"Slip on, for Time's Time!" said a man, coming forth with a pipe in his
mouth from an inn door, exhorting men and horses of railroad omnibus.
"Slip on, Time's Time!" I have been saying to myself continually; and
now I am coming to the last gasp, and Time slips so fast, that Time is
not Time--in fact, there's no Time.
Rosa's note to Fanny about glass shall be attended to, and I shall paste
on the outside, "GLASS--NOT TO BE THROWN DOWN;" for Lord Adair had a bag
thrown down the other day by reckless railway porters, in which was a
bottle of sulphuric acid, which, breaking and spilling, stained,
spoiled, and burned his Lordship's best pantaloons. I have packed up my
bottles with such elastic skill, that I trust my petticoats will not
share that sad fate.
* * * * *
Miss Edgeworth now left London for the last time. This was her last
visit to her happy London home in North Audley Street, and in this last
visit she had enjoyed much with all the freshness of youth, though the
health of her sister and hostess often caused her anxiety. Mrs. L.H.
Sigourney, who had been a frequent visitor, writes: [Footnote: _Pleasant
Memories of Pleasant Lands_, by Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (1791-1865).]
* * * * *
To have repeatedly met and listened to Miss Edgeworth, seated familiarly
with her by the fireside, may seem to her admirers in America a
sufficient payment for the hazards of crossing the Atlantic. Her
conversation, like her writings, is varied, vivacious, and delightful.
Her forgetfulness of self and happiness in making others happy are
marked traits in her character. Her person is small and delicately
proportioned, and her movements full of animation. The ill-health of the
lovely sister, much younger than herself, at whose house in London she
was passing the winter, called forth such deep anxiety, untiring
attention, and fervent gratitude for every favourable symptom, as seemed
to blend features of maternal tenderness with sisterly affection.
MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 2, 1844_.
Not the least tired with my journey. Francis read to me indefatigably
through _Australia_. [Footnote: Hood's _Letters from Australia_.] There
is an excellent anecdote of an old Scotch servant meeting his master
unexpectedly in Australia after many years' absence: "I was quite dung
down donnerit when I saw the laird, I canna' conceit what dooned me--I
was raal glad to see him, but I dinna ken hoo I couldna' speak it."
If anybody can conceive anything much more absurd than my copying this
out of a printed book of your own which you will have back in seven
days,--let them call aloud.
"I canna' speak it" how happy I was yesterday, at the tender, warm
reception I had from your dear mother, and all young and old.
_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 21, 1844_.
I am right glad to look forward to the hope of seeing you again and
talking all manner of nonsense and sense, and laughing myself and making
you laugh, as I used to do, though I am six years beyond the allotted
age and have had so many attacks of illness within the last two years;
but I am, as Bess Fitzherbert and poor dear Sophy used to say, like one
of those pith puppets that you knock down in vain, they always start up
the same as ever. I was particularly fortunate in my last attack of
erysipelas in all the circumstances, just having reached Harriet and
Louisa's comfortable home, and happy in having Harriet Butler coming to
me the very day she heard I was in this condition. Crampton had set out
for Italy the day before, but Sir Henry Marsh managed me with skill, and
let me recover slowly, as nature requires at advanced age. I am obliged
to repeat to myself, "advanced age," because really and truly neither my
spirits nor my powers of locomotion and facility of running up and down
stairs would put me in mind of it. I do not find either my love for my
friends or my love of literature in the least failing. I enjoyed even
when flattest in my bed hearing Harriet Butler reading to me till eleven
o'clock at night. Sir Henry Marsh prescribed some book that would
entertain and interest me without straining my attention or
over-exciting me, and Harriet chose Madame de Sevigné's _Letters_, which
perfectly answered all the conditions, and was as delightful at the
twentieth reading as at the first. Such lively pictures of the times and
modes of living in country, town, and court, so interesting from their
truth, simplicity, and elegance; the language so polished, and not the
