conduct, but with the most minute details of their every-day application. I further enjoyed some peculiar advantages; he kindly wished to give me habits of business; and for this purpose, allowed me during many years to assist him in copying his letters of business, and in receiving his rents."

Her next literary effort was a translation from Madame de Genlis; but neither this, nor any of the tales which from this time she began to compose, were published until 1789. Day had a great dislike of feminine authorship, and from deference to him her father waited till after his old friend's death. No doubt the delay was a real advantage to Maria. She wrote at this time "The Bracelets," and several other short stories; writing them on a slate and reading them to the family, and if they were liked, copying them. Her father was her chief critic: "Whenever I thought of writing anything, I always told him my first rough plans; and always, with the instinct of a good critic, he used to fix immediately upon that which would best answer the purpose: Sketch that and show it to me.' These words, from the experience of his sagacity, never failed to inspire me with hope of success. It was then sketched. Sometimes, when I was fond of a particular part, I used to dilate on it in the sketch; but to this he always objected. 'I don't want any of your paintingnone of your drapery!-I can imagine all that; let me see the bare skeleton.'"

Among their most intimate friends was Dr. Darwin. It was to her father he gave his celebrated definition of a fool: "A fool, you know, Mr. Edgeworth, is a man who never tried an experiment in his life." She writes in 1792:

"My father has just returned from Dr. Darwin's, where he has been nearly three weeks; they were extremely kind, and pressed him very much to take a house in or near Derby for the summer. He has been, as Dr. Darwin expressed it, 'breathing the breath of life into the brazen lungs of a clock,' which he had made at Edgeworth-Town as a present for him. He saw the first part of Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden; £900 was what his bookseller gave him for the whole! On his return from Derby, my father spent a day with Mr. Kier, the great chemist, at Birmingham; he was speaking to him of the late discovery of fulminating silver, with which I suppose your ladyship is well acquainted, though it be new to Henry and me. A lady and gentleman went into a laboratory where a few grains of fulminating silver were lying in a mortar; the gentleman as he was talking, happened to stir it with the end of his cane, which was tipped with iron-the fulminating silver exploded instantly, and blew the lady, the gentleman, and the whole laboratory to pieces! Take care how you go into laboratories with gentlemen, unless they are like Sir Plume, skilled in the 'nice conduct' of their canes."

Again, in the course of the same letter: "Anna was extremely sorry that she could not see you again before she left Ireland; but

you will soon be in the same kingdom again, and that is one great point gained, as Mr. Weaver, a travelling astronomical lecturer, who carried the univers e about in a box, told us Sir,' said he to my father, 'when you look at a map, do you know that the east is always on your right-hand, and the west on your left? Yes,' replied my father, with a very modest look, 'I believe I do.' 'Well,' said the man of learning, that's one great point gained.'"

Elizabeth Edgeworth died in 1797, and in May of the next year her father married his fourth wife, Miss Beaufort. Miss Edgeworth was blamed at the time for too ready an ac quiescence in these speedy unions; but she seems to have done just enough, and yielded gracefully at the right time. She says:

"When I first knew of this attachment, and before I was well acquainted with her, I own I did not wish for the marriage. I had not my father's quick penetration into character: I did not at first see the superior abilities or qualities which he discovered; nor did I anticipate any of the happy consequences from this union which he foresaw. All that I thought, I told him. With the most kind patience he bore with me, and instead of withdrawing his affection, honoured me the more with his confidence."

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"All resistance and repugnance," says the reviewer, were overcome by his eloquence or pertinacity, and he closes a letter to Day about a bust, the upas-tree, frogs, agriculture, a heating apparatus, and a speaking machine, with this passage:

"And now for my piece of news, which I have kept for 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 I not have been a fortunate, not to say a wise man?"

Miss Edgeworth writes to her prospective step-mother, some years younger than herself: "I flatter myself that you will find me gratefully exact en belle fille. I think there is a great deal of difference between that species of ceremony which exists with acquaintance, and that which should always exist with the best of friends; the one prevents the growth of affection, the other preserves it in youth and age. Many foolish people make fine plantations, and forget to fence them; so the young trees are destroyed by the young cattle, and the bark of the forest trees is sometimes injured. You need not, dear Miss Beaufort, fence yourself round with strong palings in this family, where all have been early accustomed to mind their bouudaries. As for me, you see my intentions, or at least my theories, are good enough: if my practice be but half as good, you will be content, will you not? But theory was born in Brobdignag, and practice in Lilliput. So much the better for me."

