[Picture: The Duke of Wellington. From the portrait by Count Alfred D’Orsay; photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London]
Lord Lansdowne told me before she came in that the speech would be longer than usual, “but not so long as your President’s speeches.” It has been a day of high pleasure and more like a romance than a reality to me, and being in the very midst of it as I was, made it more striking than if I had looked on from a distant gallery.
MY DEAR SONS: . . . On Friday we dined with two bachelors, Mr. Peabody and Mr. Coates, who are American bankers. Mr. Peabody is a friend of Mr. Corcoran and was formerly a partner of Mr. Riggs in Baltimore. Mr. Coates is of Boston. . . . They mustered up all the Americans that could be found, and we dined with twenty-six of our countrymen.
Last evening we were at home to see any Americans who might chance to come. . . . I make tea in the drawing-room, on a little table with a white cloth, which would not be esteemed _comme il faut_ with us. There is none of the parade of eating in the largest evening party here. I see nothing but tea, and sometimes find an informal refreshment table in the room where we put on our cloaks.
I got a note yesterday from the O’Connor Don, enclosing an order to admit me to the House of Commons on Monday. . . . You will be curious to know who is “The O’Connor Don.” He is Dennis O’Connor, Esq., but is of the oldest family in Ireland, and the representative of the last kings of Connaught. He is called altogether the O’Connor Don, and begins his note to me with that title. You remember Campbell’s poem of “O’Connor’s Child”?
. . . Yesterday morning was my breakfast at Sir Robert Inglis’s. The hour was halfpast nine, and as his house is two miles off I had to be up wondrous early for me. The weather has been very cold for this climate for the last few days, though we should think it moderate. They know nothing of extreme cold here. But, to return to or breakfast, where, notwithstanding the cold, the guests were punctually assembled: The Marquis of Northampton and his sisters, the Bishop of London with his black apron, Sir Stratford Canning, Mr. Rutherford, Lord Advocate for Scotland, the Solicitor-General and one or two others. The conversation was very agreeable and I enjoyed my first specimen of an English breakfast exceedingly. . . . Our invitations jostle each other, now Parliament has begun, for everybody invites on Wednesday, Saturday, or Sunday, when there are no debates. We had three dinner invitations for next Wednesday, from Mr. Harcourt, Marquis of Anglesey, and Mrs. Mansfield. We go to the former. The Queen held a levée on Friday, for gentlemen only. Your father went, of course.