emed quite at
home. As to the company, there was just everybody in London (except that
little million and a half that you wot of,)--the Chancellor, and the
First Lord of the Admiralty, and Sydney Smith, and Lord Mansfield, and
all the Barings and the Fitzclarences, and a hideous Russian spy, whose
face I see everywhere, with a star on his coat. During the interval
between the delights of "I tuoi frequenti," and the ecstasies of "Se tu
m'ami," I contrived to squeeze up to Lord Lansdowne. I was shaking hands
with Sir James Macdonald, when I heard a command behind us: "Sir James,
introduce me to Mr. Macaulay;" and we turned, and there sate a large
bold-looking woman, with the remains of a fine person, and the air of
Queen Elizabeth. "Macaulay," said Sir James, "let me present you to Lady
Holland." Then was her ladyship gracious beyond description, and asked
me to dine and take a bed at Holland House next Tuesday. I accepted
the dinner, but declined the bed, and I have since repented that I so
declined it. But I probably shall have an opportunity of retracting on
Tuesday.

To-night I go to another musical party at Marshall's, the late M.P.
for Yorkshire. Everybody is talking of Paganini and his violin. The man
seems to be a miracle. The newspapers say that long streamy flakes of
music fall from his string, interspersed with luminous points of sound
which ascend the air and appear like stars. This eloquence is quite
beyond me.

Ever yours

T. B. M.

London: May 28, 1831.

My dear Hannah,--More gaieties and music-parties; not so fertile of
adventures as that memorable masquerade whence Harriet Byron was carried
away; but still I hope that the narrative of what passed there will
gratify "the venerable circle." Yesterday I dressed, called a cab, and
was whisked away to Hill Street. I found old Marshall's house a very
fine one. He ought indeed to have a fine one; for he has, I believe, at
least thirty thousand a year. The carpet was taken up, and chairs were
set out in rows, as if we had been at a religious meeting. Then we
had flute-playing by the first flute-player in England, and
pianoforte-strumming by the first pianoforte-strummer in England,
and singing by all the first singers in England, and Signor Rubini's
incomparable tenor, and Signor Curioni's incomparable counter-tenor, and
Pasta's incomparable expression. You who know how airs much inferior
to these take my soul, and lap it in Elysium, will form some faint