The Conversation Turned On The Question Of The Cultivation Of Cotton
By Free Labor.
The importance of this great measure was fully
appreciated by Mr. Cobden, as it must be by all.
The difficulties to
be overcome in establishing the movement were no less clearly seen,
and ably pointed out. On the whole, the comparison of views was not
only interesting in a high degree, but to us, at least, eminently
profitable. We ventured to augur favorably to the cause from the
indications of that interview.
From this breakfast we returned to dine at Surrey parsonage; and,
after dinner, attended Miss Greenfield's concert at Stafford House.
Mr. S. could not attend on account of so soon leaving town.
The concert room was the brilliant and picturesque hall I have before
described to you. It looked more picture-like and dreamy than ever.
The piano was on the flat stairway just below the broad central
landing. It was a grand piano, standing end outward, and perfectly
_banked up_ among hothouse flowers, so that only its gilded top
was visible. Sir George Smart presided. The choicest of the
_elite_ were there. Ladies in demi-toilet and bonneted. Miss
Greenfield stood among the singers on the staircase, and excited a
sympathetic murmur among the audience. She is not handsome, but looked
very well. She has a pleasing dark face, wore a black velvet headdress
and white carnelian earrings, a black mohr antique silk, made high in
the neck, with white lace falling sleeves and white gloves. A certain
gentleness of manner and self-possession, the result of the universal
kindness shown her, sat well upon her. Chevalier Bunsen, the Prussian
ambassador, sat by me. He looked at her with much interest. "Are the
race often as good looking?" he said. I said, "She is not handsome,
compared with many, though I confess she looks uncommonly well
to-day."
Among the company present I noticed the beautiful Marchioness of
Stafford. I have spoken of her once before; but it is difficult to
describe her, there is something so perfectly simple, yet elegant, in
her appearance; but it has cut itself like a cameo in my memory - a
figure under the middle size, perfectly moulded, dressed simply in
black, a beautiful head, hair _a la Madonna_, ornamented by a
band of gold coins on black velvet: a band of the same kind encircling
her throat is the only relief to the severe simplicity of her dress.
The singing was beautiful. Six of the most cultivated glee singers of
London sang, among other things, "Spring's delights are now
returning," and "Where the bee sucks there lurk I." The duchess said,"
These glees are peculiarly English." It was indeed delightful to hear
Shakspeare's aerial words made vocal within the walls of this fairy
palace. The duchess has a strong nationality; and nationality, always
interesting, never appears in so captivating a form as when it
expresses itself through a beautiful and cultivated woman. One likes
to see a person identifying one's self with a country, and she
embraces England, with its history, its strength, its splendor, its
moral power, with an evident pride and affection which I love to see.
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