1856:--

My position every one but myself seems to think
most enviable. _I_ contrast Lower Thames Street with The
Craig, and my heart sinks into my shoes. The attendance
is onerous; the actual work is not. It seems to be
a place wherein a man may grow old comfortably. There
is a good salary (nominally L1200), and a liberal retiring
allowance when you are worked out. A board every
day--except for two months' holiday, varied only by
occasional tours of inspection--sounds horrible slavery
to a man accustomed to wander at his own free will;
and finally, at my time of my life, I have an indefinable
dislike to anything involving a total change of life and
habits. _En revanche_, I have a provision for old age and
for my family, and shall be almost as glad to be spared
the necessity of writing for bread--for butter at least--as
sorry to be tied out from scribbling when and where
the spirit moves me.

My last quarter's labours are an article on America
in the _National_, and on Montalembert in the _Edinburgh_,
and one on Macaulay in the _North Briton_, of which I am
not proud. Froude's History I have not yet seen. I hope
now, as I write less, I shall have more time for reading.
It seems to be somewhat paradoxical. By the way, is
not Carlyle sadly gone off? I met him the other day,
and he did nothing but blaspheme, and pour out a torrent
of bad language against blackguards, fools, and devils
that was appalling to listen to.

On the whole, when the time came, his new employment brought him
moderate interests of its own. What may be called the literary part of
the work, such as the drawing up of reports, naturally fell into his
hands. The necessity of working with other people, which does not always
come easily to men accustomed to the isolation and independence of their
own libraries, he found an agreeable novelty. Still he was not sorry
when, at the end of 1864, the chance came to him of a move to the
Stationery Office. Here he was the head of a department, and not merely
a member of a Board, and the regulation of his hours fell more into his
own hands.

From the time when he came to London, until his death five and twenty
years later (November 1881), his life was for the most part without any
incident in which the world can have an interest. He formed many
acquaintances according to the cheerful and hospitable fashion of
London, and he made a number of warm and attac