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There is a portrait of Mrs. Bushe that is now in the possession of one of her many great-grandchildren, Sir Egerton Coghill. It is a small picture, in pastel, very delightful in technique, and the subject is worthy of the technique. Nancy Crampton was her name, and the picture was probably done at the time of her marriage, in 1793, and is a record of the excellent judgment of the future Lord Chief Justice of Ireland.

It would be hard to find a more charming face. From below a cloud of brown curls, deep and steady blue eyes look straight into yours from under level brows. The extreme intellectuality of the expression does not master its sweetness. In looking at the picture the lines come back—

“One in whose gentle bosom I

Can pour my inmost heart of woes.”

No wonder that in the troublous days of the Union, when bribes and threats assailed the young barrister who was already a power in the land, no wonder indeed that he often, as he says in one of his letters, “heav’d a sigh, and thought of Nancy,” and knew “with delight” that on her heart he could repose his own when weary.

Here, I think, may fitly be given some lines that the Chief wrote, when he was an old man, to accompany the gift to his wife of a white fur tippet.

To a Tippet.

Soon as thy milk-white folds are prest

Like Wreaths of Snow about her breast,

Oh guard that precious heart from harm

Like thee ’t is pure, like thee ’t is warm.

Love and wit are immortal, we know, but the spirit is rare that can inspire them after nearly fifty years of married life; yet rarer, perhaps, the young heart that can persuade them still to dwell with it and to overlook the silver head.

I grieve that I have been unable to find any of Mrs. Bushe’s earlier letters. She was a brilliant creature in all ways, and had a rare and enchanting gift as an artist, which, even in those days, when young ladies of quality were immured inexorably within the padded cell of the amateur, could scarce have failed to make its mark, had she not, as the Chief, with marital complacency, observed, devoted herself to “making originals instead of copies.”

In her time there were few women who gave even a moment’s thought to the possibilities of individual life as an artist, however aware they might be—must have been—of the gifts they possessed. I daresay that my great-grandmother was well satisfied enough with what life had brought her—“honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.” In one of her letters, written when she was a very old woman, she writes gaily of the hateful limitations of old age, and says:

“When people will live beyond their time such things must be, and I have a right to be thankful that old Time has put on his Slippers, and does not ride roughshod over me.”

(Which shows, I think, that marriage had subdued the artist in her, and had, in compensation, evoked the philosopher.)

It is clear, from the last letter in the preceding chapter, that Miss Edgeworth and Mrs. Bushe had not met before 1810. How soon afterwards they met, and the friendship, that lasted for the rest of their lives, began, I cannot ascertain. In one of Miss Edgeworth’s letters (quoted in one of the many volumes that have been written about her) she says:

“Having named Mrs. Bushe, I must mention that whenever I meet her she is my delight and admiration, from her wit, humour, and variety of conversation.”

Among the contents of the letter-box that Martin gave me are several letters from Miss Edgeworth, and they testify to the fact that she lost no time in falling in love with her “very dear Mrs. Bushe.”

I recognise, gratefully, how highly I am privileged in being permitted to include in my book these letters from the brilliant pioneer of Irish novelists. To the readers and lovers of, for example, “Castle Rackrent,” they may seem a trifle disappointing in their submission to the conventions of their period, a period that decreed a mincing and fettered mode for its lady letter-writers, and rigorously exacted from its females the suitable simper.

The writing is pale, prim, and pointed, undeniably suggestive of prunes, and prisms, and papa (that inveterate papa of Maria’s); yet, in spite of the fetters of convention, the light step is felt, and although the manner may mince, it cannot conceal the humour, the spirit, and the charm of disposition.

Miss Edgeworth was born in the same year as Chief Justice Bushe, and died six years later than he, in 1849. Her friendship with Mrs. Bushe remained unbroken to the last, and their mutual admiration continued unshaken. In such of Miss Edgeworth’s letters to my great-grandmother as I have seen, she speaks but little of literary work. One of the later letters, however (dated 1827), accompanied a present of one of her books; the date would make it appear that this was one of the sequels to “Early Lessons”—(in which the unfortunate Rosamond is victimised by the dastardly fraud of the Purple Jar, and Harry gets no breakfast until he has made his bed, although the fact that his sole ablutions consist in washing his hands is in no way imputed to him as sin. But this, also, is of the period).

