Maria Edgeworth—tiny and witty as Shakespeare’s Maria—was born on the 1st of January, 1767, at the home of her mother’s parents, Black Bourton, “between the towns of Farringdon, Berks, and Burford, Oxon.” She was the daughter of Richard Lovell Edgeworth and Anna Maria Elers; her father came of an English family which had settled in Ireland in Queen Elizabeth’s time. Her mother died in 1773, when Maria was but six years old; and in the same year Richard Edgeworth married Honora Sneyd. Maria had passed her early years partly at Black Bourton and partly at Hare Hatch, between Reading and Maidenhead, Berkshire, where her parents lived. On Mr. Edgeworth’s second marriage she accompanied him and his wife to Edgeworthstown, the Irish estate which had fallen to him on the death of his father a few years before. In 1775 Maria was sent to the boarding-school of a Mrs. Latiffiere, at Derby. In 1780 Mrs. Honora Edgeworth, the beautiful stepmother to whom the affectionate child was much attached, died of consumption. About this time Maria was taken from the Derby school and sent to finish her education in London. Less than eight months after the death of his second wife, the elastic-spirited Mr. Edgeworth married her sister Elizabeth.

In 1781 Maria was threatened with the loss of her eyesight; this misfortune was averted by care, after much suffering. In 1782 she left school for Edgeworthstown, which was her home from this time until her death. She occupied herself in study, writing, assisting her father in the business of the estate, and teaching the younger children. (Her father “had, in all, twenty-two children born to him; several died in infancy.”)

In 1797 Mrs. Elizabeth Edgeworth died, and in the following year the perennial Benedick was married to Frances Anne Beaufort. In 1802 Maria went abroad with a family party, and while in Paris received an offer of marriage from M. Edelcrantz, a Swede, which she refused.

In 1813 the Edgeworths visited London, where Maria made the acquaintance of many of the well-known writers of the day. In 1817 Mr. Edgeworth died. His loss was very deeply felt by his devoted eldest daughter, and for a time she was unable to write without his wonted encouragement.

Little remains to chronicle except Maria’s occasional visits to England, and her stay at Abbotsford in 1823. In 1825 Sir Walter Scott was her guest at Edgeworthstown. They travelled in company to the Lakes of Killarney, and parted in Dublin.

Maria Edgeworth died, very suddenly and painlessly, on May 22, 1849. She had driven out, in her usual health, a few hours before.

Miss Edgeworth’s devotion to her father was beautiful indeed, but the complete subordination of her genius to his guidance is to be regretted. We must, however, be too grateful for the brightness of this genuine jewel to quarrel with its over-heavy setting.

The following are her works:

She was born on the 1st of January, 1767, “a God-given New-Year’s gift” (as, in a letter to Mrs. Hall, she calls herself), to her almost boy-father: for, although she was his second-born, he was barely twenty-two years old when she was placed in his arms. Ultimately she was one of twenty-two children born to Richard Lovell Edgeworth by four wives.

S. C. Hall: ‘Retrospect of a Long Life.’ New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1883.

Maria, being very young, remembered little of this visit [to Ireland in 1773, after her mother’s death and her father’s marriage to Honora Sneyd], “except that she was a mischievous child, amusing herself once at her Aunt Fox’s, when the company were unmindful of her, cutting out the squares in a checked sofa-cover, and one day trampling through a number of hot-bed frames that had just been glazed, laid on the grass before the door at Edgeworthstown. She recollected her delight at the crashing of the glass, but, immorally, did not remember either cutting her feet, or how she was punished for this performance.”

Grace A. Oliver: ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’ Boston: A. Williams & Co., 1882.

She was duly tortured on back-boards, pinioned in iron collars, made to use dumb-bells, and some rather stringent measures were taken to draw out her muscles and increase her stature. In vain; by nature she was a small woman, and small she remained. She also learnt to dance with grace in the days when dancing was something more dignified than a tearing romp, but music she failed in utterly. She had no taste for this art, and her music master, with a wisdom unhappily too rare, advised her to abandon the attempt to learn. She had been so well grounded in French and Italian, that when she came to do the exercises set her, she found them so easy that she wrote out at once those intended for the whole quarter, keeping them strung together in her desk, and unstringing them as required. The spare time thus secured, was employed in reading for her own pleasure. Her favorite seat during play-time was under a cabinet, which stood in the school-room, and here she often remained so absorbed in her book as to be deaf to all uproar. This early habit of concentrated attention was to stand her in good stead through life.

