before his body." He assured his friends that as far as this might be
allowed to depend on his own watchful care over his understanding and
his temper, he would preserve himself through the trials of sickness and
suffering to the last, such as they could continue to respect and love.
This assurance he faithfully redeemed, by dint of a self-control and a
regard for the comfort of others that cannot be too much commended, and
which of itself alone would win pardon for many of his irritating
faults.

_Waverley_ had just appeared, and every one was reading and discussing
it. Scott, who had always been an ardent admirer of Miss Edgeworth, and
who said in after-years that he should in all likelihood never have
thought of a Scotch novel had he not read Maria Edgeworth's exquisite
pieces of Irish character, had desired his publisher to send her a copy
on its first appearance, inscribed, "From the Author." She had, however,
not yet received this copy when late one night, after having finished
hearing the story read aloud to her family, in all the first fervor of
her admiration, she sat down to write to the unknown author. Mrs.
Edgeworth, who had been the reader, relates that as she closed the
volume Mr. Edgeworth exclaimed, "_Aut Scotus, aut Diabolus_," and with
these words Miss Edgeworth began her long and ardently-appreciative
letter to the nameless novelist. All Miss Edgeworth's ready, generous,
truly Irish enthusiasm breaks forth in this epistle, which is too
laudatory, too much written _a la volee_ to be truly critical. But Miss
Edgeworth never was critical when her feelings came into play, or were
allowed their course unchecked. She narrates to Scott how the story was
read aloud, how when ended they all felt depressed to think that they
must return to the flat realities of life, and how little disposed they
were to read the "Postscript, which should have been a Preface." While
she was writing her letter Mrs. Edgeworth opened the book again and
noticed this chapter.

"Well, let us hear it," said my father. Mrs. Edgeworth read on. Oh!
my dear sir, how much pleasure would my father, my mother, my whole
family, as well as myself, have lost if we had not read to the last
page! And the pleasure came upon us so unexpectedly--we had been so
completely absorbed, that every thought of ourselves, of our own
authorship, was far, far away. I thank you for the honor you have
done us and for the pleas