1819-1820
_Miss Eden to the Dowager Lady Buckinghamshire._
NEWBY HALL,
_Sunday, February 14_ [1819].
MY DEAREST SISTER, I was very sorry to hear of the unfortunate state in
which you have been, and in which Sarah [Lady Sarah Robinson] is, as I
have a sufficient recollection of the Mumps to know what a very
disagreeable disorder they are, or they is.
We have had a _spirt_ of company for the last three days, but they all
very kindly walked off yesterday, and as it is wrong to dwell upon past
evils, I spare you an account of most of them.
There were a Mr. and Mrs. Winyard amongst them, who were very pleasant.
He was in the army, and is now in the Church, and though they are the
sort of people who have a child every year, and talk about their
governess, and though she very naturally imagined, that because she was
absent, the high wind would blow away the little tittupy parsonage, and
the ten precious children, yet they really were very agreeable.
He sang so very beautifully though, that it made all his other good
qualities quite superfluous, and I am convinced it would have touched
your unmusical heart to hear him sing some of the Irish Melodies.
I have some thoughts of writing an Essay on Education for the good of my
country, and I think the little Robinsons[84] will in most cases serve
for example, and I must say that, tho’ children, they are very nice
things, and uncommonly well managed.
If at any time you will let me know how you are going on, the smallest
intelligence will be thankfully received. Ever, my dear Sister, your
very affect.
E. EDEN.
_Miss Eden to Lady Buckinghamshire._
LONGLEAT [WARMINSTER, WILTS],
_Monday, March 15, 1819._
MY DEAREST SISTER, This place affords so very little to say, that if
this prove to be a long letter, of which at present I do not see much
chance, I pity from my heart your feelings of weariness at the end of
it. There is nobody here but the Campbells, but I imagine that the
family of Thynne are much pleasanter out of a crowd. At least, we are
not the least formal or dull, which from the account Mary and Fanny used
to give I thought would have been the case.
The magnificence of the house far surpasses anything I have ever seen,
and with all that, it is one of the most comfortable abodes possible. It
is inconvenient too in some respects, at least to me, who have an
unfortunate knack of losing my way even in a house that may consist of
only ten rooms, so that I cannot stir without Fanny or some other guide.
There are several roads to our rooms. The servants make it, I think,
about five and twenty minutes’ walk, a little more than a mile and a
quarter; but then that is a very intricate way.
Lady Bath[85] is very much out of spirits at times about Lord
Weymouth,[86] who is going on very ill; but she is always very pleasant
and very good-humoured....
Lady Elizabeth[87] and Lady Louisa[88] both make themselves very
pleasant.
We leave this place Saturday night, probably, which I am very sorry for,
but George must be in town Monday, and therefore it is necessary to be
there Saturday. However, he is first going to see poor Lord Ilchester at
Weymouth,[89] and is to rejoin me on the road, so our plans depend a
little on Lord Ilchester’s. London will be a little dark and
dismal-looking this weather, but the FitzGeralds are coming up to be at
the Meeting of Parliament, and I shall be rather glad to meet Pam.[90]
Your most affectionate
E. EDEN.
_Miss Pamela FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
[1819.]
So you are not dead at all, Emmy! I am very glad, for I can’t spare you.
I have been what the people call in a great deal of trouble. Aunt[91]
frightened me, she chose to neglect her cough so long, that when at last
on her complaining of pain in her side I bullied her, and sent for
Dundas, he found she has a considerable degree of inflammation on her
chest, and she was to be bled directly; the Apothecary out of the way,
never came home till night. Aunt made a monstrous piece of work between
fright and fever, and cried out, and the candles flared, and Baker
stamped, and I who thought myself so courageous, I was turned upside
down with the whole business.
Lucy[92] is staying at Mrs. Seymour’s, luckily out of the mess; she went
over for a ball Monday, and Mrs. Seymour has kept her on there.
I had a letter from Edward[93] a few days ago, written from the Slough
of Despond; he has joined his regiment at Lichfield, and you may imagine
the transition from Paris, poor darling. I would give the whole world to
go and comfort him.
Emmy, don’t you know what I mean? But when anything one loves is
unhappy, it seems more particularly to belong to one.
