THE MEMOIRS PUBLISHED.--1821 TO 1825.
The _Memoirs of Richard Lovell Edgeworth_ had been published during Miss
Edgeworth's stay on the Continent. After all the anxiety she had felt
while preparing the work for the press, she was now able to write to her
friends at home:--
You would scarcely believe, my dear friends, the calm of mind and
the sort of satisfied resignation I feel as to my father's life. I
suppose the two years of doubt and extreme anxiety that I felt
exhausted all my power of doubting. I know that I have done my very
best, I know that I have done my duty, and I firmly believe that if
my dear father could see the whole, he would be satisfied with what
I have done.
Still she was sensitive to what those said who had known and loved him;
and though Mrs. Ruxton had gone through the manuscript, it was a
satisfaction to her to hear that on seeing the work in print she had not
altered her views on it. She wrote:--
The irremediable words once past the press, I knew that the
happiness of my life was at stake. Even if all the rest of the
world had praised it and you had been dissatisfied, how miserable I
should have been!
The world was not so lenient in its criticism. It failed to see what
right the work had to exist; it acquiesced in what Miss Edgeworth had
felt, that she of all persons was the least fitted to be the biographer
of the man she so blindly adored.
The first volume is entirely Mr. Edgeworth's own writing, the second is
hers; she takes up the narrative on his final removal to Ireland.
Although written in his heavy-footed, stilted style, that broke forth
now and again into comic pomposity, of the two his is the more
entertaining, for he tells many stories that do not concern himself
alone. Thus, though he is by no means a graphic writer, we can gather
from his pages some notion of the little provincial Mutual Admiration
Society that was gathered together at Lichfield under the aegis of Dr.
Darwin; of the nature of society in Ireland during his youth; of the
state of mechanical science in England. But there is also much that is
puerile, some few things that are in bad taste; and the book contains,
besides, some really careless blunders with regard to events for which
the data were within the reach of all. In Miss Edgeworth's portion it is
easily seen that she does not write freely. Even her style, usually
more flexible and spontaneous, has caught a reflection from his, while
the position in which she stood to the object of her work hindered her
from exercising that keen, critical judgment which she possessed, and
which would certainly have come to the fore had the subject of her work
been a stranger to her. Only while writing about such events as do not
immediately deal with her father is she herself. Probably the very
anxiety she felt regarding the book was a dim, unformulated
consciousness that she had not made it all she desired. The press spoke
but coolly. The _Quarterly Review_ published a somewhat savage article;
indeed, with so much bitterness was it written, that though one is at
all times inclined to deprecate the theory of personal enmity, so dear
to the wounded vanity of authors, it does suggest the possibility of
having been the outcome of malice. But more likely still is it that Mr.
Edgeworth's boastful egotism so irritated the writer that he wrote what
certainly could not fail to be cruelly wounding to a family who regarded
their hero as perfect in all respects. After every allowance has been
made for this acrimonious tone (no rare feature in either of the
quarterlies in the days of their bumptious youth), the attack certainly
contained much that was warranted by circumstances. The writer had not
impugned thoughtlessly or ignorantly. He put a sure finger on the
contradictions and inaccuracies that occurred in Mr. Edgeworth's
narrative, and he gave chapter and verse for his objections. Such
criticism, though severe, could not be called wholly unjust. The
article, however, raised a perfect storm of indignation among the
Edgeworths' Friends. Some called it wicked, others only denounced it as
silly. Miss Edgeworth, being in France, was out of the way of seeing the
_Quarterly_, and after what she had heard, she simply and wisely
resolved never to read it. Indeed, she took the whole matter more
philosophically than her friends, and hastened to beg her dearest Aunt
Ruxton never to lose another night's sleep or another moment's thought
on the _Quarterly Review_. And certainly, whatever the reviewers might
say, Miss Edgeworth had the satisfaction before the year was out of
preparing a second edition, and in her seventy-seventh year a third was
called for. For this third edition she re-wrote nearly the whole of her
portion. With her habitual modesty she assumed that it was her part of
the work that had been found long and heavy. Nothing is more touching,
more lovable, than the modesty of this woman, so lauded, honored and
praised by all her generation that she could not remain ignorant of her
fame. But simplicity was the very foundation of her character, and the
woman always went before the author.
