Things I can tell

THINGS
I CAN TELL

LORD ROSSMORE

ALARMIST RUMOURS,

LADY ROSSMORE FINED.

At Marlborough-street Police Court on Saturday,
before Mr. Mead, LADY ROSSMORE, The Stud House,
Hampton Court, was summoned urfder the Defence
of the Realm Regulations for making a false statement
in a telegram handed in at South Audley-street post-
oflice for dispatch on April 13.

Sir Archibald Bodkin, for the prosecution, said that
the telegram was addressed " Cowdery, Rossmore,
Monaghan," and read as follows : — " Germans march-
ing on Calais. Dover and Folkestone to be cleared."
The assistant in the post-office asked the defendant
if the statements in it were true, and she said that
they were. The message was stopped, and tlie matter
was brought to the notice of the authorities at Scot-
land Yard, who requested the defendant to call.
She did so, and made an explanation. The contents
of the telegram were not true, and there was no order
about Dover and Folkestone. If the telegram had
been forwarded serious mischief might have been
caused. The defendant was the wife of Lord Ross-
more, who was living in Ireland.

On April 17 the defendant wrote a letter to the
Secretary of the War Ofljce, which contained the
following passages : —

I am in a most awful state. I have done the most dreadful
thing possible to do, and I don't know what to do for the best-
Sly eldest son is in the midst of it in France, and I am nearly out
of my mind with anxiety. On Saturday afternoon I was told the
Germans were marching on Calais and that there had been orders
to clear Dover and Folkestone on account of the big German gun.
As Lord Kossmore is ill in Ireland and terribly upset about our boy.
I, in a moment of excitement, wrote a telegram to my old maid
so that she could breathe the news to Kossmore before he saw the
news in the papers, as his heart is so bad. I put in the telegram,
as far as I can remember, the following : — " Nearing Calais ; Dover
and Folkestone to be cleared," and signed my name at the back.
Yesterday I was at Scotland Yard. When they came and asked
7iie to go there they would not say why they wanted me, only that
it was urgent : and I could not imagine what it was for, as the
telegram had gone out of my mind. They tell me at Scotland Yard
that i am to be had up for this stupid, thoughtless I
telegram, which they luckily, 1 see now, censored. I feel if they !
have me up I shall never be able to hold up my head again. I i
don't know what to do, and Lord Rossciore is in Ireland, aud I am
alone. And to think that I could have done such a thing. If I
had not been in the state I was or waited I should have seen what
I was doing. Mothers with sons in France ought to be fojgiveu <
a good deal, for what we have to go through no one knows. I would i
sooner have died than done any harm, and this is the truth.

Sir Archibald Bodkin said that ,he believed the
letter was a truthful and natural explanation of the
circumstances in which the telegram, was sought to
be circulated.

Mr. Muir, for th? defenes, stated that Lady Ross-
more was most patriotic, and was connected with
the Red Cross and other societies both in England and
Ireland. She wns English by birth, and her husband
was a retired Army ollicer. Her eldest son was fight-
ing in France, and her other son was physically unfit
to serve in the Army or Navy, but was doing national
service in Ireland.

Mr. MKAD asked whfrre ihe rumour came from.
Mr. Muir said he believed the defendant received
it from her sister.

Mr. MEAD said that he would yield to the repre-
sentation of both sides, and impose a nominal penalty
of £10, the defendant to pay £5 costs.

THE TIME&, MONDAY,
APRIL 22,

THINGS I CAN TELL

[THINGS I CAN TELL

BY

LORD ROSSMORE

LONDON

EVELEIGH NASH

1912

All Rights Reserved.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

My recollections : A woman's " Don't " : " Under the
spreading chestnut tree " : My birth and parentage :
Rossmore and its associations : Lady Hester and the
Highwayman : The inevitable banshee : Truth stranger
than fiction : " Lady " Anne Douglas Hamilton and her
lovely mother : A forgotten romance of the Peerage

Pp. 1-17

CHAPTER II

My extravagant grandfather : A political duel : My father :
Bagpipes at the dentist's dinner : " Tom Thumb " :
Pau : We become inmates of a lunatic asylum : My
mother's second marriage : " Old Craw " and the
Colonel: "Still a gentleman": "A happy New
Year " : Treasure Island : School days : Bad food at
Rugby : Happy Hanover : The broken window : I get
one back on Beardy Pp. 18-36

v

Contents

CHAPTER III

Round about Rossmore : A bullying Bishop : My grand-
mother's reproof: "Cootie": My first cock-fight:
Lord de Ros and his plain bride : Neighbours : Cock
fighting as a national sport : The fight at Barn Hill :
Joe Wright : Badger-drawing : Joe falls in the arena :
Bacchanalian recollections : My excuses for them :
The custom of the country: "Darry" for short:
North and South : An irreparable injury : A dis-
contented wife : " An obleegin' blackguard " : The
Englishman's shooting : The end of the day : Bunty
surprises a critic : Hunting by moonlight : Looking
backward Pp. 37-60

CHAPTER IV

Dublin days : I encounter General Browne : I get the worst
of it : The Kildare Street Club : Percy La Touche and
the surly member : " Go to Bath " : Lying in daylight :
A dinner at the Sackville Street Club : " I'm an awfully
nice fellow " : Dublin theatres : Witty audiences : Some
Irish stories : A honeymoon incident : The alien
Baron : Lady Pilkington and the beggar : The late
Lord Caledon : His pluck : A rent audit dinner : Back
to front Pp. 61-82

vi

Contents

CHAPTER V

I go into the army : Le Fleming of Tonbridge : Open con-
fession : I join the gth Lancers : Sugar Candy's advice :
" Goffy " : Three weeks : The untameable mustang : A
swim for a "fiver" : Crowdy : The Irish double bank :
" I can't stick this any longer " : " Goffy " breaks the
bank : Bill Beresford and I at Ousecliffe : The '48
Lafitte : Sandhurst : Petty tyranny : A wrong system :
We rebel : Fire ! : Sir Duncan Cameron's breach of
faith : A desperate remedy : Things are altered : Death
of my brother, Lord Rossmore : A brilliant career cut
short : Sympathy shown by the late Queen Victoria :
" Rosie's " burial-place : A beautiful spot : Jim
Richardson : A hasty blow : I exchange into the
ist Life Guards : " Mollygatouche " : I " Cham " pain :
The Sequel : Dinner at Cottesmore : An icy reception :
The reason why : Lonsdale sees fair play : The amende
honorable : The Westenra stammer again : I leave the
army : I determine to enjoy life Pp. 83-103

CHAPTER VI

I meet Mrs. Cornwallis-West : " She was a vision of delight
when first she broke upon my sight " : The eventful
dance : Kissing the Blarney Stone : Nesselrode :
Caroline Duchess of Montrose : Some stories about
her : Consuelo Duchess of Manchester : Her charm as

vii

Contents

a raconteuse : The late King Edward, a delighted
listener : " A real Duchess " : Some Mark Twain
stories : Mrs. Ronalds : Penelope Cavendish Bentinck :
The late Duchess of Teck : " How's poor old
Francis ? " : The Duke of Connaught and the foot-
warmer : Knowledge is power : The Archbishop of
" Cork " and the Archbishop of York Pp. 104-123

CHAPTER VII

Jimmy Davis : The wonderful William : " Smoked 'addock,
my lord " : Duels : Still they come : Bessie Bellwood
at Supper : The late Lady Meux : Her vagaries : A
dinner at Kettner's : Peter does likewise : Pratt's
Club : Briggs' eggs and bacon : He reports me to the
Committee : The late Lord Dufferin's courtesy : The
late Lord Winchilsea : Some stories about the late
Viscount Massereene and Ferrard : " What's yours ? " :
The farmer sees double : Massereene's best epitaph :
Charlie Western and I at the theatre : " Take a
lemon " : Peter's wife's mother's family : Daubeneys
and Eaglesfields : An early tub : The tell-tale umbrella :
An apology in rhyme : An awkward meeting with King
Edward : His wonderful tact : A garden party at
Marlborough House : A dinner party at Hyde Park
House : Why the King left in a hurry : His charming
disposition Pp. 124-148

viii

Contents

CHAPTER VIII

I start racing : The late King Edward's first trainer : The
match that " Duppy " made : Captain Machell : His
cuteness : A three-legged winner : Fred Archer : My
dream about him : Machell's equally strange ex-
perience : The late Duchess of Devonshire at Lewes :
The great Harry Clay-Ker-Seymer : " I've forgotten
your name " : Injured dignity : Mowerina : A hard
bargain : Worth her weight in gold : Richard
Christopher Naylor : I win the City and Suburban with
Passaic : "I want to marry your daughter ! " : Old
Naylor at Downshire House : King Edward : The
proper get up for the races : " Have you come
r-ratting?": Marcus Beresford at the Turf club: The
late Lord Vivian : " Hook and Eye " : George Payne :
" Hook and Eye's " early cup of tea : The sad results :
Keep away : The fat blackguard : " Bertie wins " : Jim
Goater and Present Times: Why Archer was "off"
riding : Sir John Astley : " Ashley's ticker " : " Too big
for the plate " : Billy Bevill and Jim Blank : Sir
Frederick Johnstone at Stockbridge : The late King
a visitor at his house : A distinguished audience :
Charlie Forbes : The Bridge of Sighs : " In with
you " : A royal rescuer : The Prince's hat goes down
stream : Racing and I part company Pp. 149-179

ix

Contents

CHAPTER IX

Why don't you hunt now ? : The old order changeth :
Hunters of men: Somerby : "Snipey" Green:
Burglars in the bath-room : Bay Middleton : He hides
in a lady's bed : Bay's presentiment of his death : Sir
Herbert Langham : His red red nose : Hughie Cusker's
whole-hearted admiration of it : How the nose belied
the owner : " Chicken " Hartopp : Bald as a coot :
Lord Howth : "There's always a black sheep in every
flock " : The aniseeded boots : Hunting the train :
How " Chicken " hanged the Jarvey : Hartopp's hunt-
ing : A lengthy description : A topper to hounds :
" According to De Crespigny " : Miss Naylor takes first
place : McGerr and his hose : An Irishman's farewell
to his steed : Percy La Touche : The late King Edward
and Percy : Huguenots or Hottentots ? : Lady Ross-
more : Her accident at Newmarket : Why she never
rides now : Lady Bailey upholds the family's reputation
in the hunting field Pp. 180-203

CHAPTER X

Mountain Lodge : An Irish grouse moor : The peasantry :
The Duke of Connaught : Why his sport was spoiled :
Anne Holland : A woman gamekeeper : Trespassers

x

Contents

will be — shot : When the season commenced : Irish
bulls : Lord Iveagh at Rossmore : A bad headache :
Woodcock stories : The double right and left : The late
King at Elvedon : " Where did you get that hat ? " :
Jodpores : King Edward's witty remark : His wonderful
memory: The brailed pheasants Pp. 204-218

CHAPTER XI

I go to South Africa : My servant Menelly : Why the
maids gave notice : The soi-disant Lord Darnley : An
audacious impostor : My fraudulent namesake : An
awkward question : " Oh no, we never mention her " :
Race hatred : A begrudged loaf : We ask for bread and
get a biscuit : Ikey Sonnenberg : Dinner at his house :
"A nice game of cardths " : Swalbacher : He resents
my toasts : He is flung out : The second time of
asking : Outside once more : Fallen among thieves :
The black woman steals his ticker : " Thou shalt
repay " : " Thanks, I've got to meet a man " : The true
story of the drive over the precipice : Young Carson
and the Dop : " Furrin' parts " : A short stay in
Australia : I have supper with Fred Leslie and
Nellie Farren : A dog and a chop story

Pp. 219-238
xi

Contents

CHAPTER XII

A Home Rule story : The Roslea incident : The late Duke
of Manchester : The two Mr. Duffys : Monaghan
stories : A lecture on ornithology : " The soft impeach-
ment " : The wrong roll of notes : The revolving
carpet : A fishy tale : The potheen industry : The land
agent's ruse : How I brought the potheen to Ross-
more : Black Peter's brew : Dublin Castle : A sleepy
Duke : Quick dinners with the Londonderrys :
"Erly" Clonmell: The brocaded seat: The Ca-
dogans : Pompous Pogson : The late Lady Cadogan's
charm : " Does your master's horse prefer Irish or
Scotch ? " : Lady Annesley and the cabman : Madame
Melba : The last record : Milestones : An Irishman's
memories Pp. 239-270

Xll

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Lord Rossmore Frontispiece

Mrs. Waring To face page 8

Lady Hester Westenra .... ,, 12

View from the Entrance to Rossmore Castle ,, 14

Camla House ,, 48

The Rossmore Family Mausoleum . ,, 98

Lord Rossmore „ 182

Rossmore Castle from the Lake . „ 250

Lady Rossmore „ 269

xill

TO
MY FRIEND

MAUDE MARY CHESTER FFOULKES

WHO HAS RENDERED ME INVALUABLE ASSISTANCE IN
THE PREPARATION OF THESE REMINISCENCES

CHAPTER I

My recollections : A woman's " Don't " : " Under
the spreading chestnut tree": My birth and
parentage : Rossmore and its associations : Lady
Hester and the Highwayman : The inevitable
banshee : Truth stranger than fiction : " Lady " Anne
Douglas Hamilton and her lovely mother : A for-
gotten romance of the Peerage

I HAVE often been asked to write my
recollections but, as I have never done any-
thing important, I am afraid I shall have to
content myself with relating some interesting
and intimate things about my friends.

I can fancy some people saying, " Oh, I hope
he won't mention me," but they can breathe
freely, for that kind grandmother the law of
libel protects them, and, after all, what is the
good of revealing everything you know ?

When I told Mrs. Cornwallis West that I

Things I can Tell

intended to take the public into my confidence
she exclaimed in mock alarm, " Don't, Derry,
don't."

Now a remark like this from some women
acts as the best incentive in the world,
and that request decided me, for I am not an
Irishman for nothing, so I herewith proceed to
gossip to my heart's content, and if I stuff the
reader with chestnuts, or shock the critic by
committing any grievous literary sins such as
splitting my infinitives, or whatever they're
called, I ask to be forgiven, for I am a better
hand at making a bet than writing a book.

I suppose the correct way to start this
autobiography is to state where I was born, and
who my parents were, so I beg to inform all
whom it may interest that I first saw the light
in Dublin on February 7th, 1853. My father
was Henry, third Baron Rossmore, and my
mother was Miss Josephine Lloyd of Farrinrory,
Co. Tipperary. The Westenras, who were of
Dutch extraction, came over to Ireland in the
time of Charles II, and one of our most notice-
able traits is an old-established stammer which

Rossmore

appears at intervals in successive generations,
and is certainly not a desirable inheritance.
My father had it rather badly, and other
Westenras must have been afflicted with it too,
for it has been observed that quite a number of
the old tenant farmers who lived round
Rossmore used to have a similar impediment.

Rossmore is considered, I believe, to be one
of the beauty spots of Ireland, and, being
naturally prejudiced in its favour, I think it is
one of the prettiest places in the world. My
father knocked down the greater part of the
old house which was, in bygone days, called
" Mount Maria " and which was the home of
the Cairns family. From time to time various
alterations have been made and the modern
element is now paramount. The park is a
perpetual joy to me ; I love every inch of it,
and although I've often had bad luck on the
Turf, I've never yet cut down a single tree to
balance my losses. A lady who disliked me,
but who adored Rossmore, once remarked when
she was discussing the property, " What a pity
it is that you are not a 'blending of all beauties'

B 2 3

Things I can Tell

and take after your estate." How's that for a
serpent's tongue with an acidulated drop on
the end of it ?

My publisher tells me that the best authors
avoid the obvious in writing, but, as our
banshee is most obvious and never avoids us,
I think I must defy E. Nash, and relate the
story of the first Lord Rossmore and the
banshee's warning.

Robert Rossmore was on terms of great
friendship with Sir Jonah and Lady Barrington,
and once when they met at a Dublin drawing
room, Rossmore persuaded the Barringtons to
come over the next day to Mount Kennedy,
where he was then living. As the invited
guests proposed to rise early they retired
to bed in good time, and slept soundly
until two o'clock in the morning, when Sir
Jonah was awakened by a wild and plaintive
cry. He lost no time in rousing his wife, and
the scared couple got up and opened the window,
which looked over the grass plot beneath. It
was a moonlight night and the objects around
the house were easily discernible, but there was
4

The Banshee

nothing to be seen in the direction whence
the eerie sound proceeded. Now thoroughly
frightened, Lady Harrington called her maid,
who straightway would not listen or look, and
fled in terror to the servants' quarters. The
uncanny noise continued for about half an hour,
when it suddenly ceased. All at once a weird
cry of " Rossmore, Rossmore, Rossmore," was
heard, and then all was still.

The Barringtons looked at each other in
dismay, and were utterly bewildered as to what
the cry could mean. They decided, how-
ever, not to mention the incident at Mount
Kennedy, and returned to bed in the hope of
resuming their broken slumbers. They were
not left long undisturbed, for at seven o'clock
they were awakened by a loud knocking at the
bedroom door, and Sir Jonah's servant, Lawler,
entered the room, his face white with terror.

"What's the matter, what's the matter?"
asked Sir Jonah, " is anyone dead ? " " Oh sir,"
answered the man, " Lord Rossmore's footman
has just gone by in great haste, and he told me
that my lord, after coming from the Castle, had

5

Things I can Tell

gone to bed in perfect health, but that about half
past two this morning, his own man hearing a
noise in his master's room went to him, and
found him in the agonies of death, and before
he could alarm the servants his lordship was
dead."

Lady Harrington often used to tell this
story, and would say solemnly in conclusion,
" Lord Rossmore was actually dying at the
moment when we heard his name pronounced."

The banshee has been fairly active from
time to time since then, and although person-
ally I don't care a straw for the family spectre,
it is firmly believed in by the country folk, and
it would require a bold " bhoy " to walk after
dark past a certain wood which is popularly
supposed to be its stronghold. What I cannot
disbelieve, however, is the Harrington episode,
which is one of the least known but best
authenticated of Irish ghost stories.

My father's first wife was "Lady" Anne
Douglas Hamilton, the only child of James
Duke of Hamilton and a lovely lady who lived
with him as his wife. I have always under-
6

Anne Douglas Hamilton

stood that the lady was an actress when she
first met and fascinated the Duke, and she
must have been a beautiful creature judging
from her picture. She was a most interesting
and charming person, and when the Duke died
she married Major Scott Waring, whom she
long outlived, for her age was well over a
hundred when she passed away. My mother,
who used to visit her, saw her lying in her
coffin, a tiny shrivelled up form, with not a
trace of the loveliness which looks down at us
to-day from her pictured presentment at Ross-
more.

Lady Anne was born at Hamilton Palace,
and was always recognised by the Duke's
family as the Lady Anne Douglas Hamilton,
and she went into society with her aunt, Lady
Anne Hamilton. She inherited, from the Duke,
a considerable fortune which consisted of part
of the Island of Arran, and my father built the
present shooting box there. The property was
re-sold to the Hamiltons by him in order to
buy more land in Ireland, and thus obtain
political influence, but it was an ill day when

7

Things I can Tell

he parted with Arran, for the acquired estates
were a poor exchange.

My mother when very young knew her pre-
decessor well, and has told me that when she
first saw her she thought her a very imposing
figure indeed. Lady Anne loved her father's
family, who claimed her as a near relation,
and were much attached to her. She did
not like Ireland, and her dying request was
that she might not be buried there. Her
mother's story is a forgotten romance, but I
believe it has always been held that there was a
Scotch marriage between her and the Duke of
Hamilton.

Family portraits remind me of the tale of
how my ancestress Lady Hester Westenra
once had a great ride with a highwayman. She
must have been a fearless woman judging from
her picture, one of those ladies who like their
own way, and always get it too. Anyhow she
was plucky, and a rare good sportswoman if all
accounts of her are true.

Lady Hester was a daughter of the Earl of
Cavan, and a regular Irish Di Vernon ; she
8

Mrs. Waring.

Lady Hester Westenra

had her own pack of foxhounds in Queen's
County where the old Westenra estates were
situated, and her hunting exploits were the talk
of the countryside.

Now another equally well-known character
in the neighbourhood was Freyney, the famous
highwayman, as handsome a dare-devil as ever
lived by breaking the eighth commandment.
One fine morning Freyney found that his
finances were at a pretty low ebb, and he had
to face the hateful fact that want of cash is
about the worst evil which can befall a man.
Of course as Freyney's method of taxation
had always been slightly drastic, the ratepayers
had naturally begun to jib, and resorted to all
kinds of subterfuges to circumvent him, and
he was sick to death of holding up prosperous
looking individuals only to discover that they
apparently made long journeys with very little
money in their pockets.

Well, on this fine morning both Lady
Hester Westenra and Freyney were as two
minds with a single thought, which was a-
hunting we will go, but they meant it differ-

9

Things I can Tell

ently. Lady Hester donned the scarlet habit
she always affected ; Freyney tightened in
three inches of his belt, and tried to forget
that breakfast had ever existed, and both,
mounted on the "best in the world," met
face to face by the covert side where the
hounds had just found and were giving
tongue.

I can quite imagine Hester looking like a
fresh young Diana, and Freyney the picture
of a real stage highwayman. Up he rides to
the lady who didn't know him from Adam,
and says sweetly with all the good manners
which were a sine qua non with gentlemen of
the Road : —

" My Lady, I am very sorry to interrupt
your sport, but I am destitute, and as I live by
my wits and my horse's heels, I'll have to
trouble you for your purse."

Hester turned on him, bright sparks in her
eyes and black rage in her heart, for surely
wouldn't any real sportswoman detest being
talked to about her purse just when the hounds
had found ?
10

Hester and Freyney

Says she, " Purse — you fool — don't you hear
the hounds have found ? "

Freyney was quite undisturbed and answered
with the cold callousness of a desperate man,
" I can't help it if the hounds have found, I
must find for myself; I've got to live, and you
must please hand over your purse."

Lady Hester looked at him. She saw that
he was hungry, perhaps she noticed that
Freyney was a little bit the worse for wear,
maybe his personality appealed to her (it had
always been a great asset to Freyney in his
dealings with women). Anyhow she replied,
"All right — but don't worry me with your
nonsense just now ; come man — ride the run
with me, and whoever has the best of it
gets the purse," and off she went after the
hounds which had just broken covert.

"Accepted, my lady," called Freyney, know-
ing that his mare was the real right thing,
and feeling sure that the purse was as good as
won.

It was a famous run over a stiff country,
but Lady Hester and Freyney didn't care.

1 1

Things I can Tell

They rode a record run ; the plucky girl beat
the highwayman hollow, and he came up to her
while the hounds were breaking up the
" hunted one."

Like the nice woman she was, Hester turned
all smiles to Freyney. "Well," said she,
producing a fine fat netted purse from some-
where in her scarlet habit, "here's the purse.
I've had all the luck or you'd have beaten me
easily," and she forthwith held out the money
with the easiest grace in the world.

Freyney had bowed low when he first spoke
to Hester Westenra, but now his head swept
almost to his knee, and his hat right down to
his stirrup. Then he looked at her, his
handsome reckless face all aglow with excite-
ment, and he said with real emotion, " No,
no, your ladyship ! No, Lady Hester, 'twas
finely ridden and fairly won. Gentlemen
of the Road have their own ideas of honour,
and mine is to thank you for the good sport,
and to wish you good day."

With that he rode off, and I daresay Hester
wished, as I do, that Freyney " found " on the

12

Lady Hester Westenra.

A Daring Robber

return journey, and was able to give his gallant
little mare a good feed, and to eat a hearty
breakfast himself.

Those were exciting days to live in, and
although some people maintain that it en-
courages crime and fosters unhealthy appetites
to glorify those dead and gone knights of the
Road, I must say that I think we ought to take
off our hats to Freyney — and also to Hester
Westenra.

Talking of highwaymen, I remember the
late Mr. Norton Lane of the Field, well
known as "Twenty Thousand Shots," and who
died at the age of ninety-three, once telling
me of an adventure which befell his mother.

Mrs. Lane came to a meet, and her pony
carriage was stationed at a point where it was
supposed the fox would break. The field
waited some distance away, and Mr. Lane
suddenly observed a smart looking man on
horseback talking to his mother, but he paid
little or no attention to the incident. When he
and his father returned home in the evening,
they found Mrs. Lane in a state of tre-

13

Things I can Tell

mendous agitation, and it transpired that the
smart stranger was a highwayman who had
demanded and taken her valuables in full view
of everybody.

Rossmore rightly is, as my lady-enemy des-
cribed it, " a blending of all beauties," and I
can imagine no fairer prospect anywhere than
that to be obtained from the entrance to the
house where one gazes right over a luxuriance
of verdure to the distant mountains, and it is a
pity that all ups and downs are not like those
around my home.

I have been accused of possessing Louis
XIV's mania for planting and transplanting, but
I contend that all my alterations — especially my
new roads — are of real value, and, if this book
is a success, it may interest those friends of
mine, who laugh behind my back at what they
consider an expensive fad, to know that I
intend to make another new road.

Writing on this lively subject reminds me
to mention that part of the old Dublin coach
road is now within the park gates at Rossmore,
H

U

The Old Dublin Road

for I had the highway re-arranged some years
ago, and diverted the traffic in another
direction. The enclosed piece of the road
is covered with mossy turf, and if a phantom
coach does ever cover the ground at midnight,
I'm sure the ghosts don't get nearly so shaken
up as they did when they were alive, and
rattled over the ruts on the way to Dublin.

The gates were presented by the town of
Monaghan to commemorate the birth of my
eldest son, and they are handsome examples
of their kind, but as this description seems
somewhat in the style of a garrulous house-
keeper showing a party round, I'll leave
the gates alone, and get beyond them to
Camla, which was formerly the Rossmore
dower house, and which is one of the oldest
mansions in the north of Ireland.

My great-uncle Colonel Westenra of the
8th Hussars bought the property and be-
queathed it to my father. Camla is a ram-
bling old place which was inhabited long ago
by the Montgomeries. Externally it is not
much to look at, but there is plenty of room

Things I can Tell

inside, and I find it uncommonly useful as a
sort of storehouse for the various antiques
which I collect from time to time, always
meaning to put them somewhere some day.
Why, at Camla we've nearly enough pieces of
old oak to build a navy for Ireland if she ever
gets Home Rule in the way the extremists
want it, and quite enough old iron for some
extra special battleships. Anyhow, I know
that Camla is comfortable and it faces an
artificial lake which has a curious history.

The story goes that in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, the Montgomerie of the day, who
possessed great influence in those troublous
times, exercised it on behalf of a man who
was going to be hanged, and got the sentence
quashed, much to the delight of the populace,
with whom the criminal was immensely
popular. The men of the townland whence
he came arrived at Camla in a body, and
asked Montgomerie whether they could do
anything to show their gratitude. Mont-
gomerie wasn't quite sure what he wanted
at the moment, but one of the leaders with
16

Camla Vale

a practical mind suggested that they should
dig out the small stream which then ran down
in front of Camla Vale, and make some
kind of a lake. So they set to work, and
made quite a respectable-looking sheet of
ornamental water. The earth which they
dug out proves that they did their job
thoroughly, for it is still in existence and
takes the shape of a large hillock, which
is planted with fine old beeches, and when
spring comes she never fails to star the hill
with a good scattering of primroses in memory
of the grateful workers.

I have already explained why I am writing
this book. I have introduced you to the
family banshee, and to the family romance,
so now I will introduce you to the family,
and tell you some things we did " in the days
of my youth."

CHAPTER II

My extravagant grandfather : A political duel : My
father : Bagpipes at the dentist's dinner : " Tom
Thumb " : Pau : We become inmates of a lunatic
asylum : My mother's second marriage : " Old
Craw "and the Colonel: "Still a gentleman": "A
Happy New Year " : Treasure Island : School days :
Bad food at Rugby : Happy Hanover : The broken
window : I get one back on Beardy

MY father was a charming man, but, unlike the
generality of the Westenras, he didn't care for
riding or racing. Perhaps he had good reason
not to indulge in either, as his father had
almost reduced himself to penury through
racing, electioneering, hunting, and cockfight-
ing. Luckily, my grandfather's second wife,
Lady Charteris, was one of the managing sort,
and never rested until, by dint of much
screwing and saving, she had pulled the family
finances together again.
18

My Grandfather

My grandfather was a great believer in
Catholic emancipation, and had sometimes two
sons in Parliament, one representing Monaghan,
and the other Queen's County. My father's
interest in politics once led him into fighting a
duel with Colonel Madden on the borders of
Monaghan and Armagh. His bullet cut a
button off Madden's coat, and Madden's bullet
ricochetted off the ground, and shot my father
through the ankle. He was very handsome, and
I remember my maternal grandmother sayingthat
he was the finest man she had ever set eyes on.

Old Henderson, the owner of the Belfast
News Letter, was once talking to me at Maze
Races, and told me how he recollected my
father and mother at a ball soon after their
marriage, and what a splendid looking couple
they were, indeed so great was the attention
they attracted that the dancers stopped and
actually made a lane, for them as they walked
up the room. My father's favourite amuse-
ments were yachting, shooting and fishing, and
— oddly enough — playing the bagpipes, at which
difficult art he excelled.

c 2 ig

Things I can Tell

There is a story that one night he was
dining with Brophy, the well-known Dublin
dentist, who had engaged a blind Irish piper
to amuse his guests. My father said he would
give the company a taste of his own playing,
so the piper, with a pitying smile, handed him
over the bagpipes. But the old man's smile
soon faded away, and was replaced with an
expression of intense anger as the strains
filled the room. At last he could no longer
contain himself, and he went for Brophy
hammer and tongs and demanded fiercely to
know how he dared introduce a rival at the
entertainment, since he was absolutely certain
that no one but a real professional piper could
ever play like that.

I was only seven years old when my father
died, and left my mother with six little children,
my brother Henry (" Rosie "), who had become
Lord Rossmore, Kathleen, Norah, myself, and
my two younger brothers, Dick and Peter.

We spent those early days at Rossmore, and
led an outdoor life in that ideal place for
children. " Rosie " was a born rider, and
20

Pail

possessed a tiny Shetland pony called Tom
Thumb, on whose back he would go over
places which would have stopped an older
person. Tom Thumb was very clever, and I
used to ride him into Monaghan when I went
to work with the schoolmaster. My favourite
amusement consisted in taking the pony into a
field and making him jump narrow ditches,
which he hated doing, and thought excessively
beneath his powers, especially as there were no
hounds about. But the little beggar never
failed to get his own back, for when he couldn't
throw me, he used to get close to a thorn
hedge against which he would rub my legs
unmercifully.

We children had the usual tutors and
governesses at home, and soon after my father
died we all went to Pau : we travelled by
diligence from Bordeaux, and we were known
as " La grande famille." Mother had some
stupendous luggage and two enormous trunks,
which were called " Les deux petites maison-
ettes " all along the line. My brothers and I
were sent to the college at Pau, and we

21

Things I can Tell

indulged in many fights with the natives, and
Kathleen Candy bears a mark on her forehead
to this day where a stone struck her in one of
our encounters. We were terrors at stone-
throwing, and' once I wickedly took aim at a
harmless house painter who was working on
some railings opposite our stables. The stone
knocked the brush clean out of his hand, and
hurt one of his fingers very badly, so after that
I left stones severely alone.

We used to be asked to many parties given
by the English residents, and I wonder whether
Peter remembers an afternoon party at Lady
Caroline Madden's. He was an unappreciative
child, for when Lady Caroline said sweetly that
her daughter Sydney (now Lady Ailesbury)
was reciting in the next room, he exclaimed,
" Oh, thanks awfully," and fled from the house.

My mother used to hunt a good deal at Pau,
and often returned with the brush, but we did
not remain there long and moved on to Royan,
near Bordeaux. About this time we all became
temporary inmates of a lunatic asylum, thanks
to my grandmother's unfortunate rendering of a
22

A Strange Health-Resort

phrase in French. She had been told of a
wonderful health resort called " Belle Vue,"
whither we all went, lock, stock, and barrel,
only to discover that the Maison de Sante
which she translated as " Health Resort " had
only one real name, and that was " Bedlam."
We didn't realise our surroundings at first, as
the proprietor wished to keep us as paying
guests. We put down the inmates' eccentricities
to the fact that they were French, and, as the
proprietor had never seen a collected Irish
family before, he probably soothed his con-
science and assumed there was some real
reason for detaining us. But the truth came
out when one of the patients bolted to Paris
and took Peter with him in the best kidnapper
style. After that mother hastily packed her
enormous trunks and left the Health Resort
without delay. We next went to Boulogne
where we one and all took the mumps, and
mother, shaken by the asylum episode, came to
the conclusion that a man in the house was
imperative as a safeguard against future contre-
temps. She therefore married Colonel Stac-

Things I can Tell

poole, a very nice fellow, who died some years
ago, and who was a kind friend to us children.

