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[1]
Getting Started with
NativeScript

Explore the possibility of building truly native,

cross-platform mobile applications using your
JavaScript skill—NativeScript!

Nathanael J. Anderson

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
Getting Started with NativeScript

Copyright © 2016 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in
critical articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy
of the information presented. However, the information contained in this book is
sold without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author, nor Packt
Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages
caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book.

Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the
companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals.
However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: January 2016

Production reference: 1220116

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
35 Livery Street
Birmingham B3 2PB, UK.

ISBN 978-1-78588-865-6
www.packtpub.com
 Credits

Author Project Coordinator

Nathanael J. Anderson Shipra Chawhan

Reviewer Proofreader
TJ VanToll Safis Editing

Commissioning Editor Indexer

Veena Pagare Monica Ajmera Mehta

Acquisition Editor Production Coordinator

Prachi Bisht Conidon Miranda

Content Development Editor Cover Work

Mehvash Fatima Conidon Miranda

Technical Editor
Abhishek R. Kotian

Copy Editor
Lauren Harkins
 Foreword
Are you tired of writing the same mobile app from scratch for iOS, Android and
Windows? Yes? Then, you should be glad you found NativeScript!

Owing to the mobile platforms diversification, it is clear that to build a successful

mobile application, you should make it available on all of the major mobile
marketplaces, namely, Apple AppStore, Google PlayStore, and Microsoft Windows
Store. This created a need for companies and developers to publish native apps
that are available on all three major mobile stores without compromising on the
native user experience. The problem, however, is that these three operating systems
are very different and companies need to implement three different applications
for these stores. Essentially, your company has to write and maintain multiple
implementations for the same problem. Teams write (and have to support) the
same apps multiple times. There is a good chance that bugs reported on one
platform also exist on the others but remain unnoticed. Apps that are meant to
behave identically on all platforms may exhibit subtle differences due to their
differing implementations. Also, shipping new features at the same time on all
platforms is difficult. This is neither optimal, nor very productive and requires a
significant investment to gain the knowledge of three different operating systems,
languages, IDEs, APIs, and marketplaces. There has got to be a better way. Enter
NativeScript—a framework using the native platform APIs, rendering and layout
capabilities to deliver ultimate user experience and will allow developers to reuse
their coding skills, eliminating the need to learn new languages and IDEs.

The NativeScript framework enables developers to use the pure JavaScript language
to build native mobile applications running on all major mobile platforms—Apple
iOS, Google Android, and Windows Universal. The application's UI stack is built
on the native platform rendering and layout engine using native UI components,
and because of that, no compromises with the User Experience of the applications
are made. It is also worth mentioning that a full native API access is provided
using JavaScript.
This book has everything you need to get started with NativeScript. It starts with
the fundamentals, such as the project structure, the command-line interface, how
to use basic UI element, how to use third-party native components, and finally,
how to target different platforms with NativeScript.

The author, Nathanael Anderson, is one of the faces of NativeScript. He has a deep
understanding of how the framework operates from inside out and is the best person
who can teach you how to use it.

"I'm confident that by reading this book, you will be able to quickly get into
NativeScript and start building your next cross-platform native mobile
application."

Valio Stoychev
Product Manager NativeScript at Telerik
 About the Author

Nathanael J. Anderson has been developing software for over 20 years in a wide
range of industries, including areas of games, time management, imaging, service,
printing, accounting, land management, security, web, and even (believe it or not)
some successful government projects. He is currently a contract developer for master
technology and can create a solution for several types of applications (native, web,
mobile, and hybrid) running on any operating system.

As a senior developer engineer, he can work, tune, and secure everything from
your backend servers to the final destination of the data on your desktop or
mobile devices. By understanding the entire infrastructure, including the real and
virtualized hardware, he can completely eliminate different types of issues in all
parts of a framework.

Currently, he has multiple highly rated cross-platform plugins for NativeScript,

and he works heavily in the NativeScript community by providing things such as
bleeding edge build servers to build knightly code. He has also provided multiple
patches and features to the main NativeScript project.
 About the Reviewer

TJ VanToll is a senior developer advocate for Telerik, a jQuery team member,

and the author of jQuery UI in Action. He has over a decade of web development
experience—specializing in performance and the mobile Web. He speaks about
his research and experiences at conferences around the world and has written for
publications such as Smashing Magazine, HTML5 Rocks, and MSDN Magazine. You
can follow him on Twitter at @tjvantoll and on GitHub at tjvantoll.
 www.PacktPub.com

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 Table of Contents
Preface vii
Chapter 1: Introduction to NativeScript 1
NativeScript 1
Telerik's NativeScript 2
Other competitors 2
NativeScript uniqueness 2
NativeScript is easy 3
NativeScript and TypeScript 4
What is TypeScript? 4
TypeScript's use in NativeScript 4
Choosing a development language 5
Common modules 5
Installing NativeScript 6
Prerequisites 6
node.js 6
iOS 6
Android 7
Installation 7
Installation help 8
The NativeScript command line 8
NativeScript commands 8
Creating your first application 10
Creating the application in easy steps 11
Running the app 12
Summary 13
Chapter 2: The Project Structure 15
Project directory overview 15
The root folder 17
The app folder 18
[i]
Table of Contents

The lib folder 18

The hooks folder 18
The node_modules folder 19
The tns-core-modules folder 19
The platforms folder 20
The platforms/android folder 20
The platforms/iOS folder 22
The app folder 24
The .gradle folder 24
The App_Resources folder 24
The fonts folder 25
The app folder files 25
The package.json file 25
License 25
App.js 26
App.css 27
Application page 27
The main-page.js file 27
The main-page.css file 28
The main-page.xml file 28
The main-view-model.js file 29
Foundational components 31
Application component 31
Frame component 32
Page component 32
Creating a second page 33
Creating additional files and pages 34
Creating settings.js 34
Navigating to another page 35
Running the application 36
Viewing our screen 36
Summary 37
Chapter 3: Declarative UI, Styling, and Events 39
Declarative UI 39
XML parser 40
Page, StackLayout, label, and more 41
<Page ...> node 41
<StackLayout ...> node 42
<Label ...> node 42
<Button ...> node 45
Second <Label...> node 46
Declarative UI and components 46
Visual components 47

