Tuesday, 1 January 1861

Cold, happily gone ―, but, pouring rain. Rose at 6, at 7 in a fly to Woking Station, whence in 8.20 train to Petersfield ˇ[by 10]. No J. Cross at Woking, & he had just left the Red Lion at Petersfield. ― They made me take the horses: ― a stranger asked me to let him join me to Hastings ― so I did so. ―― O woods of Uppark! ―――

At 11.15 at Compton ― bitter cold wind. The Church: the bell tolling. ― At length ― William Hornby ― whose voice trembled at first ― but in the desk he was restored to himself ― poor W.H.! he may well mourn, as all must.

Then the lonely AdmiralGeoff ― & the rest: ― but blinded, I saw little.

Afterwards, I saw Windham, & a youth ― W. Denison. ― The last home of one I have so long known & loved: at Knowsley ― Plymouth, Woolwich, Shrewsbury House, & Littlegreen: & at all ― all kindness & wisdom. ―

I saw Cross afterwards ― a little. Then drove away.

O! Littlegreen! o woods of Uppark! O years! ― O thirty years! ― (tho’ it is 33 years since I first saw them with J. Sayers) ―

So I came to Petersfield & lunched: & walked to the station. Thereto came Penrhyn & Leycester ― & GAF ― which trio was a blessing for me: ― & we came to Woking ― waiting there ¾ an hour, & I then to Weybridge ― feeling lonely ― bitterly lonely.

Ate little dinner, & to bed. ― My new rooms.

So begins 1861. Can I make it a better year than 1860.

“What will he do with it?”

Τὶ εἶναι ἡ Ζωή μας; ((What is our Life? (NB).))

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

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Filed under 1861, Diary Entry

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