1828-1829
[A few extracts are given here from Miss Eden’s _Journal_ kept in
the early part of 1828.]
_January 7, 1828._
Stayed at Grosvenor Place on our way home to dinner, and saw Mary
[Drummond] with the three children dressed to go to the Duke of Atholl’s
for twelfth cake. Came home at 9, I suppose, to settle in town. How I
hate it! But then I have had a very excellent absence of six months from
it, and enjoyed my Irish tour, and my summer altogether as much as I
expected. Found an invitation to Cobham, to Lady Darnley, and
invitations to Madame de Lieven’s and Mademoiselle de Palmella’s[279]
parties to meet Dom Miguel.[280] Such a horrid look about these
invitations.
_January 9, 1828._
Theresa Villiers came here, and Mary at five, and said that Lord
Goderich had resigned the day before, and that the King had sent to the
Duke of Wellington to desire him to make a new Government.
It was hardly possible to regret the last, it was so weak, and Lord
Goderich so inefficient and ridiculous, chiefly owing to Sarah, but the
triumph of one’s enemies is always an ugly business.
_January 12, 1828._
Lord Lansdowne dined alone with us. I never saw him in such good spirits
or more agreeable. So extremely communicative, and so delighted to have
done with office. He says the whole thing is an intrigue between Mr.
Herries and Sir William Knighton.[281] The instances he gave of Sir W.
Knighton’s influence over the King are quite wonderful. Lord Lansdowne
does not believe, as all the rest of the Whigs do, that Lord Goderich
has betrayed them. He says that at present they are all Ministers still,
and that the King had signified to them his wishes that they might still
continue so--which, as he puts it all into the hand of the Duke of
Wellington, means nothing; and that they are to wait till the Duke makes
them some proposition they cannot accede to, and then to go out.
He said Lord Goderich was very nervous when he first saw him yesterday.
Lord Melville is talked of as Prime Minister.
_January 18, 1828._
Mary lent me her carriage. Saw Sarah dressed and walking about her room,
not looking particularly ill, quite forgetting her plaintive manner. She
told me Mr. Huskisson[282] had consented to take office under the Duke,
for which she abused him in her old eager manner. Saw Lord Goderich,
looking like the poor wretch he is.
_January 30, 1828._
Dined at Lady Charlotte Greville’s. Met the F. Levesons, the Duke of
Devonshire, Lord Morpeth, Lord Ashley[283] and Mr. Talbot. A pleasant
dinner. The Duke told me he had been very sorry to resign and he was
furious with Lord Goderich, that the King told him that the day Lord
Goderich resigned one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, knowing
nothing of what had passed, asked Lord Goderich to give him a lift to
town; that the King had the curiosity to ask him on his return what he
thought of Lord Goderich, and that the gentleman said he thought him
very pleasant: he had joked and laughed till they came to Hounslow, and
then fell asleep, and this immediately after having resigned--not only
for himself, but for all his colleagues without their consent.
_February 14, 1828._
Got two places at the House of Commons, asked Theresa to go with me. Mr.
Hobhouse moved a vote of thanks to Sir E. Codrington,[284] and made a
good speech, Mr. B. a very tiresome one, Sir J. Mackintosh rather a
learned one; and Mr. Peel not a bad one, during which we came away,
almost starved to death. Dined at 11.
_February 15, 1828._
Had a place at the House of Commons again. Borrowed Lady Bath’s carriage
and went to see her first. Found Lady Francis Leveson at the House. We
were both very anxious for the explanation that was expected from Mr.
Huskisson. Mr. Peel[285] made a good speech on Finance, and proposed the
Finance Committee. Mr. Baring proposed that Mr. Huskisson’s name should
be added to it. Mr. Brougham[286] said a few words in the same sense;
then there came a silence, every one expecting Mr. Huskisson would
speak, and that somebody would ask him to explain. But nobody got up,
and Mr. Goulburn[287] moved an Adjournment which was received with a
shout of laughter, and they all rushed out. We were all horribly
disappointed, nobody found their carriages ready. Mrs. Horton’s carriage
took seven of us, and left me in Grosvenor Place.
