Henry Beddoes told us that Lord Byron was extremely beloved and highly
thought of by all whom he heard speak of him at Missolonghi, both Greeks
and his own country-men. He had regained public esteem by his latter
conduct. 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 a
sack.
_March 15_.
You have probably seen in the papers the death of our admirable friend
Mrs. Barbauld. I have copied for you her last letter to me and some
beautiful lines written in her eightieth year. There is a melancholy
elegance and force of thought in both. Elegance and strength--qualities
rarely uniting without injury to each other, combine most perfectly in
her 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 reasons
for giving each, diverted me very much. Sophy and Margaret and I laughed
over 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 resignation
to GOD'S will, and of those feelings which He has implanted in the human
heart for our greatest happiness and our greatest trials. "Fifty-five
years!" 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 his
excellent qualities, his manners, his delightful temper. How little did I
think when last I saw his kind looks bent upon me that it was for the last
time!
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 1825_.
Sir Walter Scott, punctual to his promise, arrived on Friday in good
time for dinner; he brought with him Miss Scott and Mr. Crampton. I am
glad that kind Crampton had the reward of this journey; though
frequently 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 as
much as two men of so much genius and so much benevolence should, and we
rejoice 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 see
Lucy." He says that he has now no doubt that, please GOD, and in all the
humility of hope and gratitude I repeat it, she will perfectly recover.
Captain and Mrs. Scott and Mr. Lockhart were detained in Dublin, and did
not come till eleven o'clock, and my mother had supper, and fruit, and
everything refreshing for them. Mrs. Scott is perfectly unaffected and
rather pretty, with a sweet confiding expression of countenance and fine
mild most loving eyes.
Sir Walter delights the hearts of every creature who sees, hears, and
knows him. He is most benignant as well as most entertaining; the
noblest and the gentlest of lions, and his face, especially the lower
part of it, is excessively like a lion; he and Mr. Crampton and Mr.
Jephson were delightful together. The school band, after dinner by
moonlight, playing Scotch tunes, and the boys at leap-frog delighted Sir
Walter. Next day we went to the school for a very short time and saw a
little of everything, and a most favourable impression was left. It
being 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 have
been blessed with these three days. What a touch of sorrow must mix with
the pleasures of all who have had great losses! Lovell, my mother, and
I, 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 Miss
Scott, Mr. Lockhart and Captain and Mrs. Scott to Killarney. They
travelled in an open caleche of Sir Walter's, and Captain Scott's
chariot, changing the combination from one carriage to another as the
weather or accident suggested. When some difficulty occurred about
horses Sir Walter said, "Swift, in one of his letters, when no horses
were to be had, says, 'If we had but had a captain of horse to swear for
us we should have had the horses at once;' now here we have the captain
of horse, but the landlord is not moved even by him."
The little tour was most enjoyable, and greatly was it enjoyed. Neither
Sir Walter nor Miss Edgeworth were ever annoyed with the little
discomforts of travel, and they found amusement in everything, shaming
all with whom they came in contact. Their boatman on the lake of
Killarney told Lord Macaulay twenty years afterwards that the pleasure
of 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, and
Maria was much struck by the tender affectionate attention of his son
and Mr. Lockhart and their great anxiety. He was quite as usual,
however, the next day, and on their arrival in Dublin, the whole party
dined at Captain Scott's house in Stephen's Green; he and Mrs. Scott
most hospitably inviting, besides Maria and Harriet, my two daughters,
Fanny and Mrs. Barry Fox, who had just returned from Italy, and my two
sons, Francis and Pakenham, who were coming home for the holidays. It
happened to be Sir Walter's birthday, the 15th of August, and his health
was drunk with more feeling than gaiety. He and Maria that evening bade
farewell 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 his
benign, calm expression of countenance, his eye of genius, and his mouth
of 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_ that
life. However, I write to Mr. Hallam [Footnote: Mr. Hallam was detained
at Killarney by breaking his leg, and Dr. Holland had been staying with
him.] this day with a message to Dr. Holland, if there. If you learn
that 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 even
for the chance of spending an hour with him; therefore be prepared for
the shock of seeing me. I do hope he will in his great kindness--which
is always beyond what any one ought to hope--I do hope he will contrive
to go to Edgeworthstown. How delightful to have Lucy sitting up like a
lady beside you!
The Lords Bective and Darnley, and Sir Marcus Somerville, and LORD knows
who, are all at this moment broiling in Navan at a Catholic meeting,
saying and hearing the same things that have been said and heard
100,000,000 times; one certain good will result from it that I shall
have a frank for you and save you sevenpence. I will send a number of
the New Monthly Magazine as old as the hills to Fanny, with a review of
Tremaine, which will interest her, as she will find me there, like
Mahomet's coffin, between heaven and earth. My Aunt Sophy and Mag are
all reading _Harry and Lucy_, and all reading it bit by bit, the only
way in which it can be fairly judged. My aunt's being really interested
and entertained by it, as I see she is, quite surpasses my hopes.
Feelings of gratitude to Honora should have made me write this specially
to 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 a
reasonable creature, I do not. My aunt is entertained with Clarke's
_Life_, though he says that all literary ladies are horse godmothers. In
the _Evening Mail_ of Monday last there are extracts from some
speculations of Dr. Barry, an English physician at Paris, on the effect
of atmospheric pressure in causing the motion of the blood in the veins.
