YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

RANDOM REMINISCENCES

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LONDON. EDMBDAR.MOLD-

RANDOM REMINISCENCES

BY,
CHARLES H. E. BROOKFIELD

SECOND IMPRESSION

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1902
[All rights reserved]

TO
P. B.

JBy^4

PREFACE
I HAVE endeavoured in these random reminiscences
to avoid an error into which the autobiographer is
prone to fall — that of taking himself, his actions,
and his thoughts too seriously. I am not aware
that I have included in this volume anything which
appears to me of importance ; I trust that I have
not, either, committed the impertinence of expressing
any views.
One of my grandfathers used to tell a story of an
old Quaker who lived in the North of England
about a hundred years ago. One morning, as he
sat in his study, his son burst into the room clad in
a scarlet coat with his hunting-cap cocked on one
side. The young man half seated himself on the
corner of the writing-table, set his arms akimbo,
swung his leg defiantly, and exclaimed, ' Father,
I'm an atheist, and I don't care who knows itl'
The old man looked up from his work, pushed his
spectacles on to his forehead, and then replied in
measured tones, ' Well, John, if tha beest, tha
needst not mak' sic a Tom-fool o' thasel' !'

vi PREFACE
Everything in this book is, to the best of my
belief, absolutely true, though here and there I have
altered a name. If one or two stories should seem
familiar, I would remind the reader that lack of
novelty is an essential element in a reminiscence.
Owing to an unfortunate weakness which I have
for hearing myself speak, I have repeatedly told my
stories to my friends, but I am so sanguine as to
hope that some may buy my book whom I have
not yet the honour of numbering in that long-suffer
ing sodality, and that they may find here and there
something to entertain them.
For personal and other reasons I have omitted
nine-tenths of what I remember,
CHARLES H. E. BROOKFIELD.
Dorking, 1902.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

PAGE

School report, 1870 — Friends of my parents — Tennyson,
Carlyle, Thackeray, Dickens — A few of my father's
' stories — Westminster School — Thanksgiving Service at
St. Paul's, 1872 — Archbishops Tait and Thomson 1-20

CHAPTER II
I leave school — Paris and the Palais Royal — The Exa-miner
— I make the acquaintance of a promising young man
— The Savile Club — Besant — Rudyard Kipling — A
village editor — Robert Louis Stevenson — The Rabelais
Club — Sir Frederick Pollock and Lord Houghton —
George Venables and Francis Garden - 2^-35

CHAPTER III
Cambridge — The long-haired Achaeans — The free-thinking
student and the Senior Dean — The ' Bucks ' — ' Bank '
— An averted misalliance — A Cambridge riot — Instruc
tion in the use of the truncheon by the late Master of
Trinity — My University distinction — My uncle Joseph
— Weston's walk through Cambridge — Dick Mason's —
Cricket at Fenner's — My ' annual average 10 ' 36-64

viii CONTENTS

CHAPTER IV
PAGE
Holidays — In the Ardennes — A wild-boar battue — Hints on
foreign venery — The fox, and how to slay him — The
boar, and how to elude him — Norway — Camping on
the Doverfjeld— Freya — His lordship's valet — My very
obedient servant — The power of imagination — Charley
Buller— An incident at Lord's — March strawberries —
Lionel Tennyson and the smuggler 65-9°

CHAPTER V
' Adopting the stage as a profession ' — Expert advice — The
calling then and now — 'Touring' — Discomforts —
T3?phoid fever — Sir William Jenner — A pantomime
engagement — A 'stage-name' — The Haymarket Theatre
— The Bancrofts at rehearsal — Frank Marshall — As a
maker of salad - 91-109

CHAPTER VI
Odell — His discretion — His medical science — His suscepti
bility — His visit to America — His reticence — His ap
preciation of detail — My experience as a teacher of
elocution — As a stage-manager to amateurs — An aspirant
who was to take London by storm - 1 10-124

CHAPTER VII
The ' leading juvenile ' — His social popularity — His wiles —
His trysts — His imagination — The Thames Valley — A
colony of dipsomaniacs — A young man who lived by
his wits - 125-138

CONTENTS

CHAPTER VIII

PAGE

Percy Vernon— Stone's— The sporting tailors— The Cafe
de I'Europe— The teetotum, and how to spin it— Half-
crown - hunters and their methods— The Haymarket
flower-girls — Polly - - . 139-156

CHAPTER IX
' Summer season ' at the Haymarket — The meanness of the
' dead-head ' — 'House full ' — Bold advertisement —
Stage-door beggars — A pious crossing-sweeper — A dis
tressed foreigner - - - X57-170

CHAPTER X
Bohemian amenities — Mrs. Alfred Wigan and Mrs. Keeley —
'Bottle on it' — My earliest recollection of Beerbohm
Tree — An unchronicled conflagration at Her Majesty's
Opera-House — One or two Bancroft stories— A con
scientious ' extra-lady ' — Harry Kemble and Arthur
Cecil and the New Year — Cecil as an equestrian 1 71-188

CHAPTER XI
Maurice Barrymore — A conjugal reproof — Justice in the Far
West — A bigamy trial in Pennsylvania — ' The Burglar
and the Judge ' — Stage burglars and real ones —
Criminal ' lines of business ' — Card-sharping — An old
American ' sport ' — The road to wealth — Millionaires a^t
play — Mr. Lowenfeld .... 189-215

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XII

PAGE

Music-halls — The variety artist's coachman — The Great
Vance — An original prestidigitator — Mr. Samuel French
and his entertaining friends — Eric Lewis as a dog-fancier
— Alfred Cellier — The tale of a cheque 216-233

CHAPTER XIII
A ' Customers' Protection Society ' — Charing Cross Hospital
— An operation — An unwarrantable intrusion at West
minster Hospital — A lady who changed her doctor —
Firemen and their ways — How to make out a fire
assurance inventory — Fires in theatres - - 234-249

CHAPTER XIV
political programme — Trial by jury — Justice shuts her
eyes — An adroit 'get-out ' — A company case — A peevish
Judge — The jury disagree — In the Isle of Wight —
Shipwrecks — A zealous coastguard — The Irex — The
Complete Reciter at fault — A trip to Madeira — A burial
at sea — Hospitality at Funchal — Dutch courage 250-269

CHAPTER XV
Monte Carlo — The enchantment of the place — Sunny
memories — A giant in those days — The degringolade of
the croupier — A disputed stake — Playing on a system —
The only sure way to win — French detectives — Their
naivetd — A French ' confidence-man ' 270-287

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XVI

PAGE

America— The extraordinary hospitality of the natives— The
adventures of a night — In gaol — A novel drive — A
cageful of malefactors — My health breaks down — Con
sumption, and how to cure it : by one who has still got
it — Bordighera — Pleurisy — The Black Forest — Chopin's
'Funeral March' — My obituary notices 288-305

RANDOM REMINISCENCES

CHAPTER I
School report, 1870 — Friends of my parents — Tennyson, Carlyle,
Thackeray, Dickens — A few of my father's stories — West
minster School— Thanksgiving Service at St. Paul's, 1872 —
Archbishops Tait and Thomson.
A FEW days ago I found in a box of old letters a
school report, describing me as I was, or as I ap
peared to my schoolmaster, or as he wished my
father to think I appeared to him, at the age of
thirteen. Although thirty odd years may have
wrought some changes in my character and disposi
tion, perhaps I may be allowed to put forward my
old dominie's estimate of me, as I may have been,
by way of an introduction. '33, Hereford Square, S.W.,
^ April 2\, 1870.
' Reverend Sir,
' Charlie, as his mark-book will have already
ishown you, has taken an exceedingly good position

2 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
in his class this term. The distinct progress which
I have been able to trace in Latin has been very
gratifying. In French he is getting over what has
always been to him his most serious difficulty — his
ignorance of the grammar. As to English, there is
a decided improvement in his spelling. For quick
ness in comprehending the general drift of a speech
and the power of appropriately, easily, and neatly
expressing himself he is unrivalled. In algebra
and Greek he has worked steadily and made pro
gress. I am sure that this result has not been
gained by overwork ; on the contrary, I think that
if he were to show a little more emulation he would
do much better, I shall arrange the marks so that
next term three prizes may be fairly within his
reach, and I hope he will feel that you are interested
in the result. Polite, sensible, and clever, Charlie
has always seemed to me a most agreeable com
panion. The only flaw which I can notice in his
character consists in his want of self-assertion.
However pleasant it may be for a master or for
older boys to have a pupil or companion who never
opposes his will to theirs, however amiable may be
the conduct which arises from an unwillingness to
hurt the feelings of others, still, for a boy's own
good, I think it is well that he should be able to
maintain his own convictions, even at the risk of
being browbeaten or bullied. To the upright

A LACK OF VENERATION 3
principles and tender feelings which Charlie already
has, I should therefore like to see him add that
resolute will which is the best safeguard against
those evil influences and bad companions with which
everyone, as he grows up, is bound to meet.
' I remain, reverend sir,
' Yours respectfully, 'G, Hart.
' Rev. W. H. Brookfield.'
Although as a child I was brought into contact
with many celebrated people, friends of my father and
mother — Carlyle, Tennyson, Thackeray, Dickens,
and others — I have, unfortunately, no interesting
personal reminiscences of them. This may be
partly due to the fact that I have a slight hollow
just where I ought to have the bump of veneration.
Thackeray — for whom, despite this phrenological
shortcoming, I have an almost boundless admira
tion, partly inherited and partly cultivated — I could
hardly be expected to remember, as he died when
1 was only six years old, Carlyle my father used
to take me to see, but I can only recall an old man
of rough exterior and primitive habits, seated on the
floor by his fireplace, smoking a long straight clay
pipe, I have visions of Tennyson drying his
tobacco on the fire-shovel, and I have not forgotten
1 the whiff which used to come from his larder, where

4 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
the meat had to hang till it matured to his liking.
I was reared, however, on stories of these giants
from my parents, who knew them well, and some of
these anecdotes have not, as far as I know, been
hitherto published.
My mother used to describe to me Tennyson's
first appearance at Clevedon Court, whither my
father brought him when quite a young man to
present him to her family. My grandfather. Sir
Charles Elton, who had fought in the trenches
under the Duke of York, was a courtly old
gentleman with a vast expanse of bald head,
which sloped gradually into an eminence towards
the poll. Immediately on entering the library in
which my grandfather was sitting, the long-haired
young poet marched up to him, and, without any
warning, laid his palm upon the old gentleman's
cranium, and, after gazing into his face for a
few seconds with knitted brows, suddenly rolled
forth in rugged Lincolnshire accents : ' You must
have done a great many foolish things in your
life, with this great big bump of benevolence of
yours!' In those days the elderly were not used to
being patronized by the young, and I believe my
grandfather was furious.
Tennyson invited my great-uncle, Henry Hallam,
to be godfather to his first boy, to which he readily
consented. As they were walking up the church-

TENNYSON 5
yard side by side, the historian inquired of Tenny
son, ' What name do you mean to give him .'" ' We
thought of calling him Hallam,' said the poet, ' Oh,
had you not better call him Alfred ?' modestly sug
gested my great-uncle, 'Aye!' replied the naive
bard, ' but what if he should turn out a fool ?'
My father was dining one night at the Oxford
and Cambridge Club with George Venables, Frank
Lushington, Tennyson, and two or three others.
After dinner the poet insisted on putting his feet on
the table, tilting back his chair more Amevicano.
There were strangers in the room, and he was
expostulated with for his uncouthness, but in vain.
' Do put down your feet !' pleaded his host. ' Why
should I i*' retorted Tennyson. ' I'm very comfort
able as I am.' ' Everyone's staring at you,' said
another. ' Let 'em stare,' replied the poet placidly.
' Alfred,' said my father, ' people will think you're
Longfellow.' Down went the feet.
My father and a friend were once at Harewood,
and it occurred to them that they would like to see a
certain local celebrity known as the Airedale Poet.
They accordingly inquired at the Harewood Arms,
where this sylvan laureate was to be found. ' I
think they'd be able to tell you round at the stables,
sir,' said the landlord. Accordingly they repaired
to the yard and consulted a stable-boy, who, by way
of reply, merely put his hollowed hands to his mouth

6 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
and shouted, ' Slush !' which, it appeared, was the
familiar name by which the poet went. In answer
appeared a slovenly, unkempt individual, who be
came the willing recipient of a pot of ale. At a
party at The Grange somewhere about 1856, where
Tennyson was the object of much extravagant
worship, Carlyle, with caustic humour, remarked to
my father, ' It reminds one of your old friend
Slush.' One bitter wintry day at The Grange, Carlyle sat
in an anteroom between the hall and the drawing-
room with only Lady Ashburton, Mrs. Carlyle, and
my father. From the pitiless inclemency of the day,
he took occasion to relate how, when he was a child
of four, his parents had given him an earthenware
' thrift -pot,' a sort of bottle without mouth, but a slit
in the side to slip pennies in. Somehow he had
been left alone in the house ; there came to the door
a beggar man, pale, weary, worn, and hungry, drip
ping with wet. ' I climbed on the kitchen table,'
said Carlyle, ' and reached down the " thrift-pot "
from its shelf, and gave him all that was in it — some
four pence. / never in all m,y life felt anything so
like heaven as the pity I had for that man.'
Speaking of the writer of Et/cwp /SoffiXi/crj, Carlyle
said he was the most portentously self-righteous
mortal ever extant on this planet, who seemed to
say to the Almighty, in place of asking for His grace

CARLYLE 7
and mercy : ' O Lord, I have attained to such a
pitch of heavenly perfection that I fear it is not even
in Thy power to make me any better than I am ;
but if at any time Thou shouldest find an oppor
tunity for adding a little finish and perfectness to
my many excellencies, I should feel obliged to
Thee.' Once, when he and my father were visiting the
National Portrait Gallery, when it was in Exhibition
Road, Carlyle, after contemplating for a time Wilkie's
very repulsive portrait of George IV., in which he
is portrayed as a tall Highlander, with full costume
and appurtenances, surmounted by a, face expressive
of everything selfish, corrupt, abominable, and bad,
exclaimed in irony, not unmixed with pity, ' Arch
angel, though in ruin !'
At the peace demonstrations after the Crimean
victories my father was with Carlyle and many
others on the top of Bath House, Piccadilly, to see
the fireworks. Carlyle turned to him with a look of
half-pity, half-contempt of the childish delight which
so many were taking in the celebration of ' so many
souls of heroes' in sulphur and saltpetre. 'Ah,' he
murmured, ' hell and Tommy.'
Carlyle once observed to my father : ' Upon the
whole, the British public, with its contagious enthu
siasms, reminds me of nothing so much as the
Gadarene swine. There they are, quietly grubbing

8 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
and grunting in search of what pignuts or other
aliments may present themselves for their suste
nance and comfort, when suddenly the devil enters
into them, up go their tails into the sky, and away
they go, plunging into bottomless abysses of delirium
and confusion and nameless distraction.'
Early in their married life, my father and mother
lived in lodgings in Jermyn Street (he was curate at
St. James's Church at the time). One evening he
unexpectedly brought Thackeray home for dinner,
and introduced him to my mother. She was rather
overwhelmed by the knowledge that there was
nothing in the house but a cold shoulder of mutton.
It was too late to contrive anything more elaborate,
so, to ' give an air ' to the table, she sent her maid to
a neighbouring pastrycook's for a dozen tartlets of
various kinds. ' Which of these may I give you .-"
she inquired in due course of Thackeray. ' Thank
you, Mrs. Brookfield,' said he, 'I'll have a two
penny one !'
Dickens' strong sympathy gave him an extra
ordinary memory even for trifles. When my father
was given the living' of Somerby, near Grantham,
both my mother and he rather dreaded the monotony
of life in a small country village. Dickens did his
best to cheer my mother on the subject. 'Are
there no old friends living anywhere in the neigh
bourhood of Somerby ?' he inquired. ' Surely there

DICKENS 9
must be somebody you know within ten miles or
so ?' ' No,' replied my mother mournfully, ' not a
single soul. Oh ! I think there is one acquaintance
of my husband's,' she suddenly recollected. 'A
Mr. Maddison, I fancy the name is. But he is not
an intimate friend. William knows him only very
slightly.' 'Ah, but that's all right!' exclaimed
Dickens, his whole face brightening. ' You'll find
Maddison a delightful resource. You'll discover
there's a lot more in Maddison than you ever
dreamed there was. Maddison will become a very
important factor in your life. Yes, I'm glad you've
got Maddison.' And, wringing her heartily by the
hand, he went his way. It so happened that my
mother did not meet Dickens again for three or
four years, till one evening at a crowded party she
caught his eye at the other end of the room. His
face immediately lit up with a humorous expression,
and he picked his way through the crush until he
reached her side. ' Well,' he inquired, in an eager
undertone, ' and how's Maddison ?'
Although I was always fond of my father from
my earliest days, I stood a little in awe of him, and
when I came home from school I used to pass his
study door and tear upstairs to my mother, with
whom I felt more completely at my ease. I am
sorry to say it was not until the last three years of
his life that I got to know him really intimately.

