The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1
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Maria Edgeworth >> The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1
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For some time I kept a Bristol journal, which I intended to send to
Black Castle in form of a newspaper, but I found that though every day's
conversation and occurrences appeared of prodigious importance just at
the moment they were passing, yet afterwards they seemed so flat and
stale as not to be worth sending. I must however tell you that I had
materials for one brilliant paragraph about the Duchess of York. Mr.
Lloyd had seen the wondrous sight. "When she was to be presented to the
Queen, H.R.H. kept Her Majesty waiting nearly an hour, till at last the
Queen, fearing that some accident had happened, sent to let the Duchess
know that she was waiting for her. When the Duchess at length arrived,
she was so frightened--for a Royal Duchess can be frightened as well as
another--that she trembled and tottered in crossing the presence chamber
so that she was obliged to be supported. She is very timid, and never
once raised her eyes, so that our correspondent cannot speak decidedly
as to the expression of her countenance, but if we may be allowed to say
so, she is not a beauty, and is very low. She was dressed in white and
gold," etc. etc.
The children all desire their love: they were playing the other day at
going to Black Castle, and begged me to be Aunt Ruxton, which I assured
them I would if I could; but they insisted on my _being_ Sophy, Letty,
and Margaret at the same time, and were not quite contented at my
pleading this to be out of my power.
_To_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
CLIFTON, _March 9, 1792._
I wish, my dear Sophy, that you could know how often I think of you and
wish for you, whenever we see or hear anything that I imagine you would
like. How does your ward go on? My mother desires me to say the kindest
things to you, and assure yourself, my dear Sophy, that when my mother
says the kindest, they are always at the same time the truest. She is
not a person ever to forget a favour, and the care and trouble you are
now bestowing on little Thomas Day will be remembered probably after you
have forgotten it. But my father interrupts me at this moment, to say
that if I am writing to Sophy I must give him some room at the end, so I
shall leave off my fine speeches. We spend our time very agreeably here,
and have in particular great choice of books. I don't think the children
are quite as happy here as they used to be at home, it is impossible
they should be, for they have neither the same occupations nor liberty.
It is however "restraint that sweetens liberty," and the joy they show
when they run upon the Downs, hunting fossils, and clambering, is indeed
very great. Henry flatters himself that he shall some time or other have
the pleasure of exhibiting his collection to Cousin Sophy, and rehearses
frequently in the character of showman. Dr. Darwin has been so good as
to send him several fossils, etc., with their names written upon them,
and he is every day adding to his little stock of _larning._ There is a
very sensible man here who has also made him presents of little things
which he values much, and he begins to _mess_ a great deal with gums,
camphor, etc. He will at least never come under Dr. Darwin's definition
of a fool. "A fool, Mr. Edgeworth, you know, is a man who never tried an
experiment in his life." My father tells me that Henry has acquired a
taste for improving himself, and that all he has now to fear is my taste
for improving him.
We went the other day to see a collection of natural curiosities at a
Mr. Broderip's, of Bristol, which entertained us very much. My father
observed he had but very few butterflies, and he said, "No, sir, a
circumstance which happened to me some time ago, determined me never to
collect any more butterflies. I caught a most beautiful butterfly,
thought I had killed it, and ran a pin through its body to fasten it to
a cork: a _fortnight_ afterward I happened to look in the box where I
had left it, and I saw it writhing in agony: since that time I have
never destroyed another."
My father has just returned from Dr. Darwin's, where he has been nearly
three weeks: they were extremely kind, and pressed him very much to take
a house in or near Derby for the summer. He has been, as Dr. Darwin
expressed it, "breathing the breath of life into the brazen lungs of a
clock" which he had made at Edgeworthstown as a present for him. He saw
the first part of Dr. Darwin's _Botanic Garden_; L900 was what his
bookseller gave him for the whole! On his return from Derby, my father
spent a day with Mr. Keir, the great chemist, at Birmingham: he was
speaking to him of the late discovery of fulminating silver, with which
I suppose your ladyship is well acquainted, though it be new to Henry
and me. A lady and gentleman went into a laboratory where a few grains
of fulminating silver were lying in a mortar: the gentleman, as he was
talking, happened to stir it with the end of his cane, which was tipped
with iron,--the fulminating silver exploded instantly, and blew the
lady, the gentleman, and the whole laboratory to pieces! Take care how
you go into laboratories with gentlemen, unless they are like Sir Plume
skilled in the "nice conduct" of their canes.
