The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 2

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 2

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Though I have written this, my dear mother, and feel it truly, I am not
the least melancholy, or apprehensive or afraid of dying, and as to the
rest I am truly resigned, and trust to the goodness of my Creator living
or dying.

_Jan. 13_.

Thursday evening at Rogers's--the party was made for us and as small as
possible, Lady Charlotte Lindsay, Lady Davy, Mr. and Mrs. Empson, and
Mr. Compton and Lord Northampton. Mr. Empson is very little altered in
twelve years: the same affectionate heart and the same excellent head.
Lord Northampton is very conversable; and Mr. Compton brought me sugared
words from troops of children.

HALF-PAST SIX P.M.

Just returned from Mrs. Drummond's--beautiful house and two pretty
children--and we went to see Anna Carr's beautiful drawings of Ceylon,
and no time for more.

_Feb. 1_.

Miss Fox's illness detained Lord and Lady Lansdowne at Bowood--she is
rather better. We went to Lansdowne House yesterday, and saw Lady
Shelburne for the first time, handsome, and very amiable in countenance.
Lady Louisa was most charming in her attention to me, and she has a most
sensible, deep-thinking face.

_Feb. 2_.

Snowing and fogging, as white and as dark and disagreeable as ever it
can be. Thank heaven, to-day was not yesterday, which was dry, bright
sunshine, on purpose to grace the Queen, and to pleasure us three in
particular. Fanny ended yesterday by telling you how fortunate, or
rather how kind, people had been in working out three tickets for me, at
the last hour, at the last moment; for Lord Lovelace came himself
between eleven and twelve at night with a ticket, which he gave me, at
Lady Byron's request. You may guess how happy I was to have the third
ticket for Honora, and we were all full dressed, punctual to the minute,
in Fanny's carriage, and with my new-dressed opossum cloak covering our
knees, as warm as young toasts.

I spare you all that you will see in the newspapers. The first view of
the House did not strike me as so grand as the old House, but my mouth
was stopped by "_Pro tempore_ only, you know." We went up an
ignominiously small staircase, and the man at the bottom, piteously
perspiring, cried out, "On, on, ladies! don't stop the way! room enough
above!" But there was one objection to going on, that there were no
seats above: however, we made ourselves small--no great difficulty--and,
taking to the wall, we left a scarcely practicable pass for those who,
less wary and more obedient than ourselves, went up one by one to the
highmost void. Fanny feared for me that I should never be able to
_stand_ it, when somehow or another my name was pronounced and heard by
one of the Miss Southebys, who stretched her cordial hand.
"Glad--proud--glad--we'll squeeze--we'll make room for you between me
and my friend Miss Fitzhugh;" and so I was bodkin, but never touched the
bench till long after. I cast a lingering look at my deserted sisters
twain. "No, no, we can't do that!" so, that hope killed off, I took to
make the best of my own selfish position, and surveyed all beneath me,
from the black heads of the reporter gentlemen, with their pencils and
papers before them in the form and desk immediately below me, to the
depths of the hall, in all its long extent; and sprawling and stretching
in the midst--with the feathered and lappeted and jewelled peeresses on
their right, and their foreign excellencies on the left--were the
long-robed, ermined judges, laying their wigs together and shaking
hands, their wigs' many-curled tails shaking on their backs. And the
wigs jointly and severally looked like so many vast white and gray
birds'-nests from Brobdingnag, with a black hole at the top of each, for
the birds to creep out or in. More and more scarlet-ermined dignitaries
and nobles swarmed into the hall, and then, in at the scarlet door,
came, with white ribbon shoulder-knots and streamers flying in all
directions, a broad scarlet five-row-ermined figure, with high, bald
forehead, facetious face, and jovial, hail-fellow-well-met countenance,
princely withal, H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge, and the sidelong peeress
benches stretched their fair hands, and he his ungloved royal hand
hastily here and there and everywhere, and chattering so loud and long,
that even the remote gallery could hear the "Ha, ha, haw!" which
followed ever and anon; and we blessed ourselves, and thought we should
never hear the Queen; but I was told he would be silent when the Queen
came, and so it proved.

The guns were heard: once, twice, and at the second all were silent:
even His Royal Highness of Cambridge ceased to rustle and flutter, and
stood nobly still.