least antiquated even at this day. Madame de Sevigné's reply to Madame
de Grignan, having called Les Rochers _"humide"--"Humide! humide
vous-même!"_ I should not have thought it French; I did not know they
had that turn of colloquial drollery. But she has every good turn and
power of expression, and is such an amiable, affectionate, good
creature, loving the world too and the court, and all its sense and
nonsense mixed delightfully. Harriet often stopped to say, "How like my
mother! how like Aunt Ruxton!" At Trim, during the two delightfully
happy months I was there, during my convalescence and perfect recovery,
she read to me many other books, and often I wished that you had been as
you used to be with us, and Mr. Butler, who is very fond of you and
appreciates you, joined in the wish. One book was the _Journal of the
Nemesis_,--of breathless interest, from the great danger they were in
from the splitting of the iron vessel, and all the exertions and
ingenuity of the officers; and Prescott's _Mexico_ I found extremely
interesting. After these true, or warranted true histories, we read a
novel not half so romantic or entertaining, the _Widow Barnaby in
America_, and then we tried a Swedish story,--not by Miss Bremer,--of
smugglers and murderers, and a self-devoted lady, and an idiot boy, the
best drawn and most consistent character in the book. After--no, I
believe it was before--the _Rose of Tisleton_, we read _Ellen
Middleton_, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, grand-daughter of the famous
Duchess-Beauty of Devonshire, and whatever faults that Duchess had she
certainly had genius. Do you recollect her lines on _William Tell_? or
do you know Coleridge's lines to her, beginning with
O lady nursed in pomp and pleasure,
Where learned you that heroic measure?
Look for them, and get _Ellen Middleton_, it is well worth your reading.
Lady Georgiana certainly inherits her grandmother's genius, and there is
a high-toned morality and religious principle through the book (where
got she "that heroic measure"?) without any cant or ostentation: it is
the same moral I intended in _Helen_, but exemplified in much deeper and
stronger colours. This is--but you must read it yourself.
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
OBSERVATORY, ARMAGH, _Sept. 15, 1844_.
As well and as happy as the day is short--too short here for all that is
to be seen, felt, heard, and understood. It is more delightful to me
than I can express, but you can understand how delightful it is to see
Lucy so happy and to see her mother see it all. I sleep in the same room
with her, and fine talking we have, and we care not who hears us, we say
no harm of anybody, we have none to say.
Lucy has certainly made good use of her time and so improved the house I
should hardly have known it. In the dining-room is a fine picture of Dr.
Robinson when a boy, full of genius and romance, seated on a rock. It is
admirable and delicious to see how well and how completely Lucy has
turned her mind to all that can make her house and _houseband_, and all
belonging to him, happy and comfortable--omitting none of those smaller
creature comforts which, if not essential, are very desirable for all
human creatures learned or unlearned.
Robinson at home is not less wonderful and more agreeable even than
Robinson abroad,--his _abondance_ in literature equal to Macintosh,--in
science you know out of sight superior to anybody. In home life his
amiable qualities and amicable temper appear to the greatest advantage,
and I cannot say too much about the young people's kind and affectionate
manner to Lucy.
The Primate [Footnote: Lord John George Beresford, Archbishop of
Armagh.] and the Lady Beresfords were so kind and gracious as to come to
see us; and I have enjoyed a very agreeable luncheon-dinner at Caledon.
Lady Caledon is a _real_ person, doing a great deal of good sensibly.
Lord Caledon [Footnote: James Du Pre, third Earl of Caledon, was then
unmarried. His mother, Catherine, daughter of the third Earl of
Hardwicke, lived with him when he was in Ireland.] gave me a history of
his life in the backwoods of America, and gave me a piece of pemmican,
and I enclose a bit, and I hope it will not have greased everything! and
when I said that after a youth in the backwoods it was well to have such
a place as Caledon to fall back upon, there was a glance at his mother
that spoke volumes.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 7, 1845_.
How characteristic Joanna Baillie's letter is, so perfectly simple,
dignified, and touching.