_March 11, 1828._
Went out with Lady Harriet Baring upon trial to see if I liked her. Do
not know now. Bought a bonnet at Madame Carsan’s (not paid for).
_March 12, 1828._
Dined at Mrs. A. Baring’s,--what she calls my dinner, one she gives
every year to which I am supposed to ask the company. The B. Barings, H.
Mildmays, Theresa, H. Villiers, Mr. Labouchere,[288] Mr. Luttrell, Mr.
A. Greville, Mr. Ponsonby and F. Baring. Went on to Devonshire House,
where George and Fanny had dined.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
LANGLEY,
_Saturday, January 5, 1828_.
DEAREST THERESA, I have been trying by the help of the newspaper to form
the slightest guess of your movements, but I cannot make them out.
Sarah’s reform lasted nearly three days, and she is now herself again,
in the most finished perfection. Her hatred to Blackheath and her
violent love of Downing Street prove to me that she sees the time is
near when they must leave the latter abode, and the only thing makes me
doubt that he is going out, is her avowed wish that he should leave
office.[289] Her indifference about her baby, after all the fuss she
made, is so in harmony with the rest of her cross-grained character,
that I contemplate it with the fondest admiration.
I know no news to tell you. The laundry here was robbed on Tuesday,
which seems to afford the children great amusement. I have experienced
the pleasure of a robbed laundry before, and it does not amuse me
now--much. I asked Wright if I had lost anything. “Only your best cap,
and your two best frills, and your best worked habit-shirt, and your
best lace,”--none of them having been better than their fellows till
they were stolen. Ever your affectionate
E. E.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
ARMAGH, 1828.
Here I am _translated_ to Armagh. I got through the journey and all the
bother wonderfully by Georgina St. Quintin’s[290] help. I parted with
her in Dublin, where I spent five days, and where I found Lady Glengall,
Mr. Villiers, Lord Forbes, Lady Erroll.[291] But I was glad to leave
Dublin; even in those few days I saw so much _tracasserie_ and fuss
about nothing, that I would not live there on any account if I could
help it. Emmy, I find that I am totally unfit for what is called the
world, or anything like it. I have forgotten its ways and its
language,--in short, I have seen too much sorrow to be up to it. I
thought Dublin itself beautiful, and Lady Glengall was most
good-natured,--crammed me into one of her own Hats and sent me to a ball
at the Castle which was beautiful. I dined with all the military people,
and came away nothing loth. The tyranny of the Few over the Many does
not strike the eye so much here, although I believe this to be the very
heart of it--the positive _pips_ of the orange.
I have seen my new General. They say he is very gentlemanlike and
good-natured. He seems to me stupid and vulgar, but pray _double-lock_
this, for we cannot afford to quarrel with another General. We are
nearly ruined by this last move, that is one of the things that makes me
low. I am not at all sure that we shall not be obliged to _sell out_
now, from money difficulties. So much sickness, and a move has thrown us
back horribly, so you must bear with me now and then, my own Emmy. When
I do not write it is because I am fretted and full of care. I keep up my
spirits wonderfully, and am quite well as to health, and Sir Guy, too,
fights on manfully. He means to try all he can before he sells, but if
he cannot manage, we _must_ sell and say no more about the matter; but
only think how much better off we are than others in the world. Write to
me, my dear Emmy, for your letters do me good and cheer me. I was quite
glad to talk about you to Mr. Villiers.\[292] He seemed to think it was
_extraordinary_ how much you loved me, and I began to think it oddish
myself, for certainly _je ne vaux pas grand chose_, when I come to
consider.
_May 27, 1828._
Will you make another attempt to find Abby, he resorts much to that
Mulligatawny fount frequented by Turtle, and on the banks of which curry
grows spontaneous,--the Oriental Club?
