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
with a splendid set of Shakspeare.
He entered into conversation with us with cheerfulness, speaking
English well, though with the idioms of foreign languages. He seemed
quite amused at the sensation which had been excited by Mr. S.'s
cotton speech in Exeter Hall. C. asked him if he had still hopes for
his cause. He answered, "I hope still, because I work still; my hope
is in God and in man."
I inquired for Madame Kossuth, and he answered, "I have not yet seen
her to-day," adding, "she has her family affairs, you know, madam; we
are poor exiles here;" and, fearing to cause embarrassment, I did not
press an interview.
When we parted he took my hand kindly, and said, "God bless you, my
child."
I would not lose my faith in such men for any thing the world could
give me. There are some people who involve in themselves so many of
the elements which go to make up our confidence in human nature
generally, that to lose confidence in them seems to undermine our
faith in human virtue.
