BEFORE I went to America, I made the acquaintance of Dr.

　　George Bird; he continued to be one of my most intimatefriends till his death, fifty years afterwards. When I firstknew him, Bird was the medical adviser and friend of LeighHunt, whose family I used often to meet at his house. He hadbeen dependent entirely upon his own exertions; had marriedyoung; and had had a pretty hard fight at starting to providefor his children and for himself. His energy, his abilities,his exceeding amiability, and remarkable social qualities,gradually procured him a large practice and hosts of devotedfriends. He began looking for the season for sprats - thecheapest of fish - to come in; by middle life he washabitually and sumptuously entertaining the celebrities ofart and literature. With his accomplished sister, Miss AliceBird, to keep house for him, there were no pleasanter dinnerparties or receptions in London. His CLIENTELE was mainlyamongst the artistic world. He was a great friend of MissEllen Terry's, Mr. Marcus Stone and his sisters werefrequenters of his house, so were Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Woolnerthe sculptor - of whom I was not particularly fond - HoraceWigan the actor, and his father, the Burtons, who were muchattached to him - Burton dedicated one volume of his 'ArabianNights' to him - Sir William Crookes, Mr. Justin Macarthy andhis talented son, and many others.

　　The good doctor was a Radical and Home Ruler, and attendedprofessionally the members of one or two labouring men'sclubs for fees which, as far as I could learn, wererigorously nominal. His great delight was to get an orderfor the House of Commons, especially on nights when Mr.

　　Gladstone spoke; and, being to the last day of his life assimple-minded as a child, had a profound belief in thestatemanship and integrity of that renowned orator.

　　As far as personality goes, the Burtons were, perhaps, themost notable of the above-named. There was a mystery aboutBurton which was in itself a fascination. No one knew whathe had done; or consequently what he might not do. He neverboasted, never hinted that he had done, or could do, anythingdifferent from other men; and, in spite of the mystery, onefelt that he was transparently honest and sincere. He wasalways the same, always true to himself; but then, that'self' was a something PER SE, which could not becategorically classed - precedent for guidance was lacking.

　　There is little doubt Burton had gipsy blood in his veins;there was something Oriental in his temperament, and even inhis skin.

　　One summer's day I found him reading the paper in theAthenaeum. He was dressed in a complete suit of white -white trousers, a white linen coat, and a very shabby oldwhite hat. People would have stared at him anywhere.

　　'Hullo, Burton!' I exclaimed, touching his linen coat, 'Doyou find it so hot - DEJA?'

　　Said he: 'I don't want to be mistaken for other people.'

　　'There's not much fear of that, even without your clothes,' Ireplied.

　　Such an impromptu answer as his would, from any other, haveimplied vanity. Yet no man could have been less vain, ormore free from affectation. It probably concealed regret atfinding himself conspicuous.

　　After dinner at the Birds' one evening we fell to talking ofgarrotters. About this time the police reports were full ofcases of garrotting. The victim was seized from behind, oneman gagged or burked him, while another picked his pocket.

　　'What should you do, Burton?' the Doctor asked, 'if theytried to garrotte you?'

　　'I'm quite ready for 'em,' was the answer; and turning up hissleeve he partially pulled out a dagger, and shoved it backagain.

　　We tried to make him tell us what became of the Arab boy whoaccompanied him to Mecca, and whose suspicions threatenedBurton's betrayal, and, of consequence, his life. I don'tthink anyone was present except us two, both of whom he wellknew to be quite shock-proof, but he held his tongue.

　　'You would have been perfectly justified in saving your ownlife at any cost. You would hardly have broken the sixthcommandment by doing so in this case,' I suggested.

　　'No,' said he gravely, 'and as I had broken all the tenbefore, it wouldn't have so much mattered.'

　　The Doctor roared. It should, however, be stated that Burtontook no less delight in his host's boyish simplicity, thanthe other in what he deemed his guest's superb candour.

　　'Come, tell us,' said Bird, 'how many men have you killed?'

　　'How many have you, Doctor?' was the answer.

　　Richard Burton was probably the most extraordinary linguistof his day. Lady Burton mentions, I think, in his Life, thenumber of languages and dialects her husband knew. ThatMahometans should seek instruction from him in the Koran,speaks of itself for his astonishing mastery of the greatestlinguistic difficulties. With Indian languages and theirvariations, he was as completely at home as Miss Youghal'sSais; and, one may suppose, could have played the ROLE of afakir as perfectly as he did that of a Mecca pilgrim. Iasked him what his method was in learning a fresh language.

　　He said he wrote down as many new words as he could learn andremember each day; and learnt the construction of thelanguage colloquially, before he looked at a grammar.

　　Lady Burton was hardly less abnormal in her way than SirRichard. She had shared his wanderings, and was intimate, asno one else was, with the eccentricities of his thoughts anddeeds. Whatever these might happen to be, she worshipped herhusband notwithstanding. For her he was the standard ofexcellence; all other men were departures from it. And thesingularity is, her religious faith was never for an instantshaken - she remained as strict a Roman Catholic as when hemarried her from a convent. Her enthusiasm andcosmopolitanism, her NAIVETE and the sweetness of herdisposition made her the best of company. She had lived somuch the life of a Bedouin, that her dress and her habits hadan Eastern glow. When staying with the Birds, she wasattended by an Arab girl, one of whose duties i............