DEAREST PAM, This may be excellent weather for the hay and corn, but it is not good for writing, does not bring out letters in any good quantity. I cannot write when I am hot, and besides, I have been taking a good week of repose down here with Mary, and have carefully abstained from any exertion greater than sitting in the shade, with a book (turned topsy-turvy for fear I should read it) in my hand. I had so much to say to you, too, about that breakfast at Boyle Farm[249] and your brother—rather old news now; but as your old butter seems very fresh by the time you have sent it over to us, it may be the same with our news sent to you.
In the first place, your brother has made himself extremely popular with all Lord Ellenborough’s[250] enemies, which comprise the whole of what is usually called London society. Lord Ellenborough went to Astley’s about ten days ago, and his own box was overstocked; so he went to another belonging to Mr. Anson, Lord Forbes and a party of gentlemen, your brother amongst others, but Mr. FitzGerald did not come in till after Lord E. had settled himself there. When he did come, Lord Ellenborough chose to consider him as the intruder into his own box, and threw him several of those looks which he considers irresistible, whether in contempt or supplication. Probably also he shook those horrid grey locks at Mr. FitzGerald. However, early next morning he received a note from Mr. FitzGerald that he had observed the insolence of his looks and could not submit to it, and Lord Ellenborough must either meet him, or make him the most ample apology, not only in words to Lord Forbes, but by letter to himself. So Lord Ellenborough did make the most ample apology in words to Lord Forbes, and then wrote a letter of five pages to Mr. FitzGerald, four of them apologetical and the fifth, they say, a very high eulogium of your brother’s character, courage, morals, and all. Mr. FitzGerald observed that was all very well, but he “should keep an eye on Lord E. to the end of the season!” They say it was delightful to see Lord E. walking about at Boyle Farm looking so bland and benevolent, and so well-mannered. That is the way the story is told, and, I really believe, as little exaggerated as may be, and you have no idea of the delight it excited. Lord E. has the advantage of being entirely friendless, and the insolence of his look is just the very thing that wanted correction.
I suppose you heard the general outline of the Boyle Farm breakfast, if not, I could send you our card. Lord Alvanley, Lord Chesterfield, Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Grosvenor, and the Sarpent[251] were the five givers; but in fact they each subscribed £300, and the Sarpent had the management of the whole. Mr. Grosvenor asked humbly to be allowed to ask two friends, which was refused, tho’ he said it was really an object to him; and upon investigation it turned out that the two friends were his father and mother. The conversations about the invitation must have been like those between the Triumvirate,—Lepidus Alvanley giving up an ugly aunt in exchange for two ugly cousins of Augustus Chesterfield’s, and these the bassesse of London. It never came out in a finer manner. You and I remember about four years ago when the Sarpent came gliding into Almack’s—and no woman spoke to him, and he—even the Sarpent’s own self, looked daunted; and now he sent out his cards naming on them the pretty sister of the family, asking Lady Caroline Murray,[252] and leaving out the eldest and youngest sister (tho’ Lady Mansfield was the first reputable person who took him up at all); desiring 22 of the prettiest girls in London to come in costume—patterns and directions sent with the card—and I actually heard people of good character, who have stooped to ask him constantly to dinner, lamenting that now he would not look at them for fear of being obliged to ask them. He called to ask the Barings—at nine o’clock the night before the breakfast, apologised for not having been able to spare an invitation for them before, and added, “the only condition I make is a new gown; I believe there is still time for that.” They went! In new gowns! I believe there never was a more beautiful breakfast when all was done—those sort of men will succeed! Everybody seemed pleased with it. What stories may have risen from it have not yet transpired. And Mr. de Roos said to Lady Jersey, he trusted the whole thing had been done most correctly—he should be miserable if there could be even a surmise of the slightest impropriety...! Fanny and I sent our excuse—partly from not wishing to go, and then it would have been necessary to spend immensely on dress, which I hate. There is such a story about the Miss Strutts[253] asking for an invitation, too long to write, but so amusing. Your own affectionate
E. E.
[John Wilson Croker in a letter to Lord Hertford gave the following account of the Boyle Farm breakfast.
“The great ‘Carousal’ of the year has been the fête at Boyle Farm on Saturday last. I could fill three letters to give you any account of this entertainment, and of all the impertinences which preceded and accompanied it. It was exclusive to the last degree; the founders of the feast, Alvanley, Chesterfield, Castlereagh, H. de Roos, and Robert Grosvenor, balloted, it is said, for every name proposed for invitation. The wags say that Lord and Lady Grosvenor had four black balls; on which Robert Grosvenor said that really he could not be of it if he were not to ask Papa and Mama. Upon this he was allowed to invite them, but on an engagement that they should not come. People who were shabby enough to ask for invitations were well served in the answers they usually got; the men were rejected because they were old or vulgar, and the ladies because they were ugly.
It was really amusing to hear at the Opera the reasons which the excluded ladies gave for being seen at so unfashionable a place as the Opera was that night. I will not make you stare with all the fables which are reported, roads watered with Eau de Cologne, 500 pair of white satin shoes from Paris to counteract the damp of the green turf. More gallons of Roman Punch than Meux’s great brewing vats would hold. Fire-works ordered on this scale. The Vauxhall man was asked what was the greatest expense he could go to, and then ordered to double it. And so I need hardly add that I was not invited, but it really, and without exaggeration, was a most splendid fête. Alex. Baring calculated the expense at £15,000; but no one else that I have heard carries it higher than £3000 or £3500.”]
Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.
BIGODS, ESSEX,
Wednesday, July 1827.
MY DEAREST THERESA, If you are still in town, which I expect and hope, call in Grosvenor Street late on Friday (after your Aunt) and you will have the felicity of finding me, and perhaps of taking me home to dinner.