_Dec. 8, 1830_.
All my friends have been kind in writing to me accounts of you, my dear
Sophy. You and Margaret are quite right to spend the winter at Black
Castle; and the pain you must endure in breaking through all the old
associations and deep remembrances will, I trust, be repaid, both in the
sense of doing right and in the affection of numbers attached to you.
I spent a fortnight with Sneyd very happily, in spite of mobs and
incendiaries. Brandfold is a very pretty place, and to me a very
pleasant house. The library, the principal room, has a trellis along the
whole front, with 'spagnolette windows opening into it, and a pretty
conservatory at the end, with another glass door opening into it. The
views seen between the arches of the trellis beautiful; flower-knots in
the grass, with stocks, hydrangeas, and crimson and pale China roses in
profuse blow. Sneyd enjoys everything about him so much, it is quite
delightful to see him in his home. You have heard from Honora of the
sense and steadiness with which he resisted the mob at Goudhurst.
I spent a morning and an evening very pleasantly at Lansdowne House.
They had begged me to come and drink tea with them in private, and to
come early: I went at nine: I had been expected at eight. All Lady
Lansdowne's own family, and as she politely said, "All my old friends at
Bowood" now living: Miss Fox, Lord John Russell, Lord Auckland, the
young Romillys, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mr. Wishaw, Mr. Turner,--whom I
must do myself the justice to say I recollected immediately, who showed
us the Bank seventeen years ago,--and Conversation Sharpe.
They say that Charles X. is quite at his ease, amusing himself, and not
troubling himself about the fate of Polignac, or any of his ministers:
there is great danger for them, but still I hope the French will not
disgrace this revolution by spilling their blood. Lord Lansdowne
mentioned an instance of the present King Louis Philippe's _présence
d'esprit_: a mob in Paris surrounded him--"Que desirez-vous, messieurs?"
"Nous désirons Napoléon." "Eh bien, allez donc le trouver." The mob
laughed, cheered, and dispersed.
I have seen dear good Joanna Baillie several times, and the Carrs. It
has been a great pleasure to me to feel myself so kindly received by
those I liked best in London years ago. It is always gratifying to find
old friends the same after long absence, but it has been particularly so
to me now, when not only the leaves of the pleasures of life fall
naturally in its winter, but when the great branches on whom happiness
depended are gone.
Dr. Holland's children are very fine, happy-looking children, and he
does seem so to enjoy them. His little boy, in reply to the commonplace,
aggravating question of
"Who loves you? Nobody in this world loves you!"
"Yes, there is somebody: papa loves me, I know--I am sure!" and throwing
himself on his back on his Aunt Mary's lap, he looked up at his father
with such a sweet, confident smile. The father was standing between Sir
Edward Alderson and Southey, the one sure he had him by the ear, and the
other by the imagination; but the child had him by the heart. He smiled
and nodded at his boy, and with an emphasis in which the whole soul
spoke low, but strong, said, "Yes, I _do_ love you." Neither the lawyer
nor the poet heard him.
All my friends understand that I keep out of all fine company and great
parties, and see only my friends.
Here the carriage came to the door, and we have been to see Mrs.
Calcott, who was Mrs. Graham, who was very glad to see me, and
entertaining; and Lady Elizabeth Whitbread as kind and affectionate as
ever. She is struggling between her natural pride on her brother's
ministerial appointment, and her natural affection which fears for his
health.
Joanna Baillie tells me that Lord Dudley wrote to Sir Walter, offering
to take upon himself the whole debt, and be paid by instalments. Sir
Walter wrote a charming note of refusal.
_Thursday_.
I saw Talleyrand at Lansdowne House--like a corpse, with his hair
dressed "_aîles de pigeon" bien poudré_. As Lord Lansdowne drolly said,
"How much those _aîles de pigeon_ have gone through unchanged! How many
revolutions have they seen! how many changes of their master's mind!"
Talleyrand has less countenance than any man of talents I ever saw. He
seems to think not only that _la parole était donné à l'homme pour
déguiser sa pensée_, but that expression of countenance was given to him
as a curse, to betray his emotions: therefore he has exerted all his
abilities to conquer all expression, and to throw into his face that "no
meaning" which puzzles more than wit; but I heard none. His niece, the
Duchesse de Dino, was there: little, and ugly--plain, I should
say--nobody is ugly now but myself.
_To_ MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH.