October 11, 1879.

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I was knocked up yesterday in a good cause.  We went to see Mr. Ruskin at Herne Hill.  I find him far more personally lovable than I had expected.  Of course he lives in the incense of an adoring circle, but he is absolutely unaffected himself, and with a GREAT charm.  So much gentler and more refined than I had expected, and such clear Scotch turquoise eyes.

He had been out to buy buns and grapes for me (!), carrying the buns home himself very carefully that they might not be crushed!!  We are so utterly at one on some points:  it is very delightful to hear him talk.  I mean it is uncommonly pleasant to hear things one has long thought very vehemently, put to one by a Master!! Par exemple. You know my mania about the indecent-cruel element in French art, and how the Frenchiness of Victor Hugo chokes me from appreciating him:  just as we were going away yesterday Mr. Ruskin called out, “There is something I MUST show Aunt Judy,” and fetched two photos.  One, an old court with bits of old gothic tracery mixed in with a modern tumbledown building—­peaceful old doorway, wild vine twisting up the lintel, modern shrine, dilapidated waterbutt, sunshine straggling in—­as far as the beauty of contrast and suggestiveness and form and (one could fancy) colour could go, perfect as a picture. (R——­ didn’t say all this, but we agreed as to the obvious beauty, etc.) Then he brought out the other photo, and said, “but the French artist cannot rest with that, it must be heightened and stained with blood,” and there was the court (photo from a French picture), with two children lying murdered in the sunshine.

Another point we met on was my desire to write a tale on Commercial Honour.  He was delighted, and will I think furnish me with “tips.”  His father was a merchant of the old school.  And then to my delight I found him soldier-mad!!  So we got on very affably, and I hope to go and stay there when I go home next summer.

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November 7, 1879.

Friends are truly kind.  Miss Mundella sent two season tickets for the Monday “Pop.” to D——­ and me.  I managed to go and stay for most of it.  Norman Neruda, Piatti, and Janotha—­have you heard Janotha play the piano?  I think she is very wonderful.  It is so absolutely without affectation, and so selfless, and yet such a mastery of the instrument.  Her rippling passages are like music writ in water, and she has a singing touch too, and when she accompanies, the subordination and sympathy are admirable.  She is not pretty, nor in any way got up, but is elfish and quaint-looking, and quite young.  We sat quite near to Browning, who is a nice-looking old man, delightfully clean.  He seemed to delight in Neruda and Piatti, and followed the music with a score of his own.

Ecclesfield. Saturday, January 31, 1880.