t addition to my own enjoyment, I
want to appoint that time for our visit to the Duke of Rutland. That,
however, happens about the 20th of March, when I expected you to be with
us; but if, by coming earlier, you can give me as long a visit as you
had promised me, without inconveniencing yourself, I shall be glad, dear
Harriet; for though _we_ can go to Belvoir at any time before or after
March, I wish my sister not to lose a pleasant visit to a beautiful
place.

To tell you the truth, it would be a great pleasure to me that you
should come so much sooner than I had reckoned upon having you; and as
Emily and I trotted round Portman Square together to-day, we both made
out that, if you come into this arrangement, you will be here on Tuesday
week, which appears to me in itself delightful. Let me know, dear, what
you decide, as I shall not answer the Duke of Rutland until I have heard
from you.

I promise myself much pleasure from seeing Belvoir. The place, with
which I am familiar through engravings and descriptions, is a fine house
in one of the finest situations in England; and the idea of being out of
London once more, in the country and on horseback, is superlatively
agreeable to me.

And now, my dearest, to answer your letter, which I got this morning.
For pity's sake, let Lady Westmoreland rest, for the present; we will
take her up again, if expedient, when we meet.... The Duke of Wellington
called here the other day, and brought an exceedingly pretty bracelet
and amiable note to my sister; both which, as you may suppose, she
values highly, as she ought to do.

About the cheering of the Queen on her way to Parliament the other day,
I incline to think the silence was universal, for everybody with whom I
was observed it, except Charles Greville, who swore she was applauded;
but then he is deaf, and therefore hears what no one else can. Moreover,
the majority of spectators were by no means well-dressed people; the
streets were thronged with pure mobocracy, to a degree unprecedented on
any previous occasion of the sort, and, though there was no exhibition
of ill-feeling towards the Queen or any of the ministers, there was no
demonstration of good will beyond the usual civility of lifting the hats
as she passed. Indeed, Horace Wilson told me that, when he was crossing
the park at the time of her driving through it, there was some--though
not much--decided hissing.

Your lamentation over my want of curiosity reminds