d Continent, and a good deal of regret at leaving a few friends, and the easy society of the salons at Paris, I was well pleased to set my feet once more on British earth. . . . . A letter from Kenyon inviting us to dine with him next Saturday, and one we received, just as we were packing up in Paris, from Lord Fitzwilliam, asking us to pass a week or fortnight at Milton, made us feel welcome on the kindred soil, and reminded us anew how far-reaching is English hospitality.
March 20.—From Dover to Rochester.
English posting is certainly very comfortable.
The four fine horses we had, with two neat postilions, going always with a solidity that makes the speed less perceptible, contrasted strongly with the ragged beasts of all kinds to which we had been for three years accustomed. . . . .
London, March 23.—We had a good many visits to-day, . . . . but the only person that came, whom I was curious to see as a stranger, was Henry Nelson Coleridge.
He must still be under forty, I t