His way of viewing character seems superficial, though commanding; he sees the man in his action on the crowd, not in his hidden life; he does not, like some painters, amaze and engross us by his revelations as to the secret springs of conduct.

I know not by what hallucination I forebore to look at the picture I most desired to see,--that of Lucy, Countess of Carlisle.

I was looking at something else, and when the fat, pompous butler announced her, I did not recognize her name from his mouth.

Afterward it flashed across me, that I had really been standing before her and forgotten to look.

But repentance was too late; I had passed the castle gate to return no more.
Pretty Leamington and Stratford are hackneyed ground.