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Thomas Hugheswhom (search for this): chapter 11
more on this first glance. I never felt for an instant that I had really encountered in England men of greater calibre than I had met before,--for was I not the fellow countryman of Emerson and Hawthorne, of Webster and Phillips?yet, after all, the ocean lends a glamour to the unseen world beyond it, and I was glad to have had a sight of that world, also. I was kindly dismissed from it, after my first brief visit, by a reception given me at the rooms of the Anglo-American Club, where Thomas Hugheswhom I had first known at Newport, Rhode Island-presided, and where Lord Houghton moved some too flattering resolutions, which were seconded by the present Sir Frederick Pollock. Returning to my American home, I read, after a few days, in the local newspaper (the Newport Mercury ), that I was reported to have enjoyed myself greatly in England, and to have been kindly received, especially among servants and rascals. An investigation by the indignant editor revealed the fact that the scrap
Rider Haggard (search for this): chapter 11
of seeing Carlyle, Darwin, Tennyson, Browning, Tyndall, Huxley, Matthew Arnold, and Froude, with many minor yet interesting personalities. Since the day when I met these distinguished men another cycle has passed, and they have all disappeared. Of those whom I saw twenty-five years ago at the Athenaeum Club, there remain only Herbert Spencer and the delightful Irish poet Aubrey de - Vere,and though the Club now holds on its lists the names of a newer generation, Besant and Hardy, Lang and Haggard, I cannot think that what has been added quite replaces what has been lost. Yet the younger generation itself may think otherwise; and my task at present deals with the past alone. It has to do with the older London group, and I may write of this the more freely inasmuch as I did not write during the lifetime of the men described; nor do I propose, even at this day, to report conversations with any persons now living. My first duty in England was, of course, to ascertain my proper posi
Mark Twain (search for this): chapter 11
of what were called portmanteau words, into which various meanings were crammed. As I spoke, Mrs. Darwin glided quietly away, got the book, and looked up the passage. Read it out, my dear, said her husband; and as she read the amusing page, he laid his head back and laughed heartily. It was altogether delightful to see the man who had revolutionized the science of the world giving himself wholly to the enjoyment of Alice and her pretty nonsense. Akin to this was his hearty enjoyment of Mark Twain, who had then hardly begun to be regarded as above the Josh Billings grade of humorist; but Darwin was amazed that I had not read The jumping Frog, and said that he always kept it by his bedside for midnight amusement. I recall with a different kind of pleasure the interest he took in my experience with the colored race, and the faith which he expressed in the negroes. This he afterward stated more fully in a letter to me, which may be found in his published memoirs. It is worth record
Anne Thackeray Ritchie (search for this): chapter 11
I had previously given up York Minster for Darwin. Both sacrifices were made on the deliberate ground, which years have vindicated, that the building would probably last for my lifetime, while the man might not. I had brought no letter to Tennyson, and indeed my friend James T. Fields had volunteered a refusal of any, so strong was the impression that the poet disliked to be bored by Americans; but when two ladies whom I had met in London, Lady Pollock and Miss Anne Thackeray, afterwards Mrs. Ritchie,--had kindly offered to introduce me, and to write in advance that I was coming, it was not in human nature, at least in American nature, to decline. I spent the night at Cowes, and was driven eight miles from the hotel to Farringford by a very intelligent young groom who had never heard of the poet; and when we reached the door of the house, the place before me seemed such a haven of peace and retirement that I actually shrank from disturbing those who dwelt therein. I even found mysel
James T. Fields (search for this): chapter 11
it curiously happened that in the choice which often forces itself upon the hurried traveler, between meeting a great man and seeing an historic building, I was compelled to sacrifice Salisbury Cathedral to this poet, as I had previously given up York Minster for Darwin. Both sacrifices were made on the deliberate ground, which years have vindicated, that the building would probably last for my lifetime, while the man might not. I had brought no letter to Tennyson, and indeed my friend James T. Fields had volunteered a refusal of any, so strong was the impression that the poet disliked to be bored by Americans; but when two ladies whom I had met in London, Lady Pollock and Miss Anne Thackeray, afterwards Mrs. Ritchie,--had kindly offered to introduce me, and to write in advance that I was coming, it was not in human nature, at least in American nature, to decline. I spent the night at Cowes, and was driven eight miles from the hotel to Farringford by a very intelligent young groom w
