Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

sister in North Audley street, and remember how (and a noble genius, which, had her life been prospeedily my confusion vanished, and I felt as if longed, would have won for her enduring fame; reunited to an old friend. In person she was very the excellent Mrs. Hofland, a model of women and small-smaller than Hannah More-and with more of wives.-All these, and others, even dearer to than Hannah More's vivacity of manner; her face the affections, have since passed away; and now, was pale and thin, her features irregular; they the last, the richest, in honors and in years-who may have been considered plain, even in youth; so rarely left the home she has rendered immortal but her expression was so benevolent, her manner-has been consigned to the grave.

so entirely well bred-partaking of English dignity Maria Edgeworth was the daughter of Richard and Irish frankness-that you never thought of her, in reference either to plainness or beauty; she was all in all; occupied, without fatiguing the attention; charmed by her pleasant voice; while the earnestness and truth that beamed in her bright blue-very blue-eyes, made of value every word she uttered-her words were always well chosen; her manner of expression was graceful and natural; her sentences were frequently epigrammatic; she knew how to listen as well as to talk, and gathered information in a manner highly complimentary to the society of which, at the time, she formed a part; while listening to her, she continually recalled to me the story of the fairy whose lips dropped diamonds and pearls whenever they opened.

Miss Edgeworth was remarkably neat and particular in her dress; her feet and hands were so very small as to be quite child-like. I once took a shoe of hers to Melnotte's, in Paris, she having commissioned me to procure her some shoes there, and the people insisted that. I must require them pour une jeune demoiselle."

[ocr errors]

I remember her once fixing upon the evening of a St. Patrick's day to spend with us.

Lovell Edgeworth, the representative of an ancient and honorable English family, settled in Ireland during the reign of Elizabeth; his mother was an English lady, daughter of Lovell, recorder of London. Maria was his eldest child, by his first wife, Miss Elers, of Black Bowton, in Oxfordshire, and in Oxfordshire Miss Edgeworth was born. Mr. Edgeworth's residence abroad had enlarged a mind of more than ordinary capacity; he did not feel disposed to let things go on in the wrong because they had been " always so;" after his first wife's death, he brought his second wife (Honora Sneyd) and his daughter, Maria, then twelve years old, to Edgeworthstown, in the county Longford, and labored with zeal, tempered by an extraordinary degree of patience, amongst a tenantry dreading change, and considering improvements as insults:* and this feeling at that time was, by no means, confined to the "lower classes."

In the year 1842 it became a duty, as well as a pleasure, to pay our long promised visit to Edgeworthstown.

From this mansion, it is almost needless to say, has issued so much practical good, not only to Ireland but to the whole civilized world, that it Let me pause for a moment to recall to remem- may be said to possess the greatest moral influbrance those who crowded together on that partic-ence of any residence in the kingdom. ular evening to think of the many assembled to Miss Edgeworth had so often described to me meet the Miss Edgeworth, to whom they all felt the family residence, that I could have recognized they owed so much. But few years have passed; it without a previous entry to the neat and pretty yet the many" can be addressed only as "the village which skirts the plantations-looking to peculiar advantage, in the sunshine and sweetness *Those who desire to ascertain the value and intelligence of this enterprising gentleman, who, in all good

dead."

66

Whom we know by the light they gave.

I so well remember the child-like impatience of respects, was far beyond the age in which he lived, will Letitia Landon to see the author of "Early Les-be amply rewarded by the perusal of his Life, commenced sons," and how the color mounted to her cheek when Miss Edgeworth looked long and earnestly at her, and taking her cordially by the hand, said a few words, as kind as they were graceful. "I have lost all my eloquence to-night," observed the poetess to me."I can only feel how superior that little woman is to everybody else, and rejoice not to have been disappointed."

There was the brilliant and gentle Laman Blanchard—the thoughtful and fervent Allan Cunningham-the burly and boisterous Ettrick Shepherd, whose meretricious fêteing in London was a sad contrast to his after suffering; the author of the "Pleasures of Hope;" Miss Jewsbury, who, however cramped by sectarianism, was gifted with a loyal and lofty nature,

*I remember Miss Edgeworth being much amused by the compliment the Ettrick Shepherd paid that evening to poor Miss Landon-"I hae written mony bitter things aboot ye, but I'll do sae nae mair-I did nae think ye'd been sae bonny."

