Friday Oct 7th.
Well! It is a fine, windy day—& Mrs. Cliffe not come! She thinks I suppose all of the wind, & nothing of the fineness! Provoking!— A message is sent to Charlotte Peyton!— It may rain tomorrow! Provoking!— But she may come after all, for it is only just eleven.
Mrs. Cliffe came, & then the rain came. I put on my hat, but everybody else was reasonable enough to be prepared for a disappointment.
We did not go. Mrs. Cliffe stayed until three or four—longer than my patience did. Eliza at least will come tomorrow, in the case of sunshine.
I read on with Mr. Curzon’s book.
The reform bill is sure to be thrown out of the House of Lords—, & then what will be the consequences? More fatal ones, than those of today’s rain.
A great deal of music mending & binding, down stairs tonight, which occasioned a most sublime confusion. My head ached with it.