Miss Maria Edgeworth to Mrs. Bushe.

“Edgeworth’s Town

“July 12. 1827.

“How can I venture to send such an insignificant little child’s book to Mrs. Bushe?—Because I know she loves me and will think the smallest offering from me a mark of kindness—of confidence in her indulgence and partiality.

“My sister Harriet has given me great pleasure by writing me word how kindly you speak of me, dear Mrs. Bushe, and as I know your sincerity, to speak and to think kindly with you are one and the same. Believe me I have the honour to be like you in this. In every thing that has affected you since we parted (that has come to my knowledge) I have keenly sympathised—Oh that we could meet again. I am sure our minds would open and join immediately. After all there is no greater mistake in life than counting happiness by pounds shillings and pence—You and I have never done this I believe—We ought to meet again. Cannot you contrive it?

“I am glad at least that my sister Harriet has the pleasure which I have not. Your penetration will soon discover all my father’s heart and all his talents in her. Remember me most respectfully and most affectionately to the Chief Justice and believe me

“Most truly your

“Affectionate friend

“Maria Edgeworth.

“Harriet did not know this little vol was published or that I intended publishing it when you spoke to her.

“I had amused myself with the assistance of a confederate sister at home in getting them printed without her knowing it for the Wise pleasure of surprising her as she had always said I could not print anything without her knowledge—These little wee wee plays were written ages ago in my age of happiness for birthday diversions and Harriet added the cross Prissy 16 years ago!”

Miss Maria Edgeworth to Mrs. Bushe

Kilmurrey, Thomastown, Co. Kilkenny.

“Edgeworth’s Town

“June 18th 1815.

“My very dear Mrs. Bushe,

“This letter is dictated by my father as you might guess by the bold appellation with which I have begun. He projects a migration southward this ensuing month—towards Cork where Mrs. Edgeworth’s brother is fatly and fitly provided for in the Church. In his route my father glances sideways to the real pleasure of having an opportunity of seeing you free from all the shackles of high station and high fashion, in the retirement which your wise husband prefers to both. Tell us when he will be at home and when at home whether it will be convenient (we are vain to think it would be agreeable you perceive) to receive us for a day and a night. There will be three of us, papa, mama and self. Though we were Foxites we cannot sleep ‘three in a bed.’ As the circuit will probably engage the Sol. gen[4] for some time to come our prospect looks to the period when he may return.

“So far from my father—now of him. This day he is much better and we are all in high spirits. And he will not let me add one word more.

“Dear Mrs. Bushe,

“Affectionately yours

“Maria Edgeworth.”

“From Miss Maria Edgeworth

to Mrs. Bushe, Kilmurrey, Thomastown,

Co. Kilkenny

“Edgeworth’s Town

Augt. 26th 1832.

My dear Mrs. Bushe

“Did you ever form any idea of the extent of my assurance—

“If you did I have a notion I shall now exceed whatever might have been your estimate.

“I am about to ask you—to ask you, plunging without preface or apology—to go to work for me, and to give me, only because I have the assurance to ask for it, what every body would wish to have from you and nobody who had any pretence to modesty (out of your own family and privileged circle of dears) would venture to think of asking for.

“A bag if you please of your own braidwork my dear Mrs. Bushe—Louisa Beaufort who has just come to visit us tells me that your braid work is so beautiful that I do covet this souvenir from you. The least Forget me not—or Heartsease will fulfil all my wishes—if indeed you are so very kind as to listen to me. I have your Madonna over the chimney piece in our library and often do I look at her with affection and gratitude. I wish dear Mrs. Bushe we could ever meet again, but this world goes so badly that I fear our throats will be cut by order of O’Connell & Co very soon, or we shall be beggars walking the world, and walking the world different ways. It is good to laugh as long as we can, however and whenever we can—between crying times—of which there are so many too many now a days.

“I hear sad tidings of my much loved, more loved even than admired, friend Sir Walter Scott. His body lives and is likely to live some time—his mind oh such a mind! is gone forever. His temper too which was most charming and most amiable is changed by disease. Mrs. Lockhart that daughter who so admires him is more to be pitied than words can express. His mind was a little revived by the first return to Abbotsford—but sunk again—Of all afflictions surely this is the worst that friends can have to endure—death a comparative blessing.

