Chapter VII (2)

My chief objection to your present situation is, that you can learn nothing there of your _métier_, and see but little of the illumination which is centred in the more literary and busy capitals of Europe. Its rays become very faint at such a distance from the centre. If you would produce a clever volume, to be printed in London, and perhaps acknowledged only in case of success, it might remind our Premier of his hyperborean client. Translations are now in great request; for every man _must_ know everything, talk of everything, and, if he possesses not a language, must catch the spirit of its _chef-d’œuvres_ as he best can. Versions of Swedish poets, with your name at once, would be extremely popular both here and there.

Adieu, I continue well, and want nothing but you to keep me so.

TO MRS. LEADBEATER.

London, Jan. 12, 1824.

I very much regret that sorrow should so often find its way to Ballitore; but where love extends, there extends the domain of joy and grief. Two of the fairest flowers of the garden have been lately nipped in the very bloom of life. Lady Caroline Pennant, the sole daughter of the Duchess of Marlborough, the only perennial spring of comfort she has known in an eventful and unfortunate life, died ten days after her confinement, last week; and Mad. de Stierneld, whom I have already mentioned to you as one who interested me most particularly, faded away in the south of France this autumn, in a decline. Both were excellent, amiable, and interesting, living for their virtues and their affections, without one atom of the pride, vanity, or fondness for display, from which so few of our sex are exempt.

‘A DREAM WHICH WAS NOT ALL A DREAM.’

_Feb. 2, 1824._

‘What dost thou here, white woman, say?
To bed, to bed—away, away.
While music flings its charms around,
And fairy forms obey the sound
With looks of love and smiles of pleasure,
Responsive to the minstrels’ measure,
White woman, say, what dost thou here,
Wearing that cold unearthly sneer?
A baleful fire lights up thine eye,
Which cannot warm, and will not die.
Thou seem’st a deathlike chill to bring,
Like the last snow-shower deep in spring,
When tepid winds and blushing flowers
Have hailed the rosy-bosomed hours;
Say, art thou of the Court of Death,
Congealed by winter’s icy breath?’

She came, she went,—away, away;
And still she haunts the cheerful day;
But where is he, the mild, the bland,
With welcome in his eye and hand,
By whom that night an only child,
A sweetly budding daughter, smiled,
A radiant girl, while oft he stole
Glances tow’rd her so full of soul
As shed on each a nameless grace,
Love’s light reflected on each face,—
The child in her sweet hour of prime,
The father, yet untouched by time?

Torn from its root, for weal or woe,
The blossom lives. The tree lies low.
It fell before a leaf was sere,
Nor lived to feel the waning year.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ., STOCKHOLM.

London, May 11, 1824.

The London turmoil of this year will be short, for the House will not sit much longer than the 17th or 18th. It is called by ultras on both sides a very milk-and-water Session. Very little has been done in the way of economy and repeal of taxes; but that little gracefully, and the leaf-gold spread over an immense surface. The Drawing room was such a squeeze, such a squash—without, of horses, carriages, and footmen—within, of petticoats, mantles, trimmings, ornaments, and fine ladies,—as has been unknown in the courtly annals of England. Lady Arundel was ill for several days from the actual pressure she received; and the quantity of jewellery lost would set up a Bond Street shop. In general, entertainments have been sumptuous, but balls few, owing partly to the Rossini fever. People preferred concerts, that they might have the pleasure of giving him fifty guineas for singing with taste, without a voice; and his wife twenty-five for singing without either voice or taste—as I am informed, not having heard either of these foreign wonders; who, having the advantage in the eyes of John Bull of not being ‘in these rough shades bred,’ will probably carry away ten thousand pounds as the fruit of their winter’s exertions.

The Duchess of Northumberland’s magnificence does not seem to give so much heart-easing delight as did the more luxurious Oriental splendour of Mrs. H. Baring, who has seceded at a most unlucky time; her fine entertainments being taken out of the pool when there were fewer of any other than usual. The marriages have been few, the scandalous anecdotes on the most limited scale.

* * * * *

_May 29, 1824._—Sir William Hoste told me that a French naval officer once said to him in a confidential way, ‘_Si j’ai un défaut, c’est que je suis trop brave_.’ On my saying, ‘I am sure this was one you took prisoner,’ he acknowledged it, adding, that the same person, after a very moderate resistance, said to him, when he first appeared on deck as his prisoner, ‘_Monsieur, je suis le commandant qui s’est tant distingué dans cette barque que vous voyez_.’

TO A SON (aged 18).

Richmond, July, 1824.

We came to Richmond this morning, as it was absolutely necessary to change the scene for a few hours after my separation from you. ‘Perhaps the lady will like to see the steam-boat,’ cries a dapper waiter, with an air of importance at having so charming a spectacle to offer. In spite of the glare and intense heat, I lifted up my eyes to view what to me was quite new, and saw nothing but long snaky trails of smoke, puffing, puffing on towards the right in the direction of the river, and dishonouring the blue sky and beautiful face of the Thames. Then appeared a flaring scarlet flag; and lastly, to the tune of Paddy O’Rafferty, a great green and yellow beetle floating on its back, with a tall chimney-funnel rising from its middle, breathing out volumes of smoke. This creature swarmed with people. They were like ants which you could gather from an anthill in a tea-spoon, all fervid, and gaudy, and noisy, and bustling, and important, and delighted with their truly infernal machine, only fit for sailing on the Styx; which has excluded from the water all beauty and freshness and variety, and hope and fear, and anxiety for friends, and good wishes for a fair wind. I wrote for an hour, and asked if the horrible vision was gone. ‘No, ma’am,’ answered the waiter, triumphantly; ‘it’s filling.’ I looked up; there was scarce standing room; the chattering increased; the sweet strain of Paddy O’Rafferty recommenced. Smoke now arose from various places, about, above, and underneath. ‘All’s well,’ cried a pert sharp voice, not in the deep tone of an ‘ancient mariner,’ but in that of an ostler on the high road. The huge dragon of the waters splashed with its horrid fins, bustled and porpoised about, slowly and with difficulty worked its clumsy self round, and at last took itself away, passengers and all enveloped in one mantle of smoke.

‘Hence, hence, thou horrid bark, the uncouth child
Of commerce and of coal!’

