The dinner and evening was most lively, choruses, banjos (which is a favourite instrument in English houses), and every kind of game, including musical chairs--M. de Falbe at the piano. I think everyone played except the Falbes and ourselves. W. and Falbe retired afterwards to the smoking-room, and were deep in foreign politics. Falbe is a perfect type of the diplomatist, tall, good-looking, and a charming, courteous manner. We ladies went off about 11, and an hour later we heard the most unearthly noises in the house. All the men parading the corridors with banjos, bells, gongs, etc., and singing (if singing it can be called) at the top of their voices. They stopped at every door to serenade. The party breaks up to-morrow, and we all go back to London. _To G. K. S._ #London#, Sunday, January 17, 1886. We had a musical dinner last night for Miss Griswold and Albanesi, and they sang and played all the evening. Albanesi has a charming, delicate touch, and plays with all the Italian brio. He told me--what surprised me--that he was always frightfully nervous when playing in public, and much preoccupied with the "composition de la salle"--if he saw one or two unsympathetic faces he had at once a disagreeable sensation! Gertrude Griswold has always the same lovely voice with a beautiful clear ring in it, and sings most artistically. This morning we have been to church at St. Paul's. It is a fine service, a splendid organ, and very good well-trained choir--but not at all solemn. I felt as if I was in one of the great Catholic cathedrals in Italy. People were coming and going all the time, and walking about the church. It is so enormous that it is quite a walk from the big doors to the small (comparatively) enclosed space where the congregation assembles. I have been at home all the afternoon receiving--men only, which is a regular London custom. Adams came in at tea-time. He and W. always like to have a good talk over old times. They were at school and college together, and Adams, when he was Charge d'Affaires at the British Embassy, used to have all sorts of questions to treat with W., who was then Ministre des Affaires Etrangeres in Paris. They always began their conversations in French, and then fell into English, which of course they had always spoken together. To-night we have a small dinner for Rustem Pacha, and I have asked one or two people in the evening. I should like to be at home always on Sunday night, as we did in the Champs Elysees, but they tell me no English will come. Many of them don't go out on Sunday night, and don't take their horses out, and give servants a rest. I asked Lady A., who is very mondaine, if she would come to dinner to meet a few colleagues, and she said--"Dear Mme. Waddington, let me come another night; I never take out my carriage and servants on Sunday."