Miss Eden's Letters

I wonder whether you are still in town. I hope you are. If George makes any engagement for me Friday, I might dine with you, perhaps Saturday. George says he gives a grand entertainment at home that day, and as he was not aware I was to be at home then, I shall probably be de trop, though he does not specify whether he has asked the Professors of the London University, or the Keepers of the wild beasts, or all his mistresses, saving your presence. But I should like to dine with you. I do not know what has given George this sudden fit of indecision as to his summer. He had invented such a good plan, that he and I should take Fanny to Knowsley, deposit her there, cross over to Ireland, make a little tour there, see Pamela, come back by Stackpole, see Elizabeth,255 and then go to Norman Court and the Grange for our shooting. It was a pretty idea of his, but then he is naturally a great dear. However this strikes me as rather an expensive journey, so I do not press it, and if he has thought better of it, I shall encourage his more economical thoughts. If not, I shall be very glad.

Sister has offered us Eastcombe and the use of all her servants for the summer, if we want it. – So good-bye for the present. Your most affectionate

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss VilliersBIGODS,Saturday, August 11, 1827.

MY DEAREST THERESA, I do not consider that hash of Mrs. Villiers’ and yours a fair answer to my letter. You said actually nothing, and she left off just as she was coming to the pith of her discourse. But I must write to somebody to-day, else I shall die of a reflection of astonishment and indignation. I shall blow up, I shall go off, I shall break down, I shall boil over, all about Lord Goderich;256 and yet it is twelve hours since I have had George’s letter, and I dare not write to him for fear I should differ entirely in my view of the subject from him. He states facts only (cunning dog!) and not his opinion; but only to think of Lord Goderich being Prime Minister, and Lord Lansdowne under him; and if he is Prime Minister, what is Sarah? Queen of England at least. I still think the arrangement will all fail when it comes to particulars; but still the mere idea is so odd. Even at the beginning of the session, Robin was considered highly presumptuous to aspire to being Leader in the House of Lords, and at the end of it there was not a doubt anywhere, I thought, of his total want of Talent. And yet he is to be Prime Minister! All the poor little children who read History 100 years hence will come to the Goderich administration, and as they will never have dined in Downing Street, or lived at Nocton, they will not have an idea what a thorough poor creature he is.

Thank Goodness, I have never been taken in by history. But our poor King! I have pitied him all the week, and now I pity him still more, because as he lays his old head on his pillow he must feel that he has outlived the talent of England – that, in fact, he has not a decent subject to produce. Hateful as those Tories are, I declare I think it would have looked better to Foreign Powers to have produced Mr. Peel and the Duke of Wellington again. I wonder if the King knows anything of Sarah, and what a poor wretch Robin is? But it is so like her luck! She has always all her life had what she wished, even to a child. Not but what her confinement is now put off again till the middle of November, by authority; and in the meanwhile she sees nobody.

Lady Campbell to Miss EdenLIMERICK,August 28, 1827.

Glad to see you, my own Emmy? – I think I shall be glad indeed… The past four months of my life I would not wish to my Enemy’s dog, but I am better now, and can jog on a little. Emily, it will be too much delight seeing you here, particularly if I can have you in the house. My only fear is that you and Lord Auckland will not be comfortable. So many children, not a very good cook, an uncertain climate, and a Life Guardsman who cannot wait, and to whom I dare not speak, as my remonstrances agitate him so much. I actually hear him perspire behind my chair.

I will not press my reflections on Mr. Canning’s death upon you, as they probably would not be very fresh, but will you tell me why I was sorry? Poor Lady de Roos, who has a pretty extensive system of what I call individual politics, was in hopes of seeing Lord Bathurst and Lord Melville return to the places whence they came. These two being the very ravellings of the fag end. All idea of racketting us to Liverpool is over, and I rather think we shall have our choice of going to Dublin, but I do not wish to move till Spring at all events…

I know nobody here that I like or ever wish to see again, except a Miss Ouseley, and she is gone to Dublin; so only imagine what a delight it will be to see you, putting our original stroke of friendship out of the question.

Miss Eden to Miss VilliersLONDON,Saturday, September 1, 1827.

