letters were despatched, as my life since has been full of interest. On
Monday evening, the 19th, we went to the French play, to see Rachel in
“Phèdre.” She far surpassed my imagination in the expression of all the
powerful passions. . . . On Tuesday Mr. Bancroft went down to hear Lord
John make a speech to his constituents in the city, while I went to see
Miss Burdett-Coutts lay the corner-stone of the church which “the Bishop
of London has permitted her to build,” to use her own expression in her
note to me. In the evening we dined there with many of the clergy, and
Lord Brougham, Lord Dundonald, etc. I went down with the Dean of
Westminster, who was very agreeable and instructive. He and Dr. Whately
have the simplicity of children, with an immense deal of knowledge, which
they impart in the most pleasant way. Saturday, the 24th, we were to
leave town for our first country excursion. We were invited by Dr.
Hawtrey, the Head Master of Eton, to be present at the ceremonies
accompanying the annual election of such boys on the Foundation as are
selected to go up to King’s College, Cambridge, where they are also
placed on a Foundation. From reading Dr. Arnold’s life you will have
learned that the head master of one of these very great schools is no
unimportant personage. Dr. Hawtrey has an income of six or seven
thousand pounds. He is unmarried, but has two single sisters who live
with him, and his establishment in one of the old college houses is full
of elegance and comfort. We took an open travelling carriage with
imperials, and drove down to Eton with our own horses, arriving about one
o’clock. At two, precisely, the Provost of King’s College, Cambridge,
was to arrive, and to be received under the old gateway of the cloister
by the Captain of the school with a Latin speech. After dinner there is
a regatta among the boys, which is one of the characteristic and pleasing
old customs. All the fashionables of London who have sons at Eton come
down to witness their happiness, and the river bank is full of gayety.
The evening finished with the most beautiful fireworks I ever saw, which
lighted up the Castle behind and were reflected in the Thames below,
while the glancing oars of the young boatmen, and the music of their band
with a merry chime of bells from St. George’s Chapel, above, all combined
to give gayety and interest to the scene. The next morning (Sunday),
after an agreeable breakfast in the long, low-walled breakfast-room,
which opens upon the flower garden, we went to Windsor to worship in St.
George’s Chapel. The Queen’s stall is rather larger than the others, and
one is left vacant for the Prince of Wales.
LONDON, July 29th.
And now with a new sheet I must begin my account of Nuneham. . . . The
Archbishop of York is the second son of Lord Vernon, but his uncle, Earl
Harcourt, dying without children, left him all his estate, upon which he
took the name of Harcourt. We arrived about four o’clock. . . . The
dinner was at half-past seven, and when I went down I found the Duchess
of Sutherland, Lady Caroline Leveson-Gower, Lord Kildare, and several of
the sons and daughters of the Archbishop. The dinner and evening passed
off very agreeably. The Duchess is a most high-bred person, and
thoroughly courteous. As we were going in or out of a room instead of
preceding me, which was her right, she always made me take her arm, which
was a delicate way of getting over her precedence. . . . At half-past
nine the [next morning] we met in the drawing-room, when the Archbishop
led the way down to prayers. This was a beautiful scene, for he is now
ninety, and to hear him read the prayers with a firm, clear voice, while
his family and dependents knelt about him was a pleasure never to be
forgotten. . . . At five I was to drive round the park with the
Archbishop himself in his open carriage. This drive was most charming.
He explained everything, told me when such trees would be felled, and
when certain tracts of underwood would be fit for cutting, how old the
different-sized deer were—in short, the whole economy of an English park.
Every pretty point of view, too, he made me see, and was as active and
wide-awake as if he were thirty, rather than ninety. . . . The next
morning, after prayers and breakfast, I took my leave.
_To A. H._
BISHOP’S PALACE, NORWICH, August 1st.
MY DEAR ANN: How I wish I could transport you to the spot where I am
writing, but if I could summon it before your actual vision you would
take it for a dream or a romance, so different is everything within the
walls which enclose the precincts of an English Cathedral from anything
we can conceive on our side of the water. . . . Some of the learned
people and noblemen have formed an Archæological Society for the study
and preservation [of] the interesting architectural antiquities of the
kingdom, and [it] is upon the occasion of the annual meeting of this
society for a week at Norwich that the Bishop has invited us to stay a
few days at the palace and join them in their agreeable antiquarian
excursions. We arrived on Friday at five o’clock after a long dull
journey of five hours on the railway. . . . Staying in the house are our
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Milman, Lord Northampton and his son, Lord Alwyne
Compton, and the Bishop’s family, consisting of Mrs. Stanley, and of two
Miss Stanleys, agreeable and highly cultivated girls, and Mr. Arthur
Stanley, the writer of Dr. Arnold’s Biography.
[Picture: Lord Palmerston. From the portrait by Partridge; photograph
copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London]
After dinner company soon arrived. Among them were Mrs. Opie, who
resides here. She is a pleasing, lively old lady, in full Quaker dress.
The most curious feature of the evening was a visit which the company
paid to the cellar and kitchen, which were lighted up for the occasion.
They were build by the old Norman bishops of the twelfth century, and had
vaulted stone roofs as beautifully carved and ribbed as a church.
The next day, Saturday, the antiquarians made a long excursion to hunt up
some ruins, while the Milmans, Mr. Stanley, and ourselves, went to visit
the place of Lady Suffield, about twelve miles distant, and which is the
most perfect specimen of the Elizabethan style. Lady Suffield herself is
as Elizabethan as her establishment; she is of one [of] the oldest high
Tory families and so opposed to innovations of all sorts that though her
letters, which used to arrive at two, before the opening of the railway
two years ago, now arrive at seven in the morning, they are never allowed
to be brought till the old hour. . . . This morning Mr. Bancroft and the
rest are gone on an excursion to Yarmouth to see some ruins, while I
remain here to witness the chairing of two new members of Parliament, who
have just been elected, of whom Lord Douro, son of the Duke of
Wellington, is one.
_To I. P. D._
AUDLEY END, October 14, 1847.
DEAR UNCLE: We are staying for a few days at Lord Braybrooke’s place, one
of the most magnificent in England; but before I say a word about it I
must tell you of A.’s safe arrival and how happy I have been made by
having him with me again. . . . On Saturday the 9th we had the honor of
dining with the _Lord Mayor_ to meet the Duke of Cambridge, a _fête_ so
unlike anything else and accompanied by so many old and peculiar customs
that I must describe it to you at full length. The Mansion House is in
the heart of the _City_, and is very magnificent and spacious, the
Egyptian Hall, as the dining-room is called, being one of the noblest
apartments I have seen. The guests were about 250 in number and were
received by the Lady Mayoress _sitting_. When dinner was announced, the
Lord Mayor went out first, preceded by the sword-bearer and mace-bearer
and all the insignia of office. Then came the Duke of Cambridge and the
Lady Mayoress, then Mr. Bancroft and I together, which is the custom at
these great civic feasts. We marched through the long gallery by the
music of the band to the Egyptian Hall, where two raised seats like
thrones were provided for the Lord Mayor and Mayoress at the head of the
hall. On the right hand of the Lord Mayor sat the Duke of Cambridge in a
_common chair_, for royalty yields entirely to the Mayor, on his own
ground. On the right of the Duke of Cambridge sat the Mayoress-elect
(for the present dignitaries go out of office on the 1st of November).
On the left hand of the present Lady Mayoress sat the Lord Mayor-_elect_,
then I came with my husband on my left hand in very conjugal style.
There were three tables the whole length of the hall, and that at which
we were placed went across at the head. When we are placed, the herald
stands behind the Lord Mayor and cries: “My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen,
pray silence, for grace.” Then the chaplain in his gown, goes behind the
Lord Mayor and says grace. After the second course two large gold cups,
nearly two feet high, are placed before the Mayor and Mayoress. The
herald then cries with a loud voice: “His Royal Highness the Duke of
Cambridge, the American Minister, the Lord Chief Baron,” etc., etc.
