On Tuesday morning we left dear, happy, luxurious, warm Byrkely Lodge.
At taking leave of me, Mr. Sneyd began thanking me as if I had been the
person obliging instead of obliged, and when I got up from the breakfast
table and went round to stop his thanks by mine, he took me in his arms
and gave me a squeeze that left me as flat as a pancake, and then ran
out of the room absolutely crying.
We arrived at tea-time at Mrs. Moilliet's, [Footnote: Daughter of Mr.
Keir, Mrs. Edgeworth's old friend.] Smethwick, near Birmingham, much
pleased with our reception, and with Mr. Moilliet and their five
children. He has purchased a delightful house on the banks of the Lake
of Geneva, where they go next summer, and most earnestly pressed us to
visit them there.
Mr. Moilliet told us an anecdote of Madame la Comtesse de Rumford and
her charming Count; he, one day in a fit of ill-humour, went to the
porter and forbad him to let into his house any of the friends of Madame
la Comtesse or of M. Lavoisier's--all the society which you and I saw at
her house: they had been invited to supper; the old porter, all
disconsolate, went to tell the Countess the order he had received.
"Well, you must obey your master, you must not let them into the house,
but I will go down to your lodge, and as each carriage comes, you will
let them know what has happened, and that I am there to receive them."
They all came; and by two or three at a time went into the porter's
lodge and spent the evening with her; their carriages lining the street
all night to the Count's infinite mortification.
Mr. Moilliet also told Fanny of a Yorkshire farmer who went to the Bank
of England, and producing a Bank of England note for £30,000, asked to
have it changed. The clerk was surprised and hesitated, said that a note
for so large a sum was very uncommon, and that he knew there never had
been more than two £30,000 bank notes issued. "Oh yes!" said the farmer,
"I have the other at home."
We went to see dear old Mr. Watt: eighty-four, and in perfect possession
of eyes, ears, and all his comprehensive understanding and warm heart.
Poor Mrs. Watt is almost crippled with rheumatism, but as good-natured
and hospitable as ever, and both were heartily glad to see us. So many
recollections, painful and pleasurable, crowded and pressed upon my
heart during this half-hour. I had much ado to talk, but I did,
[Footnote: Mr. Watt had been one of Mr. Edgeworth's most intimate
friends.] and so did he,--of forgeries on bank notes, no way can he
invent of avoiding such but by having an inspecting clerk in every
country town. Talked over the committee report--paper-marks,
vain--Tilloch--"I have no great opinion of his abilities--Bramah--yes,
he is a clever man, but set down this for truth; no man is so ingenious,
but what another may be found equally ingenious. What one invents,
another can detect and imitate."
Watt is at this moment himself the best encyclopedia extant; I dare not
attempt to tell you half he said: it would be a volume. Chantrey has
made a beautiful, mean an admirable, bust of him. Chantrey and Canova
are now making rival busts of Washington.
I must hop, skip, and jump as I can from subject to subject. Mr. and
Mrs. Moilliet took us in the evening to a lecture on poetry, by
Campbell, who has been invited by a Philosophical Society of Birmingham
gentlemen to give lectures; they give tickets to their friends. Mr.
Corrie, one of the heads of this society, was _proud_ to introduce us.
Excellent room, with gas spouting from tubes below the gallery. Lecture
good enough. Mr. Campbell introduced to me after lecture; asked very
kindly for Sneyd; many compliments. Mr. Corrie drank tea, after the
lecture, at Mr. Moilliet's--very agreeable benevolent countenance, most
agreeable voice. We liked particularly his enthusiasm for Mr. Watt; he
gave a history of his inventions, and instances of Watt's superiority
both in invention and magnanimity when in competition with others.
Mr. and Mrs. Moilliet have pressed us to come again. Mr. and Mrs. Watt,
ditto, ditto. Mr. Watt almost with tears in his eyes; and I was ashamed
to see that venerable man standing bareheaded at his door to do us the
last [Footnote: It was the last. Mr. Watt died a few months afterwards.]
honour, till the carriage drove away.
I beg your pardon for going backward and forward in this way in my
hurry-skurry. I leave the Stratford-upon-Avon, and Blenheim, and
Woodstock adventures, and Oxford to Honora and Fanny, whose pens have
been going _à l'envie l'une de l'autre_; we are writing so comfortably.
I at my desk with a table to myself, and the most comfortable little
black stuffed arm-chair. Fanny and Ho. at their desks and table near the
fire.
"We must have two pairs of snuffers."
"Yes, my lady, directly."
So now, my lady, good-night; for I am tired, a little, just enough to
pity the civilest and prettiest of Swiss-looking housemaids, who says in
answer to my "We shall come to bed very soon," "Oh dear, my lady, we
bees no ways particular in this house about times o' going to bed."
_To_ MRS. RUXTON.