He then remarked that he did not like
"Blithedale" so well as the other books. He spoke of Bulwer, and said
that when he saw him he concluded it was better never to see an
author, for he generally disappointed us; that Bulwer was an entirely
made-up man in appearance, effeminate and finical,--flowing curls and
curling mustachios, and elaborate and formal manners. I told him I
should expect just such a looking person in Bulwer, from reading all
his first novels, so very inferior to "The Caxtons" and "My Novel."
November 6.
MY DEAREST FATHER,--Last Sunday was a day that seemed to be dropped
from heaven. I immediately thought that this was the Sunday for
Chester. . . . So we sent to Mr. Squarey, who returned word that he
would meet us at the depot at nine. We did not pick him out from all
others for a companion to the Cathedral, but his wife first requested
us to go with them, and so we were, in a certain way, bound not to go
without, them. It was very affecting to me when I came suddenly upon
the Cathedral. . . . Every "Amen" was slow, solemn, full music, which
had a wonderful effect. It was like the melodious assent of all
nature and mankind to the preceding prayer,--"So be it!" . . . Una and
Julian, especially Julian, suffered much ennui during the sermon; and
Una wrote the other day in one of her letters that "it was very
tegeuse" (her first attempt at spelling "tedious") "for there was
hardly anything in it." Julian inadvertently gaped aloud, which so
startled Mr.
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