_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
_August 7, 1845._
No pen or hand but my own shall answer your most affectionate letter, my
dear own Margaret, or welcome you again to your native country--damp as
it is--warm and comfortable with good old,--and young, friends--and
young, for your young friends Mary Anne and Charlotte were heartily glad
to see you. As to the old, I will yield to no mortal living. In the
first place is the plain immovable fact that I am the OLDEST friend you
have living, and as to actual knowledge of you I defy any one to match
me, ever since you were an infant at Foxhall, and through the Black
Castle cottage times with dear Sophy and all. What changes and chances,
and ups and downs, we have seen together!
_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
TRIM, _March 1, 1846_.
Pakenham and Christina [Footnote: In February, Pakenham Edgeworth had
married Christina, daughter of Dr. Hugh Macpherson of Aberdeen.] arrived
here in excellent time, charmed with their kind reception at Black
Castle. From the first moment I set eyes and ears upon Christina I liked
her,--it seemed to me as if she was not a new bride coming a stranger
amongst us, but one of the family fitting at once into her place as a
part of a joining map that had been wanting and is now happily found.
_To_ LADY BEAUFORT.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 31, 1846_.
I hope, dear Honora, that the rhododendrons will not exhaust themselves;
at this moment yours opposite the library window are in the most
beautiful profuse blow you can conceive, and at the end of my garden
indescribably beautiful, and scarlet thorn beside. The peony tree has
happily survived its removal, and is covered with flowers.
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _June 24, 1846_.
I must try your patience a bit more in a most _thorny_ affair----How
"thorny"?
You will never know till a box arrives by the coach, Edward being under
orders to convey it to Granard in the gig. Why Edward? Why in the gig?
Because the box is too heavy for Mick Dolan or any other gossoon to
carry. "And what can be in it?" Wait till you see,--and I hope you may
only see and not feel. _Citoyenne, n'y touchez pas_. Vegetable, animal,
or mineral? Four-and-twenty questions might be spent upon it, and you
would be none the wiser.
Now to be plain, the box contains "the old man's head;" now you know.
Cacti sent to me by Sir William Hooker; your mother has not room for
more than two, which she kept. Thunderstorm and hail-shower, half-past
eleven.
* * * * *
The death of Maria Edgeworth's half-brother Francis on 12th October 1846
was a great grief to the family. The same autumn saw the beginning of
the Irish famine.
* * * * *
MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
_February 9, 1847_.
Mr. Powell instigated me to beg some relief for the poor from the Quaker
Association in Dublin--so, much against the grain, I penned a letter to
Mr. Harvey, the only person whose name I know on the committee, and
prayed some assistance for Mr. Powell, our vicar, to get us over the
next two months, and your mother represented to me that men and boys who
can get employment in draining especially, cannot _stand_ the work in
the wet for want of strong shoes; so, in for a penny, in for a pound;
ask for a lamb, ask for a sheep. I made _bould_ to axe my FRIENDS for as
many pairs of brogues as they could afford, or as much leather and
soles, which would be better still, as this would enable us to set
sundry starving shoemakers to work. By return of post came a letter to
"Most respected Friend," or something better, I forget what, and I have
sent the letter to Fanny--granting £30 for food--offering a soup boiler
for eighty gallons, if we had not one large enough, and sending £10 for
women's work: and telling me they would lay my shoe petition before the
Clothing Committee. [Footnote: Leather was sent by these benevolent
gentlemen, and brogues were made for men and boys, and proved to be of
the first service.]
_February 22_.
The people are now beginning to sow, and I hope they will accordingly
reap in due course. Mr. Hinds has laid down a good rule, not to give
seed to any tenants but those who can produce the receipt for the last
half-year's rent. Barry has been exceedingly kind in staying with us,
doing your mother all manner of good, looking after blunders in
draining, etc.
_March 13_.
I have been working as hard as an ass to get the pleasure of writing to
you, and have not been able to accomplish it. I have only time to say, a
gentleman from the Birmingham Relief Committee has sent me £5 for the
starving Irish. How good people are! I send Mrs. Cruger's letter, and
have written to the ladies of America, specially, as she desires, to
those of New York, and your mother approved, and I asked for barley
seed, which, as Mr. Powell and Gahan and your mother say, to be of any
use must come before May--but I asked for money as well as seed.--Sturdy
beggars.