I do not much like this place, but we have many negative blessings--a
quiet peaceable General, an Adjutant-General full of abstruse erudition.
Talking of this man, by the bye, I want to know whether the Committee of
useful knowledge know that there are gangs of half-informed
science-mongers, who are going about quoting the information they
plunder out of the library, and bringing it out as their own topics,
without giving notice of where they have taken them. This said Colonel
Moore (nephew to Sir Graham[293]) is a nefarious pilferer, and tried to
cram the information of the Duke’s[294] Bill down my throat as his own
discovery.
Emily, the day is at hand when we shall sigh for a plain fool and the
sight of a natural will be good for sore eyes. We shall, it is hardly
doubted, have a row here, for our Orangemen are frantic, and _will_ walk
and _will_ play their horrid tunes. We had a man killed in a fray a week
ago about a drum.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_June 2, 1828._
MY DEAR EMMY, You are right, there is nothing like answering directly,
but my dear child, I have nothing to tell you. Here one day certifieth
the other, and I see no one, nothing happens--lessons and walks and
eating--and now and then a bore drops in by way of a change. And the
people speak so as to be tolerably understood, and their rags are
sufficient to cover them, and there is not that variety of dislocation
among the limbs of the beggars, which now and then accorded us a topic
in the south. You might as well expect a letter from a silkworm out of
the very heart of its cocoon....
I like my house although it has only its snugness and a cheerful view to
recommend it; but the people as yet rather bore me. In short, my dear
Emmy, I return to the old song:--I don’t care _that_--for acquaintances.
I had rather have my hedge of life with its gaps and rents, than patch
it up with rubbish; and if the goodly cedars are laid low, the place
that knew them shall at least remain void, and show that such things
were. I really feel this more and more every day. I love my friends
better than ever, but making an acquaintance is positively disagreeable.
Your letters are such gleams to me. That alliance of Car[295] and her
pretty little hands with Moloch Mostyn did enchant me.
Do you know, Mrs. Vansittart’s consent ought to be more known. It is the
longest step emancipation has made this age.[296] You see, Emmy, she was
quite right about the girl’s beauty, and you quite wrong.
I wish you could see my shaved head. I look like a Greek pipe-bearer, or
Haggai himself, or something very much out of the way. But all my hair
was really coming out. They say I shall have a good crop in six months,
and be able to turn it up in a year.
We are in doubts still about our finances. I do not well know what is to
become of us, but I try not to fret. I wish you would make a friendship
with the Downshires, that would conduce to your coming to the North
country.
Do you think Lord Auckland is to be moved this way? What people do you
see most of? Which of my deputies is filling up my place? Is it your
Bath or Maria Copley? What is become of Miss Villiers, and how is poor
Lady Grantham?... How are you yourself? Good-bye, Dearest. Ever your own
PAMELA CAMPBELL.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
EASTCOMBE,
_August 31, 1828_.
I suppose my genius is to be cramped into this single sheet, which is
very unpleasant.
I was very glad to get your letter, as well to hear something about you,
so as to know where to write.[297] It is an excellent plan your writing
a few times at different places. Your letter amused me particularly. You
have done adventures enough now for some time, and may pursue your way
safely without any danger of shocking me with the want of incident.
No, I am not fastidious, because I _dis_like very few people (those
might be called enemies); and I like a great many for their good
qualities without liking their society (those are my acquaintances); and
then I like a great many more for good qualities, or agreeableness, or
their affection for me (those are my friends); and amongst those are a
chosen few particularly _perfect_, combining the three advantages, and
those are my intimate friends. And unless I can be with either of the
two last classes, I have not a sufficient love of society not to prefer
being alone. But I do not at all despise or dislike those I do not wish
to be with,--quite the contrary. I respect them to the greatest degree,
only I do not care about them, and I cannot praise them as I do the
others. Your system of general praise would bring you by degrees to
think it equally pleasant to meet Sir Gore Ouseley and Mr. Luttrell, Mr.
