfelt the same about Sophy's singing. During my illness, day and night, whenever pain and delirium allowed me rational thought, you and youradmirable patience recurred to my mind. I said to myself, "How can shebear it so well, and in her young days, the spring-time of life? howadmirable is her resignation and cheerfulness! never a cross word, orcross look, or impatient gesture, and for four years; when I, with allmy strength of experience and added philosophy from education, moan andgroan aloud, and can scarce bear ten days' illness, with two reallyangel sisters to nurse me, and watch my 'asking eye'!" You have at leastthe reward of my perfect esteem and admiration, after comparison withmyself, the only true standard by which I can estimate your worth. 

 * * * * *

Miss Edgeworth and her sisters spent a most happy fortnight with SirWalter Scott and his family. "Never, " writes his son-in-law, "did I seea brighter day at Abbotsford than that on which Miss Edgeworth firstarrived there: never can I forget her look and accent when she wasreceived by him at his archway, and exclaimed: 'Everything about you isexactly what one ought to have had wit enough to dream!'"

Sir Walter delighted in Miss Sophy Edgeworth's singing, especially ofMoore's Irish melodies. "Moore's the man for songs, " he said. "Campbellcan write an ode, and I can make a ballad; but Moore beats us all at asong. " Sir Walter was then at the height of his fame and "in the gloryof his prime, " surrounded by his family; both his sons were at home, andhis daughter Anne; and he had then staying with him his nephew, "LittleWalter. " Mr. And Mrs. Lockhart were living at Chiefswood, but they werecontinually at Abbotsford, or some of the party were continually atChiefswood; and Sir Walter's joyous manner and life of mind, his looksof fond pride in his children, the pleasantness of his easy manners, thegay walks, the evening conversations, and the drives in the sociable, enchanted Miss Edgeworth. In these drives the flow of story, poetry, wit, and wisdom never ceased; Sir Walter sitting with his dog Spicer onhis lap, and Lady Scott with her dog Ourisk on her lap. 

Lady Scott one day expressed her surprise that Scott and Miss Edgeworthhad not met when the latter was in Edinburgh in 1803. "Why, " said SirWalter, with one of his queer looks, "you forget, my dear, MissEdgeworth was not a lion then, and my mane, you know, was not grown atall. " [Footnote: _Life of George Ticknor_. ]

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

ABBOTSFORD, _July 31, 1823_. 

I take a pen merely to say that I will not write! I have so much to say, that I dare not trust myself, as I am still so far from strong, I mustnot venture to play tricks with that health which it cost my dear, kindnurses so much to preserve. I am as careful of myself as any creaturecan be without becoming an absolute, selfish egotist. Lady Scott isreally so watchful and careful of me, that even when my own familyguardian angels are not on either or both sides of me, I can do nowrong, and can come to no harm. 

It is quite delightful to see Scott in his family in the country:breakfast, dinner, supper, the same flow of kindness, fondness, andgenius, far, far surpassing his works, his letters, and all my hopes andimagination. His castle of Abbotsford is magnificent, but I forget it inthinking of him. 

_To_ MR. RUXTON. 

ABBOTSFORD, _Aug. 9, 1823_. 

I remember that you requested one of our party to write a few lines fromAbbotsford. I think I mentioned to my aunt or Sophy the impression whichI first experienced from Sir Walter Scott's great simplicity of manner, joined to his wonderful superiority of intellect. This impression hasbeen strengthened by all I have seen of him since. In living with him inthe country, I have particularly liked his behaviour towards his varietyof guests, of all ranks, who come to his hospitable castle. Many ofthese are artists, painters, architects, mechanists, antiquarians, people who look up to him for patronage--none of them permitted to behangers on or parasites; his manners perfectly kind and courteous, yetsuch as to command respect; and I never heard any one attempt to flatterhim. I never saw an author less of an author in his habits. This I earlyobserved, but have been the more struck with it the longer I have beenwith him. He has, indeed, such variety of occupations, that he has nottime to think of his own works: how he has time to write them is thewonder. You would like him for his love of trees; a great part of histime out of doors is taken up in pruning his trees. I have within thishour heard a gentleman say to him, "You have had a good deal ofexperience in planting, Sir Walter; do you advise much thinning, ornot?"--"I should advise much thinning, but little at a time. If you thinmuch at a time, you let in the wind, and hurt your trees. "

I hope to show you a sketch of Abbotsford Sophy has made--better thanany description. Besides the Abbey of Melrose, we have seen manyinteresting places in this neighbourhood. To-day we have been adelightful drive through Ettrick Forest, and to the ruins of Newark--thehall of Newark, where the ladies bent their necks of snow to hear theLay of the Last Minstrel. Though great part of Ettrick Forest was cutdown years ago, yet much of it has grown up again to respectable height, and many most beautiful oak, ash, and alder trees remain. We had a happywalk by the river, and after refreshing ourselves with a luncheon in asummer-house beautifully situated, we went to look at the ruins ofNewark. It was a pity that this fine old building was let to go to ruin, which it has done only within the last seventy years. The late Duke andDuchess of Buccleuch, to whom it belonged, had in their youth livedabroad, and were so ignorant about their own estate in Scotland, thatwhen they first came to live here they supposed there were no trees, andno wood they thought could be had, and brought with them, among otherthings, a barrel full of skewers for the cook. 

It is very agreeable to observe how many friends of long standing Scotthas in this neighbourhood: they have been here, and we have been attheir houses: very good houses, and the style of living excellent. Except one Prussian prince and one Swiss baron, no grand foreignvisitors have been here; indeed, this house is in such a state ofpainting and papering, and carpenters finishing new rooms and chasingthe inhabitants out of the old, that it was impossible to have muchcompany. 

Sir Walter's eldest son was here for some days--now gone back toSandhurst; he is excessively shy, very handsome, not at all literary, but he has sense and honourable principle, and is very grateful to thosewho were kind to him in Ireland. His younger brother, Charles, who isnow at home, has more easy manners, is more conversible, and has more ofhis father's literary taste. I am sorry to say we are to leaveAbbotsford the day after to-morrow; but the longer we stay the moresorry we shall feel to go. We had intended to have paid a visit to LadySelkirk at St. Mary's Isle, but this would be a hundred miles out of ourway, and I have no time for it, which I regret, as I liked very much thelittle I saw of Lady Selkirk in London. 

 * * * * *

After visits at Glasgow and Dalwharran, Miss Edgeworth and her sistersreturned to Ireland. 

 * * * * *

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 20, 1823_. 

It is a long time since I have written to you, always waiting a daylonger for somebody's coming or going, or sailing or landing. You askwhat I am doing: nothing, but reading and idling, and paving a gutterand yard to Honora's pig-stye, and school-house. What have I beenreading? The "Siege of Valencia, " by Mrs. Hemans, which is an hour toolong, but it contains some of the most beautiful poetry I have read foryears. I have read Quin's letters from Spain, entertaining; the reviewof it in the _Quarterly_ is by Blanco White. Dr. Holland's letterscontinue to be as full of information and interest as ever, though he isa married man. Tell Sophy that the subject of electricity andelectro-magnetism is every day affording new facts, and all thephilosophers on the Continent are busy about it. Sir Humphry Davy had anarrow escape of breaking his neck by a fall down stairs, but he is nothurt, _tout an contraire_. I had a letter, written in very good English, the other day from M. De Staël; he is now in London, and tells me theFrench and the Holy Alliance are tyrannising sadly at Geneva, and haveordered all the Italian patriots who had taken refuge there to decamp. There is one of these, Count Somebody or other, whose name I cannotpersuade myself to get up to look for, whom M. De Staël wishes I wouldtake by the hand in London, and what I am to do with him when I have himby the hand I don't know. 

I had a letter from Walter Scott, who has been delighted with thehistory of Caraboo, [Footnote: Caraboo is alluded to in _St. Roman'sWell_, published in the autumn of this year. Sir Walter had never heardof her till Miss Edgeworth told her history to him at Abbotsford. ] whichI sent to him: a pamphlet published at the time. He says that nobodywith a reasonable head could attempt to calculate the extent of popularcredulity, and observes that she, like all the great cheats who haveimposed upon mankind, was touched with insanity, half knave, half mad, at last the dupe of her own acting of enthusiasm. 

Prince Hohenlohe and the pamphlets, pro and con, occupy us much. Crampton's second edition of his I think excellent. Some very curiousfacts have been brought out of the effect of the imagination upon thebodily health. And while Scott is writing novels to entertain the world, and the philosophers in France trying experiments on electro-magnetism, Davy tumbling down stairs, and Denham and Co. In Africa looking for theNiger, here is all London rushing out to look at the cottage in which aswindler lived who murdered another swindler, and buying bits of thesack in which the dead body was put! Have your newspapers given what wehave had in the _Morning Chronicle_? views of Roberts's cottage and thepond with Thurtell and Hunt dragging the body out of it? Shakespearunderstood John Bull right well, and always gave him plenty of murdersand dead bodies. I am glad there are no Irishmen in this base as well assavage gang. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

PAKENHAM HALL, _Jan. 21_. 

We, my mother, Lovell, Fanny, and I, came here yesterday, glad to seeLord Longford surrounded by his friends in old Pakenham Hall hospitablestyle, --he always cordial, unaffected, and agreeable. The house has beencompletely new-modelled, chimneys taken down from top to bottom, roomsturned about from lengthways to broad-ways, thrown into one another, andout of one another, and the result is that there is a comfortableexcellent drawing-room, dining-room, and library, and the bedchambersare admirable. Mrs. Smyth, of Gaybrook, and her daughter are here, andMr. Knox; and I have been so lucky as to be seated next to him at dinneryesterday, and at breakfast this morning; he is very agreeable when hespeaks, and when he is silent it is "silence that speaks. "

Lady Longford [Footnote: Georgiana, daughter of the first EarlBeauchamp. ] has been very attentive to us. She has the finest and mosthappy open-faced children I ever saw--not the least troublesome, yetperfectly free and at their case with the company and with theirparents. 

A box will be left in Dublin for you on Monday morning. There is notelling you how happy I have been getting ready and packing and fussingabout the said box for you, flying about the house from the library tothe garret. And all for what? When Sophy, whom I beg to be the unpacker, opens it, you will see a certain dabbed-up crooked pasteboard tray inwhich are four frills for you: I hemmed every inch of them myself, togive them the only value they could have in your eyes. 

_To_ MRS. BANNATYNE. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb. 16, 1824_. 

My dear Mr. And Mrs. Bannatyne--my dear Mrs. Starke and Miss Bannatyne, and Andrew and Dugald, and all of you kind friends, put your heads closetogether to hear a piece of intelligence which will, I know, rejoiceyour kind hearts. 

_Our_ dear Sophy and _your_ dear Sophy is going to be married to aperson whom her mother, and every one of her own family completelyapprove, who has been tenderly attached to her for some time, whoseprinciples, understanding, manners, and honourable manly character aresuch as to deserve such a wife as I may proudly say he will have inSophy. His birth, family connections, and fortune are all such as wecould wish. The gentleman is a cousin of our own Captain Barry Fox; heis an officer, but will probably leave the army, and settle in his owncountry; we hope within reach of us. He has been so kind and considerateabout poor Lucy, so anxious not to deprive her too suddenly of herbeloved, and best of nurses, that he has endeared himself the more to usall. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 18, 1824_. 

The indissoluble knot is tied! What an awful ceremony it is! What anawful deed! How can parents bear to be at the weddings of their childrenwhere it is not a marriage of their own free choice? and how can a womanherself pronounce that solemn vow when she is marrying for money, or forgrandeur, or from any earthly motive but the pure heart?--a purer heartthan my sister Sophy's I do believe never approached the altar, nor wasthe hand ever given more entirely with the free heart. There was no oneat the wedding but our own family, Mr. Fox, Francis Fox, and WilliamBeaufort. We six ladies went in the carriage immediately after breakfastto the church, where the gentlemen were waiting for us. The churchyard, and church of course, crowded with the poor people of the village, butas we drove out of our own lawn into Mr. Keating's, there was as littleannoyance from starers as possible. William Beaufort married them, ashad been Sophy's particular wish. The sun shone out with a brightpromise at the moment her marriage was completed. Barry handed her intohis chaise, the most commodious, prettiest, and plainest carriage I eversaw, and away they drove. 

_To_ MRS. O'BEIRNE. [Footnote: The Bishop of Meath died in 1823; andMrs. O'Beirne and her daughters went to reside in England. ]

BLACK CASTLE, _July 6, 1824_. 

In the little drawing-room at Black Castle, where we have been so oftenhappy together; in the little drawing-room to which you have so oftenbrought me to see my dear aunt, I now write to you, my dear friend, totell you how much I miss you. I feel a perpetual want of that part of myhappiness in this dear place which I owed to its neighbourhood toanother dear place to which I cannot now bear to go. Once, and but once, in the two months I have been here have I been there; when theindispensable civility of returning a formal visit required it, and thenI felt it to be as much, if not more, than I was able to do, with thecomposure I felt to be proper. The sitting in that red drawing-room andmissing everything I had so loved--the saloon, the lawn--I really couldnot speak, and heartily glad I was when I got away. 

My plans of going to England this summer have been all broken up: youknow how, as you have heard of the death of my dear sister Anna, [Footnote: Anna Edgeworth, Maria's whole sister, had married Dr. Beddoesin 1794. ] at Florence; the account of her loss reached me just when Iwas joyfully expecting an answer to a letter full of projects which shenever lived to read. GOD'S will be done. We expect my nieces, Anna andMary, at Edgeworthstown as soon as they return from Italy. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 17, 1824_. 

I hope this will find you at Cheltenham with Barry and Sophy, and Fanny;my mother and Margaret set off this fine morning for Black Castle, andLucy is now in the dining-room, her bed aslant across the open middlewindow, the grass plot new-mown, and a sweet smell of fresh hay. Theyare drawing home the hay, and men are driving past the windows on emptycars, or leading loaded ones. The roses are still in full blow on thetrellis. Aunt Bess sitting by Lucy talking of the beautiful thorns inthe Phoenix Park, and I am sitting on the other side of Lucy's bed bythe pillar. 

Margaret Ruxton when here was eager to pay her compliments to PeggyTuite; her husband has written for her to go to him, and she is now"torn almost in two between the wish to go to her husband and herlothness to leave her old mother. " She gave Margaret and me the historyof her losing and finding her wedding ring. "Sure I knew my luck wouldchange when I found my wedding ring that I lost four years ago--down inthe quarry. I went across the fields to feed the pig, and looked andlooked till I was tired, and then concluded I had given it to the pigmixed up and that he had swallowed it for ever--it was a real gold ring. But the men that was clearing out the _rubbage_ in the quarry found itand adjourned to the public house to share the luck of it. My brothergot scent of it and went directly to inform the man that found it whosethe ring was, and demanded it; he wouldn't hear of giving it back, andsold it to a pensioner there above; my brother set off with himself tothe priest and told all, and the priest summoned the man and thepensioner, and my brother, and in the presence of an honest man, Mr. Sweeny, warned the pensioner to restore the wedding ring, since mybrother could tell the tokens on it. 'It's the woman's wedding ring toremind her of her conjugal duties, and it's sacrilege to take it. ' Butthe man that sold it was hardened, and the pensioner said he had paidfor it, and so says the priest to Keegan, that's the master of thequarry men, 'Turn this man out of the work, he is a bad man and he willcorrupt the rest. And, Peggy Tuite, I advise you and your brother to gostraight to Major Bond and summon these men. '" Then she described thetrial, when Tuite "swore to the tokens where it had been crushed by astone, and the goldsmith's mark, and the Major held it between him andthe light and plainly noticed the crush and the battered marks, andhanding me the ring said, 'Peggy Tuite, this is your ring sure enough. '"

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 16, 1824_. 

We have heard from Sophy Fox, who tells us that they have been delightedwith their journey to Aberystwith, especially the devil's bridge. Canyou tell me why the devil has so many bridges, sublime and beautiful, inevery country of the habitable world? Ingénieur des Ponts et Chausséesto his Satanic majesty would be a place of great business, profit andglory, and would require a man of first-rate abilities. Lucy has painteda beautiful portrait of her bullfinch, picking at a bunch of whitecurrants--the currants would, I am sure, be picked by any live bird. 

Tell me how you like _Haji Baba_. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 28, 1824_. 

I am impatient to set my dear Aunt Mary's [Footnote: After the death ofher sister Charlotte in 1822, Mrs. Mary Sneyd resided occasionally withher brother in England till 1828, when she returned finally toEdgeworthstown, where she remained for the rest of her life, deeplyattached to all the family, but regarding her niece Honora as peculiarlyher own child. ] mind free from the anxiety I am sure she feels about herdecision to stay in England this winter; whatever disappointment andregret I felt was mitigated by her beautifully kind and tender note. 

Your entertaining account of the archery meeting at Lord Bagot's cameyesterday evening. What a magnificent entertainment, and in what goodtaste! It was a delightful house for a _fête champêtre_. 

The Roman Catholic Bishop, M'Gaurin, held a confirmation the day beforeyesterday, and dined here on a God-send haunch of venison. Same day Mr. Hunter arrived, and Mr. Butler came with young Mr. Hamilton, an"admirable Crichton" of eighteen; a real prodigy of talents, who Dr. Brinkley says may be a second Newton--quite gentle and simple. Mr. AndMrs. Napier arrived on Wednesday, and spent two most agreeable days withus; he is an extremely well-informed man, and both are perfectlywell-bred. Mr. Butler and Mr. Hamilton suited them delightfully. Mr. Butler and Mr. Napier found they were both Oxford men, and took to eachother directly. Mr. Napier's conversation is quite superior and easy. Those two days put me in mind of former times. Hunter is very happy herein spite of his cockney prejudices; he says _Harry and Lucy_ must beready by October. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

_Jan. 1, 1825_. 

A happy new year to you, my dearest aunt, --to you to whom I now look asmuch as I can to any one now living, for the rays of pleasure that Iexpect to gild my bright evening of life. As we advance in life webecome more curious, more fastidious in gilding and gilders; we find toour cost that all that glitters is not gold, and your everyday bunglingcarvers and gilders will not do. Our _evening-gilders_ must be moreskilful than those who flashed and daubed away in the morning of life, and gilt with any tinsel, the weather-cock for the morning sun. 

You may perceive, my dear aunt, by my having got so finely to theweather-cock, and the rising sun, that I am out of the hands of all mydear apothecaries, and playing away again with a superfluity of life. (N. B. I am surprisingly prudent. ) Honora's cough has almost subsided, and Lucy can sit upright the greater part of the day. "GOD bless themark!" as Molly Bristow would say, if she heard me, "don't be bragging. "

_Jan. 6_. 

I have to give you the most cheering accounts of Honora and Lucy. Honorais now on the sofa opposite to me, working with her candle beside her ona bracket--my new year's gift to the sofas, a mahogany bracket on eachside of the chimney-piece to fold up or down, and large enough to hold acandlestick and a teacup or work-box. Mary Beddoes and I are on the sofanext the door; Honora and Anna on the other, and somebody sitting in themiddle talking by turns to each sofa. Who can that be? Not Harriet, fortea is over and she has seceded to Lucy's room--not my mother, norWilliam, nor Mrs. Beaufort, nor Louisa, for the carriage has carriedthem away some hours ago, poor souls, and full-dressed bodies, to dineat Ardagh. But who can this Unknown be? A gentleman it must be toconstitute the happiness of two sofas of ladies. 

My nephew, Henry Beddoes! and the joy of ladies he certainly will be, not merely of aunts and sisters, but of all who can engage or be engagedby prepossessing manners and appearance, and the promise of all that isamiable and intelligent. I am delighted with him, and he would charmyou. 

Lady Bathurst has done me another good turn for Fanny Stewart, that is, for her husband; there was a charming letter from Fanny Stewart a fewdays ago. I send for your amusement the famous little _Valoe_ in itselegantissimo binding, and Lady Bathurst's letter about it, elegantissima also. You remember, I hope, the story of its publication, written by a governess of the Duchess of Beaufort's, assisted by all theconclave of quality young-lady-governesses, with little traits ofcharacter of their pupils. The authoress sent it to the Duchess ofBeaufort, asking permission to publish and dedicate it to her Grace. TheDuchess never read it, and returned it to the Governess with acompliment, and, "publish it by all means, and dedicate it to me. " Outcame the publication; and though each young lady was flattered, yet allquarrelled with the mode of compliment, and in many there was a littletouch of blame, which moved their or their mothers' anger, and with oneaccord they attacked the Duchess of Beaufort for her permission topublish, and the edition was all bought up in a vast hurry. 

In a few days I trust--you know I am a great truster--that you willreceive a packet franked by Lord Bathurst, containing only a littlepocket-book--_Friendships Offering, for_ 1825, dizened out; I fear youwill think it too fine for your taste, but there is in it, as you willfind, the old "Mental Thermometer, " which was once a favourite of yours. You will wonder how it came there--simply thus. Last autumn came by thecoach a parcel containing just such a book as this for last year, and aletter from Mr. Lupton Relfe--a foreigner settled in London--and heprayed in most polite bookseller strain that I would look over myportfolio for some trifle for this book for 1825. I might have lookedover "my portfolio" till doomsday, as I have not an unpublished scrap, except "Take for Granted. " [Footnote: "Take for Granted" was an ideawhich Maria never worked out into a story, though she had made manynotes for it. ] But I recollected the "Mental Thermometer, " and that ithad never been _out_, except in the _Irish Farmer's Journal_--not knownin England. So I routed in the garret under pyramids of old newspapers, with my mother's prognostics, that I never should find it, and loudprophecies that I should catch my death, which I did not, but dirty anddusty, and cobwebby, I came forth after two hours' grovelling with myobject in my hand! Cut it out, added a few lines of new end to it, andpacked it off to Lupton Relfe, telling him that it was an old thingwritten when I was sixteen. Weeks elapsed, and I heard no more, whenthere came a letter exuberant in gratitude, and sending a parcelcontaining six copies of the new Memorandum book, and a most beautifultwelfth edition of Scott's _Poetical Works_, bound in the most elegantmanner, and with most beautifully engraved frontispieces and vignettes, and a £5 note. I was quite ashamed--but I have done all I could for himby giving the _Friendship's Offerings_ to all the fine people I couldthink of. The set of Scott's Works made a nice New Year's gift forHarriet; she had seen this edition at Edinburgh and particularly wishedfor it. The £5 I have sent to Harriet Beaufort to be laid out in booksfor Fanny Stewart. Little did I think the poor old "Thermometer" wouldgive me so much pleasure. 

Here comes the carriage rolling round. I feel guilty; what will mymother say to me, so long a letter at this time of night?--Yoursaffectionately in all the haste of guilt, conscience-stricken: that is, found out. 

No--all safe, all innocent--because _not found out. 

Finis. _

By the author of _Moral Tales_ and _Practical Education_. 

Feb. 16_. 

I hope my dearest aunt will not disdain the work of my little bunglinghands. The vandykes of this apron are such as Vandyke would scorn; poorlittle pitiful things they be! and will be in rags in a fortnight nodoubt. But if you knew the pains I have taken with them, and whatpleasure I have had in doing them, even all wrong, you would hang themround you with satisfaction. By the time it is completely _roved_ away Ishall be with you and _bind_ it over to its good behaviour, so that itshall never rove _again_ me. Love me and laugh at me as you have donemany is the year. 

The crocuses and snowdrops in my garden are beautiful; mygreen-board-edged beds and green trellis make it absolutely a woodenparadise. 

I forgot to boast that I was up for three mornings at seven _vandyking_. 

Henry Beddoes told us that Lord Byron was extremely beloved and highlythought of by all whom he heard speak of him at Missolonghi, both Greeksand his own country-men. He had regained public esteem by his latterconduct. The place in which he died was not the worst inn's worst room, but an absolute hovel, without any bed of any kind; he was lying on asack. 

_March 15_. 

You have probably seen in the papers the death of our admirable friendMrs. Barbauld. I have copied for you her last letter to me and somebeautiful lines written in her eightieth year. There is a melancholyelegance and force of thought in both. Elegance and strength--qualitiesrarely uniting without injury to each other, combine most perfectly inher style, and this rare combination, added to their classical purity, form, perhaps, the distinguishing characteristics of her writings. England has lost a great writer, and we a most sincere friend. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

BLACK CASTLE, _May 10, 1825_. 

Your list of presentation copies of _Harry and Lucy_, and your reasonsfor giving each, diverted me very much. Sophy and Margaret and I laughedover it and agreed that every reason was like Mr. Plunket's speech, "unanswerable. "

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 9, 1825_. 

With my whole soul I thank you for your most touching letter [Footnote:On the death of Mr. Ruxton. ] to my mother, so full of true resignationto GOD'S will, and of those feelings which He has implanted in the humanheart for our greatest happiness and our greatest trials. "Fifty-fiveyears!" How much is contained in those words of yours! I loved him dearly, and well I might, most kind he ever was to me, and I felt all hisexcellent qualities, his manners, his delightful temper. How little did Ithink when last I saw his kind looks bent upon me that it was for the lasttime!

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 1825_. 

Sir Walter Scott, punctual to his promise, arrived on Friday in goodtime for dinner; he brought with him Miss Scott and Mr. Crampton. I amglad that kind Crampton had the reward of this journey; thoughfrequently hid from each other by clouds of dust in their open carriage, they had as they told us never ceased talking. They like each other asmuch as two men of so much genius and so much benevolence should, and werejoice to be the bond of union. 

Scarcely had Crampton shaken the dust from his shoes when he said, "Before I eat, and what is more, before I wash my hands, I must seeLucy. " He says that he has now no doubt that, please GOD, and in all thehumility of hope and gratitude I repeat it, she will perfectly recover. 

Captain and Mrs. Scott and Mr. Lockhart were detained in Dublin, and didnot come till eleven o'clock, and my mother had supper, and fruit, andeverything refreshing for them. Mrs. Scott is perfectly unaffected andrather pretty, with a sweet confiding expression of countenance and finemild most loving eyes. 

Sir Walter delights the hearts of every creature who sees, hears, andknows him. He is most benignant as well as most entertaining; thenoblest and the gentlest of lions, and his face, especially the lowerpart of it, is excessively like a lion; he and Mr. Crampton and Mr. Jephson were delightful together. The school band, after dinner bymoonlight, playing Scotch tunes, and the boys at leap-frog delighted SirWalter. Next day we went to the school for a very short time and saw alittle of everything, and a most favourable impression was left. Itbeing Saturday, religious instruction was going on when we went in. Catholics, with their priest, in one room; Protestants, with Mr. Keating, in the other. 

More delightful conversation I have seldom in my life heard than we havebeen blessed with these three days. What a touch of sorrow must mix withthe pleasures of all who have had great losses! Lovell, my mother, andI, at twelve o'clock at night, joined in exclaiming, "How delightful! O!that he had lived to see and hear this!"

 * * * * *

Maria Edgeworth and her sister Harriet accompanied Sir Walter and MissScott, Mr. Lockhart and Captain and Mrs. Scott to Killarney. Theytravelled in an open caleche of Sir Walter's, and Captain Scott'schariot, changing the combination from one carriage to another as theweather or accident suggested. When some difficulty occurred abouthorses Sir Walter said, "Swift, in one of his letters, when no horseswere to be had, says, 'If we had but had a captain of horse to swear forus we should have had the horses at once;' now here we have the captainof horse, but the landlord is not moved even by him. "

The little tour was most enjoyable, and greatly was it enjoyed. NeitherSir Walter nor Miss Edgeworth were ever annoyed with the littlediscomforts of travel, and they found amusement in everything, shamingall with whom they came in contact. Their boatman on the lake ofKillarney told Lord Macaulay twenty years afterwards that the pleasureof rowing them had made him amends for missing a hanging that day!

Mrs. Edgeworth relates:

 * * * * *

The evening of the day they left Killarney, Sir Walter was unwell, andMaria was much struck by the tender affectionate attention of his sonand Mr. Lockhart and their great anxiety. He was quite as usual, however, the next day, and on their arrival in Dublin, the whole partydined at Captain Scott's house in Stephen's Green; he and Mrs. Scottmost hospitably inviting, besides Maria and Harriet, my two daughters, Fanny and Mrs. Barry Fox, who had just returned from Italy, and my twosons, Francis and Pakenham, who were coming home for the holidays. Ithappened to be Sir Walter's birthday, the 15th of August, and his healthwas drunk with more feeling than gaiety. He and Maria that evening badefarewell to each other, never to meet again in this world. 

 * * * * *

Twenty-five years later we find Miss Edgeworth writing to Mr. Ticknor, how, in imagination, she could still meet Sir Walter, "with all hisbenign, calm expression of countenance, his eye of genius, and his mouthof humour--such as genius loved to see him. His very self I see, feeling, thinking, and about to speak. "

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

BLACK CASTLE, _August 30, 1825_. 

I calculate that there can be no use in my writing to Dr. Holland, Killarney, at this time of day, because he must have _departed_ thatlife. However, I write to Mr. Hallam [Footnote: Mr. Hallam was detainedat Killarney by breaking his leg, and Dr. Holland had been staying withhim. ] this day with a message to Dr. Holland, if there. If you learnthat Dr. Holland can come to Edgeworthstown, you will of course tell me, if it be within the possibility of time and space; I would go home evenfor the chance of spending an hour with him; therefore be prepared forthe shock of seeing me. I do hope he will in his great kindness--whichis always beyond what any one ought to hope--I do hope he will contriveto go to Edgeworthstown. How delightful to have Lucy sitting up like alady beside you!

The Lords Bective and Darnley, and Sir Marcus Somerville, and LORD knowswho, are all at this moment broiling in Navan at a Catholic meeting, saying and hearing the same things that have been said and heard100, 000, 000 times; one certain good will result from it that I shallhave a frank for you and save you sevenpence. I will send a number ofthe New Monthly Magazine as old as the hills to Fanny, with a review ofTremaine, which will interest her, as she will find me there, likeMahomet's coffin, between heaven and earth. My Aunt Sophy and Mag areall reading _Harry and Lucy_, and all reading it bit by bit, the onlyway in which it can be fairly judged. My aunt's being really interestedand entertained by it, as I see she is, quite surpasses my hopes. Feelings of gratitude to Honora should have made me write this speciallyto her, only that I was afraid she might think that I _thought_ that she_thought_ of nothing but _Harry and Lucy_, which, upon the word of areasonable creature, I do not. My aunt is entertained with Clarke's_Life_, though he says that all literary ladies are horse godmothers. Inthe _Evening Mail_ of Monday last there are extracts from somespeculations of Dr. Barry, an English physician at Paris, on the effectof atmospheric pressure in causing the motion of the blood in the veins. If you see Dr. Holland, ask him about this and its application inpreventing the effect of poison. 

In Bakewell's _Travels in Switzerland_ there is an account apropos toennui being the cause of suicide, of the death of Berthollet's son, whoshut himself up in a room with a brasier of charcoal; a paper was foundon the table with an account of his feelings during the operation of thefumes of the charcoal upon him to the last moment that he could make hiswriting intelligible. 

_To_ MRS. STARK. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 27, 1825_. 

Our two boys were at home in August, and the happiest of the happy withtwo ponies and four sisters. Francis's poem of "Saul" won a medal, andPakenham's "Jacob, " a miniature Horace. 

You may have seen in the papers the account of the burning of CastleForbes, in the county of Longford. Lord Forbes was wakened by his dog, or he would have been suffocated and burned in his bed. He showed greatpresence of mind: carried out, first, a quantity of gunpowder which wasin a closet into which the flames were entering; and next, the familypapers and pictures. A valuable collection of prints and books werelost: key not to be found in the scuffle, and servants and otherignoramuses, conceiving the _biggest_ volumes must be the most valuable, wasted their energies upon folios of Irish House of Commons Journals andStatutes. The castle was in three hours' time reduced to the bare walls. I am forgetting a fact for which I began this story. A gentleman was, bythe force of motive, endued with such extraordinary strength in themidst of that night's danger, that he wrenched from its iron spike andpedestal a fine marble bust of Cromwell, carried it downstairs, andthrew it on the grass. Next morning he could not lift it! and no one manwho tried could stir it. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 19, 1825_. 

I wish you to have a letter from Dr. Holland before it gets stale:therefore you must forgive me for writing on this thin paper, for noother would waft it to you free. 

Your observations about the difficulties of "Taking for Granted" areexcellent: I "take for granted" I shall be able to conquer them. If onlyone instance were taken, the whole story must turn upon that, and beconstructed to bear on one point; and that _pointing_ to the moral wouldnot appear natural. As Sir Walter said to me in reply to my observing, "It is difficult to introduce the moral without displeasing the reader, ""The rats won't go into the trap if they smell the hand of theratcatcher. "

 * * * * *

"Taking for Granted" was laid aside by Miss Edgeworth for ten yearsafter this. When Mr. Ticknor was at Edgeworthstown in 1835, he says:

 * * * * *

Miss Edgeworth was anxious to know what instances I had ever witnessedof persons suffering from "taking for granted" what proved false, anddesired me quite earnestly, and many times, to write to her about it;"for, " she added, "you would be surprised if you knew how much I pick upin this way. " "The story, " she said, "must begin lightly, and the earlyinstances of mistake might be comic, but it must end tragically. " I toldher I was sorry for this. "Well, " said she, "I can't help it, it must beso. The best I can do for you is, to leave it quite uncertain whether itis possible the man who is to be my victim can ever be happy again ornot. "

 * * * * *

On her father's death, Miss Edgeworth had resigned the management of hisestates to their new owner, her half-brother Lovell, but, in theuniversal difficulties which affected the money market in 1826, she wasinduced to resume her post, acting in everything as her brother's agent, but taking the entire responsibility. By consummate care and prudenceshe weathered the storm which swamped so many in this financial crisis. The great difficulty was paying everybody when rents were not to be had;but she undertook the whole, borrowing money in small sums, paying offencumbrances, and repaying the borrowed money as the times improved;thus enabling her brother to keep the land which so many proprietorswere then obliged to sell, and yet never distressing the tenants. 

The second part of _Harry and Lucy_ was published this year, having beenwritten at various intervals since 1813. Like its predecessor, it had asits object to induce children to become their own instructors. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 27, 1826_. 

These last three weeks I have had multitudes of letters to write, butnot one of them have I written with the least pleasure, except that sortof pleasure which we have in doing what we think a duty. Lovell has putthe management of his affairs into my hands, and the receiving of hisrents; and this is, except one letter which I wrote to the author of_Granby_, as soon as we had finished that delightful book, the onlyletter of pleasure in which I have indulged myself. 

SONNA, _April 6_. 

Most grateful am I, my dearest aunt, for your wonderful preservationafter such a terrible fall! Often and often as I have gone down thosethree steep stairs have I feared that some accident would occur. ThankGOD that you are safe! I really have but this one idea. We have hadagreeable letters from Harriet E. And Sophy Fox, who are very happy atCloona: the accounts of their little daily employments and pleasures arethe most cheering thoughts I can call up at this moment. Happy in thegarden looking at crocuses, contriving new beds, etc. ; happy in thehouse, when Harriet reads out, while Sophy works, _Granby_ at night andPeel's and Robinson's speeches by day. 

_May 27_. 

You have seen in the papers the death of Lady Scott. In Sir Walter'slast letter he had described her sufferings from water on the chest, butwe had no idea the danger was so immediate. She was a most kind-hearted, hospitable person, and had much more sense and more knowledge ofcharacter and discrimination than many of those who ridiculed her. Iknow I never can forget her kindness to me when I was ill at Abbotsford. Her last words at parting were, "GOD bless you! we shall never meetagain. " At the time it was much more likely that I should have died, Ithought, than she. Sir Walter said he had been interrupted in his letterby many domestic distresses. The first two pages had been begun twomonths ago, and were in answer to a letter of mine inquiring about thetruth of his losses, etc. Of these he spoke with cheerful fortitude, butwith no bravado. He said that his losses had been great, but that he hadenough left to live on; that he had had many gratifying offers ofassistance, but that what he had done foolishly he would bear manfully;that he would take it all upon his own shoulders, and that he had greatcomfort in knowing that Lady Scott was not a person who cared aboutmoney, and that "Beatrice, " as he calls Anne Scott, bore her alteredprospects with cheerfulness. "She is of a very generous disposition, andpoor Janie proffered her whole fortune as if it had been a gooseberry. "

After writing this much the letter appeared to have been thrown asideand forgotten to be sent, till he was roused again by a letter from meabout poor Mr. Jephson. The domestic distresses which had interruptedthe course of his thoughts were, the illness of his dear little grandsonLockhart, one of the finest and most engaging children I ever saw; andthen Lady Scott's illness and death. He says that the letters of MalachyMalagrowther cost him but a day apiece. 

_July 10_. 

Sir Humphry Davy has been with us since Thursday, and his visit has beendelightful; he has always been kind and constant in his friendship tous. I had expressed a great wish to see the "Discourses" which heannually addressed to the Royal Society, as President, on thepresentation of the medals. He has been urged to publish them, but tothis he has never yet consented. I had the courage--indeed, I thought atthe time the rashness--to ask him to let me see the MS. Of one which Iwas particularly anxious to see, as it related to Dr. Brinkley: SirHumphry was so very kind to have a copy made for me of _all_ hisDiscourses. I found them fully equal to my expectations, quite worthy ofthe genius and reputation of Sir Humphry Davy, and becoming thePresident of the Royal Society of England; giving a complete view of thediscoveries and progress of science in England within the last sixyears, compressed into the smallest compass compatible with clearness, written with all the dignity of perfect simplicity and candour, like onesensible to national glory, but free from national jealousy; whose greatobject as a philosopher is the general advancement of science over thewhole world, and whose great pleasure is in conferring well-earnedpraise. His addresses to those to whom he presents the medals areNOBLE--always appreciating the past with generous satisfaction, yetcontinually exciting to future exertion. In each new discovery he opensviews beyond what the discoverer had foreseen, and from each newinvention shows how fresh combinations present themselves, so that inthe world of science there must be room enough for the exertions of all:the best and truest moral against envy, and all those petty jealousieswhich have disgraced scientific as well as literary men. 

Travelling, and his increased acquaintance with the world, has enlargedthe _range_ without lowering the _pitch_ of Sir Humphry's mind--anallusion I have borrowed from an entertaining essay on training hawkssent to me by Sir John Sebright. Do you know that there is at thismoment a gentleman in Ireland, near Belfast, who trains hawks and goesa-hawking--a Mr. Sinclair?

Sir Humphry repeated to us a remarkable criticism of Buonaparte's onTalma's acting: "You don't play Nero well; you gesticulate too much; youspeak with too much vehemence. A despot does not need all that; he needonly _pronounce. Il sait qu'il se suffit_. " "And, " added Talma, who toldthis to Sir Humphry, "Buonaparte, as he said this, folded his arms inhis well-known manner, and stood as if his attitude expressed thesentiment. "

Sir Humphry thinks that, of all of royal race he has seen, legitimate orillegitimate, _noble par l'épée_, or noble by "just hereditary sway, "the late Emperor of Russia was the most really noble-minded and theleast ostentatious. A vast number of his munificent gifts to men ofletters are known only to those by whom they were received. He hasfrequently sent tokens of approbation to scientific men in variousforeign countries for inventions in arts and sciences which he had founduseful in his dominions. A _caisse_ arrived from Russia for Sir Humphry, which he thought were some mineralogical specimens which had beenpromised to him; but on opening it there appeared a superb piece ofplate, with a letter from the Emperor of Russia presenting it to him, asa mark of gratitude for the safety lamp. The design on the plate, theEmperor adds, was his own: it represents the genius of fire, with hisbow and arrows broken. 

