1820-1825
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
BOWOOD,
_February, 1820_.
HUSH, hush, Emmy, the King _is_ dead,[124] and we have entered a new
reign, yes, yes, and George IV. _has_ been proclaimed, and I _have_
wondered what he’ll do with his wife, and Henry VII. would not let his
Queen be crowned for two years, and Hume says so, and all the newspapers
are very black, and the _Times_ blacker than any, and there is an end of
the topics and we know it all. Now to our old channel.
My hair is on tip-toe. I have heard with my outward ears to-day, that
there hangs a possibility in Fate of my not getting home for a month.
Not that I am uncomfortable here, but only I do so wish to see you
again, my dearie, and poor dear Lu![125] It quite amounts to longing, or
craving, or hunger, or thirst. It is so long since I have done out my
heart and mind, it is all in a litter.
I enjoyed myself so very much indeed while your brother and Mr.
Fazakerly were here. As for the others, I wished them hanged, for I had
to make company to them, and they did not make amusement for _me_.
We are quite alone, and have been ever since Wednesday. After I have
made breakfast, and Lord Lansdowne has engulphed as much Tea as he can
carry, I take my mornings to myself and bask in the Library. I do not
mean this as a figurative allusion to the sunshine of the mind, but that
the room stands South, as all rooms should stand, or walk off. I then at
about two, lunch, and see Lady Lansdowne for half-an-hour, take my walk
till five, come in, and write an empty line to Lucy to while away her
time.
Lady Lansdowne dines with us, goes to bed before eleven, and I stay on
talking till near one with the Wilt. I do, I _will_ like him, tho’ I
have run very near hating him, that Wilt wise man! He goes next Monday
to Woburn[126] and Middleton[127] on his way to Town, and Lord knows
when it will please Providence we should follow.
Tell me something of Mary, and above all, tell me about yourself. Your
last letter made me laugh so much! Do it again. I ever remain, your
affectionate old
PAM.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
BOWOOD,
_February 10, 1820_.
It is now settled we are to be in Town the 20th.... We do not mean to be
in London this year at all to remain, Emmy; it is not worth while. I
need not say it to you, for we compared notes last year upon the
emptiness of existence in that Town--gaiety as it is called. You will
come to Thames Ditton, where we have the certainty of being comfortable
together.
Lord Lansdowne set off to-day for Middleton. I miss him shockingly. He
has crept into my affections in a wonderful degree these last ten days;
I have pounded a little nonsense into him. Twice I made him laugh at
jokes not worth repeating, and once at his own matter-of-fact method of
understanding Fun: in short, our intimacy grew so thick he committed
himself far enough to say that he was quite in a childish fidget to see
his new Gallery and ceiling--much more anxious about that than about the
Meeting of Parliament. And last night the agony he got into fancying he
should want all the identical books in this library in Town, and which
to take, and the sort of goodbye he bid the volumes, gave me hopes of
him.
Emmy, you know the brother, William Strangways?[128] He is a curious
specimen. He certainly will pack himself up by mistake and send himself
as a Fossil to the Geological Society some fine day. I rather like him,
he is so good-natured, and so cram full of out of the way information.
Another Brother arrived to-day, y-clept Giles.[129] I know nothing of
him, and am likely to remain in ignorance, as they go away to-morrow.
She and I get on charmingly. I like her more than I ever did, more than
I ever thought I could love anybody who has the misfortune of not being
one of us.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_March, 1820._
Your letter gave me such delight, the laugh of other days came o’er my
soul.
My dear, rums is ris, and sugars is fell. My cold is gone, but Aunt is
sick, in short, barring myself who am very well thank you, the house is
an Hospital.
Aunt has been quite ill, shut up, and the Apothecary busy, all over
pocket handkerchiefs and Ipecacuanha.
All my neighbours far gone in liver complaints and buried in bile, so
that I have kept aloof from all, when they did not want me, and we are
so very, very quiet here, I almost fancy I must be grown deaf, for I
suppose the world is still in a bustle, and going on. No letters, no
murder, no crimes.
What a _retention_ of correspondence this cessation of franks seems to
have caused: when shall we see our wholesome days again?
Emkins, Holland will never do. Why? When, shall I see you? Why can’t you
stay where you are? Your brother George is like an _âme en peine_; he
can’t abide nowhere. I suppose you will like the junket, you Beast....
So you have your Grantham.[130] It is all very well we should allow
those sort of people to love us, etc. but they must be kept in their
place. How little I saw you in Town, and then you think it my fault and
that I won’t dine with you. You don’t know, you cannot know, how I have
been bothered about it, not by Aunt alone. In short, there is a bother
in our celibacy, that as there is no one to speak as one having
authority, the whole herd think they have a right to have a pull at
one’s tether, and pin one down to their own fancies....
Emmy, only think Danford is going to-day! A woeful day that such a Dan
should go.
There’s been a grand inventory to do, and glass and china, etc. Aunt was
aghast at the mortalities among the rummer glasses. He denied having
crackt their noble hearts, when, oh Providence! oh, _juste ciel!_ their
glassy relics rose in judgment, and from the cupboard called for
vengeance. There lay their bottoms, which, like the scalps of his
enemies, had accumulated in evidence of his deeds. His wen grew pale
when he thought of his wages. “Conceive his situation!” What a
climacteric! Good-bye, write to me much and often, but if you don’t,
never mind, for I know what London is.
I do long to see Matthews,[131] so provoking the animal won’t begin his
pranks before we leave London.
_April, 1820._
...Poor Aunt gets no worse, but I see no great amendment.... I assure
you, Emmy, I take great care of myself; we only sit up every other
night, and my spirits are quite good. I am screwed up like a machine,
and get through day and night very quickly indeed. I eat and drink and
laugh and don’t let myself think.
You must come again, when you can, to see me, Emmy. I have no scruple in
asking you to come and see me in the fullness of my dullness, out of the
fullness of your gaiety, because when we get together, we get into our
element, my darling. Your visit quite refreshed me the other day. I send
you some flowers to brighten up your room, and you will put them into
the Christening bowls, which lie about your tables.
_April 30, 1820._
I have given up the hopes of seeing you, nobody is going to Town, unless
I take a cling to some carriage footboard as the beggar boys do. I have
given up all prospects of bonnets for the future, and so have ordered
one at Kingston.
I had an obliquity the other day, and awful longing to be in London for
a _leetle_, a very _leetle_ while. I tried and tried what you call to
reason myself out of it, and I partly succeeded, but the getting out of
that folly cost me a great deal, and made me rather rough and
uncomfortable. Brushing up one’s reason is just as disagreeable as
having one’s teeth cleaned, it sets one on edge for the while....
