DEAREST EMMY, I meant every day to have written to you whilst you were at Shottesbrook,[112] but I never could hit the right temperature; when I felt dull, I thought it was not fair writing to you, making "confusion worse confounded," and when I was merry, I imagined the shock might be too much for you, and only serve to make your "darkness visible." This is a very deeply Miltonic apology, the truth I daresay may turn out to be a severe fit of laziness, which has incapacitated me from doing anything beyond reading, which delights me, and swallows up all my duties.

Your sister Caroline seems an admirable Brood Mare. I admire her exertions, but, Emmy, it is lucky we are not put to the test, we never could imitate them. However brilliant and liberal our views, we should fail in the plodding perseverance, which is the necessary ingredient to fill up the gaps and make it all solid.

I have of late been driven by Aunt in the Chaise, to try a Mule, which a man wants us to buy. In my life I never was on service of such danger.

She holds her reins so very loose, that she puts me in mind of the picture of Phaeton when he is in the act of _culbute_ from Heaven, and I find myself humming a Te Deum for my safety as I get out, for she has no manner of power over the beast, and throws herself upon its generosity with wonderful philosophy. I, who have not this reliance upon its honour, really suffer greatly from terror.... My dear Emmy, the Ogress's[113] dereliction from the sober paths of temperance was a shock I have not yet recovered from. Our cook has taken to drinking too, but she certainly boasts some originality in her tastes; she ruins herself in Antimonial Wine and emetics of the strongest nature; no remonstrance can deter her from pouring every species of quackery down her unhappy throat. It is very remarkable how the lower cla.s.ses love physic.

Your antic.i.p.ated fondness for your powder'd Friend quite enchanted us. I have an extinguisher on my mind to-day, so good-bye. I write just to show you I can make an effort for you. Good-bye. I am your own

PAM.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

_Sunday, November 14, 1819._

What are you about? Write to me directly. Yesterday I was stirred up by one of those hubbubs that vanish into smoke. Mr. Ogilvie[114] wrote to say he was coming to us for a few hours previous to his going to Paris for a fortnight on business, upon which Lucy went mad; she would and should go with him, raved and tore about, wrung from the hard hands of Aunt her vile consent, and so far infected me with her fuss that I was all of a twitter.

Her cloaths were preparing, in short, she was far on the road to France.

Ogilvie arrives, Lucy downs upon her knees, to beg he will take her to Paris, and lo! he would have been delighted to take her, but he had given up the journey!

We all dropt in spirit like so many sacks, after the excitation of the morning.

We go to Town positively on the 27th of this month, G.o.d willing. Let me know whether the master of your destiny, your fate, George, brings you to Town. We shall be in Stratford Place, and about the beginning of next month I suppose the Chancellor will have us up. Pray how do you think we ought to dress the character, something of the sackcloth and ash nature?...

How do f.a.n.n.y and Edward Drummond[115] go on? I hope she still thinks him pleasant. Don't rob her of those comfortable illusions, any bulwark against bore is a blessing.

Aunt has had the white c.o.c.k, the pride of the Dunghill killed, and Lucy has replaced him by a pair of stinking red-eyed rabbits. We have robberies going on on all sides. The thieving establishment is put upon the most liberal footing; they drive their cart, and keep their saddle-horses, and n.o.body seems inclined to disturb them.

I understand Stocks? Emmy, I have been making Mr. Ogilvie give me a lecture on Finance, but to-morrow I shall relapse into darkness. Nature has done much for you and me, but we are not organised for Stocks.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

_November 26, 1819._

We go to Town to-morrow, but too late to see you. I am so unhappy, my snug own home so clean, so warm, my life so humdrum, to-day walking in the footsteps of yesterday, all thrown over by going to that Babylon. If it was not for you, I should hang myself previous to my departure.

Conceive my situation on finding myself to-morrow night, amidst the smoke and stir of that dim spot which men call Stratford Place, Nr.

2....

I had a kind note from Lady Lansdowne,[116] I love her. Emmy, if you desire to keep a Grantham and four horses, I surely may have my Lansdowne and two!

I feel walking against the wind, which is the only way I can express the feeling one has in parts of one's life when matters go contrary. We are coming up in truly Scriptural style, for we know not where we shall eat, and where we shall drink, nor wherewithal we shall be clothed.

_December 17, 1819._--Emmy, the moon whistles, but why don't you write?

My trunk is gone forth and is now on its remote, unfriended, melancholy, and slow journey to Bowood, and drags at each remove a lengthening chain, and the weather is so bad, and so we are all very unhappy. Isn't (I never know how to t.i.ttle that abbreviation, but to you my meaning is palpable) well to go on. Isn't this a day for Crack-skull Common?

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

BOWOOD, _Thursday, a great deal p.m., December 23, 1819_.

MY DEAREST EMMY, I am safely arrived into this country, and as you have never peregrined into these parts, a few remarks, peradventure, a few remarks upon the nation Wiltshire may give you satisfaction. The Wilt[117] is generally of n.o.ble disposition, kind of heart and of sound understanding. In person short of stature, thick set, square built, hath straight hair, and a pleasing aspect. In civility most laborious, insomuch there seems a wall of politeness which keepeth off better acquaintance in this tribe. The Wilt woman[118] liveth bounden in subjection and loving obedience unto the husband, and filleth her time duly in catering and ordering for her household. The Wilt[119] when young is ill-favoured, given unto the asking of questions, eager for food, and hath a harsh and unmusical voice. It is the custom to _dejeune_ at the hour Ten. The Wilt doth eat, and read the signs of a large leaf showing the contests of the Two Tribes--the one having power that doth act foolishness, and the other which hath no power--speaking wisdom; and after breathing a word or two at intervals when the meal is ended, the Wilt will go unto his avocations and work with his brains, and then at about the hour Two, he eateth of a mixture of flour and water like unto cakes, and then doth go forth unto the exercising of his body in the way of quick walking, or managing of a small horse. At dinner the Wilt ordereth himself seemly, eateth of all things freely and slow, drinking moderately. He then adjourneth unto another part of the Habitation and doth talk of divers matters good and well spoken, rubbing his hands withal exceedingly; and after he hath drunk of a hot brown liquor, the women take their tools and do sew wearing apparel and are still, and the Wilt taketh a volume and doth lift up his voice and read.

