breakfast at Kingston, and were in this house considerably before two.
Nice smiling Mr. Barlowe met us at the door and, in reply to enquiries
after news, said that peace was generally expected. I have taken
possession of my bedroom, unpacked my bandbox, sent Miss P.'s two
letters to the twopenny post, been visited by Md. B., and am now
writing by myself at the new table in the front room. It is snowing.
We had some snowstorms yesterday, and a smart frost at night, which
gave us a hard road from Cobham to Kingston; but as it was then
getting dirty and heavy, Henry had a pair of leaders put on to the
bottom of Sloane St. His own horses, therefore, cannot have had hard
work. I watched for _veils_ as we drove through the streets, and had
the pleasure of seeing several upon vulgar heads. And now, how do you
all do?--you in particular, after the worry of yesterday and the day
before. I hope Martha had a pleasant visit again, and that you and my
mother could eat your beef-pudding. Depend upon my thinking of the
chimney-sweeper as soon as I wake to-morrow. Places are secured at
Drury Lane for Saturday, but so great is the rage for seeing Kean that
only a third and fourth row could be got; as it is in a front box,
however, I hope we shall do pretty well--Shylock, a good play for
Fanny--she cannot be much affected, I think. Mrs. Perigord has just
been here. She tells me that we owe her master for the silk-dyeing.
My poor old muslin has never been dyed yet. It has been promised to
be done several times. What wicked people dyers are. They begin with
dipping their own souls in scarlet sin. It is evening. We have drank
tea, and I have torn through the third vol. of the "Heroine." I do
not think it falls off. It is a delightful burlesque, particularly on
the Radcliffe style. Henry is going on with "Mansfield Park." He
admires H. Crawford: I mean properly, as a clever, pleasant man. I
tell you all the good I can, as I know how much you will enjoy it. We
hear that Mr. Kean is more admired than ever. There are no good