_Feb. 10, 1831_.
I am just come home from breakfasting with Sir James Macintosh. Fanny
was with me, double, double pleasure, but we both feel as we suppose
dramdrinkers do after their "mornings." My hand and my mind are both
unsteadied and unfitted for business after this intoxicating draught. O
what it is to "come within the radiance of genius," [Footnote: Quoted
from a letter of her sister Anna after the death of Dr. Beddoes.] not
only every object appears so radiant, but I feel myself so much
increased in powers, in range of mind, a _vue d'oiseau_ of all things
raised above the dun dim fog of commonplace life. How can any one like
to live with their inferiors and prefer it to the delight of being
raised up by a superior to the bright regions of genius? The inward
sense of having even this perception of excellence is a pleasure far
beyond what flattery _can_ give. Flattery is like a bad perfume,
nauseous and overpowering after the first waft, and hurtful as well as
nauseous. But as luncheon is coming and we must go directly to the
Admiralty to see Captain Beaufort, and then to the Carrs'--no more
rhodomontading 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 it
shocked you. But it was scarcely possible that it could strike you so much
as it did me. I, who had seen him but a few days before, and who had been
rallying him upon his being hypochondriac. I, who had been laughing at him
along with Mrs. Hope, for being, I thought, merely in the cold fit after
having been in the hot fit of enthusiasm while finishing his book. He knew
too well, poor man, what we did not know. I believe that I never had time
to describe to you the impression that visit to him made upon me. I had
actually forced Mrs. Hope to go up and say he must see me; that such an
old friend, and one who had such a regard for him, and for whom I knew he
had 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 his
night-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 till
we 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, and
straight it sunk again. He asked most kindly for my two sisters--"tell
them I am glad they are happy."
The half-finished picture of his second son was in the corner, beside
his 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 much
younger 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 was
only the next day but one after this that Fanny read to me his death in
the paper. It was dreadfully sudden to us; what must it have been to
Mrs. Hope? I am sure she had no idea of its coming so soon. I forgot to
say that as I got up to go away, I told him laughing, that he was only
ill of a plethora of happiness, that he had everything this world could
give, 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 back
without 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 scarf
embroidered with flowers, worked for Miss Edgeworth by Mrs. Beaufort,
when she was ninety-two.] at various places to the admiration and almost
incredulity of all beholders--such beautiful flowers at ninety-two!
At last we were fortunately at home when Lady Wellesley and Miss Caton
called, and, thanks to my impudence in having written to him the moment
he landed, and thanks to his good nature, Sir John Malcolm came at the
same moment, and Lady Wellesley and he talked most agreeably over former
times in India and later times in Ireland. Lady Wellesley is not nearly
so tall or magnificent a person as I expected. Her face beautiful, her
manner rather too diplomatically studied. People say "she has a
remarkably good manner;" perfectly good manners are never "remarkable,"
felt, not seen. Sir John is as entertaining and delightful as his
Persian sketches, and as instructive as his _Central India_.
_To_ HER SISTER HARRIET--MRS. R. BUTLER.