TO THE SAME.

Tunbridge Wells, Aug., 1824.

I have heard but once from you since you crossed the Channel. That you have neglected writing, it is not permitted to me, knowing you as I do, to think for a moment; and I regret the untoward circumstances, whatever they may be, that thus aggravate the languor of indisposition, and the anxiety of affection like mine.

The race-fever subsided the day before yesterday, and these pretty hills are at last disencumbered of their vile attire of booths, of monsters, including even the learned pig, who came from London hither to better his condition, with Italian beggar boys, tortoises, gypsies, singers, conjurers, pickpockets, foot-racers, boxers, &c. &c. &c.

I try to go out, but am not much attracted, as I am in a _respectable_ house, with drawing-room upstairs, and on the high road; so I seldom leave home, except at regular and fixed periods, and enjoy none of the half and half out life, one leads if on a ground floor that opens upon a garden or pleasure-ground, however small. To-day the _Remains_ of Kirke White fell in my way, and have pleased me extremely. His gentleness, elevation of mind, and complete discretion, are deeply interesting. I shall add the volume to your library when I meet a better edition. It appears he fell a victim to an over-scrupulous delicacy. After having had a fit, evidently brought on by too much study, instead of going for a short time to his home, or suffering his mother to know he was ill, he remained even in the vacation at Cambridge, because the College were paying for him a mathematical tutor. Oh! how much does the struggle of genius and excellence against poverty remind us that we are but stewards of our worldly wealth, and warn us to turn a portion of it from our own superfluities to the necessities of others. I never felt this more strongly than in reading Kirke White’s _Remains_, and seeing one so highly gifted suffering intense anxiety from the want of a very small portion of the waste of his companions and fellow-students.

All at home are well, and _one_ is more anxious to see you than she ought.

* * * * *

_Aug. 16, 1824._—Saw Penshurst. The road from Tunbridge Wells is a beautiful preparation for seeing this interesting castle. It winds on the upper lines of some very high ground; and looks down on wide vales of the most delightful verdure and richness. Penshurst disappoints at first sight. The building has little beauty, is entirely seen before you enter the grounds, and is not a hundred yards from the entrance gate. Can this be Penshurst? is the first question; but when within its walls, touch after touch increases its dignity. Its great antiquity, the recollections and portraits of Sir Philip Sidney, of Algernon Sidney, of Sacharissa, of Queen Elizabeth, _her_ presents, _her_ needlework, _her_ chair, the variety of paintings, the beauty of the surrounding park, and the singular union of dignity and cheerfulness in all the old rooms of the Castle, give it a heartfelt charm of no common order.

TO MRS. HAYGARTH.

Sevenoaks, Sept. 4, 1824.

I am not surprised you are pleased with the neighbourhood of Chepstow, where art has spoiled nature so little, and where sudden and overgrown opulence has not laid its heavy paw. What beautiful banks, what rich verdure, what winding ways, unfolding such unexpected thickets, with their tangled luxuriance of hanging branches and fantastically twisted roots, into which Faust has taught us to put a sort of life. Then the houses are so English, with the shade of Queen Elizabeth, hovering about so many of those old mansions which bear the impress of her time. I was not well enough to see Knowle, and have profited but little by my absence from town. I, however, visited Penshurst, a volume in itself, and Summerhill, one of the pleasantest places I have seen, as fresh as Fairy Land, with slopes and walks of exquisite beauty.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ., STOCKHOLM.

London, Sept. 10, 1824.

When you return, you will find the squares amazingly improved by being macadamized; you will find baths which you can heat by a handful of coals, without fire or grate, provided you have a window or chimney to admit the tube which carries off your smoke; you will find lamps which light themselves on your touching a spring; you will find fruits ripened and chickens hatched by steam; you will find all the young ladies you left grown older, and all the old ones younger; you will see dandyism so universal, it no longer inspires conceit; you will meet ices, confectionary, a reading-room, and well-conducted young ladies at a horse-bazaar; you will find Irish men and Irish poplins out of fashion; and, above all, you will find a very, very loving mother.

TO THE LADY FANNY PROBY.

London, Sept. 14, 1824.

Penshurst and Summerhill were all I saw, my carriage being very heavy, and myself very cowardly. I had not sense to venture in the little pony-carts which were the delight of everyone else. However, if health returns, I hope a common degree of courage will return with it; for I really despise my own fears, though educated to think them feminine and amiable, according to the laudable practice of many families in my time, confirmed by the sage Dr. Gregory,[68] who, I believe, did more mischief in his day, with good intention, than many who set about doing it for mischief’s sake. One plain phrase I met lately, pleased me more than all his fine-spun theories about the propriety of female terrors—‘It is not permitted to a Christian to be a coward.’

... The fault of Gregory, as of _The Spectator_ and many authors of their day, is, that they write as if woman’s whole existence was comprised between fifteen and the fading of her bloom or beauty. If they talk of her devotion, it must be associated, not with ideas of duty, reverence, and piety, but with a hint how much it lights up her features. She is recommended good humour, because it will preserve her complexion; and a modest dress and demeanour, because!!! they are more attractive than any other, even in the eyes of the greatest libertines.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ., STOCKHOLM.

Farnham, Dec. 17, 1824.

From my favourite inn at Farnham I write to say how impatient I grow for a line from you, having past a fortnight without that cheering northern light.

Our November and December, until this day of eternal rain, have given us the most beautiful specimens of spring, and all Hampshire is as busy as a bee-hive in active pursuit of pleasure, chiefly in the tangible shape of good dinners. Mr. W. Rose, Ariosto’s best translator, his only good one in the opinion of Ugo Foscolo, is at present with his mother in the Polygon, but keeps his state, and withdraws himself from worshipful society. Murray, on observing the merit and reputation of his _Court and Parliament of Beasts_, offered him £3000 to be the interpreter of Ariosto; which, although he is rich enough for all his wishes, he thought it right to accept, according to custom, for the benefit of his nephews and nieces, &c. &c. Foscolo says, that the beauty of Ariosto’s style being his chief excellence, those who only know him by his present translators are wholly ignorant of his merits.

