DURING Edgeworth's stay in England in 1792 and 1793 he paid
frequent visits to London, and he used to describe to his children a
curious meeting which he had in a coffee-house with an old
acquaintance whom he had not seen for thirty years: He observed a
gentleman eyeing him with much attention, who at last exclaimed, "It
is he. Certainly, sir, you are Mr. Edgeworth?"
'"I am, sir."
'"Gentlemen," said the stranger, with much importance, addressing
himself to several people who were near him, "here is the best
dancer in England, and a man to whom I am under infinite
obligations, for I owe to him the foundation of my fortune. Mr.
Edgeworth and I were scholars of the famous Aldridge; and once when
we practised together, Mr. Edgeworth excelled me so much, that I sat
down upon the ground, and burst out a-crying; he could actually
complete an entrechat of ten distinct beats, which I could not
accomplish! However, I was well consoled by him; for he invented,
for Aldridge's benefit, The Tambourine Dance, which had uncommon
success. The dresses were Chinese. Twelve assistants held small
drums furnished with bells; these were struck in the air by the
dancer's feet when held as high as their arms could reach. This
Aldridge performed, and improved upon by stretching his legs
asunder, so as to strike two drums at the same time. Those not being
the days of elegant dancing, I afterwards," continued the stranger,
"exhibited at Paris the tambourine dance, to so much advantage, that
I made fifteen hundred pounds by it."
'The person who made this singular address and eulogium was the
celebrated dancer, Mr. Slingsby. His testimony proves that my father
did not overrate his powers as a dancer; but it was not to boast of
a frivolous excellence that he told this anecdote to his children;
it was to express his satisfaction at having, after the first
effervescence of boyish spirits had subsided, cultivated his
understanding, turned his inventive powers to useful objects, and
chosen as the companions of his maturer years men of the first order
of intellect.'
He also took the opportunity while in England of visiting his
scientific friends—Watt, Darwin, Keir, and Wedgwood; and it was now
that his friendship began with Mr. William Strutt of Derby, with
whom he became acquainted by means of Mr. Darwin.
It was about this time that he lost his old friend Lord Longford.
Maria says of him: 'His services in the British navy, and his
character as an Irish senator, have been fully appreciated by the
public. His value in private life, and as a friend, can be justly
estimated only by those who have seen and felt how strongly his
example and opinions have, for a long course of years, continued to
influence his family, and all who had the honour of his friendship.
The permanence of this influence after death is a stronger proof of
the sincerity of the esteem and admiration felt for the character of
the individual than any which can be given during his lifetime. I
can bear witness that, in one instance, it never ceased to operate.
I know that on every important occasion of my father's life, where
he was called upon to judge or act, long after Lord Longford was no
more, his example and opinions seemed constantly present to him; he
delighted in the recollection of instances of his friend's sound
judgment, honour, and generosity; these he applied in his own
conduct, and held up to the emulation of his children.'
Doubtless Edgeworth felt, as Charles Lamb expresses it: 'Deaths
overset one, and put one out long after the recent grief. Two or
three have died within the last two twelvemonths, and so many parts
of me have been numbed. One sees a picture, reads an anecdote,
starts a casual fancy, and thinks to tell of it to this person in
preference to every other; the person is gone whom it would have
peculiarly suited. It won't do for another. Every departure destroys
a class of sympathies. There's Captain Burney gone! What fun has
whist now? What matters it what you lead if you can no longer fancy
him looking over you? One never hears anything but the image of the
particular person occurs with whom alone almost you would care to
share the intelligence. Thus one distributes oneself about, and now
for so many parts of me I have lost the market.'
The departure of Edgeworth and his family from Clifton in the autumn
of 1793 was hastened by the news that disturbances were breaking out
in Ireland. Dr. Beddoes of Clifton, who was courting Edgeworth's
daughter Anna, had to console himself with the permission to follow
her to Ireland in the spring, where they were married at Edgeworth
Town in April 1794.
It was not till the autumn of 1794 that the disturbances in Ireland
became alarming; and in a letter to Dr. Darwin, Edgeworth writes:
'Just recovering from the alarm occasioned by a sudden irruption of
defenders into this neighbourhood, and from the business of a county
meeting, and the glory of commanding a squadron of horse, and from
the exertion requisite to treat with proper indifference an
anonymous letter sent by persons who have sworn to assassinate me; I
received the peaceful philosophy of Zoonomia; and though it has been
in my hands not many minutes, I found much to delight and instruct
me. . . .
'We were lately in a sad state here—the sans culottes (literally
so) took a very effectual way of obtaining power; they robbed of
arms all the houses in the country, thus arming themselves and
disarming their opponents. By waking the bodies of their friends,
the human corpse not only becomes familiar to the sans culottes of
Ireland, but is associated with pleasure in their minds by the
festivity of these nocturnal orgies. An insurrection of such people,
who have been much oppressed, must be infinitely more horrid than
anything that has happened in France; for no hired executioners need
be sought from the prisons or the galleys. And yet the people here
are altogether better than in England. . . . The peasants, though
cruel, are generally docile, and of the strongest powers, both of
body and mind.
'A good government may make this a great country, because the raw
material is good and simple. In England, to make a carte-blanche fit
to receive a proper impression, you must grind down all the old rags
to purify them.'
His daughter adds: 'The disturbances in the county of Longford were
quieted for a time by the military; but again in the autumn of the
ensuing year (September 1796), rumours of an invasion prevailed, and
spread with redoubled force through Ireland, disturbing commerce,
and alarming all ranks of well-disposed subjects.'
It was in 1797 that sorrow again visited the happy circle at
Edgeworth Town, and Edgeworth wrote thus of his wife to Dr. Darwin:
'She declines rapidly. But her mind suffers as little as possible. I
am convinced from all that I have seen, that good sense diminishes
all the evils of life, and alleviates even the inevitable pain of
declining health. By good sense, I mean that habit of the
understanding which employs itself in forming just estimates of
every object that lies before it, and in regulating the temper and
conduct. Mrs. Edgeworth, ever since I knew her, has carefully
improved and cultivated this faculty; and I do not think I ever saw
any person extract more good, and suffer less evil, than she has,
from the events of life. . . .'
Mrs. Edgeworth died in the autumn of the year 1797. Maria adds: 'I
have heard my father say, that during the seventeen years of his
marriage with this lady, he never once saw her out of temper, and
never received from her an unkind word or an angry look,'
Edgeworth paid the same compliment to his third wife which he had
done to his second—he quickly replaced her. His fourth wife was
the daughter of Dr. Beaufort, a highly cultivated man, whose family
were great friends of Mrs. Ruxton, Edgeworth's sister. Edgeworth
wrote a long letter about scientific matters to Darwin, and kept his
most important news to the last: 'I am going to be married to a
young lady of small fortune and large accomplishments,—compared
with my age, much youth (not quite thirty), and more prudence—some
beauty, more sense—uncommon talents, more uncommon temper,—liked by
my family, loved by me. If I can say all this three years hence,
shall not I have been a fortunate, not to say a wise man?'
Maria adds: 'A few days after the preceding letter was written, we
heard that a conspiracy had been discovered in Dublin, that the city
was under arms, and its inhabitants in the greatest terror. Dr.
Beaufort and his family were there; my father, who was at Edgeworth
Town, set out immediately to join them.
'On his way he met an intimate friend of his; one stage they
travelled together, and a singular conversation passed. This friend,
who as yet knew nothing of my father's intentions, began to speak of
the marriage of some other person, and to exclaim against the folly
and imprudence of any man's marrying in such disturbed times. "No
man of honour, sense or feeling, would incumber himself with a wife
at such a time!" My father urged that this was just the time when a
man of honour, sense, or feeling would wish, if he loved a woman, to
unite his fate with hers, to acquire the right of being her
protector.
'The conversation dropped there. But presently they talked of public
affairs—of the important measure expected to be proposed, of a
union between England and Ireland—of what would probably be said
and done in the next session of Parliament: my father, foreseeing
that this important national question would probably come on, had
just obtained a seat in Parliament. His friend, not knowing or
recollecting this, began to speak of the imprudence of commencing a
political career late in life.
'"No man, you know," said he, "but a fool, would venture to make a
first speech in Parliament, or to marry, after he was fifty."
'My father laughed, and surrendering all title to wisdom, declared
that, though he was past fifty, he was actually going in a few days,
as he hoped, to be married, and in a few months would probably make
his "first speech in Parliament."
'He found Dublin as it had been described to him under arms, in
dreadful expectation. The timely apprehension of the heads of the
conspiracy at this crisis prevented a revolution, and saved the
capital. But the danger for the country seemed by no means over,
—insurrections, which were to have been general and simultaneous,
broke out in different parts of the kingdom. The confessions of a
conspirator, who had turned informer, and the papers seized and
published, proved that there existed in the country a deep and
widely spread spirit of rebellion. . . .
'Instead of delaying his marriage, which some would have advised, my
father urged for an immediate day. On the 31st of May he was
married to Miss Beaufort, by her brother, the Rev. William Beaufort,
at St. Anne's Church in Dublin. They came down to Edgeworth Town
immediately, through a part of the country that was in actual
insurrection. Late in the evening they arrived safe at home, and my
father presented his bride to his expecting, anxious family.