Lushington[298] and Lord Alvanley, and you would like me to say Harriet
Baring is as pleasant an incident at a dinner as yourself. No thank you;
I prefer my distinctions. The dark shadows of _bore_ bring out the
lights of agreeableness, and I like to _perceive_ a difference, even if
I do not act upon it. However, do not let us argue by letter; there is
no room for it.
My dear, my Irish journey is defunct, dead, deceased, annihilated, and I
shall follow its example if things go on so. You may, if your English
papers follow you, have seen that a man of the name of Austin[299] has
_defaulted_ from Greenwich Hospital, after having cheated it to a great
amount. It is not worth telling you the story, besides, I have thought
of nothing else till I am sick of it; but it has worried and annoyed
George, who is Auditor of the Accounts, to a degree that I cannot
express. Austin has been taken at Limerick, but that does very little
good, and only gives the additional trouble of arranging the manner of
prosecuting him, which will be a difficult business, as our laws,
according to the accurate observations I have made on them for many
years, are calculated chiefly for the protection and encouragement of
crime; and besides encouraging husbands to kill their wives, and masters
their apprentices, have had an eye to the safety of Austin, and all the
thousands of pounds that were found in his trunk cannot be touched. I do
not precisely see the justice of his taking our Irish journey, and
leaving us to settle his accounts, but I suppose it is all right. The
investigation of the whole business has been put into George’s hands,
and there is so much that is disagreeable in it, besides confining him
to the neighbourhood of Greenwich, that he has been very low, poor
fellow! But like a sensible man, he sent for me to keep up his spirits;
and we have been here the last three weeks, and shall be here a
fortnight longer, and then I fear we shall have to go to London.
Well, I hold it wrong to grumble, but I do not love London at any time,
and above all, not in September; and I grudge the loss of his shooting,
and I hate to see him so bothered.
I went to town last Tuesday, as I heard of a large covey of friends that
might be shot flying, and I saw Maria [Copley] just come from Tunbridge,
looking better but not well. Lady Grantham, looking ill, from Tunbridge
also; Coppy, freshly imported from Dieppe in great spirits; Lady C.
Greville passing on to Dublin; and various other acquaintances.
This is a stupid letter, but if you knew how much I have been worried
the last three weeks you would think it bright of me not to be stupid. I
will write again soon. Your most affectionate
E. E.
Mind you sketch all day.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
EASTCOMBE,
_Sunday, September 21_.
MY DEAREST THERESA, If I had the remotest idea what to say to you I
should like writing better, I think; but I never can write to anybody
abroad. I can’t fancy them. What are you like? Do I know you? Have I
ever seen you? Have we a thought in common? You are skipping about an
Alp, and I remain here like a post, and I give you my honour things have
entirely done happening.
I told you about our Greenwich troubles. They have not improved, and you
will have a high opinion of my fortitude and also of the extremity of
_bother_ that has obliged me to mount my mind up to the heights of
actual resignation, when I tell you that George and I are going to town
the 1st of October to settle, (October being my favourite month of the
year, and when I should naturally be disporting myself on the Giant’s
Causeway). And yet I am as meek as a mouse, and have not grumbled about
it at all, and flatter myself that George finds me as _cheery_ as
possible. It will put you in a rage, but who cares when you are 1000
miles off! But besides the motive of not plaguing him, I am kept up by a
fond hope, which indeed almost amounts to certainty, that I shall not be
in London at all next year, at least not in February. We shall let our
house and live in his apartments at Greenwich for some time--within
reach if you have anything to say.
I do not often think I do right, but I really have behaved very well the
last two months. I am glad they are over, for it has been a worrying
time and I hate to see George plagued. We have never stirred from here
except for two days to see Robert.
Panshanger[300] was full to the brim of vice and agreeableness,
foreigners and roués. It sounded awful, and I declined paying a morning
visit, which is at the best an awkward business, to twenty people all
accustomed to each other’s jokes. But Lady Cowper sent her carriage for
me the last day, so that I could not help myself. Most of the party was
dispersed, except Lord Melbourne, Sir F. Lamb,[301] and Lord Alvanley,
who was more amusing than ever. Lady Emily looked very pretty, and Lady
Cowper was as usual very agreeable.