I desire no better advocate than you have been for the lady of ——. I think you imagine my story, such as it is, relates to your kind friend. Not so. That gallant vessel is safe in port. It is at the fresh, the trim, the gaily ornate ship which lately sailed out of harbour, all these small shots are fired. In London we war not with the dead; dowagers of a certain age can do no wrong; but the young, and splendid, and prosperous can do no right—can perform no act without some little flaw, to be detected only by the vigilance of female observation.

* * * * *

_Jan. 3, 1825._—Sat by the venerable Bishop of Norwich at dinner at Lady Listowel’s. He was a delightful neighbour. One cannot but admire his love of liberty, his kindly way of seeing all the actions of others, his humility in speaking of his own, the simplicity of his tastes and habits, and the pleasing contrast of peculiar courage in conduct, and almost feminine mildness of manners.

* * * * *

_Jan. 5._—A visit from Joseph Humphries, a benevolent Quaker, and his deaf and dumb pupil—an animated and pleasing specimen of this unfortunate class, whose vivacity, intelligence, kindliness, and piety, shine with a vivid lustre in his looks and words; for he writes well, and almost as rapidly as others speak. He was much interested by my family, probably he is so by the great family of the human race in a higher degree than those who have more distractions; and he asked me, by graceful and expressive signs, for my tallest boy, now above six feet, represented by waving his hands, progressively higher, over his head; and for ——, by first appearing to draw, and then to ride, having seen some horses of his drawing. He asked me on his slate the royal questions, How many children I had, and then, ‘What business is your husband employed in?’ This puzzled me. Mr. Humphries explained to him that we lived on the produce of property in land, which, I suppose, gave him an idea of the pleasures of agriculture, for on going away, he imitated the actions of digging, sowing, and whetting the scythe, making signs that he liked those occupations. It occurred in the course of conversation that I wrote on his slate, ‘Mrs. Leadbeater thinks me better than I am;’ and he made signs to his friend, expressive of a reply, in which piety was beautifully blended with kindliness.

His instructor observed, ‘They refer all things to a Supreme Being. Their piety is remarkable, and their complete renunciation of any opinion, when the authority of the Bible intervenes. They are industrious, and all wish to marry active, intelligent, talking women, who will leave to them the routine of their daily and peculiar employment, and take all other trouble upon themselves.’ The attitudes of this young man would have been a fine study for a painter, so simple, expressive, and decided. In Chantrey’s phrase, one may truly say, ‘he has never been corrupted by the dancing-master.’ One also sees he has never thought on the effect of his looks or motions.

* * * * *

_Jan. 7._—At last, after an interval of twenty-four years, which succeeded a tolerably intimate acquaintance of seven weeks, I saw Count Münster of Hanover again. We met like two ghosts that ought to have been laid long since. I witnessed the whole process of the difficulty of persuading him that I was I; and I thought him as much changed in his degree as he could have found me. When we conversed, all the persons we referred to were dead and gone; and our interview added another link in my mind to the chain of proofs that, after a very, very long interval, neither friends nor acquaintance ought to meet in this world. He was kindly anxious to renew our acquaintance, and visited me next day; but still it seemed as if seeing me had renewed some painful associations.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.

April 8, 1825.

Mr. Haygarth is still in a very precarious state. I fear we shall not long retain him. One says that as if one was oneself immortal. Captain Wells is also threatened with a consumption, and forced to leave the house he enjoyed and embellished, from the impossibility of preserving his health, or even life, in the vicinity of the fens. When one is acquainted with _them_, one learns to respect their relations, the bogs. Only think of a puddle extending miles around, and reaching up to your hall door; of picking out your walk or ride over a quaking surface, where, if you err in your path, it is at the risk of your life; and being paid your rent in wild-ducks. Give me the turf, which blazes so cheerfully in your face as to bring its own apology.

* * * * *

_April 24, 1825, Brighton._—My dear ——’s health, which is not alarming, but threatening, has brought us here. None are left among the idlers who embellish a place of this kind, but those who are too sick or too poor to move; but this is bearable. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a flower, not a bud, mark the presence of spring; and the hot sun is reflected from the water, the chalk, the roads, the walks, the quarries, in most unqualified and blinding glare.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.

London, May 6, 1825.

Your letter found me still inhaling the sea breezes at Brighton, and enjoying the coming in of the tide with its delicious plash, and its endless variety for the eye and for the ear; to please the latter constantly giving models of the fine choruses by Handel, which seem the very echo of its waves. Lord Byron loved not the sea more than I do, except in the degree of his more intimate acquaintance. I, alas! can neither swim nor be shipwrecked; but as far as my knowledge of the ocean goes, I will not yield to man or woman in the sum of my love for it; and I shall love it still more when it has given you a safe passage.

I went yesterday to your nursing-mother, dear Harrow, and heard speeches. We dined with Mrs. Leith, and were delighted with every flower in her pretty garden, and every tree in the hedges, after passing three weeks without knowing whether it was spring or autumn, summer or winter, by any other indication than the atmosphere and the almanack.

TO THE SAME.

London, May 26, 1825.

Chantrey is now engaged for eighty thousand pounds’ worth of sculpture; and if he accepted all the orders which are proposed to him, he would require the life of Methuselah to finish even the small portion of each accomplished by the master. He is now paid two thousand pounds for a single figure. Nothing can be more interesting than his studio. It is Anglo-Grecian; and thus unites what we love the best and what we admire the most. Now that Canova is dead, his reputation seems declining every day; I think the contrary will happen to Chantrey. I hear that the former was all vanity, and certainly the latter is all simplicity. I forget whether I told you of Carew, a rising genius in this line, from Waterford. He has finished a beautiful Arethusa, of considerable elegance, though I think she has the fault supposed peculiar to his countrywomen, and that her ankles are not finely turned. Lord Egremont is to pay six hundred guineas for it, and has offered him more, but from some private motive he will not accept a larger sum. In my eyes, however, this Arethusa resembles a colossal Diana I saw in the Louvre, too much to have claims to perfect originality.

* * * * *

_Sept. 8, 1825._—Ségur has given me many interesting hours. I know nothing like it in modern history. He is a poet in his descriptions, and the tale he has to tell possesses many of the essentials of an epic. There is one predominant and effective character, by whom the one great event is brought about; and a variety of subordinate characters shaded off and graduated, so as to give connexion and life to all parts of the narrative. The picture of the entrance into Moscow of the conquering army, who find nothing but the pale and squalid relics of a vanished population, when they expected the fervid hum of an immense city, and all the honours paid to strength and victory, is a fine exemplification of the truth that

‘Our wishes give us not our wish.’

