My father was found lying in his precarious position, and was taken to the inn about a mile off, where he lay unconscious for some time and out of reach of a doctor. He did not completely recover from the effects of the concussion till some time after his return home.

He was an excellent host and had the power of drawing all his guests into congenial conversation; and many were the entertainments given at Newstead. He was a member of the Philobiblon Society, which has now ceased to exist, but was a distinguished club in the sixties. Each member in turn used to entertain his fellows at a breakfast party (as was then the fashion of the day); and Newstead lent itself admirably to such a gathering. I well remember seeing the company wandering about the garden, including the President of the Society-the Duc d'Aumale, clad in nankeen trousers and waistcoatMonckton Milnes (Lord Houghton), Dean Milman and others.

Although he was much sought after and highly appreciated in society, he was essentially a domestic man, and his chief pleasures lay among the members of his own family, and in his own garden and library. In referring to his domestic life, I cannot refrain from some mention of his faithful friend and attendant, James Mills, who was for nearly forty years his butler, and was almost regarded as a member of the family by all of us. Mills accompanied my father on his visits to great houses, watched over his comfort, and nursed him in his last illness with a devotion which we can never forget. He taught my brothers and myself whatever we learned as youngsters of cricket, carpentering, and many other useful things, and was moreover a great reader and a very well informed man. Scott and Dickens were his especial favourites among novelists, and I think he could have passed a stiff examination in the writings of either of them. My father read little or no fiction and was not well up in any novels except Sir Walter Scott's. One day, when Mills was handing round the coffee in the dining-room to the guests after dinner, the question was being discussed, in which of Dickens' novels a certain character occurred. As Mills handed the coffee to my father, he whispered in his ear, Nicholas Nickleby'; and my father said aloud, 'I have reason to believe that

the character to which you refer comes in "Nicholas Nickleby "'; and he was right.

My father had an unusual faculty for seeing the good in people from whom he differed absolutely on politics, religion, and other subjects, and being on the most friendly terms with them. His relations with Mr Gladstone were not confined to business; they were real friends; and he came back from his visits to Hawarden full of interest in what he had seen and heard. On one occasion, he was invited to meet John Bright, and for once he went in some trepidation lest he, a pronounced Conservative, should be unable to get on with the famous Radical and tribune of the people.' He came home delighted with Bright as a man, having found him honest and high-principled, and also widely read in all branches of English literature. This gave them much in common; and Bright told him how greatly he regretted not having had a classical education, and that he tried to make up for the deficiency by reading all the English he could. Bright was a keen fisherman, and he told my father that, when as a boy he asked his Quaker father's permission to learn to fish, his father consented on condition that before using a hook he should always file off the barb!

After my father's death Mr Gladstone used often to come and see me and talk about him, expressing the high regard he had for him. In the course of one of these conversations I mentioned that my father was a Special Constable on the famous 10th of April, 1848, and was sworn-in at the same time as Louis Napoleon, adding that they were born within four days of one another, my father on the 16th and Louis Napoleon on the 20th of April, 1808. Oh,' said Mr Gladstone, do not associate your good father with that man!'

When the late Marquess of Salisbury was Lord Robert Cecil, he depended to no inconsiderable extent on the earnings of his incomparable pen, and was a regular contributor to the Quarterly,' from which he derived a considerable income. In his later years he never forgot this; and he and Lady Salisbury were most kind to my father and mother, who were frequently their guests at Hatfield and in Arlington Street.

His last excursion abroad was in 1884, when, after

spending ten most pleasant days with Sir Henry and Lady Layard in Venice, he revisited the Dolomites, a district to which he was the first to introduce English travellers by means of his own Hand-Books. After a brief visit to Mr Malcolm, the well-known Venetian Banker, at Longarone, he went by the Sotoguda Pass to Caprile, a journey which was unusually arduous owing to recent floods which had washed away roads and bridges in many places. From Caprile he started on horse-back to cross the mountains to San Martino di Castrozza and had several contretemps on the way. At a place where the exceedingly narrow mountain path had been washed away, the pack-horse fell, rolled down a steep bank, and became pinned down at the bottom of the stream by the weight of his load. The luggage got soaked, but the horse, strange to say, was not seriously injured and, having been extricated, continued its journey. Shortly after, my father, in crossing a swollen torrent on foot, fell into the water and got wet through. These misfortunes, in addition to a deluge of rain that was falling at the time, were a serious ordeal for an old man of 76 to encounter, but he got through them without being any the worse and eventually arrived in safety at Neumarkt and the railway, having thoroughly enjoyed the remarkable scenery that he had passed through.

