THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 1 59 



like old times to me. With all this I am by no means 

 in spirits to write, I am so alone in this strange land, 

 so far from those I love the best, and the future rises 

 ofttimes dark before me. 



Monday, November 6. The same sad heart to-day, and 

 but little work and much company. I was glad, however, 

 to see those who came, among others my coach com- 

 panion from Manchester, Mr. Walton, who invited me 

 in a very friendly manner to see him often. It snowed 

 this morning, and was quite a new sight to me, for I have 

 not seen any for about five years — I think. The papers 

 give such accounts of my drawings and of myself that 

 I am quite ashamed to walk the streets ; but I am dis- 

 pirited and melancholy. 



Sunday, November 19. I do not know when I have thus 

 pitilessly put away my journal for nearly two weeks. My 

 head and heart would not permit me to write, so I must 

 try to incmorajiduin now all I have seen. What I have 

 felt is too much for me to write down, for when these 

 attacks of depression overwhelm me life is almost unen- 

 durable. Every day I exhibited my drawings to those 

 who came to see them. I had many noblemen, among 

 whom I especially liked Sir Patrick Walker and his lady; 

 but I welcomed all ladies, gentlemen, artists, and, I dare 

 say, critics. At last the Committee of the Royal Institu- 

 tion invited me to exhibit publicly in their rooms; I owe 

 this invitation, I know, to the astonishing perseverance 

 of some unknown friends. When my pictures were re- 

 moved there I was no longer "At Home." I painted 

 from dawn to dark, closely, and perhaps more attentively 

 than I ever have done before. The picture was large, 

 contained a Turkey Cock, a hen, and nine young, all the 

 size of life. Mr. Lizars and his amiable wife visited me 

 often ; often I spent the evenings with them. Mr. David 

 Bridges, Mr. Cameron, and several others had regular 

 admittance, and they all saw the regular progress of my 