_March 22_.
You will see how good the Irish Americans [Footnote: The Irish porters
who carried the seed corn sent from Philadelphia to the shore for
embarkation refused to be paid.] have been, and are; I wish the rich
Argosie was come.
_April 9_.
"Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?" I found it, my dear,
exactly where I knew it was, in Alison's _History_. On Buonaparte's
return from Egypt, the Old Guard surrounding him and the band playing
this. I know Mary Anne and Charlotte have the music. I have seen it with
my eyes and heard it with my ears; I have it in the memory of my
heart--I have made all the use I want of it now in the new story I am
writing, and mean to publish in Chambers's _Miscellany_, and to give the
proceeds to the Poor Relief Fund.
_April 26_.
Having seen in the newspapers that the Australians had sent a
considerable sum for the relief of the distressed Irish, and that they
had directed it to the care of "His Grace the Archbishop of Dublin,"
meaning Dr. Murray, I wrote to our Archbishop Whately, playing upon this
graceless proceeding towards him, and to the best of my capacity,
without flattery. I did what I could to make my letter honestly pleasing
to His Grace, and I received the most prompt, polite, and to the point
reply, assuring me that the Australians were not so graceless in their
doings as in their words, that they had made a remittance of a
considerable sum to him, and that if I apply to the Central Relief
Committee, in whose hands he placed it, he has no doubt my application
will be attended to.
This was nuts and apples to me, or, better at present, rice and oatmeal,
and I have accordingly written to "My Lords and Gentlemen." The
Archbishop, civilly, to show how valuable he deemed my approbation! has
sent me a corrected copy of his speech, with good new notes and protest
and preface. He says it is impossible to conceive how ignorant the
English still are of Ireland, and how positive in their ignorance.
_April 28_.
Mr. Powell has received from Government £105 on his sending up the list
of subscriptions here for a hundred guineas, according to their promise,
to give as much as any parish subscribed towards its own relief. This he
means to lay out in bread and rice and meal--not all in soup; that he
may encourage them to cook at home and not be mere craving beggars.
_To_ LADY BEAUFORT.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 8, 1847_.
Most heartily do I rejoice that we may hope that you may be able to
come; I do not say come with Fanny, for that might hurry and hazard you,
but in the days of harvest home, if harvest home does ever come again to
our poor country, and you will rejoice with us in the brightened day.
I cannot answer your Admiral's question as to the number of deaths
caused by the famine. I believe that no one can form a just estimate. In
different districts the estimates and assertions are widely different,
and the priests keep no registry. Mr. Tuite, who was here yesterday,
told us that in the House of Commons the contradictory statements of the
Irish members astonished and grieved him, as he knew the bad effect it
would have in diminishing their credit with the English. Two hundred and
fifty thousand is the report of the Police up to April. Mr. Tuite
thought a third more deaths than usual had been in his neighbourhood. My
mother and Mr. Powell say that the increase of deaths above ordinary
times has not in this parish been as much as one-third.
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 19, 1847_.
The fever, or whatever it is, has been, Lucy says, dreadful about
Armagh; many gentlemen have it; one who exerted himself much for the
poor--was distributing meal, saw a poor girl so weak, she could not hold
her apron stretched out for it; he went and held it for her--she was in
the fever; he went home, felt ill, had the fever, and died.
_June 7_.
What magnificent convolvulus! we had not one blown for Fanny's birthday.
Do not trouble yourself about my cough or cold, for I am doing, and
shall do, very well; and I would have had twenty times the cough for the
really exquisite pleasure I have received from Sir Henry Marsh's letter:
no such generous offer was ever made with more politeness and good
taste. In the midst of all that may go wrong in the world there is
really _much good_, and so much that is honourable to our human nature.