Have you seen any of the things that have been lately published about
the negroes? We have just read a very small pamphlet of about ten pages,
merely an account of the facts stated to the House of Commons.
Twenty-five thousand people in England have absolutely left off eating
West India sugar, from the hope that when there is no longer any demand
for sugar the slaves will not be so cruelly treated. Children in several
schools have given up sweet things, which is surely very benevolent;
though whether it will at all conduce to the end proposed is perhaps
wholly uncertain, and in the meantime we go on eating apple pies
sweetened with sugar instead of with honey. At Mr. Keir's, however, my
father avers that he ate excellent custards sweetened with honey. Will
it not be rather hard upon the poor bees in the end?
Mrs. Yearsly, the milkwoman, whose poems I daresay my aunt has seen,
lives very near us at Clifton: we have never seen her, and probably
never shall, for my father is so indignant against her for her
ingratitude to her benefactress, Miss Hannah More, that he thinks she
deserves to be treated with _neglect._ She was dying, absolutely
expiring with hunger, when Miss More found her. Her mother was a
washerwoman, and washed for Miss More's family; by accident, in a
tablecloth which was sent to her was left a silver spoon, which Mrs.
Yearsly returned. Struck with this instance of honesty, which was
repeated to her by the servants, Miss More sent for her, discovered her
distress and her genius, and though she was extremely eager in preparing
some of her own works for the press, she threw them all aside to correct
Mrs. Yearsly's poems, and obtained for her a subscription of L600. In
return, Mrs. Yearsly accused her of having defrauded her, of having been
actuated only by vanity in bringing her abilities to light--a new
species of vanity from one authoress to another--in short, abused her in
the basest and most virulent manner. Would you go to see Mrs. Yearsly?
Lo! I have almost filled the Bristol Chronicle, and have yet much that I
wish to say to you, dear Sophy, and that I could tell you in one
half-hour, talking at my usual rate of nine miles an hour: when that
will be, it is impossible to tell. My mother is now getting better. All
the children are perfectly well: Bessy's eyes are not inflamed:
Charlotte _est faite a peindre et plus encore a aimer_, if that were
French.
* * * * *
Little Thomas Day Edgeworth died at the age of three, whilst he was in
the care of the Ruxtons, and about the same time Maria Edgeworth's own
brother Richard, who had paid a long visit to his family at Clifton,
returned to North Carolina, where he had married and was already a
father.
* * * * *
MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MISS RUXTON.
ASHTON BOWER, CLIFTON, _August 14, 1792._
Last Saturday my poor brother Richard took leave of us to return to
America. He has gone up to London with my father and mother, and is to
sail from thence. We could not part with him without great pain and
regret, for he made us all extremely fond of him. I wish my dear aunt
could have seen him; he was very sensible of her kindness, and longed to
have a letter from her. He is to come over in '95. Emmeline is still
with Lady Holt and Mrs. Bracebridge, at Atherstone, in Warwickshire.
Miss Bracebridge, grand-daughter to Lady Holt, is a very agreeable
companion to my sister, though some years younger, and she enjoys the
society at Atherstone very much. They are most unwilling to part with
her; but now she has been absent two months, and we all begin to _growl_
for her return, especially now that my brother is gone, who was "in
himself a host."
I am engaged to go in October to pay a visit to Mrs. Charles Hoare. I
believe you may remember my talking to you of this lady, and my telling
you that she was my friend at school,[Footnote: Miss Robinson.] and had
corresponded with me since. She was at Lisbon when we first came to
England, and I thought I had little prospect of seeing her, but the
moment she returned to England she wrote to me in the kindest and most
pressing manner to beg I would come to her. Immediately after this, I
dare not add that she is a most amiable and sensible woman, lest Sophy
should exclaim, "Ah! vanity! because she likes you, Mademoiselle Marie!"
My uncle, William Sneyd, whom I believe you saw at Edgeworthstown, has
just been with us for three weeks, and in that time filled five quires
of paper with dried plants from the neighbouring rocks. He says there is
at Clifton the richest harvest for botanists. How I wish you were here
to reap it. Henry and I will collect anything that we are informed is
worthy of your Serene Highness's collection. There is a species of
cistus which grows on S. Vincent's rock, which is not, I am told, to be
found in any other part of England. Helpless as I am and scoffed at in
these matters, I will contrive to get some of it for you. A shoemaker
showed us a tortoise shell which he had for sale. I wished to have
bought it for La Sophie, but upon inquiry I found it could not be had
for less than a guinea; now I thought at the utmost it would not give
Sophy above half a crown's worth of pleasure, so I left the shoemaker in
quiet possession of his African tortoise. He had better fortune with two
shells, admirals, which he sold to Lady Valentia for three guineas.