[ ii ]
 Table of Contents

Using the Declarative UI for our settings page 47

Our settings.xml file 47
Binding and event system 49
Event system 50
Binding 51
Styling the UI 52
What is CSS? 52
Why use CSS? 53
How to use CSS 53
Configuring your CSS Rules 54
Existing CSS properties 56
Exploring app.css 58
Trying CSS out and styling our application 60
Styling on your own 61
Summary 62
Chapter 4: Building a Featured Application 63
Layouts 63
StackLayout 64
WrapLayout 64
AbsoluteLayout 65
DockLayout 66
GridLayout 66
Building our featured application 68
Nonvisual components 69
Dialogs 72
Alert dialog 73
Confirm dialog 73
Prompt dialog 74
Login dialog 74
Action dialog 75
Promises 75
The settings screen Declarative UI 76
GridLayouts 76
Building the main screen 79
JavaScript code 79
Declarative UI 82
Main page Declarative UI 83
Main page body 83
ScrollViews 84
More about bindings 84
Repeaters 84
Main-body footer 85

[ iii ]
Table of Contents

The main-page.css file 87

Application CSS 89
Fonts 90
Icons 91
Communication with the server 91
Trying out our application 95
The server 95
Setting up your own server 96
Trying crossCommunicator out. 97
Summary 98
Chapter 5: Installing Third-Party Components 99
Places to find third-party components 99
The Telerik plugin site 100
npmjs.com 100
The NativeScript unofficial plugin list 100
How to install a third-party plugin component 100
Installing the vibration plugin 101
Installing the webSockets plugin 101
Installing the Telerik SideDrawer plugin 101
Using third-party components 102
Using the vibration plugin 102
Using Websockets 102
Using Telerik's side drawer 108
Easily using the components 110
Useful third-party components 110
Summary 110
Chapter 6: Platform Differences 111
Android and iOS differences 111
The soft keyboard 112
The Page.loaded event 112
Code differences 113
Platform classes 114
Declarative UI 115
Declarative UI properties 116
Declarative UI platform qualifiers 116
Platform- and device-specific files 117

[ iv ]
 Table of Contents

Screen size differences 117

Fonts 118
Our own custom resource folders 118
Compiled application resources on iOS 119
Compiled application resources on Android 121
Device differences 123
Summary 124
Chapter 7: Testing and Deploying Your App 125
Testing your application 126
Test frameworks 126
Local testing of your code 128
Unit testing on the device 131
Installing the test framework 132
Writing tests 132
Running tests 133
Testing your app on a device or emulator 134
Understanding the call stack 136
Android call stack 136
iOS call stack 138
Debugging your application 139
Publishing your application 140
Publishing to iOS 141
Summary 141
Index 143

[v]
 Preface
Welcome to Getting Started with NativeScript. In this book, we are going to go on
an awesome journey of building cross-platform applications in JavaScript. We will
cover everything from how NativeScript works, to how to test, debug, and finally
deploy your application. Over the course of this book, we are going to explore how
to build a full-featured, cross-platform messaging platform. The application will
work the same on all NativeScript-supported platforms. With your ability to develop
in JavaScript and the insights provided in this book, you will be releasing your own
cool applications in no time.

What this book covers

Chapter 1, Introduction to NativeScript, will teach you about NativeScript and how to
install and build your first NativeScript application.

Chapter 2, The Project Structure, provides an overview of what all the different files
and folders are used for, and we will build and switch to a second screen for our
application here.

Chapter 3, Declarative UI, Styling, and Events, works through how to create screens
using the Declarative UI, style them and then how to create and respond to events.

Chapter 4, Building a Featured Application, helps you to actually sit down and
build a full-featured, cross-device messaging application using just the standard
NativeScript components.

Chapter 5, Installing Third-Party Components, delves into how to install several

different types of third-party components to enhance our cool communication
application.

[ vii ]
Preface

Chapter 6, Platform Differences, looks at how to deal with the differences between iOS
and Android and the differences in the actual physical characteristics of the devices
even on the same platform.

Chapter 7, Testing and Deploying Your App, looks at how to use several different types
of testing frameworks, how to debug your application, and finally, how to actually
deploy your application.

What you need for this book

NativeScript is an open source project; as such, it uses technologies that can be freely
downloaded from the Internet. You need to download and install a recent version
of Node from http://nodejs.org. You also need a text editor so that you can edit
your source code. If you are developing for Android, you need to download and
install Java 7, Gradle 2.3, and the Android SDK. For iOS, you need to install Xcode
6.2 or a later version.

Who this book is for

If you are already a JavaScript developer and you want to finally build native
cross-platform applications for iOS and Android using your skills, then this book
is just for you!

Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of styles of text that distinguish between
different kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles, and an
explanation of their meaning.

Code words in text are shown as follows: "which a require statement would load
into your code."

A block of code is set as follows:

{
"name": "tns-template-hello-world",
"main": "app.js",
"version": "1.5.0",
... more json documentation fields...
}

[ viii ]
 Preface

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block, the
relevant lines or items are set in bold:
{
"nativescript": {
"id": "org.nativescript.crossCommunicator",
"tns-android": {
"version": "1.5.0"
},

Any command-line input is written as follows:

nativescript run ios --emulator

New terms and important words are shown in bold or italics. Words that you see
on the screen, in menus or dialog boxes for example, appear in the text like this:
"You can probably guess that the Label will still say Tap the button."

Warnings or important notes appear in a box like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

Reader feedback
Feedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about
this book—what you liked or may have disliked. Reader feedback is important for
us to develop titles that you really get the most out of.

To send us general feedback, simply send an e-mail to feedback@packtpub.com,

and mention the book title via the subject of your message.

If there is a topic that you have expertise in and you are interested in either writing
or contributing to a book, see our author guide on www.packtpub.com/authors.

Customer support
Now that you are the proud owner of a Packt book, we have a number of things to
help you to get the most from your purchase.

[ ix ]
Preface

Downloading the example code

You can download the example code files for all Packt books you have purchased
from your account at http://www.packtpub.com. If you purchased this book
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Questions
You can contact us at questions@packtpub.com if you are having a problem with
any aspect of the book, and we will do our best to address it.

[x]
 Introduction to NativeScript
In this chapter, we are going to introduce you to Telerik's NativeScript, and discuss
how NativeScript is totally unique in the cross-platform mobile device market, and
how it is radically revolutionary for mobile JavaScript development. We will also
walk you through the prerequisites of how to install the NativeScript command-
line tool. Once the NativeScript tool is installed, we will walk you through the basic
usage of the tool and briefly describe the most common parameters. Finally, we wrap
up the chapter by creating and running our first NativeScript application.

In this chapter, we will be covering the following topics:

• What is NativeScript?
• NativeScript and TypeScript
• Common modules
• Installing NativeScript
• The NativeScript command line
• Creating your first application

NativeScript
If you are looking at this book, maybe you want to know why you should use
NativeScript and what sets it apart from the crowded competition. Why shouldn't
you use any of the other cross-platform tools? Let us dig in, and I'll explain why
NativeScript is the answer to the best way of executing cross-platform mobile
development.

