Well, and you are at once angry and satisfied, I suppose, about Maynooth; just as I am! satisfied with the justice as far as it goes, and angry and disgusted at the hideous shrieks of intolerance and bigotry which run through the country.  The dissenters have very nearly disgusted me, what with the Education clamour, and the Presbyterian chapel cry, and now this Maynooth cry; and certainly it is wonderful how people can see rights as rights in their own hands, and as wrongs 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.

May God bless you.