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RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 A ROYAL ACADEMICIAN 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/recollectionsofr00hors_0 
 
Waiter '2A.cXc 
 
 *7 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 A ROYAL ACADEMICIAN 
 
 BY JOHN CALLCOTT HORSLEY, R.A. 
 
 EDITED BY MRS. EDMUND HELPS 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE AUTHOR’S 
 DRAWINGS AND PICTURES 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
Printed in Great Britain 
 
APOLOGIA 
 
 I HAVE noticed of late, but without surprise, 
 that the literary critics of the public Press are 
 beginning to protest against the numbers of 
 biographies and autobiographies they are called 
 upon to deal with and pronounce upon, but it is to 
 be remembered that writers like Disraeli and Bulwer 
 have recorded their opinion that such literary efforts 
 are more interesting than any other, and on reading 
 that noble Journal by Sir Walter Scott, one is 
 tempted to believe that he felt more keen delight 
 in those daily impromptu contributions to his 
 literary work than in many of the most brilliant 
 chapters of his completed works. 
 
 Not having any special development of the 
 organ of self-esteem, I desire to explain how it 
 comes to pass that I propose “ to bestow my 
 tediousness ” upon the few who are likely to read 
 what I write. Being by nature a talker, with a 
 
VI 
 
 APOLOGIA 
 
 keen appreciation of that disposition in others, 
 I have always delighted in hearing interesting and 
 good stories, and assisting afterwards in their dis- 
 semination to appreciative company ; so it has come 
 to pass on more than one occasion, after a quasi- 
 successful outpouring from my lips of anecdotal 
 matter, I have been asked, “ When is your book 
 coming out ? Why don’t you publish your memories 
 of the past ? ” till it culminated in one of my most 
 valued friends and brother Academicians, Briton 
 Riviere, r.a., saying: “ I tell you what it is, 
 Horsley, I shall refuse to die until your book is 
 published ! ” I feel most sincerely that I have much 
 to apologise for in attempting the task I have set 
 myself, and, though dwelling unduly upon my own 
 individuality is the last thing I shall aim at, I am 
 almost brought to a standstill when thoughts crowd 
 upon me of the number of questions I desire to be 
 heard upon, and of the order in which they are to 
 be marshalled in my text. So, as a veritable tyro 
 in literary composition, my only chance of escape 
 from unendurable failure will be to go ahead and 
 write as I find it suits the memory of the moment, 
 not even waiting now to complete my “Apologia” ; 
 
APOLOGIA 
 
 Vll 
 
 but merely adding one word in acknowledgment of 
 my great indebtedness to Mrs. Edmund Helps, for 
 the skill with which she has woven into book form 
 the material I have supplied for these reminis- 
 cences. The task must, indeed, have been a con- 
 siderable tax upon her thought and time, and 1 
 can only repeat my keen sense of the obligation 
 I am under to her for what she has so ably done 
 for me. 
 
 J. C. HORSLEY 
 
 i, High Row, Kensington 
 September , igoj 
 
POST SCRIPTUM 
 
 HE much -lamented death on October 19th 
 
 of the author of these Recollections , while the 
 book was still in the printer s hands, makes a few 
 words of explanation desirable. 
 
 There is no doubt that, had the book been 
 written some years ago, while Mr. Horsley was 
 nearer the zenith of his remarkable and varied 
 powers, it would have been of wider scope, and of 
 a more important character, and it would doubt- 
 less have contained many valuable criticisms and 
 opinions on subjects on which he was specially 
 qualified to speak with authority. 
 
 It was, however, not till his eighty-sixth year 
 that he began to write, and asked an old friend, 
 in accordance with a promise of many years ago, 
 to be his collaborateur. Part of the book was 
 compiled from a red notebook, latterly his constant 
 companion, in which the substance of some chapters 
 was already recorded ; other parts were dictated ; 
 others again compiled from brief notes, taken while 
 
 IX 
 
X 
 
 POST SCRIPTUM 
 
 he talked in his animated and impressive manner, 
 or told stories of old days. It is interesting to 
 record that Mr. Horsley had not a single diary or 
 letter to help him ; he was entirely dependent upon 
 his singularly clear and retentive memory. 
 
 On one occasion, very near the end, when 
 present-day events were little realised by him, and 
 perhaps forgotten the next hour, he told in graphic 
 words stories of fifty or sixty years ago. He also 
 gave the editor notes — of too sacred a character for 
 publication — containing touching expressions of 
 gratitude for the love of those near and dear, and 
 he recalled, as if out of the mist of far-off youth, an 
 anecdote of the first Mrs. Horsley, a gifted and 
 beautiful personality, who at the age of three had 
 been taken to play the piano before Queen Adelaide. 
 
 He is at rest. But he took so genuine a pleasure 
 in writing these memories that friends and publisher 
 alike deeply regret that he did not live to see them 
 published. 
 
 M. ALICE HELPS 
 
 London, November , 1903 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Parentage — The Mall — My Aunt Wall — “The Sweet Peas” — 
 Early recollections — Female Orphan Asylum — First visit to 
 the opera — My first school — My first ball — My first love . i 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Drawing proclivities — The Mulreadys — My, career settled — Sass’s 
 Academy — Sir Thomas Lawrence — William Hilton — Early 
 pictures — Medal for the antique — Damson cheese . .16 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Theatrical performances — “King Death” — Barry Cornwall — 
 Sophy’s opera — Sir Benjamin Hawes — A runaway steed — 
 Walking powers — Strauss waltzes — Our walk to Windsor . 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Portrait of Moscheles — John Sheepshanks — Mulready’s vanity — 
 Blackheath dinners — Elizabeth — Wells of Redleaf— Edwin 
 Landseer’s tour de force — The Pride of the Village — Vernon — 
 Maclise . . . . ... 48 
 
 XI 
 
Xll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lady Callcott — Sir Augustus Callcott’s studio — Distinguished 
 visitors — Greenough’s review — Sedgwick’s bon-mot — Visit to 
 Cambridge — Buckley — Empson — Peacocke —University rows 
 — Professor Smythe — Sam Cartwright . . . . 62 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Visit to Norfolk — R. M. Bacon — Cossey — Thomas Coke of 
 Norfolk — Holkham — Lord Leicester’s second marriage — 
 Shooting — Shakesperean enthusiasts of Norwich — First visit 
 to Paris — Paul Delaroche — “ The Hemicycle ” — Horace 
 Vernet — The Institut — Dr. Seth Thompson — Leighton at the 
 Athenaeum — Vernet’s picture — Second visit to Paris, 1848 — 
 Brunei — The Chamber of Deputies — Louis Blanc — Notable 
 members — Louis Blanc in England — Sevenoaks — “The 
 Crown” — Eliza Cook . . . • • 75 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Haddon Hall — The Vernons — L. E. L.’s criticism — Ightham 
 Mote — Expedition from Gravesend — Difficulties and how we 
 overcame them — Charles Landseer — History of the Mote — 
 Major Luard — Heraldic Arms — Horsley Castle — Old Kensing- 
 ton — Kensington Gardens — The gravel pits — William III. — 
 
 Yew hedges — Orme — Village of Kensington — Highwaymen — 
 General Graham’s adventure — His wife’s picture — Picture by 
 Sir Augustus Callcott — Effect of sunshine . . . 101 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Her Majesty Queen Victoria — Early memories — The young 
 Princess — The Empress Eugdnie — Miss Marianne Skerrett, 
 Dresser to the Queen — Portrait of the Princess Beatrice — 
 Birth of my son Victor — Walter taken to be inspected — 
 Interviews with the Queen — The Prince Consort — Sir G. 
 Cornewall Lewis — Edwin Landseer as a story-teller . .123 
 
CONTENTS xiii 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sir Henry Holland — Sidney Smith — Moore’s songs — Monckton 
 Milnes — William Rickman and George Maule — The abbey in 
 Knightsbridge — The Abbess’ dancing-class — The polka — 
 Denman — Scene at Strathfieldsaye . . . 140 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy — First visit to England — An in- 
 troduction to him — Extempore playing — His kindness — 
 Moscheles — Amusing duets — Henschel’s singing of St. Paul — 
 George Eliot — Mendelssohn at St. Paul’s — Walks in London 
 —Sundays at High Row— The Elijah — Joachim’s d£but — 
 Mendelssohn as an artist . . . . 151 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Isambard Kingdom Brunei — Parentage — Adventure at St. Paul’s 
 — As a Surrey yeoman — Thames Tunnel — Party of visitors — 
 Clifton Suspension Bridge — Visits to Wales — The “ Flying 
 Hearse” — Swallowing half a sovereign — Extract from Life : 
 Note I. — Letter from I. K. B. to his son . . . 169 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Uncle John — Visits to Newton’s Hotel — The Adelphi — T. P. 
 Cooke — The Kembles — Tableaux vivants — Adelaide Kemble 
 — Fanny Kemble — Taglioni — Duvernay — Henry Chorley — 
 Hamlet-— The fiasco — Peter Powell — The Castle of Altamont 
 — The Children of Israel — John Parry— Dinner at the Royal 
 Academy Club . . . . , .191 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Michael Faraday — Lectures on chemistry of colour— His personal 
 appearance — Expressions of faith — Huxley — Lectures at the 
 Royal Institution — The microbe — Huxley’s eloquence — His 
 admirers . . . . , . . 216 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Subject-painters Fashion in art — “ Chantrey Bequest ” — Hilton’s 
 use of asphaltum — Merritt’s skill as a restorer — Introduction 
 to Chantrey — Stothard as a designer — George Jones and the 
 Duke of Wellington— Thomas Webster as a chorister — 
 Technicalities — The Duke at public exhibitions — Mr. Young — 
 Discussion on Chinese white — Turner’s views — Frederick 
 Walker — David Roberts and French ultramarine — Turner’s 
 “ Snowdon Range ” — Turner as a critic . . . 224 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Cartoons — Notice to artists — Charcoal drawings — Munich School 
 — Cornelius as a critic of the amateur — “ Wrinkles ” — Competi- 
 tion awards — Poets’ Hall — Macaulay intervenes — Picture of 
 Henry V. as Prince of Wales . . ... 249 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Presidents of R.A. — Sir Thomas Lawrence — Sir Martin Archer 
 Shee — Sir Charles Locke Eastlake — Frescoes — Sir Francis 
 Grant — He defends his perspective — Lord Leighton — Sir 
 John Everett Millais — Academic hospitalities — Sir Edwin’s 
 stories . . . . ... 258 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Winter exhibitions — Fawkes of Farnley — Reception, failure, and 
 ultimate success — Turner’s study of nature — Treatment of 
 Turner in the National Gallery — Old Masters — “Our Mr. 
 Horsley” — Visit to Ireland — Three neglected galleries — Old 
 Dulwich College — Mr. Lindsay — My first cigar . . . 279 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Jim Bishop, a typical model — Cope takes him in hand — Before the 
 magistrates — Defence of Webster — Employed by Boxall — 
 Pigs’-wash — J. B. vanishes from the scene — April 10th, 1848 — 
 Special constables . . . ... 298 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 xv 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 London fogs — My adventures — Other outrages— Curious incident 313 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 City dinners — The Merchant Taylors — “Our datur” — Sir Julius 
 Benedict — The art of after-dinner speaking— My first after- 
 dinner speech at the Academy banquet — The Mansion House 
 — Lord O’Hagan and Harker — Charles Dickens’s speech — Sir 
 Richard Owen . . . ... 322 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Cranbrook — Willesley — Norman Shaw, R.A. — Friendly models 
 — Difficulties in finding models — Mr. Edmund Bastard — 
 Yealmpton — Proposed frescoes — Closing words . . . 338 
 
 Index 
 
 • 353 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The AUTHOR (photogravure) . . Frontispiece 
 
 From a Portrait by Walter C. Horsley. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Mall, Callcott Houses . ... 2 
 
 Mrs. Horsley (the Author’s Mother) in 1830 . . 4 
 
 From a Sketch by J. C. H. 
 
 William Horsley, Mus. Bac. Oxon. (the Author’s 
 
 Father) . . . ... 6 
 
 From a Drawing by J. C. H. 
 
 William Mulready, R.A. (photogravure) . . .18 
 
 From the Portrait by Sir Augustus Callcott, r.a., in the possession of the 
 Author. 
 
 Sir Augustus Callcott, R.A. (photogravure) . 64 
 
 From the Portrait by John Linnell, in the possession of the Author. 
 
 Lady Callcott (photogravure) . . 66 
 
 From a Sketch in oils by Sir Augustus Callcott, r.a., in the possession of 
 the Author. 
 
 Lurgenstein’s Garten, Leipzig, the House of Felix 
 
 Mendelssohn Bartholdy . . . 152 
 
 From a Drawing by Mendelssohn himself. 
 
 Leipzig, Konigs-Strasse, No. 5 . . . 166 
 
 From a Drawing by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy. 
 
 “Religion” . . ... 254 
 
 Sketch for Fresco in House of Lords. 
 
 The Author (photogravure) . . . . 310 
 
 From a Photograph. 
 
 WlLLESLEY, CRANBROOK . . ... 340 
 
 “No. i, High Row,” Kensington, from the Garden . 350 
 
 XVI 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF A 
 ROYAL ACADEMICIAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Parentage — The Mall— My Aunt Wall — “The Sweet Peas” — Early 
 recollections — Female Orphan Asylum — First visit to the opera 
 — My first school— My first ball — My first love. 
 
 M Y dear father, William Horsley, Mus. Bac., 
 Oxon., was known as one of the most famous 
 of English musicians. His glees were pronounced 
 by Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy to be among the 
 most perfect musical compositions he knew. My 
 dearest mother was the eldest daughter of Dr. 
 Callcott, also highly distinguished as a musician, 
 and for general literary power and marvellous 
 industry in the attainment of knowledge. The 
 Callcott family had been settled in Bayswater from 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 FAMILY ASSOCIATIONS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the early days of Queen Anne’s reign, when their 
 representative was a thriving builder, and had to do 
 with much of the later work at Kensington Palace. 
 Tradition says that he built the beautiful Orangery, 
 which has lately (1901) been restored, a work which 
 must have been originally designed by Sir Chris- 
 topher Wren. He also built a row of residences 
 in the Mall, Bayswater, for himself and members 
 of his family, which were pulled down some years 
 ago, and which were inhabited up to the time of 
 their demolition by descendants of the Callcott 
 family. Well do I remember many of the former 
 inhabitants of these old family houses, especially 
 so a grand old great-aunt, who was born in 1740, 
 and from whom I received a description of the 
 appearance of the Duke of Cumberland in 1745, 
 driving in a gig from the field of Culloden, in which' 
 vehicle he had travelled after the victory all the way 
 from the battlefield to Kensington Palace, the side 
 entrance to which was in the Mall in front of the 
 houses I am referring to. 
 
 Aunt Wall, as she was always called, lived to an 
 extreme old age ; she was five years old in the year 
 of Culloden, and always pointed out the window of 
 
THE CALLCOTT HOUSES IN THE MALL 
 
 (now pulled down) .To face page 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I] 
 
 “AUNT WALL” 
 
 3 
 
 the Callcott house at which she was held up to see 
 the “ Butcher ” Duke pass. 
 
 Another story Aunt Wall used to tell with even 
 more unction was an elaborate description of all 
 the young Kensington beaux, who used to await 
 her return from the morning service at Kensington 
 Church, in the Broad Walk of the Public Gardens. 
 These young swells were sometimes spoken of by 
 name, but generally dwelt upon as “the gentleman 
 in the vermilion coat, the pea-green, or the bright 
 blue,” as the fancy seized her. She never married, 
 and died, if I remember rightly, just short of her 
 full century, passing to her eternal rest in peaceful 
 happiness. Some years previous to her decease she 
 slipped on the back staircase of the Mall house in 
 which she lived, and fell some distance, breaking 
 one of her thigh bones. It was late in the after- 
 noon, when few of the occupants of the house were 
 at home, and she found that she could not move and 
 therefore must be gravely injured; so she lay quietly 
 as she fell, till someone using this back stair found 
 her perfectly calm, waiting for rescue. She was 
 carried to her bed, from which she was never again 
 able to rise. She was quite happy to have me 
 
4 
 
 THE CALLCOTTS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 sitting by her bedside and making many drawings 
 of her : one of them, which I think I may say was 
 a decidedly creditable performance, was filched from 
 my portfolio by some admirer, but never returned. 
 Never at any one of these morning sittings did she 
 fail to tell me at least once both the stories I have 
 already referred to. 
 
 The Callcotts were a good-looking race. Dr. 
 Callcott and his brother, Sir Augustus Wall 
 Callcott, r.a., were handsome men, the latter 
 being known as the “handsomest young man in 
 Kensington.” The doctors nine daughters were 
 all more or less good-looking. My mother, Betsy, 
 who was the eldest, and her charming sister Sophy, 
 were in their teens called “the Sweet Peas of 
 Kensington,” the one being a brunette and the 
 other a blonde of exquisite fairness. 
 
 My mother had inherited to a marked degree the 
 musical talent of her father, and was an admirable 
 musician. She had in many ways the artistic 
 temperament, and though she never drew, she was 
 a keen and delightful critic of my youthful efforts 
 in pictorial art. She was generally at my side 
 when I was drawing, and I well remember her 
 
MY MOTHER JN 1830 
 
 FROM A SKETCH BY J. C. H. 
 
 To face page \ 
 

I] 
 
 MY EARLY YEARS 
 
 5 
 
 kindly “ Now, John, I am sure that is not quite the 
 right proportion,” and similar remarks. I may add, 
 her criticisms were invariably correct. 
 
 No words can ever describe what we owed to our 
 mother. She was a holy woman, and the outcome 
 of her faith was her bright and sunny presence. 
 She was the true centre of the home life. 
 
 Our family consisted of my sister Mary, the eldest, 
 who afterwards married the great engineer Isambard 
 Brunei ; Fanny, who married a physician, Dr. Seth 
 Thompson ; myself, Sophy, who never married, 
 and my brother Charles, who was one of twins, and 
 who became a distinguished musician, but died 
 early in America. 
 
 I may record here a few personal recollections of 
 my first home in Brompton. One anecdote of my 
 infancy I have often heard told. I was a delicate 
 child and not expected to live. On one occasion a 
 neighbour calling to inquire noticed the blinds were 
 down, and in a properly lowered voice commented 
 on this fact to the maid who opened the door. 
 
 4 ‘Yes, ma’am,” was her answer, “ it’s because of the 
 sun.” The lady went quickly away and excited 
 the greatest commotion in Brompton Row by 
 
6 
 
 ASYLUM FOR FEMALE ORPHANS [chap. 
 
 spreading the news of my death, for I was at that 
 time the only son, and known to be treasured by 
 my parents, who were well known and widely loved 
 in the neighbourhood, and much sympathy was felt 
 until the mistake was rectified. 
 
 When I was four years old, my father was 
 organist to the Asylum for Female Orphans, which 
 was a stately building in the Westminster Bridge 
 Road (the site is now occupied by a Roman Catholic 
 church), and one Sunday he took me with him to 
 the morning service, and landed me in the organ- 
 loft. Everything was new and surprising to me, 
 and especially the crowd of buxom girls, at least 
 a hundred in number, all dressed alike, ranged right 
 and left of the organ, and who, when the organist 
 had played a bar or two of the morning hymn, sang 
 out with open mouths and such energy that I was 
 positively scared, and incontinently accompanied 
 the performance with a prolonged howl, upon which 
 my father, continuing to play the hymn accompani- 
 ment with one hand, supplied me promptly with 
 paper out of his capacious pocket, where he always 
 kept a store of backs of letters (the envelope had 
 not been invented then), and a silver pencil-case of 
 
MY FATHER 
 
 FROM A DRAWING BY J. C. H. 
 
 To face page $ 
 
I] 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF NELSON 
 
 7 
 
 heroic proportions, with which it was already a 
 habit of mine to scrawl, thus quieting me, and 
 giving undeniable evidence that the production of 
 pencil and paper was a recognised receipt for 
 quieting me in moments of undue excitement. 
 
 The asylum was surrounded by a delightful 
 garden, in which the girls were allowed to stroll, 
 and where they had their playground. All has 
 now vanished, and the ground is occupied by 
 St. Georges Cathedral and accompanying build- 
 ings. The grand old institution of the asylum was 
 moved to be reinstituted at Beddington, near 
 Croydon, in a fine old Jacobean house, which, with 
 its spacious grounds, was purchased by the trustees 
 for the asylum when they had been bought out 
 of Lambeth. 
 
 The most interesting fact connected with their 
 old building was that whenever Lord Nelson was 
 in London he always attended morning service on 
 Sundays at the asylum chapel, delighting so much 
 in the singing of the orphan girls. My father spoke 
 often of encountering the mighty little man walking 
 to the asylum on Sunday mornings, invariably 
 habited in a complete suit of black. 
 
8 
 
 REV. JOHN PITMAN 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Attractive preachers were usually chosen to 
 preach the sermons, but the only one I remember 
 was the Rev. John Pitman, whom we afterwards 
 knew well in Kensington. He was a most vigorous 
 and able clergyman and also an admirable private 
 tutor ; he was very droll and amusing and the 
 delight of all children. Dressed in a suit of grey 
 cloth, with breeches and gaiters to match, when 
 calling on my parents at breakfast-time, which he 
 often did, he would enter the room with a professed 
 imitation of Madame Taglioni, the great opera 
 dancer. The aspect of those grey buttoned legs 
 doing a pirouette is a delightful memory, it was so 
 irresistibly comic. He was a professor of elocution 
 and a powerful orator. I remember his winding up 
 a potent appeal for the deserving poor with this 
 peroration : “ I do not plead for those who will not 
 dig and to beg are not ashamed.” 
 
 The other Brompton memory I refer to was of 
 the astonishment I felt when my dear father 
 announced that a friend had given him a stage-box 
 at the opera that would hold us all, father and 
 mother and three children, the others being too 
 juvenile to be of the party. I was then five, and 
 

 
ERRATUM. 
 
 Page 9, line io, for “ Rossini” read “ Meyerbeer.” 
 
I] 
 
 FIRST VISIT TO THE OPERA 
 
 9 
 
 I fairly wearied my small brain with the effort to 
 imagine what sort of box it would be ; would it be 
 connected in any way with a stage-coach box with 
 which I was somewhat acquainted, or should we sit 
 in it with the lid down ? All these surmises I tried 
 to discuss with our nurse and nursery-maid. They 
 only laughed and said I should see all in good time. 
 
 I felt sure their reticence was only the result of 
 ignorance. Then came the astonishing develop- 
 ment of the mystery. The opera was Rossini’s 
 
 II Crociato in Egitto , with appropriate scenery and 
 decorations, which enchanted my young mind 
 (which had assimilated the box arrangements with- 
 out further question), but not so the voice of the 
 hero of the piece, Signor Velluti. Child as I was, I 
 had often been present at glee performances in my 
 father’s house when concert parties were going on, 
 and, with half of my small soul absolutely devoted 
 to music, had acquired the habit of remaining in 
 absolute silence without fidgeting when music was 
 going on. 
 
 Velluti’s voice was, as the Italians term it, “voce di 
 testa,” or head voice, artificially produced, and not 
 to be confused with the counter-tenor of England. 
 
IO 
 
 AN OBJECT OF AVERSION 
 
 [chap. 
 
 I can recall now the scene, presumably Cairo, 
 with boats on the Nile in the background, out of 
 one of which Velluti landed, and advancing to the 
 footlights, raised his left hand to his heart, and then 
 commenced a cavatina in tones very like a feminine 
 squeal, penetrating and painful. 
 
 Another early memory is the intense dislike I 
 took to a doctor of divinity, a relative of my 
 mother’s, who was a frequent visitor to our house. 
 It was his legs chiefly that roused my ire, encased 
 in black tights, over which he wore Hessian boots 
 with a tassel in front. He was to my mind un- 
 pleasingly red and “jowly” in the face, and being 
 a professional pedagogue, had a bad habit of asking 
 me provoking questions in elementary geography 
 and orthography and arithmetic. When many years 
 afterwards I became acquainted with an excellent 
 picture of Mulready’s, in the Sheepshanks Collec- 
 tion in South Kensington, I was greatly struck 
 with the resemblance of the principal figure to this 
 object of my aversion ; it is very likely that as 
 he was a connection of my mother’s family he was 
 known to Mulready, and may, indeed, have easily 
 been the model for the picture. 
 
I] 
 
 MY FIRST SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 i 
 
 When I was six years old we migrated to No. i, 
 High Row, Kensington Gravel Pits, where I am 
 still living at the time of writing these memories. 
 
 I went as a day-boarder to a school near by when 
 I was seven years old, the buildings of which are 
 now turned to the use of the Carmelite Monastery 
 and Kensington Dispensary, and the area of the 
 Roman Catholic church now occupies what was 
 once the school playground with a fine row of elm 
 trees. Mr. Edward Slater was the headmaster for 
 many years, and a good one. 
 
 Among my schoolfellows was a pretty little fair- 
 haired boy, the son of the poet Shelley, afterwards 
 known as Sir Percy Bysshe Shelley. There was 
 also Edward, the elder brother of the present Sir 
 John Tenniel. Tenniel’ s father was our instructor 
 in fencing and dancing. It was in teaching his son 
 John to fence that the accident took place which 
 destroyed the sight of one eye. Perhaps it is not 
 generally known that this distinguished artist has 
 done all his elaborate and excellent work thus handi- 
 capped. Mr. Tenniel, the father, was a first-rate 
 dancing-master, and I was an apt pupil, showing at 
 that age a decided taste for the Terpsichorean art. 
 
12 
 
 MY ONLY FIGHT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 I remember distinctly being chosen to do solo per- 
 formances on prize-giving days, and being trotted 
 out to dance reels and hornpipes, etc. I was under 
 the painful impression for many years that the only 
 prize I ever gained at school was for dancing, till 
 comparatively lately, when I, to my great satisfaction 
 and consolation, found that I possessed a classical 
 volume, awarded me for proficiency in the Latin 
 tongue ! 
 
 One incident that has left a strong impression on 
 my memory was the first and only fight that I ever 
 had at school. We were all assembled, hanging 
 about in the playground waiting for the dinner-bell. 
 I may say we were well fed at this school — the day 
 was Friday — always signalised by excellent beef- 
 steak pies. A boy about my own age came quietly 
 up to me with a black bottle of a considerable size 
 in his hand, and asked me to taste his physic. I 
 assented, whereupon he tilted the bottle up, which 
 contained lamp-oil he had filched from the lamp- 
 room, and the contents were poured partly down 
 my throat and the rest over my clothes. I went 
 for him on the spot con motto fnoco , and rage 
 gave strength to my blows. However, the dinner- 
 
I] 
 
 A “BARRING-OUT 
 
 13 
 
 bell rang, the boys all bolted to the beefsteak pies, 
 and we, the combatants, were separated by our 
 backers, and taken in to be as much cleaned up as 
 circumstances permitted. 
 
 Being a day-boarder, I only came in for a second- 
 ary share in a great “barring-out.” Some of the 
 masters had offended the senior boarders, who 
 surreptitiously provisioned their rooms, and ran up 
 a big bill with the carpenter for boarding up at 
 night the rooms of the magisterial staff in a very 
 thorough way, the headmaster and his wife being 
 complete prisoners in their chamber for several 
 hours. The ultimate defeat of the rebels was 
 decisive, and their punitive castigation general and 
 emphatic, and decidedly awe-inspiring to the minds 
 of the small day-boarders. 
 
 Our dear father and mother very early introduced 
 their children into society. When I was ten or 
 eleven we were invited to a large ball in Russell 
 Square, given by old friends of the family. I re- 
 member we were the first of the guests to arrive, 
 and we stood about the empty ballroom for some 
 time till there were sundry arrivals, when the lady 
 of the house came up to our group and said, “Now 
 
14 
 
 MY FIRST BALL 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 I think we may begin a quadrille.” I believed my- 
 self to be armed at all points as a cavalier for the 
 ballroom, and I remember looking carefully round 
 and fixing my affections on a fine, handsome crea- 
 ture, really old enough to be my mother, and de- 
 liberately walking up to her, buttoning my gloves 
 as I went, I made her what I believed to be a very 
 polished bow, and said, “ May I have the pleasure 
 of this quadrille?” and well do I remember my thrill 
 of horror when she looked at me with the most 
 beaming good nature in her face and said, “Yes, 
 my dear, if you like.” I felt as if the ground 
 would open and swallow me up, to be called “my 
 dear” in this fashion. 
 
 My bosom friend at this period of my life was a 
 cousin who was three years my senior, Willy Buckley 
 by name. We were always together whenever we 
 could be. At this time there came to England a 
 French family with special introduction to my family. 
 M. Granet was a pastor of the French Protestant 
 Church in New Orleans, with one fair daughter 
 Eugenie. To our eyes (those of Willy and myself) 
 she was overwhelmingly fair, but we never con- 
 fessed our hidden passion to each other. From 
 
I] 
 
 MY FIRST LOVE 
 
 15 
 
 the beginning I felt that the weight of his three 
 years was likely to tell greatly in favour of my rival, 
 as my cousin now became, for the favour of Eugenie 
 Granet. The climax came at a party given in this 
 very house. I was on the look-out for the young 
 lady, but as it happened I first opened the door to 
 my cousin. My heart sank within me. He was 
 arrayed in a new jacket and waistcoat of bright 
 blue and shining white trousers, altogether a most 
 effective costume. From that moment I felt that 
 all was up with me and that I should never be 
 able to retrieve the lost ground he now occupied. 
 Fate ordained a pathetic close to my first love story. 
 Eugenie’s father was suddenly recalled with his 
 family to New Orleans, and after a time she was 
 seized with one of those terrible South American 
 fevers and passed away. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Drawing proclivities — The Mulreadys — My career settled — Sass’s 
 Academy — Sir Thomas Lawrence — William Hilton — Early 
 pictures — Medal for the antique — Damson cheese. 
 
 M Y drawing proclivities increased day by day, 
 and I may be said to have acquired the 
 position of portrait draughtsman in ordinary to the 
 united families of Callcotts and Horsleys by the 
 time I was eleven or twelve years old. My chief 
 workshop in those days was the garden in front of 
 the Callcott houses, and “ the throne"’ for my sitters 
 was the garden roller, which gave the desired 
 elevation, though it was of somewhat precarious 
 stability. One of my most assiduous sitters 
 was my dear mother, and another her youngest 
 brother, William H. Callcott, dear, delightful uncle 
 and most excellent man. At that time he was 
 engaged to the lady who became his wife, and 
 his demands for portraits of himself to forward to 
 
 16 
 
chap, ii] FIRST LESSONS IN DRAWING 17 
 
 her were very frequent. One favourite mode with 
 him of inciting me to increased energy and care 
 with these wonderful works of art was putting his 
 hands in both pockets and creating sounds of 
 metallic ringing with the loose coinage therein, and 
 saying, “ Now, John, if you take extreme pains with 
 this drawing, I shall give you — ah ! something that 
 will astonish you,” but as far as my memory serves 
 me, I never had more intimate acquaintance with 
 the coinage than was revealed by the clinking sound 
 before mentioned. 
 
 At that time I had a few lessons in drawing 
 from Paul Mulready, the eldest son of William 
 Mulready, the admirable artist and Royal Academ- 
 ician. His father had been settled for some time 
 as a leathern breeches maker in a shop in Bays- 
 water, which was situated in the Bayswater Road 
 between Silver Street and the Mall. The family 
 had come over from Ireland some time before. 
 The Mulreadys were a wild lot, devoted to the 
 pugilistic art, and father and son would often 
 practise it, in the shop among the leather breeches, 
 stripped to the waist and giving their blows in right 
 down earnest. 
 
i8 
 
 MULREADY’S MARRIAGE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 William the son married the sister of John Varley, 
 the water-colour painter, with whose family the 
 Mulreadys held frequent intercourse. When he 
 was sixteen he and his ladylove went to a clergy- 
 man to arrange for their marriage, but the worthy 
 priest was astounded at their juvenile aspect and 
 absolutely declined to marry them, saying they must 
 at all events wait for another year. This they did, 
 and were then married. The outcome of that union 
 was the addition of four sons to the Mulready 
 family — Paul, Michael, William, and John. The 
 marriage was, however, never a really happy one ; 
 dissensions soon arose, and in the course of tinie 
 reached such a pitch that a separation was advised 
 even by their best friends, chief of whom was David 
 Wilkie, who grieved much in his good honest 
 Scotch way over their differences. 
 
 Mulready himself behaved like the courteous 
 gentleman he always was. He took rooms for his 
 wife and appointed a time when he personally 
 conducted her to them, she taking his offered arm. 
 During the progress they met their friend David 
 Wilkie, who held up his hands in delighted as- 
 tonishment at the sight, then grasped theirs while 
 
' 
 
 ^JcUAer Qlh.Sc. 
 
 C CVillicurb , 4QreaJy.$LA. 
 
II] 
 
 HIS GENEROSITY 
 
 19 
 
 he exclaimed in his broad Scotch, “ Now, my dear 
 friends, this is just what I wanted to see,” little 
 thinking that at that moment they were about to 
 part literally for ever; for though they both lived to 
 a great age, in the Kensington district, it is believed 
 that they never met again, though she used to watch 
 for his passing and always told her grandchildren 
 when she had seen him. 
 
 I remember a characteristic incident in later days 
 which thoroughly showed Mulready’s kind heart. 
 We were near neighbours and used often to meet, 
 and if ever I wanted advice over my pictures, I 
 used to get it from him as well as from Callcott. 
 On one such occasion he answered my request for 
 his counsel with such overflowingly warm protests 
 of affection (he was impulsively Irish in his ways), 
 that in a spirit of fun I said in answer to his 
 repeated “ Why, I would do anything for you, 
 John,” “Well, would you lend me ten pounds?” 
 His kind face was at once clouded, his speech 
 broken at the thought of my imagined poverty, 
 and he stammered out his willing acquiescence. 
 Naturally I felt overcome at the result of my 
 poor joke, and had difficulty in explaining that 
 I had not meant my request seriously. 
 
20 
 
 A FIGHTING FAMILY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Mulready was in his own fashion an affectionate 
 and excellent father, but after this painful break in 
 the family circle the four high-spirited, wild Irish 
 boys were of necessity much left to themselves ; 
 and as they were all of the same pugnacious nature, 
 a good deal of their time seems to have gone in 
 fighting each other and the Kensington gamins. 
 
 Their house was cold and comfortless, as one would 
 expect, and partly to warm themselves, apparently, 
 they developed a strong taste for dancing of a some- 
 what original character, including the most amazing 
 performance of “ cutting capers,” with which, when 
 they went to dances a little later on, they electrified 
 their partners. They would, perhaps in the process 
 of “ setting ” in a quadrille, spring high in the air, 
 performing several astonishing capers and some- 
 times alighting on their partners’ toes. (The figures 
 in Mulready’s inimitably painted and life-like picture, 
 called “The Fight Interrupted,” were painted from 
 these boys.) 
 
 I remember later on, when they were grown up, 
 and all of them earning their living by drawing and 
 teaching drawing, that on one occasion I was walk- 
 ing with Sir Augustus Callcott and Mulready pere 
 
II] 
 
 PAUL AND THE DROVER 
 
 21 
 
 under the beautiful elm trees that then skirted the 
 pathway in front of the Callcott Houses, when a 
 drover passed by with his cattle, one of which he 
 was ill-treating in a horrid fashion, Mulready turned 
 round and began taking the brute severely to task 
 for his cruelty, on which the drover retaliated by 
 a stream of abuse mingled with threats of “ knock- 
 ing his head off.” Mulready’s fighting days were 
 over, but just then there appeared on the scene his 
 son Paul, immaculately dressed, as somehow these 
 young men always were, and portfolio under arm, on 
 his way to give a drawing lesson. Hearing the 
 position of affairs, without one word but “Take 
 this ” to his father, as he thrust the portfolio in his 
 hands, he “went for” the drover, who, to his as- 
 tonishment, found himself doubled up and in the 
 hedge in no time, while Paul, unruffled, resumed his 
 portfolio and went on his way. 
 
 It is sometimes quite amazing to me how on the 
 whole I have got through life, I may say satisfac- 
 torily, with so little of what is usually known as educa- 
 tion. It evidently became early apparent that it was 
 the artistic bent in my nature which would pay best 
 for cultivation, and on the, to me, important question 
 
22 
 
 I DECIDE TO BE AN ARTIST [cH ap. 
 
 of where and how this should be done, Mulready 
 and Callcott were solemnly consulted, and a morn- 
 ing was fixed for them both to come to this old 
 house to interview myself and my parents on the 
 subject. 
 
 It is a curious fact that though I had got it 
 quite into my mind that I was to be an artist, my 
 views had recently been somewhat unsettled. A 
 young relative of my father s, who was in the Navy, 
 had come to stay with us for a week or two, during 
 which time, under his guidance, I had taken vigor- 
 ously to ship-drawing, the effect of which was not 
 to suggest my turning my attention to marine art, 
 but to becoming a sailor. Therefore, when these 
 two great Royal Academicians put it seriously to me 
 whether I really felt inclined to take to the study of 
 so difficult a profession as painting, I exhibited con- 
 siderable hesitation in reply, evidently to my parents’ 
 supreme astonishment. However, some guardian 
 angel was at hand, who kept me to my original 
 intention, and, after a mental struggle, I answered 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 The consultation was soon finished. I had come 
 in with my hand full of marbles, and when Sir 
 
II] 
 
 SASS’S ACADEMY 
 
 23 
 
 Augustus had departed, Mulready stayed and had 
 a vigorous game with me of “ knuckle-down ” on 
 the drawing-room floor. 
 
 They were unanimous in the decision that I must 
 be placed in Sass’s Academy, then the great pre- 
 paratory school for the Royal Academy. The 
 school was in Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury Square, 
 and the day of my first appearance there I bowled 
 a hoop all the way to Tyburn Gate, now the Marble 
 Arch, where was a turnpike gate right across the 
 road, and on my stating my case to the keeper 
 thereof, he allowed me to leave my hoop in his 
 charge till my return. I was then in my thirteenth 
 year. The school was a large building with a long- 
 corridor, off which were the little rooms which Sass 
 called the “Studii” for the separate use of the 
 advanced students, and at the end was a large round 
 room with a vaulted roof. Sass was eaten up with 
 vanity, and had a most unwarrantably high opinion of 
 his merits as an artist, which were absolutely nil ; 
 he used periodically to send a new portrait of him- 
 self by himself to the Royal Academy, and out of 
 kindliness it was sometimes hung and entered in 
 the catalogue as the “ portrait of a gentleman/’ 
 
24 
 
 AN ACADEMY CUSTOM 
 
 [chap. 
 
 On one occasion a critic altered the title : “ This is 
 not the portrait of a gentleman, it is the portrait of 
 Sass.” He wore the most extravagant waistcoats 
 of cut velvet, and his manner was extraordinarily 
 pompous. In showing visitors the galleries he 
 always carefully informed ladies that the chief upper 
 studio already referred to was built on a reduced 
 scale in the protv'-^’ons of the Pantheon at Rome, 
 in which he asserted that all Roman ladies liked to 
 be seen by their lovers, the angle of light being 
 peculiarly favourable to their charms. 
 
 There were several small customs to be observed 
 on ones entry as a student. One of these was the 
 enforced production of half a crown, which was 
 expended in pastry obtained in Great Russell Street 
 close at hand. This proceeding was considerably 
 resented by some of the students, who considered it 
 childish nonsense. One of these, a man of a certain 
 age, refused to conform to this practice, and to 
 show it was not for the sake of the half-crown, he 
 slipped the coin through a hole in the floor, which 
 caused some of us to lose half a day in trying to 
 recover it, which we ultimately did. 
 
 The schools were not infrequently visited by the 
 
II] 
 
 SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE 
 
 25 
 
 President of the Royal Academy, Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence, in connection with whom I must here 
 relate a story concerning the first and the most 
 grievous of my professional disappointments. 
 
 Hanging upstairs at the present moment is a 
 drawing I made of my aunt Sophy, the fair 
 “ Sweet Pea,” which 1 venture to think is a very 
 creditable performance for a youngster of twelve. 
 My great-uncle Callcott, to whom I took it for his 
 criticism one morning, was unusually pleased, and 
 being a man of very few words, especially when 
 praise was required, said, “ Now, John, Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence is coming to a party here this evening, 
 and by-the-by your father and mother are ex- 
 pected ; you can come too, and bring this drawing 
 with you, and I will ask Lawrence to look at it.” 
 
 I need not say that I left in a heart-jubilant 
 condition, and all went well, the drawing was shown 
 as proposed, and nothing could be kinder than the 
 interest Sir Thomas showed in it. He finished by 
 inviting me to breakfast with him, and then re- 
 ferring to a portly pocket-book bound in limp scarlet 
 leather with strap and buckle, out of which I 
 remember a whole budget of notes fluttered down, 
 
2 6 
 
 A GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 dainty-looking missives on tinted paper, invitations of 
 all kinds, appointments with sitters, etc., he said, “ I 
 fear I have no vacant morning till this day fort- 
 night. Come then to breakfast at nine o’clock, and 
 we will have an hour or two with my Old Master 
 drawings.” His collection, as most of my readers 
 will know, was a most valuable one. 
 
 It may be imagined that I thought of nothing else 
 but the prospect of this delightful morning, which 
 was, of course, an immense honour to a child as 
 I was, but alas ! it never came off. A few mornings 
 before the date the courtly and handsome President 
 was found dead in his painting-room. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence was, it may not be known, 
 the son of an innkeeper at Bath, and had received 
 a very limited education ; his appearance was most 
 imposing, and George IV., when Prince Regent, 
 observed that he was the most distinguished gentle- 
 man in manner and appearance about his Court. 
 
 I was an industrious student, and won various 
 prizes and medals awarded by the Society of Arts 
 and other societies. I remember distinctly receiving 
 one of these prizes at the hand of a very well-known 
 character, “Joey Hume,” a member of Parliament 
 
II] 
 
 ADMISSION TO THE R. A. 
 
 27 
 
 famous for his economic action in the House of 
 Commons, and the inventor of the fourpenny-piece, 
 hence called “Joeys,” now dismissed from the 
 coinage of our country. 
 
 After I had been at Sass’s for two years, going 
 only three days a week and studying with a tutor at 
 home for the other three, I sent in drawings for 
 admission to the Royal Academy as probationer. 
 In this I was happily successful, and at once began 
 to make drawings for the studentship, which I 
 obtained at the end of the three months allotted for 
 the necessary drawings. 
 
 William Hilton, one of the most excellent of artists 
 and men, was then Keeper of the Royal Academy. 
 I and all my fellow-students retain the most grate- 
 ful recollections and profound respect for his memory. 
 At that time the encouragement of living artists 
 was small indeed, except in the case of one or two 
 favoured ones, and Hilton being always devoted to 
 the highest class of historical painting had a hard 
 struggle for existence. He was most faithful in the 
 performance of his academic duties, and showed 
 great personal interest in the students, especially in 
 those who were working hard and taking pains. 
 
28 
 
 “RIVAL MUSICIANS” 
 
 [chap. 
 
 At this period I commenced a little mild exhibit- 
 ing in the form of sending a small picture or two 
 to the British Institution. One that is now in the 
 Sheepshanks Gallery in South Kensington, called 
 “ Rival Musicians,” attracted Hilton’s notice, and 
 on the varnishing day he spoke to me in the kindest 
 way about it, and said he looked to me to be a really 
 successful artist. In the autumn of that year I 
 joined the competition in the antique school of the 
 Royal Academy. I may mention that in alternate 
 years only one medal was given, and this was the 
 “ one-medal year,” and the competition in those 
 days was very keen and the competitors numerous. 
 
 On the night of the distribution of honours we 
 were hanging about before we went into the great 
 theatre where they were presented. 
 
 The access to Hilton’s rooms at Somerset House 
 opened on to the great staircase, and when he came 
 out to go up to the theatre, we all drew up and 
 received him with the genuine love and respect we 
 felt. As he walked hurriedly past us, and catching 
 my eye, he said, “ Well, Horsley, are you very 
 anxious ? ” and when he passed on, the student to 
 whom I had been talking said, “Well, now, Horsley, 
 
II] 
 
 MEDAL IN THE ANTIQUE 
 
 29 
 
 I am sure you have got the medal, the Keeper 
 would not have said that otherwise.” Then came 
 the anxious moment, for no one knew anything 
 about the award till the actual moment of presenta- 
 tion came, when the successful candidate must be 
 mentioned. 
 
 The one student of whose competition I was 
 really afraid was a dear friend of mine. Though 
 three years my senior, he is a more active man now 
 than I am. He is one of the many men whom I 
 have known whose artistic career has been spoiled 
 by the possession of a small competence and simple 
 habits. To another of these I have sometimes said 
 in old days, “ If you had only been a little vicious, 
 wicked, and extravagant, my dear fellow, and got 
 rid of that wretched income of yours, so that you 
 really stood in weekly awe of your butchers and 
 bakers, you would have been a most notable painter 
 of landscapes.” 
 
 To return to the award. Our worthy President, 
 Sir Martin Archer Shee, p. r.a., had a very pre- 
 sidential aspect, for he always appeared in knee 
 breeches and silk stockings at all Academy 
 functions, duly groomed with full attention to shirt- 
 
30 
 
 MY REWARD 
 
 [CHAP. II 
 
 frills, etc. His voice was excellent, and delivery 
 good. So when it came to the moment that he 
 said in solemn tones, “The medal in the antique is 
 awarded to Mr.” — then a long pause — “ John ” — my 
 rival’s name* — another pause — “Callcott” — safe at 
 last — “ Horsley,” I was greeted with genuine cheers 
 of congratulation by my fellow-students, and I 
 eventually walked home with a man whom I then 
 knew but little, but who became my bosom friend 
 until his death, Thomas Webster, afterwards Royal 
 Academician, the most genial of friends and painters. 
 He and I took our way home together, and great 
 was the pleasure of my father and mother when I 
 announced my success. I should say that in that 
 walk I never took my hand off the medal in its 
 case, which I tightly clasped till I handed it over to 
 my dear mother. She in the warmth of her heart 
 offered me the varied contents of her larder, from 
 which I was to choose my supper ! Damson cheese 
 was my selection ; the simplicity of this choice 
 amusingly illustrates my juvenility on the occasion. 
 I was then approaching my fifteenth birthday. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Theatrical performances — “King Death 55 — Barry Cornwall — Sophy’s 
 opera — Sir Benjamin Hawes — A runaway steed — Walking 
 powers — Strauss waltzes — Our walk to Windsor. 
 
 were greatly given to theatrical perform- 
 
 ances, which were of an original kind, as 
 
 we scorned acting anything that we had not 
 ourselves composed, and just at the time of one of 
 Mendelssohns visits my sister Sophy, then aged 
 sixteen, had finished an opera called The 
 Magician , for which I painted the scenery and 
 performed the title role. My scenery, painted on 
 some of the domestic sheeting, was carefully pre- 
 served by my admiring mother putting it away : it 
 was discovered but a very few years ago, of course 
 rotten to the core, so that there was nothing for it 
 but to destroy it all. The performance was to 
 consist of the opera followed by an afterpiece called 
 “ King Death,” a short poem of Procter’s (whose nom- 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 PROCTER'S 46 KING DEATH ” 
 
 [chap. 
 
 de-plume was “ Barry Cornwall ”), which Chevalier 
 Neukomm had set to music. The Chevalier 
 Neukomm was an intimate friend of Talleyrand, 
 who was at this time Ambassador for France to 
 England, and living in Hanover Square. Neu- 
 komm was supposed to be acting as Private 
 Secretary to Talleyrand in a friendly capacity and 
 was living with the Prince. He was a most 
 courteous old gentleman, and a very industrious 
 and confident musical amateur. He thought him- 
 self a great musician, which he was not, but he 
 wrote some popular songs, such as the music for 
 Barry Cornwall’s 
 
 “ The sea, the sea, the open sea, 
 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! ” 
 
 My singing voice having at this time broken from 
 its youthful treble, was just settling down into a 
 baritone, and this song, “ King Death,” was one of 
 my chevattx de bataille : its capacity for dramatic 
 rendering will be shown by this quotation : — 
 
 “ King Death was a merry old fellow, 
 
 Who sat where no sun could shine, 
 
 And lifted his hand so yellow 
 For a draught of coal-black wine. 
 
Ill] 
 
 ISAMBARD BRUNEL’S PART 
 
 33 
 
 “ There came to him many a maiden 
 Whose eyes had forgot to shine, 
 
 And widows with grief o’erladen 
 For a draught of his coal-black wine. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Hurrah for the coal-black wine ! ” 
 
 Sophy was dressed as King Death in a black 
 crape robe, upon which was sewn an outline skele- 
 ton in silver braid ; she wore a black crown, and in 
 this character received the dramatis persona. 
 
 Isambard Brunei, who married my sister Mary, 
 and who was an invaluable help on these theatrical 
 occasions, somewhat startled us by insisting on 
 having the part of the widow assigned to him. He 
 did it most admirably and to the extraordinary 
 amusement of the whole audience. But we never 
 reckoned with the possibility of its not being in 
 harmony with the feeling of the poets wife, who 
 instead of recognising the whole thing as an amusing 
 childish freak, felt it to be a serious insult to her 
 husband’s poetic fame; and whilst the audience was 
 engaged in frantic applause at the conclusion of this 
 woeful afterpiece, she rose up in her wrath and in a 
 few most unpleasant sentences uttered her protest 
 
34 
 
 SIR BENJAMIN HAWES 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 and stalked out of the room, accompanied by her 
 charming and good-natured husband, who had 
 laughed uproariously and thoroughly enjoyed the 
 whole thing, and who protested in vain against her 
 attitude. Their gifted daughter Adelaide also did 
 her best to soothe her mothers wounded feelings, 
 but with no effect. 
 
 Mendelssohn, I remember, had shared the great 
 Georgian sofa, which was called the royal box,. with 
 the Procters. He was greatly pleased with the 
 opera, and borrowed the score from the juvenile 
 composer. 
 
 My sisters marriage with the son of Sir Isambard 
 Brunei had brought our family into intimate connec- 
 tion with the Hawes, the eldest of the Brunei 
 daughters having married Benjamin, afterwards Sir 
 Benjamin Hawes. His father was a soap-boiler in 
 the district of Lambeth, and his grandfather was 
 Dr. B. Hawes, a distinguished physician, who 
 founded the Royal Humane Society in the early 
 part of the eighteenth century, and got the Duke 
 of Wellington to open publicly the Receiving 
 House in Hyde Park. Two pictures, by Smirke, r.a., 
 illustrate this event. 
 
Ill] 
 
 SOAP-BOILING AND CULTURE 
 
 35 
 
 It is quite curious to connect so much charm and 
 culture with the business of soap-boiling, but the 
 house itself was a striking exemplification of the 
 incongruity. The house stood in the Commercial 
 Road, Lambeth, the haunt of costers and their 
 carts, and the smell of saponaceous matter on soap- 
 boiling days was terribly trying and never to be 
 forgotten ; but once inside, the house, with its books, 
 pictures, and works of art generally, was one of the 
 most delightful possible. The works of Patrick 
 Nasmyth, the great landscape painter, brother of 
 the “steam-hammer man,” were a great feature on 
 the walls. Sir Benjamin was very much interested 
 in that able sculptor, Lough, and he had a really 
 very fine group of horses, as described in the play 
 of Macbeth — - 
 
 “ And Duncan’s horses — a thing most strange and certain, 
 Beauteous and swift — the minions of their race, 
 
 Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
 Contending ’gainst obedience, as they would make 
 War with mankind. 
 
 ’Tis said they eat each other. 
 
 They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes 
 That look’d upon ’t.” 
 
 Sir B. Hawes had two brothers, Thomas and 
 
36 
 
 EQUESTRIAN EXPERIENCES 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 William, and Thomas had the entire management of 
 the stables for the family and the trade, being saga- 
 cious in horseflesh and a mighty hunter. He was an 
 energetic officer in the Surrey Yeomanry to boot, 
 and known for his laconic speech and decision of 
 character. “John, can you ride?” he asked one 
 day. “Well, when I was in Somersetshire last 
 year I mounted a pony, who promptly ran away 
 with me and soon threw me,” I replied, “and this 
 happened several times during my visit.” “A good 
 beginning,” said Hawes. “Come at three to-morrow, 
 and I will give you a riding lesson.” This was an 
 enchanting prospect. When I arrived punctually 
 to the minute, an old grey, of whose prowess in the 
 hunting-field I had heard much, was brought out. 
 I knew better, despite momentary qualms, than to 
 question friend Tom’s judgment in choosing a nag 
 of over sixteen hands for my first essay, so I pro- 
 ceeded to climb up the animal’s side with the aid of 
 the groom, and we went at a walk down the Com- 
 mercial Road, Lambeth, across Westminster Bridge, 
 and by the Birdcage Walk to Hyde Park and Rotten 
 Row. The old horse knew his master’s voice and 
 was obedient to his lightest word, and much as he 
 
Ill] 
 
 A RUNAWAY STEED 
 
 37 
 
 desired to join the galloping nags that passed us in 
 the Row, he kept to his sober paces, and I reached 
 home without any mishap. On the next occasion 
 I was allowed to trot, and very soon I was careering 
 up and down the Row in wild gallops, for in those 
 days no policemen regulated the pace of the riders. 
 I never think of Tom Hawes and the old grey with- 
 out grateful remembrance of his riding lessons ; 
 being able to accept a “mount” from friends has 
 enabled me to enjoy many a beautiful place which 
 I should never otherwise have seen. One art I did 
 not learn was swimming, and I now consider that 
 that is one of the things that every boy should learn 
 on the first opportunity. 
 
 One afternoon we had just left Barge House, and 
 I was mounted upon a young horse, while Tom was 
 riding the grey. My steed was fidgety, and at the 
 moment I had carelessly dropped the snaffle rein 
 while I fumbled over a glove button, when one of 
 those pests, an organ-grinder, suddenly started his 
 instrument of torture ; this was too much for the 
 nerves of my horse, who started violently, and then 
 bolted down Stamford Street and across Blackfriars 
 Bridge. I snatched at the rein and inwardly groaned 
 
38 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 at the omission of the double bridle; all this was the 
 work of a moment. Meanwhile Tom Hawes, not 
 yielding to the desire of the old grey to join the 
 chase, which he well knew would only increase the 
 panic of my runaway, pulled up and followed cau- 
 tiously, awaiting what he feared was an inevitable 
 catastrophe. Luckily I did not lose my presence of 
 mind ; I soon found myself in sight of the Black- 
 friars Bridge Road, which was full of carts and 
 carriages; my feet were pushed home in the stirrups, 
 and I was deliberately sawing with the snaffle at the 
 mouth of my scared beast in the earnest hope of 
 stopping his wild career, but without any effect. I 
 knew what the result must be if I charged the mass 
 of vehicles ahead, so I determined to throw myself off 
 in the comparatively empty Stamford Street. I shook 
 my feet free of the stirrups, and clinging to the pom- 
 mel, was in the act of sliding off the beast’s shoulder 
 when he took a clean jump with me from the road 
 on to the pavement, where there was an iron-tipped 
 post, under the shelter of which was an old Irish- 
 woman’s apple- stall. He got rid of me so cleverly 
 that I was decanted on the cap of the post, which, 
 being pointed, caught the waistband buckle of my 
 
Ill] 
 
 TOM HAWES 1 ADVICE 
 
 39 
 
 trousers and tore the leg of the garment from the 
 waist to the ankle. Thence I fell flat on the pave- 
 ment, and the steed jumped over my carcase. With 
 youth in my favour and mercy in attendance, I was 
 on my feet at once, to find Tom with my runaway 
 in hand, having caught him when he had finally 
 shaken me free. Recognising the old grey and his 
 master, he had no objection to joining their com- 
 pany again and returning to Barge House, which 
 was close at hand. There I was examined by T. 
 Hawes and was found to be uninjured, which was 
 really a marvel, for there were all the elements of 
 frightful agony and sudden death in the accident. 
 