On her return from France Miss Edgeworth resumed the quiet, dearly-loved
routine of home-life. She was always glad to get home again, even now,
and to be with the stepmother, sisters and brothers she loved so
tenderly. Here is a pretty picture of the daily course of their
existence:--
So you like to hear of all our little doings; so I will tell you
that, about eight o'clock, Fanny being by that time up and dressed,
and at her little table, Harriet comes and reads to me Madame de
Sevigne's letters, of which I never tire; and I almost envy Fanny
and Harriet the pleasure of reading them for the first time. After
breakfast I take my little table into Lucy's room and write there
for an hour: she likes to have me in her room, though she only
hears the scribble, scribble; she is generally reading at that hour
or doing Margaret's delight--algebra. I am doing the sequel to
_Frank_. Walking, reading and talking fill the rest of the day. I
do not read much; it tires my eyes, and I have not yet finished the
_Life of Wesley_. I think it a most curious, entertaining and
instructive book. A life of Pitt by the Bishop of Winchester is
coming out; he wrote to Murray about it, who asked his friends,
"Who is George Winton, who writes to me about publishing Pitt's
life?"
Soon after his return from enforced exile Lovell Edgeworth had
established a school at Edgeworthstown, after a plan proposed by his
father, in which boys of all classes and creeds should be educated
together. It succeeded admirably, and was a source of interest and
occupation not only to its founder, but to Miss Edgeworth, who always
threw herself with ardor into everything that interested those about
her.
The lives of women are rarely eventful, and Miss Edgeworth's was perhaps
less so than that of most. Her existence moved in the quiet circle of
home, and like most women she was much and often occupied with what she
happily calls "the necessary business of life, which must be done behind
the scenes." The monotony of her existence was only broken by visits to
and from friends, and by receiving letters, events in those days of few
newspapers, when letters were longer, more detailed than they are now,
when they were sent round to a whole circle for perusal, when those who
were abroad penned long descriptions of all they saw in what are now
beaten tracks familiar to most persons as Piccadilly. The even course of
life at Edgeworthstown certainly did not furnish much material for
letters except to those interested in the well-being of the numerous
members of the household; and Miss Edgeworth's are mostly filled with
domestic details of this nature. In August, 1821, she writes:--
What do you think is my employment out of doors, and what it has
been this week past? My garden? No such elegant thing; but making a
gutter! a sewer and a pathway in the street of Edgeworthstown; and
I do declare I am as much interested about it as I ever was in
writing anything in my life. We have never here yet found it
necessary to have recourse to public contribution for the poor, but
it is necessary to give some assistance to the laboring class; and
I find that making the said gutter and pathway will employ twenty
men for three weeks.
In the late autumn she yielded to the invitations of her many English
friends to spend some time among them. She took with her her former
travelling companions, for without some of her family Miss Edgeworth
felt as if she had left too many pieces of herself behind, and could not
enjoy anything thoroughly. Once more the sisters passed some interesting
and agreeable months, visiting at the houses of various friends; and
during the spring and winter months hiring a house of their own in
London, where they entertained and were entertained. They lived in a
whirl of town dissipation, knowing six different and totally independent
sets: "scientific, literary, political, travelled, artist, and the fine
fashionable of various shades." Miss Edgeworth found the different
styles of conversation very entertaining, and sent home bright pictures
of the various things she saw and heard.
In the hurried life we have led for some weeks past, and among the
great variety of illustrious and foolish people we have seen pass
in rapid panoramas before us, some remain forever fixed in the
memory and some few touch the heart.
