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and the South and the West； of Scott and Lockhart； of Pictet； of the
Ticknors； of the many visitants who had come up in turn； whether it is the
year 14； or the year 94； the hospitable doors open kindly to admit them。
There were the French windows reaching to the ground； through which
Maria used to pass on her way to gather her roses； there was the porch
where Walter Scott had stood； there grew the quaint old…fashioned bushes
with the great pink peonies in flower； by those railings which still divide
the park from the meadows beyond； there spread the branches of the
century…old trees。 Only last winter they told us the storms came and
swept away a grove of Beeches that were known in all the country round；
but how much of shade； of flower； still remain！ The noble Hawthorn of
stately growth； the pine…trees （there should be NAMES for trees； as there
are for rocks or ancient strongholds）。 Mr。 Edgeworth showed us the oak
from Jerusalem； the grove of cypress and sycamore where the beautiful
depths of ground ivy are floating upon the DEBRIS； and soften the
gnarled roots； while they flood the rising banks with green。
Mr。 and Mrs。 Edgeworth brought us into the house。 The ways go
upstairs and downstairs； by winding passages and side gates； a pretty
domed staircase starts from the central hall； where stands that old clock…
case which Maria wound up when she was over eighty years old。 To the
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right and to the left along the passages were rooms opening from one into
another。 I could imagine Sir Walter's kind eyes looking upon the scene；
and Wordsworth coming down the stairs； and their friendly entertainer
making all happy； and all welcome in turn； and their hostess； the widowed
Mrs。 Edgeworth； responding and sympathising with each。 We saw the
corner by the fire where Maria wrote； we saw her table with its pretty
curves standing in its place in the deep casements。 Miss Edgeworth's
own room is a tiny little room above looking out on the back garden。
This little closet opens from a larger one； and then by a narrow flight of
stairs leads to a suite of ground… floor chambers； following one from
another； lined with bookcases and looking on the gardens。 What a
strange fellow…feeling with the past it gave one to stand staring at the old
books； with their paper backs and old…fashioned covers； at the gray boards；
which were the liveries of literature in those early days； at the first editions；
with their inscriptions in the author's handwriting； or in Maria's pretty
caligraphy。 There was the PIRATE in its original volumes； and
Mackintosh's MEMOIRS； and Mrs。 Barbauld's ESSAYS； and Descartes's
ESSAYS； that Arthur Hallam liked to read； Hallam's CONSTITUTIONAL
HISTORY； and Rogers's POEMS； were there all inscribed and dedicated。
Not less interesting were the piles of Magazines that had been sent from
America。 I never knew before how many Magazines existed even those
early days； we took some down at hazard and read names； dates； and
initials。 。 。 。 Storied urn and monumental bust do not bring back the past as
do the books which belong to it。 Storied urns are in churches and stone
niches； far removed from the lives of which they speak； books seem a part
of our daily life； and are like the sound of a voice just outside the door。
Here they were； as they had been read by her； stored away by her hands；
and still safely preserved； bringing back the past with； as it were； a
cheerful encouraging greeting to the present。 Other relics there are of
course； but； as I say； none which touch one so vividly。 There is her silver
ink…stand； the little table her father left her on which she wrote （it had
belonged to his mother before him）。 There is also a curious trophya
table which was sent to her from Edinburgh； ornamented by promiscuous
views of Italy； curiously inappropriate to her genius； but not so the
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inscription； which is quoted from Sir Walter Scott's Preface to his
Collected Edition； and which may as well be quoted here： 'WITHOUT
BEING SO PRESUMPTUOUS AS TO HOPE TO EMULATE THE RICH
HUMOUR； THE PATHETIC TENDERNESS； AND ADMIRABLE
TRUTH WHICH PERVADE THE WORKS OF MY ACCOMPLISHED
FRIEND；' Sir Walter wrote； I FELT THAT SOMETHING MIGHT BE
ATTEMPTED FOR MY OWN COUNTRY OF THE SAME KIND AS
THAT WHICH MISS EDGEWORTH SO FORTUNATELY ACHIEVED
FOR IRELAND。'
In the MEMOIRS of Miss Edgeworth there is a pretty account of her
sudden burst of feeling when this passage so unexpected； and so deeply
felt by her； was read out by one of her sisters； at a time when Maria lay
weak and recovering from illness in Edgeworthstown。
Our host took us that day； among other pleasant things； for a
marvellous and delightful flight on a jaunting car； to see something of the
country。 We sped through storms and sunshine； by open moors and fields；
and then by villages and little churches； by farms where the pigs were
standing at the doors to be fed； by pretty trim cottages。 The lights came
and went； as the mist lifted we could see the exquisite colours； the green；
the dazzling sweet lights on the meadows； playing upon the meadow…
sweet and elder bushes； at last we came to the lovely glades of Carriglass。
It seemed to me that we had reached an enchanted forest amid this green
sweet tangle of ivy； of flowering summer trees； of immemorial oaks and
sycamores。
A squirrel was darting up the branches of a beautiful spreading beech…
tree； a whole army of rabbits were flashing with silver tails into the
brushwood； swallows； blackbirds； peacock… butterflies； dragonflies on the
wing； a mighty sylvan life was roaming in this lovely orderly wilderness。
The great Irish kitchen garden； belonging to the house； with its seven
miles of wall； was also not unlike a part of a fairy ta