The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-06-12
A VISIT TO JEAN INGELOW.

A writer in the London queen describes visit
10 the poet Jean lngelow:-
"'Will you come and call on Jean IngeloW?
said my hostess, one fine day. Of course
would. So away we went along shady lane,
with the old oaks OF Holland Park on the one
side and the iyy.croWned walls of Aubury House
on the other; for, though part of London,
Noting Hill is rich in gardens, lawns. and parks,
such as one sees only in England. Our way led
us by Kensington Palace, the residences Of Addi-
son, 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; 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 palace In
the land. looked long and lovingly at 1t, teel-
ing strong desire to enter it's Hospitality open
door, recalling with ever fresh delight the even
ing spent IN listening to the lecture on Swift,
long ago in America, and experiencing again
the heavy sense OF loss which came to me with
the tidings that the novelist whom most loved
and admired would never write again. Leaving
my tribute of affection and respect in a look, a
smile, and sigh, gathered leaf of ivy as
relic, and went on my way.
Coming at last to quiet street, where all
the houses were gay with window boxes full of
flowers, we reached Miss Ingelow's. In the
drawing-room we found the mother of the
poetess, truly beautiful old lady, in widows
cap and gown, with the sweetest, serenest face
ever saw. Two daughters sat with her, both
older than had fancied them to be, but both
very attractive women, Eliza looked as if she
wrote the poetry, Jean the prose-the former
wore curls, had a delicate face, fine eyes, and
that indescribable something which suggests
genius; the latter was plain, rather stout, hair
touched with grey shy yet cordial manners;
and clear, stTaig httorward glance, which l
liked so much that ! forgave her on the spot
for writing these dull stories. Gerald Massey
was with them, dapper little man, with a
large, tall head, and very un-English manner.
Being oppressed with the mountainous me- he
rather bored the company with my poems, my
plans and my publishers till Miss Eliza
politely devoted herself to him, leaving my
friend to chat with the lovely old lady, and my
self with Jean. Both being bashful, and both
laboring under the delusion that it was proper
to allude TO each others works, we tried to
exchange few compliments, blushed, hesltated
laughed, and wisely took refuge in safer
subject.
''Jean had been abroad, so we pleasantly COM
pared notes, and enjoyed the sound of pecu-
the breezy rhythm OF some OF her charming
songs. The 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 remotest idea, said so; whereat he looked
blank, and fell upon Longtellow, who seems to
be the only one of our poets whom the English
know or care about The conversation became
general, and soon after it was necessary to
leave, lest the safety of the nation should be
endangered by oyerstepping the fixed limits Of
q morning call.
"Later, learned that Miss IugeloW was ex.
Temely conservative, and was very indignant
when a petition for woman's right to vote was
offered Tor her signature. A rampant radical
told me this, and shook her handsome head
pathetically over jeans narrowness: but when
l heard that once week several moor souJs
dlned comfortably IN the pleasant home of the
poetess forgave her conservatism, and regret
ted that an uncomfortable aversion to dinner
parties made me decline her invitation.n