(enumerating about a dozen of the most distinguished guests), “and ladies
and gentlemen all, the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress do bid you most
heartily welcome and invite you to drink in a loving cup.” Whereupon the
Mayor and Mayoress rise and each turn to their next neighbor, who take
off the cover while they drink. After my right-hand neighbor, the Lord
Mayor-elect, had put on the cover, he turns to me and says, “Please take
off the cover,” which I do and hold it while he drinks; then I replace
the cover and turn round to Mr. Bancroft, who rises and performs the same
office for me while I drink; then he turns to his next neighbor, who
takes off the cover for him. I have not felt so solemn since I stood up
to be married as when Mr. Bancroft and I were standing up alone together,
the rest of the company looking on, I with this great heavy gold cup in
my hand, so heavy that I could scarcely lift it to my mouth with both
hands, and he with the cover before me, with rather a mischievous
expression in his face. Then came two immense gold platters filled with
rose water, which were also passed round. These gold vessels were only
used by the persons at the head table; the other guests were served with
silver cups. When the dessert and the wine are placed on the table, the
herald says, “My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, please to charge your
glasses.” After we duly charge our glasses the herald cries: “Lords,
Ladies, and Gentlemen, pray silence for the Lord Mayor.” He then rises
and proposes the first toast, which is, of course, always “The Queen.”
After a time came the “American Minister,” who was obliged to rise up at
my elbow and respond. We got home just after twelve.
[Picture: Lady Palmerston. From a painting, by permission of Sir Francis
Gore]
And now let me try to give you some faint idea of Audley End, which is by
far the most magnificent house I have seen yet. It was built by the Earl
of Suffolk, son of the Duke of Norfolk who was beheaded in Elizabeth’s
reign for high treason, upon the site of an abbey, the lands of which had
been granted by the crown to that powerful family. One of the Earls of
Suffolk dying without sons, the _Earldom_ passed into another branch and
the _Barony_ and _estate_ of Howard de Walden came into the female line.
In course of time, a Lord Howard de Walden dying without a son, his title
also passed into another family, but his estate went to his nephew, Lord
Braybrooke, the father of the present Lord. Lady Braybrooke is the
daughter of the Marquis of Cornwallis, and granddaughter of our American
Lord Cornwallis.
The house is of the Elizabethan period and is one of the best preserved
specimens of that style, but of its vast extent and magnificence I can
give you no idea. We arrived about five o’clock, and were ushered
through an immense hall of carved oak hung with banners up a fine
staircase to the grand saloon, where we were received by the host and
hostess. Now of this grand saloon I must try to give you a conception.
It was, I should think, from seventy-five to one hundred feet in length.
The ceiling overhead was very rich with hanging corbels, like
stalactites, and the entire walls were panelled, with a full-length
family portrait in each panel, which was arched at the top, so that the
whole wall was composed of these round-topped pictures with rich gilding
between. Notwithstanding its vast size, the sofas and tables were so
disposed all over the apartment as to give it the most friendly, warm,
and social aspect.
Lady Braybrooke herself ushered me to my apartments, which were the state
rooms. First came Mr. Bancroft’s dressing-room, where was a blazing
fire. Then came the bedroom, with the state bed of blue and gold,
covered with embroidery, and with the arms and coronet of Howard de
Walden. The walls were hung with crimson and white damask, and the sofas
and chairs also, and it was surrounded by pictures, among others a full
length of Queen Charlotte, just opposite the foot of the bed, always
saluted me every morning when I awoke, with her fan, her hoop, and her
deep ruffles.
My dressing-room, which was on the opposite side from Mr. Bancroft’s, was
a perfect gem. It was painted by the famous Rebecco who came over from
Italy to ornament so many of the great English houses at one time. The
whole ceiling and walls were covered with beautiful designs and with
gilding, and a beautiful recess for a couch was supported by fluted
gilded columns; the architraves and mouldings of the doors were gilt, and
the panels of the doors were filled with Rebecco’s beautiful designs.
The chairs were of light blue embroidered with thick, heavy gold, and all
this bearing the stamp of antiquity was a thousand times more interesting
than mere modern splendor. In the centre of the room was a toilet of
white muslin (universal here), and on it a gilt dressing-glass, which
gave pretty effect to the whole.
I sat at dinner between Lord Braybrooke and Sir John Boileau, and found
them both very agreeable. The dining-room is as magnificent as the other
apartments. The ceiling is in the Elizabethan style, covered with
figures, and the walls white and gold panelling hung with full-length
family portraits not set into the wall like the saloon, but in frames.
In the evening the young people had a round game at cards and the elder
ones seemed to prefer talking to a game at whist. The ladies brought
down their embroidery or netting. At eleven a tray with wine and water
is brought in and a quantity of bed candlesticks, and everybody retires
when they like. The next morning the guests assembled at half-past nine
in the great gallery which leads to the chapel to go in together to
prayers. The chapel is really a beautiful little piece of architecture,
with a vaulted roof and windows of painted glass. On one side is the
original cast of the large monument to Lord Cornwallis (our lord) which
is in Westminster Abbey. After breakfast we passed a couple of hours in
going all over the house, which is in perfect keeping in every part.
We returned to the library, a room as splendid as the saloon, only
instead of pictured panels it was surrounded by books in beautiful gilt
bindings. In the immense bay window was a large Louis Quatorze table,
round which the ladies all placed themselves at their embroidery, though
I preferred looking over curious illuminated missals, etc., etc.
The next day was the meeting of the County Agricultural Society. . . . At
the hour appointed we all repaired to the ground where the prizes were to
be given out. . . . Lord Braybrooke made first a most paternal and
interesting address, which showed me in the most favorable view the
relation between the noble and the lower class in England, a relation
which must depend much on the personal character of the lord of the
manor. . . . First came prizes to ploughmen, then the plough boys, then
the shepherds, then to such peasants as had reared many children without
aid, then to women who had been many years in the same farmer’s service,
etc., etc. A clock was awarded to a poor man and his wife who had reared
six children and buried seven without aid from the parish. The rapture
with which Mr. and Mrs. Flitton and the whole six children gazed on this
clock, an immense treasure for a peasant’s cottage, was both comic and
affecting. . . . The next morning we made our adieus to our kind host and
hostess, and set off for London, accompanied by Sir John Tyrrell, Major
Beresford, and young Mr. Boileau.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, November 4, 1847.
DEAR W.: . . . Mr. Bancroft and I dined on Friday, the 22d, with Mr. and
Mrs. Hawes, under-Secretary of State, to meet Mr. Brooke, the Rajah of
Sarawak, who is a great lion in London just now. He is an English
gentleman of large fortune who has done much to Christianize Borneo, and
to open its trade to the English. I sat between him and Mr. Ward,
formerly Minister to Mexico before Mr. Pakenham. He wrote a very nice
book on Mexico, and is an agreeable and intelligent person. . . . On
Wednesday A. and I went together to the National Gallery, and just as we
were setting out Mr. Butler of New York came in and I invited him to join
us. . . . While we were seated before a charming Claude who should come
in but Mr. R. W. Emerson and we had quite a joyful greeting. Just then
came in Mr. Rogers with two ladies, one on each arm. He renewed his
request that I would bring my son to breakfast with him, and appointed
Friday morning, and then added if those gentlemen who are with you are
your friends and countrymen, perhaps they will accompany you. They very
gladly acceded, and I was thankful Mr. Emerson had chanced to be with me
at that moment as it procured him a high pleasure.
Yesterday your father and I dined with Sir George Grey. . . . About four
o’clock came on such a fog as I have not seen in London, and the
newspapers of this morning speak of it as greater than has been known for
many years. Sir George Grey lives in Eaton Place, which is parallel and
just behind Eaton Square. In going that little distance, though there is
a brilliant gas light at every door, the coachman was completely
bewildered, and lost himself entirely. We could only walk the horses,
the footman exploring ahead. When the guests by degrees arrived, there
was the same rejoicing as if we had met on Mont St. Bernard after a
contest with an Alpine snow-storm. . . . Lady Grey told me she was dining
with the Queen once in one of these tremendous fogs, and that many of the
guests did not arrive till dinner was half through, which was horrible at
a royal dinner; but the elements care little for royalty.