If you see Dr. Holland, ask him about this and its application in
preventing the effect of poison.
In Bakewell's _Travels in Switzerland_ there is an account apropos to
ennui being the cause of suicide, of the death of Berthollet's son, who
shut himself up in a room with a brasier of charcoal; a paper was found
on the table with an account of his feelings during the operation of the
fumes of the charcoal upon him to the last moment that he could make his
writing intelligible.
_To_ MRS. STARK.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 27, 1825_.
Our two boys were at home in August, and the happiest of the happy with
two ponies and four sisters. Francis's poem of "Saul" won a medal, and
Pakenham's "Jacob," a miniature Horace.
You may have seen in the papers the account of the burning of Castle
Forbes, 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 great
presence of mind: carried out, first, a quantity of gunpowder which was
in a closet into which the flames were entering; and next, the family
papers and pictures. A valuable collection of prints and books were
lost: key not to be found in the scuffle, and servants and other
ignoramuses, conceiving the _biggest_ volumes must be the most valuable,
wasted their energies upon folios of Irish House of Commons Journals and
Statutes. 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, by
the force of motive, endued with such extraordinary strength in the
midst of that night's danger, that he wrenched from its iron spike and
pedestal a fine marble bust of Cromwell, carried it downstairs, and
threw it on the grass. Next morning he could not lift it! and no one man
who 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 no
other would waft it to you free.
Your observations about the difficulties of "Taking for Granted" are
excellent: I "take for granted" I shall be able to conquer them. If only
one instance were taken, the whole story must turn upon that, and be
constructed to bear on one point; and that _pointing_ to the moral would
not 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 the
ratcatcher."
* * * * *
"Taking for Granted" was laid aside by Miss Edgeworth for ten years
after this. When Mr. Ticknor was at Edgeworthstown in 1835, he says:
* * * * *
Miss Edgeworth was anxious to know what instances I had ever witnessed
of persons suffering from "taking for granted" what proved false, and
desired 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 up
in this way." "The story," she said, "must begin lightly, and the early
instances of mistake might be comic, but it must end tragically." I told
her I was sorry for this. "Well," said she, "I can't help it, it must be
so. The best I can do for you is, to leave it quite uncertain whether it
is possible the man who is to be my victim can ever be happy again or
not."
* * * * *
On her father's death, Miss Edgeworth had resigned the management of his
estates to their new owner, her half-brother Lovell, but, in the
universal difficulties which affected the money market in 1826, she was
induced to resume her post, acting in everything as her brother's agent,
but taking the entire responsibility. By consummate care and prudence
she 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 off
encumbrances, and repaying the borrowed money as the times improved;
thus enabling her brother to keep the land which so many proprietors
were then obliged to sell, and yet never distressing the tenants.
The second part of _Harry and Lucy_ was published this year, having been
written at various intervals since 1813. Like its predecessor, it had as
its 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, but
not one of them have I written with the least pleasure, except that sort
of pleasure which we have in doing what we think a duty. Lovell has put
the management of his affairs into my hands, and the receiving of his
rents; and this is, except one letter which I wrote to the author of
_Granby_, as soon as we had finished that delightful book, the only
letter of pleasure in which I have indulged myself.
SONNA, _April 6_.
Most grateful am I, my dearest aunt, for your wonderful preservation
after such a terrible fall! Often and often as I have gone down those
three steep stairs have I feared that some accident would occur. Thank
GOD that you are safe! I really have but this one idea. We have had
agreeable letters from Harriet E. and Sophy Fox, who are very happy at
Cloona: the accounts of their little daily employments and pleasures are
the most cheering thoughts I can call up at this moment. Happy in the
garden looking at crocuses, contriving new beds, etc.; happy in the
house, when Harriet reads out, while Sophy works, _Granby_ at night and
Peel's and Robinson's speeches by day.
_May 27_.
You have seen in the papers the death of Lady Scott. In Sir Walter's
last letter he had described her sufferings from water on the chest, but
we had no idea the danger was so immediate. She was a most kind-hearted,
hospitable person, and had much more sense and more knowledge of
character and discrimination than many of those who ridiculed her. I
know 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 meet
again." At the time it was much more likely that I should have died, I
thought, than she. Sir Walter said he had been interrupted in his letter
by many domestic distresses. The first two pages had been begun two
months ago, and were in answer to a letter of mine inquiring about the
truth of his losses, etc. Of these he spoke with cheerful fortitude, but
with no bravado. He said that his losses had been great, but that he had
enough left to live on; that he had had many gratifying offers of
assistance, 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 great
comfort in knowing that Lady Scott was not a person who cared about
money, and that "Beatrice," as he calls Anne Scott, bore her altered
prospects with cheerfulness. "She is of a very generous disposition, and
poor Janie proffered her whole fortune as if it had been a gooseberry."
After writing this much the letter appeared to have been thrown aside
and forgotten to be sent, till he was roused again by a letter from me
about poor Mr. Jephson. The domestic distresses which had interrupted
the course of his thoughts were, the illness of his dear little grandson
Lockhart, one of the finest and most engaging children I ever saw; and
then Lady Scott's illness and death. He says that the letters of Malachy
Malagrowther cost him but a day apiece.
_July 10_.
