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 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
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 LONDON EDWARD AE?NOLD 
 
Memories of 
 Victorian London 
 
 BY 
 
 L. B. WALFORD 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 MR. SMITH,' 'COUSINS,' ' RECOLLECTIONS OF A SCOTTISH NOVELIST' 
 
 ETC. 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT 
 
 LONDON 
 
 EDWARD ARNOLD 
 
 1912 
 
 {All rights reserved) 
 

 ^7^7/^" 
 
 Grey, grimy London — dearer far to me 
 Than snowy Alp, or blue Tyrrhenian sea, — 
 Despite the clangour of thy thronging ways, — 
 Despite the shadow of thy murky haze, — 
 'Spite thy bewildering grasp of mighty space, 
 And the long miles that stretch from place to place, - 
 'Spite the sly growth of suburb, peopling o'er 
 Landscape once fair, that shall be so no more, — 
 'Spite every grievance that's against thee hurled, 
 There is no second London in the world ! 
 
 L. B. W. 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 May I dare to hope that a few words of preface to this 
 book of ' ' Memories " will hold my readers' attention for 
 a moment, as it is very necessary that they should be 
 written ? 
 
 In my former volume of ' ' Recollections," no reference 
 was made to certain episodes which must always rank 
 among the great days of my life, yet which did not fit in 
 with the general tenor of that book. 
 
 They had an interest all their own. They could not be 
 dismissed with a passing tribute. They merited more — 
 much more. They haunted me in many a lonely High- 
 land glen, or by the waters of some lapping lake — and the 
 time seems now come when they can be put on record. 
 
 For it was my happy fate to be from time to time, from 
 early youth onwards, the guest of a beloved relation, to 
 me as a sister, in her London home, where she was the 
 centre of a singularly attractive circle. 
 
 Albeit a rich and handsome young married woman with 
 abundance of energy and leisure, she cared nothing for 
 gay society, but sought and was sought by many either 
 already prominent in the world of letters, or destined to 
 become so. Her endearing personality and charm of 
 manner captivated all she came across — and they were 
 of varied excellence, for her tastes were eclectic, and 
 she could appreciate equally the scientist, the poet, the 
 painter, the musician — the anybody, in short, gifted with 
 
 274785 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 a mind. It should be added that her position enabled her 
 to obtain the society of such without there being a suspicion 
 of lion-hunting, which was entirely foreign to her nature. 
 
 To her I owe much that has enabled me to write these 
 "Memories" — for her journal-letters, sent off red-hot 
 from the scenes she described to a sick friend, long since 
 dead, are in my hands at this moment — (together with her 
 full permission, ere she too died, to make what use of 
 them I chose). 
 
 These letters are absolutely truthful, absolutely reliable ; 
 they were penned without a thought of publication — and 
 of course have had to be carefully sifted, in consequence ; 
 but they have been of inestimable value to me, as supple- 
 menting my own crude impressions and correcting a too 
 exuberant imagination. 
 
 It is not necessary to give the full name of one known 
 to so many at the time — and to a few still — as simply 
 " Mary" ; so as '' Mary" she shall appear in these pages. 
 
 To her near and dear young relations, in their full and 
 busy life of to-day, I owe a special debt of gratitude for the 
 stores placed at my disposal, confident that no ' ' Memories " 
 of mine are needed to keep green the remembrance of their 
 beloved father's sister within their hearts. 
 
 To a contemporary relation also, most affectionately 
 regarded by her, my best thanks are due for his kind 
 assistance in laying this "stone on her cairn." 
 
 Otherwise I have built it unaided — and in consideration 
 of this, humbly beg to be forgiven all deficiencies. 
 
 L. B. Walford. 
 
 September, 1912. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How we travelled in Victorian days — London on a bright 
 summer morning — The fun of the fair — A vigorous 
 existence — Mary tires out seven horses daily — Some aspects 
 of London social life — Ascot tabooed — Praying with 
 Princesses — "Adonis" Blackwood — Queen Victoria's Draw- 
 ing Rooms — The young Princes peer into the carriages 
 waiting in the Mall beforehand — " Is your mother always 
 with you, lovely Mary Anne ? " - - - - - i 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 My first London dinner-party — The giants at play among them- 
 selves — Mr. Reginald Palgrave on " The Fairchild Family " 
 — Mr. Tennyson at the Royal Academy — The author of 
 "The Schonberg-Cotta Family" recalls her experiences of 
 the Laureate — Persistent admirers invade his sanctuary at 
 Farringford — " The Chops of the Channel ! " — A French 
 barrister misunderstands about ^eating a chemical solution — 
 Mr. Browning avouches himself ready to let lodgings — And 
 put up a board on his house, - - - - - - 15 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 A young Mr. Leighton — A poem by a sculptor — The " Broken 
 Thread of Life " on a marble tombstone mended by a clever 
 custodian — A swallow is "a vast deal more like a parrot" — 
 Mr. George Macdonald's lectures — A figure stealing along 
 the wall — Mr. Ruskin argues a point behind a curtain — A 
 tree that may have been planted by Noah — " As the house 
 was built in the reign of William the Third ! " - - 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 We hear Spurgeon preach at the Tabernacle — The old Field- 
 Marshal takes us to the vestry afterwards — Prince Alfred 
 finds an acquaintance having his boots blacked in the Park 
 — Mr. Charles Kingsley is slow of speech — A peculiar song 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 by the author of " Tom Brown's Schooldays " — A Welsh page 
 jury find a verdict that displeases the judge — They put 
 forward a curious reason for it — A rough diamond puts his 
 own phraseology into the mouth of a chaste young widow 
 — " How domned stout you be got ! " - - - - 42 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Allied Sovereigns are " three pleasant fellows " in Paris after 
 Waterloo — No joke when little Pashas have to be amused 
 at Windsor Castle — Lord Palmerston's method of escape 
 from a perplexity — Mr. Willcie Collins takes the basket- 
 chair on the balcony — Tells a tale of a spider-swallower — 
 Sir Edwin Landseer shows how a woman's skin can be 
 turned to account — Sir Edwin, Mr. Millais, and Mr. 
 Leighton join hands as critics of a picture — •" I daresay we 
 each think we could put it right ?" - - - - 55 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mr. Emmanuel Deutsch tells of a tragedy that happened at the 
 British Museum — Mary is bent on seeing "The Book of 
 Enoch" — Mr. du Maurier takes a "rise" out his "dear 
 little Emmanuel" — "That statue has no nose at all!" — 
 Mr. Tyndall discourses upon his nights among the glaciers — 
 Herr Joachim and his best fiddle — Mr. Arthur Sullivan's 
 account of his earnings by very different musical works — 
 Girls will not hob-nob with each other at the instance of 
 their elders, _--_--__ 68 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 An overflowing breakfast-party at the George Macdonald's. 
 Mr. Haweis, in order to view the Boat Race at his ease, 
 climbs on to the roof of the house — Mr. Charles Reade tells 
 of an escape from truculent Arabs — " I deliberately took out 
 my false teeth " — Magical effect of " Thou son of a pig ! " 
 in Arabic — Indian ants make " a complete digest of Indian 
 law " — Tales of kleptomaniacs — Mr. Reade descants upon 
 his past successes and failures,- - - - - - 81 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A pompous city banker in a new light — An epicure and a haunch 
 of venison — ^The majestic scholar and the pert clerk — " An 
 expense your executors will, never be put to ! " — Dean Alford 
 and Dr. Guthrie — " I don't wonder at King Saul's throwing 
 the javelin ! " — A beautiful song beautifully sung wins votes 
 from tlie fishers of Fife — Dr. Guthrie relates his discovery 
 of Isabella Fyvie as an authoress — A tale of a poor country 
 parson in a big country house, _ _ . - - ^5 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 CHAPTER IX. PAGE 
 
 A relic of a childish past — Mrs. Proctor comes in the nick of 
 time to carry us off to a notable garden-party — Mr. Samuel 
 Rogers and his " Pity Me " notes — The hero of the " Rob 
 Roy Canoe" — A certain Lady Frances tells of Prince 
 Albert's visit to her Highland moor — He is not recognised 
 by his hostess at a ball — " I hope your wife is well ? " — The 
 party breaks up — "The Princess is going!" — An ambas- 
 sador bears a message from Lord Beaconsfield — Mrs. Proctor 
 considers it blarney — " Ah, Mrs. Proctor, I could not despise 
 Dizzy ; no one could," - - - - - -io8 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 An agreeable invitation clashes with a " Monday Pop " — To the 
 wall with the " Pop " — Mrs. Millais looked like a little 
 Dresden shepherdess — Mr. Lehmann has heard of " Cook- 
 ing accounts" before! — Various versions of a nursery rhyme 
 — Miss Thackeray tells of a students' love affair in which 
 her father and Norman Macleod were rivals — " Ich Hebe 
 Melanie doch ! " — A judge and a Q.C. spar about saving 
 syllables — The problem of Mr. Samuel Warren's wig — Sir 
 Charles and Lady Dilke — The former chaffed about Mor- 
 mons by Mr. Wilkie Collins, - - - - - - 121 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A mysterious being who was a mystery even to himself — Mr. 
 Laurence Oliphant has something uncanny in his appear- 
 ance — But possesses a wonderful fascination — The old man's 
 misadventure in Westminster Abbey tickles his fancy — He 
 relates tales of different communities — I meet George 
 Eliot at Mr. John Blackwood's, in Edinburgh — She 
 reminds me of a horse — At a second meeting, hear about 
 her " At Home " days — Mr. Froude is not to be deterred 
 from proclaiming his contempt for George Eliot's works by 
 the proximity of Mr. Cross — "That good Cross just went 
 on eating his dinner !" - - - - - - -I35 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Lady Claud Hamilton's tea, where Oscar Wilde is vaunted by 
 his disciples — Lady Claud does not think she need have . 
 been "glared at" — A terrible girl would like to send a 
 venerable old lady's harmless inquiry to ^^ Punch^^ — Oscar 
 Wilde's almond tree — " I almost prefer it to a tenor voice " — 
 His idea of a useful wedding present — " Say you love me, 
 Fanny, darling?" — Mr. Val Princep tells of a machine- 
 made lady, whose legs went off with a " Whizz ! " — Bishop 
 Colenso and a seance — A mistake between a policeman and 
 Sir Edwin Landseer, - - - - - - -1^7 
 
X CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. PAGE 
 
 An amusing party at the French Embassy — Mrs. Charles cannot 
 go to it in only a head-dress ! — Mrs. Charles is an angel of 
 mercy in the Underground Railway — Lady Egerton offered 
 the use of an air-cushion containing a dear one's latest breath 
 — She flies from the disconsolate widower — Laying down 
 the law on medicine to an unknown fellow-passenger — Who 
 turns out to be Sir Andrew Clark, the eminent physician, - i6o 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Lord Houghton's breakfast-party — He talks of " Mr. Smith " — 
 And of his own projected big book — " Mr. Joaquin Miller 
 is besotted with Richard " — Mrs. Proctor dilates upon her 
 old friend's kind and generous nature — Sir John Nasmyth 
 tells how his early struggles were alleviated by the thought 
 of a "cheering wink" — He knew the prototypes of the 
 " Cheeryble Brothers," who befriended him, - - - 173 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 We meet Carlyle on the Chelsea Embankment — " I'm for none 
 of your doctors ! " — Carlyle and Lecky at variance — An 
 agreeable diner-out relates his difficulties with a too frank 
 relation — Her strictures on Mr. Holman Hunt's picture in 
 the artist's own studio — Cambridge dons cruelly hoaxed — 
 I Lady Augusta Stanley relates how Queen Victoria dined 
 f with her and the dean to meet men and women of letters 
 — Lady Augusta's views of mothers' rights — Dean Stanley's 
 Flower Show, - - - - - - - -185 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The author of " John Halifax, Gentleman " — Mrs. Craik relates 
 her own love-story — Mr. Holman Hunt paints " Dorothy's " 
 picture — Mrs. Craik provides what she calls a lamb — 
 " I wonder she didn't suggest toads and tadpoles ! " — Mr. 
 Wilkie Collins turns up again — American interviewers and 
 their methods — " Let me embrace you for the company " — 
 A story of a " Scunner," ______ 200 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Mr. Coventry Patmore sends up his card — "The Baby's 
 Grandmother " is left in the lurch, while I fly to welcome 
 "The Angel in the House" — Mr. Patmore thinks the 
 twentieth century will revel in the novels of the nineteenth 
 — He tells how the idea for his famous poem came to him — 
 An anecdote of Darwin — His cook thinks her master too 
 idle — Mr. Patmore's horror of fads — His aff"ection for card- 
 
CONTENTS xi 
 
 playing — And misplaced belief in himself as a gambler — page 
 Mr. " Cavendish " Jones f^ted in a banquet-hall papered with 
 playing-cards !- - - - - - - -215 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Oscar Wilde's frank aunt — Lady Delarey's ultimatum — Walter 
 Savage Landor — Criticises Michael Angelo, Milton, Dante, 
 and Carlyle — A new use for Lord Vivian's nose — A poor 
 madman in Worcester Cathedral — He laid his head upon her 
 knee — Mr. Sam Warren outwitted — "Warren's Blacking" — 
 An awkward father-in-law — " I may tell you that I have 
 married the daughter of the Devil" — Professional beauties in 
 the Row — Canon Liddon and the Maori chiefs, - - 230 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " She wasn't a wife, she was only a Porcupine " — Dr. Dykes finds 
 food for reflection in the facts stated by his Sunday school — 
 " The Queen lives in the Crystal Pallis " — A new rendering 
 of the poem "Casabianca" — The life of the Patriarch 
 Abraham considered very ondelicate — A seat held by its pos- 
 sessor at the Creation — Mrs. Kemble tells a circle how she 
 is stated in a book of Memoirs to be " bold, masculine, and 
 unaccommodating" — Mr. Browning suggests a reason for 
 this — Mrs. Kemble compares a visit to Wordsworth with 
 one to Southey — Relates an anecdote of Thomas Babington 
 Macaulay's early precocity, ------ 244 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A dinner at Hurlingham to the new Solicitor-General — He tells 
 some election experiences — Two worn-out, miserable can- 
 vassers on the wrong tack — A lunatic and his keeper left to 
 keep house — " He's an owd mon, doant hoist un oop if he 
 doant loike it" — Canon Greenwell leaps in the air — And 
 comes down on Mr. Barnes' top-hat — A speech that had no 
 point — Sir Farrer Herschell does not want to go home, - 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Princes Gate deemed an unfashionable quarter — " Cawn't think 
 how my aunt gets these people to come so far to her 
 parties " — " But you see she has a deer forest " — " I've got 
 my invitation ; she's a brick " — Miss Jean Ingelow wishes 
 her admirers would write to her, not call — An exception in 
 the case of the actress, Miss Mary Anderson — "Shall I 
 shew you my arms ? " — The Baroness Burdett-Coutts — A 
 terrible garden-party at Strawberry Hill — Lady Waldegrave's 
 absent-minded guest — A fiasco at Holland Villas Road — 
 Mary is " so glad we were there ! " - - - - - 273 
 
xii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. PAGE 
 
 **Millais, my boy, you must look to your laurels" — "Would 
 there were more of such * ridiculous ' humility ! " — Mrs. 
 Richmond Ritchie thinks there is nothing like living in the 
 suburbs for finding oneself a celebrity — The Misses Shelley 
 disdain to read their brother^s "immoral verses" — Lady 
 Granville Gordon sets up a shop — We go to Colonel Grant's 
 party " to meet Henry Stanley " — He is " Frog in the 
 middle " of a dense crowd, ------ 290 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A French governor's bid for popularity falls flat — Sir Farrer 
 Herschell describes The Lord Mayor's Banquet — Did not 
 appreciate the turtle soup — Colonel Warren would fain go 
 a cruise in the " Challenger " — But has other fish to fry — 
 Tells of his excavations under Jerusalem — Sir David Gill's 
 Scotch minister — Cleverly extricates himself from a difficulty 
 — " Sir David loves society " — Colonel Warren's parting 
 prophecy — It is fulfilled, and Mary and I robe the new 
 Lord Chancellor, -- - - - - - -307 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A new invention — Mr. Justice Hannen " will not go to see it " — 
 Invites me to sit near him on the Bench at the Parnell 
 Commission — A cruel cross-examination — The face of a 
 fanatic — Mrs. Gladstone chumps her biscuits — Dramatic 
 scene on the announcement of Pigott's flight — Parnell as 
 known to his intimates — Cecil Rhodes' admiration of him — 
 Miss Edith Rhodes, and her " My brother " — A lover who 
 turned " Brushes " to account — Lord Sherbrooke's friend 
 who will "still be a precious fool ! " - - - - 321 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Turkish Ambassador, Rustem Pacha — He finds it "very 
 amusing " to meet funerals — The wheels of his carriage are 
 round or flat according to circumstances — Lady Bagalley's 
 singing in church — Mr. Russell Lowell's hood excites 
 interest at an Oxford ceremony — Queen Victoria holds that 
 Miss Jean Ingelow is disqualified by her sex for the post of 
 Poet Laureate — Lord Herschell has his private thoughts on 
 the subject — The Diamond Jubilee — My last glimpse of 
 Victorian London, ------ - jj^ 
 
 Index, - .--- 3^9 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 How we travelled in Victorian days — London on a bright summer 
 morning — The fun of the fair — A vigorous existence — Mary tires 
 out seven horses daily — Some aspects of London social life — Ascot 
 tabooed — Praying with princesses — "Adonis" Blackwood — Queen 
 Victoria's Drawing-Rooms — The young princes peer into the car- 
 riages waiting in the Mall beforehand — " Is your mother always 
 with you, lovely Mary Anne ? ". 
 
 It was a glorious June morning, and the London season 
 was in full swing in the year 1864, at which date these 
 Memories begin. 
 
 A party of travellers had arrived by the night-train from 
 Scotland ; and albeit they had hired a saloon-carriage for 
 the occasion — (deemed at that period a necessity for a 
 family party) — they were dusty and shabby, the ladies 
 being particularly disfigured by reason of their wearing 
 their oldest clothes, as was then the custom. 
 
 No one going by train thought of being neat and trim ; 
 still less of having any specially designed costume ; — and 
 the useful coat and skirt we all now wear was not in 
 existence. 
 
 No, we could be exquisitely attired for gala days, and 
 " nice " in ordinary life — but we did, I fear we did, make 
 frights of ourselves when en route. 
 
 And it must be said for us that the travelling conditions 
 of the sixties almost warranted this. The smoke and 
 grime were fearful. My sisters and I took the precaution 
 of tying up our heads in pocket-handkerchiefs ere they 
 touched the cushions of the compartments even in the 
 
2. MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 day-time, and washed our hair directly we reached our 
 destination. 
 
 As some of us wore our hair in curls — long, thick curls, 
 hanging over our shoulders — perhaps this was wise ; but 
 when we moved about on various visits among our southern 
 relations, we did seem to be forever washing our hair. 
 
 To return to that June morning in the metropolis. 
 
 I can see it now, the brightness, the gaiety, the bustle on 
 every side. Peering from the open windows of our bat- 
 tered and straw-bottomed cab, (the term "four-wheeler" 
 was not, I think, invented then,) it seemed such a world of 
 life and motion that, though the sight was hardly a new 
 one, we were freshly impressed — -perhaps for the following- 
 reason. Hitherto we younger daughters of the house 
 had been despatched out of Town immediately on our 
 arrival in it. We had been sent straight down to the 
 country, there to abide while our elders disported them- 
 selves in the gay world. 
 
 But now things were to be changed. We also were to 
 have a part in this wonderful " Season" of which we had 
 before only heard, and we were bubbling over with anticipa- 
 tion and exhilaration. 
 
 We were, it is true, a little ashamed of our appearance, 
 and instinctively shrank out of sight when our heavily 
 loaded vehicle, rumbling along at a snail's pace, pulled up 
 for a moment alongside a barouche full of ladies in a 
 "block." 
 
 We hoped these beautiful visions in their enchanting 
 toilettes would not look at us, — and as they did not, took 
 heart of grace and stared breathlessly at them. 
 
 Although it was an unearthly hour (to our view) for 
 splendour, the four damsels, all of them quite young, were 
 faultlessly arrayed in bright-hued robes of French muslin, 
 the latest thing in fashion, — and in their delicately gloved 
 hands, they one and all held white parasols. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 3 
 
 White parasols, with long white fringes gently swaying 
 in the morning breeze ! How lovely — how divine ! 
 From that moment the possession of a white parasol with 
 a crinkled fringe became my ambition. 
 
 And it seemed to strike the note, as it were, of the music 
 we were about to hear. To be going about at ten o'clock 
 a.m., with so elegant an adjunct superadded to all the 
 rest, produced an effect of devil-may-care extravagance 
 and recklessness that fairly made our hearts leap in our 
 bosoms. 
 
 Nor were we to be disappointed — even now I am glad 
 to remember that. Even now I rejoice to recall the 
 glamour, the witchery of that glorious summer, and 
 through the long vista of years behold the sights and 
 scenes — some of them simple enough and common enough 
 — that so charmed my youthful fancy nearly fifty years 
 ago. 
 
 London then was a very different London from what it is 
 now. Already so much has been written and said on 
 this head, however, that I have no need to add my quota, 
 but will confine myself to noting down something of the 
 daily life we ourselves led in the London season, as it then 
 was ; of the scenes we took part in, and the people we 
 went among, — and let my readers perceive for themselves 
 the changes Time has wrought. 
 
 No sooner were we safely installed in the house which 
 was to be our home for the time being, than the fun of the 
 fair began. We were hurried to our rooms, (how youth 
 loves to be hurried and hustled on such occasions !) and 
 desired to fly into fresh attire, as there was something in 
 the Park — was it a Coaching Meet, I wonder .^^ — anyhow 
 it was something which our kind hosts thought would 
 amuse us, and not a moment was to be lost in making 
 ready for it. 
 
 Now, imagine how delightful that was ! No time to 
 
 K 
 
 r 
 
4 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 be wasted in stupid sitting about and ''resting" after our 
 journey. We did not want to rest, not we. We had 
 hardly been able to eat the breakfast thoughtfully prepared, 
 and started up the moment we were free. 
 
 As for unpacking, luckily our maid, one ' ' Ross," youth- 
 ful as ourselves, and to the full as much excited by the 
 new turn of events, had our trunks open in a trice ; and 
 somewhat awed perhaps by all she saw, and foresaw, 
 prepared us for the fray without a syllable of demur. 
 
 She may have thought in her heart that it was a queer 
 thing to be gadding about in such fine clothes at that hour 
 of the morning, but a Scotchwoman generally knows when 
 to hold her tongue. We were equipped in peace, and flew 
 downstairs. 
 
 Before the door stood a smart pony-carriage with a pair 
 of grey ponies, and our cousin — the cousin introduced in 
 my Preface as ' ' Mary " — was pulling on a pair of gaunt- 
 letted gloves, while a whip-parasol lay on the hall-table. 
 
 Mary was in grey from head to foot, to match the ponies ; 
 and nothing that I ever saw her in thereafter, not the 
 richest robe of satin or brocade, became her better than 
 that simple (but probably costly) suit of grey. 
 
 It stood out like a balloon, of course, — but then we all 
 stood out like balloons, and would have thought shame 
 of ourselves to do anything else, — and there was a little 
 scarf upon her shoulders, and a hat upon her head such as 
 Leech has made familiar to every eye — a grey hat, with soft, 
 fleecy, grey feathers, like and yet not like those of to-day, 
 — and with the glowing carmine in her cheeks, with her 
 dark, brilliant eyes, and the glossy jet of her hair, we 
 thought, and I still think, I have seen many a more beauti- 
 ful but never a more striking countenance than that of 
 my ever-dear Mary in her prime. 
 
 Her figure was tall and svelte, she was made for activity 
 of body, and as this was united to activity of mind, all 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 5 
 
 that she put into a day's work may perhaps be con- 
 jectured. 
 
 She tired out seven horses, (or I should say animals, 
 since two were ponies,) daily, at this time. In case this 
 may be doubted, I will tell how. 
 
 Being very early risers, she and her husband rode in 
 the Park before breakfast, and yet they breakfasted at nine 
 sharp. By eleven, the ponies came round ; and were on 
 the trot till half-past one. A barouche, with a pair of 
 high-steppers stood outside the door at three, and she was- J 
 usually out till six, — while, to wind up, a brougham and 
 pair bore her nightly to destinations often far afield — for, 
 as will presently appear, the people whom she chose for 
 friends and companions seldom lived in Mayfair. 
 
 They might — or they might not — it was all one to 
 Mary. But as it was on the cards that she might have^ 
 to hurry off to dine at Richmond, or Wimbledon, or good- 
 ness knows where, any evening, no matter where she had 
 been in the day, she insisted on her steeds being quick- ^^ 
 goers, so as to waste no time upon the road. 
 
 And one day she announced that she needed another 
 carriage. 
 
 "What sort of carriage ? " demanded her husband. He 
 might be surprised, but never thought of protesting. 
 
 ' ' A good, serviceable carriage," said she, ' ' one that can 
 let in a lot of air, and hold a lot of people." 
 
 " Do you mean a van ? " 
 
 "No; I don't mean a van," she laughed; and con- 
 tinued, "A van would not answer the purpose at all. 
 What I need is a carriage to take out other people. All 
 sorts of people. Every day I should like to send some- 
 one or other driving ; to let them go where they will, and 
 do what they will. I can't take them — especially now 
 that I have these two dears with me," — looking fondly at 
 us, (and didn't we look fondly back at her.?) — "besides. 
 
6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 even if I could, they have their own business to get 
 through, and calls to make. So, please, let me have a 
 supplementary carriage and coachman, just for my friends' 
 use ? " 
 
 Well, of course she got it. 
 
 And now, I put it to my readers, do you, any of you 
 know another person who has done the like of this ? 
 
 The inevitable answer I anticipate ; Which of us can ? 
 That is true enough ; there are but few, very few, who 
 have it in their power to keep a *' Supplementary " carriage 
 at the disposal of their less fortunate acquaintance, but 
 would they, if they could .^ Would they ever think of 
 such a thing ? It has always seemed to me that of all the 
 kindly acts — kindly, not charitable, not benevolent, nor 
 philanthropic, but merely kindly — that has come beneath 
 my ken, this takes first place. 
 
 Every morning, the loan of this equipage, a spacious 
 landau, of a sober order, as doubtless befitted its occupants, 
 was off^ered to some humble invalid, or stranger, or 
 foreigner, in short anybody unable to afford the luxury, 
 — offered, moreover, in good time, and with no reserva- 
 tions, — and we constantly passed it, full to the brim, — and 
 were hailed by happy, smiling countenances, upon whom 
 Mary beamed in return. It taught us a lesson. 
 
 Well, away we went to the Park on that first day ; but 
 the remainder of it is so mixed up with visions of other 
 days of the kind, that it does not stand out distinctly 
 to memory. 
 
 Probably we went to parties in the afternoon, differently 
 dressed, and seated aloft in the barouche, with its very 
 low sides, over which our airy summer robes frothed and 
 billowed. No one sees the pretty season draperies now, 
 as they used to be seen. We were on view all over, as it 
 were. 
 
I 
 
 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 7 
 
 And on our heads we did not don the immense hats of 
 to-day, — and pretty as these are, they do not reveal the 
 pretty faces beneath, as our ''Baby-bonnets" did. We 
 wore — let me see — I think the head-gear I fancied most 
 was a very tiny cap-bonnet of turquoise-blue crepe, with 
 a single large tea-rose at the side, and strings of soft, blue 
 silk, tied in a bow beneath the chin — while from the back 
 depended a gauze or net veil down to the waist. 
 
 Now blue was not the colour that year ; " mauve " was 
 the colour, and that to such an extent that the eye wearied 
 of the everlasting tint. 
 
 Presently we had demonstration of this by the cheers 
 of the Oxford undergraduates, when we went down to that 
 ancient city for " Commem." With blushes on our cheeks 
 we heard them shout ' ' Hurrah ! for the ladies in pink ! 
 — Hurrah ! for the ladies in blue ! " — and tried not to 
 look conscious, — succeeding however but badly, I fear, 
 — especially as Mary would nudge us, and laugh at us, 
 openly enjoying our confusion, since she was not in blue 
 herself. 
 
 If we did not go to afternoon "At Home's," it was a ; 
 case of Gunter's for ices. 
 
 Tea in those days was not the universal necessity it has 
 since become, and there were no regular tea-shops. What 
 economical folks did I cannot say ; probably Want was their 
 Master, as the nursery phrase is, — but our fairy god- 
 mother took us straight to Gunter's, and we drew up in 
 the cool shade of the gardens opposite. 
 
 Berkeley Square was umbrageous then as now, and it 
 was the custom for advantage to be taken of the over- 
 hanging branches of the trees, and form a line of vehicles 
 facing the great confectioner's shop, the horses' heads 
 turned outwards. 
 
 There we sat, and sipped peach ices — unequalled by any \l 
 
8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 other ices in the world. And as we were invariably thirsty 
 afterwards, water was brought out to us, bedewing the 
 tumblers. We preferred water to anything else — Gunter's 
 water at least ; and we liked our gallants to come and 
 stand beside the carriage, and — but no matter — no matter. 
 
 Between the various "Shows" of Victorian London 
 and those of the present day, I do not see the change I 
 note in many other quarters. They have, of course, 
 multiplied and developed, but as regards drawing pleasure- 
 crowds, they remain much the same. We went to Flower 
 Shows, Exhibitions, Concerts, and Promenades. We 
 drove to Hurlingham, to Wimbledon, to the Crystal 
 Palace, to Kew Gardens, and would fain have attended 
 Ascot, but — ah ! thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 My eldest brother, then in the 4th Dragoon Guards, 
 quartered at Aldershot, appeared one morning — a dazz- 
 ling morning it was, when all the world was bathed in 
 sunshine — and announced that he had come to take me 
 to Ascot. Me, his youngest sister, ten years his junior, 
 and ten times over his worshipper ! The prospect took 
 my breath away. 
 
 And Mary would have let me go at once ; she was 
 broad-minded in all respects, and her sympathetic counten- 
 ance was radiant as she looked at mine, — but oh, unhappy 
 me ! there were other and higher authorities in the house 
 at the moment, and no persuasion could prevail on them 
 to think that even for once in a way Races were lawful 
 for the "Young person." 
 
 My brother was, of course, his own master ; and it was 
 very dear and kind of him to wish to give his sister the 
 treat, — but as far as the treat itself was concerned, they 
 were adamant, and with a sickening heart I watched the 
 combat draw to its fatal close. He left the house alone, 
 and I have never been to Ascot races to this day ! 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 9 
 
 As regarded balls and theatres, we participated but 
 sparingly in those delights at all times, and had been 
 warned that they would have to be foregone while under 
 our host's roof. He held strict views on such subjects, 
 and so cheerfully did his wife submit her will to his, that 
 we never thought of enquiring whether she shared them 
 or not ? ^ 
 
 A word here as to a certain mild dissipation, for I can 
 call it by no other name, much in vogue in serious circles 
 at this period, namely. Drawing-room Meetings, held 
 usually in the afternoon. 
 
 Laurence Oliphant has sharply, and I venture to think 
 truly criticised these in his little gem, " Piccadilly," and 
 I speak from experience. 
 
 They abounded during my first London season. The 
 procedure was on this wise. An attraction similar to 
 "Joseph Caribee Islands" was selected as a sort of ^tar 
 — one of these, especially popular, being a certain Yusuf 
 Shakoor, a presumable convert from heathendom — and 
 his name was printed on the invitation cards. A fashion- 
 able penitent might or might not then be added as an 
 extra " draw " — but anyhow the black man was a host in 
 himself. 
 
 He was announced to address the meeting, supported 
 by such well-known noblemen and gentlemen — if possible, 
 public characters — as were obtainable by the host or 
 hostess., The names of the speakers most in request will 
 readily recur to elderly people of to-day. 
 
 The drawing-room was then set out much as it would 
 be for a concert or conjuror ; and programmes were 
 printed, and handed to the guests on arrival. 
 
 Whether the hostess usually remained in the hall, or 
 at the head of the stairs, I do not know ; but on one 
 occasion in which we took part she did, and thus addressed 
 us out of the kindness of her heart ; '' My dears, do not 
 
10 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 go inside there ! It is terribly, frightfully hot ; there is 
 not a seat to be had ; and Lord Oncleton is praying, and 
 he never knows when to leave off. Go into the dining- 
 room, and get some strawberries, and ices. And when 
 the meeting is over, you shall have a nice game of croquet 
 in the garden." 
 
 We thanked her — but we went inside. We wanted to 
 hear Mr. Stevenson Blackwood ("Adonis" Blackwood) 
 speak. We had seen him in the Park, and who that ever 
 saw that noble countenance could forget it ? 
 
 Nor have I yet forgotten what that speaker said. He 
 took for his text the words of Cornelius the Centurion to 
 St. Peter : " Now, therefore, are we all here present before 
 God, to hear all things that are commanded thee by God." 
 
 But were we all there so present, with such an aim.^^ 
 Young as I was, I recognised, alas ! the truth. The 
 address was deeply impressive, the speaker was wholly in 
 earnest, and the audience, consisting chiefly of females — 
 fanned themselves. 
 
 A huge, feathered fan kept waving backwards and for- 
 wards just in front of me, and behind it the heavy, 
 powdered face of a bewigged and bedizened dowager 
 drowsily sank upon her bosom. One and all turned to 
 each other with relief unconcealed when at length the 
 meeting was over. 
 
 No wonder that the tone of a remark I overheard by- 
 and-by was melancholy. No wonder that the pious soul 
 who breathed it, sighed. " W^ell, I don't know," mur- 
 mured he, with troubled eyes, " I really don't know that, 
 when all's said and done, much good comes of all this 
 praying with princesses." 
 
 "And I don't know either," rejoined his wife, briskly, 
 "I very much don't know." She was one of the more 
 mundane sort, frankly human, with a strong sense of 
 humour, and her eyes were twinkling, not sad. " To tell 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON ii 
 
 the truth," she continued, * ' I have had my new lace parasol . 
 taken to-day, and at the last prayer-meeting it was my y^ 
 scent-bottle ! Oh, by mistake^ of course ; but still — " 
 And she broke off significantly. 
 
 I was sitting opposite her in the carriage, (Mary had 
 put us under her care for the afternoon,) and a glance 
 passed between us. I have had the same sort of shock, 
 occasionally, since. It has fallen to my lot to come away 
 from a London festivity at a great London house, when 
 something has (involuntarily) been left behind ! 
 
 Of another kind of assemblage, permit one brief word. 
 It is the present fashion to speak disparagingly of Queen 
 Victoria's Drawing-Rooms, and to insist upon the improve- 
 ment brought about by the late King. 
 
 How dreadful it must have been, that early start — that 
 long wait in St. James' Park — that picnic luncheon in the 
 carriage, with wine and sandwiches spilling and crumbling , 
 over the fine dresses — above all, with the pitiless glare of 
 the noontide sun pouring down upon old, wrinkled faces 
 and withered necks ! 
 
 That is one side of the question. 
 
 The other is : are youth and beauty ever seen to greater 
 advantage than in the fresh morning air ^ Can superb and 
 costly plumage possibly have the same effect by night as 
 by day.f^ Do not the very bouquets droop and fade in 
 the gas-laden atmosphere.? And if venerable relations 
 object to being exhibited en grande tenue at midday, 
 surely if they saw themselves at midnight, weary with the 
 day's round, laden with toilette additions, and tortured by 
 aches and pains which systematically choose late hours for 
 the attack, they would hesitate before giving their vote for 
 the new regime. Let them but obtain the Royal permis- 
 sion to garb themselves as becomes their age, and they 
 would look better, infinitely better, at noon than at night. 
 
 And the crowd without, how it did enjoy itself in the old 
 
12 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 time! Here was a sights free to all, and appreciated by 
 all. 
 
 Not very many years ago, it chanced that I met in New 
 York five or six of its leading literary men, and one of them 
 put a few casual questions about Drawing-Rooms at 
 Buckingham Palace. My response evoked a passion of 
 interest for which I was little prepared, and which I cannot 
 think of to this day without a smile. 
 
 They drew closer and closer ; they looked at one 
 another ; they commented, ejaculated, laughed at them- 
 selves, but owned with the most delightful simplicity that 
 the subject was one of real and absorbing interest. They 
 longed, and had longed all their lives, to know about 
 Queen Victoria's Drawing-Rooms ! 
 
 It was not only crowds of humble spectators who flocked 
 around the carriages in the Mall, as they stood there in line 
 on those occasions. 
 
 The young princes themselves, who were shortly to 
 appear by the side of their august mother, would slip in 
 and out, strolling up and down, and chatting with those 
 they knew. 
 
 One, (I suppose I ought not to say which ?) peered into 
 our carriage on the day I was presented, but as it obviously 
 did not contain the party he sought, he hastily retired. 
 We wondered whom he was looking for ? 
 
 Just before the great gates of the Palace were opened, 
 he and his brother had to be off to dress, — but the moving 
 throngs remained, and were still there when we emerged 
 from the ordeal several hours later, piped out by the exul- 
 tant strains of the Highlanders in the Yard — still eager, 
 still admiring, still enjoying themselves. 
 
 It does seem a shame that those poor folks should be 
 defrauded of their spectacle by the new order of things ! 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 13 
 
 It will be seen that I am endeavouring to the best of my 
 ability to disentangle the lesser threads of the web whose 
 texture in the past differs from that of the present, as 
 regards some aspects of London life. 
 
 This is no easy task, since they are so slim, so subtle, and 
 seem so little worthy of mention. 
 
 Yet withal they are there ; however elusive to casual 
 observation, they are there ; — and let us not forget that 
 ''Trifles make the sum of human things." 
 
 When I see and hear new sights and sounds on every 
 side, and yet through it all mark how the same old tide 
 ebbs and flows in a way the same as ever — how there is 
 change, and yet no change, even on the surface of things — 
 I am led to believe that even trivial and wholly insignificant 
 distinctions have a value of their own. 
 
 The hours, habits, and sentiments of past generations 
 are of little account in themselves, and all who will can be 
 familiar with them through the pens of historians and 
 novelists, — but to such of us as look back upon personal 
 experience of the same, it seems curious that they should 
 excite the risibility, not to say contempt of our sons and 
 daughters. 
 
 It is natural perhaps that girls who dash about in taxies, 
 alone and unattended, who form their own parties and think 
 scorn of chaperonage, should smile at the restrictions and 
 conventions of the sixties, — but do they really get more out 
 of life than we did ^ 
 
 Bear in mind that I am not referring to the period when 
 to be fragile and sentimental was the supreme object of 
 The fair," but to an epoch when healthier conditions of 
 mind and body had set in. I say we had good time. I 
 maintain that we disported ourselves gaily, and took our 
 deprivations philosophically. And if you, my dear, young,'^ 
 feminine readers, imagine that we looked queer and 
 hideous in our ''Spoon" bonnets, and beflounced skirts, 
 
14 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 I may just hint, What should we have thought of 
 you} 
 
 Of some of you at least ; of such as pull a clown's cap 
 about your ears, and waddle along in clown's — no, I will 
 not pursue this further. There were, of course, comical 
 figures then as now — and pretty faces that could not be 
 content with their own prettiness, but must needs dab on 
 adjuncts that have existed for women in all ages — and 
 fashions that fashionables themselves professed to deplore — 
 but I hold to it that we were not more foolish and certainly 
 not less charming forty or fifty years ago than you dear 
 young creatures are now. 
 
 Our ' ' beaux " hung about us, attended upon us, pursued 
 us then, just as yours do to-day. If we were prohibited 
 certain diversions and partook of others less alluring to the 
 masculine taste, they cheerfully assumed that what was 
 sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, and were not 
 to be defrauded of our company. 
 
 Smart young guardsmen and hussars had ways of their 
 own, and in effect whispered * ' Is your mother always with 
 you, lovely Mary Anne.f^" 
 
 It was so — I give you my word, it was so. But you do 
 not half believe it, and old-fashioned yarns are only boring. 
 
 Rest assured, then, that if I am allowed to prose on at 
 random for a little while — if you will kindly let me lift a 
 corner of the curtain, and mark the feet behind it dancing 
 to the old, old tune, the feet shall be those of personages 
 not wholly unimportant, not altogether forgotten, not even 
 now entirely devoid of interest to the thoughtful and 
 reflective. 
 
 Shall I dare to say. There were giants in those days.f^ 
 Ah, do not sneer, — perhaps, just perhaps, there were. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 My first London dinner-party — The giants at play among themselves — 
 Mr. Reginald Palgrave on "The Fairchild Family" — Mr. Tennyson 
 at the Royal Academy — The author of " The Schonberg-Cotta 
 family" recalls her experiences of the Laureate — Persistent admirers 
 invade his sanctuary at Farringford — "The Chops of the Channel ! " 
 — A French barrister misunderstands about ^eating a chemical solu- 
 tion — Mr. Browning avouches himself ready to let lodgings — And 
 put up a board on his house. 
 
 Late one afternoon, shortly after our arrival on the scene, 
 my sister and I were placidly disrobing in our room, when 
 Mary whirled in, with a note in her hand. ''Which of 
 you will go with me to the dinner-party to-night?" cried 
 she. ' ' This is to ask me to bring one, as a lady has failed 
 at the last moment." 
 
 We looked at each other. Which } 
 
 None of my elder sisters cared for that form of enter- 
 tainment, while I loved it. Moreover, the dinners Mary 
 went to were different from those to which we were accus- 
 tomed, formal affairs of the ordinary cock-and-hen type, 
 with perhaps a daughter thrown in — and even those were 
 better than nothing to a girl who would fly into any open 
 door, — so I did hope I should be the one. 
 
 I fancied too that Mary looked at me. She knew all 
 about us two, and guessed how it would be. In another 
 minute Ross was bringing out my best frock. 
 
 " I daresay we shall have a pleasant evening," said Mary, 
 as we drove off. " It is always pleasant at the Lehmanns'. 
 You must keep your eyes and ears open, for there is no 
 
i6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 knowing who will be there. Ah," continued she, as we 
 reached the house, "that's nice. There is Mr. Robert 
 Browning just in front of us. You know who he is ? The 
 poet, and the husband of the poetess, Mrs. Barrett Brown- 
 ing. I hope I shall sit next him, but it isn't likely." 
 
 She did, however, and a Mr. John Forster took her in. 
 She said afterwards he was a delightful companion, and 
 told her about his new book, ' ' The Life of Sir John Eliot," 
 which, oddly enough, we had ordered at Mudie's that very 
 afternoon. 
 
 He proceeded to talk about portrait-painting, and said 
 with a laughing look at a man on my side of the table, ' ' I 
 am sure that none but a gentleman can paint a gentleman, 
 for insensibly the artist puts his own individuality and 
 something of his own expression into every picture." 
 
 " What do you say to that, Mr. Millais.^*" inquired my 
 next neighbour. 
 
 " Mr. Millais .?" I pricked up my ears, and had a good 
 look at Mr. Millais. 
 
 Previously I had been wondering who the handsome, 
 ruddy-cheeked, bright-eyed, youngish man who took in 
 our hostess, could be.'^ — and now everyone was looking 
 at him, and laughing. He was not, however, to be 
 "drawn", and affecting deafness, pursued his own con- 
 versation, while Mr. Browning took it upon himself to 
 reply in the other's stead. 
 
 "All nonsense, my dear Forster — nonsense, I assure 
 you. For instance, if I were to set about painting Mrs. 
 Proctor — " and then we all turned our heads, and looked 
 at Mrs. Proctor, who is a very particular friend of the 
 poet's, (as Mary informed me afterwards), — "if I were 
 painting her," said he, " should I make her like me.-^" 
 
 Of course there was a general smile, but Mrs. Proctor 
 was equal to the occasion. ' ' Dear Mr. Browning," said she, 
 sweetly, "if only you could make me like yourself, how 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 17 
 
 happy I should be!" On which a distinct giggle — yes, a 
 distinct giggle succeeded the smile. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Proctor again attracted attention, the 
 talk having wandered round from artists to authors. **I 
 am mentioned in one of the ' Roundabout Papers '," ob- 
 served she, " and Mr. Thackeray speaks of me as ' The 
 greatest novel-reader of the age,' He declares, too, that 
 he wrote to ask me what to do with one of his characters, 
 and inserts my answer." 
 
 At this it seemed to me that there were several doubtful 
 faces, and Mr. Lehmann put the general feeling into words, 
 when he said drily : " A man must indeed be hard up to 
 know what to do with his heroes, before he asks advice of 
 other people." Mrs. Proctor, however, took the snub in 
 such good part, that it was hardly felt she had received one. 
 
 I now turned my attention to Mr. Millais, who was 
 telling something interesting, and his clear tones easily 
 carried it down the table. 
 
 He had begun about a certain Mr. Gibson, (when 
 ''Gibson, the Sculptor," whispered my neighbour in my 
 ear, and I nodded gratefully,) ' ' Gibson has written to the 
 President of the Royal Academy," proceeded Mr. Millais, 
 addressing the company generally, " saying that he intends 
 leaving all his savings, amounting to about forty thousand 
 pounds, to the Academy ! " 
 
 Here he stopped for applause — at least I suppose he did 
 —but instead there seemed to be some incredulity not to 
 say merriment over the idea, and several jokes were made. 
 
 One sceptic inquired if Sir Charles Eastlake would in 
 consequence take any steps to hasten the generous donor's 
 demise .f^ Another wondered if the sculptor would not 
 change his mind after his prospective gift had been received 
 with gratitude and there was no more to be said about it ? 
 And another shook his head, and hinted that even if the 
 Council of the Academy got the money, it would probably 
 
i8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 be muddled away with nothing to show for it, as ' ' such a 
 thing had happened before." 
 
 I thought Mr. Millais took all this chaff very good- 
 humouredly ; and indeed at this party no one appeared to 
 mind chaif . They all seemed to know each other so inti- 
 mately, and to be on such thoroughly good terms, that no 
 offence was given or taken. 
 
 Mrs. Proctor was a tremendous talker. She had a clever 
 remark or reply for every topic that was started, and was 
 listened to the moment she opened her lips. She was 
 mostly for the men ; but before they came up from the 
 dining-room, she bestowed a few minutes on me, inquiring 
 how I employed my time? 
 
 I said I still had masters, and worked at different studies. 
 She said, abstractedly, "Ah, yes." Then suddenly burst 
 forth with vivacity, ' ' A very old lady once said to me, ' I 
 have one regret on looking back over my long life, it is 
 that I have not learnt more.' " This Mrs. Proctor seemed 
 to think strange, and added with complacency, ' ' / replied, 
 that I have also one regret, namely, that I have not enjoyed 
 myself more." She evidently thought much of her retort, 
 but it seemed to me, to own the truth, a very poor one. 
 However, it was not my place to say anything. 
 
 Just before we came away, I discovered that one of the 
 men who had teased Mr. Millais about the Academy legacy 
 was Mr. Chorley, the musical critic and composer. Perhaps 
 there were some other flowers born to blush unseen 
 in the assemblage, but if so, they must remain blushing, 
 for I heard no more names that left their impress. 
 
 As I had enjoyed this evening so much, Mary took me 
 with her soon again, and a Mr. Reginald Palgrave was 
 introduced to me as my left-hand dinner neighbour. He 
 had a big, florid dowager on his other side, with whom he 
 did not seem to have much in common, and as I was humbly 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 19 
 
 thirsting for his notice, he by-and-by bestowed it on 
 me. 
 
 He asked if I had been brought up on the * ' Fairchild 
 Family " ? — and on my eagerly assenting, declared he could 
 still repeat some of the beginnings of the chapters. ' ' But 
 not the ends," rejoined I, slily, — and the pith of that obser- 
 vation lay in this, that the end of every chapter in that 
 immortal work is a prayer, and did we not one and all skip 
 that prayer.^ 
 
 This union of tastes however cemented our friendship 
 rapidly, and we ran over the various points of the Fairchild 
 children, their marvellous docility beneath parental super- 
 vision, and extraordinary naughtiness when exempt from it. 
 Mr. Palgrave liked best the tale of Emily and the 
 " Damescenes " ; I preferred that of Miss Augusta Noble 
 and her fearful end. We were agreed upon Betty's stock- 
 ings and the beer, — and the thought of Louisa's fine friend, 
 Mr. Tollemache, skating into the room on his first visit to 
 the assembled family, was an exquisite delight to us both. 
 
 By that light, I imagined my new friend to be quite a 
 young man, so that when he said presently something about 
 remembering the opening of the Royal Exchange, I really 
 started. Could he be in earnest ? 
 
 He was smiling broadly, and looked so boyish and merry 
 that I thought he must be in fun, and doing my best to 
 meet that fun half-way, I essayed, ' ' And I, too, remember 
 a famous opening, that of the British Museum." 
 
 For a moment Mr. Palgrave looked bewildered, and 
 with dismay I realised that he had not meant to jest at all. 
 He assured me — and he did not look displeased ; human 
 nature is human nature all the world over — that he was 
 speaking the simple truth about himself ; and next day, 
 when we met him by chance in the broad noonday, I was 
 able to believe it. 
 
20 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 He still looked young, but not that young, as they say 
 in Scotland — and I found that his age was forty or there- 
 abouts ; also that he was married, more's the pity. The 
 nice men one meets accidentally seem always to be married, 
 — if I were a girl of the period, I should say ' ' Blow them ! " 
 
 Mr. Palgrave, however, again made himself agreeable, 
 and we were hoping he would go round the rooms with 
 us — (did I say this encounter took place at the Academy ?) 
 — when he suddenly announced to Mary, " I wish I could 
 stay with your pleasant party, but Mr. Tennyson — " 
 glancing over his shoulder, ' ' does not like to be left, — " 
 and he hurried away. 
 
 Mr. Tennyson took his arm, and the two then proceeded 
 on a tour of inspection, — but as we did not like to look too 
 much at them, I had but a meagre opportunity of seeing 
 what the Poet Laureate was like on that occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Charles, the author of ''The Schonberg-Cotta 
 Family," told us a good deal about him the next afternoon 
 however, — when we went to spend it with her at Hampstead. 
 
 She said that about fifteen years before, while she was 
 staying with an aunt near Plymouth, her father drove over 
 from that town, bringing the poet with him. Mr. Tenny- 
 son was in a most genial mood — (" Which he is not always, 
 you know!" she added in parenthesis) — and was so gentle 
 and benign that she, albeit then a young girl, ventured to 
 show him a poem she had written and called ' ' The 
 Gentian." 
 
 Whether he really admired it or not, she could not tell ; 
 but he was certainly kind and encouraging, and confided to 
 her that he had just finished a long poem himself, which 
 was shortly to be published. He did not give its name, 
 but by putting two and two together, she could subse- 
 quently have no doubt that this poem was ' ' In 
 Memoriam," which appeared six months afterwards. 
 
 The visitors were invited to remain for the night, but 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 21 
 
 on Mr. Tennyson's stipulating that if he did, he should be 
 allowed to smoke in his bedroom, the old lady bristled up. 
 
 That she could not allow. Bedroom smoking was not 
 only objectionable, but dangerous ; and for no one would she 
 relax her prohibition rule. Mr. Tennyson proving equally 
 obdurate, the hostess' own carriage was ordered out, and he 
 was sent in it back to his hotel at Plymouth, whence, how- 
 ever, he returned the next morning to breakfast. 
 
 He was obviously amused at the whole incident ; pos- 
 sibly on the whole he preferred the freedom and comfort of 
 a nice old-fashioned inn to the restraints imposed by a visit 
 — especially to a rigid old martinet who might have had 
 other prejudices as well as that against tobacco — and he 
 proceeded to make merry with the young people, attacking 
 them with all sorts of absurd questions, "Am I like what 
 you expected .f^" "What did you expect a poet to be like ?" 
 etc., etc. 
 
 As they ' * played up " in return, the time passed all too 
 quickly, and was often thought of afterwards, especially as 
 their poet-friend was never met again by the Charles family 
 until a year or two before we heard the tale. 
 
 This last meeting took place at Freshwater, where Mrs. 
 Charles was staying with her husband ; on which occasion 
 they went and called on the Tennysons at Farringford, and 
 had some delightful hours with them. " He himself took 
 us into every hole and corner of the house and garden," 
 narrated our friend, "and we felt we were not intruders, 
 since Mrs. Tennyson had set our minds at ease directly we 
 appeared, by exclaiming, ' How very nice this is, and how 
 curious! For it was only this morning that my husband 
 was reading aloud some of his old journals, and came upon 
 the story of his visit to you down in the West, and his being 
 turned out of the house by your aunt to smoke elsewhere ! 
 He told us a great deal about you all, and was wishing he 
 could meet you again.' " 
 
22 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 As the genial, lovable Mrs. Charles thus spoke with an 
 artless frankness that entirely charmed us, we did not 
 wonder that even the recluse who rigidly chose to hedge 
 himself in from observation, wished to meet her again. 
 Farringford was barricaded against the prying world, but 
 stood open to all who knocked in friendship's name, — (as I, 
 too, learned in after life,) — and here I may add that it was 
 not without cause that a sharp distinction was drawn, as the 
 following will show. 
 
 The poet on coming down one morning to breakfast, 
 fancied the room darker than usual, and on glancing at the 
 windows to discover why, saw that instead of the blinds 
 being drawn, human blinds excluded the sunlight without. 
 Two faces were pressed against the panes at each window, 
 and remained calmly there, despite detection. 
 
 After a momentary pause, he went to the front door, 
 and inquired what the visitors wanted ? 
 
 An elderly American, of the pronounced type, lifted his 
 hat, and replied for the rest, " Sir, one of our reasons for 
 crossing the Atlantic was to see the poet, Tennyson, and we 
 resolved to see him if we waited here all day." 
 
 Well, now you have seen me," said he, half-amused, 
 half-annoyed, "will you kindly go away.^^" Which they 
 did, after a prolonged and exhaustive stare all round. 
 
 It was not only our American cousins who obtruded 
 themselves on the notice of the Poet Laureate. Mary had 
 an instance of this which she told Mrs. Charles, and which 
 I listened to, and may jot down here. 
 
 She was attending a lecture at the Royal Institution, 
 when the seat next her was taken by Mr. Tennyson, and 
 intuitively she divined that he had chosen it because at 
 that time he did not know her, and would not therefore be 
 expected to talk. Accordingly she sat still as a mouse. 
 
 But not many minutes had elapsed before a lady rustled 
 across the hall, and addressed her neighbour thus : ' ' There 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 23 
 
 is plenty of room where I am, Mr. Tennyson ; do come 
 and sit by me ?" 
 
 ' ' I am quite comfortable here, thank you," replied the 
 poet, in accents that would have enlightened almost any- 
 body as to his inclinations. " I have come to listen to the 
 lecture, and see the experiments — not to talk : — " and his 
 tone was final, very final indeed. 
 
 Some people, however, are as obtuse as they are perti- 
 nacious. His interlocutor was not to be put ofF. 
 
 "Oh, this is not a good seat, not at all a good seat," 
 persisted she. ''Indeed, it is not; either for hearing or 
 seeing. You will be much better off where I am, — " and 
 her tones were so urgent, and her attitude so determined 
 that, fearful of attracting general attention, the poor man 
 had no choice but to rise. Already many eyes were upon 
 him. 
 
 Triumphantly his captor then led the way ; but Mary 
 averred that in the long run her boldness gained her 
 nothing, for not one word could she extract from her 
 victim, who remained obstinately mute, and the very 
 moment the lecture was over, seized his hat and bolted 
 from the hall. 
 
 To this recital Mrs. Charles listened with sympathetic 
 approval. ' ' I cannot imagine how women can be such 
 idiots," cried she, and as she spoke her rather prominent 
 blue eyes lit up with merriment. 
 
 What a vivacious, sparkling countenance she had ! To 
 own the truth, much as I loved the ' ' Schonberg-Cotta 
 Family " for Sunday reading, — it was, indeed, a favourite 
 "Sunday book," — my conception of its author had not 
 previously inspired any vehement desire for her acquain- 
 tance. I fancied I knew the class of religious woman to 
 which she belonged, and had, may I dare say it ? enough 
 of them without adding even a shining light to the list. 
 
24 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 But the very first glimpse of " Bessie Charles," as she 
 was called by Mary, dispelled the idea. 
 
 " Bessie " was perched on the top-rung of a ladder placed 
 against her garden-wall, cutting and snipping, — (she could 
 not have been pruning, for it was not the pruning season, 
 but she may have been culling the high roses) — anyhow, 
 she was up at the top, and we were down at the bottom — 
 and she shouted to us, and laughed at us, and waved her 
 scissors, and begged us not to look as she descended hold- 
 ing her petticoats together — all in such a bright, merry way 
 that our hearts, my sister's and mine, were fairly taken by 
 storm. 
 
 And we had, as may be imagined, a delightful after- 
 noon. 
 
 Tea was set out under the trees, and Mr. Charles, who 
 appeared presently, took us to a point whence was obtain- 
 able a far-stretching view of London fading away into the 
 south, while in the summer haze the great dome of St. 
 Paul's rose up like a huge balloon. 
 
 We thought our host an agreeable man, and he joined 
 cordially in the general conversation, though seeming to 
 listen for it to be led by his wife. 
 
 She started every fresh topic, and had an enthusiastic 
 way of bursting out with good things that I wish I could 
 reproduce, but cannot. It was simply as if they were 
 bubbling up within and could not be kept down. 
 
 Talk turned upon divers results proceeding from the 
 dropping of H's, an infirmity of speech to be occasionally 
 met with then, as now. 
 
 ' ' I must tell you my story, my very latest story about 
 that," cried Mrs. Charles, and she proceeded to tell us as 
 follows. " Baron Channel, one of our judges, you know, 
 was trying a case not long ago," she said, " and, tell it not 
 in Gath, dropped his H's perpetually. He does not 
 always do so, but either he was tired, or he was worried, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 25 
 
 and he did then. The trial was about a ship called the 
 * Hannah ' ; and when he came to sum up, the learned 
 Channel persistently called it the ' Anna.' " 
 
 On this, somebody whispered to Mr. Hawkins, the 
 counsel on one side, " I thought the name of the ship was 
 the ' Hannah.' " 
 
 "So it was" ; quick as lightning came back the witty 
 response ; " so it certainly was, — but the fact is, she lost 
 her ' H's' in the Chops of the Channel!" 
 
 When we had done applauding this, someone else had a 
 fresh anecdote of an H'less man, but would not in this 
 instance give his name. 
 
 ' ' I had to say it was Baron Channel," interposed Mrs. 
 Charles, apologetically, ' ' for without the name my story 
 had no point. And, besides, what is a little thing like 
 that ? Who thinks the worse of anyone for that ? — How- 
 ever, do let us have your anecdote, — " she caught herself 
 up, as though her tongue were running away with her, 
 and the narrator picked up his thread, and proceeded. 
 
 *'My tale is of a lawyer, too," he said. "He was 
 counsel in a lawsuit about a famous dye, and had to 
 examine a foreign chemist through an interpreter, his 
 questions being translated sentence by sentence as the 
 examination went on. 
 
 ' ' A good deal of information had been extracted, and 
 all was going favourably, when the learned Q.C., forging 
 ahead as he thought he saw daylight through the mists of 
 an intricate case, cried, ' Well, after you had put the solu- 
 tion into a pan, did you ^eat it.^'" 
 
 " Eh puis, on le mange .f^" rendered the interpreter, in all 
 good faith. 
 
 "On le mange .^ Mais, quel horreurV^ ejaculated the 
 Frenchman, throwing up his hands. 
 
 Not till the learned counsel had elaborately explained 
 
26 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 that he meant " heat it" not " eat it," could his equanimity 
 be restored. 
 
 Some friends of " Bessie's" now joined us, and were full 
 of an amusing ghostly experience recently undergone 
 by some of their own family, who had wintered in 
 Florence. 
 
 They had a house there, an old rambling place, with 
 gorgeous but worn and faded satin furniture. It looked 
 like a house with a history, they thought, on taking pos- 
 session of it, — and this fancy was speedily to be the general 
 impression, for a night or two afterwards the ghosts began 
 to play their various parts. 
 
 There was a rumbling and scampering up and down the 
 old staircase, and in the morning several pieces of furniture 
 were found to have been moved from their places in the 
 principal drawing-room. 
 
 This looked ominous, but nothing more happened for a 
 few nights, when the same commotion recurred ; and as the 
 family had previously agreed upon their line of action in 
 case it did, with one accord they rushed from their bed- 
 rooms. 
 
 Sure enough, some heavy tables and chairs were piled up 
 in the centre of the above-mentioned drawing-room, and 
 something moved behind — some rather awful-looking 
 thing, in the moonlight. 
 
 Not being timid folks however, they made a dart for the 
 retreating figure, but before reaching it, it vanished — 
 vanished apparently into the wall! The figure was that 
 of a veiled nun, and one and all distinctly saw it. 
 
 What was to be done.^ 
 
 Well, they suspected a trick, and their coolness and 
 sagacity met with its due reward. 
 
 They went off^ to bed, and delayed further investigations 
 till the next morning, when feeling about with a stick, one 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 27 
 
 of the boys unwittingly touched a secret spring, and 
 behold ! a door flew open ! Behind the door was a grating, 
 and behind the grating, a curtain — which was, however, 
 too far back to be touched. Beyond a doubt, this was the 
 solution of the mystery. 
 
 "What did they do .'^" we demanded in a breath. 
 
 ' ' Gave information to the authorities, but the conspira- 
 tors had cleared out " ; replied our informants ; ' ' the sup- 
 posed nun must have seen that the game was up, and had 
 no doubt made off^ at once. It turned out that a homeless 
 family of vagrants had found out the secret passage, and 
 made themselves at home in uncommonly comfortable 
 quarters before we took the house, when they hit on this 
 clumsy plan to frighten us away. And with some people I 
 suppose it might have succeeded, but not with W5," she 
 wound up, with ineffable complacency, which I must con- 
 fess, I, for one, thought was justified. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Florence would appear to be the right sort of place for 
 poor people to live in. Mrs. Charles told us how she was 
 talking one day about this to Mr. Browning, who of course 
 knows the old Italian city in and out. 
 
 He said, *' It is quite a common thing for people of 
 good status, if they can't afford a whole house, to take in 
 lodgers." 
 
 "Now," continued he, "in England, people would 
 hesitate before doing that, and anyway they would find an 
 excuse other than the real one, if they yielded to necessity. 
 It is a curious circumstance," continued he, with a medita- 
 tive smile, "that people who don't mind owning to being 
 poor, never like to own that they let lodgings. It is always 
 *A gentleman suddenly finds his house too large for his 
 requirements,' or ' A lady afflicted with heart disease cannot 
 go upstairs, and has consequently no use for her upper 
 rooms.' Now, if I were in straits, I should stick a bill 
 
28 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 outside my front door, with these words in large capitals, 
 'I Let Lodgings.'" "But," observed Mrs. Charles, 
 telling the tale, " I very much doubt if he would do any- 
 thing of the kind if it came to the point." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A young Mr. Leighton — A poem by a sculptor — The " Broken Thread 
 of Life " on a marble tombstone mended by a clever custodian — 
 A swallow is " a vast deal more like a parrot " — Mr. George Mac- 
 donald's lectures — A figure stealing along the wall — Mr. Ruskin 
 argues a point behind a curtain — A tree that may have been planted 
 by Noah — "As the house was built in the reign of William the 
 Third ! " 
 
 As Mary was fond of pictures, she often went to the 
 Academy, as did we, though I cannot say I found in it the 
 charm she did. I felt too much like the pale young man 
 whom I overheard remark to his wife — she must have been 
 his wife — as he sank wearily on to a seat : *' It's this con- 
 founded bad air that makes my back ache!" The air, or 
 something else, at Burlington House, always did make my 
 back ache. However, I went. 
 
 In 1 865, when we were again in London, under the same 
 kindly roof as before, there were some splendid pictures on 
 view by a Mr. Leighton, a young painter about five and 
 thirty — ^and these were being much talked about. The 
 one generally considered the best was that of King David 
 gazing from a terrace at "The mountains round about 
 Jerusalem." Against the blue sky was a dove with out- 
 spread wings, and the gentle sadness on the monarch's brow 
 said as plainly as words, ' ' Oh, that I had wings like a dove, 
 for then would I fly away, and be at rest!" 
 
 This picture was very beautiflil, and a little crowd was 
 usually to be found studying it. 
 
 Another was called ' ' Helen," and we were grouped in 
 
30 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 front of ' ' Helen " one day, when up came Mr. Lehmann, 
 and told us an anecdote a propos. He was inspecting it 
 before it left Leighton's studio, and observed, "You have 
 got a good effect of moonlight there." 
 
 "Moonlight, you Goth.''" retorted his friend, some- 
 what nettled. ''Moonlight, did you say.^^ It is not 
 moonlight, it is brilliant sunlight^ 
 
 "To soothe his ruffled feelings," continued our infor- 
 mant, ' ' I made haste to reply, ' Why, to be sure ! No 
 doubt. Now that I look closer, it is sunlight. Yes, yes, it 
 is sunlight, — ' and as Leighton still looked perturbed, and 
 continued to explain and point out, I murmured at inter- 
 vals, ' Of course, of course. Sunlight, of course : ' — but 
 between ourselves, you know," continued Mr. Lehmann, 
 shaking his head and laughing, " I never yet saw sunlight 
 have that peculiar effect on any figure." 
 
 Mr. Woolner, the sculptor, then drew near us, and we 
 were interested in meeting him, although he had nothing 
 particular to say. We had, however, read his poem, " My 
 beautiful lady," and rather, but not altogether, admired it. 
 It had been passed on by us to a friend, and came back 
 with this criticism : ' ' Some of the passages in Mr. 
 Woolner's poem are very beautiful, but there is a certain 
 unreality about his sorrow for the ' Beautiful Lady's ' 
 death, which makes me doubt if such a mourner has ever 
 known real sorrow." 
 
 What a wonderful gift is penetration! The unreality 
 thus detected proved to be justified by the fact that 
 the fair one in question who was drawn from life, had not 
 died at all, but married and gone to the Colonies! At 
 least, so said a relation of the poet-sculptor, who may have 
 been supposed to know. 
 
 After talking a little, Mr. Woolner introduced another 
 of his craft lingering near, and rather obviously waiting 
 for him to have done with us, and go off with him. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 31 
 
 This was Mr. Westmacott ; and although Mr. Westma- 
 cott did not on the present occasion favour us by making 
 much of a stay in our vicinity, he came to call not long 
 afterwards, and told us such a funny story that we loved 
 him at once for it. 
 
 He had been in Scotland the previous autumn, and came 
 across a curious monument erected to a great lady. 
 
 It consisted of three Fates disposed at intervals upon an 
 inclined plane. One of these held in one hand a pair of 
 shears, and in the other the Woof of Life. The thread 
 attached to the other was held by a cherub below. The 
 idea was, of course, that the Fate above had cut the Thread 
 of Life. 
 
 But here came in the droll part of the affair, for the 
 Thread was not cut at all ! 
 
 ' ' I could not make it out," said Mr. Westmacott, " so I 
 peered into the monument more closely, and found that an 
 inch or two of the marble thread was not marble at all, but 
 white string ! Common white string — which at a distance 
 was indistinguishable from the original! 
 
 ** While I was wondering, up came the man in charge, 
 a regular ' buddy ' of the Andrew Fairservice type, and 
 putting his hands on his hips, observed with much sly 
 exultation, ' Wasna' yon a fine idee o' ma ain, sir ? I seed 
 that pairt o' the marble was gane, so I matched it wi' a bit 
 string — ^juist string — an' tho' it's mysel' that says it, I doot 
 if onybody noo wad ever ken that the "Threed o' Life" 
 had been broken.'" 
 
 But let me for a moment go back to the galleries of the 
 Academy, for while there we heard a good thing about 
 another ignoramus, though he was not one who meddled 
 with art, but only protested against it. 
 
 This was an old country squire, not over-intelligent 
 even as country squires go, but still unwilling to be thought 
 
32 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 out of the swim. Accordingly he now and again, at 
 lengthy intervals, plodded up to Town, and struggled with 
 might and main to do as others did. 
 
 Such simple souls always go to the Academy. They 
 don't like it ; they don't know anything about it ; they are 
 thankful when they have got rid of it from their pro- 
 gramme, — but they would feel it a blight on their preten- 
 sions to fashion if they went back to their woods and fields 
 without being able to talk about it. 
 
 Accordingly our friend went, and as he had been dining 
 out the night before, and had been told by his hostess (to 
 whom he had confided his intentions of seeing the pictures 
 next day) that he must on no account miss one much 
 admired, of a lady watching a swallow, by Mr. Millais, he 
 looked up the number in his catalogue. 
 
 But here was a shock! It chanced that the worthy 
 squire knew about birds, was indeed something of an 
 authority upon birds and bird-life, and to tell him that 
 thing was a swallow! He literally choked with disgust, 
 and finally burst forth: " That a swallow.^ Tell me I 
 don't know a swallow when I see it.'' The fool that 
 painted that could never have seen a swallow in his life! 
 That ? Humph ! It's a vast deal more like a parrot V^ 
 
 And it was more like, for a parrot it was. The angry 
 gentleman had mistaken the number of the picture, and 
 pulled up in front of Mr. Val Princep's portrait of a woman 
 with a large parrot stretching out its wings in the foreground. 
 
 Over his vexation and mortification, when he learned 
 the truth, a veil had better be drawn, for I believe he had 
 an impression that the joke told against himself, and your 
 simple squire is very sensitive to such jokes. 
 
 We all know that there are things which we are supposed 
 to enjoy, which it is taken for granted that we must enjoy, 
 and which we do not really enjoy at all. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 33 
 
 Human nature is perverse ; and while in some characters 
 the component parts fit as neatly as the pieces in a dis- 
 secting map, in others there are odd bits. An odd bit in 
 my own is an antipathy to lectures. 
 
 Not the lectures we all receive in youth, when we are 
 being (excuse me) licked into shape by our elders — but 
 those, which, grown older and wiser, we are supposed of 
 ourselves to court for our own advantage. 
 
 • The very sight of a platform, and table, and tumbler of 
 water makes me sullen. However, propriety forbidding 
 any other outward demonstration of the rebellious spirit 
 within, I assume an attitude of profound attention — the 
 sort of attitude Royalty adopts, and of which the late King 
 Edward was a past-master — and in a poor, feeble sort of 
 way, try for his inimitable bend of the neck. But I can- 
 not attain to it, and presently it melts into a droop 
 neither polite to the lecturer nor convincing to the 
 audience. 
 
 More and more stiff and rigid grows my weary frame 
 as the minutes pass — every minute an hour long — and 
 though I neither yawn nor fidget, that is merely because 
 I have been trained in youth to ' ' behave " as nurses say, 
 and even to suppress the scream of delight I would fain 
 add to the clapping of hands when the monotonous voice 
 ceases at last. 
 
 This much being confessed, it will be seen that when 
 Mr. George Macdonald, whose delightful books I knew 
 by heart, announced a series of lectures on Shakespeare, 
 to be delivered weekly at his house in Harley Street, I 
 was in two minds about going. 
 
 But I did like "Alec Forbes," and loved the "Annals 
 of a Quiet Neighbourhood," — and the thought of them 
 won the day. 
 
 Mr. Macdonald had taken the house for the season, 
 no doubt with these lectures in view, as it was just right 
 
34 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 for anything of the kind. It belonged to Mr. Luce, an 
 artist ; and the studio, a large and lofty room built out 
 behind, was cool and light, and could hold a considerable 
 number of people. 
 
 We entered from the hall, descending by a sort of Jacob's 
 Ladder — and there was a loose mat at the top, over which 
 several old ladies tripped. However they all got down 
 in safety, and if they came to grief after the ascent, there 
 were plenty of hands all round, and the floor was a safe 
 place to fall upon. 
 
 At first I thought that there were only going to be 
 women present, but presently a very, very old man 
 shambled in, and was led to the front, when Mary 
 whispered to me, "Mr. Crabbe Robinson. A great 
 authority on Shakespeare in his young days, but now his 
 memory is going." 
 
 Despite that drawback, we heard afterwards that Mr. 
 Macdonald had consulted Mr. Robinson frequently as to 
 the rendering of certain passages ; and at the close of the 
 lecture I went to — (I only went to one, for reasons before 
 mentioned) — he came down from his little dais, and the 
 two talked eagerly together. 
 
 Before this however another male visitor had appeared, 
 whose entrance caused a fluttering of the dovecotes. But 
 perhaps I should here admit that a tolerable sprinkling of 
 manly heads was visible before the lecture began, though 
 who these belonged to did not concern us. What did was 
 that Mr. Ruskin was slowly stealing along the wall looking 
 for a quiet corner. 
 
 And as luck would have it, one found favour in his 
 eyes well within our line of vision, and we studied the 
 "Master" at our leisure. 
 
 At least, I did, and blessed my stars that had sent me 
 to that quiet room, when I had been within an ace of 
 seeking gayer haunts. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 35 
 
 I can see before me now that impressive countenance 
 with its rugged outline and shaggy brows. I can see the 
 sunlight fall upon the tangle of russet hair, and the flash 
 of the deepset eyes when ever and anon something was 
 said that pleased, or roused, their owner. 
 
 During an interval, grateful to everybody on a June 
 day, we all stood about talking to acquaintances, and 
 suddenly I found myself close to Mr. Macdonald, who had 
 hopped off his perch, if one may speak thus irreverently, 
 and was down among the ruck. 
 
 He was talking and arguing a point with someone 
 unseen, and tapped his notes several times with his fore- 
 finger ; also he seemed to listen eagerly to his friend's 
 replies. 
 
 In another minute I perceived that this friend was Mr. 
 Ruskin, who had left his seat and advanced to a window- 
 nook, where the two were having a lively time. Enough 
 of their argument reached my ears to show that on two 
 or three Shakespearian points they were at variance. 
 
 That the mighty Ruskin was not infallible, nor even 
 always reasonable, is of course known to all, — but had he 
 at that time written an extraordinary little admonition 
 to us of the other sex, that came under my notice in after 
 years, I almost think I should have dared to beard him on 
 the subject. It is, I think, in '' Fors Clavigera," that he 
 denounces our foolish extravagance in dress, (well and 
 good, that,) but our Mentor takes a plunge in his next 
 exordium which reveals him so hopelessly out of his depth 
 that no woman can read it without laughing. We are 
 exhorted, in effect, not to waste our money on useless 
 frillings and fripperies, but to place our reliance on excel- 
 lence of cut and fit, which the simplest garb will show off 
 the best ; ** and this," the learned Mr. Ruskin assures us, 
 "can be obtained from any village dressmaker ^ 
 
 Any village dressmaker .f^ I confess that when this 
 
36 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 amazing statement met my eye — ah well, to the author of 
 "The Stones of Venice" much may be forgiven. 
 