I am sure you will be obliged to me for telling you, that in a shower in
London, a man was running along with an umbrella, and ran against
another man, this latter offended man snatched the offending umbrella,
out of the umbrell_ee’s_ hands, and throwing it away said, “Where are
you running to like a mad mushroom?”
If Aunt gets better soon, I will go up in a week or two, and have a look
at you, and get a hat. Your Leghorn sounds well, but I never yet found
home brewed bonnets answer, they are always ill-disposed, full of bad
habits, and get awkward crics about them. Good-bye.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_May, 1820._
I should have written directly to wish you joy of Mary’s job being so
prosperously accomplished,[132] but I have been keeping my bed. My cough
has got such a grip of me, nothing does me good.... What a fuss you must
have been in I can but think. Was Mr. Drummond in a fuss? Well, it must
be a great relief off your mind, and off hers too, poor dear. I suppose
she is already doatingly fond of the little brute as if she had known it
all her life.... I have got a horrid cold and cough, and I look a beast
of the first water, and of course, Edward [FitzGerald] has fixed this
moment to come and see us. I expect him in two days, and he expects me
in my present haggard, worn, water-gruel state of mind to amuse him and
be _sémillante_. I, who am so low in words, I have not one to throw at a
small dog.
_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._
_June, 1820._
I am quite so much better to-day, I entertain some hopes of prolonging
my precarious existence a little longer. Company to dinner yesterday.
Humbug and Bore kissed each other without truth or mercy. Why didn’t
you come to me to-day? Come to-morrow for I have such a piece of
nonsense for you.
EDINBURGH,
_August_ 12, 1820.
We sailed Tuesday and arrived this morning by 5 o’clock at Leith. Our
journey was most prosperous and very amusing. Our Society of Passengers
also kept me in great amusement. I must just mention that their meals
amused me as much as any part of their proceedings. One poured whisky
over cold pie for sauce, and one ate raspberry jam with bread and
butter, all ate peas with their knives. We shall see the sights between
this and Tuesday, when we go to Bonnington. Write to me my own Emmy, and
direct at Lady Mary Ross,[133] Bonnington, Lanark.
BONNINGTON,
_October_ 9, 1820.
...Your letter amused me. The geographical happiness which has befallen
us in being born near one another is indeed inestimable. That horrible
supposition of my being the amiable Laplander made me shudder. You
always do hit the funniest ideas in the world. You darling, I require
something to keep up my spirits, for if I don’t laugh I shall cry when I
tell you it is more than probable I shall not see you till next May.
Mary Ross has put it into Aunt’s head that it would be the best plan in
the world for us to pass the winter in the Isle of Bute. Living is for
nothing. As this is a plan of economy I dare say nothing, but I am very
unhappy, I am very unhappy indeed, for I feel my heart sink into my
shoes when I think how long it may be before I again see you or any of
you.... We shall stay here till November, when we shall go to our
little Bute. Our society there is likely to be confined to Mrs. Muir,
the factor’s wife, a quick, lively, little body, I am told, which sounds
awfully bustling and pert, an occasional King’s officer in search of
smugglers, and the master of the steam-boat. I have liked Scotland upon
the whole, in short I had determined to make the best of it, and one
always partly succeeds in those cases, yet I don’t like the people; they
are very hospitable, but _du reste_, they appear to me stubborn,
opinionated, cold, and prejudiced. The women are either see-saw and
dismal, or bustling and pert, and appear to me to be generally ignorant,
which I did not expect, and the minute gossip they keep us is something
I cannot describe.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._[134]
GROSVENOR STREET,
_Monday_ [1820].
DEAREST THERESA, Please to write again directly to say how you are going
on. I take your Grove[135] to be equal to my Nocton[136] in matter of
bore, and that being the case, if one is to have an illness, one may as
well have it at those houses. It fills up the time. My ague is
subsiding, but I have fits of it occasionally and hate it very much. I
had one yesterday, which even moved George’s strong heart to pity,
though he has such a contempt for illness that I keep it all very snug.
I am going to Langley to-day, and that is another thing which makes him
so _scrapey_ that I am writing in his room in order to talk him over in
my most insinuating and winning manner between the sentences of my
letter.
He and I go on such different tacks about town and country, that we make
our plans, and talk them over for half-an-hour before I recollect that
we are working for different aims. He thinks every day spent in the
country by anybody who does not shoot is so much time wasted, and I
happen to think every day spent in London is a mistake, and I was roused
to the sense of our different views by his saying, “Well, but I want you
to gain another day in London, and you can write to Louisa that you were
not well yesterday, and then stay here, and I will go to the play with
you to-night.” Such an iniquitous plot! And I am about as fit to go to
the play as to go in a balloon.
George liked Middleton very much. Lady Jersey[137] was going, as soon as
the present party was all gone, to turn unhappy for the poor Duke of
York,[138] and as far as I can make out, she was going to show it by
putting off all the _ladies_ of the party she was to have had this week,
and to keep up just enough to receive all the gentlemen. She and Lady
Granville[139] seem to have had a fine _tracasserie_ at Paris. George is
so charmed with Lady Jersey’s children. He says he never saw such a fine
pleasant set of boys, and the girls are very pretty.
I have not been out of the house, except once, to see Elizabeth
Cawdor,[140] and with that wonderful quickness of observation that I
possess I discovered that she will probably soon add to her family, and
that the addition will be very considerable--three or four at least.
Lady Bath is at Rome again and not the least anxious to come home, which
is odd. One of Elizabeth’s children is so pretty. I have no news to
tell you, as it does not come of itself. One must go to look for it.
[In October 1820 Emily Eden suddenly received from her friend
Pamela in Scotland the news of her engagement to a widower with one
child--Sir Guy Campbell, and a month later the wedding had taken
place. Pamela, in her characteristic way, wrote and announced the
event.]
Before you read thro’ this letter call your maid, and get the smelling
bottle, for you will certainly faint away with surprise and wonder. Who
would have thought it! I don’t believe it myself so I cannot expect you
to believe it, but I am going to be married perfectly true in about a
month or six weeks.
I am going to be married to Sir Guy Campbell[141].... What I would have
given to have had you with me all this time, and at this moment, I miss
you beyond expression. He is uncommonly right-headed, of course it
follows he is liberal, _wide_-minded and indulgent, at the same time I
see he can take violent dislikes, as you do at times, my best one. He is
very tact to a degree, and that you know, Dearest, is a corner-stone in
happiness, for there is no fitting two minds without it.
[On her wedding-day, November 20, Pamela wrote to say the Catholic
priest had married them at half-past twelve, and that she was to be
married again by the Presbyterian minister, and a long dinner was
to be given for them in the evening for all the Family to
contemplate her. A week later she wrote again to Miss Eden.]
