# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842/To Miss Edgeworth

TO MISS EDGEWORTH.
Truthful and tender as thy pictured page
 Flows on thy life; and it was joy to me
To hear thy welcome mid my pilgrimage,
 And seat me by thy side, unchecked and free;
For in my own sweet land both youth and sire,
 The willing captives of thy lore refined,
Will of thy features and thy form inquire,
 And lock the transcript in their loving mind;
And merry children, who with glowing cheek
 Have loved thy "Simple Susan," many a day
Will lift their earnest eyes to hear me speak
 Of her, who held them oft- times from their play,
And closer press, as if to share a part
Of the pure joy thy smile enkindled in my heart.
London, Monday, Jan. 25, 1841
To have repeatedly met and listened to Miss Edgeworth, seated familiarly with her by the fireside, may ​seem to her admirers in America a sufficient payment for the hazards of crossing the Atlantic. Her conversation like her writings is varied, vivacious, and delightful. Her kind feelings toward our country are well known, and her forgetfulness of self, and happiness in making others happy, are marked traits in her character. Her person is small, and delicately proportioned, and her movements full of animation. She has an aversion to having her likeness taken, which no entreaties of her friends have been able to overcome. In one of her notes, she says, "I have always refused even my own family to sit for my portrait, and with my own good will shall never have it painted, as I do not think it would give either my friends or the public any representation or expression of my mind, such as I trust may be more truly found in my writings." The ill-health of a lovely sister much younger than herself, at whose house in London she was passing the winter, called forth such deep anxiety, untiring attention, and fervent gratitude for every favorable symptom, as seemed to blend features of maternal tenderness with sisterly affection. It is always gratifying to find that those, whose superior intellect charms and enlightens us, have their hearts in the right place. Such instances often delighted me while abroad, in the varied and beautiful forms of domestic love and duty. The example of filial devotion exhibited by Miss Mitford adds lustre and grace to the rich imagery of her pages. An aged father, of whom she is the ​only child, is the object of her constant cherishing care. Years have elapsed since she has left him scarcely for an evening, and she receives calls only during those hours in the afternoon, when he regularly takes rest upon his bed. She is ever in attendance upon him; cheering him by the recital of passing events, and pouring into his spirit the fresher life of her own. The faithful performance of such high and holy duty contains within itself its own reward. I cannot withhold a sweet picture drawn by her pen, though sensible that she had no intention of its meeting the public eye. "My father," she writes, "is a splendid old man, with a most noble head, a fine countenance full of benevolence and love, hair of silvery whiteness, and a complexion like winter berries. I suppose there was never a more beautiful embodiment of healthful and virtuous old age. He possesses all his faculties with the most vigorous clearness, but his health suffers, and my time is almost entirely devoted to his service, waiting upon him and reading to him by night and by day.
"He was affected at your message, and sends his blessing to you and yours. How to promote his comfort in his advanced years and increasing infirmities occupies most of my thoughts. It is my privilege to make many sacrifices to this blessed duty; for with my dearest father, should I be so unhappy as to survive him, will depart all that binds me to this world."