I have been in London this fortnight & more now, & have completely settled at
last in this quiet, old-fashioned little street behind Westminster Abbey. From Wales
I went to Somersetshire—to King Arthur's Vale of Avallon, for a week; then to
Liverpool, to lecture on "The Modern Novel,"—on the whole I think the best
lecture I have given yet. The practice I had in America, & the vocal exercises
that I used to indulge in during my mountain rambles in Wales this fall, seemed to
have given me greater power & ease of locution. &c. Ten days ago another
chance to lecture cropped up unexpectedly, in the place of a sick man, before a
large audience of working men,—chiefly socialists; so I gave them as good an
account of Leaves of Grass in connection with my visits to
you & to America generally as I could at an hour or two's notice. To my great
delight, there proved to be several men there who knew L. of G. & who were able
to join with good effect in the discussion afterwards. Again last night I was asked
to go to a society's meeting where a paper on L. of G.
would be read, by William Clarke,1 a young lecturer & journalist, &
a very able paper it proved to be. During its delivery who should come in but Mrs.
Costelloe,2 with Evelyn Nordhoff,3 & after the paper, Mrs. C. joined in the discussion, speaking with wonderful
ease & grace, & in fact rather casting into the shade the efforts of the
rest of us. Shortly loc.03335.002.jpg
afterwards, Mrs. C & Miss N. had to go, & I saw them into a hansom, not
expecting of course to see them again; but when an hour later or so I was sauntering
home, red glare in the sky in the direction of Grosvenor Road, but on the opposite
side of the river, & the sound of fire-bells & galloping horses in the
distance, drew me out of my way. On reaching Lambeth Bridge, I found Doulton's great
pottery had caught fire in one of its buildings & was making a fine blaze, right
opposite Costelloe's; & I went along then, expecting to find some of them on the
balcony watching the spectacle. They had not seen it however, & were glad to
come out to Lambeth Bridge where we stood till the fire was got under. The effect of
the red glare on the water, with the black barges shooting by, & the river
fire-engine's steaming up, was singularly striking, especially in contrast with the
pale, cold moon which shone on the other side. Altogether a wonderful scene!
After being so long in the quiet of the mountains, you can imagine how these excitements of town affect one. Here in Westminster, I am in a capital situation for making the most of what London can give one of a healthy & helpful kind. Charing Cross is only a short walk distant, with the Strand & its theatres & crowded pavements. The river is almost at the back-door, or at any rate only a short street away; so that I have the ferries close at hand, & trains & busses are equally handy. My American trip seems to have given me a new energy of assimilation too. Never before were all the sights & sounds of London so full of suggestion; I think you must have unwittingly given me some of your power of co-ordinating imaginatively the everyday experiences of the crowd & the life of the streets. (By the way, have you seen 'The Century' for Decr.? There's a vivid account of London by Hy. James,4 with clever sketches by Jo. Pennell,5 which gives a very true impression of the whole thing.) And now I must stop for to-day, for I have a great deal of work to get through. Don't forget about the promised Novr. Boughs6 & the collected complete works,7 which I want to review immediately!
with much love, Ernest RhysI hear8 great account of Gilchrist as Art professor! Tell him the Hobby-Horsemen are so much struck by his success, that they think of following him en-masse to Philadelphia.
Correspondent:
Ernest Percival Rhys
(1859–1946) was a British author and editor; he founded the Everyman's
Library series of inexpensive reprintings of popular works. He included a volume
of Whitman's poems in the Canterbury Poets series and two volumes of Whitman's
prose in the Camelot series for Walter Scott publishers. For more information
about Rhys, see Joel Myerson, "Rhys, Ernest Percival (1859–1946)," Walt
Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
York: Garland Publishing, 1998).