Just like you, and quite tactful not to cool our affection for each
other by sending me a wet blanket in the shape of a congratulation. I
like Sir Guy more and more, he understands me so well, he knows my
faults, which is a great relief, for I have no silent obliquity to
smother, or no good behaviour to act up to more than is comfortable. He
is doing a set of sketches of the Highlands for you, which I am sure you
will like. However, tho’ he is of a Highland family, let me take from
your mind any impression that he is at all Scotch in obstinacy, cunning
cheek-bones, or twang. He has not been in Scotland for the last six and
twenty years. You need not tell dear Mrs. Colvile this, who has built
all my hopes of future happiness on his being Scotch to the bone. Hers
was the first letter I received with Lady Campbell on it....
I cannot say how pretty it was of you to send that pretty cap, which I
think the prettiest cap that ever was prettied. Pat your Grantham for
she did that commission well. So she was very brimful of London and the
ways and means of the place? You wonder at her liking it so much after
having had so much of it; but it grows upon them like a description I
read somewhere of some part of the Infernal Regions, where the damned
were condemned to misery and dirt, wallowing in mire and sand, but they
were so degraded they had lost the sense of misery, and had no wish to
leave the darkness for light.
I wear your dear cap often and often, and occasionally Sir Guy wears it
when he is not very well. He says he is sure you will be gratified by
the attention.
I have had a very neat silk pelisse trimmed with fur, sent without the
donor’s name, and as the poor thing is a very pretty pelisse, but can’t
tell me its business or where it comes from, I have a silent great-coat
here, and thanks I can’t impart. I believe it comes from those Lady
Hills, those bosom friends I never could bear, and if I have thanked the
Gods amiss, I can’t help it.
Have you seen your Elliots?[142] for I am anxious to know what India has
done for them. It is a dangerous experiment, they get so stuffed with
otto of roses, sandal-wood and sentiment, they never come quite
right....
Aunty is in the grumps with the rheumatism, and the winds and draughts.
You know the sort of silent-victim appearance of suffering innocence
some people take and wear, which increases when the meat is tough, and
the pudding burnt, and which is all more or less aimed at me, till I
feel so _culprit_, as if I blew the winds, and made the cold, and
toughed the meat, and burnt the dish. However, I don’t mind it now and
go on doing my best for all of them, particularly as she desired not to
be troubled with housekeeping, and as I recollect she always keeps a
growl at the cold at home. Sir Guy behaves like an angel to her....
I hear they have a large party at Bowood, I suppose the usual routine. I
heard of Truval at Longleat, not doing anything particular. That small
Ealing address with all the little Truvals of the grove, babes and
sucklings, amused me. He was bored at Longleat and deserves to be bored
thro’ life. I can only wish him a continuance of H. Montagu’s
friendship.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
BUTE,
_January 7, 1821_.
Many thanks, my darling Emmy, for your delightful letter. Till you are
shut up for six months in an old rambling house on the coast of the Isle
of Bute in January, you cannot know the value, the intrinsic sterling,
of such a letter as yours.... I am sorry poor Mary’s Charing-Cross
purgatory has begun again.
I think, if God grants us life, we are very likely to settle, when we do
settle, somewhere near London. It is bad for the mind to live without
society, and worse to live with mediocrity; therefore the environs of
London will obviate these two evils. But I like the idea. I cannot bear
Scotland in spite of every natural beauty, the people are so odious
(don’t tell Mrs. Colvile). Their hospitality takes one in, but that is
kept up because it is their pride. Their piety seems to me mere love of
argument and prejudice; it is the custom to make a saturnalia of New
Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day they drown themselves in whisky. Last New
Year’s Eve being Sunday, they would not break the Sabbath, but sat down
after the preaching till 12 o’clock; the moment that witching hour
arrived, they thought their duty fulfilled, seized the whisky, and burst
out of their houses, and ran about drinking the entire night, and the
whole of Monday and Monday night too. This is no exaggeration, you have
no idea the state they are in--men lying about the streets, women as
drunk as they,--in short, I never was more disgusted....
Lady Lansdowne did not send the Pelisse. She sent me ribbons, an Indian
muslin gown, quantities of French-work to trim it, four yards of lace, a
dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; and that touching Lord Lansdowne sent me a
beautiful set of coral. She also sent me a white _gros de Naples_ gown.
In short, she has done it uncommon well, and I love her as much as I
can, and who can do more?
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_January 21, 1821._
Many many thanks, my Dearest, for your kind letter. We certainly do
understand one another _extraordinair_ well, as they say in Scotland.
Your writing in London too is quite “from the depths I cried out.”
Emily, there is a sympathy of bores between us. Sir Guy and I have
regularly been put out of humour every morning by the new _Times_, and
it will come all the way to Bute, though he has written to agents and
bankers and offices to stop it. Like old Time and pleasant Time and
Time-serving, there is no arresting it, and its disgusting pages meet my
eye and try my temper without cessation. Send me down a little genuine
essence of Whig when you have time occasionally. Sir Guy is no
politician at all, only I in a quiet way insinuate sound principles into
his mind. Not but what I think a military man should be without party,
so that the doses I give are very mild. I go no further than just
liberality, and now and then drawing him into some remarks on the
malversations of ministers.
I enter into your dinner and house bothers.
I don’t find that variety in the beef of to-morrow and the mutton of
to-day, which the _Anti-Jacobin_ expatiates upon with such delight, and
the joints diminish in sheep when we eat mutton. As for puddings, they
are one and the same, and only one, and then when one has tortured one’s
brain and produced a dinner, and that it is eaten, my heart sinks at the
prospect that to-morrow will again require its meal, _et les bras me
tombent ..._.
Lord[143] and Lady Bute are coming here. We don’t know them at all, but
I suppose we shall see them, which is bore, for nothing is so tiresome
as to be near neighbours with people one scarce knows. One has one foot
in intimacy, and the other in formality, and it makes but a limping
acquaintance. I don’t think Lady Lansdowne has quite got over my not
marrying her way; she covers it up very well, but you know how soon you
and I can see through all that, and I know also that Sir Guy is not
likely to overcome that feeling in her. He is not a party man, he is not
scientific, and unless he likes people he is very shy, and I see they
will never make it up. But I always thought marriage must disarrange
many acquaintances. I don’t regret acquaintances; even to have had
variety of acquaintances is an advantage, for the reason which makes a
public school an advantage to a boy; it widens the mind. But to go on
through life with them is heartless and thankless too. I mean to save my
time, and keep it all for those I like and love.... We have lovely warm
spring weather here, always breakfast with the window open and getting
away from the fires. I must say the climate far exceeded my
expectations. The garden is covered with thick white patches of
snow-drops in full bloom. Don’t this make your mouth water, and your
eyes too, you poor misery in your cold smoke?
