MEMOIR. XXXV11 



some lovely lake, he was quite ready, and went with the 

 same unhurried air that marked all his actions. Like 

 Sir Walter Scott, he was producing results implying close 

 application and labor, hut without any apparent expense 

 of time or means. His step was so leisurely, his manner 

 so composed, there was always such total absence of wea- 

 riness in all he said and did, that it was impossible to be- 

 lieve he was so diligent a worker. 



But this composure, this reticence, this leisurely air, 

 were all imposed upon his manner by his regal will. He 

 was under the most supreme self-control. It was so abso- 

 lute as to deprive him of spontaneity and enthusiasm. In 

 social intercourse he was like two persons : the one con- 

 versed with you pleasantly upon every topic, the other 

 watched you from behind that pleasant talk, like a senti- 

 nel. The delicate child, left much to himself by his 

 parents, naturally grew wayward and imperious. But the 

 man of shrewd common sense, with his way to make in the 

 world, saw clearly that that waywardness must be sternly 

 subjugated. It was so, and at the usual expense. What 

 the friend of Downing most desired in him was a frank and 

 unreserved flow of feeling, which should drown out that 

 curious, critical self-consciousness. He felt this want as 

 much as any one, and often playfully endeavored to supply 

 it. It doubtless arose, in great part, from too fine a ner- 

 vous organization. Under the mask of the finished man 

 of the world he concealed the most feminine feelings, which 

 often expressed themselves with pathetic intensity to the 

 only one in whom he unreservedly confided. 



This critical reserve behind the cordial manner invested 

 his whole character with mystery. The long dark hair, 

 the firm dark eyes, the slightly defiant brow, the Spanish 

 mien, that welcomed us that May morning, seemed to 



