In these comments on an old journey now revised after seven busy years have much changed men and things in England, I have abstained1 from reference to persons, except in the last chapter, and in one or two cases where the fame of the parties seemed to have given the public a property in all that concerned them. I must further allow myself a few notices, if only as an acknowledgment of debts that cannot be paid. My journeys were cheered by so much kindness from new friends, that my impression of the island is bright with agreeable memories both of public societies and of households: and, what is nowhere better found than in England, a cultivated person fitly surrounded by a happy home, “with honor, love, obedience2, troops of friends,” is of all institutions the best. At the landing in Liverpool, I found my Manchester correspondent awaiting me, a gentleman whose kind reception was followed by a train of friendly and effective attentions which never rested whilst I remained in the country. A man of sense and of letters, the editor of a powerful local journal, he added to solid virtues3 an infinite sweetness and bonhommie. There seemed a pool of honey about his heart which lubricated all his speech and action with fine jets of mead4. An equal good fortune attended many later accidents of my journey, until the sincerity5 of English kindness ceased to surprise. My visit fell in the fortunate days when Mr. Bancroft was the American Minister in London, and at his house, or through his good offices, I had easy access to excellent persons and to privileged places. At the house of Mr. Carlyle, I met persons eminent6 in society and in letters. The privileges of the Athenaeum and of the Reform Clubs were hospitably7 opened to me, and I found much advantage in the circles of the “Geologic,” the “Antiquarian,” and the “Royal Societies.” Every day in London gave me new opportunities of meeting men and women who give splendor8 to society. I saw Rogers, Hallam, Macaulay, Milnes, Milman, Barry Cornwall, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, Leigh Hunt, D’Israeli, Helps, Wilkinson, Bailey, Kenyon, and Forster: the younger poets, Clough, Arnold, and Patmore; and, among the men of science, Robert Brown, Owen, Sedgwick, Faraday, Buckland, Lyell, De la Beche, Hooker, Carpenter, Babbage, and Edward Forbes. It was my privilege also to converse9 with Miss Baillie, with Lady Morgan, with Mrs. Jameson, and Mrs. Somerville. A finer hospitality made many private houses not less known and dear. It is not in distinguished10 circles that wisdom and elevated characters are usually found, or, if found, not confined thereto; and my recollections of the best hours go back to private conversations in different parts of the kingdom, with persons little known. Nor am I insensible to the courtesy which frankly11 opened to me some noble mansions12, if I do not adorn13 my page with their names. Among the privileges of London, I recall with pleasure two or three signal days, one at Kew, where Sir William Hooker showed me all the riches of the vast botanic garden; one at the Museum, where Sir Charles Fellowes explained in detail the history of his Ionic trophy-monument; and still another, on which Mr. Owen accompanied my countryman Mr. H. and myself through the Hunterian Museum.
The like frank hospitality, bent15 on real service, I found among the great and the humble16, wherever I went; in Birmingham, in Oxford17, in Leicester, in Nottingham, in Sheffield, in Manchester, in Liverpool. At Edinburgh, through the kindness of Dr. Samuel Brown, I made the acquaintance of De Quincey, of Lord Jeffrey, of Wilson, of Mrs. Crowe, of the Messrs. Chambers18, and of a man of high character and genius, the short lived painter, David Scott.
At Ambleside in March, 1848, I was for a couple of days the guest of Miss Martineau, then newly returned from her Egyptian tour. On Sunday afternoon, I accompanied her to Rydal Mount. And as I have recorded a visit to Wordsworth, many years before, I must not forget this second interview. We found Mr. Wordsworth asleep on the sofa. He was at first silent and indisposed, as an old man suddenly waked, before he had ended his nap; but soon became full of talk on the French news. He was nationally bitter on the French: bitter on Scotchmen, too. No Scotchman, he said, can write English. He detailed20 the two models, on one or the other of which all the sentences of the historian Robertson are framed. Nor could Jeffrey, nor the Edinburgh Reviewers write English, nor can, who is a pest to the English tongue. Incidentally he added, Gibbon cannot write English. The Edinburgh Review wrote what would tell and what would sell. It had however changed the tone of its literary criticism from the time when a certain letter was written to the editor by Coleridge. Mrs. W. had the Editor’s answer in her possession. Tennyson he thinks a right poetic21 genius, though with some affectation. He had thought an elder brother of Tennyson at first the better poet, but must now reckon Alfred the true one. . . . In speaking of I know not what style, he said, “to be sure, it was the manner, but then you know the matter always comes out of the manner.” . . . He thought Rio Janeiro the best place in the world for a great capital city. . . . We talked of English national character. I told him, it was not creditable that no one in all the country knew anything of Thomas Taylor, the Platonist, whilst in every American library his translations are found. I said, if Plato’s Republic were published in England as a new book to-day, do you think it would find any readers? — he confessed, it would not: “and yet,” he added after a pause, with that complacency which never deserts a true-born Englishman, “and yet we have embodied22 it all.”
His opinions of French, English, Irish, and Scotch19, seemed rashly formulized from little anecdotes24 of what had befallen himself and members of his family, in a diligence or stage-coach. His face sometimes lighted up, but his conversation was not marked by special force or elevation25. Yet perhaps it is a high compliment to the cultivation26 of the English generally, when we find such a man not distinguished. He had a healthy look, with a weather-beaten face, his face corrugated27, especially the large nose.
Miss Martineau, who lived near him, praised him to me not for his poetry, but for thrift28 and economy; for having afforded to his country-neighbors an example of a modest household, where comfort and culture were secured without any display. She said, that, in his early housekeeping at the cottage where he first lived, he was accustomed to offer his friends bread and plainest fare: if they wanted any thing more, they must pay him for their board. It was the rule of the house. I replied, that it evinced English pluck more than any anecdote23 I knew. A gentleman in the neighborhood told the story of Walter Scott’s staying once for a week with Wordsworth, and slipping out every day under pretence29 of a walk, to the Swan Inn, for a cold cut and porter; and one day passing with Wordsworth the inn, he was betrayed by the landlord’s asking him if he had come for his porter. Of course, this trait would have another look in London, and there you will hear from different literary men, that Wordsworth had no personal friend, that he was not amiable30, that he was parsimonious31, &c. Landor, always generous, says, that he never praised any body. A gentleman in London showed me a watch that once belonged to Milton, whose initials are engraved32 on its face. He said, he once showed this to Wordsworth, who took it in one hand, then drew out his own watch, and held it up with the other, before the company, but no one making the expected remark, he put back his own in silence. I do not attach much importance to the disparagement33 of Wordsworth among London scholars. Who reads him well will know, that in following the strong bent of his genius, he was careless of the many, careless also of the few, self-assured that he should “create the taste by which he is to be enjoyed.” He lived long enough to witness the revolution he had wrought34, and “to see what he foresaw.” There are torpid35 places in his mind, there is something hard and sterile36 in his poetry, want of grace and variety, want of due catholicity and cosmopolitan37 scope: he had conformities38 to English politics and traditions; he had egotistic puerilities in the choice and treatment of his subjects; but let us say of him, that, alone in his time he treated the human mind well, and with an absolute trust. His adherence39 to his poetic creed40 rested on real inspirations. The Ode on Immortality41 is the high-water-mark which the intellect has reached in this age. New means were employed, and new realms added to the empire of the muse14, by his courage.
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abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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parsimonious
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| adj.吝啬的，质量低劣的 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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34
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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38
conformities
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| n.符合（conformity的复数形式） | |
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39
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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40
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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41
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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