a day that is gone is gone, and all eternity can give us back no single minute of the past!  I gathered a rose and some honeysuckle from the poor disheveled shrubs for my mother, and ran back to Oatlands to breakfast.  After breakfast we went over “Hernani,” with Mrs. Sullivan for prompter, and when that was over everybody went out walking; but I was too tired with my morning’s tramp, and sat under a tree on the lawn reading a very good little book on the sacrament, which went over the ground of my late discussion with Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Procter on the subject of “preparation” for taking it.

After lunch there was a general preparation for riding, and just as we were all mounted it began to rain, and persevered till, in despair, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan rode off without our promised escort.  Mr. C——­ arrived just as we had disequipped, and the gentlemen all dispersed.  Lady Francis and I sang together for some time, and suddenly the clouds withholding their tears, she and I, in one of those instants of rapid determination which sometimes make or mar a fate, tore on our habits again, jumped on our horses, and galloped off together over the park.  We had an enchanting, gray, soft afternoon, with now and then a rain-drop and sigh of wind, like the last sob of a fit of crying.  The earth smelt deliriously fresh, and shone one glittering, sparkling, vivid green.  Our ride was delightful, and we galloped back just in time to dress for dinner.

In the evening, sauntering on the lawn and pleasant, bright talk indoors.  Lord John (the present venerable Earl Russell) would be quite charming if he wasn’t so afraid of the rain.  I do not think he is made of sugar, but, politically, perhaps he is the salt of the earth; he certainly succeeds in keeping himself dry.

Friday, Oatlands.—­Walked out before breakfast; the night’s rain had refreshed the earth and revived every growing thing, the east wind had blown itself away, and a warm, delicious western breeze came fluttering fitfully over the new-mown lawn.  After breakfast we rehearsed Mr. Craven’s and Captain Shelley’s and my scenes in “Hernani.”  I think they will do very well if they do not shy at the moment of action, or rather acting.  We had some music, and then the gentlemen went out shooting.  I took “The Abbot” and established myself on a hay-cock, leaving Lady Francis to her own indoor devices.  By and by the whole party came out, and we sat on the lawn laughing and talking till the gentlemen’s carriage was announced, and our rival heroes took their departure for town, cheek by jowl, in a pretty equipage of Mr. Craven’s, in the most amicable mood imaginable.  As soon as they were off we mounted and rode out, past our old cottage, down by Brooklands, through the second wood, and by the Fairies’ Oak.  O Lord King, Lord King (we were riding through the property of the Earl of Lovelace, then Lord King), if I was one of those bishops whom you do not