[1]
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 XL.
But I must not forget that these records are meant to be about
myself, the author of poems and other effusions let loose when from
time to time he drew out the spigot. The author’s insurance policy is
still under discussion. His trial is still going on, as did that of Warren
Hastings; it has gone into a new generation, and some say that
when, like the traditional door-nail, he is dead, it will terminate in his
acquittal, it being found at last that he did not make himself, but was
planned out by Nature to serve her purpose; having fulfilled which,
she withdrew the chemical compound of which he consisted, and
utilized his waste materials.
As said before, I had the “Piromides” printed and published; it was
by Saunders and Ottley, in 1839, while I resided in Gordon Square
on my return from Paris, where I had spent twelve months in
making the acquaintance of scientific physicians, naturalists, and
others; going round the wards of La Charité with Andral every
morning at six o’clock; attending the lectures on chemistry of
Thénard at a later hour, and revelling in the bones of Cuvier’s
osteological museum. I was much with Milne-Edwards; and with
Dujardin, whose éclairage for the microscope I introduced into
London, lending mine to Ross and to Powell as a pattern, and these
opticians and their successors have supplied the scientific profession
with it ever since. It consisted of an achromatic illuminator, the
invention of which Wollaston pronounced impossible, and which
Dujardin achieved.
In that year I made the discovery of an animalcule in the liver; it
was a time when such things were unknown, now fifty years ago.
This discovery has recently attracted the attention of the
Pathological Society, who have given an account of it in their
“Transactions” for 1890, in a eulogistic tone.
 In that year, too, I published “Vates.”
From 1839 to 1853, living in East Anglia, I was engaged in an art-
novel or romance, called “Valdarno,” taking it up only from time to
time, as Goethe did his “Faust.” I began its foundations in Florence,
and published four numbers under the title of “Vates,” illustrated by
Charles Landseer, and I then dropped it, as in costing too much
money it became a gift to the world. Dante Rossetti, whose father
was a professor at King’s, like Pepoli at University College, used, as a
student-boy at the first-named, to purchase “Vates,” and devour it
eagerly; so he told me when many years later we met.
Leaving the arena of letters and art for country life, which is,
however, worth seeing once, I settled myself down in the monastic
borough of Bury St. Edmunds. Like all the old county towns, it was
formerly the little metropolis of a squirearchy, where the dowagers
retired for life into the family mansions. The place has great
architectural features in the shape of abbey ruins, still haunted by
the ghost of Abbot Sampson; of noble churches, such as are not
built now; of Norman tower and Gothic gateway, such as may never
be built again.
There was no lord in the place to adorn it, but there was a great
plenty of the kind to bless it and conserve it within reach—the Duke
of Norfolk, the Marquis of Bristol, and baronets sufficient in number
to engage the fingers of one hand when counted up. But the town
itself had its magnates; there was an honourable Mr. Petre, brother
of a lord of that name, and an honourable Mr. Pellew, son of the
naval hero, and my own familiar friend, not to mention an admiral of
the great name and family of Wollaston, and a post-captain, with a
C.B. that he never wore; and it must not be forgotten that the
august mother of the Bishop of London, Dr. Bloomfield, also resided
there, among others of great worth, including a solitary baronet and
his lady, Sir John Walsham.
There was a famous grammar school, too, with Dr. Donaldson of
classic fame as head master, which had supplied England with a
president of the Royal College of Physicians, Sir Thomas Watson; a
lord chancellor, Sir Robert Rolfe, Lord Cranworth; besides a bishop of
London, whose scholarship was on a par with that of the most
learned of the day; and all these alive at the same time.
The Marquis of Bristol was the younger son of the earl of that
house, who was also Bishop of Derry, and owing to his elder
brother’s early death, he became the owner of Ickworth, a park
within a short drive of Bury, which, including all the parish and part
of the one adjoining, lies within a circuit of eleven miles. It is said
that the father disliked the son, probably owing to some act of
disobedience, and exercised his power of depriving the inheritance
of its charm. He destroyed all the fine old timber in the park, but
nearly a hundred years have sufficed to restore it; and he left the
plan of a colossal palace, of which he himself erected the central
shell, and laid the whole of the foundations. I was credibly informed
that ten thousand a year was to be spent for fifty years, according to
the bishop’s will, to complete the structure.
The building was completed on the original grand scale about fifty
years ago, and it took fifty years to finish. In the drawings of this
marvellous structure it is designated Ickworth Building, and it bears
that name, which, given it by Time, it will always retain, for people
call it by no other.
Ickworth Building was the design of a Mr. Sandys, I believe a
clergyman, not an architect by profession. He had been much in
Rome, as had the bishop, who loved Italy, and lived more in that
country than elsewhere; and, though an absentee bishop, the
beneficence he exercised in his see was so great that at his death
the people of Derry subscribed to raise a monument of their
gratitude to him, which stands near the building in Ickworth Park.
There must be descriptions of Ickworth Building in works on
architecture, and I think one will be found in Mr. Rookwood Gage’s
fine “History of Suffolk;” but I do not possess such, and what I say is
from memory.
 I have heard Lord Bristol say that often when he looked out of
window in the morning on the new building from the old, he wished
the earth would swallow it up. One knows the feeling of something
always hanging over one; it is like that of a man sitting underneath a
gallows after an execution.
The marquis might doubtless have eluded the burden imposed on
him by his father’s will, but je noublieray jamais was the motto he
inherited, and he lived to finish his task and to enjoy the magnificent
dwelling-place as a home. The building itself, wholly unique in grace
and beauty, consists of a central structure, almost circular,
surmounted by a dome, intended to represent the Coliseum; its
summit is belted by sculptures of the Homeric legends, the work of
Flaxman. There are two square wings at a proportionate distance
from the body of the building, connected with it by corridors, each
being the segment of a circle, with its concavity to the front. The left
wing was designed for a picture-gallery, the right one for a gallery of
sculpture, intended by the bishop to receive his collections of art.
The building is of white material externally; its area is planted with
cedars alone. Of all the palaces and mansions I have ever beheld, it
is the most surprising; perhaps equalled only, though not in grace,
by the temples of India, with the designs of which one is familiar.
The Pavilion at Brighton should not be forgotten in such a
comparison, but that is semi-barbarous, while Ickworth is classic, of
the Ionic and Corinthian orders.
Approached by a serpentine road, its perspective conveys the
impression of a moving object; it seems to swing round, as on a
