is quite modern.  Indeed, mine is a ball dress of the present day, all white satin and puffs and clouds of white tulle, and garlands and wreaths of white roses and jasmine; it is very anomalous, and makes Lady Teazle of no date, as it were, for her mariners are those of a rustic belle of seventeen hundred and something, and her costume that of a fine lady of the present day in the height of the present fashion, which is absurd.

Mrs. Jameson paid me a long visit; she threatens to write a play; perhaps she might; she is very clever, has a vast fund of information, a good deal of experience, and knowledge and observation of the world and society.  She wanted me to have spent the evening with her on the 23d, Shakespeare’s birth and death day, an anniversary all English people ought to celebrate.  Lady Dacre called, in some tribulation, to say that she had committed herself about her little piece of “Wednesday Morning,” and that Lady Salisbury, who wants it for Hatfield, does not like its being brought out on the stage.

Lady Dacre says Lady Salisbury is “afraid of comparisons” (between herself and me, in the part), I think Lady Salisbury, would not like “our play” to be made “common and unclean” by vulgar publicity.  In the evening I went to the theater to see a new comedy by a Spaniard.  The house was literally empty, which was encouraging to all parties.  The piece is slightly constructed in point of plot, but the dialogue is admirably written, and, as the work of a foreigner, perfectly surprising.  I was introduced to Don Telesforo de Trueba, the author, an ugly little young man, all hair and glare, whiskers and spectacles; he must be very clever and well worth knowing, Mr. Harness took tea with us after the play.

[The comedy, in five acts, of “The Exquisites” was a satirical piece showing up the ridiculous assumption of affected indifference of the young dandies of the day.  The special airs of impertinence by which certain officers of a “crack” regiment distinguished themselves had suggested several of the most telling points of the play, which was in every respect a most remarkable performance for a foreigner.]

Saturday, April 30th.—­Received a letter from John; he has determined not to leave Spain at present; and were he to return, what is there for him to do here?  In the evening to Mrs. C——­’s ball; it was very gay, but I am afraid I am turning “exquisite,” for I didn’t like the music, and my partners bored me, and the dancing tired me, and my journal is getting like K——­’s head—­full of naked facts, unclothed with a single thought.

Sunday, May 1st.—­As sulky a day as ever glouted in an English sky.  The “young morn” came picking her way from the east, leading with her a dripping, draggled May, instead of Milton’s glorious vision.

After church, sundry callers:  Mr. C——­ bringing prints of the dresses