10 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
One evening when I was about fifteen, I was hiding
in a lumber-room, surreptitiously smoking, when my
father suddenly discovered me. ' I am astounded,'
he exclaimed gravely, 'that you, whom I always
regarded as a straightforward, right-minded lad,
should hide yourself away in this manner to indulge
in the clandestine use of that abominable weed
tobacco. But since you have contracted this odious,
paltry, cowardly, indecorous, unsanitary, pestilential
habit, and I suppose it's too late to try and break
yourself of it, why not come and smoke sociably
with me in my study ?' Thenceforth I sat and
smoked with him every night. Many of his stories
were, naturally, about the clergy. Here are a few
that occur to me at haphazard.
At the time that Prince Albert was put forward
as a candidate for the Cambridge Chancellorship,
Horace Mansfield said to a London clergyman :
' Why, I hear that the Bishop of London ' (he who
used to be known as the ' Canterbury Pilgrim ')
' has written circulars to all the clergy to vote for
the Prince.' ' You are only partially correct,'
replied the clergyman. ' His lordship did me the
honour to call upon me.'
There was a friend of my father, a Mr. Haver-
field, a clergyman. He had a glass eye, and had
a habit when speaking meditatively of taking out his
pencil case and tapping the artificial organ with

LORD OVERSTONE 11
audible and most startling effect. This Mr. Haver-
field was one day describing to my father certain
alterations he proposed to make in the arrange
ments of his chapel in York Street, and, rubbing
his hands with glee at anticipated success, he said :
' I think it will do good to the chapel, set folk talk
ing, bring it into notice, make the seats let,'
then, suddenly checking himself, 'besides higher
motives' He told me a story of my great-grandfather, the
Rev. M. Preston. He was rather calling to order
a young clergyman for preaching a sermon of forty
minutes' duration. To which the youthful orator
replied : ' But you know, Mr. Preston, St. Paul
preached till midnight.' ' Ay,' he replied, with a
little of the East Riding dialect, ' but folk fell down
dead !'
A curate whom my father knew had a valuable
diamond ring which he only allowed himself to
wear on Communion days. On one such day, his
mind intent upon the jewel, he began : ' If we say
that we have no ring, we deceive ourselves,' etc.
'At the marriage of Miss Lucy Lyttelton to
Lord Frederick Cavendish, in which I officiated,'
said my father, ' we all had to defile into the
Jerusalem Chamber through a very low, little,
arched door called " the needle's eye." Lord
Houghton was walking behind me. " Lord Over-

12 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
stone will never get through !" he exclaimed. And,
being a tall man, the multi-millionaire did in effect
come in contact with the masonry, which caused a
laugh. I said : " You'll see / shall whip through
easily enough." But when another minute brought
me to the test, miscalculating the height, I bumped
my head violently against the arch, for which I got
no pity, only a laugh. " Somebody," said Lord
Houghton, "has left you a legacy."'
Lord Overstone, my father told me, was once
staying in some country house, and in the hall said
to some young men who were mustering for a
walk : ' Now, what do you young men do with your
old hats ?' Well, replies were various. One gave
them to his servant, another left them to get
covered with dust and find their way to the dust-
heap, etc. ' Well, now,' said Lord Overstone,
' what should you say that hat ' — showing his own —
' was worth ?' ' Half a crown,' suggested someone.
' Four and sixpence,' said Lord Overstone. ' I go
into a hatter's, select a hat, and then ask how much
tliey will allow me for the old one. Four and
sixpence is the answer. And I immediately
deposit my old one and assume the new.' ' This
will account,' my father used sagely to observe, ' not
for three and a half millions, but for more millions
than you can count on your fingers.'
' My curate, who was well off,' said my father,

BISHOP BLOMFIELD 13
' was driving ijie one Sunday morning in his dog
cart from Somerby to my chapel at Humby. He
was a Conservative, and hated Dissenters. We
met a spring-cart full of them on their way to the
Ebenezer at Grantham. " Now, there," said he, " is
a parcel of Calvinist fellows going to meeting at
Grantham. They appear," he added, with orthodox
bitterness, " to have forgotten the Divine injunction
that you shall not work your horse upon the
Sabbath. Tchk ! khchk !" and so gave his own
well-fed, handsome beast a stimulating flick in the
flank I'
Bishop Blomfield told my father that once, when
he was Bishop of Chester, he had occasion to
summon before him a good-tempered, dissolute,
impracticable parson, whom we will call Mr. Blank,
for tipsiness. Mr. Blank urged, in extenuation,
that such a thing had only very rarely happened
when he was ' on duty.' ' On duty, Mr. Blank !'
said the Bishop. ' A clergyman is always on duty !'
On this Mr. Blank seemed illumined by a new idea.
' A clergyman always on duty ! Well, now, that is
the most beautiful sentiment and the most un
answerable argument that I ever met with in my
life ! I trust I shall never forget that ' — with more
to the same effect. The Bishop, scarcely able to
keep countenance, dismissed him, saying, ' If ever
this should occur again, I shall have at once to

14 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
communicate with you in a more painful way.'
Exit Mr. Blank, on which the Bishop burst out
laughing. But in the midst of his explosion a tap
is heard at the door. Mr. Blank pops his head in
again like Paul Pry, and says : ' Well, then, my
Lord, if anything should occur again you'll drop
me a line.' Exit murmuring, ' A clergyman always
on duty.'
My father told me he was present — in the October
term of 1829, at Sunday evening chapel at Trinity —
when for the last time the profane trick was practised
of putting capsicum — or some such thing — on the
Vice-Master's Prayer - Book. First came a loud
sneeze, followed by some highly -indecorous ex
clamation. Two or three undergraduates in the
secret tittered. Then a second roaring sneeze, with
more interjectional rhetoric, at which the titter
became more general and the officials looked grave
and watchful. Another sneeze — another — and
another till the chapel was out of all discipline and
Whewell looked like a baffled lion. Another loud
explosion, and everybody, Whewell included, was
overcome and burst into a roar of laughter, after
which all subsided.
One Sunday evening my father was engaged by
old Canon Repton to read at St. Philip's in place
of himself, who had caught cold. The Rev. J. M. C.
Bellew was the preacher, and arrived as my father

GUNPOWDER PLOT SERMON 15
was putting on his robes. Bellew hummed and
hawed with the peculiar hesitation of Macready,
whose method he rather cultivated, and asked :
' Pray — h'm — ah — mn — excuse me, but are you a
" total depravity " man ?' ' Well,' said my father,
'the only totally depraved man I know is myself
' Ah well, then I see it's all right. I was going to
preach upon that subject to-night ; but if you had
been a " total depravity " man I have another
sermon in that box on the same subject, taking a
different view, and rather than disturb your pre
possessions I would have used it. But it's all
right !'
I was always fond of a description my father
used to give of a Gunpowder Plot sermon he
once heard. ' One fifth of November,' he said,
' I strolled into the old Chelsea Church. A worthy
old simpleton preached, whom I long after re
cognised as officiator at the Brompton Cemetery.
His sermon was appropriate to Guy Fawkes' day,
and contained the following words : " Another
proof of the insolent and overbearing pretensions
of the Romish Church, and the impossibility of
reconciling it with the meek and humbling doctrines
of Christianity, is that it denies salvation to all who
are not members of its own communion ; whereas
we know, by certain assurance of Holy Scripture,
that none can be saved who are not faithful ad-

16 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
herents to our own incomparable liturgy." I put
up my hand to hide a smile, and found I was
leaning against the monument of Sir Thomas
More,' I was sent to Westminster School in 1871,
Dr. Scott was the Headmaster — and a good one,
too. He was, I fancy, a greater respecter of the
old traditions with which the school was moth-
eaten than his successor has turned out to be.
Accordingly, the school was a more interesting one
in his day, though probably it was less prosperous
and less educationally efficacious.
The Queen's Scholars wore — and probably still
wear — the oldest - fashioned collegiate gown in
existence, made of black cloth with long pointed
sleeves. A small bullet was usually stitched into
the extremity of each of these, and they were called
'bullies,' and employed punitively across the knuckles
of smaller boys. Whenever a Queen's Scholar
passed the oak table in the drawer of which the
birches lay, which stood near the top of the big
schoolroom, he was bound in honour to strike it
with his 'bully,' When at the end of the week
a certain number of boys had to be 'handed' (a
rather barbarous punishment, inflicted generally for
unpunctuality ; it consisted in swishing the male
factor over the back of his fist in the presence of
the whole school), the senior who brought the rods

WESTMINSTER AND ETON 17
to the Headmaster never sullied his fingers by
touching them, but carried them deftly swathed in
the folds of his sleeve. Every boy carried his own
ink-bottle, called a ' dip.' It was a small ordinary
white glass botrie with no cork, and the ink was
contained in a piece of cotton-wool. One soon
became extraordinarily adept at filling one's pen
from an apparently dry, gray piece of waste. Every
new boy on joining the school was allotted a 'sub
stance ' ; that is to say, a boy in his own form was
told off whom he was to follow like a ' shadow,'
from whom he should learn by watching what to do
and where to go and when. Also, every new boy
who didn't chance to drift naturally into a fight
during his first term was matched with another of
about the same size and weight, and sent ' up
Green ' to show what he was made of But I am
afraid Westminster in my time did not rank high
in the way of sports. Rowing was an achievement
ofthe past ; I think it was in 1845 that Westminster
last beat Eton on the river. Before that, however,
she more than held her own. There was a legend
in my day, which I believe to be true, that the
colours of both Eton and Westminster were origin
ally pink, and that a race was rowed between the
rival eights to decide which should retain that
colour and which should change to light blue, and
that Westminster won. I think there can be no

18 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
question that Eton was aesthetically the gainer by
the change.
My father took me, on February 27, 1872, to
St, Paul's Cathedral to the service of thanksgiving
for the recovery of the Prince of Wales from typhoid
fever, I remember, as we made our way along the
Strand, a detachment of Life Guards came along,
and a very diminutive Radical contrived to dodge
under the arm of a policeman and get into the road
alongside of these magnificent soldiers. ' You
wuthless rogues !' he exclaimed, ' eatin' yer 'eads
off out of the pockets of the workin' man ! Who
pays for yer 'orses and yer 'elmets and yer tin
bellies ? Why, I do ! I and the down-trodden
workin' classes ! While our wives and children are
sta-a-a-a-rvin', you're livin' on the fat of the land !'
At this juncture a huge trooper dropped his bridle,
and without moving a muscle of his face — without
even looking at the foaming little orator — clutched
.him by the middle, somewhere, and held him straight
out at arm's length without any apparent effort, the
demagogue twisting and writhing like a worm.
Then, after proceeding about twenty yards, the
soldier extended his great white-gloved hand and
dropped the little fellow into the gutter. I never
saw a crowd better pleased than the onlookers at
this practical though mute rejoinder.
I think it was upon a street banner that the well-

TWO ARCHBISHOPS 19
known couplet appeared, in reference to His Royal
Highness's recovery :
' Praise God, from whom all blessings flow !
Praise Drs. Jenner, Gull and Lowe !'
But the division of thanks — implying a division of
labour — reminds me of a sermon upon faith which
always pleased my father. ' The most remarkable
instance in history of implicit faith,' said the preacher,
' is the trusting manner in which Moses undertook
to lead the Israelites across the burning desert
guided only by a cloud during the day and a pillar
of fire at night. But the judicious law-giver also
availed himself of the services of his brother-in-law
Hobab, who was intimately acquainted with the route
across the desert.'
I crossed from Calais to Dover when I was about
fourteen years old with my mother, and we had the
unique honour of travelling with both the Protestant
Archbishops — Tait and Thomson. They were
brave in all the archiepiscopal panoply of aprons,
gaiters, and rosettes. We had a very rough cross
ing — so rough that a very few minutes after we
had left the French port there came a premonitory
tap, and the window of my mother's deck cabin was
lowered from outside, and the curly, bedecked hat
of the Archbishop of York discreetly bowed into
the apartment, and from beneath its generous brim
2 — 2

20 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
a voice of pride, modulated by charity, proclaimed,
' My brother of Canterbury has already succumbed,'
and the window was drawn up again.
The captain allowed me to stand by his side on
the bridge. It was one of the old-fashioned small
boats — the Foam, perhaps.
The vessel gave a sudden lurch as we neared
Dover, and I was thrown over the brass rail,
against which I was leaning, and fell on my head
against a brass-bound hatchway. Everybody was
most kind. I was picked up and bandaged, and as
the passengers trooped up the gangway at Dover
the Archbishop of Canterbury (recovered from, and
fortified by, the penance of sea-sickness) was espe
cially good-natured in assisting me. I had two
impediments — a hat-box, containing a schoolboy
top-hat, and a handbag full of illicit Tauchnitz
novels. The amiable prelate relieved me of the
latter, not knowing what he did, and in blameless
error carried the contraband bundle past the
Customs house officials, who piously saluted
England's supreme ecclesiastic, while they waylaid
his invalid protegd, and made me expose the inno
cent interior of my hat -box before they would
inscribe upon it their nihil obstat in the form of
chalk-mark.

CHAPTER II
I leave school — Paris and the Palais Royal — The Examiner— \
make the acquaintance of a promising young man— The
Savile Club— Besant — Rudyard Kipling — A village editor —
Robert Louis Stevenson— The Rabelais Club— Sir Frederick
Pollock and Lord Houghton — George Venables and Francis
Garden.
In 1873 I succeeded in persuading my family that
I was too delicate to remain at school. I accord
ingly left Westminster, and practically followed my
own devices for a couple of years. I attended a
few lectures at King's College, London, and went
to a good many theatres ; I also contrived, some
how or other, to go over frequently to Paris. My
favourite theatre there was the Palais Royal, where
there was certainly an unrivalled company of
comedians — Geoffroy, L'Heritier, Gil Perez, Hya
cinth, Brasseur, and a comparative lad called Las-
souche, who, I see, is now seventy-something ; he
was severely injured in an accident a little while back,
I was sorry to see. I used to watch these old men
over their mazagrans at the Cent Mille Colonnes or
one of the cheap restaurants in the Place du Palais

22 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Royal. At about five or ten minutes before the
rise of the curtain they would toddle off to their
theatre, and, with no more alteration in their appear
ance than was achieved by a daub of vermilion on
each cheek and a touch of black to the eyelids,
they would come on to the stage and keep one in
an almost painful convulsion of laughter till the fall
of the curtain.
It was at this period that I started writing.
Minto, who afterwards became a Professor at the
Aberdeen University, was editor of the Examiner,
and he used very kindly to give me novels to
review. Being myself barely seventeen years of
age, I used generally to begin my notices, ' This is
evidently the work of a very young writer.' I sub
sequently became dramatic critic, but was presently
superannuated, and retired, covered with honour, at
the age of eighteen. The staff of the Examiner
used to foregather on one evening every month
under the auspices of the hospitable Minto, when I
used to have the pleasure of meeting Andrew Lang,
Edmund Gosse, Walter Pollock, A. J. Duffield,
young Justin McCarthy, and others. I once met
there a singular young man, who attracted a good
deal of attention for a short time — a certain Hector
Gordon. He was about two-and- twenty. He was
extremely clever. He had passed well for the
Civil Service ; he wrote not only for the Examiner,

A PROMISING YOUNG MAN 23
but for more than one of the weekly papers, and
was looked upon in literary circles as a young man
who would go far.
Although he had no apparent vices — he did not
squander money on clothes, or gamble, or keep up
expensive establishments — still, he was extravagant.
He gave excellent dinners at the Caf6 Royal ; he
never walked a hundred yards, but always took a
hansom ; he went abroad whenever he felt inclined,
and always stayed at the best hotels. But nobody
wondered whence he got his means. He was
simply accepted as an agreeable change from the
ordinary young man of letters who is always in
want of five pounds.
I once went to Paris with him for a short holiday.
I put up at a little hotel in the Rue du Dauphin ;
he took a suite of rooms at the Mirabeau in the
Place Venddme. I got out with him at his hotel
when we arrived. He immediately summoned the
head- waiter. ' Are you the head-waiter ?' he asked
when that intendant appeared. 'Yes, sir,' replied
the man, ' I shall be staying here for some time
most likely,' said Gordon, ' so please see that I'm
properly waited upon,' And he gave the man an
English five-pound note. The man made a pro
found reverence and withdrew, walking backwards.
In a few minutes it was all over the hotel that an
English milord had arrived who shed bank-notes

24 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
broadcast. As we walked together along a corridor,
or came downstairs, or crossed the hall, everyone
bowed — chambermaids, waiters, boots, page, clerks,
landlord. Even other visitors in the hotel caught
the infection, and slightly inclined their heads.
We had a very pleasant few weeks in Paris. We
used to ride in the Bois, breakfast at Voisin's, dine
at the Maison Dor^e, go to a theatre, and finish our
night at the Caf6 Amdricain or Tortoni's,
One morning when I called for my friend — it
was about our second week in Paris — I found him
in his dressing-gown pacing up and down his salon,
pale with fury, and the manager trembling before
him, ' Believe me, sir — I regret very much,' the
man was saying, ' but it is the rule of the hotel to
present the bill once a week. This is already the
second week. And there are the seats for the
theatre, and the saddle-horses, and one day, when
monsieur had come downstairs without his purse,
there was an advance from the caisse, and  '
'Very well, then,' said Gordon, 'Bring me my
bill on Saturday — this very next Saturday, mind —
and I'll leave your infernal hotel, and go somewhere
where they know how to behave.' ' As you please,
sir,' said the manager, retiring with a rueful ex
pression, ' Very sorry, but it is the rule of the
hotel,' ' Well, young man,' said Hector, turning to
me with a sunny smile, ' where shall we ride to-day ?'

AN INTERROGATORY 25
' Were you having a row ?' I asked, rather need
lessly. 'Oh no, nothing to speak of,' replied my
friend. 'The fellow was rather cheeky about his
bill. But I don't know that I shall really leave
them ; I'm very comfortable here.'
The next day I looked in. The salon was empty,
so I went through to the bedroom. There I found
three chambermaids in tears ; an honest-looking
fellow in a blue apron which reached from his chest
to his toes, with a huge plumeau, also weeping, and
the manager in the depths of despair. ' I assure
you, Mr. Gorrdonne,' he was saying to my friend,
who was sitting up in bed, an empty stud-case in
his hand, ' all the seven years I have been here
never has such a thing happened before — never,
never !' ' Then, who was it dusted the room yes
terday morning ?' asked Gordon. ' Mais moi,
monsieur,' said the man-servant with the woful
countenance. ' Mais je ne suis pas un voleur, moi !
Ah non ! Je suis un honn^te homme !' And he
relapsed into tears. 'And it was I was making
the bed,' said one of the girls. ' Let them search
my boxes if. they suspect me of this infamy.' 'It's
very unfortunate,' said Gordon. ' It's not the actual
value of the studs ; I don't suppose the three of
them are worth more than four or five thousand
francs. But they were a present to me from old
Queen Isabella, and I have associations with them.

