In short, it is dangerous to put a patch of truth into a fiction, for the truth is too strong for the fiction, and on all sides pulls it asunder.' To live with Edgeworth must have been to enjoy a constant mental stimulus; he could not bear his companions to use words without attaching ideas to them; he did not want talk to consist of a fluent utterance of second-hand thoughts, but always encouraged the expression of genuine opinion.
To show how willing Edgeworth was to help a child in understanding a word which was new to it, I will quote from one of his letters to Maria: 'Give my love to little F, and tell her that I had not time to explain a section to her.

I therefore beg that, with as little explanation as possible, you will bisect a lemon before her, and point out the appearance of the rind, of the cavities, and seeds; and afterwards, at your leisure, get a small cylinder of wood turned for her, and cut it into a transverse section and into a longitudinal section.' It is curious to note the difference in tone which there is between the children's books written by him and Maria and those of the second half of the nineteenth century.

Our duty to our neighbour is the Edgeworth watchword, while our duty to God is the watchword of Miss Yonge and her school of writers.

The swing of the pendulum is constantly passing from morality to religion and back again, because both are required for the perfect life.
Among the experiments which Edgeworth made in the management of his children was that: 'Formerly' (Maria writes)' from having observed how apt children are to dispute and quarrel when they are left much together, and from fear of the strong becoming tyrants, and the weak slaves, it had been thought prudent to separate them a good deal.

It was believed that they would consequently grow fonder of each other's company, and that they would enjoy it more as they grew more reasonable, from not having the recollection of anything disagreeable in each other's tempers.