How rich
should I have been if I had had a penny in my pocket! But I
had to turn away in despair.
At last the inspiration came. I remembered hearing Mr.
Ellice say that he always put up at Douglas' Hotel when he
stayed in Edinburgh. I had very little hope of success, but
I was too miserable to hesitate. It was very late, and
everybody might be gone to bed. I rang the bell. 'I want to
see the landlord.'
'Any name?' the porter asked.
'No.' The landlord came, fat, amiable looking. 'May I speak
to you in private?' He showed the way to an unoccupied room.
'I think you know Mr. Ellice?'
'Glenquoich, do you mean?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, very well - he always stays here on his way through.'
'I am his step-son; I left Glenquoich yesterday. I have lost
my luggage, and am left without any money. Will you lend me
five pounds?' I believe if I were in the same strait now,
and entered any strange hotel in the United Kingdom at half-
past ten at night, and asked the landlord to give me five
pounds upon a similar security, he would laugh in my face, or
perhaps give me in charge of a policeman.
My host of Douglas' did neither; but opened both his heart
and his pocket-book, and with the greatest good humour handed
me the requested sum. What good people there are in this
world, which that crusty old Sir Peter Teazle calls 'a d-d
wicked one.' I poured out all my trouble to the generous
man. He ordered me an excellent supper, and a very nice
room. And on the following day, after taking a great deal of
trouble, he recovered my lost luggage and the priceless
treasure it contained. It was a proud and happy moment when
I returned his loan, and convinced him, of what he did not
seem to doubt, that I was positively not a swindler.
But the roofless night and the empty belly, consequent on an
empty pocket, was a lesson which I trust was not thrown away
upon me. It did not occur to me to do so, but I certainly
might have picked a pocket, if - well, if I had been brought
up to it. Honesty, as I have often thought since, is dirt
cheap if only one can afford it.
Before departing from my beloved Glenquoich, I must pay a
passing tribute to the remarkable qualities of Mrs. Edward
Ellice and of her youngest sister Mrs. Robert Ellice, the
mother of the present member for St. Andrews. It was, in a
great measure, the bright intelligence, the rare tact, and
social gifts of these two ladies that made this beautiful
Highland resort so attractive to all comers.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE winter of 1854-55 I spent in Rome. Here I made the
acquaintance of Leighton, then six-and-twenty. I saw a good
deal of him, as I lived almost entirely amongst the artists,
taking lessons myself in water colours of Leitch. Music also
brought us into contact. He had a beautiful voice, and used
to sing a good deal with Mrs. Sartoris - Adelaide Kemble -
whom he greatly admired, and whose portrait is painted under
a monk's cowl, in the Cimabue procession.
Calling on him one morning, I found him on his knees
buttering and rolling up this great picture, preparatory to
sending it to the Academy. I made some remark about its
unusual size, saying with a sceptical smile, 'It will take up
a lot of room.'
'If they ever hang it,' he replied; 'but there's not much
chance of that.'
Seeing that his reputation was yet to win, it certainly
seemed a bold venture to make so large a demand for space to
begin with. He did not appear the least sanguine. But it
was accepted; and Prince Albert bought it before the
Exhibition opened.
Gibson also I saw much of. He had executed a large alto-
rilievo monument of my mother, which is now in my parish
church, and the model of which is on the landing of one of
the staircases of the National Gallery. His studio was
always an interesting lounge, for he was ever ready to
lecture upon antique marbles. To listen to him was like
reading the 'Laocoon,' which he evidently had at his fingers'
ends. My companion through the winter was Mr. Reginald
Cholmondeley, a Cambridge ally, who was studying painting.
He was the uncle of Miss Cholmondeley the well-known
authoress, whose mother, by the way, was a first cousin of
George Cayley's, and also a great friend of mine.
On my return to England I took up my abode in Dean's Yard,
and shared a house there with Mr. Cayley, the Yorkshire
member, and his two sons, the eldest a barrister, and my
friend George. Here for several years we had exceedingly
pleasant gatherings of men more or less distinguished in
literature and art. Tennyson was a frequent visitor - coming
late, after dinner hours, to smoke his pipe. He varied a
good deal, sometimes not saying a word, but quietly listening
to our chatter. Thackeray also used to drop in occasionally.
George Cayley and I, with the assistance of his father and
others, had started a weekly paper called 'The Realm.' It
was professedly a currency paper, and also supported a fiscal
policy advocated by Mr. Cayley and some of his parliamentary
clique. Coming in one day, and finding us hard at work,
Thackeray asked for information. We handed him a copy of the
paper.
