in the perfection of comfort, in a small boudoir opening into and commanding the whole length of the supper saloon.  Our snuggery just held my mother, Lady Francis, myself, Charles Greville, and three of our corps dramatique, and we not only enjoyed a full view of the royal table, but what was infinitely amusing, poor Lord Francis’s disconsolate countenance, which half killed us with laughing.  Supper done, we all proceeded downstairs to see the Royalty depart, and looked at a fine picture of Lawrence’s of that handsome creature, Lord Clanwilliam.  Took leave of my friends for some months, I am sorry to say; took Mr. ——­home in our carriage and set him down just at day-dawn.  It was past four o’clock before I saw my bed; and the life I am leading is really enough to kill any one.

Thursday, June 23d.—­Quite unwell, and in bed all day.  Mrs. Jameson came and sat with me some time.  We talked of marriage, and a woman’s chance of happiness in giving her life into another’s keeping.  I said I thought if one did not expect too much one might secure a reasonably fair amount of happiness, though of course the risk one ran was immense.  I never shall forget the expression of her face; it was momentary, and passed away almost immediately, but it has haunted me ever since.

                                                 GREAT RUSSELL STREET. 
     DEAR LADY DACRE,

I am commissioned by my mother to request your kind permission to bring my brother to your evening party on Saturday; she hopes you will have no scruple in refusing this request, if for any reason you would rather not comply with it....  I have been thinking much about what you said to me both viva voce and in your note upon that “obnoxious word” in my play.  Let me entreat you to put aside conventional regards of age and sex, which have nothing to do with works of art or literature, and view the subject without any of those considerations, which have their own proper domain, doubtless—­although I think you have in this instance admitted their jurisdiction out of it....  I hope as long as I live that I shall never write anything offensive to decency or morality, or their pure source, religion; and I hope in my own manners and conversation always to preserve the decorum prescribed by society, good taste, and good feeling; but as a dramatic writer, supposing I am ever to be one, I shall have to depict men as well as women, coarse and common men as well as refined and courtly ones, and all and each, if I fulfill my task, must speak the language that their nature under their several circumstances points out as individually appropriate.  But I forget that I am addressing one far better able than I am to say what belongs to all questions of poetry and art.  Forgive me, my dear Lady Dacre, and allow me to add that, as when I put my play into your hands I told you that should you find it too intolerably dull and bad I would