For us to be annoyed when any of our institutions are commented upon, is in the highest degree absurd; it would do well enough for Naples, but it does not do for America.

There were some curious old customs observed at this dinner which interested me as peculiar.  About the middle of the feast, the official who performed all the announcing made the declaration that the lord mayor and lady mayoress would pledge the guests in a loving cup.  They then rose, and the official presented them with a massive gold cup, full of wine, in which they pledged the guests.  It then passed down the table, and the guests rose, two and two, each tasting and presenting to the other.  My fair informant told me that this was a custom which had come down from the most ancient time.

The banquet was enlivened at intervals by songs from professional singers, hired for the occasion.  After the banquet was over, massive gold basins, filled with rose water, slid along down the table, into which the guests dipped their napkins—­an improvement, I suppose, on the doctrine of finger glasses, or perhaps the primeval form of the custom.

We rose from table between eleven and twelve o’clock—­that is, we ladies—­and went into the drawing room, where I was presented to Mrs. Dickens and several other ladies.  Mrs. Dickens is a good specimen of a truly English woman; tall, large, and well developed, with fine, healthy color, and an air of frankness, cheerfulness, and reliability.  A friend whispered to me that she was as observing, and fond of humor, as her husband.

After a while the gentlemen came back to the drawing room, and I had a few moments of very pleasant, friendly conversation with Mr. Dickens.  They are both people that one could not know a little of without desiring to know more.

I had some conversation with the lady mayoress.  She said she had been invited to meet me at Stafford House on Saturday, but should be unable to attend, as she had called a meeting on the same day of the city ladies, for considering the condition of milliners and dressmakers, and to form a society for their relief to act in conjunction with that of the west end.

After a little we began to talk of separating; the lord mayor to take his seat in the House of Commons, and the rest of the party to any other engagement that might be upon their list.

“Come, let us go to the House of Commons,” said one of my friends, “and make a night of it.”  “With all my heart,” replied I, “if I only had another body to go into to-morrow.”

What a convenience in sight-seeing it would be if one could have a relay of bodies, as of clothes, and go from one into the other.  But we, not used to the London style of turning night into day, are full weary already; so, good night.

LETTER XIV.

ROSE COTTAGE, WALWORTH, LONDON, May 2.

MY DEAR:—­

This morning Mrs. Follen called, and we had quite a long chat together.  We are separated by the whole city.  She lives at West End, while I am down here in Walworth, which is one of the postscripts of London; for London has as many postscripts as a lady’s letter—­little suburban villages which have been overtaken by the growth, of the city, and embraced in its arms.  I like them a great deal better than the city, for my part.