We took the coach to London, and filled it inside and out, with ourselves and three servants. The road to London is in some parts very pretty. At about one o’clock we entered London, and put up at the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch Street.

We first went to see the new London Bridge. This bridge is very beautiful, but not yet completed; it is of [3] white stone, and consists of very wide semi-circular arches, thrown across the Thames just above the old bridge, which is a heavy, ugly fabric. We were likewise much pleased with the Thames itself, which is filled with vessels of all kinds. The Monument is very near;2 it looks immensely tall, but we did not ascend it. I have read of a man getting over the rails at the top, and throwing himself over; he was dashed to pieces. I believe he was insane. I do not much like the urn at the top of the Monument; it is very ugly. We next went to see St. Paul’s Cathedral, which I admire extremely. The exterior is too immense for me to see correctly enough to describe, but when we entered it, it was most beautiful. The pavement is black and white marble, as well as the whole interior. I have, however much I admire the building, two objections to our adopting the Grecian architecture (or rather the Roman). One is that there is nothing like an arch in pure Grecian; the other is that there ought not to be more than one story of columns, which does not look at all well. The Dome is immense. Papa took Richard and me up to the Whispering Gallery, which extends round it, and looks down into the church. Everybody in the church looked like dolls or monkeys from it, it was so high up. The Dome is covered with paintings by Sir James Thornhill,3 representing the life of St. Paul; they are very ill done. On leaving the Whispering Gallery, we went some hundred steps higher to a large stone gallery extending all round the outside of the Dome. From thence we had a view of a great part of London, and the tops of the highest churches appeared a vast distance beneath us. We went no higher than this, but descended after we had walked round it. I had not much time to examine the monuments; there were some by Flaxman, and others by Banks and Bacon. I also remember two representing Admiral Nelson and Lord Cornwallis.

[4] After seeing St. Paul’s we went to the little church of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook, which is admired all over Europe. It is completely enclosed by buildings, and actually an odious little cobbler’s stall is built up against the steeple! There is nothing remarkable outside, but the interior, though small, is very elegant, and beautifully proportioned. The carving on the dome and on the capitals of the pillars is rich. What I believe Richard admired the most of all was a picture, as large as life, representing the stoning of St. Stephen, painted by West, whom Richard adores, but whom I do not love much; and the picture in question does not increase my admiration of him, for the design is cold and tame, the drawing lifeless and without spirit, and the colouring sufficiently bad.

The country about Margate, Broadstairs, and Ramsgate is odious. The soil is chalky, scarce a tree is to be seen, and a hill would be a wonder. The cliffs of chalk have not a broken edge anywhere, and are perfectly the same for miles, extending all along the coast like white walls, as papa says; and, indeed, the similitude is very apt. The journey was very hot, dusty, and fatiguing. We did not see the sea all the way till we came to Broadstairs, and then indeed it broke most beautifully on our sight, of the brightest blue, and perfectly calm. What struck me very much was the way in which it seemed to rise so very high, and extending before us to such an immense distance. The white sails of vessels at a distance look also very beautiful.

Broadstairs is a small town. Mamma describes it by saying that “it has not enough company to make it lively, but it has too much to make it retired.”

[To remind us that it is but a child who writes we insert the following:—]

After arriving we had a run on the sands; then we took our tea, arranged the house, and soon after went to bed. [5] The first thing Mackworth did on his arrival was to get Edward, the footman, to go over the town with him and buy a little wooden ship, worth sixpence, or properly nothing at all. Papa told him that whereas he had spent sixpence on this good-for-nothing ship, Edward would have made him a much better one for nothing (for be it known that Edward is very clever in such little works of ingenuity). It may be worth while to relate the end of this memorable vessel. In a few days it was stripped of all its rigging, and was then used to throw into the sea and take out again. On returning from Broadstairs it still existed, and was tied by a string to the boat which conveyed us to the packet, following the said boat stern foremost. Lastly, having safely gone through the dangers of the voyage, it was lost in the inn when it came to London.*

None of us have ever seen the sea before, and therefore I at least was much delighted with it. It is a great pleasure to me to sit on the sands and watch the boats coming out of the harbour, or entering it, especially if the sea be rougher than usual. I think it is also extremely amusing to watch a wave rolling on, gradually increasing in bulk, and at last breaking into foam. The surf of a large wave often runs a great way up the sands, and wets those who are not on their guard. I was once taken by surprise, and found myself suddenly up to the instep in sea-water. A great deal of seaweed is to be found here. One sort is of a shining red brown, or a little like damson colour; it is shaped like a long strap of leather; the consistence of it is also leathery. Another grows like a plant on rocks; its peculiarity is that the leaves are covered with a singular kind of ball inflated with air, which when broken, snaps with a loud hollow noise. Another [6] sort has similar excrescences, but which are oval and juicy, and of a jelly-like substance. A third sort is of nothing but a multitude of long, fine red hairs, unbranched, and growing from the same root all together. An extremely beautiful species looks like a collection of very small pink ribbons; this, if I remember right, is a little branched. Some of the hair-like kinds are branched, and there are some which are composed of jointed tubes.

