CHAPTER 6

It was in 1792 that Edgeworth left Ireland, and he and his family spent nearly two years at Clifton for the health of one of his sons.  Maria writes:  ’This was the first time I had ever been with him in what is called the world; where he was not only a useful, but a most entertaining guide and companion.  His observations upon characters, as they revealed themselves by slight circumstances, were amusing and just.  He was a good judge of manners, and of all that related to appearance, both in men and women.  Believing, as he did, that young people, from sympathy, imitate or catch involuntarily the habits and tone of the company they keep, he thought it of essential consequence that on their entrance into the world they should see the best models.  “No company or good company,” was his maxim.  By good he did not mean fine.  Airs and conceit he despised, as much as he disliked vulgarity.  Affectation was under awe before him from an instinctive perception of his powers of ridicule.  He could not endure, in favour of any pretensions of birth, fortune, or fashion, the stupidity of a formal circle, or the inanity of commonplace conversation. . ..  Sometimes, perhaps, he went too far, and at this period of his life was too fastidious in his choice of society; or when he did go into mixed company, if he happened to be suddenly struck with any extravagance or meanness of fashion, he would inveigh against these with such vehemence as gave a false idea of his disposition.  His auditors . . . were provoked to find that one, who could please in any company, should disdain theirs; and that he, who seemed made for society, should prefer living shut up with his own friends and family.  An inconvenience arose from this, which is of more consequence than the mere loss of popularity, that he was not always known or understood by those who were really worthy of his acquaintance and regard.’  His daughter says later:  ’The whole style and tone of society (in Ireland) are altered.—­The fashion has passed away of those desperately long, formal dinners, which were given two or three times a year by each family in the country to their neighbours, where the company had more than they could eat, and twenty times more than they should drink; where the gentlemen could talk only of claret, horses, or dogs; and the ladies, only of dress or scandal; so that in the long hours, when they were left to their own discretion, after having examined and appraised each other’s finery, many an absent neighbour’s character was torn to pieces, merely for want of something to say or to do in the stupid circle.  But now the dreadful circle is no more; the chairs, which formerly could only take that form, at which the firmest nerves must ever tremble, are allowed to stand, or turn in any way which may suit the convenience and pleasure of conversation.  The gentlemen and ladies are not separated from the time dinner ends till the midnight hour, when the carriages come to the door to carry off the bodies of the dead (drunk).