Good-bye, Dearest, have you been drawing and what? I don’t mean just now
in London, but in your lucid intervals, and are you well?
So far London is a place that cures or kills. Your own
PAMELA.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[MOUNT STUART,]
_February 28, 1821_.
Don’t go out during this pestilential month of March, people may call it
east wind and sharp, but it is neither more or less than a plague, that
regularly blows thro’ the Islands, and it is nonsense to brave it, just
because it is not called pest, or yellow or scarlet, or pink fever, so
don’t go out.
I am spending a few days here at Mount Stuart,[144] and you may see that
I am writing with strange paper and ink, and have but a distant bowing
acquaintance with this fine clarified pen.
You are quite right, one is a better human creature, when one has seen a
mountain and it does one good. I only wish I could see a mountain with
you.
Your Feilding fuss is so described, that I laughed over it for an hour;
my Dear, I see it, and enter into your quiescent feelings on the
occasion; things settle themselves so well I wonder other people always,
and we sometimes, give ourselves any trouble about anything.
This is a good enough house, but somehow they go out of the room and
leave one, and yet one has not the comfort of feeling alone and easy,
and I caught myself whispering and Lucy too; I can’t account for it,
except by the great family pictures, that are listening all round in
scarlet cloaks, and white shoes, and red heels and coronets. Kitty[145]
is to be married to-day--plenty of love but little prospect of anything
else. Her future income is rather in the line of a midshipman’s
allowance, _Nothing a day and find yourself_.
I hope you will taste this saying, for I am partial to it, it gives one
a comfortable idea, that in these days, when the Whigs complain of
Ministerial extravagance, the Navy establishment will escape censure.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_March 3, 1821._
Much to say I can’t pretend, but something to say I can always find when
I write to you. We left Mount Stuart to-day. Sir Guy, Lucy and I
delighted to be at home. Aunt rather missing the cookery dishes, claret,
champagne, and a sound house.
My mind is grown much more easy since I have clearly ascertained,
weighed, and measured that I don’t like Lord Bute, and of course I have
a whole apparatus of reasonable reasons, to support my dislike _envers
et contre tout_. He is proud not in that complimentary sense. Some
people use the word implying a dislike of dirty deeds and a love of
noble doings. He is not purse-proud nor personally proud of his looks;
but the sheer genuine article pride which now-a-days one seldom meets
with barefaced. He is proud of his ancestors, proud of the red puddle
that runs in his veins, proud of being a Stuart, a Bute, and a Dumfries.
He apes humility, and talks of the honour people do him in a way that
sounds like “down on your knees.” Talks of his loyalty as if Kings
should kiss his hand for it. However though this is tiresome and
contemptible, he has some of the merits that mitigate pride. He seems
high principled and honourable, with sense enough for his own steerage,
and I make allowances for his blindness which must make him center in
self a good deal.
She is pleasant enough in a middling way, no particular colour in her
ideas. She never moots or shocks, or pushes one back, but she don’t go
any further, content to dwell in decencies for ever. She likes a joke
when it is published and printed for her, but I suppose a manuscript
joke never occurred to her.
They never have anybody there, except now and then Mr. Moore, his man of
business, who is in the _full_ sense of the word corpulent, red-faced,
with a short leg with a steel yard to it, and a false tuft; and he is
Colonel of the Yeomanry. But I like him for a wonderful rare quality in
any Baillie, but above all in a Scotch Baillie; he is independent and no
toad-eater. He found fault with his patron’s potatoes at the grand
table, with a whole row of silver plates dazing his eyne; and he as
often as occasion occurs quietly contradicts him....
General Way[146] and his wife are to be at Mount Stuart next week. Sir
Guy described General Way as an Adjutant-General, and a Methodist,
which sounds such an odd mixture,--true Church Militant. They are great
Jew converters. I have been reading a luminous treatise on Witchcraft,
seriously refuting such belief. One rather odd circumstance is, that
three-and-twenty books and tracts have been written since Charles II.’s
reign in earnest support of the doctrine of Sorcery and Witchcraft....
I go on writing in case you are still shut up, it may amuse you tho’ I
have no event. An occasional mad dog spreads horror thro’ the district;
no wonder I enter into the poor dog’s feelings, he belonged to the steam
boat, and that was enough to send any Christian out of their senses, let
alone a dog.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_March 10_ [1821].
What a delightful letter, and I feel perfectly agonised, not an idea,
not a topic, not a word to send you in return. Sir Guy says I may do as
I please, so I shall send the Highlands to the right about, and go south
to you as soon as the weather is _travellable_, and that we have seen
Sir Guy’s old Scotch aunt[147] at Edinburgh. I must see her because she
is called “Aunt Christy.” That name, you must acknowledge, is worth a
visit.
I send you, my Darling, a small Heart with my hair in it. Put it on
directly and wear it. I know it is a comfort to have a little something
new when one is ill, as I learnt when I had the chicken-pox, and found
great benefit in some gilt gingerbread Kings and Queens. Lucy used to
bring me them twelve years ago; they were hideous, useless, and not
eatable, but still they made a break in the day....
I wish I could instil in you a little of that respect and mystic
reverence which I never could feel myself for Doctors, and Pestles and
Mortars--that blind devotion which is so necessary to make the stuff
efficacious, for by faith we are saved in these cases, as in cases of
conscience.
I am sorry they have made you have hysterics, and won’t let you have the
Elliots, and conversation. That bluff Chilvers,[148] with his
Burgomaster appearance, as if he was magistrate of our vitals and poor
bowels! I hate him ever since he offered me the insult of a blister,
that first blister of hateful memory.
Write, or don’t write, as it suits you. Lucy and Sir Guy are such
friends, they quite doat on one another, and understand each other.
Therefore wipe away all I said for nothing. That is my comfort with you,
I can tell you and then scratch it out again as I please, and that is
the only way to be constant in this changeable world, to be able to
follow the changes of those we love, so as to be always the same with
them.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[BUTE,]
_March 15, 1821_.
...We have been a day at Mount Stuart since I wrote, to meet a Sir
Gregory and Lady Way--such bores! Oh! no, never. His brother is the
great Jew-converter, and has now left his wife and house and estate and
is gone a converting-tour into Poland. Some Israelites played him an
ungrateful trick. He invited them to his house in Buckinghamshire to
render thanks in his private Chapel for their redemption, but alas! they
had not cast off their old man, for they stole all Mr. Way’s plate,
which he has found it impossible to redeem, they having most probably
converted it into money and made off. These people are strictly pious
characters, and on Lucy saying she had heard of Mr. Way, Sir Gregory
replied: “An instrument, Madam, merely an instrument!”
