Last Saturday my poor brother Richard took leave of us to return to
America. He has gone up to London with my father and mother, and is to
sail from thence. We could not part with him without great pain and
regret, for he made us all extremely fond of him. I wish my dear aunt
could have seen him; he was very sensible of her kindness, and longed to
have a letter from her. He is to come over in '95. Emmeline is still
with Lady Holt and Mrs. Bracebridge, at Atherstone, in Warwickshire.
Miss Bracebridge, grand-daughter to Lady Holt, is a very agreeable
companion to my sister, though some years younger, and she enjoys the
society at Atherstone very much. They are most unwilling to part with
her; but now she has been absent two months, and we all begin to _growl_
for her return, especially now that my brother is gone, who was "in
himself a host."
I am engaged to go in October to pay a visit to Mrs. Charles Hoare. I
believe you may remember my talking to you of this lady, and my telling
you that she was my friend at school,[Footnote: Miss Robinson.] and had
corresponded with me since. She was at Lisbon when we first came to
England, and I thought I had little prospect of seeing her, but the
moment she returned to England she wrote to me in the kindest and most
pressing manner to beg I would come to her. Immediately after this, I
dare not add that she is a most amiable and sensible woman, lest Sophy
should exclaim, "Ah! vanity! because she likes you, Mademoiselle Marie!"
My uncle, William Sneyd, whom I believe you saw at Edgeworthstown, has
just been with us for three weeks, and in that time filled five quires
of paper with dried plants from the neighbouring rocks. He says there is
at Clifton the richest harvest for botanists. How I wish you were here
to reap it. Henry and I will collect anything that we are informed is
worthy of your Serene Highness's collection. There is a species of
cistus which grows on S. Vincent's rock, which is not, I am told, to be
found in any other part of England. Helpless as I am and scoffed at in
these matters, I will contrive to get some of it for you. A shoemaker
showed us a tortoise shell which he had for sale. I wished to have
bought it for La Sophie, but upon inquiry I found it could not be had
for less than a guinea; now I thought at the utmost it would not give
Sophy above half a crown's worth of pleasure, so I left the shoemaker in
quiet possession of his African tortoise. He had better fortune with two
shells, admirals, which he sold to Lady Valentia for three guineas.
We begin to be hungry for letters. The children all desire their love to
you; Charlotte is very engaging, and promises to be handsome; Sneyd _is_
and promises everything; Henry will, I think, through life always do
more than he promises; little Honora is a sprightly blue-eyed child, at
nurse with a woman who is the picture of health and simplicity, in a
beautiful romantic cottage, just such a cottage as you would imagine for
the residence of health and simplicity. Lovell is perfectly well, and
desires his kind love to you. Dr. Darwin has paid him very handsome
compliments in his lines on the Barbarini vase, in the first part of the
_Botanic Garden_, which my father has just got.
Has my aunt seen the _Romance of the Forest_? It has been the
fashionable novel here, everybody read and talked of it; we were much
interested in some parts of it. It is something in the style of the
_Castle of Otranto_, and the horrible parts are we thought well worked
up, but it is very difficult to keep Horror breathless with his mouth
wide open through three volumes.
Adieu, my dear Sophy: do not let my aunt forget me, for I love her very
much; and as for yourself, take care not to think too highly of Cousin
Maria, but see her faults with indulgence, and you will I think find her
a steady and affectionate friend.
_To_ MISS S. RUXTON.