When Margaret is with you, if she likes to see _Orlandino_ in his
present _déshabillé_, she is welcome. [Footnote: This story was the
first of a series edited by William Chambers. It was practically "a
temperance story." Speaking in it of the influence of Father Matthews,
Miss Edgeworth says: "Since the time of the Crusades, never has one
single voice awakened such moral energies; never was the call of one man
so universally, so promptly, so long obeyed. Never, since the world
began, were countless multitudes so influenced and so successfully
diverted by one mind to one peaceful purpose. Never were nobler ends by
nobler means attained."]
_June 11_.
I am quite well, and half-eaten by midges, which proves that I have been
out, standing over Mackin, cutting away dead branches of laurestinus. He
could not stand it--took off hat, and rubbed with both hands all over
head and face. I wish we could put back the profuse blow of the
rhododendrons, peonies, and Himalayan poppies till Honora and Fanny
come. Have you any Himalayan poppies? If not, remember to supply
yourself when you are here--splendid!
* * * * *
Of the publication of _Orlandino_, written for the benefit of the Irish
Poor Relief Fund, Miss Edgeworth wrote to Mrs. S.C. Hall:
* * * * *
Chambers, as you always told me, acts very liberally. As this was to
earn a little money for our parish poor, in the last year's distress, he
most considerately gave prompt payment. Even before publication, when
the proof-sheets were under correction, came the ready order in the Bank
of Ireland. Blessings on him! and I hope he will not be the worse for
me. I am surely the better for him, and so are numbers now working and
eating; for Mrs. Edgeworth's principle and mine is to excite the people
to work for good wages, and not, by gratis feeding, to make beggars of
them, and ungrateful beggars, as the case might be.
* * * * *
A most touching reward for her exertions in behalf of the Irish poor,
reached Miss Edgeworth from America. The children of Boston, who had
known and loved her through her books, raised a subscription for her,
and sent her a hundred and fifty pounds of flour and rice. They were
simply inscribed--"To Miss Edgeworth, for her poor." Nothing, in her
long life, ever pleased or gratified her more.
* * * * *
MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 27, 1847_.
I have heard it said that no one should begin a letter with _I_, but
methinks this must be the dictum of some hypocritical body, or of
somebody who thinks more of themselves than they dare let appear. I am
so full of my own little self, that I am confident you, my dear
Margaret, will not think the worse of me for beginning with "I am very
well;" and I am a miracle of prudence and a model of virtue to sick and
well--with good looking-after understood. So I stayed in bed yesterday
morning, and roses and myrtles and white satin ribbon covered my bed, to
tie up a bouquet for a bride, very well wrapped up in my labada. You
don't know what a labada is: Harriet will tell you. This nosegay was to
be presented to the bride by little Mary, as Rosa was asked to the
wedding, and was to take Mary with her. But who is the bride? you will
ask, and ask you may; but you will not be a bit the wiser when I tell
you--Miss Thompson. Now your heads go to Clonfin, or to Thompsons near
Dublin, or in the County of Meath. This is one you never heard of--at
Mr. Armstrong's, of Moydow; and she was married yesterday to the eldest
son of Baron Greene.
At the breakfast, when Mr. Armstrong was to reply to the speech of the
bridegroom, who had expressed his gratitude to him as the uncle who had
brought her up, the old man attempted to speak; but when he rose he
could only pronounce the words, "My child."
Mary, after the breakfast, walked gracefully up to the bride and said,
"My Aunt Maria begged me to present this to you. The rose is called
Maria Leonida, her own name is Maria; and she hopes you will be very
happy." I was delighted.
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 30, 1847_.
I hope the hyacinths "Maria Edgeworth" and "Apollo," and all the blues,
will not be destroyed in their journey to you. I spent an hour yesterday
doing up dahlias for Rosa, who wrote to me from Dublin that she was
heart-sick for flowers.
I advise and earnestly recommend you to read _Grantley Manor_. It does
not, Mr. Butler, end ill, and from beginning to end it is good, and not
stupidly good. It is not controversial either in dialogue or story, and
in word and deed it does justice to both Churches, in the distribution
of the qualities of the _dramatis personae_ and the action of the story.