F. Robinson’s[302] history has come to an end I think. Lady Cowper
seemed very cool about him and they have not met since in London.
Considering that those brothers and sisters are in all probability as
little related to each other as possible, they are the most attached
family I ever saw. Ever your most affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
GROSVENOR STREET,
_November 2, 1828_.
MY DEAREST THERESA, I have been rather of the longest about this letter.
To be sure you set me a bright example. I thought you must have tumbled
off an Alp and hurt yourself, or have been run over by an Avalanche
which drove on without stopping to ask. That would have been accidental
death, with a Dividend of one shilling on the Avalanche.
I was very glad to get your letter with such a good account of yourself.
What a nice summer you will have passed. I rather hope, whether your
house is let or not, that you will squeeze out every half-penny and see
as much as you can,--which, to be sure, is highly disinterested of me,
because the convenience it would be to me to have you at home just now
is incalculable. But you are better abroad, and then, if you come home
now, there is no saying when you will be allowed to go again. It ought
to have been one of the rules of the game that one might be allowed not
to begin the _expenses_ of travelling again till the point where they
ceased before. I mean, that as you have once paid your way to Florence,
you ought to go gratis there next time, and then begin buying your
freedom to Rome.
We came to London last Monday, George and I having passed our whole
summer at Eastcombe. He still has a great deal of business at
Greenwich,[303] but is beginning to see his way through it and is, at
all events, in better health and spirits. We shall probably live only
part of the year at Greenwich, and there is a very nice house _in_ the
park belonging to George’s office, with a little greenhouse next to it,
and it may by courtesy be called a _small_ villa.[304] For my part I
shall like it extremely, but George hates the idea of it so much that I
say nothing. He is sure to do at last what he ought, and though he
declares he can never go there, we go on very quietly buying furniture,
arranging with servants, etc. You see (this is between ourselves) that
rather than be bored with this business which he has taken in utter
aversion, he would almost prefer giving up his office, thereby making
himself uncomfortably poor. I think that’s great nonsense, and that he
would repent when he had done it.
Because he has met with dishonesty once, he is not more likely to meet
with it again, and as he is always making business for himself, at the
London University or Zoological Gardens or somewhere, he cannot want to
be idle, and had better do what he is paid for, than what he is not paid
for--both if he likes it. But at all events the first is the best, so I
go on taking no notice, and he is recovering fast his usual activity.
I daresay London will be pleasant enough in a week or so. I see plenty
of stray people about it. Ladies with very _considerable_ figures, and
attentive bored husbands attending them in the short walks they are able
to take, not to be out of sight of the monthly nurse.
Lady H. Baring being one of the most considerable, and Bingham[305] one
of the most attentive, I went with them to the Adelphi on Wednesday and
was in agonies all the time. The house was so full there would not have
been room for even the smallest baby in addition.
It is very odd that the Duke of Wellington will not say one word as to
the intentions of the Government, because as it is, nothing can be more
terrific than the state of things. I begin to believe what some people
say--that he has no plan and does not know what to do. In short another
Goderich come to judgement.
The Copleys have been at Chatsworth--an immense party, private
theatricals, dancing, etc., and they were all enchanted.
It amused me that Coppy [Miss Copley] should act Antonio in the
“Merchant of Venice,” she must have been such a good figure, and somehow
the idea tickled my fancy particularly. I think she must have done it
well. Antonio is an excellent over-friendly bore, and though it is wrong
of us, you know that is the light in which Coppy strikes us.
The Duke of Portland, as usual, does not take joy in Lady Lucy’s[306]
marriage, and gives her no money. His is a good plan: he holds out his
daughters as fortunes till somebody proposes for them, and then he gives
them nothing because they accept the proposal. And then in a rage his
sons-in-law threaten to carry off their wives to some horrid climate.