Lady Way is too heavy, and so dressed out--all in a sort of _supprimé_
way, and wears a necklace like a puppy’s collar....
Did you see those pretty nice Feilding children[149] when the Feildings
were in London? I hope that nasty woman[150] will not spoil them.
Have you had Mary Drummond in comfort since you have been shut up and
ill?--like the indulgence of barley sugar with a cough; no remedy, but
yet it is pleasant. Does Fanny still keep up “brother and sister” with
Edward Drummond?[151] I don’t think even Fanny could do it. Sir Guy
knows the one in the Guards (Arthur is not his name), and liked him
better than Drummonds in general, for there is no denying that Drummonds
are Drummonds to the greatest degree.... Send me your low letters, and
your gay letters, and all you write, for I love it all.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_March 22, 1821._
...Jane Paget’s[152] business shocked, but did not surprise me. I never
saw any poor girl so devoured by Ennui, and I have so long found Bore
account for all the unaccountable things that occur, that it solved
Jane’s marriage to me. She cannot exist without excitement, for she is
completely _blasée_ upon everything. Blasée is the genteel word; you
would call it besotted or stupefied, if she had accomplished this
vitiated destruction by dram-drinking or opium; but the effect, call it
what you please, is exactly the same. I pity that poor Mr. Ball truly,
for I don’t suspect him of being equal to rule a wife and have a
wife....
I forget to tell you a good idea of Lucy’s, about Jane Paget’s
marriage. She said it was such a pity to see good articles selling off
at half-price like ribbon in Oxford Street, to make room for a new
spring assortment.
We are doing our Mount Stuart again. We have a Mr. and Mrs. Veetchie (a
Commissioner of the Customs and has been in the army) and Lady Elizabeth
and Mr. Hope. Mr. Hope can be pleasant now and then, but as dulness was
paramount during our intercourse, I suspect the agreeableness to be a
little gilding he has got from living with the wits of Edinburgh. There
seems no source--mere cistern work. Your old Burgomaster Chilvers is
clever, and I think as much of him as of any of them. But go on
mentioning all he does, whether you are drenched in drugs.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_April 1, 1821._
...Tho’ I know they are all taking care of you with all their might, I
feel I should do it better, because I want to be with you so very too
much, that I feel cross with those who can be about you. Sir Guy thinks
you are a lucky woman in being allowed only ten minutes of everybody’s
company; at least the chances are in your favour for escaping bores.
I hear of nothing but crash upon crash in London. Leinster[153] and Mary
Ross[154] are obliged to join to help Lady Foley.[155] Lord Foley is so
completely ruined, it is supposed it will be impossible to save anything
for his six unfortunate children, and Lord and Lady Foley cannot have
the satisfaction of throwing the blame on one another. He has gambled,
and she has had six guineas-apiece handkerchiefs. She has enjoyed the
bliss of boasting she never tied a ribbon twice, or wore her sattin
three times. I thought I had made a poor marriage, and was content, but
I begin to believe that I am a rich individual.
I think you are right about William,[156] I am sure he has taken a quirk
about my marriage, because you see, my dear Emmy, it splits upon one of
the very rocks of prejudice he has in his character. I would almost say
the only one, but then it is a considerable stone, his _worldliness_. He
would not have had me marry a regular established fool even he was rich,
because again, the world might think the worse of me; but if I could,
have met a rich quiet man without bells to his cap, made a good figure
in London, and of whom some people might indulgently say--in
consideration of his fortune, “Such a one I promise you has more sense
than one would think, he is not such a fool as people give him credit
for.” If I had run the usual race of London misery with such a man,
William would not have objected.
It is a crooked corner in him, I have often observed he has a childish
respect to the opinion of London; and Paris has done him no good in
giving him a notion that it don’t signify what people do, so they keep
it quiet, and make no open _scandale_. I have often wondered at this,
because we mortals always try and trace a consistency in character,
which is an ingredient never to be found in any composition, foreign to
human nature altogether, which we still hunt after, and refer to and
talk of, as if it was not as ideal as the philosopher’s stone, a
tortoise-shell Tom cat, or any other impossibility you like to think of.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_April 10, 1821._
I have been again at Mount Stuart. Saw a civil Mr. Campbell of
Stonefield, whom of course I ought to have called Stonefield _tout
court_, but this seemed to me so improper and affectionate. I would not
expose my conjugal felicity to such a slur, and I believe I affronted
the Laird. He is a great man, having been at Oxford, of course the
refined thing in education in Scotland; just as Lansdowne was sent to
Scotland to give him a better coating of education. I suppose on the
principle that the longest way about is the shortest road home. I see
all those who are taken most pains with make the plainest figure. This
man seems, however, to have preserved his whole row of Scotch prejudices
unshaken, proud, and touchy.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
THAMES DITTON,
_July 16, 1821_.
DEAREST EMMY, I have been so pestered and worried. I should only have
worried you if I had written to you in the midst of my various bothers.
I find I have about one half of my baby linen to get made, Aunt
Charlotte[157] having handsomely provided the caps and frocks and
fineries, but turned me off with only half-a-dozen of everything
needful, and not an inch of flannel. You are enough of a mother to enter
into my feelings on the occasion.
I have had scene after scene to undergo with Aunt [Lady Sophia
FitzGerald] upon the unkindness of my not remaining to be confined here
within the compass of a sixpence, and taking everybody’s advice, sooner
than hers, and, in short, not having her in the room with me. As I
should have died of that, self-preservation gave me firmness to resist,
and I declared I could not. All this was to be kept smooth to Sir Guy,
for Aunt chose to be sulky with him. In short I have found the kindness
of the house the cruellest thing on earth. I have not had a quiet
moment, the neighbourhood have poured upon me.... Lucy is gone mad, for
she is preparing to go to the Coronation.[158] Your affectionate and own
PAM.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_Tuesday, August 14, 1821._
...I am settled in Town since Saturday evening, and if Eastcombe has had
reminiscences of me for you, Grosvenor Square has reminisced you to me,
our evening walks, and Lady Petre, and Penniwinkle. Every valuable Bore
I possess has by instinct discovered me in Town, and I have been
surrounded with Clements,[159] Cootes, and Strutts.[160] However I had a
visit from Bob[161] as a palliative which supported me under the rest.
It is quite impossible to give an idea of the hurry and scurry of the
people in every direction, and as if the rain only increased their
ardour. Women with drooping black bonnets and draggled thin cotton
gowns, and the men looking wet and _radical_ to the skin. I catch myself
twaddling and moralising to myself just as I went on about poor
Buonaparte. They say fools are the only people who wonder, and I believe
there is something in it, for I go on wondering till I feel quite
imbecile.
