The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1867-06-19
AYIait 10 Jean IngeIoN.

A writer in the London Queen de-
scribes a visit to the poetess, Jean Inge-
low: a,-.
Ofcourse I would. So away we went
along a shady lane, with the old oaks
of Holland Park on one side and the
iyy-crowned walls of Aubury House
on the other; for, though part of Lon
don, Noting Hill is rich in gardens,
lawns, and parks, such as one sees only
in England. Our way led us by Kensing-
ton Palace, the residence OF Addison,
the Duke Of Argyle, Macaulay, and,
better than all the rest to me, the house
of Thackeray. A low, long brick
house, covered with ivy to the chimney
top; a sunny bit of lawn in front, trees
and flowers all about, and though no
longer haunted by the genial presence
Of its former master, this unpretending
place is to many eyes more attractive
than any place in the land. Hooked
long and lovingly at it, feeling a strong
desire to enter its Hospitality open door,
recalling with ever-fresh delight the
evening spent in listening to the lecture
on Swift, long ago in America, and ex-
periencing again the heavy sense OF
loss which came to me with the tidtngs
that the novelist whom most loved
and admired, would never write again.
Leaving my tribute OF affection and re-
spect in look, a smile, and sigh, /
gathered a leaf of ivy as a relic, and
went on my way. I.4,--...
"Coming at last to quiet street,
where all the houses were gay with
window-boxes full of flowers, we reach
ed Miss Ingelow's. In the drawing
room we found the mother of the poet
ess, a truly beautiful old lady, in
widows cap and gown, with the sweet
est, serenest face ever saw. Two
daughters sat with her, both older than
1 had fancied them to be, but both very
attractive women. Eliza looked as II
she wrote the poetry, Jean the prose
the former wore curls, had delicate
face, fine eyes, and that understandable
something which suggests genius; the
latter was plain, rather stout, hair
touched with gray, shy yet cordial
manners, and clear, stratghtforward
glance, which 1 liked SO much that
iorgave her on the spot for writing these
duh stories. Gerald Massey was with
them, a dapper littleman with a large,
tall head, and very un-English man
ner. Being oppressed with the noun
tainous men, he rather bored the
company with my poems, my plans.
and my publishers till Miss Eliza po-
litely devoted herself to him, leaving
nv friend TO chat with the lovely old
lady, and myself with Jean. Both be-
ing bashful, and both laboring under
the delusfon that it was proper to al
Jude to each others works, we tried to
exchange a few compliments, blushed,
hesitated, laughed, and wisely took re-
fuge in safer subject. Ef
SJean had been abroad, so we pleas
antiy com pared notes, and L enjoyed
the sound of a peculiarly musical
voice, in which L seemed to hear the
breezy rhythm OF some of her charming
sonpa. The ice which surrounds every
Eneiish man and woman was begin,
ming 10 melt, when Massey disturbed
me 20 ask what was thought of his
books in America. AS Ireally had not
tte remotest idea, I said SO; whereat he
looked blank, and fell upon Longfel-
low, who seemed to be the only one OF
our poets whom the English know or
care about. The conversation became
general, and soon after 1t was necessary
10 leave, lest the safety of the nation
sho1Id be endangered by overstepping
the fixed limits of a morning call.
HI,ater, / learned that Miss lngelow
rv.a extremely conservative, and was
yery Indignant when a petition for wo-
maI1,s right to vote was offered for her
sienature. A rampant radical told me
th}s' and shook her handsome, head
,,otheticaliv over Jeans narrowness;
bnt vvhen 1 heard that once a week sew
eral moor, Eouls dtned comfortably in the
ISIeasl Mt home OF the poefesS, foreaSe
her conservatism, and regretted that an
uncomfortable aversion TO dinner par
ties made me decline her invitaCon.Ha