to put his talent into every picture, more than a poet into every verse that he writes.  Like other men, he is sometimes brilliant and inspired, and at others dull and heavy.  In general, however, I have this to say, that there is some kind of fascination about these old masters which I feel very sensibly.  But yet, I am sorry to add that there is very little of what I consider the highest mission of art in the specimens I have thus far seen; nothing which speaks to the deepest and the highest; which would inspire a generous ardor, or a solemn religious trust.  Vainly I seek for something divine, and ask of art to bring me nearer to the source of all beauty and perfection.  I find wealth of coloring, freedom of design, and capability of expression wasting themselves merely in portraying trivial sensualities and commonplace ideas.  So much for the first essay.

In the evening we went to dine with our old friends of the Dingle, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cropper, who are now spending a little time in London.  We were delighted to meet them once more, and to hear from our Liverpool friends.  Mrs. Cropper’s father, Lord Denman, has returned to England, though with no sensible improvement in his health.

At dinner we were introduced to Lord and Lady Hatherton.  Lord Hatherton is a member of the whig party, and has been chief secretary for Ireland.  Lady Hatherton is a person of great cultivation and intelligence, warmly interested in all the progressive movements of the day; and I gained much information in her society.  There were also present Sir Charles and Lady Trevelyan; the former holds some appointment in the navy.  Lady Trevelyan is a sister of Macaulay.

In the evening quite a circle came in; among others, Lady Emma Campbell, sister of the Duke of Argyle; the daughters of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who very kindly invited me to visit them, at Lambeth; and Mr. Arthur Helps, besides many others whose names I need not mention.

People here continually apologize for the weather, which, to say the least, has been rather ungracious since we have been here; as if one ever expected to find any thing but smoke, and darkness, and fog in London.  The authentic air with which they lament the existence of these things at present would almost persuade one that in general London was a very clear, bright place.  I, however, assured them that, having heard from my childhood of the smoke of London, its dimness and darkness, I found things much better than I had expected.

They talk here of spirit rappings and table turnings, I find, as in America.  Many rumors are afloat which seem to have no other effect than merely to enliven the chitchat of an evening circle.  I passed a very pleasant evening, and left about ten o’clock.  The gentleman who was handing me down stairs said, “I suppose you are going to one or two other places to-night.”  The idea struck me as so preposterous that I could not help an exclamation of surprise.