He comes to us the 11th, for a few days, which I look to with some
anxiety, after that taste, or rather distaste, we had of each other in
London.
I am looking about for a conveyance to Town, because I want to buy a
hat; at present I am all shaven and shorn, and shall be reduced to wear
a paper cap, if I don’t take care.
I am obliged to write with this pen, which is like a Chinese chop stick,
because I am in Aunt’s room, and she is asleep, and I dare not begin
that quick rustle, which disturbs and wakes a Patient as much as the
roar of a cannon, and which would be unavoidable in a hunt for quill or
knife; as it is I have some trouble to keep the paper from crackling,
and the few books _d’alentour_ from throwing themselves head-long off
the table, which is the way of all books the moment one drops asleep.
I have had sad fits of low spirits. Spring makes one languid to a
degree, that the air is a weight upon one.
The Assizes were delightful. I don’t think it right to carve out
futurity for oneself, or else I really think I should like never to
marry anybody who does not wear a Lawyer’s Wig. It is proper, it
adorneth the outward and visible man; those thin terrier faces, those
hollow cheeks and deep eyes, are precious and lovely.
I was amused at the younglings, whose callow smooth faces look all the
younger for the wig. Seriously, the interest of the most important cases
to me was inexpressible. It is the reality which presses on one’s heart,
and makes an impression far deeper than the utmost stretch of imaginary
sorrow can ever produce.
I have seen no creature, and have established my character Bearish in
the neighbourhood, so they are content to let me alone....
Mr. Peel[94] could not help marrying that girl who is silly; those
things fit, and are so far satisfactory they establish some sort of
system in the goings on of the world, and give body to speculation. Wise
men love fools.
I had done writing, and then as usual a whole heap of things came
lumbering about my head. I had a high letter from poor Eliza Fitz.[95]
She has given up her dearest hopes on earth, and if she should be
obliged to marry any one else, miserable, wretched, homeless, she trusts
she will do her duty and be a good wife; that’s the résumé of four
criss-cross sheets of paper. I wrote her a very reasonable letter to
comfort her, for she is painfully ashamed of herself, poor girl, and
there is no use in that, so I turned her over to the bright side. She
has only fallen in that common error of whipping up her feelings with
words, and they never can keep pace _even_, one will always be before
the other.
_Miss Eden to Lady Buckinghamshire._
_June 4_ [1819].
MY DEAREST SISTER, Mary went out last night to Mrs. Baring’s[96] ball,
which was not likely to do her much good, and is completely “frappée en
haut” (Sir W. Wynn’s translation of “knocked up”) with headache and
fatigue this morning. Dissipation is not likely to agree with her,
certainly, but then, Sister, think of the pineapples and strawberries
and ices and temporary rooms and magnificent hangings and beautiful
flowers at Mrs. Baring’s.
I wish I was a rich old banker; but then I would not have, or _own_, so
many fellow-creatures as the Barings do. I keep my comforts a little
more to myself.... We have had a most alarming visit from Rogers the
Poet this morning, the very recollection of which would make my hair,
black pins, combs and all, stand on end, if they had ever subsided since
his first appearance. I never saw such a satirical, odious wretch, and I
was calculating the whole time, from what he was saying of other people,
what he could find ill-natured enough to say of us. I had never seen him
before, and trust I never shall again. Your most affectionate
E. EDEN.
_Miss Eden to Lady Buckinghamshire._
_June 10, 1819._
MY DEAREST SISTER, You will, I hope, have more pleasure or rather
happiness than _I_ can yet teach myself to feel, in hearing that our
dearest Mary is going to be married to Charles Drummond. It cannot be a
surprise, of course, to any one, as he has certainly taken no pains to
conceal his attachment; but the objections arising from want of
fortune, we had not hoped could have been so well overcome as they are,
quite to the satisfaction of his friends and hers also. It was almost
settled at Lady Darnley’s fancy ball on Monday, and concluded by letter
(such a very pretty letter!) on Tuesday morning. Mary and I went down to
Langley[97] for an hour for a little advice, as George was gone to his
Committee; then we saw George; then Mr. D.; and, in short, everything
went on smoothly, and as such things usually do go on. George has seen
the old Drummonds, who were very good-humoured and quite agreeable. In
short, I should believe we were all amazingly happy, only I _know_ I
have seldom felt so wretched. She will be such a dreadful loss to me!
