CHAPTER II.

EARLY YEARS.

MARIA EDGEWORTH was born January 1st, 1767, in the house of her
grandfather, Mr. Elers. Thus this distinguished authoress was an
Englishwoman by birth, though Irish and German by race. At Black Bourton
her earliest years were spent. Her father, who had taken in hand his
little son to train according to the principles enunciated in _Emile_,
took little notice of her, leaving her to the care of a fond,
soft-hearted mother and doting aunts. The result was that the vivacity
of her early wit was encouraged and the sallies of her quick temper
unrepressed. Of her mother she retained little remembrance beyond her
death, and how she was taken into the room to receive her last kiss.
Mrs. Edgeworth had died in London at the house of some aunts in Great
Russell street, and there Maria remained until her father's second
marriage. Of her new mother Maria at first felt great awe, which soon
gave place to sincere regard and admiration. Her father had been to her
from babyhood the embodiment of perfection, and the mere fact that he
required love from her for his new wife was sufficient to insure it. But
she also learnt to love her for her own sake, and, indeed, if the
statement of so partial a witness as Mr. Edgeworth can be accepted, she
must have been a woman of uncommon power and charm.

Of her first visit to Ireland Maria recollected little except that she
was a mischievous child. One day, when no one heeded her, she amused
herself with cutting out the squares in a checked sofa-cover. Another
day she trampled through a number of hot-bed frames that had just been
glazed and laid on the grass. She could recall her delight at the
crashing of the glass; but most immorally, and in direct opposition to
her later doctrines, did not remember either cutting her feet or being
punished for this freak. It was probably her exuberant spirits, added to
the fact that Mrs. Honora Edgeworth's health began to fail after her
removal to the damp climate of Ireland, that caused Maria to be sent to
school. In 1775 she was placed at Derby with a Mrs. Latffiere, of whom
she always spoke with gratitude and affection. Though eight years old,
she would seem to have known very little, for she was wont to record
that on the first day of her entrance into the school she felt more
admiration at a child younger than herself repeating the nine parts of
speech, than she ever felt afterwards for any effort of human genius.
The fir