We were all pleased at your theatrical suc cess. the case now; and if I may counsel my I take an interesting passage referring to elder and wiser brother-I should say, put the production of "Lovers' Amazements into a savings bank for your daughter that at the Lyceum in January, 1857:imaginary sum that you in your too grateful dreams have devoted to me. When I was quite a young author I remember that I was indebted to you for various kind notices; which in fact had a pecuniary value, besides being very pleasant to my self-love. Shall I ask you, or try to discover, how much these were worth, and insist on paying you to the last drachma? I am sure you will not require from me this strict account. I shall come and see you shortly, and will write to you beforehand to ascertain if the day and hour be convenient. At present a drive in a cab shakes me to pieces. I find myself one of the relics of a bygone age, which the sands of time are gradually overwhelming. Always, my dear Hunt, your B. W. PROCTER. sincere I cannot go to any play, unfortunately, but every one who has spoken of your drama in our hearing has expressed great delight with it. You are throwing out new laurels at seventy-three- may they flourish and produce others. Only last night I turned to the "Foliage," "Nymphs," &c., published just forty years ago. I read all the sonnetssome of the translations- and "Thoughts on the Avon." Where drunk with Delphic air it comes away, The last note contains an allusion to some fine old wine which Procter in playful but determined kindness had insisted on his friend accepting. It is dated December, 1858: — daughter is better. I am heartily glad that your little grandIt is pleasant to think that the wine may have done good — but reLeigh Hunt's published "Correspond-member that the wine which that bountiful ence contains the reply to this letter, lady Nature pours into young veins is a wononly one passage from which I will the kindness to write on the enclosed Abou Will you do me derfully healthful cordial. quote: Ben Adhem? I want to send it, together with a small poem of my own, to New York. Pray sign your name to it also. I ask you to do this as I should expect you to ask me freely-on a similar occasion. I hope you are going on healthily yourself. Your beautiful letter makes me wish to say many things to you; especially as I have to excuse myself to your fine nature for not being able to accept its conclusions, and to hope you will not think the worse of me for so doing. ... You will not fall into the commonplace error of supposing that it is gratitude of which I wish to get rid-I could not if I would. Nor could I desire to do so towards one like yourself. It is, thank God, so great a pleasure to me. The matter lies altogether in another region. - i.e. Leigh Hunt died in the following August, and the loss was a heavy one to Procter. Our loves and friendships follow, but cannot replace each other; as each departs a light goes out not to be rekindled on earth. A galaxy Procter had seen extinguished Landor, Marold, friends of his early and of his late cready, Maclise, Hood, Thackeray, Jer years; but one recent death must have - been an especial shock to him — as it was, indeed, to the whole country- that of Dickens, who in 1869 had come to London, as Forster mentions in his "Life of Dickens," to spend "Procter's eightysecond birthday " with him. Six months later the younger, stronger, always incomparably more vigorous man was dead! One of the peculiarities of most old people is to over rather than under state their age. Some doubt exists as to the year of Procter's birth, and the doubt he seems to have been unable to solve. It will be seen from the following little note to my wife that Procter thought himself younger by two years than his friend has stated him to be: 32, Weymouth Street, Portland Place, W., 25th November, 1869. MY DEAR MRS. MAYER, - Thanks for the flowers. They are still blooming before me. And pray give my kind regards to Mrs. Brod erip [daughter of Thomas Hood] and thank her. I had a sincere friendship for her mother -I do not know how many years ago. Do you know that I entered my eightieth year on Sunday [the 21st] when you called here, and when I was washing and dressing for a new century? I send you my tenderest compliments, being at all times your very sincere B. W. PROCTER. In the year of this letter to Chorley · 1866 — appeared Procter's last book, "Charles Lamb: a Memoir. By Barry Cornwall." Owing to physical infirmity Procter was largely assisted in his task by his friend John Forster, to whom the book was affectionately dedicated, though that dedication was, much to the author's just indignation, suppressed by the publishers. In the course of the book occurs the following touching passage. Procter has been speaking of Lamb, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt: These men who lived long ago - had a great share of my regard. They were all slandered, chiefly by men who knew little of them, and nothing of their good qualities, or by men who saw them only through the mist of political or religious animosity. Perhaps it was partly for this reason that they came nearer to my heart. I cannot conclude this tribute to the memory of my dear old friend, without giving as briefly as possible a few personal reminiscences of him during the latter years of his life. He was a member of the Leigh