# Characteristics of the Genius and Writings of L. E. L./Excursion with L. E. L.

Excursion with L. E. L., illustrative of "Ethel Churchill."
When visiting with Miss Landon our mutual friends, a desire was expressed to see to advantage the banks of the Thames, and become acquainted with the localities so fraught with historical associations; a day was, therefore, fixed for a row down the river.
The day was a thoroughly English one, blending sunshine and shade most capriciously, yet most beautifully.
Frequently did the waterman, who was really a fine specimen of his class, call our attention to some interesting spot. It was evident he had some favourite place to introduce to us. It came at length, and his intelligent countenance grew most animated as he exclaimed, "There! there! that's the very place! You may see the hole in the wall, where the letters and money were deposited. In 'Jacob Faithful,'" I mean, added he; "perhaps the ladies may have read the book?"
"Now," said L. E. L., "this is a bit of true fame. While the warriors whose glory once shone over the river, and the kings who adorned its banks with royal splendor, are at best but coldly remembered, the author who has identified himself with the interests and sympathies of a large portion of his fellow-creatures, how gratefully and admiringly is his name treasured!"
With graceful eloquence, Miss Landon's poetical spirit evoked the beings and scenes of bygone days, and peopled shore and stream with visions called up from the storied past.
Perhaps nothing will convey a better idea of the general character of the conversation than a passage ​from "Ethel Churchill," the work Miss Landon was then writing:—
"Unless we except the Tiber, there is no river which has so much history about it as the Thames, and which is so strongly impressed with the characteristics of its nation. There are signs of that commercial activity which has carried the flag of England round the world; there is that cleaving to the past which has preserved those stately churches inviolate—the glorious receptacles of the dead; and there, too, is evidence of that domestic spirit which goes back upon itself for enjoyment, and garners up its best hopes in a little space."*
Many and brilliant also were the poetical remarks elicited by the scenery and other incidental circumstances. A heavy storm at length compelled us to put ashore, and seek shelter among some trees. "I am sure we ought to be very thankful," she gaily said, "for the troubles of life, when they are as picturesque as this shower. The changing lights and shadows of a stormy day are so beautiful, the earth is never so lovely as then; and what would character be without the softening touch of sorrow?"
One regret mingles with that day's pleasures of memory, that we did not go on to Twickenham, as L. E. L. proposed. It would have been a bright association to have visited the site of Pope's favourite villa, with one whose own genius would have added another charm to the spot; and how would it have stamped with living interest the pages devoted to its description in "Ethel Churchill!"
That dreamy evening and its shadowy influences, who could forget? The sun was just setting as we entered our boat to return. Behind us the sky was bright, where day's parting light yet lingered, and bright was its reflection on the waters. For a little while we had over us the crescent moon and one silvery star; before ​us, the river was growing dark, and the trees on shore deepening in hue.
"Ah!" said L. E. L., "this is just like life. We leave our youth behind us, like yonder crimson and glowing light; as we advance, all things assume a colder and gloomier aspect. Well! we are going home." Then, in a livelier tone, she quoted, as perfectly descriptive of the scene,—
"The moon is up, and yet it is not night;
Sunset divides the sky with her.**  *****
A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven."**
Gradually the soothing influence of the hour and scene filled the heart, while over sky, earth and wave silence folded its brooding wings, undisturbed, save by the measured plashing of the oars, and the faint echo of some far-off sound; and night came gently on. Darker and darker grew the sky; deeper and deeper gathered the shadows over bank and stream; till numberless stars shone forth on the heavens, and light after light glimmered out on the distant shore. We talked of the singular effects of light and shade. How strangely the river looked, as if it were of immense width, and parted into long avenues, which might perchance be regions of beauty; and how like was this illusion to the prospects of Hope, which seem in the distance to spread far and wide, but when we approach, we find them restricted to the narrow current of life, and bounded by circumstance and necessity.
Solemnly, as a spirit's voice, came over the waters the toll of the bell from Westminster Abbey, reminding us that hope would be indeed limited, if this life were all; but that time is only the shore, whence we may gain prospects of the future, commensurate with our high and eternal destinies.
As we approached the bridge, it seemed literally coming down upon us. "I do believe," said L. E. L., as we landed, "that what we fancy difficulties are only such ​apparently; and, while we imagine some great obstacle is in our way, we have only to go boldly on, and, like the princess in the fairy tale, we shall find the black marble yield to our touch."
And now, in turning over the pages bright with the genius of the gifted one, how do her descriptions of "the river, whose banks are haunted by memory;" of Westminster Abbey,—"the altar of the warrior and the grave of the poet, shedding its own sanctity on the atmosphere,"—bring back that charmed day so vividly associated with her living presence!