Thursday, June 14th.—­A long break in my journal, and what a dismal beginning to it again!  At five o’clock H——­ started for Ireland....  Poor dear Dall cried bitterly at parting from her (my aunt was to accompany me to America, and it was uncertain whether we should see Miss S——­ again before we sailed)....  When I returned, after seeing her off, I went disconsolately to my own room.  As I could not sleep, I took up the first book at hand, but it was “Tristram Shandy,” and too horribly discordant with my frame of mind; besides, I don’t like it at any time; it seems to me much more coarse even than witty and humorous.

Friday, 15th.—­ ...  Almost at our very door met old Lady Cork, who was coming to see us:  We stopped our carriages, and had a bawling conversation through the windows respecting my plans, past, present, and to come, highly edifying, doubtless, to the whole neighborhood, and which ended by her ladyship shrieking out to me that I was “a supernatural creature” in a tone which must have made the mummies and other strange sojourners in the adjacent British Museum jump again....  In the evening, at the theater, the play was “The Hunchback,” for Knowles’s benefit, and the house was not good, which I do think is a shame.  I played well, though Miss Taylor disconcerted me by coming so near me in her second scene that I gave her a real slap in the face, which I was very sorry for, though she deserved it.  After the play, Mr. Harness, Mrs. Clarke, and Miss James supped with us; and after supper, I dressed for a ball at the G——­s’, ... and much I wondered what call I had to be at a ball, except that the givers of this festival are kind and good friends of ours, and are fond of me, and I of them.  But I was not very merry at their ball for all that.  We came home at half past two, which is called “very early.”  Mr. Bacon was there (editor of the Times, who married my cousin, Fanny Twiss), but I had no chance to speak to him, which I was sorry for, as I like his looks, and I liked his books:  the first are good, and the latter are clever.  I cried all the way home, which is a cheerful way of returning from a ball.

Saturday, 16th.—­ ...  Mrs. Clarke, Miss James, the Messrs. M——­, and Alfred Tennyson dined with us.  I am always a little disappointed with the exterior of our poet when I look at him, in spite of his eyes, which are very fine; but his head and face, striking and dignified as they are, are almost too ponderous and massive for beauty in so young a man; and every now and then there is a slightly sarcastic expression about his mouth that almost frightens me, in spite of his shy manner and habitual silence.  But, after all, it is delightful to see and be with any one that one admires and loves for what he has done, as I do him.  Mr. Harness came in the evening.  He is excellent, and I am very fond of him.  They all went away about twelve.