--among the infinite delusions of the human heart--to be a
snare. But I could confide much in Sir T. Acland's honour and integrity.
Bishop Blomfield [of Chester],[173] one of the most learned prelates of
the church, also dined.

Coming home, an Irish coachman drove us into a _cul de sac_, near
Battersea Bridge. We were obliged to get out in the rain. The people
admitted us into their houses, where they were having their bit of
supper, assisted with lights, etc., and, to the honour of London,
neither asked nor expected gratification.

_April_ 20.--We went to Walter's quarters in a body, and saw Hampton
Court, with which I was more struck than when I saw it for the first
time, about 1806. The pictures are not very excellent, but they are
curious, which is as interesting, except to connoisseurs. Two I
particularly remarked, of James I. and Charles I. eating in public. The
old part of the palace, built by Wolsey, is extremely fine. Two handsome
halls are still preserved: one, the ceiling of which is garnished, at
the crossing and combining of the arches, with the recurring heads of
Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn--great stinginess in Henry, for these
ornaments must have been put up after Wolsey's fall. He could surely
afford a diversity of this species of ornament if any man could.
Formerly, when the palace was completely a fishing-house, it extended
into, or rather over, the river. We had a good dinner from Walter, and
wended merrily home.

_April_ 21.--Dining is the principal act of the day in London. We took
ours at Kensington with Croker. There were Theodore Hook and other
witty men. He looks unhealthy and bloated. There was something, I know
not what, awanting to the cheerfulness of the party. And

"Silence like a heavy cloud,
O'er all the warriors hung."

If the general report of Croker's retiring be accurate, it may account
for this.

_April_ 22.--Sophia left this to take down poor Johnnie to Brighton. I
fear--I fear--but we must hope the best. Anne went with her sister.

Lockhart and I dined with Sotheby, where we met a large dining party,
the orator of which was that extraordinary man Coleridge. After eating a
hearty dinner, during which he spoke not a word, he began a most learned
harangue on the Samothracian Mysteries, which he considered as affording
the germ of all tales about fairies past, present, and to come. He then
diverged to Homer, whose Iliad he considered as a collection of poems by
differ