'In this my sixtieth year, to commence in a few days,' says Miss
Edgeworth, writing to her cousin Margaret Ruxton, 'I am resolved to make
great progress.' 'Rosamond at sixty,' says Miss Ruxton, touched and
amused. Her resolutions were not idle.
'The universal difficulties of the money market in the year 1826 were
felt by us,' says Mrs. Edgeworth in her memoir, 'and Maria, who since
her father's death had given up rent-receiving, now resumed it;
undertook the management of her brother Lovell's affairs, which she
conducted with consummate skill and perseverance, and weathered the
storm that swamped so many in this financial crisis.' We also hear of an
opportune windfall in the shape of some valuable diamonds, which an old
lady, a distant relation, left in her will to Miss Edgeworth, who sold
them and built a market-house for Edgeworthtown with the proceeds.
_April_ 8, 1827.--I am quite well and in high good humour and good
spirits, in consequence of having received the whole of Lovell's
half-year's rents in full, with pleasure to the tenants and without
the least fatigue or anxiety to myself.
It was about this time her novel of 'Helen' was written, the last of her
books, the only one that her father had not revised. There is a vivid
account given by one of her brothers of the family assembled in the
library to hear the manuscript read out, of their anxiety and their
pleasure as they realised how good it was, how spirited, how well equal
to her standard. Tickner, in his account of Miss Edgeworth, says that
the talk of Lady Davenant in 'Helen' is very like Miss Edgeworth's own
manner. His visit to Edgeworthtown was not long after the publication of
the book. His description, if only for her mention of her father, is
worth quoting:--
As we drove to the door Miss Edgeworth came out to meet us, a
small, short, spare body of about sixty-seven, with extremely
frank and kind manners, but who always looks straight into your
face with a pair of mild deep grey eyes whenever she speaks to
you. With characteristic directness she did not take us into the
library until she had told us that we should find there Mrs.
Alison, of Edinburgh, and her aunt, Miss Sneyd, a person very old
and infirm, and that the only other persons constituting the
family were Mrs. Edgeworth, Miss Honora Edgeworth, and Dr. Alison,
a physician.... Miss Edgeworth's conversation was always ready, as
full of vivacity and variety as I can imagine.... She was disposed
to defend everybody, even Lady Morgan, as far as she could. And
in her intercourse with her family she was quite delightful,
referring constantly to Mrs. Edgeworth, who seems to be the
authority in all matters of fact, and most kindly repeating
jokes to her infirm aunt, Miss Sneyd, who cannot hear them,
and who seems to have for her the most unbounded affection and
admiration.... About herself as an author she seems to have no
reserve or secrets. She spoke with great kindness and pleasure
of a letter I brought to her from Mr. Peabody, explaining some
passage in his review of 'Helen' which had troubled her from its
allusion to her father. 'But,' she added, 'no one can know what
I owe to my father. He advised and directed me in everything. I
never could have done anything without him. There are things I
cannot be mistaken about, though other people can. I know them.'
As she said this the tears stood in her eyes, and her whole person
was moved.... It was, therefore, something of a trial to talk so
brilliantly and variously as she did from nine in the morning to
past eleven at night.
She was unfeignedly glad to see good company. Here is her account of
another visitor:--
_Sept_. 26.--The day before yesterday we were amusing ourselves by
telling who among literary and scientific people we should wish
to come here next. Francis said Coleridge; I said Herschell.
Yesterday morning, as I was returning from my morning walk at
half-past eight, I saw a bonnetless maid in the walk, with a
letter in her hand, in search of me. When I opened the letter I
found it was from Mr. Herschell, and that he was waiting for an
answer at Mr. Briggs's inn. I have seldom been so agreeably
surprised, and now that he is gone and that he has spent
twenty-four hours here, if the fairy were to ask me the question
again I should still more eagerly say, 'Mr. Herschell, ma'am, if
you please.'
She still came over to England from time to time, visiting at her
sisters' houses. Honora was now Lady Beaufort; another sister, Fanny,
the object of her closest and most tender affection, was Mrs. Lestock
Wilson. Age brought no change in her mode of life. Time passes with
tranquil steps, for her not hasting unduly. 'I am perfect,' she writes
at the age of seventy-three to her stepmother of seventy-two, 'so no
more about it, and thank you from my heart and every component part of
my precious self for all the care, and successful care, you have taken
of me, your old petted nurseling.'
Alas! it is sad to realise that quite late in life fresh sorrows fell
upon this warm-hearted woman. Troubles gather; young sisters fade away
in their beauty and happiness. But in sad times and good times the old
home is still unchanged, and remains for those that are left to turn to
for shelter, for help, and consolation. To the very last Miss Edgeworth
kept up her reading, her correspondence, her energy. All along we have
heard of her active habits--out in the early morning in her garden,
coming in to the nine o'clock breakfast with her hands full of roses,
sitting by and talking and reading her letters while the others ate. Her
last letter to her old friend Sir Henry Holland was after reading the
first volume of Lord Macaulay's History. Sir Henry took the letter to
Lord Macaulay, who was so much struck by its discrimination that he
asked leave to keep it.
She was now eighty-two years of age, and we find her laughing kindly
at the anxiety of her sister and brother-in-law, who had heard of her
climbing a ladder to wind up an old clock at Edgeworthtown. 'I am
heartily obliged and delighted by your being such a goose and Richard
such a gander,' she says 'as to be frightened out of your wits by my
climbing a ladder to take off the top of the clock.' She had not felt
that there was anything to fear as once again she set the time that was
so nearly at an end for her. Her share of life's hours had been well
spent and well enjoyed; with a peaceful and steady hand and tranquil
heart she might mark the dial for others whose hours were still to come.
Mrs. Edgeworth's own words tell all that remains to be told.
It was on the morning of May 22, 1849, that she was taken suddenly
ill with pain in the region of the heart, and after a few hours
breathed her last in my arms. She had always wished to die
quickly, at home, and that I should be with her. All her wishes
were fulfilled. She was gone, and nothing like her again can we
see in this world.
_MRS OPIE._
1769-1853.
'Your gentleness shall force more than your force move us to
gentleness.'--_As You Like It_.