Among other good things which Sir Humphry accomplished in his travelswas the abolition of the _corda_, of ancient use in Naples, --aninstrument of torture by which the criminal was hung up by a cord tiedround his joined wrists, and then pulled down and let fall from aheight, dislocating his wrists to a certainty, and giving a chance ofbreaking his arms and legs. This instrument chanced to be set up nearthe hotel where Sir Humphry and Lady Davy resided: they could not bearthe sight, and changed their lodgings. The next time Sir Humphry was atCourt the King asked why he had changed his residence. Sir Humphryexplained, and expressed himself so strongly, that he awakened dormantRoyal feeling, and this instrument of torture was abolished. Sir Humphryhad previously represented to our Queen Caroline, then at Naples, thathere was an opportunity of doing good, and of rendering herselfdeservedly popular. She was struck with the idea at the time, but forgotit; and then Sir Humphry took it up, and with the assistance of thepublic opinion of all the English, it was accomplished. 

Yesterday, when I came down to breakfast, I found Sir Humphry with acountenance radiant with pleasure, and eager to tell me that CaptainParry is to be sent out upon a new Polar expedition. 

_August 14_. 

This day, my dearest aunt, our wishes have been accomplished--thesacred, awful vow has been pronounced, and Harriet and Mr. Butler drovefrom the church door to Cloona. [Footnote: Harriet, second daughter ofthe fourth Mrs. Edgeworth, married the Rev. Richard Butler, Rector ofTrim, and afterwards Dean of Clonmacnoise. ]

Lucy bore the trials of the day wonderfully well. She was at thewedding, and much agitated when it came to the conclusion and theparting; but there was, fortunately, something to be done immediatelyafterwards--Sophy's [Footnote: Mrs. Barry Fox. ] child to be christened;a very nice, pretty little child it is--Maxwell. 

William Beaufort alarmed us by a sudden illness on Saturday: however, hewas able to appear today and perform both ceremonies, and does not seemto have suffered by the double exertion. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

BLACK CASTLE, _Sept. 3, 1826_. 

Thank you for wishing to be with me, but I am sure it will be better foryou to be at the sea. Here, though I am obliged to think of actualbusiness between-times, I have every motive and means for diversion formyself, both on my own account and on my aunt's. We run in and out, andlaugh and talk nonsense; and every little thing amuses us together: thecat, the dog, the hog, Mr. Barry, or a _parachute_ blown from thedandelion. 

_Nov. 19_. 

Bess Fitzherbert has written an entertaining letter to Mrs. Barry, inwhich she mentions one of the dishes they had just had at dinner atPozzo, between Modena and Bologna: cold boiled eels, with preservedpears, a toothpick or skewer stuck in each to take them up by, insteadof a fork. My aunt's friend, Madame Boschi, near Bologna, offered tosend a garden-chair drawn by bullocks for Bess, the road not beingpassable for _common cattle_. 

_To_ C. S. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 26, 1826_. 

I send your account, and have done my best. I have not read _BoyneWater_, but have got Lindley Murray's _Memoir_, and thank you formentioning it. Harriet and Mr. Butler come to-morrow. Sophy Fox andBarry, and their beautiful and amiable little Maxwell, are here. How youwill like that child, and make it see "upper air!" How long since thosetimes when you used to show its mother and Harriet upper air! Do youremember how you used to do it to frighten me, and how I used to shut myeyes when you threw them up, and you used to call to me to look? Ah! _lebon temps!_ But we are all very happy now, and it is delightful to heara child's voice cooing, or even crying again in this house. Never didinfant cry less than Maxwell: in short, it is the most charming littleanimal I ever saw. "Animal yourself, sir!" [Footnote: Mr. Edgeworth, admiring a baby in a nurse's arms, called it "a fine little animal. " Towhich the nurse indignantly replied, "Animal yourself, sir!"]

Pakenham ornamented the library yesterday with holly, and crownedplaster-of-Paris Sappho with laurels, and Mrs. Hope's picture withmyrtle (i. E. Box), and perched a great stuffed owl in an ivy bush on thetop of a great screen which shades the sofa by the fire from the windowat its back. I am excessively happy to be at home again, after my fourmonths' absence at Black Castle. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 28, 1826_. 

After spending four months with you, it is most delightful to me toreceive from you such assurances that I have been a pleasure and acomfort to you. I often think of William's most just and characteristicexpression, that you have given him a desire to live to advanced age, byshowing him how much happiness can be felt and conferred in age, wherethe affections and intellectual faculties are preserved in all theirvivacity. In you there is a peculiar habit of allowing constantly forthe _compensating_ good qualities of all connected with you, and neverunjustly expecting impossible perfections. This, which I have so oftenadmired in you, I have often determined to imitate; and in this mysixtieth year, to commence in a few days, I will, I am resolved, makegreat progress. "Rosamond at sixty, " says Margaret. 

We are all a very happy party here, and I wish you could see at thismoment sitting opposite to me on sofa and in arm-chair the mother anddaughter and grand-child. 

_To_ MRS. BANNATYNE. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb. 26, 1827_. 

By some strange chance I was taken away from home just after the timewhen Colonel Stewart's pamphlet on India, which you were so kind as tosend me, arrived; in short, I never read it till a few days ago. I am inadmiration of it; it is beautifully written, with such clearness, lucidorder, simplicity, dignity, strength, and eloquence--eloquence resultingfrom strong feeling. The views of its vast subject are comprehensive andmasterly; the policy sound, both theoretically and practicallyconsidered; the morality as sound as the policy, indeed no policy can besound unless joined with morality. The sensibility and philanthropy thatnot only breathe but live and act in this book are of the true, manly, enduring sort--not the affected, sickly, spurious kind, which isdisplayed only for the trick of the poet or orator. It is a book which agood and wise man must ever rejoice in having written, and which will besatisfactory to him even to the last moment of his life. 

Have you seen the _Tales of the O'Hara Family_--the second series? Theyare of unequal value; one called the "Nowlans" is a work of greatgenius. Another book has much amused us, Captain Head's _RoughSketches_, most animated and masterly sketches of his journey across thePampas. There is much information and much good political economycondensed in his three chapters on speculators. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 4, 1827_. 

I went with Pakenham to meet my mother at Castle Pollard, and we hadsuch a nice long talk in the carriage coming back, our tongues neverintermitting one single second, I believe. I am glad you liked mygraceful gentleman-like bear, and his graceful gentleman-like Italianleader. [Footnote: A travelling showman and bear. ] We have had asuccession of actors and actresses, as I may call them, personatingbeggars, all at the last gasp of distress; so perfect, too, was oneEnglishwoman that she set at defiance all the combined ingenuity of theLibrary in cross-questioning her, and after writing a long letter forher to a Rev. Mr. Strainer, of Athlone, I was quite at a loss to decidewhether she was a cheat or not, when one of the Longford police officerschanced to dine with us, I mentioned her, and out came the truth; shehad imposed on him and every one at Longford, and had borrowed a childto pass for her own. We sent for our distressed lady, who was very "sickand weak with a huge blister on her chest, " and low voice and delicatemotions. Oh! if you had seen her when the police officer came into theroom and charged her with the borrowed child. Her countenance, voice, and motions all at once changed; her voice went up at once to_scold-pitch_, and turning round on her chair she faced the chief; butwords in writing cannot do justice to the scene. I must act it for you. 

We are now reading the _Voyage of the "Blonde" to the Sandwich Islands_, with the remains of the King and the Queen. [Footnote: King KamehamehaII. , of the Sandwich Islands, and his Queen, who died of the measles inJohn Street, Adelphi, in 1824. ] Pray get this book, it will delight you. Of the _Blonde_, you know the present Lord Byron is commander--the namestrikes the ear continually--new fame, new associations; reverting, too, to the old Commodore Byron's sort of fame. How curious, how fleeting"this life in other's breath!"

A little box of curiosities from my most amiable American Jewess mymother presented to me this morning at the breakfast table: I was in anecstasy, but shortlived was my joy, for I was thunderstruck the nextinstant by my mother's catching my arm and stopping my hand with thevehement exclamation, "Stop, stop, child, you don't know what you aredoing. "--"No, indeed, ma'am, I don't--what _am_ I doing?" She took the_wreath_ of cotton wool from my passive hand and showed me, wrapped up init, a humming-bird, luckily unhurt, unsquelched. The humming-bird's nestis more beautiful than the creature itself. Poor Lord Liverpool--no onecan wish his existence prolonged. 

 The painful family of death More hideous than their queen. 

_April 8_. 

I am quite well and in high good-humour and good spirits in consequenceof having received the whole of Lovell's half-year's rents in full, withpleasure to the tenants, and without the least fatigue or anxiety tomyself. 

We are reading the second part of _Vivian Grey_, which we like betterthan the first. There is a scene of gamesters and swindlers wonderfullywell done. I know who wrote _Almack's_. Lady de Ros tells me it is byMrs. Purvis, sister to Lady Blessington; this accounts for both theknowledge of high, and the habits of low, life which appear in the book. "Poor dear Almack's, " Lady de Ros says, is not what it was--when peoplewere poor in London, and there were few private balls, Almack's was allin all. Her sailor son is going to publish a Journal of a Tour, including the United States and Niagara. 

_To_ C. S. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 12, 1827_. 

Now I have done all my agent business, I will tell you what Mr. Hope, ina letter I had from him this morning, says of _Almack's_. "It might havebeen a pretty thing, but I think it but a poor one. Of all slangs, thatof fashion is easiest overdone. People do not _hold forth_ about what iswith them a matter of course. Willis, or his waiters, might havefurnished all the characteristic materials. The author ever and anonmakes up for want of wit by stringing together common French millinerphrases, which have no merit but that of being exotics in England. Thepoint consists in his _italics_. Besides, he only describes theproceedings, not the spirit of the institution of Almack's. It wasrather a bold thing in London to put FEASTING out of fashion, and tomake a seven-shilling ball the thing to which all aspired to beadmitted, and many without the least hope of succeeding. It was thetriumph of aristocracy over mere wealth. It put down the Grimes's offormer days, with their nectarines and peaches at Christmas, and in sofar it improved society. "

All this is very true, but I do not think he does justice to the author. I particularly like the dialogue in the third volume, where Lady AnneNorbury debits and credits her hopes of happiness with her two admirers:no waiting-maid could have written that. In the second volume, also, Ithink there is a scene between Lord and Lady Norbury in theirdressing-room, about getting rid of their guests and making room forothers, which is nicely touched: the Lord and Lady are politelyunfeeling; it is all kept within bounds. 

Mr. Hope begs me to read _Truckleborough Hall_. Of late novels he saysit is that which has amused him most. "Both sides of the politicalquestion are reviewed most impartially; both quizzed a little, and thereader left in doubt to which the author leans. The transition in thehero from rank Radicalism to a seat on the Treasury Bench, whilepersuading himself all the time that he remains consistent, isexceedingly well managed. Interest in the story there is none, becausethe subject admits not of it. Like the high-finished Dutch pictures, mere truth, well and minutely told, makes all its merit. "

Then follows a sentence so complimentary to myself that I cannot copyit, and perhaps you have had enough. I trust you will give me credit, dear Harriet and Sneyd, for copying for you other people's letters, whenI have nothing in my own but stupid pounds, shillings, and pence. 

In a letter from my friend Mr. Ralston, from Philadelphia, he tells methat seven volumes of Sir Walter Scott's _Life of Napoleon_ have beenalready printed there, and reviewed in the _North American Review_. Scott sends his MS. At the same time to London and to America. I tremblefor this publication. Anne Scott writes to Harriet that her father is sobusy writing, that she scarcely sees anything of him, though they arealone together at Abbotsford. Lockhart is much admired in London for hisbeauty. 

_To_ CAPTAIN BASIL HALL [Footnote: Who had lent a volume of his London_Journal_ to Miss Edgeworth to read. ]

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 25, 1827_. 

I really cannot express to you how much you have gratified me by theproof of confidence you have given me. No degree of praise or admirationcould flatter me so much: confidence implies something much higher--realesteem for the character. I thank you; you shall not find yourconfidence misplaced. I trust you will not think I have gone beyond yourpermission in considering my own family now with me--viz. Mrs. Edgeworth, my sisters, and my brother--as myself. The _Journal_ was readaloud in our library: not a line or a word of it has been copied; andthough some passages have, I know, sunk indelibly into the memories ofthose present, you may rest perfectly secure that they will never _goout_ beyond ourselves. No vanity will ever tempt any one of us to boastof what we have been allowed to read; we shall strictly adhere to yourterms, and never mention or allude to the book. It is delightful, mostinteresting, and entertaining. You may, perhaps, imagine, by conceivingyourself in my place, remote in the middle of Ireland, _how_entertaining and interesting it must be to be thus suddenly transportedinto the midst of the best company in London, scientific, political, andfashionable; and not merely into the midst of them, but behind thescenes with you, and after seeing and hearing and knowing your privateopinion of all. Considering all this, and further, that numbers of thepersons you mention in your _Journal_ we were well acquainted with whenwe were in London, you may, perhaps, comprehend how much pleasure, ofvarious kinds, we enjoyed while we read on. 

The first page I opened upon was the character of Captain Beaufort. Donot shrink at the notion of his most intimate friend, or his sister Mrs. Edgeworth, or his nieces Fanny and Sophy, having seen this character. You need not: we all agree that it does him perfect justice. 

Your manner of mentioning Lydia White was quite touching, as well asjust. She was all you say of her, and her house and society were themost agreeable of the sort in London, since the time of Lady Crewe. Lydia White, besides being our kind friend, was a near connection ofours by the marriage of her nephew to a cousin of ours; and we have hadmeans of knowing her solid good qualities, as well as those brillianttalents which charmed in society. You may guess, then, how much we werepleased by all you said of her. Of all the people who ever soldthemselves to the world, I never knew one who was so well paid as LydiaWhite, or any one but herself who did not, sooner or later, repent thebargain; but she had strength of mind never to expect more than theworld can give, and the world in return behaved to the last remarkablywell to her. 

All you say of the ill-managed dinner of wits and scientific men I haveoften felt. There must be a mixture of nonsense with sense, or it willnot amalgamate: all wits and no fools, all actors and no audience, makedinners dull things. The same men in their boots, as you say, are quiteother people. "Two or three ladies, too"--we were delighted with yourfinding them useful as well as agreeable on such occasions. 

Your account of Sidney Smith's conversation is excellent, and the mannerin which you took his criticism showed how well you deserved it. He willbe your friend in all the future, and I do not know any man whom Ishould wish more to make my friend: supereminent talents and anexcellent heart, which in my opinion almost always go together. Hisremarks on the views you should take of America, to work out your ownpurpose in softening national animosities, are excellent; also all hesays of American egotism and nationality. But I should be as ready toforgive vanity in a nation as in an individual, and to make it turn togood account. I have always remarked that little and envious minds arethe most acute in detecting vanity in others, and the most intolerant ofit. Having nothing to be proud or vain of, they cannot endure thatothers should enjoy a self-complacency they cannot have. 

There is a sentence in one of Burke's letters, which, as far as Englandis concerned, might do for a motto for your intended travels: "Americaand we are no longer under the same crown; but if we are united bymutual goodwill and reciprocal good offices, perhaps it may do almost aswell. "

Will you, my dear sir, trust me with more of your _Journals_? I thinkyou must see, by the freedom of this letter, that you have truly pleasedand obliged me: I have no other plea to offer. It is a common one inthis country of mine--common, perhaps, to human nature in all places aswell as Ireland--to expect that, when you have done much, you will domore; and you will, won't you? If I could get your little Eliza to saythis in a coaxing voice for us, we should be sure of your compliance. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 10, 1827_. 

I get up every morning at seven o'clock, and walk out, and find thatthis does me a vast deal of good. After three-quarters of an hour'swalk, [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth continued her early walks for manyyears. A lady who lodged in the village used to be roused by her maid inthe morning with "Miss Edgeworth's walking, ma'am; it's eight o'clock. "]I come in to the delight of hearing Fanny read the oddest book I everheard--a Chinese novel translated into French; a sort of Chinese_Truckleborough Hall_; politicians and courtiers, with mixture of loveand flowers, and court intrigue, and challenging each other to makeverses upon all occasions. 

My garden is beautiful, and my mother is weeding it for me at thismoment. A seedswoman of Philadelphia, to whom Mr. Ralston applied topurchase some seeds for me, as soon as she heard the name, refused totake any payment for a parcel of forty different kinds of seeds. Shesaid she knew my father, as she came from Longford: her name was Hughes. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 26_. 

The day before yesterday we were amusing ourselves by telling who, amongliterary and scientific people, we should wish to come here next day. Francis said Coleridge; I said Herschel. Yesterday morning, as I wasreturning from my morning walk at half-past eight, I saw a bonnet-lessmaid on the walk, with letter in hand, in search of me. When I openedthe letter, I found it was from Mr. Herschel! and that he was waitingfor an answer at Mr. Briggs's inn. I have seldom been so agreeablysurprised; and now that he has spent twenty-four hours here, and that heis gone, I am confirmed in my opinion; and if the fairy were to ask methe question again, I should more eagerly say, "Mr. Herschel, ma'am, ifyou please. " It was really very kind of him to travel all night in themail, as he did, to spend a few hours here. He is not only a man of thefirst scientific genius, but his conversation is full of information onall subjects, and he has a taste for humour and playful nonsense, thoughwith a melancholy exterior. 

His companion, Mr. Babbage, and he, saw the Giant's Causeway on a stormyday, when the foamy waves beat high against the rocks, and added to thesublimity of the scene. Then he went from the great sublime of Nature tothe sublime of Art. He arrived at the place where Colonel Colby ismeasuring the base line, just at the time when they had completed therepetition of the operation; and he saw, by the instrument, which hadnot been raised from the spot, that the accuracy of the repetition waswithin half a dot--the twelve-thousandth part of an inch. 

Mr. Herschel has travelled on the Continent. He was particularly pleasedwith the character of the Tyrolese--their national virtue founded onnational piety. One morning, wakening in a cottage inn, he rose, andcalled in vain in kitchen and parlour: not a body was to be seen, not acreature in yard or stable. At last he heard a distant sound: listeningmore attentively, and following the sound, he came to a room remote fromthat in which he had slept, where he found all the inhabitants joiningin a hymn, with beautiful voices. 

You may remember having seen in the newspapers an account of aphilosopher in Germany who made caterpillars manufacture for him a veilof cobweb. The caterpillars were enclosed in a glass case, and, byproperly-disposed conveniences and impediments, were induced to worktheir web up the sides of the glass case. When completed it weighedfour-fifths of a grain. Herschel saw it lying on a table, looking likethe film of a bubble. When it collapsed a little, and was in that statewafted up into the air, it wreathed like fine smoke. Chantrey, who waspresent, after looking at it in silent admiration, exclaimed, "What afool Bernini was to attempt transparent draperies in stone!"

Have you heard of the live camelopard, "twelve foot high, if he is aninch, ma'am?" Herschel is well acquainted with him, and was so fortunateas to see the first interview between him and a kangaroo: it stood andgazed for one instant, and the next leaped at once over the camelopard'shead, and he and his great friend became hand and glove. 

_To_ MR. BANNATYNE. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 14, 1827_. 

I send the letter you wished for--not to Clery, who is dead, but toLouis Bousset, who was the Abbé Edgeworth's servant, and after his deathwas taken into Louis XVIII. 's household, accompanied the Royal family toHartwell, returned with them to France, and now lives on a pension fromthe French Government and his wife's income; she was widow to the King'ssaddler. They showed much respect, my brother Sneyd says, to our piouscousin the Abbé Edgeworth's memory, and he was much edified by theirmanner of living together, Bousset and his wife--he a Catholic, and shea German Protestant, "perfect Christian happiness thoroughly existingbetween two persons of different Churches, but of the same faith. "

Though I admire the instance and exception to general rules, I shouldnot wish a similar experiment to be often repeated, being very much ofDr. Johnson's opinion, that there are so many causes naturally ofdisagreement between people yoked together, that there is no occasion toadd another unnecessarily. 

_To_ MR. BANNATYNE. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 4, 1827_. 

I am very glad to hear that the author of _Cyril Thornton_ is Mrs. Bannatyne's _nephew_. I have just finished reading it, and had made upmy opinion of it, and so had all my family, before we knew that theauthor was any way connected with you. I am not weary of repeating thatI think, and that we all think it the most interesting novel we haveread for years; indeed, we could not believe it to be fiction. We readit with all the intense interest which the complete belief in realitycommands. Officers of our acquaintance all speak to the reality andtruth of the scenes described. Military men and gentlemen are delightedwith _Cyril Thornton_, because he is a gentleman, ay, every inch agentleman; and with the cut in his face, and all the hashing and mashinghe met with in the wars, we are firmly and unanimously of opinion thathe must be very engaging. We hope that the author is like his hero inall saving these scars and the loss of his arm; but were the likenessexact even in these, he would be sure of interesting at Edgeworthstown;and we hope that, if ever he comes to Ireland, you and Mrs. Bannatynewill do us the favour to persuade him to come to see us, and to bringhis charming wife. We hear she is charming; and, from the good taste andgood feeling of his writings, we can readily take it for granted thathis choice must be charming, in the best sense of that hackneyed, butstill comprehensive word. There is a peculiar delicacy in this book, which delights from being accompanied, as it is, with the strongestevidence of deep sensibility. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Mary Sneyd, sister of the second and third Mrs. Edgeworths, who hadpartially lived with her brother in Staffordshire after the death of hersister Charlotte, returned in 1828 to spend the rest of her life atEdgeworthstown. Here the beautiful and venerable old lady was a centralfigure in the family home, where all the family vied in lovingattentions to her. Mrs. Farrar [Footnote: Author of _The Children'sRobinson Crusoe_, etc. ] describes her there:--

"It was a great pleasure to me to see the sister of two of Mr. Edgeworth's wives, --one belonging to the same period, and dressed in thesame style as the lovely Honora. She did not appear till lunch-time, when we found her seated at the table in a wheel-chair, on account ofher lameness. She reminded me of the pictures of the court beauties ofLouis XIV. Her dress was very elaborate. Her white hair had the effectof powder, and the structure on it defies description. A very whitethroat was set off to advantage by a narrow black velvet ribbon, fastened by a jewel. The finest lace ruffles about her neck and elbows, with a long-waisted silk dress of rich texture and colour, produced aneffect that was quite bewitching. She was wonderfully well preserved fora lady over eighty years of age, and it was pleasant to see the greatattention paid her by all the family. She was rather deaf, so I wasseated by her side and requested to address my conversation to her. Whenlunch was over she was wheeled into the library, and occupied herself inmaking a cotton net to put over the wall-fruit to keep it from thebirds. It was worth a journey to Edgeworthstown to see this beautifulspecimen of old age. "

 * * * * *

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 13, 1828_. 

We had a serious alarm this morning, and serious danger, but it isperfectly over now, and no damage done but what a few days' work ofplasterer and carpenter can repair. At seven o'clock this morning aroaring was heard in the servants' hall, and Mulvanny, [Footnote:Mulvanny, the knife boy. ] who had put on the blower, found the chimneyon fire, and Anne [Footnote: Anne, ladies'-maid. ] saw dreadful smokebreaking out in the passage going from the anteroom of my aunt'sdressing-room. Barney Woods, [Footnote: The steward. ] perceiving thatit was no common affair of a chimney on fire, had the sense to ring theworkman's bell. I was dressed, heard it, and Anne met me coming from myroom to inquire what was the matter, and told me--indeed her face toldme! Lovell was up and ready--most active and judicious. Thirty men wereassembled; water in abundance. Frank Langan indefatigable and mostcourageous. The long ladder was put up against the house near the pump;up the men went, and bucket after bucket poured down, Mulvanny standingon the top of the chimney. Meantime the great press, next the maid'sroom, was torn down by men working for life and death, for the smoke wasbursting through, and the whole wall horribly hot. The water pouredinto the chimney would not, for half an hour, go down to the bottom;something stopped it. A terrible smell of burning wood. The water ranthrough all manner of flues and places and flooded the whole ceiling ofthe hall. Holes were made to let it through, or the whole ceiling wouldhave come down _en masse_; the water poured through in floods on thefloor; Margaret [Footnote: The housemaid. ] and boys sweeping it out ofthe hall door continually. While the men were at work under Lovell'sexcellent orders, Honora and I were having all papers and valuablescarried out, for we knew that if the flames reached the garrets nothingcould save the house. All the title-deed boxes, and lease presses, andall Lovell's, and all your papers, and my grandfather's books, and myfather's picture, were safe on the grass in less than one hour. It tookthree hours before the fire was extinguished, or, I should say, gotunder. The pump was pumped dry, but Lovell had sent long before a cartwith barrels for water to the river--tons of water were used, pouring, pouring incessantly, and this alone could have saved us. 

By eleven o'clock all the boxes and papers, and pictures, were in theirplaces, and we sent for the chimney-sweepers, not the old ones, who, aswe rightly guessed, were the cause of the mischief. The chimney has beenbroken open, and a boy has been working incessantly tearing down anincrustation of soot--immense pieces of black _tufo_, --in fact, thechimney became a volcano--fire, water, and steam all operating together. The fire was found still burning inside at five this evening, but is allout now, the boy has been up at the top. 

The zeal, the sense, the generosity, the courage of the people, isbeyond anything I can describe, I can only feel it. But what astonishedme was their steadiness and silence, no advising or pushing in eachother's way--all working and obeying. Lovell had lines of boys from theladder to the cow's pool handing the buckets passed up by the men on theladder to the frightful top. Thank GOD not a creature was hurt. 

 * * * * *

Honora Edgeworth adds:

 * * * * *

I need add nothing to what Maria has said about others, but I must sayabout herself, that nobody who has seen her in small alarms, such as theturning of a carriage, or such things, could believe the composure, presence of mind, and courage she showed in our great alarm to-day. Ihope she has not suffered; as yet she does not appear the worse for herexertions. 

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 16. 1828_. 

Thank you, thank you for the roses; the yellow Scotch and Knight's darkred, and the ever-blowing, came quite fresh, and just at the moment Iwanted them, when I had taken to my garden, after finishing my gutters. Lady Hartland told me that the common people call the _rose des quatresaisons_, the quarter session rose. 

Have you read the _Recollections of Hyacinth O'Gara_? It is a littlesixpenny book; I venture to say you would like it; I wish I was readingit to you. I am much pleased with Napier's _History of the PeninsularWar_. The Spanish character and all that influenced it, accidentally andpermanently, is admirably drawn. There is the evidence of truth in thework. Heber is charming, but I haven't read him! People often say"charming" of books they have not read; but I have read extracts in tworeviews, and have the pleasure of the book on the table before me. 

I have not a scrap of news for you, except that an ass and a calf walkedover my flower-beds, and that I did not kill either of them. If the asshad not provoked me to this degree, I was in imminent danger of growingtoo fond of him, as I never could meet him drawing loads withoutstopping to pat him, till clouds of dust rose from his thick hide. Butnow, I will take no more notice of him--for a week!

_To_ MISS RUXTON

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 1, 1829_. 

Fanny Edgeworth is now Fanny Wilson; [Footnote: Frances Maria, eldestdaughter of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth, married Lestock P. Wilson, Esq. , of London. ] I can hardly believe it! She is gone! I feel it, and longmust feel it, with anguish, selfish anguish. But she will be happy--ofthat I have the most firm, delightful conviction; and therefore all thatI cannot help now feeling is, I know, only _surface_ feeling, and willsoon pass away. The more I have seen and known of Lestock, the more Ilike him and love him, and am convinced I shall always love him, whoseevery word and look bears the stamp and value of sincerity. 

Both their voices pronounced the words of the marriage vow with perfectclearness and decision. Mr. Butler performed the ceremony with greatfeeling and simplicity. I will tell my dearest aunt and you all thelittle circumstances; at present they are all in confusion, great andsmall, near and distant, and I am sick at heart in the midst of it allwith the shameful, weak, selfish, uppermost sorrow of parting with thisdarling child. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

BLOOMFIELD, _Jan. 19, 1829_. 

An immense concourse of people, cavalcade and carriages innumerable, passed by here to-day. We saw it, and you will see it all in thenewspapers. Banners with _Constitutional Agitation_ printed in black, _M_obility and Nobility in black, crape hatbands, etc. Lord Anglesea'stwo little sons riding between two officers, in the midst of thehurricane mob, struck me most. One of the boys, a little midge, seemedto stick on the horse by accident, or by mere dint of fearlessness: theofficer put his arm round him once, and set him up, the boy's headlooking another way, and the horse keeping on his way, through suchnoise, and struggling, and waves multitudinous of mob. 

There is an entertaining article in the _Quarterly Review_ on _TheSubaltern_. I do not like that on Madame de Genlis--coarse, andover-doing the object by prejudice and virulence. The review of Scott'sPrefaces is ungrounded and confused--how different from his own writing!But there is an article worth all the rest put together, on ScientificInstitutions, written in such a mild, really philosophical spirit, sucha pure, GREAT MAN'S desire to do good; I cannot but wish and hope itmight prove to be Captain Beaufort's. If you have not read it, neverrest till you do. 

_To_ CAPTAIN BASIL HALL. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 12, 1829_. 

. . . If I could, as you say, flatter myself that Sir Walter Scott was inany degree influenced to write and publish his novels from seeing mysketches of Irish character, I should indeed triumph in the "thought ofhaving been the proximate cause of such happiness to millions. "

In what admirable taste Sir Walter Scott's introduction [Footnote: Tothe new edition of _Waverley_. ] is written! No man ever contrived tospeak so delightfully of himself, so as to gratify public curiosity, andyet to avoid all appearance of egotism, --to let the public into hismind, into all that is most interesting and most useful to posterity toknow of his history, and yet to avoid all improper, all impertinent, allsuperfluous disclosures. 

Children's questions are often simply _sublime_: the question yourthree-years-old asked was of these--"Who sanded the seashore?"

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 29, 1829_. 

I cannot forbear writing specially to you, as I know you will feel somuch about Captain Beaufort's appointment to the Hydrographership; Iwish poor William had been permitted the pleasure of hearing of it. [Footnote: William Edgeworth had died of consumption on 7th May after atwo months' illness. ] It would have given him pleasure even on his dyingbed, noble, generous creature as he was; he would have rejoiced for hisfriend, and have felt that merit is sometimes rewarded in this world. This appointment is, in every respect, all that Captain Beaufort wishedfor himself, and all that his friends can desire for him. As one of thefirst people in the Admiralty said, "Beaufort is the only man in Englandfit for the place. "

Very touching letters have come to us from people whom we scarcely knew, whom William had attached so much; and many whom he had employed speakof him as the kindest of masters, and as a benefactor whose memory willbe ever revered. 

_To_ MRS. RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 27, 1829_. 

I am now able, with the consent of all my dear guardians, to write withmy own hand to assure you that I am quite well. 

I enjoyed the snatches I was able to have of Wordsworth's conversation, and I think I had quite as much as was good for me. He has a goodphilosophical bust, a long, thin, gaunt face, much wrinkled andweatherbeaten: of the Curwen style of figure and face, but with a morecheerful and benevolent expression. 

While confined to my sofa and forbidden my pen, I have been reading agood deal: 1st, _Cinq Mars_, a French novel, with which I think youwould be charmed, because I am; 2nd, _The Collegians_, in which there ismuch genius and strong drawing of human nature, but not elegant:terrible pictures of the passions, and horrible, breathless interest, especially in the third volume, which never flags till the last huddledtwenty pages. My guardians turn their eyes reproachfully upon me. Mr. William Hamilton has been with us since the day before Wordsworth came, and we continue to like him. 

_May 3, 1830_. 

It is very happy for your little niece that you have so much the habitof expressing to her your kind feelings; I really think that if mythoughts and feelings were shut up completely within me, I should burstin a week, like a steam-engine without a snifting-clack, now called bythe grander name of a safety-valve. 

You want to know what I am doing and thinking of: of ditches, drains, and sewers; of dragging quicks from one hedge and sticking them downinto another, at the imminent peril of their green lives; of two housesto let, one tenant promised from the Isle of Man, and another from theIrish Survey; of two bull-finches, each in his cage on the table--onewho would sing if he could, and the other who could sing, I am told, ifhe would. Then I am thinking for three hours a day of _Helen_, to whatpurpose I dare not say. At night we read Dr. Madden's _Travels toConstantinople_ and elsewhere, in which there are most curious facts:admirable letter about the plague; a new mode of treatment, curingseventy-five in a hundred; and a family living in a mummy vault, andselling mummies. You must read it. 

My peony tree is the most beautiful thing on earth. Poor dear Lord Orielgave it me. His own is dead, and he is dead; but love for him lives inme still. 

Sir Stamford Raffles is one of the finest characters I ever read of, and_did_ more than is almost credible. I have been amused with _TheArmenians_, [Footnote: A novel by Macfarlane. ]--amused with its picturesof Greek, Armenian, and Turkish life, and interested in its veryromantic story. 

_July 19_. 

If there should not be any insuperable objection to it on your part, Iwill do myself the pleasure of being in your arms the first week inAugust, that I may be some time with you before I take my departure forEngland for the winter. 

The people about us are now in great distress, having neither work norfood; and we are going to buy meal to distribute at half-price. Meal wastwenty-three shillings a hundred, and potatoes sevenpence a stone, lastmarket-day at Granard. Three weeks longer must the people be supportedtill new food comes from the earth. 

 * * * * *

This is the last letter Maria Edgeworth addressed to her aunt. She paidher intended visit to her in August, but had left her before her lastillness began. Mrs. Ruxton died on the 1st of November, while Maria wasin London with her sister Fanny--Mrs. Lestock Wilson. The loss of heraunt was the greatest Miss Edgeworth had sustained since the death ofher father. She had ever been the object of exceeding love, one withwhom every thought and feeling was shared, one of her greatest sourcesof happiness. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS RUXTON. 

69 WELBECK STREET, LONDON. 

_Dec. 8, 1830_. 

All my friends have been kind in writing to me accounts of you, my dearSophy. You and Margaret are quite right to spend the winter at BlackCastle; and the pain you must endure in breaking through all the oldassociations and deep remembrances will, I trust, be repaid, both in thesense of doing right and in the affection of numbers attached to you. 

I spent a fortnight with Sneyd very happily, in spite of mobs andincendiaries. Brandfold is a very pretty place, and to me a verypleasant house. The library, the principal room, has a trellis along thewhole front, with 'spagnolette windows opening into it, and a prettyconservatory at the end, with another glass door opening into it. Theviews seen between the arches of the trellis beautiful; flower-knots inthe grass, with stocks, hydrangeas, and crimson and pale China roses inprofuse blow. Sneyd enjoys everything about him so much, it is quitedelightful to see him in his home. You have heard from Honora of thesense and steadiness with which he resisted the mob at Goudhurst. 

I spent a morning and an evening very pleasantly at Lansdowne House. They had begged me to come and drink tea with them in private, and tocome early: I went at nine: I had been expected at eight. All LadyLansdowne's own family, and as she politely said, "All my old friends atBowood" now living: Miss Fox, Lord John Russell, Lord Auckland, theyoung Romillys, Mr. And Mrs. Kennedy, Mr. Wishaw, Mr. Turner, --whom Imust do myself the justice to say I recollected immediately, who showedus the Bank seventeen years ago, --and Conversation Sharpe. 

They say that Charles X. Is quite at his ease, amusing himself, and nottroubling himself about the fate of Polignac, or any of his ministers:there is great danger for them, but still I hope the French will notdisgrace this revolution by spilling their blood. Lord Lansdownementioned an instance of the present King Louis Philippe's _présenced'esprit_: a mob in Paris surrounded him--"Que desirez-vous, messieurs?""Nous désirons Napoléon. " "Eh bien, allez donc le trouver. " The moblaughed, cheered, and dispersed. 

I have seen dear good Joanna Baillie several times, and the Carrs. Ithas been a great pleasure to me to feel myself so kindly received bythose I liked best in London years ago. It is always gratifying to findold friends the same after long absence, but it has been particularly soto me now, when not only the leaves of the pleasures of life fallnaturally in its winter, but when the great branches on whom happinessdepended are gone. 

Dr. Holland's children are very fine, happy-looking children, and hedoes seem so to enjoy them. His little boy, in reply to the commonplace, aggravating question of

"Who loves you? Nobody in this world loves you!"

"Yes, there is somebody: papa loves me, I know--I am sure!" and throwinghimself on his back on his Aunt Mary's lap, he looked up at his fatherwith such a sweet, confident smile. The father was standing between SirEdward Alderson and Southey, the one sure he had him by the ear, and theother by the imagination; but the child had him by the heart. He smiledand nodded at his boy, and with an emphasis in which the whole soulspoke low, but strong, said, "Yes, I _do_ love you. " Neither the lawyernor the poet heard him. 

All my friends understand that I keep out of all fine company and greatparties, and see only my friends. 

Here the carriage came to the door, and we have been to see Mrs. Calcott, who was Mrs. Graham, who was very glad to see me, andentertaining; and Lady Elizabeth Whitbread as kind and affectionate asever. She is struggling between her natural pride on her brother'sministerial appointment, and her natural affection which fears for hishealth. 

Joanna Baillie tells me that Lord Dudley wrote to Sir Walter, offeringto take upon himself the whole debt, and be paid by instalments. SirWalter wrote a charming note of refusal. 

_Thursday_. 

I saw Talleyrand at Lansdowne House--like a corpse, with his hairdressed "_aîles de pigeon" bien poudré_. As Lord Lansdowne drolly said, "How much those _aîles de pigeon_ have gone through unchanged! How manyrevolutions have they seen! how many changes of their master's mind!"Talleyrand has less countenance than any man of talents I ever saw. Heseems to think not only that _la parole était donné à l'homme pourdéguiser sa pensée_, but that expression of countenance was given to himas a curse, to betray his emotions: therefore he has exerted all hisabilities to conquer all expression, and to throw into his face that "nomeaning" which puzzles more than wit; but I heard none. His niece, theDuchesse de Dino, was there: little, and ugly--plain, I shouldsay--nobody is ugly now but myself. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 8, 1831_. 

Now I will tell you of my delightful young Christmas party at Mrs. Lockhart's. After dinner she arranged a round table in the corner of theroom, on which stood a magnificent iced plum cake. There were to betwelve children: impossible to have room for chairs all round the table:it was settled that the king and queen alone should be invited to thehonours of the sitting; but Mr. Lockhart, in a low voice, said, "Johnny!there must, my dear Sophia, you know, be a chair for Johnny here--all'sright now. "

Enter first, Miss Binning, a young lady of fifteen, Johnny's particularfriend, who had been invited to make crowns for the king and queen--avery nice elegant-looking girl with a slight figure. 