* * * * *

_Sept. 28._—I am not capable of writing more to-day, having received from his brother an account of Mr. Haygarth’s hopeless state—a loss to all who have ever known him, irreparable in its degree, according to the measure of their intimacy, and their power of estimating his value. I opened a letter, which I thought was from him, deceived by the similarity of handwriting and the paper he commonly used. When I read, it was as if he had himself walked in with a hood, which, on being removed, showed me a death’s-head.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.

Oct. 13, 1825.

I thank Heaven the cloud attendant on receiving the final account of our friend’s fate is clearing away, and our loss remains only as a subject of just regret. Were it not for that reference to another world by which his actions were, and ours ought to be, regulated, one might think his removal peculiarly unfortunate, since he possessed all the materials of present happiness, and many of the means of future fame. He had a noble nature—a fine mind—a striking and pleasing exterior—a distinguished figure—a head for sculpture—great attainments—great natural endowments—a fond father—an affectionate sister—the wife of his choice—lovely children—sufficient wealth, with the certainty, at no very distant period, of a great increase; and, though last, not least, an elevated, intellectual pursuit in the history he was writing of Rome, which was looked for in full anticipation of its merits, by those learned men who so much admired those essays on the subject where he seems to have tried his strength.

* * * * *

_Nov. 13, 1825._—Moore’s _Life of Sheridan_ lowers the biographer and the subject. He is a great motive-monger, and usually selects among a variety of probable motives, those which are least dignified and meritorious. He does not appear to love Sheridan; and he alters the complexion of facts in his domestic life, so as to make him appear blameable in a point where the plain truth would have been highly to his honour. That truth could not have been all told, but Moore ought not to have employed language which leads us to form an opposite conclusion.

* * * * *

_March 30, 1826._—Took my lesser pair to the British Gallery, and saw many new beauties in the Trial of Lord Russell. It grows on one’s admiration as much as Martin’s Deluge loses. I would rather have that picture to elevate my mind, the Garden scene from Scripture to animate my devotion, the Tired Fishermen to make me _feel_ with and for the children of labour, the Mistletoe to make me laugh, and the little Fisherman’s Head to give me added liking for the aged and industrious poor, than all the rest of the Gallery.

TO RICHARD TRENCH, ESQ.

London, April 1, 1826.

I dined, without fatigue, at the Bishop of Norwich’s on Thursday. The Bishop said on going down to dinner with the _prima donna_, ‘Lord John Russell, take Mrs. Trench.’ I felt much pleasure at the thought of sitting by the historian, the political economist, the successful author; and prepared to treasure up his sayings and doings, with that due degree of awe for his talents which is always a little unpleasant to me at first, though it soon subsides into a pleasant feeling of respect. Well, we sat down, and he talked of Harrow, and wished he had been at a private clergyman’s, saying that he should have read more there and been much happier; that at Harrow he had been subdued, and that he always had wanted encouragement. ‘How amiable!’ thought I; ‘how modest!’ He went on to say, ‘If I had been at a private clergyman’s, I should have been quite a different person.’ Still more modesty! ‘How can a person who is so lauded,’ thought I, ‘have so moderate an opinion of himself.’ Well, he drank his due proportion of wine with everybody, and watched their wants with a scrupulous attention; ‘how very attentive to all the little forms of society,’ thought I; ‘this is so pleasing in an author of eminence.’ In the evening he played cards, and I went into the music-room, and sang in quite another way from what I do when I am _afraid_ you are _anxious_ I should please. I came home and gave such an account of the author of _Memoirs of the Affairs of Europe from the Peace of Utrecht_, that all at home were dying to see him. ‘Not that he said much to mark him out,’ said I; ‘but you could see the possession of talent under the veil of simple and quiet manners it pleased him to assume.’

Well, the Bishop had mistaken the _name_, and I had been led down by one who passes for the greatest proser of his day, Lord John ——, and I had all my feelings of awe for nothing. So much for a _name_.

* * * * *

_May 24, 1826._—Read the criticism in the _Quarterly Review_ on the translations of Goethe. Its liberality and fair dealing are very satisfactory. It seems as if some one had awakened the _Quarterly_ from a long nap, and enabled it to look around and see that Goethe was not quite an imbecile, elderly gentleman, only known as the author of an improper novel called _Werther_, now out of date; that Shelley was not quite a mad rhymester, equally presumptuous and inane; and that there existed other modern poets in Europe besides the acknowledged _quintetto_, Scott, Byron, Southey, Rogers, and Campbell.

* * * * *

_June 30, 1826._—Returned to town, and there received a letter from Miss Shackleton, with the sad news of my beloved Mrs. Leadbeater’s death. Death how unexpected! I never thought of this word as connected with her. She was so serene, so happy, so active, leading a life so far from all that exposes to danger; she never had mentioned her illness but so slightly; she had so many benevolent and literary plans; she was so loved, and so sweetly loved again. Her instinctive fondness for me was a boon from Heaven which I valued not half enough while I possessed it. How little gratitude did I show for her unbounded kindness and partiality, not half so much as I felt! how many attentions to her were _to be_ performed, how long were they deferred! how often wholly forgotten. Alas! I thought I should have her always.

TO MRS. SHACKLETON.

Elm Lodge, Sept. 2, 1826.

I am much obliged by your letter, and hasten to assure you that I received both parts of my dear friend’s character, and entirely coincide in your opinion of it. It does _not_ touch upon many points which deserved a place in her portrait; such as her anxiety to improve herself and others; her delicate feelings, highly refined, yet never degenerating into susceptibility, or exacting from others those attentions which she never failed to bestow herself; her taste for everything that was admirable in nature and art; her polished mind and manner, that seemed instinctively to reject all that others are taught by rule to avoid; her quick sense of wit and humour; her own unaffected pleasantry; her entire absence of all self-comparison with any human being, which left her capable of doing complete justice to the merits of all; her rare suavity, and her uncommon talents. The writer of this character has also placed her ‘second’ in the delineation of Irish manners and language. She is _second_ to none in this. Others have taken a wider range; others have permitted themselves the free indulgence of humour on a greater variety of topics; but as far as she goes in her pictures, she is _second_ to none.

