2 Saddle and Sirloin. 



Some good friends live only in memory. Professor 

 Dick, " the old white lion," as his pupils called him, 

 sleeps in Glasnevin cemetery. We always found him 

 as kind as he was quaint. Ask him what we might about 

 Clydesdales or anything else, and he never grudged 

 us oil from his cruise. Write to him, and five or six 

 words were our portion in reply. He liked to be paid 

 off in his own coin; hence our joint correspondence 

 about his photograph comprised some thirteen words 

 on four square inches of note paper. You saw the 

 man best when he was trying a roarer on " Dick's 

 Constitution Hill," or when he admitted you by the 

 side-door on to the stage of his theatre, and placed 

 you in shadow during a lecture. He would then grasp 

 the thigh-bone of a horse, or whatever else he was 

 about to illustrate, and speak in the same tone, with- 

 out check or cadence for an hour. If he did pause, 

 it was only to rebuke with a stony British stare 

 some foolish " interruption and laughter." We are 

 told that he rather prided himself on quelling such 

 offenders by the unaided power of his eye. 



He was in truth, a fine, rugged, old fellow, with 



" A skin of copper, 

 Quite professional and proper," 



a rambling, half-corpulent figure, shaggy white 

 tresses, and thoughts full of marrow. He had a 

 large stock of spare activities, whereon to use them ; 

 as public matters, both political and civic, had always 

 a great charm for him. A more sturdy Liberal never 

 drew breath, and in 1852 his friends thought of 

 putting him up for Edinburgh. He never entered 

 very heartily into the idea, but it suited his humour 

 to put out an elaborate and searching analysis of the 

 great questions, which " must be considered settled," 

 and those which belonged to the future. Among the 

 latter he gave special prominence to the Irish Church 

 and a Second Reform Bill. He never married, and 



