How provoking, how chilling a feeling it gives of the distance between
us, my dear Pakenham, that we must wait twelve months for an answer to
any question the most important or the most trivial! But, thank heaven,
letters and journals--bating this year between--do bring us happily
together, almost face to face and smile to smile. I have often admired
the poor Irishman's oratorical bull when he exclaimed, as he looked
through a telescope for the first time and saw the people at a cottage
door, miles off, brought near, "Then I heard 'em speak quite plain, I
think." I think I sometimes hear you speaking and hear the people call
you 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 has
been 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 self
I had the pleasure of first introducing to Lord Lansdowne, under whose
Administration this appointment was made. The pupils at Haileybury must
now learn from Jones's lectures the objections he made to Malthus's
system! I remember once hearing the answer of a sceptic in Political
Economy, when reproached with not being of some Political Economy Club.
"Whenever I see any two of you gentlemen agree, I shall be happy to
agree with you."
I hope your box of seeds will come safe and will grow. I daresay Harriet
will have told you of the Cornish gentleman she met at Black Castle, who
told of the blue hydrangea fifteen feet high, and bearing such a
profusion of flowers that they were counted, 2352 bunches, each bunch as
large as his head! We endeavoured to correct, and said florets for
bunches, presuming he so meant, but he distinctly said bunches--so make
what you can of it.
_March 19_.
Yesterday I am sure you recollected and honoured as Barry and Sophy's
wedding day. Honora had the breakfast table covered with flowers,
primroses, violets, polyanthus, and laurustinus, and some of Sophy's own
snowdrops, double and single, which obligingly lingered on purpose to
celebrate the day.
Did you see how Lord Darnley cut his foot with an axe while he was
hewing 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 very
sorry for him.
I have not, I believe, mentioned to you any books except my own; but we
have been amused with the _Invisible Gentleman_. You must swallow one
monstrous magical absurdity at the beginning, and the rest will go down
glibly--that is, _amusing_.
_Instructive and entertaining_: Burne's _Mission to Lahore and Bokhara_.
_Instructive, interesting, and entertaining_: Roget on _Physiology, with
reference to Theology_--one of the Bridgewater Treatises, full of facts
the most curious, arranged in the most beautifully luminous manner. The
infinitely large, and the infinitely small in creation, admirably
displayed.
Hannah More's _Letters_: many of them entertaining--many admirable for
manner and matter, altogether too much; two volumes would have been
better than four.
Inglis's _Ireland_: I think he is an honest writer, a man of great
observation 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! and
Aunt Bess Waller, of whom you were so fond. What an amiable and highly
cultivated 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, my
dear, for loving them. I hope that this will find you better, and that
your Black Castle walks, leaning on that kind Isabella's arm, will have
quite restored you.
I have been reading Roget's most admirable Bridgewater
Treatise--admirable in every way, scientific, moral, and religious, in
the most deep and exalted manner--religious, raising the mind through
nature's works up to nature's GOD, which must increase and exalt piety
where it exists, and create and confirm the devotional feelings where
they have lain dormant. All his facts are most curious, and the
exclamation, "how fearfully and wonderfully we are made," may be
extended to the ugliest tadpole that _wabbles_ in a ditch till he is a
frog, 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 another
page, in my hot fit of enthusiasm.
_To MISS RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 1835_.
Have you seen in the papers reports about the marriage of Lord John
Russell to Lady R.? All true--Lady Ribblesdale, _ci-devant_ Adelaide
Lister, Aunt Mary's niece, a young widow with a charming little boy;
this morning Aunt Mary had a letter from Lady Ribblesdale herself. If
she was to marry again she could not have made a more suitable match. He
is a very domestic man, and, save his party violence and folly, very
amiable and sensible.
* * * * *
Mr. George Ticknor [Footnote: The well-known Professor of Modern
Literature at Harvard University, author of the _History of Spanish
Literature_, etc. Born 1791, died 1871.] and his family visited
Edgeworthstown in August 1835, and remained there several days, which
were a very interesting and happy time to Miss Edgeworth. Mr. Ticknor
describes his visit at great length in his journals, and the first
appearance of Miss Edgeworth:
* * * * *
A small, short, spare lady of about sixty-seven, with extremely frank
and kind manners, and who always looks straight into your face with a
pair of mild deep gray eyes whenever she speaks to you. Her
conversation, always ready, is as full of vivacity and variety as I can
imagine. It is also no less full of good-nature. She is disposed to
defend everybody, as far as she can, though never so far as to be
unreasonable. And in her intercourse with her family she is quite
delightful, referring constantly to Mrs. Edgeworth, who seems to be the
authority for 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....
