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After breakfast, went to rehearse the Wonder. Called in on my way on Mr. ——, who is painting a portrait of my father. Saw one or two lovely women's pictures. I wish he would go to England: I think it would answer his purpose very well. At two, went to the riding-school: rode till half-past three. The day was bitter cold, with a piercing wicked wind riding through the grey sky. D—— and I walked to pay sundry calls. Met ——, whom we had not seen for two or three days—a most unusual circumstance. He walked home with us. D—— and I dined tête-à-tête. On returning home, I found a most lovely nosegay of real, delicious, fragrant flowers. Sweet crimson buds of the faint-breathing monthly rose; bright vivid dark green myrtle; the honey Daphne Odora, with its clusters of pinky-white blossoms; and the delicate bells of the tall white jasmine,—all sweet, and living, and fresh, as at midsummer: I was blissful! After dinner, I went in to Mrs. ——. Came back to the drawing-room. ——, who had taken the hint about our being alone in the evening, came in. I began making him sing, and taught him the Leaf and the Fountain: his voice sounded like when we were nearer home.
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Presently Mr. —— was announced. He was the author of the flowers.
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