As frequent mention has been made of the diaries, it may be well to state that these for the most part contain little or nothing save the barest records of mapping done, hours of work, memoranda as to expenses, and so forth. Those of the first year or two, however, not unnaturally, since the work was entirely new, are a little fuller. That for 1862, if it ever existed, does not seem to have been preserved; but 1863 contains one or two interesting entries, which emphasise still further the point already made as to the enthusiasm, plans, and ambitions with which the Survey was entered. On its first leaf the following lines are written:--“Was not so old last year as I am this--fact for the curious biographer who is no doubt destined to reap immortality by the interesting use he will make of the copious entries in this diary.” But as for many weeks afterwards the “curious biographer” finds no written word beyond the statement that drawing pens were bought at an outlay of 1s. 6d., it is to be feared that no superstructure in regard to an expectation of future fame can be built upon the entry. The corresponding page on next year’s diary is more prosaic, for it bears only a series of “Memoranda” which include an injunction to get a wife when income allows, and to have only three children, two boys and one girl. Rather oddly there is a letter extant which announces the birth of his third child, many years later, and bewails the fact that it is another boy, when a girl would have “rounded off the family so nicely.” The much-loved daughter did not appear on the scene till many years afterwards. From the 1863 diary two short entries may be quoted, for they stand side by side on the same page, and are in many ways very characteristic of the man. The first relates to a day spent in indoor work, though with the careful corollary that this was not due to the weather. Opposite this formal entry is written:--“Mouth filled with cursings and my heart with evil thoughts, all owing to the squalling and girning of an ill-natured, red-headed, unwashed, petted, fractious imp--the son and heir of our landlord, the shepherd.” Some of the epithets have been omitted--the provocation was doubtless extreme! The following day was spent in the open air, and opposite stands this:--“Meet J. Y. on top of Black Law; walk back to Summerhope by way of the old churchyard. Exquisite moonlight night. Scene inexpressibly sad--feel of course very sentimental; and have a whole troop of depressing thoughts and reminiscences,--some of which cause me to heave sighs like the bellows of the Village Blacksmith. The ingenious biographer will never guess what these sighs were for, nor have I any intention of enlightening him.”