“I find the love of garden grow upon me as I grow older more and more. Shrubs and flowers and such small gay things, that bloom and please and fade and wither and are gone and we care not for them, are refreshing interests, in life, and if we cannot say never fading pleasures, we may say unreproved pleasures and never grieving losses.

“I remember your history of the bed of tulips or anemones which the Chief Justice fancied he should fancy and which you reared for him and he walked over without knowing.

“Does your taste for flowers continue. We have some fine carnations—if you could fancy them. Some way or other they should get to you. If not by a flying carpet by as good a mode of conveyance or better—the frank of Sir W. Gapes or Right Hon. C. G. S. Stanley.

“To either of which direct for me anything of whatever size or weight (barring the size of the house or so) and it will be conveyed to me swift and sure as if the African Magician himself carried the same.

“I more much more wish to hear from you my dear Mrs. Bushe, and to know from your own self how you are going on than to have all the braided bags however pretty that could be given to me. That is the truth of the matter. So pray write to me and tell me all that concerns you—for

“I am very sincerely and affectionately

“Your little old friend

“Maria Edgeworth.

“Will you present my affectionate respects to the Chief Justice. I wish his country were more worthy of him—or rather I wish his country were allowed to be and to show itself more worthy of such a Chief Justice and such a private character as his.

“I am convinced that if the Scotch maxim of Let well alone were pursued in Ireland we should do well enough. But to the rage of obtaining popularity in a single individual must the peace of a country be sacrificed.[5]

“What can the heart of such a man be made of? And however great his talents how infinitely little and nauseously mean must his Mind be!

“He is too clever and clear sighted not to know too well what he is about and what his own motions are. It is my belief however that he could not now be quiet if he would he has such a Mob-omania upon him.

“We are quiet enough here—as yet.”

“The Lord Chief Justice of Ireland

“17 Upper Mount Street, Dublin.

From Miss Maria Edgeworth.

A proverb goes—(I love it well)

Of “Give an inch and take an ell”

’Tis lady’s law—and, to be brief

Now must be mine, my dear Lord Chief

“The case is this—

“May I beg your Lordship not to shake your head irrevocably before you have heard me out—

“Suppose.... I only modestly say suppose ... which leaves the matter just as it was, in case your Lordship is determined to oppose—SUPPOSE now, in short, you could contrive to come down to us a day—a day or TWO—(pray dont start off!) or if you could possibly bear 3—days before the assizes? You could get—say here—without hurry to dinner at 7—or—name your hour—and you should have coffee comfortably without being obliged to enter an appearance in the drawing room, and should retire to rest at whatever hour you like—and I do humbly concieve that your bed and all concerns, might be as comfortably arranged here as at Mullingar Hotel—(though I wd not disparage sd Hotel)—But double bedded or single room and room for friend and servant adjoining—and a whole apartment with backstairs of its own shut out from the rest of the house is at your Lordship’s disposal—And as to invalid habits unless you have the habit of walking in your sleep all over the house I don’t see how they could incommode or be incommoded.

“If you mean that you like to lie in bed in the morning late— Lie as late as ever you please.

“No questions asked. No breakfast waiting for you below, or thought of your appearance till you please to shine upon us. Breakfast waiting your bell’s touch, in your bed, or out of it at any hour you please—And no worry of Company at dinner (unless you bespeak the world and his wife—But if you did we should not know where to find them for you).

“We have only our own every-day family party and should only wish and hope to add to it, to meet you, a sister, who in happy days knew and admired you, even from her childhood (Mrs. Butler née Harriet Edgeworth) and her husband, whom you knew in happy days too, at the late Bishop of Meath’s. Thank you my dear Lord for promising to look for the Bishop’s verses.

Now pray let me thank you in my heart for your answer to this letter.

“Mrs Bushe if she likes me as well as I most humbly believe she does, will put in a good word for us—and her good words can never be said in vain—and must be followed by good deeds.

“I am my dear Lord

with more respect than appears here

And all the sincerely affectionate

regard that has been felt for you (we need not say how many years)—

“Your—to be obliged—humble servant

“Maria Edgeworth

“Edgeworth Town

“Feb. 1st 1837”