Miss Eden's Letters Part 24

E. E.

_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._

_Thursday evening, May 1830._

DEAREST THERESA, Thank you for writing to me. Your letter told me many particulars I had wanted to know, though the one melancholy fact of her deplorable condition[345] Lady F. Leveson wrote to me yesterday. I never was more shocked or grieved. I wrote to Lady Cawdor last night, but begged her not to write, as nothing is so trying as writing in real anxiety. Poor Lady Bath! It is melancholy to think we are not to see her again. After all, we all thought about her and cared about her opinion more than for most people's; and she was more of an object to us than anybody out of our own families. She was a very kind friend to me when first I came out and when I knew n.o.body and n.o.body cared about me, and I cannot name anybody from whom I have received so much gratuitous kindness, particularly at times of trial, and we all of us, you as well as I, never could bear being in a sc.r.a.pe with her. We fretted and were affronted and so on, but there was no _ba.s.sesse_ I did not condescend to, to make it up again. I liked her society, and altogether loved her very dearly, and the idea of her present situation poor thing, is very, very painful. I hardly wish her recovery, because it seems doubtful if it would be complete, and the recovery of bodily health alone is not to be wished.

Poor Lord Bath; it will be a dreadful loss to him. I shall really be very glad if you will write again, whatever happens. Once more thank you. Ever your affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to Lady Campbell._

GREENWICH PARK, _Wednesday, August 1830._

I know I did not answer your last letter. I wrung it from you, and it enchanted me, and at first I would not answer it for fear of plaguing you, and after a time I would not answer it for fear of plaguing me--and so on--and latterly I have done nothing but work in the garden--and how can you expect a day labourer, a plodding operative, to write? Shaky hands, aching back, etc.; but on the other side, hedges of sweet peas, lovely yellow carnations, brilliant potentillas, to balance the fatigue.

George and I have quarrelled so about the watering-pot, which is mine by rights, that for fear of an entire quarrel he has been obliged to buy. I wish you could see our house and garden, "a poor thing, but mine own." I am so fond of it, and we are so comfortable.

I wonder whether you really will go to the Ionian Isles. I have just as good a chance of seeing you there as in Ireland, so if you need it I should. We shall never move again, or if we ever did, I should have a better claim to go after you to the Ionian Isles, where we have never been, than again to Ireland.

Mrs. Heber,[346] the Bishop's widow, has just published two more Vols.

of her first husband's life, and finding it lucrative, has taken a second husband, a Greek, who calls himself _Sir_ Demetrie Valsomachi, and he has carried her off to the Ionian Islands, where you will find her collecting materials for the biography of Sir Demetrie.

We think and talk of nothing but Kings and Queens. It adds to the oppression of the oppressive weather even to think of all the King does.

I wish he would take a chair and sit down. We have only been up once to see him, at that full-dress ball at Apsley House, where he brought brother Wurtemburg,[347] and the whole thing struck me as so tiresome. I could not treat it as a pageant--only as a joke.

However, tho' our adored Sovereign is either rather mad or very foolish, he is an immense improvement on the last unforgiving animal, who died growling sulkily in his den at Windsor.[348] This man at least _wishes_ to make everybody happy, and everything he has done has been benevolent; but the Court is going to swallow up all other society. It is rather funny to see all the great people who intrigued for court places, meaning to enjoy their pensions and do no work, kept hard at it from nine in the morning till two the following morning--reviews, breakfasts, great dinners, and parties all following each other, and the whole suite kept in requisition.

[Miss Villiers, who had been so much admired and the centre of attraction in her circle at Kent House, now became engaged to Mr.

Lister of Armitage Park. They were married in November 1830. Mr. Lister was described by one of his contemporaries as "a refined and accomplished gentleman with literary tastes."]

_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._

BROADSTAIRS, _Wednesday, September 1830._

MY DEAREST THERESA, How idle I have been about writing, have not I? But then Hyde[349] told me about the daily packets that he forwarded from Staffords.h.i.+re and from Devons.h.i.+re, and so I thought in the bustle I should not be missed, and the real truth is I have been very unsettled the last ten days. George and I went to Hertfords.h.i.+re to see Mary Eden before her confinement, and from the bore of moving, put it off so long that we came in at last for the beginning of her catastrophe. She was in the greatest danger, poor thing, at last, but thank G.o.d is quite safe now, and her boy[350] too.

