riting to console Mrs. Day upon her
husband's death, speaks in the most touching way of all he had suffered
when Honora died, and of the struggle he had made to regain his hold of
life. This letter is in curious contrast to that one written at the
time, as he sits by poor Honora's deathbed; it reads strangely cold and
irrelevant in these days when people are not ashamed of feeling or of
describing what they feel. 'Continue, my dear daughter'--he writes to
Maria, who was then thirteen years old--'the desire which you feel of
becoming amiable, prudent, and of use. The ornamental parts of a
character, with such an understanding as yours, necessarily ensue; but
true judgment and sagacity in the choice of friends, and the regulation
of your behaviour, can be only had from reflection, and from being
thoroughly convinced of what experience in general teaches too late,
that to be happy we must be good.'

'Such a letter, written at such a time,' says the kind biographer, 'made
the impression it was intended to convey; and the wish to act up to the
high opinion her father had formed of her character became an exciting
and controlling power over the whole of Maria's future life.' On her
deathbed, Honora urged her husband to marry again, and assured him that
the woman to suit him was her sister Elizabeth. Her influence was so
great upon them both that, although Elizabeth was attached to some one
else, and Mr. Edgeworth believed her to be little suited to himself,
they were presently engaged and married, not without many difficulties.
The result proved how rightly Honora had judged.

It was to her father that Maria owed the suggestion of her first start
in literature. Immediately after Honora's death he tells her to write a
tale about the length of a 'Spectator,' on the subject of generosity.
'It must be taken from history or romance, must be sent the day
se'nnight after you receive this; and I beg you will take some pains
about it.' A young gentleman from Oxford was also set to work to try his
powers on the same subject, and Mr. William Sneyd, at Lichfield, was to
be judge between the two performances. He gave his verdict for Maria:
'An excellent story and very well written: but where's the generosity?'
This, we are told, became a sort of proverb in the Edgeworth family.

The little girl meanwhile had been sent to school to a certain Mrs.
Lataffiere, where she was taught to use her fingers, to write a lovely
delicate hand, to wor