by himself, and finished by his daughter. It is curious to note how many persons, unknown to themselves, have been working out ideas concerning education and other matters, which he originated, and which, in many instances, were at the time he promulgated them, rejected as visionary, or, at least, impracticable. The time was not come, but he foresaw it. He knew the future by his knowledge of the present and the past. His capacious mind was not content with mere speculative opinions, but when he had established a theory, he put it in practice; thus at an advanced age, which is supposed to require especial repose, he undertook the drainage of bogs, and was as anxiously engaged in absolute labor, as if he had been only five-and-twenty. His mechanical inventions have been acknowledged with due honor. Misunderstood as he occasionally was, he outlived much prejudice, and his children lived to see his memory duly honored. His marrying Elizabeth Sneyd, after the death, and at the request of his second wife, Honora Sneyd, was at that time much opposed to the custom of our church and of society. His fourth wife, the present Mrs. Edgeworth, was the daughter of a clergyman of the Established Church-a lady of the highest honor and firmest Christian principles. When very young, she undertook the duty of mother to Mr. Edgeworth's twelve children, by three wives, and added six to the number, all of whom loved and honored her; those who remain value her as she deserves.

of a June sunset.

All we saw bore, as we had which was Sir Walter Scott's pen, given to her anticipated, the aspect of cleanliness, comfort, good by him, when in Ireland-placed before her on a order, prosperity, and contentment. There was little quaint, unassuming table, constructed and no mistaking the fact that we were in the imme- added to for convenience. Miss Edgeworth's abdiate neighborhood of a resident Irish family, with stractedness, and yet power of attention to what minds to devise, and hands to effect every possible was going on-the one not seeming to interfere improvement within their control. The domain with the other-puzzled me exceedingly. In that of Edgeworthstown is judiciously and abundantly same corner, and upon that table, she had written planted; and as we drove up the avenue at even- nearly all that has enlightened and delighted the ing, it was cheering to see lights sparkle in the world; the novels that moved Sir Walter Scott windows, to feel the cold nose of the house-dog" to do for Scotland what Miss Edgeworth had thrust into our hands as earnest of welcome, and, | done for Ireland ;" the works in which she brought above all, pleasant to receive the warm greeting the elevated sensibilities and sound morality of of Mrs. Edgeworth, and a high privilege to meet Miss Edgeworth in the library, the very room in which had been written her invaluable works.

maturer life to a level with the comprehension of childhood, and rendered knowledge, and virtue, and care, and order, the playthings and companions We had not met, except during a brief space, of the nursery; in that spot—and while the mulfor some years, but she was really in nothing titudinous family were moving about and talking changed; her voice, as light and happy, her of the ordinary and everyday things of life-she laughter, as full of gentle and social mirth-her remained, wrapt up, to all appearance, in her subclear eyes as bright and truthful—and her coun-ject, yet knowing, by a sort of instinct, when she tenance as expressive of goodness and loving- was really wanted in the conversation; and then, kindness as they had ever been. She did not seem to me a day older than at our first meeting —indeed, it was impossible to consider her "old" or "aged" in any sense of the word; she had used Time so well that he returned the compli

ment.

without laying down her pen-hardly looking up from her page-she would, by a judicious sentence, wisely and kindly spoken, explain and illustrate, in a few words, so as to clear up any difficulty; or turn the conversation into a new and more pleasing current. She had the most harmonious way of throwing in explanations; informing, while entertaining, and that without embarrassing.

The entrance-hall at Edgeworthstown was an admirable preface to the house and family; it was spacious, hung with portraits; here, a case of It was quite charming to see how Mr. Francis stuffed birds; there, another of curiosities; speci- Edgeworth's children enjoyed the freedom of the mens of various kinds, models of various things, library without abusing it; to set these little peoall well arranged and well kept, all capable of ple right when they were wrong, to rise from her affording amusement or instruction; an excellent table to fetch them a toy, or even to save a servant place it was for children to play in, for at every a journey; to run up the high steps and find a pause in their games their little minds would be volume that escaped all eyes but her own; and led to question what they saw; a charming wait- having done all this, in less space of time than I ing-room it might have been, were it not that at have taken to write it, to hunt out the exact pasEdgeworthstown no one was ever kept wait-sage wanted or referred to-were the hourly eming, everything was as well timed as at a railway ployments of this unspoiled and admirable woman. station. Many of this numerous family at that period had passed from time to eternity; others were absent; but there still remained a large family party. Among them were two of Miss Edgeworth's sisters, and Mr. and Mrs. Francis Edgeworth, and their children.