At one house Mrs. Somerville was met and thus described:--
Mrs. Somerville--little, slightly made, fair hair, pink color;
small, gray, round, intelligent, smiling eyes; very pleasing
countenance; remarkably soft voice, strong but well-bred Scotch
accent; timid, not disqualifying timid, but naturally modest, yet
with a degree of self-possession through it which prevents her
being in the least awkward, and gives her all the advantages of her
understanding, at the same time that it adds a prepossessing charm
to her manner and takes off all dread of her superior scientific
learning.
Some days were happily spent visiting Mr. Ricardo, with whose fairness
in argument Miss Edgeworth was struck. While her sisters danced, acted
charades or played round games, Miss Edgeworth conversed with the elders
of the company; but she was ever ready to turn from grave to gay, and
often the first to improvise a masquerade or to arrange an impromptu
charade. Wherever there was laughter and young people, there she was a
favorite and sought-for companion. Her life during these months in
England certainly did not lack outward variety, and she was happy for
herself, and yet happier because she saw her sisters pleased and
beloved. A few extracts from her London letters best reflect her life:--
Yesterday we went, the moment we had swallowed our breakfast, by
appointment to Newgate. The private door opened at sight of our
tickets, and the great doors and the little doors, and the thick
doors and doors of all sorts, were unbolted and unlocked, and on we
went through dreary but clean passages, till we came to a room
where rows of empty benches fronted us, and a table, on which lay a
large Bible. Several ladies and gentlemen entered and took their
seats on benches at either side of the table, in silence.
Enter Mrs. Fry in a drab-colored silk cloak, and plain, borderless
Quaker cap; a most benevolent countenance--Guido Madonna
face--calm, benign. "I must make an inquiry: Is Maria Edgeworth
here, and where?" I went forward: she bade us come and sit beside
her. Her first smile as she looked upon me I can never forget. The
prisoners came in, and in an orderly manner ranged themselves on
the benches. All quite clean faces, hair, caps and hands. On a very
low bench in front little children were seated and settled by their
mothers. Almost all these women, about thirty, were under sentence
of transportation; some few only were there for imprisonment. One
who did not appear was under sentence of death--frequently women
when sentenced to death became ill and unable to attend Mrs. Fry;
the others came regularly and voluntarily.
She opened the Bible and read in the most sweetly solemn, sedate
voice I ever heard, slowly and distinctly, without anything in the
manner that could distract attention from the matter. Sometimes
she paused to explain, which she did with great judgment,
addressing the convicts: "_We_ have felt; _we_ are convinced." They
were very attentive, unexpectedly interested, I thought, in all she
said, and touched by her manner. There was nothing put on in their
countenances, not any appearance of hypocrisy. I studied their
countenances carefully, but I could not see any which, without
knowing to whom they belonged, I should have decided was bad; yet
Mrs. Fry assured me that all of those women had been of the worst
sort. She confirmed what we have read and heard, that it was by
their love of their children that she first obtained influence over
these abandoned women. When she first took notice of one or two of
their fine children, the mothers said that if she could but save
their children from the misery they had gone through in vice, they
would do anything she bid them. And when they saw the change made
in their children by her schooling, they begged to attend
themselves. I could not have conceived that the love of their
children could have remained so strong in hearts in which every
other feeling of virtue had so long been dead. The Vicar of
Wakefield's sermon in prison is, it seems, founded on a deep and
true knowledge of human nature; the spark of good is often
smothered, never wholly extinguished. Mrs. Fry often says an
extempore prayer, but this day she was quite silent, while she
covered her face with her hands for some minutes; the women were
perfectly silent with their eyes fixed upon her, and when she said,
"You may go," they went away _slowly_. The children sat quite still
the whole time; when one leaned, her mother behind sat her upright.
Mrs. Fry told us that the dividing the women into classes has been
of the greatest advantage, and putting them under the care of
monitors. There is some little pecuniary advantage attached to the
office of monitor, which makes them emulous to obtain it. We went
through the female wards with Mrs. Fry, and saw the women at
various works, knitting, rug-making, etc. They have done a great
deal of needlework very neatly, and some very ingenious. When I
expressed my foolish wonder at this to Mrs. Fry's sister, she
replied, "We have to do, recollect, ma'am, not with fools, but with
rogues."