BB

In 1798 she and her father published, in joint authorship, "Practical Education," a large and miscellaneous work. The preface states that more than two-thirds of the book is hers. She writes this year:

"In the Monthly Review' for October, there is this anecdote. After the King of Denmark, who is somewhat silly, had left Paris, a Frenchman, who was in company with the Danish ambassador, but did not know him, began to ridicule the King-Ma foi, il a une tête, une tête'-' Couronnée,' replied the ambassador, with presence of mind and politeness. My father, who was much delighted with this answer, asked Lovell, Henry, and Sneyd, without telling the right answer, what they would have said.

"LOVELL: "A head-and a heart, sir.' "HENRY: A head-upon his shoulders.' "SNEYD: A head-of a king.' "And adds: "Tell me which answer you like best.'"

The "Parent's Assistant" had been published two years before. Writing of it to her cousin, she says: "I beg, dear Sophy, that you will not call my little stories by the sublime title of my works; I shall else be ashamed when the little mouse comes forth." The first story in her peculiar vein is "Castle Rackrent," in 1800. The first edition was published without her name, "and its success was so triumphant that some one not only asserted that he was the author, but actually took the trouble to copy out several pages with corrections and erasures as if it was his original MS." In 1802, Maria writes from Paris: "Castle Rackrent has been translated into German, and we saw in a French book an extract from it, giving the wake, the confinement of Lady Cathcart, and sweeping the stairs with the wig, as common and universal occurrences in that extraordinary kingdom."

"Belinda" and "Moral Tales" were published in 1801, and the "Essay on Irish Bulls,' in conjunction with her father, in 1802. She says of it:

of the learned languages. The notes on the Dublin shoeblack's metaphorical language, I recollect, are chiefly his.

"I have heard him tell that story with all the natural, indescribable Irish tones and gestures, of which written language can give but a faint idea. He excelled in imitating the Irish, because he never overstepped the modesty or the assurance of nature. He marked exquisitely the happy confidence, the shrewd wit of the people, without condescending to produce effect by caricature.

"Mrs. Edgeworth relates that a gentleman much interested in improving the breed of Irish cattle, sent, on seeing the advertisement, for the work on Irish bulls: He was rather confounded by the appearance of the classical bull at the top of the first page, which I had designed from a gem, and when he began to read the book he threw it away in disgust; he had purchased it as secretary to the Irish Agricultural Society." "

In the autumn of 1802 the family went to Paris. There "they seem to have known everybody worth knowing." Madame Recamier, La Harpe, Montmorenci, Kosciusko, are a few among many. She says of Madame Oudinot, Rousseau's Julie:

"Julie is now seventy-two years of age, a thin woman in a little black bonnet. She appeared to me shockingly ugly; she squints so much that it is impossible to tell which way she is looking. But no sooner did I hear her speak than I began to like her; and no sooner was I seated beside her, than I began to find in her counteoance a most benevolent and agreeable expression. She entered into conversation immediately; her manner invited and could not fail to obtain confidence. She seems as gay and open-hearted as a girl of seventeen. It has been said of her that she not only never did any harm, but never suspected any. . . I wish I could at seventy-two be such a woman!

On this, as on most subjects, whether light or serious, when we wrote together, it would now be difficult, almost impossible, to recollect, which thoughts originally were his, and which were mine. All passages, in which there are Latin quotations or classical allusions, must be his exclusively, because I am entirely ignorant

do with all our systems, you pull down with a single touch, but who will build up what you pull down?" I asked if he was grateful for all the kindness shown to him? 'No, he was ungrateful; he had a thousand bad qualities, but I turned my attention from them to his genius, and the good he had done mankind."

We quote now from the reviewer :

"The grand event of her-of every woman'slife came to pass at this period. On quitting Paris in March, 1803, she could say, for the first time, 'Ich habe gelebt und geliebet' (I have

"Here, my dear aunt, I was interrupted in a manner that will surprise you as much as it surprised me, by the coming in of Monsieur Edelcrantz, a Swedish gentleman, whom we have mentioned to you, of superior understanding and mild manners; he came to offer me his hand and heart!

