Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2

Chapter 18: Stratford-on-avon.—Warwick.—London.—Characters of judges and lawyers.—authors.—society.—January, 1839, to March, 1839.—Age, 28.

Letters.

To George S. Hillard, Boston.

Stratford-on-Avon, Jan. 6, 1839.

dear Hillard,—My birthday in the birthplace of Shakspeare! During the forenoon I have wandered round this little town, in company with my kind host. I have been into the low room in the ancient building where Shakspeare is said to have first seen the light. I asked the old woman who occupies the house, and lives by the dole which is allowed by all strangers for the satisfaction of seeing the interesting apartment, whether she had ever read the works of Shakspeare. She said that she had ‘seen some of the volumes;’ but that her neighbor Jenkins, or some such name, had read nearly all his writings! This woman and Shakspeare's room have been commemorated by Washington Irving. I ventured to press her still farther, by asking if she had ever read Irving's account of his visit. She had seen the book but once,—and that was while a traveller, to whom the copy belonged, went from the house to his inn and back again,—and yet she grew eloquent about the mighty Bard and the American who had rendered such gentle homage to his memory. The room is pencilled over by names, among which you will see those of many Americans. I think that I need not disclaim having added mine to the list: you will not suspect me of it. The church is an interesting old English church, which stands on the banks of the Avon. The yard is full of grave-stones, which are overshadowed by numerous trees. I walked round the church many times in the rain, and stood for some time looking into the rippling water which flowed hard by. The monument of Shakspeare is in the chancel. There I read the inscription beneath his effigy, and those never-to-beforgotten lines, in which he pronounces his malediction on any one who should ‘move his bones.’ That inscription is more potent to protect his tomb from desecration than coffin of iron or constant guard of watchers. Who could move those bones, with the curse of Shakspeare invoked upon [37] him? This has been a stormy day, and I have hardly seen Stratford aright; for the associations of the place seem to harmonize with a soft, sunshiny day. It is something, however, to walk about the streets, which are so hallowed by the memory of that master mind.

It is now my birthday; I am twenty-eight years old; and my host, Mr. E. Flower,—in whose cottage, on the skirts of the town, I am staying,— was astonished at hearing my age. He had supposed me at least thirty-five,—perhaps forty! But time goes on apace; and I shall soon be even at that longest goal. I have now deserted London for a short excursion to several places in the country which I have not yet seen. I have just left Warwick, where I passed two days with Mr. Collins,¹ the M. P. for the borough. Of course, I visited Kenilworth and Warwick Castles. The first, you know, is a ruin; but it is very extensive, being the largest ruin I have yet seen,—larger than Glastonbury Abbey, where old Dunstan made the Devil cry out, by an unceremonious pinch of the nose. Warwick is beautiful in its position, its towers, its court-yard, and its paintings. After the very ample experience I have had of English country-places, it did not strike me so much as it has some Americans. It is not so large as Wentworth, nor so comfortable and magnificent—the two combined—as Holkham, nor so splendid as Chatsworth; and it has nothing which will compare with the feudal entrance and hall of Raby Castle, nor any room equal to the drawing-room of Auckland Castle; but still, it seems almost perfect in its way. The towers and walls are commanding; the rooms are elegant, and have a beautiful prospect across the Avon, which washes the foot of the precipitous rock on which the castle stands: some of the paintings are divine. There is a ‘Loyola,’ by Rubens, which undoes all the bad impressions left on my mind by that artist, after his infamous productions in the Louvre. The Warwick Vase is in the centre of the greenhouse.

London, Jan. 12.

After leaving Stratford, I went, amid rain and gusts of wind beneath which ships were then sinking on the coast, to Birmingham. Here I saw Mrs. Tuckerman's brother-in-law,—Mr. Francis,—who treated me very kindly, though I was unable to stay to enjoy his attentions; Mr. Wills,² author of the new book on ‘Circumstantial Evidence;’ Scholefield, M. P.,³ &c.: but my visit was quite hurried, as I was obliged by my engagements to hasten back to town. We have heard of the dreadful loss of the packets. I had written several letters, which were on board those ill-fated ships, and which will perhaps never reach their destination. To you I had written a very long letter,—partly dated, I think, from Milton Park,⁴ and giving an account of my adventures in fox-hunting with Lord Fitzwilliam; one also to Dr. Palfrey, enclosing a letter interesting to him, which I received from Sir [38] David Brewster; others to Longfellow, to Cleveland, to Mrs. Ticknor, to Mr. Fletcher, and to my mother. I wish you would do me the favor to let me know the fate of these letters. The article on Horace, in the last number but one of the ‘Quarterly Review,’⁵ is by Milman. Poor man, he is now in great distress, on account of the illness of a dear child. The article in the last number, on ‘Railroads,’⁶ which contains the ridiculous remarks on the United States, is by Sir Francis Head; and the political article⁷ at the end is by Croker. I have just read an article on Lockhart's ‘Scott,’ written by Cooper, in the ‘Knickerbocker,’ which was lent me by Barry Cornwall. I think it capital. I see none of Cooper's faults; and I think a proper castigation is applied to the vulgar minds of Scott and Lockhart. Indeed, the nearer I approach the circle of these men the less disposed do I find myself to like them. Scott is not sans reproche; and Lockhart seems without a friend. Of course, I see the latter often. Sometimes we shake hands when we meet, and sometimes not. When last I saw him, he gave me a radiant smile.

Since I last wrote I have, as before, been in a constant succession of parties of different kinds. Some of the most interesting to you have been with Senior, Talfourd, and Lord Durham. At Senior's I met most of the Radical M. P. s; Morrison, the rich banker; Grote and his wife; Joseph Hume (I sat next to Joseph); Villiers; Dr. Bowring; Tooke, &c. At Talfourd's we had Dr. Hawtrey, the Head-Master of Eton; Maule; Harness; Hayward; and Browning, the author of ‘Paracelsus.’ Talfourd told some good stories of Charles Lamb. It seems that Lamb was a confirmed drunkard, who got drunk in the morning, and on beer. Talfourd and he once started for a morning walk. The first pot-house they came to was a new one, and Lamb would stop in order to make acquaintance with its landlord; the next was an old one, and here he stopped to greet his old friend Boniface: and so he had an excuse for stopping at all they passed, until finally the author of ‘Elia’ was soundly drunk. But his heroic devotion to his sister is above all praise. All about that, and much else concerning Charles Lamb, can only be revealed after her death. She was insane, and killed her mother. Lamb would not abandon her to the mad-house, but made himself her keeper, and lived with her, retired from the world. Talfourd's first acquaintance with Sir William Follett was while the latter was a student, or just after his call to the bar, in getting him released one morning from the watchman, who had arrested Follett in the act of scaling the walls of the Temple. At Lord Durham's⁸ we had [39] an interesting party. There were Sir Edward Codrington;⁹ Sir William Molesworth;¹⁰ Charles Buller;¹¹ Joseph Parkes; Ward,¹² son of ‘Tremaine’ Ward, and M. P., whose motion on Irish affairs nearly upset the ministry; Charles Austin (the first lawyer in England, mejudice); Gibbon Wakefield;¹³ Stanley, M. P. (not Lord); and Miss Martineau, who seemed surprised to meet me there. His Lordship is remarkable in personal appearance,— slender, upright, with an open countenance, coal-black hair and eyes. He is very frank in the expression of his opinions, and uses good language, without being fluent. There is also a slight tremulousness in his voice, which is not a little strange in one so long accustomed to public affairs. In language and thought he does not lack boldness. We were at a round table á la Frantaise, and I sat between Buller and Lord Durham. His Lordship said that all the Canadian politicians—Papineau and all—were petty men; and that he should like nothing better than to have them all recalled, and to be allowed to deal with them. To one accustomed to politics on the broad stage of Europe, provincial actors seemed weak and paltry. I ventured to ask him what truth there was in the present reports with regard to the hostile intentions of Russia towards England. ‘Not a word of truth,’ said he; ‘I will give you leave to call me idiot, if there is a word of truth.’ You know he was ambassador at the court of St. Petersburg for a long time. He said that Russia was full of friendly regard for England; and he pronounced Urquhart,¹⁴ who is now going about the kingdom preaching against Russia, ‘a madman.’ With regard to Lockhart, he expressed himself in terms not less distinct. He said that he had never seen him; but, from all that he had heard of him, he thought him one of the greatest blackguards in England. I happened to tell a story that I had heard from Lord Brougham: he looked me in the eye, and asked my authority for it. I replied: ‘Lord Brougham; I had it from his own lips.’—‘Did you ever verify it?’ was the short but significant reply. I have selected these little things, because they at once reveal in a few words his opinions with regard to some distinguished persons, [40] and illustrate his frankness. Another subject was discussed with a freedom which could not have been found, I will venture to say, at the table of any other nobleman in the kingdom. The question was started whether, in the event of a demise of the crown, the present king of Hanover would be permitted to ascend the throne. Lord Durham was the only person in all the company who thought he would be. Sir Edward Codrington said: ‘For one, I would be damned if I would permit him to land!’ Conversation went quietly on, without any striking display of any kind. Lady Durham and her eldest daughter, Lady Mary, were at the table. The table and its service reminded me of Paris more than most dinners in London,—except that one never sees silver plate on the Continent; but the cooking and the procession of dishes were Parisian. His Lordship told me that he should be glad to adopt the Continental habit of having the gentlemen leave the table with the ladies,—a habit which he followed in Quebec, but which he must abandon in London; otherwise, they would charge him with a desire to save his wine! After dinner, the young ladies—his second daughter joined us in the drawing-room—sang and played on the harp. The Countess told me she was glad to get away from a Canadian winter. Among the projects for the improvement of the province committed to his charge, Lord D. mentioned that he wished to have Goat Island blown up by gunpowder, in order to unite the Canadian and American Falls of Niagara, and thus give unity to the whole! His Lordship's house is a very good one, and in some of its rooms reminds one of a country-place. I passed an hour with him one forenoon in conversation: he is strongly liberal, but a monarchist. He would abolish the corn-laws, grant the vote by ballot, an extension of the suffrage, and triennial Parliaments; but he would not touch primo-geniture,—the worst thing in England. On this subject I had no little conversation with him,—not to say an argument. I regard him, however, as honest and sincere in his opinions, and, as such, a most valuable leader of the Liberal party. He possesses courage, considerable acquirements, and a capacity for receiving information from others. I need not say that he has none of the great attributes of Brougham,—his intense activity, his various learning, his infinite command of language. He regrets very much that ho could not visit the United States. Those of his suite who did, seem to have been well pleased. Gibbon Wakefield is going to write an article, pamphlet, or book, entitled ‘Six Days in the United States.’ Calhoun made a great impression on Buller, and also on Mr. Phillips. Both of them speak of him as the most striking public man they have ever met,—remarkable for his ease, simplicity, and the readiness with which he unfolded himself. Buller says that Van Buren had the handsomest shoes and stockings he ever saw! I do not know if I have ever written you about Charles Austin. He is a more animated speaker than Follett,—perhaps not so smooth and gentle; neither is he, I think, so ready and instinctively sagacious in a law argument: and yet he is powerful here, and is immeasurably before Follett in accomplishments and liberality of view. He is a fine scholar, and deeply versed in English literature and the British Constitution.

[41]

Jan. 16, 1839.