Enter the crown and cushion and sword of state and mace--the Queen,
leaning on Prince Albert's arm. She did not go up the steps to the
throne well--caught her foot and stumbled against the edge of the
footstool, which was too high. She did not seat herself in a decided,
queenlike manner, and after sitting down pottered too much with her
drapery, arranging her petticoats. That footstool was much too high! her
knees were crumpled up, and her figure, short enough already, was
foreshortened as she sat, and her drapery did not come to the edge of
the stool: as my neighbour Miss Fitzhugh whispered, "Bad effect."
However and nevertheless, the better half of her looked perfectly
ladylike and queenlike; her head finely shaped, and well held on her
shoulders with her likeness of a kingly crown, that diadem of diamonds.
Beautifully fair the neck and arms; and the arms moved gracefully, and
never too much. I could not at that distance judge of her countenance,
but I heard people on the bench near me saying that she looked "divinely
gracious."

Dead silence: more of majesty implied in that silence than in all the
magnificence around. She spoke, low and well: "My lords and gentlemen,
be seated." Then she received from the lord-in-waiting her speech, and
read: her voice, perfectly distinct and clear, was heard by us ultimate
auditors; it was not quite so fine a voice as I had been taught to
expect; it had not the full rich tones nor the varied powers and
inflections of a perfect voice. She read with good sense, as if she
perfectly understood, but did not fully or warmly feel, what she was
reading. It was more a girl's well-read lesson than a Queen pronouncing
her speech. She did not lay emphasis sufficient to mark the gradations
of importance in the subjects, and she did not make pauses enough. The
best-pronounced paragraphs were those about France and Ireland, her firm
determination to preserve inviolate the legislative union; and "I am
resolved to act in strict conformity with this declaration" she
pronounced strongly and well. She showed less confidence in reading
about the suspension of the elective franchise, and in the conclusion,
emphasis and soul were wanting, when they were called for, when she
said, "In full confidence of your loyalty and wisdom, and with an
earnest prayer to Almighty GOD," etc.

Her Majesty's exit I was much pleased to look at, it was so graceful and
so gracious. She took time enough for all her motions, noticing all
properly, from "my dear uncle"--words I distinctly heard as she passed
the Duke of Cambridge--to the last expectant fair one at the doorway.
The Queen vanished: buzz, noise, the clatter rose, and all were in
commotion, and the tide of scarlet and ermine flowed and ebbed; and
after an immense time the throngs of people bonneted and shawled, came
forth from all the side niches and windows, and down from the upper
galleries, and then places unknown gave up their occupants, and all the
outward halls were filled with the living mass: as we looked down upon
them from the back antechamber, one sea of heads. We sat down on a side
seat with Mrs. Hamilton Grey and her sister, and we made ourselves happy
criticising or eulogising all that passed down the centre aisle: not the
least chance of getting to our carriage, for an hour to come. One of the
blue and silver officials of the House, at a turn in one of the
passages, had loudly pronounced, pointing, rod in hand, to an outer
vestibule and steps, "All who are not waiting for carriages, this way,
be pleased;" and vast numbers, ill pleased, were forced to make their
exit. We went farther and fared worse. While we were waiting in
purgatory, several angelic wigs passed that way who noticed me, most
solemnly, albeit cordially: my Lord Chief Justice Tindal, Baron
Alderson, Mr. Justice Erskine, the Bishop of London--very warm indeed;
had never cooled since I had met him the night before at Sir Robert
Inglis's.

Harriet de Salis, very well dressed and very unaffected and
warm-hearted, actually left her chaperon, and sat down on the steps, and
talked and laughed the heart's laugh. Honora and Fanny had gone on a
voyage of discovery through the sea of heads, and had found that most
excellent and sensible John stuck close to the door; but as to getting
the carriage up, impracticable. We had only to wait and be ready
instantly, as it would have to drive off as soon as called. Workmen,
bawling to one another, were hauling and hoisting out all the peeresses'
benches, stripped of their scarlet; and the short and the very long of
it is that we did at last hear "Mrs. Wilson's carriage," and in we ran,
and took Mrs. Hamilton Grey in too: Fanny sat on Honora's lap, and all
was right and happy; and even little I not at all tired.

When I had got thus far, Sir Thomas Acland came in; I had met him at Sir
Robert Inglis's. He was full of Edgeworthstown and your kindness to him,
my dear mother. He repeated to me all the good advice he received from
you forty years ago, and says that you made him see Ireland, and have
common-sense. You put him in the way, and he has made his way. He is
very good, very enthusiastic, and wonderfully fond of me and of _Castle
Rackrent_.

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.

WARFIELD LODGE, _April 3, 1844_.