November 14th.
On Saturday we dined at the Duc de Broglie’s. He married the daughter of
Madam de Staël, but she is not now living. I was very agreeably placed
with Mr. Macaulay on one side of me, so that I found it more pleasant
than diplomatic dinners usually. At the English tables we meet people
who know each other well, and have a common culture and tastes and habits
of familiarity, and a fund of pleasant stories, but of course, at foreign
tables, they neither know each other or the English so well as to give
the same easy flow to conversation. I am afraid we are the greatest
diners-out in London, but we are brought into contact a great deal with
the literary and Parliamentary people, which our colleagues know little
about, as also with the clergy and the judges. I should not be willing
to make it the habit of my life, but it is time not misspent during the
years of our abode here. . . . The good old Archbishop of York is dead,
and I am glad I paid my visit to him when I did. Mr. Rogers has paid me
a long visit to-day and gave me all the particulars of his death. It was
a subject I should not have introduced, for of that knot of intimate
friends, Mr. Grenville, the Archbishop, and himself, he is now all that
remains.
November 28th.
. . . On Monday evening I went without Mr. Bancroft to a little party at
Mrs. Lyell’s, where I was introduced to Mrs. Somerville. She has resided
for the last nine years abroad, chiefly at Venice, but has now come to
London and taken a house very near us. . . . Her daughter told me that
nothing could exceed the ease and simplicity with which her literary
occupations were carried on. She is just publishing a book upon Natural
Geography without regard to political boundaries. She writes principally
before she rises in the morning on a little piece of board, with her
inkstand on a table by her side. After she leaves her room she is as
much at leisure as other people, but if an idea strikes her she takes her
little board into a corner or window and writes quietly for a short time
and returns to join the circle.
Dr. Somerville told me that his wife did not discover her genius for
mathematics till she was about sixteen. Her brother, who has no talent
for it, was receiving a mathematical lesson from a master while she was
hemming and stitching in the room. In this way she first heard the
problems of Euclid stated and was ravished. When the lesson was over,
she carried off the book to her room and devoured it. For a long time
she pursued her studies secretly, as she had scaled heights of science
which were not considered feminine by those about her.
December 2d.
I put down my pen yesterday when the carriage came to the door for my
drive. It was a day bright, beaming, and exhilarating as one of our own
winter days. I was so busy enjoying the unusual beams of the unclouded
sun that I did not perceive for some time that I had left my muff, and
was obliged to drive home again to get it. While I was waiting in the
carriage for the footman to get it, two of the most agreeable old-lady
faces in the world presented themselves at the window. They were the
Miss Berrys. They had driven up behind me and got out to have a little
talk on the sidewalk. I took them into Mr. Bancroft’s room and was
thankful that my muff had sent me back to receive a visit which at their
age is rarely paid. . . . I found them full of delight at Mr. Brooke, the
Rajah of Sarawak, with whose nobleness of soul they would have great
sympathy. He is just now the lion of London, and like all other lions is
run after by most people because he is one, and by the few because he
deserves to be one. Now, lest you should know nothing about him, let me
tell you that at his own expense he fitted out a vessel, and established
himself at Borneo, where he soon acquired so great [an] ascendancy over
the native Rajah, that he insisted on resigning to him the government of
his province of Sarawak. Here, with only three European companions, by
moral and intellectual force alone, he succeeded in suppressing piracy
and civil war among the natives and opened a trade with the interior of
Borneo which promises great advantages to England. . . . Everybody here
has the _Influenza_—a right-down influenza, that sends people to their
beds. Those who have triumphed at their exemption in the evening, wake
up perhaps in the morning full of aches in every limb, and scoff no
longer. . . . Dinner parties are sometimes quite broken up by the excuses
that come pouring in at the last moment. Lady John Russell had seven
last week at a small dinner of twelve; 1,200 policemen at one time were
taken off duty, so that the thieves might have had their own way, but
they were probably as badly off themselves.
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
LONDON, December 16, 1847.
MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: . . . On Saturday Mr. Hallam wrote us that Sir
Robert Peel had promised to breakfast with him on Monday morning and he
thought we should like to meet him in that quiet way. So we presented
ourselves at ten o’clock, and were joined by Sir Robert, Lord Mahon,
Macaulay, and Milman, who with Hallam himself, formed a circle that could
not be exceeded in the wide world. I was the only lady, except Miss
Hallam; but I am especially favored in the breakfast line. I would cross
the Atlantic only for the pleasure I had that morning in hearing such men
talk for two or three hours in an entirely easy unceremonious breakfast
way. Sir Robert was full of stories, and showed himself as much the
scholar as the statesman. Macaulay was overflowing as usual, and Lord
Mahon and Milman are full of learning and accomplishments. The classical
scholarship of these men is very perfect and sometimes one catches a
glimpse of awfully deep abysses of learning. But then it is _only_ a
glimpse, for their learning has no cumbrous and dull pedantry about it.
They are all men of society and men of the world, who keep up with it
everywhere. There is many a pleasant story and many a good joke, and
everything discussed but politics, which, as Sir Robert and Macaulay
belong to opposite dynasties, might be dangerous ground.
After dinner we went a little before ten to Lady Charlotte Lindsay’s.
She came last week to say that she was to have a little dinner on Monday
and wished us to come in afterwards. This is universal here, and is the
easiest and most agreeable form of society. She had Lord Brougham and
Colonel and Mrs. Dawson-Damer, etc., to dine. . . . Mrs. Damer wished us
to come the next evening to her in the same way, just to get our cup of
tea. These nice little teas are what you need in Boston. There is no
supper, no expense, nothing but society. Mrs. Damer is the granddaughter
of the beautiful Lady Waldegrave, the niece of Horace Walpole, who
married the Duke of Gloucester. She was left an orphan at a year old and
was confided by her mother to the care of Mrs. Fitzherbert. She lived
with her until her marriage and was a great pet of George IV, and tells a
great many interesting stories of him and Mrs. Fitzherbert, who was five
years older than he.
[Picture: Mrs. Dawson Damer. From the miniature by Isabey, by permission
of Lady Constance Leslie]
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, December 30, 1847.
DEAR W.: Your father left me on the 18th to go to Paris. This is the
best of all seasons for him to be there, for the Ministers are all out of
town at Christmas, and in Paris everything is at its height. My friends
are very kind to me—those who remain in town. . . . One day I dined at
Sir Francis Simpkinson’s and found a pleasant party. Lady Simpkinson is
a sister of Lady Franklin, whom I was very glad to meet, as she has been
in America and knows many Americans, Mrs. Kirkland for one. . . . Then I
have passed one evening for the first time at Mr. Tagent’s, the Unitarian
clergyman, where I met many of the literary people who are out of the
great world, and yet very desirable to see.
There, too, I met the Misses Cushman, Charlotte and Susan, who attend his
church. I was very much pleased with both of them. I have never seen
them play, but they will send me a list of their parts at their next
engagement and I shall certainly go to hear them. They are of Old Colony
descent (from Elder Cushman), and have very much of the New England
character, culture, and good sense. On Monday I dined at Sir Edward
Codrington’s, the hero of Navarino, with the Marquis and Marchioness of
Queensberry, and a party of admirals and navy officers. On Tuesday I
dined at Lady Braye’s, where were Mr. Rogers, Dr. Holland, Sir Augustus
and Lady Albinia Foster, formerly British Minister to the United States.
He could describe _our Court_, as he called it, in the time of Madison
and Monroe.
January 1, 1848.
This evening, in addition to my usual morning letter from your father, I
have another; a new postal arrangement beginning to-day with the New
Year. He gives me a most interesting conversation he has just been
having with Baron von Humboldt, who is now in Paris. He says he poured
out a delicious stream of remarks, anecdotes, narratives, opinion. He
feels great interest in our Mexican affairs, as he has been much there,
and is a Mexican by adoption.
