Letters from England [7]
introducing witty hits at all the doings of his reign, such as exploding cotton, the new planet, a subject which he put at rest as "FAR BEYOND OUR REACH," etc., etc. He then introduced one by one the children of all ages as "Days" of the coming year. There was TWELFTH DAY, crowned as Queen with her cake in her hands; there was CHRISTMAS, covered with holly and mistletoe; there was APRIL FOOL'S DAY, dressed as Harlequin; there was, above all, SHROVE TUESDAY, with her frying-pan of pancakes, dressed as a little cook; there was a charming boy of fourteen or fifteen, as ST. VALENTINE'S DAY with his packet of valentines addressed to the young ladies present; there was the 5TH OF NOVEMBER, full of wit and fun, etc.; the longest day, an elder brother, of William's height, with a cap of three or four feet high; and his little sister of five, as the shortest day. This was all arranged to music and each made little speeches, introducing themselves. The OLD YEAR, after introducing his successors, and after much pathos, is "going, going--gone," and falls covered with his drapery, upon removing which, instead of the lifeless body of the OLD YEAR, is discovered a sweet little flower- crowned girl of five or six, as the NEW YEAR. It was charming, and I was so pleased that, instead of taking Louisa away at nine o'clock as I intended, I left her to see "Sir Roger de Coverly," in the dress of his time.
Last night at Mr. Putnam's, I met William and Mary Howitt, and some of the lesser lights. I have put down my pen to answer a note, just brought in, to dine next Thursday with the Dowager Countess of Charleville, where we were last week, in the evening. She is eighty-four (tell this to Grandmamma) and likes still to surround herself with BEAUX and BELLES ESPRITS, and as her son and daughter reside with her, this is still easy . . . The old lady talks French as fast as possible, and troubles me somewhat by talking it to me, forgetting that a foreign minister's wife can talk English . . . Your father likes to be here. He has copying going on in the State Paper Office and British Museum, and his heart is full of manuscripts. It is the first thought, I believe, whoever he sees, what papers are in their family. He makes great interest with even the ladies sometimes for this purpose. Upon the whole, I love my own country better than ever, but whether I shall not miss, upon my return, some things to which I am gradually getting accustomed, I have yet to learn. The gratification of mixing constantly with those foremost in the world for rank, science, literature, or all which adorns society is great, but there is a certain yearning toward those whose habits, education, and modes of thought are the same as our own, which I never can get over. In the full tide of conversation I often stop and think, "I may unconsciously be jarring the prejudices or preconceived notions of these people upon a thousand points; for how differently have I been trained from these women of high rank, and men, too, with whom I am now thrown." Upon all topics we are accustomed to think, perhaps, with more latitude, religion, politics, morals, everything. I like the English extremely, even more than I expected, and yet happy am I to think that our own best portions of society can bear a comparison with theirs. When I see you I can explain to you the differences, but I think we need not be ashamed of ourselves.
LETTER: To I.P.D. LONDON, January 2, 1847
My dear Uncle: . . . I refer you to my letters to my boys, for all the new persons and places we may have seen lately, while I give you for Aunty's amusement a minute account of my visit into the country at Mr. Bates's, where things are managed in a scrupulously English manner, so that it will give her the same idea of country life here, as if it were a nobleman's castle. Our invitation was to arrive on Thursday, the day before Christmas, to dine, and to remain until the following Tuesday morning. His place is at East SHEEN, which receives its name from the Anglo-Saxon word for BEAUTY. It adjoins
Last night at Mr. Putnam's, I met William and Mary Howitt, and some of the lesser lights. I have put down my pen to answer a note, just brought in, to dine next Thursday with the Dowager Countess of Charleville, where we were last week, in the evening. She is eighty-four (tell this to Grandmamma) and likes still to surround herself with BEAUX and BELLES ESPRITS, and as her son and daughter reside with her, this is still easy . . . The old lady talks French as fast as possible, and troubles me somewhat by talking it to me, forgetting that a foreign minister's wife can talk English . . . Your father likes to be here. He has copying going on in the State Paper Office and British Museum, and his heart is full of manuscripts. It is the first thought, I believe, whoever he sees, what papers are in their family. He makes great interest with even the ladies sometimes for this purpose. Upon the whole, I love my own country better than ever, but whether I shall not miss, upon my return, some things to which I am gradually getting accustomed, I have yet to learn. The gratification of mixing constantly with those foremost in the world for rank, science, literature, or all which adorns society is great, but there is a certain yearning toward those whose habits, education, and modes of thought are the same as our own, which I never can get over. In the full tide of conversation I often stop and think, "I may unconsciously be jarring the prejudices or preconceived notions of these people upon a thousand points; for how differently have I been trained from these women of high rank, and men, too, with whom I am now thrown." Upon all topics we are accustomed to think, perhaps, with more latitude, religion, politics, morals, everything. I like the English extremely, even more than I expected, and yet happy am I to think that our own best portions of society can bear a comparison with theirs. When I see you I can explain to you the differences, but I think we need not be ashamed of ourselves.
LETTER: To I.P.D. LONDON, January 2, 1847
My dear Uncle: . . . I refer you to my letters to my boys, for all the new persons and places we may have seen lately, while I give you for Aunty's amusement a minute account of my visit into the country at Mr. Bates's, where things are managed in a scrupulously English manner, so that it will give her the same idea of country life here, as if it were a nobleman's castle. Our invitation was to arrive on Thursday, the day before Christmas, to dine, and to remain until the following Tuesday morning. His place is at East SHEEN, which receives its name from the Anglo-Saxon word for BEAUTY. It adjoins