“He was thoroughly a gentleman, not merely in external manners and look, but to the innermost fibres and core of his heart; sweet-tempered, gentle, fastidious, sensitive, and gifted with the warmest affections; the most delightful and invariably interesting companion; gay and full of humor, even in spite of occasional fits of melancholy, which he was, however, seldom subject to when with those he liked; a gift of conversation that flowed like a full river in sunshine,—­bright, easy, and abundant.”

Those were pleasant days at Dresden, filled up with the society of bright and warm-hearted people, varied by royal boar hunts, stiff ceremonies at the little court, tableaux, and private theatricals, yet tinged with a certain melancholy, partly constitutional, that appears in most of his letters.  His mind was too unsettled for much composition.  He had little self-confidence, and was easily put out by a breath of adverse criticism.  At intervals he would come to the Fosters to read a manuscript of his own.

“On these occasions strict orders were given that no visitor should be admitted till the last word had been read, and the whole praised or criticised, as the case may be.  Of criticism, however, we were very spare, as a slight word would put him out of conceit of a whole work.  One of the best things he has published was thrown aside, unfinished, for years, because the friend to whom he read it, happening, unfortunately, not to be well, and sleepy, did not seem to take the interest in it he expected.  Too easily discouraged, it was not till the latter part of his career that he ever appreciated himself as an author.  One condemning whisper sounded louder in his ear than the plaudits of thousands.”

This from Miss Emily Foster, who elsewhere notes his kindliness in observing life: 

“Some persons, in looking upon life, view it as they would view a picture, with a stern and criticising eye.  He also looks upon life as a picture, but to catch its beauties, its lights,—­not its defects and shadows.  On the former he loves to dwell.  He has a wonderful knack at shutting his eyes to the sinister side of anything.  Never beat a more kindly heart than his; alive to the sorrows, but not to the faults, of his friends, but doubly alive to their virtues and goodness.  Indeed, people seemed to grow more good with one so unselfish and so gentle.”

In London, some years later: 

“He was still the same; time changed him very little.  His conversation was as interesting as ever [he was always an excellent relater]; his dark gray eyes still full of varying feeling; his smile ’half playful, half melancholy, but ever kind.  All that was mean, or envious, or harsh, he seemed to turn from so completely that, when with him, it seemed that such things were not.  All gentle and tender affections, Nature in her sweetest or grandest moods, pervaded his whole imagination, and left no place for low or evil thoughts; and when in good spirits, his humor, his droll descriptions, and his fun would make the gravest or the saddest laugh.”

As to Irving’s “state of mind” in Dresden, it is pertinent to quote a passage from what we gather to be a journal kept by Miss Flora Foster: