The book on England, which he had prepared for so carefully, was
never written. Hundreds of the stylographic pages were filled, and the
duplicates sent home for the entertainment of Olivia Clemens, but the
notes were not completed, and the actual writing was never begun. There
was too much sociability in London for one thing, and then he found that
he could not write entertainingly of England without introducing too
many personalities, and running the risk of offending those who had
taken him into their hearts and homes. In a word, he would have to write
too seriously or not at all.
He began his memoranda industriously enough, and the volume might have
been as charming and as valuable as any he has left behind. The reader
will hardly fail to find a few of the entries interesting. They are
offered here as examples of his daily observation during those early
weeks of his stay, and to show somewhat of his purpose: