Tuesday, 3 March 1863

Gray early ― cloudy ― then rain, ― lastly clear.

Worked at the oil Janina ― more or less well or ill.

The 3 Παραμυθιόττι came ― good plain people. ―

I thought it must rain hard, but it cleared once more ―.

At 6 ― dressed ― & went up to see dear little Mary de Vere.

And then to Sir C. Sargent’s

1863-03-03

I really cannot remember ever to have undergone such a monotony of miserable slot & slosh of conversation for a long time. Frivolity & ill-nature, beautifully intertwined. Miss Reeve never spoke one word of common sense: Lady S. ― perhaps once or twice ― but it was more than half sharpness. I bore all pretty well ― for me ― till they proposed some game ― at wh. I could not play: (& I heard Lady S. remark as to “he looks &c. &c. &c. ―). ― but when they began to laugh at me ― “looking on with pity-contempt ―” &c. &c. &c. ― I rose ― absurdly suddenly ― & wished them good night & rushed away.

Rather “abruptious” & absurd ― I own, & I can’t help laughing at the memory of it. “I suffer not fools gladly ―” being an ass myself. Can’t those people let me alone?


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

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Filed under 1863, Diary Entry

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