and chains, which looked as if the world might hang upon them in safety.  I lay down on the summit of the rock while my father went off exploring further, and the perfect stillness of the solitude was like a spell.  There was not a sound of life but the low, drowsy humming of the bees in the stone-rooted tufts of fragrant thyme.  On our return we had to run down the steep, slippery slopes, striking our feet hard to the earth to avoid falling; firm walking footing there was none.  When we joined Dall we found, to our utter dismay, that it was five o’clock; we bundled ourselves pele-mele into the boat and bade the boatman row, row, for dear life; but while we were indulging in the picturesque he had been indulging in fourpenny, which made him very talkative, and his tongue went faster than his arms.  I longed for John to make our boat fly over the smooth, burnished sea; the oars came out of the water like long bars of diamond dropping gold.  We touched shore just at six, swallowed three mouthfuls of dinner, and off to the theater.  The play was “Venice Preserved.”  I dressed as quick as lightning, and was ready in time.  The house was not very good, and I am sure I should have wondered if it had been, when the moon is just rising over the fresh tide that is filling the basin, and a delicious salt breeze blows along the beach, and the stars are lighting their lamps in heaven; and surely nobody but those who cannot help it would be breathing the gas and smoke and vile atmosphere of the playhouse.  I played well, and when we came home ran down and stood a few minutes by the sea; but the moon had set, and the dark palpitating water only reflected the long line of lights from the houses all along the curving shore.

Friday, August 12th, Portsmouth.—­ ...  The hotel where we are staying is quite a fine house, and the Assembly balls used to be held here, and so there is a fine large “dancing-hall deserted” of which I avail myself as a music-room, having entire and solitary possession of it and a piano....  At the theater the house was good, and I played well....

Monday, August 15th, Southampton.—­After breakfast practised till eleven, and then went to rehearsal; after which Emily Fitzhugh came for me, and we drove out to Bannisters.  Poor Mrs. Fitzhugh was quite overcome at seeing my father, whom she has not seen since Mrs. Siddons’s death; we left her with him to talk over Campbell’s application to her for my aunt’s letters.  He has behaved badly about the whole business, and I hope Mrs. Fitzhugh will not let him have them....  When we came in I went and looked at Lawrence’s picture of my aunt in the dining-room (now in the National Gallery; it was painted for Mrs. Fitzhugh).  It is a fine rich piece of coloring, but there is a want of ease and grace in the figure, and of life in the countenance, and altogether I thought it looked like a handsome dark cow in a coral necklace.  O ox-eyed Juno!