We are reading _Eugene Aram_; and almost all I have heard I think affected as to language, and not natural as to character. I am sure the real story and trial are much more interesting.
_Aug. 21_.
Perhaps you think I am at Lady Hartland"s at this moment, poor ignorants, as you are! You must know that I was so unwell on Friday, the morning of the day we were to have gone there, that my poor mother was obliged to send James in the rain (poor James!) to put off till Monday; so Lord and Lady Hartland were very sorry and very glad, and sent us divine peaches.
Sir James Calendar Campbell"s _Memoirs_ are ill-written--all higgledy-piggledy, facts and anecdotes, some without heads, and some without tails; great cry and little wool, still, some of the wool is good; and curious facts thrown out, of which he does not know the value, and other things he values that have no value in nature.
_To_ MISS RUXTON.
PAKENHAM HALL, _Sept. 19, 1832_.
We came here yesterday to meet Caroline Hamilton--dear Caroline Hamilton, and her sensible, agreeable husband. She is always the same, and the sight of her affectionate, open, lively countenance does one"s heart good. Lord Longford quite well, and Lord Longford for ever: the children beautiful.
FIVE P.M.
We have been walking and driving all morning, and seeing all that Lady Longford has done in beautifying the place and employing the people. I never saw, in England or Ireland, such beautiful gardens--the most beautiful American garden my eyes ever beheld. She took advantage of a group of superb old chestnut-trees, with oak and ash for a background, which had never been noticed in that _terra incognita_; now it is a fairy land, embowered round with evergreens.
To-morrow Hercules and Mrs. Pakenham come, with all their children--a party of thirteen!
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Oct. 9, 1832_.
I send you one dozen out of two dozen ranunculus roots, which good, kind, dying Lady Pakenham sent to me, with a note as fresh in feeling as youth could dictate.
_To_ MR. BANNATYNE.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 12, 1832_.
The death of Sir Walter Scott has filled us all, as his private friends and admirers, with sorrow. I do not mean that we could have wished the prolongation of his life such as it had been for the last months; quite the contrary: but we feel poignant anguish from the thought that such a life as his was prematurely shortened--that such faculties, such a genius, such as is granted but once in an age, once in many ages, should have been extinguished of its light, of its power to enlighten and vivify the world, long before its natural term for setting! Whatever the errors may have been, oh, what have been the unremitted, generous, alas!
overstrained exertions of that n.o.ble nature!
_To_ MISS RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 15, 1832_.
Thank you, I am quite well. My only _complaint_ is that I never can do any day as much as I intended, and am always as much hurried by the dressing-bell as I am at this instant.
Lord Longford and Lord Silchester called here to-day on their way back from Longford and Castle Forbes; they sat till late; very agreeable.
When I congratulated Lord Longford on having done so much at Pakenham Hall, and upon having still something to do, he answered, "Oh yes, I never was intended for a finished gentleman!"
_To_ MRS. R. BUTLER.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Dec. 28, 1832_.
I send Mr. Lockhart"s letter on the subscription for Abbotsford; it does him honour. I combated, however, his feelings with all the feelings and reasons I have on the opposite side--that it is a national tribute, honourable, not degrading. I refused to give him Scott"s letters for publication, and very painful it was to me to refuse him, at present, anything he asked; but principle and consistency, painful or not, required it, besides my own feelings. I could not bear to publish Sir Walter"s praises of myself, and affectionate expressions and private sentiments. I did send one letter to Mr. Lockhart, exemplifying what I mean--the beautiful letter on his changing fortunes. As to the subscription, all depends on whether the quant.i.ty of good produced will balance the pain to the family. It would gratify me to give the 100 I set apart for the purpose, but then comes the question, with or without my name? If with, there is staring me in the face OSTENTATION. If without--set down as from an "Unknown Friend"--AFFECTATION.
Crampton said my name would be useful, and so I suppose I should do what would best serve the cause, and put out of the question all consideration of what may be thought of myself.
Miss Edge worth"s novel of _Helen_, begun in 1830, was finished in the summer of 1833, and read for family criticism, before being sent to the press.
C.S. EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. C.S. EDGEWORTH.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 27, 1833_.
