Chapter 1

Transcribed from the 1904 Smith, Elder and Co. edition by Jane Duff and proofed by David Price, email [email protected]

[Picture: Elizabeth Davis Bancroft. Probably taken at Brady’s National Gallery, New York, sometime after her return from England; from a picture owned by Elizabeth B. Bliss]

LETTERS FROM ENGLAND

1846–1849

BY ELIZABETH DAVIS BANCROFT (MRS. GEORGE BANCROFT)

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_WITH PORTRAITS AND VIEWS_

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SMITH, ELDER & CO. LONDON : : : : : : : 1904

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Copyright, 1903, by Charles Scribner’s Sons, for Great Britain and the United States of America.

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Printed by the Trow Directory, Printing and Bookbinding Company New York, U. S. A.

PREFACE

ELIZABETH DAVIS BANCROFT, the writer of these letters, was the youngest child and only daughter of William and Rebecca Morton Davis, and was born at Plymouth, Mass., in October, 1803. She often spoke in later times of what a good preparation for her life abroad were the years she spent at Miss Cushing’s school at Hingham, and of her visits to her uncles, Judge Davis and Mr. I. P. Davis of Boston. In 1825 she married Alexander Bliss, a brilliant young lawyer and a junior partner of Daniel Webster. On his death a few years later, her father having died, her mother and brother formed a household with her and her two sons in Winthrop Place, Boston. As a young girl in Plymouth she became a great friend of the future Mrs. Emerson and later of Mr. Emerson and of Mr. and Mrs. Ripley, and through them was much interested in Brook Farm.

In 1838 she married George Bancroft, the historian and statesman, who was then Collector of the Port of Boston and a widower with three children. They continued to live in Winthrop Place till 1845, when for one year Mr. Bancroft was Secretary of the Navy in Polk’s cabinet. While he was in that position the Naval Academy at Annapolis was established; and he played an important part in the earlier stages of the Mexican War. In the fall of 1846 he became Minister to England. It was then that the letters were written from which these extracts have been taken. A number of passages not of general interest have been omitted, without any indications of such omission in the text, but in no case has any change in a sentence been made. Most of the letters are in the form of a diary and were addressed to immediate relatives, and none of them were written for publication; but owing to the standing of Mr. Bancroft as a man of letters, as well as his official station, the writer saw London life under an unusual variety of interesting aspects.

In 1849 Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft returned to this country, and Mr. Bancroft occupied himself with his history until 1868, when he was for seven years Minister to Prussia and the German Empire. At the expiration of that time they took up their residence in Washington, where they lived during the remainder of their lives.

PORTRAITS AND VIEWS

Elizabeth Davis Bancroft _Frontispiece_

Probably taken at Brady’s National Gallery, New York, sometime after her return from England; from a picture owned by Elizabeth B. Bliss. Aston Hall (Bracebridge Hall) 8 Henry Edward, fourth Lord Holland 14

From the portrait by C. R. Leslie, R. A., at Holland House, by permission of the Earl of Ilchester. Augusta, Lady Holland 20

From the portrait by G. F. Watts, R. A., at Holland House, by permission of the Earl of Ilchester. Holland House 26 George Bancroft 34

From the painting by C. C. Ingham in the possession of William J. A. Bliss. Elizabeth Davis Bancroft 40

From the painting by C. C. Ingham in the possession of William J. A. Bliss. The Duke of Wellington 70

From the portrait by Count Alfred D’Orsay; photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London. Sir Stratford Canning 74

From the drawing by Richmond, make about 1848, by permission of the Hon. Louisa Canning. Lord Ashburton 84

After Sir T. Lawrence, R. A. Miss Berry, at the Age of 86 88

From a crayon drawing by J. R. Swinton (1850); from a picture owned by Elizabeth B. Bliss. A. W. Kinglake (“Eothen”) 90

From a photograph. Samuel Rogers 98

From the drawing by G. Richmond (1848); photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London. Lady Byron 106

