There was a large party the last night at Clifton, and I heard one new
thing, a great deal to hear at one party. This new thing I shall keep
for Pakenham; I wakened this morning with an intention of getting up
remarkably early to write it for him, and I got up thinking myself a
miracle of virtue and peep-o'-day woman; but lo! and behold, it was just
nine o'clock. Good-bye to Pakenham and the Deadman's head, of which my
own was full two seconds before; all that could be done was to scuffle
about the room and rummage the imperials for gowns, frills, shoes, and
gloves; all happily found, and on the right owners, and looking
charmingly, ma'am, by breakfast time. Fanny and Harriet in their lilac
and maroon tabinets. I am now writing in a delightful armchair,
high-backed antiquity, and modern cushions. Company at dinner
yesterday--Lord and Lady Bathurst, Lord Apsley, Mr. William Bathurst,
Lady Georgiana, Lady Emily, Lady Georgiana Lennox, Major Colebrook, and
Mr. Fortescue, whom we met at Paris, very agreeable, "melancholy and
gentlemanlike." The conversation goes on here remarkably well: Lady
Bathurst is perfectly well-bred and easy; Lord Apsley and Lady Georgiana
very agreeable.

The Duchess of Beaufort's French governess published in 1817 a story
called _Valoe_, which threw all high-bred London into confusion.
Everybody, who is anybody in it, under feigned names, the picture of all
the persons, manners, and character of all the young ladies who are
supposed to file off before the Duke of Devonshire. No wit, but
tittle-tattle truths. You can't buy the book if you were to give your
eyes for it: all bought up by the Duchess of Beaufort. [Footnote: It was
written by a governess whom she had dismissed.] Lord Apsley, who has a
copy with all the names in it, lent it to me. Fanny had a pleasant ride
this morning with Lord Bathurst, Mr. Fortescue, Major Colebrook, and Mr.