Then came from the top of the stairs peals of merry laughter, and incame the revel rout; the king and queen with their gilt paper admirablecrowns on their heads, and little coronation robes; the queen was Mrs. Lockhart's youngest child, like a dear little fairy; and the king tomatch. All the others in various ways pleasing and prettily simplydressed in muslins of a variety of colours; plenty of ringlets of glossyhair, fair or brown, none black, with laughing blue eyes. And now theylook at the tickets they have drawn for their twelfth-night characters, and read them out. After eating as much as well could be compassed, therevel rout ran upstairs again to the drawing-room, where open space andverge enough had been made for hunt the slipper; and down they allpopped in the circle, of which you may see the likeness in the_Pleasures of Memory_. Then came dancing; and as the little and largedancers were all Scotch, I need not say how good it was. Mrs. Lockhartis really a delightful creature, the more lovable the closer one comesto her and in _London_. How very, very kind of her to invite me to thisquite family party; if she had invented for ever, she could not havefound what would please me more. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

LONDON, _January 20_. 

I write this "certificate of existence, " and moreover, an affidavit ofmy being a-foot [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth had twisted her foot a fewnights before in getting out of the carriage, and was unable to use itfor some days. ] again, and can go downstairs with one foot foremost likea child, and wore a black satin shoe like another last night at Mrs. Elliot's. 

Now sign, seal, and deliver for the bare life--of Mrs. Hope and theDuchess of Wellington in my next. 

_January 22_. 

I left off at the Duchess of Wellington. I heard she was ill anddetermined to write and ask if she wished to see me; a hundred of thelittle London _remoras_ delayed and stopped me and fortunately--I almostalways find cause to rejoice instead of deploring when I have delayed toexecute an intention, so that I must conclude that my fault isprecipitation not procrastination. The very day I had my pen in my handto write to her and was called away to write some other letter, much tomy annoyance; much to my delight a few hours afterwards came a littlepencil note, begging me to come to Apsley House if I wished to please anearly friend who could never forget the kindness she had received atEdgeworthstown. I had not been able to put my foot to the ground, but Ifound it easy with motive to trample on impossibilities, and there is nogoing upstairs at Apsley House, for the Duke has had apartments on theground floor, a whole suite, appropriated to the Duchess now that she isso ill, and I had only to go leaning on Fanny's arm, through a longpassage to a magnificent room--not magnificent from its size, height, length, or breadth, but from its contents: the presents of Cities, Kingdoms, and Sovereigns. In the midst, on a high, narrow, mattressedsofa like Lucy's, all white and paler than ever Lucy was, paler thanmarble, lay as if laid out a corpse, the Duchess of Wellington. Alwayslittle and delicate-looking, she now looked a miniature figure ofherself in wax-work. As I entered I heard her voice before I saw her, before I could distinguish her features among the borders of her cap;only saw the place where her head lay on the huge raised pillow; thehead moved, the head only, and the sweet voice of Kitty Pakenhamexclaimed, "O! Miss Edgeworth, you are the truest of the true--thekindest of the kind. " And a little, delicate, death-like white handstretched itself out to me before I could reach the couch, and when Igot there I could not speak--not a syllable, but she, with most perfectcomposure, more than composure, cheerfulness of tone, went on speaking;as she spoke, all the Kitty Pakenham expression appeared in that littleshrunk face, and the very faint colour rose, and the smile of formertimes. She raised herself more and more, and spoke with more and moreanimation in charming language and with all her peculiar grace andelegance of kindness recollected so much of past times and of my fatherparticularly, whose affection she convinced me had touched her deeply. 

Opposite her couch hung the gold shield in imitation of the shield ofAchilles with all the Duke's victories embossed on the margin, the Dukeand his staff in the centre, surrounded with blazing rays, given by thecity of London. On either side the great candelabras belonging to themassive plateau given by Portugal, which cannot be lifted withoutmachinery. At either end, in deep and tall glass cases, from top tobottom ranged the services of Dresden and German china, presented by theEmperor of Austria and the King of Prussia. While I looked at these, theDuchess raising herself quite up, exclaimed with weak-voiced, strong-souled enthusiasm, "All tributes to merit! there's the value, allpure, no corruption ever suspected even. Even of the Duke of Marlboroughthat could not be said so truly. "

The fresh, untired enthusiasm she feels for his character, for her ownstill youthful imagination of her hero, after all she has gone through, is most touching. There she is, fading away, still feeding when she canfeed on nothing else, on his glories, on the perfume of his incense. Shehad heard of my being in London from Lord Downes, who had seen me at theCountess de Salis's, where we met him and Lady Downes; when I met heragain two days after we had been at Apsley House she said the Duchesswas not so ill as I supposed, that her physicians do not allow that theydespair. But notwithstanding what friends and physicians say, my ownimpression is, that she cannot be much longer for this world. 

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH. 

NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Feb. 10, 1831_. 

I am just come home from breakfasting with Sir James Macintosh. Fannywas with me, double, double pleasure, but we both feel as we supposedramdrinkers do after their "mornings. " My hand and my mind are bothunsteadied and unfitted for business after this intoxicating draught. Owhat it is to "come within the radiance of genius, " [Footnote: Quotedfrom a letter of her sister Anna after the death of Dr. Beddoes. ] notonly every object appears so radiant, but I feel myself so muchincreased in powers, in range of mind, a _vue d'oiseau_ of all thingsraised above the dun dim fog of commonplace life. How can any one liketo live with their inferiors and prefer it to the delight of beingraised up by a superior to the bright regions of genius? The inwardsense of having even this perception of excellence is a pleasure farbeyond what flattery _can_ give. Flattery is like a bad perfume, nauseous and overpowering after the first waft, and hurtful as well asnauseous. But as luncheon is coming and we must go directly to theAdmiralty to see Captain Beaufort, and then to the Carrs'--no morerhodomontading to-day. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Feb. 11, 1831_. 

You must have seen in the papers the death of Mr. Hope, and I am sure itshocked you. But it was scarcely possible that it could strike you so muchas it did me. I, who had seen him but a few days before, and who had beenrallying him upon his being hypochondriac. I, who had been laughing at himalong with Mrs. Hope, for being, I thought, merely in the cold fit afterhaving been in the hot fit of enthusiasm while finishing his book. He knewtoo well, poor man, what we did not know. I believe that I never had timeto describe to you the impression that visit to him made upon me. I hadactually forced Mrs. Hope to go up and say he must see me; that such anold friend, and one who had such a regard for him, and for whom I knew hehad a sincere regard, must be admitted to see him even in his bed-chamber. He sent me word that if I could bear to see a poor sick man in hisnight-cap, I might come up. 

So I did, and followed Mrs. Hope through all the magnificent apartments, and then up to the attics, and through and through room after room tillwe came to his retreat, and then a feeble voice from an arm-chair--

"O! my dear Miss Edgeworth, my kind friend to the last. "

And I saw a figure sunk in his chair like La Harpe, in figured silk_robe de chambre_ and night-cap; death in his paled, sunk, shrunk face;a gleam of affectionate pleasure lighted it up for an instant, andstraight it sunk again. He asked most kindly for my two sisters--"tellthem I am glad they are happy. "

The half-finished picture of his second son was in the corner, besidehis arm-chair, as if to cheer his eyes. 

"By an Irish artist, " he politely said to me, "of great talent. "

When I rallied him at parting on his low spirits, and said, "How muchyounger you are than I am!"

"No, no; not in mind, not in the powers of life. GOD bless you;good-bye. "

I told him I would only say _au revoir_, and that never came; it wasonly the next day but one after this that Fanny read to me his death inthe paper. It was dreadfully sudden to us; what must it have been toMrs. Hope? I am sure she had no idea of its coming so soon. I forgot tosay that as I got up to go away, I told him laughing, that he was onlyill of a plethora of happiness, that he had everything this world couldgive, and only wanted a little adversity. 

"Yes, " said he, "I am happy, blessed with such a wife and such a son!"

He looked with most touching gratitude up to her, and she drew backwithout speaking. 

Oh! I cannot tell you the impression the whole scene left on my mind. 

_March 14_. 

I hope your mother is better, and now inhaling spring life. Tell her, with my love, that I have exhibited her work [Footnote: A scarfembroidered with flowers, worked for Miss Edgeworth by Mrs. Beaufort, when she was ninety-two. ] at various places to the admiration and almostincredulity of all beholders--such beautiful flowers at ninety-two!

At last we were fortunately at home when Lady Wellesley and Miss Catoncalled, and, thanks to my impudence in having written to him the momenthe landed, and thanks to his good nature, Sir John Malcolm came at thesame moment, and Lady Wellesley and he talked most agreeably over formertimes in India and later times in Ireland. Lady Wellesley is not nearlyso tall or magnificent a person as I expected. Her face beautiful, hermanner rather too diplomatically studied. People say "she has aremarkably good manner;" perfectly good manners are never "remarkable, "felt, not seen. Sir John is as entertaining and delightful as hisPersian sketches, and as instructive as his _Central India_. 

_To_ HER SISTER HARRIET--MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _March 16, 1831_. 

The days are hardly long enough to read all men's speeches inParliament. I get the result into me from Fanny, and read only thenotables. Mr. North's speech was, as you say, the best and plainest heever made, and was so esteemed. Macaulay's reads better than it wasspoken, quite marred in the delivery, and he does not look the orator;but no matter, in spite of his outside, his inside will get him on: hehas far more power in him than Mr. North. 

Get the eleventh volume of the new edition of Sir Walter's poems, containing a new Introduction and Essay on Ballads and ballad writing, all entertaining, and a model for egotists which very few will be ableto follow, though many will strive and be laughed at for their pains. 

_March 29_. 

Old as I am and imaginative as I am thought to be, I have really alwaysfound that the pleasures I have expected would be great have actuallybeen greater in the enjoyment than in the anticipation. This is writtenin my sixty-fourth year. The pleasure of being with Fanny [Footnote:Lestock Wilson. ] has been far, far greater than I had expected. Thepleasures here altogether, including the kindness of old friends and thecivilities of acquaintances, are still more enhanced than I hadcalculated upon by the home and the quiet library, and easy-chairmorning retreat I enjoy. Our long-expected visit to Herschel above allhas far surpassed my expectations, raised as they were and warm from thefresh enthusiasm kindled by his last work. 

Mrs. Herschel, who by the bye is very pretty, which does no harm, issuch a delightful person, with so much simplicity and so much sense, sofit to sympathise with him in all things intellectual and moral, andmaking all her guests comfortable and happy without any apparent effort;she was extremely kind to Fanny, and Mr. Herschel to Lestock. 

Thursday I went down to Slough alone in Fanny's carriage, as Lestock wasnot well, and she would not leave him. There was no company, and theevening was delightfully spent in hearing and talking. I had madevarious pencil notes in my copy of his book to ask for explanations, andso patient and kind and clear they were. 

On Saturday I began to grow very anxious about six o'clock, and Mrs. Herschel good-naturedly sympathised with me, and we stood at the windowthat looks out on a distant turn of the London road, and at last I saw acarriage glass flash and then an outline of a well-known coachman'sform, and then the green chaise, and all right. 

There were at dinner the Provost of Eton in his wig, a large finepresence of a Provost--Dr. Goodall; Mrs. Hervey, very pretty, and gaveme a gardenia like a Cape jessamine, white, sweet smelling--much talkingof it and smelling and handing it about; Mrs. Gwatkin, one of Sir JoshuaReynold's nieces, has been very pretty, and though deaf is veryagreeable--enthusiastically and affectionately fond of heruncle--indignant at the idea of his not having himself written the_Discourses_; "Burke or Johnson indeed! no such thing--he wrote themhimself. I am evidence, he used to employ me as his secretary: often Ihave been in the room when he has been composing, walking up and downthe room, stopping sometimes to write a sentence, " etc. 

On Sunday to Windsor Chapel; saw the King and the Queen, and littlePrince George of Cambridge, seen each through the separate compartmentsof their bay window up aloft. The service lasted three hours, and thenwe went, by particular desire, to Eton College, to see the Provost andMrs. Goodall, and the pictures of all the celebrated men. Some of theseportraits taken when very young are interesting; some from being like, some from being quite unlike what one would expect from their aftercharacters. We saw the books of themes and poems that had been judgedworth preserving. Canning's and Lord Wellesley's much esteemed. Drawersfull of prints; many rare books; the original unique copy of _Reynardthe Fox_--the table of contents of which is so exceedingly diverting Iwould fain have copied it on the spot, but the Provost told me a copycould be had at every stall for one penny. 

Got home to Herschel's while the sun yet shone, and I having the daybefore begged the favour of him to repeat for Fanny and Lestock theexperiments and explanations on polarised light and periodical colours, he had everything ready, and very kindly went over it all again, andafterwards said to Mrs. Herschel, "It is delightful to explain thesethings to Mrs. Wilson; she can understand anything with the leastpossible explanation. "

It was a fine moonlight night, and he took us out to see Saturn and hisrings, and the Moon and her volcanoes. Saturn, I thought, looked verymuch as he used to do; but the Moon did surprise and charm me--verydifferent from anything I had seen or imagined of the moon. A largeportion of a seemingly immense globe of something like rough ice, resplendent with light and all over protuberances like those on theoutside of an oyster shell, supposing it immensely magnified in aBrobdingnag microscope, a lustrous-mica look all over the protuberances, and a distinctly marked mountain-in-a-map in the middle shadeddelicately off. 

I must remark to you that all the time we were seeing we were eighteenfeet aloft, on a little stage about eight feet by three, with a slightiron rod rail on three sides, but quite open to fall in front, andLestock repeatedly warned me not to forget and step forwards. 

Monday, our visit, alas! was to come to an end. Mr. Herschel offered totake Lestock to town in his gig, which he accepted with pleasure, andFanny and I went with Mrs. Herschel to see Sir Joshua's pictures at Mrs. Gwatkin's. There is one of Charles Fox done when he was eighteen: theface so faded that it looks like an unfinished sketch, not the leastlike any other picture I have ever seen of the jolly, moon-faced CharlesFox, but some resemblance to the boy of thirteen in the print I beggedfrom Lord Buchan. The original "Girl with a muff" is here; the originalalso of "Simplicity, " who has now flowers in her lap in consequence ofthe observation of a foolish woman who, looking at the picture as it wasoriginally painted, with the child's hands interlaced, with the backs ofthe hands turned up, "How beautiful! How natural the dish of prawns thedear little thing has in her lap!"

Sir Joshua threw the flowers over the prawns. 

There appeared in this collection many sad results of Sir Joshua'sexperiments on colours; a very fine copy of his from Rembrandt's pictureof himself, all but the face so black as to be unintelligible. There wasthe first Sir Joshua ever drew of himself--and his last; this invaluablelast is going--black cracks and masses of bladdery paint. He paintedMrs. Gwatkin seven times. "But don't be vain, my dear, I only use yourhead as I would that of any beggar--as a good practice. "

Her husband is a true Roast Beef of Old England King and Constitutionman, who most good-naturedly hunted out from his archives a letter ofHannah More's, which happened to be particularly interesting to me, onGarrick in the character of Hamlet; it was good, giving a decided viewof what Garrick at least thought the unity of the character. 

From metaphysics to physics, we finished with a noble slice of the roastbeef of Old England, "fed, ma'am, " said Mr. Gwatkin, "by his presentMajesty, GOD bless him. "

Arrived at No. 1 in good time, and dined yesterday at Lady Davy's. Rogers, Gally Knight, Lord Mahon, and Lord Ashburner, who was veryagreeable. He has been eleven years roaming the world, and is notforeign-fangled. Mrs. Marcet, who came in the evening, was the happinessof it to me. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _April 1831_. 

Such a day as yesterday! sun shining--neither too hot nor too cold. Thiswas just the time of year, I think, that you saw Knowle, and I never didsee a place and house which pleased me more; exceedingly entertainedwith the portraits, endless to particularise. Several of Grammont'sbeauties, not so good in colours as in black and white. Sir Walter'sblack and white portrait of James I. Made the full length of hisunkingly Majesty a hundred times more interesting to me than it couldotherwise have been, --mean, odd, strange-looking mortal. And then thesilver room, as it is called, how it was gilt to me by the genius ofromance, all Heriot's masterpieces there, would have been but cups andboxes ranged on toilette table and India cabinet but for the mastermagician touch. But we had to leave Knowle as we had engaged the daybefore at Brandfold to go to Mr. Jones (on the Distribution of Wealth)at Brasted. Such crowds of ideas as he poured forth, uttering so rapidlyas to keep one quite on the stretch not to miss any of the good things. Half of them, I am sure, I have forgotten, but note for futurity;specially a fair-haired heiress now living, shut up in an old placecalled the Moate, old as King John's time. Mr. Jones had invited Dr. AndMrs. Felton, and had a luncheon _comme il y en a peu_ and wines of everydegree: hock from Bremen, brought over by our mutual friend Mr. Jacob, and far too valuable for an ignoramus like me to swallow. 

Chevening? You are afraid we shall not have time to see Chantrey'smonument. "O! but you must see it, " said Mr. Jones, and so he and Dr. Felton ordered gig and pony carriage to let our horses rest, and followand meet us, and away we went. Mr. Jones driving me in his gig to abeautiful parky place where Dr. Felton flourishes for the summer, andsaw his children, who had wished to see the mother of Frank andRosamond. Then through Mr. Manning's beautiful place--never travelling ahigh road or a by-road all the way to Chevening churchyard. The whitemarble monument of Lady Frederica Stanhope is in the church; plainthough she was in life, she is beautiful in death, something ofexquisite tenderness in the expression of her countenance, maternaltenderness, and repose, matronly repose, and yet the freshness of youthin the rounded arm and delicate hand that lightly, affectionatelypresses the infant--she dies, if dying it can be called, so placid, sohappy; the head half-turned sinks into the pillow, which, withouttouching, one can hardly believe to be marble. I am sure Harrietrecollects Lady Frederica at Paris, just before she was married. 

We left Chevening, and can never forget it, and drove through the wealdsand the charts, called, as Mr. Jones tells me, from the charters, andsee a chapel built by Porteus to civilise some of the wicked ones of thewealds or wilds, and Ireton's house, [Footnote: Groombridge Place. ]where some say Cromwell lived, now belonging to Perkins the brewer. Then"see to the right that rich green field, where King Henry VIII. Used tostop and wind his horn, that people might gather and drag himself andsuite through the slough, " and it was near eight before we got to town, and Lestock waiting dinner with the patience of Job. He, Lestock, notJob, is a delightful person to live with, never annoyed about hours ortrifles of that kind. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _April 30, 1831_. 

On Monday last I drove to Apsley House, without the slightest suspicionthat the Duchess had been worse than when I had last seen her. When Isaw the gate only just opened enough to let out the porter's head, andsaw Smith parleying with him, nothing occurred to me but that the mandoubted whether I was a person who ought to be admitted; so I put out mycard, when Smith, returning, said, "Ma'am, the _Duchess of Wellingtondied on Saturday morning!_"

The good-natured porter, seeing that I was "really a friend, " as hesaid, went into the house at my request, to ask if I could see her maid;and after a few minutes the gates opened softly, and I went into thatmelancholy house, into that great, silent hall: window-shutters closed:not a creature to be seen or heard. 

At last a man-servant appeared, and as I moved towards the side of thehouse where I had formerly been--"Not that way, ma'am; walk in here, ifyou please. "

Then came, in black, that maid, of whose attachment the Duchess had, thelast time I saw her, spoken so highly and truly, as I now saw by thefirst look and words. "Too true, ma'am--_she_ is gone from us! her Gracedied on Saturday. "

"Was the Duke in town?"

"Yes, ma'am, BESIDE HER. "

Not a word more, but I was glad to have that certain. Lord Charles hadarrived in time; not Lord Douro. The Duchess had remained much as I lastsaw her on the sofa for a fortnight; then confined to her bed some days, but then seemed much better; had been up again, and out in that room andon that sofa, as when we heard her conversing so charmingly. They had noapprehension of her danger, nor had she herself till Friday, when shewas seized with violent pain, and died on Saturday morning, "calm andresigned. "

The poor maid could hardly speak. She went in and brought me a lock ofher mistress's hair, silver gray, all but a few light brown, that justrecalled the beautiful Kitty Pakenham!

So ended that sweet, innocent--shall we say happy, or unhappy life?Happy, I should think, _through all_; happy in her good feelings andgood conscience, and warm affections, still LOVING on! Happy in herfaith, her hope, and her charity!

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

LONDON, _May 6, 1831_. 

One of our farewell visits yesterday was to Mrs. Lushington; and when wehad talked our fill about our brother Pakenham, we went to politics, ofwhich every head in London is fuller than it can hold. Lord Suffielddescribed the scene in the House of Lords [Footnote: On the opening ofParliament, when the King was to propose the bringing in of the ReformBill. ] as more extraordinary than could have been imagined or believed. One lord held down by force, and one bawling at the top of his voice, even when the door opened, and the King appeared as his lordshippronounced the word "RUIN!"

Ruin did not seize the King, however, nor was he in the least affectedby the uproar. He walked calmly on. 

"I kept my eye upon him, " Lord Suffield said; "I looked at his knees, they did not tremble in the least. I am sure I could not have walked sofirmly; I do not believe another man present could have been so calm. "

The King quietly took out his paper, felt for his spectacles, put themon composedly, and read with a firm voice. They say nothing was everlike the confusion and violence since the time of Charles I. AndCromwell. 

The day before yesterday we did a prodigious deal. Mr. Drummond came atten o'clock, by appointment, to take us to the Mint, to see the doubleprinting press; and we saw everything, from the casting the types to thedrying the sheet; and then to the India House. There was some littlestop while Pakenham's card, with a pencil message to Dr. Wilkins, wassent up. While this was doing, a superb mock-majesty man, in scarletcloak and cocked hat, bedizened with gold, motioned us away. "Coachman, drive on; no carriage can stand before the India House--that's therule. "

Dr. Wilkins came out of his comfortable den to receive us, laid down hisbook and spectacles, and showed us everything. The strangest thing wesaw was a toy of Tippoo Sahib's, worthy of a despot--an English soldier, as large as life, in his uniform, hat, and everything, painted andvarnished, lying at full length, and a furious tiger over him; a handle, invisible at a distance, in his ribs, which, when turned by the slave, produced sounds like the growling of the tiger and the groans of theman!

We had a very pleasant day at Epping. Mrs. Napier went with us; I insidewith her, Fanny on the barouche-seat with Pakenham, and Lestock behindwith Sneyd. The place is so much improved! I saw Fanny's horse Baronet:very pretty. 

_2 o'clock, Luncheon. _

Pakenham is eating his last bit of gooseberry pie: enter Sneyd:boxes--hammering--dreadful notes of preparation. Pakenham yesterday worethe trefoil pin with his aunt's hair, and the sleeve-buttons with hismother's and sister's hair; and I have added a locket to hang to hiswatch-chain, with a bit, very scarce, of my own hair. The wind is fair:we shall hear from him from Deal. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _May 7, 1831_. 

I wrote to Harriet yesterday all about Pakenham to the moment he leftthis house with Sneyd to join Lestock in the City, and go on toGravesend. 

Half an hour after we had parted from Pakenham, and before we hadrecovered sense, came a great rap at the door. "Will you see anybody, ma'am?" I was going to say, "No, nobody, " but I bid Smith ask the name, when behind him, as I spoke, enter Mrs. Lushington. "I have forced myway up--forgive me, it is for Pakenham; I hope I am not too late; I'vebrought him _good_ letters from Mrs. Charles Lushington. "

Comprehending instantly the value of the letters, and our carriage beingmost luckily at the door, into it Fanny and I got, and drove as hard aswe could down to the dock, to the very place where they were to take theGravesend boat. You may imagine the anxiety we were in to be in time, boat waiting for no one; and then the stoppages of odious carts andhackney coaches in the City: I do not believe we spoke three words toeach other all that long way. At last, when within a few minutes of theend of our time, we were encompassed with carts, drays, and omnibuses, in an impenetrable line seemingly before us. Fanny sent Smith on footwith the letters and a pencil note. We got on wonderfully, our coachmanbeing really an angel. We reached the wharf. "Is the Gravesend boatgone?" "No, ma'am, not this half-hour; half after four, instead of four, to-day. "

We took breath, but were still anxious, watching each with head out onour own side; for Smith had not appeared, and Lestock, Sneyd, andPakenham had not arrived: great fear of missing them and the letters inthe hurly-burly of packages, and packers, and passengers, and sailors, and _orderers_, and hackney coaches, and coachmen, and boatmen, men, women, and children swarming and bawling. 

But at last Smith and Lestock appeared together, and the letters gotinto Pakenham's hand: he and Sneyd had gone into the boat, so we saw nomore of them; but Lestock sent us off on a new hurry-skurry for pistols, ordered but not brought. To the Minerva counting-house we drove, to sendthe pistols by some boatswain there: got to counting-house: "Boatswaingone?" "No, ma'am, not yet, " said the dear, smiling clerk. So all wasright, and Pakenham had his pistols. 

SALDEN HOUSE, MRS. CARR'S, _June 6, 1831_. 

My last days in London crowned the whole in all that was entertaining, curious, gratifying, and delightful to head and heart. I am writingwhile Isabella Carr is reading out _Destiny_, and very well she readsthe Scotch; so you may think I cannot enter into details of the past atpresent, but I must just note--

Lady Elizabeth Whitbread and four Lady Harleys. 

Opera with Lady Guilford and two daughters: _Medea_, Pasta: thrillingshiver, gliding sideways to her children, and sudden retreat. 

French play: Leontine Fay in _Une Faute_--the most admirable actress Iever saw, and in the most touching piece. Three young men--Mr. Whitbread, Major Keppel, and Lord Mahon--separately told me theimpression made on them by this actress was such that they could notsleep afterwards! I had no trial how this would be with me, because wewent off from the playhouse to Sir James South's, to see the occultationof Jupiter's satellites: that was indeed a sublime reality, and nowonder we were broad awake till three o'clock. 

Next morning St. Paul's: moral sublime. I sat next Rammohun Roy, andheard all he said. One curious inquiry he made; "Why are the boys set_above_ the girls?" Sermon by the Bishop of Nova Scotia: JudgeHaliburton sat between Fanny and me. Luncheon at the Bishop ofLlandaff's: forty people. Came home: packed up. Mr. Creed at dinner, andthis last day delightful. 

_To_ CAPTAIN BASIL HALL. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 14, 1831_. 

My last visit to universal London confirms to my own feelings youreulogium. I never was so happy there in my life, because I had besidesall the external pleasures, the solid satisfaction of a home there, anddomestic pleasures, without which I should soon grow a-weary of theworld, and wish the business of the town were done. I should be verysorry if I were told this minute that I was never to see London again, and yet I am wondrous contented and happy at home. I hope you will comeand see some time whether I am only making believe or telling true. 

You say I must never say a discouraging word to you, because you are soeasily discouraged: for shame! What is that but saying, "Flatter me"?Now flattery can never do good; twice cursed in the giving and thereceiving, it ought to be. Instead of flattering I will give you thiswholesome caution: in your new volumes do not weaken the effect bygiving too much of a good thing; do not be lengthy; cut well before yougo to press, and then the rest will live all the better. With yourfacility, this cannot cost you much. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

ROSTREVOR, [Footnote: Where the Miss Ruxtons were now living. ]

_Oct. 2, 1831_. 

Lestock was gratified by my joining him at Armagh. Mr. Allott was mosthospitable. We walked to the cathedral, and saw views of great extentand beauty, and heard learned disquisitions about architecture, and acurious anecdote in support of a favourite theory of his, that smallstones _grouted_ together, with lime and water put in hot, defies oldTime. Great alarm was excited some time ago at Winchester Cathedral: theprincipal pillars seemed to be giving way, out of the perpendicular, and_bulged_. They fell to work _shoring_ and propping; but, in spite ofall, the pillars still seemed to be giving way more and more, and theyfeared the whole would come down. Rennie was sent for, but Rennie wasill, and died. At last an architect looked at the pillars, picked atthem, took off a facing of stone, and found, what he had suspected, thatit was only this facing that had given way and bulged, and that theinside was a solid pillar of masonry, --small stones grouted together sofirmly that the cement was as hard as the stone. 

Dr. And Mrs. Robinson came in the evening: his conversation isadmirable; such an affluence of ideas, so full of genius and masterthoughts. He gave me an excellent disquisition on the effect whichtranscendental mathematics produces on the mind, and traced up thehistory of mathematics from Euclid, appealing to diagrams and resting onimages, to that higher sort where they are put out of the question, where we reason by symbols as in algebra, and work on in the dark tillthey get to the light, or till the light comes out of the dark--surethat it will come out. He went over Newton, and on through the historyof modern times--Brinkley, Lagrange, Hamilton--just giving to me, ignorant, a notion of what each had done. 

Mrs. O'Beirne--dear, kind soul!--would accompany me on the jaunting-carall the way from Newry to Rostrevor, and I am very glad she did; and asthe day was fine and the tide in, I thought it would be pleasant on thatbeautiful road; and so it would have been, but for the droves ofcows--Oh, those weary cows with the longest horns!--and if ever Ilaughed at you for being afraid of cows, you may have your revenge now. Every quarter of a mile, at least, came a tangled mass of these brutes, and their fright made them more terrible, for they knew no more whatthey were doing than I did myself; and there I was sitting at theirmercy, and the horn of one or t'other continually within an inch of myeye, my mouth, or my breast, and no retreat; and they might any momentstick me on the top of one of these horns, and toss me with one jerkinto the sea! Mrs. O'Beirne kept telling me she was used to it, and thatnothing ever happened; but by the time I reached Rostrevor I was as poora worn-out rag as ever you saw. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 22, 1831. _

Francis was married on the 19th to Rosa Florentina Eroles; Sneyd, Fanny, and Lestock were present. The bride was dressed in a plain white muslin, with a mantilla lace veil of her own work on her head, without any hat, after the fashion of her own country, with a small wreath of silverflowers in her dark hair. Her sister was dressed English fashion, in abonnet. Both Sneyd and Fanny say that nothing could appear moregentlemanlike, gentle, amiable, and happy than the bridegroom. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 20, 1832_. 

Can you conceive yourself to be an old lamp at the point of extinction, and dreading the smell you would make at going out, and the execrationswhich in your dying flickerings you might hear? And then you canconceive the sudden starting up again of the flame, when fresh oil ispoured into the lamp. And can you conceive what that poor lamp wouldfeel returning to light and life? So felt I when I had read your letteron reading what I sent to you of _Helen_. You have given me new life andspirit to go on with her. I would have gone on from principle, and thedesire to do what my father advised--to finish whatever I began; but nowI feel all the difference between working for a dead or a live horse. 

My auriculas are superb, and my peony tree has eighteen full-swelledbuds: it will be in glory by the time Sophy and Mag arrive. 

_To_ HER SISTER HARRIET--MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN. _Aug. 1, 1832_. 

It is impossible to tell you how much I miss you. Never, except at myAunt Ruxton's, did I ever pass my time away from home so entirely to myown enjoyment. Not a cloud obscured the cheerful sky. 

We are reading _Eugene Aram_; and almost all I have heard I thinkaffected as to language, and not natural as to character. I am sure thereal story and trial are much more interesting. 

_Aug. 21_. 

Perhaps you think I am at Lady Hartland's at this moment, poorignorants, as you are! You must know that I was so unwell on Friday, themorning of the day we were to have gone there, that my poor mother wasobliged to send James in the rain (poor James!) to put off till Monday;so Lord and Lady Hartland were very sorry and very glad, and sent usdivine peaches. 

Sir James Calendar Campbell's _Memoirs_ are ill-written--allhiggledy-piggledy, facts and anecdotes, some without heads, and somewithout tails; great cry and little wool, still, some of the wool isgood; and curious facts thrown out, of which he does not know the value, and other things he values that have no value in nature. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

PAKENHAM HALL, _Sept. 19, 1832_. 

We came here yesterday to meet Caroline Hamilton--dear CarolineHamilton, and her sensible, agreeable husband. She is always the same, and the sight of her affectionate, open, lively countenance does one'sheart good. Lord Longford quite well, and Lord Longford for ever: thechildren beautiful. 

FIVE P. M. 

We have been walking and driving all morning, and seeing all that LadyLongford has done in beautifying the place and employing the people. Inever saw, in England or Ireland, such beautiful gardens--the mostbeautiful American garden my eyes ever beheld. She took advantage of agroup of superb old chestnut-trees, with oak and ash for a background, which had never been noticed in that _terra incognita_; now it is afairy land, embowered round with evergreens. 

To-morrow Hercules and Mrs. Pakenham come, with all their children--aparty of thirteen!

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 9, 1832_. 

I send you one dozen out of two dozen ranunculus roots, which good, kind, dying Lady Pakenham sent to me, with a note as fresh in feeling asyouth could dictate. 

_To_ MR. BANNATYNE. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 12, 1832_. 

The death of Sir Walter Scott has filled us all, as his private friendsand admirers, with sorrow. I do not mean that we could have wished theprolongation of his life such as it had been for the last months; quitethe contrary: but we feel poignant anguish from the thought that such alife as his was prematurely shortened--that such faculties, such agenius, such as is granted but once in an age, once in many ages, shouldhave been extinguished of its light, of its power to enlighten andvivify the world, long before its natural term for setting! Whatever theerrors may have been, oh, what have been the unremitted, generous, alas!overstrained exertions of that noble nature!

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 15, 1832_. 

Thank you, I am quite well. My only _complaint_ is that I never can doany day as much as I intended, and am always as much hurried by thedressing-bell as I am at this instant. 

Lord Longford and Lord Silchester called here to-day on their way backfrom Longford and Castle Forbes; they sat till late; very agreeable. When I congratulated Lord Longford on having done so much at PakenhamHall, and upon having still something to do, he answered, "Oh yes, Inever was intended for a finished gentleman!"

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 28, 1832_. 

I send Mr. Lockhart's letter on the subscription for Abbotsford; it doeshim honour. I combated, however, his feelings with all the feelings andreasons I have on the opposite side--that it is a national tribute, honourable, not degrading. I refused to give him Scott's letters forpublication, and very painful it was to me to refuse him, at present, anything he asked; but principle and consistency, painful or not, required it, besides my own feelings. I could not bear to publish SirWalter's praises of myself, and affectionate expressions and privatesentiments. I did send one letter to Mr. Lockhart, exemplifying what Imean--the beautiful letter on his changing fortunes. As to thesubscription, all depends on whether the quantity of good produced willbalance the pain to the family. It would gratify me to give the £100 Iset apart for the purpose, but then comes the question, with or withoutmy name? If with, there is staring me in the face OSTENTATION. Ifwithout--set down as from an "Unknown Friend"--AFFECTATION. 

Crampton said my name would be useful, and so I suppose I should do whatwould best serve the cause, and put out of the question allconsideration of what may be thought of myself. 

 * * * * *

Miss Edge worth's novel of _Helen_, begun in 1830, was finished in thesummer of 1833, and read for family criticism, before being sent to thepress. 

 * * * * *

C. S. EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. C. S. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 27, 1833_. 

After breakfast yesterday I had a stroll with Mrs. Edgeworth throughMaria's flower-garden. I wish you could see her peony tree: it is in thevery perfection of bloom, as indeed everything is here. After luncheondinner, the pony-carriage came round, but was refused by all: however, as I was putting in execution my long-formed project of getting a ladderand making the ladies go up into the sycamore-tree with me, we drovethat far. I fixed the ladder: I went up, and Fanny, Harriet, and Honora, with a little hesitation, followed. They were all delighted with thisairy parlour, lined with the softest, thickest moss; natural seats withbacks, a delightful peep of the house, gay parterres and groves. It wasamusing, Mrs. Edgeworth's and Maria's surprise when called to fromabove, as they passed in the carriage. Then we drove round Francis's newwalk through the Horse Park fields: beautiful. Then the ladies flockedto their flower-beds, and I was accompanied by one or two in my rambles, speaking to old workmen, and bribing new to banish the sparrows. Aftertea much talking, and a little reading; Harriet read out a new story byMr. Brittain, who wrote _Hyacinth O'Gara_, and whom I knew at college. 

This morning was everything that was exquisite, and I have sincebreakfast had the gardener and heaps of workmen, and have been sawingbeech-branches, to my great satisfaction and the approval of others; andin criticism I have found all agree with me, for _Helen_ is begun, andat eleven we meet in the library; and Harriet has read aloud fourchapters. It is altogether in Maria's best style; and I think the publicwill like it as hers, the return to an old friend. 

_31st_. 

I am sure you would like the cheerful fusion of this home party: eachstar is worthy of separate observation for its serenity, brilliancy, ormagnitude; but it is as a constellation they claim most regard, linkedtogether by strong attachment, and moving in harmony through theiruseful course. The herons sail about and multiply, the rookery isbanished, the reign of tulips now almost o'er, and peonies of many bellsare taking their place. 

I am a stranger to any book but _Helen_, scarcely looking at thenewspaper, which Mr. Butler devours. Harriet has gone in thepony-carriage for Molly, and she is to be driven by Francis's walk andMaria's garden. 

_June 1_. 

Aunt Mary's [Footnote: Mrs. Mary Sneyd. ] interest in _Helen_ isdelightful. Never did the whole family appear to more advantage; theaccordance of opinion, yet cheerfulness of discussion, is charming. 

When the evening reading of _Helen_ was finished, Harriet and I walkedround the lawn; the owls shrieking and flitting by in pursuit of bats:clouds in endless varieties in the unsettled heavens. The library, as welooked in at it through the windows, with all its walls and pictureslighted up by the lamps, looked beautiful. I thought how my father wouldhave been touched to look in as we did on his assembled family. 

MARIA _to_ M. PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH, ESQ. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Valentine's Day, 1834_. 

The herons this day (according to their custom as Sophy tells me) satall in a row in the horse park in solemn deliberation upon their ownaffairs: the opening of their budget I suppose. They have much upontheir hands this session, and there must be a battle soon, on which thefate of the empire must depend; magpies and scarecrows abound, and suchclouds of starlings darkened the air for many minutes opposite thelibrary window, settling at last upon the three great beech trees, thatSophy and I would have given a crown imperial you had been by, dearPakenham, to see them. 

You ended your Journal and the announcement of your appointment toAmballa with exulting in the new kingdoms of flowers you would have tosubdue, and with the hope that your mother would write to Lady Pakenhamfor her delightful letter to her son. You will have heard long beforethis reaches you, my dear, that Lady Pakenham is no more; she died lastautumn. I wish that this news could have reached that kind heart ofhers. Honora and I went the very day we received your journal toCoolure, to thank Admiral Pakenham; he met us on the steps in a tapestrynightcap. He has grown very old, and has had several strokes of palsy, but none have touched his heart. When Honora read to him the wholepassage out of your journal and your own warm expressions of pleasureand gratitude, life and joy lighted in his dear old eyes. Honora onlychanged the words, "dear Lady Pakenham" into the "dear Pakenhams ofCoolure. " He asked, "Who wrote?" and looked very earnestly in my eyes. Iwas afraid to say Lady Pakenham, and I answered, "You know, " and pressedhis hand. He did know, passed his hand over his eyes and said, "Likeher: she was a good woman. "

_February 19_. 