This London is socially a bewitching place. Last evening I first dined with Booth, a Chancery barrister; then went to Rogers's, where was a small party, —Mrs. Marcet, Mrs. Austin, Miss Martineau, Mr.Lyell and Mrs. Lyell, Mr.Wedgewood and Mrs. Wedgewood, Harness,¹⁵ and Milman. We talked and drank tea, and looked at the beautiful pictures, the original editions of Milton and Spenser, and listened to the old man eloquent (I say eloquent indeed); and so the time passed. This morning I spent chatting with Hayward about law, literature, and society; then walked with Whewell, and afterwards dined with Bellenden Ker.¹⁶ And the dinner! it is to be spoken of always. There was a small company: our host and his wife,—one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen; Courtenay,¹⁷ M. P., and his beautiful daughter; Eastlake, the accomplished artist; and Lord Brougham. Then the house was a little gem. It is in Regent's Park, removed from the bustle of town. The door-panels of the drawing-room are copies of some of the first masters; and the room is hung round with attractive paintings, and adorned with some of the finest curiosities of art. The dining-room is painted in imitation of a room of Pompeii. You may not know that Courtenay is the great epicure of London. His taste in matters of the table is reputed to be unerring, and his judgment of wines incontrovertible. With him a dinner is the putting in practice of a great science. I need not add, that the host and intimate friend of such a guest gave us a simple but choice dinner. My wonder at Brougham rises anew. To-night he has displayed the knowledge of the artist and the gastronomer. He criticised the ornaments of the drawing-room and the dining-room like a connoisseur, and discussed subtle points of cookery with the same earnestness with which he emancipated the West India slaves and abolished rotten boroughs. Calling for a second plate of soup, he said that there was ‘a thought too much of the flavor of wine;’ but that it was very good. He told how he secured good steaks, by personally going into the kitchen and watching over his cook, to see that he did not spoil them by pepper and horse-radish,—the last being enough to make a man go mad. I called his attention to the woodcock story, of which I have already written you, and he told me that the epigram which I have sent you under his Lordship's name was written by the Bishop of Durham, and that it was the best of all offered. The Marquis of Wellesley wrote a Latin one, of which he has promised to give me a copy; it is not, however, ‘lapidary,’ being too long. Brougham told me that his own Greek epigram was the worst of all. You will see an allusion to this story in a note in the last ‘Quarterly Review,’ to which I first called Chantrey's attention. I have spoken of Courtenay as the great gastronomer; I shall not neglect to add that he is as good a scholar as epicure. When we were speaking of Greek epigrams, [42] he and Brougham alternately quoted to me several, which were circulating in English society, written by Alderson and Williams; and when I quoted an out-of-the-way line from Juvenal, Courtenay at once gave the next one. Indeed, in the fine English society you will be struck by this thorough. ness of classical education, which makes a Latin or Greek epigram a choice morsel even for a dainty epicure. Strange union that in Brougham! I have met few men who seemed such critics of food. Courtenay had been in Germany; and Brougham said to Miss C., ‘I understand you have been flirting with the King of Bavaria, and that he gave you a great entertainment.’ ‘Nothing,’ said the father, ‘but a dejeuner à la fourchette, with some negus and punch.’ ‘Punch!’ said Brougham, with an oath, ‘that's not so bad a thing.’ His Lordship was kind enough to take me home in his carriage; and as we drove along, some three miles, we talked gravely of Washington and Sparks and Dr. Bowditch. I hope to induce him to write an article on Sparks's ‘Washington’ in the ‘Edinburgh.’ He had seen Bowditch's ‘Laplace’ only last week, and was filled with admiration of it. He asked me, in his name, to present a copy of his forthcoming book to Dr. B.'s family, and to let them know the impression their father's labors had made upon his mind. I was happy in being able to tell him something of Dr. B., of whose life and place of residence he was entirely ignorant. Lord Brougham is not agreeable at dinner. He is, however, more interesting than any person I have met. He has not the airy graces and flow of Jeffrey, the piercing humor of Sydney Smith, the dramatic power of Theodore Hook, or the correct tone of Charles Austin; but he has a power, a fulness of information and physical spirits, which make him more commanding than all! His great character and his predominating voice, with his high social and intellectual qualities, conspire to give him such an influence as to destroy the equilibrium, so to speak, of the table. He is often a usurper, and we are all resolved into listeners, instead of partakers in the conversational banquet; and I think that all are ill at ease. Brougham abused Miss Martineau most heartily. He thought that she excelled in stories, and in nothing else; and that she was ‘a great ass’ for pronouncing so dogmatically on questions of policy and government. He exhorted me to write a book on England, to revenge my country of Basil Hall! To-morrow I breakfast with Rogers.¹⁸

Jan. 23, 1839.

I see, by casting my eyes back, that I commenced the last sheet in praise of London. I feel in a mood quite the reverse to-day, and have so felt for several days. I again have a dismal cold. Give me the freezing, crystal weather of New England, rather than these murky, foggy days, freighted with disease and death. Three cruel colds in the space of two months,—the worst that have ever befallen me—admonish me to hasten nearer to the sun. I shall be off for Italy. But you will be glad to hear of the poet of this fair country. I believe I have often written you about Rogers. Of [43] course, I have seen him frequently in society; never did I like him till I enjoyed his kindness at breakfast. As a converser Rogers is unique. The world, or report, has not given him credit enough for his great and peculiar powers in this line. He is terse, epigrammatic, dry, infinitely to the point, full of wisdom, of sarcasm, and cold humor. He says the most ill-natured things, and does the best. He came up to me at Miss Martineau's, where there was a little party of very clever people, and said: ‘Mr. Sumner, it is a great piece of benevolence in you to come here.’ Determined not to be drawn into a slur upon my host, I replied: ‘Yes, Mr. Rogers, of benevolence to myself.’ As we were coming away, Rogers, Harness, Babbage, and myself were walking together down the narrow street in which Miss M. lives, when the poet said: ‘Who but the Martineau could have drawn us into such a hole?’ And yet I doubt not he has a sincere liking for Miss M.; for I have met her at his house, and he afterwards spoke of her with the greatest kindness. His various sayings that are reported about town, and his conversation as I had caught it at evening parties, had impressed me with a great admiration of his powers, but with a positive dislike. I love frankness and truth. But his society at breakfast has almost obliterated my first impressions. We were alone; and he showed all those wonderful paintings, and we talked till far into the afternoon. I have seldom enjoyed myself more; it was a luxury, in such rooms, to listen to such a man, before whom the society of the last quarter of a century had all passed,—he alone unchanged; to talk, with such a poet, of poetry and poets, of Wordsworth and Southey and Scott; and to hear his opinions, which were given with a childlike simplicity and frankness. I must confess his great kindness to me. He asked my acceptance of the new edition of his poems, and said: ‘I shall be happy to see any friend of yours, morning, noon, or night;’ and all his kindness was purely volunteer, for my acquaintance with him grew from simply meeting him in society. He inquired after Mrs. Newton¹⁹ with most friendly interest, and showed me a little present he had received from her, which he seemed to prize much. I shall write to her, to let her know the good friends she has left behind. Rogers is a friend of Wordsworth; but thinks he has written too much, and without sufficient limae labor. He says it takes him ten times as long to write a sentence of prose as it does Wordsworth one of poetry; and, in illustration, he showed me a thought in Wordsworth's last work,²⁰—dedicated to Rogers,—on the saying of the monk who had sat before the beautiful pictures so long and seen so many changes, that he felt tempted to say, ‘We are the shadows, and they the substance.’²¹ This same story you will find in a note to the ‘Italy.’ Rogers wrote his note ten times over before he was satisfied with it; Wordsworth's verse was published almost as it first left his pen. Look at the two. [44] You have often heard of Rogers's house. It is not large; but the few rooms—two drawing-rooms and a dining-room only—are filled with the most costly paintings, all from some of the great galleries of Italy or elsewhere, most of which cost five or ten thousand dollars apiece. I should think there were about thirty in all: perhaps you will not see in the world another such collection in so small a space. There was a little painting by Raphael, about a foot square, of the Saviour praying in the Garden, brimful of thought and expression, which the old man said he should like to have in his chamber when dying. There were masterpieces by Titian, Correggio, Caracci, Guido, Paul Veronese, Rubens, Barochio, Giotto, and Reynolds. He pointed out the picture of an armed knight, which Walter Scott always admired. His portfolios were full of the most valuable original drawings. There were all Flaxman's illustrations of Homer and the Tragedians, as they left the pencil of the great artist. Indeed, he said that he could occupy me for a month, and invited me to come and breakfast with him any morning that I chose, sending him word the night before.

From one poet I will pass to another,—Barry Cornwall. You remember Willis's sketch. He wrote for the public, and to make an interesting letter. I need not say that my object is to give you and my friends truthful notions of those in whom you feel an interest. Mr. Procter—for you know that is the real name of Barry Cornwall—is about forty-two or forty-five, and is a conveyancer by profession. His days are spent in the toilsome study of abstracts of titles; and when I saw him last Sunday, at his house, he was poring over one which press of business had compelled him to take home. He is a small, thin man, with a very dull countenance, in which, nevertheless,— knowing what he has written,—I can detect the ‘poetical frenzy.’ His manner is gentle and quiet, and his voice low. He thought if he could live life over again he would be a gardener. He spoke with bitterness of Lockhart, and concurred in Cooper's article on his ‘Life of Scott.’ He said that he himself had been soundly abused in ‘Blackwood’ and the ‘Quarterly’ for his ‘Life of Kean’ and his editing ‘Willis,’—though they had formerly administered a great deal of praise. He had not, however, read their articles; but spoke of them according to what he had heard. Airs. Procter is a sweet person; she is the daughter of my friend, Mrs. Basil Montagu, and has munch of her mother's information and intelligence. There is no place that I enjoy more than Basil Montagu's. He is simple in his habits, never dines out, or gives dinners. I step into his house, perhaps, after I have been dining out, at ten or eleven o'clock in the evening; and we talk till I am obliged to say ‘good morning,’ and not ‘good night.’ The Montagus have been intimate with more good and great people than anybody I know. Mackintosh, Coleridge, Parr, Wordsworth, Lamb, were all familiar at their fireside. Mr. Montagu is often pronounced a bore, because he perpetually quotes Bacon and the ancient English authors. But it is a pleasure to me to hear some of those noble sentences come almost mended from his beautiful flowing enunciation. Mrs. M. is one of the most remarkable women I have ever known. Dr. Parr always called Mr. Montagu by his Christian name, [45] Basil; and his wife, ‘Basilissa;’ and their son, who was no favorite with him, ‘Basilisk.’ Mrs. M. told me an interesting story connected with Carlyle, which somewhat explains the singular style of his ‘French Revolution.’ This was written some time ago, with great labor, and put into the hands of a friend for perusal; while with him the greater part of it was accidentally destroyed. The friend at once offered the largest sum, by way of repairing the calamity, which any bookseller could have offered. This, of course, was refused; and Carlyle was quite dejected for a while. At last he re-commenced it, but, Mrs. M. supposes, had not the patience to go through it again in the same painstaking way as before; and in this way she accounts, to a certain extent, for the abrupt character which it has. I once spoke of Mr. Montagu to Talfourd as a person whom I liked very much, when the author of ‘on’ said: ‘He is a humbug; he drinks no wine.’ Commend me to such humbugs!

Miss Martineau²² I see pretty often. She has been consistently kind to me; and though circumstances have made me somewhat independent of her civilities, yet I feel grateful to her, and am glad to confess that I owe to her several attentions. She is much attached to our country and to many in it, and would be grieved to hear that her friends had fallen off from her. It was her misfortune to be so situated as to feel obliged to write a book.²³ I doubt if a person who has mingled in society in any country can write a book in the spirit of truth without giving great offence. That she wrote hers influenced only by a love of truth, I am persuaded. I have seen and heard nothing in London which should shake the confidence of any of her friends in her; and I say it without making allusions to persons or things, because I have understood that some reports to the contrary have reached America. You may take my authority for what it is worth. I will only add that I have often conversed with her about America and Americans. Her novel called ‘Deerbrook’ is nearly finished. It is entirely fiction. She seems to have great confidence in it, and esteems it her best production. If it is successful, she will become a novelist.

You will doubtless read the last ‘Tait's Magazine.’ It contains the first of a series of articles by De Quincey on Wordsworth. Poor De Quincey had a small fortune of eight or nine thousand pounds, which he has lost or spent; and now he lets his pen for hire. You know his article on Coleridge: Wordsworth's turn has now come. At the close of his article, he alludes to a killing neglect which he once received from the poet, and which embittered his peace. I know the facts, which are not given. De Quincey married some humble country-girl in the neighborhood of Wordsworth; she was of good character, but not of that rank in which W. moved. The family of the latter never made her acquaintance or showed her any civilities, though [46] living comparatively in the same neighborhood. ‘Hinc illae lacrymae.’ When you now read De Quincey's lamentations you may better understand them.

A few evenings ago I dined with Hallam. He is a person of plain manners, rather robust, and wears a steel watch-guard over his waistcoat. He is neither fluent nor brilliant in conversation; but is sensible, frank, and unaffected. After dinner we discussed the merits of the different British historians,—Gibbon, Hume, and Robertson. Of course, Gibbon was placed foremost. There was a party at Hallam's after dinner; but I went from that to a ball at Hume's,—Joe Hume's.²⁴ You doubtless imagine that this Radical, who for twenty years has been crying out ‘retrenchment,’ is an ill-dressed, slovenly fellow, without a whole coat in his wardrobe. Imagine a thick-set, broad-faced, well-dressed Scotchman, who has no fear of laughter or ridicule. I know few persons whom I have always seen dressed in better taste or looking more like a gentleman.

I have already written you of Lady Morgan. Her Ladyship, you know, is a fierce Democrat. She was in the midst of professions of democracy during a morning call, when the knocker resounded—as these English knockers do—over the house; and her niece, who was sitting at the window of the drawing-room, announced the cab and tiger of the Marquis of Douro,²⁵ the eldest son of the Duke of Wellington. Lady Morgan at once straightened herself in her seat, assumed a queenly air, and, when the noble lord entered, received him with no little dignity. I was presented to his Lordship as a ‘very distinguished American,’ who had been feted by all the nobility of England! So you will see her Ladyship was determined to make the most of her visitors. We bowed,—that is, Lord Douro and myself,—and conversation went on. He is about forty, and appears to be a pleasant, good-natured, and rather clever person, looking very much like the great Duke.

