21 September, 1830

Mansfield Parsonage

My dear Jamie,

Thank you so much for your last letter; it is quite shocking how out of things one gets in the country. I am very glad that Parliament has been re-formed, and I do hope that we can now push through some reform. You mention that Mr. Wilberforce approves of the new Parliament; do you think it likely that the slave trade will now be abolished? For myself, I devoutly hope this is so. I shudder to think of the way we English oppress people of other races—simply because of our nationality! Do not think me terribly unpatriotic, Jamie dear, if I confess to you that I do not see why being English automatically makes us better than being—say, French, or Spanish, or even Indian or African, or maybe even American (though of course most Americans appear to me to be quite vulgar, but perhaps they cannot help themselves, living in such a wild land, poor things).

I believe what makes us superior or inferior is inside of us—how we think, and act toward others, and how much we obey the law of God. Now, someone odious like Isabella is far worse than a humble slave who truly loves his family and practices his religion faithfully. And I know that I am a very faulty person in comparison to Anna, Aunt Yates' cook, who is so filled with love and kindness that she is almost as good as my mother! What matters a person's nationality in contrast with how he or she acts?

I know these are shocking sentiments. Not even Papa, as much as he abhors the slave trade, goes so far as to say such things. I don't even know where these thoughts come from, except that as I read my Bible and history books—and the more I learn about the world as I grow—they just seem obvious to me.

Mr. Wilberforce, though, would not approve of my thoughts, either, as I understand he has very proper ideas about women's places. Papa is always torn when speaking of Mr. Wilberforce—he so thoroughly endorses the idea of reform, and trueness of religion, and women remaining in their proper sphere (one reason why I am so worrisome to him, I fear), yet he very much disapproves of Mr. Wilberforce's nonconformist ways.

Papa believes that nonconformists form a very grave danger to the church—that most are lazy, irreverent people who insist that they know better than the church. He thinks that they attract uneducated people, who find it far too easy to be caught up in emotionalism and "spirituality" without it meaning anything true.

I am not sure what I think on such matters. I don't know any nonconformists personally, so I daresay I am not properly equipped to judge.

This is a terribly solemn letter, Jamie. Will it lighten it if I tell you that yesterday evening my aunt, the esteemed Lady Bertram, held a dinner party for six of her most intimate family and friends, and that Mama gave me a new frock for the occasion? It is pale green, just the right colour for my complexion, and made in the very latest style as reported by Aunt de Lacey—with ridiculously enormous gigot sleeves and a full skirt, over which, naturally, I tripped as I entered the dining room with everyone staring at me.

It is a pity dress styles are so hideously ugly right now. I wish I had been young when Mama was—when simplicity and neatness were fashionable.

No, I don't believe I do! Women's roles were even more restricted then than they are now.

Mama allowed me to loop my braids over my ears and up into a topknot. I felt perfectly ridiculous, with my ears sticking out from my head and my sleeves bigger than my body, but Aunt Bertram said I looked quite nice, so apparently I was fashionable.

I wish I could wear trousers, though cravats are a bother. Don't you think trousers would suit me admirably, Jamie dear?

Mr. and Miss Fulke were invited to the dinner party, but they declined. Aunt Maria thinks they are positively proud, but Mama, more charitable by far, says that once they have had more time to settle in, they will likely start accepting more invitations.

I do wish I saw Miss Fulke more than for a brief "hello" on Sundays. I still can't make her out—and it irks me. I like to know people so I can exercise my wit at their flaws and admire their finer qualities.

As you know all too well, Jamie, I am not a very amiable person—but no one can say I am dishonest!

There is little point in trying to appear better than I am to you, though, as you know me too well already. You always could see through any little duplicities I attempted—and I shall never forget the horror-stricken look you gave me the one time I told Papa an outright lie. It shook me to my core, and I have never lied since. I would not grieve you so again for the world, my dear cousin.

Besides, you are quite right. Of all sins, lying is one of the worst—and the one most accepted in our society. Oh, perhaps the nonconformists are right after all—the church does not seem to be doing much to encourage people to practice a truer religion!

Thank you again for your delightful and informative letter; it was much preferable to Richard's scrawl, in which he only told me how he quizzed one of his professors, and threw a party which ended in five of his friends being written up, and wasn't it all good fun. I sometimes cannot believe that you and he are the same age and at the same school.

Yours very affectionately,

Cass.