We went to pa.s.s a morning with Lady F. Lamb at Brocket, and saw a great deal of the Panshanger tribe. The Ashleys are as happy as I suppose the Listers mean to be, only I think you must be a shade less demonstrative.

Lord Ashley seems to do amazingly well with all the uncles and brothers, and Lady Cowper dotes (or doats, which is it?) on him.

We came back to Greenwich for one day, and then with the utmost courage, the greatest magnanimity, f.a.n.n.y and I stepped into a Margate steamboat and set off on a visit to Mrs. Vansittart at Broadstairs. George stood on the steps of Greenwich Hospital, left, like Lord Ullin, "lamenting."

We were so late we could with difficulty persuade the steamer to take us in; but at last we boarded her and took her. To my utter surprise I was not the least sick.

This is a nice little place. We know n.o.body here but Lady G. de Roos,[351] and she is in the same predicament, so we see a great deal of each other.

Caroline ought I believe to account for 14 children, but she has somehow contrived to disperse and get rid of all of them but two very small things of five and six. I ask no questions. I hope the others are all safe somewhere, and in the meantime she is remarkably well and happy. We have a room apiece, and one for our maid, and she must have been terribly afraid we should be bored by the quant.i.ty of excursions she has planned for us. We have been to Margate and Ramsgate, and are to go to Dover, and if George comes, perhaps to Calais. But that I think foolhardy. To-day she and f.a.n.n.y are gone sailing off to some famous sh.e.l.l place. I prefer dry land, if it is the same thing to everybody, so I stayed at home, and I have a fit of sketching on me that amounts to a fever. The day is too short. I am so glad we like being here so much, which sounds like a foolish sentence, but Caroline really has been so kind and active in arranging everything and was so bent on making us come, and is so hospitable now we are here, that I should have been doubly sorry if it had turned out a failure. I was only sorry to leave George, but perhaps he will come and fetch us.

The day we went through London to Hertfords.h.i.+re your George went to the play with us, and I was afraid we should have to carry him out. He went into strong hysterics at the _Bottle Imp_, which is certainly one of the most amusing things I ever saw.

Maria[352] wrote so kindly and affectionately to me about your marriage.

You would have been pleased with her letter. And old Lansdowne wrote also in such terms about both of you and his delight at the marriage of two people he liked so much, that I do not see why we should not always meet you at Bowood, except the fear that Mr. L.'s domestic peace may be endangered. People were talking of the possibility of a revolution in England the other day, and what they should do for their livelihoods, and Lord Alvanley said, "If it comes to that I know what I shall do; keep a disorderly house and make Glengall my head waiter." That is a bad story to end with, but I have no time for a better.

Two more letters to write; and a lovely day and fine autumnal weather makes me so happy I cannot bear to lose a moment of it. Ever your most affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to Lady Charlotte Greville._

_Thursday, October 1830._

MY DEAR LADY CHARLOTTE, Your note reached me only yesterday, as it made a little detour to Middleton in search of George; but with all that delay it was the first intelligence I had of Lady F.'s[353] safety. The _Morning Herald_ never mentions anything pleasant, and Charles Drummond, whom I had charged to make due enquiries of Mr. H. Greville, of course forgot it. How glad I am she has a girl at last![354] I think we all deserve some credit for it, for all her friends have gone on day by day so duly wis.h.i.+ng for a young lady for her, that I cannot but think we may have great pride in the result. It is unknown the trouble Lady G. de Roos and I gave ourselves about it all the time we were at Broadstairs.

My sisters, who are learned in those matters, a.s.sured me Lady F. would have a girl this time, she was so long about it. Did you know that girls, with that tact and penetration we all have, shew a greater reluctance to coming into this bad world than boys do, who are always ready for any mischief? Girls put off coming into this world as long as they possibly can, knowing what a difficult life it is. Just mind, as you are on the spot, that this little concern is like its Mama. I should like her to be exactly the same, should not you?