 Curiously enough, all this had taken place in 
 front of a doctor’s house, who, with a proper eye 
 to business, came running out to offer his services, 
 but, being utterly uninjured, all I could do for him 
 was to direct his attention to the old lady at the 
 apple stall, who, overcome by her fright, had 
 swooned away among the debris of her stock-in- 
 trade. I need not say there was considerable 
 excitement among the onlookers. Tom was quite 
 equal to the occasion ; when I led my nag to the 
 stable, he thus adjured me : “ Now, you look here, 
 
40 
 
 THE FIRST OMNIBUS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Mr. John, if you don’t turn up to-morrow afternoon 
 to ride that same horse, only he shall have a curb 
 as well as a snaffle, I will never give you a mount 
 again as long as you live.” 
 
 That was truly wise counsel, which needless to 
 say I followed out. 
 
 I was born with a malformed right foot, which 
 however was successfully operated on within a few 
 hours of birth by Sir Richard Keate, one of the 
 chief surgeons of St. George’s Hospital, and I was 
 afterwards treated to an iron boot. This, I can 
 remember, I was able to dispense with when I was 
 nine years old, and, indeed, I was a champion runner 
 at Slater’s School, already mentioned, and soon be- 
 came an indomitable walker. Walking was then 
 the only means of locomotion for the impecunious. 
 These were the days before the appearance of 
 omnibuses in the streets of London. I remember 
 clearly, as an event of yesterday, seeing the first 
 omnibus on the Kensington Road with the name of 
 Shillibier upon it. It was drawn by three horses 
 abreast, and was said to be the speculation of a 
 French company. It was certainly the beginning 
 of a mighty change in the London streets. The 
 
Ill] 
 
 MY LOVE OF WALKING 
 
 4i 
 
 general public were dependent upon the “stage- 
 coaches,” abbreviated specimens of the long coaches 
 that went long distances into every corner of 
 England (the United Kingdom). 
 
 Residents on the Great Western Road, as the 
 road running through Kensington, Hammersmith, 
 and Hounslow was called, might avail themselves 
 of splendidly horsed four-horse coaches, if there 
 happened to be vacant seats. The fare from 
 Kensington Church to the White Horse Cellar, 
 Piccadilly, was is. 60 !., and this was prohibitive to 
 most young fellows. When I became an Academy 
 student, I used to walk the entire distance to and 
 fro to my Alma Mater at Somerset House twice 
 each day, for I had so great a dislike to the cook- 
 shops that 1 preferred to come home for the midday 
 meal, and this made the distance I had to cover 
 about eight or ten miles. I have no recollection of 
 ever feeling overtired. As a companion in the 
 morning I usually had a member of the Barlow 
 family in Kensington Square. We used to take 
 a straight, unbroken road to Apsley House inside 
 the park. There would sometimes be others, of 
 course, taking the same route, and we used to amuse 
 
42 
 
 A WALKING RACE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 ourselves by walking races with men — whom we 
 overtook or who overtook us — with whom perhaps 
 we did not exchange a single word, so that we 
 called our contests “ silent races.” 
 
 One morning with considerable difficulty we out- 
 paced a man older than ourselves, and when I was 
 coming home in the evening, rather late (it being 
 lecture night), but in brilliant moonlight, I happened 
 to see the same man in front of me. He was walk- 
 ing at a great pace, and I had to put on some extra 
 steam to overtake him. The recognition was 
 mutual, and apparently we both made up our minds 
 to win or die in a final attempt at victory. Almost 
 step for step, sometimes one gaining a little and 
 sometimes the other, all the way from Apsley House 
 we went along by the side of the solid brick wall 
 which enclosed the park, which was closed at eight 
 o’clock. It was a raised footway, and where Rut- 
 land Gate now stands there was a large old-fashioned 
 roadside inn, and on the path there were wooden 
 posts to prevent the footway from being used by 
 carts or carriages. At this point we were abreast, 
 and I could hear his bellows pumping fearfully, as 
 very probably he heard mine, but neither of us 
 
Ill] 
 
 STRAUSS WALTZES 
 
 43 
 
 would “throw up the sponge.” At last the entrance 
 to Kensington bore in view, and I was beginning 
 to think that I must give in, when to my inex- 
 pressible satisfaction he staggered suddenly, uttering 
 a noise between a groan and a cry, with the words, 
 
 “ D it ! you can have your own way,” and sank 
 
 to the ground. But I was so completely done that 
 I scarcely knew how to struggle on till I turned in 
 a few more yards the curve that hid me from his 
 view. Then I dropped on to a doorstep, puffing 
 and panting and helpless. Here I remained a full 
 hour before I had courage to walk the little uphill 
 bit to High Row, fearing all the time that my 
 antagonist would overtake me and see by how little 
 I had gained the victory. I was perfectly well the 
 next morning, and I sincerely trusted he was. 
 
 Perhaps I was even more devoted to another 
 form of exercise — the Terpsichorean art, and to 
 what seems to me its highest development, that of 
 waltzing. The waltz was introduced during the 
 Regency, but it took some years to acclimatise it. 
 
 The period of my greatest activity in dancing 
 was when the Viennese family of Strauss pervaded 
 Europe, and could supply any number of ballrooms 
 
44 
 
 A GOOD RESOLUTION 
 
 [chap. 
 
 with bands of perfect performers, any one of whom 
 was sufficiently trained to occupy, as occasion 
 served, the post of conductor to the others. I 
 remember the first invitation to a ball we received 
 with the magic words in the corner, “ Herr Johann 
 Strauss and his band from Vienna will attend.” 
 
 By this time my sister Sophy had stayed more 
 than once with the Mendelssohn family in Germany, 
 and had fully acquired the art of the waltz. 
 
 The great pace and the marked time were the 
 striking features of the Strauss bands, and to dance 
 to them really required considerable skill and 
 practice ; but, having been carefully instructed by 
 Sophy, we became great proficients, and on these 
 happy occasions would have thought it terrible to 
 waste a bar of one of the Strauss waltzes, and we 
 danced so vigorously and so long that we would 
 creep home worn out with excitement and exercise. 
 Cabs were unknown, and it was therefore on our 
 weary feet that we had to wend our way home from 
 Mayfair to Kensington. On one such occasion, 
 when a great “pal” of mine, Willy Buckley, and 
 I were wearily going home, just when the sun was 
 rising gloriously and the birds were singing in the 
 
Ill] 
 
 ITS ACCOMPLISHMENT 
 
 45 
 
 parks, we registered a vow to change our method 
 of existence, and to begin our days at the time we 
 were then in the habit of ending them, the small 
 hours of the morning. 
 
 We carried out our reform for one memorable 
 day at least. We left our homes about two in the 
 morning, walked from Kensington to Windsor by 
 Datchet. Here we breakfasted, spent the morning 
 in St. George’s Chapel, where a great festival 
 service was being held, lunched at the hotel, hired 
 hacks, and rode for the whole afternoon in the 
 Great Park. Dinner followed after hearing the 
 band play on the Castle Terrace, and then back to 
 London by coach, which deposited us in Silver 
 Street, Bayswater, about midnight. 
 
 Buckley was an athletic individual, and some- 
 where about this time distinguished himself by a 
 single-handed encounter with thieves. He and his 
 brother and sisters were living in a house in the 
 Bayswater Road, where they had moved from the 
 Mall, and here they were happy owners of a charm- 
 ing garden with an orchard of a most productive 
 kind. “ Portobello Lane,” which bordered the gar- 
 den, gave too ready access to dishonest people, 
 
46 
 
 ONE AGAINST THREE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 and most of the fruit was stolen year after year. 
 Much was hoped from the good offices of the new 
 police force, but the robberies still went on. 
 
 One night, when my friend had an attack of sleep- 
 lessness, he bethought him that he would go out 
 and see whether any thieves were about. 
 
 Arming himself with a lockless old pistol, he 
 quietly stole forth, and was rewarded by hearing 
 stealthy footsteps and whispering voices. Getting 
 nearer, he saw one hulking rascal holding a sack 
 with its mouth wide open to receive from a Ribstone 
 tree the plunder, which another fellow among the 
 branches was throwing down. Yet another was 
 standing on the fence watching ! My gallant cousin 
 never hesitated, but clutching his make-belief pistol 
 he seized the big sackfiller by the throat, hitting 
 him violently on the head with the handle of his 
 weapon. The rest took to their heels. Buckley 
 never let go of his man, but pushing him before 
 him, hustled him through the house without dis- 
 turbing its inmates, through the paved yard and the 
 entrance gate, outside which he found one of the 
 newly invented constables leaning against one of 
 the also newly invented lamp-posts, fast asleep. 
 
Ill] 
 
 BUCKLEY AT BOW STREET 
 
 4 7 
 
 He was soon awakened, and the thief was delivered 
 over to his care. Buckley was highly commended 
 by the magistrate when the case was brought before 
 the court at Bow Street, which was not for some 
 days, as my cousins somewhat drastic treatment of 
 the prisoner had made surgical care necessary. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Portrait of Moscheles — John Sheepshanks — Mulready’s vanity — 
 Blackheath dinners — Elizabeth — Wells of Redleaf— Edwin Land- 
 seer’s tour de force— The, Pride of the Village — Vernon — Maclise. 
 
 HEN I was about sixteen I painted two 
 
 kitcat portraits of Ignace Moscheles and 
 his wife, who was a very pretty woman. Both 
 these portraits were sent to the Royal Academy 
 Exhibition at Somerset House, held in the rooms 
 in which the Institution was installed when founded 
 by H.M. King George III. in 1786, Somerset 
 House ranking in those days as one of the royal 
 palaces. They were accepted, but ultimately only 
 one of them was hung. This rejection, if one may 
 call it so, was the only one — I may be pardoned the 
 remark — that any of my pictures were called upon to 
 undergo. My disappointment was that, governed, 
 no doubt, by technical merits, they rejected the 
 pretty woman and hung the unpretty man. 
 
CHAP. IV] MR. JOHN SHEEPSHANKS 
 
 49 
 
 My first exhibited subject picture, “ The Rival 
 Musicians,” was hung on the walls of the British 
 Institution, whence it was sold to Mr. John Sheep- 
 shanks, who was then coming to the front as an art 
 collector. The son of a clothier at Leeds, he had a 
 strong natural taste for art, which led him much into 
 the society of painters. He first began to collect 
 etchings, and used to boast that he possessed a 
 proof of one of Isaac Ostade’s famous etchings, in 
 which the pig had three more scratches on its back 
 than in any other known copy. He came up to 
 reside in the neighbourhood of London, so that he 
 might be near his friends the artists, and settled him- 
 self in a charming house at Blackheath Park, where 
 he invited me to go and see him. The house was 
 surrounded by a beautiful garden, where Sheep- 
 shanks devoted himself to floriculture, and became 
 a noted contributor to horticultural exhibitions at 
 Chiswick and South Kensington, and distinguished 
 as a prize winner. On his succeeding in inventing 
 a new geranium the judges christened his exhibited 
 specimen Sheep shanksiana grandiflora. He took 
 up certain painters with great enthusiasm, and had 
 many of their works in his collection. For Mulready 
 
50 
 
 MACLISE FALLS SHORT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 he had a profound admiration, both as a man and 
 as a painter. 
 
 Now Mulready entirely shared in Sheepshanks’ 
 estimate of his own merits, but he was given to 
 making slashing criticisms on his fellow-artists, the 
 other habituds of Sheepshanks 5 hospitable gatherings, 
 whilst he himself, it must be admitted, was greedy 
 for praise. He once set himself to paint a small 
 picture in oil of a group of trees hanging over a 
 pond close to the gate of Sheepshanks’ garden. 
 He worked at this for many days with elaborate 
 care, and Sheepshanks invited us all to come and 
 admire it, Maclise among others. While unable to 
 greatly admire this laboured treatment of a subject 
 not specially suited to Mulready’s genius, Maclise 
 contrived to say a good many complimentary things, 
 although it was evident that the butter had not been 
 laid on thick enough for Mulready’s taste. Coming 
 away with me, Maclise stopped on the doorstep and 
 exclaimed in dramatic tones, ‘‘My God! I have 
 exhausted every known form of eulogy over that 
 man and his work, and yet I feel I have lamentably 
 failed to satisfy him.” 
 
 I remember on my first visit to Sheepshanks at 
 
IV] 
 
 44 YOUTH AND AGE” 
 
 5 
 
 Blackheath walking up through the highly cultivated 
 garden and knocking at the entrance, when the 
 door was opened by a strange and original-looking 
 old man. He had on a straw hat, the rim of which 
 was parting company with the crown and lopping 
 down on his face so that one brilliant eye gleamed 
 through the rent. He received me in the kindest 
 way, and asked me various questions as to what I 
 was doing. I told him I was painting another 
 picture about the same size as the one he had 
 already bought from me. He cheerfully told me he 
 would come and look at it. When next in town he 
 at once settled to buy it, and plunging his hand 
 into his very shabby coat-pocket, produced a cheque- 
 book, and asking for a pen and ink, wrote the cheque 
 to pay for it on the spot, as was his invariable 
 custom. This picture was called “ Youth and Age,” 
 and represents an aged countryman going into church 
 with his little grandchild leading the way. My model 
 for this child was my young cousin, daughter of the 
 Rev. John Wall Buckley, with whom I had been 
 staying at Rotherfield, in Sussex. She is the sister 
 of Sir Henry Buckley, the judge, and of the scientist, 
 Miss Arabella Buckley (now Mrs. Fisher). The old 
 
52 
 
 BLACKHEATH DINNERS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 man was the village sexton, and my first introduction 
 to him was a curious. one. Mr. Buckley was away, and 
 I was wakened one morning when it was still dark by 
 a handful of gravel thrown against my window. I 
 opened it, and looking out into the misty darkness, 
 could just discern the old sexton who had come to 
 explain that he was about to toll the passing bell. 
 The custom still lingered of ringing this bell during 
 the dying hour, in order to protect the soul from the 
 assaults of evil spirits in its passage from this world 
 to the next. 
 
 Both these early pictures, “ The Rival Musicians ” 
 and “Youth and Age,” are in the Sheepshanks Col- 
 lection in the South Kensington Museum. 
 
 My friendship with Sheepshanks increased rapidly, 
 and he established (this became a very charming 
 arrangement) weekly Wednesday dinners at three 
 o’clock. To a certain number of painters he gave 
 a general invitation to put in an appearance at that 
 hour, not even requiring any intimation as to 
 whether they were coming. His repasts were of 
 the simplest, but everything, eatables and drink- 
 ables, perfect of its kind. 
 
 Among other intimate friends in his neighbour- 
 
IV] 
 
 THEIR FREQUENTERS 
 
 53 
 
 hood was a dear widow lady, Mrs. Bill, who was 
 like a second mother to me, and used to call me her 
 “Johnny of Johnnys.” I used often to go to her 
 house for the Tuesday nights, and return to London 
 on Wednesday evening in company with my painter 
 friends, who also frequented these dinners. The 
 most notable of these friends were Mulready, Edwin 
 Landseer, Charles Robert Leslie, who with Peter 
 de Hooghe, were the “ gods of my idolatry ” in the 
 art world. 
 
 The afternoons teemed with interest. Nothing 
 could be more curious than the contrast in power of 
 telling stories amongst these distinguished men I 
 have mentioned. The contrast between our host and 
 some of his guests on this point was marked. Sheep- 
 shanks was extremely irritable, although perfectly 
 good-natured, and his stories came rushing from his 
 tongue in a perfect avalanche of words. He often 
 could not restrain his impatience when the narrators 
 were too slow of speech for him ; especially was this 
 the case with that dearest and most amiable of 
 men, Charles R. Leslie, who always told quite 
 inimitable anecdotes full of humour and of kindness, 
 but somewhat lengthy. 
 
54 
 
 CHARLES R. LESLIE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Well, the good Sheepshanks would listen for a 
 time with great attention, but then he would 
 suddenly dash in, and check the whole course of 
 Leslie’s speech, upon which Leslie in the calmest 
 way would cross his legs and wait with heroic calm 
 till Sheepshanks had winded himself, and would 
 then come out in the quietest way with, “ Well, as 
 I was saying,” and would go on imperturbably and 
 complete his narration. He was a king of men in 
 temper and kindliness of disposition ; his art was as 
 delightful as he was himself ; he was the only man 
 who could depict Shakespeare quite satisfactorily. 
 His absolutely delightful renderings of all the 
 varieties of Shakespeare’s characters should be 
 hung together to do full justice to them. There 
 are interesting records in some of his pictures which 
 delineate his personal friends. For instance, in 
 “ Perdita Distributing her Flowers” the duke was 
 painted from Constable, for whose magnificent genius 
 Sheepshanks had a profoundly just veneration, and 
 the figure next the duke from Robinson, the cele- 
 brated line-engraver. 
 
 Sheepshanks had a wonderful servant who looked 
 after everything, and was trained never to take 
 
IV] 
 
 “ELIZABETH” 
 
 55 
 
 a sixpence offered her by any guest. Elizabeth 
 was well known to us all. One of the most regular 
 guests was Edward Cooke, the marine painter, and 
 he, like all of us, being considerably exercised as to 
 the impossibility of administering money presents 
 to Elizabeth, bethought him to instruct his mother 
 and sisters to buy certain articles of female attire 
 which might be useful or desirable, and presented 
 her with them. She said nothing at the moment, 
 but the next morning when he got up he found his 
 little offerings of feminine gear decorating his own 
 dressing-table, and after breakfast Sheepshanks 
 talked most gravely to him, and assured him that 
 it was quite useless to attempt to give any presents 
 to his servants. “ I rigidly make it good to them 
 to the full,” he said, “ and it is my arrangement 
 with them when they enter my service.” 
 
 Another art collector contemporaneous with Mr. 
 Sheepshanks was Mr. Wells, of Redleaf, Penshurst, 
 where, when he settled down, after being for years 
 a sea-captain in the East India’s Company’s service, 
 he created one of the most beautiful and interesting 
 gardens in England. 
 
 He was a keen sportsman, and naturally con- 
 
56 
 
 MR. WELLS OF REDLEAF 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 ceived the greatest admiration for Edwin Land- 
 seer’s wonderful pictures. Most of his artistic 
 property was sold after Mr. Wells’s death, amongst 
 it the portrait of his favourite dog, which used 
 to occupy a central position in the hall at Red- 
 leaf. Now Landseer was certainly not a little 
 of a procrastinator. Long after he had promised 
 to paint the portrait of the dog, and a place for it 
 had been reserved, the space remained unoccupied. 
 At last Wells, who was very anxious on the subject, 
 began to feel much annoyed, and one day showed 
 it by some sharp expression. Landseer then pulled 
 up quickly and replied, “ I know I have behaved 
 shamefully, but I will come down next Thursday 
 and remain till Monday, and the picture shall be 
 done before I leave.” He arrived on the Thursday 
 just in time to dress for dinner, and his first remark 
 to Wells was, “ Oh ! your man tells me you are 
 going to drag the great pond to-morrow, hurray ! 
 
 I am just in time, that is a subject I have often 
 meant to paint, and 1 shall be delighted to get any 
 number of sketches done.” Wells made no remark 
 in answer to this, under the circumstances, some- 
 what unpleasing announcement. Landseer did a 
 
IV] 
 
 LANDSEER’S TOUR DE FORCE 
 
 57 
 
 capital day’s work over the pond-dragging, as he 
 had anticipated. The next morning, Saturday, 
 when he came down to breakfast, his first words 
 were, “ Why, Mr. Wells, I hear you are going to 
 shoot such-and-such a wood to-day. Why, I have 
 been looking forward to that for a year or two,” 
 and so it went on till Sunday morning. Now Wells, 
 like a good country gentleman, was very particular 
 about all his guests accompanying him to the morn- 
 ing service, and said to Landseer, to whom he had 
 scarcely spoken for two days, “ I suppose you are 
 going to church?” ‘‘Well,” replied Landseer, “I 
 have got a terrible headache ; I think you must 
 excuse me.” “ Oh,” said Wells, quite testily, and 
 almost in a blaze, “ Do just as you think best ; you 
 know well enough by this time that this is Liberty 
 Hall, for you, at all events.” “Thank you,” said 
 Landseer, “and I am going to ask you to let me 
 keep Charles Mathews with me to amuse me.” To 
 this Wells vouchsafed no answer, and away the 
 people went, leaving these two to their own devices. 
 The moment the house was clear they went to 
 another room, which Landseer had specially ar- 
 ranged for the purpose. The head gamekeeper 
 
58 
 
 MR. VERNON 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 was there with the dog, and Charles Mathews 
 assisted in holding him when wanted, and did his 
 part in amusing Landseer up to the hilt, and the 
 picture was painted, finished, and framed on the 
 wall when the house-party returned from morning 
 service. 
 
 When the picture was sold at Christie’s years 
 afterwards, I saw written on the stem of a tree in 
 the background of it, “ Painted at Redleaf in two 
 hours and a half.” The delighted astonishment 
 which prevailed at the time this tour de force was 
 accomplished may be imagined. 
 
 One of my pictures, “ The Pride of the Village,” 
 now in the Tate Gallery, formerly in the Vernon 
 Collection, was bought by Mr. Vernon, and I well 
 remember the manner of its purchase, characteristic 
 of the man who was originally a job-master. 
 
 My show day for the Academy was just over, 
 and my mother and I were talking in the drawing- 
 room, when another ring came, and I, looking over 
 the bannisters in the growing dusk, saw our dear 
 friend Sir David Wilkie coming up the staircase. 
 
 “ I have come to see your picture, Horsley,” he 
 said, “ I have heard so much talk about it.” 
 
IV] 
 
 HE BUYS MY PICTURE 
 
 59 
 
 By the light of a couple of candles he examined 
 it long and earnestly and spoke most kindly. The 
 next day Mr. Vernon came, sent by him, and after 
 some preliminaries asked the price. The modest 
 price of fifty pounds had been settled in family 
 conclave, and this I named. “ Including the frame, 
 I suppose ? ” was his answer, to which I assented. 
 There was a good deal of humming and hawing, 
 and eventually he asked the price of the frame, 
 which I gave him as far as I knew as five pounds. 
 “Well, you see, that is not my pattern of frame, and 
 so you will not object to letting me have it without 
 one; that would make the price forty -five pounds, I 
 presume.” 
 
 This arrangement he had evidently conceived 
 with some care ; it was unexpected, but as I was a 
 greenhorn in such matters myself, I let the discussion 
 drop, and he had the satisfaction of saving his five 
 pounds and of leaving me with the frame on my 
 hands. When he was buying a little picture of 
 Webster’s, the price was quoted as thirty guineas, 
 and he, cheque-book in hand, paused to say: “You 
 see, there are no guineas nowadays.” “ No,” 
 answered Webster, “thirty-one pounds ten shillings 
 
6o 
 
 VERNON AS A HOST 
 
 [chap. 
 
 will do just as well.” So this time he did not gain 
 by his manoeuvre. A jobber he certainly was, by 
 nature as well as by trade. 
 
 Maclise and several other members of the 
 Academy were staying at the country house of 
 Mr. Vernon, who, later on, left his pictures to the 
 nation. A very uninteresting time they had of it, 
 as may well be believed by all those who knew any- 
 thing of Vernon, whose apparent interest in art was 
 really used simply as a means of lifting him out of 
 obscurity into some sort of locus standi in the world. 
 He had drifted into being an almost confirmed 
 invalid, and never joined his guests till dinner-time, 
 but still thought much of the pleasures of the table, 
 and would hobble on crutches into the dining-room 
 before dinner to make a special sauce for the wild 
 duck. Many stories might be told about him which 
 are best left untold. 
 
 Nothing was arranged for the amusement of the 
 house-party on the occasion of Maclise’s visit, 
 and they were wandering about in purposeless 
 fashion when Maclise was missed, and it was agreed 
 that they should go in search of him for lack of 
 other occupation. After searching all over the 
 
IV] 
 
 MACLISE AND THE DUCKS 
 
 61 
 
 grounds, they found him on the sloping bank of a 
 distant duck-pond, lying at full length with his 
 hands under his head and gazing earnestly at the 
 varieties of the duck tribe, who were denizens of 
 the pond. 
 
 The searchers hailed him with a cheer, and 
 demanded what on earth he had been about, on 
 which he replied : “ I’ve been looking for hours at 
 those ducks and thinking, By God, how they get 
 through the day ! ” and he then proceeded most 
 graphically to describe their struggles and squabbles 
 over the straws and scraps on the surface of the 
 water, and made out a most quaint comparison 
 between the ducks’ struggles and their own in trying 
 “to get through the day” with such a host as 
 Mr. Vernon. 
 
 Vernon, however, had a sense of humour ; he was 
 staying at Cartwright’s, in the Isle of Wight, and 
 there was among the guests a young man whose 
 appetite was certainly formidable. Vernon re- 
 marked one day at dinner in his most pompous 
 manner : “ My dear young friend, you inherit the 
 gifts of both your father and mother in the way of 
 appetite, for one of them ate a great deal and the 
 other was a very long time about it.” 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Lady Callcott — Sir Augustus Callcott’s studio — Distinguished visitors 
 — Greenough’s review — Sedgwick’s bon-mot — Visit to Cambridge 
 — Buckley — Empson — Peacocke — University rows — Professor 
 Smythe — Sam Cartwright. 
 
 I MUST now introduce quite a new figure on the 
 scene, Lady Callcott, the wife of Sir Augustus, 
 already mentioned. 
 
 She was one of the distinguished Scotch family of 
 Dundas. She married early in life a Graham, a 
 captain in the Royal Navy, commanding the Doris , 
 frigate, in which she sailed with him round the 
 world (the privilege of taking his wife with him was 
 then allowed a captain, but later legislation pro- 
 hibited this). She must have been very handsome 
 in her youth, and there is a charming head of her, 
 by Sir Thomas Lawrence, in the National Portrait 
 Gallery, in speaking of which, by the way, she 
 once described to me his mode of portrait-painting. 
 
 62 
 
CHAP. V] 
 
 LADY CALLCOTT 
 
 63 
 
 He began by a very careful chalk drawing of the 
 head on the canvas, and then painted in detail the 
 various features. He painted very elaborately, 
 perhaps an eye only at one sitting, and so on, in 
 a way totally opposed to Reynolds’s method. 
 
 Now to resume the thread of my story. As 
 Mrs. Graham she had led an adventurous and 
 varied life, being amongst other things, for a time, 
 governess to the young Queen of Portugal. 
 
 She had written books which had made a very 
 considerable reputation before she established herself 
 in rooms at No. 6, High Row. She soon became 
 a most popular member of society in London and 
 very intimate with the families of Callcotts and 
 Horsleys. Her marriage with our great-uncle soon 
 followed, and to his house in the Mall was trans- 
 ferred the brilliant society that had already gathered 
 round her as Mrs. Graham. Both as a boy and as 
 a young man I was continually there, sometimes 
 doing work for Sir Augustus, and in this way I be- 
 came acquainted with many interesting and dis- 
 tinguished individuals. For thirteen years previous 
 to her death she was a confirmed invalid, adored 
 by her husband and surrounded by friends and 
 
6 4 
 
 DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 admirers. She insisted always on her husbands 
 accepting the numerous social invitations to dinners 
 and receptions, delighting in her second-hand share 
 in hearing all the stories of the people he had met, 
 for he was a splendid raconteur . 
 
 Among her constant visitors was Campbell, the 
 poet, and I remember hearing him make a capital 
 reply to a question put to him after his return 
 from Algiers, then a most unusual trip. “ Well, 
 Campbell, what do you think of Africa ? ” 
 
 “ It’s a varra good country to come from.” 
 
 He was a great admirer of my aunt Sophy, but 
 they were both most unfortunately shy, and he 
 never screwed up his courage to propose. 
 
 Landseer was another frequent visitor. It was 
 about this time that he and Callcott painted the 
 picture called “ Harvest in the Highlands,” the 
 former supplying the animals and figures, and 
 Callcott the beautiful setting of Scotch alpine 
 landscape. 
 
 Other habituds that I remember were John Murray, 
 “Lord Byrons Murray, my dear,” and his son, the 
 father of the present John Murray, the successive 
 heads of the firm of publishers. 
 
cSir^4,?(L . Gal Icatt, GR.^A. 
 
V] 
 
 GREENOUGfTS REVIEW 
 
 65 
 
 Lady Callcott’s best-known works are the popular 
 Little Arthurs History of England , which has 
 gone into countless editions, and The Scripture 
 Herbal , which contained beautiful woodcuts of all 
 scripture flowers and plants. 
 
 These books were written during her second 
 married life. She also wrote for a learned society, 
 in response to its invitation, an account of an earth- 
 quake in Chili, of which she had seen the results. 
 This account brought down on her a most virulent 
 review by Greenough, the then Secretary of the 
 Geological Society. It was couched in such violent 
 terms that it roused the ire of her eminent soldier 
 brother, Colonel, afterwards General, Dundas, and 
 of her gentle husband, who both talked in threaten- 
 ing language of fighting him. It is to be re- 
 membered that duelling was still in fashion. Of 
 this she would not hear, and, holding up her hands 
 from the couch which she was occupying in the 
 painting-room, she exclaimed, “ Be quiet, both of 
 you, I am quite capable of fighting my ow T n battles, 
 and intend to do it.” She was as good as her word, 
 and published a crushing reply to Greenough ’s 
 criticisms. 
 
66 
 
 SEDGWICK'S BON-MOT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 In connection with this I must mention an inci- 
 dent in a visit that I at that time paid to Cambridge, 
 when I was introduced to that most charming and 
 scientific man, and great geologist, Adam Sedgwick, 
 as the nephew of Lady Callcott. 
 
 His bright eyes gleamed as he said, “ Ah, ah, 
 poor Greenough, he was like Sisera, delivered over 
 to the hands of a woman ! ” 
 
 My delightful visit to Cambridge came about in 
 this way. My second cousin, John Wall Buckley, 
 had given up a business career to take Holy 
 Orders. He was married to a Miss Burton, and 
 the young couple took up their residence at Cam- 
 bridge, in order that he should study for his degree. 
 They asked me to stay with them, and a gloriously 
 interesting time I had of it. 
 
 Empson, another friend of the Callcotts, hearing 
 I was going to Cambridge, said, “ Now I will give 
 you one letter of introduction, which will do for you 
 all you can possibly want.” It was to Peacocke, 
 then tutor of Trinity. So the morning after my 
 arrival at Cambridge I lost no time in presenting 
 myself at Mr. Peacocke’s rooms in college. I was 
 ushered into an apartment almost crowded with 
 

 (m! t co ft . 
 
V] 
 
 CAMBRIDGE VISIT 
 
 67 
 
 young men in cap and gown, and there I waited 
 and waited, feeling as if I was in a dentists estab- 
 lishment, as they were called out one by one and 
 never returned, and they looked, all of them, white 
 and anxious as they were silently summoned by a 
 solemn servant. At last my turn came. I was the 
 last man left, and I was taken into Mr. Peacocke’s 
 study. I found a tall, ponderous man standing 
 with his coat-tails under his arms, leaning against 
 the mantelpiece in truly Britannic fashion. He was 
 plain of feature, but with a remarkably keen and 
 intelligent expression. What struck me was that 
 he did not in the least change his position, although 
 I was a complete stranger, and said in an animated, 
 almost savage manner, “Well, sir, what is your 
 business ? ” I luckily preserved my presence of 
 mind, and replied, “ My business, sir, is to present 
 you with this letter.” “Letter! what’s the letter 
 about ? ” he shouted ; so I left him to open it, and 
 never shall I forget the whole change in the man. 
 He lifted himself up from his reclining position 
 against the mantelpiece, came to me, putting his 
 hands on my shoulders in quite an affectionate way. 
 “ I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear young 
 
68 
 
 WHEWELL AND SEDGWICK 
 
 [chap. 
 
 friend. I took you for another of those young 
 rascals whom I have been lecturing all this morn- 
 ing, and sick to death I am of the task. Now,” he 
 said, c< sit down and tell me all about it : what you 
 want to see, and do, and so on.” 
 
 I think I may assert that no letter of introduction 
 ever written produced more happy results than that 
 did. He began by asking me to come and dine 
 with him as his guest in Hall that night, after which 
 all present retired to what is known as the combina- 
 tion-room. I then became aware of what splendid 
 men there were up at Cambridge at the time. 
 Wordsworth, brother of the poet, was then Master 
 of Trinity. Whewell and Sedgwick were both in 
 residence as fellows. The discussion that took 
 place between those two men I shall never forget. 
 It was a linguistic duel to the death, the victory, in 
 my humble opinion, resting with Sedgwick ; but 
 the power of talk was marvellous, and one never 
 quite understood how one left off talking to let 
 another begin. However, I found on careful 
 observation that each one watched the other until 
 he yielded to the suggestion of nature to clear the 
 throat, or blow the nose, when instantaneous ad- 
 
V] 
 
 A WINE-PARTY 
 
 69 
 
 vantage was taken of even this slight interruption, 
 and the other struck in for a time. 
 
 Before we broke up that evening Peacocke gave 
 me a general invitation to dine when I could in 
 Hall, giving him due notice. 
 
 I have never forgotten the impression made by 
 that noble old Hall on such occasions as Gaudy 
 Days, notably on All Saints’ Day, with the magnifi- 
 cent plate-decked board and sideboards, and the 
 low autumn sun streaming in at the oriel window, 
 illuminating the whole scene. 
 
 The acquaintances I made at Cambridge were 
 most varied, ranging from masters of colleges to 
 undergraduates. In connection with the latter a 
 young, fine-looking man, Vandeleur Crake, who 
 was at Jesus College, invited me to attend a 
 wine-party in his rooms on November 5th, which 
 day was notorious for the usual Town and Gown 
 row in the evening. On going to his rooms I 
 found some eight or ten youths of a most jovial 
 and genial character assembled, and after sufficient 
 libations we all sallied forth, and I, walking between 
 two of my friends, was suddenly confronted by two 
 grave and anxious-looking gentlemen, who I was 
 
70 
 
 UNIVERSITY ROWS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 informed were proctors, accompanied by their 
 “bulldogs,” otherwise the University police. On 
 nearing them, one of the proctors, gazing almost 
 fiercely at me, said, “ Sir, are you a member of this 
 University?” I was talking vigorously at the 
 moment and did not gather the purport of his 
 question, and without a thought, and I daresay in 
 the same hasty manner as he had used, I answered 
 impetuously, “Yes, sir!” Upon which he fired 
 up and said most excitedly, “ Then I have to in- 
 form you that you must return immediately to your 
 college and put on cap and gown!” Of course, at 
 these times of agitation no undergraduate can 
 appear in the streets divested of these University 
 insignia, so this little incident suggested immedi- 
 ate action on my part, and I parted company in 
 case of rows following, as I had no cap or gown to 
 show my quality. I went down the Kings Parade, 
 where an astonishing sight met my eyes — an im- 
 mense crowd of roughs, flourishing sticks in one 
 hand and torches in the other, which lit up the 
 lovely chapel of Kings College brilliantly, while at 
 the other end of the Parade there was advancing a 
 strong band of gownsmen. 
 
V] 
 
 PROFESSOR SMYTHE 
 
 
 I felt sure of what was going to happen, and 
 looking out for some coign of vantage, I mounted 
 a flight of steps leading to the door of a house. I 
 had scarcely reached the top when the two opposing 
 forces met, and the fighting became serious. Before 
 long a strong body of proctors and an increased 
 force of “bulldogs” came up, and the victory, really 
 won by the gownsmen, ended in their being carried 
 off bodily to their respective colleges. 
 
 After seeing all the above, I thought I had better 
 retire to my temporary home with my cousin, and 
 as I passed the gates of Trinity there was a combat 
 going on. A ring had been formed, and I saw the 
 two combatants pounding away at each other, one 
 being a remarkably agreeable fellow — Kirkpatrick 
 by name — who had been my neighbour at the wine- 
 party. However, the bulldogs were on the spot, 
 and my friend was locked up for the night. 
 
 In curious contrast to the scenes roughly sketched 
 was an incident the next day, when I called upon an 
 ideal University professor, to whom I had a letter of 
 introduction. 
 
 Smythe, Professor of Modern History to the 
 University, was an old bachelor, with a fine head, 
 
72 
 
 SAM CARTWRIGHT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 and gentle voice and manner. He had asked me 
 to tea, and the tea apparatus was all ready, but the 
 Professor was entirely absorbed in the process of 
 airing his clean underlinen for the following Sun- 
 day. The garments were hanging on chairs and 
 sofa-ends, and looked strangely incongruous among 
 the grave books, the piles of papers, and other 
 indications of the literary student. He talked on 
 charmingly while he finished his task, when he 
 carefully folded the garments and conveyed them 
 to his bedroom. I spent a couple of charming 
 hours with him, but this trivial incident remains 
 more clearly impressed than many more important 
 ones. 
 
 Whilst at Cambridge I found a very intimate 
 friend of former days, of whose presence there I 
 was only aware on the closing days of my visit. 
 He was known to his friends as “ Sam,” the eldest 
 son of Cartwright, the celebrated dentist of those 
 days, who was an old friend of my father s, a man 
 of a most extraordinary physique, as tbfe following 
 brief story will show. He frequently dined at High 
 Row, and on one occasion, when some ladies were 
 joining us in the evening, they were shown, as 
 
V] 
 
 HIS PROFESSIONAL WRENCH 
 
 73 
 
 usual, into my mothers room to take their things 
 off. They somehow accidentally double-locked the 
 door, and then could in no way open it. The help 
 of servants was invoked in vain, but at that moment 
 we all came up from dinner, and Cartwright volun- 
 teered to open the door by breaking the lock, which 
 he did by sheer strength of wrist and a wrench, such 
 as had been no doubt brought to perfection in his 
 profession, while we all stood and wondered. 
 
 He often dined with us, and when, at the end of 
 the evening, we saw our father talking to him con- 
 fidentially in a corner, we children would anxiously 
 wonder which of two things (somehow it was always 
 one or the other) they were talking about. Was 
 our father making an appointment with him for one 
 of us, or asking for a box at the theatre ? Cart- 
 wright seemed always to have an unlimited supply 
 of tickets for every sort of theatre, as he was much 
 mixed up with the theatrical world, and noted for 
 his extraordinary liberality. He gave delightful 
 parties, and encouraged young artists : he — let me 
 chronicle the fact — bought my first picture, one that 
 at the time was a good deal talked about. It was 
 called “ Rent Day in H addon Hall.” 
 
74 
 
 A GREAT SHOCK 
 
 [CHAP. V 
 
 But to return to Cambridge and Sam Cartwright. 
 I had to leave a day or two earlier than I had anti- 
 cipated, and therefore was much hurried on the 
 morning of my departure, but I made time to rush 
 into his rooms to say good-bye to him. He was 
 nowhere to be seen in his sitting-room, so I pushed 
 open the door leading into his bedroom, and was 
 struck with horror to find him lying asleep, covered 
 with blood. It was a horrible shock, it looked 
 exactly as though he must have attempted suicide. 
 I was relieved by the charming expression which 
 made my supposition impossible, and proceeded to 
 wake him, which I did with difficulty. 
 
 I got him a sponge and water, and he gradually 
 came completely to himself, and by degrees it dawned 
 upon him that when he was returning from a “wine- 
 party ” some of the town roughs met him in the 
 narrow passage leading to his rooms, and insisted 
 on his taking the wall ; this had ended in a pitched 
 battle, from which he was just able to rescue him- 
 self in time to escape “gateing.” 
 
 During my stay at Cambridge I had the delight 
 of making acquaintance with that most glorious pile, 
 Ely Cathedral. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Visit to Norfolk — R. M. Bacon — Cossey — Thomas Coke, of Norfolk 
 — Holkham — Lord Leicester’s second marriage — Shooting— 
 Shakesperean enthusiasts of Norwich — First visit to Paris — Paul 
 de la Roche — “The Hemicycle”— Horace Vernet — The Institut — 
 Mr. Seth Thomson — Leighton at the Athenaeum — Vernet’s picture 
 — Second visit to Paris, 1848 — Brunei — The Chamber of Deputies 
 — Louis Blanc — Notable members — Louis Blanc in England — 
 Sevenoaks — “ The Crown ” — Eliza Cook. 
 
 A MONGST my good fathers most cherished 
 friends was one whom he had known from 
 his boyhood, Richard Mackenzie Bacon. 
 
 He lived at Cossey, near Norwich, that most 
 interesting and picturesque old city, which in those 
 days was famous for the number of interesting and 
 highly cultivated families resident there. 
 
 To begin with, it had a real school of art, of 
 landscape painting, such as no other provincial 
 town in Great Britain or Ireland has ever possessed, 
 before or since. I had the pleasure and privilege 
 
 75 
 
76 
 
 R. M. BACON 
 
 [chap. 
 
 some few years ago at the Winter Exhibition of 
 the Royal Academy of introducing to London and 
 the world at large an Exhibition of works by 
 painters of the Norwich school, which created a 
 strong sensation. 
 
 Of this school I hope to say more later on, when 
 I am dealing at large with my own art, but I want 
 to relate the circumstances of my first visit to 
 Norwich somewhere about 1836. I accepted an 
 invitation to Cossey from the aforesaid R. M. Bacon. 
 My host was a most interesting and able man, 
 possessing in a marked degree the pen of a ready 
 writer. He was editor, and I think chief proprietor, 
 of the Norwich Mercury , a journal which held a 
 very high position in the provincial press of Eng- 
 land, and which took a leading part in advocating 
 the great leading measures of the time, such as the 
 Catholic Emancipation Act and the Reform Bill. 
 He was also a true Liberal in social matters as well 
 as political. 
 
 He was personally an agreeable and admirable 
 man, of genial temper and appearance, and a culti- 
 vated talker. He delighted in Shakespeare and in 
 reading his plays aloud, and he might, I am con- 
 
VI] 
 
 THOMAS COKE OF NORFOLK 
 
 77 
 
 vinced, have had a great career on the stage as an 
 impersonator of Shakespearean characters, especially 
 as a refined interpreter of Falstaff. He was on the 
 most friendly terms with two of the most noted 
 great people of his county, the Lords Stafford and 
 Leicester. 
 
 With the former he sympathised greatly on the 
 Emancipation question. With the latter, Thomas 
 Coke “ of Norfolk” — the name by which he was so 
 well known, and almost worshipped by high and 
 low, rich and poor, in his native county — the bonds 
 were those of agriculture and sport. It was a 
 commonly quoted saying of Coke, that he only 
 required a man to possess two qualifications to be 
 his friend, he must be a staunch Whig and a good 
 shot. Bacon himself, with sundry members of his 
 family, was highly musical, and Norwich was fore- 
 most in the cultivation of the most divine of all the 
 arts ; he was also full of sympathy with the sister 
 arts of painting and sculpture. 
 
 Shortly after my arrival at Cossey my host 
 received an invitation from Lord Leicester to spend 
 a few days at Holkham, and to take me with him. 
 
 Holkham is an astonishing place, a vast square 
 
73 
 
 HOLKHAM 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 palace with towers at each corner, one devoted to 
 the use of the family, one to the servants, one to 
 guests. It was stately enough to afford a separate 
 suite of rooms for each guest and his servant, but 
 did not boast a bell in any of the rooms, and I 
 remember well discussing the position with a solemn 
 but affable groom of the chambers, who showed me 
 to my rooms, for naturally the young artist did not 
 possess a body servant. I said, after duly examin- 
 ing my apartments, “But where are the bells?” 
 To which he answered, “Well, sir, there are none.” 
 “ But supposing I was taken ill,” I urged, mention- 
 ing a very unlikely circumstance, “what should I 
 do?” “Well, sir, I really don’t know,” was the 
 only answer. No doubt he considered that the ill- 
 ness of a person who did not possess a valet was a 
 matter of no importance. 
 
 Lord Leicester had a grown-up family by his 
 first wife, and at this time a young family by his 
 second wife, who was a daughter of Lord Albemarle, 
 and a particularly charming creature. He was quite 
 blind, but retained his other faculties to an astonish- 
 ing degree, and seemed quickly to form his opinion 
 of people ; he took a kind fancy to me. He did 
 
LORD LEICESTER’S MARRIAGE 
 
 79 
 
 not appear till he was led into the drawing-room 
 by his valet a quarter of an hour before dinner-time, 
 and he asked me on each day of my visit to sit 
 beside him, which was, indeed, a great privilege, 
 for he was full of interesting anecdotes of the Pitt 
 and Fox time. During this quarter of an hour the 
 |i small children were allowed to rampage about, but 
 when they became troublesome the old lord used to 
 tell them to “ Go and sit with sister Anne,” sister 
 Anne being a quite middle-aged matron, so that 
 the relationship appeared amusingly incongruous. 
 
 The story of this second marriage must be told at 
 length. Lord Leicester had no sons by his first 
 marriage, and his heir-apparent, to whom he in- 
 tended to leave his vast property, was William 
 Coke, his nephew, to whom he was greatly attached, 
 and who was eminently qualified for the great 
 position and possessions. 
 
 In connection with this I remember the on dit 
 that went the round that the nephew had diminished 
 his chances by a casual remark. Right under the 
 windows of Holkham, in strange juxtaposition to 
 its stately walls, were patches of turnips and man- 
 i golds, planted by order of the eager agriculturist 
 
8o 
 
 LORD LEICESTER’S WOOING [cH ap. 
 
 and proprietor, where he could best see for himself 
 how they were doing. It was reported that William 
 Coke had said, “When I come into the property 
 I shall do away with all this rubbish.” 
 
 But that is only a report, whereas the exact story 
 of his supersession was told by Lord Leicester him- 
 self to Mr. Bacon. Before his sight failed, he often 
 used to ride with the daughters of Lord Albemarle, 
 his neighbour, whose estates were close by, and 
 they were his firm friends. On one of them, Lady 
 Anne, he fixed his special attention and, I may say, 
 affection, considering her as an ideal prospective 
 wife for his nephew and mistress of Holkham. 
 
 One day the fates were propitious ; Lady Anne 
 alone came to join his morning ride, and to her, 
 after a time, Lord Leicester asked the question, no 
 doubt as they surveyed Holkham towers: “Anne, 
 my dear, how should you like to be mistress of 
 Holkham?” “There is nothing I should like 
 better,” was the answer of Lady Anne, drawing her- 
 self up in her saddle ; upon which the old lord went 
 on: “Then I shall send my nephew William to court 
 you.” Lady Anne drew herself up still more, and 
 tightening her rein, replied calmly but very gravely, 
 
VI] 
 
 SHOOTING AT % HOLKH AM 
 
 8i 
 
 “ I shall never be mistress of Holkham on those 
 terms.” It was then the old gentleman’s turn to 
 rein in his horse, and looking his fair companion 
 hard in the face, said, “ Why, you don’t mean to say 
 you would marry me /” “Yes, indeed I would, 
 and nothing I should wish better.” This was all 
 the wooing, which was certainly not long “a-doing”; 
 it may be said to be the shortest on record. 
 
 Shooting at Holkham was a great annual function, 
 and there was a strong assemblage on the last day 
 of September to be ready for the pheasants the 
 next morning. There, of course, came William 
 Coke, and amongst the guests one season a very 
 pompous representative of the House of Peers. In 
 the smoking-room the night before one of the 
 party started the subject of the risk of getting shot 
 in covert-shooting. The peer was long and senten- 
 tious, as he asserted that he considered the careless 
 shooting of one man by another in this way so 
 scandalous that if he were thus shot he would not 
 hesitate to return the fire, a statement received 
 with ironical laughter, politely smothered so far as 
 possible. 
 
 When they were placed next morning, Bacon 
 
8 2 SHAKESPEAREAN ENTHUSIASTS [chap. 
 
 found himself, doubtless owing to his great reputa- 
 tion as a shot, in a first-rate position. Just beyond 
 him was the pompous peer, and beyond him again 
 was William Coke. They had shot for some time, 
 all going well, when suddenly the peer threw his 
 gun on the ground and laid hold of his leg, exclaim- 
 ing, “Good God! I am shot.” Looking up he 
 shouted, “Was that you, Coke?” Coke, with the 
 utmost nonchalance, drawled out, “ Yes, I believe 
 it was,” and putting his gun to his shoulder, “ IVe 
 got the other barrel here.” 
 
 History tells no more. 
 
 I have mentioned the Shakespearean enthusiasts 
 of Norwich. They had meetings at which the un- 
 fathomable depths and heights of the poet were 
 discussed, and to these you were permitted to bring 
 your friends and visitors. On one occasion one of 
 the righteous enthusiasts asserted that there was 
 nothing which Shakespeare in some form or another 
 had not mentioned. This sweeping assertion roused 
 a hitherto silent stranger, who burst forth with, 
 “Well, where does he mention chimney-sweeps?” 
 Upon which the challenger without hesitation 
 answered, “ Let me ask you, sir, to what Lear 
 
VI] 
 
 “A ORKARD BIRD ’ 1 
 
 83 
 
 refers if not to this when he utters these sad words, 
 
 ‘ Down, down, thou climbing sorrow ! ’ ” 
 
 I began my worship of Shakespeare at a very 
 early age, and Bacon presented me with one of the 
 most delightful editions that I have ever seen, a 
 pocket edition in seven volumes without a note 
 in it — the greatest luxury in the world — except- 
 ing one at the close of each play by that truly great 
 though carping spirit, Dr. Johnson, who alone has 
 expressed in words an adequate and enthusiastic 
 estimate of Shakespeare’s powers. In discussing, 
 I think, the play of Titus Andronicus, he speaks of 
 the assertion that a great deal of the play is not of 
 Shakespeare’s writing, and winds up his argument 
 to the contrary thus : “ Is it not easier to conceive 
 that Shakespeare sometimes descended from his 
 highest flights than that any other man who ever 
 wrote ever ascended to his lowest ? ” 
 
 One Norfolk anecdote may come in here. The 
 fame of Norfolk dumplings is widely spread. To 
 eat them in perfection they should be cooked under 
 the roasting goose and thus enriched. My friend 
 Bacon often enlarged upon their merits, and quoted 
 a neighbouring farmer’s dictum on the goose itself 
 
8 4 
 
 VISIT TO PARIS 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 with much unction as well as joining heartily in the 
 dumpling encomium. 
 
 “You see, sir, the goose is a orkard bird, taint 
 enough for two and a bit too much for one.” 
 
 I will not dwell on so worn a theme as beautiful 
 Paris, and the impressions made on such an un- 
 travelled youth as I was, but I should like to 
 record some incidents of my first visit. 
 
 I had taken a letter of introduction to the dis- 
 tinguished artist Paul Delaroche, and on calling 
 at his house I was fortunate enough to find him at 
 home. He received me with the greatest kindness. 
 He was then engaged on that admirable work of 
 his in L’Ecole des Beaux Arts called “The 
 Hemicycle.” His studies for all the chief figures 
 had been done in the open air of sunny Paris. 
 Fame is in the centre, and standing round her are 
 characteristic representatives of most of the leading 
 artists in painting, sculpture, and architecture, from 
 early times up to the nineteenth century. The 
 courteous Frenchman drew my attention to the fact 
 that Fame was scattering her wreaths of honour, 
 and remarked, “ Une pour vous, monsieur, et peut- 
 etre une pour moi ! ” 
 
VI] 
 
 HORACE VERNET 
 
 85 
 
 Delaroche was of Huguenot descent, a re- 
 markably small man with a very grave face and 
 manner. He had married the only daughter of 
 Horace Vernet; the latter was head of the French 
 Academy established in Rome. Madame Dela- 
 roche was strikingly handsome, though almost as 
 grave-looking as her husband. She introduced me 
 to Horace Vernet, who proposed to show me the 
 Government Life School, then at the Institut, of 
 which he had the direction, and it was arranged 
 that I should meet him there the next day. We 
 arrived at the rendezvous at the same moment, i on 
 foot, whilst he, being then a major on the staff of 
 the National Guard, dashed up to the entrance on 
 horseback and in full uniform, threw the rein to the 
 orderly who was in attendance on him, and with 
 clattering spurs and clanging scabbard ran up the 
 steps of the Institut, where I was waiting for him. 
 
 He went the round of the pupils present with 
 lightning rapidity, bestowing sharp criticism on 
 some, sparse commendation on others, and passing 
 over others with a mere glimpse over their shoulders 
 and jerk of his head which was very expressive. 
 
 Vernet was at that time completing the great 
 
86 
 
 HIS PAINTINGS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 commission he executed for the French Govern- 
 ment, illustrating the recent success of the French 
 arms in Northern Africa by pictures of vast size: 
 one of them, called “ La Smala,” representing an 
 attack by French cavalry on the principal Arab 
 camp during the Algerian campaign, is, I think, 
 forty feet in length. This and others of the same 
 Brobdingnagian proportions are now to be seen in 
 the galleries of Versailles. The energy and skill 
 with which they are executed are worthy of general 
 admiration. 
 
 I became acquainted at the time with an amusing 
 incident in connection with “ La Smala.” An 
 intimate friend of my youth, who afterwards became 
 my brother-in-law, Dr. Seth Thompson, had estab- 
 lished himself early in his medical career as the 
 principal English physician in Rome, and during 
 his sojourn there for several years, he became closely 
 acquainted with the Vernet family, a friendship 
 which was carried on in Paris during Thompson’s 
 not infrequent visits there. During his school and 
 college days he had been rather noted as an athlete, 
 and retained his interest in boxing to a late period 
 of his life, believing it to be one of the soundest and 
 
VI] 
 
 HIS BOXING LESSONS 
 
 87 
 
 best of all manly exercises ; when travelling, boxing- 
 gloves were always included in his impedimenta. 
 
 Vernet from some accidental circumstances had 
 conceived much interest in “the noble art of self- 
 defence,” a title which he much admired, and, in 
 cross-questioning the doctor on the subject, the 
 latter informed him that he not only had two pairs of 
 boxing-gloves in his portmanteau, but that he would 
 gladly give the painter some elementary instruction 
 as to their use. Vernet accepted the offer with 
 effusion, and a time was fixed for the first lesson. 
 
 Whilst the artist was engaged for years upon his 
 national labour, as it might truly be called, it is 
 needless to say that every assistance was given him 
 by all the Government departments in any way 
 associated with his subjects ; and as these were for 
 the most part military, the hall of the Jeu de 
 Paume, 1 used as Vernet’s studio, looked like a 
 museum of military uniforms and weapons. 
 
 The doctor found he had a very apt pupil in the 
 painter, who soon began to show some confidence 
 in attack. Thompson was a perfectly good-tempered 
 man, and never got excited over games or exercise, 
 
 Jeti de paume , the original game of tennis. 
 
88 
 
 VERNET AT WORK 
 
 [chap. 
 
 but on one occasion when they were sparring in 
 front of a quantity of the aforesaid helmets and 
 cuirasses, drums and trumpets, etc., the Frenchman 
 was so eager that Thompson, feeling he must stop 
 the rush that he saw impending, struck out a couple 
 of straight hits from the shoulder which sent Vernet 
 spinning, and landed him on his back in the middle 
 of the weapons, by no means a soft place to fall 
 upon. The doctor soon picked Vernet up, none 
 the worse for his flooring, but the sparring lessons 
 hung fire afterwards, and Vernet used to visit 
 London to see them carried out by professionals in 
 prize-fights and Sporting Club entertainments. 
 
 In calling to take leave of Vernet and thank him 
 for all his friendly kindness, I found him at work 
 upon another enormous canvas, representing an 
 incident in the siege of Constantine, at which one 
 of Louis Philippe’s sons, the Due D’Aumale, had 
 greatly distinguished himself as a young man. The 
 foreground of the picture represented the interior 
 of some of the trenches in which were the French 
 batteries in vigorous action against the Arabs. In 
 the background are the lines of the great fortress of 
 Constantine, and groups of assaulting columns in 
 
VI] 
 
 HIS METHODS 
 
 89 
 
 the act of attacking through breaches created by 
 the persistent French fire. The Duke, with some 
 of his staff, is standing eagerly watching the effect 
 of the bombardment, and it was upon the group of 
 figures that I have just referred to that Vernet was 
 working in the most energetic way. He apolo- 
 gised for going on with his work, whilst I made 
 vigorous attempts to say adieu, and not interrupt 
 him, but he would not hear of my leaving. The 
 tableau presented by the vigorous little man and 
 his two stolid assistants, who were painting in the 
 endless details of military costumes, was so interest- 
 ing to me that I consented to remain, promising 
 to be absolutely silent. He vehemently assured 
 me that he had not the slightest objection to any 
 number of spectators looking on whilst he painted : 
 he would talk, however, and insisted on my doing 
 the same, but we grew silent as he got more and 
 more absorbed in his work, and I could see he was 
 in a doubtful mood of mind about the ducal legs. 
 
