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was a vera dull man, but he did not offend people, and he got on in society here.’
Carlyle's hair was dark, shaggy, and rather unkempt; his complexion was sallow, with a slight glow of red on the cheek; his eye was full of fire.
As we drove back to town, Mr. Mann expressed great disappointment with our visit.
He did not feel, he said, that we had seen the real Carlyle at all. I insisted that we had.
Soon after our arrival in London a gentleman called upon us whom the servant announced as Mr. Mills.
It happened that I did not examine the card which was brought in at the same time.
Dr. Howe was not within, and in his absence I entertained the unknown guest to the best of my ability.
He spoke of Longfellow's volume of poems on slavery, then a recent publication, saying that he admired them.
Our talk turning upon poetry in general, I remarked that Wordsworth appeared to be the only poet of eminence left in England.
Before taking leave of me the visitor named a certain day on which he requested that we would come to breakfast at his house.
Forgetful of the card, I asked ‘Where?’
He said, ‘You will find my address on my card.
I am Mr. Milnes.’
On looking at the card I found that this was Richard Monckton Milnes, afterward known as Lord Houghton.
I was somewhat chagrined at remembering
Houghton and Mifflin Company, 1899.
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