loving the other.

Another member of the family was Mrs. Mary Sneyd, a very aged lady of
the old school, and sister to Honora Sneyd, who refused the hand of
Major Andre, and became the wife of Richard Lovell Edgeworth. The
unhappy fate of the gallant Major is well known; but few persons now
living ever read the monody written on his death by Miss Seward, in
which she makes her hero say,--

"Honora lost, I woo a sterner bride;
The armed Bellona calls me lo her side."

It was a great pleasure to me to see the sister of two of Mr.
Edgeworth's wives,--one belonging to the same period, and dressed in the
same style, as the lovely Honora. She did not appear till lunch-time,
when we found her seated at the table, in a wheelchair, on account of
her lameness. She reminded me of the pictures of the court beauties of
the time of Louis XIV. Her dress was truly elegant and very elaborate.
Her white hair had the effect of powder, and the structure on it defies
description. A very white throat was set off to advantage by a narrow
black velvet ribbon, fastened by a jewel. The finest lace ruffles about
her neck and elbows, with a long-waisted silk dress of rich texture and
delicate color, produced an effect that was quite bewitching. She was
wonderfully well preserved for a lady of over eighty years of age, and
it was pleasant to see the great attention paid to her by all the
family. She was rather deaf; so I was seated by her side, and requested
to address my conversation to her. When lunch was over, she was wheeled
into the library, and occupied herself making a cotton net to put over
the wall fruit, to keep it from the birds. It was worth a journey to
Edgeworthtown only to see this elegant specimen of old age.

I had heard that Mr. Edgeworth's house was full of his inventions and
contrivances, and when shown to our bed-room, we found such an
extraordinary lock on the door, that we dared not shut it for fear of
not being able to open it again. That room, too, was unlike any other I
ever saw. It was very large, with three huge windows, two of them
heavily curtained, and the third converted into a small wardrobe, with
doors of pink cotton on a wooden frame. It had two very large
four-posted bedsteads, with full suits of curtains, and an immense
folding-screen that divided the room in two, making each occupant as
private as if in a separate room, with a dressing-table and ample
washing conveniences on each side. A large grate