Mr and Mrs Sturgis are the most liberal of hosts, their table is of the choicest, and their cordiality the most thorough, yet I can never feel comfortable in staying here. The whole scene passes before my eyes as if it were an artificial scene of a play, liable to crumble and disappear any morning. Besides which there appears to be no substance in the society. A stroke of apoplexy to the host would scatter it all to the winds. I cannot judge them harshly, but there are no common points of sympathy to bind us. So I feel relieved when I get away. Henry who came out last evening to dinner, returned in the early train, with Mr Sturgis and myself, to town. I had enough to do in resuming my elaborate answer to Lord Russell, and in finishing up the week’s despatches and letters for the bag. Quiet evening at home.