The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 2 by Maria Edgeworth

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Then on to Mrs. Worthington: excellent, motherly woman, the Mrs.
Brinkley of the slate quarries. Her first question about you and William
won my heart: she seemed so to have seen into you with that penetration
of the heart, which is full as quick as that of the head, if there be
any difference. She furnished us each with a pair of Devonshire clogs,
that fitted each as if made for us; and as young Mr. Worthington was
disappointed by a sore throat of the pleasure of accompanying us, he
gave us a note to Mr. Williams at the Quarries; and good, dear Mrs.
Williams, in her white gown and worked borders, trampoozed with us
through the splish splash to all the yards, and with her master of the
works showed us the saw-mills, and the mill for grinding flint, and for
the china works.

Waiving the description of all this, I will not tell you of the quarries
and the glaciers of slates, because I wish Harriet to write her own
fresh account of her first impressions. I feel that she was even more
pleased than I expected; and I rejoice that this first sight, which I
had promised myself the pleasure of showing her, is secure.

This day's drive through Wales has been charming: a few showers, but
always at the best time for us. I have at different times of my life
seen Wales at all seasons of the year, and after all I prefer the autumn
view of it. The withering red brown fern is a great addition of beauty
on the white and gray rocks, and often so resembles the tint of autumn
on beech trees, that you cannot at a distance tell ferns on the
mountains from young plantations, touched by autumn colour.

We have just dined at this delightful inn, where you and Fanny slept in
1818, kept as I am sure you remember by two sisters with sweet,
good-humoured countenances: most active, obliging people. I think the
most discontented of travellers--old growling Smollett himself, if he
could come from the grave in a fit of the gout--could not be
discontented at this inn. Fanny, Harriet, and I have just determined
that, if ever we are reduced to earn our bread, we will keep an inn like
this.

Lest you should think that all the little sense I had is gone to
nonsense, I must tell you that, during part of this day, we have been
very wise. When there came ugly bits of the road, Harriet read out
Humboldt's fifth volume; and I was charmed with it, and enjoyed it the
more from the reflection that Lucy can share this pleasure with us. She
has Humboldt, I hope; if not, pray get it for her. The account of the
venomous flies which _mount guard_ at different hours of the day is most
curious. Humboldt is the Shakespear of travellers; as much superior to
other travellers as Shakespear is to other poets. He seems to have at
once a _vue d'oiseau_ of one half of the world, and a perfect
recollection of the other half, so as to bring together from all parts
of the earth, and from all times, observations on the largest scale,
from which he draws the most ingenious and the most useful conclusions.
I will write to Madame Gautier to beg Humboldt to send to me portraits
of the insects which appear on the Orinoco at different hours of the day
and night, by which the natives mark the hours: it will make a fine
contrast to the Watch of Flora.

_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH.

SMETHWICK GROVE, _Oct. 25, 1821_.

Here we are, my dear Honora, once more at the dear, hospitable
Moilliets'; Emily making tea at the same well-furnished board, with her
near-sighted, beautiful eyes picking her way among the cups.

We missed, by not arriving last night, a Frenchman who has been
seventeen years learning to play on the flute, and cannot play, and who
has been ten years learning to speak English, and yet told Mrs. Moilliet
that he had a letter to Lord Porcelain, to whom his mother is related,
meaning the Duke of Portland. He left this, determined to see the
residence of "Lord Malbrouke." Mrs. Moilliet endeavoured to put him
right, and to put the song, "Va-t-en Malbrouke" out of his head; but he
quoted it with the authority of an old legend. "Blenheim," Mr. Moilliet
told him, was the name of the Duke of Marlborough's place. "Ah, _oui_,
yes; Blenheim, I know that is the inn." He would have "Malbrouke" as the
name of the place.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Oct. 30, 1821_.

