28th.--Sunday.... In a state of great despondency and nervousness all day. An unsuccessful man is a bore to every one. Took a walk, but could not walk it off. Came back, and penned an advertisement for _The Times_--“Wanted £300 on mortgage of good freehold property.” So one gradually rides to ruin. This evening I have tried to sleep off my headache and low spirits, without much success. I have so managed things that at the age of 34, or nearly, after having worked vigorously all my youth, after having repeatedly aroused public attention in more than one country, and been considered a man of genius, I, far from being able to make a livelihood by my work, have not even one friend whom I can apply to for advice how to raise money on the property I have. Some people have rich friends who get a poor devil occasionally out of a mess. My friends cannot muster sufficient sympathy to give me advice on such a delicate subject. I thought I might apply for some information to old Seddon, and get W. Rossetti to ask his uncle Polydore (who is in the law) something about Building Societies. Old Seddon takes no notice of what I write to him; and William has asked his uncle, but without success, or any very evident pleasure in the matter.[105] An unsuccessful man is a bore ... Woolner ... says.... Carlyle as well as Ruskin consider Patmore’s book[106] a glorious one; this after having sent an insulting note to W. B. Scott about his poetry.[107] So much for Carlyle’s critical powers. Somehow or another, there is nowhere common sense to be met with in this world, neither among one’s friends nor among one’s enemies, nor any known set or sect. Yesterday I went to town to see about my large picture for Paris. A gallery Dickinson has found; but the picture must not remain, should it let, nor in any case after 17th February next. Much bother to ascertain if the Government packers can take it from thence when required. Secretary at Marlborough House not able to say till he has consulted the _Board_--obliged to write a letter. Running backwards and forwards all day, and the one before. They evidently belong to the same sort who are starving our unfortunate soldiers in the Crimea. Captain Fowke R.E. They seem to have nice snug berths of it, and plenty of coals provided. The same bother to obtain my steps from the Clerkenwell School. A certain unyielding “pliceman” has no idea of acting without a written order from the treasurer. I have no hope in me.