Lord Howard is going to try the West Indies.
The London University has opened with most unexpected success. They have
nearly 250 students entered already, and several of the Professors have
distinguished themselves much in their introductory lectures, and there
have been crowds sent away who were anxious to hear them. George got
your brother Charles[307] a place to hear a lecture the other day among
the council. He never can make out the names of your brothers, except
George, but goes boldly on calling them all “Villiers” and then comes to
me to class them. Ever your affectionate
E. E.
_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._
GROSVENOR STREET,
_November 19, 1828_.
MY DEAREST THERESA, George and I went to Norman Court about a month ago,
met a very pleasant party there, and had enjoyed ourselves nearly a
week, charmed to be out of town, delighted to be killing the poor dear
dumb pheasants, and recovering a great deal of lost health, and nursing
up an equable flow of spirits, when a letter arrived to say my sister,
Mrs. Vansittart, was taken dangerously ill. We had to set off directly,
travelled all day--such a horrid journey, particularly the last stage,
for we expected to find all was over. However, thank God! that was not
the case, though she was in the greatest danger.
You will see the Mostyns at Rome. I do not know what they will have
settled to do. There was no use in telling Car how ill her mother was.
Caroline’s recovery must be extremely slow, in fact she has not only to
recover intellect for herself, but for her husband and 13 children. She
has thought and acted for them till they cannot think or act for
themselves, and anxiety for them makes her recovery more hazardous.
It has been an unpleasant month! I saw the Lansdownes on Wednesday--just
arrived, enchanted with their tour. Only they complained bitterly of the
cold all through France and at Paris, and are astonished to find us all
so hot. There never was such a season. Very favourable weather for the
young pines. I suppose we shall grow them in the open air.
Mademoiselle Taglioni[308] is the greatest heroine in Paris--the finest
dancer ever seen. “Toutes les autres danseuses _tombent_,” Vestris says;
“Mademoiselle Taglioni redescend.” Full gowns and full sleeves are
arrived at a degree of fullness Lady Lansdowne says, which makes it
necessary for all the poor husbands to sit backwards in the carriages.
They say Fred Robinson’s marriage with Lady Emily Cowper is settled. I
heard it accidentally a fortnight ago and did not believe it, and now I
do. Robert says Fred is staying at Panshanger quite alone with the
Cowpers and he never saw anything like the love-making, rather absurd,
and a bore altogether for the Cowpers. Did I tell you how I had been
reading General Miller’s[309] “South America,” and had been taken by
it? The man himself is in London, on his way back to Peru, and George
brought him home to dinner one day. It is pleasant to hear the
adventures of an adventurer, and he is remarkably unassuming. He has one
fault, in being horribly wounded, and I am particularly weak on that
point. A common cut finger disagrees with me, and he does not seem to
have a single _whole_ finger left. However he is a hero, and I bore it
wonderfully,--kept thinking of American independence, and the cause of
liberty all over the world, and was only squeamish, not sick. We are
busy furnishing our Greenwich House, and tending fast towards the King’s
Bench. I wish you would come home; you will come just as we go. I have
not answered your last letter,--no room, but go on writing, I like it.
Love to Mrs. V. Ever your most affectionate
E.E.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
ARMAGH,
_November 26, 1828_.
Emmy, are you with child? Or have you had a husband and four children in
the hooping-cough? Or have you been driven mad by Orange factions? If
none of these evils have befallen you, you might have written me a line
more. I know yours was the last letter, but think of me and all my
sufferings! And above all, the standing disappointment of not seeing
you, when I was literally airing the sheets and killing the fowls for
you. And there I was without encumbrance, a free woman, ready to go all
over the Causeway--and as I fear I am now beginning a child, I do not
know when I shall be my own woman again.
