_Dec. 2, 1800._
My mother has had a sore throat, and Aunt Charlotte and Honora have had
feverish attacks, and John Jenkins has had fever, so that my father was
obliged to remove him to his own house in the village. There has been
and is a fever in the lanes of Edgeworthstown, and so quickly does ill
news fly, that this got before us to Collon, to the Speaker's, where we
were invited, and had actually set out last week to spend a few days
there. When we got to Allenstown, we were told that a servant from the
Speaker's had arrived with a letter, and had gone on to Edgeworthstown
with it: we waited for his return with the letter, which was to forbid
our going to Collon, as Mrs. Foster, widow of the Bishop, was there with
her daughters, and was afraid of our bringing infection! We performed
quarantine very pleasantly for a week at Allenstown. Mrs. Waller's
inexhaustible fund of kindness and generosity is like Aboulcasin's
treasure, it is not only inexhaustible, but take what you will from it
it cannot be perceptibly diminished. Harriet Beaufort [Footnote: Sister
of Mrs. Edgeworth.] is indeed a charming excellent girl; I love and
esteem her more and more as I know her better: she has been at different
times between three and four months in the house with us, and I have had
full opportunities of seeing down to the kitchen, and up to the garret
of her mind.
You are so near Johnson, [Footnote: The bookseller.] that you must of
course know more of Maria's sublime works than Maria knows of them
herself; and besides Lovell, who thinks of them ten times more than
Johnson, has not let you rest in ignorance. An octavo edition of
_Practical Education_ is to come out at Christmas: we have seen a
volume, which looks as well as can be expected. The two first parts of
_Early Lessons_, containing Harry and Lucy, two wee, wee volumes, have
just come over to us. Frank and Rosamond will, I suppose, come after
with all convenient speed. How _Moral Tales_ are arranged, or in what
size they are to appear, I do not know, but I guess they will soon be
published, because some weeks ago we received four engravings for
frontispieces; they are beautifully engraved by Neagle, and do justice
to the designs, two of which are by my mother, and two by Charlotte. I
hope you will like them. There are three stories which will be new to
you, "The Knapsack," "The Prussian Vase," and "Angelina."
Now, my dear friend, you cannot say that I do not tell you what I am
doing. My father is employed making out Charts of History and
Chronology, such as are mentioned in _Practical Education._ He has just
finished a little volume containing Explanations of Poetry for children:
it explains "The Elegy in a Country Churchyard," "L'Allegro," "Il
Penseroso," and "The Ode to Fear." It will be a very useful schoolbook.
It goes over to-night to Johnson, but how long it will remain with him
before you see it in print I cannot divine.
* * * * *
Mrs. Edgeworth narrates:
_Belinda_ was published in 1801. Maria was at Black Castle when the
first copy reached her; she contrived, before her aunt saw it, to tear
out the title-pages of the three volumes, and her aunt read it without
the least suspicion of who was the author, and excessively entertained
and delighted, she insisted on Maria's listening to passage after
passage as she went on. Maria affected to be deeply interested in some
book she held in her hand, and when Mrs. Ruxton exclaimed, "Is not that
admirably written?" Maria coldly replied, "Admirably read, I think." And
then her aunt, as if she had said too much, added, "It may not be so
very good, but it shows just the sort of knowledge of high life which
people have who live in the world." Then again and again she called upon
Maria for her sympathy, till quite provoked at her faint acquiescence,
she at last accused her of being envious: "I am sorry to see my little
Maria unable to bear the praises of a rival author."
At this Maria burst into tears, and showing her aunt the title-page she
declared herself the author. But Mrs. Ruxton was not pleased--she never
liked _Belinda_ afterwards, and Maria had always a painful recollection
of her aunt's suspecting her of the meanness of envy.
In 1801 a second edition of _Castle Rackrent_ was published, "By Maria
Edgeworth," as its success was so triumphant that some one--I heard his
name at the time but do not now remember it, and it is better
forgotten--not only asserted that he was the author, but actually took
the trouble to copy out several pages with corrections and erasures, as
if it was his original MS.!
The _Essay on Irish Bulls_ was published in 1802, "By R.L. Edgeworth and
Maria Edgeworth, author of _Castle Rackrent._" A gentleman, much
interested in improving the breed of Irish cattle, sent, on seeing the
advertisement, for this work on Irish Bulls; he was rather confounded by
the appearance of the classical bull at the top of the first page, which
I had designed from a gem, and when he began to read the book he threw
it away in disgust: he had purchased it as Secretary to the Irish
Agricultural Society.
* * * * *
Of the partnership in this book, Miss Edgeworth writes long afterwards:
* * * * *
The first design of the essay was my father's; under the semblance of
attack, he wished to show the English public the eloquence, wit, and
talents of the lower classes of people in Ireland. Working zealously
upon the ideas which he suggested, sometimes what was spoken by him was
afterwards written by me; or when I wrote my first thoughts, they were
corrected and improved by him; so that no book was ever written more
completely in partnership. On this, as on most subjects, whether light
or serious, when we wrote together, it would now be difficult, almost
impossible, to recollect which thoughts were originally his and which
were mine.
The notes on the Dublin shoeblacks' metaphorical language are chiefly
his. I have heard him tell that story with all the natural,
indescribable Irish tones and gestures of which written language can
give but a faint idea. He excelled in imitating the Irish, because he
never overstepped the modesty or the assurance of nature. He marked
exquisitely the happy confidence, the shrewd wit of the people, without
condescending to produce effect by caricature. He knew not only their
comic talents, but their powers of pathos; and often when he had just
heard from me some pathetic complaint, he has repeated it to me while
the impression was fresh. In his chapter on Wit and Eloquence in _Irish
Bulls_, there is a speech of a poor free-holder to a candidate who asked
for his vote: this speech was made to my father when he was canvassing
the county of Longford. It was repeated to me a few hours afterwards,
and I wrote it down instantly without, I believe, the variation of a
word.
_To_ MISS RUXTON.