Richard Lovell Edgeworth - Richard Lovell Edgeworth

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Writing of this convention many years afterwards, Edgeworth says:
'There never was any assembly in the British empire more in earnest
in the business on which they were convened, or less influenced by
courtly interference or cabal But the object was in itself unattainable.

'The idea of admitting Roman Catholics to the right of voting for
representatives was not urged even by the most liberal and most
enlightened members of the convention; and the number, and wealth,
and knowledge of Protestant voters in Ireland could not decently be
considered as sufficient to elect an adequate and fair
representation of the people.'

The reforms were never carried, though fresh efforts, equally
unsuccessful, were made when Pitt became minister.

CHAPTER 5

It was in 1786 that Edgeworth had a severe fall from a scaffolding,
the result of which was, as his friend Dr Darwin prophesied, an
attack of jaundice. When the workmen brought him home, he tried to
reassure his family by telling them the story of a French Marquis,'
who fell from a balcony at Versailles, and who, as it was court
politeness that nothing unfortunate should ever be mentioned in the
King's presence, replied to His Majesty's inquiry if he wasn't hurt
by his fall, "Tout au contraire, Sire"' To all our inquiries whether
he was hurt, my father replied, 'Tout au contraire, mes aimes.'

His friendship for Mr. Day, which had existed for many years, was
now interrupted by Mr. Day's sudden death from a fall from his horse
in 1789. Edgeworth thought of writing his life, as he considered him
to have been a man of such'original an and noble character as to
deserve a public eulogium. He goes on to say: 'To preserve a
portrait to posterity, it must either be the likeness of some
celebrated individual, or it must represent a face which,
independently of peculiar associations, corresponds with the
universal ideas of beauty. So the pen of the biographer should
portray only those who by their public have interested us in their
private characters; or who, in a superior degree, have possessed the
virtues and mental endowments which claim the general love and
admiration of mankind.' This biography, however, was never finished,
as Edgeworth found another friend, Mr. Keir, had undertaken it; he
therefore sent the materials to him, but some of them are
incorporated in the Memoirs, Sabrina, whom Mr. Day had educated, and
intended to marry (though he gave up the idea when he doubted her
docility and power of adaptiveness to his strange theories of life),
ultimately married his friend, Mr. Bicknel, while Mr. Day married
Miss Milne, a clever and accomplished lady, who had sufficient tact
to fall in with his wishes, and a wifely devotion which made up to
her for their seclusion from general society. In her widowhood she
found Mr. Edgeworth a most faithful and helpful friend; he offered
to come over and aid in the search which was made at Mr. Day's death
for a large sum of money which was not forthcoming, and which it was
thought he might, after his eccentric fashion, have concealed; as he
took this measure when, 'at the time of the American War, he had
apprehended that there would have been a national bankruptcy, and
under this dread he had sold out of the Stocks. ... A very
considerable sum had been buried under the floor of the study in his
mother's house. This he afterwards took up, and placed again in the
public funds at the return of peace.'

Mr. Day had, before his marriage, promised to leave his library to
his friend Edgeworth, but no mention was made of this in the will;
he left almost everything to Mrs. Day. She, however, hearing of Mr.
Day's promise, offered his library to his friend; but Edgeworth, in
the same generous spirit, refused it, and Mrs. Day then wrote to him
as follows:

'MY DEAR MR. EDGEWORTH,--I will ingenuously own, that of all the
bequests Mr. Day could have made, the leaving his whole library from
me would have mortified me the most--indeed, more than if he had
disposed of all his other property, and left me only that. My ideas
of him are so much associated with his books, that to part with them
would be, as it were, breaking some of the last ties which still
connect me with so beloved an object. The being in the midst of
books he has been accustomed to read, and which contain his marks
and notes, will still give him a sort of existence with me.
Unintelligible as such fond chimeras may appear to many people, I am
persuaded they are not so to you.'

Maria Edgeworth adds: 'Generous people understand each other. Mrs
Day, of a noble disposition herself, always distinguished in my
father the same generosity of disposition. She had, she said, ever
considered him as "the most purely disinterested and proudly
independent of Mr. Day's friends."'

