November 2nd 1858
The weather lately would have suited one's ideal of an English November, except that there have been no fogs; but of ugly, hopeless clouds, chill, shivering winds, drizzle, and now and then pouring rain, much more than enough. An English coal-fire, if we could see its honest face within doors, would compensate for all the unamiableness of the outside atmosphere; but we might ask for the sunshine of the New Jerusalem, with as much hope of getting it. It is extremely spiritcrushing, this remorseless grey, with its icy heart; and the more to depress the whole family, U--- has taken what seems to be the Roman fever, by sitting down in the Palace of the Caesars, while Mrs. S---- sketched the ruins.
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