It is beautifully written; pathetic, without the least exaggeration of
feeling or affectation. The characters are well contrasted; some nobly
high-minded, generous, and firm to principle, religious and moral
without any cant; and there are no monsters of wickedness. I never read
a more interesting story, new, and well developed.
_Nov. 13_.
Yesterday morning I received the enclosed note from that most conceited
and not over well-bred Mons. de Lamartine. I desired my friend Madame
Belloc to use her own discretion in repeating my criticisms on his
_Histoire des Girondins_, but requested that she would convey to him the
thanks and admiration of our family for the manner in which he has
mentioned the Abbé Edgeworth, and our admiration of the beauty of the
writing of that whole passage in the work. At the same time I regretted
that he had omitted "Fils de St. Louis," and also that he has not
mentioned the circumstance of the crowd opening and letting the Abbé
pass in safety immediately from the scaffold after the execution. This
it seems to me necessary to note, as part of the picture of the times: a
few days afterwards a price was set upon his head, and hundreds were
ready for the reward to pursue and give him up. I copied this from
Sneyd's _Memoir_, and the anecdote of the Abbé, when asked at a dinner
(Ministerial) in London whether he said the words "Fils de St. Louis,"
etc., and his answer that he could not recollect, his mind had been so
taken up with the event. I think Lamartine, in his note to me, turns
this unfairly; and I feel, and I am sure so will you and Mr. Butler,
"What an egotist and what a puppy it is!" But ovation has turned his
head.
* * * * *
On the 4th of February 1848, after a very short illness, Mrs. Lestock
Wilson--Fanny Edgeworth--died. Maria survived her little more than a
year. She bore the shock without apparent injury to her health, and she
continued to employ herself with her usual benevolent interest and
sympathy in all the business and pleasures of her family and friends;
but strongly as she was attached to all her brothers and sisters, Fanny
had been the dearest object of her love and admiration. To her friend
Mrs. S.C. Hall, who wrote to her as usual on 1st January (1849), which
was her birthday, she answered, "You must not delay long in finding your
way to Edgeworthstown if you mean to see me again. Remember, you have
just congratulated me on my eighty-second birthday." In the spring she
spent some weeks at Trim, where her sister Lucy and Dr. Robinson were
with her. She seemed unusually agitated and depressed in taking leave of
her sister Harriet and Mr. Butler, but said as she went away, "At
Whitsuntide I shall return."
Only a few weeks before her death Miss Edgeworth wrote:
* * * * *
Our pleasures in literature do not, I think, decline with age; last 1st
of January was my eighty-second birthday, and I think that I had as much
enjoyment from books as I ever had in my life.
* * * * *
In her last letter to her sister, Honora Beaufort, she enclosed the
lines:
* * * * *
Ireland, with all thy faults, thy follies too,
I love thee still: still with a candid eye must view
Thy wit, too quick, still blundering into sense
Thy reckless humour: sad improvidence,
And even what sober judges follies call,
I, looking at the Heart, forget them all!
MARIA E. _May 1849_.
* * * * *
On the morning of the 22nd of May Miss Edgeworth drove out, apparently
in her usual health. On her return she was suddenly seized with pain of
the heart, and in a few hours breathed her last in the arms of her
devoted stepmother and friend.[Footnote: Mrs. Edgeworth herself lived
till 1865, greatly honoured and beloved.]
Mrs. Edgeworth writes:
* * * * *
Maria had always wished that her friends should be spared the anguish of
seeing her suffer in protracted illness; she had always wished to die at
home, and that I should be with her--both her wishes were fulfilled.
Extremely small of stature, her figure continued slight, and all her
movements singularly alert to the last. No one ever conversed with her
for five minutes without forgetting the plainness of her features in the
vivacity, benevolence, and genius expressed in her countenance.[Footnote:
In her old age Miss Edgeworth used to say, "Nobody is anything worse than
'plain' now; no one is ugly now but myself,"--but no one thought her so.]
