kindness of manner, life in his eye, and benevolence in his heart. My case was soon explained; he took my paper, read it, and said if I would allow him to keep it, he would make one or two alterations and return it in good time. Back to my lodgings and hungry by this time, and cooled off, my mind relieved, my painting finished, I dressed more carefully and walked to the Royal Institution, and was pleased at seeing there a good deal of company. But the disagreeable part of my day is yet to come. I had to dine at Professor Graham's,[1] it was five o'clock when I reached there, a large assembly of ladies and gentlemen were there, and I was introduced to Mrs. Graham only, by some oversight I am sure, but none the less was my position awkward. There I stood, motionless as a Heron, and when I dared, gazed about me at my surroundings, but no one came near me. There I stood and thought of the concert at Manchester; but there was this difference: there I was looked at rudely, here I was with polite company; so I waited patiently for a change of situation, and the change came. A woman, aye, an angel, spoke to me in such a quiet, easy way that in a few moments my mal aise was gone; then the ringing of a bell summoned us to the dining-room; I sat near the blue satin lady (for her name I do not know) who came to my rescue, and a charming young lady, Miss M——, was my companion. But the sumptuous dinners of this country are too much for me. They are so long, so long, that I recall briefer meals that I have had, with much more enjoyment than I eat the bountiful fare before me. This is not a goûter with friend Bourgeat on the Flat Lake, roasting the orange-fleshed Ibis, and a few sun-perch; neither is it on the heated banks of Thompson's Creek, on the Fourth of July, swallowing the roasted eggs of a large Soft-shelled Turtle; neither was I at Henderson, at good
- ↑ Robert Graham, Scottish physician and botanist, born at Stirling, 1786, died at Edinburgh, 1845.
