The next day Rev. Mr. Haweis sent his carriage, and we drove in the Park.  In the afternoon we went to our Minister’s to see the American ladies who had been presented at the drawing-room.  After this, both of us were glad to pass a day or two in comparative quiet, except that we had a room full of visitors.  So many persons expressed a desire to make our acquaintance that we thought it would be acceptable to them if we would give a reception ourselves.  We were thinking how we could manage it with our rooms at the hotel, which were not arranged so that they could be thrown together.  Still, we were planning to make the best of them, when Dr. and Mrs. Priestley suggested that we should receive our company at their house.  This was a surprise, and a most welcome one, and A——­ and her kind friend busied themselves at once about the arrangements.

We went to a luncheon at Lansdowne House, Lord Rosebery’s residence, not far from our hotel.  My companion tells a little incident which may please an American six-year-old:  “The eldest of the four children, Sibyl, a pretty, bright child of six, told me that she wrote a letter to the Queen.  I said, ‘Did you begin, Dear Queen?’ ‘No,’ she answered, ’I began, Your Majesty, and signed myself, Your little humble servant, Sibyl.’” A very cordial and homelike reception at this great house, where a couple of hours were passed most agreeably.

On the following Sunday I went to Westminster Abbey to hear a sermon from Canon Harford on A Cheerful Life.  A lively, wholesome, and encouraging discourse, such as it would do many a forlorn New England congregation good to hear.  In the afternoon we both went together to the Abbey.  Met our Beverly neighbor, Mrs. Vaughan, and adopted her as one of our party.  The seats we were to have were full, and we had to be stowed where there was any place that would hold us.  I was smuggled into a stall, going through long and narrow passages, between crowded rows of people, and found myself at last with a big book before me and a set of official personages around me, whose duties I did not clearly understand.  I thought they might be mutes, or something of that sort, salaried to look grave and keep quiet.  After service we took tea with Dean Bradley, and after tea we visited the Jerusalem Chamber.  I had been twice invited to weddings in that famous room:  once to the marriage of my friend Motley’s daughter, then to that of Mr. Frederick Locker’s daughter to Lionel Tennyson, whose recent death has been so deeply mourned.  I never expected to see that Jerusalem in which Harry the Fourth died, but there I found myself in the large panelled chamber, with all its associations.  The older memories came up but vaguely; an American finds it as hard to call back anything over two or three centuries old as a sucking-pump to draw up water from a depth of over thirty-three feet and a fraction.  After this A——­ went to a musical party, dined with the Vaughans, and had a good time among American friends.