pivot, at every turn one takes in driving towards the portico, now
slowly, now rapidly revolving, on its aërial axis, now remaining still.
I am not aware of it, if what follows has ever been put on record
authentically, though it may have been so in part. The earl-bishop
lived much at Rome and spent his large income in making a
collection of pictures and sculptures to fill the galleries at Ickworth.
It was at the time when we were at war with France on account of
Napoleon Bonaparte’s usurpations.
The bishop having completed his collections of sculptures made
his arrangements for transmitting them to England, when they were
seized on their way by Bonaparte as belonging to a British subject.
This act aroused a strong feeling of indignation in the minds of the
Italian artists, who had met with so generous a patron in the bishop,
and, that he might not be a sufferer, they subscribed a large sum of
money and offered it to Bonaparte as a ransom for the treasures he
had put under confiscation. Bonaparte took the money and set the
collection free, restoring it to their owner, when it was no sooner
despatched a second time than he seized it again.
No more fortunate fate awaited the pictures. The bishop
succeeded in having them safely conveyed to Dover, but while in the
custom house the building was burnt down, and the fine collection
of paintings was destroyed in the flames.
I was told by one of the family a singular anecdote of the bishop.
When at Rome he was invited to a banquet by the cardinals, and,
while the company gathered, he learnt accidentally that the dining-
hall was over the debtor’s prison. His anger at once burst forth and
knew no bounds. He, a prelate of the Church of England, was
insulted; he had been asked to dine over the heads of those
wretched prisoners who, during the feast, would be pining in their
narrow cells. His hosts naturally explained that such an affront was
unintended by them; but he was not to be pacified. At length his
course was determined on: he would remain where he was until a
full list of all the prisoners’ debts was brought him. For this he
waited sulkily, and when it arrived he wrote a cheque for the entire
amount.
The prison doors were opened, and he sat down.
The private history of a country has not the same interest as the
public, which is enduring; but it has a charm and is instructive.
Biology profits by observing the influence of a higher life on the
temperaments of men, on their principles, their manners, and their
views. How different all these become to what we meet with in the
common working men, from whom the best of us are descended!
The bishop was for some time confined by the republicans in the
castle of Milan, and afterwards still remained in Italy, where he died
in 1803. Except the central shell and the foundations, Ickworth was
left for the next successor to erect: a gigantic undertaking.
The Herveys were always distinguished by their manners; Lord
Hervey, in Pope’s time, was so conspicuous on this ground as to be
called “Fanny Hervey.” It was with him, probably, the saying arose
that the human race was divided into men, women, and Herveys.
The present Lord Arthur, now bishop of Bath and Wells, has a
manner which, once seen, could never be forgotten. The same
might be said of Lord Charles Hervey, who, however, had taken a
different polish from having been a member of the Spanish embassy.
Lord Bristol was at Ickworth chiefly at Christmas, when he packed
his house with all his descendants, having a separate table for those
who were yet children.
Unfortunately, the offices being in the basement, half a mile
distant, as people said, the dinner had plenty of time to cool before
it reached the table.
Lord Bristol was always very pleasant with his guests: after dinner
he would sit with his legs crossed and enter into familiar chat on
political matters. He had veered a good deal towards the Liberal
side. I remember his saying to me, “It is incumbent on us to move
with the times; it was very easy to govern when there was only a
population of eleven millions, but it is a different matter now.”
Earl Jermyn was very unlike his younger brothers and his father.
He had a manner peculiarly his own, a politeness so mingled with
shyness that one could not distinguish the one from the other, but
withal a commanding air. His countess, Lady Catherine Jermyn,
sister of the present Duke of Rutland, had a most imposing figure,
and was both beautiful and full of charm. She died in London in her
prime, so absolutely the prey of small-pox that no feature was
longer recognizable.
Lord Alfred was member for Bury at one time, with Earl Jermyn,
but he made no place for himself in political life.
I was informed that the earl-bishop had built himself a residence
in Ireland, similar to the Ickworth Building, but on a greatly reduced
scale. When I read Lever’s novel of “The Bishop’s Folly,” I wondered
whether its plot was laid in the place in question. I quite read the
work with the impression that it was so.
 XLI.
Much culture shows itself in the families of Suffolk. I often thought
it was owing to the vicinity of Cambridge, which is not more than a
drive of thirty miles from Bury. This remark applies to many of the
resident gentry, and notably to two sons of Sir Henry Bunbury: to his
eldest, Sir C. F. Bunbury, the late baronet and a distinguished
botanist, who was only debarred from a Fellowship of Trinity by his
being an heir to an estate and title; an honour which his next
brother, Sir Edward, received, and who sustained his reputation in
becoming the most learned ancient geographer of the day.
Sir Henry, a lieutenant-general, was a man not to be readily
forgotten. He had a sound judgment, was a constant reader of
books, old and new, a clear-headed critic of art productions, and he
held temperate opinions on national affairs; in fact, he encouraged
the repeal of the corn laws, though at Barton and Mildenhall the
owner of over fifteen thousand acres of land. He was the son of a
famous man, the greatest of caricaturists, Henry Bunbury, whose
initials of H. B. were adopted by one who came later and who
reaped fame on the bold impersonation.
Henry Bunbury was the friend of Sir Joshua, and there are several
Reynoldses at Barton Hall; one of priceless value, a full-length
portraiture of Lady Sarah Lennox as Venus sacrificing to the Graces
—a lady destined to perform a notable part in life.
It was said that her beauty was the exciting cause of her
sovereign’s madness, for it was well-known that she smote him to
the quick; but she was fated to a higher lot, though her path to it
was thorny.
Lady Sarah Lennox was married to Sir Charles Bunbury, the uncle
of Sir Henry, a man in whose life the world can take no interest, for
he was simply of the horse-racing class, the least admirable of
shrewd, clever men.
One may imagine the kind of character Sir Charles was when it is
told that he grew tired of his lovely wife! She was finally divorced
from so unworthy a partner, and retired to Ireland, in the bitterness
of her heart.
After a lapse of several years, Lady Sarah met with a Colonel
Napier, who belonged to the historical family of that name, and she
married him. From that date her better destiny began. She became a
mother, but of such a family! Of her five sons, three were Peninsula
heroes, with the friendly eye of Wellington always upon them. Sir
Charles Napier, the first general of his day; Sir William, the historian
of the Peninsular War; and Sir George, a brave, good man, who was
governor of the Cape.
Another son of this great lady was a barrister, and a fifth was a
post-captain.
