“On Wednesday we dined at Mr. Edgeworth’s house: there is something highly fascinating in the company of celebrated people. In conversing with Miss Edgeworth, I felt that I was renewing, as it were, an old acquaintance; for who is there to whom she is altogether unknown? I must acknowledge, however, that my introduction to her was not made without some trepidation on my part, but so kind, so unassuming is her manner, that in a very short time I felt almost entirely at my ease in her company. I could not, however, quite rid myself of the feeling that I was in the company of one who had shown by her works that she could detect, and that she noticed every little symptom of weakness which to a common eye might pass unobserved. I was uneasy lest she should discover the defects in my education before I could take an opportunity of alluding to them, as is my custom in similar cases. Miss Edgeworth is a short, sprightly woman, without any of the affectation of politeness, but with much that is real. One is apt to suppose that a person of celebrity must always appear as though a high character was to be supported; there is nothing of this kind about Miss Edgeworth; she is exceedingly lively, and even playful in her manner, and seems to have not the slightest objection to a good joke.”
“I still esteem it,” writes the surviving brother, “one of the greatest honours of my life to have sat next to her at dinner by her own desire. To me, and doubtless to my brother Rowland also, the interview with this admirable woman savoured of romance. As an abstraction, she had long been to every member of our family an object of respect amounting to reverence. Her works had been to us a source of delight, of instruction, of purity, and of elevation, but herself seemed indefinitely removed, and we could hardly believe that we were now actually in her presence, and admitted to friendly intercourse.”
“On Saturday I gave Mr. Edgeworth some parts of the rough draft of ‘Public Education’ to read, which I had taken with me to Ireland. He desired one of his monitors to take it to his house, and leave it in his bedchamber, stating that he always lay in bed till the middle of the day on Sunday, and that he could read it before he arose in the morning.
“On Sunday morning, after our return from church, Mr. Edgeworth sent to request our attendance at his school. We found the boys all drawn up in divisions, and several gentlemen from the neighbourhood were present. We joined Mr. Edgeworth, who stood on a kind of stage formed by the stairs. He began a speech to his boys on the subject of the papers which I had lent him to read, in which he spoke in the most extravagant terms of what he had read. He was sure that we had carried the science of education to a perfection never before aimed at; he considered himself highly flattered by our visit to his school, but felt ashamed that we had not been better repaid for our trouble. He hoped we would allow him to return the visit, as he was sure nothing would delight him so much as a complete knowledge of our plans.
“After he had concluded, he requested that I would honestly state my opinions respecting his school, and he insisted on my finding fault with something or other. I now felt the convenience of having been practised at extemporaneous speaking: for called upon as I was to address a great number of individuals, without any previous notice or opportunity of arranging and collecting my thoughts, and immediately after Mr. Edgeworth had spoken in the highest terms of a work which, till I afterwards undeceived him, he considered as entirely my own production, and for which he lauded my powers in an extravagant degree, I should not have been able to utter a single connected sentence, had not former practice rendered that easy which, without practice, is to some altogether impossible.
“In the evening we dined at Mr. Edgeworth’s. On entering the library we found Miss Edgeworth reading ‘Public Education.’ She spoke of it in less extravagant but not in less pleasing terms than her brother. She had read the greater part, and with the highest delight. Upon her complimenting me as the author, I informed her that I had written but a small part, and that my elder brother was the principal author. She then spoke with less restraint of the merits of the book, and said that it reflected the highest credit on the writer, whoever he might be. That her praise was not the unmeaning stuff of common-place compliment I am sure, for it was not uniform. She objected to some parts, which she advised us to alter. She had made notes with her pencil as she read the book, which she pointed out to us. Most of her suggestions we have adopted; a few which did not meet our views, after mature deliberation we have ventured to disregard. One part of the work contains a compliment to Miss Edgeworth, written, as I could not help telling her for my own credit, before we had any intention of visiting Ireland. It is in speaking of our obligations to her as the author of so many excellent tales for children. The name of her father had been coupled with hers, but was afterwards crossed out from the belief that the tales were almost entirely her own production. This she had noticed, and, with tears in her eyes, requested that his name might be restored, stating that he had materially assisted her in all her productions, and that she wished never to be considered separately from him....
“I cannot describe the restless activity of Mr. Edgeworth. This evening he displayed more character than I had before had an opportunity of observing. Let it be remembered that this was Sunday evening.
“We did not sit down to dinner till after seven o’clock. So long as the ladies remained in the room Mr. Edgeworth kept some curb on his spirits. He was the complete gentleman, behaving with the greatest respect towards his female relations, and, indeed, towards every one at the table. As soon as the barbarous custom now in vogue had driven the ladies to the drawing-room, Mr. Edgeworth invited us to draw our chairs together. The butler was ordered to bring some bottles of a particular claret, which he told us was better than nectar. A toast was proposed, and we proceeded to the business of the evening, Mr. Edgeworth for some time watching very carefully to see there was no unnecessary display of ‘daylight.’ Between every toast, Mr. E. spoke in the most extravagant terms of our book; and ‘Hazelwood School,’ ‘Mr. Hill and family,’ ‘The author of the book,’ &c., were toasted with all due solemnity. We did not fail to return thanks, and to propose ‘The Edgeworth-Town Assisting School,’ ‘Miss Edgeworth,’ &c.
“I must remark that in the morning he had asked me many questions respecting our band, and had expressed to his boys his earnest wish that a band should be formed in his school. Some of the boys, it was stated, could already play a little upon the flute. Mr. Edgeworth desired them to perfect themselves with all possible despatch.
“In the midst of our jollification, as we sat with the windows open, we heard two flutes playing a quick tune in the town. Mr. Edgeworth was delighted with this, and immediately sent one of his servants to fetch the players, whoever they might be. The man soon returned with two of the scholars, who had been parading up and down the street without shoes and stockings, and marching to their own music. We immediately adjourned to a kind of conservatory, into which the dining-room opened, where, after giving us another tune, the boys joined us in drinking ‘Success to the band.’ ... Delighted with every one, and with himself in particular, Mr. Edgeworth got into the most playful humour. Sometimes, after a toast, he directed we should join hands all round, then cross them, &c.... At about midnight, he proposed that we should go to the school-house, and see how things went on there. He opened a back door, which let us at once into the street. The key of this door he always kept about him, as he said, that he might go out and inspect the state of the town at any hour of the night without disturbing his family. This he frequently does, going into people’s houses in disguise,—in imitation, I suppose, of the hero of the Arabian tales. The butler was sent forward to call up O’Brien, the classical teacher of the school, and Steele, one of the head monitors. He was cautioned, at the same time, not to forget the good things which were under his care.... Steele, who, though a young man of genteel appearance, is the son of a poor bricklayer, sallied forth from a small cottage, and met us in the street. Both he and O’Brien had been in bed. Mr. Edgeworth, like most men who are occasionally very familiar with their inferiors, is very tenacious of his rank and authority. Poor Steele was desired to relate a story—of which the length very far exceeded the interest—about a silver trowel which had been presented by Mr. Edgeworth to Steele’s father, on account of his having had the honour to open the family vault at the time of the death of the late Mr. Edgeworth. The young man, as was natural enough when we consider that he had been called out of a warm bed, and was now standing in the street at midnight, began his relation with his head covered. Mr. Edgeworth immediately ordered him to take off his hat, and even made him put it on the ground.