I do mention this because the custom is after the manner of this tribe peculiarly, and is regarded upon by other tribes as an abomination, inasmuch that one of the tribe of Dumont[120] has been known to cover his countenance with a cloth when the same has been practical. I have been at some pains to get particulars of this form of idolatry to the G.o.d Bore, and have collected thus much: Bore is an evil spirit that, they reckon, commonly doth haunt empty places, but is more terrible when he doth infest crowded places. He doth possess people after the fashion of the Devils in Judaea, and hath, besides, a contagious property, it having been noted that one possessed will generally infect others. What a fool I am, Emmy dear! but I was so full of nonsense I was obliged to come and write to you, and such an ill-tempered pen too, that would go no way, not even its own. I am sure it came out of Lady Holland[121] or the Dss of Bedford's[122] Wing!

I am very snug here as to my body, but I do want you to talk to beyond expression, and I cannot bear to think Lucy is missing me all this while. I have been over all my old walks here, and remembering all the corners and rooms and chairs and tables, so that I feel two years the younger. But I wonder how I got on at all without knowing you. Lady Lansdowne is in high favour with me. There is so much to like in her.

Him of old I have always doated on, but I have sat with my extinguisher upon my head ever since I arrived, so that I fear, pleased as I am with them, the feeling is not reciprocal. I always shall love this place for having brought me acquainted with old _Mary_, for my liking to her was a sort of halfway-house to my affection for you.

I have not an idea who or when anybody is to come. I don't care. You have lost the art of writing me good long letters. I desire you will mend. Goodbye, Dearie, G.o.d bless you. Tell me more. And believe me ever your own

PAM.

Emmy now, don't let all my stupid jokes lay about, and don't because you have nothing ready to say to Mary and Mr. Drummond, in an evil hour go and shew my letter. You know you have done such things, you animal.

Remember, I will never write again if you play me this trick. I pour my nonsense into your trusty bosom only in confidence. If I must restrain my nonsense, what a bond of Friendship will be broken!

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

BOWOOD [1819].

That One Pound Bill is for the liquidation of the debt I contracted that morning in Town with you at a shop in Regent Street for value received of silk handkerchiefs, ribbons, etc.... I am fallen in love with Mr.

Abercromby.[123] He is quite a darling, mouth and all. The first day I saw him I thought of your face and laughed; but we are now inseparable.

He is so natural, so good-natured, and does love nonsense. You would delight in him. The Macdonalds have been here, and they are no loss. She is so very dull, oh dear!--and they are much too newly married to be fit for society.... I take long walks with my dear Lord Lansdowne. Emmy, he is so good, and so knowledgeful, and so liberal, I think he is the most liberal man I ever met with at all, in taste as well as principle. And that is a great merit, for one knows where to have him. Emmy, don't New Year's days and all those milestones in one's life make you very melancholy? They do me to a degree. I take some time shaking off the weight. Of course I won't say a word of the Dromedaries [Drummonds] to any one, but I don't see that you have any duty laying in that quarter, particularly as the more you see of them and go to Charing Cross, the more obligations they will imagine themselves bestowing on you.

CHAPTER III

1820-1825

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

BOWOOD, _February, 1820_.

HUSH, hush, Emmy, the King _is_ dead,[124] and we have entered a new reign, yes, yes, and George IV. _has_ been proclaimed, and I _have_ wondered what he'll do with his wife, and Henry VII. would not let his Queen be crowned for two years, and Hume says so, and all the newspapers are very black, and the _Times_ blacker than any, and there is an end of the topics and we know it all. Now to our old channel.

My hair is on tip-toe. I have heard with my outward ears to-day, that there hangs a possibility in Fate of my not getting home for a month.

Not that I am uncomfortable here, but only I do so wish to see you again, my dearie, and poor dear Lu![125] It quite amounts to longing, or craving, or hunger, or thirst. It is so long since I have done out my heart and mind, it is all in a litter.

I enjoyed myself so very much indeed while your brother and Mr.

Fazakerly were here. As for the others, I wished them hanged, for I had to make company to them, and they did not make amus.e.m.e.nt for _me_.

We are quite alone, and have been ever since Wednesday. After I have made breakfast, and Lord Lansdowne has engulphed as much Tea as he can carry, I take my mornings to myself and bask in the Library. I do not mean this as a figurative allusion to the sunshine of the mind, but that the room stands South, as all rooms should stand, or walk off. I then at about two, lunch, and see Lady Lansdowne for half-an-hour, take my walk till five, come in, and write an empty line to Lucy to while away her time.

Lady Lansdowne dines with us, goes to bed before eleven, and I stay on talking till near one with the Wilt. I do, I _will_ like him, tho' I have run very near hating him, that Wilt wise man! He goes next Monday to Woburn[126] and Middleton[127] on his way to Town, and Lord knows when it will please Providence we should follow.

Tell me something of Mary, and above all, tell me about yourself. Your last letter made me laugh so much! Do it again. I ever remain, your affectionate old