"_Lime, Dec. 23, 1855._--I have found such a true observation in
'Heartsease'--'One must humble oneself in the dust and _crawl_
under the archway before one can enter the beautiful palace.' This
is exactly what I feel now in waiting upon my mother. When sensible
of being more attentive and lovingly careful than usual, I am, of
course, conscious that I must be deficient at other times, and so
that, while I fancy I do all that could be done, I frequently fall
short. A greater effort is necessary to prevent my mind being even
preoccupied when it is possible that she may want sympathy or
interest, even though it may be in the very merest trifles.
"The dear mother says her great wish is that I should study--drink
deep, as she calls it--in Latin and Greek, for the strengthening of
my mind. It is quite in vain to try to convince her that college
lectures only improve one for the worse, and that I might do myself
and the world more good by devoting myself to English literature
and diction, the one only thing in which it is ever possible that I
might ever distinguish myself. Oh, how I wish I could become an
author! I begin so now to thirst after distinction of some kind,
and of that kind above all others: but I know my mind must receive
quite a new tone first, and that my scattered fragments of sense
would have to be called into an unanimous action to which they are
quite unaccustomed.
"The Talmud says 'that there are four kinds of pupils--the sponge
and the funnel, the strainer and the sieve; the sponge is he who
spongeth up everything; and the funnel is he that taketh in at this
ear and letteth out at that: the strainer is he that letteth go the
wine and retaineth the dross; the sieve is he that letteth go the
bran and retaineth the fine flour.' I think I have begun at least
to _wish_ to belong to the last.
"It has been fearfully cold lately, and it has told sadly upon the
mother and has aged her years in a week. But she is most sweet and
gentle--smiling and trying to find amusement and interest even in
her ailments, and with a loving smile and look for the least thing
done for her."
Soon after this was written we went to London, and the rest of the
winter was spent between the house of Mrs. Stanley, 6 Grosvenor
Crescent, and that of my Uncle Penrhyn at Sheen. At Grosvenor Crescent I
often had the opportunity of seeing people of more or less interest, for
my Aunt Kitty was a capital talker, as well as a very wise and clever
thinker. She had "le bon sens à jet continu," as Victor Hugo said of
Voltaire. She also understood the art of showing off others to the best
advantage, and in society she never failed to practise it, which always
made her popular; at home, except when Arthur was present, she kept all
the conversation to herself, which was also for the best. Macaulay often
dined with her, and talked to a degree which made those who heard him
sympathise with Sydney Smith, who called him "that talking machine,"
talked of his "flumen sermonis," and declared that, when ill, he dreamt
he was chained to a rock and being talked to death by Macaulay or
Harriet Martineau. This year also I met Mrs. Stowe, whose book "Uncle
Tom's Cabin" made at the time a more profound impression in England than
any other book I ever remember. She was very entertaining in describing
her Scotch visits. Inverary she had liked, but she declared with
vehemence that she would "rather be smashed into triangles than go to
Dunrobin again."