literary career, an incident that caused my father real sorrow for his unexpected and wholly unintentional part therein. No doubt I saw the article in the Quarterly Review of July, 1874, as part of this was written while I was abroad with my father and mother during the first five months of that year. But the knowledge of the quarrel that afterwards arose in connection with it was withheld from me, as such knowledge would have been embarrassing, seeing that I had then begun to follow a course with Professor Huxley at South Kensington. From Huxley's demeanour towards my own humble personality I had no reason to suspect anything, and later when I left South Kensington and heard and read of the affair, it was clear to me that it had only helped to increase the extreme kindness shown to me by that remarkable man. In my father's early scientific days he was an enthusiastic student under Huxley, indeed his attitude to Huxley was something like that of Boswell to Johnson. He never missed a lecture or discourse given by Huxley, taking notes freely, and being so recognized a follower that, as my father told me, when, on one occasion, for the second time in the same day he appeared in that capacity, Huxley jokingly greeted him with "Here again I shall call you my constant reader." That so eager a disciple should not only fall away, but become a redoubtable antagonist must have caused some bitterness in Huxley's mind.

Now, believing that a brief account of my father's early years and of the way in which he came out of very unfavourable surroundings to the Catholic Faith, bringing with him thereto his mother, and later his brother and his half-brother, may be interesting to the readers of the DUBLIN REVIEW, I thankfully avail myself of the editor's sanction to that end.

St. George Mivart (the name St. George was given him by his godfather, St. George Caulfield) was born on November 30th, 1827, at 34, Brook Street, Grosvenor Square or Lower Brook Street as it was then called. His father, James Edward Mivart, was,

we believe, the founder of, and at that time engaged with, the business of "Mivart's Hotel," a hostelry unique in those days, and the regular resort of foreign royalties as well as of the wealthiest class, and those who aped them.

Though my grandfather was then engaged in a business of this kind he had literary tastes and abilities, and was an excellent letter-writer, as shown by letters dated from 1826 to 1830 now in my possession. He had a passion for the stage and theatrical matters generally, was a good amateur actor, and availed himself fully of his opportunities for acquaintance and friendship with members of the theatrical profession. He himself had a clever knack of versification. Among his friends was a celebrated burlesque writer of those days, and there is reason to think that in certain, then well-known, songs my grandfather had a hand. From my grandfather my father evidently inherited whatever literary ability he possessed, in addition to his gift of draughtsmanship and his taste for music. But my father, as Sir Bertram Windle truly remarks, was not always a pleasing writer. His mind worked very quickly, and he wrote at tremendous speed in a caligraphy that was the despair of his friends and also of compositors, for in those days typemachines were not.

My father was the youngest of four children of his parents, both of whom were married for the second time. At the time of his birth my grandfather was fortyseven years of age, having been born July 17th, 1780, shortly after the Gordon Riots, and my grandmother was forty-two. In earlier life my grandfather had travelled considerably and had resided for a time in France. He spoke French fluently with an admirable accent, and had a fair knowledge of French literature. My grandmother, Caroline Georgina Cunningham, was of Scottish descent on the side of her mother, and Irish on that of her father. She was of strongly religious bias, and in the later years at Brook Street rather uneasy in her somewhat lively surroundings. Like her husband

she had a decided inclination for literature, and a curiously retentive memory. I can remember having heard her recite to me large portions of Goldsmith's Deserted Village and The Traveller. She was of a very charitable disposition, giving freely to giving freely to the poor, and spending much time visiting the sick and needy. She was received into the Church at Mount St. Bernard's Abbey in 1846. At the age of eighty-four her peaceful death, fortified by the Sacraments, was the fitting close of a long life free from many common failings, and full of acts to be remembered with love and veneration.

