country. One was to
Newstead, where, from the talkative landlady of the hotel, we heard
endless stories about Byron and his wife; this was before Mrs. Harriet
Beecher Stowe published her well-intended but preposterous volume about
the poet. Then we visited Oxford, and were shown about by the mayor of
the town, and by Mr. S. C. Hall, and were at one moment bathed in the
light emanating from Lady Waldegrave, of which interview my father, in
his private note-book, speaks thus: "Lady Waldegrave appeared; whereupon
Mr. Speirs (the mayor) instantly was transfigured and transformed--like
the English snob he is, worthy man--and looked humbler than he does in
the presence of his Maker, and so respectful and so blest that it was
pleasant to behold him. Nevertheless, she is but a brummagem kind of
countess, after all, being the daughter of Braham, the famous singer,
and married first to an illegitimate son of an Earl Waldegrave--not
to the legitimate son and possessor of the title (who was her first
love)--and after the death of these two to the present old Mr. Harcourt.
She is still in her summer, even if it be waning, a lady of fresh
complexion and light hair, a Jewish nose (to which her descent entitles
her), a kind and generous expression of face, but an officer-like
figure and bearing. There seems to be a peculiarity of manner, a lack
of simplicity, a self-consciousness, which I suspect would not have been
seen in a lady born to the rank which she has attained. But, anyhow, she
was kind to all of us, and complimentary to me, and she showed us
some curious things which had formerly made part of Horace Walpole's
collection at Twickenham--a missal, for instance, splendidly bound and
beset with jewels, but of such value as no setting could increase, for
it was exquisitely illuminated by the own hand of Raphael himself! I
held the precious volume in my grasp, though I fancy (and so does my
wife) that the countess scarcely thought it safe out of her own hands.
In truth, I suppose any virtuoso would steal it if he could; and Lady
Waldegrave has reason to look to the safe-keeping of her treasures, as
she exemplified by telling us a story while exhibiting a little silver
case. This once contained a portion of the heart of Louis XII. (how
the devil it was got I know not), and she was showing it one day to
Strickland, Dean of Westminster, when, to her horror and astonishment,
she saw him open the case and swallow the royal heart! Ate eve