But, though she talks freely about herself and her works, she never
introduces the subject, and never seems glad to continue it. She talks
quite as well, and with quite as much interest, on everything else.
It is plain that the family make a harmonious whole, and by those who
visited Edgeworthstown when it was much larger, and were proud of the
children of all the wives of Mr. Edgeworth, with their connections
produced by marriage, so as to prove the most heterogeneous
relationships, I am told there was always the same striking union and
agreeable intercourse among them all, to the number of sometimes fifteen
or 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 very
convenient and comfortable through the house, though, as elsewhere in
Ireland, there is a want of English exactness and finish. However, all
such matters, even if carried much farther than they are, would be mere
trifles in the midst of so much kindness, hospitality, and intellectual
pleasures of the highest order as we enjoyed under their roof, where
hospitality is so abundant that they have often had twenty or thirty
friends come upon them unexpectedly, when the family was much larger
than it is now.
* * * * *
Maria Edgeworth was now the real owner of Edgeworthstown. Her
half-brother Lovell's embarrassments had obliged him to sell his
paternal inheritance, and Miss Edgeworth gladly expended the fortune
which had come to her through literature in preserving it from falling
into the hands of strangers. She only stipulated that she herself should
remain as much "a background figure" as before. Lovell Edgeworth was
still the apparent owner of Edgeworthstown. Mrs. Edgeworth was still the
mistress of the house, consulted and deferred to in everything. In her
note of invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Ticknor she says: "The sooner you can
come 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 they
really are in this family, unless when she makes part of it, and when
she is at the head of it." [Footnote: _Life of George Ticknor_.] Maria
Edgeworth unconsciously depicted herself when describing Miss Emma
Granby, "The Modern Griselda."
* * * * *
All her thoughts were intent upon making her friends happy. She seemed
to live in them more than in herself, and from sympathy rose the
greatest pleasure and pain of her existence. Her sympathy was not of
that useless kind which is called forth only by the elegant fictitious
sorrows of a heroine of romance; hers was ready for all the occasions of
real life; nor was it to be easily checked by the imperfections of those
to whom she could be of service.
* * * * *
Amongst those who visited Edgeworthstown about this time was the
American authoress, Mrs. Farrar, who writes:
* * * * *
When shown to our bedroom we found such an extraordinary lock to the
door [Footnote: One of Mr. Edgeworth's inventions.] that we dared not
shut it for fear of not being able to open it again. That room, too, was
unlike any I ever saw. It was very large, with three huge windows, two
of them heavily curtained, and the third converted into a small
wardrobe, with doors of pink cotton on a wooden frame. It had two very
large four-post bedsteads, with full suits of curtains, and an immense
folding-screen that divided the room in two, making each occupant as
private as if in a separate room, with a dressing-table and ample
washing conveniences on each side. A large grate filled with turf, and
all ready for lighting, with a peat basket lined with tin, and also
filled with the same fuel, reminded us strongly that we were in Ireland.
Large wax candles were on the mantelpiece, and every convenience
necessary to our comfort.
Miss Edgeworth was very short, and carried herself very upright, with a
dapper figure and quick movements. She was the remains of a blonde, with
light eyes and hair; she was now gray, but wore a dark frisette, whilst
the gray hair showed through her cap behind. In conversation we found
her delightful. She was full of anecdotes about remarkable people, and
often spoke from her personal knowledge of them. Her memory, too, was
stored with valuable information, and her manner of narrating was so
animated that it was difficult to realise her age. In telling an
anecdote of Mirabeau, she stepped out before us, and, extending her
arms, spoke a sentence of his in the impassioned manner of a French
orator, 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 lawn
stretching before it, and everything to indicate opulence and hereditary
distinction.... Miss Edgeworth was the first person to meet me; and she
immediately introduced me to her mother, Mrs. Edgeworth, her father's
fourth wife, and her sister, Miss Honora Edgeworth. Miss Edgeworth, in
her personal appearance, was below middle size; her face was exceedingly
plain, though strongly indicative of intellect; and though she seemed to
possess great vigour of body as well as of mind, it was, after all, the
vigour of old age. I supposed her to be about sixty-five, but I believe
she was actually on the wrong side of seventy. Her stepmother, Mrs.
