Dear relations, I vary twenty times a day. Sometimes in transport, sometimes in despair. 

In transport when, as last night, I sat in the dark corner of my box at the Italian Opera listening to Zuchelli, Cinti, and La Signora Mombelli, a little woman with a voice and articulation that charmed me. In despair when peeping out between the acts I beheld Hyde Parker and Onslow ogling the atmosphere, Aldborough and Bagration, like two old nettles in a box, dressed à I'énfance, Lady Mildmay in another, beautiful as ever but cut in brass.