I remember my mother once telling me a
story about "Old Craw" (W. Stirling-
Crawfurd) when she and the Colonel were
living in Eccleston Square. My stepfather
and Craw had been " blethering " about racing
throughout dinner, and far into the night ; at
last Craw said he'd walk home and Stacpoole
intimated that he would see him part of the
way. They had a tremendous discussion as to
whether a mare had received seven or ten
pounds in a certain race, and they argued until
they reached Craw's frontdoor. "Come in,
my dear fellow, and have a drink," said
Craw, all agog to continue the discussion,
and when Stacpoole after a time said he must
be getting home, Craw announced that he
would accompany him, and they spent the
night going back and forward between each
other's houses.

At last Stacpoole ceased his perambulations
and, slightly the worse for his numerous
refreshments, he glided into my mother's
24

"Old Craw"

bedroom when the grey dawn was break-
ing. She was horrified to see her usually
abstemious husband in this condition, and
said with cold candour, " You brute — you're
drunk."

He was, no doubt about it, but, looking
sorrowfully at her, the Colonel managed to say
in reproachful tones, " Maybe I am, but I'm
shtill a gentleman."

Crawfurd was once staying with us for New
Year, and Peter, then quite a boy, was horribly
short of cash. He determined to start the
year well, so he went into Craw's bedroom
early on the morning of January ist, and saluted
him kindly, saying, " I wish you a happy New
Year, Mr. Crawfurd."

" Thanks, my boy," replied a sleepy voice.

" I wish you a very happy New Year," said
Peter.

" Yes, thanks, Peter," answered Craw.

" I wish you the happiest New Year,"
continued my brother in crescendo tones.

"Ah, ha, ah, ha," cried Craw, who was now
thoroughly awake and tumbled to Peter's

25

Things I can Tell

policy. " You'll find a couple of sovereigns on
the dressing-table."

Peter of course protested, but took the cash,
and considered he had begun the financial year
quite satisfactorily.

Peter never lost an opportunity if he could
help it, and he possessed the adventurous
temperament very strongly when he was a boy.
Once he lured me into a hunt for buried
treasure which turned out a thorough " sell."
Some of the Irish lakes possess curious islands
which are of tremendous interest to antiquaries,
as they were originally made by the ancient in-
habitants to serve as a sort of safe deposit for
their " valuables " when the Danes took it into
their heads to indulge in a raid. I believe
these islands were primarily made of faggots or
piles, and they answered the purpose for which
they were intended uncommonly well. There
was such an island in the middle of a lake at
Rossmore, and Peter determined to explore it,
and return a millionaire. He fired my
imagination with his stories of buried treasure,
and as from time to time gold collars and
26

Hidden Treasure

other ornaments have been dug up at
Rossmore, it seemed feasible enough to surmise
that there might be a "cache " on the island.

Peter carted a regular army of labourers up
to the lake and transported them by boat-loads
to the island, until, upon my word, the place
looked as if it would overflow, and let some of
our men down to pursue investigations at the
bottom. Anyhow, when they had got some
kind of a foothold, Peter harangued the crowd
as follows : —

"Now, boys," said he, "you've got to dig
carefully, not as if you were digging for
potatoes, but just cautiously, and whenever a
single pick chinks, that's the time to stop and
wait for further orders." So they commenced
work, and Peter and I began building most
beautiful castles in the air out of the results of
the excavations, when all of a sudden — by gad
— there was a loud chink, and the "army"
stood at attention, rejoiced, no doubt, to get a
few minutes off.

"Whose pick made that chink," cried Peter.

" Mine, yer honour," replied a weary looking

27

Things I can Tell

man leaning on his pick with a bored air, just
for all the world as if he didn't care a bit for
the " valuables" beneath him.

Brother Peter made a bee-line for the spot
where the man stood, and he grubbed and
grovelled in the wet earth, as if the Cullinan
diamond was reposing there. At last he got
down to mud level and with a shout of joy
dragged out a grime-encrusted object.

" Come here, Derry, it's probably a golden
goblet worth a ton of money," bawled Peter,
all excitement. We sat down close by the
water's edge, and commenced to scrape and
wash the golden goblet, and a fine difficulty we
had, for the wretched thing was inches thick
with deposit. At last, a final dip into the
water washed off the last of the mud, and the
treasure was disclosed.

But it would have been far better if we had
never attempted to investigate what it was, for
'twas no golden goblet, but just a common or
garden china mug, and on it were inscribed the
words : "A present for a good boy, from
Brighton." Oh, what horror, oh, what mortifi-
28

The Traveller's Dinner

cation ! There was the gang grinning like a
lot of Cheshire cats ; there was the vile mug,
but there wasn't a sign of any "valuables"
whatsoever, and I don't think Peter could
have borne to hear another chink. What he
did was to hurl the good boy's gift right into
the bosom of the lake, where no doubt it
reposes to this very day.

We embarked a sadder and wiser pair from
Treasure Island and it was something like the
retreat from Moscow. I believe Peter detests
the very name of Brighton even now, and I
think he would smash up, without the slightest
compunction, any kind of souvenir crockery
that came his way.

I must just mention something apropos of
" finds," although it isn't very interesting and
doesn't concern the days of my youth.

Some years ago I built a new hotel at
Monaghan on the site of the old inn. It was
high time I did, because one day when a
commercial traveller was sitting having his
dinner, the floor gave way, and he fell right
through on to the top of another gentleman

29

Things I can Tell

who was also dining. Luckily, the traveller
was a practical man, and as his own meal was
a "goner" he proceeded to eat the dinner
which was laid for the other man who had
hurriedly retired to find a safer retreat.

This accident made stopping at the inn
too risky for most people, so I pulled the
old place down, and when the workmen were
digging the new foundations, they came upon
a well, crammed with most curious-looking
bottles, dating back to goodness knows when.
Directly I heard of the discovery, I hastened
to inspect the bottles, but when I arrived
on the scene I was calmly told that they had
been pitched into the pond. I was very angry,
for there is no telling what I missed.

I was rather a rolling stone so far as my
early education was concerned. As I have
said, Pau was the first public school I went
to, then I studied at Boulogne with M. Le
Petit, and after that I was at a private school
at Brighton, preparatory to entering Brighton
College. My fifth home of learning was
the Monaghan diocesan school, which is now
30

Bad Food at Rugby

in the hands of the Christian Brothers,
and my sixth was Rugby, during Temple's
time. I always thought the worthy Arch-
bishop a most forbidding man, and my most
lasting recollection of Rugby is the disgraceful
food they gave us. The commissariat is
doubtless all right now, but it was pretty bad
in my day, a fault which applies to many
public and private schools.

I consider it a real imposition for the
controllers of schools to charge the enormous
sums they do, and then for the parents to
discover that if the mind is fed, the body is
next door to being starved. Boys require good
food and plenty of it, and it is a pity that
surprise visits are not paid at ordinary meal
times, so that the excellence of the menu
can be verified.

I never set up for being a clever fellow,
but I was clever enough to make my instructors
believe that I was almost an idiot, and that
therefore it was not really my fault if I failed
to do my masters credit.

When I was about sixteen I was sent to

31

Things I can Tell

Hanover, where I lived with some dear
people, Dr. and Frau Seinecke, who were
very nice Germans of the old school. I got
on excellently with them, until we quarrelled
over the possession of the latch-key. I wanted
to go out after supper and told the Herr
Doctor so ; he firmly and flatly refused to
allow me to go out, or to give me the loan
of his latch-key, so we had an awful row.

Dr. Seinecke couldn't speak English, and I
didn't know a single word of German, and as
we utterly ignored French as a medium of
conversation, we roundly abused each other in
our respective mother-tongues, and in terms
which were most uncivil.

It so happened that on the previous day Dr.
Seinecke had been endeavouring to teach me
colloquial German, and he said that to call any-
one a "dummer junge" was an unpardonable
insult. Imagine my wrath when at last he
wound up by calling me a " dummer junge von
ein Englander." That did it : I made one
spring at him, and he straightway bolted out of
the drawing room, overturning tables and chairs
32

A German Family

in his flight. Suddenly the door opened and I
was confronted by Frau Seinecke, who was
wondering what on all the earth the row meant.
She was a commanding old lady, and she
addressed me in accents of shocked surprise.

"What does this behaviour mean, Mr.
Westenra, and why are you trying to assault
my husband ? "

"Why, indeed!" I answered rudely. "Well,
yesterday he told me what an insult ' dummer
junge' was, and to-day he calls me one. He's
brought his fate on himself, and his blood I
must and will have."

" Heavens ! " shrieked the frightened Frau,
" this shall not be, I will write to your mother
at once and tell her that you shall not remain
here and kill my husband." With that she left
me, and instantly wrote off to mother. Her
description of my murderous proclivities failed
to disturb my parent, who was quite accustomed
to receiving hysterical complaints about her
four sons, and therefore Frau Seinecke's letter
remained unanswered.

I stayed at Hanover for a year and we were
^ 33

Things I can Tell

all genuinely upset when the time came for
saying farewell.

I celebrated my departure by going to a
supper which was given by half a dozen young
English friends, and we were a merry band.
I had to leave about 2 a.m., by which time all
my pals were asleep, except one sportsman
who was behaving in a very odd way, and
hiding the plates under the table. At last
I remarked :

" I say, what on earth are you doing?"

He looked very knowing, and replied,
" Sh-h-h-h, swear you won't tell where I've put
them ! "

Said I, " I swear it."

"Well," he replied, "I'm hiding the plates
in a secret place to enhance their value. They
can't possibly be discovered for a hundred
years, and then won't their price have gone
up ! " That was the limit, so I left the
connoisseur in plates, walked across to the
railway station, and got into the train. The
carriage filled up just before we started, and
my fellow-passengers were five Germans, all

34

The Broken Window

smoking vile cigars, and using vesuvians to
light up with. This was considered quite
English, and in 1869 everyone in Germany
thought it good form to be " English." I had
taken a certain amount of wine at supper,
but I was not a bit the worse until I smelt
those rank bad weeds, when I did certainly
feel as if I required a whiff of fresh air. So I
pulled down my window, only to find it
instantly pulled up by a big German with an
enormous long beard who was sitting opposite.
However, I soon pulled it down again, and
this game went on for hours, until Old Beardy
kept the strap in his hand and thought he had
settled the fresh air question so far as I was
concerned.

At this moment I remembered I wanted a
small package out of the rack, and as I turned
to sit down, my right elbow, in some extra-
ordinary way had an encounter with the
window, and went right through it.

Of course I was awfully sorry about the
"accident," but my polite regrets were drowned
in a storm of curses from the doubly-done

D 2 35

Things I can Tell

Deutschers. The fun wasn't over, however,
for when I left the train at Cologne, where
we had to change, I went up to a very im-
portant looking, gold-laced official and said
humbly, " Sir, I think it is right and honour-
able to draw your attention to that tall
bearded man who is just descending from
yonder compartment."

" Well, well, what of him ? " asked Gold-lace,
getting excited.

"Oh, "said I, " that man broke a window in
the carriage last night."

"Did he ? " cried Gold-lace, and off he went
like a rocket after Beardy. I went off too—
but in another direction.

CHAPTER III

Round about Rossmore : A bullying bishop : My
grandmother's reproof: "Cootie": My first cock-
fight : Lord de Ros and his plain bride : Neigh-
bours : Cock fighting as a national sport : The fight
at Barn Hill : Joe Wright : Badger-drawing : Joe
falls in the arena : Bacchanalian recollections : My
excuses for them : The custom of the country :
"Darry" for short: North and South: An irre-
parable injury : A discontented wife : " An obleegin'
blackguard " : The Englishman's shooting : The end
of the day : Bunty surprises a critic : Hunting by
moonlight : Looking backward

THE Roman Catholic Bishop of Monaghan,
when I was a boy, was an arbitrary old bully
whose father had eked out a livelihood by
keeping a boar pig, a prize gander, and a buck
goat on his tiny farm in the country.

He was a disagreeable man who delighted in
waging perpetual warfare with my uncle, then
agent at Rossmore. This distressed my grand-

37

Things I can Tell

mother, who was a devout Roman Catholic,
and so she accordingly went to visit the Bishop
with the object of persuading him to try to
live at peace with her son, who was not indis-
posed to be friendly.

She was a charming, courtly lady with a
particularly quiet manner, and I am sure she
was very nice to the Bishop, who sat regarding
her with a frown on his face. Just as she was
congratulating herself that her cause was won,
the cleric started out of his chair, and to her
intense surprise shouted :

" Woman ! "

Grandmother was so taken aback that she
didn't at first realise how rude the Bishop had
been, but when the fact slowly dawned upon
her she got up and faced him. For a moment
she was silent, and then she wagged her finger
at him, and said very coldly :

" Sh-sh-sh. Please never again forget your-
self when you are talking to a lady." With
that she walked out of the room, and the first
fall was for grandmother, for the Bishop was
completely knocked out of time.

33

The Bishop's Request

I never knew this man, thank goodness,
but although I was an Orangeman, I deter-
mined to show his successor that I was not
bigoted. I therefore called on him to con-

o

gratulate him on his appointment to the See.
Unfortunately, he was away, but he soon after-
wards returned my call, and during our con-
versation he said :

"Lord Rossmore — when I know you better,
I want to ask a great favour."

"Bishop," said I, "don't you think we are
on sufficiently good terms to warrant your
asking it now ? "

"Very nicely put," he answered. "I will
ask you, but I warn you, it's a considerable
request I'm going to make."

" Well," I queried, " what is it ? "

"It's the site for a new chapel in Monaghan,"
replied the Bishop.

"Where do you want it?" I asked, "for
you can consider it given. My mother has
told me that the priest is sometimes obliged
to kneel in pools of water in the present place
of worship. But," I added, "I don't think it

39

Things I can Tell

was right of you to hesitate to ask me, you
ought to apologise."

He smiled. "What for?"

"What for? Well, for imagining I am such
a bigoted person that it was doubtful if I would
give the site for a chapel where my Roman
Catholic friends and neighbours can worship
our common God."

He saw my point. I gave him a good site
in the town and from that day I never had a
firmer ally.

One of my earliest friends was Captain
Richard Coote, of Bellamont Forest, Cootehill,
Co. Cavan, familiarly known as "Cootie."
Cootie's grandfather was the last Earl Bella-
mont, and his father was the result of old
Bellamont having cast the glad eye on his
cook.

I saw my first cock-fight when I was over
at Coote Hill partridge shooting. I remember
Cootie had out that day two of the best
broken setters I ever saw. He paid a
hundred guineas for them, like the real sports-
man he was, for Cootie was not over-blessed
40

" Cootie"

with money. Well, the birds got up very far
away, and I managed to get two with the first
barrel ; quick as lightning, I pulled the second
barrel so as to make it look a right and left, and
Cootie, who was a little way off, was completely
taken in, and complimented me on the quickest
right and left he'd ever seen.

When we had finished shooting, Cootie
asked me if I had ever " assisted " at a cock-
fight, and when I said " No," the good fellow
at once sent for the blacksmith, and that
worthy arranged a main, which took place in
the carpenter's shop and I thoroughly enjoyed
my initiation.

Cootie was a great character. He was once
asked if he knew why Lord de Ros had chosen
such a plain bride. " Well, my beautiful lady,"
he drawled (every woman was " my beautiful
lady" and every man "my beautiful boy" to
him). " Well, it was like this. Lord and
Lady had two daughters — both fiddle-
headed gals. They took the elder out
everywhere, trotted her up and down, but she
remained unsold. So they put her on the

Things I can Tell

shelf and tried to forget her. The second gal
seemed to have no better luck, when to their
delight Lord de Ros began to pay her
marked attention and they hoped she would
win the Matrimonial Stakes. Their surprise
was great, however, when de Ros suddenly
took the elder fiddle-head off the shelf, dusted
her and married her. That's how it all came
about."

Another time someone said, " I say Cootie,
why don't you get married ? "

"When Mrs. Right comes along, Cootie
will marry her," he replied, " and she'll often
be heard to sing :

' Whene'er I take my walks abroad

What handsome men I see ;
But I'll go home and thank my God
That Cootie's there for me.' "

Cootie sold Bellamont Forest to a man
named Smith, with whom he had a dispute
about two valuable inset pictures. Smith
thought that being inset made the pictures
part and parcel of the building, but Cootie
differed from him, and sold one to the late
42

My Neighbours

Lord Dartrey and the other to the Irish
National Gallery, greatly to Smith's annoy-
ance.

" Cootie " was one of the last of the
"Heavies": he was in the Carbineers and
somewhat " drawly " in his manner of speaking ;
but he was a rare good sort and quite a
character in his day.

Our neighbours round Rossmore were de-
lightful people and we managed to have some
very good times. The Dartreys had then, and
have now, a beautiful place with some fine
lakes, perhaps the best in the country. Lord
Dartrey married Sir George Wombwell's eldest
daughter, and her brightness, charm of manner,
and attractive personality make her very
popular.

There were the Shirleys of Loughfea, the
largest landowners in the county of Monaghan,
the Lucas-Scudamores of Castle Shane, Sir
John and Lady Constance Leslie of Glaslough,
a perfectly lovely property which Sir John has
made over to his son Colonel " Jack " Leslie,
whose American wife is one of the nicest

43

Things I can Tell

women possible to meet from Dublin to New
York.

Lord Francis Hope, whose name is chiefly
known through having possessed the ill-omened
" Hope diamond," and being at one time the
husband of the actress May Yohe, owns Castle
Blaney, a very fine place, once the seat of the
Lords Blaney, and besides those I have
mentioned there were many other nice people
who dined, wined, and took life in the happiest
spirit possible.

There is no doubt about it that Ireland is the
most hospitable place on earth, and " side " and
snobbishness are as extinct as the snakes which
St. Patrick banished from the distressful country.
I don't think that any stranger who visited
Ireland for the first time could complain of any
lack of hospitality, for with us it is the accepted
idea to give of our best, and to be at our best
when it is a question of "doing the honours."

As I mentioned that I had seen my first
cock-fight at " Cootie's " instigation, I had better
explain that this form of sport was tremendously
popular in Ireland, and in the old days there

44

My First Cock-fight

used to be Government cock-pits. The Irish
are always ready for a fight whenever a chance
presents itself, and, just to show how the sport
still flourishes, I know that recently when the
police were all engaged at the Rossmore Derby,
the champions of three counties were conveyed
to Monaghan Town, and a main was success-
fully brought off without police interference.

The police of one county cannot interfere
with what is going on over the boundary of the
next county, so a site is usually selected where
a river forms the boundary between two
counties, and if disturbed on one side, the
"fight" rows across and continues the sport in
the next county.

I remember my brother Peter once fighting
a main in the kitchen of the Monaghan Court
House when he was acting as Secretary to the
Grand Jury, and therefore as a public official,
he ought decidedly to have known better.
There was nearly a great row over it, but
Peter's luck was in and nothing happened. He
fought another main with some Liverpool
people who betted so heavily on each battle

45

Things I can Tell

that at the end they lost every shilling they
came over with. Peter, however, was very
compassionate, as became the victorious one,
and he gave them the money to take them
back to Liverpool.

There was a famous fight once between
Armagh and Monaghan at Barn Hill, and
I persuaded poor " Rosie " to allow it to take
place. When everything was arranged I
happened to hear that besides the cock-fight
there was to be a man-fight, after the main was
over. " Rosie," who heard about it also, was
terribly put out, and not unnaturally blamed
me for having over-persuaded him in the
matter. But I determined that there should
not be any rowdyism if I could prevent it, so I
sent for a brogue-maker named Callaghan, a
huge man who habitually carried an enormous
blackthorn stick.

" Look here, Callaghan," I said, " I want
you to stand by me over this affair. You
had better get into the ring before the main
commences, and just say firmly that you
will deal with the first man who abuses his
46

Callaghan's Stick

lordship's kindness and tries to create a
disturbance."

"All right, Masther Darry," answered
Callaghan, " I'll see to it."

And see to it he did. He got into the ring,
and addressed the crowd exactly as he had been
told to do, but he added something for himself.

" Listen here," he said when he had concluded
his official speech. "The first man to strike a
blow will get a taste of my blackthorn." With
that he brought down his tremendous stick with
such force that Barn Hill shook like a San
Francisco earthquake, and when the main was
finished the crowd dispersed as quietly as a
mothers' meeting.

Badger-drawing used to appeal to us when
we were boys, and I remember a story about
an old family solicitor and a badger-fight at
Camla. Joe Wright, who used to look after
our legal interests, was an amusing old Bac-
chanalian and an uncommonly smart lawyer.
The peculiar thing about Joe was that he had
one marked characteristic that always showed
when he was "on." He would come out to

47

Things I can Tell

dinner perfectly sober and as the night wore
on he would, without any warning, get up
and give someone a tremendous smack on the
face. Then was the time to jump on Joe, and
if jumping didn't convince him, to roll on him ;
there is a family fender where the big bent steel
bar bears silent but eloquent testimony of the
encounters between it and the legal cranium at
those typical country dinner parties.

One night when Joe was dining with us, we
boys had been previously digging out a badger's
earth about a hundred yards from the house.
Dinner was for 8 o'clock, but we had clean
forgotten both it and our guests in the excite-
ment of drawing the badger. However, when
dinner was brought to our notice, we left the
men busy and, when it was over, a big sack
containing two wriggling, clawing badgers was
brought into the dining room. The sackful of
badger then and there decided us to adjourn to
Camla and see a fine fight down there. Old
Joe was very intoxicated, and he walked down
the hill with such a series of zig-zags that it
was more reminiscent of the deck of a steamer
48

c
o

u

Badger-Drawing

on a rough night than a peaceful peregrination
on terra firma. Anyhow he managed to reach
Camla, and when we were all settled round
prepared to watch the fight, the badgers and
dogs were let loose, and the fun commenced.

Old Joe manifested the greatest interest as
the fray waxed fiercer and fiercer, but his
interest was not so powerful as the liquor he
was carrying and he fell right in the middle of
the combatants, and, once down, he couldn't
get up. All we could see was Joe's inert form
with any number of dogs running over it,
snapping and yapping after the two badgers,
who doubtless thought they were in for an
obstacle race with a vengeance.

We managed somehow to drag out the legal
luminary, who was none the worse for his
adventure, but we took care not to let him fall
in again.

This story is of course decidedly bacchanalian,
and perhaps not particularly creditable to the
legal profession, but as the " unusual " I think
it is worth recording.

I know nothing that arouses so much mirth,
E 49

Things I can Tell

or excites so much disgust, as drunkenness, and
I must go warily and not tread on temperance
toes. I do not wish people to say that my
book ought to have a purple cover embossed
with vine leaves, or to be told I give the public
the impression that the Irish are the slaves of
alcohol. But as some of my stories deal, I
think, with the amusing side of insobriety, I
am retailing them without a spice of uncharit-
ableness.

When I was a young man the Irish " nobility
and gentry " took their " whack," just as
their forbears had done, but imbibing in the
country never seems to be so harmful as
tippling in town, and we were used to rough
nights which did not, however, interfere in any
way with our early rising and thoroughly
enjoying a day's hunting or shooting.

So I merely state as some sort of excuse
for any of my stories which deal with the
flowing bowl, that they are about a time which
is passed — a time which produced men who
(if they did occasionally indulge too freely)
were quite the equals of the ginger-ale,

50

"Dairy" for Short

barley-water, Perrier-drinkers of the present
day.

I was familiarly known as " Darry " all over
the country-side, and I venture to hope that
I was as much liked as the average young
fellow who is fond of sport, and who is a bit
of a dare-devil thrown in. I believe I had
a "rapid" reputation and perhaps it was
earned.

I remember an amusing incident which
originated in the rescue of Charlie Byng's horse
from a bog and the consequent payment of a
five pound note to be divided amongst the men
who had helped to get the poor beast out of the
quagmire.

The possession of so much money naturally
led up to the inevitable "Jolly," which started
the question of the consequent fight without
which no festivities were then considered
complete. The villagers were all Protestants,
so a religious scrap was quite out of the
question, but when the matter was referred to
the village Solomon for arbitration, that worthy
declared that the North side of the village

E 2 51

Things I can Tell

should fight the South side, and thus definitely
clinch matters. The proposal was most
acceptable and the fight was fought to a finish,
and only one disastrous accident marred the
enjoyment of the combat. A harmless newly-
wedded man was sadly hurt — I may even say
that he sustained an irreparable injury.

Well, there was a fine lot of talk at first
and then people thought no more about the
matter. However, it was brought to my re-
membrance some time later. I was riding to
the meet and walking my horse up a stiffish
hill, when I overtook a young woman who
was going my way. I bade her " Good morn-
ing," and as she replied, I was struck by a look
of pensive sadness, somewhat akin to martyr-
dom, which marred her pretty face, and in-
stinctively I wondered what had caused the
trouble in her life.

11 Are you goin' to the meet, yer honour?"
she asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Well, for the love of the Saints, don't be
afther givin' the boys any money. If it
52

" An Obleegin' Blackguard '

wasn't for the matther of money I wouldn't be
the miserable crathur I am to-day."

" Miserable ? Why on all the earth are ye
miserable ? "

" Sure wouldn't any woman be miserable if
she had a man at home who is no use to him-
self or to anybody — troth I might be a widdy,
save that he's above ground."

Then it suddenly dawned upon me that this
was the wife of the injured man, and I could
now quite account for her look. I was deeply
sorry for the poor girl, so I said :

"You are the wife, then, of Paddy
McGuiness ? "

11 I am that," she replied briefly.

" As that's the case, I'm truly grieved for
ye," I continued, "and if I wasn't due at the
meet, I'd just get off my horse and have some
further conversation with ye."

The young woman stopped dead, and looked
at me.

" Ah — ah — I know ye now. Sure and ye're
Masther Darry. Well, well, I've always
heered tell that ye're an obleegin' blackguard!"

53

Things I can Tell

I remember an incident of my youthful days
which concerned a stiff starchy Englishman in
the infantry who was quartered at Monaghan.
We met at a Grand Jury dinner, .and my old
uncle, Colonel Lloyd, the breeder of " Count
Schomberg," said he would like me to ask the
man to shoot partridges. Of course I said
" Yes," and he thereupon introduced us, and
mighty sorry I was that he did. The fellow
was a swaggering fool, and he showed it
directly we went after the birds, which were
scarce at first, until we got into a fresh field,
when one dog pointed and the other backed
two coveys, and there were about sixteen to
twenty birds packed together. The big show
scared us both ; we didn't hit any, and the
Englishman scoffed at the dogs' behaviour in a
most offensive manner. I really think that he
imagined he could give points in self conceit to
an Irishman ; he bragged about the wonders he
could perform, but the only thing he did at all
thoroughly was to appropriate any birds I shot.
By the middle of the day we had broken up a
covey, and the dogs came to a point a short
54

An Englishman's Shooting

distance away from a cottage where a man was
standing at his door, looking out directly where
the birds would be most likely to fly. My
companion didn't care a bit and went with the
dog to take the shot.

" Look out for the man at the door," I cried
anxiously.

He yelled to the cottager, and as he wouldn't
budge, when the birds got up, Mr. Englishman
fired, with the usual result that he missed the
birds, but a loud howl informed us that he had
not missed the man, who was peppered all over
like a moth-eaten garment, and yelling for all he
was worth.

I rushed up to the sufferer, whose agony had
now turned to profanity coupled with intense
wrath against the violation of the sacredness of
the rights of a householder. " Shot in me own
door," he kept on repeating. " I'll have his
life." I managed to pacify him by telling him
that his aggressor was only an Englishman
who couldn't really be expected to know any
better, and the gift of half a sovereign com-
pletely mollified him.

55

Things I can Tell

I went across to the crack shot. "'Pon my
word," I said, " you ought not to have fired.
However it's all right, I've soothed him down
with half a sov. ! "

" Well, you are a fool," was the grateful
rejoinder.

After this incident we had lunch, when my
companion drank a lot of raw whiskey and ate
very little. Afterwards he went on " missing "
things and at the end of the day we reached a
little public on the roadside. The officer had
another drink, and then, with his gun at full
cock, he came into the room where I was
talking hares !

Said he, " You're a lot of confounded
Orangemen, and I'm going to shoot you."

Love of life is strong in us all, and
although he could not hit birds, I knew
he could hit a man. The men who were
with rne one and all declared they were not
Orangemen.

"Well, you're Fenians."

" Certainly not," we shouted.

" It doesn't signify," he said, taking careful
56

The End of the Day

aim, " I'll shoot you because you are nothing at

aiir

Fortunately someone took heart and dis-
armed him before he could do any damage, and
we started to drive homeward. On our way we
passed a snipe bog, a tricky place with a big
bog-hole in the middle which I could just jump,
as I was then nippy on my feet. I saw in this
deep hole an opportunity for revenge, so I
stopped the car and said, " Look, here's a fine
place for snipe, let's get off and have a few
shots at them." Well, I got over that bog-
hole, but Mr. Englishman jumped at it, fell in,
and disappeared. I walked back to the car.

Said Joe Swan, a farmer, who was driving
by, and had seen the whole thing, " There's a
man in the bog."

"Yes," I answered, "and long may he re-
main there." He was of course fished out and
taken back, but I never saw him again, and he
availed himself of the shelter of the barracks
until he left Monaghan for good. There was a
sequel to this day of days. Years afterwards
the meet was near Three Mile House, and as

57

Things I can Tell

I feared I should be late, I told the huntsman
to lay on the hounds at appointed time.

When I arrived the hounds had gone and I
asked an old woman if she knew the direction
they had taken.

"Yes — they've found a hare and they're
miles away."

" Where did they find ? "

" Down away in a bog over down there."

" What's the name of the bog ? "

" Sure, I don't know its name, but we
counthry folk have a name ye wouldn't be the
wiser of."

"What is it?"

" Well, well ; if ye must know, it's the bog
where Masther Darry drowned the English-
man."

Another time I was late for the meet and I
was riding the second horse I ever bought, an
old mare called Bunty, who pulled so effectively
that once off she wouldn't stop for anybody, or
anything. She was not much to look at — the
colloquial adjective "rum" best describes her
appearance — but she was the bravest animal I

58

Bunty

ever met with. Well Bunty was waiting for
me, and as I was getting off the car I saw the
hounds a little way off, and then I saw the hare
get up.

Two men working on the road were examin-
ing Bunty 's points, and I heard one say to the
other, " I don't think much of the mare
Barry's riding, I wouldn't put her in a
dung cart." Just then I got in the saddle,
loosed her head, and off went Bunty as she
alone knew how to, and borne on the breeze
came a loud " ha, ha," from the other man,
and then this scathing remark : " Maybe
you wouldn't get her for your dung
cart."

Those distant days were very happy ones.
I used to hunt by moonlight with Dick, and as
this happened after dinner, reckless riding was
more likely than not. However, we made a
pact that whenever either of us got really hurt
we would go home directly. I remember once
that there was a wall, with a deep drop into an
old country lane, which it was difficult to see in
a bad light. Dick rode at it ; came a cropper

59

Things I can Tell

and cut his head badly, but as he didn't know
what fear meant, he was most unwilling to
return.

We were up to all kinds of the devilment in
which boys delight, and looking backward I
can only say that I think there is nothing in
life to compare with its springtime.

60

CHAPTER IV

Dublin days : I encounter General Browne : I get
the worst of it : The Kildare Street Club : Percy La
Touche and the surly member : " Go to Bath " :
Lying in daylight : A dinner at the Sackville
Street Club: "I'm an awfully nice fellow": Dublin
theatres : Witty audiences : Some Irish stories : A
honeymoon incident : The alien baron : Lady Pil-
kington and the beggar : The late Lord Caledon :
His pluck : A rent audit dinner : Back to front.

NOTHING pleased me better in my younger
days, when I was a brat of a boy in the
Monaghan Militia, than to save up all my spare
cash and go to Dublin for a regular spree.
When I was about eighteen I got elected to
the United Service Club (Dublin), where one
of the best known members was an old one-
armed officer named General Browne, who was

61

Things I can Tell

a peppery individual with a fine thick brogue
and a great idea of his own importance. One
morning, soon after my election, I swaggered
into the smoking-room with another brat in the
Militia, and as the waiter didn't answer the bell
immediately, I turned to my friend and said
loudly with all the assurance imaginable :

" They never do answer the bells in this
blank pot-house."

General Browne had been eyeing the pair of
us with silent, but marked disapproval, and my
remark put the clincher on him. He just
"lepped" at me, his face crimson, his sound
arm raised, and his brogue tree-men-jous.

" You d d young villin ! " he shouted.

" How dar you call MY club a pot-house—
D n your eyes, you blasted baby."

This was not half or a quarter of what he
said, but it was quite enough for me, and I
fled, leaving the General absolute master of the
field and not quite so much in conceit with
myself.

I also belonged to the Kildare Street Club
and as most of my particular friends were
62

The Surly Member

members of it I can't complain of the times
we had.

I remember once Percy La Touche being
reprimanded by a surly old member in a not
unamusing manner. Percy was looking out on
the street when his attention was attracted by a
pretty servant girl who was cleaning the
windows of a house opposite.

