Diary of Charles Francis Adams, 1863
The storm abated a little in the morning, but the wind rose again and blew hard at night. It has now lasted ten days, and has been unusually severe along the whole southern and western coast. I had only some short letters to write for the mail, so that my leisure was spent in reading a portion of Leigh Hunts Autobiography. There is very little substance in the first part, but he has made his narrative pleasing by the simple charm of style. Afternoon I took a long walk tot eh west by Boxhill, and then to the north through Hollington home. A portion of this I remember to have taken a year ago. It is neither so cheerful nor so picturesque as the region about Hastings. Evening quiet, reading Massey whose third volume I am finishing. There was a procession with an enormous figure of Guy Fawkes passed by the house according to the custom, but the wind was rather adverse to the torches. The Anticatholic prejudice is still kept up by it, which considering the political danger of some of the papal doctrines is not perhaps amiss. The practice now is to seize the opportunity to direct this passion against obnoxious living persons in foreign countries. Last year General Butler came in for a share. This year it goes to the Russians.