But to one, the only daughter, the sister in so bright a galaxy, one
may readily credit the charm that attached to her! To complete the
romance, she became the second wife of Sir Henry Bunbury, coming
to Barton Hall, to find her beautiful mother’s image there, where it
had remained over the great library mantelpiece, sacrificing to the
Graces still.
Barton was a comfortable home, and Providence, to make
perfection joyous, bestowed on Lady Bunbury a niece whose
countenance was the daylight, whose voice was the music of all
around. This was Cecilia Napier, the only living child of Sir George.
She inherited the beauty and grace of Lady Sarah, whose portraiture
by Reynolds was hers also. The family of Sir Henry came of a first
marriage, but he loved the adopted one of his second wife as his
own. This lovely girl became the wife of his third son, Henry, a
colonel in the army.
One would almost think that Providence was the near relation of
some families—it appoints them to such pleasant places, makes
them so welcome upon earth, lets them want for nothing. So it was
apparently at Barton Hall, on which the divine patronage was very
generously bestowed.
As we learnt at school, Natura beatis omnibus esse dedit. Still, as
a physician would say, this is only the predisposing cause; exciting
causes must follow. And here Providence steps in, with the
patronage of a prime minister, which is not, in appearance, dealt out
disinterestedly; but there is not enough for all.
Sir Henry, on account of his conciliatory manners, was selected
after the war to communicate to General Bonaparte his pending
sentence of lifelong exile. Sir Hudson Lowe might perhaps have been
as well appointed to the task, for the ex-emperor simply burst out
into a torrent of abuse and rage, which not all the persuasiveness of
the baronet could soften.
Sir Henry began military life at the battle of Maida, under General
Stuart, and wrote an account of it in pamphlet form, but I think not
for general circulation. He also similarly described his interview with
Napoleon. It gave a fuller account of what passed than appears in
Sir Walter Scott’s work, which was borrowed from it by Sir Henry’s
permission.
Sir George Napier I knew very well; he was sometimes at Barton.
Sir Charles I saw only once, and was charmed by the gentle and
unpretending manner of the man who had performed such marvels
of valour. When last in India, at the conquest of Scinde, he
contracted a dysentery, which afterwards returned and proved fatal.
He annexed Scinde, in violation of the orders from home. Lady
Bunbury told me she had heard, but could not vouch for the truth of
it, that in his despatch to the Government he announced what he
had done in one apologetic word—peccavi.
It was said that the moral influence enjoyed over the troops by
this great soldier even exceeded that of his command as general.
It may be interesting to note that Sir Henry’s successor, the late
Charles Fox Bunbury, married a daughter of Leonard Horner, a sister
of Lady Lyell. They lived at the old mansion at Mildenhall.
I knew Sir Charles Lyell in 1839, when I was the bearer to him of
some fossils; and I met him with Lady Lyell and her sisters in 1853,
when I delivered a lecture to a select company in the house.
 XLII.
One’s memoirs never seem to end; the more one advances the
more one seems to remember. It is like living over again on
somewhat easy terms, for a repetition of the reality would by all, if
offered it, be respectfully declined, even by those who have passed
through it the most smoothly. But this revival of a long life in
memory itself is a good; one can set aside and suppress the bad
feelings that have had their place in alternate succession, and can so
purify being, though too late, as one passes through it over again.
We have all had friends, and in thus reviving their recollection we
feel how far less stable within us are their failings than their kindly
deeds. The models of good men are those who never speak ill of
others; there are many such, and in passing once more from
childhood to old age we may imitate them at last.
The Duke of Norfolk was a friend of mine, for he sent me game at
a time when he did not even know me, with his compliments; the
only man who ever did so before or since. This good duke, this most
high and puissant prince, resided in a pleasant, not pretentious
mansion near Bury, from which he drove in an open carriage with
one horse on a Sunday to his Catholic Church. It was said that
neither he nor his predecessor, known as Jockey of Norfolk, were
acquainted with their near relationship. The duke whom he
succeeded was said to have once determined to invite all who were
descendants of his house to a banquet at Arundel, but that when the
number of claimants reached two hundred, he paused and
abandoned his purpose. His next of kin, on whom I am now
engaged, was a man of business in the City; had his office, and
responded to orders for wine. While thus honourably occupied he
had to be looked up, and was credibly informed that he was wanted,
not by the law only, but to take over the lordship of Arundel Castle,
together with the premier dukedom, besides earldoms enough, and
over a dozen baronies; a number of peerages sufficient to constitute
a full committee of the House of Lords.
This nobleman thus entered on many homes, but he preferred his
own country seat, to which he had been accustomed, to castle and
palace, and there, full of years and honours, he suddenly died. His
heir had gone by the historical name of the Earl of Surrey, and his
grandson by that of Lord Fitzalan; but the latter at the duke’s death
assumed the earldom of Arundel and Surrey.
Lord Fitzalan, travelling in the Mediterranean, had fallen ill. He was
the guest of Admiral Lyons, and became attached to the daughter of
that heroic seaman. This lady, who only died lately, was justly
beloved; her charity to the poor had no bounds. A priest at
Lymington, who was one of her almoners, told me he could ask her
for whatever he saw needed by the poor, and, no matter what the
cost, it was given. The present duke is her worthy son.
The residence of the old duke, who lived there now three
generations ago, was at Fornham All Saints, in a good park. After his
death it was purchased for a young man named Lord Manners, the
son of an Irish lord chancellor, and has been resold. This fortunate
youth had all his work done for him beforehand. I met him at dinner
often at Culford Hall, and I recall my amused state of mind at seeing
him lean back in his chair and play with a feather from the dress of a
lady at his side, which he peacefully blew up in the air.
In close vicinity to Fornham Park was another, where stood a
mansion which, if anything can do so, must last for ever, not
because of its strength, but its beauty. This is Hengrave Hall, a
proud example, almost unique, of our domestic architecture. It is
very fully displayed in Rookwood-Gage’s work, which I was once
permitted to devour on the premises. Sir Thomas Gage was the
owner, but he was very little there, preferring the society of Vienna
to that of his eastern county home. He was of a knightly family, and
himself an elegant man of fashion; he represented the elder branch
of the Gages, the lord of that name notwithstanding. His ancestor
conferred a benefit on his country as durable as sunshine and time,
one that every Englishman profits by and enjoys from childhood to
old age; he introduced the greengage from Vienna into this country,
and it has ever since borne his name.
I was just now speaking of Culford Hall, which the press, no doubt
on intimate terms with its present proprietor, Lord Cadogan, and
