Recollections of George John Cayley 



this book of the past (it must have been published about 

 the time of which I am writing), I can almost hear my old 

 friend's voice, still speaking, dictating, suggesting, half in 

 fun, all in earnest, sentence after sentence ringing like 

 a happy chime of youth — each sentence is as if he were 

 speaking still. 



Take for instance : " Man is a practical animal with 

 a few romantic aspirations which affect his thoughts much 

 more than his actions. The romance of every man's life 

 consists, not half so much in what he does, or has done, 

 as in what he thinks of doing, or thinks he might have 

 done." Or again : " There are Pyramuses and Thisbes, 

 who peep at each other through opera glasses instead of 

 through holes in the wall, and Romeos and Juliets, who 

 meet, whether at Devonshire House or the Whittington 

 Club Balls, and love just as suddenly, desperately, and 

 fatally." How true it all is, how gay, how experienced ! 

 Or again : " I have always looked upon Pickwick (which 

 will live as Dickens's great work) as a free translation or 

 Don Ouixote into the manners of modern England. Mr. 

 Pickwick, in the simple enthusiasm of his heart, resolves to 

 be the redresser of grievances. Sam Weller, the shrewd and 

 humorous valet, is the natural Sancho of British low life ; 

 always ready, like his prototype, with a quaint and homely, 

 common-sense view, to contrast with the flighty visions of 

 his master. Jingle is Gines de Pasamonte, Wardle the 

 hospitable sylvan duke. . . ." 



George Cayley used to come and dine with us in Onslow 

 Square, and question and contradict my father and interest 

 him and amuse him. His own father, Mr. Edward 

 Stillingfleet Cayley, a widower, was a Yorkshireman, 

 a landowner, belonging to an ancient family, and a 

 member of Parliament. Mr. Cayley used to live in 



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