intimate friend and secretary, and moreover I am told a
man who has wept over my poems. See how strangely
things are connected. Just put the things together.
Wonderful are these times, and no one knows what may
arise from the smallest things. I the poet of England
with the secretary of Louis Napoleon whom I have
abused.

CHELTENHAM, Jan. 22nd.

A note from Charles Weld this morning. He sent
my poem to the Times, but the Times ignores it. Alan
Ker says it is not their custom to put in poems except
they are allowed to subscribe the author's name. I
have told him to try the Morning Chronicle: he seems
for Fraser, tho' it is so long before Fraser comes out
that my poem will be half superannuated like the musket.
I see that here and there people are really beginning to
be awake to their danger * * * *. In this horrible age
of blab I can scarce trust aright.

Jan. 23rd.

I have been out every day dining. The readers of
the Examiner will no doubt guess the authorship from
knowing Forster's friendship for me. The military letters
in the Times are very interesting. The hills here have
fine lights on them as seen from my windows. John
Rashdall wants us to go and spend three weeks with
him at Malvern.

YORK, July 7th, 1852.

Slept at Spedding's where I found they expected
me. Started this morning 11 a.m. Hay fever atrocious
with irritation of railway, nearly drove me crazed, but
could not complain, the other only occupant of the
carriage having a curiously split shoe for his better ease,

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