acquainted with all his movements, calls Culford Abbey. It is a
modern, monkless building, and the parish was once a lordship of
Bury Abbey; nothing more. The place has an exemplary record; it
was purchased more than half of this century ago, of Lord
Cornwallis’s daughters, by Mr. Benyon de Beauvoir. For several years
he spent the rental of the estate, some eleven thousand acres, in
rebuilding all its farmhouses and cottages, which done he entailed it
on his nephew, the Rev. Edward Benyon. It was, like most of the
great dwellings in the county, the home of good company,
hospitality, and sport: and for pheasant and partridge shooting
Suffolk is not unfamed.
Mr. Benyon had no heir, and the estate went, with another vast
property of sixty thousand acres, to the present Mr. Benyon, of
Berkshire.
 XLIII.
A family with which I was in close intimacy, indeed on affectionate
terms, was the Wilsons, of Stowlangtoft Hall. Let those who from
their disappointments in life have formed a bad opinion of mankind
go among such people as these!
The father of Henry Wilson resided on his estate at Highbury; he
had been a great merchant, a calling from which so many great
things have emanated in our country, and one which will cease to
exist when we reach our socialistic days; for who would give the
energy of his commercial genius as a servant of the State, and pile
up tens of thousands to enrich Cabinets whose members had better
have remained prize-fighters and the like?
Mr. Wilson purchased two baronets’ estates in Suffolk—one of Sir
George Wombwell, the historic seat of Stowlangtoft; one, Langham
Hall, the property adjoining, of Sir Henry Blake. He also held lands in
Norfolk.
Henry Wilson, his son and my kindest and best of friends, resided
always at Stowlangtoft; at one time he represented the county in
Parliament. He was educated at Oxford, where he made friends
enough to last for a lifetime, all of whom, like himself, were
thoroughly good men, and many of them fellow-students of Oriel.
There was Rickards, who became his rector, a college-friend; and
one of those who joined the set of Newman and Manning for a time.
There was Porcher, Yarde Buller of Downs,[2] Kindersley, Mozley;
nearly all these were guests from time to time of Rickards and
Wilson; in fact, the only one I do not recall as having met at the hall
or rectory was Newman.
It was a deadly surprise to Rickards when Newman and Manning
kicked against the Reformation and became inceptor-candidates for
the Papacy. The Church, from its own point of view, may have
deemed it fortunate that these two gentlemen took their stroll from
Oxford to Rome, or they might have become Anglican archbishops,
and have looked the Holy City up later in life.
Sir R. Kindersley was a most genial man, quiet and sensible, like
most of those who rise to eminence. He gave his daughter in
marriage to Wilson’s eldest son, and Wilson gave one of his
daughters to Kindersley’s eldest son, and a daughter by this
marriage is now Lady Herschell. Miss Wilson had been long adopted
by the Porchers, who wished her and young Kindersley to be their
heirs.
Henry Wilson had a large family by his first wife, who was a
Maitland. He married a second time, the daughter of Lord Henry
Fitz-Roy, a son of the Duke of Grafton. This lady brought him several
children. She was a devoted mother to both families; as
conscientious a lady as was ever born to fulfil great duties. She not
only treated her stepchildren exactly as she did her own, but
acquired for them the same affection as she felt for those which she
had brought into the world.
Those who knew her may think themselves happy if they ever see
her like again.
My first acquaintance with Sir R. Kindersley was at a dinner at
Trinity College, which I went to with Dr. J. W. Donaldson, the Greek
scholar and philologer. Donaldson was then head-master at the Bury
School. It was my good fortune on the same occasion to meet
Professor Sedgwick, some of whose anecdotes have served my
purpose ever since. A very good one was of a French general who
visited England and enjoyed Sedgwick’s attentions, among those of
many others. On taking final leave of the general he asked him how
he liked the English ladies. After some hesitation the answer came.
It was: “I like them very much. They are very beautiful, but they
have one great fault; they are too virtuous. Elles sont trop
vertueuses.”
 I reminded Kindersley of that pleasant dinner when I met him
again, and he remembered it well.
Wilson was boundless in his hospitality to his neighbours, poor
and rich. Could every parish be under the management of such a
squire and such a rector, poverty would cease to be an evil. Wilson
may have felt this organically; it may have been under its influence
that he desired to establish his family on the soil during succeeding
generations. He was an ardent admirer of enterprise and self-aid; he
turned his own name into his motto—“Will soon will.”
He was bent on building a mansion on the Stowlangtoft estate,
and this he did ultimately on a larger scale than had sufficed for the
home of Sir George Wombwell or of Sir Simonds d’Ewes, his
predecessors; but not before his father died, who left him a purse of
twenty-four thousand pounds a year.
The old Wilson, the London merchant, told me that he met Sir
George Wombwell at his bankers’ to pay him the ninety thousand
pounds in notes which he gave for the Stowlangtoft estate, and that
the baronet stuffed the money into his hinder coat pocket, and so
walked away.
The old hall was a very comfortable one, commodious,
picturesque. A man does no good to his family in replacing old
mansions by new in country places, to which the owner resorts,
often, only for the shooting season. This adding on to and rebuilding
often ends in disappointment to those who follow later. I saw
recently an advertisement in the paper—“To be let, Stowlangtoft
Hall, with the shooting over seven thousand acres of land.” My friend
Mr. Thornhill, of Riddlesworth Hall, Norfolk, enlarged his mansion,
which had sufficed for his wealthy father; he wished his descendants
to reside there for generations, but his son has thought differently. I
saw an advertisement immediately under the above concerning
Stowlangtoft, which ran thus—“To be sold, the property of Sir
Thomas Thornhill, Bart., the well-known sporting estate of
Riddlesworth Hall.” How little influence can the dead exercise over
the living!
 We must now speak of old Rickards, a name he had gone by all
his life, with the many who loved him. His hair had always been
white, his complexion red, and he always blushed heartily when he
laughed. He had been a Fellow of Oriel till he wedded Miss Wilmot, a
daughter of Sir Robert Wilmot, of Chadsden Hall, Derbyshire, the
liveliest, brightest, tenderest, sweetest of women; a girl to the last;
and I hope still alive, though all this was fifty years ago. But every
one is dead nowadays. Time was when I saw in the paper the death
of some acquaintance almost weekly, then it got to monthly, then
perhaps once in a year, but never now, for every one I ever knew
seems dead and gone. I have a brother left, and a school-fellow and
friend;[3] all others appear children.
But how the newly dead who have lived in us half a century and
much more still survive and perform their parts within us, still
laughing, still blushing, still merry, still sensible and intelligent there,
telling us all they ever told us over again: still glad at seeing us, still
shaking us by the hand, still bidding us welcome. Yes, the obituary
notices of them were premature; they live while we live, they die
only when we die.
