Tracks of a Rolling Stone [115]
some of his parliamentary clique. Coming in one day, and finding us hard at work, Thackeray asked for information. We handed him a copy of the paper. 'Ah,' he exclaimed, with mock solemnity, '"The Rellum," should be printed on vellum.' He too, like Tennyson, was variable. But this depended on whom he found. In the presence of a stranger he was grave and silent. He would never venture on puerile jokes like this of his 'Rellum' - a frequent playfulness, when at his ease, which contrasted so unexpectedly with his impenetrable exterior. He was either gauging the unknown person, or feeling that he was being gauged. Monckton Milnes was another. Seeing me correcting some proof sheets, he said, 'Let me give you a piece of advice, my young friend. Write as much as you please, but the less you print the better.'
'For me, or for others?'
'For both.'
George Cayley had a natural gift for, and had acquired considerable skill, in the embossing and working of silver ware. Millais so admired his art that he commissioned him to make a large tea-tray; Millais provided the silver. Round the border of the tray were beautifully modelled sea-shells, cray-fish, crabs, and fish of quaint forms, in high relief. Millais was so pleased with the work that he afterwards painted, and presented to Cayley, a fine portrait in his best style of Cayley's son, a boy of six or seven years old.
Laurence Oliphant was one of George Cayley's friends. Attractive as he was in many ways, I had little sympathy with his religious opinions, nor did I comprehend Oliphant's exalted inspirations; I failed to see their practical bearing, and, at that time I am sorry to say, looked upon him as an amiable faddist. A special favourite with both of us was William Stirling of Keir. His great work on the Spanish painters, and his 'Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth,' excited our unbounded admiration, while his BONHOMIE and radiant humour were a delight we were always eager to welcome.
George Cayley and I now entered at Lincoln's Inn. At the end of three years he was duly called to the Bar. I was not; for alas, as usual, something 'turned up,' which drew me in another direction. For a couple of years, however, I 'ate' my terms - not unfrequently with William Harcourt, with whom Cayley had a Yorkshire intimacy even before our Cambridge days.
Old Mr. Cayley, though not the least strait-laced, was a religious man. A Unitarian by birth and conviction, he began and ended the day with family prayers. On Sundays he would always read to us, or make us read to him, a sermon of Channing's, or of Theodore Parker's, or what we all liked better, one of Frederick Robertson's. He was essentially a good man. He had been in Parliament all his life, and was a broad-minded, tolerant, philosophical man-of-the-world. He had a keen sense of humour, and was rather sarcastical; but, for all that, he was sensitively earnest, and conscientious. I had the warmest affection and respect for him. Such a character exercised no small influence upon our conduct and our opinions, especially as his approval or disapproval of these visibly affected his own happiness.
He was never easy unless he was actively engaged in some benevolent scheme, the promotion of some charity, or in what he considered his parliamentary duties, which he contrived to make very burdensome to his conscience. As his health was bad, these self-imposed obligations were all the more onerous; but he never spared himself, or his somewhat scanty means. Amongst other minor tasks, he used to teach at the Sunday-school of St. John's, Westminster; in this he persuaded me to join him. The only other volunteer, not a clergyman, was Page Wood - a great friend of Mr. Cayley's - afterwards Lord Chancellor Hatherley. In spite of Mr. Cayley's Unitarianism, like Frederick the Great, he was all for letting people 'go to Heaven in their own way,' and was moreover quite ready to help them in their own way. So that he had no difficulty in hearing
'For me, or for others?'
'For both.'
George Cayley had a natural gift for, and had acquired considerable skill, in the embossing and working of silver ware. Millais so admired his art that he commissioned him to make a large tea-tray; Millais provided the silver. Round the border of the tray were beautifully modelled sea-shells, cray-fish, crabs, and fish of quaint forms, in high relief. Millais was so pleased with the work that he afterwards painted, and presented to Cayley, a fine portrait in his best style of Cayley's son, a boy of six or seven years old.
Laurence Oliphant was one of George Cayley's friends. Attractive as he was in many ways, I had little sympathy with his religious opinions, nor did I comprehend Oliphant's exalted inspirations; I failed to see their practical bearing, and, at that time I am sorry to say, looked upon him as an amiable faddist. A special favourite with both of us was William Stirling of Keir. His great work on the Spanish painters, and his 'Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth,' excited our unbounded admiration, while his BONHOMIE and radiant humour were a delight we were always eager to welcome.
George Cayley and I now entered at Lincoln's Inn. At the end of three years he was duly called to the Bar. I was not; for alas, as usual, something 'turned up,' which drew me in another direction. For a couple of years, however, I 'ate' my terms - not unfrequently with William Harcourt, with whom Cayley had a Yorkshire intimacy even before our Cambridge days.
Old Mr. Cayley, though not the least strait-laced, was a religious man. A Unitarian by birth and conviction, he began and ended the day with family prayers. On Sundays he would always read to us, or make us read to him, a sermon of Channing's, or of Theodore Parker's, or what we all liked better, one of Frederick Robertson's. He was essentially a good man. He had been in Parliament all his life, and was a broad-minded, tolerant, philosophical man-of-the-world. He had a keen sense of humour, and was rather sarcastical; but, for all that, he was sensitively earnest, and conscientious. I had the warmest affection and respect for him. Such a character exercised no small influence upon our conduct and our opinions, especially as his approval or disapproval of these visibly affected his own happiness.
He was never easy unless he was actively engaged in some benevolent scheme, the promotion of some charity, or in what he considered his parliamentary duties, which he contrived to make very burdensome to his conscience. As his health was bad, these self-imposed obligations were all the more onerous; but he never spared himself, or his somewhat scanty means. Amongst other minor tasks, he used to teach at the Sunday-school of St. John's, Westminster; in this he persuaded me to join him. The only other volunteer, not a clergyman, was Page Wood - a great friend of Mr. Cayley's - afterwards Lord Chancellor Hatherley. In spite of Mr. Cayley's Unitarianism, like Frederick the Great, he was all for letting people 'go to Heaven in their own way,' and was moreover quite ready to help them in their own way. So that he had no difficulty in hearing