" I say," he remarked to the surly one.
" There's a pretty girl for you," and as no notice
whatever was taken of his observation he
repeated it with marked appreciation of the
window-cleaner.

" Young man," said Surly, " I heard your
remark perfectly well, as you intended me to
do. I gather from it that you are one of those
who go through life seeking the destruction of
servants. One day a pretty housemaid will
doubtless become an inmate of your home. The
inevitable will happen, and then the girl will be
discharged without a character. Yes, sir, and
I will go still further, and affirm that you will
not even be blamed in the matter, for your
mother will probably say, ' Leave my house,

63

Things I can Tell

you abandoned creature, words cannot express
my indignation at discovering that you have
corrupted my son.' '

We had some good times at the Kildare
Street Club. One Horse Show I was lunching
there with Lord Headfort, Lord Farnham, and
also Lord Portarlington, who as George Darner
was known as " The Dasher."

Said the Dasher to me, "shooting his linen,"
" Derry, old boy, there's nothing left for you
but to go to Bath."

" Why on all the earth d'ye recommend me
to go to Bath ? "

" Look here, I've been having electric
light baths up to 300° Fahrenheit, and the
treatment has reduced my tummy by two
inches."

Everybody was all attention and Farnham,
better known as " Sommy Maxwell," who was
a very well-informed man, said, "Come, George,
that's rather steep ; why, water boils at 212°
Fahrenheit."

" I don't care a d n, when the kettle

boils," cried George displaying some heat (as
64

Lying in Daylight

was only natural). " I tell you my dear
Sommy, that I was lying in the electric light at
300 degrees."

"Well, well," said Sommy, dryly, "have it
your own way, George, but at any rate you're
lying in daylight now."

General Browne was looking out of the
Kildare Street Club window one morning
when a coster-barrow collided with a car, and
there was the devil to pay.

The barrow was upset, the greenstuff and
fruit were scattered all over the road, and the
language on both sides was something to
wonder at. The row soon attracted attention
and the windows were crammed with members,
who were thoroughly enjoying the dialogue.

The General did not say much ; he was
apparently deep in thought ; then he turned
gravely to the man next to him and said in his
doubly-distilled brogue, " Sirrr, I would have
ye to note the perfect insouciance of the ass ! "

One day I was strolling up Grafton Street
when I met a man coming down who looked
as if he had an option on the pavement. He

F 65

Things I can Tell

was a pompous fat individual and he somehow
roused my gorge. " I'll get one up against this
swaggering ass," thought I, so I commenced to
try to attract his attention. I coughed, I
looked apologetic, and at last when he was
about to pass me I said, " Er — er -- er -
er — I beg your pardon." He took no notice,
but a few minutes afterwards he turned back,
his curiosity having overcome his self-
importance.

" Well, young man, I presume you wish to
speak to me. If you have anything to com-
municate, say it at once, as I have no time to
waste on you," he said.

" Thank you very much," I answered, " I do
want to say something to you, I want to tell
you that everybody thinks I'm an awfully nice
fellow. That's all — Good day."

He looked at me in speechless wrath, then
he spluttered, " To blazes with you," and went
his way, looking for all the world like a
gobbling old turkey.

Whenever I wanted a really hearty laugh I
used to go to one of the Dublin theatres, where,
66

"Sphit at Him, Boys"

as a rule, the audience was more amusing than

o

the actors.

I remember on one occasion taking a box, as
I had a lady with me ; but, as my finances
were rather low, I could only run to the very
cheapest in the house, which was alongside the
gods, who took it as a personal insult that
anyone presumed to wear evening dress in
their vicinity.

They gave me a pretty hot time, and they
kept on shouting, " Look at the blackguard in
evening clothes — sphit at him, boys," and every
time I put my head out of the box I got a
volley. I noticed that the malcontents had a
leader who sat in the extreme corner next to
me. To him I addressed myself.

"Look here," said I, "wouldn't you like
some cigars ? "

He eyed me and then gave orders for the
"sphittin1 " to cease until it was proved that I
possessed cigars. Luckily I had the " full of my
great coat pocket," so I threw them over to the
cads, and the leader (like most of the breed) got
the lion's share. Anyway the cigars decided

F 2 67

Things I can Tell

him, and turning to his friends he said with
tremendous authority, "Quit sphittin', bhoys " ;
then with pitying contempt he added, " Maybe
he's only a waiter after all."

A repertoire company of English- Italians
once performed at the Old Queen's Theatre,
but their histrionic efforts were not greatly
appreciated.

First they attempted burlesque and made a
hideous failure of it ; then they tried " Macbeth "
with worse results, and then in despair they
attacked our old friend " Faust." Not a single
performer looked his part, but the most comic
figure was Mephistopheles who, instead of being
long and lanky, was a short, thick, pot-bellied
individual who might just as well have played
Cupid. The thrilling moment arrived when he
had to disappear down the road below ; the
blue flames came up invitingly through the
trap-door, and Mephistopheles made an attempt
to descend with the devil's own dignity. But
he failed to reckon with his tummy and so he
stuck. He wriggled and wriggled, but he
couldn't wriggle down that tight place, and the
68

"Hell's Full'

whole audience watched his efforts with breath-
less interest. At last a shrill whistle from a
" god " calling to his friend on the opposite side
broke the stillness.

" Are ye there, Micky ? "

11 I am."

" Well, there's still a chance for ye, Micky."

"How's that?"

" Hell's full," was the answer.

How everyone laughed !

Another time a very heavy tragedian was
declaiming a speech at great length. " Oh that
I had a window in my breast, that men could
see my thoughts," he soliloquised.

"Wouldn't a pane in your belly do as
well," asked a gallery boy in tones of the
greatest concern.

A very dull playlet was being performed
which profoundly bored the audience, who
were, however, quite taken with the pretty
actress who enacted the part of the heroine.
The leading man was the butt of the gallery
from the very first moment he appeared. He
ranted and raved, and the maudlin senti-

69

Things I can Tell

mentality of his lines exasperated the gods.

" Ah — sister," he exclaimed, advancing with

outstretched arms to the pretty heroine.

" Ain't she pretty ? " broke in a rude voice

from aloft, " ain't she pretty ? and shouldn't I

like to ' ah — sister.' '

I think some Irish stories take a lot of

beating, and I remember once hearing a yarn

about what happened to a young man on his

honeymoon.

His wife was very sensitive about being

taken for a newly- wedded bride, so she insisted

on absolute secrecy being kept about their

recent appearance at the altar.

The husband had an Irish servant, however,
who was not tongue-tied, and he therefore gave
Pat the strictest injunctions not to breathe the
word " wedding " when they arrived at the
hotel where they intended to put up.

All apparently went well ; the " old " luggage
did not betray them ; they looked a perfectly
self-possessed couple, if anything rather blast9
than otherwise, and the little wife was quite
pleased with the success of her strategy.
70

A Honeymoon Incident

But next day, when the happy pair went
down to breakfast, things had changed. On
her way to the lift the bride noticed that
certain of the chambermaids whom she passed
regarded her with slightly scornful and amused
curiosity ; the lift man tried to be facetious ;
the hall porter eyed her with true Teutonic
sentiment, but the climax was reached in the
dining-room when the head waiter winked to
one of his satellites.

After breakfast the husband interviewed Pat.
" Look here, what have you been saying ? " he
demanded sternly. " I'm sure you have given
the game away. Come, own up, you black-
guard."

Pat protested his entire innocence, but it was
of no avail ; his master still repeated, " What
have you been saying ? "

"Well, yer honour," said Pat at last, " didn't
ye distinctly tell me not to say ye was just
married ? "

" Yes, I certainly did."

"Well, I'll take me oath I never mentioned a
word about it All I did say was that ye

Things I can Tell

didn't intend to marry the lady till next
month."

I remember a story of a certain Baron of
German extraction who shall be nameless.
He was a bit of a snob, and when he was
standing for his constituency he thus addressed
the meeting which, as usual, had an Irishman
in its midst.

"My friends," exclaimed the Baron, "my
title is of no mushroom growth, my grandfather

was Baron, and my father was Baron "

Then came the Irishman's chance.

" An' it's a great pity that yer mother wasn't
Baron too," he shouted, to the joy of the
meeting and the discomfiture of the titled
alien.

Lady Pilkington had a friend who called
to see her one day, accompanied by her
poodle. On the way they met an old
beggar woman, whose appearance so annoyed
the dog that it promptly bit the mendicant,
whose howls and lamentations terrified kind-
hearted Lady Pilkington. " Here, my poor
woman, here's ten shillings for you," she said
72

Lady Pilkington and the Beggar

nervously, tendering the coin. The old woman
grabbed it and then fell on her knees in the
middle of the road and started praying for all
she was worth, regardless of mud or motors.
" And people say the lower orders are
irreligious and ungrateful," soliloquised her
ladyship, who was quite touched by the exhibi-
tion. At last the supplications became more
and more vehement, and curiosity prompted
the donor to enquire what special blessings
were being invoked. "What are you praying
for ? " said she.

The old vagrant stopped and looked at her
sympathetic enquirer. " Sure an' I'm askin'
the blessed Saints to persuade the crathur to
bite me on the other leg ! " she answered.

Talking of beggars reminds me of an old
officer who never gave alms except to soldiers,
but one of the regular mendicant fraternity
determined to try his luck. He therefore
marched up to the front door which he nearly
banged down, but the Colonel, ensconced in an
upper chamber, didn't take a bit of notice, for he
saw to which profession his visitor belonged.

73

Things I can Tell

Weary Willie, who had got somewhat
fatigued by playing an air and variations with
the front door knocker, went round to the back
entrance and started afresh there. Down came
the Colonel in a fine rage. " How dare ye
bang my door?" said he.

"Well yer honour, I thought maybe you'd
help a poor man."

"Did ye? Well get off the premises at
once. I've nothing for ye."

"Ah, but yer honour, I've been at the
front. . ."

" That's another matter, here's a shilling
for ye."

"Thanks, yer honour," said Weary, " I was
a long time at the front . . . door." And with
that he made tracks and bolted, leaving old
Chutney doing the devil's own tattoo and using
language that would stop a clock.

My grandfather, popularly known as " The
old Lord," and my great-uncle, known as " The.
old Colonel," were both students at Trinity
College, Dublin, in the days when heavy
drinking was the fashion.
74

Gay Dogs

The Colonel used to boast that he had never
been drunk in his life, but not so my grand-
father, for, when the wine flowed freely, he
was speedily overcome. One evening these
gay dogs had been at an ultra-convivial
gathering, and, as they wended their way
homeward, the Colonel suddenly became aware
that Rossmore was missing, and when he
looked back he saw him seated on the
pavement, his back supported by a friendly
lamp-post.

The Colonel retraced his steps. " Oh, get
up, William," he said persuasively, as became a
man who had a complete knowledge of after-
dinner symptoms. "Get up, it's very late;
we must be getting home."

Rossmore winked at his brother, and tried to
look cunning. ''I'm not such a fool as you
take me for: I'm waiting" he replied, and he
gripped the lamp-post with one arm as he
spoke.

"What on all the earth are ye waiting for? "
queried his bewildered brother.

" Well," said Rossmore, and he waved his

75

Things I can Tell

disengaged arm with a sweep which took in the
whole of Dublin City. " Can't you see all
these houses going round and round. I'm
only waiting here for my lodgings to come, and
then I'll just pop in."

This story has been dressed up in different
disguises, but this is the original yarn. I sent
it to Punch some time in the 'sixties, but the
editor did not make use of it, and I was
astonished to see it published later in Fun. I
suppose it has travelled since then, but its
birthplace is Ireland, and I can vouch that
the man who waited to see his lodgings
come round was my grandfather — and nobody
else.

The late Lord Caledon, an old brother-
officer of mine, was one of my most intimate
friends, and, as he gave his friendship to few, I
am very proud of having possessed it. Caledon
was one of the bravest men I have ever met,
and once when we were having a confidential
talk, the conversation turned on boxing and
fighting with the naked knuckles.

" Do you know," said Caledon, " that I once
76

Lord Caledou

happened to hear some prize-fighters assert that
no gentleman could be found to stand the
punishment of naked knuckles. I was so sick
at this that I then and there challenged a well-
known pugilist in order to show the ' fancy '
that one gentleman at any rate was not afraid.
My challenge was accepted, and we put
ourselves into training and ultimately met in
the drawing room of a friend's house.

" We fought that fight to a finish, until we
were both at a standstill, and the referee gave
it a draw after an hour's fight."

"Well fought," I cried, "but were you
much damaged ? "

" I was a bit," answered Caledon, as he
pulled his nose right across his face, " but," he
added reflectively, "the other chap was a little
the worse for wear too, you can take my word
for it."

"'Piper,' you're splendid," was all I could
say. I doubt if he ever told this story of Irish
pluck to anyone except Lord Ormonde and
myself, but as a record of real grit I feel it
deserves public recognition.

77

Things I can Tell

There is a not unamusing yarn about one of
Caledon's rent audit dinners which I think is
quite worth telling in the manner in which two
farmers were heard relating it.

" How did ye get on at Lord Caledon's rent
dinner ? " asked the younger of the two.

" Be jabers, a grand affair it was indeed wid
his lordship at one end o' the table to carve for
us, and his agent at the other, both of thim
talking with the likes o' us all the while. Ah,
it was beautiful to see the way he treated
Misther O'Brien, the largest tenant on th'
property. Misther O'Brien sat fourth down
the table on his lordship's right, next to his own
personal guests, to do Misther O'Brien honour,
and so be that his lordship could properly
convarse with him.

"An" his lordship says, 'And what will ye
be afther ating, Misther O'Brien ?' and Misther
O'Brien says, ' Just a morsel of that salted beef,
and a few spuds, yer lordship.'

" An' his lordship cut him off five or six
slices o' the salted beef, and, to do honour to
Misther O'Brien, sent it round to him by his
78

A Rent Audit Dinner

own body sarvant. Misther O'Brien had no
sooner got the plate in front of him than his
lordship says to him :

" ' And do you think it has been a good
season for the crops ? '

" An' Misther O'Brien, to do honour to his
lordship, and the better properly to reply to him,
laid down his knife and fork. No sooner
did he do so than the footman whips the plate
awav.

<t

" Presently his lordship says to Misther
O'Brien : 'You seem to be ating nothing,' and
Misther O'Brien says, ' Sartinley I don't be,' and

his lordship says, ' What will ye be afther

1 • > i >
takm r

"An' Misther O'Brien replies, 'Just a
slice or two of that salted beef and a few spuds,'
and his lordship cut off nine or ten slices of
beef and put a dozen spuds on the plate, and
to show what he thought of Misther O'Brien,
sent it to him by his own body sarvant, him as
waited behind his lordship's chair.

"An' his lordship, seeing as Misther O'Brien
was well supplied, says to him :

79

Things I can Tell

" ' Misther O'Brien, do you think the cattle
trade will hold good ? '

"An" Misther O'Brien, to do honour to
his lordship and the better properly to reply to
him, laid down his knife and fork. Directly he
did so, round came the footman's hand again
and the plate was took.

" ' Misther O'Brien,' says his lordship, ' Ye
be sartinley ating nothing.'

" And Mister O'Brien says, ' NO, I be not.'
An' his lordship says, ' What will you have ? '

" Misther O'Brien replies, ' Just a slice of
that salted beef, and a few spuds.'

" So his lordship cut off half the joint which
was left and put about twenty spuds on a plate
and sent it round to Misther O'Brien by his
own body sarvant as stood behind his chair.

" An' his lordship says to Misther O'Brien :
' An' do you think the hay crop was good ? '

" An' Misther O'Brien, to do honour to his
lordship and the better properly to reply to him,
laid down his knife t but, when that hand came
round once more, with one jab of his fork he
pinned it to the table."
80

Back to Front

Another Dublin story which amused me
when I heard it was about two working men
who shared a room on the third floor of a
lodging house. One night a fire broke out ;
the room rapidly filled with smoke and James
awoke, got out of his bed and went over to
where Micky was sleeping. " Wake up," he
shouted, " the house is afire and we'll have
to fly for our lives."

Micky got up in double quick time, but the
smoke was so dense that they could scarcely see
each other and they had only just time to get
partially dressed and rush downstairs ; in fact,
Micky was so flustered that he actually put on
his trousers back to front.

When they arrived downstairs, Micky looked
at James and said in anguished tones : " Ah,
James, whatever will I be afther doing, I must
go back for me ' valuable ' ' —which meant I
suppose the picture of either his mother, his
sweetheart, or the Pope.

" If ye do," said James, " ye'll be burnt alive."

Well, Micky fought his way back, made for
the cupboard and secured his " valuable," but

G 81

Things I can Tell

when he turned to go out, he was met by the
forked flames.

"Ah, me goodness," he cried, " I'll be burnt
sure enough now."

He groped his way to the window and put
his head out. Down below the neighbours
were assembled, holding blankets for people to
jump into, and directly he shouted, " I'll be
burnt," they answered with one accord :

" Lep, Micky, lep, ye divil, at onst, or ye
will be burnt."

He leapt, was caught in the blanket, and
was most tenderly put on the ground, for Micky
was very popular. There were his friends
crooning round, crying, " Ah Micky, darlin',
are ye dead ? are ye hurt ? have ye much
broke ? " and he, getting to his feet and feeling
himself all over, said very slowly, " No, I don't
think I've got very much broke."

And then, catching sight of the back to front
trousers, he stopped speaking, scratched his
head, and exclaimed in frightened tones :
" Mother o' Moses, bhoys, if there doesn't
seem to be a kind of a twist down here."
82

CHAPTER V

I go into the army : Le Fleming of Tonbridge :
Open confession : I join the Qth Lancers : Sugar
Candy's advice : " Goffy " : Three weeks : The
untamable mustang : A swim for a " fiver " :
Crowdy : The Irish double bank : " I can't stick
this any longer " : " Goffy " breaks the bank. Bill
Beresford and I at Ousecliffe : The '48 Lafitte :
Sandhurst : Petty tyranny : A wrong system : We
rebel : " Fire ! " : Sir Duncan Cameron's breach of
faith : A desperate remedy : Things are altered :
Death of my brother, Lord Rossmore : A brilliant
career cut short : Sympathy shown by the late
Queen Victoria : " Rosie's " burial-place : A beau-
tiful spot : Jim Richardson : A hasty blow : I ex-
change into the ist Life Guards : " Mollygatouche " :
I " Cham " pain : The sequel : Dinner at Cottes-
more : An icy reception : The reason why : Lons-
dale sees fair play : The amende honorable : The
Westenra stammer again : I leave the army : I deter-
mine to enjoy life

IT had always been an understood thing that I
was to go into the army, like my elder brother

G 2 8^

Things I can Tell

" Rosie," so, on my return from Hanover, I was
sent to Le Fleming of Tonbridge, a well-
known crammer, who had a special knack of
succeeding with " difficult " cases.

As I thought it was a million to one chances
against my ever passing the army examination,
I said to Le Fleming, " You seem to be a nice
sort of man, and so I think I ought to tell you
that I strongly advise you not to take me in
here. I'll not bring you any credit; I've not
worked for the last year, and I know next to
nothing. That's my record."

He looked at me critically. " By Jove," he
said, "you're truthful anyway, and I like you
for it. Look here, will you work now ? "

" Like a slave," I replied, " if you are really
going to take me," and work I did, but after a
week of it I went to Le Fleming and asked
him if he would allow me to study all night,
and sleep by day. " I can't do a stroke with all
these others in the room," I told him. He
agreed to my proposition, I passed in about
three hundred out of six hundred, and I know
Le Fleming was extremely pleased with me.
84

I Join the Qth Lancers

I couldn't get into the 9th Lancers at once
as there was no vacancy, but we were told that
one might possibly occur soon, as a " beauty "
who had been foisted on the 9th by his civilian
relation, then at the head of army affairs, was
highly unpopular, and had been practically
told that his room would be more appreciated
than his company.

He was a beauty — no mistake about it.
Colonel Fiennes, the commanding officer of the
9th Lancers, was one of the best, and on the
first night that he met a newly-joined man at
mess, he would hold up his glass and say,
bowing to him, " Your health, Mr. Jones,"
or whatever the young officer's name was.
Then a man felt that life was well worth living,
and he usually bowed his delighted thanks to
the Colonel. Not so this beauty (who by the
way had black blood in him) ; he just sprang
to his feet, and in response to the kind toast,
rudely remarked, " By order," drank off his
glass and sat down. This was the limit, for no
man in his senses ever yet dared to fly in the
face of a whole regiment, and this was doing it

85

Things I can Tell

with a vengeance. However, I got my chance
when this wrong 'un of wrong 'uns forged and
was got rid of not a moment too soon.

I was staying with poor old "Sugar Candy,"
who had married my eldest sister, when I
received orders to join my regiment at York.
He came with me to Leicester Station and just
before the train started I said to him, " Well
now, Sugar, I'm just off to join your old
regiment. Give me a parting word of advice."
He replied at once without any beating about
the bush. " Hold your blank tongue, and go
to bed last," and with these instructions I
commenced my military career in 1871.

I remembered Sugar Candy's words, and as
a rule I never spoke unless I was spoken to.
(Did I hear someone remark, " You've changed
since then " ?) My taciturn ways attracted
Bill Beresford's notice, and he said to me,
" You seem very quiet, old man, compared to
the time when your sister married Sugar over
at Rossmore, and I was his best man." I
told Bill the instructions I had received and he
was greatly amused. " By gad," he said, " that
86

CC

Goffy '

was sensible advice, but how like Sugar to
give it to somebody else ! "

I think my few years in the 9th Lancers
were about the happiest of my life ; the officers
were the best of good fellows and I remember
one in particular, "Smiler" Mackenzie Seaforth,
who was most kind to me and treated me like
a younger brother.

There was another sub. there with me, a
man called Gough, one of the soldier family,
Irish, of course, and he and I had some fine
times together.

The regiment was at the Autumn Manoeuvres,
and Goffy and I had been left behind to bring
on some men later. He and I dined at the
club every night and one evening when we
were going back to barracks I proposed to walk
back by the riverside. He said it couldn't be
done, but anyhow we tried until the way came to
an end at a bridge across the Ouse. Said Goffy,
" I told you we couldn't," but not to be beat
I took a header and came up under an arch
of the bridge, close to an old she-swan
and her cygnets. Naturally she went for me

87

Things I can Tell

and if I hadn't dived, she would have drowned
me then and there ; anyhow, directly I came up
again she was at me for all she was worth. At
last, horribly short of breath, I managed to
reach the bank, and was pulled up by the
helping hand of a policeman.

" Hullo," said he, " I've got you now. What
are you doing with these swans ? "

" Better ask the swan what she's doing with
me," I replied.

" Yes, I must allow," he answered, " that's
wot it seemed to me, but 'owever did she get
you in ? "

Goffy came up at that moment, more
explanations ensued, and we were allowed to
proceed to barracks, but the guard smiled as
we went through the gate to bed.

Another evening we saw a lot of loose
horses, belonging to a travelling circus, in a
field off the high road, and we determined to
catch one and ride it. We caught the beast
all right, but as soon as Goffy got on its back,
it commenced to buck, twist, rear, and kick,
and down came old Goffy with a thud. I

A Swim for a " Fiver"

thought I might manage it, but exactly the
same thing happened to me and we found out
subsequently that the creature was billed as
"The Untamable Mustang" and was an expert
chucker-off.

We were rather sick of the joke, so we
turned our attention to the river which lay like
silver in the demi-semi-quavering moonlight.
" Goffy, can you swim?" I asked. "Yes, I
think so," he answered. " Well, come on, the
first across for a fiver." " Done," said Goffy,
and off we went. I chanced it and took a
header into a shallow part, cut my hands on
the stones, but anyhow came out first on the
other side. We then swam back, and espying
a boat anchored in mid-stream we clambered
in, and sang "A Life on the Ocean Wave" with
great gusto, but we danced with such vigour
that the bottom of the boat gave way, and we
sank in the cold yielding waters, which were
then in flood.

" Goffy," I said, " the current seems uncom-
monly strong, let's make for the bridge yonder."
We tried for all we were worth, and just

89

Things I can Tell

managed to make the shore. I remember we
were cheered on the bank by some navvies,
and when we were pulled out more dead than
alive, the good chaps insisted on pouring so
much porter down our throats that even Jack
Porter Porter (who married a cousin of mine)
couldn't have stood it.

Goffy and I were all alone in barracks for
a few weeks just then, and we certainly enjoyed
ourselves, once at the expense of Crowdy, our
riding master, who caught Goffy on his first
charger, a rare good hunter, charging at -some
wooden palings right into Crowdy's little plot
of garden where the French bean crop was just
then greatly in evidence. He got horribly
angry, and to make matters worse the very
next day he caught us jacketless in the
"school" putting the bar a bit too high for
Goffy 's polo pony to jump. We were in a fine
state, covered in tan and dust, and Crowdy let
fly again. "What are you doing here ? How
did you get the key ? "

Soon after that Crowdy put up a big Irish
double in a regimental manege. Our band-
90

u

Goffy" Breaks the Bank

master, Jones, two Militia officers, Goffy, and
myself were sent there to do riding school and
Corporal Carroll told Goffy he was to lead us
round the fences, but on no account to jump
the double bank, which, being only newly
built, had not had time to set properly. Goffy
went the round, time after time, but at last
when he neared the double bank he shouted,
" Derry, old man, I can't stick this any longer."

With that he went bang at the big double,
amid frantic yells from the Corporal ; his horse
got half-way up the bank, then the whole side
gave way, and as I thrust my mare at it, all I
saw was Goffy's face, with a broad smile on it,
in the near ditch. I managed to get my mare
to the top, and with much fumblingancl slithering
she at last got her two fore-legs over the far side
of the bank ; her hind-legs slipped down over
the near side and she was powerless to help
herself as she had no purchase or foot-hold.

At this momemt, who should appear at the
entrance gate but Crowdy himself, and the yell
he let out was even heard by the buried Goffy.
I knew I was in for it, but somehow I pushed

Things I can Tell

and pulled and got the mare over the far side,
jumped into the saddle and galloped off to
barracks, determined that Crowdy should not
interview me.

There was a scene. Crowdy 's bank was
entirely ruined, and as they had to dig Goffy
and his moke out, he could not get back for
nearly an hour, and so had to put up with
unlimited abuse from Crowdy during the time
digging operations were in progress. However,
he did not report us and our eventful three
weeks came to an end with Goffy 's departure
for the manoeuvres.

I often used to go out with dear old Bill
Beresford, who was a hard rider, like all of his
family, and was nearly always breaking some
bone or other, although, thank goodness, he
forgot his neck. He was a rare good sort, who
never had any ready money as he never could
keep it, but I know of many acts of kindness
which he performed and which he hated
anyone to talk about.

Bill and I sometimes went out to dine with
the Claytons of Ousecliffe, who were most
92

The '48 Lafitte

charming, hospitable people, and once when
York Races were on, George Payne, "Mate"
Astley, and Admiral Rous were dining there,
and I was included in the party. After dinner
" Greenwood " Clayton, who had a renowned
cellar of claret (which he would never warm for
some reason), asked Payne what claret he'd
like to drink, mentioning some well-known
vintages.

" Well, Clayton," said Payne, " I cannot do
better than leave it to you," a resolution which
was seconded by the Admiral and the " Mate."

Said Greenwood, " There's a d n boy

here, in the 9th, let's ask him."

" I know very little about it," I put in ;
" but if you want my opinion, well, I'm for
the '48 Lafitte which we had a little while
back ; it's about the best claret I've ever
tasted."

" Bravo young 'un," cried Payne, "let's have
the '48 Lafitte."

" Didn't I tell you that Westenra is the

most d n boy I've ever met?" asked

Clayton.

93

Things I can Tell

The claret was a bit full-bodied for them,
but I finished what was left, and thoroughly
enjoyed it. What delightful dinners we had
at Ousecliffe ! I met many well-known people
there, and I am glad to say that our hostess,
Mrs. Clayton, is still to the fore.

I don't think anything very exciting hap-
pened when I was at York. I led the usual
existence of the young officer and thoroughly
enjoyed every day of my life.

When I joined the army it was the custom
for a man to go into a regiment for a year,
and, after that, to be sent back to school at
Sandhurst. It was some stupid civilian
scheme, and the place was then just like a
bad sort of public school with regular masters,
and everyone thoroughly detested it ; in fact,
we felt it was quite impossible to let the thing
go on.

There was a regular system of petty tyranny
which was unbearable ; one young officer was
sent away for using a big D, another was
expelled for destroying a sofa cushion during
94

The Sandhurst System

a bear fight. Briefly, we decided to rebel
and to "do something." We boys used to
assemble in Lord Arthur Butler's room, and
there hold indignation meetings, and at one
heated gathering I announced that I could not
and would not stand it, and that although I
knew I should get it hot and strong from my
people, I had decided to leave the army.

We all sat very quiet, thinking and planning,
and that night Jack Strachey and " Briggs "
(poor dear Lord Douglas Gordon) came to my
room, and as the latch of my door had fallen
by mistake they imagined I had kept my word
and "hooked it." This enraged them further
against the system which had, as they
imagined, led to my departure, so without
more ado they set light to one of the doors in
the passage, in a mad endeavour to burn the
hateful place down. This seems a most
blackguardly action to have even contemplated,
much less to have attempted to carry out, but
it must be urged in extenuation that we were
all worked up and did not weigh the con-
sequences of anything that we imagined was

95

Things I can Tell

in the nature of a protest against the tyranny
of the authorities.

The flames mounted into the next story,
where they were promptly extinguished by an
instructor, and the next day we were all
summoned to appear before the Governor, Sir
Duncan Cameron.

Sir Duncan was a most unpopular officer,
who once commanded some men in New
Zealand who ran away in a fight, and were
ever afterwards contemptuously spoken of as
" The Scarlet Runners." He commenced by
saying that if the officer or officers who were
guilty of the " outrage " would confess, he
would not report the matter, and when my
friends did confess, like gentlemen, our honour-
able Governor straightway broke his given
word, took the next train up to London, and
reported the whole affair to the Duke of
Cambridge.

I was so enraged at Sir Duncan's breach of
faith, that I "saw red" and determined to make
an attempt to set fire to the college myself.
The Governor at once called another meeting ;
96

My Brother's Death

he was perfectly furious, and declared that if
the man who had been guilty of this second
outrage didn't immediately give himself up, he
would stop the leave of the whole college, and
would make us patrol our passage all night.
Of course I wanted to give myself up, but my
pals wouldn't hear of it, and, as the wish was
unanimous, I was never found out. This last
effort to burn down the college showed the
authorities that the whole system was wrong,
and, in consequence of our rebellion, things
were soon afterwards altered. I don't defend
our conduct, it was dastardly in the extreme,
but as good resulted from the evil we wrought,
I think the end perhaps justified the means.

About the close of my time at Sandhurst
came one of the most awful blows which I have
experienced in my life, and which even now,
when years have elapsed, is still a poignantly
tragic memory. I refer to the death of my
poor elder brother (" Rosie " to us and to his
many friends), which happened in 1874.

One day as I entered the Raleigh Club I
was handed a telegram which said my elder

ii 97

Things I can Tell

brother had met with a bad accident, and
instinctively I knew somehow that it was all up
with him.

The dreadful accident which cut short a life
so full of promise occurred at the Windsor
Steeplechases ; Rosie was riding, his horse
fell and rolled over him, and for days he lay in
agony until death mercifully released him. He
was the best of brothers, and a charming
personality : handsome, young, beloved by
everyone, and it seemed hard to understand the
wisdom of Providence when we saw that young
life cut short.

The late Queen Victoria was driving by and
saw the whole thing, and she was so shocked
and grieved that she forbade any more steeple-
chasing to take place there, a truly gracious
and womanly act of sympathy, and one which
my family can never forget.

Rosie lies in our mausoleum at Rossmore,
which is so beautifully situated that it may well
be said to make one in love with Death. It is
approached by a gradually ascending yew-
bordered drive which terminates at the summit
98

The Rossmore Family Mausoleum.

"RosieV Burial Place

of the hill on which the mausoleum is built.
All around it are trees, and the silence
is only broken by the sound of falling water
which makes a rapid descent over the rocks
which form the boundary on one side of the
burying ground. I think this quiet God's acre
is at its loveliest in the springtime, when the
mossy ground is golden with daffodils, and
everything speaks of the resurrection in nature
which follows the passing of winter, and which
strengthens one's belief in the Resurrection of
the Dead and the Life Everlasting.

I became Lord Rossmore through poor
Rosie's death, and I remember what occurred
when our old butler, Jim Richardson, who had
been with our father long before we were born,
first called me " My lord." Before I knew
what I was doing, I struck him in the face, and
then, when we realised the horror of my brother's
death, and why I had succeeded to the title, we
both broke down. Old Jim was a faithful servant,
and he is buried on that peaceful hill close to
the two masters whom he served so well.

I was so unnerved by the tragedy that I
H 2 99

Things I can Tell

•was fit for nothing, and I was given some
months' leave, which I spent in the Hartz
Mountains.

