ILLNESS OF MRS. SCHWELLENBERG.
Oct. 2.—Mrs. Schwellenberg, very ill indeed, took leave of the queen at St. James’s, to set off for Weymouth, in company with Mrs. Hastings. I was really very sorry for her; she was truly in a situation Of suffering, from bodily pain, the most pitiable. I thought, as I looked at her, that if the ill-humours I so often experience could relieve her, I would consent to bear them unrepining, in preference to seeing or knowing her so ill. But it is just the contrary; spleen and ill-temper only aggravate disease, and while they involve others in temporary participation of their misery, twine it around themselves in bandages almost stationary. She was civil, too, poor woman. I suppose when absent she could not well tell why she had ever been otherwise.
GENERAL GRENVILLE’S REGIMENT AT DRILL.
Oct. 9.—I go on now pretty well; and I am so much acquainted with my party, that when no strangers are added, I begin to mind nothing but the first entree of my male visitants. My royal mistress is all sweetness to me; Miss Planta is most kind and friendly; General Budé is ever the same, and ever what I do not wish to alter; Colonel Goldsworthy seems coming round to good-humour; and even General Grenville begins to grow sociable. He has quitted the corner into which he used to cast his long figure, merely to yawn and lounge; and though yawn and lounge he does still, and must, I believe, to the end of the chapter, he yet does it in society, and mixes between it loud sudden laughter at what is occasionally said, and even here and there a question relative to what is going forward. Nay-yesterday he even seated himself at the tea table, and amused himself by playing with my work-box, and making sundry inquiries about its contents.
Oct. 10.—This evening, most unwittingly, I put my new neighbour’s good-humour somewhat to the test. He asked me whether I had walked out in the morning? Yes, I answered, I always walked. “And in the Little park?” cried he. Yes, I said, and to Old Windsor, and round the park wall, and along the banks of the Thames, and almost to Beaumont Lodge, and in the avenue of the Great park, and in short, in all the vicinage of Windsor. “But in the Little park?” he cried.
Still I did not understand him, but plainly answered, “Yes, this morning; and indeed many mornings.”
“But did you see nothing—remark nothing there?”