Richard had, amongst others, a very remarkable friend; his popular name was "Bob Campbell;" numbers of men knew him well. He was very gentlemanly, very clever, poor, proud, eccentric. He knew Paris as well as London. Richard and he had a very sincere friendship for each other. He lived in an attic, and the second room was a kitchen. He once took it into his head that it was very silly to have to go to the expense of a coffin and not to utilize it during his life, so he went and had himself measured for one, and ordered quite a nice oak and brass, and a plate with his name and everything usual on it, leaving a space for the date, only he had it fitted up inside with crossway shelves, so as to utilize it for keeping cold meat, or bottles, or any other sort of thing. He then told the undertaker to send it on a hearse covered up in the usual way, mutes and all. When it arrived, the landlord ran up in a dreadful state and said, "Sir, what is to be done? there are two mutes at the door with handkerchiefs up to their eyes, and they say the coffin is for one Mr. Robert Campbell. I told them you were not dead, but they say there is no mistake; it is for here, and they won't go away." So Bob Campbell, who had previously arranged the whole scene with the men, went down and told them to bring the coffin up, and put his own handkerchief up to his eyes, saying, "This is a very melancholy occasion indeed; pray bring the coffin upstairs." So it was brought up and set like a little cupboard against the wall, and he gave the mutes something to drink and paid them, and they went away, but the landlord could not get over it at all.
This same Bob Campbell gave delightful little literary suppers, to which we used to go. He used to put on a white-paper cap and white apron, and disappear to do the cooking himself. He used to make a most beautiful bouille-a-baisse, which he would bring in, in a valuable large china bowl, and ladle it out to us, and it was so good we wanted nothing else for supper. Then he would mix his "cup" or his punch (in another exquisite china bowl), and ladle it out with china cups. He used to say, "Now, you must fancy yourself in the Quartier Latin in Paris;" and they tell me it was just like the description. We went twice that summer to him, and the company was so amusing that we stayed till six, and came in with the milk. One morning we had breakfast with Sir Frederick Leighton, and we had our last Sunday's Divan. We went to the Princess of Wales's Chiswick party, and the same night Richard started off for another trip to Iceland.
I was now left alone for a few weeks, and as I had twenty-two country-house invitations, I made a sort of flying rush around, staying about twenty-four hours at each. Amongst others, I went to see the Duke and Duchess of Somerset at Bulstrode, Lady Tichborne, now Mrs. Wickham, and Madame von Bülow at Reigate, then wife, now widow of the then Danish Minister, with whom I formed a friendship which lasts till now, and I hope will always last.
Richard was not gone more than six weeks, and then he returned with an attack of lumbago, followed by gout.
He went off again as soon as he got better. He went by ship to Rouen. He wished to go to Tours to revisit the old home of his childhood, and from thence to Vichy to do some good to the gout, and from there to make a pilgrimage, all by himself, to Paray le Monial, from whence he brought me beads and medals, and arrived in London on October 6th.
This autumn we had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mr. Henry Irving, and we saw a great deal of him, and were very constant visitors at Macbeth, which was just out.
I notice some of the most pleasant dinners at the latter part of our stay in England were one at Mr. Dicey's, at George Augustus Sala's, Mr. Whyte-Cooper's, in Berkeley Square, where we met Professor (the late Sir Richard) Owen, and Mr. Frank Buckland, and other delightful people. There was a meeting at the Geographical, where also were Sir Samuel Baker and Colonel Grant. Richard and I gave a little supper afterwards, at which I remember, amongst others, were Mr. Henry Irving, Mr. Val Bromley the handsome artist, the before-named Bob Campbell, Swinburne, Mr. Theodore Watts, and Sir Frederick Leighton. Early in this year I had a visit from Laurence Oliphant, and we had a long conversation about his spiritual views and the part he had taken in Richard's affairs, for which he was sorry.