7. Friday. Drawing on �Mose.� Very, very lonely at heart.
/ A new Boarder appeareth � an Oxford man, recently arrived
in this country. Nocturnally he coucheth in our room with Hughie.
8. Saturday. �Mose� all day. Wretch of a small boy out of doors
hammering on a big childs drum sans intermission.
9. Sunday. Wrote to M � �patience is stale, and I am
weary of it.� Out of doors sleet, rain, snow, in doors head and
heart aching. Took a hour and half walk in the evening spite of the
weather, with Hughie Muir, (that�s his name I find.) He narrateth
how the vestal of the �candy-shop� having many �fooling round� her hath disgust-
ed him with the pursuit, wherefore he thinking of abandoning the same.
Long walk, Grove Street and Pavonia-wards.
10. Monday. Unwell, ill-tempered, splenetic, matagrabolized.
Hard at work on �Mose�. Evening reading Burns and Rabelais
11. Tuesday. Went to Post Office. A letter for me, but from
George Bolton. A poor one sheet of note-paper after all this delay,
�mountain in labour� � (Won�t write myself for a devil of a
time.) [words crossed out]. Poor did John Harris
the farm labourer, who in face might have stood for a portrait of
Crabbe�s Isaac Ashford, is dead! / Returning, all the
trees deep covered with their winter foliage. I love snow, it is
so beautiful, and varied in the multiform shape it takes. /