Sir Humphry Davy has been with us since Thursday, and his visit has been
delightful; he has always been kind and constant in his friendship to
us. I had expressed a great wish to see the "Discourses" which he
annually addressed to the Royal Society, as President, on the
presentation of the medals. He has been urged to publish them, but to
this he has never yet consented. I had the courage--indeed, I thought at
the time the rashness--to ask him to let me see the MS. of one which I
was particularly anxious to see, as it related to Dr. Brinkley: Sir
Humphry was so very kind to have a copy made for me of _all_ his
Discourses. I found them fully equal to my expectations, quite worthy of
the genius and reputation of Sir Humphry Davy, and becoming the
President of the Royal Society of England; giving a complete view of the
discoveries and progress of science in England within the last six
years, compressed into the smallest compass compatible with clearness,
written with all the dignity of perfect simplicity and candour, like one
sensible to national glory, but free from national jealousy; whose great
object as a philosopher is the general advancement of science over the
whole world, and whose great pleasure is in conferring well-earned
praise. His addresses to those to whom he presents the medals are
NOBLE--always appreciating the past with generous satisfaction, yet
continually exciting to future exertion. In each new discovery he opens
views beyond what the discoverer had foreseen, and from each new
invention shows how fresh combinations present themselves, so that in
the world of science there must be room enough for the exertions of all:
the best and truest moral against envy, and all those petty jealousies
which have disgraced scientific as well as literary men.
Travelling, and his increased acquaintance with the world, has enlarged
the _range_ without lowering the _pitch_ of Sir Humphry's mind--an
allusion I have borrowed from an entertaining essay on training hawks
sent to me by Sir John Sebright. Do you know that there is at this
moment a gentleman in Ireland, near Belfast, who trains hawks and goes
a-hawking--a Mr. Sinclair?
Sir Humphry repeated to us a remarkable criticism of Buonaparte's on
Talma's acting: "You don't play Nero well; you gesticulate too much; you
speak with too much vehemence. A despot does not need all that; he need
only _pronounce. Il sait qu'il se suffit_." "And," added Talma, who told
this to Sir Humphry, "Buonaparte, as he said this, folded his arms in
his well-known manner, and stood as if his attitude expressed the
sentiment."
Sir Humphry thinks that, of all of royal race he has seen, legitimate or
illegitimate, _noble par l'épée_, or noble by "just hereditary sway,"
the late Emperor of Russia was the most really noble-minded and the
least ostentatious. A vast number of his munificent gifts to men of
letters are known only to those by whom they were received. He has
frequently sent tokens of approbation to scientific men in various
foreign countries for inventions in arts and sciences which he had found
useful in his dominions. A _caisse_ arrived from Russia for Sir Humphry,
which he thought were some mineralogical specimens which had been
promised to him; but on opening it there appeared a superb piece of
plate, with a letter from the Emperor of Russia presenting it to him, as
a mark of gratitude for the safety lamp. The design on the plate, the
Emperor adds, was his own: it represents the genius of fire, with his
bow and arrows broken.
Among other good things which Sir Humphry accomplished in his travels
was the abolition of the _corda_, of ancient use in Naples,--an
instrument of torture by which the criminal was hung up by a cord tied
round his joined wrists, and then pulled down and let fall from a
height, dislocating his wrists to a certainty, and giving a chance of
breaking his arms and legs. This instrument chanced to be set up near
the hotel where Sir Humphry and Lady Davy resided: they could not bear
the sight, and changed their lodgings. The next time Sir Humphry was at
Court the King asked why he had changed his residence. Sir Humphry
explained, and expressed himself so strongly, that he awakened dormant
Royal feeling, and this instrument of torture was abolished. Sir Humphry
had previously represented to our Queen Caroline, then at Naples, that
here was an opportunity of doing good, and of rendering herself
deservedly popular. She was struck with the idea at the time, but forgot
it; and then Sir Humphry took it up, and with the assistance of the
public opinion of all the English, it was accomplished.
Yesterday, when I came down to breakfast, I found Sir Humphry with a
countenance radiant with pleasure, and eager to tell me that Captain
Parry is to be sent out upon a new Polar expedition.
_August 14_.
This day, my dearest aunt, our wishes have been accomplished--the
sacred, awful vow has been pronounced, and Harriet and Mr. Butler drove
from the church door to Cloona. [Footnote: Harriet, second daughter of
the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth, married the Rev. Richard Butler, Rector of
Trim, and afterwards Dean of Clonmacnoise.]
Lucy bore the trials of the day wonderfully well. She was at the
wedding, and much agitated when it came to the conclusion and the
parting; but there was, fortunately, something to be done immediately
afterwards--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, he
was able to appear today and perform both ceremonies, and does not seem
to 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 for
you to be at the sea. Here, though I am obliged to think of actual
business between-times, I have every motive and means for diversion for
myself, both on my own account and on my aunt's. We run in and out, and
laugh and talk nonsense; and every little thing amuses us together: the
cat, the dog, the hog, Mr. Barry, or a _parachute_ blown from the
dandelion.
_Nov. 19_.
Bess Fitzherbert has written an entertaining letter to Mrs. Barry, in
which she mentions one of the dishes they had just had at dinner at
Pozzo, between Modena and Bologna: cold boiled eels, with preserved
pears, a toothpick or skewer stuck in each to take them up by, instead
of a fork. My aunt's friend, Madame Boschi, near Bologna, offered to
send a garden-chair drawn by bullocks for Bess, the road not being
passable for _common cattle_.
_To_ C.S. EDGEWORTH.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 26, 1826_.
