A lovely summer’s day. There were no letters from London to change the nature of our anxiety. This determined me to remain at least for the post tomorrow when the Despatches would have been opened. Indeed there was something in the calm retirement of this place which seemed attractive, and particularly as not a whisper was made to me of politics. Under a bright sun and genial air in the places looked lovely. Some gentleman went shooting, whilst others sat on the lawn conversing and a few played croquet with Mary. Mr Lear is an interesting man, modest and unassuming, yet thoughtful and accomplished. After luncheon. Mr Baring took us all with the exception of Mr Currie, who left for London, on a drive to see an ancient parish church connected with a place formerly the residence of the Pierrepont, and at which Lady Mary Wotley Montague was brought up. From she has eloped with her199 husband. Lady Mary is no favorite of mine, but we read much of her in the literature of one period, so that we interest ourselves a little in her whereabout. The little church contains two elaborate monuments, one to an Evelyn, and the other to a Pierrepont. The inscriptions are quaint and curious. From this old church with its dilapidated yew trees, we went at once to a little chapel of ease all fresh from the hands of the builders, and fitted for about as many hearers. It is neat and in good taste. Thence we were driven to a range of hills or dunes as they call them, which some of us ascended to see the view. It is said that the Isle of Wight and Southampton Water are plainly visible from it, but there was so much haze today I could see nothing but hill and dale. On the other side is the spire of Salisbury cathedral. The view is pretty. Mr Lear and I walked home. On the whole, I think this is among the priest of my English experience of Autumn days. The evening was passed much in the usual way. The ladies proposed conundrums, Mr Lear sang several of Tennyson’s poems to his own music, and some played billiards.