popular; and in some parts, if he were not poetical, he was picturesque. He was nowhere obscure, nor were his sentences artificially constructed, though some of them, no doubt, savored of his peculiar manner. June 2.—. . . . I dined at Kenyon's, with a literary party: Reed, the author of ‘Italy’; Dyce, the editor of ‘Old Plays,’ whom I was very glad to see; H. N. Coleridge; and especially Talfourd, the author of ‘Ion’; with a few others. Talfourd I was glad to see, but he disappointed me. He is no doubt a poet of genius, within certain limits, and a very hard-working, successful lawyer, but he is a little too fat, red-faced, and coarse in his appearance. . . . . He talks strikingly rather than soundly, defending Cato, for instance, as an admirable, poetical tragedy; and was a little too artificial and too brilliant, both in the structure and phraseology of his sentences and in the general tone of his thoughts . . . . However, we got along very well together, and about eleven o'clock I took him to Babbage's, where there was a grand assembly, lords and bishops in plenty. . . . . The only person to whom I was introduced, that I was curious about, was Bulwer, the novelist; a white-haired, white-whiskered, white-faced fop, all point device, with his flowing curls and his silk-lined coat, and his conversation to match the whole. . . . . June 3.—We began the day with a breakfast at Miss Rogers's, in her nice house on Regent's Park, which is a sort of imitation—and not a bad one either—of her brother's on St. James's. She has some good pictures, among which is Leslie's Duchess and Sancho, the best thing of his I have seen of late years; and she keeps autographs, curiosities, and objects of virtu, just like her brother. Best of all, she is kind and good-humored, and had invited very pleasant friends to meet us,—Leslie, Babbage, Mackintosh, and her brother, who was extraordinarily agreeable, and made us stay unreasonably late. We then made some visits P. P. C., and on coming home received many, which we were sorry to receive, because they were intimations that our expected departure would hardly permit us to see these kind friends again . . . . . As soon as they were gone I hurried out to dine at Holland House. It was a larger party than is quite common at that very agreeable round table . . . . . We dined, of course, in the grand Gilt Room, and had at table Mr. Ellice, one of Lord Melbourne's first cabinet, and brother-in-law of Lord Grey; Lady Cowper and her daughter, Lady Fanny,—mater pulchra, filia pulchrior; Lord John Russell, the Atlas of this unhappy administration; . . . . . Lord and Lady Morley; Stanley, of the Treasury; Gayangos,—the
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