'Of her first entrance and appearance that evening I can recollect
only the general impression, that it was quite natural, without
effort or pretension. The chief thing remarkable was, that she, of
whom we were all thinking so much, seemed to think so little of
herself. . . .
'The sisters of the late Mrs. Edgeworth, those excellent aunts (Mrs.
Mary and Charlotte Sneyd), instead of returning to their English
friends and relations, remained at Edgeworth Town. This was an
auspicious omen to the common people in our neighbourhood, by whom
they were universally beloved—it spoke well, they said, for the new
lady. In his own family, the union and happiness she would secure
were soon felt, but her superior qualities, her accurate knowledge,
judgment, and abilities, in decision and in action, appeared only as
occasions arose and called for them. She was found always equal to
the occasion, and superior to the expectation.'
Maria had not at first been in favour of her father's marrying Miss
Beaufort, but she soon changed her opinion after becoming intimate
with her, and writing of her father's choice of a wife says: 'He did
not late in life marry merely to please his own fancy, but he chose
a companion suited to himself, and a mother fit for his family.
This, of all the blessings we owe to him, has proved the greatest.'
The family at Edgeworth Town passed the summer quietly and happily,
but (Maria continues) 'towards the autumn of the year 1798, this
country became in such a state that the necessity of resorting to
the sword seemed imminent. Even in the county of Longford, which had
so long remained quiet, alarming symptoms appeared, not immediately
in our neighbourhood, but within six or seven miles of us, near
Granard. The people were leagued in secret rebellion, and waited
only for the expected arrival of the French army to break out. In
the adjacent counties military law had been proclaimed, and our
village was within a mile of the bounds of the disturbed county of
Westmeath. Though his own tenantry, and all in whom he put trust,
were as quiet, and, as far as he could judge, as well-disposed as
ever, yet my father was aware, from information of too good
authority to be doubted, that there were disaffected persons in the
vicinity.
'Numbers held themselves in abeyance, not so much from disloyalty,
as from fear that they should be ultimately the conquered party.
Those who were really and actually engaged, and in communication
with the rebels and with the foreign enemy, were so secret and
cunning that no proofs could be obtained against them.
'One instance may be given. A Mr. Pallas, who lived at Growse Hall,
lately received information that a certain offender was to be found
in a lone house, which was described to him. He took a party of men
with him in the night, and he got to the house very early in the
morning. It was scarcely light. The soldiers searched, but no man
was to be found. Mr. Pallas ordered them to search again, for that
he was certain the man was in the house; they searched again, but in
vain; they gave up the point, and were preparing to mount their
horses, when one man, who had stayed a little behind his companions,
saw, or thought he saw, something move at the end of the garden
behind the house. He looked, and beheld a man's arm come out of the
ground: he ran to the spot and called to his companions; but the arm
disappeared; they searched, but nothing was to be seen; and though
the soldier still persisted in his story, he was not believed
"Come," cries one of the party, "don't waste your time here looking
for an apparition among these cabbage-stalks—go back once more to
the house!" They went to the house, and lo! there stood the man they
were in search of in the middle of the kitchen.
'Upon examination it was found that from his garden to his house
there had been practiced a secret passage underground: a large
meal-chest in the kitchen had a false bottom, which lifted up and
down at pleasure, to let him into his subterraneous dwelling.
'Whenever he expected the house to be searched, down he went; the
moment the search was over, up he came; and had practised this with
success, till he grew rash, and returned one moment too soon. . . .
'Previous to this time, the principal gentry in the county had
raised corps of yeomanry; but my father had delayed doing so,
because, as long as the civil authority had been sufficient, he was
unwilling to resort to military interference, or to the ultimate law
of force, of the abuse of which he had seen too many recent
examples. However, it now became necessary, even for the sake of
justice to his own tenantry, that they should be put upon a footing
with others, have equal security of protection, and an opportunity
of evincing their loyal dispositions. He raised a corps of infantry,
into which he admitted Catholics as well as Protestants. This was so
unusual, and thought to be so hazardous a degree of liberality, that
by some of an opposite party it was attributed to the worst motives.
Many who wished him well came privately to let him know of the odium
to which he exposed himself.
'The corps of Edgeworth Town infantry was raised, but the arms were,
by some mistake of the ordnance officer, delayed. The anxiety for
their arrival was extreme, for every day and every hour the French
were expected to land.
'The alarm was now so general that many sent their families out of
the country. My father was still in hopes that we might safely
remain. At the first appearance of disturbance in Ireland he had
offered to carry his sisters-in-law, the Mrs. Sneyd, to their
friends in England, but this offer they refused. Of the domestics,
three men were English and Protestant, two Irish and Catholic; the
women were all Irish and Catholic excepting the housekeeper, an
Englishwoman who had lived with us many years. There were no
dissensions or suspicions between the Catholics and the Protestants
in the family; and the English servants did not desire to quit us at
this crisis.
'At last came the dreaded news. The French, who landed at Killala,
were, as we learned, on their march towards Longford. The touch of
Ithuriel's spear could not have been more sudden or effectual than
the arrival of this intelligence in showing people in their real
forms. In some faces joy struggled for a moment with feigned sorrow,
and then, encouraged by sympathy, yielded to the natural expression.
Still my father had no reason to distrust those in whom he had
placed confidence; his tenants were steady; he saw no change in any
of the men of his corps, though they were in the most perilous
situation, having rendered themselves obnoxious to the rebels and
invaders by becoming yeomen, and yet standing without means of
resistance or defence, their arms not having arrived.
'The evening of the day when the news of the success and approach of
the French came to Edgeworth Town all seemed quiet; but early next
morning, September 4th, a report reached us that the rebels were up
in arms within a mile of the village, pouring in from the county of
Westmeath hundreds strong.
'This much being certain, that men armed with pikes were assembled,
my father sent off an express to the next garrison town (Longford)
requesting the commanding officer to send him assistance for the
defence of this place. He desired us to be prepared to set out at a
moment's warning. We were under this uncertainty, when an escort
with an ammunition cart passed through the village on its way to
Longford. It contained several barrels of powder, intended to blow
up the bridges, and to stop the progress of the enemy. One of the
officers of the party rode up to our house and offered to let us
have the advantage of his escort. But, after a few minutes'
deliberation, this friendly proposal was declined: my father
determined that he would not stir till he knew whether he could have
assistance; and as it did not appear as yet absolutely necessary
that we should go, we stayed—fortunately for us.
'About a quarter of an hour after the officer and the escort had
departed, we, who were all assembled in the portico of the house,
heard a report like a loud clap of thunder. The doors and windows
shook with some violent concussion; a few minutes afterwards the
officer galloped into the yard, and threw himself off his horse into
my father's arms almost senseless. The ammunition cart had blown up,
one of the officers had been severely wounded, and the horses and
the man leading them killed; the wounded officer was at a farmhouse
on the Longford road, at about two miles' distance. The fear of the
rebels was now suspended in concern for this accident; Mrs.
Edgeworth went immediately to give her assistance; she left her
carriage for the use of the wounded gentleman, and rode back. At the
entrance of the village she was stopped by a gentleman in great
terror, who, taking hold of the bridle of her horse, begged her not
to attempt to go farther, assuring her that the rebels were coming
into the town. But she answered that she must and would return to
her family. She rode on, and found us waiting anxiously for her. No
assistance could be afforded from Longford; the rebels were
reassembling, and advancing towards the village; and there was no
alternative but to leave our house as fast as possible. One of our
carriages having been left with the wounded officer, we had but one
at this moment for our whole family, eleven in number. No mode of
conveyance could be had for some of our female servants; our
faithful English housekeeper offered to stay till the return of the
carriage, which had been left with the officer; and as we could not
carry her, we were obliged, most reluctantly, to leave her behind to
follow, as we hoped, immediately. As we passed through the village
we heard nothing but the entreaties, lamentations, and objurations
of those who could not procure the means of carrying off their goods
or their families; most painful when we could give no assistance.
'Next to the safety of his own family, my father's greatest anxiety
was for his defenceless corps. No men could behave better than they
did at this first moment of trial. Not one absented himself, though
many, living at a distance, might, if they had been so inclined,
have found plausible excuses for non-appearance.
'He ordered them to march to Longford. The idea of going to
Longford could not be agreeable to many of them, who were Catholics.
There was no reluctance shown, however, by the Catholics of this
corps to go among those who called themselves Orangemen.
'We expected every instant to hear the shout of the rebels entering
Edgeworth Town. When we had got about half-a-mile out of the
village, my father suddenly recollected that he had left on his
table a paper containing a list of his corps, and that, if this
should come into the hands of the rebels, it might be of dangerous
consequence to his men; it would serve to point out their houses for
pillage, and their families for destruction. He turned his horse
instantly and galloped back for it. The time of his absence appeared
immeasurably long, but he returned safely after having destroyed the
dangerous paper.
