The Archbishop of York, in his coronation sermon, assured us that, ‘judging of the future by the past, we had reason to expect a reign of extraordinary virtue.’ The Abbey, when looked down upon from one of the upper pews, appeared like a Turkey carpet continually changing its pattern.
Aug. 8, 1821.—The Queen died yesterday evening at half-past ten. Deep compassion and unaccountable regret filled my mind on hearing this news, mixed with something like shame that a foreign Princess should have been made so unhappy by her connexion with this country.
Aug. 11.—Lady Fanny Proby having offered me places in Lord Buckingham’s private box, I saw that splendid pageant, the Coronation, at Drury Lane. A crowded audience, packed as close as art could place them, except in the private boxes, sat with ineffable complacency to witness the mimic coronation of one whom they applauded each time he was named, and whom this time last year an audience of similar materials would scarcely hear mentioned without hissing and contumely; while they bestowed not a thought on one who lies yet unburied, on one of whom this ceremony was calculated to remind them, on one who is said to have died of grief in consequence of the wrongs she received from him they now applaud, on one whom this time last year they idolized; to whom the most distant allusion set the theatre in a roar—not of laughter, but of wild and tumultuous and enthusiastic applause.
Popular applause! popular attachment! intoxicating draught, misleading ignis fatuus;—how often will they lead us to the edge of a precipice—and leave us there.
Sept. 23, Roehampton.—On arriving here on the 16th, found my dear Miss Agar in her bed, and after an anxious and miserable week of trembling anxiety, received her last sigh at nine o’clock this morning. One of my earliest, and for many years my dearest, friend—the kind, the generous, the steady, the pious, the cheerful, the pleasant, the wise. Farewell, my Emily!
Oct. 1.—Left Lord Clifden’s—oh! how much poorer than when I arrived; one of the treasures of my heart, after my husband and children by far the dearest, taken out of the small but precious circle.
TO THE COUNTESS OF CARYSFORT.
London, Oct. 4, 1821.