Dined with a pleasant party at Lord Gower’s.  Lady Gower is a beautiful woman, and extremely courteous.  Mrs. Arkwright was of the party.  I am getting well acquainted with her, and think I can see a great deal of sense mixed with her accomplishment.

May 11.—­Breakfasted with Dr. Maltby, preacher in Lincoln’s Inn.  He was to have been the next Bishop, if the Whigs had held their ground.  His person, manners, and attainments would have suited the lawn sleeves well.  I heard service in the chapel, which is a very handsome place of worship; it is upstairs, which seems extraordinary, and the space beneath forms cloisters, in which the ancient Benchers of this Society of Lincoln’s Inn are entered.  I met my old friend Sir William Grant,[196] and had some conversation with him.  Dr. Maltby gave us a good sermon upon the introduction of the Gospel.  There was only one monument in the chapel, a handsome tablet to the memory of Perceval.  The circumstance that it was the only monument in the chapel of a society which had produced so many men of talents and distinction was striking—­it was a tribute due to the suddenness of his strange catastrophe.  There is nothing very particular in the hall of Lincoln’s Inn, nor its parlour, which are like those of a college.  Indeed the whole establishment has a monastic look.

Sat to Northcote, who only requires (Deo gratias) another sitting.  Dined with his Majesty in a very private party—­five or six only being present.  I was received most kindly as usual.  It is impossible to conceive a more friendly manner than his Majesty used towards me.  I spoke to S.W.K. about the dedication of the collected works, and he says it will be highly well taken.[197]

I went after the party broke up to Mrs. Scott of Harden, where I made acquaintance with her beautiful kinswoman, Lady Sarah Ponsonby, whose countenance is really seraphic and totally devoid of affectation.

May 12.—­Old George II. was, as is well known, extremely passionate.  On these occasions his small stock of English totally failed him, and he used to express his indignation in the following form:  “G—­d—­n me, who I am?  Got d—­n you, who you be?” Lockhart and I visited a Mrs. Quillinan,[198] with whom Wordsworth and his wife have pitched their tent.  I was glad to see my old friend, whose conversation has so much that is fresh and manly in it.  I do not at all acquiesce in his system of poetry, and I think he has injured his own fame by adhering to it.  But a better or more sensible man I do not know than W.W.

Afterwards Lockhart and I called on Miss Nicolson, and from thence I wandered down into that immense hash of a city to see Heath, and fortunately caught hold on him.  All this made me too late for Northcote,—­who was placable, however.[199]

Dined at Sir John Shelley’s, a petit couvert.  Here were the Duke of Wellington, Duke of Rutland, and only one or two more, particularly Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot.  The evening was very pleasant, and did not break up till twelve at night.