I send your account, and have done my best. I have not read _Boyne
Water_, but have got Lindley Murray's _Memoir_, and thank you for
mentioning it. Harriet and Mr. Butler come to-morrow. Sophy Fox and
Barry, and their beautiful and amiable little Maxwell, are here. How you
will like that child, and make it see "upper air!" How long since those
times when you used to show its mother and Harriet upper air! Do you
remember how you used to do it to frighten me, and how I used to shut my
eyes when you threw them up, and you used to call to me to look? Ah! _le
bon temps!_ But we are all very happy now, and it is delightful to hear
a child's voice cooing, or even crying again in this house. Never did
infant cry less than Maxwell: in short, it is the most charming little
animal I ever saw. "Animal yourself, sir!" [Footnote: Mr. Edgeworth,
admiring a baby in a nurse's arms, called it "a fine little animal." To
which the nurse indignantly replied, "Animal yourself, sir!"]
Pakenham ornamented the library yesterday with holly, and crowned
plaster-of-Paris Sappho with laurels, and Mrs. Hope's picture with
myrtle (i.e. box), and perched a great stuffed owl in an ivy bush on the
top of a great screen which shades the sofa by the fire from the window
at its back. I am excessively happy to be at home again, after my four
months' absence at Black Castle.
_To_ MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 28, 1826_.
After spending four months with you, it is most delightful to me to
receive from you such assurances that I have been a pleasure and a
comfort to you. I often think of William's most just and characteristic
expression, that you have given him a desire to live to advanced age, by
showing him how much happiness can be felt and conferred in age, where
the affections and intellectual faculties are preserved in all their
vivacity. In you there is a peculiar habit of allowing constantly for
the _compensating_ good qualities of all connected with you, and never
unjustly expecting impossible perfections. This, which I have so often
admired in you, I have often determined to imitate; and in this my
sixtieth year, to commence in a few days, I will, I am resolved, make
great progress. "Rosamond at sixty," says Margaret.
We are all a very happy party here, and I wish you could see at this
moment sitting opposite to me on sofa and in arm-chair the mother and
daughter and grand-child.
_To_ MRS. BANNATYNE.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb. 26, 1827_.
By some strange chance I was taken away from home just after the time
when Colonel Stewart's pamphlet on India, which you were so kind as to
send me, arrived; in short, I never read it till a few days ago. I am in
admiration of it; it is beautifully written, with such clearness, lucid
order, simplicity, dignity, strength, and eloquence--eloquence resulting
from strong feeling. The views of its vast subject are comprehensive and
masterly; the policy sound, both theoretically and practically
considered; the morality as sound as the policy, indeed no policy can be
sound unless joined with morality. The sensibility and philanthropy that
not only breathe but live and act in this book are of the true, manly,
enduring sort--not the affected, sickly, spurious kind, which is
displayed only for the trick of the poet or orator. It is a book which a
good and wise man must ever rejoice in having written, and which will be
satisfactory to him even to the last moment of his life.
Have you seen the _Tales of the O'Hara Family_--the second series? They
are of unequal value; one called the "Nowlans" is a work of great
genius. Another book has much amused us, Captain Head's _Rough
Sketches_, most animated and masterly sketches of his journey across the
Pampas. There is much information and much good political economy
condensed 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 had
such a nice long talk in the carriage coming back, our tongues never
intermitting one single second, I believe. I am glad you liked my
graceful gentleman-like bear, and his graceful gentleman-like Italian
leader. [Footnote: A travelling showman and bear.] We have had a
succession of actors and actresses, as I may call them, personating
beggars, all at the last gasp of distress; so perfect, too, was one
Englishwoman that she set at defiance all the combined ingenuity of the
Library in cross-questioning her, and after writing a long letter for
her to a Rev. Mr. Strainer, of Athlone, I was quite at a loss to decide
whether she was a cheat or not, when one of the Longford police officers
chanced to dine with us, I mentioned her, and out came the truth; she
had imposed on him and every one at Longford, and had borrowed a child
to pass for her own. We sent for our distressed lady, who was very "sick
and weak with a huge blister on her chest," and low voice and delicate
motions. Oh! if you had seen her when the police officer came into the
room 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; but
words 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 Kamehameha
II., of the Sandwich Islands, and his Queen, who died of the measles in
John Street, Adelphi, in 1824.] Pray get this book, it will delight you.
Of the _Blonde_, you know the present Lord Byron is commander--the name
strikes 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 my
mother presented to me this morning at the breakfast table: I was in an
ecstasy, but shortlived was my joy, for I was thunderstruck the next
instant by my mother's catching my arm and stopping my hand with the
vehement exclamation, "Stop, stop, child, you don't know what you are
doing."--"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 in
it, a humming-bird, luckily unhurt, unsquelched. The humming-bird's nest
is more beautiful than the creature itself. Poor Lord Liverpool--no one
can 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 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.