Hunt Memorial Committee, originally formed by Mr. S. C. Hall. In 1868 I had the satisfaction, in conjunction with Mr. Hall and Edmund Ollier, of raising the requisite funds for the completion of the memorial. Mr. Procter called at my office in Norfolk Street to inquire about our progress and "Henry Fothergill Chorley's Autobiography," &c. Compiled by Henry G. Hewlett. Vol. II., pp. 241-2. congratulate us on our success. Time and physical suffering had left but a wreck of what the poet had been forty years before. There remained, however, the courtesy, the kindliness, the sympathy of old days struggling through imperfect utterance (caused by a paralytic stroke) and mastering bodily weakness. It was a melancholy but touching picture, and filled me with sorrow and veneration. At the mention of some old loved name his face would light up as if transfigured, and I had a glimpse of what he had been ere he entered that "dark desert which goes by the name of old age." These gleams of animation would kindle the kind thoughtful eyes and flicker across the features which weight of years and pain had rendered ordinarily expressionless, like sunbeams on a still lake. But the light faded as rapidly as it appeared, and, after talking with momentary energy, he would relapse into silence with a look never to be forgotten. He was proud of reading even manuscript without glasses - a faculty he retained almost to the last. His handwriting, though feeble - its declining strength began to be noticeable in 1857-maintained its old character of neatness and delicacy as long as he could hold a pen. Of late years writing became difficult and painful to him; nevertheless he kept up his correspondence with old friends, near and distant-amongst the latter with the Cowden Clarkes, at Genoa, for whom he had great regard. The writing me a brief note with a copy of the last photograph taken of himself so fatigued him that he was unable to finish and sign it. During the visit referred to, Leigh Hunt's eldest grandson, Walter Leigh Hunt, came in and was introduced to him. In astonishment at his height (Procter himself was a small man), Procter raised his trembling hands and exclaimed, "Little Thornton's son!" referring to Leigh Hunt's charming verses to "T. L. H." when six years old. It was pleasant to see the strong arm of Leigh Hunt's grandson lovingly and mancarriage, and recalled to my mind Hawfully supporting the old poet back to his thorne's picture of Leigh Hunt and Procter before quoted. The last time I saw him was at the door of his house in Weymouth Street. Knowing that it was a matter of pain and difficulty to me to leave the cab, he insisted on coming out himself, though hardly able to manage the short walk by the aid of my wife's arm. The same thoughtful kindness induced him to call 66 to From The Saturday Review. SETTING UP A BUTLER. suffering which must excite the compas- on me. It may seem almost trifling to record such facts, but those who remember his recent state of health will not wonder that I should do so gratefully. It is impossible for those who did not know him personally to have any adequate idea of the charm of the man. "Everybody loves him," wrote Crabb Robinson in 1866, and having, as he told me, no politics," he throughout life was on good terms with men of all parties. One of his most conspicuous characteristics to the last was his chivalrous courte y women, reminding one of the unparagoned high breeding of the late Duke of Beaufort, George Grote, Samuel Rogers (when he liked the lady!), and the late John Stuart Mill. The nearest living approach to them in this respect is Robert Brown-getting on in the world, extending his ing. It was the half-playful, protecting practice or his business, accumulating a deference of the old school, almost un- comfortable balance, and laying up a known to this generation. I have enumestock of social consideration, and who rated some of Procter's most celebrated finds himself on the brink of a great dofriends. He felt acutely Lord Lytton's mestic revolution, which is the natural death, saying to me in reference to a hitherto been so sweet to him. He has result of the good fortune which has statement that he was 66 superficial," "He could not have been that; he was of course been more or less distinctly 'great' in so many things." Then con-aware since he started as head of a household of a gradual development of templatively, "They have all gone before me. How many?" domestic we will not say comfort, and He paused, and added sadly, "Only a little of me reluxury, in the true sense of the word, mains the best has long gone." Who would be still more out of place — but perhaps we may say display. The snug Yet some few giants remain-worthy villa, in its garden, at Tulse Hill or Holto rank with the great departed for loway, where he began life with Arabella, whose continued presence we of a smaller has been exchanged for a more pretengeneration may well be grateful. These tious dwelling nearer the centre of fashmade an Indian summer round the old ionable life, first perhaps in Bayswater or man's hearth. Carlyle was often there; Regent's Park, and then, as Arabella's also Lord Houghton; and John Forster, of South Kensington. The cook and views expanded, in the aspiring outskirts who, even if he possessed no separate housemaid of the primitive family have tirle to fame, must have achieved immortality