His letter, dated the 31st December, says: “Madam Adelaide died at three
this morning.” This death astonished me, for he saw her only a few
evenings since at the Palace. She was a woman of strong intellect and
character, and her brother, the King, was very much attached to her as a
counsellor and friend. . . . There were more than 100 Americans to be
presented on New Year’s Day at Paris, and, as Madam Adelaide’s death took
place without a day’s warning, you can imagine the embroidered coats and
finery which were laid on the shelf.
Saturday, January 7th.
Yesterday, my dear son, I had a delightful dinner at the dear Miss
Berrys. They drove to the door on Thursday and left a little note to
say, “Can you forgive a poor sick soul for not coming to you before, when
you were all alone,” and begging me to come the next day at seven, to
dine. There was Lady Charlotte and Lady Stuart de Rothesay, who was many
years ambassadress at Paris, and very agreeable. Then there was Dr.
Holland and Mr. Stanley, the under-Secretary of State, etc. In the
evening came quite an additional party, and I passed it most pleasantly.
. . . Your father writes that on Friday he dined at Thiers’ with Mignet,
Cousin, Pontois, and Lord Normanby. He says such a dinner is “unique in
a man’s life.” “Mignet is delightful, frank, open, gay, full of
intelligence, and of that grace which makes society charming.” . . . Your
father to-day gives me some account of Thiers. He is now fifty: he rises
at five o’clock every morning, toils till twelve, breakfasts, makes
researches, and then goes to the Chambers. In the evening he always
receives his friends except Wednesdays and Thursdays, when he attends his
wife to the opera and to the Académie.
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
LONDON, January 28th, 1848.
MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: . . . Last Monday I received [this] note from
George Sumner, which I thought might interest you: “My dear Mrs.
Bancroft: I hasten to congratulate you upon an event most honorable to
Mr. Bancroft and to our country. The highest honor which can be bestowed
in France upon a foreigner has just been conferred on him. He was chosen
this afternoon a Corresponding Member of the Institute. Five names were
presented for the vacant chair of History. Every vote but one was in
favor of Mr. Bancroft (that one for Mr. Grote of London, author of the
‘History of Greece’). A gratifying fact in regard to this election is
that it comes without the knowledge of Mr. Bancroft, and without any of
those preliminary visits on his part, and those appeals to academicians
whose votes are desired, that are so common with candidates for vacancies
at the Institute. The honor acquires double value for being unsought,
and I have heard with no small satisfaction several Members of the
Academy contrast the modest reserve of Mr. Bancroft with the restless
manoeuvres to which they have been accustomed. Prescott, you know, is
already a member, and I think America may be satisfied with two out of
seven of a class of History which is selected from the world.”
[Picture: Mrs. Fitzherbert. From the pastel by J. Russell]
_To T. D._
LONDON, February 24, 1848.
MY DEAR BROTHER: . . . Great excitement exists in London to-day at the
reception of the news from France. Guizot is overthrown, and Count Molé
is made Prime Minister. The National Guards have sided with the people,
and would not fire upon them, and that secret of the weakness of the army
being revealed, I do not see why the Liberal party cannot obtain all they
want in the end. Louis Philippe has sacrificed the happiness of France
for the advancement of his own family, but nations in the nineteenth
[century] have learned that they were not made to be the slaves of a
dynasty. Mr. Bancroft dines with the French Minister to-day, not with a
party, but quite _en famille_, and he will learn there what the hopes and
fears of the Government are.
February 25th.
The news this morning is only from Amiens, which has risen in support of
France. The railways are torn up all round Paris, to prevent the passage
of troops, and the roads and barriers are all in possession of the
people. All France will follow the lead of Paris, and what will be the
result Heaven only knows.
_To I. P. D._
LONDON, February 26, 1848.
MY DEAR UNCLE: . . . On Thursday Mr. Bancroft dined with Count Jarnac,
the Minister in the Duc de Broglie’s absence, and he little dreamed of
the blow awaiting him. The fortifications and the army seemed to make
the King quite secure. On Friday Mr. Bancroft went to dine with Kenyon,
and I drove there with him for a little air. On my return Cates, the
butler, saluted me with the wondrous news of the deposition and flight of
the royal family, which Mr. Brodhead had rushed up from his club to
impart to us. I was engaged to a little party at Mr. Hallam’s, where I
found everybody in great excitement.
Sunday Noon.
To-day we were to have dined with Baron de Rothschild, but this morning I
got a note from the beautiful baroness, saying that her sister-in-law and
her mother with three children, had just arrived from Paris at her house
in the greatest distress, without a change of clothes, and in deep
anxiety about the Baron, who had stayed behind.
Our colleagues all look bewildered and perplexed beyond measure. . . .
The English aristocracy have no love for Louis Philippe, but much less
for a republic, so near at hand, and everybody seemed perplexed and
uneasy.
Tuesday.
On Sunday the Duc de Nemours arrived at the French Embassy, and Monday
the poor Duchess de Montpensier, the innocent cause of all the trouble.
No one knows where the Duchess de Nemours and her young children are, and
the King and Queen are entirely missing. At one moment it is reported
that he is drowned, and then, again, at Brussels.
Wednesday.
To-day the French Embassy have received despatches announcing the new
government, and Count Jarnac has immediately resigned. This made it
impossible for the Duc de Nemours and the Duchess de Montpensier to
remain at the Embassy, and they fell by inheritance to Mr. Van de Weyer,
whose Queen is Louis Philippe’s daughter. The Queen has taken Louis
Philippe’s daughter, Princess Clementine, who married Prince Auguste de
Saxe-Coburg to the Palace, but for State Policy’s sake she can do nothing
about the others. Mr. Van de Weyer offered Mr. Bates’s place of East
Sheen, which was most gratefully accepted.
Friday.
This morning came Thackeray, who is the soul of _Punch_, and showed me a
piece he had written for the next number.
Saturday.
The King has arrived. What a crossing of the Channel, pea-jacket,
woollen comforter, and all! The flight is a perfect comedy, and if
_Punch_ had tried to invent anything more ludicrous, it would have
failed. Panic, despotism, and cowardice.
These things are much more exciting here than across the water. We are
so near the scene of action and everybody has a more personal interest
here in all these matters. The whole week has been like a long play, and
now, on Saturday night, I want nothing but repose. What a dream it must
be to the chief actors! The Queen, who is always good and noble, was
averse to such ignominious flight; she preferred staying and taking what
came, and if Madam Adelaide had lived, they would never have made such a
[word undecipherable] figure. Her pride and courage would have inspired
them. With her seemed to fly Louis Philippe’s star, as Napoleon’s with
Josephine. . . . Mr. Emerson has just come to London and we give him a
dinner on Tuesday, the 14th. Several persons wish much to see him, and
Monckton Milnes reviewed him in _Blackwood_.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, March 11, 1848.
DEAR W.: . . . Yesterday we dined at Lord Lansdowne’s. Among the guests
were M. and Madam Van de Weyer, and Mrs. Austin, the translatress, who
has been driven over here from Paris, where she has resided for several
years. She is a vehement friend of Guizot’s, though a bitter accuser of
Louis Philippe, but how can they be separated? She interests herself
strongly now in all his arrangements, and is assisting his daughters to
form their humble establishment. He and his daughters together have
about eight hundred pounds a year, and that in London is poverty. They
have taken a small house in Brompton Square, a little out of town, and
one of those suburban, unfashionable regions where the most
accommodations can be had at the least price. What a change for those
who have witnessed their almost regal receptions in Paris! The young
ladies bear very sweetly all their reverses. . . . Guizot, himself, I
hear, is as _fier_ as ever, and almost gay. Princess de Lieven is here
at the “Clarendon,” and their friendship is as great as ever.
March 15th.
Yesterday we had an agreeable dinner at our own house. Macaulay, Milman,
Lord Morpeth and Monckton Milnes were all most charming, and we ladies
listened with eager ears. Conversation was never more interesting than
just now, in this great crisis of the world’s affairs. Mr. Emerson was
here and seemed to enjoy [it] much.
Friday, March 17th.