A far different person from Lady Morgan is Mrs. Shelley. I passed an evening with her recently. She is sensible, agreeable, and clever. There were Italians and French at her house, and she entertained us all in our respective languages. She seemed to speak both French and Italian quite gracefully. You have doubtless read some of Mrs. Marcet's²⁶ productions. I have met her repeatedly, and received from her several kind attentions. She is the most ladylike and motherly of all the tribe of authoresses that I have met. Mrs. Austin I have seen frequently, and recently passed an evening at her house. She is a fine person,—tall, well-filled, with a bright countenance slightly inclined to be red. She has two daughters who have just entered society. She is engaged in translating the ‘History of the Popes,’ that was reviewed some time ago by Milman in the ‘Quarterly,’ which she says will be the most important and valuable of the works she has [47] presented to the public. She is desirous of reaping some advantage from its publication in America, and hopes to make some arrangement with a publisher to receive the sheets and reprint them. I have this very day received a letter from Sir David Brewster, expressing a similar wish. He is preparing a very valuable ‘Life of Newton,’ in two or three octavo volumes,²⁷ which will contain most important extracts from the family papers in the possession of the Earl of Portsmouth, to all of which he has had access. This ‘Life’ will throw great light upon Newton's religious opinions, and will prove him, under his own hand, to have been a Unitarian. I hope that we shall pass a law responsive to the British International Copyright Bill. Do write me about this measure, and what its chances are.

You have read the ‘Retrospective Review.’ I am indebted to it for much pleasure and instruction. What was my gratification, a short time since, while dining with Parkes, to find that it was gotten up and carried on by my friends. The nominal editor was Southern, now Secretary of Legation at Madrid; but its chief supporters were Parkes and Charles Austin and Montagu. It was established by the Radicals, to show that they were at least not ignorant of literature. Parkes wrote the articles on the prose writings of Milton. He is a subscriber to the ‘North American,’ and has been much pleased with the article in a late number (for July, I think) on Milton. He thinks it the best essay on Milton ever written, and is anxious to know who is the author. I have felt ashamed that I cannot tell. Do not fail to let me know.²⁸

Jan. 27, 1839.

Among the persons whom I have seen since I wrote the foregoing pages have been Leigh Hunt²⁹ and Thomas Campbell.³⁰ I yesterday morning saw Leigh Hunt, on the introduction of Carlyle. He lives far from town,—in Chelsea,—in a humble house, with uncarpeted entry and stairs. He lives more simply, I think, than any person I have visited in England; but he possesses a palace of a mind. He is truly brilliant in conversation, and the little notes of his which I have seen are very striking. He is of about the middle size, with iron-gray hair parted in the middle, and suffered to grow quite long. Longfellow has seen him, I think, and he will tell you about him. I believe I have already described to you Carlyle. I met Campbell at a dinner which Colburn,³¹ the publisher, gave me last evening. There were Campbell, Jerdan,³² and some six or eight of the small fry—the minims— of literature, all guilty of print. Campbell is upwards of sixty. He is rather short and stout, and has not the air of a gentleman. He takes brandy and water instead of wine. He did not get to throwing decanters or their stoppers; though when he left (which was sufficiently early) his steps did not [48] appear very steady. He does not think of visiting America; but he said that he should be willing to be there without a penny in his pocket, and he would simply say, ‘I am Tom Campbell.’ He enforces most all that he says by an oath. His brother, as he informed me, married a daughter of Patrick Henry. He told some stories that were none of the purest, with a good deal of humor. Jerdan you well know as the editor of the ‘Literary Gazette.’ He is a tall, vulgar Scotchman, who annoyed me by proposing my health in a long rigmarole speech. He has a good deal of humor. Of the rest at table I have not time to write you. A diary has just been brought to light, kept by the vicar of the church at Stratford-on-Avon during the time of Shakspeare, and in which the name of Shakspeare is several times mentioned. What is said of him I do not know. One of our guests to-night was Dr. Severn, in whose hands the manuscript has been placed, and who will edit it.

You will doubtless read the ‘Edinburgh Review’ just published, and the brilliant article by Lord Brougham on ‘Foreign Relations.’³³ Admire, I pray you, the epigram by Johnny Williams on Napoleon. After reading it, I took down the ‘Greek Anthology,’ and compared it with the famous one on Themistocles and with several others, and I must say that I think Williams's the best; it is a wonderful feat in the Greek language. Lord B. repeated it to me at table, before it appeared in print. I have also heard Baron Parke repeat it. Williams is said to know ‘Virgil’ and several other classics by heart. In society he is very dull; but he does write beautiful Greek. Lord Brougham's work will not be published till next week. It is on Natural Theology, in two volumes, and embraces an analysis of Cuvier, Newton's ‘Principia,’ and Laplace's ‘Mecanique Celeste.’ I saw him in his study yesterday; he had a printer's devil on one side and his private secretary on the other. Mirabile dictu, he did not use an oath! He thanked me for Rev. Dr. Young's discourse on Dr. Bowditch, which I had given him some days before, and said that it was very good,—just what was wanted. (I received two copies of Young's discourse, —one I gave to Lord B., the other to Sir David Brewster.) He told me that he had received a long letter of eight pages from his mother, giving him an account of the late tremendous hurricane that had passed over Brougham Hall; that the letter was a capital one, and that every line contained a fact. Truly his Lordship is a wonderful man; and, I am disposed to believe, the most eloquent one in English history. I think I have already told you that Earl Grey said to Lord Wharncliffe, on the evening of B.'s speech on the Reform Bill, that it was the greatest speech he ever heard in his life; and his life covered the period of Pitt and Fox. In this judgment Lord W. concurred. Mr. Rogers has told me that Sir Robert Peel said he never knew what eloquence was till he heard B.'s speech on the abolition of slavery in the West Indies. Do not listen to the articles and the reports that Lord B. is no speaker. He is most eloquent; and his voice, [49] as I heard it in the Lords six months ago, still rings in my ear. And yet I cannot pardon his gross want of propriety in conversation. Think of the language I heard him use about O'Connell. He called him ‘a damned thief.’

You will also read the article on Prescott in the ‘Edinburgh.’ It is written by somebody who understands the subject, and who praises with great discrimination. Some of my friends suppose that it is done by John Allen,³⁴ the friend of Lord Holland. Mr. Hallam, however, thought it was not by him, but by a Spaniard who is in England. I shall undoubtedly be able to let you know by my next letter. Mr. Ford, the writer of the Spanish articles in the ‘Quarterly,’ has undertaken to review Prescott's book for that journal: whether his article will be ready for the next number I cannot tell. Prescott ought to be happy in his honorable fame. His publisher, Bentley, is about to publish a second edition in two volumes; and he told me that he regarded the work as the most important he had ever published, and as one that would carry his humble name to posterity. Think of Bentley astride the shoulders of Prescott on the journey to posterity! Milman told me he thought it the greatest work that had yet proceeded from America. Mr. Whishaw, who is now blind, and who was the bosom friend of Sir Samuel Romilly, has had it read to him, and says that Lord Holland calls it the most important historical work since Gibbon. I have heard Hallam speak of it repeatedly, and Harness and Rogers and a great many others whom I might mention, if I had more time and I thought you had more patience.

Bulwer has two novels in preparation—one nearly completed—and is also engaged on the last two volumes of his ‘History of Greece.’ This work seems to have been a failure. I see this flash novelist often: we pass each other in the drawing-room, and even sit on the same sofa; but we have never spoken.

I could not live through two London winters; the fogs are horrid. I met Theodore Hook last evening, and poured out my complaints. ‘You are right,’ said he; ‘our atmosphere is nothing but pea-soup.’

Ever affectionately yours,

Charles Sumner.

[50]

To his brother Horace, aged fourteen.

London, Jan. 20, 1839.

dear Horace,,—I have now before me your letter of Oct. 15. It is quite short; but has pleased me, because it is correctly written; and I have read it over and over several times. It will be well to accustom yourself to habits of composition, as, in this way, you will learn to write with facility and correctness. I need not enlarge to a boy of your age and disposition on the vast importance of this accomplishment. One of my highest pleasures on my return to Boston will consist in finding you and Mary and Julia all lovers of knowledge and truth,—all anxious to employ every moment in storing the mind, and in doing something useful. Remember, that if you lose time now you can never regain it. You will, I fear, think me a dull preacher, and will dread my letters as much as the minister's sermon; but I cannot take my pen to write any of you without, forthwith, falling into this vein. It may be irksome to you now to confine yourself to study, and to read my exhortations; but I believe, if we both live, you will thank me hereafter.

The mountains which you see in the vignette on this sheet are the far-famed ‘Grampian Hills,’ where the father of young Norval ‘fed his flocks, —a frugal swain.’ I have walked at the foot of these very mountains, and have seen the shepherds tending their sheep. To one shepherd are sometimes committed eight hundred or a thousand sheep. For miles and miles there are no fences, and the shepherd permits his flock to roam about in search of food during the day; but at night, with the assistance of a dog, calls them all together and shuts them in a fold. He takes his position on a rock or some elevated place, raises his staff and makes a signal to his dog, who is trained to this duty, and who at once scampers to the most distant sheep and drives them to the shepherd. I once walked for a mile with one of these men, while he was driving his flock before him. You suppose, I dare say, that shepherds are very fine-looking men, because they always appear so in pictures; but I hardly know a dirtier set. They are dressed in old clothes, and perhaps are smoking dirty pipes. Instead of a crook, which you see represented in pictures, they have nothing but a rough stick or staff, and they look like the laziest of human beings; for they sit or stand in the open field, or on the side of the mountain, a whole day, simply watching the motions of their flock. I have seen shepherds on the plains of Normandy, on the beautiful downs of the south of England, where are the wondrous ruins of Stonehenge, and on the hills of Scotland,—and all have been alike mean looking. All our ideas of these people have been borrowed from books, and particularly from poetry and pictures. My account may serve to disenchant you of some of your notions with regard to them.

Jan. 27. I have only time to say good-by, my dear Horace, and to renew my exhortations to you to be good and studious. When you next write direct to the care of Draper & Co., Paris. Give my love to mother and all the family.

Ever your affectionate brother,

Chas.

[51]

To Professor Simon Greenleaf, Cambridge.

London, Jan. 21, 1839.

dear Greenleaf,—Your good long letter, and Mrs. Greenleaf's enclosed, came in due season. You know how thankful I am to hear of you and from you, and how I rejoice that the Law School still flourishes as it should, under the auspices of my friends. Often ‘my heart untravelled fondly turns’ to those old haunts. How will they seem on my return? How will all my friends seem? And, last and heaviest question, how shall I seem to them? Those clients I once had,—those duties I once rejoiced in,—where are they? Shall I find them again? As I draw nearer the day of my return, I feel sincerely anxious with regard to the future. I think of that tide—whose flood I declined to take—which might have floated me on to fortune,—that is, to worldly success; and I fear I have lost it for ever. And yet I know that I have gained, in the highest point of view, immeasurably more than I have lost. I have seen men, society, and courts, in a way that is permitted to few of my age in any country; and I feel that I have not lost my love of native land, or my sense of duty or the knowledge of what it behooves me to do. Tell me, as my friend, what I must prepare to do on my return, and how to set to work,—for to work I shall go at once.

On a recent excursion to Birmingham, I received a good deal of kind attention from Mr. Wills, author of the new work on ‘Circumstantial Evidence.’ He has presented me with a copy of his book, and we have since corresponded on the subject of it. While with him I mentioned that I had a learned friend, Professor Greenleaf, who was engaged on a work on the ‘Law of Evidence.’ Mr. Wills at once asked me to take charge of a copy of his book for your acceptance with his compliments. Wills is not a barrister, but an attorney. He is about forty-eight or fifty, and is a very unassuming, good-natured, quiet person, who has devoted not a little time to this work. I wish you would write a review of it in the ‘Jurist.’

