of its poetry, every piece brought up to me the scenes amidst which
it had been written. . . . How dear these associations are your
husband will soon know when he too is separated from his native
shores and from those he loves. . . . I shall look forward with
great pleasure to seeing him here, and only wish you were to
accompany him, for your own sake, for his, and for ours. His
various culture will enable him to enjoy most fully all that Europe
can yield him in every department. My own regret ever since I have
been here has been that the seed has not "fallen upon better
ground," for though I thought myself not ignorant wholly, I
certainly lose much that I might enjoy more keenly if I were better
prepared for it. I envy the pleasure which Mr. Story will receive
from music, painting, and sculpture in Europe, even if he were
destitute of the creative inspiration which he will take with him.
For ourselves, we have everything to make us happy here, and I
should be quite so, if I could forget that I had a country and
children with very dear friends 3,000 miles away. . . . There are
certain sympathies of country which one cannot overcome. On the
other hand I certainly enjoy pleasures of the highest kind, and am
every day floated like one in a dream into the midst of persons and
scenes that make my life seem more like a drama than a reality.
Nothing is more unreal than the actual presence of persons of whom
one has heard much, and long wished to see. One day I find myself
at dinner by the side of Sir Robert Peel, another by Lord John
Russell, or at Lord Lansdowne's table, with Mrs. Norton, or at a
charming breakfast with Mr. Rogers, surrounded by pictures and
marbles, or with tall feathers and a long train, making curtsies to
a queen.