After long driving we found ourselves coming into the precincts of the West End, and began to feel an indefinite sense that we were approaching something very grand, though I cannot say that we saw much but heavy, smoky-walled buildings, washed by the rain.  At length we stopped in Grosvenor Place, and alighted.

We were shown into an anteroom adjoining the entrance hall, and from that into an adjacent apartment, where we met Lord Carlisle.  The room had a pleasant, social air, warmed and enlivened by the blaze of a coal fire and wax candles.

We had never, any of us, met Lord Carlisle before; but the considerateness and cordiality of our reception obviated whatever embarrassment there might have been in this circumstance.  In a few moments after we were all seated the servant announced the Duchess of Sutherland, and Lord Carlisle presented me.  She is tall and stately, with a decided fulness of outline, and a most noble bearing.  Her fair complexion, blond hair, and full lips speak of Saxon blood.  In her early youth she might have been a Rowena.  I thought of the lines of Wordsworth:—­

  “A perfect woman, nobly planned,
  To warn, to comfort, to command.”

Her manners have a peculiar warmth and cordiality.  One sees people now and then who seem to radiate kindness and vitality, and to have a faculty of inspiring perfect confidence in a moment.  There are no airs of grandeur, no patronizing ways; but a genuine sincerity and kindliness that seem to come from a deep fountain within.

The engraving by Winterhalter, which has been somewhat familiar in America, is as just a representation of her air and bearing as could be given.

After this we were presented to the various members of the Howard family, which is a very numerous one.  Among them were Lady Dover, Lady Lascelles, and Lady Labouchere, sisters of the duchess.  The Earl of Burlington, who is the heir of the Duke of Devonshire, was also present.  The Duke of Devonshire is the uncle of Lord Carlisle.

The only person present not of the family connection was my quondam correspondent in America, Arthur Helps.  Somehow or other I had formed the impression from his writings that he was a venerable sage of very advanced years, who contemplated life as an aged hermit, from the door of his cell.  Conceive my surprise to find a genial young gentleman of about twenty-five, who looked as if he might enjoy a joke as well as another man.

At dinner I found myself between him and Lord Carlisle, and perceiving, perhaps, that the nature of my reflections was of rather an amusing order, he asked me confidentially if I did not like fun, to which I assented with fervor.  I like that little homely word fun, though I understand the dictionary says what it represents is vulgar; but I think it has a good, hearty, Saxon sound, and I like Saxon, better than Latin or French either.

When the servant offered me wine Lord Carlisle asked me if our party were all teetotallers, and I said yes; that in America all clergymen were teetotallers, of course.