_June 6, 1831_.
My last days in London crowned the whole in all that was entertaining,
curious, gratifying, and delightful to head and heart. I am writing
while Isabella Carr is reading out _Destiny_, and very well she reads
the Scotch; so you may think I cannot enter into details of the past at
present, but I must just note--
Lady Elizabeth Whitbread and four Lady Harleys.
Opera with Lady Guilford and two daughters: _Medea_, Pasta: thrilling
shiver, gliding sideways to her children, and sudden retreat.
French play: Leontine Fay in _Une Faute_--the most admirable actress I
ever saw, and in the most touching piece. Three young men--Mr.
Whitbread, Major Keppel, and Lord Mahon--separately told me the
impression made on them by this actress was such that they could not
sleep afterwards! I had no trial how this would be with me, because we
went off from the playhouse to Sir James South's, to see the occultation
of Jupiter's satellites: that was indeed a sublime reality, and no
wonder we were broad awake till three o'clock.
Next morning St. Paul's: moral sublime. I sat next Rammohun Roy, and
heard all he said. One curious inquiry he made; "Why are the boys set
_above_ the girls?" Sermon by the Bishop of Nova Scotia: Judge
Haliburton sat between Fanny and me. Luncheon at the Bishop of
Llandaff's: forty people. Came home: packed up. Mr. Creed at dinner, and
this last day delightful.
_To_ CAPTAIN BASIL HALL.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _August 14, 1831_.
My last visit to universal London confirms to my own feelings your
eulogium. I never was so happy there in my life, because I had besides
all the external pleasures, the solid satisfaction of a home there, and
domestic pleasures, without which I should soon grow a-weary of the
world, and wish the business of the town were done. I should be very
sorry if I were told this minute that I was never to see London again,
and yet I am wondrous contented and happy at home. I hope you will come
and see some time whether I am only making believe or telling true.
You say I must never say a discouraging word to you, because you are so
easily discouraged: for shame! What is that but saying, "Flatter me"?
Now flattery can never do good; twice cursed in the giving and the
receiving, it ought to be. Instead of flattering I will give you this
wholesome caution: in your new volumes do not weaken the effect by
giving too much of a good thing; do not be lengthy; cut well before you
go to press, and then the rest will live all the better. With your
facility, this cannot cost you much.
_To_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.