THROUGH the Cayley family, I became very intimate with theirnear relatives the Worsleys of Hovingham, near York.

　　Hovingham has now become known to the musical world throughits festivals, annually held at the Hall under the patronageof its late owner, Sir William Worsley. It was in hisfather's time that this fine place, with its delightfulfamily, was for many years a home to me. Here I met theAlisons, and at the kind invitation of Sir Archibald, paidthe great historian a visit at Possil, his seat in Scotland.

　　As men who had achieved scientific or literary distinctioninspired me with far greater awe than those of the highestrank - of whom from my childhood I had seen abundance -Alison's celebrity, his courteous manner, his oracularspeech, his voluminous works, and his voluminous dimensions,filled me with too much diffidence and respect to admit ofany freedom of approach. One listened to him, as he heldforth of an evening when surrounded by his family, withreverential silence. He had a strong Scotch accent; and, ifa wee bit prosy at times, it was sententious and polishedprose that he talked; he talked invariably like a book. Hisfamily were devoted to him; and I felt that no one who knewhim could help liking him.

　　When Thackeray was giving readings from 'The Four Georges,' Idined with Lady Grey and Landseer, and we three went to hearhim. I had heard Dickens read 'The Trial of Bardell againstPickwick,' and it was curious to compare the style of the twogreat novelists. With Thackeray, there was an entire absenceof either tone or colour. Of course the historical nature ofhis subject precluded the dramatic suggestion to be lookedfor in the Pickwick trial, thus rendering comparisoninapposite. Nevertheless one was bound to contrast them.

　　Thackeray's features were impassive, and his voice knew noinflection. But his elocution in other respects was perfect,admirably distinct and impressive from its completeobliteration of the reader.

　　The selection was from the reign of George the Third; and nopart of it was more attentively listened to than his passingallusion to himself. 'I came,' he says, 'from India as achild, and our ship touched at an island on the way home,where my black servant took me a long walk over rocks andhills until we reached a garden, where we saw a man walking.

　　"That is he," said the black man, "that is Bonaparte! Heeats three sheep every day, and all the little children hecan lay hands on!"' One went to hear Thackeray, to seeThackeray; and the child and the black man and the ogre werethere on the stage before one. But so well did the lecturerperform his part, that ten minutes later one had forgottenhim, and saw only George Selwyn and his friend HoraceWalpole, and Horace's friend, Miss Berry - whom by the way Itoo knew and remember. One saw the 'poor society ghastly inits pleasures, its loves, its revelries,' and the redeemingvision of 'her father's darling, the Princess Amelia,pathetic for her beauty, her sweetness, her early death, andfor the extreme passionate tenderness with which her fatherloved her.' The story told, as Thackeray told it, was asdelightful to listen to as to read.

　　Not so with Dickens. He disappointed me. He made no attemptto represent the different characters by varied utterance;but whenever something unusually comic was said, or about tobe said, he had a habit of turning his eyes up to theceiling; so that, knowing what was coming, one nervouslyanticipated the upcast look, and for the moment lost theillusion. In both entertainments, the reader was naturallythe central point of interest. But in the case of Dickens,when curiosity was satisfied, he alone possessed one;Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell were put out of court.

　　Was it not Charles Lamb, or was it Hazlitt, that could notbear to see Shakespeare upon the stage? I agree with him. Ihave never seen a Falstaff that did not make me miserable.

　　He is even more impossible to impersonate than Hamlet. Aplayer will spoil you the character of Hamlet, but he cannotspoil his thoughts. Depend upon it, we are fortunate not tohave seen Shakespeare in his ghost of Royal Denmark.

　　In 1861 I married Lady Katharine Egerton, second daughter ofLord Wilton, and we took up our abode in Warwick Square,which, by the way, I had seen a few years before as a turnipfield. My wife was an accomplished pianiste, so we had agreat deal of music, and saw much of the artist world. I maymention one artistic dinner amongst our early efforts athousekeeping, which nearly ended with a catastrophe.

　　Millais and Dicky Doyle were of the party; music wasrepresented by Joachim, Piatti, and Halle. The late Lord andLady de Ros were also of the number. Lady de Ros, who was adaughter of the Duke of Richmond, had danced at the ballgiven by her father at Brussels the night before Waterloo.

　　As Lord de Ros was then Governor of the Tower, it will beunderstood that he was a veteran of some standing. The greatmusical trio were enchanting all ears with their faultlessperformance, when the sweet and soul-stirring notes of theAdagio were suddenly interrupted by a loud crash and ashriek. Old Lord de Ros was listening to the music on a sofaat the further end of the room. Over his head was a largepicture in a heavy frame. What vibrations, what carelesshanging, what mischievous Ate or Discord was at the bottom ofit, who knows? Down came the picture on the top of the poorold General's head, and knocked him senseless on the floor.

　　He had to be carried upstairs and laid upon a bed. Happilyhe recovered without serious injury. There were m............