28 July 1873 – 3 August 1873

C. urges me to visit Crecy and Agincourt on my holiday ; but the truth is that (while I know what the lust of battle is, and read eagerly the story of a well-fought fight, from Waterloo to Tom Sayers) these old invasions of France by the English seem to me acts of violent injustice, — disgusting and useless butchery.

Carlyle tells me he is ' sitting ' to Whistler. If C. makes signs of changing his position W. screams out in an agonised tone, ' For God's sake, don't move ! ' C. afterwards said that all W.'s anxiety seemed to be to get the coat painted to ideal perfection ; the face went for little. He had begun by asking two or three sittings, but managed to get a great many. At last C. flatly rebelled. He used to define W. as the most absurd creature on the face of the earth. C. — ' I met Cary, translator of Dante, a wise-looking old man, but neglected to speak to him, through shy- ness. The Kilmarnock weaver prayed, " The Lord gie us a guid conceit o' oursells ! " — and I would have been better of some additional share in every situation in my life. Still, real self-conceit is the most poisonous thing can get into a man's mind.'