A great day every four years in America—here this year at least, a bright one, the Sun shining & blue sky visible—I am going again to Tottenham Green & shall call for Miss Rogers to go with me. More talk about the Queen & her Court. Another version of the story of Lady Flora Hastings,...

As I approach America the thought of my children, from whom I am again so soon to part, saddens rather than cheers me. Tuesday 9th April was my last evening in England. I passed part of it with my friend Mrs Stevenson. On my return to my lodgings, after bidding her a sad farewell, I found Mr...

Sunshine & showers—April weather in February. Have received letters from home—one from my dear Randolph. Sunday I accompanied Mrs Bates to the Cemetery on the Harrow road, called I believe Kensall Green. It is a pleasant morning drive from the West End, is well situated and commands a fine...

yesterday was a busy day with me. In the morning Mr C. & myself received a note from Mr Stevenson and two cards of admittance to the House of Lords. The Queen was to go in state to open Parliament and the ceremonies were expected to be brilliant and imposing. They would be very curious &...

the last day of the month I do not know how it is that doing so little I have so little time to do any thing in. It is a problem I cannot solve. On Sunday, feeling somewhat feeble from my late indisposition, I went with Mrs Stevenson, by appointment, to call on Mrs Grote, wife of the radical...

Rain, rain, rain, rain but the weather as mild and dark as an April night in Virginia. Yesterday Mr Coolidge & myself went to Highgate to see our little son, whom, thank heaven, we found well. I have gone on with Mrs Jamieson’s book, “Winter studies & Summer rambles.” The studies are...

Yesterday I passed an hour & a half at the National Gallery. I have been there repeatedly before but I am just now beginning to see clearly & understand understandingly. Hitherto my mind has been confused and my eyes dazzled by a multitude of objects which I am learning to separate &...

Yesterday was a dark, turbid day. I staid at home and wrote a long letter to Mrs Gorham. Sunday in London is perfectly quiet. The stillness of the streets is remarkable, and more striking from the contrast with the six week days which are noisy & bustling enough. Capt. Wormeley called and Mr...

Yesterday, Christmas day, we went in the morning to the Church of the Foundlings where the music is good, the preaching “mediocre.” The services were long and the execrable creed of St. Athanasius formed a part. What an insult to God and Man the reciting of this blasphemous relic of barbarous...

I have been hoping for some time past to get away from London before the fine season was quite over. It is now decided that we go to Edinburgh. I am overjoyed at the thought. I shall see Scotland, I shall hear the “sweet Doric” of her spoken tongue, and in the home of Burns and Walter Scott do...