June 20.—­Thanksgiving Service at St. Paul’s for the Queen’s Jubilee.  Went with Edy and Henry.  Not at all adequate to the occasion was the ceremony.  The Te Deum rather good, the sermon sensible, but the whole uninspired, unimpassioned and dull.  The Prince and Princess looked splendid.

June 22.—­To Lady Glenesk’s, Piccadilly.  Wonderfullest sight I ever saw.  All was perfect, but the little Queen herself more dignified than the whole procession put together!  Sarah B. was in her place at the Glenesks’ at six in the morning.  Bancroft made a Knight.  Mrs. Alma-Tadema’s “at home.”  Paderewski played.  What a divinely beautiful face!

July 14.—­The Women’s Jubilee Dinner at the Grafton Galleries.  Too ill to go.  My guests were H.I., Burne-Jones, Max Beerbohm, W. Nicholson, Jimmy Pryde, Will Rothenstein, Graham Robertson, Richard Hardig Davis, Laurence Irving, Ted and Edy.

     December 11.—­(In Manchester.) Poor old Fussie dropped down a
     trap 30 feet and died in a second.

     December 16.—­Willie Terriss was murdered this evening. 
     Newspapers sent me a wire for “expressions of sympathy"!!

January 22, 1901.—­(Tenterden.) Nine o’clock evening and the bell is tolling for our dearest Queen—­Victoria, who died this evening just before seven o’clock—­a grand, wise, good woman.  A week ago she was driving out regularly.  The courage of it!

     January 23.—­To Rye (from Winchelsea).  The King proclaimed in the
     Market Place.  The ceremony only took about five minutes.  Very dull
     and undignified until the National Anthem, which upset us all.

January 26.—­London last night when I arrived might have been Winchelsea when the sun goes down on all our wrath and arguments.  No one in the streets ... empty buses crawling along.  Black boards up at every shop window.  All the gas half-mast high as well as the flags.  I never saw such a mournful city, but why should they turn the gas down?  Thrift, thrift, Horatio!

February 2.—­The Queen’s Funeral.  From a balcony in S. James’s I saw the most wonderful sight I have ever seen.  The silence was extraordinary....  The tiny coffin on the gun-carriage drawn by the cream-colored ponies was the most pathetic, impressive object in all that great procession.  All the grandest carriages were out for the occasion.  The King and the German Emperor rode side by side....  The young Duke of Coburg, the Duchess of Albany’s son, like Sir Galahad.  I slept at Bridgewater House, but on my way to St. James’s from there my clothes were torn and I was half squeezed to death.  One man called out to me:  “Ah, now you know what it feels like at the pit door, Miss Terry.”

April 15.—­Lyceum.  “Coriolanus” produced.  Went home directly