I think there are a good many flowers about Broadstairs, which is particularly interesting to me, as I am very fond of botany. Though I have looked in vain for samphire and eryngo, which grow near the sea, yet the wild mignonette, which I never saw before, is plentiful on the rocks, as well as another flower, called the little Bermedick. It is a papilionaceous flower, of a yellow colour, and unbranched; the flowers grow in a large woolly tuft on the top of the stalk. The yellow toad’s-flax also is to be found, and I once saw, on the rock, a splendid scabious, of a rich crimson-purple colour, which is often seen in gardens, and has a strong sweet scent. Lastly, a sort of red valerian, a very pretty flower, grows on the cliffs.

Ramsgate is a large and rather handsome town, with a noble harbour and a great deal of shipping. The harbour is formed by three magnificent stone piers, the finest in the kingdom. The inner harbour is only formed for the reception of boats and small brigs; it is entered by an iron bridge in the cross pier, which lifts up.

The star-fish is also very common. This singular zoophyte is in the shape of a star; it is of a pink or purple colour, and each spike is covered with thousands of minute points, by means of which the creature moves.

In the evening we all had a nice row on the sea. We saw in the water some crab-nets, which are made of nets stretched over sticks, so as to form a place big [7] enough for a large crab. The entrance is so contrived that it cannot get out again. These traps are fastened at certain distances on a long line, which floats in the water. We saw several crabs already caught in some of these nets. The tide rose particularly high to-day.

Near Calais papa and mamma observed a remarkable phenomenon. A large space of ground, at some distance from the sea (as much as two miles, indeed), is entirely composed of a bed of round pebbles, whose depth is said to be interminable. It is not that the ground is stony, but there is nothing to be seen except these pebbles. Query,—Is it possible that the sea has in ancient times retired and left these stones behind it?

In the morning mamma took Arabella and me to Burgess’ Library to see the printing, which interested us extremely. The types are small, wedge-shaped pieces of metal, at the end of which is a letter in relief; they are of a great many different sizes. On tables are raised things resembling very large desks, all covered with little wooden compartments in which the different letters are kept; they are not arranged alphabetically, but according as they are most wanted. The man who lays the types stands before this table, and takes out one after another all the letters he wants. He fixes each, as he takes it up, in something called a composing-stick, which he holds in his left hand, and which is made of brass and wood; it resembles a little case or box, without a top, and with only three sides. When the case is filled, the types are laid out correctly on another desk (without compartments), and when the sheet is completed, they are transferred to the press. The press is a small table with an edge round the top of it, and with brass lines to separate the pages or columns. A frame is fastened to it on hinges; this frame is as big as the table and has a cloth back; it is made to contain the paper. The little table is attached to the machine part of the press.

[8] The types are arranged in order on the table, and the printer goes to another near it, covered with a particular sort of stiff ink. He then takes a roller, composed of glue, isinglass, and some other elastic materials; this he rolls over the ink, and, when it is thoroughly inked, passes it in like manner over the types. The sheet of paper is then fastened into the before-mentioned frame, which is immediately laid down on the type-table, and thus brings down the paper on the inked types. The table is next rolled under the press, which is screwed down on it; it is then rolled back, and the sheet taken out.

Gamlingay heath is famous throughout England for the rare flowers to be found there; I wish we lived nearer to it. Amongst the prettiest flowers I have found on it, at least at this time of the year, are the Euphrasia officinalis, or eyebright, and the Polygala vulgaris, or milkwort. The eyebright is a purplish white, with dark purple streaks and two yellow spots on the lip of the corolla; it is of the class of ringent flowers. The whole plant is small and delicate. The milkwort is also a small slender plant; it grows in little clumps, and does not rise above three or four inches in height; the stalk is purplish red, the leaves small and oval; the blossom varies considerably in colour, being sometimes blue, sometimes pink, and sometimes white. Of these I think I prefer the blue. The Erica tetralix, or cross-leaved heath, grows here in great abundance. It is bell-shaped, and of a beautiful pink.