 Later on that afternoon Mr. Ruskin and Mr. Mac- 
 donald met more peaceably. They joined our party, and 
 something or other was said about church architecture, 
 which drew from the latter the following opinion. He 
 owned to having been disappointed in Cologne Cathedral 
 on first beholding it ; it appeared to him to be graceful 
 and elegant, but not solemn — and to this the former agreed. 
 
 " I can well believe you," said Mr. Ruskin, " for though 
 Cologne Cathedral follows correctly all the rules of archi- 
 tecture, there is no imagination about it." 
 
 They then discussed landscape paintings, and on this 
 head Mr. Macdonald had much to say. He contended 
 that, as a rule, they represented only a particular portion 
 of Nature, but that a true artist would insensibly weave 
 into his picture something of the mood he himself was in 
 while painting it, and that this mood would communicate 
 itself to those looking upon the picture afterwards. 
 
 The " True artist " ? I was wandering about the beauti- 
 ful hill-sides of Bordighera long after the speaker had 
 ceased to wander there or anywhere on earth, and noting 
 the artists literally as the sands of the sea in that lovely 
 spot where for years he dwelt and reigned, (and where a 
 tablet marks the house he lived in), I wondered how many 
 of them communicated their moods to their little pink and 
 blue and yellow sketches,? In Bordighera every second 
 person carries an easel and colour-box ; it is really a dis- 
 tinction to be without one. 
 
 To return to our art lecture. Before we left Harley 
 Street, a Colonel Collyer had a chat with us. He told us 
 that some old Dutch pictures had lately been left him, and 
 as they looked somewhat dim and blurred, he thought they 
 would be the better for a fresh coat of varnish. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 37 
 
 Accordingly he took them to a picture-dealer, who 
 examined each closely, returning to one again and again. 
 Finally he observed, "There are several coats of paint on 
 this picture." 
 
 **Then would you remove one, at any rate?" said the 
 colonel. The obliging dealer at once proceeded to clear 
 away an ivy-covered ruin with a background of trees, 
 whereupon appeared a cloudy sky, (it had been bright and 
 sunny before,) and in place of the ruin, a pair of figures 
 standing in an alcove. 
 
 "I believe there is still a fresh picture beneath this," 
 said the dealer. 
 
 " Look and see ! " said the colonel. 
 
 Sure enough, the busy fingers of the dealer speedily 
 disclosed something altogether new and different, in fine, 
 a really valuable Dutch painting, but my memory does not 
 tell me of what. Colonel Colly er lived in the country, 
 or no doubt he would have shown it us. 
 
 He told us, however, a funny little anecdote, before he 
 left. He was going round the garden of his house before 
 he bought it, accompanied by the caretaker and her little 
 son, when the boy pointed to a tree saying, ' ' That tree is 
 two hundred years old ; the gardener told me so." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the colonel, essaying a mild joke, "it 
 is even older, for it looks as if Noah might have planted it 
 when he came out of the Ark." 
 
 The little fellow thought for a moment, then ran back 
 to his mother who had dropped behind, and exclaimed 
 excitedly, "Do you hear that, mother.? The gentleman 
 says that it was Noah who planted that tree." 
 
 "Like enough, my dear," rejoined she placidly, and 
 turning to the colonel, added by way of confirmation, 
 " It's very likely sir, isn't it.^^ For you see, sir, this house 
 was built in the reign of King William the Third." 
 
38 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 * ' I bowed assent," said Colonel Collyer ; ' ' and doubt- 
 less she will pique herself on her knowledge of history to 
 the end of her days." 
 
 Society functions do not as a rule yield much fruit for 
 talk and thought of a general nature. We have each our 
 own point of view, and it is our own feelings and emotions, 
 our own ups and downs, our own heart-burnings or 
 ecstacies which, according as things go, can make a heaven 
 or hell of any festive scene. 
 
 And some of us will acknowledge as much, and some 
 will not. I have seen a youth with wan face and pallid 
 lips inwardly cursing his folly which brought him to a 
 spot where She is shining like a star, but not for him. 
 With what sad eyes he watches — watches ! How he starts 
 when spoken to ! And how impatiently he extricates him- 
 self from officious would-be friends, who seek to alleviate 
 his gloom! 
 
 His rival is there, gay, happy, contented — all his world 
 draped in sunbeams. He has a greeting, a laugh, a jest 
 for everyone. He finds the hours so bitter, so full of weari- 
 ness to the other, pass on flying feet. He would fain put 
 back the clock of Time. 
 
 When Memory brings back that summer night to each 
 in years to come, the one will sigh, the other smile, — and 
 perhaps in each case it may have been the turning-point 
 of a life. 
 
 And again it is the sweet young girl who, gathering all 
 the force of her nature, poor tender sapling, to conceal the 
 misery of her disappointment, struggles for the careless 
 cheerfulness appropriate to the occasion. She dares not 
 for an instant relax her hold upon herself. She is only too 
 eager, too responsive, to be natural. Beneath her vivacity 
 one catches the false note, one suspects the strain. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 39 
 
 All her prettiness, and smartness, and the toilette so 
 carefully thought out, and the hair dressed in the style 
 she fancies he approves — all is thrown away. 
 
 She hates the sight of herself in the glass. She hates 
 everything about her. 
 
 And yet she cannot bear to go home, hoping against 
 hope that something will yet happen to lift from her poor 
 heart the weight that has settled there. 
 
 Perhaps in her case there is no other girl ? Perhaps she 
 has only been mistaken all along, and realises it at last.^ 
 Ah, it matters little. The truth has reached her somehow, 
 and she will never be blind again. 
 
 And the brazen notes of the band clash on, and the 
 fluttering crowds pass by, and all the glare and din are 
 only one long dream of pain, which no one ever hears of, 
 but which even in remembrance sends a shudder through 
 her veins. 
 
 4e- -X- 
 
 Such depths may not be reached, and yet in the routine 
 of ordinary social life, no one can deny that there is scope 
 for every variety of feeling, from supreme bliss to tortur- 
 ing discomfiture. We may be elated, or mortified, by 
 events which are nothing to anybody but ourselves. We 
 may be puffed up by a passing success — a mere trifle, not 
 in reality worth a moment's self-congratulation — or let 
 down by an accidental neglect, which vanity magnifies into 
 an affront. 
 
 It was not intentional ? That is still more cutting than 
 if it had been. That shows us of how little account we 
 are. A trifle unobserved by others will often rankle until 
 it festers. 
 
 And if it be a breath of disparagement casually dropped 
 and quickly forgotten, which is repeated by a mischief- 
 maker, how it stings! 
 
 *' So-and-so could not think what you had done to your- 
 
40 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 self last night. But / stood up for you," cries the so-called 
 friend, affecting not to see her victim wince ; and she will 
 work in the pin until its prick becomes a sore. 
 
 Or perhaps it is, " Let me give you a hint. Don't go 
 to Madame Chapeau for your next hat. Somehow she 
 never does suit you — and we all think so, though only I 
 have the courage to say it. I can't bear you to wear un- 
 becoming hats." What more is needed to render the 
 wearer of the hat safely despondent for the rest of the day ? 
 
 Do you know many people at a party, and does the 
 stranger under your wing know nobody.^ You could 
 have a really good time if you had only yourself to think 
 of ; but wherever you turn, there is that silent figure at 
 your elbow, trying to be pleased and interested, but finding 
 it up-hill work. Well now, what will you do ? Will you 
 ignore obligations, and simply let him or her drift along 
 in your wake, meaning by-and-by to put things right by 
 some easy apology, such as, "I am afraid you must have 
 been sadly bored," or ' ' So sorry you had such a dull after- 
 noon " ? 
 
 If you are downright selfish — selfish to your heart's 
 core, you will do this — but if at times you feel a twinge 
 of compunction, you will look about for someone "suit- 
 able" who will take your poor hanger-on off your hands 
 for a time, — and if you have a sweet and loving and 
 beautiful nature, if you are one of those " With whom the 
 melodies abide, of the everlasting chime," you will not 
 need to think, you will not pause to consider, but will find 
 in the stately function or the brilliant assemblage, just 
 the same opportunity of shedding sunshine or softening 
 shadow to those about you, as in any other of our earthly 
 paths. 
 
 These ramblings do not seem much to the point, do 
 they? Not to any point, I think I hear my readers say, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 41 
 
 — but what I am trying to make clear is that the reason for 
 my dwelling solely on such aspects of my London life as 
 would seem to infer I was forever meeting persons of dis- 
 tinction in art and literature, is that of gatherings where 
 none of these were present, I have nothing to relate which 
 can be related. 
 
 Of our own affairs we gossiped then, as girls gossip now. 
 Be sure I did not regale the Alices and Kittys of my genera- 
 tion with what to them would have been the dull pratings 
 of dull people, and equally be sure that I am not going to 
 say now, what the Alices and Kittys and I talked about 
 instead! You Ethels and Irenes can guess that without 
 much ado, — and when you come across, as I hope some of 
 you do, the great men and women of to-day whose names 
 will figure in the pages of to-morrow, keep your memories 
 of them for that time, and hope for a hearing. If you do 
 not obtain one, well, there is no help for it. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 We hear Spurgeon preach at the Tabernacle — The old Field-Marshal 
 takes us to the vestry afterwards — Prince Alfred finds an acquaint- 
 ance having his boots blacked in the Park — Mr. Charles Kingsley is 
 slow of speech — A peculiar song by the author of " Tom Brown's 
 Schooldays" — A Welsh jury find a verdict that displeases the judge 
 — They put forward a curious reason for it — A rough diamond 
 puts his own phraseology into the mouth of a chaste young widow — 
 " How domned stout you be got ! " 
 
 A GREAT Scotch Churchman came to luncheon with us one 
 day, and as he was often at my father's house in Scotland, 
 we knew what to expect when it was announced that Dr. 
 Norman Macleod was in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Norman," as the Glasgow people fondly called him, had 
 come to preach for a special occasion in a London church, 
 and confided presently that he had ' ' forgotten the bands 
 for his pulpit gown," and must buy a pair somewhere. 
 
 ' ' But the shops are all shut for Saturday afternoon," 
 he was reminded, and he looked somewhat blank. 
 
 * ' I can lend you a pair that I believe would do," said 
 Mr. Farrer Herschell, a barrister who was present. ' ' The 
 bands we wear in court are so like those that Scotch min- 
 isters wear in church, that no one would detect a difference, 
 if there be a difference." 
 
 He then produced the bands, and Dr. Macleod looked 
 at them and looked at him. There was a world of 
 humour in his eye. 
 
 "Tell me," said he, slowly, "have these ever hung a 
 man .?" 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 43 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Herschell, "but they have trans- 
 ported a woman." 
 
 "All right," cried "Norman," grasping the bands, 
 " that^s all right ; that^s just what I want to do!" — and he 
 went away with them in his pocket, and wore them I believe 
 the next day. 
 
 But we did not go and hear our great preacher on that 
 occasion, we had another goal in view. 
 
 It chanced that before we knew ' * Norman " was to be 
 in Town, arrangements had been made for our party to 
 occupy the box — no, the pew — belonging to the old Field- 
 Marshal, Sir John Burgoyne, at Mr. Spurgeon's wonderful 
 Tabernacle, the next evening, — and we were afire both to 
 hear Spurgeon and to see the Tabernacle. 
 
 A question had arisen as to how we were to get there .^^ 
 
 No horses were taken out of our host's stables on 
 Sundays, and we rather hoped in our hearts for the Under- 
 ground Railway .f^ This had not been very long opened, 
 so was still a novelty, — besides which, to be gadding about 
 by train on a Sunday evening was in itself a fearful and 
 wonderful joy to girls brought up as we had been. 
 
 Here, however, a new difficulty presented itself ; the 
 nearest Underground Station to the Tabernacle was some 
 little distance from it. 
 
 Accordingly, what about hansoms .^^ We were a party 
 of four, and a couple of hansoms would take us. Eventu- 
 ally, our very strict host was won over to think that 
 hansoms might be lawful under the circumstances, and as 
 this was his ploy, originated by himself, perhaps he gave 
 way a little sooner than he might otherwise have done. 
 Off we set, and found the old Field-Marshal awaiting us 
 in the porch of the Tabernacle. 
 
 A wonderful spectacle was the Tabernacle at that date. 
 The fame of Spurgeon was at its height, and every corner 
 was full. When the singing began, unlike anything else 
 
44 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 of the kind I have ever heard, the effect was extraordinarily 
 fine. 
 
 And when the stout, little, homely-looking man began 
 to pace up and down the platform which was his idea of 
 a pulpit, and to throw out one ringing sentence after 
 another, these gradually gaining in force and intensity as 
 he warmed to his subject, the hush of rapt attention in so 
 vast a congregation was striking in the extreme. 
 
 We youthful people had often heard Spurgeon's sermons 
 read aloud in our Presbyterian home, and loved them for 
 two reasons — they were good, and they were short. Also 
 there were the '* Spurgeon's Tit-bits," like plums in a 
 pudding, to be looked for every now and again. 
 
 But while these last were few and far between on that 
 memorable evening when for the first and last time we 
 heard the famous preacher's own voice, the rest of the 
 sermon, the real sermon, fulfilled our utmost expectations. 
 
 And recollect that we were accustomed to fine oratory, 
 and had been early taught to appreciate it. We knew 
 what it was to hearken to Caird, Macleod, and lesser lights, 
 who were still "lights," and could hold the attention of 
 that most critical of audiences, an assemblage of Scotch- 
 men and Scotchwomen. So that it was not perhaps 
 without cause that dear old Sir John turned on us from 
 time to time a look of benignant approbation. I fancy 
 he felt that his box — no, his pew — was not being wasted. 
 
 At the close of the service, he made a queer suggestion, 
 but no doubt knew what he was doing. Would the young 
 ladies like to shake hands with Mr. Spurgeon before they 
 went ^ 
 
 Of course we should, and our elders agreed to wait for 
 us below ; so we followed our leader up the windings of 
 a narrow staircase. 
 
 ' ' Come in," said a voice, in answer to Sir John's tap at 
 a small door, — and though possibly the wearied man 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 45 
 
 reposing in his arm-chair, exhausted by the day's work, 
 would have preferred being left in peace, he rose at once 
 with a kind smile, and a cordial grasp of the hand for all. 
 Sir John explained who we were, and again he shook us 
 warmly by the hand, and said something about the Colqu- 
 houn family and our ' ' Well-known, godly grandmother," 
 — but I forget what. The interview did not last above 
 a few minutes, but through all the years that have come 
 and gone, I see it now as plain as ever. 
 
 * * * ^ y,- * * * * 
 
 As Dr. Norman Macleod was in London all that week, 
 he came again to see us, and had an amusing little incident 
 to relate of his walk across the Park. 
 
 * ' I thought I would not come into your fine house with 
 dirty boots," said he, to Mary; "so, as the roads were 
 muddy from last night's rain, I stopped a boy, and was 
 having them brushed, when a hand was laid on my 
 shoulder, and a voice said, * What are you doing here, 
 Dr. Macleod.?'" 
 
 ' ' Getting my boots cleaned, for they badly need it," 
 said I, "and I can't turn my head to see who is speaking 
 to me." 
 
 " On this I heard a sort of chuckle, and the speaker 
 stepped round in front of me, and behold! it was Prince 
 Alfred." 
 
 "Please don't take off your hat," said he, as I was 
 making a shift to get hold of it, " for people will recognise 
 me if you do;" ("Of all things, he hated attracting 
 notice," observed "Norman," in parenthesis,) "so I just 
 did as I was bid ; — and then he went on to beg me to go 
 back to luncheon with him, saying he was off on his trip 
 round the world to-morrow, and did not know when he 
 would be back. So I went, and had a very pleasant 
 luncheon," concluded our friend ; "and very glad I was 
 too that I had a pair of clean boots on !" 
 
46 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 When presently, Dr. Macleod himself started for a 
 distant land — sent by the Church of Scotland to India to 
 inspect the Mission Stations there — there was some little 
 doubt raised as to whether at his age it were not too great 
 a risk to his health ? 
 
 He inquired of his aged mother what she thought ? 
 
 The noble old lady replied without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, "Go." She was over eighty at the time, and it 
 seemed likely that she might not live to see him return, — 
 but while this was evidently in her mind, she added with 
 emphasis, " Yes, go, my dear son ; and if I never see your 
 face again, I am still willing to let you go." 
 
 She never did see his face again, — ^but it was he, not 
 she, who was called from earth first, as we all know. 
 
 I must, however, go back a little. 
 
 One day Mr. Charles Kingsley came in, and we had an 
 opportunity of seeing if he were like his photograph, 
 which had been sent Mary, or not.^^ To own the truth, 
 it flattered him, as he is so very red in the face, perhaps 
 from leading an out-of-door life in all weathers. Other- 
 wise, it was fairly good. 
 
 In ordinary conversation, Mr. Kingsley stammers a 
 good deal, but, being conscious of it, he has taken pains 
 to overcome the defect by speaking very slowly — almost 
 too slowly — for when we heard him make a speech on 
 one occasion, we felt inclined to goad him on, it became 
 so tiresome. 
 
 Another day we had Mr. Hughes, — "Tom Brown 
 Hughes," — and my recollection of him is of a man neither 
 tall nor short, neither stout nor thin, with fair hair, and 
 blue eyes, and a round, pleasant face. 
 
 He came to dinner, and in the evening was asked to 
 sing, as it was understood that he would do so if invited. 
 Furthermore we had been told that he has a theory that 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 47 
 
 a man can do anything he tries, if only he gives his mind 
 to it. 
 
 All I can say is, that it is to be hoped that not many 
 people will give their minds to singing, if the results are 
 what they were in the case of this enterprising gentle- 
 man. 
 
 He sat down at once to the piano, nothing loth, though 
 several musicians were present ; and instantly began what 
 he called a song, though it may be doubted if anyone 
 present could, unaided, have discovered this. It did not 
 even " Suggest an air," as did the performance of the 
 renowned Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus M'Clan, in 
 the Bab Ballads, though certainly "It was wild — it was 
 fitful — as wild as the breeze." — "It wandered about into 
 several keys ;" — and although I allow that *' It was jerky, 
 spasmodic and harsh, Pm aware," I deny that it even 
 " Suggested an air." 
 
 However, when this was over, we had again a charming 
 and interesting companion in Mr. * * Tom Brown Hughes," 
 and could quite understand how he had written his im- 
 mortal "School-days." 
 
 Before he left, he told us a story of the Welsh Law 
 Courts ; and despite his being a Welshman, and the story's 
 containing a hit at his own nationality, told it with delight- 
 ful spirit and humour. 
 
 A prisoner pleaded "Guilty" to a charge during the 
 Assizes, at one of the little towns in North Wales. 
 
 Quoth the judge to the jury in consequence ; " You 
 will find a verdict accordingly." 
 
 To his surprise, they did not do so on the spot, but 
 through their foreman, requested leave to retire. 
 
 "Retire.'^" frowned his lordship, perplexed, — ^but of 
 course he had to grant the required permission. 
 
 When after an interval of some minutes, the jury filed 
 
48 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 in again, they still more surprised the court. They re- 
 turned a verdict of ' ' Not Guilty." 
 
 "Not guilty.? Nonsense!" The judge fidgetted in 
 his seat. ''Nonsense, nonsense! Go, and reconsider 
 your verdict." 
 
 Out they filed again, but on returning there was the 
 same result. They afresh pronounced the prisoner ' ' Not 
 Guilty." What on earth could be the meaning of it.^^ 
 
 ' ' Gentlemen, be so good as to explain this extraordinary 
 conclusion," demanded the judge, inwardly fuming. 
 " How is it possible that you can have arrived at it, 
 when the prisoner himself pleaded ' Guilty ' .?" 
 
 "It is this way, my lord," replied the spokesman, 
 ' ' we know this man ; he is a neighbour of ours ; and he 
 is such a damned liar, that nobody can believe a word he 
 says." 
 
 A damned liar ? Now a strong expression may or may 
 not be warranted by the occasion, ( — and perhaps it is, as 
 an old Scotch lady once averred, "a great set-aff to con- 
 vairsation ! ") — but surely those who agree with her, should 
 keep such phraseology for their personal use, and not 
 foist it on to the lips of others ? 
 
 Let me tell what once happened in defiance of this rule ; 
 — long, long ago, but happen it did, — and I think it still 
 worth remembering. 
 
 A beautiful young widow, set apart as it were by her 
 sorrow from the rough-and-tumble of everyday life, had 
 in her nature a touch of the austere which added to the 
 awe in which she was held by some. 
 
 Wandering one day in the grounds of her father's Wilt- 
 shire home, she encountered one of his farmer-tenants 
 whom she had not seen for some years, and who meantime 
 had expanded, as jolly farmers will. 
 
 Having rallied him a little on this in good-natured 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 49 
 
 fashion, she passed on ; and the next to accost old Bunny 
 was his landlord, Sir John, who also took him to task, with 
 a shake of his head. 
 
 "Putting on flesh too fast, Bunny!" 
 
 Bunny, with a grin, scratched his head, in no wise dis- 
 concerted. " Well now, Zur John, that be just what your 
 darter said just now. Says she to me, says she, ' God bless 
 my zoul, Bunny,' says she, *how domned stout you be 
 got!"' 
 
 Had the above reached me through any other medium 
 than that of my admirably truthful and exquisitely 
 maligned sister-in-law herself, I should have deemed it 
 sacrilege to believe it. 
 
 To return to Mr. Hughes, we had scarcely done laugh- 
 ing at his story of the Welsh jury when Mr. Farrer 
 Herschell, who was present, and had thoroughly appreci- 
 ated it, amused us by relating an absurd scene in a London 
 law-court of which he himself had been a spectator that day. 
 
 A very nervous young girl of the dressmaking class 
 was put into the witness-box, when she began to giggle 
 from pure fright. 
 
 As she looked respectable and not one to need quelling, 
 the barrister conducting the cross-examination tried to 
 reassure her ; — but as he did not appear to succeed, the 
 judge spoke, and not so mildly. " Girl, be quiet. Don't 
 be disrespectful to this court." 
 
 This did not however have the efl^ect anticipated ; and 
 as the giggling only increased, his severity increased also. 
 
 But by this time she was alike incapable of answering 
 and of stopping, — and an awful frown settled on the great 
 man's brow. ''Girl," he thundered, "are you laughing 
 at ME .?" 
 
 Please sir,— yes, sir." 
 
 " She did not know what she was saying," appended 
 
 D 
 
50 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Mr. HerschelL " she was shakinor from head to foot and 
 a burst of tears was imminent, — but as for us, the old 
 gentleman's discomfiture was so unexpected and complete 
 that we simply one and all roared with laughter. He 
 won't hear the end of it for many a day." 
 
 We were a good deal in the law line that year at Mary's, 
 and an ex-Lord Chancellor of Ireland, Sir Joseph Napier, 
 often came to her house. 
 
 One day he came in laughing. '* I had an amusing 
 dinner-party at Lady Donegal's last night," said he, *'and 
 knowing you love amusing things, I saved up something 
 for you that took place there." 
 
 He then told the tale. One of the guests was a man 
 whom for political reasons it was desirable to conciliate, 
 and Lady Donegal set herself to pay him attention. 
 
 Presently she desired him to notice some beautiful 
 prints of Carlo Dolce's paintings, — when he was loud in 
 admiration, and as he was going away, observed; "I 
 think those prints most beautiful, but the oil-paintings 
 they were taken from must be even finer. I wonder now 
 if you would be so kind as to tell me where this Mr. Carlo 
 Dolce lives, as I should like to call, and give him a com- 
 mission to paint something of the kind for me.^" 
 
 Wonderful is a woman's wit. Without changing a 
 muscle of her face. Lady Donegal replied, "I really can't 
 say where he is at this moment, but I can inquire." 
 
 Most Londoners will agree that there is nothing so 
 pleasant in London as to get out of London — and return 
 soon. ''Week-ends" had not come into fashion in the 
 sixties, but we often ran down to the country for a few 
 days, and came back laden with sweet June flowers and 
 the songs of nightingales in our ears. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 51 
 
 On one occasion we went to Reigate, that most lovely- 
 Surrey village as it then was, — and were taken by our 
 hosts to see their neighbour. Miss Manning, known to 
 the world by her old-fashioned books, ' ' Mary Powell," 
 *' Cherry and Violet," etc., etc. 
 
 For a very unusual and wholly delightful style, those 
 charming tales still seem to me unrivalled ; and in child- 
 hood I regretted, and I regret still, that their exquisite 
 quality was not equalled by their quantity. 
 
 There are, I fancy, (but may be wrong ?) only five extant; 
 namely, the two above-mentioned, "The Colloquies of 
 Edward Osborne," — **The Household of Sir Thomas 
 More," and "The Old Chelsea Bun-House." 
 
 Printed and got up in a mode peculiar to themselves, 
 they may yet be found upon a few book-shelves, carefully 
 preserved as relics of days when they had a considerable 
 vogue — ^but it may be doubted if even their names are 
 known to the present generation. 
 
 And even at the time of which I write. Miss Manning's 
 popularity as an authoress was waning. 
 
 She was a fragile old lady, living a very simple life in 
 a country village ; and although continuing to receive 
 substantial sums from her publishers, there was not much 
 evidence of it in her surroundings. 
 
 Truth to tell, they did not exhibit much comfort, and 
 certainly no luxury ; — and we were a little wondering at 
 this within ourselves, when a chance remark changed the 
 whole aspect of things. "No one knows how much 
 that dear little woman gives away," observed a fellow- 
 parishioner, whom we encountered as we left the house. 
 "What we should do without her, I can't think. Her 
 hand is in her pocket all the time." 
 
 We then talked of Miss Manning's "Story"; the 
 "Story" of her youth, which was no secret from the 
 world, — but as the world of that date was not the world 
 
52 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 of to-day, I venture to think it may be new to some at 
 least of my readers, so will recount it. 
 
 The gentle little old lady we had just beheld leading her 
 peaceful, uneventful life in this quiet nook, had had her 
 romance, a romance such as falls to the lot of few, thank 
 God. 
 
 She had loved, and been loved in return — but the 
 fateful words had not been spoken when the shadow of 
 a coming separation loosed the tongue of a too self-dis- 
 trustful man. He felt he could not go to far-away India, 
 (how far away then, you young people living in happier 
 days, can scarcely realise,) without at least laying bare his 
 heart, — though with characteristic unselfishness, he desired 
 to spare her the pain of writing if she could not let him 
 dare to hope. If she sent no answer, he promised to take 
 her silence not as giving consent^ but denial. 
 
 Foolish, was it.^^ Ah, how foolish, he was never to 
 know — and she never to forget. To let a life's venture 
 hang on such a thread! — To leave such a page unfinished! 
 
 But it is easy to be wise after the event, and it may well 
 be that the very people who will cry out the loudest at 
 the hyper-chivalry of this hapless lover, would have been 
 the first to do as he did. 
 
 The letter reached her hands all right. She found no 
 fault with it. We can believe with what joyous heart- 
 throbbing she penned her reply, and despatched it within 
 the hour. We can see the smile upon her lips as she 
 watched her messenger's departing figure, and counted the 
 hours which must elapse before another figure could fly 
 to her side, borne thither on the wings of love and 
 gratitude. 
 
 It was a pouring wet day ; and as a brother was going 
 out in the rain at any rate, and going moreover in the 
 direction of the village post-office, to his care was entrusted 
 this second all-important missive ; — but strange as it must 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 53 
 
 seem, the writer never once inquired afterwards if her 
 behest had been fulfilled? 
 
 Perhaps she was shy? Perhaps not quite certain of 
 family approval? The brother may have been unsympa- 
 thetic, who can tell? 
 
 All that is known is that the next day wore on and on, 
 and finally drew to its close, and — no one came. 
 
 How often must she have started and listened, thinking 
 she caught a sound, a step, a voice — something, anything 
 betokening the glad ending of her watch, we can picture 
 to ourselves ; how sadly the shades of night must have 
 fallen, when hope could lift its head no longer. 
 
 But to be sure, with a new dawn must have arisen new 
 life? He would come, and all be explained? 
 
 He never came. 
 
 And she never saw him again, for he sailed within the 
 week ; sailed without a word or sign. 
 
 Some years afterwards she heard of his marriage, and of 
 his remaining on in India, where he had an honourable and 
 prosperous career. 
 
 And years passed, five-and-twenty of them, before the 
 mystery was cleared up, when it came about in this wise. 
 
 The Manning family, who had been stationary all that 
 time, moved into a new house ; and in clearing out the 
 lumber incidental to such upheavals, an old coat belonging 
 to the brother who had presumably posted his sister's 
 fateful letter, was dragged to the light. 
 
 The same sister turned out the pockets ; and there — 
 think of it, reader! — picture that moment, that pitiful 
 moment! — there it wasl Yellow and crumbled, but with 
 the seal unbroken, the stamp untouched — there it was ! 
 
 And the past was the past, and beyond recall. And 
 why wound another's heart, and fill it with unavailing 
 remorse and shame? 
 
54 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 So the culprit was never told, and the lost lover was 
 never told ; — and it was said that a kind of comfort was 
 taken in the knowledge that the latter had but fulfilled his 
 promise, and acted like the high-minded gentleman he 
 was ; — yet methinks there must have come times when 
 that rainy day, that happy day, that bright spot in the dim 
 distance, must still stand out to view, and tears roll over 
 the withered cheeks even while the trembling lips whisper, 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Allied Sovereigns are " three pleasant fellows " in Paris after Water- 
 loo — No joke when little Pashas have to be amused at Windsor 
 Castle — Lord Palmerston's method of escape from a perplexity — 
 Mr. Wilkie Collins takes the basket-chair on the balcony — Tells 
 a tale of a spider-swallow er — Sir Edwin Landseer shows how a 
 woman's skin can be turned to account — Sir Edwin, Mr. Millais, 
 and Mr. Leighton join hands as critics of a picture — " I daresay we 
 each think we could put it right ? " 
 
 Although these runs out of Town were much appreciated 
 by some of us, there were Londoners who did not view 
 them in the same light, and I wrote about this time the 
 following lines a propos^ which appeared in the " World " : 
 
 One Quiet Day. 
 
 My poor exhausted friend, you write 
 The season's ding-dong at its height. 
 You're ' ' nearly done for, if not quite " — 
 
 I'm here to say 
 Come down to us and spend the night 
 
 And one long day. 
 
 Give up for once the early call ; 
 
 The long, long dinner, late, late ball ; 
 
 The "Private View" and "First-night Stall"; 
 
 Park lounge and band ; 
 State festival in courtly hall. 
 
 Gay four-in-hand. 
 
56 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 The dress, dress, dress, from morn till night ; 
 The talk, talk, talk, from dark till light ; 
 The toil, the hurry, and the fright 
 
 (Most potent spur) 
 Of being absent from the sight 
 
 Where others were. 
 
 Put by for once St. James's airs. 
 The eyeglass, and the freezing stares. 
 The suit just fit for easy chairs, 
 
 Two fingers numb, — 
 Be as you were in other years. 
 
 Old fellow, come. 
 
 What ? You have long engagements made ? 
 Notes to be written — visits paid.^^ 
 Business that cannot be delayed ? 
 
 Not really.? What.?^ 
 Your friends would miss you, you're afraid ? 
 
 — Why should they not.^^ 
 
 You say you'd like our quiet yews. 
 Our grassy meadows where the dews 
 So quickly melt that you could snooze 
 
 All day i' the sun ; — 
 But as it is you " Must refuse," 
 
 '' It can't be done." 
 
 You say you're weary of the fray. 
 Your ears are sickened with the bray 
 Of endless Jubilee. Hooray! 
 
 Now do come down. 
 — Oh, you don't really see your way 
 
 To leaving Town ? 
 
 Well, Charley boy, I will not press; 
 It only bores you. I confess 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 57 
 
 I thought you'd leave that seething mess 
 
 For just one day. 
 I see it's hopeless. Well, God bless 
 
 You anyway! 
 
 Mary and I did not live in a " Seething mess," but still 
 we had to arrange a little beforehand for the quiet day to 
 which we were invited by some friends of hers called Cole, 
 living near Winchfield. We did arrange however, and 
 were duly rewarded. 
 
 Mr. Cole was a delightful person to meet, as though 
 grown old and talkative by this time, he had been young and 
 active once, and met with many adventures in days gone by. 
 
 At the very early age of sixteen he had entered the army 
 in the ''Waterloo year," but was such a little fellow that 
 the authorities would not send him out of the country, — 
 wherefore he was left to eat his heart out at home, while 
 others were winning their spurs on the great battlefield. 
 To his latest day, he vowed he would still lament that lost 
 chance of death or glory. 
 
 He was however sent to Paris, when the Allied Sove- 
 reigns were there, and was lucky enough to be one of the 
 escort told off to attend them wherever they went. 
 
 But the three crowned heads were not to be always 
 tethered to an escort ; occasionally they contrived to give 
 it the slip, and go about incognito. 
 
 " It might have been dangerous, only they had their wits 
 about them," said Mr. Cole; "and they knew their way 
 about, too. I assure you, they managed very cleverly. 
 Of course we did keep an eye on them without their know- 
 ing it, and one day this led to our witnessing a comical 
 little scene. They, the Sovereigns, having got among 
 some streets unfamiliar to them, lost their bearings and 
 appealed for aid to a man they met, who looked like an 
 Englishman, and was therefore to be relied upon. 
 
58 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " The stranger readily complied with their request to put 
 them in the right way again, and further proffered himself 
 as their guide for a bit. 
 
 *' Mutually pleased with each other, they chatted freely 
 of this thing and that, and on parting the Englishman made 
 what for an Englishman was a great effort at hon-camara- 
 derie. He looked from one to the other and said cordially, 
 ' You are three pleasant fellows, and I should like to know 
 your names.'" 
 
 With equal frankness, they replied : 
 
 " I am the Emperor of Russia." 
 
 " I am the Emperor of Austria." 
 
 " I am the King of Prussia." 
 
 **Oh, indeed.^" Their friend laughed good-naturedly, 
 and made them a deep bow. To carry on the supposed 
 jest he volunteered, ''And I am the Grand Mogul!" 
 
 Whether he ever learnt the truth or not, Mr. Cole did 
 not know. 
 
 A Colonel Lindsay who was present — a very tall, fine- 
 looking Guardsman — had now his turn. 
 
 ' ' Royalties are fond of their little jokes," said he. * ' But 
 I had to take involuntary part in one lately, and I assure 
 you at the time it was no joke to me. You know the 
 Sultan went down to Windsor the other day, and it was my 
 turn to be in waiting ;" (he was a gentleman-in-waiting on 
 the Queen,) "well, the Sultan took his little sons with 
 him," continued he, " the eldest of whom is twelve, the 
 other, ten ; and when they had been presented to the 
 Queen, Her Majesty said to me, ' Will you contrive to 
 amuse these little princes for a while } ' 
 
 "Accordingly I took them away into another room," 
 continued our colonel, " and asked them what they would 
 like to do } They were dear little chaps, and not a bit shy. 
 They looked round, and seeing an open piano, the elder 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 59 
 
 went straight for it, and began to play a polka. Then he 
 nodded at us, and said, ' Now, you dance.' Good heavens ! 
 Of course I could dance, but at that hour of the day, and 
 with a little bit of a boy for partner — he scarcely reached 
 above my waist! However there was nothing for it but 
 to comply, and we set to work jogging and bobbing ; — but 
 you may guess I was hot and cold ; and every time there 
 was a sound in the corridor, I felt regularly faint with fear 
 lest the door should open ! And I did not dare to laugh, 
 for the little Pashas were as solemn as judges. To have 
 laughed would have given dire offence. I really think that 
 was the longest half-hour I ever spent in my life, though ;" 
 wound up Colonel Lindsay, shaking his head. 
 
 Driving along Piccadilly one day, we saw quite a number 
 of well-known faces, and suddenly Mary exclaimed, 
 "Quick, look, there is Lord Palmerston. I know the 
 man he is walking with," she went on, * ' and as he is dining 
 with us next week, I shall ask him to tell us what * Pam ' 
 and he were laughing at just now.^ Did you see how 
 amused they both looked .f"' 
 
 When the night of the dinner-party came, she did not 
 forget to interrogate her friend, but at first he could not 
 call to mind anything particular to have caused merriment. 
 On a sudden however he exclaimed, " Stop a bit, I believe 
 you must have seen us just after we had parted from an 
 acquaintance of ' Pam's ' — though as he couldn't remember 
 the name, I fear I can't give it you, — " 
 
 ** That's all right," interposed Mary, gaily, "never 
 mind that. What I want to know is, what were you two 
 saying to each other that made you laugh .'^" 
 
 "Why, it was about that very third person, who shall 
 be nameless. He had stopped us, and addressed Lord 
 Palmerston, who said cordially in return, ' How are you ? 
 And how is the old malady ?^ " 
 
6o MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 ' ' Better, thank you ;" said the man, and went on his 
 way. 
 
 " Now, I wonder who that is," murmured Lord Palmer- 
 ston, " I very much wonder who that is." 
 
 "Don't you know him, then.?" cried I, astonished. 
 " And yet you asked after his malady!" 
 
 '' Oh, that is a safe question. A perfectly safe question. 
 Did you ever know a man of his age who had not a malady ? 
 Call it an ' Old malady,' and you have hit the nail on the 
 head." 
 
 *' And as we both laughed at this," proceeded the narra- 
 tor, "it must have been just at the moment when your 
 carriage went by." 
 
 Oddly enough, his name I have also forgotten, but alack ! 
 it is, I fear, too late in the day for the great Prime Minister's 
 hint to be of use in this case. 
 
 Besides, he was not in himself an interesting personaHty, 
 and we had at table Mr. Wilkie Collins, who afterwards 
 came out upon the balcony, and talked, and talked. 
 
 A warm summer night on a London balcony, the scent 
 of flowers on every side, and the celebrated novelist in a 
 retrospective and expansive mood — that is what I see 
 before me when my outward eyes rest upon the ' ' Woman 
 in White" or "The Moonstone" upon the upper book- 
 shelf to which they have been relegated by the enlightened 
 novel-readers of to-day. 
 
 It may be that they are right, that we were childish to be 
 thrilled by the latter, or terrified by the former — altogether 
 enthralled for the time being by both, — but yet, shall I 
 dare to say it.-^ — it seems to me that present-day readers 
 and writers alike miss something, some subtle, intangible 
 bond of union between the two, which drew them together 
 in former years. 
 
 Young readers at least were not so critical, not so 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 6i 
 
 analytical, — and when great, strong notes were struck, 
 though it might be harshly and crudely, they vibrated 
 through the inmost fibres of our being, and we kissed the 
 hand that smote us. They do not smite, and we do not 
 kiss, now. 
 
 Mr. Wilkie Collins was not a giant to outward view. 
 Indeed he was rather a small man, with short, dark hair, 
 and a brownish beard and moustache ; while the large spec- 
 tacles he habitually wore did not disfigure him, as one 
 could see the pleasant expression of the eyes beneath. 
 
 I was sitting on a footstool near an empty basket-chair 
 when the gentlemen came up from their wine — a portly 
 dowager who had been occupying the latter, obviously to 
 her discomfort, having just found a better anchorage for 
 herself elsewhere — and I wondered who was to be her 
 successor ? 
 
 There was no one at the party who was of the least 
 account in my eyes, — as girls call "Account," — and 
 accordingly I was well pleased that Mr. Wilkie Collins 
 should subside into the basket-chair, and look very much 
 as if he did not mean to be in a hurry to rise from it. 
 
 No doubt he thought that he had found a pleasant spot, 
 and that it would be no great effort to talk to a slip of a 
 girl for whom anything would do. Accordingly, he let 
 himself go, in a nice, natural fashion that would perhaps 
 have been out of place had his companion been a grande 
 dame. His talk flowed gently back into time-worn chan- 
 nels ; and when he found his very simple experiences of 
 childhood and youth were sufi&cient, he woke them up one 
 after another. 
 
 His school-days, he said, were for some time embittered 
 by his having as a bedroom mate a great, hulking fellow, 
 his senior by some years, who was a bully and a bad 
 sleeper. 
 
 Since he could not sleep, no one else should — in 
 
62 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 especial, the little wretch who would have slumbered 
 soundly under his very nose, if he had been allowed. The 
 little wretch had a knack of telling stories, which he must 
 be made to exercise for the benefit of his betters. 
 
 "Accordingly, sleepy as I was and often dead tired, I 
 had to sit up and invent," said Mr. Collins, " and horrid it 
 was, I can tell you. My tyrant made for himself a cat-o'- 
 nine-tails ; and as often as my voice died away, he leaned 
 across his bed and gave me a cut or two with it which 
 started me afresh. 
 
 " I cried, of course, what little chap wouldn't.^ — but all 
 the same, I had no difficulty in making the story go, if only 
 I were kept awake — and my tormentor saw to that. 
 
 "And do you know, I owe him a debt of gratitude," 
 continued Mr. Collins, looking down on me thoughtfully, 
 though he little meant to do me a good turn, and was only 
 bent on his own selfish amusement. 
 
 " But it is a fact that it was this brute who first awakened 
 in me, his poor little victim, a power, of which but for him 
 I might never have been aware. Certainly no one in my 
 own home credited me with it ; and when I left school I 
 still continued story-telling for my own pleasure. After 
 a while, — well, you know the rest, — " and he smiled and 
 stroked his moustache. 
 
 Presently, as we were still unmolested, he dived again 
 into his memory, and brought forth the following : '* There 
 was another boy at the same school who achieved notoriety 
 in a singular way. He made a business of swallowing 
 spiders ! 
 
 ''What's more, he made the business pay. Word was 
 passed that Dick Somebody-or-other was going to swallow 
 a spider, and that places for seeing the performance were to 
 be had at one penny each. If the spider were an abnor- 
 mally large one, prices went up to twopence, or even three- 
 pence. When the spectators had assembled, (and had paid 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 63 
 
 their money,) and when every eye was fixed on the per- 
 former, he drew from his pocket a pill-box which he 
 solemnly opened — taking his time over it, so that nothing 
 of the show should be lost — and extracting a captive spider, 
 placed it on his lips, and let it crawl slowly down his 
 throat!" 
 
 What would have happened if the spider had declined 
 to fulfil its part of the engagement, Mr. Collins protested 
 he could not imagine — but it never did decline. Of that 
 he was positive ; and I gathered that he was one of the 
 paying guests on every occasion when he could afford it. 
 ' ' It really was worth a penny," he said, laughing. 
 
 I inquired if anything were known of the after-life of 
 this extraordinary boy.^ 
 
 "Oh, very much so," replied Mr. Collins, briskly, '' he 
 is still alive, well, and prosperous — in fact, one of the 
 leading lawyers of the day. Perhaps his success in the 
 spider business showed him how to turn ingenuity and 
 enterprise to account, but I have occasionally asked myself, 
 ' If I were to go to this big man some fine day, with a pill- 
 box and a spider, and say, " Swallow me this for six-and- 
 eightpence," ' what would be the effect ? Would the old 
 Dick respond, or would a new Dick have arisen, who knows 
 not Joseph ? And do you know, I dare not risk it ! " 
 
 Thought I, " Surely Mr. Wilkie Collins might run any 
 risk!" — but young people in the sixties were taught that 
 such speeches were pert, and refrained. 
 
 When Mary stepped out on the balcony, later, she said 
 in her own pleasant way, " I think I deserve to join you 
 now, for I have kept off all other interruptions, and it was 
 hard work doing it. Don't go yet, Mr. Collins, pray don't 
 go yet." 
 
 " I am not going," said he, cheerfully, and talked on far 
 into the night. 
 
64 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Sir Edwin Landseer was at the next dinner-party we 
 went to. 
 
 It was at the Lehmanns, and as we sat down, I heard our 
 host address his neighbour thus. ' ' Now, we'll see." 
 
 ''See what.^" said she. 
 
 He made no answer, but looked slowly round the table, 
 his eyes resting significantly on one and another whose 
 faces were familiar even to me, and I guessed what he 
 meant. There were present three men who were accounted 
 the three best talkers in London, and many had tried to 
 gather together Mr. Millais, Mr. Browning, and Mr. 
 Leighton round the same festal board, but tried in vain. 
 
 The Lehmanns had succeeded ; and though each of the 
 gifted conversationalists loved to take the lead, they all 
 subdued their inclinations so courteously that no one of 
 the three usurped more than his fair share of public 
 attention. 
 
 Though we were only a party of twelve, we were rather 
 squeezed together, so much so indeed that a jonquil which 
 protruded from Mr. Browning's button-hole had its head 
 snapped off by a thrust of Mr. Millais' elbow. 
 
 Regarding his loss philosophically, the poet turned it to 
 account by narrating the following anecdote. ' ' A city 
 clerk," said he, "discontented with clerking, occupied his 
 leisure hours with versifying, and took it into his head to 
 have his efforts printed. One ran thus : 
 
 " I love the gentle primrose, 
 That grows beside the rill, — 
 I love the water-lily, 
 Narcissus and jonquil." 
 
 Being in haste to see this elegant effusion in print, he 
 omitted correcting the proof, and for " Jonquil " there 
 appeared "John Quill." 
 
 His horror may be imagined, but the thing was done, 
 and gave rise to so much ridicule at his expense, and so 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 65 
 
 many jokes at the suitability of the name to a quill-driver 
 by profession, that he foreswore writing, or at any rate 
 publishing, poetry in the future. 
 
 As the party was small and informal, it chanced that 
 Mrs. Lehmann was eating a prawn, and had her plate 
 whipped away from her while her head was turned the other 
 way, the skin of the prawn remaining between her fingers. 
 
 She looked about her for some means of getting rid of it, 
 but seeing none, turned to Sir Edwin Landseer, who sat 
 beside her, and demanded, ''What am I to do with my 
 skin.?" 
 
 " If it had been your skin," replied Sir Edwin, " I could 
 tell of a very good use to put it to, but as it is, — " on 
 which, of course, she cried out, and would have him tell 
 what use he could have made of her skin ^ 
 
 " Well," he said, " I once went to visit a French sculptor, 
 in Paris, who showed me how to polish marble with a piece 
 of leather. I examined the leather to see what sort it was ; 
 and as it did not look like any ordinary kind, inquired if 
 there were anything peculiar about it .'^ I ought to add that 
 the marble it had polished was exquisitely pure and white." 
 Yes, it is peculiar," said the Frenchman, placidly. 
 "Very peculiar. For it is human skinP^ 
 
 "You may guess that made me start," proceeded Sir 
 Edwin, "but I was to start still more, for without the 
 smallest embarrassment my friend proceeded to unlock a 
 cabinet, and take from it a roll of the so-called * Leather,' 
 saying, ' This is my poor first wife's skin.' " 
 
 " What could I say ? I was so taken aback that I could 
 only falter out that it was ' Very white.' 
 
 "That, however, did quite well, indeed it obviously 
 savoured to him of appreciation ; for, looking fondly at it, 
 he sighed and murmured, ' It is very white ; for she was a 
 very fair woman.'" 
 
 B 
 
66 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 *' — ^And now, Mrs. Lehmann?" 
 
 "Oh, you shall not have my skin just yet!" — laughed 
 she back. 
 
 When we re-entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Lehmann 
 showed us her picture by a German called Heilbuth, just 
 painted. 
 
 Her dress was a robe of blue silk, cut square in front, 
 with hanging sleeves — and she had on her lap a great 
 Persian cat. Seeing we were not enthusiastic over the 
 merits of the picture, and failing to extract compliments — 
 for indeed she was done scant justice to — Mrs. Lehmann 
 addressed herself directly to the three great painters, who 
 had ranged themselves in the background, and giving them 
 no loophole for escape, demanded their opinion. 
 
 Thus forced to speak, each had something to say in dis- 
 praise as regarded his own department of art. 
 
 "I don't like the hang of the drapery," said Mr. 
 Leighton, tossing back his curly mane of hair. 
 
 " And I," said Mr. Millais, " think one arm is too long, 
 and the hands are out of drawing." 
 
 Lastly there followed the very gentle voice of old Sir 
 Edwin. *' I put it to you all, can a large, heavy cat sit upon 
 nothing.^ That purring creature, as you may observe, 
 makes no impression at all on Mrs. Lehmann's dress! 
 Besides," he added, stepping on one side to get a better 
 view, " it really does not look like a cat at all." 
 
 This finished the case, as lawyers say, and the outspoken 
 Mr. Millais thus addressed his colleagues in conclusion. 
 *' I daresay we each think that in half an hour we could put 
 right what we see wrong .f^" — and as the other two only 
 smiled, and neither protested, no doubt he had rightly inter- 
 preted what was in their minds. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 67 
 
 Mary had her portrait painted by Mr. Lehmann shortly 
 after this, and very, very good it was. 
 
 She had a beautiful shape of head, and did not hide it by 
 having her hair dressed high over frizzettes, as was mostly 
 done at the time, but which would not have suited her 
 style. 
 
 Her rather Oriental cast of countenance was also well set 
 off by an Eastern burnous cloak, and the whole picture, 
 both as to colouring and drawing, was a success. 
 
 She had, however, to give many sittings, twenty in all, — 
 and with her active nature, would have wearied sadly but 
 for the entertaining company of Mr. Lehmann. 
 
 She told us that at first it was not anticipated that so 
 many sittings would be necessary, but that one day two 
 critics came in, in the shape of Mr. Millais and Mr. Wilkie 
 Collins, who both maintained that though the likeness was 
 good, it was not a pleasing likeness. 
 
 Such an unfavourable verdict mortified the artist not a 
 little — but it put him on his mettle, — and the very next 
 day he began a second picture, of which she had said 
 nothing at the time, as she felt he might not like it to be 
 known. 
 
 This second picture was the one we all admired, and 
 Mary owned that it was a relief to her that the faithfulness 
 of the two friends bore such good fruit. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mr. Emmanuel Deutsch tells of a tragedy that happened at the British 
 Museum — Mary is bent on seeing "The Book of Enoch" — Mr. 
 du Maurier takes a "rise" out his "dear little Emmanuel" — 
 " That statue has no nose at all ! " — Mr. Tyndall discourses upon 
 his nights among the glaciers — Herr Joachim and his best fiddle — 
 Mr. Arthur Sullivan's account of his earnings by very different 
 musical works — Girls will not hob-nob with each other at the 
 instance of their elders. 
 
 The British Museum is not what can be called a lively 
 place, but as we were invited to go thither one day in good 
 company, we did violence to other inclinations and went. 
 
 Terribly dry and musty the place looked ; and the air 
 without was fresh and exhilarating that bright May morn- 
 ing, — so that we mounted the time-worn steps with 
 reluctance, and looked back with a sigh as we passed 
 within. 
 
 Moreover we had on smart new frocks, as we were 
 bound later for a luncheon-party, and would not have time 
 to go home and change — wherefore it behoved us to keep 
 a wary eye on projecting corners and dusty cases ; — in addi- 
 tion to which I for one was haunted by the terror of leaving 
 behind my cherished white parasol, by this time obtained, 
 and the very apple of my eye. 
 
 It had already been lost at another place of the kind that 
 week, and recovered, — but the British Museum was too 
 vast a monster to be expected to open its jaws once it had 
 swallowed such a morsel, and I had a vision of the dear 
 parasol being exhibited as a relic of the nineteenth century, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 69 
 
 in ages yet to come, labelled "A lady's parasol, supposed to 
 have belonged to — " someone not me^ certainly. The 
 thought was agony. 
 
 So that I did not show a very pleasant countenance when 
 Mr. Emmanuel Deutsch, an important Museum authority, 
 made his bow and took us in charge, (for it was to see him 
 and the " Blacas Collection" we had come). 
 
 Place an Mr. Deutsch. He turned out to be quite " A 
 little dear " ; very small, very natty in his dress, and very 
 unlike the dry-as-dust antiquity we had looked for. In- 
 deed, in such an environment, he looked quite gay ; he 
 almost sparkled. 
 
 Soon I should have forgotten all about my parasol, if 
 among other curiosities we had not been shown ' ' A silver 
 toilet-set of a Roman lady," which of course set me think- 
 ing my own thoughts again. 
 
 Had this poor Roman lady left her toilet-set in a shop to 
 be repaired ? Or at a friend's house, to be used as an extra 
 on some gala occasion ? And had she forgotten about it ? 
 And had it come to its present low estate through being 
 purloined by some thievish underling, wise in his or her 
 generation ? 
 
 She could hardly have carried it about, and dropped it. 
 
 Mr. Deutsch was in the middle of a disquisition on some 
 other exhibit before I came out of my dream. 
 
 The ' ' Blacas Collection," although it was the magnet 
 which had drawn Mary thither, did not interest me in the 
 least. It ought to have been reserved for connoisseurs, I 
 thought ; people who like to pore over little old stones a 
 quarter of an inch in size, engraven in such minute char- 
 acters that most of our party had to peer through glasses to 
 see on them anything at all. 
 
 The whole thing — I may say it now — was a dreary busi- 
 ness so far as I was concerned, on that lovely, sunny morn- 
 ing ; and every time we passed a window, my longing eyes 
 
70 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 turned to the blue sky outside. But before we left we did 
 have rather a chirp up^ when joined by a Mr. Winter Jones, 
 the head of the library, who had a good deal to say for 
 himself, and did not want to immerse us in " Collections," 
 as did enthusiastic little Mr. Deutsch. 
 
 Mr. Jones did seem to understand that it is not given to 
 everyone to draw the breath of life from curios, and that 
 what was fun to his colleague might be death to some of 
 us. 
 
 He told us a story of what happened lately to some 
 people who came to the Museum to see a Mr. Hawkins, 
 one of the curators, who lives in a house in the quad- 
 rangle. 
 
 Mr. Hawkins took his visitors, a brother and sister, 
 across the way into the Museum, as there was something 
 special they were desirous of seeing there. 
 
 While they were in one of the halls, a message came 
 that he was wanted, and he had to hurry away, — but as he 
 fancied he knew what the summons meant, and that he 
 would not be detained long, he suggested that his friends 
 should await his return where they were. 
 
 Unfortunately he forgot that the closing hour of the 
 Museum was at hand, and being kept away about twenty 
 minutes instead of ten, found on attempting to rejoin his 
 party that the door of the room in which he had left them 
 was locked ! This, he presumed, meant that they had been 
 turned out, and not perceiving them anywhere about, con- 
 cluded they had gone home, and dismissed the subject 
 from his mind. 
 
 But they had not gone home. Alas, poor young people, 
 there was to be no going home for them that afternoon. 
 
 This was what took place. The brother and sister 
 heard somebody come to the door of the large room in 
 which they were busy inspecting some cases at the far end, 
 but did not trouble themselves to look round, — (for which 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 71 
 
 lack of curiosity they were to be severely punished) — since 
 it led to a sound startling in their ears. The huge door was 
 shut with a bang, and the key turned in the lock ! 
 
 Instantly realising what had happened, they rushed to 
 the spot ; but too late, for all their shouting and knocking 
 failed to elicit any response. 
 
 Well, they thought, this is a queer predicament, — but 
 reflection calming their first emotions, they told each other 
 that they need be under no real anxiety, as Mr. Hawkins 
 would assuredly seek them out directly he was free. 
 
 As time went on however, and they heard a clock strike 
 hour after hour, it was not possible to preserve this bold 
 spirit, and a space of time followed, which they hardly 
 cared to talk about, even after their release. 
 
 For of course release did come in the long run, and 
 came in this wise. 
 
 Albeit the prisoners were of mature years, they still lived 
 beneath their parents' roof, and it might have been sup- 
 posed that their absence when dinner-time came would have 
 called forth surprise, seeing that no intimation of it had 
 been previously given. 
 
 But they were in the habit of going about together, and 
 not being bound by rules and regulations, (the parents 
 being of the easy-going kind,) — and it was not until another 
 son came home from an evening party and found himself 
 the centre of blank looks and uneasy speculations that any 
 steps were taken. 
 
 Why, it is past one o'clock ! " cried he. ' 'All the theatres 
 are closed long ago, and they were not dressed for anything 
 else! 
 
 "You sent to Mr. Hawkins, I suppose.'"' 
 
 Sent to Mr. Hawkins .-^ No, they had not sent to Mr. 
 Hawkins ; they knew nothing about Mr. Hawkins. 
 
 The parents were now thoroughly alarmed ; they had 
 not heard a word about a visit to the British Museum, and 
 
72 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 had no idea in what directon of the vast London area to 
 seek their missing offspring. 
 
 They hailed the idea of Mr. Hawkins with relief, but 
 still it did seem odd — and they were alternately hoping and 
 fearing when, weary and hungry and half -dead with cold — 
 for it was a sharp night in February — the involuntary 
 truants appeared. 
 
 How the author of their woe felt on finding out what 
 he had done, our informant did not say. 
 
 Mr. Jones told us that he himself was not in the least 
 nervous when going about the Museum by night, as he 
 often did in pursuance of his duty. He carried a large 
 lantern in his hand, though he confessed that it threw but a 
 dim light around. 
 
 Some of us asked whether he did not feel a thrill or two 
 when passing between lines of huge stuffed animals, and 
 whether he did not throw an eye over his shoulder to 
 make sure that none of them were pursuing him ? 
 
 At first he laughed, then said gravely, '' I can tell you, 
 they do make strange noises, though. If I were of the 
 ' Jumpy ' sort, I should often start, for sometimes they creak 
 and crack for all the world as if they were trying to burst 
 their skins and get out!" 
 
 Before we left the Museum, we heard Mary making an 
 appointment with Mr. Jones to return there within a few 
 days — but I for one elected that she should keep this 
 appointment by herself. Twice in one week was more 
 than flesh and blood, at least my flesh and blood, could 
 stand of that great solemn charnel-house, and of Mr. 
 Jones, nice as he was. 
 
 Mary, however, had set her heart on reading the '* Book 
 of Enoch," which was being much talked about among her 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 73 
 
 learned friends, and as that could not be done while she 
 had a troop of feather-headed damsels in her train, she let 
 us drop her at the corner of Oxford Street and go off to the 
 Park, there to disport ourselves till she was ready to be 
 called for. 
 
 " Only don't forget me, and let me be locked up like 
 that unfortunate couple," adjured she, — but I don't think 
 even her ardour in pursuit of knowledge would have 
 chained her to the "Book of Enoch" beyond the time 
 appointed. Mary's enthusiasms were distinctly of a 
 feminine nature, effervescent. 
 
 She told us about it with zest, however. 
 
 Mr. Jones got out the famous book and found a nice 
 arm-chair for her in the Council Room, when he directly 
 made himself scarce and she was left to enjoy herself. 
 
 Presently however she was aware of the presence of 
 new-comers ; and looking round beheld Mr. Grote, the 
 historian, in company with Lord Stanley — both of whom 
 she knew by sight, though they did not know her. 
 
 Nevertheless they .were manifestly curious as to what a 
 woman, ("And a fine woman, too!" we, her auditors, 
 mentally commented at this point,) could possibly be doing 
 there, absorbing something out of a book upon her knee } 
 
 Accordingly they circled round, casting inquisitive 
 glances ; but as the object of them took no notice, and was 
 apparently lost to the outer world, — (she was not, but how 
 could they know.'') — they had no choice eventually but to 
 retreat unsatisfied. 
 
 " But I daresay they got hold of that book afterwards!" 
 quoth Mary, astutely. 
 
 We inquired what the ' ' Book of Enoch " was like ? 
 
 "Very like the 'Book of Revelations,'" replied she, 
 "only wilder in style. And," she continued, "in it the 
 verse in Genesis, ' Enoch was not, for God took him,' is not 
 to be taken literally, but as an episode in the life of the 
 
74 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 holy man, who was taken indeed from earth, but returned 
 to it, and lived for many years thereafter." 
 
 "Of course, no one can be certain that the 'Book of 
 Enoch 'is genuine" ; proceeded Mary, very much in earnest 
 and looking at us for sympathetic interest, — but I fear, I 
 greatly fear, that (such is youth) she did not altogether 
 obtain it. 
 
 We were ready to believe or disbelieve. It seemed 
 to us, as perhaps it seems to some of you young ones 
 now, not a matter of vital importance. And when our 
 dear Mary proceeded to argue the point, I am inclined to 
 think that our thoughts wandered. St. Jude may have 
 referred to a prophecy of Enoch's, and this may prove that 
 some such prophecy did exist, — but it was luncheon time, 
 and we were hungry, and what was worse, the sky was 
 getting overcast, and we had feathers in our hats. 
 Mechanically we said "Yes" to everything, and to be 
 honest, I know no more of the ' ' Book of Enoch " to this 
 day than I did then. 
 
 But years afterwards I saw the ' ' Treacle " Bible in the 
 British Museum, and actually went there for the express 
 purpose of seeing it. 
 
 Many people know, but more still do not, that there 
 exists a Bible of ancient date, in which there is a quaint 
 version of the text, " Is there no balm in Gilead.^^" It is 
 rendered "Is there no treacle in Gilead.^" 
 
 How many copies of this Bible there may be, I do not 
 know ; but one is kept in the library of the British 
 Museum, though not, I think, for public inspection, since 
 a certain great lady invited me and my daughters to be of 
 her party to see it. 
 
 Following our leader, we all said ' ' How interesting ! " 
 in the fervid accents of much-enduring Royalty, and 
 instantly passed on. To everything else that followed, it 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 75 
 
 was likewise '' How interesting!" — and it was lucky if we 
 remembered anything at the end of our tour that we had 
 seen at the beginning. The " Treacle " Bible alone stuck 
 by me, and remains. 
 
 Nor am I without a purpose in acknowledging this. 
 What a stupid mistake we make in trying to cram piece- 
 meal into our heads a jumble of impressions, supremely 
 interesting individually, but totally disconnected with each 
 other! What dull, listless, bored countenances one sees 
 at places worthy of better things! What lagging foot- 
 steps wander round cases teeming with beautiful, wonder- 
 ful, and valuable treasures ! What furtive yawns have to 
 be suppressed, when perchance a genuine enthusiast con- 
 ducts the party! 
 
 He sighs, too. 
 
 He has not swallowed the whole thing at a gulp ; truly 
 not. It has taken him wellnigh a lifetime of patient study 
 and minute investigation to master even a portion of the 
 contents of that rich storehouse, and he feels with a sense 
 of despair that his poor words are powerless to touch 
 you, and that your utter indifference almost palsifies him. 
 
 It is utter indifference, and he knows it. Your feigned 
 alertness, your ready "How interesting!" pumped up for 
 each occasion, do not take him in. He is not deceived by 
 your artless endeavour to formulate inquiries which shall 
 not betray your ignorance. 
 
 For him, the penalty of being your instructor is even 
 greater than for you, that of being his pupil. You have 
 no sensibilities to be wounded ; you go your way, and are 
 only conscious that a wearisome duty, a dull task, has been 
 performed, — but for him, he has been hurt to his heart's 
 core. It may be that his dearest earthly affections have 
 been trampled upon. 
 
 I have not yet done with Mr. Deutsch, though what I 
 
76 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 have now to say about him is only as narrated by his friend, 
 Mr. George du Maurier. 
 
 We met Mr. du Maurier at a house in the suburbs, 
 where we went to spend the afternoon sitting in the 
 garden. Thus we were all lazy and happy, and Mr. du 
 Maurier especially so, as at present his eyes are weak, and 
 he has to refrain from using them, and wear thick, blue 
 spectacles. 
 
 In consequence, he is glad just to sit and talk, and his 
 wife is on the lookout for any distraction of this sort 
 which keeps him from fretting. 
 
 As something was said about Mr. Deutsch, "Ha! 
 Emmanuel Deutsch ! " said he, ' ' dear little Emmanuel, 
 how I love him ! And I have had some fun out of him, 
 too. I must tell about a week we spent lately together in 
 Paris," continued he, nursing a leg across his knee — 
 " It was really droll, that week. Deutsch thought he had 
 scored off me at first, and so he had — but I turned the 
 tables on him in the long run. I'll give you the facts, and 
 you can judge!" 
 
 ' ' You know, of course," he began, in a leisurely tone, 
 **that Deutsch is a Jew.^^ Well, I took it into my silly 
 head that I knew something about Jews, so pretended to 
 know a lot more than I did and tackled him about the 
 * Talmud.' What I did not know was that friend Deutsch 
 had made the Talmud the study of his life, or you may 
 guess I wouldn't have touched it with a pair of tongs. Of 
 course I came to grief. Deutsch was at the very moment 
 writing a book upon the subject ; and as I was floundering 
 from one quagmire to another, he was down on me like a 
 load of bricks. Indeed, he showed me up so mercilessly 
 that I thought, ' I'll be even with you yet, my lad ! ' " 
 
 " So you see, I was on the lookout! " continued Mr. du 
 Maurier, complacently, ' ' and a few days afterwards, as we 
 were talking together, about that confounded Museum he 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON ^^ 
 
 makes such a pet of, my opportunity came. We got upon 
 the Elgin marbles, and Deutsch said, * I know them all so 
 thoroughly, that if I had your talent, du Maurier, I should 
 draw them from memory.' 
 
 ' ' ' You would } ' said I, and chuckled to myself. 
 ('Now, I thought, I have you!') 
 
 ' ' * Indeed I should,' said he, falling into the trap head 
 foremost. 
 
 " ' If you have so perfect a memory of those statues, 
 Deutsch,' said I, ' will you put yourself into the attitude 
 of Theseus .f^'" 
 
 Well, he did, according to his lights — but it was a queer 
 conception. 
 
 However I meant to have him more than that, so let it 
 pass and went on. 
 
 Now, can you tell me what sort of a nose Theseus has } 
 What shape is it .^" 
 
 For a moment he pondered, then said confidently, **It 
 is a Grecian nose, straight and long." 
 
 With that I jumped into the air, I could not help it. 
 '' I've caught you now, my fine fellow ; I've caught you 
 now!" I cried. "A Grecian nose, is it.^* Hey, man, that 
 statue has no nose at ^//!" 
 
 ' ' But though he was quite extinguished for the moment, 
 he bore no malice," resumed Mr. du Maurier, presently, 
 "and we kept on being the best of friends. He dined 
 with us last night, and does not look well, low-spirited and 
 that sort of thing, very unlike himself." 
 
 " Certainly not like what he was when we saw him a 
 little while ago," said Mary, thinking of our day at the 
 Museum, **he was quite sparkish then." 
 
 "He sparks up still, when the collar is off," rejoined 
 Mr. du Maurier, "but then, it so seldom is off. He is 
 wearing himself out over that book of his on the Talmud, 
 the one that led to all our rivalry. Deutsch fears it will be 
 
yS MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 years before it is finished, and that he may go out before 
 it comes out. He harped upon the little mark people are 
 able to leave upon the world, and the little good they 
 achieve, after a whole lifetime given to work." 
 
 " What did you say to that.^^" inquired Mary. 
 
 ' ' Something silly about its all being only a drop in the 
 bucket. That's how I feel about it myself," he inter- 
 polated, with something of a melancholy smile, ' ' Deutsch 
 and I have that in common. What he said was, ' If I were 
 only certain it was in the bucket, I would not mind so 
 much, but often I fear it is only dribbling down the out- 
 side.' And this, although the dear little chap is being 
 courted and flattered by all the savants of Europe ! Well, 
 all I can say is, he is not spoilt — " 
 
 *' — ^Though some people say he is," put in Mary, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' ' He is not," said Mr. du Maurier, and as she in her 
 heart entirely agreed with him they did not quarrel over it. 
 
 In connection with Mr. Deutsch and science, it seems 
 natural to speak about Mr. Tyndall, whom we met one 
 night in a quiet way, about this time. Albeit he lives high 
 upon a moor, and shuns in a manner the haunts of men, he 
 proved a most agreeable, congenial companion, — and I have 
 often noticed this about a recluse, that when fairly caught 
 and caged, all that is formidable in him vanishes, provided 
 his company is to his liking. 
 
 And it seemed this was the case on the occasion referred 
 to. 
 
 Mr. Tyndall's kind face, full of expression, was also lit 
 up by animation throughout the evening. It was hardly 
 a handsome face, but one could not choose but look at it, 
 — and then he talked so well, and so little for effect. He 
 told us that he had just returned from Switzerland, where 
 he had been making experiments among the Alps. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 79 
 
 He had several times spent whole nights among the 
 caves of the rocks, noting the glaciers for scientific pur- 
 poses, — (his ** Glaciers of the Alps" appeared in 1892,) — 
 and a "Strange and rather awful experience it was," he 
 owned, but did not enter into it in detail, in fact he could 
 not, for the party was small, and was assembled mainly to 
 hear Herr Joachim and Madame Schumann play. 
 
 The former's playing was, of course, grand, and gave 
 rise to rather an amusing incident. One of our party, 
 who did not know one note of music from another and 
 made no bones about it, was yet sufficiently impressed to 
 say aloud, *' That is surely a very fine fiddle ?^^ 
 
 With a fine sense of humour the hostess, a quick-witted 
 woman, repeated this to the owner of the "Fiddle." 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed he, delighted. " He is then one who 
 understands who appreciates. It is my best ;" — and he 
 begged an introduction ; and as it could be but an intro- 
 duction and no more owing to the exigencies of the case, 
 the artless gentleman's reputation as a connoisseur was 
 established. 
 
 Madame Schumann plays a good deal of her husband's 
 music, and naturally plays it to perfection ; but it seems 
 she still persists in playing what he composed after the loss 
 of his reason, which, sad to say, preceded by some years 
 his death. 
 
 To the ordinary mind these strains are incomprehensible, 
 as his endeavour was to make discords harmonise, an im- 
 possible task. I heard musicians whispering about this 
 on the evening in question, and noted that every now and 
 then they looked at each other and then at the piano — by 
 which I gathered there was mischief at work among the 
 discords. 
 
 There was a small dark man at the party, whom we had 
 met before at the Hamilton's, and he had been presented 
 to Mary as Mr. Sullivan. He too was great in the 
 
8o MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 musical world ; Lady Anne King, who sat beside us, whis- 
 pered that he had composed songs " Too lovely for words," 
 — and afterwards we learned that lovely words had also 
 been written for them. 
 
 It was not for some years after this however, that Sir 
 Arthur Sullivan's music, with or without words, brought 
 him in anything more substantial than fame ; for I have 
 heard that he was wont to say of himself at one time, that 
 all his serious compositions put together yielded him but a 
 paltry pittance as compared with the melodious operettas 
 of "Pinafore," and its successors. This may or may not 
 be true, but it was told me by one who ought to have 
 known. 
 
 Lady Anne King, above mentioned, was interesting as 
 a grandchild of Byron, but one could have wished to trace 
 some resemblance in her contour to that of her famous 
 grandfather. 
 
 She was pleasant-looking, and had sweet, natural 
 manners ; but was so taken up by the music, (being very 
 musical, though more of a listener than a performer,) that 
 we did not have much intercourse, in spite of being placed 
 side by side with that intent. 
 
 Girls will not always " Hob-nob " with each other as 
 their elders arrange. Lady Anne soon found out my 
 ignorance of music, and though she came afterwards to 
 call on me, and we ran up a sort of friendship, it was an 
 artificial one. If two people do not honestly care for the 
 same things, and if one of the two cares for little else but 
 one thing, the friendship dies. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 An overflowing breakfast-party at the George Macdonalds — Mr. Haweis, 
 in order to view the Boat Race at his ease, climbs on to the roof of 
 the house — Mr. Charles Reade tells of an escape from truculent 
 Arabs — "I deliberately took out my false teeth" — Magical effect of 
 "Thou son of a pig!" in Arabic — Indian ants make "a complete 
 digest of Indian law " — Tales of Kleptomaniacs — Mr. Reade des- 
 cants upon his past successes, and failures. 
 
 In the spring following this, I saw my first Boat Race. 
 
 It was the usual kind of day for it, grey, cold, and dismal, 
 with a nip in the March wind that made us shiver as we 
 trotted down to Hammersmith. 
 
 The Race that year had to be rowed so early in the morn- 
 ing that we were to breakfast with the George Macdonalds, 
 who had invited us and a good many others, to see the sight 
 from their garden. Here a wooden stand had been 
 erected, bright and festive-looking with red cloth ; and 
 before we went inside the house, we mounted to have a 
 look round, and mark the lie of the land. 
 
 All was propitious for those who could get seats on the 
 stand, — but the Macdonalds, kind, hospitable people, had 
 in their usual free-handed fashion invited about twice as 
 many people as could by any possibility cram on, and as 
 they kept on arriving and arriving, we saw how it would 
 be. 
 
 Nothing disturbed the equanimity of our hosts how- 
 ever ; and as we went in to breakfast by relays, we all got 
 fed and warmed fairly comfortably ; but when we emerged 
 again — ^well, really, it was uncommonly chilly in that garden, 
 
82 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 at that hour ; and the stand, red cloth and all, was an airy 
 structure, so that no one was in a hurry to mount it — and 
 in the end a number of us set about to fend for ourselves 
 elsewhere. 
 
 In all, there were assembled about eighty people, and 
 seats for fifty — that spelt exclusion for us younger ones, 
 and we set our wits to work to remedy it. See the Race 
 we must, and it was suggested, " Why not from the banks, 
 like other people ?^^ 
 
 If this had been said now-a-days, we should have been 
 out in the crowd in half a minute — but we were Victorian, 
 and hesitated. There were some engaging young men of 
 the party, — and, well, it would have been more amusing 
 outside the garden than in it, — still an appeal had to be 
 made. 
 
 And it was made in vain — oh, very much in vain. 
 
 " Certainly not ;" said our elders. 
 
 Even kind Mary was shocked. But I think it was more 
 on the Macdonalds' account than from an over-keen sense 
 of propriety. Mary would have liked very well to have 
 been herself in the thick of the fun outside, I daresay, — 
 but the poor Macdonalds, who had taken so much trouble, 
 and meant so well! 
 
 She saw at once it would not do ; and as she was always 
 a personage wherever she went, she vanished into the 
 interior of the stand with only a sympathetic, and could it 
 have been a rueful glance ? at those left behind. 
 
 Would she rather have made one of our merry troop 
 in obscurity ? She owned afterwards that she would. She 
 saw well, and she was housed well — but we had the best 
 time. 
 
 Headed by a little Mr. Haweis, a very imp of mischief 
 and quite irresponsible, we ran about the garden, hopping 
 up into trees and all sorts of places — and finally what did 
 that gallant little lame man do but wriggle himself on to 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 83 
 
 the roof of the house, and sit there at his ease, with his 
 legs hanging down! 
 