On my return to England I was informed
privately that there was a wish on the part
of the officers of the ist Life Guards that
I should join the regiment and fill the vacancy
caused by Rosie's death. This compliment to
his memory seemed to leave no other reply
than the affirmative, and so I exchanged from
the Qth Lancers to the Guards.

One day, when I was orderly officer at
Windsor, the late Lord Lonsdale, generally
known as " Mollygatouche," came down with
Walter Harbord, and I entertained them at
lunch, and as we only had one bottle of
champagne we could not be accused of doing
ourselves too well. Anyhow, during the
afternoon " Mollygatouche " returned covered
with mud, and informed me that his horse had
fallen over a gate and rolled on him. This,
coming so soon after Rosie's death, frightened
me ; I made him lie down on the sofa in my
room and sent in hot haste for our regimental
100

Lord Lonsdale

surgeon, Owen George. He looked at
" Mollygatouche " and said to me briefly,
" Well, I thought you'd have known when a
man had had a drop too much." After that
the sufferer confessed that he had partaken of
a second lunch with some young fellows from
the crammer's, and that Owen George was
perfectly correct in his diagnosis.

" Don't give me away, Deny," concluded
" Molly," " for if you do, it will interfere with
my chances of getting into the regiment." Of
course I promised secrecy, and although for
some reason the Colonel wouldn't have him in
the First, still it was not due to this incident,
which had a curious sequel some years after-
wards.

I was hunting from Somerby and met the
present Lord Lonsdale, who was then living
with his mother and sisters at Cottesmore. As
the meet was from Cottesmore on the following
day, Hugh asked me to come over and dine
and sleep at his place, and promised me a
mount in the morning.

I arrived in time for dinner, and it was the

101

Things I can Tell

most unpleasant meal I ever sat through.
Lady Lonsdale barely spoke to me ; her
daughters did not appear at all, and after
dinner she retired immediately.

I was completely at a loss to account for
this treatment, and I told Hugh that I felt I
must leave the house at once. "Whatever
has made your mother behave like this to me ? "
I asked.

" Well, Deny," said Hugh, " I suppose it
is because she can't forgive you for having
made ' Mollygatouche ' drunk at Windsor."

I stared at him, and then I realised that
someone must have talked, and that the blame
of " Mollygatouche's " lapse had been put upon
my shoulders. I was very indignant, and I
told Lonsdale the whole truth about the
incident. Hugh was quite upset when he
learnt what had actually happened, but like the
lover of fair play that he is, he went at once to
his mother's bedroom, woke her up and insisted
upon telling her how she had misjudged me.

Lady Lonsdale made the most delightful
amende honorable by appearing at early break-
102

The Westenra Stammer

fast, when she was absolutely charming to me
and completely made up for the disagreeable
dinner of the night before.

I remained in the ist Life Guards till 1876,
when I left the regiment for the principal
reason that I stammered so dreadfully when I
tried to give the word of command to a body
of men. And army life became in consequence
an ordeal to me.

Thus the Westenra stammer, like most heir-
looms, had its disadvantages. My five years
in the Army had been pleasant ones, and I
had nothing to complain of. I found myself in
the year I retired from the Guards the owner
of a fine property and a good income. I had
likewise excellent health and the Irishman's
capacity to enjoy life, so it is small wonder that
I threw myself into the pursuit of pleasure and
determined to have a thorough good time.

103

CHAPTER VI

I meet Mrs. Corn wallis- West : " She was a vision of
delight when first she broke upon my sight " : The
eventful dance : Kissing the Blarney Stone : Nessel-
rode : Caroline Duchess of Montrose : Some stories
about her : Consuelo Duchess of Manchester : Her
charm as a raconteuse : The late King Edward, a
delighted listener : " A real Duchess " : Some Mark
Twain stories : Mrs. Ronalds : Penelope Cavendish
Bentinck : The late Duchess of Teck : " How's poor
old Francis ? " : The Duke of Connaught and the
foot-warmer : Knowledge is power : The Archbishop
of " Cork " and the Archbishop of York

I NOW propose to try to remember some
amusing things about the many charming
women, and the many real good fellows I have
met.

I think the loveliest woman I have ever set
eyes on (my wife of course excepted) was Mrs.
Cornwallis-West. The first time I saw her was
104

Mrs. Cornwallis-West

at Ascot when I was on the coach belonging to
the ist Life Guards. Suddenly my attention was
arrested by the appearance of a lady who was
walking in my direction, and who was accom-
panied by half-a-dozen men. I thought her the
most beautiful creature imaginable, and, dressed
in white and wearing a big white hat, she was
perfectly delightful to look at, and I cried out
impulsively, greatly to the amusement of my
brother-officers, "Good heavens i Who's that ?"

A chorus of remarks instantly arose. " Why,
that's Mrs. Cornwallis-West," " Nobody her
equal," " Beats Lillie Langtry hollow," and
then in unison, " Surely you know Mrs.
West ? "

" No," I replied, still all eyes for the lady ;
" but it won't be my fault if I don't know her
very soon."

The late King, who was then Prince of
Wales, gave a ball that night to which our
party was invited, and greatly to my delight I
saw Mrs. West there. She had looked
beautiful in her white gown, but she looked ten
times more lovely in her ball array, and I

105

Things I can Tell

simply couldn't take my eyes off her. She
was talking to Miss Sartoris, with whom I was
acquainted, so I went up to her and said boldly :
" Will you introduce me ? "

" H-m," replied Miss Sartoris, " I don't
know whether Mrs. West wants to know you."

" Never mind, I'll introduce myself." So I
turned to Mrs. West and said with true Derry-
daring, " Come on, let's have a dance."

" Well, and I will, yer honour," she replied
with the most tremendous brogue.

Off we went. I was in the seventh heaven,
but I noticed that the floor seemed strangely
empty. However, I was too happy to trouble
about any reasons why other people were not
dancing, until I bumped into no less a
personage than the Princess of Wales. Then
the truth dawned on me. H.R. H. was dancing,
which accounted for the empty floor.

Goodness gracious! how I was* hauled over
the coals by my indignant family for this
unwitting breach of etiquette, but I must say
that Mrs. Corn wallis- West was enough to make
any man forget everybody and everything.
1 06

Kissing the Blarney Stone

The water has indeed flowed under the
bridges since that day at Ascot, but occasionally,
when I review the past, I like to conjure up
the vision of Mrs. Cornwallis-West as I first
saw her. Many Society beauties have come
and gone, but I think that few, if any, have
ever equalled her.

This eulogy reads as though I had been
kissing the Blarney Stone, and that reminds
me of a story about a certain well-known
American Duchess, who was returning to Eng-
land after a visit to Ireland.

" Have you seen the Blarney Stone ? " a
friend asked her.

" Yes, certainly I have," she replied.

" Well," said a man who hoped to get a rise
out of her, " they do say that the virtues of the
Blarney Stone can be conveyed to another by
a kiss."

" I guess that may be, but I don't know
anything about it, because I sat on it," she
answered.

I wonder how many people who see Ponding
ct la Nesselrode on the menu ever wonder

107

Things I can Tell

why it was so called. Nesselrode was a Russian,
an honorary member of the Turf Club, and a
great fat man with a sepulchral voice. He was
a noted bon viveur, and various plats (including
the well-known pudding) were named after him.
Nesselrode was a very droll person, and Arthur
Coventry and I used often to dine at the Turf
Club for the purpose of indulging in a hearty
laugh at his expense.

" I 'ates ven I goes to an Engleesh shoot
to 'ear ze cry of 'Gog! Gog'" (meaning a
woodcock). " Do you know vot I do ven I
'ears ze cry ? " he once observed.

" No idea," we said.

" Veil, I lie flat down on my stomach, zen I
am secure."

" Do you, by Jove ?" remarked Bully Oliphant,
eyeing Nesselrode's prominent tummy. " Well,

what of it — you're just as tall then aren't

-\ 11
your

I knew Caroline Duchess of Montrose
fairly well, and I remember once when she was
at Monte Carlo that she had an awful row with
a man about some money and they both argued
1 08

Caroline Duchess of Montrose

in a very heated manner. Said Caroline at
last with extreme hauteur, " do you realise that
I am the Duchess of Montrose ? "

" Are you really ? " answered the man,
" well, from your talk I should have taken you
for the Duchess of Billingsgate."

The Duchess could be both amusing and
witty when she chose, but she was slightly
disputatious. Calthorpe was one of those with
whom she often quarrelled ; in fact they used
to have battles a loutrance over racing, but an
invitation to dinner, as a sort of olive branch,
invariably followed one of these rows.

Old Craw, the Duchess's husband, had some
excellent claret, and as Calthorpe knew it, he
always did himself very well when he came
to dine. One evening the claret was a little
too much for him and when he was saying
good-bye, and shaking hands with his hostess,
he slipped down on his knees. Quick as
lightning Caroline turned to him and said, "Ah,
Fred, so you're on your knees to me at last ! "

I knew the late Consuelo Duchess of

109

Things I can Tell

Manchester very well. She was a pretty and
amusing woman who was rarely guilty of say-
ing a stupid thing, and King Edward was
always greatly entertained with her talents as a
raconteuse.

\ remember hearing her tell a story of how
a young American girl burst into a hotel room
one day waving a letter in tremendous excite-
ment and shouting, " Hooray, hooray, ain't it
glorious ! "

" What on all the earth's the matter ? "
asked everybody. " What's glorious ? "

"I'm just real happy," she cried, doing a
dance round the room. " Here's Poppa been
bitten by a mad dog and were off to Paris in
the morning. Ain't it glorious ! "

I suppose I need hardly explain, even to the
rising generation, that " Poppa " intended to
go to Paris to consult Pasteur, the great dog-
bite man.

On the first occasion I was asked to dine
with Consuelo, I chose to imagine that her
address was 45 Portland Place, instead of 45
Portman Square, so I stupidly drove to the
1 10

Consuelo Duchess of Manchester

wrong house. It had a deserted shut-up look
and when the butler appeared after a long
interval I said, " The Duchess of Manchester
lives here, doesn't she ? "

" No," he replied.

" Well," said I, still confusing Portland with
Portman, " d'ye think it could be Portland
Street? "

He eyed me with the critical, comprehensive
look of a butler who reads his Morning Post,
and said coldly :

" No, sir, certainly not — not if she's a real
Duchess."

Consuelo had a marked American accent,
which she used to intensify when she told any-
one about the Yankee magnate who observed,
" I'm tired of life — I want to die," and
when his friends anxiously enquired, "Why?
Have you committed any great sin ? " he
replied, " No, I haven't, but I'm just tired of
all this buttoning and unbuttoning."

The Duchess was a great friend of Mark
Twain, and knew many anecdotes concerning
him. Mark told her about his first essay at

1 1 1

Things I can Tell

riding, when he was mounted on a biting,
kicking animal whose one idea was to see how
high it could hoist Mark. " I went ever so
high," said he, " 'cos I passed the birds, and
when I came down, the horse wasn't there."

Once when funds were low Mark Twain is
said to have started a travelling freak show,
and at one town he enlisted the sympathy
of the Mayor, who promised to attend with
all the local big-wigs. Now Mark had a
drunken relation who most inopportunely
turned up and insisted on taking part in the
performance.

" Mark," said he, "I guess I'm going to
have a part."

" For Heaven's sake, don't insist," cried
Mark.

"Wai, I just will."

" What part will you take ? " asked Mark in
despair.

" Wai, I guess I like to figure as the bearded
lady," and Mark, for the sake of peace, had to
agree.

Everything went well that evening until the

I 12

The Bearded Lady

bearded lady appeared. He was drunk as
usual, and all Mark could do was to look
resigned. Anyhow that bearded lady played
old Harry with everything — but the climax was
reached when the performer stood on his head
and disclosed his sex by showing his — boots.

Mark told Consuelo that he was " great " on
rat-killing, so the Duchess gave him a spade
and the loan of a ferret, and said there were
a lot of rats in some stables near the house.
After two hours had elapsed, Consuelo went
out to see what had become of Mark, and
found him standing in the ruins of her partially
demolished stables. " Well, Mark/' she en-
quired, "how many rats have you killed?"

" How many, Duchess ? Wai, if I'd got
the one I wanted, and the one I've been after
all this time I guess I should have killed two."

The following is one of the best Yankee
stories I have ever heard. An American was
re-visiting the scene of a terrible battle he had
been through and he recognised a hut to which
he had crawled after the fight, and where the
occupier, a handsome coloured woman, had

i 113

Things I can Tell

given him food and shelter. He went down to
renew his acquaintance with his benefactress
and found her alive and flourishing.

" Good day," said he, " isn't this the place
where the famous battle was fought which
lasted two days, and — don't you remember
me?"

" No, sah," she replied. " I remember the
battle, but I don't remember you."

"Come, come," he remarked, "don't you re-
member a man crawling in here about four
o'clock on the second day of the battle, and
you giving him some bread."

The woman looked at him intently, and then
asked very slowly, "Are you quite sure that
you are de gentleman w*ho came in here 'bout
four o'clock ob the second day ob de great
battle ? "

"Yes," he answered solemnly, "I swear it's
the truth."

Then the benefactress called to someone in
the next room, " Lucinda, my girl, come in
here right away. HE RES YOUR PA"

Another American lady I knew was Mrs.
114

Mrs. Ronalds

Ronalds, whom I first met at a dance given by
Mrs. Candy at 16 Park Lane. She knew my
sister, who called her Fanny, and as I thought
Fanny was a very pretty name I said to her,
" I think I'll call you Fanny too." Mrs.
Ronalds hadn't the least idea who I was, and
she said half laughingly, " Well, I declare I
never saw such a person." Just then I caught
sight of the reflection in a mirror of my other
sister, Mrs. Stirling, who was about to enter
the room. " I'll do more than call you Fanny,"
I continued, " I'll kiss the next woman who
comes in."

Mrs. Ronalds looked perfectly horrified.
"You won't," she gasped.

"Won't I ? Just see." With that I wheeled
round and catching Nora in my arms, I gave
her a kiss.

I believe Mrs. Ronalds must have thought
that her hostess was entertaining a madman
unawares, but when the relationship of Mrs.
Stirling and myself was explained, she enjoyed
the joke as much as anyone.

The late Mrs. Cavendish Bentinck, better
i 2 115

Things I can Tell

known as " Penelope," was a woman of bound-
less resource and energy. I remember being
at a ball in Connaught Place where she
had taken her daughter Venetia, but, unfortu-
nately, the band never turned up. The
hostess was in despair, but the dauntless
Penelope decided that her girl at any rate
shouldn't be done out of her dance if she
could help it. So she donned a long cloak,
hailed a "growler," and told the man to drive
her round to the various public houses where
she was most likely to find some musicians.
Her instructions were carried out and she
returned in triumph with a scratch orchestra,
who rose to the occasion, and the might-have-
been-put-off ball went merrily on until four in
the morning.

I remember a meeting between Penelope and
" Erly " Clonmell when Jim Lowther gave a
dance at the Chief Secretary's Lodge, Dublin,
for Venetia Cavendish Bentinck, now Mrs.
Arthur James.

I was talking to Penelope and her sister,
Lady Waterford, when Lord Clonmell came
i 16

The Duchess of Teck

up and asked Venetia to dance. When lie
brought her back to her mother he said very
solemnly and confidentially, " I say, Penelope,
look at this gal, she's quite good-looking, isn't
she?" Then after a pause, "But, by gad,
Penelope, do you remember what a d— — d
ugly child she was."

The late Duchess of Teck was a charming;

o

lady and the loss of her genial personality has
left a distinct gap in the Royal Family. I
always think that she looked and played her
part to perfection : handsome, full of tact, and
possessed of a keen sense of humour, Princess
Mary was beloved by everyone with whom she
came in contact.

The Duchess was lunching one day with my
sister Nora, and as Stirling was unable to be
present, I was deputed to act as host.

For some unknown reason the luncheon
hung fire. Her Royal Highness, usually so
genial, barely spoke, and my sister seemed
quite at a loss to get the ball of conversation
rolling. I was racking my brains to find an
interesting topic when suddenly I overheard

117

Things I can Tell

Princess Mary say something about " Francis."
I hadn't the least idea how the subject had
started, but I thought it afforded me an
excellent opening, so I said, " Oh, ma'am, and
how is dear old Francis ? "

Everybody burst out laughing, and the
Duchess mopped her eyes with her handker-
chief; then it dawned on me what the joke
signified. I meant Francis Knollys, but her
Royal Highness had alluded to the Duke of
Teck. However, "dear old Francis" broke
the ice, and the conversation flowed freely
afterwards.

The Duchess of Connaught greatly appre-
ciates a joke, and is always ready to listen to
an amusing story. We were once staying with
the Abercorns when the Duke and Duchess of
Connaught honoured them with a visit, and my
hostess said to me, " Now I count on you to
amuse the Duchess after dinner." I had no
great opinion of my unaided efforts, so I
persuaded another man to second me, and we
told the Duchess some of our best stories, which
she seemed to enjoy.
118

" Well, Lord Rossmore," said she, " I think
it is my turn to try to relate something funny,
so I'll tell you what happened to the Duke and
myself coming up here. At every station
where the train stopped a porter came to our
carriage with a foot-warmer and at last the
Duke got so annoyed that, forgetting the same
thing had occurred all down the line, he said to
the man : ' Go away, I've told you three or
four times already that I wont have a foot -
warmer.'

" ' Ach, Duke darlin', don't be angry,'
answered the porter. ' Sure an' it's stone
cold.' '

Some people have the knack of always doing
and saying the right thing at the right moment.
As an instance of this I remember a dog-fight
in Bond Street when two terriers belonging to
two well-known ladies engaged in a regular
bloodthirsty tussle. Naturally a crowd col-
lected, but although many suggestions of how
to "stop it" were made, nobody attempted to
put them into effect, and the combatants growled
and bit in deadly earnest. The distracted

119

Things I can Tell

ladies alternately made tearful appeals to their
favourites and to the bystanders, but just as
the fight seemed about to terminate in the
sudden death of one of the animals, a blast
looking individual of the type known as a
"chappie," elbowed his way through the crowd
with a polite " Allow me."

He calmly surveyed the two dogs, which
were by this time locked in each other's teeth ;
then he produced a handsome gold snuff-box,
and taking a pinch from it, he dropped a little
on the end of each dog's nose. A fit of
sneezing ensued which compelled them to
release their grip, and the combat terminated.
With a polite bow to the ladies the strategist
walked leisurely away, merely remarking with
a lisp, " Knowledge is Power."

One evening I drove Lord Marcus Beresford
to Lady Ripon's ball in Carl ton House Terrace,
but as I was uncertain of the number, I told my
coachman to stop at the house where a dance
was going on.

We had both dined, but were quite well,
thank you, and just in the right form to enjoy
i 20

The Two Archbishops

ourselves when we arrived. A pompous butler
met us at the top of the staircase and
said :

" What names, if you please ? "

A lady, not Lady Ripon, was standing at the
top of the stairs receiving the guests, but this
did not surprise me, as I imagined that our
hostess was probably indisposed and had
deputed someone to receive for her. I was
just going to give my name, when Markie
observed to the butler in an awful brogue.

"What's my name? Ye'll go and pretend
ye don't know who oi am, will ye ? Ton my
word ! "

The man tried hard to keep a straight
face.

"I'm sure I ought to know your name, sir,
but I've really forgotten it — please tell me."

" Man alive," cried Marcus, " well, my good-
ness me ! Don't ye know me, oi'm the Arch-
bishop of York."

This was the last straw for the butler, who
choked with mirth as he turned his face away.
" Sir, I can't say it, I really cant"

121

Things I can Tell

He then begged me to give my name, and
pointed out that we were blocking up the stair-
case and preventing the new arrivals from
coming up. Said I, with even a more pro-
nounced brogue, " Ah, now I can perhaps under-
stand ye momentarily forgitting my friend of
York, but I'll never believe ye can look me in
the face and say ye don't know me"

" Indeed, sir, I don't know you."

"Gracious man," I shouted, " I'm the Arch-
bishop of Cork."

Everyone was in fits of laughter, and the
enraged lady at the top of the stairs wasted no
more time, but deserted her post, and we all
bustled up anyhow.

The two Archbishops made their way to the
ballroom, where they encountered a little man
of the name of Walmesley. " Hullo," says
" Cork." " I haven't seen you for ages !
Never thought we'd meet again at Lady
Ripon's."

" But this isn't Lady Ripon's ball," he replied,
looking surprised.

"Here, Markie," I called, "here's a nice
122

The Wrong House

thing, Walmesley says this is not Lady Ripon's
ball."

" Oho," said Markie ; " well, my brave boy,
you'd better steer off quietly."

Just then a cousin of Marcus, George
Beresford, came by, and Marcus appealed to
him. " Hi ! George, here's Walmesley declar-
ing that this is not Lady Ripon's."

" And no more it is," answered George.
" Her house is round the corner ; this is Lady
Clifton's."

Well, you should have seen how quickly
the two Archbishops got out of the ballroom,
and almost skipped over to Lady Ripon's,
where they had a good laugh over the idiotic
way they had behaved at the wrong house.

123

CHAPTER VII

Jimmy Davis : The wonderful William : " Smoked
'addock, my lord " : Duels : Still they come : Bessie
Bellwood at supper : The late Lady Meux : Her
vagaries : A dinner at Kettner's : Peter does likewise :
Pratt's Club : Briggs' eggs and bacon : He reports
me to the Committee. The late Lord Dufferin's
courtesy: The late Lord Winchilsea: Some stories
about the late Viscount Massereene and Ferrard :
" What's yours ? " : The farmer sees double :
Massereene's best epitaph : Charlie Western and I
at the theatre : " Take a lemon " : Peter's wife's
mother's family : Daubeneys and Eaglesfields : An
early tub : The tell-tale umbrella : An apology in
rhyme : An awkward meeting with King Edward :
His wonderful tact : A garden party at Marlborough
House : A dinner party at Hyde Park House : Why
the King left in a hurry : His charming disposition

JIMMY DAVIS was one of the most delightful
Bohemians I have ever met. Poor Jimmy, he
was nobody's enemy but his own, and I must
say that he was a really generous Jew ; we
124

The Wonderful William

used to have such merry gatherings at his
house that Lord Mandeville, my brother, and
I once remained under his roof until the next
morning. On that occasion I woke up feeling
very fit and quite ready for breakfast, so I
rang the bell, which was answered by William,
the butler.

William was a model servant, but he had a
supercilious manner which used rather to " raw "
me. He played an important part in the
household, and it was popularly supposed that
he retained the early morning services of a
medical man to fix up any disasters which
might have happened to the guests on the
preceding night.

" Good morning, William," I said briskly.

" Good morning, my lord."

" Quite early, isn't it ? "

" Well. . . . not so early, my lord."

" H'm, I thought it was. Anyhow, I'll
get up and have some breakfast. I suppose
nobody's down yet ? "

" Oh yes, my lord, your brother and Lord
Mandeville have breakfasted some time ago."

125

Things I can Tell

" Bother them. I thought I'd be first.
What did they have, William ? "

" Smoked 'addock, my lord."

" Did they ? " I cried. " What a drunkard's
breakfast ! What do you think I had better
have, William ? "

He eyed me coldly, but not unkindly, and
then said with marked meaning. " Smoked
'addock, my lord."

About this time I nearly followed in my
father's footsteps and fought a " political " duel
with an Irishman whose name is well known as
a writer.

He happened to be at Jimmy Davis's, and
was cracking up Gladstone's Home Rule
measure, when I said, speaking as an Irish
landlord, " Look here, you must be a fool to
praise old Gladstone."

He turned round sharply. " Fool yourself,"
he answered. With that I promptly boxed his
ears ; he threw something at me ; our friends
thereupon intervened, and he left vowing
vengeance.

I thought no more about the matter until one
126

Duels

morning, three weeks later, when I was staying
with my mother, Menelly (my old soldier ser-
vant) came into my bedroom and said, " There's
a tall man just come, my lord, who pushed
past me and says he'll wait to see you."

" All right, give him the paper and tell him
I won't keep him long," I replied.

When I went down, I found my strange
visitor was an offensive, dictatorial individual
who introduced himself as the Irish writer's
second.

" I have come to demand an apology," he
said gravely.

" I'll be d d before I apologise," I

cried.

"Then," said he, " I must ask for the names
of your tdmoins. I have come over from Paris,
and let us treat this affair in a Parisian
manner."

"Oh, shut up," I answered. "You are an
ignorant boulevardier, and I won't treat with
you, for if you knew as much about duelling
matters as you pretend to, you'd know that the
time limit is passed."

127

Things I can Tell

" Then, my lord, I will go to your club and
denounce you as a coward."

" Sir, you can go to my club whenever you
please, but from the shape and make of you,
nobody will think it a disgrace to be denounced
by you. Leave my mother's house at once ! "

He collapsed, and then begged me to
allow him to see somebody over the affair. I
therefore passed him on to Sugar Candy, who,
together with Mandeville, argued the matter
out, and at last the incident ended in a mutual
apology.

Sugar was rather angry with me and said
that I had wasted his valuable time over a very
foolish business. But he was still destined to
waste his time over my quarrels, as a few nights
afterwards I got into an argument with
"Chicken" Hartopp at the Park Club. Chic-
ken seemed to think that I doubted his word
and said angrily, in a way that invited retort,
"Then, I'm a liar?"

" Take it as you like," I replied.

Chicken at once got up and said " You'd
better go, for if you stay, I'll put you across
128

More Duels

my knee and break your back," whereupon I
made a very irritating remark.

"After this you'll have to meet me ; to whom
shall I send ? " asked Chicken with icy polite-
ness. A spirit of devilment possessed me and
remembering my brother-in-law's attitude over
my previous "affair," I said, "Oh, send to
Sugar Candy."

It was then 3 a.m. and I went round to the
Sackville Street Hotel where Sugar was
staying and woke him up. He was furious
with me.

" What the mischief do you want now ? "

" I've got a duel coming off with Chicken,"
I said. " Will you be my second ? "

" Well, of all the infernal cheek ! " replied
Sugar. " I wish you'd go away and leave me
alone instead of disturbing me at this hour.
Three days ago I wasted a whole afternoon
over your rotten duel, and now you have the
consummate audacity to come here and tell me
you want to shoot my best friend ! Confound
it all, go to bed, and leave me alone."

I got out, and it almost goes without saying
K 129

Things I can Tell

that Sugar arranged my second duel as satis-
factorily as he had settled the first.

Sugar Candy was one of the best men to
hounds in England, and he had broken every
bone in his body (his back and neck alone
excepted) steeplechasing. He was excellent
company, until he became an invalid, and when
he married my sister he was a very handsome
man. He was a good friend and a bad enemy,
but a thorough sportsman.

Talking about Sugar reminds me that my
sister Kathleen (Mrs. Candy) and her friend
Emily Ysanga were very curious to see Bessie
Bellwood, then in the height of her popularity,
and they accordingly invited her to supper at
Kathleen's house in Sackville Street.

Bessie and her sister turned up, but they
were too dull and proper for words, and
Kathleen and Emily were very disappointed.
Luckily Emily began to tell some of her
inimitable stories, which quickly melted the ice,
and Bessie's sister exclaimed between her
shrieks of laughter, " Lord luv' me, I 'avn't
larfed at anythink so much since muvver died."
130

The Late Lady Meux

After that the Bellwoods rose to the occasion
and all went well.

The late Lady Meux, whom I first knew as
Valerie Rees, was another Bohemian friend of
mine. She was a strange, fascinating creature
with more than a spice of the devil in her,
but a good sort notwithstanding. She was a
woman who would not brook any kind of
interference, and her record in the world to
which she belonged was a fearsome catalogue
of " up and at " whoever upset her.

I always got on very well with Val, and I
venture to think that she liked me more
than a little, for she never treated me to the
royal rages with which her admirers were
familiar.

One evening we were dining together
upstairs at Kettner's, and I felt it my bounden
duty to tell Val that her display of diamonds
was, for the occasion, in the worst possible
taste. She was furious and made a regular
scene, which culminated in a threat to commit
suicide then and there.

" Don't be a fool," I urged, for she was

o
K 2 131

Things I can Tell

standing in dangerous proximity to the open
window, and I knew her impulsive temper.

" I tell you I will throw myself out," she
cried, but just at that moment we heard a noise
in the room adjoining ; another window was
wildly thrown open and a feminine voice said
in tearful tones.

" Oh, Peter, whatever are you about to treat
me so unkindly that I want to end my life ? "

Then, to my intense surprise, I heard my
brother Peter's honeyed tones trying to
persuade the lady not to make a hole in the
pavement. Val heard him as well ; she burst
out laughing, closed the window, and with the
remark, "So Peter's having trouble too," she
went on with her dinner.

My Sandhurst friend, " Briggs " (Lord
Douglas Gordon), was one of the most popular
and best known men in London, and I remem-
ber one night " Charlie " Western (otherwise
Sir Thomas Western) and I went into Pratt's
where we found Briggs bemoaning, over a dish
of eggs and bacon, his loss of ^500 at Jinks's.

Charlie and I didn't at first grasp what had
132

Briggs' Eggs and Bacon

so upset Briggs, and as usual we began to
fool around for all we were worth. I happened
to look up at the ceiling, where I saw a lot of
flies, and turning to Charlie I remarked: "Look
at these flies, I'm awfully jealous of them."

" Why, old man ? "

" Well, because they're swaggering about as
much as to say, ' Look at us — you can't do
that!' I declare I'll try to walk on the
ceiling too ! "

No sooner said than attempted, and although
I knew I should come an awful " cope," I ran
up the wall nearest Briggs and came a frightful
smash right on the top of the poached eggs,
which were scattered in all directions over
Briggs's white waistcoat !

The loss of his supper coming after his
losses at cards completely upset the dear old
fellow, and he straightway wrote a letter of
complaint to the committee.

I never heard a word about it until Sugar
Candy met me one day and said : "I say, d'ye
know your conduct is coming up before the
committee of Pratt's to morrow ? "

Things I can Tell

" No," said I. So Sugar explained matters to
me, and acting on his advice I wrote to that
prince of good fellows, the late Duke of
Beaufort, and told him how in an access of
Irish spirits I had tried to get level with the flies,
and how sorry I was that I had so completely
upset Briggs, and that it would never happen
again.

The Duke, like the sportsman he was,
accepted my apology, declared that he quite
understood Irish spirits, and concluded by
saying that, as I had made the amende honor-
able, I should hear no more about the matter.

I think the late Lord Dufferin was the most
polite man that ever lived ; his courtesy would
have been an exaggeration in anyone else, but
it seemed part and parcel of himself. Looking
back on the exquisite manners which he always
displayed, I find myself regretting that the
stress of modern life seems to have left old-
world politeness far behind ; there is no ciass
respect, nothing between the servility of the
foreign waiter and the almost studied insolence
of the product of the Board Schools that takes

134

Lord Winchilsea

service in private houses. Gone too is the old
family servant who hid the peccadilloes of his
employers from outside curiosity, and in his
place has arisen a type that knows not the
meaning of the words loyalty and duty.

The late Lord Winchilsea was another of the
old school, and he had a peculiar lisping
manner of speaking. I met him in the club
one day after a regimental dinner, when we had
finished up the evening with a steeplechase, in
which we used chairs as fences, and jumped
over them on all fours. The jars and the
iumps had given me a bad attack of gout in my
wrist, and when I saw Winchilsea I had my
arm in a sling.

" What's wrong ? " he asked.

"Well," I replied, "Alfred Cooper says
I've got gout, but I thought I was far too
young for it."

Old Winchilsea looked at me and smiled.
Then he said with his unforgettable lisp, " I'll
bet iths right enough if Alfred Cooper
says so, and allow me to tell you, my
deah Derry, although it may seem unkind,

'35

Things I can Tell

nobody of my acquaintance dethserves it
betther ! "

The late Lord Massereene and Ferrard
was a friend of mine and he was an amusing
character. Poor Massereene's only failing, as
everybody knows, was an excessive love of
conviviality ; but, unfortunately, his weakness
increased as time went on, and he was very
often in a state of chaos.

In his day he was a wonderful shot and I
remember how he used to arrange to give
the beaters drinks at the shoots at Castle
Antrim. The men were all numbered i, 2, 3,
4, etc., and they were marshalled before
Massereene, who sat with a row of bottles and
glasses in front of him.

"Well, No. i, what's yours?" Massereene
would inquire.

"Anything your lordship pleases."

"Well, No. i, judging from tire look of you,
brandy's yours," and he reached for the bottle,
poured out some into a glass and "polished"
it off, saying, "Yes, that's brandy." He then
re-filled the glass and handed it to the beater.
136

The Farmer sees Double

The same thing went on with the others,
except that the drinks were varied, and
Massereene would insist upon sampling them
all first, with disastrous results to himself.

One day when he happened to be waiting
for the train at a small station near Belfast,
two big farmers, both the worse for drink,
were walking up and down the platform,
practically supporting each other. As they
passed Massereene they lurched into him and
he nearly fell on the line. A porter came up
to them and said angrily, " Don't ye see who
ye nearly pushed under the train ? "

"Yes, I see," answered the more sober of
the pair, " but who is he, anyway ? "

"Why, it's Viscount Massereene and Ferrard,
you fool."