We spent two days instead of one at Smethwick. Nothing could be kinder
than the Moilliets were to us; nevertheless, as dearest friends must
part, we parted from them, and had a delightful drive to Woodstock.
Fanny and Harriet will tell you of Blenheim; they were pleased, and you
may be sure I was happy. At Oxford by twelve: found letter from Lord
Carrington--most punctual of men--appointing the 29th. But no letter
from Mr. Russell: sent the porter with note to him: "Mr. Russell gone to
see his brother at the Charter-house." Porter trudged again with two
notes, one to Tom Beddoes [Footnote: Her nephew]--"not come up this
term:" another note to Mr. Biddulph--most civil and best of College
cicerones--arrived almost as soon as the porter returned with his "very
happy;" and he walked us about to all those halls and gardens which we
had not seen before. Balliol and University gardens beautiful: at Corpus
Christi beautiful altar-piece. Rested at Mr. Biddulph's most comfortable
rooms at Maudlin: we went to Evening Service in the chapel: going in
from daylight, chapel lighted with many candles: dim light through brown
saints in the windows: chanting good, anthem very fine: two of the
finest voices I ever heard, one of a young boy. Good tea at Tetsworth:
amused ourselves next morning reading like ladies, and watching from our
gazabo window the arrival and departure of twelve stage-coaches, any one
of which would have been a study for Wilkie, besides the rubbing down of
a horse with a besom: at first we thought the horse would have been
affronted--no, quite agreeable. The dried flakes of yellow mud, first
besomed and then brushed, raised such a dust, that in the dust, man and
horse were lost.

Arrived here just at dressing-time. Lord Carrington had asked the
Lushingtons and Dr. Holland--can't come. Count and Countess Ludolf
expected to-morrow: he is ambassador from Sicily. Fanny says you and she
met them at Lady Davy's.

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Nov. 2, 1821_.

It is impossible to be kinder than Lord Carrington is to us: he wrote to
invite everybody that he thought we should like to meet. We have had Mr.
Wilberforce for several days, and I cannot tell you how glad I am to
have seen him again, and to have had an opportunity of hearing his
delightful conversation, and of seeing the extent and variety of his
abilities. He is not at all anxious to show himself off; he converses,
he does not merely talk. His thoughts flow in such abundance, and from
so many sources, that they often cross one another; and sometimes a
reporter would be quite at a loss. As he literally seems to speak all
his thoughts as they occur, he produces what strikes him on both sides
of any question. This often puzzles his hearers, but to me it is a proof
of candour and sincerity; and it is both amusing and instructive to see
him thus balancing accounts aloud. He is very lively, and full of odd
contortions: no matter. His indulgent, benevolent temper strikes me
particularly: he makes no pretension to superior sanctity or strictness.
He spoke with much respect and tenderness for my feelings, of my father,
and of the Life.

We have had, besides, Mr. Manning and his son, very unaffected and
agreeable; and Mr. Abel Smith, a nephew of Lord Carrington's; and Mr.
Hales, an old bachelor diplomatist, who told me the name which the Abbé
de Pradt gave to Buonaparte--Jupiter-Scapin. Does not this name contain
a volume?

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH.

WYCOMBE ABBEY, _Nov. 4, 1821_.

God bless Mr. King! My dear Lucy, we have the best hopes now that your
admirable patience and fortitude will be rewarded, and soon. We
regretted the three-quarters of an hour Mr. King might have spent with
you which were wasted at the coach office, but these are among the
_minnikin_ miseries of human life. You must often wonder how people in
health, and out of pain, and with the use of their limbs and all their
locomotive faculties, can complain of anything. But man is a grumbling
animal, not woman.

We are reading Madame de Staël's _Dix Années d'Exil_ with delight.
Though there may be too much egotism, yet it is extremely interesting;
and though she repeats too often, and uses too many words, yet there are
so many brilliant passages, and things which no one but herself could
have thought or said, that it will last as long as the memory of
Buonaparte lasts on earth. Pray get it and read it; not the plays or
poetry which make up the last volume--why will _friends_ publish all the
trash they can scrape together of celebrated people?