 Years afterwards, when I met Mr. Haweis at one of 
 Mrs. Vaughan's Temple garden-parties, — (when I was 
 married, and he was married, and we were, or ought to 
 have been, old and sober — I reminded him of this feat ; 
 but though I remembered him, he had, I must own, for- 
 gotten me ; I had been only one of a pack of laughing 
 girls, while he was, even then, beginning to be known as 
 a wit, a preacher, and a Court favourite. 
 
 But I will not anticipate. 
 
 Though we lost for the time being our leader of the 
 revels, we were not to be done out of our view of the Boat 
 Race ; and it ended in planks being hired from enterprising 
 vendors outside, and formed into a sort of ricketty plat- 
 form adjoining the lower hedge. 
 
 As the ground was not level below, and as there were 
 many workmen, and none to the manner born, those planks 
 kept us lively. Down they came, time after time, crashing 
 and smashing among the flower-beds ; and but that there 
 were no flowers to speak of at that season, our frocks would 
 have been in a fine state. 
 
 As it was, we rose from the earth, earthy, and with dis- 
 coloured gloves. Pale pink and green gloves were worn 
 that year, matching our hats and waist-ribbons, — and 
 though green gloves may now sound "Too awful, too 
 hideous," as I am told they do, I can remember when we 
 thought them an elegant finish to a pea-green linen or 
 muslin frock. Mohair also was a popular fabric, being 
 both thrifty and smart — and why it has not survived, one 
 can't think. 
 
 However, March being too cold a month for such light 
 fabrics, we were probably encased in cloth or " Winsey " 
 at the Boat Race party, and got no hurt by the vagaries 
 of our planks ; though our repeated disappearances evoked 
 
84 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 the sympathy of outsiders, especially of an honest working 
 man on the towing path, who evinced his in a practical 
 fashion. 
 
 Seeing my head bob up yet once again after a precipitous 
 descent, he poked his cotton umbrella through the thick 
 hedge dividing us, and invited me to steady myself, adding, 
 "For you do look shaky-like, miss." Kind creature! I 
 grasped the support, and either because it was sufficient, 
 or because the impromptu platform had wedged itself 
 firmly into the soft ground by this time, I shook no more. 
 
 The Race that year was won by Oxford, and as we were 
 wearing Oxford blue, we were triumphant — without the 
 ghost of a reason for being so. 
 
 But all girls are the same. See them at Eton on the 
 fourth of June — see them at ''Lord's" the first week in 
 July! How bravely they flaunt the colours of the little 
 fellow at their side ; how lustily they clap, when he tells 
 them to clap! It is Harry's or Bobby's side that has 
 scored, or won, or done something fine of some sort, and 
 of course it is splendid. 
 
 For my part, I like to see the enthusiasm, the glowing, 
 ignorant enthusiasm of the sisters, and their mothers' air 
 of pride. What would become of us, if the fond illusions 
 of our homes were pried into too closely.? I can hardly 
 tell a bat from a ball myself, but I love to see the school- 
 boy on his great days, and to let him instruct me. He 
 feels so big, and so happy, and so kind. 
 
 Shortly after this, we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. 
 Charles Reade, the novelist, and as we had all read that 
 wonderful book, " Never too late to Mend," we regarded 
 its author with much interest. 
 
 He was not the sort of man in appearance that one would 
 expect, but who is.^* I can't imagine why, but I had 
 expected a gaunt, frowning creature, with stormy eyes, — 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 85 
 
 instead of which we saw before us a jovial, rotund figure 
 with a very small head, and that small head was for some 
 occult reason reassuring. It seemed to say, "There's 
 nothing formidable about me." 
 
 And then our new friend chose to wear such very peculiar 
 shirt-collars! *'Has he put it on hind-part foremost?" 
 whispered a voice in my ear, "or is it the new fashion?" 
 But I could not tell. 
 
 And I had no inclination to busy myself with Mr. 
 Reade's collars, for Mr. Reade himself was talking and 
 telling a story which I will transcribe here. 
 
 He said a friend of his had just returned from Palestine, 
 where she had had an experience which might have proved 
 a tragedy, but for a happy thought which came to her when 
 things were at their blackest. She and her husband were 
 camping out in rather an unsettled part of the country, 
 but as there did not appear to be any Arabs about, the 
 rest of the party, all men, thought she might safely be left 
 for an hour or so, while they climbed a hill not far off. 
 
 She thought so too, and begged that no one would stay 
 behind on her account. They had only been gone a short 
 time however, when to her dismay horsemen appeared as 
 if by magic close at hand, and with threatening counten- 
 ances rode straight towards the tent where she sat in the 
 entrance. 
 
 " What to do, I knew not," she related ; " but my heart 
 beat in my throat, as I realised that no help was to be had 
 from without, and that if I were to escape from the dilemma, 
 I must look to myself to do it. All at once an idea came. 
 I rose and confronted my visitors. I looked straight in 
 their faces, and deliberately took out my false teethl I 
 have a complete set," continued she, laughing, "and as 
 I held it solemnly towards the amazed horsemen, it did 
 the trick. One yell, and they were off like the wind!" 
 
 " Oh, no doubt I was held to be an enchantress, and the 
 
86 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 teeth to be my magical weapons, for the men were out 
 of reach in a few seconds, and never returned," — concluded 
 the plucky lady, chuckling. 
 
 Of course we all applauded, but one or two looked 
 meditative. 
 
 Why do people make such a mystery of false teeth ? I 
 fancy that several present were considering if any amount 
 of peril would have made them hold theirs out to view ? 
 
 This anecdote about the Arabs led to a contribution 
 from little Mr. Deutsch, who was present. He also had 
 been thrown on his own defence amongst them, and had 
 contrived by presence of mind to turn the tables ; and 
 though there was only unpleasantness and not danger in 
 this case, he seemed to have been rather on the spot ! At 
 Alexandria the custom-house people were provocative and 
 disagreeable — and on being remonstrated with, turned 
 rude. ' ' And they are fierce fellows when their blood is 
 up, and it is very easily up," interpolated he. " One great 
 surly brute was making a nuisance of himself, throwing 
 our things about all over the place, and turning them up- 
 side down as often as not ; and we had delicate instruments 
 with us, which might have been damaged irremediably ; 
 so I felt that it had to be put a stop to, and stooped over 
 him to whisper in his ear. You should have seen the 
 effect of that whisper! The man's face changed, his voice 
 changed, his whole manner changed like lightning!" 
 
 ''What had you said.?" inquired Mary, speaking for 
 all. 
 
 " I said in Arabic, ' Thou son of a pig ! ' That was all : 
 but it was just what his own countrymen would have said, 
 and what no foreigner would — and it went home. There 
 was nothing but cringing and obsequience for us all from 
 that time forward." 
 
 Mr. Deutsch also related this : He was alone in an Arab 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 87 
 
 village, and the Sheikh came out of his tent, and without 
 any warning cursed him before all the tribe. Evidently 
 he had done something to rouse the great man's ire, for 
 the latter's eyes flamed, and the poor, unoffending little 
 scientist felt he was in a tight place. 
 
 He was busy copying a Phoenician inscription at the 
 time ; and whether or not they suspected him of some dark 
 design in doing this he could not tell, but judged it best 
 to take no notice till things developed. 
 
 The Sheikh, probably further exasperated by such a stoical 
 demeanour, continued to curse, and alleging that this was 
 an enemy of their religion and altogether an abomination, 
 wound up by proposing that he should at once be got 
 rid of. 
 
 ' ' That looked black for me," owned Mr. Deutsch, * ' for 
 I understood every word, though the rascal did not dream 
 as much, and continued his abuse freely. However, I took 
 some comfort in the fact that I could at least startle him, 
 so looked round to see if there were any friendly face 
 among all the hostile ones, and breathed a sigh of thanks- 
 giving when my eye fell on a sweet young girl gazing at 
 me pitifully. 
 
 I addressed her at once, in Arabic. ''Please," said I, 
 "give me some water .f^" 
 
 And once again the magic Arabic proved my rescue. 
 The very Sheikh himself, as if confounded, stopped dead. 
 All present looked to him for a lead, when after a momen- 
 tary wavering, he waved assent to my request, and the 
 nice little girl at once seized a bucket, and ran for the 
 water. 
 
 " No water ever tasted better to a thirsty man than that 
 did to me, who was not thirsty," concluded Mr. Deutsch, 
 with a gentle sigh of satisfaction, ' ' for when I looked up 
 from my bucket, all was changed. Friendly faces beamed 
 around ; and foremost among them was that of the grim 
 
SS MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 chieftain. From that moment, he and his adherents beheld 
 in me a brother!" 
 
 Perhaps it was because this found a ready audience, that 
 others now started story-teUing, and some one — I forget 
 who — gave us a quaint little anecdote of ants in India, 
 who appear to be the most voracious and destructive of 
 insects. An English barrister, practising in Bombay, had 
 occasion to refer to a law report which had not been opened 
 for some years. 
 
 Having taken down the book containing it from a high 
 shelf of his bookcase, his amazement may be imagined at 
 finding that within the cover, which was intact, there was 
 no book at all ! It was a case of ' ' Vox et praeterea nihil " 
 — only for "Vox" read "Vol.!" "The ants," observed 
 the lawyer, telling the tale afterwards, ' ' the ants, wonder- 
 ful creatures, had made a complete digest of Indian law,^^ 
 
 A new voice now spoke, and we had something quite 
 different, from a Mr. Mark Collet, an old friend of Mary's, 
 who often came to see her at this time. 
 
 **I met a man I knew this afternoon," said he, ''who 
 told me a droll thing. He was at a dinner lately, where 
 on the re-forming of the men after the ladies had left the 
 table, he found at his elbow a neighbour whom he knew 
 to be a kleptomaniac, and altogether not quite responsible, 
 though able to go about. His infirmity was so well 
 known that my friend thought he would keep his eyes 
 open, as there might be fun going. 
 
 ' ' And sure enough there was. No sooner did the other 
 think himself unobserved, than with the utmost adroit- 
 ness, he inveigled a silver spoon up his sleeve, while 
 looking straight in front of himself with an innocent and 
 abstracted air. 
 
 * ' It was obviously a shock to be nudged by his neighbour, 
 who whispered confidentially, ' So that^s how you do it. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 89 
 
 is it ? Well now, when / want a spoon, I take it like this ' 
 — and seizing one off the table, he stuck it in his button- 
 hole as if it were a flower. 
 
 ' ' Then he looked at the less skilful thief triumphantly, 
 and his exultation was more than could be borne. At once 
 the poor thief succumbed to the temptation, and letting 
 his spoon slip from his sleeve, he attempted to imitate the 
 clever new device which greatly took his fancy. But, 
 alas! He bungled, and it clattered to the floor! And 
 though everybody tried to take no notice, and the servants 
 picked up the spoon, the poor gentleman felt that he had 
 failed, and missed his golden opportunity after all," con- 
 cluded Mr. Collet's narrator. 
 
 Years afterwards, this little comedy was brought to my 
 remembrance by being myself the recipient of attentions 
 from a kleptomaniac. 
 
 I was only one of many ; and the thieveries were so 
 extraordinary in the circumstances that I must describe 
 them. 
 
 An elderly widow lady of high position in a country 
 neighbourhood was afflicted with the distressing mania 
 above alluded to. She was rich, and high-born ; she was 
 absolutely sane on every point but the one, — so that the 
 spectacle of her dignified figure, with its stately movements 
 and trailing train, plying a nefarious trade among friends 
 and neighbours, was at once ludicrous and pathetic. 
 
 As in the case of Mr. Collet's hero, the poor lady had 
 a certain vague sense of doing something which would not 
 quite bear inspection, and strove with all the little art in 
 her possession to achieve her end unobserved — being 
 meantime bland and gracious to all around. 
 
 Her manners were fine — of the old school. She had the 
 marvellous memory of an important personage for faces, 
 and directly her eyes fell on yours, it recalled family 
 
90 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 circumstances into which she inquired sympathetically and 
 minutely, the while her hand strayed toward your pocket. 
 It gave you a queer sensation to feel it there. 
 
 But the correct thing to do was to take no notice ; and 
 as the interview was speedily brought to a close after its 
 purpose had been accomplished, you were free to go in 
 search of the person who could and would redress your 
 injury. 
 
 This was her ladyship's companion ; a quiet woman, 
 never very far off, whose office was no sinecure at any time, 
 and whose work was cut out for her on gala occasions. 
 
 To this guardian angel you made known your loss ; and 
 a full description of it, together with your address, was 
 instantly noted down, — while if it were your purse which 
 had disappeared, you were supplied with any money 
 necessary. The next day, the lost purse with contents 
 intact, would be restored to you. 
 
 But it was not always a purse, or anything of value, that 
 excited the unfortunate dame's cupidity. 
 
 On one occasion, that of a croquet-party, it was a trifle 
 in the shape of an elastic " Catch " for the skirt, which had 
 just been invented for croquet players, and cost about a 
 shilling. Probably because it was a novelty it attracted 
 her, and word was passed that she was on the prowl. 
 
 She had already secured two, purposely laid in her way, 
 ' ' For I would give her anything or everything rather than 
 have her feeling round me ! " shuddered one sensitive 
 creature, while there were many who felt the same. 
 
 For myself, directly I heard this, I made haste to unclasp 
 my own belt, and let the " Catch " slip on to the turf, where 
 it lay glittering in the sun. The bait took. The next 
 instant it was gone! 
 
 Before the party broke up about half a dozen of these 
 utterly worthless articles had been looted ; and though bits 
 of them were quite visible dangling from beneath a gor- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 91 
 
 geous cloak, and though we had ruefully to hold up our 
 frills and flounces out of the evening dew in consequence, 
 we waved farewell to the noble dowager as she rolled off 
 elate with success in her great barouche — and pity mingled 
 with our mirth. 
 
 I must now return to our dinner-party. It would seem 
 as if we were always at dinner-parties, or at least, that all 
 I ever heard worth repeating was said at them. 
 
 But Londoners both past and present will understand 
 this. Throughout the day they are seldom at leisure, they 
 are hurrying forward, ever forward, — it is only when the 
 strain relaxes and the halter is taken off the neck, that 
 there comes the sense of peace and ease which opens the 
 heart and unlocks the lips — to any purpose. 
 
 When I looked around at Mary's table or at other tables 
 of the kind, it was plain to me, even to me, that many of 
 the faces, mild and genial then, had been knitted in thought 
 or fretted by care throughout the day ; that albeit the brows 
 were unbent, they were wrinkled so deeply that they could 
 never be smooth again ; and that there were long-drawn 
 lines at the corners of smiling mouths. 
 
 Even we ourselves, in our pleasant, quickly-passing 
 hours, found but scanty time for repose. We had not the 
 goal they had to struggle for, still we toiled. Our interests 
 were so manifold, our opportunities so tempting, and the 
 attractions of every-day life so incessant and so varied, 
 that looking back, I can see what a scamper it all was, and 
 were I to moralise, — but that is not my purpose. At least 
 we brought our pitchers to be filled at no mean sources, 
 and something may have been gained thereby. 
 
 I see I have barely mentioned Mr. Charles Reade in this 
 chapter, and yet he was undeniably the hero of the hour 
 at Mary's party. He was then at the height of his popu- 
 larity and success as a playright, and having out-stayed 
 
92 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 most of the guests on the evening in question, he evinced 
 an amiable readiness to talk about himself. Indeed, he 
 grew extremely animated, not to say pugnacious — showing 
 that he could not stand criticism, far less opposition. 
 
 Frankly, his manners were not good. There was a 
 certain roughness about them which jarred — which always 
 does jar — upon women. He expected to lay down the 
 law and have it accepted as such without demur. 
 
 As I was a humble admirer of ''Christie Johnstone," 
 which in my heart I preferred to *'The Cloister and the 
 Hearth," I was ready to put up with anything, but I saw 
 Mary hide a smile, though " Funny old dear!" was all her 
 subsequent comment. 
 
 Somebody else observed that Mr. Reade " Smacked of 
 the stage!" Now, he did — that was precisely what he 
 did. It would seem as if no one whose life is in close 
 touch with that of the green-room can ever help show- 
 ing it. 
 
 They may try, and think they succeed. They may 
 watch their every word and gesture. They may be dressed 
 by the best tailors and dressmakers, but there is a something 
 that betrays them, and that invariably when and where 
 they least wish to be betrayed. 
 
 Let me try to make my meaning clear. We had before 
 us a genius, and no one thought of denying him to be one. 
 But although a genius is permitted to be unpolished, though 
 he may be odd, abrupt, and untrammelled by conven- 
 tions, he should, I think, be natural. He should not strain 
 after effect, and speak for the gallery. And while we all 
 remember that of the immortal Garrick it was said that it 
 was only when " Off the stage that he was acting," we must 
 also remember that this was accounted a defect — ^yes, even 
 in that artificial age, a defect in his character. 
 
 There is nothing that so prejudices youth against age, 
 as a suspicion that age is trying to show off. I had a 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 93 
 
 distinct impression that our celebrity of the evening was 
 bent on showing off, and this may account for my finding 
 his personality less attractive than that of many others 
 without a tithe of his powers. 
 
 And he really laid himself out for our entertainment. 
 As long as everybody would listen to him and to him alone, 
 he was pleased and communicative, sitting up on the edge 
 of his chair and pouring out details of past successes and 
 failures — to do him justice, as ready to relate upon the one 
 as upon the other. 
 
 He was also ready for any praise, even from insignificant 
 lips. "You like Christie Johnstone.? Bravo!" cried he, 
 patting my shoulder. "Oh, you are a Scotch lassie, are 
 you ? Fine country, isn't it ? And they are grand, those 
 fisher-folk, aren't they.^^ Yes, Christie and the herring 
 shoal — that was true, every bit of it. I was there myself, 
 — for I lived some time among them, getting together 
 materials for the book — when word was brought Christie 
 privately, (though not through her brother, but that's no 
 matter,) that the shoal was in the Firth, and I saw her fly 
 to get her boats out. It was a sight when those boats came 
 in. She had regularly cornered the market, she, a mere 
 strip of a girl ! " he tossed back his mane, and his laughing 
 eye roved into the past. 
 
 " Did you hear what the critics said about yon.?" Pre- 
 sently he looked round with a curl of the lip. * ' They 
 didn't take kindly to Christie, I must tell you. So they 
 said that I hadn't the art of * Compounding good materials,' 
 and suggested that I should associate myself with certain 
 authoresses who could compound, but lacked the materials. 
 One sentence was very neat," subjoined he, "I know it by 
 heart, of course — for it stung. This was it : ' He has 
 plenty to tell us, but cannot tell it ; they have nothing to 
 say, and say it to perfection.' " 
 
94 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Mr. Reade also told us that although the book, " Never 
 too late to Mend," was written in 1856, and the play 
 founded on it immediately afterwards, no manager could 
 be found to accept the latter for seven years! 
 
 For seven long years it lay by in a drawer, and mean- 
 while amidst a host of tales and magazine articles there 
 was born ' * The Cloister and the Hearth," which ran as a 
 serial through several numbers of '' Once a Week," under 
 the title of "A Good Fight." 
 
 *' But all the time I was dying to get my drama acted," 
 confessed he, honestly, "and it has always been so. I 
 have never cared for the success of a novel, as compared 
 with the success of a play. I — well you see, it's just this ; 
 there's a glamour about the footlights, and the thunders 
 of the audience if all is going well, and the devil's own 
 torments if it isn't, that fairly beats anything else to 
 smithereens. Of course it's but a small world you reach 
 at the moment ; of course, for every individual that hears 
 your play, you have a host that read your novel, but then 
 your readers don't call out — " 
 
 " Oh, yes, they do." And we all called out, and clapped 
 our hands ; whereupon the speaker, who had really not 
 meant to fish for compliments, actually coloured up, and 
 looked not a little pleased. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A pompous City banker in a new light — An epicure and a haunch of 
 venison — The majestic scholar and the pert clerk — *'An expense 
 your executors will never be put to ! " — Dean Alford and Dr. 
 Guthrie — " I don't wonder at King Saul's throwing the javelin ! " 
 — A beautiful song beautifully sung, wins votes from the fishers 
 of Fife — Dr. Guthrie relates his discovery of Isabella Fyvie as an 
 authoress — A tale of a poor country parson in a big country house. 
 
 It is not, I think, the really great things, the important 
 thing in our lives, which oftenest leave the most indelible 
 imprints on Memory. It is the very, very small happen- 
 ings of childhood and youth, the foolish little episodes 
 which no one knew of but ourselves, the jests in which we 
 alone saw a point, the nicknames which had no origin 
 except for those who gave them — it is those which stick 
 fast to us through life, and start to view when least ex- 
 pected. 
 
 The trumpery mischance that befel a tutor or a gover- 
 ness, the ridiculous misnomer of a servant, a silly speech, 
 a wrong accent — anything will do that amused us once — 
 we cannot forget it, and we never do. 
 
 And the games we invented for ourselves, when left to 
 ourselves, unmolested by our elders, had they not a flavour 
 all their own } — and do we not, some of us, still recognise 
 the flavour, and relish it.^ It is in the hope that such as 
 do will not spurn the following little tale, that I dare to 
 tell it. 
 
 The little tale relates to a person by no means little. 
 He was a big and portly City banker, rich, charitable, all 
 
96 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 that a City banker ought to be — but young people did not 
 crave for his company. As he was a near neighbour of 
 Mary's however, and as she greatly respected him, we had 
 to endure it in our own fashion. 
 
 But one day, one awful day, he made a suggestion that 
 filled us with dismay. Chancing to overhear that we, my 
 sister and I, were to be left to spend the evening by our- 
 selves, not having been invited to accompany our elders 
 elsewhere, he, doubtless in the kindness of his heart, volun- 
 teered to take us for a ramble in Kensington Gardens, 
 ' ' To see the flowers." There was no getting out of it, 
 and off we set. 
 
 It was a heavenly evening, and the gardens, luxuriant 
 in bloom, were certainly worth seeing ; also the air, after 
 a day of heat, worth breathing. As well as we knew how, 
 we talked to our big friend solemnly and paternally stalk- 
 ing alongside — but presently we started a little game of 
 our own. 
 
 It was a sort of competition. Each tried which could 
 detect the greatest number of humble sweethearts bliss- 
 fully strolling about, or fondly leaning against each other 
 on retired benches. 
 
 Our lynx eyes marked them down at every point of the 
 landscape, and each couple counted ' ' One " to the score 
 of the first to claim it — while a red-coat counted "Two." 
 
 At the commencement of the game, we only whispered 
 and tittered, suppressing all outward demonstration of 
 what was going on — but presently, excitement rising, an 
 incautious ''Two!" burst forth irrepressibly, and had to 
 be explained. 
 
 Imagine then our glee at finding it not only smiled upon, 
 but sympathised with. Our elderly companion actually 
 entered for the competition! 
 
 At first shyly and with a natural shamefacedness, care- 
 lessly throwing out, ''I think I see a couple yonder .f^" — 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 97 
 
 or, "Suppose we look behind that tree?" — but a triumph 
 or two undermined even his self-control and produced 
 undeniable eagerness and alertness. 
 
 With joyful alacrity we yielded prior rights if we had 
 any. We would have yielded anything. 
 
 We tramped and tramped, and had no sense of time. 
 Our scores grew apace, and all that we thought of was to 
 add to them. 
 
 To this end red-coats were of course in the greatest de- 
 mand, and a glimmer of colour — it was he who saw it first ! 
 
 His eyes flamed ; he started forward ; made sure ; 
 stamped his foot ; whirled his cane round his head ; 
 bawled at the pitch of his voice, "Two! — Two\ — 
 TWOl^ — when — oh, what a moment, what a moment! 
 — out stepped from behind a bush and confronted him, 
 him the magnate of Mark Lane, the awe-inspiring senior 
 partner of the Bank — his own head-cashier! 
 
 The sky fell. We slunk home. We were very, very 
 silent getting there. We tried to be unconcerned, but — 
 we never played that game again. 
 
 Certainly our unfortunate escort never gave us another 
 chance to play it in his company, yet it had one good 
 effect. He had shown that his outer crust could be broken 
 through, and when he next came to the house we did not 
 as before take the first opportunity of slipping from the 
 room. In consequence, we came in for a good story once. 
 
 There was a certain Dr. Parr, a scholar and a bachelor, 
 who, sad to relate, loved eating and drinking even more 
 than the learned pursuits befitting his age and the learned 
 University in which he lived. Wherever he dined, the 
 cook had to be warned beforehand. 
 
 And the Doctor loved dining out, for why.'^ He was 
 not a bad old fellow in the main, and had plenty of friends. 
 It was a pleasure to him to "Stretch his legs under their 
 
98 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 mahogany," and season a well-cooked, thoughtfully-elabo- 
 rated dinner with genial discourse. No one could be a 
 pleasanter guest when all was to his liking. 
 
 If on the other hand that were not the case, Dr. Parr 
 took quiet note of the fact for future reference. He 
 would not, if he knew it, again cross that doorstep ; but 
 as ' ' the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft 
 agley," he one day found himself doing the very thing he 
 was determined against, having in a fit of aberration 
 accepted a second invitation from a host by whom he had 
 been maltreated. 
 
 Gloomily he viewed the prospect before him as he set 
 out for his afternoon walk on the day in question ; and 
 taking the direction of the house he was engaged to, he 
 peered down through the area-railings into the kitchen. 
 
 It was as he feared. There was no bustle of preparation, 
 no savoury odour escaped. 
 
 Disgusted, the Doctor passed on ; but stopped at the 
 very next railings, for what did he see ? 
 
 A haunch of venison, a lovely haunch, just being set 
 down to roast before the fire! It was too much. His 
 soul loved venison as did that of the Patriarch Isaac, and 
 to be confronted by it thus.^ Not a moment did he 
 hesitate, but mounted the steps and rang the door-bell. 
 
 '' Madam," he said, making his best bow as he entered 
 the drawing-room in which sat the lady of the house, 
 *'will you take pity on a lonely man, and have me to dine 
 with you this evening.?" 
 
 "Certainly, Dr. Parr, pray come," rejoined she, albeit 
 somewhat surprised. *' If you will be content with a 
 family dinner, we shall be most happy to see you at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "Oh, content — quite content!" nodded the Doctor, 
 inwardly chuckling, and hurried away. 
 
 He was now elated. He had brought off a double 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 99 
 
 event, evaded a so-so entertainment, and secured one to his 
 taste. He made up an excuse on his way home, and 
 punctually at seven repaired to the house which contained 
 the beloved haunch. As he entered the hall, his nostrils 
 told him it would be done to a turn. 
 
 But it did not appear. Soup and fish were disposed of, 
 (the hostess having hastily added to her humble dinner 
 out of compliment to the self-invited epicure) — and good 
 roast mutton followed ; but although the old gentleman 
 squinted round, he could not perceive any other cover. 
 
 " You see your dinner. Dr. Parr," said his host, observ- 
 ing that the Doctor said "No," to the mutton. 
 
 '* I know better," retorted he, and smiled slily. 
 
 ''Know better.?" Husband and wife glanced at each 
 other, but as their guest smiled on, they tried again. " Is 
 there anything else you would prefer, sir.^*" 
 
 ' ' Why, yes ; there is something I should certainly 
 prefer ; it is a slice of that fine, fat haunch of venison I 
 saw cooking in your kitchen this afternoon." 
 
 The mystery was solved; at once a light broke in upon 
 the perplexed pair, and perhaps a little malicious pleasure 
 also stole into their breasts, for it was with no perceptible 
 reluctance that the lady rejoined — '' I am sorry we cannot 
 ofier you thaty Doctor ; for that haunch belongs to our 
 next-door neighbours. It was cooked in our kitchen as 
 their range is out of order, and they have a dinner-party 
 to-night. 
 
 ' ' They were expecting some very particular guests, so the 
 venison had to be just right," subjoined she. 
 
 And he had been one of the * ' Very particular guests ! " 
 
 '' Well," said Mary, *' your learned Doctor certainly did 
 not shine and was rightly served, but I can tell you of one 
 of his kind, who lately came off best out of an encounter. 
 He is Dr. Hume, and he cares nothing for his stomach, 
 
100 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 but a good deal for his dignity. One day lately he was 
 under the necessity of going to the office of a newspaper, 
 in order to insert the death of a friend among the obituary 
 notices. 
 
 As he is one of the most silent of men, he simply placed 
 the slip of paper containing the announcement on the desk 
 in front of him, together with the fee of five shillings for 
 its insertion. 
 
 The clerk glanced at the paper, turned it on one side, 
 and said curtly, " Seven and six."" 
 
 "Hardly that, I think," rejoined Dr. Hume, ''I have 
 frequently had occasion to put these simple notices in this 
 paper, and never before been charged more than five 
 shillings." 
 
 *' Simple.'^" echoed the clerk, without deigning to look 
 up. " Simple .f* He is 'Universally beloved and deeply 
 regretted.' Seven and six." 
 
 But that young man had met his match. Calmly pro- 
 ducing the extra half-crown from his pocket, the majestic 
 Hume eyed the cock-sparrow on the other side of the 
 counter, and addressed him with stern solemnity: ''Con- 
 gratulate yourself, sir, that this is an expense which your 
 executors will never be put to." 
 
 We were sitting indoors one pouring wet afternoon, 
 having found it too dismal to venture abroad a second 
 time that day, when sunshine entered the room in the 
 shape of two visitors who had met on the doorstep. 
 
 Instantly we thought no more of the gloomy sky and 
 dripping foliage, it was so unexpected to have Dean Alford 
 and Dr. Guthrie walk in, both so bright and good- 
 humoured and pleased to find us at home. 
 
 Mary explained that we had been out but returned early, 
 as it was so cheerless everywhere and miserable for the 
 men and horses besides. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTOTIIAN: LON-DDN ; idi 
 
 ' ' That's where we poor pedestrians have the pull of 
 you," said the Scotchman, gaily, ' ' You carriage folk sit 
 and mope inside, or sit and shiver outside, but we foot it, 
 and are as jolly as can be. I know these young ladies 
 don't mind rain," and he turned to my sister and me. 
 ** Many's the day I have seen them walking about Edin- 
 burgh with their father under a pelting sky, and, thought 
 I, *Born and bred by Loch Lomond, what's rain to 
 them.?'" 
 
 " West country rain never hurts, you know," rejoined we. 
 
 **Rain does us no harm anywhere," pronounced Dean 
 Alford, sententiously, ** provided one doesn't sit with wet 
 feet till they're cold," — and as we were afraid this boded 
 a speedy exit and our being left once more to our own 
 devices of which we were heartily sick, we hastily turned 
 the dean's attention to another subject. 
 
 But the great Scotch divine was certainly the better man 
 of the two as regarded sociability. 
 
 In musical, sonorous tones, he was soon in the full swing 
 of conversation, and a story he told of one of his brother- 
 ministers pitted against an up-to-date American, was fully 
 appreciated by us all. 
 
 Quoth the American to his clerical friend, ' ' Why do 
 you have such doleful Psalm-singing in your Scotch kirk.?" 
 
 "Well, you see, we don't think it doleful," returned 
 the other, cautiously feeling his way, ' ' We are fond of our 
 old tunes. And," brightening up, "they are very old, 
 you know." 
 
 "I daresay. They are none the better for that." As 
 was natural, the man from the New Country laughed at 
 such a plea — but the minister had not done with it. " The 
 belief is — mind you I am only telling you what the belief 
 is among our poor people — that our tunes," slowly and 
 impressively, ' ' our old Psalm-tunes are the very ones 
 that David himself played upon his harp!" 
 
xra MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 ''Are they?" Quick as lightning the other turned 
 upon him. "Are they? Then, by Gum, I don't wonder 
 at Saul's throwing the javelin!" 
 
 I mentioned Dr. Guthrie's voice ; it had in it a resonant 
 quality that made one feel that he must be able to sing, 
 and yet I never heard that he could, or did. Later in life 
 however, I fell in with several members of his accom- 
 plished family, and all were musicians. One daughter in 
 particular, (if yet living, I hope that she will read this, and 
 learn that I never forget her singing,) had a contralto voice, 
 rich and deep, which not only delighted her friends, but did 
 yeoman service among humbler audiences at a very impor- 
 tant moment of her life. 
 
 Her husband wished to enter Parliament and was stand- 
 ing for the Fife Burghs, of which the main constituents 
 were fishermen. During the canvassing, Mrs. Williamson 
 went about everywhere with the candidate, singing at the 
 various meetings held by him a plaintive sea-song, 
 beginning, 
 
 " Thou art far away at sea, Fisherman, Fisherman, — 
 My blessing go with thee. Fisherman : " 
 
 in a manner to thrill the heart of every poor ' ' Fisherman " 
 present. 
 
 Her glorious voice vibrating through halls uncarpeted 
 and uncurtained would doubtless be heard to great advan- 
 tage ; and hearkened to by a people passionately fond of 
 music, would be not without its influence, (albeit an 
 illogical one,) upon their votes. Be that as it may, the 
 Fife Burghs sent up to the House of Commons an excellent 
 member, and that member presented his wife with a set of 
 diamonds which she herself told me was a token of grati- 
 tude for singing her song, * * Fisherman, Fisherman," to the 
 fishers of Fife. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 103 
 
 Dr. Guthrie was very tall and massive, but not stout like 
 Dr. Norman Macleod. And he had a long face instead of 
 a round, not to say square one. ' * Norman " always 
 declared that he protested against his own face, and objected 
 to sending his photograph about. 
 
 On one occasion, when the request for it emanated from 
 America, and from someone who could not be disregarded, 
 he turned testily — but jocularly, too — to his wife : " Can't 
 you send my brother George .f' He^s the beauty of the 
 family." 
 
 And as Sir George, the eminent surgeon and one of the 
 handsomest men of his day, came in the next minute, I 
 think we all present felt that he might well be the beauty 
 of any family. Let me recall him, as he presented himself 
 to our sight then — as Memory presents him now. 
 
 Six-foot-two in his stocking-soles he stood, his fine head 
 with its thick dark hair just dashed with grey at the temples 
 was sharply cut out against an evening sky, and this also 
 defined his absolutely perfect line of feature. " Norman " 
 looked at him proudly and fondly. "Eh, George, but 
 you're a fine man," he emitted in broad Scotch ; and the 
 brothers, between whom there was a great affection, laughed 
 together. 
 
 This is a digression. This little scene had taken place 
 several years before, and I must now return to our dean 
 and our Free Kirk leader. 
 
 Presently the latter began to talk of a young authoress, 
 Miss Isabella Fyvie, and a prize poem she had won — about 
 which Mary seemed to know. Also about a story called 
 "The Occupations of a Retired Life," written more 
 recently, about which we all knew. 
 
 It was published under the sobriquet of * ' Edward 
 Garrett," and Dr. Guthrie maintained that it was a very 
 remarkable book for a young woman of Miss Fyvie's ante- 
 cedents to have written. 
 
104 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Dr. Guthrie claimed to have *' found" Miss Isabella 
 Fyvie. She was living, he said, in complete obscurity, 
 being the daughter of a small baker in the City, and 
 chained to the shop by the death of her mother, who had 
 been wont to preside there. 
 
 But where there's a will, there's a way, and the baker's 
 slip of a daughter could not be selling rolls and buns all 
 day long. She had to take a rest sometimes, and as sure 
 as she sat down to rest, she took up a book. Her whole 
 delight was in reading — and presently, in writing. 
 
 Whether the family knew of these predilections or not 
 Dr. Guthrie could not tell, but one day some poetic 
 effusions were brought to him through the medium of the 
 post-box pertaining to the '* Sunday Magazine," of which 
 he was the editor. 
 
 Having nothing particular to do at the moment, he 
 threw his eye over the pages, expecting nothing, he owned, 
 from them — but was caught and struck by what he read. 
 
 True, the poems were crude and unpolished, but they 
 possessed, he felt sure they possessed, the real things and 
 forthwith he set off for the baker's shop. 
 
 He wondered afterwards why he did not send for the 
 author of the MS. to come and see him, — but he had "A 
 kind of instinct" that more would be gained by another 
 method of procedure, though little anticipating the revela- 
 tion which followed. 
 
 He found a tall, slight, young thing, with a beautiful 
 little face, and a head well set upon her shoulders — in 
 short, with all that was charming and attractive in a nimble 
 shop-girl, but so young and presumably ignorant of life 
 that to think of her as a poet fairly staggered him. As 
 a fact Isabella Fyvie was seventeen, but did not look 
 even that. 
 
 " I took her in hand," narrated he, "I had a good long, 
 fatherly talk with her, and made her promise to write no 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 105 
 
 more for a year, at the end of which time she was to come 
 and see me. Of course she was to read in the interval — 
 and to be released from serving in the shop. I made an 
 arrangement with her father, and marked out a course of 
 study, which she took to like a duck to the water. 
 
 " Conscientiously she fulfilled her part of the agreement, 
 and presented herself at our office for examination on the 
 appointed day. I was prepared for her — but not for what 
 she had become. I was fairly amazed. She had pro- 
 gressed beyond my utmost hopes. At once I released her 
 from my embargo, and the result you see in the ' Sunday 
 Magazine.' We haven't had a better story in it for years 
 than the ' Occupations of a Retired Life.' " 
 
 ''Dear Mr. Dean, haven't you anything equally nice to 
 tell us.^" said Mary, sweetly. 
 
 She thought the dean looked rather "out of it" while 
 his friend had it all his own way ; and indeed we subse- 
 quently found that the two did not altogether hit it off. 
 Probably each was too much accustomed to being the centre 
 of his own circle. 
 
 However, on finding himself directly appealed to, it 
 behoved our little dignitary — and very little he looked 
 beside the mighty Scot — to bestir himself, and he said 
 hesitatingly, ' ' I can give you no such accounts of budding 
 genius as Dr. Guthrie has done, but it may just possibly 
 amuse you to hear of a strange adventure which befel a 
 very simple old country parson in our diocese, one deeply 
 imbued with the notion that our race, as represented by the 
 rich and great, is going to the dogs. 
 
 " Perhaps you can hardly realise " — and he looked from 
 one to the other — " the absolute remoteness from, shall we 
 say present-day civilisation, that prevails in some of our 
 poor parsons' homes.'' They are apt to marry early, too 
 early ; and the struggle to make both ends meet, that can 
 
io6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 seldom be made to meet, keeps them from mixing with 
 such of their old college friends and associates as would 
 open their eyes. 
 
 They can't afford to accept and return hospitality even 
 on a moderate scale, and many of them have never been 
 inside a large country-house as a guest, upon equal terms, 
 in their lives. 
 
 '* My old parson would never have thought of being 
 invited to one, still less of accepting the invitation, but for 
 a reason which has nothing to do with this story. It took 
 him to a certain castle however, where was assembled a 
 house-party, — and as he arrived about five o'clock, he 
 found the men just returned from shooting and the ladies 
 from driving, all being at tea in the hall. 
 
 " It seemed nice and sociable on a chilly November after- 
 noon, and delighted to find such simplicity prevailing 
 where he little looked for it, he partook heartily of cake, 
 sandwiches, etc. 
 
 "At a little before seven o'clock some neighbours who 
 were merely calling, took themselves off, and the rest of 
 the company broke up, and retired upstairs, with bedroom- 
 candles in their hands. 
 
 ' ' ' Well, this is nicer still,' ruminated my humble friend, 
 and he rehearsed to himself the phrases he would use to 
 describe the situation afterwards. 
 
 *' He would emphatically repudiate the notion that the 
 ' Aristocracy ' kept late hours and were too much addicted 
 to conviviality. He heard himself saying, ' Late hours, 
 indeed .f* I haven't been to bed so early since I was a 
 boy!' 
 
 ' * Just as he was stepping into a huge four-poster, and 
 thinking how glad he was that the ordeal of the first day at 
 least was over, the sound of a gong reverberating through 
 the outer passages made him pause and listen — but con- 
 cluding that it must be the * Kettledrum,' a new thing he 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 107 
 
 had heard about though never come across, he decided that 
 it could have nothing to do with him, and that its being 
 sounded was just one of the vagaries of the house. 
 
 "Accordingly he blew out his candle and went to sleep. 
 
 " He judged that he had been asleep some hours, when 
 a renewed and violent explosion of the supposed ' Kettle- 
 drum ' made him start up in bed, perspiring at every pore. 
 What was the meaning of it.'' What terrible thing had 
 happened .'' Could the house be on fire } 
 
 "Down he rushed to the housekeeper's room, finding 
 the backstairs leading thither close by — and electrified the 
 good woman by demanding breathlessly, * What is it ? 
 What's the matter.?' 
 
 ' ' ' Lor', sir, nothing ain't the matter, except,' said she, 
 reprovingly, ' that you'll be late for dinner. The second 
 gong sounded five minutes ago, and you're not half- 
 dressed ! ' 
 
 ' ' Such, however, was his speed on being thus enlightened 
 and spurred to action, that he actually got into his evening 
 clothes, and was in the drawing-room before half the other 
 guests appeared. ' But,' said he, ' I never had the chance 
 of delivering the speech I had so carefully prepared excul- 
 pating great folks from evil ways. And I am ready to 
 believe anything of them after that — ahem ! Kettledrum^ " 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A relic of a childish past — Mrs. Proctor comes in the nick of time to 
 carry us off to a notable garden-party — Mr. Samuel Rogers and his 
 "Pity Me," notes— The hero of the "Rob Roy Canoe"— A 
 certain Lady Frances tells of Prince Albert's visit to her Highland 
 moor — He is not recognised by his hostess at a ball — "I hope 
 your wife is well ?" — The party breaks up — "The Princess is 
 going ! " — An ambassador bears a message from Lord Beacons- 
 field — Mrs. Proctor considers it blarney — "Ah, Mrs. Proctor, I 
 could not despise Dizzy ; no one could." 
 
 An aunt of mine brought in a curious relic to show us one 
 day. " I thought these children might be interested in see- 
 ing it," said she. (Did all elderly relations of the Victorian 
 era speak of the rising generation as " Children," I wonder ? 
 — but no matter.) " It has only come into my possession 
 lately," continued my aunt, "and I find it very inter- 
 esting." 
 
 As she spoke, she looked at my sister and me, and of 
 course we had to find it interesting also ; but we were 
 unprepared for the wonderful little article which was now 
 taken out of its wrappers. It was a casket covered with 
 white satin, on which was worked in coloured silks little 
 pictures after Watteau. 
 
 My aunt now proceeded to explain that the workman- 
 ship was by a certain very great-grandmother of ours, born 
 in 1660, and that she had achieved it during the doll period 
 of a child's life, as was clearly attested by the casket's 
 contents. 
 
 There were two trays, each covered with white satin, 
 and adorned with scraps of needlework. The top tray 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 109 
 
 contained a set of tiny silver saucepans ; also a silver teapot 
 and coffeepot ; the lower one, a number of silver plates 
 and spoons, as diminutive in size as the rest. Underneath 
 both trays was a pin-cushion, on which a pious sentiment 
 was elaborately embroidered ; and by its side — most 
 pathetic sight of all — a slip of paper, stained and yellow 
 with age, setting forth that the good little girl of two 
 hundred years ago had been presented with all the pretty 
 things as a reward for being industrious with her needle. 
 
 As the casket had been kept in a glass case it was in a 
 perfect state of preservation, yet somehow it looked quite 
 different from the glass-encased relics at museums. It was 
 such an ordinary little work-box, a thing of such trifling 
 value that we hardly knew how to take it. 
 
 Were we to regard it with veneration, or indulgence .^^ 
 Why, and how, had it survived ? 
 
 Relics of the past, heirlooms that have been handed down 
 from one generation to another, have usually some intrinsic 
 worth which has caused them to be cherished as treasures — 
 but the treasure of a little girl who was not a princess nor a 
 personage of any kind was not likely to be held in high 
 esteem by her elders. Its preservation was a puzzle. 
 
 And later on I was to feel another survival of the kind 
 another puzzle, when shown a cluster of Elizabethan cot- 
 tages by the roadside in a remote nook of Kent. 
 
 What were they doing there when their betters, so many 
 of them, had been swept away by the hand of Time ? How 
 small and humble they looked! How little worthy of 
 notice — almost beneath contempt! Assuredly they had 
 always been what they still were, the abodes of laboring 
 men, and with the exception of a few figures deeply cut into 
 stones over their doorways, had nothing to separate them 
 from the ruck. 
 
 But those figures were distinctive ; we were told that no 
 other laborers' cottages in England could claim to have 
 
no MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 been built in 1520, which was, I believe, the date over the 
 doorways. If wrong, perhaps some kind reader will correct 
 me? 
 
 Now, castles, palaces, sturdy strongholds of Elizabeth's 
 sturdy time are not rare among us, but little four-roomed 
 cottages, of no account in the eyes of the rich and great, 
 might easily have sunk into decay without a hand being 
 stretched forth to save them? 
 
 And their existence gives rise to another thought. It 
 is the foolish gimcracks which we buy for a penny in the 
 streets, not the costly and often vulgar elaborations of art 
 commemorating great occasions which will be the rarities, 
 the curiosities of our descendants a few hundred years 
 hence! The trumpery is bought by the million, but 
 hardly one tin-tack in a million survives. The first 
 adverse breath, and they are thrown upon the dust-heap. 
 A penny ''Jubilee" mug is not common even now. 
 
 Feeling a little pensive and subdued, (probably for 
 reasons quite unconnected with the casket, though this was 
 nobody's business but our own) my sister and I were 
 regarding it with thoughtful faces, when the door opened 
 to admit dear old Mrs. Proctor, who at once blew away 
 the cobwebs. For she came to bear us off to a party where 
 the world and his wife were to be, and for which our 
 prettiest frocks, oh joy ! were to be donned. 
 
 No one knows how old Mrs. Proctor is. She might be 
 any age. She goes everywhere, knows everybody, sits up 
 late, gets up early, and talks, — talks, — talks all the time. 
 
 When you are in the mood for it, and have time for it — 
 which after all is the difficulty in rush-about London life — 
 you simply love Mrs. Proctor's racy monologues. Of 
 course you don't believe the half of them, but she doesn't 
 mind that, she only cares to amuse you, and have you 
 listening to her instead of to others. Probably she would 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON iii 
 
 not tell a lie for the world, — but no one thinks of her little 
 extravagances as lies, they are only like the "Sweers" of 
 the old Scotch woman, *' Sets-aff to convairsation." 
 
 As we were driving along to the party she entertained us 
 with tales of her youth ; and as we had some distance to go, 
 we were grateful to her for beguihng the time. 
 
 A great July garden-party in the suburbs may be pleasant 
 enough when the perils of the way, the heat, the dust, and 
 the endless small, shoppy streets have been surmounted — 
 but an hour of these does leave you limp. We were all 
 rejoiced when at last we turned in through a huge pair of 
 iron gates and entered a line of carriages in the shady 
 avenue beyond. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Proctor's tongue never ceased. She 
 was in her element, with an audience to whom everything 
 she told was new and I must add entertaining. 
 
 She got upon Samuel Rogers and his breakfast-parties. 
 
 At one of them she was seated on one side of the poet, 
 while Mrs. Carlyle was on the other. As Rogers seemed 
 in rather a glum mood, Mrs. Carlyle set herself to woo him 
 from it ; and as she did not often thus condescend, no 
 doubt she felt piqued by not having her efforts promptly 
 responded to. She grew cross, and plied him with ques- 
 tions — a thing he particularly disliked. 
 
 At length he grew irritated beyond endurance, and turn- 
 ing to Mrs. Proctor, asked without any preceptible lower- 
 ing of his voice, *' My dear, tell me who this lady is.?" 
 
 " I felt the awkwardness of it," proceeded Mrs. Proctor, 
 ** but was obliged to reply, ' Mrs. Carlyle, the wife of the 
 historian,'" — ^when, as might be expected, Mrs. Carlyle 
 looked not a little disconcerted and annoyed. 
 
 But my own turn was to come. " And now, my dear, 
 tell me who you are ?" said our host. 
 
 What an incorrigible man! It was his way of getting 
 himself out of a scrape, for he knew me as well as he knew 
 
112 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 himself — but then he had to say something to avert poor 
 Mrs. Carlyle's wrath. 
 
 She was, as everybody knew, all hot pepper at any 
 affront, and it was an affront, considering that she had been 
 led to imagine that that particular breakfast-party was given 
 in her honour ! You should have seen how the cloud lifted 
 directly she heard the base Rogers try to take the wind out 
 of my sails. She was all smiles for the rest of the morning. 
 
 ' ' I had a little passage-of-arms with Mr. Rogers soon 
 after that," continued Mrs. Proctor, after she had looked 
 out and ascertained that there were still a good rhany car- 
 riages in front, ' ' and I think it will amuse you. I had 
 invited him to dinner, and received in reply a most regret- 
 ful negative. It ran, ' Pity me, I cannot have the pleasure 
 of dining with you on the day you name, as I am already 
 engaged.' " 
 
 The words, ' ' Pity me," rather took my fancy, as they 
 seemed to indicate a genuine vexation at having to forego 
 my dinner-party, and I felt in the best of humours with my 
 poet. 
 
 Accordingly, meaning to try again, I called on him, but 
 before I could get out my invitation, in came one from the 
 Duke of Devonshire. 
 
 "Can I go.?" said Mr. Rogers to his valet, who had 
 brought in the note. 
 
 " No, sir," replied the man ; ** you are engaged for that 
 evening." 
 
 Hum," said his master. I fancied him a little dis- 
 appointed, but he rallied, and went on, * ' Then write and 
 say so." 
 
 "But I am afraid, sir, I have no 'Pity Me's' left!" 
 
 " However they arranged it, I did not feel equal to issu- 
 ing another invitation on that occasion," concluded Mrs. 
 Proctor, laughing, "and it was some time before I could 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 113 
 
 risk another ' Pity Me ' coming my way, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 We had now arrived at the front-door, and presently 
 made our way to where a great crowd, among whom were 
 many well-known faces, stood about and passed from room 
 to room. 
 
 It was not a good day for an out-of-door party, as there 
 seemed a thunderstorm impending, and there were not a 
 few anxious glances cast sky- wards as we stepped on to a 
 terrace, and beyond it to the lawn below, where was a 
 marquee, etc. 
 
 A species of rostrum had been erected under a cedar tree, 
 and rows of seats circled round it. 
 
 Here were preparations for duologues, recitations, and 
 glee-singing. 
 
 A bowling-alley attracted its votaries in another quarter, 
 and a couple of targets had abundance of fair Toxophilites 
 hovering round them. Everywhere were groups of chairs, 
 arbours, and tables of good things. Indeed, the whole was 
 very much what one sees to-day ; only the games were 
 different. 
 
 Mrs. Proctor, who could not endure to be in the thick 
 of things, proposed strolling about until we discovered 
 where best to plant ourselves. 
 
 ' ' Oh, there is ' Roy Roy ' Macgregor ! " she exclaimed 
 presently, as a fine, athletic-looking man of thirty or 
 thereabouts made his way to us across the lawn. His 
 book, '* A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe," had 
 not been out very long, and as his mother, Lady Mac- 
 gregor, was an old friend of our mother's, we had heard a 
 great deal about it. We had not, however, seen the 
 canoeist himself, and it seemed a piece of luck to meet him 
 thus. 
 
 But now the sad truth must be owned ; either Mr. " Rob 
 
 H 
 
114 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Roy" Macgregor was not as pleasant in propria persona 
 as in the pages of his book, or he had set his heart on being 
 pleasant to some one other than us that day. 
 
 In the latter case we forgave him, and we shrewdly 
 suspected that it was the latter case ; for after a while, when 
 brilliant throngs covered the lawns, and all was gaiety and 
 splendour, we spied stealing out of sight a tall, grey figure, 
 very like the tall, grey figure we had met, with a slight and 
 dainty thing, a vision in white, whom we did not know, by 
 his side. The two hurried to a vanishing point. We 
 looked at each other. 
 
 But we did not tell Mrs. Proctor ; we " Played the 
 game" in those days, even as you — some of you — play it 
 now ; — and it would hardly have been " The game," in our 
 eyes to betray an honest young man who, for aught we 
 knew, had come to a crucial moment of his life. 
 
 Of course we may have been quite wrong, quite misled 
 by our romantic imaginations — but anyhow if there were 
 a secret we kept it, and we never knew if when next the 
 ' Rob Roy Canoe" wended its peaceful way among the 
 broad, placid rivers of France, it had a second passenger. 
 
 Mrs. Proctor was now shaking hands right and left, and 
 her acquaintances were so innumerable that I thought of a 
 story that Mary had told me that day, which bore curiously 
 on the point. 
 
 She was travelling and talking to a fellow-passenger, 
 finding they were both bound for the same destination, 
 namely. The Deanery, Canterbury. 
 
 He was a colonial, and having been born and bred in 
 Brazil, had hardly yet grasped the range of our metropolis. 
 
 "You live in London?" he said to her with a pleased 
 look. ''Yes.?" "Then you must know my friend, 
 William King.?" 
 
 Mary, however, shook her head. No, she had not the 
 pleasure of Mr. King's acquaintance. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 115 
 
 *'Not know William King?" The eagerness on his 
 countenance gave way to an air of mistrust. '* But, excuse 
 me, I think you must. For," impressively, "he lives in 
 London, too!" 
 
 "And the case was so hopeless that I just had to leave 
 it," said Mary. " Poor dear!" 
 
 A certain Lady Frances Somebody-or-other sat down 
 beside us, and seemed to be very intimate with Mrs. 
 Proctor. 
 
 They talked confidentially over old days, laughed at their 
 old jokes, and criticised their old friends — and at last Mrs. 
 Proctor said, " Do, dear Lady Frances, oblige me by telling 
 these young ladies your amusing experience of entertain- 
 ing Prince Albert in the Highlands .f"" 
 
 " Would they care to hear it.^^" demurred Lady Frances, 
 politely. 
 
 I daresay she thought it was hardly the time and place to 
 enter upon a twice-told tale, but as we could honestly say 
 we should, there being nothing particular doing at the 
 moment, she played with her parasol thoughtfully and 
 began. 
 
 "This happened a long while ago, my dears, remember 
 that. It was while Prince Albert, as we called him then, 
 was a comparatively young man that he offered my hus- 
 band and me a visit to our Highland home ; and as we 
 had never entertained Royalty before, we wrote to inquire 
 about the etiquette ? An equerry replied that, among other 
 things, it was correct not to speak to the Prince until he 
 first spoke to us. 
 
 " Acting on this hint," said Lady Frances, smiling a little 
 to herself as the scene came before her, "I sat mum as a 
 mouse half through dinner — for though it seemed strange 
 that the Prince should wish to come to us, and yet not 
 trouble to open his lips when he did come, I supposed the 
 
ii6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 equerry must know best. As, however, the silence grew 
 intolerable, and as our Royal guest seemed as uneasy under 
 it as I was, I just took the bull by the horns and began to 
 talk as if he were an ordinary mortal. The effect was 
 magical ; he had so much to say that he could hardly say it, 
 and was as merry as a school-boy. 
 
 "Afterwards the explanation of it all was given me. 
 The Prince said he had been told that I was so terribly shy 
 that he hardly liked to speak to me till I said something of 
 my own accord. Now, wasn't that extraordinary," Lady 
 Frances appealed to us, ' ' when I had been expressly told 
 that I was not to speak ? It is the way you are still treated 
 at the Lord Chamberlain's office, I believe," she ran on. 
 ' ' A niece of mine had her presence commanded at Windsor 
 not long ago, and called in Stable Yard to inquire the 
 etiquette on such occasions .^^ As the husband had suc- 
 ceeded to his title shortly before, and she knew that the 
 Queen does every new peeress the honour of embracing 
 her, she made particular inquiries on that head, but you 
 may judge if her ' Wisdom was increased ' thereby. 
 
 One official pronounced autocratically, * It is for you 
 to kiss Her Majesty.' Almost at the same moment, 
 another with no less decision averred, ' Her Majesty will 
 kiss you.' 
 
 *'And these diametrically opposite opinions were given 
 by men paid by the public to instruct inquirers on such 
 points ! " laughed Lady Frances. ' ' Oh, my niece got on 
 all right," continued she. ' ' That kiss of peace was a mere 
 fagon-de-parler. The Queen's cheek just touched her 
 cheek, — but stop, I did not finish my tale of our visit from 
 Prince Albert. 
 
 "The next night he went with us to a Highland ball, 
 and the noble hostess at whose house it was held, was very 
 old and deaf. 
 
 "She knew, of course, that the Prince was coming, but had 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 117 
 
 not heard him announced, and her ears were on the stretch 
 for this whilst he was absolutely making his bow to her! 
 
 "As he did not move away to make room for the next 
 comer, she felt it incumbent on her to make some remark, 
 so, still taking him for an ordinary mortal with whom she 
 had but a slight acquaintance, she politely and somewhat 
 condescendingly inquired, ' I hope your wife is well ? ' 
 
 ** ' My wife!' ejaculated the Prince, involuntarily — ' my 
 — wife — ?' But the truth flashing upon him, he rose to 
 the occasion. ' Thank you, my wife is quite well,' he said, 
 and then beat a hasty retreat to cover his amusement. The 
 joke served him for the whole evening, and we wondered 
 if he would tell the Queen of it afterwards ? 
 
 "But I doubt his doing so," continued Lady Frances, 
 "Her Majesty might not have appreciated it, and would 
 very likely have discerned some negligence on the part of 
 the poor duchess' family, who ought to have been more 
 careful. And so of course they ought, but — " suddenly 
 she paused, then darted from her seat. "There! The 
 Princess is going! — " and she picked up her petticoats and 
 flew across the lawn as lightly as a girl. 
 
 The Princess of Wales was then in the first flush of youth 
 and beauty. She turned and caught her old friend by the 
 hand, so that we had a momentarily clear vision of that 
 lovely face and winning smile — but immediately the little 
 crowd about her closed her in, and shut her out from view. 
 
 Often as I have seen our gracious Queen Alexandra 
 since, I always like best to think of her as she appeared 
 against the green background of elms on that sunny July 
 day. 
 
 There is a romance about elms ; mysteriously they rustle 
 and whisper. Their long, heavy-laden branches creak in 
 the sultry atmosphere, and you know it is foolish to sit 
 beneath them when they creak. You may be absent- 
 
ii8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 minded, absorbed — and lo! the great branch crashes to 
 the ground, making your heart leap. Otherwise, how still, 
 how silent the old trees are ; and how fittingly they frame 
 a brilliant picture with a beauteous Princess for its central 
 figure ! 
 
 Mrs. Proctor was not suffered to sit unaccosted long. 
 A stout ambassador came bowing up, and taking the vacant 
 seat by her side, observed that he " Had just been having 
 a chat with Lord Beaconsfield." 
 
 "Indeed.^" said she, somewhat coldly. We had seen 
 Dizzy in the distance for some time. 
 
 ** He heard you were here," continued our new friend. 
 ''And I promised to tell you that he had looked about 
 for you in vain. He has just left — unable to stay longer." 
 
 "He always leaves early," said Mrs. Proctor. 
 
 ** Public men must, my dear lady. I am making an 
 exception to-day ; it is with me a holiday. We must all 
 have holidays sometimes. Even poor Beaconsfield — but 
 I suspect he was going home to rest," continued he, con- 
 fidentially. '* He has to make a big speech to-night. But 
 he asked me to be sure and find you, and give you his 
 message." 
 
 After we also had left and were on our way home, Mrs. 
 Proctor let herself go upon this. 
 
 **Lord Beaconsfield is a marvellous man," said she, 
 drily. "It is wonderful what an amount of blarney he 
 contrives to spread, or get spread by others, on these occa- 
 sions. He does not talk to one half of the people he 
 knows, but why ? Because he has tried to find them, and 
 cannot ! He is quite the ' Wandering Jew ' — ever seek- 
 ing, and seeking in vain." 
 
 Then, having mollified herself by her satire, she shrugged 
 her shoulders philosophically. " One must take people as 
 one finds them. I have known Dizzy for many years now, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 119 
 
 and don't care two snaps of my fingers for his attention or 
 inattention. I know very well that he saw me to-day, but 
 he saw heaps of others of whom he thought more. He 
 thought, * I can have a gossip with Mrs. Proctor any time, 
 but now I want to pay my court to this and that great lady, 
 and take down in my mind her dress, and her daughter's 
 dress, and their jewels and ornaments for my next novel.' 
 Dizzy never neglects business ; and besides, there is some- 
 thing about rank, mere bald rank, and nothing besides, 
 that makes this curious man cringe. It must be because 
 he never was — oh, what an old scandal-monger I am!" — 
 and she broke off short, and could not be induced to touch 
 that theme again. 
 
 But presently she told us about Dizzy as a young man. 
 ** Not that he was a very young man when I first saw him, 
 my dears — but I have a friend, a Mr. Whitaker, who has 
 minutely described him to me as he then was ; and as you see 
 what the great Lord Beaconsfield is like to-day, you may 
 care to hear what Benjamin Disraeli was like once. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Whitaker was a curate at one of the London 
 churches, and he and his sister were asked to a party at 
 the house of the elder Disraeli. It was soon after ' Vivian 
 Grey' was published, which made a sensation, I can tell 
 you. 
 
 ' ' Its author was beginning to be courted and feted, even 
 then, — and one can't help remembering what an eye for 
 effect he has always had, when one hears that he made 
 having had to attend another party first an excuse for arriv- 
 ing the last of his father's guests. 
 
 When Mr. Whitaker mentioned that, I thought * So 
 like him,' nodded Mrs. Proctor, a shade maliciously. 
 
 He turned up at last," resumed she, ' ' dressed out fit 
 to kill. Do you want to hear how a dandy was dressed 
 then? He had on a puce-coloured coat, three waistcoats 
 showing one beneath the other-^ — red, blue, and white — 
 
120 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 and puce knee-breeches, with white silk stockings. This, 
 with his dark hair and clear olive skin was no doub.t very 
 becoming, as well as being the height of the fashion. 
 
 The odd thing was that a young curate who was by no 
 means a frequenter of fashionable haunts, should have 
 thought it worth noting. He would have been more likely 
 to pass over such foppery with contempt ; and when I said 
 to him something of the kind," proceeded Mrs. Proctor, 
 "he agreed at once, but had his excuse ready. ' Ah, Mrs. 
 Proctor, I could not despise Dizzy — no one could. 
 
 5 )) 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 An agreeable invitation clashes with a " Monday Pop " — To the wall 
 with the " Pop " — Mrs. Millais looked like a little Dresden shep- 
 herdess — Mr. Lehmann has heard of " Cooking accounts" before ! — ^ 
 Various versions of a nursery rhyme — Miss Thackeray tells of a 
 students' love affair in which her father and Norman Macleod were 
 rivals — " Ich liebe Melanie doch ! " — A judge and a Q.C. spar 
 about saving syllables — The problem of Mr. Samuel Warren's 
 wig — Sir Charles and Lady Dilke — The former chaffed about 
 Mormons by Mr. Wilkie Collins. 
 
 One morning Mary looked up from her letters at breakfast- 
 time with one in her hand, — ' ' Dear me, this is tiresome. 
 I do so love my ' Monday Pops,' and if this had been an 
 ordinary invitation, I should have refused it straight away 
 — but it is from the Leslie Stephens, and Miss Thackeray 
 is to be there." 
 
 ' * Of course you'll go," said her husband. * ' You have 
 wanted for long to meet Miss Thackeray ; and into the 
 bargain, there will be other people of the kind you like. 
 As for the ' Pops,' you can get them at any time." 
 
 The Monday Popular Concerts were a feature of London 
 life at this period. As to their musical merits, I can be no 
 judge, but presume they must have been considerable, 
 since Monday after Monday there were found sitting in 
 their own seats weary men and blasee women, whose 
 wealth and social status would have opened to them any 
 doors. 
 
 On *'Pop" nights the audience in St. James' Hall had 
 something of the appearance of a family gathering, so 
 
122 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 many of those present knew each other — while many more 
 knew each other by sight — and quietly listening, took no 
 interest in the dress and appearance of the rest, but sur- 
 rendered themselves wholly to the restful pleasure for which 
 they had come. 
 
 Anything more unlike an opera or theatre audience it 
 would have been difficult to imagine ; and as hours were 
 early, smart dressing unnecessary, and there was no worry 
 about getting away at the close, Mary would often perform 
 her most arduous social and charitable duties on a Monday, 
 in serene anticipation of a calm and peaceful evening. 
 
 Well, there is no help for it," said she, now. ' ' The 
 dear things might have known better than to clash with my 
 ' Pop ' — but the ' Pop ' must go to the wall. You girls 
 shall go to it however, and you shall both go to i.t this time, 
 so it's an ill wind, etc." 
 
 Accordingly when Monday evening came, we dropped 
 the diners-out and were conveyed on to St. James' Hall. 
 Luckily, the hours suited. 
 
 But we had nothing to say about our concert the next 
 morning, except the usual declaration that we had enjoyed 
 ourselves, whereas Mary was bubbling over with reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 ' ' First of all," we said, ' * tell us about Miss Thackeray. 
 I don't care much about Mrs. Leslie Stephen ; people are 
 never so interesting once they are married," cried one of 
 our foolish selves — ''And besides, she hasn't written ' Old 
 Kensington,'" cried the other. 
 
 ' ' Oh, but she is very nice indeed," said Mary. ' ' Shy, 
 and gentle, and very quiet — and though I don't say she has 
 the charm of her sister — " 
 
 "Tell us about Miss Thackeray — tell us about Miss 
 Thackeray." 
 
 "Do you want to know what she is like — or — .?" 
 " What she is like, of course^ — and all the rest too." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 123 
 
 ''She has the sweetest face in the world. Perhaps not 
 strictly speaking — " 
 
 "Is she pretty?" 
 
 ' ' Not what some people would call — " 
 
 " Why, I have heard she is pretty." 
 
 Poor Mary could hardly get in a word for us and our 
 interruptions, but eventually we learned that the goddess 
 at whose feet we would fain have worshipped — (thousands 
 of other girls felt the same — ) had smooth, brown hair, ex- 
 pressive, brown eyes, and a little flickering pink in her 
 cheeks, which always looked as if it might flicker out at any 
 moment, but somehow did just manage to hold out. 
 
 "Was she pleasant to talk to?" 
 
 ' * More than pleasant, fascinating. There was some- 
 thing quite irresistible in her smile." 
 
 "And her dress?" 
 
 ' * Ah, there you have me on the hip ! " quoth Mary, 
 laughing. "I can't tell you one single thing about her 
 dress. But look here," she ran on eagerly, ' ' I can tell 
 you about Mrs. Millais' dress — " 
 
 "Were the Millais' there?" 
 
 ' ' Very much there ; he in great form about his new 
 picture, and she looking a perfect little Watteau shep- 
 herdess ! Don't hurry me, and I will describe her inch by 
 inch. The motif of the dress was white silk, barred with 
 tiny satin stripes of shell-pink. The whole front breadth 
 was pink of the same lovely shade, under old Venetian lace 
 ten inches wide. The bodice was cut square ; and the 
 sleeves, which were tight to the elbow, hung loose below it. 
 There now ; could Madame Elise herself have given you 
 a better description?" 
 
 As we never aspired to have any dealings with the great 
 Elise we could not judge of her descriptive powers, but 
 certainly Mrs. Millais' Watteau-like dress stood out dis- 
 tinctly to view beneath Mary's graphic touches. 
 
124 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Mrs. Millais was not a very interesting person however, 
 and we inquired about the rest of the company? The 
 names I remember were the Russell Gurneys, the Leh- 
 manns, Mr. Spring Rice, and a Mr. Venables. (Of the 
 latter it may be said that his chief claim to notice consisted 
 in his having been the boy who broke Thackeray's nose in 
 a fight when they were at Charterhouse together.) 
 
 " It was only a small party then.'^" 
 
 ' ' Oh, quite small, and a funny thing happened at 
 dessert. Mr. Lehmann was admiring some beautiful old 
 covered dishes on the table, and as one was within reach of 
 him, and he wanted to examine it more closely, he put out 
 his hand and took the cover off. Lo, and behold, the dish 
 was full of bills! Mrs. Stephen, half-laughing, half- 
 disconcerted, protested that such china was only meant to 
 be looked at, not handled ; at which the perpetrator of the 
 outrage laughed back and replied, ' I have often heard of 
 cooking accounts, Minnie, but never before of serving 
 them up at table ! ' " 
 
 During dinner, Mary said, there was a good deal of 
 general conversation, and it turned at one time on the trial 
 going on between Miss Saurin and some nuns. 
 
 What the nuns and Miss Saurin were at loggerheads 
 about, I forget, but the trial was on everybody's lips at the 
 moment — and at the Leslie Stephens' dinner-party some 
 one remarked on one of the barristers quoting the nursery 
 rhyme, ' ' The Queen was in the parlour, eating bread and 
 honey," and said that he had not got it right. At least, 
 that was not as he, the speaker, had been taught the rhyme 
 in his nursery days. 
 
 On this, the Recorder of London declared that the ver- 
 sion he knew was, '' The Queen was in her kitchen — " and 
 a Scotch lady interposed with a Scotch version, — so that no 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 125 
 
 two people seemed to think alike on the subject. How- 
 ever, all agreed that the last line ran, 
 
 " By came a little blackbird, and pecked ofF her nose," 
 
 except Miss Thackeray, who declared that her ending was^ 
 
 " A doctor passing by heard a horrid cry of pain. 
 He picked up the piece of nose, and sewed it on again." 
 
 Whereat everyone called out that this was her own im- 
 promptu, but she protested she never wrote poetry. 
 
 I wonder if my sister and I here showed by our coun- 
 tenances that we were rather astonished at such trivialities 
 amusing our solemn elders, for Mary, while affecting to 
 take no notice, threw out, ' ' Tired and hard- worked people 
 are sometimes so thankful for a little nonsense. Especially 
 at the end of the day. It is the unbending of the bow. I 
 have often watched a poor man regularly shivering under 
 the attacks of a clever woman bent on making him talk 
 cleverly ; and a child who comes and puts her hand upon 
 his knee, and talks to him about her pussy-cat, is like a 
 cool breath in the desert to him." 
 
 '* What else did you talk about .^" said we, after a pause. 
 
 "What else.'^ Oh, the speech Mr. Stephen's brother 
 made the night before in the House of Commons. Both 
 the sisters were there, and it must have been a great speech, 
 for though it lasted two hours. Miss Thackeray said en- 
 thusiastically, ' I am sure we could have listened for another 
 two hours ; couldn't we, Minnie .?' " 
 
 Mrs. Stephen however heaved a gentle sigh. " No ; i 
 couldn't. I was glad when it was over, Annie ; I am glad 
 when everything is over!" 
 
 Shortly after this. Miss Thackeray came to see us one 
 quiet afternoon, and looking at a photograph of Norman 
 Macleod, (the same that he himself objected to, and for 
 
126 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 which he wanted to substitute that of his brother George) 
 she said, '' Oh, do you know * Norman'?" 
 
 There was, of course, an outburst of assent, and then we 
 waited for more. More was so obviously hovering on her 
 lips, and her eyes looked so full of laughing intelligence, 
 that to let her keep it, whatever it was, to herself, was not 
 to be thought of. 
 
 Good-humouredly she began: *'My father and 
 * Norman ' were students together at Weimar, in the long, 
 long ago ; and fell in love with the same madchen, the 
 daughter of one of the professors there. 
 
 " Her mother was French, and she was called Melanie. 
 No doubt she had big blue eyes, and a flaxen plait of hair 
 hanging down her back, and they thought her a lovely crea- 
 ture. They talked so freely about this Melanie afterwards, 
 (I don't suppose any hearts were broken,) that when I hap- 
 pened to meet ' Norman ' some years ago, I teased him and 
 he took it merrily, and what was more, told me the end of 
 the story. 
 
 " Finding himself in Weimar one summer, his evil 
 genius prompted him to try and discover what had become 
 of this ' darling Melanie,' and if she were alive, where she 
 lived. 
 
 ' ' He knew that she had married, and married a Court 
 oflicial, so would be easily traced — as she was. 
 
 ' ' She lived with her husband at the Palace ; and when 
 told that the Gnadige Frau was at home, he felt quite 
 pleasantly excited having in his mind's eye the Melanie of 
 thirty years before — and was impatient for the door to open. 
 After a considerable time it did open, but oh, the 
 shock! An exclamation all but escaped, — however, he 
 controlled himself and inquired in faint, weak, wavering 
 accents, 'Are you my old friend Melanie.'^' 
 
 ' * Why, yes ; of course she was. Grossly stout, red- 
 faced, and coarse-featured as was the full-blown dame before 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 127 
 
 him, she was plainly alive to the tremulous incredulity of 
 his tone, and mortified by it. ' Ich bin Melanie ; ja wohl,' 
 she said — and looked at him with something of his own 
 dismay. He thought she was bewildered and irritated by 
 the change in him ; and that in some curious way it opened 
 her eyes to the change in herself. 
 
 ''At all events, the visit was a failure, and completely 
 shattered ' Norman's ' youthful illusions. 
 
 * ' But he said nothing about it to my father," continued 
 Miss Thackeray, ' ' and when my father, not long before 
 his death, was lecturing in Edinburgh on the ' Four 
 Georges,' he espied the great Scotch preacher seated on the 
 platform, in the front row, before which he was about to 
 pass. 
 
 ' ' As by a lightning flash, he saw before him the comrade 
 of his youth, the old German town, the professor's little 
 fair-haired daughter — and as he passed ' Norman,' he laid a 
 hand upon his shoulder, and the eyes of the two giants met. 
 
 '' ' Ich Itehe Melanie docli,^ whispered my father, in deep, 
 gutteral German, and without changing a muscle of his 
 countenance, passed to his seat. 
 
 "'But I had the best of it, for I could laugh,' said 
 ' Norman.' " 
 
 There was another trial, and a trial of still greater public 
 interest than that of Miss Saurin and her nuns, going on 
 soon after this, and the first question one and another asked 
 directly they met each other was, ''What do you think 
 about the ' Claimant .f^' " — the ' Claimant' being of course 
 the Arthur Orton who impersonated Sir Roger Tichborne, 
 and laid claim to the baronetcy and estates. 
 
 As many people as not were convinced that he was what 
 he pretended to be ; and I remember being much struck 
 with the quiet remark of Mr. Herschell, who, being a 
 leading Q.C., might be supposed to hold decided views on 
 
128 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 the case. All he would say was, ''I really don't know 
 what to think." And this when every cock-sure young 
 man and feather-pated girl would exclaim on the instant, 
 " Of course he is Tichborne," or " Of course he is not!" 
 