"So it is, so 'tis. And both of them drunk,"
was the answer.

Lord Massereene was very popular, and I
shall never forget an incident when I was
motoring in County Louth some time after his
death. We had a puncture, and whilst repairs
were being effected I noticed an old peasant

137

Things I can Tell

who was watching us with great interest. I
got into conversation with him, and asked him
whose estate we were near.

" It's Lord Massereene's."

" Did you know the late lord ? "

His expression changed at once, little
twinkles lit up his faded eyes, past memories
brought laughter to his lips, and humour
illumined his face.

"Did I know him? Ah, yes. I should
think I did," and he smiled reminiscently.
"Ah, yes, that was the gay boy!"

The laughter died out, and he lapsed into
silence, but I could not help thinking that he
had o-iven Massereene his best and kindest

O

epitaph.

Charlie Western and I, who were known as
" the firm," had many adventures, and I don't
think two fellows more up to mischief were
ever let loose upon London, although our
exploits may seem a little tame nowadays when
young men Bunny hug and Turkey trot.

One evening we went to the Criterion
Theatre, where the orchestra was separated

" Take a Lemon ':

from the stalls by a railing — I fancy the first
theatre to be so arranged. We were in the
front row of the stalls, and a little way from us
a man was tootling the flute like a canary.
The play bored us to tears, so during the
entracte we annoyed the flautist by a series of
starts, jumps, and grimaces expressive ot
horror and pain. At last he could stand it no
longer, and he told us that if we didn't stop
annoying him, he could not go on playing.

" My dear sir," said I quite seriously, " my
friend and I have such sensitive ears that the
smallest false note is agony to us, and, grieved
though I am to say it, you must be somewhat
of a beginner."

He was perfectly furious and went hot-foot
to the manager, who asked us to leave the
theatre. We agreed to go at once if the
money for our seats was refunded, and as this
was done, we left, only to return to the same
seats on the following evening.

We had each provided ourselves with the
half of a lemon, and directly the flute man
started playing, we sucked our lemons, the

139

Things I can Tell

sight of which made his mouth water so badly
that he could not trill a single note ! However,
he ended up by laughing, and when he allowed
himself beaten we bade him a cheery good
night and left him alone in his glory.

Some people are very tenacious of their
dignity, and one notable example of this
occurred in my brother Peter's wife's mother's
family. Peter married Miss Daubeny, whose
people had intermarried with the Eaglesfields,
another race of tree-men-jous antiquity. Well
the Daubenys and the Eaglesfields were for
ever bickering about the vexed question as to
which family was the older. Said Daubeny :
" My family came over with the Conqueror,"
and he felt that this was the last word.

"Yes, I know all about that," retorted the
proud Eaglesfie.ld, " but my family was waiting
to receive them."

I have not mentioned many of my women
friends in these pages, but as may be surmised
my opinion is that women are the best of all
created beings, although they sometimes give a
great deal of trouble.
140

An Early Tub

But what does that matter to a lover of the
fair sex ? — and I must say that the world with-
out a woman would be a very dreary old place.
I remember once I was invited to a country
house where a lovely lady whom I greatly
admired was also a guest. We were delighted
to meet in this accidentally-done-for-the-purpose
manner and we arranged to have a tete-a-tete
later to look at the stars. Well, I must have
dropped off to sleep, because I was horrified to
find it was three a.m. when I set out down the
ghostly corridor to keep my appointment. I
padded along and turned down the passage
which led to the room where we planned to
meet, but when I got there I noticed a man
sitting on guard outside.

He viewed me with a lowering brow, and
then I grasped the fact that as he had not
been asked to star-gaze, he was determined to
see who had. I pretended not to notice him,
and walked on to the bathroom, where I took
an early tub and thought of many things I
should like to have said to that peaceful
picketer.

Things I can Tell

Some men indulge in rather ridiculous forms
of revenge when they develop jealousy, and as
an instance of this I should like to tell a story
about a pretty woman who married a very
effeminate person. He speedily bored her to
tears, with the result that she sought sympathy
elsewhere.

Her husband suspected that all was not well,
and one afternoon the usual officious, well-
meaning friend told him that his wife had a
lover, and that she was even then having tea
with him.

The husband instantly went round to
the other man's flat and asked for his
wife.

" Lady Blank is not here," said the servant
with a sphinx-like expression which baffled
further enquiries, but just as the husband
turned to depart he caught sight of his wife's
umbrella in the hall stand. He knew it well,
for it was one of his many gifts to her, and the
discovery roused him from his usual languid
indifference. He seized the umbrella and
snapping it viciously through the middle, ob-
142

An Apology in Rhyme

served with his voice slightly raised, " There
now, let's hope it will rain ! "

I remember nearly getting myself into a
scrape over a letter which I had written to a
married woman, and which her husband did
not read in the platonic spirit it was intended
to express. In fact he thought it was what
might be termed Divorce Court correspondence,
and there was a great row about it. Naturally
I had to apologise, and my apology took the
form of the following lines which I sent to
the lady and which I do not think any editor
with an eye for poetry would be likely to insert
in his columns :

" A man wrote someone a love letter

In language you couldn't call cold,
And if he expected a ditter

I'm afraid he was dreadfully sold.
Then, all he wrote in reply was

(This unsurpassed, unabashed elf),
' In thinking so much about you, darling,

I must have forgotten myself.' "

After this, the lady's husband insisted that
all communication between his wife and myself

H3

Things I can Tell

should cease and I kept my word religiously,
although I really don't know how I managed it.
One afternoon I was having tea with a friend
in her sitting room at Claridge's when the for-
bidden fair one came in unexpectedly.

It was a really awkward predicament and of
course to speak or not to speak was the ques-
tion which instantly presented itself, but the
lady solved the difficulty herself, by saying to
me, "Hullo, Derry, what are you doing here?"

"Hullo," I replied somewhat lamely, "fancy
seeing you."

" Well," she answered, " as I am here,
suppose you give me a kiss to celebrate our
meeting."

" Oh no," I said, " certainly not, I think
I'd better leave trouble behind me," and with
that I made for the door. But the lady was
before me and with a laughing, "No you
don't," she turned the key and slipped it
inside her bodice. Then she commenced
to chase me round and round the room
for all she was worth, but just as the fun
waxed fast and furious, and her friend was in
144

King Edward at the Door

fits of laughter, a knock was heard at the door.
We took no notice, and continued our romping,
but the knock was repeated in a peremptory
manner and my hostess suddenly turned pale
and almost fell on the sofa.

" Heavens," she gasped. " I had entirely
forgotten that the Prince of Wales was coming
here this afternoon. That must be His Royal
Highness outside the door. Quick, Derry,
unlock it at once." But she reckoned with-
out the key, which had, in the scrimmage,
slipped down into a somewhat ungetatable
place and required a great deal of trouble to
secure it.

The knocking continued and words cannot
describe how we felt, but at last the efforts of
the ladies were successful. The key was found,
the door was unlocked, and in walked the
visitor who was, as surmised, the Prince of
Wales.

I think we all looked very foolish indeed and
no wonder. There was the room topsey-turvey,
books and papers on the floor, chairs upset,
curtains disarranged — in short, a regular bear

L H5

Things I can Tell

garden, and the ladies looked flushed and
dishevelled.

The forbidden one hastily took her departure,
and my hostess made some excuse and left me
alone with the Prince.

I thought His Royal Highness looked rather
down his nose, and no doubt he thought my
behaviour exceedingly odd, for he knew all
about the affair with the lady, and had compli-
mented my sister on the discretion I had shown
in having avoided further complications.
However, with his usual tact, he made no
allusion to what he knew, or to what he now
saw, but chatted on general topics, until the
reappearance of my hostess made it possible
for me to leave, which I did with feelings of
positive relief.

What remarkable finesse the late King
Edward always displayed ! I do not think
there has ever lived anyone so capable of saying
and doing the right thing at the right moment.
I remember an example of this at a Marlborough
House Garden Party, in the late Queen's time,
when the Ambassadors were assembled, and
146

The King's Tact

the Queen walked about with the Prince of
Wales chatting to them. What so interested
me was to see how His Royal Highness coached
his mother as to everyone's identity, and told
her what to say. It was so cleverly done that
it passed unnoticed by the majority of people,
but I took it all in, and it was pleasant to see
how delighted everyone was at the Queen's
graciousness.

King Edward was in addition to being very
tactful, excessively kind-hearted and consider-
ate. One day Lady Naylor-Leyland, my
cousin by marriage, told me that the King was
dining the following Thursday at Hyde Park
House, and she very kindly asked me come and
do host. Of course I accepted, and did what I
could to make things go ; the dinner was a
great success, and afterwards we played bridge
until 1.30 a.m. King Edward then most
graciously asked me to sit down beside him on
the sofa, and have a talk about Ireland, and this
being a subject very near to my heart, I was
naturally delighted to get an opportunity of
discussing Irish affairs with His Majesty.

L 2 147

Things I can Tell

But I had reckoned without my hostess. I
caught sight of Lady Naylor-Leyland's face,
and if ever anyone 'looked ready to drop, it was
she ! Poor lady, she was absolutely dead beat,
and as I was aware she was not very strong I
felt it would be positive cruelty to keep her up
any longer just because I had got my chance of
talking about Ireland. I knew the King's kind
heart, and how cross he would be if I didn't
explain matters, so I sat down and whispered,
" Sir, I have always been most anxious to
converse with you about Ireland, but you would
never forgive me if I didn't ask you first to
look at our hostess's face ? "

King Edward looked across at Jennie. Then
he said with his curious rolling of the letter " r."
" Rossmore, you are perfectly r-right," and he
was out of the house within five minutes.

148

CHAPTER VIII

I start racing : The late King Edward's first trainer :
The match that " Duppy " made : Captain Machell :
His cuteness : A three-legged winner : Fred Archer :
My dream about him : Machell's equally strange
experience : The late Duchess of Devonshire at
Lewes : The great Harry Clay-Ker-Seymer : " I've
forgotten your name " : Injured dignity : Mowerina :
A hard bargain : Worth her weight in gold : Richard
Christopher Naylor : I win the City and Suburban :
with Passaic : " I want to marry your daughter ! " :
Old Naylor at Downshire house : King Edward :
The proper "get up" for the races: "Have you
come r-ratting ? " : Marcus Beresford at the Turf
Club : The late Lord Vivian : " Hook and Eye " :
George Payne. " Hook and Eye's " early cup ot
tea : The sad results : Keep away : The fat black-
guard : " Bertie wins " : Jim Goater and Present
Times: Why Archer was "off" riding: Sir John
Astley : " Ashley's ticker " : " Too big for the plate " :
Billy Bevill and Jim Blank : Sir Frederick Johnstone
at Stockbridge : The late King a visitor at his house :

149

Things I can Tell

A distinguished audience : Charlie Forbes : The
Bridge of Sighs : " In with you " : A royal rescuer :
The Prince's hat goes down stream : Racing and I
part company

I STARTED racing in 1878 on the Curragh with
Paddy Gavin, and afterwards I trained at
Epsom with Alfred Sidney, who was the late
King Edward's first trainer. I always consider
that Sidney was one of the finest trainers in
England, and one of the best stablemen I have
ever come across ; I've not forgotten the
wonderful care he took over Passaic, when he
held the hose on his hocks with his own hand
and didn't even allow his head boy to do it.
Sidney afterwards moved to Lewes ; the late
King had then changed trainers, and gone into
a bigger and more fashionable stable, but Lord
Dupplin and I remained with Sidney, who at
that time was training a yearling by Favonius
which I had bought at Doncaster.

" Duppy " came into the Turf Club one
morning and said to me : " Oh, Derry, I
wanted to see you, for I've made a match with
the ' Mate ' (Sir John Astley) between the

u

Duppy

Favonius colt and his one-eyed five furlong
sprinter. The match is for ^500, and is to be
run at the July meeting."

I was very much annoyed at this, and
declared that I wouldn't run, whereupon
"Duppy" went off to the Mate and told him
what I had said.

" Duppy " argued that I had a right to object
as I hadn't been consulted in the matter, but the
utmost the Mate would agree to was to say
he'd run it for ^250, which meant that
" Duppy " would have to pay if I still refused,
and, as he was generally hard up, I relented,
took the bet over, and ran the match.

" Duppy " kept on telling me what a fool I
had been to make a fuss, but I told him that I
refused to be treated as a nonentity by people
who made matches with my horses. At any
rate, he was perfectly right in his opinion of
the Favonius colt, for it won easily; the Mate's
horse "chucked it," and we have always spoken
about this particular race as " The match that
Duppy made."

After leaving Sidney, I trained with Machell

Things I can Tell

for a bit, and afterwards with Golding, 01
Newmarket, and Dennis Shanahan at the
Curragh. James Machell was a man who
started life in the Army. His father was a
clergyman who was very hard up, but Machell
never asked for anything from him, and he
certainly managed to get on quite well by his
own efforts. He was very agile and nippy on
his feet, and one day he made a bet with the
officers of his regiment that he would hop on to
the top of a mantelpiece, and stay there. This
seemed quite an impossibility, and there was a
lot of money on, but Machell had practised it
beforehand, and by taking a hop, and turning
when he was in the air, he managed to alight
on the mantelpiece with his back to the wall
and so won the bet. After this bit of luck he
bought a useful horse in Ireland and won lots
of money with it, which practically started him
in the racing world.

Machell was the most astute man of his
day on the turf, and he brought off many
good coups, one of the best being that against
Linde, the tricky Irish trainer. Two sons

Captain Machell

(Sirus and Seaman) of my sire Xenophon
were at Linde's, and Machell bought one of
them for Lord Manners, who was usually called
" Hoppy." Linde assured Machell that Sea-
man was the best animal he'd got, but he soon
found out that Linde had parted with Seaman
because he thought he wouldn't stand such a
preparation as the Grand National requires.

Machell was determined not " to be beat."
He trained the horse to perfection and Seaman
won the Grand National gamely on three legs,
with " Hoppy " Manners up. The second,
Cyrus, was ridden by one of the best of all
time steeplechasers, Beasley, whose Christian
name I forget ; it was a gallant perform-
ance, both by Machell and Manners, and
" Seaman " behaved splendidly, but he never
ran again.

I remember telling Machell about an odd
dream I had had about poor Fred Archer, of
whom he was very fond. After Archer's
tragic death, I dreamt that he appeared to me,
and when I asked him what he wanted, he
replied : " I've come back for some more

'53

Things I can Tell

clothes, but chiefly to try to meet someone I can
trust. I know all the unkind things that have
been said about me and how I am supposed to
have committed suicide rather than face an
inquiry by the stewards of the Jockey Club.
I swear to you that I was right bang off my
head when I shot myself."

I promised that I would repeat this to his
pals, and Archer thanked me, and said he
wouldn't bother me again. I told Machell this
strange dream, and to my great surprise he
took it quite seriously. " Do you know," he
said, "that I couldn't get over that poor
fellow's death for some time. I was unable to
sleep, and one night when I was lying awake —
and I swear I was awake — I saw Archer by
my bedside ! I watched him for a few minutes,
and I don't remember whether I spoke or not,
but he put out his hand, patted me gently on
the shoulder, and the action, strange to say, so
soothed me that I went to sleep and have slept
all right ever since."

Poor Archer used to ride for me, but he said
it made him nervous to do so, as I would
154

Fred Archer

bet so high. I remember once he was riding
for me at Lewes, when I expected to have a
good win with a mare I had bought as a
yearling, and had kept for two years waiting
for a suitable race. I was staying for Lewes
races at the Reuben Sassoon's where the late
Duchess of Devonshire was also a guest, and
she, Sassoon, and I drove to the course in an
open landau. The drive took us by the steep
side of the downs, and the Duchess got horribly
nervous and declared we should all topple over
and be killed. She worked herself up into
such a state of blue funk that she insisted on
the horses walking the rest of the way, so
I was too late to bet when we did arrive.
Archer stood down voluntarily and put Farmer
Giles up ; the mare won easily, but I hadn't a
shilling on her, all through that nervous
woman's whimsies. I was extremely annoyed,
and I certainly looked for some expression
of regret from the Duchess, who had prevented
me from winning a few thousands. But all
she said was, " Well I'm very glad he didn't
win, as he never told me anything about it."

155

Things I can Tell

Speaking of Lewes brings to my mind an
incident which occurred at Brighton Races,
when I had an amusing experience with the
late Harry Clay-Ker-Seymer. The Ker-
Seymers were in the best Newmarket racing
sets, and old Ker-Seymer was so tenacious of his
dignity that he was somewhat difficult to
propitiate when once he was offended. He
was anxious to be introduced to Lady
Rossmore, and when he came up and told
me so, I replied, " Certainly, old chap," and
then the awful truth dawned upon me that I
had clean forgotten his name, although I knew
him so well. This horrible failing of being
sometimes unable to fix names to faces has
troubled me throughout my life, and it has
occasionally landed me into some very awkward
predicaments, notably in this instance.

I looked at Ker-Seymer in despair, then I
said somewhat leebly, " Oh — er — er — I'm
bothered if I haven't forgotten your name."

This was a deadly insult to one who thought
so much of himself. He looked at me coldly,
and then said, in a tone fully intended to
'56

Ker-Seymcr

annihilate me, "Oh — thanks, it doesn't matter!"
and he stumped off looking very angry indeed.

I was so worried about my silly lapse of
memory, and so desirous of not appearing rude,
that I went after him. This irritated Ker-
Seymer excessively, and he turned round and
said, " For Heaven's sake don't follow me,
leave me alone."

"But," I expostulated, " I really know your
name quite well ; do wait a moment, I assure
you it will come back to me in a jiffy;
do be reasonable ; don't make an ass of
yourself! "

This last remark of mine added insult to
injury, and Ker-Seymer paused, looked me up
and down, and observed with withering
emphasis: "/ am not making an ass of
myself!" and then he proceeded on his way.
I continued to follow him through the crowd,
repeating at intervals, " Don't make an ass of
yourself! " " Do wait a moment," but he paid
not the slightest attention until I shouted,
" Hooray, I've got it. Yours is a double-
barrelled name. I'm dead certain of it."

157

Things I can Tell

This made him pause. "Well, what is my
name ? " he asked expectantly.

"It's Heron- Maxwell," I cried triumphantly.

" No I'm d d if it is," he roared in such

tremendous wrath that he looked like a cyclonic
disturbance let loose, and the atmosphere
became so charged with electricity that I con-
sidered it wise to clear off.

When I got away, it dawned on me why he
was so furious ; Ker-Seymer was quite someone
to look at, whereas Heron-Maxwell was a tiny,
insignificant, almost blind individual, who had
practically to feel his way through life.

I think it may interest a number of people
to know that the Duke of Portland bought
from me the mare which was the nucleus of his
stud, a beautiful creature called Mowerina.

I had been pretty hard hit just then, and
my father-in-law, Mr. Naylor, insisted that I
should sell all my horses, Mowerina included.
Machell and I always thought, before I bought
her, that she would make a valuable brood-
mare, and we worked out her value at ,£3,000,
158

Mowerina

but Portland drove a very good bargain for
himself, and wouldn't give me a penny more
than the original price I paid for her, which
was .£1,200.

In Mowerina the Duke literally possessed
something worth its weight in gold. Once
when I was staying at Welbeck I was talking
about Mowerina to his agent, who informed me
that he had once told Portland he was con-
vinced Mowerina and her produce had won her
weight in gold. The Duke replied, " Come
now, I don't suppose she's quite done that," but
just for curiosity Mowerina was weighed, and
it was proved that not only had she won her
weight, but a little over as well.

The above incidental mention of Mr. Naylor
makes me feel that I must now introduce him
to the reader. Richard Christopher Naylor was
master of the Pytchley, owned " Stockwell,"
won the Derby, and became my father-in-law.
He was somewhat cross-grained and eccentric
and he successfully made his own life unhappy,
and other people's as well.

Mr. Naylor had two charming daughters who

159

Things I can Tell

were ever so nice to him, but he always
suspected their motives whenever they dis-
played any affection towards him. He was a
curious combination of meanness and extrava-
gance, for he would think nothing of spending
,£300,000 on buying a property, but he would
walk miles in order to save a penny. In fact
I have known him walk into the City because
he could get a box of Cockle's pills a farthing
cheaper by doing so.

" Squire " Nay lor was as hard as his name,
but he was sport enough to take a trip round
the world at eighty years of age and he was a
very plucky man. I remember once when he
was out with the Pytchley he galloped into a
sheep net, which cut and scraped nearly all the
skin off one side of his face, but he insisted on
dining that night as if nothing had happened.

Mr. Naylor was a very bad judge of charac-
ter, I think, for he never appreciated me. He
hated the Irish "like fun"; in truth, he detested
most men and especially those who came after
his girls. Personally I don't believe he really
minded whether they got married or not ; it
160

The City and Suburban

was merely the dislike of "forking out" the
settlement money which made him so loth to
part with his daughters. Anyhow, it didn't
matter to me if Mittie Naylor hadn't a penny
in the world ; I was in love with her, and we
determined to get married whenever the oppor-
tunity presented itself.

In 1882 I won the City and Suburban with
an American horse called Passaic which I had
bought out of a selling race, but I never
witnessed my victory for the reason that I
spent the afternoon with old Naylor at
Downshire House. I heard he had come to
town on the eventful race day, and as I was
anxious to see him about Mittie, I called to
discuss the subject of marrying and giving in
marriage.

I found the old man lying on the sofa grous-
ing over himself and pretending to be very ill.
It was then three o'clock and as I knew that
Passaic had won the race, I greeted him saying :
"How are you? I've won the City and
Suburban." He huddled himself up and just
grunted by way of an answer.

M 16 1

Things I can Tell

Said I, " I've come to ask you to allow
me to marry your daughter ; that's why I
am here."

" Go away, Rossmore," he replied in peevish
accents, " I tell you I'm far too ill to discuss
those sort of things." But suddenly his
sporting instincts overcame his grumpiness, and
he jumped up like a two year old, saying, as he
did so, " But have you really won the City and
Suburban ? "

I went to Epsom for the next day's racing,
and the late King, then Prince of Wales, who
knew everything about everybody in the most
wonderful way, said to me in the Anglesey
stand, after lunch, " Well, how do your
matrimonial affairs progress ? "

I told His Royal Highness about my inter-
view on the previous afternoon, and how the
old sportsman's love of racing had even made
him take some interest in my win. The Prince
was greatly amused and remarked, " How like
Naylor ! "

An incident occurred on this day which
serves to show what a great stickler the late
162

The King's Reproof

King was about the proper "get up" for
the races. By some oversight I was not
wearing the silk hat demanded by etiquette, and
this was at once observed by the Prince, who
looked at me critically from top to toe, and
then said half in jest and half in reproof :
" Well, Rossmore, have you come r-r-rat-
ting?"

Jacobs, the " bookie," was once discussing
racing colours going down to Sandown
when a lot of other bookies and I were in
the same carriage. Said Jacobs to me, " I
think yours are the prettiest colours, my
lord."

"Why?" I asked. "Personally I don't
think that green and orange in vertical stripes
are anything very wonderful."

"Well I do," he answered, "and I'll tell you
when I was first struck by them. It was when
I saw Passaic win the City and Suburban in a
hand canter, and I hadn't laid him a bob on
the book."

I remember when Lord Enniskillen
(" Coley ") and myself were staying with

M 2 l6l

Things I can Tell

the Portlands for Ascot the celebrated race
took place between Ormonde, Minting, and
Bendigo. Coley had made up his mind to
have a dash on Minting, as Matt Dawson
said it was a real good thing, because
Ormonde, being gone in the wind, was only
the ghost of Ormonde.

" Don't you make any mistake," I said, " the
' ghost ' of Ormonde will beat Minting, take
my word for it, and don't plunge."

On our way to the course, I set at
Enniskillen again. He lost his temper, and
said angrily, " Hang it all, you've bothered me
so much that I haven't the nerve to bet at all."
And he didn't. I was quite right, Ormonde
won, but Coley made no remark about my
correct intuition. When I met him at
H arrogate the other day I chaffed him about
this, and on my return to the Stud House, at
Hampton Court, which the King has most
graciously lent me (having heard that Lady
Rossmore was looking for a place near
London) I found the following letter from
Enniskillen :
164

Lord Enniskillen

HARROGATE,

30 July, 1912.
MY DEAR DERRY,

I don't think I ever half thanked you for
persuading me not to put ^300, which I had
determined to do, on Minting in that great
race between him and Ormonde and Bendigo.
By Jove, I took a lot of persuading, but you
managed it all right, and I am for ever
obliged. Yours as ever, COLEY.

I got a man who had a fairly good place to
see the finish of this race to give it to
Caroline Duchess of Montrose, but she be-
moaned the result loudly to me, saying in
aggrieved accents, " My dear fellow, I've lost
fifty pounds."

"Come now," I answered. " I'm sure you're
sportswoman enough not to begrudge that,
when Ormonde, wrong in the wind, has beaten
a horse like Minting."

She shrugged her shoulders, and replied
testily, " C'est assez bien, mais ce n'est pas la
guerre.'"'

105

Things I can Tell

Buck Berkeley, who owned Bendigo, used to
give Derby dinners to friends who didn't
belong to the Jockey Club, and I remember
him giving a dinner at which " Markie '
Beresford and about twenty others were present.
We went on to the Turf Club afterwards,
and when Markie and I went into the
morning room, we found it monopolised by a
pompous-looking individual, who was seated
bang in the middle of the room, reading the
evening paper. His intensely superior air
didn't quite please Markie, who went up
to him and slapped him heartily on the
back, saying " Hullo, old bloomer, how are
you ? "

The nob (I don't know who he was)
started up in a fine rage, as his pince-
nez had jumped off to make acquaintance
with the carpet, and in retrieving them he
stepped on them and they were smashed to
atoms. He glared at Markie, who regarded
him with a tolerant smile. " Lord Marcus
Beresford," he said severely, " I perceive that
you have dined."
1 66

Lord Vivian

Markie remained quite callous under this
dignified reproof, and looking kindly at the
angry member, he replied in honeyed accents,
" No, no, I assure you, it was purely a matter
of five o'clock tea." After that we went
away, and it was, perhaps, as well we did
so.

The late Lord Vivian who was nicknamed
" Hook and Eye," used sometimes to stay with
that greatest and best known of racing men,
Mr. George Payne, at his country house. Old
George liked Vivian, but he couldn't stand
the worry of his visits, as the maid who
brought up his guest's early cup of tea had
usually to leave her situation later owing to
family reasons. George hated changing
servants, and he also disliked such persistent
thoughtlessness on the part of a guest, so
he eventually made it clear to Hook and
Eye that his visits had better cease. (How
it was done the book censor would not permit
me to tell.)

Lord Vivian never even informed his best
friends when he had a ^ood thincr racing, but I

O O •_- >

167

Things I can Tell

remember one day at Newmarket I happened
to be by the rails at the " top of the town "
when he rode up to make a bet. His hack
fidgeted so much that he couldn't write down
the bet, so although I didn't at that time
know him, even by sight, I put my hand on
his bridle and enabled him to write in comfort.
Hook and Eye was awfully pleased, and
thanked me for what he termed my politeness,
but I assured him that I considered it a mere
trifle.

" My dear Rossmore," he answered, " there
are few young men of my acquaintance who
would have taken even that trouble to help
me in my difficulty." He then went on to
say, " May I ask if you have backed this hot
favourite ? "

" Yes, indeed," I replied, " I've a few
hundreds on him, but I've had a very bad run
of luck."

" Come a little way over here," said Hook
and Eye. I did so. " Now," he continued,
"if I tell you something, will you keep it to
yourself? "
1 68

Keepaway

" Oi course I will."

"Well," said he confidentially, " I've seen my
trainer, and he and I think that my horse will
beat the favourite. He's at long odds ; of
course, do as you like, but I should strongly
advise you to at least save on mine." I
thanked him heartily and I had good reason to
do so, for I won over a thousand pounds, as
his horse rolled home in one of the commonest
canters I've ever seen.

I had a horse called Keepaway which was
bred at Rossmore, and I ran him in a
Hunters' flat race ridden by gentlemen riders
at Nottingham. Arthur Coventry rode for me,
and I should like to record that I consider him
the finest amateur rider of his day and the
straightest fellow who ever rode round a course.
I had heard the usual whispered story about
a certain animal that had won a very im-
probable trial with the top sawyer hunter of the
day, and I went into the paddock to view
this wonder, which I found to be a hairy-
heeled, half-bred, common-looking animal.
Just as I was going away I was accosted by a

169

Things I can Tell

big over-dressed, frock-coated, silk-hatted
individual who said, " Are you Lord
Rossmore ? " and when I replied in the affirm-
ative, he told me the same story about the

wonder-horse.

*

" I know all about it," I said coldly, for I
disliked the cut of him.

" I suppose Mr. Coventry is riding for
you ? "

"Yes."

"Well," said he, " don't you think, my Lord,
that we could come to some little arrange-
ment with Mr. Coventry and so make a
dead cert of this race ? Then we can go
and bet."

I was furious at his audacity in daring to
suppose that Arthur Coventry would be
capable of pulling any animal, let alone
Keepaway, so I just went for the blackguard,
with one spring, shouting as I did so, "You
infernal scoundrel." I must say I never saw a
fat man move so quickly.

Keepaway won easily. I laid ,£1,200 to ^800
on mine with old Jake Baylis, the bookie, who
170

"Bertie Wins"

called out to me afterwards, " Keep away now,
my Lord, keep away." At this race meeting I
begged Archer to ride my horse Reefer for the
Nottingham Handicap, but he refused, saying
that he had to ride Sun of York, who would
beat Reefer.

" Not a bit of it," I told him. " Reefer will
not only beat you and your animal, but he'll
win the race," and as it turned out, I was
correct, for my horse won easily.

I remember once, when Arthur Coventry
couldn't ride Keepaway, I had to get someone
else who, my old trainer says, made a grave
mistake in the riding of the race. The betting

o o

was 6 to 4 on Keepaway, who was a hot favourite.
I was on the stand in the members' enclosure,
and just below me was a friend of Sherriff's,
who got tremendously excited and kept on
shouting, " Bertie wins, Bertie wins, and I've
got ten shillings on at 20 to i." I had ten
times more pounds on than he had shillings,
and I got horribly riled at this perpetual hymn
of " Bertie wins." Said I, when I couldn't
stand it any longer, "Well, I'll be hanged

171

Things I can Tell

it yc u shall see him win anyway." With that
I swept him clean off the stand, and after this
rather disgraceful outburst, Bertie won, and I
hooked it into the paddock.

Talking of " stands " reminds me about a
very fat man I once saw at Windsor races
where the tiers of seats on the stands are very
high and steep. Jim Goater was riding a
horse called Present Times, and as he was
generally put on horses that hadn't got an
earthly chance, it was therefore somewhat
extraordinary when his animal romped in
first.

I was right at the top of the stand, and the
fat man below me was too bulky to clear out
quickly after the race was over. He didn't
know that I was behind him, and as he heaved
himself heavily up to depart I heard him say,
in a voice which seemed to come from a long
way down, " I wonder — what the blue blazes
Jim did that for; it couldn't be to improve
th' average."

I knew The Mate very well, and I remember
how he used to tell a story about having his
172

"Ashley's" Ticker

watch stolen at Epsom. Sir John had a
curious habit of speaking about himself as
" Ashley " and he blended the third person
singular with the first person in the most
unusual way. This is how he used to narrate
what happened : —

" Ashley went to the Derby, and I'm blessed
if Ashley's ticker wasn't stolen from him. As
it had been given me, and I prized it, I went
to the head pickpocket, with whom I was
acquainted, and said ' See here, they've taken
Ashley's ticker.'

" The man blushed. ' Good Lord, you don't
mean it, Sir John?' he stammered. 'Will you
'ave the goodness to just wait 'ere? I'll be
back in a jiffy.'

" He was back in three minutes with Ashley's
ticker, which he handed over, saying most
humbly as he did so, ' I 'ope, Sir John, you'll
accept the apologies of the 'ole fraternity ; it
was quite a mistake, and it was done by a noo
beginner ! '

The Mate could be very witty, but occa-
sionally his personal remarks were more pointed

17^;

Things I can Tell

than polite. His wife used to tight lace to
such an extent that she bulged out in other
directions, and Sir John was nothing if not
critical. One day when Lady Astley was
riding in the park, she passed her husband,
who was walking with a friend. The Mate
stopped, looked at her with some degree of
interest and then remarked, " Hullo, the round
of beef is too big for the plate."

Sir John was a great character, and he
possessed the most accommodating disposition,
for he was equally at home with a King or a
prize fighter.

One year I was alone at Manchester for the
race meeting, and I stayed at the Queen's
Hotel where my friends usually put up.
However, as bad luck would have it, nobody
arrived, and I was feeling lost when I
remembered that I had just seen a man called
Henry Wilson sitting in the coffee room. I
knew he had a horse occasionally with Arthur
Yates, so I asked him to come and dine with
me, and when the champagne made him
talkative, he became very discursive on the
174

Billy Bevill

subject of various rogueries committed on the
Turf. One of his stories concerned Billy
Bevill when he rode in a Hunters' flat race
with only two others in it.