In conversation yesterday with Burge, the author of the huge book on the ‘Conflict of Laws,’ he lamented that there was no good work on the principles of the law of evidence. I at once told him that Professor Greenleaf had such a one in preparation. Mr. Burge told me to encourage you to the completion of your task, and also to say to you from him not to publish till you had thoroughly examined Menochius (‘De Presumptionibus’) and Mascardus (‘De Probationibus’),—the latter particularly. Burge is quite a black-letter, folio man, who overlays his arguments with numerous authorities and recondite learning. He deserves great praise for his devotion to the subject which he has illustrated with such learning and to such extent. He has a great admiration for Judge Story. Starkie³⁵ has a third edition of his ‘Evidence’ in press. He has lost his wife, and is in much affliction. Poor Chitty³⁶ is badly off. He has now some weakness—an affection of the spine, I believe—which prevents his walking; so he is rolled about in a chair. He has had an immense business, and an iron constitution; but both have departed. [52] . . . . At present he confines himself entirely to giving opinions on cases stated. Nobody sees him; and in this mighty human whirlpool he is literally unregarded and unknown. A few evenings since I dined in company with Lord Langdale, and took occasion to let him know that his sentiments concerning professional conduct had been regarded in America as a valuable contribution to the cause of professional morals. He appeared truly gratified. His Lordship is a liberal-minded man who takes an interest in jurisprudence. He regretted to find that in the State of New York they had so far adopted the English Chancery rules. He thinks we ought to abolish the distinction between Equity and Law as soon as possible.³⁷ Story's ‘Equity Pleading’ is making its way; and Maxwell stands prepared to publish the second edition of the ‘Jurisprudence’ as soon as he receives it. The ‘Bailments’ has just been republished, with a most complimentary preface,—a preface full of warm admiration of the author. Kind regards to Mrs. Greenleaf, and thanks for her letter.

Ever affectionately yours,

Charles Sumner.

To Professor William Whewell, London.

2 Vigo Street, Jan. 23, 1839.

dear Mr. Whewell,—I am so knocked up with a cold that I shall not venture to your dinner to-day. Give me my own crystal weather, rather than your murky, foggy days,—freighted with colds, catarrhs, and death. I have caught three dismal colds in the space of six weeks; all which is a monition to me to run away, and get nearer to the sun. I shall, however, be in town when you return to wind up the Geological year, and hope to have the pleasure of again seeing you. Let me thank you now for your kindness, and assure you of the great pleasure it will always give me to think of the intercourse I have been so fortunate as to enjoy with you, and to cherish the hope of renewing it by welcoming you or any of your friends to America.

Believe me ever very sincerely yours,

Charles Sumner.

To Judge Story.

London, Jan. 23, 1839.

my dear Judge,—In my notes about the judges, I broke off without giving you the barons of the Exchequer. The successor of Allan Park has at last been appointed; it is the Right Honorable T. Erskine, the Chief Judge of the Bankruptcy Court.³⁸ It so happened that I dined in company with [53] Mr. Erskine at Baron Alderson's the day of his appointment. He is a very quiet, modest, and gentlemanly person; and these qualities, united to the great name he bears (he is the second son of the Erskine), make his appointment quite acceptable to the bar,—though they do not generally regard him as an addition to the strength of the bench; and his promotion does not devolve more business upon rising juniors, as would that of a prominent leader. Baron Parke, however, thinks his services will be valuable, and regards the appointment as an excellent one. Being the son of a Lord, and with the prefix of ‘Honorable,’ he will not be knighted, as the other judges are.

Passing to the Exchequer, we have, first, the Lord Chief-Baron,—Abinger.³⁹ You know his wonderful success at the bar,—confessedly the greatest advocate of his time, yet never eloquent, and supposed by all to be the most competent person possible for the bench; and in this opinion all would have persevered, nisi regnasset. He is the great failure of Westminster Hall. To his own incompetency he added last term a jealousy of Barons Alderson and Parke. He wants the judicial capacity: he was so old before he reached the bench that he could not assume new habits. I should, however, do him injustice, if I did not tell you that Mr. Maule—one of the first lawyers in Westminster Hall—told me that he was mending; that he had given up all idea of competing with Parke and Alderson in technical learning and subtlety, and seemed now to aim directly at the common sense of a case,— a habit quite valuable in a judge supported by such learned associates. In person Lord Abinger is large and rather full, or round: he is the largest judge on the bench. He has become a thorough Tory; and in society, I think, is cold and reserved. Brougham says that Scarlett was once speaking of Laplace's ‘Mecanique Celeste’ at Holland House as a very easy matter; Brougham told him he could not read it, and doubted if he could do a sum in algebraical addition. One was put, and the future Lord Abinger failed; and, as Lord B. said, he did not know so much about it as a ‘pot-house boy.’ It was reported in Westminster Hall that arrangements were recently attempted to procure his retirement in favor of his son-in-law, the Attorney-General; but unsuccessfully.

Baron Parke⁴⁰ is the senior puisne judge. He is about fifty-six years old; is rather above the common size, quite erect, and with eyes the brightest I ever saw. He is always dressed with great care, and in the evening wears a blue coat and bright buttons,—which is also the dress of Lord Abinger and several other judges. He is a man of society, and succeeds to a remarkable extent in uniting a devotion to this with great attention to his elevated judicial duties. He is also not a little conceited and vain. Lady Parke is a person of remarkable personal attractions for her [54] years. They have a daughter who goes with them into society, who is quite pretty. All have the reputation of being very fond of the highest society. You know Baron Parke from the books, as well as I. I think the profession place him at the head of the bench; the only two to be compared with him are Alderson and Patteson. Alderson is hasty and crotchety. Parke is also open, in some degree, to the same objection. He is not what you would call fluent on the bench; though there is no particular want of words. I think he could not have been eloquent at the bar. He is evidently a well-read lawyer; and yet he is not a jurist. You will understand my meaning. I know of but one jurist in Westminster Hall; and that is Charles Austin,—brother of John,—of whom I will speak by-and-by. I dined in company with Baron Parke a few days ago; and he told me he had just been reading your ‘Bailments,’ which has been republished here.

Next is Baron Alderson.⁴¹ He and Baron Parke were both of the Northern Circuit, which has given more judges than any other to Westminster Hall. Abinger, Parke, Alderson, Tindal, Coltman, Williams, and one other,—I forget which,—were all of this circuit. I have written you so much and often about Alderson that I have little to add. Like Parke, he is a Tory; I have heard them both called ‘bitter Tories.’ He has not the air and manner of Parke. Indeed, he is gauche, and abrupt and uneven in his voice. He is an excellent scholar; and when at Cambridge he carried away at the same time the highest classical and mathematical prizes of the University,—a conjunction that has very rarely occurred. He is now about fifty, has light hair, and a high forehead. I have heard from him a higher display of the judicial talent than from any other judge in England. The bar, however, think him often unsafe. Some dislike him on account of his Toryism, others from pique and imagined personal coldness or insult. I think that he has more enemies—or, rather, more who call him hard names—than any other judge in Westminster Hall. Lady Alderson is a modest, quiet person, with a young family; she is the sister of Lady Gifford,— the dowager of the late Lord Gifford. It was to Baron Alderson that I was indebted for an introduction to the latter lady, and also to the Bishop of Durham.⁴² Lockhart seems to be quite a friend of Alderson. I have always met him when I have been at the Baron's. Alderson has a good deal of dry humor. It was he who said, on Brougham being made Lord Chancellor: ‘If his Lordship knew a little law, he would know a little of every thing.’

Of the other two barons of the Exchequer I literally know nothing. Baron Gurney⁴³ is old, and appears infirm. I never meet him or hear of him in society. On the bench he is always silent, and indeed is dead weight. [55] Baron Bolland⁴⁴ was taken ill shortly after my arrival, was obliged to give up his circuit, and has just resigned with his pension,—giving the Government a certificate of his being incurably incapacitated for service. This is a generous feature of the English Constitution, allowing a valuable public servant to retire with a pension after fifteen years of hard service, and at any time before, on the registration of a proper certificate of his incapacity. Of course, the bar are busy in speculating who will be the new baron. The place has been offered to Rolfe, the Solicitor-General; but he has declined it. It is supposed that Maule will have it.⁴⁵

From the judges I pass to the leading members of the bar. In the courts of common law, the Attorney-General, Sir William Follett, and Serjeant Wilde stand first. Charles Austin's practice lies chiefly before committees of Parliament.

Sir John Campbell,⁴⁶ the Attorney-General, is a Scotchman by birth. He is now about fifty-eight. He has been a laborious, plodding man, and has succeeded by dint of industry and strong natural powers, unadorned by any of the graces. He has a marked Scotch accent still. He is a very powerful lawyer; but his manner is harsh and coarse, without delicacy or refinement. I think he is not much liked at the bar; though all bow to his powers. They call him ‘Jack Campbell.’ We pronounce his name wrong in America. All the letters, including the b, are pronounced; thus, Campbell, and not Camell, as we say. He was astonished when I told him that his ‘Reports’ had been republished in America; and I thought he was not a little gratified. He has been quite kind to me, both in town and country. I visited him at Duddingstone House, and have received many civilities from him in London.

Sir William Follett⁴⁷ is truly a lovable person; and one great secret of his early success has been his amiability. He is about forty-two, and is still youthful in manners and conduct. As a speaker he is fluent, clear, and distinct, [56] with a beautiful and harmonious voice. He seems to have a genius for law: when it comes to the stating a law point and its argument, he is at home, and goes on without let or hindrance, or any apparent exertion. His business is immense; and he receives many briefs which he hardly reads before he rises in court. His income is probably fifteen thousand pounds. Strange thing in the history of the bar, he is equally successful in the House of Commons, where I have heard them call for ‘Follett, Follett!’ and here he shows a parliamentary eloquence of no common kind, and also wins by his attractive manner. He is the great favorite of the Tories, and, in the event of their return to power, would be Lord Chancellor,—a leap wonderful to take, but which, all seem to agree, would be allowed to him. In the event of the death of Sir Robert Peel,—such is the favor to him,—I think he might become the leader of the Tories in the Commons, if he would consent, which is not at all probable. I do not think his politics are founded on much knowledge. Circumstances have thrown him into the Tory ranks, where he will doubtless continue. He has little or no information out of his profession,—seems not to have read or thought much, and yet is always an agreeable companion. I feel an attachment for him, so gentle and kind have I always found him.

Serjeant Wilde⁴⁸ is different from both of these. He commenced as an attorney; and Mr. Justice Vaughan has told me that he has held more than a hundred briefs from him. After his entrance to the profession, he was guilty of one of those moral delinquencies which are so severely visited in England. I have heard the story, but have forgotten it. In some way, he took advantage of a trust relation, and purchased for himself. He was at once banished from the Circuit table.⁴⁹ A long life of laborious industry, attended by the greatest success, has not yet placed him in communion with the bar; and it is supposed that he can never hope for any of those offices by which talents and success like his are usually rewarded. I think it, however, not improbable that the Government, in their anxiety to avail themselves of his great powers, may forget the past; but society will not. He does not mingle with the bar,—or, if he does, it is with downcast eyes, and with a look which seems to show that he feels himself out of place. He is the most industrious person at the English bar,—being at his chambers often till two o'clock in the morning, and at work again by six o'clock. His arguments are all elaborated with the greatest care; and he comes to court with a minute of every case that can bear upon the matter in question. In the Common Pleas he is supreme, and is said to exercise a great influence [57] over Lord Chief-Justice Tindal. He once explained to me the secret of his success: he said that he thoroughly examined all his cases, and, if he saw that a case was bad, in the strongest language he advised its adjustment; if it was good, he made himself a perfect master of it. He is engaged in every cause in the Common Pleas. In person he is short and stout, and has a vulgar face. His voice is not agreeable; but his manner is singularly energetic and intense,—reminding me in this respect of Webster more than any other person at the English bar. If you take this into consideration in connection with his acknowledged talents and his persevering industry, you will not be at a loss to account for his great success. I have been told that he was once far from being fluent; but now he expresses himself with the greatest ease. His language has none of the charms of literature; but it is correct, expressive, and to the purpose. In manners,—to his friends,—he seems warm and affable. To me he has shown much volunteer kindness. I have conversed with him on some points of professional conduct, and found him entertaining very elevated views. He told me that he should never hesitate to cite a case that bore against him, if he thought the court and the opposite counsel were not aware of it at the moment.

In this connection I must speak of Charles Austin,⁵⁰ who is of the common [58] law bar, though he practises chiefly before Parliamentary committees. He has just sprung into an income of fifteen thousand pounds. He is about forty-two years old, and is a bachelor. He is the brother of John Austin. I think Charles Austin the only jurist at the English bar. It is only recently that he has arrived at his present position, and he has employed his time in liberal studies as well as upon the law. He was one of the editors of the ‘Retrospective Review.’ He is a fine speaker,—clear, distinct, intelligent. In conversation he is very interesting, full of knowledge, information, literature, and power of argument. In politics he is a decided, but rational, liberal. In the event of Lord Durham coming to power, or any more liberal government, he will be Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor. If he has health, there is a great future before him. He is admirably informed about America, and will probably visit us next summer. He will be glad to see you. I have heard him say that he thought you the first judge and jurist of the day. Take him all in all, and I cannot hesitate to place him before Follett. In my next I shall continue my sketch of the common law barristers, and then shall carry you before the Lord Chancellor.

Ever affectionately yours,

Charles Sumner.

To George S. Hillard.

