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LONDON: THOMAS HATCHARD, 187, PICCADILLY. 1853.
LONDON: G. J. PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
EXTRACTS FROM A LADY’S JOURNAL, SHOWING THE ABSOLUTE NECESSITY FOR WRITING THIS BOOK.
Arrived yesterday in Cavendish Square at half-past five o’clock, for a visit of a few days. Much fatigued, but wonderfully sustained in spirits during the journey, by the prospect of seeing a dear friend, the ten thousand comforts of her well-regulated establishment, and the bright visions of the appearance of my accustomed bed-room. Again and again, had it risen before my mind’s eye, in all its glory. The inviting appearance of the smooth, flat, well-made bed, with the light night quilt of snowy whiteness (and the heavy creature folded aside); the easy chair, and footstool (with their bright crimson covers), turned towards the clear glowing fire; the dear little kettle of silvery brightness, on the hob, singing its accustomed song to its grateful mistress. A chair before the toilet, with its pink and pure white drapery. The bright looking-glass reflecting crystal candlesticks, wax-lights, and essence-bottles, with all the perfumes of Arabia. The washhand-stand, a perfect picture, surrounded by a hundred towels. The rose soap giving out sweet odours. The additional large tumbler for the saline draft, the cup and spoon, for less pleasant powders. Alas, alas! how are all those glories buried in the dust, and dust is now indeed the order of the day; my friend is the same in heart and soul, but she has sprained her ancle, and changed her _housemaid_.