Helen Zimmern: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’ (Famous Women Series.) Boston: Roberts Bros., 1883.

I beg that you will send me a little tale, about the length of a ‘Spectator,’ upon the subject of Generosity; it must be taken from history or romance, and must be sent the sennight after you receive this; and I beg you will take some pains about it.

Letter from Richard Lovell Edgeworth in 1780.... This was Maria’s first story, and unfortunately it was not preserved. She used to say “there was in it a sentence of inextricable confusion between a saddle, a man, and his horse.”

She was remembered by her companions at both schools [Mrs. Latiffiere’s, at Derby, and Mrs. Davis’s, Upper Wimpole Street, London], for her entertaining stories; and she learned to know what tale was most successful with her hearers, by the wakefulness it caused. These stories were told at bed-time. Many of her narrations were taken from her memory—she devoured books while her friends played—but very many were original. The spirit of the raconteur was strong, and she had early the fertile brain of the true novelist.

Mr. Edgeworth was essentially a utilitarian. He was a practical illustration of Bentham’s theories. When he wrote the letter to his daughter, by Mrs. Honora Edgeworth’s death-bed, the stress he lays upon usefulness will easily be observed. [“Continue, my dear daughter, the desire which you feel of becoming amiable, prudent, and of use.”] He was a busy man himself, full of projects and plans. He impressed these views on the developing mind of Maria. Mme. de Staël was reported long after to have said Maria was “lost in sad utility”; and the question naturally comes to the mind, when we see the irrepressible imagination of the young girl, just what her life would have been without her father’s peculiar influence.... He checked that superabundance of sentiment which would have endangered her clearness of mind; he kept her stimulated and encouraged to write, by his advice, criticism, and approbation; but it is to be feared that he clipped the wings of fancy, and harnessed Pegasus once again, as the rustics did in an ancient myth. When she failed in her novels to inspire her characters with romantic interest, it was because the paramount influence of her father asserted itself. She was certainly gifted with genius of a high order; but her nature was most affectionate, and long habits of respect and devotion to her father made it absolutely impossible for her to free herself from his views. She was always the dutiful daughter—quite as much so to the last as at the time he wrote her of his desire for the tale on “Generosity.”

Grace A. Oliver: ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

“Nobody can know what I owe to my father: he advised and directed me in everything; I never could have done any thing without him. These are things I cannot be mistaken about, though other people can—I know them.” As she said this the tears stood in her eyes, and her whole person was moved.

George Ticknor: ‘Life, Letters and Journals.’ Boston: James R. Osgood & Co., 1876.

I am perfectly well inclined to agree with you in laying the tiresome parts of her work to her prosing father, who is, Mr. Moore tells me, such a nuisance in society, that in Ireland the person who is doomed to sit next him at dinner is condoled with, just as if he had met with an overturn, or a fall from his horse, or any other deplorable casualty.

Mary Russell Mitford: Letter to Sir Wm. Elford, in L’Estrange’s ‘Life of Mary Russell Mitford.’ London: Richard Bentley, 1870.

In 1782 Maria was taken from school, and accompanied her parents and younger brothers and sisters to Edgeworthstown. Her first visit to Ireland was made at an exceedingly early age. This was practically her real introduction to the scenes of her future life, the home of her fathers. She was at the age when one is apt to notice new objects and people with keen interest; and her new mode of life among the Irish quickened all her thoughts, and roused her eager and animated nature. She was very much struck by the many and extraordinary sights she saw—the remarkable difference between the Irish and English character. The wit, the melancholy, and gayety of the Irish were all so new and strange to the young girl, accustomed to the stolid and unvarying manners of the English servants, and the reserve and silence of the upper classes, that the penetrating genius and powers of observation of the future novelist and delineator of Irish character were vividly impressed with her new surroundings.

