The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1866-11-10
GlimpsCS of Eminent Persons,
JEAN INGHI.nnn

Will you come and call on Jean Inoelow I,
saiu my hostess, one fine day. Nv
vi course would; so away we went along q
op onauy lane, with the old oaks of Holland Park
a. Gn One sue, and the ivy-covered walls of
Au upury House on the other; for though n mari
OI London, Noting Hill is rich In gardens.
lawns, ana parks, such as one only sees i'm Eng.
tba thu. 10. 0ur way led US by Kensington Palace,
Sle residences OF Addison, the Duke of Argyle
niLacauIay, and, better than all the rest to me
Jne mousse of Thackeray low, long brick
mouse, covered with ivy 10 the chImney.top: a
sunny bit of lawn in front trees and flo wers all
ABOUT; and, though no longer haunted by the
GENIAL presence OF its former master, this unpre.
tShdlng place is TO many eyes more attractive
itnaD any place IN the land. | looked long and
lovingly ut II, feeling strong desire TO enter lis
hospitality open door, recalling with ever fresh
nelght the evening spent in listening to the
lecture ON Swift, long ago in America, and
experiencing again the sense of heavy loss
which came to me with the tidlngs that the
novelist whom most loved and admired wonId
never write again. Leaving my tribute of aiIec-
Ion ana respect IN look, smile, and sigh
my way. va
Coming at last TO quiet street, where all the
nous,s were gay with window-boXes iull of
MOVERS, we reached Miss Ingeow's. In the
dlaWing-room we found the mother of the
poetees, a truly beautiful old lady, in widows
cap and gown, with the sweetest, screnest face
ever saw. Two daughters sat with her, both
older lhab l had fancied them to be, but both
very attractive women. Eliza looked as If she
wrote the poetry, Jean the prose for the former
wore cuIls, had Il delicate face, fine eyes, and
that lndescIibabe something which suggests
genius; the latter was plain, rather stout, hair
touched with grey, shy, yet cordial manners.
and clear, straightforward glance which [
liked so much that forgave her on the sooJ for
writing those dull stories.
Gerald Massey was with them, a dapper little
man, win large, fine head and very un-
English manners. Beng oppressed with ''the
mountainous me, " he rather bored the company
Win my poems, my plans, and my publishers"
tlll Miss Eliza politely devoted herself to him,
leaving my friend to chat with the lovely old
lady, and myself with Jean. Both being bash
iul, ana both labor1ng under the deusion that
IL was proper TO allude to each others works
we tried 10 exchange a few compliments
Olushed, hestated laughed, and wisely took
reiuge III saler subject. Jean had been
abroad; so we pleasantly compared notes and
l enjoyed the sound of her peculiarly musical
voice, in which / seemed to hear the breezy
rhythm OF some OF her charming songs. Toe
ice which surrounds every English man and
woman was beginning to melt when Massey
disturbed me TO ask what was thought OF his
books in America. As | really had not the re.
mOtest IDEA, said so; whereat he looked blank
ana teli upon Longfellow, who seems to be the
only one OF our poets whom the English know
or care much about. The conversation became
general, and soon after it was necessary to
leave, lest the safety of the nation should be
endangered by overstepping the fixed limits of
a morning call.
Later, learned that Miss Ingelow was ex.
fremely conservative, and very indignant when
petition for woman's right to vote was offered
for her signature. A rampant radical told me
this, and shook her head patheticaly over
jeans marrow wness: but when heard that once
week several poor souls dined comfortably in
the pleasant home of the poetess, torgave her
conservatism, and regretted that an unconuuor-
able aversion to dinner-parties made me de-
cline her invitation.