Tracks of a Rolling Stone [120]
'The rascals know I'm the best friend they have. I'm the last man in the world they'd harm, for political reasons. Anyway, I can take care of myself.' And so it was he fell.
The end of Horsman's secretaryship is soon told. A bishopric became vacant, and almost as much intrigue was set agoing as we read of in the wonderful story of 'L'Anneau d'Amethyste.' Horsman, at all times a profuse letter-writer, wrote folios to Lord Palmerston on the subject, each letter more exuberant, more urgent than the last. But no answer came. Finally, the whole Irish vote, according to the Chief Secretary, being at stake - not to mention the far more important matter of personal and official dignity - Horsman flew off to London, boiling over with impatience and indignation. He rushed to 10 Downing Street. His Lordship was at the Foreign office, but was expected every minute; would Mr. Horsman wait? Mr. Horsman was shown into his Lordship's room. Piles of letters, opened and unopened, were lying upon the table. The Chief Secretary recognised his own signatures on the envelopes of a large bundle, all amongst the 'un's.' The Premier came in, an explanation EXTREMEMENT VIVE followed; on his return to Dublin Mr. Horsman resigned his post, and from that moment became one of Lord Palmerston's bitterest opponents.
CHAPTER XL
THE lectures at the Royal Institution were of some help to me. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain. Of these, Huxley was FACILE PRINCEPS, though both Owen and Tyndall were second to no other. Bain was disappointing. I was a careful student of his books, and always admired the logical lucidity of his writing. But to the mixed audience he had to lecture to - fashionable young ladies in their teens, and drowsy matrons in charge of them, he discreetly kept clear of transcendentals. In illustration perhaps of some theory of the relation of the senses to the intellect, he would tell an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had an injured leg dressed at a certain house, after which the recovered dog brought a canine friend to the same house to have his leg - or tail - repaired. Out would come all the tablets and pretty pencil cases, and every young lady would be busy for the rest of the lecture in recording the marvellous history. If the dog's name had been 'Spot' or 'Bob,' the important psychological fact would have been faithfully registered. As to the theme of the discourse, that had nothing to do with - millinery. And Mr. Bain doubtless did not overlook the fact.
Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one's attention to him depended on two things - a primary interest in the subject, and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for example, his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid and ganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely of vital importance to one's general culture. But if he were lecturing on fish, he would stick to fish; it would be essentially a JOUR MAIGRE.
With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the thing said. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered whether his words implied all they seemed to imply. One knew that the scientist was also a philosopher; and one longed to get at him, at the man himself, and listen to the lessons which his work had taught him. At one of these lectures I had the honour of being introduced to him by a great friend of mine, John Marshall, then President of the College of Surgeons. In later years I used to meet him constantly at the Athenaeum.
Looking back to the days of one's plasticity, two men are pre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart Mill and to Thomas Huxley I owe more, educationally, than to any other teachers. Mill's logic was simply a revelation to me. For what Kant calls 'discipline,' I still know no book, unless it be the 'Critique' itself, equal to it. But perhaps it is the men themselves, their earnestness, their splendid courage, their noble simplicity, that most inspired one with reverence. It
The end of Horsman's secretaryship is soon told. A bishopric became vacant, and almost as much intrigue was set agoing as we read of in the wonderful story of 'L'Anneau d'Amethyste.' Horsman, at all times a profuse letter-writer, wrote folios to Lord Palmerston on the subject, each letter more exuberant, more urgent than the last. But no answer came. Finally, the whole Irish vote, according to the Chief Secretary, being at stake - not to mention the far more important matter of personal and official dignity - Horsman flew off to London, boiling over with impatience and indignation. He rushed to 10 Downing Street. His Lordship was at the Foreign office, but was expected every minute; would Mr. Horsman wait? Mr. Horsman was shown into his Lordship's room. Piles of letters, opened and unopened, were lying upon the table. The Chief Secretary recognised his own signatures on the envelopes of a large bundle, all amongst the 'un's.' The Premier came in, an explanation EXTREMEMENT VIVE followed; on his return to Dublin Mr. Horsman resigned his post, and from that moment became one of Lord Palmerston's bitterest opponents.
CHAPTER XL
THE lectures at the Royal Institution were of some help to me. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain. Of these, Huxley was FACILE PRINCEPS, though both Owen and Tyndall were second to no other. Bain was disappointing. I was a careful student of his books, and always admired the logical lucidity of his writing. But to the mixed audience he had to lecture to - fashionable young ladies in their teens, and drowsy matrons in charge of them, he discreetly kept clear of transcendentals. In illustration perhaps of some theory of the relation of the senses to the intellect, he would tell an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had an injured leg dressed at a certain house, after which the recovered dog brought a canine friend to the same house to have his leg - or tail - repaired. Out would come all the tablets and pretty pencil cases, and every young lady would be busy for the rest of the lecture in recording the marvellous history. If the dog's name had been 'Spot' or 'Bob,' the important psychological fact would have been faithfully registered. As to the theme of the discourse, that had nothing to do with - millinery. And Mr. Bain doubtless did not overlook the fact.
Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one's attention to him depended on two things - a primary interest in the subject, and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for example, his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid and ganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely of vital importance to one's general culture. But if he were lecturing on fish, he would stick to fish; it would be essentially a JOUR MAIGRE.
With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the thing said. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered whether his words implied all they seemed to imply. One knew that the scientist was also a philosopher; and one longed to get at him, at the man himself, and listen to the lessons which his work had taught him. At one of these lectures I had the honour of being introduced to him by a great friend of mine, John Marshall, then President of the College of Surgeons. In later years I used to meet him constantly at the Athenaeum.
Looking back to the days of one's plasticity, two men are pre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart Mill and to Thomas Huxley I owe more, educationally, than to any other teachers. Mill's logic was simply a revelation to me. For what Kant calls 'discipline,' I still know no book, unless it be the 'Critique' itself, equal to it. But perhaps it is the men themselves, their earnestness, their splendid courage, their noble simplicity, that most inspired one with reverence. It