Grace A. Oliver: ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

Some men live with their families without letting them know their affairs, and, however great may be their affection and esteem for their wives and children, think that they have nothing to do with business. This was not my father’s way of thinking. On the contrary, not only his wife, but his children, knew all his affairs. Whatever business he had to do was done in the midst of his family, usually in the common sitting-room: so that we were intimately acquainted, not only with his general principles of conduct, but with the 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.

Maria Edgeworth: ‘Memoirs of Richard Lovell Edgeworth.’ Boston: Wells & Lilly, 1821.

I flatter myself that you will find me gratefully exact en belle-fille.... You need not, my dear Miss Beaufort, fence yourself round with stony palings in this family, where all have been early accustomed to mind their boundaries. 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. [She alludes to her small stature.]

Maria Edgeworth: Letter to Miss Beaufort, quoted in ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

I had, on entering, no eyes for any one but her. I had persuaded myself that the author of the work on education, and of other productions, useful as well as ornamental, would betray herself by a remarkable exterior. I was mistaken. A small figure, eyes nearly always lowered, a profoundly modest and reserved air, little expression in the features when not speaking: such was the result of my first survey. But when she spoke, which was much too rarely for my taste, nothing could have been better thought, and nothing better said, though always timidly expressed, than that which fell from her mouth.

Marc Auguste Pictet: ‘Voyage de Trois Mois en Angleterre,’ translated by Grace A. Oliver in ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

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 M. 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 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.

Maria Edgeworth: Letter to Mrs. Ruxton, quoted in ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

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 exceedingly 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 suffered much at the time, and long afterwards.... ‘Leonora,’ which she began immediately after our return home, was written with the hope of pleasing the Chevalier Edelcrantz: it was written in a style he liked; and the idea of what he would think of it was, I believe, present to her in every page she wrote. She never heard that he had even read it.... I do not think she ever repented of her refusal 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 court 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. Edelcrantz, I think he was a man capable of deeply valuing her.... He never married. He was, except very fine eyes, remarkably plain. Her father rallied Maria about her preference of so ugly a man; but she liked the expression of his countenance, the spirit and strength of his character, and his very able conversation. The unexpected mention of his name, or even that of Sweden, in a book or newspaper, always moved her so much that the words and lines in the page became a mass of confusion before her eyes, and her voice lost all power.

Mrs. Edgeworth: ‘Memoir,’ quoted in ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

The Edgeworths ... are staying in London, and the daughter gains the good-will of every one; not so the father. They dined at Sotheby’s. After dinner Mr. Edgeworth was sitting next Mrs. Siddons, Sam Rogers being on the other side of her. “Madam,” said he, “I think I saw you perform ‘Millamont’ thirty-five years ago.”—“Pardon me, sir.”—“Oh! then it was forty years ago: I distinctly recollect it.”—“You will excuse me, sir, I never played ‘Millamont.’”—“Oh, yes! madam, I recollect.”—“I think,” she said, turning to Mr. Rogers, “it is time for me to change my place;” and she rose with her own peculiar dignity.

Henry Crabb Robinson: ‘Diary and Correspondence,’ edited by T. Sadler. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co., 1871.

In 1813 I recollect to have met them in the fashionable world of London.... I thought Edgeworth a fine old fellow, of a clarety, elderly, red complexion, but active, brisk, and endless. He was seventy, but did not look fifty,—no, nor forty-eight even.... Edgeworth bounced about and talked loud and long; ... he seemed neither weakly nor decrepit, and hardly old.

He began by telling “that he had given Dr. Parr a dressing, who had taken him for an Irish bog-trotter,” etc. Now I, who know Dr. Parr, and who know ... that it is not so easy a matter to dress him, thought Mr. Edgeworth an asserter of what was not true. He could not have stood before Parr an instant. For the rest, he seemed intelligent, vehement, vivacious and full of life. He bids fair for a hundred years.