Edgeworth was a devoted father; and the loss of his daughter Honora,
a gifted girl of fifteen, was a great blow to him. She was the child
of his beloved wife Honora, and he had taken great pleasure in
guiding her studies and watching the development of her character.
Ever since he had settled in his Irish home one of Edgeworth's chief
interests had been the education of his large family; Maria records
with pride that at the age of seven Honora was able to answer the
following questions:

'If a line move its own length through the air so as to produce a
surface, what figure will it describe?'

She answered, 'A square!

She was then asked:

'If that square be moved downwards or upwards in the air the space
of the length of one of its own sides, what figure will it, at the
end of its motion, have described in the air?'

After a few minutes' silence she answered, 'A cube.'

Edgeworth was careful to train not only the reasoning powers, but
also the imaginative faculty of his children; he delighted in good
poetry and fiction, and read aloud well, and his daughter writes:
'From the Arabian Tales to Shakespeare, Milton, Homer, and the Greek
tragedians, all were associated in the minds of his children with
the delight of hearing passages from them first read by their
father.'

He was an enthusiastic admirer of the ancient classics--Homer and
the Greek tragedians in particular. From the best translations of
the ancient tragedies he selected for reading aloud the most
striking passages, and Pope's 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey' he read
several times to his family, in certain portions every day.

In his grief for his child, Edgeworth turned to his earliest friend,
his sister, the favourite companion of his childhood, and from her
he received all the consolation that affectionate sympathy could
give; but, as he said, 'for real grief there is no sudden cure; all
human resource is in time and occupation.'

It was about this time that Darwin published the now forgotten poem,
'The Botanic Garden,' and Edgeworth wrote to his friend expressing
his admiration for it; but Maria adds: 'With as much sincerity as he
gave praise, my father blamed and opposed whatever he thought was
faulty in his friend's poem. Dr. Darwin had formed a false theory,
that poetry is painting to the eye; this led him to confine his
attention to the language of description, or to the representation
of that which would produce good effect in picture. To this one
mistaken opinion he sacrificed the more lasting and more extensive
fame, which he might have ensured by exercising the powers he
possessed of rousing the passions and pleasing the imagination.

'When my father found that it was in vain to combat a favourite
false principle, he endeavoured to find a subject which should at
once suit his friend's theory and his genius. He urged him to write
a "Cabinet of Gems." The ancient gems would have afforded a subject
eminently suited to his descriptive powers. . . . The description of
Medea, and of some of the labours of Hercules, etc., which he has
introduced into his "Botanic Garden," show how admirably he would
have succeeded had he pursued this plan; and I cannot help
regretting that the suggestions of his friend could not prevail upon
him to quit for nobler objects his vegetable loves.'

Edgeworth's prediction has not yet come true, nor does it seem
likely that it ever will, 'that in future times some critic will
arise, who shall re-discover the "Botanic Garden,"' and build his
fame upon this discovery.

Dr. Darwin did not follow his friend's advice, to choose a better
subject for his next poem; nor did Edgeworth do what his friend
wished, which was to publish a decade of inventions with neat maps.

In the education of his children, he had already learned the value
of the observation of children's ways and mental states. Having
found that Rousseau's system was imperfect, he was groping after
some better method. His daughter writes: 'Long before he ever
thought of writing or publishing, he had kept a register of
observations and facts relative to his children. This he began in
the year 1798. He and Mrs. Honora Edgeworth kept notes of every
circumstance which occurred worth recording. Afterwards Mrs
Elizabeth Edgeworth and he continued the same practice; and in
consequence of his earnest exhortations, I began in 1791 or 1792 to
note down anecdotes of the children whom he was then educating.
Besides these, I often wrote for my own amusement and instruction
some of his conversation-lessons, as we may call them, with his
questions and explanations, and the answers of the children. . . .
To all who ever reflected upon education it must have occurred that
facts and experiments were wanting in this department of knowledge,
while assertions and theories abounded. I claim for my father the
merit of having been the first to recommend, both by example and
precept, what Bacon would call the experimental method in education.
If I were obliged to rest on any single point my father's credit as
a lover of truth, and his utility as a philanthropist and as a
philosophical writer, it should be on his having made this first
record of experiments in education. ... In noting anecdotes of
children, the greatest care must be taken that the pupils should not
know that any such register is kept. Want of care in this particular
would totally defeat the object in view, and would lead to many and
irremediable bad consequences, and would make the children affected
and false, or would create a degree of embarrassment and constraint
which must prevent the natural action of the understanding or the
feelings. ... In the registry of such observations, considered as
contributing to a history of the human mind, nothing should be
neglected as trivial. The circumstances which may seem most trifling
to vulgar observers may be most valuable to the philosopher; they
may throw light, for example, on the manner in which ideas and
language are formed and generalised.'

