from Canada to China; the former slim, ascetic, and reserved; the latter a perfect contrast, being stout, genial, and outspoken; while Canning, tall and good-looking, with curly dark hair and florid complexion, is mentionable also for his fluency of speech and cordiality of manner—­hereditaments, doubtless, of his distinguished father.  Of Lord Elgin I have many pleasant memories, especially when he hospitably received me at Toronto, whither he had recently migrated from Montreal (as I thought unwisely), because the French Canadians there had insulted him.  In this connection I may give an anecdote to the point.  Soon after my return from America in 1851 I dined with my neighbour at Albury, Henry Drummond, the humoursome M.P., always not a little good-naturedly mischievous.  He knew that I had not approved of Lord Elgin’s petulant removal of his viceroyal establishment from Montreal to Toronto, and cunningly resolved to draw me out before witnesses on the matter.  Now I had taken in to dinner an elderly Scotch lady unknown to me, and sat next to her of course.  Soon my lively host somewhat unfairly asked me about my visit to Canada, and what I thought of the then notorious flight of the Governor to far distant Toronto,—­forcing me to express my disapproval, which naturally as an honest man I did, on which my left-hand neighbour, a lady of rank whom I knew, whispered “Mind what you are saying, you took in his mother.”  Accordingly, I had frankly to turn and say, “And I’m sure Lady Elgin will agree with me, and you too, Mr. Drummond, for no captain should fly from his post because he’s laughed at.”  This candid speech was fortunately applauded all round the table, and not least by the friendly Countess and the baffled mischief lover.

Lord Elgin most kindly interested himself in the restoration of the Brock monument at Queenstown Heights, which had then recently been damaged by gunpowder, and is since rebuilt:  my good reason for asking his aid being that Sir Isaac Brock was my near relative (his mother bearing my name), and that he had saved Canada by his death in victory.

CHAPTER XLI.

A FEW OLDER FRIENDSHIPS.

It is only fair and right that I make special mention of some friendships of many years, connected more or less with literary matters.  Among such names in the past occurs one, if not very eminent, to me at least very kindly, that of Benjamin Nightingale, an antiquarian friend for nearly forty years.  We first became acquainted in Sotheby’s auction room, where I perceived at once his generous nature, by this token:  we had been competing for a miscellaneous lot of coins, which he bought,—­and then lifting his hat he asked me which of them I had specially wanted; these I indicated, of course thinking that he meant me to buy them of him,—­but he immediately insisted upon giving them, if I would allow him.  This fair beginning led to better acquaintance, often improved under our mutual roof-trees.  It was his ambition to be my Boswell, as he has sometimes told me; and probably there are bundles somewhere of his MSS. and of our antiquarian letters (he wrote very well), about which I have vainly made inquiry of a near relative, who knew nothing about them.  Some day they’ll turn up.