 The figure was the very eye of the composition. 
 The Duke is represented standing, watching intently 
 with his field-glass the effect of the French artillery 
 on the walls of Constantine. What evidently puzzled 
 
90 
 
 VERSAILLES 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the painter was the composition or action of the 
 lower limbs. He had no model sitting, but port- 
 folios full of studies, to which he constantly referred. 
 Then he had some library steps of a rough kind 
 placed within painting touch of his canvas, and up 
 and down these he was constantly skipping, rag in 
 hand, to wipe out legs, then to stand at a distance 
 and glare at them with the handle of a brush across 
 his mouth, which was, I am sure, often bitten 
 through. But at last the ducal legs satisfied him. 
 Then did he rejoice and appeal to me for confirma- 
 tion of his own satisfaction, which I cordially gave. 
 Finally I left him prancing up the steps, and firing 
 off some pungent criticisms at the work of his 
 assistants, who sat with their noses to the canvas, 
 stippling away at uniforms and other etceteras from 
 morn till dewy eve. 
 
 During this visit to Paris I went to stay with 
 some English friends for a few days at Versailles. 
 Passing the cathedral door, I was much struck with 
 the figure of an old blind man, who sat on the door 
 close to the receptacle for holy water, which he 
 offered to all who were entering the church. Having 
 my sketch-book in my pocket. I sat down and began 
 
VI] 
 
 MME. LA BARONNE 
 
 9i 
 
 a slight drawing of him. While I was doing this a 
 delightful-looking elderly French lady, beautifully 
 dressed, came up the steps, attended by her bonne , 
 and passed into the building. On her return she 
 came behind me, and looking over my shoulder, 
 broke into warm expressions of admiration, and 
 said to her attendant, “ Is it not charming? — so 
 exactly like! I wonder whether he would sell it.” 
 
 We entered into conversation, and though I 
 could not agree to make a commercial transaction 
 out of so simple a sketch, I promised to make a 
 copy of it for her. She handed me her card, 
 “ Madame la Baronne de Bourg,” and after a 
 prolonged conversation, in which she asked me to 
 dinner — to meet the Bishop of Versailles — an in- 
 vitation that circumstances prevented my accept- 
 ing, we parted. 
 
 When my copy of the sketch was finished, I let 
 her know that I could bring it the following morn- 
 ing. 
 
 She had a very fine family hotel in Versailles, and 
 a beautiful chateau in the country, as I afterwards 
 learned. I found a perfect specimen of the old French 
 servitor at the door, evidently prepared for my 
 
92 
 
 MY LADY’S CHAMBER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 advent, which he honoured with many “a bow 
 and scrape,” and he led me through a series of 
 salons filled with exquisite furniture. He assured 
 me that Mme. la Baronne was expecting me, and 
 would be enchanted to see me, if I would follow 
 him. This I did, keeping my footing with some 
 difficulty on the floors polished like glass. 
 
 At the end of a corridor he stopped me with the 
 utmost courtesy before some double doors, tapped 
 and listened, raising his finger as warning respectful 
 silence. A gentle voice was heard to say, “Entrez, 
 toujours!” and my conductor, opening and setting 
 back both doors with practised grace, begged me 
 to enter, for I hesitated when I was confronted with 
 Mme. la Baronne sitting up in bed. She, however, 
 waved her hand towards a Louis Quinze chair, 
 evidently placed by her bedside for my reception. 
 
 Well, it was the first time that I had ever been 
 invited to enter a lady’s chamber, and it was rather 
 startling to my youthful and untravelled mind. 
 However, I quickly recovered my equanimity, and 
 the Baronne, pointing to piles of packets of letters 
 lying beside her, began to speak of the sadness of 
 re-reading the records of the past, and as she spoke 
 
VI] 
 
 AN INTERVIEW 
 
 93 
 
 I noticed how yellow was the paper and how faded 
 the writing, and I conjured up all sorts of romantic 
 ideas about a love-story in her youth ; but when 
 tears came into her bright old eyes, and French 
 words utterly failed me for the correct responsive 
 phrases, I was fain to change the subject by pre- 
 senting my sketch. 
 
 Then she showered thanks upon me, and kind 
 expressions of admiration, and pressed me to dine 
 that day to meet the general of the troops then 
 quartered in Versailles. I was obliged to decline, 
 and was then requested to write down my name and 
 address in England, so that members of her family, 
 who often visited England, might come and see me 
 and my “ beautiful pictures.” I may add that the 
 lady was most elaborately attired, and that her 
 bonnet de nuit was a marvellous structure of bows 
 and ribbons, so that only the tips of her features 
 were visible. My address, “ i, High Row, Ken- 
 sington Gravel Pits,” much astonished her, and I, 
 alas ! could not translate or explain the last words at 
 all to her satisfaction, partly because my knowledge 
 of French was limited, and partly because I reflected 
 that if I could make her understand the literal 
 
94 
 
 CITOYEN HORSLEY 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 meaning, what would she think of such a place of 
 residence ? 
 
 I need scarcely say that I never saw the kind 
 grande dame again, nor have any of her family 
 made a voyage of discovery to the “Gravale Peets,” 
 which was her pronunciation of the words. 
 
 One morning in April, 1848, when I had just 
 begun my days work, I got an urgent letter from 
 Brunei, begging me to come with him to Paris for a 
 few days to see that capital under the government of 
 a Republic. The result was that we started for 
 Paris in a very few hours’ time. 
 
 He had secured rooms for us in the Hotel Bristol, 
 Place Vendome. The gay city we knew so well 
 was seething with excitement. We began at once 
 a course of running after every crowd in the street, 
 in the hopes of seeing the erection of a barricade. 
 
 My wife’s sister had married a French engineer, 
 an ex-militaire, and under his guidance we went to 
 all kinds of furious Red Republican meetings (pro- 
 vided with cards of admission made out to Citoyens 
 Horsley and Brunei), where violent addresses were 
 given by blue-bloused working men, usually from a 
 low platform, on which they paced up and down like 
 
VI] 
 
 A RED REPUBLICAN 
 
 95 
 
 caged beasts, working themselves into a wild state 
 of excitement. 
 
 After a few days our guide, philosopher, and 
 friend, Mr. Charles Bergeron, produced orders for 
 a stance at the Chamber of Deputies. We had 
 seats in the front row of the strangers’ gallery, and 
 beside us we found an intelligent Frenchman, who 
 made polite overtures, and kindly offered to point 
 out notabilities. 
 
 Amongst the extraordinary actions of the pro- 
 visional Government, then ruling France, was the 
 formation of a Workmens Parliament, which met at 
 the Luxembourg Palace, and of which Louis Blanc 
 was appointed the President. He was a fierce-look- 
 ing little Corsican, very dark-complexioned, and with 
 piercing eyes. 
 
 Reports of all kinds were being spread through 
 the city of the imperial style in which he lorded it 
 over his Parliament, of his driving out in semi-state 
 in Louis Philippe’s royal carriage, and of his splendid 
 entertainments prepared by Louis Philippe’s cook. 
 It was in reference to these reports that he on this 
 occasion demanded an inquiry by the Chamber of 
 Deputies into the truth of what he said were the 
 vilest slanders. 
 
96 
 
 LOUIS BLANC’S SACRIFICE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 Other notable people present were Lamartine 
 and Ledru Rollin, the former a remarkably gentle- 
 manly well-dressed person, very like the best type 
 of Englishman, while Ledru Rollin was the exact 
 reverse — very tall and portly, beefy, and black- 
 muzzled, with a savage and animal-looking head. 
 
 The debate began with the wildest talk, and then 
 came Louis Blanc’s time. He was so short that he 
 had a stool to stand on in the Tribune, off which he 
 was continually stepping in his excitement, and then 
 jumping up again, while he belaboured the desk 
 with both fists at once. Suddenly he turned upon 
 his opponents, and made a most tremendous appeal 
 to them on the subject of his sacrifices for his 
 country, upon which my gentlemanly acquaintance 
 next the stranger rose to his feet in overwhelming 
 excitement, and shouted, “ Sacrifices ! I should like 
 to be so sacrificed — lodgings in the Luxembourg 
 and the best cook in Paris ! ” 
 
 Shouts of applause and derision and shrieks from 
 the friends of Louis Blanc, who was foaming at the 
 mouth with rage, succeeded this outburst, both 
 from the deputies and the tumultuous mob of 
 “ strangers ” present. The row became so fast and 
 
VI] 
 
 A DRAMATIC MEETING 
 
 97 
 
 furious that the assembly broke up, and we again 
 descended to the street, and followed up the noisiest 
 groups outside. 
 
 We stopped three or four days more, and then 
 came back to England. 
 
 The attack we had heard on Louis Blanc had 
 taken great effect, and he had to bolt for refuge to 
 London. I did not know of this, and well recall 
 my astonishment when, crossing St. James’s Park, 
 I suddenly came face to face with the fiery little 
 orator. I stood and stared with the astonishment 
 I truly felt, and my stare evidently disturbed his 
 equanimity greatly. He began buttoning up his 
 overcoat with dramatic fervour, and I am sure was 
 meditating getting “on the run ” again — a very un- 
 necessary proceeding, as he was not “ wanted ” any- 
 where save by his Parisian set — so, by a sudden 
 inspiration, I took my hat off and made him a polite 
 bow, which so restored his self-possession that he 
 returned my bow with effusion and walked off 
 calmly ; I did not then imagine how soon we were 
 to meet again by one of those curious coincidences 
 which baffle speculation. 
 
 I had arranged to go down the following day to 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 KNOLE PARK 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 Sevenoaks to show some friends Knole Park and 
 Ightham Mote, two of my best-loved professional 
 hunting-grounds. 
 
 Sevenoaks, in lovely Kent, the “Garden of Eng- 
 land,” is a charming sample of an English country 
 town, with many picturesque private houses of 
 serenely comfortable aspect, and the main street 
 crowmed by the lovely park with its stately house, 
 mainly Elizabethan and Jacobean. It is full of in- 
 teresting objets Tart, apart from the priceless 
 pictures on its walls, of invaluable interest to those 
 who, like myself, have revelled in the endeavour 
 to realise the aspect of people and things in bygone 
 days. 
 
 On my way down I had been amusing my friends 
 with anecdotes of my Paris visit, and when, after 
 interviewing our landlord, Mr. Pawley, of the Crown 
 Inn, an old acquaintance of mine, we were peace- 
 fully walking in the quiet streets of Sevenoaks on 
 our way to the park, and comparing the tranquil 
 scenes before us with the condition of Paris as I 
 had seen it, and as described in the Times of that 
 morning (which condition indeed soon culminated 
 in the fighting and the slaughter of July, 1848), 
 
VI] 
 
 LOUIS BLANC AGAIN 
 
 99 
 
 suddenly we were confronted by a party of sight- 
 seers, among whom was Louis Blanc. 
 
 I could not have felt more astonished if he had 
 dropped at my feet from the clouds, or had been 
 shot up by an explosion from below, than I was at 
 this apparition. He did not recognise me, as was 
 very natural, and we — for I had soon told my 
 friends who he was — were able to amuse ourselves 
 by observing them without exciting his nerves. 
 
 Pawley was comically flustered by my informa- 
 tion about Louis Blanc, and at first declared he 
 must turn him out from his old inn, the head- 
 quarters of the Conservatives of Kent, which could 
 not harbour a Red Republican. However, as he 
 calmed down he went on to say that the party was 
 only there for one night, brought by an old patron 
 of his, Miss Eliza Cook, the poetess. He was sur- 
 prised at my ignorance of her fame. She was the 
 poetic representative of Republicanism and Chartism 
 in England, and at the beck and call of all the 
 disturbers of peace and order. I assured him that 
 no harm could come to his house, even from Louis 
 Blanc, firebrand as he was, illuminating Sevenoaks 
 for one night. 
 
100 
 
 HIDE-AND-SEEK 
 
 [CHAP. VI 
 
 The next day we saw nothing of the “Reds” 
 till we came upon them in the afternoon, in Knole 
 Park, where they were playing a mild form of hide- 
 and-seek, in which Louis Blanc and Eliza Cook 
 were to be seen running up and down the grassy 
 slopes, hand in hand. 
 
 I could but feel a shade of pity for the poor little 
 man, reduced to such an extremity for getting 
 through the day, when, a few days before, he was 
 lording it at the Luxembourg, with “ the best cook 
 in Paris,” and royal equipages at his disposal. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Haddon Hall — The Vernons — L. E. L.’s criticism— Ightham Mote — 
 Expedition from Gravesend — Difficulties and how we overcame 
 them — Charles Landseer — History of the Mote — Major Luard — 
 Heraldic Arms — Horsley Castle — Old Kensington — Kensington 
 Gardens — The gravel pits — William I II.— Yew hedges — Orme — 
 Village of Kensington — Highwaymen — General Graham’s adven- 
 ture — His wife’s picture — Picture by Sir Augustus Callcott— Effect 
 of sunshine. 
 
 I HAD made acquaintance with Haddon Hall 
 about 1835, when I went to stay with some of 
 the well-known Derbyshire family of Barkers, at 
 the Manor House, Bakewell. 
 
 Mr. Barker had given me a warm invitation to 
 go and stay with them, and sketch Haddon Hall, 
 so one evening at six o’clock I found myself on the 
 box-seat of the “ Peveril of the Peak,” a four-horse 
 fast coach which took me to Bakewell, and in this 
 far from luxurious position I passed the night and 
 arrived there about noon the next day. 
 
 Next morning we sallied forth and walked across 
 
 IOI 
 
102 
 
 HADDON HALL 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the meadows to Haddon. It is absolutely unique, 
 and there is nothing like it in the whole world. All 
 other old houses — and I have searched for them 
 far and wide — have been altered to meet the re- 
 quirements of succeeding generations without due 
 regard to fitness and original beauty, or they have 
 been spoilt by so-called restorations. All such 
 additions as have been made to Haddon Hall have 
 been done during the best periods of English 
 domestic architecture, the building having been 
 begun in the reign of King John and finished, to 
 the best of my belief, in that of Charles I. 
 
 As is well known, Haddon originally belonged to 
 the Vernons. It was in the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth that Lady Dorothy Vernon eloped with 
 Sir George Manners, the heir of the Rutland 
 family. Both the church at Bakewell and the Hall 
 are full of associations with legends, of more or 
 less veracity, about this romantic couple. 
 
 I was naturally filled with yearnings to paint 
 pictures, in which I could use as backgrounds the 
 ancient halls and chambers, and I dreamed many a 
 dream of pictures to be, as I sketched diligently the 
 beautiful scenes before me. 
 
VII] “RENT DAY AT HADDON HALL” 103 
 
 Showing my uncle Callcott these studies on my 
 return, he was equally impressed with the capability 
 of the old place for pictorial treatment, and when I 
 confided to him my crude ideas in connection with 
 the sketches, to my agreeable surprise he did not 
 snub me as I expected, but gave me a few words of 
 distinct encouragement, whereupon I at once began 
 a picture from one of them which elicited the 
 following criticism. 
 
 In the Athenceum for Saturday, February 4th, 
 1837, in the notice of the British Institution 
 written by “ L. E. L.” (Letitia Elizabeth Landon, 
 the ill-fated poetess, who perished from an overdose 
 of laudanum at Cape Coast, where her husband, 
 Mr. Maclean, was Governor), occurs the following 
 passage, which at the time gave much pleasure to 
 the young artist, I remember : — 
 
 “Mr. J. C. Horsley is a name new to us ; his 
 ‘ Rent Day in the Sixteenth Century at Haddon 
 Hall ’ makes us feel as if we ought to have known 
 it earlier. The lord of the manor is sitting, with 
 his steward at his side, to receive the moneys which 
 a stalwart green-hosed yeoman pays down with as 
 much goodwill as respect: my lady’s page lingers in 
 
104 
 
 IGHTHAM MOTE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the oriel window looking on, while behind the door 
 in the rich oak screen a maid is pouring out ale for 
 two others of the tenants. All this is good. 
 
 “ But if Mr. Horsley meant to paint old Haddon 
 in all its glory, was he right, we ask, to use the 
 mildewed colouring which he has thrown over the 
 picture ? As it now stands, it is a group of expres- 
 sive figures and rich old furniture as they were then, 
 placed in a desolate weather-stained hall as it is 
 now.” 
 
 This, to my mind, is a good specimen of a fair 
 criticism. 
 
 My first acquaintance with Ightham Mote was 
 from the excellent lithographic plates depicting it 
 in Joseph Nashs book on old English mansions. 
 H e was an admirable artist in his way, and a mem- 
 ber of the old Water Colour Society. He told me 
 how very difficult it was to obtain admission to the 
 Mote, and that when he went he was threatened with 
 having the dog's “set at him,” but he added that the 
 owner was dead, and that now it might be easier to 
 see it. 
 
 Finding myself at Gravesend with a friend, I per- 
 suaded him to go with me on a voyage of discovery, 
 and we set off with very vague ideas of both the 
 
VII] 
 
 A DIFFICULTY 
 
 05 
 
 exact locality and the distance, but in those golden 
 days of youth, ten or twenty miles, more or less, in 
 a day’s march mattered little. We passed through 
 Wrotham and Ightham villages, and at last caught 
 sight of the Mote as we were descending a sharp 
 pitch, but we were still so much above it that we 
 seemed to be looking down its chimneys. When we 
 emerged from the wooded hill we were on the road 
 leading to the house, and its delightful picturesque- 
 ness more than realised my expectations. There is 
 an entrance tower of the time of Edward the Third 
 leading into a quadrangle. The internal decorations 
 of the chapel date from Henry the Seventh, and all 
 the beauties of the place are enhanced by its setting 
 in a moat of clear water, supplied from many springs. 
 
 We found that there was no possible approach 
 by the main entrance in the tower, and wandering 
 round we came to a back entrance with a narrow 
 footbridge over the moat. I ventured across, and 
 smartly rapping at the door, it was opened by a 
 sharp-eyed maiden, who civilly but decidedly made 
 it clear to me that no one was admitted to the 
 house, that her mistress was an invalid who saw no 
 
 one. 
 
io 6 
 
 DIFFICULTY OVERCOME 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Neither entreaties nor arguments produced any 
 effect, and there was something so pleasant about 
 the little maid, I did not like to try the base art 
 of bribery, so I turned reluctantly away, bidding 
 her good morning. “Well, sir,” she said, “ it does 
 seem a pity you should come such a way for 
 nothing. If you can wait,” she went on, “missus 
 dines at two, and goes to sleep afterwards; so if 
 you and your friend are here at three, I could let you 
 in and just show you the old place, but you mustn’t 
 stay long, for I don’t know what missus would do 
 if she caught sight of you again.” “Again!” I 
 echoed. “ When has she seen me before ? ” “ Oh, 
 sir, she was watching you when you came along 
 the front, and she had me up to say two very sus- 
 picious characters were poking about, and I was 
 to bolt all the doors and whistle in the dogs from 
 the stables.” Then I remembered that when looking 
 up at the house I had noticed a sort of bundle that 
 looked like a roll of blankets at one of the windows. 
 This doubtless was the “ missus ” on the watch. 
 
 At the appointed time we returned, and saw the 
 interior of one of the most charming houses it is 
 possible to imagine. The whole place is a feast to 
 
VII] 
 
 LANDSEER AT THE MOTE 
 
 107 
 
 artists, and I returned to town very full of its artistic 
 capabilities. 
 
 Charles Landseer, Edwin’s elder brother, was so 
 fired by my description that he made up his mind to 
 go and do some oil-studies of the interior. I warned 
 him how small his chances were of obtaining admis- 
 sion, but he succeeded so far as to lodge his easel 
 under the stone arch of the big kitchen fireplace, 
 while he painted the kitchen — a most elaborate sub- 
 ject, needing many days’ work. 
 
 Now the chamber called the '‘still-room” at the 
 Mote has an internal window commanding the 
 kitchen, so that the housewives of old, while distil- 
 ling their herbs “for the use of men,” and attending 
 to other housewifely duties in their particular apart- 
 ment, could at any moment look down upon the pro- 
 ceedings of their domestics and the roasting of the 
 joints. 
 
 The present “missus” was too much of an invalid 
 to make use of this convenient arrangement, but one 
 morning, when the aforesaid maiden was ironing her 
 cuffs and collars at the kitchen table, and Landseer 
 was busy stooping over his work, his fair, curly pate 
 well in view, the window was suddenly opened, and 
 
io8 
 
 HISTORY OF THE MOTE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 the head of the old lady appeared. Landseer had 
 the presence of mind to keep rigidly still and abso- 
 lutely silent. Old lady (loudly) : “ What is that by 
 the fireplace, what is it ? — I believe it’s a man ! ” 
 The little maid (promptly and cheerfully) : “ Lor’, 
 mum, why it’s only the kitchen mop” (Landseer’s 
 dust-coloured hair) “ leaning against a chair.” The 
 mistress, being of uncertain vision, was apparently 
 satisfied, and closed the window, and the incident 
 with it. 
 
 The Mote had in mediaeval times belonged to a 
 family of de Hootes. In Queen Elizabeth’s vigor- 
 ous days the old family of Selby of Twizells, in 
 Northumberland, had become so numerous that a 
 branch of them, headed by Sir William Selby, 
 migrated, and sought their fortunes at the English 
 Court. Here the knight met and married a daughter 
 of the de Hootes, who was the heiress of the 
 Ightham property. Thus the Selbys lived and 
 flourished there till up to the beginning of the nine- 
 teenth century, when, their financial position being 
 gravely affected by various strokes of ill-fortune, 
 they drifted into the clutches of a limb of the 
 law, who after years of chicanery and usury, 
 
VII] 
 
 IT CHANGES HANDS 
 
 109 
 
 obtained possession of the entire estate, ousting the 
 Selbys. 
 
 The only child of the new owner was a scape- 
 grace, and in his dying hours he was sorely puzzled 
 as to the disposition of the Ightham property ; how- 
 ever, visited with a righteous and merciful inspira- 
 tion, he bequeathed it to the extant Selby of Twi- 
 zells, in Northumberland, a delightful old country 
 gentleman and keen sportsman. He was, moreover, 
 an accomplished ornithologist and the author of 
 a well-known book on British birds. I can readily 
 fancy the delight with which he took possession of 
 the family acres and the picturesque home. About 
 this time his eldest daughter, Mrs. Bigge, was 
 widowed, and she with several young children ac- 
 cepted her father’s offer of the Mote as their home. 
 It was at this time that I had the great pleasure 
 of becoming intimately acquainted with the Bigge 
 family. 
 
 I painted an elaborate picture of the arched 
 entrance to the hall from the courtyard, and was a 
 not infrequent visitor at the Mote during the life- 
 time of Mrs. Bigge, who subsequently married 
 Major Luard, of the Horse Artillery, a name so 
 
MAJOR LUARD 
 
 [chap. 
 
 iio 
 
 honoured and respected in the British army that 
 the men of the family were known by the name of 
 the “ Fighting Luards.” Major Luard had a strong 
 artistic bent, and was a learned antiquarian ; his 
 nephew, John Luard, an artist of great promise, 
 died early. 
 
 It was at the Mote one day that a discussion 
 arose about heraldic arms. Major Luard pounced 
 upon me with the question, “ Horsley, what are 
 your arms ? ” and became indignant when I asserted 
 that my family bore none, and went on to reproach 
 me for want of interest in the antecedents of a family 
 of so old a name as ours. “Well, I can tell you 
 this,” he went on, “that in the county of Northum- 
 berland, not far from the town of Rothbury, stands 
 the village and the castle of Long Horsley, which 
 has never been uninhabited or allowed to become 
 ruinous. The land round the castle is still called 
 the Deerpark, and there are many traces on the 
 estate of the importance of the family once holding 
 it. Up to the time of Charles I. they flourished; 
 their troubles began when the Horsleys, loyal to the 
 backbone, bore their heavy share in the sacrifices 
 which ruined thousands of the British gentry, and 
 
VII] 
 
 MY HERALDIC ARMS 
 
 1 1 1 
 
 they were finally engulfed in financial troubles at 
 the moment when General Monk was moving about 
 the North uncertain which side to take — that of 
 King or Parliament. The hospitality they showed 
 him and his following seems to have been the final 
 straw, and the whole family were plunged into com- 
 parative poverty.” At this point Major Luard 
 stopped, and again asked me if I knew absolutely 
 nothing of my family history. 
 
 After some reflection I answered that I could tell 
 him that my paternal grandfather had been the 
 chief medical man in Carlisle early in the eighteenth 
 century. Upon which the Major started and 
 positively yelled out that I could give him no 
 more convincing proof that I was of the old race 
 of Horsley, of Long Horsley, in the county of 
 Northumberland, for, “ What had taken place after 
 the financial smash up of the family ? Why, those 
 who had sufficient talent joined the professional 
 ranks of church, army, law, or medicine — your 
 great-grandfather would have lived in the time 
 of General Monk.” 
 
 Major Luard was also much interested at a 
 reminiscence of my childhood that came back to me 
 during this discussion. 
 
I 12 
 
 HORSLEY CASTLE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 My sister Fanny and I when we were children 
 were immensely delighted with Washington Irving’s 
 Christmas at Bracebridge Hall, and we determined 
 to do our best to keep Christmas in such a notable 
 fashion. To decorate the dining-room, I painted 
 a nearly life-sized portrait of a presumed ancestor 
 standing in full armour by the side of a stately 
 charger. We called him (on the frame) “Sir 
 Geoffrey de Hoerslie.” Wanting to paint the arms 
 on his shield, I asked my father what they should 
 be, and he answered without the slightest hesitation, 
 “ Why, three horses’ heads are the arms, one only 
 being the crest.” That was the only occasion on 
 which I can remember my father referring to his 
 ancestors. 
 
 A few years later, having the pleasure of knowing 
 that very famous Englishman, Lord (then Sir 
 William) Armstrong, I was invited to stay at Crag- 
 side, his beautiful home in the moors, near Rothbury, 
 in Northumberland, which was but a few miles from 
 the village of Long Horsley. I need not say that I 
 quickly told my host of my interest in this place and 
 the castle, and we thereupon went to see it. The 
 castle was then inhabited by a Roman Catholic 
 priest, who most kindly showed us the place. 
 
VII] 
 
 OLD KENSINGTON 
 
 3 
 
 The castle is a very good specimen of the Border 
 fortresses, called Peel Towers. The basement, a 
 solid arched structure, reminding you of a cathedral 
 crypt, was used as a sanctuary for man and beast 
 when the Moss Troopers were over the Border 
 raiding the district far and wide ; at such times the 
 temporary ladder to the platform, from which access 
 was obtained to the dwelling-place, was drawn up. 
 The castle itself has three or four floors, some of the 
 rooms being ornamented with good Jacobean panels, 
 and plaster work of the same period in the ceilings 
 and cornices. The chapel is built in the thickness 
 of the wall. 
 
 No sketch, however slight, of my memories could 
 be complete without some account of Old Ken- 
 sington as I first knew it, when Kensington 
 Gardens was the happy playground of all Kensing- 
 ton children whose nurses and caretakers always 
 gravitated towards the palace and the Round Pond, 
 and when Campden Grove was an open space of 
 woodland, in which I have often accompanied a 
 young medical friend who possessed a gun, and who 
 “ took ” the shooting, there being no police to inter- 
 fere with the destruction of casual dickey-birds. 
 
 i 
 
KENSINGTON GARDENS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 1 14 
 
 The walls, too, with which nearly all the private 
 houses were shut in, were of astonishing beauty, 
 perhaps the finest of all being that enclosing the 
 kitchen garden of Kensington Palace. The 
 majority of them dated, I should think, from the 
 time of Charles II., and many of them were older. 
 They were not then grimy and smoke-stained, but 
 had all the charm of varied colour, and the growth 
 of lichens added to the beauty of their stately 
 proportions. Parts of these walls are introduced 
 into the background of several of Mulready’s 
 pictures ; he lived from early manhood till death in 
 Kensington Gravel Pits. 
 
 Several features, which gave their special charm 
 to the Kensington Gardens of my childhood, have 
 completely disappeared. One of these was the rows 
 of yew hedges planted by William III., occupying 
 the ground between the western walk at the north 
 end of the Gardens and the Broad Walk, which yew 
 hedges represented celebrated lines of fortification 
 in Holland, and which in his time, and for years 
 afterwards, were kept well trimmed and in good 
 order, both as to the hedges and to the intervening 
 gravel walks and plots of turf. In my childhood 
 
VII] 
 
 ITS OLD YEW HEDGES 
 
 1 15 
 
 these walks were a glorious place for hide-and-seek, 
 or for playing at soldiers and fighting behind the 
 “ walls of circumvallation ” that could be still traced, 
 though long before this the authorities had grown 
 careless, and the yews had stretched their branches 
 far and wide. Another feature was a large pit 
 inside the Gardens on the right of the Broad 
 Walk as you enter it from Bayswater. It was used 
 for gravel-digging for many years, and was filled 
 up when the northern end of the Serpentine in 
 the Gardens was cleaned out, and much picturesque 
 undergrowth destroyed. It had been the happy 
 hunting-ground of artists young and old, I do not 
 question, for half a century or more, and grievous 
 mournings were heard on all sides on its destruction. 
 
 The district west of the Gardens was called the 
 Kensington Gravel Pits because this region is formed 
 of gravel beds of splendid quality, the fame of which 
 became known to the Russians when they were 
 building St. Petersburg, and wished to form an 
 ! enormous parade ground two miles square, I believe. 
 They made regulations that their ships bringing 
 cargoes of hides and tallow and other merchandise 
 should always return in ballast of Bayswater gravel. 
 
 
ii 6 
 
 THE GRAVEL PITS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Amongst the chief owners of land in and about 
 this neighbourhood was a Mr. Orme, who is said to 
 have made an enormous fortune by supplying 
 Russia with gravel. When he had dug out the 
 gravel, he took to building three sides of a square, 
 to which he gave his name, and as a token of 
 gratitude to his excellent customer Russia, he 
 erected a column in the centre of Orme Square with 
 the Russian eagle on the top, all of which may still 
 be seen. Mr. Orme also built St. Petersburg Place 
 and Moscow Road. Several other landed pro- 
 prietors followed the example and became gravel- 
 diggers. One of John Linnell’s admirable land- 
 scapes has for its subject “ Gravel-digging at 
 Craven Hill.” The last operation of this kind took 
 place very recently in Bayswater, when Palace 
 Court was built ; it was quite refreshing to see this 
 beautiful stuff once more exposed, and as it was for 
 sale, I took the opportunity of furbishing up my old 
 walks at No. i, High Row. 
 
 When I was a child the road between the village 
 of Kensington and London was not considered safe 
 to traverse at night alone, or even in a limited 
 company. An old friend, who lived then in Ken- 
 
VII] 
 
 VILLAGE OF KENSINGTON 
 
 ii 7 
 
 sington Square, told me that when he was a boy it 
 had long been the custom for the parish bellman to 
 patrol the Square from nine p.m. for half an hour 
 on Sunday evenings, ringing his bell vigorously, 
 which summoned all those who had to walk back to 
 London, after spending a happy day in Kensington, 
 to join with many others who had been similarly 
 employed, and become, for the time, a company for 
 mutual protection from the too assiduous attention 
 of mounted highwaymen and footpads. These were 
 the days when it was possible for the great Duke of 
 Wellington, when warmly supporting in the House 
 of Lords the measure for establishing the London 
 Police, to be able to state the fact of his mother’s 
 carriage having been stopped in Grosvenor Place 
 by two armed horsemen, splendidly mounted, who 
 robbed those inside of their purses and jewellery. 
 
 Just before the introduction of gas-lamps to light 
 the Bayswater Road, William Mulready, r.a., in 
 walking after midnight from London, was stopped 
 by a footpad, who presented a pistol at the painters 
 breast, and cleared him of watch, chain, and purse ; 
 the thief then bolted back in the Oxford Street 
 direction with Mulready after him, hoping to meet 
 
1 1 8 
 
 HIGHWAYMEN 
 
 [chap. 
 
 some of “ the patrolling Bow Street officers ” (as they 
 were termed), but no aid presented itself. Still 
 Mulready persevered and stated his case to “the 
 night watch ” in Bow Street, and did more — he 
 made a sketch of his assailant from memory. This 
 sketch was afterwards the means of helping in the 
 conviction of the villain, for the attempted murder 
 of the toll-gate keeper at Vauxhall, for which crime 
 he was hanged. 
 
 At the risk of digression from Kensington, I 
 must relate a story that occurs to me on the subject 
 of highwaymen. One of the chief glories of the 
 Edinburgh National Gallery is the whole-length 
 portrait, by Gainsborough, of Mrs. Graham, the 
 lovely wife of General Graham, one of Wellington’s 
 most efficient and eminently gallant lieutenants in 
 the Peninsular War. 
 
 On starting for their honeymoon in a post-chaise 
 they had not gone many miles before they were 
 stopped by a highwayman, who, firing at the post- 
 boy, effectually stopped him without hitting him, 
 then rode up to the chaise and thrust a loaded 
 pistol in at the window, with the usual demand for 
 the purses. Graham, who was a man of wonderful 
 
VII] GENERAL GRAHAM’S ADVENTURE 1 19 
 
 strength and courage, with enormous hands, clapped 
 his right hand on the villains fist and pistol, and 
 held both fast down upon the window frame, literally 
 as though they were “ nailed to a counter.” At the 
 same time he seized the fellow by the throat through 
 the window with his left hand, shouted to the post- 
 boy to use whip and spur to his horses, and to gallop 
 as hard as he could go to the next town, which happily 
 was not far off, and in that condition they dashed up 
 to the post-house. This was also a police-station, and 
 Graham had the triumph of handing up the bruised 
 and battered wretch, not loosing his hold till he had 
 flung him into a cell, which the admiring constables 
 had rushed to open for his victim. The miserable 
 creature, being a good horseman, had managed to 
 keep the head of his own steed in line without fatal 
 collision with the wedding chariot, but what with 
 the hustling he got from Grahams terrific strength 
 and the banging against the chaise, he was reduced 
 to almost his last gasp when he was housed in gaol. 
 
 Great was the joy of the young husband in seeing 
 the wonderful pluck of his lovely bride, who never 
 lost presence of mind, and showed no fear through- 
 out the whole of the fearful scrimmage. Mrs. 
 
120 PORTRAIT OF LADY GRAHAM [chap. 
 
 Graham lived but a few years of happy wedded life, 
 and then fell into rapid consumption and died. 
 The effect of this loss upon her husband was 
 terrible, and after trying in vain to master his intense 
 grief, he gave up home and country and volunteered 
 his services for the British army in the Peninsula. 
 H ere he soon distinguished himself, and rose 
 rapidly, from almost the ranks of the army, till he 
 became a general officer, and commanded a division 
 of the British army on several important occasions, 
 notably at Barossa, where he obtained a signal 
 victory over the French. Before he left England 
 he had the picture of his wife carefully wrapped up 
 and most securely packed, and so it remained for 
 thirty or forty years. On his return (having in the 
 meantime been created a peer of the realm as Lord 
 Lynedoch, in acknowledgment of his distinguished 
 services) he thought to look once more on the picture 
 of his lovely wife. I was told that the revelation on 
 first opening the case was fearful, for the portrait had 
 become blackened and discoloured almost beyond 
 recognition owing to absence of light and air. It is 
 to be borne in mind by all possessors of oil-pictures 
 that nothing is more injurious to them than cover- 
 
VII] DISCOLOURATION OF PICTURES 121 
 
 ing them from the light of heaven, for the intelligible 
 reason that, the bleaching power of light being with- 
 held from the surface of an oil-picture, the oil mixed 
 with the colours darkens, and ruins the artistic effect 
 altogether. I will give another striking illus- 
 tration of this. The best part of a century ago Sir 
 A. W. Callcott, r.a., painted, on commission for the 
 Sir Matthew White- Ridley of those days, a large 
 and very fine picture of the mouth of the Tyne 
 River crowded with shipping. It was remarkable 
 for its splendid light and breezy sky. When the 
 work was completed, and after its exhibition at the 
 Royal Academy, it was hung up in the Ridley 
 London house, which at the time had been vacated 
 by the family, who had gone abroad for many 
 months. On their return Callcott was horrified on 
 receiving a note from the owner, to say that the sky 
 of the picture was terribly discoloured with dark 
 patches all over it, and begging him to come at once 
 to examine it, and pronounce upon the treatment 
 it should receive. The agitated artist was soon 
 face to face with his damaged work, and the 
 housekeeper was summoned to state what she 
 knew on the subject. She then described the care 
 she had taken to swathe picture and frame with the 
 
122 
 
 RESTORATION BY SUNLIGHT [cH ap. vii 
 
 thick yellow gauze material with which all the gilt 
 frames in the house were covered when the family 
 left town for any lengthened period. Callcott was 
 convinced himself that this proceeding was the chief 
 factor in creating the damage, and elected to have 
 the picture sent to his Kensington home, so as to 
 have it inspected by chemical experts under his 
 supervision. It was late in the summer and very 
 hot weather, and as his house was being subjected 
 to elaborate cleansing, the entire contents of his 
 painting-room had been taken into the garden in 
 front of his old house, the Mall, Kensington Gravel 
 Pits. The picture was carefully fixed with its face 
 fully exposed to the light and left so for the whole 
 day. To Callcott’s extreme gratification, on look- 
 ing at it when it was brought in at eventide, many 
 of the dark spots were much lighter, and after many 
 days of similar treatment the whole of the dark 
 spots disappeared. Callcott must have felt infinitely 
 relieved, for I have heard him say in telling the 
 story that he had fully calculated on having to paint 
 the sky again. I have thought well to record this 
 incident, for in telling the story to brother limners 
 they have often expressed their great interest in the 
 plain facts stated. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Her Majesty Queen Victoria — Early memories — The young Princess 
 — The Empress Eugenie — Miss Marianne Skerrett, Dresser to the 
 Queen — Portrait of the Princess Beatrice — Birth of my son Victor 
 — Walter taken to be inspected — Interviews with the Queen — The 
 Prince Consort — Sir G. Cornewall Lewis — Edwin Landseer as a 
 story-teller. 
 
 V ICTORIA ALEXANDRINA, Queen of 
 Queens, honoured and well beloved the wide 
 world over ! My personal knowledge of her late 
 Majesty dates from my sixth year, when, in common 
 with all the other children in Kensington, our nurses 
 took us for our walks, where we might have a chance 
 of seeing the little Princess. We children, there- 
 fore, saw her first carried in her nurses arms, then 
 tucked into a donkey-pannier, or drawn in a little 
 wheeled carriage. When she was still very young 
 she would be on a led donkey or pony ; she was a 
 delightful-looking fair child, with a most kindly ex- 
 pression. After the days of her extreme youth she 
 
 123 
 
124 
 
 THE YOUNG PRINCESS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 usually had a dog or two in her company, to which 
 she was most devoted, as they to her. The royal 
 young lady must have been a born horsewoman, for 
 she was soon promoted from her led pony to a 
 “light arted ” (a Gloucestershire expression) cob, 
 and her riding-party generally consisted of four or 
 five ladies and gentlemen. It was a charming sight 
 to see them scampering up Church Lane at a hand 
 gallop, passing the woodland Campden Grove, past 
 old Campden House and its entrance gates, with piers 
 on each of which there was a capitally carved stone 
 dog, and the Princess, who, of course, led the caval- 
 cade, with a cool and experienced equerry at her 
 bridle hand, pulling up at the turnpike gate which 
 barred the road, just opposite the stable gate of 
 No. i, High Row. 
 
 The children of the Horsley family were from 
 their bringing-up extremely loyal, and it was the 
 main daily object of the two elder girls’ lives not to 
 miss seeing the Princess pass. 
 
 They knew by observation the probable days and 
 hours this event would take place, and they took 
 care to be ready for going out at the exact time. 
 There was sparse traffic in those days in Church 
 
VIII] 
 
 HER MAJESTY'S BOW 
 
 125 
 
 Lane, and from one of the upper rooms of their 
 abode they could see clearly the walls of Campden 
 House and the cavalcade breasting the hill, with the 
 Princess at its head, upon which they flew down the 
 staircase to reach the doorstep, and with demure and 
 unruffled countenances to make low obeisances to 
 the “ goddess of their idolatry,” who as she passed, 
 according to the girls’ account, always bestowed a 
 bow upon them from her saddle. No one who saw 
 it can forget the graceful movement with which she 
 at all times recognised the respect and sympathy of 
 the public. 
 
 I remember a keen observer saying that he had 
 discovered the secret of Her Majesty’s grace, on the 
 occasion when the Queen and the Empress Eugenie 
 stood side by side at the Crystal Palace on the 
 platform, receiving the vociferous cheers of tens of 
 thousands of enthusiastic people. Her Majesty was 
 far more graceful in her bows than the Empress, the 
 reason being that she bowed from the waist, while 
 the Empress bowed simply from the shoulders. 
 
 Curiously enough, being in Paris shortly after I 
 heard this opinion, the Empress of the French 
 passed in an open carriage, while 1 was crossing 
 
126 
 
 THE EMPRESS EUGENIE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the Place de la Concorde. I took my hat off and 
 executed a very demonstrative bow, upon which 
 she, sitting upright in her carriage, accomplished a 
 series of jerky bows, such as Chinese mandarin 
 dolls perform ; but her charming face and figure were 
 always attractive. 
 
 We were still young when an incident occurred 
 which greatly increased our chances of hearing facts 
 about Her Majesty, as the Princess had then be- 
 come. 
 
 Through our aunt, Lady Callcott, we had become 
 intimately acquainted with a delightful woman, Miss 
 Marianne Skerrett, the daughter of a gallant officer, 
 Colonel Skerrett, who had distinguished himself in 
 the Peninsular War, and who is mentioned with 
 much honour by Napier in his History . His daugh- 
 ter was a remarkable personage! To begin with, 
 there was less of her than I ever saw in any woman; 
 under five feet in height, and as thin as a shred of 
 paper, she had a face of the brightest intelligence, 
 but of almost comical plainness of feature. Her 
 mind was of the purest and strongest, sustained by 
 devout Christian faith, and illumined by brightest 
 intelligence. She was a remarkable linguist and 
 
VIII] 
 
 MARIANNE SKERRETT 
 
 127 
 
 a widely read and cultivated woman. Such was 
 Marianne Skerrett when Her Majesty came to the 
 throne, and it was not long after this event that the 
 ministers felt the vital need of appointing some lady 
 to a position about the Queen’s household who 
 should always be at hand, and upon whose judgment 
 the Queen could rely for immediate advice. In fact, 
 the lady was to unite the accomplishments of an 
 efficient private secretary with all the virtues it is 
 possible to conceive in connection with such a post. 
 
 At this date the late Marchioness of Lansdowne 
 was Mistress of the Robes to the young Queen. It 
 occurred to her to consult her intimate friend Lady 
 Callcott, who listened to the account of what was 
 wanted, and answered that she had been deeply 
 interested with every word of the description, and 
 presumed Lady Lansdowne would be not a little 
 surprised to hear that she could unhesitatingly name 
 a person who was more particularly fitted than any 
 other she had ever known for the proposed office, 
 and that the person was Marianne Skerrett ! 
 
 Then, in order to accomplish the main object in 
 view, namely opportunity for intimate and constant 
 intercourse between Her Majesty and Miss Skerrett, 
 
128 
 
 A WONDERFUL WOMAN 
 
 [chap. 
 
 it was arranged that the latter should be offered an 
 appointment as Head Dresser, with the care of 
 jewellery, to Her Majesty — which she at once 
 accepted. She took the most solemn view of her 
 new responsibility. To her pure and faithful mind 
 there was something inexpressibly touching in the 
 position of the Queen at the time of her marriage, 
 and her feeling became one of absolute devotion, 
 and a fervent desire to do anything and everything 
 for the highest and best interests of her royal 
 mistress. 
 
 How successful she was is best proved by the 
 words of Sir Edwin Landseer. 
 
 He was expressing his enthusiastic admiration 
 for her, and wound up by saying, “She is the 
 dearest and most wonderful little woman I ever 
 knew. If anything goes wrong in Buckingham 
 Palace, Balmoral, or Windsor, whether a crowned 
 head or a scullery maid is concerned, Miss Skerrett 
 is always sent for to put it right ! ” 
 
 We rarely saw her at this time, she was so 
 absorbed by the requirements of her office, but she 
 and my youngest sister were greatly attached 
 friends and constant correspondents, so we were 
 
VIII] 
 
 THE PRINCESS BEATRICE 
 
 129 
 
 kept well up to date with Miss Skerrett and her 
 work. Of course, she must have had her failings, 
 but we were only acquainted with one of them, and 
 that was the terrible illegibility of her handwriting. 
 My sister, from long practice, had acquired the art 
 of deciphering her hieroglyphics, but when I received 
 notes from her, I at once posted them to sister 
 Sophy, and received from her a readable copy. 
 
 Miss Skerrett told me of an incident that hap- 
 pened a few days after she entered Her Majesty’s 
 service. The Queen was speaking to her con- 
 fidentially about her duties, and she said that when 
 she was informed by the Prime Minister that it was 
 considered desirable that she should have some lady 
 in close attendance, “ I expected that she would be 
 a lady of commanding presence and great dignity ; 
 and,” continued Her Majesty, “when you, you little 
 thing, were presented to me, I had difficulty to 
 keep from laughing in your face ! ” 
 
 One day in the early summer of 1858 I received 
 a note from Miss Skerrett, unusually brief and 
 legible, which was to convey Her Majesty’s com- 
 mand that I should paint a portrait of the Princess 
 Beatrice. I may mention that on the same day 
 
130 VICTOR ALEXANDER HADEN [cH ap. 
 
 that the Princess was born, April 14th, 1857, a son 
 was added to my family, and that two days later I 
 had received through Miss Skerrett a gracious 
 intimation of Her Majesty’s pleasure that my child 
 should be called Victor Alexander after her. One 
 of Miss Skerrett’s duties was to read to Her 
 Majesty, and only two days after the birth of the 
 Princess Beatrice, when she was reading the an- 
 nouncements of births, marriages, etc., the arrival at 
 No. 1, High Row, was noted, and Miss Skerrett told 
 us that there was quite a lively discussion between 
 Her Majesty and the Prince Consort as to whether 
 there was any good masculine version of the name 
 Beatrice, on which they had already decided for the 
 Princess, which could be bestowed upon my son. 
 The Prince said he could think of none, unless it 
 were Beator. Her Majesty laughingly agreed with 
 him that this would not be a generally acceptable 
 name, and the above-mentioned intimation was then 
 sent. So the boy was christened Victor Alexander 
 Haden, and, as Victor Horsley, has proved himself 
 worthy of the name, if to say so may be permitted 
 to a father. 
 
 To return to the portrait of the Princess Beatrice 
 
viii] A ROYAL BABY 13 1 
 
 painted in 1858. There was to be no delay in the 
 matter, as the picture was intended for a birthday 
 present to the Prince Consort. All the arrange- 
 ments were placed in Miss Skerrett’s hands, 
 and the suite of rooms vacated by the Princess 
 Royal on her marriage to the Crown Prince of 
 Prussia were assigned to me for my work. On my 
 arrival I was met by Miss Skerrett with a message 
 that Her Majesty regretted she could not at once 
 see me to talk over the general arrangement of the 
 picture, but that she would do so later. Then the 
 nurse, Mrs. Thurston, came in with the royal baby 
 in her arms, a most charming little child, as good 
 as gold as a sitter. I proposed that the back- 
 ground to the dimpled babe should be a glimpse of 
 Osborne and the sea, with a flowery foreground, 
 and was desirous to rub in the background so as to 
 be prepared for Her Majesty’s criticisms. While 
 thus engaged I heard a slight tap at the door, and 
 imagining it was the welcome tea which Miss 
 Skerrett had told me to expect, I called out, “ Come 
 in ! ” in a cheerful voice ; the door opened, and in 
 came Her Majesty, quite unattended. 
 
 I had heard from my painter friends, who had 
 
 ij 
 
132 THE INSPECTION OF WALTER [cH ap. 
 
 executed important pictures for the Queen, of royal 
 marriages, and other state proceedings, that Her 
 Majesty always came to her sittings attended by a 
 lady-in-waiting, who stood whilst the Queen re- 
 mained, which was exactly an hour, but as Her 
 Majesty always came as I have described, and rarely 
 missed one of the sittings, I concluded that she 
 could not consider the portrait of a little child of 
 thirteen months a serious affair of state. 
 
 The day after the first sitting Her Majesty was 
 pleased to say to me she would like to see our 
 baby, so the baby Victor was taken to see Her 
 Majesty by Mrs. Horsley, and duly admired. A 
 few days later the Queen said to me, “ But you 
 have other sons beside your baby boy,” and added 
 that she should like to see my eldest son, who in 
 due course was brought by Miss Horsley for royal 
 inspection. 
 
 Our nursery, like most others of the period, was 
 decorated with portraits of the Royal Family from 
 illustrated papers, so that the children had thus be- 
 come familiar with their names. The child, I may 
 say, was a favourable specimen of a three-year-old. 
 Her Majesty took him from his mother’s arms, and 
 
VIII] INTERVIEWS WITH THE QUEEN 133 
 
 seated herself on the carpet with him on her lap, 
 whilst she looked on with Miss Skerrett, Just before 
 the Queen’s entrance she had given the child a 
 little mother-of-pearl pocket-knife. “Who gave you 
 that?” said Her Majesty. “That lady,” said Walter, 
 pointing to the “little thing.” “And who is that 
 lady?” asked the Queen. Without a moment’s 
 hesitation he answered, “The Princess Royal.” 
 Never have I heard such a burst of hearty laughter 
 as came from the Queen, and again and again was 
 it repeated as she swayed about with the child in 
 her arms on the floor. These pleasant scenes took 
 place in the leafy month of June, which was as re- 
 markable for the continuance of fine weather as in 
 the year of grace 1901. No young married woman 
 could have looked brighter and happier than did our 
 late beloved and revered Queen. 
 
 I remember that she was very anxious to keep 
 the birthday present a secret from the Prince Con- 
 sort, and she used to express a hope that I should 
 not meet him in the corridor, lest perhaps he might 
 inquire what I was doing for Her Majesty. With 
 what pleasure I looked forward to my almost daily 
 interviews with the Queen! Her charming face and 
 
134 WILKIE’S “ BLIND MAN’S BUFF” [chap. 
 
 form were grateful to the artistic eye, and we had 
 long and delightful conversations about painters 
 and pictures. In the room where I worked for the 
 Queen were some of Wilkie’s best early works, such 
 as ‘‘The Penny Wedding” and “Blind Man’s 
 Buff,” and some of his later works, painted after 
 his return from Spain. I used to feast by the hour 
 on those pictures, and I pointed out to the Queen 
 a discovery I had made in the “ Blind Man’s Buff,” 
 which interested Her Majesty greatly. At one 
 period of the picture’s growth the male figure in 
 the group running round the “ blind man ” had on 
 a long light coat reaching below the knees, and 
 doubtless feeling that the concealment of the 
 figure took from him an opportunity of delineat- 
 ing rapid movement, Wilkie had painted out the 
 coat-tails and turned the garment into a jacket, 
 without previously scraping the canvas, a curious 
 omission for such an elaborate executant, for 
 he must have known that “ pentemente,” as the 
 Italian artists called such over-painting, always 
 comes out in the course of time, revealing the old 
 work underneath. Wilkie knew so well the loss 
 to the designer in hiding important points of 
 
VIII] 
 
 THE PRINCE CONSORT 
 
 135 
 
 form in the human figure, that after making a 
 sketch for a composition with many figures in it, 
 he would count the number, and then the number 
 of hands displayed, and if these did not amount to 
 nearly a pair apiece he would alter the sketch, 
 feeling strongly that to omit a hand was deliberately 
 to lose a vital point of expression. 
 
 I found Her Majesty, with her keen intelligence 
 and art sympathy, always much interested in such 
 suggestive explanations as the above. 
 
 Whilst I was painting this picture, Her Majesty 
 and His Royal Highness the Prince Consort went 
 to Birmingham to open the New Park there, and 
 were absent for some days. The great heat of the 
 weather, added to the fatigues of the journey, quite 
 knocked up the Prince, whilst they had no ill-effect 
 whatever on the Queen, whose constitution was far 
 more vigorous. This indisposition perhaps made 
 the Queens desire, that he should not know about 
 the portrait until it was presented, easier of accom- 
 plishment. I personally much regretted not seeing 
 him, as in the many interviews I had with him 
 touching the Royal Commission work, I had found 
 him a delightful talker and a well-informed and 
 intelligent critic on art questions. 
 
136 
 
 SIR G. C. LEWIS’S OPINION 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 The difficulty was sometimes to remember the 
 social gulf between us, when on occasions he would 
 lead the way up the palace stairs, two steps at a 
 time, to shows me works of art in various rooms 
 that he wished to discuss with me. 
 
 His freedom of manner on such occasions con- 
 trasted curiously with his formality when receiving 
 information from some lordly official who brought 
 him communications for consideration, which broke 
 the thread of his artistic discussions. 
 
 He had a regularly appointed painting-room, and 
 sometimes he showed me small pictures in progress 
 taken from subjects in Scott or other authors, but 
 with his unfailing tact he never embarrassed me by 
 inviting criticism upon them. 
 
 Sir George Cornewall Lewis has recorded his 
 opinion that the Prince Consort was the only man 
 whom he had ever known intimately to whom he 
 could unhesitatingly apply the epithet of “good,” 
 and, I believe, this opinion of him would be con- 
 firmed by all who had been brought in contact with 
 him in the grave concerns of life. 
 
 He had not much sympathy with the lighter side 
 of life, and rather disliked jokes, especially if they 
 
VIII] 
 
 LANDSEER’S STORIES 
 
 137 
 
 were in the least far-fetched. A story of Edwin 
 Landseer’s amusingly illustrates this. 
 
 When the royal pair were first established at 
 their happy Scotch home, no guest was more fre- 
 quently summoned there than the great painter, 
 Edwin Landseer. Her Majesty fully shared his 
 interest in the animal creation, and she had also 
 quickly discovered his gifts as a raconteur , and 
 never tired of his numerous anecdotes, which he had 
 the ready wit to add to and to alter at discretion. 
 
 One evening after the Prince had suggested that 
 it was getting late, the usual hour for retiring being 
 somewhat passed, the Oueen appealed to Landseer 
 for one more story, which was to be the last. 
 
 The Prince leaned back with an air of resignation, 
 and Landseer dashed into a story he had not told 
 before, of a friend who had trained a collie to find 
 money in a marvellous way. One day on the 
 moors he had a wager that he would send the dog 
 away with a keeper, then hide a five-pound note, 
 call the dog to heel, and tell him to find the note. 
 “Did he do so?” said the Queen, with amused 
 eagerness. “Well, your Majesty, not the note, but 
 he brought back the five sovereigns in change ! ” 
 
138 
 
 DOG STORIES 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 The harmless badinage of this story made the 
 Queen laugh heartily, and the Prince gently smiled, 
 upon which Landseer was tempted to tell them 
 another in which there was a touch of such genuine 
 humour as to rouse His Royal Highness to express 
 approval. It was an incident connected with dog- 
 stealers. Landseer began by admitting that he had 
 relations with a member of the profession, who 
 sometimes brought him very valuable dogs to paint 
 from. An old friend who knew of this came one 
 day in great distress to ask Landseers aid in re- 
 gaining possession of his dog which was lost. The 
 introduction was given, and one day the friend came 
 to say that the dealer in dogs had brought him news 
 of his dog, and that for the payment of £5 he 
 would receive him safely back in a fortnight’s time, 
 but that when remonstrated with on the delay, he 
 had gruffly said that if any more was said the dog 
 would not come back at all. When the affair was 
 settled Landseer was still curious as to the cause 
 of the delay, and the next time he saw his ally he 
 asked an explanation. This was his reply : “Well, 
 sir, I don’t mind telling you that it was I who got 
 your friend’s dog in the first instance’’ (“got” is the 
 
VIII] 
 
 THE DOG STEALER 
 
 139 
 
 euphemism for stole), “and when you sent him to me 
 about the dawg, I had sold him to another gent for 
 a big price, so I thought it only fair to that there 
 gent to let him keep the dawg for a fortnight before 
 I got him again, don’t you see, sir ? ” This very 
 curious instance of honour among thieves made 
 Landseer realise that the man was a rather danger- 
 ous acquaintance, and he dropped him as an agent. 
 
