1 70 MEMORIES OF MY LIFE 



could tolerate. He had a well-known story then to 

 the fore, which W. H. Brookfield (1809-1874), who 

 was a very constant guest, told me he had indulged 

 in five times that day already, and undertook that 

 he should repeat it for my benefit a sixth time, which 

 he did. Then Carlyle raved about the degeneracy 

 of the modern English without any facts in justifica- 

 tion, and contributed nothing that I could find to the 

 information or pleasure of the society. He, however, 

 executed a performance with great seriousness which 

 was decidedly funny, by hopping gravely on one leg 

 up and down within the pillars of the portico, which 

 he had discovered to be a prompt way of warming 

 himself in the then chilly weather. 



It is difficult to select events out of the very 

 many that were then interesting to me. One was 

 a visit to Mr. Webb at Newstead Abbey, the old 

 home of the poet Lord Byron, which he had recently 

 purchased. Mr. Webb had been a first-class African 

 sportsman, of whom mention will be made in the 

 next chapter in connection with the identification 

 of Dr. Livingstone's remains. The mementoes of 

 Lord Byron at Newstead Abbey were well cared 

 for, and most touching to me, for I had in my 

 youth an unlimited admiration of his works ; so I 

 drank greedily with my eyes all that I saw con- 

 nected with him. I will here anticipate very many 

 years, and mention a tragedy that occurred only two 

 autumns ago to Lord Byron's grandson and repre- 

 sentative, Lord Lovelace. My niece, who has 

 managed my home since the death of my wife, spent 

 a few summer weeks with me in the pretty village 

 of Ockham. The night before leaving it to return 