From the portrait in the possession of Sir J. Tollemache Sinclair, Bart. George Hudson, the “Railway King” 114

From the engraving after F. Grant. Lord Palmerston 130

From the portrait by Partridge; photograph copyright by Walker & Cockerell, London. Lady Palmerston 136

From a painting, by permission of Sir Francis Gore. Mrs. Dawson Damer 154

From the miniature by Isabey, by permission of Lady Constance Leslie. Mrs. Fitzherbert 160

From the pastel by J. Russell. Richard Monckton Miles (Lord Houghton) 170

From a drawing by Cousins, by permission of the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Henniker. Lord George Bentinck 190

From a painting by Lane, by permission of the Duke of Portland. Sir Robert Peel 194

From the mezzotint after Sir T. Lawrence, R. A. Lady Peel 198

After Sir T. Lawrence, R. A.; photograph copyright by W. Mansell & Co., London. George Bancroft 210

Probably taken at Brady’s National Gallery, New York, sometime after his return from England; from a picture owned by Elizabeth B. Bliss.

Letters from England

_To W. D. B. and A. B._

LIVERPOOL, October 26, 1846.

MY DEAR SONS: Thank God with me that we are once more on _terra firma_. We arrived yesterday morning at ten o’clock, after a very rough voyage and after riding all night in the Channel in a tremendous gale, so bad that no pilot could reach us to bring us in on Saturday evening. A record of a sea voyage will be only interesting to you who love me, but I must give it to you that you may know what to expect if you ever undertake it; but first, I must sum it all up by saying that of all horrors, of all physical miseries, tortures, and distresses, a sea voyage is the greatest . . . The Liverpool paper this morning, after announcing our arrival says: “The _Great Western_, notwithstanding she encountered throughout a series of most severe gales, accomplished the passage in sixteen days and twelve hours.”

To begin at the moment I left New York: I was so absorbed by the pain of parting from you that I was in a state of complete apathy with regard to all about me. I did not sentimentalize about “the receding shores of my country;” I hardly looked at them, indeed. Friday I was awoke in the middle of the night by the roaring of the wind and sea and _such_ motion of the vessel.

The gale lasted all Saturday and Sunday, strong from the North, and as we were in the region where the waters of the Bay of Fundy run out and meet those of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, afterwards we had a strong cross sea. May you never experience a “cross sea.” . . . Oh how I wished it had pleased God to plant some little islands as resting-places in the great waste of waters, some resting station. But no, we must keep on, on, with everything in motion that your eye could rest on. Everything tumbling about . . . We lived through it, however, and the sun of Sunday morn rose clear and bright. A pilot got on board about seven and at ten we were in Liverpool.

We are at the Adelphi. Before I had taken off my bonnet Mr. Richard Rathbone, one of the wealthiest merchants here, called to invite us to dine the next day . . . Mrs. Richard Rathbone has written that beautiful “Diary of Lady Willoughby,” and, what is more, they say it is a perfect reflect of her own lovely life and character. When she published the book no one knew of it but her husband, not even her brothers and sisters, and, of course, she constantly heard speculations as to the authenticity of the book, and was often appealed to for her opinion. She is very unpretending and sweet in her manners; talks little, and seems not at all like a literary lady.

I like these people in Liverpool. They seem to me to think less of fashion and more of substantial excellence than our wealthy people. I am not sure but the existence of a higher class above them has a favorable effect, by limiting them in some ways. There is much less show of furniture in the houses than with us, though their servants and equipages are in much better keeping. I am not sorry to be detained here for a few days by my illness to become acquainted with them, and I think your father likes it also, and will find it useful to him. Let me say, while I think of it, how much I was pleased with the _Great Western_. That upper saloon with the air passing through it was a great comfort to me. The captain, the servants, the table, are all excellent. Everything on board was as nice as in the best hotel, and my gruels and broths beautifully made. One of the stewardesses did more for me than I ever had done by any servant of my own . . . Your father and Louisa {7} were ill but three or four days, and then your father read Tacitus and talked to the ladies, while Louisa played with the other children.

