Mercy on my poor memory! I forgot to tell you that Lady Harrowby and her daughter were at Trentham, and an _exquisite_, or tiptop dandy, Mr. Standish, and young Mr. Sneyd, of Keil--very fashionable. Lady Harrowby deserves Madame de Staël's good word, she calls her "_compagne spirituelle_"--a charming woman, and very quick in conversation.
The morning after Mr. Standish's arrival, Lady Stafford's maid told her that she and all the ladies' maids had been taken by his _gentleman_ to see his toilette--"which, I assure you, my lady, is the thing best worth seeing in this house, all of gilt plate, and I wish, my lady, you had such a dressing box." Though an exquisite, Mr. Standish is clever, entertaining, and agreeable. One day that he sat beside me at dinner, we had a delightful battledore and shuttlecock conversation from grave to gay as quick as your heart could wish: from _L'Almanac des Gourmandes_ and _Le Respectable Porc_, to _Dorriforth and the Simple Story._
My letter has been detained two days for a frank. My aunts [Footnote: The Miss Sneyds were now living for a time at Byrkely Lodge.] are pretty well, and we feel that we add to their cheerfulness. Honora plays cribbage with Aunt Mary, and I read Florence Macarthy; I like the Irish characters, and the Commodore, and Lord Adelm--that is Lord Byron; but Ireland is traduced in some of her representations. "Marriage" is delightful.
Mrs. Sneyd took me with her to-day to Lord Bagot's to return Lady Dartmouth's visit; she is a charming woman, and appears most amiable, taking care of all those grandchildren. Lord Bagot very melancholy, gentlemanlike, and interesting. Fine old cloistered house, galleries, painted glass, coats of arms, and family pictures everywhere. It was the first time Lord Bagot had seen Mrs. Sneyd since his wife's death; he took both her hands and was as near bursting into tears as ever man was. He was very obliging to me, and showed me all over his house, and gave me a most sweet bunch of Daphne Indica.
On Tuesday morning we left dear, happy, luxurious, warm Byrkely Lodge. At taking leave of me, Mr. Sneyd began thanking me as if I had been the person obliging instead of obliged, and when I got up from the breakfast table and went round to stop his thanks by mine, he took me in his arms and gave me a squeeze that left me as flat as a pancake, and then ran out of the room absolutely crying.