SIR ARCHIBALD ALISON: ‘Some Account of My Life and Writings: an Autobiography.’ Wm. Blackwood & Sons: Edinburgh and London, 1883. * * * * * [Sidenote: Full of enthusiasm.] She is full of fun and spirit; very good-humored, full of enthusiasm. SIR WALTER SCOTT: _Letter to D. Terry_, in the former’s ‘Memoirs,’ by J. G. Lockhart. * * * * * [Sidenote: Warm-hearted and clever.] Maria Edgeworth came frequently to see us when she was in England. She was one of my most intimate friends, warm-hearted and kind, a charming companion, with all the liveliness and originality of an Irishwoman. The cleverness and animation, as well as affection, of her letters, I cannot express. MARY SOMERVILLE: ‘Personal Recollections, from Early Life to Old Age.’ Boston: Roberts Bros., 1874. * * * * * [Sidenote: Attitude toward authorship.] Miss Edgeworth never needed to follow authorship as a profession; its pecuniary results were of no moment to her, and hence she was spared all the bitterness and incidental anxieties of an author’s life, the working when the brain should rest, the imperative need to go on, no matter whether there be aught to say or not. Her path, in this respect, as in all others, traversed the high roads of life. Fame at once succeeded effort; the heart-sickness of hope deferred was never hers; she was therefore neither soured nor embittered by feeling within herself powers which the world was unwilling or slow to acknowledge. HELEN ZIMMERN: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’ * * * * * [Sidenote: Method of working with her father.] Whenever I thought of writing anything I always told my father my first rough plans; and always, with the instinct of a good critic, he used to fix immediately upon that which would best answer the purpose. “Sketch that, and show it to me.” The words, from the experience of his sagacity, never failed to inspire me with hope of success. It was then sketched. Sometimes, when I was fond of a particular part, I used to dilate on it in the sketch, but to this he always objected. “I don’t want any of your painting--none of your drapery! I can imagine all that. Let me see the bare skeleton!” It seemed to me sometimes impossible that he could understand the very light sketch I made; when, before I was conscious that I had expressed this doubt in my countenance, he always saw it. “Now, my dear little daughter, I know, does not believe that I understand her.” Then he would in his own words fill up my sketch, paint the description, or represent the character intended, with such life, that I was quite convinced he not only seized the ideas, but that he saw with the prophetic eye of taste, the utmost that could be made of them. HELEN ZIMMERN: ‘Maria Edgeworth.’ * * * * *