Whitwell Elwin, from 1853 to 1860 Editor of the 'Quarterly,' was to my father more like a near and dear relative than a friend. He was one of the most cultivated and fascinating of companions, steeped in knowledge of English literature, and had a wonderfully lucid and attractive style in writing, as is shown by his volume 'Some XVIII Century Men of Letters.' The memoir attached to that volume gives so good an account of him that I need only refer to it without repeating its contents, to which I made a small and humble contribution.

My father was engaged in business without intermission for over sixty years-from 1828 to 1891-but there was only one venture on which he always looked back with mortification and regret. He had long had a desire to found a really good weekly literary organ; and in 1869 he was brought into communication with Dr

Charles Appleton, Fellow of St John's College, Oxford, with whom he arranged to start and publish 'The Academy.' An agreement was entered into with Dr Appleton as Editor, similar to those which had worked in a most satisfactory and friendly way with successive Editors of the Quarterly. Unfortunately, however, Appleton was a man of a very different stamp from Lockhart, Elwin and Dr Smith. Learned, but narrow-minded and obstinate, and utterly ignorant of the public and its tastes and requirements, he seems to have had but one idea-to appeal to dry-as-dust scholars and men of his own type. A trial number was submitted and rejected, but second attempts were not much better. The first number of 'The Academy' was published in 1870, and received a warm welcome by anticipation in virtue of my father's name, but by the third number the circulation had dropped to less than half. Our letter-books are full of remonstrances from my father, and of dogged opposition from the Editor.

Not content with mismanaging his own department, he endeavoured to interfere with my father's responsibilities as owner and publisher, and to lay the blame of ill-success on him. The struggle came to a climax when Dr Appleton sent in an article by a German professor, which my father regarded as detrimental to the Christian Faith. He took the opinion of Sir Roundell Palmer and was assured that he had the full legal right to refuse to publish the article, which he accordingly did. But he found it impossible to work with Appleton, and paid a considerable sum to free himself from an agreement the whole financial burden of which had fallen on him. Dr Appleton took his paper elsewhere, but the failure which was inevitable under his auspices pursued him to the end.

Mr and Mrs Grote were firm friends of my father. When the historian died, Mrs Grote said, 'Well it is a fortunate thing that he passed away first, as I can now write his Life.' This she did; and her own personality and doings take a prominent part in that work. The American Nation,' in reviewing it, wrote:

In reading this book we cannot but be reminded of Addison's hymn:

"Soon as the Evening shades prevail
The Moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening Earth
Repeats the story of her birth;"

for we seem to find in it more about Mrs than Mr Grote.'

Even the shortest notice of my father would be incomplete which omitted to dwell on the social side of his life, both in town and at Newstead. It was a real delight to him to see his friends under his roof or in his garden. A large number of people specially noted his beaming smile and the warmth of his welcome, putting strangers and young people at once at their ease. friend of his daughters wrote after his death:

A

'Last year was made happy to me chiefly by his kindness. Those delightful evenings in your house are among the very happiest I ever spent. How I used to watch for your father coming into the room, and hope he would come and speak to me; and it was delightful when he did, for there was something quite wonderful about his kindness. I did feel grateful to him again and again, and I loved him.'

Another testimony to the same qualities came from Dr Alexander, Bishop of Derry, who wrote to me:

'I never can forget the genial and continued friendship to me which began at the time of the "Speaker's Commentary," and continued up to last year. A more thorough Christian gentleman I never met; and his face at the Athenæum was always a delightful sight to me. I really feel as if life were perceptibly poorer for that kind and generous soul gathered into the place of rest.'

Mrs Bishop (Miss Isabella Bird) wrote as follows:

'I made Mr Murray's acquaintance as a young girl, and in all this time have never received anything from him but the utmost kindness and consideration as well as sympathy in such of my affairs as I ventured to trouble him with. Thoughts of kindness and help, of giving pleasure to others, seemed to come so naturally to him, and made him so loveable. Just a year ago he wrote me such a kind note asking me to meet Mr Gladstone.

'How his geniality, brightness, and enjoyment of the society of his friends, and the way in which he made people