ring from headache and could
not appear.

In her absence I was requested to pour tea. Our host partook of it
copiously, in all the strength of the teapot. As I filled and refilled
his cup, I thought that his chronic dyspepsia was not to be wondered at.
The repast was a simple one. It consisted of a plate of toast and two
small dishes of stewed fruit, which he offered us with the words,
"Perhaps ye can eat some of this. I never eat these things myself."

The conversation was mostly a monologue. Mr. Carlyle spoke with a strong
Scotch accent, and his talk sounded to me like pages of his writings. He
had recently been annoyed by some movement tending to the
disestablishment of the Scottish Church. Apropos of this he said, "That
auld Kirk of Scotland! To think that a man like Johnny Graham should be
able to wipe it out with a flirt of his pen!" Charles Sumner was spoken
of, and Mr. Carlyle said, "Oh yes; Mr. Sumner was a vera dull man, but
he did not offend people, and he got on in society here."

Carlyle's hair was dark, shaggy, and rather unkempt; his complexion was
sallow, with a slight glow of red on the cheek; his eye was full of
fire. As we drove back to town, Mr. Mann expressed great disappointment
with our visit. He did not feel, he said, that we had seen the real
Carlyle at all. I insisted that we had.

Soon after our arrival in London a gentleman called upon us whom the
servant announced as Mr. Mills. It happened that I did not examine the
card which was brought in at the same time. Dr. Howe was not within, and
in his absence I entertained the unknown guest to the best of my
ability. He spoke of Longfellow's volume of poems on slavery, then a
recent publication, saying that he admired them.

Our talk turning upon poetry in general, I remarked that Wordsworth
appeared to be the only poet of eminence left in England. Before taking
leave of me the visitor named a certain day on which he requested that
we would come to breakfast at his house. Forgetful of the card, I asked
"Where?" He said, "You will find my address on my card. I am Mr.
Milnes." On looking at the card I found that this was Richard Monckton
Milnes, afterward known as Lord Houghton. I was somewhat chagrined at
remembering the remark I had made in connection with Wordsworth. He
probably supposed that I was ignorant of his literary rank, which I was
not, as his poems, though never very popular, were already well known in
America.

The breakfast to w