We are starting to-morrow. I had a farewell ride this morning, hardly anyone in the Row, Dandy going beautifully (you know he is the chestnut I called after the famous horse in one of Charlie's stories), except a good kick from time to time, which is a bore, not only for me (I lost my hat the other day), but for the neighbours. We dined at Lord A.'s last night, and he gave us a funny account of his experience on the House of Lords boat. To begin with he had much difficulty in getting tickets, and could get none for his daughters, only himself and Lady A. (and he is Hereditary Lord Chamberlain), and when he finally did get on the boat he found it crowded with all sorts of unknown people, very few peers, and very little food. They were faint with hunger before the end of the day, so I told him about our handsome dinner and hospitable reception on our frigate. Bylandt then told us how badly they fared. They cruised about for some time in the "Helicon" after we got off, then finally the passengers begged to be landed. They were at last deposited at Portsmouth, and then made a rush for the buffet in the railway station, but that had been completely "devalise," there wasn't a crumb, not even a dry biscuit. Then they were conducted with much pomp to reserved carriages which were _locked_, and there they remained for over an hour, seeing various trains start, and at last arrived in London at one o'clock in the morning. Poor Bylandt was much disgusted. We thought a little of asking to keep the "Elan" for a week, and of doing the Cowes week, but W. thought on the whole it would be close quarters, and was not very keen about it. I should have liked it. We had all the staff who remain to dine to-night. London is curiously empty--all the chairs being taken away from the Park, which gives it a decided air of "fin de saison." _To G. K. S._ #Albert Gate House#, March 2, 1888. I have been back about two weeks and am quite settled again. I have always two or three disagreeable days when I first come back from France. The coal fires try me very much and I think regretfully of the enormous chimneys at Bourneville and the _trees_ that we burned there. We have a fog and it is very cold. Francis and I went to skate yesterday at the Botanical Gardens. The ice was very bad, there was very little room, and swarms of children struggling along on their little skates, but the outing was pleasant. I also went one day with a friend to Wimbledon, and that was better. We drove down and had a pleasant afternoon, but the ice was soft, and it was the end. Really though, in March in England, one could hardly expect to skate. March 8th.