I am so glad I came here, and I am so glad I have my own dear Fanny with
me; and she was rewarded for coming by Miss O'Beirne's most cordial
reception of her; so kindly well-bred. Dear Miss Wren! for dear she has
always been to me for her own merits, which are great, and from her
perfect love for Mrs. O'Beirne, in which I sympathise.

I am as well as I am happy, and not the least tired, thank you, my dear
ma'am, after having seen and heard and done enough yesterday morning to
have tired a young body of seventeen, instead of one in her
seventy-eighth year.

We went a charming drive through this smiling, well-wooded,
well-cottaged country, to the Malcolms: met Colonel Malcolm and his
eldest sister Olympia on horseback at the door, just returned from their
ride, and straight Fanny fell in love with Olympia's horse--"such a
beautiful animal!" But I care much more for the Colonel! charming
indeed, unaffected, polite, and kind. Never had I so kind a reception!
and if I were to give you a _catalogue raisonnee_ of all we saw in their
rich and rare, as well as happy home, it would reach from this to Trim.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

COLLINGWOOD, _April 8, 1844_.

Fine sunshiny day, and from my window I see a beautiful lawn, and two
children rolling on the grass, and I hear their happy voices and their
father's with them. I should have told you that on Friday Lestock took
me and Emmeline, and Emmeline Gibbons and her little girl, to the
Zoological Gardens, and we all were mightily delighted; but of the
beasts and birds when I return.

Here are Lord and Lady Adair--she is grateful to Sophy Palmer for her
kindness when she was ill at Oxford--and Sir Edward Ryan, and one whom I
was right glad to meet, "Jones on Rent;" and I have attacked, plagued,
and gratified him by urging him to write a new volume. Jones and
Herschel are very fond of one another, often differing, but always
agreeing to differ, like Malthus and Ricardo, who hunted together in
search of Truth, and huzzaed when they found her, without caring who
found her first: indeed, I have seen them both put their able hands to
the windlass to drag her up from the bottom of that well in which she so
strangely delights to dwell.

I must go back to the 23rd, which was a full and well-filled day. In the
morning Rogers kindly determined to catch us: came before luncheon-time,
and was very agreeable and very good-natured about a drawing I showed to
him by a niece of Mrs. Holland's, a young girl of fifteen, who has
really an inventive genius. I suggested to her, among the poems it is
now the fashion to illustrate, Parnell's fairy tale: she has sketched
the first scene--the old castle, lighted up: fairies dancing in the
hall: Edwin crouching in the corner. Rogers praised it so warmly, that I
regretted the girl could not hear him; it would so encourage her. He got
up, dear, good-natured old man, from his chair as I spoke, and went
immediately to Lower Brook Street with the drawing to the young lady.

Luncheon over, we drove to the city, to see an old gentleman of
ninety-three, Mr. Vaughan, whom I am sure you remember so kindly showing
the London Docks to us in 1813, with his understanding and all his
faculties as clear and as fresh now as they were then; and after
returning from Mr. Vaughan's, we went to the bazaar, where I wanted to
buy a churn, and other toys that shall be nameless, for the children;
and after all this I lay down and slept for three-quarters of an hour,
before time to dress for dinner. This dinner was at Lambeth: arrived
exactly in time: found Mrs. Howley ready in her beautiful drawing-room,
and I had the pleasure of five minutes' conversation alone with her.
Oddly, it came out that she had a fine picture in the room, given to her
by Mr. Legge, who inherited Aston Hall, which Mr. Legge I used to hear
of continually ages ago as a sort of bugbear, being the heir-at-law to
Sir Thomas Holte and Lady Holte's property. "Very natural they could
never bear the name of Legge," said Mrs. Howley, "but he was my relative
and excellent friend;" and she pointed to an inscription in grateful
honour of him under the picture. How oddly connections come out, and
between people one should never have thought had heard of each other,
and at such distant times.

This dinner and evening at Lambeth proved very agreeable to me. At the
dinner were Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Grey, Dean Milman, the Bishop of
Lichfield, Sir Thomas Sinclair, and some others whose names I do not
remember--fourteen altogether. I was on the Archbishop's right hand,
Mrs. Hamilton Grey on his left. Dear, simple, dignified, yet playful
Archbishop, who talked well of all things, from nursery rhymes to deep
metaphysics and physics. Apropos to dreams and acting in character in
the strangest circumstances, I mentioned Dr. Holland's _Medical Notes_,
and the admirable chapter on Reverie and Dreaming. He had not seen the
book, but seemed interested, and said he would read it directly--a great
pleasure to me (goose!). I must not go further into the conversation
with Milman, and the Archbishop's remarks upon Coleridge; it was all
very agreeable, and--early hours being the order of the day and night
there--I came away at ten; and as I drew up the glass, and was about to
draw up Steele's opossum cloak, I felt a slight resistance--Fanny! dear,
kind Fanny, so unexpected, come in the carriage for me; and a most
delightful drive we had home.