 When, to the Prince Consort’s evident relief, they 
 adjourned to their rooms, and Landseer was un- 
 dressing, there was a tap at the door, and one of 
 the gentlemen-in-waiting came in with a message to 
 tell Landseer from the Prince that the Queen had 
 not believed the story of the five-pound note ! 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Sir Henry Holland — Sidney Smith — Moore’s songs — Monckton 
 Milnes — William Rickman and George Maule — The abbey in 
 Knightsbridge — The Abbess’ dancing-class — The polka — Denman 
 — Scene at Strathfieldsaye. 
 
 VIONG the many pleasant houses I had the 
 
 privilege of frequenting was that of Sir Henry 
 Holland, the well-known physician and traveller. 
 When I first knew him his daughter had married 
 Sidney Smith, as his second wife. The Hollands 
 were living in one of the old houses in Brook 
 Street, which was full of character, and in which 
 they used to give very delightful musical evenings. 
 In the back drawing-room there was a shallow 
 alcove on one side of the room. In this, Sidney 
 Smith, who was present on all these occasions, held 
 quite a little court, and all the smartest ladies 
 crowded round him to listen to his inimitable wit 
 and humour. Coming in late one evening, I found 
 the music-room, the front drawing-room, entirely 
 
 140 
 
CHAP. IX] 
 
 SIDNEY SMITH 
 
 4 
 
 filled with a gay party listening to some of the 
 opera singers of that time, while Sidney Smith was 
 amusing a circle of his intimates in his alcove, but 
 so sotto voce that he really gave the impression 
 that he was not the cause of all the laughter, but 
 rather that he was the restraining influence over his 
 audience, keeping them quiet. Presently, on the 
 completion of the music for the moment, there was 
 the usual rush from the crowded room, and in the 
 midst of the crowd came staggering out a poor old 
 lady, evidently past the fourscore years, bent upon 
 escape. She was a wonderful sight, gaily decked 
 as to the coiffure with glistening green beetles, that 
 were so fastened to hairpins as to be constantly 
 fluttering, her dress shockingly cticolletd — marvel- 
 lously like the figure of the old harridan bride in 
 “ The Rake’s Progress.” The instant Smith’s eyes 
 fell on her he jumped upon his feet and made for 
 her, uttering as he advanced, “My dear Lady So- 
 and-so, how are you, how are you ? ” The poor old 
 thing looked at him with a weary, distrait manner. 
 He grasped her hands and went on: “I am sure 
 you have been delighted with the music, for if ever 
 I saw a face of rapture it is yours ! ” 
 
142 
 
 TOM MOORE’S SONG 
 
 [chap. 
 
 On another occasion at a dinner at Tom Long- 
 man’s, where I spent some of the pleasantest 
 evenings in my society days, I met a remarkable 
 party, Sidney Smith, Macaulay, Monckton Milnes, 
 Tom Moore, Dundas, and others. I had never met 
 Moore before, and did not know that he was in the 
 habit of being coaxed into what he called singing, 
 but what was really a sort of recitation to his own 
 accompaniment on the piano. Mrs. Longman was 
 a most charming woman, and she had an entrancing 
 contralto voice in which she used to sing Schubert’s 
 “ Addio ” to perfection. She had the liquid, 
 languishing eyes which often go with a strain of 
 Southern blood. The usual coaxing went on, 
 headed by Mrs. Longman and carried on by the 
 other ladies. Finally the little wizened man, who, I 
 heard, would often bring some of the young ladies 
 to their knees in entreaty, gave in with well- 
 feigned reluctance and played a few somewhat 
 halting chords. I was at that moment talking to 
 Dundas, and knowing the ways of the house, where 
 music was treated with due respect, I said : “ Now, 
 sir, we must be quiet.” “ Oh yes, I know,” 
 answered Dundas, taking up a book and throwing 
 
IX] 
 
 MONCKTON MILNES 
 
 143 
 
 himself back in a chair with an expression of some 
 boredom. Moore caught sight of him, and jumping 
 to his feet he rushed up to him, exclaiming in a 
 hoarse whisper : “ For Gods sake, Dundas, put that 
 book down, I couldn’t sing a note with anyone 
 reading a book in the room.” So Dundas shrugged 
 his shoulders, slammed the book, threw it on the 
 table, and folding his arms and crossing his legs, 
 prepared himself for martyrdom. Moore returned 
 to the piano. Though he had not a spark of tune 
 in his voice, the poet’s recitation of his own fervent 
 words to occasional chords was a most intensely 
 interesting performance, really impressive ; it was 
 quite wonderful to hear the spirit with which he 
 declaimed “ Come o’er the sea, maiden, with me.” 
 During the dinner, at which as I have said 
 Monckton Milnes was present, to whom Sidney 
 Smith some years ago had given the sobriquet, 
 the “ Cool of the Evening,” we all noticed that 
 his manner to the great man was markedly lacking 
 in the respect due to him, to his age and profession. 
 He repeatedly calmly addressed him as “ Smith,” 
 which every time made those of us who felt what 
 was due wince as if at a personal affront. The lion 
 
144 THE “COOL OF THE EVENING” [chap. 
 
 bided his time, when the great paw descended 
 crushingly. 
 
 “ I am going to the Archbishop’s reception at 
 Lambeth Palace,” said Milnes, somewhat with an air. 
 
 “ Oh, are you ? ” answered Sidney Smith. “ So am 
 I ; may I ask if you have a carriage here ? ” 
 
 “No,” said the “Cool of the Evening,” “I have 
 not.” 
 
 “ Well, I have, and I shall be very happy to give 
 you a seat in it, but you must do me one favour, 
 don’t call the Archbishop ‘ Hooley' /” 
 
 The voice and manner of piteous entreaty was 
 such as to for once crush Milnes, who promptly 
 disappeared; but I think he went in Sidney Smith’s 
 carriage after all, for I remember we tried to depict 
 his feelings, seated all the way from Hanover 
 Terrace to Lambeth Palace beside the man who 
 had given him such an awful floorer. 
 
 It may be news to some of my readers to hear 
 that Monckton Milnes was the inventor of the 
 white waistcoat on dress occasions, thus giving 
 the deathblow to the gorgeous Genoese cut velvet 
 waistcoats of the period. A great sensation was 
 caused by his appearance for the first time in dress 
 
IX] 
 
 WILLIAM RICKMAN 
 
 145 
 
 clothes with a white waistcoat in the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 Amongst the intimate friends of my early man- 
 hood were two young men named William Rickman 
 and George Maule. The father of the first-named 
 was one of those highly respected gentlemen in wig 
 and gown, called, I think, Clerks to the House of 
 Commons, who sit at the Speakers table in the 
 House of Commons during parliamentary debates, 
 and supply all kinds of legal and other information 
 connected with the questions debated in the House 
 to members, whose knowledge is often very limited 
 in respect to their parliamentary labours. Maule’s 
 father was Solicitor to the Treasury. Both these 
 young men were delightful examples of God-fearing 
 English gentlemen. They distinguished themselves 
 at Oxford, and both of them desired to become 
 civil engineers, which laudable desire was never 
 carried out, to the detriment of themselves and their 
 country I sincerely believe. But Maule’s father 
 was naturally anxious that his old-established house 
 of business should have the support of his son’s fine 
 character and remarkable mental powers. His 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 GEORGE MAULE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 memory was quite astounding. I am writing now 
 of times when most readers of current literature 
 were on the tenterhooks of impatience, waiting for 
 the monthly portions of Dickens or Thackeray, 
 as the case might be, and I have heard Maule 
 challenged to listen to a passage from one of these 
 well-known authors, and then to continue the quota- 
 tion from memory, which he would often do for 
 half an hour or more with startling success. 
 
 The two friends started a bachelors’ establish- 
 ment in some remarkable suites of chambers in 
 Knightsbridge. 
 
 Many will remember the sensation made by the 
 building of those lofty blocks of houses right and 
 left of Albert Gate, which were christened, when 
 they were built, “ Malta and Gibraltar,” because it 
 was impossible that either of them “could ever be 
 taken ” because of their preposterous proportions ; 
 but the park wit, whoever he or she might be, was 
 confuted by the one on the eastern side being 
 secured as the London residence of the French 
 Ambassador, and that on the western by some 
 millionaire. It now warehouses millions as a joint- 
 stock bank. 
 
IX] THE ABBEY IN KNIGHTSBRIDGE 147 
 
 Rickman and Maule became aware that some 
 chambers were to let in an establishment next door 
 to the French Embassy, where the arms of the great 
 Florentine family of the Medici — three golden balls — 
 were displayed, which armorial bearings are known 
 to indicate, in plain English, a pawnbroker’s shop. 
 
 They had often discussed the desirability of 
 founding an abbey, of which Rickman should be 
 Abbot and Maule the General Manager. It had 
 been agreed that there should be not only monks 
 but nuns, with a lady abbess to look after them in 
 the person of Miss Fanny Maule, George Maule’s 
 sister. The friends lost no time in inspecting the 
 rooms offered for letting, and to their infinite delight 
 found that they suited their contemplated scheme 
 admirably. It appeared that the chambers had 
 been originally built by a professor of the ‘‘golden 
 balls,” who dealt not only with objects of “bigotry 
 and virtue,” but also with articles of furniture, for 
 which a large gallery with a top light had been 
 constructed. Opening out of this and on the same 
 floor were several smaller rooms. But the gallery 
 was the great attraction, making as it did a perfect 
 ballroom. 
 
148 
 
 THE POLKA 
 
 [chap. 
 
 The Abbot Rickman was a man of means and 
 leisure, and devoted to society, balls especially. 
 
 In establishing his community of monks and 
 nuns, it may be stated that the nuns had not the 
 free run of the club, but were only admitted by 
 invitation on special occasions. 
 
 My friend the Abbot had the strongest predilec- 
 tion for turning night into day, and the abbey was 
 as a rule only open at eleven p.m., when arriving 
 members were greeted in the most hilarious way in 
 the brightest and cheeriest of rooms with blazing 
 fires and lights. There were many brilliant men 
 and charming women in the community, and no one 
 who had the privilege of belonging to it will ever 
 forget the charm and gaiety of youth and light 
 spirits that characterised our midnight meetings. 
 
 We were most of us devoted to dancing, and when 
 the polka was introduced, the Abbess formed a 
 dancing-class, held in one of the smaller rooms. 
 Perhaps few of my readers know what an absolute 
 craze there was for the polka when it was first 
 introduced ; it infected dignified matrons, mothers 
 of large families, and middle-aged gentlemen of 
 pronounced contours. I was one of the first pupils 
 
IX] 
 
 STRATHFIELDSAYE 
 
 149 
 
 to learn the art from the charming Abbess, and as 
 soon as I was pronounced proficient, I remember 
 rushing into the ballroom to my partner and show- 
 ing my proficiency. Any of us who made mistakes 
 were at once sent back to the class. 
 
 The smoking-room had a characteristic point 
 which must be recorded. There was a large settee 
 in the middle, with a chintz valance ; this, when 
 lifted up, revealed a barrel of Bass’s ale, always on 
 tap, this being before the days of ‘‘whiskies and 
 sodas.” 
 
 Amongst the habitues I well remember Cyril 
 Page, one of the ablest clergymen in the London 
 diocese, who did famous work amongst the poor ; 
 Henry Phillips, son of the academician ; George 
 Maule’s brothers, men of some note ; also young 
 Denman, afterwards Lord Denman and a famous 
 judge. 
 
 Of him Maule told me a delightful story worth 
 recording. 
 
 On one occasion, during the assizes at Reading, 
 the judges were staying at Strathfieldsaye with the 
 great Duke, who entertained them hospitably. The 
 Duke had various harmless eccentricities. 
 
BLACK OR GREEN TEA? 
 
 [CHAP. IX 
 
 150 
 
 One was that at breakfast-time his favourite man- 
 servant used to bring in a long tray, upon which 
 were a number of small and beautiful silver teapots, 
 one for each guest. Those were days when people 
 were given their choice of black or green tea. The 
 Duke himself put the tea into each pot, questioning 
 his guest individually. “What tea do you take, sir, 
 black or green ? ” was asked in stentorian tones. 
 Now young Denman, who was acting as marshal 
 to his father, had been consumed with nervousness 
 ever since he entered the house at the very thought 
 of converse with his distinguished host, and when 
 the question was shouted at him as to black or 
 green the bashful youth hesitated, stammered, and 
 when the question was put a second time with some 
 impatience, the reply came out with a rush at last, 
 “ I take it mixed, your Grace.” 
 
 The Duke was taken aback at the unaccustomed 
 answer, but in a moment roared out, “ Take Mr. 
 Denman two pots.” 
 
 The table was convulsed. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy — First visit to England — An introduc- 
 tion to him — Extempore playing — His kindness — Moscheles — 
 Amusing duets — Henschel’s singing of Si. Paul — George Eliot — 
 Mendelssohn at St. Paul’s — Walks in London — Sundays at 
 High Row — The Elijah — Joachim’s debut — Mendelssohn as an 
 artist. 
 
 T HE fame of this resplendent musical genius 
 had preceded his appearance in England by 
 many years. He came to London for the first 
 time in 1826, but long before this his name was a 
 household word at High Row, for not only had we 
 heard constantly of the wonders of Felix’s piano- 
 forte and organ playing, but we had become in- 
 timately acquainted with one of his bosom friends, 
 Carl Klingemann, an accomplished German gentle- 
 man, then attached to the Hanoverian Embassy in 
 London. From him we heard wondrous accounts 
 of Felix and his family, as also from Ignace 
 Moscheles and his wife. The former was a dis- 
 tinguished German musician who had established 
 
152 
 
 F. M. MENDELSSOHN 
 
 [chap. 
 
 himself in London, where he soon obtained success 
 as a conscientious and excellent music-master, and 
 pursued his honourable calling for many years. 
 Thus, and again by hearing some of Felix’s com- 
 positions at the Philharmonic and other concerts, we 
 were already enthusiastic about him when we heard 
 that he and his father were about to arrive in 
 London, and were likely to remain for some weeks. 
 Shortly after their arrival we were advised by Mme. 
 Moscheles that the Mendelssohns proposed calling 
 upon us on a certain afternoon, upon which day I 
 kept watch and ward on our front door from the 
 drawing-room window, and at length saw a charm- 
 ing-looking couple arrive in the persons of the 
 Mendelssohns, father and son, the one a handsome 
 elderly gentleman, the other a bright, eager-looking 
 youth of middle height and most animated expres- 
 sion. No words of mine could describe the fascina- 
 tion of his manner, in which simplicity was the 
 leading feature, and from that moment I may truly 
 say he and I were sworn friends, though he was 
 nineteen years old and I a boy of ten. He very 
 soon established himself as one of our family, my 
 parents accepting him as an extra and dear son. 
 
p. {MM (> f ' ; 
 
 
 jimii J:-.' - • • ••' friM.fr' (»'.(>’ i' 'i ££$$$& 
 
 ^ r* 
 
X] 
 
 MEMORIES OF HIM 
 
 iS3 
 
 My memories of Mendelssohn are of necessity 
 fragmentary, and have but little connection with 
 positive dates, never having been recorded at the 
 time, but they seem to come forth spontaneously as 
 I write. His visits here were to me as wonderful 
 as always excursions into dream or fairyland. He 
 was always surrounded by troops of friends and 
 admirers, and had masses of daily correspondence 
 to deal with, especially social invitations, so difficult 
 for him to arrange with his highly strung and sensi- 
 tive nature, which dreaded giving offence in the 
 slightest degree to those so anxious to show their 
 admiration for him. My dear mother was, I may 
 say, in worldly matters, his “refuge and strength,” 
 to whom he poured out all his social anxieties, 
 while my father also was completely under the 
 “ F. M.” spell. It was for me an ever-fresh delight 
 to see and hear the old and young musician going 
 through their respective compositions, seated at an 
 old square Broadwood pianoforte, long since pre- 
 sented to that illustrious house, to add to the 
 museum they have formed of their relics of the 
 former successes in piano manufacture, still vigor- 
 ously maintained. 
 
154 
 
 EXTEMPORE PLAYING 
 
 [chap. 
 
 These half-hours were solemn moments for me, 
 for they were so full of strains of “lengthened 
 sweetness long drawn out,” and played at eventide 
 of spring and summer time, the charm was in- 
 describable. 
 
 There is one form of musical performance which 
 was much in vogue in my youth, but which I have 
 not had the pleasure of hearing practised effectually 
 for many a long year. I allude to extempore 
 playing. Listeners were invited by the performer 
 on piano, organ, or strings to give some musical 
 theme of intelligible form, on which he should work 
 his will and proceed to elaborate the given theme 
 or themes, for I have often heard the game played 
 with two musical objectives, with which endless 
 combinations of “ thick-coming fancies ” were origi- 
 nated and developed, the whole linked together by 
 a return to the original themes now and again. 
 
 F. M. was a past master in this art, and I 
 have often seen the grand old face of my father 
 thrilling with admiration as he sat as close to the 
 musician as he could, without interfering with his 
 freedom of action at the piano, to observe the 
 fingering of the keyboard, a matter so interesting 
 to him as a teacher. 
 
X] 
 
 MENDELSSOHN’S KINDNESS 
 
 155 
 
 Mendelssohn was very sensitive, especially as to 
 the honour paid to his profession, and the suspicion 
 that he was invited socially chiefly for what he 
 could bring with him for the entertainment of his 
 hosts and their friends, led to many unpleasant 
 contretemps , when he in somewhat point-blank 
 terms would decline to play when asked to do so. 
 Even my dear mother, for whom he would have 
 done anything, preferred telling me to ask him if 
 he would mind playing, especially if we had any 
 friends with us to whom he was personally un- 
 known. “Mind, my dear boy,” was the reply, 
 “ I’ll play to you and to all in this old house as long 
 as you will listen.” Happening to come to Eng- 
 land at a time when we were in deep anxiety about 
 a dear relative, to whom he was much attached, he 
 devoted many of his much-engaged hours to playing 
 to her, and before he returned to Germany he wrote 
 in pencil inside her piano words to this effect — 
 
 Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy 
 played to 
 
 Mrs. T. on this piano on . 
 
 and later on, a second inscription was made — 
 
 The same fellow has also played in January , 1847. 
 
156 
 
 MOSCHELES 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Returning the following season, he found his friend 
 still living, and repeated the kind offices of soothing 
 her afflicted hours. 
 
 After her death that piano came into my posses- 
 sion. As it needed some small repairs, I sent for 
 the man who was to attend to it, to adjure him that 
 in doing what was required he should not go near 
 the inscription, round which I had drawn a line of 
 white oil paint. He gave his word that it should 
 not be touched, took the piano home, and handed it 
 over to a workman to clean without a word of 
 warning, and the treasure so valued came back 
 worthless to me. 
 
 To return to the extemporising. On one memo- 
 rable occasion Mendelssohn and Moscheles were 
 both here, and it was suggested that they should 
 extemporise together. It must be noted that 
 Moscheles was extremely fussy about the height 
 of his music-stool, and he took up much time 
 in adjusting it exactly to his taste, adding and 
 subtracting books of varying thicknesses with 
 great elaboration. This proceeding partly amused 
 and partly teased Felix, and by the twinkle in his 
 eye I saw that the spirit of fun, which was ever 
 
X] 
 
 AN IMPROMPTU 
 
 157 
 
 present with him, was prompting him to some 
 mischief. He jocosely reprimanded Moscheles for 
 trying to steal a march upon him, and then started 
 an admirable imitation of his friends procedure, 
 and finally convulsed those present by imitating 
 in dumbshow his dissatisfaction with the height of 
 his seat and his inability to see anything that 
 
 would make it exactly right; then suddenly tapping 
 his forehead, he darted to a writing-table at hand, 
 opened the paper case, and choosing the smallest 
 sheet he could find, held it up for us all to see, and 
 solemnly proceeded to the book-laden stool and laid 
 it carefully down, and executed a pas de fascination 
 a la Taglioni round it and smoothing it out, ex- 
 pressing thus his delight in the result of his 
 
 labour. He jumped upon his throne, then 
 
 beckoned to Moscheles to take his seat, and 
 
 dashed into an impromptu fantasia of the most 
 joyous and delightful kind imaginable. The 
 playing of the two performers on this occasion 
 was really a marvel of ingenuity and musical skill 
 and inspiration. 
 
 On another occasion Moscheles as senior began 
 to extemporise, and was so lengthy that we were all 
 
158 
 
 F. M.’S JOYOUS NATURE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 impatiently longing for Mendelssohn to be able to 
 strike in with his impromptu solo. He sustained 
 his secondary part with most admirable skill and 
 patience, but at last the latter became a little ex- 
 hausted, and I vividly remember the amusing 
 byplay of dumbshow, as with folded hands and 
 pathetic gestures of deepest entreaty he implored 
 his colleague to give him his turn ! 
 
 In extempore playing he often appeared to crouch 
 over the keys, bringing his head almost level with 
 his fingers, and at times an amused smile illuminated 
 his face, as if expressing satisfaction with what his 
 fingers brought forth, and this was now and then 
 accompanied by a slight nasal snort of excitement. 
 His smile and his musical laugh no one who had 
 the privilege of his acquaintance can forget. He 
 had, in fact, an essentially joyous nature, and I 
 venture to assert that this is abundantly evident in 
 his musical compositions. I know of no music so 
 redolent of happiness, and per contra of none that 
 can be so truly pathetic but not dismal. Not a bar 
 of dismal music is to be found in the whole range 
 of his work. 
 
 He had unquestionably a true Christian spirit, 
 
X] 
 
 “ST. PAUL 11 — GEORGE ELIOT 
 
 159 
 
 from which emanated all those marvellous inspira- 
 tions of the deepest and most fervent Christian faith 
 in his two great oratorios of St. Paul and Elijah. 
 What a remarkable tribute of intense admiration 
 did I once witness to the divine influence of such 
 music ! Our dear friend Mrs. Moscheles, in her 
 widowhood, occasionally had “musical afternoons, ” 
 to which we had the entrSe. At one of these Mr. 
 and Mrs. George Lewes (“George Eliot”) were 
 present. Henschel, the admirable singer, was there, 
 and when asked to sing, to my delight he chose 
 the great scena from St. Paul , the most passionate 
 appeal for mercy and forgiveness of sin ever writ- 
 ten, the music being as thrilling as the holy words. 
 Henschel is not only a great singer, but a good 
 all-round musician, and the great advantage of his 
 being, on this occasion, his own accompanist was 
 intensely appreciated by the audience, as well as 
 the noteworthy taste and expression with which he 
 sang, and by none more than by the couple I have 
 named. They evidently were acquainted with the 
 noble composition. When Henschel began they 
 were seated at some distance from the piano. After 
 the introduction, so full of pathetic harmony, they 
 
i6o MENDELSSOHN AT ST. PAUL’S [chap. 
 
 rose from their seats, and in the gentlest fashion — 
 I might add with the humblest step — they moved 
 across the room and stood at Henschel’s left hand, 
 not more than a foot away from the piano, Lewes 
 a little to the rear. I could observe them to the 
 end without being seen myself, and they never 
 changed their attitude of riveted attention, and 
 quietly left the room the moment the music was 
 over. 
 
 During one of Felix’s visits to London he 
 played after the afternoon service at St. Paul’s 
 to us chiefly, for the congregation, always small 
 in those days, had melted away, not knowing what 
 was coming. 
 
 It was a superb musical exhibition, and not only 
 that, but a marvellous athletic performance, for his 
 slight form of middle size was put to a tremendous 
 muscular exertion in managing the pedals and stops 
 of that immense organ. I made a memory sketch 
 of his foreshortened body, as with head now and 
 then bent out of sight, his eloquent back indicated 
 the depth of feeling which was always so great a 
 factor in his playing. 
 
 During F. M.’s visits to London he used to lodge 
 
X] 
 
 BREAKFAST WITH F. M. 
 
 161 
 
 in Great Portland Street, where I often breakfasted 
 with him, to my supreme delight. For the nature 
 of the breakfast he was entirely at the mercy of his 
 landlady, a good and honest woman, but she was 
 somewhat monotonous in the treatment of the menu, 
 of which the chief item was invariably fat mutton 
 chops. Eaten in such company as F. M.’s, however, 
 they were food for the gods. 
 
 After breakfast F. M. would sit down to his piano 
 and very often drift into rehearsals of what he might 
 be going to play in the evening. Then we would 
 stroll out, when nothing pleased him better than to 
 go into neighbourhoods where there were traces of 
 old London. On one such occasion, during his 
 second or third visit, we were on our way to the 
 Brunels, who lived then in a most interesting old 
 house in Duke Street, Westminster, the former 
 town house of the Earls of Devon, when a slight 
 incident gave rise to an expression of his feeling I 
 am never likely to forget. I may say that I had one 
 quality of ingenuous youth in a very marked degree, 
 viz. that of being an inordinate blusher, and this on 
 the smallest provocation. This was so marked as 
 to become a fearful trial to me, and I suffered much 
 
 M 
 
WALK WITH F. M. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 162 
 
 from its annoying influence till I was out of my 
 teens. On this walk we took a short cut, for 
 F. M. was rather proud of his facility in finding his 
 way about London, and we found ourselves in a 
 place where once stately houses were now reduced 
 to be dwelling-places of more than doubtful inhabit- 
 ants, who, at the moment we were passing, were 
 represented by some half-dozen of young women of 
 flaunting aspect apparently engaged in work of 
 sorts, accompanied by loud laughter and ribald 
 talk, with which they assailed us, becoming more 
 and more offensive on seeing that we made no 
 reply, but hastened our pace onwards. We 
 were walking arm-in-arm, which was the common 
 practice in those times, a comfortable posture for 
 friends to assume, but which, curious to note, one 
 scarcely ever sees adopted in these days, even 
 by married folk. Independence is aimed at in 
 all the relations of life. What I felt I cannot 
 pretend to express, but I had the inward conviction 
 that I was blushing to the roots of my hair. As 
 my dear friend turned to look at me he saw what 
 must have filled my mind at the moment, and said, 
 with solemn earnestness and almost in a whisper, 
 
X] 
 
 A VOLUNTARY AT ST. JOHN'S 163 
 
 pressing my arm, in which his own was locked 
 “ God grant, my dear boy, that you may ever feel as 
 you are now doing.” Then we hurried away from 
 the polluted atmosphere, and he never referred 
 again by a single word to the incident; but it is one 
 of those memories which will be for me “ ever green,” 
 and upon which I may humbly and thankfully say 
 God’s blessing rested. 
 
 One Sunday morning, Mendelssohn being now 
 intimately acquainted with our friends the Hawes, 
 we had agreed to breakfast with them, and that he 
 should play one of the voluntaries at St John’s, 
 Waterloo Bridge Road. In those days there was 
 much more solo organ-playing than is now the 
 fashion, an extra voluntary often being introduced 
 into the service, usually of a soft and meditative 
 description. 
 
 The talk at breakfast was long and animated. 
 At length our hostess stirred us up to get us off to 
 church, where we arrived in great force after the 
 service had begun. We were taken straight to the 
 organ-loft, where the sight of the gaping congrega- 
 tion and the drawn curtains, exposing him and us 
 to the public gaze, ruffled the usually seraphic 
 
164 
 
 SUNDAYS AT HIGH ROW 
 
 [chap. 
 
 temper of Mendelssohn, and “ slewing ” himself 
 across the organ-bench, after a few preliminary 
 words with the organist, he dashed into an ex- 
 tempore of the most startlingly magnificent kind, 
 thundering forth in music his perturbed spirit. 
 Finally quieting down, he played the introduction 
 of one of Bachs most superb fugues, at the close 
 of which he darted up from his seat, seized his hat, 
 which he jammed down on his head, and made his 
 escape, evidently much annoyed. I remember well 
 my own sense of discomfort, but wisely, I believe, 
 I took refuge in complete silence, and comfort in 
 the fact that the masterly performance had given 
 the greatest delight to the congregation ; though 
 they were evidently at a loss to conjecture how 
 anything so different from their usual musical 
 service had come to pass. 
 
 Here I may state that nothing seemed to give 
 F. M. more pleasure than these quiet visits to church 
 organ-lofts, after which he would come back to the 
 midday meal at High Row. Then would follow 
 long strolls in Kensington Gardens and Hyde 
 Park, and a return to some simple refection, and 
 an hour or two of “songs without words” in the 
 
X] 
 
 THE “ELIJAH” 
 
 165 
 
 evening. Dear good Carl Klingemann was also 
 constantly with us, and he perhaps would lead 
 round the conversation to the recent compositions 
 of F. M., who would turn to the piano to illustrate 
 the works he was then engaged on. One day, after 
 the wonderful success of the oratorio of St. Paul , 
 F. M., C. K., my sisters, and I were walking back 
 from an organ performance at St. James’s, Piccadilly, 
 when it occurred to me to ask him whether he had 
 any important work in contemplation to sustain the 
 enthusiasm called forth by St. Paid. 
 
 We were walking as was our wont, slightly ahead 
 of the others at the time ; he was silent at first, and 
 then with some hesitation he said, in a low voice, 
 “ Well, my dear boy, you are the first person to 
 whom I have said a word on the subject, though 
 I have had it on my mind for months past, and 
 think and dream of nothing else. Yes, I have 
 chosen the splendid Bible story of Elijah for my 
 next theme, and if I can only bring the magnificent 
 text home to the hearts of my hearers with any- 
 thing like the force that it appeals to me, I shall 
 do much to place my second oratorio on possibly 
 a higher level in public opinion than the first.” 
 
JOACHIM’S DEBUT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 i 66 
 
 These few words have always dwelt in my 
 memory. 
 
 In those days we had the entrde to the rehearsals 
 of the Philharmonic Society, which took place at 
 the dear old Hanover Square Rooms, now no more. 
 F. M. came over for the season and conducted the 
 concerts, and, through his recommendation, Joachim, 
 as a boy of twelve, came to play for the first time 
 in England. I saw this gifted genius and delightful 
 man and friend enter the orchestra in a boys jacket 
 and turn-down collar, and play Beethoven’s great 
 Concerto for the violin without a single note of 
 music before him. 
 
 Mendelssohn’s control over orchestras was per- 
 fectly marvellous, and was entirely caused by the 
 kindly, good-tempered way in which he made his 
 criticisms, and the absolute confidence in him as 
 a leader with which he inspired the performers. I 
 have seen him stop the band with one touch on his 
 desk, then rush up the orchestra like a cat, and then 
 you would see him patiently and quietly pointing 
 out to the offender where, instead of playing A flat, 
 he had played A sharp. 
 
 Mendelssohn had the keenest sense of humour, 
 

 ■ 
 
X] 
 
 F. M. AS AN ARTIST 
 
 167 
 
 and delighted in PuncKs display of it, especially 
 when it was enriched with the drawings of John 
 Leech and Charles Keen. He himself drew a great 
 deal, most elaborately and industriously in pencil, 
 subsequently inked over, and there exist quite 
 successful sheets of some caricature sketches illus- 
 trating his proceedings when travelling. There are 
 good-sized sketch-books of his filled with such 
 work during excursions in Switzerland and else- 
 where that are very interesting. I possess two 
 small water-colour drawings of houses in Leipzig, 
 at one time inhabited by his family, that are 
 quite charming, and show that had he received 
 instruction at the right time and in the right way, 
 he might have done a great deal with the sister art. 
 Perhaps all this was as well, for he was so mani- 
 festly sent into the world to be a great musician, 
 and was so passionately devoted to the “greatest” 
 of all the arts, that we might have lost much 
 of that that he was destined to do and say had 
 he been led away by the fascination of the 
 great and glorious arts of painting, sculpture, and 
 architecture. 
 
 I have ventured to express my opinion that music 
 
1 68 THE GREATEST OF THE ARTS [chap, x 
 
 is the greatest of all the arts. I may say in all 
 humility I am convinced of this because of its divine 
 immateriality. It is the ‘‘material” difficulty that for 
 ever vexes the soul of the painter. Is not white 
 lead the only material we have with which to 
 express the divine light of heaven ? 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Isambard Kingdom Brunei — Parentage — Adventure at St. Paul’s — 
 As a Surrey yeoman — Thames Tunnel — Party of visitors — Clifton 
 Suspension Bridge — Visits to Wales — The “ Flying Hearse” — 
 Swallowing half a sovereign — Extract from Life : Note I. — 
 Letter from I. K. B. to his son. 
 
 Y two dearest friends were in the days of my 
 
 youth Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy and 
 Isambard Kingdom Brunei. Intimately as I knew 
 them both, supremely distinguished in their respec- 
 tive callings, it is to me a delightful thought in my 
 old age that never had I even a moments “differ- 
 ence” with either of them. I. K. B., as he was 
 usually called by those who had the privilege of his 
 intimate acquaintance, was the son of the dis- 
 tinguished French engineer, Mark Isambard 
 Brunei, who had emigrated to England at the 
 time of the French Revolution, and made himself 
 a great reputation as the inventor of the block 
 
 169 
 
170 
 
 I. K. B. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 machinery for the British Admiralty, and by 
 numerous brilliant works. His professional success 
 culminated in the Thames Tunnel, in the building 
 of which he was most ably seconded by his only 
 son, Isambard Kingdom Brunei. The younger 
 Isambard, though ten years my senior, became 
 most intimate with me, and being a thorough artist 
 by nature, he took the deepest interest in the early 
 strivings of my student days. 
 
 Just before I became personally acquainted with 
 him I heard a remarkable story of one of his physi- 
 cal achievements in St. Pauls Cathedral. As he 
 was passing the great church one morning, he 
 noticed that repairs were evidently going on in one 
 of the domes of the small towers, and proceeding 
 up to this point by the ordinary staircase, he found 
 that the gang of workmen employed had rigged up 
 a rope-and-pulley arrangement to bring up the 
 materials required for their work, instead of carry- 
 ing them up the existing staircases. He surveyed 
 the whole apparatus, and conceived the possibility 
 of descending hand over hand to the pavement be- 
 low, some two hundred feet or more from the start- 
 ing-point, and proposed to the workmen that he 
 
XI] 
 
 ADVENTURE AT ST. PAUL’S 
 
 171 
 
 should make the attempt, none of his hearers taking 
 the trouble to dissuade him from the rash act. It 
 must be understood that he was a skilled athlete, 
 and had great personal courage, which he had dis- 
 played to the full in the Thames Tunnel work, of 
 which he had been the chief superintendent under 
 his great father since its commencement. He 
 calmly seized the right rope and started, going 
 steadily down hand over hand; but he had not gone 
 more than ten to fifteen feet when the sensation in 
 his hands, produced by the unusual muscular strain 
 for which he had had no previous training, con- 
 vinced him that the numbing of his muscular power 
 would wholly prevent his completing his climb 
 down, and to save his life he must climb up again, 
 which he did with no apparent effort and without 
 the slightest failure of nerve power. What a severe 
 trial this was may be imagined, as he clung for a 
 few seconds suspended over that awful deep under 
 the dome of the western tower of St. Paul’s. 
 
 At this time, though absorbed by work and pro- 
 fessional engagements of all kinds, he consented to 
 join a troop of Surrey Yeomanry. He had had for 
 some years a rat-tailed Irish horse, who objected at 
 
I. K. B. AS A YEOMAN 
 
 [chap. 
 
 172 
 
 all times to the details of his regimental saddlery, 
 and on one occasion, when riding along the West- 
 minster Bridge Road to the drill-ground on Ken- 
 nington Common, the animal lost his temper alto- 
 gether, stood stock-still, and on being sharply 
 spurred, commenced a kicking performance so 
 violent as to threaten the upsetting of his rider. 
 I. K. B., with his accustomed deliberateness, shook 
 his feet out of the stirrups, grasped with one hand 
 the pommel of the saddle, and vaulted over the nag’s 
 head, alighting safely in the road, with his reins and 
 sabre in his disengaged hand. He quickly regained 
 his saddle, and then the whole performance was 
 encored! But I. K. B. did not lose his absolute 
 calm and presence of mind, and quietly led old 
 “ rat-tail ” back to his stable. 
 
 When the great irruption of the Thames into the 
 tunnel took place, the water filled both the tunnels 
 and the connecting shafts. During the period of 
 pumping out which ensued the staff of the engineers 
 were constantly examining the walls of the tunnel, 
 keeping watch on any increase in the surface frac- 
 tures, and many were the applications from sight- 
 seers for permission to accompany them ; but con- 
 
XI] 
 
 THE THAMES TUNNEL 
 
 73 
 
 sent could not be given, for there was constant 
 danger in the operation, as any sudden rise in the 
 water might have caused a catastrophe of a terrible 
 nature. On one occasion several distinguished 
 French gentlemen, one of whom was a member of 
 the Bonaparte family, came with very special letters 
 of introduction, and induced the authorities to give 
 them the permission they desired. 
 
 Brunei addressed the party before they started to 
 the effect that they must first assure him of their 
 being good and powerful swimmers, the great 
 danger being of any sudden accession of water 
 overcoming the pumping strength necessary to keep 
 it down to the right level. The party were loud in 
 asserting their swimming powers to be quite abnor- 
 mal, and their readiness to do exactly as they were 
 told. So they were warned in good French, and 
 with strong injunctions, that if they saw I. K. B. 
 take a header from the punt in which they had 
 embarked, they were to do the same, and to swim 
 back to the point of embarkation. They had 
 barely started, and he was standing up to point out 
 the nature of the masonry, when one of the men 
 wanting to pass him in punting, slipped, and struck 
 
174 CLIFTON SUSPENSION BRIDGE [cH ap. 
 
 Brunei so violently that he lost his balance and fell 
 over the side of the punt into very deep water. It 
 at once occurred to him to dive under the boat and 
 come up under the stern to see if his fellow-passen- 
 gers were keeping their word and swimming to a 
 place of safety, for the accident had the complete 
 effect of the arranged performance, but when he 
 came up to the side of the boat, no one had moved ; 
 they were all sitting with expressions of varying 
 horror and evident anticipation of sudden death on 
 their faces. 
 
 The effect of their failure to keep their word, for 
 they had no idea that Brunei’s dive was not pre- 
 meditated, was that no visitors were ever allowed to 
 inspect the works again. 
 
 Another instance I may relate of his extra- 
 ordinary calmness and presence of mind happened 
 in the early days of the projected making of the 
 great suspension bridge at Clifton. 
 
 That, of course, involved a constant passing of 
 workmen from one side of the gorge to the other, 
 from the Hot Wells to the Leigh Woods. Needless 
 to say, there was no end to the loss of time by the 
 workpeople, who took all opportunities of lingering 
 
XI] 
 
 BRUNEITS BASKET 
 
 75 
 
 in public-houses and other resorts. At last he con- 
 ceived the idea of carrying an iron chain across the 
 space and a small basket working upon wheels, 
 which by aid of windlass and rope would be able to 
 convey two people to and fro. This proved to be 
 a most successful idea, and was admirably carried 
 out, and during the annual meeting of the British 
 Association, then taking place at Bristol, it was 
 arranged that there should be a regular performance 
 for the edification of this assemblage of distinguished 
 people, and there were many requests to be allowed 
 to go in what was imagined to be a suspended car. 
 This car was really not much bigger than many 
 an extra-sized baker’s basket, and as it would hold 
 two persons of moderate dimensions, and no more, 
 nothing would have induced Brunei to take anyone 
 but a member of his own staff. 
 
 The experiment worked as usual ; the basket 
 went with a rush down the swaying iron chain to 
 the middle, when suddenly a rope went wrong, and 
 with an excited crowd watching him, I. K. B. 
 swung himself on to the edge of the basket, 
 stooped over and released the rope, after which 
 they were drawn up safely to the other side. 
 
176 
 
 A BAD CROSSING 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 A little later I went across with an assistant, and 
 well remember my sensations during the transit. 
 Brunei was looking on, and exclaimed with a laugh, 
 “Be careful, John; you know it must come down 
 some day ” ; but I had a good head in those days, 
 and was not perturbed by this cheering remark, and 
 I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful panoramic views 
 up and down the river. A great three-master pass- 
 ing up looked like a child’s toy beneath me, and as 
 I was slowly drawn up on the other side, I looked 
 down upon the great trees, where rooks were 
 cawing and repairing their nests. 
 
 Later on it became the fashion to take people 
 across for the benefit of the men at the wheel. 
 One day a gentleman and lady started, and the 
 operator on the Clifton side soon observed, to 
 his horror, that the lady had disappeared, and 
 the gentleman was waving and gesticulating furi- 
 ously. He worked his wheel with all his might, 
 and presently the basket arrived with the lady, in a 
 condition of utter collapse, in the bottom. She was 
 lifted out and carried into a little chalet, which 
 I. K. B. had built to keep his plans in, and for 
 want of better accommodation she was laid on a 
 
XI] 
 
 VISITS TO WALES 
 
 77 
 
 big drawing-board! The gentleman, a Frenchman, 
 watching her in the greatest excitement as she 
 began to come to, was so overcome with emotion 
 that he staggered back and went into a dead faint ; 
 so he, too, had to be laid out on a second drawing- 
 board, making the chalet temporarily appear almost 
 like a mortuary. 
 
 However, they soon both recovered, and were 
 none the worse for their adventure. They were 
 married the next week. They were the last 
 visitors ever brought across in this fashion. 
 
 In connection with the erection of the Clifton 
 Suspension Bridge, Brunei entrusted me with a 
 very important commission. 
 
 As originally designed it was to have cast-iron 
 towers, purely Egyptian in form, and decorated on 
 the panels into which the faces were divided with 
 incised figure designs, illustrating all the processes 
 necessary in the production of the various portions 
 of the bridge. He had himself made spirited out- 
 line sketches in pen and ink of a few of the leading 
 subjects. In order to become acquainted with the 
 processes to be illustrated, I often accompanied 
 I. K. B. on his journeys to the South Wales iron 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 THE FLYING HEARSE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 districts, where he was actively engaged in making 
 the railway from Cardiff to Merthyr Tydvil. The 
 vast work of the Great Western Railway with its 
 network of branches loomed high upon the horizon 
 of his manifold labours, and the power for work 
 that he showed at this time was almost incredible. 
 I was with him in many of these Welsh journeys, 
 which he made in a large britzska , known to the 
 post-boys as the “ Flying Hearse ” from its unusual 
 dimensions, and the speed with which it was whirled 
 along night and day by four horses. He was a per- 
 fect travelling companion, save for one most trying 
 habit with which nature had endowed him beyond 
 that of any other human being with whom I ever 
 foregathered in sleeping hours. His potency in 
 snoring was “prodigious,” as Dominie Sampson 
 would have said, and in our night-long travellings 
 I have had to shake and pommel him to that 
 extent that I constantly anticipated his turning and 
 rending me in his sleep as an actual assailant. 
 
 On one occasion he was completing the survey 
 for the Taff Vale Railway, of which the plans were 
 to be sent to the headquarters of the Railway 
 Company at Cardiff by the 30th of November. 
 
XI] 
 
 VISIT TO ITALY 
 
 179 
 
 For a fortnight Brunei travelled about day and 
 night without once going to bed, getting all the 
 sleep he had in the Flying Hearse. I was quartered 
 with friends a few miles off, and used to ride in 
 daily on a Welsh pony to get my orders. 
 
 On the last day of the fortnight, when I rode in 
 early, I heard that the plans had been delivered at 
 3 a.m., and that Mr. Brunei had then gone to bed. 
 After a time I entered the room with great caution, 
 and found him in a deep sleep. He was in the 
 habit of smoking a cigar the last thing at night, and 
 one was lying across his chin, one end in his mouth, 
 the other showing signs that it had been lighted, 
 though not a solitary puff had been smoked, he 
 having evidently sunk into the sleep of the just the 
 moment his head had touched the pillow. He 
 woke naturally after exactly twenty-four hours of 
 profound repose, and we started for London. 
 
 I. K. B. and I had many delightful journeys to- 
 gether, and I may perhaps make use, in describing 
 one of them, of a letter I wrote to his son when he 
 was writing his fathers life. 
 
 “We left London for Italy one evening in April, 
 1842. During our journey we passed several 
 
i So 
 
 OUR POST-BOYS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 consecutive days and nights in the carriage ; and I 
 am sure that there was not one of our waking 
 hours in which some incident of interest did not 
 occur. 
 
 “ I remember your father agreeing with me that 
 our experiences merely of post-boys and their 
 various characteristics would be worthy of recording 
 in detail — from Newman’s tw T o smart lads, who took 
 us the first stage out of London, on to the genuine 
 ‘ postillion ’ (boots and all) we found at Calais ; then 
 to the wild young brigands (in appearance) who, 
 inspired by the prospect of extra buon mano , 
 whirled us along the road from Civita Vecchia 
 towards Rome ; and winding up with the stolid 
 German who rose slowly in his stirrups and 
 distracted us by a melancholy performance on the 
 horn slung round him, which no entreaty would 
 induce him to give up. We posted from Calais, via 
 Paris, to Chalons-sur-Saone, marvelling the whole 
 way whereabouts La Belle France was to be 
 found ; for a drearier and more utterly monotonous 
 ride of something like eight hundred miles it is 
 impossible to conceive. 
 
 “ From Chalons we went down the river to 
 Lyons, then onwards, visiting Nismes, and through 
 Arles to Toulon. 
 
 “FVom Toulon we went through Cannes and 
 
XI] 
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY 
 
 1 8 1 
 
 Nice, and along the lovely Cornice road to Genoa. 
 Your father was intensely delighted with this 
 portion of the journey. Those wonderfully pic- 
 turesque towns, with their rococo churches looking 
 like toys, and painted all over upon the principle 
 of colour generally developed in that species of 
 art, especially interested him. The streets were 
 so narrow that it was sometimes doubtful whether 
 the carriage could be squeezed through, and more 
 than once it grazed the houses on either side as 
 it passed on. Your father suggested the delightful 
 idea that these towns may have been built en bloc , 
 and the streets sliced out afterwards. 
 
 “ The work for which your father had come to 
 Italy commenced at Genoa, and he was met there 
 by a staff appointed by the Government to accom- 
 pany him during his stay. While at Genoa he 
 came to me one morning and said, that in con- 
 sequence of some delay, he had a week in which to 
 make complete holiday, and gave me the choice of 
 Florence or Rome. I need scarcely say that I 
 chose Rome, and for three days we were in the 
 Eternal City, seeing more in that time than those 
 to whom we related our proceedings could believe. 
 Two art student friends of mine, Solomon Hart, 
 r.a., painter, and Frederick Thrupp, sculptor, were 
 in Rome at the time, and most kindly devoted 
 
182 
 
 ITALIAN JOURNEY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 themselves to our service as ciceroni, and spared 
 us much loss of time. 
 
 “ How well do I remember our entering Rome 
 by the gate on the Civita Vecchia road, and standing 
 up in the carriage to get our first view of St. Peter’s, 
 and, having seen it, the blank look of disappoint- 
 ment we turned on each other at the sight! But 
 the interior of the great church as far exceeded our 
 expectations as the exterior had fallen short of them. 
 
 “We were back at Genoa to the minute your 
 father had appointed, and the work being completed 
 there, we went on to Turin. Here we were in time 
 to be present at the Court balls and ceremonies 
 consequent upon the marriage of the eldest son of 
 Carlo Alberto, the King. 
 
 “ From Turin we proceeded to Milan. At Milan 
 your father parted from his staff, and completed the 
 work he had undertaken as far as it was necessary 
 to do so in Italy. From Italy, therefore, our 
 journey home was one of uninterrputed enjoyment 
 through those glorious Lombard towns to Venice, 
 which happily we reached in a gondola from Mestre, 
 and not by a railway viaduct ; then through the 
 Tyrol to Munich, and so down the Rhine to Belgium, 
 reaching home from Antwerp.” 
 
 Within less than a year of Mr. Brunei’s return 
 from his visit to Italy a strange accident happened 
 
xij SWALLOWING A HALF-SOVEREIGN 183 
 
 to him, which placed his life in great jeopardy. 
 On April 3rd, 1843, he was amusing some children 
 at his home by the exhibition of conjuring tricks, 
 when, in pretending to pass a half-sovereign from 
 his ear to his mouth, the coin he had placed in his 
 mouth slipped down his throat. After a few days 
 he began to suffer from a troublesome cough, and 
 on April 1 8th Sir Benjamin Brodie was consulted. 
 
 The nature of the accident and the course of 
 treatment adopted are described in the following 
 letter from Mr. Brunei’s brother-in-law, Dr. Seth 
 Thompson, which was published in the Times 
 newspaper of May 16th, 1843 : — 
 
 “ I shall be much obliged by your giving inser- 
 tion to the following treatment pursued by Sir 
 Benjamin Brodie in the case of Mr. Brunei, it being 
 the wish of Mr. Brunei and his friends that the true 
 facts should be known, as a just tribute to the skill 
 of this eminent surgeon, and as a guide to future 
 practice. The accident happened on April 3rd ; Sir 
 B. Brodie was consulted on the 1 8th, and his 
 opinion was that the half-sovereign had passed into 
 the windpipe. The following day Mr. Brunei 
 strengthened this opinion by a simple experiment. 
 He bent his head and shoulders over a chair, and 
 
184 
 
 TRACHEOTOMY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 distinctly felt the coin drop towards the glottis, and 
 whilst raising himself a violent fit of coughing came 
 on, which ceased after a few minutes. He repeated 
 this a second time, with the same results. A consulta- 
 tion was held on the 22nd, at which it was decided 
 that conclusive evidence existed of the half-sovereign 
 having passed into the windpipe, that it was prob- 
 ably lodged at the bottom of the right bronchus, 
 and that it was movable. It was determined that 
 every effort should be made for its removal, and 
 that for this purpose an apparatus should be con- 
 structed for inverting the body of the patient in 
 order that the weight of the coin might assist the 
 natural effort to expel it by coughing. The first 
 experiment was made on the 25th. The body of 
 the patient being inverted, and the back being 
 gently struck with the hand between the shoulders, 
 a violent cough came on ; this was of so alarming 
 a nature that danger was apprehended, and the 
 experiment was discontinued. On this occasion 
 the coin was again moved from its situation, and 
 slipped towards the glottis. On the 27th trache- 
 otomy was performed by Sir B. Broclie, assisted by 
 Mr. Aston Key, with the intention of extracting 
 the coin by the forceps, if possible, or, in the event 
 of this failing, with the expectation that the opening 
 in the windpipe would facilitate a repetition of the 
 
XI] 
 
 SUCCESSFUL EXPERIMENT 
 
 185 
 
 experiment of the 22nd. On this occasion, and 
 subsequently on May 2nd, the introduction of the 
 forceps was attended with so much irritation that 
 it could not be persevered in without danger to 
 life. On the 3rd another consultation was held, 
 when Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Stanley entirely con- 
 firmed the views of Sir B. Brodie and Mr. Key, 
 and it was agreed that the experiment of inversion 
 should be repeated as soon as Mr. Brunei had 
 recovered sufficient strength, the incision in the 
 windpipe being kept open. On Saturday, the 13th, 
 Mr. Brunei was again placed on the apparatus, the 
 body inverted, and the back gently struck. After 
 two or three coughs, he felt the coin quit its place 
 on the right side of the chest, and in a few seconds 
 it dropped from his mouth without exciting in its 
 passage through the glottis any distress or incon- 
 venience, the opening in the windpipe preventing 
 any spasmodic action of the glottis. 
 
 “ In this remarkable case the following circum- 
 stances appear to be worthy of note : that a piece 
 of gold remained in the air-tube for six weeks, quite 
 movable, and without exciting any inflammatory 
 action, the breathing entirely undisturbed, and the 
 only symptoms of its presence occasional uneasiness 
 on the right side of the chest and frequent fits of 
 coughing ; that an accurate diagnosis was formed 
 
86 
 
 BRUNEL’S COOLNESS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 without being able to obtain any assistance from 
 the stethoscope, although the chest was repeatedly 
 and carefully examined, and also that a fair trial 
 having been given to the forceps, the application of 
 this instrument to the removal of a body of this 
 peculiar form from the bottom of the bronchus was 
 proved to be attended with great risk of life, while 
 the cautious and well-considered plan of treatment 
 above detailed was attended with complete success, 
 and without risk.” 
 
 During the time that Mr. Brunei was in danger 
 the public excitement was intense. His high pro- 
 fessional position, the extraordinary nature of the 
 accident, and the greatness of the loss, were the 
 result to prove fatal, made his condition and the 
 chances of his recovery an engrossing topic of con- 
 versation, and when the news spread that “ it is 
 out,” the message needed no explanation. That 
 the result was successful was due, not only to 
 the skill of the surgeons engaged and to the 
 anxious care with which those who nursed him 
 left nothing undone to ensure his safety, but also to 
 the remarkable coolness which Mr. Brunei himself 
 displayed throughout. From the first he took part 
 in the consultations which were held on his case, 
 
HIS DEVICE 
 
 XI] 
 
 1 8; 
 
 and “ assisted materially in determining the course 
 of treatment which should be pursued.”* 
 
 I think to this account I must add one or two 
 details. 
 
 At the consultation Brodie said he proposed to 
 take the unprecedented course of asking the patient 
 to be present, and it was Isambard himself who 
 devised the apparatus above-mentioned. It was 
 
 * From The Life of Isambard Kingdom Brunei , Civil Engineer , 
 by Isambard Brunei, B.c.L., of Lincoln’s Inn, Chancellor of the Diocese 
 of Ely. Published by Longmans, Green and Co., 1870. 
 
 This excellent book, written by the eldest son of the great engineer, 
 is in the opinion of those capable of forming a reliable one simply 
 admirable in its clear and truthful statements, combined with the wise 
 reticence of style suitable to a son writing of a dearly loved and 
 eminent father. Those connected with the family of Brunei have 
 now to lament most deeply the loss of this modest and able chronicler 
 of his father’s services to his country. The younger Isambard Brunei, 
 whose pure and noble life seems so prematurely cut off, was a notable 
 example of Christian fortitude. He suffered from his birth from a 
 grievous infirmity, but he never relaxed his earnest and unselfish work, 
 overcoming by steady courage the physical disabilities which would 
 have daunted a weaker man. He devoted himself at one time to the 
 study of ecclesiastical law, and became the friendly adviser of many 
 dignitaries of the Church. I was once dining in the Athenaeum when 
 Parliament was sitting, and found he was performing the same function 
 just opposite to me, but so attended as to make any recognition im- 
 possible. He had a bishop seated on each side of him, and an 
 archbishop standing with the tips of his fingers to steady himself on 
 the small table at which Brunei was eating his simple repast in great 
 haste, all three dignitaries pouring forth to him at the same time on 
 some knotty legal question they wanted his aid in untying ! I fully 
 meant to make a sketch from memory of the scene, but never did so. 
 
1 88 
 
 LETTER FROM I. K. B. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 felt that the risk was so great that Brodie said it 
 was like asking a man to arrange his own scaffold. 
 
 The public interest was immense, and it may be 
 mentioned that it was Macaulay who rushed into 
 the Athenaeum and exclaimed, “It is out!” he having 
 called at the house to inquire ten minutes after the 
 operation had been performed. 
 
 I hope it will not here be out of place to intro- 
 duce a letter written by the father I. K. B. to his 
 son, which gives better than any words of mine the 
 key to his life. 
 
 “ February 2 nd , 1858 . 
 
