nprovoked infliction.

In strong contrast to old-time Bridewell appeared the model prison of
Pentonville, which we visited one day in company with Lord Morpeth and
the Duke of Richmond. The system there was one of solitary confinement,
much approved, if I remember rightly, by "my lord duke," who interested
himself in showing us how perfectly it was carried out. Neither at meals
nor at prayers could any prisoner see or be seen by a fellow prisoner.
The open yard was divided by brick walls into compartments, in each of
which a single felon, hooded, took his melancholy exercise. The prison
was extremely neat. Dr. Howe at the time approved of the solitary
discipline. I am not sure whether he ever came to think differently
about it.

At a dinner at Charles Dickens's we met his intimate friend, John
Forster, a lawyer of some note, later known as the author of a biography
of Dickens. When we arrived, Mr. Forster was amusing himself with a
small spaniel which had been sent to Mr. Dickens by an admiring friend,
who desired that the dog might bear the name of Boz. Somewhat impatient
of such tributes, Mr. Dickens had named it Snittel Timbury. Of the
dinner, I only remember that it was of the best so far as concerns food,
and that later in the evening we listened to some comic songs, of one of
which I recall the refrain; it ran thus:--

"Tiddy hi, tiddy ho, tiddy hi hum,
Thus was it when Barbara Popkins was young."

Mr. Forster invited us to dine at his chambers in the Inns of Court. Mr.
and Mrs. Dickens were of the party, and also the painter Maclise, whose
work was then highly spoken of. After dinner, while we were taking
coffee in the sitting-room, I had occasion to speak to my husband, and
addressed him as "darling." Thereupon Dickens slid down to the floor,
and, lying on his back, held up one of his small feet, quivering with
pretended emotion. "Did she call him 'darling'?" he cried.

I was sorry indeed when the time came for us to leave London, and the
more as one of the pleasures there promised us had been that of a
breakfast with Charles Buller. Mr. Buller was the only person who at
that time spoke to me of Thomas Carlyle, already so great a celebrity in
America. He expressed great regard for Carlyle, who, he said, had
formerly been his tutor. I was sorry to find in papers of Carlyle's,
recently published, a rather ungracious mention of this brilliant young
man, whose early death was much regretted in English socie