There is one soothing circumstance, however, attendant on death:
we do not miss ourselves when we are dead; not so much even as
we do a shirt-button when we are alive!
[2] Afterwards Lord Churston.
[3] H. W. Statham, since dead.
 XLIV.
Mrs. Rickards was a pretty creature, her husband was plain, her
daughter was plainer, but when one looked at them, in the magic of
the moment, they all looked alike,—happy and good. One forgot that
beauty existed elsewhere, save as an art.
They were of course constant guests at the hall. Miss Rickards
herself painted, baked, and glazed every window in Stowlangtoft
Church.
The Rev. Mr. Mozley, well-known as belonging to the Tractarian
reformation, was an intimate friend of the Rickards and Wilsons. He
was one of three or four who wrote the leaders for the Times. His
account of the duty, told only in confidence to private friends, was
that he and his colleagues attended at the office every night at
twelve o’clock, one day excepted; and that a committee was there,
at the same hour, to discuss the subjects of the articles for the day
following, and to determine the line to be taken. Then a subject thus
selected was handed to each of the writers who were in waiting, in
separate rooms.
On one occasion when Mr. Mozley was staying at the hall, a Times
commissioner was present at the dinner. He was the bearer of
introductions to the various landowners; his mission was to obtain
information on subjects connected with the land. He was not what
one calls refined, and he spoke with great freedom on the affairs of
the journal, not knowing that Mr. Mozley was connected with the
Times, but who was greatly amused at this gentleman’s pretended
knowledge about the most secret details of the paper.
I was myself of the party, and, knowing the situation, was equally
amused, with the rest of the company.
 It occurs to me that the commissioner was named Foster. He was
sent about the country at the time of the incendiary fires. The
circumstance brings to my mind a character living at Ashfield, near
Stowlangtoft—Lord Thurlow, grandson of the great chancellor. He
was a very shy man, and at the same time very able, being a good
chemist. He conversed well, but with diffidence; the researches of
Liebig, then fresh, made a strong impression on his mind, and I was
able to draw him out, being equally interested in them myself. He
had a fire-engine, and whenever a fire broke out, he mounted his
engine and took the direction of the flames.
I am chary of introducing the names and places of men who lived
only for themselves. There are families without any link between
them and the world at large who fill up certain gaps, but when they
die they seem to have been even of less use than they were. These
are not only in the majority, but they constitute the bulk of the social
class.
I must not omit the name of Henry Oakes, the Suffolk banker,
who, though not a public man himself, gave his son to the
Parliament as a Conservative member. He lived at Nowton Court, the
residence of his father before him.
Henry Oakes was of a generous, confiding character in proportion
to his means. His son, the borough member, inherited a kindly
disposition not only from him, but from his truly amiable mother, the
daughter of a bishop; and she, like her husband, was well beloved.
The charming daughter of the house was married to the son of Sir
Henry Blake, whose title she now shares, if, as I trust, she still lives.
I have not yet spoken of the Mills family of Great Saxham Hall,
which I do now out of pure affection. They were connections of
mine by marriage, as were also the Carrighans of the adjoining
parish of Barrow. Mr. Mills and Mrs. Carrighan were brother and
sister. The Rev. Arthur Carrighan had the rectory; it was in the
presentation of St. John’s College, and was once held by Dr. Francis,
the noted translator of Horace, and father of Sir Philip Francis, the
reputed author of the “Junius Letters.”
Carrighan was a student and Fellow of St. John’s, under the name
of Gosli—a name adopted by his father as a Sligo man, he reversing
the syllables. The history of this singular proceeding is associated
with a duel in which Mr. Carrighan, the father, was led to believe he
had killed his opponent. He thereupon changed his name, and in an
unhappy state of mind wandered over the Continent for twenty
years more or less; when, one day, he met the very man whom he
supposed had received a death-blow at his hands. On this important
discovery he restored his true name to his family.
Carrighan had many charms, but it will suffice to say he was a
gentleman and a scholar, which includes all that is good besides. Sir
Thomas Watson, his fellow-collegian, was his attached friend; I
received the hearty thanks of that great physician for my attention
to Arthur Carrighan in his last illness.
When one has been long on the Continent, he no sooner reaches
Dover than every woman looks beautiful. How would it have been
with him if the first one whom his eyes fell upon had been Mrs.
Mills? She had a daughter, Susan, as lovely as herself, who married
Mr. Skrine, a considerable Somersetshire squire, whose estates are
within a ride of Bath. Susan Mills had a most engaging expression. A
neighbouring squire, in his simple way, said, “One can’t help falling
in love with her, she holds her head on one side, so pretty!”
I took Mr. Borrow, who was my guest, to Saxham Hall with me to
dinner once, but it was the black eyes of another daughter that
played their conjuring trick on him. Long afterwards, his inquiries
after the black eyes were unfailing. Saxham adjoins Ickworth, and
Lord Bristol always found it a very pleasant place of call, on account
of the charm which surrounded the family.
 XLV.
George Borrow was one of those whose mental powers are strong,
and whose bodily frame is yet stronger—a conjunction of forces
often detrimental to a literary career, in an age of intellectual
predominance. His temper was good and bad; his pride was
humility; his humility was pride; his vanity, in being negative, was of
the most positive kind. He was reticent and candid, measured in
speech, with an emphasis that made trifles significant.
Borrow was essentially hypochondriacal. Society he loved and
hated alike: he loved it that he might be pointed out and talked of;
he hated it because he was not the prince that he felt himself in its
midst. His figure was tall, and his bearing very noble: he had a finely
moulded head, and thick white hair—white from his youth; his
brown eyes were soft, yet piercing; his nose somewhat of the
“semitic” type, which gave his face the cast of the young Memnon.
His mouth had a generous curve; and his features, for beauty and
true power, were such as can have no parallel in our portrait gallery,
where it is to be hoped the likeness of him, in Mr. Murray’s
possession, may one day find a place.
Borrow and his family used to stay with me at Bury; I visited him,
less often, at his cottage on the lake at Oulton, a fine sheet of water
that flows into the sea at Lowestoft. He was much courted there by
his neighbours and by visitors to the seaside. I there met Baron
Alderson and his daughters who had ridden from Lowestoft to see
him, and I had a long talk with the judge on wine. Borrow, being a
lion, was invited to accompany me to some of the great houses in
the neighbourhood. On one occasion we went to dine at Hardwick
Hall, the residence of Sir Thomas and Lady Cullum. The party
consisted of Lord Bristol; Lady Augusta Seymour, his daughter; Lord
and Lady Arthur Hervey; Sir Fitzroy Kelly; Mr. Thackeray, and
ourselves. At that date, Thackeray had made money by lectures on