Charles Darwin (search for this): chapter 11
the time when he wrote, in the prospect of seeing Carlyle, Darwin, Tennyson, Browning, Tyndall, Huxley, Matthew Arnold, and attitude of mind in many cultivated persons. I visited Darwin twice in his own house at an interval of six years, once p, into which various meanings were crammed. As I spoke, Mrs. Darwin glided quietly away, got the book, and looked up the pasregarded as above the Josh Billings grade of humorist; but Darwin was amazed that I had not read The jumping Frog, and said our drier climate can usually show. At my second visit Darwin was full of interest in the Peabody Museum at Yale Collegemed. I think it was on this same day that I passed from Darwin to Browning, meeting the latter at the Athenaeum Club. Ito this poet, as I had previously given up York Minster for Darwin. Both sacrifices were made on the deliberate ground, whic(Miss Spartalis) had posed; and three large photographs of Darwin, Carlyle, and Tennyson himself,the last of these being one
Anthony Trollope (search for this): chapter 11
t he did not appear like a poet, but rather like one of our agreeable Southern gentlemen. He seemed a man of every day, or like the typical poet of his own How it Strikes a contemporary. In all this he was, as will be seen later, the very antipodes of Tennyson. He had a large head of German shape, broadening behind, with light and thin gray hair and whitish beard; he had blue eyes, and the most kindly heart. It seemed wholly appropriate that he should turn aside presently to consult Anthony Trollope about some poor author for whom they held funds. He expressed pleasure at finding in me an early subscriber to his Bells and Pomegranates, and told me how he published that series in the original cheap form in order to save his father's money, and that single numbers now sold for ten or fifteen pounds. He was amused at my wrath over some changes which he had made in later editions of those very poems, and readily admitted, on my suggesting it, that they were merely a concession to obt
Matthew Arnold (search for this): chapter 11
en he wrote, in the prospect of seeing Carlyle, Darwin, Tennyson, Browning, Tyndall, Huxley, Matthew Arnold, and Froude, with many minor yet interesting personalities. Since the day when I met these fy, however, to having actually encountered one of the latter class within a year. I met Matthew Arnold one day by appointment at the Athenaeum, in 1878, and expressed some surprise that he had no was I sitting on the very front seat, during the lecture, in the character of the Wicked Lord. Arnold fully agreed with a remark which I quoted to him from Mrs. George Bancroft, who had been familia everybody, whereas no German savant would think of mentioning such a thing. Very true, replied Arnold, but the German would be less likely to be invited to the dinner. He thought that rank was far the word mesalliance was not English, nor was there any word in our language to take its place. Arnold seemed to me, personally, as he had always seemed in literature, a keen but by no means judicial
Gilbert Stuart (search for this): chapter 11
Sir Frederick Pollock; the other persons present being Lady Pollock, with her eldest son, the present wearer of the title, and two most agreeable men,--Mr. Venable, for many years the editor of the annual summary of events in the London times, and Mr. Newton, of the British Museum. The latter was an encyclopaedia of art and antiquities, and Mr. Venable of all the social gossip of a century; it was like talking with Horace Walpole. Of one subject alone I knew more than they did, namely, Gilbert Stuart's pictures, one of which, called The Skater, had just been unearthed in London, and was much admired. Why don't they inquire about the artist? said Sir Frederick Pollock. He might have done something else. They would hardly believe that his pictures were well known in America, and that his daughter was still a conspicuous person in society. Much of the talk fell upon lawyers and clergymen. They told a story of Lord Chief Justice Cockburn, that he had actually evaded payment of his
Edmund Gosse (search for this): chapter 11
lost, however, its most gifted member,--but also encountered the younger set of writers, who were all preraphaelites in art, and who read Morris, Swinburne, and for a time, at least, Whitman and even Joaquin Miller. There one met Mrs. Rossetti, who was the daughter of Madox Brown, and herself an artist; also Alma Tadema, just returned from his wedding journey to Italy with his beautiful wife. One found there men and women then coming forward into literature, but now much better known,--Edmund Gosse, Arthur O'Shaughnessy, Cayley, the translator of Dante, and Miss Robinson, now Madame Darmesteter. Sometimes I went to the receptions of our fellow countrywoman, Mrs. Moulton, then just beginning, but already promising the flattering success they have since attained. Once I dined with Professor Tyndall at the Royal Society, where I saw men whose names had long been familiar in the world of science, and found myself sitting next to a man of the most eccentric manners, who turned out to b
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