The very names of the neighbours are as monosyllabic (a very puzzling word to spell) as their conversation. Mr. Brown and Mr. Wish and Mr. Rush and so on, so contrived, I am certain, to avoid prolixity. The work of education goes on from morning to night. Six small Intellects constantly on the march, and Mary, of course, is hatching a seventh child. I own I am glad I am not married, it is such a tiresome fatiguing life; and though as a visitor I delight in the children, yet I would not be so worn and worried as their mother is on any consideration. I think she fidgets too much about them, but a large family is a great standing fidget of itself, and I suppose one would be the same under the same circumstances.
I like this undisturbed sort of life, only the days go so fast when they are all alike. There is a good, hard, reading library in the house, and I am quite glad to find that when I cannot have novels I can read other books just as well.
George seems to have found London very amusing to the last. He wrote to me the other day after he had been supping at Lord Alvanley’s, who was in great delight at some Paris pantaloons he had heard of,—Peau de Pendu; and if the Pendu was the right size the Pantaloons fitted without a wrinkle and without a seam of course. George is by way now of being settled at Eastcombe. He has had a great many parties down there to dinner, some that must have been hard trials to Sister,—Sir J. Copley amongst others.
The B. Barings were to dine there Friday. I do not think Lady Harriet[242] will suit Sister. Do not let it go any further, I tell it you in the greatest confidence,—but in fact you are beginning to find out that the Barings are rather failures—I mean as to agreeableness. It will be some time before Mr. Baring fails in the moneyed sense of the word; but I see you, in fact, think, of the Grange just as I do:—charming place and family, but a dull visit, and to my last hour I shall go on saying, as you do, and as I always have said, that Harriet is a very superior person. But nobody will ever guess how dull I think her. I like Baring père[243] the best....
I am glad you are more just to little Mr. Wall. I tried to be so unjust to him myself that I do not like to find anybody else so. After all, he makes one laugh, which is a merit, and he is a warm friend, and if he is a little ridiculous, it is no business of ours. Heaven help Mrs. Wall—if there ever should be such a person. But there never will....
I hope we shall go to Ireland; but it seems to be in a troublesome state and I should hate to be piked. If we do go, I shall be so pleased to see your George again. You need never be the least jealous about Lady F.[244] I like her character very much, and her society very well; but I never should think of having for her the real warm affection I have for you, or expect the return from her I expect from you. It is quite a different thing,—what is called great esteem, I suppose. She does not care a straw for me. Our Irish journey is fixed for the 29th, next Monday week, the day we fixed when you were in Grosvenor Street, but Mary ain’t brought to bed a bit more than she was then, and I have some doubts whether I shall be able to go as soon as that. The doctor here thinks my lungs are in fault, but there never was a Doctor who saw me for the first time that did not think the same, and afterwards found out his mistake, and I always confute them by recovering so quickly.
I cannot say half I had to say: all my moralities about poor Mr. Canning,[245] and then I have had such an amusing letter from Pam, and Sarah is worse than ever. Your most affectionate
E. E.
Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.
BIGODS, ESSEX.