19 October 1863 – 25 October 1863

News of the gypsy. * Getting better ; lump broke.' Write to Southampton paper against cutting down trees in ' the Ditches ' (old moat).

I receive proof from i^r/^j^r'i^ Mag. of the twelfth and last chapter of L. Bloom- field. Eight of the chapters I have written month by month (missing one month) for the magazine. So fate would have it. It's not properly compacted as to plan, and never will be now. But with indefinite time at command I should most probably, as so often before, have tried a dozen different shapes and ended by throw- ing the thing aside. It has good work in it here and there. A story in 5000 lines, - Where Homer's epic fervour shines. Philosophy like Plato's — Alas, I sing of Paddies, Priests, And Pigs, those unromantic beasts, Policemen and Potatoes !

Very fine ; in the New Forest. Holmsley — path to Burley, field -lane fern -banked, delightful. Hamlet on its gorsev common, a big oak among the hollies. Sat down and read Woolner's Beautiful Lady which the post brought me to-day from the author. Tender and sweet. Well tastes poetry thus on a solitary ramble. I remember distinctly every breathing of the verses which were in the first number of The Germ, nearly fourteen years ago. Real love of nature and delicate truth of touch ; with the quaint guild-mark, so to speak, of the P. R. B. (I can't bear to be verbally quaint myself, yet often like it in another). I recollect my lady in a wood. Keeping her breath and peering — (firm she stood Her slim shape balanced on tip-toe — ) Into a nest which lay below. Leaves shadowing her brow. the breeze Lifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these Ash-saplings move at ease. Thackeray, I recollect, was much touched by Woolner's poem, and by Hunt's etching to it of the Lover press- ing his face down upon the new-made grave-mound. But hopeless grief is too sad a subject for Art, save to the Young. Passing a Keeper's lodge, came to the ' Twelve Apostles,' old oaks, most of them rugged hollow pillars with a few living branches. Sunset light, lonely road running through great beech-woods ; double-dyed with sunset gold : I picture myself attacked by ruffians, with various denouments. Such things never do happen in the Forest. The gypsies only beg, and perhaps filch. Pass Alum Green, the moon rising over the hamlet, and strike a dampish forest-path to Brockenhurst road, where I enter a wayside inn, and sit comfortably by a great peat-fire, two antlers above the chimney, drinking beer and reading in Woolner's book. Home by rail about 8, I go on studying Old Ballads — (no original lyrics coming now, alas !) Custom-house daily. Yachts, steamers, pensioners, accounts, coastguard. Periodical visits to Pitt's Deep, Buckler's Hard, Keyhaven, and Hurst Castle, walking or riding. Boat and punt — sailing, etc. Measuring vessels is the most troublesome duty, boarding yachts and examining their stores the most disagreeable.