Particularly neat in her dress and in all her ways, she had everything
belonging to her arranged in the most perfect order--habits of order
early impressed upon her mind by Mrs. Honora Edgeworth, which, with her
methodical way of doing business, enabled her to get through a
surprising amount of multifarious work in the course of every day.
She wrote almost always in the library, undisturbed by the noise of the
large family about her, and for many years on a little desk her father
had made for her, and on which two years before his death he inscribed
the following words:
"On this humble desk were written all the numerous works of my daughter,
Maria Edgeworth, in the common sitting-room of my family. In these
works, which were chiefly written to please me, she has never attacked
the personal character of any human being or interfered with the
opinions of any sect or party, religious or political; while
endeavouring to inform and instruct others, she improved and amused her
own mind and gratified her heart, which I do believe is better than her
head.
"R.L.E."
She used afterwards a writing-desk which had been her father's, but when
at home it was always placed on a little table of his construction,
which is in my possession, and to which she had attached many ingenious
contrivances--a bracket for her candlestick, a fire-screen, and places
for her papers. This little table being on castors, she could move it
from the sofa by the fire to the window, or into a recess behind the
pillars of the library, where she generally sat in summer time. She
wrote on folio sheets of paper, which she sewed together in chapters.
To facilitate the calculation of the MS. for printing, and to secure
each page containing nearly the same amount of writing, she used to
prick the margin of her paper at equal distances, and her father made a
little machine set with points by which she could pierce several sheets
at once. A full sketch of the story she was about to write was always
required by her father before she began it, and though often much
changed in its progress, the foundation and purpose remained as
originally planned. She rose, as I have said, early, and after taking a
cup of coffee and reading her letters, walked out till breakfast-time, a
meal she always enjoyed especially (though she scarcely ate anything);
she delighted to read out and talk over her letters of the day, and
listened a little to the newspapers, but she was no politician. She came
into the breakfast-room in summer time with her hands full of roses, and
always had some work or knitting to do while others ate. She generally
sat down at her desk soon after breakfast and wrote till
luncheon-time,--her chief meal in the day,--after which she did some
needlework, often unwillingly, when eager about her letters or MSS., but
obediently, as she had found writing directly after eating bad for her.
Sometimes in the afternoon she drove out, always sitting with her back
to the horses, and when quite at ease about them exceedingly enjoyed a
short drive in an open carriage, not caring and often not knowing which
road she went, talking and laughing all the time. She usually wrote all
the rest of her afternoon, and in her latter years lay down and slept
for an hour after dinner, coming down to tea and afterwards reading out
herself, or working and listening to the reading out of some of the
family. Her extreme enjoyment of a book made these evening hours
delightful to her and to all her family. If her attention was turned to
anything else, she always desired the reader to stop till she was able
to attend, and even from the most apparently dull compositions she
extracted knowledge or amusement. She often lingered after the usual
bed-time to talk over what she had heard, full of bright or deep and
solid observations, and gay anecdotes _à propos_ to the work or its
author.
She had amazing power of control over her feelings when occasion
demanded, but in general her tears or her smiles were called forth by
every turn of joy and sorrow among those she lived with. When she met in
a stranger a kindred mind, her conversation upon every subject poured
forth, was brilliant with wit and eloquence and a gaiety of heart which
gave life to all she thought and said. But the charms of society never
altered her taste for domestic life; she was consistent from the
beginning to the end. Though so exceedingly enjoying the intercourse of
all the great minds she had known, she more enjoyed her domestic life
with her nearest relations, when her spirits never flagged, and her wit
and wisdom, which were never for show, were called forth by every little
incident of the day. When my daughters were with Maria at Paris, they
described to me the readiness with which she would return from the
company of the greatest philosophers and wits of the day to superintend
her young sisters' dress, or arrange some party of pleasure for them.
"We often wonder what her admirers would say, after all the profound
remarks and brilliant witticisms they have listened to, if they heard
all her delightful nonsense with us." Much as she was gratified by her
"success" in the society of her celebrated contemporaries, she never
varied in her love for Home.
* * * * *
Her whole life, of eighty-three years, had been an aspiration after
good.