MY DEAREST THERESA, I ought to have written sooner, but I have been so languid and sick. Mary’s lying-in was the most charming amusement in the world. I believe that is one of the points on which we have argued with all the extra-pertinacity that our complete ignorance naturally gave us, and for once I think you were right. It is not the awful business I thought it had been. She was ill a very short time, had no nurse (because hers did not hurry herself to arrive so much as the child did), has recovered without a check, and I left her on Wednesday nursing Mary the 2nd257 with great satisfaction to herself and child.

George has been as usual all kindness – willing to give up all his shooting, and go with me to the sea, or even to sea, which did me good when I was formerly declining; and to-day is the 1st of September, and he is sitting here with me nursing and coaxing me up, and the partridges are all flying about the world, and he not shooting them. I think I shall be able to go on Wednesday, and the worst come to the worst, we can but come back again, and I shall not feel so guilty towards him and Fanny.

As usual there are plenty of people in London, and I had as many visitors yesterday as in the middle of June. Lady Lansdowne was here most part of the morning, Mrs. G. Lamb, Mr. Foster, Mr. C. Greville,258 who heard I was sick, and came to ask if his carriage could not take me out airing every day at any time. There is nothing like those wicked roués at heart; they are so good-natured! But what touched me yesterday was poor Lady Grantham’s coming here for an hour and being just as much interested about my foolish ailments as if she had not her favourite child dying at home. Amabel was as ill as possible on Thursday but a shade better yesterday, I never saw a more touching sight than Lady Grantham, I have thought of nothing else since. She is so calm and quiet and so perfectly miserable; she looked like a statue yesterday, there was such an immovability in her countenance and such a wan white look about her, even her lips looked quite white and still; she still has a little hope but seems to give herself as much as possible to preparing Amabel for her great change and herself departing with her. What would one give to save that child for her!

Sarah is, you will be happy to hear, behaving with the most perfect consistency. She fancied she was in labour three days ago, and had all the workmen sent off from the buildings in Downing Street – just as if they could not all be in labour together. If it is true (and of course it is as Shakespeare says it) that the fantastic tricks of men dressed in a little brief authority (and the Goderich authority seems likely to be brief enough) do make the Angels weep, what a deplorable time the Angels have had of it lately with Sarah! They must nearly have cried their eyes out. She has adopted a new form of tyranny with Sister; would not let her be at Eastcombe, but makes her stay in Downing Street; and then will not see her, but desires she may never leave the house…

I cannot tell you the stories of his [Lord Goderich’s] ineptie and which those who do not know him thoroughly might well take for unfair dealing; but that he is not capable of. I fancy there never was a more wretched man – so worried he cannot eat. Sister said she should hardly know him at home. He rattles in company. Your most affect.

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss Villiers September, 1827.

I was at Knightsbridge yesterday, and trust that poor Mabby’s259 suffering will not be prolonged now above two or three days. Anne said the change even in the last twelve hours was marvellous; she looked like a different child, so drawn and deathlike. She was quite placid and seemed sinking very quietly, except when that horrid cough came on. Her voice was no longer audible. All the details of Lady Grantham’s conduct are beautiful. I never loved her so well as I do now, and the adoration Anne and Mary have for her exceed what I have ever seen, astonishing too that they dwell constantly on the idea that they are nothing to her compared to Amabel. What is to become of her when all is over? It will make a complete change in her whole system of life. Anne and Mary seem to look forward to everything that can be arranged after all is over, to alleviate their mother’s misery; they are excellent girls. Lord Grantham was here three days ago. Unfortunately I was not well that day and could not see him. They say he passes almost the whole day in tears.

I always forget to tell you that Sarah sent to say that if I liked to stay at her house at Knightsbridge, instead of London which disagrees with me, I was quite welcome. I had a great mind to go, merely to pull your things about a little. They are very civil just now. Lord Goderich sends me game every day, and I write him facetious notes in return. Your most affectionate,

E. E.Miss Eden to Miss VilliersDUBLIN,Monday, September 17, 1827.

MY DEAREST THERESA, I am as sleepy as a horse, or whatever is the right comparison, but time is so scarce you must take me as you can have me. Actually in Dublin, Miss Villiers. – Landed yesterday morning at ten; embarked at six the evening before; cabin to ourselves; favourable wind; silent captain; no fleas; sea smooth as glass; and I sick as a dog.

