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N. P. Willis (search for this): chapter 2
associations brings to my mind Westminster Abbey. Books and descriptions will not let one realize the sweeping interests of this hallowed place. . . . Cooper and Willis have harmed us not a little; and then some others of our countrymen, who have not been so extensively received in society as these two, and who have written nothisaid, by the vote of Croker, whereat Milman was in great anger. Croker's objection was that I was not known as the author of any book! Everybody is laughing at Willis's sketch, in a late New York Mirror, of Lord Durham. Marryat says that when Willis looked over his spoon, one spoon looked over another. Lady Blessington says iWillis looked over his spoon, one spoon looked over another. Lady Blessington says it is all false, as also does Fonblanque, who was at the dinner. I have seen Disraeli. . . . Captain Marryat has returned full of blood and fury. He will probably write a book; if he does, he will show us no mercy. He says there is nobody in Congress worth any thing but Webster and Adams. Miss Martineau is diligently engaged on
William Wordsworth (search for this): chapter 2
at the age of one hundred. I place her next after Lord Brougham's mother. She is seventy-five, neat, tidy, delightful in her personal appearance; and in conversation, simple, interesting, and agreeable. She affected me in the same way as did Wordsworth. I thought that Providence should have brought them together as man and wife. We talked of Scott and Lockhart. Was it not strange that I should be put to inquire at a dozen doors in that village, to know where Miss Baillie lived? In my vexae hours or more!—Basil Montagu; one of the sweetest men, with honeyed discourse, that I ever met. His mind is running over with beautiful images and with boundless illustration and allusion. He has known as bosom friends Mackintosh, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Lord Eldon; and he pours out his heart, as I freely mention their names, like water. He has just published a charming little book, entitled, Essays and Selections; and he has given me a copy, in which he has written my name, with the affe
James Stuart Wortley (search for this): chapter 2
n the next day I commence my pilgrimage to Oxford, where I pass four days, and those four are engaged: first, to Sir Charles Vaughan, at All Souls; second, to my friend Ingham, M. P., at Oriel; third, to Dr. Hampden, at Christ Church; fourth, to Wortley, at Merton. I then go to Cambridge, where my first day is engaged to Whewell, &c. A few days ago I received a most friendly and affectionate letter from Lord Morpeth, in which he enclosed a letter of introduction to the Countess of Granville, seen him perplexed in the extreme, both before a jury and in bane, by the arguments of counsel. He is truly amiable, and is much of a liberal. Lady Coltman is a sister of Duckworth, the Chancery barrister. At Coltman's at dinner, I saw young Wortley hand down Lady Coltman, though there were at table Baron Parke, Vaughan, and Sir Edward Curry. This was strictly correct according to the Heralds' books, as the son of a peer takes precedence of knights, whatever may be their respective ages; b
th from Paris,—Kenyon, Hayward, Courtenay Philip Courtenay; M. P. for Bridgewater; Queen's counsel on the Northern Circuit. (the M. P. and great London epicure), and his beautiful daughter; Westmacote Young, the retired actor, Young (Ubiquity), Mr. and Mrs. Yates, Quin, and Mrs. Shelley. We had excellent music. I talked a good deal with Mrs. Shelley. She was dressed in pure white, and seemed a nice and agreeable person, with great cleverness. She said the greatest happiness of a woman waMrs. Yates, Quin, and Mrs. Shelley. We had excellent music. I talked a good deal with Mrs. Shelley. She was dressed in pure white, and seemed a nice and agreeable person, with great cleverness. She said the greatest happiness of a woman was to be the wife or mother of a distinguished man. I was not a little amused at an expression that broke from her unawares, she forgetting that I was an American. We were speaking of travellers who violated social ties, and published personal sketches, and she broke out, Thank God! I have kept clear of those Americans. I did not seem to observe what she had said, and she soon atoned for it. Lady Morgan points every sentence with a phrase in French. She is now engaged upon a work on Woman, wh
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