Edgeworth and his daughter Maria brought out their joint work,
Practical Education, in 1798. Maria adds: 'So commenced that
literary partnership, which for so many years was the pride and joy
of my life.' We who were born in the first half of the nineteenth
century can remember the delight of reading about Frank and
Rosamund, and Harry and Lucy, and feel a debt of gratitude to the
writers who gave us so many pleasant hours.

Edgeworth's patience in teaching was surprising, as Maria remarks,
in a man of his vivacity. 'He would sit quietly while a child was
thinking of the answer to a question without interrupting, or
suffering it to be interrupted, and would let the pupil touch and
quit the point repeatedly; and without a leading observation or
exclamation, he would wait till the steps of reasoning and invention
were gone through, and were converted into certainties. . . . The
tranquillising effect of this patience was of great advantage. The
pupil's mind became secure, not only of the point in question, but
steady in the confidence of its future powers. It was his principle
to excite the attention fully and strongly for a short time, and
never to go to the point of fatigue. ... In the education of the
heart, his warmth of approbation and strength of indignation had
powerful and salutary influence in touching and developing the
affections. The scorn in his countenance when he heard of any base
conduct; the pleasure that lighted up his eyes when he heard of any
generous action; the eloquence of his language, and vehemence of his
emphasis, commanded the sympathy of all who could see, hear, feel,
or understand. Added to the power of every moral or religious
motive, sympathy with the virtuous enthusiasm of those we love and
reverence produces a great and salutary effect.

'It often happens that a preceptor appears to have a great influence
for a time, and that this power suddenly dissolves. This is, and
must be the case, wherever any sort of deception has been used. My
father never used any artifice of this kind, and consequently he
always possessed that confidence, which is the reward of plain
dealing--a confidence which increases in the pupil's mind with age,
knowledge, and experience.'

The readers of the second part of 'Harry and Lucy' will remember
the driving tour through England, which they took with their
parents, who were careful to point out to them all that was of
interest, and to rouse their powers of observation. And in the same
manner Edgeworth, 'at the time when he was building or carrying on
experiments, or work of any sort, constantly explained to his
children whatever was done, and by his questions, adapted to their
several ages and capacities, exercised their powers of observation,
reasoning, and invention.

'It often happened that trivial circumstances, by which the
curiosity of the children had been excited, or experiments obvious
to the senses, by which they had been interested, led afterwards to
deeper reflection or to philosophical inquiries, suited to others in
the family of more advanced age and knowledge. The animation spread
through the house by connecting children with all that is going on,
and allowing them to join in thought or conversation with the
grown-up people of the family, was highly useful, and thus both
sympathy and emulation excited mental exertion in the most agreeable
manner.'

In 1794 he wrote of his son Lovell: 'He has been employed in
building and other active pursuits, which seldom fall to the share
of young men, but which seem as agreeable to him as the occupations
of a mail-coachman, a groom, or a stable-boy are to some youths. I
am every day more convinced of the advantages of good education.' He
adds: 'One of my younger boys is what is called a genius--that is
to say, he has vivacity, attention, and good organs. I do not think
one tear per month is shed in the house, nor the voice of reproof
heard, nor the hand of restraint felt. To educate a second race
costs no trouble. Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute!