1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, _April 15_.

"Slip on, for Time's Time!" said a man, coming forth with a pipe in his
mouth from an inn door, exhorting men and horses of railroad omnibus.
"Slip on, Time's Time!" I have been saying to myself continually; and
now I am coming to the last gasp, and Time slips so fast, that Time is
not Time--in fact, there's no Time.

Rosa's note to Fanny about glass shall be attended to, and I shall paste
on the outside, "GLASS--NOT TO BE THROWN DOWN;" for Lord Adair had a bag
thrown down the other day by reckless railway porters, in which was a
bottle of sulphuric acid, which, breaking and spilling, stained,
spoiled, and burned his Lordship's best pantaloons. I have packed up my
bottles with such elastic skill, that I trust my petticoats will not
share that sad fate.

* * * * *

Miss Edgeworth now left London for the last time. This was her last
visit to her happy London home in North Audley Street, and in this last
visit she had enjoyed much with all the freshness of youth, though the
health of her sister and hostess often caused her anxiety. Mrs. L.H.
Sigourney, who had been a frequent visitor, writes: [Footnote: _Pleasant
Memories of Pleasant Lands_, by Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (1791-1865).]

* * * * *

To have repeatedly met and listened to Miss Edgeworth, seated familiarly
with her by the fireside, may seem to her admirers in America a
sufficient payment for the hazards of crossing the Atlantic. Her
conversation, like her writings, is varied, vivacious, and delightful.
Her forgetfulness of self and happiness in making others happy are
marked traits in her character. Her person is small and delicately
proportioned, and her movements full of animation. The ill-health of the
lovely sister, much younger than herself, at whose house in London she
was passing the winter, called forth such deep anxiety, untiring
attention, and fervent gratitude for every favourable symptom, as seemed
to blend features of maternal tenderness with sisterly affection.

MARIA _to_ MRS. R. BUTLER.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 2, 1844_.

Not the least tired with my journey. Francis read to me indefatigably
through _Australia_. [Footnote: Hood's _Letters from Australia_.] There
is an excellent anecdote of an old Scotch servant meeting his master
unexpectedly in Australia after many years' absence: "I was quite dung
down donnerit when I saw the laird, I canna' conceit what dooned me--I
was raal glad to see him, but I dinna ken hoo I couldna' speak it."

If anybody can conceive anything much more absurd than my copying this
out of a printed book of your own which you will have back in seven
days,--let them call aloud.

"I canna' speak it" how happy I was yesterday, at the tender, warm
reception I had from your dear mother, and all young and old.

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 21, 1844_.

I am right glad to look forward to the hope of seeing you again and
talking all manner of nonsense and sense, and laughing myself and making
you laugh, as I used to do, though I am six years beyond the allotted
age and have had so many attacks of illness within the last two years;
but I am, as Bess Fitzherbert and poor dear Sophy used to say, like one
of those pith puppets that you knock down in vain, they always start up
the same as ever. I was particularly fortunate in my last attack of
erysipelas in all the circumstances, just having reached Harriet and
Louisa's comfortable home, and happy in having Harriet Butler coming to
me the very day she heard I was in this condition. Crampton had set out
for Italy the day before, but Sir Henry Marsh managed me with skill, and
let me recover slowly, as nature requires at advanced age. I am obliged
to repeat to myself, "advanced age," because really and truly neither my
spirits nor my powers of locomotion and facility of running up and down
stairs would put me in mind of it. I do not find either my love for my
friends or my love of literature in the least failing. I enjoyed even
when flattest in my bed hearing Harriet Butler reading to me till eleven
o'clock at night. Sir Henry Marsh prescribed some book that would
entertain and interest me without straining my attention or
over-exciting me, and Harriet chose Madame de Sevigne's _Letters_, which
perfectly answered all the conditions, and was as delightful at the
twentieth reading as at the first. Such lively pictures of the times and
modes of living in country, town, and court, so interesting from their
truth, simplicity, and elegance; the language so polished, and not the
least antiquated even at this day. Madame de Sevigne's reply to Madame
de Grignan, having called Les Rochers _"humide"--"Humide! humide
vous-meme!"_ I should not have thought it French; I did not know they
had that turn of colloquial drollery. But she has every good turn and
power of expression, and is such an amiable, affectionate, good
creature, loving the world too and the court, and all its sense and
nonsense mixed delightfully. Harriet often stopped to say, "How like my
mother! how like Aunt Ruxton!" At Trim, during the two delightfully
happy months I was there, during my convalescence and perfect recovery,
she read to me many other books, and often I wished that you had been as
you used to be with us, and Mr. Butler, who is very fond of you and
appreciates you, joined in the wish. One book was the _Journal of the
Nemesis_,--of breathless interest, from the great danger they were in
from the splitting of the iron vessel, and all the exertions and
ingenuity of the officers; and Prescott's _Mexico_ I found extremely
interesting. After these true, or warranted true histories, we read a
novel not half so romantic or entertaining, the _Widow Barnaby in
America_, and then we tried a Swedish story,--not by Miss Bremer,--of
smugglers and murderers, and a self-devoted lady, and an idiot boy, the
best drawn and most consistent character in the book. After--no, I
believe it was before--the _Rose of Tisleton_, we read _Ellen
Middleton_, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, grand-daughter of the famous
Duchess-Beauty of Devonshire, and whatever faults that Duchess had she
certainly had genius. Do you recollect her lines on _William Tell_? or
do you know Coleridge's lines to her, beginning with

