true path for a man. Burns had, in like manner, been turned from
his vocation. Shakespeare had not had the good sense to see that
it would have been better to write straight on in prose;--and such
nonsense, which, though amusing enough at first, he ran to death after
a while.

"The most amusing part is always when he comes back to some refrain,
as in the French Revolution of the _sea-green_. In this instance, it
was Petrarch and _Laura_, the last word pronounced with his ineffable
sarcasm of drawl. Although he said this over fifty times, I could not
help laughing when _Laura_ would come. Carlyle running his chin out
when he spoke it, and his eyes glancing till they looked like the eyes
and beak of a bird of prey.

Poor Laura! Luckily for her that her poet had already got her safely
canonized beyond the reach of this Teufelsdroeckh vulture.

"The worst of hearing Carlyle is, that you cannot interrupt him. I
understand the habit and power of haranguing have increased very much
upon him, so that you are a perfect prisoner when he has once got hold
of you. To interrupt him is a physical impossibility. If you get a
chance to remonstrate for a moment, he raises his voice and bears
you down. True, he does you no injustice, and, with his admirable
penetration, sees the disclaimer in your mind, so that you are not
morally delinquent; but it is not pleasant to be unable to utter it.
The latter part of the evening, however, he paid us for this, by a
series of sketches, in his finest style of railing and raillery, of
modern French literature, not one of them, perhaps, perfectly just,
but all drawn with the finest, boldest strokes, and, from his point of
view, masterly. All were depreciating, except that of Beranger. Of him
he spoke with perfect justice, because with hearty sympathy.

"I had, afterward, some talk with Mrs. C., whom hitherto I had only
_seen_, for who can speak while her husband is there? I like her very
much;--she is full of grace, sweetness, and talent. Her eyes are sad
and charming.

* * * * *

"After this, they went to stay at Lord Ashburton's, and I only saw
them once more, when they came to pass an evening with us. Unluckily,
Mazzini was with us, whose society, when he was there alone, I enjoyed
more than any. He is a beauteous and pure music: also, he is a dear
friend of Mrs. C., but his being there gave the conversation a turn to
'progress' and ideal subjects, and C. was