# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 103

MARIA to MISS RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, May 31, 1817.
This day, so anxiously expected, has arrived—the only birthday of my father's for many, many years which has not brought unmixed feelings of pleasure. He had had a terrible night, but when I went into his room and stood at the foot of his bed, his voice was strong and cheerful, as usual. I put into his hand the hundred and sixty printed pages of Ormond which kind-hearted Hunter had successfully managed to get ready for this day. How my dear father can, in the midst of such sufferings, and in such an exhausted state of body, take so much pleasure in such things, is astonishing. Oh, my dear Sophy, what must be the fund of warm affection from which this springs! and what infinite, exquisite pleasure to me! "Call Sneyd directly," he said, and swallowed some stir-about, and said he felt renovated. Sneyd was seated at the foot of his bed. "Now, Maria, dip anywhere, read on." I began: "King Corny recovered." Then he said, "I must tell Sneyd the story up to this."
And most eloquently, most beautifully did he tell the story. No mortal could ever have guessed that he was an invalid, if they had only heard him speak. Just as I had here stopped writing my father came out of his room, looking wretchedly, but ordered the carriage, and said he would go to Longford to see Mr. Fallon about materials for William's bridge. He took with him his three sons, and "Maria to read Ormond"—great delight to me. He was much pleased, and this wonderful father of mine drove all the way to Longford: forced our way through the tumult of the most crowded market I ever saw—his voice heard clear all the way down the street—stayed half an hour in the carriage on the bridge talking to Mr. Fallon; and we were not home till half-past six. He could not dine with us, but after dinner he sent for us all into the library. He sat in the arm-chair by the fire; my mother in the opposite arm-chair, Pakenham in the chair behind her, Francis on a stool at her feet, Maria beside them; William next, Lucy, Sneyd; on the sofa opposite the fire, as when you were here, Honora, Fanny, Harriet, and Sophy; my aunts next to my father, and Lovell between them and the sofa. He was much pleased at Lovell and Sneyd's coming down for this day. *** Mr. Edgeworth died on the 13th of June, in his seventy-second year. He had been—by his different wives—the father of twenty-two children, of whom thirteen survived him. The only son of his second marriage, Lovell Edgeworth, succeeded to Edgeworthstown, but persuaded his stepmother and his numerous brothers and sisters still to regard it as a home.
To enable the reader to understand the relationships of the large family circle, it may be well to give the children of Mr. Edgeworth.
1st marriage with Anna Maria Elers.  Richard, b. 1765; d. s.p. 1796.  Maria, b. 1767; d. unmarried, 1849.  Emmeline married, 1802, John King, Esq.  Anna, married, 1794, Dr. Beddoes.
 2nd marriage with Honora Sneyd.  Lovell, b. 1776; d. unmarried, 1841.  Honora, d. unmarried, 1790.
 3rd marriage with Elizabeth Sneyd.  Henry, b. 1782; d. unmarried, 1813.  Charles Sneyd, b. 1786; d .s.p. 1864.  William, b. 1788; d. 1792.  Thomas Day, b. 1789; d. 1792.  William, b. 1794; d. s.p. 1829.  Elizabeth, d. 1800.  Caroline, d. 1807.  Sophia, d. 1785.  Honora, married, 1831, Admiral Sir J. Beaufort, and died,  his widow, 1858.
 4th marriage with Frances Anna Beaufort.  Francis Beaufort, b. 1809; married, 1831, Rosa Florentina Eroles,  and had four sons and a daughter. The second son, Antonio Eroles,  eventually succeeded his uncle Sneyd at Edgeworthstown.  Michael Pakenham, b. 1812; married, 1846, Christina Macpherson,  and had issue.  Frances Maria (Fanny), married, 1829, Lestock P. Wilson, Esq.,  and died, 1848.  Harriet, married, 1826, Rev. Richard Butler, afterwards Dean of  Clonmacnoise.  Sophia, married, 1824, Barry Fox, Esq. and d. 1837.  Lucy Jane, married, 1843, Rev. T.R. Robinson, D.D.
During the months which succeeded her father's death, Maria wrote scarcely any letters; her sight caused great anxiety. The tears, she said, felt in her eyes like the cutting of a knife. She had overworked them all the previous winter, sitting up at night and struggling with her grief as she wrote Ormond; and she was now unable to use them without pain.
In October she went to Black Castle, and remained there till January 1818, having the strength of mind to abstain almost entirely from reading and writing.
It required all Maria Edgeworth's inherited activity of mind, and all her acquired command over herself, to keep up the spirits of her family on their return to Edgeworthstown: from which the master-mind was gone, and where the light was quenched. But, notwithstanding all the depression she felt, she set to work immediately at what she now felt to be her first duty—the fulfilment of her father's wish that she should complete the Memoirs of his life, which he had himself begun. Yet her eyes were still so weak that she seldom allowed herself what had been her greatest relaxation—writing letters to her friends.