I spent this morning at the British Museum; dined with Mr. Putnam at a chop-house, and went to spend the evening at Mr. Quekett’s. I found, instead of having the evening alone as I expected and wished, that he had invited several friends, most of whom I knew. Still, after tea the microscopes were produced, and I had the opportunity of examining very many curious things.
If they don’t get out of my head in the mean time I will try to mention some of them to Dr. Torrey when I go on with my letter to him. As eating is a very important matter here, we had a magnificent supper at half past ten, and it was near twelve when I left, with a walk of four miles before me....
Saturday evening.—This has been a busy and somewhat interesting day with me. I rose early, went down to Bentham’s to breakfast, stayed until eleven o’clock, and then went up to Brown’s house to spend the morning, according to previous appointment. We talked profound botanical matters, and Brown not only amused and interested me, but gave me much valuable information. He talks of visiting America, possibly next summer, and I have promised to plan him a route. I left him about four o’clock, returned to my lodgings, dressed hastily, took a Kensington omnibus, and reached old Mr. Menzies’ little place at five. Mr. Ward, who was to meet us, was not there. We left at half past ten, and walked all the way back, about four miles. So here I am safe again. I read over the doctor’s short letter again. I am trying to imagine how Herbert looks now. He has probably changed very much since I parted from him. I have a very especial love for that little fellow.[72] I must find time to write to the girls, yet fear I shall scarcely be able until I have left London. Tell them I think of them daily even if I cannot write them. As to M’s French letter, it is not due until I get to France; but that will, I trust, be soon. Adieu. Good-night.
Sunday, February 24. I was fortunate this morning in being able to hear a man I had heard spoken of, and of whom I had formed a high opinion: the Rev. Thomas Dale, Vicar of St. Bride’s, who also preaches in the evening at St. Sepulcre’s. He preached from the first part of Luke vii. 47: “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.” The discourse was truly evangelical and impressive. He is the best preacher I have heard in England next to Mr. Noel, and is more eloquent and striking in manner than he, but has not the gentle pathos and sweetness of Noel....
Tuesday evening, February 26.... Met Mr. Putnam[73] at half past four. We had arranged beforehand that he should attempt to procure some orders for admittance to the House of Lords, and that we should go down together. I found he had been successful, having sent his clerk with notes to some half dozen peers in order to make sure, and he thus obtained more orders than he wanted. For me I found he had addressed a note in my name to the Bishop of London, who very promptly sent me an order of admittance.
We set out accordingly. The room which is occupied by the House of Lords temporarily, until the New Houses of Parliament are built, is inferior in size and accommodation to that of the Commons; indeed there is nothing about it at all remarkable. There was no business of very absorbing interest before the House this evening, and it adjourned as early as eight. Still I had the good fortune to hear nearly all those speak that I particularly cared for except Wellington (who is sick) and Earl Durham. I heard a long speech from Brougham and a very good one, except that he took occasion to trumpet his own good works. There was some fine sparring between an Irish lord I do not remember, Lord Roden, Lord Westmeath, and Lord Normanby, the late viceroy of Ireland, a young man apparently, and a man of talent, Melbourne, and Minto; the lord chancellor, Denman the chief justice, Sir James Scarlett, old Lord Holland, etc., also spoke. The word “lengthy,” which was not long since called an Americanism, seems to be pretty well naturalized, as Brougham used it several times, and Scarlett more than once. Lord Palmerston the other evening used the word “ disculpate” instead of “exculpate,” which I fancy is rather modern English....
Friday evening, 12 o’clock, March 1.—I have just returned from a most pleasant evening and day, as I may say, spent at Mr. Forster’s beautiful residence on the border of Epping Forest, Essex (Woodford), about ten miles from here. He is an old man, a banker, one of the oldest vice-presidents of the Linnæan Society, one of the most kind-hearted men, exceedingly beloved. He lives in an elegant but very unostentatious way, in a most beautiful part of the country, the very perfection of English scenery. He is said to be extremely benevolent, and to do a world of good....
Saturday evening.—Immediately after breakfast this morning I went down to Bentham, whom I had not seen for a week; spent two or three hours there, returned again to my lodgings, went to the City, took an early dinner with Mr. Putnam, and then we went together in an omnibus to Hackney; saw Loddiges’ extensive collections of fine plants again, lovely Orchideæ. The Camellias, of which he has a large house filled with magnificent trees, were not yet in bloom.
... We walked across this eastern part of the city down to the Tower, entered the gates and walked over the grounds. It was too late to get entrance to the armory or any of the interesting places, as the light was beginning to fail. I went back to Mr. Ward’s, at Well-close Square, according to promise, to name some plants for him, but Dr. Valentine,[74] a most ingenious vegetable anatomist and microscopist, being in town (had previously met him at Lindley’s), Mr. Ward had foregone his own advantage and invited Valentine and Quekett to meet me with their microscopes, so that the evening was very instructive to me, which I had not anticipated. Mr. Ward seems to have taken a fancy to me, for I can hardly imagine that he takes so much pains to oblige every one, absorbed as he is also in medical practice. He presented me with a beautiful botanical digger of fine polished steel, with a leathern sheath, which I suspect he has had made on purpose for me; though I don’t know why he should have thought of it. Mrs. Ward was inquiring about the Abbotts and their works, one of which she had, which makes her wish for more. I am often asked about Mr. Abbott, whose works seem much more generally known here than those of any other American religious author. I must find some for Mrs. Ward.
Sunday evening, March 3.—I went this morning to hear, perhaps for the last time, Baptist Noel. The sermon was from the last three verses of the same psalm (Ps. ciii.) from which he has preached on the former occasions when I have heard him in his own church; and truly a good sermon it was. I have told you that the chapel is a large one. Yet it is so well filled that I have always had some difficulty in getting a seat, and to-day I actually stood near the pulpit during the whole service and sermon. But it is worth while submitting to some inconvenience. In the afternoon I walked up to Tottenham Court Road, and looked up the chapel built by Whitfield, the scene of his useful labors in London. If you read, as I think you did, Philip’s “Life of Whitfield,” you must take some interest in this place.[75] I found the chapel a large but outlandish building, with an inscription over one of the entrances, stating that the building was erected by George Whitfield. Within is a tablet to the memory of Mrs. Whitfield, who is buried here, and a monumental inscription to Whitfield himself (which I regret I did not copy), mentioning the date of his death at Newburyport, near Boston. The preacher this afternoon (for I believe there is more than one who officiates here) was the Rev. Mr. Wight, who gave an impressive, practical sermon from the concluding clause of the last verse of Romans viii.: “The love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” It was, I think, rather above his audience, which I am sorry to say was exceedingly small. Indeed I hope it is generally better filled, but I should not have expected so great a falling off in the attendance of plain unfashionable people in the afternoon. These Whitfieldians are, one would think, farther separated from the Established Church than Wesleyans (which was certainly not the case in Whitfield’s time, who refused to take any steps to establish a sect apart from the Church of England); for in the Wesleyan chapel I attended the liturgy was read, but here we had none of it. Only last summer I read a biography of Whitfield with much attention; and it was very interesting to worship in this chapel of his. It recalls more interesting associations than Westminster Abbey or any vast and splendid cathedral. But I must bid you good-night, purposing to rise early and have an hour or so before the pressing business of the day is commenced to write another sheet to you and our good Dr. Torrey, to whom I have so much to say, if I could ever find time for it.