* * * * *
Far from being disappointed with the sight of what Mrs. Fry has
effected, I was delighted. We emerged again from the thick, dark,
silent walls of Newgate to the bustling city, and thence to the
elegant part of the town; and before we had time to arrange our
ideas, and while the mild Quaker face and voice, and wonderful
resolution and successful exertion of this admirable woman, were
fresh in our minds, morning visitors flowed in and common life
again went on.
At Almack's, that exclusive paradise of fashion to which they were
admitted, Lord Londonderry came up and talked to Miss Edgeworth about
_Castle Rackrent_ and Ireland generally. He expressed himself as having
been dying with impatience to be introduced to her. She naively says:--
It surprised me very much to perceive the rapidity with which a
minister's having talked to a person spread through the room.
Everybody I met afterwards that night and the next day observed to
me that they had seen Lord Londonderry talking to me a great while.
Mrs. Siddons was among the persons whose acquaintance they formed.
She gave us the history of her first acting of Lady Macbeth, and of
her resolving, in the sleep scene, to lay down the candlestick,
contrary to the precedent of Mrs. Pritchard and all the traditions,
before she began to wash her hands and say, "Out, vile spot!"
Sheridan knocked violently at her door during the five minutes she
had desired to have entirely to herself to compose her spirits
before the play began. He burst in and prophesied that she would
ruin herself forever if she persevered in this resolution to lay
down the candlestick! She persisted, however, in her resolution,
succeeded, was applauded, and Sheridan begged her pardon. She
described well the awe she felt, and the power of the excitement
given to her by the sight of Burke, Fox, Sheridan and Sir Joshua
Reynolds in the pit.
Morning, dinner, evening parties, succeeded one another. Miss Edgeworth
had not even time to note them. In June (1822) the sisters at last
returned home, Miss Edgeworth by no means loth to resume the thread of
her domestic affairs. She set to work upon the _Sequel to Harry and
Lucy_, which was one among the duty-tasks she deemed it right to do,
because her father had wished it to be completed. "I could never be easy
writing anything for my own amusement till I had done this, which I know
my father wished to have finished."
Portions of Ireland were suffering from famine that summer. The
deplorable state of the south in especial aroused all Miss Edgeworth's
sympathies. But she feared that as one source of grievance was removed
another would spring up.
The minds bent on mischief are unconquered. In fact it is almost
the avowed object of the people to drive the remaining resident
gentry from the country. I do not think the hatred is between
Protestant and Catholic, but between landlord and tenant. I should
say, between tenant and landlord. The landlords are the greatest
sufferers. Observe, what I have said applies only to the south. The
north is in good condition. The neighborhood of Scotland and
imported grafted habits of industry have made that part of Ireland
almost Scotch. Our tenantry pay comparatively well.
She proceeded to show, however, that they were all at least a year
behind-hand with their rent, and that Lovell let them pay just when they
liked, not insisting upon a rent-day.
In the spring of 1823 Miss Edgeworth and her sisters, Sophy and Harriet,
paid some visits in Scotland. At Edinburgh they settled into lodgings
near their friends, the Alisons; but the very first evening was spent
with Scott, who desired that they should hear some Highland boat-songs
at his house. Of this introduction to Scott, and the first evening spent
with him, Miss Edgeworth penned a most vivid account.
The next day Scott insisted on showing them the sights of Edinburgh,
about whose beauties he was enthusiastic.
His conversation all the time better than anything we could see,
full of apropos anecdote, historic, serious or comic, just as
occasion called for it, and all with a _bonhommie_ and an ease that
made us forget it was any trouble even to his lameness to mount
flights of eternal stairs.