We enjoyed our Broadstairs so very much, and all the more, because it was not Ramsgate. I took the look of Ramsgate in great aversion. We knew n.o.body at Broadstairs but Lady G. de Roos, who was without her husband, and therefore very glad to be a great deal with us. The quiet and _dowdiness_ of Broadstairs is a great charm. We were out all day, sketching or poking about for sh.e.l.ls. I wonder whether you went to Sh.e.l.lness, a little creek whose sh.o.r.es are covered with sh.e.l.ls--not a stone or a bit of sand--all sh.e.l.ls. I never saw such a curious place. We made one long expedition to Dover, and if ever I went to the sea on my own account, I mean not on a visit to anybody, I should pitch my tent at Dover. It is so very beautiful and so cheerful looking. We stayed a fortnight at Broadstairs.

George seems to have a very diplomatic party at Middleton: Esterhazy,[355] Talleyrand,[356] Madame de Dino, the expectation of the Duke of Wellington, etc., etc. Colonel Anson, I suppose you know, has ascertained that he has __15,000 less than nothing, which would be an uncomfortable property to settle on, and Lord Anson says he can do nothing for him but give him a living. If he ends by taking orders, I think Thorpe will find his congregation fall off considerably; there will be such a press to hear that popular preacher Anson.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Mrs Lister

(Lady Theresa Lewis)

from a painting by G.S. Newton R.A._]

Lady Cowper has written to ask us to Panshanger next week, but I believe George will not be able to go; he has a shooting-engagement in another direction. However, till he comes back from Middleton, I do not know. I am not ambitious to move again, as we must so soon go to that vile London for that foolish Parliament, and our little garden is so full of flowers, and gives so much occupation in collecting seeds and making cuttings, that I grudge leaving it, even for a day. In all the reproaches that are lavished on these Ministers, I wonder n.o.body has ever written a biting pamphlet on their only real fault, which is bringing us all to London the end of October--a sort of tyranny for which a Minister would have been impeached in better days. I am dreadfully at a loss for some political feelings. I cannot find anybody to wish for, and, upon the whole, am in the miserably dull predicament of _rather_ hoping things may remain as they are. I suppose that mean Huskisson set are coming in, which is unpleasant, but as they were sure to _fourrer_ themselves in somehow or anyhow, I am prepared for it. I never hear from Maria. I suspect they are bored at Sprotbro', as she is always silent when she is bored.

My best love to Lady F. with my entire approbation of her conduct about this little girl. Ever your affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to Mrs. Lister._

GREENWICH PARK, _Thursday evening, November 1830._

MY DEAREST THERESA, It is particularly clever of me to write to you to-night, because it does so happen that there is not a pen in the house and the shops are all shut. There was _one_ pen this morning, but I suppose dear Chiswick has ate it. That comes of having stationery for nothing; as long as we had to pay for it, I had heaps of pens and paper. George[357] has found a quill in one of the drawers, and I, who never could mend a real ready-made pen, have cut this raw material, this duck's feather, into an odd-shaped thing. But it marks pretty well, only it is great fatigue to drive it along, because I could not make a slit in it.

I want to know if you and Mr. Lister cannot come and dine with us while we are here. I never should have thought of asking anybody in such weather, but I had _offers_ from three friends this morning to come here next week, so that it is quite allowable to ask all my other friends. I daresay you did not think I had above three in the world, but I have.

When will you come? I know you can't the beginning of next week, because I have just had a note from Lady Salisbury asking us to meet you at Hatfield, but after that perhaps you can come. We cannot go to Hatfield.

The Chancellor[358] has offered to take me to the Lord Mayor's dinner on Monday, and I think it will be amusing and mean to accept.

Sarah Sophia[359] says she proposes to take her food here on Tuesday.

She never allows us an option. I wonder when it will be time to quarrel with her about politics or something else? Is not it _due to ourselves_ to have some explanations with her? I do not know what about, but a note or two ought to pa.s.s, first dignified and then pathetic, and then end with a dinner. I have no idea of the dinner without the explanation first. She has treated everybody but us with one.