This day, so anxiously expected, has arrived--the only birthday of my
father's for many, many years which has not brought unmixed feelings of
pleasure. He had had a terrible night, but when I went into his room and
stood at the foot of his bed, his voice was strong and cheerful, as
usual. I put into his hand the hundred and sixty printed pages of
_Ormond_ which kind-hearted Hunter had successfully managed to get ready
for this day. How my dear father can, in the midst of such sufferings,
and in such an exhausted state of body, take so much pleasure in such
things, is astonishing. Oh, my dear Sophy, what must be the fund of warm
affection from which this springs! and what infinite, exquisite pleasure
to me! "Call Sneyd directly," he said, and swallowed some stir-about,
and said he felt renovated. Sneyd was seated at the foot of his bed.
"Now, Maria, dip anywhere, read on." I began: "King Corny recovered."
Then he said, "I must tell Sneyd the story up to this."
And most eloquently, most beautifully did he tell the story. No mortal
could ever have guessed that he was an invalid, if they had only _heard_
him _speak._ Just as I had here stopped writing my father came out of
his room, looking wretchedly, but ordered the carriage, and said he
would go to Longford to see Mr. Fallon about materials for William's
bridge. He took with him his three sons, and "Maria to read
_Ormond_"--great delight to me. He was much pleased, and this wonderful
father of mine drove all the way to Longford: forced our way through the
tumult of the most crowded market I ever saw--his voice heard clear all
the way down the street--stayed half an hour in the carriage on the
bridge talking to Mr. Fallon; and we were not home till half-past six.
He could not dine with us, but after dinner he sent for us all into the
library. He sat in the arm-chair by the fire; my mother in the opposite
arm-chair, Pakenham in the chair behind her, Francis on a stool at her
feet, Maria beside them; William next, Lucy, Sneyd; on the sofa opposite
the fire, as when you were here, Honora, Fanny, Harriet, and Sophy; my
aunts next to my father, and Lovell between them and the sofa. He was
much pleased at Lovell and Sneyd's coming down for this day.
* * * * *
Mr. Edgeworth died on the 13th of June, in his seventy-second year. He
had been--by his different wives--the father of twenty-two children, of
whom thirteen survived him. The only son of his second marriage, Lovell
Edgeworth, succeeded to Edgeworthstown, but persuaded his stepmother and
his numerous brothers and sisters still to regard it as a home.
To enable the reader to understand the relationships of the large family
circle, it may be well to give the children of Mr. Edgeworth.
1st marriage with Anna Maria Elers.
Richard, b. 1765; d. s.p. 1796.
Maria, b. 1767; d. unmarried, 1849.
Emmeline married, 1802, John King, Esq.
Anna, married, 1794, Dr. Beddoes.
2nd marriage with Honora Sneyd.
Lovell, b. 1776; d. unmarried, 1841.
Honora, d. unmarried, 1790.
3rd marriage with Elizabeth Sneyd.
Henry, b. 1782; d. unmarried, 1813.
Charles Sneyd, b. 1786; d .s.p. 1864.
William, b. 1788; d. 1792.
Thomas Day, b. 1789; d. 1792.
William, b. 1794; d. s.p. 1829.
Elizabeth, d. 1800.
Caroline, d. 1807.
Sophia, d. 1785.
Honora, married, 1831, Admiral Sir J. Beaufort, and died,
his widow, 1858.
4th marriage with Frances Anna Beaufort.
Francis Beaufort, b. 1809; married, 1831, Rosa Florentina Eroles,
and had four sons and a daughter. The second son, Antonio Eroles,
eventually succeeded his uncle Sneyd at Edgeworthstown.
Michael Pakenham, b. 1812; married, 1846, Christina Macpherson,
and had issue.
Frances Maria (Fanny), married, 1829, Lestock P. Wilson, Esq.,
and died, 1848.
Harriet, married, 1826, Rev. Richard Butler, afterwards Dean of
Clonmacnoise.
Sophia, married, 1824, Barry Fox, Esq. and d. 1837.
Lucy Jane, married, 1843, Rev. T.R. Robinson, D.D.
During the months which succeeded her father's death, Maria wrote
scarcely any letters; her sight caused great anxiety. The tears, she
said, felt in her eyes like the cutting of a knife. She had overworked
them all the previous winter, sitting up at night and struggling with
her grief as she wrote _Ormond_; and she was now unable to use them
without pain.
In October she went to Black Castle, and remained there till January
1818, having the strength of mind to abstain almost entirely from
reading and writing.
It required all Maria Edgeworth's inherited activity of mind, and all
her acquired command over herself, to keep up the spirits of her family
on their return to Edgeworthstown: from which the master-mind was gone,
and where the light was quenched. But, notwithstanding all the
depression she felt, she set to work immediately at what she now felt to
be her first duty--the fulfilment of her father's wish that she should
complete the Memoirs of his life, which he had himself begun. Yet her
eyes were still so weak that she seldom allowed herself what had been
her greatest relaxation--writing letters to her friends.
* * * * *
MARIA _to_ MRS. RUXTON.