I yesterday found in my writing-desk a copy I had made of the letterLord Carrington wrote to me in answer to mine announcing your formerFuttehgur appointment; and now that it can go free I enclose it. I likean expression of Lord Mahon's about him in a note I lately received fromhim. "My grandfather is in excellent health, and I cannot offer you abetter wish than that you may at eighty-one possess the same activity, the same quickness of intellect, the same gushing, warm-heartedbenevolence which distinguishes him. " Gushing benevolence: I like thatexpression. 

Sophy despatched a letter for you last week, in which I am sure she toldyou all domestic occurrences. Barry has bought Annaghmore in the King'sCounty: an excellent house; and Sophy and Barry and all the children areto stay with us till Sophy's health--very delicate--is strengthened, andtill they have furnished what rooms they mean to inhabit at Annamore;this looks better than with the _gh_, but Sophy stickles for the oldIrish spelling. 

Molly and Hetty, and Crofton and child, are all flourishing; poor oldGeorge is declining as gently and comfortably as can be. When we go tosee him, his eyes light up and his mouth crinkles into smiles, and he, as well as Molly, never fails to ask for Master Pakenham. Though _Helen_cannot reach you for a year, Fanny has desired Bentley to send you acopy before it is published. I should tell you beforehand that there isno humour in it, and no Irish character. It is impossible to drawIreland as she now is in a book of fiction--realities are too strong, party passions too violent to bear to see, or care to look at theirfaces in the looking-glass. The people would only break the glass, andcurse the fool who held the mirror up to nature--distorted nature, in afever. We are in too perilous a case to laugh, humour would be out ofseason, worse than bad taste. Whenever the danger is past, as the man inthe sonnet says, We may look back on the hardest part and laugh. 

Then I shall be ready to join in the laugh. Sir Walter Scott once saidto me, "Do explain to the public why Pat, who gets forward so well inother countries, is so miserable in his own. " A very difficult question:I fear above my power. But I shall think of it continually, and listen, and look, and read. 

Thank you, my dear brother, for your excellent and to me particularlyinteresting last letter, in which you copied for me the goodobservations on the state of your part of India, and the collection ofthe revenue, rents, etc. Many of the observations on India apply toIreland; similarity of certain general causes operating on human natureeven in countries most different and with many other circumstancesdissimilar, produce a remarkable resemblance in human character andconduct. I admire your generous indignation against oppression andwringing by "any indirection from the poor peasant his vile trash. " Someof the disputes that you have to settle at Cucherry, and some of theviewings that you record of boundaries, etc. , about which there arequarrels, put me in mind of what I am called upon to do here continuallyin a little way. I hope Honora and Sophy have given you satisfactionabout the exact place of the new walks; as I cannot draw I can donothing in that way, but I can tell you that I have been plantingrhododendrons and arbutus in front of the euonymus tree. I hope you willhave a good garden in your new residence, and that you will not be toohot in it. How you could find that your having more to do, made you moreable to endure the horrid heat you describe, passes my comprehension. Heat always makes me so indolent, imbecile, and irritable. I rememberall this in the only heat _to call heat_, that I was ever exposed to inParis and Switzerland; I could not even speak, much less write. If I hadbeen under your 107 degrees I should have melted away to the very bone, and never, never, never could have penned that _dropping_ letter as youdid to Honora, and with that _puddle_ ink too. Well! we are very, very, very much obliged to you, dear Pakenham, for all the labour you gothrough for us, and we hope that under the shade of the Himalayamountains you will be able to write, at your ease and without all mannerof _stodge_ in your ink. 

_21st_. 

This morning brought through Harriet, Margaret Craig's joy at yourpromotion, and--Honora says I must go out this delightful sunshinemorning, and look at all the full-blown crocuses, violets, heath, andpyrus japonica. I have a standard pyrus now--vulgar things compared withyour _Indian Prides_. 

Oh! my dear Pakenham, I am sure you are shocked at the death of Sir JohnMalcolm! both he and Sir James Macintosh, the two whose genius you soadmired, and whose conversation you so enjoyed just before you leftEngland--both gone!

_March 8_. 

Ever since I finished my last to you I have had my head so immersed inaccounts that I have never been able till this moment to fulfil myintention of giving you my travels in Connemara. 

I travelled with Sir Culling and Lady Smith (Isabella Carr). SirCulling, of old family, large fortune and great philanthropy, extendingto poor little Ireland and her bogs, and her Connemara, and herpenultimate barony of Erris and her ultimate Giants' Causeway, and herbeautiful lake of Killarney. And all these things he determined to see. Infant and nurse, and lady's-maid, and gentleman's gentleman, and SirCulling and the fair Isabella all came over to Ireland last September, just as Fanny had left us, and she meeting them in Dublin, andconceiving that nurse and baby would not do for Connemara, wroteconfidentially to beg us to invite them to stay at Edgeworthstown, whilefather and mother, and maid, and man, were to proceed on their travels. They spent a pleasant week, I hope, at Edgeworthstown. I am sure Honoradid everything that was possible to make it pleasant to them, and weregretted a million of times that your mother was not at home. SirCulling expected to have had all manner of information as to roads, distances, and time, but Mrs. Edgeworth not being at home, and MissEdgeworth's local knowledge being such as you know, you may guess how hewas disappointed. Mr. Shaw and the Dean of Ardagh, who dined with himhere, gave him directions as far as Ballinasloe and a letter to theclergyman there. The fair of Ballinasloe was just beginning, and SirCulling was determined to see that, and from thence, after studying themap of Ireland and roadbooks one evening, he thought he should geteasily to Connemara, Westport, and the Barony of Erris, see all that ina week, and come back to Edgeworthstown, take up Bambino and proceed ona northern or a southern tour. 

You will be surprised that I should--seeing they knew so little whatthey were about--have chosen to travel with them; and I confess it wasimprudent and very unlike my usual dislike to leave home without any ofmy own people with me. But upon this occasion I fancied I should see allI wanted to see of the wonderful ways of going on and manners of thenatives better for not being with any of my own family, and especiallyfor its not being suspected that I was an authoress and might put themin a book. In short, I thought it was the best opportunity I could everhave of seeing a part of Ireland which, from time immemorial, I had beencurious to see. My curiosity had been raised even when I first came toIreland fifty years ago, by hearing my father talk of the King ofConnemara, and his immense territory, and his ways of ruling over hispeople with almost absolute power, with laws of his own, and setting allother laws at defiance. Smugglers and caves, and murders and mermaids, and duels, and banshees, and fairies, were all mingled together in myearly associations with Connemara and Dick Martin, --"Hair-trigger Dick, "who cared so little for his own life or the life of man, and so much forthe life of animals, who fought more duels than any man of even his"Blue-blaze-devil" day, and who brought the bill into Parliament forpreventing cruelty to animals; thenceforward changing his cognomen from"Hair-trigger Dick" to "Humanity Martin. " He was my father'scontemporary, and he knew a number of anecdotes of him. _Too besides_, Ionce saw him, and remember that my blood crept slow and my breath washeld when he first came into the room, a pale, little insignificant-looking mortal he was, but he still kept hold of my imagination, and hisland of Connemara was always a land I longed to visit. Long afterwards, a book which I believe you read, _Letters from the Irish Highlands_, written by the family of Blakes of Renvyle, raised my curiosity stillfurther, and wakened it for new reasons, in a new direction. Further andfurther and higher, Nimmo and William deepened my interest in thatcountry, and, in short, and at length all these motives worked together. Add to them a book called _Wild Sports of the West_, of which Harrietread to me all the readable parts till I rolled with laughing. Add alsothat I had lately heard Mr. Rothwell give a most entertaining account ofa tour he had taken in Erris, and to the house of a certain MajorBingham who must be the most diverting and extraordinary original uponearth--and shall I die without seeing him? thought I--now or never. 

At the first suggestion I uttered that I should like to see him andErris, and the wonders of Connemara, Lady Culling Smith and Sir Cullingburst into delight at the thought of having me as their travellingcompanion, so it was all settled in a moment. Honora approved, Aunt Maryhoped it would all turn out to my satisfaction, and off we set with fourhorses mighty grand in their travelling carriage, which was a summerfriend, open or half-open. A half head stuck up immovable with a windowat each ear, an apron of wood, varnished to look like japanned leatherhinged at bottom, and having at top where it shuts a sort of fairy-boardwindow which lets down in desperately bad weather. 

Our first day was all prosperous and sunshine, and what Captain Beaufortwould call plain sailing. To Ballymahon the first stage. Do you rememberBallymahon, and the first sight of the gossamer in the hedges sparklingwith dew, going there packed into the chaise with your four sisters andme to see the museum of a Mr. Smith, who had a Cellini cup and a Raphaelplate, and miniatures of Madame de Maintenon, and wondersinnumerable--but Sophy at this moment tells me that I am insisting uponyour remembering things that happened before you were born, and thateven Francis was only one year old at the time of this breakfast, and itwas she herself who was so delighted with that first view of thegossamer in the glittering sunshine. 

But I shall never get on to Athlone, much less to Connemara. Of AthloneI have nothing to say but what you may learn from the _Gazetteer_, except that, while we were waiting in the antiquated inn there, whilehorses were changing, I espied a print hanging smoked over thechimney-piece, which to my _connoisseur_ eyes seemed marvellously good, and upon my own judgment I proposed for it to the landlady, and boughtit for five shillings (frame excepted); and when I had it out of theframe, and turned it round, I found my taste and judgment gloriouslyjustified. It was from a picture of Vandyke's--the death of Belisarius;and here it is now hanging up in the library, framed in satin wood, theadmiration of all beholders, Barry Fox above all. 

But to proceed. It was no easy matter to get out of Athlone, for at theentrance to the old-fashioned, narrowest of narrow bridges we foundourselves wedged and blocked by drays and sheep, reaching at least amile; men cursing and swearing in Irish and English; sheep baaing, andso terrified, that the shepherds were in transports of fear brandishingtheir crooks at our postillions, and the postillions in turn brandishingtheir whips on the impassive backs of the sheep. The cocked gold-edgedhat of an officer appeared on horseback in the midst, and there wassilence from all but the baaing sheep. He bowed to us ladies, or to ourcarriage and four, and assured us that he would see us safe out, butthat it would be a work of time. While this work of time was going on, one pushed his way from behind, between sheep and the wheel on my sideof the carriage, and putting in his head called out to me, "MissEdgeworth, if you are in it, my master's in town, and will be with youdirectly almost, with his best compliments. He learned from the landladyyour name. He was in the inn that minute, receiving rents he is, if youwill be kind enough to wait a minute, and not stir _out of that_. "

Kind enough I was, for I could not help myself, if I had been ever sounkindly disposed towards my unknown friend. Up came, breathless, awell-known friend, Mr. Strickland. Introduced amidst the baaing of thesheep to my travelling companions, and, as well as I could make myselfheard in the din, I made him understand where we were going next, andfound, to my great satisfaction, that he would overtake us next day atBallinasloe, if we could stay there next day; and we could and must, forit was Sunday. I cannot tell you--and if I could you would think Iexaggerated--how many hours we were in getting through the next tenmiles; the road being continually covered with sheep, thick as woolcould pack, all _coming from_ the sheep-fair of Ballinasloe, which, toSir Culling's infinite mortification, we now found had taken place theprevious day. I am sure we could not have had a better opportunity andmore leisure to form a sublime and just notion of the thousands and tensof thousands which must have been on the field of sale. This retreat ofthe ten thousand never could have been effected without the generalshipof these wonderfully skilled shepherds, who, in case of any disorderamong their troops, know how dexterously to take the offender by theleft leg or the right leg with their crooks, pulling them back withoutever breaking a limb, and keeping them continually in their ranks on theweary, long march. 

We did not reach Ballinasloe till it was almost dark. There goes astory, you know, that no woman must ever appear at Ballinasloe Fair;that she would be in imminent peril of her life from the mob. Thedaughters of Lord Clancarty, it was said, "had tried it once, and scarcewere saved by fate. " Be this as it may, we were suffered to drive veryquietly through the town; and we went quite through it to the outskirtsof scattered houses, and stopped at the door of the Vicarage. And wellfor us that we had a letter from the Dean of Ardagh to the Rev. Mr. Pounden, else we might have spent the night in the streets, or have paidguineas apiece for our beds, all five of us, for three nights. Mr. AndMrs. Pounden were the most hospitable of people, and they were put to agreat trial--dinner just over, and that day had arrived unexpectedly onefamily of relations, and expectedly another, with children without end. And how they did stow them and us, to this hour I cannot conceive: theyhad, to be sure, one bed-chamber in a house next door, which, luckily, Lord and Lady Somebody had not arrived to occupy. Be it how it might, here we stayed till Monday; and on Sunday there was to be a charitysermon for the benefit of the schools, under the patronage of Lord andLady Clancarty, and the sermon was preached by Archdeacon Pakenham; andafter the sermon--an excellent sermon on the appropriate text of thegood Samaritan--an immense crowd before the windows filled the fairgreen, and we went out to see. The crowd of good, very good-naturedIrishmen, gentle and simple mixed, opened to let the ladies and Englishstranger in to see: and fine horses and fine leaping we saw, over aloose wall built up for the purpose in the middle of the fair green; andsuch shouting, and such laughing, and such hurraing for those thatcleared and for those that missed. As for the rest of the cattle-fair, we _lift_ on Monday morning before the thick of it came on. 

I forgot to tell you that on Sunday arrived Mr. Strickland, and he withmaps and road-books explained to Sir Culling where he should go, and howhe was to accomplish his objects. It was settled that we were to go toLoughrea, and to see certain ruins by going a few miles out of our way;and this we accomplished, and actually did see, by an uncommonly finesunset, the beautiful ruins of Clonmacnoise; and we slept this night atLoughrea, where we had been assured there was a capital inn, and may beit was, but the rats or the mice ran about my room so, and made such anoise in the holes of the floor, that I could not sleep, but wasthankful they did not get on or into my bed. 

Next day to Galway, and still it was fine weather, and bright for theopen carriage, and we thought it would always be so. Galway, wet or dry, and it was dry when I saw it, is the dirtiest town I ever saw, and themost desolate and idle-looking. As I had heard much from CaptainBeaufort and Louisa of the curious Spanish buildings in Galway, I wasdetermined not to go through the town without seeing these; so, as soonas we got to the inn, I summoned landlord and landlady, and begged toknow the names of the principal families in the town. I thought I mightchance to light upon somebody who could help us. In an old history ofGalway which Mr. Strickland picked up from a stall at Ballinasloe, Ifound prints of some of the old buildings and names of the old families;and the landlord having presented me with a list as long as analderman's bill of fare of the names of the gentlemen and ladies ofGalway, I pitched upon the name of a physician, a Dr. Veitch, of whom Ihad found a fine character in my book. He had been very good to the poorduring a year of famine and fever. To him I wrote, and just as I hadfinished reading his panegyric to Lady Smith, in he walked; and heproved to be an old acquaintance. He was formerly a surgeon in the army, and was quartered at Longford at the time of the rebellion: rememberedour all taking shelter there, how near my father was being killed by themob, and how courageously he behaved. Dr. Veitch had received somekindness from him, and now he seemed anxious, thirty-five yearsafterwards, to return that kindness to me and my companions. He walkedwith us all over Galway, and showed us all that was worth seeing, fromthe new quay _projecting_, and the new green Connemara marble-cutters'workshop, to the old Spanish houses with projecting roofs and piazzawalks beneath; and, wading through seas of yellow mud thick asstirabout, we went to see archways that had stood centuries, and aboveall to the old mayoralty house of that mayor of Galway who hung his ownson; and we had the satisfaction of seeing the very window from whichthe father with his own hands hung his own son, and the black marblemarrowbones and death's head, and inscription and date, 1493. I daresayyou know the story; it formed the groundwork very lately of a tragedy. The son had--from jealousy as the tragedy has it, from avarice accordingto the vulgar version--killed a Spanish friend; and the father, a modernBrutus, condemns him, and then goes to comfort him. I really thought itworth while to wade through mud to see these awful old relics of othertimes and other manners. But, coming back again, at every turn it wasrather disagreeable to have "fish" bawled into one's ears, and "fineflat fish" flapped in one's face. The fish-market was fresh supplied, and Galway is famous for _John Dorees_. "A John Doree, ma'am, foreighteen-pence--a shilling--sixpence!" A John Doree could not be had forguineas in London. Quin, the famous actor, wished he was all throat whenhe was eating a John Doree. But still it was not pleasant, at every turnand every crossing, to have ever so fine John Dorees flapped in one'sface. Sir Culling bought one for sixpence, and it was put into thecarriage; and we took leave of Dr. Veitch, and left Galway. 

From Galway Sir Culling was obliged to take job horses, as he was warnedthat we were entering a country where post horses were not to be found, and were never even heard of. Dr. Veitch bid us not think of enteringConnemara this night. "You will have to send after me soon, if you don'ttake care. You have no idea of the places you are going into, and thatyou may have to sleep in. "

The next place we were to go to, and where Dr. Veitch advised us tosleep, was Outerard, a small town or village, where he told us was aninn, or an hotel, as even in these out-of-the-world regions it is nowcalled. It was but fifteen miles, and this with four horses was not twohours' drive; and Sir Culling thought it would be sad waste of daylightto sleep at Outerard, for still he measured his expected rate oftravelling by his Bath Road standard. Though we left Galway at three, wewere not at Outerard till past seven, with our fine, fresh horses; andexcellent horses they really were, and well harnessed too, withwell-accoutred postillions in dark blue jackets and good hats and boots, all proper, and an ugly little dog running joyously along with thehorses. Outerard, as well as we could see it, was a prettymountain-scattered village, with a pond and trees, and a sort ofterrace-road, with houses and gardens on one side, and a lower road withpond and houses on the other. There is a spa at Outerard to whichbettermost sort of people come in the season; but this was not theseason, and the place had that kind of desolate look, mixed with_pretensions_ too, which a watering-place out of season always has. 

When we came to the hotel, our hearts sank within us. Dusk as it was, there was light enough to guess, at first sight, that it would never dofor sleeping--half covered with overgrown ivy, damp, forlorn, windowsbroken, shattered look all about it. With difficulty we got at thebroken gate into the very small and dirty courtyard, where the fourhorses could hardly stand with the carriage. Out came such a master andsuch a maid! and such fumes of whiskey-punch and tobacco. Sir Cullinggot down from his barouche-seat, to look if the house was practicable;but soon returned, shaking his head, and telling us in French that itwas quite impossible; and the master of the inn, with half threats, halflaughter, assured us we should find no other place in Outerard. Iinquired for the Priest's house. I was on the point of asking, "Has thePriest any family?" but recollected myself in time, and asked whetherthe Priest's house was large enough to hold us. "Not an atom of room tospare in it, ma'am. " Then I inquired for the Chief of the Police, theClergyman, or the Magistrate? "Not in it, neither, none; but the Chiefof the Police's house is there on the top of the hill; but you will notget in. "

We went there, however, and up the hill toiled, and to the door of asort of spruce-looking lanthorn of a house, without tree or shrub nearit. But still it might be good to sleep in; and, nothing daunted by themaid's prophecies and ominous voice, we determined to try our fate. SirCulling got down and rubbed his hands; while, after his man's knockingat the door several times, no one came to open it, though through thelarge drawing-room window we saw figures gliding about. At last the doorhalf opened by hands unseen, and Sir Culling, pushing it wholly open, went in; and we sat in the carriage, waiting as patiently as we could. The figures in black and white came to the window, and each hadpocket-handkerchiefs in their hands or at their eyes. Sir Cullingreappeared, ordered the horses to be turned about again; and when he hadremounted his barouche-seat, which he did with all convenient speed, heinformed us that a lady had died in this house a few days before, ofcholera; that she had this day been buried; that under any othercircumstances the master and mistress would have been happy to receiveus, but now it was quite impossible, for our sake and their own. Thedamp, broken-windowed hole was preferable; so back we went. But as wewent along the _high_ road, down in the _low_ road on the other side ofthe pond, through the duskiness we saw lights in several houses; and infront of one long house which looked whiter than the rest, we stopped atan opening in the road where was a path which led to the valley beneath, and Sir Culling, who proved in this our need an active knight, sallieddown to adventure another trial; and in a few minutes after _im_merginginto this mud castle, and emerging from it, he waved his arm over hishead in sign of triumph, and made a sign to the postillions to turn downinto the valley, which they did without overturning us; and to oursatisfaction we found ourselves housed at Mrs. O'Flaherty's, who did notkeep an inn, observe; her admitting us, observe, depended upon ourclearly understanding that she did not so demean herself. But she in theseason let her house as a boarding-house to the quality, who came toOuterard to drink the waters or to bathe. So, to oblige us poortravellers, without disgrace to the blood and high descent of theO'Flaherties, she took us in, as we were quality, and she turned her twosons out of their rooms and their beds for us; and most comfortably wewere lodged. And we ate the John Doree we had brought with us, and Ithought it not worth all the talking about it I had heard; and, for thefirst time in my days or nights, I this night tasted a _toombler_ ofanti-Parliament whiskey, _alias_ poteen, and water; and of all thedetestable tastes that ever went into my mouth, or smells that ever wentunder my nose, I think this was the worst--literally smoke and firespirit. Isabella observed that she had often drank Innishowon and waterwith dear Agnes and Joanna Baillie. There's no disputing about tastes;therefore I did not dispute, only set down the tumbler, and sip tooknever more; for I could as soon have drank the chimney smoking. Thedoors, just opening with a latch, received us into our bed-rooms, withgood turf fires on the hearth, coved ceilings, and presses, and all likebed-rooms in an English farm-house more than an Irish: wonderfulcomfortable for Outerard, after fear of the cholera and the dead womanespecially. 

Next day, sun shining and a good breakfast, our spirit of travellingadventure up within us, we determined that, before proceeding on ourmain adventure into Connemara, we would make a little episode to see awonderful cave in the neighbourhood. Our curiosity to see it had beenexcited by the story of the lady and the white trout in _Lover'sLegends_. It is called the Pigeon-hole; not the least like apigeon-hole, but it is a subterraneous passage, where a stream flowswhich joins the waters of Lough Corrib and Lough Mask. Outerard is onthe borders of Lough Corrib, and we devoted this day to boating acrossLough Corrib, to see this famous cavern, which is on the opposite sideof the lake, and also to see a certain ruined monastery. We passed overthe lake, admiring its beauty and its many islands--little bits ofislands, of which the boatmen tell there are three hundred andsixty-five; be the same more or less, one for every day in the year atleast. We saw the ruins, which are very fine; but I have not time to saymore about them. We crossed the churchyard and a field or two, and allwas as flat, and bare, and stony as can be imagined; and as we weregoing and going farther from the shore of the lake, I wondered how andwhen we were to come to this cavern. The guide called me to stop, and Istopped; and well I did: I was on the brink of the Pigeon-hole--justlike an unfenced entrance to a deep deep well. The guide went downbefore us, and was very welcome! Down and down and down steps almostperpendicular, and as much as my little legs could do to reach from oneto the other; darker and darker, and there were forty of them I am sure, well counted--though certainly I never counted them, but was right gladwhen I felt my feet at the bottom, on _terra firma_ again, even indarkness, and was told to look up, and that I had come down sixty feetand more. I looked up and saw glimmering light at the top, and as myeyes recovered, more and more light through the large fern leaves whichhung over the opening at top, and the whole height above looked like theinside of a limekiln, magnified to gigantic dimensions, withlady-fern--it must be lady-fern, because of the fairies--and lichens, names unknown, hanging from its sides. The light of the sun nowstreaming in I saw plainly, and felt why the guide held me fast by thearm--I was on the brink of the very narrow dark stream of water, whichflowed quite silently from one side of the cavern to the other! To thatother side, my eye following the stream as it flowed, I now looked, andsaw that the cavern opened under a high archway in the rock. How highthat was, or how spacious, I had not yet light enough to discern. Butnow there appeared from the steps down which we had descended an oldwoman with a light in her hand. Our boy-guide hailed her by the name ofMadgy Burke. She scrambled on a high jut of rock in the cavern; she hada bundle of straw under one arm, and a light flickering in the otherhand, her grizzled locks streaming, her garments loose and tattered, allwhich became suddenly visible as she set fire to a great wisp of straw, and another and another she plucked from her bundle and lighted, andwaved the light above and underneath. It was like a scene in a melodramaof Cavern and Witch--the best cavern scene I ever beheld. As shecontinued to throw down, from the height where she stood, the lightedbundles of straw, they fell on the surface of the dark stream below, andsailed down the current, under the arch of the cavern, lighting its roofat the vast opening, and looking like tiny fire-ships, one after anothersailing on, and disappearing. We could not help watching each as itblazed, till it vanished. We looked till we were tired, then turned andclambered up the steps we had scrambled down, and found ourselves againin broad daylight, in upper air and on the flat field; and the illusionwas over, and there stood, turned into a regular old Irish beggar-woman, the Witch of Outerard, and Madgy Burke stood confessed, and began tohiggle with Sir Culling and to flatter the English quality for asixpence more. 

Meanwhile we were to cross Lough Corrib; and well for us that we had theprudence to declare, early in the morning, that we would not take asail-boat, for a sail-boat is dangerous in the sudden squalls which risein these mountain regions and on these lakes, very like the Swiss lakesfor that matter. For instance, on the Lake de Lucerne, I have seensunshine and glassy surface change in five minutes to storm and cloud soblack and thick, that Mont Pilate himself could not be discerned throughit more than if he never stood there in all his sublimity. 

Our day had changed, and very rough was the lake; and the boatmen, tocomfort us and no doubt amuse themselves, as we rose up and down on thebillows, told us stories of boats that had been lost in these storms, and of young Mr. Brown last year, that was drowned in a boat within viewof his brother standing on that island, which we were just then to pass. "And when so near he could almost have reached him, you'd have thought. "

"And why didn't he, then?" said I. 

"Oh, bless you, ma'am, he couldn't; for, " said the boatman, dropping hisoar, which I did not like at all, "for, mind you, ma'am, it was all donein the clap of one's hand, " and he clapped his hands. 

"Well, take up your oar, " cried I; which he did, and rowed amain, and wecleared Brown's Island, and I have no more dangers, fancied or other, totell you; and after two hours' hard rowing, which may give you themeasure of the width of Lough Corrib at this place, we landed, and wereright glad to eat Mrs. O'Flaherty's ready dinner, Lough Corribtrout--not the White Lady trout. 

Sir Culling had intended to pursue his road this evening and reach LoughCorrib Lodge to sleep, but before we got the first mouthful of dinnerinto our mouths it was stone-dark, whatever kind of darkness that is, and we agreed on old George's excellent principle to leave it till"morning, ma'am, if you please. "

So the morning came, and a fine morning still it was; and we set out, leaving Mrs. O'Flaherty curtseying and satisfied. I cannot make out anywonders, or anything like an adventure between Outerard and CorribLodge; only the road was rough and the country like the Isle ofAnglesea, as if stones and fragments of rock had showered down on theearth and tracts of bog-heath such as England never saw and Scotlandseldom sees, except in the Highlands. We were only about twice the timethat Sir Culling had calculated on getting over this part of the roadwith our powerful Galway horses and steady drivers, and reaching CorribLodge Sir Culling said: "These roads are not so very bad, we shall geton, Miss Edgeworth, very well, you will see. "

Corrib Lodge is a neat bleak-looking house, which Mr. Nimmo built forhis own residence when he was overseer of the roads, now turned into aninn, kept by his Scotch servant, who used to come with him toEdgeworthstown, and he gave us bread and butter and milk, and moreover, hare-soup, such as the best London tavern might have envied. Forobserve, that hares abound in these parts, and there is no sin inkilling them, and how the cook came to be so good I cannot tell you, butso it certainly was. Invigorated and sanguine, we were ready to get intothe carriage again, purposing to reach Clifden this evening--it was nowthree o'clock; we had got through half our thirty-six miles; no doubt wecould easily, Sir Culling argued, manage the other half before dark. Butour wary Scotch host shook his head and observed, that if his latemaster Mr. Nimmo's road was but open so we might readily, but Mr. Nimmo's new road was not opened, and why, because it was not finished. Only one mile or so remained unfinished, and as that one mile of unmadeunfinished road was impassable by man, boy, or Connemara pony, whatavailed the new road for our heavy carriage and four horses? There wasno possibility of _going round_, as I proposed; we must go the old road, if road it could be called, all bog and bog-holes, as our host explainedto us: "It would be wonderful if we could get over it, for no carriagehad ever passed, nor ever thought of attempting to pass, nothing but acommon car these two years at least, except the Marquis of Anglesea andsuite, _and_ his Excellency was on horseback. " As for such a carriage asSir Culling's, the like, as men and boys at the door told us, had neverbeen seen in these parts. 

Sir Culling stood a little daunted. We inquired--I particularly, how farit was to Ballinahinch Castle, where the Martins live, and which I knewwas some miles on this side of Clifden. I went into Corrib Lodge andwrote with ink on a visiting ticket with "Miss Edgeworth" on it, mycompliments, and Sir Culling and Lady Smith's, a petition for a night'shospitality, to use in case of our utmost need. 

The Scotchman could not describe exactly how many _bad steps_ therewere, but he forewarned us that they were bad enough, and as hesometimes changed the words _bad steps_ into _sloughs_, our Galwaypostillions looked graver and graver, hoped they should get their horsesover, but did not know; they had never been this road, never fartherthan Outerard, but they would do all that men and beasts could do. 

The first bad step we came to was indeed a slough, but only a couple ofyards wide across the road. The horses, the moment they set their feetupon it, sank up to their knees, and were whipped and spurred, and theystruggled and floundered, and the carriage, as we inside passengersfelt, sank and sank. Sir Culling was very brave and got down to help. The postillions leaped off, and bridles in hand gained the _shore_, andby dint of tugging, and whipping, and hallooing, and dragging of men andboys, who followed from Corrib Lodge, we were got out and were on theother side. 

Farther on we might fare worse from what we could learn, so in somecommotion we got out and said we would rather walk. And when we came tothe next bad step, the horses, seeing it was a slough like the first, put back their ears and absolutely refused to set foot upon it, and theywere, the postillions agreed, quite right; so they were taken off andleft to look on, while by force of arms the carriage was to be got overby men and boys, who shouting, gathered from all sides, from mountainpaths down which they poured, and from fields where they had been atwork or loitering; at the sight of the strangers they flocked tohelp--such a carriage had never been seen before--to help common cars, or jaunting cars over these bad steps they had been used. "This heavycarriage! sure it was impossible, but sure they might do it. " And theytalked and screamed together in English and Irish equally unintelligibleto us, and in spite of all remonstrance about breaking the pole--pole, and wheels, and axle, and body, they seized of the carriage, andstanding and jumping from stone to stone, or any tuft of bog that couldbear them, as their practised eyes saw; they, I cannot tell you how, dragged, pushed, and _screamed_ the carriage over. And Sir Culling gotover his way, and Lady Smith would not be carried, but leaping andassisted by men's arms and shouts, she got to the other side. And agreat giant, of the name of Ulick Burke, took me up in his arms as hemight a child or a doll, and proceeded to carry me over--while I, exceedingly frightened and exceedingly civil, and (as even in the momentof most danger I could not help thinking and laughing within me at thethought) very like Rory in his dream on the eagle's back, in his journeyto the moon, I kept alternately flattering my giant, and praying--"Sir, sir, pray set me down; do let me down now, sir, pray. "

"Be asy; be _quite_, can't you, dear, and I'll carry you over to theother side safely, all in good time, " floundering as he went. 

"Thank you, sir, thank you. Now, sir, now set me down, if you will be sovery good, on the bank. "

Just as we reached the bank he stumbled and sank knee-deep, but threwme, as he would a sack, to shore, and the moment I felt myself on _terrafirma_, I got up and ran off, and never looked back, trusting that mygiant knew his own business; and so he did, and all dirt and bog water, was beside me again in a trice. "Did not I carry you over well, my lady?Oh, it's I am used to it, and helped the Lord Anglesea when he was init. "

So as we walked on, while the horses were coming over, I don't know how, Ulick and a tribe of wild Connemara men and boys followed us, alltalking at once, and telling us there were twenty or thirty such badsteps, one worse than another, farther and farther on. It was clear thatwe could not walk all the twelve miles, and the men and Sir Cullingassuring us that they would get us safe over, and that we had better getinto the carriage again, and in short that we _must_ get in, wesubmitted. 

I confess, Pakenham, I was frightened nearly out of my wits. At the nexttrial Lady Culling Smith was wonderfully brave, and laughed when thecarriage was hauled from side to side, so nearly upset, that how eachtime it escaped I could not tell; but at last, when down it sank, andall the men shouted and screamed, her courage fell, and she confessedafterwards she thought it was all over with us, and that we should neverbe got out of this bog-hole. Yet out we were got; but how? what with thenoise, and what with the fright, far be it from me to tell you. But Iknow I was very angry with a boy for laughing in the midst of it: alittle dare-devil of a fellow, as my giant Ulick called him; I couldwith pleasure have seen him ducked in bog water! but forgot my anger inthe pleasure of safe landing, and now I vowed I could and would walk thewhole ten miles farther, and would a thousand times rather. 

My scattered senses and common sense returning, it now occurred to methat it would be desirable to avail myself of the card I had in my bag, and beg a night's lodging at our utmost need. It was still broaddaylight, to be sure, and Sir Culling still hoped we should get on toClifden before dark. But I did request he would despatch one of thesegossoons to Ballinahinch Castle with my card immediately. It could do noharm I argued, and Lady Smith seconded me with, "Yes, dear Culling, _do_, " and my dear giant Ulick backed me with, "Troth, you're rightenough, ma'am. Troth, sir, it will be dark enough soon, and long enoughbefore you're clean over them sloughs, farthest on beyant where we canengage to see you over. Sure, here's my own boy will run with the speedof light with the lady's card. "

I put it into his hand with the promise of half a crown, and how he didtake to his heels!

We walked on, and Ulick, who was a professional wit as well as a giant, told us the long-ago tale of Lord Anglesea's visit to Connemara, and howas he walked beside his horse this gentleman-lord, as he was, had axedhim which of his legs he liked best. 

Now Ulick knew right well that one was a cork leg, but he never let on, as he told us, and pretended the one leg was just the same as t'other, and he saw no differ in life, "which pleased my lord-liftenant greatly, and then his lordship fell to explaining to me why it was cork, and howhe lost it in battle, which I knew before as well as he did, for I hadlarned all about it from our Mr. Martin, who was expecting him at thecastle, but still I never let on, and handled the legs one side of thehorse and t'other and asy found out, and tould him, touching the cork, 'sure this is the more _honourable_. '"

Which observation surely deserved, and I hope obtained half a crown. Ourway thus beguiled by Ulick's Irish wit, we did not for some time feelthat we could not walk for ever. Lady Culling Smith complained of beingstiff and tired, and we were compelled to the carriage again, andpresently heavy dews of evening falling, we were advised to let downthose fairy-board shutters I described to you, which was done with careand cost of nails. I did it at last, and oh! how I wished it up againwhen we were boxed up, and caged in without the power of seeing morethan glimpses of our danger--glimpses heightening imagination, and, ifwe were to be overturned, all this glass to be broken into our eyes andears. 

Well! well! I will not wear your sympathy and patience eighteen timesout, with the history of the eighteen sloughs we went, or were got, through at the imminent peril of our lives. Why the carriage was notbroken to pieces I cannot tell, but an excellent strong carriage it was, thank Heaven, and the builder whoever he was. 

I should have observed to you that while we yet could look about us, wehad continually seen, to increase our sense of vexation, Nimmo's newroad looking like a gravel walk running often parallel to our path ofdanger, and yet for want of being finished there it was, useless andmost tantalising. 

Before it grew quite dark, Sir Culling tapped at our dungeon window, andbid us look out at a beautiful place, a paradise in the wilds. "Lookout? How?"--"Open the little window at your ear, and this just beforeyou--push the bolt back. "--"But I can't. "

With the help of an ivory cutter lever, however, I did accomplish it, and saw indeed a beautiful place belonging, our giant guide told us, toDean Mahon, well wooded and most striking in this desert. 

It grew dark, and Sir Culling, very brave, walking beside the carriage, when we came to the next bad step, sank above his knees; how theydragged him out I could not see, and there were we in the carriage stuckfast in a slough, which, we were told, was the last but one beforeBallinahinch Castle, when my eyes were blessed with a twinkling light inthe distance--a boy with a lantern. And when, breathless, he panted upto the side of the carriage and thrust up lantern and note (we still inthe slough), how glad I was to see him and it! and to hear him say, "Then Mr. Martin's very unaasy about yees--so he is. "

"I am very glad of it--very glad indeed, " said I. The note in a nicelady's hand from Mrs. Martin greeted us with the assurance that MissEdgeworth and her English friends should be welcome at BallinahinchCastle. 

Then from our mob another shout! another heave! another drag, andanother lift by the spokes of the wheels. Oh! if they had broken!----butthey did not, and we were absolutely out of this slough. I spare you thenext and last, and then we wound round the _Lake-road_ in the dark, onthe edge of Ballinahinch lake on Mr. Martin's new road, as our deargiant told us, and I thought we should never get to the house, but atlast we saw a chimney on fire, at least myriads of sparks and spouts offlame, but before we reached it, it abated, and we came to the doorwithout seeing what manner of house or castle it might be, till the halldoor opened and a butler--half an angel he appeared to us--appeared atthe door. But then in the midst of our impatience I was to let down andbuckle up these fairy boards--at last swinging and slipping it wasaccomplished, and out we got, but with my foot still on the step we allcalled out to tell the butler we were afraid some chimney was on fire. Without deigning even to look up at the chimney, he smiled and motionedus the way we should go. He was as we saw at first view, and foundafterwards, the most imperturbable of men. 

And now that we are safely housed, and housed in a castle too, I willleave you, my dear Pakenham, for the present. 

_March 12_. 

What became of the chimney on fire, I cannot tell--the Imperturbable wasprobably right in never minding it; he was used to its ways of burningout, and being no more thought of. 

He showed us into a drawing-room, where we saw by firelight a ladyalone--Mrs. Martin, tall and thin, in deep mourning. Though by thatlight, but dimly visible, and by our eyes _dazed_ as they were justcoming out of the dark, but imperfectly seen, yet we could not doubt atfirst sight that she was a lady in the highest sense of the word, perfectly a gentlewoman. And her whole manner of receiving us, and theease of her motions, and of her conversation, in a few moments convincedme that she must at some time of her life have been accustomed to livein the best society--the best society in Ireland; for it was evidentfrom her accent that she was a _native_--high-life Dublin tone of aboutforty years ago. The curls on her forehead, mixed with gray, prematurelygray, like your mother's, much older than the rest of her person. 

She put us at ease at once, by beginning to talk to us, as if she waswell acquainted with my family--and so she was from William, who hadprepossessed her in our favour, yet she did not then allude to him, though I could not but understand what she meant to convey--I liked her. 