Pray do not dwell on the idea that her valuable life might have been saved. She once wrote thus to me: ‘There never was an event of this kind where one did not blame oneself, and blame others.’ She was right. Self-reproach is one of the shapes that sorrow loves to take; and one ought to protect one’s-self against it. I deeply reproached myself, and perhaps I was a little (though unjustly) hurt as to others; but this is certain, I deeply reproached myself for not having known her danger. I have been so long in a state of suffering that it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world to be ill; and though I heard your dear mother was so, the idea of danger never passed through my mind, and the intelligence was a sad surprise, upon which I shall not allow myself to dwell.

* * * * *

_Sept. 22 (Sunday), 1826._

Oh happy those whose Sabbaths seem to be
‘Linked each to each by natural piety,’
Smooth stepping-stones above the stream of life,
Which chafes below in all its petty strife;
Gems that recur upon the varied chain
Of our existence, or in joy or pain;
Green olive branches where the soul may rest,
Like the tired dove that seeks her peaceful nest;
Shake off the incumbrance of each worldly care,
And for its last and longest flight prepare.

TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.

Cheltenham, Nov. 9, 1826.

Yesterday I saw your cousin, Mansergh St. George’s second son. Oh what a rush of past times came with him. Your dear father’s introduction of me to his father all passed before my eyes. We were pacing up and down the beautiful little chapel at Dangan, which was illuminated to show it to me by night for the first time. The twilight was still struggling through the glass of the magnificent east window, and a hand unseen was skilfully touching the fine organ which did honour to the deep taste in music of Lord Wellesley’s father. At that moment Mansergh St. George was announced. Your dear father left me to meet him, and I saw those fine models of courtly grace, and of the grace of chivalry, walk together down a long gallery leading to the chapel. In Mansergh’s countenance, of which the effect was heightened by the black cap his wound obliged him to wear, were written those high thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy, which so distinguished him among men; and as your father introduced me to my new relation with that air of proud pleasure which always accompanied his making me known for the first time, we became friends and for life.

When I saw young St. George, all this passed through my mind. Then the scene changed, and I saw the moment when I gave him back to his father, a smiling child, whom he had brought down in his arms to bid me adieu at the carriage-door at Holyhead; where we parted, never to meet again—he to pass the remainder of his life in endeavouring to serve those very people by whom he was murdered like an Iroquois who falls into the hands of his fellow savages. What a spirit finely touched was there extinguished, what deep affection, what brilliant talents, what refined powers of pleasing!

* * * * *

_Jan. 30, 1827, Elm Lodge._—Worse headaches, and general health worse. No power of accepting the kind invitations pressed on me, though they are such as seldom occur to those who withdraw themselves from the world. The kindliness of this neighbourhood must never be forgotten by me, be the time long or short during which I may remember it here.

This last entry is made in a hand very different from the
preceding. There is one more brief passage in the journal,
relating to some advice given to a son on the choice of a
profession. The remainder of the volume is blank. Very shortly
after these lines were written, my Mother, who daily grew
worse, removed to Cheltenham, presently exchanged this in the
restlessness of suffering, and in the hope of some alleviation,
for Malvern; and there, on the 27th of May, 1827, the end
arrived. Water on the chest was the form her complaint took
at the last. She left five sons, of whom one, the youngest,
followed her in a few months to the grave.

As I have abstained through all this volume hitherto from any
comment whatever, so I feel it will best become me to abstain
to the end.

INDEX.

_Abbot_, Scott’s, 443

Absenteeism, Irish, 302

Adolphus, Prince (Duke of Cambridge), 37

—— letter from, 127

Agar, the Honᵇˡᵉ Miss, 300

—— her death and character, 453

Albert, Duke, 88

Alexander I., Emperor of Russia, 295, 343

_Allemagne, De l’_, Mad. de Staël’s, 280, 289

_Alphonsine_, Mad. de Genlis’, 156

‘Ancient Music,’ 419

_Andromaque_, Racine’s, 141

Angerstein Collection of Pictures, 487

Angeström, Mad., 118, 124

_Anti-Jacobin, The_, 394

_Ariosto_, Rose’s translation of, 486, 493, 506

Arnstein, Mad., 68

Augustus, Prince (Duke of Sussex), 55, 122

Automaton Chess-player, 399

_Avare, L’_, Molière’s, 385

Baden, 82

Bathurst, Dr., Bishop of Norwich, 507

Bellegarde, Field-Marshal, 67

Berlin, 52, 126

—— Porcelain Manufactory at, 120

Berthier, General, interview with, 177

Betty, Master, 253, 255

Beurnonville, 115, 117, 119

Billington, Mrs., 242

Boccaccio, 407

Bognor, 387

Bolero, the Spanish, 272

Brentford, 437

Breteuil, Baron, 32

_Bride of Lammermoor_, Scott’s, 411

Brighton, 510

Broadlands, 25

Brühl, Countess, 92

Brunswick, Duke of, 49

—— Duchess of, 44, 47, 300

—— Dowager Duchess of, 45, 49

—— Hereditary Prince of, 45

Buckingham, Lady, 26

Buonaparte, 146

Burleigh, 479

Buxton, _Enquiry into Prison Discipline_, 396

Byron, Lord, his separation from his Wife, 340

Cachet, Mad. de, 97

‘Calumny, the Birth of,’ an Allegory, 162

Campan, Mad. de, her _Memoirs_, 485

Canova, 488

Carew, his ‘Arethusa,’ 511

Caroline, Queen, her Trial, 436, 441

—— her Death, 452

Carter, Mrs., her _Letters_, 240

Carysfort, Earl of, 319, 408, 480

—— Countess of, 113, 319, 480

Catalani, Mad., 231, 325

Chantrey, Sir Francis, 511

Charlotte, Princess, her Death, 373

—— her Funeral, 375

Cheltenham, 304

Chenevix, Dr., Bishop of Waterford, 1, 9, 13

Chepstow, scenery near, 504

Chesterfield, Lord, 2

_Childe Harold_, Lord Byron’s, 380

Christmas Tree, 41

_Clarissa Harlowe_, Richardson’s, 270

Clarkson, Thomas, 214

Climate of England, effects of, on the English character, 273

_Cœlebs_, Hannah More’s, 235

_Corinne_, Mad. de Staël’s, 207

Coronation, George IV.’s, 449, 450

Coronation, Napoleon’s, 156

_Corsair_, Lord Byron’s, 306

Cottu, _On the Administration of Criminal Justice in England_, 450

Cox, Benjamin, 130

Cradock, Col. (Lord Howden), letter from, on the Invasion of France
by the Duke of Brunswick, 21