There was not the least excuse for it, but I cannot help it. I kept up beautifully the first three hours, and then George would make me go and look at the beautiful cabin, and taste the excellent coffee; and of course the motion of the beautiful cabin disagreed with the excellent coffee – and there was an end of me. We all went regularly to bed, but that did not profit much, as there were above a hundred Irish haymakers in the other part of the vessel, and by a singular hazard they were all musical, and all hundred sang all night. However, George dragged me on deck again early in the morning, and then I got better, and it was a beautiful morning, and the bay of Dublin is (as you have probably heard) a beautiful sight, and altogether I never made a voyage of less suffering.

We are in a very comfortable hotel, the master of which is notorious for a passion for old plate, and everything we touch is silver, and such beautiful embossed articles. But it is actually tiresome, everything is so heavy and metallic. George says he never was so tired of silver since all his early reading about Peru; but it is an odd expensive taste for an hotelkeeper, and he has indulged it many years.

George dined at Mr. Lamb’s260 yesterday, and seems to have met a very amusing Irish party. I sent my excuse and went to bed, as I do not think my health is up both to sights and society, and I like the first best. We have had such a nice day to-day. Went early to visit Mr. Lamb and see the Phoenix Park, and then down to Woodlands, a beautiful villa with a famous glen, etc., then to the Liffey waterfall, which was so very pretty, and I sat there for two hours and drew it, while George rambled about and read, and at last found such an amusing Irishman to talk to us, so like old Thady, or any other of Miss Edgeworth’s people. I cannot help laughing all the time they speak (merely at the look and brogue, not at what they say). Then we went to a cottage for some eggs and bacon, and came back by another road to Dublin.

To-morrow we dine at Mr. Lamb’s, and the next day go for a three days’ tour to the County of Wicklow, etc.; come back here for a night, and then go to Pamela. I do so enjoy it all. I am afraid after we have done Pamela, and fallen into the hospitalities of Lady Glengall, Lord Kingston, etc., who all seem most dreadfully well disposed to us, I shall like it less…

I never saw such a jaunting-car nation. The middle ranks seem to live in those vehicles, and the common people pass their days apparently sitting smoking at the doors of their cabins, the children with hardly as much cloathes on as a decent savage wears. Such groups we saw to-day! I feel much more in a foreign country than I should at Calais, and am only preserved from that illusion by the whistling of “Cherry-Ripe” which all the little naked Lazzaroni keep up.

Knowsley was full of people, we were generally thirty-four at breakfast, and I suppose more at dinner, but Lady Derby261 would not let me dine down above once. We had the greatest difficulty in getting away, and she kindly invited me if I felt worse to come back and die respectably at Knowsley. Poor Fanny was horribly low when we came away at being left; but I have no doubt is as happy as the day is long by this time. There is going to be a Fancy Ball, and a musical festival, and all sorts of things, and there is no denying that our friend Lady Derby is a most agreeable person.

I enclose a letter I have had from Sister to-day, not because you will not have heard all about poor dear Amabel, but it contains an atrocity of Sarah’s about the funeral, hardly credible when one thinks of Lord Goderich this time twelve months. My four writing sisters are all in different parts of England and all expecting letters, the more because I am travelling about and have less time to write. Your most affectionate

E. E.Miss Eden to Lady CampbellBESSBOROUGH,Tuesday, October 30, 1827.

MY DEAREST PAM, We shall actually sail to-night, and perhaps it will be economical in the long run; for I have been very sick the last three days hearing the wind blow, and the packet talked of. But it is like leaving you all over again. You know we never shall meet again, I know we shan’t – I am grown quite desperate about it, and, as I cannot get at you and cannot do without you, I am rather puzzled as to what will be the result. I must take up the thread of my discourse where we left off.

