Here we again met Professor Oliver, whom my husband had known since he came to Kew alone for the first time. Being greatly interested in painting, and possessing a collection of fine water-colors by Mr. Alfred Hunt, he took pleasure in showing them to Mr. Hamerton, as well as the Herbarium, of which he was Director.
Professor Church and his wife showed themselves most friendly and untiringly hospitable. Very interesting and distinguished people were to be met at their house, where the master was ever willing to display before his guests some of his valuable collections of jewels, rare tissues, old laces, and Japanese bronzes. We often had the pleasure of meeting at this friendly house Mr. Thiselton Dyer, now Director of Kew Gardens, and his wife, the daughter of Sir John Hooker—a most charming person, who reminded both of us of the lovely women immortalized by Reynolds.
[Illustration]
The third edition of "Etching and Etchers," now on sale, had fulfilled all expectations, and was universally admired and praised. It was a great satisfaction to the author, who had never before enjoyed such a complete recognition. His reputation and popularity increased rapidly, and if he had liked he would have been a good deal lionized; but although far from insensible to this success, he remained true to his studious habits—going with Mr. Seeley to the National Gallery, British or Kensington Museums, to choose illustrations for the "Graphic Arts," or quietly writing at his lodgings, and only accepting invitations from his friends and publishers.
In December Mr. Macmillan gave a dinner at the Garrick Club in honor of the author of "Etching and Etchers," who was warmly congratulated by the other guests invited to meet him.
I have still in my possession the menu belonging to Mr. Alma Tadenia who said to my husband: "I dare say Mrs. Hamerton would like to have a souvenir of this evening—present her with this in my name," and he handed his menu, on the back of which he had quickly and cleverly drawn a little likeness of himself in caricature, and the guests had signed their names on it. A facsimile is given on the opposite page.
As he had given us an invitation to visit his curious house we did not fail to go, and Mary was especially attracted by the famous grand piano, inscribed inside with the signatures of the renowned musicians who had performed upon it. Knowing that our daughter was seriously studying music, Mrs. Alma Tadema generously expressed the hope of seeing sometime the signature of Miss Hamerton by the side of the other names.
My husband also took Mary to Mrs. Woolner's, and she enjoyed greatly the society of the children, who spoke French very creditably, and who were interested in the details she could give them about French life and ways. They took her to their father's studios, and showed her his works. When dinner-time came, however, she was unprepared for being waited upon by her new friends, and in consequence felt somewhat ill at ease. It was a fancy of Mr. Woolner's to make his children wait upon his guests. They offered bread and wine, and directed the maids, their duty consisting chiefly in seeing that every guest received perfect attendance. It reminded one of the pages' service in mediaeval times, and was accepted by people of mature age as a gracious courtesy of their host, though it proved rather embarrassing to a girl of fifteen. I don't know how long the custom prevailed, but I did not notice it in succeeding years.
Our cousin, Ben Hinde, had joined us only for a few days, his duties as a clergyman not allowing of a long absence, but our meeting had been very pleasant and cordial. He had left with us his sister Annie, to whom my husband endeavored to show what was most worthy of attention in the metropolis. And just as we were thus enjoying our fragrant "cup of coffee," the "pinch of salt" was thrown into it with a heavy hand—for we heard from Richard that he was lying so dangerously ill that he could not move in bed. He had only written a few words in pencil to let us know that the doctor thought our presence unnecessary, because the danger would be past, or the illness prove fatal, before we could arrive.
Of course my first impulse was to rush to my poor boy's bedside; but what was to become of Mary—a girl of fifteen—unused to English ways, and speaking English still imperfectly? Perhaps our aunt, who was to leave us in a few days, would stay a little longer, though the approach of Christmas made it imperative for her companion to get back to the vicarage as soon as possible. But my husband?… Could I think of leaving him a prey to this terrible anxiety, and to all the dangers of a return of the old nervous attacks? I saw how he dreaded the mere possibility, though he never said a word to influence my decision, but the threatening insomnia and restlessness had already made their appearance, and warned me that I ought to stay near him.