My uncle, Arthur W. Devis, had painted life-sized portraits of Blucher and Gneisenau, which his widow had given to me:  and as the Duke had always been my father’s friend, I asked his Grace if he would accept them from me; this he declined, but said, “get Colnaghi to value them and I’ll buy them”—­as accordingly I did, and the pictures are still I presume either at Apsley House or Strathfieldsaye.  My small memories of the Great Duke are summed up in these four monosyllables, plain, blunt, firm, kind.

After Brodie’s, my liberal father would give for me another hundred pounds, this time to his cousin Mr. Walters of No. 12 in the Square, to make me more learned as a conveyancer:  but it was all of no use:  “He penned a stanza when he should engross:”  however, I ate my terms and was duly called to the Bar.  At Walters’ my most eminent colleague, amongst others, was Roundel Palmer, now Lord Selborne, who, some time after, when we both had chambers in the Inn, wanted me (but I repudiated the idea) to be proposed as a candidate member for Oxford University, just before Gladstone was induced to stand; I daresay he will remember it.  As to M.P.ship I may have had other chances, but I never cared for a position of endless care and toil by night and day, to say nothing of my impediment of speech, and as to the magic letters I rather despised them:  this being one reason.  Not very many years ago my brother Charles was offered Nottingham if he would pay L3000 for the honour,—­and so I failed to appreciate any such distinction.  I think too that votes were at one time purchasable even at Guildford, my county town:  but that was of course at a less upright and immaculate time of day than this.

At Walters’ were also three of my cotemporaries,—­De Morgan, who had the business after decease of our principal, and whose brother is or was the famous psychological philosopher; Domville, since Sir Charles, I believe; and Gunn, a West Indian, of whom the jest was to inquire of Walters, a very nervous man, if he liked us to have a gun in chambers:  all these, and there were more, were clever men and worthy, but as the tide of life flows on I have lost sight of them.

* * * * *

I have just found an old letter of my own, dated December 28, 1839, which (with my own permission asked and granted) I will give as to a matter quite forgotten by me, viz., that Lady Spencer promised my father to get me an Indian Writership,—­as also that previously I had once hopes of the Registrarship from Lord John Russell, afterwards given to Mr. Lyster.  The letter proves how much my no-speech hindered both my good father’s efforts and my own;—­and explains itself.  In those days it cost 9d. between Albury and London.