Then came in, still by firelight, from a door at the farther end of theroom, a young lady, elegantly dressed in deep mourning. "Mydaughter--Lady Culling Smith--Miss Edgeworth:" slight figure, head heldup and thrown back. She had the resolution to come to the very middle ofthe room and make a deliberate and profound curtsey, which adancing-master of Paris would have approved; seated herself upon thesofa, and seemed as if she never intended to speak. Mrs. Martin showedus up to our rooms, begging us not to dress unless we liked it beforedinner; and we did not like it, for we were very much tired, and it wasnow between eight and nine o'clock. Bedchambers spacious. Dinner, wewere told, was ready whenever we pleased, and, well pleased, down wewent: found Mr. Martin in the drawing-room--a large Connemara gentleman, white, massive face; a stoop forward in his neck, the consequence of ashot in the Peninsular War. 

"Well! will you come to dinner? dinner's ready. Lady Culling Smith, takemy arm; Sir Culling, Miss Edgeworth. "

A fine large dining-room, and standing at the end of the table anodd-looking person, below the middle height, youngish, but the top andback of his head perfectly bald, like a bird's skull, and at each templea thick bunch of carroty red curly hair, thick red whiskers and lightblue eyes, very fair skin and carnation colour. He wore a long greencoat, and some abominable coloured thing round his throat, and a look asif he could not look at you, and would. I wondered what was to become ofthis man, and he looked as if he wondered too. But Mr. Martin, turningabruptly, said, "M'Hugh! where are you, man? M'Hugh, sit down man, here!"

And M'Hugh sat down. I afterwards found he was an essential person inthe family: M'Hugh here, M'Hugh there; very active, acute, and ready, and bashful, a daredevil kind of man, that would ride, and boat, andshoot in any weather, and would at any moment hazard his life to save afellow-creature's. Miss Martin sat opposite to me, and with the light ofbranches of wax candles full upon her, I saw that she was very young, about seventeen, very fair, hair which might be called red by rivals andauburn by friends, her eyes blue-gray, prominent, like pictures I haveseen by Leonardo da Vinci. 

But Miss Martin must not make me forget the dinner, and such a dinner!London _bon vivants_ might have blessed themselves! Venison such as SirCulling declared could not be found in England, except from one or twoimmense parks of noblemen favoured above their peers; salmon, lobsters, oysters, game, all well cooked and well served, and well placed upon thetable: nothing loaded, all _in_ good taste, as well as _to_ the taste;wines, such as I was not worthy of, but Sir Culling knew how to praisethem; champagne, and all manner of French wines. 

In spite of a very windy night, I slept admirably well, and wakened withgreat curiosity to see what manner of place we were in. From the frontwindows of my room, which was over the drawing-room, I looked down asudden slope to the only trees that could be seen, far or near, and onlyon the tops of them. From the side window a magnificent but desolateprospect of an immense lake and bare mountains. 

When I went down, and to the hall door at which we had entered the nightbefore, I was surprised to see neither mountains, lake, nor river--allflat as a pancake--a wild, boundless sort of common, with showers ofstones; no avenue or regular approach, no human habitation within view:and when I walked up the road and turned to look at the castle, nothingcould be less like a castle. From the drawing I send you (who it wasdone by I will tell you by and by), you would imagine it a real castle, bosomed high in trees. Such flatterers as those portrait-painters ofplaces are! And yet it is all true enough, if you see it from the rightpoint of view. Much I wished to see more of the inhabitants of thiscastle, but we were to pursue our way to Clifden this day; and withthese thoughts balancing in my mind of _wish_ to stay, and _ought_ togo, I went to breakfast--coffee, tea, hot rolls, ham, all luxuries. 

Isabella did not make her appearance, but this I accounted for by herhaving been much tired. She had complained of rheumatic pains, but I hadthought no more about them. Little was I aware of all that was to be. "L'homme propose: Dieu dispose. " Lady Culling Smith at last appeared, hobbling, looking in torture, leaning on her husband's arm, and tryingto smile on our hospitable hosts, all standing up to receive her. Neverdid I see a human creature in the course of one night so changed. Whenshe was to sit down, it was impossible: she could not bend her knees, and fell back in Sir Culling's arms. He was excessively frightened. Hislarge powerful host carried her upstairs, and she was put to bed by herthin, scared-looking, but excellent and helpful maid; and this was thebeginning of an illness which lasted above three weeks. Little did wethink, however, at the beginning how bad it would be. We thought it onlyrheumatism, and I wrote to Honora that we should be detained a few dayslonger--from day to day put off. Lady Culling Smith grew alarmingly ill. There was only one half-fledged doctor at Clifden: the Martins dislikedhim, but he was sent for, and a puppy he proved, thinking of nothing buthis own shirt-buttons and fine curled hair. Isabella grew worse andworse--fainting-fits; and Mrs. And Miss Martin, both accustomed toprescribe for the country-people in want of all medical advice in theselone regions, went to their pharmacopoeias and medicine-chest, andprescribed various strong remedies, and ran up and down stairs, butcould not settle what the patient's disease was, whether gout orrheumatism; and these required quite different treatment: hands and lipswere swelled and inflamed, but not enough to say it was positively gout, then there was fear of drawing the gout to the stomach, and if it wasnot gout!--All was terror and confusion; and poor Sir Culling, excessively fond of Isabella, stood in tears beside her bed. He had satup two nights with her, and was now seized with asthmatic spasms himselfin his chest. It was one of the worst nights you can imagine, blowing astorm and raining cats and dogs. Mr. And Mrs. Martin and Sir Cullingthought Lady Smith so dangerously ill that it was necessary to send aman on horseback thirty miles to Outerard for a physician: and who couldbe sent such a night? one of the Galway postillions on one of thepost-horses (you will understand that we were obliged to keep thesehorses and postillions at Ballinahinch, as no other horses could beprocured). The postillion was to be _knocked up_, and Sir Culling andMr. Martin went to some den to waken him. 

Meanwhile I was standing alone, very sorrowful, on the hearth in thegreat drawing-room, waiting to hear how it could be managed, when incame Mr. M'Hugh, and coming quite close up to me, said, "Them Galwayboys will not know the way across the bogs as I should: I'd be atOuterard in half the time. I'll go, if they'll let me, and with all thepleasure in life. "

"Such a night as this! Oh no, Mr. M'Hugh!"

"Oh yes; why not?" said he. And this good-hearted, wild creature wouldhave gone that instant, if we would have let him!

However, we would not, and he gave instructions to the Galway boy how tokeep clear of the sloughs and bog-holes; observing to me that "themstranger horses are good for little in Connemara--nothing like aConnemara pony for that!" As Ulick Burke said, "The ponies are suchknowing little creatures, when they come to a slough they know they'dsink in, and their legs of no use to them, they lie down till the menthat can stand drag them over with their legs kneeling under them. "

The Galway boy got safe to Outerard, and next morning brought back Dr. Davis, a very clever, agreeable man, who had had a great deal ofexperience, having begun life as an army surgeon: at any rate, he wasnot thinking of himself, but of his patient. He thought Isabelladangerously ill--unsettled gout. I will not tire you with all thehistory of her illness, and all our terrors; but never would I have lefthome on this odd journey if I could have foreseen this illness. I cannotgive you an idea of my loneliness of feeling, my utter helplessness, from the impossibility of having the advantage of the sympathy and senseof any of my own family. We had not, for one whole week, the comfort ofeven any one letter from any of our distant friends. We had expected tobe by this time at Castlebar, and we had desired Honora to direct ourletters there. Sir Culling with great spirit sent a Connemara messengerfifty miles to Castlebar for the letters, and when he came back hebrought but one!

No mail-coach road comes near here: no man on horseback could undertaketo carry the letters regularly. They are carried three times a week fromOuterard to Clifden, thirty-six miles, by three gossoons, or moreproperly bog-trotters, and very hard work it is for them. One runs a dayand a night, and then sleeps a day and a night, and then another takeshis turn; and each of these boys has £15 a year. I remember seeing oneof these postboys leaving Ballinahinch Castle, with his leather bag onhis back, across the heath and across the bog, leaping every now andthen, and running so fast! his bare, white legs thrown up among thebrown heath. These postboys were persons of the greatest consequence tous: they brought us news from home, and to poor Lady Culling Smithaccounts of her baby, and of her friends in England. We began to thinkwe should never see any of them again. 

I cannot with sufficient gratitude describe to you the hospitality andunvaried kindness of Mr. And Mrs. Martin during all these trials. Mr. Martin, rough man as he seemed outside, was all soft and tender within, and so very considerate for the English servants. Mrs. Martin told methat he said to her, "I am afraid that English man and maid must be veryuncomfortable here--so many things to which they have been used, whichwe have not for them! Now we have no beer, you know, my dear, andEnglish servants are always used to beer. " So Mr. Martin gave them ciderinstead, and every day he took to each of them himself a glass ofexcellent port wine; and to Isabella, as gout-cordial, he gave Bronte, the finest, Sir Culling said, he ever tasted. And never all the time didMr. And Mrs. Martin omit anything it was in their power to do to make uscomfortable, and to relieve us from the dreadful feeling of beingburthensome and horrible intruders! They did succeed in putting mecompletely at ease, as far as they were concerned. I do not think Icould have got through all the anxiety I felt during Lady CullingSmith's illness, and away from all my own people, and waiting soshockingly long for letters, if it had not been for the kindness of Mrs. Martin, and the great fondness I soon felt for her. She is not literary;she is very religious--what would be called VERY GOOD, and yet shesuited me, and I grew very fond of her, and she of me. Little thingsthat I could feel better than describe inclined me to her, and our mindswere open to one another from the first day. Once, towards the end, Ibelieve, of the first week, when I began some sentence with an apologyfor some liberty I was taking, she put her hand upon my arm, and with akind, reproachful look exclaimed, "Liberty! I thought we were past thatlong since: are not we?"

She told me that she had actually been brought up with a feeling ofreverence for my father, and particularly for me, by a near relation ofhers, old Mr. Kirwan, the President of the Royal Irish Academy, who wasa great friend of my father's and puffer of me in early days. Then heracquaintance afterwards with Mr. Nimmo carried on the connection. Shetold me he showed her that copy of _Harry and Lucy_ which you had inmaking the index, and showed her the bridge which he helped me over whenHarry was building it. But what touched and won me first and most inMrs. Martin was the manner in which she spoke of William--her truefeeling for his character. "Whenever he could get me alone, " she said, "he would talk to me of Honora or Mrs. Edgeworth and his aunt Mary andyou. "

Some of the expressions she repeated I could not but feel sure were his, and they were so affectionate towards me, I was much touched. _Toobesides_ Mrs. Martin made herself very agreeable by her quantity ofanecdotes, and her knowledge of the people with whom she had lived inher youth, of whom she could, with great ability and admirable composeddrollery, give the most characteristic traits. 

Miss Martin--though few books beyond an _Edinburgh_ or _QuarterlyReview_ or two appeared in the sitting-room--has books in quantities ina closet in her own room, which is within her mother's; and "everymorning, " said Mrs. Martin, "she comes in to me while I am dressing, andpours out upon me an inundation of learning, fresh and fresh, all shehas been reading for hours before I am up. Mary has read prodigiously. "

I found Mary one of the most extraordinary persons I ever saw. Heracquirements are indeed prodigious: she has more knowledge of books, both scientific and learned, than any female creature I ever saw orheard of at her age--heraldry, metaphysics, painting and painters'lives, and tactics; she had a course of fortification from a Frenchofficer, and of engineering from Mr. Nimmo. She understands Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and I don't know how many modern languages. Frenchshe speaks perfectly, learned from the French officer who taught herfortification, M. Du Bois, who was one of Buonaparte's legion of honour, and when the Emperor was _ousted_, fled from France, and earned hisbread at Ballinahinch by teaching French, which Miss Martin talks as ifshe had been a native, but not as if she had been in good Parisiansociety; with an odd mixture of a _ton de garnison_ which might beexpected from a pupil of one of Buonaparte's officers. She imbibed fromhim such an admiration, such an enthusiasm for Buonaparte, that shecannot bear a word said to his disparagement; and when Sir Cullingsometimes offended in that way, Miss Martin's face and neck grewcarnation colour, and down to the tips of her fingers she blushed withindignation. 

Her father the while smiled and winked at me. The father as well as themother dote upon her; and he has a softened way of always calling her"my child" that interested me for both. "My child, never mind; whatsignifies about Buonaparte?"

One morning we went with Miss Martin to see the fine green Connemaramarble-quarries. Several of the common people gathered round while wewere looking at the huge blocks: these people Miss Martin called herTAIL. Sir Culling wished to obtain an answer to a question from some ofthese people, which he desired Miss Martin to ask for him, beingconscious that, in his English tone, it would be unintelligible. Whenthe question had been put and answered, Sir Culling objected: "But, MissMartin, you did not put the question exactly as I requested you to stateit. "

"No, " said she, with colour raised and head thrown back, "No, because Iknew how to put it so that people could understand it. _Je sais monmétier de reine. "

This trait gives you an idea of her character and manner, and of theastonishment of Sir Culling at her want of sympathy with his reallyliberal and philanthropic views for Ireland, while she is full of hertail, her father's fifty-miles-long avenue, and Aeschylus and Euripides, in which she is admirably well read. Do think of a girl of seventeen, inthe wilds of Connemara, intimately acquainted with all the beauties ofAeschylus and Euripides, and having them as part of her daily thoughts!

There are immense caves on this coast which were the _free-traders'_resort, and would have been worth any money to Sir Walter. "Quite ascene and a country for him, " as Miss Martin one day observed to me;"don't you think your friend Sir Walter Scott would have liked ourpeople and our country?"

It is not exactly a feudal state, but the _tail_ of a feudal state. DickMartin, father of the present man, was not only lord of all he surveyed, but lord of all the lives of the people: now the laws of the land havecome in, and rival proprietors have sprung up in rival castles. Hundredswould still, I am sure, start out of their bogs for Mr. Martin, but heis called _Mister_, and the prestige is over. The people in Connemarawere all very quiet and submissive till some _refugee Terry-alts_ tookasylum in these bog and mountain fastnesses. They spread theirprinciples, and soon the clan combined against their chief, and formed aplan of seizing Ballinahinch Castle, and driving him and all theProtestant gentry out of the country. Mr. Martin is a man of desperatecourage, some skill as an officer, and _prodigious_ bodily strength, which altogether stood him in stead in time of great danger. I cannottell you the whole long story, but I will mention one anecdote whichwill show you how like the stories in Walter Scott are the scenes thathave been lately passing in Connemara. Mr. Martin summoned one of hisown followers, who had he knew joined the Terry-alts, to give up a gunlent to him in days of trust and favour: no answer to the summons. Asecond, a third summons: no effect. Mr. Martin then warned the man thatif he did not produce the gun at the next sessions he would come andseize it. The man appeared at the house where Mr. Martin holds hissessions--about the size of Lovell's schoolroom, and always fuller thanit can hold: Mr. Martin espied from his end of the room his friend withthe gun, a powerfully strong man, who held his way on, and stood fullbefore him. 

"You sent for my gun, your honour, did you?"

"I did--three times; it is well you have brought it at last; give it tome. "

The man kneeled down on one knee, and putting the gun across the otherknee, broke it asunder, and throwing the pieces to Mr. Martin, cried, "There it is for you. I swore that was the only way you should ever haveit, dead or alive. You have warned me, and now I warn you; take care ofyourself. "

He strode out of the crowd. But he was afterwards convicted of Terry-altpractices and transported. Now all is perfectly quiet, and Mr. Martingoes on doing justice in his own peculiar fashion every week. When thenoise, heat, and crowd in his sessions court become beyond all bearing, he roars with his stentorian voice to clear the court; and if that benot done forthwith, he with his own two Herculean arms seizes theloudest two disputants, knocks their heads together, thrusts thembawling as they go out of the door and flings them asunder. 

In his own house there never was a more gentle, hospitable, good-naturedman, I must say again and again, or else I should be a very ungratefulwoman. 

Miss Martin has three ponies, which she has brought every day to thegreat Wyatt window of the library, where she feeds them with potatoes. One of them is very passionate; and once the potato being withheld amoment too long at the hall door he fell into a rage, pushed in at thedoor after her, and she ran for her life, got upstairs and was safe. 

I asked what he would have done if he had come up to her?

"Set his two feet on my shoulders, thrown me down, and trampled uponme. "

The other day the smith hurt his foot in shoeing him, and up he reared, and up jumped the smith on the raised part of his forge--the pony jumpedafter him, and if the smith had not scrambled behind his bellows, "wouldhave killed him to be sure. "

After hearing this I declined riding this pony, though Miss Martinpressed me much, and assured me he was as quiet as a lamb--provided Iwould never strike him or look cross. Once she got me up on his back, but I looked so miserable, she took me down again. She described to meher nursing of one of these ponies; "he used to stand with his head overmy shoulder while I rubbed his nose for an hour together; but I supposeI must throw off these Bedouin habits before I go to London. "

They are now spending the season in town. I had an opportunity of seeingher perfect freedom from coquetry in company with a Mr. Smith--norelation of Sir Culling's--a very handsome fine gentleman who came hereunexpectedly. 

All this time poor Isabella has been left by me in torture in her bed. At the end of three weeks she was pronounced out of danger, and in spiteof the kind remonstrances of our hospitable hosts, not tired of the sickor the well, on a very wet odious day away we went. As there are no innsor place where an invalid could pass the night, I wrote to beg a night'slodging at Renvyle, Mr. Blake's. He and Mrs. Blake, who wrote _Lettersfrom the Irish Highlands_, were not at home, in Galway on a visit, butthey answered most politely that they begged me to consider their houseas my own, and wrote to their agent who was at Renvyle to receive us. 

Captain Bushby, of the Water Guard--married to a niece of JoannaBaillie's--was very kind in accompanying us on our first day's journey. "I must see you _safe out_, " said he. "Safe out" is the common elisionfor safe out of Connemara. And really it was no easy matter to get ussafe out; but I spare you a repetition of sloughs; we safely reachedRenvyle, where the agent received us in a most comfortablewell-furnished, well-carpeted, well-lighted library, filled withbooks--excellent dining-room beyond, and here Lady Smith had a day'srest, without which she could not have proceeded, and well for her shehad such a comfortable resting-place. 

Next day we got into _Joyce's Country_, and had hot potatoes and coldmilk, and Renvyle cold fowl at The Lodge, as it is styled, of Big JackyJoyce--one of the descendants of the ancient proprietors, and quite anoriginal Irish character. He had heard my name often, he said, from Mr. Nimmo, and knew I was a writing lady, and a friend to Ireland, and hewas civil to me, and I was civil to him, and after eyeing Sir Cullingand Lady Smith, and thinking, I saw, that she was affecting to belanguishing, and then perceiving that she was really weak and ill, hebecame cordial to the whole party, and entertained us for two hours, which we were obliged to wait for the going out of the tide before wecould cross the sands. Here was an arm of the sea, across which Mr. Nimmo had been employed to build a bridge, and against Big Jack Joyce'sadvice, he would build it where Jack prophesied it would be swept awayin the winter, and twice the bridge was built, and twice it was sweptaway, and still Nimmo said it was the fault of the masons; theembankment and his theory could not be wrong, and a third time he builtthe bridge, and there we saw the ruins of it on the sands--all theembankments swept away and all we had for it was to be dragged over thesand by men--the horses taken off. We were pushed down into a gully-holefive feet deep, and thence pulled up again; how it was I cannot tellyou, for I shut my eyes and resigned myself, gave up my soul and wasmuch surprised to find it in my body at the end of the operation: BigJacky Joyce and his merry men having somehow managed it. 

There was an end of our perils by gullies, sloughs, and bog-holes. Wenow got on Mr. Nimmo's and Mr. Killalla's really good roads, and now ourfour horses began to tell, and that night we reached Westport, and inconsequence of Mrs. Martin's introduction to her friend Lord Sligo werereceived by him and Lady Sligo most courteously. 

Westport is a beautiful place, with a town, a port, industrious peopleall happy, and made so by the sense and energy of a good landlord and agood agent. We regretted that we could stay only this night and the nextmorning to breakfast; it was so delightful and extraordinary to us againto see trees and shrubberies, and to find ourselves again in the midstof flowers from green-house and conservatory. Isabella said she was sodelighted, she could hardly forbear, with her crippled, gouty hands, embracing every tree she met. Lord Sligo, himself a martyr to the gout, and with a son at Eton just then attacked with gout, had greatcompassion for her: he and all his family high-bred and cordial. 

The next morning we pursued our journey, and at the next stage came upona real mail-coach road, where we had post-horses again, and dismissedour Galway horses. This night brought us to Lough Glyn, where Mr. Strickland received us very kindly, and we had the joy of findingletters waiting for us from home; but we found that the cholera had beenfor the last ten days killing the poor people at Edgeworthstown--CondyKeegan's son-in-law, M'Glaughlin the carpenter, and a great many more. How dreadfully anxious Honora must have been with the charge of baby, and this cholera close to our gates!

The last day's journey was the longest of all, from the suspense, thoughall was smooth upon the road. When we saw the lights in the windows athome, you may guess how our hearts went pit-a-pat. We found all WELL;and glad we all were to meet again, and to have Isabella safe with herchild: not in her arms, poor crippled creature--it was not possible forher to hold the infant; she could but just hobble about, and was aquarter of an hour going upstairs. Aunt Mary and Honora, after all thewarnings my letters had given, were surprised and shocked at the firstsight of her. For ten days after her arrival she was unable to travel, impatient as they both were to be at home again. They did reach it, babyand all, safely at last, and you may imagine how relieved we were whenwe heard of her being safe with her own family again, and with Londonphysicians: five months since then and she is not yet quitere-established. We feel now how very serious her illness was. 

But now that it is all over, and I can balance pains and pleasures, Ideclare that, upon the whole, I had more pleasure than pain from thisjourney; the perils of the road were far overbalanced by the diversionof seeing the people, and the seeing so many to me perfectly newcharacters and modes of living. The anxiety of Isabella's illness, terrible as it was, and the fear of being ill myself and a burthen upontheir hands, and even the horrid sense of remoteness and impossibilityof communication with my own friends, were altogether overbalanced bythe extraordinary kindness, and tenderness, and generous hospitality ofthe Martins. It will do my heart good all the days of my life to haveexperienced such kindness, and to have seen so much good in human natureas I saw with them--red M'Hugh included. I am sure I have a friend inMrs. Martin: it is an extraordinary odd feeling to have made a friend atsixty-six years of age! You, my dear young Pakenham, can't understandthis; but you will live, I hope, to understand it, and perhaps to say, "Now I begin to comprehend what Maria, poor old soul! meant by that_odd_ feeling at the end of her Connemara journey. "

When we were regretting to Lord Sligo that we had missed seeing so manypersons and places on our tour whom we had at first setting out made itour object to see--Clifden, the Barony of Erris, and the wonderful MajorBingham--Lord Sligo comforted us by saying, "Depend upon it, you haveseen more really of Connemara than any strangers who have ever travelledthrough it, exactly because you remained in one place and in one family, where you had time to see the habits of the people, and to see themnearly and familiarly, and without their being shown off, or thinking ofshowing themselves off to you. "

_March 29_. 

I have been so busy at rents and odious accounts, that I have never beenable to go on to you. Your mother returned home a few days ago, afterseven months' absence! You may guess how happy we were to have heragain, and how we have been talking and hearing. Lucy bore the partingwith her wonderfully well; indeed, she was anxious that her mothershould return to us. 

Young Walter--now Sir Walter--Scott has been quartered at Longford, andis now going to Dublin: he dined here on Saturday, and was just the sameas when we saw him in 1825. Sophy and her three children round her musthave surprised him not a little. [Footnote: Mrs. Fox, as SophyEdgeworth, had been with her sister at Abbotsford in 1823. ] It is a pityMaxwell was not in the group. Little fair-haired Willy, nothing dauntedby the nearly seven-feet-high major in full uniform, marched up to himand patted his knee, and in return the major patted his head. His softScotch voice, and often the kind and playful turns in his conversation, reminded me both pleasurably and painfully of his father. Sophy wishedthat her children should hear the band of the regiment, and he promisedthat he would halt at Tuite's gate, as a _select_ party with the bandwere to go by Castle Pollard; and this morning, when I opened my eyes, Isaw it was snowing so bitterly, I gave up all hopes of our being able totake the children to hear the band; but between seven, when I wakened, and half after nine, the appointed hour, many changes of the sky tookplace, and at the right moment the sun shone out, the clouds blew overthe beech-trees, and Sophy was drawn in Willy Waller's little carriage, with him in her lap; Honora, Mary Anne, Charlotte, and I accompanying. We had to wait some time, and went into what you would call Tuite'shouse, but it is now Jem Newman's; and there was his nice little wife, with her mouth full of the last potato she had eaten for breakfast; andshe put away the half-full potato basket, and the boy with his can ofmilk retreated from the stool by the fire, and she welcomed us withIrish heart's welcome in lip and eye; and the children were delightedwatching the pig and the chickens feeding at the door. 

At last the music was heard, and very pretty it was, and mother andchildren were happy; and Sir Walter stopped on his fine gray horse, andsaid, "You see, I have kept my word, " and then galloped off. A sergeantthen came up to me with a slip of paper in his hand, saying, "Can youread _write?_" I said, I believed I could, and made out for him theroute to Castle Pollard: the sound of the music died away, and wereturned to breakfast. "Sire, il n'y a de circonstance où on ne prendpas de déjeuner, " as the man said to Buonaparte. 

You will have seen in the newspapers the court-martial about LordBrudenell and the 15th Hussars: Lord Forbes, in giving me an account ofthe matter, said, "Walter Scott, by his conduct, and the way in which hegave his testimony, covered himself with glory, "--told the truth like aman and a gentleman. 

You may have also seen mentioned the murder of Captain Skyring, of the_Aetna_, of which Henry Beddoes was second lieutenant, off the coast ofAfrica. He wrote a few lines to Fanny after the catastrophe; happily forhim he was kept by some duty on board. It was imprudent of CaptainSkyring to attempt to land, and take observations, without having hisship near enough to defend him. The natives, all with arms, came roundhim, and began by stealing everything they could lay their hands on. Captain Skyring drew a circle round his circle, forbidding the thievesto pass it; but they passed it, and one was seizing the instrument inhis hand, when the captain fired and killed the man; and then they allfell upon him, stabbed him with their pikes and knives, stripped thebody, and left it with seventeen wounds. Our people afterwards got itback. We know no more as yet, but that Captain Beaufort was extremelyshocked and grieved. 

I have no domestic occurrence to tell you, except that a robin, who forseveral seasons has frequented this house, and Lucy's room particularly, has this spring grown so familiar, that he began to build his nest inLucy's old bonnet, laid a great heap of leaves in it, which we used tosee him bringing in his bill, the leaves often as large as his body. Yesterday morning Betty the housemaid said to your mother, "Ma'am, whenI opened the hall door this morning, the robin flew in over my head, andknowing his way wherever he wanted to go through the doors, just as ifhe was master of the house, ma'am! And he sits down before a door, and_looks_ to have it opened for him. " Dear little, impudent fellow! Thispacket concludes my chronicle of Connemara. 

_To_ C. S. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 14, 1834_. 

Having now done with business I may turn to a little pleasure; a greatdeal you have given me, my dear Sneyd, by your friend Mr. Smedley'sapprobation of _Helen_. His polite playful allusion to the names of thehorses, which names at this moment I forget, reminds me of a similartouch of the Duchess of Wellington in describing one of the Duke'sbattles, she quoted from the _Knapsack_, "Let the sugar basin be mymaster. "

I have written to Fanny about Lady Charlotte Fitzgerald's death. I wasvery much shocked at it: I loved her; she was one of my earliestfriends--"Leaf by leaf drops away. "

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 22, 1834_. 

With all my heart I congratulate you on being in possession of yourcottage. [Footnote: Dunmoe Cottage, at the end of the Black Castledemesne, about two miles from the house. ] Harriet Butler told us howhappy the people of Black Castle and Navan were, when they heard youwere coming to live amongst them again. You are now as busy as possiblearranging your things and considering how all and each of your friendswill like what you do, and I am--very conceited--sure that you oftenthink of Maria among the number, and that you have even already thoughtof a footstool for her. Emmeline has, by the bye, invented and executed, and given to my mother, the most ingenious footstool I ever saw, whichfolds up and can be put into a work-bag. She has also sent the nicestmost agreeable presents to the little Foxes--a kaleidoscope, a littlewatering-pot, and a pair of little tin scales with weights; they setabout directly weighing everything that could be put into them, endingwith sugar-plums and sugar-candy. 

We have been much amused with _The Kuzzilbash_ and by _Bubbles from theBrunnen_, by Captain Head. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 29, 1834_. 

I cannot, my dear Lady of Dunmoe, tell when I can be with you; go I willbefore autumn runs away with all your leaves, but I am afraid I must letautumn turn them of a sober hue, though I will not let it go to the searand yellow. In plain prose I am tied down now by rents and business. 

We have been dining at Mrs. Blackall's, and there met her pretty sister, Mrs. Johnstone, and very intelligent Captain Johnstone, a Berkshire manfrom near Hare Hatch, and had a very agreeable day, and muchconversation on books and authors, and found that the _Diary of anEnnuyée_ and _Female Characters of Shakespeare_, both very clever books, are by a lady who was governess to Mrs. Blackall and her sisters. Mrs. Rolle, her mother, read the _Diary of an Ennuyée_, and wondered when shesaw "Mr. And Mrs. R. , " and all the places and people they had seenabroad, till she came to the name of Laura, and some lines to her bywhich she discovered that the author must be their former governess, Miss Murphy, now married to a very clever lawyer. [Footnote: Mrs. Jameson. ] All the woes and heart-breakings are mere fable in the_Diary_. Her last book, _Visits and Sketches at Home and Abroad_, Ilike; there is a great deal of thought and feeling in it. 

 * * * * *

Miss Edgeworth's _Helen_ would never have been finished but for theencouragement shown by her sister Harriet, and her interest in thestory. It is more of a "novel" than any of its predecessors, has moreimagination, and its interest centres more around one person. Its objectis to show how many of the troubles of social life arise from want ofabsolute truthfulness. Its principle is depicted in the explanation ofone of its characters: "I wish that the word _fib_ was out of theEnglish language, and _white lie_ drummed after it. Things by theirright names, and we should all do much better. Truth must be told, whether agreeable or not. "

_Helen_ was well received by the public, but Miss Edgeworth had greatdiffidence about it. To Dr. Holland she wrote:

 * * * * *

I am very glad that you have been pleased with _Helen_--far above myexpectations! and I thank you for that warmth of kindness with which youenter into all the details of the characters and plan of the story. Nothing but regard for the author could have made you give so muchimportance to my tale. It has always been my fault to let the moral Ihad in view appear too soon and too clearly, and I am not surprised thatmy old fault, notwithstanding some pains which I certainly _thought_ Itook to correct it, should still abide by me. 

_To_ MRS. STARK. [Footnote 1: Who had sent Miss Edgeworth a longcriticism from her cousin, Colonel Matthew Stewart (son of DugaldStewart), on her _Helen_. ]

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 6, 1834_. 

Some of my friends, knowing the timidity, not to say cowardice, of mynature, have feared that I should be _daunted_ by Colonel Stewart's mostjust observations upon the defects and deficiencies of my past mannerand principles of novel-writing; but, on the contrary, I, who knowmyself better, feel that, _in spite_ of my timidity, I am, instead ofbeing daunted, encouraged by such criticism. Such a writer and such anoble mind as Colonel Stewart's having bestowed so much thought and timeupon me and my fictions, raises both them and myself in my own opinionfar more than could the largest "draught of unqualified praise"[Footnote: Quoted from Mr. Croker, who said that nothing ever satisfiedan author, but _large draughts of unqualified praise_. ] from any commoncritic. From feeling that he does justice in many points to the past, Irely upon his prophecies as to the future, and I feel my ambitionstrongly excited by his belief that I CAN, and his prognostic that Ishall do better hereafter. Boileau says, "Trust a critic who puts hisfinger at once upon what you know to be your infirm part. " I had oftenthought and said to myself some of those things which Colonel Stewarthas written, but never so strongly expressed, so fully brought home: myown rod of feathers did not do my business. I had often and often asuspicion that my manner was too Dutch, too minute; and very, veryoften, and warmly, admired the bold, grand style of the master hand andmaster genius. I _know_ I feel how much _more is to be done, ought tobe_ done, by suggestion than by delineation, by creative fancy than byfacsimile copying, --how much more by skilful selection and fresh andconsistent combination--than can be effected by the most acuteobservation of individuals, or diligent accumulation of particulars. 

But where I have erred or fallen short of what it is thought I mighthave done, it has not been from "drawing from the life, or fromindividuals, or from putting together actions or sayings noted incommonplace books from observation or hearsay in society. " I have seldomor ever drawn any one character--certainly not any ridiculous or faultycharacter, from any individual. Wherever, in writing, a real characterrose to my view, from memory or resemblance, it has always been hurtfulto me, because, to avoid that resemblance, I was tempted by cowardice orcompelled by conscience to throw in differences, which often ended inmaking my character inconsistent, unreal. 

At the hazard of talking too much of myself, which people usually dowhen once they begin, I must tell my penetrating critic exactly thefacts, as far as I know them, about my _habits of composition_. He willat least see, by my throwing open my mind thus, that he has not made meafraid of him, but has won my confidence, and made me look for hisfuture sympathy and assistance. I have no "vast magazine of acommonplace book. " In my whole life, since I began to write, which isnow, I am concerned to state, upwards of forty years, I have had onlyabout half a dozen little note-books, strangely and irregularly kept, sometimes with only words of reference to some book, or fact I could notbring accurately to mind. At first I was much urged by my father to notedown remarkable traits of character or incidents, which he thought mightbe introduced in stories; and he often blamed that idleness or laziness, as he thought it in me, which resisted his urgency. But I was averse tonoting down, because I was conscious that it did better for me to keepthe things in my head, if they suited my purpose; and if they did not, they would only encumber me. I knew that, when I wrote down, I put thething out of my care, out of my head; and that, though it might be putby very safe, I should not know where to look for it; that the labour oflooking over a note-book would never do when I was in the warmth andpleasure of inventing; that I should never recollect the facts or ideasat the right time, if I did not put them up in my own way in my ownhead: that is, if I felt with hope or pleasure "that thought or thatfact will be useful to me in such a character or story, of which I havenow a first idea, the same fact or thought would recur, I knew, when Iwanted it, in right order for invention. " In short, as Colonel Stewartguessed, the process of combination, generalisation, invention, wascarried on always in my head best. Wherever I brought in _bodily_unaltered, as I have sometimes done, facts from real life, or sayings, or recorded observations of my own, I have almost always found themobjected to by good critics as unsuited to the character, or in some way_de trop_. Sometimes, when the first idea of a character was taken fromlife from some ORIGINAL, and the characteristic facts noted down, oreven noted only in my head, I have found it necessary entirely to alterthese, not only from propriety, to avoid individual resemblance, butfrom the sense that the character would be only an EXCEPTION to generalfeeling and experience, not a rule. In short, exactly what ColonelStewart says about "the conical hills" being the worst subjects forpainters. As an instance I may mention King Corny, who is, I believe, considered more of a fancy piece, more as a _romantic_ character than myusual common-life Dutch figures: the _first idea_ of him was taken fromthe facts I heard of an oddity, a man, I believe, like no other, wholived in a remote part of Ireland, an ingenious despot in his ownfamily, who blasted out of the rock on which his house was built half akitchen, while he and family and guests were living in the house; whowas so passionate, that children, grown-up sons, servants and all, ranout of the house at once when he fell into a passion with his owntangled hair; a man who used, in his impatience and rages, to call atthe head of the kitchen stairs to his servants, "Drop whatever you havein your hand, and come here and be d----d!" He was generous andkind-hearted, but despotic, and conceited to the most ludicrous degree:for instance, he thought he could work gobelin tapestry and play on theharp or mandolin better than any one living. 

One after another, in working out King Corny, from the first wrong hintI was obliged to give up every fact, except that he propped up the roofof his house and built downwards, and to generalise all; to make him aman of expedients, of ingenious substitutes, such as any clever Irishmanin middle life is used to. I was obliged to retain, but soften, thedespotism, and exalt the generosity, to make it a character that wouldinterest. Not one word I ever heard said by the living man, or had everheard repeated of his saying, except "Drop what you have, " etc. , wentinto my King Corny's mouth--would not have suited him. I was obliged tomake him according to the general standard of wit and acuteness, shrewdhumour and sarcasm, of that class of _unread_ natural geniuses, anovermatch for Sir Ulick, who is of a more cultivated class of acute androguish Irish gentlemen. Colonel Stewart sees from this how far he hasguessed rightly as to several points, but I think I have always aimedmore at making my characters representatives of classes than heconceives. It is plain that I have not attained my aim. 

I never could use notes in writing Dialogues; it would have been asimpossible to me to get in the prepared good things at the right momentin the warmth of writing conversation, as it would be to lug them in inreal conversation, perhaps more so--for I could not write dialogues atall without being at the time fully impressed with the characters, imagining myself each speaker, and that too fully engrosses theimagination to leave time for consulting note-books; the whole fairyvision would melt away, and the warmth and the pleasure of invention begone. I might often, while writing, recollect from books or life whatwould suit, and often from note-book, but then I could not stop to look, and often quoted therefore inaccurately. I have a quick recollectivememory and retentive for the sort of things I particularly want; theywill recur to me at the moment I want them years and years after theyhave lain dormant, but alas! my memory is inaccurate, has hold of theobject only by one side--the side or face that struck my imagination, and if I want more afterwards I do not know even where to look for it. Imention this because Dugald Stewart once was curious to know what sortof memory I had, whether recollective or retentive. 

I understand what Colonel Stewart so admirably says about parable, apologue, and fables being general truths and morals which cannot beconveyed or depended upon equally when we come to modern novels, whereLady B. Or Lord D. Are not universal characters like Fox or Goose. Iacknowledge that even a perfectly true character absolutely taken as afac-simile from real life would not be interesting in a fiction, mightnot be believed, and could not be useful. The value of these oddcharacters depends, I acknowledge, upon their being actually known to betrue. In history, extraordinary characters always interest us with alltheir inconsistencies, feeling we thus add to our actual knowledge ofhuman nature. In fiction we have not this _conviction_, and thereforenot this sort or source of pleasure even if ever so well done; if it bequite a new inconsistency we feel doubtful and averse; but we submitwhen we know _it is_ true: we say, "don't therefore tell me it is not inhuman nature. "

I am not sure that I agree with Colonel Stewart about particular moralsto stories, but this point might lead to long and intricate discussion. 

I feel and admire all he says so eloquently, I am sure from his ownheart, touching the advantage of raising the standard of our moralambition; and the higher this standard can be raised by works of fictionthe better. I feel and understand how many poets and novelists haveraised in the mind that sort of enthusiasm which exalts and purifies thesoul. Happy and gifted with heaven's best gift must be the poet, theinventor of any sort of fiction that can raise this enthusiasm. Irecollect Mrs. Barbauld's lines describing--

 Generous youth that feeds On pictured tales of vast heroic deeds. 