Things look rather darker in France, but we ought not to expect a
republic to be established without some difficulties. . . . You cannot
judge of the state of France, however, through the medium of the English
newspapers, for, of course, English sympathies are all entirely against
it. They never like France, and a republic of any kind still less. A
peaceful and prosperous republic in the heart of Europe would be more
deprecated than a state of anarchy. The discussion of French matters
reveals to me every moment the deep repugnance of the English to
republican institutions. It lets in a world of light upon opinions and
feelings, which, otherwise, would not have been discovered by me.
[Picture: Richard Monckton Miles, (Lord Houghton). From a drawing by
Cousins, by permission of the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Henniker]
Sunday, March 19th.
Yesterday we breakfasted at Mrs. Milman’s. I was the only lady, but
there were Macaulay, Hallam, Lord Morpeth, and, above all, Charles
Austin, whom I had not seen before, as he never dines out, but who is the
most striking talker in England. He has made a fortune by the law in the
last few years, which gives him an income of £8,000. He has the great
railroad cases which come before the House of Lords. . . . On Tuesday
came a flying report of a revolution in Berlin, but no one believed it.
We concluded it rather a speculation of the newsmen, who are hawking
revolutions after every mail in second and third editions. We were going
that evening to a _soirée_ at Bunsen’s, whom we found cheerful as ever
and fearing no evil. On Monday the news of the revolution in Austria
produced a greater sensation even than France, for it was the very pivot
of conservatism. . . . On Thursday I received the letter from A. at eight
A.M., which I enclose to you. It gives an account of the revolution in
Berlin.
_To T. D._
March 31.
The old world is undergoing a complete reorganization, and is unfolding a
rapid series of events more astonishing than anything in history. Where
it will stop, and what will be its results, nobody can tell. Royalty has
certainly not added to its respectability by its conduct in its time of
trial. Since the last steamer went, Italy has shaken off the Austrian
yoke, Denmark has lost her German provinces, Poland has risen, or is
about to rise, which will bring Russia thundering down upon Liberal
Europe. . . . Our whole Diplomatic Corps are certainly “in a fix,” and we
are really the only members of it who have any reason to be quite at
ease. Two or three have been called home to be Ministers of Foreign
Affairs, as they have learned something of constitutional liberty in
England. England is, as yet, all quiet, and I hope will keep so, but the
Chartists are at work and Ireland is full of inflammable matter. But
England does love her institutions, and is justly proud of their
comparative freedom, and long may she enjoy them. . . . On Sunday Mr.
Emerson dined with us with Lady Morgan and Mrs. Jameson—the authoress.
On Monday I took him to a little party at Lady Morgan’s. His works are a
good deal known here. I have great pleasure in seeing so old a friend so
far from home. . . . I think we shall have very few of our countrymen out
this spring, as travelling Europe is so uncertain, with everything in
commotion. Those who are passing the winter in Italy are quite shut in
at present, and if war begins, no one knows where it will spread.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, April 7, 1848.
. . . On Wednesday we had an agreeable dinner at Mrs. Milner Gibson’s.
Mr. and Mrs. Disraeli, Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan (brother of Mrs. Norton),
etc., were among the guests. After dinner I had a very long talk with
Disraeli. He is, you know, of the ultra Tory party here, and looks at
the Continental movements from the darkest point of view. He cannot
admit as a possibility the renovation of European society upon more
liberal principles, and considers it as the complete dissolution of
European civilization which will, like Asia, soon present but the ashes
of a burnt-out flame. This is most atheistic, godless, and un-christian
doctrine, and he cannot himself believe it. The art of printing and the
rapid dissemination of thought changes all these things in our days.
_To I. P. D._
April 10.
This is the day of the “Great Chartist Meeting,” which has terrified all
London to the last degree, I think most needlessly. The city and town is
at this moment stiller than I have ever known it, for not a carriage
dares to be out. Nothing is to be seen but a “special constable” (every
gentleman in London is sworn into that office), occasionally some on
foot, some on horseback, scouring the streets. I took a drive early this
morning with Mr. Bancroft, and nothing could be less like the eve of a
revolution. This evening, when the petition is to be presented, may
bring some disturbance, not from the Chartists themselves, but from the
disorderly persons who may avail themselves of the occasion. The Queen
left town on Saturday for the Isle of Wight, as she had so lately been
confined it was feared her health might suffer from any agitation. . . .
I passed a long train of artillery on Saturday evening coming into town,
which was the most earnest looking thing I have seen. . . . To-day we
were to have dined at Mrs. Mansfield’s, but her dinner was postponed from
the great alarm about the Chartists. There is not the slightest danger
of a revolution in England. The upper middle-class, which on the
continent is entirely with the people, the professional and mercantile
class, is here entirely conservative, and without that class no great
changes can ever be made. The Duc de Montebello said of France, that he
“knew there were lava streams below, but he did not know the crust was so
thin.” Here, on the contrary, the crust is very thick. And yet I can
see in the most conservative circles that a feeling is gaining ground
that some concessions must be made. An enlargement of the suffrage one
hears now often discussed as, perhaps, an approaching necessity.
Friday, April 14.
The day of the Chartists passed off with most ridiculous quiet, and the
government is stronger than ever. . . . If the Alien Bill passes, our
American friends must mind their p’s and q’s, for if they praise the
“model republic” too loudly, they may be packed off at any time,
particularly if they have “long beards,” for it seems to be an axiom here
that beards, mustaches, and barricades are cousins-german at least. . . .
Mr. Bancroft goes to Paris on Monday, the 17th, to pass the Easter
holidays. He will go on with his manuscripts, and at the same time
witness the elections and meeting of the Convention.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, April 19, 1848.
DEAR W.: . . . To-day I have driven down to Richmond to lunch with Mrs.
Drummond, who is passing Easter holidays there. On coming home I found a
letter from Mr. Bancroft from which I will make some extracts, as he has
the best sources of knowledge in Paris. “Then I went to Mignet, who, you
know, is politically the friend of Thiers. He pointed out to me the
condition of France, and drew for me a picture of what it was and of the
change. I begin to see the difference between France and us. Here they
are accustomed to _be_ governed. _We_ are accustomed to _govern_.
_Here_ power may be seized and exercised, if exercised in a satisfactory
manner; with us the foundation of power, its constitutionality and the
legality of its acts are canvassed and analyzed. Here an unpopularity is
made away with by a revolution, and you know how _we_ deal with it.
Thus, power, if in favor, may dare anything, and if out of favor is
little likely to be forgiven.” . . . “Our fathers had to unite the
thirteen States; here they have unity enough and run no risk but from the
excess of it. My hopes are not less than they were, but all that France
needs may not come at once. We were fourteen years in changing our
confederation into a union, perhaps France cannot be expected to jump at
once into perfect legislation or perfect forms. Crude ideas are afloat,
but as to Communism, it is already exploded, or will be brushed away from
legislative power as soon as the National Assembly meets, though the
question of ameliorating the condition of the laboring class is more and
more engaging the public mind.” . . . “I spent an hour with Cousin, the
Minister of a morning. He gave me sketches of many of the leading men of
these times, and I made him detail to me he scene of Louis Philippe’s
abdication, which took place in a manner quite different from what I had
heard in London.” . . . “Cousin, by the way, says that the Duc de Nemours
throughout, behaved exceedingly well. Thence to the Club de la Nouvelle
Republique. Did not think much of the speaking which I heard. From the
club I went to Thiers, where I found Cousin and Mignet and one or two
more. Some change since I met him. A leader of opposition, then a prime
minister, and now left aground by the shifting tide.” . . . “Everybody
has given up Louis Philippe, everybody considers the nonsense of Louis
Blanc as drawing to its close. The delegates from Paris will full half
be _universally_ acceptable. Three-fourths of the provincial delegates
will be _moderate_ republicans. The people are not in a passion. They
go quietly enough about their business of constructing new institutions.
Ledru-Rollin, Louis Blanc, and Flocon tried to lead the way to ill, but
Lamartine, whose heroism passes belief and activity passes human power,
won the victory over them, found himself on Sunday, and again yesterday,
sustained by all Paris, and has not only conquered but _conciliated_
them, and everybody is now firmly of opinion that the Republic will be
established quietly.” . . . “But while there are no difficulties from the
disorderly but what can easily be overcome, the want of republican and
political experience, combined with vanity and self-reliance and
idealism, may throw impediments in the way of what the wisest wish,
_viz._, two elected chambers and a president.”
