Saxon son; and
for my part, looking at him from the primitive boy stand-point, I never
suspected that he was related to my father's young friend. He had made a
fortune in colonial trade, and may possibly have been born in India. At
this juncture the dealings of his firm were chiefly with Australia, and
the largest merchant steamship then in the world had just been built for
them, and Hawthorne was invited to the launching. For a British merchant
prince such an occasion could not but be of supreme importance and
pride. Mr. Bright's Oriental visage was radiant; his white hair seemed
to shine with an added lustre; the reserve of the Englishman was
forgotten, and he showed the excitement and emotion that he felt. There
was a distinguished company on the great deck to witness his triumph
and congratulate him upon it. All went well; at the appointed signal the
retaining obstructions were cut away, and the mighty vessel began its
descent into the waiting river. A lady of his family smashed a bottle
of wine over the graceful bows. For a few moments there was a majestic,
sweeping movement downward; then, of a sudden, it was checked. It was
as if a great life had been quenched at the instant when its heart first
began to throb. A murmur of dismay ran through the assemblage; but it
was in the face of Mr. Bright that the full tragedy of the disaster was
displayed. Never was seen a swifter change from the highest exultation
to the depths of consternation. The color left his cheeks; heavy lines
appeared about his handsome mouth; his eyes became fixed, and seemed to
sink into his head; his erect figure drooped like that of one who has
received a mortal blow. It was only that the ship had stuck in the deep
mud of the river bottom; but all ship-owners are superstitious, and the
old man foreboded the worst. The ship was floated again some days later;
but the omens were fulfilled; she was lost on her first voyage. I do not
remember seeing Mr. Bright after this event, but I know he never again
was the same man as before.

Richard Monckton Milnes, who was afterwards Lord Houghton, was greatly
attracted towards my father, who liked him; but circumstances prevented
their seeing much of each other. Milnes was then forty-five years old;
he was a Cambridge man, and intimate with Tennyson, Hallam, and other
men of literary mark, and he was himself a minor poet, and warm in the
cause of literature. During his parliamentary career, in 1837, he was