THE SKETCHER

Otago Witness, Issue 2168, 12 September 1895, Page 45

THE SKETCHER

•• SOME VANISHED CELEBRITIES."

Under this title Miss F. M. Skese contributes to the Jaly number of Blackwood some interesting recollections. One of the most touching of these relates to SIB WALTER SOOTT. One of the earliest of my noteworthy recollections is that of a dull, depressing day under Scottish skies, when I shared the easy chair in which my father's dearest friend reposed, with his kind arm thrown round the little girl who nestled by his side— an elderly man with grey hair falling over his prominent forehead, thick bushy eyebrows almost hiding the eyes that were at that moment dull and sad, but capable of gleaming with fiery enthusiasm when roused on subjects immortalised by his genius or connected with the welfare of his beloved native land. His countenance then_wore a sombre expression, for it was a marked and mournful day in the life of Walter Scott— almost the darkest he had ever known— since the blow which had struck him the evening before, when he returned home from a gay dinner party in our house, announced the total wreck of his fortunes, the loss of many years of arduous labour, and the necessity of recommencing yet more strenuous and painful toil if he was to save any portion of the lands at Abbotsford which were bo dear to his heart. He had come for quiet and refuge from visitors to my father's house, where he was as free as in his own; but he said frankly he felt unequal to any society but that of hi« friend's youngest child, who would amuse him with her merry bavardage. So I was left alone with him that afternoon, aDd the scene is present with me as if it were yesterday. Sir Walter, addressing me with the gentle " dearie " he was wont.to apply to little children, told me that he did not wish to speak himself at all, but he would be glad to listen to some fairy stories if I had any to tell him. Nothing was easier to me, as fairies and jaobgobljos were the constant companions of

my thoughts at that period of my existence* and I plunged at once into a wild' invention of what I imagined to be the manners and customs of such frolicsome beings, to all of which he listened patiently for a long timp, and often laughed out heartily in spite of hia overhanging gloom. THE GLADSTONE FAMir,V I think that very few person- -A can now be living who remember w. . .aUier of Mr Gladstone. I have a vivid i^oollcotloo. of him, as a kind action to7/ards myself was the cause of a visit he paid to my mother B with whom I was when he came into thfc room. I was Bitting on a low seat in a corner of the room, and having shaken hands with mother, he came up to me and gave mo the letter with a few kind words. I raised my eyes to him as I took it, and saw a tall, quiet-looktog man, simple though dignified in manner, with somewhat heavy features, whiob, according to my recollection, bore no resemblance to the striking countenance of his distinguished son. . . I received, however, great kindnesß from a much nearer relation of Mr Gladstone's — his only sister. She was a good many years older than myself, and had often had me with her as a child in her own home ; but after I grew up I met her again in Warwickshire, and was then her almost daily com* panion. She was a tall fair-haired lady, wtth very winning manners, and by that time she had become a Roman Catholic, and was a most ardent convert; her whole conversation was on the subject, and it was her great desire to make proselytes. I went with her once to see a beautiful life-sized piotare of the Madonna and Child by an old master, and she fell into a sort ofgtrance in oontemplation of it, from which we had great difficulty in rousing her. She passed away several years later in a convent abroad, where, I believe, she was living only as a boarder and not as a nun. TIIBBE POETS. The oelebrities whom I came across after our return to England were for the most part men who had won their laurels in literature. At the very firat dinner party to which I went I sat next to a gentleman whose con? versation was strikingly brilliant and witty. I was told that he was William Aytonn, who had written "Lays of the Soottish Cavaliers," and many other poems. I had read these with much enjoyment, and soon found an opportunity of telling him how greatly I admired them. He received my complimentary remarks in silence, and then made a speech, with tbe quaintest solemnity, which. I found it rather difficult to answer. "It is very fortunate for me," he said, " that I can write verses ; it is my only ohanoe of winning: favour, because I am so excessively ugly? Involuntarily I turned to look at him critir cally for the first time, and found that hfy had stated an undoubted fact. His homely face, with its large rugged features, was certainly such as he had described it ; but bis eyea were bright with lurking /'laughter, and his expression was so amiable and kindly that no one would nave thought of describing him with the severity he had dealt to himself. Another poet with whom I spent a few days in a country house was Walter Savage Landor. I found him a very courteous, agreeable old gentleman ; but there was nothing whatever in his words or manner to indicate that he could have been the author of, say, " Rose Aylmer." He seemed to me a man devoted to society, and especially to that which was to bo found in tho ranks of the upper ten thousand ; bat perhaps I did not know him well enough ta judge him fairly. It was otherwise as regards Longfellow, with whom I bad muoh shorter acquaintance, but who impressed me as a man whose ardent spirit was on fire with thoughts and feelings that had little enough to do with this workaday world, and who was already soaring in imagination through those unknown spheres to whioh he passed in realitj rery soon after by the gates of death.