This place is as full as possible—crowds of independent men, who seem to keep aloof from the women—of old ladies who, after a life of gallantry, come here to lose themselves in a crowd; and of young ones, many of whom seem eager in the pursuit of matrimony. You do not tell me whether you sing, draw, or write verses. I am idleness itself, in spite of my early rising, as to everything but books; and though I do not study, I contrive to read some hours every day. I have just read A World without Souls. The idea is well conceived, but the work is but indifferently executed; and contains an attack on the principles of the useful and venerable Paley, which I could wish spared. I have also read Montgomery’s World before the Flood, in which are some beautiful passages; but the dead weight of a dull and heavy story will, I fear, sink the whole into oblivion, in spite of the charms of the poetry. Lord Byron’s Lara, an interesting vaurien, and Mr. Rogers’s Jaqueline, an insipid shepherdess, who is bound up and introduced to the public with this discordant mate, have also formed part of my studies, relieved by the agreeable flippancy of Lady Morgan’s O’Donnell. Byron certainly persuaded Rogers to allow their poems to see the light together, in order to prove the immense distance between a pair whom the reviewers had lately bracketed together.
TO MRS. LEADBEATER.
Bursledon Lodge, Sept. 29, 1814.
Your kind letter found me reposing at home after a pleasant visit of three weeks to Cheltenham—that delightful spot which unites all an invalid can desire, in pure air, beautiful scenery, fine climate, easy habits; and is ornamented by the most pleasing style of villa architecture, cheerful, light, and airy, something between the cottage and the maisonnette, sprinkled in all directions through one continued garden.
In our way home we passed a day at Gloucester, and heard a morning concert of sacred music, given for a charitable purpose, in the beautiful cathedral. These music meetings are the most thoroughly national amusement we have. Polished, pure, and dignified, they owe nothing to the glare of tapers, the false spirits of the evening hour, the splendour of ornaments, or any theatric illusion. Handel’s Dead March in Saul was singularly affecting. The soft sounds of wind instruments floating through the lofty roof with the most plaintive sweetness, interrupted at intervals by the double-drum, echoing, reverberating, and dying away along the aisles, like cannon among distant hills, were at once awful and pathetic. Braham’s performance of Jephtha’s Lamentation is one of the finest pieces of tragic singing in our time, and combines every excellency music can possess.
TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.,
BRUSSELS.
Bursledon Lodge, Oct., 1814.
If I did not speedily reply to a letter so full of anxiety for my good spirits, I should be a most undutiful mother. Some may contest the propriety of the epithet, but I maintain it. There is nothing for which I feel more obliged than a desire that I should enjoy that prime blessing, cheerfulness, so interwoven with my original character, that, when deprived of it, I appear in the eyes of those who love me to be not myself. Many friends are desirous we should enjoy the physical goods of life. It is only real affection and superior intelligence that look to one’s feelings; or, indeed, are fully aware of the spirit of Mrs. Sullen’s reply, when her husband reproaches her for being discontented amidst all the goods of fortune—‘What, sir, do you take me for a charity child, to sit down contented with meat, drink, and clothes? There are certain pretty things called pleasures.’ Mrs. Sullen not being a very correct person, we must reject her idea of pleasure, and adopt one more refined.