he had been at the party in female attire, and seeing Lady
Cork's anxiety to see the great man, returned home and equipped herself
to take in Lady C. and Co.

_Monday, 8 a.m., June 16th._

Yesterday, after Church, we went to the Park. It was a beautiful day,
and the Emperor may well be astonished at the population, for such a
crowd of people I could not have conceived, and such an animated crowd.
As the white plumes of the Emperor's guard danced among the trees, the
people all ran first to one side and then to the other; it was
impossible to resist the example, and we ran too, backwards and forwards
over the same hundred yards, four times, and were rewarded by seeing the
Ranger of the Forest, Lord Sydney, who preceded the Royal party, get a
good tumble, horse and all. We saw Lord Castlereagh almost pulled off
his horse by congratulations and huzzahs as loud as the Emperor's, and a
most entertaining walk we had.

We dined at Mr. Egerton's. Mr. Morritt[32] rather usurped the
conversation after dinner, but I was glad of him to save me from the
history of each lady's adventures in search of the Emperor or the
illuminations. The Opera must have been a grand sight; it seems
undoubted that the Emperor and Prince Regent, and all in the Royal box,
rose when the Princess of Wales came in and bowed to her--it is supposed
by previous arrangement. Lord Liverpool[33] declared that he would
resign unless something of the sort was done.

One man made forty guineas by opening his box door and allowing those in
the lobbies to take a peep for a guinea apiece. We made an attempt on
Saturday to get into the pit, but it was quite impossible. I would not
for the world but have been here during the fever, although what many
people complain of is very true, that it spoils all conversation and
society, and in another day or two I shall be quite tired of the sound
or sight of Emperors.

The merchants and bankers invited the Emperor to dinner; he said he had
no objection if they would promise him it should not exceed
three-quarters of an hour, on which Sir William Curtis lifted up his
hands and exclaimed, "God bless me!"

He is tired to death with the long sittings he is obliged to undergo.
The stories of him quite bring one back to the "Arabian Nights," and
they could not have chosen a more appropriate ballet for him than "Le
Calife Voleur."

If he stayed long enough, he might revolutionise the hours of London.

I was close to Blueche