_March 28._ Never since I was at the delightful Green Bank, or at Twizel House have I had so agreeable a breakfast as I enjoyed this morning. I was shown into a neat parlor giving on a garden, and was greeted by a very beautiful and gracious woman; this was Mrs. Burton. Dr. Burton came in through the window from the garden; in a moment we were at table and I felt at once at home, as if with my good friend "Lady" Rathbone. Dr. and Mrs. Burton have an astonishing collection of letters, portraits, etc., and I was asked to write my name and the date of my birth as well as the present date. The former, I could not do, except approximately, and Mrs. Burton was greatly amused that I should not know; what I _do_ know is that I am no longer a young man. A letter from Mr. Hawkins told me Dr. Buckland[152] was expected to-morrow, and I was asked to meet him at dinner at his own house by Mrs. Buckland. I dined with the Provost of Oriel and nine other gentlemen, among them the son of the renowned Mr. Wilberforce. _March 29._ To-morrow, probably, I leave here, and much disappointed. There are here twenty-two colleges intended to promote science in all its branches; I have brought here samples of a work acknowledged to be at least good, and not one of the colleges has subscribed. I have been most hospitably treated, but with so little encouragement for my work there is no reason for me to remain. _London, March 30._ Left Oxford at eleven this morning, the weather still intensely cold. We had a guard dressed in red with sizable buttons, a good artist on the bugle, who played in very good style, especially fugues and anthems, which were harmonious but not cheerful. I saw a poor man and his wife trudging _barefoot_ this weather, a sight which drew the rings of my purse asunder. Almost as soon as I reached my lodgings a gentleman, Mr. Loudon,[153] called to ask me to write zoological papers for his journal. I declined, for I will never write anything to call down upon me a second volley of abuse. I can only write _facts_, and when I write those the Philadelphians call me a liar. _April 1, 1828._ I have the honor to be a Fellow of the Linnaean Society of London, quite fresh from the mint, for the news reached me when the election was not much more than over. Mr. Vigors tells me Baron Cuvier is to be here this week. I had some agreeable time with a gentleman from Ceylon, Bennett[154] by name, who has a handsome collection of fish from that place. _April 2._ Called on Mr. Children, and together we walked to Mr. Havell's, where he saw the drawings for No. 7. How slowly my immense work progresses; yet it goes on apace, and may God grant me life to see it accomplished and finished. Then, indeed, will I have left a landmark of my existence.