After breakfast yesterday I had a stroll with Mrs. Edgeworth through Maria"s flower-garden. I wish you could see her peony tree: it is in the very perfection of bloom, as indeed everything is here. After luncheon dinner, the pony-carriage came round, but was refused by all: however, as I was putting in execution my long-formed project of getting a ladder and making the ladies go up into the sycamore-tree with me, we drove that far. I fixed the ladder: I went up, and f.a.n.n.y, Harriet, and Honora, with a little hesitation, followed. They were all delighted with this airy parlour, lined with the softest, thickest moss; natural seats with backs, a delightful peep of the house, gay parterres and groves. It was amusing, Mrs. Edgeworth"s and Maria"s surprise when called to from above, as they pa.s.sed in the carriage. Then we drove round Francis"s new walk through the Horse Park fields: beautiful. Then the ladies flocked to their flower-beds, and I was accompanied by one or two in my rambles, speaking to old workmen, and bribing new to banish the sparrows. After tea much talking, and a little reading; Harriet read out a new story by Mr. Brittain, who wrote _Hyacinth O"Gara_, and whom I knew at college.
This morning was everything that was exquisite, and I have since breakfast had the gardener and heaps of workmen, and have been sawing beech-branches, to my great satisfaction and the approval of others; and in criticism I have found all agree with me, for _Helen_ is begun, and at eleven we meet in the library; and Harriet has read aloud four chapters. It is altogether in Maria"s best style; and I think the public will like it as hers, the return to an old friend.
_31st_.
I am sure you would like the cheerful fusion of this home party: each star is worthy of separate observation for its serenity, brilliancy, or magnitude; but it is as a constellation they claim most regard, linked together by strong attachment, and moving in harmony through their useful course. The herons sail about and multiply, the rookery is banished, the reign of tulips now almost o"er, and peonies of many bells are taking their place.
I am a stranger to any book but _Helen_, scarcely looking at the newspaper, which Mr. Butler devours. Harriet has gone in the pony-carriage for Molly, and she is to be driven by Francis"s walk and Maria"s garden.
_June 1_.
Aunt Mary"s [Footnote: Mrs. Mary Sneyd.] interest in _Helen_ is delightful. Never did the whole family appear to more advantage; the accordance of opinion, yet cheerfulness of discussion, is charming.
When the evening reading of _Helen_ was finished, Harriet and I walked round the lawn; the owls shrieking and flitting by in pursuit of bats: clouds in endless varieties in the unsettled heavens. The library, as we looked in at it through the windows, with all its walls and pictures lighted up by the lamps, looked beautiful. I thought how my father would have been touched to look in as we did on his a.s.sembled family.
MARIA _to_ M. PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH, ESQ.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN,
_Valentine"s Day, 1834_.
The herons this day (according to their custom as Sophy tells me) sat all in a row in the horse park in solemn deliberation upon their own affairs: the opening of their budget I suppose. They have much upon their hands this session, and there must be a battle soon, on which the fate of the empire must depend; magpies and scarecrows abound, and such clouds of starlings darkened the air for many minutes opposite the library window, settling at last upon the three great beech trees, that Sophy and I would have given a crown imperial you had been by, dear Pakenham, to see them.
You ended your Journal and the announcement of your appointment to Amballa with exulting in the new kingdoms of flowers you would have to subdue, and with the hope that your mother would write to Lady Pakenham for her delightful letter to her son. You will have heard long before this reaches you, my dear, that Lady Pakenham is no more; she died last autumn. I wish that this news could have reached that kind heart of hers. Honora and I went the very day we received your journal to Coolure, to thank Admiral Pakenham; he met us on the steps in a tapestry nightcap. He has grown very old, and has had several strokes of palsy, but none have touched his heart. When Honora read to him the whole pa.s.sage out of your journal and your own warm expressions of pleasure and grat.i.tude, life and joy lighted in his dear old eyes. Honora only changed the words, "dear Lady Pakenham" into the "dear Pakenhams of Coolure." He asked, "Who wrote?" and looked very earnestly in my eyes. I was afraid to say Lady Pakenham, and I answered, "You know," and pressed his hand. He did know, pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes and said, "Like her: she was a good woman."
_February 19_.