February 12 to 18.—It rained so hard, that, for a week, we were almost confined to the house. Our good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Chasseaud, when it was possible, either came and passed the evening with us, or we went to their cottage. On awaking, on the morning of the 16th, we found the bed-room and the counterpane of our bed wet with the rain, which had penetrated the roof in every part, excepting, luckily, over the children’s bed. The bedding and carpets were obliged to be removed into another room. The day proved very stormy; and, for two or three days more, we were compelled to live and sleep in the same room, being the only one that was waterproof. The occasional squalls were so violent, that a gust of wind would whirl a large copper ewer to the distance of a yard. All the trelliscourt of our terrace was blown away, like chaff before the whirlwind.

February 21.—Nine hours were spent to-day in conversation with Lady Hester, from three in the afternoon until midnight. She spoke of Lord Stewart de Rothsay, of the Duke of Sussex, of Mr. Pitt, and many other persons. The weather was beautiful; and, although the sides of Mount Lebanon, only a few miles off, were covered with snow, we sat until sunset with the windows open. The climate of Syria is, probably, one of the most pure and balmy in the world.

Lady Hester, from one thing to another, returned to the subject of Mr. Pitt’s amiable disposition. “It is wonderful,” said she, “what a man Mr. Pitt was. Nobody would have suspected how much feeling he had for people’s comforts, who came to see him. Sometimes he would say to me, ‘Hester, you know we have got such a one coming down. I believe his wound is hardly well yet, and I heard him say, that he felt much relieved by fomentations of such an herb: perhaps you will see that he finds in his chamber all that he wants.’ Of another, he would say—‘I think he drinks ass’s milk; I should like him to have his morning’s draught.’ And I, who was born with such sensibility, that I must fidget myself about everybody, no matter whom, was always sure to exceed his wishes.

“Would you believe, doctor, that, in the last weeks of his last illness, he found time to think about his groom, in a way that nobody would have suspected in him? He had four grooms, who died of consumption, from being obliged to ride so hard after him; for they drank and caught cold, and so ruined their constitutions. This one I am speaking of, when first attacked in the lungs, was placed at Knightsbridge, and then sent to the seaside. One day, Mr. Pitt, speaking of him, said to me—‘The poor fellow, I am afraid, is very bad: I have been thinking of a way to give him a little consolation. I suspect he is in love with Mary, the housemaid; for, one morning, early, I found them talking closely together, and she was covered with blushes. Couldn’t you contrive, without hurting his feelings, to get her to attend on him in his illness?’

“Accordingly, soon after, when he was about to set off for Hastings, I went to see him. ‘Have you nobody,’ I asked him, ‘whom you would like to go to the sea-side with you?—your sister or your mother?’ ‘No, thank you, lady.’ ‘There is the still-room maid, would you like her?’ ‘Ah, my lady, she has a great deal to do, and is always wanted.’ From one to another, I, at last, mentioned Mary, and I saw I had hit on the right person; but, however, he only observed, he should like to see her before he went. Mary was, therefore, sent to him; and the result of their conversation was, that he told her he would marry her if he recovered, or leave her all he had if he died—which he did.