Indeed, Scott almost took forcible possession of the Misses Edgeworth,
so anxious was he to show honor to the author whom he regarded as the
most distinguished of contemporary novelists.
How Walter Scott can find time to write all he writes, I cannot
conceive. He appears to have nothing to think of but to be amusing,
and he never tires, though he is so entertaining. He far surpasses
my expectations.
Their delight in each other's society was mutual. Scott wrote to a
friend at the time:--
I have very little news to send you. Miss Edgeworth is at present
the great lioness of Edinburgh, and a very nice lioness. She is
full of fun and spirit; a little slight figure, very active in her
motions, very good-humored and full of enthusiasm.
Many of the "Northern Lights" were absent at the time of Miss
Edgeworth's visit, but she made the acquaintance of Jeffrey, renewed
many old friendships and formed new ties. It was a feature of Miss
Edgeworth, as it had been of her father, and it is one that speaks
eloquently in favor of their characters, that they never lost a friend
or dropped connection with those in whom they had once been interested.
Friends once made were friends for life, and were sure of a warm welcome
if they came to Ireland, or of a ready answer to any call they might
make upon time or heart. Miss Edgeworth's amiable character won for her
a far larger circle of friends than her father ever possessed; she had
none of those angles in her character which repelled so many from him.
Wherever she went she expressed her gratified surprise at the cordiality
which people showed towards her, and she met no less of it in Scotland
than elsewhere.
After a few weeks spent at Edinburgh William Edgeworth joined his
sisters in a tour through the Highlands. Loch Katrine had, of course,
special interest to her because of its connection with Scott. She does
not think it more beautiful than Killarney: "But where is the lake of
our own or any other times that has such delightful power over the
imagination by the recollection it raises?"
This Highland tour afforded her great pleasure. "The 'felicity-hunters'
have found more felicity than such hunters usually meet with."
Unfortunately it ended badly. She caught cold, and was taken ill with a
very severe attack of erysipelas that laid her up for ten days in a
small Scotch inn. She had been ailing more or less for some months past,
and this attack was probably only a climax. As soon as she could move,
some friends took her into their house and nursed her tenderly, but she
was weak for some time after. But almost before it was true, she tells
her stepmother that she is off the invalid list. Scott was anxious to
have her at Abbotsford, and promised to nurse her carefully. At the end
of July she and her sisters yielded to his friendly entreaties, and
spent a fortnight with him in his home. Lockhart speaks of the time of
her visit as one of the happiest in Scott's life. Until the Misses
Edgeworth arrived the season had been wet. It was a great joy to Sir
Walter that with her appearance summer appeared too. On his expressing
this, Miss Sophy Edgeworth mentioned the Irish tune, "You've brought the
summer with you," and repeated the first line of the words Moore had
adapted to it. "How pretty!" said Sir Walter; "Moore's the man for
songs. Campbell can write an ode and I can write a ballad, but Moore
beats us all at a song."
Miss Edgeworth was charmed with Scott and his home, with the excursions
he took with them, with the drives she had with him in his little
carriage, during which the flow of his anecdotes, wit and wisdom never
ceased. His joyous manner and life of mind, his looks of fond pride in
his children, the pleasantness of his easy manners, his keen sense of
humor, enchanted her. She also liked Lady Scott, a liking that was
returned. Miss Edgeworth considered her
A most kind-hearted, hospitable person, who had much more sense and
more knowledge of character and discrimination than many of those
who ridiculed her. I know I never can forget her kindness to me
when I was ill at Abbotsford. Her last words at parting were: "God
bless you! we shall never meet again." At that time it was much
more likely that I should have died, I thought, than she.
This was not Miss Edgeworth's first visit to Edinburgh, and Lady Scott
expressed her surprise that Sir Walter and she had not met earlier.
"Why," said Sir Walter, with one of his queer looks, "you forget, my
dear, Miss Edgeworth was not a lion then, and my mane, you know, was not
grown at all."
Sir Walter was as sorry to part with his guests as Miss Edgeworth was to
go, but she felt that the longer she lingered the more difficult it
would be to depart.
