Letter from Emma Evans to her cousin Arthur Phelps.
Transcribed from a scan of the original in March 2015 by Penelope
Forrest, born Phelps, great granddaughter of Arthur.
Bosworth
Octr 18th (Madlle's birthday) [1854]
My dear old boy,
I want to write various Madeira letters besides
several others today – but I must begin with you for I think so much more of you
than of most of my correspondents. And I know you will be so unhappy to hear of
the sorrow we are all now in. Dear Papa is very ill indeed – hopelessly ill. Mr
Hubbard says you know he never got over his illness last Autumn, & while I was
at Folkestone lately he became much worse – so much so that I could not bear to
be any longer away from Home – & left Harriet & came. He has kept his bed for
about a fortnight. It is a great blessing that he does not suffer much pain –
only oppression & uneasiness sometimes & he is almost always cheerful though too
weak & languid to talk much – & takes so much interest in everything that goes
on. He likes to talk of you & was so delighted with bits of your letter to me &
to Uncle John. The doctors say there is no specific disease that medicine can
reach – but that it is a complete wearing out. His has been a hard life – but on
the whole a very happy one – & a very useful one. One will be thankful all one's
life to have had such a Father.
Jack & Bassy are here as much as they can be.
Jack went again yesterday – starting at 7 in order to go round by Nottingham to
look after a unique noble he has heard of there. And I went with him to
Leicester – having to pay a visit to Mr Williamson, which did not
prove so dreadful a one as I had feared. I had hoped to have a few hours with
dear old Flower – whom I like better than most people – but I found he was away
from home, and only Mrs Kempson (late Marshall) there, with her baby.
Old Flower is of course delighted with this baby – his only grandchild, & told
Bassy when he went there the other day "I watch it Sir, a great deal." And
certainly it is a baby worth watching. I don't think I am very fond of the race
in general, but I took a great affection for this. He is only 4 months old, &
not very pretty, but rather like Mr F about the eyes & with a very
queer sagacious way of looking at one that I liked. It smiles at one in such an
odd thoughtful way too. I felt rather as if it knew a great deal more than I did
– & was very glad it liked me & was willing to come to me. Mrs
Kempson is so happy too. It is a funny household. The drawing room is the
Kempson's, & the dining room the Flower's living room – but the baby is
now part of the dining room furniture. They have no nursery & it lives there all
day among the big books & old furniture. It ought to grow up something
remarkable. They have Christened it "John Flower". I went to the museum too – a
remarkably good one for its age. I hope it will get on well.
As to Bosworth news – Mr Whitby is
appointed Rector of Lechlade in Gloucestershire, but I don't know when he will
go & Mr Smythe is coming in his place. I wonder how he will get on –
I don't think Bosworth agreed with him before. Mr Hubbard is I
believe thinking of leaving Bosworth & taking some London practice – but I don't
know when that will be either. Everything seems changing here but I can hardly
bear the thought of leaving this place. Every inch of ground here is so very
dear to me. If I lived for 50 years in another place, I don't think it would
ever feel like Home to me. But there is no use in meeting sorrows half way: if
one began doing that, there are a great many about that one might go & shake
hands with.
This has been a very trying year. There has
been Papa's constant ill health & I never could feel so cheerful & hopeful about
him as dear Mamma did – & great anxiety about Bassy – very great. There was
Lizzie's illness too – which took a great deal out of one & a most complicated
worry & unhappiness that I had to stand quite alone for some time. There has
been a novel going on for more than a year past, which I have been studying with
very great & painful interest & one fine day – the 1st of August: I
found myself not a quiet spectator as I had supposed, but one of the principal
actors. The 3rd Vol is not out yet. And I am perhaps a fool for
talking of it at all to you – & perhaps may never mention it again. But it
weighs on me very heavily. I am where the road before me branches off into two &
I would not choose either path for anything. How it will all end I don't know, &
there is no use in speculating. And yet I cannot help speculating & looking
forward more than I ever did before. I always have said that one can bear
sorrows & anxieties better several at a time than singly – and this worry, & its
attendant hopes are somehow a great support to me now. Not a real support
perhaps, only like a rope-dancer's balancing pole, but it suffices to keep me
steady along an El Sirat bridge1 over a deeper & blacker chasm than I
care to look into. It is a great shame to write so to you – & shows a great want
of self-denial, but I am beginning to find that I have much less of that & of
patience & self control, & philosophy of all sorts, than I had given myself
credit for. Perhaps I have been trying your Stoic test – the mill grinding for
some time past. There's enough of myself for the present in all conscience.
I have never yet thanked you for your letter,
which I found awaiting me when I returned from Folkestone, last Sat week (last
year, it seems). It was such a delight to me to have it – though you try to make
me as vain as you are yourself. Fanny says it would be so good for you to be
spun2. What do you think? I like to hear of your passing & getting on
very much – for that is (or seems to me) your duty in that state of life. And if
you fulfil that well – & are equal to higher duties – you may be sure they will
be set before you to do, all in good time. One very great duty of you & every
man – & a hard one – seems to me, not to be ashamed of acting on principle.
