Thursday July 7.
Up at a little after seven, & writing to Eaton. I have sent him a list of the books which I wish him to send me immediately. Wrote also a few lines (a very few) to Mr. Boyd, to tell him what he asked me to write about: ie Lady Margaret’s opinion of the House of lords’ intended doings about the bill. What an awkward sentence, that is,—but I am scribbling against time—& tune ergo. Prepared some of the seven chiefs, & heard Storm & George read Greek—in which I was interupted by Mrs. Boyd’s arrival. Miss Steers she left behind vis a vis the great ash.[1] When I had talked to Mrs. Boyd a little while, Mrs. Cliffe Mrs. Best Eliza & little Fanny arrived, on their way to call at the Bartons. Fanny is a pretty interesting-looking bambina,—but as to writing a poem on her, as Mrs. Best begged me to do--excuse me there. I never can write when I dont feel; & my feelings are not apt to rise extempore in consequence of an hour’s visiting. Everybody dined with us at one o’clock—except poor Miss Steers who was constant to the ash. We sent her down some strawberries; and after the ash was painted in oils, Henrietta sate with her on the bank, while she was sketching the house. I longed to be παρεϭρος,[2]—but I could not leave Mrs. Boyd. And Mrs. Boyd, tho’ goodnatured & kind in her manner,—is certainly nothing more. She is a very trying person to spend a day with! Empty minded, & without real sensibility—which extends to the tastes as well as to the feelings—frivolous & flippant. What a woman to be Mr. Boyd’s wife!— But she is his wife; & therefore I wd. not be inattentive to her on any account. So I fidgetted about with her, from one subject to another, & from one place to another—from the drawing room to the front of the house—from the front of the house to the drawing room. Oh how tired I was!—
Miss Steers came into the house a few minutes before they both left it finally. She sate on the sofa by me; & we talked of Lamartine. She is not, I think, a clever woman of nature’s making; but she seems to have refined tastes, & a cultivated mind.— There is a little effort now & then to seem to have more—
They went away at six; and the clouds which looked fearfully like a thunderstorm, went away soon after them. Not after them, I hope!— Bummy had a letter from Papa today. I suspected the black seal[3] at dinnertime; but she did not tell us until after every body had gone, that the seal was his, & that he could not fix the time of his return—that on Friday he had an engagement—& that he wd. write to Henrietta before he saw us. So he is coming!— So there is indeed no hope. God’s will—the wisest will—be done!
Eliza gave me a note to give to Mrs. Boyd directed to Mr. Boyd. What did she write to him about, I wonder! I sent a note from myself. Which will he read first?— There is no use in asking questions on this subject. It is unquestionable, that he prefers me to Eliza Cliffe.
1. “In the deer park, which is not very extensive, is an ash, said to be one of the largest in Great Britain” (account of Hope End, from A Description of Malvern [by Mary Southall], Malvern, 1822, p. 212).
2. “Sitting beside.”
3. He was still in mourning for his mother, Elizabeth Moulton, who had died in London on 29 December 1830.
