Lady Elizabeth’s maid is also making a collection. Lady Lansdowne25 looked prettier than ever last night, and is the kindest, most pleasing-mannered person I ever saw. She has got some receipts for dyeing muslins, sattins and silks any colours, and has been all this morning up to the elbows in soap-suds, starch and blue, and then on her knees for an hour ironing on the floor, – the work of the morning. I saw her little girl26 for a moment, and it seems to be a pretty little thing; the boy27 is exactly like Lord Lansdowne, but is never to be seen, and I only met the little Feildings28 once on the stairs since I came here. We are much too learned to think of children.”
So much for Mary’s first letter. George says, “Mary behaves like an angel. She walks with Lansdowne and talks learnedly – I do not know what about. The only words I could hear were, And be hanged to you, and Slip-gibbit, and Betty Martin.”
Mary says in her second letter: “We had a tremendous fit of Crambo again last night from eight to eleven without stopping. Lord Lansdowne gives his whole heart and mind to any little game, or whatever he is about, and it is really quite amusing to see him fretting and arguing, and reasoning and labouring, at this Crambo, as if it was a matter of the greatest importance. It is certainly rather fretting, but it is as good a way of passing a long evening as another. Lady Lansdowne takes a great deal of charge of me, and is a person I really cannot find one fault in…”
I had advanced so far in copying, and was just thinking how nicely and quickly I had done it, when the post arrived, and brought a letter from Mary of nine quarto pages thickly written, and so amusing. But you must not see it to-day – you little thing – this is quite enough for once. Your affectionate sister,
MY DEAR EMILY, I am living in a state of great fright about the event of my message by the last post, and if the key is not found, you must not be much astonished at seeing me arrive either with or without Mary on Tuesday; but I do not like to settle anything about this fussy, provoking scrapey piece of business till I hear from you and from Dyer to-morrow.
We have been doing nothing particular to-day except going in a large party after some woodcocks.
I am as pleased as Punch with the American peace.29 We shall get rid of the property tax, and the 3 per cents will be up in the skies. We have nothing yet to succeed Whishaw.30 Sir George Paul31 is near seventy, but he is a fine old beau, and has one of the prettiest places in England, so that if the Dowager Lady Ilchester32 does not snap him up, something may yet be done.
To console us for not having you, we have an Emily here who has something of the fooley in her, but she unluckily is a dullfooley.
I have in leisure hours been looking over a good many old letters which are here, written by the Fox’s and Pelhams and Sir Charles Hanbury Williams,33 etc., etc., in the reign of George II., some of which are very entertaining. I send you a copy of verses written by Sir C. H. Williams to one of Ilchester’s aunts, Lady Susan O’Brien.34
Sweeter than the sweetest Manna,
Lovely, lively, dear Susannah,
You’re the girl that I must muse on,
Pretty little smiling Susan.
Oh! if verses could amuse ye,
Fairest, gentlest, laughing Susey,
I’ll write to you, but ne’er rebuke ye,
Handsome and good-natured Sukey.
Every rhyme should flatter you
Trifling, dimpling, tender Sue.
I’ve sung my song and so adieu! adieu!
Susannah, Susan, Susey, Sukey, Sue!
Mary is quite reviving to-night, and is making a deuce of a noise, and be hanged to her. My love to my Mother and all. Yours very affectionately,
MY DEAR SISTER, I have not a guess how far Mary’s journal35 has been continued to you. She says, “The great amusement here seems to be eating, which goes on from morning till night. There is an immense breakfast for people to go in and out to, a large luncheon which stands two hours on the table, a very long dinner, and a regular supper, which altogether takes up half the day. To-day, by way of amusement, and keeping up an old custom, we have all been baking, that is, spoiling an enormous quantity of good things in the housekeeper’s room, making some uneatable gingerbread and cakes, and ourselves very dirty. There are a quantity of children here, and all very nice ones seemingly. Lady Theresa Strangways36 would be really a dear little thing, if Lady G. Murray37 would not talk and teaze one so about her stomach and teeth.
…Lady G. Murray is in greater beauty than ever, and happier than anybody I ever saw. She has two sons here.”
…I was so cross and stupid with a pain in my ear which I have had this week, and in such a fury with Willy Osborne38 who made a point of dropping his shuttlecock on my paper every minute, that I was obliged to leave off writing in order to fight with him, and when that battle was ended, he insisted on playing at Blind Man’s Buff…
Mary seems quite delighted with her visit to Melbury, and even nearly reconciled to quitting Bowood, which she was very sorry to do. Sir George Paul,39 nearly eighty years old, is very much struck with her, she says, and when she goes to the pianoforte puts on his spectacles, and sits opposite her, gazing on her beautiful countenance with great satisfaction.
He drank two glasses of wine with her at dinner, and all the other ladies insisted on his drinking one with them, that they might at least have half as much done for them as was done for Mary.
We are all in doubt whether to like Sir G. Paul best or Mr. Whishaw, a lawyer, about ten years younger, but with only one leg. But the poor man, George says, was terribly smitten, and if they had staid but two days longer at Bowood, it would have come to a happy conclusion.
I myself should prefer somebody rather older and steadier.
Lady Ilchester wrote to Mamma, to know whether she was to let this flirtation go on, as it does at present…
George writes in good spirits, and seems delighted with his tour and with Melbury, which is the pleasantest place he knows. He says Mary is in very good spirits and makes a deuce of a noise and that she is a great favourite wherever she goes, and he believes deservedly so.
They neither of them seem to have any idea that they must ever come home again; but if ever they do I will let you know. Yours affectionately,
POOR DEAR LITTLE GEORGY, I am quite sorry it has been in such a fuss about the key, and I am afraid my last letter will not have set it’s little heart at ease, but on Sunday morning Morton40