However I own I am shocked (not surprised in this instance) that not a
single public office or government concern should be shut. No churches
at this end of the town either open, and no bells tolling.[162]
Your small parcel delighted me and is the smartest I had. I have given
every direction as to that being the first article worn, for I should
not love my child unless it had your things on.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
WOBURN, 1821.
MY DEAR THERESA, There never was a house in which writing flourished so
little as it does here, partly that I have been drawing a great deal,
and also because they dine at half-past six instead of the rational hour
of seven, and in that lost half-hour I know I could do more than in the
other twenty-three and a half. After all, I like this visit. It was
clever of me to expect the Duchess[163] would be cross, because of
course, that insures her being more good-natured than anybody ever was.
I am only oppressed at being made so much of. Such a magnificent room,
because she was determined I should have the first of the new furniture
and the advantage of her society in the mornings, though _in general_
she makes it a rule to stay in her own room. In short, you may all be
very, very good friends, but the only person who really values my merits
is--the Duchess of Bedford, and once safe with her the house is pleasant
enough.
We have had the Duncannons.[164] I like her; she is so unlike Lady
Jersey. Miss P. is something of a failure in every way, except in
intrinsic goodness; but she was terrified here, and at all times dull,
and as nearly ugly as is lawful. They have been the only ladies. Then,
there are dear little Landseer, Mr. Shelley, so like his mama in look,
and a great rattle; Lord Chichester, Lord Charles Russell, etc.; and a
tribe of names unknown to fame, headed by a Mr. Garrett, who is a rich
shooting clergyman with the most suave complacent manners!--one of those
appurtenances to a great house I cannot abide.
Eliza[165] is in the greatest beauty, and is a very nice person
altogether. I think Lord Chichester succeeds here, and there is no
denying that he is a creditable specimen of a young gentleman of the
reign of George IV.[166] We have been on the point of acting, but the
Providence that guards _les fous et les ivrognes_ evidently keeps an eye
on Amateur actors and preserves them from actually treading the boards.
Your most affectionate
E. E.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
D’ARQUES, PRÈS DIEPPE,
_Le 16 Juillet, 1822_.
MY DEAREST EMILY, I have been robbed and pillaged and bored and worried,
and hate France as much as ever I did, and so does Guy. Mama[167] has
made us a comfortable visit, but alas I cannot stay any longer, and
conceive my joy! we let our house here, and return to England for my
_Couche_. It almost makes up to me for the business. I shall be in
London in August, there to remain six months. To show you how entirely
and utterly false it is that you have not always and always had that
very large den in my heart, let me beg and entreat that, if you can, you
will be in or _near_ Town, if you can manage it, during my confinement.
It would be existence to me. Oh Emmy, I have so much to unburthen and
talk over with you--and you only. I am much pleased with what I have
seen of Mama, and Guy likes her....
Conceive the fuss we have had! My Lansdowne recommended Bridget as my
maid; Bridget turned out a thief and has robbed me to the amount of 70
Pounds, and acknowledged the fact before the Police, which is no
consolation, her candour not replacing the articles. We declined the
other consolation of pursuing her, whipping and branding, and five
years detention; but only--mind you!--never trust Jane Kingston, Lady
Bath’s laundress, for Bridget declares upon oath having sent the things
to her--my best lace among the rest.
On searching her things, a fine brodée handkerchief appeared, with
Harriet embroidered in the corner, and as she lived with Lady H.
Drummond[168] perhaps the House of Drummond might wish to make
reclamation.... Your own
PAMELA.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[17 CADOGAN TERRACE,]
_September 16, 1822_.
MY OWN EMILY, Here have I been settling myself to my infinite
satisfaction, after having endured the ordeal of France which I went
through. Where are you? What are you doing? Remember I have bespoke you,
October I expect to lay my egg.[169] If you are within reach--oh, it
will be such a comfort to me, I positively thirst to have a talk with
you. I am so happy to be in England. Better to live on a crust or a
crumb, which is not half so good in England, than upon penny rolls in
France.
I understand Lord Worcester[170] is already so bored with his bargain
that he is to be pitied according to the good-nature of the world for
anything that is passing wrong. It is sad that for the morality of the
world, people will not be convinced that illegality and sin are not free
from bore and ennui....
Tell me you are at hand or coming, for I downright long to see you, and
in my _position_ you should not let me long, though it would be no great
punishment to have a child like you. Sir Guy sends his particular love
to you. Your own affectionate
OLD PAM.
_November 22, 1822._
Emily, these trembling lines, guided by a hand weakened by confinement,
must speak daggers and penknives to you, for never having taken any
written notice of me since you chucked me my child in at the window and
went your way. As you come on Monday, I refer all to our meeting.
I want you shockingly.... Come to me soon, dear. Your affectionate
PAMELA.
_Lord Auckland to his sister, Miss Eden._
NORMAN COURT,
_October 29_ [1822].
Thank you for your two letters which I would have answered sooner, but
we shoot all day and are lazy all the evening.
I am not sure that you knew that Wall[171] had been ill and near losing
the sight from one of his eyes. He is considerably better, and shoots as
usual, and has no doubt of perfectly recovering.
My trip to Fonthill[172] was an amusing way of passing a spare day, and
has left a strong impression of the immeasurable folly with which money
may be spent. The house is too absurd, but the grounds are beautiful.
Lansdowne has bought some pictures there which he was anxious for, as
they belonged to his father. I have just heard from him. He is going for
a few weeks to Paris, and like everybody else, is expecting you and me
to pay him a good long visit at the end of the year. In his mild
rational way he exceedingly regrets that the Cortes have not cut off the
head of Ferdinand.[173]
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[1822.]
MY DARLING EM, Your letter has revived me, for I was smothered with Fog
and so obfuscated I found myself growing callous of the density of the
gloom, and my perception of my own dirt and my neighbour’s grimness was
diminishing. I was getting hardened, when your letter and a gleam of
dingy yellow sun showed me the state of myself and the children, and I
went up and washed myself and repented of my filth. The fog prevented
Mrs. Colvile coming, which is provoking. I wanted to show her my boy;
she has put so many of them together, she has an experienced eye on the
subject[174]....
The Ladies Fitz-Patrick, old Mrs. Smith, etc., are cooking up a match
between Vernon Smith and Mary Wilson, old Lord Ossory’s natural daughter
with much money.