Now-a-days, I am sure people have a notion that there is something almost
magnanimous & very 'unprejudiced' in treating all sorts of sins & lies &
blasphemies with respect. I wish Bassy had none of it.
He & John get on very well with their Indian
Paper. If you like to send an account to them of your expedition up the Taptee,
or any other river, with the soundings & correct information as to how high they
are navigable, what their difficulties & advantages are &c, they will be much
obliged. I should think that the river navigation of India was perhaps the most
important question of these days in Indian affairs. I very certainly do wish you
were in a better set, & so do you. If you don't do them good, they will do you
harm. And as to your conceit, it is a frightful consideration to think that it
can have arrived at a still higher pitch.
Your 10/- was received with much pleasure &
gratitude. It was exactly what they wanted to finish the subscription – there
were 7/- still owing to Mr Holliers & the printing of circulars was
at least the 3/- more.
I spent some hours with Lizzie James on my way
from Folkestone & found her better, though not well. I don't think she works in
such steam engine style quite as she did – & has rather given up her district of
poor people, & only goes on with her Italian boys. She has 21 of them. And Jenny
Hayward is very anxious to be back in London helping. She (JM) has been very
unwell lately & is still under Mr Hubbard, but she is beginning to be
refractory which is a good sign. Kate is pretty well, & as pleasant as ever.
They both send their love to you.
Anne has not been strong all the Summer – as
indeed she never is, & while she was at Brompton they had to call in Mr
Douglas, their very clever doctor. He understood more about her at once than
most people do after years, & told her that she wanted some sphere in which all
her mind & interests should have full play. And that, in default of marrying
(which he recommended as the best thing for her) she should take a
governess's situation. He invited her to tea one evening, & she met Thackeray,
who was looking out for some one to take care of his two worse than motherless
girls, & he was delighted with Anne – & she of course with him. So she agreed to
go & stay with him for a time to see how she liked it. And if it had not been
for Papa's illness, & for Thackeray's wish that she should engage to stay with
them for a year at least (without salary Anne insisted) & travel with them,
probably to Rome, most likely Anne would be with them now. I have made a long
story very short, but I do feel very sorry (which is always wrong & silly
of one by the bye) that it is impossible, for it seemed as if it was so exactly
what would have suited her & done her good. But "all for the best". She does not
look nearly so well now as she did at Brompton.
Harriet & the Trots all very well. My
boy is a sweeter fellow than ever. I am so very fond of him. Loo is a fine
fellow but Arthur is one of 10,000.
What good accounts there are of Charley! I
always said he would do better than his friends expected. I wonder if Clara will
join him. She is very anxious to do so – and I really think it would be a good
thing. We have heard of Kitty's safe arrival in Madeira, & that they all think
her looking very well, so we are very glad. I don't think I should like Mr
Crompton at all – it is to be hoped Ht will.
I feel much obliged to you for your kind
suggestion about Mr Bailey – but I don't think I shall adopt it just
at present, not being ambitious of uniting the posts of nursery maid & governess
with that of wife. He is a very nice boy, but he decidedly is not the boy for
me. No, when I marry – if I ever do – it shall be my Master. Mrs
Thorp is staying at the Wilderness now, her husband being in the East. He was
not in the battle of the Alma.
I am so amused to hear that John is beginning
to wear whiskers now. He will adopt shirt collars next – & then we shall not
know him if we meet him. He & B like each other very much: all the more for not
having too much to do with each other. B is at home now. He had to be in London
on Monday for the arrival of the mail, but was able to return that night.
Thanks for the specimens of your moonshie's3
writing. Of course the verses interested & delighted me much. My dear Stumps:
how I wish we had the Electric telh you propose! How very often I
should be down upon you, & how very nice it would be to see your dear old face
again. I don't like the notion of its being thin & black. Please don't go & get
an Indian face as Uncle Tom has & so many others – & don't forget to send me a
photograph of yourself as soon as you have a respectable moustache.
Tigger is very well – young & blooming as ever,
and Kits, just as elegant and airified as you remember her. Oh Pumps, how shall
we all be going on by the time you get this? That is the worst of having you so
far off. I wonder I ever tell you anything – they may so easily turn to lies on
their way to you – but you are somehow very easy to talk to.
Mamma's & Anne's best love to you. You have
mine always my dear old boy. Ever your loving friend & coz, Emma Evans
I wish you would not pay your letters. It makes me shy of asking you to write
often. And don't use Indian words: it's pedantic & besides unintelligible. To
think of my having written all this without remembering to tell you about
Charlotte Bourne & her proposed successor. Of course you guessed that I meant
Madlle? Mrs Cope is very anxious at not hearing again from
her, and is now expecting her daily. Charlotte B is I believe to go on Friday. I
only hope Madlle's silence is not in consequence of another illness.
She says in her last letter to me: "----------------------4
It is too bad to cross5, is it not?
Goodbye dear boy; if you live to be 60 you will be my 'dear boy' to the end of
the chapter – till I see you again & find you in whiskers & wrinkles. I'm
growing so old & ugly.
1. The al-sirat is a long and narrow bridge that everyone will have to pass
through before entering Heaven. It is believed to be a “bridge over Hell”.
2. failed in an examination
3. Indian tutor
4.
5. The last part of the letter is written across the first page.