I had written thus far when your letter was delivered to me.  I am sitting in the midst of two hundred friends, all mad with exultation and party spirit, all glorying over the Tories, and thinking me the happiest man in the world.  And it is all that I can do to hide my tears, and to command my voice, when it is necessary for me to reply to their congratulations.  Dearest, dearest sister, you alone are now left to me.  Whom have I on earth but thee?  But for you, in the midst of all these successes, I should wish that I were lying by poor Hyde Villiers.  But I cannot go on.  I am wanted to waste an address to the electors; and I shall lay it on Sadler pretty heavily.  By what strange fascination is it that ambition and resentment exercise such power over minds which ought to be superior to them?  I despise myself for feeling so bitterly towards this fellow as I do.  But the separation from dear Margaret has jarred my whole temper.  I am cried up here to the skies as the most affable and kind-hearted of then, while I feel a fierceness and restlessness within me, quite new, and almost inexplicable.

Ever yours

T. B. M.

To Hannah M. Macaulay.

London:  December 24, 1832.

My dear Sister,—­I am much obliged to you for your letter, and am gratified by all its contents, except what you say about your own cough.  As soon as you come back, you shall see Dr. Chambers, if you are not quite well.  Do not oppose me in this; for I have set my heart on it.  I dined on Saturday at Lord Essex’s in Belgrave Square.  But never was there such a take-in.  I had been given to understand that his Lordship’s cuisine was superintended by the first French artists, and that I should find there all the luxuries of the Almanach des Gourmands.  What a mistake!  His lordship is luxurious, indeed, but in quite a different way.  He is a true Englishman.  Not a dish on his table but what Sir Roger de Coverley, or Sir Hugh Tyrold, [The uncle of Miss Burney’s Camilla.] might have set before his guests.  A huge haunch of venison on the sideboard; a magnificent piece of beef at the bottom of the table; and before my Lord himself smoked, not a dindon aux truffes, but a fat roasted goose stuffed with sage and onions.  I was disappointed, but very agreeably; for my tastes are, I fear, incurably vulgar, as you may perceive by my fondness for Mrs. Meeke’s novels.

Our party consisted of Sharp; Lubbock; Watson, M.P. for Canterbury; and Rich, the author of “What will the Lords do?” who wishes to be M. P. for Knaresborough.  Rogers was to have been of the party; but his brother chose that very day to die upon, so that poor Sam had to absent himself.  The Chancellor was also invited, but he had scampered off to pass his Christmas with his old mother in Westmoreland.  We had some good talk, particularly about Junius’s Letters.  I learned some new facts which I will tell you when we meet.  I am more and more inclined to believe that Francis was one of the people principally concerned.