they call again. An indifferent sort of man, whose name I did not even hear, arrived yesterday a little after breakfast, sat still, and walked in to a late dinner with us! These should not be called visits, but visitations, though I trust they do not often occur to that extent. An open house and an open table for your friends—which includes every passing acquaintance; these are merely Spanish habits of hospitality transplanted.
Had a visit from Señor and his wife, very civil and obliging people, always agreeing with each other, and with you, and with all the world, almost to the extent of Polonius to Hamlet. Our conversation reminded me of that the whole time they were here.
I have just brought from the garden a lap-full of pink roses, clove carnations and sweet pease. Rosetta could not sing here—
"For June and December will never agree."
The weather is lovely, the air fresh and clear, the sky one vast expanse of bright blue, without a single cloud. Early this morning it was cool, but now, by ten o'clock, the air is as soft and balmy as on a summer day with us.
28th.—Day of the memorable serenade. After dinner, some ladies paid me a visit, amongst others the wife and daughter of the Spanish consul, Señor My, who were accompanied by the sister of Count Aa. They and a few gentlemen arrived about six o'clock, and it was said that the serenade would not begin till twelve. It may be supposed
