Concerning friends in Council.
[Footnote: Friends in Council: a Series
of Readings and Discourse thereon. A. New Series.
Two Volumes. London: John W. Parker and
Son, West Strand, 1859.]
There is a peculiar pleasure in paying a visit to
a friend whom you never saw in his own house before.
Let it not be believed that in this world there is
much difficulty in finding a new sensation. The
genial, unaffected, hard-wrought man, who does not
think it fine to appear to care nothing for anything,
will find a new sensation in many quiet places, and
in many simple ways. There is something fresh
and pleasant in arriving at an entirely new railway
station, in getting out upon a platform on which you
never before stood; in finding your friend standing
there looking quite at home in a place quite strange
to you; in taking in at a glance the expression of
the porter who takes your luggage and the clerk who
receives your ticket, and reading there something
of their character and their life; in going outside,
and seeing for the first time your friend’s
carriage, whether the stately drag or the humbler dog-cart,
and beholding horses you never saw before, caparisoned
in harness heretofore unseen; in taking your seat
upon cushions hitherto impressed by you, in seeing
your friend take the reins, and then in rolling away
over a new road, under new trees, over new bridges,
beside new hedges, looking upon new landscapes stretching
far away, and breaking in upon that latent idea common
to all people who have seen very little, that they
have seen almost all the world. Then there is
something fresh and pleasant in driving for the first
time up the avenue, in catching the first view of
the dwelling which is to your friend the centre of
all the world, in walking up for the first time to
your chamber (you ought always to arrive at a country
house for a visit about three quarters of an hour before
dinner), and then in coming down and finding yourself
in the heart of his belongings; seeing his wife and
children, never seen before; finding out his favourite
books, and coming to know something of his friends,
horses, dogs, pigs, and general way of life; and then
after ten days, in going away, feeling that you have
occupied a new place and seen a new phase of life,
henceforward to be a possession for ever.
But it is pleasanter by a great deal to go and pay
a visit to a friend visited several times (not too
frequently) before: to arrive at the old railway
station, quiet and country-like, with trees growing
out of the very platform on which you step; to see
your friend’s old face not seen for two years;
to go out and discern the old drag standing just where
you remember it, and to smooth down the horses’
noses as an old acquaintance; to discover a look of
recognition on the man-servant’s impassive face,
which at your greeting expands into a pleased smile;