But I will only think of the advantages of the case; and George is so
pleased, and it is altogether a very desirable thing for all of us,
besides the real chief point of her happiness, which she ought to find,
and of which she has so reasonable a prospect. The Post Bell is ringing.
Mary would have written herself, but _he_ is here, and this is their
first real conversation. Sarah will excuse my not writing to her to-day,
I hope, and I really have had great difficulty in making out this one
letter, and we have told nobody else yet. Your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
THAMES DITTON,
_Friday, August 13, 1819_.
MY DEAREST EMILY, I was really sorry not to be able to accept Lady
Buckinghamshire’s invitation, but you see it could not be, for Lucy sets
off Tuesday morning, and as Aunt Soph[98] never parted with her before
in her life, I must stay and comfort her....
Think of Sister liking me! I know of few phenomena that ever more
surprised me, for I concluded she had set me down as wild and
scapegracish. However, it was certainly reciprocal, for she certainly
took my fancy very much.
Mary is very much changed since she has gone to live with that Drummond;
however, you must get the better of that awkwardness, my poor dear Emmy,
which for some time will hang over you. Besides, when Mary’s mind
settles again, you will get on better, and no longer miss her. In short,
make haste and come, for I cannot write, but I want to talk to you.
Mary gave a sad account of that comical Dog,[99] I trust he is
better....
It was a very foolish thing of Mary marrying, but let us hope that, as a
cook once said to me when I represented that she had not married
prudently, “It was very foolish. The only thing is never to do so again,
Ma’am, let us hope.” I say she will look upon it as warning....
I have bought me some ducks, Emily, which I have to dill-dill myself. As
yet I hold out, but as I may think dill a bore, I must hope Providence
or instinct, that instinct, Emily, which does “Blush in the rose, and in
the diamond blaze,” that wonderful instinct I do hope will teach them
their solitary way to the back yard.
I am going to get me a Pig too, which I mean to farm upon speculation
and make monies.
Have you heard from that comical Dogge? By the bye, I hear that a man
was bit by a comical dog at Kingston, and is very bad. Sad times, bread
is dear, reformers meeting, dogs mad, and such a harvest the farmers
must be ruined.... Ever your affect.
PAM.
_Miss Eden to Lady Buckinghamshire._
BURGH,
_Friday, September 10, 1819_.
MY DEAREST SISTER, My visit to Thames Ditton I liked of all things. Poor
Aunty was confined to her room with a bad sore throat till the last two
days of my stay, so that Pam and I had it all to ourselves. We lived
from breakfast time till seven at Boyle Farm, a beautiful place of Lord
H. FitzGerald’s by the river. I drew a great deal (what an odd word drew
is! I mean, I drawed a great deal) and Pam read loud a very little, and
I played and she sang, and the talking and laughing we divided in two
equal large shares. I was very sorry to leave her, but I should have
missed Mary altogether if I had not come here this week. There is an
immense party in the house, but as everybody does what they like that is
rather an advantage than otherwise. We set off after breakfast yesterday
in _seven pairs_ to take a walk, Mr. D. and Mary leading the way like
Noah and his wife. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Shem, Ham and Japhet, and two
or three odd pairs of beasts, the remainder here I suppose. I was set
upon a horse, too, after luncheon, which was a Mazeppa-ish
sensation--but there are beautiful rides about here, and if I was not as
stiff as a poker to-day, I should have enjoyed that ride yesterday
particularly.
Any little shyness that change of circumstance may have made, and indeed
must have made at first, is quite over, and we are as comfortable as
ever, which is satisfactory, considering that I love nothing in the
world so well as her--tho’ I should be sorry that she should say the
same of me _now_. I am quite contented to be second. Her happiness is
not the least surprising, as it must be pleasant in the first place, to
be _considered_ as she is by all the Drummonds, and Mr. Drummond’s
merits open upon me every day. He is much superior to all his family, I
think, and as Mary thinks him superior to everything else, it all is as
it should be. Adieu, dearest Sister. Your ever affectionate
E. E.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
THAMES DITTON,
_September 23, 1819_.
