It was in 1765, while stopping at Chester and examining a mechanical
exhibition there, that Edgeworth first heard of Dr. Darwin, who had
lately invented a carriage which could turn in a small compass
without danger of upsetting. Richard on hearing this determined to
try his hand on coach building, and had a handsome phaeton
constructed upon the same principle; this he showed in London to the
Society for the Encouragement of Arts, and mentioned that he owed
the original idea to Dr. Darwin. He then wrote to the latter
describing the reception of his invention, and was invited to his
house. The doctor was out when he arrived at Lichfield, but Mrs.
Darwin received him, and after some conversation on books and prints
asked him to drink tea. He discovered later that Dr. Darwin had
imagined him to be a coachmaker, but that Mrs. Darwin had found out
the mistake. 'When supper was nearly finished, a loud rapping at the
door announced the doctor. There was a bustle in the hall, which
made Mrs. Darwin get up and go to the door. Upon her exclaiming that
they were bringing in a dead man, I went to the hall: I saw some
persons, directed by one whom I guessed to be Dr. Darwin, carrying a
man, who appeared motionless. "He is not dead," said Dr. Darwin. "He
is only dead drunk. I found him," continued the doctor, "nearly
suffocated in a ditch; I had him lifted into my carriage, and
brought hither, that we might take care of him to-night." Candles
came, and what was the surprise of the doctor and of Mrs. Darwin to
find that the person whom he had saved was Mrs. Darwin's brother!
who, for the first time in his life, as I was assured, had been
intoxicated in this manner, and who would undoubtedly have perished
had it not been for Dr. Darwin's humanity.
'During this scene I had time to survey my new friend, Dr. Darwin.
He was a large man, fat, and rather clumsy; but intelligence and
benevolence were painted in his countenance. He had a considerable
impediment in his speech, a defect which is in general painful to
others; but the doctor repaid his auditors so well for making them
wait for his wit or his knowledge, that he seldom found them
impatient.'
At Lichfield he met Mr. Bolton of Snow Hill, Birmingham, who asked
him to his house, and showed him over the principal manufactories of
Birmingham, where he further improved his knowledge of practical
mechanics. His time was now principally devoted to inventions; he
received a silver medal in 1768 from the Society of Arts for a
perambulator, as he calls it, an instrument for measuring land. This
is a curious instance of the changed use of a word, as we now
associate perambulators with babies. In 1769 he received the
Society's gold medal for various machines, and about this time
produced what might have been the forerunner of the bicycle, 'a huge
hollow wheel made very light, withinside of which, in a barrel of
six feet diameter, a man should walk. Whilst he stepped thirty
inches, the circumference of the large wheel, or rather wheels,
would revolve five feet on the ground; and as the machine was to
roll on planks, and on a plane somewhat inclined, when once the vis
inertia of the machine should be overcome, it would carry on the man
within it as fast as he could possibly walk. ... It was not
finished; I had not yet furnished it with the means of stopping or
moderating its motion. A young lad got into it, his companions
launched it on a path which led gently down hill towards a very
steep chalk-pit. This pit was at such a distance as to be out of
their thoughts when they set the wheel in motion. On it ran. The lad
withinside plied his legs with all his might. The spectators who at
first stood still to behold the operation were soon alarmed by the
shouts of their companion, who perceived his danger. The vehicle
became quite ungovernable; the velocity increased as it ran down
hill. Fortunately, the boy contrived to jump from his rolling prison
before it reached the chalk-pit; but the wheel went on with such
velocity as to outstrip its pursuers, and, rolling over the edge of
the precipice, it was dashed to pieces.
'The next day, when I came to look for my machine, intending to try
it upon some planks, which had been laid for it, I found, to my no
small disappointment, that the object of all my labours and my hopes
was lying at the bottom of a chalk-pit, broken into a thousand
pieces. I could not at that time afford to construct another wheel
of that sort, and I cannot therefore determine what might have been
the success of my scheme.'
