in the hands of their opposite neighbours. Moreover it seems to me
atrocious that we who insist on seven millions of Catholics supporting
a church they call heretical, should _dare_ to talk of our scruples
(conscientious scruples forsooth!) about assisting with a poor
pittance of very insufficient charity their 'damnable idolatry.' Why,
every cry of complaint we utter is an argument against the wrong we
have been committing for years and years, and must be so interpreted
by every honest and disinterested thinker in the world. Of course I
should prefer the Irish establishment coming down, to any endowment
at all; I should prefer a trial of the voluntary system throughout
Ireland; but as it is adjudged on all hands impossible to attempt this
in the actual state of parties and countries, why this Maynooth grant
and subsequent endowment of the Catholic Church in Ireland seem the
simple alternative, obviously and on the first principles of justice.
Macaulay was very great, was he not? He appeared to me _conclusive_ in
logic and sentiment. The sensation everywhere is extraordinary, I am
sorry really to say!

Wordsworth is in London, having been commanded up to the Queen's ball.
He went in Rogers's court dress, or did I tell you so the other day?
And I hear that the fair Majesty of England was quite 'fluttered' at
seeing him. 'She had not a word to say,' said Mrs. Jameson, who came
to see me the other day and complained of the omission as 'unqueenly;'
but I disagreed with her and thought the being '_fluttered_' far the
highest compliment. But she told me that a short time ago the Queen
confessed she never had read Wordsworth, on which a maid of honour
observed, 'That is a pity, he would do your Majesty a great deal of
good.' Mrs. Jameson declared that Miss Murray, a maid of honour, very
deeply attached to the Queen, assured her (Mrs. J.) of the answer
being quite as abrupt as _that_; as direct, and to the purpose; and
no offence intended or received. I like Mrs. Jameson better the more
I see her, and with grateful reason, she is so kind. Now do write
directly, and let me hear of you [in d]etail. And tell Mr. Martin to
make a point of coming home to us, with no grievances but political
ones. The Bazaar is to be something sublime in its degree, and I shall
have a sackcloth feeling all next week. All the rail carriages will
be wound up to radiate into it, I hear, and the whole country is to be
shot into the heart of London.

M