Those were the days when gentlemen and
professional jockeys rode at even weights,
and this special race was at Croydon, where
the start was on the far side of the course.
Bevill was riding a fairly good class animal,
and he came down early to get the inner
berth on the round course, and also to take
in the other jockies. One of them, an amateur
called Reece, couldn't ride for nuts, but Billy
wanted to see what sort of an animal Jim
Blank was riding, and it turned out to be
a great big, good-looking horse that looked
like going twice round the course to Bevill's
once.

The flag fell, Billy slipped away, and
presently he heard a lot of scrummaging
behind him ; he gave a backward glance which
showed him that Jim was riding Reece out of
the course over the rails, and he immediately
caught Bevill up as if he were standing still.

175

Things I can Tell

" Mornin', Mr. Bevill," said Jim. " How's the
little mare going ? "

" None too gaudy, Jim," answered
Billy.

" Good gracious," replied Jim, "and me with
thirty of the best on 'er." With that he put his
horse at the rails, and galloped straight away
into the open country, leaving the amazed
Bevill to win alone.

I remember an amusing incident when we
(Machell's lot) had a house at Stockbridge for
the races. Freddy Johnstone had a house
there where he entertained the late King when
he was Prince of Wales. Johnstone's place
and ours were on opposite banks of the river,
and there was a footbridge over from garden to
garden. One evening I was singing the
" Gallant Young Hussar " to my own accom-
paniment, making up for lack of skill by
plenty of noise, when I was suddenly aware
that I had as an audience the Prince of
Wales, who appeared to be highly amused ;
Charlie Forbes of Newe and others were with
him, and they had walked across the bridge
176

"In with You'

from Freddy Johnstone's and looked in un-
announced to see us.

We all had a very merry time, which lasted
well into the small hours, and it was nearly
three a.m. when the Prince and Charlie Forbes
took leave of us.

Bunny Leigh, who was always ready for a
lark, suggested that when His Royal Highness
had crossed the bridge we should take away a
loose plank which existed as a means of stop-
ping communication between the gardens, so
that the unsuspecting Charlie should fall into
the river. But he was up to us, and when he
discovered that the plank was missing he said
he would go back to our house.

" No, you don't, Charlie," said I ; "if you
won't fall in, I'll drop you in," and I was just
about to carry out my threat, when he got quite
scared and said, " Don't, don't, Derry, remember
we're friends."

" That's all right," I replied, and good-
humouredly pushed him over. Down he went
with a tremendous splash, but the water only
came up to his chest, and, looking like some

N 177

Things I can Tell

dissolute river deity, Charlie solemnly waded
across to where the Prince was standing on the
opposite bank.

His Royal Highness was quite aware that
Forbes had dined, so he most graciously ex-
tended his hand to assist him to terra firma.
But Charlie had, I think, seen the little river
trebled in breadth and depth, and he chose to
imagine that he was emerging from the jaws of
death. He simply grabbed the Prince's hand,
and, as H.R.H. stooped to give him the much
needed pull up, Charlie rose unexpectedly, with
the result that the Prince's hat was knocked off,
and was soon floating down the rapid stream.

Forbes, oblivious of the Royal hat, but with
his soul full of gratitude, and the wine still
preponderating over the water he had swallowed,
fell on his knees with a solemnity which was
almost tragic, and with clasped hands apostro-
phised his preserver, " Sire, you have s-h-aved
my life," he said.

" Yes,"answered the Prince, laughing heartily;
" but it's lost me a very good hat."

How we laughed, and how we chaffed Charlie
178

A Royal Rescuer

the next day at the races about his early
morning rescue from that " dangerous " river!

I do not think I know any more racing
stories that will interest my readers. I've
never kept any diaries, and I've had to rely on
a rather unreliable memory which loathes details
and dates.

I know that I lost far more than I ever won
at the sport of kings, and racing and I were at
last obliged to part company, although we are
still the best of friends at a distance. The
only active interest I now have in the turf
consists in breeding a few horses, which I send
up to the Stable presided over by that best of
good fellows, Tommy Lushington.

N 2 179

CHAPTER IX

Why don't you hunt now ? : The old order changeth :
Hunters of men : Somerby : " Snipey " Green :
Burglars in the bath-room : Bay Middleton : He
hides in a lady's bed : Bay's presentiment of his
death : Sir Herbert Langham : His red red nose :
Hughie Cusker's whole-hearted admiration of it :
How the nose belied the owner : " Chicken "
Hartopp : Bald as a coot : Lord Howth : " There's
always a black sheep in every flock " : The
aniseeded boots : Hunting the train : How
" Chicken " hanged the Jarvey : Hartopp's hunting :
A lengthy description : A topper to hounds : " Ac-
cording to De Crespigny " : Miss Naylor takes first
place : McGerr and his hose : An Irishman's farewell
to his steed : Percy La Touche : The late King
Edward and Percy : Huguenots or Hottentots ? :
Lady Rossmore : Her accident at Newmarket : Why
she never rides now : Lady Bailey upholds the
family's reputation in the hunting field

" WHY don't you hunt now ? " I once asked
a relation of mine. "You used to live for
1 80

Hunters of Men

it ; now you don't seem to care a jot about
it."

" My dear Deny," she answered, " in the
old days when you and I hunted in the Shires,
fewer women hunted, and when they went out,
they went out for sport and to hunt foxes.
Nowadays they go out to jump on each other,
and to hunt men."

This sounds rather a sweeping assertion for
anyone to make, but I think my relative was
perhaps right in the main. The old order has
indeed changed, and the new state of things
which has arisen is not an improvement. I
always loved hunting until I lost my nerve and
had to give it up, but I have had some fine
runs, and have made many pleasant friends and
acquaintances in the hunting field. The first
day I was out, after my return from Germany,
I had thirteen falls, but I was none the worse.

Willie Wood Wright, one of the bravest
boys I ever knew, used to ride with me, and he
and I were often out with the harriers alone.
If my horse refused Willie would give me a
lead, and if it still refused he would jump it

181

Things I can Tell

back, and give me another, a fine action
according to hunting ideas.

Just before I joined my regiment at York, I
used to stay with dear old Sugar Candy down
at Somerby for the hunting. Sugar had very
kindly got me two hirelings from Leicester ; one
was a good looking old " has been," and one
day when I was riding him and had got about
two or three miles of the run, he was
completely cooked in a big ploughed field.
Just as I was cursing my luck, something went
past me like greased lightning. It was Colonel
" Snipey " Green of the Artillery, and as I
yelled " Go on, Snipey," his horse crossed its
legs and turned turtle in the middle of the
field.

Poor Snipey got up looking a bit rowdy, as
his hat was completely concertinaecl, but I
managed to jog off and get his horse for him,
and I declare I never heard such thanks as he
gave me when I returned it, as he vowed I'd
lost my place in the run and a lot besides. I
started off again and got to the end of the
field, where there was a long grass descent
182

Lord Rossmore.

Somerby

right down to a brook which had overflowed its
banks to such an extent that the horses could
not see where to take off, and there was any
amount of grief.

I had managed to get a canter out of the old
" has been " coming down the long descent, and
I certainly didn't want to pull up again and lose
all chance of the run. As I cantered down I
could see a crowd all round the only jumpable
place in the brook, so I made a desperate dash
for it, shouting as I did so, " Get out of the
way, cowards. Cowards, get out of the way, and
make room for me." Of course they knew I
was only chaffing when I tried to get a bit of
a run with a dead beat horse, but I galloped on
with the result that I gracefully disappeared,
mount and all, in the brook, and I shall never
forget the shouts of laughter which greeted me
when I came up to the surface.

Peter and I had some fine times at Somerby,
when we amused ourselves occasionally by
taking headers over a cropped bush which was
quite a feature of the gardens. I remember
years after staying there for the hunting when

183

Things I can Tell

James Gordon Bennett had the place, and late
one night somebody came down stairs and said
that burglars were in the bathroom. It was an
exciting moment, and we all moved en masse
upstairs to capture the miscreants. Outside the
door we paused, and listened to the noises
within, which plainly intimated that the oath-
room was occupied. Then we boldly burst in
exclaiming, "If you move, we'll break your
heads," and on hearing this, two or three forms
cowered down behind the bath. There was a
moment when absolute tense stillness reigned,
and then a frightened voice piped out, " For
'eaven's sake, don't strike, we're only the
plumbers." This was really true ; something
had gone wrong with the bath, and the butler,
who thought a late hour for repairs would
be more convenient to the household, was
responsible for the presence of the workmen at
that ungodly time of night.

Bay Middleton, of immortal memory, was
a great friend of mine ; he was one of the
best riders to hounds that ever lived, an
amusing dare-devil, and very good company.
184

Bay Middleton

Bay once bet a lady that he could hide so
effectually in her bedroom that she could
never discover him, but she declared it would
not take her long to find Middleton. When
the appointed evening arrived, she hunted
high and low but never a trace of the hidden
one could she see. The lady was completely
at her wits' end, and at last when she had
literally gone all over the room inch by inch,
she was startled out of her seven senses by
hearing Bay's voice exclaiming :

" Hullo, I can see you ! " This was a
puzzler and no mistake, but the mystery was at
last solved, for Middleton, who was long and
thin, had got inside the bolster !

Bay had a curious presentiment about his
death. A few days before his fatal accident
in the hunting field, he said to Sir Herbert
Langham : "I'm going to break my neck
within the next few days," and it happened
exactly as he had predicted, one of the many
curious instances of premonition which cannot
be explained away satisfactorily.

"Nat" Langham, as he was called, was

Things I can Tell

a very good sort. He was afflicted with a
conspicuous red nose, which was not coloured
by hard drinking, but was due to some physical
condition ; indeed, he used to say that his danger^
signal saved him from lunacy. He was once
staying with us at Rossmore, and one day we
were standing by the great cedar tree when old
Hughie Cusker, my head game-keeper, came
up. Hughie was very fond of a glass, and as
he "took in" Nat Langham's nose he was
completely lost in admiration, as he thought of
the number of bottles that must have been
consumed for the proboscis to acquire such a
rich seasoned tone. He looked at me and then
pointed to the nose, and in dumb show
compared its glories with his own ; then he
raised hands and eyes to Heaven as a final
tribute of his heartfelt gratitude at having been
permitted to view such a sight.

But I soon disillusioned him. I made a
pretence of drinking and then negatively shook
my head. Directly Hughie grasped my
meaning his rage was simply awful, and he
went off muttering all kinds of disgusted
1 86

u Chicken v Hartopp

comments on the man whose nose belied his
character.

One of my best and dearest friends was
" Chicken " Hartopp, whom I have already
mentioned, and whose acquaintance I made
when I was twenty. He was a captain
in the loth Hussars, the late King's regiment,
and a personal friend of His Majesty. Chicken
rode a heavy weight to hounds ; he was
daring personified, and a popular man all round.

Hartopp was as bald as a coot when he was
quite a young fellow ; he was also very
tall and a fine rider, with beautiful hands.
One day, when out hunting, he got a fall
into a deep ditch, but Chicken was so much
above the average height that even when he
was sitting in the ditch his bald head showed
above it. He was knocked silly, but as he
gradually came to himself he became aware of
a sort of buzz which shaped itself into in-
telligible words. The sound emanated from an
old man who had been digging potatoes,
and who now leant on his spade and thus
apostrophised the fallen Chicken.

187

Things I can Tell

" Go home out of that, owld man," said the
voice in reproving accents, "go home out of
that. Sure ye ought not to be skilloodtherin'
across the counthry at your time o' life. In-
deed ye ought to be at home makin'
yere sowl."

I remember when Lord Howth rented
Black Castle in Navan that he asked us over
to stay for a meet of hounds close by. Howth
was a very fussy old bachelor, and he said to me,
" Do you know, by some accident I asked
Chicken Hartopp and Bay Middleton to dine
here on the same night, and as I knew they
were both ' boy-ohs ' and rather fond of
breaking things, I told them my landlord was
a very hard man, and that if there was a
scratch on the furniture I should have to pay
through the nose. I drew a line in the draw-
ing-room, and told Chicken and Bay that they
were at liberty to break anything within the
line, but nothing beyond it. Needless to say
they at once set to and reduced everything to
matchwood within the given area. Don't you
call it clever of me ? "
188

Lord Howth

" Clever," I rejoined, rather contemptuously,
" no, I don't call it clever. I know both men
very well, they are the right sort, and take it
from me, Howth, that if you hadn't suggested
it in the way you did, nothing would have been
broken."

"Good heavens, you don't say so," cried
Howth, " I believe you're perfectly right," and
I must confess I never saw a more "cut"
man.

Howth Castle is the oldest inhabited place in
Ireland and there was an ancient tree there which
had been propped up and built round no end.
Tradition said that when the tree died the end
of the Howths would follow, and I believe the
prophecy has been fulfilled.

There was also a legend about a duel which
was fought in the dining-room by two of the
Howths who both loved the same woman, and
when Lord Ashbourne had the house he showed
me the girl's portrait, and remarked cynically,
" Do you think her worth dying for ? I call
her a d d ugly woman."

Ashbourne told me that he drew Lord

189

Things I can Tell

Howth's attention to a picture of one of his
ancestors who was painted in the robes of the
Lord Chancellor of Ireland. "You see," said
he, "that one of your people held the same
position then as I do now." Whereupon little
Howth answered :

" Yes, there's always a black sheep in every
flock."

Chicken Hartopp was very fond of Ireland,
where he owned property in the south, and I
think he used always to pose as being Irish. He
had a servant whose religious views were rather
a mystery, and Chicken never could find out
whether the man was a Protestant or Catholic ;
all he knew was that his servant attended divine
service somewhere. At last Chicken made up
his mind to find out, so he aniseeded the soles
of the man's boots, and put the hounds on his
trail, with the result that they ran him to earth
in the Roman Catholic chapel when Mass was
in full swing.

The hounds in question had been given to
Chicken by my brother ; they were a very scratch
lot, and were principally used to run a drag from
190

Hunting the Train

his house to the different meets. Once I asked
Chicken how they were doing. "Ah, the dirty
brutes," he replied, "the other day we were
crossing the line when I saw a train coming,
and I had high hopes that they would be
killed. However, no such luck, the engine
slowed, they left the drag and hunted the train,
and I had to ride down to Navan, where I
I found them at the station. They'd caught up
the train, but what d'ye think they'd been hunt-
ing ? Why, they were licking the grease out of
the wheel cogs."

Chicken was an absolutely fearless rider.
Once, at Melton, he and I jumped into a h'eld
down a deep drop. There was no way out of
the field, which was fenced in by a big wooden
paling against which Chicken rode with might
and main. " Look here, Deny," said he, " I
mean to have this down, but when it goes, by
gad, there'll be a scatter, so don't let the
others ride over me. But this fence has
got to shift." He was as good as his word ;
the wood at last gave with a splintering
crash, and Chicken got through, but I really

191

Things I can Tell

thought he meant to kill either himself or his
horse.

Chicken and I were walking through Dublin
one day, and as we wanted to drive outside the
City, we set about choosing a car. All the
jarveys raised a hymn of praise about the merits
of their cars, but one man came up to us and
said simply and finally :

" Ye'll get up on my car, Hartopps."

" This person seems to know me, Derry,"
remarked Chicken, " so we'll take his car."

Well, up we got, and Chicken winked,
"He's all right," as the horse was made to
gallop for all he was worth ; then he said in
his calm way, " How do you know me,
jarvey ? "

" Holy jabers," replied the jarvey, "how do
I know ye ? Why that's the unkindest part of
it all."

" Go on," said Chicken, " tell me at once
how you know me."

" My gracious," cries the jarvey. " Don't
ye remember how ye got up on my car, and
says you were to dine with the officers at
192

Hanging the Jarvey

Island Bridge Barracks, and I was to drive ye
quick. I didn't know ye then, Hartopps, so I
kept on hitting the shaft instead of the mare,
thinking ye wouldn't know the difference.

" ' Now,' says you, quite solemn, ' I tell
you,' says you, 'that I'll be late for the mess,
and if ye don't get on I'll hang ye when we
get to the barracks.' I didn't know ye then."
He spat on his hand and gave his horse a
frightful belabour.

" When we got to barracks, we drew up at
the mess-room door ; there was a big iron
lamp-post with an extended arm and ye took
me own rope out of the well of the car, that
I use for the luggage, and ye tied it round my
neck in spite of me struggles, and ye just
threw the other end round the arm of the lamp-
post and left me hangin' while ye walked into
the officers' quarters.

" By the quarest good luck, the sarjint
came by with the guard and cut me down,
and if he hadn't I might have been a dead
man. And yet ye dar ask me how I know
ye, Hartopps."

o 193

Things I can Tell

I remember another of Chicken's exploits
when he was M.F.H. in the south of Ireland.
A certain beggar used to bore him to death
with his demands for assistance, so Chicken
determined to stop it. The man, who was
legless, used to push himself about in a go-cart
with the aid of two sticks, and Chicken told
him that if he dared worry him under a month
he'd dynamite him. The mendicant still per-
sisted, and Chicken promptly took away his
sticks, tied an empty tin case underneath the
go-cart and informed him that within ten
minutes he would be blown up.

The beggar expostulated, entreated, cursed,
and yelled blue murder, but his tormentor
kept the game up until eight minutes had
elapsed, when he untied the canister and re-
turned the sticks to the man, who left the
neighbourhood as though he were pursued by
the seven devils.

Poor Hartopp died at the Sackville Street
Club, the scene of so many of our "jollies."
I was passing through Dublin, going over to
England, and after dining at the club I was
194

A Topper to Hounds

just getting on the car when the house steward
said to me, " I forgot to tell your lordship
that Captain Hartopp is lying very ill up-
stairs."

"Good heavens," I ejaculated. "Why
didn't you tell me that before? If he has
nobody with him I'll forgo my journey." The
steward told me that he was not alone, as Miss
Hartopp was there, and so I proceeded to
England. I had a horse running at Leicester,
where Chicken was well known, and on my
arrival I was shocked to hear that he was dead.
He was most kind-hearted and open-handed ;
he helped everyone and entertained lavishly,
but he and poor Sugar fared alike, as so many
others of the same disposition do, for when
all they had was gone, their so-called friends
forgot them.

A County Meath farmer was once describing
Hartopp's prowess in the hunting field. Said
he, " He's a terrible man at the hunting, on
the Monday he'll likely be wid the Meaths, and
the Tuesday the same. On the Wednesday
he'll likely take to the Staggers (the Ward
o 2 195

Things I can Tell

Union Staghounds) ; the Thursday and
Friday he'll be with the Meaths or Kildares,
and Staggers agin on the Saturday, and av the
Sundays, whin ye w'd think that the big bald-
headed bhoy w'd be bate, he do be skillood-
therin' through the fields after hares ! ! ! "

A young English hunting man was advised
to go to a fair in order to find Chicken
Hartopp, who wanted to sell a good hunter not
quite up to his weight. When he got there, he
said to a horsey looking bystander, " Do you
know Captain Hartopp ? "

" Do I know him ? Why murdther man,
doesn't all the world know him ? "

" Will you point him out to me ? "

" That I will, for he's standing over yonder."

" Where ? "

" D'ye see thim two gintlemen talking down
at the bottom iv the hill we're on ? "

"Yes."

" Do ye see the one with the brown coat on
him ? "

"Yes, I do," says the Englishman, getting
rather impatient.
196

Harriers

" I mane the man hitting his long boot wid
his cane ? "
" Yes"

" The gintleman who has the square black
hat on him ? "

" Bless my soul, yes," cried the distracted
Englishman.

"Well," $»aid the Irishman, " that's not him,
it's the big feller he's talkin' to."

I have hunted with the Monaghan Harriers,
the Armagh Harriers, the Ouorn, Cottesmore,
Belvoir, Tailby's, and the Pytchley ; also with
the Ward Union Staghounds, Meaths, and
Kildares. I saw more real hunting with the
harriers than ever I did or could with fox-
hounds. One of the prettiest things I ever
saw was a hare, very hard pressed, that took to
a lake, and swam right out into the middle with
all the hounds after her, but she was unfor-
tunately so beat that she was drowned from
sheer exhaustion half-way across.

I once bought an extraordinarily clever
hunter from a farmer in County Meath called
McGerr, and I named the horse after him.

197

Things I can Tell

We then rented a small place called Culmullen
from Johnny Kearny, and my sister, Sugar,
and myself were all out hunting when McGerr
came over to leave the horse at Culmullen.
Our old butler, Jim Richardson, who had been
in the stables in his younger days, adored
horses, and was most anxious to see my new
purchase. So he went softly up to the loose
box and peeped in, and he afterwards described
to me what he saw.

" I don't ever want to see a poor Irishman
taking leave of his horse again, my lord. There
he was with his horse's head close in his arms,
sobbin' as if his heart would break. It was
just awful, and I sneaked out, and left them to
have it out together."

I was unlucky enough to sprain all four of
my riding gripping muscles that year in Meath,
and as I never could get a good grip again, I
had to ride mostly by balance, and a post in the
hedge coming in contact with my foot or leg
would send me flying out of the saddle on to
the horse's neck, or right on the ground. It
was an awful thing to happen to a hunting
198

The Paragons

man, and a quack in Curzon Street blistered
me for it. Heavens ! how that blister bit !
The skin came right off, there were two deep
holes in my thigh and I've got the scars still.

A few years ago I was in the train going
to Market Harborough, and a smart-looking
young fellow was in my compartment. We
began talking about women riding to hounds,
and he said that Jock Trotter's wife was clean
away from anybody he had ever seen.

"That's a big word," said I. "What can
she do ? "

" Everything," he replied.

" Can she gallop a horse ? "

" Yes."

" Has she good hands ? "

" Yes — rather ! "

" Puts a horse real well at a fence and sits it
well when going over ? "

" Yes."

" Pilots herself ?"

"Yes."

" Opens gates for herself easily ? "

"Yes."

199

Things I can Tell

" And pray, what more can she do ? " I
asked.

" Well," he replied, " I think you've pretty
well covered all that is required to make a
topper to hounds."

" Now," said I, " I happen to know a better
lady to hounds."

" The dickens you do," cried he. " Why,
what more can she do."

"Well," I answered, "she knows what the
hounds are doing, and was brought up by a
past-master in the art from quite a small child.
She learnt to watch hounds, and to know what
they're at ; she's my sister-in-law, Miss Naylor,
and she was taught to ride and watch hounds
by Lord Tredegar.

" I must own your paragon has beaten mine,"
he said good-humouredly, and I learnt after-
wards that my fellow passenger was poor De
Crespigny.

Percy La Touche is the leading sportsman of
Ireland ; in fact one of the best men to hounds in
my time, and the other day when he was given
a mount, he went bang at the top of the hunt
200

Percy La Touche

just as well as ever. He is one of the stewards
of the Turf Club (Ireland) and always receives
the King when he goes to Punchestown.

Percy has a keen sense of humour, and there
is a story that when the late King once play-
fully hit him over the shoulders with his
walking stick, he turned to H.M. and said
in rather a rueful manner, " Sir, I don't know
whether you've knighted me or broken my
collar bone."

The La Touches are descended from an old
French family, who settled in Ireland when the
Huguenots were driven out of France by the
Edict of Nantes. A friend of Percy's went to
see the old La Touche place near Dublin the
other day, and the gardener who showed her
over the grounds talked about the family in a
very " knowledgable " way. "Yes, m'm," said
he, "the La Touches are of Hottentot extrac-
tion, and they came over here from religious
scruples ! "

I think Lady Rossmore and her sister were
about the best ladies to hounds I've ever seen :
my wife was as good across country as her

201

Things I can Tell

sister, and that's saying something, but she
never rides now.

Soon after our marriage in 1882 we were
staying with the Naylors for some meeting at
Newmarket, and my wife was riding a hack
which I had bought for her in London. After
the last race, while she was riding back with
the late Duke of Devonshire, her hack ran
away, tried to jump a landau, and poor Mittie
was carried back unconscious to Squire
Naylor's house. I returned to Park Paddocks
knowing nothing of the accident, and seeing a
four-wheeler at the door, I said to the man,
" Who have you brought ? "

" I've just come with a lady who's had a
shocking fall off a horse," he replied.

" But that was this morning," said I, for
"Doods" Naylor, my sister-in-law, had had a
fall early in the day through her horse slipping
on a weighing machine.

" No, it's another one," said the cabby.

I did not wait to hear any more, but flew
upstairs, where I found Mittie lying on
her bed unconscious, and she remained so
202

An Accident

for two hours. However, she got over the
accident, but it gave a lasting shock to her
nervous system, and now she leaves our
daughter Mary to uphold the family's reputa-
tion in the hunting field, and I must say that I
think Mary does it quite well.

203

CHAPTER X

Mountain Lodge : An Irish grouse moor : The
peasantry : The Duke of Connaught : Why his sport
was spoiled : Anne Holland : A woman gamekeeper :
Trespassers will be — shot : When the season com-
menced : Irish bulls : Lord Iveagh at Rossmore : A
bad headache : Woodcock stories : The double right
and left : The late King at Elvedon : " Where did
you get that hat ? " : Jodpores : King Edward's
witty remark : His wonderful memory : The brailed
pheasants

I HAVE, about ten miles from Rossmore, a
grouse moor of nearly 10,000 acres, and, for an
Irish moor, it is quite good ; indeed I have
high hopes that with careful management it will
eventually prove as good for sport as the
average Scotch moor.

The Irish grouse is somewhat distinct, being
a large bird capable of developing great pace
on the wing. In many parts of Ireland grouse
204

A Grouse Moor

lie ridiculously close, which makes it impossible
to drive them successfully, but on my moor they
are strong and wild early in the season, and
they can only be shot over dogs for a fortnight
or so. This wildness renders them all the
better for driving, and I have seen many a man,
who considers himself a good shot, standing
with an empty gun ruefully regarding the
departing grouse, of which he had made so
dead certain and missed so lamentably.

As a rule Irish moors are thought little of,
and they do not appeal to the man who hurries
off to Scotland in August ; but were it not for
that tiresome strip of sea which separates
Ireland from England, many sportsmen would
doubtless come over to resuscitate our moors,
which, with judicious expenditure, would equal
any anywhere.

Many an Irish grouse moor is a failure
because the peasantry on and around it are not
treated tactfully. Certain of them possess
grazing rights over the heather of which they
are very jealous, but if each be given a small
pecuniary interest in looking after the welfare

205

Things I can Tell

of the birds, they at once become one's devoted
servants, keenly anxious to show good sport.

Irish peasants are inclined to a freedom in
one's presence which seems strange to a man
accustomed to restrained English or blunt
Scotch ways, but he soon learns that the only
idea is to amuse, and that no liberties are
intended ; in fact the Irish " watchers " are
often a continual source of amusement, and
when acting as drivers they add considerably to
the day's entertainment by their quaint remarks.

I remember an occasion when I had good
reason to be angry with a driver — indeed to
tell him in pretty plain terms what I thought ;
but do what I might, I could not get that man
in front of me. " Begorra," he remarked
afterwards in confidence to my agent, " sure
and I could see his lordship's neck getting
redder and redder, so I decided to just kape
behind him."

It is most necessary to be careful in the
choice of a head keeper on an Irish moor, for
if he lacks tact he will soon have all the
peasantry at variance with him, and then he is
206

The Duke of Connaught

better away. As a case illustrative of how they
will get their own back, I will quote the
following instance. I always had an idea that
if I could get a practical Scotch keeper to
superintend my moor it might be greatly
improved, and a friend of mine from north of
the Tweed strongly recommended one to me,
who turned out a regular gas bag, and a deuced
lazy fellow into the bargain.

Although he had been on the moor nearly a
year, he had practically no knowledge of the
ground or of how it was driven, and as he had
thoroughly put up the backs of the watchers
and drivers, they determined to get even with
him at the next shooting season.

Unfortunately, however, they chose a day
for taking their revenge which had disastrous
consequences. The Duke of Connaught had
honoured me with a visit to Mountain Lodge,
and I was anxious that he should enjoy some
good Irish grouse shooting. Having the
greatest confidence in my Scotch keeper, I left
the arrangements to him, and he assured me
that everything would be perfect. All went

207

Things I can Tell

well at first with the driving, but in grouse
shooting there is one drive which, as we all
know, is expected to excel the others, and to
afford the best sport. The guns went on to take
their places, but were astonished to see crowds
of birds passing over butts a quarter of a mile
away. Then the line of drivers came in view,
and we saw that they were really driving to the
wrong butts. All the men were profuse in their
apologies for making such a mistake, but as
each man had driven the same ground for
years, it was somewhat inexplicable, and it was
not until the next season that I learned that
they had intentionally taken advantage of the
keeper's ignorance so that I should get rid of
him. Their plan was successful, but my feel-
ings are better imagined than described at
having had the Duke's sport so completely
spoiled.

Among the watchers was a man named
Holland, who died and left his wife in such
straits that I gave her his place. Mrs. Holland
became very proud of her position as a woman
gamekeeper, but displayed such zeal in the dis-
208

A Woman Gamekeeper

charge of her duties that she very nearly got
herself into serious trouble.

Rheumatism prevented her getting after
trespassers as fast as she wished, so she pro-
cured an old police carbine and took to shoot-
ing at them, and I was alarmed to learn that
she had taken the heel off a man's boot as he
ran away. I sent my agent to remonstrate
with her, and she related how it happened.

" There was a man on that hill the other
day," said she, "and I just ordered him to
come off it. He cheeked me, as he knew I
couldn't catch him. So I brought out the rifle,
and put a ball just in front of his face so that
he felt the wind of it. Says he, ' Stop that ! '
But he knew I meant shooting unless he got
off that hill, and so he went away without any
more trouble."

Anne Holland doesn't find any use for her
rifle now, as her reputation for being ready to
shoot deters one and all from trespassing in her
locality.

Poaching is bad in Ireland, and it wants a
great deal of tact to overcome it, especially in

p 209

Things I can Tell

the mountain moorlands. I have, I hope,
managed to get on the right side of the hill
men, and there is no poaching on my moor. A
few years ago grouse used to be most shame-
lessly and openly sold in our county town of
Monaghan, and an old poacher's wife dared to
offer dead grouse publicly for sale in July.
Said somebody to her, " I wonder you're not
scared to sell these birds before the season
commences."

" What's that you're saying ? " she retorted.
" Before the season commences ? Why, when
do you think it commences ? "

"Well it doesn't commence until the i2th
of next month."

" Aha, aha, that's all you know about it,"
chuckled the poacher's fifth rib. "Why, that's
when the grouse season is over," and so it was
for the poaching brigade, as the rightful owners
were then out.

I started driving on my moor some years
ago, for it is certainly the only way to kill down
the old cocks. One season the birds had got
wary about coming to the butts, and wouldn't
210

Lord Iveagh

face them, but broke out on both sides. There
was an Englishman in one of the butts, and when
the beaters arrived there, one of them loudly
lamented the wrong way the birds had flown.
" Och, 'twas a great pity, yer honour," said he
to the Englishman ; " but I'll tell ye what the
matter was, it was all bekase yez was all too
near apart."

I made a " bull " myself at a covert shoot at
Rossmore. I was on one flank standing rather
over and looking down on the line of beaters,
when I saw there was a big gap. I roared out
to the beater next me (who hadn't a beater near
him) "Bob! Bob Farley!"

" Yes, me lord."

" Do you mean to tell me that there's nobody
between you and the next man."

Bob's reply was inaudible.

Lord Iveagh came to Rossmore when he
was Sir Edward Guinness and we were going
to shoot four days in the week. On the first
day old Hughie Cusker came up to me and
said, pointing to Sir Edward, " What manner
of man is that ? "

p 2 211

Things I can Tell

"What d'ye mean?"

" Well, is he wrong in the head ? "

" Look here," said I, "this may interest you.
He's all right in pocket ; but why do you ask ? "

Said Hughie, "'Cos he came up to me just
now and said, ' Here's the morning of the first
day. Are you the head keeper and do you
ever place the guns ? ' '

" ' I do sometimes,' I says."

" ' Well, whenever ye're going to place me
(here's a sov. for ye) put me where nothing can
possibly come near me.' '

I was naturally as mystified as old Hughie,
until I ascertained the reason for Sir Edward's
strange request. He had developed a splitting
headache which made him feel so downright ill
that his only desire was to be completely out of
action.

Each owner of Rossmore has successively
improved the coverts, and I believe none better
for showing high pheasants are to be found
in the United Kingdom. One of the finest
rises is' from the hill above the mausoleum, and
birds springing from this certainly tax the skill
212

A Woodcock Story

of the guns ; another is the Yew Rise,
where the guns stand between two rows of tall
yews and get a chance at birds flying high
overhead.

Pheasant shooting will always continue to
be first class in Ireland, for although many
estates have been sold to the tenants, the
demesnes have usually been retained, and
brought to as near perfection as possible from a
sporting point of view.

Woodcock frequent to a greater or less extent
every Irish covert, so the cry of " Cock forrard ! "
is not so rare in Ireland as in England, and a
very satisfactory bag is annually obtained on my
estate. I remember hearing a woodcock story
told by the son of a certain Irish peer who is
one of the principal speakers in the House of
Lords on Irish questions — especially those
appertaining to land.

The youth was sitting next Percy La Touche
in a club somewhere down in the south of
Ireland, and he said to Percy, " I say, La
Touche, did you ever get a double right and left
at woodcock ? "

213

Things I can Tell

" I don't grasp your meaning ! " replied Percy.
" Do you mean a right and left with first gun,
and a right and left with second immediately
after?"

" No," said the young man, " I meant two
woodcock with the first barrel, and two
woodcock with the second."

" No, "answered Percy, " I never did," intones
which implied, "and no one else either."

" So I supposed," said the other in a very
supercilious way. " I've only done it myself
twice''

Once when I was staying at Lord Iveagh's
for the shooting at Elvedon, I happened to be
next gun to the late King, and I saw an easy
woodcock flying like an owl straight towards
me in the open. I was on H.M.'s left, but I
sprang to the right, "shooed" it on to the
King, shouting as I did so, " Woodcock, Sir! "
and the King killed it.

I had glanced round before I " shooed "
the bird to see if anyone was looking, and
I quite thought that my action had been
unobserved, but a friend came up to me when
214

The Two Hats

the beat was over and said, " Derry, old man,
that about the woodcock was the smartest done
thing I've ever seen."

"Good heavens ! " I exclaimed, " you don't say
you saw it. On no account let the King
know."

"Yes, I saw it all right," rejoined my friend,
"and in my opinion many a man has been made
a Duke for less."

I met General Strachey at Elvedon ; and I
remember he was wearing a hat, yards round,
which made him look uncommonly like a
brigand. My hat, which hailed from Bond
Street, was an unsatisfactory reproduction of
my own idea, but I wore it notwithstanding its
defects. Strachey looked at my headgear, and
1 critically quizzed his. Then he said, " Bai
jove, I am not a wealthy man, but I would
willingly give a thousand pounds to have the
impertinent audacity to wear that hat."

When the Duke of Connaught went out to
India, a number of people bought jodpores,
which are the tight trousers worn by the
Hindoos. I was seeing about some riding

215

Things I can Tell

breeches at Sandon's and I noticed a pair of
jodpores lying on the table.

"What on all the earth are these ? " I asked.

" They are jodpores, my lord."

" By jove," said I, " I'll have two pair made,
one in black buckskin, and the other in brown ;
the buckskin shall come from the foot to the
middle of the thigh, and the tops shall be of
cloth ; I think they'll look awfully smart if they
fit almost skin tight."

Sandon was a bit dubious about the success
of the experiment, but when I came to try
them on he declared they were quite right, and
so I wore the black jodpores down at
Elvedon.

Between the shooting of two coverts we were
all standing clustered round the late King
when he spied my black legs, and was most
interested. "I'm glad to see, Rossmore," he
observed, " that you Irish landlords are
becoming more provident."

We looked at each other in amazement and
wondered what His Majesty could possibly be
driving at. Then I ventured, "Why, Sir ?"
216

King Edward's Humour

" Because," replied the King, " I see that
you are using up your old evening tr-rousers to
make shooting leggings."

We all laughed, for my black jodpores might
well have been cloth instead of skin, and the
joke had a sequel years afterwards at
Punchestown which serves to show what a
wonderful memory King Edward possessed. I
was standing in the narrow way which leads to
the Royal part of the stand, when the King-
arrived, and made his way bowing and smiling
up to his place. I had stepped to one side in
order to let him have more room and I didn't
think he noticed me. But I was wrong. His
Majesty had seen me and he found time to
remark as he passed, " Well, Rossmore, how
are the evening tr-rousers ? "

There was once a big shoot on an estate in
Wales, and Royalty was expected, but as the
owner didn't think he had enough pheasants to
make a good show, he sent to a game farm for
a couple of thousand birds, and intimated to
all concerned that great secrecy was to be
observed over the transaction. The pheasants

217

Things I can Tell

were delivered two stations away from the
estate by the last train, and the consignment
was met by the keepers, who took the birds
away in hampers on trolleys to the covert
side, where they were released. Men were
stationed round at daybreak to keep the
pheasants in, and later on the beat commenced.
The birds ran in front of the beaters in
myriads, but not one of them attempted to fly,
and closer inspection showed that they had all
arrived with one wing brailed in order to
prevent them getting knocked about in the
baskets. The keepers had not observed this
when they gave the birds their liberty, but it
was forcibly brought to their notice when they
were discharged after an unpleasant interview
with their angry employer when the shoot was
over.

218

CHAPTER XI

I go to South Africa : My servant Menelly : Why
the maids gave notice : The soi-disant Lord Darnley :
An audacious impostor : My fraudulent namesake :
An awkward question : " Oh no, we never mention
her " : Race hatred : A begrudged loaf : We ask for
bread and get a biscuit : Ikey Sonnenberg : Dinner
at his house : " A nice game of cardths " : Swal-
bacher : He resents my toasts : He is flung out :
The second time of asking : Outside once more :
Fallen among thieves : The black woman steals his
ticker : " Thou shall repay " : " Thanks, I've got to
meet a man " : The true story of the drive over the
precipice : Young Carson and the Dop : " Furrin'
parts " : A short stay in Australia : I have supper
with Fred Leslie and Nellie Farren : A dog and a
chop story

I WENT out to South Africa in 1876, with the
object of shooting big game, and also to
take my brother Dick away from England

219

Things I can Tell

for a time. Poor Dick never worked, and
would never allow anyone else to, and as
he wanted to go into the Army, and couldn't
pass his examination he enlisted in the 4th
Dragoon Guards, in order to get his commission
through the ranks. I was not very broad-
minded in those days, and my false pride urged
me to put an end to what I considered an
infra dig. position for a member of my family.
I therefore persuaded Dick to let me buy him
out of the Army, and as I had sent in my own
papers, I suggested that he should come with
me to Africa and have a couple of years' big
game shooting. Peter was already in the
diamond mines at Kimberley, and, as we
should all be together, there were ten chances
to one that we should have a very good
time.

My soldier servant, Menelly, also came with
me and he was a great character. He remained
in my service for eight years, during which
period he gave me notice dozens of times, until
at last I took him at his word and made him
keep to it. He went to my sister after leaving
220

Mcnelly

me, and one day her maid came to her and said,
" If you please, m'm, I am asked to tell you
that all the women servants wish to leave."

My sister was startled out of her wits at the
prospect of a domestic exodus, so she anxiously
enquired the reason why.

"It's all owing to Menelly," snapped the
maid viciously.

" Whatever has he done ? "

"Well, m'm, he went into the housekeeper's
room last night and said to her in his 'aughty
manner, ' When Lord Rossmore and I were
in the Guards, we two were the handsomest
men that ever walked down Piccadilly, and
all the women said so ; they was women,
and no mistake. But as for the crowd in
this house, I wouldn't give a cuss for the
lot.' "

I was foolish enough to take no letters
of credit with me to South Africa, as I had the
mistaken belief that my cheque would be
honoured anywhere, but just before my arrival
people at Cape Town had been victimised by a
plausible scamp who posed as Lord Darnley,

221

Things I can Tell

and having been once bitten, they were a little
suspicious of the credentials of any new arrival
who called himself a lord.

*

On one of our shooting expeditions we
came to a big Boer farm, where we camped
out and there we made the acquaintance of
the soi-disant Lord Darnley. I had noticed
a rather seedy looking chap hanging around,
and when we were cooking our supper, I
hailed him, and invited him to share our meal.
He was certainly very down on his luck, but
after some Congo brandy he became quite
talkative, and seating himself beside me he
opened the ball by saying in a confidential
aside, " I say — tell me as a pal — who the 'ell
are you really ? "

I was furious and turned on him with " D n

your impertinence. Shut up," greatly to the
delight of Peter and Dick, who were nearly
speechless with laughter at the aitchless fellow's
cheek.

"Oh come now, I say, draw it mild," he
said in admiring accents. " That's jolly good " ;
then, regretfully, " I only wish I could have
222

" Lord Darnley '

done it like that, I'd have lasted longer — if only
I could 'ave bluffed like you."

By this time I was nearly boiling over with
rage, and I literally danced about while my
brothers were convulsed with merriment. The
fellow watched me with real admiration, and
then said :

" Oh, well, I won't arsk yer any more. I
suppose ye're quite roight not to tell, I ought
never to have told nobody. But as a return
for ye're 'ospitality I'll give you this tip.
When you are lagged " (at this my brothers
roared louder than ever) "you try and get
lagged near Cape Town. There's a blank fool
of a doctor in the gaol there, I kidded the
beggar as I was sick, and 'e gave me wine."

I was just about to kick " Lord Darnley "
out of sight, when he saved me the trouble by
clearing off at express speed, and shortly after-
wards when he was "lagged" at Kimberley
for some misdemeanour, he had the audacity to
speak of me in court as " my friend Rossmore."

Talking of bogus peers reminds me that
there was an impostor who posed as Lord

223

Things I can Tell

Rossmore in Rome, when Paget was Ambassa-
dor there. He used to go to the Embassy and
" took in " several people, and it was only
quite by accident that the fraud was discovered.

One day he and some Englishmen were
talking together, and a newcomer remarked,
" I say, Rossmore, I know that one of your
sisters married Sugar Candy, but for the life of
me I can't remember who your youngest sister
married."

" Rossmore " eyed his questioner coldly,
assumed a displeased air, and walked away.
The men thought this queer, but they hit on
every reason except the right one, which was
that the impostor hadn't the least idea whom
Nora had married until he consulted Burke.
The next day " Rossmore " met one of the
men, and said to him, " Look here, old chap, I
daresay you thought I was funny yesterday."

" Well you did seem a bit upset," answered
the other.

" I had good reason," replied " Rossmore,"
gravely. " I dislike to hear any mention of my
younger sister's marriage. It was entirely
224

My Fraudulent Namesake

opposed to our wishes ; indeed, we took the
affair so much to heart that we never mention
her name." This was Ananias-ing with a
vengeance, for Nora married a very good
fellow entirely with our approval, but it was
certainly an ingenious way of wriggling out of
a difficulty.

I remember meeting, about thirty-six years
ago, when I was in South Africa, an extremely
clever man whose name I have forgotten.
He begged me to go with him to see the four
Presidents, whom he knew intimately, and he
declared then that the great South African

o

problem would have to be faced, and that war
was inevitable. The Boers loathed us at that
time, and I remember my brothers and I had it
once thoroughly brought home to us.

We had gone on a hunting expedition, in a
bullock waggon, thirty or forty miles from
Kimberley, and found ourselves in a part of
the country entirely devoid of game. Our
bread was mildewed, and we had completely
run out of food, when we came upon an
isolated Boer farm, where we asked the

Things I can Tell

owner (an Englishman) if he could sell us a
loaf.

He seemed so averse to doing so that we
took him to our waggon, and showed him the
fragments of uneatable, mildewed stuff that
remained.

" Sorry, I can't sell you a loaf," he said at
last, " for if I do I must sell to everyone, and
selling to one will turn my house into a winkel
(a store). However, come up to the farm and
be introduced to my wife and daughters ; I've
no doubt we can offer you some biscuits and
wine as a stand-by."

We went with him, and if ever I saw
virulent hatred I saw it in the faces of the
Dutch Frau and her girls, who couldn't speak
a word of English. We partook of biscuits
and sweet Constantia wine, and then cleared
out, followed by our host, who looked
thoroughly ashamed of himself and his women-
folk. "Swear you won't say a word," he
whispered, "but be outside the kraal at three
o'clock."

I kept the appointment, and he turned up
226

Ikey Sonnenberg

with an enormous loaf of brown bread, and
then made off as quickly as possible without
saying a word.

A Jew called Ikey Sonnenberg was for
many years about the best known character in
South Africa, and he only died recently (I was
sorry to hear) in very indifferent circumstances.
I first met him in Kimberley, when he asked
Peter and me to dine with him and "have a
nice gameth of cardths afterwards." Peter
knew all about Ikey and what a gambler he
was, so he said to me : " Look here, Derry,
you've accepted I key's invite, but I swear you
shan't go unless you promise me not to play
cards." I felt that my brother had his reasons
for speaking so strongly, and I therefore
promised I would follow his advice.

We all met at I key's place ; the dinner was
all right, but our host was very sparing with the
wine. There were eight of us, and I was
seated next a little J ew named Swalbacher, who
seemed consumed with admiration for all that
Sonnenberg said and did. It was a hot night and
as I felt I required a good deal more champagne

Q 2 227

Things I can Tell

to enable me to support the Oriental atmosphere
of the room, I said, " I key, old man, I want to
propose a toast." I raised my glass, and then
quickly put it down ; " By jove, what an idiot
I am ; however it doesn't matter — all our glasses
seem empty."

I key's face lit up with an oily smile, for he
naturally imagined that his health was going to
be proposed, so he ordered two bottles of
champagne at a guinea a bottle.

The first toast was not " I key Sonnenberg,"
but "The Queen," and Swalbacher's eyes
looked angry. Said I, "I propose another
toast — 'The Prince of Wales,'" then came a
third, " The Rest of the Royal Family," and
I key had to order more and more champagne,
for we toasted in bumpers.

" See, 'ere, "cried my neighbour, " I conthider
these toasths are simply robbin' my friendth
Mr. Sonnenberg."

" How dare you, you little swine?" I asked ;
" apologise at once, or you'll go out of that
window."

" I wonth apologise," he answered, so out he
228

Fallen among Thieves

went. The drop into the street was nothing to
speak of, and Swalbacher picked himself up and
returned in time to hear me propose "The
Houses of Parliament, and the British Con-
stitution," but when it came to " The Army and
Navy," Swalbacher couldn't contain himself any
longer. " You bally rhobber, to treat Mr.
Sonnenberg like thith," he cried.

" Now I'm just about fed up with you," said I.
" Apologise at once."

" I'm bothered if I do," replied he, displaying-
more pluck than I imagined he possessed.

" Then out you go again," I answered, and
I promptly picked him up and dropped him
into the street. As he landed outside poor
Swalbacher literally fell among thieves, for he
was pounced upon by a black woman who
happened to be passing as he aeroplaned from
the window, and without wasting a moment,
she relieved him of his watch and chain.

This was the limit. Swalbacher entered the
room spluttering with rage. " Lord Rothmore,"
he shouted, " not contenth with robbin' my
friendth, you've made me lose my gold watch

229

Things I can Tell

and chain which cost me a hundredth guineaths-—
you musth repayth me." Then the little man
hung up his harp and nearly wept as he thought
of his troubles.

" Come now, genthlemen," interposed Ikey
trying to look pleasant, " let's have a niceth
little game of cardths."

Just then Peter " chipped " in with, " I say,
Derry, have you forgotten that you've to meet
that man from Du Toitspan, and you're already
twenty minutes late." I took Peter's cue, and
we hastily got up from the table, made our
excuses to Ikey and left him to have the
" niceth game of cardths," with those who were
fools enough to play— and pay.

One of my South African exploits was
brought back to my recollection at Hurst Park
Races, when Joe Davis ("'Ansome Joe") said
to me in the course of conversation, " I was
down in the City yesterday, and I met a co-
religionist who knew you out in the Diamond
Fields and described you as the mad Irish lord
who drove the pair over the precipice. Is
there any truth in it ? "
230

Over the Precipice

" I know to what he's alluding," I answered,
" but there was no precipice. This is the
yarn.

I was in the habit of hiring a Cape cart
and pair from a fellow known as " Charley " and
one evening I went over from Du Toitspan to
dine at Kimberley. While I was at dinner
Charley got very intoxicated, and when I was
ready to depart, I found him fast asleep. A
man named Paddy Rolleston was with me and
I had promised to give him a lift. His home
was a Dutch mud house, situated a short way
off the main track between Kimberley and Du
Toitspan. We stowed the slumbering Charley
away at the back of the cart, and as I drove off,
a thud behind intimated that he had fallen out,
but I didn't worry, and only remarked, "The
beggar's gone."

Paddy, however, was rather perturbed, and
said crossly : " Yes, it's all very well for you,
but how on earth am I to get indoors ? my
head is all right, but my legs have gone ! " I
told him I'd help him, so when we reached the
mud house, I got down and "hoicked" out

Things I can Tell

Paddy, who crawled cautiously to the door on
his hands and knees. It was a moderately
moonlight night, and as Peter had often told
me about a short cut which existed through
Bulfontein, I determined to try to find it, so I
drove down a track which was not unlike an
Irish bog road, but discovered that the road came
suddenly to an end. The accumulated refuse
had made a sort of precipitous hill on the far
side, and there was just room to turn the cart
on the washing-up place. I felt "done" and after
trying several times without success to find the
right cut, I determined to drive over the far

o

side.

I remember nothing more about my
investigations until I found myself at the
bottom of the hill, with the two horses lying on
their backs with their hoofs to heaven. As I
never could grasp the intricacies of the raw
hide Cape harness, I left them as they had
fallen and went off in search of help. I got
back to the Carnarvon Hotel, woke up Peter,
who was not in the best of tempers^ and told
him what had happened to me and the cart.
232

Lost

" Will you come and help me with the horses ? "
I asked.

"You go to bed," he answered crossly, for
he knew I'd been dining with a thirsty
crew.

" I'll take my oath it's true," I said, for I saw
he thought I was getting at him.

" For heaven's sake, Derry, go to bed," he
replied.

In despair I roused Menelly, who, as he
also knew where I had been dining, said,
" Och for heaven's sake get to bed, me
lord ! " However, I at last convinced him
that I was speaking the truth ; we routed Peter
out, and the three of us walked to the hill,
where, sure enough, we found the horses and
the cart. Menelly re-harnessed them, and I
decided to drive on to Alexandersfontein across
the veldt. " I'll strike the track, and get to
" Mither's " (meaning Mrs. Bisset, who kept a
small hotel), said I.

Well, I couldn't find the track to " Mither's,"
and I got lost in the ant-heaps by way of a
change. I was about dead beat, but it was too

233

Things I can Tell

cold for sleep, and as I was sorry for the horses,
I tied the reins and lashed them up, thinking
that the knowing brutes would go straight
home. I did this, but after a time I thought
the sound of galloping seemed rather pro-
longed. I followed it and to my surprise I
discovered the horses running in a ring, for the
simple reason that one rein was shorter than
the other.

That was a night, and I was heartily glad
when I heard the distant cocks crowing at
Du Toitspan, and was able to size up where I
was. I made for my hotel and after a good
sleep I went in search of Charley, whom I
found very chippy and in a revengeful frame
of mind. We drove out on the Alexanders-
fontein track, but when we got to the ant-
heaps, the horses and cart had clean gone.
" Stolen," said Charley angrily.

" Nonsense," I replied, "they are not stolen,"
and I was right ; they had merely migrated to
another dip, where we found them, and Charley,
still chippy and revengeful, returned with them
to Du Toitspan.
234

Young Carson

" So you know the truth now about the
precipice yarn," I told 'Ansome Joe.

Rhodes' manager, Grimmer, used to
tell a not unamusing story about Sir
Edward Carson's son, who had been sent out
to Rhodesia to see how he liked life in South
Africa. Grimmer had been showing the young
fellow round, and at one place he offered him a
glass of dop, saying as he did so, " Now tell
me what you think of it."

Young Carson slowly drank off the dop ;
then put down his glass and turned to
Grimmer: "Think of it," said he. "Well,
I always thought father had behaved pretty
badly in shunting me out here, but now I've a
good mind to have my revenge and send him a
whole bottle of this dop."

We were out in South Africa for a year,
but we did not get to the big game on account
of the tsetse -fly country. Dick got sick of
the life and went off without telling us any-
thing about it, and, on his return to England,
he re-enlisted in the very same regiment, the
4th Dragoon Guards, out of which I had

235

Things I can Tell

bought him. Peter returned home with me.
We had done everything there was to do that
appeals to young men on pleasure bent ; we
saw the sights, investigated the mines, and I
nearly bought for a song the Jagersfontein
mine, which was offered to me, but I foolishly
let the chance go by. I do not think that I
have much more to relate regarding my South
African experiences and as this book of mine
only deals with the lighter side of life, I
shall refrain from expressing any opinions
on the politics and finance which are such
paramount factors in the South Africa of to-
day.

As this chapter deals with " furrin parts," I
should like to touch on my visit to Australia in
1891.

I went out at the invitation of Lord
Hopetoun, afterwards Marquess of Linlithgow,
who married my cousin, Hersey Eveleigh-de-
Moleyns, and I must say I found everyone
most kind and hospitable. I stayed at Victoria
for a few months, during which period I first
236

A Dog and a Chop

saw Sarah Bernhardt act, and also renewed my
acquaintance with dear little Nellie Farren and
the inimitable Fred Leslie. We all dined
together after their " show " at the little French
club and Fred told me one of his best stories
that evening about two men who had been at
an exceedingly lively dinner, and who en-
countered each other in St. James's Street the
following morning. Both felt very, very cheap,
but each thought it his bounden duty to
endeavour to appear very chirpy.

" Mornin', old chap" said one.

" Mornin','' replied his friend.

" Awfully jolly time last night ! "

" Ra— a — ther."

''Had any breakfast?" asked the first
speaker.

" Of course I have," answered the other.

"What did you have ?"

" Oh, the usual thing — a chop."

" Good heavens!" ejaculated the first diner-
out. " Anything else ? " he ventured after a long
pause.

"Yes. A brandy and soda — and a dog."

237

Things I can Tell

" A dog ! ! " exclaimed the astonished
questioner nearly jumping sky high. " What
on all the earth did you want with a dog ? "

" Why to eat the chop, you d d fool,"

replied his friend as he hastily made a bee-line
for White's.

238

CHAPTER XII

A Home Rule story : The Roslea incident : The
late Duke of Manchester : The two Mr. Duffys :
Monaghan stories : A lecture on ornithology : " The
soft impeachment " : The wrong roll of notes : The
revolving carpet : A fishy tale : The potheen in-
dustry : The land agent's ruse : How I brought the
potheen to Rossmore : Black Peter's brew : Dublin
Castle : A sleepy Duke : Quick dinners with the
Londonderrys : " Erly " Clonmell : The brocaded
seat : The Cadogans : Pompous Pogson : The late
Lady Cadogan's charm : " Does your master's horse
prefer Irish or Scotch ? " : Lady Annesley and the
cabman : Madame Melba : The last record : Mile-
stones : An Irishman's memories

THE subject of Home Rule always reminds
me of the day when old Gladstone sat
down and Mrs. Gladstone made a speech
on the hustings. Said she, addressing the
throng, " My friends, I found it very hard
to convince my dear husband about the claims
of Ireland for Home Rule, but one day when

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Things I can Tell

he came into the breakfast room he remarked to
me, ' My dear wife, you've overpersuaded me
about that down-trodden country. You have
at last converted me in favour of Home
Rule.'

" I got up from my chair, put my arms round
his neck and gave him a loving wifely kiss."
She paused to see what effect her words had
produced and an irrepressible Irishman called
out, " And it sarved the owld beggar parfectly
right."

The only occasion when I have ever loomed
largely in the public eye was in connection with
an affair which was known as " The Roslea
Incident/' In 1882 I was told that the
agitators intended to invade our neighbourhood
(those were the days of the Phoenix Park
murders) and hold a meeting at Roslea, a
village which stands on the confines of
Monaghan and Fermanagh.

At that time I was co-Grand Master of the
loyal Orangemen of Monaghan, a position I
had occupied for many years. I therefore held
a small influential meeting when it was
240

Lord Crichton

determined to hold a counter-demonstration at
the same hour and on the same day that the
rebel meeting was to take place.

I accordingly had the whole country
placarded, calling upon all loyalists to assemble
at Clones, two miles or so from Roslea. I slept
the night before the meeting at Clones, and the
following day I found myself at the head of a
most respectable, determined-looking body of
men numbering more than two thousand. The
Fermanagh men began pouring in by road and
rail, and when all were assembled, we invited
them as visitors to our county to have the
privilege of leading the way. This they were
pleased to acknowledge as a very nice
compliment for which they expressed their
thanks, and we accordingly took the road.

Lord Crichton (the present Earl of Erne)
was in command of the Fermanagh men, and he
was met at some cross-roads by a sub-inspector
of constabulary who persuaded him to take the
by-way to the right, and not to continue on the
straight road to Roslea, thereby adding a couple
of miles to the journey.

R 241

Things I can Tell

When I arrived at the head of the Monaghan
contingent I was also asked to follow Lord
Crichton's example, and I at once asked the
sub-inspector very quietly : " Have you any
real right to prevent my friends and myself
from walking peaceably along the Queen's
highway ? "

"Well," he replied, " I honestly don't think
that I have."

My men were calling on me to proceed, so I
knew full well that there was only one thing to
be done. I turned to the police officer and
asked him to take his constables to one side,
which he did, and we marched on in the
direction of a long hill from the summit of
which we could see the rebel meeting down
in the valley adjoining the high road to
Roslea.

Captain McTernon, a R.C. resident magis-
trate, next accosted rne in a very impertinent
manner.

" Who are you ? What are you doing here ?
What is your name ? " and then, without giving
me time to reply to his questions, he said
242

The Roslea Incident

offensively, " Return by the way you came, or
I'll arrest you." The man was quite
insufferable, but as he is dead, I will refrain
from stating how insufferable he actually was,
and I shall merely, in justice to myself, record
that the reports which he subsequently sent to
the Radical Government were a complete tissue
of lies.

When Captain McTernon stopped to get his
breath, I said to him, " I presume you are the
Resident Magistrate ? "

"I am," he replied, "and you and your
friends must go round the other road if you
wish to reach Roslea."

" I am sorry to say that I cannot do as you
wish," I answered.

He was furious. " Why not ? "

" Because," said I, " my men have made up
their minds to go straight on."

McTernon glared at me. "If you attempt
it, I'll arrest you," he cried.

" Then," I announced, " I invite you to

arrest me at once, and on you and you alone

will rest the blame of having transformed this

R 2 243

Things I can Tell

orderly body of men into a leaderless mob.
Arrest me if you choose and take the conse-
quences ; otherwise allow us to pass, for my
men will wait no longer."

There was a roaring torrent of a small
swollen river at the other side of the field
where the rebels were assembled, and once my
men were over the bridge the two bodies were
separated for the day, as the bridge could easily
have been held by a very few men. McTernon
was blind to this obvious fact, which anyone
could have appreciated who possessed one
grain of sense, and at last in desperation he
said to me, " If I allow you to proceed, will you
take all the blame on your shoulders ? "

" Yes, I will," I answered.

" One thing more," he added, " will you take
your men back the other road ? "

" I can't quite promise to do that," I said ;
"but look here, I'll do my best to persuade
them to return that way."

I told the men at the front of the column
what I had settled with the Resident Magistrate
and ordered them to stand still. I then went
244

The Counter-demonstration

back to warn the masters of the various lodges
that if a blow were struck, or an illegal action
done, they must at once report the same to me,
and I would have the aggressor turned out of
the Orange Society.

It was a long tramp to do the whole length
of the column, and pretty bad going, as the
roadside was full of scrapings and dirt, but I
managed it in a short time and returned to lead
my men to Roslea.

There was only a hedge and a ditch between
the two bodies of demonstrators, but not a blow
was struck, a shot fired, or a missile thrown.
The only things which flew about were a few
harmless compliments which added greatly to
the gaiety of the proceedings. We held our
counter-demonstration where it had been
advertised ; loyal speeches were made, and
then we re-formed our lodges, and prepared to
return, having done, in a most satisfactory
way, all that we had set out to do.

I was privately informed that the men
seemed to expect to go back by the road they
had come, and that they would look upon a

Things I can Tell

dttour as something of a defeat ; so I made a
speech, and told them that I had promised the
Resident Magistrate to do so in return for
having allowed us to continue our march
straight into Roslea.

Some of them were disinclined to give in,
so I shouted as loudly as I could, "If you
insist on disobeying my orders, and try to
go back over that bridge YOU SHALL ONLY
DO SO OVER MY BODY." This settled it, and
we returned by the other road.

No further notice would have been taken of
the meetings at Roslea if I had not considered
it my duty to write to all the principal English
newspapers to warn their readers what was
going on in Ulster, and stated that it would
mean bloodshed one day. The Government
promptly retaliated by taking my name off the
list of magistrates for the County of Monaghan,
an action which caused a terrible uproar among
the loyalists.

When the Conservative Government came
back to power, I was replaced on the county
bench of magistrates, but it was done in a very
246

A Politician's Memory

hole and corner fashion, as the following
circumstances will show;

A certain lady, who was then living in South
Audley Street, was talking to a well known
Tory Cabinet Minister, and she said scornfully,
" You politicians seem to have very short
memories."

" How's that, my dear lady ? "

" Well, after all the fuss you made about the
disgraceful dismissal of Lord Rossmore from
the bench of magistrates, you have never taken
the trouble to reinstate him."

" Upon my word," exclaimed the Minister,
"I'd forgotten all about it"

However, I received later a letter from the
lord-lieutenant of the County saying he had had
an intimation to offer me the commission of the
peace, but that it was hoped there would be no
publicity made about it. If I had only had
myself to think about, I would have refused the
offer, but as the insult had been levelled at the
loyalists through me, I felt it my duty to
accept it.

I therefore wrote to Lord Dartrey, thanking

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Things I can Tell

him for his letter, and for any trouble he had
been put to, but I added that although I was
willing to be reinstated, I could not thank the
Government for their very tardy act of justice.

I was the "man of the moment" at the
time of the Roslea incident, and there was a
debate in the House of Lords, when Spencer,
then Lord- Lieutenant of Ireland, threatened to
resign if his brother peers passed an adverse
vote on his action towards me. I was depicted
in Punch as a pig being pulled by the ear by
Lord Spencer, and if the humorous weekly
which was then run by a little band of punsters,
and not by that clever chap, Owen Seaman,
could have known beforehand what Spencer
would presently say, it would hardly have given
me the chance of making the obvious remark
that the Lord-Lieutenant seemed to have "the
wrong sow by the ear." The Eastern question
came on the tapis soon afterwards, and, thank
goodness, public opinion and Punch left me
alone.

I was given a banquet at the Rotunda in
Dublin, and an enormous meeting was held in
248

The Duke of Manchester

the Ulster Hall, Belfast. I shall never forget
that railway journey to Belfast. Mr. Gladstone
used to make political speeches occasionally
out of the train when he was travelling, but I
had to speechify at every station on my way to
Belfast ; luckily both my hearers and I were
thoroughly up in the one and only subject ; but
no, sirs, I never want to be the man of the
moment again.

I met the late Duke of Manchester when I
was coming over from England shortly after
the Roslea incident. I was in the rebels' black
books; indeed some of them would like to
have shot me, and the Duke, who knew of the
danger I was in, got into my carriage at
Amiens Street station. " Have you a re-
volver ? " he asked without any preamble, and
when I said " No," he handed me one, and
said, " Now, Derry, I'm coming back to Ross-
more with you."

My 'bus met me two stations from
Monaghan, and the Duke and I sat on the
top of it, and watched the hedges ail the way
to the Castle.

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Things I can Tell

Those were the bad times in Ireland when
the Nationalists wouldn't look at the side of a
street if a landlord happened to be there ; but
as an instance of the genuine loyalty felt by the
people to the county families, I must mention
a rather amusing thing which happened about
this time.

Everybody knew how I loved a joke, and an
incident occurred at a meeting of the Monaghan
town commissioners/which so tickled the people
present that it was resolved to put political
differences on one side and tell me the story of
the two Mr. Duffys.

One of the Monaghan councillors had died
and after the vote of condolence was passed,
standing, a man named Peter Tierney got up
and stated that it was his sad duty to be
obliged to recommend a successor to the
deceased gentleman. " I know none better than
Mr. Duffy, of Dublin Street," he said.

A butter buyer, who was aware of Peter's
peppery propensities, remarked gently : "I
don't want to interrupt Mr. Tierney, but
I'd like to know to which of the two
250

a
U

The Two Mr. Duffys

Mr. Duffys living in Dublin Street he
refers."

Peter grew purple in the face and called out
to the chairman to use his authority and demand
an explanation of the insult, as he termed it.
The chairman was politely explanatory, but
Peter would not listen to reason. " There's no
excuse for his impertinence," he bellowed, " he
knows as well as I do, and as you do, who I
mean. It's the Mr. Duffy who lives exactly
opposite the other Mr. Duffy''1

There is a great deal of humour in
Monaghan : I remember a man came there to
deliver a lecture on ornithology, but everyone
was so kind to him, and bucked him up so
thoroughly, that when the hour for the lecture
arrived he was more than half seas over. He
stood on the platform, but never a word said he,
and the audience, who were most anxious
to be enlightened upon the subject of birds
and their habits, began to grow somewhat
impatient.