26 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Well, you can go now. Let me know when the
agent de suretd arrives.' And the melancholy
quartette filed out. While my friend was dressing
I couldn't help wondering why Queen Isabella of
Spain should have presented Hector Gordon with
diamond studs, and why they should have been
given in a case bearing the name and address of
' Tyndal, shirtmaker, Brompton Road, London.'
However, the incident appeared to give a fresh
fillip to my friend's credit at the Mirabeau, for his
bill was not presented during the remaining ten
days of his stay ; and it must have amounted to far
more than the value of the box or two he left
behind when a telegram suddenly called him to
Turin. The next I heard of my hospitable but misguided
young friend was a few years later. I learnt that
there was a hue and cry after him, and that he was
being chased by the police of all nations from capital
to capital, from pillar to post. And at last they
caught him, and he got five years' penal servitude.
Time went on, as is its wont, and I rarely gave a
thought to the ill-starred Hector Gordon and his
singularly curtailed career, when one evening, soon
after eleven, as I was walking up the Haymarket,
and the audience were pouring out of the theatre,
I caught sight of him. He was faultlessly dressed,
and as we mutually recognised one another he

THE SAVILE CLUB 27
dropped his eyes and hurried down the street. I
pursued him and slapped him on the back. ' How
are you, Hector ?' I exclaimed. ' It's awfully good
of you to speak to me,' he replied, with some
emotion, 'On the contrary,' I said, 'it's awfully
good of you to speak to me. You've done your
five years ; I haven't done mine,'
It must have been in about 1875 that the com
mittee of the Savile Club paid me the honour of
election. Their house was then in Savile Row.
I believe the Savile was originally a doctors' club.
I know there was a superstition prevalent among
the non-scientific members that the smoking-room
at the back of the house, with its top light, had in
its time served as a dissecting-room, and that the
physiological members used to fill in their spare
moments after luncheon or tea by a little desultory
autoptical investigation. If the sealing-wax were
missing from the writing-room, we obstinately sus
pected it had been used by the hall-porter to display
the arterial system of some surreptitious subject
that the doctors must have smuggled in at some
time when they had the club to themselves.
The club jester was old Duffield, a most convivial
and entertaining companion with a Michael Angelo
head. He had travelled a great deal, and seen
many things, and got to believe he had seen a great
many more. We were all sincerely sorry when he

28 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
died. Walter Besant used generally to lunch with
us once a week. He was extraordinarily kind in
encouraging me to write ; that is to say, the great
kindness he showed and the pains he took would
have been extraordinary in anyone else. But Besant,
who was a very busy man, could always find time
to help those who sought him, even strangers. I
told him that I could sit down and write a review of
a novel where the lines to go upon were all ready
laid down, but that I had not the faintest idea how
to sit down and launch into a story. ' Lay out your
writing materials,' said Besant — ' plenty of paper
and blotting-paper and ink and pens ; then make it
a rule to sit in front of these every morning from
eleven till one. You'll soon find you have to write,
in sheer desperation.' I did as he told me, and I
soon acquired a fatal facility. But his goodness did
not stop there. He read through half a dozen of
my stories in manuscript — that is to say, in actual
handwriting, for typewriters were not in those
days available — and advised me as to placing
them. I remember one of the stories — ' A Superior
Animal ' — which was ' syndicated ' by Besant's able
friend, Mr. Watt ; that is to say, it appeared in a
number of local papers in different parts of the
country, so that I received about four times as much
for it as I should have been paid by any solitary

RUDYARD KIPLING 29
editor. I was correcting a proof of this effort in the
solitude of the card-room one afternoon, when Rud
yard Kipling came in and asked to look at it. He
spoke most kindly of the tale, but had many sug
gestions to make with regard to the telling. ' Don't
you see how much stronger that would be ? he
asked after suggesting an excision and a transposi
tion. ' D'you mind if I alter it ?' And, so saying,
he whipped out a pencil and set to work ; and
having once put his hand to the plough, so to speak,
he persevered, and in a few minutes the whole virgin
expanse of proof was furrowed and hoed and har
rowed and manured and top-dressed by the master.
I packed up and despatched the corrected sheet
there and then.
The result was unexpected. I received a most
abusive letter from the editor, saying that if I
imagined his compositors had nothing better to do
than to try and decipher Chinese puzzles I was
gravely mistaken ; that they had been put to great
inconvenience to fill in at the last moment the space
my story should have occupied ; that they certainly
shouldn't use it now, and were extremely sorry they
had paid for it ; and that they were writing to
Mr. Watt to complain. I had not the Christianity
to write and tell the editor that what he was dis
carding as worthless rubble was, in reality, sparkling
with Kipling nuggets.

30 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' A Superior Animal ' appeared also in the Bristol
Times and Mirror. It had (originally) a most
artistic, unconventional, and thrilling finish, of which
I was duly proud. When I saw it in the West-
Country paper I found an entirely unauthorized,
commonplace, and impotent conclusion, which
annoyed me excessively. I wrote, accordingly, an
icy letter to the office, asking how it came about
that the termination of a story appearing over my
name had been altered without my sanction. I
received a curt note from the sub-editor, saying that
he didn't know who I was ; that the only individual
he recognised in the transaction was Mr. Watt ;
and that he ' put an end to the story because it
didn't appear to have one.' I wrote back and said :
' Dear Sir,
'The village editor has no more right to
adulterate a story than the village grocer has to
sand the sugar, though I am aware that the custom
prevails in both cases.'
This closed the correspondence.
I remember the first time I saw Robert Louis
Stevenson at the Savile ; his ' get-up ' was perfectly
astounding. His hair was smooth and parted in
the middle and fell beyond the collar of his coat ;
he wore a black flannel shirt, with a curious, knitted

LOUIS STEVENSON 31
tie twisted in a knot ; he had Wellington boots,
rather tight, dark trousers, a pea-jacket and a white
sombrero hat (in imitation, perhaps, of his eminent
literary friend, Mr. W. E. Henley). But the most
astounding item of all in his costume was a lady's
sealskin cape, which he wore about his shoulders, fas
tened at the neck by a fancy brooch, which also held
together a bunch of half a dozen daffodils. I cannot
but think these final touches to his toilet must have
been added by loving hands without his knowledge
or consent.
He and I soon became friends. He was a most
charming companion, for, in addition to all his mar
vellous endowments of imagination and humour, he
had a gift of ready sympathy, which enabled him to
enter with extraordinary thoroughness into whatever
you might disclose to him. I am sure, too, that he
could have written delightful and dramatic plays had
he chosen to give his undivided attention to such
work. He had also a very fascinating, childish side to
his character. He described to me how, on one
occasion, out in the Far West, in the land of miners
and gamblers and cow-punchers, the whim seized
him to impersonate a desperado. So, in an abso
lutely foolhardy manner this frail, slight young Scot
swaggered down the middle of the principal street
with as fierce an air as he could assume, and when

32 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
anyone approached on the ' side-walk ' he would
make a start and place his hand sharply behind his
right hip as if about to draw a revolver (though he
didn't possess such a thing in the world), whereat
the stranger would turn deadly pale and hold up
both hands over his head ; upon which Stevenson
would mutter incoherently and reel on. It was by
the mercy of God he was not shot dead.
I was in his company at the moment that he con
ceived the germ of the idea of ' Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde.' He was inveighing against a man
with whom he had done business and with whose
methods he was dissatisfied. The man's name was
Samuel Creggan, or something like it. ' He's a
man who trades on the Samuel,' Stevenson declared
in his rather finikin, musical Scot's voice. ' He
receives you with Samuel's smile on his face ; with
the gesture of Samuel he invites you into a chair ;
with Samuel's eyes cast down in self-depreciation he
tells you how well satisfied his clients have always
been with his dealings ; but every now and again
you catch a glimpse of the Creggan peeping out like
a white ferret. Creggan's the real man ; Samuel's
only superficial'
I once heard a celebrated preacher at Trinity
Church, Sloane Street, deliver a very eloquent
sermon on the text of Stevenson's fable. The
fervour with which he dilated upon the two natures

THE RABELAIS CLUB 33
that exist in everyone, and upon man's impotence
sometimes to control the ascendancy of the ' Hyde '
side over the ' Jekyll ' side, recurred vividly to my
mind a little while later when the unhappy clergy
man was brought before his Bishop and given three
hours in which to pack up and leave the country on
account of his evil life.
Besant and the Pollocks and a few other members
of the Savile started a dinner club, to which I be
longed, called the Rabelais. It was a very pleasant
little association until it grew large and priggish, when
it presently died of stiff-neckedness. When Irving
decided to go to America, it was the Rabelais Club
which gave him his first farewell dinner. The late
Sir Frederick Pollock was in the chair, and Lord
Houghton was a distinguished guest. The chair
man rose, and, in the measured, somewhat nasal
tones which many of us remember with affection,
delivered an old-fashioned, scholarly, and admirably
balanced panegyric on our great tragedian. But
the dinner had been unduly prolonged, and Lord
Houghton had evidently become bored with the
banquet. He was sitting back in his chair mouth
ing in a droll way he had, and passing his hand
wearily over his head backwards and forwards,
which was a favourite trick of his. At last Sir
Frederick got to his peroration. ' But, after all, where
is our friend Irving going ? He is not going, like the
3

34 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
intrepid Captain Nares, to face the rigours of the
Arctic Zone, to brave the perils of icebergs and polar
bears in search of the North Pole ; he is not going to
China to enchant and soften the heart of the cruel
Celestial by the magic of his art ; he is not going to
the Antipodes, where, if we are to believe tradition,
people are in the habit of  ' At this moment
Lord Houghton — who, as a rule, had the most perfect
manners of any man in London — was overcome by
impatience, and exclaimed : ' Of course he isn't.
He's going to America — to the city of New York.
He's going by the Cunard ; it'll take him just about
a week.' Poor Sir Frederick was so flabbergasted
that he was unable to get back into the stream of
his discourse. He merely muttered, ' Let us drink
health and prosperity and a safe return to our friend
Henry Irving,' and sat down with a clouded brow.
The men of that generation — verbal epicures like
the late Sir Frederick Pollock, like George Stovin
Venables, and the Rev. Francis Garden — were
extremely impatient of interruption. I remember
once at dinner in a country house Mr. Venables had
been the last to come down. He commenced, as
soon as we had finished our soup, to describe how
his watch had been at fault, and how he had
suddenly discovered he was late for dinner. ' I
extinguished the candle in my room,' he went on
to say, 'and hurried along the corridor, guiltily

VENABLES AND GARDEN 35
conscious that I should in all probability prove to
be the last. At the end of the passage, however,
I came to a short staircase, and in the dim light I
perceived there was a corresponding flight opposite
to me, and that a companion in misfortune was
hurrying down like myself, two steps at a time,
eager to curtail as far as possible the inconvenience
our hostess might be suffering. I paused for a
second, and so did he. " I am relieved to find, sir,"
I exclaimed, " that I have a fellow-culprit to share
the reproaches which unpunctuality undoubtedly
provokes." My vis-a-vis preserved a churlish
silence.' Mr. Garden, who was getting tired of this
anecdote, here chimed in : 'I suppose it turned
out to be a looking-glass ?'
Mr. Venables gave an almost imperceptible
wince, but proceeded, without appearing to hear
the interruption : '" I trust I am not taking too great
a liberty, sir," I went on, " in venturing to jest with
a stranger ? If so, pray accept my apologies." I
advanced, he appeared to do the same, and I
discovered I was face to face with  '
' With a looking-glass !' exclaimed Mr. Garden
again. ' Of course ! I knew what was coming !'
' With a mirror !' said Mr. Venables with em
phatic asperity, determined not to admit that he had
been anticipated.
3—2

CHAPTER III
Cambridge — The long-haired Achseans — The free-thinking studen
and the Senior Dean — The ' Bucks ' — ' Bank ' — An averted
misalliance — A Cambridge riot — Instruction in the use of
the truncheon by the late Master of Trinity — My University
distinction — My uncle Joseph — Weston's walk through Cam
bridge — Dick Mason's — Cricket at Fenner's — My 'annual
average lo.'
It was in the October of 1875 ^^^^ ^ went to
Trinity College, Cambridge. Although the details
of University life may vary from generation to
generation its broad lines probably remain much
the same. And into however many little coteries
undergraduates may elect to group themselves,
there must always be the two main divisions —
those who work and those who play. There have
been, of course, rare but conspicuous instances of
men who have excelled in their Triposes as well as
in the sports ; but as a rule, in my time, the reading
men confined their exercise to a long walk or a pull
on the river, while the sporting enthusiasts were
content to put themselves in the hands of ' Big
Smith ' (now, alas ! no more), who would generally

THE CHIT-CHAT CLUB 37
succeed in just luffing them safe into the harbour of
an ordinary degree. The principal relaxation of the
scholars appeared to be political discussion. There
was a society called the Chit-Chat Club, which
met once a week in the rooms of one or other of
its members to discuss a prearranged subject — social,
political, or philosophical. It was an offshoot, I
fancy, of another debating society called the
Magpie and Stump, where the late Lord Colin
Campbell, two of the Balfours, Spring Rice,
Macaulay, Parker Smith, Richmond Ritchie, and
others, were shining lights. The sporting under
graduates entertained a poor opinion of the 'long
haired division,' as those were called who cultivated
their intellects sometimes to the neglect of their
appearance and manners, while these held the
former in at least equal contempt. Each had their
faults and merits, and the ' extremists ' of either
party were equally ridiculous. But I notice, now
that about a quarter of a century has passed, that
quite as many of the hare-brained set have achieved
eminence and distinction in politics and the learned
professions as of those who looked on the Tripos as
the Ultima Thule of their ambition.
Malthus Roy was an exaggerated type of these
young philosophers. He affected a brown velveteen
coat and a peacock-blue tie, which gave him the
appearance of an esthetic poacher. I heard him

38 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
remark on one occasion, ' For seven years I was a
cynic, but Ruskin cured me.' As he was then only
twenty, the cure was presumably a recent one. One
day Malthus Roy received, to his great disgust, the
ordinary printed notification from his Dean, the
Rev. E. H. Staunton, stating that he appeared to
have been irregular in his attendance at chapel, and
requesting that he would be more regular for the
future. ' This is too preposterous !' exclaimed
Malthus. ' It is incredible that such meddlesome
sacerdotalism should be permitted in this nineteenth
century. I've no doubt Staunton is a well-meaning,
conscientious man, according to his lights ; but let
him confine himself to his own little sphere. How
dare he endeavour to control my liberty of con
science ?' ' I suppose,' one of us suggested, ' it's
his duty — in a way, poor chap ! — to try and enforce,
as far as he can, the disciplinary rules of the college.'
' It's not a question of discipline,' retorted Malthus ;
' it's a question of ethics. The only way I can see
to put an end to this pestering is simply to write to
him, once and for all, and tell him that religious
problems have had their proper share, among others,
of my serious study and consideration, and discover
to him the conclusions to which I have arrived.'
' It's an awful responsibility,' said another of Roy's
friends, after a moment's silence, ' to upset a man's
religion — however puerile and inadequate you may

A FREE-THINKER 39
know it to be — unless you are certain he has a
brain capable of absorbing scientific truth, or, at all
events, something in its place.' ' I can't help that,'
said the relentless Malthus ; ' he's brought it on
himself He took the initiative in sending me
this medievally impertinent reprimand.' We sat
and quaked as Malthus Roy took his place at his
writing-table and deliberately indited his profession
of infidelity, which cartel he was about to hurl into
the blameless sanctum of the Rev. E. H. Staunton.
We shuddered to think of the night of sleepless
agony which that worthy scholar and cleric would
spend when his simple faith in his Creator, in
heaven — when all that he cherished and worshipped
— should be pulverized and blown into space by the
hideous but overwhelming logic of Malthus Roy.
We pictured him throwing up his Fellowship,
casting off his sable clothes and his clerical collar,
and arriving in a suit of light-coloured dittoes to
beseech the young philosopher to give him some kind
of code to take the place of the shattered belief which
had been so much to him. When the iconoclast had
covered six or seven sheets with close handwriting,
he read his letter out to us. It began thus :
' Dear Sir,
' There is a time in every man's life when
he must think for himself with regard to religious

40 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
matters. In the first place, it must be patent to
anyone endowed with ordinary powers of reason
ing  ' etc.
And he gradually unfolded his views. At this
distance of time I forget what they were, and so
most likely has he. They were certainly atheistic,
and a good deal flavoured with Darwinism. ' Don't
— don't send it,' pleaded more than one of us ; ' or
at all events, modify it. Poor Staunton! he's not
a bad fellow.' Malthus only smiled superciliously,
stuck up his letter, and bade his bed-maker see to
its delivery. On the following morning he received
the following brief reply from the Dean : '
' Dear Sir,
' I quite agree with you that there is a time
in every man's life when he must think for himself
with regard to religious matters. But you must
allow me to question whether that period has been
reached by an undergraduate in his second year of
residence. I must accordingly repeat my request
that you will be more careful in conforming with
the rules of the college. ' I remain, dear sir,
' Yours very truly,
' E. H. Staunton, Senior Dean.'
As a contrast to Malthus Roy, there was a

CARDS AT CAMBRIDGE 41
conspicuous character in the ' fast ' set — young
Hugh Razzell. His only conspicuous fault was
that he was rather more astute than became his
tender years. He was at Magdalene, if I recollect
rightly, rather a sporting college in those days.
Although his allowance from home cannot have
been more than ;^ 2 50 or ^300 a year, he belonged
to all the extravagant clubs in the University ; he
was always faultlessly dressed, and he kept a pony
and trap. He made no secret of his way of in
creasing his income — a method which would not
have been tolerated in anyone less amusing and
accomplished. He made a book, and openly laid a
point under the odds to any amount. But to an
undergraduate it is a matter of very little moment
whether he is laid sixes or fives, and Hugh was
always to be found and always to be depended on
to pay if he lost. In addition to this, Hugh kept
what was practically a 'hell' That is to say, he
had a magnificent dinner for eight or ten sent in
every evening from Breuvet's, to which all were
welcome on the understanding that they played
' bank ' (which was practically trente-et-quarante)
afterwards. Hugh, of course, was banker. I
forget how the Cambridge way of playing differed
from the Monte Carlo game. I think it was in case
of an apres. But I know that the odds were well
in favour of the bank. In my time the play was

42 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
very high. I once saw a boy of one-and-twenty
put down j^ijOOO in one stake. He is now a well-
to-do merchant with a large family. One night,
when play was expected to be high, Roddie
Muggridge (the son of Lord Muggridge) shared
a bank with Hugh. They declared a bank of a
hundred pounds, fifty each, and play began. But,
by some extraordinary chance, on this particular
occasion fortune favoured the players. In a very
short time the bank was broken. After a consulta
tion between the partners, Hugh proposed that the
players should ' give the bank a chance,' that they
should continue to punt again.st an unlimited bank
which would pay in paper redeemable next day.
But luck was dead against Hugh and Roddie, and
at midnight, when the party broke up (Razzell and
Muggridge lived in lodgings) they had lost another
;^i,20o pounds. The next morning I called
on Hugh Razzell at about nine o'clock. He
was sitting, cheerful and rosy, making a hearty
breakfast, with the Sporting Life propped against
the teapot in front of him. We chatted on general
topics, when suddenly there entered to us Roddie
Muggridge, He was still in his evening clothes,
and his eyes were swollen. Poor little boy ! he
had been crying all night.
' Oh, Hugh !' he moaned, ' what are we to do ?'
' My dear chap, sit down,' said Hugh kindly.

