"MY DEAR ANTHONY,--Here in the Capital of England and of Europe,there is less,so far as I hear,of movement and variety than in your provincial Dublin,or among the Wicklow Mountains.We have the old prospect of bricks and smoke,the old crowd of busy stupid faces,the old occupations,the old sleepy amusements;and the latest news that reaches us daily has an air of tiresome,doting antiquity.The world has nothing for it but to exclaim with Faust,"Give me my youth again."And as for me,my month of Cornish amusement is over;and Imust tie myself to my old employments.I have not much to tell you about these;but perhaps you may like to hear of my expedition to the West.
"I wrote to Polvellan (Mr.Buller's)to announce the day on which Iintended to be there,so shortly before setting out,that there was no time to receive an answer;and when I reached Devonport,which is fifteen or sixteen miles from my place of destination,I found a letter from Mrs.Buller,saying that she was coming in two days to a Ball at Plymouth,and if I chose to stay in the mean while and look about me,she would take me back with her.She added an introduction to a relation of her husband's,a certain Captain Buller of the Rifles,who was with the Depot there,--a pleasant person,who Ibelieve had been acquainted with Charlotte,[7]or at least had seen her.Under his superintendence--...
"On leaving Devonport with Mrs.Buller,I went some of the way by water,up the harbor and river;and the prospects are certainly very beautiful;to say nothing of the large ships,which I admire almost as much as you,though without knowing so much about them.There is a great deal of fine scenery all along the road to Looe;and the House itself,a very unpretending Gothic cottage,stands beautifully among trees,hills and water,with the sea at the distance of a quarter of a mile.
"And here,among pleasant,good-natured,well-informed and clever people,I spent an idle month.I dined at one or two Corporation dinners;spent a few days at the old Mansion of Mr.Buller of Morval,the patron of West Looe;and during the rest of the time,read,wrote,played chess,lounged,and ate red mullet (he who has not done this has not begun to live);talked of cookery to the philosophers,and of metaphysics to Mrs.Buller;and altogether cultivated indolence,and developed the faculty of nonsense with considerable pleasure and unexampled success.Charles Buller you know:he has just come to town,but I have not yet seen him.Arthur,his younger brother,Itake to be one of the handsomest men in England;and he too has considerable talent.Mr.Buller the father is rather a clever man of sense,and particularly good-natured and gentlemanly;and his wife,who was a renowned beauty and queen of Calcutta,has still many striking and delicate traces of what she was.Her conversation is more brilliant and pleasant than that of any one I know;and,at all events,I am bound to admire her for the kindness with which she patronizes me.I hope that,some day or other,you may be acquainted with her.
