The shilling edition of "The Scarlet Letter" and
"Seven Gables" are at all the book-stalls and shop-windows; but so is
"The Lamplighter," and still more trashy books.
August 26th.--All past affairs, all home conclusions, all people whom I
have known in America and meet again here, are strangely compelled to
undergo a new trial. It is not that they suffer by comparison with
circumstances of English life and forms of English manhood or womanhood;
but, being free from my old surroundings, and the inevitable prejudices
of home, I decide upon them absolutely.
I think I neglected to record that I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks
since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but
withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face that she is
pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray,
and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most
continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook,
and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks, she moves
the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it
becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and
yourself. The ear-trumpet seems a sensible part of her, like the
antennae of some insects. If you have any little remark to make, you
drop it in; and she helps you to make remarks by this delicate little
appeal of the trumpet, as she slightly directs it towards you; and if you
have nothing to say, the appeal is not strong enough to embarrass you.
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