I had some very friendly talk, and he proposed that on my wife's return
we should take up our residence in his house at Blackheath, while Mrs.
Bennoch and himself were absent for two months on a trip to Germany. If
his wife and mine ratify the idea, we will do so.

The next morning we went out to see the Exchange, and whatever was
noticeable about the town. Time being brief, I did not visit the
cathedral, which, I believe, is a thousand years old. There are many
handsome shops in Manchester; and we went into one establishment, devoted
to pictures, engravings, and decorative art generally, which is most
perfect and extensive. The firm, if I remember, is that of the Messrs.
Agnew, and, though originating here, they have now a house in London.
Here I saw some interesting objects, purchased by them at the recent sale
of the Rogers collection; among other things, a slight pencil and
water-color sketch by Raphael. An unfinished affair, done in a moment,
as this must have been, seems to bring us closer to the hand that did it
than the most elaborately painted picture can. Were I to see the
Transfiguration, Raphael would still be at the distance of centuries.
Seeing this little sketch, I had him very near me. I know not why,--
perhaps it might be fancied that he had only laid down the pencil for an
instant, and would take it up again in a moment more. I likewise saw a
copy of a handsome, illustrated edition of Childe Harold, presented by
old John Murray to Mr. Rogers, with an inscription on the fly-leaf,
purporting that it was a token of gratitude from the publisher, because,
when everybody else thought him imprudent in giving four hundred guineas
for the poem, Mr. Rogers told him it would turn out the best bargain he
ever made.

There was a new picture by Millais, the distinguished Pre-Raphaelite
artist, representing a melancholy parting between two lovers. The lady's