Books Are Dull Teachers Compared With
These Gifted Men Giving You A Lecture Upon Subjects Before Your
Eyes.
On Sunday we dined with out own party; on Monday some diplomatic
people, the Lisboas and one of Mr. Bates's partners, and on Tuesday
we came home.
I must not omit a visit while we were there from Mr.
Taylor (Van Artevelde), who is son-in-law of Lord Monteagle, and
lives in the neighborhood. He has a fine countenance and still
finer voice, and is altogether one of those literary persons who do
not disappoint you, but whose whole being is equal to their works.
I hope to see more of him, as they spoke of "CULTIVATING" us, and
Mr. Taylor was quite a PROTEGE of our kind and dear friend, Dr.
Holland, and dedicated his last poem to him. This expression, "I
shall CULTIVATE you," we hear constantly, and it strikes me as oddly
as our Western "BEING RAISED." Indeed, I hear improper Anglicisms
constantly, and they have nearly as many as we have. The upper
classes, here, however, do SPEAK English so roundly and fully,
giving every LETTER its due, that it pleases my ear amazingly.
On Wednesday I go for the first time to Westminster Abbey, on
Epiphany, to hear the Athanasian Creed chanted. I have as yet had
no time for sight-seeing, as the days are so short that necessary
visits take all my time. No one goes out in a carriage till after
two, as the servants dine at one, and in the morning early the
footman is employed in the house. A coachman never leaves his box
here, and a footman is indispensable on all occasions. No visit can
be paid till three; and this gives me very little time in these
short days. Everything here is inflexible as the laws of the Medes
and Persians, and though I am called "Mistress" even by old Cates
with his grey hair and black coat, I cannot make one of them do
anything, except BY the person and AT the time which English custom
prescribes. They are brought up to fill certain situations, and
fill them perfectly, but cannot or will not vary.
I am frequently asked by the ladies here if I have formed a
household to please me and I am obliged to confess that I have a
very nice household, but that I am the only refractory member of it.
I am always asking the wrong person for coals, etc., etc. The
division of labor, or rather ceremonies, between the butler and
footman, I have now mastered I believe in some degree, but that
between the UPPER and UNDER house-maid is still a profound mystery
to me, though the upper has explained to me for the twentieth time
that she did only "the top of the work." My cook comes up to me
every morning for orders, and always drops the deepest curtsey, but
then I doubt if her hands are ever profaned by touching a poker, and
she NEVER washes a dish. She is cook and HOUSEKEEPER, and presides
over the housekeeper's room; which has a Brussels carpet and centre
table, with one side entirely occupied by the linen presses, of
which my maid (my vice-regent, only MUCH greater than me) keeps the
key and dispenses every towel, even for the kitchen. She keeps
lists of everything and would feel bound to replace anything
missing. I shall make you laugh and Mrs. Goodwin stare, by some of
my housekeeping stories, the next evening I pass in your little
pleasant parlor (a word unknown here).
LETTER: To W.D.B. and A.B.
LONDON, January 10, 1847
My very dear Children: . . . Yesterday we dined at Lady
Charleville's, the old lady of eighty-four, at whose house I
mentioned an evening visit in my last, and I must tell you all about
it to entertain dear Grandma. I will be minute for once, and give
you the LITTLE details of a London dinner, and they are all
precisely alike. We arrived at Cavendish Square a quarter before
seven (very early) and were shown into a semi-library on the same
floor with the dining-room. The servants take your cloak, etc., in
the passage, and I am never shown into a room with a mirror as with
us, and never into a chamber or bedroom.
We found Lady Charleville and her daughter with one young gentleman
with whom I chatted till dinner, and who, I found, was Sir William
Burdette, son of Sir Francis and brother of Miss Angelina Coutts. I
happened to have on the corsage of my black velvet a white moss rose
and buds, which I thought rather youthful for ME, but the old lady
had [them] on her cap. She is full of intelligence, and has always
been in the habit of drawing a great deal. . . . Very soon came in
Lord Aylmer, [who] was formerly Governor of Canada, and Lady
Colchester, daughter of Lord Ellenborough, a very pretty woman of
thirty-five, I should think; Sir William and Lady Chatterton and Mr.
Algernon Greville, whose grandmother wrote the beautiful "Prayer for
Indifference," an old favorite of mine, and Mr. MacGregor, the
political economist. Lord Aylmer took me out and I found him a nice
old peer, and discovered that ever since the death of his uncle,
Lord Whitworth, whose title is extinct, he had borne the arms of
both Aylmer and Whitworth. Mr. Bancroft took out Lady Colchester,
and the old lady was wheeled out precisely as Grandma is.
At table she helped to the fish (cod, garnished round with smelts)
and insisted on carving the turkey herself, which she did extremely
well. By the way, I observe they never carve the breast of a turkey
LONGITUDINALLY, as we do, but in short slices, a little diagonally
from the centre. This makes many more slices, and quite large
enough where there are so many other dishes. The four ENTREE dishes
are always placed on the table when we sit down, according to our
old fashion, and not one by one.
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