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, May 5, 1848.
MY DEAR W.: . . . Last evening, Thursday, we went to see Jenny Lind, on
her first appearance this year. She was received with enthusiasm, and
the Queen still more so. It was the first time the Queen had been at the
opera since the birth of her child, and since the republican spirit was
abroad, and loyalty burst out in full force. Now loyalty is very novel,
and pleasant to witness, to us who have never known it.
LONDON, May 31, 1848.
. . . Now for my journal, which has gone lamely on since the 24th of
February. The Queen’s Ball was to take place the evening on which I
closed my last letter. My dress was a white crêpe over white satin, with
flounces of Honiton lace looped up with pink tuberoses. A wreath of
tuberoses and bouquet for the corsage. We had tickets sent us to go
through the garden and set down at a private door, which saves waiting in
the long line of carriages for your turn. The Diplomatic Corps arrange
themselves in a line near the door at which the Queen enters the suite of
rooms, which was at ten precisely. She passes through, curtseying and
bowing very gracefully, until she reaches the throne in the next room,
where she and the Duchess of Cambridge, the Duchess of Saxe-Weimar and
her daughters, who are here on a visit, etc., sit down, while Prince
Albert, the Prince of Prussia and other sprigs of royalty stand near.
The dancing soon began in front of the canopy, but the Queen herself did
not dance on account of her mourning for Prince Albert’s grandmother.
There was another band and dancing in other rooms at the same time.
After seeing several dances here the Queen and her suite move by the
flourish of trumpets to another room, the guests forming a lane as she
passes, bowing and smiling. Afterward she made a similar progress to
supper, her household officers moving backwards before her, and her
ladies and royal relatives and friends following. At half-past one Her
Majesty retired and the guests departed, such as did not have to wait two
hours for their carriages. On Saturday we went at two to the _fête_ of
flowers at Chiswick, and at half-past seven dined at Lord Monteagle’s to
meet Monsieur and Mademoiselle Guizot. He has the finest head in the
world, but his person is short and insignificant.
On Wednesday we dined at Lady Chantrey’s to meet a charming party.
Afterward we went to a magnificent ball at the Duke of Devonshire’s, with
all the great world. On Friday we went to Faraday’s lecture at the Royal
Institution. We went in with the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, and
I sat by her during the lecture. On Saturday was the Queen’s Birthday
Drawing-Room. . . . Mr. Bancroft dined at Lord Palmerston’s with all the
diplomats, and I went in the evening with a small party of ladies. On
coming home we drove round to see the brilliant birthday illuminations.
The first piece of intelligence I heard at Lady Palmerston’s was the
death of the Princess Sophia, an event which is a happy release for her,
for she was blind and a great sufferer. It has overturned all court
festivities, of course, for the present, and puts us all in deep
mourning, which is not very convenient just now, in the brilliant season,
and when we had all our dress arrangements made. The Queen was to have a
concert to-night, a drawing-room next Friday, and a ball on the 16th,
which are all deferred. . . . I forgot to say that I got a note from Miss
Coutts on Sunday, asking me to go with her the next day to see the
Chinese junk, so at three the next day we repaired to her house. Her
sisters (Miss Burdetts) and Mr. Rogers were all the party. At the junk
for the first time I saw Metternich and the Princess, his wife.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, June 29, 1848.
MY DEAR W.: . . . When I last left off I was going to dine at Miss
Coutts’s to meet the Duchess of Cambridge. The party was brilliant,
including the Duke of Wellington, Lord and Lady Douro, Lady Jersey and
the beautiful Lady Clementina Villiers, her daughter, etc. When royal
people arrive everybody rises and remains standing while they stand, and
if they approach you or look at you, you must perform the lowest of
“curtsies.” The courtesy made to royalty is very like the one I was
taught to make when a little girl at Miss Tuft’s school in Plymouth. One
sinks down instead of stepping back in dancing-school fashion. After
dinner the Duchess was pleased to stand until the gentlemen rejoined us;
of course, we must all stand. . . . The next day we dined at the Lord
Mayor’s to meet the Ministers. This was a most interesting affair. We
had all the peculiar ceremonies which I described to you last autumn, but
in addition the party was most distinguished, and we had speeches from
Lord Lansdowne, Lord Palmerston, Lord John, Lord Auckland, Sir George
Grey, etc.
_To W. D. B._
LONDON, July 21, 1848.
I was truly grieved that the last steamer should go to Boston without a
line from me, but I was in Yorkshire and you must forgive me. . . . I
left off with the 26th of June. . . . The next evening was the Queen’s
Concert, which was most charming. I sat very near the Duke of
Wellington, who often spoke to me between the songs. . . . The next day
we went with Miss Coutts to her bank, lunched there, and went all over
the building. Then we went to the Tower and the Tunnel together, she
never having seen either. So ignorant are the West End people of city
lions. . . . And now comes my pleasant Yorkshire excursion. We left
London, at half-past three, at distance of 180 miles. This was Saturday,
July 8. At York we found Mr. Hudson ready to receive us and conduct us
to a special train which took us eighteen miles on the way to Newby Park,
and there we found carriages to take us four miles to our destination.
We met at dinner and found our party to consist of the Duke of Richmond,
Lord Lonsdale, Lord George Bentinck, Lord Ingestre, Lord John Beresford,
Lady Webster, whose husband, now dead, was the son of Lady Holland, two
or three agreeable talkers to fill in, and ourselves.
[Picture: Lord George Bentinck. From a painting by Lane, by permission
of the Duke of Portland]
Tuesday.
Lady Webster, Mr. Bancroft, and myself, went to Castle Howard, as Lord
Morpeth had written to his mother that we were to be there and would
lunch with her. Castle Howard is twenty-five miles the other side of
York, which is itself twenty-five miles from Newby. But what is fifty
miles when one is under the wing of the Railway King and can have a
special engine at one’s disposal. On arriving at the Castle Howard
station we found Lord Carlisle’s carriage with four horses and most
venerable coachman waiting to receive us. We enter the Park almost
immediately, but it is about four miles to the Castle, through many
gates, which we had mounted footmen open for us. Lady Carlisle received
us in the most delightful manner. . . . I was delighted to see Lord
Morpeth’s home and his mother, who seldom now goes to London. She was
the daughter of the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, and took me into her
own dressing-room to show me her picture. . . . On Wednesday we went into
York to witness the reception of Prince Albert, to see the ruins of St.
Mary’s Abbey, the Flower Show, to lunch with the Lord Mayor, and above
all, to attend prayers in the Minister and hear a noble anthem. The
Cathedral was crowded with strangers and a great many from London. The
next day was the day of the great dinner, and I send you the _Post_
containing Mr. Bancroft’s speech. It was warmly admired by all who heard
it.
At ten at night we ladies set out for York to go [to] the Lord Mayor’s
Ball, where the gentlemen were to meet us from the dinner. Everybody
flocked round to congratulate me upon your father’s speech. Even Prince
Albert, when I was led up to make my curtsey, offered me his hand, which
is a great courtesy in royalty, and spoke of the great beauty and
eloquence of Mr. B.’s speech. The Prince soon went away: the Lord Mayor
took me down to supper and I sat between him and the Duke of Richmond at
the high table which went across the head of the hall. Guildhall is a
beautiful old room with a fine old traceried window, and the scene, with
five tables going the length of the hall and the upper one across the
head, was very gay and brilliant. There were a few toasts, and your
father again made a little speech, short and pleasant. We did not get
home till half-past three in the morning. . . . On Friday morning [July
14th] many of the guests, the Duke of Richmond, etc., took their
departure and Mr. Hudson had to escort Prince Albert to town, but
returned the same evening. . . . The next day we all went to pay a visit
to an estate of Mr. Hudson’s [name of estate indecipherable] for which he
paid five hundred thousand pounds to the Duke of Devonshire. . . . It is
nobly situated in the Yorkshire wolds, a fine range of hills, and
overlooking the valley of the Humber, which was interesting to me, as it
was the river which our Pilgrim fathers sailed down and lay in the Wash
at its mouth, awaiting their passage to Holland. They came, our Plymouth
fathers, mostly from Lincolnshire and the region which lay below us. I
thought of them, and the scene of their sufferings was more ennobled in
my eyes, from their remembrance than from the noble mansions and rich
estates which feast the eye.
