my first visit to London. Having been educated abroad, it really
seems like coming to a strange city. At first the smoke, dirt and
noise were very disagreeable, but I soon got used to these things,
and now find all I see perfectly charming.
We plunged at once into a whirl of gayety and I have had no time
to think of anything but pleasure. It is the height of the season, and
every hour is engaged either in going to balls, concerts, theatres,
f^tes and church, or in preparing for them. We often go to two or
three parties in an evening, and seldom get home till morning, so
of course we don’t rise till noon next day. This leaves very little
time for our drives, shopping, and calls before dinner at eight, and
then the evening gayeties begin again.
At a ball at Lady Russell’s last night, I saw the Prince of Wales,
and danced in the set with him. He is growing stout, and looks
dissipated. I was disappointed in him, for neither in appearance
nor conversation was he at all princely. I was introduced to a very
brilliant and delightful young gentleman from America. I was
charmed with him, and rather surprised to learn that he wrote the
poems which were so much admired last season, also that he is the
son of a rich tailor. How odd these Americans are, with their
money, and talent, and independence!
O my dear, I must not forget to tell you the great event of my first
season. I am to be presented at the next Drawing Room! Think
how absorbed I must be in preparation for this grand affair.
Mamma is resolved that I shall do her credit, and we have spent
the last two weeks driving about from milliners to mantua-makers,
from merchants to jewellers. I am to wear white satin and plumes,
pearls and roses. My dress will cost a hundred pounds or more, and
is very elegant.
My cousins and friends lavish lovely things upon me, and you will
open your unsophisticated eyes when I display my silks and laces,
trinkets and French hats, not to mention billet deux, photographs,
and other relics of a young belle’s first season.
You ask if I ever think of home. I really have n’t time, but I do
sometimes long a little for the quiet, the pure air and the girlish
amusements I used to enjoy so much. One gets pale, and old, and
sadly fagged out, with all this dissipation, pleasant as it is. I feel
quite blas, already.
If you could send me the rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and gay spirits I
always had at home, I ‘d thank you. As you cannot do that, please
send me a bottle of June rain water, for my maid tells me it is
better than any cosmetic for the complexion, and mine is getting
ruined by late hours.
I fancy some fruit off our own trees would suit me, for I have no
appetite, and mamma is quite desol,e about me. One cannot live
on French cookery without dyspepsia, and one can get nothing
simple here, for food, like everything else, is regulated by the
fashion.
Adieu, ma chSre, I must dress for church. I only wish you could
see my new hat and go with me, for Lord Rockingham promised to
be there.
Adieu, yours eternally, FLORENCE.
“Yes, I do like that better, and I wish I had been in this girl’s place,
don’t you, Polly?” said Fan, as grandma took off her glasses.
“I should love to go to London, and have a good time, but I don’t
think I should care about spending ever so much money, or going
to Court. Maybe I might when I got there, for I do like fun and
splendor,” added honest Polly, feeling that pleasure was a very
tempting thing.
“Grandma looks tired; let ‘s go and play in the dwying-woom,” said
Maud, who found the conversation getting beyond her depth.
“Let us all kiss and thank grandma, for amusing us so nicely,
before we go,” whispered Polly. Maud and Fanny agreed, and
grandma looked so gratified by their thanks, that Tom followed