giving every letter its due, that it pleases my ear amazingly.

On Wednesday I go for the first time to Westminster Abbey, on Epiphany, to hear the Athanasian Creed chanted.  I have as yet had no time for sight-seeing, as the days are so short that necessary visits take all my time.  No one goes out in a carriage till after two, as the servants dine at one, and in the morning early the footman is employed in the house.  A coachman never leaves his box here, and a footman is indispensable on all occasions.  No visit can be paid till three; and this gives me very little time in these short days.  Everything here is inflexible as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and though I am called “Mistress” even by old Cates with his grey hair and black coat, I cannot make one of them do anything, except by the person and at the time which English custom prescribes.  They are brought up to fill certain situations, and fill them perfectly, but cannot or will not vary.

I am frequently asked by the ladies here if I have formed a household to please me and I am obliged to confess that I have a very nice household, but that I am the only refractory member of it.  I am always asking the wrong person for coals, etc., etc.  The division of labor, or rather ceremonies, between the butler and footman, I have now mastered I believe in some degree, but that between the upper and under house-maid is still a profound mystery to me, though the upper has explained to me for the twentieth time that she did only “the top of the work.”  My cook comes up to me every morning for orders, and always drops the deepest curtsey, but then I doubt if her hands are ever profaned by touching a poker, and she never washes a dish.  She is cook and housekeeper, and presides over the housekeeper’s room; which has a Brussels carpet and centre table, with one side entirely occupied by the linen presses, of which my maid (my vice-regent, only much greater than me) keeps the key and dispenses every towel, even for the kitchen.  She keeps lists of everything and would feel bound to replace anything missing.  I shall make you laugh and Mrs. Goodwin stare, by some of my housekeeping stories, the next evening I pass in your little pleasant parlor (a word unknown here).

To W. D. B. and A. B.

London, January 10, 1847.

My very dear Children: . . . Yesterday we dined at Lady Charleville’s, the old lady of eighty-four, at whose house I mentioned an evening visit in my last, and I must tell you all about it to entertain dear Grandma.  I will be minute for once, and give you the little details of a London dinner, and they are all precisely alike.  We arrived at Cavendish Square a quarter before seven (very early) and were shown into a semi-library on the same floor with the dining-room.  The servants take your cloak, etc., in the passage, and I am never shown into a room with a mirror as with us, and never into a chamber or bedroom.

We found Lady Charleville and her daughter with one young gentleman with whom I chatted till dinner, and who, I found, was Sir William Burdette, son of Sir Francis and brother of Miss Angelina Coutts.  I happened to have on the corsage of my black velvet a white moss rose and buds, which I thought rather youthful for me, but the old lady had [them] on her cap.  She is full of intelligence, and has always been in the habit of drawing a great deal. . . . Very soon came in Lord Aylmer, [who] was formerly Governor of Canada, and Lady Colchester, daughter of Lord Ellenborough, a very pretty woman of thirty-five, I should think; Sir William and Lady Chatterton and Mr. Algernon Greville, whose grandmother wrote the beautiful “Prayer for Indifference,” an old favorite of mine, and Mr. MacGregor, the political economist.  Lord Aylmer took me out and I found him a nice old peer, and discovered that ever since the death of his uncle, Lord Whitworth, whose title is extinct, he had borne the arms of both Aylmer and Whitworth.  Mr. Bancroft took out Lady Colchester, and the old lady was wheeled out precisely as Grandma is.

At table she helped to the fish (cod, garnished round with smelts) and insisted on carving the turkey herself, which she did extremely well.  By the way, I observe they never carve the breast of a turkey longitudinally, as we do, but in short slices, a little diagonally from the centre.  This makes many more slices, and quite large enough where there are so many other dishes.  The four entrée dishes are always placed on the table when we sit down, according to our old fashion, and not one by one.  They have [them] warmed with hot water, so that they keep hot while the soup and fish are eaten.  Turkey, even boiled turkey, is brought on after the entrées, mutton (a saddle always) or venison, with a pheasant or partridges.  With the roast is always put on the sweets, as they are called, as the term dessert seems restricted to the last course of fruits.  During the dinner there are always long strips of damask all round the table which are removed before the dessert is put on, and there is no brushing of crumbs.  You may not care for all this, but the housekeepers may.  I had Mr. Greville the other side of me, who seemed much surprised that I, an American, should know the “Prayer for Indifference,” which he doubted if twenty persons in England read in these modern days.

It is a great mystery to me yet how people get to know each other in London.  Persons talk to you whom you do not know, for no one is introduced, as a general rule.  I have sometimes quite an acquaintance with a person, and exchange visits, and yet do not succeed for a long time in putting their name and the person together. . . . It is a great puzzle to a stranger, but has its conveniences for the English themselves.  We are endeavoring to become acquainted with the English mind, not only through society, but through its products in other ways.  Natural science is the department into which they seem to have thrown their intellect most effectively for the last ten or fifteen years.  We are reading Whewell’s “History of the Inductive Sciences,” which gives one a summary of what has been accomplished in that way, not only in past ages, but in the present.  Every moment here is precious to me and I am anxious to make the best use of it, but I have immense demands on my time in every way.

To W. D. B. and A. B.

Tuesday night, January 19, 1847.

To-day we have been present at the opening of Parliament, but how can I picture to you the interest and magnificence of the scene.  I will begin quite back, and give you all the preparations for a “Court Day.”  Ten days before, a note was written to Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, informing him of my intention to attend, that a seat might be reserved for me, and also soliciting several tickets for American ladies and gentlemen. . . .  I cannot take them with me, however, as the seat assigned to the ladies of Foreign Ministers is very near the throne.  This morning when I awoke the fog was thicker than I ever knew it, even here.  The air was one dense orange-colored mass.  What a pity the English cannot borrow our bright blue skies in which to exhibit their royal pageants!

Mr. Bancroft’s court dress had not been sent home, our servants’ liveries had not made their appearance, and our carriage only arrived last night, and I had not passed judgment upon it.  Fogs and tradesmen! these are the torments of London.  Very soon came the tailor with embroidered dress, sword, and chapeau, but, alas! Mr. Isidore, who was to have dressed my hair at half-past ten was not forthcoming, and to complete my perplexity, he had my head-dress in his possession.  At last, just as Russell had resumed her office at the toilet, came Isidore, a little before twelve, coiffure and all, which