Sir Guy has literally had the whooping-cough and is not well yet, and
you who know what Lord Auckland is with a swelled face, may imagine what
Sir Guy is with a whoop rending his lungs. The children have all had it
rather lightly, but are still rather disagreeable and like a rookery. My
dear, I had a glimpse of Lady Wallscourt[310] at the Inn. I spent half
an hour with her; she is afraid of the whooping-cough and would not come
to me. I think I ought to _bénir la providence_ that bricks and mortar
stood my friends, and that she could not find a house; for truly I think
you anticipated justly that she would not exactly be the person I should
wish to spin my days with. However, I will work up a little good feeling
and liking towards her next Spring, when she may want it,--and, my dear,
I must confess to you that the slang of good society, even, is now grown
irksome to me, I suppose from want of habit, particularly when it is not
supported by any ideas.
However, my Dearest, don’t think I am bitter. Indeed I love to think of
all the good there is in the world,--not for your sake, though you are
my great link. But then I consider you as my world in itself.
I hope it will not be in the power of any swindler to keep you from me
next year, for I really cannot do so long without a clearance of ideas.
There will be such old stores to dispose of. Emily, I am ashamed to
confess to you how I have suffered from the Orange spirit of this horrid
black North. I am ashamed to tell you how wickedly irritated I was, I am
getting better now. The fearful evil I feel of this party spirit is, it
is so catching. It kindles all the combustibles of contradiction and
retaliation within one, till, though it was _injustice_ that irritated
me, yet I fear I should not have dealt justly towards them. I am not
sanguine, I think nothing will be done; and I wish I thought better of
the Association.[311] I am constantly told _indirectly_ that the friends
of the Catholics should fear their ascendancy, for if they begin a
_massacre_ they will cut down _friend_ and foe. Pleasant little
images!... It is such a comfort to me that by leaving the world one can
get rid of its taint to a certain degree; for I do not think I could
bear to hear one half of the things I used to think nothing of at all
some years ago.
I cannot tell you how kind to us Lord Gosford[312] has been. We spent a
few days with him in his remnant of a house. I never would cut up my old
gown till I had another to my back, which has been his case. He pulled
down three-quarters of a liveable house and began a large granite
Castle, and inhabits the gore of the house. However, we were very merry
in the Lambeau. I think he does seem the most good-humoured person I
ever saw....
I am quite glad Lord Gosford liked me, because when I am very long away
from you I am afraid you will find me so rusty and grown shabby. He is
very pleasant. It was quite refreshing to be in a green liberal
atmosphere at Caledon. I like him[313] too; he is such a plain
matter-of-fact man, and I think there is a good deal of steady ballast
of that sort wanted on the Liberal side, because it gives twice as much
confidence as talent. Lady Caledon knew something of you but not right.
I was obliged to teach her a good deal, she thought you so devoted to
the world. You see--you know what I mean. Now I was dying to tell her
that it was the world loved you. The children behaved well, which was a
relief to me. It is the first time they have been let loose in company.
Fanny[314] is really a very nice girl, and has very good manners, and I
am quite pleased that seven years’ toil should really be rewarded so
well, so much beyond my hopes.
_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._
_December 6, 1828._
I believe in this world it is always _surest_ and safest to write to
those we love best, when life weighs heavy on our spirits; we have many
more chances of hitting the right string. Alas, how often I delayed
writing to you when I felt low and anxious, and had fears and fits of
depression because I would not darken your page; and when I felt lighter
I wrote a letter which, after all must have jarred upon you Dearest,
when you were still in the _slough_![315] ... I like your Greenwich plan
much. I think it will suit you and do you good. I know I shall live to
see you a real saint. Then where we are to put Lord Auckland I cannot
well make out, unless he ripens into a sort of Wilberforce, but my
imagination does not yet carry me so far.
I have been reading Jebb’s _Sacred Literature_. I like it although one
is obliged to hop over a good deal of Greek etymology.
Oh, how I want you to talk to, for it is such an age since we really
cleared our minds, and you know, Emmy, we do belong to one another upon
some Geometrical System of fitness that we cannot well describe. But my
idea is that by finding out what E.E. is to P.C., you ascertain what
P.C. is to E.E.