We are reading the second part of _Vivian Grey_, which we like better
than the first. There is a scene of gamesters and swindlers wonderfully
well done. I know who wrote _Almack's_. Lady de Ros tells me it is by
Mrs. Purvis, sister to Lady Blessington; this accounts for both the
knowledge 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 people
were poor in London, and there were few private balls, Almack's was all
in 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, in
a letter I had from him this morning, says of _Almack's_. "It might have
been a pretty thing, but I think it but a poor one. Of all slangs, that
of fashion is easiest overdone. People do not _hold forth_ about what is
with them a matter of course. Willis, or his waiters, might have
furnished all the characteristic materials. The author ever and anon
makes up for want of wit by stringing together common French milliner
phrases, which have no merit but that of being exotics in England. The
point consists in his _italics_. Besides, he only describes the
proceedings, not the spirit of the institution of Almack's. It was
rather a bold thing in London to put FEASTING out of fashion, and to
make a seven-shilling ball the thing to which all aspired to be
admitted, and many without the least hope of succeeding. It was the
triumph of aristocracy over mere wealth. It put down the Grimes's of
former days, with their nectarines and peaches at Christmas, and in so
far 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 Anne
Norbury debits and credits her hopes of happiness with her two admirers:
no waiting-maid could have written that. In the second volume, also, I
think there is a scene between Lord and Lady Norbury in their
dressing-room, about getting rid of their guests and making room for
others, which is nicely touched: the Lord and Lady are politely
unfeeling; it is all kept within bounds.
Mr. Hope begs me to read _Truckleborough Hall_. Of late novels he says
it is that which has amused him most. "Both sides of the political
question are reviewed most impartially; both quizzed a little, and the
reader left in doubt to which the author leans. The transition in the
hero from rank Radicalism to a seat on the Treasury Bench, while
persuading himself all the time that he remains consistent, is
exceedingly well managed. Interest in the story there is none, because
the 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 copy
it, 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, when
I have nothing in my own but stupid pounds, shillings, and pence.
In a letter from my friend Mr. Ralston, from Philadelphia, he tells me
that seven volumes of Sir Walter Scott's _Life of Napoleon_ have been
already printed there, and reviewed in the _North American Review_.
Scott sends his MS. at the same time to London and to America. I tremble
for this publication. Anne Scott writes to Harriet that her father is so
busy writing, that she scarcely sees anything of him, though they are
alone together at Abbotsford. Lockhart is much admired in London for his
beauty.
_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 the
proof of confidence you have given me. No degree of praise or admiration
could flatter me so much: confidence implies something much higher--real
esteem for the character. I thank you; you shall not find your
confidence misplaced. I trust you will not think I have gone beyond your
permission in considering my own family now with me--viz. Mrs.
Edgeworth, my sisters, and my brother--as myself. The _Journal_ was read
aloud in our library: not a line or a word of it has been copied; and
though some passages have, I know, sunk indelibly into the memories of
those present, you may rest perfectly secure that they will never _go
out_ beyond ourselves. No vanity will ever tempt any one of us to boast
of what we have been allowed to read; we shall strictly adhere to your
terms, and never mention or allude to the book. It is delightful, most
interesting, and entertaining. You may, perhaps, imagine, by conceiving
yourself in my place, remote in the middle of Ireland, _how_
entertaining and interesting it must be to be thus suddenly transported
into the midst of the best company in London, scientific, political, and
fashionable; and not merely into the midst of them, but behind the
scenes with you, and after seeing and hearing and knowing your private
opinion of all. Considering all this, and further, that numbers of the
persons you mention in your _Journal_ we were well acquainted with when
we were in London, you may, perhaps, comprehend how much pleasure, of
various kinds, we enjoyed while we read on.
The first page I opened upon was the character of Captain Beaufort. Do
not 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 as
just. She was all you say of her, and her house and society were the
most agreeable of the sort in London, since the time of Lady Crewe.
Lydia White, besides being our kind friend, was a near connection of
ours by the marriage of her nephew to a cousin of ours; and we have had
means of knowing her solid good qualities, as well as those brilliant
talents which charmed in society. You may guess, then, how much we were
pleased by all you said of her. Of all the people who ever sold
themselves to the world, I never knew one who was so well paid as Lydia
White, or any one but herself who did not, sooner or later, repent the
bargain; but she had strength of mind never to expect more than the
world can give, and the world in return behaved to the last remarkably
well to her.
All you say of the ill-managed dinner of wits and scientific men I have
often felt. There must be a mixture of nonsense with sense, or it will
not amalgamate: all wits and no fools, all actors and no audience, make
dinners dull things. The same men in their boots, as you say, are quite
other people. "Two or three ladies, too"--we were delighted with your
finding them useful as well as agreeable on such occasions.
Your account of Sidney Smith's conversation is excellent, and the manner
in which you took his criticism showed how well you deserved it. He will
be your friend in all the future, and I do not know any man whom I
should wish more to make my friend: supereminent talents and an
excellent heart, which in my opinion almost always go together. His
remarks on the views you should take of America, to work out your own
purpose in softening national animosities, are excellent; also all he
says of American egotism and nationality. But I should be as ready to
forgive vanity in a nation as in an individual, and to make it turn to
good account. I have always remarked that little and envious minds are
the most acute in detecting vanity in others, and the most intolerant of
it. Having nothing to be proud or vain of, they cannot endure that
others should enjoy a self-complacency they cannot have.
There is a sentence in one of Burke's letters, which, as far as England
is concerned, might do for a motto for your intended travels: "America
and we are no longer under the same crown; but if we are united by
mutual goodwill and reciprocal good offices, perhaps it may do almost as
well."
