We came to Richmond this morning, as it was absolutely necessary to change the scene for a few hours after my separation from you. ‘Perhaps the lady will like to see the steam-boat,’ cries a dapper waiter, with an air of importance at having so charming a spectacle to offer. In spite of the glare and intense heat, I lifted up my eyes to view what to me was quite new, and saw nothing but long snaky trails of smoke, puffing, puffing on towards the right in the direction of the river, and dishonouring the blue sky and beautiful face of the Thames. Then appeared a flaring scarlet flag; and lastly, to the tune of Paddy O’Rafferty, a great green and yellow beetle floating on its back, with a tall chimney-funnel rising from its middle, breathing out volumes of smoke. This creature swarmed with people. They were like ants which you could gather from an anthill in a tea-spoon, all fervid, and gaudy, and noisy, and bustling, and important, and delighted with their truly infernal machine, only fit for sailing on the Styx; which has excluded from the water all beauty and freshness and variety, and hope and fear, and anxiety for friends, and good wishes for a fair wind. I wrote for an hour, and asked if the horrible vision was gone. ‘No, ma’am,’ answered the waiter, triumphantly; ‘it’s filling.’ I looked up; there was scarce standing room; the chattering increased; the sweet strain of Paddy O’Rafferty recommenced. Smoke now arose from various places, about, above, and underneath. ‘All’s well,’ cried a pert sharp voice, not in the deep tone of an ‘ancient mariner,’ but in that of an ostler on the high road. The huge dragon of the waters splashed with its horrid fins, bustled and porpoised about, slowly and with difficulty worked its clumsy self round, and at last took itself away, passengers and all enveloped in one mantle of smoke.
‘Hence, hence, thou horrid bark, the uncouth child
Of commerce and of coal!’
TO THE SAME.
Tunbridge Wells, Aug., 1824.
I have heard but once from you since you crossed the Channel. That you have neglected writing, it is not permitted to me, knowing you as I do, to think for a moment; and I regret the untoward circumstances, whatever they may be, that thus aggravate the languor of indisposition, and the anxiety of affection like mine.
The race-fever subsided the day before yesterday, and these pretty hills are at last disencumbered of their vile attire of booths, of monsters, including even the learned pig, who came from London hither to better his condition, with Italian beggar boys, tortoises, gypsies, singers, conjurers, pickpockets, foot-racers, boxers, &c. &c. &c.
I try to go out, but am not much attracted, as I am in a respectable house, with drawing-room upstairs, and on the high road; so I seldom leave home, except at regular and fixed periods, and enjoy none of the half and half out life, one leads if on a ground floor that opens upon a garden or pleasure-ground, however small. To-day the Remains of Kirke White fell in my way, and have pleased me extremely. His gentleness, elevation of mind, and complete discretion, are deeply interesting. I shall add the volume to your library when I meet a better edition. It appears he fell a victim to an over-scrupulous delicacy. After having had a fit, evidently brought on by too much study, instead of going for a short time to his home, or suffering his mother to know he was ill, he remained even in the vacation at Cambridge, because the College were paying for him a mathematical tutor. Oh! how much does the struggle of genius and excellence against poverty remind us that we are but stewards of our worldly wealth, and warn us to turn a portion of it from our own superfluities to the necessities of others. I never felt this more strongly than in reading Kirke White’s Remains, and seeing one so highly gifted suffering intense anxiety from the want of a very small portion of the waste of his companions and fellow-students.