A magnificent day, clear and mild.
The birth day of Washington, the Father of his country. It is to be celebrated at the Bowery Theatre, by a great Ball, and will be a most splendid affair, the “Tableau Vivants ” [ French for living picture]. in fashion are great attractions to the lovers of living representations, of past events.
I cannot go out this fine morning, as the
house will not be left alone. Simon, is
engaged helping more goods, while Bridget,
walks out with her little troupe.
Our colds are all getting better. My chest has
regained its usual strength, but yet is not
robust. At noon Catharine and Eugene paid me a visit
they sat untill dinner hour. Eugene sick with
a cold, and Henry quite an invalid still.
Catharine, does not appear very well, but
among so many complainers, she is silent.
As C. was bidding me adieu, and the children racing down the street, who should come up to greet me but Isabel, and her sister Miss Burgoyne. They sat an hour with us and were very agreable. Miss B. gave us an account of the “Boz Ball”, and of Boz himself having sat an half hour in the same box with
him. She pronounces him any thing but distinguished, in his appearance; and his lady rather “dumpy.” I was in my dishabille , not expecting any guests so late. The afternoon clouded over, and I prepared for a rain, but it terminated in a complete “snow storm by moonlight”, a most beautifull reality, far surpassing the fictitious scenes, exhibiting at the Bowery. I read Abbot, in the evening. Mr H. fatigued, makeing preparations to move.