We begin to be hungry for letters. The children all desire their love to
you; Charlotte is very engaging, and promises to be handsome; Sneyd _is_
and promises everything; Henry will, I think, through life always do
more than he promises; little Honora is a sprightly blue-eyed child, at
nurse with a woman who is the picture of health and simplicity, in a
beautiful romantic cottage, just such a cottage as you would imagine for
the residence of health and simplicity. Lovell is perfectly well, and
desires his kind love to you. Dr. Darwin has paid him very handsome
compliments in his lines on the Barbarini vase, in the first part of the
_Botanic Garden_, which my father has just got.
Has my aunt seen the _Romance of the Forest_? It has been the
fashionable novel here, everybody read and talked of it; we were much
interested in some parts of it. It is something in the style of the
_Castle of Otranto_, and the horrible parts are we thought well worked
up, but it is very difficult to keep Horror breathless with his mouth
wide open through three volumes.
Adieu, my dear Sophy: do not let my aunt forget me, for I love her very
much; and as for yourself, take care not to think too highly of Cousin
Maria, but see her faults with indulgence, and you will I think find her
a steady and affectionate friend.
_To_ MISS S. RUXTON.
FLEET STREET, LONDON,
_October 17, 1792._
I have been with Mrs. Charles Hoare a week, and before I left Clifton
had a budget in my head for a letter to you, which I really had not a
moment's time to write. I left them all very well, just going to leave
Ashton Bower, which I am not sorry for, though it has such a pretty
romantic name; it is not a fit Bower to live in in winter, it is so cold
and damp. They are going to Prince's Place again, and I daresay will fix
there for the winter, though my father has talked of Bath and Plymouth.
I find in half-rubbed-out notes in my pocket-book, "Sophy--Slave-ship:
Sophy--Rope-walk: Sophy--Marine acid: Sophy--Earthquake:
Sophy--Glasshouse," etc.: and I intended to tell you _a la longue_ of
these.
We went on board a slave-ship with my brother, and saw the dreadfully
small hole in which the poor slaves are stowed together, so that they
cannot stir. But probably you know all this.
Mrs. Hoare was at Lisbon during two slight shocks of an earthquake; she
says the night was remarkably fine, there was no unwholesome feeling
that she can remember in the air, immediately preceding the shock: but
they were sitting with the windows open down to the ground, looking at
the clearness of the sky, when they felt the shock. The doors and
windows, and all the furniture in the room shook for a few instants:
they looked at one another in silent terror. But in another instant
everything was still, and they came to the use of their voices. Numbers
of exaggerated accounts were put into the public papers, and she
received vast numbers of terrified letters from her friends in England.
So much for the earthquake. The marine acid I must leave till I have my
father at my elbow, lest in my great wisdom I should set you wrong.
About the glasshouse: there is one Stephens, an Englishman, who has set
up a splendid glasshouse at Lisbon, and the Government have granted him
a pine wood sixteen miles in extent to supply his glasshouse with fuel.
He has erected a theatre for his workmen, supplied them with scenes,
dresses, etc.; and they have acquired such a taste for theatrical
amusements, that it has conquered their violent passion for drinking
which formerly made them incapable of work three days in the week; now
they work as hard as possible, and amuse themselves for one day in the
week.
Of the beauty of the Tagus, and its golden sands, and the wolves which
Mrs. Hoare had the satisfaction of seeing hunted, I must speak when I
see you. Mrs. Hoare is as kind as possible to me, and I spend my time at
Roehampton as I like: in London that is not entirely possible. We have
only come up to town for a few days. Mr. Hoare's house at Roehampton is
an excellent one indeed: a library with nice books, small tables upon
castors, low sofas, and all the other things which make rooms
comfortable. Lady Hoare, his mother, is said to be a very amiable,
sensible woman: I have seen her only once, but I was much entertained at
her house at Barnelms, looking at the pictures. I saw Zeluco's figure in
Le Brun's "Massacre of the Innocents." My aunt will laugh, and think
that I am giving myself great airs when I talk of being entertained
looking at pictures; but assure her that I remember what she used to say
about taste, and that without affectation I have endeavoured to look at
everything worth seeing.