'Longford was crowded with yeomanry of various corps, and with the
inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who had flocked thither for
protection. With great difficulty the poor Edgeworth Town infantry
found lodgings. We were cordially received by the landlady of a
good inn. Though her house was, as she said, fuller than it could
hold, as she was an old friend of my father's, she did contrive to
give us two rooms, in which we eleven were thankful to find
ourselves. All our concern now was for those we had left behind. We
heard nothing of our housekeeper all night, and were exceedingly
alarmed; but early the next morning, to our great joy, she
arrived. She told us that, after we had left her, she waited hour
after hour for the carriage; she could hear nothing of it, as
it had gone to Longford with the wounded officer. Towards evening,
a large body of rebels entered the village; she heard them at the
gate, and expected that they would have broken in the next instant;
but one, who seemed to be a leader, with a pike in his hand, set his
back against the gate, and swore that, if he was to die for it the
next minute, he would have the life of the first man who should open
that gate or set enemy's foot withinside of that place. He said the
housekeeper, who was left in it, was a good gentlewoman, and had
done him a service, though she did not know him, nor he her. He had
never seen her face, but she had, the year before, lent his wife,
when in distress, sixteen shillings, the rent of flax-ground, and he
would stand her friend now.
'He kept back the mob: they agreed to send him to the house with a
deputation of six, to know the truth, and to ask for arms. The six
men went to the back door and summoned the housekeeper; one of them
pointed his blunderbuss at her, and told her that she must fetch all
the arms in the house; she said she had none. Her champion asked her
to say if she remembered him. "No," to her knowledge she had never
seen his face. He asked if she remembered having lent a woman money
to pay her rent of flaxground the year before. "Yes," she remembered
that, and named the woman, the time, and the sum. His companions
were thus satisfied of the truth of what he had asserted. He bid her
not to be frighted, for that no harm should happen to her, nor any
belonging to her; not a soul should get leave to go into her
master's house; not a twig should be touched, nor a leaf harmed. His
companions huzzaed and went off. Afterwards, as she was told, he
mounted guard at the gate during the whole time the rebels were in
the town.
'When the carriage at last returned, it was stopped by the rebels,
who filled the street; they held their pikes to the horses and to
the coachman's breast, accusing him of being an Orangeman, because,
as they said, he wore the orange colours (our livery being yellow
and brown). A painter, a friend of ours, who had been that day at
our house, copying some old family portraits, happened to be in the
street at that instant, and called out to the mob, "Gentlemen, it
is yellow! Gentlemen, it is not orange!" In consequence of this
happy distinction they let go the coachman; and the same man who had
mounted guard at the gate, came up with his friends, rescued the
carriage, and surrounding the coachman with their pikes brought him
safely into the yard. The pole of the carriage having been broken in
the first onset, the housekeeper could not leave Edgeworth Town till
morning. She passed the night in walking up and down, listening and
watching, but the rebels returned no more, and thus our house was
saved by the gratitude of a single individual.
'We had scarcely time to rejoice in the escape of our housekeeper
and safety of our house, when we found that new dangers arose even
from this escape. The house being saved created jealousy and
suspicion in the minds of many, who at this time saw everything
through the mist of party prejudice. The dislike to my father's
corps appeared every hour more strong. He saw the consequences that
might arise from the slightest breaking out of quarrel. It was not
possible for him to send his men, unarmed as they still were, to
their homes, lest they should be destroyed by the rebels; yet the
officers of the other corps wished to have them sent out of the
town, and to this effect joined in a memorial to government. Some
of these officers disliked my father, from differences of
electioneering interests; others, from his not having kept up an
acquaintance with them; and others, not knowing him in the least,
were misled by party reports and misrepresentations.
'These petty dissensions were, however, at one moment suspended and
forgotten in a general sense of danger. An express arrived late one
night with the news that the French, who were rapidly advancing,
were within a few miles of the town of Longford. A panic seized the
people. There were in the town eighty of the carabineers and two
corps of yeomanry, but it was proposed to evacuate the garrison. My
father strongly opposed this measure, and undertook, with fifty men,
if arms and ammunition were supplied, to defend the gaol of
Longford, where there was a strong pass, at which the enemy might be
stopped. He urged that a stand might be made there till the King's
army should come up. The offer was gladly accepted—men, arms, and
ammunition, all he could want or desire, were placed at his
disposal. He slept that night in the gaol, with everything prepared
for its defence; but the next morning fresh news came, that the
French had turned off from the Longford Road, and were going towards
Granard; of this, however, there was no certainty. My father, by the
desire of the commanding officer, rode out to reconnoitre, and my
brother went to the top of the courthouse with a telescope for the
same purpose. We (Mrs. Edgeworth, my aunts, my sisters, and myself)
were waiting to hear the result in one of the upper sitting-rooms of
the inn, which fronted the street. We heard a loud shout, and going
to the window, we saw the people throwing up their hats, and heard
huzzas. An express had arrived with news that the French and the
rebels had been beaten; that General Lake had come up with them at a
place called Ballynamuck, near Granard; that 1500 rebels and French
were killed, and that the French generals and officers were
prisoners.
'We were impatient for my father, when we heard this joyful news;
he had not yet returned, and we looked out of the window in hopes of
seeing him; but we could see only a great number of people of the
town shaking hands with each other. This lasted a few minutes, and
then the crowd gathered in silence round one man, who spoke with
angry vehemence and gesticulation, stamping, and frequently wiping
his forehead. We thought he was a mountebank haranguing the
populace, till we saw that he wore a uniform. Listening with
curiosity to hear what he was saying, we observed that he looked up
towards us, and we thought we heard him pronounce the names of my
father and brother in tones of insult. We could scarcely believe
what we heard him say. Pointing up to the top of the court-house, he
exclaimed, "That young Edgeworth ought to be dragged down from the
top of that house."
'Our housekeeper burst into the room, so much terrified she could
hardly speak.
'"My master, ma'am!—it is all against my master. The mob say they
will tear him to pieces, if they catch hold of him. They say he 's
a traitor, that he illuminated the gaol to deliver it up to the
French."
'No words can give an idea of our astonishment. "Illuminated!" What
could be meant by the gaol being illuminated? My father had
literally but two farthing candles, by the light of which he had
been reading the newspaper late the preceding night. These, however,
were said to be signals for the enemy. The absurdity of the whole
was so glaring that we could scarcely conceive the danger to be
real, but our pale landlady's fears were urgent; she dreaded that
her house should be pulled down.
'We wrote immediately to the commanding officer, informing him of
what we had heard, and requesting his advice and assistance. He came
to us, and recommended that we should send a messenger to warn Mr.
Edgeworth of his danger, and to request that he would not return to
Longford that day. The officer added that, in consequence of the
rejoicings for the victory, his men would probably be all drunk in a
few hours, and that he could not answer for them. This officer, a
captain of yeomanry, was a good-natured but inefficient man, who
spoke under considerable nervous agitation, and seemed desirous to
do all he could, but not to be able to do anything. We wrote
instantly, and with difficulty found a man who undertook to convey
the note. It was to be carried to meet him on one road, and Mrs.
Edgeworth and I determined to drive out to meet him on the other. We
made our way down a back staircase into the inn yard, where the
carriage was ready. Several gentlemen spoke to us as we got into the
carriage, begging us not to be alarmed: Mrs. Edgeworth answered that
she was more surprised than alarmed. The commanding officer and the
sovereign of Longford walked by the side of the carriage through the
town; and as the mob believed that we were going away not to return,
we got through without much molestation. We went a few miles on the
road toward Edgeworth Town, till at a tenant's house we heard that
my father had passed half an hour ago; that he was riding in company
with an officer, supposed to be of Lord Cornwallis's or General
Lake's army; that they had taken a short cut, which led into
Longford by another entrance:—most fortunately, not that at which
an armed mob had assembled, expecting the object of their fury.
Seeing him return to the inn with an officer of the King's army,
they imagined, as we were afterwards told, that he was brought back
a prisoner, and they were satisfied.
'The moment we saw him safe, we laughed at our own fears, and again
doubted the reality of the danger, more especially as he treated the
idea with the utmost incredulity and scorn.
'Major (now General) Eustace was the officer who returned with him.
He dined with us; everything appeared quiet. The persons who had
taken refuge at the inn were now gone to their homes, and it was
supposed that, whatever dispositions to riot had existed, the news
of the approach of some of Lord Cornwallis's suite, or of troops who
were to bring in the French prisoners, would prevent all probability
of disturbance. In the evening the prisoners arrived at the inn; a
crowd followed them, but quietly. A sun-burnt, coarse-looking man,
in a huge cocked hat, with a quantity of gold lace on his clothes,
seemed to fix all attention; he was pointed out as the French
General Homberg, or Sarrazin. As he dismounted from his horse, he
threw the bridle over its neck, and looked at the animal as being
his only friend.