as the friend of great men. Robert also been growing into a numerous retiBrowning, whose earnest solicitude nue of female servants-cook and kitchshielded the declining days of Landor, en-maid, first and second housemaid, parvisited Procter every Sunday when in lour-maid, nurse and under-nurse, and England. With few other exceptions his perhaps a boy. It is sometimes of the life had of late passed in almost absolute little things of life that one has most reaseclusion; and those who knew of his son to be afraid, and if our friend had days of pain and nights of sleeplessness, been wise, he would have had an uncomand have heard the exclamation, "These fortable presentiment when he saw the terrible ten years!" patient but profound-boy become a member of his establishly sad, pass his lips, cannot mourn for him, however much for themselves and the world they may "lament a gifted could hear this unmoved? spirit flown." ment. The theory of development has undoubtedly its place in the domestic as himself perhaps scarcely realized to the in the animal world, and Wordsworth full extent all that is meant by the melancholy truth that the child is father to the man. To the eye of the social physician the irruption of the boy in buttons, or even, in an earlier stage, of the boy without buttons, who is surreptitiously introduced into the area to clean the knives and boots, is painfully ominous. Every doctor watches for such signs. It may be only a little flush or a scarcely visible pimple, but to the observant eye it betokens unmistakably what is about to follow. In a suburban house perhaps a boy does not much matter. There is a garden where he can be turned loose when not wanted indoors; or there is probably a pony-chaise, and he can make-believe to be useful to the groom. At any rate you know the worst of him. When he outgrows his jacket and trousers so that there is too much exposure of bare arm and dirty stocking, he must of course give place to another; but that other will only be a boy such as he used to be himself. The danger of the boy in a town house is that he is the thin end of the wedge the almost inevitable precursor of a man. one who reflects on all that is involved in the introduction of a butler into a house for the first time the prospect can hardly be contemplated without a pang. Hitherto he has been, under his wife, master in his own house. A woman cook is the highest person in his service, and personally he has nothing to do with her, though the mention of his name may sometimes be a useful resource to his wife when she has a difficulty with her chief domestic. If he wants anything done in a particular way he has only to tell his wife, who gives the necessary order. But now a new official is to be introduced under his roof who will entirely alter this state of affairs. A wife may manage a cook without troubling her husband, but he cannot escape the responsibility of himself looking after the butler. His domestic life suddenly falls under the shadow of a strange man who has ways and ideas of his own, and who, though nominally his servant, contrives in many things to make himself felt as master. Theoretically, of course the supreme authority rests with the employer; he gives his orders, and it is supposed that they will be carried out. But his sense of freedom in giving orders is apt to be seriously circumscribed by his consciousness that they will be sharply criticised in thought, if not in speech. A butler who finds himself in a house where there has never been a butler before has ample scope for a peculiar kind of tyranny. He has an experience of the rights and duties of butlers to refer to of which his master It may be supposed that with the increase of the domestic staff a certain change also takes place in the life of the household. There are more courses than there used to be at table, evening dress creeps in, and the range of hospitality widens. The boy having been added at the tail of the establishment, another male is found to be indispensable at the head of it. In short, our friend suddenly awakes to the discovery that he is in that most distressing position which may be described as tottering on the verge of a butler. His wife is constantly pointing out to him that other people not better off than they are have a butler; that a butler at once steadies and gives charac-is ter to a house, and is, in fact, a sort of social badge or symbol without which they can no longer hold up their heads among their friends and neighbours. Women servants may be all very well in their way, but then they are distinctively associated with mere bourgeois respectability. It is also hinted that a butler would after all be rather an economy than an additional expense. He would check the bills, keep an eye on the other servants, and do many things which the master of the household is too much occupied to attend to. It is possible that this sort of argument may not carry very decided conviction to the mind of the person to whom it is addressed, but he cannot but feel that, however he may struggle and procrastinate, the question is already decided. Sometimes, of course, a man makes the plunge without thinking much about it, and he may even perhaps fancy that he will enjoy it. But to any destitute. Nothing can be more impressive than the solemn gravity with which, under the form of questions, he issues mandates to his