I did nothing at Dover (except for "Household Words"), and have not
begun "Little Dorrit," No. 8, yet. But I took twenty-mile walks in the
fresh air, and perhaps in the long run did better than if I had been at
work. The report concerning Scheffer's portrait I had from Ward. It is
in the best place in the largest room, but I find the _general_
impression of the artists exactly mine. They almost all say that it
wants something; that nobody could mistake whom it was meant for, but
that it has something disappointing in it, etc. etc. Stanfield likes it
better than any of the other painters, I think. His own picture is
magnificent. And Frith, in a "Little Child's Birthday Party," is quite
delightful. There are many interesting pictures. When you see Scheffer,
tell him from me that Eastlake, in his speech at the dinner, referred to
the portrait as "a contribution from a distinguished man of genius in
France, worthy of himself and of his subject."
I did the maddest thing last night, and am deeply penitent this morning.
We stayed at Webster's till any hour, and they wanted me, at last, to
make punch, which couldn't be done when the jug was brought, because (to
Webster's burning indignation) there was only one lemon in the house.
Hereupon I then and there besought the establishment in general to come
and drink punch on Thursday night, after the play; on which occasion it
will become necessary to furnish fully the table with some cold viands
from Fortnum and Mason's. Mark has looked in since I began this note, to
suggest that the great festival may come off at "Household Words"
instead. I am inclined to think it a good idea, and that I shall
transfer the locality to that business establishment. But I am at
present distracted with doubts and torn by remorse.
The school-room and dining-room I have brought into habitable condition
and comfortable appearance. Charley and I breakfast at half-past eight,
and meet again at dinner when he does not dine in the City, or has no
engagement. He looks very well.
The audiences at Gye's are described to me as absolute marvels of
coldness. No signs of emotion can be hammered, out of them. Panizzi sat
next me at the Academy dinner, and took it very ill that I disparaged
----. The amateurs here are getting up another pantomime, but quarrel so
violently among themselves that I doubt its ever getting on the stage.
Webster expounded his scheme for rebuilding the Adelphi to Stanfield and
myself last night, and I felt bound to tell him that I thought it wrong
from beginning to end. This is all the theatrical news I know.
I write by this post to Georgy. Love to Mamey, Katey, Harry, and the
noble Plorn. I should be glad to see him here.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]