30 July 1866 – 5 August 1866

Kensington Square. Studio. Psyche drawings. Book planned, Morris, and ' lots of stories and pictures.' To D. G. R., Cheyne Walk. My old regard for D. G. R. stirs within me, and would be as warm as ever if he would let it. Fanny, Howell, D. G. R., H., and I walk to Sloane St. ; talk of dining at the Wellington (corner of St. James's St.), but do dine or feed at a little a -la-mode beef-house off Sloane Square. His pleasant easy manners. He is now acting as Secretary to Ruskin. He tells about the subscription for old George Cruikshank, of which he is Treasurer. I promise £ i . ' C. is very badly off ' ' How can that be ? He has no children.' ' A number ! ' When we separated I turned the corner into Cheyne Row, and seeing light in No. 5 went in. Upstairs room, Carlyle, Miss Welsh (' Maggie '), Miss Jews- bury, and an old bald man, to whom I was introduced by C. ' This is David Laing, well known to all inquirers into Scottish affairs.' (Librarian to the Signet Library, Edinburgh.) They were looking over some engraved portraits, and C. singled out one, asking pointedly, ' Whose face do you call this .? ' Laing suggested that it might be So-and so, or So-and-so, C. saying * No, no, no ! ' and at last, ' I perceive that you can throw no light on the matter.' It is his own conviction that this (a shrewd humorous face with bald forehead and scanty beard) is the only authentic portrait of John Knox. Miss Welsh is ever cheerful and chirpy. Miss Jewsbury asks me to visit her. Mr. Laing gone, C. and I sit on chairs in the little back garden, under the summer stars, he smoking. The New Forest — adder, properly ' a nadder.' He repeats, ' the poison of asps is under their tongues.' He speaks approvingly of my paper on Petrie in Fraser. ' Perhaps oi;^r- appreciative — but that is as it should be in such a case.' C.'s last visit to Dublin and intercourse with Petrie there. ' Very amiable and good man ; but can get no good of his writings.' We walk out in the solitary streets. ' Success of Prussia — nothing has pleased me so well for forty years. I knew it must be. Bismarck a hero — his disregard of the babble of people and newspapers, and of his own parliament. ' History of Ireland — I recommend you to try it. You may do a very nice book in ten years ; not long, about the length of my French Revolution. It's a book that would have a large sale. Whatever poetic faculty you may have would be shown in this form, etc. ' The death of Hugh de Lacy, where was that ? ' * At Durrow in Meath. Hugh de Lacy was looking at a new castle he was building, when an Irishman standing by suddenly pulled an axe from under his loose coat, and at a blow struck off Hugh's head, stretched forward, doubtless. Head and body fell into the castle ditch,' ' I would have gone and looked at the spot if I could have found it.' As we parted he said, ' Come again some evening, at eight.' Then by solitary streets and devious ways I arrived at Kensington Square, and found Ned, sleepy, returned from a Reform Meeting in the Agricultural Hall, Islington, whither he went with Faulkner. N. J. is now a People's Man.

Kensington Square. Rainy. ' Reform Meeting. Couldn't hear the speeches.' Studio, N. painting ; imitates old Connoisseur talking of ' Greek Art,' etc. I in cab to D. G. R.'s. W. M. R., friendly — back from Naples, Vesuvius, Pompeii. Sandys, painter, large heavy man with short yellowish hair parted in the middle. Tells me he * wants a dreary moor to paint — is there such a thing in the New Forest '^ ' Enter Swinburne (his hair cut). Talk about ages : W. M. R. tells his experience of Vesuvius. Swinburne's new volume is on the table. Am asked to dine here on Friday. Swinburne asks leave to stay the night. Kensington Square about 3. Leave a note on table — ' Your respectfully drowsy Friend — 3 a.m.' Sleep not comfortably on my sofa.

Waterloo, 5.10 train. Lord Cardigan (for Portsmouth), bustJe in station, hats touched ; a thin old upright man with an air of command ; face cold, but not exactly repulsive. Bishop of Winchester (Wilberforce), shrewd, ruddy old round face, young man with him (his son?), and a clever looking little parson.