After paying some more Scotch visits and a few Irish ones, the Misses
Edgeworth returned home in September, and life once more became
uneventful. Even to Mrs. Ruxton there was nothing to tell.
It is a long time since I have written to you, always waiting a day
longer for somebody's coming or going, or sailing or launching. You
ask what I am doing. Nothing but reading and idling, and paving a
gutter and yard to Honora's pig-sty and school-house. What have I
been reading? The _Siege of Valencia_, by Mrs. Hemans, which is an
hour too long, but it contains some of the most beautiful poetry I
have read for years.
Sickness, deaths, marriages and births were of frequent occurrence in
that large family. Miss Edgeworth's heart was capacious and could answer
to all calls made upon it. Whether it was to rejoice with those that
rejoiced, or to weep with those that wept, she always responded.
It is the condition, the doom of advancing, advanced age, to see
friend after friend go, for so much it detaches one from life; yet
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.
A young sister who had ailed for years, and was obliged to lie flat on a
couch, was a constant source of solicitude. What could be done to divert
her, to comfort her, or alleviate her sufferings, was always in Miss
Edgeworth's mind. Lucy's name often occurs in her letters, and whenever
she is absent and there is anything especially amusing to relate, the
letter is always addressed to her. In 1824 Miss Edgeworth lost her
sister, Mrs. Beddoes. A few months before, Sophy was married to a
Captain Fox. She was grieved to lose this sister and the marriage
affected her deeply.
Though Miss Edgeworth was now past fifty, she showed neither bodily nor
mental signs of advancing years. Indeed, mentally she was as fresh and
as young as ever, and her letters reflect the same pleasure in life and
all it offers that they evinced throughout. Only on New Year's day,
which was also her birthday, does she indulge in any reflections
concerning the flight of time. Here is a letter written in 1825:--
A happy new year to you, my dearest aunt, to you to whom I now
look, as much as I can to any one now living, for the rays of
pleasure that I expect to gild my bright evening of life. As we
advance in life, we become more curious, more fastidious in gilding
and gilders. We find to our cost that all that glitters is not
gold, and your every-day bungling carvers and gilders will not do.
Our evening gilders must be more skillful than those who flashed
and daubed away in the morning of life, and gilt with any tinsel
the weathercock for the morning sun. You may perceive, my dear
aunt, by my having got so finely to the weathercock and the rising
sun, that I am out of the hands of my dear apothecaries, and
playing away again with a superfluity of life. (N. B.--I am
surprisingly prudent.) Honora's cough has almost subsided, and
Lucy can sit upright the greater part of the day. "God bless the
mark!" as Molly Bristow would say, if she heard me; "don't be
bragging."
Not many days later, when her stepmother and some friends, "poor souls
and full-dress bodies," had gone out to dinner, she penned another long
letter to the same correspondent, a letter delightfully fresh in tone
and full of her personality:--
In a few days I trust--you know I am a great truster--you will
receive a packet franked by Lord Bathurst, containing only a little
pocket-book--_Friendship's Offering for 1825_, dizened out. I fear
you will think it too fine for your taste, but there is in it, as
you will find, the old _Mental Thermometer_, which was once a
favorite of yours. You will wonder how it came there. Simply thus:
Last autumn came by the coach a parcel containing just such a book
as this for last year, and a letter from Mr. Lupton Relfe--a
foreigner settled in London--and he prayed in most polite
bookseller strain that I would look over my portfolio for some
trifle for this book for 1825. I might have looked over "my
portfolio" till doomsday, as I have not an unpublished scrap,
except _Taken for Granted_. But I recollected the _Mental
Thermometer_, and that it had never been _out_, except in the
_Irish Farmer's Journal_, not known in England. So I routed in the
garret, under pyramids of old newspapers, with my mother's
prognostics that I never should find it, and loud prophecies that I
should catch my death, which I did not; but dirty and dusty and
cobwebby, I came forth, after two hours' groveling, with my object
in my hand; cut it out, added a few lines of new end to it, and
packed it off to Lupton Relfe, telling him that it was an old thing
written when I was sixteen. Weeks elapsed, and I heard no more,
when there came a letter exuberant in gratitude, and sending a
parcel containing six copies of the new memorandum-book, and a most
beautiful twelfth edition of Scott's poetical works, bound in the
most elegant manner, and with most beautifully engraved
frontispieces and vignettes, and a L5 note. I was quite
ashamed--but I have done all I could for him by giving the
_Friendship's Offering_ to all the fine people I could think of.
