It is beautiful to see affection survive where all else is
submitting to decay; the altar with its sacred fire still
burning when the outer walls are all slowly crumbling; material
Fate saying, "_They_ are mine!"--I read some insignificant Books;
smoked a great deal of tobacco; and went moping about among the
hills and hollow water-courses, somewhat like a shade in Hades.
The Gospel which this World of Fact does preach to one differs
considerably from the sugary twaddle one gets the offer of in
Exeter-Hall and other Spouting-places! Of which, in fact, I am
getting more and more weary; sometimes really impatient. It
seems to me the reign of Cant and Spoonyism has about lasted long
enough. Alas, in many respects, in this England I too often feel
myself sorrowfully in a "minority of one";--if in the whole
world, it amount to a minority of two, that is something! These
words of Goethe often come into my mind, _"Verachtung ja Nicht-
achtung."_ Lancashire, with its Titanic Industries, with its
smoke and dirt, and brutal stupor to all but money and the five
mechanical Powers, did not excite much admiration in me;
considerably less, I think, than ever! Patience, and shuffle
the cards!
The Book on Cromwell is not to come out till the 22d of this
month.
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