The result of this watchful and tender interest in his children's
education may be judged by a passage in the later part of the
Memoirs, where his daughter says: 'When I was writing this page
(July 1818), this brother was with me; and when I stopped to make
some inquiry from him as to his recollection of that period of his
life, he reminded me of many circumstances of my father's kindness
to him, and brought to me letters written on his first entrance into
the world, highly characteristic of the warmth of my father's
affections, and of the strength of his mind. . . . The conviction is
full and strong on my own mind, that a father's confiding kindness,
and plain sincerity to a young man, when he first sets out in the
world, make an impression the most salutary and indelible. When his
sons first quitted the paternal roof, they were all completely at
liberty; he never took any indirect means to watch over or to
influence them; he treated them on all occasions with entire
openness and confidence. In their tastes and pursuits, joys and
sorrows, they were sure of their father's sympathy; in all
difficulties or disappointments, they applied to him, as their best
friend, for counsel, consolation, or support; and the delight that
he took in any exertion of their talents, or in any instance of
their honourable conduct, they felt as a constant generous
excitement.'

Edgeworth had no ambition on his own account to be an author; but
his wish to supply wholesome literature for the young led him into
writing, conjointly with his daughter, several books. Besides these
was one which had a different object, in the Essay on Irish Bulls he
'wished' (his daughter writes) 'to show the English public the
eloquence, wit, and talents of the lower classes of people in
Ireland. . . . 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. He knew not
only their comic talents, but their powers of pathos; and often when
he had just heard from them some pathetic complaint, he has repeated
it to me while the impression was fresh. In the chapter on Wit and
Eloquence in Irish Bulls, there is a speech of a poor freeholder to
a candidate, who asked for his vote; this speech was made to my
father when he was canvassing the county of Longford. It was
repeated to me a few hours afterwards, and I wrote it down
instantly, without, I believe, the variation of a word.

'In the same chapter there is the complaint of a poor widow against
her landlord, and the landlord's reply in his own defence. This
passage was quoted, I am told, by Campbell in one of his celebrated
lectures on Eloquence. It was supposed by him to have been a
quotation from a fictitious narrative, but, on the contrary, it is
an unembellished fact. My father was the magistrate before whom the
widow and her landlord appeared, and made that complaint and
defence, which he repeated, and I may say acted, for me. The
speeches I instantly wrote word for word, and the whole was
described exactly from the life of his representation.'

Edgeworth was anxious that his children should have no unpleasant
associations with their first steps in reading; he therefore took
great pains to find out the easiest way of teaching them to read,
and wrote for this purpose A Rational Primer. Maria adds: 'Nothing
but the true desire to be useful could have induced any man of
talents to choose such inglorious labours; but he thought no labour,
however humble, beneath him, if it promised improvement in
education. . . . His principle of always giving distinct marks for
each different sound of the vowels has been since brought into more
general use. It forms the foundation of Pestalozzi's plan of
teaching to read. But one of the most useful of the marks in the
Rational Primer, the mark of obliteration, designed to show what
letters are to be omitted in pronouncing words, has not, I believe,
been adopted by any public instructor.'

Among the calls on Edgeworth's time about 1790 was the management of
the embarrassed affairs of a relation; he had some difficulties with
the creditors, but in trying to collect arrears of rent he found
himself not only in difficulty, but in actual peril.

There existed in Ireland at this time a class of persons calling
themselves gentlemen tenants--the worst tenants in the world
--middlemen, who relet the lands, and live upon the produce, not
only in idleness, but in insolent idleness.

This kind of half gentry, or mock gentry, seemed to consider it as
the most indisputable privilege of a gentleman not to pay his debts.
They were ever ready to meet civil law with military brag of war.
Whenever a swaggering debtor of this species was pressed for
payment, he began by protesting or confessing that 'he considered
himself used in an ungentlemanlike manner;' and ended by offering
to give, instead of the value of his bond or promise, 'the
satisfaction of a gentleman, at any hour or place. . . . My father,'
says Maria, 'has often since rejoiced in the recollection of his
steadiness at this period of his life. As far as the example of an
individual could go, it was of service in his neighbourhood. It
showed that such lawless proceedings as he had opposed could be
effectually resisted; and it discountenanced that braggadocio style
of doing business which was once in Ireland too much in fashion.'

