We went to tea with Lady Diana Huddleston, who has a pretty cottage close to the course, and sat under the trees some time. I had refused a dinner in London, and was in no hurry to get back. We quite expected to see the Emperor's death in the evening papers, but he seems to have rallied again a little. Poor man, how terrible it is the way he fights for his life--and he has known from the first, they say, that there was no hope. I am so sorry for her--she is so clever, so ambitious, and would have done so much for Germany. #Woburn Abbey#, June 15, 1888. We arrived here yesterday for tea. It had rained hard in the morning. W. and I were riding and were taking our usual quick canter at the far end of the Park (Marble Arch) when the storm began. We got home as fast as we could, but were dripping, both of us. The water poured off my hat like a shower-bath when I took it off. We had just time to get dry and dress before starting for the station where we found the Duke's[10] regisseur waiting for us with a "wagon-salon." We had a short railway journey through pretty English village country; then a drive of half an hour brought us here. The Park is enormous, fine trees and beautifully green--such a rest after London smoke. The house is very large, with a great square court and corridors running all around it filled with family and historical pictures. The Duchess and her daughters were waiting for us in the morning room. We had tea and almost immediately went upstairs, as it was late. I have a charming big room with such views over the Park. There are always in these large houses lovely bits of old furniture, pictures, old china, etc. The dinner was handsome--quantities of gold and silver plate, and the table covered with azaleas. The Duke talked a great deal. He speaks French and German like a native (was brought up in Germany) and has the courteous, dignified manner of the old-fashioned English gentleman--a little stiff perhaps (they say people, even his children, are afraid of him), but I find him most attractive, particularly in these days when people haven't time apparently to be polite. The house party is small--Lord Tavistock, son of the house, with his handsome wife, Lady Ampthill, widow of Lord Ampthill (whom you will remember well as Odo Russell in Rome, and who was for years British Ambassador in Berlin). We saw him there when we stopped three or four days on our way to Moscow for the Coronation. They loved him in Berlin, just as they did in Rome. Do you remember how much put out all the women were there when his engagement was announced? Lady Ampthill looks sad, and is of course most anxious about the Emperor Frederick, and eager for news, she knew him and the Empress so well at Berlin. There is also Boehm, the sculptor, and one or two young men. The evening was short, everyone talking of course about the Emperor. The Duke says his death will be an immense loss to the whole world. The