'We heard my father in the evening ask Major Eustace to walk with
him through the town to the barrack-yard to evening parade; and we
saw them go out together without our feeling the slightest
apprehension. We remained at the inn. By this time Colonel
Handfield, Major Cannon, and some other officers, had arrived, and
they were at the inn at dinner in a parlour on the ground-floor,
under our room. It being hot weather, the windows were open. Nothing
now seemed to be thought of but rejoicings for the victory. Candles
were preparing for the illumination; waiters, chambermaids,
landlady, were busy scooping turnips and potatoes for candlesticks,
to stand in every pane of every loyal window.
'In the midst of this preparation, half an hour after my father had
left us, we heard a great uproar in the street. At first we thought
the shouts were only rejoicings for victory, but as they came nearer
we heard screechings and yellings indescribably horrible. A mob had
gathered at the gates of the barrack-yard, and joined by many
soldiers of the yeomanry on leaving parade, had followed Major
Eustace and my father from the barracks. The Major being this
evening in coloured clothes, the people no longer knew him to be an
officer, nor conceived, as they had done before, that Mr. Edgeworth
was his prisoner. The mob had not contented themselves with the
horrid yells that they heard, but had been pelting them with hard
turf, stones, and brickbats. From one of these my father received a
blow on the side of his head, which came with such force as to
stagger and almost to stun him; but he kept himself from falling,
knowing that if he once fell he would be trampled under foot. He
walked on steadily till he came within a few yards of the inn, when
one of the mob seized hold of Major Eustace by the collar. My father
seeing the windows of the inn open, called with a loud voice, "Major
Eustace is in danger!"
'The officers, who were at dinner, and who till that moment had
supposed the noise in the street to be only drunken rejoicings,
immediately ran out and rescued Major Eustace and my father. At the
sight of British officers and drawn swords, the populace gave way,
and dispersed in different directions.
'The preparation for the illumination then went on as if nothing had
intervened. All the panes of our windows in the front room were in a
blaze of light by the time the mob returned through the street. The
night passed without further disturbance.
'As early as we could the next morning we left Longford, and
returned homewards, all danger from rebels being now over, and the
Rebellion having been terminated by the late battle.
'When we came near Edgeworth Town, we saw many well-known faces at
the cabin doors looking out to welcome us. One man, who was digging
in his field by the roadside, when he looked up as our horses
passed, and saw my father, let fall his spade and clasped his hands;
his face, as the morning sun shone upon it, was the strongest
picture of joy I ever saw. The village was a melancholy spectacle;
windows shattered and doors broken. But though the mischief done was
great, there had been little pillage. Within our gates we found all
property safe; literally "not a twig touched, nor a leaf harmed."
Within the house everything was as we had left it—a map that we had
been consulting was still open upon the library table, with pencils,
and slips of paper containing the first lessons in arithmetic, in
which some of the young people had been engaged the morning we had
driven from home; a pansy, in a glass of water, which one of the
children had been copying, was still on the chimney-piece. These
trivial circumstances, marking repose and tranquillity, struck us at
this moment with an unreasonable sort of surprise, and all that had
passed seemed like an incoherent dream. The joy of having my father
in safety remained, and gratitude to Heaven for his preservation.
These feelings spread inexpressible pleasure over what seemed to be
a new sense of existence. Even the most common things appeared
delightful; the green lawn, the still groves, the birds singing, the
fresh air, all external nature, and all the goods and conveniences
of life, seemed to have wonderfully increased in value from the fear
into which we had been put of losing them irrevocably.
'The first thing my father did, the day we came home, was to draw
up a memorial to the Lord-Lieutenant, desiring to have a
court-martial held on the sergeant who, by haranguing the populace,
had raised the mob at Longford; his next care was to walk through
the village, to examine what damage had been done by the rebels, and
to order that repairs of all his tenants' houses should be made at
his expense. A few days after our return, Government ordered that
the arms of the Edgeworth Town infantry should be forwarded by the
commanding-officer at Longford. Through the whole of their hard
week's trial the corps had, without any exception, behaved perfectly
well. It was perhaps more difficult to honest and brave men
passively to bear such a trial than any to which they could have
been exposed in action.
'When the arms for the corps arrived, my father, in delivering them
to the men, thanked them publicly for their conduct, assuring them
that he would remember it whenever he should have opportunities of
serving them, collectively or individually. In long-after years, as
occasions arose, each who continued to deserve it found in him a
friend, and felt that he more than fulfilled his promise. . . .
Before we quit this subject, it may be useful to record that the
French generals who headed this invasion declared they had been
completely deceived as to the state of Ireland. They had expected to
find the people in open rebellion, or at least, in their own phrase,
organised for insurrection; but to their dismay they found only
ragamuffins, as they called them, who, in joining their standard,
did them infinitely more harm than good. It is a pity that the lower
Irish could not hear the contemptuous manner in which the French,
both officers and soldiers, spoke of them and of their country. The
generals described the stratagems which had been practised upon them
by their good allies—the same rebels frequently returning with
different tones and new stories, to obtain double and treble
provisions of arms, ammunition, and uniforms—selling the ammunition
for whisky, and running away at the first fire in the day of battle.
The French, detesting and despising those by whom they had been thus
cheated, pillaged, and deserted, called them beggars, rascals, and
savages. They cursed also without scruple their own Directory for
sending them, after they had, as they boasted, conquered the world,
to be at last beaten on an Irish bog. Officers and soldiers joined
in swearing that they would never return to a country where they
could find neither bread, wine, nor discipline, and where the people
lived on roots, whisky, and lying.'
Maria ends this exciting chapter of the Memoirs with these moral
reflections: 'At all times it is disadvantageous to those who have
the reputation of being men of superior abilities, to seclude
themselves from the world. It raises a belief that they despise
those with whom they do not associate; and this supposed contempt
creates real aversion. The being accused of pride or singularity may
not, perhaps, in the estimation of some lofty spirits and
independent characters, appear too great a price to pay for liberty
and leisure; they will care little if they be misunderstood or
misrepresented by the vulgar; they will trust to truth and time to
do them justice. This may be all well in ordinary life, and in
peaceable days; but in civil commotions the best and the wisest, if
he have not made himself publicly known, so as to connect himself
with the interests and feelings of his neighbours, will find none to
answer for his character if it be attacked, or to warn him of the
secret machinations of his enemies; none who on any sudden emergency
will risk their own safety in his defence: he may fall and be
trampled upon by numbers, simply because it is nobody's business or
pleasure to rally to his aid. Time and reason right his character,
and may bring all who have injured, or all who have mistaken him, to
repentance and shame, but in the interval he must suffer—he may
perish.'
The British Government seem to have thought it best at this time to
pursue a laissez faire policy in Ireland, in order to convince the
Irish of their weakness, and to show them that, although a bundle
of sticks when loosened allows each stick to be used for beating,
and it may therefore be argued that sticks, being meant for
fighting, should never be bound in a bundle, yet each single stick
may easily get broken. Of course the Government intended to
intervene before it was too late, and to suggest to the Irish that
it was time to think of a union with their stronger neighbours.
On this subject, Maria remarks: 'It is certain that the combinations
of the disaffected at home and the advance of foreign invaders, were
not checked till the peril became imminent, and till the purpose of
creating universal alarm had been fully effected. As soon as the
Commander-in-Chief and the Lord-Lieutenant (at the time joined in
the same person) exerted his full military and civil power, the
invaders were defeated, and the rebellion was extinguished. The
petty magisterial tyrants, who had been worse than vain of their
little brief authority, were put down, or rather, being no longer
upheld, sank to their original and natural insignificance. The laws
returned to their due course; and, with justice, security and
tranquillity, were restored.
'My father honestly, not ostentatiously, used his utmost endeavours
to obliterate all that could tend to perpetuate ill-will in the country.
Among the lower classes in his neighbourhood he endeavoured to
discourage that spirit of recrimination and retaliation which the
lower Irish are too prone to cherish, and of which they are proud.
"Revenge is sweet, and I'll have it" were words which an old
beggar-woman was overheard muttering to herself as she tottered
along the road. . . .
'The lower Irish are such acute observers that there is no deceiving
them as to the state of the real feelings of their superiors. . . .
'It was soon seen by all of those who had any connection with him,
that my father was sincere in his disdain of vengeance—of this they
had convincing proof in his refusing to listen to the tales of
slander, which so many were ready to pour into his ear, against
those who had appeared to be his enemies.
'They saw that he determined to have a public trial of the man who
had instigated the Longford mob, but that, for the sake of justice,
and to record what his own conduct had been, he did not seek this
trial from any petty motives of personal resentment.
'During the course of the trial, it appeared that the sergeant was a
mere ignorant enthusiast, who had been worked up to frenzy by some,
more designing than himself. Having accomplished his own object of
publicly proving every fact that concerned his own honour and
character, my father felt desirous that the poor culprit, who was
now ashamed and penitent, should not be punished. The evidence was
not pressed against him, and he was acquitted. As they were leaving
the courthouse my father saw, and spoke in a playful tone to the
penitent sergeant, who, among his other weaknesses, happened to be
much afraid of ghosts. "Sergeant, I congratulate you," said he,
"upon my being alive here before you—I believe you would rather
meet me than my ghost!" Then cheering up the man with the assurance
of his perfect forgiveness, he passed on.