 As the trial proceeded, opinions indeed did begin to 
 waver, there seemed so very much to be said on both sides. 
 Mr. Wilkie Collins, for instance, came in one day and 
 said, " As to this ' Claimant's ' forgetting what he learned at 
 school, I cannot say that that is in any way remarkable, for I 
 have undergone a like experience. Although I have been 
 for twenty years before the public as a literary man, I still 
 make the most absurd mistakes in spelling, and my gram- 
 mar is sometimes awful. I assure you the printers have 
 to correct my grammar. I am in favour of the * Claimant's ' 
 being the man." 
 
 Others present loudly combated the idea, but as I forget 
 who these were and what was said, I will confine myself to 
 relating the neat epigram made by Lord Chelmsford when 
 the great trial was over ; as although it was bruited about 
 at the time, it may be new to some people in these days. 
 
 In order to catch its full point I must premise that 
 " Baxter," " Rose," and " Norton " were the names of the 
 three principal lawyers engaged in the case on the ' ' Claim- 
 ant's" side. 
 
 Lord Chelmsford's witty lines rans thus : 
 
 " 'Tis said by Baxter, Rose, and Norton, 
 The ' Claimant ' is not Arthur Orton — 
 They can't deny, what's more important, 
 That Arthur's done what Arthur oughtn't." 
 
 Whenever Mr. Herschell came to see us, we always had 
 some good stories of the Law Courts. 
 
 He loved to tell, and we to hear them. They were 
 always funny and never malicious. I think I never knew 
 any man who so systematically spoke well of people behind 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 129 
 
 their backs — but if he had merely to recount some little 
 foible on the one part or some piquant snub on the other, 
 he would do it with spirit. 
 
 One day he had a brisk passage-of-arms to relate between 
 Lord Campbell on the Bench and Mr. Hawkins down 
 below. 
 
 Mr. Hawkins was conducting a case of dispute between 
 the proprietors of an omnibus, and the owner of a 
 brougham, which had come into collision. Apparently 
 the learned counsel was not aware of the correct pronuncia- 
 tion of that kind of carriage, for he repeatedly referred to it 
 as a " Brough-am,^^ rolling out the full length of the word. 
 
 Fidgetting in his seat, at length Lord Campbell said 
 testily, ' ' Mr. Hawkins, if you will call the vehicle in 
 question a Broom^ you will save a syllable and be better 
 understood." 
 
 Of course Mr. Hawkins could but bow acquiescence, 
 but he bided his time, and presently the time came. 
 
 Lord Campbell, continuing his interrogations, spoke of 
 the * ' Omnibus." In an instant Mr. Hawkins was on his 
 feet. ' ' My Lord, if you will call the vehicle in question 
 a Bus^ you will save two syllables, and be better under- 
 stood." 
 
 Finding this well received, Mr. Herschell treated us to 
 another smart reply, although in this instance it had not 
 been called forth by the spirit of revenge. 
 
 An Irish barrister had been bored to death by a weari- 
 some old Judge for whom he had no great respect, and 
 was obviously paying but little attention as the other 
 maundered on. Suddenly the old gentleman perceived 
 this, and demanded, *' Do you follow me.^" 
 
 "Really, my Lord, I can't go yelping after every hare 
 you start," replied the impudent barrister. 
 
 I,t was very impudent, but after all, if, as Father O'Flynn 
 
 I 
 
130 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 asserts, " One may be a priest and an Irishman, too " ; for 
 " Priest " read " Lawyer," and let the plea stand. 
 
 A Q.C. who can be very agreeable when he chooses, but 
 does not always choose, is Mr. Samuel Warren, (the author 
 of "Ten Thousand a Year"), and he took Mary in to 
 dinner one night. 
 
 He talked pleasantly enough, and told her one anecdote 
 about himself which she thought worth remembering for 
 us at home. 
 
 His books being much read in America, he is not un- 
 accustomed to receiving visits from American admirers, 
 but he had had one lately which gave rise to some amuse- 
 ment, as much to his visitor as to himself. 
 
 The stranger, after the usual opening sentences, looked 
 at Mr. Warren and said, " You seem to have an excellent 
 wig. I should never have guessed it was not your own 
 hair." 
 
 "But it is my own hair," retorted Mr. Warren. "I 
 have to wear a wig in the Law Courts, but, thank goodness, 
 I can take it off the instant I am out of them." 
 
 "Is that so.''" rejoined the American, with a humorous 
 look in his eye ; " do you say that it is your own hair 
 you wear.f* But I know better." 
 
 "How know better.?" 
 
 " I know that you are as bald as a badger." 
 
 Whereat Mr. Warren jumped to his feet and invited 
 the sceptic to pull his hair. 
 
 This done, and his bushy crop thoroughly investigated, 
 peace was restored between them and the mystery cleared 
 up. " I have your photograph here," said the American, 
 feeling in his breast-pocket, " I cut it out of my copy of 
 your immortal work, and brought it along in the hope of 
 being able to compare it with yourself. To tell the truth, 
 I have not considered the likeness glaring " ; and to the 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 131 
 
 astonishment of Mr. Warren, he produced a portrait of — 
 that gentleman's father ! 
 
 By some mistake, this had been prefixed to the American 
 edition of '' Ten Thousand a Year," and as it was dis- 
 tinctly stated to be a "Portrait of the Author" it was 
 natural to suppose that it was so. 
 
 ' ' And my father is as bald as a badger," wound up Mr. 
 Warren, laughing. 
 
 Everyone who came to the house at this time was full 
 of the General Election, which was going on all over 
 England, and Lady Dilke gave us an account of an 
 amusing experience she had during her husband. Sir 
 Charles' canvass. 
 
 Sir Charles, a Radical of Radicals, was opposed by a 
 certain Mr. Gordon, an equally Ultra-Conservative, and 
 the combat was fierce. 
 
 It was also, I believe, a very near thing, and every art 
 was practised by the two well-matched opponents. 
 
 Lady Dilke said that she was nearly worn out with 
 driving about in the heat, inviting and imploring people 
 to vote for Sir Charles. She often started at eight in the 
 morning, and had not completed her round by eight at 
 night. 
 
 When interviewing voters and their wives, she spoke 
 to them with a sort of friendly familiarity which she was 
 told went down with people of the shopkeeping class, and 
 after chatting about this thing and that, finally asked in 
 a careless way if they would vote for her husband ? 
 
 Many said they would, and she went home one day 
 triumphantly, only to discover on stepping out of her 
 carriage a huge blue poster affixed to its back, bearing the 
 inscription " Vote for Gordon ! " 
 
 So then it was quite in the cards that the constituents 
 
132 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 whose vote that day had been begged for her "husband" 
 had promised them to Mr. Gordon ! 
 
 ********* 
 
 Before she left, Lady Dilke told us of a witty saying by 
 the celebrated Quaker, John Bright. Dizzy had remarked 
 to Bright that Gladstone's was "A very harassing legis- 
 lation." 
 
 "If you had been with the children of Israel in the 
 wilderness," retorted Bright, ' ' you would probably have 
 called the Ten Commandments 'A very harassing legis- 
 lation.' " 
 
 Bright's marvellous ready retorts were much in people's 
 
 mouths at that time. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Shortly after this, the Dilkes came to dinner, and we 
 had an opportunity of seeing whether the constituents so 
 enigmatically treated by the wife had the best or the worst 
 of it when they brought the husband in as their member. 
 
 At least that was how we women who were no politicians 
 looked at it. We felt like Mrs. Oliphant's "Miss Mar- 
 joribanks," who carried everything before her at an election 
 by pronouncing with inimitable solemnity that her candi- 
 date was " The man for Carlingford." His opinions, his 
 convictions, mattered not at all. He was simply the man 
 for them — and they returned him. It is a truthful touch. 
 
 But although Sir Charles Dilke was returned, I cannot 
 for my life imagine that it could have been because he was 
 felt to be " The man " for the seat, wherever it was. 
 
 He must have got hold of his constituents by other 
 means, for he was not charming. In fact he was un- 
 commonly dull, and a dull young man is much less 
 endurable than a dull old one. 
 
 As our poor bore did not care for the general conversa- 
 tion, which was good — Mr. Wilkie Collins, Sir Edwin 
 Landseer, and other pleasant people being there — we had 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 133 
 
 to take it by turns to amuse him, and luckily Mary had 
 read his book, ** Greater Britain," which woke him up to 
 some show of interest. But she owned she could hardly 
 keep hers alive, till Mr. Collins took compassion on her, 
 and tried to introduce a lighter tone into the conversation. 
 
 He began by asking Sir Charles if he thought there were 
 an opening for a '* London Correspondent" in any of the 
 papers of the Far West, as he would apply for the post 
 if there were.^ 
 
 Sir Charles, taking him seriously, gave the matter con- 
 sideration before he replied in solemn accents, ' ' The 
 difficulty would be, you see, that they might want to pay 
 in kind." 
 
 "What, in vegetables ?^^ cried the other, in affected 
 horror. ' ' Oh, I say, they would be rotten before they 
 could possibly reach me! No, no," shaking his head, 
 '' I could not agree to that. I really could not take vege- 
 tables instead of money." 
 
 Sir Charles, seeing he was in fun, tried to smile but 
 soon changing the subject, began another. He was so 
 full of his "Greater Britain" that he could think of 
 nothing else, and of course in a sense he was interesting 
 to listen to, but far more so when Mr. Collins took him 
 in hand, than in monologue. His monologues were tire- 
 some to a degree ; — one, Mary said, lasted ten minutes 
 by the clock, — and he could not hold his audience with 
 Mr. Collins continually breaking in with a brisk question 
 or comment which broke the thread. 
 
 Sir Charles was dilating on his favourite theme — (we 
 heard afterwards that it was so) — of Salt Lake City, and 
 the Mormon women. He seemed to think he had reached 
 the hearts of them and learned their true sentiments. 
 
 ''Do you really think so. Sir Charles .f^" — said Mr. 
 Collins. "Don't you think that it is more likely they 
 were told about your coming beforehand, and instructed 
 
134 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 by their lords what they were to do ? I imagine that Brig- 
 ham Young is too knowing a bird to let his hens cackle 
 without his leave. Depend upon it, he collected them round 
 him and admonished them with an awful countenance. 
 ' Ye wives of mine, give ear. A man from London is 
 coming to write a book about us. Give him a pleasant 
 impression, or — it will be the worse for you. The prophet 
 has said it.' " 
 
 Perceiving, however, that this very mild chaff was not 
 to the taste of the Chaffee^ our genial novelist desisted and 
 adroitly turned the conversation into other channels. 
 
 We left them discussing Siberia, for which Sir Charles 
 was going to start at the earliest opportunity, — and 
 although we felt sure that Mr. Collins could have been 
 equally funny concerning the experiences likely to befal 
 the worthy baronet in collecting material there for the 
 obviously impending book, he restrained himself. 
 
 '* What tempted me was the appalHng self-confidence of 
 that very young man!" he said, afterwards. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A mysterious being who was a mystery even to himself — Mr. Laurence 
 Oliphant has something uncanny in his appearance — But possesses 
 a wonderful fascination — The old man's misadventure in Westmin- 
 ster Abbey tickles his fancy — He relates tales of different communi- 
 ties — I meet George Eliot at Mr. John Blackwood's, in Edinburgh 
 — She reminds me of a horse — At a second meeting, hear about 
 her "At Home" days — Mr. Froude is not to be deterred from 
 proclaiming his contempt for George Eliot's works by the proximity 
 of Mr. Cross — "That good Cross just went on eating his dinner ! " 
 
 About this time, luck sent our way that strange, brilliant, 
 mysterious being, Laurence Oliphant. 
 
 Perhaps of all the people I met during my periodical 
 visits to * ' Victorian London," Mr. Laurence Oliphant 
 impressed me the most deeply. 
 
 He seemed to be not one man, but many kinds of men 
 at once. He was a contradiction to himself. Sometimes 
 all on fire, a very flame of enthusiasm for some object, 
 often a fanciful one, — again equally ardent in pursuit of 
 another, with the first quite forgotten. 
 
 You never knew what mood he would be in — but of 
 one thing you could be certain, that whatever it was, he 
 would not be in it long. 
 
 If he came to you depressed, dejected, seething with 
 evil prognostications, bent beneath a weight of gloom too 
 heavy to be borne — he went away laughing like a boy. 
 If, on the contrary, his fine countenance showed itself 
 unclouded at the start, a shadow might fall at any moment. 
 
 And the shadow was never very far away ; there was 
 
136 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 always something in the dark and rather wild eyes that 
 warned of its proximity. They endorsed, in effect, the 
 following passage, transcribed by me into an old-fashioned 
 note-book about this time, with reference, I cannot but 
 think, to him. 
 
 "Behind every scale in music, the gayest, the grandest, 
 the most triumphant, lies its dark relative minor ; our 
 brightest hours are tunes that have a modulation into those 
 dreary keys ever possible." 
 
 And is it not a fact that this "dark relative minor" 
 lending its soft melancholy to a fine countenance, does 
 heighten its attractiveness ? Which of you does not know 
 this ? Oh, I have no need to enlarge. 
 
 Mr. Laurence Oliphant possessed the sombre eye, the 
 reluctant smile, to perfection. Did he know it.? No, I 
 really don't think he did. He was a mystery to himself. 
 
 And he was quite natural ; even in his wildest rhodo- 
 montades he was not posing^ he was not putting on any- 
 thing that was not there. He felt all that he said — and a 
 little more. In fact, it may be surmised that he did not 
 quite know what he did feel. 
 
 After the lapse of years, when this wonderful personality, 
 at once so strong and so weak, has long been in his quiet 
 grave, there can be no harm in saying that even before he 
 committed his crowning piece of folly, the subjection of 
 his great soul to one so little fitted to master it, there was 
 something uncanny in the man. Nothing he said, or did, 
 or became, would have surprised those who knew him. 
 
 On the occasion of our first meeting, he was all traveller. 
 He had just returned from America, and everyone knew 
 what he had been doing there, but he did not in any way 
 allude to it. For the moment he had escaped from leading- 
 strings, and the rebound was commensurate. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 137 
 
 He poured forth experiences of one continent and 
 another, and confined himself to the veriest chit-chat. 
 
 Sometimes his voice rose high ; that was when he had 
 a fraud, or a trick to expose, — but evidently he recognised 
 that a London drawing-room, full of mere acquaintances, 
 was not the place for revelations or demonstrations, and if 
 these lay near his lips, they were checked. Of the fanatic 
 to whom he had delivered himself, body and soul, for the 
 time being, he said not a word. 
 
 Of course we were wondering if he would ; and once 
 or twice felt as though he were drawing near the " Danger " 
 point, but he never touched it — he seemed as if he had 
 resolved beforehand not to touch it ; — and I fancy that 
 Mary was secretly thankful for this, even if some of us 
 were not. 
 
 Mary had known his father. Sir Anthony Oliphant, in 
 her youth, and had been told by him that he and his son 
 were the only civilians present at the taking of Sebastopol 
 — at least, Mary maintained this. How it could have 
 been, she did not pretend to understand, but was positive 
 she had heard old Sir Anthony say so. 
 
 Another of his statements, she alleged, was that ''Lau- 
 rence had supported himself entirely by literature, ever 
 since he was eighteen years old." This was also un- 
 supported by evidence, but we gulped it down. 
 
 Indeed we would have believed anything ; and an 
 acquaintance coming in, and assuring us that in pursuance 
 of the dictates of the head of the ' ' Brotherhood," Harris, 
 this gifted Laurence Oliphant whom London, Paris, and 
 every capital in the civilised world would have been 
 delighted to honour, was actually seen selling strawberries 
 at a railway-station in the New World ! 
 
 You never knew what would amuse Mr. Oliphant, and 
 what would not. Some really witty anecdotes told in his 
 presence fell as flat as pancakes, while he simply rocked 
 
138 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 with laughter over a funny little incident that had happened 
 to some of our party the previous Sunday, at Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 During the singing of a hymn at the evening service, 
 a little old man in front of us dropped his slip of paper 
 on which the hymns were printed, and dived after it. But 
 the sheet had disappeared — floated off out of ken — so was 
 not to be retrieved ; and the little old man remained 
 grovelling. 
 
 As he did not reappear on the surface, Mary's husband 
 in the kindness of his heart took alarm, (he said afterwards 
 that he thought the poor little man had fallen down in a 
 fit,) dived after him, seized him by the scruff of the neck, 
 and proceeded to lug him along the floor into the open. 
 The unfortunate victim of this misplaced aid was too much 
 amazed for resistance. 
 
 Then another well-meaning stranger came also to the 
 rescue, and between them they hauled their patient on to 
 his feet — his collar bursting in the process — and it was 
 only then, when hands were fumbling at his throat, that 
 he recovered himself sufl&ciently to expostulate. The rest 
 of us, who understood, could do nothing, — but that meek 
 little old man must have had a spirit of his own, for he 
 buttoned his collar, resumed his place, and albeit somewhat 
 flushed, stood out the rest of the service. 
 
 This sounds nothing in the telling, but Mr. Oliphant 
 saw the absurdity of it so keenly that, as I said, he laughed 
 and laughed. 
 
 It was a wonderful thing to listen to Mr. Oliphant when 
 he was in the full rush of a raconteur. He seemed to be 
 in very truth seeing the sights he described, and hearing 
 the sounds. Surely never man had a more extraordinary 
 and diverse career, — he seemed to have done, seen, and 
 lived through a dozen existences, — but it is all so jumbled 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 139 
 
 up in my head by this time that I can only recal — and that 
 faintly — scraps that do not in the least hang together. 
 
 One however does stand out to view more distinct in 
 outline. It was that of a tour among convents in Mol- 
 davia, undertaken at the instance of a nun, whom he had 
 met one night at the opera, of all places ! 
 
 The nun, a very friendly nun indeed, assured him of a 
 welcome and hospitality wherever he went, and he found 
 that she knew what she was talking about. From convent 
 to convent he made a sort of Royal Progress, and every- 
 where was received with open arms. 
 
 And it was pleasant to hear his report of that curious, 
 and, as we should call it, terribly back-of-beyond place. 
 Apparently neither the nuns nor the monks of Moldavia 
 found it so, and considered that they had as many of the 
 good things of this world as other people. 
 
 Many of them were not immured within convent or 
 monastery walls. Such as chose could " Live out." They 
 formed themselves into small communities, dwelling in 
 cottages with gardens and orchards, which they cultivated 
 with excellent effect. And as the climate was delightful, 
 Mr. Oliphant declared that he could not imagine a more 
 attractive and altogether satisfactory existence. 
 
 As he spoke, it was clear that he had an arriere pensee 
 
 on the subject. He dwelt so fondly on it, and returned 
 
 so often to it, that some one said after he had gone, ' ' Take 
 
 my word for it, Laurence Oliphant is contemplating a 
 
 retreat for himself of this kind, one day " ; — a prediction 
 
 which was justified, as we all know. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Could any two people have been less like each other, 
 than the genius above mentioned, and another genius who 
 was now for a brief space to occupy our minds, namely, 
 "George Eliot" .? 
 
 We never knew her intimately, few people did, — (partly 
 
140 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 of course owing to the unfortunate circumstances of her 
 life) — but in 1 876, in which year I first met her, at the house 
 of Mr. John Blackwood, in Edinburgh, she was going a 
 little more into society. 
 
 By this time I was married, and had written my first 
 novel, " Mr. Smith," and this had brought me the friend- 
 ship of the editor of ' ' Maga," and the honour of being 
 asked, "In a quiet way," to meet the author of "Adam 
 Bede." 
 
 Much did I look forward to that evening — but, shall I 
 confess it ? — it ended in disappointment. As such evenings 
 have a trick of doing, it proved barren of any real enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 George Eliot, with her large head, and rather horse-like 
 face and portentous manner, was not to me an attractive 
 personage, and when next I went to stay with Mary in 
 London, she rated me for this. 
 
 What fault had I to find ? What cause had I to dislike 
 the famous novelist, one of the first, if not the first literary 
 celebrity of her day ? 
 
 Well, what cause ? Can one always give a cause ? Was 
 not the immortal Dr. Fell the victim of a prejudice ? 
 
 I had been set down beside the guest of the evening 
 at her request — (Mr. Blackwood said it was at her request) 
 — and she had meant to be civil and kind. But how 
 heavily drave the wheels of her chariot! How intermin- 
 ably dragged that interview! 
 
 Could it be possible that this was the creator of ' ' Mrs. 
 Poyser," and " Hetty " t " Dinah," yes ; and " Adam 
 Bede," and ' ' Maggie Tulliver," and any number more of 
 serious, thoughtful people — I could picture the heavy 
 brow bent in weighty cogitation over such, — but little 
 frivolous, selfish Hetty ? 
 
 And what perplexed me more than all the rest was the 
 thought of " Mr. Gilfil's Love-story " — that simple story, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 141 
 
 with its exquisite insight into the human heart. How 
 could that ponderous being — "Oh! don't call her that!" 
 cried out Mary, in real pain. 
 
 So of course I tried to explain away an absurd resent- 
 ment, and said no more about it. 
 
 Mary had not herself entered into the delicate atmos- 
 phere of ''Mr. Gilfil's Love-story"; its touches, so 
 marvellously true to nature, had been by her passed un- 
 noticed. It was not in her to be moved by the picture 
 of the perfidious Anthony's cameo-like profile reposing on 
 his pillow in the moonlight, nor by that of the poor little 
 " Pet monkey's " jealous watch whilst he made love to her 
 triumphant rival. 
 
 No ; Mary had read the ' * Scenes of Clerical Life," but 
 owned that she had not been greatly impressed by them, 
 and I found that what disappointed and repelled me in 
 George Eliot's personality was to her incomprehensible. 
 
 She was soon to form her own opinion of the talented 
 authoress however, for as it chanced we came into contact 
 with her shortly afterwards. She had been lured to an 
 evening party by an irresistible bait, the playing of Rubin- 
 stein. 
 
 Rubinstein was the lion of the musical world at the 
 moment, and when we arrived at the party, to find him 
 already there, he was the cynosure of all eyes. 
 
 " What do you think .?"' " Like the portraits of Beet- 
 hoven .f*" "Yes — No," — a little buzz was going on in 
 the background. ' ' He is said to cultivate the resemblance 
 sedulously," — the gossip went. 
 
 But how can a resemblance be " Cultivated " ? 
 
 A face is a face ; and a shaggy mane of hair is a shaggy 
 mane ; and the face can't be altered, and the mane can't 
 be altered — in the way suggested ; — and as for Hen- 
 Rubinstein's coat and collar, it was like every other coat 
 
142 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 and collar affected by his craft ; and — really I could not see 
 what the poor man was supposed to have "Sedulously'* 
 done? He had a scowl certainly — perhaps he cultivated 
 the scowl? 
 
 His playing was glorious, and among the rest George 
 Eliot gave herself up to it entirely. 
 
 That it cast a spell over her was obvious. Her massive 
 brow unbent, and a softened expression stole over her 
 heavy features. She did not look the same woman as 
 when last I saw her. 
 
 Music, it was said, always had on her a great effect. 
 
 Indeed, she is a real lover of it," said Mr. Lehmann, 
 sitting down beside us in an interval. ''The pity is, that 
 she rather prides herself on being a performer too, as I 
 know to my cost. I play duets with her sometimes. 
 Well, they are odd performances, those duets. She has 
 feeling, certainly she has feeling — but her execu- 
 tion is — erratic ; " — and he laughed a little. " However," 
 he continued, " it gives pleasure to one auditor at any rate, 
 for whenever we get through a whole page without a 
 breakdown, Lewis claps his hands and cries 'Exquisite! '" 
 
 When Rubinstein had departed, and we could all walk 
 and talk again, a friend of Mary's gave us an account of 
 George Eliot's days "At Home," and what went on then, 
 — and her narrative derived an additional relish from being 
 illustrated as it were by the novelist's remarkable figure 
 being within a few yards of the speaker. 
 
 Let me pause to describe it. 
 
 If George Eliot's countenance shewed itself more noble 
 and striking on this occasion than I had thought it hitherto, 
 so did she also appear to greater advantage in other respects. 
 Possibly she had not considered Mr. Blackwood's dinner- 
 party worth her best bib and tucker.? Possibly she may 
 not have had it with her.^^ She was only going to Auld 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 143 
 
 Reekie, and she may have surmised that people were not 
 smart in Auld Reekie ? 
 
 Now of course if the gifted lady did thus think, she 
 was very much out in her reckoning. In no place is dress 
 more considered — or was in those days, — and ladies there 
 would have thought shame to wear the dirty gloves and 
 frayed trimmings they smuggled into London drawing- 
 rooms, ' ' Where there will be such a crush, my dear, that 
 it will never be seen what you put on." 
 
 Be that as it may, the famous authoress had now arrayed 
 herself in a very fine gown indeed, and looked exceedingly 
 well in it. 
 
 As far as I remember, it was a rich silk of pale heliotrope 
 colour, made high — (though bare necks were even then 
 de rigueur) — and a quantity of soft old lace was disposed 
 upon the bodice and sleeves. A cap of the same old lace 
 — probably Mechlin — had strips of heliotrope ribbon art- 
 fully inserted to take off the cappy look, — and in short, 
 the whole get-up was effective and becoming. Having 
 studied it, we came to the conclusion that its wearer was 
 an imposing and majestic, if not precisely a handsome 
 woman. The resemblance to a horse was still there, but 
 modified. 
 
 So now we were in a position to appreciate the histrionic 
 powers of our friend's friend, who had been so obliging as 
 to take notes of what transpired when votaries flocked to 
 see George Eliot on the domestic pedestal, albeit these 
 filtered to us through a third person. 
 
 We were informed that the priestess sat enthroned 
 within an alcove at the end of a long drawing-room, and 
 that arrivals were received by Mr. Lewis in a small ante- 
 chamber. Here they were detained by him for the space 
 of about ten minutes, presumably to let their predecessors 
 have their due before their own introduction on the scene. 
 
 Mr. Lewis, said the friend's friend, always worked 
 
144 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 loyally to make this period of probation pass without its 
 occasioning too much impatience. Mr. Lewis could not, 
 of course, enter into any real conversation, as he had to be 
 on the stretch all the time to see that no one on in front 
 exceeded his or her limit, — besides, new-comers sometimes 
 came so thick and fast that he was hard put to it to regulate 
 the traffic. Still, he managed wonderfully. Sometimes 
 he got them to talk to one another. 
 
 Obviously the friend's friend thought this an achieve- 
 ment worth recording, — and although it raised a secret 
 smile at the time, from my present wider experience, upon 
 my word, I think she was right. How many a poor 
 hostess gnashes her teeth in vain, while stolid faces sit 
 round, all steadily set one way, all looking for bread to her 
 alone ! 
 
 When at last the Gentleman Usher, (for that, said our 
 friend's friend, is our name for George Lewis,) is released 
 from his post, it is to join the group assembled within the 
 presence-chamber, though he still obliterates himself as 
 much as possible. At one time he was a brilliant talker 
 — none better in London — but since his union with George 
 Eliot, it is his pleasure to merge all his attainments in hers^ 
 and to be only one of the humblest of her votaries. 
 
 We felt by this time that we had had enough of the 
 subject (and perhaps of the friend and the friend's friend) 
 for Mary here rose abruptly from her chair, and we slipped 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble, (Fanny Kemble,) also gave us a glimpse 
 into the life of George Eliot, which in a sense seemed to 
 account for the oppressive solemnity of her companion- 
 ship. 
 
 She was never at play. She never, as it were, laid her- 
 self aside. Her great mind was ever working, receiving, 
 digesting, reproducing. " The only recreation in any form 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 145 
 
 that commended itself to her," said Mrs. Kemble, "was 
 a change of subject for thought and talk." 
 
 "Was not this a little tiring for those about her.^" 
 queried Mary. "People who are always on the high 
 horse do wear one out, you know." 
 
 " Oh, they do," assented Mrs. Kemble, readily. " They 
 wear me out — I know that. After a day at the Lewises 
 I am worn to a thread." 
 
 ' ' But perhaps," said Mary, with a happy thought, 
 "though our genius may not permit herself to be seen 
 or heard recreating, she recreates in a corner all by herself, 
 like Lord Dundreary's bird.^" 
 
 "Like Lord Dundreary's bird.^ Oh, I know what you 
 mean," and Mrs. Kemble laughed, for everyone was flying 
 to see Sothern in "Lord Dundreary" at this time. (As 
 Mary did not go to theatres, I had remembered what I 
 could of the famous dandy for her benefit.) 
 
 " You mean, when Lord Dundreary pooh-poohs the pro- 
 verb * Birds of a feather flock together ' — and says, ' Of 
 course they do, don't you know } How can a bird flock in 
 a corner all by itself } ' " 
 
 So then we fell to talking about the play, and no more 
 was said of George Eliot. 
 
 But after Mrs. Kemble had betaken herself to her 
 carriage, I said to Mary, "She knew nothing of the 
 ' Erratic ' duets, and the adoring auditor." 
 
 " To be sure ; why did you not think of that.^" replied 
 she. 
 
 But when a speaker holds the house and is the authority 
 on the topic of the hour, I know better than to contribute 
 even a mite of information. Solid ignorance is best. 
 
 Yet one word more of this great genius, though it is not 
 fitly in place here. 
 
 But then, where would it be in place } — it is such a little 
 
146 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 thing — anyhow, here it is. George EHot was dead, had 
 been dead some time, when Mary was dining out one 
 night, and found herself placed at table between Mr. 
 Froude, and Mr. Vernon Lushington. Directly opposite 
 sat George Eliot's widower, Mr. Cross. 
 
 Dinner had scarcely begun when Mr. Froude, probably 
 instigated by the sight of Mr. Cross, started talking of the 
 defunct authoress, and addressing his neighbour in his 
 loud voice, a voice he never modulated for anybody, said, 
 "I like ' Middleniarch ' and the 'Scenes of Clerical Hfe,' 
 but I don't care for the rest of George Eliot's books. I 
 think they are greatly overrated." 
 
 He took a few mouthfuls of soup, and began again ; 
 "George Eliot"— 
 
 "Heavens! What will he say next.?" cried Mary to 
 herself, and looked across the table in trepidation — but as 
 Mr. Cross was sitting placidly silent, she might yet be in 
 time. She felt that further communications must be 
 checked somehow. 
 
 ' ' George Eliot " — again began her neighbour. Hastily 
 leaning towards him, and lowering her own voice, Mary 
 murmured confidentially: "Is not that Mr. Cross sitting 
 opposite.?" 
 
 Vain effort. " Yes, that's Cross, — and as I was saying," 
 continued the strident voice, wholly unabashed, ' ' I like 
 ' Middlemarch ' and the ' Scenes of Clerical life,' but as for 
 the rest of George Eliot's books, I don't care twopence 
 for any one of 'em!" 
 
 It was out. He had done his worst, and poor Mary 
 felt that the room was spinning round with her. " But, do 
 you know," she told me afterwards," that good Cross just 
 went on eating his dinner." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Lady Claud Hamilton's tea, where Oscar Wilde is vaunted by his 
 disciples — Lady Claud does not think she need have been "Glared 
 at" — A terrible girl would like to send a venerable old lady's 
 harmless inquiry to " Punch " — Oscar Wilde's almond tree — " I 
 almost prefer it to a tenor voice" — His idea of a useful wedding- 
 present — " Say you love me, Fanny darling ? " — Mr. Val Princep 
 tells of a machine-made lady, whose legs went off with a " Whizz ! " 
 — Bishop Colenso and a seance — A mistake between a policeman and 
 Sir Edwin Landseer. 
 
 By the time at which we have now arrived, I had been 
 married some years, — but as my husband and I had a 
 London house within easy distance of Mary, and as we 
 met every day, and did almost everything together, my 
 memories can flow evenly on — and indeed a good deal 
 that has been already described took place under these 
 auspices. My beloved sister-friend and I were insepar- 
 able both in London and out of it, for towards the close 
 of her life, when widowed, she joined us in taking Scotch 
 houses for the autumn, and later, was more frequently 
 beneath our roof in our Essex home, than away from it. 
 
 This explanation will serve to show how we continued 
 to meet the same friends, and join in the same social 
 gatherings as before. Let me now proceed. 
 
 We went one day to tea with Lady Claud Hamilton, 
 and in came Mrs. Spottiswoode, the wife of the President 
 of the Royal Society, with her two little boys. She said, 
 ' ' I have only a minute to stay, as I am on the way to 
 Oscar Wilde's, to meet Mrs. Langtry and several other 
 professional beauties." 
 
148 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Dr. Tyndall, who was present, looked a little surprised 
 at the name ' ' Oscar Wilde " spoken without the prefix 
 " Mr.," and asked "Who is Oscar Wilde.?" 
 
 But his astonishment was nothing to that of the lady. 
 She drew herself up, and with a withering emphasis, 
 answered shortly, ' ' Oscar Wilde is a poet." 
 
 "A poet, is he? What has he written .?" demanded he, 
 very naturally, — and indeed, it was a question several of 
 us were putting to ourselves, so that with one accord we 
 turned to Mrs. Spottiswoode to answer it. 
 
 Possibly she found it just a shade embarrassing. She 
 hesitated and looked for assistance to a young man she had 
 brought with her, when he promptly came to the rescue. 
 
 "Hum — ha — Oscar Wilde has not written much }'^^," 
 said he, significantly, ''not — hum — ha — yet. But his 
 University Prize Poem is great," — whereat Dr. Tyndall's 
 face wore a somewhat sardonic expression, and Lady Claud, 
 anxious to smooth matters, hastily interposed; ''I found 
 myself rather out in the cold yesterday, because I owned 
 to ignorance about this Oscar Wilde," said she, " but if his 
 works are still in the future, I don't see that I need have 
 been glared at as I was." 
 
 This happened in 1874. A few years later, the cult of 
 which the great Oscar was the head and front, was in full 
 swing. 
 
 We had an instance of it in a very bumptious young 
 lady, who came in, clad in an extraordinary mixture of 
 green and yellow, to the Burdon-Sander son's one day. 
 (Dr. Burdon-Sanderson was not then " Sir John," and he 
 and his wife still lived in London.) This youthful miss, 
 who was an ardent disciple of Oscar's, evidently con- 
 sidered that the mere fact of being so, reflected such glory 
 on herself that she had but to speak to be listened to by 
 all within hearing. Accordingly she took the floor the 
 moment she came in. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 149 
 
 '* Oscar Wilde," she said, *'is constantly with us. We 
 have the privilege of being his friends, so I can tell you 
 about him. In front of our house is an almond-tree. It 
 was covered with blossom this spring, and he could hardly 
 speak to anyone one day, for gazing at it, I said to him, 
 * Is it not too beautiful.? ' He turned his great eyes upon 
 me, and replied, ' I should like to be invited to this house 
 simply to meet that almond-tree ; I should even prefer it 
 to a tenor voice.' " 
 
 Here she paused, whether overcome with rapture at such 
 a sentiment or expecting us to be so, and to express our 
 admiration. As no one said anything however she resumed. 
 
 ** Once when Oscar Wilde was ill — he can be ill some- 
 times, you know, he is not really robust, indeed he would 
 hate to be so — he sent for a doctor, who gave him a pre- 
 scription. But when it was made up at the chemist's, 
 Oscar Wilde shuddered. The medicine in the bottle was 
 a dingy brown colour, and the pills were grey. They 
 were sent back to the chemist at once, with this message, 
 that unless he could make both the draught and the pills 
 beautiful, Oscar Wilde could not take them. 'Tell that 
 man,' said he — (he told me this himself) — ' that I know 
 I may be ill in consequence, but that I am willing to die 
 rather than to pollute my lips with that ugly stuff.' The 
 chemist knew ' Oscar Wilde,' — (every time she said * Oscar 
 Wilde ' I had an inward convulsion ; it was the breath of 
 a worshipper at a shrine) — and at once proceeded to 
 carry into effect his wishes. The fluid in the bottle came 
 back rosy-red — oh, a heavenly colour — while the common- 
 looking grey pills shone like gold!" 
 
 *' When he took them.?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; his soul was satisfied and he took them — 
 and recovered." 
 
 "Wonderful!" Who was it that said "Wonderful" .? 
 I don't know ; neither Mary nor I had the hardihood. 
 
150 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 There was however an old lady in the company who had 
 listened attentively to all this, and who was now anxious 
 to be enlightened. "Who is this Oscar Wilde that you 
 seem to think so much of?" said she. "Who is he, and 
 what is h&? Is he in the army.?" 
 
 ''In the army.?" The girl looked as if she could 
 scarcely believe her ears. 
 
 "Say that again, please.?" 
 
 The venerable Mrs. Lumsden, imagining that such a 
 peremptory request could only mean that her young friend 
 was slightly deaf, repeated her remark in a raised voice, 
 on which a blush of mingled wrath and scorn overspread 
 the disciple's face, and she cried shrilly — "Oh, how good 
 — that is really too good! I think I must send that to 
 PunchV' 
 
 Perhaps it is hardly to be wondered at that Mrs. Lums- 
 den should have expressed herself in a style that would 
 have done "Punch" credit, when ne;ct the topic of the 
 modern girl was started. 
 
 People were then beginning to talk of the ' ' Modern 
 girl," and Mrs. Lynn Lynton was writing her ' ' Girl of 
 the Period" series — but I really think for sheer absurdity 
 our specimen at the Burdon-Sanderson's outstripped any I 
 ever met before or after. 
 
 Sometimes she was not even ridiculous, she was simply 
 impertinent. Thus, on another occasion at the Spottis- 
 woodes, where she was received for old friendship's sake, 
 she thus addressed the principle guest present. " I am 
 sure you are celebrated for something ; please tell me what 
 it is!" 
 
 ' ' I think it must be for my sweet temper," said he. 
 Mary heard him. ' ' And he may have the sweetest temper 
 in the world," said she, " but he baffled that minx, and I 
 think liked doing it." 
 
 The minx however must have speedily recovered, for 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 151 
 
 she out-did herself when next we heard of her. She had 
 been taken in to dinner by an eminent man, who declined 
 to be drawn out against his will. After pestering him in 
 a manner to make him inwardly wince, and getting no 
 satisfaction in return, she looked him in the face as she 
 rose from dinner, and said loud enough for all to hear, 
 ''Well, it may be an honour to be taken in to dinner by 
 you, but it certainly isn't a pleasure V^ 
 
 To return to Oscar Wilde. Mary knew an aunt of his, 
 who gave her an account of his marriage some years after 
 this. 
 
 Mary had often seen the young couple during their 
 engagement, as they were making a stay in the same 
 country neighbourhood. She only knew the Wildes 
 slightly, and did not expect an invitation to the wedding, 
 as people in those days did not send out indiscriminate 
 invitations as they do now — but it surprised her to hear 
 nothing whatever of the event till it had actually taken 
 place. 
 
 "I can explain that," said the great Oscar's aunt, '*my 
 nephew was so afraid of the crowds sure to assemble, that 
 he and his bride decided to keep the day of the wedding 
 a dead secret. They kept it even from their respective 
 families — at least, from the collateral branches." 
 
 " Yet they meant to have a sort of function, too ; — I 
 don't think," she smiled, '' that either of them would have 
 fancied a hole-and-corner business. But I know for a fact 
 that the bridesmaids — the bride's own chosen friends — did 
 not know the day, or hour, or church, or anything what- 
 ever till within the week, and then they were sworn to 
 secrecy." 
 
 ''After all, would there have been such a crowd.?" 
 demurred Mary. 
 
 " I don't know. Very likely not. My nephew's fame 
 
t52 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 —if you can call it by such a name," replied the aunt, (I 
 forget her name,) with rather an enigmatical emphasis, 
 " is not I fancy wide-spread among the common herd." 
 
 She then went on, also half-laughing, half-serious, to 
 tell us about her wedding-present to the young couple. 
 
 You must understand that they are not particularly well- 
 off," said she, " and a cheque is always acceptable, well-off 
 or ill-off, — so I gave them fifty pounds, and hinted a hope 
 that it might be spent on something useful. Oscar has 
 taken a nice little house, and had not at the time he married 
 laid in any furniture except a clock, a table, and three 
 Chippendale chairs." 
 
 ''Like 'Traddles' and the flower-vase!" murmured 
 Mary, aside. 
 
 "Eh.?" said the aunt. 
 
 ' ' Oh, never mind," said Mary. 
 
 '*Tell me afterwards," said the aunt. ''I'll finish my 
 story first. When they came back from their wedding- 
 tour, they came to show me with great exultation, two 
 handsome Apostle spoons which they had bought with my 
 cheque! They were so confident of my approval that it 
 was really pathetic, but you know, I could have boxed their 
 ears. And I am glad to think that I did give it them 
 roundly: " concluded the good lady. "Fifty pounds is 
 fifty pounds to me, and it is, or ought to be, very much 
 fifty pounds to them ; and to spend the whole of it on a 
 couple of spoons! They are not fit to be trusted with 
 money, that's the truth, — but, well, Oscar is so clever that 
 he'll manage to rub along without it. And now, who was 
 your ' Trammels ' or whatever his name was, and what was 
 it about his vase.^"' 
 
 "My dear, you have read your 'David Copperfield' 
 I suppose ? Have you forgotten David's friend, Traddles, 
 who prepared for matrimony by the purchase of stray 
 articles, among them a flower- vase.? And — " 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 153 
 
 " Of course I remember," said Oscar Wilde's aunt. 
 " But my nephew will never make a name in his profession 
 as ' Traddles ' eventually did, I fear." 
 
 " He has made a name of sorts, already," said Mary. 
 
 One night Mary had a very lively party, and Mr. Farrer 
 Herschell was the life and soul of it. He was in great 
 spirits, having just been returned for Parliament as 
 member for Durham. 
 
 A number of good stories were told, and I must try and 
 recal one or two. Mr. Herschell, as usual, was the first 
 to start. He led the way with a comical account of a 
 barrister he knew, who was decidedly on the cracked side, 
 but not sufficiently so to be prevented doing what he chose. 
 He chose to fall in love with a girl far beneath him in 
 station, quite a respectable one, but dying of consumption, 
 — (and as a matter of fact she did die, just twelve days 
 after he married her). " The best thing she could do," 
 observed Mr. Herschell, in parenthesis, '*but that has 
 nothing to do with my story. The girl's father kept an 
 eating-house in Marylebone Road, which opened into a 
 little court, quite a nice little court, off the main road, — 
 and thither regularly every evening the lover proceeded to 
 take up position before his dear one's window. 
 
 '* It was then his fancy to serenade her, and as he had 
 a good strong voice, the whole court was treated to his 
 strains, especially to a favourite, * Say you love me, Fanny 
 darling } Fanny, say you love me ^ ' 
 
 ** At last, one hot night in June, when the voice began 
 its usual plaintive adjuration, the end came. A window 
 on the other side of the courtyard was flung furiously open, 
 and a head and shoulders protruded. ' For Heaven's sake, 
 Fanny, tell the gentleman that you love him, and let us 
 get to sleep.' Poor fond swain! He had just enough 
 
154 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 sense to feel the ignominy of it, and Fanny was besought 
 for her affections no more." 
 
 It was now the turn of Mr. Val Princep, who began by 
 asking the company generally if they had read a book 
 called " Paul Ferrol " ? As nobody had, he proceeded to 
 give his reason for putting the question. " I had an intro- 
 duction to its author," he said, "and went to visit her, — 
 for ' Paul Ferrol ' was written by a woman, although many 
 thought it was by a man. I found a pleasant enough lady, 
 but with something queer about her which puzzled me not 
 a little. She walked in the strangest manner, with a sort 
 of jerk and hitch, exactly as if she were a walking doll — 
 indeed, I could have sworn that there was the click of 
 wheels as she crossed the room! The visit passed off all 
 right however, and presently I went again. Again I 
 noticed her curious clock-work motions and heard the click- 
 ing of invisible wheels, and then, — really it was awful, 
 somehow she lost her balance, and down she came, and 
 Jove, if there wasn't a whizz as if a steam-engine had been 
 upset!" 
 
 He stopped to laugh, and proceeded : " It was no laugh- 
 ing matter at the time, I can tell you. That which I had 
 heard must have been real wheels, for it turned out that 
 the poor thing was destitute of legs, and propelled by 
 machinery. Of course I made myself scarce as quickly as 
 possible, for her face of helpless mortification showed that 
 this was the best thing to be done, and I was wondering 
 afterwards whether I could ever risk that fearful ' Whizz ' 
 again, when I heard of her death. 
 
 " She had fallen again — perhaps the wheels were wearing 
 out — and into the fire that time, and no one being by to 
 pull her out, she was so badly burnt that she died. You 
 may ask my sister, Mrs. Duckworth, if this is not true," 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 155 
 
 concluded he, " for she knew the poor machine-made lady, 
 and kept her secret for years." 
 
 "Who is going to amuse us next?" said Mary. 
 
 " I am," said Mr. Bradley Alford. " I am going to tell 
 you about Bishop Colenso and the spiritualists. All the 
 time that Mr. Princep has been describing his machine- 
 made friend, I have been thinking if her mysterious 
 wheels could not have been turned to account by the 
 spiritualists who thought that they had caught Colenso the 
 other day. If they had known about the wheels, and he 
 had not, I guess they could have made use of them somehow. 
 
 "As it was, they made nothing of their bishop. Much 
 against his will, he was dragged to a seance, and it was 
 announced that a spirit was in attendance. They took it 
 by turns to inquire the name of the spirit, and when it came 
 to Bishop Colenso's turn, the rap in answer was first inter- 
 preted * M,' then ' O,' then * S,' and the bishop could stand 
 no more. ' If you are going to say " Moses," ' snorted he 
 with the most sovereign contempt, 'I'm off. Moses, 
 indeed! Never heard such humbug in my life. Sheer 
 unmitigated buffoonery, — ' and such a breath of fresh air 
 was let in by his loud, breezy tones, that the seance had to 
 break up, and whoever impersonated Moses fled the 
 
 " Shall I tell what happened to myself this afternoon .f*" 
 said a quiet, elderly man called Dr. Lee, who had been 
 turning his eyes from one to another of the speakers, 
 evidently enjoying this informal party and not unwilling 
 to add to its gaiety. " I am terribly short-sighted, but as 
 long as I can get along without spectacles, I do. 
 
 "To-day I was standing by the Marble Arch, waiting 
 for a bus to take me down Oxford Street, and thought I 
 saw it coming, heavily loaded with outside passengers. 
 
156 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 However, as I only wanted an inside seat, I ran forward 
 and hailed it. To my disgust, it only rumbled on, and 
 hearing some people near laugh meaningly, I looked again 
 at my supposed bus, and found it was no wonder that my 
 shouts and gesticulations were unanswered, as they had 
 been addressed to a hearse \ The crowd of outside pas- 
 sengers resolved themselves into nodding plumes, and to 
 complete my confusion, a working man, with a broad grin 
 on his face, addressed me, ' You are the first gent as ever I 
 see so uncommon anxious to get into a hearse!'" 
 
 "And now, dear Sir Edwin, what have you got for us ?" 
 said Mary to gentle old Sir Edwin Landseer, sitting at her 
 right hand. 
 
 " Oh, I have something very nice," said he, with cheer- 
 ful alacrity. " Something in which I played a distinguished 
 part, too. You know I have been away from home for 
 some little time, so am not up in things, and when a friend 
 came the other day to ask me to go with him to the South 
 Kensington Museum, where the pictures were to be ex- 
 hibited by gas-light for the first time, I was very glad to go. 
 
 " Of course I wanted first and foremost to see my own 
 picture, ' A Visit to Waterloo,' and we made straight for it. 
 But I was really horrified : I said to him, ' George, I think 
 I must have been mad when I painted that picture.' 
 
 "George is a good fellow, and holds it to be a friend's 
 part to admire unreservedly, so he declared that he did not 
 know what I meant, — at which I placed my hand over parts 
 of the picture that I particularly disliked, to try and make 
 him see their faults. 
 
 " We were in the thick of discussion, and my hand was 
 still over the picture, when up rushed a policeman. ' Now 
 then, sir, 'ands off, ]f you please.' . . . Then more per- 
 emptorily, ' Take your 'ands off, I say.' 
 
 " ' My good man, I was only explaining to my friend 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 157 
 
 how badly the picture was painted,' said I, beginning to 
 move off. But he meant to have his say out. 
 
 "'You was, was you?' sneered he. 'Oh, yes, I'll be 
 bound you was. Dessay now, you thinks you could do it 
 better.?' 
 
 "'Just what I was thinking, my friend. I could do it 
 better, and I wish I had the chance, for — I am ashamed of 
 it.' You should have seen his bewildered look as I spoke 
 the last words," added the great painter, with a chuckle. 
 For all his modesty, I think he liked telling his little tale. 
 
 Before we got up from the dinner-table, one other anec- 
 dote was told, and this time it was by Mary herself. 
 
 "I walked home with Dr. Dykes from his Wednesday 
 Bible Class to-day," said she, — (" oh, yes, I go regularly 
 to those classes — " in answer to an exclamation) — " and 
 they are delightful, I assure you. But I don't often have 
 the chance of walking home with Dr. Dykes. He is a 
 perfectly charming companion, and to-day he told me such a 
 funny thing that I got him to write it down when we turned 
 into the Park. People who recognised him, and there must 
 have been heaps who did, must have wondered what on 
 earth he was doing! We sat down under the trees, and 
 he tore a leaf out of his note-book, and here it is." 
 
 With this, she dramatically produced the little crumpled 
 bit of paper which had been stored up in readiness. 
 
 " It is a description of the Patriarch Abraham, given by 
 a boy in Dr. Dykes' Sunday School," said she. "Now 
 listen — 'The Patark Abram was the father of Lot, and 
 had tew wives. Wun called Hishmale and tother Haygar. 
 Abram kep one to mind his house at home, and druv tother 
 out into the Dessert, and she became a pillow of salt in the 
 day, and a pillow of fire by night.' " 
 
 " I think I should like to go to Oswald Dykes' Sunday 
 School," murmured dear old Sir Edwin, gently. 
 
158 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "Well, then, perhaps you will like this," said Mary, 
 starting again. " I went to call on a clergyman the other day 
 — no one you would know about — and as his wife was out, 
 and there was something I particularly wanted to see him 
 for, I asked to be shown into his study. There was an odd, 
 sweet smell in the room, and from the table smoke uprose. 
 He was burning incense ! 
 
 " Oh, my dear friend," said I, " I have caught you 
 necromancing, or what does this mean.?" 
 
 He laughed cheerfully, and put something over the 
 incense to turn it off, as it were, — when I said, "Pray 
 don't." 
 
 " Oh, it's no matter — now," said he, " it's all right now. 
 It was only an experiment — but I'll tell you. After I had 
 been instructing my class in the Sunday School for a whole 
 hour on the Scripture narrative of Zaccharius in the 
 Temple, I asked the children what Zaccharius was doing 
 when the angel spoke to him.^^ And what answer did I 
 get.? ^Burning insects before the Lord!^ It seemed to 
 me that the only thing to be done was to get some incense, 
 real genuine incense, and burn it before their eyes. But I 
 had to make sure that it would burn," concluded he, " and 
 had just set it alight when you rang the bell. Ten to one 
 they'll still imagine that it's made of insects however," he 
 subjoined resignedly. 
 
 Mary was then besought to tell about her own little 
 nephew, who was at an age when oddities are to be looked 
 for from clever and original children. " I think I must tell 
 you about Harry's essay," said she. " His mother sent 
 out invitations for a party, on his eighth birthday, and as 
 one of his presents was a magic lantern and he was 
 desirous of showing it himself, she thought that sufficient 
 entertainment was provided. 
 
 "Not so Harry. He has great ideas. As the ten in- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 159 
 
 vited guests were all younger than he, he felt that it 
 behoved him to instruct as well as to amuse them, and 
 accordingly he prepared to do so. 
 
 " The day before the party he said to his mother, * I 
 have written a little essay, which I shall read out to-morrow 
 to the children. It is about James I.' 
 
 " She suggested that it should first be read aloud to her ? 
 
 " It had at least the merit of brevity, but as its first critic 
 hardly considered it would appeal to the very youthful 
 audience, it could nowhere be found on the appointed day." 
 
 "It was safe in my desk," explained Mary, "where 
 Harry's mother knew no one would look for it ; and I 
 turned it up the other day. James' appearance and char- 
 acter were thus summed up in the final sentence, — "He 
 had goggle eyes — he died of oldness — he was tolerable." 
 
 "Harry is precocious," continued Mary, "but I don't 
 think he is quite as precocious as a French child I once met 
 abroad. He was not really a child at all, but a finished 
 Frenchman at the age of four. Every evening he sat 
 opposite to us at the hotel table-d'hote, partook of every 
 dish, drank his wine like a man, and poured some of it over 
 his strawberries like an epicure. 
 
 "I was so much interested in the little oddity that we 
 made acquaintance across the table, and I said that I hoped 
 to see him again after dinner .^^ 
 
 " He bowed gracefully, ' Mais oui, madame, au Casino.' 
 
 " Here the mother interposed, ' Non, mon enfant, pas au 
 Casino.' 
 
 " ' Alors, au theatre,' said he. 
 
 " The possibility of spending an evening at home never 
 entered into his dissipated little head." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 An amusing party at the French Embassy — Mrs. Charles cannot go to it 
 in only a head-dress ! — Mrs. Charles is an angel of mercy in the 
 Underground Railway — Lady Egerton offered a railway cushion 
 containing a dear one's latest breath — She flies from the disconsolate 
 widower — Laying down the law on medicine to an unknown 
 fellow-passenger — Who turns out to be Sir Andrew Clark, the 
 eminent physician. 
 
 We had returned from an afternoon round, and were 
 examining the cards and notes on Mary's hall-table, when 
 she suddenly flew back, cannoning against the footman who 
 was bringing in the paraphernalia, and exclaimed, " Stop 
 the carriage ! " 
 
 As he did so, she turned to me : " We must go out again. 
 It is no distance, but do come with me ; I will explain as 
 we go." She then gave the direction, " Lewis and Allon- 
 by's," and we got in. 
 
 "What is it.?" said I. 
 
 " You will laugh when I tell you. This," referring to 
 a note in her hand, " is from Bessie Charles. Dear Bessie 
 might have sent it hours ago, but of course she forgot, and 
 so it only comes now, and there is barely time — but we'll 
 manage it. Bessie is coming to us for the night, as you 
 know, — and I told her to bring a gown fit for the evening 
 party at the French Embassy, as I thought it would amuse 
 her to go on to it. Well, she says her gown will do — 
 Heaven knows if it will! — but she has no proper head- 
 dress, and can I get her one.^* So now we must do our 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON i6i 
 
 best, you and I, and be thankful that there is time, — for as 
 likely as not she would have arrived without anything!" 
 
 Well, thankful? I was not very thankful, being tired 
 and wanting to get to my own home, — but the thing had 
 to be done, and I could not leave Mary alone to wrestle 
 with it. People from the country — (and Hampstead almost 
 seemed the country in those days) — always think that their 
 friends in Town have only to step across the way into a 
 shop, not reflecting that even such a step may be a burden 
 to the already overburdened Londoner, — but the outside 
 Mary ever did was to give vent to a grumble ; she always 
 executed the commission, whatever it was, and whatever 
 inconvenience it put her to. 
 
 " If we don't get Bessie a cap," she said, folding her arms 
 and leaning forward, "she will be quite content, but she 
 won't shine at the party. I want your help in choosing 
 something suitable." 
 
 " Must it be a cap.^^" said I. 
 
 "Do you think she would prefer a turban like Miss 
 Matty, in ' Cranford'.^" laughed Mary. "I daresay she 
 would, for dear Bessie's taste is not to be relied upon, but 
 we'll get something decent at Lewis and Allonby's — " and 
 by the time she had got so far, the carriage stopped at 
 Lewis and Allonby's door. 
 
 " Now, we must think of her face and her hair," whis- 
 pered Mary, "but, dear me, she has not told us what her 
 gown is, so how can we match it.f^ Bessie's gowns are 
 sometimes rather quaint — yes, a sort of head-dress," to 
 the shopwoman, " suitable for an elderly lady." After we 
 had chosen a band of black velvet, with a little tuft of white 
 ostrich feathers, which would go with anything, we went our 
 several ways, and as I, too, was going to the Embassy party, 
 I awaited the result of our combined efforts with what the 
 Americans call "Cordial anticipations." 
 
 If dear, charming, happy-go-lucky Mrs. Charles could 
 
i62 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 put that bandeau on backside foremost, I knew she would, 
 (she once went to a wedding with her bonnet upside down, 
 in the days of boat-shaped bonnets when this was pos- 
 sible,) — but Mary's maid would see to it that no such 
 bouleversement took place on this occasion, and I rather 
 expected a triumph in the dear " Schonberg-Cotta " lady's 
 appearance. 
 
 Still, I was prepared for anything, and being prepared for 
 anything, I was like the immortal Scrooge unprepared for 
 nothing, when Mary solus joined me in the Embassy cloak- 
 room. 
 
 " She hasn't come, my dear. After all our cares and all 
 our pains, she hasn't come. Oh, she is with us ; I left her 
 peacefully reclining on a sofa, quite resigned — but what do 
 you think ? Whoever it was that packed for her made a 
 mistake about the party gown — Bessie declares that she has 
 one — and an ancient black silk, very tired and dowdy, was 
 the only thing in her portmanteau ! It wasn't worth while 
 sending up for the other, though John offered to do so — 
 and so there's my Bessie, with our head-dress on, and the 
 fagged out black silk below, quite amused with the whole 
 thing, and not in the least vexed at missing her party! 
 And now we'll enjoy ourselves," wound up Mary, with a 
 very cheerful smile. 
 
 Mary herself was looking brilliant that evening. She 
 wore a rich brocade, of the colour known as " Old Gold," 
 with insertions of brown velvet and Point d'Alen9on lace 
 — and of course her best diamonds. Her bright eyes, her 
 glowing cheeks, her white brow and glossy, raven-black 
 hair threw into the shade many handsomer women — and 
 she kept her fresh looks, while others among her contem- 
 poraries grew wan as the small hours approached. 
 
 For myself, I felt smart, and hoped I looked it, in white 
 satin trimmed with silver lace, and garlands of field-flowers 
 twining round and round the skirt. It was my Court dress, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 163 
 
 dear feminine readers, and very fine I thought it. Even 
 you would perhaps have admired it, for it was gracefully 
 long and narrow, the odious crinoline being defunct at last. 
 
 Among the people Mary knew there was a lady whose 
 name I forget, — but recal that she lived at Tunbridge 
 Wells, — who, after the usual remarks, said, " I have such 
 a funny little story for you. The other day I let my maid 
 go to a servants' ball ; she is a pretty girl, and well-behaved, 
 and all that, so I made sure she would have a good time, 
 and arranged to have my early tea brought up by someone 
 else, that she might have no qualms about staying to the 
 end of the ball. She was to be allowed to sleep late in the 
 morning. 
 
 "But when morning came, behold! there was Emily. 
 She had come home quite early, and would not ' Take advan- 
 tage of my permission ' — (she is rather grand in her lan- 
 guage) — but had risen as usual. 
 
 "I asked if she had enjoyed herself, at which Emily 
 coloured and hesitated. 'Thank you, ma'am ; yes, at 
 first I did enjoy myself very much, and thought I was 
 going to have such a pleasant evening, — but at supper I 
 was so insulted that I really felt myself obliged to come 
 straight home!' 
 
 "'Dear me, Emily, who insulted you.^' said I. 
 
 " ' Well, ma'am, it was a young man who'd always been 
 particularly polite and agreeable to me before. You'd have 
 thought he would never have dreamt of such rudeness, and 
 I did feel upset.' 
 
 " ' But what was it, Emily .^' 
 
 " ' I had but just sat down to supper, when up he comes, 
 and oh, ma'am it was really shameful. He says, " I hope, 
 miss, your programme isn't full yet.?" Full.'' I had 
 hardly tasted a morsel. I had but just got a little cold 
 chicken and ham on to my plate, and he might have seen 
 
i64 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 that it wasn't touched! Full? Such a coarse, vulgar 
 word, and such an idea, besides! I couldn't speak I was 
 choking so, but I gave him one withering look, and left 
 the ball.' " 
 
 The last words were thrown to us over the speaker's 
 shoulder, as a little rush swept her from us, so we never 
 heard the ultimate fate of the insulted Emily. 
 
 Mrs. Charles was quite brisk when I went in to see her 
 the next morning. "To tell the truth," she said, "now 
 that the party is a thing of the past, I did not really care 
 about going. Of course, going with Mary and you would 
 have made a difference, you both with your gay spirits, 
 enjoying everything, and knowing everybody — " 
 
 "A few people," murmured Mary. 
 
 " You always seem to me to know everybody in the 
 room." 
 
 "But these great, cosmopolitan affairs are different. I 
 have been to Embassy parties where I have known nearly 
 everyone in the room, but in London it has to be quite a 
 small assemblage if you are to do that. And of course there 
 are constant changes in diplomatic circles ; and just as one 
 has got to know one set of delightful creatures, off they go, 
 and total strangers come in their places." 
 
 " Yes ; I know nothing about society," said Mrs. 
 Charles, " I should really have been a fish out of water last 
 night." 
 
 " I saw rather a pathetic little incident," said Mary, who 
 always saw everything. "Lucy and I took up our stand 
 close by the first door, and just off the main current. We 
 were more amused there than if we had been pushing about 
 the rooms — and missed nobody. 
 
 "Well, I saw such a nice family party come in, father, 
 mother, and two daughters, and they too shirked the crowd 
 on ahead and stood aside to see what would happen ? You 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 165 
 
 never saw a nicer little group, typical of the best sort of 
 country" gentry, father tall and thin, with handsome, well- 
 cut, clean-shaven face ; mother, nice, matronly figure, fair, 
 soft, good-humoured face ; girls like sweet may-blossoms. 
 And somehow they didn't look like the people one usually 
 meets ; there was an air about the whole four that seemed 
 to say, ' We are off our own ground, where we are great 
 people and get much attention, — but we are quite content 
 to forego that for a little while, and see life in this great 
 hurly-burly.' So there they stood, expectant. My dear 
 Bessie, they stood for two hours, and did not speak to a 
 single, solitary human being! 
 
 " My heart ached for those poor dears," continued Mary, 
 after we had exclaimed and I had recalled them to memory. 
 " The girls who had come in looking so fresh and bright, 
 rustling in crisp new tulle and silk, seemed as if their very 
 frocks were drooping, the mother's placid smile had grown 
 stereotyped, and the father was all on the fidget. He at 
 least was dying to get away, ashamed and mortified, one 
 could see, by the whole thing, — but I fancy the women 
 hated to give in. You see, they would have to own to 
 their sisters and cousins at home that their first London 
 party — " 
 
 " ' Mary, what an imagination you have ! ' 
 " Oh, yes, their first London party," nodded Mary, " I'm 
 sure it was ; and they had thought so much of it, and what 
 a good beginning it would make! They would be sure to 
 meet at it their neighbours, their principal neighbours, 
 neighbours who sought to dazzle country bumpkins like 
 themselves by tales of London gaieties. I could almost 
 hear papa and mamma saying, ' Our dear girls must not be 
 left behind. Suppose we take the two eldest up for a few 
 weeks .f*' I am sure they were the two eldest, and that 
 there was a whole nestful of others romping about in the 
 hay-fields at home. Do you know," said Mary, earnestly, 
 
i66 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "it was all so real before my eyes that I felt inclined to 
 say, ' Speak to me ; let me be your friend ; and if I can do 
 nothing else, I can at least tell you Who's Who ?' " 
 
 "Well, couldn't you?" said the author of "Kitty 
 Trevylyan," with just the little wistful look she gives to 
 Kitty's cousin Evelyn when the latter is longing to help 
 someone. 
 
 " Impossible," said Mary. 
 
 "And we left them there," she added, after a pause ; 
 " and I am afraid the little sisters at home will have to hear 
 of it some day, after all ! " 
 
 ********* 
 
 "I have nothing in the least pathetic to tell," said I, 
 " but when I went off with that young attache whom you 
 admired so much, Mary, what do you think was his object ? 
 Not to enjoy my charming society, but to rid himself of 
 that of another person ! He had been told off to attend to 
 Lady Somebody-or-other, and she was proving an incubus. 
 And when he caught sight of me he saw daylight. He 
 has been at our house, and the inhuman wretch forthwith 
 presented me to the wife of our Minister to the Porte, 
 who proceeded to address me in French. You know what 
 a shocking linguist I am ; however, I stammered out a 
 reply, and dropped into English. And then, think of it, 
 she rejoined promptly, ' Je regret, madame, que je ne parle 
 point d' Anglais,' — and explained that she had only just 
 arrived in England, and took it for granted that French was 
 the language spoken here in all polite circles ! " 
 
 "Good gracious!" said Mary. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; this French wife of an English diplomat 
 actually had the ignorance and — and — " 
 
 "The impudence^ — " suggested Mary. 
 
 " — to think that we people of England did not speak 
 our own tongue in our own land ! " 
 
 "What did you do.^^" inquired Mrs. Charles. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 167 
 
 "The best I could, but Mary knows what that is. I 
 was never taken abroad till after I was married, and all the 
 teaching of school-room days did not suffice to supply that 
 want — as you will see when I tell you that I went into a 
 shop one day at Bordighera, and in my very best English- 
 French made an inquiry — when the girl behind the 
 counter, in excellent English, was very sorry indeed but 
 did not understand Italian. '^'^ 
 
 "You were no good to your poor attache, then?" said 
 Mary. 
 
 " Yes, I was. I knocked down another ninepin for him. 
 He had knocked me down, so I just fell against the next 
 ninepin, in the shape of a sister-in-law, whom I spied near, 
 and who lives at Biarritz. She struggled to my side, and 
 saved the situation." 
 
 " But I know your husband speaks French beautifully," 
 said Mrs. Charles. 
 
 " Ah, if he could have been with us last night ! But he 
 had a Directors' Meeting in the north, and was two 
 hundred miles away. Those abominable meetings always 
 interfere, just when he could be of some use to we," said I, 
 angrily. I was with two friends who understood, I was 
 not afraid to make believe. 
 
 "Now, I really think I must tell you both something 
 in exchange for your entertaining accounts," said Mrs. 
 Charles. "I was not in such distinguished company as 
 you were yesterday, but an odd little episode befel me that 
 was quite interesting in its way. I came here by the 
 Underground Railway ; and as I was sitting in the station 
 beforehand waiting for the train to come up, a respectable 
 old woman, who might have been a laundress or someone 
 of that kind, sidled up to me, and said in a shaky voice, 
 * Excuse me, ma'am, but would you tell me, is this here 
 Underground Railway very dreadful.'^ I suppose you 
 
i68 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 have been by it before, but I never have, and I've said many 
 a time I never would. " No," said I, " not if you'd give me 
 a hundred pounds, I wouldn't." But then, me son, he 
 comes to hear of it, and says he, " That's rubbish, old lady," 
 says he. " You must get over that," he says. And he's 
 brought me here, and he's outside, waiting to put me into 
 the train when it comes up, but, laws, I'm so frightened ! ' 
 
 " I was so sorry for the poor old thing," continued Mrs. 
 Charles, " that I took her in hand, and tried to cheer her 
 up by saying that it was really not alarming, and that there 
 was daylight at most of the stations. 
 
 " ' Oh, well, that's something, for sure,' said she. ' And 
 you look kind ; I wonder if you would let me sit beside 
 you, only you won't like to go third-class with me?^ 
 
 " Of course I didn't let that come between us, and when 
 the train came up, we stepped out of the waiting-room 
 together, and there was the son, a fine, big man, waiting to 
 receive her outside. He had been watching, I knew by 
 his face. He thought it best not to interfere, though I 
 daresay he chuckled to himself when, by looking 
 through the window, he espied us in conversation. And 
 he did not mean to desert his old mother, for he took her 
 by the arm, saying, ' Come along ;' — but the compartment 
 was full, and there was no room for him. ' I'll take care of 
 her,' said I — but I really did not expect what happened. 
 
 "Directly we plunged into the tunnel, down went her 
 head upon my shoulder, and 'I feel that faint,' she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " ' Come now, we shall be out of it directly,' said I — but 
 she clutched me with both hands, and seemed as if she 
 really would go off. The other people looked stolidly on, 
 and no doubt thought we belonged to each other, for no 
 one took any notice. 
 
 "Presently I asked if she felt any better.? 'A little, 
 thank you, ma'am,' she sighed, ' but, oh me,' with a fresh 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 169 
 
 clutch of the hands, 'my son would be angry if he 
 knew.' 
 
 " However, after a few stations had been passed, the 
 poor old head rose up and the poor old eyes roved about. 
 Finally she observed solemnly, ' It was God's truth you 
 told me, ma'am, about its being daylight at the stations. 
 I thought maybe you was only trying to give me courage 
 like, — but anyhow I tried to believe you, and now I see it 
 was all true — ' after which she sat upright, and when I left 
 and the son came in, she met him with a smile. It was 
 rather a trying half-hour though." 
 
 " Dear friend, you were treading in your Master's foot- 
 steps that half-hour," said Mary, softly. 
 
 We were to hear of another train experience the same 
 day. 
 
 After Mrs. Charles had departed, we went to call on 
 Lady Egerton, whom we found quietly reading in a shady 
 back-room. 
 
 What a pleasant sight it was! How peaceful looked 
 the cool little chamber, with its banks of flowers, its wide- 
 open windows and outside blinds, and how good it was to 
 find someone who was not " Just going somewhere," or had 
 not " Just come in " from somewhere else. 
 
 Now, my dear Mary was, shall I say it ? by nature rest- 
 less : it was a flaw in her otherwise delightful character, 
 and would doubtless have been corrected had children 
 blessed her married life, but she had so much leisure, and 
 energy, and love of novelty that it was perhaps natural to 
 be forever on the wing. 
 
 For myself, I had many anchors, but still, as I have said, 
 our afternoons were always spent together, and we flew 
 about and sipped the sweets of every passing hour. I was 
 young, I loved it, — who could have helped loving it ? 
 
170 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Yet even then, the sight of that reposeful figure calmly 
 settled down to read a book of missionary travel while all 
 the world of Mayfair was buzzing in her ears, was one to 
 make an impression. 
 
 Lady Egerton, however threw aside her book with 
 alacrity when we entered. " I have been wondering when 
 I should see you next," she said to Mary, " for I have kept 
 something for you that was far too good for unappreciative 
 ears. Do sit down and have tea. No, donH say you are 
 going on somewhere," — and we had no inclination to say 
 it. 
 
 "Mary loves a funny story," continued Lady Egerton, 
 addressing me, " and she was the first person I thought of 
 when my little adventure came ojff . That was a fortnight 
 ago, when we came to Town. We travelled up from 
 Cheshire by that excellent midday train — you know it ? — 
 yes, I remember your saying how you used to watch for it 
 to pass through your neighbourhood, being refreshed by 
 the mere sight of anything going to London — you see, I 
 remember that — well, it was rather nice to be coming to 
 be among so many dear friends and relations again, but 
 the day we travelled was terribly hot, and I had been fussed 
 before starting, and altogether began to flag. 
 
 " My back ached as we rattled along faster and faster, 
 and on the seat in front of me was an air-cushion, belonging 
 to an elderly man, whose back looked broad enough and 
 strong enough to need no support. I thought, ' He can't 
 want that cushion, and it would be everything to me.' So 
 I sighed, and looked longingly at it, hoping to excite his 
 pity — but no. He seemed quite impervious until at last 
 I grew desperate, for I told myself that even if he didn't 
 like lending it to me, he could not refuse, and at least I 
 should have the cushion — so I asked for it, explaining that 
 I was not strong, and that the shaking of the carriage tired 
 me very much. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 171 
 
 " For a moment he looked at me in a curious, fixed sort 
 of way, and I thought he was going to say 'No,' and 
 perhaps he was, but changed his mind, for he took up the 
 cushion and handed it to me, saying, ' Madam, I will lend 
 it to you, but one favour I must beg ; on no account permit 
 the air to escape! I implore you to be careful, for that 
 air is very precious to me.' Here he heaved a deep sigh. 
 * It is the last breath of my beloved wife.' 
 
 " * Indeed, it is,' he continued, as I took the cushion from 
 him, not knowing what else to do ; ' when I knew that the 
 end was near, I brought this cushion to her bedside, and 
 said, " Will you breathe your last breath into this cushion, 
 my beloved ? I will keep it ever near me." ' And with 
 that he sighed again, yet with a look of solemn satisfaction 
 on his face. 
 
 " You may guess how I felt," continued Lady Egerton, 
 looking from one to the other. "I really could not rest 
 my back, weary though it was, against the dear one's last 
 breath, and it struck me, too, that the widower was — must 
 be — ^just a little off his head on the subject, — so as we were 
 mercifully drawing up at a station, I thrust back the cushion 
 into his hand, muttering something about its being 'Too 
 sacred a possession,' and darted out of the carriage. 
 
 "Probably he thought me mad, so we were quits," she 
 summed up in conclusion. 
 
 " That train witnessed another odd scene lately," said I, 
 when we had done with the cushion story. "An old 
 friend of mine, a clergyman, was travelling by it, and at 
 Chester a fellow-traveller got in, and they two had the 
 compartment to themselves. The papers that day were 
 full of Mr. Gladstone's illness, and my friend, who is an 
 original and independent thinker, felt inclined to air his 
 views upon the subject. According to himself, he 
 thoroughly harangued his companion, enlightening him 
 
172 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 upon all the debatable ground, and pointing out both what 
 the ailment really was and what ought to have been done 
 for it, — all of which was politely listened to, and not con- 
 troverted. 
 
 " He did not seem to have any opinion of his own, and 
 I had it all my own way," said my friend ; " but you may 
 judge of my feelings when at Euston Station my fellow- 
 passenger got out before me, and his man came and popped 
 down from the rack a leather bag bearing the name of * Sir 
 Andrew Clark ' ! Sir Andrew Clark ! The great London 
 doctor who had been summoned to Hawarden expressly 
 for Mr. Gladstone's illness! What an old fool he must 
 have thought me!" 
 
 " He could not have been an old fool, or he would not 
 have seen the humour of it," said Lady Egerton. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Lord Houghton's breakfast-party — He talks of " Mr. Smith " — And of 
 his own projected big book — " Mr. Joaquin Miller is besotted with 
 Richard" — Mrs. Proctor dilates upon her old friend's kind and 
 generous nature — Sir John Nasmyth tells how his early struggles 
 were alleviated by the thought of a "cheering wink" — He knew 
 the prototypes of the " Cheeryble Brothers," who befriended him. 
 
 I HAD never had the good luck to go to one of Lord 
 Houghton's famous breakfast-parties in earlier years, but 
 one day about this time he came up to Mary and me in the 
 Row, where we had drawn up in the shade on a hot June 
 morning, — and making some kind remark about my novel, 
 " Mr. Smith," began to talk about his own " little trumpery 
 book" called "Monographs," which had just come out, 
 and ended by inviting us both to breakfast on the following 
 day. 
 