The library at Edgeworthstown is by no means the stately solitary room that libraries generally are; it is large, spacious, and lofty, well stored with books, and embellished with those most valuable of all classes of prints, "the suggestive." It is also picturesque, having been added to, and supported by pillars so as to increase its breadth, and the beautiful lawn seen through the windows, embellished and varied by clumps of trees, imparts much cheerfulness to the exterior. If you look at the oblong table in the centre, you will see the rallying point of the family, who were generally grouped around it, reading, writing, or working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious upon one point that all in the house should do exactly as they liked, without reference to her-sat in her own peculiar corner on the sofa; her desk-upon

I have mentioned more than once the beautiful harmony in which this family lived; two of the sisters of Mrs. Honora and Mrs. Elizabeth Edgeworth, the Misses Sneyd, were loved and cherished at Edgeworthstown long after their sister's death; and when the fourth mistress of the house would have been supposed, in the usual progress of things, to have introduced a new dynasty, all unity was practised, without being talked of; and it will went on as usual; a perfect spirit of Christian love and be seen in the following extract that Miss Edgeworth spoke of Mrs. Mary Sueyd as "an aunt of ours," although she need not have acknowledged the relationship, being the child of a previous marriage!

"I forgot whether I mentioned to you that the Irish tales of The Follower of the Family,' pleased and delighted us peculiarly; they were some of the last works of fiction which were read to an aunt of ours, in very advanced age, and she enjoyed them with all the sensibility of youth, and with the fullest discrimination of their merits. These tales were read to Mrs. Mary Sneyd, in her ninetieth year, by my sister, and I think you would have been gratified by the manner in which she read those tales; I am very much of opinion that

'Those best can read them, who can feel them most.' Miss Edgeworth sometimes expressed herself in the most graceful yet epigrammatic way possible :-"When you and Mr. Hall return to Ireland, you will find us at home, I may almost venture to be sure, some of us certainly, and we are all one and the same--and assuredly one and the same in the wish to see you."

She would then resume her pen, and continue | over the questionable morality of France, by an writing, pausing sometimes to read a passage from endeavor to make me comprehend the financial an article or letter that pleased herself, and would details of this Loan Fund, impressing on my please her still more if it excited the sympathy of mind how faithfully the people "paid up," and those she loved. I expressed my astonishment at giving an admirable imitation of a poor woman this to Mrs. Edgeworth, who said that "Maria was who had come the previous week with sundry exalways the same; her mind was so rightly bal-cuses and entreaties for "A little more time, ye'r anced, everything so honestly weighed, that she honor. Sure it's the fault of the cows intirely, suffered no inconvenience from what would disturb and distract an ordinary writer." Perhaps to this habit, however, may be traced a want of closeness in her arguments; indeed, neither on paper or in conversation was she argumentative. She would rush at a thing at once, rendering it sparkling and interesting by her playfulness, and informing by anecdote or illustration, and then start another subject. She spoke in elegant sentences, and felt so truly what she said, that she made others instantly feel also.

The library contained a piano, but I never saw it opened. I fancied, or feared, the family were independent of music; but Mrs. Edgeworth drew beautifully, and was a warm admirer of art. Miss Edgeworth would have it, she knew nothing of art; and yet her bits of criticism on certain paintings, and the kindness she showed at different times in pointing out pictures to Mr. Hall, which she thought he ought to admire--her reverting frequently to the collections she had seen at home and abroad-the pleasure she expressed at those renderings of art, which appeared in this journal; the interest she took in the "Vernon Gallery;" led me long since to the belief that in that, as well as in other matters, she undervalued her own powers. I remember being much amused at her saying that she "liked a portrait, in the first place, to be a good ground-plan of the face: and if the artist had mind enough to catch the mind, so much the better." She never could be prevailed upon to sit for her portrait, but I believe the last time she was in London a daguerreotype was obtained, though I do not know in whose pos

