ung
daughters and a baby son. He told my husband that when he first read a
book of Fourier, he instantly went over to France to make the
acquaintance of the author, whom he greatly admired. "If I had only read
on to the end of the book," he said, "I should have seen that Fourier
was already dead."

He told us that Lady Walcourt spent much time in London or on the
Continent, from which we gathered that country life in Ireland was not
much to her taste. Dr. Howe and our host had a good deal of talk
together concerning socialistic and other reforms. My sister and I found
his housekeeping rather meagre. He was evidently a whole-souled man, but
we learned later on that he was considered very eccentric.

A visit to the poet Wordsworth was one of the brilliant visions that
floated before my eyes at this time. Mr. Ticknor had kindly furnished us
with an introduction to the great man, who was then at the height of his
popularity. To criticise Wordsworth and to praise Byron were matters
equally unpardonable in the London of that time, when London was, what
it has ceased to be, the very heart and centre of the literary world. Of
our journey to the lake country I can now recall little, save that its
last stage, a drive of ten or more miles from the railway station to the
poet's village, was rendered very comfortless by constant showers, and
by an ill-broken horse which more than once threatened mischief. Arrived
at the inn, my husband called at the Wordsworth residence, and left
there his card and the letter of introduction. In return a note was soon
sent, inviting us to take tea that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth.

Our visit was a very disappointing one. The widowed daughter of our host
had lost heavily by the failure of certain American securities. These
losses formed the sole topic of conversation not only between Wordsworth
and Dr. Howe, but also between the ladies of the family, my sister, and
myself. The tea to which we had been bidden was simply a cup of tea,
served without a table. We bore the harassing conversation as long as we
could. The only remark of Wordsworth's which I brought away was this:
"The misfortune of Ireland is that it was only a partially conquered
country." When we took leave, the poet expressed his willingness to
serve us during our stay in his neighborhood. We left it, however, on
the following morning, without seeing him or his again.

A little akin to this experience was that of a visit to t