 “ My dear Isambard, — Thank you for your 
 note. I was not sorry you were not present, as, in 
 spite of any amount of firmness, one’s anxieties are 
 incessant by the consideration of the feelings of 
 those one loves. I have had a hard time of it, 
 and have felt the advantages of perseverance and 
 patience. But much more than this might be 
 learnt from the consideration of the causes as well 
 as the results of all that has occurred during the 
 last three months. I never felt more strongly than 
 I have on this occasion how entirely, or how nearly 
 so, all the evils and difficulties are the result of 
 your own imprudence, or mistakes, or weakness in 
 
XI] 
 
 ADVANTAGE OF PRAYER 
 
 189 
 
 giving way to feelings instead of considering well 
 what was best in the single view of success in 
 the particular object to be attained, and acting upon 
 the result of that consideration without being in- 
 fluenced by any other feeling. I had originally 
 designed a complete machine which would, as I 
 now see, have launched the ship perfectly. Under 
 the influence of irritating intrigue and insinuation 
 about the costliness of my intended operations, I 
 made experiments and satisfied myself that, in all 
 probability, I could dispense with most of the 
 apparatus. I tried it, and hence all the difficulties ; 
 that I have succeeded in the end in overcoming 
 them is due mainly to extraordinary and unex- 
 pectedly favourable results in many other parts 
 which I had no right to calculate upon, and as a 
 crowning result we had on Sunday a combination 
 of circumstances, of very high tides, a long period 
 of high water, a very favourable wind, and a fine 
 day, and in the midst of our operations a sudden 
 relief from a difficulty brought on by our own 
 mistake (a mistake on board by letting go a cable), 
 a relief quite unaccountable, and certainly not 
 brought about by any steps we took to remove it. 
 
 “ Finally, let me impress upon you the advantage 
 of prayer . I am not prepared to say that the 
 
 prayers of individuals can be separately and in- 
 
190 LETTER CONTINUED [chap, xi 
 
 dividually granted ; that would seem to be incom- 
 patible with the regular movement of the mechanism 
 of the universe, and it would seem impossible to 
 explain why prayer should now be granted, now 
 refused. But of this I can assure you, that I have 
 ever in my difficulties prayed fervently, and that in 
 the end my prayers have been, or have appeared to 
 me to have been granted , and that I have received 
 
 great comfort. „ Yours, etc., 
 
 “ I. K. Brunel.” 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Uncle John — Visits to Newton’s Hotel — The Adelphi — T. P. Cooke 
 —The Kembles — Tableaux vivants — Adelaide Kemble — Fanny 
 Kemble — T aglioni — D uvernay — H enry Chorley — Hamlet — The 
 fiasco— Peter Powell — The Castle of Altamont — The Children of 
 Israel — John Parry — Dinner at the Royal Academy Club. 
 
 I T was to my good uncle John Callcott that 
 some of the most blissful hours of my early 
 boyhood were due. He would sometimes dine me 
 at an Italian restaurant, and then take me to the 
 play. At the south side of Leicester Square were 
 several Queen Anne houses, one of which was 
 known as Newton’s Hotel, for it had been the 
 residence at one time of the great Sir Isaac. In 
 the principal room, used as the restaurant, the 
 monogram “I.N.” was done into the ceiling-centre 
 with the graceful plaster frame of the period, whilst 
 panelled walls and doors bore testimony to its 
 decorative date. It added greatly to the delight 
 
192 
 
 T. P. COOKE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 of the Italian chefs toothsome dishes to imagine 
 the variety of characters who might have sat and 
 gazed, as I did, at the memento of this mighty man 
 of science, one of his own devising when building 
 the house, for tradition credits him with having 
 been his own architect. 
 
 Our evenings were frequently spent at the 
 Adelphi Theatre, in the Strand, close at hand, 
 where I positively worshipped the actor, T. P. 
 Cooke, who there reigned supreme. It was always 
 understood that in his youth he had served several 
 years before the mast in the Royal Navy, which 
 would partly account for the absolutely perfect way 
 in which he represented the British man-of-war’s 
 man on the stage, and doubtless my seeing him so 
 often had much to do with my transient wish — 
 before alluded to — to be a sailor. One day, when 
 I left the theatre in absolute rapture at his perform- 
 ance in Black-Eyed Susan , I said to my uncle, 
 “Now, Uncle John, I daresay you will laugh at 
 what I am going to say, but I am perfectly certain 
 that when I am grown up and have money of my 
 own to spend, I shall come every night to the 
 Adelphi.” 
 
XII] 
 
 THE KEMBLES 
 
 93 
 
 The T. P. Cooke infatuation lasted for some 
 time, and I was present at his farewell benefit, 
 when he brought down the house with a bit of im- 
 promptu “gag.” He broke down completely when 
 dancing his celebrated hornpipe, and left the stage 
 gasping out “that he needed another hand at the 
 bellows.” 
 
 When I was a lad of fourteen or fifteen I was taken 
 by my father to call upon Charles Kemble, then 
 living in Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, with his 
 daughters, Fanny and Adelaide, my father wishing 
 to offer his personal congratulations on the success 
 of Fanny, who had quite recently made her first 
 appearance on the stage, where she had been 
 enthusiastically received. Her sister Adelaide had 
 been in training for some years as a singer for the 
 opera stage, and on her appearance at Covent 
 Garden was as successful as her sister. She had a 
 beautiful soprano voice and was a delightful singer 
 and actress, with much charm of manner, and a 
 considerable share of the family good looks. 
 
 At one time we inaugurated in Brunei’s house at 
 Duke Street, some very elaborate tableaux vivants, 
 which created quite a sensation. They were very 
 
194 
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 mixed as to subject, some classical, others realistic, 
 and others again representing well-known pictures. 
 I can remember perfectly the programme for one 
 performance. It was to commence with subjects 
 from Flaxmans Odyssey . Mrs. Brunei (my sister 
 Mary) was a very handsome person, with a stately 
 figure, and was excellent as Penelope, in the scene 
 of the suitors surprising Penelope at her game 
 of deception, with her weaving. An imitation of 
 Flaxmans indication of the loom, well made by 
 Webbe of Bond Street, a famous upholsterer, was 
 made, and a number of our friends of various ages 
 and sizes were carefully selected to represent the 
 suitors. The next subject was a realistic one, of a 
 Neapolitan group dancing the tarantella, which was 
 beautifully arranged by Mrs. Benedict and her 
 brother, Csesare, both Neapolitans by birth. 
 
 The Duke Street house was unusually well fitted 
 for performances of this kind, a wide staircase 
 ascending from the entrance to the piano nobile ) as 
 the Italians call what we call the drawing-room floor, 
 and a second back staircase for ordinary purposes, 
 both leading to two drawing-rooms and the dining- 
 room, all opening into each other. One of the 
 
XII] 
 
 ADELAIDE KEMBLE 
 
 95 
 
 drawing-rooms had a beautiful chamber organ in it, 
 and was called the organ-room, and Brunei found 
 soothing moments and relief from care when his wife 
 played simple melodies and quiet harmonies on that 
 king of musical instruments. At one time we 
 indulged in some very ambitious attempts to 
 represent portions of cathedral interiors, as back- 
 grounds to a few figures characteristic in action and 
 appearance, in which pictures the organ accom- 
 paniment became fitting and impressive. 
 
 As regards the representation of well-known pic- 
 tures, I can only remember in detail one effort, which 
 was of infinite promise, but fell through so completely 
 that it fairly disheartened us. At this time we used 
 to see a good deal of Adelaide Kemble, and became 
 impressed with the fact that there was the strongest 
 resemblance in her face to that of Sarah Siddons, 
 her aunt, as seen in Reynolds’s immortal picture of 
 her as “The Tragic Muse.” My impression, when 
 mentioned to our fellow-workers and arrangers of 
 the tableaux, was so warmly seconded and approved 
 that I was empowered to ask Adelaide if she would 
 consent to take the role for which she was so clearly 
 designed. To my intense delight she raised not the 
 
THE TRAGIC MUSE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 196 
 
 slightest objection, or even criticism of the wish of 
 our committee, and at once entered actively into 
 the arrangements. With these we were convinced 
 there would be no insuperable difficulty. Brunei 
 set one of his architect clerks to make working 
 drawings of the throne on which the Muse is seated, 
 and we entered, through Adelaide Kemble, into a 
 discussion with the machinist of Covent Garden as 
 to the way in which the rolling clouds at the feet 
 of the Muse, and the sky behind her were to be 
 accomplished, and argued whether the attendant 
 spirits of the bowl and dagger should have male or 
 female representatives. 
 
 We agreed to ask permission of His Grace of 
 Westminster for frequent sight of the picture in his 
 possession, so that ladies might examine and decide 
 upon the materials of which the garments of the 
 Muse may have been made, and indeed had left 
 nothing undone to ensure success, when down 
 came the Muse in the flesh upon us, having advised 
 us of her advent at a particular time, and in a 
 lamentable and yet passionate voice, stated that on 
 careful consideration she felt it impossible to carry 
 out her promise to represent the great Siddons. 
 
XII] 
 
 FANNY KEMBLE’S MARRIAGE 197 
 
 The blow to us was such as no words can describe, 
 and it was so crushing that we felt it was impossible 
 to attempt to avert it. We did not even suggest an 
 explanation (none being offered) as to her reasons 
 for leaving us so terribly in the lurch, but thought it 
 very likely that Fanny, for some reason of her own, 
 had raised objections. 
 
 After this years passed during which Fanny had 
 married an American gentleman named Butler, and 
 Adelaide a Mr. Sartoris, an Englishman and a fox- 
 hunter, decidedly rough in manner, but with a 
 softening grace, that of being passionately fond of 
 music. After their marriage they took a small 
 house in South Street, Park Lane, where I spent 
 many delightful musical evenings. When she 
 was performing at the opera she would invite two or 
 three intimate friends to call upon her during the 
 evening, and she interviewed us, not only between 
 the acts, but would have two or three chairs placed 
 at the wings, where they were invisible to the 
 audience, but upon which she could place her 
 friends, and chat to them between her “ exits and 
 her entrances.” 
 
 In those days certain “men about town” were 
 
198 
 
 TAGLIONI 
 
 [chap. 
 
 classed by managers as “ patrons of the opera,” 
 men who had their private stalls both at opera and 
 theatre, and a key that would admit them on to the 
 stage itself between the acts. Knowing one of this 
 favoured set, I two or three times found myself 
 behind the scenes, and very amusing it was. The 
 incident that struck me most was the apparently 
 reckless way in which the chorus, and at times the 
 whole corps de ballet , would laugh and talk even 
 whilst the soloists were performing their parts for 
 the delectation of the audience and spectators in 
 front. Marie Taglioni, Duvernay, Cerito, and the 
 Sisters Elsler were amongst the premieres danseuses 
 I remember. Alfred Chalons drawing of Taglioni 
 as “ La Sylphide ” gives a perfect idea of what she 
 was. I was near to her at a Mansion House dinner 
 later on, given by the Lord Mayor of the time, in 
 honour of all the arts, and in which Taglioni, as an 
 inspired mistress of graceful posture, was most 
 worthily included. After her dancing days were 
 over she became a fashionable teacher of “deport- 
 ment.” She was always spoken of as immaculate 
 in character, and had the appearance of a charming, 
 sweet-tempered, elderly lady, who might have 
 
XII] 
 
 DUVERNAY 
 
 199 
 
 brought her cap in a paper bag to put it on in the 
 ladies’ room at the Mansion House on the night of 
 a banquet. She married, but it was said not 
 happily, and that her husband spent the most of her 
 property. 
 
 Duvernay was French, and extremely pretty, 
 and married a rich Englishman, who in the days 
 of his youth was called “ Pea-Green Hay.” He 
 was wealthy and dressy, and had large landed 
 property in Cambridgeshire. She survived her 
 husband many years, and spent many thousands 
 in building a Roman Catholic church on her 
 property. I was at the back of the stage one 
 night at Covent Garden, where she was perform- 
 ing, and was called on several times amidst frantic 
 applause. On her returning amidst the corps de 
 ballet , who were all squatted on the ground, ac- 
 cording to their stage direction, they took up the 
 applause of the house and clapped most vigorously. 
 She carried her nez en V air , and her right hand on 
 her waist, and walked through her companions with 
 profound indifference. She, too, happily possessed 
 an excellent character. As soon as she was out of 
 sight of the stage box, her maid, who was waiting 
 
200 
 
 HENRY CHORLEY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 for her, clasped her waist with both hands, whilst 
 Duvernay twisted and twirled her figure and limbs 
 in every imaginable way. She did this, it was said, 
 to retain the lissomness of her figure up to the 
 moment of going to the front again. 
 
 The Elslers were German, and too big and 
 heavy to produce an impression of much grace, 
 and their postures were frequently tasteless and 
 audacious. 
 
 Mrs. Butler and her husband took a house for 
 the season in Upper Grosvenor Street, while the 
 Sartoris’s were in South Street, Mayfair. Calling 
 upon the former, I found in the drawing-room into 
 which I was ushered a man very well known in the 
 musical world, Henry F. Chorley by name. 
 
 Whilst we were sitting waiting, the little Butler 
 girls came in, and H. F. Chorley immediately made 
 up to them and insisted on one of them sitting on 
 his knee, to her evident dislike. He began making 
 small talk to her, and said in his rather squeaky 
 voice, “ I can see by your look that you are a very 
 good little girl ” ; she looked up at him, eyeing him 
 with a deep, tragic Kemble eye, and retorted, “No 
 I am not; mother and I have horrid tempers, horrid \ 
 
XII] 
 
 “HAMLET” 
 
 201 
 
 and though we try to get the better of them, they 
 generally get the better of us.” 
 
 I was rather surprised at receiving a note one 
 day from Mrs. Sartoris, saying that she was very 
 anxious to carry on the tableaux vivants at her 
 own house, and would like my help, which was 
 readily given. But I soon found, as was perhaps 
 to be expected, that their ideas and mine differed 
 very much, they having, as it seemed to me, 
 no intention of creating any illusion, nor caring 
 sufficiently about the composition and grouping, 
 nor the beauty of line and colour which we had 
 so carefully aimed at, but rather proposing merely 
 a series of dramatic scenes, in which they were 
 content with the rather commonplace dresses of the 
 stage as it was then. However, I loyally did my 
 best to help them, though I was very dubious as to 
 the success of the scenes from Hamlet , which they 
 had arranged. 
 
 The evening arrived. The front room was 
 crowded with a fashionable assembly. Mrs. Butler 
 was to enact Hamlet’s mother, her husband was to 
 be Hamlet, and the ghost was to be represented by 
 a Captain de Bathe (now an elderly general), over 
 
202 
 
 A HIGHLAND FLING 
 
 [chap. 
 
 six feet in height, and magnificently attired in a 
 complete suit of armour. 
 
 “ Hamlet ” had been dining out, and returned 
 home barely in time, and what was worse, it was too 
 evident that he had been dining. I shall never 
 forget the impassioned voice in which his wife 
 recited to him, book in hand, the scene about to 
 be represented, trying, as she said, to inspire him 
 with the spirit of the thing. It was all in vain ; he 
 was cross, he was sulky, he refused to pose properly, 
 and the scene became intense — words grew hotter 
 and hotter, and only the immense chatter of the 
 fashionable throng prevented, as I hoped, the quar- 
 rel from being overheard. I distinctly heard the 
 high-pitched voice of Lady Morgan saying, “When 
 are they going to begin ? ” 
 
 We, who were helping in various parts and ways, 
 did our best to smooth matters down, but in vain ; 
 finally the ghost, who was determined to effect a 
 diversion, began to dance a Highland fling in his 
 armour! The clanking and the noise may be 
 imagined, and the impatient audience pushed aside 
 the curtains and had at all events, to their great 
 delight, one very “animated picture.” That was 
 
XII] 
 
 PETER POWELL 
 
 203 
 
 all they did have ; the Hamlet tableaux ended in 
 fiasco and supper ! 
 
 Amongst my most talented and original friends, 
 the name of Peter Powell must be recorded. His 
 gifts were many ; he was no mean limner, and a 
 most discerning critic, but it is as a humorist that 
 he will be remembered. His personal appearance 
 was peculiar ; he was barely five feet in height, 
 very rotund and portly in figure, with a bald 
 head, a round face full of fun and jollity, 
 and keen, twinkling eyes. Early in life he had 
 obtained a post in the War Office, and he there 
 discharged his duties so admirably as to gain 
 the respect of all his colleagues. His father 
 died early, and the entire care and support of 
 his mother devolved on him, and his steady 
 devotion to her made large claims on his purse 
 and his leisure. 
 
 His favourite recreation was play-going, and his 
 keen sense of humour and histrionic powers en- 
 abled him to reproduce, in the most vivid manner, 
 what had specially struck him in theatre, concert- 
 room, or even in church. This he did with a 
 
204 
 
 POWELL’S PERFORMANCES 
 
 [chap. 
 
 marked fidelity, combined with a truly marvellous 
 power of caricature. 
 
 Single-handed he would represent an entire stage 
 company in turns, including the full band, when 
 necessary. Any drawing-room would content him 
 as a stage, and with such brief asides as “ this is a 
 throne — that is a castle — a tree”— he, by his splen- 
 did and audacious make-believe, would carry his 
 delighted audience along with him, their imagina- 
 tion responding to each new demand made upon it. 
 
 He had a most extensive repertoire , but his two 
 stock pieces were an oratorio entitled The Children 
 of Israel , and a melodrama, The Castle of Alta - 
 mont. 
 
 Now before I attempt to describe in writing some 
 fragments of Peter Powells wonderful performance, 
 I must beg my readers to bear in mind that he 
 alone literally conveyed the appearance and action 
 of every individual character represented on the 
 stage, and by his marvellous energy sustained the 
 interest of the audience to the end. The only 
 portion of human form ever seen on the stage 
 besides that of Peter Powell was an attendant’s 
 hand appearing from behind the drawing-room 
 
XII] 
 
 HIS PERSONALITY 
 
 205 
 
 curtain at the back of the stage handing the solitary 
 performer a stiff tumbler of brandy and water to 
 sip when he had a chance, and refresh himself. 
 The droll little man was like Hamlet, “ fat and 
 scant of breath,” and he got so excited with his 
 work that my dear mother, I believe, was more or 
 less in an agony of fright at certain points of his 
 performance, fully expecting that “something” 
 would happen to Peter Powell, and that his collapse 
 might take place at any moment. 
 
 fUag of % “(Eastk of JUtamoni” 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
 The Baron of Altamont 
 L lNDOR, in love with Adela 
 Adela, in love with LlNDOR 
 A Country Maiden accompanied by other Maidens 
 and Villagers 
 An Army 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Exterior of Altamont Castle 
 A little like England, a good deal like France 
 
 Enter LlNDOR ( sadly melancholy and in reflective action). 
 
 LlNDOR. Times are sadly changed since I and the Baron 
 were scho-ol-fellars — now he is possessor of yon lordly 
 
206 
 
 POWELL’S PLAY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 castle whilst I, a poor miserable outcast, wander here and 
 there and every er-ware in search of me dear, dear Adela. 
 
 [ Music of the harp sounds. 
 Soft ye now ! Music in yonder tower. Hark ! she sings ; 
 perchance a captive. 
 
 “ Humpty-Dumpty set on a wall.” 
 
 [LlN DOR frightfully agitated. 
 
 By heavens ! ’tis my Adela ; I know her. She sings 
 again, 
 
 “ Oh, I am a prisoner here, 
 
 With nothing to drink but stale small beer.” 
 
 [LlNDOR becomes frantic , tears his hair and behaves 
 maniacally and cries aloud: 
 
 My Adela a prisoner in yonder tower, with nothing to 
 drink but stale small bee-er. 
 
 \Then staring at the audience with madness in his eyes 
 and after a pause of frenzied silence , screams out : 
 
 It can’t agree with her, it never did with me. 
 
 [ Retiring to back of stage mouthi?ig, yelling and again 
 tearing his hair, then collides with a group of festive 
 peasants. LlNDOR advances , and addressing the prin- 
 cipal maiden of the group : 
 
 “ And who have we here ? Where are you going to, my 
 pretty maiden ? ” 
 
 She replies, “ I am going to be married, sir.” 
 
 “To be married, are you ? ” 
 
 “Yes, if you please, sir, the good Baron Altamont.” 
 
 [LlNDOR furious. 
 
 “ The good Baron of Altamont indeed , know ye not that 
 
XII] 
 
 44 THE CASTLE OF ALTAMONT” 
 
 20 7 
 
 your good Baron of Altamont has taken captive my Adela, 
 and imprisoned her in yonder tow-ar ? ” 
 
 Maiden and Friends. “No. If you please, sir, we 
 don’t know nothink about the matter ! ” 
 
 LlNDOR. “ But now that you know it, will ye not rather 
 than be married under his hateful auspices join me in 
 attacking the castle and rescuing my Adela ? ” 
 
 [All shout in Chorus. 
 
 “ Hooray, hooray, attack the castle, ’tack the castle ! ” 
 etc. [LlNDOR deeply depressed. 
 
 “ Ah ! but, my friends, the castle is strong and we are 
 weak.” [ Sniffs , and is slightly affected to tears. 
 
 Maiden. “ Oh, if you please, sir, you need not mind 
 that, for our army is at hand, and will be here shortly.” 
 
 LlNDOR. “ Oh ! if your army is at hand, all may yet be 
 well ! ” 
 
 Maiden. “ See, ’ere it comes.” 
 
 Enter the Peasants’ Army with band , etc. After per- 
 forming a variety of military evolutions , the army 
 makes a furious onslaught on the castle. LlNDOR has 
 a terrific single-handed combat with the Baron , zvho 
 fights to the last , and dies an elaborate death on Lindods 
 sword. Adela released , rushes from the castle nuns 
 into Lin dor’s arms, where she is enfolded and much 
 embraced when LlNDOR to public astonishment puts her 
 from him , but gently, and gasps out : 
 
 “ Methinks I scent the stale small beer ! But no matter.” 
 
 [And does the enfolding and embracing a second time , and 
 with this final sensation the drama ends in a tableau of 
 all the performers , amidst uproarious applause. 
 
208 
 
 “THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL” [cH ap. 
 
 ©ratorin 
 
 “THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL” 
 PERFORMERS 
 
 Grand Double Chorus , Soprano and Tenor Soloists, Organist , 
 Conductor of the Oratorio . Music Attendant , etc. 
 
 Organist takes his seat at the organ (represented by a 
 card-table with candles), under the table you can see the 
 legs and feet of organist playing the pedals vigorously. 
 Organist pulls out the stops on either side of the key- 
 board, and is constantly pulling them out or pushing them 
 in, varying the tone effects at pleasure. Organist now 
 plays in the chorus. Singers and the members of orchestra 
 who enter with their various instruments in hand, and who 
 commence tuning them, the organist playing the key-note 
 for them on the organ. The music attendant goes about 
 constantly making sure that all the performers in the band 
 are provided with their “ parts,” if not, he provides them 
 from a reserve he has under his arm, of which he drops some 
 in his difficult progress amongst the orchestra. When all is 
 considered ready, the conductor leaves his perch, which is 
 erected towards the centre, low-down of the orchestra, and 
 goes out in order to conduct the lady solo singers to their 
 chairs, placed in the centre right and left of the conductor’s 
 perch. The entrance of these public favourites leads to 
 much clapping of hands from the assembled audience. 
 The male soloists follow on, but have no conductor, they 
 come in with more or less ovation from the audience 
 according to their public reputation. 
 
XII] 
 
 POWELL’S VOCAL POWERS 
 
 209 
 
 The conductor having seen his soloist trebles and altos 
 safely chaired , hops back on to his perch, seizes his baton, 
 waves it, and then raps it on the edge of his music-stand, 
 which signal sharply brings to their feet the whole band 
 who have to play the overture to The Children of Israel. 
 
 There is almost invariably a part for the organist 
 in all oratorios, and this was not forgotten by Peter 
 Powell in his overture to The Children of Israel \ 
 neither was the solemn impression of Handel’s 
 scheme of overture omitted, but rather strictly 
 followed. The grand commencement of stately 
 chordal (or choral) intricacies, enriched and varied 
 by pathetic portions of heavenly strains in slow 
 movement, then the sharp, incisive dash of the ex- 
 hilarating fugue, working together the various 
 themes to their legitimate conclusion. Peter’s vocal 
 powers were never idle, but were of the nature of 
 humming , with that near approach that great 
 musicians make to singing passages of their MS. 
 compositions, when they are privately showing them 
 to intimate professional friends. The humming 
 with lips closed was the great factor in the repre- 
 sentation of the various voices and instruments, 
 except when the words of a libretto had to be dealt 
 
210 
 
 POWELL’S ADMIRERS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 with. When this was requisite, it was an extra 
 demand on Peter’s genius, but he never failed to 
 meet it from the inexhaustible wealth of his varied 
 powers. 
 
 Then, to complete my account in connection with 
 Peter Powell’s performance, I must again beg my 
 readers to remember that it was conveyed to the 
 audience chiefly by dumbshow, assisted by his 
 musical sounds, produced as I have described. 
 Unlike other entertainers he did not attempt to 
 play a pianoforte accompaniment, or to bring a 
 trained hand with him. The whole success was 
 due entirely to his keen sense of humour and his 
 marvellous powers of observation and reproduction. 
 
 From the time I was a lad of twelve, I must have 
 seen the performance dozens of times, always with 
 increased delight, and I was struck with its effect 
 upon audiences of all kinds. All painters were 
 impressed, and I remember no one more enthusi- 
 astic than that delightful man and artist, Charles 
 Robert Leslie, r.a. On leaving he entreated my 
 mother to give him an opportunity of seeing the 
 performance repeated, and when he came he brought 
 with him Washington Irving, that charming Ameri- 
 
XII] 
 
 JOHN PARRY 
 
 21 I 
 
 can author, who afterwards wrote a most racy and 
 highly appreciative account of the evening with 
 Pietro Poweilino, as some of his admirers called him. 
 
 Now I feel most sincerely that my rough sketch 
 of Peter Powell and his work fails ineffably to do 
 either justice, it is essentially fragmentary ; but to 
 bolster up my weakness, I can state the opinion of 
 one of the keenest and shrewdest men in the musical 
 and theatrical professions, and that was the late 
 Sir George Smart, who, after seeing the perform- 
 ance once or twice here, wrote to Peter Powell 
 offering to arrange everything for his appearance in 
 public, anticipating a success of the most brilliant 
 kind. But this was an idea of such overpowering 
 magnitude to Peter Powell that he thankfully 
 declined the offer, giving such reasons on the score 
 of health as quite to prevent any friendly pressure 
 being tried upon him. He only lived a few years 
 after this period, and passed away loved and re- 
 spected by all who knew him. 
 
 John Parry, the musician and public singer, and 
 his father, the well-known harpist, were friends of 
 my family, and frequently came to our house, so 
 I do not doubt they were present at one or more of 
 
212 
 
 PARRY’S PLAYING 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Peter Powell’s performances, and that young Parry, 
 who brought the descriptive society songs with 
 pianoforte accompaniments to perfection, got not a 
 few hints from Peter’s 7nodus operandi. 
 
 Thalberg was one of the most extraordinary 
 pianoforte players for manipulative power. (He 
 was said to be the son of an Austrian prince, and 
 certainly such an origin was borne out by his 
 strikingly handsome person.) His verdict on Parry’s 
 playing was that he possessed the most perfect 
 touch he had ever heard. No one who heard his 
 amusing rendering of a conjugal quarrel and final 
 reconciliation will ever forget the way in which, 
 when he uttered the word “ Maria,” he touched one 
 note on the piano, accompanied by sighs and 
 gaspings, giving by this veritable stroke of genius, 
 the exact impression of a forefinger laid caress- 
 ingly on a waist ! 
 
 His happiness and even his success in his career 
 were greatly marred by the most afflicting nervous- 
 ness about his public appearances. This frequently 
 compelled him to throw up profitable public engage- 
 ments, and finally led to his leaving the stage, to 
 the great regret of the musical world. 
 
XII] 
 
 HIS NERVOUSNESS 
 
 213 
 
 On one occasion Gerome, the French painter, 
 was visiting London with some artist friends. They 
 were invited to dine at the Royal Academy Club, 
 at which John Parry, an ever-welcome guest, was 
 to be present. It happened to be my turn to pre- 
 side, and Parry was placed on my left hand and 
 Gerome on the right. Towards the end of dinner 
 Parry, leaning against me, whispered with his mouth 
 close to my ear, “ Now, my dear friend, is the hour 
 of horror for me.” “ What on earth do you mean?” 
 I answered. “ Why,” he said, “ if you don’t do it 
 yourself, there are a dozen others within my vision 
 who will call upon me to ‘ do something,’ in sing- 
 song or saying, and tis a toss up whether I shall 
 not break down as soon as I am on my feet, and 
 bolt from the room ! ” I saw from his expression 
 and the livid pallor of his face in what deadly 
 earnestness he was speaking, and assured him that 
 neither I nor anyone else would ask him to put 
 such a strain upon himself, and that we would wait 
 half an hour. 
 
 Before the half-hour was over, to my great relief 
 as chairman of the evening, Parry whispered that 
 he had conquered for the time the foul fiend, and 
 
214 
 
 PARRY’S INGENUITY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 that I might announce him to sing a song with 
 trumpet obligato. The announcement was received 
 with wild enthusiasm by all present. This special 
 performance was new to me and most of us. He 
 walked quietly to the piano, took up a piece of 
 music, which he rolled up to represent a silver 
 trumpet, giving it a splay ed-out mouth. He twisted 
 his white handkerchief of a filmy kind into the 
 semblance of a cord, which he wound round the 
 trumpet to keep it in shape. He placed a long 
 music-book on the stand, and supporting the wide 
 end of the extemporised instrument against the 
 book, he brought the other against his lips, keeping 
 it quite rigid, and leaving his hands free to play 
 with both hands the accompaniment to the trumpet 
 solo on the piano. The ingenuity of the “combine” 
 and its perfect success enchanted the audience, and 
 Parry gave an artfully selected list of national airs 
 of both countries — “God Save the Queen,” “The 
 Marseillaise,” “ Marlbrook s’en va t’en guerre,” etc. 
 The enthusiasm evoked was immense, and Parry 
 was more than pleased at his reception, and passed 
 from one success to another till the party was com- 
 pelled to break up. The Frenchmen were delighted, 
 
Xllj 
 
 SOCIETY ENTERTAINERS 
 
 215 
 
 and most anxious that Parry should be seen and 
 heard in Paris, little guessing what he had endured 
 before he was able to open his mouth in the presence 
 of even the most appreciative audience, or they would 
 not have made such a proposition. He struggled on, 
 despite all his mental sufferings, in order to support 
 his wife and family, bearing his cross bravely, and 
 consoled when sometimes for weeks together the 
 evil spirit left him in peace. 
 
 Both Parry and Powell gave small entertainments. 
 For instance, Powell would swathe his hands in 
 white kid gloves, and on a card-table, with his cuffs 
 turned up, would give a complete ballet dance with 
 inimitable grace and humour, turning his stiff male 
 fingers into lissom female legs before the astonished 
 eyes of spectators. At the beginning of this per- 
 formance he would go through the tuning up of 
 the 'cello most elaborately, which always elicited 
 rapturous encores. 
 
 It is needless to say that Parry and Peter Powell 
 were the forerunners of society entertainers, such 
 as xYlbert Smith, Corney Grain, and George 
 Grossmith. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Michael Faraday — Lectures on chemistry of colour — His personal 
 appearance — Expressions of faith — Huxley — Lecture at the Royal 
 Institution — The microbe — Huxley’s eloquence — His admirers. 
 
 IS sixty years since” and more that I as 
 
 a young boy attended Faraday’s lectures 
 on the chemistry of colours at the Royal Institu- 
 tion. A friend of those days, interested in my 
 early efforts as an art student, gave me a ticket for 
 the course of lectures, considering that they would 
 be of practical service to me as a painter. I had 
 to be at Albemarle Street three days a week at 
 7.45 a.m. The lectures were so fully attended that 
 an early arrival was necessary to secure a good 
 
 I took elaborate notes of what I heard and saw, 
 but artists are not sent into the world with scientific 
 tendencies as a rule, to which I am assuredly no 
 exception. 1 may here formally confess that neither 
 
 place. 
 
 216 
 
CHAP. XIII] 
 
 FARADAY AS LECTURER 
 
 217 
 
 Faraday’s brilliant discourses nor other scientific 
 aids have been of professional use to me. But 
 what did most deeply impress me were the bright- 
 ness of presence, the charm of manner and language, 
 and the marvellous manipulative skill of the lecturer. 
 
 I can see him now, as if it were yesterday, enter- 
 ing the laboratory, advancing quickly to the table, 
 and looking round his audience with a beaming 
 glance from eyes, which for beauty and intense in- 
 tellectual power of expression I never saw equalled — 
 then plunging into his subject without a moment’s 
 hesitation, with rapid but perfectly distinct utterance 
 of words of real and true eloquence, powerful, yet 
 simple and clear even to such unscientific dullards 
 as myself, and illustrating his subject by experi- 
 ments of unerring certainty. He was at this time 
 about forty years of age, with dark hair curling 
 profusely round his head, and showing then no 
 trace of the “hoary head” which “is a crown of 
 glory when it is found in the paths of righteous- 
 ness,” of which he became later so beautiful an 
 exemplification. I was afterwards made known to 
 him personally, but was still too young to profit by 
 this privilege. My subsequent knowledge of him 
 
218 
 
 FARADAY’S FAITH 
 
 [chap. 
 
 was derived from constant association with some of 
 his intimate friends and, since his death, by means 
 of the admirable memoir of him by Dr. Bence 
 Jones, and from Dr. Gladstone’s interesting volume 
 entitled Michael Faraday and Professor Tyndall’s 
 Faraday as a Discoverer. 
 
 It is good in these troubled days to recall some 
 of the expressions of the faith to which his whole 
 life was a testimony. “ There is One above who 
 worketh in all things, and who governs even in the 
 midst of that misrule to which the tendencies and 
 powers of men are so easily perverted.” And 
 again, he wrote to a friend of mine, “ I am no 
 discoverer, but simply one of a vast crowd of 
 workers scattered over the earth, who in the provi- 
 dence of God are invested with some portion of the 
 divine afflatus and appointed to show forth His 
 mercy and loving-kindness in conferring fresh 
 benefits on His people; the varied merits of such 
 agents being evinced in the comparative zeal and 
 self-sacrifice with which they carried out the mission 
 entrusted to them.” 
 
 Dr. Gladstone eloquently says : “ Faraday was 
 one of that long line of scientific men beginning 
 
XIII] 
 
 PROFESSOR HUXLEY 
 
 219 
 
 with the savants of the East who brought to the 
 Redeemer the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of 
 their adoration.” 
 
 With what ineffable pity would Faraday, in his 
 deep humility, have read such an assertion as 
 Professor Huxley made, that such an abiding trust 
 as his was simply “a glorying in blind faith,” and 
 his assent to Christian doctrines “ an immoral 
 pretence ” ! 
 
 I first met Professor Huxley at Cragside, the 
 late Lord Armstrong’s beautiful place in North- 
 umberland. 
 
 I had heard, of course, of his powers as a 
 lecturer, and when on one occasion I met him at the 
 Athenaeum and inquired after his health, he replied 
 that he was really well enough, but for the fatigue 
 caused by his labour in preparing a lecture for the 
 Royal Institution, upon an organism recently dis- 
 covered by Tyndall in water, which had completely 
 baffled the most indefatigable observers. The 
 lecture was delivered at the Royal Institution in 
 the height of the season, on one of the well-known 
 “ Friday evenings,” and it was attended by some 
 
220 HUXLEY'S GREAT LECTURE [C hap. 
 
 hundreds of fashionable men and women in full 
 dress, who were due after the lecture at various 
 society engagements. I was there early to secure 
 a seat, and watched the pressing in of admiring 
 throngs till the theatre was crowded, and people 
 sat even upon the edge of the lecturer’s table. 
 The walls were hung from ceiling to floor with 
 elaborate diagrams, drawn from the lenses of the 
 powerful microscopes used to magnify the pro- 
 portions of the aqueous microbe. They were 
 certainly not “things of beauty!” 
 
 I remember distinctly the opening and conclud- 
 ing words of the address, which was delivered in 
 the admirable and lucid style for which the lecturer 
 was so famous. He stated the facts of the dis- 
 covery by Tyndall, and then dwelt on the import- 
 ance of ascertaining whether the microbe was 
 animal or vegetable. He spoke with warm admira- 
 tion of the devotion of sundry sons of science, who 
 had watched the microbe immersed in water by day 
 and night for several weeks, the water having 
 colouring matter in it, so that the corpus being 
 transparent and constantly inspected by a powerful 
 microscope, the examiners would discover whether 
 
XIII] 
 
 THE MICROBE 
 
 221 
 
 he had imbibed any of the colouring matter, in 
 which case it could be credited with a stomach 
 and numbered with the animal creation. “ But/’ 
 said Huxley in conclusion, “after many experi- 
 ments, up to this time, ladies and gentlemen, we are 
 unable to decide whether this interesting microbe 
 is animal or vegetable.” 
 
 The following day I met Huxley at the 
 Athenaeum ; he said he hoped I had been much 
 impressed with the microbes history, and I ven- 
 tured to compliment him on the extreme clearness 
 with which he had given it, but could not help 
 adding that I was reminded all the time of the 
 well-known story of Lord Melbourne, who, when 
 he was troubled by some fussy colleague in the 
 ministry respecting a knotty point that was likely 
 to cause bother and trouble in Parliament, said, 
 “ Can’t you let it alone ? ” “ So why could you not 
 
 let that poor little microbe alone ? ” upon which he 
 shook his fist at me, and we parted with a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 He was at all times full of humour, and de- 
 lighted in hearing and telling good stories, which 
 made those “high teas” on Sunday evenings 
 
222 
 
 HUXLEY AT HOME 
 
 [chap. 
 
 at his house in the Regent’s Park so especially 
 attractive. 
 
 No more devoted husband, father, or friend than 
 Huxley ever lived, I believe, but notwithstanding 
 my admiration for him, I could never feel quite at 
 ease in discussion with him, dreading always an 
 explosion upon questions I hold most dear and 
 vital ; but I look back with devout gratitude to the 
 fact, that though we have walked together over 
 moor and fell for miles and miles, and have had 
 days and nights of talk, we never once drifted into 
 subjects on which we should have so widely 
 differed, and upon which I could not have kept 
 silence when my heart was “hot within me.” But 
 I thank God that the need of fighting for the faith 
 that is in me never arose, and I had hours of 
 supreme enjoyment of his really splendid talk and 
 facile speech in pure and eloquent English. 
 
 He was the object of endless adulation from 
 adulators of both sexes. I remember a scene at 
 the Athenaeum, where, at the opposite end of the 
 room in which I was dining, I saw Huxley and 
 a party of eminent scientific men seated at their 
 repast. The animated conversation was inter- 
 
XIII] 
 
 HIS ADMIRERS 
 
 223 
 
 spersed with peals of ringing laughter, evidently 
 raised by Huxley’s wit. Another important scien- 
 tist came bustling in, and failing to find a seat at 
 the table, already crowded, he eventually squatted 
 down on the carpet at Huxley’s feet, where he 
 remained worshipping his idol, and joining in the 
 general conversation as best he could from his 
 lowly position ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Subject-painters — Fashion in art — “Chantrey Bequest” — Hilton’s 
 use of asphaltum — Merritt’s skill as a restorer — Introduction to 
 Chantrey — Stothard as a designer — George Jones and the Duke of 
 Wellington — Thomas Webster as a chorister — Technicalities — The 
 Duke at public exhibitions — Mr. Young — Discussion on Chinese 
 white — Turner’s views — Frederick Walker — David Roberts and 
 French ultramarine — Turner’s “Snowdon Range” — Turner as a 
 critic. 
 
 I T is to that immortal genius, William Hogarth, 
 the prince of story-tellers on canvas, that we 
 owe the origin of the whole school of subject- 
 pictures. He was followed by David Wilkie, by 
 Mulready, Webster, C. R. Leslie, and others up to 
 the present time. 
 
 It is not unusual now for the attendants at the 
 Royal Academy Summer Exhibition to be asked 
 by visitors, “What has become of the artists who 
 used to tell delightful stories in their pictures, and 
 paint beautiful subjects from the Bible and the 
 
 224 
 
XIV] 
 
 THE CHANTREY BEQUEST 
 
 225 
 
 history of our own dear country, and give illustra- 
 tions of English life ? ” I have tried, but in vain, 
 to find out what sort of replies were given to these 
 questions of the intelligent persons above men- 
 tioned. If the query were put to the picture 
 merchants the answer would be that the modern 
 buyer cares for none of these things, so that there 
 is no market for subject-pictures. The fashion in 
 these matters changes and fluctuates constantly, 
 and the existence of the “ Chantrey Bequest,” 
 established by Sir Francis Chantrey, r.a., a popular 
 sculptor, marks one period when there seemed to 
 be absolutely no sale except for portraits and land- 
 scapes, an unhappy condition of things that by 
 a coincidence we seem to have again reached in 
 this year of grace 1903, when we might, indeed, 
 welcome the advent of a like bequest to encourage 
 “high art.” There is no question that the indigna- 
 tion Francis Chantrey felt at the neglect of Hilton 
 was the motive power which suggested the terms 
 of his last will and testament in relation to the 
 Royal Academy. 
 
 This fine draughtsman and facile composer 
 painted picture after picture replete with dignity 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 ASPHALTUM 
 
 [chap. 
 
 and purity, but he rarely found a purchaser. He 
 had accepted the important post of Keeper of the 
 Royal Academy a few years before I entered it 
 as a student, and, as I have mentioned, was im- 
 mensely popular in the schools. There is a grand 
 work of his in the Public Gallery at Liverpool — 
 a triptych of the crucifixion of our Lord. I could 
 describe with pleasure many of his pictures, and, 
 alas ! such pen-and-ink descriptions are needful, 
 as owing to Hilton’s use of that pernicious asphal- 
 tum, and of wax in the mixing of his colours — 
 two seductive but frequently fatal temptations to 
 painters — many of his pictures are now mere ruins. 
 Asphaltum, really a preparation of pitch, never dries 
 down to the ground as it should do, and may be 
 started running by atmospheric conditions at any 
 time. 
 
 A well-known artist named Inskip, some fifty 
 years ago, sold to a friend of mine a picture of 
 an Italian brigand standing with his carbine held 
 at ‘‘ready,” and attired in the usual cross-gartered 
 leggings and sandals of his kind. I saw that 
 picture last when it had been painted only a dozen 
 years, but the running process had set in, and the 
 
XIV] 
 
 THE FATAL RUNNING 
 
 227 
 
 cross-garters and the sandals had slid to the bottom 
 of the canvas, and indeed had begun a voyage of 
 discovery over the frame, whilst the carbine had 
 left the brigand’s hands, and was only pulled up 
 across his leggings by some dry “ impasto ” paint- 
 ing, over which the sliding material could not make 
 its way. 
 
 At Hilton’s death the students at the Royal 
 Academy, who positively idolised him, had a meet- 
 ing, at which we agreed to raise a subscription to 
 purchase one of his unsold pictures, and to present 
 it to the National Gallery as a token of our love 
 and admiration for the artist. 
 
 We bought one of his last works, “ Sir Calepin 
 Rescuing Serena,” from Spenser’s Faery Queen , and 
 a truly beautiful picture it was. Alas ! that I must 
 use the past tense in this description. After eight 
 months of hanging on the walls of the National 
 Gallery it showed signs of the fatal “ running,” and 
 though it was at once removed to the hospital for 
 damaged works in that institution, and the utmost 
 skill employed in its restoration, it turned out that 
 nothing short of complete repainting would be of 
 any good, and then it would be impossible to 
 
228 
 
 MERRITT THE RESTORER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 exhibit it as the work of the man we desired to 
 honour. 
 
 A large and very fine picture by Hilton, entitled 
 “The Finding of the Dead Body of Harold,” came 
 to the National Gallery in the Vernon Collection. 
 After a short time the mischief began, and the 
 picture was handed over to the care of the best 
 restorer we have ever had in England, the late 
 Mr. Henry Merritt. He had profited greatly by 
 his association with that accomplished gentleman 
 and painter, Sir Charles Eastlake, when he was 
 director of the National Gallery. 
 
 Merritt found on careful inspection that there was 
 in the asphaltum a quantity of a lightish-brown sub- 
 stance, which analysis proved to be mutton fat ! 
 He was greatly astonished, but the artist’s colour- 
 man, who was helping with the experiment, said 
 that he knew Hilton in his time of poverty always 
 went to the cheapest shops for his materials, and 
 that mutton fat was used in the adulteration of wax 
 for the palette. So poor Hilton’s limited means led 
 to an irremediable loss to art. 
 
 I will relate here my own experience of Merritt’s 
 skill. 1 painted an elaborate picture many years 
 
XIV] 
 
 HIS SUCCESS 
 
 229 
 
 ago, which was purchased by Mr. Eden, one of the 
 Lancashire buyers. Some time later I received a 
 letter from Messrs. Agnew, saying that the picture 
 had been consigned to them by Mr. Eden, being 
 cracked all over, and asking what were they to do. 
 I answered, “ Send it up to me.” 
 
 I had never seen a picture of mine with a crack 
 in it before, and was curious as to the cause. It 
 came, and was a sight to behold, with cracks like 
 stars radiating all over it. I was inspired imme- 
 diately to write to Mr. Eden, and to ask him what 
 he had had done to the picture. The answer came 
 that he was ashamed to confess that, thinking the 
 picture wanted varnishing, he had consigned it to 
 the tender mercies of a neighbouring coachbuilder, 
 who had evidently given it a strong coat of carriage 
 varnish ! 
 
 I then wrote to Merritt, who carefully exam- 
 ined the picture and the cracks, which he agreed 
 with me were the result of the coachbuilder’s drastic 
 treatment. He knew my mode of painting, and 
 was sanguine the varnish could be removed, but 
 thought it would be a work of time. In about 
 a month he brought back the picture, so nearly 
 
230 INTRODUCTION TO CHANTREY [chap. 
 
 restored, that it only took a morning’s work to re- 
 paint the parts where the removal of the varnish 
 had literally dragged off the colour. Poor Merritt’s 
 finger-tips, which had done the whole work of re- 
 moval, were absolutely flayed by the hard and 
 tenacious varnish. 
 
 I mentioned Chantrey just now, so I may as 
 well here relate a brief story about him in this 
 chapter, which is, I fear, already rambling and 
 discursive. 
 
 A delightful old family friend, who was very 
 intimate with Chantrey, volunteered to take me to 
 see him and his workshops. He was a friend of 
 my father’s and occasionally dined here, but difficult 
 of approach and eccentric ; he has been known to 
 go up to a long-haired man, for instance — long hair 
 being his special aversion— and to offer him a shil- 
 ling, saying, “Do, my good fellow, go and get your 
 hair cut ! ” More than once he narrowly escaped 
 getting his head well punched for his impertinence. 
 
 We walked through workshop after workshop 
 containing statues, some of enormous size, in the 
 process of casting, everything pointing to the master 
 being full of commissions. We found him in a quiet 
 
XIV] 
 
 BUST OF GEORGE III. 
 
 231 
 
 corner, doing a little sketch model, not more than 
 eight or nine inches high, for some public statue, 
 and he was in a decidedly grumpy mood ; when he 
 became more amiable, Mr. Allen made me known 
 to him. 
 
 “ What are you doin’ ? Fiddlin’, singin’ ? ” (in 
 reference to my father’s profession). “No, sir, 
 drawing, trying to be a painter.” “God help you, 
 go and get someone to pity you, then.” 
 
 Chantrey was most skilful in his manipulation of 
 the chisel, and great as a maker of portrait busts. 
 One remarkable effort of his genius is a bust of 
 George III., executed during the period of the 
 king’s mental affliction, which bears so plainly the 
 impress of his unhappy condition that it is a very 
 painful sight. When I saw it it was the property 
 of Mr. Adams-Acton, the well-known sculptor, 
 and he had found it in a furniture shop near 
 Portman Square. It would be interesting to trace 
 its history. 
 
 Perhaps it is not generally known how much 
 Chantrey was assisted in his designs by Stothard, 
 who was his right hand, and who inspired and 
 grouped some of his best work, as, for instance, 
 
232 
 
 STOTHARD 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the beautiful “ Sleeping Children” in Lichfield 
 Cathedral. 
 
 When I entered the Academy, Stothard was the 
 librarian. His beautiful and venerable person was 
 therefore a familiar sight. He used to stand in a 
 recessed window of Somerset House, and work at 
 his charming designs for book illustrations in water- 
 colour, working entirely without models. He was 
 also a familiar figure in the then truly countrified 
 neighbourhood of Hampstead and Highgate. He 
 carried a red note-book, in appearance such as a tax- 
 gatherer might use, and had an ink-bottle tied to 
 his buttonhole, and with a pen he would draw any 
 spray of leaves or flowers, or rural scene that struck 
 his fancy, sitting down in a ditch or any equally 
 convenient spot. 
 
 When dear old Stothard was taken to his rest, a 
 very different figure filled his office of librarian. 
 This was Mr. George Jones, r.a. He had acquired 
 a very special reputation for himself. Having no 
 doubt some natural resemblance to the great Duke 
 of Wellington, the best-known personage in London, 
 he had by careful imitation of his dress, attitudes, 
 and manner of sitting his horse, attained to such a 
 
XIV] 
 
 THE DUKE AND MR. JONES 
 
 233 
 
 verisimilitude that he was — -to his no doubt intense 
 satisfaction — pretty often taken for him, and saluted 
 by sentries, soldiers, and civilians. The Duke 
 heard from an acquaintance that the worthy Mr. 
 George Jones was constantly taken for him, and 
 caustically remarked, “ Really, nobody ever takes 
 me for Mr. Jones.” 
 
 The Iron Duke bestowed much time and atten- 
 tion on art exhibitions associated with the Govern- 
 ment ; this was especially noticeable when Her 
 Majesty’s Commissioners of the Fine Arts organ- 
 ised their competitive exhibitions in Westminster 
 Hall. 
 
 Well do I remember the private view day of the 
 competition in oil paintings. I had been fortunate 
 in obtaining the prize for the picture of Prince Hal. 
 The Duke, detained by his multifarious public 
 business, did not arrive early, as was his wont, 
 but came somewhat late in the afternoon. Web- 
 ster and I saw him arrive, and being anxious to 
 see what impression the various pictures hanging 
 on the walls portraying scenes in the Battle of 
 Waterloo would make upon him, we determined 
 to keep him in sight. To our dismay, we found 
 
234 
 
 A FUTILE QUESTION 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 that many other of the visitors had been inspired 
 with the same curiosity, for there was quite a 
 small crowd by the rail in front of the pictures. 
 When the Duke approached he was accompanied 
 by various ladies of rank whom he had encountered 
 in the hall, some of whom had sprightly daughters, 
 who were plying His Grace with all kinds of 
 questions. One of them came rushing up, ex- 
 claiming, “Now, Duke, do tell us, is that picture 
 really like the Battle of Waterloo ?” To this query 
 he replied, “ My dear young lady, that is a most 
 difficult question to answer, so I will not attempt it.” 
 There was so much quiet decision in his manner 
 that no further questions were asked, and the young 
 lady retreated, slightly abashed. As His Grace 
 turned to proceed in his examination of the pictures, 
 he became for the first time aware of the crowd 
 ranged along the rail, with their eyes eagerly fixed 
 upon himself. His own eyes and stern brows at 
 once showed considerable annoyance, and an ex- 
 pression of contempt for his admirers — with an 
 apparent desire to express his feelings in strong 
 language. 
 
XIV] 
 
 WEBSTER AS CHORISTER 
 
 235 
 
 Thomas Webster, my old friend, and my neigh- 
 bour both in Kensington and in Kent, was most 
 deservedly popular for his admirable paintings of 
 scenes from humble life. He delighted specially 
 in painting children, and excelled in his delineations 
 of boyish pranks. 
 
 His own boyhood was passed in Windsor Castle, 
 as his father held a position in the household of 
 George III., and was housed in the castle with 
 his family. 
 
 He used to relate amusing stories of Court life 
 during the last years of George III., and up to the 
 accession of the best of all crowned heads in any 
 history, the great and good Queen Victoria. I may 
 recall one. Tom Webster was a chorister in the 
 Royal Chapel, and there he once heard the follow- 
 ing duologue chanted during the Psalms for the 
 day : — 
 
 Basso prof undo: “I have got — a leg of mut — ton 
 for dinner, will you dine — with me — at six?” 
 
 Alto: “Yes, I shall be — very hap — py — I will be 
 — with you — by six ! ” 
 
 Later on Webster officiated as page to the young 
 Princesses. George IV. had received a present of a 
 
236 
 
 THE GIRAFFE’S PORTRAIT 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 giraffe from some foreign potentate. He was greatly 
 pleased with it, and ordered its portrait to be painted 
 by Mr. Davis, a clever animal painter of the day, 
 brother of the well-known Royal Huntsman. When 
 the picture was painted it was taken to the King, 
 who sent for the Marchioness of C., whose opinion 
 was taken on all points of interest to the King. 
 
 Webster, in his capacity of page, was about to 
 open the door for her when she paused, and turning 
 to the equerry, asked in a subdued voice: “Am I to 
 admire it?” to which the answer was: ‘‘Certainly, 
 certainly, His Majesty is delighted.” The Mar- 
 chioness bustled in, and confronted with the picture, 
 burst forth in a rhapsody of admiration, “ Lovely ! 
 exquisite ! ” and so forth, in the midst of which the 
 door closed. 
 
 Tom Webster and I were fast friends till his 
 death, and we had but one cause of difference 
 during many years of intimacy, which difference 
 arose from his being born and bred in an atmo- 
 sphere of Toryism, whilst I from the age of intelli- 
 gent boyhood had been in the companionship of 
 advanced Liberals. I must except my dear and 
 honoured father, who was a follower of “ Church 
 
XIV] 
 
 LANDSEER'S WATERLOO 
 
 237 
 
 and King.” He would sit at his hospitable 
 dinner-table, with a bland smile on his benevolent 
 countenance, listening to vehement discussions on 
 political questions in those times of reform, and 
 it was his habit, which became a sort of signal, to 
 wind up his watch in a very ostensible fashion when 
 he thought we were perhaps getting too heated in 
 argument. 
 
 The striking person of the great Duke on horse- 
 back, followed by his old military groom, were 
 well-known figures in Kensington. In Sir Edwin 
 Landseer’s admirable picture of the Duke visiting 
 the Field of Waterloo, accompanied by his daughter- 
 in-law, the Marchioness of Douro, and explaining to 
 her some leading features of the battle (an incident 
 which I believe never did take place, but which 
 might be fairly imagined with artistic licence, from 
 the Duke’s well-known attachment to his daughter- 
 in-law), the likeness of the Duke is admirable, 
 giving exactly his seat on a horse, and every line 
 of his figure, and so is that of his faithful groom in 
 the background, who is being pestered by Belgian 
 peasants to purchase some so-called Waterloo relics. 
 I have, however, understood that the head of the 
 
238 
 
 FORTY SITTINGS 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 Marchioness of Douro is very unsatisfactory as a 
 likeness. The fact is that it was chiefly painted 
 from a model, who was about the same time sitting 
 to me, and who was considered closely to resemble 
 the Marchioness. 
 
 The model gave me a very interesting account of 
 the trouble Landseer took with this head and face, 
 and said that she had sat at least forty times for it, and 
 that at each sitting she found that Landseer had al- 
 most completely effaced what he had done before. He 
 was a firm believer in the virtue of painting straight 
 off, and no doubt he could do wonders in that way, 
 as witness Mr. Wells’s dog. For another instance, 
 my uncle, Sir Augustus Callcott, who had a very 
 handsome and interesting head, sat to him (in the 
 picture of Bolton Abbey) for a study of the monk 
 who is receiving at the abbey gate the offerings of 
 fish and game, sent by some neighbouring knight 
 or squire for acceptance at the abbey. The study 
 was made in oil, nearly the size of life, and this 
 was painted al prima and exquisitely finished in 
 a sitting of three or four hours. 
 
 I am tempted to put in here a few words on the 
 technique of painting in oil colour, which may be 
 
XIV] THE TECHNIQUE OF PAINTING 239 
 
 of some interest to amateurs. With my convictions, 
 and I have lived and worked hard enough to 
 possess some {for on the 29th of January last I 
 entered on my 87th year), painting in oil may 
 be divided into two distinct systems, painting 
 al prima ; or, by well-considered preparations, 
 when the theory of chromatic equivalents comes 
 into play. To explain the point further: blue, 
 yellow, and red being recognised as primary colours, 
 the complementary colours to each are found in the 
 admixture of the remaining two — of blue, orange — 
 of red, green — of yellow, violet. In some German 
 art schools the students are instructed to carry out 
 the colouring of their studies from the life with pale 
 green in the shadows of the light flesh tints. We 
 may see this in our National Gallery in one or two 
 early unfinished Italian works. 
 