He goes on to say: 'I shall mention a sailing carriage that I tried
on this common. The carriage was light, steady, and ran with amazing
velocity. One day, when I was preparing for a sail in it with my
friend and schoolfellow, Mr. William Foster, my wheel-boat escaped
from its moorings just as we were going to step on board. With the
utmost difficulty we overtook it; and as I saw three or four
stage-coaches on the road, and feared that this sailing chariot
might frighten their horses, I, at the hazard of my life, got into
my carriage while it was under full sail, and then, at a favourable
part of the road, I used the means I had of guiding it easily out of
the way. But the sense of the mischief which must have ensued if I
had not succeeded in getting into the machine at the proper place,
and stopping it at the right moment, was so strong, as to deter me
from trying any more experiments on this carriage in such a
dangerous place.'
I have already given the changed use of the word perambulator. As an
example of the different use of a word in the last century, I may
mention telegraph, by which he means signalling either by moving
wooden arms or by showing lights. This mode of conveying a message
he first applied in order to win a wager: 'A famous match was at
that time pending at Newmarket between two horses that were in every
respect as nearly equal as possible. Lord March, one evening at
Ranelagh, expressed his regret to Sir Francis Delaval that he was
not able to attend Newmarket at the next meeting. "I am obliged,"
said he, "to stay in London; I shall, however, be at the Turf
Coffee-house; I shall station fleet horses on the road to bring me
the earliest intelligence of the event of the race, and I shall
manage my bets accordingly."
'I asked at what time in the evening he expected to know who was
winner. He said about nine in the evening. I asserted that I should
be able to name the winning horse at four o'clock in the afternoon.
Lord March heard my assertion with so much incredulity, as to urge
me to defend myself; and at length I offered to lay five hundred
pounds that I would in London name the winning horse at Newmarket at
five o'clock in the evening of the day when the great match in
question was to be run.'
The wager was however given up when Edgeworth told Lord March that
he did not depend upon the fleetness or strength of horses to carry
the desired intelligence.
His friend, Sir Francis Delaval, immediately put up under his
directions an apparatus between his house and part of Piccadilly. He
adds: 'I also set up a night telegraph between a house which Sir
Francis Delaval occupied at Hampstead, and one to which I had access
in Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury. This nocturnal telegraph
answered well, but was too expensive for common use.' Later on he
writes to Dr. Darwin:
'I have been employed for two months in experiments upon a telegraph
of my own invention. By day, at eighteen or twenty miles distance, I
show, by four pointers, isosceles triangles, twenty feet high, on
four imaginary circles, eight imaginary points, which correspond
with the figures 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, so that seven thousand
different combinations are formed, of four figures each, which refer
to a dictionary of words. By night, white lights are used.'
Dr. Darwin in reply says: 'The telegraph you described, I dare say,
would answer the purpose. It would be like a giant wielding his long
arms and talking with his fingers: and those long arms might be
covered with lamps in the night.'
It is curious now to read Mr. Edgeworth's words: 'I will venture to
predict that it will at some future period be generally practised,
not only in these islands, but that it will in time become a means
of communication between the most distant parts of the world,
wherever arts and sciences have civilised mankind.'
It was some years later, in 1794, when Ireland was in a disturbed
state, and threatened by a French invasion, that Edgeworth laid his
scheme for telegraphs before the Government, and offered to keep
open communication between Dublin and Cork if the Government would
pay the expense. He made a trial between two hills fifteen miles
apart, and a message was sent and an answer received in five
minutes. The Government paid little attention to his offer, and
finally refused it. Two months later the French were on the Irish
coasts, and great confusion and distress was occasioned by the want
of accurate news. 'The troops were harassed with contradictory
orders and forced marches for want of intelligence, and from that
indecision, which must always be the consequence of insufficient
information. Many days were spent in terror, and in fruitless wishes
for an English fleet. ... At last Ireland was providentially saved
by the change of the wind, which prevented the enemy from effecting
a landing on her coast.'
Another of Edgeworth's inventions was a one-wheeled carriage adapted
to go over narrow roads; it was made fast by shafts to the horse's
sides, and was furnished with two weights or counterpoises that hung
below the shafts. In this carriage he travelled to Birmingham and
astonished the country folk on the way.
I must now give a sketch of Edgeworth's matrimonial adventures. They
began after a strange fashion, when, at fifteen, he and some young
companions had a merry-making at his sister's marriage, and one of
the party putting on a white cloak as a surplice, proposed to marry
Richard to a young lady who was his favourite partner. With the door
key as a ring the mock parson gabbled over a few words of the
marriage service. When Richard's father heard of this mock marriage
he was so alarmed that he treated it seriously, and sued and got a
divorce for his son in the ecclesiastical court.
