At Stratford I handled, too, the poker used to such good purpose by Geoffrey Crayon.  The muse had fled, the fire was out, and the poker rusty, yet a pleasant influence lingered even in that cold little room, and seemed to lend a transient glow to the poker under the influence of sympathy.

In Birmingham I heard two discourses from one of the rising lights of England, George Dawson, a young man of whom I had earlier heard much in praise.  He is a friend of the people, in the sense of brotherhood, not of a social convenience or patronage; in literature catholic; in matters of religion antisectarian, seeking truth in aspiration and love.  He is eloquent, with good method in his discourse, fire and dignity when wanted, with a frequent homeliness in enforcement and illustration which offends the etiquettes of England, but fits him the better for the class he has to address.  His powers are uncommon and unfettered in their play; his aim is worthy.  He is fulfilling and will fulfil an important task as an educator of the people, if all be not marred by a taint of self-love and arrogance now obvious in his discourse.  This taint is not surprising in one so young, who has done so much, and in order to do it has been compelled to great self-confidence and light heed of the authority of other minds, and who is surrounded almost exclusively by admirers; neither is it, at present, a large speck; it may be quite purged from him by the influence of nobler motives and the rise of his ideal standard; but, on the other hand, should it spread, all must be vitiated.  Let us hope the best, for he is one that could ill be spared from the band who have taken up the cause of Progress in England.

In this connection I may as well speak of James Martineau, whom I heard in Liverpool, and W.J.  Fox, whom I heard in London.

Mr. Martineau looks like the over-intellectual, the partially developed man, and his speech confirms this impression.  He is sometimes conservative, sometimes reformer, not in the sense of eclecticism, but because his powers and views do not find a true harmony.  On the conservative side he is scholarly, acute,—­on the other, pathetic, pictorial, generous.  He is no prophet and no sage, yet a man full of fine affections and thoughts, always suggestive, sometimes satisfactory; he is well adapted to the wants of that class, a large one in the present day, who love the new wine, but do not feel that they can afford to throw away all their old bottles.

Mr. Fox is the reverse of all this:  he is homogeneous in his materials and harmonious in the results he produces.  He has great persuasive power; it is the persuasive power of a mind warmly engaged in seeking truth for itself.  He sometimes carries homeward convictions with great energy, driving in the thought as with golden nails.  A glow of kindly human sympathy enlivens his argument, and the whole presents thought in a well-proportioned, animated body.  But I am told he is far superior in speech on political or social problems, than on such as I heard him discuss.