 Monochrome painting in the commencement of 
 a work is, I imagine, the ordinary practice of 
 painters, and the carrying further the use of comple- 
 mentary colours must be determined by the taste 
 and feeling of the individual painter. 
 
 Our own Sir Joshua made every use of light and 
 white preparations in flesh painting, sometimes 
 
240 
 
 ART DISCUSSIONS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 making in portraiture a beautifully finished com- 
 mencement of a portrait in black and white, with 
 a slight addition of Indian red in the shadows. 
 Lord Bathurst, at Cirencester, has a beautiful kit- 
 cat oval portrait of a young man of the Bathurst 
 family, quite exquisitely drawn and painted in these 
 simple materials, and only lacking the golden tones 
 of Reynolds’s palette, which were either never given 
 by the master, or have been swept off by the ruth- 
 less hands of a grossly ignorant restorer. 
 
 In Turner’s day there was a Scotch gentleman 
 named Young residing in London, who delighted 
 in British art and artists, especially in assembling 
 the latter at his hospitable board and hearing them 
 discuss questions connected with their calling. 
 
 On one occasion, when the following well-known 
 artists, Turner, D. Roberts, F. Tayler, J. D. Hard- 
 ing, J. Linnell, and others were gathered together, 
 a lively discussion arose as to the desirability of 
 using “ permanent white ” in the execution of water- 
 colour drawings, and the two really great artists 
 present, Turner (omnipotent, and standing com- 
 pletely alone) and Linnell, inveighed warmly 
 
xiv] 
 
 241 
 
 44 PERMANENT WHITE ” 
 
 against its use in any way either as a compensation 
 for leaving the pure white paper for lights and 
 delicately toning it with transparent colour where 
 required, or for washing or scraping out the spaces 
 devoted to the light portions of the subject. 
 Turner was generally a reticent talker, but on this 
 occasion he wound up a strong speech by shaking 
 his fist at Harding, Roberts, and some others, who 
 were supporting feebly the convenience of the 
 vulgarising material in question, and saying quite 
 fiercely, “If you fellows continue to use that 
 beastly stuff you will destroy the art of water- 
 colour painting in our country.” 
 
 A few days after this, when that admirable artist, 
 Frederick Walker, called upon me to acknowledge 
 his election as A.R.A., it was a day of thick dark- 
 ness with black London fog, and as we agreed that 
 painting was impossible, I proposed that we should 
 sit by my painting-room fire and talk about art, and 
 painting in particular. Then I recounted to Walker 
 all that had passed with Turner, and the discussion 
 about “permanent white,” and he was evidently 
 deeply impressed by the “omnipotent’s” dictum. 
 I ventured to say to Walker that the thought of 
 
242 
 
 FREDERICK WALKER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 him and his work had been curiously present with 
 me during the vivacious discussion at Youngs. 
 No one could possibly admire Walker’s art more 
 than I do, but I had observed for some time with 
 much true regret a growing indication of relying 
 too much upon the “convenience” of “permanent 
 white,” and this had been recently shown in a more 
 marked degree than usual in his most beautiful 
 drawing of “Geese driven through the street of 
 Cookham, on the Thames.” If the whiteness of 
 the flock had been rendered by leaving the paper 
 to tell its story instead of plastering on Chinese 
 white, the beauty of his work would, to my mind, 
 have been tenfold enhanced. 
 
 Walker’s early death was a grievous loss to the 
 art world. 
 
 H ow well do I remember seeing that beautiful 
 work, “The Ferry-boat at Marlow,” for the first 
 time. I was on my way to a council meeting at 
 the Academy, and turned into the old water-colour 
 rooms, to see one of their exhibitions then open. 
 I was held fast for some time by the fascination of 
 this picture of Walker’s. 
 
 It is a perfect rendering of that quiet and gentle 
 
xiv] 
 
 THE FERRYBOAT 
 
 243 
 
 scene, which had often impressed me in nature. 
 On inquiring the price of the drawing I found it 
 was ^300. I was greatly tempted to buy it, and 
 refrained purely from motives of economy ; but 
 even in that respect it would have been a very safe 
 investment, for in less than a year’s time it was sold 
 at Christie’s for over 1,000. 
 
 The first colleague I met at the Academy was 
 Millais, to whom I expressed very warmly my 
 admiration for the picture, and further urged him 
 to possess himself of such a treasure. His answer 
 was, “Ah, my boy, that’s all very well; I admire 
 Walker’s work as much as you do, but you can’t 
 imagine the incessant tugs that my purse-strings 
 are subject to, and I find it only prudent to shun 
 the regions of temptation.” 
 
 To return to Turner and the use of “permanent 
 white,” I may perhaps be charged with “ flogging a 
 dead horse ” by this attack, as I understand that the 
 use of the flagrant material is limited much more 
 strictly now to its legitimate use on tinted paper, 
 with which combination as we know Turner himself 
 produced most beautiful effects. 
 
 However, Frederick Walker was much impressed 
 
244 
 
 ULTRAMARINE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 by my account of Turners view, and told me he had 
 mentally registered a vow as I spoke to begin a 
 water-colour in which not one touch of Chinese 
 white should be used. 
 
 At another somewhat similar discussion on 
 pigments at which I was present, the rival 
 merits of real ultramarine and French ultramarine 
 were argued. David Roberts, r.a., a portly and 
 complacent personage, was laying down the law, 
 with much satisfaction to himself, in favour of the 
 latter, while the opposite opinion was warmly 
 taken by Linnell, who had a little wizened face and 
 figure, and who spent neither time nor money on 
 his toilette, thus offering in all ways a quaint 
 contrast to his antagonist. After Roberts had 
 exhausted his arguments to prove that there was 
 no occasion now for people to give untold sums for 
 real ultramarine, when a colour like the French 
 imitation would answer every purpose, for, as he 
 loudly wound up, “ it has borne every test,” then 
 up chirped Linnell in his little voice — 
 
 “ No, sir, there is one test it never has borne, and 
 never will bear, it won’t bear being looked at ! ” 
 
 A loud cheer from some appreciative painters 
 
XIV] 
 
 “THE SNOWDON RANGE ” 245 
 
 present followed this clever retort, and friend 
 Roberts collapsed for the time. 
 
 Turner was endless in his artistic resources. At 
 one time I studied almost daily one of his finest 
 water-colours, called, I think, “ The Snowdon 
 Range,” which was a marvel from end to end, so 
 exquisitely beautiful in itself and perfect in its 
 executive power. The theme was the combination 
 of the last rays of the setting sun and a moonrise. 
 There was one passage that I feasted upon again 
 and again. It was the tender warmth of the light 
 clouds encircling the moon, and I tried all kinds of 
 glasses to see if I could learn how it was done, but 
 failed to satisfy myself. Just at that time the 
 
 drawing began “ to buckle ” from its mount, and I 
 discussed many times with its owner, the present 
 Sir Seymour Haden, my brother-in-law, the doctor 
 and admirable etcher, what measures should be 
 taken respecting this unpleasing development. At 
 that time we had in London a supremely able 
 mounter of drawings of the name of Hogarth, 
 whose advice it was determined to ask. 
 
 We showed the drawing to him, and he said it 
 must be taken off the old mount and remounted. 
 
246 
 
 TURNER’S INGENUITY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Haden said, “ But how do you get it off?” And I 
 shall not forget the horror of his look when Hogarth 
 answered, “Well, sir, we must put it in a bath.” 
 However, after much persuasion, Haden agreed to 
 trust the drawing to his care. To his great alarm 
 he received a note very shortly, begging him to call 
 without delay. He did so, and rushed into Hogarth’s 
 shop exclaiming, “What is it, what is it! Have 
 you spoilt the drawing?” “No, no, sir, we have 
 got it off beautifully, but having so often heard 
 Mr. Horsley speak of the rosy tint round the moon, 
 I thought you would be interested to know that I 
 have discovered how it was obtained ! ” He 
 produced the drawing, and turned it on its face. 
 There was a revelation ! A circle of orange ver- 
 milion had been plastered on the back with an ivory 
 palette knife where he wanted the effect, and then 
 worked sufficiently far through the pores of the 
 previously wetted paper to give the show of colour, 
 while retaining the smooth surface without a trace 
 of workmanship on the right side. 
 
 Callcott was an enthusiastic admirer of Turner’s 
 work, and never permitted criticism of the great 
 man’s eccentricities. In a little note-book of his, 
 
XIV] 
 
 TURNER AS CRITIC 
 
 247 
 
 written when he was young and with little cash to 
 spare, he speaks of having seen a beautiful drawing 
 of Turners for sale at some frame-makers in St. 
 Martins Lane. He could not afford to buy it, the 
 price being ten shillings ! so he used to go to the 
 shop as often as three times a week to feast his eyes 
 on it, dreading each time that the drawing might 
 have gone. 
 
 Turner was not a savage critic. In going round 
 the Royal Academy he never made any severe 
 remarks, but his favourite method of calling atten- 
 tion to any specially bad work was to put his thumb 
 upon it, and say, “ That’s a poor bit, isn’t it ? ” 
 
 Creswick, the clever landscape painter, once 
 painted a large picture of a village street with land- 
 scape beyond, over which a thunderstorm was about 
 to break. Ansdell, the animal painter, put in for 
 him a figure on horseback, galloping away from the 
 village into the thick of the storm. Creswick on one 
 of the varnishing days at the R.A., asked Turner 
 to tell him of anything that struck him as wrong. 
 
 “Well,” said the great man without hesitation, 
 ‘‘your horseman is riding the wrong way ! ” and 
 walked off, leaving Creswick quite overwhelmed, for 
 
248 
 
 TURNER AT WORK 
 
 [chap. XIV 
 
 he very probably did not see the striking force of the 
 criticism, which Turner did not trouble to explain. 
 
 Among the wonderful water-colours painted by 
 Turner, and exhibited at the Royal Academy, was 
 one of a man-of-war, in what is called, technically, 
 “ rapid perspective.” It was done at one sitting, in 
 response to a petition from a child staying at 
 Farnley, who asked for a picture of a man-of-war. 
 
 The child stood by him, and he proceeded to put 
 in all the details with explanatory comments : 
 “This is the body of the ship. Now come the 
 masts — here go the guns ! ” 
 
 What evidently most impressed the child was the 
 extraordinary rapidity, and the way in which, as he 
 said, he “made the paper bubble.” 
 
 It was Turner’s habit to keep the paper always 
 in a fluent condition of moisture. It is most notice- 
 able that in whatever stage his drawing might be 
 left, it was always beautiful. This is very plainly 
 seen by looking at his unfinished sketches ; these 
 are in all stages, and every one of them is interest- 
 ing. An amateur lady artist tried to get some 
 criticisms out of him on a drawing. “ Put it in the 
 water-jug, my dear,” was his sole answer. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Cartoons — Notice to artists — Charcoal drawings— Munich School — 
 Cornelius as a critic of the amateur — “Wrinkles” — Competi- 
 tion awards — Poet’s Hall — Macaulay intervenes — Picture of 
 Henry V. as Prince of Wales. 
 
 T O Sir Benjamin Hawes, of whom l have 
 already often spoken, was, I believe, due the 
 appointment by the Government of a Royal Com- 
 mission of Fine Arts, for the due decoration of the 
 new Houses of Parliament. His Royal Highness 
 the Prince Consort accepted the office of President 
 of the Commission, and Sir C. L. Eastlake, p.r.a., 
 was appointed its secretary. No better selection 
 could possibly have been made for these important 
 offices. 
 
 The issue in 1843 of the notices to artists, to send 
 in for competition models and designs at specified 
 dates in sculpture, stained glass, carved wood, car- 
 toons for frescoes, arabesque and heraldic paintings 
 
 249 
 
250 
 
 CARTOONS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 and ornamental metal work, created a great stir in 
 art circles. 
 
 As was natural, my intimate acquaintance with 
 Sir Benjamin Hawes made me especially interested 
 in the whole subject, and also I had long been con- 
 sumed with anxiety to try my hand in the highest 
 branch of my art, and this seemed a glorious 
 opportunity. 
 
 But the tackling of a charcoal drawing on the 
 prescribed scale was a serious undertaking. The 
 only work that had been done in modern times 
 on this scale was by the Munich school, and we 
 gladly consulted our travelled colleagues, from 
 whom we derived a good deal of interesting and 
 useful information, but none of them had at that 
 time actually practised the use of buonfresco , as the 
 old Italian painters called it : it was called good 
 fresco to distinguish it from all other modes of 
 Munich decoration. 
 
 We found that the large cartoons made for their 
 frescoes by Cornelius, Schnorr, Hesse, and others 
 were simply done on paper fastened to a slight 
 framework of wood. The capabilities of this 
 arrangement were most amusingly illustrated by the 
 
xv] 
 
 THE AMATEUR 
 
 251 
 
 following story, which was told us by a dear old 
 Norwegian artist, Fearnley by name, who was 
 present on the occasion he referred to. 
 
 The confidence of the art amateur is well 
 known, and one of that body being highly ex- 
 cited by the works of the aforesaid cartoonists 
 — all distinguished artists of the Munich school 
 — was determined to show them the exact way 
 and style in which the thing ought to be done. 
 When his great work was completed, he, being 
 a man of means, invited all the notabilities in con- 
 nection with art at Munich to come to breakfast 
 one morning and inspect the result of his arduous 
 labours. When the guests arrived they found he 
 had had the courage to take his masterpiece out of 
 the studio and to place it in the garden. There he 
 had stuck up a cartoon of at least twenty feet in 
 length by fifteen in height, and had arranged in 
 front of it an amphitheatre of chairs for the guests. 
 He took care, however, that the picture should not 
 be seen till the conclusion of a very elaborate 
 dljeuner a la fourchette , with plenty of good Hoch- 
 heimer to enliven it. 
 
 When the moment came, the guests, led by their 
 
252 
 
 CORNELIUS’S CHARGE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 host, marched into the garden to the improvised 
 amphitheatre, where Cornelius was placed in a 
 stately central armchair. Of course, every one 
 waited for the great man to open his mouth. The 
 sun was blazing on the picture, and Cornelius rose, 
 open umbrella in hand, and pipe in mouth, in 
 absolute silence, staring at an artistic performance, 
 too bad for words . 
 
 The tension was becoming painful, the artist was 
 jumping about explaining the points of the design, 
 the perspiration rolling down his face, what with the 
 heat of the sun and the excitement of the moment, 
 heightened by the melancholy fact that not a solitary 
 word of praise or satisfaction came from the invited 
 guests. 
 
 But every eye was upon Cornelius, then recog- 
 nised as the leader of the art movement in Germany, 
 who at last lowered his umbrella with the utmost 
 deliberation, rolled it up, buttoned it, brought it 
 down to his hip as if it were a musket, and with a 
 pas de charge made for the cartoon, through which 
 he burst and disappeared, and was seen no more 
 that day. One after another the assembled guests 
 rose, charged, and disappeared. The artist was left 
 
xv] 
 
 WRINKLES AND TIPS 
 
 253 
 
 alone, or almost alone. He gazed at the awful hole, 
 with its jagged and fluttering edges, through which 
 his friends had vanished. He advanced, took his 
 hat off, bowed to a few lingerers, pulled his hat over 
 his brows, and himself went through the hole, amid 
 the uproarious applause of all who remained near 
 enough to the scene of action, thus, with infinite 
 humour and good temper, putting the seal of his 
 approval on the severe judgment of his artist 
 friends ! 
 
 From this story we learned to have our paper 
 carefully stretched on a canvas backing. 
 
 Another wrinkle we obtained was in “fixing ” the 
 charcoal drawings. The Germans had contrived 
 what, I think, was called a fixing -kettle, which 
 looked like a cross between a steam-kettle and a 
 watering-pot, with a lamp below to keep it on the 
 boil. 
 
 We in England could give the Munich school 
 and German draughtsmen generally, a few “ tips,” 
 amongst them were the cutting of the charcoal itself 
 into a weapon like a chisel, and using its corners or 
 the broad end of it at will, and the employment of a 
 small bellows to reduce any over-blackness, while 
 
254 
 
 PRIZE AWARDS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 brushes were used to get the requisite smoothness 
 of surface. Then we could set the drawings and 
 work on them again. 
 
 The execution of the subject I chose was one of 
 the most delightful experiences in my artistic life. 
 
 At this point it would be interesting to copy some 
 of the awards in cartoon drawing, viz. : — 
 
 Premiums of ^300. 
 
 “ Caesar’s First Invasion of 
 
 Britain” . . . Edward Armitage. 
 
 “ Caractacus led in triumph 
 
 through the streets of Rome” Geo. Frederick Watts. 
 
 “ First Trial by Jury ” . . Charles West Cope. 
 
 Premium of £200. 
 
 “ St. Augustine preaching to 
 Ethelbert and Bertha, his 
 
 Christian Queen” . . John Callcott Horsley. 
 
 There was a third class with prizes of ^100, 
 which were awarded to W. E. Frost, E. T. Parris, 
 H. C. Selous, John Bridges, and Joseph Severn. 
 
 After the exhibition of charcoal cartoons in 
 Westminster Hall, which was a sort of preliminary 
 canter to test the capabilities of the competitors, 
 who were to carry out the mural decorations of the 
 Houses of Parliament, there was another exhibition 
 
RELIGION 
 
 SKETCH FOR A FRESCO IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS 
 
 To face page 254 
 
xv] 
 
 THE POETS’ HALL 
 
 255 
 
 of trial frescoes, to prove our powers of using that 
 difficult medium. For this fresco I chose a part of 
 the design which had been approved by the Royal 
 Commission for one of the frescoes in the House of 
 Lords. The theme was “ Abstract Religion/’ or 
 the abasement of all earthly power in the sight of 
 God. 
 
 The Poets’ Hall was to be decorated with frescoes 
 from Shakespeare, Milton, and Spenser. I was to 
 take my subject from Milton, and deeply meditating 
 I said, “ Why may I not have a composition in- 
 cluding the Allegro and Penseroso ?” both the major 
 and the minor keys of poetry. This I carried out, 
 and the design was most warmly approved by the 
 Commission, and highly commended by the Prince 
 Consort, who wished the work to be at once put 
 into execution. 
 
 About a fortnight later 1 received a letter from 
 Eastlake, announcing with the utmost regret a 
 proposed change of front in regard to the subject of 
 the fresco, which change had been insisted upon 
 most hotly by Mr. Macaulay, who said that no 
 subject could be selected to illustrate Milton which 
 was not taken from Paradise Lost , and suggest- 
 
256 
 
 “PRINCE HAL” 
 
 [chap. 
 
 ing one or two subjects of the most absolutely un- 
 paintable kind. One was “ Satan showing Adam 
 the kingdoms of the earth,” and the other “Satan 
 touched by Ithuriel’s spear while whispering evil 
 dreams into the ear of Eve.” 
 
 In my answer I ventured to point out that to do 
 justice to the first-named subject, I should require 
 a canvas not smaller than one that would cover the 
 area of Leicester Square, but the second subject, 
 which I considered a most cut -and -dry one, I 
 consented to accept. 
 
 It is pleasant to recall the next note I had from 
 Sir Charles Eastlake, to inform me that the Prince 
 Consort requested me to paint for him in oils the 
 subject originally planned for the fresco. This 
 I did, and the picture now hangs in the gallery at 
 Osborne. 
 
 There was another competition for historical 
 subjects painted in oil, in which I received another 
 prize of £ 200 . My subject was “ Prince Hal taking 
 the crown from his father’s bedside.” 
 
 During its exhibition in Westminster Hall, the 
 Government having no lien on the works at this 
 exhibition, I received a number of applications 
 
XV] 
 
 PURCHASE OF PICTURES 
 
 257 
 
 to purchase the picture, but they all fell through 
 because of the great size of the work, which mea- 
 sured about twelve feet in height. One of the 
 most persistent of the inquirers about it was the late 
 Lord Armstrong, who had built a public room for 
 his friends at Newcastle-on-Tyne, in which he 
 fully hoped to be able to hang it, but the oft-re- 
 peated disappointment in the matter occurred again, 
 as he found on carefully going into the question of 
 measurements, that it was a considerable number of 
 inches too large. 
 
 Two or three months after this sad discovery I 
 received the joyful intelligence that Lord Armstrong 
 had been induced to comply with the request of his 
 friends at Newcastle to enlarge one portion of the 
 hall put up for their recreation, and that now he 
 should be able to have his way about the picture, 
 even if it were half as large again as it is. In this 
 hall hangs my picture. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Presidents of R.A. — Sir Thomas Lawrence— Sir Martin Archer Shee 
 — Sir Charles Locke Eastlake — Frescoes — Sir Francis Grant — 
 He defends his perspective — Lord Leighton — Sir John Everett 
 Millais — Academic hospitalities — Sir Edwin’s stories. 
 
 F Sir Thomas Lawrence, the first President I 
 
 ever saw, I have already said all, I personally 
 
 Sir Martin Archer Shee ,— When I entered the 
 Academy as a student, Lawrences successor was Sir 
 Martin Archer Shee. I remember him as a hand- 
 some elderly man and a ready speaker. He could 
 lay claim to a position as a literary man, and 
 indeed to that of a poet, whilst he was also a good 
 man of business ; perhaps we may leave his care- 
 fully produced pictures out of the question. 
 
 One story of him must be recorded, it is already 
 in print under Government authority. When before 
 the Royal Commission on the Fine Arts, he was 
 
 258 
 
 know. 
 
CHAP. XVI] 
 
 SIR C. L, EASTLAKE 
 
 259 
 
 asked the nature of fresco-painting. His answer 
 was, “ Not having been much abroad, I am not 
 able to speak positively on the subject, but I 
 believe it is somewhat of the nature of scene 
 painting! Shades of Giotto, Michael x^ngelo, Fra 
 Beato Angelico, and of Raphael defend us ! How™ 
 ever, Shee served the Academy most loyally and 
 industriously, and deserves to have his memory 
 treated with all respect. 
 
 Sir Charles Locke East lake. —One does not write 
 his name without a feeling of deep respect for the 
 untiring work done by him in the cause of art. 
 
 Capricious memory carries me at once to a 
 curious little scene in Maclise’s house in Charlotte 
 Street, where I found Eastlake with him one day. 
 He had come over to consult as to what further steps 
 might be taken to recover a very valuable collection 
 of pictures and sketches, which had been stolen from 
 Maclise’s studio. 
 
 Maclise had a magnificent face and person, which 
 latter was at the moment picturesquely arrayed in an 
 old nightshirt and coat, which suited his large frame, 
 and Eastlake’s small figure looked especially diminu- 
 
2 6o 
 
 MACLISE’S LOSS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 tive in contrast as he sat crumpled up on the edge of 
 his chair with his hands clasped under his knees. A 
 moment after a detective entered, and he with his 
 finished morning dress and finicking manner was 
 also an amusing contrast to the rollicking style 
 of “Mac,” still more so as regards their modes 
 of talking. 
 
 “You know,” lisped the detective, “if I were to 
 see the thief passing your window at this moment I 
 should not arrest him.” c ‘But I should,” thundered 
 Maclise in stentorian voice, “I’d have him by the 
 throat at once.” “No, gentlemen,” pursued the 
 detective, “ I should follow him and never lose 
 sight of him till I found out where the stolen pro- 
 perty was.” Sad to relate, no trace of the stolen 
 property was ever discovered. 
 
 Eastlake’s name is so intimately associated with the 
 mural decorations in the Houses of Parliament, that 
 here will be a fitting moment perhaps to describe at 
 some length the whole subject of fresco-painting, of 
 which there is scarcely any public knowledge in this 
 country. 
 
 Fresco is the Italian word fresh, as most of us 
 know, and refers to the fresh plaster, made of lime 
 
XVI] 
 
 FRESCO-PAINTING 
 
 261 
 
 and river sand, and spread with the trowel upon a 
 carefully prepared wall of bricks, as free as possible 
 from disturbing chemicals, such as salts. On this 
 fresh surface the artist must work at once. For 
 colours, if you are wise, you keep mainly to earths 
 and avoid vegetable colours. The cartoon being 
 complete, its simple outline is traced on tracing 
 paper, and that outline pricked through with a 
 carpet-needle, and then the tracing is fastened to 
 the wall-space with tacks; a '‘pounce,” charged 
 with powdered charcoal, or vermilion, or any other 
 coloured powder preferred, is then dabbed over the 
 pricked holes, and by those means your outline is 
 transferred to the intonaco or prepared surface on 
 which you are to paint. This, if you like, may 
 then be gone over with a fine bone modelling tool, 
 slightly indenting the outline, so that you may not 
 lose your outline till the work is done. 
 
 The carbon of the air at once begins to unite 
 with the silica of the sand, and to form an imper- 
 meable coating of cement, on which it is no longer 
 possible to paint, as it will not absorb any further 
 moisture. There your work is, and no alteration is 
 possible unless you have it all scraped off by the 
 
262 
 
 DESTROYING FIENDS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 plasterer and do it over again. If you are satisfied, 
 then fresh plaster is put on for your next bit of 
 work, the plasterer being a skilled workman, who 
 carefully observes the outline, and joins up to the 
 previous piece you have left for him to fill in. 
 
 The anxiety of mind with which you leave your 
 work to dry is great, because you never know what 
 changes in colour may be made by atmospheric 
 processes as it dries. 
 
 1 sometimes wonder whether no one knew how 
 vain was all our work, our keen enthusiasm, our 
 greatest efforts, which in some cases absorbed the 
 very flower of our youth. Did no one know ? At 
 all events, no warning ever reached us. I think 
 sometimes that the destroying fiends in the air 
 must have shrieked with delight as they thought 
 how soon they would make our work as if it had 
 never been. 
 
 Dear, good, indefatigable Eastlake. Alas ! that 
 neither he nor any of us knew that fresco-painting 
 required not only fresh plaster on which to work, 
 but fresh air to preserve the work when done. 
 
 At that time the Thames was the main sewer of 
 vast London, and the stream that flowed past the 
 
XVI] 
 
 SIR FRANCIS GRANT 
 
 263 
 
 Houses of Parliament was charged with foul and 
 most destructive gases. Moreover, the present 
 terrace of the Houses was then the site of a vast 
 workshop, where hundreds of workmen, working day 
 and night, necessitated the consumption of untold 
 volumes of coal gas, which was pouring forth its de- 
 structive powers night and day. When, therefore, 
 we were expending our artistic energies in trying to 
 make beautiful the palace of Parliament, the de- 
 structive agencies were already at work, and the 
 mischief then begun has since been completed. 
 
 Sir Francis Grant . — The most genial of men, 
 undoubtedly sent into the world to be a distin- 
 guished artist. 
 
 The first time I saw him was when he was Presi- 
 dent of the Royal Scottish Academy, and an 
 associate of the Royal Academy of London. At 
 that time a dinner was arranged at the close of the 
 annual Royal Academy Exhibition, when each 
 member of the Academy could invite a friend, 
 paying for his ticket if he wished, but frequently 
 only nominating some one exhibitor of the year, 
 who paid for his own dinner. The chairman on 
 
264 
 
 AN A.R.A. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 these occasions was always the President of the 
 Royal Academy. 
 
 Shee was President, and he coupled the toast of 
 the sister Academy in Edinburgh with the name of 
 Grant. Grant, in his reply, addressing the chair- 
 man, said, “ I don’t know what your experience is, 
 sir, but I find that the more letters you have after 
 your name the more people think of you, so when- 
 ever people say to me in reference to my new 
 honours, “You are an R.A., are you not, Grant?” 
 I reply, in a surprised voice, “An R.A. ? No, I 
 am an A. R.A.” 
 
 From his early lack of training Grant had never 
 acquired much technique, and the science of per- 
 spective in no way appealed to him. This was 
 amusingly illustrated by a portrait of the Duke of 
 Devonshire, who is represented leaning on a table, 
 the horizontal surface of which with all its contents 
 is shown, while the horizon line in the landscape is 
 also showrn on a level with the Duke’s ankles. 
 
 Charles Landseer attracted the President’s atten- 
 tion to this slight divergence from the laws of 
 perspective. Grant’s reply was humorously to 
 remark, “You forget that Chatsworth is on a devil 
 
xvi] 
 
 SIR WALTER’S PROPHECY 
 
 265 
 
 of a hill,” and, when further reminded that this, as 
 he well knew, was not a fact, he laughingly said, 
 “ Well, can’t you imagine that it is in a valley ? ” 
 Edwin Landseer committed the same error in 
 a picture in which a stone trough was in the fore- 
 ground, the lines of which were at variance with 
 the horizon. When his attention was drawn to it 
 he cleverly remedied the error by giving the ap- 
 pearance of the water overflowing the edge of a 
 tipped up-trough. In one of the best books ever 
 published in the English language, Sir Walter 
 Scott’s Journal, which is a revelation of the 
 character of perhaps the noblest Christian gentle- 
 man who ever lived, there is a delightful reference 
 to “ Frank Grant’s independence of spirit,” when 
 he, as a young man, was just beginning to be 
 favourably known as a rising artist. “ He” (writes 
 Scott, when staying at Grant’s paternal home) “ is 
 not going to be content with sitting at the bottom 
 of his father’s table and passing the claret, but is 
 giving himself, heart and soul, to following a 
 delightful, though most arduous profession, and 
 achieving in it a marked and independent position.” 
 Scott did not live long enough to see how 
 
266 
 
 LORD LEIGHTON 
 
 [chap. 
 
 brilliantly his foreshadowing of Grant’s career was 
 realised, but it must have given an additional glow 
 to the satisfaction Grant must have felt, when 
 elevated to the presidential chair, to remember 
 Scott’s words. 
 
 The late Lord Leighton succeeded Sir Francis 
 Grant ; he was almost unanimously elected to the 
 honour by his brother academicians, who alone 
 possess the franchise of the Royal Academy. I 
 had but slight knowledge of him or his work before 
 he exhibited at the Royal Academy his excellent 
 picture of Cimabue, which at once stamped him as 
 an artist of remarkable power. It was soon made 
 clear also that he was to be numbered with those of 
 “the Admirable Crichton order.” His general 
 accomplishments were remarkable ; he spoke and 
 wrote in the French, Italian, and German tongues 
 to perfection. This was the happy result of his 
 father’s treatment of his early education, planting 
 him at various art centres, not for a few weeks at a 
 time, but for many months of hard work at his 
 chosen profession. He was singularly zealous and 
 indefatigable in the execution of any duties he had 
 
XVI] 
 
 MAJOR OF VOLUNTEERS 
 
 267 
 
 undertaken to perform. This was notably the case 
 in his long and efficient service in the Artists’ 
 Volunteer Rifle Corps. I once saw him at the 
 Athenseum, before he became our respected and 
 admirable President of the Royal Academy, in the 
 uniform of the Artists’ Rifle Corps, of which he 
 was then major. He came booted and spurred, 
 and with clanking sword, striding into the dining- 
 room, and stood at the sideboard leaning over and 
 studying the carte du jour as he kicked out first 
 one leg and then the other, to stretch himself after 
 a drill, during which he had sat his horse till he 
 was stiff. Some of the old members of the 
 Athenaeum who were present looked not a little 
 astonished at this unusual sight in their haunts of 
 peace and quietness ! 
 
 On his appointment to the presidency of the 
 Royal Academy, his attendance as chairman of 
 council and at other meetings was so rigidly punc- 
 tual that his colleagues jokingly said that he 
 systematically arranged his arrival some little time 
 before the fixed hour of meeting, and then awaited 
 the striking of the clock before he entered the 
 council-room. 
 
268 
 
 LEIGHTON’S CHARACTER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 His chief characteristics as a man were kindness 
 of heart and generosity of disposition. In cases 
 I have had to bring before him I found him ever 
 ready to render assistance with hand and purse. 
 He exercised hospitality most unstintingly, both in 
 private and to his academic brethren, placing the 
 latter at his table either in accordance with their 
 official rank, or according to seniority of election to 
 the honours of the institution of which they were 
 all equally members. His attention to the details 
 connected with his entertainments was minute, 
 even to the floral decoration of his dining-table, 
 which he did himself. There being no Lady 
 Leighton in his establishment was the good 
 reason he gave for occasionally making these 
 matters subjects for discussion even at the 
 dinner-table. When the interesting dining function 
 came to an end, adjournment was made to the 
 brilliantly lighted studios, where work in progress 
 was freely shown, and criticism unhesitatingly 
 invited. 
 
 Leighton was an enthusiastic lover of music, and 
 used to arrange musical afternoons, and evening 
 concerts of first-rate character. His long residence 
 
XVI] 
 
 LOVE OF MUSIC 
 
 269 
 
 abroad brought him into acquaintance and intimate 
 friendship with musicians like Joachim and Piatti, 
 and many other celebrities of “ the heaven-born 
 art,” who were ever ready to come at his summons, 
 to play and sing for his delight and that of those 
 carefully selected friends who, he felt sure, would 
 appreciate to the uttermost the “ concord of sweet 
 sounds ” set before them. 
 
 It was not a little startling to note the effect of 
 the theory of “ selection,” rigidly applied as it was 
 by so true a musical enthusiast as Leighton, in 
 arranging his list of those to be invited to his 
 musical gatherings. Leighton and I were in 
 absolute sympathy on most musical subjects, and on 
 none more than in the necessity of eliminating from 
 the list of those you invite to a musical party every 
 individual of whom you have the least suspicion 
 that he does not possess the power of listening 
 “ cataleptically.” How amused he was when I said 
 that nothing would really satisfy me but the power 
 of arming the musical conductor of the evening 
 with a fairy baton, which waved over a chattering 
 or fidgety audience would reduce them to cataleptic 
 silence instantaneously. I was early trained by my 
 
270 
 
 LEIGHTON’S HEROISM 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 father to be perfectly silent during the performance 
 of music. 
 
 I never heard Leighton touch a musical instru- 
 ment of any kind, or sing a note of music, though 
 he may have done both with admirable results. It 
 was always most gratifying to my musical soul to see 
 him sitting by the performers and turning over their 
 music for them, he himself evidently in “the 
 seventh heaven of delight/' both with the music 
 and its execution. These pleasant times were of 
 regular and delightful recurrence, but then came the 
 woeful change in the Presidents health, and the 
 ominous symptoms which I had but too frequent 
 opportunity to watch with deep anxiety, for all 
 through the time of his illness with his fearful 
 attacks of angina pectoris, I filled the office of 
 treasurer to the Royal Academy. My place at 
 meetings as treasurer was at the President's 
 right hand, he sitting in the presidential armchair 
 that may have held the slight form of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds. 
 
 When Leighton was visited with those terrible 
 paroxysms of agony, the inevitable accompaniment 
 of the heart disease with wiiich he was afflicted, he 
 
HIS FUNERAL 
 
 271 
 
 XVI] 
 
 used to beg the council to discontinue the discussion 
 which was proceeding for a few minutes, then 
 clasped his forehead with his left hand, clutching 
 the arm of the chair with his right, and so struggled 
 with the seizure of that mortal disease, angina 
 pectoris, and when the agony had passed, calmly 
 renewed the business which had been interrupted. 
 
 The calm and heroic courage with which he bore 
 this terrible trial was a lesson indeed to all who 
 observed it. It had fallen to me to witness the 
 death of our colleague Edward Barry, r.a., the 
 well-known architect, at the same table. 
 
 At the burial service over Leightons earthly 
 remains in St. Paul’s Cathedral a most striking 
 effect was produced by an accidental cause. My 
 seat was under the dome, and was so placed that I 
 looked straight down the nave which comprised the 
 south transept in my point of view. It had been 
 gloomy all the morning, but suddenly through an 
 opening made in the course of reparation in the 
 tracery of one of the south aisle windows shot a 
 brilliant ray of sunshine, looking like a bar of molten 
 gold at white heat, and resting a moment on the 
 coffin, lit up group after group of worshippers with 
 
272 
 
 SIR J. E. MILLAIS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 such astonishing brilliancy that it caused many to 
 shield their eyes from its searching power. It was 
 indeed God’s own search-light coming straight from 
 His heavenly throne. And those heart-searching 
 words must have occurred to many, “ Look well if 
 there be any wickedness in me, and lead me in the 
 way everlasting.” The glorious chapter from Cor- 
 inthians, which is the lesson in the Burial Service, 
 was being read by the Dean. 
 
 Lord Leighton was succeeded as President by 
 Sir John Everett Millais, that child of fortune and 
 admirable artist, but who was doomed to die, like 
 Leighton, at a comparatively early age. 
 
 The first time I ever saw Millais was in West- 
 minster Hall, where the Government Competitive 
 Exhibition of oil pictures was on view. Millais’s 
 subject was that of “ The Widow’s Mite.” He 
 painted in his time a great number of pictures of 
 varied and remarkable excellence — portraits, land- 
 scapes, and subject-pictures — and he well merited 
 the honours, wealth, and general success that he 
 obtained. He was a genial and high-spirited man, 
 and possessed many great artistic qualities. He 
 
XVI] 
 
 HIS TRAGIC DEATH 
 
 273 
 
 had a fine sense of colour and female beauty, but 
 not much inventive power of intricate composition. 
 His chief successes were with subjects of one, or a 
 few figures. His death was most sad, and a 
 grievous public loss, and was caused by that terrible 
 disease, cancer of the throat. I was with him 
 several times towards the end ; our final parting was 
 very touching and impressive. He was lying on a 
 low bedstead, and half sitting up, he threw his arms 
 round my neck, kissing me on my cheek, and drew 
 me towards him with such vigour that I nearly 
 lost my balance. Though speaking with much 
 difficulty, he said most earnestly, “ Pray for me, 
 my dear old friend, pray for me, and ask others 
 to do so.” 
 
 I will add here a few words anent hospitalities of 
 some of the presidents. Sir Charles Eastlake used 
 to invite academicians to dinner without their 
 wives, to meet a given number of fashionable ladies 
 without their husbands, the ladies being interested 
 in making the acquaintance of artists of note. 
 
 When Grant filled the presidential chair at one of 
 the first of these formal banquets, he essayed a new 
 
2/4 
 
 AN ACADEMY DINNER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 arrangement, and had no ladies present but his wife ; 
 he also made an innovation by asking his assistant, 
 Alexander Fraser, at the last moment to fill a 
 vacant chair. Amongst the R.A.’s present were 
 Edwin Landseer, David Roberts, and Webster. 
 
 The last-named recounted to me afterwards the 
 incidents of the evening. 
 
 As Landseer was the only “ titled ” guest present, 
 the host naturally selected him for the honour of 
 conducting Lady Grant down to dinner, and he 
 planted Roberts on her left. Roberts was a comely, 
 well-to-do-looking, elderly gentleman, with a grand 
 display, when in dinner costume, of white waistcoat, 
 frilled shirt front and cravat of extraordinary depth 
 and tightness, which made his joining in converse 
 with his neighbours at dinner quite a muscular 
 effort, necessitating an occasional furtive movement 
 of the fingers to the back of his cravat bow to ease 
 its throttling tendencies. He was somewhat slow 
 of speech, and with a decidedly Scotch accent, with 
 only a limited gift of that power of story-telling 
 with which some of his countrymen are so richly 
 endowed. Now Sir Edwin Landseer was a first- 
 rate raconteur , and came of a family of humorists 
 
XVI] 
 
 SIR EDWIN’S STORIES 
 
 275 
 
 to whose power in that way I have often referred. 
 He was also, it might be said, the spoilt child of the 
 society from whose ranks Lady Grant sprang, and 
 therefore it was not surprising that he and Lady 
 Grant got on capitally together ; he was evidently 
 telling her story after story. 
 
 Landseer rarely exercised this faculty for the 
 benefit of the company at large, a sympathetic 
 audience, one in number , suiting him much better. 
 The pleasure he took in hearing himself speak 
 was unquestioned, especially when he was in a 
 happy mood and brought forth “good things,” but 
 he had no particular delight at any time in bringing 
 others into conversation to share its honours. Thus 
 he evidently never noticed that David Roberts was 
 absolutely silent and gloomy, as he had no lady on 
 his left hand, and the lady of the house on his right 
 was so engrossed by what her cavalier, Sir Edwin, 
 was saying, that Roberts must have felt it too much 
 of a forlorn hope to make a direct attack upon her 
 attention, as she had quite turned her back upon 
 him in her ceaseless talk with Sir Edwin. There 
 was another absolutely silent individual at the table, 
 Grant’s assistant, Alexander Fraser, called “Sandy” 
 
276 
 
 ROBERTS’S WRATH 
 
 [chap. 
 
 by his intimates, a shy, reserved Scotchman but 
 very clever artist, who painted still-life for Wilkie 
 and others for 10s. 6d. a day, and found his own 
 ultramarine “ at three guineas an ounce.” This 
 statement of terms was, I believe, invented by the 
 witty Charles Landseer. 
 
 When the one lady retired upstairs, Roberts 
 burst forth in his wrath to two or three of his Royal 
 Academy colleagues near him (Grant, the host, 
 not being within earshot) at the neglect he had 
 received from my lady and Landseer, and the 
 miserable time he had had of it, on which one of 
 his sympathisers asked why he did not join in the 
 talk like a man ? “ Because they ‘ fashed ’ aboot 
 
 dooks and doochesses about whom he knew 
 nothing and did not want to,” was the answer. I 
 remember that at this time it was said that the 
 worship of dignitaries and the larding of his talk 
 with frequent reference to his personal intimacy 
 with them, was one of Landseer s weaknesses. 
 
 Roberts declared that he should say good-night 
 to Grant as they left the dining-room, and not go to 
 the drawing-room again, but he was persuaded to 
 refrain from doing that, which would be rude and 
 
XVI] 
 
 SANDY’S SONGS 
 
 277 
 
 annoying to their host, so they all ‘'joined the lady,” 
 Sandy creeping up after them. 
 
 The moment he was there he made for a corner 
 by the fireplace, where he sat, as he thought, un- 
 noticed. Landseer sauntering in, saw a vacant place 
 on the sofa by Lady Grant, who invited him to 
 occupy it, and then the talk of the dining-room was 
 renewed. 
 
 Suddenly Roberts broke from the R.A.’s with 
 whom he had been chatting, and came towards 
 Fraser, who had been indulging in forty winks, then, 
 standing with his back to the fire, with his coat-tails 
 under his arms, he called to him in tones that woke 
 him up thoroughly, “ Sandy, mon ; Sandy, gie us 
 a sang,” and hurriedly gave him the choice from 
 his own repertoire of the prolonged ditties that the 
 sons of Scotia always appear so enamoured of. 
 
 Sandy, not daring to doubt the propriety of any 
 proposition suggested by a full-blown Royal Acade- 
 mician, piped up, and sang several of Roberts’s selec- 
 tion amidst enthusiastic applause, led by Roberts 
 and joined in by Landseer, who was more than cute 
 enough to see the former’s impromptu little game, 
 and having been observant of his arrogance in the 
 
2;8 THE “RETORT COURTEOUS” [chap, xvi 
 
 dining-room, admired the ingenuity of his “ retort 
 courteous.” 
 
 Lady Grant looked considerably surprised when 
 the performance first commenced, but when she saw 
 the gushing approval with which all the Scotchmen 
 present (her own good husband included) received 
 it, she, with ladylike good nature, assisted in the 
 applause which was accorded to Sandy, who had 
 a charming tenor voice, that drew forth many sotto 
 voce , but musical, hummings from his brethren whose 
 warm blood was roused by the swing of their na- 
 tional melodies. 
 
 The “exercise of hospitality” has been recog- 
 nised by most artists, and glorious Sir Joshua, with 
 his club gatherings and frequent dinner parties, set 
 an example which has, more or less, been consistently 
 carried on by his successors in the Academy chair. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Winter exhibitions — Fawkes of Farnley — Reception, failure, and 
 ultimate success — Turner’s study of nature — Treatment of 
 Turner in the National Gallery — Old Masters — “Our Mr. 
 Horsley” — Visit to Ireland — Three neglected galleries — Old 
 Dulwich College — Mr. Lindsay — My first cigar. 
 
 OR twenty-seven years in succession I served 
 
 upon the committee annually elected from the 
 list of academicians to organise the winter exhibi- 
 tions of old masters, and certainly the work entailed 
 was amongst the most delightful experiences of my 
 artistic career. Two of the most respected and 
 valuable members of the early committees have 
 passed away since those days referred to, Lord 
 Leighton, p.r.a., and George Richmond, r.a., both 
 men whose zeal in the cause of art and delightful 
 companionship as colleagues it would be difficult to 
 replace, and both specially fitted for the work to be 
 done. 
 
 279 
 
280 
 
 FAWKES OF FARNLEY 
 
 [chap. 
 
 One of my earliest suggestions to the committee 
 was, that we should have a full representation of 
 J. M. W. Turner’s marvellous skill as a painter in 
 water-colours, not so generally known to the public, 
 in addition to his glorious works in oil. My sugges- 
 tion was warmly seconded, and I undertook, without 
 delay, to commence lists of pictures in water-colour 
 by Turner for our proposed collection. 
 
 I had always heard great things of the collection 
 of Turner’s works possessed by Mr. Fawkes, at 
 Farnley, Yorkshire, and I wrote in the usual way to 
 Mr. Fawkes, the owner of the place, for permission 
 to visit his collection, and got the usual reply, a 
 hospitable invitation to stay at Farnley. The result 
 was I found myself at Farnley one October after- 
 noon, and was very kindly received by Mrs. Fawkes, 
 who was seated in the great saloon, which might 
 truly be said to be literally papered with Turner’s 
 works, and was in itself a complete realisation of 
 the dream I wished to see fulfilled on the walls of 
 the Academy. Pictures of all sizes and subjects, 
 all exquisitely beautiful, a revelation even to me, 
 one of the great master’s most fervent and most 
 humble worshippers. One saw here what water- 
 
XVII] 
 
 MV RECEPTION 
 
 28 
 
 colours did once in the history of the world attain 
 to, and that Turner is absolutely unique and un- 
 approachable ; he never had, and never will have, 
 his equal or any approach to it. 
 
 I was the only guest at Farnley, and after dinner, 
 for which Mr. Fawkes returned from hunting just 
 in time, my host placed himself in the constitutional 
 British attitude, back to a blazing wood fire, and 
 listened to my rhapsodies as 1 feasted on the divine 
 beauties around me. Suddenly he broke forth, 
 stamping his foot with vehemence, and said, “ I 
 will tell you what it is, Mr. Horsley, you are a 
 very pleasant gentleman, and the oftener you come 
 to see me the better I shall be pleased, but I am 
 not going to lend your Academy a single thing in 
 this house.” I was not a little staggered by this 
 outburst, but remained absolutely silent for a time, 
 and then changed the subject by discoursing on the 
 merits of some small copies of the Turner drawings 
 made by Mrs. Fawkes, and with which she was filling 
 an album in a very clever fashion. Nothing more was 
 said on the subject of my visit. The next morning 
 Mr. Fawkes was off hunting again, and I spent the 
 early hours studying some oil paintings, mostly 
 
282 
 
 SUCCESS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 Turners, also a very fine Vandyck, etc. Whilst I 
 was on a ladder looking at some pictures hung high 
 up, he came in all mud-bespattered, and from the 
 very different tone he assumed when in reference 
 to some hospitable remark, I said that “ I must 
 soon be off to see other picture collections,” I 
 gathered hope. I was convinced from his manner 
 he had changed his mind, still in no way did I 
 press the subject. I stayed another night, and 
 the outcome of my visit and subsequent corre- 
 spondence was that we at the Academy had all we 
 desired from his magnificent collection. One set of 
 drawings were together in a case, and therefore 
 not framed, but were labelled “ Sketches on the 
 Rhine.” They were made under the following cir- 
 cumstances. The doors of Farnley were ever open 
 to Turner, who came and went exactly as he pleased. 
 His great and constant friend was the grandfather 
 of the Mr. Fawkes I found there, and the former 
 received a note from Turner one day to announce 
 his immediate arrival en route to the Rhine, via 
 Hull. He appeared, but took his departure for 
 Germany in a few days, saying that he should re- 
 main abroad three or four weeks, and then come 
 
XVII] 
 
 RHINE SKETCHES 
 
 283 
 
 back for another week with his friend before return- 
 ing to London. He performed his programme to 
 the letter, and on his second appearance at Farnley, 
 fresh from the Rhine, he pulled out of his coat-tail 
 pocket a roll of paper tied up with string, which 
 proved to be, to Mr. Fawkes’s astonished gaze, more 
 than half a hundred lovely “Rhine sketches.” The 
 transfer of these precious things from Turner to 
 Fawkes’s collection was the work of a few minutes’ 
 friendly talk, and Turner, being much gratified with 
 the rapidity of the business settlement, said, “Now I’ll 
 mount them for you.” To this end he walked down 
 to the neighbouring village, went to the one shop of 
 the place, bought a quire of that strong sugar-paper 
 in which saccharine matter is supplied to purchasers, 
 and some wafers of the period, about the size of a 
 shilling, and with this material the two devoted 
 friends set to work and mounted all the sketches, 
 putting a wafer at the four corners of each, and 
 cutting the paper to the size of each drawing, leav- 
 ing a good margin all round. I believe they so 
 remained for several years, and when they were 
 properly mounted there was still some trace of 
 the wafers to be seen. 
 
284 
 
 TURNER AT CHELSEA 
 
 [chap. 
 
 No artist that ever set a palette was more de- 
 voted to his calling than Turner, or more ceaseless 
 in his study of nature. When he rented the small 
 house in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, he told the Rev. 
 W. Kingsley that he had never missed watching 
 a single sunrise, and not many sunsets, since he 
 occupied the premises. He possessed the faculty — 
 common to many remarkable men — of awaking at 
 any hour he mentally fixed on going to bed, and in 
 turning out he would swathe himself in one of the 
 blankets on his couch, then, having had access made 
 from his bedroom to the roof, he would ascend 
 there just before sunrise, and if there was fair 
 promise of an effective rising he would remain to 
 study it, making pencil notes of the form of clouds, 
 and writing in brief their tints of colour. When 
 he had in this way culled the information nature 
 presented him with, he retired to bed, to rise again 
 shortly and begin a day’s work, which at its close 
 teemed with evidence of incomparable artistic 
 power. Mr. W. Vokins, the picture-dealer (dead 
 many years since), told me that calling once on 
 Turner, but not finding him at home, he entered into 
 conversation with his old landlady, who, illiterate 
 
XVII] 
 
 TURNER GALLERIES 
 
 285 
 
 as she was, waxed so eloquent over the description 
 of his day’s work that she wound up by saying, 
 “Well, there are times, sir, when I feel he must be 
 a god ! ” 
 
 Then there is a Turner question which I desire 
 to state for the consideration of every honest 
 Englishman, especially those who are gifted with 
 sufficient taste for art to appreciate to some extent 
 the priceless value of the gift he left to his country. 
 The money value of this marvellous bequest would 
 run into many tens of thousands of pounds, and it 
 was accompanied by very clear conditions for the 
 Government to carry out by a certain date. The 
 collection was to be a permanent portion of the 
 National Gallery, to be called the Turner Galleries. 
 The time allowed for this was considerable, but 
 before he signed the will it was greatly added to, 
 as though Turner had no overpowering confidence 
 in the zeal with which this important trust would be 
 performed. After much delay a large, well-pro- 
 portioned Turner Gallery was completed from the 
 design of Mr. Pennethorne ; it was dignified in 
 scale and aspect, but not sufficiently well lighted, 
 and from the first it was evident there was not 
 
286 
 
 A BURNING QUESTION 
 
 [chap. 
 
 enough wall-space provided to hang all the splendid 
 oil pictures properly. However, they were placed 
 somehow, and then arose what soon became a truly 
 '‘burning question, ” namely the crying demand 
 for a new public staircase for the National Gallery, 
 which, according to the authorities, could only be 
 brought to a satisfactory issue by sacrificing the 
 recently constructed Turner Gallery and utilising 
 the vacant space for the new staircase. Then came 
 the astounding performance of cramming the superb 
 Turner show into one of the smaller galleries, which 
 was formerly used by the Royal Academy as the 
 principal gallery of their modern exhibition, and 
 this arrangement is still maintained ; lovely small 
 Turner pictures, which ought to be level with the 
 eyes of visitors, are fastened to the cornice of the 
 room ; in short, they are regularly mast-headed, 
 and in complete legal negation of the terms of the 
 great artist, on which alone he devised the gift to 
 his country. I ventured, after much consideration, 
 to make a strong appeal, some years since, simply 
 as an individual artist, to two Cabinet Ministers on 
 the position. Neither of these distinguished gentle- 
 men questioned my showing that the existing treat- 
 
XVII] 
 
 OLD MASTERS 
 
 287 
 
 ment of these art treasures is in complete contradic- 
 tion to the terms on which they were given to the 
 nation by the great artist, and one of them ex- 
 pressed a hope that he might live to see full justice 
 done to Turner, and, he might have added, to the 
 British nation, when further additions, now I be- 
 lieve in contemplation, should be made to the 
 National Gallery. 
 
 Perhaps the strongest impression that remains on 
 my mind after many years of interviewing “ old 
 masters,” some genuine and some spurious, is the 
 wonderful amount of delusion that exists in people’s 
 minds about their own pictures. 
 
 The never-ending astonishment I have felt on 
 seeing collections of treasured pictures, supposed 
 by their possessors to be originals of priceless 
 value ! 1 have had, by slow degrees and carefully 
 
 chosen language, to convey to them that there was 
 in the whole collection not one single picture that 
 I desired to add to the winter exhibition of the 
 Academy, 
 
 Sometimes a most pathetic element added un- 
 told difficulty to my thorny path, when I realised 
 
288 
 
 A PAINFUL TASK 
 
 [chap. 
 
 that the exhibition and perhaps resulting sale of the 
 pictures was of immense importance to the owner. 
 
 I remember one autumn being asked to visit a 
 collection in a remote shire. The owner, I had 
 been told, had been heavily hit by agricultural 
 depression, that had impoverished thousands, and 
 was therefore relying on the sale of some of what 
 he considered his most valuable pictorial posses- 
 sions, to pull him through. The aspect of the 
 house bore out the story ; the cheerlessness and look 
 of poverty made a deep impression on me, and 
 I cannot say how I yearned to be able to make 
 some selection from the gallery, but alas ! it seemed 
 hopeless as I glanced from one copy to another. 
 I based my last hopes on a very fine picture of the 
 Flemish school, which was to be shown me after 
 luncheon. 
 
 When this was at last produced it proved to be a 
 mere “ school ” copy of the original, which I knew 
 to exist elsewhere, and I had the very painful task 
 of taking my leave unable to hold out any pros- 
 pects of our council being advised to apply for a 
 single picture in the collection. 
 
 One golden rule I never swerved from : not to 
 
XVII] 
 
 PICTURE-DEALERS 
 
 289 
 
 attempt to put a money value upon anything shown 
 me, often as I was asked to do so. I used to take 
 elaborate pains to explain that no opinion on that 
 subject was of any value except that of an ex- 
 perienced picture-dealer, one who knew exactly the 
 extent and condition of the important question of 
 demand and supply in the picture market. When 
 pressed on the point I would offer to send 
 them such a dealer, whose business it was to be 
 well informed on such points. I did not forget to 
 warn them that there were picture-dealers and 
 picture-dealers, and that I had heard a shrewd man, 
 well acquainted with picture selling, remark that 
 from his experience it took two horse-dealers to 
 make one picture-dealer. 
 
 I may add that the work of hunting up “ old 
 masters ” suited me perfectly, bringing into play 
 such small gifts in the way of tact and temper 
 as I possess, and my keen interest in, and devotion 
 to, the art of the past had given me a considerable 
 knowledge of the work of different schools and men. 
 Of course it is sometimes very difficult to persuade 
 owners of magnificent pictures to denude their walls 
 of them for several months at a time, and all sorts 
 
 u 
 
2 go 
 
 [chap. 
 
