_Life_ of her under her maiden
name). Sydney's politics show in his allusion to the
assassination of the Duc de Berri, son of Charles X. of
France (who had, however, not then come to the throne); in
his infinitely greater sorrow for the dismissal of the
mildly Liberal minister Decazes; and in his spleen at the
supporters of the English Tory government of Lord Liverpool.
(The "little plot" was Thistlewood's). In the second letter
the "hotel" is his new parsonage in Somerset: "Bowood," Lord
Lansdowne's Wiltshire house, a great Whig rallying place. I
suppose "Sea-shore Calcott" is Sir A. W. Calcott the
painter. "Luttrell" (Henry), a talker and versifier very
well known in his own day, but of less enduring reputation
than some others. "Napier's Book," the brilliant if somewhat
partisan _History of the Peninsular War_. I am not quite
certain in which of two senses Sydney uses the word
_caractere_. As ought to be well known this does not exactly
correspond to our "character"--but most commonly means
"temper" or "disposition." It has, however, a peculiar
technical meaning of "official description" or "estimate"
which would suit Sir William Napier well. The Napiers were
"kittle cattle" from the official point of view.

26. TO MISS BERRY

FOSTON, Feb 27th, 1820.

I thank you very much for the entertainment I have received from your
book. I should however have been afraid to marry such a woman as Lady
Rachel; it would have been too awful. There are pieces of china very
fine and beautiful, but never intended for daily use....

I have hardly slept out of Foston since I saw you. God send I may be
still an animal, and not a vegetable! but I am a little uneasy at this
season for sprouting and rural increase, for I fear I should have
undergone the metamorphose so common in country livings. I shall go to
town about the end of March; it will be completely empty, and the drugs
that remain will be entirely occupied about hustings and
returning-officers.

Commerce and manufacturers are still in a frightful state of stagnation.

No foreign barks in British ports are seen,
Stuff'd to the water's edge with velveteen,
Or bursting with big bales of bombazine;
No distant climes demand our corduroy,
Unmatch'd habiliment for man and boy;
No fleets of fustian quit the British shore,
The cloth-creating engi