_To_ MRS. RUXTON.
STANHOPE STREET, LONDON,
_Nov. 6, '92._
I left Roehampton yesterday, and took leave of my friend Mrs. Charles
Hoare, with a high opinion of her abilities, and a still higher opinion
of her goodness. She was exceedingly kind to me, and I spent most of my
time with her as I liked: I say most, because a good deal of it was
spent in company where I heard of nothing but chariots and horses, and
curricles and tandems. Oh, to what contempt I exposed myself in a
luckless hour by asking what a tandem was! I am going in a few days to
meet Mrs. Powys at Bath. Since I have been away from home I have missed
the society and fondness of my father, mother, and sisters more than I
can express, and more than beforehand I should have thought possible: I
long to see them all again. Even when I am most amused I feel a void,
and now I understand what an aching void is, perfectly well. You know
they are going back to Prince's Buildings to the nice house we had last
winter; and Emmeline writes me word that the great red puddle which we
used to call the Red Sea, and which we were forced to wade through
before we could get to the Downs, will not this winter be so terrible,
for my father has made a footpath for his "host."
CLIFTON, _Dec. 13, '92._
(The day we received yours.)
The day of retribution is at hand, my dear aunt: the month of May will
soon come, and then, when we meet face to face, and voucher to voucher,
it shall be truly seen whose letter-writing account stands fullest and
fairest in the world. Till then, "we'll leave it all to your honour's
honour." But why does my dear aunt write, "I can have but little more
time to spend with my brother in my life," [Footnote: Mrs. Ruxton lived
thirty-nine years after this letter was written.] as if she was an old
woman of one hundred and ninety-nine and upwards? I remember, the day I
left Black Castle, you told me, if you recollect, that "you had one foot
in the grave;" and though I saw you standing before me in perfect
health, sound wind and limb, I had the weakness to feel frightened, and
never to think of examining where your feet really were. But in the
month of May we hope to find them safe in your shoes, and I hope that
the sun will then shine out, and that all the black clouds in the
political horizon will be dispersed, and that "freemen" will by that
time eat their puddings and hold their tongues. Anna and I stayed one
week with Mrs. Powys [Footnote: The most intimate friend of Mrs. Honora
Edgeworth.] at Bath, and were very thoroughly occupied all the time with
seeing and--I won't say with being seen; for though we were at three
balls, I do not believe any one saw us. The Upper Rooms we thought very
splendid, and the playhouse pretty, but not so good as the theatre at
Bristol. We walked all over Bath with my father, and liked it extremely:
he showed us the house where he was born.
GLOUCESTER ROW, CLIFTON,
_July 21, 1793._
My father is just returned to us from Mr. Keir's.... Come over to us,
since we cannot go to you. "Ah, Maria, you know I would come if I
could." But can't you, who are a great woman, trample upon
impossibilities? It is two years since we saw you, and we are tired of
_recollecting_ how kind and agreeable you were. Are you the same Aunt
Ruxton? Come and see whether we are the same, and whether there are any
people in the world out of your own house who know your value better.
During the hot weather the thermometer was often 80, and once 88. Mr.
Neville, a banker, has taken a house here, and was to have been my
father's travelling companion, but left him at Birmingham: he has a
fishing-stool and a wife. We like the fishing-stool and the wife, but
have not yet seen the family. My father last night wrote a letter of
recommendation to you for a Mr. Jimbernat, a Spanish gentleman, son to
the King of Spain's surgeon, who is employed by his Court to travel for
scientific purposes: he drank tea with us, and seems very intelligent.
Till I saw him I thought a Spaniard must be tall and stately: one may be
mistaken.
Adieu, for there are matters of high import coming, fit only for the pen
of pens.
R.L. EDGEWORTH in continuation.
The matters of high importance, my dear sister, have been already
communicated to you in brief, and indeed cannot be detailed by any but
the parties. Dr. Beddoes, the object of Anna's vows,[Footnote: Dr.
Thomas Beddoes, the celebrated physician and chemist, followed the
Edgeworth family to Ireland, where he was married to Anna Edgeworth,
Maria's youngest _own_ sister.] is a man of abilities, and of great
name in the scientific world as a naturalist and chemist: good-humoured,
good-natured, a man of honour and virtue, enthusiastic and sanguine, and
very fond of Anna.