The set of Scott's works made a nice New Year's gift for Harriet;
she had seen this edition at Edinburgh and particularly wished for
it. The L5 note I have sent to Harriet Beaufort to be laid out in
books for Fanny Stewart. Little did I think the poor old
_Thermometer_ would give me so much pleasure. Here comes the
carriage rolling round. I feel guilty. What will my mother say to
me--so long a letter at this time of night? Yours affectionately,
in all the haste of guilt, conscience-stricken; that is, found out.
No: all safe, all innocent--because not found out.
FINIS.
By the author of _Moral Tales_ and _Practical Education_.
In 1825 Scott paid his long-promised visit to Edgeworthstown. He came in
August, bringing with him his daughter, Lockhart and Mr. Crampton, a
surgeon friend of the Edgeworths, "who equally gratified both the
novelists by breaking the toils of his great practice to witness their
meeting on his native soil." Miss Edgeworth writes:--
I am glad that kind Crampton had the reward of this journey; though
frequently hid from each other by clouds of dust in their open
carriage, they had, as they told us, never ceased talking They like
each other as much as two men of so much genius and so much
benevolence should, and we rejoice to be the bond of union.
* * * * *
Sir Walter delights the heart of every creature who sees, hears and
knows him. He is most benignant as well as most entertaining; the
noblest and the gentlest of lions, and his face, especially the
lower part of it, is excessively like a lion; he and Mr. Crampton
and Mr. Jephson were delighted together. The school band after
dinner by moonlight playing Scotch tunes, and the boys at
leap-frog, delighted Sir Walter. Next day we went to the school for
a very short time and saw a little of everything, and a most
favorable impression was left. It being Saturday, religious
instruction was going on when we went in. Catholics with their
priests in one room; Protestants with Mr. Keating in the other.
More delightful conversation I have seldom in my life heard than we
have been blessed with these three days. What a touch of sorrow
must mix with the pleasures of all who have had great losses.
Lovell, my mother and I, at twelve o'clock at night, joined in
exclaiming, "How delightful! O! that he had lived to see and hear
this!"
Of the details of this visit, Lockhart, in his _Life of Scott_, has
furnished an account. He draws attention to the curious coincidence that
Goldsmith and Maria Edgeworth should both have derived their early love
and knowledge of Irish character from the same district, Pallesmore
being indeed the property of the Edgeworths.
After a week's stay Sir Walter and his friends departed to visit
Killarney; and Miss Edgeworth, her sister Harriet and brother William
were easily persuaded to be of the party. The journey was a delightful
one to all concerned; and though a few little mishaps occurred, such as
the difficulties of finding post-horses to convey so large a party,
everything was turned to enjoyment. Sir Walter and Miss Edgeworth shared
this faculty of looking on the bright side of the necessary discomforts
of a journey, and extracting amusement from every incident--a faculty
for want of which so many travellers fail to enjoy themselves. They
charmed all with whom they came in contact, down to the very boatman who
rowed them on the lake of Killarney, and who, rowing Lord Macaulay
twenty years afterwards, told him that the circumstance had made him
amends for missing a hanging that day! On Sir Walter Scott's birthday a
large gathering of the clans Edgeworth and Scott took place at Dublin.
"Sir Walter's health was drunk with more feeling than gaiety," and on
that same evening he and Miss Edgeworth parted, never to meet again.