"My heart, you may suppose, cannot return his attachment, for I have seen but very little of him, and have not had time to have formed any judgment, except that I think nothing could tempt me to leave my own dear friends and my own country to live in Sweden. "In a letter to her cousin on the eighth of December, 1802 (the proposal was on the first), after explaining that M. Edelcrantz was bound to Sweden by ties of duty as strong as those which bound her to Edgeworth-Town, she writes: "This is all very reasonable, but reasonable for him only, not for me; and I have never felt anything for him but esteem and gratitude.' Commenting on this passage, Mrs. Edgeworth says:

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Maria was mistaken as to her own feelings. She refused M. Edelcrantz, but she felt much more for him than esteem and admiration; she was extremely in love with him. Mr. Edgeworth left her to decide for herself; but she saw too plainly what it would be to us to lose her, and what she would feel at parting from us. She decided rightly for her own future happiness and for that of her family, but she suffered much at the time and long afterwards. While we were at Paris, I remember that in a shop where Charlotte and I were making some purchases, Maria sat apart absorbed in thought, and so deep in reverie, that when her father came in and stood opposite to her she did not see him till he spoke to her, when she started and burst into tears. I do not think she repented of her refusel, or regretted her decision; she was well aware that she could not have made him happy, that she would not have suited his position at the Conrt of Stockholm, and that her want of beauty might have diminished his attachment. It was better perhaps that she should think so, as it calmed her mind, but from what I saw of M. Edelcranz, I think he was a man capable of really valuing her. I believe that he was much attached to her, and deeply mortified at her refusal. He continued to reside in Sweden after the abdication of his master, and was always distinguished for his high character and great abilities. He never married. He was, except very fine eyes, remarkably plain.'

"This is an interesting and instructive episode. It lets in a flood of light upon those passages of her writings which inculcate the stern control of the feelings, the never-ceasing vigilance with which prudence and duty are to stand sentinel over the heart. So, then, she had actually undergone the hard trials she imposes and describes. They best can paint them

d'Aubray, with 'ideas' of self-sacrifice admirably adapted for others' uses, but disagreeably unfitted for her own; and before setting down her preceipts of self-command under temptation, she had tested them. Caroline Percy (in Patronage') controlling her love for Count Altenberg, is Maria Edgeworth subduing her love for the Chevalier Edelcranz."

They left Paris in 1803; and the same year she published "Popular Tales," and in 1809 "Tales of Fashionable Life." Patronage," published in 1813, is the longest of her stories: Its origin is thus described :

'Among others, written many years ago, was one called 'the History of the Freeman Family.' In 1787, my father, to amuse Mrs. Elizabeth Edgworth, when she was recovering after the birth of one of my brothers, related to us every evening, when we assembled in her room, part of this story, which I believe he invented as he went on. It was found so interesting by his audience, that they regretted much that it should not be preserved, and I in consequence began to write it from memory. The plan, founded on the story of two families, one making their way in the world by independent efforts, the other by mean acts, and by courting the great, was long afterwards the groundwork of Patronage.'

In 1813 the family went to London. They were people of good birth and fortune, and Maria was a favourite in society. A long letter from her gives an account of her visit. It is full of details of celebrated people. Mrs. Edgeworth says:

"One day, coming too late to dinner at Mr. Horner's, we found Dr. Parr very angry at our having delayed and then interrupted dinner; but he ended by giving Maria his blessing. * * * We unfortunately missed seeing Madame d'Arblay, and we left London before the arrival of Madame de Staël."

This story falls in with a story printed in Moore's Diary :

"Iu talking of getting into awkward scrapes at dinner tables, Lady Dunmore mentioned a circumstance of the kind in which Rogers was concerned. It was at the time when Madame de Staël was expected in London, and somebody at table (there being a large party) asked when she was likely to arrive. 'Not till Miss Edgworth is gone,' replied Rogers; Madame de Staël would not like two stars shining at the same time.' The words were hardly out of his mouth, when he saw a gentleman rise at the other end of the table and say in a solemn tone: 'Madame la Baronne de Stael est incapable d'une telle bassesse.' It was Auguste de Stael, her son, whom Rogers had never before

CHRISTMAS MORNING.]

BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.

It was Christmas morning at our house, and at everybody's, for that matter, and of course Uncle Theodore, or Uncle Ted, as we called him oftenest, was cross-he always was in the morning; we expected that just as much as we did the sun's rising.

There was a good deal of excuse for him, though, for he was dyspeptic and was subject to twinges of gout and touches of neuralgia; and anyone of those infirmities, mamma sips, would make a sinner, for the time being, out of the temper of a saint.

I don't know thas anybody really likes Uncle Ted the less for being cross, any more than we like a fine, clear October day less for the white frost that glitters, and the sharp, bracing air that chills through its early morning.

Uncle Ted is an invalid, and we set down his peevishness to that; and after breakfast is over, and he is comfortably settled in his arm-chair with his newspapers and his beloved books about him, this dear, fretful, splenetic Uncle Ted grows bland as the day does, shaking off the white frosts from the grass with its sparkling light, and striking out the chill from the air with its warm, mellow beams.

Uncle Ted is a handsome man, too; dark and sallow, and a little wrinkled with illness rather than with years, as he is a good deal this side of fifty, and I searched the other day a quarter of an hour among his thick, dark locks for a grey hair, and I never found one.

We live with Uncle Ted-mamma, sister Adelaide and I, or he lives with us. He was papa's younger brother, and I have heard Mamma say he was the indulged, spoiled pet and idol of the family.

When grandpa' lost his property, and had all that trouble, which broke his heart and shortened his days, Uncle Theodore went to the West Indies and made a fortune there; but he paid a dreadful price for it, for the long years in that hot climate chafed his spirits and broke the vigour of his constitution.

But the peevishness is on the surface; the warm, generous heart throbs below all that, and in his happy moods, with his stories and his playfulness that flashes a perpetual glimmer of light among them, and will hold you enchanted all-day like the fairy tales, or dear old thumbstained "Robinson Crusoe," in his happy moods, as I said, I do believe Uncle Ted is the most wonderful and delightful man in the whole world.

But it was Christmas morning, and I knew Uncle Ted well enough to know that it would

"go across his grain" to say one word about the presents I'd found in my stocking and spread out on the table by my bedside.

'Tut, tut!" he'd say. "Don't let's have auy fuss over those gimcracks," though he went into town with mamma and Adelaide in the damp, biting December air only the afternoon before to select the gifts himself.

When the time came I might chatter like a magpie over each, but now it would not be a particle of use. We all understood Ted and humoured him. There was to be a wedding opposite, that Christmas day-a very grand affair, you see; for the people were very grand indeed who lived there. Such preparations had been going on days before! Such a constant ringing of bells, and running to and fro, and delivering of bundles. The servants, even down to the errand-boy, had a solemn, mysterious air and look every time they showed themselves out of the doors and windows.

It was a clear, bright winter's morning. It seemed to me somehow that the very sunshine felt that it was Christmas, and sparkled for joy a little brighter than ever. We stood at the front sitting-room windows, Uncle Ted and I, watching the people hurry past, and everybody had a bright look like the morning, as though there were presents at home, and it was Christ

mas.

But across there, at the great brown house, the bells kept up an incessant peal. A thought suddenly shot among mine-I don't know how it came there, but with it I turned and faced Uncle Ted, and two or three minutes afterwards he too turned from the window and caught me looking at him

“Well, Kathie, what has put that little grave face on you, child? Are you thinking about me?"

"I'd rather not tell, if you please, Uncle

Ted."

But I want to know, and I must, therefore tell me, little girl."

There was no use having any more words about it; so I made a clean breast of my thoughts. I was just thinking, Uncle Ted, that I wondered whether you would not have been a happier and a pleasanter man if you'd got married too! Then, you see, you'd have a wife that was all your own to love, and boys and girls about you, to tease, and trouble, and bother you all day; and yet it seems to me that it would have been a great deal better than being just as you are now, though of course I don't know."

He looked at me a moment with a curious kind of a smile about his lips, and something half-sad in his eyes, I thought. "Little Queen Mab," he said, in a minute, "that Is a spear's thrust at me that no man or woman in the world