...You must tell Mr. Drummond I never thank him enough for having
blessed me with Bess, for some days she pondered on the vicissitudes of
sties, but she has recovered herself, and enjoys existence with all the
buoyancy and exuberance of youthful spirits. Her beauty is remarkable,
and she possesses much of that _piquant_ and _espièglerie_, which so
seldom is allied to regularity of feature. Her disposition is very
engaging, her heart mild and tender, and so affectionate she will eat
out of my hand. In short, her perfections are such, I defy the bosom of
a Jew to resist the fascination of them.
Your Uncle Henry[100] went away last Thursday; he went without bidding
us good-bye, but wrote a very quiet touching note, saying parting gave
him such a squeeze about the heart, he could not bear the idea of taking
leave. Poor Aunt did not like it at all--by the bye, that’s one of the
topics that are spoiling in my mind, for want of you to discuss them. I
think one don’t escape the squeeze at the heart by avoiding a parting,
and that one has in addition a very unpleasant jar, besides having one’s
mind all over in a litter of things one still had to say, and odd ends
of topics (the pig just stepped into the room to see what I was about;
it must have some Irish blood in it, for it seems quite at home in the
house).
Lucy comes back next Saturday. She met, she tells me in her last
letter, Lady Harrowby,[101] and Newman the Russian, and Pahlen the
Prussian, and Lady Ebrington[102] behind her parasol and Lord Ebrington,
and Lady Mary Ryder, and Ed. Montagu; in short, as she says, the whole
cavalcade of Click.
We have just now my cousins Cootes[103] staying with us, I have always a
sort of nervous fear of seeing them vanish, they seem so like bad
visions.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_October 3, 1819._
I cannot say how much your long satisfactory letter delighted me, that’s
something like a letter. I ought not to have been surprised at the
tidings you give of dearest Mary, for when people marry there is nothing
we may not expect them to do, and it is our own fault if we allow
ourselves to be astonished at anything.
Lucy came back yesterday week, fat, well, in high force, delighted with
all she has seen and done; in short, for you can bear with my
obliquities, her spirits were a peg or two higher than my own, which
trod me down very much at first....
I have been spending a day at Bushy with the Mansfields.[104] I like her
infinitely the best of the two, she really is sensible, amiable, and as
clever as need be. He seems to have a cloudy unhappy temper, and some
pretensions which he has not ability enough to either disguise or
excuse.
Mr. Rose[105] was there (the Court of Beasts Rose), and I like him much
better on acquaintance. With wretched health he manages to keep up an
even flow of spirits. He appears to indulge himself in his whims and
oddities for his own amusement, and to divert his mind from dwelling
upon the sufferings of his body, which makes one very lenient towards
his jokes, poor man! even when they are not good. He seems amiable, and
when one can get him to speak seriously his conversation is very
charming, for with great information he is perfectly natural and easy;
it is very odd he should like dirty jokes. I wonder whether it is
inherent, or merely the consequence of bad health which catches at
anything for relief and distraction.
What are your plans? When do you go your travels, or has not the Comical
Dog told you anything about it, but means to have you off at a moment’s
warning, bundled into the carriage, with one arm in your sleeve, and
only one shoe on?
What do you think? Is there any hope of your going to Bowood? Are you to
live all October in the papered up rooms in Grosvenor St. with brown
paper draperies?
_Miss Eden to Lady Buckinghamshire._
GROSVENOR STREET,
_October 7_ [1819].
MY DEAREST SISTER, I am going to write you a long letter, and I shall be
like a ginger-beer bottle now, if once the cork is drawn. I shall
spirtle you all over--not that I have anything to say, but just a few
remarks to make.
In the first place, I am eternally obliged to you for your just and
proper appreciation of Autumn; nobody cares about it enough but you and
me, and it is so pretty and so good, and gives itself such nice airs,
and has such a touching way of its own, that it is impossible to pet it
enough.
I tried some cool admiration of it upon Louisa,[106] but she said she
did not like it, as it led to Winter, and the children wanted new coats,
and she must write to Grimes of Ludgate Hill for patterns of cloth, etc.
