I am broken-hearted about the Essex election, and the only gleam of cheerfulness I have had has been occasioned by half a sheet of notepaper which I filled with the beginning of my new novel. I wrote nearly a sentence and a half which I composed in two days. Mr. Sale, the singer, called here this morning, which he often does, and used to give me lessons gratis, which was kind but tiresome. To-day he could not, because there is no pianoforte in the house, so we talked about Mrs. Arkwright’s[389] songs, which he says he teaches to numbers of his scholars (there is no end to his pupils). But there are great faults in the scientific parts of her compositions, which he could correct in five minutes--in short, he talks of a mistake in counterpoint as we do of breaking one of the Commandments, and when I said she was a great friend of mine, he said he should be quite delighted to correct anything she sent to the Press, and always without touching the “air,” and he was very polite about it. Do you think it would affront Mrs. Arkwright if I asked her, or that she would not take it as it was meant, as a kindness, from such a lump of science as Sale is? Shall I ask her? Yours affectionately, E. E. _Hon. Mrs. Norton[390] to Lord Auckland._ [_July 1833._] DEAR LORD AUCKLAND, As you are the only person in your family who have not “cut” me, perhaps you will allow me to apologise _through_ you, to your Sister, for my rudeness last night. Say that, as far as concerns her, I consider my conduct on that occasion vulgar and unjustifiable, and that I beg her pardon. Yesterday was a day of great vexation and fatigue--which of course is no excuse in the eyes of strangers (whatever it may be in my own), for rudeness and want of temper. I am very sorry. My apology may be of no value to her; but it is a satisfaction to _me_ to make it. Yours truly, C. NORTON. _Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._ _October 25, 1833._ DEAREST EMMY, Eleven years ago we were together. To-day is Edward’s birthday, and I still see that house in Cadogan Place, and the window at which I sat watching for you, my own dear Friend. I like to think how long we’ve loved each other without a shade of alteration between us; _du reste_, I need dwell on such things to smooth my mind after other rugged bits of life. Your godchild[391] is a good, peaceable, fat lump, with black eyelashes and a pretty mouth, which is all I can make out of her yet. I recovered tolerably well the first fortnight, since that I have been but poorly. Anxiety and worry keep me back. However, it is all over now, for our matters are pretty nearly arranged. Sir Guy sells out; it is our only resource; it is the only way of paying what we owe, getting rid of debt....