THE LATE MR FORSTER.

Evening Star, Issue 4193, 4 August 1876, Page 4

THE LATE MR FORSTER.

That Mr Forster's " tremendous manner" was in no degree the consequence of a harsh or hard nature was shown in the devotion with which his personal attendants served him. The zeal and veneration with which his servant Henry waited upon him during many years were noticed by all his friends, and wondered at by some, for when Mr Forster had an attack of gout (and he suffered cruelly in this way) his irasoibility was indeed difficult to bear. Bub Henry never appeared to notice the storms that raged over his head. He kept quietly to his task ; never answered the word of wrath, never showed by his manner that it had been uttered, and never permitted it to abate in the least degree his veneration for his master. One day, at dinner, there was not soup enough to go round the table. The host, in his sternest manner and deepest voice, .said, " Henry, you see there is not enough i; mulligatawny." Henry said quietly in his master's ear, " Please, sir, there is no more soup." Whereupon Forster turned with a tragedy air upon his man, and growled between his teeth, "No more mulligatawny, Henry! Let there be mulligatawny!" Henry paid no attention to the outburst, hut went quietly on with his service. The storm, he knew, had spent itself. The blind devotion with which Henry did his service was illustrated on one occasion when his master had a dinner party. During the dinner Henry was nervous, and made two or three blunders. His master chafed and fumed, and cast angry glances at his servant; but the poor man could not settle quietly to his duty. At last, when the dessert and wine had been placed upon the table, he stole timidly behind Mr Forster's chair and said,"" Please, sir, can ycu spare me now \ My house has been on fire the last hour and a half." The group of literary men and artists, of whom Mr Forster was the friend and adviser, loved, in the summer, to meet at Thames Ditton for an afternoon in the fresh air, aud a dinner by the banks of the river, and a chive to London in the cool of the evening. On one of these occasions, when Count d'Orfay was present, and sat next Forster, the waiters were remiss, and the gaiety of the dinner-table was suffering in consequence. Count d'Orsay ate cold butter with his flounders. In a quiet tone he said to one of the attendants, "Waiter,

a slice of cold butter." But no cold butter came. Patiently and amiably the count presently repeated his request, and again he was doomed to disappointment. Forster had overheard the count, and seen the neglect Mith which he was treated. It was too much for him. Waiting his opportunity to seize upon the neglectful attendant, he turned fiercely upon him, and in a voice of thunder said, ," Gracious heavens I waiter, a slice of cold butter for the flounders of the count." The .roll, of the rounded sentence set the table in a roar, and Forster was not the least amused of the company, for he could laugh at his own i outbursts heartily. As at Dickens's table, one day, when somebody asked, the host how many children ho had, " Four," said Dickens. Whereupon Forster interrupted, with an air of great authority—"Dickens, you have hve children." " Upon my word, Forster," Dickens expostulated, " allow me to know the number of my own family." "Five, my dear Dickens," was the firm rejoinder. When it was proved that four was the correct number, Forster £a\;e in with a laugh.— tflanchard Jerrold. /