The present Col. Pennant, too, seems very anxious to do all that is right, but he is oppressed, I think, by his immense wealth, and is not quite used to it yet. He seems quite wretched still for the loss of his poor little heiress of a wife. I like him for that, and also for that, having like Malvolio had greatness thrust upon him, he has not set up any of the yellow-stocking men or cross-garters Malvolio thought necessary, but is just as simple and unpretending as he was in his poor days.
We had a very large party and a pleasant one, Edwin Lascelles amongst others. What a man! If there happens to be any one day in which he does not say or do anything absolutely rude, everybody takes a fit of candour, and says: “After all, I like Edwin Lascelles. I think we are all wrong about him; he did not shut the drawing-room door in my face when I was coming across the hall, and if you observed, he said before he shut all the windows that he hoped nobody minded a hot room. I do not think him selfish.”
We came here yesterday; rather a change from Penrhyn Castle. The house was built in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and furnished, I should suppose, by his own upholsterer, and has not been touched up since apparently. And there is a window from which Henry the Seventh escaped, and another at which Oliver Cromwell looked out, and in short, every window has its legend, but none of them have any shutters or curtains, and the doors are all on the latch and never shut, and the weather has turned cold, and in short, it is a relief to my feelings to say that I am bored to death and wretchedly uncomfortable, and think seriously of following Henry the Seventh’s example, and of escaping out of one of the windows, to which my interesting legend will henceforth be attached.
It is very wrong, I know, to say I am so bored, but it is only to you—and I might have an illness if I did not mention it—and though it is extremely kind of them to have us here, I wish they wouldn’t, and we had never meant to come. But when we were on our way yesterday to Pengwern (Lord Mostyn’s) this Mr. and Lady H. Mostyn[514] brought him over here, and then sent out letters and ordered post-horses to bring us too, and I always knew how it would be. However, it is so very dull it is almost amusing, particularly when I look at Lord Auckland, who has always declared he should like the Mostyns. Indeed, he was the only one of us who knew them, and I am happy to say that he sank into a sweet slumber after coffee, from which he was roused with difficulty at bed-time. One good of age and of hard practice in India is that one does not mind being bored so much as one did in youth, though then, to be sure, it hardly ever happened. The sediment at the bottom of the cup is decidedly thicker whenever I am reduced to swallow a spoonful; but still, I am more used to the taste of it, and as Dickens says of orange peel and water, if you make believe very much, it is not so very nasty. I am in a strong course of mutiny between them. But there is the luncheon bell happily; that is always a cheerful incident. Ever your affectionate
E. E.
Miss Eden to Lady Theresa Lewis.[515]
BONCHURCH, 1845.
Our post goes out now about half-past one, and we have had an immensely long sermon against the poor Babylonians, who have all been dead and gone so long that I for one have quite forgiven them their little errors; but the preacher here is always having a poke at the poor sinners in the Old Testament. It can do them no good, and it does none to us, and he preaches an hour extempore, and altogether I think he had better not be so spiteful.
Our Bonchurch has been a most successful experiment, and I have not enjoyed a summer so much for the last ten years. We have a beautiful little cottage in pretty grounds of its own. The country about you know well, and I must say it is a very kind dispensation that as the wear of life takes away or deadens the interests that seem so exciting in youth, and many of which are artificial, the love of nature becomes more intense. I am quite happy with shadows and clouds passing over beautiful hills. I wish I could read Wordsworth, but the actual food itself I cannot swallow.
Fanny has certainly been very much better since she came here. She is one of the people who cannot exist without constant excitement, and then, though it makes her quite well for the time, it affects her spirits still more afterwards. She never from a child was happy in a quiet home life, though with such high spirits in society, and of course that tells more in her present state of health. When the Bingham Barings and Lady Morley[516] were at Bonchurch for a week, she was in good spirits, and then seemed quite languid and thoroughly cheerless, and then all of a sudden went over to Ryde for two days, and George says walked and drove and paid visits, dined out both days, and seemed quite as well as ever, and she certainly looked all the better for it. Now again, she has sunk into a listless state, and I am afraid there will be no amusement she will care about for the rest of our stay. We have the R. Edens and 7 of their children perched on their little hill. Lady Buckinghamshire was nearly three weeks perched on hers, quite delighted with her life here. She had never before been on a railroad, nor on the sea since 1793 (when my father was Ambassador in Holland), and she left her carriage in England and rumbled about in a fly. She delights in pretty country and astonished us by her activity.