He was not much admired in London; and I remember a “ryght merrie” and conceited jest which was rife among the gallants of the day; viz., a paper had been presented for the recall of Mrs. Siddons to the stage. Whereupon Thomas Moore, of profane and poetical memory, did propose ... a similar paper ... for the recall of Mr. Edgeworth to Ireland.

[Moore, in a foot-note, disclaims the authorship of the jest.]

The fact was, everybody cared more about her. She was a nice, little, unassuming “Jeanie Deans looking body,” as we Scotch say, and if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. Her conversation was as quiet as herself. One would never have guessed that she could write her name; whereas her father talked, not as if he could write nothing else, but as if nothing else was worth writing.

As for Mrs. Edgeworth, I forget, except that I think she was the youngest of the party. Altogether, they were an excellent cage of the kind, and succeeded for two months, till the landing of Mme. de Staël.

Lord Byron: Diary, 1821, in ‘Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, with Notices of His Life,’ edited by Thomas Moore. New York: Harper & Bros., 1868.

Her face was pale and thin, her features irregular: they may have been considered plain, even in youth; but her expression was so benevolent, her manners were so perfectly well-bred, partaking of English dignity and Irish frankness, that one never thought of her with reference either to beauty or plainness. She ever occupied, without claiming, attention, charming continually by her singularly pleasant voice; while the earnestness and truth that beamed from her bright blue—very blue—eyes increased the value of every word she uttered.... She was ever neat and particular in her dress; her feet and hands were so delicate and small as to be almost childlike.

Mrs. S. C. Hall: ‘Book of Memories.’ London: Virtue & Co., 1871.

Her personal appearance was that of a woman plain of dress, sedate in manners, and remarkably small of person. She told us an anecdote on that head. Travelling in a mail-coach, there was a little boy, also a passenger, who, wanting to take something from the seat, asked her if she would be so kind as to stand up. “Why, I am standing up,” she answered. The lad looked at her with astonishment, and then, realizing the verity of her declaration, broke out with: “Well, you are the very littlest lady I ever did see!”

S. C. Hall: ‘Retrospect of a Long Life.’

Miss Edgeworth’s personal appearance was not attractive; but her vivacity, good humor, and cleverness in conversation quite equalled my expectations. I should say she was more sprightly and brilliant than refined. She excelled in the raciness of Irish humor, but the great defect of her manner, as it seemed to me, was an excess of compliment, or what in Ireland is called “blarney”; and in one who had moved in the best circles, both as to manners and mind, it surprised me not a little.

Mrs. Fletcher: ‘Autobiography.’ Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1876.

We saw, you will readily suppose, a great deal of Miss Edgeworth, and two very nice girls, her younger sisters. It is scarcely possible to say more of this very remarkable person than that she not only completely answered, but exceeded, the expectations which I had formed. I am particularly pleased with the naïveté and good-humored ardor of mind which she unites with such formidable powers of acute observation. In external appearance she is quite the fairy of our nursery-tale,—the Whippity Stourie, if you remember such a sprite, who came flying through the window to work all sorts of marvels. I will never believe but what she has a wand in her pocket, and pulls it out to conjure a little before she begins to draw those very striking pictures of manners.

Sir Walter Scott: Letter to Joanna Baillie, 1823, in the former’s ‘Memoirs,’ by J. G. Lockhart. Edinburgh: Adam and Charles Black, 1871.

Miss Edgeworth was delightful, so clever and sensible. She does not say witty things, but there is such a perfume of wit runs through all her conversation as makes it very brilliant.

Sidney Smith: Quoted in ‘Memoir,’ by his daughter, Lady Holland. London: Longmans, Green & Co.

We could but liken her to the benevolent fairy from whose lips were perpetually dropping diamonds; there was so much of kindly wisdom in every sentence she uttered.

S. C. Hall: ‘Retrospect of a Long Life.’

In the evening Miss Edgeworth delightful—not from display, but from repose and unaffectedness—the least pretending person of the company.

Thomas Moore: Extract from Diary, 1818.

