Thursday, April 11, 1839.

We had Mrs. A., Mrs. L., and Mrs. R. to dinner yesterday, as we find it the best way to dine the most companionable ladies en famille, when we can furnish gentlemen enough of our own, to hand them in to dinner.

G. ought to dress himself as an abbot and with his four attendant monks receive as many nuns as the table will hold: the dress would make all the difference, and otherwise I do not see how society is to be carried on this year.

Friday, April 12.

I wish my box of gowns would ever arrive, don't you? I believe now, if I see it when we go down from the hills this year, I shall be lucky. Do you recollect sending me a pink striped gown, a long time ago, by a Mr. R.? I had it made up only lately and put it on new last night: it was beautifully made, ‘and I never looked more truly lovely!’ but there was an odd rent in the sleeve which, Wright said, must be the tailor's fault. I put on my sash and heard an odd crack under the arm, then Chance jumped into my lap, and there was an odd crack in front.