contrasted beautifully with its splendid clothing.  We got to Exeter at two o’clock, and I was thankful to rest the rest of the day.

Monday, August 8th.—­I read old Biagio’s preface to Dante, which, from its amazing classicality, is almost as difficult as the crabbed old Florentine’s own writing.  Worked at a rather elaborate sketch tolerably successfully, and was charmingly interrupted by having our landlady’s pretty little child brought in to me.  She is a beautiful baby, but will be troublesome enough by and by....  At the theater the house was very good; I played tolerably well upon the whole, but felt so fagged and faint toward the end of the play that I could hardly stand.

Tuesday, August 9th.—­I sometimes wish I was a stone, a tree, some senseless, soulless, irresponsible thing; that ebbing sea rolling before me, its restlessness is obedience to the law of its nature, not striving against it, neither is it “the miserable life in it” urging it to ceaseless turmoil and agitation.  We dined early, and then started for Dorchester, which we reached at half-past ten, after a most fatiguing journey.  It was a still, gray day, an atmosphere and light I like; there is a clearness about it that is pleasanter sometimes than the dazzle of sunshine.  Some of the country we drove through was charming, particularly the vale of Honiton....  I have an immense bedroom here; a whole army of ghosts might lodge in it.  I hope, if there are any, they will be civil, well-behaved, and, above all, invisible.

Wednesday, August 10th. ...  At ten o’clock we started for Weymouth, where we arrived in the course of an hour, and found it basking on the edge of a lovely summer sea, with a dozen varying zones of color streaking its rippling surface; from the deep, dark purple heaving against the horizon to the delicate pearl-edged, glassy golden-green that spreads its transparent sheets over the sparkling sand of the beach.  The bold chalky cliffs of the shore send back the burning sunlight with blinding brightness, and stretch away as far as eye can follow in hazy outlines, that glimmer faintly through the shimmering mist.  It is all very beautiful....  I got ready my things for the theater, ... and when I got there I was amused and amazed at its absurdly small proportions; it is a perfect doll’s playhouse, and until I saw that my father really could stand upon the stage, I thought that I should fill it entirely by myself.  How well I remember all the droll stories my mother used to tell about old King George III. and Queen Charlotte, who had a passion for Weymouth, and used to come to the funny little theater here constantly; and how the princesses used to dress her out in their own finery for some of her parts. [I long possessed a very perfect coral necklace of magnificent single beads given to my mother on one of these occasions by the Princess Amelia.] The play was “Romeo