employers, or the expression of melancholy surprise with which he listens to suggestions or remonstrances which reveal the depths of social obscurity in which his master and mistress must have passed their previous existence. Reminiscences of the liberality and splendour of houses in which he formerly lived supply a ready answer to all complaints. His lordship, or Sir John, as the case may be, was content to write cheques for the wine-merchant without making fussy calculations as to the proper consumption of the quarter, or indulging in invidious suspicions as to whether a common St. Julien had not been substituted for Château-Margaux; nor did he demean himself by looking into the items of shopkeepers' bills, and comparing their prices with those of the Civil Service stores. The butler's ideal of a perfect establishment is one in which the social scale since he left a titled the butler manages everything according house. But worst of all of course is the to his own ideas. Now he is in a gener-wandering butler who has been everyous mood, and grumbles because there where and with everybody, and who is are not enough large dinner-parties and perpetually being passed on from one an overflowing table. Another time he place to another, whose complexion redsulks because he is done to death with dens and whose gait grows unsteady on too much company. The first principle critical occasions, whose spoons are alof his system is that all transactions with ways going astray, who brings the reek tradesmen should pass through his hands of tobacco to the breakfast-table, and the so that he may arrange for a nice little odour of onions to dinner, and is discovbonus for himself, in return for which heered, after he has gone, to have forgotten undertakes to defend the dealers when to pay the bills for which money was any question is raised about the quality given to him. It will usually be found of their goods or a doubt as to the fair- that servants, though they have faults of ness of their measure. The cellar is their own, reflect the faults of their emusually a sore point in domestic adminis-ployers, and this is especially the case tration. The master likes to be sure that with the butler in a family of moderate he gets the wines he pays for, and that means. In a great house, where there is they are reserved for himself and his a large retinue of servants, and systematguests, while the butler resents a sus-ic organization is indispensable, the butpicious inspection of the stock. In other ler must necessarily be a man of good days the master looked after his cellar capacity and character; he occupies a himself. He took care that his favourite distinct and well-defined position and is wines were lovingly bestowed, and, as he well paid. A butler of the inferior order, surveyed the store, indulged in pleasant on the other hand, is too often required anticipation of the day when he would to combine the services of a menial with have up some of his Comet port or '58 the management of many matters which Latour. But now he is never sure what require not only unexceptional integrity, he has; bottles break, wines become but intelligence and business qualities. sour or muddy in the most perplexing He is usually a common, ignorant man, way, and at the most awkward times; and particularly susceptible to the temptand though the old-fashioned drinking-ations which surround him. He is probbouts have quite gone out, mysterious ably anxious to marry, or, if married, to evaporation seems to equalize consump-get settled in some business where he tion. can live with his wife and children inIt is hard to say whether the butler who stead of seeing them only by snatches; is useless or lazy or the one who is too and he is therefore eager to snatch at busy and meddlesome and wants to take perquisites and to put by money. He everything on himself is more vexatious. acquires a dangerous taste for good livIn the one case the master is constantlying, and has too many opportunities of occupied in looking after things which indulging it. He is too much trusted and the butler neglects or in correcting his too little respected, and generally he is blunders. In the other case the master underpaid. As a rule, it may be said finds himself pushed out of the way, and that, unless a man has large means, he forced to take things as they are provid- had better try, with his wife's help, to get ed by a superior power. His house is on with women servants; and in any given over to a man who treats him as a case there is obvious peril in handing lodger. A very good butler, who knows over to a substitute with few qualificahis business thoroughly, and knows that tions for the task, the discharge of duties he knows it, is apt to be stiff and imprac- which he ought to see to himself. ticable, and to presume on his experience. As a rule it is certainly a mistake to bring servants from a family of a higher class into one of lower position. A cook who has happened once to live with an Irish peer will ever after in moments of drunken depression bewail with tears the plebeian extraction of her new employer who has made his money in trade; and a butler feels that he has descended in From The Spectator. THE EFFECT OF EXILE ON PRETENDERS. OF all the Pretenders in Europe, the Prince of the Asturias is probably nearest to a throne; and as Don Alfonso is, though only seventeen, now legally of |