At eight, went to the theatre. The house was, in consequence of the raised prices, only three parts full. I just caught a glimpse of Forrest in the fourth act of Brutus. What an enormous man he is! After the play came sundry songs and recitations, and then Katharine and Petruchio. I did not play well: the actors were very inattentive, as well as stupid, and annoyed my father very much. The pit was half filled with women, opera fashion, who, for the greater attraction of the night, and satisfaction of themselves, were allowed to sit out of their proper places: to be sure they had the pleasure of the society of the volunteer heroes, who, for the benefit of Mr. ----, were all in full uniform. What an absurdity! Swallowed an ice. Saw ----, also Mr. ----, and young ---- behind the scenes. Came home and supped. Colonel ---- called, and discussed, first, the farce on the boards; then the farce before the curtain; finally, the farce of life, which, to my mind, is but a melancholy one. _Friday, 30th._ How the time goes! Bless the old traveller, how he posts along! After breakfast, Mrs. ---- and her son, and Mr. ---- called. I like the latter; his manners are very good, and he is altogether more like a gentleman than most men here. When they were gone, walked out with my father to ----'s. The day was grey, and cold, and damp--a real November day, such as we know them. We held the good man's note, and steered our course by it, and in process of time entered a garden, passed through a green-house, and arrived in an immense and most singularly-arranged seed-shop, with galleries running round it, and the voice of a hundred canaries resounding through it. I don't know why, but it reminded me of a place in the Arabian Nights. "Is Mr. ---- within?" shouted forth my father, seeing no one in this strange-looking abode. "Yes, he is," was replied from somewhere, by somebody. We looked about, and presently, with his little grey bullet head, and shrewd piercing eyes, just appearing above the counter, we detected the master of the house. My father stepped up to him with an air like the Duke of ----, and, returning his coarse curiously-folded note to him, said, "I presume I am addressing Mr. ----: this, sir," drawing me forward, "is Miss Fanny Kemble." The little man snatched off his spectacles, rushed round the counter, rubbed his enormous hand upon his blue stuff apron, and held it out to us with a most hearty welcome. He looked at us for some time, and then exclaimed, "Ha! ye're her father. Well, ye'll have married pretty early--ye look very young: I should not have been sae much surprised if ye had called her ye're wife!" I laughed, and my father smiled at this compliment, which was recommended by a broad Scotch twang, which always sounds sweetly in my ears. The little man, whose appearance is that of a dwarf in some fairy tale, then went on to tell us how Galt had written a book all about him; how it was, almost word for word, his own story; how