However, London is a very pretty check to enthusiasm; there are no trees
to look brown and yellow, and the autumn air only blows against poor
Lord Glengall’s[107] hatchment, and the few people that wander about the
streets seem to think it cold and uncomfortable. Except the Drummonds
and ourselves, I believe there is nobody here but the actors who act to
us, and the bricklayers who are mending the homes of all the rest of the
world. I have seen when I go sneaking down to Charing-Cross two or three
official people, who think I suppose, that they govern us and the
bricklayers.
Fanny and I shall end by being very accomplished, if we lead this life
long. We breakfast at a little before ten, and from that time till a
little after three are very busy at our lessons.
We have just finished Mrs. H. More,[108] which I like very much,
particularly the latter part.
We have foolishly begun _Modern Europe_ for our history book, which I
think much too tiresome to be endured, and then we take a peep at what
the Huns and Vandals are about. My only hope is that fifteen hundred
years hence we shall be boring some young lady in the back Settlement of
Canada with our Manchester Riots.[109] That is the only thought which
supports me under the present dulness of the newspaper.
George brought us such a quantity of Confitures from Paris, that it is a
mercy we are not in bilious fevers before this. I enclose you some
Fleur d’Orange because it is so genteel. Pray remark when it is going
down, whether your sensations are not remarkably lady-like? Your most
affect.
E. EDEN.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
THAMES DITTON,
_Tuesday, October 1819_.
Very pleasant, but not correct, as our immortal Monkey said when he
kissed the Cat, my going to see you in town! It would indeed be a case
for Hannah More, as that very comical Dog said; why it would make the
few pious hairs she still preserves rear up, like quills upon the
fretful Porcupine; to say I should like it is saying very little indeed.
Next to Hannah More, that Chancellor[110] is the greatest Beast and Bore
to prevent our going up; I won’t have my oath[111] trifled with no more
than my affections, and since he coquets with my conscience, I have a
great mind not to swear at all, and keep myself disengaged for some
little _Lèse-Majesté_. This letter seems copied out of Buffon or “The
Book of Beasts,” for I find honourable mention made of cat, dog, monkey,
beast, bore, porcupine.
I will try and let you know what day I come, if I can get it out of old
Sullivan, and if it is soon I will take the duck to you. I suppose
Hannah More will not be shocked at the dead duck spending the night
under the roof with you; the duck being dead must remove all impropriety
attendant on such a step.
Your account of your bonnet diverted me highly; it certainly is much
more difficult to find a congenial bonnet than a congenial soul, and
after all they don’t last one so long. Sullivan talks of Thursday as the
most likely day I shall land at your house, and I may from there branch
out into all other ramifications of business. I send you some three or
four violets to sweeten you in London.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_November 7, 1819._
DEAREST EMMY, I meant every day to have written to you whilst you were
at Shottesbrook,[112] but I never could hit the right temperature; when
I felt dull, I thought it was not fair writing to you, making “confusion
worse confounded,” and when I was merry, I imagined the shock might be
too much for you, and only serve to make your “darkness visible.” This
is a very deeply Miltonic apology, the truth I daresay may turn out to
be a severe fit of laziness, which has incapacitated me from doing
anything beyond reading, which delights me, and swallows up all my
duties.
Your sister Caroline seems an admirable Brood Mare. I admire her
exertions, but, Emmy, it is lucky we are not put to the test, we never
could imitate them. However brilliant and liberal our views, we should
fail in the plodding perseverance, which is the necessary ingredient to
fill up the gaps and make it all solid.
I have of late been driven by Aunt in the Chaise, to try a Mule, which a
man wants us to buy. In my life I never was on service of such danger.
She holds her reins so very loose, that she puts me in mind of the
picture of Phaeton when he is in the act of _culbute_ from Heaven, and I
find myself humming a Te Deum for my safety as I get out, for she has no
manner of power over the beast, and throws herself upon its generosity
with wonderful philosophy. I, who have not this reliance upon its
honour, really suffer greatly from terror.... My dear Emmy, the
Ogress’s[113] dereliction from the sober paths of temperance was a shock
I have not yet recovered from. Our cook has taken to drinking too, but
she certainly boasts some originality in her tastes; she ruins herself
in Antimonial Wine and emetics of the strongest nature; no remonstrance
can deter her from pouring every species of quackery down her unhappy
throat. It is very remarkable how the lower classes love physic.
