it is not a mere story--it's a poem! Great
praise from a great man!

October 11, 1879.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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_, an