 " * Mr. Smith ' brought you that invitation," said Mary, 
 laughing. 
 
 Well, if "Mr. Smith" did, "Mr. Smith" brought me 
 the prospect of a very great pleasure, and I felt deeply 
 indebted to him. 
 
 I sat next my host, and he again reverted to "Mono- 
 graphs," (which I had read in the interval). Honestly, I 
 admired it much, not only because it afforded vivid glimpses 
 of many interesting personalities, but on account of the 
 beauty of the writing, — and when he asked in a simple, 
 humble sort of way whether I thought it could be de- 
 veloped and expanded into a " Big book," I assented with 
 eagerness ; who could doubt it ? 
 
174 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " Well, you know, I think of trying," he said, modestly, 
 " and if I had set to work ten years ago, there would have 
 been some sense in it ; but now — " his face clouded a little, 
 " now, I don't know ; I wonder if I am not too old ?" 
 
 Well, he did look old ; there was a lack of life in his 
 languid movements, and of spontaneity in his conversation. 
 He seemed as if he were trying to be himself — his bright, 
 buoyant self — the self that had once been the life and soul of 
 every gay assemblage — the magnet which drew all that 
 was worth the drawing to the well-known house in Upper 
 Brook Street. 
 
 Mary had often spoken to me of Lord Houghton's 
 delightful parties, and his sister's well-known saying that 
 a certain notorious criminal must have been hanged that 
 morning, " Or Richard would have had him to breakfast," 
 had had a very natural effect, — but I must confess that 
 my own experience of Richard's hospitality was dis- 
 appointing. 
 
 And I am sure that this feeling was shared by others ; 
 there were wistful, anxious glances cast from time to time 
 towards one end of the table ; there was a subdued tone 
 about the whole entertainment. 
 
 Presently my neighbour on the other side observed in 
 my ear, " He is fighting depression of spirit, as well as fail- 
 ing health, at last. He is suffering great uneasiness on 
 account of his wife, and I imagine has had no good report 
 of her to-day. She is down at Fryston, unable to come 
 up — but I daresay you know this.^" 
 
 I replied that Lord Houghton had told me so. 
 
 " I was surprised at his giving this breakfast-party," 
 resumed my new acquaintance, " it is the first he has had 
 this season — " 
 
 "My dear Miller," broke in Lord Houghton, leaning 
 across me, "have you read a certain book called 'Mr. 
 Smith ' .?" — and he enlarged. As he turned away, my com- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 175 
 
 panion smiled significantly, "But now I understand," said 
 he. 
 
 Mr. Joaquin Miller turned out to be an American and a 
 poet. I liked the look of him, but he was so much occu- 
 pied in studying his host and listening to everything that 
 fell from his lips that he had not much attention to spare 
 for me, and I secretly compared myself to the small child 
 who went out to see the stars one night in company with 
 a learned astronomer. She was inflated with pride as she 
 set off, but returned flattened out. "I don't care very 
 much for Sir George," pouted Miss Vanity, "he keeps 
 taking what he calls observations of the stars, and takes no 
 observations of me ! " 
 
 " You need not take that to heart, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Proctor, to whom I told my grievance presently. (Have I 
 said that Mrs. Proctor was there .f^ She was an old and 
 intimate friend of Lord Houghton's, and had been to many 
 such breakfasts before.) " You need not feel mortified by 
 the American's neglect. He is besotted with Richard, has 
 neither eyes nor ears for anyone else when he is present — 
 and Richard is very devoted to him in return. You were 
 meant to have a pleasant neighbour at breakfast." 
 
 "Yet Mr. Miller made a cutting remark on Lord 
 Houghton," hesitated I, and told her about his " iVow, I 
 understand." 
 
 She laughed. " Oh, that's nothing. We all know our 
 dear friend's little weakness, it is common property, — and 
 of course this was a surprise party, and got up for you. 
 But it is not like his old parties," she sighed regretfully. 
 
 " No, it is not like his old parties," echoed Mary, over- 
 hearing her. 
 
 Lord Houghton was however more cheerful when next 
 I met him. 
 
176 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 We were again in the Row, and this time sitting on 
 chairs, where he joined us. Possibly — just possibly — he 
 may have felt that he had not shown to advantage at the 
 breakfast-party — or it may have been that he was merely 
 in better spirits — but he certainly did not seem the same 
 person. He was bright and chatty, he hailed friends 
 among the riders and walkers every moment, and his 
 hearty laugh rang out quite often. Mary on the other 
 side nudged me : " Now you are seeing the real Lord 
 Houghton." 
 
 And now I perceived something of the charm of the 
 real Lord Houghton. He kept making the most piquant 
 and original remarks, not as if he knew he was making 
 them, or meant to attract by them, but simply as though 
 they flowed of themselves. 
 
 I had heard many stories of his absurdities and extrava- 
 gancies, but cannot help thinking many of them must have 
 been purely mythical, perhaps recounted by people who 
 did not understand the speaker, perhaps by ill-natured 
 gossips. Promptly I fell in love with the dear old man, 
 and could have listened to him forever. 
 
 He ran on about the people he had known and places he 
 had seen. Speaking of M. Thiers, then President of the 
 French Republic, he asked if I had heard " The latest about 
 Thiers.?" 
 
 " It is said that Thiers is so full of one of the new custom- 
 house regulations, — namely, the duty on raw material, 
 yclept, ' Matieres premieres^^ " said he, " that he calls his 
 wife ' Ma Thiers premiere ! ' " 
 
 "Ever met Thiers?" he inquired, conversationally. 
 " Oh, he is a very decent fellow, you must meet him at my 
 house some day — " and all at once he caught himself up, 
 and sighed. 
 
 He had been so happy, so merry, the moment before, 
 that there was something infinitely touching and pathetic 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 177 
 
 in the sudden break of the voice. Too clearly it indicated 
 the troubled pool beneath the dancing waters. 
 
 I wish I could remember what else we talked about, but 
 it is gone from me. He did not tell anecdotes, for those I 
 should not have forgotten, but with the solitary exception 
 quoted above, his talk ran on easily and naturally, with 
 here and there an exclamation of "There's So-and-So!" — 
 followed by a comment that possibly would not bear repeti- 
 tion, yet was not spiteful nor malicious. 
 
 " Did I hear Lord Houghton telling you about his hand- 
 writing.?" said Mary afterwards. "No.? I must have 
 heard wrongly then — " 
 
 " — Stop," said I, " he did say something about pitying 
 the poor devils who would have his writing to decipher, if 
 ever he did work at his book — " 
 
 " — What made him say it.? What brought the subject 
 on the tapis .?" 
 
 " He asked me how long it took me to write out a three- 
 volume novel for the press .? And I said about six weeks, 
 but that I was not a quick writer. Most people would 
 not take so long." 
 
 " Does it really take six weeks to write out a novel .?" 
 said Mary, in rather an awe-stricken tone, " but of course, 
 you only write for an hour or two a day.?" 
 
 " Four or five hours a day." 
 
 "And that is when the book is finished, and there is no 
 more composition to be done.?" 
 
 " Yes, when I have already gone over it many times : 
 when it is practically complete, but so full of corrections 
 and insertions as not to be fit for Mr. Blackwood's eagle 
 eye. When I am satisfied that I can do no more, I take a 
 firesh sheet and write it out fair and clear." 
 
 "It would not be 'Fair and clear' if Lord Houghton 
 
178 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 wrote it out however," said Mary, laughing. "There is 
 only one man in England who writes a more perfectly 
 diabolical hand, and that is Dean Stanley. I have had to 
 write to both of these men to ask the import of notes 
 received from them ! I had to know, for it was a case of 
 their coming to dinner or not. The only thing to be said for 
 Dean Stanley is that his sister, Mrs. Vaughan, can gener- 
 ally contrive to decipher his hieroglyphics, but Lord 
 Houghton's defy even himself, if he has forgotten what 
 he was writing about." 
 
 "Then, what is to be done if the big book ever comes 
 off.?" 
 
 Mary looked at me a little sadly : " It never will come 
 off." 
 
 But though I had only this passing glimpse of one of 
 England's great men of letters, and his benignant " Good- 
 bye, my dear " were the last words I was fated ever to hear 
 from his lips, I learnt about him much that was only known 
 to his dearest and closest friends, from Mrs. Proctor, who 
 could claim with truth to be one of them. 
 
 Among other items of interest, she related a moving 
 story of a young genius of humble parentage, whom 
 Monckton Milnes, (as he then was,) befriended. It 
 showed his kindly, generous nature in such a light that 
 our hearts burned as we listened, and though I cannot hope 
 to do the narration the justice that Mrs. Proctor did, who 
 told the story as few can tell it, I will recal what I can. 
 
 A familiar figure on more than one Scottish country-side, 
 is that of a Nature-poet, born in the lowly hut, reared 
 among the crags and heather, but too often, alas ! blighted 
 by an unkind world, and doomed to have all the fair pro- 
 mise of youth unfulfilled. 
 
 The " Land of grey heath, and shaggy wood " favours 
 the birth of genius, but stops there. The growth is left 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 179 
 
 to itself, unsupported, untended — and the mounting sap 
 is chilled just when it most needs warmth and sunshine. 
 
 By united effort, the family into which such a rara avis 
 is born, contrive to send him from their midst out into the 
 great world, and perhaps he flies for a time, but it is only 
 for a time. Disappointment, disillusionment follow, and 
 despair sets in. 
 
 Then the end is not far off. Back comes the broken heart 
 to die in the old home — if so far happy as to still have a home 
 to come to, — more often he vanishes into the unknown 
 through the medium of some obscure garret and all is 
 over as regards this world. 
 
 "Richard Milnes heard of such a case," said Mrs. 
 Proctor, " a stripling called Gray, in the first flush of youth, 
 if such a term can be applied to so poor a ' Youth ' as his. 
 Gray's parents lived in Glasgow in a small, back street, 
 with no outlook, no surroundings to inspire the mind — 
 yet he was a real poet. 
 
 And he believed in himself. He had ambition, en- 
 thusiasm, and dogged resolution. He took steps to bring 
 himself under Richard Milnes' notice, — (what he did I 
 don't know) — but Richard caught fire at once. He did 
 everything for that poor boy that money, and power, and 
 the kindest, tenderest sympathy could do. 
 
 Gray had written a poem called "The Luggie," and 
 asked to be allowed to bring it himself to Upper Brook 
 Street, which request was granted — but even before the 
 young man appeared, Richard went to him! Some won- 
 drous instinct told him that his new correspondent was in 
 bitter straits, and he to whom every moment of time was 
 precious, routed out the wretched little lodging, taking 
 with him food and wine. "I felt I dared not wait. 
 Relief must be instantaneous," he told me. 
 
 From that hour he became the guardian angel of that 
 unfortunate young genius. Not only did he supply him 
 
i8o MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 with money — not only did he try to interest others to bestow 
 upon him their notice and influence — not only did he 
 constitute himself his counsellor and critic — but he opened 
 up communication with the poverty-stricken family, and — 
 in short, I can hardly speak of it, even now. I have seen 
 Richard's eyes fill with tears, when he told me of any new 
 and distressing circumstance. 
 
 And Gray was difficult to deal with, as those wild, 
 passionate natures often are. And the seeds of disease 
 were deeply implanted in his frame. At last he became 
 hardly responsible, frantic to be sent here and there in 
 search of health, yet directly his wish was granted, equally 
 frenzied to be at home again. 
 
 " Oh, he died in the end, of course," concluded Mrs. 
 Proctor ; " and to the end Richard stood by him, and bore 
 with him. He would have worn out the patience of most 
 men, but not a syllable of complaint ever crossed Richard's 
 lips.'^ 
 
 " And the poems — Gray's poems .?" 
 
 " They were not sufficient for fame, but full of promise. 
 ' The Luggie ' had many beautiful lines in it. Still, I 
 think the poor poet's letters to his benefactor were even 
 better ; his adoring love and gratitude, and joined to these 
 his scrupulous self-respect and Scottish dignity, made them 
 wonderfully touching, — if I can, I will get Lord Houghton 
 to show them to you," broke off Mrs. Proctor, and con- 
 sidered a moment. "Not just at present. I don't like 
 to trouble him at present, and the thought of the poor 
 Scotch lad is always a sad one, — but when things are more 
 cheerful in his own home — ah, I wish you could see him 
 at Fryston — at Fryston as it w^5," she sighed regretfully. 
 
 But as this kind desire could not well be gratified, I 
 ventured on a few inquiries about Fryston at the (then) 
 present date ? 
 
 " Fryston is a perfectly ideal English home," said Mrs. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON i8i 
 
 Proctor, starting off with renewed vivacity. " You know 
 what an English country-house can be, standing amidst 
 its gardens and woodlands, the eye feasted by beauties far 
 and near? You know how life meanders on through 
 peaceful hours that melt into one another imperceptibly? 
 Dull, some people call that kind of thing. And perhaps 
 it would not suit some of us for long — " 
 
 " — Myself, for instance," thought I. 
 
 "But if, to the murmuring of woods and streams can 
 be united society of the highest order, companionship of 
 the most delightful character, intercourse with people, not 
 merely congenial to you, but to each other, is not that 
 perfection? I should not care to pass a single day, not 
 one whole day, with friends who made much of their 
 guests, but were disagreeable among themselves. It is so 
 uncomfortable, to say the least of it. Even if they are 
 too well-mannered to snap, there is the absence of smiles 
 on the face, when one member of the ill-assorted family 
 party is forced into communication with the other, that 
 betrays a secret lack of sympathy, even if it does not 
 amount to downright antipathy. Of course you know; 
 you understand, and feel the same, — and you will feel it 
 more, the older you grow. At present you are young, and 
 can run about, and throw off the oppression, — but when 
 you are my age, and have to sit by the fire on a bad day, 
 and in any case be much more in the house than out of it, 
 you will know what it is to feel yourself in an antagonistic 
 atmosphere. My dear, I take very good care nowadays 
 to know what the atmospheric conditions — those kind of 
 atmospheric conditions — are likely to be, before I venture 
 among them." 
 
 " But you never find them at Lord Houghton's house ?" 
 
 " At Lord Houghton's house, I find sunshine all the year 
 round," said Mrs. Proctor, sparkling up. " In that house, 
 the sun never sets. Yet perhaps I should say, never did 
 
i82 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 set — perhaps things are changed now, with the shadow that 
 has fallen on it of late ? Yes, her health of course. And 
 he is such a devoted husband — however, I will go back to 
 Fryston as I once knew it. He, Richard Milnes, as I 
 knew him for so long, was one of those rare people, whose 
 gaiety — never shall I call it frivolity — was not reserved for 
 the outside world, where, as you know, it was dazzling, 
 but irradiated his own domestic hearth ; and his dear and 
 gifted wife, as well as his children, had the full benefit of it. 
 
 " Her only apprehension was that he might not be in- 
 variably understood. He had such a light and airy way 
 with him that I have seen her stealing a glance here and 
 there to make sure that he was not being taken seriously 
 when he was only in the veriest fun. She knew when he 
 was frolicsome, but would others ? For Richard could put 
 on a mask of gravity that would take almost anyone in, 
 and then he would catch your aside, and just — wink!" 
 
 "Would he wink.?" said I, laughing, for I had some- 
 thing in my mind about a wink, which I felt sure Mrs. 
 Proctor would appreciate, and wondered if now were the 
 time to tell it, or if she had any more to relate about the 
 Houghtons ? 
 
 I thought perhaps we had heard enough, and that the 
 garrulity of my kind old friend might as well be stayed 
 for the present, so after a few vague remarks which served 
 to break the thread, observed that Lord Houghton's wink 
 could not at least have resembled that of another person 
 I had just heard of, in that it probably had no such far- 
 reaching consequences. 
 
 Quick as lightning, Mrs. Proctor was upon me. What 
 did I mean.f^ Who did I mean.? 
 
 She was so eager and responsive that I began at once. 
 My husband had formed the acquaintance of Sir John 
 Nasmyth of hammer celebrity, and brought him to our 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 183 
 
 house. One night, when we three were alone, our guest 
 volunteered a retrospect of his early struggles and the way 
 in which they were surmounted. He went to Manchester 
 as a very young man, full of alternate hopes and fears, 
 bearing with him a letter of introduction to two brothers, 
 named Grant, who were at the head of the iron trade. 
 They not only received him with cordiality, but inquired 
 into his affairs, and on his announcing his intention of 
 setting up for himself, nodded a thoughtful approval. 
 
 "I told them everything," said Sir John, "as if they 
 were blood-relations, for that was what they seemed like 
 to me. Relations who really feel the tie of blood, I mean," 
 he interposed, with a little dry twist of the mouth, " not 
 the other kind who chuck a nephew into the gutter with a 
 ' Take care of yourself, my boy.' No, not that sort at all. 
 
 "My old Grants were, I believe, the actual prototypes 
 of the ' Cherryble Brothers ' in ' Nicholas Nickleby,' so it 
 was no wonder that my heart went out to them as it did. 
 
 " One of them inquired how much capital I had } 
 
 " ' Seventy pounds,' said I. 
 
 "They did not even interchange a glance, though what 
 it must have sounded to them with their half-million at 
 command, one can imagine. I felt an inward squirm at 
 the time, but put a bold face upon it, and the elder Mr. 
 Grant went on quickly, ' That will not go far in the pay- 
 ment of wages, but never mind, make a beginning. I 
 have confidence in you ; and if at any time you cannot 
 pay your men, come to me, and I will help you to do it.' 
 
 "As he spoke, he winked at me with his left eye, and 
 rolled it about in such a funny way that I felt it was meant 
 to be encouraging and significant, and went off quite 
 happy. 
 
 " Well, times were bad, often very bad, during the next 
 year or two, and I had nothing but the thought of that 
 
i84 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 wink to sustain me, — for I had made up my mind that 
 nothing but dire necessity would induce me to apply for 
 aid to the * Cherryble Brothers.' 
 
 " I did not lose faith in them, but the very fact that they 
 believed in me and in my self-reliance stimulated my 
 resolve to show that I had real grit. 
 
 " So I held on, always saying to myself when an extra 
 hard knock came, * Come now, there are always the Grants, 
 and that one would never have winked at me like that if 
 he had not meant something.' 
 
 "Then the tide turned, and I began to prosper. But 
 It was not till seven years had passed, and I was a success- 
 ful man with my own world at my feet, that I discovered 
 by accident, what do you think.?" 
 
 " What .f^" cried Mrs. Proctor, all excitement. 
 
 I had not meant the "What do you think.?" for her^ 
 repeating merely the words as Sir John Nasmyth said them 
 to me — but having made such an excellent point, I replied 
 dramatically, " The eye that winked was a glass one!^^ 
 
 "No.?" said Mrs. Proctor, delighted. "No! You 
 don't say so!" 
 
 "It was, and the supposed wink was only a nervous 
 contraction of the eyelid ! " 
 
 "How Sir John did not find this out before, he could 
 not imagine," continued I, "but somehow he never did, 
 and added now, ' Well was it for me that my happy delu- 
 sion remained undisturbed all through those years — or at 
 any rate, during the first one, — for if the discovery had 
 been made then, it might have been my ruin. I lived on, 
 and toiled on, supported solely by the hope and courage 
 that wink gave me.' " 
 
 " Marvellous ! " said Mrs. Proctor. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 We meet Carlyle on the Chelsea Embankment — "Toss for none of 
 your doctors ! " — Carlyle and Lecky at variance — An agreeable 
 diner-out relates his difficulties with a too frank relation — Her 
 strictures on Mr. Holman Hunt's picture in the artist's own studio 
 — Cambridge dons cruelly hoaxed — Lady Augusta Stanley relates 
 how Queen Victoria dined with her and the dean to meet men 
 and women of letters — Lady Augusta's views of mothers' rights — 
 Dean Stanley's Flower Show. 
 
 We were rambling about Chelsea one day, trying to pick 
 up the old china that is still to be found there if you know 
 where to go for it, when we came upon Carlyle turning up 
 from the river towards his own house. 
 
 He did look old and worn ; not having seen him for 
 some time, I was struck by the change in his appearance. 
 The old Adam is however as strong as ever within, as 
 was evidenced by a little story of him, told by the next 
 person we met to whom we remarked, "We have just 
 passed Carlyle, and think he looks ill." 
 
 "Aye, he is not at all well," said he — (I forget who he 
 was) — " and as for seeing a doctor, he declares he would 
 as soon see somebody else, whose name also begins with 
 aD." 
 
 "Of course, he does not take half enough exercise," 
 continued Mary's friend, who lived in the same street as 
 the Sage of Chelsea, " and when he does go out for a walk, 
 it is a mere potter. He shambles along thinking of some- 
 thing else, and knowing so little of where he is going that 
 if at the end of five minutes after setting out, anyone took 
 
i86 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 him by the shoulders and turned him round, bidding him 
 go home again for he had walked enough, he would 
 meekly obey. I won't say I have known him do this, 
 but certainly he has said to me more than once, 'I can't 
 for the life of me tell where I've been, or how long I've 
 been out. I suppose I've been out long enough?'" 
 
 "And you have to decide if he has been out long 
 enough?" — said Mary. 
 
 Her friend laughed, and then suddenly looked grave. 
 " I tell you what it is, we shan't have that great man long 
 with us ; and although it was all very well for him to defy 
 the doctors ten years ago, he can't do it now. Did you 
 ever hear how he turned on a poor country practitioner 
 down at my brother-in-law's place, where he had an attack 
 which frightened everybody, for it was uncommonly like 
 cholera, and cholera was about ? My brother-in-law took 
 it upon himself to send for the village doctor, a worthy 
 old fellow with a long-established practice, and you may 
 suppose Aesculapius was not a little flustered and flattered 
 at being summoned to such an illustrious patient. With 
 the utmost alacrity he made his way to the Hall and was 
 shown upstairs to the patient's bedroom — but there his 
 self-complacency received a rude shock. My brother-in- 
 law told me he did not know which way to look when a 
 shaggy head uplifted itself from the pillows, and peered 
 over the bed-clothes, * Who'*s that ? ' 
 
 He replied that it was the doctor, whom he had 
 thought it right to send for. 
 
 " * Doctor ? ' thundered Carlyle, ' I'm for none of your 
 doctors. Of all the sons of Adam, men of medicine are 
 the most unprofitable.' 
 
 " And the poor unprofitable man of medicine found it 
 impossible to obtain a hearing," said our informant, shaking 
 his head, "and had to retreat, baflied and terrified. The 
 worst of it was that his visit so annoyed and roused the 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 187 
 
 Sage, that it put fresh spirit into him, and he began at once 
 to get better, all the time railing at doctors, and trium- 
 phantly pointing to his own case as proving his point 
 against the faculty!" 
 
 At a dinner-party that evening I related the incident to 
 my neighbour at the table. 
 
 "Carlyle can be quite on the spot however," observed 
 he, "if he is really interested — and I can adduce an 
 instance of this. You know Lecky — Mr. Lecky, the 
 historian .f"' 
 
 I replied that I knew Mr. Lecky by sight. 
 
 "Having once seen him, it would be difficult not to 
 know him again," laughed he, — indeed we both laughed, 
 as the dome-like head rose before the mind's eye of each. 
 A more peculiar-looking head I have never seen, and there 
 was a momentary side-chase after it, but then my neighbour 
 returned to the starting-point. "Carlyle and Lecky are 
 friends, and occasionally walk out together." (At this I 
 thought of the bent old figure and the halting gait we had 
 seen that day on Chelsea Embankment, and mentally com- 
 pared it with Mr. Lecky's grand form and stride — but 
 forebore to interrupt.) "One day they had found their 
 way to Highgate, of all places," continued my informant, 
 "and were strolling about there, when Carlyle said sud- 
 denly, *What brought me here to-day was a desire to see 
 Coleridge's house once more. In old times I went there 
 to see him on several occasions, but I can't remember the 
 house.' 
 
 " ' Can you remember the street ^ ' inquired Lecky. 
 
 " But Carlyle shook his head. ' I don't think it was in 
 a street, but I feel sure it was somewhere in this neighbour- 
 hood. Let us ask somebody.' 
 
 " The idea of asking somebody about a house wherein 
 a man had lived thirty years before, seemed rather ludicrous 
 
i88 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 to Lecky, who knew the rapidity with which dwellings in 
 London suburbs change hands, and he poked fun at the 
 Sage — but Carlyle persisted, saying, ' It can do no harm 
 to ask.' 
 
 "By-and-by, perceiving a very old lady walking slowly 
 towards them he pointed to her, saying, ' Look. She must 
 be able to remember thirty years ago, and I daresay has 
 lived here longer than that. I shall put my question to 
 her ; and mark you, she will answer it to our satisfaction.' 
 
 " Accordingly he took off his hat, and in the very polite 
 manner he keeps for strangers, accosted the venerable 
 dame. 'Can you be so good as to inform me, madam, 
 which house hereabouts was once inhabited by the poet, 
 Coleridge ? ' 
 
 "The old lady looked quite pleased and responsive: 
 old people like to be asked for information, you know. 
 * Certainly I can, sir ; I can point out the very house to 
 you ; there it is' — and she wheeled round, and indicated 
 it with a stick, on which she was leaning. ' It belonged 
 to my brother, and Coleridge was his tenant. I am a sister 
 of Dr. Gilman.' 
 
 " Of course Carlyle had a great crow, and as for Lecky, 
 he owned he was never more astonished in his life. 
 
 " But people who make shots in the dark do hit the mark 
 curiously often," observed my new friend. 
 
 He was an agreeable man, though rather of the order 
 of diners-out who think over their conversations before- 
 hand, — and as soon as we had done with one subject, he 
 had another ready to produce. His eye wandered up and 
 down the table as though cogitating what tap to turn on 
 next ? 
 
 Several notabilities were present, and at length he 
 selected Mr. Holman Hunt, whose picture, " The Shadow 
 of Death" was one of the topics of the hour. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 189 
 
 "Know Mr. Hunt?" he inquired, and scarcely waiting 
 for my affirmative, "Like his picture? Well then, you 
 will be amused to hear what happened to me at a private 
 view of that picture lately. I have an old aunt who comes 
 and stays with me every season, and will go everywhere, 
 and do everything ; and unfortunately she caught sight of 
 the Holman Hunts' invitation-card to their private view. 
 I say ' Unfortunately,' not because I wished to do the poor 
 old lady out of a treat that was quite in her line, but because 
 she thinks herself a great judge of pictures, and is dead 
 against the pre-Raphaelite school. In fact, she grows quite 
 venomous when she talks of it. 
 
 " So I said, * You won't care to go to this, ma'am ? ' 
 
 " Oh, but I was quite out there, I assure you. Not go ? 
 She bristled up like nothing in the world but an old aunt 
 who expects to be kow-towed to because of her money. 
 She assured me that I was very much mistaken in supposing 
 she did not care for pictures — (I had never supposed this, 
 but it had to pass, — ) and that although she did not always 
 admire those by Mr. Holman Hunt, she would at least 
 like to have the opportunity of judging for herself the 
 merits of the * Shadow of Death.' 
 
 " Accordingly we set off, and saw a lot of people, friends 
 of the artist's, passing into the house before us. My aunt 
 is so terribly outspoken, and so unconscious of it, that I 
 risked a hint as delicately as I could. 'Tell me your 
 opinion of the picture as frankly as you please, as soon as 
 we come away, my dear aunt, — but inside these doors, do 
 be cautious. Remember, we are expected to keep to our- 
 selves adverse criticisms, as Hunt is peculiarly sensitive to 
 them.' 
 
 " ' Trust me,' said she, with rather an offended air. 
 
 " But I didn't trust her, not a bit ; and the event proved 
 I was right. She is clever enough in some ways, diaboli- 
 cally clever just when it would be better to be stupid — 
 
190 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 and directly she saw the picture, she forgot everything in 
 looking at it. ' Know the picture ? ' " 
 
 Again, before I could do more than barely assent, he 
 was off. 
 
 " People were sitting about in silence before it. Well, 
 it is a wonderful picture, Jove, it is, — and you can imagine 
 my feelings when suddenly my aunt's loud whisper was 
 distinctly audible to all. ' The Central Figure isn't good ; 
 I don't think he stretches himself naturally ; too much one 
 way, in order to form the shadow . . . and as for the 
 figure of the Virgin, it isn't good either. Why should 
 she be kneeling, and looking into that box ? ' 
 
 " * It is supposed to contain some of the treasures brought 
 by the Magi from Egypt,' whispered I, trying to stop her. 
 
 " ' But who's to know that ? However, that doesn't 
 matter. What I object to are the two figures ; if they 
 were taken away, I should admire the picture.' 
 
 " ' But if you take them away, what have you left of the 
 picture ? ' 
 
 " ' That little bit of landscape through the window. I 
 like that,^ said she. 
 
 " It was really too good ; Hunt had to be told ; and he 
 had met with so much appreciation and adulation that day, 
 that I think it really seasoned with salt what otherwise 
 might have cloyed with sweetness." 
 
 We were now to start a fresh tack. A Cambridge don 
 was sitting opposite us, and made an excellent raison d^etre 
 for a Cambridge story. 
 
 "Ever been to Cambridge.?" demanded my loquacious 
 neighbour. 
 
 It appeared — with variations — to be his usual opening. 
 
 I admitted that I had been to Cambridge once, during 
 the Cambridge week. But of course it was not to talk 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 191 
 
 about the Cambridge week that he wanted ; I looked at 
 him, and saw another anecdote ready to burst from his lips. 
 
 " I went down there to stay with Humphreys," said he. 
 "Know Professor Humphreys? Big dog at Cambridge, 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 I had however sadly to acknowledge that I had not the 
 big dog's acquaintance. 
 
 On the whole, I think this was a relief to both of us. 
 I had so often said " Yes " and got no good of it, that 
 frankly to admit complete ignorance, ignorance without any 
 extenuating circumstances left him untrammelled to speak, 
 and me to listen. 
 
 He was a bore ; but a loquacious bore possesses this 
 merit, that he amuses himself, and does not expect you to 
 amuse him. I drew a bonbon dish of salted almonds my 
 way, and awaited with resignation the Cambridge story. 
 
 "Talk of my aunt's making a faux pas,""^ began my 
 friend, (he had talked of it, I hadn^t, but no matter,) " I 
 was worse than she the other day among the dons. I went 
 down, as I said, on a visit to Professor Humphreys, and as 
 everyone was talking about the Shah, (it was just after 
 the Shah had left England,) I asked if he had honoured 
 Cambridge with a visit while in this country.^ It was an 
 unfortunate question, and several of the learned fellows 
 present looked at each other ; however Humphreys only 
 said shortly that Cambridge had not been selected for His 
 Highness' itinerary. He looked a little discomposed, and 
 it was pretty plain that I had put my foot in it, though I 
 could not imagine how. 
 
 " When we were alone, he began at once, ^ It was rather 
 an awkward thing you said just now about the Shah. Oh 
 it was nothing to mind about, for it showed at once you 
 had never heard of it — but — ' 
 
 " * Never heard of what t ' said I, feeling thoroughly 
 uncomfortable. ' And why was my question awkward ? ' 
 
192 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " * I'll tell you,' said Humphreys. But I must premise 
 that we Cambridge dons thought everybody knew the trick 
 played upon us — and as in a small world everything looms 
 large, we hardly knew how to hold up our heads after it. 
 The Shah was all the rage in London as you know, — and 
 one day the Heads of the University were startled out of 
 their academic calm by the news that a telegram had been 
 received by the Vice-Chancellor purporting to be from the 
 Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 " It was sent to prepare us for a visit from the Shah 
 which had been hastily arranged for the following day, 
 when he was to travel down by a certain train — and the 
 Lord Chamberlain trusted that His Highness would be 
 received by the authorities with befitting ceremonies. 
 
 "'We were not over-pleased, as you may suppose,' 
 said Professor Humphreys, ' these state visits are dreadful 
 nuisances ; but of course we hurried and scurried, and 
 interviewed the station people, and ordered carriages — 
 and a grand luncheon was to take place in the great dining- 
 hall of Trinity College — and at last all was in readiness, 
 and we robed and assembled to meet the train by which 
 the Shah was to travel. 
 
 " ' The train arrived, but where was the Shah ? 
 
 " ' It had been plague enough to have all the fuss of 
 preparation and interruption of routine, but had we 
 been made fools of into the bargain ? We had — we just had. 
 
 " ' And it soon got about, and spread like wild-fire. 
 
 "'And we had to slink back to our colleges with our 
 tails between our legs, and hardly liked to speak about it 
 even to each other,' said Humphreys, in conclusion. 
 
 " ' It's rather beastly for dons to be the victims of a 
 hoax, you must admit ; — so now you know why we looked 
 a little blue, when you innocently asked. Did the Shah 
 come to Cambridge ? ' " 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 193 
 
 To own the truth, I thought this whole tale distinctly 
 prosy, and cannot imagine why I repeat it. 
 
 It did not seem to me much fun to wake the poor 
 pompous dons out of their dreams of academic bliss, and 
 dangle a barbarian potentate before their eyes. There was 
 nothing ridiculous in what they did. If they had burned 
 with desire to prostrate themselves before the barbarian 
 potentate they might have been fair game and there would 
 have been some sense in showing them up, — but these 
 sheep, what had they done.'^ — King David might have 
 said. 
 
 So I was glad when the dinner was over, and the ladies 
 went upstairs. 
 
 Presently I saw Mary looking round for me, and she 
 whispered as she led me up to a lady, " I have been telling 
 Lady Augusta Stanley of our being in Chelsea to-day and 
 seeing Carlyle." 
 
 I was then presented to Lady Augusta, who, after a few 
 compliments on my latest novel, said, " I hear you thought 
 Mr. Carlyle looking very old and sad to-day. He is 
 failing fast, I fear — but I have not seen him lately. The 
 last time I saw him was on the occasion of which perhaps 
 you have heard, when the Queen did the dean and me 
 the honour of coming to meet a few distinguished literary 
 people at our house ? No ? Well, it was strictly private 
 by Her Majesty's desire, but there can be no harm in 
 telling you about it now. 
 
 "When I was last at Windsor, the Queen was talking 
 about the formalities which hedge about a Sovereign, and 
 remarked that she would be glad to dispense with these 
 and meet a few men of letters in a quiet way, if it could 
 be managed ? 
 
 " Of course I replied that it was only for Her Majesty 
 to fix a day and name the guests. At first Her Majesty 
 decided to have only men at the party, but ultimately con- 
 
194 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 eluded that Lady Lyall and Mrs. Grote should accompany 
 their husbands. Are you acquainted with those ladies.?" 
 broke off Lady Augusta. 
 
 I replied that I knew the Lyalls, but not the Grotes. 
 
 "If you have not seen Mrs. Grote, you have missed 
 something," said Lady Augusta, with a twinkle in her eye, 
 " she is a most peculiar dresser, and once appeared at a great 
 reception — Lady Holland's, I believe it was — in such a 
 singular get-up that Sydney Smith observed that now for 
 the first time he understood the origin of the word 
 ' Grotesque.^ 
 
 " However there could be no grotesque attire at the 
 Deanery to meet the Queen, of that we could be very 
 sure," reverting to her former theme ; " Mrs. Grote knows 
 where to draw the line, and appeared in a very suitable, 
 quiet gown, and Her Majesty remarked upon it. Oh, 
 the Queen knows about everything, I assure you. No- 
 thing goes the round in certain circles that does not reach 
 the Queen's ears. Dear me, I seem as if I could never 
 get to the point, but you know," she ran on merrily, " we 
 ladies of the Court when we are at Court have so little 
 chance of talking^ that when we leave we want to talk all 
 the time, as Americans say. Now about the party. The 
 other guests, besides those I have named, were Charles 
 Dickens, Robert Browning, and Thomas Carlyle, — a glori- 
 ous trio, were they not.?" 
 
 " Indeed, yes." 
 
 "The Queen seemed to be chiefly interested in the old 
 philosopher of Chelsea. Her Majesty had met Mr. 
 Dickens before, and also the geologist, the poet, and the 
 historian, in short all but the great Carlyle, which was 
 strange, considering that his books greatly appeal to Her 
 Majesty, partly owing, I imagine, to Her Majesty's 
 German proclivities." 
 
 Here I made a mental comment to the effect that Lady 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 195 
 
 Augusta, although she had quitted Court life, still adhered 
 to its usages, and never referred to her late august mistress 
 as " she " or " her," but always as " the Queen " or 
 "Her Majesty." Other ex-Ladies-in- Waiting were not 
 always so particular, but Lady Augusta Bruce had been a 
 personal favourite and was now a dear friend. I think 
 this made her doubly punctilious. 
 
 " As soon as general civihties had been distributed, the 
 Queen settled down to a good talk with Carlyle." Lady 
 Augusta furled and unfurled her fan, and looked dreamily 
 into the past, as the memorable evening rose before her 
 eyes. " It was delightful to hear Her Majesty on the 
 possible future of the Empire. And of course Carlyle 
 roused up, and launched forth his great rolling periods as 
 only he can. And all was going well, but for one draw- 
 back. Carlyle was an old man — you saw for yourself 
 to-day how feeble he has grown — and I am talking of only 
 a year ago, — he grew terribly tired of standing, yet as long 
 as the Queen stood, he could not sit down. 
 
 " It was a great opportunity as well as a great privilege. 
 If he had only been in his own arm-chair in the little 
 Chelsea house, whence he is accustomed to shake his fist 
 at the world, he would not have minded how long the 
 discussion went on, — (he said this afterwards) — but as it 
 was, he could hardly bear the pain in his back! 
 
 " The Queen had no such feelings ; Her Majesty is 
 accustomed to giving long audiences to statesmen and 
 diplomatists none of whom are Carlyles, — and when 
 interested and elevated has no sense of time. We, who 
 knew the Queen so well, were delighted to see the pleasure 
 Her Majesty was receiving from the conversation, but I 
 must own both the dean and I were apprehensive for her 
 aged subject. 
 
 "At length he took the matter into his own hands," 
 continued Lady Augusta, laughing, " and seizing a chair. 
 
196 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 bluntly suggested, ' If your Majesty would please to be 
 seated, we could carry on the subject with greater ease.' 
 
 " You may guess how we all cast our eyes on the ground, 
 but the Queen was so good. It was certainly the very 
 first time in Her Majesty's life that such a request had 
 been made by a subject — and you would have thought it 
 was the most ordinary thing in the world! Still talking, 
 the Queen subsided into a chair, and brave old Carlyle 
 was happy for the rest of the evening. It needed a Car- 
 lyle of course to do it," appended Lady Augusta, in 
 conclusion. 
 
 " And now, may I be allowed to say a few words about 
 your new novel, or would it be impertinent.'* 'A Stiff- 
 necked Generation,' I mean.^* It is the last, isn't it.^* I 
 thought so. I do want to tell you how very much, terribly 
 much, ' Major Gilbert ' comes home to me, for I know him, 
 every inch of him. I never knew a ' Mr. Smith,' and 
 wished I did, but I do know a ' Major Gilbert,' and wish 
 I didn't. That is the perversity of life," laughed Lady 
 Augusta. "I suppose — I wonder if you have been told 
 this often .?" 
 
 I owned that I had heard it before. 
 
 " It is really dreadful when a man is good, and worthy, 
 and vulgar y^^ pursued Lady Augusta, earnestly. " Especi- 
 ally when a girl belonging to you can't see it, and sets her 
 heart on him. I have a friend on whom this calamity has 
 fallen, and it was of her * Major Gilbert ' I was thinking, 
 when I said I knew yours. She is not exactly a *Lady 
 Caroline' ; no, poor dear, she really is not^ but there is a 
 certain resemblance which our family has found out. One 
 of her girls spoke of it to me the other day. 
 
 "The odd thing is, that while they, the daughters, are 
 quick enough to perceive their mother's high-handed 
 tactics, they don't detect how these are roused to action 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 197 
 
 by a certain person of whom they think all the world, 
 (they are very young), and whom she, well — detests. 
 
 "They are inflamed to rebellion by her cold treatment 
 of this ' Splendid soldier,' whom they assert she snubs 
 shamefully — while for my part, I often wonder at her self- 
 control. 
 
 " How it will end remains to be seen ; but when I read 
 of your * Major Gilbert ' I felt as if you must know mine ?" 
 — and she broke off inquiringly. 
 
 " No, I don't ; I have no idea, Lady Augusta, who yours 
 can be. I once knew a man from whom I drew my un- 
 pleasant hero," said I, "but he is dead, or I should never 
 have brought him into a book. And he would have been 
 old by now, if he had been alive," — I added. 
 
 " Then I shall certainly put ' A Stiff-necked Generation ' 
 in the way of my young friends," said Lady Augusta ; 
 " I know how I can do it, by saying I have met you to- 
 night. Now, you seem to know girls, tell me, do you 
 think there is anything to be done in this case, in the way 
 of putting a spoke in the wheel.'' Really and truly, it 
 would be an undesirable match," she added, earnestly. 
 
 " I can only suggest Lady Godman's remedy," said I. 
 
 "Lady Godman.f^" — murmured she. 
 
 " She is dead. But she broke off an engagement which 
 threatened disaster by a very simple method, long before 
 she died. Her daughter was not to be reasoned with. 
 She would engage herself to an objectionable youth, in 
 whom nobody but herself could see any attraction, — and 
 as there were no solid grounds on which to refuse consent, 
 Lady Godman hit on an idea. Luncheon you know. Lady 
 Augusta, is not a meal at which one shines. At any rate, 
 it is not conducive to love-making. The aspirant was 
 permitted to come to luncheon every day — but to nothing 
 else. In a month the whole thing was at an end ! " 
 
 " Excellent," cried Lady Augusta. " What an admir- 
 
198 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 able mother! What a heaven-born diplomat! I shall 
 certainly recommend that course of action. Luncheon? 
 A detestable meal with everything unpropitious. Children 
 and governess at one end of the table! Half the family 
 just come in, and half just going out ! All on the rush, 
 — no peace — no privacy — no possibilities ! My dear, your 
 Lady Godman must have been a very clever woman. 
 But," she looked at me shrewdly, "somehow, I fancy her 
 real name was not ' Godman.' Eh .? Well, well, one 
 can't be too discreet. But now I must go!" 
 
 She rose and looked for her hostess. Then turned to 
 me with a sudden thought. " Won't you come to our 
 Flower-Show next week.^^ The dean would think it very 
 kind of you to do so.f^" 
 
 Well, I had been rather dreading this, for I knew what 
 Dean Stanley's Flower-Shows were like ; indeed I had 
 already been to one unbeknownst to the hosts, and was not 
 particularly keen to go again. However, there was no 
 escape when thus pointedly applied to, and Mary said she 
 would accompany me. Mary was always ready for any- 
 thing. 
 
 The grey precincts of Westminster Abbey looked quite 
 gay, almost gaudy, when we drove thither on the appointed 
 day ; and the dear little dean had his work cut out for him 
 shaking hands with his friends, for if they did but stay 
 ten minutes, they wanted him to know they were there, 
 and to remember afterwards that they had been there. 
 
 As Lady Augusta said, he " Took it kind " of people to 
 attend this curious Flower-Show, unique of its class. It 
 consisted solely of a display of flowers which the poor 
 people of Westminster had cultivated in their windows, 
 and I suppose nobody but Dean Stanley would have been 
 able to bring the half of fashionable London to it. His 
 personality was so endearing and his acquaintance so 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 199 
 
 enormous, that the quaint little Show flourished during his 
 life-time, but to have attempted to continue it under any- 
 other auspices would have been too daring. 
 
 The flowers were really wonderful, considering. And 
 as the shilling entrance fee went towards prizes for the 
 exhibits, there were some radiant faces among the poor 
 folks of Westminster. 
 
 Presently Lady Augusta spied us out, and was for pre- 
 senting us forthwith to some foreign Royalties, but experi- 
 ence had by this time taught me — (Mary always knew it — ) 
 how such an honour could be evaded, and we edged towards 
 the departure gate. " How mean of you," whispered 
 Lady Augusta, laughing, "I'll tell the dean." 
 
 " The dean will forgive us," laughed Mary back, and 
 held up a bunch of roses, already decaying. "The dean 
 will find a little cheque for these in the box." 
 
 " Oh, that will excuse everything," replied her ladyship, 
 joyfully. "A thousand, thousand thanks. You are 
 always one of our noblest supporters." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The author of " John Halifax, Gentleman " — Mrs. Craik relates her own 
 love-story — Mr. Holman Hunt paints " Dorothy's " picture — Mrs. 
 Craik provides what she calls a lamb — " I wonder she didn't 
 suggest toads and tadpoles ! " — Mr. Wilkie Collins turns up again — 
 American interviewers and their methods — " Let me embrace you 
 for the company " — A story of a " Scunner." 
 
 I HAD a line from Mary one morning early. "Mrs. 
 Craik that is, Dinah Mulock that was, is coming to 
 luncheon, would you care to come and meet her.?" 
 
 Would I care.'' 
 
 Care to meet the author of " John Halifax, Gentleman .?" 
 
 By a flash. Memory went back to a lonely shooting-box 
 in the far-off Isle of Mull, where first I read, or to be 
 exact, heard read aloud that wonderful book. 
 
 It was in the terrible year of the Indian Mutiny, and as 
 each day was saddened by the awful accounts — (although 
 my family had no personal anxiety) — I remembered how 
 my father would say as he settled himself in his arm-chair 
 for the evening, " But now for * John Halifax ! ' " — as for 
 a streak of sunshine in the gloom. 
 
 Later on, I had seen the house at Tewkesbury accredited 
 to "Phineas Fletcher" and his son, and all the difl^erent 
 places in which scenes from the famous novel were said to 
 be laid — and there were chapters in it that I almost knew 
 by heart. 
 
 However much I disliked going out to luncheon there- 
 fore, and at that time I did dislike it, being at work upon 
 a novel which usurped the morning hours until the last 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 201 
 
 minute, I cheerfully laid aside paper and pencil and set 
 forth. 
 
 But sometimes it is a pity to meet the giver of a great 
 gift. " John Halifax " was a royal gift to every English 
 reader — and Mrs. Craik was not attractive. 
 
 She was nice, and friendly, and kindly, but not 
 interesting. 
 
 To begin with, her mind seemed to run upon furniture, 
 as was perhaps natural considering that she and her hus- 
 band had just moved into a new house and were thinking 
 of carpets and curtains all day long, — but other people's 
 carpets and curtains are not of supreme importance, and I 
 remember secretly being a little impatient of the subject, 
 and amused by Dinah's admiration of the rich Axminster 
 web at her feet. 
 
 It was "Early Victorian," — very "Early" and very 
 " Victorian " — very thick, and soft, and bright, shockingly 
 bright — in short, we all know the carpet. I sat in silence 
 to hear it admired. At length when Mary's back was 
 turned, Mrs. Craik asked me point-blank, " Don't you 
 think this drawing-room carpet beautiful.? — " then, quick 
 to detect a dubious brow and reluctant consent, she met it 
 thus : " If you were fated to have only grey felt in your 
 drawing-room, you would admire almost any carpet." 
 
 "But if your taste is for grey felt.?" 
 
 "Oh, it isn't," said Mrs. Craik, laughing, "indeed, it 
 isn't. Not by any manner of means. It is my husband's / 
 taste I have to conform to, — " and she put on a demure look. 
 
 As she was the elder of the two by a dozen years, I 
 thought I understood ; otherwise, surely a woman is the 
 head of the carpet-department in her own house. 
 
 Having relieved her mind however, Dinah seemed to 
 bethink her that even carpets, like the Eastern Counties 
 Railway, " must come to an end at last," and started another 
 topic. 
 
202 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 She told us about herself ; how a few years ago a man 
 injured in an accident was brought to the house at Hamp- 
 stead where she lived in maiden state. He had a slight 
 acquaintance with her, but none at all with anyone else in 
 the neighbourhood, and it was near Hampstead Station that 
 the accident took place. Accordmgly he could only think 
 of her when asked where he would be conveyed to ? 
 
 " I set to work to nurse him," she said, " and the nursing 
 was no sinecure, for it was months before he was sufficiently 
 recovered to be moved ; and well, by that time neither of 
 us were particularly anxious for him to be moved at all! 
 We were married just as soon as possible after that ; and 
 we have been living about, here and there, until the other 
 day, when we thought it would be nice to have a house of 
 our own. So we looked round and selected one, and since 
 then have been so busy furnishing — " 
 
 " — We are in for the carpets again!" mentally ejacu- 
 lated I. 
 
 Mary, however, gave a dextrous twitch to the conversa- 
 tion. "Do tell us about the dear little girl you have 
 adopted." 
 
 " So many people know the story that I thought you 
 must," replied our visitor. " My husband and I make no 
 mystery of it, but if you would really care to hear.?" 
 
 — "Anything would be better than the carpets," 
 muttered I to myself again. 
 
 " We were living at Beckenham," said Mrs. Craik, " and 
 I was walking out one snowy morning about Christmas- 
 time, when I met a policeman I knew, who stopped me. 
 He said that on coming off night-duty that morning at six 
 o'clock he had found a baby of about a year and a half old, 
 wrapped in a shawl, and lying close to the gate of Becken- 
 ham churchyard. It was as cold as stone ; in fact, so frozen 
 that he looked twice to make sure that it was alive on his 
 way to the police-station, whither he carried it. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 203 
 
 " I went with him to see the little thing, for I am so 
 fond of babies that I felt interested ; and it seemed sad to 
 picture the future life of that poor innocent, if once it were 
 immured in the Workhouse. Yet to the Workhouse it 
 must go, unless — ? 
 
 " That ' Unless ' worried me ; I could not get rid of it. 
 I longed to adopt the poor little mite, but how would my 
 husband feel about it ? I could not conjecture. 
 
 " At last I took my courage in both hands, and told him 
 what had happened, but nothing of what I hoped might 
 happen. I contrived to interest him ; and one day after 
 we had had the child christened and I had stood godmother, 
 he said he would like to see it if I could obtain permission 
 for it to be brought to our house. 
 
 " Here was my chance. I bought a pretty white frock, 
 and we brushed out the little golden locks, and it looked 
 such a little darling that what I had hoped for actually took 
 place. Whether it would have done so, if the little one 
 had not by one of those strange intuitions children have, 
 taken a fancy to my husband's kind face bending over it, 
 I don't know, but it stretched out its little fat arms and 
 laughed up at him, and he turned to me : ' We have none 
 of our own ; let us adopt her.' My heart leaped, but I was 
 diplomatic, and replied cautiously, ' Let us wait a month, 
 and see if we are of the same mind at the end of it.' 
 
 " During the month of course we talked of nothing but 
 our baby," continued Mrs. Craik. " To take it for our 
 own meant so much, so very much, you see. It would 
 change our life completely. Still, we grew resolved upon 
 the change. My husband advertised in all the principal 
 papers, and set the police to work ; but in vain, the clue 
 was so light to start with. A little fine Indian work was 
 mixed with the rags in which the poor infant was swathed, 
 and we made the most of the Indian work — but nothing 
 ever came of it. 
 
204 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " For myself, I only dreaded that something would ; 
 and when we had honestly done our best, and not a 
 single reply had been made to our advertisements, we 
 brought little Dorothy to our home with glad and thankful 
 hearts. That is five years ago, and she is grown into a 
 little girl by now. We shall in future treat her as if she 
 were our own child, and call her so." 
 
 " Dinah Craik is having her ' Own child's ' portrait 
 painted," said Mary, one day shortly after this. "I met 
 Mrs. Holman Hunt in Bond Street this morning, and she 
 told me her husband was at work upon it. She invited us 
 to go and see how he has succeeded, for he has nearly 
 finished. We can easily go this afternoon, for we shall be 
 in that direction." 
 
 Mary never put an invitation aside till it was cold, till 
 people had forgotten they had given it, and were surprised 
 to see it acted upon, — and accordingly I was always pre- 
 pared to include some new thing, delightful to us both as 
 to the Athenians of old, in our afternoon's round. I think 
 too such promptitude generally produced a welcome. 
 
 We were taken at once to Mr. Hunt's studio. There 
 on the easel was the portrait of a perfectly lovely little girl, 
 with hair a maze of gold, and a peach-like complexion. 
 One could see at once how even as a baby the forlorn little 
 thing must have won its way to the hearts of the childless 
 Craiks. 
 
 And soon after we arrived, in came little Dorothy herself. 
 
 "Do you see my lamb.^^" she said, pointing to the pic- 
 ture, where a lamb stood by her side. " He didn't know 
 whatever to do for a lamb at first," she continued, shaking 
 her head gravely, " for the lamb would grow so fast he 
 thought it would be a sheep before it could get done." 
 
 "And Dorothy grew nearly as fast as the lamb," said 
 Mr. Hunt. "Naughty Dorothy!" 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 205 
 
 "Ah, but you haven't changed me as you did /^^r," 
 retorted Dorothy, with ineffable complacency. " You 
 couldn't change me, 'cause it's my picture, but that isn't the 
 real lamb, not the first lamb — " and she regarded the inno- 
 cent animal with contempt. 
 
 " I can tell you, I really had a job to get a lamb at the 
 right stage," confided Mr. Hunt to us apart. " When I 
 began this picture I had a lot of others on hand, and it was 
 obliged to wait for its turn, and every time I went for that 
 blessed lamb it had grown perceptibly. I told Mrs. Craik 
 of the difficulty. 'Oh,' she said, 'come down to us in 
 Kent. Plenty of lambs there. Of course in London they 
 are only to be had for the dinner-table.' 
 
 " I packed up my traps and went ; and as soon as I was 
 ready to work, a man appeared leading a huge woolly 
 creature which Mrs. Craik was pleased to call a lamb. Bless 
 me, it was a good-sized sheep ! I felt regularly done, and 
 ordered that sheep to wheel right-about and march. 
 
 "Then in comes my good hostess, and not in the least 
 disconcerted proposes that cocks and hens should be sub- 
 stituted for the lamb — I wonder she didn't say ' Toads and 
 tadpoles ' — and quite seriously assures me that they would 
 look every bit as well, etc., etc. I was surprised that she 
 did not suggest a bunch of new potatoes instead of the 
 orange in Dorothy's hand! 
 
 " It really was a nuisance, although the Craiks were very 
 kind and hospitable, and all that. And a little house in 
 the country, with a white paling round about, and green 
 meadows full of buttercups beyond, is rather nice in June, 
 — but when one has one's work to do, it isn't the time for 
 buttercups, — " and he sighed and smiled. 
 
 " What did you do about the lamb .^" 
 
 " Found one in Bushey Park, and it is all right at pre- 
 sent. I shall have to finish it straight away, before it has 
 time to lose its lamhy look." 
 
2o6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " You have a lovely sitter," murmured Mary, lowering 
 her voice. 
 
 The painter looked at the child and nodded, his eyes 
 lighting up. 
 
 "And you are doing her every justice," proceeded Mary. 
 
 He nodded again. " I should like — that's to say, I 
 should almost like, to paint children always." 
 
 " But we can't spare you to do that," said Mary, gently. 
 
 We turned into the Park, after leaving the Holman 
 Hunts' pleasant house, and found it very full as it was a 
 lovely evening. 
 
 " Do let us take one more turn," pleaded I, as the crowds 
 began to thin, " it is only now that we can really see who 
 is here, and — " 
 
 " — And there is Mr. Wilkie Collins," cried Mary, 
 springing forward in her seat, " and I haven't seen him for 
 ages and ages." She pulled the check-string violently, and 
 in less time than it takes to write it, had bidden the footman 
 pursue Mr. Collins and bring him to her. 
 
 He seemed delighted to be brought, and when Mary 
 asked him if by a miracle he were disengaged for the next 
 evening, and would dine with her, he laughed outright. 
 " I haven't a single, solitary engagement," said he ; "I 
 have only just come back from America, and have looked 
 up nobody yet." 
 
 " Oh, then, could you, and would you, come to-night ? 
 To-morrow we have a party, a large, ordinary party, but 
 to-night I will try and collect a few choice spirits — " 
 
 "My dear Mary, it is almost dinner-time now!" pro- 
 tested I. 
 
 " Oh, let me come without ' Collecting ' anyone," im- 
 plored Mr. Collins. " If you knew what a treat it would 
 be to have just old friends about me — do say to-night, and 
 only ourselves ! " 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 207 
 
 " That means you and me and our husbands," said Mary, 
 nudging me with her elbow. She would have torn round 
 like a whirlwind, and blown before her all the desirables 
 she could think of on the spur of the moment, but when it 
 was settled that these should be left in peace, and that Mr. 
 Collins would be satisfied with our sober quartet, I think 
 it was a let-off even to her. 
 
 Then Mr. Collins turned to me. " So the little lady is 
 married.'^" said he. 
 
 I smiled happily, I was so proud of my husband, so well 
 pleased to present him to friends old and new. " I suppose 
 he sits and talks with you on the balcony now.''" said Mr. 
 Collins. 
 
 "And tells me about his school-days." 
 
 " Ah, you have not forgotten that ? But the spider-hero 
 is dead since then, and I never had a chance of reminding 
 him of his exploit. Directly I saw his death in the papers, 
 I thought of you, and your horror over it." 
 
 He had not forgotten this when we were sitting cosily 
 round a small round table an hour or so later. 
 
 "It really had never struck me as anything horrible 
 before. I only thought it clever and funny — but I tried it 
 as a shocker on the Americans, and it was a failure. Lots 
 of boys did it." 
 
 Then he proceeded to tell us about the Americans. 
 
 " To begin with, I had a slap in the face. Knowing I 
 should be gone at directly I landed, I had carefully put my 
 best suit of clothes on the top of my portmanteau to be 
 ready for the inevitable interviewers, and what do you 
 think.'' The rats on board had somehow or other forced 
 their way in, and the clothes were in a fine mess, quite 
 unwearable. It was disgusting ; but as there was no help for 
 it, I went straight to a tailor, who produced some reach- 
 me-downs, and in these I had to present myself to my first 
 newspaper fiend. 
 
2o8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "The next day I looked eagerly to see what scathing 
 remark they had elicited, but imagine my relief to read, 
 * Mr. Collins is a small man, but well made and very well 
 dressed.' 
 
 " Very well dressed ! The only solution of the problem 
 that presented itself was that the atrocious garments had a 
 Yankee cut, and thereafter I wore them boldly." 
 
 "You had a lot of interviewing to go through of 
 course .f^" said Mary's husband. "Even we did not escape 
 when we went over a few years ago." 
 
 "They pursued me everywhere. One day I went to 
 make a call at a quiet house, not at all a house where 
 publicity is courted, and had hardly sat down when the door 
 opened and in came a lady, little black bag in one hand and 
 her card in the other. Could she have a few minutes' 
 conversation ; she was the representative of some paper 
 or other, I forget which. It was too bad ; I turned to my 
 hostess to apologise for the impertinence, thinking she 
 would resent it as I did, and she was actually laughing! 
 And she implored me not to disappoint the poor, hungry 
 lady. ' Remember, it is her daily bread,' she murmured 
 in my ear. 
 
 " After that I made a determined effort to get my inter- 
 viewers to come in batches," continued Mr. Collins, "and 
 one day went back to the hotel to find twelve feminine 
 editors of journals large and small, seated in a circle, wait- 
 ing my return ! 
 
 " They seemed to have formed a sort of alliance, for no 
 sooner had I made my bow than the oldest and ugliest of 
 them stood forth and solemnly observing, ' Let me embrace 
 you for the company,' offered me a chaste salute. 
 
 " However much I might have appreciated the same 
 from a youthful beauty, I did not exactly court a repetition 
 of it thus bestowed, and next day there were very moderate 
 praises of my personal charms in consequence. I suppose 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 209 
 
 I did look grim, for I felt it. Really, they were not attrac- 
 tive, — " he wound up reflectively. 
 
 Otherwise he owned to having much enjoyed his stay 
 in the New World, and though he found himself torn in 
 bits by the hospitality and loquacity which overwhelmed 
 him at every turn, it was, he said, something to look back 
 upon. 
 
 "We also felt that, I think," said Mary. "America 
 takes one's breath away, but in the retrospect none of us 
 but looks tenderly back upon it. I shall go there again 
 some day." (And she did, and I went with her — but that 
 was years afterwards.) 
 
 " One thing was splendid," continued Mr. Collins, start- 
 ing afresh, " the climate suited me down to the ground. I 
 had heard so much about the dryness of the atmosphere 
 and its effect upon English people that I did not know what 
 to expect. But I never was better in my life ; I did not 
 have an ache or a pain all the time. As for gout, it left me 
 entirely for the time being, and you know how much I 
 usually suffer from it. Oh, I shall certainly crack up 
 America as the place for sufferers from rheumatic gout ; — 
 and whatever else I can say in its favour I will, for a kinder, 
 warmer-hearted set of people surely does not exist, only 
 their ways are queer, — " he smiled a little and enlarged. 
 
 "Did you see the portraits of the signers of *The 
 Declaration of Independence ' .?" asked Mary. " I had a 
 copy of the paper they were in sent me lately, and showed 
 it to a Mr. Stewart, who told me that his father-in-law, 
 Professor Graham of Harvard, had written a history of 
 the time." 
 
 " Stewart ? I met him. I know I met him — but I 
 cannot for the life of me remember where, or what he was 
 like," said Mr. Collins. 
 
 o 
 
210 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "Did he tell you his curious experience at Constan- 
 tinople, where he was an attache in 1837, forty years ago ?" 
 
 " I — I believe he did," faltered Mr. Collins ; " I have a 
 vague flickering sensation of his having done so, but upon 
 my word so much went in at one ear and out of the other 
 during my frantic rush out there, that I should be very glad 
 if you would recall it to me." 
 
 " Listen, then," said Mary. " Mr. Stewart obtained a 
 year's leave of absence from Constantinople, and having a 
 curious taste in such matters, thought it would be a nice 
 way of spending a holiday to take part in the little war 
 going on between the Russians and Circassians. He 
 helped the Circassians of course, and had command of a 
 large body of men. As he could not speak all the lan- 
 guages he needed, he also had an interpreter. One day he 
 did not like the look of the interpreter. He took a 
 'Scunner' at him. Do you know what a 'Scunner' is?" 
 
 Mr. Collins did not, but the rest of us did, and speedily 
 enlightened him. " ' Scunner.' Oh, delightful word ! " 
 murmured he. 
 
 "Well, he acted upon it," continued Mary, "and 
 packed the man off, despite his earnest entreaties to be 
 allowed to stay. ' I really had no fault to find with him, 
 and could give no reason for dismissing him, but I had a 
 " Scunner," and that's enough for us Scotch folk,' said Mr. 
 Stewart. "You will see when you hear the rest what a 
 valuable safeguard a ' Scunner ' is. Nineteen years after- 
 wards I met a Russian General at Pau, and as we were 
 friendly and took walks together, we talked about that war, 
 and he wondered how I knew so much about it ? I replied 
 that I had been in the thick of it for a year. 
 
 After staring a moment, he said abruptly, " So ? Then, 
 you are the Englishman whose letters we opened, and I had 
 to translate them.^" 
 
 "Very likely," said Mr. Stewart, laughing. "And 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 211 
 
 that explains how they never reached their destination!" 
 Presently he appended, "Did you know anything of our 
 interpreter? I had a very good interpreter, but took a 
 fancy that he was not 'Straight' with me, and dismissed 
 him." 
 
 "You thought him dishonest?" 
 
 "Not dishonest, but untrustworthy. And yet I could 
 never catch him in any evil practices ; it was merely an 
 instinct that I had." 
 
 The general smiled. " It was a pretty correct instinct. 
 That man was in our pay. He was our consul at the 
 time you engaged him, and was ordered to leave his post, 
 enter your service, and act as our spy." 
 
 " But when I had exclaimed, and would fain have heard 
 more," continued Mr. Stewart, " I found my general not 
 communicative. He seemed to think he had been indis- 
 creet enough, and dried up. However, I had learned what 
 I chiefly wished to know, and registered it in my 
 mind never at any time to disregard the warning of a 
 * Scunner'!" 
 
 As Mr. Collins went away I heard him again murmur 
 under his breath, ^^^ Scunner.^ A delightful word!" 
 
 But before the party broke up, Mary gave us a little 
 account of her travels in Russia the previous year, of which 
 I remember some items. 
 
 "They have an odd fashion," she said, "at least we 
 thought it odd, of talking to you through their noses if 
 they do not think much of you. As we were not Grand 
 Dukes and Duchesses, we were usually treated to this 
 subtle slight. I noticed it, but did not think that it meant 
 anything, and only supposed that the speakers were afflicted 
 with snuffling colds, or adenoids in the throat, or some such 
 ailment. 
 
 "But one day at Moscow we noticed that a much- 
 
212 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 bedizened general, who had been civil enough to our party, 
 but snuffled like the rest when in conversation, suddenly 
 dropped the disagreeable habit, and spoke as clearly as any 
 of ourselves. Then it dawned on me that there might be 
 some meaning in this, and I asked the English friends with 
 whom we were staying if it were so? They were resi- 
 dents, and from long experience knew Russian people in 
 and out. 
 
 " ' Yes, you are right,' said they. * Did you notice 
 exactly when the general began to address you with greater 
 respect ?^ 
 
 " ' With greater respect .^' said John. ' It was meant for 
 disrespect, then, that snuffle?' 
 
 "'It was. Undoubtedly it was; and I just let drop 
 something to show who you were. Did you notice that?' 
 
 No, we had not. 
 
 " ' But I did,' laughed our friend, ' and the effect was 
 electrical. Before then he had supposed you were — well, 
 nobodies, as he considers nobodies. You had no great 
 retinue ; you did not swagger about knowing princes and 
 archdukes, consequently he thought nothing of you, for he 
 is a snob of the first water. It is only when he addresses a 
 person of importance that he allows himself to speak clearly. 
 You will see that he does not snuffle to you again.' 
 
 "But I think he had an occasional lapse," said Mary, 
 gaily, "and to the end he never seemed to be quite sure 
 whether we were entitled to be snuffleless or not!" 
 
 "Another thing that I noticed was still more curious. 
 The depths of the obeisances made by the ladies in church 
 appear to be regulated by their birth and status." 
 
 We heard it said of one lady of quality that she bowed 
 very slightly during Divine Service, " as befitted a person 
 of her rank," — and as we went to a number of churches in 
 St. Petersburg, we had an opportunity of judging if there 
 were any truth in this. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 213 
 
 Well, there might have been. We found it difficult to 
 say. Certainly at the church of St. Isaac, where the con- 
 gregation was almost entirely composed of the lower 
 orders, they were extraordinarily reverent, prostrating 
 themselves so low as almost to touch the ground. 
 
 " On our homeward way," said Mary, after we had dis- 
 cussed the question, "we stopped at Rigi Carlsbad, where 
 we fell in with our friends Dean Stanley and Mr. Victor 
 Williamson, who were travelling together ; and on Sunday 
 morning Mr. Williamson looked in on us to say the dean 
 was going to hold a service, as there was no resident clergy- 
 man in the place. The service was to be in our hotel, 
 and we returned from a morning walk in good time 
 for it. 
 
 From our windows we saw the dean and Mr. Williamson 
 approach a little later, and descended, expecting to find 
 them in the room prepared for the occasion, — but although 
 it quickly filled, indeed was soon full to overflowing, no 
 dean appeared. 
 
 We waited, and waited, and watches were pulled out, 
 and there was a general fanning and fidgetting — and some, 
 I think, left the hall. A lady near us declared she would 
 have to go, and wishing to avoid notice, opened a side- 
 door, intending to slip out unobserved. Imagine her 
 amazement at finding herself confronted by no less a person 
 than Dean Stanley himself! 
 
 He had been shown into a large, empty room, and left 
 there. Supposing this was to be the scene of his ministra- 
 tions, he had waited and wondered, but it had never 
 occurred to him to ring the bell and make inquiries, and 
 Mr. Williamson had left him in order to post some letters. 
 As the lady however returned bringing her dean with her, 
 no one but ourselves ever knew that he had not from the 
 
214 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 first proposed to make his belated entrance from that 
 quarter. 
 
 "At dinner that day," continued Mary, "a girl who 
 had been somewhere else to church — or chapel — observed 
 to me : ' We were a curious lot at our place. Mother is 
 Low Church, father is High, I am Broad, and the Mac- 
 donalds are Presbyterians — and that was the whole con- 
 gregation ! ' 
 
 " And a very good congregation too," said Mr. Wilkie 
 Collins, as he rose to go. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Mr. Coventry Patmore sends up his card — "The Baby's Grandmother" 
 is left in the lurch, while I fly to welcome "The Angel in the 
 House " — Mr. Patmore thinks the twentieth century will revel in 
 the novels of the nineteenth — He tells how the idea for his famous 
 poem came to him — An anecdote of Darwin — His cook thinks her 
 master too idle — Mr. Patmore's horror of fads — His affection for 
 card-playing — And misplaced belief in himself as a gambler — Mr. 
 " Cavendish " Jones f^ted in a banquet-hall papered with playing- 
 cards ! 
 
 I WAS at work in my study one wet afternoon in July, when 
 something happened upon which I never can look back 
 without a thrill of the pleasure it gave me at the time. 
 
 I had no business to be writing at that hour, it was 
 against all rules — but "The Baby's Grandmother" was 
 drawing to a close, and a long, empty day, with Mary out 
 of Town, tempted me beyond endurance. 
 
 Other interruptions I could secure myself against, other 
 people I could bar out, but Mary would have walked in 
 and caught me red-handed, and there would have been 
 the — ahem! to pay. 
 
 Consequently I fell. The hours flew, not a sound 
 escaped from school-room or nursery — (both full by this 
 time) — and the final scene between my hero and heroine had 
 reached its climax when the door opened and a maid entered 
 bearing a card upon a tray. 
 
 A man, I think, would have sworn. A woman being 
 denied that privilege, looked daggers at the maid. 
 
 She was an underling whose superior was off duty, and 
 she had either forgotten or misunderstood her instructions. 
 
2i6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " The gentleman is in the drawing-room," she announced, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 How abominable, how detestable, is such cheerfulness! 
 How it aggravates the cruelty of the blow and intensifies 
 the misery of the victim ! And my misery could have no 
 real vent. I could not even say, "Wretched girl, go and 
 hang yourself " ; — and an indignant, " Had you not orders 
 to admit no one.?" — fell flat. 
 
 But the next instant my eye fell upon the card, and I 
 bounded to my feet. Even "Lady Matilda" and her 
 lover could wait ; it would do them no harm to stare and 
 gasp at each other a little longer while I — oh, I flew 
 on the wings of the wind to meet the author of "The 
 Angel in the House " ! 
 
 What hours of delight it had given me in days of yore ! 
 What passages I could still repeat — (I can repeat them 
 now! — ). How I adored "Honoria" and "Frederick," 
 and wondered if he were not still more adorable than 
 "Vaughan".? 
 
 I was yet in my teens when " The Angel in the House " 
 came my way, it having indeed been out a considerable 
 time — (it was pubHshed, I think, in 1854) — but had only 
 by slow degrees won its way into public favour. However, 
 the " Lovely daughters of the Dean " were at length win- 
 ning recognition far and wide, and were nowhere more 
 upheld as models of what fair maidenhood ought to be 
 than in my home. 
 
 My feelings then may be guessed when I read on the 
 card held out by a blundering servant the magic syllables 
 " Mr. Coventry Patmore." 
 
 A few weeks before there had appeared in the "St. 
 James' Gazette " an article on novels, in which my own were 
 most kindly dealt with, and the value of this was enhanced 
 by its being signed, " Coventry Patmore," — but I had no 
 acquaintance with the poet, who was then living at Hast- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 217 
 
 ings, and seldom came to London. He had of himself 
 sought and found me. How proud and happy I felt ! 
 
 " I wrote for your address to John Blackwood," said he, 
 "and hope you will forgive the intrusion.?" And a thin, 
 old hand which yet had a wonderful touch, clasped 
 mine. 
 
 Afterwards I found that Mr. Patmore was nothing like 
 as old as he looked ; but he was so spare of frame, and had 
 such a fragile, colourless face that, born and bred among 
 hardy Highlanders who as men between fifty and sixty 
 were full of robust vigour, I mentally added years to his 
 score. 
 
 Can I describe him ? Only by saying he had the coun- 
 tenance of a poet, the irregular outline of feature, the 
 thoughtful yet luminous eyes, the firm yet mobile mouth, — 
 while a mass of silky, wavy hair clustered round the low, 
 placid brow, and was, I took note, carefully brushed out. 
 N.B. I fancy that the beautiful hair was a secret source of 
 vanity, and why not.? May we not have our little 
 vanities if we choose ? 
 
 Mr. Patmore's manner had the charm of perfect sim- 
 plicity and courtesy. He had an engaging manner. 
 
 If a pun be permissible, I should say it went far towards 
 an explanation of his having been engaged — and married — 
 so often. A man does not obtain three wives for nothing. 
 Three wives, too, who, report said, were all well worthy of 
 being thus mated, and the only criticism I ever heard passed 
 on the subject was that of his little son, who succinctly 
 observed, " Father, you are just half a Henry the Eighth !" 
 
 To return. Mr. Patmore seemed very well pleased at 
 finding a quiet room and a warm welcome, and subsided 
 into an arm-chair with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 " I was afraid I should find a room full of gay folks," he 
 said. " I know what it usually means when you make a call 
 in London. You can't get a word with your hostess. 
 
2i8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 except when she introduces you to her friends, hoping you 
 will take them off her hands. Now, isn't that true?" 
 
 " True ? Yes, sometimes true," I confessed, " but not 
 always. Sometimes, of course." 
 
 "The tide flows in," said Mr. Patmore, in a gentle, 
 sociable way, " but I thought there was a chance of catching 
 it on the ebb on a wet day ; and if you are not busy, I 
 should like to stay a little." 
 
 He then owned that he had come up to London " Almost 
 on purpose" for this, and that he was tired, and a trifle 
 damp, and would like a cup of tea very much. In half-an- 
 hour we were talking as if we had known each other all our 
 lives. 
 
 "You must know that I love novels," began my new 
 friend, with a tea-cup in one hand and a slice of bread-and- 
 butter in the other^ — his red Bandana handkerchief he had 
 spread upon his knee, for what purpose I was at a loss to 
 understand. " The novels of the present day are so good 
 that I am always being tempted by them. This century 
 will be known by its novels. The life of the present day 
 will be by them handed down to posterity with wonderful 
 truth and skill. The twentieth century will revel in the 
 pen-portraiture of the nineteenth." 
 