Edgeworth, must have been, I think, rather younger than Maria, and was
not only a lady of high intelligence, but of great personal attractions,
and withal of a very serious turn of mind. As Miss Edgeworth knew that
my visit was to be limited to a single day, she told me almost
immediately that she wished to know in what way she could contribute
most to my gratification,--whether by remaining in the house or walking
over the grounds. She talked upon a great variety of subjects, but there
was nothing about her that had ever any affinity to showing off or
trying to talk well: she evidently did not know how to talk otherwise.
Circumstances led her to speak of her experience with some of her
publishers. She mentioned that one of them had repeatedly requested her
to abate from the amount which he had engaged to pay her, and that she
had done so; but at length, after she had told him explicitly to make
proposals he would abide by, he wrote her a letter, saying that he
wished another abatement, and that he found that on the whole he had
lost by her works; and she then wrote him in reply, that in consequence
of the loss he had sustained, she would transfer her publications to
other hands. He afterwards earnestly requested that she would excuse him
for having thus written, and desired to retain the works; but _she_ was
inflexible, and _he_ very angry. Her former publisher, she said, when he
found himself dying, called for a letter to her which was then
unfinished, and requested that there should be inserted a promise of ten
or twelve hundred pounds more than he had engaged to give her for one of
her works; for it had been so much more profitable to him than he
expected, that he could not die in peace till he had done justly by her.
And his heirs executed his will in accordance with this dying
suggestion.
* * * * *
Home interests, home cares, and home sorrows were henceforth
increasingly 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 my
friend of longest standing and dearest parentage in this world; and in
this world, in which I have lived nearly three quarters of a century, I
have 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, Lord
Oranmore and his son, Mr. Brown, and two Miss Stricklands and their
brothers; and coloured fireworks in the evening: of all of which you
shall 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 I
was, for hope had lived in spite of reason when life was gone--your
beloved and most amiable, angelic-tempered goddaughter [Footnote: Her
sister Sophy. Mrs. Barry Fox, who died March 1.] is gone. She preserved
her 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 see
Richard going about the house with his watch in his hand to feel Sophy's
pulse, and looking so anxious. How glad he must be that he had returned
home, and to Sophy what a comfort it must be, to have the certainty of
his affection, and to have the earliest companion of her childhood and
her manly friend beside her now! I will go to her instantly if she
desires 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 read
anything, 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 indeed
shock and grieve me. But it is, as you say, the condition, the doom of
advancing, advanced age, to see friend after friend go; but in
proportion as it detaches one from life, it still more makes us value
the friends we have left. And continually, at every fresh blow, I really
_wonder_, and am thankful, most truly thankful, that I have so many, so
much 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, her
stepmother's brother.] She has hitherto been most fortunate in pleasing
all her friends, both as to the fact and as to the time and manner of
telling. Do you remember a conversation we had standing upon the hearth
in my room one night, between eleven and twelve, the witching hour, and
what you asked me about Captain Beaufort? The secret had then been
confided to me; and I hope you will do me the justice to acknowledge
that, open-hearted and open-mouthed as I am, I can keep a secret
WONDERFUL well.
* * * * *
_To_ MR. AND MRS. TICKNOR.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 1, 1838_.
. . . My sister Honora is going to be married to a person every way
suited to her, and that is saying a great deal, as you, who most kindly
and justly appreciated her, will readily join with me in thinking. The
gentleman's name, Captain Beaufort, R.N., perhaps you may be acquainted
with, as he is in a public situation, and not unknown to literary and
scientific fame. He is a naval officer (I hope you like this officer's
name?). He made some years ago a survey of the coast of Karamania, and
wrote a small volume on that survey, which has obtained for him a good
reputation. He has been for some years Hydrographer-Royal ... in one
word, he is a person publicly esteemed, and privately he is beloved and
esteemed by all who know him, most by those who love him best. He is and
has been well known to us ever since the present Mrs. Edgeworth's
marriage with my father; Captain Beaufort is Mrs. Edgeworth's youngest
brother. As Mrs. E. is Honora's _step_mother, you see that he is no
relation whatever to Honora. But the nearness of the connection has
given us all the best means of knowing him thoroughly. He was my dear
father's most beloved pupil and friend; by pupil I mean that being so
much younger made him look up to my father with reverence, and learn
from him in science and literature with delight. Thus he has been long
connected with all I love. He has been a widower two years. He has three
sons and four daughters.... The youngest daughter, Emily, is a
delightful child. Captain Beaufort lives in London, 11 Gloucester Place:
has a very comfortable house and sufficient fortune for all their
moderate wishes. Honora's fortune, which is ample, will give them
affluence.
