Alma-Tadema, at his house in the suburbs, and especially when returning from it, I made a very pleasant acquaintance with the poet Browning. As his carriage did not arrive, I offered to take him home in mine; but hardly had we started when we found ourselves in a dense fog, and it shortly became evident that our driver had lost his way. As he wandered about for perhaps an hour, hoping to find some indication of it, Browning's conversation was very agreeable. It ran at first on current questions, then on travel, and finally on art,--all very simply and naturally, with not a trace of posing or paradox. Remembering the obscurity of his verse, I was surprised at the lucidity of his talk. But at last, both of us becoming somewhat anxious, we called a halt and questioned the driver, who confessed that he had no idea where he was.
As good, or ill, luck would have it, there just then emerged from the fog an empty hansom-cab, and finding that its driver knew more than ours, I engaged him as pilot, first to Browning's house, and then to my own.
One old friend to whom I was especially indebted was Sir Charles Reed, who had been my fellow-commissioner at the Paris and Philadelphia expositions. Thanks to him, I was invited to the dinner of the lord mayor at the Guildhall. As we lingered in the library before going to the table, opportunity was given to study various eminent guests. First came Cairns, the lord chancellor, in all the glory of official robes and wig; then Lord Derby;then Lord Salisbury, who, if I remember rightly, was minister of foreign affairs; then, after several other distinguished personages, most interesting of all, Lord Beaconsfield, the prime minister. He was the last to arrive, and immediately after his coming he presented his arm to the lady mayoress, and the procession took its way toward the great hall. From my seat, which was but a little way from the high table, I had a good opportunity to observe these men and to hear their speeches.
All was magnificent. Nothing of its kind could be more splendid than the massive gold and silver plate piled upon the lord mayor's table and behind it, nothing more sumptuous than the dinner, nothing more quaint than the ceremonial. Near the lord mayor, who was arrayed in his robes, chain, and all the glories of his office, stood the toastmaster, who announced the toasts in a manner fit to make an American think himself dreaming,--something, in fact, after this sort, in a queer singsong way, with comical cadences, brought up at the end with a sharp snap: ``Me lawds, la-a-a-dies and gentleme-e-e-n, by commawnd of the Right Honorable the Lawrd Marr, Icha-a-awrge you fill your glawse-e-e-s and drink to the health of the Right Honorable the Ur-r-rll of Beck'nsfield.''
A main feature of the ceremony was the loving-cup.
Down each long table a large silver tankard containing a pleasing beverage, of which the foundation seemed to be claret, was passed; and, as it came, each of us in turn arose, and, having received it solemnly from his neighbor, who had drunk to his health, drank in return, and then, turning to his next neighbor, drank to him; the latter then received the cup, returned the compliment, and in the same way passed it on.
During the whole entertainment I had frequently turned my eyes toward the prime minister, and had been much impressed by his apparent stolidity. When he presented his arm to the lady mayoress, when he walked with her, and during all the time at table, he seemed much like a wooden image galvanized into temporary life. When he rose to speak, there was the same wooden stiffness and he went on in a kind of mechanical way until, suddenly, he darted out a brilliant statement regarding the policy of the government that aroused the whole audience; then, after more of the same wooden manner and mechanical procedure, another brilliant sentence; and so on to the end of the speech.
All the speeches were good and to the point. There were none of those despairing efforts to pump up fun which so frequently make American public dinners distressing. The speakers evidently bore in mind the fact that on the following day their statements would be pondered in the household of every well-to-do Englishman, would be telegraphed to foreign nations, and would be echoed back from friends and foes in all parts of the world.
After the regular speeches came a toast to the diplomatic corps, and the person selected to respond was our representative, the Honorable Edwards Pierpont. This he did exceedingly well, and in less than five minutes.
Sundry American papers had indulged in diatribes against fulsome speeches at English banquets by some of Mr. Pierpont's predecessors, and he had evidently determined that no such charge should be established against him.
Much was added to my pleasure by my neighbors at the table--on one side, Sir Frederick Pollock, the eminent father of the present Sir Frederick; and on the other, Mr. Rolf, the ``remembrancer'' of the City of London.
This suggests the remark that, in my experience among Englishmen, I have found very little of the coldness and stiffness which are sometimes complained of. On the contrary, whenever I have been thrown among them, whether in Great Britain or on the Continent, they have generally proved to be agreeable conversationists. One thing has seemed to me at times curious and even comical: they will frequently shut themselves up tightly from their compatriots,--even from those of their own station,--and yet be affable, and indeed expansive, to any American they chance to meet. The reason for this is, to an American, even more curious than the fact. I may discuss it later.