for the fresh butter that brought sivenpence will
now only bring fivepence, and credit for that same.
'Deed, it's pay I will next week, sir." This
Loan Fund lent two hundred pounds a week, and
out of the profits an infant school, paying its mis-
tress thirty pounds a year, was supported in Edge-
worthstown. Then when other members of the
family dropped in with their work or their writ-
ings, the progress of education was discussed, the
various interests of the tenants or the poor talked
over, so that relief was granted as soon as want
was known. I regretted that so much of Miss
Edgeworth's mind and attention were given to
local matters, but the pleasure she herself derived
from the improvement of every living thing around
her, was delightful to witness. I thought myself
particularly good to be up and about at half-past
seven in the morning;* but early as it was, Miss
Edgeworth had preceded me; and a table heaped
with early roses, upon which the dew was still
moist, and a pair of gloves, too small for any
in the most wonderful and approved bad manner, if I may
judge from the few specimens I have looked at-M. de
Balzac, for example, who certainly is a man of genius,
and as certainly, a de l'esprit comme un DEMON.' I should
think that he had not the least idea of the difference be-
tween right and wrong, only that he does know the differ-
ence by his regularly preferring the WRONG, and crying up
all the Ladies of error, as Anges de tendresse. His
pathos has always, as the anti-Jacobin so well said of cer-
tain German sentimentalists, and as the Duchess of Wel-
lington aptly quoted to me, of a poetic genius of later days
-his pathos has always

'A tear for poor guilt.'

Vide Pere Goriot,' who pays the gaming debts of his of assignation, bath and boudoir for one of his 'angel' daughter's lover, provides a luxuriously furnished house session it is. daughter-sinners; and tells her he wishes he could stranUsually, in the morning, Mr. Francis Edge-gle her husband for her with his own hands, having first worth and his sister, Mrs. Wilson, occupied and purpose! If the force of vice and folly can further go, married, and sold her to said husband for his own vanity themselves at one end of the long table with the look for it in another of M. de Balzac's most beautifully business of the Loan Fund established by them at written immoralities, 'Le Message,' where the husband 'gobbles' up the dinner, to the scandal of the child, while Edgeworthstown; Mrs. Edgeworth, so full of the wife is stifling in the barn, or screaming in despair tenderness and feeling, passing noiselessly in and for the death of her lover, which had been communicated out, intent on those domestic interests and the to her by the amiable gentleman-messenger, at the moment he is dining with the husband, who knows all about fulfilment of those duties which she loved-her it, and goes on gobbling,' while the child exclaims, grand-children, happy and merry, but never loud Papa, you would not eat so, if mamma was here!!!! or rude, amused themselves at the windows-that can follow such pictures of French nature in man, Dear Mrs. Hall, notes of admiration are the only notes while Miss Edgeworth sat in her usual corner, reading to herself, and quarrelling aloud with a French novel; then interrupting her lamentations

*Miss Edgeworth, in a letter dated April 23d, 1833, thus expresses herself concerning French novels:-"All the fashionable French novelists will soon be reduced to advertising for a NEW VICE, instead of, like the Roman Emperor, simply for a new pleasure. It seems to be with the Parisian novelists a first principle now, that there is no pleasure without vice, and no vice without pleasure; but that the old world vices having been exhausted, they must strain their genius to invent new; and so they do,

woman, or child!"

together of the household for family-worship, when Mr. * I rejoiced, beyond all telling, at the morning calling Francis Edgeworth read prayers and a portion of the scripture before breakfast; this was never omitted; there never was a more unfounded calumny than that which declared that the family at Edgeworthstown put away the consolations of Christianity, or even the forms of the Protestant Church. I accompanied them on Sunday to the parish church; various members of the family are united to clergymen of the church; the Rev. Dr. Butler of Trim, the brother-in-law of Miss Edgeworth, being one of the most excellent as well as accomplished clergymen in Ireland.

hands but hers, told who was the early florist. seventeen things he said worth remembering one She was passionately fond of flowers; she liked morning at breakfast."

to grow them, and to give them; one of the most I could not help thinking that the task of reloved and cherished of my garden's rose-bushes, membering "seventeen clever things" must have is a gift from Miss Edgeworth. There was a been great fatigue; Miss Edgeworth's collection

rose, or a little bouquet of her arranging always by each plate on the breakfast-table, and if she saw my bouquet faded, she was sure to tap at my door with a fresh one before dinner. And this from Maria Edgeworth-then between seventy and eighty!—to me! These small attentions enter the heart and remain there, when great services and great talents are regarded perhaps like great mountains-distant and cold and ungenial. I linger over what I write, and yet feel I cannot portray her at all as I desire to do.

