evious spring my father made two or three little
excursions of a few days or a week or so in various directions, commonly
convoyed by Bright or Bennoch, who were most enterprising on his behalf,
feeling much the same sort of ambition to show him all possible of
England and leading English folk that a young housekeeper feels to show
her visiting school-friend her connubial dwelling and its arrangements,
and to take her up in the nursery and exhibit the children. Had my
father improved all his opportunities he would have seen a great deal,
but the consulate would have been administered by the clerks. He took
trips through Scotland and the north of England, and south to London and
the environs; dined at the Milton Club and elsewhere, visited the
Houses of Parliament, spent a day with Martin Farquhar Tupper, author
of Proverbial Philosophy, and still was not remarkably absent from the
dingy little office down by the docks, or from the euchre games in Mrs.
Blodgett's smoking-room. For the most part, I did not accompany him
on these excursions, being occupied in Liverpool with my pursuit of
universal culture; yet not so much occupied as to prevent me from
feeling insolvent while he was away, and rich as Aladdin when he got
back. For his part, he struggled with low spirits caused by anxiety lest
the next mail from Portugal should bring ill news of the beloved invalid
there (instead of the cheerful news which always did come); his real
life was suspended until she should return. Partings between persons
who love each other seem to be absolute loss of being; but that being
revives, with a new spiritual strength, when all partings are over.

Of the people whom he met on these sallies, I saw some, either then or
later: Disraeli, Douglas Jerrold, Charles Reade, Tom Taylor, Bailey,
the author of that once-famous philosophic poem, "Festus"; Samuel Carter
Hall, and a few more. Disraeli, in 1856, had already been chancellor of
the exchequer and leader of the house, and was to hold the same offices
again two years later. He had written all but two of his novels, and had
married the excellent but not outwardly attractive lady who did so
much to sustain him in his career. At a dinner of persons eminent in
political life, about this juncture, Mr. and Mrs. Disraeli were present,
and also Bernal Osborne, a personage more remarkable for cleverness
and aggressiveness, in the things of statesmanship, than for political
loyalty or for a sense of