Mr. Hales, my dry diplomatist, tells me that Madame de Staël, he was
assured by the Swedish minister, provoked Buonaparte, by intriguing to
set Bernadotte on the throne of France, and that letters of hers on this
subject were intercepted. You will not care much about this, but you may
tell it to some of your visitants, who will be in due time as full of
Madame de Staël's _Dix Années d'Exil_ as I am at this moment.

Here is an old distich which my dry diplomatist came out with yesterday
at dinner, on the ancestor of Hampden. The remains of the Hampden estate
are in this neighbourhood, and as we were speaking of our wish to see
the place in which the patriot lived, Mr. Hales observed that it is
curious how the spirit of dislike to kings had run in the blood of the
Hampdens some centuries before Charles' time: they lost three manors in
this county, forfeit for a Hampden having struck the Black Prince.

Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe,
Old Hampden did forego,
For striking the Black Prince a blow.

When this is read you will say he deserved to lose three manors for
striking such a Prince.

Besides two spacious bed-chambers and a dressing-room, munificent Lord
Carrington would insist upon our having a sitting-room to ourselves, and
we have one that is delightful: windows down to the ground, and
prospect--dark woods and river, so pretty that I can scarcely mind what
I am saying to you.

Yesterday arrived a Mr. Hay, very well informed about mummies and Egypt,
talks well, and as if he lived with all the learned and all the
fashionable in London: his account of the unrolling of a mummy which he
lately saw in London was most entertaining. All the folds of the
thinnest linen which were unwound were laid more smoothly and
dextrously, as the best London surgeons declared, than they can now
apply bandages: they stood in amazement. The skin was quite tough, the
flesh perfect: the face quite preserved, except the bridge of the nose,
which had fallen in. Count Ludolf, who has been a fine painter in his
day, says he has used mummy pitch, or whatever it is in which mummies
are preserved, as a fine brown paint, like bistre, "only bitter to the
taste when one sucks one's brush."

Mr. Hay, I find, is private secretary to Lord Melville. It is too much
to have a Mr. _Hales_ and a Mr. _Hay_.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

GATCOMBE PARK, _Nov. 9, 1821_.

We arrived here on Wednesday evening to tea--beautiful moonlight night.
At the gate, the first operation was to lock the wheel, and we went
down, down a hill not knowing where it would end or when the house would
appear; that it was a beautiful place was clear even by moonlight. Hall
with lights very cheerful--servants on the steps. Mr. Ricardo very glad
to see us. Mrs. Ricardo brilliant eyes and such cordial open-hearted
benevolence of manner, no affectation, no thought about herself.
[Footnote: David Ricardo (1772-1823), long M.P. for Portarlington, a
great speaker and writer on Political Economy. He married Catherine,
daughter of W.T. St. Quentin of Seampston Hall, York.] "My
daughter-in-law, Mrs. Osman Ricardo," a beautiful tall figure, and fine
face, fair, and a profusion of light hair. Mr. Ricardo, jun., and two
young daughters, Mary, about fifteen, handsome, and a child of ten,
Bertha, beautiful.

I was frightened about Fanny, tired and giddy after the journey;
however, her first answer in the morning, "much better," set my heart at
ease. A very fine day, all cheerful, a delightfully pleasant house, with
uphill and downhill wooded views from every window. Rides and drives
proposed. I asked to see a cloth manufactory in the neighbourhood. Mrs.
Osman Ricardo offered her horse to Fanny, and Mr. Osman rode with her.
Mr. Ricardo drove me in his nice safe and comfortable phaeton; Harriet
and Mrs. Osman in the seat behind. The horses pretty and strong, and,
moreover, quiet, so that though we drove up and down hills almost
perpendicular, and along a sort of _Rodborough Siemplon_, I was not in
the least alarmed. Mr. Ricardo is laughed at, as they tell me, for his
driving, but I prefer it to more dashing driving. Sidney Smith, who was
here lately, said, that "a new surgeon had set up in Minchin Hampton
since Mr. Ricardo has taken to driving."

