Miss Eden's Letters Part 8

PAM.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

BOWOOD, _February 10, 1820_.

It is now settled we are to be in Town the 20th.... We do not mean to be in London this year at all to remain, Emmy; it is not worth while. I need not say it to you, for we compared notes last year upon the emptiness of existence in that Town--gaiety as it is called. You will come to Thames Ditton, where we have the certainty of being comfortable together.

Lord Lansdowne set off to-day for Middleton. I miss him shockingly. He has crept into my affections in a wonderful degree these last ten days; I have pounded a little nonsense into him. Twice I made him laugh at jokes not worth repeating, and once at his own matter-of-fact method of understanding Fun: in short, our intimacy grew so thick he committed himself far enough to say that he was quite in a childish fidget to see his new Gallery and ceiling--much more anxious about that than about the Meeting of Parliament. And last night the agony he got into fancying he should want all the identical books in this library in Town, and which to take, and the sort of goodbye he bid the volumes, gave me hopes of him.

Emmy, you know the brother, William Strangways?[128] He is a curious specimen. He certainly will pack himself up by mistake and send himself as a Fossil to the Geological Society some fine day. I rather like him, he is so good-natured, and so cram full of out of the way information.

Another Brother arrived to-day, y-clept Giles.[129] I know nothing of him, and am likely to remain in ignorance, as they go away to-morrow.

She and I get on charmingly. I like her more than I ever did, more than I ever thought I could love anybody who has the misfortune of not being one of us.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

_March, 1820._

Your letter gave me such delight, the laugh of other days came o'er my soul.

My dear, rums is ris, and sugars is fell. My cold is gone, but Aunt is sick, in short, barring myself who am very well thank you, the house is an Hospital.

Aunt has been quite ill, shut up, and the Apothecary busy, all over pocket handkerchiefs and Ipecacuanha.

All my neighbours far gone in liver complaints and buried in bile, so that I have kept aloof from all, when they did not want me, and we are so very, very quiet here, I almost fancy I must be grown deaf, for I suppose the world is still in a bustle, and going on. No letters, no murder, no crimes.

What a _retention_ of correspondence this cessation of franks seems to have caused: when shall we see our wholesome days again?

Emkins, Holland will never do. Why? When, shall I see you? Why can't you stay where you are? Your brother George is like an _ame en peine_; he can't abide nowhere. I suppose you will like the junket, you Beast....

So you have your Grantham.[130] It is all very well we should allow those sort of people to love us, etc. but they must be kept in their place. How little I saw you in Town, and then you think it my fault and that I won't dine with you. You don't know, you cannot know, how I have been bothered about it, not by Aunt alone. In short, there is a bother in our celibacy, that as there is no one to speak as one having authority, the whole herd think they have a right to have a pull at one's tether, and pin one down to their own fancies....

Emmy, only think Danford is going to-day! A woeful day that such a Dan should go.

There's been a grand inventory to do, and gla.s.s and china, etc. Aunt was aghast at the mortalities among the rummer gla.s.ses. He denied having crackt their n.o.ble hearts, when, oh Providence! oh, _juste ciel!_ their gla.s.sy relics rose in judgment, and from the cupboard called for vengeance. There lay their bottoms, which, like the scalps of his enemies, had acc.u.mulated in evidence of his deeds. His wen grew pale when he thought of his wages. "Conceive his situation!" What a climacteric! Good-bye, write to me much and often, but if you don't, never mind, for I know what London is.

I do long to see Matthews,[131] so provoking the animal won't begin his pranks before we leave London.

_April, 1820._

...Poor Aunt gets no worse, but I see no great amendment.... I a.s.sure you, Emmy, I take great care of myself; we only sit up every other night, and my spirits are quite good. I am screwed up like a machine, and get through day and night very quickly indeed. I eat and drink and laugh and don't let myself think.

You must come again, when you can, to see me, Emmy. I have no scruple in asking you to come and see me in the fullness of my dullness, out of the fullness of your gaiety, because when we get together, we get into our element, my darling. Your visit quite refreshed me the other day. I send you some flowers to brighten up your room, and you will put them into the Christening bowls, which lie about your tables.

_April 30, 1820._

I have given up the hopes of seeing you, n.o.body is going to Town, unless I take a cling to some carriage footboard as the beggar boys do. I have given up all prospects of bonnets for the future, and so have ordered one at Kingston.

I had an obliquity the other day, and awful longing to be in London for a _leetle_, a very _leetle_ while. I tried and tried what you call to reason myself out of it, and I partly succeeded, but the getting out of that folly cost me a great deal, and made me rather rough and uncomfortable. Brushing up one's reason is just as disagreeable as having one's teeth cleaned, it sets one on edge for the while....

I am sure you will be obliged to me for telling you, that in a shower in London, a man was running along with an umbrella, and ran against another man, this latter offended man s.n.a.t.c.hed the offending umbrella, out of the umbrell_ee's_ hands, and throwing it away said, "Where are you running to like a mad mushroom?"