Emily does it strike you that vices are wonderfully prolific among the
Whigs? There are such countless illegitimates among them, such a tribe
of Children of the Mist.... Your own
PAM.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_January 6, 1823._
_Twelfth Night or what you will._
MY DARLING EMMY, Thank God you have written at last, I have worked
myself into a fright this day or two that you were very ill. I have been
very poorly, but am better. You are mistaken about that sucking lump
being a favourite. I esteem him; he is a man of strict probity and
integrity with steady principles, and he is a man would make any
reasonable woman very happy in domestic life; but there is a refinement
and charm in that Cain that makes a fool of me,--a great fool, for
she[175] don’t much care for me, and is radically vicious.
We have got a house between Reading and Basingstoke, a mile from
Strathfieldsaye, at a village called Strathfield Turgess:--delightful
prospect, well furnished, roomy, with Cow and poultry included, garden
meadow, for £84 per annum.
Lady Louisa Lennox had rather taken my fancy, and that negative mind of
being Anti-Bathurst is a jewel in their favour. Emily, to have it
gravely told me Lady Georgina Bathurst[176] is a strong-headed woman,
superior, with wonderful abilities, etc. _Cela m’irrite la bile_, when I
know her to be prejudiced, worldly, entrenched by prejudices upon
prejudice, till her very soul is straightened within the narrow limit of
the Ministers, their wives, and her own family....
How is your Grantham? My Lansdowne is playing at _de petits jeux
innocents_. I am of a guilty inclination and cannot taste those social
innocences, besides, Emmy, we don’t do such things well in England, it
don’t suit well, and to fail in a triviality is failure indeed, but the
Wilt loves a caper. All this is very well, but I want to talk to you,
Emmy. I have such quantities I cannot even tap in a letter, that I could
talk out just in one 1/2 hour.
Louisa Napier[177] is with Lady Londonderry,[178] and the account I
think very horrid. Every thing at Cray goes on the same, conversation,
laughing, novels, light books, the attaches and habitués coming in, the
very red boxes of office left in their places, not a shade of difference
in her occupations, amusements or mode of life.
She seems as if determined there shall be no change. This may be
fortitude, to me it is frightful. That habits should be so cherished and
so rooted as to withstand such a shock as the disappearance of the only
object she is ever supposed to have loved by Death, and such a death,
is wonderful, and not to be understood if it is upon principles so
erroneous....
I dined with the Wellesleys yesterday. Mr. Wellesley[179] acknowledges
having been distractedly in love with Sister, and was so pleased to see
her at Hastings. He hopes you like the place. His son Arthur is such a
cub, and thinks himself so very _every thing_, it made me quite low. Of
the Wellesley girls, the top and bottom dish, or eldest and youngest,
are of the specie Geese--the middle ones, Georgina[180] and Mary,[181]
are quite delightful, and very uncommon in their way.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[STRATHFIELD TURGESS,]
_April 11, 1824_.
Thank you for your last letter, thank you for Lord Lansdowne’s after
laugh, but thank you above all, for being still my own Emmy just the
same as ever. I suppose you are going to Captain Parry’s[182] _fête_ on
board the _Hecla_, announced in the newspaper. I think he might have
asked me, and then I could have got over his ordering all this snow from
Gunter’s. However I think he has rather overdone it. I understand there
is to be a whole course of Walrus.
I had a letter from Sister, written at Lady Sarah’s[183] the day she
left Strathfieldsaye. She is full of good, and agreeable; but yet, I
never should be able to be quite friends with her. There is some gall
about her which would always give me an afterthought, and keep me
perhaps more on my guard with her than with many others who might betray
me faster.
I wish you could have seen us all, we were so ill-sorted. As for poor
Sister, among three Eton boys, one Oxford _merveilleux_, 2 silent girls,
1 military clergyman, 2 Colonels, some dancing country neighbours all
wound up and going, I don’t know how she survives. By the bye tell me
what are a Mr. Adderley and a Miss Adderley[184] to her? Something? Lord
Buckinghamshire’s legitimates by a former marriage, or Sister’s
illegitimates, or both their children, or no children at all? I was
asked and could not tell. Don’t racket yourself to death. I, who no
longer sit at good men’s feasts, certainly may magnify the fatigue, but
I am sure you do too much.
_May_, 1824.--There is some saying, Chinese I believe, about not letting
grass grow between friends, or words to that effect. Now, you must allow
I have mowed it twice, but you will not keep it down, and if you will
not, what’s to be done?
Lucy is coming to me to-morrow in spite of her resolutions never to be
with me during a groaning. Mrs. Napier, too, who is staying at Farm
House with her husband and a few children, wishes much to be with me,
and it will, I know, end in my running away into some Barn, like a Cat,
to kitten in peace. No, my dear Emmy, you are the only person that can
be agreeable to me even in a lying-in--_c’est tout dire_.
Lucy tells me she saw dear Robert,[185] greatly to her satisfaction, one
stray day she spent in London. So odd! for in general those are the
particular days one can look out no face one ever saw before, unless one
happens to be ill-dressed or in any disgraceful predicament of Hackney
coach or bad company.... But strange to say, Lucy met Robert with
decency and without distress. She says he is just the same, only
sunburnt. How I wish I could see him, if he has any houses of low price
and good dimensions, and furnished suited to a genteel but _indigent_ or
indignant Family? There is a talk of our leaving this, as the Landlord
wishes to live here himself, and I should like to belong to Robert’s
flock, of being one of his _Ouailles_.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
TURGESS,
_May 14, 1824_.
DEAREST EMMY, I was quite sorry I had sent my letter when the day after
I found I was at liberty to talk about William de Roos’s marriage.[186]
I am all delighted, and all that, and all I should be when I see him so
happy. But tho’ I have been going thro’ all the palliating influence of
confidant and in his secret, and within the mark of all hopes, and
fears, and difficulties, yet I cannot shake off the idea that she is not
good enough, he is _selon moi_ such a dear creature, so much beyond the
common run of man, of young men. Of course I rely on your keeping this
alongside with your own ideas on the subject.
I believe she is improved, and I liked her once, when first she came
out, and you know we certainly sober in this world unless we go mad;
perhaps she may have taken that turn. In short there is much in her
favour, but while he was marrying a beggar he might have had a
pleasanter, but opportunity does all those things, there is no choice in
the case. One negative advantage I have never lost sight of, she is not
a Bathurst.
I do regret bitterly not seeing Robert. If I was not childing, I could
have had a room for him, but somehow I shall be lying-in in every room
and all over the place. Give my love to him and ask him seriously, if he
knows of a family house that could suit us, as Sir Guy and I are very
likely to find all the world before us next February, like Adam and Eve,
only with better clothes and more children.