Crotch, Dr., lecture on Music, 422

_Curse of Kehama_, Southey’s, 314

_Cymbeline_, Shakspeare’s, criticism on a Song in, 212

Dallas, George, 390, 411

Dangan, 13, 363

David, the French Painter, 143

Davy, Sir Humphry, his ‘Human Life,’ 494

Deaf and Dumb Young Man, Visit from a, 507

Delany, Mrs., her _Letters_, 450

Delille, the Abbé, 160

Demidoff, the Princess, robbery of her Jewels, 188

Détenus, English, in France, 147

Distress in England in 1817, 368, 371

Dolgorouki, the Princess, 93, 102

Dresden, 58

—— collection of China at, 104

Dryden, quotation from, 337

Duchesnois, Mˡˡᵉ, 142, 159, 188

Eclipse of the sun in 1820, 436

Elgin, Lord, 194

Elliot, Right Honᵇˡᵉ Hugh, 57, 97, 99

‘Envious Man, The,’ 250

Epinay, Mad. d’, 384

_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_, Lord Byron’s, 231

Famine in Ireland in 1822, 466

Ferdinand, Prince, of Prussia, 113

_Fire Worshippers_, Moore’s, 369

Fitzherbert, Mrs., 264

Fontaine, La, Croker’s Translation of his _Fables_, 438

_Fortunes of Nigel_, Scott’s, 474

Foscolo, his _Lectures_, 473

Fox, his _Reign of James II._, 277

France, Invasion of, by the Duke of Brunswick, 21

—— Effects of the Revolution on the morals of, 145

—— Sunday in, 136

Francis I., Emperor of Austria, 69, 72

French, best method of studying, 296

Friends, the Society of, 297, 345, 359

Fry, Mrs., at Newgate, 428

Füger, the painter, 79

Gandersheim, Princess Abbess of, 50

Genlis, Mad. de, 259

Gentz, the publicist, 121

George, Mˡˡᵉ, 188

George III., 413, 414, 470

George IV., 316

Gérat, 195

Germany, travelling in, 33, 36, 57, 64

—— Court dinners, 48

—— society in, 65

_Gertrude of Wyoming_, Campbell’s, 232, 235

_Giaour_, Lord Byron’s, 278

_Gil Bias_, Le Sage’s, 260

Giovine, the Duchess of, 68, 70, 85

Gobelin Tapestry, 138

Good nature, 335

Goodwood, 227

Graff, the painter, 104

Grant, Mrs., her _Letters_, 224

Grattan, last days of, 431

_Gray, Life of_, Mason’s, 296

Gregory, Dr., 505

Gurney, Hudson, 30

Hamilton, Lady, 105-112

Hamilton, Sir William, 105, 331

_Harrington_, Miss Edgeworth’s, 371

Haygarth, William, 509, 512

Hayley, William, 387, 415, 491

Henry, Prince, of Prussia, 114

_Hesiod; or, the Rise of Woman_, Parnell’s, 338

Hesse Homburg, Princess of, her marriage, 381

_Hints for the Education of a Princess_, Hannah More’s, 306

Hogarth’s ‘Mariage à la Mode,’ 487

‘Holland House,’ 394

Holland, Lady, 98, 100

_Horaces, Les_, Cimarosa’s, 325

Hôtel des Invalides, 324

_Human Life_, Rogers’, 397

_Hungarian Brothers_, Miss Porter’s, 221

Hungarian Guard, 73

Hutchinson, Lady, 217

Hutchinson, Sir Francis, 210

_Hypocrisy_, Colton’s, 291

Indian Jugglers, 281

Irving, Edward, 474

Isabey, the French miniature painter, 173, 180

_Jaqueline_, Rogers’, 301, 304

Jekyll, Joseph, 306, 317, 378

Josephine, the Empress, 182

Kean, Edmund, 283, 368

Kemble, John, 471

Kielmansegge, Mad. de, 42

Kirke White, his _Remains_, 502

Kirwan, character of his preaching, 209

Knight, Miss Cornelia, 105

Lacy, Maréchal, 84

_Lalla Rookh_, Moore’s, 369

Lancaster, Joseph, 249

_Lara_, Lord Byron’s, 301, 304, 307

Lavalette, 63

Leadbeater, Mrs., extract from her _Annals of Ballitore_, 132

—— her Death, 516

—— her Character, 517

Lespinasse, Mˡˡᵉ, her _Letters_, 383

Letters, publication of posthumous, 245

Lifford, Lady, 6

Ligne, Prince de, 68

Lismore, 370

London, its attractions, 402

Londonderry, Lord, his death, 475

Lorraine, Princess of, 79

_Loves of the Angels_, Moore’s, 482

Mackintosh, Sir James, his speech on the Criminal Code, 473

_Madoc_, Southey’s, 234

_Mandeville_, Godwin’s, 376

Marchetti, 78

Marsh, Charles, 277, 364

Matignon, Mad. de, 32

Matilda, Queen of Denmark, 35

_Mazeppa_, Lord Byron’s, 402

Minto, Lord, 67

_Monastery_, Scott’s, 449

Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, her _Letters_, 347

Montagu, Mrs., her _Letters_, 241

Montmorenci, Mad. de, 157

Morgan, Mrs., 257

Münster, Count, 39, 509

—— Countess, 103

Needlework, its use and abuse, 240

Nelson, Lord, 105-112

—— his _Letters to Lady Hamilton_, 293

_Nugæ Antiquæ_, Sir John Harrington’s, 306

O’Connor, Arthur, 135

O’Neill, Miss, 309

Orloff, Alexis, 60

_Ormond_, Miss Edgeworth’s, 371

Orrery, Walker’s, 215

Owen, Rev. John, 437

_Pamela_, Richardson’s, 270

Paris, 145

—— in 1815, 322

Parnell, William, 442

_Patronage_, Miss Edgeworth’s, 300

_Paul et Virginie_, St. Pierre’s, 233, 278

Paul I., Emperor of Russia, 84, 97

Penshurst, 503

Petrarch, his sonnets on the death of Laura, 228

Picture Galleries visited:
Count Lambert’s, 74
Count Truchsess’, 86
Prince Lichtenstein’s, 86
Dresden, 100, 102
Louvre, 140, 141
Exhibition at Paris, 186
Exhibition in London, 448