London, Feb. 4, 1839.

dear Hillard,—I wish you to do me the favor to send Brownson's tracts, and his Review for the first year,—in short all the publications that contain any thing of his philosophy,—to Rev. Professor Whewell, Athenaeum Club, London. The latter is a friend of mine, and is now engaged on an extensive philosophical work.

In my last I wrote you that Prescott's book had been reviewed in the ‘Edinburgh.’ The author is Mr. Gayangos, a Spaniard and great friend of Lord Holland. He also wrote the article on the Moors in the ‘London and [59] Foreign Quarterly,’ for January. My friend, Henry Reeve,⁵¹ the editor of this Review during the absence of John Kemble (now in Germany for his health), wished me to call Mr. Prescott's attention to the latter article. The note at page sixty or seventy about Prescott's book is written by Reeve. I have been pressing Reeve to review the work at length in his journal, and he would like to do so very much if he could find a competent critic. He has read the work with the greatest pleasure. I dined last evening with Edward Romilly⁵² (the son of Sir Samuel): there were only Lord Lansdowne, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Hallam, Mr. Wickham, Mrs. Marcet, and myself; and the conversation turned upon this book. To-night I dined with Mr. Ord,⁵³ an old stager in Parliament, who fought under the leadership of Fox.

To-morrow Parliament meets. Through the kind interference of Lord Morpeth, I am to have a place to hear the Queen's speech; and the Speaker has given me the entree of the House of Commons at all times.

Lord Brougham has given me his full-bottom Lord-Chancellor's wig,⁵⁴ in which he made his great speech on the Reform Bill. Such a wig costs twelve guineas; and then, the associations of it! In America it will be like Rabelais' gown.

Ever yours,

C. S.

To George S. Hillard.

travellers', Feb. 16, 1839.

dear Hillard,—Perhaps this is my last greeting from London; and yet it is hard to tear myself away, so connected by friendship and by social ties have I become with this great circle; and I will — not venture to write down the day when I shall leave. My last was a volume rather than a letter; and I have again such stores to communicate as to call for another volume. Parliament is now open, and I have been a constant attendant; but I will first tell you of its opening and of the speech of the Queen.⁵⁵ I was accommodated through the kindness of Lord Morpeth with a place at the bar,—perhaps it was the best place occupied by any person not in court dress. Behind me was the Prince Louis Bonaparte.⁵⁶ It was a splendid sight, as at the coronation, to watch the peeresses as they took their seats in full dress, resplendent with jewels and costly ornaments; and from the smallness of the room all were within a short distance. The room of the House of Lords is a little longer but not so wide as our College Chapel, at Cambridge. [60] The Queen entered, attended by the great officers of state, with her heavy crown on her head, the great guns sounding, and the trumpets adding to the glow of the scene. She took her seat with sufficient dignity, and in an inaudible voice directed the Commons to be summoned. In the mean time, all eyes were directed to her. Her countenance was flushed, her hands moved on the golden arms of the throne, and her fingers twitched in her gloves. There she was, a Queen; but a Queen's nerves and heart are those of a woman, and she showed that little nervousness and restlessness which amply vindicated her sympathy with us all. And yet she bore herself well, and many, whose eyes were not as observing as you know mine are, did not note these pleasing tokens. I was glad to see them, more by far than if she had sat as if cut in alabaster. The Commons came in with a thundering rush, their Speaker at their head. Her Majesty then commenced reading her speech which had been previously handed to her by the Lord Chancellor. It was a quarter or a third through before she seemed to get her voice so that I could understand her. In the paragraph about Belgium, I first caught all that she said, and every word of the rest of her speech came to me in as silver accents as I have ever heard. You well know I had no predisposition to admire the Queen, or any thing that proceeds from her; but her reading has conquered my judgment. I was astonished and delighted. Her voice was sweet, and finely modulated, and she pronounced every word slowly and distinctly, with a just regard to its meaning. I think I have never heard any thing better read in my life than was her speech; and I could but respond to Lord Fitzwilliam's remark to me when the ceremony was over, ‘How beautifully she performs!’ This was the first sovereign's speech he had ever heard. In the evening the Lords met for business, and the Lord Chancellor read the speech to the House: but how unlike that of the girl Queen was the reading of the learned Lord! You remember Wilkes's comparison: it is too unsavory, however, for this connection. In the evening's debate Brougham was wonderful. Lord Holland had placed me on the steps of the throne, so that I saw and heard with every advantage. Brougham spoke for an hour and a half or two hours. His topics were various, his spirits high, his mastery of every note in the wide music of the human voice complete, and his command of words the greatest I have ever known. Add then, the brimful house interrupting him with vociferous applause, and old Wellington nodding his head, and adding his cheer. You will read his speech, but the report is utterly inadequate. I have heard many say that they thought it the best speech in point of eloquence and effect they ever heard. The thunders he hurled at O'Connell seemed blasting, and the Tory benches, which were crowded to excess, almost rent the walls with their cheers. Then followed the funeral oration on Lord Norbury,⁵⁷ and— ‘He changed his hand and checked his pride;’ his voice fell from its high invective to a funeral note, and we almost saw the lengthened train that followed the murdered nobleman to the tomb [61] passing through the House. I will not carry this description farther; for I cannot give you such an idea as I could wish without taking more time than I have to spare. The next morning I was in Lord Brougham's study, and we were speaking of the debate. I suggested to him a blunder which the Duke of Wellington had committed in his speech, when he alluded to the case of Spain and Portugal as analogous to that of Canada and the United States; a blunder pregnant with the double error of fact and of the law of nations. Brougham said that I was right in the view I took. The report will not let you fully see, I think, the Duke's mistake; for it is quite curtailed. Brougham told me that I should have heard a good debate if Lansdowne had not spoken ‘so damned stupidly;’ for, if he had said any thing worth replying to, Copley would have spoken. We then passed to other things, and spoke, as we often have before, of versification. I expressed to him my admiration of Johnny Williams's Epigram on Napoleon, and told him that I thought it compared well with that on Themistocles in the Anthology. He said the latter was very fine; that he thought, however, there were others in the Anthology better, but that the Marquis of Wellesley was of a different opinion on this point, and that the Marquis was a much higher authority than himself on these matters. He then repeated to me Williams's lines on the Apollo, and took up his pen and wrote them down for me without referring to any copy, and as fast as I write English.⁵⁸ I have the lines in Brougham's Greek autograph, and shall send them home. As I was leaving, he said: ‘You are still at 14 Vigo St.?’—‘No,’ said I, ‘I was never there: it is No. 2.’ ‘Why,’ said he, with an oath, ‘I have got you down in my address book, No. 14.’ He has given me a standing invitation to see him in his study any morning before two o'clock. I wish that I could believe in Brougham. All who best know him distrust his word. He said to me that his mother had written to him several times making inquiries about me, and expressing a kind interest for me. If I could believe this, I should feel more gratified than by any notice or compliment I have received in England. To think that I am remembered by that venerable, good, and great woman, is a pleasure indeed.

I hardly know what dinner, or form of society, to describe to you. I have already sent you some account of almost every circle. Every day still brings its contribution of invitations, and proffered hospitality. This week, I have been obliged to decline three different invitations from the Marquis of Lansdowne, three from Samuel Rogers, one from Lord Langdale, Barry Cornwall, &c. One of the pleasantest dinners I ever enjoyed was with Mrs. Norton.⁵⁹ [62] She now lives with her uncle, Mr. Charles Sheridan, who is a bachelor. We had a small company,—old Edward Ellice; Fonblanque, whose writings you so much admire; Hayward; Phipps, the brother of the Marquis Normanby; Lady Seymour, the sister of Mrs. Norton, and Lady Graham, the wife of Sir John Graham; and Mrs. Phipps. All of these are very clever people. Ellice is the person whose influence is said, more than that of all other men, to keep the present ministry in power. Fonblanque⁶⁰ is harsh looking, rough in voice and manner, but talks with the same knowledge and sententious brilliancy with which he writes. But the women were by far more remarkable than the men. I unhesitatingly say that they were the four most beautiful, clever, and accomplished women I have ever seen together. The beauty of Mrs. Norton has never been exaggerated. It is brilliant and refined. Her countenance is lighted by eyes of the intensest brightness, and her features are of the greatest regularity. There is something tropical in her look; it is so intensely bright and burning, with large dark eyes, dark hair, and Italian complexion. And her conversation is so pleasant and powerful without being masculine, or rather it is masculine without being mannish; there is the grace and ease of the woman with a strength and skill of which any man might well be proud. Mrs. Norton is about twenty-eight years old, and is, I believe, a grossly slandered woman. She has been a woman of fashion, and has received many attentions which doubtless she would have declined had she been brought up under the advice of a mother; but which we may not wonder she did not decline, circumstanced as she was. It will be enough for you, and I doubt not you will be happy to hear it of so remarkable and beautiful a woman, that I believe her entirely innocent of the grave charges that have been brought against her. I count her one of the brightest intellects I have ever met. I whisper in your ear what is not to be published abroad, that she is the unaided author of a tract which has just been published on the ‘Infant Custody Bill,’ and purports to be by ‘Pearce Stevenson, Esq.,’ a nom de guerre. I think it is one of the most remarkable things from the pen of a woman. The world here does not suspect her, but supposes that the tract is the production of some grave barrister. It is one of the best discussions of a legislative matter I have ever read. I should have thought Mrs. Norton the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, if her sister, Lady Seymour,⁶¹ had not been present. I think that Lady Seymour is generally considered the more beautiful. Her style of beauty is unlike Mrs. Norton's; her features are smaller, and her countenance lighter and more English. In any other drawing-room she would have been deemed quite clever and accomplished, but Mrs. Norton's claims to these last characteristics are so pre-eminent as [63] to dwarf the talents and attainments of others of her sex who are by her side. Lady Seymour has no claim to literary distinction. The homage she receives is offered to her beauty, and her social position. Lady Graham is older than these; while Mrs. Phipps is younger. These two were only inferior in beauty to Mrs. Norton and Lady Seymour. In such society you may suppose the hours flew on rosy pinions. It was after midnight when we separated.

I will not tell you of dinners or parties with peers or others, who have no particular interest attached to them except a high social position; but come to an incident. At breakfast at Mr. Senior's, a few mornings after the Duke of Wellington's attack on our country, I met a person who was quite brilliant and clever in conversation, and who, in a manner almost rude,—well knowing that I was an American,—followed up the Duke's attack on our country. I never introduce American topics in conversation, but never shun them when introduced by others. I had a passage with him which was, for a moment, slightly unpleasant. I did not know who my opponent was. When we rose from the breakfast-table, he came to me very cordially, and said that he was to write a review of Prescott's ‘Ferdinand and Isabella’ for the ‘Quarterly,’ and he should like to converse with me about the author, the book, its reception in America, and the style of review that would best please the author and our country. When he had said this, I knew that he was Mr. Ford.⁶² I gave him my card, and he has since called upon me, and discussed the subject at great length. He is a high Tory, who frankly says that he detests republics, and likes the government of Austria better than that of any country, and should be pleased to see it established in England. He has passed several years in Spain, living in Granada, and has made Spanish history and literature a particular study. He married a daughter of the Earl of Essex, and has a very nice place near Exeter, which he has adorned with buildings in the Spanish style. I met him in the same frank way in which he had met me, and at once suggested to him that now was a fair occasion for the ‘Quarterly Review,’ in an article on Prescott, to make the amende honorable to America for its past conduct, and to present a criticism that should do not a little to banish some of the harsh feelings that still existed in the United States toward the Tory journal. He professed his willingness to do all this; and to this end consulted me most minutely, with pencil and paper in his hands, with regard to the points that he might urge. He was disposed to have a page or two of fun about Prescott's Americanisms, of which he says (and Milnes has also told me the same) there are about twenty, chiefly in the notes. To this I simply suggested: ‘Be sure that they are Americanisms, and not English words, the use of which is forgotten here but preserved with us; and consider if some of the words as locate (which I detest myself) are not fairly vindicated by their significance.’ [64] He also wished to have a page of fun about American titles; and the text for this was the dedication to the Hon. William Prescott. ‘What right,’ he asked, ‘has Mr. Prescott to this title?’ I confessed that there was a ridiculous prevalence of titles in America; but submitted that comment on them, in a grave article on Spanish history, would be out of place, and particularly it would be unjust to hang it upon Judge Prescott, whose merits richly deserved the title, and would have carried him without doubt to some equivalent distinction had he been born in England. I think he adopted my view. Wishing not to claim too much for Prescott, I said: ‘I presume you will rate his book as high as Watson's “Philip,” ’—though you know I place it infinitely before that. Ford promptly said: ‘I place it before Robertson, and I shall say so in my article.’ He then gave me a sketch of his article, which he will begin by a description of the tomb at Granada; and in the course of it serve the Tory purpose of his journal by a comparison between the Great Captain and the Duke of Wellington. He wished it to be known that, if it contained no humor or satire, it wouldn't be because he could not deal in those things; and carefully told me that he wrote the articles on Puckler Muskau,⁶³ and the Spanish Bull-Fight.⁶⁴ The article will be in the July number. Our acquaintance, which commenced in a harsh personal argument, ripened so that I received from Ford a cordial invitation to visit him at his country-place and enjoy his Spanish buildings. Emboldened by our conversation, I took the liberty of addressing him a long letter on what I thought would be the proper tone of the article, and suggesting to him some matters about American literature; to which I have a letter in reply. This I shall send to you; and you may give it to Prescott, if you see fit. It contains Ford's written opinion about his book, of which he may well be proud. Since seeing Ford I have met Pascual de Gayangos,⁶⁵ the author of the article in the ‘Edinburgh Review.’⁶⁶ I met him at a dinner at Adolphus's, where also was Macaulay, just returned from Italy.⁶⁷ Gayangos, you know, is a Spaniard, and was Professor of Arabic at Madrid. He is a fine-looking person, with well-trimmed moustaches, and has married a talkative English wife. He is about forty, and has a proper Spanish gravity. We talked a great deal of Prescott's book; and he seemed never to tire in commending it. He voluntarily explained to me the reason for the absence of certain things in his article. As a foreigner, he was unwilling to commend the style which he admired, for fear of its being said that he was no judge of such things; [65] and he abstained from comparing it with any other English history on the same ground. He thought Prescott was too much in love with Isabella, and that his researches had stopped short with regard to the Moors. But Gayangos, perhaps, is too much in love with the Moors; he has devoted a great deal of time apparently to the study of their memorials, and is preparing something for publication with regard to them. He has been a great mouser in manuscripts, and says that he has some which would be very useful to Mr. Prescott, and which are entirely at his service. Among these is a collection of letters from the Great Captain. He has invited me to examine his treasures; but I fear that I shall fail in time.

