their unstinted recognition of an
author so primitive and unlettered, Great Britain received him with open
arms. He was a welcome guest at the houses of the exclusive; the
highest dignitaries of public life, the authoritative journals, the
leaders of fashion, of thought, and of opinion openly rejoiced in the
breezy unconventionality, the fascinating daring, and the genial
personality of this new variety of American genius. His English
publisher, John Camden Hotten, wrote in 1873: "How he dined with the
Sheriff of London and Middlesex; how he spent glorious evenings with the
wits and literati who gather around the festive boards of the
Whitefriars and the Savage Clubs; how he moved in the gay throng at the
Guildhall conversazione; how he feasted with the Lord Mayor of London;
and was the guest of that ancient and most honourable body--the City of
London Artillery--all these matters we should like to dwell upon." His
public lectures, though not so popular as those of Artemus Ward, won him
recognition as a master in all the arts of the platform. Mr. H. R.
Haweis, who heard him once at the old Hanover Square Rooms, thus
describes the occasion: "The audience was not large nor very
enthusiastic. I believe he would have been an increasing success had he
stayed longer. We had not time to get accustomed to his peculiar way,
and there was nothing to take us by storm, as in Artemus Ward. . . . .
He came on and stood quite alone. A little table, with the traditional
water-bottle and tumbler, was by his side. His appearance was not
impressive, not very unlike the representation of him in the various
pictures in his 'Tramp Abroad'. He spoke more slowly than any other man
I ever heard, and did not look at his audience quite enough. I do not
think that he felt altogether at home with us, nor we with him. We
never laughed loud or long; no one went into those irrepressible
convulsions which used to make Artemus pause and look so hurt and
surprised. We sat throughout expectant and on the _qui vive_, very well
interested, and gently simmering with amusement. With the exception of
one exquisite description of the old Magdalen ivy--covered collegiate
buildings at Oxford University, I do not think there was one thing worth
setting down in print. I got no information out of the lecture, and
hardly a joke that would wear, or a story that would bear repeating.
There was a deal about the dismal, lone silver--land, the story of the