George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor
George Hillard, Ed.

[413] the grasp of a powerful mind. . . . . The conversation was uncommonly various, and the Archbishop and Sir D. Baird very entertaining. We brought Mrs. Austin home in our carriage, and had some very pleasant talk with her in a drive of three miles.

July 17.—In returning a few calls this morning I went to see Sydney Smith, and found him a good deal stouter than he was when I knew him before, and with his hair grown quite white; but not a jot less amusing. He seems to think that the government of the United States was much weakened by the compromise about the tariff with South Carolina, and says that it is the opinion of the wise politicians in England. . .

We dined in the city with our very kind friends the Vaughans;¹ and I was much gratified to find that, notwithstanding Mr. W. Vaughan's great age, he is, excepting deafness, quite well preserved. . . . . We met there, too, my old friend Mr. Maltby, the successor of Porson as Librarian of the London Institution, whom I had formerly known both here and in Italy, still full of the abundance of his learning and zeal.

The evening, from a little after ten to half past 1, we spent at the Marchioness of Lansdowne's, who gave a grand concert. The house itself, with its fine grounds filling the whole of one side of Berkeley Square, is not surpassed by any in London . . . . . It was of course, in the phrase of the town, ‘a select party,’ and was on the highest scale of London magnificence and exclusiveness. . . . The music was such as suited such a party; Malibran, Grisi, and Rubini,—the three finest voices in Europe,—assisted by Lablache, Tamburini, etc. Malibran and Grisi were twice pitted against each other in duets, and did unquestionably all they were capable of doing to surpass each other. The effect was certainly very great. I enjoyed it vastly more than I enjoyed Almack's, for I knew a large number of people, and had a plenty of pleasant conversation.

July 18.—At twelve o'clock we drove out, by appointment, to Mrs. Joanna Baillie's, at Hampstead, took our lunch with her, and passed the time at her house till four o'clock . . . . . We found her living in a small and most comfortable, nice, unpretending house, where she has dwelt for above thirty years. She is now above seventy, and, dressed with an exact and beautiful propriety, received us most gently and kindly. Her accent is still Scotch; her manner strongly marked with that peculiar modesty which you sometimes