 “OUR MR. HORSLEY” 
 
 of arts of persuasion, of cajolery, of appeal to artistic 
 altruism may have to be called into exercise. My 
 old friend and colleague, W. W. Ouless, r. a., told 
 me that he had been asked during a specially 
 successful exhibition, the result of many journeys, 
 how it was possible to get such splendid shows 
 together year after year. “ Well,” he answered, 
 “ the difficulty is great ; you have first to catch your 
 hare, z.e. find out the whereabouts of desirable 
 pictures, and the negotiating the loan of them then 
 depends on the tact and skill of the committee. 
 When we find strenuous opposition, we send ‘our 
 Mr. Horsley ’ to call and settle the matter.” The 
 drollery of comparing the work of collecting to the 
 smooth-tongued “bagmans” proceeding amused 
 me much. 
 
 I spent a fortnight in Ireland for picture-hunting, 
 with great interest and pleasure ; all that I had 
 heard of the charm and beauty of the women 
 and the wit and fun of the men was more than 
 realised. The purpose of my visit was to hunt 
 up pictures for the winter exhibition of the 
 R.A. I stayed a few days in Dublin with the 
 late Sir Thomas Jones, President of the Royal 
 
XVII] 
 
 PICTURE-HUNTING 
 
 29 
 
 Hibernian Academy, a most kindly and hospitable 
 gentleman. 
 
 Just before my arrival in Ireland, the terrible 
 murder of an Irish peer had taken place, he had 
 been waylaid by a party of rebels and ruthlessly 
 shot down. 
 
 At Sir Thomas’s I was introduced at dinner to a 
 retired Irish colonel of fiery aspect. After the 
 ladies had retired, the conversation turned on the 
 murder, in which I felt especially interested, having 
 on my list of pictures to be seen, a portrait by Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, belonging to Lord Dunsandle, 
 who had been repeatedly fired at. My host, how- 
 ever, had never heard of this picture, and the house 
 where it was said to be, was in a remote part of the 
 west coast, involving a long railway journey to 
 reach it. At this point the fiery colonel broke in in 
 an excited voice, “ Shure ye’ll never go so far for 
 pictures, and now I think of it, it’s uncommonly 
 like the Dunsandles ye are, ye’ll be shure to be 
 shot!” 
 
 It is a curious fact that there are three most 
 interesting collections of pictures in or close to 
 
292 
 
 NEGLECTED GALLERIES 
 
 [chap. 
 
 London, which are greatly neglected, not only by 
 the general public, but by those who consider 
 themselves students and connoisseurs of art. 
 
 I will mention the smallest of these collections 
 first. The Soane Museum in Lincolns Inn Fields, 
 where in darkness and an altogether unworthy 
 setting are to be seen many priceless Hogarths, 
 including the “ Harlots Progress,” and the Election 
 pictures, besides various other old masters of un- 
 doubted authenticity and great interest. 
 
 The next neglected collection is the Diploma 
 Gallery of the Royal Academy. This embraces all 
 the works in painting, sculpture, architecture and 
 engraving that are contributed, each after his kind, 
 by every newly elected Royal Academician, and in 
 addition the works of art, that by legacy, purchase, 
 or other ways have been acquired by the Royal 
 Academy. 
 
 The most notable of all these is perhaps the un- 
 finished “Tondo,” by Michael Angelo, the greatest 
 artist that has ever appeared on the face of Gods 
 earth. 
 
 I remember when I was a student, Sir Richard 
 Westmacott drawing our attention to the chisel 
 
XVII] 
 
 FUSELFS WRATH 
 
 293 
 
 marks upon some of the surfaces in this marvellous 
 group, which he assured us could only have been 
 produced by a hammer of exceptional weight, 
 wielded by an arm of almost fabulous strength. I 
 have never seen any representation of the mighty 
 Florentine that did not convey the impression of 
 remarkable muscular power. We all remember the 
 tradition that the immortal Michael Angelos nose 
 was broken in fair fight with Baccio Bandinelli, his 
 rival for the papal favour. 
 
 This reminds me of an amusing story about 
 Fuseli, Keeper of the Royal Academy, well remem- 
 bered for his extraordinary force of diction when 
 roused to anger. 
 
 On one occasion a quarrel between Webster and 
 Onion, another student, led to a battle royal in the 
 hall, which, being interrupted by the arrival of the 
 academicians on the scene, as they came out from 
 a lecture, was carried to a finish in the courtyard. 
 These reverend signors were much annoyed by the 
 lack of discipline shown by this scrimmage, and 
 remonstrated with the keeper at the next council. 
 Fuseli in his efforts to maintain order rushed in, 
 mahlstick in one hand and cumbrous old palette in 
 
294 
 
 DULWICH COLLEGE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the other, exclaiming, “Yah, you are von set of vild 
 beasts, and I am your blasted keeper.” 
 
 The third gallery that in no way receives its due 
 amount of recognition is the Dulwich Gallery, 
 which, in spite of its immense reputation, is far 
 too often neglected by even serious art students. 
 
 My personal interest in Dulwich College dates 
 from a very early period, when my father became 
 its tenant by buying the lease in 1823 °f No. 1, 
 High Row, of Muzio Clementi. 
 
 When I was about eleven years old, I was invited 
 to stay at Dulwich College in the rooms of old 
 Mr. Lindsay, one of the Fellows, and the rector, 
 eighty years since, of Stanford-on-Avon, a beautiful 
 church near Rugby, containing much interesting 
 work, especially some fine early stained glass win- 
 dows. I spent delightful times copying pictures 
 in the beautiful galleries. I especially remember 
 my first attempts at water-colour were to copy some 
 of the pictures in the remarkably good collection of 
 the works of Nicolas Poussin. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay was the tutor of the twelve boys, 
 who then constituted the school. He was not an 
 early riser, so he arranged that his class should 
 
XVII] 
 
 A QUAINT SCENE 
 
 295 
 
 come up to his bedroom for their lessons at eight 
 o’clock every morning. I remember well seeing 
 him sitting up in his old four-poster, propped by 
 pillows and swathed in a flannel dressing-gown of 
 a quaint design, a tasselled nightcap of the period 
 on his head, and a long clay pipe in his mouth, 
 while grouped round the bed were the twelve 
 scholars repeating their lessons. It made a never- 
 to-be-forgotten picture. The contrast between this 
 primitive class and the present college, with its 
 hundreds of boys and its modern methods, is 
 eloquent of the changes that have been effected 
 in good old Lindsay’s lifetime and that of his 
 successors. 
 
 The Fellows, with any guests they might have, 
 dined together in the hall, which opened out into 
 the delightful garden for which the college has 
 always been famous. In those happy days the 
 gardens were often harmonious with the songs of 
 nightingales, whose proverbial shyness seemed 
 overcome in this delightful retreat, and I have often 
 watched them singing so close to me, that I could 
 see the throbbing of the tiny throats as those 
 wonderful sustained notes were poured forth. This 
 
296 
 
 MY FIRST CIGAR 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 was when we were out in the garden after dinner, 
 a rather long performance. 
 
 Dear old Lindsay, who had about as much 
 idea of bringing up a young boy outside his 
 scholastic training as I should have of training 
 a dancing bear, and who never had a pipe out 
 of his mouth, said on one of these evenings, 
 “John, will you have a cigar?” I did not wish to 
 shirk the duties or apparent pleasures of mature 
 manhood, a condition which I conceived I had 
 reached when I entered my teens, so I accepted 
 the cigar (without the least idea of what I was to do 
 with it), and watching the ways of those about me, 
 succeeded in lighting it at the right end and in 
 smoking it to the end ; after which performance 
 I felt perfectly well, and so much elated with my 
 success that I calmly asked for another ! I am as- 
 tonished on looking back to reflect that this was 
 given to me, a mere child, without the judicious 
 advice one might expect. Luckily for me, the 
 smoking party broke up before I had got very far 
 with No. 2 cigar, and, absolutely drunk and dizzy 
 with nicotine, I shall never forget my feelings as I 
 followed Mr. Lindsay to my room, and stood dumb 
 
XVII] 
 
 SAD CONSEQUENCES 
 
 297 
 
 and wretched and yearning for blessed solitude as 
 he explained where this and that could be put ; 
 indeed before he had left the room, I had thrown 
 myself flat on my face on the great feather bed, just 
 managing to roll myself over a bit before I became 
 completely unconscious, very likely thus saving 
 myself from suffocation. 
 
 The next morning I was perfectly well, but 1 
 may say that this escapade settled the question for 
 me as to smoking, and thrown as I have been with 
 habitual smokers much of my life, I have never felt 
 the smallest inclination to indulge in this practice, 
 and literally never smoked even a cigarette to the 
 bitter end, being content with a whiff or two on rare 
 
 occasions. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Jim Bishop, a typical model — Cope takes him in hand — Before the 
 magistrates — Defence of Webster — Employed by Boxall — Pigs’- 
 wash — J. B. vanishes from the scene — April ioth, 1848 — Special 
 constables. 
 
 WO of my earliest professional friends were 
 
 Cope and Redgrave, both of whom eventually 
 became Royal Academicians. 
 
 When the Westminster Hall competitions com- 
 menced, Cope and Redgrave were building houses 
 for themselves, and amongst the gang of labourers 
 employed, one of them named Bishop attracted 
 their notice as a powerful and well-proportioned 
 man, with a handsome head, the result being that 
 he was soon promoted from building operations to 
 artists’ painting-rooms and the schools of the Royal 
 Academy. He was strictly honest, at least I have 
 never heard a word to the contrary from any of my 
 many friends in whose houses and gardens he was a 
 familiar figure. 
 
CHAP. XVIII] 
 
 A TYPICAL MODEL 
 
 299 
 
 Though an entire ignoramus, and with the 
 devotion to beer common to the majority of his 
 class, he was of an inquiring turn of mind, and used 
 to put most posing questions during his sittings as 
 a model. 
 
 My old and highly respected friend, C. W. 
 Cope, r.a., took a keen interest in the endeavour 
 to soften and instruct the really savage nature 
 of the man, for savage indeed he was when 
 roused. He was a professed pugilist, and had 
 done much prize-fighting, a line of business from 
 which he found it necessary to retire, as not con- 
 ducive to his appearance as a model, when called 
 upon to pose for a crowned head, an inspired 
 prophet, or a father of a family in some gentle 
 domestic scene, such as occur in Webster’s admir- 
 able works. 
 
 On one occasion he announced to Cope that he 
 was going to stand godfather to Bill’s child, “ Bill,” 
 often referred to as his bosom friend, being one of 
 the gang in which he had worked. Cope, fired with 
 anxiety to improve the occasion, gave him a grave 
 lecture on the responsibilities he was undertaking, 
 upon which Bishop promptly replied, “No, sir, 
 
300 
 
 A THEOLOGICAL LESSON 
 
 [chap. 
 
 I don’t know nothen about ’sponsibillyties ; never 
 ’eared on ’em ; all I know is, sir, that if Bill wor to 
 die, I should have to find his child in grub and 
 tommy ” ( Anglice — meat and drink). 
 
 On another occasion he startled Cope by sud- 
 denly asking him, “ What’s the meaning of the 
 sacrymints, sir?” Naturally Cope, a fervent 
 Christian, though a little embarrassed by the sudden 
 question, was very anxious to explain clearly the 
 subject to this ignorant “ clod of the valley.” He 
 was perhaps a little lengthy, and very soon Bishop 
 was sound asleep. Snoring himself awake, and 
 passing the back of his hand over his lips, he ex- 
 claimed, “ I was dreamin’, sir, that I was fightin’ ; 
 I loves a good fight, sir, I do.” 
 
 About the same time he was sitting to me, and 
 I had in the room a singularly beautiful and im- 
 pressive crucifix of Italian work lent me for a 
 picture I had in hand. I saw that Bishop’s atten- 
 tion was riveted on it, and at last he said, without 
 taking his eyes off the figure, “A deal’s thought of 
 that poor chap, sir ; you sees his pictur in all the 
 shops ! ” 
 
 One night he and his friend Bill were walking 
 
XVIII] 
 
 BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES 
 
 301 
 
 home from the theatre with their wives, when they 
 were brutally assaulted, and the women insulted, by 
 half a dozen roughs, who were well punished by 
 Bishop and his friend ; the police, however, inter- 
 vening, the whole party were locked up for the 
 night. Luckily the affray had been witnessed 
 from the beginning by one of the police, and the 
 magistrate, before whom the prisoners were brought, 
 was so convinced by the evidence of the rights of 
 the case that he committed the roughs to a term of 
 imprisonment, and highly complimented Bishop and 
 his friend on their gallant conduct, winding up by 
 regretting that he could do no more for them. 
 
 Thereupon Bishop came to the front and asked 
 permission to say that there was one thing his 
 worship could do, and that they would thank him 
 very much for the favour. “ What’s that, my 
 man?” said the magistrate. “Why, your honour, 
 let me and Bill have these six blackguards down in 
 your back yard, and give ’em what they’d have got 
 last night if your perlice hadn’t stopped the game.” 
 
 Bishop had not a little in his nature of the knight- 
 errant, and once he exercised his muscles most 
 beneficially in aid of Webster, r.a., who, going up 
 
302 
 
 WEBSTER’S CHAMPION 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 Church Street, Kensington, late one night, came 
 upon a man shamefully ill-treating his wife. 
 Webster, who was tall, strong, and very plucky, 
 rushed into the fray, and knocked the man down. 
 He was soon up again however, and Webster was 
 preparing to receive a vigorous onslaught from a 
 formidable-looking ruffian, when he found himself 
 clasped violently round the waist, lifted up, and 
 carried a yard or two to the rear by Bishop, who, 
 happening to be passing homewards at that 
 moment, was just in time to put his patron in 
 safety and to administer a vigorous punishment to 
 his assailant, who succumbed at once on recognising 
 Bishop, whose prowess was well known in the 
 slums of the royal borough. 
 
 Sir William Boxall, r.a., once enlisted this sturdy 
 champion in his service. Sir William was much 
 annoyed by the incessant playing of a German 
 pianist who lodged next door to him, and whose 
 constant practising so got on his nerves that Boxall 
 could not paint. He tried to come to terms with 
 his neighbour, but could not extort the smallest 
 concession. 
 
 Determined not to be beaten, he engaged Bishop 
 
XVIII] 
 
 PIGS’- WASH 
 
 303 
 
 and a friend (“ Bill,” no doubt), providing them 
 with iron trays and pokers, with which they were 
 to make music when the piano struck up. So when 
 the musician started, they did the same, and the 
 din may be imagined. After one or two repetitions 
 of this, the German pianist came to terms, and the 
 twenty-four hours were divided equitably between 
 the rival arts. 
 
 Sir Edwin Landseer also frequently employed 
 Bishop as a model It may be remarked that 
 Bishop had at this time started the peaceful avoca- 
 tion of pig-keeping in Kensington. 
 
 During a sitting to Landseer, Bishop broke 
 silence by remarking, “ I believe, sir, you are very 
 hintimate with the Queen, hain’t you ? ” Landseer 
 admitted that he had the honour of frequently 
 painting for Her Majesty, whereupon Bishop con- 
 tinued, “ I hoffen passes that big ouse she lives in ; 
 they calls it Buckingham Pallis, and I thinks if only 
 I could ave her pigwash I should be riglarly set 
 up in the business. Do you think, sir, that the 
 next time you are with er quiet and comfatable 
 like, you could put in a word about my pigs ? 
 I should be so werry much obliged to you.” A 
 
304 
 
 BISHOP’S WIFE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 shout of laughter was, I fear, the only reply to 
 Bishop’s request. He never repeated it. I had 
 often reason to observe a strong strain of sensitive 
 intelligence in his rough nature. 
 
 We used often to hear from Miss Skerrett of the 
 constant amusement given at Windsor by Land- 
 seer’s wonderful anecdotes. Is it possible that the 
 above may have reached royal ears ? 
 
 I was once the means of pressing Bishop into 
 the service of the State on April ioth, 1848, that 
 memorable day, concerning which I have never 
 seen any special record in print, and as it certainly 
 merits a place in history, I will briefly record my 
 experience of it, though I must first add a few 
 words more about Bishop. 
 
 At one time he made a serious effort to give up 
 his drinking habits, and took the pledge. His 
 second wife, to whom he had lately been married, 
 had a great idea she could make her fortune as 
 a model, but unfortunately she shared his old taste 
 for strong drink. I had not seen him for several 
 weeks, when he came to me one day in a miserable- 
 looking state, and had to confess that he had re- 
 turned to his evil ways, but that it was entirely 
 
XVIll] 
 
 CHARTIST RIOTS 
 
 305 
 
 owing to the new wife ! “ All had been going on 
 
 well : we were very comfortable like, and got new 
 bits of furniture, and then I had to go off, and was 
 away a bit, sitting to a hartist in the country ; and 
 one night I comes in and finds all the new furniture 
 gone, and she — well, sir, what do you think she 
 was doing ? She was lying dead drunk before the 
 fire.” “What did you do?” I asked. “ What did 
 I do ? Why, I picked her up by the air of her 
 ’ead and I dashes her against the floor.” 
 
 After this truly tragic turn of events, poor Bishop 
 disappeared from the scene. I often inquired, but 
 I never could learn what had become of him. Even 
 the police lost touch with him altogether. 
 
 To return to the Chartist riots. 
 
 The ringleader of the Irish faction in 1848 was 
 Feargus O’Connor, an accomplished forerunner of 
 the choice Hibernian spirits who do their best to 
 make life hideous in the House of Commons and 
 to reduce that place of noble memories to the level 
 of a bear-garden. The same miserable game was 
 played in 1848 as in 1902. 
 
 It was evident that the Chartists meant to carry 
 their violence from words and threats into deeds. 
 
3 ° 6 
 
 WARLIKE PREPARATIONS 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 They talked of occupying the Notting Hill hunting- 
 grounds, as several large fields, used for schooling 
 hunters in the taking of five-barred gates and 
 hedges, were called. The Government was to 
 bring 30,000 regular troops into London, and 
 many thousand special constables were to be en- 
 rolled in readiness for April 10th, the day arranged 
 for the rising of the Chartists. 
 
 Then did various parishes collect in their num- 
 bers, summon assemblies, nominate committees ; 
 there was wild talk and warlike oratory, and much 
 waste of time by speculations as to all possible and 
 impossible contingencies by elderly gentlemen, for- 
 merly members of the services, who considered 
 themselves specially able to give valuable sugges- 
 tions. 
 
 The Home Office directed that the regular police 
 force should afford all possible information regarding 
 the use of the staff with which the specials were 
 to be armed. I cannot vouch for the words, but 
 the directions finally printed and distributed read 
 something like a cookery receipt, and ran much as 
 follows : “ On encountering a rebel with evident 
 intention of attacking you, stand firm with the 
 
XVIII] 
 
 SPECIAL CONSTABLES 
 
 307 
 
 leathern loop of the staff round the wrist, and 
 holding the staff at point very firmly in your right 
 hand, advance upon your enemy and give a vigorous 
 thrust at the third button of his waistcoat, counting 
 from the bottom of that garment. If the blow be 
 strong, sharp, and vigorous, it will completely double 
 up your opponent, and present his head and neck 
 in the most favourable position for receiving a 
 slashing cut, following the division line of his hair- 
 parting or straight across it. These directions, well 
 carried out, should lay your adversary at your 
 feet.” 
 
 Of course I enrolled myself as a special constable, 
 and was made a captain under Mr. Garrard, a 
 gentleman living in Notting Hill Square. We were 
 requested to enrol more recruits, but I could only 
 get two: one was my frame-maker, a meek little 
 father of a family, who carried his staff about with 
 him wrapped up in brown paper, and protruding 
 about a half a yard from his pocket, much resem- 
 bling a “ Polony ” sausage, as that popular article 
 of food from Bologna was called. The other was 
 Bishop, who I much feared might be got hold of 
 by the other side, if I did not get him sworn in 
 
308 
 
 THE PROCESSION 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 myself. I intended to install him as a guardian on 
 my own premises on the much-dreaded night. It 
 may now be quite forgotten that the risk of blood- 
 shed and of a serious rising was considered so great 
 that the great Duke of Wellington himself was put 
 in command. 
 
 It had been advertised by the Chartists that they 
 would hold their meeting at Kennington Common, 
 where on April ioth they assembled in their tens 
 of thousands, and under the leadership of O’Connor 
 and others were marshalled into a huge and un- 
 wieldy procession following the great timber wag- 
 gon containing the monster petition, the various 
 sheets of which were rolled round lengths of cut- 
 up scaffold poles and wrapped in waterproof : they 
 formed a heavy load. 
 
 The Duke had planned to offer no opposition 
 whatever to the proceedings unless they were ac- 
 companied by riot. So the procession started on 
 its journey in military order, but of course there 
 were stragglers and a whole crowd of “rag and 
 bobtail followers.” The crowding and confusion 
 became terrible, and when the first part of the pro- 
 cession and its leaders reached Westminster Hall, 
 
XVIII] 
 
 DREAD ANTICIPATIONS 
 
 309 
 
 and found that no petitions were received there for 
 the House of Commons, but that they must be 
 taken to the Home Office, Whitehall, fatigue and 
 hunger and the irritation of delay began to tell 
 more and more, till the leaders were at their wits’ 
 end. 
 
 They called a halt and held a consultation, and 
 it was agreed that a small escort would now be 
 sufficient to accompany the timber waggon to the 
 Home Office. Daylight was departing when they 
 reached the Home Office, and no member of that 
 department was there ; they had apparently all been 
 knocked up with the agitation and excitement of 
 the last few weeks. Finally, after the leaders had 
 worked themselves into a perfect frenzy, Mr. Samuel 
 Redgrave (brother of the artist), who was one of the 
 principal clerks in the Home Office, gave permission 
 for the petition to be taken in and kept for the 
 consideration of the Government. 
 
 Meanwhile what had become of all the Chartists ? 
 
 It had been anticipated that the evening would 
 bring terror and bloodshed, that shops would be 
 sacked and houses broken into. Thousands of 
 special constables paced the streets, truncheon in 
 
NOTHING HAPPENS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 310 
 
 hand, prepared to carry out to the letter, no doubt, 
 the carefully learned instructions as to their use, 
 and with hearts beating with unwonted excitement 
 at the thought of what the night might bring 
 forth. 
 
 For my part, having carefully instructed the 
 few specials under my command, I paced my 
 special beat, the Mall, till three o’clock in the 
 morning. At first my own footfall was “the 
 only sound I heard,” then I heard the cocks 
 crow, the twitter of the early bird, but never had 
 the streets seemed more absolutely silent, more 
 steeped in repose. Then the regular policemen 
 began to come back to their usual beats, the 
 dreaded night had come and gone, and nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 I held a post at that time of Head Master 
 of the Figure Class in the Government School 
 of Design, which was established under the super- 
 intendence of a most powerful committee, presided 
 over by H.R. H. the Prince Consort, and located 
 at Somerset House in the apartments formerly 
 occupied by the Royal Academy. I had there- 
 fore been earlier in the day witness of the elab- 
 
XVIII] 
 
 AT SOMERSET HOUSE 
 
 3i 1 
 
 orate and cautious arrangements taken for the 
 defence of that building on the 10th of April. 
 Two full infantry regiments were marched into 
 the courtyard of the grand old place before 
 sunrise, as I heard later in the day, on getting 
 into conversation with one of the officers. He 
 told me that it was understood that if any real 
 fighting with the mob commenced, the officers 
 in command of districts were to request all the 
 special constables to go quietly home and leave 
 the rest to the regular troops. Two batteries of 
 artillery were in the immediate vicinity of Ken- 
 sington Palace. The officers in command of districts 
 were riding about the whole day in plain clothes, 
 and going to headquarters at the Horse Guards at 
 stated times to report to the Duke. As it happened 
 I did not go into town till after luncheon time, and 
 then I went to Somerset House, and there found all 
 serene and free from any excitement; the iron gates 
 of Somerset House had been covered with tar- 
 paulins, so that nothing could be seen of the military 
 occupants. One friend of mine was walking about 
 for hours, and said that not once did he see the glint 
 of light upon sword or bayonet ; but when the time 
 
312 
 
 RETURN OF TROOPS 
 
 [chap. XVIII 
 
 fixed for the return of troops by rail to their various 
 stations came, the gates were flung open, the sound 
 of drums and trumpets filled the air, and they 
 marched out accompanied by tens of thousands of 
 Londoners all cheering wildly and showing every 
 sign of enthusiasm for law and order. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 London fogs — My adventures — Other outrages — Curious incident. 
 
 S OME beneficent change in the elements has 
 taken place respecting London fogs, and 
 several winters have now passed without the real 
 “pea-souper,” which was such an intolerable afflic- 
 tion. The last of these was the worst I was ever 
 out in, and my experiences in it were happily so 
 unusual that I may relate them here. 
 
 At the annual changes of the members of the 
 Academy Council it is customary to have a dinner 
 at which the retiring members and those about to 
 serve are present. The galleries are lighted up for 
 the first time in the current winter exhibition, and a 
 pleasant evening is usually spent in them. 
 
 On the particular evening that I refer to the 
 rooms became very full of what I thought was the 
 product of the cigars and pipes of the assembled 
 
 313 
 
3H 
 
 A PEA-SOUP FOG 
 
 [chap. 
 
 party, but I was enlightened when, having asked an 
 attendant to call a fourwheeler to take me to Ken- 
 sington, he returned after an hour to report a 
 terrible fog, and a great scarcity of cabs. A miser- 
 able specimen of the “ growler” was however at the 
 door, and the horse and the driver were both 
 hanging their heads in the deepest dejection, while 
 the moisture streamed off the man’s battered hat on 
 to his nose. A stifling, suffocating fog almost 
 choked one. 
 
 I bawled out to the aged Jehu, “ Do you think 
 you can get me to Kensington ? ” And, as the 
 brilliant Academy lights fell on his face, I could see 
 he was at least fourscore years old, and such a 
 picture of ancient feebleness that I felt very doubtful 
 as to his powers of getting his misery of a horse 
 so far. 
 
 “Yes, sir, I’ll drive yer to Kingsingtong, never 
 fear, but I shall want five shillings for the job.” 
 “Land me safely there, I replied, and I’ll give you 
 more than that.” 
 
 The old Academy servant handed me in two 
 leather bags, one of which contained no incon- 
 siderable sum in cash from my bank, and very 
 
xix] 
 
 MY ADVENTURES 
 
 3i5 
 
 fervently wished me good-night as he closed the 
 cab door. 
 
 We started, and plunged wildly about from one 
 pavement to the other, but I was at home in these 
 parts and able to guide cabby to the right side of 
 the road, so that the wheels were in the gutter and 
 grinding along the kerbstone. 
 
 An intelligent linkman was of much assistance, 
 but still we wandered on in hopeless uncertainty, 
 crawling along a few yards at a time, and asking 
 where we were from every policeman we en- 
 countered ; but for all that, we found ourselves for 
 the third time at Hyde Park Corner! The snow, 
 which was thick on the ground, and in great mounds 
 in places, the remains of the terrible January 
 blizzard, much increased our difficulties in recog- 
 nising localities. 
 
 We had just left one friendly policeman, who had 
 set us right again, and turned the horse round with 
 face due west for Kensington, when out of the fog 
 there suddenly appeared a great “rough,” standing 
 quite six feet high, and two others, who pressed 
 their assistance on us. A policeman appeared, and 
 they promptly vanished ; but before I could claim 
 
3i 6 A MERCIFUL DELIVERANCE [cH ap. 
 
 his aid the fog seemed to swallow him up, and the 
 roughs reappeared. The biggest of them laid his 
 huge hand upon the framework of the door, and we 
 seemed absolutely at their mercy, but the hand of 
 a kind Providence was manifested in my behalf. 
 At that moment I saw the lights of the Alexandra 
 Hotel reflected in the snow ; I seized the precious 
 bags in one hand, burst open the door with great 
 force, thus sending my assailant rolling in the 
 gutter, and dashed into the hotel, where I was 
 received by the night porter, who, when he heard 
 of my adventures, heartily congratulated me on my 
 escape. Had the gang got at us a few hundred 
 yards further on, there was nothing to prevent them 
 from maltreating me and the poor old driver to any 
 extent, and making away with my valuables. 
 
 It was 2.30 by the hall clock of the hotel, where 
 I had to pass some hours, trying to calm my per- 
 turbed spirit, till the fog had lifted and a cab could 
 be procured to take me home. Here I found that 
 my wife, having waited for me for many anxious 
 hours, had then roused my eldest son Walter, and 
 gone to the Kensington Police Station for advice. 
 They advised her to return home for a while, 
 
xix] 
 
 OTHER OUTRAGES 
 
 3U 
 
 instant inquiries being at once made in every police- 
 station of the neighbourhood. On reaching home 
 they found me safe and sound, and very grateful, as 
 I ever shall be, for my escape. The poor old cabby 
 and the linkman, who had suffered severely at the 
 hands of the roughs, both came to me at the 
 Alexandra, and were consoled. 
 
 I heard of two other outrages evidently com- 
 mitted by the same gang that night. One was the 
 case of a nephew of Sir Francis Grant, who, when 
 crossing the Green Park, and close to the exit at 
 Hyde Park Corner, was attacked by three ruffians ; 
 he was young and vigorous, and after a few minutes 
 of hitting hard right and left, was able to escape, 
 and making a rapid flight found himself in the arms 
 of a policeman. 
 
 That they were the same men was proved by 
 their home-made lanterns of three pieces of deal 
 wood nailed together with a thick piece of candle 
 fastened in the middle. I had had ample time to 
 observe this ingenious construction, as my man was 
 flourishing it all the time he was paying me his 
 unwelcome attentions. 
 
 The second adventure happened to two ladies 
 
318 
 
 A COMIC ADVENTURE 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 who were returning from the Haymarket Theatre. 
 Not a cab could be procured, so they started to 
 walk back. They took the most frequented route 
 by Piccadilly. The ruffians, fresh from their en- 
 counter with young Grant, marked the unprotected 
 ladies turn up Park Lane, and came up with them 
 by the garden railings of Mr. Rothschild’s house. 
 The ladies, exhausted by their long walk in thick 
 and slippery snow, and encumbered by heavy wraps, 
 were an easy prey. The wretches pounced upon 
 them, tore off their jewellery even to the wedding- 
 ring of one of the ladies, and then hearing the ap- 
 proach of policemen, bolted with their booty, leaving 
 their unhappy victims in a fainting and bruised 
 condition. 
 
 This was almost tragic, but I will conclude with 
 an incident that is decidedly comic. A barrister 
 friend of mine left his chambers in the Temple one 
 afternoon of dense fog to return to his house in 
 Eccleston Square, where his wife was waiting to 
 go with him to a dinner-party at a neighbour’s 
 house. The lady was especially nervous about fog, 
 and as it grew more and more dense she decided to 
 countermand their brougham and to persuade her 
 
XIX] 
 
 A DIFFICULT START 
 
 319 
 
 husband when he came in that it would be wiser to 
 stay at home, especially as the dinner-hour was 
 already passed. 
 
 Her anxiety was relieved by his appearance, full of 
 the perils he had encountered on his way, but he 
 was astonished to find his wife comfortably en- 
 sconced in an easy-chair before the fire and in 
 morning dress. Her eloquence availed not, and 
 she almost tearfully agreed to make an effort to 
 reach their friend’s house, going as they were, as 
 regards toilette, for their stables being close, the 
 brougham could soon be ready to take them. 
 
 The poor lady’s determination was helped by her 
 having to confess that in her agitation she had quite 
 forgotten to order any dinner at home, which avowal 
 did not improve the position of affairs. 
 
 The brougham came round, but the start was not 
 easily effected, for the horse, never the quietest of 
 nags, evidently shared the lady’s views as to the 
 undesirability of venturing out of doors in such 
 weather. He expressed his sentiments by entirely 
 refusing to move on, and stood pawing the ground, 
 snorting and sneezing, and shaking his harness in 
 the most threatening way, finally bolting on to the 
 
320 
 
 AN INTELLIGENT HORSE 
 
 [chap. 
 
 pavement with the carriage as if to ring the area 
 bell. However, the coachman succeeded in bring- 
 ing him back to a better mind and the roadway, and 
 they started at last, though at a funeral pace. 
 
 My friend, telling me of this adventurous jour- 
 ney, said that after half an hour of crawling in the 
 dark, for he could not see the lamps of his brougham, 
 he let down an inch or two of the window, and, 
 nearly choked by the inrush of fog, called out to his 
 coachman, “Do you know where you are?” “ No, 
 sir; haven’t done so from the moment we left the 
 ’ouse.” “ Then turn round and go home.” 
 
 “ ‘ But I don’t know a bit which way to turn, nor 
 where we might be a going to if I do,’ was the 
 hopeful answer. Down went the window, as I 
 fancied I heard a voice. I shouted, ‘ Is that any- 
 one passing?’ ‘Yes,’ replied a cheery voice, ‘I 
 am here all right, ’ow’s yourself? Can’t see yer.’ 
 “‘No,’ I replied, 4 my friend, nor can I see you, 
 but can you tell me where we are?’ ‘Why, yes, 
 sir,’ and, to my intense surprise, I found we were 
 in our own stable yard, and my cheery informer 
 was a coachman occupying the next-door stables in 
 the same yard. At last it flashed into my mind 
 
XIX] 
 
 HAPPY ENDING 
 
 321 
 
 that we had been brought here by the intelligence 
 of my own horse, who, by some instinct, finding 
 that he was not being guided, thought he might as 
 well return to his own stall, and therefore proceeded 
 incontinently to do so.” 
 
 The lady, who seems to have been in a partial 
 collapse during the drive, jumped out at a bound 
 when she found herself safely at home, and promptly 
 interviewed her cook, who was happily amenable, 
 and after the least possible interval an excellent 
 supper was sent up, which, enlivened by a bottle 
 of “ Moet Chandon,” so revived my hero and 
 heroine that they were enabled a little later, when 
 the fog was less dense, to walk to their friends 
 house, where they were to have dined, and to 
 cheer up the party, still going on, by relating their 
 adventure. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 City dinners — The Merchant Taylors — “Our datur” — Sir Julius 
 Benedict — The art of after-dinner speaking — My first after-dinner 
 speech at the Academy banquet— The Mansion House — Lord 
 O’Hagan and Harker— Charles Dickens’s speech— Sir Richard 
 Owen. 
 
 T HE various companies of the City of London 
 have ever been renowned for their unflagging 
 zeal in support of public charity and education, and 
 for their hospitality to all sorts and conditions of 
 men. Were it possible to publish from their archives 
 a detailed statement of their expenditure even for a 
 single decade upon the above good works, it would 
 raise a world’s astonishment. In respect to the last 
 but not least of important virtues named in the 
 above list — the exercise of hospitality — it is safe 
 to assert that no man who has achieved marked 
 distinction in his calling, whatever it may be, fails 
 to have his life work recognised by the City com- 
 panies in the form of a friendly summons to a 
 banquet in their stately halls. 
 
 3 22 
 
CHAP. XX] THE MERCHANT TAYLORS 
 
 323 
 
 I made the acquaintance of City dinners at an 
 early period of my career, when the manners and 
 education of the City man were very different from 
 those he now possesses. I remember distinctly my 
 first appearance at a City feast on the invitation of 
 the master and wardens of a very old company. I 
 found myself seated between the senior warden of 
 the company and a gentleman who, I found, was 
 the Master of the Merchant Taylors’ Company, and 
 a most agreeable and talkative person. When I 
 turned to my left-hand neighbour he was so 
 absorbed in lapping up turtle soup, of which he 
 had two or three relays, following them up with 
 turtle fins, that I felt conversation was the last 
 thing he could desire. His profile, as I glanced at 
 him to see if I could venture to disturb the one 
 idea that evidently absorbed all his faculties at 
 the time, told me much. Nature had written his 
 character large on his outward form : a low forehead 
 and the smallest brain case I ever saw in any human 
 being, a double double chin, balanced by a roll of fat 
 at the back of his neck, which had made itself com- 
 fortable over the collar of his coat. The whole 
 aspect of the face was decidedly porcine, and the 
 
324 
 
 44 OUR DATURA 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 mouth, the most remarkable of the features, was 
 marvellously adapted for the main purpose it had 
 to accomplish. 
 
 At last I ventured a question : “ Being much 
 interested in antiquities, may I ask the age of your 
 company, sir?” He turned slowly round to me 
 with a very bleared and dazed expression on his 
 countenance, looked me heavily in the face, and 
 said: “Three thousand years.” For the moment 
 I was so staggered by his astonishing reply that 
 I was at a loss what to say next, so I repeated 
 the question, with the suggestion that he had not 
 quite heard it before. “Three thousand years” 
 came again slowly and deliberately. The Merchant 
 Taylor on my left exclaimed : “ Well, that beats 
 anything I ever heard.” I felt I must speak out. 
 “ But, my dear sir, if you will reflect that we are 
 only now in the nineteenth century of the Christian 
 dispensation, there must be something wrong with 
 your figures. “Ah,” said my fat friend, “three 
 thousand years would be before our datur, wouldn’t 
 it?” Then did the Merchant Taylor subside again 
 into paroxysms of laughter. 
 
 But we had not done with surprises. The 
 
xx] 
 
 A “PIANNER” PERFORMANCE 325 
 
 master of the company — a singularly good-looking 
 man and a veritable aristocrat in appearance, rose 
 and proposed an interminable list of toasts. When 
 he came to that of the army, he told us he knew 
 
 nothing on that subject, but that General was 
 
 present, “and he’s agoing to tell yer all about it.” 
 
 Amongst the guests was my old and valued 
 friend, Sir Julius Benedict, the popular and talented 
 German musician, who later in the evening was 
 called upon to speak to the toast of music; but he 
 was so panic-stricken that he made an earnest 
 appeal to be allowed to play instead of speaking— 
 a proposition which was enthusiastically received 
 by the guests. The worthy chairman rose to in- 
 form us of the change, and to assure us of his con- 
 viction that we should have a performance upon 
 the “pianner, which would neither corrupt the 
 mind nor taint the ’eart.” These were his very 
 words. It is fifty years and more since I heard 
 this speech, but I have never forgotten it. Cer- 
 tainly aspirates were scattered right and left in 
 those days. 
 
 It was always then a question of interest to see 
 if a fresh speaker at the Royal Academy banquets 
 
326 
 
 AFTER-DINNER SPEAKING 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 was possessed of an “ h ” or not. About this 
 period I was present at a public meeting, in which 
 the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor of that day, 
 when he was pleading the cause of a charity, the 
 object of which was the care and training of little 
 boys, took occasion to inform us that he had visited 
 the “ ’ouse,” and that these “ boys ad a ’ealthy and 
 a ’appy ’ome.” 
 
 These reminiscences call up many others of 
 similar occasions, and a few remarks on the sub- 
 ject of after-dinner speeches may not be out 
 of place. 
 
 In the first place, let Shakespeare’s maxim, 
 “ Brevity is the soul of wit,” be deeply graven on 
 heart and mind, and pray for inspiration. But you 
 should have charged your memory with something 
 terse and strong and germane to the matter in 
 hand, with which to enrich the beginning, middle, 
 and end of your speech. 
 
 A famous Scotch judge, Lord Colborne, used to 
 say that to speak comfortably in public you should 
 foster a habit of feeling an utter contempt for your 
 audience. I venture to differ entirely from the 
 noble and learned lord ; I think an orator’s duty is 
 
xx] 
 
 A MANSION HOUSE BANQUET 327 
 
 to keep constant watch upon his hearers, and to 
 guide his speech according to the attention, or the 
 reverse, he is receiving from them. My father was 
 one of the best after-dinner speakers of his day, 
 and he always made “the speech of the evening,” 
 as it is termed, for the Royal Society of Musicians, 
 for which noble and charitable institution he sedu- 
 lously worked all his professional life, and the 
 appeals he then made were always distinguished 
 for their terseness and their brevity. As a boy of 
 twelve I used to join the ladies on these occasions 
 in the gallery, where they sat to hear the speeches, 
 and to be regaled with sandwiches and ices, which 
 were provided for their support during the ordeal, 
 so I have had a long acquaintance with the tedious- 
 ness of after-dinner speaking. 
 
 One year, when our dear old President of the 
 Royal Academy, Sir Francis Grant, was in office, 
 the Lord Mayor for the year conceived the idea of 
 honouring the members of the Royal Academy 
 with a banquet at the Mansion House, and 
 asking representatives of all the artistic and 
 literary societies to meet them. The dinner was 
 fixed to take place early in November, and on the 
 
328 
 
 I REPRESENT THE R. A. 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 morning of the day I was setting to work as usual, 
 when a messenger arrived, “ fiery red with haste,” 
 with a note from Lady Grant to say that the Presi- 
 dent was very ill, and wanted to see me on urgent 
 business. Down went my palette, and I entered 
 a passing hansom and drove straight to the Presi- 
 dent’s house in the Regent’s Park. Here I found 
 the good man in bed, from which his doctor had 
 said he could not and must not stir for days of un- 
 known number. He gasped out, “ I have sent for 
 you to say you must take my place at the Mansion 
 House dinner, and represent the Academy.” I 
 was rendered speechless for the moment by this 
 overwhelming proposition, against which I vehe- 
 mently remonstrated, but without avail. On my 
 representing to him that he would be expected by 
 the academic body to select a member of the 
 extant Council to take his place on such an unfore- 
 seen calamity, he shut me up by saying that it was 
 his privilege to make a choice without reference of 
 any kind, that he had thought the matter over, and 
 neither could nor would say another word on the 
 question, he was quite exhausted, and I must go 
 away. He at the same moment called upon Lady 
 
xx] 
 
 MY ANXIETIES 
 
 329 
 
 Grant, who was on the other side of the bed, to see 
 me out. 
 
 I looked at my watch, and found it was twelve 
 o’clock. Public dinners were earlier then than they 
 are now, and the invitation was six o’clock, for half- 
 past punctually, so that what with toilette and dis- 
 tance to be travelled, I had little more than four 
 hours clear in which to prepare a speech. For a 
 moment I felt like Shakespeare’s engineer, “hoist 
 with his own petard,” for the argument which I 
 have often used against giving speakers notice of 
 what would be required of them instantly occurred 
 to me. Still, I felt this to be an exceptional occa- 
 sion, and that I should be failing in respect to it if 
 I did not try to make some notes of what I should 
 say. So in the deepening gloom of the November 
 day — a fitting accompaniment to my frame of mind 
 — I sat down at the writing-table in my painting- 
 room and began my task. I spent an hour of my 
 limited time over a manuscript, which soon became 
 a mass of erasures, and then at last it occurred to 
 me to have faith in my principles. I tore up what 
 I had written and threw it in the fire, took up my 
 palette again, and the fog lifting, 1 had some hours 
 
330 
 
 HARKER 
 
 [chap. 
 
 of pleasant work till the time came for fulfilling my 
 duty to Sir Francis Grant. 
 
 On this occasion ladies were invited to accompany 
 their husbands, and my wife and myself enacted the 
 parts usually filled by very august personages, the 
 Lord Mayor taking Mrs. Horsley into dinner, while 
 I had the honour of escorting the Lady Mayoress 
 to the uppermost table in the Egyptian Hall of the 
 Mansion House. On my right hand sat a gentle- 
 man with whom I at once found myself plunged 
 into very interesting and animated conversation. 
 He was Lord O’Hagan, at one time Lord Chan- 
 cellor of Ireland. He was much amused at my 
 description of the throes I had gone through since 
 the time I had left my President, and said that 
 nothing should induce him to address such an 
 assembly as this, without having had ample time 
 for preparation — but Nemesis was at hand. Just 
 before the end of the dinner, Harker, the toast- 
 master, a well-known functionary, whose duty it is 
 to convey the Lord Mayor’s requests to the guests, 
 appeared, and squaring his elbows and bowing low 
 to the Irish peer, said, “ The Lord Mayor will 
 thank you to propose the toast of” — I forget what 
 
xx] 
 
 “PRRUPPERATION” 
 
 33i 
 
 it was. Up flamed the impetuous Irishman, no 
 doubt remembering how strongly he had spoken to 
 me about being requisitioned for impromptu speak- 
 ing. He turned upon the toast-master, and said, 
 “ You, sir, go back to the Lord Mayor, and tell him 
 from me that he is not justified in asking me or any 
 of his guests to address such an assemblage as this 
 without giving ample time for preparation.” Barker 
 was equal to the occasion, and without a moments 
 hesitation replied, “ Prrupperation, my lord ; why, if 
 we were to give the gentlemen the time for prrup- 
 peration, they would speak all the evening !” The 
 Irishman was overcome by the readiness of the 
 impromptu reply, “Gad, he had me there, hadn’t 
 he ? ” I readily agreed, and assured him that now 
 he had nothing to do but to accede to the Lord 
 Mayors suggestion, which he did, and, I need not 
 say, made an admirable little speech. The notion 
 of a trained parliamentary lawyer of Lord O’ Hagan’s 
 calibre requiring time for the “ prrupperation ” of an 
 after-dinner speech was too comical, and he felt it to 
 be so afterwards. 
 
 I little thought when this incident occurred of 
 what use it would be to me in time to come, for it has 
 
332 
 
 PALMERSTON’S SPEECH 
 
 [chap. 
 
 been my lot to have had much impromptu after-dinner 
 speaking thrust upon me, and, I think I may say, 
 speaking generally, to have come out of that ordeal, 
 at any rate, without disgrace, and many and many 
 a time have I brought down the house by the intro- 
 duction of that Mansion House story ; the humour 
 of it appeals so forcibly to the experience of “diners- 
 out ” and after-dinner speakers. 
 
 After-dinner oratory is a subject of evergreen 
 interest to the male sex, though I am afraid it must 
 be admitted that to the majority who are never 
 called upon to speak, it is an unmitigated bore, 
 nevertheless on rare occasions audiences are excited 
 by it to veritable enthusiasm. 
 
 When I repeated the maxim that “brevity is the 
 soul of wit,” I was referring to social oratory, but 
 when we come to great political questions, we may 
 bear in mind the following facts, that the late Lord 
 Palmerston made a speech on “the Greek question” 
 of which it was possible for Gladstone to say, that the 
 “ House of Commons hung upon his lips from sun- 
 set to sunrise.” As a fact he commenced a speech 
 of more than six hours’ duration before nine p.m., and 
 he did not sit down till four a.m. the next morning. 
 
xx] 
 
 DICKENS’S SPEECH 
 
 333 
 
 Dr. Jackson, Bishop of London, whom I had the 
 privilege to know, at the time spoke of the speech 
 to me as the greatest effort of oratory since the days 
 of Demosthenes. 
 
 As a contrast to this, in what I have called social 
 oratory, let me place a speech of Charles Dickens, 
 at our Royal Academy banquet in 1870, which 
 roused the audience to the greatest pitch of en- 
 thusiasm I have ever seen exhibited. The speech 
 lasted four and a half minutes, and no more. The 
 subject was a most eloquent tribute to the memory of 
 Daniel Maclise, perhaps the most popular man who 
 was ever a member of the Academy. We had had 
 men of such note as Gladstone and Motley speak- 
 ing during the evening, and yet Millais, when dis- 
 cussing with myself and other members the events 
 of the meeting, could say of Charles Dickens’s speech, 
 comparing it with those of all the other orators of 
 the night, “ Ah ! didn’t he mop them all up ! ” 
 
 We have had sad experience at the Royal 
 Academy of the tedious side of public speaking, 
 and I regret to have to say that it is from dis- 
 tinguished Churchmen and scientists that our chief 
 troubles have from time to time arisen. There is one 
 
334 
 
 SPEAKERS AT BANQUETS 
 
 [chap. 
 
 fatal notion with which many of the distinguished 
 gentlemen invited to dine and to speak at the 
 annual Royal Academy banquet seem possessed, 
 and that is, that speaking in an atmosphere highly 
 charged with painters and their works, they are 
 bound to refer to art generally, and to painters, 
 sculptors, and architects particularly, in their oration. 
 The result is often quite hopeless floundering in a 
 subject, of which these distinguished gentlemen 
 would be the first to tell you privately, that they 
 knew nothing. 
 
 I remember when such potent orators as Palmer- 
 ston and Westbury were almost brought to a stand- 
 still by the difficulties in which an attempt at art 
 criticism had landed them. 
 
 There is an old Academy custom, which, I 
 believe, strongly tends to increase this trouble. It 
 is this. To the President for the time being is en- 
 trusted the duty of making out the list of speakers 
 to the various toasts, which is then submitted to 
 the Council, to be endorsed by that body. The 
 President then writes to each individual named, 
 and informs him of the pleasant after-dinner duty 
 imposed on him. Many of those invited are either 
 
xx] 
 
 LEIGHTON’S SPEECHES 
 
 335 
 
 unaccustomed to public speaking, or, at all events, 
 to such an unique audience, including, as it does 
 sometimes, crowned heads and leading representa- 
 tives, both British and foreign, of Art, Literature, 
 Science, the Services, the Church, and Law, and 
 therefore they feel the absolute necessity of writing 
 out what they wish to say, and then learning it by 
 heart. In this there is the risk of being too lengthy 
 or of failure to learn the speech. 
 
 “ Men say he has no heart, but I deny it ; 
 
 He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.” 
 
 Our late President, Lord Leighton, who was a 
 most accomplished man all round, when we were 
 discussing this very question, told me that he 
 could rely entirely on his good memory, but if, in 
 delivering his speeches, which he had written out 
 and learned word for word, he failed to remember 
 a solitary preposition or conjunction in his MS., he 
 had a thrill of horror of impending panic, and then 
 — total oblivion ! 
 
 The gravest peril perhaps in public speaking is, 
 lest the orator, when by undue length he has quite 
 wearied out his audience, and they express their 
 
336 
 
 SIR RICHARD OWEN 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 feelings by ironical “ Hear, hears,” or otherwise, 
 should take these hostile sounds as applause, and 
 start afresh. 
 
 I think as it is many years since the popular and 
 esteemed Sir Richard Owen went to his rest, I may 
 be pardoned for naming him as a decidedly “wordy” 
 man. For various reasons he had for several years 
 running been chosen to represent science, and, 
 anxious as we all were for a change, the President 
 felt unable to sanction any other choice, saying it 
 would break Owens heart, but that he would say 
 something to him about making a shorter speech. 
 At the next Council meeting he reported a most 
 satisfactory interview with Owen, who had himself 
 suggested that when he became too garrulous, 
 carried away by his enthusiasm for science, the 
 President was to take his watch out of his pocket 
 as a signal to stop. 
 
 The guest of the evening was H.R. H. the Prince 
 of Wales, and he was informed of the proposed 
 arrangement, at which he was not a little amused. 
 The moment arrived, out came the watch amid 
 suppressed excitement on the part of those in the 
 secret, but alas ! no one had foreseen the failure of 
 
XX] AN UNSUCCESSFUL EXPERIMENT 337 
 
 the arrangement. In consequence of Owens lofty 
 stature and way of holding himself, with his right 
 hand lightly clasping his left wrist, his shoulders 
 raised, and his head thrown back, as if to investigate 
 the construction of the skylights, the Presidents 
 byplay with his watch was quite out of his line of 
 vision. Nevertheless Sir Francis Grant manfully 
 stuck to his engagement, and dangled his watch in 
 the air at different angles, in the vain endeavour to 
 catch the professorial eye. Before long the greater 
 part of the guests had been made to comprehend 
 what was going on, and were convulsed with 
 laughter, which at all events greatly relieved the 
 tedium of the speech. Later on His Royal 
 Highness was seen engaged in most amused con- 
 verse with the professor and the President, as to the 
 success (!) of the carefully arranged experiment. 
 
 No doubt carefully written orations which can be 
 handed over to the reporter come out best in the 
 next day’s Times y when the reports of impromptu 
 speeches are often defective, still there is an amount 
 of inspiration possible to the impromptu which adds 
 freshness and character not to be found in studied 
 compositions. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Cranbrook — Willesley — Norman Shaw, r.a. — Friendly models — 
 Difficulties in finding models — Mr. Edmund Bastard — Yealmpton 
 — Proposed frescoes — Closing words. 
 
 I CAN NOT let my recollections go forth without 
 a few words about Cranbrook, and the associa- 
 tions that gather round the name of that old- 
 fashioned little town in the Weald of Kent. 
 
 “ Where’s Cranbrook ? ” I remember saying to 
 old Tom Webster one day, when he told me he 
 was going down into Kent to see the young 
 artist F. D. Hardy, who was painting the cottage 
 interiors in the neighbourhood. This visit ended in 
 Webster’s taking rooms in a charming old farm- 
 house, which had been originally built and occupied 
 by a prosperous Kentish cloth maker. Tradition 
 relates that it was with red Kentish cloth that 
 Cranbrook streets were covered during one of 
 Oueen Elizabeth’s progresses. It may have been 
 
 338 
 
CHAP. XXI] 
 
 CRANBROOK CHURCH 
 
 339 
 
 the very one, which is said to have given the name 
 of Turn-den to a farmhouse at a fork of the road, 
 where she uttered the imperious word “Turn” 
 when tired of her progress through the deep mire 
 of the country roads. 
 
 Cranbrook Church is a notable feature with its 
 grand tower and south porch with beautiful priests’ 
 door, which I painted in a picture called “ Le Jour 
 des Morts.” It stands outside of, and a little above 
 the town, and here in winter evenings at eight 
 o’clock the sounds of the curfew bell could till 
 very recently be heard. One of the most pictur- 
 esque old houses in the High Street became 
 Webster’s studio, when at a later date he lived no 
 longer in the farmhouse, but in a square and sub- 
 stantial red-brick house in the town. Tempted by 
 Webster’s account of Cranbrook, we went there, 
 and often occupied lodgings, till the chance came 
 of buying an old house, standing about half a 
 mile out of the town on a hill. 
 
 I must not yield to the temptation, which is 
 common to all who have gone through the ex- 
 perience of the joys of dabbling in bricks and 
 mortar, of dwelling at a wearisome length on the 
 
340 
 
 NORMAN SHAW, R. A. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 purchase and improvement of Willesley. How 
 first we waited for money, which was to come to 
 my wife from an old relation; how, when the money 
 came, it was so strictly tied up that it could not be 
 used, but how eventually the first step was success- 
 fully accomplished. 
 
 Then came the question of enlargement, and of 
 beautifying the house, and this led to my putting 
 the matter in the hands of Mr. Norman Shaw, then 
 a rising young architect. 
 
 Norman Shaw’s fame is now world-wide, and so 
 also is the knowledge of the debt that English 
 domestic architecture owes to his genius and origin- 
 ality, so I need not dwell on the undoubted fact of 
 how much our house owes to his inspiration. 
 
 When the question of wall-covering came up, 
 Norman Shaw suggested oak panelling. In these 
 days oak for panelling was not easily come by, to 
 the amount that was necessary for the large living- 
 room, and many Wardour Street shops and kindred 
 places were hunted through in vain. Finally I ap- 
 plied to a tradesman and curio collector in Cran- 
 brook High Street, and I can see his queer old 
 face now as he informed me, with a grin, that" he 
 
WILLESLEY, CRANBROOK 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
XXI] 
 
 MEN OF KENT 
 
 34i 
 
 had a whole room-full of well-seasoned oak timber, 
 more than enough for what I wanted. 
 
 Then when Shaw suggested stamped leather for 
 a frieze, a happy chance took me through Great Port- 
 land Street, and in a shop there I espied a quantity 
 of sixteenth-century stamped leather from an old 
 French chateau, which became mine for nine or 
 ten pounds, there being no demand for it. It was 
 Norman Shaw himself who first drew bold designs 
 on the soft new plaster of the ceiling, and who was 
 delighted to find his ideas ably and conscientiously 
 carried out by the rustic “ Men of Kent,” the Cran- 
 brook workmen, with a skill and verve that could 
 never have been found in Londoners of the same 
 calling. He made the delightful design on the 
 gable, of the peacock, and the familiar words, 
 “ Except the Lord build the house, their labour 
 is but lost who build it.” 
 
 We planned a studio to be built later, opening 
 out of the dining-room, so a blank space was left, 
 which, however, was soon curtained over in a sump- 
 tuous fashion by the generosity of a friend, for one 
 day a young painter, of whom I was seeing a good 
 deal, came in to look at the new room, and noticing 
 
342 
 
 A COSTLY GIFT 
 
 [chap. 
 
 the space, told me he had four curtains from an old 
 palace in Venice, which he begged me to accept, as 
 they were exactly suited for the room. Naturally, 
 I demurred greatly at receiving so costly and rare 
 a gift, but he pressed them on me, and when I said, 
 “ But, my dear fellow, you will very soon want them 
 yourself, for you will be building a studio,” he 
 answered, with a sad and pathetic expression on 
 his face, “ No, no, I shall never need them.” He 
 was apparently aware, as we were not, of the 
 great delicacy of his state of health. I re- 
 
 member the curtains arrived after a brief interval, 
 and in a very short time my friend had passed 
 away. 
 