The Adelphi, my first specimen of an English hotel, is perfectly comfortable, and though an immense establishment, is quiet as a private house. There is none of the bustle of the Astor, and if I ring my bedroom bell it is answered by a woman who attends to me assiduously. The landlord pays us a visit every day to know if we have all we wish.

LONDON, Sunday, November 1.

Here I am in the mighty heart, but before I say one word about it I will go on from Wednesday evening with my journal. On Thursday, though still very feeble, I dined at Green Bank, the country-seat of Mr. William Rathbone. I was unwilling to leave Liverpool without sharing with your father some of the hospitalities offered to us and made a great effort to go. The place is very beautiful and the house full of comfortable elegance.

[Picture: Aston Hall (Bracebridge Hall)]

The next morning we started for Birmingham, ninety-seven miles from Liverpool, on our way to London, as I am unable to travel the whole way in a day. On this railway I felt for the first time the superiority of England to our own country. The cars are divided into first, second, and third classes. We took a first-class car, which has all the comforts of a private carriage.

Just as we entered Birmingham I observed the finest seat, surrounded by a park wall and with a very picturesque old church, that I had seen on the way. On enquiring of young Mr. Van Wart, who came to see us in Birmingham (the nephew of Washington Irving), whose place it was, he said it was now called Aston Hall and was owned by Mr. Watt, but it was formerly owned by the Bracebridges, and was the veritable “Bracebridge Hall,” and that his uncle had passed his Christmas there.

On arriving here we found our rooms all ready for us at Long’s Hotel, kept by Mr. Markwell, a wine merchant. The house is in New Bond Street, in the very centre of movement at the West End, and Mr. Markwell full of personal assiduity, which we never see with us. He comes to the carriage himself, gives me his arm to go upstairs, is so much obliged to us for honoring his house, ushers you in to dinner, at least on the first day, and seats you, etc., etc.

Do not imagine us in fresh, new-looking rooms as we should be in New York or Philadelphia. No, in London even new things look old, but almost everything _is_ old. Our parlor has three windows down to the floor, but it is very dark. The paint is maple color, and everything is dingy in appearance. The window in my bedroom looks like a horn lantern, so thick is the smoke, and yet everything is scrupulously clean. On our arrival, Boyd, the Secretary of Legation, soon came, and stayed to dine with us at six. Our dinner was an excellent soup, the boiled cod garnished with fried smelts, the roast beef and a _fricandeau_ with sweet breads, then a pheasant, and afterwards, dessert.

This morning Mr. Bates came very early to see us, and then Mr. Joseph Coolidge, who looks very young and handsome; then Mr. Colman, who also looks very well, Mr. Boyd and a Mr. Haight, of New York, and Mr. Gair, son of Mr. Gair of Liverpool, a pleasing young man.

Monday Evening.

This morning came Mr. Aspinwall, then Captain Wormeley, then Dr. Holland, then Mrs. Bates, then Mr. Joseph Jay and his sister, then Tom Appleton, Mrs. and Miss Wormeley, and Mrs. Franklin Dexter. Dr. Holland came a second time to take me a drive, but Mrs. Bates being with me he took your father. Mrs. Bates took me to do some shopping, and to see about some houses. They are very desirous we should be in their neighborhood, in Portland Place, but I have a fancy myself for the new part of town. I have been so used all my life to see things fresh and clean-looking, that I cannot get accustomed to the London dinge, and some of the finest houses look to me as though I would like to give them a good scouring. Tell Cousin M. never to come to England, she would be shocked every minute, with all the grandeur. A new country is cleaner-looking, though it may not be so picturesque.

I got your letters when I arrived here, and I wish this may give you but a little pleasure they gave me. Pray never let a steamer come without a token from both of you . . . With love to Grandma and Uncle Thomas, believe me, with more love than ever before,

ELIZABETH D. BANCROFT.

