Such is the exposal of the train of ideas which led to the composition of the work in its present state. Whether it may ever deserve the pains I am now taking about it remains to be seen; very likely it may only add one more to the many kicks I have already received from Fortune. If so, I am quite able to bear it and despise her. Of one thing she cannot rob me--the pleasure I have already extracted--distilled, I may say--from the very work itself. Warned by bitter experience, I have learned not to trust only to hope for my reward, nor consider my toil as a sacrifice, but to value the _present_, the pleasure that I have received and daily yet receive from the working out of a subject after mine own heart, a love-offering to my favourite poets, to my never-faithless Burns, Byron, Spenser, and Shakespeare. Never can I forget the pleasure with which I could muse over my work in Rome, at a time when visited by the most bitter afflictions and apprehensions for the future,[5] at a time when all other satisfaction was impossible; never can I forget that _she_ gave it her unqualified approbation, prophesied that it would ensure me ultimate success, regretted that she would never live to see it, and _ordered_ me to complete it after her death. In fulfilling her behest I am breaking one of her strongest recommendations--I have parted from Lucy.[6] O God! ought not that thought to make me strive and struggle against indolence? Oh the hell of poverty! [Illustration: (Gravestone of Elizabeth Brown, designed by Madox Brown)] To-day I have done little or nothing but sketched-in the figure of Chaucer in white chalk, and have been to the Strand about some costumes, after writing out a list of them. I must not omit to say that in Rome I painted a sketch of it in oil, afterwards made a drawing of it in chalk, and then an outline of the whole as it now is; since which I began first to fill it up in colour at Southend, afterwards went on a little with it at Hampstead, and since touched it and marred it at Tudor Lodge.[7] I have long intended beginning this journal; praise be God it is begun at last. 5th September.--Got up late, got to work late, did little, scratched-in three figures in white chalk; left off at half-past two, dressed and went out to dinner. Then went to the Cemetery:[8] found it full of cockneys: walked over to Hampstead, saw a glorious sunset.... 6th.--Have not worked to-day--tried to do so but could not, having been out all the morning to the costume-shop and other places.... Got a lay figure from Barbe’s at last, bought ten yards of flannel for draperies, engaged a model for to-morrow. Lost myself in Somerstown; got into a place where there was no gas; thought I should get my throat cut. Persevered, and after almost breaking my neck got into the King’s Road at last.... Went to Cooper’s, and ordered a moveable seat for my painting-steps.... 7th.--Got up at seven, model came, worked well all day--drew some legs....