I enjoyed the wet days in that house far more than I did the fine ones, which we spent in the family coach-driving over the country. I fancied the long drives fatigued both Mrs. and Miss Edgeworth; at least, the after-dinner nap of the latter was much longer after visiting the lions of the neighborhood, than when we passed the morning-part in that beloved library, part in Miss Edgeworth's own particular flower-garden-or, sweeter still, alone with her in my own bed-room; where she would come, dear, kind, old lady! to help off a shawl, or inquire if my feet were damp after a stroll on the lawn, or if I wanted anything, and then sit down and talk of those whom she had known, but whose names were history-a history, of which she herself is now so grand and so dear a part.

Her extensive correspondence was not confined to any clique, any country, or any particular order of talent. She seemed to have known everybody worth knowing, and to have taken pleasure all her life in writing letters, when, as she observed, she had" anything to say." She never wearied of talking of Sir Walter Scott, and she seldom spoke of him without her eyes filling with tears. "You London people," she said, "never saw Scott as he really was; his own home and country drew him out; he was made up of thought and feeling, illumined by a wonderful memory, and possessed of the power of adapting and illustrating everything with anecdote. Every heart and face grew bright in the brightness of Scott." Miss Edgeworth suffered bitterly during Scott's illness; she talked much and sorrowfully about both him and Captain Basil Hall. "People will overtask themselves," she said, " in the very teeth of example: even Sir Walter knew he was destroying himself; he told me that four hours a day, at works of imagination, was enough; adding that he had wrought fourteen."

"One thing I must tell you," she exclaimed, after we had been turning over several of Sir Walter Scott's letters, 66 one thing I must tell you, Sir Walter Scott was almost the only literary man who never tired me; Sir James Mackintosh was a clever talker, but he tired me very much, although my sister once repeated to me

of autograph letters was by far the most interesting I ever saw, far more so than any published during the present century, and she used to bring me box after box filled with the correspondence of all the people of "her time"-a period then of more than fifty years; sometimes she would pick me out the most interesting, and then leave the collection to "amuse" me; it was not the mere chit-chat of the period, but the opinions of clever people given to clever people. I felt it a great privilege and advantage to read those letters; some few were from the leading men of her father's time to him; Sir Walter Scott's were, I had almost said, without number; the correspondence of many years with Joanna Baillie, Miss Seward, with Mrs. Hofland, Mrs. Grant; packets of foreign letters, and multitudes from America, which Miss Edgeworth said was a "letter-writing country." Many of these concerned Laura Bridgeman, about whom Miss Edgeworth was much interested; several from great statesmen and celebrated persons of all grades and kinds; but I am convinced that Miss Edgeworth had too much delicacy to suffer any eyes but her own to dwell on the private letter of a friend; for these were all, with perhaps one or two exceptions, what might be given to the public, and all full of interest. David Ricardo's letters written so many years previously concerning the state of Ireland, struck me as almost prophetic. My readers will remember that in 1842 there had been no appearance of potato disease, yet I thought his observations concerning the culture of the potato so striking that at the time I asked Miss Edgeworth's permission to use them; he questioned whether the potato was a blessing, or the contrary, to Ireland, and his opinion decidedly was against its being a blessing; he argued that anything cultivated to the exclusion of other things, and whose failure creates a famine, must be an evil; consequently the cultivation of the potato, to the exclusion of other things, is an evil; the experience of the past few years proves how entirely Ricardo was right.*

Miss Packenham, afterwards Duchess of Wellington, was so nearly connected with the Edgeworth family that she consulted Mr. Edgeworth frequently during her husband's absence on the education of her sons. Miss Edgeworth spoke of her with great affection and tenderness; and, per

*One of the greatest proofs of Miss Edgeworth's practical patriotism, is the simple fact, that with a keen relish namely, the best bred society, combining high talent, high for, and appreciation of, what she considered the best, rank, and pure morals, with every possible temptation to spend her time and money in England, she preferred devoting herself with her family, to the local improvement of the neighborhood of Edgeworthstown; and, when in her eightieth year, set herself the task of writing the juutility in the hour of Ireland's extreme sorrow and venile book of "Orlandino," to increase her means of famine.