_To W. D. B. and A. B._

LONDON, November 3, 1846.

. . . This day, at five, your father had his first interview with Lord Palmerston, who will acquaint the Queen with his arrival, and after she has received him we shall leave our cards upon all the ministers and _corps diplomatique_.

November 4th.

Your father had a most agreeable dinner at Lord Holland’s. He met there Lord and Lady Palmerston, Lord Morpeth, Lord de Mauley, Mr. Harcourt, a son of the Archbishop of York, etc. He took out Lady Holland and Lord Morpeth, Lady Palmerston, the only ladies present. Holland House is surrounded by 200 acres in the midst of the western part of London, or rather Kensington. Lord Holland has no children, and the family dies with him. They dined in the room in which Addison died.

[Picture: Henry Edward, fourth Lord Holland. From the portrait by C. R. Leslie, R. A., at Holland House, by permission of the Earl of Ilchester]

To-day, to my surprise, came Lady Palmerston, which was a great courtesy, as it was my place to make the first visit. She is the sister of Lord Melbourne. Lord de Mauley has also been here. . . . To-day I have been driving through some of the best streets in London, and my ideas of its extent and magnificence are rising fast. The houses are more picturesque than ours, and some of them most noble. The vastness of a great capital like this cannot burst upon one at once. Its effect increases daily. The extent of the Park, surrounded by mansions which look, some of them, like a whole history in themselves, has to-day quite dazzled my imagination.

November 5th.

This morning, Thursday, came an invitation to dine with Lord and Lady Palmerston on Saturday. Sir George Grey, another of the ministers, came to see us to-day and Lord Mahon. Your father and I have been all the morning looking at houses, and have nearly concluded upon one in Eaton Square. We find a hotel very expensive, and not very comfortable for us, as your father is very restive without his books about him. Mr. Harcourt also came to see us to-day. I mention as many of the names of our visitors as I can recollect, as it will give you some idea of the composition of English society . . . This moment a large card in an envelope has been brought me, which runs thus: “The Lord Steward has received Her Majesty’s commands to invite Mr. Bancroft to dinner at Windsor Castle on Thursday, 12th November, to remain until Friday, 13th.” I am glad he will dine there before me, that he may tell me the order of performances.

Friday, November 6th.

. . . We had to-day a delightful visit from Rogers, the Poet, who is now quite old, but with a most interesting countenance. He was full of cordiality, and, at parting, as he took my hand, said: “Our acquaintance must become friendship.” Mr. Harcourt came again and sat an hour with us, and has introduced your father at the Traveller’s Club and the Athenæum Club. To-night came my new lady’s maid, Russell. She dresses hair beautifully, but is rather too great a person to suit my fancy.

Sunday Evening, November 8th.

On Friday evening we met at Mrs. Wormeley’s a cosy little knot of Americans. The Dexters were staying there and there were Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson and Miss Pratt, Mr. and Mrs. Aspinwall, Mr. and Miss Jay, Mr. and Mrs. Putnam, Mr. Colman, Mr. Pickering, etc.

Wednesday Evening.

On Monday we came to our _home_, preferring it to the hotel, though it is not yet in order for our reception, and we have not yet all our servants. Last evening we dined with Lord Morpeth at his father’s house. His family are all out of town, but he remains because of his ministerial duties. Lord Morpeth took me out and I sat between him and Sir George Grey. Your father took out Lady Theresa Lewis, who is a sister of Lord Clarendon. She was full of intelligence and I like her extremely. Baron and Lady Parke (a distinguished judge), Lady Morgan, Mr. Mackintosh, Dr. and Mrs. Holland (Sidney Smith’s daughter), and Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Dexter, with several others were the party.

During dinner one gentleman was so very agreeable that I wondered who he could be, but as Lord Palmerston had told me that Mr. Macaulay was in Edinburgh, I did not think of him. After the ladies left the gentlemen, my first question to Mrs. Holland was the name of her next neighbor. “Why, Mr. Macaulay,” was her answer, and I was pleased not to have been disappointed in a person of whom I had heard so much. When the gentlemen came in I was introduced to him and talked to him and heard him talk not a little.

