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[397] and where the chaplain lives. It is a very beautiful establishment, and I have enjoyed very much the peculiar life I have led here the past two days, not overlooking its absolute quiet and peace as one of its attractive ingredients.

Malvern, August 23.—. . . . I was up in good season yesterday morning, and when breakfast was over I bade Acton farewell, thinking that it will be a long time before I see a man of his age so remarkable as he is. The drive was a beautiful one, first down his superb avenue, and then through his estates, and along by the banks of the Severn,—Milton's Severn,—or at least in its valley, to Kidderminster. There I took the railway, which brought me to Worcester, and in an hour and a half more, in a sort of omnibus, I crept up the hills, . . . . and was tipped up, or let out, only a very short distance from the Twisletons', and climbing a little farther found them in the most comfortable quarters, . . . . that command the whole view that makes Malvern a resort so famous, for both invalids and lovers of the picturesque in nature.. .

I walked about with Ellen and her husband, dined with them, and talked on till near ten, when I came to a nice room they had taken for me, . . . . commanding the whole prospect. . . . . You see I keep on writing, although I suppose the portfolio on which my paper now lies will bring you the letter. But it is a trick I have fallen into . . . . . So I sit with my windows open on the magnificent prospect, now brilliant with more than an English sunshine, and, as the Duke of Cumberland said to Gibbon, I ‘do nothing but scribble, scribble.’

Two delightful days Mr. Ticknor thoroughly enjoyed in the midst of that grand and brilliant scenery, and in constant intercourse with most affectionate and intellectual friends. On the 25th of August he parted from Mr.Twisleton and Mrs. Twisleton for the last time, with deep regret, and passing through Liverpool went on to Ellerbeck, Mr. Cardwell's seat, near Manchester.

Nobody was at home to receive me except Mrs. Cardwell, a striking old lady of seventy-seven, who shook hands with me most kindly, and told me her son expected me,—but evidently did not know who I was,—adding, that the party would be in from Manchester very soon, where they were at the exhibition. . . . .

In about a quarter of an hour Mr. and Mrs. Cardwell came in, with Sir Edmund and Lady Head, . . . . and Lady Cranworth,—wife of

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