I was so horribly low after you went, stayed an hour in my own room which, as that pinafore’d housemaid had forgotten to do it out, is I suppose the strongest proof of friendship I could have given. Then the day cleared up, and my headache cleared up, and Lady Glengall262 took me to see the platting school. I am quite vexed you did not see that; it is such a gratifying sight, and curious besides. While we were there, a policeman came up to Lady Glengall: “Me lady, where will we put Connell?” “Who’s Connell?” “Why, the stiff, me lady. Where will we put him convanient for the coroner?” So she went off to make poor Connell convanient, and I to sketch the castle, and while I was there Connell’s procession came over the bridge. Such a howling!

Lord Arthur Hill and Mr. Carnegie dined there that day. The next day we went to the review, after sundry demurs on the part of her Ladyship; but I think she has at last made up her mind to make up her quarrel with the regiment, and in proof thereof, Carnegie and Ford again graced the festive board at Cahir with their presence. The sight of all those grey horses and red men at full gallop, and that beautiful band which played to us afterwards, increased my military ardour into perfect heroism. Sir Charles263 was more Sir Charlesey than ever! I quite agree with old Lord Donoughmore,264 who is a Penruddock jewel of a man, a sort of bourreau bienfaisant, and who observed, when we told him Sir Charles could not come to Knocklofty till the following day, “Well then, you must do without a Tom-fool for one day – eh?” Make Lord Arthur show you Lord Donoughmore – I mean act him. Before we went to Knocklofty on Wednesday, Lady Glengall drove me to Ardfinan, and there did we discuss Brooke265 and his intentions, and she declares he is desperately in love with Miss Acton, and is only by way of moping at Cahir. Think of being Brooke’s moping house!

You do not know me, Pam, you do not value me. Lady Glengall knows me better – she is after all the friend of my heart. I never was so praised alive as I was that day. I may have “Richard”266 only for the asking. In fact there is nothing wanting but just his consent and mine – absolute trifles. I observe those ladies who have been addicted to flirting never believe that any woman under 60 can be without some little interest of that sort; and I cannot help thinking that I am suspected at Cahir of being engaged to Lord Henry Thynne. It was that Brooke’s innuendos led me to the suspicion, and something Lady Glengall said might have meant it. However, I do not know. Only, if you hear me accused of that crime – and she means to see a great deal of you – will you have the kindness to mention that I am neither engaged nor attracted to poor dear Lord Henry, or any other individual? I do not mind their saying so, if it amuses them, but only Brooke must not go trumpeting about fancying I am pining, or ought to be pining, for dear Lord Henry, who is an excellent child, and if he came in my way I think his education might be finished about the time your Pam267 would be coming out, but in the meantime I have never aspired to any other post than being his confidante. Perhaps I mistook Lady Glengall’s hints, for the fact is she seems to know so much more about me than I do about myself, that I am quite puzzled and diffident about my own historical facts. But I think this is a point on which I am best informed of the two. If I am engaged to anybody it would be fair to tell me, that I might act the character better. However, I must say I like Lady Glengall much better than is convenient, and the girls268 are perfect, and I liked our Cahir visit – and she appreciates you properly.

Oh, Pam! how horrid it is to think that we parted there, because you are such a treasure to me, and we are going to lead the rest of our lives apart. I feel exactly as if this were my last Will and Testament. Mind you consider it as such!

I am as low as a cat this morning. I wonder whether we shall come over again either next year or the year after. Knocklofty was pleasant enough; old Donoughmore is such a duck, and there were two pretty nieces and a sub-nephew, and Tom-fool and Lord Arthur [Hill]. We stayed two nights instead of one, as there were no post horses to be had. Lady Duncannon269 got home quite safe and is looking very well again – more like Mary [Drummond] than ever amongst her nine present children, and talking of her three absent ones, and nursing up her thirteenth. I have quite recovered my intimacy with her, and tell her as usual of all things. She says she was so ill at Cahir she hardly knew how to sit up.

I must go and see after that eternal packing. George says that even if it is the Meteor, a packet which, as far as I understand, is in every respect unsafe and uncomfortable, we must sail to-night. So I look upon myself as food for fishes, and as he must be lost with me, I shall not have the fun of gliding about as a grisly ghost and standing at his feet… Your own affectionate

E. EDEN.

God bless you, my darling! My love to Sir Guy – his picture has travelled hitherto with the greatest success.

Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.Stackpole, Pembrokeshire,Saturday, November 3, 1827.

MY DEAREST THERESA, I never should wonder if you had thought me idle about writing. It would have been a terrible proof of the fallibility of your judgment if you had. I might as well have attempted to build a house as to keep up a correspondence during the active life I have been leading. I was once in hopes of tiring you out, and that you would write again without waiting for me, but we know each other too well. I was thinking the other day that it is unpleasant to reflect how well you know me, and how thoroughly I know you. No means of taking each other in, no little scenes, no explanations, no nothings.

My dear, such a happy six weeks as I have passed! I am so fond of Ireland. I have made 44 sketches and an equal number of new friends, am grown quite strong and well, and I have had nearly three weeks of dear old Pam’s society. Besides paying her a visit, she went with us to Mount Shannon, and met us again at Cahir, thereby taking out the sting of my visit to Lady Glengall, who, par parenthèse, I must mention is now the friend of my heart. You all of you do very well for the common friendships of life, but in Ireland only has the whole extent of my merit been discovered. Seriously, Lady Glengall continued to make her house very pleasant. There was nothing she did not do to make Pamela and me comfortable there; arranged all sorts of picturesque expeditions. Lord Glengall gave us quite a pretty little fête at a cottage they have on their estate; we were out every day from breakfast-time to eight o’clock dinner, and then we had very good society in the evening – and Lord Glengall is very civil in his own house. It seemed hardly worth while coming to Tipperary, or County ‘Prary, as the natives call it, when half of us belonged to Grosvenor Street and might have met at the expense of calling a coach.

Mr. B. Greville had been at Cahir ten weeks, all the county supposing he meant to marry Lady Charlotte, but the Glengalls all declare he is only by way of pining after Miss Acton. I could not make it out, nor could Pamela; only it was obvious that Lady Charlotte would not have had him if he had asked her. She and Lady Emily are two of the nicest girls I ever saw, and a melancholy proof of the uselessness of education – I mean melancholy for my dear sisters, who are slaving their lives away at education. They cannot wish for nicer daughters than the Butlers.

Altogether I liked Cahir. Killarney was one of the most satisfactory visits we paid; the lakes far surpassed even the extravagant expectation I had formed, and then the Kenmares270 are such charming people. However I will not write to you any more of my raptures; you will be bored to death. Perhaps you had rather hear that I had three days of extreme bore at Mitchell’s – in the midst of all this enjoyment, – Lord Kingston’s. Last Tuesday we crossed from Waterford to Milford. Oh, Theresa, such a passage! “If ever I do a good-natured thing again,” as Liston271 says. Pamela may stay in Ireland to all eternity, and she need not ask me to come and see her. At all events, she must not mention it for a month; I shall be at least that time forgetting my sufferings. Even George owns to having passed a miserable night, and he has always despised my sea terrors, and the captain called it a very rough passage, so a very simple arithmetical process will enable you to calculate the sufferings of the passengers. Take the sum of the captain’s assertions, multiply by 500, etc., etc.

The Cawdors had sent out the Custom House cutter to take the chance of meeting us, and that landed us within four miles of their house; so we were here at half-past-two. Our carriage did not arrive till ten at night. It was very attentive of them to send out the cutter, but if ever I willingly go again into cutter, steamboat, barge, wherry – . Well, I’m alive, and that is wonderful. The Duncannons fortunately made us stay an extra day with them, for the packet in which we were to have crossed originally, after beating about Milford for twelve hours, was obliged to put back again. “What a narrow escape I have had,” George says, “of never seeing my native country again. I suppose if we had been in that packet you would have insisted on settling in Ireland, and I must have done so too!”

This is a very fine place and a comfortable house. It seems odd to be restored to a quiet English country-house life. I have lost the habit of going to sit in my own room, and cannot conceive why we do not breakfast early and go off after some distant lake or ruin. However, Elizabeth and I were out sketching most part of yesterday, and are going again to-day, and George has at last had two days’ shooting. Think of his not having had a day’s shooting till the 1st of November! And he actually looks over my sketch-book every evening and comments upon it with the greatest interest. In another month I should have taught him to sketch himself.