'The malevolent passions' my father always considered as the
greatest foes to human felicity—they would not stay in his mind—he
was of too good and too happy a nature. He forgot all, but the moral
which he drew for his private use from this Longford business. He
kept ever afterwards the resolution he had made, to mix more with
general society.
'His thoughts were soon called to that most important question, of
the Union between England and Ireland, which it was expected would
be discussed at the meeting of Parliament.
'It was late in life to begin a political career—imprudently so,
had it been with the common views of family advancement or of
personal fame; but his chief hope, in going into Parliament, was to
obtain assistance in forwarding the great object of improving the
education of the people: he wished also to assist in the discussion
of the Union. He was not without a natural desire, which he candidly
avowed, to satisfy himself how far he could succeed as a
parliamentary speaker, and how far his mind would stand the trial of
political competition or the temptations of ambition.
'On the subject of the Union he had not yet been able, in
parliamentary phrase, to make up his mind: and he went to the House
in that state in which so many profess to find themselves, and so
few ever really are—anxious to hear the arguments on both sides,
and open to be decided by whoever could show him that which was best
for his country.
'The debate on the first proposal of the Union was protracted to an
unusual length, and when he rose to speak, it was late at night, or
rather it was early in the morning—two o'clock—the House had been
so wearied that many of the members were asleep. It was an
inauspicious moment. No person present, not even the Speaker, who
was his intimate friend, could tell on which side he would vote.
Curiosity was excited: some of the outstretched members were roused
by their neighbours, whose anxiety to know on which side he would
vote prompted them to encourage him to proceed. This curiosity was
kept alive as he went on; and when people perceived that it was not
a set speech, they became interested. He stated his doubts, just as
they had really occurred, balancing the arguments as he threw them
by turns into each scale, as they had balanced one another in his
judgment; so that the doubtful beam nodded from side to side, while
all watched to see when its vibrations would settle. All the time he
kept both parties in good humour, because each expected to have him
their own at last. After stating many arguments in favour of what
appeared to him to be the advantages of the Union, he gave his vote
against it, because, he said, he had been convinced by what he had
heard in that House this night, that the Union was at this time
decidedly against the wishes of the great majority of men of sense
and property in the nation. He added that if he should be convinced
that the opinion of the country changed at the final discussion of
the question, his vote would be in its favour.
'One of the anti-Unionists, who happened not to know my father
personally, imagined from his accent, style, and manner of speaking,
that he was an Englishman, and accused the Government of having
brought a new member over from England, to impose him upon the
House, as an impartial country gentleman, who was to make a
pretence of liberality by giving a vote against the Union, while, by
arguing in its favour, he was to make converts for the measure. Many
on the Ministerial bench, who had still hopes that, on a future
occasion, Mr. Edgeworth might be convinced and brought to vote with
them, complimented him highly, declaring that they were completely
surprised when they learned how he voted; for that undoubtedly the
best arguments on their side of the question had been produced in
his speech. Lord Castlereagh found the measure so much against the
sense of the House that he pressed it no further at that time.
'This session my father had the satisfaction of turning the
attention of the House to a subject which he considered to be of
greater and more permanent importance than the Union, or than any
merely political measure could prove to his country, the education
of the people. By his exertions a select committee was appointed,
and they adopted the resolutions drawn up by him. When the report of
this committee was brought up to the House, my father spoke at large
upon the subject.
'In his speech he said: It was impossible, when moral principles are
instilled into the human mind, when people are regularly taught
their duty to God and man, that abominable tenets can prevail to the
subversion of subordination and society. He would venture to assert,
though the power of the sword was great, that the force of education
was greater. It was notorious that the writings of one man, Mr.
Burke, had changed the opinions of the whole people of England
against the French Revolution. … If proper books were circulated
through the country, and if the public mind was prepared for the
reception of their doctrines, it would be impossible to make the
ignorance of the people an instrument of national ruin.
'There is, he contended, a fund of goodness in the Irish as well as
in the English nature. Did God give different minds to different
countries? No, the difference of mind arose from education. It
therefore became the duty of Parliament to improve as much as
possible the public understanding—for the misfortunes of Ireland
were owing not to the heart, but the head: the defect was not from
nature, but from want of culture.
'During this session my father spoke again two or three times, on
some questions of revenue regulations and excise laws: of little
consequence separately considered, but of importance in one respect,
in their effect on the morality of the people. He pointed out that
nothing could with more certainty tend to increase the crime of
perjury than the multiplying custom-house oaths, and what are termed
oaths of office. … In Ireland the habits of the common people are
already too lax with regard to truth. The difference of religion,
and the facilities of absolution, present difficulties so formidable
to their moral improvement as to require all the counteracting
powers of education, example, public opinion, and law. . . .
Multiplying oaths injures the revenue, by increasing incalculably
the means of evading the very laws and penalties by which it is
attempted to bind the subject. Experience proves that this is a
danger of no small account to the revenue; though trifling when
compared with the importance of the general effect on national
morality, and on the safety and tranquillity of the State, all which
must ultimately rest, at all times and in all countries, upon
religious sanctions. "It was not," my father observed, "by
increasing pains and penalties, or by any severity of punishment,
that the observance of laws can be secured; on the contrary, small
but certain punishments, and few but punctually executed laws, are
most likely to secure obedience, and to effect public prosperity."'
He writes to Darwin in March 1800: 'The fatigue of the session was
enormous. I am a Unionist, but I vote and speak against the union
now proposed to us—as to my reasons, are they not published in the
reports of our debates? It is intended to force this measure down
the throats of the Irish, though five-sixths of the nation are
against it. Now, though I think such union as would identify the
nations, so as that Ireland should be as Yorkshire to Great Britain,
would be an excellent thing: yet I also think that the good people
of Ireland ought to be persuaded of this truth, and not be
dragooned into the submission.
'The Minister avows that seventy-two boroughs are to be compensated
—i.e. bought by the people of Ireland with one million and a half
of their own money; and he makes this legal by a very small
majority, made up chiefly by these very borough members. When
thirty-eight country members out of sixty-four are against the
measure, and twenty-eight counties out of thirty-two have petitioned
against it, this is such abominable corruption that it makes our
parliamentary sanction worse than ridiculous.
'I had the honour of offering, for myself, and for a large number of
other gentlemen, that, if a minister could by any means win the
nation to the measure, and show us even a small preponderance in his
favour, we would vote with him.
'So far for politics. I had a charming opportunity of advancing
myself and my family, but I did not think it wise to quarrel with
myself, and lose my good opinion at my time of life. What did lie in
my way for a vote I will not say, but I stated in my place in the
House, that I had been offered three thousand guineas for my seat
during the few remaining weeks of the session.'
In 1817 he writes:—'The influence of the Crown was never so
strongly exerted as upon this occasion. It is but justice, however,
to Lord Cornwallis and Lord Castlereagh to give it as my opinion,
that they began this measure with sanguine hopes that they could
convince the reasonable part of the community that a cordial union
between the two countries would essentially advance the interests of
both. When, however, the ministry found themselves in a minority,
and that a spirit of general opposition was rising in the country, a
member of the House, who had been long practised in parliamentary
intrigues, had the audacity to tell Lord Castlereagh from his place,
that "if he did not employ the usual means of persuasion on the
members of the House, he would fail in his attempt, and that the
sooner he set about it the better."
'This advice was followed; and it is well known what benches were
filled with the proselytes that had been made by the convincing
arguments which had obtained a majority.
'He went in the spring of 1799 to England, and visited his old
friends, Mr. Keir, Mr. Watt, Dr. Darwin, and Mr. William Strutt of
Derby. In passing through different parts of the country he saw, and
delighted in showing us, everything curious and interesting in art
and nature. Travelling, he used to say, was from time to time
necessary, to change the course of ideas, and to prevent the growth
of local prejudices.
'He went to London, and paid his respects to his friend Sir Joseph
Banks, attended the meetings of the Royal Society, and met various
old acquaintances whom he had formerly known abroad.'
Maria writes:—'In his own account of his earlier life he has never
failed to mark the time and manner of the commencement of valuable
friendships with the same care and vividness of recollection With
which some men mark the date of their obtaining promotion, places,
or titles. I follow the example he has set me.
'My father's and Mrs. Edgeworth's families were both numerous, and
among such numbers, even granting the dispositions to be excellent
and the understandings cultivated, the chances were against their
suiting; but, happily, all the individuals of the two families,
though of various talents, ages, and characters, did, from their
first acquaintance, coalesce. . . . After he had lost such a friend
as Mr. Day . . . who could have dared to hope that he should ever
have found another equally deserving to possess his whole confidence
and affection? Yet such a one it pleased God to give him—and to
give him in the brother of his wife. And never man felt more
strongly grateful for the double blessing. To Captain Beaufort he
became as much attached as he had ever been to Lord Longford or to
Mr. Day.
'His father-in-law, Dr. Beaufort, was also particularly agreeable
to him as a companion, and helpful as a friend.'
Consumption again carried off one of Edgeworth's family: his
daughter Elizabeth died at Clifton in August 1800.