We had delightful conversation, both on deep and shallow subjects. Mr.
Ricardo, with a very composed manner, has a continual life of mind, and
starts perpetually new game in conversation. I never argued or discussed
a question with any person who argues more fairly or less for victory
and more for truth. He gives full weight to every argument brought
against him, and seems not to be on any side of the question for one
instant longer than the conviction of his mind on that side. It seems
quite indifferent to him whether you find the truth, or whether he finds
it, provided it be found. One gets at something by conversing with him;
one learns either that one is wrong or that one is right, and the
understanding is improved without the temper being ever tried in the
discussion; but I must come to an end of this letter. Harriet has
written to Pakenham an account of the cloth manufactory which Mr.
Stephens explained admirably, and we are going out to see Mrs. Ricardo's
school; she has 130 children there, and takes as much pains as Lovell.

_Nov. 10_.

Yesterday evening a Mr. and Miss Strachey dined here: he pleasing, and
she with a nice pretty-shaped small head like Honora's, very agreeable
voice. Mr. and Mrs. Smith of Easton Grey had come, and there was a great
deal of agreeable conversation. An English bull was mentioned: Lord
Camden put the following advertisement in the papers:--"Owing to the
distress of the times Lord Camden will not shoot himself or any of his
tenants before the 4th of October next."

Much conversation about cases of conscience, whether Scott was right to
deny his novels? Then the Effie Deans question, and much about
smugglers. Lord Carrington says all ladies are born smugglers. Lady
Carrington once staying on the coast of Devonshire wrote to Lord
Carrington that his butler had got from a wreck a pipe of wine for £36,
and that it was in her cellar. "Now," said Lord Carrington to himself,
"here am I in the king's service; can I permit such a thing? No." He
wrote to the proper excise officers and gave them notice, and by the
same post to Lady Carrington, but he did not know that taking goods from
a wreck was a felony. As pale as death the butler came to Lady
Carrington. "I must fly for it, my lady, to America." They were thrown
into consternation; at last they staved the wine, so that when the
excise officers came nothing was to be found. Lord Carrington of course
lost his £36 and saved his honour. Mr. Ricardo said he might have done
better by writing to apprise the owners of the vessel that he was ready
to pay a fair price for it, and the duties.

_To_ MISS LUCY EDGEWORTH.

GATCOMBE PARK, _Nov. 12_.

We are perfectly happy here; delightful house and place for walking,
riding, driving. Fanny has a horse always at her command. I a phaeton
and Mr. Ricardo to converse with. He is altogether one of the most
agreeable persons, as well as the best informed and most clever, that I
ever knew. My own pleasure is infinitely increased by seeing that Fanny
and Harriet are so much liked and so very happy here.

In the evenings, in the intervals of good conversation, we have all
sorts of merry plays. Why, when and where: our words were--_Jack, Bar,
Belle, Caste, Plum_, the best.

We acted charades last night. _Pillion_ excellent. Maria, Fanny, and
Harriet, little dear, pretty Bertha, and Mr. Smith, the best hand and
head at these diversions imaginable. First we entered swallowing pills
with great choking: _pill_. Next on all-fours, roaring _lions_; Fanny
and Harriet's roaring devouring lions much clapped. Next Bertha riding
on Mr. Smith's back. _Pillion_.

_Coxcomb_.--Mr. Smith, Mr. Ricardo, Fanny, Harriet, and Maria _crowing_.
Ditto, ditto, _combing_ hair. Mr. Ricardo, solus strutting, a _coxcomb_,
very droll.

_Sinecure_.--Not a good one.

_Monkey_.--Very good. Mr. Ricardo and Mr. Smith as monks, with coloured
silk handkerchiefs, as cowls, a laughable solemn procession. Re-enter
with _keys_. Mr. Ricardo as _monkey_.

