After we had been to see the armour and some paintings at Hertford House (the Wallace Collection where you drew some of the daggers one day) we walked back through the park. Another dog chased a crow yesterday. This time the rook made a terrible squawking and seemed most upset about it. It's a pity they don't seem to be tame at all, not even to want to feed. They are so respectable in their glossy black Sunday clothes. I love it when they sit high up in their rookeries in the evening and caw their good-nights to each other in the fading sunlight. I would like to write a poem called ‘Evensong at the Rookery’.