In respect of his early years my father jotted down, intermittently from 1881 to 1885, some notes, and upon these I shall draw freely. It is noticeable that visits to theatrical and operatic performances played a much larger part in his life than would commonly be the case with a child in those days, though perhaps such would not be the case now. He says:

'Much of my early childhood was passed at No. 12, Marine Parade, Eastbourne, a house which still (in 1881) exists, though with an added story. In those days, and for many years later, Eastbourne was a delightful resort for lovers of quiet. It consisted merely of a row of houses by the sea, a library, an hotel (The Anchor), and a few shops. Beyond these, fields intervened between the sea-houses and Southbourne, which was, in turn, separated by open country from Old Eastbourne, a large village with an ancient parish church. My earliest recollections of all are in regard to my nurse, Sarah Kent, who entered my mother's service in 1825, and died in it in 1852. My earliest recollection of dates is the circumstance of having to change from 1835 to 1836. I also recollect residing for a time in Hornton Street, Kensington, and going out riding on my grey pony, which used to be brought down for me from town and then taken back. Afterwards we resided much at 16, Addison Road, which was taken by my father, but I do not know in what year. .. When we first resided at Addison Road there were no houses on the

opposite side of the road, and No. 17 (the lease of which was also acquired by my father) was the last house southwards towards the church, in which Charles Matthews and Madame Vestris were married. Fields were all about us, and every evening the cows used to cross the road opposite our house to be milked. Lord Holland having much kindly feeling towards my father, I had permission to go into Holland Park whenever I liked, and our garden was made twice as deep as the others, privileges which were revoked by old Lady Holland after her husband's death.

'My first school was kept by ladies, the Misses D. in Edwardes Square. I was about six and a half, I believe, when I was there deposited, but I still recollect the prominent and prolonged upper incisor teeth of my schoolmistress, which unpleasantly affected my imagination.

'My next school was a Mr. Dempster's at Turnham Green, a house standing back on the south side of the London Road just before the turning down to Chiswick Lodge. I have no recollection of what I learnt at this school, where I must have passed at least three years, at first as one of the ordinary schoolboys, but later as parlour-boarder," a change probably consequent on scarlet fever, with which I had made acquaintance. The lads used to sit round the dining-room, like monks in a refectory, at a long narrow table facing the centre where was the table for the family. Each lad as he entered was given a list-band which he passed over his head and arms and which served to keep his elbows near to his side. Mr. Dempster was aided by his wife and some four female teachers. Every Sunday we were taken to church in the morning, but every Sunday evening the master went to some dissenting chapel with such lads as had parents of dissenting proclivities. The great event of the year was the "Show" in the adjacent Horticultural Gardens, when we were allowed to go into an oval detached garden in front of the house and bordering the London Road to see the carriages go by, and do credit to the establishment by our numbers and

appearance. While I was at this school the song of Jim Crow " became popular, and Duverney (afterwards Mrs. Lyne Stephens who built our beautiful church at Cambridge) introduced the Cachuca Spanish dance which was duly taught us as well as the Hornpipe. Dancing was taught somewhat elaborately with many steps, such as "balancer," etc., and I can still recall to imagination the tunes of the master's kit as we marched round, and his frothy" four "as he guided us with-1, 2, 3, 4.

By the time I was ten I had been very often to the theatre, but I forget how old I was when I visited it for the first time and saw Timour the Tartar. That play has passed almost out of my memory, but Mazeppa I recollect very distinctly. It was played by Ducrow at "Astley's," over Westminster Bridge. "Astley's " was then for some years the theatre of my choice.

'It was while I was at Dempster's that I first visited Paris, the year after an excursion to the West of England, with my parents and my brother Charles.'

The trip to the West of England may be passed over, but the journey to Paris has one or two points of interest. He goes on: 'We crossed from Dover to Calais and went to Dessin's Hotel. My father's first care, after securing our rooms, was to go to the " diligence" office to book places for our journey to Paris. In order not to be too crowded, as we were a party of five, we took two places in the interieur and the whole of the rotonde. In the banquette travelled a man with a variety of dogs his trade being to take dogs from London to Paris and bring cats the reverse way. We were about four-andtwenty hours on the road, and very weary and dusty were we when we got to our journey's end. We took rooms at Meurice's and applied ourselves to seeing the sights. One morning my father took my brother and myself to breakfast with old Mr. Goldsmid (the father of Lady Lyndhurst) who had an apartment on the west side of the Place Vendôme. Our old host was very lively and sarcastic and we had for convives three large and much petted dogs. In many of the streets of Paris