The Continent, which had been practically closed for some years to
travellers, was open in 1802 at the time of the short peace, and
Edgeworth gladly availed himself of the opportunity of mixing in the
literary and scientific society in Paris, and of showing his wife
the treasures of the Louvre—treasures increased by the spoil of
other countries. The tour was arranged for the autumn, and Edgeworth
was looking forward to visiting Dr. Darwin on the way, when he
received a letter begun by the doctor, describing his move from
Derby to the Priory, a few miles out of the town, and sending a
playful message to Maria: 'Pray tell the authoress that the water
nymphs of our valley will be happy to assist her next novel.'
A few lines after, the pen had stopped; another hand added the sad
news that Dr. Darwin had been taken suddenly ill with fainting fits:
he revived and spoke, but died that morning. The sudden death of
such an old and valued friend was a great shock to Edgeworth.
Some months later, his daughter mentions that, 'in passing through
England, we went to Derby, and to the Priory, to which we had been
so kindly invited by him who was now no more. The Priory was all
stillness, melancholy, and mourning. It was a painful visit, yet not
without satisfaction; for my father's affectionate manner seemed to
soothe the widow and daughters of his friend, who were deeply
sensible of the respect and zealous regard he showed for Dr.
Darwin's memory.'
Mr. and Mrs. Edgeworth, with their daughters Maria and Charlotte,
travelled through the Low Countries—'a delightful tour,' Maria
writes—and at length reached Paris, where they spent the winter
1802-3. They soon got introductions, through the Abbe Morellet, into
that best circle of society, 'which was composed of all that
remained of the ancient men of letters, and of the most valuable of
the nobility; not of those who had accepted of places from
Buonaparte, nor yet of those emigrants who have been wittily and too
justly described as returning to France after the Revolution, sans
avoir rien appris, ou rien oublie.' . . . 'We felt,' Maria writes,
'the characteristic charms of Parisian conversation, the polish and
ease which in its best days distinguished it from that of any other
capital.
'During my father's former residence in France, at the time when he
was engaged in directing the works of the Rhone and Saone at Lyons,
as he mentions in his Memoirs, he wrote a treatise on the
construction of mills. He wished that D'Alembert should read it, to
verify the mathematical calculations, and for this purpose he had
put it into the hands of Morellet. D'Alembert approved of the essay;
and my father became advantageously known to Morellet as a man of
science, and as one who had gratuitously and honourably conducted a
useful work in France. His predominating taste thus continued, as in
former times, its influence, was still a connecting link between him
and old and new friends. On this and many other occasions he proved
the truth of what has been asserted, that no effort is ever lost:
his exertions at Lyons in 1772, after an interval of thirty years,
now becoming of unexpected advantage to him and to his family at
Paris. . . .
'In Paris there is an institution resembling our London Society of
Arts, La Societe d'Encouragement pour l'Industrie Nationale: of this
my father was made a member, and he presented to it the model of a
lock of his invention. In getting this executed, he became
acquainted with some of the working mechanics in Paris, and had an
opportunity of observing how differently work of this kind is
carried on there and in Birmingham. Instead of the assemblage of
artificers in manufactories, such as we see in Birmingham, each
artisan in Paris, working out his own purposes in his own domicile,
must in his time "play many parts," and among these many to which
he is incompetent, either from want of skill or want of practice: so
that, in fact, even supposing French artisans to be of equal ability
and industry with English competitors, they are at least a century
behind, by thus being precluded from all the miraculous advantages
of the division of labour. . . . 'My father had left England with a
strong desire to see Buonaparte, and had procured a letter from the
Lord Chamberlain (Lord Essex), and had applied to Lord Whitworth,
our Ambassador at Paris, who was to present him. But soon after our
arrival at Paris, he learned that Buonaparte was preparing the way
for becoming Emperor, contrary to the wishes and judgment of the
most enlightened part of the French nation. . . .
'My father could no longer consider Buonaparte as a great man,
abiding by his principles, and content with the true glory of being
the first citizen of a free people; but as one meditating
usurpation, and on the point of overturning, for the selfish love of
dominion, the liberty of France. With this impression, my father
declared that he would not go to the court of a usurper. He never
went to his levees, nor would he be presented to him.
'My father had not the presumption to imagine that in a cursory
view, during a slight tour, and a residence of four or five months
at Paris, he could become thoroughly acquainted with France.
Besides, his living chiefly with the select society which I have
described precluded the possibility of seeing much of what were
called les nouveaux riches.
'The few general observations he made on French society at this time
I shall mention. He observed that, among the families of the old
nobility, domestic happiness and virtue had much increased since the
Revolution, in consequence of the marriages which, after they lost
their wealth and rank, had been formed, not according to the usual
fashion of old French alliances, but from disinterested motives,
from the perception of the real suitability of tempers and
characters. The women of this class in general, withdrawn from
politics and political intrigue, were more domestic and
amiable. . . .
'With regard to literature, he observed that it had considerably
degenerated. For the good taste, wit, and polished style which had
characterised French literature before the Revolution there was no
longer any demand, and but few competent judges remained. The
talents of the nation had been forced by circumstances into
different directions. At one time, the hurry and necessity of the
passing moment had produced political pamphlets and slight works of
amusement, formed to catch the public revolutionary taste. At
another period, the contending parties, and the real want of freedom
in the country, had repressed literary efforts. Science, which
flourished independently of politics, and which was often useful and
essential to the rulers, had meanwhile been encouraged, and had
prospered. The discoveries and inventions of men of science showed
that the same positive quantity of talent existed in France as in
former times, though appearing in a new form.'
The charms of Paris and its society were rudely broken by Edgeworth
receiving one morning a visit from a police officer requiring him
immediately to attend at the Palais de Justice. Edgeworth was in bed
with a cold when this summons came. He writes to Miss Charlotte
Sneyd:—'My being ill was not a sufficient excuse; I got up and
dressed myself slowly, to gain time for thinking—drank one dish of
chocolate, ordered my carriage, and went with my exempt to the
Palais de Justice. There I was shown into a parlour, or rather a
guard-room, where a man like an under-officer was sitting at a desk.
In a few minutes I was desired to walk upstairs into a long narrow
room, in different parts of which ten or twelve clerks were sitting
at different tables. To one of these I was directed—he asked my
name, wrote it on a printed card, and demanding half a crown,
presented the card to me, telling me it was a passport. I told him I
did not want a passport; but he pressed it upon me, assuring me that
I had urgent necessity for it, as I must quit Paris immediately.
Then he pointed out to me another table, where another clerk was
pleased to place me in the most advantageous point of view for
taking my portrait, and he took my written portrait with great
solemnity, and this he copied into my passport. I begged to know who
was the principal person in the room, and to him I applied to learn
the cause of the whole proceeding. He coolly answered that if I
wanted to know I must apply to the Grand Juge. To the Grand Juge I
drove, and having waited till the number ninety-three was called,
the number of the ticket which had been given to me at the door, I
was admitted, and the Grand Juge most formally assured me that he
knew nothing of the affair, but that all I had to do was to obey. I
returned home, and, on examining my passport, found that I was
ordered to quit Paris in twenty-four hours. I went directly to our
Ambassador, Lord Whitworth, who lived at the extremity of the town:
he was ill—with difficulty I got at his secretary, Mr. Talbot, to
whom I pointed out that I applied to my Ambassador from a sense of
duty and politeness, before I would make any application to private
friends, though I believed that I had many in Paris who were willing
and able to assist me. The secretary went to the Ambassador, and in
half an hour wrote an official note to Talleyrand, to ask the why
and the wherefore. He advised me in the meantime to quit Paris, and
to go to some village near it—Passy or Versailles. Passy seemed
preferable, because it is the nearest to Paris—only a mile and a
half distant. Before I quitted Paris I made another attempt to
obtain some explanation from the Grand Juge. I could not see him, or
even his secretary, for a considerable time; and when at length the
secretary appeared, it was only to tell me that I could not see the
Grand Juge. "Cannot I write," said I, "to your Grand Juge?" He
answered hesitatingly, "Yes." A huissier took in my note, and
another excellent one from the friend who was with me, F. D. The
huissier returned presently, holding my papers out to me at arm's
length—"The Grand Juge knows nothing of this matter."
'I returned home, dined, ordered a carriage to be ready to take me
to Passy, wrote a letter to Buonaparte, stating my entire ignorance
of the cause of my deportation, and asserting that I was unconnected
with any political party. F. D. engaged that the letter should be
delivered; and Mrs. E. and Charlotte remaining to settle our affairs
at Paris, I set off for Passy with Maria, where my friend F. D. had
taken the best lodging he could find for me in the village. Madame
G. had offered me her country house at Passy; but though she pressed
that offer most kindly we would not accept of it, lest we should
compromise our friends. Another friend, Mons. de P, offered his
country house, but, for the same reason, this offer was declined. We
arrived at Passy about ten o'clock at night, and though a deporte, I
slept tolerably well. Before I was up, my friend Mons. de P. was
with me—breakfasted with us in our little oven of a parlour
—conversed two hours most agreeably. Our other friend, F. D, came
also before we had breakfasted, and just as I had mounted on a table
to paste some paper over certain deficiencies in the window, enter
M. P. and Le B———h.
'"Mon ami, ce n'est pas la peine!" cried they both at once, their
faces rayonnant de joie. "You need not give yourself so much
trouble; you will not stay here long. We have seen the Grand Juge,
and your detention arises from a mistake. It was supposed that you
are brother to the Abbe Edgeworth—we are to deliver a petition from
you, stating what your relationship to the Abbe really is. This
shall be backed by an address signed by all your friends at Paris,
and you will be then at liberty to return."
