heart. We are a most harmonious quartette. Grace is always placid and happy. Tom is the perfection of a traveller, never objects to roughing it, laughs at his own blunders,—and he makes plenty of them,—and never does anything to make himself disagreeable except thinking all the shopkeepers are cheats, and carrying our letters about in his pocket for an indefinite length of time; I might say that his memory is his weak point. I have no need to describe myself and how much I add to the party: modesty forbids. Judith is a light-hearted, happy girl; she stands Tom's teasing and my scolding like an angel. As far as I can judge, she is quite contented, and does not appear to regret any object or person in Vienna. We have a very sober, staid Englishman here, a most unimpressionable creature, but he has succumbed to Judith's fascinations and is a willing victim. You need have no fears for her. It is to be hoped the young man in Vienna is as easily consoled. I have no doubt he is; still, I don't see why she should not marry the poor fellow if she wishes to.
Having finished the business part of my letter, I will proceed to answer your other questions. I have seen the Emperor several times driving in a small sledge, entirely unattended, and wrapped up to the nose in furs. Once a day he goes to the Summer Garden, where he walks for half an hour. The day he was expected to arrive from Moscow last week, I stationed myself at the window about ten o'clock. The street from the station to the palace was lined with soldiers. I heard loud cheering, and suddenly an open carriage swept by like
