oes suggest the possibility of
having been the outcome of malice. But more likely still is it that Mr.
Edgeworth's boastful egotism so irritated the writer that he wrote what
certainly could not fail to be cruelly wounding to a family who regarded
their hero as perfect in all respects. After every allowance has been
made for this acrimonious tone (no rare feature in either of the
quarterlies in the days of their bumptious youth), the attack certainly
contained much that was warranted by circumstances. The writer had not
impugned thoughtlessly or ignorantly. He put a sure finger on the
contradictions and inaccuracies that occurred in Mr. Edgeworth's
narrative, and he gave chapter and verse for his objections. Such
criticism, though severe, could not be called wholly unjust. The
article, however, raised a perfect storm of indignation among the
Edgeworths' Friends. Some called it wicked, others only denounced it as
silly. Miss Edgeworth, being in France, was out of the way of seeing the
_Quarterly_, and after what she had heard, she simply and wisely
resolved never to read it. Indeed, she took the whole matter more
philosophically than her friends, and hastened to beg her dearest Aunt
Ruxton never to lose another night's sleep or another moment's thought
on the _Quarterly Review_. And certainly, whatever the reviewers might
say, Miss Edgeworth had the satisfaction before the year was out of
preparing a second edition, and in her seventy-seventh year a third was
called for. For this third edition she re-wrote nearly the whole of her
portion. With her habitual modesty she assumed that it was her part of
the work that had been found long and heavy. Nothing is more touching,
more lovable, than the modesty of this woman, so lauded, honored and
praised by all her generation that she could not remain ignorant of her
fame. But simplicity was the very foundation of her character, and the
woman always went before the author.

On her return from France Miss Edgeworth resumed the quiet, dearly-loved
routine of home-life. She was always glad to get home again, even now,
and to be with the stepmother, sisters and brothers she loved so
tenderly. Here is a pretty picture of the daily course of their
existence:--

So you like to hear of all our little doings; so I will tell you
that, about eight o'clock, Fanny being by that time up and dressed,
and at her little table, Harriet comes and reads to me Madame de
Sevigne's