LEICESTER.
63
The series of letters Miss Edgeworth wrote home during this time are most entertaining, unaffected, sprightly, and graphic. She often sketches a character, a national peculiarity, with a touch, while on the other hand, she does not shirk detail if only she can succeed in presenting a vivid picture of all she is beholding to those dear ones at home who are debarred from the same enjoyment. Carnarvon, Bangor, Etruria, and Leicester were visited on the way out. At Leicester Miss Edgeworth had an amusing adventure:—
Handsome town, good shops. Walked, whilst dinner was getting ready, to a circulating library. My father asked for Belinda, Bulk, &c.: found they were in good repute; Castle Raclcrent in better—the others often borrowed, but Castle Rackrent often bought. The bookseller, an open-hearted man, begged us to look at a book of poems just published by a Leicester lady, a Miss Watts. I recollected to have seen some years ago a specimen of this lady's proposed translation of Tasso, which my father had highly admired. He told the bookseller that we would pay our respects to Miss Watts, if it would be agreeable to her. When we had dined, we set out with our enthusiastic bookseller. We were shown by the light of a lanthorn along a very narrow passage between high walls, to the door of a decent-looking house: a maid-servant, candle in hand, received us. "Be pleased, ladies, to walk upstairs." A neatish room, nothing extraordinary in it except the inhabitants—Mrs. Watts, a tall, black-eyed, prim, dragon-looking woman in the back-ground; Miss Watts, a tall young lady in white, fresh colour, fair, thin, oval face, rather pretty. The moment Mrs. Edgeworth entered, Miss Watts, taking her for the authoress, darted forward with arms, long thin arms, outstretched to their utmost swing. "Oh, what an honour this is!" each word and syllable rising in tone till the last reached a scream. Instead of embracing my mother, as her first action threatened, she started v back to the farthest end of the room, which was not light enough to show her attitude distinctly, but it seemed to be intended to express the receding of awe-struck admiration—stopped by the wall. Charlotte and I passed by unnoticed, and seated ourselves, by the old lady's desire; she, after many twistings of her wrists, elbows and neck, all of which appeared to be dislocated, fixed herself in her arm-chair, resting her hands on the black mahogany splayed elbows. Her