_Fortune-tellers_.--The best: Fanny as Fortune; unluckily we forgot to
blind her, and she had only my leather bag for her purse, but
nevertheless, she made a beautiful graceful _Fortune_, and scattered her
riches with an air that charmed the world. 2nd scene: Mr. Smith and
Harriet _tellers_ of the house--"the ayes have it." Fanny, Maria, and
Harriet, _fortune-tellers_; much approved.

_Love-sick_.--Bertha, with a bow made by Mr. Smith in an instant, with a
switch and red tape and a long feathered pen. Bertha was properly blind
and made an irresistible Cupid; she entered and shot, and all the
company fell: _Love_. 2nd: Harriet, Mr. Smith, and Maria, all very
_sick_. 3rd: Fanny, a _love-sick_ young lady. Maria, her duenna,
scolding, and pitying, and nursing her with a smelling bottle.

_Fire-eater_.--1st: Harriet and I acted alarm of _fire_, and alarmed Mr.
Ricardo so well--he was going to call for assistance, 2nd: I was an
epicure, and _eating_ always succeeds on the stage. 3rd: Harriet
devoured lighted spills to admiration, and only burnt her lip a little.

In "conundrum," Mrs. Osman was a beautiful nun; she is a charming
creature, most winning countenance and manner, very desirous to improve
herself, and with an understanding the extent and excellence of which I
did not at first estimate.

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

EASTON GREY, _Nov. 22, 1821_.

Lady Catherine Bisset came with her two little nieces to call upon us,
and Fanny won little Lady Mary-Rose's heart, partly by means of some
Madeira and Portuguese figures from the chimney-piece, which she ranged
on the table for her amusement, and partly by a whiz-gig, which Fanny
plays to admiration.

And what is a whiz-gig? If you do not know, you must wait till I send
you one.

Lady Catherine, when no one was seeing or looking, laid her hand on my
arm most affectionately, and looking up in my face, said, "Do you know I
have been half my life trying to be your good French governess. I love
her."

We went to see her at her cottage, near her brother, Lord Suffolk's, and
saw many curiosities from Ceylon, made entertaining to us by the
comments and anecdotes of Captain Fenwick, who had been years at Ceylon.
On our return we stopped to see Malmesbury Abbey--beautifully placed;
the height of the arch sublime.

BOWOOD, _Nov. 26_.

We were fortunate enough to find Lord and Lady Lansdowne just returned
from their tour. They looked at the Pyrenees, but they could not go into
Spain, for the yellow fever rages there. A cordon of troops prevent any
travellers who might be disposed to brave the danger of the fever, and
fire if any attempt is made to pass. Lady Lansdowne would quite satisfy
you by her love of the Italian women. Here are Miss Vernon, and Miss
Fox, Lord Holland's sister, and Miss Fox, Lord Holland's daughter, and
Mr. Ogden, the widower of that beautiful and extraordinary lady whom we
met here three years ago. He has a great deal of cool, grave,
gentlemanly humour, and has been amusing us with an account of his visit
to Bowles, the poet, yesterday, and his musical sheep-bells and his
susceptibility to criticism and his credulity. He wrote with all the
simplicity of egotism to Murray to desire him, whenever any one who came
into his shop was seen to look into the review of his controversy with
Lord Byron on Pope, to pop into his hand his pamphlet by way of
antidote.

Miss Vernon and Miss Fox are both very agreeable, and Miss Fox,
[Footnote: Mary Elizabeth, who married, 1830, the third Lord Lilford.]
the young lady, beautiful, timid, and charming.

_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

MALL, CLIFTON, _Dec. 3, 1821_.

Our visit here and its object have been happily accomplished, my dear
mother, for my sister and Mr. King seem quite pleased and gratified.
Emmeline looks and is in much better health than when I was here before.
I must go to breakfast now as the carriage is to be at the door to carry
us to see Mr. Miles's pictures.

CIRENCESTER, _Dec. 5_.

