BEECHWOOD PARK, _Jan. 16_.
A very fine park it is, with magnificently large beech trees, which well
deserve to give their name to the place. The house, a fine-looking
house, was a convent in the days of Edward VI. Library forty feet long;
books in open shelves, handsome and comfortable. Dr. Wollaston kindly
recognised Fanny. Mrs. Marcet--we were glad to secure her. Mrs.
Somerville--little, slightly made; fair hair, pink colour; small gray,
round, intelligent, smiling eyes; very pleasing countenance; remarkably
soft voice, strong, but well-bred Scotch accent; timid, not
disqualifying timid, but naturally modest, yet with a degree of
self-possession through it, which prevents her being in the least
awkward, and gives her all the advantage of her understanding; at the
same time, that it adds a prepossessing charm to her manner, and takes
off all dread of her superior scientific learning.
_To_ MISS RUXTON.
BEECHWOOD PARK, _Jan. 17, 1822_.
I have this moment heard an anecdote, which proves beyond a doubt--if
any doubt remained--that Walter Scott is the author of the novels. He
edited _The Memorie of the Somervilles_, and in the MS. copy are his
marks of what was to be omitted; and among these what suggested to him
the idea of Lady Margaret and the famous _dis_ jeune which His Majesty
did her the honour to take with her--continually referred to by an
ancestor of Lord Somerville's.
We have spent two days pleasantly here with Dr. Wollaston, Dr. and Mrs.
Somerville, Mr. Giles, and Mr. Franks, besides our own dear friend, Mrs.
Marcet. Mrs. Somerville is the lady whom La Place mentions as the only
woman in England who understands his works. She draws beautifully; and
while her head is among the stars, her feet are firm upon the earth. Sir
John Sebright himself is very entertaining--quite a new character: he
amused me incessantly: strong head, and warm heart, and oddity enough
for ten. He showed us his pigeons, one which he said he would not part
with for a hundred guineas; he took it up in his hands to show me its
pretty white head, but I could not see the difference between it and one
not worth ten shillings. The pouting pigeons, who have _goîtres_, as
Mrs. Marcet said, are frightful; they put in their heads behind these
bags of wind, and strut about as if proud of deformity. We saw four
Antwerp pigeons, one of which went, Sir John told us, from Tower Hill to
Antwerp in six hours.
_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.