O lady nursed in pomp and pleasure,
Where learned you that heroic measure?

Look for them, and get _Ellen Middleton_, it is well worth your reading.
Lady Georgiana certainly inherits her grandmother's genius, and there is
a high-toned morality and religious principle through the book (where
got she "that heroic measure"?) without any cant or ostentation: it is
the same moral I intended in _Helen_, but exemplified in much deeper and
stronger colours. This is--but you must read it yourself.

_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.

OBSERVATORY, ARMAGH, _Sept. 15, 1844_.

As well and as happy as the day is short--too short here for all that is
to be seen, felt, heard, and understood. It is more delightful to me
than I can express, but you can understand how delightful it is to see
Lucy so happy and to see her mother see it all. I sleep in the same room
with her, and fine talking we have, and we care not who hears us, we say
no harm of anybody, we have none to say.

Lucy has certainly made good use of her time and so improved the house I
should hardly have known it. In the dining-room is a fine picture of Dr.
Robinson when a boy, full of genius and romance, seated on a rock. It is
admirable and delicious to see how well and how completely Lucy has
turned her mind to all that can make her house and _houseband_, and all
belonging to him, happy and comfortable--omitting none of those smaller
creature comforts which, if not essential, are very desirable for all
human creatures learned or unlearned.

Robinson at home is not less wonderful and more agreeable even than
Robinson abroad,--his _abondance_ in literature equal to Macintosh,--in
science you know out of sight superior to anybody. In home life his
amiable qualities and amicable temper appear to the greatest advantage,
and I cannot say too much about the young people's kind and affectionate
manner to Lucy.

The Primate [Footnote: Lord John George Beresford, Archbishop of
Armagh.] and the Lady Beresfords were so kind and gracious as to come to
see us; and I have enjoyed a very agreeable luncheon-dinner at Caledon.
Lady Caledon is a _real_ person, doing a great deal of good sensibly.
Lord Caledon [Footnote: James Du Pre, third Earl of Caledon, was then
unmarried. His mother, Catherine, daughter of the third Earl of
Hardwicke, lived with him when he was in Ireland.] gave me a history of
his life in the backwoods of America, and gave me a piece of pemmican,
and I enclose a bit, and I hope it will not have greased everything! and
when I said that after a youth in the backwoods it was well to have such
a place as Caledon to fall back upon, there was a glance at his mother
that spoke volumes.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 7, 1845_.

How characteristic Joanna Baillie's letter is, so perfectly simple,
dignified, and touching.

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.

_August 7, 1845._

No pen or hand but my own shall answer your most affectionate letter, my
dear own Margaret, or welcome you again to your native country--damp as
it is--warm and comfortable with good old,--and young, friends--and
young, for your young friends Mary Anne and Charlotte were heartily glad
to see you. As to the old, I will yield to no mortal living. In the
first place is the plain immovable fact that I am the OLDEST friend you
have living, and as to actual knowledge of you I defy any one to match
me, ever since you were an infant at Foxhall, and through the Black
Castle cottage times with dear Sophy and all. What changes and chances,
and ups and downs, we have seen together!

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