This morning baby was dressed in a beautiful embroidered white frock and blue sash, blue kid shoes, laced with blue ribbon, and blue silk sack fastened with a blue girdle, and a hat trimmed with blue and gray. Her long curls streamed out beneath: She was thus arrayed to visit Portland Place and the Sturgis children. Una looked very lovely in her summer cloud-muslin. Mr. Bright came at twelve o'clock, bringing five or six superb photographs of Cologne; I never saw any so splendid. Then we started for the Crystal Palace. It has been one of the divinest days--one of our days, like that at Stratford-on-Avon.' When we got into the cab, however, Mr. Bright proposed to go to the Houses of Parliament first, and then at last concluded to give up the Crystal Palace, and see the sights of London instead. So we drove to the old St. James's Palace Yard. But a police-officer said we could only go in on Saturday, and then by a ticket from the Lord Chamberlain. I knew that, but supposed Mr. Bright had some other means of gaining admittance. He had not, nevertheless. He took us (Julian was with me) over Westminster Bridge. . . . We went into the Photographic Exhibition of persons and places at the Crimea, which was just like taking up groups of the army and putting them before one's eyes. It must be of wonderful interest to the relatives and friends of those who are there. The room was full of fine-looking, aristocratic people. From this we drove to Kensington Gardens; and I must say, my dear lord, that I never imagined any place so grand and majestic, so royal and superb, as those grounds. The trees--oh, the trees--every one of them kings, emperors, and Czars; so tall, so rich, and the lawn beneath them so sunny-velvet green, all made illustrious by the clearest warm sunshine, and a soft, sweet air. The magnificent groves of trees all round; and far off in the terminus, the towers and pinnacles of the Parliament Houses, and Westminster Abbey towers, rise into the clear sky over the blue waters of the Serpentine. A pretty yacht, with one white wing, slowly moved along. Large, princely lambs grazed on the sunny lawns. I think that thou wouldst have asked no more in the way of a park. We sat down on a felled tree and talked awhile. I would almost give a kingdom to sit on the tree again, with thee. Was not Mr. Bright good and lovely to devote his only whole day in London to me? He certainly is the most amiable and hospitable of mortals. THY DOVE. My mother writes of Miss Bacon, who put Lord Bacon in that place in her heart where Shakespeare should have been:--