to see him, for dear old acquaintanceship.  The king was going to the House of Parliament, and Palace Yard was thronged with people, and we sat round one of the Bridgewater House windows to see the show.  At about one the royal carriages set out—­such lovely cream-colored horses, with blue and silver trappings; such splendid, shining, coal-black ones, with coral-colored trappings.  The equipages looked like some enchanted present in a fairy story.  The king—­God bless him!—­cannot, I should think, have been much annoyed by the clamorous greetings of his people.  I’m afraid that ominous, sullen silence is a bad sign of the times.  We rehearsed very steadily.  Lord Francis, who is taking the old duke’s part because of Mr. St. Aubin going abroad, is much improved by some teaching Young has bestowed upon him; but still he is by no means so good as Mr. St. Aubin was....

Wednesday, 22d.—­Read “La Chronique de Charles Neuf,” which is very clever, but the history of that period in France is so revolting that works of fiction founded upon it are as disagreeable as the history itself.  Hogarth’s pictures and Le Sage’s novels are masterpieces, and yet admirable only as excellent representations of what in itself is odious.  However, they are satirical works, and so have their raison d’etre, which I do not think a serious novel about detestable times and people has.  Drove to Bridgewater House, feeling so unwell that I could scarcely stand, and was obliged to lie down till I was called to go on the stage.  We had a magnificent audience—­all the grandeurs in England except the King.  The Queen, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland, Princess Elizabeth, Prince Leopold, the Duke of Brunswick.  And lesser magnificoes the room full.  Such very superior people make a dull audience, of course; the presence of royalty is always understood to bar applause, which is not etiquette when a Majesty is by.  I played very ill; my voice was quite unmanageable, and broke twice, to my extreme dismay.  The fact is, I am fagged half to death; but as I cannot give up my work and cannot bear to give up my play, the only wonder is that I am not fagged whole to death.  Mr. Craven acted really capitally, and I wondered how he could.  They put us out terribly in one scene by forgetting the bench on which I have to sit down.  Hernani managed with great presence of mind and cleverness in its absence, but it spoilt our prettiest picture.  After the play Lady Francis came to fetch me to be presented to the Queen; her Majesty was most gracious in her reception of me, and so were the Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Gloucester, who came and had quite a long chat with me.  When I had received my dismissal from her Majesty I ran to disrobe, and returned to join the crowd in the drawing-room....  When they were all gone we adjourned to Lady Gower’s—­a most magnificent supper, which we enjoyed