The Ladies Brought Down Their Embroidery Or Netting.
At
eleven a tray with wine and water is brought in and a quantity of
bed candlesticks, and everybody retires when they like.
The next
morning the guests assembled at half-past nine in the great gallery
which leads to the chapel to go in together to prayers. The chapel
is really a beautiful little piece of architecture, with a vaulted
roof and windows of painted glass. On one side is the original cast
of the large monument to Lord Cornwallis (our lord) which is in
Westminster Abbey. After breakfast we passed a couple of hours in
going all over the house, which is in perfect keeping in every part.
We returned to the library, a room as splendid as the saloon, only
instead of pictured panels it was surrounded by books in beautiful
gilt bindings. In the immense bay window was a large Louis Quatorze
table, round which the ladies all placed themselves at their
embroidery, though I preferred looking over curious illuminated
missals, etc., etc.
The next day was the meeting of the County Agricultural Society. . .
. At the hour appointed we all repaired to the ground where the
prizes were to be given out. . . . Lord Braybrooke made first a most
paternal and interesting address, which showed me in the most
favorable view the relation between the noble and the lower class in
England, a relation which must depend much on the personal character
of the lord of the manor. . . . First came prizes to ploughmen, then
the plough boys, then the shepherds, then to such peasants as had
reared many children without aid, then to women who had been many
years in the same farmer's service, etc., etc. A clock was awarded
to a poor man and his wife who had reared six children and buried
seven without aid from the parish. The rapture with which Mr. and
Mrs. Flitton and the whole six children gazed on this clock, an
immense treasure for a peasant's cottage, was both comic and
affecting. . . . The next morning we made our adieus to our kind
host and hostess, and set off for London, accompanied by Sir John
Tyrrell, Major Beresford, and young Mr. Boileau.
LETTER: To W.D.B.
LONDON, November 4, 1847
Dear W.: . . . Mr. Bancroft and I dined on Friday, the 22d, with
Mr. and Mrs. Hawes, under-Secretary of State, to meet Mr. Brooke,
the Rajah of Sarawak, who is a great lion in London just now. He is
an English gentleman of large fortune who has done much to
Christianize Borneo, and to open its trade to the English. I sat
between him and Mr. Ward, formerly Minister to Mexico before Mr.
Pakenham. He wrote a very nice book on Mexico, and is an agreeable
and intelligent person. . . . On Wednesday A. and I went together to
the National Gallery, and just as we were setting out Mr. Butler of
New York came in and I invited him to join us. . . . While we were
seated before a charming Claude who should come in but Mr. R.W.
Emerson and we had quite a joyful greeting. Just then came in Mr.
Rogers with two ladies, one on each arm. He renewed his request
that I would bring my son to breakfast with him, and appointed
Friday morning, and then added if those gentlemen who are with you
are your friends and countrymen, perhaps they will accompany you.
They very gladly acceded, and I was thankful Mr. Emerson had chanced
to be with me at that moment as it procured him a high pleasure.
Yesterday your father and I dined with Sir George Grey. . . . About
four o'clock came on such a fog as I have not seen in London, and
the newspapers of this morning speak of it as greater than has been
known for many years. Sir George Grey lives in Eaton Place, which
is parallel and just behind Eaton Square. In going that little
distance, though there is a brilliant gas light at every door, the
coachman was completely bewildered, and lost himself entirely. We
could only walk the horses, the footman exploring ahead. When the
guests by degrees arrived, there was the same rejoicing as if we had
met on Mont St. Bernard after a contest with an Alpine snow-storm. .
. . Lady Grey told me she was dining with the Queen once in one of
these tremendous fogs, and that many of the guests did not arrive
till dinner was half through, which was horrible at a royal dinner;
but the elements care little for royalty.
November 14th
On Saturday we dined at the Duc de Broglie's. He married the
daughter of Madam de Stael, but she is not now living. I was very
agreeably placed with Mr. Macaulay on one side of me, so that I
found it more pleasant than diplomatic dinners usually. At the
English tables we meet people who know each other well, and have a
common culture and tastes and habits of familiarity, and a fund of
pleasant stories, but of course, at foreign tables, they neither
know each other or the English so well as to give the same easy flow
to conversation. I am afraid we are the greatest diners-out in
London, but we are brought into contact a great deal with the
literary and Parliamentary people, which our colleagues know little
about, as also with the clergy and the judges. I should not be
willing to make it the habit of my life, but it is time not misspent
during the years of our abode here. . . . The good old Archbishop of
York is dead, and I am glad I paid my visit to him when I did. Mr.
Rogers has paid me a long visit to-day and gave me all the
particulars of his death. It was a subject I should not have
introduced, for of that knot of intimate friends, Mr. Grenville, the
Archbishop, and himself, he is now all that remains.
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