Our picture day at Leigh Court surpassed our expectations. Poussin's
famous "Land Storm;" "St. John," by Domenichino, the most striking, with
a divine head of our SAVIOUR, by Leonardo da Vinci, and many others too
tantalising to mention. Mr. King, Emmeline, Mr. Elton, and ourselves,
filled the coach. Mr. King in high spirits, talked all the way there and
back, and was exceedingly entertaining and instructive. He has great
variety of tastes and acquirements, and we were delighted to hear him.

There was a large party the last night at Clifton, and I heard one new
thing, a great deal to hear at one party. This new thing I shall keep
for Pakenham; I wakened this morning with an intention of getting up
remarkably early to write it for him, and I got up thinking myself a
miracle of virtue and peep-o'-day woman; but lo! and behold, it was just
nine o'clock. Good-bye to Pakenham and the Deadman's head, of which my
own was full two seconds before; all that could be done was to scuffle
about the room and rummage the imperials for gowns, frills, shoes, and
gloves; all happily found, and on the right owners, and looking
charmingly, ma'am, by breakfast time. Fanny and Harriet in their lilac
and maroon tabinets. I am now writing in a delightful armchair,
high-backed antiquity, and modern cushions. Company at dinner
yesterday--Lord and Lady Bathurst, Lord Apsley, Mr. William Bathurst,
Lady Georgiana, Lady Emily, Lady Georgiana Lennox, Major Colebrook, and
Mr. Fortescue, whom we met at Paris, very agreeable, "melancholy and
gentlemanlike." The conversation goes on here remarkably well: Lady
Bathurst is perfectly well-bred and easy; Lord Apsley and Lady Georgiana
very agreeable.

The Duchess of Beaufort's French governess published in 1817 a story
called _Valoe_, which threw all high-bred London into confusion.
Everybody, who is anybody in it, under feigned names, the picture of all
the persons, manners, and character of all the young ladies who are
supposed to file off before the Duke of Devonshire. No wit, but
tittle-tattle truths. You can't buy the book if you were to give your
eyes for it: all bought up by the Duchess of Beaufort. [Footnote: It was
written by a governess whom she had dismissed.] Lord Apsley, who has a
copy with all the names in it, lent it to me. Fanny had a pleasant ride
this morning with Lord Bathurst, Mr. Fortescue, Major Colebrook, and Mr.
Bathurst, who all returned charmed with her manner of riding, and she
with her ride. Harriet and I had driven out with Lady Bathurst and Lady
Georgiana--a delightful drive through this magnificent park. The meeting
of the pine avenues in a star--superb. "Who plants like Bathurst?" etc.
We saw Pope's seat, and "Cotswold's wild and Saperton's fair dale"--a
most beautiful dale it is.

News from the best authority; probably it will be in the newspapers
before you see this: Lord Wellesley is to be lord-lieutenant, and Mr.
Goulburn, secretary.

_To MISS_ HONORA EDGEWORTH.

WINCHESTER, _Dec. 12, 1821_.

Lest you should be staying in Dublin, I write this epitome to tell you
what we have done. We spent two days at Cirencester, very entertaining.
Delightful woods.

Friday to Dr. Fowler's, Salisbury, and stayed till today after
breakfast; our four days deliciously spent. We have seen Salisbury
Cathedral, and Wilton, pictures, and statues, and Lady Pembroke and her
children, worth them all.

We were at Longford Castle yesterday; the strangest castle in the world.
Finest private collection of pictures I have seen, or at least that in
which there are the fewest indifferent ones.

We have seen Stonehenge! and spend to-morrow with Mrs. Moutray at Mr.
Coxe's, Twyford.

THE DEEPDENE, _Dec. 19_.

We arrived here on Saturday. The first day there were Lady Mary Bennet,
Miss Burrowes, and Prince Cariati, a banished Neapolitan, in very
long-skirted coat, which he holds up by tucking one hand inside behind;
good-humoured, and plays all sorts of _petits jeux_. Mrs. Hope has
recovered her beauty, and she and Mr. Hope are as kind as ever, and
asked affectionately after you, and so did Henry.

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