 (Ah, me! How ironical this sounds now! How abso- 
 lutely has such a prophecy been disproved ! The twentieth 
 century revel in the novels of the nineteenth .^^ Good 
 heavens, revel? Do they even tolerate it.^ Are not 
 Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the 
 waters of Israel ? May we not wallow in — but no matter.) 
 
 If it pleased my gifted companion to think as he did, it 
 was not for me to demur ; and letting alone the greatest 
 names of all, we discussed Hardy and Meredith, Kingsley 
 and Blackmore, Mrs. Oliphant, Miss Braddon and Miss 
 Broughton with much unanimity of opinion. 
 
 I remember rejoicing to find that he did not despise 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 219 
 
 Anthony TroUope. It was even then beginning to be the 
 fashion to hold that writer cheap. His style was said to 
 be wearisome, he rambled round and round the main thread 
 of his story, and could not, do what he would, produce a 
 " Love interest." 
 
 There was some truth in this, but, on the other hand, 
 what an assemblage of life-like portraits are gathered 
 together in the " Chronicles of Barset " ! Has there ever 
 been a second " Mrs. Proudie " ? Do we not see the 
 stately "Archdeacon Grantly" vowing to himself that 
 never again will he "touch the paw of that impure and 
 filthy animal, Mr. Slope " ? 
 
 I could have dilated on the simple and saintly Mr. 
 Harding, on the embittered yet high-minded Mr. Crawley, 
 on Lucy Robarts, and a host of others — (to this day I meet 
 these old friends with a kind of quiet joy ; they are so 
 human, so natural, and trouble one so little with suggestive 
 utterances and unpleasant insinuations) — but though Mr. 
 Patmore took kindly to Trollope, and even owned to a 
 sneaking affection for Jorrocks, he wanted, I think, to talk 
 about a person still more interesting to himself, and I was 
 only too happy to have him do so. "Let me tell you a 
 little about ' The Angel,' " he said. 
 
 " Shall I tell how the idea for it first came to me ? But 
 no, I can't do that, for I don't myself know how, or when — 
 it seemed to have been always there. I was a reflective 
 boy, always mooning and dreaming, and I read a lot of 
 poetry — perhaps it would have been better if I had 
 not. 
 
 "And what grew upon me was the conviction that 
 though poets from all time had sung of love, the object of 
 the love was always the Siren woman, or the Fairy woman, 
 or some lovely creature of thkt kind — but not the woman as 
 
220 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 woman — not the Inspirer and Beautifier of daily life, not 
 the Presiding Deity of the Home. 
 
 " That was what I longed to depict, and all at once I felt 
 the power to do it. 
 
 " I had been laid low, very low, by an illness ; but when 
 the illness left me a strange new spring of life seemed 
 bursting into flower within my breast. I felt that I 
 must write, and that I could. It was a wonderful 
 feeling. 
 
 " In six weeks I had completed the first book of the 
 poem, calling it 'The Betrothal.' I was on fire all the 
 time — could neither eat, sleep, nor think of anything else. 
 Do you know that feeling .f^" 
 
 I thought, humbly, that I did. 
 
 " You must, I am sure. It is only when one does that 
 that one really writes, and succeeds. But do you know, 
 though I thought I had succeeded, and some said I had, 
 when the poem was published it brought me at first only 
 bitter disappointment." 
 
 " It did. You are kind enough to say it gave you some 
 pleasure — thank you, thank you," — a pleased look stole 
 over his face, and even a little colour suffused his cheek, — 
 " but it received no compliments from the reviewers, I can 
 tell you. Perhaps I had adopted a ridiculous metre. To me it 
 seemed to suit the theme, but some of my friends seemed 
 to think that its ' Easy simplicity ' — those were their words 
 — made people fancy it was hardly to be taken seriously. 
 They preferred the intricate, elaborate form of verse ; they 
 wanted something complex — at least that was what my 
 comforters suggested. 
 
 " It might be so, but anyhow ' The Angel ' did not go 
 down. 
 
 "Then I was accused of self-portraiture. Now I had 
 done my very best to avoid this by placing ' Frederick ' — 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 221 
 
 said to be myself — in a position I had never occupied. I 
 had never had the love of my life rejected." 
 
 (" Nor three loves of your life," thought I, thinking of 
 the Henry the Eighth resemblance.) 
 
 " So that it was rather hard to be condemned for draw- 
 ing on my own experience," continued Mr. Patmore, 
 "though after all, what did that matter.? What galled 
 me was the lack of public appreciation — no, I won't be 
 grandiloquent, it was the poorness of the sales! Not all 
 the applause of my friends and brother-poets could com- 
 pensate for that. Tennyson called it ' An immortal poem.' 
 Ruskin wrote that it would be ' One of the most popular 
 books of the English language, and blessedly popular, 
 doing good wherever it went.' And Browning endorsed 
 this sentiment, while qualifying it by adding, * I do not say 
 that it will be now, nor soon, but sometime or other.' Car- 
 lyle — but I really can't tell you all that Carlyle said, is it 
 not written in the Book of the Chronicles of my heart ? 
 
 "So you see I had it ding-dong from all the critics I 
 cared most about, but, bless me, what does that go for 
 when a book wonH sell? May I smoke .f^" 
 
 So sharp was the transition of tone that I started. He 
 had been fidgetting in his chair for some ten minutes back, 
 but it had not occurred to me that he missed his cigarette, 
 and I suppose the excitement raised by these memories of 
 the past intensified the craving to a pitch which could not 
 be borne. 
 
 I suggested the smoking-room, but the old man looked 
 pitifully at the fire. He was warm and comfortable, and 
 visitors were not to be admitted ; I cheerfully bade him sit 
 still and light up. 
 
 " My daughters roll my cigarettes for me," said he. " I 
 am a fearful smoker. I know it is all wrong, and I should 
 be better if I could keep to half-a-dozen or so a day — but I 
 can't. All we poets smoke," he folded his hands and puffed 
 
222 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 away, while my thoughts flew to the still greater poet who 
 had been turned out of the Plymouth lady's virgin dwel- 
 ling for his determination to " Ratichen." 
 
 I told Mr. Patmore the story. 
 
 " Aye, that's Tennyson all the world over," said he ; 
 " he is a worse offender even than I ; he has a pipe in his 
 mouth all day long." 
 
 I then begged to be told when the tide turned as regarded 
 " The Angel in the House " ? 
 
 " Oh, as soon as the latter part appeared, it began to be 
 better liked by the populace. 
 
 "You see, the book came out in instalments — and it 
 was the first instalment that failed to ' Catch on.' After 
 that I was all right. 
 
 " But I never really finished ' The Angel ' — at least, I 
 don't feel as if I did. I had often things in my mind which 
 I would have brought out in the later life of 'Felix' and 
 'Honoria' if I could have got at them again — but I never 
 could. I tried altering the scheme and metre as you know, 
 and wrote 'The Wedding Sermon' part in a series of 
 letters, but I don't know if the change was altogether 
 wise.f^" He looked pensively into the fire. "I did take 
 advice ; I was always taking advice — do you take advice.^" 
 he broke off suddenly. 
 
 Now, the only advice I ever had was from my prince of 
 publishers John Blackwood, and his advice was, " Never 
 take advice!" 
 
 This pleased Mr. Patmore, who repeated it to himself 
 with unction, adding that for his own part he was too fond 
 of consulting his friends and discussing his writings with 
 them when in manuscript. 
 
 When I told him that no eye ever saw mine and no ear 
 ever heard them till they were in print, he turned his head 
 slowly round and looked at me. 
 
 "What about your husband .f^" said he, after a pause. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LaNDON 223 
 
 " He is too much my husband ; he cannot be my critic. 
 He simply sees and hears me in it all. By his own wish 
 he first reads my books when they are in print." 
 
 "That's splendid," said Mr. Patmore, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I am dreadfully idle, I am an idler born, " he resumed ; 
 "but then I believe in a poet's idleness. Idleness is the 
 growing-time of his harvest, and the upcome of a year can 
 be reaped in one fine day." 
 
 " That reminds me of Mr. Darwin and his cook," said I. 
 "Did you ever hear the story .^" 
 
 " Darwin ^ What Darwin .? The Darwin .^ No ; 
 pray tell it me." 
 
 " Do you know anything of him.?" 
 
 " Only what the world does. I have no personal know- 
 ledge." 
 
 "Nor have I, but Mrs. Darwin told in my hearing a 
 story of her husband which bears on your remark about 
 idleness. She said she was consulting her cook as to any 
 means of tempting her master's appetite, which was a very 
 poor one. ' He does not seem to fancy ordinary food,' she 
 said. ' Try to think of something.' 
 
 "The cook looked up, and looked down, and twirled 
 her apron. * If you'll excuse the liberty I'm taking, ma'am, 
 I should say that master would be able to take his food 
 better if he got something to do. Idle folks is never 
 hungry.' 
 
 " * But your master is not an idle man,' protested Mrs. 
 Darwin, indignant at such a charge. 'He is never idle. 
 In my opinion, he works too hard.'* 
 
 " ' Excuse me, ma'am,' replied the cook, ' but if I may 
 make so bold as to say so, I can't agree to that. With my own 
 eyes I see him in the garden yesterday sitting staring at a 
 leaf for over two hours ! Two whole hours ! Well, that 
 ain't work, anyhow.' " 
 
224 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " Oh, delightful — delightful," Mr. Patmore lay back in 
 his chair to enjoy the joke to the full. " Darwin staring 
 for two mortal hours at a leaf — that marvellous brain of 
 his working like mad all the while — and a slut who didn't 
 knov/ what a brain was turning up her nose at him for idle- 
 ness! That two hours' growing-time produced — what 
 did it not produce ? A chapter perhaps that the world will 
 not willingly let die." 
 
 He paused, with an arch look. "I daresay my ser- 
 vants jeer at me among themselves. They, the present 
 ones at any rate, never see me at work. And even when 
 I did work, when I was in full tide, the real work was 
 not the writing down, as you can believe. And it was 
 going on at any time and all times, generally out-of- 
 doors. I remember once a sudden inspiration coming to 
 me, and afraid of not catching it on the wing, I applied to 
 a daughter for a scrap of paper. We were out walking 
 together, and far afield. 
 
 " She had nothing ; not even a letter nor an envelope — 
 but she is fertile of resource ; she whipped off the linen 
 cuff of her sleeve, and I scribbled my three or four lines 
 upon it!" 
 
 •X- 
 
 He owned to having mischievous fits. He did like 
 occasionally to shock people, and see how much they would 
 swallow ? Their long, puzzled, bewildered faces refreshed 
 his soul. 
 
 "And of all good folks I detest faddists^^^ said he. 
 "Vegetarians, humanitarians, anti-tobacconists, and tee- 
 totalers — all that humbuggy, sentimental gang. Of 
 course if there is a reason for teetotalism, if a man can't 
 take his glass of wine or beer without taking it to excess, 
 well and good ; but — what.^^" 
 
 I ventured to suggest that there were cases in which we 
 ought to bear one another's burdens. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 225 
 
 "Hum. I don't know about that," said he, briskly. 
 " Do you think it really helps a drunkard to see you drink- 
 ing water and hating it.'^" 
 
 " I think it may help him if everything but water is kept 
 out of his sight." 
 
 "Are you a teetotaler .f^" he demanded, abruptly. 
 
 "Not at all — in theory. In practice, partly so. But 
 in the Celtic blood, Mr. Patmore, there is a love of strong 
 drink which I believe to be almost ineradicable. It has to 
 be fought against by all who have that blood in their veins. 
 We love drink — " 
 
 " Not youV He looked, as he could not help looking, 
 startled ; I meant to startle him. 
 
 " I am speaking for my race," I said, " the Highland 
 race, that perhaps you don't take into account .^ Whiskey 
 might be a blessing to them — " 
 
 " — Aye, I understand that. Cold, wet country." 
 
 " And the poor among them are very poor, and whiskey 
 is cheap. And many of them are in wet clothes all day 
 long, and chilled to the bone when the wind is cold." 
 
 "Why now, you are backing me up!" cried he. 
 
 "That's their temptation," said I, gravely, "and the 
 ruin of many a noble soul. I have seen it, I have known 
 it from my youth up. I never want to laugh at the story of 
 a ' Fou ' man. It may be funny, but underneath is the 
 awful truth. God forgive whiskey-distillers, for they will 
 have much to answer for one day." 
 
 Mr. Patmore frowned thoughtfully. 
 
 After a pause, he looked up and said, " I don't see that, 
 you know. It is not the fault of the whiskey-provider 
 that drunkards flourish. He doesn't make them drink. 
 All his business is to see that the stuff is good. The same 
 with beer. Johnson, for example, the great Johnson, the 
 good man and moralist, thought highly of Thrale the 
 brewer. I am not sure he did not say that it was a 
 
 p 
 
226 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 ' Glorious trade.' Certainly he described with zest the vats 
 and barrels." 
 
 We might have argued forever, but I was no hand at an 
 argument, and was satisfied that an impression had been 
 made when my companion remained silent for some 
 minutes, and then said, " But of course if the love of drink 
 is in the blood as you say, it might be different. I know 
 nothing of the Scottish people." 
 
 " But I do say down with all white-livered nonsense," 
 he resumed presently. "There are people whose senti- 
 mental vagaries make me sick, — " and he ran on in such 
 vigorous language that I had to call to mind what he him- 
 self had said of his " Mischievous fits " before being able to 
 laugh with him. 
 
 " I don't mean the half of all that," he said at last. 
 
 " You don't mean the quarter,'' said I. 
 
 " I am a terrible gambler," was another of Mr. Coventry 
 Patmore's pet delusions. " I love every form of play, and 
 I play to win. I am tremendously lucky. Do you play 
 whist ? " 
 
 "Very badly, but my husband is a good player, and his 
 father a noted one. He taught me all I know — but you 
 may judge what that amounts to when you hear that the 
 very last time I played with him he sat forward in his chair 
 with pink cheeks and blazing eyes, saying, ' Child, you 
 don't know the very rudiments of the game ! ' " 
 
 "Not over polite, that.?" 
 
 " He was the most uniformly polite man I ever knew. 
 He was simply transported out of himself by my awful 
 play." 
 
 "Well, I can understand that," rejoined Mr. Pat- 
 more, complacently. " It is a thing to make a saint swear 
 when a partner trumps your best card. I am very parti- 
 cular about my partners." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 227 
 
 Afterwards I heard that it was the partners who had 
 occasion to swear in secret. They confided that Mr. 
 Coventry Patmore was so deh'ghtful in himself that they 
 endured his whist for the sake of his company. His whist 
 was execrable. He defied all rules and conventions ; he 
 played entirely off his own bat, often without the slightest 
 reference to any one else's hand, and made the most glaring 
 mistakes with absolute unconsciousness. However as 
 there was no one to betray this on the present occasion, he 
 could pat himself on the back unrestrained. 
 
 He was interested in hearing about the great whist 
 authority, Jones, or " Cavendish," as he styled himself, 
 whose sister I had met in the Riviera the year before, and 
 who was courted for the whist-tables at the Hotel National, 
 Mentone, where we were both staying. 
 
 She was a most cheerful, kindly person, and always ready 
 to talk about " My brother." 
 
 My brother! How one knows what that means, and 
 with what loving pride the words are spoken. The Bishop, 
 the Judge, the Cabinet Minister, the Field-Marshal, the 
 Admiral-of-the-Fleet — he is simply " My brother " to his 
 worshipping relations at home. Mr. " Cavendish " Jones 
 was " My brother " to the adoring little spinster at the 
 Hotel National. 
 
 "When " My brother " went on his grand tour round the 
 world it appeared that it gave rise to the most extraordinary 
 and extravagant testimonials to his fame as a whist-player. 
 One hall where a dinner was held in his honour, "And all 
 the big-wigs were there," added Miss Jones, " was entirely 
 papered with playing-cards!" 
 
 The menu was composed of certain moves in the game ; 
 and the table-cloth and dinner-napkins were woven on 
 purpose with kings, queens, and knaves in picturesque 
 groups. " My brother said the effect was extraordinary," 
 concluded she, "but certainly very flattering," 
 
228 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "Did you play with her?" inquired Mr. Patmore, with 
 interest. 
 
 " We all played with her ; she was so good-natured as 
 to despise nobody, and even experts would cheerfully take 
 a hand at her table. They said her play was a treat." 
 
 " And one day she proposed giving me a lesson during 
 a walk we took together," continued I, " and she took the 
 greatest pains, suggesting problems and working them out 
 for my benefit, and I was very greatly obliged and knew 
 just as much at the end of the walk as at the beginning! 
 But, Mr. Patmore, did you ever hear of a game called 
 'Suit-placing '.?" 
 
 No, he never had. 
 
 " Miss Jones offered to teach it to several of us one wet 
 day, and we had out the card-table in a trice. She dealt, 
 and instructed us to open the game and play in the usual 
 fashion. Then all at once after a few tricks had been 
 taken, "Stop, everybody!" she cried, "and lay your cards 
 face downwards on the table. Now," she turned to her 
 left-hand opponent, " Now, place the cards." 
 
 "Place them.f*" said he — it was a man who spoke. 
 
 "Say where the cards are.? In whose hand.^^ At this 
 point of the game you ought to be able to tell with con- 
 fidence where every important card lies." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " exclaimed he. 
 
 ("And I say 'Oh, Lord!' too," interrupted Mr. Pat- 
 more.) 
 
 " The poor man had an idea of one or two," continued I, 
 " but made an utter hash of the rest." 
 
 " Still, that's not bad for a beginner," said Miss Jones, 
 "for a beginner, mind. You ought to have been able to 
 do better ; as it happens, they are easy to know about in 
 the present instance^ — but it was really not bad. Now for 
 the next turn." And we all had to try, and scarcely one 
 got beyond what the first had done — while our instructress 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 229 
 
 simply reeled them off, having them all at her finger ends ! 
 She said that her father invented that method of improving 
 whist-play in his family, and it was practised nightly among 
 them." 
 
 "What a diabolical game!" said Mr. Patmore. 
 
 At last he had to go. But before he went he extorted 
 a promise that my husband and I would visit him in his 
 new home, and as it was within easy distance of East- 
 bourne, where we had taken a house for the summer, we 
 gladly went. 
 
 Never afterwards, however, did the old poet show him- 
 self to quite such advantage as during that first interview. 
 Poets are rarely at their best with family eyes and ears upon 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Patmore did indeed come over to us and sat on the 
 rocks below Beachy Head, but he had " PifiSe " with him, 
 and " Piffie," a delicate little six-year-old child, the son of 
 his old age, had to be guarded from falling into the water, 
 and from taking cold, and from overheating himself, and 
 in short, the poor little fellow was such a nuisance that we 
 all wished him anywhere but where he was. 
 
 A daughter also invariably dogged her father's footsteps 
 on such occasions. 
 
 On the whole, we came to the conclusion that to enjoy 
 the full flavour of his society we must extract the dear old 
 recluse from his surroundings. We invited him to spend 
 one Easter with us at our Essex home, and he agreed to 
 come but did not. 
 
 For he died instead. That was in 1896. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Oscar Wilde's frank aunt — Lady Delarey's ultimatum — Walter Savage 
 Landor — Criticises Michael Angelo, Milton, Dante, and Carlyle — 
 A new use for Lord Vivian's nose — A poor madman in Worcester 
 Cathedral — He laid his head upon her knee — Mr. Sam Warren 
 outw^itted — " Warren's Blacking " — An awkward father-in-law — 
 " I may tell you that I have married the daughter of the DeviP^- — 
 Professional beauties in the Row — Canon Liddon and the Maori 
 chiefs. 
 
 We went to see the Burdon-Sandersons, and there was that 
 dreadful girl again! 
 
 They cannot shake her off. As they knew her parents, 
 who are both dead — died of having such a child, I should 
 think — they seem to feel it a duty to keep their door open 
 to her, and she plumes herself on bringing in " A breath of 
 purer air into their musty, scientific atmosphere." 
 
 As usual, she was soon in full tide about Oscar Wilde 
 who had just returned from America, where according to 
 his disciple the whole world had fallen at his feet. 
 
 " Now let us go and see the aunt, and hear how much or 
 how little we may believe of all this," said Mary, as we 
 drove away. " ^he won't mince matters ; her remarks are 
 always so piquant that I can stand any amount of Oscar 
 from her^ — but that girl is too much for me. Her com- 
 placent conviction that we are all eyeing her with awe and 
 envy because of this transcendent friendship — I wonder, 
 by the way, how Oscar looks upon it.^ Those sort of 
 friendships are often lop-sided, — " and she gave me a 
 shrewd look. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 231 
 
 We found the aunt at home, and as plain-spoken as 
 ever. 
 
 " Oscar has been making a very big fool of himself. I 
 always knew my nephew could look after his own interests, 
 but I did not think he would be caught at it. What do 
 you think is his last achievement? He was asked to 
 dinner a few nights ago by a rather important lady of his 
 acquaintance, one he thinks a good deal of, and he was 
 quite glad to accept the invitation. 
 
 " But presently he had a new invitation of a still more 
 tempting nature, and what does the silly fellow do but 
 accept it likewise, trusting to his power of lying to pull 
 him through? He has, you know, a wonderful gift for 
 mendacity. What he did was to write to Lady 
 Delarey that he was grieved to be unable to keep his 
 engagement, but found he had to go North that evening. 
 
 "As the dinner-party was to be a small one, and was 
 solely got up for him. Lady Delarey put off her other guests 
 and herself accepted the very invitation to dine in Regent's 
 Park which had tempted Oscar to break faith with 
 her. 
 
 " I ought to have told you that Mr. Browning was to be 
 present at this latter party, and of course that was rather a 
 bait as he is so seldom to be had, and Oscar had long wished 
 to meet him. Perhaps Lady Delarey had too ? 
 
 "Anyhow the two poets were in full flow of conversa- 
 tion, and Oscar no doubt getting out his horns finely when 
 the door was flung open and her ladyship was announced ! 
 
 "The hostess was at hand — (it was she who told me 
 about it) — ^and she said Oscar's look of dismay caused Mr. 
 Browning to stop dead in what he was saying. Every eye 
 was upon them, the little group near the door, — and Lady 
 Delarey's face also was a sight to see. 
 
 "She went straight for my nephew, and gave it him 
 equally * Straight.' * Mr. Wilde ! So this it what you 
 
232 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 call " Going North " ? I understand. I shall never speak 
 to you again.' 
 
 "And she never will," continued Oscar's unkind rela- 
 tion with so evident a chuckle that we felt we might join 
 in it. 
 
 "Did he try to soften her.^" inquired Mary. 
 
 " He might try. He won't succeed. Oh, yes, I believe 
 he did try ; Oscar thinks he has great persuasive powers, 
 but I know Lady Delarey, and now that she has found him 
 out he has done for himself with her. If it had happened 
 to anyone else an excuse might have been found in his great 
 desire to meet a brother-poet, etc. — but who can forgive 
 a slight to oneself.^ Not Lady Delarey certainly." 
 
 " I had a visit from Oscar afterwards," resumed she, 
 " but I had to affect ignorance of the affair, for I have a 
 kind of sneaking affection for the fellow at bottom — 
 though I detest him at top — and don't care to quarrel. So 
 I talked to him about America." 
 
 " I suppose he had a great time there .f^" said Mary. 
 
 " No doubt. But he seemed rather doubtful as to one 
 so-called compliment paid him. 
 
 " He delivered a lecture in Boston, and when he 
 mounted the platform, behold there were seated in the 
 front rows sixty young students from Harvard University, 
 all wearing knee-breeches and black silk stockings, and 
 each with a huge sunflower in his button-hole! He was 
 told this was to be taken as a flattering testimonial to his 
 tastes, but felt, as I said, a little dubious on the subject 
 and affected to laugh at it. I more than half suspect he 
 wanted me to reassure him." 
 
 We then talked of the girl at the Sandersons. 
 
 " Oh, that odiosity .^" said the aunt, " now I really do 
 
 pity Oscar about her. Of course he is accustomed to the 
 
 absurd worship of such simpletons, but she transcends 
 
 them all, and though he is too clever to make an enemy of 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 233 
 
 anyone who sings his praises, I know he wishes her at the 
 other end of the earth." 
 
 "I have just had a visitor of another sort," continued 
 our friend — " Walter Savage Landor. I met him lately at 
 Archdeacon Hare's, and it was very amusing. 
 
 " When I came home I jotted down some of their con- 
 versation, if conversation it can be called. Here it is," 
 and she rummaged in a drawer. " I must say," continued 
 she, rummaging next for her spectacles and unfolding a 
 strip of paper, " I must say that the archdeacon was mild 
 enough, and quite polite and pleasant as he always is, but 
 Mr. Landor is a perfect savage, — one would think his 
 parents had possessed the gift of prophecy when bestowing 
 that name upon him! 
 
 " He struck out with both arms — well, I mean with his 
 tongue — he simply lashed out against every famous man 
 whom the poor archdeacon — a very scholarly man, my 
 dears — introduced into their talk. 
 
 " Now listen," and she held open her paper, but paused 
 to say by way of preface, " It began with Michael Angelo. 
 One would think Michael Angelo had been long enough 
 dead, and besides was sufficiently out of Mr. Landor's 
 line, to have escaped animadversion, but no. ' Michael 
 Angelo .f* Pooh! The only well-drawn figure in exist- 
 ence is a small female by Overbec, in his picture of 
 " Children brought to Jesus Christ." As for your Michael 
 Angelo — pooh! ' 
 
 "Then here. 'Milton wrote one good line, but I 
 forget which it was.' 
 
 "And here. 'Dante wrote perhaps six good lines. 
 They were in his description of Francesca.' 
 
 " And here. ' Carlyle's " French Revolution " is a 
 wicked book. I have worn out one volume with tossing 
 
234 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 it on to the floor whenever I came upon an abominable 
 passage.' 
 
 " A man who can fling himself against such giants, and 
 expect you to take such rubbish for gospel is hardly sane 
 — and yet I had to receive this lunatic to-day at my own 
 house, and found him quite pleasant too," she wound up 
 laughing ; " I suppose he did not consider me worth 
 powder and shot." 
 
 " Talking of lunatics," said Mary, " did I ever tell you 
 about Lord Vivian and the lunatic at Bournemouth ? 
 
 " We had a house at Bournemouth last summer, and 
 Lord Vivian had one next to it. One day he set off with 
 a friend on a trip to Cornwall, and the two went over a 
 lunatic asylum there. In the garden they came upon a 
 man pulling cherries, and stood still a moment to watch 
 him. 
 
 "The man took a long look at Lord Vivian's great 
 Roman nose, and with his eyes fixed upon it, observed 
 sagely ; * It would be easier for you to pull cherries than 
 for me ; you could pull twice as many.' 
 
 " * Could I ? ' said Lord Vivian, drawing him on, ' how 
 do you make that out ? ' 
 
 " ' I'll tell you,' said the other ; ' you see, I have to hold 
 on with one hand and pull cherries with the other ; but 
 you could hold on with your nose and pull cherries with 
 both hands ! ' 
 
 "Lord Vivian was so much diverted by this ingenious 
 idea, and so little perturbed by the affront to his nose, that 
 he went about everywhere telling the story." 
 
 As soon as we had left the house, I observed to Mary that 
 I had heard another story of a lunatic shortly before which 
 was too long to repeat at a morning call, but that she should 
 have it now we were alone. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 235 
 
 "A young lady," I said, "living at Worcester, was 
 called out one evening to see a sick friend in the Cathedral 
 Close, and warned her family that she might stay out all 
 night, if wanted ; so that they were not to be alarmed if 
 she did not return." 
 
 " It's always foolish to leave things at that," interposed 
 Mary. "Do you remember Mr. Walter Jones, and his 
 friends immured in the British Museum ? " 
 
 "This poor girl any way didn't, and very likely had 
 never heard of them. Do you want to hear my story or 
 not.f^" said I, tartly. One does not like to be tripped up 
 thus early in the day. 
 
 " Oh, I want your story — get on with your story." 
 
 Accordingly, I got on. 
 
 " Having thus comfortably settled the matter, off went 
 the girl ; and finding her friend better, and provided with 
 a nurse, thought she might as well return home. Her 
 nearest way led through the Cathedral. She was in the 
 middle of the nave, when she heard the great West door 
 shut behind her, and rushed to a nearer one, only to find 
 it also closed. She saw at once that she would have to 
 spend the night where she was, as owing to her own pre- 
 cautions, no one would seek her." 
 
 "As I said," — began Mary. 
 
 But I pretended not to hear, and went on. " Being of 
 a tolerably phlegmatic temperament, she resigned herself 
 to the inevitable, found a cushioned pew, and tried to go 
 to sleep. But just as she was dropping off she was startled 
 to behold the figure of a man stealing out into the gloom, 
 and coming towards her. 
 
 " He was waving his arms about ; and as soon as she 
 could see his face, which was wild and haggard, she guessed 
 the truth. A lunatic had escaped from the Worcester 
 Asylum a few days before, and this was he! 
 
 "A certain amount of relief came to her from the fact 
 
236 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 that he did not look fierce or malevolent, but had rather 
 a sad, plaintive expression — still it was bad enough to have 
 the poor creature seat himself by her side, and to know 
 that they two were alone together in the vast building. 
 She tried to pull herself together, and it flashed upon her 
 mind that music was said to have a soothing effect upon 
 a disordered brain. She had a lovely voice, and despera- 
 tion gave her strength to start a song. 
 
 " The poor lunatic was delighted. He stroked her 
 hand, he beat time to the tune, and finally he sank down 
 on a hassock at her feet, and laid his head upon her knee. 
 
 " She hoped he might fall asleep, but no ; as soon as 
 ever the singing ceased, he started up and grew restless ; 
 it was only when she recommenced that he quieted down 
 again, humming a soft little echo to himself. 
 
 "And this went on all night! 
 
 " In the morning, when the Cathedral doors were opened 
 and the verger appeared, she was still singing, but now 
 wove into her song the words, ' Go and get help instantly^'* 
 in piercing accents which at once achieved their purpose 
 without enlightening the lunatic, who was peacefully 
 drowsy though not absolutely asleep. 
 
 " He was secured, and no doubt felt that he had passed 
 a delightful night, — but the poor girl was ill for months 
 afterwards, indeed she has only now gone abroad to 
 recruit." 
 
 When Mary had commented on this dreadful experience, 
 she said, " I'll tell you another lunatic story, in lighter vein. 
 You have met Mr. Samuel Warren .f^" 
 
 " ' Ten Thousand a Year ' .? Of course," said I, " don't 
 you remember, years ago, at your house?" 
 
 " Well, I had forgotten, and I have not seen him for a 
 long time ; but the other day he was just going out of 
 the James Mellors' as I was going in, so it was *How- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 237 
 
 d'ye-do?' and 'Good-bye' on the doorstep. The Mellors 
 are always greatly entertained witli Sam's airs and graces, 
 having known his people in earlier and humbler days, and 
 they told me what I am going to tell you. 
 
 " ' Mr. Samuel Warren is quite a great man now,' said 
 Mr. Mellor, giving me an arch look, 'but a lunatic gave 
 him something of a knock the other day, though he had 
 to laugh it off. He is a Commissioner in Lunacy, and one 
 day the lunatic to be examined was long in making his 
 appearance, and Mr. Warren admonished him on the 
 subject. 
 
 "'It was not my fault that you had to wait,' retorted 
 the delinquent, ' I had no clothes on, and you would not 
 have liked me to come in like that ? ' 
 
 " ' Then why did you tear your clothes ? ' demanded the 
 Commissioner, eyeing him severely. 
 
 " But the other was not to be browbeaten ; ' I did not 
 tear them. I tell you, I did not tear them.' 
 
 " ' You must have torn them.' 
 
 " ' I did not.' 
 
 " ' Come, my man, this won't do. You must not con- 
 tradict me like that. Do you know who I am .^^ ' 
 
 " The man looked at him unconcernedly. ' I know you 
 well enough, and I knew your father before you.' 
 
 " At this the Commissioner's brow cleared. ' Knew my 
 father ? ' said he. 
 
 "Now, it is one of Sam Warren's good points that he 
 thinks all the world of his father, and within that very 
 hour had been expatiating to those assembled in the court 
 on the old gentleman's genius and reputation. He glanced 
 round, and took a new tone with the lunatic. ' I am quite 
 interested. You say you knew my father .f^' 
 
 " ' Of course I did. He was the blacking man.'* And 
 as ' Warren's Blacking ' was on every hoarding in London, 
 the poor Commissioner's face was a sight not to be for- 
 
238 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 gotten, especially as an audible titter ran round the entire 
 court,' said Mr. Mellor." 
 
 " Warren never tells that story — but he has another he 
 is fond of relating, and I must say he tells it humorously. 
 A lunatic once said to him, 'I've been married since you 
 were last here, Mr. Warren, and I like my wife very much. 
 But I don't get on with the old people ; indeed, I prefer 
 to avoid them. I may as well tell you at once that I have 
 married the daughter of the Devil.^ " 
 
 "Come, you have written long enough for this morn- 
 ing," cried Mary, running in one lovely day about noon. 
 " Come out — come out. You can crib an hour or two 
 from the afternoon if needs must, — but all the world is 
 astir this glorious May morning, and it is a shame to 
 waste it." 
 
 " I am not wasting it," said I, trying to be offended. 
 
 But of course in the end she prevailed, for I had been 
 up very late the night before — (I call it night, but the 
 milk-carts were dashing past our house long before we 
 entered it ; balls were balls in those days, and were kept 
 up to almost any hour) — so that a secret headache echoed 
 the impatient and importunate " Come out." 
 
 And what a morning it was, soft as silk and mild as milk, 
 and flowers, flowers, flowers everywhere ! 
 
 In 1880 there was a line of demarcation between the 
 halcyon days of the London season and the dull, deserted, 
 out-of-season periods which can hardly be imagined by 
 the present generation, and the burst of fresh life and 
 vigour when spring came was a burst indeed. 
 
 What bustle, what preparation, what papering and paint- 
 ing and bedecking of window-boxes and balconies! 
 
 What rushing about in search of everything at once! 
 What planning, what arranging, what hopes and fears, and 
 oh ! what anxiety. How the " Climbers " struggled for 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 239 
 
 a step upward on the social ladder! How the newer 
 "Climbers" jostled the older ones! 
 
 But all of this has been so often and so well described that 
 I must not let my pen run on. Only sometimes those old 
 days seem so near and stand out so clear to view, that I 
 can scarce believe it was not yesterday that I saw the crowds 
 in Rotten Row without a motor, even a single motor on 
 any side. 
 
 Far, far more of a spectacle did the Row present as it 
 was than as it is. It is true that a few stately equipages 
 and smart little victorias still survive, but do we ever see 
 the highswung, glittering barouche, with its bewigged 
 coachman and powdered footmen in their gorgeous 
 liveries ? If Mary and I were now to appear as we turned 
 out on an afternoon, we should be considered freaks — 
 and yet there is something missing to-day in fashionable 
 London which brightened up its streets and squares forty 
 years ago. 
 
 In the morning of course barouches were not correct, 
 but the light little Tilbury, dog-cart, or pony-carriage was 
 everywhere, and as for the riders, they were endless. The 
 walkers too crowded each other as they paraded up and 
 down, and all were smartly dressed. Occasionally we 
 would join them, it was more amusing than sitting still, 
 and we fell in with more acquaintances. 
 
 Besides which a walk in the Row at the proper hour 
 afforded opportunities for giving informal invitations, and 
 when it is remembered that the telephone was not, and the 
 telegram a thing to be sparingly used — and still looked 
 shyly upon by old-fashioned people — it will be seen that 
 the chance of getting an answer on the spot to a " Come 
 to dinner, and meet So-and-So," was not to be despised. 
 But let me return to the bright May morning when I was 
 called from my study to join the gay throngs chattering 
 in the sunlight. 
 
240 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Among the walkers were the beauties Mrs. Wheeler and 
 Mrs. Langtry, while even more beautiful to my mind was 
 the exquisite Lady Kildare, who as Duchess of Leinster 
 was so soon to fade into an early tomb. 
 
 I think I have never seen greater loveliness than hers ; 
 sweetness of expression joined to perfection of feature, 
 and her bearing most noble and dignified! When at 
 Mentone in the year of her death there, I heard with what 
 courage and resignation she was facing it, and from a dear 
 old lady who was with her almost daily, learned that the 
 end was " Perfect peace." 
 
 But leaning back in her carriage that dazzling morning, 
 with no prophetic signs of the terrible illness to come 
 dimming her bright countenance, it was a sight to charm 
 every eye. 
 
 Among the men were similarly well-known faces, and 
 we lingered some time, for it was hard to tear ourselves 
 away that day, when so many we knew were putting in an 
 appearance for the first time, and had to be greeted, and 
 their addresses obtained, with all the comments called forth 
 thereby — but it was not until we were about to depart that 
 we fell in with anyone of interest to others than ourselves. 
 Then we chanced on Canon Liddon, making for a short cut. 
 
 "Do let me drive you.'^" said Mary, as he was evidently 
 in a hurry, and we had a little bit of a front seat vacant. 
 
 Small as it was, the canon jumped at it. He was late 
 for an appointment and would be most grateful — and he 
 was in, and tucking the linen wrap round his legs before 
 he could finish his sentence. 
 
 Then I suppose he felt that he ought to " Earn his keep," 
 for he embarked upon a most amusing little history that 
 lasted until we set him down at his destination — indeed he 
 had to finish it from the pavement. "You heard that I 
 had some Maori chiefs to look after lately.? They were 
 a handful, and I really only feel happy to-day, now that 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 241 
 
 they are fairly off the field. Did you hear about them at 
 Marlborough House?" 
 
 " We heard something,^^ said Mary, laughing. " There 
 was rather a funny scene, wasn't there.?" 
 
 " Oh, very funny — for those who had no part in it. It 
 was no fun for me. I had charge of the chiefs, and they 
 are a fine set of fellows ; and as I really wished to do the 
 best possible for them, I got leave for them to be pre- 
 sented to the Prince and Princess of Wales. 
 
 "At first difl&culties were made about this and there 
 was some worry before it was agreed to, but ultimately I 
 herded them along and thought the worst was past. They 
 behaved splendidly — at least, they meant to do so. But 
 their ideas are not quite ours — for as we were waiting in 
 the reception room at Marlborough House for the Royal 
 party to appear, what did I catch the principal chief doing ? 
 Taking off his boots and stockings! He had got as far 
 as the last stocking before my eye fell upon him ! " 
 
 "Had you time to get them on again .f*" — said Mary. 
 
 " No, we hadn't. I explained to the poor chief that his 
 notions of respect were not exactly what etiquette pre- 
 scribed, and all the time I was tugging at his stockings, 
 when, before the boots were on, in came the Prince 
 and Princess, and the Royal children! They tried of 
 course not to laugh, but it was hardly possible to help it. 
 The Prince's lips were trembling, and the children could 
 not contain themselves. 
 
 " The Maoris however were so completely taken up with 
 their own grandeur and their own method of procedure that 
 I don't fancy they noticed anything. 
 
 "Their interpreter came forward with a flourish, ^ He 
 say he is as glad to see you as if you were his mother,' — 
 and he pointed to the chief who had only one boot on. 
 
 "The Prince made a suitable reply, though as I said 
 his lip trembled. 
 
 Q 
 
242 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " Then the interpreter proceeded, ' He say that when he 
 fought for your mother, his cap was all that was left him ! ' 
 
 " The Prince hardly knew how to answer this, and while 
 he was hesitating somethmg else passed between the 
 Maoris and the interpreter said, ' He say he has got no 
 more to say, and so he'll go now : ' — at which we could 
 have cheered. The Prince made fun of me afterwards 
 about it." 
 
 "Was that the last of the chiefs.?" asked Mary. 
 
 " Well, no," replied Canon Liddon, with a comical twist 
 of his mouth, " to tell you the truth, they turned the joke 
 on me at the last. I thought myself obliged to invite the 
 whole party to dinner, and took some trouble to provide 
 for them what I fancied they would like. At any rate 
 they had all the delicacies of the season. Well, they did 
 that dinner justice in every respect, and I was congratu- 
 lating myself on its success, when having eaten and drunk, 
 and cleaned their plates in solemn silence, they stood up, 
 and the head chief — the stockings-and-boots-hero, — pro- 
 nounced one word three times, with ever increasing 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Of course I thought it was ' Thank you, — thank you, 
 — thank you,' or its equivalent — but I never was more 
 out in my life. I asked the interpreter with an agreeable 
 smile, expecting a compliment, ' What does the chief say ? ' 
 
 " ' He says " iV«5^>',— nasty,— NASTY." ' 
 
 " You may guess how nice that was to hear," continued 
 Canon Liddon, laughing heartily, "after all the trouble 
 and expense ! I asked if they would have liked anything 
 else better, and learned they would have preferred a large 
 round of beef which they could have gone on eating till it 
 was finished ; and that they found it disturbing and un- 
 pleasant to have little scraps of things set before them, and 
 also disliked having their plates changed so often. I 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 243 
 
 thought, ' Thank Heaven, I shan't have another chance of 
 giving these rascals a dinner!'" 
 
 " And now, I hope you will not have a ' Nasty ' luncheon 
 yourself ? " said Mary, as we waved hands and parted. 
 
 "It is pleasant to think that there are more grateful 
 guests than those," quoth she, as we trotted away — " those 
 poor women in my district, for instance. You remember 
 that day when I could not go with you to Stafford 
 House because I was giving a tea to my poor women .f^ 
 There was one there who seemed very merry, keeping her 
 end of the table in fits of laughter all the time. I said to 
 her afterwards that I was glad to see her in such good 
 spirits — when she at once attempted to pull a long face, 
 but gave in, saying, * Deary me, ma'am, it ain't no use to 
 grumble ; and see now the trouble you've took about this 
 'ere entertainment, 'twould be a sin and shame not to 
 enjoy it. I said I was coming, if I died for it, I said — 
 though my husbin', bein' a brute, did his best to stop me. 
 He said he would cut my throat if I came, but bless you, 
 ma'am, I thought as how I'd risk it.' 
 
 " And as I met her and her ' husbin' ' walking sociably 
 together yesterday, I think events must have justified the 
 risk," proceeded Mary. " And oh, I heard another bright 
 remark at that tea. One of the old bodies confided to me 
 that she had been 'Very bad for some time,' so I asked 
 what was the matter with her.^^ 
 
 " * It's this way, ma'am, it takes me in the back ; and 
 the back, you know, is the Silver Cord as binds us to life.'* " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "She wasn't a wife, she was only a Porcupine" — Dr. Dylces finds food 
 for reflection in the facts stated by his Sunday school — "The 
 Queen lives in the Crystal Pallis" — A new rendering of the poem 
 " Casabianca " — The life of the Patriarch Abraham considered 
 very ondeluate — A seat held by its possessor at the Creation — Mrs. 
 Kemble tells a circle how she is stated in a book of Memoirs to be 
 "Bold, masculine, and unaccommodating" — Mr. Browning sug- 
 gests a reason for this — Mrs. Kemble compares a visit to Words- 
 worth with one to Southey — Relates an anecdote of Thomas 
 Babbington Macaulay's early precocity. 
 
 " That Sunday School of Dr. Dykes' is a perfect mine of 
 useful information," said Mary, one day. "Listen to 
 what he learned a few Sundays ago. One of the teachers 
 was instructing her class as to the story of Abraham, — of 
 which, by the way, the class appeared to know a good deal 
 already — however she got into full swing, and was pro- 
 ceeding to tell about the flight of Hagar into the wilder- 
 ness, when a small, anxious voice interrupted her, with 
 * But please, teacher, was it not very wicked of Abraham 
 to have more than one wife V Whereupon another little 
 creature turned upon the first in scorn, 'That's all you 
 know about it, silly. Why, the other one wasn't a wife 
 at all, she was only a Porcupine \^ 
 
 "As Dr. Dykes couldn't expect every child to be so 
 learned, he held a School Examination last week, and took 
 a good deal of pains to arrange questions so as to obtain 
 by the answers some actual insight into what the children 
 really knew. He based them on the facts of the Old 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 245 
 
 Testament, which they had been going through with their 
 teachers. 
 
 " Some of them — indeed a good many — quite surprised 
 him by their intelligence," proceeded Mary, "but again 
 there were others who seemed a trifle astray. For instance, 
 Dr. Dykes asked what seemed a simple question, ' Who 
 was the "Pharaoh" who knew Moses .f*' *The King of 
 the Jews,' came back the prompt reply. 
 
 "Rather strange that he should have driven them out 
 of Egypt then, don't you think ?" said Dr. Dykes, pleas- 
 antly, but they looked at one another, and evidently 
 wondered if he were trying to be funny.? They knew 
 nothing about Egypt. 
 
 Dr. Dykes next tried, "Which was Joseph's favourite 
 brother.?" 
 
 That they all knew, or thought they did. " Benjamin, 
 o' course, — cos he give him two platefuls at dinner." 
 
 "A double portion was certainly put into Benjamin's 
 sack," observed Dr. Dykes, drily, "and as I was not pre- 
 pared to say the latter word might not have been used as 
 a slang term, I thought the answer might pass. 
 
 " I wonder if it was like a Frenchman's ' Portion ' at a 
 dinner I was at lately," continued he, in parenthesis. 
 
 "What was that.?" said I. 
 
 "He was an eminent man, but not a cosmopolitan," 
 said Dr. Dykes, " and as he was sitting next the host, who 
 was carving, he saw as he thought his plate being filled 
 with the shoulder of a fore-quarter of lamb — the fact being 
 that it was simply removed in order to let the ribs below 
 be free for the carver's knife. The Frenchman never 
 having seen this done in his native land, raised an outcry, 
 'Ze arf of zat for me if you please.' You may guess 
 there was not too much left for the other guests ! " 
 
 " My final effort,'' continued Dr. Dykes, " was hardly 
 successful. I asked ' What did Jacob do when he left his 
 
246 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 father's house ?' — and was told that he ' Served seven years 
 for cattle^ seven years for Rebecca^ and seven years for 
 Ishmaell^ I wonder if it is really any use teaching 
 children those Old Testament stories ? The only thing is 
 they may remember something of them after they are 
 grown men and women, and may turn to their Bibles with 
 a kindly feeling towards their childhood, and then — well, 
 who knows what may happen then?" 
 
 "After I parted with Dr. Dykes I fell in with a girl 
 I know, Edith Ellerman," continued Mary, " and told her 
 what we had been talking about. She said that she had a 
 class at St. Mary Abbots' Sunday School. She lives in Ken- 
 sington, and of course adores Dr. Maclagan, as all his fair 
 flock do. She had never taught in a Sunday School before 
 her parents came to live in London, and her experiences 
 were not quite what she had expected. 
 
 " She is a gifted girl, and has travelled, and seen a good 
 deal of the world, so I expect she thought that she would 
 rather wake up that Sunday School class. 
 
 " The subject for her first essay was John the Baptist, 
 and Edith thought it was just the subject for her, as she 
 had been over some prisons in Germany, especially one at 
 Nuremberg which had given her plenty of ideas. 
 
 "So she started off, and when she got to the Baptist's 
 imprisonment, described the prisons she had seen so graphi- 
 cally that she held her audience open-mouthed, and at last 
 one of them stood up, and said earnestly, ' But please, 
 miss, whatever ^ad you done that you was put in prison ? ' 
 
 "As this was rather disconcerting, and she found that 
 however she might try to dispel the idea that she was 
 giving her own experiences, the children still clung to it — 
 (she heard them whispering among themselves) — she 
 thought a change of subject might do something, and tried 
 depicting a palace. As Herodias lived in one, and her 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 247 
 
 daughter danced in one, she left St. John in his prison and 
 turned to the wicked court. 
 
 "Again they listened gaping, and again one of them 
 had a question to ask. * You said as 'ow you knew abaht 
 a pallis, cos you'd been to Windsor Castle where the 
 Queen lives, — and please, what did the Queen say to you, 
 miss ? ' 
 
 "Before Edith had time to speak, another little girl 
 pushed forward ; ' / don't believe you saw the Queen at 
 all, for the Queen don't live at Windsor Castle, she lives 
 in the Crystal Pallis ! ' " 
 
 " While we are on that tack," continued Mary, " I must 
 tell you about a poor woman in my district, who was 
 pluming herself upon the education her daughter was 
 receiving at school, so much superior to anything she had 
 ever had. It is always rather pathetic to find a mother 
 proud of being surpassed by her children, and I listened 
 sympathetically while she expatiated, till I nearly spoilt all 
 by laughing when she got to a tale of ' Cassy-by-Anky.' " 
 
 "Casabianca.'^" 
 
 "Nothing else. *You should hear her say her po'try, 
 miss,' said my poor friend. ' Oh, it is bewtiful ! Speci- 
 ally the one about Cassy-by-Anky. I know that was the 
 name, cos it put me in mind of a hanky cher^ that was what 
 it did. And it begun like this,' and she threw up her eyes 
 and 'struck an attitude, — *That boy stood on his burnin' 
 neck, when Lawputtee had fled, — I can't just remember,' 
 she broke off and considered. 
 
 " ' Who was Lawputtee ^ ' said I. I could not help it. 
 
 "'Oo was Lawputtee.'' Well, I ain't rightly sure, 
 ma'am — not to say sure. But I reckon 'e were capting 
 of the ship.' " 
 
 "After that, I had to get away as quickly as I could," 
 
248 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 said Mary, " for the mixture of the ' Burnin' neck ' and 
 * Capting Lawputtee ' was getting too much for me." 
 
 " I don't find it is only poor people and their children 
 who make odd hashes of familiar lines," said I ; " a small 
 boy I know was repeating a piece of poetry to his delighted 
 parents, and a cynical aunt who was present said suddenly, 
 ' Jock is repeating like a parrot, I don't believe he under- 
 stands what he is saying.' 
 
 "This was indignantly repudiated, but the aunt held 
 to it and at length suggested that the little boy should 
 write out one line, which ran, 'Oh, for the lustre of the 
 finest eye ! ' Great was her triumph and the parents' dis- 
 comfiture when Jock produced the following : * Oh, for the 
 buster of the finey styel^ I don't think Master Jock will 
 be called upon to recite poetry before her again!" 
 
 "Now listen to this," said Mary, "the landlady of a 
 village inn where we stayed for a week last year, was telling 
 me about her daughter — I always ask those sort of people 
 about their sons and daughters — and this landlady was a 
 very nice, attentive woman, and quite ready for conversa- 
 tion at proper times. 
 
 " She said Eliza went to the Board School, and had 
 begun learning Physiology, — but she, the mother, went 
 to the teacher and objected. ' I said as how I didn't want 
 my daughter to learn nothing more about her insides. It 
 could never do her any good,' I said, ' — besides which it's 
 rude,^ 
 
 " Evidently she piqued herself not a little on her refine- 
 ment for she went on, 'And I don't let Eliza go to the 
 Parish Church at present neither. For I'm very particular 
 about Eliza. She has to go somewhere else till those 
 sermons about Abraham are finished, for I think the life of 
 Abraham very ondeUcatel '" 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 249 
 
 I went down to the country on a visit, and sought out 
 Mary immediately on my return. " What a pity we were 
 not at the Handel Festival this year. We should not only 
 have heard fine music but seen a curiosity." 
 
 " A curiosity .^" 
 
 "Pll tell you. I have a friend in Essex, who always 
 attends the series, and this year they consisted of *The 
 Creation,' ' The Messiah,' and * St. Paul.' She took the 
 same seat for all three performances. 
 
 " But on the second day Mrs. Whitburn found her seat 
 occupied. She protested ; ' But, madam, this is my seat,' 
 explained the stranger. 
 
 "* Excuse me, but I think it is my seat,' rejoined the 
 former, and they looked at each other in perplexity, both 
 polite but firm. 
 
 " ' It is certainly the seat for which I have a ticket,' said 
 he, feeling he was within his rights — but the old lady also 
 felt she was within hers. 
 
 " ' I think you will find that there is a mistake,' said she, 
 ' for I sat here at "The Creation.' " 
 
 "At this, she told me, the stranger, who was standing 
 as she was, smiled broadly, and at once moved aside with a 
 deep bow : " ' That being the case, madam, I can have no 
 prior claim!'" 
 
 " So you see, if we had been there," argued I, " we 
 should have seen a person who had sat in the Crystal 
 Palace at the creation ! " 
 
 " I must go straight off to Mrs. Proctor and tell her 
 that," said Mary. 
 
 We had not seen Mrs. Proctor for some time, but she 
 did not seem to have grown any older in the interval, as 
 though now in her eightieth year, she was as bright, cheer- 
 ful, and vivacious as ever. 
 
 We found her as usual with friends about her, Mr. 
 
250 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Browning having the seat of honour, and Miss Thackeray, 
 who was now Mrs. Richmond Ritchie, with her usual 
 sweet willingness to efface herself and make things pleasant 
 for everybody, entertaining some people in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 And almost immediately after we had entered, the door 
 opened again to admit Mrs. Fanny Kemble — really Mrs. 
 Butler, but called by the other name everywhere^ — who 
 without an effort speedily fused the two groups into one. 
 
 She was full of the "Life of Charles Sumner," the 
 American Statesman, of which book she had just been sent 
 a copy. 
 
 "When one is sent a copy of a book, and the book is 
 about an old friend, the first thing one does is to look for 
 what is said about oneself — now, isn't it.?" cried she. 
 
 " I don't know," said Mary, to whom this was especially 
 addressed, " for I never have copies of books of that kind 
 sent to me. What do you say, Mr. Browning,?" 
 
 " Oh, I endorse Mrs. Kemble's opinion," laughed he, 
 " and don't I find my name out sharp .?" 
 
 " I think I should be rather afraid to see what is said of 
 me," said gentle Mrs. Ritchie. 
 
 She of all people need not have been, but we let that 
 pass as we all wanted to hear what Mrs. Kemble had to 
 say, and she was evidently burning to say it. 
 
 "I flew through the pages, and at last there it was as 
 large as life, — and what do think that rascal Charles said 
 of me — of me^ one of his oldest and dearest friends.?" 
 
 As no one could imagine, and as the rascal's commentary 
 was evidently worth hearing, we panted for it. " He said 
 — the villain " — (still better, Charles was growing in de- 
 pravity,) — " he actually had the impudence to say, ' Mrs. 
 Kemble is a noble woman, bold, masculine and unaccom- 
 modating.' Think of it! Bold^ masculine^ and unac- 
 commodating! There's a nice character for you! I 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 251 
 
 wonder when it was that Charlie Sumner found me so 
 unaccommodating ?" 
 
 "I suppose it was when you refused to marry him," 
 said Mr. Browning, composedly. 
 
 "Eh?" said Mrs. Kemble. 
 
 " When you refused to marry him," nodded the poet, 
 with a gria. 
 
 But he had to deal with a quick-witted woman who 
 was never at a loss. "No, sir, that won't do. That won't 
 excuse Charlie Sumner's impertinence, seeing that he never 
 asked me." 
 
 " I have nothing else to suggest," said he, with a bow. 
 
 No one could help liking Mrs. Kemble ; " Unaccom- 
 modating" she might be, but it was refreshing to meet 
 with anyone so unaffected. 
 
 You never felt she was saying things for effect, like 
 most of her craft. Perhaps they can hardly help it.^^ 
 They must feel when they are being bright and brilliant and 
 everything they ought to be in society, that their charming 
 utterances fall flat if no one applauds. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble never seemed to require an audience. 
 She just talked away of whatever came into her head, and 
 to whomsoever was nearest her — and as her talk was always 
 gay and often witty it needed no bush. 
 
 And sometimes it was merely sensible and interesting. 
 On the present occasion she out-stayed the bulk of the 
 callers and gave such of us as remained a little history of 
 what had happened to her that afternoon. 
 
 " I was lunching at a friends' house, and a girl came in 
 from the South Kensington School of Art. Poor girl, she 
 looked so tired, and could hardly eat anything. After- 
 wards she revived a little, and as we sat outside over coffee 
 she said to my friend (we three being alone together), ' Do 
 you think it is any good my going day after day to the 
 School of Art when I have no real talent for drawing.^ 
 
252 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 My people think I have, and that it ought to be developed 
 — but I can't help feeling that I might employ my time 
 better.' 
 
 " I looked at her poor pale face and heartily agreed with 
 her," said Mrs. Kemble, ''for in art of all things there 
 must be the real love of it as well as talent for it to make 
 all the fag worth while — but this poor girl seemed to have 
 neither. However she had not asked for my opinion, and 
 apparently it did not tally with that of our hostess. She 
 is a very superior person I must tell you, and when she 
 opens her lips she expects to have her words of wisdom 
 listened to. 
 
 " She said, ' My dear girl, don't look at things from 
 such a narrow point of view. Consider this earth of ours ; 
 it seems to us so great, but after all it is but a speck in the 
 immensity of space. You yourself are but a mere passing 
 atom ; — ' and continued in this lofty strain till I had 
 drunk all the coffee in my cup, but still held it before my 
 face, not wishing the expression there to be seen. 
 
 "As for the poor Art student, she looked utterly be- 
 wildered and crushed. It did not seem to comfort her 
 much that she was to regard herself as a ' Mere passing 
 atom,' so I thought that perhaps it would be unkind to 
 withhold anything I could say that might make her feel 
 better. 
 
 " ' My dear,' said I, ' perhaps you have a little more 
 talent than you think ^ You love drawing } ' 
 
 "'Oh, yes,' said she, fervently ; 'and if I only could'' 
 — and the tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " ' Cultivate what talent you have,' said I, ' make the 
 most of it, and hope on. Probably your people are right, 
 and if you persevere you will do something yet. But 
 don't trouble your head about the " Vast immensities." ' 
 
 " It was not very polite of me, but I just had to be im- 
 polite," continued the kind-hearted old woman, " for it was 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 253 
 
 of far more importance to try and cheer a poor down- 
 hearted fellow-mortal than to bolster up the self-importance 
 of a fool. I haven't told you the name of the *Vast 
 immensities ' lady so I may say ' Fool.' To talk such 
 rubbish to a poor drooping girl ! I had no patience with 
 her." 
 
 "How did she take it.?" 
 
 " Quite in good part. She observed when we were 
 alone that she supposed she had talked over Ethel's head?" 
 
 " So I left it at that and Ethel gave me a most grateful 
 look and squeeze of the hand when she went away." 
 
 Mrs. Kemble came to see me by myself shortly after 
 that. We talked about Scotland as she had been there 
 in her youth and had still vivid recollections of it, notably 
 one which interested me as it would have interested 
 any lover of the Waverley Novels. She had met the 
 Wizard of the North. 
 
 It had happened thus ; her father, John Kemble, and 
 she were in Edinburgh, and were returning one day from 
 a long ride round by Craigmillar Castle, when they were 
 stopped by a voice calling out their names. 
 
 They looked round to behold another rider on a white 
 horse, in whom they recognised Sir Walter Scott, then a 
 familiar figure in the Edinburgh streets. 
 
 He with the utmost warmth and cordiality begged them 
 to return with him to his house in Castle Street, and dine 
 " Just as they were." 
 
 Her father demurred, but Sir Walter would take no 
 denial ; " If I let you go now I shall never catch you 
 again," said he. 
 
 " In the end of course we had to go, and what a merry 
 evening it was ! " continued Mrs. Kemble, her eyes glisten- 
 ing at the recollection, " Edinburgh was a place to live in 
 
254 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 in those days, I assure you. Sir Walter sent round to one 
 or two of his intimates, and by the time we had shaken 
 ourselves into some kind of order before dinner, they 
 arrived." 
 
 " I must tell you of the compliment he paid me on my 
 riding," she interrupted herself. " He was taking me off 
 my horse when he said, ' I see you are a very good horse- 
 woman, for I was jogging along behind you for some 
 minutes before I recognised you and your father. To be 
 a good horsewoman is no small thing in the eyes of a 
 Borderer like myself.' 
 
 "That was sixty years ago," said Mrs. Kemble, with a 
 
 sigh. 
 
 But she picked up again the next minute. "To think 
 that I should still remember his very words! . . . And 
 I do ! I give you my word that I do. . . . Well, I have 
 repeated them a good many times," she laughed a little, 
 " and got them by heart I suppose. After all, that is 
 nothing to be ashamed of. Such a tribute from such a 
 speaker was not meant to be kept to myself ; it would have 
 been folly, waste, a slight to the great and glorious man 
 from whom it emanated to let a syllable of his fall to the 
 ground. . . . There now, that was Fanny Kemble the 
 actress, wasn't it.^"' — with an arch smile on her cheerful 
 old countenance — "and it really does me good to. talk 
 actress again once in a while. Sometimes I almost forget 
 that I was ever anything else than what I am now, an old 
 lady who has nothing to do but clean her spectacles!" 
 
 Presently she rose to go, and her eye fell on a sketch I 
 had taken in the Lake Country shortly before. She looked 
 at it for some moments with an interest that was evidently 
 aroused by something other than its intrinsic merits. 
 
 "Very pretty — very pretty," she murmured, perfunc- 
 torily," that curl of blue smoke reflected in the water — ah. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 255 
 
 it looked just like that when I sat and talked with Words- 
 worth at Grasmere one September morning long, long ago. 
 This is Grasmere? I thought so. I have never been 
 there since, but one does not forget such scenes." 
 
 "Did you stay at Rydal Mount.''" I adventured. 
 
 " I had the pleasure — or perhaps I should say the 
 honour. It was not precisely a ' Pleasure,' " hesitated Mrs. 
 Kemble, "the Wordsworths were such queer people and 
 so wrapt up in themselves. Even though you were their 
 guest, you were expected in everything to play second- 
 fiddle to the great man of the house. Round him every- 
 thing revolved. Tou might have a poor breakfast, cold 
 dishes, bad coffee — things were mostly bad at Rydal that 
 were only for the inferior general company — but the 
 master's comfort was sedulously attended to. So different 
 from my other poet-friend, Mr. Southey, with whom I also 
 stayed at the Lakes. He was ' Everybody's body,' attended 
 to everyone, looked after everyone himself, — while in the 
 Wordsworth household it was the custom for the head of 
 the house to breakfast in bed, wife on one side, daughter 
 on the other, both wholly absorbed in ministering to his 
 wants while every other person might go hang!" 
 
 " And it was the same all through the day," she went on. 
 " You might as a stranger long to see all you could of those 
 beautiful lakes and mountains, and almost any hosts would 
 have tal^en care that you should — but not so the Words- 
 worths. If it were a dull day and rain impending, there 
 was a chance of his getting wet, and all the pros and cons 
 were debated in your presence, but without any reference 
 to your possible wetness. If there were a cold wind they 
 shook their heads with decision ; he was never allowed to 
 walk or drive in a cold wind. If the sun blazed out, well, 
 he might go ; as he had passed a fairly good night he might 
 venture, provided we took a certain round not too long, 
 etc., etc. One was fairly sick of it ; and I would not have 
 
256 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 stayed even the three days I did but that I was on my way 
 to Greta Hall and did not like to incommode the Southeys. 
 
 " It was September you see, that loveliest month of all 
 in the Lake country, and every house was full. The 
 Southeys would not have told me so I daresay, for they 
 were hospitable to a degree, but those are the very people 
 that one least wishes to encroach upon. Besides which, 
 there was really no excuse for going. My visit to Rydal 
 was arranged for three days, and it is not exactly easy to 
 say to people 'Under no possible circumstances can I 
 endure you for three days' — now, is it.f^" 
 
 "Still you talked of a certain day at Grasmere with a 
 kind of tenderness .f^" — hinted I. 
 
 " My dear, that's just what one does at eighty. Every- 
 thing that you look back upon if you look far enough takes 
 on a rosy hue, the * Enchantment ' of ' Distance ' you know. 
 The poet and I certainly sat and talked together, and it 
 certainly was a lovely evening — just such an evening as 
 you have depicted here " — pointing to my sketch — " the 
 hill-tops melting in the sunset, with their long-drawn 
 shadows in the lake beneath, — but I think perhaps that I 
 more felt I ought to find all that loveliness embellished by 
 the poet Wordsworth's society than that I actually did find 
 it. There ! That is the truth. You know how people when 
 asked to name their favourite books nearly always enumer- 
 ate the books they perhaps admire, but don't read ? You 
 know that, don't you.^" 
 
 " Yes," said I, " and had an instance of it the other day." 
 
 "No.? Tell me," said Mrs. Kemble, alertly. 
 
 Nothing loth, I began : " My husband and I were 
 stopping at an old inn, ' The George ' on the Menai Straits, 
 and it rained and rained. We were not there for pleasure ; 
 he had business to attend to ; so we stayed on, and I 
 exhausted all the books we had with us and struggled out 
 to a little library for more. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 257 
 
 "The other people did the same and among them was 
 a school-boy who brought in ' Verdant Green.' Before night 
 we were all throwing our literature aside with yawns, but 
 the happy boy was still absorbed in ' Verdant Green ' — and 
 the end of it was that we, every one of us, and there were 
 some scholars among us, were all wanting to borrow ' Ver- 
 dant Green ' at once ! We watched for it ; if anyone went 
 out of doors and left ' Verdant Green ' lying about, it was 
 surreptitiously pounced upon ; if a reader were observed 
 nearing the last page he was asked to pass it on when done 
 with. I had brought in Turgenieff's 'Virgin Soil' and 
 some of the others had deeper and more strenuous litera- 
 ture, but no one was petitioned for a loan of a single 
 volume, as far as I remember, except that honest school-boy 
 who had got the reading he really likedy and was as proud 
 as Punch to have it appreciated." 
 
 That was what I said to Mrs. Kemble, and since then, 
 (very much " Since," for it happened only the other day,) 
 a similar experience befel me when the book obtaining such 
 popularity was " Sherlock Holmes." " Sherlock Holmes " 
 had been introduced into a bored circle of elderly folks by 
 a sprightly youngster recovering from an illness, and 
 though every one of the ancients had read it before, they 
 all wanted to read it again! 
 
 " But I think we really did like some serious books when 
 I was a girl," said Mrs. Kemble, reverting to "Verdant 
 Green," after a digression. " Some of us did at least. 
 For instance, you know Miss Macaulay, a sister of the 
 great Macaulay .f^ No.? You have never heard her talk 
 of her childhood, then-f^ It was a humdrum, almost in- 
 tolerable childhood, from my point of view, accustomed as 
 I was to the feverish life of the stage and its concomitants — 
 but it had its enviable points. Its very depth of dulness 
 made the little brothers and sisters magnify every small 
 
258 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 pleasure and turn to account their long, monotonous even- 
 ings — stop I'll explain. Can you fancy a lively set of chil- 
 dren — there were nine youthful Macaulays — willing to 
 listen to an elder brother while he read out to them 
 Clarendon's ' History of the Great Rebellion ' ? It was 
 ' Thomas Babbington ' who read and no doubt read well — 
 but he must have been a precocious monkey, for his sister 
 declared that he would close the book every now and 
 then, and walk up and down the room explaining difficult 
 passages to the younger children!" 
 
 "And now I really must go, — " and again my adorable 
 old visitor rose ; and I saw that her cheeks were flushed a 
 bright pink and that a tired look was creeping into her eyes, 
 and realised that the Fanny Kemble before me was not 
 just a girl of twenty with the spring of youth dancing in 
 her veins. She and Age had parted company during the 
 last hour, but they crept away together. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A dinner at Hurlingham to the new Solicitor-General — He tells some 
 election experiences — Two worn-out, miserable canvassers on the 
 wrong tack — A lunatic and his keeper left to keep house — " He's 
 an owd mon, doant hoist un oop if he doant loike it" — Canon 
 Greenwell leaps in the air — And comes down on Mr. Barnes' top- 
 hat — A speech that had no point — Sir Farrer Herschell does not 
 want to go home. 
 
 "We have the new Solicitor-General coming to us 
 to-night," said Mary, "and as he is fagged out with the 
 rush of events lately, I propose that we keep him to our- 
 selves, drive him down to Hurlingham in the cool of the 
 evening, and dine there. Can you both come?" 
 
 We could and did. It was a lovely June day, and the 
 old gardens heavy with foliage above, brilliant with blos- 
 som below, were at their fullest and gayest when our little 
 party arrived. 
 
 Hurlingham has scarcely altered at all within the last 
 thirty years, but there is one notable improvement, and that 
 is the creation of a space between the barrier of the polo 
 ground and the front row of spectators. 
 
 There was no such space in 1880, and owing to this we 
 were once witnesses of an unfortunate accident. The polo 
 ball hopped over the barrier, the ponies thundered after, 
 and all at once there was a cry and a commotion. A man 
 was lying on the ground ; he had been kicked and his leg 
 was broken. 
 
 That things were no worse was the wonder, but it was 
 bad enough for the sufferer — I have forgotten his name^ — 
 
26o MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 but believe he was not permanently injured, and we will 
 hope consoled himself with having by his individual mis- 
 hap benefitted humanity — for the present broad divisional 
 space was made immediately afterwards. 
 
 After dinner we sat on the terrace, drew our chairs into 
 a semicircle, and Sir Farrer Herschell, for it was he who 
 had just been called upon to fill the post of Solicitor- 
 General, lit his cigar and led the talk. 
 
 He was in his most genial and expansive mood. He 
 was among those before whom he could talk freely. He 
 had much to say, and we were all content to listen. 
 
 " Before I forget it," he began, addressing me personally, 
 " I must tell you that your country-women don't seem to 
 have any very ardent desire for Woman's Suffrage, if we 
 are to go by the opinion of one buxom dame I encountered 
 during the Midlothian election. She is the mainstay of 
 her family, a great, strong, stirring body capable of any 
 amount of work and as clever as you make 'em. It was 
 thought she would be an excellent example of a she-voter, 
 but when approached on the subject she spurned the idea. 
 'Let the menfolk alone,' said she, Met them keep their 
 votes to themsels. It's the ae thing they can do, and 
 Gudesakes! let them do it!' 
 
 "So now I know how my wife feels," continued Sir 
 Farrer, gaily. " She says to herself every time I go forth 
 to the House of Commons, ' It is the ae thing he can do, 
 and Gudesakes ! let him do it!'" 
 
 "But tell us about your own election," said Mary. 
 " You know we were in Egypt when it came off, and have 
 never heard any of your droll encounters, for droll en- 
 counters you had, Mr. Thompson assured me, though he 
 did not seem to remember what they were." 
 
 "Thompson is not much of a story-teller," rejoined Sir 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 261 
 
 Farrer ; " but he is a prince of canvassers ! He was my 
 colleague," he explained to me aside. 
 
 Of course I knew that, as I had followed the Durham 
 election with the keenest interest, but our modest com- 
 panion never, not to the end of his life (upon the Wool- 
 sack) took it for granted that those about him were 
 cognisant of his personal affairs. 
 
 "It was bad luck for me the dissolution taking place 
 while I was in the thick of the Clewer case," said he, now, 
 " for I had such a horrible long speech to make that it took 
 three days ; and there was I mouthing away and trying to 
 keep my thoughts off Durham, while every hour brought 
 fresh telegrams urging my presence there! At last 
 release came, and Thompson joined me at the station, for it 
 would have been no use his going down first by himself — 
 we had to work together. 
 
 " When we reached Durham, dead-tired, (though I slept 
 most of the journey,) and hoped tO' slip quietly into our 
 hotel and dine in peace, you may guess we didn't bless the 
 sight of a crowd waiting to hoist us on to their shoulders — 
 but on this wobbly elevation we had to be borne along, 
 with a band playing in front, and then there had to be 
 harangues from the hotel balcony ! " 
 
 "I have always pitied Royalties for that," said Mary. 
 " Those station receptions and presentations after journeys 
 must be terrible. But then of course they don't travel 
 quite as ordinary mortals do." 
 
 " Some ordinary mortals make themselves extra- 
 ordinarily comfortable," returned Sir Farrer, with a 
 quizzical glance at her. " I know you can rough it " 
 — (for he had been across the steppes of Tartary with Mary 
 and her husband) — "but what with couriers and drago- 
 men, and plenteous and seasonable tipping, there is not 
 much about the luxury of modern travel that you and John 
 don't know. However, public receptions when you are 
 tired and hungry and dirty — " 
 
262 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " Or sea-sick," interpolated she. 
 
 "Or sea-sick, more ghastlj of all — are happily not 
 forced upon you. Thompson and I were two worn-out, 
 miserable men before we got to bed that night." 
 
 "Before your canvass had even begun?" 
 
 " Recollect that I had done a good day's work before I 
 could allow myself to think I was the candidate for Dur- 
 ham. I simply had had to shut down that door in my 
 mind. Then when the door opened, what a rush! The 
 strange thing was that I slept soundly that night ; better 
 than usual indeed, and rose a giant refreshed. Not quite 
 a giant perhaps " — he looked down at himself and laughed, 
 for he was not a big man — " but anyway there was giants' 
 work to be done, and Thompson and I did it." 
 
 He paused and resumed. 
 
 " Thompson was magnificent. Canvassing would seem 
 to be his native element. Directly he entered a room he 
 took one rapid glance round and started upon his topic, 
 which was either a book or a picture or a stuffed bird or 
 wax flowers under a glass-case! Nothing in that room 
 came amiss to him as a peg on which to begin conversation. 
 And his face of interest, his tone of admiration!" 
 
 " By-and-by he would inquire into the householder's 
 trade or occupation "^ In a minute you would have thought 
 he knew everything there was to be known about it — much 
 as we barristers have to make a display of knowledge only 
 obtained the night before, when we are conducting a case 
 in court ! " 
 
 " When you are so shocked by the iniquitous practice of 
 ^Bulking gum'^V^ interposed I, slily. 
 
 " Ah, you will never forget that," laughed the Solicitor- 
 General. 
 
 He had taken me once to hear a case tried in which the 
 defendants were accused of what appeared to be a heinous 
 offence in a mercantile community, and when I asked him 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 263 
 
 the same evening what was meant by that " Bulking " of 
 gum which he had denounced in such withering accents, 
 he had had to own that though he had been coached for 
 the occasion, he had really forgotten by that time what the 
 process was! 
 
 " Yes, that is one of the tricks of our trade," laughed he, 
 now, "but I was new to the canvassing trade, and was 
 simply amazed at Thompson." 
 
 "Once however he was caught out. We had been 
 told late one cold, dark evening that we must go off to 
 interview a tenant-farmer. You may guess we blessed 
 that farmer, for to have to turn out after dinner when we 
 had comfortably settled down in our arm-chairs was dis- 
 gusting, but we were told it was the only time to catch the 
 man at home — so we buttoned ourselves into our great- 
 coats and sallied forth. 
 
 " The farm was about two miles off. We were admitted 
 to the kitchen, and it looked cosy enough, with a dull, 
 heavy-looking individual seated on one side of the fire, 
 and a bright, sensible-looking one on the other. Thomp- 
 son did not hesitate for an instant as to which was the most 
 promising. 
 
