218 REMINISCENCES OF HUXLEY 
occasion, with my wife, spent a fortnight or so at their 
home in Marlborough Place. The Sunday evenings 
had come to be a time for receiving friends, without 
any of the formality that often attaches to “ receptions.” 
Half a dozen or more would drop in for the “high 
tea.” I then noticed the change in the adjective, and 
observed that the phrase and the institution were not 
absolutely confined to the Huxley household; but 
their origin is still for me enshrouded in mystery, like 
the “empire of the Toltecs.” After the informal and 
jolly supper others would come in, until the company 
might number from twenty to thirty. Among the 
men whom I recall to mind (the married ones accom- 
panied by their wives, of course) were Mark Pattison, 
Lecky, and J. R. Green, Burdon Sanderson and Lau- 
der Brunton, Alma Tadema, Sir James Stephen and 
his brother Leslie, Sir Frederick Pollock, Lord Ar- 
thur Russell, Frederic Harrison, Spencer Walpole, 
Romanes, and Ralston. Some of these I met for the 
first time; others were old friends. Nothing could 
be more charming than the graceful simplicity with 
which all were entertained, nor could anything be 
more evident than the affectionate veneration which 
everybody felt for the host. 
The last time that I saw my dear friend was early 
in 1883, just before coming home to America. I 
found him lying on the sofa, too ill to say much, but 
not too ill for a jest or two at his own expense. The 
series of ailments had begun which were to follow 
him for the rest of his days. I was much concerned 
about him, but journeys to England had come to 
seem such a simple matter that the thought of its 
being our last meeting never entered my mind. A 