[Picture: Sir Robert Peel. From the mezzotint after Sir T. Lawrence, R.
A.]
On Monday morning we left Newby for York on our way home. It so happened
that the judges were to open the court that very morning, on which
occasion they always breakfast with the Lord Mayor in their scarlet robes
and wigs, the Lord Mayor and aldermen are also in their furred scarlet
robes and the Lady Mayoress presents the judges with enormous bouquets of
the richest flowers. We were invited to this breakfast, and I found it
very entertaining. I was next the High Sheriff, who was very desirous
that we should stay a few hours and go to the castle and see the court
opened and listen to a case or two. The High Sheriff of a county is a
great character and has a carriage and liveries as grand as the Queen’s.
After breakfast we bade adieu to our York friends, and set off with our
big bouquets (for the distribution was extended to us) for home.
_To T. D._
LONDON, August 9, 1848.
MY DEAR BROTHER: . . . On Saturday we set off for Nuneham, the
magnificent seat of the late Archbishop of York, now in possession of his
eldest son, Mr. Granville Harcourt. . . . The guests besides ourselves
were Sir Robert and Lady Peel, Lord and Lady Villiers, Lord and Lady
Norreys, Lord Harry Vane, etc. We considered it a great privilege to be
staying in the same house with Sir Robert Peel, and I had also the
pleasure of sitting by him at dinner all the three days we were there.
He was full of conversation of the best kind. Mr. Denison and Lady
Charlotte, his wife, were also of our party. She was the daughter of the
Duke of Portland and sister of Lord George Bentinck, Sir Robert’s great
antagonist in the House.
On Sunday morning we attended the pretty little church on the estate
which with its parsonage is a pleasing object on the grounds. The next
day the whole party were taken to Blenheim, the seat of the famous Duke
of Marlborough, built at the expense of the country. The grounds are
exquisite, but I was most charmed by the collection of pictures. Here
were the finest Vandykes, Rubens, and Sir Joshua Reynolds which I have
seen. Sir Robert Peel is a great connoisseur in art and seemed highly to
enjoy them. Altogether it was a truly delightful day: the drive of
fifteen miles in open carriages, and through Oxford, being of itself a
high pleasure. Yesterday we returned to London, and on Thursday we set
out for Scotland.
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
EDINBURGH, August 16, 1848.
MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: . . . Of Edinburgh I cannot say enough to express
my admiration. The Castle Rock, Arthur’s Seat, Salisbury Craigs and
Calton Hill are all separate and fine mountains and, with the Frith of
Forth, the ocean and the old picturesque town, make an assemblage of fine
objects that I have seen nowhere else. Mr. Rutherford, the Lord
Advocate, who is of the Ministry, had written to his friends that we were
coming, and several gentlemen came by breakfast time the next morning.
Mr. Gordon, his nephew, married the daughter of Prof. Wilson, and invited
us to dine that day to meet the professor, etc. . . . We drove out after
breakfast into the country to Hawthornden, formerly the residence of
Drummond the poet, and to Lord Roslin’s grounds, where are the ruins of
Roslin Castle and above all, of the Roslin Chapel. . . . After lingering
and admiring long we returned to Edinburgh just in season for dinner at
Mr. Gordon’s, where we found Prof. Wilson, and another daughter and son,
Mrs. Rutherford, wife of the Lord Advocate, and Capt. Rutherford, his
brother, with his wife. We had a very agreeable evening and engaged to
dine there again quite _en famille_, with only the professor, whose
conversation is delightful.
[Picture: Lady Peel. After Sir T. Lawrence, R. A.; photograph copyright
by W. Mansell & Co., London]
The next morning we went out to Craigcrook, Lord Jeffrey’s country seat,
to see and lunch with him. He was confined to his couch. . . . He is
seventy-three or seventy-four, but looks not a minute older than fifty.
He has a fine head and forehead, and most agreeable and courteous
manners, rather of the old school. As he could not rise to receive me he
kissed my hand. Mrs. Jeffrey is an intelligent and agreeable woman but
has been much out of health the last year. She was Miss Wilkes of New
York, you know. The house was an old castellated and fortified house,
and with modern additions is a most beautiful residence. Capt.
Rutherford told me that when he received the Lord Advocate’s letter
announcing that we were coming, he went to see Lord Jeffrey to know if he
would be well enough to see us, and he expressed the strongest admiration
for Mr. Bancroft’s work.
This may have disposed them to receive us with the cordiality which made
our visit so agreeable. Mr. Empson, his son-in-law and the president
editor of the Edinburgh Review, was staying there, and after talking two
hours with Lord and Mrs. Jeffrey we took with him a walk in the grounds
from which are delightful and commanding views of the whole environs, and
never were environs so beautiful.
_To W. D. B._
TARBET ON LOCH LOMOND, August 28, 1848.
DEAR W. . . . Being detained here by rain this morning I devote it to you
and to my journal. . . . The next day was Sunday but the weather being
fine we concluded to continue our journey, and followed the Tay seeing
Birnam Wood and Dunsinane on our way up to Dunkeld, near to which is the
fine seat of the Duke of Athol. We took a delightful walk in the
beautiful grounds, and went on to Blair Athol to sleep. This is the
chief residence of the Duke of Athol and he has here another house and
grounds very pretty though not as extensive as those at Dunkeld. . . .
When the innkeeper found who we were he insisted on sending a message to
the Duke who sent down an order to us to drive up Glen Tilt and met us
there himself. We entered through the Park and followed up the Tilt.
Nothing could be more wild than this narrow winding pass which we
followed for eight miles till we came to the Duke’s forest lodge. Here
were waiting for us a most picturesque group in full Highland dress: the
head stalker, the head shepherd, the kennel keepers with their dogs in
leashes, the piper, etc., etc. They told us that the Duke had sent up
word that we were coming and he would soon be there himself.
In a few moments he appeared also in full Highland costume with bare
knees, kilt, philibeg, etc. He told us he had then on these mountains
15,000 head of dear, and thought we might like to see a _start_, as it is
called. The head stalker told him, however, that the wind had changed
which affects the scent, and that nothing could be done that day. The
Duke tried to make us amends by making some of his people sing us Gaelic
songs and show us some of the athletic Highland games. The little lodge
he also went over with us, and said that the Duchess came there and lived
six or seven weeks in the autumn, and that the Duke and Duchess of
Buccleuch rented it for many years while he was a minor. If you could
see the tiny little rooms, you would be astonished to find what the love
of sport can do for these people who possess actual palaces.
After dining again upon salmon and grouse at the pretty little inn, we
took a post chaise to go on to Taymouth, a little village adjoining Lord
Breadalbane’s place. We did not arrive at the inn till after eight and
found it completely full. . . . We were sent to the schoolmaster’s to
sleep in the smallest of little rooms, with a great clock which ticked
and struck so loud that we were obliged to silence it, to the great
bewilderment, I dare say, of the scholars the next day. Before we were
in bed, there was a knock at the door, which proved to be from Lord
Breadalbane’s butler, to say that he had been commissioned to enquire
whenever we arrived at the inn, as his Lordship had heard that we were in
Scotland and wished us to make them a visit.
