John’s reception at Sheffield equalled anything of the kind I had ever seen in our “high and palmy” days.  So little had we expected any reception, that when we arrived at the station and saw the crowds on the platform I could not think what was the matter, and it was not till there was a general rush towards our carriage and shouts of John’s name that I understood it was meant for him.  From the station we had to drive all through the town to Alderman Hoole’s villa; it was one loud and long triumph.  John and Mr. Hoole and I were in an open carriage, the children following in a closed one.  We went at a foot’s pace, followed and surrounded by such an ocean of human beings as I should not have thought all Sheffield could produce, cheering, throwing up caps and hats, thrusting great hard hands into the carriage for John to shake, proposing to take off the horses and draw us, etc.  Windows and balconies all thronged with waving women and children, and bells ringing so lustily as to drown John’s voice when, at Mr. Hoole’s request, he stood up on the seat and made a little speech.  All this honour from one of the most warlike towns in the kingdom will surprise you, no doubt; indeed, I am not sure that you will quite approve.

    PEMBROKE LODGE, December 25, 1857

A bright and lovely Christmas....  Sat more than an hour in the sunny South summer-house, listening to birds singing and boys and little May [51] talking and laughing....  Dear, darling children, how I grudge each day that passes and hurries you on beyond blessed childhood....  I am too happy—­there can hardly be a change that will not make me less so....  A glorious sunset brought the glorious day to an end.

[51] Mary Agatha.

    Lady John Russell to Lady Charlotte Portal

    PEMBROKE LODGE, December 26, 1857

I cannot remember a happier Christmas than ours has been, and I am sure nobody can remember a milder or brighter Christmas sky.  I sat more than an hour yesterday in the sunny South summer-house, listening to the songs of the blackbirds and thrushes, who have lost all count of the seasons, and to the merry voices of the boys and little May, and thinking of many things besides, and wishing I could lay my hand on old Father Time and stop him in his flight, for he cannot bring me any change for the better, and he must very soon take away one of the best joys of my daily life, since he must take away childhood from my bairnies.

In the meantime I know I am not ungrateful, and when the little boys in their evening prayer thanked God for making it “such a happy Christmas,” oh! how I thanked Him too.  We have had a Christmas-tree, and for many days before its appearance the children were in a state of ungovernable spirits, full of indescribable fun and mischief, and making indescribable uproar.  John has been by no means the least merry of the