Will you, my dear sir, trust me with more of your _Journals_? I think
you must see, by the freedom of this letter, that you have truly pleased
and obliged me: I have no other plea to offer. It is a common one in
this country of mine--common, perhaps, to human nature in all places as
well as Ireland--to expect that, when you have done much, you will do
more; and you will, won't you? If I could get your little Eliza to say
this 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 that
this does me a vast deal of good. After three-quarters of an hour's
walk, [Footnote: Miss Edgeworth continued her early walks for many
years. A lady who lodged in the village used to be roused by her maid in
the 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 ever
heard--a Chinese novel translated into French; a sort of Chinese
_Truckleborough Hall_; politicians and courtiers, with mixture of love
and flowers, and court intrigue, and challenging each other to make
verses upon all occasions.
My garden is beautiful, and my mother is weeding it for me at this
moment. A seedswoman of Philadelphia, to whom Mr. Ralston applied to
purchase some seeds for me, as soon as she heard the name, refused to
take any payment for a parcel of forty different kinds of seeds. She
said 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, among
literary and scientific people, we should wish to come here next day.
Francis said Coleridge; I said Herschel. Yesterday morning, as I was
returning from my morning walk at half-past eight, I saw a bonnet-less
maid on the walk, with letter in hand, in search of me. When I opened
the letter, I found it was from Mr. Herschel! and that he was waiting
for an answer at Mr. Briggs's inn. I have seldom been so agreeably
surprised; and now that he has spent twenty-four hours here, and that he
is gone, I am confirmed in my opinion; and if the fairy were to ask me
the question again, I should more eagerly say, "Mr. Herschel, ma'am, if
you please." It was really very kind of him to travel all night in the
mail, as he did, to spend a few hours here. He is not only a man of the
first scientific genius, but his conversation is full of information on
all subjects, and he has a taste for humour and playful nonsense, though
with a melancholy exterior.
His companion, Mr. Babbage, and he, saw the Giant's Causeway on a stormy
day, when the foamy waves beat high against the rocks, and added to the
sublimity of the scene. Then he went from the great sublime of Nature to
the sublime of Art. He arrived at the place where Colonel Colby is
measuring the base line, just at the time when they had completed the
repetition of the operation; and he saw, by the instrument, which had
not been raised from the spot, that the accuracy of the repetition was
within half a dot--the twelve-thousandth part of an inch.
Mr. Herschel has travelled on the Continent. He was particularly pleased
with the character of the Tyrolese--their national virtue founded on
national piety. One morning, wakening in a cottage inn, he rose, and
called in vain in kitchen and parlour: not a body was to be seen, not a
creature in yard or stable. At last he heard a distant sound: listening
more attentively, and following the sound, he came to a room remote from
that in which he had slept, where he found all the inhabitants joining
in a hymn, with beautiful voices.
You may remember having seen in the newspapers an account of a
philosopher in Germany who made caterpillars manufacture for him a veil
of cobweb. The caterpillars were enclosed in a glass case, and, by
properly-disposed conveniences and impediments, were induced to work
their web up the sides of the glass case. When completed it weighed
four-fifths of a grain. Herschel saw it lying on a table, looking like
the film of a bubble. When it collapsed a little, and was in that state
wafted up into the air, it wreathed like fine smoke. Chantrey, who was
present, after looking at it in silent admiration, exclaimed, "What a
fool Bernini was to attempt transparent draperies in stone!"
Have you heard of the live camelopard, "twelve foot high, if he is an
inch, ma'am?" Herschel is well acquainted with him, and was so fortunate
as to see the first interview between him and a kangaroo: it stood and
gazed for one instant, and the next leaped at once over the camelopard's
head, 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 to
Louis Bousset, who was the Abbé Edgeworth's servant, and after his death
was taken into Louis XVIII.'s household, accompanied the Royal family to
Hartwell, returned with them to France, and now lives on a pension from
the French Government and his wife's income; she was widow to the King's
saddler. They showed much respect, my brother Sneyd says, to our pious
cousin the Abbé Edgeworth's memory, and he was much edified by their
manner of living together, Bousset and his wife--he a Catholic, and she
a German Protestant, "perfect Christian happiness thoroughly existing
between two persons of different Churches, but of the same faith."
Though I admire the instance and exception to general rules, I should
not wish a similar experiment to be often repeated, being very much of
Dr. Johnson's opinion, that there are so many causes naturally of
disagreement between people yoked together, that there is no occasion to
add 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 up
my opinion of it, and so had all my family, before we knew that the
author was any way connected with you. I am not weary of repeating that
I think, and that we all think it the most interesting novel we have
read for years; indeed, we could not believe it to be fiction. We read
it with all the intense interest which the complete belief in reality
commands. Officers of our acquaintance all speak to the reality and
truth of the scenes described. Military men and gentlemen are delighted
with _Cyril Thornton_, because he is a gentleman, ay, every inch a
gentleman; and with the cut in his face, and all the hashing and mashing
he met with in the wars, we are firmly and unanimously of opinion that
he must be very engaging. We hope that the author is like his hero in
all saving these scars and the loss of his arm; but were the likeness
exact even in these, he would be sure of interesting at Edgeworthstown;
and we hope that, if ever he comes to Ireland, you and Mrs. Bannatyne
will do us the favour to persuade him to come to see us, and to bring
his charming wife. We hear she is charming; and, from the good taste and
good feeling of his writings, we can readily take it for granted that
his choice must be charming, in the best sense of that hackneyed, but
still comprehensive word. There is a peculiar delicacy in this book,
which delights from being accompanied, as it is, with the strongest
evidence of deep sensibility.
