Tuesday Morning.—Still in Edinburgh, but going home to-night. Just received telegram from Member for SARK. "Come home at once," he says; "the Peronospora Schleideniana has got at the onions."
Rather a shock to have news like this flashed upon one with that absence of deliberation that sometimes marks the telegraph service. But I cannot say I am surprised. I had, indeed, before leaving, called SARK's attention to what I recognised as the greyish mycelial threads of the fungus spreading upon the pipes and budding seed-heads. If SARK had steeped the seed in sulphate of copper before planting it, this wouldn't have happened. It's a pity, for I rather thought we would make something towards expenses out of that onion-bed. There's no more profitable crop than your pickling onions if well farmed. I know a man who made £150 an acre out of his onions. But then he wasn't hampered in his arrangements with a fellow like SARK.
Called on Mr. G. to say good-bye. He was sympathetic about the onion blight, but I could see that his mind was occupied with other and perhaps equally saddening thoughts.
"I suppose you have been made aware of the intelligence that has reached me through the usual sources?" he said. "I have had a pretty good time here. I have belaboured the Government from all points of attack. I think I managed pretty well with the Disestablishment Question. You don't think, TOBY," he said, with a passing look of deeper apprehension, "that I gave myself away at all on the matter? The worst of these fellows is that they keep a record of every word I say, a custom which seriously hampers one in his movements. What I should like, if it were permitted, would be to come quite fresh to a question year after year, and say upon it exactly what happened to be convenient, without having before my eyes the certainty that somebody would dig out what I said on the same subject last year, or five years ago."
I assured him that I thought not much could be made out of his remarks on Disestablishment Question. In fact it would be difficult to prove that he had said anything at all. Brightened up at this; but cloud again deepened over his mobile face.
"Yes, perhaps I've done pretty well," he said, with a sigh. "I have steered through a very difficult position without running ashore; I have had an immense popular reception; I have stirred up the constituency, and have, if I may say so, supplied with fresh oil the sacred lamp of Liberalism. Now, just when I was beginning in some modest measure to felicitate myself, there comes news of a crushing master-stroke devised by the Government. Though I do not disguise my discomfiture, I would not withhold my tribute of admiration at the brilliancy of the stroke, of the genius of its conception, and of the completeness with which it has been dealt. I have been here more than a week, and have delivered four speeches. The Government and their friends on the platform and in the press affect to sneer at my efforts and their influence. Still, they feel it is necessary to make a counter-demonstration, and to effectually undo whatever work I may have accomplished. What course do they adopt? Why, they send down ASHMEAD-BARTLETT. He was at Dalkeith last night, and, in a single speech, destroyed the effect of my great effort of Saturday. He will go to West Calder; he will come here; he will follow me step by step with relentless energy, tearing up, so to speak, the rails I have laid, and which I had hoped would have safely conducted the Liberal train into the Westminster station. Sic vos non vobis. It is cruel, it is crushing. If I had only foreseen it, I would have remained at Hawarden, and you might have averted the calamity that overshadows your Garden."
Quite distressed to see my venerated friend broken down. Bad for him to stop at home and brood over calamity. Best thing would be change of scene and thought. He had made engagement to-day to go to Pumpherston and inspect oil and candle works. Better keep it.
"No," said Mr. G., wearily, "oil comforts me not, nor candles either. Now, if it were pork, it would be different. Few things so interesting as pork. Not from a dietetic point of view, but regarded historically. As I mentioned to a Correspondent the other day, in the course of Homeric work I have examined into the use of pork by the ancients. A very curious subject. I shall make some references to it in the closing paper which I am writing for Good Words on the Old Testament. I am under the impression that the dangers which lurk beneath the integument of a leg (or sirloin) of pork, are specially connected with the heat of Southern climates."
Curious to see how rapidly his aspect changed as these thoughts pressed upon his mind. When I came in, he had been sitting in an arm-chair, with his head resting on his hand, and his brow painfully wrinkled. He looked quite old—at least seventy. Now he was up, walking about the room with springy stride, his mind actively engaged in framing theories on the use of pork by HOMER's contemporaries. If I could only keep him engaged, he would forget the blow that had descended upon him, and would regain his usual equanimity. A question as to whether he thought Achilles liked sage with his pork, cunningly led him on to a long disquisition, till, in a quarter of an hour, he was quite a changed man, and set out with great energy for Pumpherston.