Horsman Had Hired A Shooting - Balnaboth In Scotland; Here,
Too, I Had To Attend Upon Him In The Autumn, Mainly For The
Purpose Of Copying Voluminous Private Correspondence About A
Sugar Estate He Owned At Singapore, Then Producing A Large
Income, But The Subsequent Failure Of Which Was His Ruin.
One year Sir Alexander Cockburn, the Lord Chief Justice, came
to stay with him; and excellent company he was.
Horsman had
sometimes rather an affected way of talking; and referring to
some piece of political news, asked Cockburn whether he had
seen it in the 'Courier.' This he pronounced with an accent
on the last syllable, like the French 'Courrier.' Cockburn,
with a slight twinkle in his eye, answered in his quiet way,
'No, I didn't see it in the "Courrier," perhaps it is in the
"Morning Post,"' also giving the French pronunciation to the
latter word.
Sir Alexander told us an amusing story about Disraeli. He
and Bernal Osborne were talking together about Mrs. Disraeli,
when presently Osborne, with characteristic effrontery,
exclaimed: 'My dear Dizzy, how could you marry such a
woman?' The answer was; 'My dear Bernal, you never knew what
gratitude was, or you would not ask the question.'
The answer was a gracious one, and doubtless sincere. But,
despite his cynicism, no one could be more courteous or say
prettier things than Disraeli. Here is a little story that
was told me at the time by my sister-in-law, who was a woman
of the bedchamber, and was present on the occasion. When her
Majesty Queen Alexandra was suffering from an accident to her
knee, and had to use crutches, Disraeli said to her: 'I have
heard of a devil on two sticks, but never before knew an
angel to use them.'
Keogh, Bourke, and I, made several pleasant little excursions
to such places as Bray, the Seven Churches, Powerscourt, &c.,
and, with a chosen car-driver, the wit and fun of the three
clever Irishmen was no small treat. The last time I saw
either of my two friends was at a dinner-party which Bourke
gave at the 'Windham.' We were only four, to make up a whist
party; the fourth was Fred Clay, the composer. It is sad to
reflect that two of the lot came to violent ends - Keogh, the
cheeriest of men in society, by his own hands. Bourke I had
often spoken to of the danger he ran in crossing the Phoenix
Park nightly on his way home, on foot and unarmed. He
laughed at me, and rather indignantly - for he was a very
vain man, though one of the most good-natured fellows in the
world. In the first place, he prided himself on his physique
- he was a tall, well-built, handsome man, and a good boxer
and fencer to boot. In the next place, he prided himself
above all things on being a thorough-bred Irishman, with a
sneaking sympathy with even Fenian grievances. 'They all
know ME,' he would say. 'The rascals know I'm the best
friend they have. I'm the last man in the world they'd harm,
for political reasons. Anyway, I can take care of myself.'
And so it was he fell.
The end of Horsman's secretaryship is soon told. A bishopric
became vacant, and almost as much intrigue was set agoing as
we read of in the wonderful story of 'L'Anneau d'Amethyste.'
Horsman, at all times a profuse letter-writer, wrote folios
to Lord Palmerston on the subject, each letter more
exuberant, more urgent than the last. But no answer came.
Finally, the whole Irish vote, according to the Chief
Secretary, being at stake - not to mention the far more
important matter of personal and official dignity - Horsman
flew off to London, boiling over with impatience and
indignation. He rushed to 10 Downing Street. His Lordship
was at the Foreign office, but was expected every minute;
would Mr. Horsman wait? Mr. Horsman was shown into his
Lordship's room. Piles of letters, opened and unopened, were
lying upon the table. The Chief Secretary recognised his own
signatures on the envelopes of a large bundle, all amongst
the 'un's.' The Premier came in, an explanation EXTREMEMENT
VIVE followed; on his return to Dublin Mr. Horsman resigned
his post, and from that moment became one of Lord
Palmerston's bitterest opponents.
CHAPTER XL
THE lectures at the Royal Institution were of some help to
me. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain.
Of these, Huxley was FACILE PRINCEPS, though both Owen and
Tyndall were second to no other. Bain was disappointing. I
was a careful student of his books, and always admired the
logical lucidity of his writing. But to the mixed audience
he had to lecture to - fashionable young ladies in their
teens, and drowsy matrons in charge of them, he discreetly
kept clear of transcendentals. In illustration perhaps of
some theory of the relation of the senses to the intellect,
he would tell an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had an
injured leg dressed at a certain house, after which the
recovered dog brought a canine friend to the same house to
have his leg - or tail - repaired. Out would come all the
tablets and pretty pencil cases, and every young lady would
be busy for the rest of the lecture in recording the
marvellous history. If the dog's name had been 'Spot' or
'Bob,' the important psychological fact would have been
faithfully registered. As to the theme of the discourse,
that had nothing to do with - millinery. And Mr. Bain
doubtless did not overlook the fact.
Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one's attention to him
depended on two things - a primary interest in the subject,
and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for example,
his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid and
ganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely of
vital importance to one's general culture.
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