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BYRKELY LODGE, Nov. 24, 1818. In the gloom which the terrible and most unexpected loss of Sir Samuel Romilly cast over the whole society at Bowood during the last few days we spent there, I recollect some minutes of pleasure. When I was consulting Mrs. Dugald Stewart about my father's MS., I mentioned Captain Beaufort's opinion on some point; the moment his name had passed my lips, Mr.
This hesitation of memory, I believe, everybody has felt more or less after any painful event. In every other respect Mr. Stewart's mind appears to me to be exactly what it ever was, and his kindness of heart even greater than we have for so many years known it to be. We are now happy in the quiet of Byrkely Lodge.
Honora plays cribbage with Aunt Mary, and I read Florence Macarthy; I like the Irish characters, and the Commodore, and Lord Adelm that is Lord Byron; but Ireland is traduced in some of her representations. "Marriage" is delightful. To MRS. EDGEWORTH. BYRKELY LODGE, Feb 8, 1819. Mrs.
Neither durst approach within arm's length of it, or touch it even with a pair of tongs; at last one of the gentlemen proposed to the other, who was in thick boots, to get on the table and jump down upon his enemy, which was effected to their infinite satisfaction. To MRS. RUXTON. BYRKELY LODGE, Jan. 20, 1819.
Sneyd since his wife's death; he took both her hands and was as near bursting into tears as ever man was. He was very obliging to me, and showed me all over his house, and gave me a most sweet bunch of Daphne Indica. TETSWORTH INN, March 4. On Tuesday morning we left dear, happy, luxurious, warm Byrkely Lodge. At taking leave of me, Mr.
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