anecdote in regard to all the moving life of London. I presume his
power of entertaining conversation is one secret of his successful
likenesses. Some portrait painters keep calling on you for expression
all the while, and say nothing in the world to awaken it.

From Richmond's, Mr. S., C., and I drove out to call upon Kossuth. We
found him in an obscure lodging on the outskirts of London. I would
that some of the editors in America, who have thrown out insinuations
about his living in luxury, could have seen the utter bareness and
plainness of the reception room, which had nothing in it beyond the
simplest necessaries. Here dwells the man whose greatest fault is an
undying love of his country. We all know that if Kossuth would have
taken wealth and a secure retreat, with a life of ease for himself,
America would gladly have laid all these at his feet. But because he
could not acquiesce in the unmerited dishonor of his country, he lives
a life of obscurity, poverty, and labor. All this was written in his
pale, worn face, and sad, thoughtful blue eye. But to me the unselfish
patriot is more venerable for his poverty and his misfortunes.

Have we, among the thousands who speak loud of patriotism in America,
many men, who, were she enfeebled, despised, and trampled, would
forego self, and suffer as long, as patiently for her? It is even
easier to die for a good cause, in some hour of high enthusiasm, when
all that is noblest in us can be roused to one great venture, than to
live for it amid wearing years of discouragement and hope delayed.

There are those even here in England who delight to get up slanders
against Kossuth, and not long ago some most unfounded charges were
thrown out against him in some public prints. By way of counterpoise
an enthusiastic public meeting was held, in which he was presented