Last week I dined at Mr. F. Heywood's to meet Mr. Adolphus, the author of
a critical work on the Waverley Novels, published long ago, and intended
to prove, from internal evidence, that they were written by Sir Walter
Scott. . . . . His wife was likewise of the party, . . . . and also a
young Spanish lady, their niece, and daughter of a Spaniard of literary
note. She herself has literary tastes and ability, and is well known to
Prescott, whom, I believe, she has assisted in his historical researches,
and also to Professor Ticknor; and furthermore she is very handsome and
unlike an English damsel, very youthful and maiden-like; and her manners
have all ardor and enthusiasm that were pleasant to see, especially as
she spoke warmly of my writings; and yet I should wrong her if I left the
impression of her being forthputting and obtrusive, for it was not the
fact in the least. She speaks English like a native, insomuch that I
should never have suspected her to be anything else.
My nerves recently have not been in an exactly quiet and normal state. I
begin to weary of England and need another clime.
September 6th.--I think I paid my last visit to the Exhibition, and feel
as if I had had enough of it, although I have got but a small part of the
profit it might have afforded me. But pictures are certainly quite other
things to me now from what they were at my first visit; it seems even as
if there were a sort of illumination within them, that makes me see them
more distinctly.
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