How I wish I could furnish, as Scott has, some of those pictured talescoloured to the life; but I fear I have not that power, therefore it isperhaps that I strive to console myself for my deficiencies byflattering myself that there is much, though not such glorious use, inmy own lesser manner and department. The great virtues, the great vicesexcite strong enthusiasm, vehement horror, but after all it is not sonecessary to warn the generality of mankind against these, either byprecept or example, as against the lesser faults; we are allsufficiently aware that we must not break the commandments, and thereasons against all vices all feel even to the force of demonstration, but demonstration does not need and cannot receive additional force fromfiction. The Old Bailey trials, _Les Causes Célèbres_, come with moreforce, as with the force of actual truth, than can any of the finestfictions producing what Colonel Stewart calls "momentary belief in thereality of a fictitious character or event. " Few readers do or can putthemselves in the places of great criminals, or fear to yield to suchand such temptations; they know that they cannot fall to the depth ofevil at once, and they have no sympathy, no fear; their spirits are not"put in the act of falling. " But show them the steep path, the littledeclivity at first, the step by step downwards, and they tremble. Showthem the postern gates or little breaches in their citadel of virtue, and they fly to guard these; in short, show to them their own littlefaults which may lead on to the greatest, and they shudder; that is, ifthis be done with truth and brought home to their consciousness. This isall, which by reflection on my own mind and comparison with others andwith records in books full as much as observations on living subjects, Ifeel or fancy I have sometimes done or can do. 

But while I am thus _ladling_ out praise to myself in this way, I do notflatter myself that I deserve the quantity of praise which ColonelStewart gives me for laborious observation, or for steadiness and nicetyof dissection. My father, to whose judgment I habitually refer to helpout my own judgment of myself, and who certainly must from longacquaintance, to say no more, have known my character better than anyother person can, always reproached me for trusting too much to my hastyglances, _aperçus_, as he called them, of character or truths; and oftenhave I had, and have still (past my grand climacteric) to repent everyday my mistaken conclusions and hasty jumps to conclusions. Perhaps youwish I should jump to conclusion now, and so I will. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

DUNMOE COTTAGE, _Nov. 8, 1834_. 

I hope, my dear mother, that you have been wondering every day, andwondering _greatly_ that you have never yet heard from Maria. I likethat you should wonder and be provoked at not hearing from me, becausewhen a letter comes it is opened with much more appetite than if you hadnot been kept famishing. 

I have not told you how very nice and comfortable Sophy and MargaretRuxton have made this cottage, and the situation is charming, and theview beautiful. I am reading Hannah More's _Letters_, and am entertainedwith them. I found at Black Castle four volumes of _Madame d'Abrantès_, which I had never read: the eleventh volume begins with her going toPortugal, and though half may be lies _well dressed_, yet almost all areentertaining. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

DUNMOE COTTAGE, _Nov. 28, 1834_. 

I have got the cushions, and am sitting on one of them, and Sophy andMargaret like them, and think how happy I am, though it is pouring rain, which affects my happiness very little, except for the boy's sake who isto carry this. I have some boy-anity. 

 The glorious orb the day refines, The gossoon warms his shins and dines. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 27, 1835_. 

We have been amusing ourselves with Lady Morgan's _Princess_, exceedingly amusing, both by its merits and its absurdities, --thatharlequin princess in her blouse is wonderfully clever andpreposterous, --a Belgian Corinna. Mr. Butler has detected various errorsin her historical remarks and allusions, but that it is excessivelyentertaining nobody can deny. The hero is like one of the seven sleepersnot quite awakened, or how could he avoid finding out who this woman iswho pursues him in so many forms? But we must grant a romance writer afew impossibilities. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Edgeworth adds:

 * * * * *

Maria was always so much interested in a story that she would not stopto reason upon it. I remember when Lady Morgan's _O'Donnell_ was beingread out in the year 1815, at the scene of M'Rory's appearance in thebilliard room, when Mr. Edgeworth said, "This is quite improbable;"Maria exclaimed, "Never mind the improbability, let us go on with theentertainment. "

MARIA _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 28, 1835_. 

The other night Harriet stood beside my bed before tea-time, and when Istarted up and said, "Tea is ready, I suppose, " she told me that Mr. AndMrs. Danvers Butler and Miss Taylor were coming to tea. I thought it wasa dream, but she explained, --they had come to Briggs's inn on their wayto the County of Cavan, and could get no beds. Luckily we had twounoccupied rooms. Honora managed it all exceedingly well, and Barry tookMr. Danvers Butler in hand while he had dinner; the ladies preferred teaand coffee. They seemed much pleased by their reception. Mrs. DanversButler was a Miss Freemantle, and when I mentioned Lady Culling Smithand our Connemara adventures, she said she knew her very well and theCarrs, "all musical, highly accomplished, and such a united family. " Howoddly these little _feltings_ of society go on in this way, working intoone another little fibres of connection so strangely!

In the morning Briggs's four horses were put to their heavy chaise, andwith main difficulty it was got through the yard and to the door, butnot all the power of all the servants and four or five people besidescould prevail upon these half-flayed-alive beasts to stir from thedoor--they would only _back_. So at last Barry was so kind as to sendhis man Philip with our black horses with them to Granard. We had asmany thanks as well-bred people could give, and a cordial invitation toLeicestershire, if that could do us any good. Mr. Danvers Butler ishandsome and gentleman-like, and she is charming: she had with her afavourite little Italian greyhound, with a collar of little gilt bellsround her neck, which delighted the children, and she in return admiredthe children, Willy especially. 

Lady Stafford--or the Countess-Duchess of Sutherland's magnificentmemoir of her Duke, bound in morocco, with a beautiful engraving of him, reached me yesterday, but I have been in such a bother of tenants andbusiness, I have had time only to look at the engraving and the kindinscription to myself. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

 * * * * *

At the time of the general election in 1835, Maria was placed in apainful position as her brother's agent. The tenants were forced by thepriests to vote against their landlord, and in his absence myson-in-law, Captain Fox, who had been much interested for the defeatedcandidate, wished to punish the refractory tenants by forcing them topay up what is called the _hanging gale_ of rent. Maria was grieved atany proceeding which would interrupt the long-continued friendshipbetween these tenants and their landlord, and she was also anxious thatthere should be no misunderstanding between her brother and herbrother-in-law. Captain Fox wrote to Sneyd to explain his views, andupon receiving Sneyd's letter in reply Maria writes to him of hersentiments on the occasion. 

MARIA _to_ C. SNEYD EDGEWORTH, ESQ. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb. 12, 1835_. 

I feel your kindness now most particularly in giving me your fullopinion, and desiring mine without one word of reproach on not havingheard from me. I had written a long letter, but thinking it better Barryshould write to you himself, I determined to burn and burnt what I hadwritten to you, and scribbled a page in its stead of I know notwhat--nonsense I believe. And now what remains to do? My sense, if Ihave any, is quite as much at your service as my nonsense has been. Andfirst for _General Principles_, to those independently of the particularcase we should recur. I quite agree with you, as you do with my father, in the general principle that according to the British Constitution thevoters at elections should be free, that the landlords should not_force_ their tenants to vote. But a landlord must and should and everwill have _influence_, and this is one way in which property isrepresented and the real balance of the constitution preserved. Myfather in fact always did use the influence of being a good kindlandlord, as well as the favour of leaving a hanging half-year in theirhands. I never knew him in any instance _revenge_ a tenant's votingagainst him, but I have heard him say, and I know it was his principle, that he was not bound to show favour or affection to any tenant whovoted what is called against his landlord. The calling for the_hanging-gale_ may, in this point of view, come under his principles, asit is only the withdrawing of a favour--the resumption of a landlord'sright; it may be said not to be the infliction of an injury or the goingone tittle beyond the law; nor even putting yourself in the power ofParliament to notice it as unconstitutional. This is literally true--sofar--and further I admit, for I say candidly the whole on both sidesthat occurs to me--I admit, that I believe if my father were at thismoment living, and knew how shamefully the priests have conductedthemselves at the last election, how they had _forced_ his tenants andall others whom they could _bully_ to vote against their own will, fullas much as against their landlord, he might himself be inclined todepart from his principle and to use force over his tenants to balancethe brutal force and violence on the other side. 

I say, my father might be so inclined, and his first warmth of temperand indignation doubtless would so urge him, but still, The golden curb discretion sets on bravery, would act and rein in his temper in the first instance, and his reasonwould rally and represent that it is never either morally lawful orpolitically wise to do evil that good may come of it. Because thepriests have used force and intimidation, such as their situation andmeans put in their power, are landlords to do likewise? and are the poortenants in this world and the next to be ruined and excommunicatedbetween them? Are we to recriminate and revenge because the priests andthe people have done so? beaten or beating as brutal force decides?

The honest constitutional means of resisting the horrible wrong thepriests have been guilty of in the last election is by publishing thefacts, bringing them as they now must be brought in all their enormitybefore Parliament. As far as every private individual can assist inbringing these truths to light and in influencing public opinion by theeloquence of tongue or pen he does right, as a man and as a gentleman, and a good member of society, and wisely in the present times, to stop, if possible, the power of democracy. And this, I am sure, my dearbrother, is what you have done, and I do not wish you to do more orless. 

With respect to Charles Fox, I think he will certainly stand the firstopportunity. I am not sure that it will be for his happiness to be inParliament; but I think he will make an honest and moderate member andwill do well in Committees, and I think you may support him fairly; hewill not be bitter Orange; he has good sense and temper. I hate the termI have just used--Orange, and I would avoid saying Whig or Tory if Icould, and consider only what is right and best to be done in our time. I think the late Ultra-Reform Liberalists went too far, and had theycontinued in power, would have overturned everything, both in Englandand Ireland, would have let in upon us the ragamuffin democracy, criedhavoc, etc. 

I think that nothing less than the decided, perhaps despotic hand of theDuke of Wellington, could prevent this catastrophe, and the sense of Mr. Peel will aid, I trust. The Duke has been a stander-by and has hadleisure to repent the error which turned him out before, viz. Ofdeclaring that he would have no reform. Mr. Peel has well guardedagainst this in his address on his return. What we must pray for is, that the hands of the present Government may be strengthenedsufficiently to enable them to prevent the mischiefs prepared by thelast Administration, and that, having seen the error, they may be wisein time. 

 * * * * *

Innumerable were the improvements which were effected by Mrs. And MissEdgeworth for the advantage of their poorer neighbours in the immediatevicinity of their home. Cottagers' houses were rebuilt or madecomfortable, schools built, and roads improved. A legacy of diamondsfrom a relation was sold by Miss Edgeworth that she might build a markethouse in the village, with a room over it for the magistrates' PettySessions. She endeavoured to be on the best terms with the Catholicpriests, to whom she showed constant kindness and hospitality. Herpoorer neighbours were made sharers in all her interests or pleasures, and all those she employed were treated as friends rather than servants. All her sympathies were in behalf of Ireland. Yet she met with no returnof affection or sympathy. In 1836 we find Mrs. Farrar writing ofEdgeworthstown:

 * * * * *

It was market-day: so the main street was full of the lower order ofIrish, with their horses and carts, asses and panniers, tables andstands full of eatables and articles of clothing. Sometimes the cart orcar served as a counter on which to display their goods. The women, inbright-coloured cotton gowns and white caps with full double borders, made a very gay appearance. But as we passed through the crowd to theschoolhouse the enmity of the Papists to Protestant landholders was buttoo evident. 

Though Mrs. Edgeworth had been the Lady Bountiful of the village formany years, there were no bows for her or her friends, no making waybefore her, no touching of hats, no pleasant looks. A sullen expressionand a dogged immovability were on every side of us. 

MARIA _to_ PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING, 1835. 

How provoking, how chilling a feeling it gives of the distance betweenus, my dear Pakenham, that we must wait twelve months for an answer toany question the most important or the most trivial! But, thank heaven, letters and journals--bating this year between--do bring us happilytogether, almost face to face and smile to smile. I have often admiredthe poor Irishman's oratorical bull when he exclaimed, as he lookedthrough a telescope for the first time and saw the people at a cottagedoor, miles off, brought near, "Then I heard 'em speak quite plain, Ithink. " I think I sometimes hear you speaking and hear the people callyou Sahib. 

You have seen in the papers the death of our amiable friend, Mr. Malthus. How well he loved you! His lectureship on Political Economy hasbeen filled up by a very able and deserving friend of mine, Mr. Jones, whose book on Rents you have just been reading, and whose book and selfI had the pleasure of first introducing to Lord Lansdowne, under whoseAdministration this appointment was made. The pupils at Haileybury mustnow learn from Jones's lectures the objections he made to Malthus'ssystem! I remember once hearing the answer of a sceptic in PoliticalEconomy, when reproached with not being of some Political Economy Club. "Whenever I see any two of you gentlemen agree, I shall be happy toagree with you. "

I hope your box of seeds will come safe and will grow. I daresay Harrietwill have told you of the Cornish gentleman she met at Black Castle, whotold of the blue hydrangea fifteen feet high, and bearing such aprofusion of flowers that they were counted, 2352 bunches, each bunch aslarge as his head! We endeavoured to correct, and said florets forbunches, presuming he so meant, but he distinctly said bunches--so makewhat you can of it. 

_March 19_. 

Yesterday I am sure you recollected and honoured as Barry and Sophy'swedding day. Honora had the breakfast table covered with flowers, primroses, violets, polyanthus, and laurustinus, and some of Sophy's ownsnowdrops, double and single, which obligingly lingered on purpose tocelebrate the day. 

Did you see how Lord Darnley cut his foot with an axe while he washewing the root of a tree, and died in consequence of lock-jaw! Harriet, who knew him and all the good he did in their neighbourhood, is verysorry for him. 

I have not, I believe, mentioned to you any books except my own; but wehave been amused with the _Invisible Gentleman_. You must swallow onemonstrous magical absurdity at the beginning, and the rest will go downglibly--that is, _amusing_. 

_Instructive and entertaining_: Burne's _Mission to Lahore and Bokhara_. 

_Instructive, interesting, and entertaining_: Roget on _Physiology, withreference to Theology_--one of the Bridgewater Treatises, full of factsthe most curious, arranged in the most beautifully luminous manner. Theinfinitely large, and the infinitely small in creation, admirablydisplayed. 

Hannah More's _Letters_: many of them entertaining--many admirable formanner and matter, altogether too much; two volumes would have beenbetter than four. 

Inglis's _Ireland_: I think he is an honest writer, a man of greatobservation and ability, and a true admirer of the beauties of nature. He exaggerates and makes some mistakes, as all travellers do. 

 Still drops from life some withering joy away. 

Year after year, we must witness these sad losses. Aunt Alicia gone! andAunt Bess Waller, of whom you were so fond. What an amiable and highlycultivated mind she had, and so hospitable and kind. 

_To_ MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 31, 1835_. 

Harriet told me, my dear Sophy, that she found you in bed, reading_Popular Tales_, or some of my old things--thank you, thank you, mydear, for loving them. I hope that this will find you better, and thatyour Black Castle walks, leaning on that kind Isabella's arm, will havequite restored you. 

I have been reading Roget's most admirable BridgewaterTreatise--admirable in every way, scientific, moral, and religious, inthe most deep and exalted manner--religious, raising the mind throughnature's works up to nature's GOD, which must increase and exalt pietywhere it exists, and create and confirm the devotional feelings wherethey have lain dormant. All his facts are most curious, and theexclamation, "how fearfully and wonderfully we are made, " may beextended to the ugliest tadpole that _wabbles_ in a ditch till he is afrog, and the microscope invented by that creature man endowed with--

Luckily a hair in my pen stopped me, or I might have gone on to anotherpage, in my hot fit of enthusiasm. 

_To MISS RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 1835_. 

Have you seen in the papers reports about the marriage of Lord JohnRussell to Lady R. ? All true--Lady Ribblesdale, _ci-devant_ AdelaideLister, Aunt Mary's niece, a young widow with a charming little boy;this morning Aunt Mary had a letter from Lady Ribblesdale herself. Ifshe was to marry again she could not have made a more suitable match. Heis a very domestic man, and, save his party violence and folly, veryamiable and sensible. 

 * * * * *

Mr. George Ticknor [Footnote: The well-known Professor of ModernLiterature at Harvard University, author of the _History of SpanishLiterature_, etc. Born 1791, died 1871. ] and his family visitedEdgeworthstown in August 1835, and remained there several days, whichwere a very interesting and happy time to Miss Edgeworth. Mr. Ticknordescribes his visit at great length in his journals, and the firstappearance of Miss Edgeworth:

 * * * * *

A small, short, spare lady of about sixty-seven, with extremely frankand kind manners, and who always looks straight into your face with apair of mild deep gray eyes whenever she speaks to you. Herconversation, always ready, is as full of vivacity and variety as I canimagine. It is also no less full of good-nature. She is disposed todefend everybody, as far as she can, though never so far as to beunreasonable. And in her intercourse with her family she is quitedelightful, referring constantly to Mrs. Edgeworth, who seems to be theauthority for all matters of fact, and most kindly repeating jokes toher infirm aunt, Miss Sneyd, who cannot hear them, and who seems to havefor her the most unbounded affection and admiration. 

About herself as an author she seems to have no reserve or secrets. . . . But, though she talks freely about herself and her works, she neverintroduces the subject, and never seems glad to continue it. She talksquite as well, and with quite as much interest, on everything else. 

It is plain that the family make a harmonious whole, and by those whovisited Edgeworthstown when it was much larger, and were proud of thechildren of all the wives of Mr. Edgeworth, with their connectionsproduced by marriage, so as to prove the most heterogeneousrelationships, I am told there was always the same striking union andagreeable intercourse among them all, to the number of sometimes fifteenor twenty. 

. . . The house, and many of its arrangements--the bells, the doors, etc. --bear witness to that love of mechanical trifling of which Mr. Edgeworth was so often accused. But things in general are veryconvenient and comfortable through the house, though, as elsewhere inIreland, there is a want of English exactness and finish. However, allsuch matters, even if carried much farther than they are, would be meretrifles in the midst of so much kindness, hospitality, and intellectualpleasures of the highest order as we enjoyed under their roof, wherehospitality is so abundant that they have often had twenty or thirtyfriends come upon them unexpectedly, when the family was much largerthan it is now. 

 * * * * *

Maria Edgeworth was now the real owner of Edgeworthstown. Herhalf-brother Lovell's embarrassments had obliged him to sell hispaternal inheritance, and Miss Edgeworth gladly expended the fortunewhich had come to her through literature in preserving it from fallinginto the hands of strangers. She only stipulated that she herself shouldremain as much "a background figure" as before. Lovell Edgeworth wasstill the apparent owner of Edgeworthstown. Mrs. Edgeworth was still themistress of the house, consulted and deferred to in everything. In hernote of invitation to Mr. And Mrs. Ticknor she says: "The sooner you cancome to us the better, because Mrs. Edgeworth is now at home with us . . . As you would find this house much more agreeable when she is at home;and in truth you never could see it to advantage, or see things as theyreally are in this family, unless when she makes part of it, and whenshe is at the head of it. " [Footnote: _Life of George Ticknor_. ] MariaEdgeworth unconsciously depicted herself when describing Miss EmmaGranby, "The Modern Griselda. "

 * * * * *

All her thoughts were intent upon making her friends happy. She seemedto live in them more than in herself, and from sympathy rose thegreatest pleasure and pain of her existence. Her sympathy was not ofthat useless kind which is called forth only by the elegant fictitioussorrows of a heroine of romance; hers was ready for all the occasions ofreal life; nor was it to be easily checked by the imperfections of thoseto whom she could be of service. 

 * * * * *

Amongst those who visited Edgeworthstown about this time was theAmerican authoress, Mrs. Farrar, who writes:

 * * * * *

When shown to our bedroom we found such an extraordinary lock to thedoor [Footnote: One of Mr. Edgeworth's inventions. ] that we dared notshut it for fear of not being able to open it again. That room, too, wasunlike any I ever saw. It was very large, with three huge windows, twoof them heavily curtained, and the third converted into a smallwardrobe, with doors of pink cotton on a wooden frame. It had two verylarge four-post bedsteads, with full suits of curtains, and an immensefolding-screen that divided the room in two, making each occupant asprivate as if in a separate room, with a dressing-table and amplewashing conveniences on each side. A large grate filled with turf, andall ready for lighting, with a peat basket lined with tin, and alsofilled with the same fuel, reminded us strongly that we were in Ireland. Large wax candles were on the mantelpiece, and every conveniencenecessary to our comfort. 

Miss Edgeworth was very short, and carried herself very upright, with adapper figure and quick movements. She was the remains of a blonde, withlight eyes and hair; she was now gray, but wore a dark frisette, whilstthe gray hair showed through her cap behind. In conversation we foundher delightful. She was full of anecdotes about remarkable people, andoften spoke from her personal knowledge of them. Her memory, too, wasstored with valuable information, and her manner of narrating was soanimated that it was difficult to realise her age. In telling ananecdote of Mirabeau, she stepped out before us, and, extending herarms, spoke a sentence of his in the impassioned manner of a Frenchorator, and did it so admirably that it was quite thrilling. 

 * * * * *

Another American visitor, in the same year of 1836, the Rev. William B. Sprogue, writes: [Footnote: _European Celebrities_, 1855. ]

 * * * * *

The Edgeworth house is a fine spacious old mansion, with a splendid lawnstretching before it, and everything to indicate opulence and hereditarydistinction. . . . Miss Edgeworth was the first person to meet me; and sheimmediately introduced me to her mother, Mrs. Edgeworth, her father'sfourth wife, and her sister, Miss Honora Edgeworth. Miss Edgeworth, inher personal appearance, was below middle size; her face was exceedinglyplain, though strongly indicative of intellect; and though she seemed topossess great vigour of body as well as of mind, it was, after all, thevigour of old age. I supposed her to be about sixty-five, but I believeshe was actually on the wrong side of seventy. Her stepmother, Mrs. Edgeworth, must have been, I think, rather younger than Maria, and wasnot only a lady of high intelligence, but of great personal attractions, and withal of a very serious turn of mind. As Miss Edgeworth knew thatmy visit was to be limited to a single day, she told me almostimmediately that she wished to know in what way she could contributemost to my gratification, --whether by remaining in the house or walkingover the grounds. She talked upon a great variety of subjects, but therewas nothing about her that had ever any affinity to showing off ortrying to talk well: she evidently did not know how to talk otherwise. Circumstances led her to speak of her experience with some of herpublishers. She mentioned that one of them had repeatedly requested herto abate from the amount which he had engaged to pay her, and that shehad done so; but at length, after she had told him explicitly to makeproposals he would abide by, he wrote her a letter, saying that hewished another abatement, and that he found that on the whole he hadlost by her works; and she then wrote him in reply, that in consequenceof the loss he had sustained, she would transfer her publications toother hands. He afterwards earnestly requested that she would excuse himfor having thus written, and desired to retain the works; but _she_ wasinflexible, and _he_ very angry. Her former publisher, she said, when hefound himself dying, called for a letter to her which was thenunfinished, and requested that there should be inserted a promise of tenor twelve hundred pounds more than he had engaged to give her for one ofher works; for it had been so much more profitable to him than heexpected, that he could not die in peace till he had done justly by her. And his heirs executed his will in accordance with this dyingsuggestion. 

 * * * * *

Home interests, home cares, and home sorrows were henceforthincreasingly to occupy Miss Edgeworth's life. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS RUXTON. 

LOUGH GLYN, _Sept. 16, 1836_. 

You may suppose how I felt the kindness of your note. You are now myfriend of longest standing and dearest parentage in this world; and inthis world, in which I have lived nearly three quarters of a century, Ihave found nothing one quarter so well worth living for as old friends. 

We go to Moore Hall to-morrow. We had here yesterday a party at dinner, all exquisite in their way; Lord and Lady Dillon and Miss Dillon, LordOranmore and his son, Mr. Brown, and two Miss Stricklands and theirbrothers; and coloured fireworks in the evening: of all of which youshall hear more when we meet. Breakfast-bell ringing in my ears. 

_March 5, 1837_. 

The last accounts will have prepared you--more prepared, perhaps, than Iwas, for hope had lived in spite of reason when life was gone--yourbeloved and most amiable, angelic-tempered goddaughter [Footnote: Hersister Sophy. Mrs. Barry Fox, who died March 1. ] is gone. She preservedher charming mind quite clear all through, and had her mother with her, and the comfort of knowing that her children were in the care of Mr. Butler and Harriet. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 17, 1837_. 

We are very anxious indeed to hear of Sophy: [Footnote: Miss Ruxton, Miss Edgeworth's cousin and dearest friend, died at Black Castle, December 30. ] the last account Harriet gave was quite alarming. I seeRichard going about the house with his watch in his hand to feel Sophy'spulse, and looking so anxious. How glad he must be that he had returnedhome, and to Sophy what a comfort it must be, to have the certainty ofhis affection, and to have the earliest companion of her childhood andher manly friend beside her now! I will go to her instantly if shedesires it. 

I long to hear that you have had, and that you like, the _Memoirs of Mr. Smedley_. I am sure that, when Sophy is well enough to hear or to readanything, that book will be the very thing for her. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

TRIM, _July 25, 1838_. 

Mrs. Lazarus's [Footnote: Formerly Miss Mordecai. ] death did indeedshock and grieve me. But it is, as you say, the condition, the doom ofadvancing, advanced age, to see friend after friend go; but inproportion as it detaches one from life, it still more makes us valuethe friends we have left. And continually, at every fresh blow, I really_wonder_, and am thankful, most truly thankful, that I have so many, somuch left. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

_Oct. 10, 1838_. 

I am sure, my dear Margaret, you were pleased at Honora's communication:you wrote a most kind and pleasant letter of congratulation. [Footnote:On the engagement of her sister Honora to Captain Beaufort, herstepmother's brother. ] She has hitherto been most fortunate in pleasingall her friends, both as to the fact and as to the time and manner oftelling. Do you remember a conversation we had standing upon the hearthin my room one night, between eleven and twelve, the witching hour, andwhat you asked me about Captain Beaufort? The secret had then beenconfided to me; and I hope you will do me the justice to acknowledgethat, open-hearted and open-mouthed as I am, I can keep a secretWONDERFUL well. 

 * * * * *

_To_ MR. AND MRS. TICKNOR. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 1, 1838_. 

. . . My sister Honora is going to be married to a person every waysuited to her, and that is saying a great deal, as you, who most kindlyand justly appreciated her, will readily join with me in thinking. Thegentleman's name, Captain Beaufort, R. N. , perhaps you may be acquaintedwith, as he is in a public situation, and not unknown to literary andscientific fame. He is a naval officer (I hope you like this officer'sname?). He made some years ago a survey of the coast of Karamania, andwrote a small volume on that survey, which has obtained for him a goodreputation. He has been for some years Hydrographer-Royal . . . In oneword, he is a person publicly esteemed, and privately he is beloved andesteemed by all who know him, most by those who love him best. He is andhas been well known to us ever since the present Mrs. Edgeworth'smarriage with my father; Captain Beaufort is Mrs. Edgeworth's youngestbrother. As Mrs. E. Is Honora's _step_mother, you see that he is norelation whatever to Honora. But the nearness of the connection hasgiven us all the best means of knowing him thoroughly. He was my dearfather's most beloved pupil and friend; by pupil I mean that being somuch younger made him look up to my father with reverence, and learnfrom him in science and literature with delight. Thus he has been longconnected with all I love. He has been a widower two years. He has threesons and four daughters. . . . The youngest daughter, Emily, is adelightful child. Captain Beaufort lives in London, 11 Gloucester Place:has a very comfortable house and sufficient fortune for all theirmoderate wishes. Honora's fortune, which is ample, will give themaffluence. 

My dear Mrs. Ticknor, I know you particularly liked Honora, and that youwill be interested in hearing all these particulars, though it seemsimpertinent to detail them across the Atlantic to one who will, I fear, never see any one of the persons I have mentioned. Yet affections suchas yours keep warm very long and at a great distance. 

I feel that I have got into a snug little corner in both your hearts, and that you will excuse a great deal from me, therefore I go on withoutscruple drawing upon your sympathy, and you will not protest my draft. 

You saw how devoted Honora was to her aunt, Mrs. Mary Sneyd, whom youliked so much; and you will easily imagine what a struggle there hasbeen in Honora's mind before she would consent to a marriage with evensuch a man as Captain Beaufort, when it must separate her from her aunt. Captain Beaufort himself felt this so much that he would never havepressed it. He once thought that she might be prevailed upon toaccompany them to London, and to live with them. But Mrs. Mary Sneydcould not bear to leave Mrs. Edgeworth, and this place which she hasmade her heart's home. She decided Captain Beaufort and her niece tomake her happy by completing their union, and letting her feel that shedid not prevent the felicity of the two persons she loves best now inthe world. She remains with us. 

The marriage is to take place next Tuesday or Thursday, and my Aunt Marywill go to church with her niece and give her away. I must tell you alittle characteristic trait of this aunt, the least selfish of all humanbeings. She has been practising getting up early in the morning, whichshe has not done for two years--has never got up for breakfast. But shehas trained herself to rising at the hour at which she must rise on thewedding day, and has walked up and down her own room the distance shemust walk up and down the aisle of the church, to ensure her beingaccustomed to the exertion, and able to accomplish it easily. This shedid for a long time without our knowing it, till Honora found it out. Mrs. Mary Sneyd is quite well and in excellent spirits. 

A younger sister of mine, Lucy, of whom you have heard us speak as aninvalid, who was at Clifton with that dear Sophy whom we have lost, isnow recovered, and has returned home to take Honora's place with herAunt Mary; and Aunt Mary likes to have her, and Lucy feels this a greatmotive to her to overcome a number of nervous feelings which formed partof her illness. A regular course of occupations and duties, and feelingherself essential to the happiness and the holding together of a familyshe so loves, will be the best strengthening medicine for her. Shearrived at home last night. My sister Fanny and her husband, LestockWilson, are with us. My sister has much improved in health: she is nowable to walk without pain, and bore her long journey and voyage herewonderfully. I have always regretted, and always shall regret, that thissister Fanny of mine had not the pleasure of becoming acquainted withyou. You really must revisit England. My sister Harriet Butler, and Mr. Butler, and the three dear little Foxes, are all round me at thisinstant. Barry Fox, their father, will be with us in a few days, andCaptain Beaufort returns from London on Monday. You see what a large andhappy family we are!

Mr. Butler will perform the happy, awful ceremony. How people who do notlove can even dare to marry, to approach the altar to pronounce thatsolemn vow, I cannot conceive. 

My thoughts are so engrossed by this subject that I absolutely cannottell you of anything else. You must tell me of everything that interestsyou, else I shall not forgive myself for my egotism. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 8, 1838_. 

You are the first person I write to upon returning from church after theaccomplishment of Honora and Captain Beaufort's marriage. CaptainBeaufort was affected more than any man I ever saw in the samecircumstances, yet in the most manly manner. Aunt Mary went to church, as she had intended: they had both received her blessing, kneeling as toa mother, the evening before in her own room. Lestock and Barry were atthe church door, to hand her up the aisle. Old Mr. Keating was there, excellent, warm-hearted man; and Mr. Butler performed the ceremony. Thebride and bridegroom went off from the church door, and are, I suppose, by this time, five o'clock, at Trim. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH, IN LONDON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 25, 1839_. 

You will, I am sure, give me credit for having so well and pleasantlyperformed our visits--Rosa, Lucy, and Francis with me--to the Pakenhamsand Pollards. Francis found Mr. Pollard very agreeable, and was charmedwith Mrs. Pollard's manners and conversation. We called on Mrs. Dease onour return, and walked in her garden, in which, in all my seventy years, I never walked before, and saw huge bunches of crimson Indian pinks, some of which are now in my garden, and well doing there. 

In the morning, before we went to Kinturk, came a note from a gentlemanat the _White Hart_, Edgeworthstown, waiting for an answer: an Americanmedical professor, Dr. Gibson. It was very unlucky that I was engaged togo out--irrevocably settled: however, I sat two hours and a half withDr. Gibson, and very clever and agreeable I found him. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

TRIM, _Nov. 1, 1840_. 

I am _perfect_, dearest mother, so no more about it, and thank you frommy heart and every component part of my precious self for all the careand successful care you have taken of me, your old petted nursling. Thank you and Mrs. Mitchell for the potted meat luncheon, and Mr. Tuitefor his grapes, --Mary Anne and Charlotte had some. I was less tired thanI could have expected when I reached Trim, and there was Mr. Butler onthe steps ready to welcome us, and candles and firelight in thedrawing-room so cheerful. I slept like a sleeping top. Harriet read out_Ferdinand and Isabella_, which, with all its chivalresque interest, Ido like very much. I am sure Rosa's [Footnote: Mrs. Francis Edgeworth. ]Spanish interest in the book will grow by that it feeds upon, and I amvery glad that she who has such fresh genuine pleasure in literatureshould have this book, which is so beautifully written, because it is sowell felt by the author. Poor kind man. I will write to Mr. Ticknor assoon as I come to Finis. 

The birds got home well; but travelling, Harriet tells me, does notagree with them, because they cannot stick upon their perch, and it is aperpetual struggle between cling and jolt. 

_Nov. 10_. 

I enclose a note of Miss Crampton's and two notes of Lady Normanby's. Inever read more unaffected, affectionate, wife-like letters. Howgratifying they must be to Crampton, and it raises one's opinion of LordNormanby himself to find he can so attach a woman and a wife. 

The _History of a Flirt_, which Harriet is reading to me, is ratherentertaining but not interesting--a new and ingenious idea of a flirt, who is not looking for establishment or match-making, and therefore herdisinterestedness charms all the lords and gentlemen who have been usedto match-making mothers and young-lady-hunters for titles, and underfavour of this disinterestedness her insolence and faithlessness ispassed over, while all the time she is in love with a captain with "softVenetian eyes, " as Mrs. Thrale used to say of Piozzi. 

_Nov. 16_. 

The ear-comforter or earwig is beautiful and comfortable, and is, Ihear, as becoming to me as was the Chancellor's wig to Francis Forbeswhen he acted _Of Age To-morrow_. I am acting of age to-day, and verygay, and perhaps may arrive at years of discretion at eighty, if I liveso long. I certainly wish to live till next month that I may see you allat home again. You know the classic distich, which my father pointed outand translated for me, which was over the entrance door of the CrossKeys inn, near Beighterton:

 If you are told you will die to-morrow you smile: If you are told you will die a month hence you will sigh. 

I do not know where this may be in a book, but I know it is in humannature. 

_To_ MR. TICKNOR. 

TRIM, _Nov. 19, 1840_. 

. . . I am afraid to invite you to come and see us again, lest you shouldbe disenchanted, and we should lose the delightful gratification weenjoy in your glamour of friendship. Aunt Mary, however, is really allyou think and saw her; and in her good years still a proof, as youdescribe her--and a remarkable proof--of the power of mind over time, suffering, and infirmities, and an example of Christian virtues, makingold age lovely and interesting. 

Your prayer, that she might have health and strength to enjoy thegathering of friends round her has been granted. Honora and her husband, and Fanny and her husband, have been with us all this summer for months;and we have enjoyed ourselves as much as your kind heart could wish. Especially "that beautiful specimen of a highly cultivated gentlewoman, "as you so well called Mrs. Edgeworth, has been blest with the sight ofall her children round her, all her living daughters and their husbands, and her grandchildren. Francis will settle at home, and be a goodcountry gentleman and his own agent, to Mrs. Edgeworth's and all ourinexpressible comfort and support, also for the good of the county, as aresident landlord and magistrate _much_ needed. As _he_ is at home I canbe spared from the rent-receiving business, etc. , and leaving him withhis mother, Aunt Mary, and Lucy, I can indulge myself by accepting anoften-urged invitation from my two sisters, Fanny and Honora, to spendsome months with them in London. I have chosen to go at this quiet timeof year, as I particularly wish not to encounter the bustle anddissipation and lionising of London. For though I am such a minnikinlion now, and so old, literally without teeth or claws, still there be, that might rattle at the grate to make me get up and come out, and standup to play tricks for them, and this I am not able or inclined to do. Iam afraid I should growl; I never could be as good-natured as Sir WalterScott used to be, when rattled for and made to "come out and stand onhis hind legs, " as he used to describe it, and then go quietly to sleepagain. 

I shall use my privilege of seventy-two--rising seventy-three--and shallkeep in my comfortable den; I will not go out. "Nobody asked you, ma'am, " to play lion, may perhaps be said or sung to me, and I shall notbe sorry nor mortified by not being asked to exhibit, but heartily happyto be with my sisters and their family and family friends--_all_ forwhich I go--knowing my own mind very well I speak the plain truth. Ishall return to Edgeworthstown before the London _season_, as it iscalled, commences, i. E. By the end of March, or at the very beginning ofApril. 

This is all I have, for the present, to tell you of my dear self, or ofour family doings or plannings. 

. . . I do not know whether I was most interested, dear Mrs. Ticknor, inyour picture of your domestic life and happy house and home, or in theview you gave me of your public festivity and celebration of yourAmerican day of days--your national festival in honour of yourDeclaration of Independence. It was never, I suppose, more joyously, innocently, and advantageously held than on the day you describe sodelightfully with the accuracy of an eye-witness. I think I too haveseen all this, and thank you for showing it to me. It is a picture thatwill never leave the memory of my heart. I only wish that we could everhope to have in Ireland any occasion or possibility of such happy andpeaceable meetings, with united sympathy and for the keeping alive afeeling of national patriotism. No such point of union can be found, alas! in Ireland; no subject upon which sects and parties could coalescefor an hour, or join in rejoicing or feeling for their country! FatherMatthews, one might have hoped, considering the good he has effected forall Ireland, and considering his own unimpeachable character and hisgreat liberality, admitting all sects and all parties to take his pledgeand share his benevolent efforts, _might_ have formed a central pointround which all might gather. But no such hope! for I am just nowassured his very Christian charity and liberality are complained of byhis Catholic brethren, priests and laity, who now begin to abuse him forgiving the pledge to _Protestants_, and say, "What good our fastings, our temperance, our being of the true faith, if Father Matthews treat_heretics all as one_, as Catholics themselves! and would have themsaved in this world and the next too! Then I would not doubt but at thelast he'd _turn tail_! aye, turn Protestant himself _entirely_. "

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Dec. 26_. 

While Francis is _pro_-ing and con-ing with Fanny about alterations inhis house at Clewer, I may go on with my scribbling, and tell you thatHonora luncheoned here, and then off we went to Mrs. Debrizey's, Mrs. Darwin's, Mrs. Hensleigh Wedgewood, Mrs. Guillemard, and Mrs. Marcet--atMrs. Edward Romilly's. 

Mrs. Darwin is the youngest daughter of Jos. Wedgewood, and is worthy ofboth father and mother; affectionate, and unaffected, and--young as sheis, full of old times, she has her mother's radiantly cheerfulcountenance, even now, debarred from all London gaieties and all gaietybut that of her own mind by close attendance on her sick husband. 