66

haps, there is nothing more touching in the whole | vier was more vain of his bad speeches in the history of woman's love, than that noble lady's en- Chamber of Peers, than he was of his vast reputreaty during her last illness to be carried into the tation as a naturalist." room, in which the gifts of "the nations to many I never knew any one so ready to give inforduke" are deposited. "Never," said Miss Edge- mation; her mind was generous in every sense of worth, "had she looked so lovely to me as she the word, in small things as well as in large; she did the day I saw her there. She had the palest gave away all the duplicates of her shells-"One blush on her fair cheek, and pointing round, she said, is enough," she would say, "I must keep that 'These are tributes paid to him by all the world, out of compliment to the giver." She was not not gained by trickery or fraud.'" I have never reserved in speaking of her literary labors, but she looked round the room of royal presents that beau- never volunteered speaking of them or of herself; tify, though they cannot add to the attraction of, she never seemed to be in her own head, as it Apsley House, without conjuring up the fragile were-much less in her own heart. She loved lady upon the sofa, where she breathed her last, herself, thought of herself, cared for herself, infisurrounded by tributes to her husband's greatness. nitely less than she did for those around her. NatMrs. Barbauld's letters were easy and kind, and urally anxious to know everything connected with I said so to Miss Edgeworth after reading them; her habits of thought and writing-I often revertshe agreed with me, laughing while she added, ed to her books, which she said I remembered a Yes, she was very kind, and at the same time great deal better than she did herself. When she not a little pragmatic and punctilious." Miss saw that I really enjoyed talking about them, she Edgeworth's honesty of thought was always pres- spoke of them with her usual frankness. I told ent, like the fragrance of a rose, to add the sanc- her I observed that she spoke to children as she tity of truth to the pleasure of her society. She wrote for them, and she said it was so; and she would out with something that made me laugh at believed that having been so much with children, once, and then, while untying another bundle of had taught her to think for them. I have no letters, exclaim, " Ay, laugh away as I did when doubt that the succession of children in the EdgeMr. So-or-so said it to me." She scorned to bor-worth family, kept alive her interest in childhood: row a word, much less an idea, without acknowl- those who withdraw from the society of youth, edgment. I had no patience with Mrs. Inchbald's when they themselves are no longer young, turn letters; I thought her tone of patronage, to one away from the greenness and freshness of existso infinitely her superior, so impertinent. Her ence; it is as if winter made no preparation for, stage criticisms were keen and clever, and perhaps and had no desire to be succeeded by spring. just; but theatrical people are, above all other artists, the victims of opinion, and a fool is more ready than a wise man, to record what he pretends to think. One letter, I remember, made me very indignant; it was written soon after the publication of Miss Edgeworth's novel of “Ormond," and dear Miss Edgeworth only said, "Well, she thought it!" I do believe she would have borne anything for the sake of sincerity. Her whole life was a I once asked her how long she took to write a lesson of truth, and yet her truths never offended; novel. She replied, she had generally taken ample she took the rough edge off an opinion with so time; she had written "Ormond" in three months; tender and skilful a hand, she was so much fonder" but that," she added, "was at my father's of wiling you into a virtue than exciting terror command; I read to him at night what I wrote at a vice; so steadfast yet so gentle, that whenev- | by day, and I never heard of the book, nor could er she left the room, there was something want- I think of it, after his death, until my sister, two ing, a joy departed, a light gone out.

She had a vivid perception of the ridiculous, but that was kept in admirable order by her benevolence. Her eyes and mouth would often smile, when she restrained an observation, which, if it had found words, would have amused us, while it perhaps pained others; and yet she had the happiest manner of saying things, drawing a picture with a few words, as a great artist produces a likeness with a few touches of his pencil. I remember Cuvier excited my admiration very much during one of our visits to Paris; I saw him frequently in society, and his magnificent head captivated my imagination. "Yes," said Miss Edgeworth," he is indeed a wonder, but he has been an example of the folly of literary and scientific men being taken out of their sphere; Cu

66

66

While seeing the little weaknesses of humanity, clearly and truly, she avoided dwelling upon them, and could not bear to inflict pain: "People," she said, see matters so differently that the very thing I should be most proud of makes others blush with shame; Wedgewood carried the 'hod' of mortar in his youth, but his family objected to that fact being stated in 'Harry and Lucy.'

years after, read it me; then it was quite forgotten." She had a great veneration for Father Mathew, and said Mr. Hall did himself honor by being the first protestant, and the first conservative, who advocated his cause in print: "What authors say goes for nothing," she observed; "it is what they write they should be judged by: now he wrote the praise, and printed it; but," she continued, "the absence of humor in the modern peasantry, which you observe, is not to be altogether attributed to the want of whiskey; the people had grown reserved before Father Mathew came among them; they imagine they have a part to play in the organization of their country; their heads are fuller of politics than fun; in fact, they have been drilled into thinking about what they cannot understand, and so have become reserved and suspicious—that

« ElőzőTovább »