entertaining man and charming artist; a little bit of a dandy, but probably he finds it politic to be so.  He told us some comical anecdotes about the Royal Academy and the hanging of the pictures.

The poor, dear king [William IV.], who it seems knows as much about painting as una vacca spagnuola, lets himself, his family, and family animals be painted by whoever begs to be allowed that honor.  So when the pictures were all hung the other day, somebody discovered in a wretched daub close to the ceiling a portrait of Lady Falkland [the king’s daughter], and another of his Majesty’s favorite cat, which were immediately lowered to a more honorable position, to accomplish which desirable end, Sir William Beechey [then president of the academy] removed some of his own paintings.  On a similar occasion during the late King George IV.’s life, a wretched portrait of him having been placed in one of the most conspicuous situations in the room, the Duke of Wellington and sundry other distinguished cognoscenti complimented Sir Thomas Lawrence on it as his; this was rather a bitter pill, and must have been almost too much for Lawrence’s courtierly equanimity.

Wednesday, April 27th.—­To the riding school, where Miss Cavendish and I discoursed on the stay-at-home sensation, and agreed that it is bad to encourage it too far, as one may narrow one’s social circle till at last it resolves itself into one’s self.

Wrote to thank Dr. Thackeray [provost of King’s College, Cambridge, and father of my life-long friend A——­ T——­] for the Shakespeare he has sent me, and Lady Dacre for her piece of “Wednesday Morning.”  In the evening they all drove out in the open carriage to see the illuminations; I stayed at home, for the carriage was full and I had no curiosity about the sight.  The town is one blaze of rejoicing for the Reform Bill triumph; the streets are thronged with people and choked up with carriages, and the air is flashing and crashing with rockets and squibs and crackers, to the great discomfort of the horses.  So many R’s everywhere that they may stand for reform, revolution, ruin, just as those who run may choose to read, or according to the interpretation of every individual’s politics; the most general acceptation in which they will be taken by the popular understanding will assuredly be row.

Friday, 29th.—­Went off to rehearsal without any breakfast, which was horrible! but not so horrible as my performance of Lady Teazle promises to be.  If I do the part according to my notion, it will be mere insipidity, and yet all the traditional pokes and pats with the fan and business of the part, as it is called, is so perfectly unnatural to me that I fear I shall execute it with a doleful bad grace.  It seems odd that Sir Peter always wears the dress of the last century, while the costume of the rest of the dramatis personae