A DEBT OF HONOUR 43
' Have a brandy-and-soda. What's your trouble ?
Can't you find the ready .-"
' I shall have to ask my governor for it. He'll
pay up at last, I'm certain. But goodness knows
how long he'll take. And we've got to weigh in
this afternoon.'
' How much time do you want .-'' asked Hugh,
unlocking a despatch-box, and producing a bill-
stamp which chanced to be there. ' Three months,
six months ?'
' D'you mean to say you can manage it for me ?'
cried Roddie. ' I say, you are a good chap !
Three months will be ample. I expect the
governor will send it in a few days, only he may
have to sell out or something.'
' There you are,' said Hugh. ' Just write the
acceptance across there. That's it.'
And he returned the bill to his despatch-box.
' I shall never forget your kindness, Hugh,
never !' said Roddie, as he wrung his friend by the
hand. A little later Hugh Razzell assembled his guests
of the previous night. ' Look here, you fellows,' he
exclaimed, with a winning smile, ' I think we all
rather lost our heads last night. You played on to
do us a good turn, and it happened just the other
way about. However, I'm not going to ask for any
favours, only ;^i,20o's a lot of money, and wants

44 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
a bit of finding, so I thought I'd just ask you which
you'd prefer — ;^8oo ready, down on the nail, in full
discharge, of course ; or one bill for ;^6oo at three
months, and another at six, with interest for keeping
you waiting, if you like ?' The first offer of ^800
was accepted with acclamation, and as the party
broke up, each with his thirteen and fourpence in
the pound, all spoke in the highest terms of Razzell.
' Devilish straight chap, old Hugh !' But the
shrewd young financier stuck to poor old Lord
Muggridge's ;^6oo when it duly arrived in the
course of a couple of posts.
Finch's were the lodgings where Hugh and
Roddie lived, and I think one or two other young
dandies. They were the smart lodgings at that
time. There was a parlour-maid there called
Sabina Tebbs, a very pretty girl, and I believe a
very good girl, too. The impressionable Roddie
fell desperately in love with her, and at last fell
upon his knees one day, when she was clearing away
the remains of luncheon, and, Jove-like, proposed
marriage to her in a shower of crumbs. Then
came the task of breaking the news to his father ( I
wonder if Lord Muggridge has preserved all his
son's correspondence during his pupilage at Cam
bridge?). He took considerable pains over the
letter, which he was determined should be respect
ful but firm. He said in the course of it :

AN AVERTED MISALLIANCE 45
' I am conscious that you may consider the step I
am taking to be unconventional — that you may at first
deem the apparent difference of rank between Miss
Tebbs and myself a serious obstacle. But I would
never submit to an alliance of policy. The heart is,
after all, the truest guide. And although, should you
decide to consent to our union, I shall dearly esteem
and prize your approval, I may say at once, with all
filial respect, that, should you elect to oppose it
your disapprobation will be absolutely indifferent
to me, and your expostulations will fall upon deaf
ears, . . . Miss Tebbs loves me. for myself, regard
less of my family (though I am sure my mother
and Ermyntrude will take to her at once), and
I love h&r for herself regardless of her family. . , .
We shall be married this day month, Miss Tebbs —
Sabina — having intimated to Mr. and Mrs. Finch
that her relations with them will cease on that day 
Trusting that, as a man of the world, you will see
that I am acting wisely in doing as I feel inclined,
' I remain, ' Your affectionate and dutiful son,
' Roddie.'
' Sabina sends love to all.'
Lord Muggridge read this filial effusion with his
other letters at breakfast the following morning.
He betrayed no emotion, did not mention its

46 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
purport to his family, but, after a very solid break
fast, he went into his study and rang for the butler,
an old functionary who had been in the family for
over thirty years. 'Oh, Jarman,' said his lordship
carelessly, ' there's a letter there from Master
Roddie. Just attend to it, will you ?' ' Very good,
my lord,' said the old servant.
The Hon, Rodney Muggridge must be getting on
for fifty now. He has an accomplished wife of his
own rank, and a quiverful of beautiful children
ranging in age from twenty-five to three. He has
diplomatically represented his country in various
parts of the world. But I doubt if he has ever felt
smaller or more ridiculous than at the moment when
the door of his Cambridge sitting-room opened and
admitted — not an unforgiving parent bubbling over
with anathema, but the old family butler, who only
a few years before had ' dandled him on his knee,'
beaming with faithful, deferential patronage. ' Now
then. Master Roddie,' he said, with a broad grin,
' whatever ludickerousness have you been up to
this time ?' What further steps the old seneschal
took, I don't know. But a week or two later
Sabina Tebbs, charmingly attired, was attracting a
fashionable clientele to a select little divan at Weston-
super-Mare (in which town she presently married
a veterinary surgeon), and Roddie was cruising
about the isles of Greece in his uncle's yacht.

AN IRRITABLE MAYOR 47
I wonder if the conflicts between a few townsmen
and a few undergraduates still take place on the
fifth of November ? They had become very mild,
perfunctory affairs in my time. But we had a great
excitement, if not on the fifth, at about that date,
during my time at Cambridge. The Mayor was a
Mr. Death, who was, or had been, a livery-stable
keeper. On the evening of his installation he
attended a concert at the Guildhall, magnificent in
his mayoral robes. But, rien nest sacrd pour
tm ^tudiant, and four or five undergraduates in
the body of the hall, instead of being awed by
Mr. Death's civic splendour, were provoked to
laughter. They even addressed his worship in
familiar terms — asked him what he fed his horses
on, and why he didn't poleaxe the lot and give the
cat a feed ; bade him take his chain of office up two
holes higher on the near side, and so on. Mr. Death
turned as purple as his mantle at this gross lese-
mujestd, lost his temper, sent the police to arrest the
scoffers, and had them locked up for the night.
The following evening three or four hundred under
graduates assembled in the market-place and held
an indignation meeting. As luck would have it, in
the middle of the discussion there was a sound of
wheels, and the Mayor's carriage and pair hove in
sight. In no time we had stopped the horses and
made our enemy prisoner. Many were for lynching

48 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
him on the spot, but the majority decided he should
have a fair trial. So we tied him up and locked
him up in a neighbouring coach-house, and returned
to the Forum to decide upon his punishment. I
think the majority were in favour of hanging him
at once. The suggestion of first disembowelling
him obtained only a very few supporters, mostly
students for the History Tripos. Suddenly there
appeared on a window-sill of the Guildhall Mr. Mort-
lock, the banker, who appeared as a kind of Marcus
Antonius, only earlier in the proceedings than his
august predecessor. ' Gentlemen, what do you
want ?' cried Mr. Mortlock. And four hundred
throats yelled in answer : ' Death !' The effect was
weird in the extreme. Then the banker proceeded
to expostulate in tactful terms, and to endeavour to
pacify us. At least, such was his apparent object,
but we presently discovered his harangue was a
ruse. For while he was engaging our attention by
his honeyed words the Mayor's servants were
staving open the door of the coach-house, from
which they succeeded in rescuing their trembling
master, and a minute later the carriage and pair was
tearing at full gallop towards the job-master's
mansion. A wild shriek rent the air, ' Death's
got loose !' and off we tore in pursuit. The house
stood back from the road. It was surrounded,
indeed, by a small park enclosed by park railings.

A RIOT 49
The gates were locked and bolted as soon as the
carriage had passed through. But the iron
palings went down like matchwood at the impact
of the 400 undergraduates. We tore up the
slight incline of turf, and were met by a line of
police constables with drawn staves. For a few
minutes there was some really hard fighting.
Several lay stunned with broken heads, and the
mob of students were becoming maddened into a
really dangerous fury, when suddenly there appeared
a srnall figure clad in a long black silk gown with
fluttering white bands at his neck. It was a
Proctor. From sheer force of habit, every under
graduate took to his heels. The magisterial
presence of this mild little Don effected what the
truncheons of the police had failed to do. His
moral force entirely routed us.
The following day reinforcements of police
arrived from London. The authorities appre
hended that the rioting might be renewed, and
perhaps on a larger scale and in a better-organized
manner. Notices were put up in the various
colleges inviting such undergraduates as favoured
law and order to enrol themselves as special
constables. And here — since I am pledged to tell
the truth — I must make a confession. It was not
from fear or out of respect for the University
authorities ; for, with the exception of Dr. Thomp-
4

50 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
son — the Master of Trinity — and the Rev. E. H.
Staunton, Senior Dean of that college, I revered
none of them. It was not that my indignation
at the tyranny of the Mayor, or my sympathy with
my fellow-revolutionists, had diminished ; I think
I was mainly actuated by a desire to own a
truncheon and a blue-striped armlet. But I deserted
the cause *of freedom, and applied to be sworn in as
a ' special.' As I was the only undergraduate who
did, however, the idea of forming an amateur police
force was abandoned.
I breakfasted with Dr. Thompson at the Lodge
one morning at about this period. A breakfast
with the Master was always an alarming function ;
but he was such a charming host — although he
never forgot, nor allowed his young guests to
forget, his position — that his parties are delightful
to look back upon. He was a tall, remarkably
handsome old man with a strongly-lined face, a
rather olive complexion, silver-white hair, and heavy
black eyebrows. I should not think that anyone
had ever presumed to take a liberty with him. He
told me that he had once been enrolled as a special
constable, and he described to me the truncheon-
drill he had been taught. ' You first, with the
tip of your stave, strike your man sharply under
the chin,' he said — ' that causes him to stick out
his stomach ; you then give him a thrust in the

THE WINCHESTER PRIZE 51
middle, which doubles him up ; you then strike
him as hard as you can on the back of the head,
and then he should give you no more trouble.'
My father remembered a private theatrical per
formance at Cambridge, when they were all under
graduates, in which Thompson played Romeo to
the Juliet of Robert Monckton Milnes — afterwards
Lord Houghton — the ' Bird of Paradox,' as Mrs.
Norton called him. And he could recall when the
Tripos list was published, meeting Thompson in the
Old Court in bitter tears because he was only fourth
classic !
My solitary University distinction was the Win
chester Reading Prize, the competition for which
took place in the Senate House. It was open to
all the University. There was one ' set subject ' —
Hooker's Sermons, if I recollect rightly. There
were over a hundred competitors. Each of us
had to mount a rostrum and read the same page
in turn, which was rather unfair on him who came
first, who happened to be myself Then we each
had to read a portion of the Old Testament, then
a piece of Shakespeare, then a piece of prose.
After this we were turned out for an hour. At
the end of that time we came back to find posted
on the doors a list of the best fifty, and these
had to return and read in the same way a bit of
the New Testament, bits of poetry, and so forth.
4—2

52 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
After this there was a further selection of a still
smaller number. Finally, on the occasion I speak
of, the first and second prizes were made into
one and equally divided between me and another.
The University in due course sent me a cheque —
for, I think, ;£i5 — to be spent in the purchase
of books. I am afraid I acted dishonestly ; for I
sent a dozen old books, which I had been obliged
to buy for my Tripos, to be newly bound ' on
credit,' and spent the ;^i5 in riotous living. When
I called, as I had to do, upon one of the examiners
(he was also a Proctor — a Mr. Torry of John's),
with the books to obtain his order to have them
stamped with the University Arms, he entered
into a very friendly conversation with me. He
told me I was very nearly turned out with the
first batch because the examiners detected in my
reading of Richard Hooker (and I am not surprised)
that I had not made a deep study of that learned and
judicious divine's works. Also that they considered
my reading of the Scriptures rather too dramatic —
that I had given different voices to the various per
sonages, which was considered almost irreverent. I
assured him that if I had done so it was unconsciously
— which was the truth, ' Your name is familiar,
to me, Mr. Brookfield,' said the Don, as he wrote
out the order. ' Have you by any chance a relation
— of about my age — of the name of Joseph ? We

A MEETING AVITH A PROCTOR 53
were at school together as boys, and I saw a good
deal of him for a time, before I took up my Fellow
ship. He settled in New Zealand twelve or fifteen
years ago, and I've heard nothing of him since.'
Now, I had no opinion, one way or the other, as to
whether I had such a connection or not : my answer
might or might not be true. But out of a mixed
feeling of nervousness and a desire to be affable
I replied : ' Oh yes, sir. It must be my uncle — a
younger brother of my father's.' ' Dear me! that's
most interesting,' said Mr. Torry. ' Did you know
him at all .''' ' I've no very distinct recollection of
him,' I answered, quite truthfully this time. ' I can
only have been four or five years old when he left
England.' 'Ah, of course, yes! I forgot,' replied
the tutor. ' A very good fellow he was. Eccentric —
sensitive — brusque in his manner ; but a thoroughly
good-hearted, genuine man.' And I went away,
feeling a glow of pride for my putative kinsman.
Some months afterwards — I think it was the
following term — I was hurrying home to Trinity
along Jesus Lane. It was nearly midnight, and I
was without a cap and gown, when I caught sight
of a white-banded Proctor coming towards me,
accompanied by his bull-dogs. Flight was im
possible. Luckily, I recognised the Rev. Mr. Torry
of John's, so I ran up to him, and, with an un-
scrupulousness bred of peril, I exclaimed breath-

54 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
lessly : ' Oh, Mr. Torry, I've just had a letter from
Uncle Joseph !' His whole face lighted up at
once. ' You dont say so !' he exclaimed, as he
recognised me. ' Well, well ! and how is the old
chap?' 'Wonderfully well,' I replied. 'A little
rheumatism last winter, but not enough to lay him
up.' ' Ah ! that he was always liable to,' said
Mr. Torry ; ' though,' he added, with a wag of the
head, ' I've always had a private impression it was
gout rather than rheumatism. Your uncle wasn't a
careful man.' ' Ah, but that's all changed now !'
I exclaimed with the desperation of a Shahrazid.
' He's very well looked after now. He's married !'
' You don't say so !' cried Mr. Torry — ' Joseph
married! What next! But how lately?' 'Five
or six years ago,' I replied. ' There are three
children — two boys and a girl. The girl's very
delicate, poor little thing ! She's causing them a
good deal of anxiety.' ' Dear, dear, dear !' ex
claimed Mr. Torry sympathetically. ' Let's hope
she'll grow out of her weakness as she grows
older. By the way,' he added rather shyly — we
had reached the end of the lane — ' you're — er — not
in your academical costume ?' No, sir, I know,'
I rejoined ; ' but I thought you'd be glad to have
news of Uncle Joseph. Good-night, sir.' He
raised his cap, and I ran home. The excellent man
never fined me.

WESTON'S WALK 55
Dull as practical jokes usually are, we perpetrated
a fairly amusing one in about 1878 at Cambridge,
There was at that time a man called Weston who
was walking through England at some prodigious
rate — a hundred miles a day, or something of the
kind (it may have been less, but my brain reels
nowadays at the idea of anything over five). He
wore on this expedition a close-fitting suit of
velveteen, with knee-breeches, a sombrero hat, a
broad ribbon across his body, and he carried a light
cane. It was announced that on a certain afternoon
Weston would enter Cambridge — vii the Newmarket
Road and Jesus Lane — at about five o'clock.
I believe it was W. G. Elliot who first conceived
the idea of anticipating him. At all events, we
selected one of our number who was more or
less of Weston's build — I fancy it was ' Peter '
Burgess — and procured for him a suit exactly re
sembling that worn by the pedestrian. We then
' cast ' the rest of our number as trainer, doctor,
timekeeper, newspaper reporters, etc, and made
arrangements to invade the town on the appointed
day in these characters. There was a good deal
of excitement about Weston's visit. Scaffoldings
were erected and rows of seats, and tradespeople
let their shop-fronts at remunerative rates, and
when the great afternoon came round every corner
was crowded.

56 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Shortly before five a little party hove in sight, the
athlete in his unmistakable velvet suit, his wide-
brimmed hat jauntily cocked, walking with an easy
swing, fresh as paint. His trainer beside him carried
a bowl of water, and occasionally flicked a few drops
in his face or tenderly sponged his mouth. In a
dogcart alongside sat a grave-faced doctor (bearing
a striking family likeness to the one who a few years
later attended Count Vladimir in the play of ' Fedora '
at the Haymarket Theatre), while a timekeeper
recorded in monotonous tones each minute as it
passed. At the back of the cart two eager reporters
were writing in their notebooks at lightning speed.
The cheering was long and loud. At certain
points wreaths of laurels and bouquets of rare
flowers were hurled at the hero of the hour, but he
could only acknowledge these by a graceful touch of
the hat with the Wanghee cane he carried ; he was
obliged to hurry on to keep faith with the public.
The floral tributes were placed in the back of the
dogcart. At last the party, followed by an enthu
siastic crowd which increased at every yard, reached
the Bull Hotel. After vociferous acclamation the
champion appeared for a moment at the window
and said a very few words : ' Ladies and gentlemen,
I am a walker, not a talker. But I thank you — I
thank you — I thank you.' And the window closed
— the crowd went home.

A CAMBRIDGE CHARACTER 57
At about half-past five, as workmen were taking
down the deal stands that stood along Jesus Lane,
a shabby, exhausted man appeared, covered in dust,
his stockings ungartered, shambling along in evident
distress. It was the genuine Weston. But the
public wouldn't have him at any price, and greeted
him with hoots and missiles. ' Some infernal
charlatan,' said one, 'trying to impose upon us.
Lucky he didn't come half an hour sooner. He
might have taken us in.' ' Not a bit of it,' replied
another, ' I've seen the posters. You can see at
once ; this chap's not a bit like them.'
I was taken one Sunday afternoon — I think, by
poor Charles Mundy — to see a wonderful character
— old Dick Mason, I don't know what he had
been, or whether he had any trade or calling during
the week. But on Sundays he kept open house in
a small street turning off King's Parade. I was
brought into a large, low-ceilinged room hung with
old hunting and racing prints. About half a dozen
undergraduates of the second-rate sporting set — the
plebs superiorum, as it were — were sitting about
the room. Amongst them wandered one or two
fox terriers and a black Russian poodle. On a
mahogany table were champagne and cigars.
Our host stood with his back to the fire, and
talked without ceasing in a pleasant, mellow voice
with the manner of a privileged old family retainer.

58 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
He wore tightly-fitting, well-cut clothes and a twice-
round 'bird's-eye' scarf 'Come in, sir — come in,'
he exclaimed hospitably as I entered and was intro
duced. ' Hadn't you a brother up at Jesus in '71 ?
I thought so. In the Hussars now, if I'm not mis
taken ? The 1 3th ? Oh ah — yes. They're out in
India, of course. Now try a glass of that wine, sir,
and tell me what you think of it — Due de Mdlasse.
It's not one of those advertisin' brands ; it don't
require advertisin' ; it advertises itself I was just
tellin' Mr. Mughouse 'e ought to 'ave a little bit on
Penultimate next Wednesday at Lincoln. 'E's only
got 7 stone 8 to carry, and 'e knows the course as well
as you and me knows the way to bed, and that's
'alf the battle. No, no, Mr. Mughouse! don't you
go and 'ave it on with your friend Mr. Razzell ;
he'll only lay you fours, I'll tell you what I'll do :
I'll put you on myself at twenty-five pounds to five,
and if 'e wins you shall throw me over a five-pound
note, I'm glad to see you're enjoying that wine,
sir,' he went on as I politely gulped down the
sparkling syrup.
' It's not a b'nit wine,' he admitted. ' I wouldn't
'ave a brut wine on my table — nasty doctored-up
stuff! That's a wine you can taste the grape
and the sunshine in. I'll see if I've got a case
of it left, and I'll send it round to your rooms,
sir.'

