Nothing remarkable occurred on the journey to London. The greater part
of the way there were only two gentlemen in the same compartment with me;
and we occupied each our corner, with little other conversation than in
comparing watches at the various stations. I got out of the carriage
only once, at Rugby, I think, and for the last seventy or eighty miles
the train did not stop. There was a clear moon the latter part of the
journey, and the mist lay along the ground, looking very much like a
surface of water. We reached London at about ten, and I found S-----
expecting me.
Yesterday the children went with Fanny to the Zoological Gardens; and,
after sending them off, S----- and I walked to Piccadilly, and there took
a cab for Kensington Gardens. It was a delightful day,--the best of all
weather, the real English good weather,--more like an Indian summer than
anything else within my experience; a mellow sunshine, with great warmth
in it,--a soft, balmy air, with a slight haze through it. If the sun
made us a little too warm, we had but to go into the shade to be
immediately refreshed. The light of these days is very exquisite, so
gently bright, without any glare,--a veiled glow. In short, it is the
kindliest mood of Nature, and almost enough to compensate for chill and
dreary months. Moreover, there is more of such weather here than the
English climate has ever had credit for.
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