Very fine & warm all day. Letters from F.L. & one very nice from J.B. Edwards. “Packed.” At 10.30 walked to Waterloo Station ― & Rail to Leatherhead 11.10=12. At poor Ellens, by 12.30 ― where I lunched. She does not, & never will get over good William N.’s death. Mary’s last letter is more decided & strong, but very sad. A letter from Boswell is odious enough. ―― I found some scrap books (& an old drawing book of mine,) of dear Ann’s ― who is gone away somewhere. ― I do not know where, but believe I shall see her ― again. I do believe that.

I left poor Ellen at 2 ― & was in town by 3. 4 shillingsworth of cabs on various errands, & returned home by 5. Wrote to Mrs. Stanley & James B. Edwards. ― Lo! ― Franklin & Edmund Lushington. Edmund L. is not much altered ― nor ever will be: I saw him last in 1855 I think!

At 8 I went & dined alone at the Blue Posts. The Bethells, Crakes, Wyatts, & Blencowes were all “to the fore” ―― but I had no heart for any one of them.

I had rather be going off straight to Folkestone now, than to stay at B.H. Hunts, & G. Scrivens’s.

Τὶ θαύμαζον πρᾶγμα εἶναι αὒτη ἡ ζωή μας!1

[Transcribed by Marco Graziosi from Houghton Library, Harvard University, MS Eng. 797.3.]

  1. What a wonderful thing our life is! (NB). [↩]