worthtown, and to go to Blackcastle was
the holiday of her life.'

Mrs. Edgeworth tells a story of Maria once staying at Blackcastle and
tearing out the title page of 'Belinda,' so that her aunt, Mrs. Ruxton,
read the book without any suspicion of the author. She was so delighted
with it that she insisted on Maria listening to page after page,
exclaiming 'Is not that admirably written?' 'Admirably read, I think,'
said Maria; until her aunt, quite provoked by her faint acquiescence,
says, 'I am sorry to see my little Maria unable to bear the praises of a
rival author;' at which poor Maria burst into tears, and Mrs. Ruxton
could never bear the book mentioned afterwards.

It was with Mrs. Ruxton that a little boy, born just after the death
of the author of 'Sandford and Merton,' was left on the occasion of
the departure of the Edgeworth family for Clifton, in 1792, where Mr.
Edgeworth spent a couple of years for the health of one of his sons. In
July the poor little brother dies in Ireland. 'There does not, now that
little Thomas is gone, exist even a person of the same name as Mr. Day,'
says Mr. Edgeworth, who concludes his letter philosophically, as the
father of twenty children may be allowed to do, by expressing a hope
that to his nurses, Mrs. Ruxton and her daughter, 'the remembrance of
their own goodness will soon obliterate the painful impression of his
miserable end.' During their stay at Clifton Richard Edgeworth, the
eldest son, who had been brought up upon Rousseau's system, and who
seems to have found the Old World too restricted a sphere for his
energies, after going to sea and disappearing for some years, suddenly
paid them a visit from South Carolina, where he had settled and married.
The young man was gladly welcomed by them all. He had been long separated
from home, and he eventually died very young in America; but his sister
always clung to him with fond affection, and when he left them to return
home she seems to have felt his departure very much. 'Last Saturday my
poor brother Richard took leave of us to return to America. He has gone
up to London with my father and mother, and is to sail from thence. We
could not part from him without great pain and regret, for he made us
all extremely fond of him.'

Notwithstanding these melancholy events, Maria Edgeworth seems to have
led a happy busy life all this time among her friends, her relations,
her many interests, her many fancies and facts, making muc