My letters by this steamer will have very little
interest for you, as, from being in complete retirement, I have no
new things to related to you. . . . We have taken advantage of our
leisure to drive a little into the country, and on Tuesday I had a
pleasure of the highest order in driving down to Esher and passing a
quiet day with Lady Byron, the widow of the poet. She is an
intimate friend of Miss Murray, who has long wished us to see her
and desired her to name the day for our visit.
Esher is a little village about sixteen miles from London, and Lady
Byron has selected it as her residence, though her estates are in
Leicestershire, because it is near Lord and Lady Lovelace, her only
child, the "ADA" of poetry. We went in our own carriage, taking
Miss Murray with us, and as the country is now radiant with blossoms
and glowing green, the drive itself was very agreeable. We arrived
at two o'clock, and found only Lady Byron, with the second boy of
Lady Lovelace and his tutor. Lady Byron is now about fifty-five,
and with the remains of an attractive, if not brilliant beauty. She
has extremely delicate features, and very pale and finely delicate
skin. A tone of voice and manner of the most trembling refinement,
with a culture and strong intellect, almost masculine, but which
betrays itself under such sweet and gentle and unobtrusive forms
that one is only led to perceive it by slow degrees. She is the
most modest and unostentatious person one can well conceive. She
lives simply, and the chief of her large income (you know she was
the rich Miss Milbank) she devotes to others. After lunch she
wished me to see a little of the country round Esher and ordered her
ponies and small carriage for herself and me, while Mr. Bancroft and
Miss Murray walked. We went first to the royal seat, Claremont,
where the Princess Charlotte lived so happily with Leopold, and
where she died. Its park adjoins Lady Byron's, and the Queen allows
her a private key that she may enjoy its exquisite grounds. Here we
left the pedestrians, while Lady Byron took me a more extensive
drive, as she wished to show me some of the heaths in the
neighborhood, which are covered with furze, now one mass of yellow
bloom.
Every object is seen in full relief against the sky, and a figure on
horseback is peculiarly striking. I am always reminded of the
beginning of one of James's novels, which is usually, you know,
after this manner: "It was toward the close of a dull autumn day
that two horsemen were seen," etc., etc. Lady Byron took me to the
estate of a neighboring gentleman, to show me a fine old tower
covered with ivy, where Wolsey took refuge from his persecutors,
with his faithful follower, Cromwell.
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