“To the young lady in the little blue hat? With pleasure.” I was only able to have a few words with him when L. hurried him away to meet some one else. He is scarcely over forty, about five feet, ten inches tall, a full intelligent head, heavy masses of clinging wavy hair silvered by sorrows. A very fine delicate skin through which the blood mantles at the least excuse, handsome, well-marked features, and eyes with clear blue whites such as one rarely sees except in children, the iris the most sparkling blue I ever saw, great wells of color like nothing in the world but the blue of the Gulf Stream, as we seasick wretches saw it from the old _Tybee_. Heavy, not too heavy eyebrows and moustache. Friday night we dined with Mr. Tom Appleton and went afterwards to see Sothern as Dundreary; he was funnier than ever. The following Thursday I dined with Millie Townsend to meet him. He remembered me. A charming little dinner; Mr. Sothern was wonderful, but Mr. Appleton, with his utter egotism, usurped too much of the conversation. Sothern did some tricks with a silver water pitcher, which he made [Illustration: EDWARD ASKEW SOTHERN From a photograph by Sarony] heavy or light at his will. He asked Lucy to lift it, which she did with ease. He then placed his hand over it and Lucy only just managed to lift it from the table. Saturday afternoon to see Dundreary again, better than ever. That night Mr. Sothern kindly sent me his box for “David Garrick.” Our party was Doctor and Mrs. Townsend, Lucy, Porter, Munzig, Arthur Clark, and Frank Abbott. David Garrick was the most wonderful piece of acting I ever saw. Mr. Sothern and his son came into the box; he gave me the rose he wore and I gave him my boutonnière, which he wore in the next act. He came again after the play and took us behind the scenes. There was an enthusiastic house; he was called out four times and made a speech, bowing low to our box as he left the stage. Sunday Lucy had a farewell dinner for him. In evening dress he looked handsomer than ever. We were all sorry enough to say good-by to him for eighteen months, when he returns to Boston. In these years we were again living at Green Peace. South Boston was now more accessible than when my mother first went to live there. My sister, Laura Richards, lived in the next house, where three of her seven children were born. There was much coming and going of Halls, Howes, Parkses, Wards, McAllisters, and Francises, with the newly added clans of my brother-in-law’s people, Richardses, and Gardiners. The journal gives glimpses of a gay household with the “young marrieds” next door and flocks of young people coming out for high tea on Sunday. One day’s record shows the varied character of the guests at Green Peace.