A CLEVER SALESMAN 59
' Thank you very much,' I protested, not quite
sure whether he meant it as a present or how.
' But I don't want any more champagne in my — er
— cellar just now.' ('My cellar' was a lift-up
window-seat.) ' Ah ! But when you do want it I may not 'ave
it,' said Mr. Mason sagely. ' Besides, it's like
puttin' money in the bank. I send you six dozen
of this wine (if I've got it — mind you, I can't pro
mise). You've only got to pay for the wine, not for
a high-falutin' name and a lot of advertisin'. I'll
charge you just five per cent, more than I paid the
shippers. You shall have that wine at 93s. 6d. a
dozen, and if you like to bring it back to me in
three or four years' time, and say, " Mason, what '11
you give me for this Due de M^lasse ?" I'll pay you
a pound a bottle for it. You're not enjoyin' that
cigar, sir,' he suddenly exclaimed, changing the
subject. ' Throw it away. No, no ; I insist ;
there's not flavour enough in that cigar to /suit you.'
As a matter of fact, the foul weed was full of an
overwhelming flavour, more like creosote -than any
thing else I could think of But I was glad to be
rid of it.
' No,' said my host ; ' I keep those light-coloured
ones for youngsters who ain't used to tobacco.
Now, there's a cigar you'll appreciate, sir — a Flor
de Caracol ;' and, to my acute distress, he forced an

60 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
evil-looking, dark-green, sausage-shaped object into
my hand. ' You'll enjoy that cigar, sir,' he went on.
' And if I let you 'ave five 'undred of 'em, you
mustn't ask me 'ow I came by them. But I tell
you this much ' — and he lowered his voice to a
whisper — ' they've never paid duty J
And this was very likely true. As they were cer
tainly not made of tobacco, there was no reason why
they should have. He went on talking racing to
Mughouse and Spooner and one or two others until
I presently attracted his attention again by inadver
tently stroking the head of a terrier of sorts.
' Hullo, sir,' exclaimed my host, ' I didn't know
you were a da wg- fancier. But now I Call it to
mind, so was your brother before you. Would you
believe it, sir, young Sir Plumley Duff was in here
the other day, and 'e couldn't see the beauty of that
dawg ? He's not one of your long-nosed terriers
like they're trying to pass 'em off now ; he's one
of the little pug-nosed ones such as they used to
breed. Little beauty !' and he patted the mongrel
affectionately. ' It's very seldom you find 'em now
adays with the one wall eye. There's his sister
there — Come 'ere, Vic ! — I wouldn't part with 'er
not if you was to offer me a fifty-pound note, I
wouldn't. But as for Nip — well, sir, as you've taken
a fancy to the little dawg, I'll make you a present of
'im ; I'm sure you'll be kind to 'im. Don't give 'im

CAMBRIDGE ATHLETICS 61
any meat — a little green vegetables with 'is biscuit
now and then. But there, I dare say you know as
much about keepin' dawgs as what I do.'
' But I can't think of accepting your dog,' I ex
claimed, horrified at the prospect. ' It's extremely
kind of you, but  '
'Very well, then,' said Mr. Dick Mason. 'So as
there shan't be any obligation, you shall give me a
five-pound note for 'im. Only that's between our
selves. If anyone asks you, say, " I was made a
present of 'im ;" and at that price, sir, you won't
be tellin' a word of a lie.'
The following day I received a six- dozen case of
Due de Melasse (Private Cuvee), five boxes of the
mysterious Flor de Caracol weeds, and a message
asking where was the dog to go. My bill would
have amounted to ;^53 14s. Luckily, I had the
strength of mind to repudiate the contract and to
refuse to take in the things. But I was so young
that I felt like a swindler for doing so, and for a
long time I turned a guilty crimson whenever I
heard the name of plausible old Dick Mason.
My principal amusements at Cambridge were
boxing and fencing. Galpin, from Angelo's, opened
a salle d' armes in the town. Egerton Castle was
his show-pupil with the foils, if pupil he could be
called, for even in these days he was a first-rate
fencer. Cricket I could not abide, for when I was

62 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
about nine years old I was badly cut over in a school
match, and since that date I have funked a cricket-
ball more utterly than any other missile, crisis or
calamity I ever heard of I had rather stroll between
rifle-butts and soldiers when they are at practice
than enter Battersea Park on a Saturday afternoon
in summer when children are playing cricket there.
On the two or three occasions that I have had to
witness cricket-matches from the alleged security of
a pavilion, I have always felt as nervous as the his
torical sufferer from gout who used to sit in his
wheel-chair on the cliffs at Ramsgate and wave his
stick and shriek with apprehension if he saw a
vessel go past his foot so near as the horizon.
When I was at Cambridge there was an annual
match between two social clubs — the A.D.C. and
the Athenaeum — which was more a parade of the
prominent members of each club than a display
of cricket, and in which no well-known member
could well refuse to play, if asked. I was once
called upon to play for the A.D.C. After a good
deal of pressing I consented, on condition that I
didn't have to field. I lay awake in terror most of
the previous night, and when the fateful moment
arrived for me to go in, I felt faint and sick at heart.
I was rigged out in pads and gloves with india-
rubber tyres to the fingers, and crept like snail
unwillingly to the wicket. It so happened that

MY CRICKET AVERAGE 63
most of the members of the eleven were members
of the Athenseum ; I think Alfred Lyttelton was
the only Blue on our side. I had to face the bowl
ing of Ivo Bligh. Trembling in every limb, I
endeavoured to assume a defiant attitude, though I
stood as edgewise as I could. ' Nelly ' contemplated
me for some time, gently tossing the ' leather ' (as I
believe it is called by sporting reporters) from hand
to hand. Then he stooped low and discharged it
in my direction. It travelled along the ground very
slowly ; I thought it would never reach me. Still,
it was a cricket-ball, and it was aimed at me, and I
felt duly conscious of my peril. The fag end of an
advertisement concerning nervous debility came
into my mind, I remember : ' And the patient ' (who
has not taken So-and-So's Syrup) ' turns his face to
the wall and prays for death, which speedily ensues.'
Nearer, nearer came the ball. At last I felt the
moment for action had arrived. I made a mighty
blow at it, but as my ' willow ' neared the turf the
ball gave a pirouette like a graceful dancer, evaded
my bat, and presently just tapped the middle stump.
After a second or so of strong, nervous tension I
saw the bails fall to the ground, and I knew I was
a free man. I never enjoyed a meal more than the
luncheon that followed this terrible experience.
Next day I walked up to Fenner's and found the
scoring-book unguarded. I felt the o looked some-

64 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
what insignificant, so I inserted some ones and
twos and made my score up to ten, making a
corresponding alteration in the total of the innings.
Anyone who has Lillywhite's Guide (or Calendar, or
whatever it is called) for 1878 (I think that was the
year) will see that I ' played in one match, made 10
runs — annual average 10.'

CHAPTER IV
Holidays — In the Ardennes — A wild-boar battue — Hints on
foreign venery — The fox, and how to slay him — The boar,
and how to elude him — Norway — Camping on the Dover
fjeld — Freya — His lordship's valet — My very obedient
servant — The power of imagination — Charley Buller — An
incident at Lord's — March strawberries — Lionel Tennyson
and the smuggler.
One of the pleasantest holidays I ever spent was
during one long vocation, when poor Arnald de
Grey and Bernard Holland (I wonder if he re
members the sect of the ' Misosophers ' which
Herbert Stephen and he and I started at Cambridge,
and whether he is still true to its tenets ?) went on
what we were pleased to call a ' reading tour.' We
first crossed from Harwich to Antwerp, where we
dawdled through a few delightful days. We then
made Rotterdam our headquarters, and went lazy
expeditions on steamers through the canals, doing
as the Dutch did — smoking in silence, and eating
numberless meals of tea, with piles of bread-and-
butter and bread and cheese.
At last we got to Diekirch, a delightful spot in
5

66 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
the Grand-Duchy of Luxemburg. The hotel was
called the Hotel des Ardennes, and was kept by
an Anglomaniac named Heck. He entertained us
royally, for five francs a day, which included coffee
and rolls in our rooms, a solid mid-day meal, and a
Lord Mayor's banquet at half-past six. There was a
pleasant wine of the country, bottled in hock bottles,
rather like a Steinwein in flavour, at about tenpence
a bottle. After dinner we used to sit on a terrace
overlooking the Moselle, smoke our pipes and
watch the sunset, while our host, who was a
violinist, and his daughter, who was a charming
pianist, and his brother, who performed upon the
'cello, played Beethoven trios in the neighbouring
dining-room. In the morning we used to bathe in the Moselle
before breakfast, and amuse ourselves by swimming
across into Prussia, which was about lo yards off.
After which our host would organize fishing expedi
tions for us (he was able to procure us some
excellent trout fishing). Sometimes he would come
with us, but almost always we were accompanied by
a charming old Major Coppinger, who, with his
wife, were the only other Britons in the place. He
was a Chamberlain to His Holiness, and showed us
with pride his own photograph in tights and a short
mantle. He was an enthusiastic fisherman, and
taught me not only how to throw a fly, but how to

A WILD-BOAR BATTUE 67
tie one, and I once experienced the heavenly
sensation of catching a two-pound trout with a fly
of my own manufacture.
I remember on one occasion, after a long day's
fishing, all of us wet through and ravenously
hungry, we missed the last train back to Diekirch.
We had to walk sixteen miles along the railway-
line. We obtained from the station-master a piece
of candle to light us through the tunnels. We had
a dreary trudge of five hours on loose slag, and
once or twice we had to dodge an approaching
train. We cheered ourselves up by singing all the
songs we knew. Luckily old Major Coppinger had
a large selection. I discovered early on our tramp
I had a flask nearly full of whisky, but I didn't
divulge the fact until we left the railway-line and
were within three miles of home, when we all lay
down on the dusty highroad round our stump of
candle, which we stuck up in the middle, and
gratefully drank to our home-coming.
There was a hospitable old Baron in the neigh
bourhood of Diekirch who, hearing that there were
Englishmen at the hotel, gave a wild- boar battue in
our honour, and invited us to meet him and other
sportsmen at a neighbouring railway-station. We
accepted with alacrity. We were able, through our
friendly landlord, to borrow some pin-fire guns,
made in Liege, if I recollect rightly. We were
5—2

68 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
instructed to load with big shot in the first barrel
and ball in the second. According to the laws of
the country, we were not permitted to carry our
guns in the ordinary way, but werp compelled to
wear them strapped across us. Our fellow-sports
men, to the number of about a dozen, met us on the
platform, and commenced proceedings by singing
national airs and such inspiriting ditties as ' Mourir
pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le beau qu'il y ait sur
la te-e-e-rre.' They were mostly farmers, and
marvellously got up.
One of the most picturesque was a fat old chap,
with a gray toothbrush moustache, which did not
reach the corners of his mouth. He wore a
Panama hat, a velveteen coat, and gaiters halfway
up the hip, attached by means of buckles. Across
his left shoulder was the strap of his gun ; on his
right he wore a roomy game-bag, from the net oT
which peeped a cold chicken, a roll, some salad, and
a bottle of claret. Attached to his belt was a
sheathed couteau de chasse about 2 feet long.
He asked me if ' monsieur had ever before made la
chasse au sanglier ?' I told him this was my first
experience. He then enlightened me as to the
habits of the wild-boar, and the manner in which to
tackle him.
' If you wound a boar,' he told me, ' he will turn
round and charge in your direction, but not actually

HINTS ON FOREIGN VENERY 69
at you. He will appear to be about to rush past
you, but as he approaches gare d vous. II est bien
malin le sanglier I Ah oui ! He will pretend not
to see you, but as he reaches you he will suddenly
turn his head and break your shins with his tusk.
Then he will apply himself to disembowelling you.
It will be all very fine for monsieur to endeavour to
lie on his face. Master Boar will turn you over
with his snout.'
' What must be done, then,' I inquired, ' to avoid
this fate ?'
' That is what I am going to tell you,' replied my
old sporting authority. ' It is a manoeuvre requiring
much nerve and much composure. Monsieur must
hold his ground, his hunting-knife in his hand. As
the boar throws himself upon him, monsieur must
take one step to the rear, and plunge his blade into
the breast just behind the shoulder — thus !' And he
drew his small sword and made an impressive
lunge in the direction of the newspaper and tobacco
stall, to the great admiration of the old lady
presiding thereat.
When we reached our destination we were met
by the Baron, who welcomed us cordially, and by
his nephew, a young Vicomte. They were dressed
less picturesquely than their farmer guests, yet not
quite after the English fashion. They wore stiff
felt hats, black melton coats, huge nauds flottants of

70 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
a bird's-eye pattern, and trousers tucked into leather
spats. There was also the piqueur, the huntsman
or head-keeper. He was a very fine fellow, very
keen, dressed in an ordinary peasant's blouse, with
a curved horn, like a child's toy, hung about his
neck. He had with him a nondescript pack of six
or eight hounds, and before we started he very practi
cally told us the value of each, in case, ' par malheur,
un de ces messieurs ' should chance, in a fit of
misdirected zeal, to slay a dog instead of a pig —
' voila L6on, par exemple ' ; and he indicated a huge
white, woolly dog, exactly like a toy sheep in the
Lowther Arcade. 'II est tres bon pour attaquer,
celui-la — L6on vaut cent francs.' The only couple
that looked at all workmanlike were two English
otter-hounds. However, we were told the price of
each, in case of accidents, and then proceeded to the
covert. I was placed in a corner, well hidden, near
a little bridle-path that ran through the forest.
Presently the huntsman sounded a note upon his
horn which announced to us that beaters and dogs
had started.
It was a lovely day and a beautiful spot. All of
a sudden I beheld a tiny fox's cub whose ears, far
sharper than mine, had heard, no doubt, the distant
tread of the beater. He strutted past me in the
sunshine, within a couple of yards, sniffing the air,
preening his whiskers, beaming with life and joy

A SPORTSMAN IN DIFFICULTIES 71
and juvenile slyness. A few seconds later I heard
a sharp pung ! pung ! and the poor little varmint
hove again into sight, crawling along the ground
with his hind-quarters shattered. The Vicomte was
in close pursuit, hunting-knife in hand, and presently
he flung himself on the top of his quarry. He
stabbed the tiny beast through and through, rolled
on the path with it, so that he himself became caked
in blood and dust. Then, drawing himself erect,
he held up the mangled mite by its brush, and
exclaimed in triumph : ' Ah ! il est bien mort,
celui-la !' It gave me a feeling of physical nausea.
Soon after that we heard piercing screams, such
as one might expect to hear from a man upon
the rack. All that I had recently heard of the
wild-boar's penchant for the inwards of his pursuer
rushed into my mind, and I hurried, pale of cheek,
in the direction of these signals of distress. I
was soon joined by my two friends, equally anxious
to render succour, if in time. We presently came
upon the emitter of the yells. It was my plump
old friend, the sporting authority, who, oblivious
of his own maxims, was hanging on to a hazel-
tree which bowed under his weight. His couteau
de chasse had fallen from its scabbard, and lay on
the ground by the side of his undischarged gun.
For a second I feared he was wounded, but I soon
perceived that it was only his bottle of petit-bleu.

72 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
which had got damaged in his ascent and was
pouring forth its life on to the turf. And last of all
we caught sight of the furious cause of this stampede.
It was a diminutive marcassin, or wild sucking-pig,
who looked not much larger than a frog, and was
snorting anathema through his little upturned snout.
He scampered away when he saw he was out
numbered, and our portly Belgian shikaree alighted
from his coign of vantage, burst into tears of
gratitude, and kissed each of us on either cheek for
coming to his rescue.
At luncheon the vulpecidal Vicomte was the hero
of the hour ; for although two or three small pigs
had been killed, the dead baby-fox was regarded as
the most glorious trophy. We discovered that, of
the entire party, Bernard Holland had had the
greatest opportunity of distinguishing himself in
venery, but had failed to take advantage of it. He
told us he had seen a huge boar with his wives and
offspring gathered together in a glade within thirty
or forty yards of where he was standing ; they held
a hurried conseil defamille, and my friend became so
engrossed in observing the demeanour and conduct
of these rightful inhabitants of the forest that he
entirely forgot he was there to slay them, and it
was not until luncheon that it occurred to him that
he ought to have exploded his piece. We rallied
him a good deal, and to such good purpose that when

NORWAY 73
we were replaced in another covert his enthusiasm
very nearly brought about a tragedy. We had told
him that he must fire at any foreign object he might
perceive moving in the underwood, and he went to
his post, gun in hand, alert for slaughter. In a few
minutes we heard two reports, in quick succession,
from Bernard Holland's quarter. He had seen
something move. ' Ah 9a, Monsieur 1' Anglais !'
cried the Baron, leaping from behind a bush, and
holding up his hat, which had been perforated by
my friend's unerring bullet. ' Qu'est-ce que 9a
signifie ? Ce n'est pas comme 9a qu'on fait la
chasse, sacr6 nom d'une pipe !'
However, later on in the day Bernard Holland
slew the biggest beast of the day, a great pig who
turned the scale at 150 kilos.
Another long vacation I went with Arnald de
Grey and Howard Whitbread to Norway in pursuit
of reindeer. It was in 1877, I think the last year
of free shooting in that country — nowadays I believe
it is necessary to take out an expensive license ; also,
I fancy, there are difficulties about the importation
< of dogs. But in those days it was a perfectly
simple and economical form of holiday. We took
two Scotch setters with us for the ryper shooting,
and all kinds of pots and pans and paraphernalia
for camping out.
We started from Hull on board the old Tasso.