Miss Edgeworth, with all her cleverness, is anything but agreeable. The moment any one begins to speak, off she starts too, seldom more than a sentence behind them, and in general continues to distance every speaker. Neither does what she says, though of course very sensible, at all make up for this over-activity of tongue.

Thomas Moore: Extract from Diary, 1831, in ‘Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence,’ edited by Lord John Russell. London: Longman, Brown, Green & Longmans, 1854.

In conversation we found her delightful. She was full of anecdotes about remarkable people, and often spoke from her personal knowledge of them. Her memory, too, was stored with valuable information; and her manner of narrating was so animated that it was difficult to realize her age. In telling an anecdote of Mirabeau, she stepped out before us, and, extending her arms, spoke a sentence of his in the impassioned manner of a French orator, and did it so admirably that it was quite thrilling.

Eliza Farrar: ‘Recollections of Seventy Years.’ Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1866.

There was a life and spirit about her conversation, she threw herself into it with such abandon, she retorted with such brilliant repartee, and, in short, she talked with such extraordinary flow of natural talent, that I don’t know whether anything of the kind could be finer.

George Ticknor: ‘Life, Letters and Journals.’

There was a charm in all she looked and said and did. Incessant and yet genial activity was a marked feature of her nature. She seemed to be as nearly ubiquitous as a human creature can be, and always busy; not only as a teacher of her younger brothers and sisters (she was nearly fifty years older than one of them), but as the director and controller of the household.

S. C. Hall: ‘Retrospect of a Long Life.’

I have not the pen of our friend Miss Edgeworth, who writes all the while she laughs, talks, eats and drinks, and I believe, though I do not pretend to be so far in the secret, all the time she sleeps, too. She has good luck in having a pen which walks at once so unweariedly and so well.

Sir Walter Scott: Letter to Joanne Baillie, in the former’s ‘Memoirs,’ by J. G. Lockhart.

What do you think is my employment out of doors, and what it has been this week past? My garden? No such elegant thing: but making a gutter, a sewer, and a pathway, in the street of Edgeworthstown; and I do declare I am as much interested about it as I ever was in writing anything in my life. We have never here yet found it necessary to have recourse to public contributions for the poor; but it is necessary to give some assistance to the laboring class, and I find that making the said gutter and pathway will employ twenty men for three weeks.

Maria Edgeworth: Letter, quoted in ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

Edgeworthstown was, and is, a large country mansion, to which additions have been from time to time made, but made judiciously. An avenue of venerable trees leads to it from the public road. It is distant about seven miles from the town of Longford. The only room I need specially refer to is the library: it belonged more peculiarly to Maria, although the general sitting-room of the family. It was the room in which she did nearly all her work; not only that which was to gratify and instruct the world, but that which, in a measure, regulated the household. It is by no means a stately, solitary room, but large, spacious, and lofty, well stored with books, and furnished with suggestive engravings. Seen through the window is the lawn, embellished by groups of trees. If you look at the oblong table in the centre, you will see the rallying-point of the family, who are usually around it, reading, writing, or working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious that the inmates of the house shall each do exactly as he or she pleases, sits in her own peculiar corner on the sofa: a pen given her by Sir Walter Scott while a guest at Edgeworthstown (in 1825) is placed before her on a little, quaint, unassuming table, constructed, and added to, for convenience.

Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall: ‘Book of Memories.’

For a long time Miss Edgeworth used a little desk in this room, on which, two years before her father’s death, he inscribed the following words:

“On this humble desk were written all the numerous works of my daughter, Maria Edgeworth, in the common sitting-room of my family. In these works, which were chiefly written to please me, she has never attacked the personal character of any human being, or interfered with the opinions of any sect or party, religious or political; while endeavoring to inform and instruct others, she improved and amused her own mind and gratified her heart, which I do believe, is better than her head.

“R. L. E.”

After Mr. Edgeworth’s death she used a writing-desk which had belonged to him; and it was placed on a table of his construction, to which she added a bracket for her candlestick, and other little conveniences.

