It was a beautiful bit of forest scenery; how like America I do not know.  Upon the racecourse we emerged into a full, still afternoon atmosphere of brilliant and soft splendor; the whole park was flooded with sunshine, and little creeks of light ran here and there into the woods we had just left, touching with golden radiance a solitary tree, and glancing into leafy nooks here and there, while the mass of woodland was one deep shadow....

Much discussion as to the possibilities and probabilities of our being able to stay here another day.  When we came back from our afternoon ride at near eight, found Mr. Greville and Lady Charlotte here, and a letter from my father, saying that I could be spared from my work at the theater a little longer, and promising to come down to us....  In the evening Mr. C——­ and I acted some of Racine’s “Andromaque” for them; my old school part of Hermione which I have not forgotten, and then two scenes from Scribe’s pretty piece of “les premieres Amours.”  He acts French capitally, and, moreover, bestowed upon me the two following ridiculous conundrum puns, for which I shall be forever grateful to him: 

     “Que font les Vaches a Paris?”

     “Des Vaudevilles” (des Veaux de Ville).

     “Quelle est la sainte qui n’a pas lesoin de Jarretieres?”

     “Ste. Sebastienne” (ses has se tiennent).

     What absurd, funny stuff!

Tuesday, June 14th.—­Gardening on the lawn—­hay-making in the meadow—­delightful ride in the afternoon, the beginning of which, however, was rather spoiled by some very disagreeable accounts Mr. C——­ was giving us of Lord and Lady ——­’s menage.  What might, could, would, or should a woman do in such a case?  Endure and endure till her heart broke, I suppose.  Somehow I don’t think a man would have the heart to break one’s heart; but, to be sure, I don’t know....

     We did not return home till near nine, and so, instead of dinner,
     all sat down to high tea, at which everybody was very cheerful and
     gay, and the talk very bright....

I wish I could have painted my host and hostess this morning as they stood together on the lawn; she with her beautiful baby in her arms, her bright, fair forehead and eyes contrasting so strikingly with his fine, dark head.  I never saw a more charming picture.  (Landseer has produced one version of it in his famous “Return from Hawking.”) Are not all such groups “Holy Families”?  They looked to me holy as well as handsome and happy.

Wednesday, June 15th.—­ ...  The races in the park were to begin at one, and we wished, of course, to keep clear of them and all the gay company; so at twelve my mother and I got into the pony carriage, and drove to Addlestone to my aunt Whitelock’s pretty cottage there.  It rained spitefully all day, and the races