Timidity of character, probably owing to early education, had a great influence on my daily life; for I did not assume my place in society in my younger days; and in argument I was instantly silenced, although I often knew, and could have proved, that I was in the right. The only thing in which I was determined and inflexible was in the prosecution of my studies. They were perpetually interrupted, but always resumed at the first opportunity. No analysis is so difficult as that of one's own mind, but I do not think I err much in saying that perseverance is a characteristic of mine.
Somerville and I were very happy when we lived in Hanover Square. We were always engaged in some pursuit, and had good society. General society was at that time brilliant for wit and talent. The Rev. Sidney Smith, Rogers, Thomas Moore, Campbell, the Hon. William Spencer, Macaulay, Sir James Mackintosh, Lord Melbourne, &c., &c., all made the dinner-parties very agreeable. The men sat longer at table than they do now, and, except in the families where I was intimate, the conversation of the ladies in the drawing-room, when we came up from dinner, often bored me. I disliked routs exceedingly, and should often have sent an excuse if I had known what to say. After my marriage I did not dance, for in Scotland it was thought highly indecorous for a married woman to dance. Waltzing, when first introduced, was looked upon with horror, and even in England it was then thought very improper.
One season I subscribed to the Concerts of Ancient Music, established by George the Third. They seemed to be the resort of the aged; a young face was scarcely to be seen. The music was perfect of its kind, but the whole affair was very dull. The Philharmonic Concerts were excellent for scientific musicians, and I sometimes went to them; but for my part I infinitely preferred hearing Pasta, Malibran, and Grisi, who have left the most vivid impression on my mind, although so different from each other. Somerville enjoyed a comic opera exceedingly, and so did I; and at that time Lablache was in the height of his fame. When Somerville and I made the tour in Italy already mentioned, we visited Catalani (then Madame Valabrèque) in a villa near Florence, to which she retired in her old age. She, however, died in Paris, of cholera, some years later.
Somerville liked the theatre as much as I did; so we saw all the greatest actors of the day, both in tragedy and comedy, and the English theatre was then excellent. Young, who was scarcely inferior to John Kemble, Macready, Kean, Liston, &c., and Miss O'Neill, who after a short brilliant career entered into domestic life on her marriage with Sir William Beecher, were all at the height of their fame. It was then I became acquainted with Lady Beecher, who was so simple and natural that no one could have discovered she had ever been on the stage. A very clever company of French comedians acted in a temporary theatre in Tottenham Court Road, where we frequently went with a party of friends, and enjoyed very pleasant evenings. I think my fondness for the theatre depended to a certain degree on my silent disposition; for unless among intimate friends, or when much excited, I was startled at the sound of my own voice in general conversation, from the shyness which has haunted me through life, and starts up occasionally like a ghost in my old age. At a play I was not called upon to make any exertion, but could enjoy at my ease an intellectual pleasure for the most part far superior to the general run of conversation.
Among many others, we were intimate with Dr. and Mrs. Baillie and his sisters. Joanna was my dear and valued friend to the end of her life. When her tragedy of "Montfort" was to be brought on the stage, Somerville and I, with a large party of her relations and friends, went with her to the theatre. The play was admirably acted, for Mrs. Siddons and her brother John Kemble performed the principal parts. It was warmly applauded by a full house, but it was never acted again. Some time afterwards "The Family Legend," founded on a Highland story, had better success in Edinburgh; but Miss Baillie's plays, though highly poetical, are not suited to the stage. Miss Mitford was more successful, for some of her plays were repeatedly acted. She excelled also as a writer. "Our Village" is perfect of its kind; nothing can be more animated than her description of a game of cricket. I met with Miss Austin's novels at this time, and thought them excellent, especially "Pride and Prejudice." It certainly formed a curious contrast to my old favourites, the Radcliffe novels and the ghost stories; but I had now come to years of discretion.
Among my Quaker friends I met with that amiable but eccentric person Mrs. Opie. Though a "wet" Quakeress, she continued to wear the peculiar dress. I was told that she was presented in it at the Tuileries, and astonished the French ladies. We were also acquainted with Mrs. Fry, a very different person, and heard her preach. Her voice was fine, her delivery admirable, and her prayer sublime. We were intimate with Mr. (now Sir Charles) Lyell, who, if I mistake not, first met with his wife at our house, where she was extremely admired as the beautiful Miss Horner. Until we lost all our fortune, and went to live at Chelsea, I used to have little evening parties in Hanover Square.
I was not present at the coronation of George the Fourth; but I had a ticket for the gallery in Westminster Hall, to see the banquet. Though I went very early in the morning, I found a wonderful confusion. I showed my ticket of admission to one official person after another; the answer always was "I know nothing about it." At last I got a good place near some ladies I knew; even at that early hour the gallery was full. Some time after the ceremony in the Abbey was over, the door of the magnificent hall was thrown open, and the king entered in the flowing curls and costume of Henry the Eighth, and, imitating the jaunty manner of that monarch, walked up the hall and sat down on the throne at its extremity. The peeresses had already taken their seats under the gallery, and the king was followed by the peers, and the knights of the Garter, Bath, Thistle, and St. Patrick, all in their robes. After every one had taken his seat, the Champion, on his horse, both in full armour, rode up the hall, and threw down a gauntlet before the king, while the heralds proclaimed that he was ready to do battle with any one who denied that George the Fourth was the liege lord of these realms. Then various persons presented offerings to the king in right of which they held their estates. One gentleman presented a beautiful pair of falcons in their hoods. While this pageantry and noise was at its height, Queen Caroline demanded to be admitted. There was a sudden silence and consternation,—it was like the "handwriting on the wall!" The sensation was intense. At last the order was given to refuse her admittance; the pageantry was renewed, and the banquet followed. The noise, heat, and vivid light of the illumination of the hall gave me a racking headache; at last I went out of the gallery and sat on a stair, where there was a little fresh air, and was very glad when all was over. Years afterwards I was present in Westminster Abbey at the coronation of our Queen, then a pretty young girl of eighteen. Placed in the most trying position at that early age, by her virtues, both public and private, she has endeared herself to the nation beyond what any sovereign ever did before.