'I objected to writing any petition, and at all events I determined
to consult my Ambassador, who had conducted himself well towards me.
I wrote to Lord Whitworth, stating the facts, and declaring that
nothing could ever make me deny the honour of being related to the
Abbe Edgeworth. Lord Whitworfh advised me, however, to state the
fact that I was not the Abbe's brother. . . .
'No direct answer was received from the First Consul; but perhaps
the revocation of the order of the Grand Juge came from him. We were
assured that my father's letter had been read by him, and that he
declared he knew nothing of the affair; and so far from objecting to
any man for being related to the Abbe Edgeworth, he declared that he
considered him as a most respectable, faithful subject, and that he
wished that he had many such.'
Before this unpleasant occurrence Edgeworth had thought of taking a
house in Paris for two years and sending for his other children; but
he now, in spite of the entreaties of his French friends, altered
his plans and resolved to return home. Maria writes:—'He was
prudent and decided—had he been otherwise, we might all have been
among the number of our countrymen who were, contrary to the law of
nations, and to justice and reason, made prisoners in France at the
breaking out of the war. We were fortunate in getting safe to free
and happy England a short time before war was declared, and before
the detention of the English took place.
'My eldest brother had the misfortune to be among those who were
detained. His exile was rendered as tolerable as circumstances would
permit by the indefatigable kindness of our friends the D' s. But it
was an exile of eleven years—from 1803 to 1814—six years of that
time spent at Verdun!'
Instead of returning at once to Ireland, the Edgeworths went to
Edinburgh to visit Henry Edgeworth, whose declining health caused
his father much anxiety. Maria writes:—'He mended rapidly while we
were at Edinburgh; and this improvement in his health added to the
pleasure his father felt in seeing the interest his son had excited
among the friends he had made for himself in Edinburgh—men of the
first abilities and highest characters, both in literature and
science—whom we knew by their works, as did all the world; with
some of whom my father had had the honour of corresponding, but to
whom he was personally unknown. Imagine the pleasure he felt at
being introduced to them by his son, and in hearing Gregory, Alison,
Playfair, Dugald Stewart, speak of Henry as if he actually belonged
to themselves, and with the most affectionate regard. . . .
'On our journey homewards, in passing through Scotland, we met with
much hospitality and kindness, and much that was interesting in the
country and in its inhabitants. But the circumstance that remains the
most fixed in my recollection, and that which afterwards influenced
my father's life the most, happened to be the books we read during
our last day's journey. These were the lives of Robertson the
historian, and of Reid, which had been just given to us by Mr.
Stewart. In the life of Reid there are some passages which struck my
father particularly. I recollect at the moment when I was reading to
him, his stretching eagerly across from his side of the carriage to
mine, and marking the book with his pencil with strong and
reiterated marks of approbation. The passages relate to the means
which Dr. Reid employed to prevent the decay of his faculties as he
advanced in years; to remedy the errors and deficiencies of one
failing sense by the increased activity of another, and by the
resources of reasoning and ingenuity to resist, as far as possible,
or to render supportable, the infirmities of age . . . My father
never forgot this passage, and acted on it years afterwards.'
It was not Henry who was taken first, but Charlotte, who was 'fresh
as a rose' on her first tour abroad. In April 1807 she died of the
same disease as her sisters, and about two years after her brother
Henry followed her to the grave.
It needed a brave heart to bear up under such sorrows, but
Edgeworth, though he felt them keenly, would not sink into the
lethargy of grief, but roused himself to work for the public good.
He was on the board appointed to inquire into the education of the
people of Ireland, and two of his papers on the subject were printed
in the reports of the Commissioners; he also drew up the plan of a
school for Edgeworth Town, which was afterwards carried into
execution by his son, Lovell; and at this time he was writing his
Memoirs, a task which was interrupted by a severe illness in 1809.
He had hardly recovered from this before he was engaged in the
Government survey of bogs, and Maria writes:—'It was late in the
year, and the weather unfavourable. In laying out and verifying the
work of the surveyors employed, he was usually out from daybreak to
sunset, often fifteen hours without food, traversing on foot, with
great bodily exertion, wastes and deserts of bog, so wet and
dangerous as to be scarcely passable at that season, even by the
common Irish best used to them. In these bogs there frequently occur
great holes, filled with water of the same colour as the bog, or
sometimes covered over with a slight surface of the peat heath or
grass, called by the common people a shakingscraw. 'In traversing
these bogs a man must pick his way carefully, sometimes wading,
sometimes leaping from one landing place to another, choosing these
cautiously, lest they should not sustain his weight: avoiding
certain treacherous green spots on which the unwary might be tempted
to set foot, and would sink, never to rise again.'
The work was fatiguing, but the open air life seemed to give him new
vigour, and his health was reestablished.
The work had interested him much, and he believed that an immense
tract of bog might be reclaimed. The obstacles he foresaw were want
of capital and the danger of litigation. As long as the bogs were
unprofitable there was no incitement to a strict definition of
boundaries, but if the land was reclaimed many lawsuits would
follow. Maria thus describes the difficulties encountered by her
father:—'He wished to undertake the improvement of a large tract of
bog in his neighbourhood, and for this purpose desired to purchase
it from the proprietor; but the proprietor had not the power or the
inclination to sell it. My father, anxious to try a decisive
experiment on a large scale, proposed to rent it from him, and
offered a rent, till then unheard of, for bogland. The proprietor
professed himself satisfied to accept the proposal, provided my
father would undertake to indemnify him for any expense to which he
might be put by future lawsuits concerning the property or
boundaries of this bog. He was aware that if he were to give a lease
for a long term, even for sixty years, this would raise the idea
that the bog would become profitable; and still further, if ever it
should be really improved and profitable, it would become an object
of contention and litigation to many who might fancy they had
claims, which, as long as the bog was nearly without value, they
found it not worth while to urge. It was impossible to enter into
the insurance proposed, and, consequently, he could not obtain
this tract of bog, or further prosecute his plan. The same sort of
difficulty must frequently recur. Parts of different estates pass
through extensive tracts of bog, of which the boundaries are
uncertain. The right to cut the turf is usually vested in the
occupiers of adjoining farms; but they are at constant war with each
other about boundaries, and these disputes, involving the original
grants of the lands, hundreds of years ago, with all subsequent
deeds and settlements, appear absolutely interminable. . . .
'It may not be at present a question of much interest to the British
public, because no such large decisive experiment as was proposed
has yet been tried as to the value and attainableness of the object;
but its magnitude and importance are incontestable, the whole extent
of peat soil in Ireland exceeding, as it is confidently pronounced,
2,830,000 acres, of which about half might be converted to the
general purposes of agriculture.'
It was in 1811 that Edgeworth constructed, 'upon a plan of his own
invention, a spire for the church of Edgeworth Town. This spire was
formed of a skeleton of iron, covered with slates, painted and
sanded to resemble Portland stone. It was put together on the ground
within the tower of the church, and when finished it was drawn up at
once, with the assistance of counterbalancing weights, to the top of
the tower, and there to be fixed in its place.
'The novelty of the construction of this spire, even in this its
first skeleton state, excited attention, and as it drew towards its
completion, and near the moment when, with its covering of slates,
altogether amounting to many tons weight, it was to move, or not to
move, fifty feet from the ground to the top of the tower, everybody
in the neighbourhood, forming different opinions of the probability
of its success or failure, became interested in the event.
'Several of my father's friends and acquaintances, in our own and
from adjoining counties, came to see it drawn up. Fortunately, it
happened to be a very fine autumn day, and the groups of spectators
of different ranks and ages, assembled and waiting in silent
expectation, gave a picturesque effect to the whole. A bugle sounded
as the signal for ascent. The top of the spire appearing through the
tower of the church, began to move upwards; its gilt ball and arrow
glittered in the sun, while with motion that was scarcely
perceptible it rose majestically. Not one word or interjection was
uttered by any of the men who worked the windlasses at the top of
the tower.
'It reached its destined station in eighteen minutes, and then a
flag streamed from its summit and gave notice that all was safe. Not
the slightest accident or difficulty occurred.' Maria adds:—'The
conduct of the whole had been trusted to my brother William (the
civil engineer), and the first words my father said, when he was
congratulated upon the success of the work, were that his son's
steadiness in conducting business and commanding men gave him
infinitely more satisfaction than he could feel from the success of
any invention of his own.'
