Richard Lovell Edgeworth | Page 3

'also the rudiments of that knowledge which
leads us to observe the difference of tempers and characters in our
fellow-creatures. The marking how widely they differ, and by what
minute varieties they are distinguished, continues, to the end of life, an
inexhaustible subject of discrimination.'
May not Maria have gained much valuable training in the art of
novel-writing from a father who was so impressed with the value of the
study of character?
The Gospel precept which we read as 'Judge not,' should surely be
translated 'Condemn not,' and does not forbid a mental exercise which
is necessary in our intercourse with others.
Among the circumstances which had considerable influence on his
character, he mentions: 'My mother was reading to me some passages
from Shakespeare's plays, marking the characters of Coriolanus and of
Julius Caesar, which she admired. The contempt which Coriolanus
expresses for the opinion and applause of the vulgar, for "the voices of
the greasyheaded multitude," suited well with that disdain for low
company with which I had been first inspired by the fable of the Lion
and the Cub.* It is probable that I understood the speeches of
Coriolanus but imperfectly; yet I know that I sympathised with my
mother's admiration, my young spirit was touched by his noble
character, by his generosity, and, above all, by his filial piety and his
gratitude to his mother.' He mentions also that 'some traits in the history
of Cyrus, which was read to me, seized my imagination, and, next to
Joseph in the Old Testament, Cyrus became the favourite of my
childhood. My sister and I used to amuse ourselves with playing Cyrus
at the court of his grandfather Astyages. At the great Persian feasts, I
was, like young Cyrus, to set an example of temperance, to eat nothing
but watercresses, to drink nothing but water, and to reprove the
cupbearer for making the king, my grandfather, drunk. To this day I
remember the taste of those water-cresses; and for those who love to
trace the characters of men in the sports of children, I may mention that

my character for sobriety, if not for water-drinking, has continued
through life.'
* In Gay's Fables.
When Richard Edgeworth encouraged his daughter Maria's literary
tastes, he was doubtless mindful how much pleasure and support his
own mother had derived from studying the best authors; and when we
read later of the affectionate terms on which Maria stood with her
various stepmothers and their families, we cannot help thinking that she
must have inherited at least one of the beautiful traits in her
grandmother's character which Richard Edgeworth especially dwells on:
'She had the most generous disposition that I ever met with; not only
that common generosity, which parts with money, or money's worth,
freely, and almost without the right hand knowing what the left hand
doeth; but she had also an entire absence of selfish consideration. Her
own wishes or opinions were never pursued merely because they were
her own; the ease and comfort of everybody about her were necessary
for her well-being. Every distress, as far as her fortune, or her
knowledge, or her wit or eloquence could reach, was alleviated or
removed; and, above all, she could forgive, and sometimes even forget
injuries.'
Richard's taste for science early showed itself, when at seven years old
his curiosity was excited by an electric battery which was applied to his
mother's paralysed side. He says:--
'At this time electricity was but little known in Ireland, and its fame as
a cure for palsy had been considerably magnified. It, as usual, excited
some sensation in the paralytic limbs on the first trials. One of the
experiments on my mother failed of producing a shock, and Mr. Deane
seemed at a loss to account for it. I had observed that the wire which
was used to conduct the electric fluid, had, as it hung in a curve from
the instrument to my mother's arm, touched the hinge of a table which
was in the way, and I had the courage to mention this circumstance,
which was the real cause of failure.'
It was when he was eight years old, and while travelling with his father,

that his attention was caught by 'a man carrying a machine five or six
feet in diameter, of an oval form, and composed of slender ribs of steel.
I begged my father to inquire what it was. We were told that it was the
skeleton of a lady's hoop. It was furnished with hinges, which permitted
it to fold together in a small compass, so that more than two persons
might sit on one seat of a coach--a feat not easily performed, when
ladies were encompassed with whalebone hoops of six feet extent. My
curiosity was excited by the first