Mrs. Marcet was ill in bed, but Mr. And Mrs. Edward Romilly werepleasing and willing to be pleased, and he talked over his father's_Memoirs_ candidly and sensibly, and like a good son and a man of sense. 

"I had like to have forgotten "--strange expression! can Mr. Butlerexplain it? _I had like to have_ forgotten and must tell Aunt Mary aboutMrs. Lister calling. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

_January 2, 1841_. 

Thank you for your birthday good wishes. How many birthdays have broughtme the same never-failing kindness. 

A very pleasant meeting we had yesterday at your brother's. [Footnote:Recently married to Honora Edgeworth. ] Honora, dear Honora, was so niceand kind, nobody but ourselves. At second course appeared the essentialtrifle, [Footnote: A trifle always appeared on Maria Edgeworth'sbirthday, because once on New Year's Day when a trifle had been orderedand the dish was placed on the table there was found under the flowers, not cake and cream, but a little story Maria had written, "A Trifle. "The young folk had a real trifle afterwards. ] and, trifle as it was, itwas quite delightful to me with Honora's smile. 

Did you ever taste figs stuffed with almonds? I hope you never may tastethem! very bad, I assure you, but how the almonds got in puzzled me; alltight and closed as the outer skin looks without ridge or joining. 

Did you ever taste Imperial Tokay? Your brother gave me some of the bestever tasted, I am told; and what do you think I said?

"Why, this cannot be Tokay!"

"Did you ever taste Tokay before?" said he. 

"O yes, very often; but this is not Tokay. "

"Be pleased to tell us what it is then, " quoth Lestock. 

"I don't know; but not Tokay, or a different sort from what I evertasted, for that was sour and always drunk in green glasses. "

Suddenly I recollected that I meant _Hock_!

Do you recollect the history of the Irishman, who declared that he hadseen anchovies growing on the walls at Gibraltar? Challenged a gentlemanfor doubting him, met, and fired, and hit his man, and when the man whowas hit, sprang up as he received the shot, and the secondobserved--"How he capers!"

"By the powers! It was capers I meant 'stead of anchovies. "

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 10, 1841_. 

_À propos du pluie, à propos du beau temps_--I think of you and tenthousand times a week. ("I hate exaggeration. ") I wish for you when I amin want of some unremembered or _disremembered_ name. I do love thatIrish verb disremember, and I conjugate it daily from the infinitive tothe preterpluperfect. Last week I preterpluperfectly disremembered whentalking to Morris of Fortunio's gifted men, whether the legs of him whooutrunneth the hare were tied with green or red? Parties run high forgreen and for red--please to settle the question. 

Fanny has been reading to me Darwin's _Voyage_; delightful it is. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 13, 1841_. 

Most agreeable dinner here yesterday; the _convives_ were: Dr. Lushington, Mr. Andrews; Mrs. Andrews at the last sent a regret--ill inbed with a headache. Honora came in her stead. Mr. Macintosh and MissCarr; Dr. Lushington beside Fanny, and carving remarkably well and mostentertaining and agreeable; he raised the heart's laugh frequently, andthe head's by fresh, not old-faded-London-diner-out bon-mots, anecdotes, and facts worth knowing, all with the assistance of Mr. Andrews, soremarkably agreeable and gentlemanly a gentleman; they played into eachother's hands and mine delightfully, and Fanny's, and Honora's, and theball came to everybody pat, in turn. The ball did I say? Boomerang Ishould have said, for it came back always nicely to the thrower. 

I must tell you an anecdote I heard yesterday from Mr. Kenyon, brotherof Lord Kenyon's, a saying of Mrs. Brooke, sister of Baron Garrow, who, notwithstanding his bullying manner in court, was a man easily swayed inprivate, always influenced by the last thing said by the last person inhis company--all which was compressed by Mrs. Brooke into: "With mybrother _presence is power_. "

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Feb. 24, 1841_. 

My ultimate intention and best hope for my own selfish satisfaction isto go with you and Mr. Butler to that poor _uncentred_ [Footnote: Mrs. Mary Sneyd died at the age of ninety, on the 10th of February 1841. ]desolate home at Edgeworthstown. 

What an inexpressible comfort that you were with your mother, Lucy, andHonora, and my dear lost aunt to the last. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

_March 14, 1841_. 

Here I am, like a Sybarite, but with luxuries such as a Sybarite orSybaritess never dreamed of: a cup of good coffee and some dry toast andbutter, a good coal fire on my right, a light window on my left, dressing-table opposite, with large looking-glass, which reflects, notmy face, which for good reasons of my own I never wish to see, but abeautiful green lawn and cedars of Lebanon; and on my mantelpiece standjars of Nankin china, and shells from--Ocean knows where. And where doyou think I am? At Heathfield Lodge, Croydon, the seat of GerardRalstone, Esq. ; and met here at a large dinner yesterday Mr. Napier, andhe comes for me to-morrow, and takes me to Forest Hill. At this dinnerwere two celebrated American gentlemen--Mr. Sparkes, who wroteWashington's _Life_; and Mr. Clisson, a man of fortune, and benevolentlyenthusiastic about colonisation in Liberia. 

After luncheon I saw march by to church a whole regiment of youths fromAddiscombe, which is near here. 

But now I must retrograde to tell you, as I have a few minutes more thanI expected, of a visit I had an hour before I set out, from a man freshfrom Africa--a Scotchman by birth, a missionary by vocation, who hadbeen twenty years abroad, almost all that time in Africa: sent to theHottentots in the first place, and he converted many. They were taughtto sow and to reap, and the women to _sew_ in the other way, all by thisindefatigable Mr. Moffatt; and they taught him on their part how to dothe CLUCK, and Mr. Moffatt did it for me. It is indescribable andinimitable. It is not so loud as a hen's cluck to her chickens, but morequick and abrupt. 

He said that when he was ordered to return home, he felt it as asentence of banishment. "I had lived so long in Africa, I felt it myhome, and I had almost forgotten how to speak English. I almost dreadedto be among white faces again. "

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET. 

Mr. Napier brought me here by half after twelve. 

I had a delightful drive with him in his little pony phaeton fromCroydon to Forest Hill. Mr. And Mrs. Napier are more and moredelightful to me in conversation and manners the more I see of them. Abrother, Captain Napier, very conversable, and full of humour; he has acharming daughter, and has been in all parts of the world, and lovesIreland and the Irish. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _April 1841_. 

I must tell you now of my visit to Warfield Lodge. Henrietta and Wrenmet me at the station, and all the way, when they spoke, it seemed as ifI had parted from them but yesterday. When I saw Miss O'Beirne, therewas, opposite to me, that fine, full-coloured, full of life, speakingpicture of Mrs. O'Beirne. The place is as pretty as ever, and it wasimpossible for the most hospitable luxury to do more for me, and withthe most minute recollective attention to all my olden-times habits andways. I would not for anything that could be given or done for me, nothave paid this visit. 

One evening Miss O'Beirne invited some friends I was particularly gladto see--three daughters of my dear Sir John Malcolm, all very fine youngwomen, with fine souls, and vast energy and benevolence, worthy of him. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 27_. 

I send you some Spanish books which I bought, with one eye upon you andone upon Rosa. I sat up till past one o'clock a few nights ago, andcaught cold, looking through the whole of _Hudibras_, for what at lastcould not be found in it, though I still am confident it is there--

 Murder is lawful made by the excess. 

In the middle of my hunt my mind misgave me that it was in the _Fable ofthe Bees_, and I went through it line by line, and for my pains canswear it is not there. It is wonderful that, at seventy-four, I can beso ardent in the chase, certainly not for the worth of the game, nor yetfor the triumph of finding; for I care not whether I am the person tofind it or not, so it is found. Pray find it for me. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 10, 1842_. 

We have been much entertained and interested in Macaulay's "Life ofHastings, " in the _Edinburgh_; but some of it is too gaudily written, and mean gaudiness, unsuited to the subject--such as the dresses of thepeople at Westminster Hall; and I think Macaulay's indignation againstGleig for his adulation of Hastings, and his not feeling indignationagainst his crimes, is sometimes noble, and sometimes mean andvituperative. 

_To_ MRS. BEAUFORT. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 12_. 

Mr. Creed, my dear good Mr. Creed, has been most kind in taking into hisemployment one of the young Gerrards who behaved so gallantly inrecovering their father's arms from robbers. The poor people are seldomrewarded when they do right, yet surely, in the government of humancreatures, Hope and Reward are strong and elevating powers, while Fearand Punishment can at best only restrain from crime. Hope can producethe finest and most permanent springs of action. 

We have not been able to go on with our reading for some days. The moreI live I see more and more the misery of uncultivated minds, and thehappiness of the cultivated, when they can keep themselves free fromliterary and scientific jealousies and party spirit. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 1842_. 

I am surprised to find how much more history interests me now than whenI was young, and how much more I am now interested in the same eventsrecorded, and their causes and consequences shown, in this History ofthe French Revolution, and in all the History of Europe during the lastquarter of a century, than I was when the news came fresh and fresh inthe newspapers. I do not think I had sense enough to take in therelations and proportions of the events. It was like moving a magnifyingglass over the parts of a beetle, and not taking in the whole. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON, _then residing at_ HYÈRES. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 16, 1842_. 

It seems such an immense time since I have heard from you, so now I sitdown to earn a letter. 

And first I have to tell you that, on the 14th, between the hours ofeleven and twelve, a new cousin of yours was brought into this world, amonstrous large boy: Rosa doing well: house very full, [Footnote: Allthe family had assembled to meet Pakenham Edgeworth on his return, onleave, from India. ] but all as quiet as mice. We breakfast in the study, to keep all noise from Rosa in the plume room. 

It is time to tell you that Pakenham is here, and Fanny, and Honora, andHarriet, and Mary Anne, and Charlotte; and we are as happy as ever we canbe. Pakenham's tastes are all domestic, yet he has the most perfectknowledge of business, great penetration of eye, and cool, self-possessedmanners, like one used to judgment and command, yet not proud of doingeither. He has brought with him such proofs of his industry as are quiteastonishing; such collections of drawings, both botanical and sketches ofcountry. How he found time to do all this, and spend six hours per day atCucherry--all as one as sessions--and to write his journal of every dayfor eleven years, I really cannot comprehend; but so it is. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _June 17, 1842_. 

It is now five o'clock, and Mr. And Mrs. S. C. Hall have not come. It isLestock's last day, and he and Fanny and Lucy are so busy and so happyputting the transit instrument to rights, and setting black spotted andyellow backed spinning spiders at work to spin for the meridian lines. Ihave just succeeded in catching the right sort by descending to theinfernal regions, and setting kitchenmaid and housemaid at work. I wasglad Mr. And Mrs. Hall did not arrive just at the crisis of theoperation--all completed now. 

Ask Mr. Butler if there is any subscription necessary or expected fromme, now that I have been so honourably made an honorary member of theRoyal Irish Academy? I would not for the world omit anything that oughtto be done now that I am M. R. I. A. 

_July 8_. 

I am going literally to beg my bread and lodging at your door on my wayto Dublin, and I do so _sans phrase_. I remember that, when I used towrite to offer myself to Aunt Ruxton, I regularly added, "You know, mydear aunt, I can sleep in a drawer;" and she used to answer, "I know youcan, my dear, and you are welcome; but write a day beforehand, that Imay have the drawer ready. "

_To_ MRS. FRANCIS BEAUFORT. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 27, 1842_. 

Most kind and most judiciously kind Honora, you have written the verything I had been thinking as I lay awake last night, I would write toyou, but scrupled. I certainly will take your advice, and spend myChristmas at home with Pakenham, although I cannot, nor do I wish to, fill up his feeling of the blanks in this house. There is somethingmournful, yet pleasingly painful, in the sense of the ideal presence ofthe long-loved dead. Those images people and fill the mind withunselfish thoughts, and with the salutary feeling of responsibility andconstant desire to be and to act in this world as the superior friendwould have wished and approved. 

There is such difficulty this season for the poor tenants to make uptheir rents; cattle, oats, butter, potatoes, all things have so sunk inprice. In these circumstances it is not only humane, but absolutelynecessary, that landlords should give more time than usual. Some cannotpay till after certain fairs in the beginning of November--that I musthave stayed for, at all events. Indeed, they have shown so muchconsideration for me, and striven so to make up the money that theymight not _detain_ me, that I should be a brute and a tyrant if I didnot do all I could on my part to accommodate them. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 1842_. 

Mrs. Hall has sent to me her last number, in which she givesEdgeworthstown. All the world here are pleased with it, and so am I. Ilike the way in which she has mentioned my father particularly. There isan evident kindness of heart, and care to avoid everything that couldhurt any of our feelings, and at the same time a warmth of affectionatefeeling unaffectedly expressed, that we all like it, in spite of ourdislike to "that sort of thing. "

 * * * * *

Mrs. S. C. Hall's is perhaps the best picture extant of the family lifeat Edgeworthstown. She says:

 * * * * *

Our principal object, in Longford County, was to visit Edgeworthstown, and to spend some time in the society of Miss Edgeworth. We entered theneat, nice, and pretty town at evening; all around us bore--as we hadanticipated--the aspect of comfort, cheerfulness, good order, prosperity, and their concomitant, contentment. There was no mistakingthe fact that we were in the neighbourhood of a resident Irish family, with minds to devise, and hands to effect improvement everywhere withinreach of their control. 

Edgeworthstown may almost be regarded as public property. From thismansion has emanated so much practical good to Ireland, and not alone toIreland, but the civilised world. . . . The demesne is judiciously andabundantly planted, and the dwelling-house of Edgeworthstown is largeand commodious. We drove up the avenue at evening. It was cheerful tosee the lights sparkle through the windows, and to feel the cold nose ofthe house-dog thrust into our hands as an earnest of welcome; it waspleasant to receive the warm greeting of Mrs. Edgeworth, and it was ahigh privilege to meet Miss Edgeworth in the library, the very room inwhich had been written the works that redeemed a character for Ireland, and have so largely promoted the truest welfare of human-kind. We hadnot seen her for some years--except for a few brief moments--andrejoiced to find her in nothing changed; her voice as light and happy, her laughter as full of gentle mirth, her eyes as bright and truthful, and her countenance as expressive of goodness and loving-kindness, asthey have ever been. 

Edgeworthstown was, and is, a large country mansion, to which additionshave been from time to time made, but made judiciously. An avenue ofvenerable trees leads to it from the public road. It is distant aboutseven miles from the town of Longford. The only room I need speciallyrefer to is the library; it belonged more peculiarly to Maria, althoughthe general sitting-room of the family. It was the room in which she didnearly all her work; not only that which was to gratify and instruct theworld, but that which, in a measure, regulated the household--thedomestic duties that were subjects of her continual thought: for thedesk at which she usually sat was never without memoranda of mattersfrom which she might have pleaded a right to be held exempt. It is by nomeans a stately, solitary room, but large, spacious, and lofty, wellstored with books, and furnished with suggestive engravings. Seenthrough the window is the lawn, embellished by groups of trees. If youlook at the oblong table in the centre, you will see the rallying-pointof the family, who are usually around it, reading, writing, or working;while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious that the inmates of the house shalleach do exactly as he or she pleases, sits in her own peculiar corner onthe sofa; a pen, given her by Sir Walter Scott while a guest atEdgeworthstown (in 1825), is placed before her on a little, quaint, unassuming table, constructed, and added to, for convenience. She had asingular power of abstraction, apparently hearing all that was said, andoccasionally taking part in the conversation, while pursuing her ownoccupation, and seemingly attending only to it. In that corner, and onthat table, she had written nearly all her works. Now and then she wouldrise and leave the room, perhaps to procure a toy for one of thechildren, to mount the ladder and bring down a book that could explainor illustrate some topic on which some one was conversing; immediatelyshe would resume her pen, and continue to write as if the thought hadbeen unbroken for an instant. I expressed to Mrs. Edgeworth surprise atthis faculty, so opposed to my own habit. "Maria, " she said, "was alwaysthe same; her mind was so rightly balanced, everything so honestlyweighed, that she suffered no inconvenience from what would disturb anddistract an ordinary writer. "

She was an early riser, and had much work done before breakfast. Everymorning during our stay at Edgeworthstown she had gathered a bouquet ofroses, which she placed beside my plate on the table, while she wasalways careful to refresh the vase that stood in our chamber; and sheinvariably examined my feet after a walk, to see that damp had notinduced danger; popping in and out of our room with some kind inquiry, some thoughtful suggestion, or to show some object that she knew wouldgive pleasure. Maria Edgeworth never seemed weary of thought that couldmake those about her happy. 

A wet day was a "god-send" to us. She would enter our sitting-room andconverse freely of persons whose names are histories; and once shebrought us a large box full of letters--her correspondence with manygreat men and women, extending over more than fifty years, authors, artists, men of science, social reformers, statesmen, of all thecountries of Europe, and especially of America, a country of which shespoke and wrote in terms of the highest respect and affection. 

Although we had known Miss Edgeworth in London, it will be readilyunderstood how much more to advantage she was seen in her own house; shewas the very gentlest of lions, the most unexacting, apparently theleast conscious of her right to prominence. In London she did notreject, yet she seemed averse to the homage accorded her. At home shewas emphatically at home!

In person she was very small--she was "lost in a crowd!" Her face waspale and thin, her features irregular; they may have been consideredplain, even in youth, but her expression was so benevolent, her mannerswere so perfectly well-bred, partaking of English dignity and Irishfrankness, that one never thought of her with reference either to beautyor plainness. She ever occupied, without claiming attention, charmingcontinually by her singularly pleasant voice, while the earnestness andtruth that beamed from her bright blue--very blue--eyes increased thevalue of every word she uttered. She knew how to _listen_ as well as to_talk_, and gathered information in a manner highly complimentary tothose from whom she sought it; her attention seemed far more the effectof respect than of curiosity. Her sentences were frequentlyepigrammatic; she more than once suggested to me the story of the goodfairy from whose lips dropped diamonds and pearls whenever they wereopened. She was ever neat and particular in her dress, her feet andhands were so delicate and small as to be almost childlike. In a word, Maria Edgeworth was one of those women who do not seem to requirebeauty. 

Miss Edgeworth has been called "cold"; but those who have so deemed herhave never seen, as I have, the tears gather in her eyes at a tale ofsuffering or sorrow, nor heard the genuine, hearty laugh that followedthe relation of a pleasant story. Never, so long as I live, can I forgetthe evenings spent in her library in the midst of a family highlyeducated and self-thinking, in conversation unrestrained, yet pregnantwith instructive thought. 

 * * * * *

In January 1843 Miss Edgeworth was dangerously ill with a fever. Afterwards she wrote to a friend:

 * * * * *

And, now that it is over, I thank God not only for my recovery, but formy illness. In very truth, and without the least exaggeration oraffectation or sentiment, I declare that, on the whole, my illness was asource of more pleasure than pain to me, and that I would willingly gothrough all the fever and weakness to have the delight of the feelingsof warm affection, and the consequent unspeakable sensations ofgratitude. When I felt that it was more than probable that I should notrecover, with a pulse above a hundred and twenty, and at the entrance ofmy seventy-sixth year, I was not alarmed. I felt ready to rise tranquilfrom the banquet of life, where I had been a happy guest; I confidentlyrelied on the goodness of my Creator. 

MARIA _to_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON _at_ HYÈRES. 

TRIM, _March 20, 1843_. 

Thank you, thank you, my dear Margaret, for all your anxiety about me. [Footnote: In her severe illness during January. ] I am strengthening. Wehave no news or events; we live very happily here. On Friday last, beingSt. Patrick's Day, there were great doings here, and not drunken doings, not drowning the shamrock in whisky, but honouring the shamrock withtemperance rejoicings and music, that maketh the heart glad withoutmaking the head giddy or raising the hand against law orfellow-creatures. Leave was asked by the Temperance Band and company tocome into Mr. Butler's lawn to play a tune or two, as they were pleasedto express it, for Miss Edgeworth. The gates were thrown open, and incame the band, a brass band, with glittering horns, etc. , preceded byPriest Halligan, whom you may recollect, in a blue and white scarffloating graceful, and a standard flag in his hand. A numerous crowd ofmen, women, and children came flocking after, kept in order by someTemperance Society staff officers with blue ensigns. 

I, an invalid, was not permitted to go out to welcome them, but I stoodat my own window, which I threw open, and thanked them as loud as Icould, and curtseyed as low as my littleness and my weakness wouldallow, and was bowed to as low as saddle-bow by priests on horseback andmusicians and audience on foot: Harriet on the steps welcoming andsympathising with these poor people; and delightful it was to see Mr. Butler bareheaded shaking hands with the priest, who almost threwhimself from his horse to give him his hand. 

Mr. Tuite, that dear good old gentleman, died a few days ago at Sonna, in his ninety-seventh year; his good son, in his note to my motherannouncing the event, says, "It is a comfort to think that to the verylast he had all the comfort, spiritual and earthly, that he could needor desire. "

Miss Bremer, of Stockholm, has published a novel, translated by MaryHowitt, which is one of the most interesting, new, and truly originalbooks I have seen this quarter-century. Its title does not do itjustice. _Our Neighbours_: which might lead you to expect a gossipingbook, or at best something like _Annals of my Parish--tout aucontraire_; it is sketches of family life, a romantic family, admirablydrawn--some characters perhaps a little overstrained, but in theconvulsions of the overstraining giving evidence of great strength--beg, buy, or borrow it, if you can, and if not, envy us who have it. 

Envy us, also, _La Vie du Grand Condé_, written in French, by LordMahon, not published, only a hundred copies struck off, and he hashonoured me with a present of a copy. Of the style and correctness ofthe French I am not so presumptuous as to pretend to be a competentjudge, but I can say that in reading it I quite forgot it was by anEnglishman, and never stopped to consider this or that expression, and Iwish, dear Margaret, that you had the satisfaction of reading this mostinteresting, entertaining book. 

Dickens's _America_ is a failure; never trouble yourself to read it;nevertheless, though the book is good for little, it gives me theconviction that the man is good for much more than I gave him creditfor; a real desire for the improvement of the lower classes, and thisreality of _feeling_ is, I take it, the secret, joined to his greatpower of humour, of his ascendant popularity. 

_To_ MISS BANNATYNE. 

TRIM, _April 1843_. 

I am eager, with my own hand, to assure you that I am quite recovered. Ihave been so nursed and tended by all my friends that I really can thinkof nothing but myself; nevertheless, I am sometimes able to think ofother things and persons. During my convalescence Harriet has read to memany entertaining and interesting books: none to me so interesting, socharming, as the Life and Letters of your countryman, that honour toyour country and to all Britain, and to human nature--Francis Horner: amore noble, disinterested character could not be; in the midst oftemptations with such firm integrity, in the midst of party spirit asmuch superior to its influence as mortal man could be! and if sympathywith his friends, and the sense that public men must pull together toeffect any purpose may, as Lord Webb Seymour asserts, have swayedHorner, or biased him a little from his original theoretic course, stillit never was from any selfish or in the slightest degree corrupt orunworthy motive. I much admire Lord Webb Seymour's letter to Horner, andnot less Horner's candid, honest, and temperate answer. What friends hemade for himself of the best and most able of the land, not only admiredbut trusted and consulted by them all, and not only trusted andconsulted, but beloved. This book really makes one think better of humannature. Of all his friends I think more highly than I ever thought orknew before I read his letters to them and theirs to him. There neverwas such a unanimous tribute to integrity in a statesman as was paid toHorner by the British Senate at his death: I remember it at the time, and I am glad to see it recorded in this book. It will waken or keepalive the spirit of public and private virtue in many a youthful mind. Isee with pleasure your father's name in the book, and the names andcharacters of many of our dear Scotch friends. My head and heart are sofull of it that I really know not how to stop in speaking of it. 

I am just going to write to Lady Lansdowne how much I was delighted byseeing her and Lord Henry Petty, but especially herself, mentionedexactly in the manner in which I thought of her and of him, when wefirst became acquainted with them, which was just at the very time ofwhich Mr. Horner speaks. Lady Lansdowne gave me a drawing of LittleBounds, which is now hanging up in our library unfaded. It is agratification to me to feel that I appreciated both her talents and hercharacter as Horner did, before all the world found out that she was aSUPERIOR person. 

My brother Pakenham was delighted with his tour in Scotland, and withhis renewal of personal intercourse with his dear Scotch friends: allsteady as Scotch friends ever are and kind and warm--the warmth onceraised in them never cooling--anthracite coal--layer after layer, hot tothe very inside kernel. Pakenham is now in London with my sisters Fannyand Honora--Fanny has wonderfully recovered her health. She has severalScotch friends in London, of whom she is very fond, from Joanna Baillieto her young friends, Mrs. Andrews and her sisters. Mr. Andrews is avery agreeable, sensible, conversable man; I saw something of him when Iwas last in London, and hope to see more when I return there. If Icontinue as well as I am now I intend, please God, to make my promisedvisit to London some time this autumn, when the hurly-burly of thefashionable season is over. 

 * * * * *

While at Trim, Maria received the announcement of her youngest sisterLucy's engagement to Dr. Robinson, which gave her exquisite pleasure:"never, " as she wrote at the time, "never was a marriage hailed withmore family acclaim of universal joy. " The marriage took place on June8. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 1, 1843_. 

I have just wakened and risen from the sofa rejoicing, like a dwarf, "torun my course. " I was put to sleep, not by magnetism, but by theagreeable buzz of dear Pakenham's voice reading out a man'speregrinations from Egypt to Australia--"the way was long, the road wasdark, " and the reader declares I was asleep before we got to Egypt. 

Mr. Maltby _is_ wondrous tall, and Pakenham has had the diversionlong-looked-for of seeing "Maltby hand Maria in to dinner. " Mr. Maltbyis a very gentlemanlike man, every inch of him, many as they are, andvery conversable--really conversable, he both hears and talks, andfollows and leads. 

_To_ MRS. BEAUFORT. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 14, 1843. _ "_Choisissez, mon enfant, mais prenezdu veau. " Choose, my dear Honora, whichever pattern you please, but takethis which I enclose. We have had a very pleasant visit to Newcastle, where we met Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton Gray, and I liked both very much. Ithought her perfectly unpretending and unaffected; slight figure, adelicate woman, pretty dark hair and dark eyes, and pleasing expressionof countenance. I never should have suspected her of being so learned orso laborious and persevering as she is. 

 * * * * *

In November 1843 Miss Edgeworth went to London, and spent the winterwith her sister Harriet, Mrs. Wilson. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Dec. 3, 1843_. 

We dined at Dr. Lushington's last Thursday--the dinner was very merryand good-humoured. Mr. Richardson was there, and delighted I was to seehim, and he talked so affectionately of Sir Walter and auld lang synetimes; and Mr. Bentham, the botanist, too, was there, Pakenham's friend, a very agreeable man. After dinner too was to me very entertaining, forI found that a lady, introduced to me as Mrs. Hawse, was daughter toBrunel, and she told me all the truth of her brother and the half-guineain his throat, and the incision in his windpipe, and his coughing it upat last, and Brodie seeing and snatching it from between his teeth, anddriving over all London to show it. 

And now we are going to tea at Dr. Holland's. 

_Monday morning. _

That we had a very pleasant evening I need scarcely say, but to BoswellSydney Smith would out-Boswell Boswell. He talked of course of Irelandand the Priests, and I gave good, and I trust true testimony to theirbeing, before they took to politics--excellent parish priests, and hetalked of Bishop Higgins and Repeal agitations, and I told him of "Don'tbe anticipating, " and laughing at brogue (how easy!) led him to tell meof a conversation of his with Bishop Doyle in former days--beginningwith "My lord, " propitiously and propitiatingly, "My lord, don't youthink it would be a good plan to have your clergy paid by the State?"

Bishop Doyle assured him it would never be accepted. "But, suppose everyone of your clergy found, £150 lodged in the bank for them, and at 5 percent for arrears?"

"Ah! Mr. Smith, you have a way of putting things!"

 * * * * *

Sydney Smith, on his side, was enchanted with Maria Edgeworth--"MissEdgeworth was delightful, so clever and sensible. She does not say wittythings, but there is such a perfume of wit runs through all herconversation as makes it very brilliant. "

 * * * * *

MISS EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

_Christmas Day. _

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

With the addition which Lestock has just been telling to Waller--

With your pockets full of money and your cellars full of beer. 

Yesterday, Sunday, your kind friends, the Andrews', took Waller with usto the Temple church--it has been, you know, all new painted and dressedsince I saw it last, and the knights in dark bronze-coloured marblerepaired. The tiled floor is too new, not like Mr. Butler's mostrespectable reverend old tiles. Mr. Andrews took us all over the churchafter service, and in particular pointed out one old window of paintedglass, in which the bright red colour is so bright in such fullfreshness as is inimitable in modern art. 

We went from church to luncheon at Mrs. Andrews', and such a luncheon; Irefrain from a whole page which might be spent on it. Then Mrs. Andrewstook Waller and me a drive three times round the park, a most pleasantdrive in such a bright sunshiny day. So many happy little children underthe trees and on the pathways. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 1844_. 

Thank you, and pray do you thank for me all the dear kind brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces, all round you, their centre and spring ofgood, for all the pleasure they, on my seventy-seventh birthday, fromBarry's to dear little Mary's, all gave me--pleasure such as cannot bebought for money. Who would not like to live to be old if they could beso happy in friends as I am? I cannot help enclosing to you Lucy's andDr. Robinson's greeting, as you will feel with me the pleasure both gaveme. 

Dumb Francis was here on that happy first of January and assured me onhis slate that he was very happy and grateful. I never see him withoutmy Francis's sonnet repeating itself, "The soul of honour, " etc. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 5, 1844_. 

I have been reading and am reading Bentham's _Memoirs_; he could writeplain English before he invented his strange lingo, and the account ofhis childhood and youth is exceedingly entertaining. Fanny reads to usat night, much to Waller's interest and entertainment, Lieutenant Eyre'saccount of that horrid Cabul expedition--what a disgrace to the Britisharms and name in India. Mr. Pakenham and his nice wife came in while Iwas writing this, and when I asked him if the prestige of Britishsuperiority would be destroyed in India, he said, "No: we have redeemedourselves so nobly. "

Waller is occupied every spare moment perfecting a Leyden phial, coatedand chained properly, and giving quite large and grand sparks and prettysharp shocks. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _Jan. 1844_. 

The day before yesterday Fanny and I walked to see Mrs. Napier, all inblack for Lady Clare--the suddenness of whose death, scarcely a moment'sinterval between the bright flash of life and the dark silence of death, was most striking and awful. 

Yesterday we went to see dear Lady Elizabeth Whitbread, all as it usedto be, beautiful camellias, but she herself so sad--Miss Grant is dying. Nothing can surpass her true tenderness to this faithful, gentle, sincere old friend. All these illnesses and deaths are the more strikingI think in a bustling capital city, than they would be in the countrysurrounded by one's family. There is something shocking in seeing thebustling, struggling crowd who care nothing for one another dead oralive: and they may say, so much the better, we are spared unavailingthought and anguish, and yet I would rather have the thought and eventhe anguish--for without pain there is no pleasure for the heart noprayer for Indifference for me! Every _memento mori_ comes with someforce to me at seventy-seven, and I do pray most earnestly and devoutlyto God, as my father did before me, that my body may not survive mymind, and that I may leave a tender not unpleasing recollection in theirhearts. 

Though I have written this, my dear mother, and feel it truly, I am notthe least melancholy, or apprehensive or afraid of dying, and as to therest I am truly resigned, and trust to the goodness of my Creator livingor dying. 

_Jan. 13_. 

Thursday evening at Rogers's--the party was made for us and as small aspossible, Lady Charlotte Lindsay, Lady Davy, Mr. And Mrs. Empson, andMr. Compton and Lord Northampton. Mr. Empson is very little altered intwelve years: the same affectionate heart and the same excellent head. Lord Northampton is very conversable; and Mr. Compton brought me sugaredwords from troops of children. 

HALF-PAST SIX P. M. 

Just returned from Mrs. Drummond's--beautiful house and two prettychildren--and we went to see Anna Carr's beautiful drawings of Ceylon, and no time for more. 

_Feb. 1_. 

Miss Fox's illness detained Lord and Lady Lansdowne at Bowood--she israther better. We went to Lansdowne House yesterday, and saw LadyShelburne for the first time, handsome, and very amiable in countenance. Lady Louisa was most charming in her attention to me, and she has a mostsensible, deep-thinking face. 

_Feb. 2_. 

Snowing and fogging, as white and as dark and disagreeable as ever itcan be. Thank heaven, to-day was not yesterday, which was dry, brightsunshine, on purpose to grace the Queen, and to pleasure us three inparticular. Fanny ended yesterday by telling you how fortunate, orrather how kind, people had been in working out three tickets for me, atthe last hour, at the last moment; for Lord Lovelace came himselfbetween eleven and twelve at night with a ticket, which he gave me, atLady Byron's request. You may guess how happy I was to have the thirdticket for Honora, and we were all full dressed, punctual to the minute, in Fanny's carriage, and with my new-dressed opossum cloak covering ourknees, as warm as young toasts. 

I spare you all that you will see in the newspapers. The first view ofthe House did not strike me as so grand as the old House, but my mouthwas stopped by "_Pro tempore_ only, you know. " We went up anignominiously small staircase, and the man at the bottom, piteouslyperspiring, cried out, "On, on, ladies! don't stop the way! room enoughabove!" But there was one objection to going on, that there were noseats above: however, we made ourselves small--no great difficulty--and, taking to the wall, we left a scarcely practicable pass for those who, less wary and more obedient than ourselves, went up one by one to thehighmost void. Fanny feared for me that I should never be able to_stand_ it, when somehow or another my name was pronounced and heard byone of the Miss Southebys, who stretched her cordial hand. "Glad--proud--glad--we'll squeeze--we'll make room for you between meand my friend Miss Fitzhugh;" and so I was bodkin, but never touched thebench till long after. I cast a lingering look at my deserted sisterstwain. "No, no, we can't do that!" so, that hope killed off, I took tomake the best of my own selfish position, and surveyed all beneath me, from the black heads of the reporter gentlemen, with their pencils andpapers before them in the form and desk immediately below me, to thedepths of the hall, in all its long extent; and sprawling and stretchingin the midst--with the feathered and lappeted and jewelled peeresses ontheir right, and their foreign excellencies on the left--were thelong-robed, ermined judges, laying their wigs together and shakinghands, their wigs' many-curled tails shaking on their backs. And thewigs jointly and severally looked like so many vast white and graybirds'-nests from Brobdingnag, with a black hole at the top of each, forthe birds to creep out or in. More and more scarlet-ermined dignitariesand nobles swarmed into the hall, and then, in at the scarlet door, came, with white ribbon shoulder-knots and streamers flying in alldirections, a broad scarlet five-row-ermined figure, with high, baldforehead, facetious face, and jovial, hail-fellow-well-met countenance, princely withal, H. R. H. The Duke of Cambridge, and the sidelong peeressbenches stretched their fair hands, and he his ungloved royal handhastily here and there and everywhere, and chattering so loud and long, that even the remote gallery could hear the "Ha, ha, haw!" whichfollowed ever and anon; and we blessed ourselves, and thought we shouldnever hear the Queen; but I was told he would be silent when the Queencame, and so it proved. 

The guns were heard: once, twice, and at the second all were silent:even His Royal Highness of Cambridge ceased to rustle and flutter, andstood nobly still. 

Enter the crown and cushion and sword of state and mace--the Queen, leaning on Prince Albert's arm. She did not go up the steps to thethrone well--caught her foot and stumbled against the edge of thefootstool, which was too high. She did not seat herself in a decided, queenlike manner, and after sitting down pottered too much with herdrapery, arranging her petticoats. That footstool was much too high! herknees were crumpled up, and her figure, short enough already, wasforeshortened as she sat, and her drapery did not come to the edge ofthe stool: as my neighbour Miss Fitzhugh whispered, "Bad effect. "However and nevertheless, the better half of her looked perfectlyladylike and queenlike; her head finely shaped, and well held on hershoulders with her likeness of a kingly crown, that diadem of diamonds. Beautifully fair the neck and arms; and the arms moved gracefully, andnever too much. I could not at that distance judge of her countenance, but I heard people on the bench near me saying that she looked "divinelygracious. "

Dead silence: more of majesty implied in that silence than in all themagnificence around. She spoke, low and well: "My lords and gentlemen, be seated. " Then she received from the lord-in-waiting her speech, andread: her voice, perfectly distinct and clear, was heard by us ultimateauditors; it was not quite so fine a voice as I had been taught toexpect; it had not the full rich tones nor the varied powers andinflections of a perfect voice. She read with good sense, as if sheperfectly understood, but did not fully or warmly feel, what she wasreading. It was more a girl's well-read lesson than a Queen pronouncingher speech. She did not lay emphasis sufficient to mark the gradationsof importance in the subjects, and she did not make pauses enough. Thebest-pronounced paragraphs were those about France and Ireland, her firmdetermination to preserve inviolate the legislative union; and "I amresolved to act in strict conformity with this declaration" shepronounced strongly and well. She showed less confidence in readingabout the suspension of the elective franchise, and in the conclusion, emphasis and soul were wanting, when they were called for, when shesaid, "In full confidence of your loyalty and wisdom, and with anearnest prayer to Almighty GOD, " etc. 

Her Majesty's exit I was much pleased to look at, it was so graceful andso gracious. She took time enough for all her motions, noticing allproperly, from "my dear uncle"--words I distinctly heard as she passedthe Duke of Cambridge--to the last expectant fair one at the doorway. The Queen vanished: buzz, noise, the clatter rose, and all were incommotion, and the tide of scarlet and ermine flowed and ebbed; andafter an immense time the throngs of people bonneted and shawled, cameforth from all the side niches and windows, and down from the uppergalleries, and then places unknown gave up their occupants, and all theoutward halls were filled with the living mass: as we looked down uponthem from the back antechamber, one sea of heads. We sat down on a sideseat with Mrs. Hamilton Grey and her sister, and we made ourselves happycriticising or eulogising all that passed down the centre aisle: not theleast chance of getting to our carriage, for an hour to come. One of theblue and silver officials of the House, at a turn in one of thepassages, had loudly pronounced, pointing, rod in hand, to an outervestibule and steps, "All who are not waiting for carriages, this way, be pleased;" and vast numbers, ill pleased, were forced to make theirexit. We went farther and fared worse. While we were waiting inpurgatory, several angelic wigs passed that way who noticed me, mostsolemnly, albeit cordially: my Lord Chief Justice Tindal, BaronAlderson, Mr. Justice Erskine, the Bishop of London--very warm indeed;had never cooled since I had met him the night before at Sir RobertInglis's. 

