“My dear Milman,—I am to be in London by the first of September, and to stay there till I get the Quarterly Review into shape—the political part at this moment being too delicate for eternal correspondence. . . . We in the Quarterly Review are, I hope, to take as quiet a line as shall seem at all consistent with our creed. I expect your article will be of great service to us, and its scope, I fancy, will be quite in accordance with our support of Peel in his godless College scheme for Ireland, the increased grant for Maynooth, and so on. . . .
“I have been unwell ever since I left town, but think myself rather better this week, and look for benefit from the journey to town, for the root of all my suffering is, I am sure, in the stagnation of the bilious system. Charlotte and Walter are flourishing in health and glee, and enjoying what kills me—the tumultuous hospitality of a County Member’s house on the supposed eve of a General Election. For the last two days I have had the relief of being in a very pleasant Whig house, Lord Belhaven’s, a few miles off, and there yesterday we had a Yankee artist with locks à la Leonardo da Vinci, and neckchains à la Spanish Armada, not, I believe, to be surpassed in absurdity even at ‘that deaf gal’s tea-drinking.’1 The Edinburgh people mentioned by
1 Can “that deaf gal” be Miss Martineau? |
| WALTER LOCKHART | 293 |