Is not it so like William de Roos to go to Ireland to avoid the wishing
joy? He had business certainly, but still nobody but him could do such a
thing. Many thanks for solving Sister’s acidities for me. Your own
PAMELA.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
[STRATHFIELD TURGESS,]
_Sunday, June 20, 1824_.
DEAR EMMY, Yes, yes, you may still show pleasure, surprise, emotion, on
seeing my handwriting again. Here, alas, my reign is over, my rôle of
lying-in.... One month, one little month, was scarce allowed me; and I
was again dragged into the vulgar tumult of common barren life.
Provoking and vexatious events are no longer kept from my knowledge, the
hush and tiptoe are forgotten, the terror of my agitation has ceased,
the glory of Israel is departed! The truth is I am too well; there is no
pathos, no dignity, no interest, in rude health, and consequently I meet
with no respect. I have not even been allowed to read _Redgauntlet_ in
seclusion, and chickens and tit-bits have given way to mutton chops and
the coarse nutrition adapted to an unimpaired constitution.
Emily! let me be a warning if you wish to preserve the regard of your
friends, the respect of your acquaintance, consideration, attention, in
short, all social benefits, don’t get well--never know an hour’s health.
I have got into a fit of nonsense, as you will perceive, a sort of
letter-giggle; seriously now I want to hear from you, to know how you
are.... Sir Guy is gone to Town to see his sister off to France. He is
to sleep to-night in _Water Lane_, which sounds damp, but is convenient
to the Steamboat by which Fanny Campbell sails or boils to Calais....
Your own
PAMELA.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
STRATHFIELD TURGESS,
_June 1824_.
I wish I knew how you are, and where you are. William de Roos is the
happiest of men, and Lady G. has won Uncle Henry’s[187] heart at
Strangford by taking to gardening; I do hope it may turn out well and
shame the Devil....
As I stood looking over a heap of weeds that were burning, they struck
my own mind, as being somewhat like itself, you could see no flame, you
could see no fire, and yet it was surely tho’ slowly consuming to ashes.
Now you see my indolence does just the same to my better qualities.
There is no outraged sin, no crying vice, and yet this indolence eats
into my life.
If you will but keep me in order, and pity my infirmities, when can you
come to me?...
The great House is a bore, _selon moi_, but I will tell you all about it
when you come. I have just read Hayley;[188] considering I don’t think
him a Poet, nor his life eventful, I wonder why one reads it? The truth
is, we are all, I believe, so fond of knowing other people’s business,
we would read anybody’s life.
_July 9, 1824._
Many thanks for your letter. It did indeed make my country eyes stare,
and put me in such a bustle as if I had all you did--to do. I have had a
great combat, but pride shall give way, and candour shall cement our
friendship. The paragraph in your letter about Lord E. threw me into
consternation, as well as those who might have known better, for,
Emily, he has not written me a word about it, and would you believe it?
I don’t know who he is going to marry.... You rolled your pen in such a
fine frenzy that I cannot read your version of his name no more than if
it had been written with one of the lost legs of the spider tribe. I see
it begins with a B., but the rest dissolves like the bad half of those
prayers to Jupiter in Air.
I believe I should make your city hair friz again, if I were to detail
my country week’s work. However, I will be cautious. I won’t speak too
much of myself, which for want of extraneous matters, I might be led to
do.... You keep very bad company with _them_ Player-men, those
Horticultural Cultivators of the Devil’s hot-bed.
I suppose I shall hear you talk of the Sock and Buskin; it is all that
Cassiobury connexion that makes you so lax.
_Miss Eden to her Niece, Eleanor Colvile._
SPROTBOROUGH [DONCASTER],
_Sunday_ [1824].
MY DEAR ELEANOR, Your Mamma seems to think you may like to have a
letter, and I am vainly trying to persuade myself I like to write one.
The Miss Copleys have their Sunday School just the same as ours, with
the Butcher’s daughter and the Shop-woman for teachers; not quite so
many children as we have; but in all other respects the two schools are
as like as may be, and they are there all Sunday, which gives me time
for writing.
Maria [Copley][189] has just been telling a story of a Christening that
makes me laugh. She and her sister stood Godmothers to two little twins
in the village, and carried them to church. The children were only a
fortnight old, and therefore were much wrapped up, and Miss Copley, who
is not used to handling children, carried hers with the feet
considerably higher than the head. She gave it carefully to the
clergyman when he was to christen it, and together they undid its cloak
in search of its face, and found two little red feet. They were so
surprised at this that the clergyman looked up in her face and said:
“Why, then, where is its head?” And she, being just as much frightened,
answered: “I really cannot think.” Maria at last suggested that in all
probability the head would be at the opposite end of the bundle from the
feet, and so it proved.
Good-bye, dear Eleanor,[190] mind you get better. It is foolish to be
ill; I found it so myself. Love to all. Your affectionate Aunt,
E. E.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
[EYAM RECTORY], STONEY MIDDLETON,
_August 1824_.
MY DEAR MISS VILLIERS, George has gone to Scotland to kill the poor dumb
grouse (or _grice_), as they ought to be in the plural, but I will
transmit your direction to him, and if he can do what you wish I daresay
he will, though I have an idea it is the sort of thing about which
people chuse to look really important, and say they cannot interfere.
...Dear Lady Chichester![191] How lucky it is that people’s letters are
so like themselves. It is perhaps not unnatural but amusing too, I did
not know till Lady Buckinghamshire mentioned it the other day when she
was talking of this marriage that the Chichesters have the strongest
possible feeling on the subject of connexion, and she said they would
look on this marriage as a positive calamity. How very absurd it is,
and it is a shame of Lady Chichester to exaggerate George Osborne’s[192]
faults so much. He was not in fact very much to blame, in his
disagreement with Lord Francis, and if it were not the way of the
Osborne family to make their family politics the subject of their jokes
to all the world, George would have been reckoned just as good as any
boy of his age. I imagine that even Lord Chichester has found _his_ son
liked his own way as well as the rest of the world, but perhaps Lady
Chichester and he do not impart to each other the little difficulties
they find with those separate little families you mention....
We are so settled here that it seems as if we had never gone away, I
believe one changes one’s self as well as _Horses_ at Barnet, I lose all
my recollections of London, “that great city where the geese are all
swans and the fools are all witty” and take up the character of the
Minister’s sister, as I hear myself called in the village. Robert’s
house is very comfortable, and I think this much the most beautiful
country I have seen since I saw the Pyrenees. Some people might think it
verging on the extreme of picturesque and call it wild, but I love a
mountainous country. I go sketching about with the slightest success,
the rocks are too large and obstinate and won’t be drawn.
Mrs. Lamb[193] came here Sunday, and we must return the visit some day,
but by a great mercy I broke the spring of the pony carriage the other
day. Your ever affectionate
E. E.