Your anticipated fondness for your powder’d Friend quite enchanted us. I
have an extinguisher on my mind to-day, so good-bye. I write just to
show you I can make an effort for you. Good-bye. I am your own
PAM.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_Sunday, November 14, 1819._
What are you about? Write to me directly. Yesterday I was stirred up by
one of those hubbubs that vanish into smoke. Mr. Ogilvie[114] wrote to
say he was coming to us for a few hours previous to his going to Paris
for a fortnight on business, upon which Lucy went mad; she would and
should go with him, raved and tore about, wrung from the hard hands of
Aunt her vile consent, and so far infected me with her fuss that I was
all of a twitter.
Her cloaths were preparing, in short, she was far on the road to France.
Ogilvie arrives, Lucy downs upon her knees, to beg he will take her to
Paris, and lo! he would have been delighted to take her, but he had
given up the journey!
We all dropt in spirit like so many sacks, after the excitation of the
morning.
We go to Town positively on the 27th of this month, God willing. Let me
know whether the master of your destiny, your fate, George, brings you
to Town. We shall be in Stratford Place, and about the beginning of next
month I suppose the Chancellor will have us up. Pray how do you think we
ought to dress the character, something of the sackcloth and ash
nature?...
How do Fanny and Edward Drummond[115] go on? I hope she still thinks him
pleasant. Don’t rob her of those comfortable illusions, any bulwark
against bore is a blessing.
Aunt has had the white Cock, the pride of the Dunghill killed, and Lucy
has replaced him by a pair of stinking red-eyed rabbits. We have
robberies going on on all sides. The thieving establishment is put upon
the most liberal footing; they drive their cart, and keep their
saddle-horses, and nobody seems inclined to disturb them.
I understand Stocks? Emmy, I have been making Mr. Ogilvie give me a
lecture on Finance, but to-morrow I shall relapse into darkness. Nature
has done much for you and me, but we are not organised for Stocks.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_November 26, 1819._
We go to Town to-morrow, but too late to see you. I am so unhappy, my
snug own home so clean, so warm, my life so humdrum, to-day walking in
the footsteps of yesterday, all thrown over by going to that Babylon. If
it was not for you, I should hang myself previous to my departure.
Conceive my situation on finding myself to-morrow night, amidst the
smoke and stir of that dim spot which men call Stratford Place, Nr.
2....
I had a kind note from Lady Lansdowne,[116] I love her. Emmy, if you
desire to keep a Grantham and four horses, I surely may have my
Lansdowne and two!
I feel walking against the wind, which is the only way I can express the
feeling one has in parts of one’s life when matters go contrary. We are
coming up in truly Scriptural style, for we know not where we shall eat,
and where we shall drink, nor wherewithal we shall be clothed.
_December 17, 1819._--Emmy, the moon whistles, but why don’t you write?
My trunk is gone forth and is now on its remote, unfriended, melancholy,
and slow journey to Bowood, and drags at each remove a lengthening
chain, and the weather is so bad, and so we are all very unhappy. Isn’t
(I never know how to tittle that abbreviation, but to you my meaning is
palpable) well to go on. Isn’t this a day for Crack-skull Common?
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
BOWOOD,
_Thursday, a great deal p.m., December 23, 1819_.