the Satirists, and was in good swing; but he never could realize the
independent feelings of those who happen to be born to fortune—a
thing which a man of genius should be able to do with ease. He told
Lady Cullum, which she repeated to me, that no one could conceive
how it mortified him to be making a provision for his daughters by
delivering lectures; and I thought she rather sympathized with him
in this his degradation. He approached Borrow, who, however,
received him very dryly. As a last attempt to get up a conversation
with him, he said, “Have you read my Snob Papers in Punch?”
“In Punch?” asked Borrow. “It is a periodical I never look at!”
It was a very fine dinner. The plates at dessert were of gold; they
once belonged to the Emperor of the French, and were marked with
his “N” and his Eagle.
Thackeray, as if under the impression that the party was invited to
look at him, thought it necessary to make a figure, and absorb
attention during the dessert, by telling stories and more than half
acting them; the aristocratic party listening, but appearing little
amused. Borrow knew better how to behave in good company, and
kept quiet; though, doubtless, he felt his mane.
Lady Cullum was a young woman of high principle; she became a
firm friend of Borrow for many years after, looking him up in London
when he moved to Hereford Square. Sir Thomas Cullum was a quiet,
kind-hearted man; he was the father-in-law of Mr. Milner Gibson,
who married his only daughter, born of a first marriage. Gibson was
a man of pleasing manners; I remember his saying that
parliamentary life enabled one to bear anything of an adversary with
temper, except being touched by him.
But I am sorry to say Borrow was not always on his best
behaviour in company. He once went with me to a dinner at Mr.
Bevan’s country house, Rougham Rookery, and placed me in an
extremely awkward position.
 Mr. Bevan was a Suffolk banker, a partner of Mr. Oakes. He was
one of the kindest and most benevolent of men. His wife was gentle,
unassuming, attentive to her guests. In fact, not only they, but their
sons and daughters were beloved on account of their amiable
dispositions.
A friend of Borrow, the heir to a very considerable estate, had run
himself into difficulties, and owed money, which was not
forthcoming, to the Bury banking house; and in order to secure
repayment, Mr. Bevan was said to have “struck the docket.” I knew
this beforehand from Borrow, who, however, accepted the invitation,
and was seated at dinner at Mrs. Bevan’s side.
This lady, a simple, unpretending woman, desirous of pleasing
him, said, “Oh, Mr. Borrow, I have read your books with so much
pleasure!” On which he exclaimed, “Pray, what books do you mean,
madam? Do you mean my account books?” On this he fretted and
fumed, rose from the table and walked up and down among the
servants, during the whole of dinner, and afterwards wandered
about the rooms and passage, till the carriage could be ordered for
our return home.
Mr. J. W. Donne, the librarian of the London library, and afterwards
reader of plays, told me, while he was a resident at Bury, that
Borrow had behaved in a somewhat like manner to Miss Agnes
Strickland, who, hearing that Borrow was in the same room with her,
at a reception, urged him to make her acquainted with her brother-
author. Borrow was unwilling to be introduced, but was prevailed on
to submit. He sat down at her side; before long, she spoke with
rapture of his works, and asked his permission to send him a copy of
her “Queens of England.” He exclaimed, “For God’s sake, don’t,
madame; I should not know where to put them or what to do with
them.” On this he rose, fuming, as was his wont when offended, and
said to Mr. Donne, “What a damned fool that woman is!”
The fact is that, whenever Borrow was induced to do anything
unwillingly, he lost his temper.
 XLVI.
The Bullers, a political family, had a son who filled the rectory of
Troston, and were often on a visit to him there. They were the
parents of Charles Buller, Lord Durham’s secretary in Canada,
afterwards member for Liskeard, and the pet of the House.
These Bullers were much of the Lord John Russell set; were
friends of the Grotes, the Nussau Seniors, the Thackerays, the
Sidney Smiths, the Walshams, and their like, not to mention the
Bunburys, all more or less philosophers of the advanced type.
I liked Charles Buller’s company. He was good-natured, moderate
in his views, the friend of the opinionated without being conceited
himself. He was a fine speaker, but afflicted with asthma, the
greatest curse that can befall a rising statesman.
I heard much about Whigism in this circle, and always with
disgust; they were too autocratic, too grasping, too well off to obtain
the confidence of those who, at a glance, could see behind their
scenes.
There was Lord John, who began life as the fool of the family; and
this character in the Alabama business reached its highest pitch. He
was a sprig of the dukedom, so he did not like that Mr. Delane (the
editor of the Times), and would not invite him to his receptions. So
that Mr. Delane, who knew his own value, ordered the lord-John
speeches in Parliament to be only indicated in brief, not reported. On
this Lord John did like that Mr. Delane, and sent him invitations; so
his speeches were reported once more in full.
He, too, must be an earl, and what are these beggars on England-
back going to do with their titles after all? One would think that a
true man would shrink from being mylorded by his filthy valet; but
they can bear it!
 Charles Buller was a man for every one to love, and he died too
soon.
On the whole, Samuel Rickards’s parsonage was the most literary
house to be at, though his knowledge was a good deal confined. But
he and his wife were open to everything, botany especially, and
antiquities. I recollect their showing me an iron ring that had been
dug up on the glebe, which had an inscription on it that Rickards
could not interpret. It was Bertus beriori. I suggested that it was
monkish latin, and might signify A greatest to a greater warrior,
assuming it to be derived from berus, berior, bertus, and this
pleased him much.
Who, belonging to the days of which I write, does not remember
the cheery voice and the bright, handsome face of Tom Thornhill,
the son of the first winner of the Derby, and the inheritor of the
Norfolk estate, Riddlesworth Hall! Who has forgotten his hospitality,
and the famous still champagne, the bountiful stock of which was
left by the father, and kept up by the son!
I often stayed at Riddlesworth with the Thornhills; they saw a
good deal of company there, both from Norfolk and from town. Lord
Sandwich was very fond of talking to doctors, so they said; and he
often talked to me. I recollect his saying that his father-in-law, Lord
Anglesey, forgot, not unfrequently, that he had only one leg (for the
sensation of every part of the body is cerebral), and he would
sometimes jump out of bed in the morning as if he had two, and fall
on the floor.
I once accidentally met Colonel Keppel, the late Earl of Albemarle,
at the same house. I was then staying at Riddlesworth, but there
was no company there, when Colonel Keppel was announced. This
caused some perturbation, as only a family dinner was prepared. It
appeared that the colonel was to be of a party there on the morrow,
but had mistaken the day. All, however, went off well; and since,
when I heard of the homage paid him on his almost last birthday, as
almost the last survivor of the battle, on the field of Waterloo, it
recalled to me the charm of his manner and conversation.
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