Harriet de Salis, very well dressed and very unaffected andwarm-hearted, actually left her chaperon, and sat down on the steps, andtalked and laughed the heart's laugh. Honora and Fanny had gone on avoyage of discovery through the sea of heads, and had found that mostexcellent and sensible John stuck close to the door; but as to gettingthe carriage up, impracticable. We had only to wait and be readyinstantly, as it would have to drive off as soon as called. Workmen, bawling to one another, were hauling and hoisting out all the peeresses'benches, stripped of their scarlet; and the short and the very long ofit is that we did at last hear "Mrs. Wilson's carriage, " and in we ran, and took Mrs. Hamilton Grey in too: Fanny sat on Honora's lap, and allwas right and happy; and even little I not at all tired. 

When I had got thus far, Sir Thomas Acland came in; I had met him at SirRobert Inglis's. He was full of Edgeworthstown and your kindness to him, my dear mother. He repeated to me all the good advice he received fromyou forty years ago, and says that you made him see Ireland, and havecommon-sense. You put him in the way, and he has made his way. He isvery good, very enthusiastic, and wonderfully fond of me and of _CastleRackrent_. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

WARFIELD LODGE, _April 3, 1844_. 

I am so glad I came here, and I am so glad I have my own dear Fanny withme; and she was rewarded for coming by Miss O'Beirne's most cordialreception of her; so kindly well-bred. Dear Miss Wren! for dear she hasalways been to me for her own merits, which are great, and from herperfect love for Mrs. O'Beirne, in which I sympathise. 

I am as well as I am happy, and not the least tired, thank you, my dearma'am, after having seen and heard and done enough yesterday morning tohave tired a young body of seventeen, instead of one in herseventy-eighth year. 

We went a charming drive through this smiling, well-wooded, well-cottaged country, to the Malcolms: met Colonel Malcolm and hiseldest sister Olympia on horseback at the door, just returned from theirride, and straight Fanny fell in love with Olympia's horse--"such abeautiful animal!" But I care much more for the Colonel! charmingindeed, unaffected, polite, and kind. Never had I so kind a reception!and if I were to give you a _catalogue raisonnée_ of all we saw in theirrich and rare, as well as happy home, it would reach from this to Trim. 

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH. 

COLLINGWOOD, _April 8, 1844_. 

Fine sunshiny day, and from my window I see a beautiful lawn, and twochildren rolling on the grass, and I hear their happy voices and theirfather's with them. I should have told you that on Friday Lestock tookme and Emmeline, and Emmeline Gibbons and her little girl, to theZoological Gardens, and we all were mightily delighted; but of thebeasts and birds when I return. 

Here are Lord and Lady Adair--she is grateful to Sophy Palmer for herkindness when she was ill at Oxford--and Sir Edward Ryan, and one whom Iwas right glad to meet, "Jones on Rent;" and I have attacked, plagued, and gratified him by urging him to write a new volume. Jones andHerschel are very fond of one another, often differing, but alwaysagreeing to differ, like Malthus and Ricardo, who hunted together insearch of Truth, and huzzaed when they found her, without caring whofound her first: indeed, I have seen them both put their able hands tothe windlass to drag her up from the bottom of that well in which she sostrangely delights to dwell. 

I must go back to the 23rd, which was a full and well-filled day. In themorning Rogers kindly determined to catch us: came before luncheon-time, and was very agreeable and very good-natured about a drawing I showed tohim by a niece of Mrs. Holland's, a young girl of fifteen, who hasreally an inventive genius. I suggested to her, among the poems it isnow the fashion to illustrate, Parnell's fairy tale: she has sketchedthe first scene--the old castle, lighted up: fairies dancing in thehall: Edwin crouching in the corner. Rogers praised it so warmly, that Iregretted the girl could not hear him; it would so encourage her. He gotup, dear, good-natured old man, from his chair as I spoke, and wentimmediately to Lower Brook Street with the drawing to the young lady. 

Luncheon over, we drove to the city, to see an old gentleman ofninety-three, Mr. Vaughan, whom I am sure you remember so kindly showingthe London Docks to us in 1813, with his understanding and all hisfaculties as clear and as fresh now as they were then; and afterreturning from Mr. Vaughan's, we went to the bazaar, where I wanted tobuy a churn, and other toys that shall be nameless, for the children;and after all this I lay down and slept for three-quarters of an hour, before time to dress for dinner. This dinner was at Lambeth: arrivedexactly in time: found Mrs. Howley ready in her beautiful drawing-room, and I had the pleasure of five minutes' conversation alone with her. Oddly, it came out that she had a fine picture in the room, given to herby Mr. Legge, who inherited Aston Hall, which Mr. Legge I used to hearof continually ages ago as a sort of bugbear, being the heir-at-law toSir Thomas Holte and Lady Holte's property. "Very natural they couldnever bear the name of Legge, " said Mrs. Howley, "but he was my relativeand excellent friend;" and she pointed to an inscription in gratefulhonour of him under the picture. How oddly connections come out, andbetween people one should never have thought had heard of each other, and at such distant times. 

This dinner and evening at Lambeth proved very agreeable to me. At thedinner were Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton Grey, Dean Milman, the Bishop ofLichfield, Sir Thomas Sinclair, and some others whose names I do notremember--fourteen altogether. I was on the Archbishop's right hand, Mrs. Hamilton Grey on his left. Dear, simple, dignified, yet playfulArchbishop, who talked well of all things, from nursery rhymes to deepmetaphysics and physics. Apropos to dreams and acting in character inthe strangest circumstances, I mentioned Dr. Holland's _Medical Notes_, and the admirable chapter on Reverie and Dreaming. He had not seen thebook, but seemed interested, and said he would read it directly--a greatpleasure to me (goose!). I must not go further into the conversationwith Milman, and the Archbishop's remarks upon Coleridge; it was allvery agreeable, and--early hours being the order of the day and nightthere--I came away at ten; and as I drew up the glass, and was about todraw up Steele's opossum cloak, I felt a slight resistance--Fanny! dear, kind Fanny, so unexpected, come in the carriage for me; and a mostdelightful drive we had home. 

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _April 15_. 

"Slip on, for Time's Time!" said a man, coming forth with a pipe in hismouth from an inn door, exhorting men and horses of railroad omnibus. "Slip on, Time's Time!" I have been saying to myself continually; andnow I am coming to the last gasp, and Time slips so fast, that Time isnot Time--in fact, there's no Time. 

Rosa's note to Fanny about glass shall be attended to, and I shall pasteon the outside, "GLASS--NOT TO BE THROWN DOWN;" for Lord Adair had a bagthrown down the other day by reckless railway porters, in which was abottle of sulphuric acid, which, breaking and spilling, stained, spoiled, and burned his Lordship's best pantaloons. I have packed up mybottles with such elastic skill, that I trust my petticoats will notshare that sad fate. 

 * * * * *

Miss Edgeworth now left London for the last time. This was her lastvisit to her happy London home in North Audley Street, and in this lastvisit she had enjoyed much with all the freshness of youth, though thehealth of her sister and hostess often caused her anxiety. Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, who had been a frequent visitor, writes: [Footnote: _PleasantMemories of Pleasant Lands_, by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney (1791-1865). ]

 * * * * *

To have repeatedly met and listened to Miss Edgeworth, seated familiarlywith her by the fireside, may seem to her admirers in America asufficient payment for the hazards of crossing the Atlantic. Herconversation, like her writings, is varied, vivacious, and delightful. Her forgetfulness of self and happiness in making others happy aremarked traits in her character. Her person is small and delicatelyproportioned, and her movements full of animation. The ill-health of thelovely sister, much younger than herself, at whose house in London shewas passing the winter, called forth such deep anxiety, untiringattention, and fervent gratitude for every favourable symptom, as seemedto blend features of maternal tenderness with sisterly affection. 

MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 2, 1844_. 

Not the least tired with my journey. Francis read to me indefatigablythrough _Australia_. [Footnote: Hood's _Letters from Australia_. ] Thereis an excellent anecdote of an old Scotch servant meeting his masterunexpectedly in Australia after many years' absence: "I was quite dungdown donnerit when I saw the laird, I canna' conceit what dooned me--Iwas raal glad to see him, but I dinna ken hoo I couldna' speak it. "

If anybody can conceive anything much more absurd than my copying thisout of a printed book of your own which you will have back in sevendays, --let them call aloud. 

"I canna' speak it" how happy I was yesterday, at the tender, warmreception I had from your dear mother, and all young and old. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 21, 1844_. 

I am right glad to look forward to the hope of seeing you again andtalking all manner of nonsense and sense, and laughing myself and makingyou laugh, as I used to do, though I am six years beyond the allottedage and have had so many attacks of illness within the last two years;but I am, as Bess Fitzherbert and poor dear Sophy used to say, like oneof those pith puppets that you knock down in vain, they always start upthe same as ever. I was particularly fortunate in my last attack oferysipelas in all the circumstances, just having reached Harriet andLouisa's comfortable home, and happy in having Harriet Butler coming tome the very day she heard I was in this condition. Crampton had set outfor Italy the day before, but Sir Henry Marsh managed me with skill, andlet me recover slowly, as nature requires at advanced age. I am obligedto repeat to myself, "advanced age, " because really and truly neither myspirits nor my powers of locomotion and facility of running up and downstairs would put me in mind of it. I do not find either my love for myfriends or my love of literature in the least failing. I enjoyed evenwhen flattest in my bed hearing Harriet Butler reading to me till eleveno'clock at night. Sir Henry Marsh prescribed some book that wouldentertain and interest me without straining my attention orover-exciting me, and Harriet chose Madame de Sevigné's _Letters_, whichperfectly answered all the conditions, and was as delightful at thetwentieth reading as at the first. Such lively pictures of the times andmodes of living in country, town, and court, so interesting from theirtruth, simplicity, and elegance; the language so polished, and not theleast antiquated even at this day. Madame de Sevigné's reply to Madamede Grignan, having called Les Rochers _"humide"--"Humide! humidevous-même!"_ I should not have thought it French; I did not know theyhad that turn of colloquial drollery. But she has every good turn andpower of expression, and is such an amiable, affectionate, goodcreature, loving the world too and the court, and all its sense andnonsense mixed delightfully. Harriet often stopped to say, "How like mymother! how like Aunt Ruxton!" At Trim, during the two delightfullyhappy months I was there, during my convalescence and perfect recovery, she read to me many other books, and often I wished that you had been asyou used to be with us, and Mr. Butler, who is very fond of you andappreciates you, joined in the wish. One book was the _Journal of theNemesis_, --of breathless interest, from the great danger they were infrom the splitting of the iron vessel, and all the exertions andingenuity of the officers; and Prescott's _Mexico_ I found extremelyinteresting. After these true, or warranted true histories, we read anovel not half so romantic or entertaining, the _Widow Barnaby inAmerica_, and then we tried a Swedish story, --not by Miss Bremer, --ofsmugglers and murderers, and a self-devoted lady, and an idiot boy, thebest drawn and most consistent character in the book. After--no, Ibelieve it was before--the _Rose of Tisleton_, we read _EllenMiddleton_, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, grand-daughter of the famousDuchess-Beauty of Devonshire, and whatever faults that Duchess had shecertainly had genius. Do you recollect her lines on _William Tell_? ordo you know Coleridge's lines to her, beginning with

 O lady nursed in pomp and pleasure, Where learned you that heroic measure?

Look for them, and get _Ellen Middleton_, it is well worth your reading. Lady Georgiana certainly inherits her grandmother's genius, and there isa high-toned morality and religious principle through the book (wheregot she "that heroic measure"?) without any cant or ostentation: it isthe same moral I intended in _Helen_, but exemplified in much deeper andstronger colours. This is--but you must read it yourself. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

OBSERVATORY, ARMAGH, _Sept. 15, 1844_. 

As well and as happy as the day is short--too short here for all that isto be seen, felt, heard, and understood. It is more delightful to methan I can express, but you can understand how delightful it is to seeLucy so happy and to see her mother see it all. I sleep in the same roomwith her, and fine talking we have, and we care not who hears us, we sayno harm of anybody, we have none to say. 

Lucy has certainly made good use of her time and so improved the house Ishould hardly have known it. In the dining-room is a fine picture of Dr. Robinson when a boy, full of genius and romance, seated on a rock. It isadmirable and delicious to see how well and how completely Lucy hasturned her mind to all that can make her house and _houseband_, and allbelonging to him, happy and comfortable--omitting none of those smallercreature comforts which, if not essential, are very desirable for allhuman creatures learned or unlearned. 

Robinson at home is not less wonderful and more agreeable even thanRobinson abroad, --his _abondance_ in literature equal to Macintosh, --inscience you know out of sight superior to anybody. In home life hisamiable qualities and amicable temper appear to the greatest advantage, and I cannot say too much about the young people's kind and affectionatemanner to Lucy. 

The Primate [Footnote: Lord John George Beresford, Archbishop ofArmagh. ] and the Lady Beresfords were so kind and gracious as to come tosee us; and I have enjoyed a very agreeable luncheon-dinner at Caledon. Lady Caledon is a _real_ person, doing a great deal of good sensibly. Lord Caledon [Footnote: James Du Pre, third Earl of Caledon, was thenunmarried. His mother, Catherine, daughter of the third Earl ofHardwicke, lived with him when he was in Ireland. ] gave me a history ofhis life in the backwoods of America, and gave me a piece of pemmican, and I enclose a bit, and I hope it will not have greased everything! andwhen I said that after a youth in the backwoods it was well to have sucha place as Caledon to fall back upon, there was a glance at his motherthat spoke volumes. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 7, 1845_. 

How characteristic Joanna Baillie's letter is, so perfectly simple, dignified, and touching. 

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

_August 7, 1845. _

No pen or hand but my own shall answer your most affectionate letter, mydear own Margaret, or welcome you again to your native country--damp asit is--warm and comfortable with good old, --and young, friends--andyoung, for your young friends Mary Anne and Charlotte were heartily gladto see you. As to the old, I will yield to no mortal living. In thefirst place is the plain immovable fact that I am the OLDEST friend youhave living, and as to actual knowledge of you I defy any one to matchme, ever since you were an infant at Foxhall, and through the BlackCastle cottage times with dear Sophy and all. What changes and chances, and ups and downs, we have seen together!

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

TRIM, _March 1, 1846_. 

Pakenham and Christina [Footnote: In February, Pakenham Edgeworth hadmarried Christina, daughter of Dr. Hugh Macpherson of Aberdeen. ] arrivedhere in excellent time, charmed with their kind reception at BlackCastle. From the first moment I set eyes and ears upon Christina I likedher, --it seemed to me as if she was not a new bride coming a strangeramongst us, but one of the family fitting at once into her place as apart of a joining map that had been wanting and is now happily found. 

_To_ LADY BEAUFORT. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 31, 1846_. 

I hope, dear Honora, that the rhododendrons will not exhaust themselves;at this moment yours opposite the library window are in the mostbeautiful profuse blow you can conceive, and at the end of my gardenindescribably beautiful, and scarlet thorn beside. The peony tree hashappily survived its removal, and is covered with flowers. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _June 24, 1846_. 

I must try your patience a bit more in a most _thorny_ affair----How"thorny"?

You will never know till a box arrives by the coach, Edward being underorders to convey it to Granard in the gig. Why Edward? Why in the gig?Because the box is too heavy for Mick Dolan or any other gossoon tocarry. "And what can be in it?" Wait till you see, --and I hope you mayonly see and not feel. _Citoyenne, n'y touchez pas_. Vegetable, animal, or mineral? Four-and-twenty questions might be spent upon it, and youwould be none the wiser. 

Now to be plain, the box contains "the old man's head;" now you know. Cacti sent to me by Sir William Hooker; your mother has not room formore than two, which she kept. Thunderstorm and hail-shower, half-pasteleven. 

 * * * * *

The death of Maria Edgeworth's half-brother Francis on 12th October 1846was a great grief to the family. The same autumn saw the beginning ofthe Irish famine. 

 * * * * *

MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

_February 9, 1847_. 

Mr. Powell instigated me to beg some relief for the poor from the QuakerAssociation in Dublin--so, much against the grain, I penned a letter toMr. Harvey, the only person whose name I know on the committee, andprayed some assistance for Mr. Powell, our vicar, to get us over thenext two months, and your mother represented to me that men and boys whocan get employment in draining especially, cannot _stand_ the work inthe wet for want of strong shoes; so, in for a penny, in for a pound;ask for a lamb, ask for a sheep. I made _bould_ to axe my FRIENDS for asmany pairs of brogues as they could afford, or as much leather andsoles, which would be better still, as this would enable us to setsundry starving shoemakers to work. By return of post came a letter to"Most respected Friend, " or something better, I forget what, and I havesent the letter to Fanny--granting £30 for food--offering a soup boilerfor eighty gallons, if we had not one large enough, and sending £10 forwomen's work: and telling me they would lay my shoe petition before theClothing Committee. [Footnote: Leather was sent by these benevolentgentlemen, and brogues were made for men and boys, and proved to be ofthe first service. ]

_February 22_. 

The people are now beginning to sow, and I hope they will accordinglyreap in due course. Mr. Hinds has laid down a good rule, not to giveseed to any tenants but those who can produce the receipt for the lasthalf-year's rent. Barry has been exceedingly kind in staying with us, doing your mother all manner of good, looking after blunders indraining, etc. 

_March 13_. 

I have been working as hard as an ass to get the pleasure of writing toyou, and have not been able to accomplish it. I have only time to say, agentleman from the Birmingham Relief Committee has sent me £5 for thestarving Irish. How good people are! I send Mrs. Cruger's letter, andhave written to the ladies of America, specially, as she desires, tothose of New York, and your mother approved, and I asked for barleyseed, which, as Mr. Powell and Gahan and your mother say, to be of anyuse must come before May--but I asked for money as well as seed. --Sturdybeggars. 

_March 22_. 

You will see how good the Irish Americans [Footnote: The Irish porterswho carried the seed corn sent from Philadelphia to the shore forembarkation refused to be paid. ] have been, and are; I wish the richArgosie was come. 

_April 9_. 

"Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?" I found it, my dear, exactly where I knew it was, in Alison's _History_. On Buonaparte'sreturn from Egypt, the Old Guard surrounding him and the band playingthis. I know Mary Anne and Charlotte have the music. I have seen it withmy eyes and heard it with my ears; I have it in the memory of myheart--I have made all the use I want of it now in the new story I amwriting, and mean to publish in Chambers's _Miscellany_, and to give theproceeds to the Poor Relief Fund. 

_April 26_. 

Having seen in the newspapers that the Australians had sent aconsiderable sum for the relief of the distressed Irish, and that theyhad directed it to the care of "His Grace the Archbishop of Dublin, "meaning Dr. Murray, I wrote to our Archbishop Whately, playing upon thisgraceless proceeding towards him, and to the best of my capacity, without flattery. I did what I could to make my letter honestly pleasingto His Grace, and I received the most prompt, polite, and to the pointreply, assuring me that the Australians were not so graceless in theirdoings as in their words, that they had made a remittance of aconsiderable sum to him, and that if I apply to the Central ReliefCommittee, in whose hands he placed it, he has no doubt my applicationwill be attended to. 

This was nuts and apples to me, or, better at present, rice and oatmeal, and I have accordingly written to "My Lords and Gentlemen. " TheArchbishop, civilly, to show how valuable he deemed my approbation! hassent me a corrected copy of his speech, with good new notes and protestand preface. He says it is impossible to conceive how ignorant theEnglish still are of Ireland, and how positive in their ignorance. 

_April 28_. 

Mr. Powell has received from Government £105 on his sending up the listof subscriptions here for a hundred guineas, according to their promise, to give as much as any parish subscribed towards its own relief. This hemeans to lay out in bread and rice and meal--not all in soup; that hemay encourage them to cook at home and not be mere craving beggars. 

_To_ LADY BEAUFORT. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 8, 1847_. 

Most heartily do I rejoice that we may hope that you may be able tocome; I do not say come with Fanny, for that might hurry and hazard you, but in the days of harvest home, if harvest home does ever come again toour poor country, and you will rejoice with us in the brightened day. 

I cannot answer your Admiral's question as to the number of deathscaused by the famine. I believe that no one can form a just estimate. Indifferent districts the estimates and assertions are widely different, and the priests keep no registry. Mr. Tuite, who was here yesterday, told us that in the House of Commons the contradictory statements of theIrish members astonished and grieved him, as he knew the bad effect itwould have in diminishing their credit with the English. Two hundred andfifty thousand is the report of the Police up to April. Mr. Tuitethought a third more deaths than usual had been in his neighbourhood. Mymother and Mr. Powell say that the increase of deaths above ordinarytimes has not in this parish been as much as one-third. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 19, 1847_. 

The fever, or whatever it is, has been, Lucy says, dreadful aboutArmagh; many gentlemen have it; one who exerted himself much for thepoor--was distributing meal, saw a poor girl so weak, she could not holdher apron stretched out for it; he went and held it for her--she was inthe fever; he went home, felt ill, had the fever, and died. 

_June 7_. 

What magnificent convolvulus! we had not one blown for Fanny's birthday. Do not trouble yourself about my cough or cold, for I am doing, andshall do, very well; and I would have had twenty times the cough for thereally exquisite pleasure I have received from Sir Henry Marsh's letter:no such generous offer was ever made with more politeness and goodtaste. In the midst of all that may go wrong in the world there isreally _much good_, and so much that is honourable to our human nature. 

When Margaret is with you, if she likes to see _Orlandino_ in hispresent _déshabillé_, she is welcome. [Footnote: This story was thefirst of a series edited by William Chambers. It was practically "atemperance story. " Speaking in it of the influence of Father Matthews, Miss Edgeworth says: "Since the time of the Crusades, never has onesingle voice awakened such moral energies; never was the call of one manso universally, so promptly, so long obeyed. Never, since the worldbegan, were countless multitudes so influenced and so successfullydiverted by one mind to one peaceful purpose. Never were nobler ends bynobler means attained. "]

_June 11_. 

I am quite well, and half-eaten by midges, which proves that I have beenout, standing over Mackin, cutting away dead branches of laurestinus. Hecould not stand it--took off hat, and rubbed with both hands all overhead and face. I wish we could put back the profuse blow of therhododendrons, peonies, and Himalayan poppies till Honora and Fannycome. Have you any Himalayan poppies? If not, remember to supplyyourself when you are here--splendid!

 * * * * *

Of the publication of _Orlandino_, written for the benefit of the IrishPoor Relief Fund, Miss Edgeworth wrote to Mrs. S. C. Hall:

 * * * * *

Chambers, as you always told me, acts very liberally. As this was toearn a little money for our parish poor, in the last year's distress, hemost considerately gave prompt payment. Even before publication, whenthe proof-sheets were under correction, came the ready order in the Bankof Ireland. Blessings on him! and I hope he will not be the worse forme. I am surely the better for him, and so are numbers now working andeating; for Mrs. Edgeworth's principle and mine is to excite the peopleto work for good wages, and not, by gratis feeding, to make beggars ofthem, and ungrateful beggars, as the case might be. 

 * * * * *

A most touching reward for her exertions in behalf of the Irish poor, reached Miss Edgeworth from America. The children of Boston, who hadknown and loved her through her books, raised a subscription for her, and sent her a hundred and fifty pounds of flour and rice. They weresimply inscribed--"To Miss Edgeworth, for her poor. " Nothing, in herlong life, ever pleased or gratified her more. 

 * * * * *

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 27, 1847_. 

I have heard it said that no one should begin a letter with _I_, butmethinks this must be the dictum of some hypocritical body, or ofsomebody who thinks more of themselves than they dare let appear. I amso full of my own little self, that I am confident you, my dearMargaret, will not think the worse of me for beginning with "I am verywell;" and I am a miracle of prudence and a model of virtue to sick andwell--with good looking-after understood. So I stayed in bed yesterdaymorning, and roses and myrtles and white satin ribbon covered my bed, totie up a bouquet for a bride, very well wrapped up in my labada. Youdon't know what a labada is: Harriet will tell you. This nosegay was tobe presented to the bride by little Mary, as Rosa was asked to thewedding, and was to take Mary with her. But who is the bride? you willask, and ask you may; but you will not be a bit the wiser when I tellyou--Miss Thompson. Now your heads go to Clonfin, or to Thompsons nearDublin, or in the County of Meath. This is one you never heard of--atMr. Armstrong's, of Moydow; and she was married yesterday to the eldestson of Baron Greene. 

At the breakfast, when Mr. Armstrong was to reply to the speech of thebridegroom, who had expressed his gratitude to him as the uncle who hadbrought her up, the old man attempted to speak; but when he rose hecould only pronounce the words, "My child. "

Mary, after the breakfast, walked gracefully up to the bride and said, "My Aunt Maria begged me to present this to you. The rose is calledMaria Leonida, her own name is Maria; and she hopes you will be veryhappy. " I was delighted. 

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER. 

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 30, 1847_. 

I hope the hyacinths "Maria Edgeworth" and "Apollo, " and all the blues, will not be destroyed in their journey to you. I spent an hour yesterdaydoing up dahlias for Rosa, who wrote to me from Dublin that she washeart-sick for flowers. 

I advise and earnestly recommend you to read _Grantley Manor_. It doesnot, Mr. Butler, end ill, and from beginning to end it is good, and notstupidly good. It is not controversial either in dialogue or story, andin word and deed it does justice to both Churches, in the distributionof the qualities of the _dramatis personae_ and the action of the story. It is beautifully written; pathetic, without the least exaggeration offeeling or affectation. The characters are well contrasted; some noblyhigh-minded, generous, and firm to principle, religious and moralwithout any cant; and there are no monsters of wickedness. I never reada more interesting story, new, and well developed. 

_Nov. 13_. 

Yesterday morning I received the enclosed note from that most conceitedand not over well-bred Mons. De Lamartine. I desired my friend MadameBelloc to use her own discretion in repeating my criticisms on his_Histoire des Girondins_, but requested that she would convey to him thethanks and admiration of our family for the manner in which he hasmentioned the Abbé Edgeworth, and our admiration of the beauty of thewriting of that whole passage in the work. At the same time I regrettedthat he had omitted "Fils de St. Louis, " and also that he has notmentioned the circumstance of the crowd opening and letting the Abbépass in safety immediately from the scaffold after the execution. Thisit seems to me necessary to note, as part of the picture of the times: afew days afterwards a price was set upon his head, and hundreds wereready for the reward to pursue and give him up. I copied this fromSneyd's _Memoir_, and the anecdote of the Abbé, when asked at a dinner(Ministerial) in London whether he said the words "Fils de St. Louis, "etc. , and his answer that he could not recollect, his mind had been sotaken up with the event. I think Lamartine, in his note to me, turnsthis unfairly; and I feel, and I am sure so will you and Mr. Butler, "What an egotist and what a puppy it is!" But ovation has turned hishead. 

 * * * * *

On the 4th of February 1848, after a very short illness, Mrs. LestockWilson--Fanny Edgeworth--died. Maria survived her little more than ayear. She bore the shock without apparent injury to her health, and shecontinued to employ herself with her usual benevolent interest andsympathy in all the business and pleasures of her family and friends;but strongly as she was attached to all her brothers and sisters, Fannyhad been the dearest object of her love and admiration. To her friendMrs. S. C. Hall, who wrote to her as usual on 1st January (1849), whichwas her birthday, she answered, "You must not delay long in finding yourway to Edgeworthstown if you mean to see me again. Remember, you havejust congratulated me on my eighty-second birthday. " In the spring shespent some weeks at Trim, where her sister Lucy and Dr. Robinson werewith her. She seemed unusually agitated and depressed in taking leave ofher sister Harriet and Mr. Butler, but said as she went away, "AtWhitsuntide I shall return. "

Only a few weeks before her death Miss Edgeworth wrote:

 * * * * *

Our pleasures in literature do not, I think, decline with age; last 1stof January was my eighty-second birthday, and I think that I had as muchenjoyment from books as I ever had in my life. 

 * * * * *

In her last letter to her sister, Honora Beaufort, she enclosed thelines:

 * * * * *

 Ireland, with all thy faults, thy follies too, I love thee still: still with a candid eye must view Thy wit, too quick, still blundering into sense Thy reckless humour: sad improvidence, And even what sober judges follies call, I, looking at the Heart, forget them all!

MARIA E. _May 1849_. 

 * * * * *

On the morning of the 22nd of May Miss Edgeworth drove out, apparentlyin her usual health. On her return she was suddenly seized with pain ofthe heart, and in a few hours breathed her last in the arms of herdevoted stepmother and friend. [Footnote: Mrs. Edgeworth herself livedtill 1865, greatly honoured and beloved. ]

Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

 * * * * *

Maria had always wished that her friends should be spared the anguish ofseeing her suffer in protracted illness; she had always wished to die athome, and that I should be with her--both her wishes were fulfilled. 

Extremely small of stature, her figure continued slight, and all hermovements singularly alert to the last. No one ever conversed with herfor five minutes without forgetting the plainness of her features in thevivacity, benevolence, and genius expressed in her countenance. [Footnote:In her old age Miss Edgeworth used to say, "Nobody is anything worse than'plain' now; no one is ugly now but myself, "--but no one thought her so. ]

Particularly neat in her dress and in all her ways, she had everythingbelonging to her arranged in the most perfect order--habits of orderearly impressed upon her mind by Mrs. Honora Edgeworth, which, with hermethodical way of doing business, enabled her to get through asurprising amount of multifarious work in the course of every day. 

She wrote almost always in the library, undisturbed by the noise of thelarge family about her, and for many years on a little desk her fatherhad made for her, and on which two years before his death he inscribedthe following words:

"On this humble desk were written all the numerous works of my daughter, Maria Edgeworth, in the common sitting-room of my family. In theseworks, which were chiefly written to please me, she has never attackedthe personal character of any human being or interfered with theopinions of any sect or party, religious or political; whileendeavouring to inform and instruct others, she improved and amused herown mind and gratified her heart, which I do believe is better than herhead. 

"R. L. E. "

She used afterwards a writing-desk which had been her father's, but whenat home it was always placed on a little table of his construction, which is in my possession, and to which she had attached many ingeniouscontrivances--a bracket for her candlestick, a fire-screen, and placesfor her papers. This little table being on castors, she could move itfrom the sofa by the fire to the window, or into a recess behind thepillars of the library, where she generally sat in summer time. Shewrote on folio sheets of paper, which she sewed together in chapters. 

To facilitate the calculation of the MS. For printing, and to secureeach page containing nearly the same amount of writing, she used toprick the margin of her paper at equal distances, and her father made alittle machine set with points by which she could pierce several sheetsat once. A full sketch of the story she was about to write was alwaysrequired by her father before she began it, and though often muchchanged in its progress, the foundation and purpose remained asoriginally planned. She rose, as I have said, early, and after taking acup of coffee and reading her letters, walked out till breakfast-time, ameal she always enjoyed especially (though she scarcely ate anything);she delighted to read out and talk over her letters of the day, andlistened a little to the newspapers, but she was no politician. She cameinto the breakfast-room in summer time with her hands full of roses, andalways had some work or knitting to do while others ate. She generallysat down at her desk soon after breakfast and wrote tillluncheon-time, --her chief meal in the day, --after which she did someneedlework, often unwillingly, when eager about her letters or MSS. , butobediently, as she had found writing directly after eating bad for her. Sometimes in the afternoon she drove out, always sitting with her backto the horses, and when quite at ease about them exceedingly enjoyed ashort drive in an open carriage, not caring and often not knowing whichroad she went, talking and laughing all the time. She usually wrote allthe rest of her afternoon, and in her latter years lay down and sleptfor an hour after dinner, coming down to tea and afterwards reading outherself, or working and listening to the reading out of some of thefamily. Her extreme enjoyment of a book made these evening hoursdelightful to her and to all her family. If her attention was turned toanything else, she always desired the reader to stop till she was ableto attend, and even from the most apparently dull compositions sheextracted knowledge or amusement. She often lingered after the usualbed-time to talk over what she had heard, full of bright or deep andsolid observations, and gay anecdotes _à propos_ to the work or itsauthor. 

She had amazing power of control over her feelings when occasiondemanded, but in general her tears or her smiles were called forth byevery turn of joy and sorrow among those she lived with. When she met ina stranger a kindred mind, her conversation upon every subject pouredforth, was brilliant with wit and eloquence and a gaiety of heart whichgave life to all she thought and said. But the charms of society neveraltered her taste for domestic life; she was consistent from thebeginning to the end. Though so exceedingly enjoying the intercourse ofall the great minds she had known, she more enjoyed her domestic lifewith her nearest relations, when her spirits never flagged, and her witand wisdom, which were never for show, were called forth by every littleincident of the day. When my daughters were with Maria at Paris, theydescribed to me the readiness with which she would return from thecompany of the greatest philosophers and wits of the day to superintendher young sisters' dress, or arrange some party of pleasure for them. "We often wonder what her admirers would say, after all the profoundremarks and brilliant witticisms they have listened to, if they heardall her delightful nonsense with us. " Much as she was gratified by her"success" in the society of her celebrated contemporaries, she nevervaried in her love for Home. 

 * * * * *

Her whole life, of eighty-three years, had been an aspiration aftergood. 

SUMMARY OF VOLUME II

1820-1821

Letters from Maria Edgeworth from Coppet, Pregny, Lausanne, Lyons, Paris, Calais, Clifton, Bowood, Easton Grey, Edgeworthstown to MissWaller, Mrs. Edgeworth, Mrs. Ruxton, Miss Honora Edgeworth, Miss LucyEdgeworth, Miss Ruxton. 

Journey through Switzerland: Madame de Montolieu, Dumont, Duke deBroglie, M. De Stein, Pictet, Madame Necker, M. De Staël--Return toEngland through France: Madame de Rumford, the Delesserts, Madame de laRochejacquelin--Attack of the _Quarterly Review_ on the_Memoirs_--Visits to Bowood and Easton Grey: Lord Lansdowne, Hallam, David Ricardo--Return to Edgeworthstown--Reading and home life. 

1821-1822

Letters from Kenioge, Smethwick Grove, Wycombe Abbey, Gatcombe Park, Easton Grey, Bowood, Clifton, Winchester, The Deepdene, Frognel, Hampstead, Beechwood Park, Mardoaks to Mrs. Edgeworth, Miss HonoraEdgeworth, Miss Lucy Edgeworth, Mrs. Ruxton, Miss Ruxton. 

Visits in England--Wycombe Abbey: Lord Carrington, Madame de Staël, andBuonaparte--David Ricardo--Bowood: Lord Lansdowne, Bowles--Miss JoannaBaillie's: Brodie, Dr. Holland, Lord Grenville--Anecdotes of LadySalisbury and Wilberforce--Le Bas, Sir James Macintosh, Dumont. 

1822

Letters from London to Mrs. Edgeworth, Mrs. Ruxton. 

Life in London--_Frank_--Lady Lansdowne, Lady Elizabeth Whitbread, Calcott, Mrs. Somerville--Visit to the House of Commons: Peel, Brougham, Vansittart--Mrs. Fry--Almack's--Dinners and parties: Sir Humphry Davy, Dr. Holland, Miss Lydia White--Mrs. Siddons and Sheridan--Jeffrey, Hume, Herschel, Lady Byron, Randolph--Ticknor on Maria Edgeworth'sconversation. 

1822-1823

Letters from Edgeworthstown, Black Castle, Kinneil, Edinburgh, Callander, Inverness, Kinross, Abbotsford to Mrs. Ruxton, Mrs. O'Beirne, Miss Honora Edgeworth, Miss Lucy Edgeworth, Miss Ruxton, Mrs. Ruxton. 

Return to Edgeworthstown--Literary work and reading: _Early Lessons, Harry and Lucy_--Walter Scott and Joanna Baillie--Death of LordLondonderry--Visit to Scotland--Edinburgh: Evening at Sir WalterScott's--Sir Walter Scott, Lady Scott, and Lockhart--A fortnight atAbbotsford. 

1823-1830

Letters from Edgeworthstown, Pakenham Hall, Black Castle, Bloomfield toMrs. And Miss Ruxton, Mrs. Bannatyne, Mrs. O'Beirne, Miss HonoraEdgeworth, Mrs. Edgeworth, C. S. Edgeworth, Captain Basil Hall, Mr. Bannatyne. 

Return to Ireland--Reading and letters: Mrs. Hemans, Blanco White, Dr. Holland, Walter Scott--Death of Anna Edgeworth--Death of Mrs. Barbauld--Visit of Sir Walter Scott to Edgeworthstown--Visit toKillarney with Scott and Lockhart--_Harry and Lucy_--Management of theestate--Death of Lady Scott--Visit from Sir Humphry Davy--_Vivian Grey_and Almack's--Sydney Smith's conversation--Visit from Herschel--Mrs. Mary Sneyd settles at Edgeworthstown--Illness and recovery--Generalinterests and life at Edgeworthstown. 

1830-1831

Letters from London to Miss Ruxton, Miss Honora Edgeworth, Mrs. Edgeworth, Mrs. R. Butler. 

Death of Mrs. Ruxton--Visit to London: Lord Lansdowne, Joanna Baillie, Sir Henry Holland, Southey--Talleyrand--Duchess of Wellington, Sir JamesMacintosh--Death of Mr. Hope--Macaulay--Visit to the Herschels: SirJoshua Reynolds's work--Rogers, Lord Mahon--Death of the Duchess ofWellington--Scene in the House of Lords--Opera and plays. 

1831-1840

Letters from Edgeworthstown, Rostrevor, Pakenham Hall, Dunmoe Cottage, Lough Glyn, Trim to Captain Basil Hall, Mrs. L. Edgeworth, Miss Ruxton, Mrs. R. Butler, Mr. Bannatyne, C. S. Edgeworth, Mr. Pakenham Edgeworth, Mrs. Stark, Miss Margaret Ruxton, Mr. And Mrs. Ticknor. 

Return to Ireland--Visits in Ireland--Lockhart's _Life--Helen_--Tour inIreland--Young Sir Walter Scott--Principles of novel-writing--Generalelection and relations with tenants--Views on Politics--Visit of Mr. Ticknor to Edgeworthstown, and of Rev. William Sprogue--Maria becomesreal owner of Edgeworthstown--Home interests--Marriage of HonoraEdgeworth. 

1840-1843

Letters from London, Edgeworthstown, Trim to Mrs. R. Butler, Mrs. Edgeworth, Mrs. Beaufort, Miss Margaret Ruxton, Miss Bannatyne, Mrs. Beaufort. 

Visit to London: Darwin, Dr. Lushington, Macaulay--Return toEdgeworthstown: Distress in Ireland--Mrs. Hall's description of thefamily life at Edgeworthstown--Dangerous illness of MariaEdgeworth--Reading and literary interests: Dickens, FrancisHorner--Marriage of Miss Lucy Edgeworth to Dr. Robinson. 

1843-1849

Letters from London, Warfield Lodge, Collingwood, Edgeworthstown, Armaghto Mrs. R. Butler, Mrs. Edgeworth, Miss Margaret Ruxton, Lady Beaufort, Mrs. S. C. Hall. 

Visit to London--Sydney Smith, Sir Henry Holland, Rogers, Mrs. Drummond--Opening of the new Houses of Parliament--Visits inEngland--Dean Milman, Herschel--Return to Edgeworthstown--Reading andhome interests--The Irish Famine--_Orlandino_--Death of Maria Edgeworth. 

THE END