 "Following his usual tactics, he plied the bright man 
 with intelligent questions and accorded every reply his 
 profoundest attention, when Canon Greenwell, one of the 
 resident clergy who was our able coadjutor, suddenly ap- 
 peared in the doorway. He had guided us to the farm, 
 but had remained outside not to overpower the inmates by 
 our numbers. 'Come away — come away,' said he, in my 
 ear. I was complacently letting Thompson do all the 
 work, while I sat by with a sociable air — " 
 
 " — A sociable air — what's that.'^" 
 
 " What you see now. This is my sociable air," and he 
 composed a face, " and Thompson said it went down very 
 well in Durham — but I must own that it did not seem to 
 
264 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 create much impression on the stolid yokel by the fire ; he 
 was neither listening to Thompson nor looking at me!" 
 
 " ' What's the matter?' replied I, to the canon, 'why are 
 we to come away?' 
 
 " ' A mistake our coming/ whispered he, back. ' We 
 are wasting our time, and I can't but think have been fooled 
 by some of our opponents' men. I'll find that out later, 
 but meantime give Thompson a hint and let's be off.' 
 
 "When we got outside, escorted by the bright man, 
 from whom we parted amiably — the other never moving 
 from his chimney-corner — the canon gave a sort of growl. 
 ' A mare's nest,' he said, ' and they know that, those chaps 
 who let us in for it. The master of the house is not at 
 home ; slipped away on purpose to escape the election, 
 and left behind his lunatic brother — ' here Thompson 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " ' Oh, not the one you were cajoling,' said the canon, 
 ' he was the keeper!' 
 
 " ' Well, all I can say is, he was an uncommonly agree- 
 able keeper,' protested Thompson, * and he was one of my 
 compatriots, so I was quite glad to have a chat with him.' 
 
 " So he tried to carry it off, but I had nothing to say. It 
 did seem too bad that we should have had that cold trudge 
 in the dark for nothing." 
 
 "I had my own especial grievance later on," resumed 
 Sir Farrer ; " a staunch old Tory sent for me to go and see 
 him, as he was crippled with rheumatism and could not 
 come to me. 
 
 " That's all right," I said, " I'll go. But there seemed 
 no need for Thompson to go too, so not to waste force I 
 went myself, and confidently expected to bring back the 
 old gentleman's promise to vote for us. 
 
 " I found a nice country-house, and was shown into the 
 library. At the far end was a wheel-chair in which sat a 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 265 
 
 muffled-up figure, and a hand was stretched out to me ; 
 ' I sent for you,' said my new friend, plunging at once into 
 the heart of things, ' because I knew your mother and her 
 people when I was a boy. I knew all the Baillies, and 
 spent many a pleasant holiday at their house. I have 
 watched your career with great interest — ' (Now we are 
 coming to the point, thought I — ) ' and sent for you to say 
 how exceedingly sorry I am not to feel able to stretch my 
 principles so far as to vote for you. Had I been able to do 
 this, nothing would have given me greater pleasure.' 
 
 " But as he was not able," commented Sir Farrer, " I 
 felt that I would have been content to receive his sorrow 
 by letter, and returned a good deal crestfallen to the 
 hotel." 
 
 "And when the election-day came, was it not terribly, 
 frightfully exciting.?" demanded Mary. "I don't sup- 
 pose you slept much the night before.?" 
 
 " The night before ? Oh, I don't know. We were all 
 thankful that whichever way the poll went, at least there 
 was an end of the canvass," said Sir Farrer. " It was a 
 relief to feel that. And there was some fun in the day 
 itself too. It was all new to both of us. The counting 
 of votes began at six o'clock in the evening, and lasted two 
 hours. We had our ups and downs of course, but as time 
 wore on and it became tolerably plain that the victory 
 would be ours, some on our side could hardly control them- 
 selves. 
 
 " I sat still enough, but was not as calm as I looked. 
 Thompson was trembling a good deal. As for that dear 
 old boy Greenwell, he was out of himself altogether. 
 When it was announced that we had won, he gave a great 
 spring into the air in his excitement, and what did he do 
 but alight on our secretary's new top-hat, which had fallen 
 on to the floor! 
 
 " The canon is a heavy man, and the hat crumpled beneath 
 
266 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 him ; but he took no notice. He jumped on it again and 
 again. I saw poor Barnes pick it up at last, and furtively 
 try to straighten it out, but as it would not be straightened 
 I suppose he concluded to cast care aside and cheer with the 
 rest, for he waved it wildly, regardless of its condition. 
 We'll hope the canon had the grace to apologise after- 
 wards." 
 
 "And then.? What happened then.''" — said Mary. 
 
 "We had an excellent majority, so there was a great 
 demonstration. We were hoisted again on to the 
 shoulders of some of the leaders of our party, but as the 
 two carrying Thompson were of unequal heights, he tried 
 to protest, on which a voice from the crowd cried out : 
 'Let un be. Doan't hoist 'un oop if he doan't loike it. 
 He's an owd mon, let un walk.' So the ' Owd mon ' was 
 put down, and walked, to his great relief ; but as I was not 
 ' Owd ' I had to endure the ordeal." 
 
 "Did you expect to be made Solicitor-General so soon 
 after that.''" — inquired I. 
 
 " Well, — " said Sir Farrer, and laughed. 
 
 He had then something to relate about receiving his 
 knighthood, as it was bestowed at a Drawing-Room, an 
 unusual occurrence. "And we were only told about it 
 the day before," added he. 
 
 For some reason which he did not explain or which I 
 have forgotten, an exception to the rule took place, and the 
 officials being thrown out thereby, a hitch in the procedure 
 was the consequence. Thus it came about that when he 
 entered the Royal presence no warning voice heralded his 
 approach with the customary, " To receive the honour of 
 knighthood," and consequently no Sword of State was 
 forthcoming ! 
 
 "The Queen was fairly bunkered^ as golfers say," 
 averred Sir Farrer. "There was I, and she knew per- 
 fectly why I was there, for there is nothing she does not 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 267 
 
 know about these occasions, but she could not perform her 
 part without a sword, and she looked very cross. They say 
 nothing annoys Her Majesty more than negligence of this 
 sort. She called out sharply, * Bring the sword,' — but 
 though there was a dart for it, I had to remain nearly a 
 minute on my knees before I felt a light tap on both 
 shoulders and heard ' Rise, Sir Farrer.' " 
 
 "Even then we did not seem to get along smoothly," 
 continued our new-made knight, " for rise I couldn't. It 
 was all very well for the Queen to say ' Rise,' but while 
 she continued to flourish her Sword of State about, I was 
 not going to run up against it. So I cast upwards a help- 
 less and imploring eye, and a new commandment was given 
 me : ' Kiss hands,' said the Queen, shortly. 
 
 "I kissed her hand, and wondered what next.f^ Ap- 
 parently however the Royal soul was satisfied, for the 
 Sword, to my great relief, was handed to an oflicial, and up 
 I got at last. Some day, I suppose, I may have to kneel 
 again, but I don't imagine there will be any Sword of State 
 on that occasion." 
 
 " There will not," said Mary, quietly. 
 
 When some six years afterwards she was present at the 
 House of Lords to see Sir Farrer Herschell place his patent 
 of nobility on the throne and take it back with his own 
 hands from the throne, before assuming his title as Lord 
 Chancellor of England, she told us afterwards that she 
 thought of his remark on this occasion, "And I knew of 
 what he was thinking," she added. 
 
 We continued to talk and to listen on the terrace at 
 Hurlingham. 
 
 " I heard rather a nice story about a will when I was in 
 the north," said Sir Farrer. "The will came into court, 
 for it was so ambiguously worded that the result was as 
 usual a family quarrel. 
 
268 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "And there was a good deal to quarrel over, for the 
 testator, an old ironmaster, had been a very wealthy man — 
 so that his many sons could all have had a good bit if only 
 the old fellow had not tried to be too clever. As it was, 
 none of them knew what they had or hadn't. 
 
 " They kept it as quiet as they could, however ; so that 
 one day a friend in ignorance of the circumstances, on 
 observing the broad band of crape round the hat of one of 
 the sons, instantly pulled a sympathetic face. 'Allow me 
 to condole with you on your bereavement,' said he. 
 
 " ' Well,' rejoined the bereaved one, shaking his head 
 sorrowfully, 'I'll tell you what. It's just this. Our 
 father's death might have been a real pleasure to us, instead 
 of which it's nothing but a misery ! ' " 
 
 "You know Holker, the new Attorney-General .f"' Sir 
 Farrer turned to Mary presently, " wasn't it he who backed 
 up your opinion about that compensation case in Man- 
 chester last year .f^" 
 
 She replied that it was, and was immediately asked to 
 tell about the " Compensation Case," but said, " Let us 
 hear the new Holker first." 
 
 " Oh, there is no new Holker," said Sir Farrer, laugh- 
 ing, "but I dined with him last night, and he asked after 
 you and referred to the case "^ He thought you must have 
 a fine legal head. By the way though, I did hear a good 
 saying of his a little time ago ; he was speaking in court 
 about the salary one of the witnesses was in receipt of, and 
 said it was ten shillings a week. 
 
 " ' I think, Mr. Holker, you are wrong ; I think it is 
 ten shillings a day the witness said he was earning,' cor- 
 rected the presiding judge. 
 
 " ' Ah, my lord,' said Holker, with a sigh, ' I was think- 
 ing of my own poor gains.' 
 
 "That wasn't bad," commented our narrator, "con- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 269 
 
 sidering that if he was making a penny Holker was making 
 nine or ten thousand a year at that time. I forget how you 
 came into contact with him?" he turned to Mary. 
 
 " The Montagus and I went into the Law Courts in 
 Manchester when the Assizes were on, and you got me a 
 seat on the Bench," said she, "and Mr. Holker was 
 defending the case. When the Court adjourned for 
 luncheon we were invited to join the judge's party, and 
 heard him telling the other judge who had come along too, 
 about the case ; and they put their wise heads together 
 about the amount of compensation the plaintiff would get. 
 And one of them asked me, and I really did not know what 
 to say, so blurted out, ' Forty pounds.' " 
 
 " Drawing a bow at a venture ! " interposed her husband. 
 
 " Not quite that," said Mary ; " I had done my best to 
 follow the case, but still it was naturally nothing but a 
 guess. So you may imagine my amazement when on our 
 return to the court the foreman of the jury informed the 
 judge they had decided to award the plaintiff compensation 
 amounting to forty pounds! That evening you and 
 Mr. Holker dined with us at our hotel," to Sir 
 Farrer ; " and I told him of my lucky hit, and he 
 chaffed me about having the mental calibre of a 
 common juryman. Ten pounds, he said, would have been 
 ample^ but that the judge made a mess of it in summing up. 
 That was the worst of — ^what was his name .^" she broke off 
 to inquire. " I have forgotten it." 
 
 "And I think you had better keep on forgetting it," 
 cautioned Sir Farrer, " for Holker has a two-edged tongue 
 when he chooses, and has always a sly cut at our friend in 
 question." 
 
 " He told me that he did not dare to try and enliven that 
 weary, dreary case, because certain dull people did not 
 appreciate jokes ; now I understand," said Mary. " And 
 what do you think the judge said of him ? He said, ' Mr 
 
270 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Holker looks very stupid, but he can be really quite 
 funny.' " 
 
 " Holker's solemn face takes in a good many people," 
 said Sir Farrer. 
 
 Presently he recollected another legal anecdote, and told 
 it with spirit. " We are thankful for almost anything that 
 relieves the monotony of some long-winded peroration," 
 said he, " but if it is anything good we are ready to fall upon 
 the neck of the speaker. We had a youngster the other 
 day who thought he was making a very fine maiden speech, 
 adorning it plentifully with quotations from the classics. 
 He soared aloft in great style, and had it all his own way 
 till his opponent got up and observed drily, ' Our young 
 friend has treated us to much classical lore, for which we 
 are greatly indebted to him. He has Socked with Socrates, 
 he has Ripped with Euripides, he has Sided with Thucy- 
 dides, he has Most with Demosthenes, but it seems to me 
 that he knows nothing about Wisconsin Law, as I will now 
 proceed to demonstrate to you.' " 
 
 "I have thought of something else," said he, again. 
 "Something that happened during Grantham's election. 
 He was addressing a meeting, when one of the crowd in 
 the hall rose up and said pompously, ' Sir, before I promise 
 you my vote, I should like to know your opinions about 
 the game laws.^' 
 
 "'About the game laws, my friend .f^' said Grantham. 
 * Well, I can't give you my opinion about the game laws or 
 anything else while you are at one end of the hall and I at 
 the other, but if you will come up beside me on the plat- 
 form, I will endeavour to satisfy you.' 
 
 "At this there was a sort of scuffle in the background, 
 and it was the man being pushed forward by his friends 
 obviously against his will. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 271 
 
 " When he arrived upon the platform he proved to be a 
 great, coarse, hulking fellow with bloodshot eyes, and 
 Grantham, chuckling inwardly, had him escorted to the 
 front. 
 
 " ' You want to hear my opinion about the game laws ? 
 My friend, there are only three classes of men who need 
 trouble themselves about the game laws. One is the 
 landed proprietor, another is the tenant-farmer, and a third 
 is the poacher. I am sure you are not a landed proprietor, 
 I think I may say you are not a tenant-farmer, and as for 
 poachers we must not speak of them to respectable people, 
 — so really I don't see where you come in ! How can the 
 game laws possibly concern you.?' 
 
 " As the man could not see either, and as Grantham's 
 quiet irony provoked a roar of laughter from the hall at his 
 expense, he slunk out of sight as quickly as might be, and 
 the game laws were religiously left alone during the rest of 
 the canvass." 
 
 " I love electioneering stories," said Mary. 
 
 "Will you have one about full-blown M.P.'s for a 
 change.'^" said Sir Farrer. "Here it is. The Conserva- 
 tive Whip said one day to the Liberal Whip — (both being 
 excellent friends in private life) — ' I say, I do wish you 
 would try to hurry on the Division, for I have a member 
 here who is really very ill and ought to go home. I am 
 keeping him up with brandy, but he is making me very 
 uneasy, for he is getting so quiet.' " 
 
 "Quiet, is he.f"' said the other. "Quiet.? You can't 
 be more anxious for the Division than I am, for I, too, have 
 a member in charge, and he is not quiet. I only wish he 
 were, for he is a raving lunatic." 
 
 "What a pointless story!" appended Sir Farrer, sud- 
 denly throwing himself back in his chair and laughing 
 heartily. " In self-defence I must tell you that in the sup- 
 
272 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 pressing the names of the two Whips and their two friends I 
 had to take out the whole point of it — but I suppose I 
 ought to have thought of that beforehand," he concluded, 
 resignedly. 
 
 We then talked of quagmires of the kind into which we 
 had fallen at divers times. My own contribution was as 
 follows : " A certain old Scotch colonel, one of the salt of 
 the earth, was called upon unexpectedly to deliver an 
 address at a temperance meeting with whose views he was 
 supposed to be in sympathy. He started off, and rambled 
 on and on for a perfectly insupportable length of time, 
 and what was worse the speech finally ended abruptly 
 where, according to the old Scotch song, ' Nae end suld be.' 
 
 " It puzzled his auditors how to compliment their friend 
 who had only spoken out of kindness in order to fill a 
 vacancy — but he himself cleared up the mystery. ' It was 
 awful,' he said, ' a perfect nightmare ! I saw no hope any- 
 where. The fact was I really had a good story to tell, but 
 dared not tell it. I had forgotten the end when I led off 
 with the beginning ; and the whole point of it, the whole 
 sting in the tail lay in the admonition to drink whiskey 
 rather than water, and brandy rather than whiskey! And 
 you see, no point was better than that point.' " 
 
 "I don't altogether agree with him!" said Sir Farrer. 
 
 We had to go at last. The stars were bright above the 
 tree-tops, and the cooing of the wood-pigeons had long 
 ceased. The scent of great, white, heavy-headed syringa- 
 blossoms filled the air. A lazy toad crawled across the 
 terrace at our feet. "I feel like the children," said the 
 hard-worked man, whose brief hour of rest was over, " I 
 don't want to go home!" And he looked round with a 
 sigh. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Princes Gate deemed an unfashionable quarter — " Cawn't think how my 
 aunt gets these people to come so far to her parties " — " But you 
 see she has a deer-forest " — " I've got my invitation ; she's a brick " 
 — Miss Jean Ingelow vi^ishes her admirers would write to her, not 
 call — An exception in the case of the actress, Miss Mary Anderson 
 — " Shall I shew you my arms ? " — The Baroness Burdett-Coutts — 
 A terrible garden-party at Strawberry Hill — Lady Waldegrave's 
 absent-minded guest — A fiasco at Holland Villas Road — Mary is 
 " so glad we were there ! " 
 
 Londoners in the past attached even greater importance 
 to living in a fashionable locality than they do at the present 
 day. 
 
 There were always of course the happy few who could 
 and would live where they chose, secure that the world 
 would go to them wherever they were, but the bulk of 
 ordinary mortals having any desire to be in the social 
 " swim " — (a new word, but an old, old desire) — placed 
 themselves within a very narrow and limited area. This 
 was what I heard pass between two young exquisites at an 
 evening party in Princes Gate. 
 
 "Tow here?" 
 
 " Tow here.'^" Then they lay up against a doorway and 
 looked round. "Cawn't think how my aunt gets these 
 people to come to her," emitted one, as well-known names 
 .were bawled on the staircase, " such a deuced long way to 
 come ! " 
 
 "My man didn't know where Princes Gate was!" — 
 yawned the other. 
 
274 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 I learnt afterwards that each was paying court to an 
 influential relation who had the whim to live in " the wilds 
 of South Kensington" — an eccentricity of which both 
 were ashamed. 
 
 With one of the two my husband and I had a slight 
 acquaintance, and he now caught sight of us. He told us 
 three times in the course of the first five minutes that he 
 could not think how people could plant themselves down 
 in such an out-of-the-way part. He said this in varying 
 terms, but it was all to the same effect. He did not seem 
 to be able to get away from the idea as a grievance. 
 
 " It does take a long time to come," said I, gravely. " I 
 think we must have taken quite twenty minutes." 
 
 "Well, twenty minutes is twenty minutes to me," 
 replied our dandy, with equal seriousness. " I can hardly 
 ever get out here to see my aunt — give you my word I 
 can't. And how people can live in such a ridiculous 
 part — " etc., etc. 
 
 " It is very good of you to come at all." My husband 
 grinned aside at this irony, but it passed unnoticed by its 
 object. 
 
 " Well, you see," he drew nearer and waxed confidential, 
 " you see she has a deer-forest. One of the best deer- 
 forests in Scotland. Simply splendid. And if I don't do 
 my duty here in London," with increasing impressiveness, 
 " I may whistle for my invitation in September." 
 
 "I see. Of course, you like going to the deer-forest.'*" 
 
 "Like it.f"' His eyes shone, his lips parted. He was 
 no longer the same man. Where was the gilded youth 
 with his lisping drawl and world-weary air ? " I should 
 just think I do like it. There's nothing in the world to equal 
 it when you are two thousand feet up upon the heather, and 
 the sun is getting over the tops of the crags and the mists 
 are floating all about you and the deer are in the glen 
 below — oh, it's glorious — glorious!" 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 275 
 
 As I agreed that it was glorious and knew something of 
 the mighty Ben on which he gazed with far-away eyes, he 
 was pleased to continue in this strain for some time, and I 
 had quite lost sight of the jaded guardsman in the hardy 
 Highlander when the former was unpleasantly recalled by 
 his meeting with other people he knew. 
 
 Then the parrot-cry broke out again. " Such a fag 
 getting here! What on earth does my aunt mean by 
 living in such a part.^ Give you my word, it took me 
 twenty minutes to come — " but here Lord Jamie stopped 
 and reddened. 
 
 "You are laughing at me," he whispered. 
 
 " How far can you get in twenty minutes up the side of 
 Ben Wyvis ?^^ said I. 
 
 On which he gave me a look, a real human look, and 
 murmured " Oh!^^ There was a world of love and long- 
 ing in that "O/j.^" 
 
 Later he accosted us again, jubilant. " It's aU right ; 
 I've got my invitation. And for the very time I want it. 
 She's a brick, that dear old aunt of mine, and — " 
 
 " — ^And now you won't grudge having had to come so 
 far to her party .f^" 
 
 " Oh, I'll come every day of the week if she wants me," 
 cried he, joyously. " And trot at her heels wherever she 
 goes besides. I don't care for Goodwood, and I hate 
 Cowes — but I'll dance attendance on her at both if it pleases 
 her. Do you know," with a sly look, " one of us came a 
 cropper with the old lady just now. He thinks he can 
 shoot, and he can't — not even a keeper ! And her ladyship 
 has a mania about her deer not being wounded. Quite 
 gone in the head about it she is. They must be killed 
 'clane and cliver' by any guns she sends out. 
 
 " So she asked Dick Bazill if he had ever shot deer, and 
 poor Dick — whose chief desire in life is to be thought a 
 sportsman — was on the tiptoe of expectation, but not pre- 
 
276 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 pared to perjure himself, so he had to own he never 
 had. 
 
 "And, of course, 1 knew how it would be with my 
 venerable relation directly that came out," chuckled the 
 informer, " and jolly glad I was to have my date fixed up 
 and all settled, I can tell you ! I'll stay at this beast of a 
 party — or," with a happy thought, "can't I take you to 
 your carriage?" For we were in the hall, and the crush 
 was great. 
 
 " Yes, take me, and slip away down the side-aisle after- 
 wards ! " 
 
 "And I'll walk home — by Jove, I will!" announced he, 
 stoutly. He felt man enough for the wildest exertion 
 now. 
 
 This little piece of affectation on the part of an honest 
 youth was not confided by me to Mary, who would not 
 have understood it. She had such an absolutely independent 
 mind that fashionable caprices and follies made no appeal 
 to her, and as she was not influenced by them herself, she 
 would, I knew, be intolerant of their influence upon 
 others. 
 
 Accordingly I held my tongue about the " Fag " of 
 going all the way out to Princes Gate, even when my dear 
 Mary herself complained of the distance we had to traverse 
 in order to reach Holland Villas Road, West Kensington. 
 
 " It's not because I mind going so far to see /z^r," she 
 explained however, "but because living where she does, 
 Jean can come so seldom to see we. Why ever did she go 
 and plant herself in a place miles away from everybody.'^ 
 And she has no carriage — and she is not strong — " and she 
 grumbled on. 
 
 But all the time we were trotting along, and presently — 
 I cannot say soon, for we really were a considerable time 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 277 
 
 upon the road — we drew up at the gate of a small detached 
 villa, and inquired if Miss Jean Ingelow were at home ? 
 
 A neat maid answered briskly that she was, and showed 
 us into a drawing-room on the ground floor, through the 
 large open window of which we could see a figure sitting 
 in the garden below. 
 
 " Don't bring your mistress in," said Mary, as the maid 
 prepared to step on to the balcony outside, " we will go to 
 her." And she stepped out herself. 
 
 Before I followed I glanced around. Was this the 
 shrine of the poetess? 
 
 I was not the unreflective school-girl I had been when 
 first the marvellously beautiful poetry of Miss Jean 
 Ingelow was brought beneath my notice, and experience 
 had taught me that poets and day-dreamers and all that 
 kind of " kittle cattle " could in imagination build up for 
 themselves fairy palaces while actually inhabiting jerry- 
 built villas so vulgarly hideous that only to look at them 
 depressed the spirits. Still I wondered a little. 
 
 The house was not jerry-built — it was good of its kind, 
 and high-priced, as we learned afterwards — but it seemed a 
 strangely unfitting setting for the author of — well, every- 
 thing Jean Ingelow ever wrote betrayed her love of beauty 
 and sensitive appreciation of it. 
 
 A remark she made to me in after years, when we grew 
 to know each other well, comes to my memory now. " If 
 you had written St. Paul's epistles you wouldn't have 
 written them as he did." 
 
 Certainly I had never supposed I should, but could not 
 say the question had ever been mooted to me before. She 
 saw I was laughing, but went on seriously : " You would 
 have made much of the beautiful landscapes, the wonderful 
 scenes around you — but St. Paul never once mentions 
 them ! I don't think he can have been a lover of scenery.'* 
 
278 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 This sort of simple saying was very characteristic of 
 Jean Ingelow. She was simplicity itself. And her 
 modesty was equal to it. It is not too much to say that of 
 all the talented women I have ever met, and these have 
 been not a few, I have found none to excel her. 
 
 And the temptation to be otherwise must have been con- 
 stantly present. We know that beauties of the first water 
 are not the ones who are vainest of their charms. We 
 know that great men are nearly always humble men. But 
 a little, homely, dumpy body, with nothing about her out- 
 wardly to attract yet conscious of powers within that com- 
 manded the world's homage — could there have been a 
 more certain subject for self-importance.^ 
 
 And Jean Ingelow was not even self-conscious. If she 
 were let alone to be herself, she was natural, cheerful, talka- 
 tive, if she were forced to be the recipient of adulation she 
 was miserable. "My dear, if they would only write^^^ 
 she said once, referring to a group of Transatlantic adorers 
 who had poured forth their heart's blood at her feet, " they 
 are very kind, and I feel so ashamed of having nothing nice 
 to say in return, but I am so stupid — I am the stupidest 
 woman on earth when I have to meet people face to face." 
 
 "But afterwards you can think over all the pleasant 
 things said to you." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I can." She looked at me quite frankly, 
 " And I do like to tell my brothers of them. William and 
 Ben like to have people find me out and flatter me. But 
 I am always so glad when it is over. I dread the door- 
 bell during the London season. It is not the gay world 
 that troubles its head about me — " 
 
 " — It is the great world." 
 
 " Why, you are as bad as the rest," said Jean, but she 
 put out her hand and laid it upon mine. 
 
 Presently she resumed. " Yes, it's true. I ought to be 
 very glad that I am able to give pleasure to so many in such 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 279 
 
 far-off places, and grateful to them for letting me know of 
 it, but I must confide in you a secret — promise not to think 
 me silly — / always feel that strangers are disappointed in 
 me.'*'' 
 
 Here was an admission and an unfortunate one, for it 
 could not be gainsaid. Had I not myself been dis- 
 appointed ? My thoughts flew back to that first day at the 
 little Kensington villa when I saw Miss Ingelow sitting in 
 her garden, and experienced a distinct feeling of dis- 
 appointment, not to say disillusion. I hung my head, and 
 the truthful voice continued : " My dear, you know it is 
 so. . . . You have seen the blank looks. I daresay you 
 have heard the comments afterwards.'^" 
 
 I daresay I had, many a time and oft — but when I beheld 
 the kind, gentle face so artlessly looking for an answer, I 
 could not give it. It stuck in my throat. 
 
 I had heard people say, " That Jean Ingelow the 
 poetess? That very ordinary, common-place individual.^" 
 And I myself had seen for myself that the Jean Ingelow 
 thus presented was everything the reverse of graceful and 
 romantic, but what then.^ Were there not hundreds of 
 thousands externally resembling her yet with no glorious 
 hidden gift to more than counterbalance every outward 
 deficiency ^ 
 
 Surely she was to be envied rather than pitied } Surely 
 it would have been too much for any mortal here below if 
 beauty of person and magnificence of surroundings had 
 been added to majesty of intellect.'^ I think she caught 
 something of this upon my countenance, for she smiled and 
 said softly, "Thank you, my dear." 
 
 This was after we had had intimate and affectionate inter- 
 course with each other for years, and I must now return to 
 the day when it began. 
 
 Miss Ingelow was quietly reading under the trees when 
 
28o MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 we interrupted her solitude ; and we should have hesitated 
 before doing so but for two things. The neat maid evi- 
 dently expected company — and so did her mistress. 
 
 There was an indefinable air of best dress and best cap 
 about the latter. One does not sit down to read in peace 
 in a purple silk gown with a lace fichu and hanging lace 
 sleeves (terribly in the way). One does not don a superior 
 cap with satin ribbons hanging down the back — nor beaded 
 and buckled shoes with pointed toes, — and to conclude, I 
 was more than sure that Miss Jean Ingelow au naturel did 
 not wear a gold chain thick as a manacle, and a cameo 
 brooch, and queer but probably valued old rings. 
 
 Accordingly we approached fearlessly, and the poetess 
 laid down her book and came half-way across the little 
 lawn to meet us. 
 
 With Mary whom she knew, she was not shy nor embar- 
 rassed — (as we saw her afterwards when others arrived) — 
 and we returned with her to her seat in the shade. 
 
 After a little she said, "I had such a charming visitor 
 yesterday, and you will never guess who. Miss Mary 
 Anderson, the actress." 
 
 " It was not my ' Day,' of course," continued Miss 
 Ingelow, "and I was not prepared for company, as I am 
 to-day," and she looked down on herself with the innocent 
 complacency of a child — "but she was so sensible. She 
 just told Anne to take her card up to me and say. Would 
 I see her, as it was the only day and time she could come ? 
 Of course, I put aside my writing at once. Yes, I am busy 
 at present — " she coloured as she did to the end of her life 
 when owning as much — "but for such an interruption I 
 would have stopped anything. I did feel the compliment 
 of it. It seems that she had heard how much I regretted 
 not seeing her in the part of the ' Lady of Lyons.' " 
 
 " But it is going on now, Miss Ingelow." I was the 
 speaker ; I did not understand. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 281 
 
 " Yes, it's going on now," said she, gently, " but I don't 
 go to theatres. I lose a great deal by this, and sometimes I 
 could almost persuade myself to shake off the prejudice of 
 my youth and go like everyone else. Why not ? There 
 are plays that not only do no harm but positive good. I 
 consider that everybody who writes a good play is writing 
 a valuable sermon. But I have no need to say so to either 
 of you." 
 
 " No, for we both feel as you do, only I have a husband 
 who does not," said Mary, simply. " So, like you, I am 
 bound and fettered." 
 
 Miss Ingelow glanced at her. The cases were not pre- 
 cisely similar, but she did not enter into them. " I had 
 heard so much of Miss Mary Anderson's beauty, and I do 
 so love to see a really beautiful woman, that it seems I said 
 something of this to Sir Frederick Locker lately, and he 
 repeated it, and it came to Miss Anderson's ears. The 
 nice, dear creature! Instead of being offended that my 
 prejudices would not let me go to see her on the stage she 
 came off at once to see me in my own house! What a 
 lovely girl she is! It was a treat to sit and look at 
 her!" 
 
 "And she looks as well by daylight as by gaslight," said 
 I. " I have seen her in both lights, so can judge. I 
 thought her divine as ' Pauline ' on the stage, but when she 
 passed me in Kensington Gardens yesterday — where I was 
 walking with my children — she seemed even more perfect. 
 She lingered as she went by, and looked at them with a 
 most heavenly smile." 
 
 " That exactly describes it," said Miss Ingelow, eagerly, 
 "'a most heavenly smile.' And she did one thing which 
 no other woman in England could, I suppose. She offered 
 to show me her arms! It was a hot day like this, and she' 
 might just as well have asked leave to pull off her gloves in 
 order to cool herself, but she made not the slightest pre- 
 
282 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 tence of doing this, she just said, ' Would you like to see 
 my arms?' My heart went out to her for it." 
 
 "Are they very beautiful?" said Mary. 
 
 "Oh, beautiful," exclaimed Miss Ingelow and I, both 
 speaking together. But while I had only seen the said 
 arms above the footlights, she had had a private view in 
 broad sunshine, not to say beneath the open sky — we 
 looked to her to continue. 
 
 " I have seen very little statuary," resumed she, " but I 
 have seen one or two exquisite figures, and Mary Ander- 
 son's arms rivalled theirs in smoothness, roundness, and 
 whiteness. She sat down here and let them lie upon her 
 lap. There was a kind of infantile unconsciousness about 
 her which I could not have believed to have seen in a 
 member of her profession. It was most delightful, but 
 will it last ? I wish — I wish — " she sighed. 
 
 " I guess what," said Mary. 
 
 " Yes, she seems fitted for a purer atmosphere, and I feel 
 sure would be happier in it. Perhaps it may come!" 
 
 We then talked of other things, — but when the stage 
 lost its fair ornament and a happy home was the gainer by 
 its loss, I thought of the above words, and wrote to my 
 friend who had become by then a real friend, and said that 
 I had passed the erstwhile star of the theatrical world walk- 
 ing by the shore of Oban Bay with a flock of little ones 
 around her. 
 
 They were all laughing and sporting on the edge of the 
 incoming tide, and a pretty sight it was. 
 
 My walking companion, after a second look, observed 
 in an undertone, "Do you see who that is? She has 
 grown stouter, but otherwise has not altered much." 
 
 I looked and beheld a fair, plump, merry-looking 
 creature, the centre of the frolic — but I did not recognise 
 anyone I had ever seen before. 
 
 "Don't you?" said my brother. "I don't know what 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 283 
 
 her married name is, but she was Mary Anderson, the 
 famous American beauty." 
 
 To return. Visitors were late in coming that Thursday 
 at Miss Ingelow's, but came in with a rush towards the 
 close of the afternoon evidently on their way back from 
 some entertainment in the neighbourhood. And probably 
 it was a charitable entertainment — for as we passed through 
 the house on our way back, we fell in with the Baroness 
 Burdett-Coutts coming in, and the good lady had " Bazaar " 
 writ upon her brow. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I opened one at the Town Hall this after- 
 noon," said she, in response to our greeting, "and could 
 not get away sooner. But it comforted me to think that 
 I should have a chat afterwards with dear Miss Inglelow. 
 Oh, you are not going .f*" 
 
 "We have had our chat," said Mary, with a little irre- 
 pressible exultation. "There was no one here when we 
 came, nor for some time afterwards, — but now! — " 
 
 "Are there very many.?" said the other, looking a little 
 alarmed. "Oh dear!" She was paler than usual and it 
 became her to be so. Usually her colour was too high, 
 and her thin, pointed face was not beautiful, but the ex- 
 pression was always the same, calm, dignified, benevolent. 
 I do not remember ever hearing her say anything remark- 
 able — and I saw a good deal of her one winter at Mentone 
 later on — but she always left an impression of quiet good- 
 ness that one did not forget. And she wore a wonderful 
 green stone — what it was I do not know — a round, green 
 ball, not, I think, an emerald — which blazed in the sun, 
 and which also one did not forget. Otherwise it was only 
 in the evening that her jewels were in any way remarkable. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must go in as I am here," she con- 
 sidered after a pause during which I fancy she meditated a 
 retreat. " But I wish I had come sooner. And I do wish 
 
284 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 such people as our dear friend here did not have ' Days.' 
 'Days' are always tiresome things — oh, must you go? 
 But you will come to my next 'Day,' won't you?" 
 
 "Is it to be 'tiresome'?" said Mary, wickedly. But 
 the baroness saw nothing. 
 
 " You will come to Holly Lodge next week at any rate ? 
 If only it is not like that dreadful day at Strawberry Hill ! 
 Good-bye — good-bye." 
 
 " Aggie went to that Strawberry Hill party," said Mary, 
 as we drove away. "It took place on the very wettest 
 afternoon last week ; let me see, what afternoon was that ?" 
 . "Well — about the party?" — hinted I. 
 
 " It was terrible ; Lady Waldegrave had never believed 
 that it could rain for her party — her parties have always 
 been so highly favoured by the weather, according to her- 
 self — and she had sent out invitations to everyone she 
 knew. There were nearly a thousand people, Aggie said, 
 and they would only have pleasantly filled the gardens if 
 the gardens had been available — but as it was, the rain 
 never ceased for a moment, and as there was not room in 
 the house for half the number, planks were placed on the 
 lawn, and the guests walked up and down under umbrellas 
 waiting for their carriages and getting all their pretty frocks 
 ruined. 
 
 " The crush was so great that some people had to wait 
 over two hours before theirs could come up to the door. 
 Poor Lady Waldegrave was so overcome by the horror of 
 it, that she quite lost her head and kept walking about and 
 exclaiming at intervals ' This is like a dreadful dream ! 
 I hope I shall wake up soon and find it is a dream ! ' which 
 was not perhaps the most tactful remark in the world to 
 make. And Aggie had her cloak stolen " ; Mary added 
 as an afterthought. 
 
 " Do you mean that ? Really ? " 
 
 " Really, truly. It was a new cloak too. She had only 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 285 
 
 worn it once and thought it might be wanted if she went 
 out-of-doorSj but seeing there was no hope of going out- 
 of-doors she left it in the cloakroom directly she arrived 
 at the house. The cloakroom was a pandemonium when 
 she came away and the cloak could not be found." 
 "And it has never been returned to her.'^" 
 "Never. And never will be. A shabby old thing of 
 the same kind that was unclaimed by its owner was sent 
 to her the next day, — but when she returned it saying there 
 was a mistake she heard nothing further. No doubt Lady 
 Waldegrave knew there was no use in making a fuss." 
 
 Soon after this we had an opportunity of seeing whether 
 guests at Holland Villas Road were as predatory in their 
 instincts as those at Strawberry Hill. 
 
 Miss Ingelow had sent out invitations on a much more 
 modest scale, but was still in an agony of nervous appre- 
 hension as the fateful day wore on and the rain as before 
 never ceased. It was a very wet summer, and if we had 
 a bright interval every now and again — as on the day when 
 we had sat in the garden with the poetess — we paid for it 
 afterwards. 
 
 The kindly Jean had asked everyone she knew, and the 
 little house would have been filled to bursting if all or even 
 the larger part had come — but they did not come. 
 
 "Don't you think she may be rather glad if we stay 
 away.-^" — I had suggested, — truth to tell, with one eye to 
 Miss Ingelow and one to myself. It was a hopeless after- 
 noon, and yet if one goes anywhere in London, it matters 
 not where, one has to put on nice clothes and dare the 
 weather. I longed for an excuse to stay at home. 
 
 Not so Mary ; clothes were nothing to her and she had 
 some experience of Miss Ingelow's parties. " They are 
 not very popular at the best of times, and to-day there will 
 hardly be a soul there! They'll all shirk — all who — well 
 
286 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 of course there are some who won't, people of the baser 
 sort, according to Harry's definition of them." 
 
 "What Harry? And what people?" 
 
 " A little Harry I know. He and his twin brother were 
 having the New Testament read aloud to them, and Georgie 
 was exercised in his mind about the ' Fellows of the baser 
 sort who stirred up the populace against St. Paul.' ' Who 
 are the baser sort ? ' he asked. 
 
 " ' Why,' said Harry, promptly, ' the sort of people who 
 come out of Preston, very third-rate people indeed ! ' " 
 
 "So that sort will be true to Jean when others won't?" 
 
 "Oh — you know," said Mary, laughing. 
 
 But when she had forced me into going, and we had 
 hurried into Miss Ingelow's small domain under umbrellas, 
 getting wet even in the brief transit from the gate to the 
 door, we found that the loud steady rain had been too much 
 even for the " Baser sort." One sturdy female was planted 
 bolt upright upon an ottoman and one in a manner guarded 
 the doorway — and that was the extent of the muster so 
 far. 
 
 And poor, timid, anxious Jean who had been so fearful 
 of overcrowding, so certain that every gangway would be 
 blocked! It was now that she showed herself in her true 
 and lovely colours. There was not a thought of mortifica- 
 tion or vexation on her own account. Not for a moment 
 did she lament the break-down of her party as her party, 
 still less refer to the noble and eminent guests who ought 
 to have been there and were not — she said very quietly 
 and simply that she could not expect people to come so far 
 — (and one had a feeling that she added to herself " When 
 there is so little to come for ") — but refrained. 
 
 And then she turned to Mary : " We will have our 
 tea without waiting for anyone else ! " and we five marched 
 solemnly into the dining-room. 
 
 The set-out there almost moved me to tears. It was 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 287 
 
 of the very best, so carefully, so prettily arranged, and 
 alas! so plentiful! There was a novel delicacy that 
 season yclept " Pistachio bread " — and when I saw among 
 the other cakes and biscuits the pale pea-green colour with 
 which pistachio nuts had made me familiar, a feeling of awe 
 stole over my soul. 
 
 The rain lashed the roofs, the walls, the pavements. 
 The front-door which should have stood open to admit a 
 constant stream of guests, was closed to keep the matting 
 dry within ; the dining-room windows had to be open 
 from the top only, and the ghastly travesty of a festival 
 had to be carried on under these conditions ! 
 
 I remember that the tea was hot and strong and gave 
 us a little fillip. I remember that the two stalwart females 
 who at first had been somewhat silent and pecked at the 
 food on their plates, brightened up on being drawn into 
 the general circle, (poor little general circle!) and grew 
 quite loquacious ; that Mary wore the most marvellous air 
 of enjoyment and entire satisfaction, and that I ate so much 
 pistachio bread that I have never been able to care for it 
 since. 
 
 Jean herself looked meekly resigned ; I think what she 
 minded most was the disappointment to her servants. 
 Their wistful looks out of the window when not attending 
 to our wants touched their mistress in her tenderest part. 
 She knew what planning, what arranging, what consulting 
 had gone to the formation of this high festival, what magni- 
 tude it had assumed in their eyes. 
 
 When a carriage thundered up, and there was a respon- 
 sive flutter, and Mary openly looked from the window — 
 and when after a footman had hurried to and fro and still 
 left the carriage-door unopened and finally indicated to the 
 coachman the next-door house, and moved on with the 
 carriage to its gate, we all felt the sting of shame. 
 
 We tried to rally, and took some ices. 
 
288 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 There were four kinds of ices. No one said, no one 
 thought there were too many ; we should have blushed 
 to suppose such a thing. What we did was each to take 
 a separate kind, and the one who was over was quite 
 flutteringly undecided as to which should have her casting 
 vote ? 
 
 Then another carriage came up, but we tried to take 
 no notice of it. We affected absorption in our own affairs. 
 We would not let ourselves down again by any show of 
 excitement or expectation. Mary alone looked coolly out 
 as before. 
 
 But she undid the cool effect by suddenly springing up 
 with a joyful shout — " It's the Lehmanns!" — and with her 
 own hands pushing into order that part of the table that 
 had been disarranged. 
 
 " This is nice!" said she. " How lucky that we should 
 have the dear Lehmanns all to ourselves!" — and she 
 rattled merrily on. 
 
 And what a grateful look this gaiety drew from the one 
 who best of all appreciated it ! 
 
 " No one is quite like Mary ;" whispered Miss Jean 
 Ingelow to me as we passed out. 
 
 After this the party lifted up its head in a sort of half- 
 hearted, deprecating way. 
 
 At one time there was quite a small rush, six people 
 arriving at once from different quarters. All were ready 
 to eat and drink, and a genial buzz made glad the poor 
 maids' hearts. But although between twenty and thirty 
 eventually turned up, it was — no I will not say what it was. 
 
 Mary folded her arms as we drove away. "I am so 
 glad we were there!" she said. 
 
 As I have no occasion to mention the Baroness Burdett- 
 Coutts again, perhaps I may be permitted here to reproduce 
 the lines I wrote at a later date on the burial of the widely- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 289 
 
 esteemed philanthropist in Westminster Abbey. They 
 appeared in the Westminster Gazette the same evening — 
 January 5th5 1907. 
 
 Since riches are the Tempter's weapon sure 
 To try the heart and see if it be true. 
 
 Shall we not honour her who could endure 
 A test accorded rarely, and to few ? 
 
 Come then to this abode of ancient state — 
 Thy holy consecration of vast power 
 
 Hath earned for thee a place among the great. 
 And more, all England's sorrow in this hour. 
 
 L. B. W. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Millais, my boy, you must look to your laurels " — " Would there were 
 more of such * Ridiculous ' humility ! " — Mrs. Richmond Ritchie 
 thinks there is nothing like living in the suburbs for finding oneself 
 a celebrity — The Misses Shelley disdain to read their brother's 
 " Immoral verses " — Lady Granville Gordon sets up a shop — We 
 go to Colonel Grant's party "To meet Henry Stanley" — He is 
 "Frog in the middle" of a dense crowd. 
 
 " The speeches were desperately long and tiresome." 
 
 Such was the candid opinion of Sir Farrer Herschell 
 delivered in private after the Academy dinner in 1881. 
 
 " I must tell you of Lord Houghton's little slip," he 
 continued, laughing. "He was getting tired and bored 
 and fell asleep during Matthew Arnold's dissertation. 
 Arnold responded for literature, and Grove for science. 
 Grove had given us quite a scientific lecture — as Houghton 
 whispered in my ear, for I sat next him — and when 
 Matthew Arnold followed in the same vein it was too 
 much for the old gentleman and he dropped off. 
 
 " When he woke up, Arnold's speech was still going on, 
 and Houghton felt drowsier than ever and renewed his 
 complaints of this long-winded oratory into the ear of his 
 neighbour on the other side. He said, ' Why, this speech 
 is as tedious as the last! ' — and who do you think he said 
 it to ? Grove himself ! Poor Grove, who was so pleased 
 with his own eloquence and smiling round at everybody! 
 He left the table as soon as he decently could with all the 
 starch taken out of him ! " 
 
 " But I did hear a speech worth listening to," continued 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 291 
 
 Sir Farrer with animation, "at a dinner Sir Frederick 
 Leighton gave to the Art Club a little while ago. Millais 
 had to respond for the toast of * Painting' and delighted 
 everybody. Instead of treating us to the usual solemn 
 platitudes he broke loose from convention and related a 
 little story which conveyed most felicitously a compliment 
 to Leighton, and one he could not help appreciating." 
 
 "Can't you tell us the story.'"' said Mary. 
 
 " Oh, if you care to have it, yes. And I'll try to re- 
 member as nearly as I can Millais' own words. He said : 
 * I was quite a young man when one day I was honoured 
 by a call from William Makepeace Thackeray, who had 
 come to ask me to dinner. I went, and when we were by 
 ourselves in the evening, he read aloud a chapter of 
 "Esmond " upon which he was then at work. 
 
 " * You may guess that was a great evening for me, and 
 nothing of the kind occurred again to weaken the impres- 
 sion, for immediately afterwards I went to study art in 
 Italy and did not see Thackeray again for two years. 
 
 " ' Then I met him at the door of the Garrick club, 
 when his first words were, "Millais, my boy, you must 
 look to your laurels. I met lately one Leighton, a most 
 accomplished young dog. Mark my words, one day he 
 will be President of the Royal Academy." ' 
 
 " (' You should have heard the cheering at this,' Sir Farrer 
 broke off to say, ' but the moment that we saw he had not 
 done, we were ready for more.') 
 
 " ' You may suppose I was not over-pleased at Thack- 
 eray's prediction,' continued Millais. ' I had never heard 
 of Frederick Leighton, and in my youthful aspirations had 
 thought that I might perhaps — ^just perhaps — one day 
 myself be President.' 
 
 "(Then they cheered again; Millais is as popular as 
 Leighton ; but still we had not done with his story.) 
 
 " ' And now,' he said, * now, when Time has set his seal 
 
292 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 on that great man's prophecy, it is to me a very great 
 privilege and happiness to acknowledge his wonderful per- 
 spicacity, and sometimes when the President of the Aca- 
 demy is distinguishing himself and conferring more than 
 usual honour on his high position, I think I see a face 
 well-known to every English reader looking at me with 
 eyes twinkling through his old spectacles and hear the 
 humorous triumph in his voice: "Aha, Millais my boy, 
 I told you so ! '" 
 
 "Well, that must have been charming," said Mary, 
 thoughtfully. After a pause she added, "I wonder if 
 Annie Ritchie has heard that?" And I felt within my 
 bones that we should be taken to see Annie Ritchie within 
 the next twenty-four hours. 
 
 "The Sandersons are in Town," observed Sir Farrer, 
 suddenly ; " did you know that they were coming up to 
 attend the Academy Soiree.''" 
 
 (By this time Dr. Burdon-Sanderson was Regius Pro- 
 fessor of Physiology at Oxford, hence his brother-in-law 
 spoke of his " Coming up " with his wife to London.) 
 
 " I knew they were coming, but I did not know they 
 had actually come," said Mary. " Two very different things 
 with the Sandersons! I have given up asking them here, 
 as they are so often stopped at the last minute. But I did 
 suggest their sleeping here for the Soiree." 
 
 "And they didn't accept.^" 
 
 " No ; I forget why. I thought they would have been 
 in by now to tell me about it." 
 
 " They were to leave early this morning," said he ; " the 
 wonder is they didn't leave last night." 
 
 " Leave last night ? At midnight ! " 
 
 " Oh, it would not have been midnight : it would not 
 have been much past nine o'clock." 
 
 "Come, there is something behind this," said Mary, 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 293 
 
 settling herself for enjoyment of the something, " what is 
 it? Why should the Sandersons come up for the Soiree 
 if they did not mean to go to it?" 
 
 Sir Farrer laughed and looked from one to the other. 
 " They meant to gO' sure enough," he said, " it was a tre- 
 mendous effort, but they had wound themselves up to make 
 it, and taken rooms at the Burlington Hotel, and Ghetal 
 was quite smartly dressed — " 
 
 "You saw them then?" 
 
 "I spent most of the evening with them, but if I had 
 shirked the Soiree and gone off to Lady Percival's party 
 as I very nearly did, the Sandersons would not have graced 
 the Academy rooms with their presence either." 
 
 "How? Tell us how?" 
 
 " They had forgotten their tickets ! Left them behind 
 at Oxford!" 
 
 "How stupid! Still, with a man of John Sanderson's 
 prestige — " 
 
 " So any one but John Sanderson would have thought. 
 And even if he didn't think of it for himself, Ghetal should 
 for him. You would hardly believe it possible but those 
 two turned back of their own accord at the entrance to the 
 rooms, and were coming sorrowfully down the staircase 
 again when I met them. If I had not met them — or if 
 no one with a grain of commonsense had met them — they 
 would have been out of the place, back to their hotel, and 
 off to Oxford on the spot!" 
 
 " But how absurd ! How ridiculous ! " 
 
 " Of course, but I could hardly get them to see it. I 
 said to John, 'Your visiting-card would have been suffi- 
 cient.' 
 
 " He said he had not one about him. 
 
 " But an envelope, a letter, anything to show who you 
 were, would have done! You had only to write your 
 name on a slip of paper and send it in to the President, or 
 
294 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 to anybody. I really girded at him, but dear me, he would 
 not for the world have taken the liberty ! Just as we were 
 arguing the point I caught sight of Leighton, who at once 
 rose to the occasion. Certainly he has charming manners. 
 He not only escorted the Sandersons in, but introduced 
 all sorts of notabilities to them. I had to take them out 
 of his range at last, for his eye was continually going round 
 to them and they were evidently on his mind. He told 
 me afterwards that he was immensely struck with John. 
 He thought John had one of the finest countenances he had 
 ever seen — and Ouless said the same. Ouless is to paint 
 John's picture for the College of Surgeons, I believe. But 
 wasn't it carrying humility a bit too far, that affair of the 
 tickets .f* Ridiculous, wasn't it.^"' 
 
 " Oh, ridiculous," said Mary. 
 
 But in my secret soul I thought, " Would that there were 
 a little more of this ' Ridiculous ' humility in the world ! " 
 
 As foreseen we trotted down to Wimbledon the follow- 
 ing day to see the Richmond Ritchies. They had a house 
 on a pleasant part of the common and the fine air and 
 quiet had done Mrs. Ritchie much good since I last saw 
 her, at which time she was suffering a good deal from head- 
 aches. 
 
 Not that she is by any means secluded even on Wimble- 
 don Common, for people kept coming in and going out all 
 the time, and as civil things were said to me as well as to 
 her, she whispered aside with a roguish look on her 
 sweet face — (doubtless a counterpart of her father's famous 
 twinkle) — "There is nothing like living in the suburbs 
 for finding oneself a celebrity!" 
 
 When we sat around in basket chairs upon the lawn we 
 had much pleasant talk and Mary told her tale. I think 
 Mrs. Ritchie has heard it already — such anecdotes always 
 fly round — but she was far too well-mannered to let it 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 295 
 
 appear unless one were on the look-out for it as I was — 
 and she was certainly pleased to have it brought to her 
 afresh. 
 
 She on her part told us an amusing little story about her 
 husband when a boy. When at Eton he came up on one 
 occasion to spend the day with Thackeray (her father) and 
 his family. Directly the little fellow entered the room in 
 which they were sitting, he settled himself down in a 
 window-seat, and drawing a book from his pocket apolo- 
 gised with due politeness for doing so, but immediately 
 became absorbed in it. 
 
 Presently he looked up. "I hope you don't mind my 
 reading, but I bought this book at the station, and it is 
 such a jolly book I really can't put it down." 
 
 "What book is it.^" inquired some one. 
 
 " It is called ' The Book of Snobs.' It's by Titmarsh. 
 And it is a jolly book." 
 
 Thackeray, who was walking up and down the room, 
 came to a pause at this, and putting his hand on the reader's 
 shoulder looked over to see if he had heard correctly? 
 Then he smiled contentedly. " I take it as a great compli- 
 ment, my boy, that you find that book so interesting, for 
 — I wrote it!" 
 
 "But to own the honest truth," said Thackeray's 
 daughter, laughing, " I don't think Richmond was very 
 much impressed, It was nothing to him who wrote the 
 book, all he cared for was to be left alone to devour it !" 
 
 Mrs. Ritchie then asked Mary about a visit she had paid 
 shortly before to the Misses Shelley at Brighton. They are 
 the sisters of the poet, but do not appear to set any value 
 on this. Evidently he is not " My brother ^^ to them. 
 
 " We found we had to tread delicately even if his name 
 seemed within measurable distance of being mentioned " ; 
 said Mary, " — especially with Miss Margaret Shelley, who 
 is prickly and perverse on most subjects, and with her it 
 
296 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 is not only a case of belittling the prophet in his own 
 country, but of denying that there ever was a prophet at 
 all. Once in answer to the question 'Are you a sister of 
 the poet Shelley?' — she first stared blankly, then appeared 
 to have a sudden recollection and drew herself up to her 
 full height. 'I once had a brother who I believe wrote 
 immoral verses, but I am thankful to say I have never read 
 any of them.' 
 
 " Never a word said Miss Helen Shelley though," con- 
 tinued Mary. "She is mildness itself compared with 
 Miss Margaret, and just went on pouring out the tea as 
 if she had heard nothing. My belief is that she knew 
 some of those * Immoral verses ' very well ; I should not 
 be surprised to hear that she could say them by heart." 
 
 " I wish we had had her at a party I was at lately then," 
 said Mrs. Ritchie, " where recitations were the order of the 
 day, and they were really too doleful. It was at the 
 Pfeiffers ; they have a charming garden, and Mrs. PfeifFer 
 has just designed a new Greek garment which I daresay 
 she thought would look well in it. Her cloak of olive 
 green plush floated about very picturesquely. 
 
 " However I was tired and sat down underneath the 
 tree where the recitations were to be. I cannot tell you 
 what they were like! They reached a climax when one 
 weird-looking creature with a yearning throat — too ' In- 
 tense' for anything — started on 'The Earl's Daughter! ' 
 
 " Well, I suppose most of us have read ' Oh, the earl 
 was fair to see ! ' — considering that it is one of Tennyson's 
 most efi^ective sketches executed with a few masterly strokes 
 of the pen ; but when one knows every word, and the 
 reciter doesn't — " 
 
 "Did she not even know the words.?" 
 
 " Twice or thrice she said the wrong ones ; then she 
 hesitated, looked this way and that, muttered some excuse 
 and began the verse again. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 297 
 
 " Then the same thing happened. She had the book in 
 her hand and consulted it. Then she tried afresh. Finally 
 she announced that she was so put out by the flickering 
 of the leaves and the twittering of the birds that she could 
 remember no more. We were all infinitely obliged to her, 
 but as we saw her surreptitiously conning the pages of her 
 book behind a tree, we quailed as we realised that only the 
 birds and the leaves stood between us and an awful doom." 
 
 "How was little Mr. Pfeiffer.?^" — said Mary. 
 
 " I asked him, and he said, ' I keep myself well in this 
 way. I get up at five-thirty and take a hot bath — a bath 
 hot enough to boil a lobster in — then I take a cold bath, 
 a fine, fresh cold bath — then I fling open the window and 
 take an air bath — and after that I feel ready for anything.' " 
 
 "Ready for anything.? That poor, little, ricketty crea- 
 ture!" 
 
 "He assured me that if everybody followed this plan 
 there would be far fewer doctors' bills to pay," said Mrs. 
 Ritchie. " He may not be much of an advertisement for 
 his fad, but he has it all the same. We all have our fads, 
 you know." 
 
 "Those Miss Shelleys of whom we were speaking," 
 said Mary, "they told me that theirs is walking. No 
 doubt Miss Margaret sets the pace and poor Miss Helen 
 toddles along as she can. Miss Margaret said to John, 
 ' If we did not walk five or six miles every day we should 
 at once sink down into being old women.' " 
 
 "Five or six miles!" echoed Mrs. Ritchie. "Then I 
 must have sunk down into being an old woman before I 
 was a young one, for I never walked five or six miles a day 
 in my life." 
 
 "And these sisters are seventy-eight and seventy-nine 
 years of age," said Mary — "but tell us" — she turned to 
 me — " about your friend who has no shoes." 
 
 This sounded such a disreputable friend to have that I 
 
298 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 hastily explained that it was Mrs. Washington-Hibbert, 
 one of the best-known women in London to whom she 
 referred, and that Mrs. Hibbert's lack of one of the 
 necessities of life did not proceed from poverty. 
 
 "But has she really no shoes .^" said Mrs. Ritchie, 
 incredulously. 
 
 "No walking-shoes. Boots one could understand. I 
 don't believe Mary does much in the boot line," said I ; 
 " but she does possess shoes that can be worn out-of-doors. 
 Mrs. Washington-Hibbert does not — or says she does not. 
 She was staying in the same house with us for Easter, and 
 everyone was going out one morning to see a view from 
 a hill in the park. Quite a little hill, but too steep for 
 any vehicle to go up, so Mrs. Hibbert elected to stay at 
 home. But a brother of mine who was much delighted 
 with the racy old lady, tried to persuade her to change her 
 mind. 
 
 " She was flattered and fenced with him a little — but at 
 last the truth came out. She had no shoes to walk in. 
 
 * These are the only kind I ever wear,' she said, and stuck 
 out a pair of tiny feet encased in lavender silk slippers. 
 
 " He could not think what to say ; he owned he was 
 quite flabbergasted and only tried to mutter, ' But what do 
 you do when you walk ? ' 
 
 " ' I never do walk ! — she cackled in her high, thin voice. 
 
 * I have not walked for years ; and these and others like 
 these are the only shoes I possess.' She also told him that 
 although she occasionally paid a country visit or went to 
 the sea, her husband had not slept out of London for forty 
 years. 
 
 "You may see them driving together in the Park any 
 day of the week all the year round," continued I, " but I 
 never pass their carriage now without thinking of the 
 lavender silk slippers." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 299 
 
 " I want to look in at Madame Liere's," said Mary, one 
 afternoon ; " I promised Lord Granville Gordon I would, 
 and I really need some new bonnets." 
 
 " What in the world do you mean?" said I. 
 
 " Don't you know who Madame Liere is ? Why, Lady 
 Granville Gordon! You have met the Gordons at our 
 house." 
 
 "Certainly. But that still does not explain Madame 
 Liere and the bonnets." 
 
 " I'll tell you as we go along," said Mary ; so she gave 
 the direction — in Park Street — and we went along. " The 
 Gordons are as poor as they can well be," Mary then 
 began, folding her arms and leaning forward upon them 
 in her favourite attitude, " for there are twelve of the 
 family besides the head of it. Lord Huntly. The wonder 
 is how they get along at all. But these ones, the Gran- 
 villes, don't sit down under it ; they are pretty clever, at 
 least she is, and he is no fool. He saw her trimming a 
 bonnet for herself and said, ' W^hy don't you trim bonnets 
 for other people and make money by it ? ' 
 
 " ' I will, if you give me leave ? ' said she. 
 
 " At first he did not think her in earnest, but as she held 
 to it, he grew serious also, and between them they hatched 
 the idea. 
 
 " They went out together and found a tiny shop in Park 
 Street — (where we are going now) — and he looked after 
 the hiring of it, and furbished it up, and she made a couple 
 of dozen bonnets. W^hen the house was ready they had 
 ' Madame Liere ' put up over the door — why ' Liere,' I 
 don't know — and now we all have to go and buy bonnets 
 there." 
 
 "Do you think it will answer.?" 
 
 " It may ; while it is a novelty of course it will — but 
 the question after that will be, will Lady Granville stick 
 to it.'' Will she endure the drudgery, the confinement .'^ 
 
300 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 People not born in the working-class have no conception 
 of how galling this becomes — at least I am told so — for I 
 had an argument with a poor girl who had tried and failed. 
 
 " She said that for a time there was a sense of excitement 
 which buoyed her up — and in the winter she did not mind 
 being boxed up all day within doors — but as the spring 
 and summer came round and her friends were all flying 
 about doing the things she used to do' and going to the 
 places she used to go to, there came over her such a sense of 
 desolation that she could hardly bear it. 
 
 " They had all stood by her at the beginning, but after a 
 while they got tired of it. She felt that she was being 
 looked upon as a charity — in plain terms a nuisance. She 
 was almost sorry to see anyone she knew come into the 
 shop." 
 
 "Poor thing!" 
 
 " You need not pity her wow," said Mary. " I was 
 horrified when I heard she had thrown up the whole thing, 
 and flew to see what I could do to put things straight. 
 I thought her mad to give up her one means of livelihood 
 however irksome it might be — but my dear, I found Adele 
 radiant ! " 
 
 "What had happened.?" 
 
 " What happens in novels, but very, very seldom in real 
 life. An old relation had died and left her not exactly a 
 fortune, but enough to make shop-keeping unnecessary. 
 When last I heard of her she was living in the country quite 
 happily, and once more going about like her sisters, her 
 cousins, and her aunts. Here we are!" — as we stopped 
 at the tiny shop in Park Street. 
 
 "Do you see.f*" said Mary, putting down her parasol 
 and preparing to alight. "There are the Royal Arms. 
 That is new since I was here last. The Princess of Wales 
 had given leave for it then, but Madame Liere did not 
 know when she would be able to get the thing made." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 301 
 
 " You have been here before, then ?" 
 
 " Only for a minute, to see if I could do anything to help. 
 I got some cards and distributed them." 
 
 "Why, those cards took you all round London," ex- 
 claimed I, suddenly recollecting how sick of the sight of 
 them I had been. "Were they Madame Liere's.^"' — 
 
 "Hush, yes! They did some good perhaps — but any- 
 way I have got to buy bonnets to-day," — and we went 
 inside. 
 
 Lady Granville was there, and as it was getting late and 
 shopping hours were nearly over we found her alone and 
 could talk. 
 
 She seemed in very good heart and hopeful of the success 
 of her venture. Her eyes sparkled as Mary chose bonnet 
 after bonnet. She always told us if it were made by her- 
 self or by her maid who had also a talent that way, and 
 had thrown in her lot with her mistress. 
 
 Privately I thought the maid's bonnets the best of the 
 two, and though Mary bought them impartially she owned 
 afterwards that she felt the same. 
 
 "But then of course that was not what I went for," 
 said she. "I don't very much care for any of them and 
 they will soon disappear. Did you hear about my last 
 Worth gown.f^" — she demanded suddenly. 
 
 "What about it.?" 
 
 " It — well, it is at the present moment adorning the 
 person of a starving vicar's wife in the wilds of Cumber- 
 land — that is to say if she has not sold it, which would be 
 the only wise thing for her to do." 
 
 "But— Mary!" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; a fifty guinea silk on a poor thing who 
 has never had fifty guineas of her own in her life, and pro- 
 bably has no idea of the gown's value!" 
 
 " But how ? Why ? What made you do it .?" 
 
 " I did not do it, it was Elizabeth's cleverness. She is 
 
302 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 really past her work you know, and already the maid I 
 have under her does nearly everything, but the poor old 
 fumbler loves to think she does, so I give her odd jobs, 
 and the other day when Worth's box arrived I told her to 
 keep the box, for sending off a collection of useful garments 
 to the poor dear in Cumberland. I keep a good many of 
 them going, but she is my latest. Well, what does the 
 sapient Elizabeth do but put the old Worth beside the new 
 — both black silks and without much difference between 
 them to the uninitiated — side by side on the bed, and 
 then packs off the new one! If it hadn't been for my 
 being in mourning I shouldn't have minded so much!" 
 
 But she must have minded. The new gown was wanted 
 for a special occasion, a very small and select affair to which 
 she was able to go despite her mourning — and would not 
 anyone have been provoked by a blunder which after all 
 was a blunder and a stupid one.^* I bethought me of an 
 old anecdote but forebore to mention it. I will tell it 
 now as it may be new to some people. 
 
 A well-to-do but "near" Scotch buddy had dropped 
 into the Sunday plate at church a sovereign by mistake for 
 a sixpence, and made a grab to take it back, but the plate 
 was whipped away. " Weel, weel," said he, " I'll maybe 
 o^et credit for it in heaven." 
 
 o 
 
 "Get credit for the sovereign.? Na," said the plate- 
 hander, promptly. " Na, Geordie ; ye'll only get credit 
 for the saxpence." 
 
 Mary perhaps might only get credit for the old Worth 
 on the present occasion, but she could afford to dispense 
 with more, there were so many credits to her account. 
 
 As she was in mourning she could not go to an interest- 
 ing party the same evening which otherwise she would not 
 have missed for the world. 
 
 It was a reception given to meet Henry Stanley, the 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 303 
 
 African explorer, by Colonel Grant, the discoverer of the 
 source of the Nile — and it was the event of the moment. 
 
 By the next year — or week — fashionable London would 
 not have stirred an inch to see Stanley or any other " Freak 
 of Nature" according to Corney Grain, who had a very 
 funny little piece on the subject — but the very latest draw 
 was the stout little hero of the wilds, whom the other and 
 older hero had caught for fashionable London's delecta- 
 tion. 
 
 Other houses were deserted that night — such houses as 
 had had the misfortune to have unwittingly fixed upon it 
 for their own entertainments. These were by no means 
 so multifarious as they are now, and there were really no 
 counter-balancing attractions of any consequence to draw 
 off the surplus of the crowd in Upper Grosvenor Street. 
 
 What that crowd was many can still remember. Of 
 whom it was composed I can only say that it would be 
 easier to say who were not there, than who were. People 
 left their carriages at the Marble Arch, at Hamilton Place, 
 at Hanover Square — well, this may be an exaggeration 
 (for one could not be in three places at once), but I know 
 that my husband and I approaching on foot by back-ways 
 found the whole neighbourhood teeming with pedestrians 
 in light attire, and it took us ages to get up to the door. 
 
 It was a warm summer night, and as we encountered 
 many friends to while away the slowness of our progress 
 we found nothing to cavil at — only by midnight we should 
 have been glad to turn our backs on it all and go off 
 Stanley-less. There seemed no chance of fighting our way 
 through the wedge in the house. 
 
 Several did give up the ghost (of hope) and fled, content 
 no doubt to say to each other, "We were at the Stanley 
 party " without entering into particulars — and we might 
 have followed their example but for a voice hailing us 
 which I had not heard for years. 
 
304 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 It was that of Sir Alexander Moncrieff — the inventor 
 of the " Moncrieff Gun-carriage " — a brother officer of my 
 brother Sir Alan Colquhoun. He had come all the way 
 from Perthshire to see Stanley, or as he confided "To see 
 Grant showing off Stanley!" "Grant is such a good 
 fellow," said he, and stopped suddenly. 
 
 But he would not let us go without accomplishing our 
 purpose. " Oh, you must come on wow," he exhorted 
 over the banisters, " after all you have gone through, you 
 can't be allowed to be faint-hearted now. It will be worth 
 it." And then Sir Alexander did a very nice thing. He 
 wriggied himself down to the hall again and shared our 
 meaner position, and as we had plenty to talk about we 
 managed to endure the step-by-step ascent presently. 
 
 Well, the great moment came at last and I see it still 
 before me. 
 
 But really I do not know what made it so great. Henry 
 Stanley did undoubtedly succeed in a great undertaking, 
 but he did not in any way impress one as a great man. 
 
 A space had been cleared in the front drawing-room, 
 and in the centre of it turned and twisted the little explorer 
 looking for all the world like " Frog in the Middle ! " He 
 was all smiles and bows and shakes of the hand, — looking 
 as he no doubt felt exceedingly proud and gratified by such 
 an ovation — but to my mind he had a hard, cruel, relentless 
 face, and an uneasy eye. 
 
 I wondered. Did he feel by what an uncertain tenure 
 he held the world's esteem.? Would things come out 
 presently that would change its gracious front to one of 
 indignation and contempt .^^ Would the upright, noble- 
 hearted Grant who was so entirely effacing his own claims 
 to notice in favour of his rival on that memorable evening, 
 would he one day wince at the sound of Stanley's name? 
 
 Sir Alexander Moncrieff, known to his old friends as 
 "Crieffie" — and just such another simple yet talented 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 305 
 
 soldier as Grant — shared I fancy the misgivings I have 
 hinted at here, and I never heard of Stanley's being invited 
 to the latter's beautiful Scottish home. My husband, ever 
 inclined to mercy, demurred at our strictures — but Sir 
 Alexander's last words as he bade us farewell at our own 
 door were, " All very well, Walford, but I must say I agree 
 with your wife!" 
 
 One brief word about Colonel Grant. It shall be very 
 brief. It was such a little thing to notice, and yet it was 
 just the proverbial straw which showed the delightful 
 nature of the man. 
 
 I was being shown by him through a back-door into the 
 little garden behind their house where coffee was to be 
 brought us after luncheon one day, when I stumbled over 
 a small hair-trunk, very old and worn. 
 
 " Oh, that trunk ! " exclaimed Mrs. Grant, " why will 
 you leave it there, my dear.^"' — to her husband. " I have 
 asked so often to have it removed." 
 
 " It is doing no harm there," said he. 
 
 "Indeed it is. You saw how it got in the way just 
 now." 
 
 "I hope you are not hurt.^"' — he turned quietly to me. 
 
 I was not, but thought within myself that it was an 
 awkward place for a sharp-edged obstacle to be placed, and 
 that Mrs. Grant, nice, motherly woman, was right in her 
 complaint. Some one else might not get off so cheaply as 
 I had. 
 
 The colonel stooped his tall frame and pulled the trunk 
 into what he considered a safer place — but the next person 
 to knock against it was himself. 
 
 "Really, my dear," began his partner's admonishing 
 voice again — but she stopped and changed the subject. 
 " It was all the luggage he had with him on his great Nile 
 expedition," she whispered after he had moved aside, 
 
3o6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 — " and I am sorry I spoke. He likes it to be there 
 because he thinks it looks as if it were going to be packed 
 once more. Old as he is, he would go off again to-morrow 
 if he had the chance! It always touches me to see him 
 looking at that trunk, but I forgot for the moment." 
 
 After a few minutes she slipped her hand through his 
 arm and looked into his face. And I knew the little trunk 
 would remain where it was till the end of time. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A French governor's bid for popularity falls flat — Sir Farrer Herschell 
 describes The Lord Mayor's Banquet — Did not appreciate the 
 turtle soup — Colonel Warren would fain go a cruise in the 
 " Challenger " — But has other fish to fry — Tells of his excavations 
 under Jerusalem — Sir David Gill's Scotch minister — Cleverly ex- 
 tricates himself from a difficulty — "Sir David loves society" — 
 Colonel Warren's parting prophecy — It is fulfilled, and Mary and 
 I robe the new Lord Chancellor. 
 
 We were talking about the wet summer which had played 
 such havoc among the July garden-parties, when some 
 friends of Mary's, just returned from abroad, said they 
 would tell us of a party at which they had been present, 
 whose wreckage must have exceeded even that of Straw- 
 berry Hill. 
 
 It was at Algiers, and there had not been a drop of rain 
 for weeks, but just before the guests for M. Grevy's grand 
 evening garden-party began to arrive a thunderstorm rent 
 the air and — after that the deluge! 
 
 And six thousand invitations had been sent out, and 
 nearly six thousand sulky offended people had agreed to 
 come, but under protest. 
 
 They then proceeded to explain that M. Grevy, the giver 
 of the feast, being the Governor of Algiers, was expected 
 occasionally to make Algiers merry, but M. Grevy did not 
 see the force of spending his money on anything so foolish 
 and unprofitable. 
 
 He had had however a hint on the subject from his 
 uncle, the President of the French Republic, who had heard 
 
308 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 rumom-s of general dissatisfaction — and as it does not do to 
 disregard such hints from high quarters, he set to work to 
 concoct a festal gathering on a scale, as he thought, to shut 
 the mouths of the grumblers. 
 
 He imported workmen from Paris and they spent a 
 week in erecting tents and coloured lamps and gorgeous 
 decorations all over the palace gardens — and no one talked 
 of anything else but the Governor's garden-party. 
 
 The upper ten were of course furious at finding the 
 gathering was to be so very unselect, for everyone who 
 could raise a decent coat to his back was to be made wel- 
 come, — but they said to each other that it would be no 
 good to stay away themselves, so turning up their noses 
 they went — but the rain went too, and got there before 
 them ! 
 
 It was simply impossible tO' go outside, for the gardens 
 were in flood, the illuminations were put out, and the tents 
 were sopping. 
 
 In the house pandemonium reigned, and poor Madame 
 Grevy ordered supper to be served as soon as possible ; — 
 but numbers of the principal guests never got near the 
 tables, for the rabble, seeing there was no fun to be got out of 
 anything else, took possession of them, and some Arabs in 
 particular sat down the moment they arrived, and con- 
 tinued eating and drinking all night. 
 
 At six in the morning poor Madame Grevy, quite worn 
 out, went off to her bedroom at last, and what did she find 
 there .'^ One drunken soldier on her bed and another on 
 the floor ; streams of wine issuing from broken bottles in 
 every direction, and chicken-bones strewn all over the 
 place. 
 
 The wretched Governor was in like plight, as were all 
 the people staying in the house — for every room had 
 been invaded, and several had been looted into the 
 bargain. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 309 
 
 "Your experiences will hardly beat that!" said our 
 
 friends. 
 
