14th.--To-day one of fearful idleness, self-abasement, and disgust. Emma got up; I went down to breakfast with her, unwashed and only half dressed. I intended working at the coat, then walking to Hampstead to purchase flannel for Emma and baby-clothes. I sat down to write to Gabriel a few lines about his calf,[89] and like an ass must write in verse--bad rhymes. Spent till one o’clock, and lunched--still unwashed--then read the paper--still unwashed till half-past four: “Oh that it should be so!” Then dressed and took Katty out--then we dined--then read the paper to Emma; the dear is poorly and nervous. This is the true and particular history of a day--a piteous thing to tell of. 15th, Sunday.--Worked at the coat out in the yard--then indoors, driven in by fog, then fine and out again. Five hours in all.... 16th.--Reflected seriously on my money position. Found I should have four weeks’ money, and the same credit; after which something must be done if White does not come. Decided on going the next day to collect my rent at Greenwich, and to look up acquaintances in London, to see what might turn up (three hours). 17th.--Walked to Holloway, ’bus to City, rail to Greenwich and back. Got my quarter’s rent. Called on Robert Dickinson; tried to find John Seddon. Called on my poor old aunt Brown, and on the Rossettis--heard of Woolner’s return.[90] 18th.--A complete blank. Have done nothing all day, but sit by the fire with Emma and try to think of ways towards means, ineffectual. Could think of anything else but that; romped with Katty. A pitiable day. 19th.--To Gravesend to take my daughter her winter-things and a trunk. Met Shenton who had forgot his purse, lent him half-a-crown. Saw his Art-Union Print of _Cœur de Lion_:[91] not very good. Has taken I think six years. Find that he lives at Hendon, and is great friends with the old rascally Vicar there whom we nicknamed Judas from his iniquitous looks and conduct, especially towards cats. Helen Bromley’s eldest daughter very sadly ill; mine quite well. Walked home from the Camden Station; walked altogether seventeen miles, spent £1. 12s. Read a number of Thackeray’s _Newcomes_--good, females equal to Shakespeare, in all worldliness perfect; his artists all asses, and his knowledge on that head about at zero. 20th.--Up late--no bath--still lazy, dreamy, and incompetent. Worked at the draperies of _Our Ladye_ about two hours; headache (two hours). 21st.--Wrote reluctantly to White; but with some appearance of a reason, the infamous scoundrel Reynolds[92] having published in his Miscellany the wood-cut (that was formerly in _The People’s Journal_) of _Wiclif_. Worked at the draperies about four hours. A letter from old Bamford, to ask me to make a portrait from the one I formerly painted of his son, since just lost in the _Lady Nugent_. Some sort of tin tumbling in, and the old saying of an ill wind very truly exemplified (five hours).