"What about the birds?" they cried en-
couragingly. This nettled the lecturer, and in

2 C.I

Things I can Tell

thick tones he replied, " Oh, I know a lot
about them."

"Well, begin," called the crowd.

The ornithologist, whose memory had taken
wings, turned a bleary eye on his interrupters,
endeavoured without success to find some
notes, and then remarked as he drained off a
glass of water : " Of all the birds that fly in the
air, I hates the frog the worst."

Once when I was on the bench as magistrate
at Monaghan, a little threadbare old man
wearing a battered silk hat was brought up
charged with painting the town red. He
looked so meek and mild that I could hardly
believe he had bitten and kicked the police and
then tried to burn the place down. The
constables all bore marked traces of the night's
doings, and I asked the little man what reply
he had to make. He stood with folded arms,
and then said very gently : " Well, your
worship, I'm afraid I must plead guilty to the
soft impeachment."

Another time an old offender was asked :
" You here again ? "
252

Monaghan Stories

" Yes, your honour."

" What's brought you here ? "

" Two policemen, your honour."

" Come, come, I know that — drunk again, I
suppose ? "

" Yes, your honour, both of them."

A man who had four pounds rent to pay once
came to my agent and offered two pounds on
account, saying that he couldn't pay more
without selling his crops, which were growing
into money. My agent was quite willing to
meet him, and the man thereupon handed him
two notes, which upon examination proved to
be five pound notes instead of one pound notes.
This was pointed out to the tenant, who was
asked why he had lied in such a barefaced
manner about his financial position.

" Ach, sure, the Saints forbid. I've just
given ye the wrong roll of notes," he
lamented.

A bailiff was put into a house near
Monaghan, and the owner left him in the
dining room with a bottle of whisky while he
went out to try to " raise the wind."

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Things I can Tell

When he returned the bailiff had vanished,
and so had the whisky, and on going to the
sheriff's office to discharge the debt, the house-
holder inquired what had become of his visitor.

The sheriff smiled, and showed him the
bailiffs sheet, which was marked, " House
empty. Nothing to take, except a revolving
carpet in the dining-room which I was unable
to seize."

Another Monaghan man was asserting how
awfully particular he was about having fresh
fish at breakfast. Said he, "It must be the
very freshest fish, or I'll have none of it."

" How can you tell whether it is all right,"
asked a friend.

" Well, I have a very clever dog who is also
fond of fresh fish, and often (if I'm suspicious)
I give him a bit. If the baste ates it, I ate it,
but if he rolls in it, I utterly discard it."

I feel I must say something about the potheen
industry, to which Lloyd George's whisky tax
has given a wonderful impetus, and it is greatly
to be deplored. The effect of potheen on a
man is totally different from that of ordinary
254

Potheen

whisky ; indeed it can best be described by a
well-known Galway saying that " it would
make a Sunday school teacher walk twenty
miles through four feet of snow to kill his
mother."

Paddy carries on illicit spirit making in such
secluded places, and has so many sentries, that
the police find it exceedingly difficult to detect
him at work. The most homely appliances
are successfully used, and the still often
consists of a three-legged pot with a wooden
lid, the "worm" being immersed in a paraffin
barrel of water.

Police surveillance is so close that the men
fear to make the potheen with malt in the old-
fashioned way, because the scent of the mash
would be carried a mile over the mountain, and
in that would lie their greatest risk of detection.
To avoid this they now distil potheen from a
mixture of sugar and water which produces the
vilest of poisons, indeed, if it is dropped on
a woollen fabric it immediately acts as a
corrosive.

A land agent out driving one day was given

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Things I can Tell

a gallon of potheen by one of his tenants whom
he thought his inveterate enemy. He accepted
it willingly enough, glad of the turn affairs had
apparently taken, but he soon discovered that a
clever trap had been laid for him.

On driving through the next town he saw
the police busily engaged in searching every
car for illicit spirit, and he was at his wits' end
what to do. It was impossible to throw the
jar of potheen into the street, but suddenly he
had a happy thought. He drove to the police
station, called the sergeant and said, " I've been
collecting rents all day, and the money is in
the well of the car. Will you let one of your
men sit on it while I do some shopping ? "

" Certainly, sir," replied the officer. The
agent's shopping barely detained him five
minutes, and when he returned he gave the
policeman a shilling, drove off with the potheen
intact, and had the glorious satisfaction of
knowing he had bested his enemy.

In my young days, when I was staying with
Lord Conyngham, I knew I could always get a
keg of the best stuff going up there, and as I
256

Whisky on the Platform

wanted to take some to Rossmore, the estate
carpenter packed me up a keg and a jar of
potheen in a strong deal case which was most
securely fastened down.

I started for home, but at Omagh, where
there was a change and an hour's wait, the
station-master came up to where I was sitting
with Sugar Candy and Freddy De Moleyns
and said rather coldly, " There's been a big
wooden case dropped which I think belongs to
one of you gentlemen. I don't want to know
which, but you'd better see about it."

I rushed out of the waiting room, and found
the platform deluged with whisky, which was
flowing over on the lines, and the corner boys,
who usually attend Irish stations, were sniffing
it like a pack of hounds and yelling, " Yah,
but that's the beautiful stuff that never saw or
throubled the gauger."

I went back to the station-master, and asked
him privately what I'd better do. "Get into
the first train coming in, and get away, no
matter where," said he. I thought this a
bright idea ; I hopped into the next train and

s 257

Things I can Tell

said as I passed him at the end of the platform,
" Where have you put it ? "

"In the luggage van, goin' along with ye —
for I won't keep it here," he replied.

I had to change again, worse luck, and
that case was hauled out smelling so
strongly that it was a drink cure in itself. On
the platform I ran up against a police officer
named Kelly who had been quartered years
before at Monaghan, and when I had told him
who I was (he didn't recognise me at first) I
broached the subject of the potheen to him, for
I knew Kelly to be a real good sort.

" Lave it here for a time, me lord, wid the
old lady who kapes the refrishment room," he
advised.

" No ye dorit, Kelly," I said. "I'm sure
you're quartered here, and not much of it I'd
ever see again."

He pretended to be cross, but eventually I
settled the question by telegraphing home for a
car to meet me two stations away from
Monaghan, where I thought the police might
be on the look out, and in this simple way I
258

Black Peter's Brew

managed to reach Rossmore with the potheen
undetected.

When I was in Donegal shooting with Lord
Conyngham, we were out on a hill " watched " by
a fellow called Black Peter. I was jumping
from tussock to tussock, when suddenly the one
on which I alighted gave fourth a metallic
t-ing-g-g.

I looked at Black Peter. " D'ye make it
well up here ? " I asked.

His face was perfectly blank. " I don't know
what ye mane. Do we make what ? "

Said I, " D'ye take me for a cod or for an
Englishman ? "

"Well, now," replied Peter, "I wouldn't take
ye for that, but for all that, I don't know what ye
mane."

I turned to him. " Ah, I know what it is.
Ye'd a rotten bad brew last time, and ye're
ashamed of it."

"That's a lie," roared Black Peter, "and
when ye come down to my house I'll give
ye a half one, and ye'll see what it is
like."

s 2 259

Things I can Tell

" There," said I, " didn't I tell ye, ye made it
up here."

"Oh, bad luck to ye," cried Peter. "The
divil wouldn't be up to ye."

Another time when I was shooting with a
Resident Magistrate in County Donegal, he put
his flask down and came away without it. He
sent a beater back to get it, and the man handed
back the empty flask to the Resident Magistrate
with the remark that it was the finest " dhrop of
the rale potheen he'd ever tasted."

My recollections of Dublin Castle are
exceedingly pleasant ones. The first Lord-
Lieutenant I ever stayed with was the Duke
of Marlborough, grandfather of the present
peer. I was rather shy, for it was my first
entrance into Viceregal "succles," and I well
remember that I took Lady Randolph Churchill
in to dinner the first night. She wore a wonderful
orange gown, and she was a most beautiful
creature ; no wonder that all the men in Ireland
were madly in love with her.

The Duke of Marlborough had a funny
habit of dropping off to sleep during dinner,
260

The Duke Sleeps

and I recollect how odd it seemed, but the
old gentleman couldn't help it, and so nobody
took any notice of his slumberous propensity,
except to wake him up when it was necessary.

The next Lord- Lieutenant who asked me
to the Castle was Londonderry. I was
married then, and Lady Rossmore and I had
some very pleasant times, for the London-
derrys made things much gayer than the
Marl boroughs.

Lord Londonderry had a regular craze for
getting through dinner in as short a time as
possible, and as it was his understood wish,
his excellent servants handed round the
dishes so quickly, and took away one's plate
in such a hurry, that I got absolutely left, on one
occasion, and had little or nothing to eat.

I remember once seeing Londonderry pull
out his watch at the end of a really big dinner,
and then he called out to his wife with much
seeming satisfaction, " I say, Nellie, only
twenty-five minutes."

Lord Londonderry was, and is, an excellent
raconteur, and there is nobody I'd sooner hear

261

Things I can Tell

tell a real good story than my old friend C.
There is no doubt that he and his beautiful
wife did their vice-royalty business very well
indeed, and better than it had ever been done
up to then.

The Zetlands came next, and nicer royal
representatives could scarcely be imagined,
although everyone was rather astonished at
" Joey " Zetland caring to take it, but he did,
and liked it too.

During their reign dear old "Erly" Clonmell
and I were often together at the Castle, and on
one occasion a conjurer performed after dinner.
" Erly " was rather sleepy and I judged
it advisable to put him a wee bit out of
the way, so I placed him on a chair
next the wall, where he was hidden by a
palm. "Erly" slept rather noisily, but
all went well until the conjurer produced a
live old hen from out of a hat ; he squeezed
the bird and to show that she was quite alive
she squawked loudly, with the result that the
noise woke up Clonmell.

He was rather dazed, and didn't quite grasp
262

Lord Clonmell

where he was for a few seconds. Then he
shouted, quite forgetting the distinguished
audience, " I say, Derry, where the deuce
did he get that d d old hen ? "

Poor "Erly"! He was his own worst enemy.
One night at Dublin Castle, when he had
indulged a little too freely, he went into the
ballroom and sat down heavily on a stout
dowager's brocaded satin lap which in his
muddled condition he had mistaken for an
armchair.

The dow was furious, and no wonder. " Get
up, Lord Clonmell ; you're drunk," she cried.

He looked round. "I'll take my oath I'm
not, I'm only tired, very tired," and he settled
himself down again.

Clonmell died when I was in Australia ;
everyone loved him, from the late King
downwards, and if he had not been so in-
discreet in his manner of living, he would
have been here to-day, bar accidents.

We were all sorry when the Zetlands left
Dublin and when I heard that Cadogan was
to be the next Lord- Lieutenant of Ireland I

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Things I can Tell

was honestly astonished, as I thought that
being so ultra-English the Cadogans would
never understand the Irish at all, at all !
Goodness ! how wrong I was ! Lady Cadogan
was the acme of perfection in tact and kind-
ness, and it was a pleasure to see her after
a big dinner at Vice-Regal Lodge slipping
in and out among the Dublin people with a
nice word here and a nice word there, not
a be-diamonded figure-head, but a genial,
gracious, great lady of the best type. Her
death has removed a fine personality, the more
to be lamented because women of her nobility
of character are rare.

The last time I ever rode to foxhounds was
with the Vice-Regal party when Lady Cadogan
was present. We went by train to Maynooth,
and I got a nasty fall, for I landed over a
broad place (I think there must have been
wire in the whins), and when I came to I was
lying on the ground. At last I managed to
sit up, and I heard myself saying, " There's
my whip, there's my cigarette case ; but I
know I had something else when I came out
264

Lady Cadogan

this morning. I must have lost it. What
could it have been ? Oh yes — I know — of
course, I had a horse ! "

My mind wandered a bit that evening, and
Lady Cadogan, like the dear woman she was,
looked after me during dinner and made me
go to bed afterwards. She told me that I
had amused her very much by suddenly
asking, " How many children have you ?" and
when she told me, I said, " You are a
perfectly absurd woman ; how on earth do you
do all that you undertake ? You look after
everybody, you look into everything, and yet
you tell me you have found time to have eight
children."

The next morning I met the Cadogari's
major domo, a man called Pogson, who was
a great friend of mine. Said I, " Well,
Pogson, how are the horses we rode
yesterday ? "

Pogson was a nice old chap, but just a wee
bit pompous. " I haven't heard anything about
your lordship's horse being any the worse for
the fall he gave you yesterday," he answered in

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Things I can Tell

his dignified way, "but one of the gentlemen's
grooms came to me just now and said, ' Pogson,
I'd be much obliged if you would give me a
bottle of whisky, as my master's horse seems a
bit dickey after yesterday.' ' Oh,' says I, ' and
does your master's horse prefer Irish or
Scotch?'"

Priscilla Lady Annesley was one of the most
noted Irish beauties, and small wonder if her
head was a little turned with the admiration
she excited. I met her at the Kilmoreys', and
she told me an amusing story about herself and
a cabman.

" I was living with my mother in Merrion
Square, Dublin," she said, " and I wanted to do
a regular morning's shopping, so as it was a
shocking day, sleeting, snowing, and blowing, I
chartered an old growler and went out for some
hours.

" When I got home, I noticed that the cab-
man's face was blue with cold, so I said, ' My
poor man, you do look cold.'

" 'Well, upon my sowl, I am that cowld I can
scarcely tell the thruth,' he replied.
266

Lady Annesley's Story

"'Would you like a little hot whisky and
water ? ' I inquired.

" His face lit up with a broad smile : ' Bless
your pretty face, miss ! '

" I fetched the whisky, which he drank,
and then he rubbed his chest with satisfac-
tion.

" ' Do you feel better now ? ' I asked.

"'Indeed I do, miss; I feel quite another
man,' and as I was going up the steps with
the empty glass, he called after me, with an
apologetic cough. ' D'ye know, miss, the
other man could do with a glass too."

" I shan't insult you by asking whether the
other man got the glass," said I.

" No, you needn't," replied Lady Annesley.

One of my dearest friends, Nellie Melba,
came over to stay with the Cadogans while we
were there. I had first met her at Alfred de
Rothschild's one night at dinner. Alfred said
to me on my arrival, "I'm afraid I have no
lady for you to take into dinner, but I've put
you next Madame Melba ; have you met
her ? "

267

Things I can Tell

"No," said I, "but I knew her husband's
brother, Dr. George Armstrong, very well ; do
you think there'd be any harm in my mention-
ing him ? I know he was awfully fond of her,
and she might like to hear what I know about
his sad death."

" Better not," said Alfred, but when I found
out what a dear Nellie Melba was, I told her
about poor George, and I was very glad I
did so.

Madame Melba and I became great
friends, and when she was staying with the
Cadogans I met her one day going out to
the hall door where a brougham was waiting.
" Hullo, Nellie, where are you off to ? "
said I.

" I'm going to see George Armstrong's
sister who lives down near Kingstown," she
answered.

" Shall I come with you ? " I asked.

" Do you really mean you will come ? "

" Of course I do," said I, and so we went
down together and it is nice to remember the
268

Lady Rossmore.

Madame Melba

pleasure which Nellie Melba's visit gave. I
tell this merely to show what a kind-hearted
woman she is and how people misjudge her
when they call her " sidey."

I find that this Melba record is the last of my
own records of any importance, and that I have
now told most of the things which I set out to
narrate. I have lived an amusing life, but a
happy one notwithstanding. I am fortunate
in possessing a charming wife, and the
best children in the world. I have many
friends, and I hope few enemies ; and if I
haven't done much good in the world, at any
rate I do not think I have done much
harm.

Every year I miss some of the old familiar
faces, and life's lessening milestones are forcibly
brought before me. I can only hope that the
things I have told about my friends will not
offend them or theirs, and that the public will
derive some amusement in reading this olla
podrida of an Irishman's memories. I have
seen and heard many things, and although my

269

Things I can Tell

advice may not be worth having, I should
like to say to the young man with his career
before him : Fear God and obey the laws
of your country, but never become a prig or
a humbug.

R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD., BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET. S.E.
270

AUTOBIOGRAPHIES

PUBLISHED BY MR. EVELEIGH NASH

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THINGS I CAN TELL

*By Lord Rossmore
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Lord Rossmore's recollections should contribute to the
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Lord Rossmore was a friend of King Edward, and he has
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"Things I Can Tell" abounds in amusing anecdotes,
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FORTY-FIVE YEARS OF MY
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2?_y ^Princess Louise of Prussia

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KING EDWARD IN HIS TRUE
COLOURS

By Edvuard Legge

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Illustrated Price 16/- net

No matter how great the reputation, there comes a time
when the memory of a magnetic personality becomes a
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MR. EVELE1GH NASWS NEW BOOKS

Mr. Legge, who shows an exceptionally intimate ac-
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the notable events in his career with the utmost frankness.

He shows him as diplomat and statesman, as "The
Friend of Kings " and "At His Best " (to quote from his
chapter headings), and, in a section entitled " A Great
Figure," treats of him from many points of view, including
the anecdotal and amusing.

On unchallengable evidence, Mr. Legge is able to refute
certain portions of the National Biography Memoir, and
he also deals with the personal relations between King
Edward and the German Emperor; though this, among
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troversy.

Mr. Legge concludes a striking and well-balanced volume
with a special section on Queen Alexandra.

A KEEPER OF ROYAL SECRETS

Being the Private and Political Life of
Madame de Genlis

Sy Jean Harmand
Illustrated Price 16/- net

The career of Madame de Genlis is one of the baffling
enigmas of history. For the greater part of her life she
played an important role in the social and political life
of France.

By virtue of her intimate association with Philip Egalite",
Due d'Orleans, and her high position as the Governor
of Louis Phillipe and the other Orleans children, the
influence she wielded practically amounted to royal power.

She cast her spell over a wide circle, winning admira-
tion even from her enemies, and yet her life has been the
subject of a storm of scandalous reports and speculations.

MR. EVELEIGH N ASH'S NEW BOOKS

What was her exact relationship to the Duke ? was she
the mother of the famous " Pamela " whom Lord Edward
Fitzgerald married ? what was her share in the astounding
affair of " Maria Stella "? what part did she play in the
Revolution ? — these are some of the mysteries surrounding
her on which M. Harmand, with the help of many un-
published letters and documents, throws much new light.

The whole truth will probably never be known, but
M. Harmand in his elaborate biography gives us an
immensely fascinating and vivid story and unearths many
new details regarding her curious and romantic life.

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

'By Madame Judith

(of the Comedie Fran(aise)
Illustrated Price 10/6 net

Madame Judith's memories extend over a deeply
interesting period of French history, commencing with the
Revolution that ushered in the Second Empire, and ending
with the foundation of the Republic after the Franco-
Prussian War.

Famous actors and actresses, poets, novelists and
dramatists, members of the Imperial family, statesmen,
and minor actors in the drama of life flit across the canvas,
their personalities being vividly realised by some signifi-
cant anecdotes or pregnant sentences.

Kind-hearted, clear-headed and brilliantly gifted, Madame
Judith led an active and fascinating life, and it is to her
credit that while she does not hesitate to tell of the weak-
nesses of others she is equally ready to acknowledge
her own.

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MONARCHS AND MEN

By ^Maxmilian Harden

Author of11 Word Portraits "

Illustrated Price 15/- net

Herr Maxmilian Harden is Germany's most forcible
writer. The outspoken criticisms on men and matters
which he writes as editor of the famous " Zukunft " are
read and discussed far beyond the borders of his native
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with the authorities.

In " Monarchs and Men" he gives us some brilliant
biographical essays on seven great European figures, most
notable among which is our King, Edward VII.

While it is often impossible to agree with Herr Harden's
conclusions, one cannot ignore them, and no one who is
abreast of modern thought will deny the high value of
his virile essays.

CONTENTS : — King Edward VII — King Albert of Saxony —
Pope Leo XIII — The Emperor of Austria — The Tsar
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— Lueger — Tolstoi and Rockefeller.

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By John Fyvie

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The striking personalities of the Borgia have afforded a
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and for novelist. A lurid legend grew up about their
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MR. EVELEIGH NASH'S NEW BOOKS

the vilest infamy. But in our own day a number of writers
have attempted to rehabilitate the characters of the Borgia
by that process of juggling" with historical evidence
popularly termed " whitewashing."

In the present volume, Mr. Fyvie attempts to present
the true history of this extraordinary family after
a careful sifting of all fresh evidence. No monograph
on any single one of the family can ever be satisfactory.
The lives and careers of Rodrigo, Cesare, and Lucrezia
Borgia are so interwoven that their portraits must all
appear in the same picture. They played their parts on
an elevated stage, surrounded by all the material, intellec-
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with the magnificent background of the Holy Roman
Church. They were magnetic personalities ; and their
story is as intensely interesting and as profoundly tragic
as anything in the whole range of fiction.

ENGLAND'S WEAK POINTS

fly a German 'Resident — Mariano Hergellet

Price 3/6 net

This little book is the outcome of close observation
during the social and business life of a German, fifteen
years resident in London.

Its conclusions are not flattering, its statements are
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avidity throughout the Fatherland.

After a tribute to our many qualities, which are quite
unknown to or unappreciated by his countrymen, the
author postulates fifteen rules of life to which, he says,
the average Briton adheres, and he proceeds to describe
the results of these habits.

MR. E7ELEIGH NASWS NEW BOOKS

The book concludes with an examination of the proba-
bility of war between England and Germany (which the
author considers inevitable), and an endeavour to forecast
the future of the two countries.

IN ABOR JUNGLES

Being an account of the Abor Expedition, the
Mishmi Mission, and the Miri Mission

2?jy Angus Hamilton

Author of " %orea" " Afghanistan" etc.

With numerous Illustrations and a Map

Price 18/- net

In this volume, the famous war correspondent of the
Central News describes our latest "Jungle War," i.e.,
the punitive operations against the Abors. Mr. Hamilton
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and graphic manner, and has seized the first opportunity
which has occurred in the history of the North-Eastern
frontier to depict the life of the wild tribes inhabiting
that region.

He also describes the characteristics of the country,
and deals fully with the many political questions centreing
round this mysterious corner of India.

Considerable interest will undoubtedly attach to the
statement by an Abor Gam regarding the murder of Mr.
Williamson, which is published for the first time in Mr.
Hamilton's book, and which differs in many important par-
ticulars from the official White Paper on the subject ;
but the Gam was well known to the members of the party,
and there is every probability that his story is a correct

MR. EVELEIGH NASH'S NEW BOOKS

record of the events which culminated in the massacre.

The inclusion of a wonderfully fine series of photographs
and the first published map of the country, showing the
proposed large extension of our frontier line into Tibetan
territory, gives additional interest and importance to what
is one of the most engrossing books of its kind issued in
recent years.

VEILED MYSTERIES OF EGYPT

By S. H. Leeder

Author of11 TAe Desert Gateway," etc.

Illustrated Price 16/- net

Though books innumerable have been written upon
Egypt, the life of the natives has scarcely ever been
touched upon, the reason probably being that Moham-
medanism has always thrown a veil over the inner life and
thought of the Orient.

Mr. Leeder has had the unique opportunity extended to
him by the head of the Islamic religion, of living for a con-
siderable period on familiar terms with Egyptian people,
not only in the cities, but in remote villages and in the
desert. He is therefore able to lift the veil of mystery that
surrounds Egyptian native life and to show us how the
people live, what they think and talk about, what are the
motives and ideals which shape their lives, and what
are the practices of their mysterious religion.

Mr. Leeder has the qualities of sympathy, insight and
unfailing patience, and these, together with a naturally
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book which throws a flood of light on a subject of intense
human interest, and opens a new and fascinating chapter
of life in the East.

A series of beautiful photographs, illustrating the native
life and haunts of the country, is included in the book,
which no intending visitor to Egypt should fail to read.

MR. EVELE1GH HASH'S NEW BOOKS
THE CHAPELS ROYAL

"By Archdeacon Sinclair

With Full-page Illustrations reproduced in Photo-
gravure from Point Drawings by Louis Weirter,
R.B.A. Royal 8vo. Price 21/- net

A beautiful book on a great national subject, teeming
with historical interest and romance. Such Royal Chapels
as those at the Tower of London, Whitehall, St. James's,
Windsor, Buckingham Palace, Marlborough House, Edin-
burgh Castle, Holyrood, Stirling Castle, Falkland Palace,
Linlithgow and Dublin Castle are described from the
different points of view — historical, architectural, ecclesias-
tical and personal. The Archdeacon's illuminating and
engrossing text is accompanied by a series of very
beautiful plates by Mr. Louis Weirter.

THE GREY GHOST BOOK

fty Jessie ^Adelaide Middleton

Price 61-

Some startling instances of modern haunting are de-
scribed in this book, which, while laying no claim to be a
scientific investigation of psychic phenomena, aims at
interesting the reader for whom the supernatural has a
fascination.

One section is devoted to London Ghosts, and in par-
ticular to the unravelling of the famous mystery of
Berkeley Square, and another section relates the Legends
of Famous Houses.

In each case the author has submitted them for authen-
tication to the representatives of the various families
concerned. Their corrections and suggestions have, of
course, greatly added to the value of the stories. Among
those who have read and corrected the legends of their
own houses, or have corresponded \vith the author regard-
ing the book are : The Countess of Airlie, the late Marquis
of Waterford, the Earl of Powis, the Countess of Selkirk,

MR. EFELEIGH NASH'S NEW BOOKS

Lord Hylton, Mr. Ralph Nevill, Sir Griffith Boynton, the
Earl of Durham, Sir William Jardine, Lord Leith of Fyvie,
and the late Mr. Andrew Lang.

BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES

*By Dr. ^Andrew Wilson

Price 2j - net

An invaluable little book by a well-known authority.
The title of the book indicates the lines upon which the
information runs, and the work is prefaced by a clearly
put and easily understood description of the various organs
of the human body and the functions they are supposed to
perform.

THE CARE OF CHILDREN

By Arthur Miller, M.D., M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

Price 2/- net

A companion book to " Before the Doctor Comes."
In simple language it imparts a wealth of valuable
information on how to bring up children healthily.
Special attention is devoted to the important subjects of
Diet and Hygiene, and the symptoms and treatment ot all
common ailments to which children are liable are
thoroughly explained.

FORTY YEARS OF PARISIAN
SOCIETY

By ^Arthur Meyer
With Photogravure Frontispiece Price 10/6 net

" A pleasant salad of amusing gossip, singularly free from spite or
pretention, about the world of politics, literature and diplomacy." —
Spectator.

" Scarcely a name of interest in Paris, from the "sixties to the
present day, but receives some mention ; and the celebrities with
whom he has come most closely in contact are sketched in the
style that announces the editor ot the trenchant, lively, and obser-
Tant ' Gaulois.' " — Daily Chronicle.

MR. EVELEIGH N4SH'S NEW BOOKS

Sy William H. Rideing
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" A book full of hearty enjoyment of the best intellectual company
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N.B. — Among the many -well-knoton people "who figure in Mr,
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(" Toby, M.P"), Lord Wolseley, Lord Randolph Churchill, Mark
Twain, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Sir Walter Besant.

OLD WORLD PLACES

By Allan Pea

Author of" Nooks and Corners of Old England"
Profusely Illustrated Price 10/6 net

" He writes in an easy, gossiping style of the various old manors,
churches, inns, and signs with which he meets, and gives a wealth
of antiquarian detail of the witch stories, ghost stories, secret
chambers and legends that cling about such places . . . An inter-
esting book." — Birmingham Daily Post.

THE BOYS' BOOK OF MODEL
AEROPLANES:

'By Francis A. Collins

Illustrated with many Photographs by the Author.
Price 3/6 net

Certainly no new pastime has taken such hold of boys'
imagination and in so short a time enrolled such an army
of enthusiasts as the making- and flying of model aero-
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construction and gives in simple language the fascinating
story of the growth of aviation, should find favour with
hundreds of boys as a Christmas present this year.

MR. EVELE1GH NASWS NEW BOOKS

NEW SIX-SHILLING NOVELS
THE NEW LADY BERINGTON

Lady ^Angela Forbes

Author of" The Broken Commandment" and "Tenehpe's ^Progress"

A story of love and intrigue. The plot concerns the
struggle of Judith — the new Lady Berington — with an
influence which comes between her and her husband, a
rising member of the Government, and the action takes
place at various country houses and in London.

Judith — fascinating, impulsive, unconventional — gets
the reader's sympathy at once, while the other characters,
including the Prime Minister and the famous political
hostess, Lady Mildred Stern (an old flame of Sir Philip
Berington's and Judith's bitter enemy) are crisply and
vividly drawn.

The smart, sparkling dialogue, the easy epigrams, the
by-play of conflicting ambitions, and the deftly managed
situations add materially to the enjoyment of a book, which
should greatly increase Lady Angela Forbes' rapidly
growing popularity.

THE HUSSY

'By James Lancaster

A powerful, rugged story by a new writer, depicting
the life of an attractive, unbridled country girl. Susan
Murfield is a finely drawn character ; the brazen nature,
the rebellion against the narrow existence of an obscure
and somnolent village, the yearning to taste life in the
glare and glitter of a great city, the artless attempt to ape
the actions of subtler and more world-wise minds, the
inevitable catastrophe and the return to the village home —
all are shown with a realism that must impress itself on the
most jaded novel-reader and keep him interested to the
final scene.

MR. EVELEIGH N4SH'S NEW BOOKS
NEW SIX-SHILLING NOVELS— continued

THE FINE AIR OF MORNING

/. S. Fletcher

Author of
" The Paths oj the Prudent?' " The Town of Crooked Ways," etc.

Mr. Fletcher's new novel is of the same genre as his
well-known story " The Paths of the Prudent," which was
so popular a few years ago. A beautiful peasant girl of
seventeen, Valency Winsome, having half-killed a brutal
stepfather, sets out into the world to fend for herself.
She meets and travels with an eccentric youth, Hilary Crewe,
who is poet and poacher too, and who caravans about the
country peddling. His poaching brings him within reach
of the law, and Valency, unexpectedly left alone, drifts into
the hands of a wealthy young man, Jeffery Hessle, who
conceives the idea of bringing her out on the operatic
stage. Her adventures with him and his friend, Hadyn
Smith, a musician, her final revolt, and her eventual escape
to Hilary Crewe, and the wild life of the woods and heaths,
are narrated in a spirit of genuine comedy, while the story
is marked with all Mr. Fletcher's well-known gifts of
strong characterisation and graphic description of life in the
open country.

THE PRIVATE LIFE OF
HENRY MAITLAND

"By £Morley Cherts

Author of" T(achael tMarr" " <Damd <Bran" etc.

THE HOUSE OPPOSITE By "Rita"

Author of" (jrim Justice" etc., etc.
A dramatic story with a sensational de"noument.

13

MR. EFELEIGH NASH'S NEW BOOKS
NEW SIX-SHILLING NOVELS-continued

THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY

Charles Inge

" An unusual and powerful novel . . . the character studies are
wonderfully human and strong." — Daily Ne-aas.

THE SWEETNESS OF LIFE

Marcelle Tinayre

" A brilliant and exciting- story, instinct with the voluptuous magic
of Italy past and present." — Daily Mail.

THE MUMMY Sy 'Riccardo Stephens

" It reminds one very much of Wilkie Collins ... he has the
knack of putting and keeping us on good terms with the men and
women we meet in his pages." — Evening Standard.

WITHOUT TRACE

William Le Queux

A new Egyptian mystery which has for its central figure a fashion-
able ladies' doctor, who is also an expert in certain newly-discovered
poisons, and is as exquisitely polite as he is unscrupulous.

THE SOUL OF A DANCER

Theodore Flatau

"A deeply interesting and picturesque tale, with Ariha, the
wonderfully fascinating, weird and wayward dancer, as the central
figure . . . ' The Soul of a Dancer' is, moreover, remarkable for its
atmospheric effects . . . amazingly realistic indeed, is the picture he
gives of existence in Cairo." — Daily Telegraph.

MR. EVELE1GH NASWS NEW BOOKS

3/6 NET NOVELS
HEART OF THE WEST <By O. Henry

Author of" Cabbages and Kings "

"Vivid, racy, artful and exquisitely droll."

— Glasgow Evening News.

" Bright, fresh and vivid as Bret Harte at his best."

— Nottingham. Guardian.

THE GOLDEN VENTURE
% /. S. Fletcher

Author of " The Hardest Moon" etc.

" A good, bustling story." — Times.

" He has utilised the coming of the airship for purposes of
romance ... a spirited and interesting story.

— Daily Telegraph.

TWO-SHILLING NOVELS

SETH OF THE CROSS
Alphonse Gourlandsr

THE SPLENDID SINNER

^By Arthur Lambton

THE INDISCRETIONS OF A LADY'S
MAID

'By William Le Queux
15

MR. EFELEIGH NASWS NEW BOOKS
TWO-SHILLING NOVELS— continued

QUEEN SHEBA'S RING
By H. ^der Haggard

THE HOUSE OF FORTUNE

'By £Max ^Pemberton

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