MY DEAREST EMMY, I am safely arrived into this country, and as you have
never peregrined into these parts, a few remarks, peradventure, a few
remarks upon the nation Wiltshire may give you satisfaction. The
Wilt[117] is generally of noble disposition, kind of heart and of sound
understanding. In person short of stature, thick set, square built, hath
straight hair, and a pleasing aspect. In civility most laborious,
insomuch there seems a wall of politeness which keepeth off better
acquaintance in this tribe. The Wilt woman[118] liveth bounden in
subjection and loving obedience unto the husband, and filleth her time
duly in catering and ordering for her household. The Wilt[119] when
young is ill-favoured, given unto the asking of questions, eager for
food, and hath a harsh and unmusical voice. It is the custom to
_déjeune_ at the hour Ten. The Wilt doth eat, and read the signs of a
large leaf showing the contests of the Two Tribes--the one having power
that doth act foolishness, and the other which hath no power--speaking
wisdom; and after breathing a word or two at intervals when the meal is
ended, the Wilt will go unto his avocations and work with his brains,
and then at about the hour Two, he eateth of a mixture of flour and
water like unto cakes, and then doth go forth unto the exercising of his
body in the way of quick walking, or managing of a small horse. At
dinner the Wilt ordereth himself seemly, eateth of all things freely and
slow, drinking moderately. He then adjourneth unto another part of the
Habitation and doth talk of divers matters good and well spoken, rubbing
his hands withal exceedingly; and after he hath drunk of a hot brown
liquor, the women take their tools and do sew wearing apparel and are
still, and the Wilt taketh a volume and doth lift up his voice and read.
I do mention this because the custom is after the manner of this tribe
peculiarly, and is regarded upon by other tribes as an abomination,
inasmuch that one of the tribe of Dumont[120] has been known to cover
his countenance with a cloth when the same has been practical. I have
been at some pains to get particulars of this form of idolatry to the
god Bore, and have collected thus much: Bore is an evil spirit that,
they reckon, commonly doth haunt empty places, but is more terrible when
he doth infest crowded places. He doth possess people after the fashion
of the Devils in Judaea, and hath, besides, a contagious property, it
having been noted that one possessed will generally infect others. What
a fool I am, Emmy dear! but I was so full of nonsense I was obliged to
come and write to you, and such an ill-tempered pen too, that would go
no way, not even its own. I am sure it came out of Lady Holland[121] or
the Dss of Bedford’s[122] Wing!
I am very snug here as to my body, but I do want you to talk to beyond
expression, and I cannot bear to think Lucy is missing me all this
while. I have been over all my old walks here, and remembering all the
corners and rooms and chairs and tables, so that I feel two years the
younger. But I wonder how I got on at all without knowing you. Lady
Lansdowne is in high favour with me. There is so much to like in her.
Him of old I have always doated on, but I have sat with my extinguisher
upon my head ever since I arrived, so that I fear, pleased as I am with
them, the feeling is not reciprocal. I always shall love this place for
having brought me acquainted with old _Mary_, for my liking to her was a
sort of halfway-house to my affection for you.
I have not an idea who or when anybody is to come. I don’t care. You
have lost the art of writing me good long letters. I desire you will
mend. Goodbye, Dearie, God bless you. Tell me more. And believe me ever
your own
PAM.
Emmy now, don’t let all my stupid jokes lay about, and don’t because you
have nothing ready to say to Mary and Mr. Drummond, in an evil hour go
and shew my letter. You know you have done such things, you animal.
Remember, I will never write again if you play me this trick. I pour my
nonsense into your trusty bosom only in confidence. If I must restrain
my nonsense, what a bond of Friendship will be broken!
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
BOWOOD [1819].
That One Pound Bill is for the liquidation of the debt I contracted that
morning in Town with you at a shop in Regent Street for value received
of silk handkerchiefs, ribbons, etc.... I am fallen in love with Mr.
Abercromby.[123] He is quite a darling, mouth and all. The first day I
saw him I thought of your face and laughed; but we are now inseparable.
He is so natural, so good-natured, and does love nonsense. You would
delight in him. The Macdonalds have been here, and they are no loss. She
is so very dull, oh dear!--and they are much too newly married to be fit
for society.... I take long walks with my dear Lord Lansdowne. Emmy, he
is so good, and so knowledgeful, and so liberal, I think he is the most
liberal man I ever met with at all, in taste as well as principle. And
that is a great merit, for one knows where to have him. Emmy, don’t New
Year’s days and all those milestones in one’s life make you very
melancholy? They do me to a degree. I take some time shaking off the
weight. Of course I won’t say a word of the Dromedaries [Drummonds] to
any one, but I don’t see that you have any duty laying in that quarter,
particularly as the more you see of them and go to Charing Cross, the
more obligations they will imagine themselves bestowing on you.