On another occasion I met at Lord Stanhope's house, one of his
parties of historians and other literary men, and amongst them
were Motley and Grote. After luncheon I walked about Chevening
Park for nearly an hour with Grote, and was much interested by
his conversation and pleased by the simplicity and absence of all
pretension in his manners.
Long ago I dined occasionally with the old Earl, the father of
the historian; he was a strange man, but what little I knew of
him I liked much. He was frank, genial, and pleasant. He had
strongly marked features, with a brown complexion, and his
clothes, when I saw him, were all brown. He seemed to believe in
everything which was to others utterly incredible. He said one
day to me, "Why don't you give up your fiddle-faddle of geology
and zoology, and turn to the occult sciences!" The historian,
then Lord Mahon, seemed shocked at such a speech to me, and his
charming wife much amused.
The last man whom I will mention is Carlyle, seen by me several
times at my brother's house, and two or three times at my own
house. His talk was very racy and interesting, just like his
writings, but he sometimes went on too long on the same subject.
I remember a funny dinner at my brother's, where, amongst a few
others, were Babbage and Lyell, both of whom liked to talk.
Carlyle, however, silenced every one by haranguing during the
whole dinner on the advantages of silence.
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