ore taking the sacrament. I suppose
the publican in the parable had not prepared his prayer, and I
suppose he would have been a worthy communicant.

They came in and sat a long time with my mother talking about Sir
Thomas Lawrence, of whom she spoke as a perfect riddle. I think he
was a dangerous person, because his experience and genius made him
delightfully attractive, and the dexterity of his flattery amounted
in itself to a fine art. The talk then fell upon the possibility of
friendship existing between men and women without sooner or later
degenerating, on one part or the other, into love. The French
rhymster sings--

"Trop tot, helas, l'amour s'enflamme,
Et je sens qu'il est mal aise;
Que l'ami d'une belle dame,
Ne soit un amant deguise."

My father came in while the ladies were still here, and Mrs.
Procter behaved admirably well about her husband's play....

I do think it is too bad of the management to have made use of my
name in rejecting that piece, when, Heaven knows, so far from
_rejecting_, I never even _object_ to anything I am bidden to do;
that is, never visibly or audibly....

Mrs. P---- called, and the talk became political and lugubriously
desponding, and I suddenly found myself inspired with a
contradictory vein of hopefulness, and became vehement in its
defense. In spite of all the disastrous forebodings I constantly
have, I cannot but trust that the spread of enlightenment and
general progress of intelligence in the people of this country--the
good judgment of those who have power and the moderation of those
who desire improvement--will effect a change without a _crash_ and
achieve reform without revolution.

_Wednesday, May 18th._--My mother and I started at two o'clock for
Oatlands. The day was very enjoyable, for the dust and mitigated
east wind were in our backs; the carriage was open, and the sun was
almost too powerful, though the earth has not yet lost its first
spring freshness, nor the trees, though full fledged, their early
vivid green. The turf has not withered with the heat, and the
hawthorn lay thick and fragrant on every hedge, like snow that the
winter had forgotten to melt, and the sky above was bright and
clear, and I was very happy. I had taken "The Abbot" with me,