I "take up my pen," as the young ladies write, to let you know how we
are getting on; and as I shall be obliged to put it down again very
soon, here goes. We lived with very hospitable people in a very splendid
house near Glasgow, and were perfectly comfortable. The meeting was the
most stupendous thing as to numbers, and the most beautiful as to
colours and decorations I ever saw. The inimitable did wonders. His
grace, elegance, and eloquence, enchanted all beholders. _Kate didn't
go!_ having been taken ill on the railroad between here and Glasgow.
It has been snowing, sleeting, thawing, and freezing, sometimes by turns
and sometimes all together, since the night before last. Lord Jeffrey's
household are in town here, not at Craigcrook, and jogging on in a cosy,
old-fashioned, comfortable sort of way. We have some idea of going to
York on Sunday, passing that night at Alfred's, and coming home on
Monday; but of this, Kate will advise you when she writes, which she
will do to-morrow, after I shall have seen the list of railway trains.
She sends her best love. She is a little poorly still, but nothing to
speak of. She is frightfully anxious that her not having been to the
great demonstration should be kept a secret. But I say that, like
murder, it will out, and that to hope to veil such a tremendous disgrace
from the general intelligence is out of the question. In one of the
Glasgow papers she is elaborately described. I rather think Miss Alison,
who is seventeen, was taken for her, and sat for the portrait.
Best love from both of us, to Charley, Mamey, Katey, Wally,
Chickenstalker, Skittles, and the Hoshen Peck; last, and not least, to
you. We talked of you at the Macreadys' party on Monday night. I hope
---- came out lively, also that ---- was truly amiable. Finally, that
---- took everybody to their carriages, and that ---- wept a good deal
during the festivities? God bless you. Take care of yourself, for the
sake of mankind in general.
Ever affectionately, dear Georgy.
1848.