During the Long Vacation he spent a few weeks in the English Lake District.  In spite of the rain, of which he had his full share, he managed to see a good deal of the best scenery, and made the ascent of Gable in the face of an icy gale, which laid him up with neuralgia for some days.  He and his companions returned to Croft by way of Barnard Castle, as he narrates in his Diary:—­

     We set out by coach for Barnard Castle at about seven, and
    passed over about forty miles of the dreariest hill-country
    I ever saw; the climax of wretchedness was reached in Bowes,
    where yet stands the original of “Dotheboys Hall”; it has
    long ceased to be used as a school, and is falling into
    ruin, in which the whole place seems to be following its
    example—­the roofs are falling in, and the windows broken or
    barricaded—­the whole town looks plague-stricken.  The
    courtyard of the inn we stopped at was grown over with
    weeds, and a mouthing idiot lolled against the corner of the
    house, like the evil genius of the spot.  Next to a prison or
    a lunatic asylum, preserve me from living at Bowes!

Although he was anything but a sportsman, he was interested in the subject of betting, from a mathematical standpoint solely, and in 1857 he sent a letter to Bell’s Life, explaining a method by which a betting man might ensure winning over any race.  The system was either to back every horse, or to lay against every horse, according to the way the odds added up.  He showed his scheme to a sporting friend, who remarked, “An excellent system, and you’re bound to win—­if only you can get people to take your bets.”

In the same year he made the acquaintance of Tennyson, whose writings he had long intensely admired.  He thus describes the poet’s appearance:—­

A strange shaggy-looking man; his hair, moustache, and beard looked wild and neglected; these very much hid the character of the face.  He was dressed in a loosely fitting morning coat, common grey flannel waistcoat and trousers, and a carelessly tied black silk neckerchief.  His hair is black; I think the eyes too; they are keen and restless—­nose aquiline—­forehead high and broad—­both face and head are fine and manly.  His manner was kind and friendly from the first; there is a dry lurking humour in his style of talking.

    I took the opportunity [he goes on to say] of asking the
    meaning of two passages in his poems, which have always
    puzzled me:  one in “Maud”—­

      Strange that I hear two men
        Somewhere talking of me;
      Well, if it prove a girl, my boy
        Will have plenty; so let it be.

    He said it referred to Maud, and to the two fathers
    arranging a match between himself and her.

    The other was of the poet—­

      Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
        The love of love.