11. Wednesday. In doors, doing little.
12. Thursday. In the evening, as promised, with my
sisters to a party, at the Hogarth�s. They live in the Mile End
Road, a little beyond the turnpike gate. The entertainment consist
ed in singing and dancing, now a polka, quadrille, or schottische,
sandwiched by the ladies� performance upon the piano, or vocalisation.
They had got together a number of agreable, pleasant people; old
Hogarth is a kind, hearty, genial old boy, and his wife his fitting
counterpart, John bustled about, danced and sang songs, and pressed
everybody to take wine with him, Carry was as goodnatured as usual,
played much on the piano, the belle Louisa smiled, laughed and
simpered, and Clara was the innocent, amiable faced girl she looked.
There were three or four cityish men, one bald headed, the other young,
I didn�t dance, but talked, chiefly with Miss Vaughan, (who�s in-
tellectual face I liked,) till challenged by belle Louisa, after sup-
per, where I encircled her waist in the gyrations of a lengthy country
dance. Some of the girls sang pretty well. I�m sorry my sister
Rosa tried it, for the first time, in my experience. The effect was
doleful, as she �went in� in a hollow, centrained, and perfectly un-
natural voice, which made me unexpressibly miserable, from sympathy.
I was fearfully yawny and sleepy during the last three hours, for
we didn�t get away till near 3 of the morning. Weary work this
party-giving spite of the kindness intended. I�d rather have met
the Hogarth�s in their own home circle. And a thousand times rather
had I sat for ten quiet, loving minutes looking into the brown eyes of
Hannah Bennett than be at a score of such parties. Eheu! It rained
drearily, and the day dawn began to reproach us, as we rattled homewards.