light breaks upon me every day, and every night too, for I try so hard to repress my ardour during the day for fear of being tiresome to everybody, that my dreams are of nothing else.  John, of course, is very little advanced as yet, but he finds it so interesting, to his surprise, that I hope even Parliament will not quite drive it out of his head.

Early in February she was back again in London, where social and political distractions, together with the care of a young family of stepchildren, were soon to prove too much for her strength.

    Lady John Russell to Lady Mary Abercromby

    February 7, 1843

...  How you must envy me and how I am to be envied for having my own people within reach.  I am hourly thankful for it....  Yet for one thing I envy you—­great lady as you are, you lead a quiet life; how far from quiet mine is and always must be, and how intensely I long that it could be more so, how completely worn out both mind and body often feel at the end of a common day, none can imagine but those who have become in one moment mother of six children, wife of the Leader of the House of Commons, and mistress of a house in London.  You will suppose that I wish husband and children at the world’s end, and you will call me a sinful, discontented creature; you will do anything but pity me, since my only complaint is that I have not as much leisure as so much happiness requires to be enjoyed.  Well, say and think what you please; I must let you into my secret follies, in the hope of curing myself in so doing.  London, hateful London, alone is at fault.  Anywhere else my duties and occupations would be light, and my pleasures would be so not in name only....  How could I beg Mama, as I used to do, to have more parties and dinners and balls!  I cannot now conceive the state of mind which made me actually wish for such things.  Now I have them in my power without number, and I detest them all.  The world has passed its judgment on me.  I am reckoned cold, dull, and unworthy of such a husband; and it is quite right, for I never appear anything else.  In short, I doubt my capacity for everything except making husband and children happy—­that I have not yet begun to doubt.  When I do, I will instantly bid them all adieu and “find out some peaceful hermitage.” ...  Darling Baby was brought in to be seen in his christening dress, the gift of Mama, and such a little love you never saw....  Papa is the best of Grandpapas, as you may imagine from his love of babies, and I delight in seeing him nurse it and speak to it....

    Do not think this quite a mad letter.  I wrote as the spirit, good
    or evil, prompted me.  I must do so or not write at all....

    Ever, my dearest Mary, your most affectionate sister.

Lady Minto was evidently afraid that her daughter was shutting herself up too entirely with her family, and not amusing herself as much as was good for her.