He had to be carried upstairs and laid upon a bed. Happily

he recovered without serious injury. There were many
exclamations of regret, but the only one I remember was

Millais'. All he said was: 'And it is a good picture too.'
Sir Arthur Sullivan was one of our musical favourites. My

wife had known him as a chorister boy in the Chapel Royal;
and to the end of his days we were on terms of the closest

intimacy and friendship. Through him we made the
acquaintance of the Scott Russells. Mr. Scott Russell was

the builder of the Crystal Palace. He had a delightful
residence at Sydenham, the grounds of which adjoined those of

the Crystal Palace, and were beautifully laid out by his
friend Sir Joseph Paxton. One of the daughters, Miss Rachel

Russell, was a pupil of Arthur Sullivan's. She had great
musicaltalent, she was remarkably handsome, exceedingly

clever and well-informed, and altogetherexceptionally
fascinating. Quite apart from Sullivan's genius, he was in

every way a charming fellow. The teacher fell in love with
the pupil; and, as naturally, his love was returned.

Sullivan was but a youth, a poor and struggling music-master.
And, very naturally again, Mrs. Scott Russell, who could not

be expected to know what magic baton the young maestro
carried in his knapsack, thought her brilliant daughter might

do better. The music lessons were put a stop to, and
correspondence between the lovers was prohibited.

Once a week or so, either the young lady or the young
gentleman would, quite unexpectedly, pay us a visit about tea

or luncheon time. And, by the strangest coincidence, the
other would be sure to drop in while the one was there. This

went on for a year or two. But destinyforbade the banns.
In spite of the large fortune acquired by Mr. Scott Russell -

he was the builder of the 'Great Eastern' as well as the
Crystal Palace - ill-advised or unsuccessful ventures robbed

him of his well-earned wealth. His beautiful place at
Sydenham had to be sold; and the marriage of Miss Rachel with

young Arthur Sullivan was abandoned. She ultimately married
an Indian official.

Her story may here be told to the end. Some years later she
returned to England to bring her two children home for their

education, going back to India without them, as Indian
mothers have to do. The day before she sailed, she called to

take leave of us in London. She was terriblydepressed, but
fought bravely with her trial. She never broke down, but

shunted the subject, talking and laughing with flashes of her
old vivacity, about music, books, friends, and 'dear old

dirty London,' as she called it. When she left, I opened the
street-door for her, and with both her hands in mine, bade

her 'Farewell.' Then the tears fell, and her parting words
were: 'I am leaving England never to see it again.' She was

seized with cholera the night she reached Bombay, and died
the following day.

To return to her father, the eminent engineer. He was
distinctly a man of genius, and what is called 'a character.'

He was always in the clouds - not in the vapour of his
engine-rooms, nor busy inventing machines for extracting

sunbeams from cucumbers, but musing on metaphysical problems
and abstract speculations about the universe generally. In

other respects a perfectly simple-minded man.
It was in his palmy days that he invited me to run down to

Sheerness with him, and go over the 'Great Eastern' before
she left with the Atlantic cable. This was in 1865. The

largest ship in the world, and the first Atlantic cable, were
both objects of the greatest interest. The builder did not

know the captain - Anderson - nor did the captain know the
builder. But clearly, each would be glad to meet the other.

As the leviathan was to leave in a couple of days, everything
on board her was in the wildest confusion. Russell could not

find anyone who could find the Captain; so he began poking
about with me, till we accidentally stumbled on the

Commander. He merely said that he was come to take a parting
glance at his 'child,' which did not seem of much concern to

the over-busy captain. He never mentioned his own name, but
introduced me as 'my friend Captain Cole.' Now, in those

days, Captain Cole was well known as a distinguished naval
officer. To Russell's absent and engineering mind, 'Coke'

had suggested 'Cole,' and 'Captain' was inseparable from the
latter. It was a name to conjure with. Captain Anderson

took off his cap, shook me warmly by the hand, expressed his
pleasure at making my acquaintance, and hoped I, and my

friend Mr. - ahem - would come into his cabin and have
luncheon, and then allow him to show me over his ship. Scott

Russell was far too deeply absorbed in his surroundings to
note any peculiarity in this neglect of himself and marked

respect for 'Captain Cole.' We made the round of the decks,
then explored the engine room. Here the designer found

himself in an earthlyparadise. He button-holed the engineer
and inquired into every crank, and piston, and valve, and

every bolt, as it seemed to me, till the officer in charge
unconsciously began to ask opinions instead of offering

explanations. By degrees the captain was equally astonished
at the visitor's knowledge, and when at last my friend asked

what had become of some fixture or other which he missed,
Captain Anderson turned to him and exclaimed, 'Why, you seem

to know more about the ship than I do.'
'Well, so I ought,' says my friend, never for a moment

supposing that Anderson was in ignorance of his identity.
'Indeed! Who then are you, pray?'

'Who? Why, Scott Russell of course, the builder!'
There was a hearty laugh over it all. I managed to spare the

captain's feelings by preserving my incognito, and so ended a
pleasant day.

CHAPTER XLIV
IN November, 1862, my wife and I received an invitation to

spend a week at Compiegne with their Majesties the Emperor
and Empress of the French. This was due to the circumstance

that my wife's father, Lord Wilton, as Commodore of the Royal
Yacht Squadron, had entertained the Emperor during his visit

to Cowes.
We found an express train with the imperialcarriages

awaiting the arrival of the English guests at the station du
Nord. The only other English besides ourselves were Lord and

Lady Winchilsea with Lady Florence Paget, and Lord and Lady
Castlerosse, now Lord and Lady Kenmare. These, however, had

preceded us, so that with the exception of M. Drouyn de
Lhuys, we had the salooncarriage to ourselves.

The party was a very large one, including the Walewskis, the
Persignys, the Metternichs - he, the Austrian Ambassador -

Prince Henri VII. of Reuss, Prussian Ambassador, the Prince
de la Moskowa, son of Marshal Ney, and the Labedoyeres,

amongst the historical names. Amongst those of art and
literature, of whom there were many, the only one whom I made

the acquaintance of was Octave Feuillet. I happened to have
brought his 'Comedies et Proverbes' and another of his books

with me, never expecting to meet him; this so pleased him
that we became allies. I was surprised to find that he could

not even read English, which I begged him to learn for the
sake of Shakespeare alone.

We did not see their Majesties till dinner-time. When the
guests were assembled, the women and the men were arranged

separately on opposite sides of the room. The Emperor and
Empress then entered, each respectively welcoming those of

their own sex, shaking hands and saying some conventional
word in passing. Me, he asked whether I had brought my guns,