My dear Mrs. Ticknor, I know you particularly liked Honora, and that you
will be interested in hearing all these particulars, though it seems
impertinent to detail them across the Atlantic to one who will, I fear,
never see any one of the persons I have mentioned. Yet affections such
as 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 without
scruple drawing upon your sympathy, and you will not protest my draft.
You saw how devoted Honora was to her aunt, Mrs. Mary Sneyd, whom you
liked so much; and you will easily imagine what a struggle there has
been in Honora's mind before she would consent to a marriage with even
such a man as Captain Beaufort, when it must separate her from her aunt.
Captain Beaufort himself felt this so much that he would never have
pressed it. He once thought that she might be prevailed upon to
accompany them to London, and to live with them. But Mrs. Mary Sneyd
could not bear to leave Mrs. Edgeworth, and this place which she has
made her heart's home. She decided Captain Beaufort and her niece to
make her happy by completing their union, and letting her feel that she
did not prevent the felicity of the two persons she loves best now in
the world. She remains with us.
The marriage is to take place next Tuesday or Thursday, and my Aunt Mary
will go to church with her niece and give her away. I must tell you a
little characteristic trait of this aunt, the least selfish of all human
beings. She has been practising getting up early in the morning, which
she has not done for two years--has never got up for breakfast. But she
has trained herself to rising at the hour at which she must rise on the
wedding day, and has walked up and down her own room the distance she
must walk up and down the aisle of the church, to ensure her being
accustomed to the exertion, and able to accomplish it easily. This she
did 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 an
invalid, who was at Clifton with that dear Sophy whom we have lost, is
now recovered, and has returned home to take Honora's place with her
Aunt Mary; and Aunt Mary likes to have her, and Lucy feels this a great
motive to her to overcome a number of nervous feelings which formed part
of her illness. A regular course of occupations and duties, and feeling
herself essential to the happiness and the holding together of a family
she so loves, will be the best strengthening medicine for her. She
arrived at home last night. My sister Fanny and her husband, Lestock
Wilson, are with us. My sister has much improved in health: she is now
able to walk without pain, and bore her long journey and voyage here
wonderfully. I have always regretted, and always shall regret, that this
sister Fanny of mine had not the pleasure of becoming acquainted with
you. You really must revisit England. My sister Harriet Butler, and Mr.
Butler, and the three dear little Foxes, are all round me at this
instant. Barry Fox, their father, will be with us in a few days, and
Captain Beaufort returns from London on Monday. You see what a large and
happy family we are!
Mr. Butler will perform the happy, awful ceremony. How people who do not
love can even dare to marry, to approach the altar to pronounce that
solemn vow, I cannot conceive.
My thoughts are so engrossed by this subject that I absolutely cannot
tell you of anything else. You must tell me of everything that interests
you, 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 the
accomplishment of Honora and Captain Beaufort's marriage. Captain
Beaufort was affected more than any man I ever saw in the same
circumstances, yet in the most manly manner. Aunt Mary went to church,
as she had intended: they had both received her blessing, kneeling as to
a mother, the evening before in her own room. Lestock and Barry were at
the church door, to hand her up the aisle. Old Mr. Keating was there,
excellent, warm-hearted man; and Mr. Butler performed the ceremony. The
bride 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 pleasantly
performed our visits--Rosa, Lucy, and Francis with me--to the Pakenhams
and Pollards. Francis found Mr. Pollard very agreeable, and was charmed
with Mrs. Pollard's manners and conversation. We called on Mrs. Dease on
our 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 gentleman
at the _White Hart_, Edgeworthstown, waiting for an answer: an American
medical professor, Dr. Gibson. It was very unlucky that I was engaged to
go out--irrevocably settled: however, I sat two hours and a half with
Dr. 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 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 nursling.
Thank you and Mrs. Mitchell for the potted meat luncheon, and Mr. Tuite
for his grapes,--Mary Anne and Charlotte had some. I was less tired than
I could have expected when I reached Trim, and there was Mr. Butler on
the steps ready to welcome us, and candles and firelight in the
drawing-room so cheerful. I slept like a sleeping top. Harriet read out
_Ferdinand and Isabella_, which, with all its chivalresque interest, I
do 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 am
very glad that she who has such fresh genuine pleasure in literature
should have this book, which is so beautifully written, because it is so
well felt by the author. Poor kind man. I will write to Mr. Ticknor as
soon as I come to Finis.
The birds got home well; but travelling, Harriet tells me, does not
agree with them, because they cannot stick upon their perch, and it is a
perpetual struggle between cling and jolt.
