my dresses, which cost my poor mother sad trouble, and were really beautiful.  My first was an open skirt of the palest pink levantine, shot with white and the deepest rose-color (it was like a gown made of strawberries and cream), the folds of which, as the light fell upon them, produced the most beautiful shades of shifting hues possible.  The under-dress was a very pale blue satin, brocaded with silver, of which my sleeves were likewise made; the fashion of the costume was copied from sundry pictures of Titian and Paul Veronese—­the pointed body, cut square over the bosom and shoulders, with a full white muslin shirt drawn round my neck, and wide white sleeves within the large blue and silver brocade ones. Comprenez-vous all this?  My head was covered with diamonds (not real; I’m anxious for my character), and what delighted me much more was that I had jewels in the roses of my shoes.  I think if I had been Portia I never would have worn any ornaments but two large diamonds in my shoe bows.  You see, it shows a pretty good stock of diamonds and a careless superiority to such possessions to wear them on one’s feet.  Now pray don’t laugh at me, I was so enchanted with my fine shoes!  This was my first dress; the second was simply the doctor’s black gown, with a curious little authentic black velvet hat, which was received with immense applause when I put it on; I could hardly keep my countenance at the effect my hat produced.  My third dress, my own favorite, was made exactly like the first, the ample skirt gathered all round into the stomacher body; the material was white satin, trimmed with old point lace and Roman pearls, with a most beautiful crimson velvet hat, a perfect Rubens, with one sweeping white feather falling over it....

We are spending our holiday of Passion week here for the sake of a little quiet and fresh air; we had intended going to Dover, but were prevented.  You ask me after my mother:  she is pretty well now, but her health is extremely uncertain, and her spirits, which are likewise very variable, have so much influence over it that her condition fluctuates constantly; she has been very well, though, for the last few days.  London, I think, never agrees with her, and we have been racketing to such a degree that quiet had become not only desirable but necessary.  Thank you for wishing me plenty of dancing.  I have abundance of it, and like it extremely; but I fear I am very unreasonable about it, for my conscience smote me the other day when I came to consider that the night before, although my mother had stayed at a ball with me till three in the morning, I was by no means gracious in my obedience to her request that I should spare myself for my work.  You see, dear H——­, I am much the same as ever, still as foolishly fond of dancing, and still, I fear, almost as far from “begetting a temperance in all things” as when you and I wandered about Heath Farm together.

We met with a comical little adventure