* * * * *
Mrs. Mary Sneyd, sister of the second and third Mrs. Edgeworths, who had
partially lived with her brother in Staffordshire after the death of her
sister Charlotte, returned in 1828 to spend the rest of her life at
Edgeworthstown. Here the beautiful and venerable old lady was a central
figure in the family home, where all the family vied in loving
attentions to her. Mrs. Farrar [Footnote: Author of _The Children's
Robinson 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 the
same 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 of
her lameness. She reminded me of the pictures of the court beauties of
Louis XIV. Her dress was very elaborate. Her white hair had the effect
of powder, and the structure on it defies description. A very white
throat 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 an
effect that was quite bewitching. She was wonderfully well preserved for
a lady over eighty years of age, and it was pleasant to see the great
attention paid her by all the family. She was rather deaf, so I was
seated by her side and requested to address my conversation to her. When
lunch was over she was wheeled into the library, and occupied herself in
making a cotton net to put over the wall-fruit to keep it from the
birds. It was worth a journey to Edgeworthstown to see this beautiful
specimen of old age."
* * * * *
MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 13, 1828_.
We had a serious alarm this morning, and serious danger, but it is
perfectly over now, and no damage done but what a few days' work of
plasterer and carpenter can repair. At seven o'clock this morning a
roaring was heard in the servants' hall, and Mulvanny, [Footnote:
Mulvanny, the knife boy.] who had put on the blower, found the chimney
on fire, and Anne [Footnote: Anne, ladies'-maid.] saw dreadful smoke
breaking out in the passage going from the anteroom of my aunt's
dressing-room. Barney Woods, [Footnote: The steward.] perceiving that
it was no common affair of a chimney on fire, had the sense to ring the
workman's bell. I was dressed, heard it, and Anne met me coming from my
room to inquire what was the matter, and told me--indeed her face told
me! Lovell was up and ready--most active and judicious. Thirty men were
assembled; water in abundance. Frank Langan indefatigable and most
courageous. The long ladder was put up against the house near the pump;
up the men went, and bucket after bucket poured down, Mulvanny standing
on the top of the chimney. Meantime the great press, next the maid's
room, was torn down by men working for life and death, for the smoke was
bursting through, and the whole wall horribly hot. The water poured
into the chimney would not, for half an hour, go down to the bottom;
something stopped it. A terrible smell of burning wood. The water ran
through all manner of flues and places and flooded the whole ceiling of
the hall. Holes were made to let it through, or the whole ceiling would
have come down _en masse_; the water poured through in floods on the
floor; Margaret [Footnote: The housemaid.] and boys sweeping it out of
the hall door continually. While the men were at work under Lovell's
excellent orders, Honora and I were having all papers and valuables
carried out, for we knew that if the flames reached the garrets nothing
could save the house. All the title-deed boxes, and lease presses, and
all Lovell's, and all your papers, and my grandfather's books, and my
father's picture, were safe on the grass in less than one hour. It took
three hours before the fire was extinguished, or, I should say, got
under. The pump was pumped dry, but Lovell had sent long before a cart
with 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 their
places, and we sent for the chimney-sweepers, not the old ones, who, as
we rightly guessed, were the cause of the mischief. The chimney has been
broken open, and a boy has been working incessantly tearing down an
incrustation of soot--immense pieces of black _tufo_,--in fact, the
chimney became a volcano--fire, water, and steam all operating together.
The fire was found still burning inside at five this evening, but is all
out now, the boy has been up at the top.
The zeal, the sense, the generosity, the courage of the people, is
beyond anything I can describe, I can only feel it. But what astonished
me was their steadiness and silence, no advising or pushing in each
other's way--all working and obeying. Lovell had lines of boys from the
ladder to the cow's pool handing the buckets passed up by the men on the
ladder 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 say
about herself, that nobody who has seen her in small alarms, such as the
turning of a carriage, or such things, could believe the composure,
presence of mind, and courage she showed in our great alarm to-day. I
hope she has not suffered; as yet she does not appear the worse for her
exertions.
MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 16. 1828_.
Thank you, thank you for the roses; the yellow Scotch and Knight's dark
red, and the ever-blowing, came quite fresh, and just at the moment I
wanted them, when I had taken to my garden, after finishing my gutters.
Lady Hartland told me that the common people call the _rose des quatre
saisons_, the quarter session rose.
Have you read the _Recollections of Hyacinth O'Gara_? It is a little
sixpenny book; I venture to say you would like it; I wish I was reading
it to you. I am much pleased with Napier's _History of the Peninsular
War_. The Spanish character and all that influenced it, accidentally and
permanently, is admirably drawn. There is the evidence of truth in the
work. 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 two
reviews, 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 walked
over my flower-beds, and that I did not kill either of them. If the ass
had not provoked me to this degree, I was in imminent danger of growing
too fond of him, as I never could meet him drawing loads without
stopping to pat him, till clouds of dust rose from his thick hide. But
now, 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, eldest
daughter of the fourth Mrs. Edgeworth, married Lestock P. Wilson, Esq.,
of London.] I can hardly believe it! She is gone! I feel it, and long
must feel it, with anguish, selfish anguish. But she will be happy--of
that I have the most firm, delightful conviction; and therefore all that
I cannot help now feeling is, I know, only _surface_ feeling, and will
soon pass away. The more I have seen and known of Lestock, the more I
like him and love him, and am convinced I shall always love him, whose
every word and look bears the stamp and value of sincerity.
