This summer seems to have been a very happy and busy one; the following extract, from a note, gives a peep at one of her mornings:—

(8th mo., 16th.) I have seemed lately to want for many necessary and proper purposes, the most precious of all things—time. Other people’s business, and my own pleasures have prevented my writing before. At ten I must be out shopping; at eleven to the Magdalen; at two I must drive to see my aunt and say farewell! and then I am off to Ketteringham, to a five o’clock dinner, as E. Sidney lectures at seven.

At the close of the year, she suffered again from an attack of her old disorder. One of her latest notes, (12mo., 11th,) says:—

Alas! I am in my room still, forbidden to leave it. Dr. Hull attributes my relapse to my efforts of last week; I had hoped I was out of the wood, but no such thing. Long live Don Jorge! he is my delight both night and morning, and my happiest hours are spent in his society.[[41]]

The following letter of “Reminiscences” was written to her friend at Northrepps at this time:—

Norwich, 12th mo., 16th, 1843.

My dearest A.,

* * * * I will begin, if I do not finish my account of poor Thomas Hogg, in whose christian end I rejoice. I think it was in 1816, ’17 or ’18, that Lady Cork was full of a sort of holy man, a poet, whom she had picked up in a ditch, a poor, half-starved man, whom she and Mrs. B. invited to their houses, and fed and clothed; and Lady C. prevailed on him to come to London, and she made up a bed for him in her stables.

He did come, and his arrival was made known to me. He had written a poem on Hope, in heroic verse, and I was to see it. I think he was a hedger and ditcher, and made verses while he worked. I had, then, the worldly custom of receiving company on a first day morning, after I returned from church; and a full levée I had, consisting of persons on their way to the parks and gardens, whither, on that day, I never went myself. Well, my friends were beginning to come, on first day, when my astonished footman (a better sort of butler) came up to me, and said, “Ma’am, here is Lady C. has sent her footman with a man in a slop, who is, she says, to come up and see you.” Quite right, (said I,) shew him up; and I told my wondering guests who was coming.

The poor man entered; he was a short, thick, middle-aged, ruddy looking man, clad in a very handsome slop of unbleached linen, very handsomely worked round the neck and at the wrists; and I received him very kindly, and seated him by me. Perry, of the Morning Chronicle, was one of my visitors, and some half dozen ladies and one or two gentlemen, who seemed inclined to laugh. Perry and Hogg nodded at each other, and P. said, “I have just been seeing Mr. Hogg at Lady Cork’s; and Mr. H., I find has a kind of divining power—he knows who persons are, by their countenances. On the Countess of Mornington’s (Duke of W.’s mother) asking him what he thought she was, he said she was, he saw, a woman of great courage. ‘I am the mother of a Hero,’ was her reply.” Still I saw Hogg did not like Perry, and he soon interrupted him, saying to me, “I am come to read you a poem of mine, for I hear you are a poet—a poem on Hop.” (I ought to say his dialect was quite new to me.) “Oh! by all means,” I replied, “ah! a poem on hops; you are a Kentish man perhaps.” “No,” he thundered out, “on Hop, Hop.”—and I had then wit enough to understand he meant Hope. “Better and better, (said I,) where is your poem?” “I will go fetch it—it is outside the door;” and he went for it. When he was gone, Perry took his seat, by me, and we were talking of this strange visitant, when he returned, and instantly exclaimed to P. “that’s my place;—what do you mean by taking it? get up!” and really, had P. resisted, it seemed likely that a blow would have followed the words; but Perry obeyed, and while Hogg was reading his manuscript, I went to the chimney-piece and took down a large bottle of lavender water, which, as it was a hot day, I carried round to the company, and then offered it to him also, to smell at. “No, no,” said he, “if I took any it would be in a glass;” evidently taking it for a dram: and I had difficulty in keeping my guests from indecorous mirth; at last the poor man (in whose bright eye I thought I read more than incipient insanity) began to read; but with such difficulty, (for it was not in his own hand-writing,) that I humbly requested to be allowed to read it for him, and he consented; and I did read it, and really was surprised to find how good many of the lines were; and I own, I did improve some of them, when the measure halted, by adding words. He seemed much pleased, poor man, and we got through the whole. Some of the guests who were there at the first, stole away, ’ere I had done; and others coming in, I pointed them to a chair, while they listened, and looked, in utter astonishment! It was a scene indeed! When the MS. was returned, my servant came up to tell Mr. H. that Lady Cork had sent her servant to see him back to her house; “tell the fellow I will not go yet, and I can go alone;” and he re-seated himself. Not long after, came in my cousin T. A. The servant had told him Lady C. had sent a poor crazy man to me, and I could not get rid of him; so he hastened up, to rid me of the guest he supposed to be forced on me, by the Countess; but when I met him smiling, and told him Mr. H. had come to read me a pretty poem, he with difficulty suppressed a laugh, and sat down meekly. But soon after came up another message, “Madam, Lady C. has sent another servant for Mr. H.; and says he must come directly!” “Must! I won’t come; I know my way,” was Hogg’s reply; and the bard of Hope had almost thrown me into Despair—the despair of getting rid of him,—when I bethought me to try to convince him civility obliged him to go to Lady C., as I was sure she wished much to introduce him and his poem to others of her friends; and, at last, I prevailed on him to go, my cousin most politely seeing him downstairs. I saw him no more; and, I think, two days afterwards, the poor man, sick to death of London, and of being made a show of, took French leave, one morning early; and I believe he took with him both Lady C.’s gifts, the blanket and the blouse.