at first, being known simply as "the man
who dines here and goes up to Scotland"; but he grew at last, I think,
the most generally liked of all the members. To those who truly knew and
loved him, who had tasted the real sweetness of his nature, Fleeming's
porcupine ways had always been a matter of keen regret. They introduced
him to their own friends with fear; sometimes recalled the step with
mortification. It was not possible to look on with patience while a man
so lovable thwarted love at every step. But the course of time and the
ripening of his nature brought a cure. It was at the Savile that he
first remarked a change; it soon spread beyond the walls of the club.
Presently I find him writing: "Will you kindly explain what has happened
to me? All my life I have talked a good deal, with the almost unfailing
result of making people sick of the sound of my tongue. It appeared to
me that I had various things to say, and I had no malevolent feelings,
but nevertheless the result was that expressed above. Well, lately some
change has happened. If I talk to a person one day, they must have me
the next. Faces light up when they see me. 'Ah, I say, come
here'--'come and dine with me.' It's the most preposterous thing I ever
experienced. It is curiously pleasant. You have enjoyed it all your
life, and therefore cannot conceive how bewildering a burst of it is for
the first time at forty-nine." And this late sunshine of popularity
still further softened him. He was a bit of a porcupine to the last,
still shedding darts; or rather he was to the end a bit of a schoolboy,
and must still throw stones; but the essential toleration that underlay
his disputatiousness, and the kindness that made of him a tender
sick-nurse and a generous helper, shone more conspicuously through. A
new pleasure had come to him; and as with all sound natures, he was
bettered by the pleasure.

I can best show Fleeming in this later stage by quoting from a vivid and
interesting letter of M. Emile Trelat's. Here, admirably expressed, is
how he appeared to a friend of another nation, whom he encountered only
late in life. M. Trelat will pardon me if I correct, even before I quote
him; but what the Frenchman supposed to flow from some particular
bitterness against France, was only Fleeming's usual address. Had M.
Trelat been Italian, Italy would have fared as ill; and yet Italy was
Fleeming's favourite country.

Vous savez comment j'ai connu Fleeming Jenki