George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor
George Hillard, Ed.

[374] and Ambassadress, Lord and Lady Clanricarde,—the daughter of Canning,—and a good many more . . .

Lady Clanricarde—of whom, when Lord Granville presented me to her, he said she was among the most brilliant persons in English society—I found a very pleasant talker, but not quite, I thought, up to the character he gave her. I took the most pleasure in Sir John Acton and his mother. Sir John seemed to begin just where he left off in Boston, and to have the liveliest recollection of everything there. He sent many messages to you and Anna and Lizzie, full of regret that he should not see any of you, and told his mother how much kindness he had received from you. She is a person of excellent manners, elegant but not elaborate, talks a great deal, with a slightly foreign accent, and is vigilantly attentive to everybody. . . . . She invited me to come as often as I can, saying she is always at home. . . . .

I shall go if I can, but I have no time at my disposition. At least, it seems so to me; for I cannot do as the English do, go to two or three places after a dinner that does not end till half past 10, because, being a stranger, I must talk some time with each person to whom I am introduced, or else seem uncivil. Besides, I want to talk to them generally.

July 20.—I worked at home till twelve o'clock, and then went about Library affairs, to the booksellers', and then to the British Museum. But on my way I stopped at the famous Bow Street office, where the police of all London is chiefly managed, and where one of the principal officers is Jardine, an old fellow-student at Gottingen forty years ago. He had complained heretofore that I had not been to see him when I had been in London, and two days ago I left my card, which he returned yesterday with a note, begging me to come and see him this morning at the Bow Street office, as he leaves London to-morrow for six weeks. I was glad I went, though I stopped only a few minutes; for he is a good, warm-hearted man, and was evidently pleased that I had remembered him.

From three to six I spent in the library of a Mr. Turner, who has a very beautiful collection of rare old Spanish books, which he did not at all weary of showing me . . . . . I dined with John Chorley, the Spanish scholar, meeting only his brother,—who writes about music, —and Arthur Helps, and we talked on till after midnight with as much interest and in as high a tone as any conversation I have had in Europe. The subjects were of the noblest, the differences of opinion enough to give zest to the discussion, and the men—especially