30 July 1849 – 5 August 1849

Lincoln's Inn. St. Mary Axe, Duke's Place, Synagogue. There remains a higher feeling than curiosity in witnessing the religious ceremonies of this ancient Race in the heart of a great alien City, and in the 1 849th year of a rival Era.

To Kentish Town and walk to Highgate Cemetery, terrace, catacombs, yews, view of London. Out to churchyard to find Coleridge's grave, locked ; inquire for sexton's house, he is ' at church ' ; so I have to peep through gate at what a man tells me is the railing round C.'s grave, under an ivied wall. Look then at the house where he lived with Dr. Oilman (now Surgeon Brendon's), plain corner house of last century with dormer windows and large window in gable, shaded by a mimosa. Some fine elms and beeches are ranged in front, and tall trees rise behind. Out of one window looks a black cat, perhaps belonging to the Witch of Christabel. Splendid evening, sun-lighted road, down Highgate Hill on omnibus. Fleet Street. Chop at 'The Cock.' Curious old mantelpiece, which I sketched on fly-leaf of Poe's Poems, bought at a book-stall. Had the waiter ever heard of a Mr. Tennyson } — ' Mr. Tennyson, sir ^ — No, sir.' Tried the other waiter : he had heard of him, but had never seen him. I. — 'You're not "the plump head-waiter".?' — 'Oh, you mean William, sir. He's here every day but Sunday.'