Grace A. Oliver: ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’

The house and many of its arrangements—the bells, the doors, etc.—bear witness to that love of mechanical trifling of which Mr. Edgeworth was so often accused. It was only this morning that I fully learnt how to open, shut, and lock our chamber-door; and the dressing-glass, at which I have shaved for three mornings, is somewhat of a mystery to me still.

George Ticknor: ‘Life, Letters and Journals.’

When shown to our bedroom, we found such an extraordinary lock on the door that we dared not shut it for fear of not being able to open it again. We were shown other contrivances of the former owner, such as a door in the entrance hall (through which the servants were continually passing), the motion of which wound up a clock, the face being over the sideboard, in the dining-room. Several doors in the house were made double, in a way that I could not see the use of. Two doors were fastened together at the hinge side, making a right angle with each other, so that in opening one door you shut the other, and had to open that before you could enter, and when that opened the one behind you shut. Miss Edgeworth said it was for safety in times of danger. She always mentioned her father with great respect, and even reverence, in her manner; but nothing that I saw or heard there raised my opinion of him.

Eliza Farrar: ‘Recollections of Seventy Years.’

She had a singular power of abstraction; apparently hearing all that was said, and occasionally taking part in the conversation, while pursuing her own occupation, and seemingly attending only to it. Now and then she would rise and leave the room, perhaps to procure a toy for one of the children, to mount the ladder and bring down a book that could explain or illustrate some topic on which some one was conversing: immediately she would resume her pen, and continue to write as if the thought had been unbroken for an instant.

Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall: ‘Book of Memories.’

It was her custom to get up at seven, take a cup of coffee, read her letters, and then walk out about three quarters of an hour before breakfast. So punctual and regular was she that for many years a lady residing in the village used to be roused by her maid with the words, “Miss Edgeworth’s walking, ma’am; it’s eight o’clock.” She generally returned with her hands full of roses or other flowers that she had gathered, and taking her needle-work or knitting, would sit down at the family breakfast, a meal that was a special favorite of hers, though she rarely partook of anything. But while the others were eating she delighted to read out to them such extracts from the letters she had received as she thought would please them. She listened, too, while the newspaper was read aloud, although its literary and scientific contents always attracted her more than its political; for in politics, except Irish, she took little interest.

Helen Zimmern: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’

After breakfast she sat down to write, and worked till luncheon-time; and after that meal occupied herself with some needle-work, as experience taught her that writing immediately after eating was bad for her. At times her anxiety about a certain piece of work, an interesting dialogue, or some half-finished character or scene, made her very unwilling to defer her writing; but this was her rule. A drive in the afternoon, in later years, was a pleasant relaxation: in early life she rode with her father, but natural timidity about horses made her a poor horsewoman. The rest of the day was passed much as other ladies pass their time. She dined, took tea with the family, and passed the evening in conversation, or listening to reading.... Maria was always busy with a little piece of work with which she occupied herself during hours of leisure from writing, or while she listened to reading aloud. These busy fingers wrought many a piece of embroidery or fine needle-work, while the brain wove the web of fancies bright or serious; many a scene of lively dialogue, clever character-painting, or pathetic description, passed into the clear words in which it later appeared on the pages of tale or novel, while the hand was rapidly moving in some womanly bit of needle-work.

At last we approached the house. It is spacious, with an ample veranda and conservatory covering part of its front quite beautifully, and situated in a fine lawn of the richest green, interspersed with clumps of venerable oaks and beeches. As we drove to the door, Miss Edgeworth came out to meet us,—a small, short, spare lady of about sixty-seven, with extremely frank and kind manners, and who always looks straight into your face with a pair of mild, deep gray eyes, whenever she speaks to you.

George Ticknor: ‘Life, Letters, and Journals.’

Miss Edgeworth ... carried herself very upright, with a dapper figure and quick movements. She was the remains of a blonde, with light eyes and hair; she was now gray, but wore a dark frisette, whilst the gray hair showed through her cap behind. She was so plain that she was never willing to sit for her portrait, and that is the reason why the public has never been made acquainted with her personal appearance.

Eliza Farrar: ‘Recollections of Seventy Years.’