_Pilgrims of the Sun_, Hogg’s, 318

Piozzi, Mrs., 329

_Pizarro_, Sheridan’s, 28

_Plaideurs, Les_, Racine’s, 323

Poems by the Author:
‘Here wit and humour willing smiles excite,’ 231
‘How quickly life forgets the dead,’ 287
‘I am not envious; yet the sudden glance,’ 367
‘I gaze upon thy vacant chair,’ 455
‘I joined the crowd that from Vienna streamed,’ 76
‘In reverent guise this ancient pile survey,’ 479
‘In unconnected phrases, on that tongue,’ 360
‘Not one who bears the name he graced,’ 288
‘Oh, happy those whose Sabbaths seem to be,’ 518
‘Oh, lead me not in Pleasure’s train,’ 205
‘Quenched is thy light,’ 265
‘She smiled and sparkled in my sight,’ 352
‘Silent pleader! living flower,’ 267
‘Their eyes have met. The irrevocable glance,’ 434
‘There is a grief that knows no end,’ 288
‘The sun forsakes thee; yet thou still art fair,’ 463
‘This watch, uncouth to modern eyes,’ 225
‘Thy useful labours, Hutchinson, are o’er,’ 210
‘What dost thou here, white woman, say?’ 498
‘While friends long loved, long tried, entwine,’ 43
‘Who will shoe my little foot? who will glove my little hand?’ 481

Polish Women, 320

_Political Economy_, Mrs. Marcet’s, 349

Prague, 63

Prater at Vienna, 66, 315

Prussia, Louisa Queen of, 53, 123, 314

Queensberry, Duke of, 28, 190, 244

Raphael, his ‘St Sebastian,’ 59

—— ‘Transfiguration,’ 100

Raucourt, Mˡˡᵉ de, 153, 168

Rebellion, the Irish, 129

Récamier, Mad., 167

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, Exhibition of his Pictures, 274

Richmond, Duke of, 405

Righini, 118

_Rimini_, Leigh Hunt’s, 246

Ritz, Mad. de, 55

Rivarol, 121, 122

_Roderick, the Last of the Goths_, Southey’s, 318, 337

_Rodogune_, Corneille’s, 168

Roland, Mad., her _Memoirs_, 347

Rogers, Samuel, 378, 424, 426

Rubens, his ‘Descent from the Cross,’ 141

_Russell, Life of Lord_, Lord John Russell’s, 408

_Saul_, Sotheby’s, 249

Saxony, Elector and Electress of, 60

Ségur, Count, his _Histoire de la Grande Armée_, 512

Sévigné, Mad. de, 170, 260, 291, 341

Seward, Miss, 403

—— her _Letters_, 290, 404

_Sheridan, Life of_, Moore’s, 513

Sicard, the Abbé, 140, 143

Sickness, its moral uses, 335

Siddons, Mrs., 27, 470

Sloane, Col., 25

Southey, Robert, 373

_Spectator, The_, 461, 505

Steamboat, first sight of a, 500

St. George, Mansergh, 246, 518

St. James’ Chapel, service at, 388

St. Simon, his _Memoirs_, 161

Staël, Mad. de, 275, 277, 285, 289, 298

Steibelt, 65

Stierneld, Mad. de, 482, 496

Stoneham Park, 25

Suwarrow, 63

Talma, 142

_Télémaque_, Fénélon’s, 259

Töplitz, 93

Tour and Taxis, Prince of, 93

—— Princess of, 99

Tuileries, 137

Tunbridge Wells, 435

_Twopenny Post Bag_, Moore’s, 276

Vienna, 64, 311

—— Society at, 68, 71, 89

—— Procession of the _Fête Dieu_, 82

Voltaire, 290

Waldegrave, Earl, his _Memoirs_, 457

Wallmöden, Field-Marshal, 42

Watts, Isaac, 441

Wellington, Duke of, 293, 299, 362

_Werther_, Goethe’s, 151

_Wesley, Life of_, Southey’s, 438

West, criticism of a Picture by, 241

Whitworth, Lord, anecdote of, 78

Wilkie, Sir David, 488

Williams, Mrs., 254, 258

_World before the Flood_, Montgomery’s, 303

_World without Souls_, 303

Wynne, Lady Williams, 366

York, Duchess of, 248

Zell, 34

Zimmerman, Mad., 40

THE END.

ADDENDA ET CORRIGENDA.

Page 11, l. 13. For ‘pines’ read ‘figs.’

Page 16, l. 11. For ‘its’ read ‘their.’

Page 282. The letter to William Lefanu, Esq., should have been _two_ letters; one of the date there given; the other, containing the last paragraph, should have had the date Nov. 13, 1814. There would scarcely have been need of calling the reader’s attention to the matter; but, as it stands, the writer is made to give an account of one whom she could scarcely at that time have seen.

Page 383, l. 5. There is an interesting account of Mˡˡᵉ de Lespinasse and her ‘Letters’ in St. Beuve’s _Causéries du Lundi_, vol. ii. p. 99.

Page 323, last line but two. For ‘Pimbeche’ read ‘Pimbesche.’ A note might fitly have mentioned that she is one of the characters in _Les Plaideurs_.

FOOTNOTES

[1] These words were in the first edition very needlessly changed everywhere into ‘your son.’ Lord Stanhope, in the supplementary volume of Lord Chesterfield’s _Letters_, has made provision for a corrected text in the future, and also for the restoration of many hitherto omitted passages, by the aid of the original copies of these letters, which I was able to place in his hands.—ED.

[2] I know not what may have become of the pictures. The cup I have now in my possession.—ED.

