Your cousins the Duff-Gordons[526] were at Bowood. I think her anything but agreeable, but I strongly suspect that instead of our cutting her, she was quietly cutting all of us, merely because she thinks women tiresome. At least, I think there is so little good done by being rude to anybody, that I try to be civil to her, but was repulsed with immense loss. She came down to luncheon every day in a pink striped shirt, with the collar turned down over a Belcher handkerchief, a man’s coat made of green plaid, and a black petticoat. Lord Grey always called her the Corsair; but she was my idea of something half-way between a German student and an English waterman, that amounts to a débardeur. Whatever that may be, I do not know.
London seems quite empty, the 4th Nr. of Dombey has given me infinite pleasure, and I think even you must like that school. Just Villiers’s case at King’s College.
I presume you are at the Grove. Love to all there—at least not all, but a selection. Your ever affectionate
E. E.
Miss Eden to Lady Theresa Lewis.
ADMIRALTY
[Monday, 1848].
MY DEAREST THERESA, I was not standing out this time for the sake of a letter; but, in the first place, I thought you were to be in town again before this, and then I have been so poorly that writing was a great exertion. It is five weeks to-morrow since I have had a breath of fresh air, and now I have taken entirely to the sofa, and do not attempt sitting up, even to meals. When I do, the second course generally consists of a fainting fit, or some little light delicacy of that sort. So now you see why I did not write; it would not have been égayant for your holidays. And illness always seems to me such an immediate visitation from God that it never frets me as many other little travers do, which might have been avoided by a little more sense or conduct.
Lord Auckland seems quite satisfied with the efficient state of the Navy, notwithstanding the loss of that poor Avenger.[527] I saw such an interesting private letter to-day from the gunner who was saved, stating so simply his escape and difficulties, not making half the fuss that we should if the carriage had been overturned and we had had to walk half a mile home.
I do not feel alarmed by the Duke’s[528] or Lord E.’s letters, but I do not imagine they tell the French anything they did not know before, and as the English never know anything till they have been told it twenty times, it is perhaps not amiss that they should be so far frightened as to make them willing to pay for a little more protection. They would like a very efficient army and a great display of militia, but I doubt whether they will like a shilling more of income-tax.
I always keep myself in good heart by all the axioms on which we were educated, the old John Bull nonsenses—that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen; that the French eat frogs; and the wooden walls of old England, and Britannia rules the waves, and Hearts of Oak, and parlez voos—all most convincing arguments to us old warriors who lived in the war times, and who went up to the nursery affecting complete insouciance, but fearing that the French would arrive just while Betty Spencer the nurse was down at supper. I quite remember those terrors in 1806; and then came all our victories, and the grand triumphs which reassured me for life. I feel a dead of certainty that before the French had collected twenty steamers, or had put twenty soldiers on board any of them, Sir Charles Napier, or somebody of that sort, would have dashed in amongst them and blown up half ships.