_Nov. 10_.
I enclose a note of Miss Crampton's and two notes of Lady Normanby's. I
never read more unaffected, affectionate, wife-like letters. How
gratifying they must be to Crampton, and it raises one's opinion of Lord
Normanby himself to find he can so attach a woman and a wife.
The _History of a Flirt_, which Harriet is reading to me, is rather
entertaining but not interesting--a new and ingenious idea of a flirt,
who is not looking for establishment or match-making, and therefore her
disinterestedness charms all the lords and gentlemen who have been used
to match-making mothers and young-lady-hunters for titles, and under
favour of this disinterestedness her insolence and faithlessness is
passed over, while all the time she is in love with a captain with "soft
Venetian eyes," as Mrs. Thrale used to say of Piozzi.
_Nov. 16_.
The ear-comforter or earwig is beautiful and comfortable, and is, I
hear, as becoming to me as was the Chancellor's wig to Francis Forbes
when he acted _Of Age To-morrow_. I am acting of age to-day, and very
gay, and perhaps may arrive at years of discretion at eighty, if I live
so long. I certainly wish to live till next month that I may see you all
at home again. You know the classic distich, which my father pointed out
and translated for me, which was over the entrance door of the Cross
Keys 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 human
nature.
_To_ MR. TICKNOR.
TRIM, _Nov. 19, 1840_.
... I am afraid to invite you to come and see us again, lest you should
be disenchanted, and we should lose the delightful gratification we
enjoy in your glamour of friendship. Aunt Mary, however, is really all
you think and saw her; and in her good years still a proof, as you
describe her--and a remarkable proof--of the power of mind over time,
suffering, and infirmities, and an example of Christian virtues, making
old age lovely and interesting.
Your prayer, that she might have health and strength to enjoy the
gathering 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 of
all her children round her, all her living daughters and their husbands,
and her grandchildren. Francis will settle at home, and be a good
country gentleman and his own agent, to Mrs. Edgeworth's and all our
inexpressible comfort and support, also for the good of the county, as a
resident landlord and magistrate _much_ needed. As _he_ is at home I can
be spared from the rent-receiving business, etc., and leaving him with
his mother, Aunt Mary, and Lucy, I can indulge myself by accepting an
often-urged invitation from my two sisters, Fanny and Honora, to spend
some months with them in London. I have chosen to go at this quiet time
of year, as I particularly wish not to encounter the bustle and
dissipation and lionising of London. For though I am such a minnikin
lion 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 stand
up to play tricks for them, and this I am not able or inclined to do. I
am afraid I should growl; I never could be as good-natured as Sir Walter
Scott used to be, when rattled for and made to "come out and stand on
his hind legs," as he used to describe it, and then go quietly to sleep
again.
I shall use my privilege of seventy-two--rising seventy-three--and shall
keep 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 not
be sorry nor mortified by not being asked to exhibit, but heartily happy
to be with my sisters and their family and family friends--_all_ for
which I go--knowing my own mind very well I speak the plain truth. I
shall return to Edgeworthstown before the London _season_, as it is
called, commences, i.e. by the end of March, or at the very beginning of
April.
This is all I have, for the present, to tell you of my dear self, or of
our family doings or plannings.
... I do not know whether I was most interested, dear Mrs. Ticknor, in
your picture of your domestic life and happy house and home, or in the
view you gave me of your public festivity and celebration of your
American day of days--your national festival in honour of your
Declaration of Independence. It was never, I suppose, more joyously,
innocently, and advantageously held than on the day you describe so
delightfully with the accuracy of an eye-witness. I think I too have
seen all this, and thank you for showing it to me. It is a picture that
will never leave the memory of my heart. I only wish that we could ever
hope to have in Ireland any occasion or possibility of such happy and
peaceable meetings, with united sympathy and for the keeping alive a
feeling of national patriotism. No such point of union can be found,
alas! in Ireland; no subject upon which sects and parties could coalesce
for an hour, or join in rejoicing or feeling for their country! Father
Matthews, one might have hoped, considering the good he has effected for
all Ireland, and considering his own unimpeachable character and his
great liberality, admitting all sects and all parties to take his pledge
and share his benevolent efforts, _might_ have formed a central point
round which all might gather. But no such hope! for I am just now
assured his very Christian charity and liberality are complained of by
his Catholic brethren, priests and laity, who now begin to abuse him for
giving 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 them
saved in this world and the next too! Then I would not doubt but at the
last he'd _turn tail_! aye, turn Protestant himself _entirely_."
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.