SIR JOHN SEBRIGHT'S,
BEECHWOOD PARK, Jan. 16.
A very fine park it is, with magnificently large beech trees, which well deserve to give their name to the place. The house, a fine-looking house, was a convent in the days of Edward VI. Library forty feet long; books in open shelves, handsome and comfortable. Dr. Wollaston kindly recognised Fanny. Mrs. Marcet—we were glad to secure her. Mrs. Somerville—little, slightly made; fair hair, pink colour; small gray, round, intelligent, smiling eyes; very pleasing countenance; remarkably soft voice, strong, but well-bred Scotch accent; timid, not disqualifying timid, but naturally modest, yet with a degree of self-possession through it, which prevents her being in the least awkward, and gives her all the advantage of her understanding; at the same time, that it adds a prepossessing charm to her manner, and takes off all dread of her superior scientific learning.
To MISS RUXTON.
BEECHWOOD PARK, Jan. 17, 1822.
I have this moment heard an anecdote, which proves beyond a doubt—if any doubt remained—that Walter Scott is the author of the novels. He edited The Memorie of the Somervilles, and in the MS. copy are his marks of what was to be omitted; and among these what suggested to him the idea of Lady Margaret and the famous dis jeune which His Majesty did her the honour to take with her—continually referred to by an ancestor of Lord Somerville's.
We have spent two days pleasantly here with Dr. Wollaston, Dr. and Mrs. Somerville, Mr. Giles, and Mr. Franks, besides our own dear friend, Mrs. Marcet. Mrs. Somerville is the lady whom La Place mentions as the only woman in England who understands his works. She draws beautifully; and while her head is among the stars, her feet are firm upon the earth. Sir John Sebright himself is very entertaining—quite a new character: he amused me incessantly: strong head, and warm heart, and oddity enough for ten. He showed us his pigeons, one which he said he would not part with for a hundred guineas; he took it up in his hands to show me its pretty white head, but I could not see the difference between it and one not worth ten shillings. The pouting pigeons, who have goîtres, as Mrs. Marcet said, are frightful; they put in their heads behind these bags of wind, and strut about as if proud of deformity. We saw four Antwerp pigeons, one of which went, Sir John told us, from Tower Hill to Antwerp in six hours.
To MRS. EDGEWORTH.
MARDOAKS, Jan. 19, 1822.
We called at Hatfield on our way here: a fine pile of old house with many pictures—Burleigh, Cecil, Leicester, and Elizabeth. Do you remember meeting Lady Salisbury [Footnote 1: Amelia, daughter of the first Marquis of Downshire, and wife of the first Marquis of Salisbury. She was burnt to death in Hatfield House, 27th November 1835.] at Lady Darnley's? little, lively, good-humoured, very alert and active. What do you think of her fox-hunting, though past seventy? Mr. Franks and Mr. Giles, whom we met at Beechwood, and all the young men, declare that she is more lively and good-humoured out hunting than any of them. An old groom goes out with her on a hunter a little better than her own, always a little before her, to show her where she may go, and turns to her every now and then, "Come on! why the d—-l don't you leap?" or "You must not go there! why the d—-l do you go there?"