and the review in the
Times awarded the highest praise of all. At home, too, the notices
have been very kind, so far as they have come under my eye. Lowell
had a good one in the Atlantic Monthly, and Hillard an excellent one
in the Courier; and yesterday I received a sheet of the May number
of the Atlantic containing a really keen and profound article by
Whipple, in which he goes over all my works, and recognizes that
element of unpopularity which (as nobody knows better than myself)
pervades them all. I agree with almost all he says, except that I am
conscious of not deserving nearly so much praise. When I get home, I
will try to write a more genial book; but the Devil himself always
seems to get into my inkstand, and I can only exorcise him by
pensful at a time.

"I am coming to London very soon, and mean to spend a fortnight of
next month there. I have been quite homesick through this past
dreary winter. Did you ever spend a winter in England? If not,
reserve your ultimate conclusion about the country until you have
done so."

We met in London early in May, and, as our lodgings were not far apart,
we were frequently together. I recall many pleasant dinners with him and
mutual friends in various charming seaside and country-side places. We
used to take a run down to Greenwich or Blackwall once or twice a week,
and a trip to Richmond was always grateful to him. Bennoch was
constantly planning a day's happiness for his friend, and the hours at
that pleasant season of the year were not long enough for our delights.
In London we strolled along the Strand, day after day, now diving into
Bolt Court, in pursuit of Johnson's whereabouts, and now stumbling
around the Temple, where Goldsmith at one time had his quarters.
Hawthorne was never weary of standing on London Bridge, and watching
the steamers plying up and down the Thames. I was much amused by his
manner towards importunate and sometimes impudent beggars, scores of
whom would attack us even in the shortest walk. He had a mild way of
making a severe and cutting remark, which used to remind me of a little
incident which Charlotte Cushman once related to me. She said a man in
the gallery of a theatre (I think she was on the stage at the time) made
such a disturbance that the play could not proceed. Cries of "Throw him
over" arose from all parts of the house, and the noise became furious.
All was tumultu