LONDON, Tuesday, May 7th, 1861.
—We went to Miss Coutts's [FN: Afterwards Baroness Burdett-Coutts] to hear the tragedian Fechter (whom everyone raves of) read a particularly scampish French play in the most beautiful way. Poor Miss Coutts sat on thorns, not anticipating the scampishness, and a Bishop or two stalked out ! Aggy and I dined alone.
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