George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor
George Hillard, Ed.

[379] end of the debate, however,—though not much before,—I came home, well tired, as you may suppose, and found Ellen waiting for me, no less tired. But the least agreeable part of it was, that I was to go to Eton early in the morning, and she was to go to Malvern. . . . . I was to bid her and her excellent husband good by for the present, intending to see them in their retreat when I am on my way to embark. Even with this prospect, however, I was very sincerely sorry to part from them.

July 25.—I was off this morning at a quarter before eight,—and that was before anybody was up,—to Eton, for a ceremony like the one I witnessed at Harrow the day after I arrived. Dr. Hawtrey invited me last year, but I could not go, and so felt bound to go to-day. It is a fine old place, as you know, and his rooms at the Lodge, besides being covered with good pictures and portraits, and crowded with rare books, are tapestried with agreeable and classical recollections. The breakfast in one of them was large, with sundry ‘My Lords and Ladies’ at table, of small note, I suppose, and a few pleasant people, like Dr. Hawtrey's niece, the Bishop of Salisbury,—Hamilton,—the Provost of Kings College, Dr. Oakes, etc. The speaking of the young men—like that at Harrow—was not so good as it is with us, generally, but the German and French, which I was surprised to find intruding on such classic ground, were excellent. One of the young dogs, who took the part of Scapin in Moliere's dialogue, ‘Que diable allait il faire dans cette galere,’ doing it almost well enough for the French stage. After this was over I went over the building and grounds with the good Provost, visited the chapel, and saw what was to be seen, and then came home, too tired to wait for the dinner and regatta, which last, however, I should have been glad to witness. On reaching Rutland Gate I fairly lay down and slept . . . .

When I waked I felt fresh and strong, and went to Lady Holland's, as the day was very beautiful, and a party in that fine old park is so striking. And I was paid for my trouble. All the royalties that I missed at the Duc d'aumale's, last Wednesday, were there, besides everybody else, as it seemed to me, that I know in this wilderness of a city. There was fine music, a learned dog that played cards and dominoes for the children, all sorts of refreshments and entertainments, but above everything else, the beautiful lawns, all covered or dotted with gay groups, and with grand and venerable trees, under whose shade people sat and talked, surrounded with flowers that were distributed over the brilliant greensward in fanciful beds.