7 December 1868 – 13 December 1868

Christchurch ; Boscombe. Lady Shelley, luncheon, Sir Percy. Upstairs, cast of Shelley monument at Christchurch. Bust of Mary Wollstonecraft, bust and oil picture of Mrs. Shelley — ' the noblest of creatures (says Lady S. to me), entirely unselfish. I knew her before I married Percy ; I was with her when she died. She lay ten days motionless and speechless, only sometimes opening her eyes wide. When she died, / felt sure Shelley was in the room. Her look of joy was indescribable. Shelley's daughter lanthe was brought up by low church clergy- men, according to the wish of her Aunt Eliza ; she was married to Mr. Esdaile, a squire, once a sporting man, and her children have been brought up in Low Church Calvinism. She visited us here at Boscombe : before she came she wanted to bargain that her father's name should never be mentioned in her presence or her children's, but this 1 refused to agree to. She came to us, but when we gave a children's party she would not let her children be present. She had prayers or a religious service with them every evening, lasting two hours. One day I left her alone in the Shelley room, with the portrait, hair, books, letters and other memorials of her father. She stayed a long time, and when she came out I saw that she had been weeping. She promised to send me some early poems in MS. in return for a copy of the portrait ; but after she got home she drew back from this, and I have not sent her the copy which I had made for the purpose : there it is.* Take leave and walk to Christchurch, Sir Percy along with me half the way. Dismal road, empty barrack, wretched suburb. Station ; the ugliest old little English town 1 have seen, spite of a river and a Minster. Commercial man in train describes Bournemouth as * a rdtten place ' commercially. Brockenhurst, train gone, got back to Lymington in a butcher's cart.

Sir Percy Shelley's steam- yacht Nokken at Inman's Quay, steward calls to invite me. I find on board Sir P., and in the cabin Lady S. and Miss ' Flossy ' Gibson. Engraving of Shelley for me. We start, rather cold — Cowes, we put off in a boat. Sir P. and a sailor row us in, and drive to Woodvale, a semi-marine house with gables and a hall. Dinner — music, drama, Norway, etc. Drawing-room, Norwegian book with picture of ' Leerfossen,' my cousin Thoning's waterfall.

I walk into Cowes by road near the sea, then upper road, muddy lanes, Floating Bridge, then wide road with streets and villas, and the rails and gates of Osborne House. I venture to ask the dignified porter if one might walk a little way into the park, to which he replied mildly and calmly, ' On no consideration, sir.'