“Mr. Pitt once obtained a servant in a very odd way. Riding on the moors with a friend, they came to one of those flocks of geese, which, picked of their feathers, are driven about by a boy, with a bit of red rag at the end of a long stick. ‘We must ride round,’ said Mr. Pitt; ‘we shall never get through this immense flock.’ ‘Yes, but you may,’ cried a sharp-looking boy, who had heard him, ‘if you will only keep your horses quiet. Sh—sh—ee—ee—ayi—ayi!’ and the boy waved his stick here and there, and in a minute or two the flock opened, and, wheeling to the left and right in regular columns, made a passage, through which they rode. ‘That must be a clever lad,’ observed Mr. Pitt; ‘he manœuvres his little army in a wonderful manner—a general could not do it better;’ and he ordered the groom to inquire to whom he belonged. A day or two afterwards he was sent for, and put into the stables. Next, he was made an undergroom; then taken to town to wait on the upper servants, and afterwards made a footman; until, one day, Mr. Pitt, going down to Hollwood with Mr. Dundas, and three or four friends, to talk about some parliamentary business (a custom he had, when he wanted to discuss any particular plan in quiet), lo and behold! the cook fell down in an apoplectic fit, and died; and the butler, who saw it, was so affected that he was seized with a fit of the gout. This butler was also Mr. Pitt’s valet, on such occasions as when he was out of town for a day. Mr. Pitt was in a sad fidget about the dinner: but the young man in question said, ‘Don’t, sir, send off any express for a cook: if you think proper, the maid shall dress the dinner. These are all your intimate friends, and will take no notice: their servants as yet know nothing of the matter; for I thought they might be frightened to be where there is a dead man. Let me manage, and all will go well, without any alarm being spread.’ He, accordingly, dressed Mr. Pitt, saw to everything, and acquitted himself so well, that Mr. Pitt was more than satisfied with him, and soon afterwards made him his valet; but he did not live long enough to have his services recompensed. He died quite young, at twenty-seven. He was a man all fire and activity. Mr. Pitt would say to him, ‘You must go down to-day to such a place, and I shall be there the day after to-morrow.’ ‘You will excuse me, sir,’ the man would reply, ‘but I sha’n’t go; for, if I do, who will attend to you when you take your physic to-morrow? You will be busy, and put it off; and nobody knows how to give it but myself.’ ‘Well, well,’ Mr. Pitt would answer, ‘do so then;’ and would excuse him by an—‘Ah! he is very anxious about me—I must let him have his own way.’”

It was a remarkable proof of Lady Hester Stanhope’s memory, that, whatever subject she stumbled on, she had an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes ready; and, having got into the servants’ hall, she seemed as much at home there as in the drawing-room. She told me a pathetic history of a faithful servant, who, in the pecuniary distresses of his master, served him for several years with the purest disinterestedness. I was so touched by her eloquent and forcible manner of relating the story, and with the self-application that I made of it to my own tardiness in going to her in her distress, together with my present intention of leaving her, owing to our recent differences, that I burst into tears, and wept, as the expression is, bitterly. She soothed my feelings, endeavoured to calm my emotions, and disclaimed all intention of conveying any allusion to me. This led her to say, how little malice she ever entertained against any one, even towards those who had done her injury, much less against me, who had always shown my attachment to her: and she said that, even now, although she was going to lose me, still her thoughts did not run on her own situation so much as on what would become of me: and I firmly believed her.

February 23 to 26, 1831.—Another fresh trouble now harassed Lady Hester. Paolo, her Italian servant, who had been sent to Acre to assist in laying out the Pasha’s garden, made or received offers there to fill a good post in the Artillery, he having served as a soldier during Buonaparte’s campaigns. He, therefore, came back to her ladyship’s, to signify his intention of leaving his place, hoping she would, in consideration of his services, give him a character to the Pasha. There had been some shuffling in the business on Paolo’s part, so Lady Hester was determined to play him a trick, as he had tricked her. Instead, therefore, of a written good character, she put a blank sheet, undercover, to the Pasha; and, causing it to be directed with the customary titles and superscription to his highness, she gave it to Paolo, paid him his wages, and sent him off, exulting in the prospect of the lucrative post he was about to be promoted to. When he had obtained admittance to the Pasha, he presented his letter, and, the seal being broken, a blank sheet was all that the cover contained. Another letter to the Pasha, explaining what had been done, had been despatched by a special messenger, in which Lady Hester Stanhope showed Paolo’s unfitness for a gunner, and urged him not to expose his men to the chance of being blown to pieces at the cannon’s mouth by the ignorance of a man who would make a decent valet, but a very bad artilleryman. The Pasha took the hint, and sent Paolo about his business, who hastened back to Beyrout, and retreated, crestfallen, to Europe.

Nothing farther was said about the Damascus affair. A long letter, on the organization of a body of regular troops, was drawn up, and sent to Abdallah Pasha. This, with the trouble of translating it into Arabic, occupied three or four days. Letters were written to Dr. Dusap, of Cairo, relative to the purchase of some black slaves, to Lord Ebrington, and to some other persons, which filled up the time until March 7. The intervals of writing were devoted to conversations on the coming of the Murdah, or new Messiah, and Lady Hester laboured hard to make me a convert to her doctrines. She expressed her regret that the result of the fulfilment of her predictions would be for strangers, and not for her friends.

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