Rose at eight. After breakfast, trimmed a cap, and wrote to dear ----. The streets were in an uproar all night, people shouting and bonfires blazing; in short, electioneering fun, which seems to be pretty much the same all the world over. Clay has it hollow here, they say: I wonder what Colonel ---- will say to that. At twelve o'clock, sallied forth with D---- to rehearsal. The theatre is very pretty; not large but well sized, and, I should think, favourably constructed for the voice. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Unless Aldabella is irresistibly lovely, as well as wicked, there is no accounting for the conduct of Fazio. My own idea of her, as well as Milman's description, is every thing that can be conceived of splendid in beauty, sparkling in wit, graceful in deportment, gorgeous in apparel, and deep and dangerous in crafty wiliness; in short, the old serpent in the shape of Mrs. ----. I wish Mrs. ---- would act that part: I could act it well enough, but she would both act and look it, to the very life. After rehearsal, walked about the town in quest of some _coques de perle_ for my Bianca dress: could not procure any. I like this town extremely: there is a look of comfort and cleanliness, and withal of age about it, which pleases me. It is quieter, too, than New York, and though not so gay, for that very reason is more to my fancy; the shops, too, have a far better appearance. New York always gave me the idea of an irregular collection of temporary buildings, erected for some casual purpose, full of life, animation, and variety, but not meant to endure for any length of time; a fair, in short. This place has a much more substantial, sober, and city-like appearance. Came home at half-past two. In the hall met Mr. ----, who is grown ten years younger since I saw him last: it always delights me to see one of my fellow-passengers, and I am much disappointed in not finding ---- here. Dined at three; after dinner, read my father some of my journal; went on with letter to ----, and then went and dressed myself. Took coffee, and adjourned to the theatre. The house was very full, but not so full as the Park on the first night of his acting in New York, which accounts for the greater stillness of the audience. I watched my father narrowly through his part to-night with great attention and some consequent fatigue, and the conclusion I have come to is this: that though his workmanship may be, and is, far finer _in the hand_ than that of any other artist I ever saw, yet its very minute accuracy and refinement renders it unfit for the frame in which it is exhibited. Whoever should paint a scene calculated for so large a space as a theatre, and destined to be viewed at the distance from which an audience beholds it, with the laborious finish and fine detail of a miniature, would commit a great error in judgment. Nor would he have the least right to complain,