[324]
books, old silver, and objets d'art, is quite marvellous,—nearly all collected, he says, since you were here.
The breakfasts are very formidable.
They have become dinners in disguise. . . . . But they are agreeable.
Old Lord Lansdowne says he enjoys them more than any other form of society, and I have met him at them twice.
Indeed, he goes out a great deal, and entertains as much as ever; large parties in Berkeley Square, and small ones at Richmond.
He seems to me more amiable and agreeable than ever, and enjoys a green old age, surrounded with the respect of all, even of those most opposed to him in politics.
I have met him as often as anybody, except Macaulay, and am to meet him again to-day.
To-morrow is our last day for society.
We breakfast with the Milmans', lunch at Evelyn Denison's,1—who has become a man of much political consequence, and lives in a grand house on Carleton Terrace, —and we dine at Mr. T. Baring's. I am glad it is the last day. I never stood the exigencies of London society well, and I am so old that I am quite done up with the work now. And yet this is nothing to what they do themselves.
Lord Clarendon, yesterday, gave me the account of his mode of life for the last three years, including the war with Russia and the Conferences at Paris . . . . ‘But,’ I said, ‘do you never give yourself a holiday?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I gave myself one holiday at Paris, and went to a great discussion and showy occasion at the Institute, but the next time I do it I will take chloroform.’ . . . . He has great spirits, and laughed and frolicked in the gayest manner, but looks much worn and very thin.
On my telling him that I thought he would do better if he were to take his hardest work in the morning, when he is refreshed by sleep, he admitted it, but added, ‘I can get more out of myself, under this nervous, unnatural excitement, than I can in a more regular life; and if it does wear me out sooner, that is no matter, the work must be done.’ . . . .
But it is one o'clock at night, and I am imitating the great man in my small way without thinking of it. I will therefore stop, only adding my love to Susan and Elizabeth and all about you. . . . . Yours always,
G. T.
To Hon. E. Everett.
London, July 18, 1856.
my dear Everett,—Thank you for your agreeable note of the 2d inst. I am very glad to hear such good news of the Library, and 