[Paris—Wednesday, 14 December 1859]

Wednesday 14th Snowy. Busy with French; and Carlyle which grows very interesting. Jamie passed an hour in the evening with the Greene’s. For some reason I feel wonderfully little like writing here in Paris. Letters almost suffice. Received a long call from the Countess de Montemerli, Mrs Bennoch’s friend. A woman who obtains your esteem for her fine energy but otherwise not especially interesting. Sometimes I think author-ship spoils women. This is all nonsense but small authors, men or women, are apt to belong to a lower grade than the average remainder of unwriting humans. Chiefly because their vanity overpowers in the end their fraction of uncommon sense.


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