It was while visiting Dr. Darwin at Lichfield that Edgeworth made
some friendships which influenced his whole life. At the Bishop's
Palace, where Canon Seward lived, he first met Miss Honora Sneyd,
who was brought up as a daughter by Mrs. Seward. He was much struck
by her beauty and by her mental gifts, and says: 'Now for the first
time in my life, I saw a woman that equalled the picture of
perfection which existed in my imagination. I had long suffered much
from the want of that cheerfulness in a wife, without which marriage
could not be agreeable to a man with such a temper as mine. I had
borne this evil, I believe, with patience; but my not being happy at
home exposed me to the danger of being too happy elsewhere.' He
describes in another place his first wife as 'prudent, domestic, and
affectionate; but she was not of a cheerful temper. She lamented
about trifles; and the lamenting of a female with whom we live does
not render home delightful.'
His friend, Mr. Day,* was also intimate at the Palace, but did not
admire Honora at that time (1770) as much as Edgeworth did. Mr. Day
thought 'she danced too well; she had too much an air of fashion in
her dress and manners; and her arms were not sufficiently round and
white to please him.'
* The author of Sandford and Merton.
He was at this time much preoccupied with an orphan, Sabrina Sydney,
whom he had taken from the Foundling Hospital, and whom he was
educating with the idea of marrying her ultimately. Honora, on the
other hand, had received the addresses of Mr. Andre, afterwards
Major Andre, who was shot as a spy during the American War. But want
of fortune caused the parents on both sides to discourage this
attachment, and it was broken off.
It was in 1771 that Mr. Day, having placed Sabrina at a
boarding-school, became conscious of Honora's attractions, and began
to think of marrying her. 'He wrote me one of the most eloquent
letters I ever read,' says Edgeworth, 'to point out to me the folly
and meanness of indulging a hopeless passion for any woman, let her
merit be what it might; declaring at the same time that he "never
would marry so as to divide himself from his chosen friend. Tell
me," said he, "have you sufficient strength of mind totally to
subdue love that cannot be indulged with peace, or honour, or
virtue?"
'I answered that nothing but trial could make me acquainted with the
influence which reason might have over my feelings; that I would go
with my family to Lichfield, where I could be in the company of the
dangerous object; and that I would faithfully acquaint him with all
my thoughts and feelings. We went to Lichfield, and stayed there for
some time with Mr. Day. I saw him continually in company with Honora
Sneyd. I saw that he was received with approbation, and that he
looked forward to marrying her at no very distant period. When I saw
this, I can affirm with truth that I felt pleasure, and even
exultation. I looked to the happiness of two people for whom I had
the most perfect esteem, without the intervention of a single
sentiment or feeling that could make me suspect I should ever repent
having been instrumental to their union.'
Later on Mr. Day wrote a long letter to Honora, describing his
scheme of life (which was very peculiar), and his admiration for
her, and asking whether she could return his affections and be
willing to lead the secluded life which was his ideal. This letter
he gave to Edgeworth to deliver. 'I took the packet; my friend
requested that I would go to the Palace and deliver it myself. I
went, and I delivered it with real satisfaction to Honora. She
desired me to come next morning for an answer. ... I gave the answer
to Mr. Day, and left him to peruse it by himself. When I returned, I
found him actually in a fever. The letter contained an excellent
answer to his arguments in favour of the rights of men, and a clear,
dispassionate view of the rights of women.
'Miss Honora Sneyd would not admit the unqualified control of a
husband over all her actions. She did not feel that seclusion from
society was indispensably necessary to preserve female virtue, or to
secure domestic happiness. Upon terms of reasonable equality she
supposed that mutual confidence might best subsist. She said that,
as Mr. Day had decidedly declared his determination to live in
perfect seclusion from what is usually called the world, it was fit
she should decidedly declare that she would not change her present
mode of life, with which she had no reason to be dissatisfied, for
any dark and untried system that could be proposed to her. . . . One
restraint, which had acted long and steadily upon my feelings, was
now removed; my friend was no longer attached to Miss Honora Sneyd.
My former admiration of her returned with unabated ardour. . . .
This admiration was unknown to everybody but Mr. Day; ... he
represented to me the danger, the criminality of such an attachment;
I knew that there is but one certain method of escaping such dangers
--flight. I resolved to go abroad.'