“My own personal acquaintance with the familiar ‘Fred. Burnaby’ was confined to several hospitable dinner-parties at the house of his relative, Lady W——­, my near neighbour and friend at Norwood, about which I might anecdotise to any extent; but I never allow myself to record private conversation nor to reveal domesticities.  All such are sacred in my memory, and on principle I despise the modern mischief-maker whose reminiscences are practically reminuisances.  On a certain public occasion, however, Burnaby stood by me, to my great pleasure and advantage, and let me record his kindness thus.  When I gave my lecture on Flying at the Royal Aquarium, he most appropriately took the chair, and made some excellent remarks.  Altogether, let my testimony, however brief, however inadequate, to the merits of Fred. Burnaby be this:  I lost in his too sudden death a friend, as I had hoped, for many years to come, and my regrets are for him as one of the noblest of mankind.  Let me add a word further, as the worthy witnessing of one, quite a kindred spirit, whose acquaintance I made some long time back, and look for great things from his energy and enterprise, and multifarious talents,—­Charles Marvin, then the famous Eastern Pioneer, who in his book on Asia, says:  “Yes, our Burnabys, our Bakers, our MacGregors, our Gordons—­these are the real pillars of the Empire.  These are the men who confer provinces upon England, who risk their lives to guard them.  When the world is a little older, and the working man’s vote is worth more than the statesman’s opinion, then the splendid achievements of such men will be more generously appreciated:  and the warm English feeling expended to-day on torpid, stupid, unpatriotic party politicians will be directed towards heroes whose steady undaunted patriotism, in face of public indifference and bureaucratic disdain, conveys a moral as grand as their careers.”

A Dining-out Anecdote.

As I have before said, not having been much given to society, nor therefore a professional parasite of Amphitryon (though sometimes tempted to his side as “a lion,” but more often vainly, for I always refused if I could), I have an instructive anecdote to give about a celebrated conversationist, whom I will not name nor indicate even by initials.  One evening I found myself compelled to accompany him to a great man’s banquet—­nota bene, it was after I had well recovered speech—­and so I found myself at his chambers perhaps ten minutes too soon.  He called to me from his dressing-room, bidding me to amuse myself till he was ready.  Now, on the study table were laid several books, open, with weights to keep them so:  and I glanced from one to another to while away the time.  Then up came his brougham, and off we went.  At dinner my “diner-out” started a topic, whereof innocently enough I remembered instantly a suitable epigram.  Not long after another subject gave me occasion to tell a witty story, which somehow came