TRUTH WHICH PERVADE THE WORKS OF MY ACCOMPLISHED FRIEND,' Sir Walter
wrote, I FELT THAT SOMETHING MIGHT BE ATTEMPTED FOR MY OWN COUNTRY OF
THE SAME KIND AS THAT WHICH MISS EDGEWORTH SO FORTUNATELY ACHIEVED FOR
IRELAND.'

In the MEMOIRS of Miss Edgeworth there is a pretty account of her sudden
burst of feeling when this passage so unexpected, and so deeply felt by
her, was read out by one of her sisters, at a time when Maria lay weak
and recovering from illness in Edgeworthstown.

Our host took us that day, among other pleasant things, for a marvellous
and delightful flight on a jaunting car, to see something of the
country. We sped through storms and sunshine, by open moors and fields,
and then by villages and little churches, by farms where the pigs were
standing at the doors to be fed, by pretty trim cottages. The lights
came and went; as the mist lifted we could see the exquisite colours,
the green, the dazzling sweet lights on the meadows, playing upon the
meadow-sweet and elder bushes; at last we came to the lovely glades of
Carriglass. It seemed to me that we had reached an enchanted forest amid
this green sweet tangle of ivy, of flowering summer trees, of immemorial
oaks and sycamores.

A squirrel was darting up the branches of a beautiful spreading
beech-tree, a whole army of rabbits were flashing with silver tails into
the brushwood; swallows, blackbirds, peacock-butterflies, dragonflies
on the wing, a mighty sylvan life was roaming in this lovely orderly
wilderness.

The great Irish kitchen garden, belonging to the house, with its seven
miles of wall, was also not unlike a part of a fairy tale. Its owner,