throne in the House of Lords, a privilege now less easily accorded, in consequence of some indiscretion, I think, of Lady Holland's. He asked me what changes I saw in England. I answered, "An equal increase of wealth and democracy." "Ah," said he, "too true; you find us in a bad way!" He speaks warmly of America as a friend, and benevolently and kindly on all subjects. It is a great gratification to have had this friendly conversation with him. He is the great lawyer of the age, and is leaving behind none equal to him on the great questions of belligerent and mutual rights, and in general of international law. I have sent him, at his request, Mr. Webster's great speech.

Tuesday, 15th. We drove, to-day, to Pimlico, to Chantry's. His works have genius and truth in them; no personifications, no allegories. I noted it to him, "No Fauns," said I, "blowing trumpets, etc.,' "Ah," said he, "I leave that to greater geniuses." Three splendid pieces of Canova's are here, belonging to the king. I never was more struck with the progressive steps of art. around into the shade.

Canova's at once cast all Chantry's castings in brass are on a great scale. We found the men at work putting together a gigantic brazen figure of the poor dying king.

Friday Morning, 11 o'clock.-Bustle, bustle, nothing but hurry and bustle in London. It has kept me from my journal since Tuesday night, and I can now hardly remember the world of scenes that lies in that long interim.

On Wednesday morning we had a

delightful breakfast at Sir Thomas Acland's with Lady Newton, Mrs. Heber, Mrs. Thornton, etc., etc. He is a baronet of old family, a descendant of the Accalans who came over with the Conqueror, a leading member in the House, very wealthy and hospitable, a religious and an educated man. The Right Hon. Wilmot Horton, whom I was to have met, sent an apology, but with a particular request to see me as soon as convenient after breakfast. I called, and found him in committee of the Colonization Society, of which he was president, into whose views and weaknesses I was soon initiated by being requested to take part in their deliberations. I found them disjointed and at utter variance among themselves, and each party looking to new settlements in the United States for proofs, and to my testimony of the facts as likely to be in their favor. The views I gave agreed, I found, with the chairman, Mr. Horton, who stood alone, clear and intelligent, among visionary or interested men. It was an amusing scene. Mr. Horton and myself planned to meet again, and yesterday I received a long communication from him containing queries, etc., with his works.

Saturday, June 19. — Taking a hasty dinner after a short visit to my medical friend, Dr. Johnson, we bade adieu to London, having entered it as strangers three weeks ago, and now leaving it as if it were a second home.

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CHAPTER X.

THE LAKE POETS: 1830.

TOOK a seat this morning, June 26, on the Bristol coach, starting with the rising sun. At eight we learned the news of the king's death, as we passed Windsor with the flags half-mast, and carried on the news westward, the horses at full speed, for one hundred miles. The rate was fifteen miles an hour saving the short stops in changing our four panting steeds for fresh ones, which seldom took more than one minute and a few seconds, they always standing ready at the door, brilliant with harness and high keeping, and grooms at their heads. I thought that my neck would have been broken; but such was the excellence of the roads, the coach, and the driving, that the motion was scarcely sensible, and at eight P. M. arrived in safety at Clifton, at the friendly home of Mrs. Church, where the ladies had preceded me.

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Sunday afternoon we went into Bristol to hear the celebrated Robert Hall, a friend and classmate of Sir James Mackintosh, and not unlike him in talent. had rather listen to him than Chalmers. There is less of splendor but more repose of manner, like a consciousness of power, and, I think, a more logical mind. I never heard such a calm full stream of

thought and language in which there was nothing to alter, either in sentiment or expression. For power over his hearers he is too rapid in delivery, and a little too monotonous.

Thursday Evening, July 1.

LANGOLLEN.

The windows of our inn looked out on the lovely winding Dee, just as it quits the most beautiful vale that eye ever rested on. Our ride to-day has had the drawback of almost constant rain. On leaving our excellent inn at noon, we drove fourteen miles to Shrewsbury on the Severn, which we found dressed out in its holiday garb, the bells ringing a merry peal while the ceremony of proclaiming the new king, William IV., took place.

Friday Morning. We rose early and joined a family of tourists in a morning walk to Miss Ponsonby's cottage. On the cottage was hung out, strange union, the armorial bearings, on a mourning hatchment, of her lost companion, Lady Eleanor Butler, daughter of the late Duke of Ormond, whose tomb we afterwards visited. The character of both these ladies, as I learned by minute inquiry in the cottages around, though strongly marked by eccentricity, has long been that of active benevolence, and warm attachment to each other. Report gives them credit for a wise though romantic choice. For myself, I doubt, and I felt an anxious wish to learn from the survivor the result of their experiment in seeking in retirement what the world could not give. However, as it was not a question to be asked, we contented ourselves with conjectures, only concluding

that the choice of a spot could never have been more happy. Though what is singular in those who had the power to choose, the cottage itself does not command any of the views which have made the vale so celebrated, nor does it exhibit much other external proof of a refined taste.

Saturday, July 10. Low WOOD INN. - This is the most beautiful point of Windermere, a lone house on the very brink of the lake, and only six miles from where we slept last night. Yet we have not been idle. After breakfast, at Bowness, took boat and crossed the lake, sketching a little, and quarreling with our sketches because they would not convey the hundredth part of the beauty we saw. Returning from this delightful excursion, we drove on to our present inn, and hence to Mr. Wordsworth's "Rydal Mount," leaving our plans for the night to be settled on our return. Our reception was most hospitable. Mr. Wordsworth, a tall, grave, simple mannered man, apparently about sixty; his wife, kind, beyond what strangers had a right to expect, and his sister pleasing though less decided. We came upon them at the most awkward time of early dinner, but this caused but a short delay, after which a walk and animated conversation made all easy. The house is small and old-fashioned, but comfortable and romantically situated; Rydal Water is beneath you, and Windermere in the distance. Mr. Wordsworth talked much of Bishop Hobart's visit, remembered a discussion they had had about a word, and desired me to tell him that Capel was the Welsh corruption of