At dinner Adolphus was as quiet as usual,—you know him as the friend of Scott,—and Macaulay was truly oppressive. I now understand Sydney Smith, who called Macaulay a tremendous machine for colloquial oppression. His memory is prodigious, surpassing any thing I have ever known, and he pours out its stores with an instructive but dinning prodigality. He passes from the minutest dates of English history or biography to a discussion of the comparative merits of different ancient orators, and gives you whole strophes from the dramatists at will. He can repeat every word of every article he has written, without prompting: but he has neither grace of body, face, nor voice; he is without intonation or variety; and he pours on like Horace's river, while we, poor rustics, foolishly think he will cease; and if you speak, he does not respond to what you say, but, while your last words are yet on your lips, takes up again his wondrous tale. He will not confess ignorance of any thing, though I verily believe that no man would ever have less occasion to make the confession. I have heard him called the most remarkable person of his age; and again the most overrated one. You will see that he has not left upon me an entirely agreeable impression; still I confess his great and magnificent attainments and powers.⁶⁸ I wish he had more address in using them, and more deference for others. It is uncertain what he will do; he is now to a certain extent independent, with thirty thousand pounds, the spoils of India,—and fifteen thousand pounds, the legacy of a recently deceased uncle. Ministers have tried to bring him into Parliament, and to induce him to take office; but he stipulates for a seat in the Cabinet, which they, foolishly I think, are unwilling to grant: there are reports that at Easter this arrangement will be brought about. It was nearly one o'clock at night when we separated. I have several times seen in society your correspondent, Taylor,⁶⁹ but without becoming acquainted. At Lady Davy's we were introduced. I at once told him that I had a near friend who had received a letter from him. He had received your letter, and wished me to say to you that he should be most happy to see you if you should ever visit England.

[66]

March 1, 1839.

Since my last date, I have dined with Lord Brougham. We had Lord Lyndhurst, Lord Stuart De Rothesay,⁷⁰ Lord Denman, and Charles Phillips —of Irish eloquence. I should not forget Lady Brougham,—a large-featured, rather coarse-looking woman,—who of course presided at her own table. In the drawing-room, before we went down to dinner, appeared the daughter, the wretched representative of this great man. She is now seventeen, tall, and with features resembling her father's, even to the nose; but ill-health has set its mark upon her. She entered the room with short and careful steps, so as not to add to the palpitation of the heart with which she is afflicted, and in her motion very much reminded me of the appearance of a person who is carrying a vessel full of water which he is anxious not to spill. Her lips and cheeks are blue, which is caused by her strange disease, under the influence of which one of the bloods becomes stagnant in the system. It was one of the most melancholy sights I have for a long time beheld, and threw a gloom upon all present. I think I have never seen a woman in such apparent ill-health; and yet her father carries her to assemblies and parties, that she may see the world, thinking this may have a good effect upon her health; and one of the newspapers, chroniclers of fashion, has this day announced, as one of the youthful debutantes of the season in the world of fashion, ‘the Hon. Miss Brougham.’ To all who have seen her, such an annunciation seems like hanging a garland over one who is dying. On entering the room, she sank on a divan in the centre, and her father came to her and kissed her. He loves her well, and watches her tenderly. When dinner was announced, he stood before his child, as if to intimate that she would not be handed down, and we passed on. She was not at table. In the dining-room are four beautiful marble busts of Pitt, Fox, Newton, and Lord Brougham's mother; also a beautiful piece of sculpture,—Mercury charming Argus to sleep. Lord Lyndhurst⁷¹ has just returned from the Continent, where he has been for many months, so that this was my first meeting with him. Lord Brougham presented me in the quiet way in which this always takes place in English society,—‘Mr. Sumner; one of our profession,’—without saying of what country I was. We had been at table an hour or more before he was aware that I was an American. I alluded to America and Boston, and also to Lord Lyndhurst's relations there, with regard to whom Lord Brougham had inquired, when Lyndhurst said: ‘When were you in Boston?’ ‘It is my native place,’ I replied. ‘Then we are fellow-townsmen,’ said he, with a most emphatic knock on the table, and something like an oath. He left Boston, he told me, when a year old. I was afterwards [67] betrayed by the frankness of his manner into saying the rudest thing I have to my knowledge uttered in England. Brougham asked me the meaning and etymology of the word ‘caucus.’ I told him that it was difficult to assign any etymology that was satisfactory; but the most approved one referred its origin to the very town where Lord Lyndhurst was born, and to the very period of his birth,—in this remark alluding to his age, which I was not justified in doing, especially as he wears a chestnut wig. Lord Brougham at once stopped me. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘we know what period you refer to,—about 1798.’ ‘Somewhere in the latter part of that century,’ I replied, anxious to get out of the scrape as well as I could by such a generality. I was gratified by Lyndhurst's calling upon me a few days afterwards, because it showed that he had not been disturbed by my unintentional impertinence. The style of intercourse between Lyndhurst and Brougham, these two ex-Chancellors, was delightful. It was entirely familiar. ‘Copley, a glass of wine with you.’ He always called him ‘Copley.’ And pointing out an exquisite gold cup in the centre of the table, he said: ‘Copley, see what you would have had if you had supported the Reform Bill.’ It was a cup given to Lord Brougham by a penny subscription of the people of England. It was very amusing to hear them both join in abuse of O'Connell, while Charles Phillips entertained us with his Irish reminiscences of the ‘Agitator,’ and of his many barefaced lies. ‘A damned rascal,’ said Lyndhurst, while Brougham echoed the phrase, and did not let it lose an added epithet. This dinner was on Sunday. On the next Sunday I was invited by Lady Blessington⁷² to meet these same persons; but I was engaged to dine at Lord Wharncliffe's, and so did not get to her Ladyship's till about eleven o'clock. As I entered her brilliant drawing-room, she came forward to receive me with that bewitching manner and skilful flattery which still give her such influence. ‘Ah, Mr. Sumner,’ said she, ‘how sorry I am that you are so late! Two of your friends have just left us,—Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Brougham; they have been pronouncing your éloge.’ She was, of course, the only lady present; and she was surrounded by D'Orsay, Bulwer, Disraeli, Duncombe, the Prince Napoleon, and two or three lords— Her house is a palace of Armida, about two miles from town. It once belonged to Wilberforce. The rooms are furnished in the most brilliant French style, and flame with costly silks, mirrored doors, bright lights, and golden ornaments. But Lady Blessington is the chief ornament. The world says she is about fifty-eight; by her own confession she must be over fifty, and yet she seems hardly forty: at times I might believe her twenty-five. She was dressed with the greatest care and richness. Her conversation was various, elegant, and sparkling, with here and there a freedom which seemed to mark her intercourse as confined to men. She has spoken with me on a former occasion about Willis, whom she still likes. She would have been happy to continue to invite him to her house, but she could [68] find no persons who would meet him. She thought some of his little poems exquisite. Indeed, she spoke of him in a way that would please him. I did not venture to introduce his name, for fear of stepping on forbidden ground; but she volunteered to speak of him. Count d'orsay⁷³ surpasses all my expectations. He is the divinity of dandies; in another age he would have passed into the court of the gods, and youths would have sacrificed to the God of Fashion. He is handsome, refined, gallant, and intelligent. I have seen notes or letters from him, both in French and English, which are some of the cleverest I have ever read; and in conversation, whether French or English, he is excessively brilliant. Barry Cornwall, who is very simple in his tastes and habits, thinks D'Orsay a very remarkable person. Both he and Lady Blessington offered me letters for Italy. Into the moral character of these persons I do not enter, for I know nothing. Lady Blessington is never received anywhere; but she has about her Lords Wellesley, Lyndhurst, Brougham, Durham, &c., and many others less known on our side of the sea. You may suppose that I made no advance to Bulwer⁷⁴ or Disraeli,⁷⁵ and we did not exchange words. An evening or two afterwards I sat opposite Bulwer at dinner. It was at my friend Milnes's, where we had a small but very pleasant company,—Bulwer, Macaulay, Hare⁷⁶ (called Italian Hare), O'Brien, and Monteith. I sat next to Macaulay, and opposite Bulwer; and I must confess that it was a relief from the incessant ringing of Macaulay's voice to hear Bulwer's lisping, slender, and effeminate tones. I liked Bulwer better than I wished. He talked with sense and correctness, though without brilliancy or force. His wife is on the point of publishing a novel, called ‘Cheveley; or, The Man of Honor,’ in which are made revelations with regard to her quarrels with her husband. She goes to the theatre, which is now echoing with the applause of his new play (the most successful one of the age, it is said), and attracts the attention of the whole house by her expressions of disapprobation.

There is some new evidence which tends to show that Francis was the author of ‘Junius.’ I find that most people here believe Sir Philip to be the man. That is Lord Lansdowne's opinion. He told me that it was a mistake to suppose that the late Lord Grenville knew any thing about the authorship. Lord Grenville had solemnly assured him that he was entirely ignorant with respect to it. You must observe that Channing's writings are making their way here. Lady Sidmouth⁷⁷ has been reading his sermons to her husband, and said: ‘I do not see any thing bad in Unitarianism.’ A [69] Tory peer, Lord Ashburnham, asked me if I knew ‘a Mr. Channing.’ His Lordship had been reading with great admiration the discourse on ‘Self-Culture.’ Among the opposite contacts which I have had, was meeting at dinner the Earl of Haddington, the last Tory Viceroy of Ireland; and the next morning, while at breakfast with Lord Morpeth, encountering Lord Ebrington (now Lord Fortescue), who has just been sent to Ireland by the present ministry. Two days before, I had met the last Whig Viceroy, the Marquis of Normanby, at Lord Durham's.

Let me acknowledge, in this already overgrown letter, the receipt of Felton's verses.⁷⁸ I first gave them to Lord Brougham, and have also sent them to Lord Leicester at Holkham; to Mr. Justice Williams, now on his circuit; and to the Bishop of Durham: so that they are in the hands of the best anthologists in the kingdom. I mentioned them one day at dinner to Sir Francis Chantrey;⁷⁹ and he prayed oyer, though he does not know a word of Greek. I have, accordingly, given him a copy. I do not know if I have ever spoken of Chantrey in my letters. He is an unlettered person, who was once a mere joiner, but has raised himself to a place in society, and to considerable affluence. He lives well, and moves in the highest circles. In personal appearance he is rather short and stout, without any refinement of manner; but he is one of the best-hearted men I have ever known. He has shown me the casts of all his works, and explained his views of his art. He gave me the history of his statue of Washington.⁸⁰ He requested West to furnish him with a sketch for that: the painter tried, and then delayed, and then despaired, till Chantrey undertook it himself. The covering which I have sometimes heard called a Roman toga is nothing but a cloak. Chantrey laughed at the idea of its being a toga, saying that he had never seen one; it was modelled from a cloak,—a present from Canova to Chantrey. This cloak was stolen by a servant of an inn where the sculptor was changing horses. I shall send you some of Sir Henry Halford's verses:⁸¹ you know that he is one of the best Latin versifiers in England. They are a translation of Shakspeare's ‘To be, or not to be,’ &c., and of ‘Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.’