Both their voices pronounced the words of the marriage vow with perfect
clearness and decision. Mr. Butler performed the ceremony with great
feeling and simplicity. I will tell my dearest aunt and you all the
little circumstances; at present they are all in confusion, great and
small, near and distant, and I am sick at heart in the midst of it all
with the shameful, weak, selfish, uppermost sorrow of parting with this
darling 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 the
newspapers. Banners with _Constitutional Agitation_ printed in black,
_M_obility and Nobility in black, crape hatbands, etc. Lord Anglesea's
two little sons riding between two officers, in the midst of the
hurricane mob, struck me most. One of the boys, a little midge, seemed
to stick on the horse by accident, or by mere dint of fearlessness: the
officer put his arm round him once, and set him up, the boy's head
looking another way, and the horse keeping on his way, through such
noise, and struggling, and waves multitudinous of mob.
There is an entertaining article in the _Quarterly Review_ on _The
Subaltern_. I do not like that on Madame de Genlis--coarse, and
over-doing the object by prejudice and virulence. The review of Scott's
Prefaces is ungrounded and confused--how different from his own writing!
But there is an article worth all the rest put together, on Scientific
Institutions, written in such a mild, really philosophical spirit, such
a pure, GREAT MAN'S desire to do good; I cannot but wish and hope it
might prove to be Captain Beaufort's. If you have not read it, never
rest till you do.
_To_ CAPTAIN BASIL HALL.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _March 12, 1829_.
... If I could, as you say, flatter myself that Sir Walter Scott was in
any degree influenced to write and publish his novels from seeing my
sketches of Irish character, I should indeed triumph in the "thought of
having been the proximate cause of such happiness to millions."
In what admirable taste Sir Walter Scott's introduction [Footnote: To
the new edition of _Waverley_.] is written! No man ever contrived to
speak so delightfully of himself, so as to gratify public curiosity, and
yet to avoid all appearance of egotism,--to let the public into his
mind, into all that is most interesting and most useful to posterity to
know of his history, and yet to avoid all improper, all impertinent, all
superfluous disclosures.
Children's questions are often simply _sublime_: the question your
three-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 so
much about Captain Beaufort's appointment to the Hydrographership; I
wish poor William had been permitted the pleasure of hearing of it.
[Footnote: William Edgeworth had died of consumption on 7th May after a
two months' illness.] It would have given him pleasure even on his dying
bed, noble, generous creature as he was; he would have rejoiced for his
friend, and have felt that merit is sometimes rewarded in this world.
This appointment is, in every respect, all that Captain Beaufort wished
for himself, and all that his friends can desire for him. As one of the
first people in the Admiralty said, "Beaufort is the only man in England
fit 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 speak
of him as the kindest of masters, and as a benefactor whose memory will
be ever revered.
_To_ MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 27, 1829_.
I am now able, with the consent of all my dear guardians, to write with
my 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 good
philosophical bust, a long, thin, gaunt face, much wrinkled and
weatherbeaten: of the Curwen style of figure and face, but with a more
cheerful and benevolent expression.
While confined to my sofa and forbidden my pen, I have been reading a
good deal: 1st, _Cinq Mars_, a French novel, with which I think you
would be charmed, because I am; 2nd, _The Collegians_, in which there is
much 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 huddled
twenty 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 habit
of expressing to her your kind feelings; I really think that if my
thoughts and feelings were shut up completely within me, I should burst
in a week, like a steam-engine without a snifting-clack, now called by
the 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 down
into another, at the imminent peril of their green lives; of two houses
to let, one tenant promised from the Isle of Man, and another from the
Irish Survey; of two bull-finches, each in his cage on the table--one
who would sing if he could, and the other who could sing, I am told, if
he would. Then I am thinking for three hours a day of _Helen_, to what
purpose I dare not say. At night we read Dr. Madden's _Travels to
Constantinople_ and elsewhere, in which there are most curious facts:
admirable letter about the plague; a new mode of treatment, curing
seventy-five in a hundred; and a family living in a mummy vault, and
selling mummies. You must read it.
My peony tree is the most beautiful thing on earth. Poor dear Lord Oriel
gave it me. His own is dead, and he is dead; but love for him lives in
me 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 _The
Armenians_, [Footnote: A novel by Macfarlane.]--amused with its pictures
of Greek, Armenian, and Turkish life, and interested in its very
romantic story.
_July 19_.
If there should not be any insuperable objection to it on your part, I
will do myself the pleasure of being in your arms the first week in
August, that I may be some time with you before I take my departure for
England for the winter.
The people about us are now in great distress, having neither work nor
food; and we are going to buy meal to distribute at half-price. Meal was
twenty-three shillings a hundred, and potatoes sevenpence a stone, last
market-day at Granard. Three weeks longer must the people be supported
till new food comes from the earth.
* * * * *
This is the last letter Maria Edgeworth addressed to her aunt. She paid
her intended visit to her in August, but had left her before her last
illness began. Mrs. Ruxton died on the 1st of November, while Maria was
in London with her sister Fanny--Mrs. Lestock Wilson. The loss of her
aunt was the greatest Miss Edgeworth had sustained since the death of
her father. She had ever been the object of exceeding love, one with
whom every thought and feeling was shared, one of her greatest sources
of happiness.
* * * * *
MARIA _to_ MISS RUXTON.