CHAPTER 6

It was in 1792 that Edgeworth left Ireland, and he and his family
spent nearly two years at Clifton for the health of one of his sons.
Maria writes: 'This was the first time I had ever been with him in
what is called the world; where he was not only a useful, but a most
entertaining guide and companion. His observations upon characters,
as they revealed themselves by slight circumstances, were amusing
and just. He was a good judge of manners, and of all that related to
appearance, both in men and women. Believing, as he did, that young
people, from sympathy, imitate or catch involuntarily the habits and
tone of the company they keep, he thought it of essential
consequence that on their entrance into the world they should see
the best models. "No company or good company," was his maxim. By
good he did not mean fine. Airs and conceit he despised, as much as
he disliked vulgarity. Affectation was under awe before him from an
instinctive perception of his powers of ridicule. He could not
endure, in favour of any pretensions of birth, fortune, or fashion,
the stupidity of a formal circle, or the inanity of commonplace
conversation. . .. Sometimes, perhaps, he went too far, and at this
period of his life was too fastidious in his choice of society; or
when he did go into mixed company, if he happened to be suddenly
struck with any extravagance or meanness of fashion, he would
inveigh against these with such vehemence as gave a false idea of
his disposition. His auditors . . . were provoked to find that one,
who could please in any company, should disdain theirs; and that he,
who seemed made for society, should prefer living shut up with his
own friends and family. An inconvenience arose from this, which is
of more consequence than the mere loss of popularity, that he was
not always known or understood by those who were really worthy of
his acquaintance and regard.' His daughter says later: 'The whole
style and tone of society (in Ireland) are altered.--The fashion has
passed away of those desperately long, formal dinners, which were
given two or three times a year by each family in the country to
their neighbours, where the company had more than they could eat,
and twenty times more than they should drink; where the gentlemen
could talk only of claret, horses, or dogs; and the ladies, only of
dress or scandal; so that in the long hours, when they were left to
their own discretion, after having examined and appraised each
other's finery, many an absent neighbour's character was torn to
pieces, merely for want of something to say or to do in the stupid
circle. But now the dreadful circle is no more; the chairs, which
formerly could only take that form, at which the firmest nerves must
ever tremble, are allowed to stand, or turn in any way which may
suit the convenience and pleasure of conversation. The gentlemen and
ladies are not separated from the time dinner ends till the midnight
hour, when the carriages come to the door to carry off the bodies
of the dead (drunk).

'A taste for reading and literary conversation has been universally
acquired and diffused. Literature has become, as my father long ago
prophesied that it would become, fashionable; so that it is really
necessary to all, who would appear to advantage, even in the
society of their country neighbours.'

Referring to her father's conversational powers, Maria adds: 'His
style in speaking and writing were as different as it is possible to
conceive. In writing, cool and careful, as if on his guard against
his natural liveliness of imagination; he was so cautious to avoid
exaggeration, that he sometimes repressed enthusiasm. The character
of his writings, if I mistake not, is good sense; the characteristic
of his conversation was genius and vivacity--one moment playing on
the surface, the next diving to the bottom of the subject. When
anything touched his feelings, exciting either admiration or
indignation, he poured forth enthusiastic eloquence, and then
changed quickly to reasoning or wit. His transitions from one
thought and feeling, or from one subject and tone to another, were
so frequent and rapid, as to surprise, and sometimes to bewilder
persons of slow intellect; but always to entertain and delight those
of quick capacity. . . .

'His openness in conversation went too far, almost to imprudence,
exposing him not only to be misrepresented, but to be misunderstood.
. . . Whenever he perceived in any of his friends, or in one of his
children, an error of mind, or fault of character, dangerous to
their happiness; or when he saw good opportunity of doing them
service, by apposite and strong remark or eloquent appeal in
conversation, he pursued his object with all the boldness of truth,
and with all the warmth of affection. . . .

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