 ********* 
 
 "And yet I have been at some festivities where the 
 guests were very peculiar," said Sir Farrer Herschell, who 
 was present. " At the Lord Mayor's Banquet, for instance. 
 I went to it last November for the first time, and I must 
 say it is a queer affair. I found myself in very close 
 quarters with a stout lady in a velvet dress, which was evi- 
 dently on her mind. Perhaps it was new for the occasion. 
 As the waiters were knocking against us and thumping our 
 backs every time they passed, she turned round and said 
 angrily, *Look here, my man, don't you do that again. 
 Your soup will be all over my velvet dress in a minute. 
 Don't stand behind me^ stand behind this gentleman — ' 
 pointing to me with her fat fore-finger all over rings. No 
 doubt she was one of the City dames, for she seemed quite 
 at home, and told everybody about everything directly her 
 mind was at ease about the turtle soup and her velvet 
 gown. My velvet coat might be souped over, but that 
 was nothing to her." 
 
 " Oh, you were in velvet too ?" — said Mary. 
 
 " It is etiquette for the members of the Government to 
 go in Court Dress, so I was in full fig, black velvet suit 
 with lace ruffles, and buckled shoes. A sword, too. I 
 thought myself rather smart, and so apparently did the 
 gorgeous official who stood at the entrance of the library 
 calling out the names, for when I gave mine he added of 
 himself, 'The Right Llonourable ! ' 
 
 "'No,' said I, 'only the Solicitor-General.' 
 
 " At which he seemed both surprised and troubled. 
 ']Vo^ Right Honourable.'^' he murmured, looking me up 
 and down — and then in a sort of half-hearted way he called 
 out my very inferior appellation. I must own there were 
 such swells present that his disdain was quite reasonable. 
 
310 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " After I had made my way to the dais at the end of the 
 room through rows of people seated on either side — (old 
 hands, I imagine, for they stared as though they had stared 
 many times before) — I made my bow to the Mayor and 
 Mayoress, and stood aside to watch the new-comers arrive. 
 It was quite amusing, that part." 
 
 " I wish I had been there!" said Mary. 
 
 "I wish you had. But go another time. If you had 
 been in England you could have gone with me last 
 November ; at it was, the lady's card sent me was wasted — 
 but anyhow go another time. 2" on would see a great deal 
 more and hear a great deal more than / ever do. How- 
 ever I did hear two stodgy old gentlemen talking away 
 rather amusingly. Said one to the other, * Did you ride in 
 the Procession this year, sir.^*' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir. Yes, sir ; I did.' 
 
 " 'Ah. Very nice, I suppose .f^' 
 
 " ' Very. Yes, sir ; I have ridden in the Procession for 
 seventeen years, and I must say I always enjoy it — always.' 
 He thought for a moment, and added with renewed 
 emphasis, ''Always — I must say so. It never palls !^^^ 
 
 " I can't say I thought much of the banquet," continued 
 Sir Farrer. "They had chaffed me at home about the 
 enormous dinner I was going to eat, and said I ought to 
 have no breakfast nor luncheon — in fact, that I should 
 starve the whole day in preparation. But when I had had 
 my soup, which I didn't particularly like, though I suppose 
 it was the famous * Green Turtle,' there was nothing very 
 tempting. Certainly I saw no delicacies — and the noise 
 and heat were intolerable. We were rattled through every 
 course at a gallop, and had our plates snatched away half 
 full, if we did but turn our heads aside for a moment. Of 
 course it is not easy to do things comfortably for seven or 
 eight hundred people all wanting to be waited on at once, 
 and it seemed to me there were not half enough waiters." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 311 
 
 " Mrs. Wills would have said there were seven or eight 
 hundred ' waiters.' The other day she heard of a dinner- 
 party of twenty-four, where there were only four waiters 
 when she made that pun." 
 
 "Mrs. Wills.?" said Sir Farrer. 
 
 "Robert Chambers' sister, — such a witty old dear. 
 She heard that Miss Agnes Strickland complained of the 
 crush of people at a Drawing-Room, and said she herself 
 had crawled under a bench and let them sit on her ! Quoth 
 Mrs. Wills, ' It would not have been the first time that 
 Agnes Strickland had been sat upon.' Don't you know 
 Mrs. Wills.?" 
 
 But as neither he nor anyone else present did, Mrs. 
 Wills dropped out of the conversation. 
 
 It turned upon a more interesting theme : a theme so 
 interesting that often afterwards it recurred to my memory ; 
 and when a delightful book appeared, yclept " The Mighty 
 Deep," ^ I found with joy that it contained still more than 
 was then known of the "Challenger," whose wonderful 
 work among ocean depths was discussed among us Lon- 
 doners that quiet Sunday evening on Mary's balcony. 
 
 The "Challenger" was sent out by the government in 
 1872. During three years and a half she cruised about the 
 world, dipping her instruments, measuring the depths, 
 studying the temperatures and bringing up from the ocean 
 bed materials wherewith to judge the state of that dark 
 nether world hidden from our eyes by intervening miles of 
 water. 
 
 "The extraordinary thing is," said Colonel Warren, 
 {afterwards Sir Charles Warren,) "that throughout the 
 whole cruise never once has any single bone of Man been 
 brought up ! " 
 
 " That might well be in the great Pacific depths," 
 * By Miss Agnes Giberne. 
 
312 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 observed someone, "but in the shallower waters it is 
 strange." 
 
 "How deep is the greatest depth known?" inquired 
 another. 
 
 "Two thousand feet deeper than the highest height," 
 replied Colonel Warren, who was the principal authority 
 present. "Mount Everest in the Himalayas is twenty- 
 nine thousand feet high, but one Pacific depth is about 
 thirty-one thousand feet deep. Now, Pll tell you one sur- 
 prising announcement made by the ' Challenger ' fellows," 
 continued he, with animation, " if the whole ocean surface 
 could be lowered six hundred feet there would be these 
 curious results. At once the British Isles would cease to 
 be islands and become part of the Continent of Europe. 
 The Continents of Asia and North America would be 
 united at the Behring Straits, Ceylon would be a part of 
 India, and all places on the coasts of different countries 
 would of course find themselves far inland. It is won- 
 derful — only six hundred feet ! " 
 
 "You don't think of joining in the next expedition .f^" 
 said Mary. 
 
 " I have other fish to fry " ; Colenel Warren roused him- 
 self from a momentary reverie ; " if I hadn't — but it is no 
 use thinking of it." He then proceeded to tell us about 
 the other fish he hoped might be waiting for him in the 
 Holy Land. Already he had fried a good many there. 
 
 In plain terms he had been superintending excavations 
 under Jerusalem, and had done so very successfully, though 
 at first he had had a hard time of it. He went armed with 
 a firman from the Sultan directing that every assistance 
 should be given him by the authorities, but as there was 
 something wrong with the technical wording of the docu- 
 ment, it had to be sent back to headquarters to be cor- 
 rected ; and it was two years and a half before it was 
 returned to him! 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 313 
 
 Colonel Warren told himself that very likely it would 
 never come at all, and being a man of resource, did all he 
 wanted without it. The Pacha of Jerusalem gave him 
 leave to dig a hole within fifty feet of the place he had 
 originally asked the Sultan's permission to dig in. That 
 was very nice and pleasant of the Pacha, but the gallant 
 colonel went a little bit beyond his warrant, and dug away 
 until he arrived at the exact spot by working underneath 
 like a mole! 
 
 At this the dear, kind, amiable Pacha waxed very mad 
 indeed, and forthwith despatched a trusty agent to descend 
 into the hole and report what he saw. 
 
 But the trusty agent was not an unexpected visitor, and 
 a chair of state was prepared for his reception. Moreover, 
 the wily excavator had an equally wily subordinate who 
 understood the workings of that chair. He held the ropes 
 that lowered it into the hole, and the ropes twisted a little, 
 as rope,s will, and the English sergeant let them twist 
 even a little more than they would have done of them- 
 selves. 
 
 The consequence was that just before the chair with the 
 giddy and nervous emissary clinging to it for dear life 
 reached the stopping place, a final twirl became absolutely 
 necessary to correct all the other twirls — and when that 
 chair stopped spinning there was nothing about spinning 
 that its wretched occupant didn't know. 
 
 Green in the face, he looked this way and that, and had 
 not the faintest notion where he was nor in what direction 
 the path of duty lay! 
 
 " We will now proceed to the excavations," said Lieu- 
 tenant Warren (as he then was). 
 
 A bow from the miserable Turk. He could not speak, 
 
 "We are now walking towards the Harem Area," said 
 the Englishman. 
 
 " Harem " anything no doubt sounded attractive to the 
 
314 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 other, but still he felt a trifle suspicious, and on that sus- 
 piciousness his artful guide had reckoned. 
 
 He knew that whatever he said would not be believed — 
 so hazarded the truth, and the truth did the trick for him. 
 The unfortunate inspector was absolutely bewildered in his 
 geography, but was firmly convinced that the English 
 infidel was telling lies, so he wheeled right about and 
 insisted on being taken further and further from the sacred 
 precincts of the " Harem Area," which he had been ex- 
 pressly sent to investigate. 
 
 Naturally he found nothing incriminating, and the 
 authorities, chuckling to themselves, gave permission for 
 Lieutenant Warren to excavate as much as he pleased " in 
 that direction.^^ 
 
 On which Lieutenant Warren chuckled too. 
 
 "Now, let me tell Sir David Gill's story of Nineveh," 
 said Mary. " Nineveh and Jerusalem are sort of cousins, 
 you know, so this is quite appropriate to follow Colonel 
 Warren's tale of his circumventing the Turks in Jerusalem." 
 
 Whether it were appropriate or not we were ready to 
 hear it. 
 
 " I wish I could give you Sir David's broad Aberdonian 
 accent," said Mary, " he has it still, though he has been so 
 long away from his native land, and no one can tell a Scotch 
 story better — but you must put up with my feeble efforts. 
 A certain minister in the far North gave out a text for his 
 Sabbath morning's discourse, in which reference was made 
 to Nineveh, and thus began : ' This great city of Nineveh, 
 my brethren, was situated — ' here he forgot where it was 
 situated, hemmed and hawed, and started afresh. 
 
 " ' My brethren, the great city of Nineveh, mentioned in 
 our text, was situated on the banks of — ' here he paused 
 again ; this start was worse than the other, for since he 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 315 
 
 had spoken of ' Banks,' he was committed to a river or a 
 lake or the sea, and could not for the life of him tell which 
 to select. 
 
 "Off he started again, and with more circumlocution 
 approached the fateful point. 
 
 " * My brethren, no city mentioned in Holy Scripture 
 played in its day a more important part than did the ancient 
 city of Nineveh, referred to in our text. It was inhabited 
 by a great and powerful people, and was situated — here a 
 glorious thought came to his aid — it was situated,' he said 
 confidently, ' just where the Almighty in His Providence 
 was pleased to situate it!' " 
 
 "You stayed with the Gills at Capetown, didn't you.f^" 
 asked Colonel Warren, presently. "It must be very in- 
 teresting staying with an astronomer at an observatory." 
 
 " I suppose so, yes," said Mary, doubtfully. 
 
 Then she laughed outright. " We saw very little of the 
 astronomer and still less of the observatory! Sir David 
 loves society, and goes out a great deal when he comes home 
 on leave, but directly he is back at work there is an end of 
 him. So far as people who are not astronomically inclined 
 are concerned, he might as well not exist!" 
 
 " I don't understand that," said the soldier, thoughtfully, 
 " how a man can be a drivelling society man — " 
 
 "Who is a drivelling society man.^" inquired Sir Farrer 
 Herschell, turning suddenly round from a conversation he 
 had been having aside. ^' GUI? Oh, Lord!" 
 
 " Well, I thought I understood as much," Colonel 
 Warren looked at Mary. I thought you said, ' Sir David 
 loves society'.^" 
 
 " When he is away on holiday," explained she. " But I 
 expect what he really loves is the feeling that he is recuper- 
 ating in order to get back strong and fresh to his work." 
 
3i6 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 " How a man can recuperate in that way ! " muttered her 
 military friend. 
 
 " It is all a matter of taste," said Mary. " It is a rest to 
 some people to go among their kind, talk and laugh, and 
 throw off whatever has burdened their minds in the day- 
 time, — " 
 
 " — That's for you," said I, to Sir Farrer. 
 
 " Yes. She hits me off exactly," returned he. 
 
 " And you ^re able to throw things off your mind in that 
 way .f^" Colonel Warren turned to look with something of 
 incredulity and yet with something of envy too, at the 
 other's placid face. 
 
 " I empty my mind as I do my pockets, when I have no 
 longer any present use for its contents," said Sir Farrer. 
 
 "And did Sir David empty his mind, too.-^" demanded 
 the soldier, after a moment's rumination. Evidently it 
 puzzled him that two such men could pursue what he held 
 to be so contemptible a course. 
 
 " When he was last in London," said Mary, " I met this 
 Astronomer Royal at a young people's dance, where he 
 never sat down and was the last guest to leave, — when I 
 found him at home in his observatory in Capetown you 
 would have thought he never cared to speak to anybody 
 under the age of a star, or a planet at the very least ! " 
 
 " tlumph ! Well, you had Lady Gill to go about with, 
 you would not miss him.?" 
 
 " Lady Gill is charming but a sad invalid — I missed Sir 
 David very much," said Mary. "If it had not been for 
 the continual coming and going of astronomers and other 
 scientists from all parts of the globe, I should not have 
 known what to do with myself, — but I admit it was excit- 
 ing to see a cartload of strange people turned out at the 
 door, and not to know from what end of the earth they had 
 come ! And Sir David had to be a little human with them 
 at first, even if they all grew engrossed in * Shop ' talk after- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 317 
 
 wards. But it is a strange life to lead," she wound up, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Her guests rose to go. " Well, I suppose I shall be off 
 to some ' Shop ' work or other soon now," said Colonel 
 Warren, bidding Good-bye. " I don't know exactly when, 
 and still less where. I never do know — that's part of 
 the fun." 
 
 " But then how can you be prepared .f^" said Mary. 
 
 " My wife keeps a kind of general kit always in readi- 
 ness. If there is anything special needed, it can be got at 
 the Stores. The Stores are wonderful — one gets every 
 mortal thing there. I can be ready in a couple of hours to 
 start for anywhere." 
 
 He then went round the circle, and stood for a moment 
 in front of the Solicitor-General. " When I return from 
 my next job," he said, " you will be sitting on the Wool- 
 sack." 
 
 It was a true prophecy. Lord Herschell had been there 
 a year before Sir Charles Warren turned up again from the 
 East. 
 
 One bright morning Mary and I had each a hasty sum- 
 mons from Grosvenor Gardens : " Can you come and robe 
 me for my first Drawing-Room .? — " and of course we 
 went. We had assisted mxany a fair lady to don her Court 
 train — (it was the thing in those days to go and see each 
 other dressed on Drawing-Room mornings, as well as to do 
 a round of teas afterwards,) — but to help a Lord Chancellor 
 into his state robe was something new, and we were flattered 
 to find no one but ourselves had been invited. 
 
 The ceremony was to take place in one of the lower 
 rooms. "For I really couldn't undertake to get down- 
 stairs in that huge tarpaulin," said Lord Herschell, looking 
 askance at it. " Feel its weight!" 
 
 The weight was fearful. The man who held it up for 
 
3i8 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 our inspection seemed relieved to put it down again. It 
 was made of the richest, stifFest black brocade, thickly em- 
 broidered with gold acorns and leaves — which embroidery- 
 went all down the front, round the neck, and a little way 
 down the back. 
 
 It stopped below the shoulder-blades — perhaps the 
 designer pitied his victim.'' 
 
 But for over a yard the cloak swept the floor behind, and 
 what purpose was served by this extra length and cum- 
 brousness it would have been difficult to say, for that yard 
 added nothing to the dignity of the wearer and much to 
 his discomfort — but when I inquired, " How does your 
 Magnificence propose to hold up this Court Train.?" — the 
 Lord Chancellor explained that it was held up for him. 
 
 " Tou haven't to carry it over your arm, but we have, we 
 poor women without half your strength!" cried I — and 
 thought it very unfair. 
 
 "Still I think even your hard heart would melt at the 
 sight of me after a few hours of this," quoth he. " I 
 expect it will need all my fortitude to bear up till Her 
 Majesty has done with me. Remember it is only while I 
 am moving about that this confounded train is carried 
 by an official, and while I am standing still opposite the 
 Queen for as long as the Drawing-Room lasts, my own 
 shoulders must bear the brunt. They say it is to be a very 
 full Drawing-Room too," he added, ruefully ; " I in- 
 quired yesterday at the Chamberlain's office, and the list is 
 tremendous." 
 
 " And as long as you are in office you will have to attend 
 every Drawing-Room ? — " said Mary. " Is the same 
 expected of a Chancellor's wife.?" 
 
 " No. She only needs to go twice a year. But Aggie 
 wouldn't mind that," pronounced he. "She likes func- 
 tions. Shall we go up and see her ? She ought to be about 
 ready by now." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 319 
 
 We wondered if there were time, as the carriage was 
 already at the door, but he assured us there was ten minutes 
 to spare. He wanted, I think, to show off his wife at her 
 best, and no wonder. She was a beautiful woman ; and 
 though I had often seen her before in Drawing-Room attire, 
 I thought her present dress of sapphire blue pre-eminently 
 becoming to her fair complexion and golden hair. Her 
 train was of blue velvet — I put it on for her — she had put 
 on my first Court train for me. 
 
 " There. Now we must go down," said Lord Herschell, 
 marshalling his little party, now reinforced by the three 
 children, to the door. ^' Now for taking the world on my 
 shoulders, Freda!" — to his little eldest daughter, as he 
 signalled to the ushers in attendance to bring forward the 
 robe. 
 
 He was cheerful, composed, dignified, yet a slight 
 abstraction of mind seemed to indicate he was not wholly 
 at ease. 
 
 It was not a formidable part he had to play at the forth- 
 coming ceremonial, it would have seemed a simple one — 
 but he had never played it before, and he was a man who, 
 whatever he undertook to do, liked to do it well. I noticed 
 that he was carefully thinking things over and considering 
 if he had got his lesson perfect ? 
 
 Mary admired the splendidly-embroidered bag contain- 
 ing the Great Seal of office. 
 
 For a moment Lord Herschell did not seem to hear her, 
 then suddenly he wheeled round, all attention. 
 
 " Yes, it is exquisite ; look here — and here, — " and he 
 pointed out the intricacies of the stitch as though to the 
 manner born. 
 
 For without being petty-minded, there never was a man 
 who had a keener interest in little things than this great 
 and wise judge. To the last day of his life he would be 
 amused with a child's display of birthday gifts, or the 
 
320 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 feminine results of a day's shopping ; — while if he ap- 
 proved a dress or hat, the article in question was hall- 
 marked for its wearer. 
 
 "Now be merciful," he adjured, as Mary and I lifted 
 the black and gold monster and solemnly adjusted it. 
 " Thank you, and thank you, — " to each. The ushers then 
 finished him off, and with his gloves in his hand he stood 
 for a minute looking at us with a new expression on his face. 
 
 The men left the room. We felt — I did — and I am 
 sure the others did — that something different from all this 
 was coming. "I hope," said the new Lord Chancellor 
 very seriously, " I hope to follow the example of the Lord 
 Chancellor you told me about, — " and he took Mary's 
 hand, — " I hope I shall — I hope I shall." 
 
 " What did he mean by that .f"' said I, as we drove away. 
 " What Lord Chancellor was he alluding to .f"' 
 
 She had been affected, and wiped a tear from her eye. 
 "It was Lord Cairns," she said. "One of the best men 
 that ever lived. In the midst of state worries and anxieties 
 that would have driven many a Lord Chancellor to 
 desperation, he kept an unruffled brow and serene aspect, — 
 and at last one of the Ministers remarked, ' I can't think 
 how Lord Cairns can keep so calm. He is every whit as 
 uneasy as the rest of us at the turn events are taking, but 
 to look at him one would think he was in smooth waters 
 all round.' 
 
 "Lord Cairns came into the Council Chamber at the 
 moment, and the speaker frankly repeated what he had been 
 saying. 
 
 " As frankly did the other respond : ' Every morning I 
 take my cares and troubles to my Heavenly Father, and 
 ask for His help, counsel and guidance, — and having done 
 that, why should I be worried and anxious about any- 
 thing.?'" 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A new invention — Mr. Justin Hannen " will not go to see it " — Invites 
 me to sit near him on the Bench at the Parnell Commission — A 
 cruel cross-examination — The face of a fanatic — Mrs. Gladstone 
 chumps her biscuits — Dramatic scene on the announcement of 
 Pigott's flight — Parnell as known to his intimates — Cecil Rhodes' 
 admiration of him — Miss Edith Rhodes, and her " My brother" — 
 A lover who turned " Brushes " to account — Lord Sherbrooke's 
 friend who will " still be a precious fool ! " 
 
 " Do come and see the new invention," cried a shrill young 
 voice. A new invention is a new invention, and I was 
 always ready to see anything, but was loth to stir on the 
 present occasion. 
 
 " We are very comfortable where we are," asserted my 
 companion. 
 
 He was a learned judge and I but a budding novelist, 
 and there were many years between us — but Mr. Justice 
 Hannen was a pleasant person to sit with over a little tea- 
 table set in a garden lit with the golden haze of a glorious 
 September afternoon. A brilliant tangle of flower-beds 
 was around us, and gaily dressed groups flitted hither and 
 thither in the background. 
 
 The occasion was a wedding in an old Yorkshire Hall ; 
 and the wedding was over and the guests free to disport 
 themselves. 
 
 They had found amusement by stretching a cotton thread 
 from one end of the spacious lawn to the other, and talking 
 along it to each other — it was the first faint spectre of the 
 telephone. 
 
322 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 But Sir James Hannen declined to be interested in the 
 cotton thread, and refused to budge when summoned. " I 
 will not go to see it," he maintained, doggedly ; and at 
 length our persecutors left us in peace, and we sat on till 
 the light waned. " You have made a conquest of the old 
 fellow ! " laughed my husband afterwards. 
 
 But I did not see my " Old fellow " for many a day there- 
 after, and then only met him by chance on a few occasions, 
 so that it was a very great surprise to receive one evening 
 a note asking if we would care to have seats " In Court " on 
 the following day when Sir James Hannen " Thought the 
 case in hand might be interesting " ? Sir James further 
 added that his son would be in readiness to receive and 
 conduct us to our places. 
 
 Now, " The case in hand " was the Parnell Commission ! 
 It was the event of the moment, and everybody was mad 
 to be at it. To have an order sent spontaneously was luck 
 indeed ! 
 
 Unfortunately my husband was absent at one of those 
 eternal Directors' Meetings I have already alluded to — but 
 a brother who happened to be staying with us was cheer- 
 fully ready to see that it was " Not lost what a friend got," 
 and accordingly we two started bright and early for the Law 
 Courts one February morning in 1887. 
 
 As the present generation, unless politicians, may be 
 hazy in their minds as to what the famous "Parnell Com- 
 mission " was, I will say a few words about it. 
 
 The Times had published an autograph letter signed 
 " Charles S. Parnell," to the effect that though the writer 
 regretted the accident of Lord Frederick Cavendish's 
 death, he maintained that Burke got no more than his 
 deserts — and the uproar caused by such a shameful avowal 
 of opinion may be imagined. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 323 
 
 It flew like wildfire over the land — and report had it that 
 the Irish leader himself was the only person in England 
 who by evening either knew nothing of the matter, or 
 feigned not to know. 
 
 A friend in the House of Commons showed him a copy 
 of the paper. The friend expected an explosion of wrath — 
 "Damnation! — " " — Infamous! — " "Scoundrel! — " or 
 the like ; — all Parnell did was to point composedly to a 
 piece of carelessness on the part of the writer ; " I have not 
 turned the letter S in that way," he said, " for ten years." 
 
 Afterwards indeed the Irish blood in his veins boiled up, 
 and he spoke out, wondering how a " Responsible and what 
 used to be a respectable journal could have been so hood- 
 winked, so hoaxed, so bamboozled as to publish such an 
 audacious and unblushing fabrication." 
 
 Naturally the Times authorities did not like being told 
 that they had been hoodwinked, hoaxed and bamboozled, 
 and though considering it beneath their dignity to recrimi- 
 nate, they printed further articles on "Parnellism and 
 Crime," which forced the Irishman to take action. Finally 
 a Special Commission was appointed to inquire into the 
 matter, and of the three judges to preside over it Sir James 
 Hannen was the principal one. 
 
 My brother and I were met in the outer hall of the Law 
 Courts by Mr. Henry Hannen, and conducted by him to 
 such a prominent position that we fairly hung our heads 
 to be there ! 
 
 Who were we to be seated at our ease with eye- 
 glasses and opera-glasses levelled at us, when there were 
 Presidents, Governors, and Commanders-in-Chief, lords 
 spiritual and temporal squeezing together in a huddled 
 mass on back benches, glad to sit upon anything, glad to 
 screw themselves in through the doorway ? 
 
324 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 "There is the Lord Justice General," whispered my 
 brother. "I travelled up with him from Scotland last 
 night!" 
 
 "And there is the Archbishop of Canterbury," whis- 
 pered I, back. " And the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, and 
 the President of the Academy, and the Comptroller of the 
 Navy, — and — and — " we each found some well-known 
 face every minute. 
 
 But we soon lost interest in everything but the business 
 of the hour, and being fairly well up in it beforehand, we 
 needed no one to inform us as to its crucial points. 
 
 Mr. Macdonald, the Manager of the Times, was to be 
 put into the witness-box that day. Parnell had also said, 
 " "We must put the man who forged that letter into the 
 witness-box, and wring the truth out of him." 
 
 By the time we saw this wretch the truth very nearly 
 had been so wrung, it only needed the confirmation of 
 others, and he saw this confirmation gradually closing him 
 in. He may have tried to brazen it out at first, but by 
 the time Sir Charles Russell had him in the grip of those 
 talons which were seldom if ever known to lose their hold, 
 he realised that hope was over. 
 
 Shall I ever forget his face.-^ Despair, grim, awful des- 
 pair had settled down upon it. A livid hue had over- 
 spread every feature, the veins on the forehead were 
 swollen almost to bursting, and the nostrils rose and fell 
 with every respiration. When he tried to speak he could 
 with difl&culty articulate. 
 
 One could hardly help feeling pity for a fellow-creature 
 in such straits, albeit brought thereto by his own hand — 
 and I avoided looking at Pigott as much as curiosity would 
 let me. 
 
 I had another person to look at and one infinitely more 
 interesting. 
 
 Mr. Parnell had a wonderful face — the face of a fanatic ; 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 325 
 
 — there was dreamy beauty, pathos, mingled strength 
 and weakness in it — there was also an underlying, pervasive 
 melancholy. 
 
 And he looked ill. His very tall, spare form drooped, 
 while nervous agitation was visible in a variety of spas- 
 modic movements ; indeed it was so obvious that he was 
 suffering physically as well as mentally, that the presiding 
 judge more than once said kindly, " If you are fatigued, 
 Mr. Parnell, pray be seated." 
 
 " I thank your lordship, not at all," replied Mr. Parnell, 
 — but he had to grasp the rail in front to steady himself. 
 
 The Attorney-General, Sir Richard Webster, was not so 
 considerate. Indeed he was scarcely civil. His "Attend 
 to me, sir!" or "Are you following me, sir.?" rang out 
 frequently in a harsh note that fell disagreeably on one's ear. 
 
 I had been brought up to think the pestilent Parnell all 
 that was bad, and though such views had become modified 
 by contact with many sorts and conditions of political 
 friends, I scarcely liked to own to myself that my sym- 
 pathies were with him. Whether he had written the 
 shocking letter or not did not seem to me to matter very 
 much. 
 
 Do such things ever matter to a woman ? The sinner's 
 guilt may be proved, but if he is a loveable sinner she 
 loves him all the same. She is sure he has acted upon some 
 momentary impulse and is already in the throes of repen- 
 tance. Her very heart goes out to him in his supposed 
 agony of humiliation and remorse. 
 
 The Irish leader's expression was so sad as to warrant 
 a suspicion of this — yet of course I learned afterwards that 
 it was wide of the truth. He was simply in despair of 
 being able to prove his innocence, — and to my indignant 
 view it was horrible to have him tortured by that rude Sir 
 Richard's sneering voice and subjected to his look of 
 withering contempt. 
 
326 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Whispering something of this in my brother's ear, he 
 corrected me with good common-sense ; " It's all put on. 
 It's simply business. Everyone knows that." 
 
 " Well, I think they are all very ill-behaved," rejoined I 
 — for others among Parnell's opponents were demeaning 
 themselves in a manner calculated to annoy and confuse 
 him. Often when he was on his feet they kept up a Babel 
 of sound in his vicinity, talking and laughing with scarcely 
 an attempt to moderate their voices. 
 
 And he bore it with a patience wonderful to see. Hour 
 after hour I watched him unweariedly, and found my eyes 
 fastened on that thoughtful, mystical countenance with 
 ever-increasing interest. There were many as well as I, 
 many infinitely above me, who felt the same. 
 
 Poor, bewildered, flustered Mr. Macdonald, the worthy 
 manager of the Times^ taken out of the dignified rut of 
 his daily life and thrust into the glare of publicity as an 
 important and powerful witness, was as a hermit-crab torn 
 from its shell. 
 
 If Parnell wore something of a martyr's crown in his 
 followers' eyes, the unhappy Macdonald had no such con- 
 soling halo. He simply looked idiotic. 
 
 And his pitiable collapse evidently afforded a gleam of 
 hope to the wretch who had duped him. Pigott's shifty 
 eyes which had been here, there, and everywhere, scanning 
 countenances on every side, were now concentrated on the 
 trembling old grey-beard in the witness-box, and a wan 
 smile played on his lips as he heard the faltering replies and 
 reluctant admissions. Was it possible that he might escape 
 by dint of these after all ? 
 
 Things went the other way, as we all know now, — but 
 at this point of the trial there was undeniable consternation 
 in the camp of the Parnellites, and their leader it was said 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 327 
 
 owned to those in his confidence that he had " Despaired," 
 as I said above. 
 
 Poor Macdonald ! He had indeed a dreadful time of it. 
 He was a man of the highest integrity and honour, and the 
 Times was his earthly all. I have heard my husband who 
 knew and greatly respected him, say that the blow to its 
 prestige proved to be actually the death-blow to this faith- 
 ful member of its staff. 
 
 Through it all Mrs. Gladstone kept on chumping 
 biscuits out of a paper bag on her lap. 
 
 She was hungry ; it was long past luncheon-time, — but 
 leave her seat she would not, well aware that she might 
 never regain it if she did. Some one brought her a bag of 
 biscuits, and the hardy old lady demolished them in the 
 face of everybody — and some of us would have been very 
 glad to have dipped a finger into that bag too. 
 
 "Do you know what o'clock it is.^"' murmured my 
 brother, after a furtive glance at his watch an hour or two 
 later, " I'm starving^ 
 
 I was tired and stiff, oh, so stiff with sitting motionless 
 wrapped in rigid attention for such a length of time — and 
 yet was loth to go, loth to lose what might be yet to come, 
 — and only when it was pointed out that nothing more of 
 import could take place that day did I yield to his urgency, 
 — when I too found I was starving! 
 
 But oh, what joy ! We were stealing through the hall, 
 expecting nothing less than to hear any more of the Parnell 
 Commission, when some one ran after us, and it was Mr. 
 Henry Hannen again! 
 
 His kindest of fathers had sent by him a fresh order 
 for the sitting next day. 
 
 That I will not attempt to describe. The house was 
 packed to suffocation. My husband, who was able to 
 
328 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 come this time, pointed out to me new dignitaries and 
 celebrities struggling in the dense mass below — (we were 
 in the front row of the gallery this time) — and at last not 
 a square inch of room was to be found anywhere. 
 
 And we waited and waited. And it came out at last. 
 There could be no trial. Pigott had fled ! 
 
 Like a peal of thunder after a lightning flash came Sir 
 Charles Russell's famous denunciation of "/^ foul con- 
 spiracy." In less than an hour it was being yelled up and 
 down the London streets. The reporters literally swam 
 for the doors on the shoulders of the crowd. 
 
 Ha, Sir Richard Webster, whose turn is it now to look 
 sarcastic.'^ Oh, my dear Mrs. Gladstone, you and your 
 paper bag should have been here to-day ! That the Lord 
 Justice-General of Scotland .f^ He is clapping his hands 
 and shouting like a school-boy ! 
 
 The uproar is terrific — and universal. 
 
 I had a note from Lord Hannen that night, "Thank 
 heaven, my nauseating labours on the Bench are over, and 
 I can sit down in peace to read 'A Mere Child.'" 
 
 Parnell, I was told afterwards, was not in private life 
 quite the pensive visionary my fancy painted him on this 
 memorable occasion. 
 
 He was not a saint we all know — but I was surprised to 
 hear that he could be arrogant and pretentious in petty 
 ways — the ways in which a gentleman is usually punctilious 
 not to be so. 
 
 As an instance of this I was told by a notable cricketer 
 of his day that he once had personal experience of an 
 undignified proceeding connected with cricket, which was 
 certainly " Not Cricket " (if a pun be permissible), on the 
 part of the Irishman. 
 
 Parnell was a member of a club in Ireland, one of whose 
 rules it was that no member should ever play against it. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 329 
 
 A match was in prospect and Parnell had not been asked 
 to play for his side. 
 
 He was found on the previous day practising on a private 
 ground. 
 
 " Hollo ? I did not know you were playing for us to- 
 morrow?" said a fellow-member of the club. 
 
 "I am not, but I am playing against you," replied 
 Parnell. 
 
 He was remonstrated with by the Captain of the Eleven 
 and others — but to no purpose. Play he would, and play 
 he did — and had to resign his membership of the club 
 in consequence. "Parnell thinks he is above rules," said 
 an apologist — "but it is always a pity to think that." 
 
 On the other hand Parnell had, as I suppose we all 
 know, partisans who were ready to think everything right 
 that was said or done by this extraordinary man. That 
 he had a magnetic personality none could deny. It affected 
 even such men as Cecil Rhodes, who after a prolonged 
 interview and discussion of many subjects, wrote to his 
 sister Edith (from whom I had it), that Charles Stewart 
 Parnell was the " Most reasonable and sensible man " he 
 had ever met. 
 
 The attributes did not, I must own, seem appropriate, 
 but coming from Mr. Rhodes they were worth recording, 
 also something else that Edith Rhodes related. The two 
 had talked in her presence, and she remembered Parnell 
 saying, " Why, Mr. Rhodes, do you take such an interest 
 in Irish Home Rule ? What is Irish Home Rule to you ? 
 What is Ireland to you.^^" 
 
 " My interest is an Imperial interest," replied the 
 Empire-Maker. "I believe that Irish Home Rule will 
 lead to Imperial Home Rule " — and then they set to work 
 to argue it out, narrated the sister, " for my brother would 
 never let a thing go until he had argued it out." 
 
330 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Here it was cropping up again, that proud, adoring 
 ^'My brother!'' 
 
 And Cecil Rhodes might well be the ^^ My brother'' 
 of his people — though as I never met him I must confine 
 my present remarks to the solitary member of his family 
 whom I knew at one time fairly well. 
 
 A most original and surprising creature was Edith. On 
 the far-famed links of St. Andrews, clad in a very short 
 grey flannel coat and skirt, with a straw sailor-hat and 
 gaudy club-ribbon surmounting her cropped head and 
 large, honest, red face, she was during her stay there one 
 summer, one of the sights of the place. 
 
 Though short and stout — extremely stout — she would, 
 stick in hand, march round the links at least once and some- 
 times twice a day ; and when an interesting match was on 
 would keep up with the attendant " Gallery," never letting 
 go her hold of the rope to the bitter end. 
 
 I once saw her fall flat on her face in a sandy bunker — she 
 rose laughing! 
 
 Her good humour and bonhomie were such that she 
 was a favourite wherever she went, and could assemble a 
 party for luncheon or tea simply by shouting invitations 
 from the window of her lodgings to such of her acquain- 
 tance as passed along the road in front. 
 
 One day I was on the other side of the road, and it was 
 broad, and there were carts between — but Edith's voice 
 rose above the grinding of the cart-wheels. "Dearest! — 
 I say — dearest!" (I believe she had forgotten my name, 
 but it was me she meant.) I stopped and waved recogni- 
 tion. 
 
 " Come in to luncheon," she bellowed. " I've got 
 Captain Marshall here, and the Younghusbands — and he's 
 going to talk Thibet. There's Lady Limerick! Bring 
 her with you. There's enough food for all. If there isn't, 
 Marshall says he'll go without." 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 331 
 
 Why she called him " Marshall " no one could divine. 
 If she had said "Robert" it would have been natural 
 enough, for they were great friends and so inseparable that 
 he openly declared he could do no work when the counter- 
 attraction of " The mighty Edith " was so great. 
 
 He was about to produce his play " The Second in Com- 
 mand " and actually did leave St. Andrews sooner than he 
 had meant to do, in order to give his whole mind to it. 
 Miss Rhodes' talk was so brilliant and her company so 
 congenial that he found himself unable to resist idling by 
 her side, and would even forego a round of golf on the 
 Royal and Ancient Course in order to putt with her on the 
 Ladies' Links, where her putting was, to be frank, beneath 
 contempt. 
 
 But how well she could tell a story ; here is one of hers. 
 
 A young man she knew was in love with a girl, but 
 papa was obdurate ; " Nothing of the sort. You don't 
 come hanging round here till you prove to me that you 
 are prepared to settle ten thousand pounds upon my 
 daughter. That is the least I will agree to in the way of 
 settlement." 
 
 This was rather a facer for the fond lover, though he 
 had a good income it so happened that loose cash was not 
 plentiful in his pockets. 
 
 It chanced however that he met a friend in whom he con- 
 fided and who proved a very friend in need, for he said, 
 " Suppose you try a little spec. ? I'll buy you some 
 * Brushes!'" 
 
 " All right," quoth the disconsolate one ; — but what was 
 his amazement when only ten days later he received a 
 cheque for the ten thousand so urgently needed, as the 
 result of buying " Brushes." 
 
 " Queer," he thought ; but there was the cheque, so 
 he flew on wings to the girl's father. 
 
332 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 The father, very bland all of a sudden, inquired affec- 
 tionately. "But how, my dear boy, did you get this 
 money so quickly?" 
 
 " It really was rather wonderful," rejoined the other, 
 innocently. " A friend of mine, a very clever fellow who 
 knows the ropes, bought some brushes for me as a specula- 
 tion. I don't know what kind of brushes they were — hair, 
 or nail, or tooth — but it is extraordinary the demand there 
 must be for them ! " 
 
 "You — !" murmured the father. 
 
 But the next day he sent his broker word to buy for him 
 as many shares as could be got in Brush's Electric Light 
 Company. 
 
 Edith Rhodes had a sort of watch-word, " Now, how 
 true that is!" She would plant her hands on her knees, 
 lean forward and look you earnestly in the face — "Now, 
 how true that is!" 
 
 She made you feel that your trite remark had in it a 
 subtlety worthy of a Solon. However one day I baffled 
 her. 
 
 "This is a very utilitarian age," said I, in my wisest 
 manner. "I heard lately of a boy of eight who would 
 have put to shame many a mature man. His mother had 
 the misfortune while cutting the family bread-and-butter 
 to cut off the tip of her finger also. After it had been 
 attended to and the pain somewhat assuaged, her little son 
 drew near, his eyes fixed on the bit of finger overlooked 
 upon the floor. * Can I,' he said, * have this for my black- 
 bird.?' 
 
 " It was wonderful, was it not ? Such coolness, such 
 thrift! How proud the poor suffering parent must have 
 been to think that she had given birth to such a political 
 economist in embryo ! " " Now, how true — " began Edith 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 333 
 
 from force of habit, but then she stopped and her rich 
 flill-toned laughter rang out joyously, " I believe you are 
 laughing at me ! " There never was a more good-natured 
 woman. 
 
 I went with her once to hear a debate in the House of 
 Lords, and as we were coming away we fell in with Lord 
 Sherbrooke — better known to the world as " Bob Lowe." 
 
 He seemed glad of something to do, for the debate was 
 of no importance, and we went out upon the terrace to get 
 some fresh air. 
 
 Presently Lord Sherbrooke was nodded to by a passing 
 acquaintance and turned to us with an amused look. " I 
 was wondering if that man would slip out of my way 
 to-day or not."^ But the fact is he is such a fool — let me 
 tell you about it. You don't know him.f*" 
 
 No, neither of us did. 
 
 " That's all right," said Lord Sherbrooke, gaily, " then 
 there's no harm in telling. But look at him for a 
 moment — do you see what a strut he has.f^ Now you'll 
 appreciate the story. He caught hold of me as I was 
 walking across the yard yesterday, and as we passed out 
 of the gates a workman who had had a drop too much, 
 lurched up against us. Now my pompous friend has no 
 idea of having his sacred person lurched up against. He 
 thinks himself enough of a swell to be known and made 
 way for wherever he goes. So he went for the workman 
 angrily. ' Get out of my way, fellow. Don't push up 
 against me. I'm a member of the House of Lords.' 
 
 "At this, the British workman jeered : * Are yer now? 
 Yer don't say it ? I've 'eard of yer, and I've 'eard as 'ow 
 yer were a precious fool.' 
 
 "Any one else would have laughed, but not so my 
 companion — not a bit of it," continued Lord Sherbrooke, 
 
334 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 with his eyes on the unconscious object of his story — " he 
 was only more indignant. ' You are drunk, man ; let me 
 pass,' said he. 
 
 " ' Drunk ? ' repeated the man. ' Drunk, am I ? Well, 
 it ain't no matter if I be, for I shall be all right to-morrow, 
 but as for you, you'll still be a precious fool ! ' 
 
 " I wonder if he suspects that I'm telling this," wound 
 up our companion, suddenly moving his chair round. 
 "Perhaps it would be desirable to point out the beauties 
 of the river.?" suiting his actions to the words. 
 
 But after a minute he stole a glance round to where a 
 portly form remained motionless a few yards away, and a 
 gentle complacency overspread his own Albino counten- 
 ance. 
 
 He turned to Miss Rhodes and me. " I should not 
 wonder if that honest workman has done me a good turn. 
 It seems not improbable that I shall never again be troubled 
 with the attentions of the most egregious ass in either 
 House." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Turkish Ambassador, Rustem Pacha — He finds it " very amusing " 
 to meet funerals — The wheels of his carriage are round or flat 
 according to circumstances — Lady Bagalley's singing in church — 
 Mr. Russell Lowell's hood excites interest at an Oxford ceremony — 
 Queen Victoria holds that Miss Jean Taylor is disqualified by her 
 sex for the post of Poet Laureate — Lord Herschell has his private 
 thoughts on the subject — The Diamond Jubilee — My last glimpse 
 of Victorian London. 
 
 Among familiar figures in the London world towards the 
 close of the Victorian era was that of the Turkish 
 Ambassador, Rustem Pacha. 
 
 He was very old — to his infinite grief and shame — but 
 gallantly strove to hide increasing feebleness of body by 
 gaiety of spirit. His small, shrunken frame and withered 
 face must once have possessed singular grace and beauty, 
 and he still adored grace and beauty and loved to surround 
 himself with the young and fair — indeed the younger they 
 were the more did the aged Ambassador sigh to think he 
 could no longer find favour in their eyes — but even as it 
 was, society had still for him a charm. He loved to fre- 
 quent it ; he could not bear to be debarred from it. 
 
 On one occasion when a death in the family of " The 
 Sultan, my Master" precluded his presence at a garden- 
 party, he forbade any member of the personnel at the 
 Embassy from attending it, though some of the young and 
 insignificant secretaries had hoped to slip off thither un- 
 observed — and he saw to it that he was obeyed. His 
 jealous surveillance was not relaxed till the affair was over. 
 I had this from one of the disappointed boys himself. 
 
336 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Rustem Pacha came often to our house, and we loved 
 to have him come. 
 
 He was the most delightful of guests, he never seemed 
 tired, nor bored, nor ready to go away. At the close of 
 a long afternoon when as it happened his carriage did not 
 come for him at the appointed hour, he felt, or feigned, 
 glee at its delay. "My carriage- wheels," he said, "are 
 round when I wish to go, and flat when I wish to stay. 
 They are very flat to-day." On a similar occasion as he 
 walked lingeringly up the lawn to the house, (we were 
 living in an old Essex house, now no longer in existence) 
 he turned as he reached the top of the bank, and his eyes 
 rested on the golden Western sky. "There," he said, 
 " sets the sun on one of the happiest days of my life." 
 By such exquisitely tactful and gracious sayings who would 
 not have felt touched and honoured .^^ 
 
 Cranbrooke Hall was a relic of the past, and though 
 the domain was itself untouched during our residence of 
 thirteen years there, it was too near London and the vilest 
 part of London to escape animadversion from many of our 
 friends. 
 
 We were supposed on first going there to have " Buried " 
 ourselves. We were upbraided for the interminable dis- 
 tance it was to Liverpool Street Station, also — to enter into 
 details — for the stench of soap-works on the train journey 
 to Ilford — while those who elected to drive down found 
 the road depressing to their spirits by reason of the multi- 
 plicity of funerals wending their way to the two great 
 cemeteries of the East End. 
 
 Those funerals were, I must own, a source of shame to 
 us ; and as Saturday was a great day for them, it did seem 
 hard that Saturday was the day invariably fixed upon by 
 people for offering to come and see us. One Saturday 
 we had smarted beneath the complaints of some rouged 
 and powdered dames who reviled the heat, the dust, the 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 337 
 
 ugliness of the never-ending small rows of newly-built 
 houses, and worst of all the funerals. They never seemed 
 away from funerals! 
 
 Even Lord Herschell, our dear Lord Herschell, as he 
 took his hat off and drew a breath of relief, murmured 
 " It was coming through Purgatory to Paradise." 
 
 But what had Rustem Pacha to say about it ? My husband 
 advanced apologetically ; "I fear the drive was very un- 
 pleasant, Excellency ? They tell me the road was blocked 
 with funerals." 
 
 " Yes, there were many funerals. I found it very 
 amusing," said His Excellency, cheerfully. 
 
 Every Christmas my five daughters received each a 
 large box of chocolates directed in Rustem Pacha's own 
 handwriting, and inside were the names of each, "With 
 Rustem Pacha's love" also written by himself. It was 
 therefore perhaps not so very unnatural that the most 
 youthful of these recipients should take it for granted that 
 her friend had done still more, and should be found hunting 
 about among the splendid contents of her splendid box, 
 murmuring, " I wonder if Rustem's put me up a third 
 layer .f^" When laughed at by her elder sisters she still 
 maintained that he must have had something to do with 
 the selection, for he had asked her what kinds she liked best ? 
 
 Affectionate as he was to those he loved, the old man 
 could be the most arbitrary of tyrants at home. "Do go 
 up and see him," said Madame Morel Bey, the charming 
 wife of the First Counsellor at the Embassy. " Perhaps 
 you can do something with him. He is beyond me to- 
 day." 
 
 "What is wrong .f^ What is the matter .f"' asked I. 
 
 " He is tired out, but of course won't own to it. He 
 wanted to get away early from the Drawing-Room, and' 
 his carriage could not be got at, and he was kept waiting. 
 There has been a great row, and he has dismissed all the 
 
338 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 men ! Now he is sitting exhausted over the fire in his own 
 little den, and if you will let me take you there, your 
 beautiful camelias may divert his thoughts, for he has 
 often spoken of the sight they were when last he was at 
 Cranbrooke." 
 
 " And we have often spoken of the fright he gave us," 
 said I. 
 
 For in the teeth of all remonstrance the feeble old man 
 had insisted on going up a ricketty ladder to view the show 
 of blossom in our camelia-house, and we had momentarily 
 expected a catastrophe. I thought the camelias might now 
 come to the Pacha, as the Pacha could no longer go to them. 
 I went up to the little room, and found him as Madame 
 Morel Bey said, utterly exhausted and wailing dis- 
 mally. " I am old ; I am neglected ; nobody attends to me 
 properly now. Did you hear about these scoundrelly 
 servants of mine.'' They were so vain of their new 
 liveries, wanting to show them off to the girls" — here he 
 had to cough. 
 
 " Surely you sympathise with them. Excellency ? Your 
 liveries are so magnificent — " 
 
 " They will not have them to show a second time. I 
 have dismissed them, every one. They go at once — to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Not the coachman, Excellency.''" I had had a hint on 
 this point. There was a state function the next day, and 
 it would be next to impossible to procure in time a new 
 coachman fit to drive an ambassador's carriage. 
 
 " My coachman is the greatest dronkhard in London," 
 said Rustem, still infuriate. " He is hardly ever sober." 
 He paused, and looked slily. "But dronk or sober he 
 knows how to drive me. Well- well. We shall see — we 
 shall see." 
 
 The coachman continued to drive him to the end of his 
 days. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 339 
 
 One of the most loveable men I ever knew was Sir John 
 Hanham, for long the Apparator-General of the Diocese 
 of Canterbury. It is a part of the office to throw down 
 the gauntlet at an episcopal consecration, and challenge 
 anyone to show that the Archbishop or Bishop about to be 
 consecrated is not a fit and worthy person for the appoint- 
 ment. Sir John's challenging was at one time regularly 
 responded to by the voice of a Mr. Kensit, who was then 
 discovered on his feet ready for a brawl, but this had to be 
 postponed and usually fizzled out. Kensit's son succeeded 
 to the business on the death of his father, but we do not 
 seem to hear anything of him nowadays. I was however 
 a witness of the painful scene on several occasions, owing 
 to the kindness of Sir John, who thought we might be 
 interested, but we did not like it after the first. Sir John 
 himself was once characterised as "The most clerically- 
 minded of laymen " and told us he knew or had known a 
 hundred-and-fifty-two bishops, and he had got most of 
 their names in his birthday-book ! Oh, that pathetic little 
 birthday book ; what a tale it told! There were names, 
 the highest in the land, cheek by jowl with that of a poor 
 school-marm in some obscure New England village, or a 
 stewardess on a coasting steamer off Japan — all were alike 
 to him. 
 
 In a little book I once wrote, entitled " Cheerful Christi- 
 anity," I find this passage : 
 
 " Who does not know some quiet man or woman to 
 whom they can point, saying, ' That one is always the same, 
 whoever is there or not there ; that one is never carried 
 away by the excitement of the moment, made rude and 
 rough and odious because of things going wrong, or con- 
 trariwise unduly and noisily elated because fortune is kind ; 
 that one never drops the little attentions paid at the first, 
 never omits to notice the humblest arrival, nor to attend 
 to the dullest and least coveted companion ; that one may 
 
340 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 be counted upon to fill the place that others shirk ; to 
 toil in the rowing of the heavy boat ; to trundle along 
 the slow horse ; to take a bed anywhere if rooms are 
 needed ; to hear out the longest-winded narration from 
 which every other auditor slips away ; to carry the rugs 
 and wraps that nobody else remembers (or wishes to re- 
 member) ; that one is never affronted and surly, nor on the 
 other hand pushing and obtrusive ; that one, in a word, 
 hath his heart filled to overflowing with that beautiful and 
 holy Charity which " Doth not behave itself unseemly." ' " 
 And I find against this passage — written thirty years ago 
 — the name of Sir John Hanham. 
 
 " We are going down in a party to see some delightful 
 people receive degrees at Oxford," wrote Mary to me one 
 day. "Mr. Russell Lowell will be one of them, Mr. 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes another. And the Brownings 
 and Mrs. Proctor, and Mr. Palgrave will be there, to say 
 nothing of others you and I both know and like. And we 
 are all invited to dine with the Master of Balliol, and the 
 Sandersons will do the rest. Come with us!" 
 
 Of course I went — indeed, the Sandersons had already 
 invited my husband and me, but he (Directors' Meeting 
 intervening as usual) could not go. I should therefore 
 have refused also but for Mary's invitation which was too 
 tempting. Lord and Lady Herschell joined us at Pad- 
 dington Station, as did Mr. Holmes and his daughter Mrs. 
 Sargent, who had come from Edinburgh for the occasion. 
 
 I looked with much interest at the distinguished author 
 whom I had never seen before, though I knew him well 
 as "The Autocrat," "The Poet," and "The Professor." 
 He was a very little man, but though I remembered that 
 Kingsley had said of him that he looked like an " Inspired 
 Jackdaw " it did not strike me as a particularly happy piece 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 341 
 
 of portraiture. Mrs. Sargent was very American, with a 
 strong accent, and at first I did not take to her as she 
 answered everything that was said curtly, and seemed more 
 inclined to take observations of the English landscape than 
 of her fellow-travellers, — we felt, at least I did, aggrieved, 
 like the little girl whose astronomer behaved similarly with 
 regard to the sky, though when I learnt what was at the 
 bottom of the young madam's ungraciousness, she had my 
 full sympathy. Finding me next to her, and being unable 
 to keep her feelings to herself, she confided, " I was told 
 to be sure to dress quietly^ as that would be correct for this 
 occasion — and now I see you and your friends in such 
 pretty frocks, I feel quite ashamed of my dowdiness. And 
 I really have some very pretty frocks too in my trunks!" 
 
 Truth to tell, a beaded black silk on a brilliant June day 
 did not look smart, and it was rather hard to have been 
 forced into it against her will ; so we had it out, and she 
 felt better and soon grew quite pleasant. 
 
 Her father told us a story of Yankee repartee which I 
 will give here. 
 
 A gentleman was driving his dog-cart along a lane, and 
 was met by another driving his, and the lane was narrow 
 and both horses fresh. 
 
 " Get out of my way ! " shouted the first-comer. 
 
 The other hesitated. 
 
 "Take your brute down there!" proceeded the angry 
 man, "take him on to the grass, or I'll serve you as I 
 served a fellow yesterday who refused to get out of my 
 way." 
 
 Immediately the other descended and led his horse aside, 
 then looked up to say tremblingly, " What did you do to 
 that man.f^" 
 
 "I got out of his way!" shouted the trickster over his 
 shoulder as he rattled away. 
 
342 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 Mr. Holmes told us of something that happened to him 
 on his journey from Edinburgh. 
 
 A fellow-passenger with whom he had struck up a sort 
 of acquaintance, put into his hands a manuscript with the 
 request that he would read it as he sat opposite, as he, the 
 stranger, wished to see the effect it had upon him ? " This 
 extraordinary request almost took my breath away," said 
 the "Autocrat"; "it was more than human nature could 
 stand, but as the man was quite serious — and had more- 
 over given up to me his own superior seat in the carriage 
 — I could not say what I thought. So I just made an 
 excuse to get out and get into another compartment. If 
 I had been in my own land it would not have surprised 
 me, I own — but here ! " 
 
 " Oh, we can be very impertinent even here ! " laughed 
 Mary. 
 
 As we passed Windsor Castle she asked the Herschells 
 to tell of their " Dine and sleep " visit there two days before, 
 as it might interest the Americans, which it certainly did. 
 
 " I don't know that the Queen herself said anything 
 worth repeating," said Lord Herschell, considering, " but 
 as you are both friends of Miss Ingelow" — to Mary and 
 me — 
 
 " Miss Jean Ingelow ? The poetess .''" cried Mr. Lowell, 
 who had borne a part in the Windsor discussion, " Was 
 she there with you.^*" 
 
 " No, she was not at Windsor," Lord Herschell replied, 
 "but she was spoken of there, and by no less a person- 
 age than Her Majesty. The Queen turned to me at 
 dinner and said, " I have had Miss Ingelow's claims to the 
 Laureateship put before me, and I admire her poetry 
 extremely, but I do not consider that a woman can properly 
 fill the post of Poet Laureate." 
 
 "Had you been Carlyle you would have argued the 
 point," said Mary. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 343 
 
 " Possibly, but not being Carlyle, I knew better than to 
 say a word. All that there was for me to do was to bow 
 acquiescence, and keep my thoughts to myself." 
 
 "And those were.^"' 
 
 "That if one woman can fill the post of Queen of 
 England and Empress of India, another might be trusted 
 to write a Royal Ode now and again ! " 
 
 When we arrived at Oxford we found an escort waiting 
 to conduct us to the Sheldonian Theatre, where the under- 
 graduates were already assembled, merry and noisy as 
 usual. 
 
 They greeted a Mr. Pope with roars of "No Popery!" 
 and Oliver Wendell Holmes was evidently the greater 
 favourite. 
 
 "Did you come, sir, in your One Horse Shay.f^" de- 
 manded a voice, and "Yes, yes. Where's the Shay?" 
 cried a chorus. "Where's the Shay — oh, where's the 
 Shay.f* — the wonderful, wonderful One Horse Shay.f^" 
 all singing and cheering and whooping, whereat the 
 "Autocrat" beamed with pleasure. 
 
 The Vice-Chancellor was bidden to " Speak up," and not 
 " Try to imitate Irving " — and Lord Herschell, who started 
 to speak before his time, was held back by four function- 
 aries, while a lively youth bellowed, "Let him have his 
 head ! " as if he had been a restive horse. 
 
 It was all so gay and good-humoured that I think the 
 old men liked it as much as the young ones. 
 
 Then followed the incident of Mr. Lowell's gown. Mr. 
 Lowell's gown instead of being the usual combination of 
 scarlet and magenta (save the mark!), was something still 
 more hideous. What ought to have been magenta, was 
 magenta gone bad^ and we all wondered how America could 
 have invented a colour so loathsome .f^ That it was an 
 American University gown no one doubted. 
 
344 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 By-and-by however the truth came out. The gown 
 was no alien gown, it was a compatriot of all the other 
 gowns, it should have been similar to them in all respects 
 but — it had been washed, and run in the wash ! 
 
 Mr. Lowell himself unable to resist the joke against 
 himself, told the tale openly. 
 
 With true Yankee 'cuteness he said he had hired the 
 garment at some cheap, unknown place in London, instead 
 of waiting to obtain it from the accredited source at Oxford, 
 considering that he "Would save a few dollars by the 
 transaction." 
 
 He did save ten shillings, but as Mr. Browning informed 
 us, "That silk won't wash, and Lowell's gown has been 
 washed — and now you see why it looks so pitiable!" 
 
 Although Mr. Lowell carried it off well, as well as any 
 man could, I think he did not secretly plume himself on 
 his economy and was glad when he took ofF his robe of 
 honour. 
 
 Of this Oxford ceremonial I must own I retain no very 
 distinct impression as a whole. There was so much to be 
 seen as well as to be done that every moment was occupied, 
 and no one could stop to think of anything. 
 
 Occasionally, however, I had like Dr. Jowett " Glimpses 
 of the obvious." I saw how thoroughly the Master of 
 Baliol himself was enjoying this rally of intellectual forces 
 upon his own ground, how hospitably and incessantly he 
 trotted from one to another, his short, rotund figure never 
 seeming to be in any one place for two minutes together — 
 and in contrast how the noble brow and deep-set eyes of the 
 Regius Professor of Physiology seemed to belong to a 
 being apart from it all, while yet every line of his counten- 
 ance breathed kindness, benignity, humanity. 
 
 I say " Humanity " because of the false and cruel attacks 
 to which Sir John Burdon-Sanderson was constantly sub- 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 345 
 
 jected during his later life. Again and again he was able 
 to disprove these rabid statements, and as constantly were 
 they renewed, — but those among whom he lived and 
 worked, revered his name — and on that day when Oxford 
 honoured it he looked quietly happy, yet as I said wore 
 an unconscious air of detachment, as of one unaccustomed 
 to such gay scenes. 
 
 Lord Herschell, who had a great affection and admira- 
 tion for his brother-in-law, — in spite of thinking his 
 humility "Ridiculous" on the occasion of the Academy 
 Soiree — came up to him as he was sitting by me on a 
 window-seat at the evening reception ; " I was talking to 
 Holmes just now, and Browning came up, and Holmes 
 said to him, ' Mr. Browning, do you enjoy all the adulation 
 you receive ? ' Browning seemed a little taken aback, but 
 replied hesitatingly that it made him feel 'Profoundly 
 humble,' " — (not that he ever strikes one as looking "Pro- 
 foundly humble " — Lord Herschell laughed a little) — 
 " and I must say I thought the American the honester man 
 of the two. He said : ' Almost every day I get letters 
 from strangers expressing admiration of my books. I 
 don't know that such admiration is worth much, but I 
 think I should miss the letters if they ceased to come ! ' " 
 
 " Holmes says it is fifty years since he was last in 
 
 England," continued the Lord Chancellor, "and that 
 
 hardly any of the literary men he met then are alive to 
 
 welcome him to-day. He declared that he felt as if he 
 
 had 'No business to be alive either!' — but it does not 
 
 seem to depress his spirits, does it.^" as the "Autocrat's" 
 
 cheerful laugh broke out at the moment — " he is a bright 
 
 little bird ; I like him immensely." 
 
 ********* 
 
 Then Mary came up. " Mr. Lowell says that when he 
 took his degree here, he could not find a college cap to fit 
 
346 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 him, and was so surprised, as he thought that Englishmen 
 pride themselves on the size of their heads." 
 
 " Mr. Browning took up the gauntlet at once. ' I don't 
 know about that, Lowell. At any rate poets are not 
 supposed to have large heads.' 
 
 " And then they had quite a tussle," said Mary, laugh- 
 ing, " for Mr. Lowell said he never laid claim to being a 
 poet, and Mr. Browning retorted, ' Then why did he write 
 such good poetry ? Mr. Browning also said that Byron's 
 brain weighed seven pounds! ' 
 
 "'But the big brain may be in a small head,' said Mr. 
 Lowell. ' When I was in Edinburgh lately I heard that 
 the street boys used to cry out when one of their professors 
 came by — a man with an extraordinarily small head — " Eh, 
 see to the mon wi' the wee heid an' the muckle wut m 
 it!"' 
 
 " I left them declaring they would put the matter before 
 a physiologist," said Mary — " for I wanted to tell you that 
 John Bright is here. That is he sitting over there " — and 
 she looked towards a figure familiar to us from portraits. 
 But Mr. Bright looked old and worn, and I could scarcely 
 believe that joyless face belonged to the once brilliant 
 orator and fighter. 
 
 He slipped away early — but it was late ere our party 
 left, and the moon was high in the heavens. 
 
 We walked to our various destinations — it seemed that 
 this was the thing to do. But the dew was thick on the 
 grass, and the gravel got into my shoes, and altogether 
 that night walk across gardens and quadrangles was more 
 pleasant in the retrospect than in reality. Romantic 
 incidents generally are. 
 
 It seems fitting that these "Memories" should close 
 with the last public function of the Victorian era — the 
 celebration of the Diamond Jubilee. 
 
MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 347 
 
 All that can be said of it as a function, as a brilliant and 
 impressive spectacle, as a striking tribute to the glorious 
 and beneficent reign of the great Queen, has however 
 already been said — so I will confine myself to a mere word. 
 My husband was at his club, Arthur's, and our two sons 
 had seats elsewhere, but our three elder daughters and I 
 were among the fortunate guests of my cousin. Archdeacon 
 Sinclair, then Archdeacon of London — and we partici- 
 pated in the service before St. Paul's Cathedral from the 
 upper porch. 
 
 Early, early had we to be there, and a welcome shelter 
 was that calm retreat from the roaring multitudes outside. 
 
 As the hours passed we occasionally left our seats to 
 wander about inside, and in one of these peregrinations I 
 paused to look down from an upper gallery, and beheld a 
 sight never to be forgotten. 
 
 The light was dim as usual in the vast space of the 
 building — but a single shaft of sunshine straying through 
 an upper window illuminated a long row of white-robed, 
 glittering figures noiselessly wending their way along the 
 centre-aisle below. 
 
 It was the procession of churchmen about to take up 
 their place in front of the great West Door. 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, step keeping pace with step, yet 
 with never a sound of voice nor of feet, they solemnly filed 
 through, and the ray of sunlight now and then falling on 
 a jewel or a piece of gold, made a momentary flash. As 
 the last figure vanished, the ray of light faded away. 
 
 But did I say that the atmosphere was resonant before ? 
 What was it now ? The bells boomed overhead ; every 
 tower in the vast metropolis, north, south, east and west, 
 was pealing and chiming, — kettledrums were clashing, 
 spurs jingling (strange that such a small, shrill note should 
 be distinctly audible) — and the very walls on every side 
 seemed to belch forth one continuous roar of applause. 
 
348 MEMORIES OF VICTORIAN LONDON 
 
 There was "Bobs" on his white charger, the recipient 
 of ever-renewed bursts of enthusiasm ; there was the 
 splendid Ames, his six-foot-eight regarded with a kind of 
 proud proprietorship by every Tommy who lined the way ; 
 there were, oh, why attempt to say ? 
 
 Far ofF we recognised a fresh note in the thunder that 
 reverberated in the distance. We knew She was coming 
 then. 
 
 And as the cream-coloured team in their trappings 
 emerged slowly into view, and the form so familiar to 
 many from childhood, bowed and aged now though 
 with tears of pride and happiness streaming down her 
 cheeks came among us as the beloved Sovereign of her 
 rejoicing people, I think there could hardly have been one 
 present who would have refused to say "God save the 
 Queen ! " 
 
 THE END 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Albert, Prince, 1 1 5-1 1 7. 
 Alford, Bradley, 155. 
 Alford, Dean (the Dean of Canter- 
 bury), 100, 105. 
 Alverstone, Lord, 325, 328. 
 Anderson, Mary, 280-283. 
 
 Beaconsfield, Lord, 1 18-120. 
 Blackwood, " Adonis," 10, 11. 
 Boat Race, Oxford and Cambridge, 
 
 81. 
 Bright, John, 132, 346. 
 British Museum, 68-75. 
 Browning, Robert, 16, 27, 64, 344. 
 Burdett-Coutts, The Baroness, 283, 
 
 284, 288, 289. 
 Burdon-Sanderson, Sir John, 148- 
 
 151, 230, 292-294, 344. 
 Burdon-Sanderson, Lady, 292-294, 
 
 340. 
 Burgoyne, Field-Marshal Sir John, 
 
 43-45- 
 
 Cairns, Lord (ex-Lord Chancellor 
 
 of England), 320. 
 Campbell, Lord (Judge), 129. 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 185-188, 342, 
 
 343- 
 Carlyle, Mrs. Thomas, iii, 112. 
 Charles, Mrs. (author of The Schon- 
 
 berg-Cotta Family ^ etc.), 20-28, 
 
 160-169. 
 City magnate entrapped, 95-97. 
 " Climbers " in London, 238, 239. 
 Cole, Mr., and the "Waterloo 
 
 year," 57, 58. 
 Colenso, Bishop, 155. 
 Collet, Sir Mark, 88, 89. 
 Collins, Wilkie, 60-63, 206-214. 
 Collyer, Colonel, 36, 37. 
 
 Cologne Cathedral,Ruskin's opinion 
 
 on, 36. 
 Concerts, The Monday Popular, 
 
 121, 122. 
 Cross, John, 146. 
 Craik, Mrs. (Dinah Mulock), 200- 
 
 206. 
 
 Darwin, An anecdote of, 223, 
 
 224. 
 Delarey, Lady, 231-233. 
 Deutsch, Emmanuel, 68, 69, 75-78, 
 
 86, 87. 
 Diamond Jubilee, The, 346-348. 
 Dilke, Sir Charles, 1 31-134. 
 Donegal, Lady, 50. 
 Drawing-Rooms, Queen Victoria's, 
 
 II, 12, 317-319- 
 Du Maurier, George, 76, 'j'], 78. 
 Dykes, Dr. Oswald, 157, 244-246. 
 
 Edinburgh,Duke of (Prince Alfred), 
 
 45- 
 Egerton of Tatton, Lady, 169-172. 
 Eliot, George, 139-146. 
 "Enoch, The Book of," 72, 73. 
 
 Florence, 26, 27, 28. 
 
 Foster, John, 16. 
 
 French Embassy, Amusing party at 
 
 the, 162-167. 
 Froude, J. A., 146. 
 Fyvie, Isabella, 103, 104, 105. 
 
 Ghost Story, 26. 
 
 Gibson, J., 17. 
 
 Gill, Sir David, 314-316. 
 
 Gladstone, Mrs., 327, 328. 
 
 Greenwell, Canon, 263, 265, 266. 
 
 Godman, Lady, 197, 198. 
 
350 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Gordon, Lady Granville, 299-301. 
 
 Grant, Colonel (The Explorer), 
 303-306. 
 
 Grevy, M. (his terrible garden- 
 party), 307-309. 
 
 Grove, Sir W. R., 290. 
 
 Guthrie, Dr., 100-105. 
 
 * H's,' The dropping of, 24, 25, 26. 
 
 Hamilton, Lady Claud, 147. 
 
 Hanham, Sir John, 339-340, 
 
 Hannen, Lord, 321-328. 
 
 Haweis, Rev. H. R. (author of 
 Music and Morals, etc.), 82, 83. 
 
 Hawkins, Sir Henry (Lord Bramp- 
 ton), 25, 129. 
 
 Herschell, Lord, 49, 127-129, 153, 
 259-272, 309-320, 337, 340, 
 
 342-345- 
 
 Holker, Sir John, 268-270. 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 340-345. 
 
 Houghton, Lord, 173-182, 290, 
 291. 
 
 Hughes, Thomas (author of Tom 
 Brozvn^s Schooldays), 46-48. 
 
 Hume, Dr. (his rebuke to impertin- 
 ence), 99, 100. 
 
 Humphreys, Professor, 191, 192. 
 
 Hunt, Holman, 188-190,204-206. 
 
 Hurlingham, 259-272. 
 
 Ingelow, Miss Jean, 276-288,342. 
 
 Jamie, Lord, and the deer-forest, 
 
 274-276. 
 Joachim, Herr, 79. 
 Jones, "Cavendish," 227. 
 Jones, Winter, 70, 72, 73, 74. 
 Jowett, Dr. Benjamin, 344. 
 
 Kemble, Mrs. (Fanny Kemble), 
 
 250-258. 
 Killow^en, Lord Russell of, 324,328. 
 King, Lady Anne, 80. 
 Kingsley, Charles, 46. 
 Kleptomaniacs, Tales of, 88-91. 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 233-234. 
 Landseer, Sir Edwin, 64, 65, 132, 
 
 156, 157. 
 Langtry, Mrs., 240. 
 
 Law Courts, Welsh, 47, 48. 
 
 Lecky, W. E. H., 187. 
 
 Lee, Dr. (his adventure with a 
 
 hearse), 155. 
 Lehmann, Rudolph, Sj, 124. 
 Lehmann, Mrs., 65, 66. 
 Leighton, Lord, 29, 30, 290-292. 
 Leinster, The Duchess of, 240. 
 Lewis, George, 143, 144. 
 Liddon, Canon, 240-243. 
 Lindsay, Colonel, and Windsor 
 
 Castle, 58, 59. 
 London, Unfashionable localities 
 
 in, 273-276. 
 Lowell, James Russell, 340, 342- 
 
 346. 
 
 Macaulay, Miss, 257, 258. 
 Macdonald, George, 33-36, 81-84. 
 Macleod, Dr. Norman, 42, 45, 46, 
 
 103, 125-127. 
 Manning, Miss (author of Cherry 
 
 and Violet, etc.), 51-54. 
 " Mary," 4-6, etc. 
 Mellor, James, 236. 
 Millais, Sir John, 17, 18, 291, 292. 
 Miller, Joaquin, 174, 175. 
 Milnes, Richard, 179, 180, 182. 
 Moncrieff, Sir Alexander, 304, 305. 
 
 Napier, Sir Joseph (ex-Lord Chan- 
 cellor of Ireland), 50. 
 Nasmyth, Sir John, 182-184. 
 
 Oliphant, Sir Anthony, 137. 
 Oliphant, Lawrence, 9, 135, 139. 
 *' One Quiet Day " (verses in the 
 
 World), 55. 
 Orton, Arthur, *The Claimant,* 
 
 128. 
 Oxford Undergraduates, 7, 343. 
 
 Palgrave, Reginald, 18-20. 
 Palmerston, Lord, 59, 60. 
 Parnell, C. S., 322-329. 
 Parnell Commission,The, 322-328. 
 Parr, Dr., Tale of an epicure, 97-99. 
 Patmore, Coventry, 215-229. 
 PfeifFer, Mrs. Ida, 296, 297. 
 Prayer-meetings, Drawing-room, 9- 
 II. 
 
INDEX 
 
 351 
 
 Prinsep, Val, 154. 
 
 Proctor, Mrs. (widow of " Barry 
 
 Cornwall"), 16, 18, 1 10-120, 
 
 178-182, 249, 340. 
 
 Reade, Charles, 84, 91-94. 
 
 Rhodes, Cecil, 329, 330. 
 
 Rhodes, Miss Edith, 329-334. 
 
 Ritchie, Lady (Miss Thackeray), 
 121-127, 250, 294-298. 
 
 Roberts, Field-Marshal Lord, 348. 
 
 Robinson, Crabbe, 34. 
 
 "Rob Roy" Macgregor, 113, 114. 
 
 Rogers, Samuel, iii, 112. 
 
 Royal Academy, 29. 
 
 Rubenstein, 141, 142. 
 
 Ruskin, John, 34-36. 
 
 Rustem Pacha (the Turkish Am- 
 bassador), 335-338. 
 
 Schumann, Madame Clara, 79. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 254. 
 
 Shelley, The Misses, 295-297. 
 
 Sherbrooke, Lord, 333, 334. 
 
 Sinclair, Venerable Archdeacon 
 William, 347. 
 
 Southey, Robert, 255, 256. 
 
 Spurgeon, Dr., 43-45. 
 
 Stanley, Lady Augusta, 193-198. 
 
 Stanley, Dean (the Dean of West- 
 minster), 198, 199, 213, 214. 
 
 Stanley, Sir H. M. (the explorer), 
 302-305. 
 
 Stephen, Mrs. Leslie, 121, 124,. 
 
 125. 
 
 Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 79, 80. 
 Sumner, Charles, 250. 
 
 Tennyson, Lord, 20-23. 
 Thackeray, W. M., 295. 
 Travel in Victorian days, 1-2. 
 * Treacle' Bible, The, 74. 
 Tyndall, Dr. J., 78, 79. 
 
 Victoria, Queen, 193-196, 318, 
 
 .342, 343, 347, 348. 
 Vivian, Lord, 234. 
 
 Waldegrave, Lady, 284. 
 Warren, Sir Charles, 31 1-3 17. 
 Warren, Samuel (author of Ten 
 
 Thousand a Tear)y 130, 131, 236- 
 
 238. 
 Washington-Hibbert, Mrs., 298. 
 Webster, Sir Richard. See ' Alver- 
 
 stone.' 
 Westmacott, R., 31. 
 Wheeler, Mrs., 240. 
 Wilde, Oscar, I47-I53, 230-233. 
 Wilde, The aunt of Oscar, 151- 
 
 152, 231-234. 
 Woolner, Thomas (sculptor), 30. 
 Wordsworth, William, 255, 256. 
 Worth, A gown by, 301, 302. 
 
 "YusufShakoor," 9. 
 
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