I was requested to give my evidence as that of an expert upon a question of admiralty law, to be used before the High Court of Admiralty. On grounds which I specified, I declined to do this, but gave my opinion in writing at some length. It was a subject with which I was quite at home. I received a most complimentary letter, and a professional fee of two guineas enclosed, and was told that the case was settled. I promptly returned the fee. [70] The delicacy with which the affair was managed by the English proctors⁸² was admirable,—most unlike what I experienced in Paris, or what would happen, in casu consimili, in America. Tell Washington Allston that a brother artist of great distinction—Mr. Collins⁸³—inquired after him in a most affectionate manner, and wished to be remembered to him. Southey told Collins that he thought some of Allston's poems were among the finest productions of modern times. Mr.Knight and Mrs. Gaily Knight are reading Prescott, and admire him very much. I know few people whose favorable judgment is more to be valued than his. I have spoken with Macaulay about an American edition of his works. He has received no communication from any publisher on the subject, and seemed to be coy and disinclined. He said they were trifles, full of mistakes, which he should rather see forgotten than preserved.⁸⁴ I have just heard that he has concluded a contract with a bookseller for his history of England. If this is so, farewell politics,— for a while at least. He is said to have all the history in his mind, for fifty or sixty years following the Revolution, so as to be able to write without referring to a book. Lord Brougham is revising his characters in the ‘Edinburgh Review’ for publication in a volume.⁸⁵ The booksellers have offered him five hundred guineas!

Miss Martineau's novel of ‘Deerbrook’ will be published in a few days. I have already, I believe, borne my testimony to her; I think she has been wronged in America. I have mingled in her society much, and have been happy to find her the uniform and consistent friend of our country, and much attached to many of its inhabitants. I am also glad to confess my obligations to her for much kindness. I have always found her heartily friendly. I should like to write you about Parliamentary orators, all of whom I have heard again and again.

Tell Felton I have not written him, because he will read this letter. I thank him for his Greek. Remember me to all my friends. You will get very few letters more from me; my whole time will be occupied. Besides, the books of travel will tell you about Italy. I have scores of letters to all sorts of people on my route, but am sated with society, and shall look at things.⁸⁶

To Dr. Francis Lieber.

travellers' Club, March 5, 1839.

my dear Lieber,—Here goes a sheet after your own heart,—mammoth, and capable of holding an evening's chat. First, let me acknowledge and answer your letters, which are now open before me. Under date of Dec. [71] 23, 1838,—that good, teeming year, so brimful of happiness and instruction for me,—you ask for a Life of William of Orange. The day I received your letter, I asked Hallam, whom I often see, if he knew of any Life of this great man. He did not; and, as his studies have turned his attention to the whole subject of modern literature,—you know his great work, now in press, on the ‘History of Literature,’—I think his answer quite decisive as to the non-existence of any such work; though not entirely so. He remarked that the Dutch were very unfortunate in having a language which is neglected by all the world; so that their writers are very little known. I have since inquired of Macaulay and of some other friends, but with the same want of success. I like the idea of the ‘Republican Plutarch’ very much,—macte.I have not yet been able to make the inquiry you desire with regard to the Dutch word wet (law). Your next is dated Jan. 8. It is a capital letter,—full of friendship for me, and exhortations imposing upon me responsibilities to which I am all unequal. . . . Mr. Burge—the author of the great work on the ‘Conflict of Laws,’ just published in four large volumes—has read your ‘Hermeneutics’ in the ‘Jurist,’ and likes it very much. He is the only exception. I know to the rule I have above stated, that eminent English lawyers do not write books. . . .⁸⁷

Ever yours,

Charles Sumner.

To Lord Morpeth.⁸⁸

2 Vigo Street, March 5, 1839.

my dear Morpeth,—. . . I have read with sorrow the intimations in this morning's ‘Times,’ with regard to certain alleged disturbances in the State of Maine;⁸⁹ which, that vehement journal supposes, must lead to some decisive measures,—even war on the part of your Government. There must be some great mistake. I hope you are not in possession of any intelligence which tends to confirm that article in the ‘Times.’ Before I leave, I hope to discuss that subject with you. Peace, and amity, and love, are the proper [72] watchwords of our two great countries. God grant that they may always be recognized as such!

I shall stay in London till after the arrival of the ‘Great Western,’—say next Sunday,—in order to leave here with the freshest letters and intelligence from home.

Believe me ever very sincerely yours,

Charles Sumner.

To Judge Story.

travellers', March 9, 1839.

my dear Judge,—Let me hastily conclude the personal notices I have promised you of the Bench and Bar. I left off with Follett and Charles Austin. I wish to add, that I think Follett has a sort of intuitive perception of legal principles and reasoning, apparently almost without effort; whereas, Charles Austin, though quick, active, and brilliant, does not astonish one like Follett. I still think Austin, taking all things into consideration, the greater man, and one who will play a great part in his country, if he has health and life. After no little ado, Maule⁹⁰ has been appointed as Baron Bolland's successor. The appointment was just announced when I last wrote; but there were several impediments before it was perfected. Great opposition is said to have been made to it from various quarters, and particularly from two of the barons with whom he is now associated,—Alderson and Parke. The opposition was, however, overcome, and Baron Maule is now on the Circuit. It is difficult, as you well know, to anticipate the way in which the judicial function will be performed; but those who are best acquainted with Maule, and I concur with them, anticipate for him the highest eminence,—an equality at least with his great associates, if not a superiority over them. He is a very peculiar person, and is now about fifty-two. At Cambridge, he was a distinguished scholar both in the classics and mathematics, and is said to have kept up his acquaintance with these studies to this day. He is confessed, on all hands, to be the first commercial lawyer of England, and has been for some time the standing counsel of the Bank. He was the counsel against whom the court decided in Devaux v. Salvador. His attainments and high legal character make him, therefore, so far as they go, a most unexceptionable candidate for the bench; but his moral character in some respects renders him a strange person for a judge. . . . It was in his chambers that the fire originated which consumed, last winter, so valuable a part of the Temple. He lost his books, clothes,— literally every thing,—and escaped with only a shirt on his back. He has [73] not been in the habit of expressing himself about the bench with any respect. He has said that he always took porter previous to an argument, ‘in order to bring his understanding down to a level with the judges.’ Still he has in him a great deal of good. His brother failed; and he generously gave up his two horses and groom, in order to devote his superfluous income to free his brother from his pecuniary liabilities,—a sacrifice which in England was not slight. One consideration which influenced the ministers in nominating Maule was that they felt secure of his seat in Parliament,—Carlow; but here they reckoned without their host: they have been defeated at Carlow, though I am assured that, on petition, they will eventually get the seat. I should add that in politics Maule is a Radical, or very near one.

Let me now finish what I have to say of the lawyers. I have already spoken of the Attorney-General, Follett, Wilde, and Charles Austin. In the next rank to these, but differing of course among themselves in talents and in business, are Sir Frederick Pollock, Talfourd, Alexander, Cresswell, Kelly, J. Jervis, Crowder, Erle, Bompas, Wightman, and perhaps some others.

Pollock⁹¹ is deemed a great failure. He was the Tory Attorney-General, and must be provided for in some way if the Tories come into power. He has not succeeded in the House of Commons; and is dull, heavy, and, they say, often obtuse at the bar.⁹² He has a smooth solemn voice, and on the Northern Circuit enjoyed, as you well know, great repute and business. In manners he is a gentleman, and I am indebted to him for much kindness.

Talfourd is a good declaimer, with a great deal of rhetoric and feeling. I cannot disguise that I have been disappointed in him. I know him very well, and have seen him at dinners, at clubs, in Parliament, and in courts.

Alexander and Cresswell are the two leaders of the Northern Circuit,— the former, a married man; the latter, a bachelor. Alexander has a good deal of business, which he manages very well, showing attention and fidelity. Lord Brougham once sneered at him, when talking with me, as ‘little Alexander.’ He is a thoroughly moral and conscientious person, and will not take a seat in Parliament, because it would be inconsistent with the performance of his professional duties. I think he inclines to Toryism; though he is very moderate. I have had much instructive conversation with him about professional conduct, with regard to which his notions are of the most elevated character. Cresswell⁹³ is a very quiet and agreeable person, and is [74] M. P. for Liverpool. He is a Tory; and is exclusively a lawyer, with very little interest in literature. His dinners have been among the handsomest that I have seen.

Kelly has a very large business . . . J. Jervis⁹⁴ is a good friend of mine, and the leader of the North Wales Circuit. He is an M. P., and inclines to ultra-Liberal opinions; indeed, he is a Radical. Crowder⁹⁵ is one of the leaders of the Western Circuit, and a very pleasant fellow, whom I know intimately. Erle⁹⁶ is also a leader of the Western. He is a learned and clearheaded man; M. P. for the town of Oxford. Had the ministry felt sure of his seat, he would probably have been made judge. He is sure of being raised to the bench, if the present Government continue in power. Erle is not far from fifty; but is recently married to a young and agreeable wife very little over twenty. Bompas is the senior leader of the Western. He has been made by Serjeant Wilde, who has dropped business upon him. He is a very amiable person, with red hair, or hair approaching to red, a round face, and large wide-open eyes. In arguments he is very earnest and noisy, sometimes confused. Chief-Justice Tindal was once asked ‘if he thought Bompas a sound lawyer.’ ‘That will depend,’ said the Chief-Justice, ‘upon whether roaring is an unsoundness.’

Wightman⁹⁷ is not a Queen's counsel; but he has an immense business as junior. He is now about fifty-two. He is what is called the devil of the Attorney-General; that is, he gets up the Attorney's cases, and is his junior always. This relation is supposed to entitle him to a vacant puisne judgeship; and Wightman was talked of recently for this place. He is not in Parliament, and knows and cares nothing about politics. Somebody once asked him, ‘Wightman, are you Whig or Tory?’ ‘Sir,’ was his reply, ‘I am neither Whig nor Tory; I am a special pleader.’

I will now take a hasty look into the courts of Chancery. You know the reputation of the Chancellor.⁹⁸ It seems to grow daily; and Tories, Whigs, and Radicals with one accord praise him. And this praise is a just tribute to the singleness and devotion with which he gives himself to the judicial functions of his office. I doubt if he adds in any way to the political strength of the ministry. He seems on the wool-sack, as on the bench, intent on some deep matter, silent, almost dull and ruminating. On the bench he hears with the greatest patience, never interrupting counsel except [75] to interpose some pertinent, searching question,—and this is done in the fewest words and most quiet way possible. He is said to be thinking of his law-cases at all times. Of course, he has no time for society. I have seen him at one dinner only; and there he looked as if he were still hearing an argument. He is about fifty-eight, and had a seventh child a few weeks ago. I heard Lord Langdale and some others laughing about it, saying it was the first child born to the great seal for more than a century. As a speaker in the Lords he is very dull.

I have already described the Vice-Chancellor⁹⁹ to you in former letters. He is sparkling, gay, and animated in conversation, with a fresh-looking countenance. He swims in cold water every morning, warm or cold though the weather be. Some barristers, who are not pleased with his judicial services, have hoped that he might some time get frozen or drowned. He is not regarded as a good judge.

Lord Langdale¹⁰⁰ I should have mentioned, of course, before the Vice-Chancellor. He is about fifty-five and of the size of Mr. Binney,¹⁰¹ with a bald head, and with a voice which in conversation reminds me of Webster's; in manner frank, open, and warm. He has disappointed the bar. I have communicated to several barristers the opinion you have expressed about him; but they all say he is a failure,—and these, too, are some of his most intimate friends. I may mention Sutton Sharpe¹⁰² and John Romilly, both of whom in politics coincide with Lord Langdale; but who said with regret that he had disappointed them as a judge. His decisions amount to nothing, they say, and he is irresolute in his judgment. His opposition to the Lord Chancellor's Bill, in 1836, which seemed so unaccountable to us in America, is accounted for here. It seems that he had submitted his own views to the Lord Chancellor, who, notwithstanding, introduced his own measure, which was defeated by the opposition of Lord Langdale.

