Volume Ii Part 63 (1/2)
It is a most deplorable afternoon here, deplorable even for Glasgow. A great wind blowing, and sleet driving before it in a storm of heavy blobs. We had to drive our train dead in the teeth of the wind, and got in here late, and are pressed for time.
Strange that in the North we have had absolutely no snow. There was a very thin scattering on the Pentlands for an hour or two, but no more.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
EDINBURGH, _Friday, Feb. 26th, 1869._
Writing to-morrow morning would be all but impracticable for me; would be quite so for Dolby, who has to go to the agents and ”settle up” in the midst of his breakfast. So I write to-day, in reply to your note received at Glasgow this morning.
The foot conducts itself splendidly. We had a most enormous cram at Glasgow. Syme saw me again yesterday (before I left here for Glasgow), and repeated ”Gout!” with the greatest indignation and contempt, several times. The aching is going off as the day goes on, if it be worth mentioning again. The ride from Glasgow was charming this morning; the sun s.h.i.+ning brilliantly, and the country looking beautiful.
I told you what the Nortons were. Mabel Lowell is a charming little thing, and very retiring in manner and expression.
We shall have a scene here to-night, no doubt. The night before last, Ballantyne, unable to get in, had a seat behind the screen, and was nearly frightened off it by the ”Murder.” Every vestige of colour had left his face when I came off, and he sat staring over a gla.s.s of champagne in the wildest way. I have utterly left off _my_ champagne, and, I think, with good results. Nothing during the readings but a very little weak iced brandy-and-water.
I hope you will find me greatly improved on Tuesday.
[Sidenote: Miss d.i.c.kens.]
BIRMINGHAM, _Friday, March 5th, 1869._
This is to send you my best love, and to wish you many and many happy returns of to-morrow, which I miraculously remember to be your birthday.
I saw this morning a very pretty fan here. I was going to buy it as a remembrance of the occasion, when I was checked by a dim misgiving that you had a fan not long ago from Chorley. Tell me what you would like better, and consider me your debtor in that article, whatever it may be.
I have had my usual left boot on this morning, and have had an hour's walk. It was in a gale of wind and a simoom of dust, but I greatly enjoyed it. Immense enthusiasm at Wolverhampton last night over ”Marigold.” Scott made a most amazing a.s.s of himself yesterday. He reported that he had left behind somewhere three books--”Boots,”
”Murder,” and ”Gamp.” We immediately telegraphed to the office. Answer, no books there. As my impression was that he must have left them at St.
James's Hall, we then arranged to send him up to London at seven this morning. Meanwhile (though not reproached), he wept copiously and audibly. I had asked him over and over again, was he sure he had not put them in my large black trunk? Too sure, too sure. Hadn't opened that trunk after Tuesday night's reading. He opened it to get some clothes out when I went to bed, and there the books were! He produced them with an air of injured surprise, as if we had put them there.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Sunday, March 7th, 1869._
We have had our sitting-room chimney afire this morning, and have had to turn out elsewhere to breakfast; but the chamber has since been cleaned up, and we are reinstated. Manchester is (_for_ Manchester) bright and fresh.
Tell Russell that a crop of hay is to be got off the meadow this year, before the club use it. They did not make such use of it last year as reconciles me to losing another hay-crop. So they must wait until the hay is in, before they commence active operations.
Poor Olliffe! I am truly sorry to read those sad words about his suffering, and fear that the end is not far off.
We are very comfortably housed here, and certainly that immense hall is a wonderful place for its size. Without much greater expenditure of voice than usual, I a little enlarged the action last night, and Dolby (who went to all the distant points of view) reported that he could detect no difference between it and any other place. As always happens now--and did not at first--they were unanimously taken by Noah Claypole's laugh. But the go, throughout, was enormous. Sims Reeves was doing Henry Bertram at the theatre, and of course took some of our s.h.i.+llings. It was a night of excitement for Cottonopolis.
I received from Mrs. Keeley this morning a very good photograph of poor old Bob. Yesterday I had a letter from Harry, reminding me that our intended Cambridge day is the day next after that of the boat-race.
Clearly it must be changed.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]