To MRS. EDGEWORTH.
COLLINGWOOD, April 8, 1844.
Fine sunshiny day, and from my window I see a beautiful lawn, and two
children rolling on the grass, and I hear their happy voices and their
father's with them. I should have told you that on Friday Lestock took
me and Emmeline, and Emmeline Gibbons and her little girl, to the
Zoological Gardens, and we all were mightily delighted; but of the
beasts and birds when I return.
Here are Lord and Lady Adair—she is grateful to Sophy Palmer for her
kindness when she was ill at Oxford—and Sir Edward Ryan, and one whom I
was right glad to meet, "Jones on Rent;" and I have attacked, plagued, and gratified him by urging him to write a new volume. Jones and Herschel are very fond of one another, often differing, but always agreeing to differ, like Malthus and Ricardo, who hunted together in search of Truth, and huzzaed when they found her, without caring who found her first: indeed, I have seen them both put their able hands to the windlass to drag her up from the bottom of that well in which she so strangely delights to dwell.
I must go back to the 23rd, which was a full and well-filled day. In the
morning Rogers kindly determined to catch us: came before luncheon-time, and was very agreeable and very good-natured about a drawing I showed to him by a niece of Mrs. Holland's, a young girl of fifteen, who has really an inventive genius. I suggested to her, among the poems it is now the fashion to illustrate, Parnell's fairy tale: she has sketched the first scene—the old castle, lighted up: fairies dancing in the hall: Edwin crouching in the corner. Rogers praised it so warmly, that I regretted the girl could not hear him; it would so encourage her. He got up, dear, good-natured old man, from his chair as I spoke, and went immediately to Lower Brook Street with the drawing to the young lady.
Luncheon over, we drove to the city, to see an old gentleman of
ninety-three, Mr. Vaughan, whom I am sure you remember so kindly showing
the London Docks to us in 1813, with his understanding and all his
faculties as clear and as fresh now as they were then; and after
returning from Mr. Vaughan's, we went to the bazaar, where I wanted to
buy a churn, and other toys that shall be nameless, for the children; and after all this I lay down and slept for three-quarters of an hour, before time to dress for dinner. This dinner was at Lambeth: arrived exactly in time: found Mrs. Howley ready in her beautiful drawing-room, and I had the pleasure of five minutes' conversation alone with her. Oddly, it came out that she had a fine picture in the room, given to her by Mr. Legge, who inherited Aston Hall, which Mr. Legge I used to hear of continually ages ago as a sort of bugbear, being the heir-at-law to Sir Thomas Holte and Lady Holte's property. "Very natural they could never bear the name of Legge," said Mrs. Howley, "but he was my relative and excellent friend;" and she pointed to an inscription in grateful honour of him under the picture. How oddly connections come out, and between people one should never have thought had heard of each other, and at such distant times.
This dinner and evening at Lambeth proved very agreeable to me. At the
dinner were Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Grey, Dean Milman, the Bishop of
Lichfield, Sir Thomas Sinclair, and some others whose names I do not
remember—fourteen altogether. I was on the Archbishop's right hand, Mrs. Hamilton Grey on his left. Dear, simple, dignified, yet playful Archbishop, who talked well of all things, from nursery rhymes to deep metaphysics and physics. Apropos to dreams and acting in character in the strangest circumstances, I mentioned Dr. Holland's Medical Notes, and the admirable chapter on Reverie and Dreaming. He had not seen the book, but seemed interested, and said he would read it directly—a great pleasure to me (goose!). I must not go further into the conversation with Milman, and the Archbishop's remarks upon Coleridge; it was all very agreeable, and—early hours being the order of the day and night there—I came away at ten; and as I drew up the glass, and was about to draw up Steele's opossum cloak, I felt a slight resistance—Fanny! dear, kind Fanny, so unexpected, come in the carriage for me; and a most delightful drive we had home.
1 NORTH AUDLEY STREET, April 15.