In the morning papa took us all to see certain interesting operations in glass, performed by a man who travels about, and who has come to Potton to exhibit for a day or two. He made, in glass, baskets, candlesticks, birds, horses, etc., etc. The way he did them was as follows:—He sat at a table, and before him was a little furnace, which contained a flame of intense heat, though it was only kept up by tallow. He had a great many glass sticks of various [9] sizes and of every colour; when he wished to make anything—a basket, for instance—he took a small one, which he merely used as a prop; he held the end of it* in the flame till the end of it melted into a sort of paste, which could be drawn out into any fineness. It was then drawn round and round the first stick, so as to make the bottom of the basket horizontally on the stick. In this way he made a vast number of things. One was Charles II. in the oak, another the Lord Mayor’s coach, George IV. lying in state, etc. Some of these were very handsome and expensive. We bought a few of the minor things; one was a glass pen, and there was also an elegant and beautiful little ship.

Another pupil arrived last night—Mr. Charles Howard, the fifth son of the Earl of Carlisle. He is a tall, fine young man, and I like him a good deal from what I have since seen of him. I believe he is clever, and he is certainly very fond of books, especially of poetry. But his ruling passion is a love of politics, even from the time when he was quite a child. He is a great Whig, Foxite, and Reformer, and always reads the debates in Parliament. The newspaper is his inseparable companion wherever he goes and whatever he does, even at meals; indeed, he is so employed with it at breakfast that Mr. Gower (who is his cousin, Lady Carlisle and Lady Granville being sisters) is often obliged to give him a little kick under the table to remind him that he must eat his breakfast.

I had forgot to mention in the proper place that after I came home from Ramsgate I made a pasteboard model of the steam-packet in which we went to Broadstairs. It is nearly a yard long; I finished it a few weeks ago. It cost me a good deal of money, for I had to buy pasteboard and coarse paints in powder. I made it very correct, and furnished and painted all the cabins, even [10] to the staircases. I also rigged it and put the rudder and boat to it, with the paddles, seats, railings, and flags.

Some time ago there was an exhibition of paintings and engravings at Potton; many of the latter were very good. Amongst those I remember best was a very pretty engraving of a cottage-girl and her little dog, from a painting by Gainsborough. But those I liked most were some excellent etchings from Morland,4 and two very beautiful proofs in mezzotint from the same artist; papa was so much pleased with these that he bought them at a low price. Morland particularly excels in figures, especially in children, but most of all in pigs, which animals he was very fond of, and used to make pets of them. The two proofs were “Blind-man’s Buff” and “Bird’s-nesting.” I think the former is my favourite. The children are admirably represented, especially one little girl holding a dog in her arms; the dog is perhaps the best of the two, the expression of his eyes and his whole air are so very natural. Morland rather fails in his trees, and the shading of his barns and sheds is sometimes a large, unmeaningless mass of heavy strokes.

For some little time Louisa has complained of pain in her hip when she walks, and to-day mamma consulted Mr. McGrath about her. Mr. McGrath “confessed that all we had for to do” was to put on a blister, which we accordingly applied to her hip, and she was of course obliged to keep in bed. Blisters are made of the Spanish fly, or cantharides, which is a small insect, whose colour is very beautiful—green, gold, and azure. It is a native of the south of Europe. Their smell is like that of mice; they feed on the leaves of shrubs, especially of ash trees. Their eggs are deposited deep in the ground, where also the larvæ are metamorphosed into perfect insects. The odorous particles emitted by the cantharides often occasion sleep to those who sit under trees on which swarms of them are [11] collected. When dried, fifty of them weigh hardly a drachm. They are used as blisters in a powdered state.

It is not perhaps generally known that all kinds of plants have their particular moth or butterfly, and that which feeds on one could not feed on another. Moths may be distinguished from butterflies by the shape of their feelers. All which have clavated feelers—that is, feelers that are of an equal thickness throughout, with a large head at the end—and all which have feelers that grow gradually bigger from the root to the extremity, and have a sort of tuft composed of several threads at the terminating point, are butterflies; while those which have feelers in any way different are moths. These latter are more numerous than butterflies are.

I have long been employed in writing a history of the Jews, which, down to the return from the Captivity, is taken from the Bible, but after that is much abridged from Milman’s History.5 I have illustrated it with several drawings; it is of the size of half a sheet of writing-paper doubled once. It has more than two hundred pages, and is in the printing character. Moreover, it has a frontispiece, title-page, vignette, preface, table of contents, and index, to say nothing of an introduction, conclusion, and poem at the end. It is an inch in thickness, and has a cover of fine blue pasteboard, glued on and decorated with several patterns.