74 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
There was a legend that the original Wilson was
especially attached to that particular boat, and left
an annuity to his sons so long as she should be kept
running, and that in her old age the company had
accordingly put new ends to her instead of breaking
her up, and that that was why she was too long for
her beam, and displayed a hilarious disposition to
roll. We reached Molde in the evening of the
fourth day. The next day we took a steamer up
the fjord to Ness, whence we proceeded to Aak,
and from there we drove about thirty-five English
miles in carioles to Molmern, There we were met
by the Norwegian stalker, whom we had engaged by
letter, Ole Svanemyr (the ' Ole ' pronounced as his
admirers pronounce the name of the financier who
presented a set of Communion-plate to the Dean
and Chapter of St, Paul's), and a gillie, who took
our heavy luggage on by pony to Aursho to the
saeter we proposed to make our headquarters.
They came back for us in a couple of days and
conducted us to our destination. We had to walk
about twenty miles across absolutely bare gray
rocks without a sign of vegetation ; we might have
been in the moon. At last we saw a patch of
green in the distance, and presently a slate-coloured
loch, and at last a little cluster of four or five huts.
These are inhabited during the summer by cow
herds and their families ; but they appear to be

CAMPING ON THE DOVERFJELD 75
common property, and room is made, as a matter
of course, for new arrivals. We took possession
of the hut allotted to us. I made a fire, and we
supped off tinned soup, corned beef, ship's biscuit,
and whisky. Every morning the cowherds with
their pipes, and their wives and sisters with their
knitting, used to stroll to the edge of the loch and,
with grave surprise, gaze at us as we bathed.
We were too high up for salmon, but there were
plenty of trout ; the biggest we ever killed was
about 3 pounds. But we found to our dismay
that these barbarous fish had not been educated up
to London-made flies — to Jermyn Street Duns and
Palmers and Coch-y-Bondhus ; they did not appear
to be able even to see these delicate works of art,
or, if they did, they had not been taught that they
were intended to be the images of anything ap
petizing in Nature. But, fortunately, Arnald de
Grey had brought with him an old book of gaudy
salmon-flies, out of which we were able to fashion
some flashy little baits which may not have absolutely
deceived the Scandinavian trout, but at all events
frequently excited his curiosity to fatal lengths.
We were always able to breakfast off freshly-killed
trout in addition to our porridge. Also we soon got
a larder full of game — ryper, wild-duck, and venison.
I was cook to the party, and after awhile the others
grumbled if I did not give them ' courses.' I think

76 RANDOM REMINISCENCES'
the most elaborate dinner I ever served them
consisted of broth, grilled trout (done with a dash
of onion and some coarse oatmeal), hashed venison,
roast ryper, and girdle-cakes of rye-meal — all at a
wood-fire on a slab of stone under a hole in the
roof. I once cooked them a red-throated diver (I
got a pair with their red throats on). I skinned
him and buried him for twenty-four hours, and
stuffed him with onion stuffing, but he was rather
fishy for all that. We were glad when we had
finished him,
Ole Svanemyr had a delightful dog called Freya,
something like an Esquimaux dog. She was a kind
of blue-gray with long, pointed, mobile ears and a
tightly-curled, bushy tail. She was a very clever
tracker, and I believe she was also broken to sheep.
Once, when Whitbread and I were returning from
a long day's stalking — it was past midnight, and we
had left Aursho at 6 a.m. — Freya was in front of us,
and her master 50 yards or so behind carrying a
couple of haunches (when we killed a beast we had
to cut him up there and then, carry home a portion,
and build a cairn over the remainder, which we
would send the gillie and pony for next morning).
Presently we were crossing a bit of glacier, and we
wanted to consult the stalker as to the direction we
should take, but the little man was nowhere to be
seen. We turned back, and presently came to

AN ACCIDENT IN THE SNOW 77
where the haunches lay upon the snow, but there
was no sign of Ole. We shouted, but received no
answer. All of a sudden we made the startling
observation that, although his footsteps were plainly
visible in the snow up the hillside to where we
stood, where he had deposited the haunches, there
was no track leading away from that spot. With
British lack of imagination, we were utterly unable
to draw any ' deduction,' as Baden- Powell would
say, until Freya, far more intelligent than either of
us, began to scratch furiously at the drift, and the
truth dawned upon us that our guide had slipped
into a crevasse, and the fine snow had fallen in and
filled up the fissure. We managed to get him out
and to restore him, and he strode along the re
mainder of the way as though nothing had happened.
After a month I had to leave my friends en
camped on the Doverfjeld, and hurry back to
Molde to catch the homeward-bound Tasso.
I had a beard of six weeks' growth, my knicker
bockers were stained with traces of butchery and of
cooking, and I carried with me a huge haunch of
reindeer venison, a rifle-case, and a leather bag. I
had got to the last stage of my journey — that is to
say, after about thirty hours' cariole drive I was
on board the little fjord steamer bound for Molde.
A tall, well-set-up man with small side-whiskers,
clad in a well-cut ' pepper-and-salt ' suit surmounted

78 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
by a square hard felt hat, strolled leisurely up and
accosted me. He was obviously the great servant
of a great man. He paid me the compliment of
taking me to be a humble member of his own
calling. ' Mornin',' he commenced affably. ' Fine
mornin'. Is your governor on board ?' 'No, he
isn't,' I was able to reply truthfully. ' I see you've
got a haunch of venison there. I suppose you've
rubbed it over with salt and pepper ?' he proceeded
kindly. ' I'll show you where to hang it up when
we get on board the English boat. Midships you
want to hang it, where it'll get the draught.' I
gave him some Scotch whisky I had in my flask,
and he gave me a fill of tobacco. 'What sort
of a governor have you got i*' he presently asked
me. 'He's a very good old chap indeed,' I
answered. 'Mine's a rum un,' said he — 'Earl
Wallsend. You've heard of him, I dare say ?'
J nodded. ' He's all right at times,' proceeded the
^valet ; ' but when he's out of sorts he's a tartar.
He's eccentric, you know. Just a leetle bit upstairs,
Jie is. Always worritin' about his health.' And he
went on to tell me a number of stories about his
lordship, with whom, it so happened, I was ac-
.quainted. Then Mr. Berryman (that I found was
my new friend's name) went on to give me a
.description of the household. The chef was dis-
Jionest and drunken, the butler was ' a terrible

LIFE BELOW-STAIRS 79
hot-tempered man,' and so on, and after about
half an hour, our acquaintance having ripened into
intimacy, he confided to me some of his conquests.
How her ladyship's maid had become infatuated
with him, but that, unfortunately, she had red hair,
which he, personally, could not abide. His favourite,
it appeared, was one of the stillroom-maids ; but
Mrs. Marsham, the housekeeper, had the eye of a
hawk, and consequently the course of their true
love ran by no means smooth. ' Spiteful old vixen,
Mrs. Marsham ! Very gone on the chef, she is.'
And so he prattled on until we arrived at the
Molde landing-stage, where old Lord Wallsend was
standing. 'Well, so long,' said my friend, shaking
me by the hand. 'We shall meet again on board
the old Tasso.' ' My dear friend, how do you do ?'
exclaimed Lord Wallsend, as soon as he caught
sight of me. ' Come up to the hotel and have some
breakfast. The boat's not in yet, and I've sent my
courier on to tell them to wait.' Poor Berryman
turned as white as a sheet, and looked as though he
would fain sink into the hold. However, I kept his
confidences inviolate. Lord Wallsend told him off
to wait on me during the voyage home. He was
an admirable valet.
I remember one day, on that voyage back to
England, the skipper, who usually presided at our
iable, was on deck for some reason, and I was invited

80 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to carve. The old steward leant over my shoulder
with a plate, and asked for a second helping of mutton,
then added in an earnest whisper, which seemed to
contain a hint as to ' pope's-eyes,' ' For the Earl !'
One of the best servants I ever had was a man
called Viner. He was an ex-hussar, and extra
ordinarily ' handy ' and resourceful. On one occa
sion I was travelling up to Inverness with a kind
host and hostess, who had a forest in the Glen-
morriston district. Their saloon carriage contained
every conceivable luxury — hampers of wine and
provisions, a library of books and magazines, even
a wheel of petits chevaux to beguile the journey.
It was a baking hot afternoon in August, and
presently, as the Highland train dawdled from
one sleepy little station to another, it occurred to
us that some cup would be refreshing. But although
we had wine, soda-water, liqueurs, lemons, sugar, ice,
one essential was lacking — we had no vessel to
make it in. We were just moving slowly out of
Kingussie ; I looked out of window, and caught
the alert eye of Viner, who at every station poked
an inquiring head out of his third-class carriage
window. 'Just get a jug, will you, at the next
station we stop at ?' I exclaimed. ' Very good,
sir,' I saw his lips reply, as he touched his hat. I
gave the order more to amuse my companions than
with any idea that my faithful retainer would under-

MY OBEDIENT SERVANT 81
take such an apparently forlorn hope as the purchase
of a wassail-bowl at a Scotch railway-station. I don't
think a civilian servant would have taken my order
seriously, or else he would have presently come up
and said, ' Beg pardon, sir, but where am I to get
that jug ? What sort of jug do you want, sir ?
How much am I to give for it, sir ?' and so forth.
But soldier servants are different. ' Theirs not to
make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to
do ' — what their masters tell them, and be sworn at
if the result is unsatisfactory. At the next stopping-
place — Kincraig I think it was — I saw Viner jump
out of his carriage while the train was going at full
speed — that is to say, at about ten miles an hour —
and tear out of the station. We only waited three
minutes or so, and then the locomotive gave a
few drowsy snorts and reluctantly started off again.
' What an idiot that man is !' I muttered. ' He
might have known  ' But at that moment he
reappeared, an enormous white bedroom jug in his
hand, and, after pressing his hat on to his head,
took a harlequin leap through our window, then
picked himself up, apologized for the unceremonious
method of his entry, and retired to the corridor. I
asked him afterwards how he had contrived to get the
jug. 'Well, sir,' he replied, ' I knew I hadn't over
much time. I saw a cottage close by the station :
I bolted in — there was an old lady in the settin'-
6

82 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
room, but I ran past her into her bedroom, collared
the ewer that was standin' in the basin, chucked her
a couple of bob, and got back just in time, sir. I
hope her ladyship didn't think it a liberty, sir, my
comin' in like that through the window ; but I took
it you was in a hurry for the jug, sir.'
I spent some delightful Christmas holidays with
Edward Bouverie in Wiltshire. They are especially
impressed upon my memory by a striking instance
of the power of the imagination. I travelled with
my host and two or three others one December
evening to Market Lavington. It was bitterly
cold, and we were in an unupholstered third-class .
carriage. By the time we got to the end of our
railway journey it was pitch dark and we were
frozen. A private omnibus had been sent to meet
us, and we trooped into it and pulled up the glass
of the window. ' I do hope to goodness they've
remembered to put in the foot-warmers !' exclaimed
our host, reconnoitring with his foot. ' Thank
goodness ! it's all right ;' and sure enough we
found stowed under the seats two heavy con
trivances which we hauled into line and gratefully
rested our feet upon. The effect was instantaneous.
Immediately a delicious warmth permeated the soles
of our boots, thawed our icy feet, mulled our frozen
shins, and soon turned all the winter of our bodies
into glorious summer.

THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION 83
' What asses we were not to have had foot-
warmers in the train !' we reflected. ' Yes, but,
hang it ! this is almost too much of a good thing !'
exclaimed one perspiring traveller. ' Do you
fellows mind if we have a bit of window down ?'
The glass was accordingly lowered, and we breathed
more freely. Thoroughly warm in our bodies, we
felt refreshed by the keen night air blowing in on
to our faces.
' I'm extremely sorry, sir,' murmured the butler
to Edward Bouverie as our light luggage was being
brought into the hall at the manor-house. ' Denis
was out driving the ladies, and I could only send
young Vincent with the omnibus, and he must
needs drive off without the foot-warmers !' It then
turned out that the objects on which we had been
so cosily resting our feet were two of our own
gun-cases. The name of Edward Bouverie reminds me,
among many delightful memories, of rackets and
tennis. The only inter-University contest which
had any attraction for me was the rackets. It used
to take place in the court of the old ' Princes ' Club
in Pont Street. It was there that I first saw
Charley Buller, about twenty -six years ago (I
wonder what has happened to him now T)r He was
in the gallery, clad in a loose white dressing-gown,
leaning over the balustrade, acting as judge. He
6—2

84 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
was a typical Ouida hero — a mixture of athletic and
effeminate beauty — and he occasionally justified that
extraordinarily clever writer by behaving exactly as
one of her own special and particular guardsmen,
and no one else, would have behaved in similar
circumstances. Once, at Lord's, Charley Buller had in some
official capacity to give a decision prejudicial to a
certain professional cricketer, whom we will call
Bates, Bates accepted his reprimand, then slunk
off to a bar and brooded, to the accompaniment of
several glasses of brandy-and- water. He presently
came to the conclusion that he had a grievance
against Buller which demanded immediate redress.
Accordingly, he searched Lord's cricket-ground for
his enemy. There was a fashionable match in
progress, and presently he found the fascinating
Captain faultlessly dressed in masterpieces by Poole
and Lock, leaning over an emblazoned barouche,
talking to a dazzling Duchess, just as though he
had been placed there by the magic hand of Ouida
herself The sulky cricketer eyed him for a moment with
a heaving breast, then took a short run, and kicked
him in the most obvious and insulting manner as
hard as he knew how.
Charley Buller, with the most perfect self-restraint,
merely glanced over his shoulder to see who his

MARCH STRAWBERRIES 85
assailant was, concluded his conversation, bowed
smilingly to his fair companion, and then made his
way to the pavilion.
' Send Bates to me, will you ?' he said to an
attendant, and he picked up a cricket-stump as he
spoke. And when Bates arrived, he took him by
the collar and thrashed him with that stump until
he could thrash no longer, and the unfortunate
professional was sent off with three broken ribs to
the hospital, where he remained an inmate for five
weeks. An obdurate fair one once refused ever to see
Charley Buller again unless he should bring her a
basket of strawberries. As it was the month of
March, her swain was plunged in the depths of
despair. But by the aid of the sapient Mr. Solomon,
of Piccadilly, he was able in about a week to
present himself at the hard-hearted lady's bower,
laden with a chip basket containing about twelve
pale, seed-speckled berries which had cost about a
sovereign each, nestling in a bed of ducal foliage,
and screened from the March winds by layers of
wool and blue paper.
' Is madame at home ?' inquired the proud gallant.
' I'll inquire, sir,' said the servant.
' Do, and say Captain Buller has brought the
strawberries,' said the visitor, as he was shown into
a boudoir to wait.

86 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' How surprised she'll be !' reflected our friend, as
he stripped the precious basket of its coverings.
' They don't look particularly inviting, but they are
strawberries. There's no getting away from that.
She must be pleased at the trouble I've taken to get
them, as she was so bent on them, whether they're
fit to eat or not. I don't suppose they've really any
flavour at all. I think I'll just taste one and see.
. . . Practically without any taste at all ! But that
was a very white one. . . . That one was better !
They're rather sweet and refreshing, but they've no
distinctive flavour.'
As his lovely hostess sailed into the room, the
absent - minded Charles was in the act of throw
ing out of the window the stalk of the last straw
berry. I was at Cambridge with both Hallam and
Lionel Tennyson. The latter was one or two years
senior to me, the other, of course, more than that.
I succeeded to Hallam's rooms — on the left hand of
the entrance-gate to the old court, over the office.
They had been Alfred's in the 'dawn-golden times';
my father's had been on the same staircase on the
floor above, and were then part of my tutor's suite.
Lionel was by far the more companionable of the
two brothers. Hallam seemed to me to wear the
name of Tennyson as a kind of lev^e-dress ; Lionel
wore it more as a becoming easy jacket. A story

A SMUGGLER'S SCHEME 87
recurs to me which Lionel told me of an adventure
he once had in the Isle of Wight.
He was strolling along Freshwater beach one
blustering day, when a seafaring man lurched up to
him and asked him for a light. The stranger was
a picturesque figure. His face was bronzed, his
piercing gray eyes peered from under a pair of
shaggy eyebrows, his hair was long and curly, he
had rings in his ears and a fur cap on his head.
His stained canvas overalls were bound round his
waist by a coloured sash and tucked into sea-boots,
and he wore a weather-beaten pilot-jacket. ' Axin'
yer pardon, sir,' he said in a hoarse whisper, ' but
might you be a gen'leman wot enj'ys 'is bit o'
'backer ?' Taken aback by the suddenness of the
question, Lionel stammered forth the admission that
he was a smoker. ' And perhaps you'd like it none
the worse,' the man of the sea proceeded, more
huskily than ever, and with a cautious glance over
his shoulder, ' if so be as it 'adn't paid no dooty !
Leastways, if I'm wrong I 'ope as 'ow you won't say
nothin' to get a pore man into trouble.' Lionel
swore himself to secrecy, and his new friend
confided to him that he was the mate of a lugger
which was lying-to about a mile out ; that he and
his lawless mates had voyaged across the Atlantic
with a cargo of priceless Havana cigars, which they
had been unable to land at Plymouth, their original

88 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
destination, owing to the vigilance of the revenue
officers ; that even there, in the Isle of Wight, the
authorities were on the alert. The beach was
• regular infested ' with coast-guards (he used a
vulgar but graphic adjective in place of the past
participle), and what they proposed to do was to
find a few discreet customers in different ports, and
get rid of their stuff in small parcels. ' They segars,'
said the smuggler, ' is worth a shillin' apiece of
anyone's money. Yet, pushed as we are, we're
willin' to part with 'em at a sovereign a hundred.'
' I don't mind buying a couple of hundred,' said
Lionel. ' Where can I — call for them ?'
' Don't you miss this chance, guv'ner,' urged the
sailor. ' It's the chance of a lifetime. 'Ave twenty
boxes. You can walk into any terbaccernist's
shop to-morrow and make ;^8o profit on yer
bargain. And the longer yer keeps 'em, the more
they'll matoor.'
At last young Tennyson was prevailed upon to
invest in twelve boxes for £io. 'Wot you've
got to do, sir,' said the man whose accomplice
in crime he had become, ' is to charter a small
boat. There's the Mary Anne, Tom Purvis. 'E's
a man o'the world, a man you can trust, is Tom
Purvis. You'll leave 'is 'ard about nine o'clock.
Tell 'im to make a course for the Brambles Lightship
and keep a look-out for the Harry Paulet, of

LANDING THE ' STUFF ' 89
Falmouth. Then, if you sees a white light hangin'
over her port bow, come alongside and sing out :
" Say, matey, wot's it like outside ?" Then for the
countersign you'll 'ear : " Some dirty weather
blowin' up from the west." Then you'll know as
all's serene, you'll 'and up the money, va. gold, mind
yer, and we'll sling over the 'backer.'
Tom Purvis required a good deal of talking over.
He said he 'didn't half like the job. It went
against his conscience.' But he consented at last to
undertake it for a sovereign. It was a very un
pleasant night, and about midway, when it seemed
too late to turn back, poor Lionel was overtaken by
terrible sea-sickness, and when the Mary Anne
came under the lee of the Harry Paulet it was a
feeble voice indeed that arose from the bottom of
the wherry and inquired, with no ring of interest,
' what it was like outside.' And when the reply
came, ' Some dirty weather blowin' up from the
west,' the amateur smuggler could only retort with a
moan. However, he contrived to hand over the
ten sovereigns he had brought with him. The
twelve cedarwood boxes were lowered out, and the
Mary Anne was soon running before the wind back
into Freshwater Bay, while the Harry Paulet
forged still further into her iniquitous course towards
H amble. When Lionel came to examine his bargain in the

90 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
privacy of his bedroom at Farringford, he found
himself the possessor of 1,200 cigars manufactured
near Wellclose Square, in the East End of London,
out of goodness knows what, and worth about is. 8d.
a hundred wholesale. As for Tom Purvis, he
denied all knowledge of the Harry Paulet, nor
had he any suggestion to make as to who could
be the illicit trader from Havana who esteemed
him so highly as a ' man o' the world.' But he
blossomed forth into a new suit of clothes the
following Sunday.