These persons all came the next day to see us, which gave rise to fresh invitations.

This morning we have been driving round to leave cards on the _corps diplomatique_, and Mr. Harcourt has taken me all over the Athenæum Club-house, a superb establishment. They have given your father an invitation to the Club, a privilege which is sometimes sought for years, Mr. Harcourt says. . . . Have I not needed all my energies? We have been here just a fortnight, and I came so ill that I could hardly walk. We are now at housekeeping, and I am in the full career in London society. They told me I should see no one until spring, but you see we dine out or go out in the evening almost every day. . . . For the gratification of S. D. or Aunt I., who may wonder how I get along in dress matters, going out as I did in my plain black dress, I will tell you that Mrs. Murray, the Queen’s dressmaker, made me, as soon as I found these calls and invitations pouring in, two dresses. One of black velvet, very low, with short sleeves, and another of very rich black watered silk, with drapery of black tulle on the corsage and sleeves. . . . I have fitted myself with several pretty little head-dresses, some in silver, some with plumes, but all white, and I find my velvet and silk suit all occasions. I do not like dining with bare arms and neck, but I must.

[Picture: Augusta, Lady Holland. From the portrait by G. F. Watts, R. A., at Holland House, by permission of the Earl of Ilchester]

Tuesday, November 17th.

Last evening we passed at the Earl of Auckland’s, the head of the Admiralty. The party was at the Admiralty, where there is a beautiful residence for the first lord. . . . I had a long talk with Lord Morpeth last evening about Mr. Sumner, and told him of his nomination. He has a strong regard for him. . . . Not a moment have I had to a London “lion.” I have driven past Westminster, but have not been in it. I have seen nothing of London but what came in my way in returning visits.

_To I. P. D._

LONDON, November 17, 1846.

MY DEAR UNCLE: I cannot help refreshing the remembrance of me with you and dear Aunty by addressing a separate letter to you. . . . Yesterday we hailed with delight our letters from home. . . . One feels in a foreign land the absence of common sympathies and interests, which always surround us in any part of our own country. And yet nothing can exceed the kindness with which we have been received here.

Last evening I went to my first great English dinner and it was a most agreeable one. . . . It seems a little odd to a republican woman to find herself in right of her country taking precedence of marchionesses, but one soon gets used to all things. We sat down to dinner at eight and got through about ten. When the ladies rose, I found I was expected to go first. After dinner other guests were invited and to the first person who came in, about half-past ten, Lady Palmerston said: “Oh, thank you for coming so early.” This was Lady Tankerville of the old French family of de Grammont and niece to Prince Polignac. The next was Lady Emily de Burgh, the daughter of the Marchioness of Clanricarde, a beautiful girl of seventeen. She is very lovely, wears a Grecian braid round her head like a coronet, and always sits by her mother, which would not suit our young girls. Then came Lord and Lady Ashley, Lord Ebrington, and so many titled personages that I cannot remember half.

The dinner is much the same as ours in all its modes of serving, but they have soles and turbot, instead of our fishes, and their pheasants are not our pheasants, or their partridges our partridges. Neither have we so many footmen with liveries of all colours, or so much gold and silver plate. . . . The next morning Mr. Bancroft breakfasted with Dr. Holland to meet the Marquis of Lansdowne alone. [Thursday] he went down to Windsor to dine with the Queen. He took out to dinner the Queen’s mother, the Duchess of Kent, the Queen going with the Prince of Saxe-Weimar, who was paying a visit at the Castle. He talked German to the Duchess during dinner, which I suspect she liked, for the Queen spoke of it to him afterwards, and Lord Palmerston told me the Duchess said he spoke very pure German. While he was dining at Windsor I went to a party all alone at the Countess Grey’s, which I thought required some courage.