27 June 1864 – 3 July 1864

Got down to Chelsea by half- past eight to D. G. R.'s. Breakfasted in a small lofty room on first floor with window looking on the garden. Fanny in white. Then we went into the garden and lay on the grass, eating strawberries and looking at the peacock. F. went to look at the ' chicking/ her plural of chicken. Then Swinburne came in, and soon began to recite — a parody on Browning was one thing ; and after him Whistler, who talked about his own pictures — Royal Academy — the Chinese painter-girl, Millais, etc. I went off to Ned Jones's, found Mrs. Ned and Pip, and F. Burton ; talked of Christianity, Dante, Tenny- son and Browning, etc. Enter Miss Hill and another lady, and Val Prinsep.

Dine at Bertolini's. Hay- market, pit, Sothern in ' David Garrick ' and ' Dun- dreary Married.'

To Warwick Crescent to lunch with Browning by invitation. Pen plays ' Chopin.' I say to R, B., ' Did you ever play as well as that ? ' to which he replied, ' A thousand times as well ! ' We spoke of Tennyson. T. told B. he thought 'Sludge' too long. B. answered, ' I hope he thought it too long! ' — that is, Sludge, when the confession was forced from him. Sludge is Home, the Medium, of whom Brown- ing told me to-day a great deal that was very amusing. Having witnessed a seance of Home's, at the house of a friend of B.'s, Browning was openly called upon to give his frank opinion on what had passed, in presence of Home and the company, upon which he declared with emphasis that so impudent a piece of imposture he never saw before in all his life, and so took his leave. Next day Browning's servant came into his room with a visitor's card, and close behind followed the visitor himself — no other than Mr. Home, who advanced with a cordial smile and right hand outstretched in amity. He bore no ill-will — not he ! Browning looked sternly at him (as he is very capable of doing) and pointing to the open door, not far from which is rather a steep staircase, said — ' If you are not out of that door in half a minute I'll fling you down the stairs.' Home attempted some expostulation, but B. moved towards him, and the Medium disappeared with as much grace as he could manage. ' And now comes the best of it all,' said B. — ' What do you suppose he says of me ? — You'd never guess. He says to everybody, " How Browning hates me ! — and how I love him ! " ' He further explains B.'s animosity as arising out of a seance at Florence, where a ' spirit-wreath ' was placed on Mrs. Browning's head, and none on her husband's. B. spoke of London, parties, theatres, Sullivan, Gounod, etc. : ' If I could do exactly as I liked I should often go to an Opera or Play instead of to a party. I could amuse myself a good deal better. I should always treat myself to a good place.' He spoke of his own poems — would rather write music — longs also to be a sculptor ; 'If one could only live six hundred years, or have two lives even.' We went to the Underground Railway, Bishop's Road, together. ' I am going ' (he said) ' to a house where the eldest son is dead.' I walked through the Park to Woolner's in Welbeck Street, and found not only Woolner, but Tennyson there (up for some days), and also F. Palgrave. Woolner is engaged to dine with Novello, and I very gladly agree to stay and keep Tennyson company. T., P., and I walk in the Regent's Park, P. goes home. T. and I dine together. He has the proof sheets of a new book with him — some flitting notion of calling it ' Idyls of the Hearth ' ? * Gladstone dined here on Monday ' — Swinburne — Milnes — De Sade — Naked model — ' the chastest thing I ever saw.' T. said he must begin to correct his proofs, and with the word came the sound of a barrel-organ, bringing dismay ! I took my leave, promising to quash the music, in which attempt I succeeded, seeing the grinding man well out of the street, then walked off to 5 Blandford Square, where I found Barbara L. S. B. and the Doctor,^ and also Mrs. Clough and Bessie Parkes. Plenty of friends and talks to-day. ^ Dr. and Madame Bodichon. Woolner lifts to the skies a German animal sculptor, Julius Haenel (43 Pyraneesche Strasse, Dresden), two or three small bronzes by whom he shows me, and admirable they are. H. finds it difficult to get money. Woolner says, ' If Haenel had done the lions in Tra- falgar Square people would have come from distant countries to look at them.'