TO MRS. —— (a god-daughter).
April, 1821.
Excuse me for not having sooner expressed the pleasure I felt in hearing of your being well, and mother of a fine little boy. This is the most delightful period of our existence; and when one forgets the little anxieties about a baby’s health, and the transient sufferings attendant on their birth, often does one look back on those hours when infants were blossoming around one, with regret at their having so swiftly glided away. I believe it is the happiest time of every woman’s life, who has affectionate feelings, and is blessed with healthy and well-disposed children. I know, at least, that neither the gaieties and boundless hopes of early life, nor the more grave pursuits and deeper affections of later years, are by any means comparable in my recollections with the serene yet lively pleasure of seeing my children—my beautiful, affectionate, and sprightly children—playing on the grass, enjoying their little temperate supper, or repeating ‘with holy look’ their simple prayers, and undressing for bed, growing prettier for every part of their dress they took off, and at last lying down, all freshness and love, in complete happiness, and an amicable contest for mamma’s last kiss.
May 16, 1821.—Saw the Exhibition.
Guess my name (Wilkie)—interior of a cottage—a woman in a cloak, with a charming sweetness and cordial hilarity of countenance, such as reminded one of Mrs. Jordan, has placed her hands over the eyes of a peasant seated at a table, and is seen to utter these words; an old man at the door, who seems to have followed her, enjoys the incident, as do three or four other spectators. It is a sweet picture, and awakens kindly unsophisticated affections.
A charming Eastern Landscape, by Daniel, with beautiful figures—water still and transparent—a house on a hill, catching every hope of a breeze—scattered palm-trees and sufficient vegetation to refresh the imagination under the evident heat of the atmosphere—some lovely young women of the labouring class, undepressed by its effects, engaged in light occupation on the brink of the river.
A lovely miniature in enamel of the late Dowager Duchess of Leinster, reading.
A head of Walter Scott, with a smile of the most playful humour. Another of Wordsworth, a fine pensive face, but nothing of the lackadaisical manner report has attributed to the lake poet—both by Chantrey.