Of the chancery barristers, Pemberton¹⁰³ is decidedly the best. He is a bachelor and a Tory. In manner he is not unlike Follett. He is about forty-five. In person he is rather short,—say of the size of Charles G. Loring.¹⁰⁴ After him come the Solicitor-General, Knight Bruce, Wigram, Jacob, Cooper, &c. I should like to close this series of hasty sketches by some general comparison of the Bench and Bar in England and America; but the subject is so [76] extensive and my time is so limited that I am unwilling to enter upon it. I will, however, say that the English are better artists than we are, and understand their machinery better; of course, they despatch business quicker. There is often a style of argument before our Supreme Court at Washington which is superior to any thing I have heard here. I cannot agree with McDuffie, who, having heard a writ of right before the Court of Common Pleas, in which the Attorney-General, Talfourd, Follett, Wilde, Vaughan, Williams, &c. were counsel, went away saying that there are half a dozen lawyers in South Carolina who would have managed the cause better than these lawyers, the flower of the English bar; and as many judges who would have tried it better than the English Common Pleas. I will not quit the Bench and Bar, without speaking of the superior cordiality, friendliness, and good manners that prevail with them in England as compared with ours. They seem, indeed, a band of brothers. They are enabled to meet each other on a footing of familiarity, because all are gentlemen. The division of labor sets apart a select number, who have the recommendations, generally, of fortune or family, and invariably of education, and who confine themselves to the duties of a barrister. In social intercourse the judges always address each other familiarly by their surnames, without any prefix; and they address the barristers in the same way; and the barristers address each other in this style. Thus the young men just commencing their circuits addressed Taunton, the old Reporter, who was on his seventy-fifth circuit, simply as ‘Taunton.’ I believe I have already written you that I was received as a brother, and was treated with the same familiarity as the other barristers. Such a course will seem inconceivable in America, where we are starched by forms of our own. There would be more stiffness and formality at a dinner-party in Boston than at a table of English peers. I have been again and again where all were titled people about me, and I have heard nothing which denoted the title. The answer is plain ‘yes’ or ‘no;’ and you speak right on without the constant interjection of ‘Mr.’ or ‘My Lord,’ or ‘Sir’: all this gives a grace and ease to intercourse which is quite inconceivable to those who have not enjoyed it. But I will not fatigue you with these things. I hope to talk about them upon my return, when I can see how the conclusions from my experience strike you.

The very day on which I received your letter of Jan. 16 from Washington, when I was sitting next to Lord Denman at dinner (it was at Lord Brougham's), I took the liberty of mentioning what you had written me about the case of De Vaux v. Salvador.¹⁰⁵ He told me that your judgment [77] made him doubt about their own; and he wished me to communicate to him exactly what you had written me. This I did; and I have his answer, written from the bench, which is among the letters I have sent to Hillard. He said the Queen's Bench decided as they did simply in the absence of authority. I did not mention to Lord D. your opinion about his judgment in the Parliamentary libel case,¹⁰⁶ because it is still sub judice. I have often been spoken with by the judges here about cases still sub judice; but you will appreciate the feeling which made me hesitate to introduce the subject myself. I have, however, communicated it to the Attorney-General. Ellis, the reporter, and a very able man, is gratified by your opinion in De Vaux v. Salvador. He says he always thought the court wrong; and, as reporter, he attended to the case very closely. Lord Lyndhurst was at Lord Brougham's dinner. You may understand that he does not keep the run of the law, from his remark that he did not know who the present reporters are.

I now leave England; and do you wonder it is with a beating heart? I have seen so much, enjoyed such great kindness, and formed so many friendships. The extent of my acquaintance you will appreciate from my letters. Farewell, dear England! I wish you more peace than I fear you can have.¹⁰⁷ And now for Italy!

As ever, affectionately yours,

Charles Sumner.

To George S. Hillard.

Saturday, March 9, 1839.

¹⁰⁸ my dear Hillard,—I have just got to my lodgings, after what I intend shall be my last evening in London,—that is, my last evening of society; and my heart is full almost to bursting. I am truly sad; for I have parted with so many kind and affectionate friends, and received so many hearty ‘God-bless yous!’ that I must be of flint not to feel them. This morning [78] I whiled away with dear Lord Morpeth. We discussed politics; and he freely confided to me his views about the Cabinet, of which he is a member, and spoke of his own ambition and of the future before him, as to a bosom friend. I have dined with Lord Lansdowne, who received me, as he ever has, in the most friendly manner, and has assured me of the warmest welcome to his house if I should ever visit London again; and, since dinner, I have been to the Marquis of Northampton's. It was his first soiree as President of the Royal Society; and here I found all that is most distinguished in science, literature, and politics, and literally troops of friends. The London world here seemed to empty itself. The many invitations which I have received to tarry still longer I will not attribute entirely to personal feelings; but I know that I should do injustice to some, if I did not give credit to their professions. I was engaged to-night at two other places,—Hallam's and Hume's; but I have come away from Lord Northampton's sad and little disposed for any further society. This night snaps my relations with this great place,—so full of good, and great, and learned, and refined men. My reminiscences will be to me better than a fortune; to think of what I have seen and heard will be a source of pleasure, of which I cannot be deprived. Among the most gratifying testimonies which I have received is a sort of valedictory letter from Lord Denman. You will not think me vain, because I tell you of these things. I should not be doing justice to your friendship, if I did not by so doing enable you to share my satisfaction. I ought to be satisfied with what I have seen; for I have often been told—several times this very day —that I have seen more of England and of its society not only than any foreigner, but even than a native. As a stranger I have ranged over party lines, and have seen men of all the various nuances, and men of science and literature of every degree; and I have to reflect, as I have before told you, that I have not asked for an introduction since I have been in England. With Lord Morpeth I am intimate. He is thirty-eight, and yet he said to me: ‘You and I are about the same age.’ I find that I am generally supposed to be from thirty-five to forty. Ingham, who is much older himself, made a greater mistake.

After the long letter I have written, you can hardly expect any extended remarks on English and American society, as compared. It is probable that you will be able to make the comparison for yourself. I am almost afraid to do it, for fear of being misunderstood. In England, what is called society is better educated, more refined, and more civilized than what is called society in our country. You understand me to speak of society,—as society,—and not of individuals. I know persons in America who would be an ornament of any circle anywhere; but there is no class with us that will in the least degree compare with that vast circle which constitutes English society. The difference of education is very much against us. Everybody understands French, and Latin, and Greek,—everybody except Chantrey. Mrs. Jameson,¹⁰⁹ who likes America, said with great feeling that the resemblance and [79] the difference between England and America were startling; one moment she exclaimed, how like England! and the very next, how unlike! She compendiously said that England had further advanced in civilization. I would repeat this, if I did not fear being misunderstood. The true pride of America is in her middle and poorer classes,—in their general health and happiness, and freedom from poverty; in their facilities for being educated, and in the opportunities open to them of rising in the scale. Charles Buller was best pleased with all below the ‘silk-stocking classes.’ Seeing what I have in England, I am not surprised at this. I fear that I have been repeating what I have already written you. But you must pardon any such inadvertencies; for I write at snatches of time, and hardly remember what I have sent you before.¹¹⁰

To Lord Morpeth.

Sunday evening, March 10, 1839.

my dear Morpeth,—I have just received an invitation from Lord Holland¹¹¹ to dine with him on Wednesday next, and have accepted it. This added kindness I owe to you, I doubt not. Lord Holland's is the only house in England where I have not been, and where I have had a desire to go.

I parted with so many people yesterday who have been kind to me that I am quite sad. I seem to be quitting home and country a second time. You I have left with feelings of sincere regret; and believe me that I cherish for you an attachment which will make me ever observe your career with the interest of the strongest personal friendship. But I will say no more upon this.

As ever, your sincere friend,

Chas. Sumner.

To George S. Hillard.

Wednesday, March 13.

¹¹² You would hardly suppose that, after what I had written, I should be again induced to venture out; but I could not resist an invitation from Lord Holland. I have just come from dining with him. There was a very pleasant party,—Rogers, Macaulay, Hallam, Milnes, Allen, Colonel Gurwood¹¹³ (the editor of ‘Wellington's Despatches’), Sir Henry Ellis,¹¹⁴ Lord Aberdeen, Lord Hatherton, and Lord Seaford. During a long evening a variety [80] of subjects have been discussed, from the dramatists, ancient and modern, down to the outbreak on the Maine frontier, the news of which has just reached us. Macaulay was dinning, but more subdued than I have ever before seen him. That common expression ‘her’ and ‘me’ for, as some say, ‘she’ and ‘I,’ was ingeniously discussed. Lord Holland defended the use of ‘her’ and ‘me,’ as good idiomatic English, thus: ‘No one is handsomer than her,’ and ‘He is absent oftener than me.’ Lord Holland said that his uncle, C. J. Fox, had studied these points, and used these expressions. Macaulay was strong the other way, but was much struck by the authority of C. J. Fox. Lord Holland spoke with me a great deal about Prescott's book. He thought it one of the finest of the age, and an honor to the country; he had been astonished that the author had such command of manuscript materials; he said that the style was beautiful, and he could not commend it enough: if he should venture to make any criticism, it would be that Prescott was a little too anti-Gallican, and that he had not quite done justice to Louis XII. He said that he made the age about which he wrote stand forth as distinctly to us as that of Louis XIV. All who have read Edward Everett's message¹¹⁵ about the Maine disturbances are much pleased with it, it compares so finely with the undignified, illiterate, and blustering document of Fairfield.¹¹⁶ When I read the latter, I felt ashamed of my country. By the way, Lord Holland spoke kindly of Governor Everett, whom he called Dr. Everett,— he did not know that he was Governor. I had a great deal of conversation about George III. and Lord North. Lord Holland confirmed in conversation all that he had written to Sparks, and which has been printed; and further said that he could have furnished much more from the same letters which would have illustrated the bad temper and spirit of the king, but he thought it hardly becoming in a minister of the son of George III. to do more than he had done.

I have taken leave of Lord Brougham, who said, ‘O God! must you go?’ If I should ever be able to visit England again, I should find many places where I might hope to be welcome. Lord and Lady Holland have warmly asked me to let them know when I come to London again, and Lord Lansdowne has done the same; and to-day I had a letter from Lord Leicester, inviting me and any friend of mine to Holkham, if I should ever visit England again. But I will not detail these civilities: I will only mention one of the most gratifying,—a personal call this morning from old Mr. Marshall (one of the richest men in England and the largest proprietor in the United States Bank, and the old Member of Parliament for Yorkshire, and as remarkable for moral worth and independence as for riches), who treated me like an old friend, thanked me for having visited him, and expressed a desire to see me or any of my friends hereafter. Consider the vast circle of younger people in which I have moved familiarly, and you may well imagine that I leave with regret. I count very little the meretricious compliments of Lady Blessington;¹¹⁷ but [81] I do value the testimony of a person like Mrs. Montagu, herself the friend of Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Parr. Her letter to me, describing the character of Parr, I shall enclose. You will also find Lord Lansdowne's note herewith; in it, besides what is personal to myself, there is a profession of friendliness to our country that is interesting from such a source. Mrs. Montagu's kind language about me may show you that I am not yet entirely perverted by Europe; that I have not ceased to be American,—least, that all of President Quincy's predictions have not come to pass.

Do you wonder that I quit England full of love and kindly feeling? I have found here attached friends; I have been familiar with poets and statesmen, with judges and men of fashion, with lawyers and writers,—and some of all these I claim as loved friends. I seem to have almost lost the capacity for further enjoyment in my travels, so much have I had in England. For all this I trust I am duly grateful. You will hear from me next in Paris; perhaps in Rome.

As ever, affectionately yours,

Charles Sumner.

March 21, 1839.

P. S. The coach will soon take me to Canterbury; then Dover and Paris.

To Lord Morpeth.

ship hotel, Dover, March 22, 1839.

my dear Morpeth,—I must send you one more arrow — no Parthian shaft—before I quit dear old England. I have to-day seen, perhaps for the last time, its green fields and one of its magnificent cathedrals. I have always told you that England is the Italy of an American. An Englishman sends his mind back, and finds nothing to rest upon before he gets to Rome; but we pause before your annals, and when in your country are impressed by its well-defined historical associations, and feel an awe not unlike that with which you would survey the Capitol. And can it be that we shall fight each other? I must confess that the last news from America has made me despond. I fear that both countries are too heady and well-conditioned to be kept out of a contest. I will not disguise from you, with whom I have ever dealt on the footing of entire frankness, that I have read a series of articles written by Mr. Rush, former Minister of the United States ill London, distinctly recommending war, and abounding in the grossest insinuations against the national character of Great Britain. But I know the deep love to England which is borne by all the educated classes, and I do not think this will fail to exercise all its naturally healing influences. Still it is a dreadful thing [82] to entertain the idea of the possibility of such a war, the most fratricidal ever waged. My own heart is so bound up in England, while as to a first love I turn to my own country, that I cannot forbear writing you as I do. You can do much in your high place, and with your great influence, to avert such a calamity; and I shall always confidently look to you as one of the peace preservers. For myself, I hold all wars as unjust and un-Christian; and I should consider either country as committing a great crime that entered into war for the sordid purpose of securing a few more acres of land. But I will not trouble you more.

You know how thankful I am for all your kindness, and believe me, as ever,

Very sincerely yours,

Charles Sumner.

P. S. Tell Macdonald that I visited Chichele's tomb with a most becoming respect, and thought of All Souls.