Here I see my old friend Mrs. Schutz, and play with the children. Having shown the little girl the prints of Boz’s Curiosity Shop, I have made a short abstract of Little Nelly’s wanderings which interests her much, leaving out the Swivellers, etc. For children do not understand how merriment should intrude in a serious matter. This might make a nice child’s book, cutting out Boz’s sham pathos, as well as the real fun; and it forms a kind of Nelly-ad, [174a] or Homeric narration of the child’s wandering fortunes till she reaches at last a haven more desirable than any in stony Ithaca.
Lusia is to be married [174b] on the 2nd, I hear; and I shall set out for Leamington where the event takes place in the middle of next week. Whether I shall touch in my flight at Boulge is yet uncertain: so don’t order any fireworks just at present. I hear from Mr. Crabbe he is delighted with D’Israeli’s Coningsby, which I advised him to read. Have you read it? The children still wonder what Miss Charlesworth meant when she said that she didn’t mean what she said. I tell them it is a new way of thinking of young England. I have exercised the children’s minds greatly on the doctrine of Puseyitical reticence (that is not the word) but I find that children, who are great in the kingdom of Heaven,
are all for blurting out what they mean. Farewell for the present. Ever yours, E. F. G.
If war breaks out with France, I will take up arms as a volunteer under Major Pytches. Pytches and Westminster Abbey!
Leamington, Sept. 28/44.
My dear Barton,
. . . I expect to be here about a week, and I mean to give a day to looking over the field of Edgehill, on the top of which, I have ascertained, there is a very delightful pot-house, commanding a very extensive view. Don’t you wish to sit at ease in such a high tower, with a pint of porter at your side, and to see beneath you the ground that was galloped over by Rupert and Cromwell two hundred years ago, in one of the richest districts of England, and on one of the finest days in October, for such my day is to be?
In the meanwhile I cast regretful glances of memory back to my garden at Boulge, which I want to see dug up and replanted. I have bought anemone roots which in the Spring shall blow Tyrian dyes, and Irises of a newer and more brilliant prism than Noah saw in the clouds. I have bought a picture of my poor quarrelsome friend Moore, just to help him; for I don’t know what to do with his picture.
Boulge, Woodbridge, Oct. 10/44.