"The good Pitt blood"

years ago she died, and I have not been as I should be since. Should I tell you how more than human her beauty was, and how exquisite her intelligence, notwithstanding her deafness, you would not believe me, but though I am at times insane I am not doting. Six years after her death my eldest child was torn from me by consumption; she was fair and joyous as the day, tall and beautiful, strong of heart, and clear of head; yet a few short months sufficed to send her at the age of eighteen from the admiration of the world, to her grave. I would tell you more about my dear children, only I cannot. I have seven still.

Lord Chatham, the Lord Chatham's Correspondence is being published by his grand-nephews, Captain Pringle of the Guards and his brother. Two volumes are out, but as yet there is not much interest attached to them, so I suppose the valuable papers are reserved for the other volumes; when I say interest, I mean proportionably to the man's fame, for there is curious reading in them. Pringle I have had some dealings with, and I think, judging from his correspondence (for I have not seen him) there is a vein of the good Pitt blood running through him. Your men of the East are, I believe, superior individually to the men of the West, but each man stalks through the world like a lion; they do not herd together, nor work together, and like lions they live and die and are forgotten. The horse is a better animal than the lion. You love the brute creation, and so do I, and I love you that you do love them. The brute is of the same essence as man, - an essence, however, more restricted, confined by the inferior organisation of their bodies, therefore more condensed and honest. What are we of human species? Angels or devils, or

a compound of

"The glorious Privilege"

both? There must be I think two governing principles, God and demon, and we partake of both. This doctrine is Eastern, and I think it more reasonable than any other.

I wonder whether you will like my History? It is no whining affair. There is much in it, that you would not like, but nothing I think that would lessen your friendship for me; you might be angry, but you would not cease to be my friend, and surely there is nothing that you could say or do, however passionate at the moment, that would hinder me from being your friend, esteeming and reverencing you as much as I do now and ever have done. The time I passed with you at Mr. Pitt's home at Putney, and the few short hasty periods in which [I had] the happiness of being received by you after his death (for me at least they were few, too few, and too short), are among the moments of my past life remembered most vividly and fondly.

This letter runs on. How shall I send it to you? I think I shall be able to transmit it officially, for I have still some friends at court who can separate the politician from the man.

Do not start at my consideration for your pocket; you live in the East, but I live in England where money is the great god; I hate their god, but I worship sometimes lest my impiety should be observed and punished. Yes, I think of money. Is not poverty despised, wronged, insulted? and shall I not tremble lest my good, my innocent, my beautiful girls, and my helpless boy, should be consigned to such horrors? My life is not worth a year's purchase; who shall protect them after my death if they be poor? For their sakes I live; for their sakes I gather money by my labours; and for them I keep it as well as my nature will allow me. Ah! you are a living

A Woman's champion

example of the generosity of Englishmen towards helpless women.

Your nephew, Lord Mahon, is an author, and in his book sneered at mine, went out of his way to say that it was the best French history of the war; this he thought smart, but I replied I had always thought the doing justice to [a] vanquished enemy was thoroughly English until my Lord Mahon assured me it was wholly French. Was I right? I tell you this that you may know me; I am not changed in feeling or sentiment, but you should know what I have said or done that might offend you, or I should be going to you under false colours.

Much do I like your Beni Omaya, if they be truly heroic; but beauty and courage are only gifts, not virtues. Are they compassionate? Are they just ? Are they mild or cruel to their vanquished foes? Are they gentle or harsh to women and children? Do they admit women to have rights? Do they govern them by their affections or by their fears? Do they make chattels of their persons, and kill them in their tyrannical jealousy? If they do they are not heroes for me. Women are gentle, and should be free human beings, and the peculiar guardians of children, the most helpless and the most beautiful of God's creation; there can be no virtue, no generosity, where they are oppressed. I know nothing so degrading to England, as the treatment of women and children. There is a factory system grown up in England since you left it, the most horrible that the imagination can conceive. Factories they are called, but they are in realities hells, where hundreds of children are killed yearly in protracted torture, and that cotton lords may extract gold from their bones, and marrow, and blood. Patience! patience! There will be a day of reckoning for all things; it approaches.

The true Tory

Farewell, dear Lady Hester. God knows whether I shall ever hear from you or write to you again, but never believe that I have not a true and deep feeling for you. W. NAPIER

April 10th.—I have delayed sending this letter for a fortnight, partly to obtain a surer mode of conveyance; in which I have succeeded through my friend Lord Fitzroy-Somerset, a true Tory of your school, that is to say, an upright honest man, and a thorough gentleman, both in his private and public proceedings. Principally, however, I have waited to procure some information for you about the estates and persons you mentioned in your letter.

XVI

FRIENDSHIP AND MORE

Marjorie Fleming sends her mother her love

DEAR LITTLE MAMA, -I was truly happy

MY to hear that you were all well. We are sur

rounded with measles at present on every side, for the Herons got it, and Isabella Heron was near Death's Door, and one night her father lifted her out of bed, and she fell down as they thought lifeless. Mr. Heron said, "That lassie's deed noo -"I'm no deed yet." She then threw up a big worm nine inches and a half long. I have begun dancing, but am not very fond of it, for the boys strikes and mocks me. I have been another night at the dancing; I like it better. I will write to you as often as I can; but I am afraid not every week. I long for you with the longings of a child to embrace you— to fold you in my arms. I respect you with all the respect due to a mother. You don't know how I love you. So I shall remain, your loving child,

M. FLEMING