Her person is small and delicately proportioned, and her movements full of animation. She has an aversion to having her likeness taken, which no entreaties of her friends have been able to overcome. In one of her notes she says, “I have always refused even my own family to sit for my portrait, and with my own good-will, shall never have it painted; as I do not think it would give either my friends or the public any representation or expression of my mind, such as I trust may be more truly found in my writings.”

Mrs. L. H. Sigourney: ‘Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.’ Boston: James Munroe & Co., 1844.

We went to church with the family, who all seemed Episcopalians in principle and practice. Miss Edgeworth carried her favorite prayer-book in a nice case, and knelt and made all the responses very devoutly. The church is small, but neat; and their pew is the place of honor in it, with a canopy and recess as large as any two other pews.... The Edgeworths have always been on the most kindly terms with their Catholic neighbors and tenantry.

George Ticknor: ‘Life, Letters and Journals.’

I attended with much interest to the conversation of this remarkable woman. She was little and possessed of no personal attractions; it was evident that the usual feminine objects had never interfered with her masculine understanding. Her conversation was chiefly remarkable for its acuteness, good sense and practical sagacity. She had little imagination and scarcely any enthusiasm. Solid sense, practical acquirement—the qualities which will lead to success in the world—were her great endowments, and they appeared at every turn in her conversation, as they do in her writings. This disposition of mind kept her free from the usual littlenesses of authors and raised her far above the ordinary vanity of woman. She was simple and unaffected in her manners, entirely free from conceit or effort in her conversation, and kindly and benevolent in her judgment of others, as well as in her views of life and in her intercourse with all around her. But she had neither a profound knowledge of human nature nor the elevated mental qualities which give a lasting ascendency over mankind.

Sir Archibald Alison: ‘Some Account of My Life and Writings: an Autobiography.’ Wm. Blackwood & Sons: Edinburgh and London, 1883.

She is full of fun and spirit; very good-humored, full of enthusiasm.

Sir Walter Scott: Letter to D. Terry, in the former’s ‘Memoirs,’ by J. G. Lockhart.

Maria Edgeworth came frequently to see us when she was in England. She was one of my most intimate friends, warm-hearted and kind, a charming companion, with all the liveliness and originality of an Irishwoman. The cleverness and animation, as well as affection, of her letters, I cannot express.

Mary Somerville: ‘Personal Recollections, from Early Life to Old Age.’ Boston: Roberts Bros., 1874.

Miss Edgeworth never needed to follow authorship as a profession; its pecuniary results were of no moment to her, and hence she was spared all the bitterness and incidental anxieties of an author’s life, the working when the brain should rest, the imperative need to go on, no matter whether there be aught to say or not. Her path, in this respect, as in all others, traversed the high roads of life. Fame at once succeeded effort; the heart-sickness of hope deferred was never hers; she was therefore neither soured nor embittered by feeling within herself powers which the world was unwilling or slow to acknowledge.

Helen Zimmern: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’

Whenever I thought of writing anything I always told my father 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.” The 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 painting—none of your drapery! I can imagine all that. Let me see the bare skeleton!” It seemed to me sometimes impossible that he could understand the very light sketch I made; when, before I was conscious that I had expressed this doubt in my countenance, he always saw it. “Now, my dear little daughter, I know, does not believe that I understand her.” Then he would in his own words fill up my sketch, paint the description, or represent the character intended, with such life, that I was quite convinced he not only seized the ideas, but that he saw with the prophetic eye of taste, the utmost that could be made of them.

Helen Zimmern: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’

‘Helen,’ written long after his death, would serve to reveal something of the effect which Mr. Edgeworth had on his daughter’s writing. It shows a lighter hand, a greater ease in handling dialogue, and a more natural inconsistency in its characters, than she was allowed by her father.... The hand of Miss Edgeworth had not lost its cunning, but her natural timidity was so great that she could not work after her life-long support was removed. She had accustomed herself to lean upon what she considered her father’s superior knowledge of the world and literary judgment, until she was unfitted for independent literary work for a time.

Grace A. Oliver: ‘A Study of Maria Edgeworth.’