 One more brief anecdote. We had been search- 
 ing in many places, but without avail, for an old- 
 fashioned iron fire-back, suitable for the deep 
 fireplace with its inglenooks and dogs. One morn- 
 ing, when the workmen were doing some needful 
 repairs in the nursery, I was suddenly summoned. 
 I had just finished setting my palette, and was 
 considerably annoyed at being disturbed at this 
 juncture, contrary to all rules, but I yielded and 
 went up. In taking down the nursery grate the 
 
XXI] 
 
 MY CHARMING MODELS 
 
 343 
 
 workmen had discovered the very thing I was 
 looking for — a genuine fire-back of a quaint and 
 delightful pattern. 
 
 At Cranbrook, when removed from the region of 
 professional models, I was most fortunate in finding 
 several charming young people, who sat to me 
 again and again, showing the most admirable 
 patience, and also a kindly and intelligent interest 
 in their arduous task. Indeed, I feel deeply in- 
 debted to them for a compliment to my artistic 
 work, which I may therefore venture to repeat. 
 Amongst the crowd of visitors, known and un- 
 known, who flock into studios on “Show Sundays” 
 there came on one occasion a stranger, who talked 
 in most pleasant strain of the pictures on view, 
 adding that he was pleased to see that the character- 
 istics he considered the most marked of my work 
 were as evident as ever. I asked to what he 
 referred. “Sunshine and pretty women,” was his 
 prompt answer. 
 
 Amongst the many difficulties that beset the 
 work of painters and sculptors is the finding of 
 the models requisite to enable ones ideal to be 
 realised on canvas or in marble. This is a trouble 
 
344 
 
 A BOLD QUESTION 
 
 [chap. 
 
 that must for ever vex the righteous soul of every 
 earnest limner of subject pictures. 
 
 Of course, the artist goes about with eyes open 
 for everything that is beautiful or picturesque, and 
 thus it often happens that he sees some beautiful 
 face or form, some outline of feature, combination of 
 colour, or it may be some expression such as he has 
 often yearned to see and to be able to paint. Now 
 why should he not be permitted to express this 
 longing to the happy owner of the faultless form 
 or fascinating feature with all possible delicacy and 
 courtesy ? My contention is that no properly con- 
 stituted male or female ought to be offended by 
 being asked to sit as a model. 
 
 I may say that I have acted on this principle. I 
 might quote one instance. I was once getting into 
 deep waters over a picture, the chief figure of which 
 I was painting from a professional model, somewhat 
 rashly engaged, whom I found in no way correspon- 
 ded to the ideal in my mind. That very afternoon, 
 as I left my doorstep, I saw a young lady passing 
 by, who, as far as I could judge from the fleeting 
 glimpse I caught, seemed to have exactly the face 
 and expression I was wanting. She stopped to 
 
XXI] 
 
 CROWNED WITH SUCCESS 
 
 345 
 
 look into the windows of my neighbour the pawn- 
 broker, and the second glance I thus obtained was 
 also favourable, so I ventured to follow her down 
 the street, and when she slightly slackened her 
 rapid footsteps I gained on her, and then, turning 
 round, said, “I beg your pardon, but have you any 
 leisure to sit to me to be painted ? I am an artist.” 
 
 She looked quietly at me and replied, to my 
 astonishment, that she had very often been painted 
 by artists ! We entered at once into a business-like 
 discussion. She raised no objection to complying 
 with my request, but asked whether I would consent 
 to paint a portrait of her for her mother in return 
 for her services. It also came out as we talked that 
 she was a teacher in a girls’ school, which I know 
 well by name, and that she could not promise any- 
 thing but irregular sittings, at such times as her 
 work would allow. So our talk did not end in any 
 arrangement, as the terms were too difficult, but at 
 the same time I had the satisfaction of feeling that 
 I had acted with the courage of my opinion, and 
 that not the smallest offence had been given by my 
 unconventional proceeding. 
 
 We had many distinguished neighbours in the 
 
346 
 
 MR. EDMUND BASTARD 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 district, and it was through one of these, the late 
 Mr. Beresford Hope, that I became acquainted with 
 Mr. Edmund Bastard, of Kitley, in South Devon. 
 He had at the time I speak of only recently come 
 into the property, after a brilliant career at Oxford, 
 where he had been very intimately associated with 
 the High Church party. He found the church at 
 Yealmpton, close to his property, in a very neglected 
 condition, and after discussing the matter with the 
 late W. Butterfield, the well-known church architect, 
 he proposed to have it completely restored, and to 
 have the interior decorated with frescoes. 
 
 Mr. Beresford Hope undertook to sound various 
 English artists on this subject. I well remember 
 his interview with me and my feelings of astonish- 
 ment when he suddenly turned round on me with 
 the question, “ What would be your views, Mr. 
 Horsley, as to the way of representing the Doom ? ” 
 When I had, after a brief pause, grasped the idea 
 that “the Doom” was the High Church phrase for 
 the Last Judgment, I answered, “Well, sir, I shall 
 think many times before I consent to paint it at all, 
 and I could not tell you how till I had considered 
 the matter long and deeply.” He then produced a 
 
XXI] PROPOjSED FRESCOES 347 
 
 roll of paper from his coat-pocket and spread it on 
 the table, asking my opinion on it. I think the 
 design emanated from a Belgian stained-glass 
 factory at Brussels, where Mr. Hope had had a 
 great deal of work done for a chapel near Bedge- 
 bury. It represented a sort of high vertical 
 cupboard divided into shelves, with openings like 
 trapdoors, whence forms supposed to be human in 
 ghostly garments were being assisted by winged 
 angels, and carried off to a hall of judgment. I 
 remember the supply of angels seemed quite un- 
 limited. I could only say that the representation 
 did not seem in any way to be based on revelation, 
 and that the revealed Word of God seemed to me 
 the only basis of all attempts at portraying such 
 themes. 
 
 At a later date I remember that Mr. Bastard, 
 when I showed him a design for the Annunciation, 
 seemed distressed at the humility shown in the 
 Virgin’s attitude, which, however, I justified by her 
 own words, “ Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be 
 it unto me even as Thou wilt.” Could more 
 divinely inspired words be imagined ? 
 
 Bastard was the gentlest and most amiable of 
 
348 
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 [CHAP. 
 
 men, always sadly delicate-looking, having greatly 
 outgrown his strength as a boy. Our friendship 
 matured quickly. I saw a good deal of him, and it 
 was with the deepest pleasure that I undertook the 
 commission to paint the series of frescoes. 
 
 On my return to Kensington I set vigorously to 
 work to execute my designs. One day on opening 
 the morning’s letters I was quite overcome by the 
 contents of one from Bastard couched in these 
 words : “ I think it due to you as a dear friend to 
 let you know amongst the very first that I have 
 joined the Roman Catholic Church.” I will not 
 dwell on the severe blow thus dealt to my dreams 
 of expressing my deepest self, as it were, in these 
 frescoes, but it was indeed crushing. 
 
 I had many letters from him afterwards, speaking 
 in the kindest terms of portraits and pictures that 
 he wished me to paint for him. 
 
 I saw him only once again, not at Kitley, but at 
 another Devonshire house, where I found him sur- 
 rounded by perverts from the Church of England. 
 I should perhaps mention that his wife belonged 
 to an old Roman Catholic family. 
 
 On the occasion of my visit I was met at the 
 
XXI] 
 
 A GUTTA-PERCHA VIRGIN 
 
 349 
 
 station by his brother, a much-respected clergyman, 
 then holding a family living. He gave me a 
 melancholy account of his brothers bodily health 
 and mental depression. 
 
 Mr. Edmund Bastard seemed unaffectedly glad 
 to see me, and I had a long walk with him about 
 the place. At one corner of the staircase was one 
 of those well-known statues of the Virgin apparently 
 in coloured plaster elaborately gilded. As we 
 passed it, he made deep genuflexions and crossed 
 himself, commenting on the beauty of the statue. 
 I could not refrain from expressing a contrary view, 
 it being entirely commonplace, if not actually vulgar. 
 I noticed also a deep crack round the neck and 
 commented on it. “Yes, but it does not matter; 
 the whole figure is made of gutta-percha, and can 
 be easily repaired/' A gutta-percha Virgin bowed 
 down to by a man possessing such a mind as 
 Bastard's ! 
 
 It was sadly evident that my poor dear friend was 
 far gone in consumption, one of the distressing 
 symptoms in his case being that of an almost 
 insatiable appetite. But it was a fast day in the 
 Roman Church, and he only allowed himself to eat 
 
350 
 
 BASTARD’S DEATH 
 
 [chap. 
 
 vegetables and sweet dishes, with which, it was 
 painful to notice, it seemed impossible for him to 
 satisfy the craving caused by disease. 
 
 Later in the day we parted, with irrepressible 
 emotion, but ill as he was, I was by no means 
 prepared to hear of his death, which took place only 
 two days later. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, to my no small surprise, I 
 received a letter from his widow, whom I had not 
 met ; she wrote touchingly of the deep feeling 
 which she knew existed between her husband and 
 myself, and begged me to confer a favour upon her. 
 She said that the last intelligible words that her 
 husband had uttered were : “ Horsley, see him — 
 see Horsley. 5 ’ Could 1 give her any clue as to 
 what was in his mind ? I wrote that I was sure 
 that in those last moments of his faithful life it was 
 present to his mind that he had not fulfilled the 
 intention, that he had more than once mentioned to 
 me in his letters, of giving me a commission for 
 certain portraits and pictures to compensate for the 
 work that I was to have done for him for Yealmpton 
 Church, the disappointment about which he had 
 known was a bitter professional blow. I begged 
 
‘No. 1, HIGH ROW,'' KENSINGTON 
 
 (from the garden) To face page 350 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
XXI] 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 35i 
 
 her now to dismiss the whole subject from her mind, 
 for the memory of the happy hours of my brief 
 friendship with her dear husband was more than 
 sufficient to counterbalance the disappointment. 
 
 Thus was closed an especially interesting incident 
 of my long professional life. 
 
 Time fails, or I would gladly deliver myself on 
 various subjects, artistic or otherwise, on which I 
 have long meditated. I have not given the brief 
 disquisition on the Norwich school of painters of 
 which I spoke, nor have I said a single word about 
 what may be called the Royal Academy question. 
 I am also quite aware how inadequately I have 
 touched on various important points and interesting 
 personalities. I trust, however, that I shall not 
 cause pain to anyone by any incident that I have 
 recorded or criticism that I have made. 
 
INDEX 
 
 A 
 
 Adams- Acton, Mr., 231 
 Adelphi Theatre, 192 
 Africa, 64 
 
 After-dinner speeches, 326, 332 
 Agnew, Messrs., 229 
 Albemarle, Lady Anne, 80 
 — , Lord, 78 
 Alexandra Hotel, 316 
 Algiers, 64 
 Allen, Mr., 231 
 
 “Altamont, Castle of,” play of 
 the, 205-7 
 
 Angelo, Michael, the unfinished 
 “Tondo,” 292; his muscular 
 power, 293 
 Ansdell, 247 
 Antwerp, 182 
 Apsley House, 41 
 Aqueous microbe, discovery of a, 
 219 
 
 Arles, 180 
 
 Armitage, Edward, awarded a 
 prize in cartoon drawing, 254 
 Armstrong, Lord, 112, 219; his 
 purchase of Mr. Horsley’s pic- 
 ture, 257 
 
 2 A 
 
 | Artists’ Volunteer Rifle Corps, 267 
 Asphaltum, use of, 226 
 Asylum for Female Orphans, 6 
 Athencewn , extract from, 103 
 ! Aumale, Due d’, at the siege of 
 Constantine, 88 
 
 Bacon, Richard Mackenzie, 75; 
 editor of the Norwich Mercury , 
 76 ; his character, 76 ; delight 
 in Shakespeare’s plays, 76 ; in- 
 timacy with Lords Stafford and 
 Leicester, 77 ; at Holkham, 77 
 Bakewell, 101 
 Bandinelli, Baccio, 293 
 Barge House, 37 
 Barker, Mr., 101 
 Barossa, victory at, 120 
 Barry, Edward. 271 
 Bartholdy, Felix Mendelssohn. 
 
 See Mendelssohn 
 Bastard, Mr. Edmund, 346 ; on 
 restoring Yealmpton Church, 
 346 ; his character, 347 ; joins 
 the Roman Catholic Church, 
 348 ; symptoms of consumption, 
 349; death, 350 
 
 353 
 
354 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Bathe, Captain de, 201 
 
 Bathurst, Lord, 240 
 
 Beatrice, Princess, her birth, 130 ; 
 
 portrait, 130-3 
 Beddington, 7 
 Bedgebury, 347 
 Belgium, 182 
 
 Benedict, Sir Julius, at a City 
 dinner, 325 
 — , Mrs., 194 
 
 Bergeron, Mr. Charles, 95 
 Bigge, Mrs., 109 
 Bill, Mrs., 53 
 
 Birmingham, new park opened, 
 135 
 
 Bishop, Jim, the model, 298 ; his 
 appearance and character, 298 ; 
 inquiring turn of mind, 299, 
 300 ; pugilist, 299 ; affray with 
 roughs, 301 ; defence of Web- 
 ster, 301 ; employed by Sir 
 William Boxall,302 ; pigs’-wash, 
 303 ; habit of drinking, 304 ; 
 disappearance, 305 ; special 
 constable, 307 
 Blackheath Park, 49 
 Blanc, Louis, President of the 
 Workmen’s Parliament, 95 ; 
 charges against, 95 ; his appeal, 
 96 ; takes refuge in London, 
 97 ; at Sevenoaks, 99 
 “ Blind Man’s Buff,” 134 
 Bourg, Madame la Baronne de, 
 91 ; her reception of John 
 Horsley, 91-4 
 
 Boxall, Sir William, enlists 
 Bishop’s services, 302 
 Boxing, lessons in, 87 
 Bridges, John, 254 
 Bristol, British Association meet- 
 ing at, 175 
 
 British Association meeting at 
 Bristol, 175 
 
 British Institution, 28, 49 
 Brodie, Sir Benjamin, 183 ; his 
 treatment in the case of Mr. 
 Brunei, 183-8 
 Brompton, 5 
 
 Brunei, Isambard, hisZz/^tf/Zraw- 
 bard Kingdo 7 n Brunei, 187 n. ; 
 letter from his father, 188-90 
 Brunei, Isambard Kingdom, 169; 
 his marriage, 5, 34 ; theatrical 
 performances, 33 ; visit to Paris, 
 94 ; physical achievements, 1 70 ; 
 his calmness and presence of 
 mind, 170, 172, 174; adventure 
 in St. Paul’s Cathedral, 170: 
 the Thames Tunnel, 1 7 1, 172-4; 
 joins the Surrey yeomanry, 17 1 ; 
 the Suspension Bridge at Clif- 
 ton, 174-7; sketches, 177; 
 journeys in South Wales, 177 ; 
 his work on the railway, 178 ; 
 his britzsha , the “ Flying 
 Hearse,” 178 ; potency in snor- 
 ing, 178 ; survey for the Taff 
 Vale Railway, 178 ; journey in 
 Italy, 179-82 ; swallows a half- 
 sovereign, 183 ; treatment for 
 its removal, 1 83-8 ; letter to 
 his son, 188-90 
 
 Brunei, Sir Mark Isambard, 34 ; 
 his invention of the block 
 machinery, 169; the Thames 
 Tunnel, 170 
 
 | Brunei, Mrs., her tableaux vivants, 
 194 
 
 j Buckley, Miss Arabella, 51 
 — , Sir Henry, 51 
 — , John, 51 
 — , — Wall, 66 
 
 — , Willy, 14, 44; his encounter 
 with thieves, 45-7 
 
INDEX 
 
 355 
 
 Burton, Miss, 66 
 Butler, Mr., 197 
 
 — , Mrs., 200. See Kemble, Fanny 
 Butterfield, W, 346 
 
 C 
 
 C, Marchioness of, 236 
 Calais, 180 
 
 “ Calepin, Sir, rescuing Serena,” 
 227 
 
 Callcott, Sir Augustus Wall, 4 ; 
 his appearance, 4 ; wife, 62 ; 
 “ Harvest in the Highlands,” 
 64 ; his picture of the mouth 
 of the Tyne River, 12 1 ; his 
 study in oil, 238 ; admiration 
 of Turner’s work, 246 
 — , Betsy, her appearance, 4 ; 
 artistic temperament, 4; charac- 
 ter, 5. See Horsley 
 — , Dr., 1 ; his appearance, 4 ; 
 
 daughters, 4 
 — , John, 191 
 
 — , Lady, her first marriage, 62; 
 portrait, 62 ; second marriage, 
 
 63 ; visitors, 64; Little Arthur* s 
 History of England and The 
 Scripture Herbal , 65 ; account 
 of an earthquake in Chili, 65 ; 
 reply to Greenough’s review, 65 
 
 — , Sophy, her appearance, 4 ; 
 
 drawing of, 25 
 — , William, H., 16 
 Cambridge, visit to, 66 
 — , Trinity College, 66; Hall, 69; 
 
 Town and Gown rows, 69 
 Campbell, his opinion of Africa, 
 
 64 
 
 Campden Grove, 113, 124 
 — House, 124 
 Cannes, 180 
 
 Cape Coast, Governor of, 103 
 Cardiff to Merthyr Tydvil, rail- 
 way, 178 
 
 Carmelite Monastery, Kensing- 
 ton, 11 
 
 Cartoons, charcoal, 250; exhibition 
 of, 254 ; awards in, 254 
 Cartwright, the dentist, 72 ; his 
 extraordinary physique, 72 ; sup- 
 ply of tickets for the theatre, 73 
 — , “ Sam,” at Cambridge, 72 ; 
 his fight with roughs, 74 
 | Catholic Emancipation Act, 76 
 j Cerito, the danseuse, 198 
 { Chalon, Alfred, his drawing of 
 Taglioni “ La Sylphide,” 198 
 Chalons-sur-Saone, 180 
 I Chantrey, Sir Francis, his be- 
 j quest, 225 ; eccentricity, 230 ; 
 workshops, 230 ; bust of George 
 III., 231 ; assisted by Stothard, 
 231 ; “Sleeping Children,” 232 
 ! Charcoal drawings, 250 ; “ fixing,” 
 253; exhibitions, 254; award of 
 prizes, 254 
 Charles I., 102, no 
 -II, 114 
 
 Chartist riots, 305-12 
 “Children of Israel,” oratorio, 
 Peter Powell’s performance of, 
 208 
 
 Chili, account of an earthquake 
 in, 65 
 
 Chorley, Henry F., 200 
 Church Lane, 124 
 Clementi, Muzio, 294 
 Clifton, Suspension Bridge at, 174 
 Coaches, four-horse, fares of, 41 
 Coke, Thomas, “of Norfolk,” 77 
 — , William, 79, 81 
 
356 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Colborne, Lord, on public speak- 
 ing, 326 
 
 Commercial Road, Lambeth, 35 
 Consort, H.R.H. Prince, 130; at 
 Birmingham, 135 ; his indis- 
 position, 135 ; artistic taste, 136 ; 
 character, 136; dislike of far- 
 fetched jokes, 137 ; President 
 of the Commission of Fine 
 Arts for the decoration of the 
 Houses of Parliament, 249 ; 
 order for a fresco, 256 
 Constable, 54 
 
 Constables, special, 306 ; instruc- 
 tions, 306 
 
 Constantine, siege of, picture on, 
 88 
 
 Cook, Miss Eliza, 99 
 Cooke, Edward, 55 
 — , T. P., 192 
 
 Cope, Charles West, awarded a 
 prize in cartoon drawing, 254; 
 his interest in Bishop, the i 
 model, 299 
 
 Cornelius, 250; his method of 
 criticising an art amateur, 252 
 Cornice road, 180 
 Cornwall, Barry, his poem “ King 
 Death,” 32 
 Cossey, 75 
 Cragside, 112, 219 
 Crake, Vandeleur, 69 
 Cranbrook, 338 ; Church, 339 
 Creswick, 247 
 Culloden, 2 
 
 Cumberland, Duke of, 2 
 D 
 
 Datchet, 45 
 Davis, Mr., 236 
 
 Delaroche, Madame, 85 
 — , Paul, 84 ; “ The Hemicycle,” 84 
 Denman, Lord, 149; anecdote of, 
 149 
 
 Devonshire, Duke of, portrait of, 
 264 
 
 Dickens, Charles, length of his 
 speech at the Royal Academy 
 banquet, 333 
 Diploma Gallery, 292 
 Doris , 62 
 
 Douro, Marchioness of, 237 
 Dublin, 290 
 
 Dulwich College, 294; Gallery, 294 
 Dumplings, Norfolk, the fame of, 
 83 
 
 Dundas, 142 
 — , General, 65 
 Dunsandle, Lord, 291 
 Duvernay, the dansense , 198; her 
 marriage, 199; character, 199 
 
 E 
 
 Earthquake in Chili, account of, 65 
 Eastlake, Sir Charles Locke, 
 director of the National Gallery, 
 228 ; secretary of the Commis- 
 sion of Fine Arts for the deco- 
 ration of the Houses of Parlia- 
 ment, 249 ; on the subject of 
 the fresco for the Poets’ Hall, 
 255 ; President of the Royal 
 Academy, 259 ; his appearance, 
 259 ; hospitality, 273 
 Eden, Mr., 229 
 
 Edinburgh National Gallery, por- 
 trait of Mrs. Graham in, 118 
 Eliot, George, 159 
 Elizabeth, Queen, 102 ; her pro- 
 gress through Cranbrook, 338 
 
INDEX 
 
 Elizabeth, servant to Mr. Sheep- j 
 shanks, 55 
 
 Elslers, the sisters, 198, 200 
 Ely Cathedral, 74 
 Empson, 66 
 
 Eugenie, Empress, character of 
 her bows, 125, 126; compared 
 with Queen Victoria, 125 
 
 F 
 
 Faraday, Michael, his lectures, 
 216; style of delivery, 217; 
 appearance, 217; character, 
 217 ; expressions of faith, 218 
 Farnley, 280 
 
 Fawkes, Mr., his collection of 
 Turner’s pictures, 280-3 
 — , Mrs., 280, 281 
 Fearnley, his story of an art 
 amateur, 251-3 
 
 “ Ferry-boat, the, at Marlow,” 242 
 Fisher, Mrs., 51 | 
 
 Flaxman, his Odyssey , 194 
 Fog, London, adventures in a, j 
 
 313-21 
 
 Footpads, 1 17 
 
 Fourpenny-piece, invention of, 27 
 Fraser, Alexander, 274, 275 ; his 
 songs, 277 
 
 Fresco-painting, 260-2 ; exhibi- 
 tion of, for the decoration of j 
 the Houses of Parliament, 255 j 
 Frost, W. E., 254 
 Fuseli, Keeper of the Royal I 
 Academy, 293 
 
 G 
 
 Gainsborough, his portrait of Mrs. 
 
 Graham, 118 
 Garrard, Mr., 307 
 
 357 
 
 “ Geese driven through the street 
 of Cookham,” 242 
 Genoa, 180 
 
 George III., 48, 235 ; bust of, 231 
 — IV., on the appearance of Sir 
 T. Lawrence, 26 ; his present 
 of a giraffe, 235 ; orders its 
 portrait, 236 
 
 St. George’s Cathedral, 7 
 Chapel, 45 
 
 Gerome, at the Royal Academy 
 Club dinner, 213 
 
 Giraffe presented to George IV., 
 235 ; its portrait painted, 236 
 Gladstone, Dr., Michael Faraday , 
 218 
 
 Graham, Captain, 62 
 — , General, his adventure with 
 a highwayman, 118; services 
 in the army, 120; created a 
 peer, 120 ; portrait of his wife, 
 120 
 
 — , Mrs., her first marriage, 62 ; 
 portrait, 62 ; governess to the 
 Queen of Portugal, 63 ; second 
 marriage, 63. See Callcott, Lady 
 — , Mrs., her portrait, 118, 120; 
 
 courage, 1 1 9 ; death, 120 
 Grain, Corney, 215 
 Granet, Eugenie, 14 
 Grant, Sir Francis, President of 
 the Royal Academy, 263, 317, 
 327 ; early want of training, 
 264 ; errors in perspective, 264 ; 
 his portrait of the Duke of 
 Devonshire, 264 ; independ- 
 ence of spirit, 265 ; hospitality, 
 273 ; illness, 328 
 — , Lady, 274, 328 
 “ Gravel-digging at Craven Hill,” 
 116 
 
 Gravel pits of Kensington, 1 1 5 
 
358 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Gravesend, 104 
 
 Greenough, secretary of the 
 Geological Society, his review, 
 65 
 
 Grossmith, George, 215 
 H 
 
 H addon Hall, 101 
 Haden, Sir Seymour, 245 
 “ Hal, Prince, taking the Crown 
 from his Father’s Bedside,” 233, 
 256 ; applications for its pur- 
 chase, 257 ; size, 257 
 Hamlet, tableaux from, 201 
 Harding, J. D., 240 
 Hardy, F. D., 338 
 Harker, 330 
 
 “ Harlot’s Progress,” 292 
 “ Harold, the Finding of the 
 Dead Body of,” 228 
 Hart, Solomon, 181 
 “ Harvest in the Highlands,” 64 
 Hawes, Sir Benjamin, 34, 249 
 — , Dr. B., 34 ; founds the Royal j 
 Humane Society, 34 
 — , Thomas, 36 ; his riding lessons, 
 36 
 
 — , William, 36 
 “ Hay, Pea-Green,” 199 
 Henschel, his singing of St. Paul , 
 159 
 
 Hesse, 250 
 
 Highwaymen, 117 ; adventure 
 with a, 1 18 
 
 Hilton, William, Keeper of the 
 Royal Academy, 27 ; his pic- 
 tures, 225 ; use of asphaltum, 
 226 ; “ Sir Calepin rescuing 
 Serena,” 227; “The Finding 
 
 of the Dead Body of Harold,” 
 228 
 
 Hogarth, William, 224 
 — , a mounter of drawings, 245 
 Holkham, 77 ; shooting parties 
 at, 81 
 
 Holland, Sir Henry, 140 
 Hooghe, Peter de, 53 
 Hootes, the de, 108 
 Hope, Mr. Beresford, 346 
 Horsley, Charles, 5 
 — , Fanny, 5, 112 
 — , John C., R.A., his father, 1 ; 
 mother, 1, 4; Aunt Wall, 2 ; his 
 drawing proclivities, 4, 6, 16 ; 
 brothers and sisters, 5 ; anec- 
 dotes of his home in Brompton, 
 5, 8 ; first visit to the opera, 9 ; 
 at school, 1 1 ; his taste for 
 dancing, it, 43, 148 ; first fight, 
 12; first ball, 13; his bosom 
 friend, 14 ; first love, 14 ; por- 
 traits, 16 ; sitters, 16 ; lessons 
 in drawing, 17 ; decision to 
 study painting, 22 ; at Sass’s 
 Academy, 23 ; drawing of his 
 Aunt Sophy, 25 ; interest of Sir 
 T. Lawrence, 25 ; his prizes, 
 26 ; admission to the Royal 
 Academy, 27 ; exhibits at the 
 British Institution, 28 ; his 
 picture, “ Rival Musicians,” 28, 
 49, 52 ; gains the medal for the 
 antique, 28-30 ; theatrical per- 
 formances, 31 ; riding lessons, 
 36 ; accident while riding, 3 7- 
 40 ; his walking powers, 40-3 ; 
 walk to Windsor, 45 ; portraits 
 of Moscheles and his wife, 48 ; 
 pictures in the Royal Academy, 
 48; “Youth and Age,” 51; 
 friendship with Sheepshanks, 
 52 ; “The Pride of the Village,” 
 
INDEX 
 
 359 
 
 58 ; visit to Cambridge, 66-74 I I 
 introduction to Mr. Peacocke, 
 66-8 ; impression of Trinity j 
 Hall, 69 ; acquaintances, 69 ; i 
 “ Rent Day in H addon Hall,” | 
 73, 103 ; visit to Norwich, 76 ; j 
 at Holkham, 77-82 ; his pocket I 
 edition of Shakespeare, 83 ; j 
 visits to Paris, 84, 94 ; at ! 
 Versailles, 90 ; his sketch of j 
 an old blind man, 90 ; reception | 
 by Madame la Baronne de | 
 Bourg, 91-4 ; at the Chamber 
 of Deputies, 95 ; meeting with 
 Louis Blanc, 97, 99 ; at Seven- 
 oaks, 98 ; Haddon Hall, 101 ; 
 Ightham Mote, 105-7 ; his pic- 
 ture of the hall, 109 ; family 
 history, 1 10-12; at Cragside, 
 
 1 12 ; account of Old Kensing- 
 ton, 1 13-17 ; on the destruction 
 of oil- pictures, 120-2; his early 
 memories of Queen Victoria, 
 
 1 23-39 ; on the appointment of 
 Miss Skerrett, 126; his portrait 
 of Princess Beatrice, 129-33 > 
 birth of a son, 130; on Prince 
 Consort, 135-9 ; his friends, 
 145, 169, 203, 235 ; proficiency 
 in the polka, 148 ; memories 
 of Mendelssohn, 151-67; his 
 habit of blushing, 161 ; on the 
 art of music, 167 ; friendship 
 with I. K. Brunei, 169 ; sensa- 
 tions on crossing the suspension 
 bridge at Clifton, 176; com- 
 mission on its erection, 177 ; 
 journeys in Wales, 177 ; in Italy, 
 179-82 ; at Newton’s Hotel, 
 
 19 1 ; at the Adelphi Theatre, 
 
 192 ; tableaux vivants, 193, 201 ; 
 on the performances of Peter 
 Powell, 203-11, 215 ; and John 
 Parry, 211-15 ; at the Royal 
 Academy Club Dinner, 213 ; 
 
 attends Faraday’s lectures, 216 ; 
 on Huxley’s address, 219-21 ; 
 opinion of him, 222 ; on fashion 
 in art, 224 ; on the use of 
 asphaltum, 226 ; on restoring 
 pictures, 228 ; introduction to 
 Chantrey, 230 ; prize for the 
 picture of Prince Hal, 233, 256 ; 
 friendship with Thomas Web- 
 ster, 235; political views, 236 ; 
 on the technique of painting 
 in oil colour, 238 ; on the use 
 of “ permanent white,” 240-4 ; 
 on the merits of Walker’s pic- 
 tures, 242 ; on the rival merits 
 of real and French ultramarine, 
 244; on Turner’s picture, “The 
 Snowdon Range,” 245 ; on the 
 competition for the decoration 
 of the Houses of Parliament, 
 249; wrinkles for charcoal draw- 
 ings, 250, 253 ; awarded prizes, 
 254, 256 ; subject of the cartoon, 
 254; of the fresco, 255 ; order 
 from the Prince Consort, 256; 
 applications for the purchase of 
 his picture, “ Prince Hal,” 257 ; 
 on the Presidents of the Royal 
 Academy, 258-73 ; fresco paint- 
 ing, 260-2 ; treasurer to the 
 Royal Academy, 270 ; at the 
 funeral service of Lord Leigh- 
 ton, 271 ; hospitalities of the 
 Presidents, 273 ; on the com- 
 mittee for the winter exhibitions, 
 279 ; on Turner’s collection of 
 pictures at Farnley, 280-4 ; 
 appeal on the treatment of his 
 bequest to the nation, 285-7 ; 
 on the genuineness of “ old 
 masters,” 287 ; the work of col- 
 lecting, 289 ; his visit to Ireland, 
 290 ; on the three neglected 
 picture galleries, 292-4 ; his first 
 cigar, 296 ; professional friends, 
 
360 
 
 INDEX 
 
 298 ; on Bishop, the model, 
 298-305 ; on the Chartist riots, 
 305-12 ; enrolled special con- 
 stable, 307 ; Headmaster of the 
 Figure Class in the Govern- 
 ment School of Design, 310; 
 his adventure in a London fog, 
 313-17; first appearance at a 
 City dinner, 323 ; on after- 
 dinner speeches, 326-37 ; at the 
 Mansion House banquet, 328- 
 31 ; at Cranbrook, 339 ; on 
 the purchase and decoration of 
 Willesley, 340-3 ; on the diffi- 
 culties in finding models, 343 ; 
 his design for the Annunciation, 
 
 347 ; friendship with Bastard, 
 
 348 ; commission to paint a 
 series of frescoes, 348 ; on the 
 death of Bastard, 350 
 
 Horsley, Mrs. J., 132 ; at the Man- 
 sion House dinner, 330 
 
 — , Mary, 5 ; her marriage, 34 
 
 — , Miss, 132 
 
 — , Sophy, 5 ; her opera The Ma- 
 gician, 31 ; acquires the art of 
 waltzing, 44 
 
 — , Victor Alexander Haden, his 
 birth, 130 
 
 — , Walter, 316; his inspection 
 by Queen Victoria, 132 
 
 — , William, 1 ; his wife, 4 ; sons 
 and daughters, 5 ; organist to 
 the Asylum for F emale Orphans, 
 6 ; character of his after-dinner 
 speeches, 327 
 
 — , Mrs. W., her appearance, 4 ; 
 artistic temperament, 4 ; char- 
 acter, 5 
 
 — , village of, 112 ; castle, 113 
 
 Hume, Joey, 26 ; inventor of the 
 fourpenny-piece, 27 
 
 Huxley, Professor, his lecture on 
 
 Tyndall’s discovery of a mi- 
 crobe, 219-21 ; lucid style, 220 ; 
 humour, 221 ; admirers, 222 
 
 I 
 
 Ightham Mote, 98, 104-7 ; owners 
 of, 108 
 Inskip, 226 
 Ireland, visit to, 290 
 Irving, Washington, “Bracebridge 
 Hall,” 1 1 2 ; his account of the 
 performance of Peter Powell, 
 210 
 
 Isle of Wight, 61 
 Italy, Journey in, 179 
 
 J 
 
 Jackson, Dr., 333 
 
 Jesus College, Cambridge, 69 
 
 John, King, 102 
 
 St. John’s, Waterloo Bridge Road, 
 Mendelssohn’s performance on 
 the organ, 163 
 
 Johnson, Dr., his estimate of 
 Shakespeare’s powers, 83 
 Jones, Dr. Bence, his memoir of 
 Faraday, 218 
 
 — , Mr. George, librarian of the 
 Academy, 232 ; his resemblance 
 to the Duke of Wellington, 232 
 — , Sir Thomas, President of the 
 Hibernian Academy, 290 
 “Jour des Morts, Le,” 339 
 
 K 
 
 Keate, Sir Richard, 40 
 Keen, Charles, 167 
 Kemble, Adelaide, her voice, 193 ; 
 appearance, 193 ; resemblance 
 
INDEX 361 
 
 to Sarah Siddons, 195 ; mar- 1 
 riage, 197 ; at the opera, 197 
 Kemble, Charles, 193 
 — , Fanny, her first appearance 
 on the stage, 193 ; marriage, 197 ! 
 Kennington Common, meeting at, 
 308 
 
 Kensington Dispensary, 11 
 
 — Gardens, 1 1 3 ; the walls, 114 ; I 
 yew hedges, 1 14 ; the gravel j 
 pits, 1 15 
 
 — , old, 1 13 
 
 — Palace, 2 ; the orangery, 2 
 
 — Road, first omnibus on the, 40 j 
 Key, Mr. Aston, 184 
 
 King’s College, Cambridge, 70 
 Kingsley, Rev. W., 284 
 Kirkpatrick, 71 
 Kitley, 346 
 
 Klingemann, Carl, 151, 165 
 Knightsbridge Abbey, 147 ; smok- j 
 ing rooms, 149 ; habituds, 149 
 Knole Park, 98 
 
 Lamartine, 96 1 
 
 Lambeth, Commercial Road, 35 | 
 
 Landon, Letitia Elizabeth, her ! 
 criticism on “ Rent Day in 
 Haddon Hall,” 103 
 Landseer, Charles, 276 ; at Ight- 
 ham Mote, 107 
 
 Landseer, Sir Edwin, 53 ; his por- 
 trait of Mr. Wells’s dog, 56-8 ; 
 
 “ Harvest in the Highlands,” 
 64 ; admiration for Miss 
 Skerrett, 128 ; his faculty of 
 story-telling, 137, 274 ; anec- 
 dotes, 137-9, 303 ; his picture I 
 of the Duke of Wellington, 237 ; I 
 
 rapid painting, 238 ; his error 
 in perspective, 265 
 Lansdowne, Marchioness of, 127 
 Lawrence, Mr., 185 
 — , Sir Thomas, President of 
 the Royal Academy, 25, 258 ; 
 interest in John Horsley, 25 ; 
 death, 26 ; appearance, 26 ; his 
 portrait of Mrs. Graham, 62 ; 
 method of portrait-painting, 63 
 Leech, John, 167 
 Leicester, Lord, 77 ; his blindness, 
 78 ; second marriage, 79-81 
 Leighton, Lord, President of the 
 Royal Academy, 266 ; his 
 general accomplishments, 266 ; 
 services in the Artists’ Volunteer 
 Rifle Corps, 267; punctuality, 
 267 ; characteristics, 268 ; hospi- 
 tality, 268 ; musical gatherings, 
 268-70 ; sufferings from heart 
 disease, 270 ; burial service, 271 ; 
 on public speaking, 335 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, 53; his 
 method of telling anecdotes, 53 ; 
 his renderings of Shakespeare’s 
 characters, 54 ; delineation of 
 his personal friends, 54 ; on the 
 performance of Peter Powell, 
 210 
 
 Lewes, Mr. George, 159 
 — , Mrs. George, 159 
 Lewis, Sir George Cornewall, his 
 opinion of Prince Consort, 136 
 Lichfield Cathedral, 232 
 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Soane Mu- 
 seum in, 292 
 
 Lindsay, Mr., Fellow of Dulwich 
 College, 294 
 
 Linnell, John, his landscape, 
 “ Gravel - digging at Craven 
 Hill,” 1 16 ; on the use of “ per- 
 
362 
 
 INDEX 
 
 manent white,” 240 ; on the 
 merits of real ultramarine, 244 
 Liverpool, Public Gallery at, 226 
 London, City dinners, 322 
 — fog, adventures in a, 313-21 
 Long Horsley, Castle of, no, 113 
 Longman, Mrs., 142 
 — , Tom, 142 
 Lough, the sculptor, 35 
 Luard, John, 1 10 
 — , Major, 109 
 
 Luxembourg Palace, Workmen’s 
 Parliament at, 95 
 Lynedoch, Lord, 120 
 Lyons, 180 
 
 M 
 
 Macaulay, Lord, 142, 188 
 , Mr., 255 
 
 Maclean, Mr., Governor of Cape 
 Coast, 103 
 
 Maclise, Daniel, his praise of 
 Mulready’s work, 50 ; visit to 
 Mr. Vernon, 60 ; watching the 
 ducks, 61 ; on the loss of his | 
 collection of pictures, 259 ; his 
 appearance, 259 ; tribute to his 
 memory, 333 
 
 Manners, Sir George, his elope- 
 ment, 102 
 
 Mansion House, banquet at the, 
 327 
 
 Marble Arch, 23 
 
 Mathews, Charles, 57 
 
 Maule, Miss Fanny, Abbess, 147; 
 
 her dancing class, 148 
 — , George, 145 ; his memory, 146 ; 
 
 founds an abbey, 147 
 Melbourne, Lord, 221 
 
 Mendelssohn, Felix, on the musi- 
 cal compositions of William 
 Horsley, 1 ; his visits to London, 
 1 5 1, 160; appearance, 152; 
 fascination of manner, 152; 
 sensitive nature, 153, 155; ex- 
 tempore playing, 154, 156-8; 
 his kindness, 155; duets with 
 Moscheles, 156; joyous nature, 
 158; oratorios, 159, 165; per- 
 formances on the organ, 160, 
 163 ; rehearsals, 161 ; walks in 
 London, 161, 164; control over 
 orchestras, 166; sense of humour, 
 166 ; sketches, 167 
 I Merchant Taylors Company, mas- 
 ter of the, story of, 323 
 Merritt, Mr. Henry, his skill in 
 restoring pictures, 228 
 Merthyr Tydvil to Cardiff rail- 
 way, 178 
 Mestre, 182 
 
 Microbe, aqueous, discovery of a, 
 219 
 
 Milan, 182 
 
 Millais, Sir John Everett, Presi- 
 dent of the Royal Academy, 
 I 243, 272 ; “ The Widow’s Mite,” 
 272 ; artistic qualities, 272 ; 
 illness and death, 273 
 Millies, Monckton, 142 ; his sobri- 
 quet, “ Cool of the Evening,” 
 143; treatment of Sidney Smith, 
 143 ; inventor of the white 
 waistcoat, 144 
 
 Models, difficulties in finding, 343 
 Monk, General, 1 1 1 
 Monochrome painting, 239 
 Moore, Tom, 142; his recitations, 
 142 
 
 Morgan, Lady, 202 
 Moscheles, Ignace, 1 5 1 ; portrait 
 
INDEX 
 
 363 
 
 of, 48 ; his extempore duets 
 with Mendelssohn, 156-8 
 Moscheles, Mrs., 152, 159 
 Mulready, John, 18 
 — , Michael, 18 
 — , Paul, 1 7, 18, 21 
 — , William, 10, 17 ; his marriage, 
 18; sons, 18, 20; separation 
 from his wife, 18 ; his kind 
 heart, 19; his picture, “The 
 Fight Interrupted,” 20 ; fond- 
 ness for praise, 50 ; adventure 
 with a footpad, 1 17 
 Munich, 182 ; school of art, 250, 
 2 5 3 
 
 Murray, John, 64 
 N 
 
 Napier, Lord, his History of the 
 Peninsular War, 126 
 Nash, Joseph, a member of the 
 old Water Colour Society, 104 
 Nasmyth, Patrick, his works, 35 
 National Gallery, 227, 228; treat- 
 ment of Turner’s pictures in 
 the, 285 
 
 National Portrait Gallery, 62 
 Nelson, Lord, 7 
 Neukomm, Chevalier, 32 
 New Orleans, 14 
 Newton, Sir Isaac, 191 
 Newton’s Hotel, 191 
 Nice, 180 
 Nismes, 180 
 
 Norfolk dumplings, the fame of, 83 
 Northumberland, no 
 Norwich, 75 ; school of art, 75 ; 
 visit to, 76 ; meetings of the 
 Shakespearean enthusiasts, 82 
 — Mercury , 76 
 
 O 
 
 O’Connor, Feargus, 305 
 O’Hagan, Lord, at the Mansion 
 House dinner, 330 
 Oil colour, painting in, 238 
 Oil pictures, injury to, 120-2 ; 
 
 competitive exhibition of, 272 
 “ Old Masters,” genuineness of, 
 287 ; collecting, 289 
 Omnibus, the first, 40 
 Onion, 293 
 Orme, Mr., 116 
 
 Orphans, Female, Asylum for, 6 
 Ostade, Isaac, his etchings, 49 
 Ouless, W. W., on collecting pic- 
 tures for exhibition, 290 
 Owen, Sir Richard, length of his 
 speeches, 336 
 
 P 
 
 Page, Cyril, 149 
 
 Painting, fresco, 260-2 ; mono- 
 chrome, 239 ; in oil colour, 238 
 Palace Court, Bayswater, 116 
 Palmerston, Lord, length of his 
 speech on “the Greek question,” 
 332 
 
 Paris, visits to, 84, 94 ; Red Re- 
 publican meetings, 94; Cham- 
 ber of Deputies, debate in, 
 95-7 ; formation of a Work- 
 men’s Parliament, 95 
 Parliament, Houses of, Royal 
 Commission of Fine Arts for 
 the decoration of, 249 ; frescoes, 
 260 ; destruction of, 262 
 Parris, E. T., 254 
 Parry, John, 21 1 ; his perfect 
 touch, 212 ; nervousness, 212, 
 215 ; at the Royal Academy 
 
364 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Club dinner, 213; his trumpet 
 obligato performance, 214 
 
 St. Paul’s Cathedral, Brunei’s ad- 
 venture in, 170; Mendelssohn’s 
 performance on the organ, 160 
 
 Paume , feu de, meaning of the 
 term, 87 n. 
 
 Pawley, Mr., 98 
 
 Peacocke, Mr., tutor of Trinity 
 College, 66 ; his appearance, 67 ; 
 treatment of John Horsley, 67 
 Peel Towers, 113 
 Peninsular War, 120, 126 
 Pennethorne, Mr., 285 
 “ Penny Wedding, The,” 134 
 “PerditadistributingherFlowers,” 
 54 
 
 “ Permanent white,” use of, in 
 water-colour drawings, 240, 243 
 St. Peter’s, Rome, first view of, 182 
 Philharmonic Society, rehearsals 
 of the, 166 
 Phillips, Henry, 149 
 Picture-dealers, 289 
 Pictures, subject, origin of, 224 ; 
 the use of asphaltum in, 226 ; 
 restoring, 228 ; “ old masters,” 
 genuineness of, 287 ; collecting, 
 289 
 
 Pigs’-wash, story of, 303 
 Pitman, Rev. John, 8 
 Police, London, measure for es- 
 tablishing, 1 17 
 
 Polka, introduction of the, 148 
 Portugal, Queen of, 63 
 Poussin, Nicolas, his pictures, 294 
 Powell, Peter, 203 ; his gifts, 203 ; 
 appearance, 203 ; favourite re- 
 creation, 203 ; histrionic powers, 
 203 ; repertoire , 204 ; his play of 
 
 the Castle of Altamont , 205-7; 
 oratorio, The Children of Israel, 
 208 ; his vocal powers, 209 ; 
 character of his performance, 
 210 ; ballet dance, 215 
 “ Pride of the Village, The,” 58 
 Procter, his poem “ King Death,” 
 3i 
 
 Procter, Adelaide, 34 
 R 
 
 Races, walking, 42 
 Reading, Assizes at, 149 
 Redgrave, 298 
 — , Mr. Samuel, 309 
 Redleaf, Penshurst, 55 
 Reform Bill, 76 
 
 “ Rent Day at Haddon Hall,” 73 ; 
 criticism on, 103 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his picture 
 “The Tragic Muse,” 195; his 
 method of painting, 239 ; hospi- 
 tality, 278 
 
 Rhine, the, 182 ; sketches on the, 
 282 
 
 Richmond, George, 279 
 Rickman, William, 145 ; founds 
 an abbey, 147 ; abbot, 147 
 “ Rival Musicians,” 28, 49, 52 
 Roberts, David, 240 ; on the 
 merits of French ultramarine, 
 244 ; his appearance, 274 ; story 
 of, 274-8 
 
 Robinson, the line-engraver, 54 
 Rollin, Ledru, 96 
 Rome, visit to, 181 ; St. Peter’s, 
 impression of, 182 
 Rossini, his opera II Crociato in 
 Egitto , 9 
 Rothbury, no 
 
INDEX 
 
 365 
 
 Rotherfield, Sussex, 51 
 Royal Academy, admission to 
 the, 27 
 
 banquets, speeches at, 333 
 
 Club dinner, 213 
 
 Diploma Gallery, 292 
 
 , Presidents of, 258; hospi- 
 talities, 273 
 
 winter exhibitions, 76, 279 
 
 — Humane Society founded, 34 
 
 — Institution, lecture at the, 219 
 Rugby, 294 
 
 S 
 
 Sartoris, Mr., 197 
 — , Mrs., 201. See Kemble, Ade- 
 laide 
 
 Sass’s Academy, 23 ; customs on 
 entering, 24 
 Schnorr, 250 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, his journal, 265 ; 
 
 estimate of Sir F. Grant, 265 
 Sedgwick, Adam, 66 ; at Cam- 
 bridge, 68 ; discussion with 
 Whewell, 68 
 Selby, Sir William, 108 
 Selous, H. C., 254 
 Sevenoaks, 98 
 Severn, Joseph, 254 
 Shakespeare, the worship of, 76, 
 82 ; edition of his plays, 83 ; 
 estimate of Dr. Johnson, 83 
 Shaw, Mr. Norman, 340 
 Shee, Sir Martin Archer, President 
 of the Royal Academy, 29, 258 ; 
 on the nature of fresco-painting, 
 259 
 
 Sheepshanks, Mr. John, his taste 
 for art, 49 : art collections, 49 ; 
 devotion to floriculture, 49 ; 
 
 appearance, 5 1 ; his Wednesday 
 dinners, 52 ; impatience, 53 ; his 
 servant Elizabeth, 55 
 Sheepshanks, Collection in South 
 Kensington Museum, 10, 28, 52 
 ! Sheep shanksiana gra?idiflora , 49 
 I Shelley, Sir Percy Bysshe, 1 1 
 I Siddons, Sarah, 195 
 I Silver Street, Bayswater, 45 
 • Skerrett, Colonel, 126 
 — , Miss Marianne, her height, 
 1 26 ; appearance and character, 
 1 26 ; her position in the Queen’s 
 household, 127 ; view of her 
 responsibilities, 128; illegibility 
 of her handwriting, 129 
 Slater, Mr. Edward, 11 
 “ Sleeping Children,” 232 
 “ Smala, La,” 86 
 Smart, Sir George, 21 1 
 I Smirke, R.A., his pictures, 34 
 Smith, Albert, 215 
 — , Sidney, 140, 142 ; his sobriquet 
 for Monckton Milnes, 143 
 Smythe, Professor of Modern 
 History at Cambridge, 71 
 : “ Snowdon Range, The,” 245 
 I Soane Museum, 292 
 i Somerset House, 48 
 I Speeches, after-dinner, 326, 332 
 | Stafford, Lord, 77 
 I Stage-coaches, 41 
 | Stanford-on-Avon, 294 
 | Stanley, Mr., 185 
 I Stothard, his assistance to Chan- 
 trey, 231 ; librarian of the 
 Academy, 232 ; designs for 
 books, 232 
 | Strathfieldsaye, 149 
 
366 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Strauss bands, 43 
 Subject-pictures, origin of, 224 
 Surrey Yeomanry, 171 
 
 T 
 
 Tableaux vivants, 193, 201 ; sub- 
 jects, 194, 201 
 
 Taff Vale Railway, survey for 
 the, 178 
 
 Taglioni, Marie, the danseuse , 
 8, 198 ; drawing of, 198 ; her 
 character, 198 ; marriage, 199 
 Talleyrand, 32 
 Tate Gallery, 58 
 Tayler, F., 240 
 Tenniel, Edward, 1 1 
 — , Sir John, 1 1 
 — , Mr., 11 
 
 Thalberg, his manipulative power 
 in playing, 212 
 
 Thames Tunnel, 170 ; inspection 
 of the works, 172-4 
 Thieves, encounter with, 45-7 
 Thompson, Dr. Seth, 5 ; his 
 lessons in boxing, 86 ; letter 
 to the Ti?nes on the accident 
 to Mr. Brunei, 183-6 
 Thrupp, Frederick, 18 1 
 Thurston, Mrs., 131 
 Times , letter in the, 183 
 Toulon, 180 
 
 “ Tragic Muse, The,” 195 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, 66. j 
 See Cambridge 
 Turin, 182 
 
 Turner, J. M. W., on the use of 
 “permanent white” in water- 
 colour drawings, 240; his pic- 
 ture, “The Snowdon Range,” 
 
 245 ; method of criticism, 247 ; 
 his man-of-war, 248 ; habit of 
 keeping the paper moist, 248 ; 
 his collection of pictures at 
 Farnley, 280; “Sketches on the 
 Rhine,” 282 ; study of nature, 
 284 ; day’s work, 284 ; bequest 
 to the nation, 285 ; treatment 
 of his pictures, 286 
 Twizells, Selby of, 108 
 Tyburn Gate, 23 
 
 Tyndall, Professor, Faraday as a 
 Discoverer , 218 ; his discovery 
 of a microbe in water, 219 
 Tyrol, 182 
 
 U 
 
 Ultramarine, real and French, 
 rival merits of, 244 
 
 V 
 
 Varley, John, 18 
 
 Vauxhall toll - gate keeper, at- 
 tempted murder of the, 118 
 Velluti, Signor, his voice, 9 
 Venice, 182 
 
 Vernet, Horace, head of the 
 French Academy in Rome, 85 ; 
 his pupils at the Institut, 85 ; 
 size of his pictures, 86 ; “ La 
 Smala,” 86 ; lessons in boxing, 
 87 ; picture on the siege of 
 Constantine, 88-90 
 Vernon, Lady Dorothy, her elope- 
 ment, 102 
 
 — , Mr., his method of purchasing 
 pictures, 58 ; character as host, 
 60 ; sense of humour, 61 
 Versailles, 90 ; Bishop of, 91 
 Victoria Alexandria, Her Majesty 
 Queen, 123 ; her horseman- 
 ship, 124; graceful bows, 125 ; 
 compared with the Empress 
 
INDEX 
 
 367 
 
 Eugdnie, 125 ; appoints Miss 
 Skerrett Head Dresser, 128 ; on 
 her duties, 129; birth of Princess 
 Beatrice, 130; birthday present 
 for Prince Consort, 13 1, 133; 
 her interest in art, 135 ; vigorous 
 constitution, 135; interest in 
 Landseer’s anecdotes, 137-9 
 Vokins, Mr. W., 284 
 
 W 
 
 Waistcoat, white, invention of the, 
 144 
 
 Wales, H.R.H. Prince of, 336 
 Wales, journeys in, 177 
 Walker, F rederick, elected A. R. A., 
 241 ; his use of “permanent 
 white,” 242 ; his pictures, “ Geese 
 driven through the Street of 
 Cookham,” 242; “The Ferry- 
 boat at Marlow,” 242 
 Walking races, 42 
 Wall, Aunt, 2 ; her stories, 2 ; 
 accident, 3 
 
 Waltz, introduction of the, 43 
 Water-colour drawings, use of 
 “ permanent white,” 240 
 Waterloo, battle of, pictures on 
 the, 233 
 
 Watts, Geo. Frederick, awarded 
 a prize in cartoon drawing, 254 
 Webbe, of Bond Street, 194 
 Webster, Thomas, 30, 59, 293 ; 
 his pictures from humble life, 
 235 ; stories of Court life, 235 ; 
 chorister, 235 ; page to the 
 young Princesses, 235 ; political 
 
 views, 236 ; Bishop’s assistance 
 to, 301 ; at Cranbrook, 338 
 Wellington, Duke of, 34, 1 17, 308 ; 
 anecdote of, 149; his resem- 
 blance to Mr. George Jones, 
 232 ; at the exhibition of paint- 
 ings in Westminster Hall, 233 ; 
 Landseer’s picture of him, 237 
 Wells, Mr., 55; Landseer’s portrait 
 of his dog, 36-8 
 
 Westmacott, Sir Richard, on the 
 muscular power of Michael 
 Angelo, 292 
 
 Westminster Hall, exhibition of 
 oil pictures, 233, 272 ; charcoal 
 cartoons, 254 
 
 Whewell, at Cambridge, 68 ; his 
 discussion with Sedgwick, 68 
 White-Ridley, Sir Matthew, 12 1 
 Wilkie, Sir David, 18, 58 ; his 
 pictures, “The Penny Wedding” 
 and “Blind Man’s Buff,” 134 
 Willesley, purchase and decora- 
 tion of, 340-3 
 William III., 1 14 
 Windsor, walk to, 45 
 Wordsworth, Master of Trinity 
 College, 68 
 
 Wren, Sir Christopher, 2 
 Wrotham, 105 
 
 Y 
 
 Yealmpton Church, 346 
 Yew hedges of Kensington Gar- 
 dens, 1 14 
 Young, Mr., 240 
 “Youth and Age,” 51 
 
PLYMOUTH 
 
 WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON 
 
 PRINTERS 
 
GETTY RESEARCH INSTITUTE 
 
 3 3125 01360 5320