22 June 1863 – 28 June 1863

Heard Spurgeon preach in a tent in a field beside the town. ' If any man thirst, etc,' anecdotes — prayer — good lungs. Rain — Spurgeon put on his hat, many opened umbrellas. After the service, people came to shake hands with him, and I drew near. He said, ' I must be gone. I trust God has given us some souls this evening,' I walked behind him ; he has a big body, short legs, flat feet : Anglo-Saxon ? — large brain, no doubt. His mind a mystery to me, but not interesting.

In the evening walked sadly along the shore of the Solent eastwards by Pylewell — return- ing, brought home a glow-worm and put it in a white lily, through which it shone. It was not till Friday the 3rd of July that I first saw Freshwater. I crossed by the evening boat, walked over the bridge, and after two or three miles of beautiful green-sided roads, spoilt here and there by Forts, reached the enchanted realm of Farringford, but coast- ing outside could not see the house and would not of course enter any gate. In the dusk I saw the ' noble Down ' rising up, its Beacon against the sky, then got to the shore and the sea and white clifi^s. I was thinking all the while of Tennyson, and felt very doleful. Yet I had not the faintest thought of pre- senting myself to him or wish, even, to meet him by chance on his return (he was from home at this time). I have lost the faith I used to have in people's wishing to see me — perhaps it is merely one of the signs that youth has passed away. But I feel a natural bond to him (I say it in humility) and to a very few others, and only in their company am better contented than to be with nature and books. With these persons I feel truly humble, yet at the same time easy. I understand and am understood, with words or without words. It is not fame that attracts me, it disgusts me rather. Fame has cooled many friendships for me, never made or increased one. Fame is a thing of the ' World,' and the ' World ' is a dreadful separator. In the late summer dusk I returned through charm- ing narrow leafy roads — the Moon rose like a surprise. At Lymington in these first months I was busy doing Laurence Bloomfield, the last five chapters, which were coming out month by month in Fraser s Magazine. After this ' The Ballad Book ' for Mac- millan occupied the best part of my leisure time — much reading, comparing, selecting and copying of Ballads, to perhaps little result.