[3] Lord Chesterfield’s letter, of date April 27, 1745, quite bears out this account. Dr. Chenevix was supposed, though erroneously, to have written political pamphlets against the administration, which made the King personally hostile to his appointment.—ED.

[4] See Lord Chesterfield’s letter of date Dec. 19, 1771.—ED.

[5] At the battle of Blenheim. He had quitted France on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, had entered the English service, and was major of the 2nd Carabineers at the time when he fell.—ED.

[6] These exertions of the Bishop are several times alluded to in Lord Chesterfield’s letters to him. Thus, in one of date Nov. 21, 1769:—‘The Archbishop of Cashel tells me that by your indefatigable endeavours you have recovered near twenty thousand pounds for the several defrauded charities.’—ED.

[7] This journal does not exist among the papers which came into my hands.—ED.

[8] This was a name given among his friends to Edward Tighe, well known in Ireland for works of active beneficence, when they were not so common as they are now.—ED.

[9] Baron Breteuil, born in 1733, was employed by Louis XV. in important diplomatic services, in Russia and elsewhere; and at a later day was Minister of Home Affairs. He opposed the calling together of the States-General, and headed for a moment a reactionary ministry after the brief retirement of Neckar. He left France in 1790, and after residing in Hamburg for some years, was allowed to return in 1802. He died at Paris, in 1807.—ED.

[10] This passage, in inverted commas, is evidently an extract from a letter.—ED.

[11] Count Münster is well known in England, having been for many years, during the connexion between Hanover and England, the minister for Hanoverian affairs at the Court of London.—ED.

[12] I extract from some observations by my Mother on the Princess of Bayreuth’s _Memoirs_, a later portrait, from recollection, of the Dowager Duchess. ‘The Duchess of Brunswick was one of the most accomplished and brilliant women of her time. To a late period of life, beyond her eightieth year, she possessed an incomparable understanding, and the most amiable cheerfulness. Time had respected not only her faculties, but her exterior; and while it had worn her form to a sort of etherial transparency, had left her perfect symmetry, lively eyes, and an expressive delicate countenance. She appeared like a model of agreeable old age turned in ivory, and was said to be a softened resemblance of Frederic the Great, whose _agrémens_ of appearance and manner have been so well described by Mirabeau.’—ED.

[13] We now know pretty intimately the whole Court of Brunswick, as Lord Malmesbury found it on occasion of his mission to seek there a wife for the Prince of Wales, some five years before the above was written.—(See his _Diaries and Correspondence_, vol. iii.) I have been interested to observe the almost exact coincidence of his judgment in respect of all the persons who composed that Court with what is written here. It is true that, having actually to transact important business with the Duke, he saw the real weakness and vacillation of his character, as a woman with no such opportunities was not likely to do. But of the Duchess Dowager he writes, ‘Nothing can be so open, so frank, and so unreserved as her manner; nor so perfectly good-natured and unaffected’ (vol. iii. p. 155). In another place, ‘The Hereditary Prince and Princess vastly friendly; she a most admirable character, all sense and judgment; he little of either, but very harmless and good-natured’ (p. 188). The Princess Augusta, Abbess of Gandersheim, he describes as ‘clever in the Beatrix way’ (p. 159), ‘clever, artful, and rather _coming_’ (p. 165).—ED.

[14] As Countess Lichtenau. The whole curious story is to be found in Vehse, _Gesch. des Preuss. Hofs und Adel_, part 5, p. 67 sqq.

[15] The Right Hon. Hugh Elliot, brother to the first Lord Minto. A few years later he proceeded to India as Governor of Madras, and died in London in the year 1822.—ED.

[16] He and his two brothers, as is well known, strangled with their own hands Peter III., the husband of Catherine, and laid thus the foundations of their fortunes. But his name is branded with a crime of yet deeper dye, and of an almost incredible baseness. A young daughter of the Empress Elizabeth was living in extreme poverty and obscurity in Italy, whom Catherine, jealous of a possible pretender to the throne, desired to get within her power. Alexis Orloff found her out at Rome, married her, lured her away from her safe refuge in Italy, and delivered her to Catherine. She died in a Russian dungeon.—ED.

[17] Born 1756, died 1823. The _Conversations-Lexicon_ says, ‘Sein. Clavierspiel war glänzend; auch improvisirte er glücklich.’—ED.

[18] This is certainly a mistake. Field-Marshal Bellegarde was a very distinguished officer, who, whether serving under the Archduke Charles, as at Aspern, or holding independent military commands, which he often did, always acquitted himself excellently well; but there are not, I believe, the slightest grounds for the suggestion in the text.—ED.

[19] The Duchess of Giovine, though married to a Neapolitan nobleman, was a German by birth. In Goethe’s _Italiänische Reise_ (June 2, 1787), there is an interesting record of an evening spent at Naples with her. He rates her quite as highly as she is rated in the text; and, remarkably enough, he too notes the evident desire which she showed ‘_auf die Töchter der höehstens Standes zu wirken_.’—ED.

[20] Füger was born in 1751, and died at Vienna in 1818. German critics in art speak very highly of his genius, especially as manifested in the design and composition of his pictures. His illustrations of Klopstock’s _Messiah_, spoken of in the text, are always considered his greatest work.—ED.

[21] I am entirely perplexed who this Vendean heroine is. I can find no mention of her in any histories of the time. Nor is this the only perplexity. Louis the Sixteenth was born in 1754. This lady of about forty could scarcely have claimed him for her father; not to say that the purity of his domestic life would of itself have condemned her boast. Perhaps we should read ‘Fifteenth’ for ‘Sixteenth;’ but even then I cannot explain the entire silence of history about her. She may possibly have been an impostress, trading on the royalist sympathies of Germany.—ED.

[22] Graff, born in 1736, is said to have left behind him at his death, in 1813, more than eleven hundred portraits. His pictures are still held in high esteem, but more those of men than of women.—ED.

[23] _Dinarbas, a Continuation of Rasselas_, 1790.—ED.

[24] _Marcus Flaminius; or, Life of the Romans_, 1795.—ED.

[25] See Miss Cornelia Knight’s _Autobiography_, vol. i. p. 152, where one of these songs, beginning,

‘Britannia’s leader gives the dread command,’

is given.—ED.