ion made by her father; but it was clear to those who
observed her closely that she had not forgotten the man of whom, all her
life, she retained a tender memory. It was long before she thoroughly
recovered her elasticity of spirits, and the mental struggle did not
pass over without leaving its mark. Early in 1805 Miss Edgeworth fell
seriously ill with a low, nervous fever; it was some while before she
could leave her room, read, or even speak. As she got better she liked
to be read to, though scarcely able to express her thanks. The first day
she was really convalescent was destined to mark an era in her life.
While she was lying on the library sofa her sister Charlotte read out to
her _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, then just published. It was the
beginning of Miss Edgeworth's enthusiastic admiration of Scott, which
resulted in a warm friendship between the two authors.

From the time of the Edgeworths' return Ireland had been agitated with
the fears of a French invasion, and Mr. Edgeworth once more exerted
himself to establish telegraphic communication across the country. As
usual, his family joined him in his pursuits, and Miss Edgeworth, with
the rest, was kept employed in copying out the vocabularies used in
conversations. The year 1804 was almost engrossed by this. Nevertheless
she found time to write _Griselda_ at odd moments in her own room. Her
father knew nothing either of the plan of the book or of its execution,
and she sent it on her own account to her publisher, Johnson, with the
request to print the title-page of a single copy without her name, and
to send it over to Mr. Edgeworth as a new novel just come out. Miss
Sneyd, who was in the secret, led him to peruse it quickly. He read it
with surprise and admiration, and feeling convinced that Miss Edgeworth
had not had the actual time to write it, and yet seeing it was like her
style, he fancied his daughter Anna (Mrs. Beddoes) must have written it
to please him. When at last he was told that it was by his favorite
daughter, he was amused at the trick, and delighted at having admired
the book without knowing its author. This was one of the many little
ways in which the Edgeworths loved to please one another. A happier,
more united household it would be hard to find among circumstances
fraught with elements of domestic discord--the children and relatives of
four wives, of the most diverse characters and tastes, living peaceably
under one roof. Vitality, unwe