If Aunt gets better soon, I will go up in a week or two, and have a look at you, and get a hat. Your Leghorn sounds well, but I never yet found home brewed bonnets answer, they are always ill-disposed, full of bad habits, and get awkward crics about them. Good-bye.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

_May, 1820._

I should have written directly to wish you joy of Mary's job being so prosperously accomplished,[132] but I have been keeping my bed. My cough has got such a grip of me, nothing does me good.... What a fuss you must have been in I can but think. Was Mr. Drummond in a fuss? Well, it must be a great relief off your mind, and off hers too, poor dear. I suppose she is already doatingly fond of the little brute as if she had known it all her life.... I have got a horrid cold and cough, and I look a beast of the first water, and of course, Edward [FitzGerald] has fixed this moment to come and see us. I expect him in two days, and he expects me in my present haggard, worn, water-gruel state of mind to amuse him and be _semillante_. I, who am so low in words, I have not one to throw at a small dog.

_Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._

_June, 1820._

I am quite so much better to-day, I entertain some hopes of prolonging my precarious existence a little longer. Company to dinner yesterday.

Humbug and Bore kissed each other without truth or mercy. Why didn't you come to me to-day? Come to-morrow for I have such a piece of nonsense for you.

EDINBURGH, _August_ 12, 1820.

We sailed Tuesday and arrived this morning by 5 o'clock at Leith. Our journey was most prosperous and very amusing. Our Society of Pa.s.sengers also kept me in great amus.e.m.e.nt. I must just mention that their meals amused me as much as any part of their proceedings. One poured whisky over cold pie for sauce, and one ate raspberry jam with bread and b.u.t.ter, all ate peas with their knives. We shall see the sights between this and Tuesday, when we go to Bonnington. Write to me my own Emmy, and direct at Lady Mary Ross,[133] Bonnington, Lanark.

BONNINGTON, _October_ 9, 1820.

...Your letter amused me. The geographical happiness which has befallen us in being born near one another is indeed inestimable. That horrible supposition of my being the amiable Laplander made me shudder. You always do hit the funniest ideas in the world. You darling, I require something to keep up my spirits, for if I don't laugh I shall cry when I tell you it is more than probable I shall not see you till next May.

Mary Ross has put it into Aunt's head that it would be the best plan in the world for us to pa.s.s the winter in the Isle of Bute. Living is for nothing. As this is a plan of economy I dare say nothing, but I am very unhappy, I am very unhappy indeed, for I feel my heart sink into my shoes when I think how long it may be before I again see you or any of you.... We shall stay here till November, when we shall go to our little Bute. Our society there is likely to be confined to Mrs. Muir, the factor's wife, a quick, lively, little body, I am told, which sounds awfully bustling and pert, an occasional King's officer in search of smugglers, and the master of the steam-boat. I have liked Scotland upon the whole, in short I had determined to make the best of it, and one always partly succeeds in those cases, yet I don't like the people; they are very hospitable, but _du reste_, they appear to me stubborn, opinionated, cold, and prejudiced. The women are either see-saw and dismal, or bustling and pert, and appear to me to be generally ignorant, which I did not expect, and the minute gossip they keep us is something I cannot describe.

_Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._[134]

GROSVENOR STREET, _Monday_ [1820].

DEAREST THERESA, Please to write again directly to say how you are going on. I take your Grove[135] to be equal to my Nocton[136] in matter of bore, and that being the case, if one is to have an illness, one may as well have it at those houses. It fills up the time. My ague is subsiding, but I have fits of it occasionally and hate it very much. I had one yesterday, which even moved George's strong heart to pity, though he has such a contempt for illness that I keep it all very snug.

I am going to Langley to-day, and that is another thing which makes him so _sc.r.a.pey_ that I am writing in his room in order to talk him over in my most insinuating and winning manner between the sentences of my letter.

He and I go on such different tacks about town and country, that we make our plans, and talk them over for half-an-hour before I recollect that we are working for different aims. He thinks every day spent in the country by anybody who does not shoot is so much time wasted, and I happen to think every day spent in London is a mistake, and I was roused to the sense of our different views by his saying, "Well, but I want you to gain another day in London, and you can write to Louisa that you were not well yesterday, and then stay here, and I will go to the play with you to-night." Such an iniquitous plot! And I am about as fit to go to the play as to go in a balloon.

George liked Middleton very much. Lady Jersey[137] was going, as soon as the present party was all gone, to turn unhappy for the poor Duke of York,[138] and as far as I can make out, she was going to show it by putting off all the _ladies_ of the party she was to have had this week, and to keep up just enough to receive all the gentlemen. She and Lady Granville[139] seem to have had a fine _traca.s.serie_ at Paris. George is so charmed with Lady Jersey's children. He says he never saw such a fine pleasant set of boys, and the girls are very pretty.

I have not been out of the house, except once, to see Elizabeth Cawdor,[140] and with that wonderful quickness of observation that I possess I discovered that she will probably soon add to her family, and that the addition will be very considerable--three or four at least.

Lady Bath is at Rome again and not the least anxious to come home, which is odd. One of Elizabeth's children is so pretty. I have no news to tell you, as it does not come of itself. One must go to look for it.