Towards the close of 1811 Edgeworth was requested, as he understood,
by a committee of the House of Commons on Broad Wheels, to look over
and report on a mass of evidence on the subject. This he did, but
then found that it was a private request of the chairman, Sir John
Sinclair, who begged that the report might be given to the Board of
Agriculture. This Edgeworth declined, but wrote instead and
presented An Essay on Springs applied to Carts; and in 1813 he
published an essay on Roads, and Wheel Carriages. His daughter
writes:—'In the course of the drudgery which he went through he
received a great counterbalancing pleasure from the following
passage, which he chanced to meet with in a letter to the committee,
written by a gentleman to whom he was personally a stranger:
'"Mr. Edgeworth was the first who pointed out the great benefit of
springs in aiding the draught of horses. The subject deserves more
attention than it has hitherto met with. No discovery relative to
carriages has been made in our time of equal importance; and the
ingenious author of it deserves highly of some mark of public
gratitude."'
Maria adds:—'Those ingenious ideas, which had been but the
amusement of youth, as he advanced in life, he turned to public
utility: for instance, the mode of conveying secret and swift
intelligence, which he had suggested at first only to decide a
trifling wager between him and some young nobleman, he afterwards
improved into a national telegraph, and through all difficulties and
disappointments persevered till it was established. In the same
manner, his juvenile amusements with the sailing chariot led to
experiments on the resistance of the air, which in more mature years
he pursued in the patient spirit of philosophical investigation, and
turned to good account for the real business of life, and for the
advancement of science.
'On this subject, in the year 1783, he published in the Transactions
of the Royal Society (vol. 73) "An Essay on the Resistance of the
Air," of which the object, as he states, is to determine the force
of the wind upon surfaces of different size and figure, or upon the
same surface, when placed in different directions, inclined at
different angles, or curved in different arches. . . . After trying
several experiments on surfaces of various shapes, he ascertained
the difference of resistance in different cases, suggested the
probable cause of these variations, and opened a large field for
future curious and useful speculation; useful it may be called, as
well as curious, because such knowledge applies immediately to the
wants and active business of life, to the construction of wind- and
water-mills, and to the extensive purposes of navigation. The theory
of philosophers and the practice of mechanics and seamen were, and
perhaps are still, at variance as to the manner in which sails of
wind-mills and of ships should be set. Dr. Hooke, in his day,
expressed "his surprise at the obstinacy of seamen in continuing,
after what appeared the clearest demonstration to the contrary, to
prefer what are called bellying or bunting sails, to such as are
hauled tight." The doctor said that he would, at some future time,
add the test of experiment to mathematical investigation in support
of his theory.
'It is remarkable that this test of experiment, when at length it
was applied, confirmed the truth of what the philosopher had
reprobated as an obstinate vulgar error. My father, in his Essay on
the Resistance of the Air, gives the result of his experiments on a
flat and curved surface of the same dimensions, and explains the
cause of the error into which Dr. Hooke, M. Parent, and other
mathematicians had fallen in their theoretic reasonings. . . .
'It is remarkable that a man of naturally lively imagination and of
inventive genius should not, in science, have ever followed any
fanciful theory of his own, but that all he did should have been
characterised by patient investigation and prudent experiment. . . .
'In science, it is not given to man to finish; to persevere, to
advance a step or two, is all that can be accomplished, and all that
will be expected by the real philosopher.
'"We will endeavour" is the humble and becoming motto of our
philosophical society.'
In his seventy-first year Edgeworth had a dangerous illness, and
though he seemed to recover from it for a time, he never regained
his former strength. One great privation was that, from the failure
of his sight, he became dependent on others to read and write for
him. But his cheerful fortitude did not fail, though he felt that
his days were numbered. He had promised to try some private
experiments for the Dublin Society, and with the help of his son
William he carried out a set of experiments on wheel carriages in
April 1815 and in May 1816.
Almost his last literary effort was to dictate some pages which he
contributed to his daughter Maria's novel Ormond, and he delighted
in having the proofsheets read to him and in correcting them. Mrs.
Ritchie has given some touching details of his last days in her
Introduction to a new edition of Ormond.
Maria writes:—'The whole of Moriaty's history, and his escape from
prison, were dictated without any alteration, or hesitation of a
word, to Honora and me. This history Mr. Edgeworth heard from the
actual hero of it, Michael Dunne, whom he chanced to meet in the
town of Navan, where he was living respectably. He kept a shop where
Mr. Edgeworth went to purchase some boards, and observing something
very remarkable about the man's countenance, he questioned him as
they were looking at the lumber in his yard, and Dunne readily told
his tale almost in the very words used by Moriaty. . . . Mr.
Edgeworth also wrote the meeting between Moriaty and his wife when
he jumps out of the carriage the moment he hears her voice.'
Edgeworth kept his intellectual faculties to the last. 'To the last
they continued clear, vigorous, energetic; and to the last were
exerted in doing good, and in fulfilling every duty, public and
private. . . .
'In the closing hours of his life his bodily sufferings subsided,
and in the most serene and happy state, he said, before he sank to
that sleep from which he never wakened:
'"I die with the soft feeling of gratitude to my friends and
submission to the God who made me."'
He died the 13th of June 1817.
It may be thought to be an easy task to make an abridgment of a
biography, but in some ways it is almost as difficult as it is for
the sketcher to choose what he will put into his picture and yet
preserve a due proportion and give a faithful idea of the whole
scene before him. I have tried to give such portions of the Memoirs
as will present the many-sided character of R. L. Edgeworth in
relation to his scientific, literary, and educational work, and in
relation to his position as a landlord, a father, and a friend. He
was a singular instance of great mental activity with little
ambition; of a genial nature in his own family circle and among his
friends, he withdrew from the multitude, and refused to lower his
standard of cultivated intercourse in order to win favour with
coarser natures. He is chiefly remembered now as an educational
reformer and as the guide of Maria Edgeworth in the earlier stages
of her literary career. What she achieved was in great part due to
her father's judicious training and encouragement.
A little more ambition and the spur of poverty might have made
Edgeworth better known as an inventor of useful machines: it is
curious to remark how nearly he invented the bicycle. He saw the
advantage that light railways would be to Ireland, but the breath of
mechanical life, steam, as a power, he did not foresee.
He might have written a book on 'The Domestic Life,' so fully had
he mastered the secrets of a happy home. He was naturally
passionate, but had trained himself to be on his guard against his
temper, and was always anxious to improve and to correct any bad
habit or fault: even in old age he was constantly on the watch lest
bodily infirmities should lead to moral deterioration. He was not
too proud to own when he had made mistakes, but used the experience
he had gained, and carefully studied his own character and the
circumstances which had been most beneficial in forming it. He
controlled his expenses as prudently as his temper, and would not
allow his inventive faculties to lead him into unjustifiable
outlays. His daughter mentions that 'when he was a youth of
nineteen, an old gentleman, who saw him passing by his window, said
of him, judging by the liveliness of his manner and appearance,
"There goes a young fellow who will in a few years dissipate all the
fortune his prudent father has been nursing for him his whole life."
'The prophecy was, by a kind neighbour, repeated to him, and, as I
have heard him say, it made such an impression as tended
considerably to prevent its own accomplishment.
'He acquired the habit of calculating and forming estimates most
accurately. He not only estimated what every object of fancy and
taste would cost, but he accustomed himself to consider what the
actual enjoyment of the indulgence would be. … He upon all
occasions carefully separated the idea of the pleasure of possession
from that of contemplating any object of taste.'
She also mentions that 'he observed, that the happiness that people
derive from the cultivation of their understandings is not in
proportion to the talents and capacities of the individual, but is
compounded of the united measure of these, and of the use made of
them by the possessor; this must include good or ill temper, and
other moral dispositions. Some with transcendent talents waste these
in futile projects; others make them a source of misery, by
indulging that overweening anxiety for fame which ends in
disappointment, and excites too often the powerful passions of envy
and jealousy; others, too humble, or too weak, fret away their
spirits and their life in deploring that they were not born with
more abilities. But though so many lament the want of talents, few
actually derive as much happiness as they might from the share of
understanding which they possess. My father never wasted his time in
deploring the want of that which he could by exertion acquire. Nor
did he suffer fame in any pursuit to be his first object.'
We feel that we are in the moral atmosphere of Paley and Butler when
she adds:—'Far beyond the pleasures of celebrity, or praise in any
form, he classed self-approbation and benevolence: these he thought
the most secure sources of satisfaction in this world.' This is the
spirit of the Eighteenth Century, the clear cold tone of the moral
philosopher, not the enthusiastic impulse of the fervid theologian,
of Pusey, Keble, or Newman. One star does indeed differ from another
in glory, but all give brilliance to our firmament and raise our
thoughts from earth.
Such a life as Richard Edgeworth's seems to me to be more
instructive than even that excellent moral guide-book written by Sir
John Lubbock, The Uses of Life, because abstract maxims take less
hold of uncultivated or unanalytical minds than the portrait of a
man of flesh and blood. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress reaches many
hearts which are unmoved by an ordinary sermon, and Edgeworth's life
was indeed a progress, a constant striving not only to improve
himself but to help others onward in the right way. He showed what a
good landlord could do in Ireland, and what a good father can do in
binding a family in happy union.