[^GREEN, JOHN RICHARD.
LETTERS OF JOHN RICHARD GREEN.
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY, LIMITED.
ED. STEPHEN, LESLIE.
LONDON, 1901.
PP. 98 - 100^]


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<P 98>
 
[} [\From Diary\] }] 
WELLINGTON,
August 20, 1862. 
   The meeting followed, and after papers by Hugo
and Parker of very different calibre, I read, in great fear
and trembling, my "St. Dunstan."  It "took," was much
applauded, and the critic I so much dreaded took me
by the hand as I came down and congratulated me. 
"You remember me, do you?  I remember little Johnny
Green."  He afterwards introduced me to his wife,
whose Jacobite songs I remember with my Jacobite
enthusiasm years ago.  Freeman is the Philistine of
these meetings, but nothing has been of such use to
Arch‘ology as the Arch‘ological Philistine.  And
moreover beneath his brusqueness lies a real human
heart full of fun and life, which lights up a tedious discussion
wonderfully.  I was "kudized" at the (\d‚jeuner\)
by Sandford, our President, a fine old English gentleman
of the open-faced, open-waistcoated style; and had an
interesting walk after it with Parker, who told me of
the obstruction he had met with in endeavouring to
set the Colleges to investigate their own history.  I
mentioned to him my civic scheme;  he approved of it; 
from words of his I see that the Dons make him feel
and wince under his position of a "citizen."  How like
Oxford!  We met Freeman again.  "You not only
read your books well, but you know how to use them." 
I really was very proud of the praise.  He followed it
up by requesting me to write for the Saturday.  I

<P 99>

was thunderstruck; but promised to try.  I don't
suppose I shall do.  Still it was flattering to be told,
"I was desired by the Editor to look out for promising
young men, so I ask you." 
   He adds - "A terrible loneliness presses on me as I
write.  Oh, I would give all that opens before me for
one word from those still lips.  If God will but grant
me to help forward her little ones." 

KING'S SQUARE,
Sunday, August 24. 
   Rose at 6.15.  Have written to my sister, Dawkins,
Agnes, and Walter, and breakfasted.  Sunday-school
and a marriage service are to follow.  How dingy this
neighbourhood looks after that glorious country, one
limitless park broken with lanes and hedgerows and
glorious elms, dotted with patches of golden corn that
caught the light and flung it over the landscape, and
set in that wonderful framework of hills.  There is
little to tie me here now save my little ones - and that
is not little. 

   Tuesday.  - I feel my return to the heat and imprisonment
of town in lassitude of body and mind.  Yesterday
I wrote some letters, and ran through Guizot's
Visit to England in 1840, a book weighed down with
recollections of dead diplomacies, but full of personal
sketches which retain their interest, and of just and fair
reflections on English society and institutions. . . . 
   This morning, after writing to Hughes and D., I read
three-fourths of Ten Years of Imperialism in France,
acute, vigorous in style, and throwing much light on
the France of to-day.  Certainly there is a life and
reality about Imperial France which contrasts strongly
with the conventionalism, miscalled conservatism, of
the France of Louis Philippe. . . . 

   Saturday, Aug. 30.  - An idle week.  I purpose
reading every day some portion of French and English
history in connection.  Thursday I read Thierry's

<P 100>

Lettres sur l'Histoire de France, (\cap.\) 1-6, and yesterday
same (\cap.\) 7-9, and Sismondi, pref. and (\cap.\) 1. 
This morning rose at 6.  From 7 to 8 Sismondi (and
after breakfast till 12), (\cap.\) 2, 3, 4, with Lappenberg
to Agricola.