And now we are upon vanities, what do you think is the reigning mode as to powder?--only turmeric, that coarse dye which stains yellow. The Goths and Vandals, the Picts and Saxons, are come again. It falls out of the hair, and stains the skin so that every pretty lady must look as yellow as a crocus, which I suppose will become a better compliment than as white as a lily. HANNAH MORE: _Letter to her sister, from Hampton_, 1782, in ‘Memoirs,’ by W. Roberts. * * * * * [Sidenote: A humorous situation.] The other evening they carried me to Mrs. Ord’s assembly; I was quite dressed for the purpose; Mrs. Garrick gave me an elegant cap, and put it on herself; so that I was quite sure of being smart; but how short-lived is all human joy! and see what it is to live in the country! When I came into the drawing-rooms I found them full of company, every human creature in deep mourning, and I, poor I, all gorgeous in scarlet. I never recollected that the mourning for some foreign Wilhelmina Jaquelina was not over. However, I got over it as well as I could, made an apology, lamented the _ignorance_ in which I had lately lived, and I hope this false step of mine will be buried in oblivion. HANNAH MORE: _Letter to her sister, from London_, 1780, in ‘Memoirs,’ by W. Roberts. * * * * * [Sidenote: Dislike of public diversions.] I find my dislike of what are called public diversions greater than ever, except a play; and when Garrick has left the stage, I could be very well contented to relinquish plays also, and to live in London, without ever again setting my foot in a public place. HANNAH MORE: _Letter to her sister, from London_, 1776, in ‘Memoirs,’ by W. Roberts. * * * * * I had no less than five invitations to dine abroad to-day, but preferred the precious and rare luxury of solitude. ‘Percy’ is acted again this evening: do any of you choose to go? I can write you an order: for my own part, I shall enjoy a much superior pleasure--that of sitting by the fire, in a great chair. HANNAH MORE: _Letters to her sister, from London_, 1777 and 1778, in ‘Memoirs,’ by W. Roberts. * * * * * On Monday I was at a very great assembly at the Bishop of St. Asaph’s. Conceive to yourself one hundred and fifty or two hundred people met together, dressed in the extremity of the fashion; painted as red as bacchanals; poisoning the air with perfumes; treading on each other’s gowns; making the crowd they blame; and not one in ten able to get a chair; protesting they are engaged to ten other places, and lamenting the fatigue they are not obliged to endure; ten or a dozen card-tables crammed with dowagers of quality, grave ecclesiastics, and yellow admirals; and you have an idea of an assembly. I never go to these things when I can possibly avoid it, and stay, when there, as few minutes as I can.