Next morning before we were up came a note from Lord Breadalbane urging
us to come immediately to the Castle. . . . Taymouth Castle, though not
more than fifty years old, has the air of an old feudal castle. . . . As
we were ushered up the magnificent staircase through first a large
antechamber, then through a superb hall with lofty ceiling glowing with
armorial bearings, and with the most light and delicate carving on every
part of the oaken panelling, then through a long gallery, of heavier
carving filled with fine old cabinets, into the library, it seemed to me
that the whole Castle was one of those magical delusions that one reads
of in Fairy Tales, so strange did it seem to find such princely
magnificence all alone amid such wild and solitary scenes. I had always
the feeling that it would suddenly vanish, at some wave of an enchanter’s
wand, as it must have arisen also. The library is by far the finest room
I ever saw. Its windows and arches and doorways are all of a fine carved
Gothic open work as light as gossamer. One door which he lately added
cost a thousand pounds, the door alone, not the doorway, so you can judge
of the exquisite workmanship. Here Lady Breadalbane joined us, whom I
had never before met. . . . During dinner the piper in full costume was
playing the pibroch in a gallery outside the window, and after he had
done a band, also in full Highland dress, played some of the Italian,
German as well as Scotch music, at just an agreeable distance. I have
seen nothing in England which compares in splendor with the state which
is kept up here.
We passed Wednesday and Thursday here most agreeably, and we rode or
walked during the whole days. Lord Breadalbane, by the way, has just
been appointed Lord High Chamberlain to the Queen in place of Lord
Spencer. I am glad of this because we are brought often in contact with
the Lord Chamberlain, but it is very strange to me that a man who lives
like a king, and through whose dominions we travelled a hundred miles
from the German Ocean to the Atlantic, can be Chamberlain to any Queen.
These feudal subordinations we republicans cannot understand. . . . We
stopped at the little town of Oban. After reading our letters and
getting a dinner, we went out just before sunset for a walk.
We wished much to see the ruins of Dunolly. We passed the porter’s lodge
and found ourselves directly in the most picturesque grounds on the very
shore of the ocean and with the Western Islands lying before us. Mr.
Bancroft sent in his card, which brought out instantly the key to the old
castle, and in a few moments Capt. MacDougal and Mr. Phipps, a brother of
Lord Normanby’s, joined us. They pointed out the interesting points in
the landscape, the Castle of Ardtornish, the scene of Lord of the Isles,
etc., in addition to the fine old ruin we came to see. We lingered till
the lighthouses had begun to glow, and I was reminded very much of the
scenery at Wood’s Hole, which I used to enjoy so much, only that could
not boast the association with poetry and feudal romance. We then went
into the house, and found a charming domestic circle in full evening
dress with short sleeves, so that my gray travelling cloak and straw
bonnet were rather out of place. Here were Mrs. Phipps, and Miss
Campbell, her sister, daughters of Sir Colin Campbell, and to my great
delight, Captain MacDougal brought out the great brooch of Lorn, which
his ancestor won from Bruce and the story of which you will find in the
Lord of the Isles. It fastened the Scotch Plaid, and is larger than a
teacup. He described to me the reverential way in which Scott took it in
both hands when he showed it to him. The whole evening was pleasant and
the more so from being unexpected. . . . One little thing which adds
always to the charm of Scotch scenery is the dress of the peasantry. One
never sees the real Highland costume, but every shepherd has his plaid
slung over one shoulder, making the most graceful drapery. This, with
the universal Glengarry bonnet, is very pretty.
At Glasgow we intended to pay a visit of a day to the historian Alison,
but found letters announcing Governor Davis’s arrival in London with Mr.
Corcoran and immediately turned our faces homeward. We were to have
passed a week on our return amidst the lakes, and I protested against
going back to London without one look at least. So we stopped at Kendal
on Saturday, took a little carriage over to Windermere and Ambleside and
passed the whole evening with the poet and Mrs. Wordsworth, at their own
exquisite home on Rydal Mount. At ten o’clock we went from there to Miss
Martineau, who has built the prettiest of houses in this valley near to
Mrs. Arnold at Fox Howe. As we had only one day we made an arrangement
with Miss Martineau to go with us and be our guide, and set out the next
day at six o’clock and went over to Keswick to breakfast. From thence we
went to Borrowdale, by the side of Derwentwater, and afterward to
Ulswater and home by the fine pass of Kirkstone. On my return, I found
the Duke and Duchess of Argyle had been to see us.
The time of closing the despatch bag has come and I must hurry over my
delight at the scenery of the lakes. I could have spent a month there,
much to my mind. We arrived home on Monday and early next morning came
Mr. Davis and Mr. Corcoran. They went to see the Parliament prorogued in
person by the Queen.
[Picture: George Bancroft. Probably taken at Brady’s National Gallery,
New York, sometime after his return from England; from a picture owned by
Elizabeth B. Bliss]
_To Mr. and Mrs. I. P. D._
LONDON, December 14, 1848.
DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT: On Friday we dined at Mr. Tufnell’s, who married
last spring the daughter of Lord Rosebery, Lady Anne Primrose, a very
“nice person,” to use the favorite English term of praise. . . . Sir John
Hobhouse was of our party and he told us so much of Byron, who was his
intimate friend, as you will remember from his Life, that we stayed much
longer than usual at dinner. . . . On Tuesday we were invited to dine
with Miss Coutts, but were engaged to Mr. Gurney, an immensely rich
Quaker banker, brother of Mrs. Fry. His daughter is married to Ernest
Bunsen, the second son of our friend. We were delighted with the whole
family scene, which was quite unlike anything we have seen in England.
They live at Upton Park, a pretty country seat about eight miles from us,
and are surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Their costume
and language are strictly Quaker, which was most becoming to Mrs.
Gurney’s sweet, placid face. . . . Louis Napoleon’s election seems fixed,
and is to me one of the most astounding things of the age. When we
passed several days with him at Mr. Bates’s, I would not have given two
straws for his chance of a future career. To-night Mendelssohn’s
“Elijah” is to be performed, and Jenny Lind sings. We had not been able
to get tickets, which have been sold for five guineas apiece the last few
days. To my great joy Miss Coutts has this moment written me that she
has two for our use, and asks us to take an early dinner at five with her
and accompany her.
_To I. P. D._
LONDON, June 8, 1849.
I thank you, my dear Uncle, for your pleasant letter, which contained as
usual much that was interesting to me. And so Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence are
to be our successors. . . . Happy as we have been here, I have a great
satisfaction that we are setting rather than rising; that we have done
our work, instead of having it to do. Like all our pleasures, those here
are earned by fatigue and effort, and I would not willingly live the last
three years over again, or three years like them, though they have
contained high and lasting gratifications. We have constantly the
strongest expressions of regret at our approaching departure, and in many
cases it is, I know, most genuine. My relations here have been most
agreeable, and particularly in that intellectual circle whose high
character and culture have made their regard most precious to me. The
manifestations of this kindness increase as the time approaches for our
going and we are inundated with invitations of all kinds.
Young Prescott is here. I wish Prescott could have seen his reception at
Lady Lovelace’s the other evening when there happened to be a collection
of genius and literature. What a blessing it is _sometimes_ to a son to
have a father.
To-morrow we dine with Lord John Russell down at Pembroke Lodge in
Richmond Park. On Monday we breakfast with Macaulay. We met him at
dinner this week at Lady Waldegrave’s, and he said: “Would you be willing
to breakfast with me some morning, if I asked one or two other ladies?”
“Willing!” I said, “I should be delighted beyond measure.” So he sent us
a note for Monday next. I depend upon seeing his bachelor establishment,
his library, and mode of life. On Wednesday we go to a ball at the
Palace. But it is useless to go on, for every day is filled in this way,
and gives you an idea of London in the season.
_To I. P. D._
LONDON, June 22, 1849.
MY DEAR UNCLE: Yesterday I passed one of the most agreeable days I have
had in England at Oxford, where I went with a party to see Mr. Bancroft
take his degree. . . . Nothing could have gone off better than the whole
thing. Mr. Bancroft went up the day before, but Mrs. Stuart Mackenzie
and her daughter, with Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, Louisa, and myself went
up yesterday morning and returned at night. We lunched at the
Vice-Chancellor’s (where Mr. B. made a pleasant little informal speech)
and were treated with great kindness by everybody. I wish you could have
seen Mr. Bancroft walking round all day with his scarlet gown and round
velvet cap, such as you see in old Venetian pictures. From this time
forward we shall have the pain of bidding adieu, one by one, to our
friends, as they leave town not to return till we are gone.