MARIA _to_ MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 18, 1793._
This evening my father has been reading out Gay's _Trivia_ to our great
entertainment. I wished very much, my dear aunt, that you and Sophy had
been sitting round the fire with us. If you have _Trivia_, and if you
have time, will you humour your niece so far as to look at it? I think
there are many things in it which will please you, especially the
"Patten and the Shoeblack," and the old woman hovering over her little
fire in a hard winter. Pray tell me if you like it. I had much rather
make a bargain with any one I loved to read the same book with them at
the same hour, than to look at the moon like Rousseau's famous lovers.
"Ah! that is because my dear niece has no taste and no eyes." But I
assure you I am learning the use of my eyes main fast, and make no
doubt, please Heaven I live to be sixty, to see as well as my
neighbours.
I am scratching away very hard at the Freeman Family.[Footnote: _i.e.
Patronage_, which, however, was laid aside, and not published till
1813.]
* * * * *
In November 1793 the Edgeworth family returned to Ireland, where Mr.
Edgeworth's inventive genius became occupied with a system of telegraphy
on which he expended much time and money. It was offered to the
Government, but declined. Maria Edgeworth was occupied at this time with
her _Letters for Literary Ladies_, as well as with "Toys and Tasks"
which formed one of her chapters on _Practical Education._
* * * * *
_To_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb 23, 1794._
Thank my aunt and thank yourself for kind inquiries after _Letters for
Literary Ladies._ [Footnote: Published in 1795--an early plea in favour
of female education.] I am sorry to say they are not as well as can be
expected, nor are they likely to mend at present: when they are fit to
be seen--if that happy time ever arrives--their first visit shall be to
Black Castle. They are now disfigured by all manner of crooked marks of
papa's critical indignation, besides various abusive marginal notes,
which I would not have you see for half a crown sterling, nor my aunt
for a whole crown as pure as King Hiero's; with which crown I am sure
you are acquainted, and know how to weigh it as Honora did at eight
years old, though Mr. Day would not believe it. I think my mother is
better this evening, but she is so very cheerful when she has a moment's
respite, that it deceives us. She calls Lovell the Minute Philosopher at
this instant, because he is drawing with the assistance of a magnifying
glass with a universal joint in his mouth; so that one eye can see
through it while he draws a beautifully small drawing of the new front
of the house. I have just excited his envy even to clasping his hands in
distraction, by telling him of a man I met with in the middle of
Grainger's _Worthies of England_, who drew a mill, a miller, a bridge, a
man and horse going over the bridge with a sack of corn, all visible,
upon a surface that would just cover a sixpence.
_To_ MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 8, 1794._
My father is perfectly well, and very busy out of doors and indoors. He
brought back certain books from Black Castle, amongst which I was glad
to see the _Fairy Tales_; and he has related, with various
embellishments suited to the occasion, the story of Fortunatus, to the
great delight of young and old, especially of Sneyd, whose eyes and
cheeks expressed strong approbation, and who repeated it afterwards in a
style of dramatic oratory, which you would have known how to admire.
We are reading a new book for children, _Evenings at Home_, which we
admire extremely. Has Sophy seen them? And has she seen the fine Aurora
Borealis which was to be seen last week, and which my father and Lovell
saw with ecstasies? The candles were all put out in the library, and a
wonderful bustle made, before I rightly comprehended what was going on.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, 1794.
I will look for the volume of the _Tableau de Paris_ which you think I
have; and if it is in the land of the living, it shall be coming forth
at your call. Do you remember our reading in it of the _garcon
perruquier_ who dresses in black on a Sunday, and leaves his everyday
clothes, white and heavy with powder, in the middle of the room, which
he dares not peep into after his metamorphosis? I like to read as well
as to talk with you, my dear aunt, because you mix the grave and gay
together, and put your long finger upon the very passages which my
short, stumpy one was just starting forward to point out, if it could
point.
You are very good indeed to wish for "Toys and Tasks," but I think it
would be most unreasonable to send them to you now. We are a very small
party, now that my father, Anna, and Lovell are gone; but I hope we
shall be better when you come.
_To_ MRS. ELIZABETH EDGEWORTH.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, 1794.
All's well at home; the chickens are all good and thriving, and there is
plenty of provender, and of everything that we can want or wish for:
therefore we all hope that you will fully enjoy the pleasures of Black
Castle without being anxious for your bairns.
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