CHAPTER V
' Adopting the stage as a profession ' — Expert advice — The calling
then and now — 'Touring' — Discomforts — Typhoid fever —
Sir William Jenner — A pantomime engagement — A ' stage-
name' — The Haymarket Theatre — The Bancrofts at rehearsal
— Frank Marshall — As a maker of salad.
It was early in 1879 that I made up my mind to go
upon the stage — if I could. I don't think it was
Vanity that prompted me — at least, not Vanity alone
— although she may have thrown out to me an
occasional word of encouragement. I was 'eating
my dinners' at the Inner Temple with Herbert
Stephen, Rudolph Lehmann, Edward Bouverie, •
Samuel Whitbread, and others ; but I felt I ought
to try and earn an income sooner than I had any
prospect of doing at the Bar. I sought advice
in all kinds of quarters. Mrs. Alfred Wigan
counselled me to join a stock company so as to
I get plenty of hard work and experience, the only
objection to this excellent scheme being that there
were no stock companies to join. Mr. Hamilton
Aide recommended me, vaguely, to ' study in

92 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Paris.' Arthur Cecil urged me strongly to do
nothing of the kind.
My most practical adviser was my old friend
Henry Kemble, who bade me to luncheon at the
Garrick Club to meet Charles Kelly (Ellen Terry's
husband). My host had never witnessed my
amateur efforts, and was able, all the more con
scientiously perhaps, to extol my latent histrionic
ability, with the result that a few days afterwards I
made my first stage appearance with Kelly and his
company at a morning performance at the Alexandra
Palace, for which I received a salary of ten
shillings, I think on the whole I was wise, situated as
I was, to go on the stage. As I said before, I
wanted to begin to earn my living at once. I had
achieved no scholarly distinction at Cambridge, and
the stage appeared to be the only craft which one
was paid to learn. And the theatre of those days
was an essentially different institution to the theatre
of to-day. Most of the managers of those days
were actors who had made their names, who had
got over the first zeal for personal prominence.
The money they invested in the business was
generally money they had earned by acting. And
while some were extraordinarily kind to their em
ployes and solicitous for their comfort, and others
less so, there was always a certain sympathy between

GENEROUS MANAGERS 93
actor and manager which there can never be between
actor and syndicate.
I remember, for instance, an occasion when I had
to go out of the bill at the Haymarket Theatre
owing to domestic bereavement. We were playing
' Ours ' at the time, and I was the Sergeant Jones.
My understudy, who took my place, was overtaken
by a kind of alcoholic aphasia, and could not re
member the word ' twins ' which recurs several
times in the part. I believe he substituted the
word ' kittens ' with disastrous results. At all
events, for the following night Forbes Robertson
(who had played the part at the old Prince of
Wales's) had to be engaged — at special terms, no
doubt. Then on Saturday afternoon there was a
performance of ' A Lesson ' and of ' She Stoops to
Conquer,' in both of which I usually played. Pinero
had to study and play my part in the first piece, and
Jack Macleane had to be sent for to play old Hard
castle in the comedy. When I came back a week
later, the Bancrofts not only paid me an ordinary
week's salary for the six days I had been away, but
in addition paid me the extra matinee money, as
though I had been acting and they had been put to
no trouble and expense in finding people to take my
place. I doubt if any other management in London
— except the D'Oyly Cartes — would have acted
with the same extraordinary generosity, and I am

94 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
certain that none of the present-day syndicate
managements would have paid me a farthing for
the time I was away.
It was an evil day for actors when the City
' gents ' realized that theatres offer similar possi
bilities for gambling to those afforded by mines and
stocks ; that theatrical venture presents all kinds of
opportunities for miniature variations of the bigger
game ; that when the gamester dares no longer
show his nose in Broad Street, he is welcomed and
hailed with deference and delight by the ingenuous
young actor who wants to play Othello and by the
infatuated young peer who wants to find a candle
stick in which to place the candle at which he is
singeing his whiskers. The outlawed financier
finds in theatrical speculation what the weather
bound lawn - tennis - player finds in 'ping-pong.'
Ce n'est pas absolument la guerre, mais c'est
magnifique tout de meme ! The novice imagines
that the smallness of the table will hamper the
expert and balance the difference of experience, but
the more knowing player never comes off second
best. It is always ' vantage ' to him and then
game. The syndicate manager cares no more for the
feelings or comfort of the actors in his employ than
for those of the miners who are engaged in a
Missing Diamond Competition in one of his mines.

SWINDLING MANAGERS 95
He knows no more about art than the pavement
bookmaker knows about a racehorse.
Again, should things go wrong, and the actor,
who was engaged for two years certain at ;^50 a
week for the first year and ;^6o a week for the
second, full salaries for matinees, etc., fail to draw
even a five-pound note, he will find the syndicate
has evaporated. Even if he succeed in finding
Mr. Schtidzintheim who engaged him, the latter
will say, ' My dear boy, Fm not responsible, /only
represented the " High Comedy Production Syndi
cate." That was amalgamated with the " New
Century Revival Syndicate." I'm sorry for the
way you've been treated, but the man you want to
get hold of is that scoundrel Schwindelbacher.'
But at the time that I went on the stage dangers
of this kind had not come into being. The bogus
manager existed only in the country. He would
at intervals rear his head above the surface for a
few hours, generally at the Gaiety bar, where he
would engage his company and then plunge back into
the depths of the provinces, followed by a confiding
shoal, whom he would presently strand at Barrow-
in-Furness or Stoke-on-Trent. Then he would
return to a London tavern, engage another company
of starving, sanguine players, and be on tour again
before the last lot had had time to travel home ' on
their luggage,' as the phrase went, and warn their

96 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
fellows. Not that warnings were of much use,
however, for the bogus managers were generally
notorious men ; but the actor out of work was often
in so desperate a plight that he would knowingly
engage with a rogue, and hope that a chance success
might turn him honest. But the London actor was
practically certain of his salary, and the pale-faced
manager tearing Citywards in a hansom-cab on a
Friday morning to try and raise enough for the
night's ' treasury ' was in those days an unfamiliar
sight. I started on tour in the autumn of 1879 with
Charles Kelly and Ellen Terry. They were in
variably charming and kind to me, and so was my
faithful old friend Kemble, who came with us ; but
the rest of the troupe were less sympathetic. My
disillusions began early. The bulk of the company
had to travel third-class. Our ' leading man ' wore
a frock-coat and a battered straw-hat, and travelled
in carpet slippers ; another of my new friends
donned a green embroidered smoking-cap with a
yellow tassel, another a purple knitted Tam-o'-
Shanter. As soon as the train started they spread
an imitation leopard-skin rug over their knees and
commenced playing penny ' nap ' — and quarrelling
over it. At stations where we stopped for more
time than was necessary for a run to the bar and
back they became appallingly playful ; they would

CIRCUS SLANG 97
hurl old jests at the porters, and pelt passing pas
sengers with a shower of stale pleasantries from last
year's Nuneaton pantomime. And I have never
seen any theatrical company cross the border into
Scotland without one of the comedians performing
an imitation Scotch reel on the platform, generally
with a railway-rug twisted round him, and exclaim
ing, ' Hoo's a' wi' ye ?' to the nearest station
official. Amongst themselves, the conversation of my
fellow-comedians was far from modest, and was
mostly about their triumphs, histrionic and romantic.
It was often interspersed with that strange jargon
which certain newspapers attribute to all actors, but
which I have only heard in the lowest theatrical
circles. ' Omee of the casa ' meant ' the manager of
the theatre ' (uomo delta casa) ; ' multee cattiva,'
' very bad ' (molto cattivo) ; ' nantee denaree, ' ' no
money' (niente dinard). Lodgings were called
' digs ' ; salary was ' screw.' ' What time are
salaries paid ?' ' When does the ghost walk ?' And,
for some inscrutable reason, all these strange tatter
demalions, between whom there was no atom of
love lost, invariably addressed each other by the
affectionate term of ' laddie.'
I remember one day, at a rehearsal of the
' Merchant of Venice,' the Bassanio advanced at
the end of his Casket scene with outstretched arms,
7

98 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
prepared, according to the stage directions, to
embrace the Lady of Belmont. Poor Miss Terry
started back with a look of terror ; then, recovering
herself, said with great presence of mind : ' No, Mr.
Sykes, we don't do that business ; you — er — you
merely kiss my hand. It's more Venetian.' ' Oh,
come. Miss Terry,' expostulated Mr. Sykes, with
an engaging leer ; ' you're cuttin' all the " fat " out
of my part.'
When we put up at an inn, we were generally
' taken in and done for ' on commercial terms, and
allowed, as a great privilege, to use the commercial-
room. The etiquette and ceremonial of that sanctum
was strict and quaint. The commercial gentlemen
— or ' K.G.'s,' as they playfully termed themselves —
were always extraordinarily amiable and hospitable
and tolerant of ' artistic ' vagaries. They were
certainly Bayards as compared with our company.
But generally the smaller-salaried actors stayed in
theatrical lodgings ; these, as a rule, were terribly
stuffy, dirty little dens, but cheap. I used usually
to find facing my bed a grinning lithograph of a
popular country comedian called Joe Eldred, who,
I fancy, used to present this work of art to the
various landladies in part discharge of his bill. I
also had, for my sins, to subsist a good deal on a
favourite stew of his, strongly flavoured with onions
and Worcester sauce.

GIRLS ON THE STAGE 99
Most of my hostesses would produce at the end
of the week a visitors' book, in which one was
expected to write his name, together with some
complimentary sentiment. The most popular seemed
to be, ' A home from home.' I once simply wrote,
' Quoth the raven . . . ,' and the landlady, who
didn't understand the quotation, was profuse in her
thanks. I believe to this day she shows it with
pride to her visitors.
The pathetic feature of minor theatrical touring
is the number of wistful girls. There must be
hundreds of them wandering about the country
from one small town to another, nearly all of them
pretty and amiable and well-mannered, who have to
keep up a certain amount of appearance on tiny,
irregular salaries, and save enough to keep them
during the months they are out of engagement.
As far as I could ever see, they live mostly on
bread-and-butter and tea. They never complain —
at least, never about anything serious, only now and
then about some little professional slight. They
travel long night journeys with no further toilet
luxury than a cherished old powder-puff — almost
bald from faithful service — ^jealously treasured in a
corner of a shabby little purse. They are always
ready, and even eager, to study long parts at a few
hours' notice. The only glimmer of light in each
poor girl's life is, I fear, a spark of hope twinkling
7—2

100 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
ahead of her, as she lies awake staring into the
night, that one day a London manager will chance
to be passing through Barmby-on-the-Marsh, will
see her play Pauline, and carry her off to fame and
fortune. But she never catches her Will-o'-the-
wisp. I have a very vivid recollection of the last few
days of my first theatrical tour. We finished at
Newcastle. I was staying at the Crown and Mitre
with Kelly and his wife. I developed a kind
of ague — alternate fits of fever and shivering,
with a good deal of sickness — and I had a head
which ached as though it contained a cannon-ball.
My kind employers begged me to give up my part ;
but, although it was a small one, there was no one
to take my place, and I should have caused an
infinite deal of trouble if I had given in. So I
insisted on playing. The last two nights, during
performance, I had to lie on the stage in the first
entrance wrapped in blankets while waiting for my
various cues. I travelled back to London on
Saturday night in a third-class carriage full of my
boisterous companions, all smoking pipes and all
playing cards. I managed to get a few hours' sleep
by lying under the seat, where there were a few
inches of breathable air.
When I reached home, I sent for a general
practitioner in the neighbourhood, who told me I

SIR WILLIAM JENNER 101
was ' a bit run down,' and prescribed a tonic,
generous diet, and plenty of exercise. After a day
or two of unspeakable misery we called in Hermann
Weber, who immediately sent me to bed, and told
me I had been suffering for over a week from
typhoid fever. Many years afterwards I was
amused by a young actor, who applied to me for
an engagement in some company I was organizing,
who said : ' I have a slight claim upon you, Mr.
Brookfield, because my sister was once engaged to
be married to the doctor who first attended you
when you had typhoid.' He was alluding to the
general practitioner.
My attack was a pretty bad one. Sir William
Jenner was called in in consultation. He was a
delightful man, and his ' bedside manner ' was a
lesson to all young doctors. He would enter the
room slowly, fold up his great-coat, put his hat on
the top of it, with his gloves inside, and then settle
down into an easy-chair and converse for awhile
upon general topics, as though you were the only
patient he had in the world.
About four years ago, when I was living in the
Isle of Wight, I got into a railway-carriage at
Southampton, and discovered that my only com
panion was Sir William Jenner, on his way from
Osborne. He had attended three members of my
family at various tirnes, besides myself However,

102 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
when he chanced to glance my way there was no
recognition in his kind old eyes nor in his refined,
if somewhat Mongolian, features. But I was deter
mined to renew our acquaintance, and I presently
introduced myself ' Of course, you don't remember
me. Sir William,' I said ; ' but you may perhaps
remember my father, whom you attended in his last
illness in 1874;' and I mentioned my father's name.
Sir William's professional memory immediately
awoke. ' Of course, yes !' he exclaimed ; ' I re
member the case.' And he recapitulated every
symptom and every variation of my father's illness
as though he were reading from a diary. ' Then,'
he proceeded, ' I remember I attended you for
typhoid in 1879. There was a little complication,
I recollect, which gave us a certain amount of
trouble.' And he proceeded to recall every detail
of the ' little complication.' ' And didn't I attend
your mother in 1881 ?' he proceeded, having once
pigeon-holed the family, as it were. And again he
reviewed every detailof her case.
Presently, on the same journey, he described to
me how once in his student days he had started to
go to the old pit of the Haymarket Theatre, in
order, not so much to see the plays performed, as to
get a glimpse of Her Majesty the Queen and the
Prince Consort, who were to honour the theatre
with their presence, that night. ' We had to wait —

A PANTOMIME ENGAGEMENT 103
a great crowd of us — for ever so long outside the
theatre, waiting for the doors to open,' he said,
' At last the time came. The inside barrier was
removed, and we all pressed turbulently forward.
But all of a sudden — whether it was done deliber
ately or not I can't say — I heard a tearing sound,
and I discovered that my coat had been torn in two
from the tails to the collar. I hailed a coach and
drove home in high dudgeon, and I exclaimed to
myself, "I'm d  d if I'll ever go and see the
Queen again." Which only shows,' he added with
a humorous twinkle, as he settled himself into the
comfortable cushions of the carriage, ' that one ought
not to speak without knowing.'
As soon as I had recovered from my typhoid —
indeed, before I was allowed out at nights — I was
.again in search of an engagement. And it was
again through the kind offices of Henry Kemble
that I presently got one. He gave me a card of
introduction to John Hollingshead. I spent about
five hours a day for over a week between the front
and the stage door of the Gaiety Theatre endeavour
ing to obtain an interview with that kindly humorist,
but his well-trained officials always sent me where
he was not. At last I met him by chance in
Wellington Street, and in my nervous excitement
I pressed upon him, not only Kemble's card, but a
warm shilling, which I had carried for days in my

104 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
palm as a reward for him who should finally take
me into the manager's presence.
Hollingshead engaged me forthwith to play at
the Crystal Palace in the great Christmas panto
mime entitled ' Jack the Giant-killer ; or. Harlequin
Fairy Spiteful, Good King Arthur, and the Knights
of the Round Table.' My part was that of King
Arthur, described in the programme as ' a good
sovereign worth twenty shillings in the pound ' — a
very fair sample of the humour that pervaded the
entire book of the pantomime.
Before I left home the morning of our first
rehearsal, my dear mother implored me with tears
in her eyes to make a concession to the prejudice of
my brother, who had all along been opposed to my
going on to the stage, and to change my name.
This I firmly refused to do. I knew that she herself
had no wish that I should assume a pseudonym, so
I disregarded her entreaties, and drove to the
Gaiety Theatre with the set determination to appear
in the bills in my own full name. But my pride
had a terrible fall. I was standing in a corner with
a group of other young aspirants, when Mr. Robert
Soutar, the stage-manager, came up to us. 'Are
you the gentlemen who are playing in the opening ?'
he inquired. We murmured that we were. ' Well,
with regard to your names in the programme, we're
using the fish sauces this year. You'll be Mr.

