“Dined at Lord Sherborne’s, meeting, amongst others, Lady Powerscourt, surely one of the sweetest of God’s creatures.”
“May 13.—Having heard of George Paul’s death, I went to see Auntie.[343] It was strange to find the familiar figure of my childhood, who had been inexplicably separated from me for twelve years, and with her to see again many of the silent objects connected with Esmeralda and those sealed chapters of life. We spoke only on indifferent subjects, but I cannot think poor Auntie can have felt indifferent, though she refused to show me the slightest affection, or evince the least pleasure at seeing me.”
“May 15.—I paid £50 into Auntie’s account at Coutts’s, and shall continue to do so at this date annually. More I think she would reject, but she will allow this to pass, and I am thankful even in the smallest degree to contribute to her comfort.”
“May 19.—A luncheon party at Lady Ducie’s. Mrs. Stewart was there. Some one said Sir William Harcourt’s late election failure would be as good as a dose of physic to him—‘No,’ she answered, ‘it will be no good at all; it has been a dose of castor-oil administered to a marble statue.’”
“May 25.—Luncheon at Lady Sherborne’s. Dear old Mrs. Stewart was there in great force, and recited Swinburne’s really grand lines apropos of the Prince Imperial’s proposed monument, exhorting the illustrious dead to veil their faces and leave Westminster Abbey on the arrival of his statue.
“Lady Airlie was at luncheon. She spoke of the almost necessity for a cloud over the most beautiful lives. She said how one might observe that in almost all the finest summer days the sun was clouded over for some hours.”
“May 26.—Dined at the Thorntons’. Lord Houghton was there. He said how he had discussed with George Sand the question how far it was well to know authors whose works you admired. She had urged him never to know them, that they all put their best into their books; whatever you find afterwards can only be inferior material. Carlyle, Lord Houghton allowed, was just like his books; in his case you could know the man and not be disappointed: it is the same mixture of grim humour, irony, and pathos, of which his books are composed, which enables the man personally to produce such an indescribable impression. Carlyle always hated having his picture taken, but was persuaded to sit to Millais. When he went there, to the beautiful house full of priceless art-treasures, he asked what brought them there. ‘My art,’ answered Millais proudly. ‘Then there are more fools in the world than I imagined,’ said Carlyle.”
“May 30.—Sat a long time with Lady Airlie, who talked of the power of prayer and the number of people who really believed in it. She said she prayed for everything, but always left it to God to decide for her, making a complete act of submission, but adding, ‘I should like this or that best.’ The mystic Mr. Laurence Oliphant came in and talked for a long time. Being asked as to his past and future, he said he could only act ‘under direction,’ i.e., of spirits. He said the separation from the spiritual world was entirely dependent upon the constitution of the individual. No wonder that the hallucinations of this brilliant and fascinating visionary wreck the comfort as well as the practical usefulness at once of his own life and the lives of those dearest to him.
“A few days ago Ronald Gower came and took me to Frank Miles’s studio—a new-old house in Tite Street, Chelsea. Frank Miles is a charming handsome young Bohemian, who has a delightful garden in the country filled with every lily that ever was heard of. He paints all the ‘professional beauties,’ who hover round him and his studio like moths, but his pictures have no great power.”[344]
“May 31.—I was at Stafford House in the evening, the hall brilliantly lighted, a deafening band on the staircase, and all the Campbell-Percy-Gower connection looking on.”