A very large family-party assembles daily in this charming room. Mr. Francis Edgeworth has a family of little ones who seem to enjoy the freedom of the library as much as their elders. To set these little people right if they are wrong: to rise from the table to fetch them a toy, to save a servant a journey, to fetch a volume that escapes all eyes but her own, are hourly employments of this most unspoiled and admirable woman. She will then resume her pen."
Her novel of "Helen," the last she wrote, shows no lessening of power, though perhaps it appeals more to women than to man. It was written with the object of showing that the slightest deviation from truth is sure to lead to endless misfortunes. Of Maria Edgeworth's writings, the following clever epigram appeared:—
We everyday bards may anonymous sign,
That refuge. Miss Edgeworth, can never be thine,
Thy writings, where satire and morals unite,
Must bring forth the name of their author to light,
Good and bad join in telling the source of their birth.
The bad own their Edge, and the good own their Worth!
Her busy useful life came to an end at last; she died at Edgeworthstown on the 21st May, 1849, at the age of 82. Forty-eight books are credited
