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 dislike 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.