CLOWNS' PERQUISITES 105
Burgess, you're Mr. Worcester, you're Mr. Lazenby,
and you're Mr. Harvey.' And he passed on. There
was no appeal from his decision, and I accordingly
had to appear as 'Mr. F. Burgess.'
There is a curious unwritten law or custom in
pantomime that the clown has the exclusive right
to any extra sums to be made by advertising trade
wares in the ' comic scenes.' There was a terrible
scene ' behind ' one afternoon, when the gentleman
who played ' Gorgibuster ' the giant came on in a
front scene in the ' opening ' with an enormous
' property ' ocarina, and pretended to play a solo,
which was really played in the orchestra. The
clown discovered that the giant had entered into a
contract with the proprietor of the ocarina stall, and
accordingly waited for his brother artist and chas
tised him. The giant retaliated, I remember, by
coming early to the theatre a few days later and
putting broken glass into the clown's tights, but,
fortunately, this was discovered in time.
It was during this pantomime engagement that I
had the good fortune to receive an offer, again
through Henry Kemble's influence, to go to the
Bancrofts', who were about to open the Haymarket
Theatre with a revival of Money. Hollingshead
very good-naturedly released me at a moment's
notice, and I at once began rehearsing. I was cast
for Sharp, the solicitor who reads the will. Both

106 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
the Bancrofts were, and are, as everyone knows, ex
traordinarily kind, but I remember feeling a little
bewildered after I had shyly read through the will
for the first time. ' Mrs. B.,' as she was always
called in those days, beckoned me to her, and said,
' Excellent, Mr. Brookfield, quite excellent ! but
don't you think you might take it perhaps a shade
more rapidly ? " Sharp," you know — that's the key
to the character. He doesn't care twopence about
old Mordaunt ; he simply wants to get through his
business and hurry on somewhere else. So next time
a little bit quicker, if you don't mind.' And the
next moment ' B. ' linked his arm in mine and took
me on one side, and said with kindly earnestness,
' First rate, my dear fellow, quite first rate ! but
just a trifle hurried, don't you think ? These old
family solicitors, don't you know, they like to take
their time. This old fellow drew up the will him
self most likely, and he'd enjoy ladling out his own
stuff, so next time a little bit slower, if you don't
mind.' I wish stage-managers of to-day could have seen,
or, if they ever saw, would remember, how Bancroft
conducted rehearsals. The plays he produced were
quite as elaborately mounted as those of to-day (he
was, of course, the first manager to give elaborate
mounting to modern comedy), and to my mind they
were far better acted. And yet he gave us very

HAYMARKET THEATRE, 1880 107
short rehearsals. ' Supers ' (or ' extra ladies and
gentlemen,' as they were beginning to be called) were
summoned at ten, ' principals ' at eleven, and we all
finished at one. The only officials superintending
rehearsal were Bancroft himself and his faithful
henchman, Mr. Edward Hastings. Occasionally an
author would appear in the stalls. But nowadays
there are often to be seen on the stage at once (i.)
the actor-manager, (ii.) the 'producer,' (iii.) the
'literary adviser,' (iv.) the stage-manager, (v.) a
ballet-master to teach bows and curtsies, (vi.) the
prompter, (vii.) the author, and (viii., ix., x., etc.) —
anyone who likes to offer a suggestion ; the result
being that rehearsals last till five or six o'clock in
the evening, the company get tired to death and
make little or no progress.
The Bancrofts opened the Haymarket Theatre
on January 31, i88o. I always associate that
evening with Frank Marshall, of the cauliflower
head, who was one of the gentlest, kindest-hearted
creatures that ever lived. I shall never forget his
extraordinary goodness to my mother on that first
night. The fog was so dense that one could not
see a yard before him. Frank Marshall, who knew
my mother only slightly, seeing that she was with
out escort, insisted on conducting her home to
Thurloe Place, which was entirely out of his own
direction, a long journey at midnight, through a

108 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
choking black fog, the cabman leading his horse.
Most young men of to-day would consider they
had done their duty amply were they merely to call
a cab. Poor Frank Marshall had lost a finger in early
life, and wore a kid finger-stall partially to conceal
the deficiency. He was very popular, not only for
his sterling goodness, but also for his many ac
complishments. Amongst these, one of the most
highly-rated among his graminivorous friends was a
pretty talent in the mixing of a salad. Accordingly,
at dinner-time at the Sheridan Club, as his friends
dropped in to dine, and saw him commencing
lovingly to fatiguer a crisp cos - lettuce in a tiny
bath of oil and vinegar, they would presume on his
good nature, and cry, ' Frank, make me one at the
same time !' ' Oh, and, Frank, make enough for me
too !' And, beaming with satisfaction at the com
pliment to his skill, Frank would call for more
lettuces, and chives, and tarragon, and triple the
size of the perfumed bouquet in front of him.
' Don't you put sugar in ?' inquired one, anxious to
appear a connoisseur. ' Heavens, no !' Frank re
plied ; ' no one but a German would dream of such
an outrage.' ' I know a fellow,' exclaimed another,
'who always puts in a teaspoonful of absinthe.'
' That's a New York barbarism,' retorted Frank
blandly, continuing to chop up his herbs into

'. . . AND, HALF-SUSPECTED . . .' 109
minute fragments and to mix his salad his own way,
which he knew to be unrivalled. And, sure enough,
the end crowned the work. Everyone was de
lighted. A few more neighbours begged for stray
leaves, and finally one enthusiastic gourmand wiped
the bowl round with a ball of bread, and turned up
his eyes in ecstasy as he gulped down the savoury
morsel. But the face of the founder of the feast
wore a troubled expression. ' What's the matter,
Frank ?' asked one of his friends. ' Oh, nothing,'
replied Frank, peering round the polished bowl,
' only — only I seem to have lost my finger
stall !'

CHAPTER VI
Odell — His discretion — His medical science — His susceptibility
— His visit to America — His reticence — His appreciation of
detail — My experience as a teacher of elocution — As a stage-
manager to amateurs — An aspirant who was to take London
by storm.
It was when I joined the Haymarket company that
I first met Odell, probably the most remarkable and
popular Bohemian in London. There are many
men who claim to be Bohemians on the strength of
ill-manners and a soiled shirt. But Odell is a
genuine gipsy by temperament. He could not be
conventional if he tried, nor could he if he would
allow a thought for his personal interest to trammel
his picturesque humour. I imagine that the Ban
crofts engaged him, as a comedian of the same
school as the late George Honey, for the part of
Graves. Then, I expect, Arthur Cecil rebelled
against the part of Sir John Vesey, and this may
have been how the latter part came to be finally
allotted to Odell. I do not believe that Odell was
ever born, and this would account for the fact that
no one knows his age. I believe that when the

A HAUGHTY COMPANY 111
Savage Club was started they found him there.
His appearance has never changed. When I first
saw him he had very long hair, which hung about his
shoulders. He wore a sombrero hat, and a very long
frock-coat, green with age (the last time I saw him,
a year or two ago, I fancy he was wearing the same).
He presented a striking contrast to the well-groomed
young men who formed the bulk of the company.
We considered ourselves a very smart lot. It was
popularly believed that, in place of the ordinary
address-book to be found in most stage-halls, the
door-keeper of the Haymarket was merely provided
with a copy of Burke's ' Landed Gentry '; also that
anyone aspiring to join us had to drive a four-in-hand
up Suffolk Street and down again, and that his
engagement depended upon how he turned the
corner. In such exclusive company the unconform
able Odell found few friends. I think Kemble and
I were his only intimates. Miss Linda Dietz
especially disliked him. I don't know why, nor,
very likely, did she.
One night, just before Holy Week, during which
the theatre was to be closed, several of us were
sitting in the green-room boasting of where we
were going to spend our holiday. One was going
to Badminton to stay with the Duke of Beaufort ;
another was going to run up to Scarborough to
visit ' dear old Londesborough '; another was afraid

112 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' the dear Duchess would be really offended ' if he
disappointed her — when Odell entered the room.
Everyone was for a moment struck dumb at his
audacity in venturing so suddenly to intrude. Miss
Dietz swung round her chair, and turned her back
upon him. As soon as we had recovered,- however,
someone resumed the conversation. ' And where
are you going for your holiday. Miss Dietz ?' ' Oh,'
exclaimed Odell, replying for her, in his drawling
voice of indescribable quality, ' we're not going to
tell anyone where we're going !'
On another occasion poor Mrs. Bancroft had
wounded her hand rather severely with a bread-
knife, and she was obliged to appear with her arm
in a sling. We all stood round her, praised her
pluck, and expressed our sympathy. She herself,
however, made very light of the casualty. ' Sir
Henry Thompson says it will soon be well,' she told
us. ' But he said it was a pretty bad gash. He
said it was very lucky for me that I'm not a drinker,
I drink very Httle besides milk and now and then a
little out of " Bogie's " pint of claret, so that my
flesh heals extraordinarily quickly. It seems that's
not so with the poor people who drink. A slight
wound may be a very serious thing to anyone
with a quantity of alcohol in the system,' ' Oh
yes,' observed Odell, from the back of the
group, 'that's a very well-known fact. Indeed,

SUSCEPTIBILITY 113
I often cut my finger, just to see if I've had
enough.' When the world was many years younger, Odell,
at some small country theatre, played the Judge in
a version of ' Effie Deans.' In an early part ofthe
play it was his duty to condemn the heroine to death.
But he was so affected by her piteous appeal, as well
as by her beauty and charm, that, instead of imposing
the extreme penalty of the law, he stopped the case,
acquitted her, and told her that she left the court
without a stain upon her character. He proceeded
to thank the jury for the attention they had paid to
the case, and told them they had exemption for five
years. He then rose, and prepared to leave the
court. No one knew what to do. The stage-
manager flew to the side and, concealing his fury as
well as he could, implored the actor to go back and
amend his decision. Accordingly, Odell resumed the
throne of justice, and, calling back the unfortunate
Effie, said to her in solemn tones : ' Prisoner at the
bar, the pardon that I late pronounced was an idle
jest. I did but dally for a moment with your feelings.
The actual sentence of the court upon you is, that
you be taken back to the cell from which you
came. ..." And he proceeded to sentence her to
death in due form.
Odell has often threatened to go to America, and
on such occasions he has been fdted at farewell
8

114 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
suppers by his myriads of friends, and has remained
at home, to their great relief and delight. The only
time he actually went to that interesting Transatlantic
suburb he told no one. It so chanced that Pinero
was going by the same boat. It was that brilliant
playwright's first excursion of the kind, and he left
this country with a good deal of ceremony. There
was a special carriage full of correspondents, who
travelled to Liverpool to see him off. They accom
panied the illustrious author on board his vessel, and
as the tender left the side of the Cunarder there was
much cheering and waving of handkerchiefs, and
even weeping. As the little boat faded out of sight
in the direction of Liverpool, and the ocean grey
hound bade her farewell through a hoarse steam-
hooter, and dipped her nose into the waves, Pinero,
himself a little overcome by emotion, turned from
the taffiail, and suddenly saw, seated at his elbow,
the quaint form of his old friend Odell, looking
exactly as usual — the same coat, the same hat, the
same locks. ' Odell !' cried Pinero, in astonishment.
' Why, what on earth are you doing here ?' ' I'm —
I'm seeing myself off,' replied Odell simply.
The skipper at first fought rather shy of Odell.
He may have suspected him to be a pirate in
disguise ; but after a few days, when he found how
popular a passenger he had on board, he resolved to
unbend. He met our friend on the upper deck.

APPRECIATION OF DETAIL 115
' Good-morning,' said the captain, without apparently
securing any attention. ' How are you, Mr. Odell ?'
he proceeded to enquire. ' That's my business,' re
plied Odell, as he turned on his heel and undulated
away from his interlocutor.
There was an old Commodore on board who, for
the first few nights of the voyage, used to thrill the
company in the saloon with terrible tales of the sea,
' One night, when we were rounding the Horn,' he
narrated one evening, ' it was a bitter cold night,
and there was a poor lad I'd sent up aloft to the
maintop to reef the sky-sail, for I felt there was a
puff of wind coming. It came sooner than I'd
reckoned from the nor'-west-and-by-nothe, and
caught her fair on her beam. The boy — I suppose
his fingers were numbed with the cold — fell from
aloft, and struck the gunwale a little for'ard of the
main-chains, and if you'll believe me, ladies and
gentlemen, his body was cut clean in two ! Half of
it fell into the ocean, and the other half remained on
deck !' Everyone was awed, for a few seconds no
one spoke, until at last Odell remarked very gently,
' Yes, and the worst of it was he broke his watch-
glass.' I had a curious experience in my early days on
the stage as a teacher of elocution. My old friend
Henry Warr called upon me one day, and said,
' Oh, Charley, there's a very exceptionally nice
8—2

116 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
woman, a friend of mine, Mrs. Arthur Cohen, wife
of the Member for Southwark : she wants someone
to teach her young people to read aloud, and I said
she couldn't do better than send for you.' ' But I
couldn't possibly,' I remonstrated. ' I haven't the
faintest idea how to set about such a thing. What
is there to be taught ? and how can one teach it ?'
' Oh, nonsense !' said Warr ; ' it'll come quite easily
to you. It'll do you a lot of good, and they're
charming people.' Accordingly I called — in
Holland Park I think it was. I found Mrs. Cohen,
as my friend had described, a most delightful
woman beaming with kindliness and good-humour,
but I was a little taken aback when she presently
asked me, ' And have you had much success with
your system of teaching, Mr. Brookfield ?' ' Well —
er,' I stammered, ' my system has — er — so far been
more — er — theoretical than practical.' Mrs. Cohen
made, no doubt, good-natured allowance for my
obvious nervousness, and told me to call the next
afternoon at five to give my first lesson. The
following day, sick with apprehension, I threw into
a handbag a few books — ' Bell's Modern Speaker,'
' Carpenter's Popular Readings,' and a Shakespeare,
and made my way to Holland Park, It was a
foggy evening, but I presently made out the palace
for which I was bound looming through the mist,
I had to walk up and down once or twice before I

AN ELOCUTION LESSON 117
could summon up courage to seek admission. At last
I hardened my heart, ran blindly up the steps, and
rang the bell, ' Are the young ladies at home i" I
asked, ' In the dining-room, sir,' replied the
butler ; and I was ushered into a lofty, comfortable
room, where I saw five or six young ladies, ranging
in age from seventeen to six, perhaps, seated round
a large table. I made them an awkward obeisance,
and sidled into a chair between the fire and the
lamp. The girls said nothing, but simply stared at
me with frank, wide-open eyes. ' I think our best
plan will be,' I said, opening my bag, ' for me first
of all to read to you — say the Trial scene from the
" Merchant of Venice " — and for you afterwards to
read it out to me,' I then cleared my throat, and
commenced : ' " What, is Antonio here ?" " Ready,
so please your Grace." " I am sorry for thee : thou
art come to answer a stony adversary " (here I
noticed, rather to my dismay, the eldest young lady
slipped out of the room), " an inhuman wretch un-
capable of pity, void and empty from any dram of
mercy." ' (Here the second girl made a swift and
adroit exit.) By the time I had got to 'brassy
bosoms and rough hearts of flint ' I was alone with
the six-year-old, whose brow puckered, whose lip
curled, and who suddenly tore out of the room after
her sisters, shrieking for all she was worth, I was
wondering if this was a common experience of

118 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
elocution-masters, and, if so, what they generally
did next, when the eldest sister returned, grave and
erect, and said, ' Mamma thinks there must be some
mistake. Will you kindly tell us who you are ?'
' Isn't this Mrs. Cohen's ?' I inquired evasively, as
the truth began to dawn upon me. ' No,' replied
the girl ; ' Mrs. Cohen's is No. 6, a few doors lower
down.' An actor may sometimes add a guinea or two to
his banking account by officiating as stage-manager
to amateurs, but it is a position requiring an infinite
amount of tact. I remember Harry Kemble was
once engaged to produce ' The Parvenu ' for some
distinguished company of unprofessional comedians,
and although he had played in the piece at the
Court Theatre during a very long run, they de
cided unanimously that he knew nothing whatever
about it.
' Now then, Tracey,' said Kemble, ' you've got to
get a little more over.'
' Why ?' inquired the young Baronet, who was
playing the light comedy part, with a glassy stare.
' Why, to make room for Claude Glynne's en
trance,' explained the stage-manager.
' Excuse me, Kemble,' replied the other, with a
shake of the head, ' that's not my reading of the
part at all. I feel the fellow standing perfectly
still — rigid !'

AMATEUR OBSTINACY 119
' Besides which,' the ' juvenile man ' interposed,
' I don't make my entrance there at all.'
' Yes, you do,' said Kemble. ' You must, because
that's the path leading from the house, and you're
supposed to be just  '
' Ah, that may be,' said the Claude, with a wither
ing smile ; ' I don't know anything about that. I
only know that I come down centre. After all, it's
my scene.'
And after their would-be tutor had left them they
talked him over at tea-time.
' Isn't it extraordinary ?' they said. ' A man with
all that experience — a dear, good-natured old chap
and a very fair actor ; but he knows no more about
stage-management than the man in the moon.'
I bore this in mind when, the following Christmas,
I was engaged to stage - manage some private
theatricals at a house on the Thames Embankment.
I forget what the play was ; I fancy it was not by
a professional playwright. I was given an easy-
chair, and I was allowed to smoke a cigar.
' Ladies and gentlemen,' I said, producing a
writing-block and a pencil, ' I don't know this play,
nor have I the pleasure of knowing anything about
your respective abilities. I propose that you should
go straight through the piece your own way, and I
will make notes. Then we will go through it a
second time, and I shall know what to tell you.'

120 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
The rehearsal commenced. Everybody entered
where they pleased ; that is to say, each one reached
the centre of the stage by the nearest route from
where he happened to be standing or sitting —
generally across the footlights. People got in front
of one another ; if a chair was in anyone's way he
merely said, ' Of course, that mustn't be there,'
and handed it into the audience ; and when the
said chair was presently needed by another character,
he simply exclaimed, ' I say, there ought to be a
chair here,' and it was handed back. Then tea
was brought in to the other end of the room, and
the leading lady had to leave her place on the
stage CO pour it out, and called out her lines from,
as it were, the back of the pit. But at last I
gathered the play had come to an end, so I
ranged the company before me and asked them :
' Who has been coaching you ?'
' How do you mean ?' inquired my hostess
sweetly. ' I mean,' I explained, ' who had been training
you before you sent for me ? Who taught you to
move, to speak — to act, in fact ?'
' Why, nobody,' said they, looking from one to
the other.
' Well, I can only say it's the most extraordinary
thing I ever saw !' I said, not without a substratum
of truth. ' Here's my block for notes ;' and I held it

AMATEUR MODESTY 121
up. ' Not a word upon it. I haven't a single sug
gestion to make. / can't be of any use to you.
You've taught me a lesson, I assure you. It has
often puzzled me to know how amateurs managed
with only five or six short rehearsals to perform
heavy plays which take us five or six weeks of hard
work to produce. I've come to the conclusion that
it's a gift, that what we labour and strive after, and
generally fail to attain, comes quite naturally to you.'
My remarks were greeted with enthusiastic and
corroborative applause. Each of the company in
turn took me aside and made me confidences.
' You know, my dear fellah,' one said, ' it did go
smoothly. But d'you know why ? Because / held
it together. I wotddnt let it drop. Didn't you
notice ?'
Another said : 'I'm awfully glad you were
pleased, but, by George ! it was a job, having to tell
every one of 'em what to do. I shan't play another
year. It takes it out of me too much. It does
indeed. I said I wouldn't act this time, but they
talked me over.'
The one who played the low-comedy part told me
he had had several offers to go upon the stage, but
he felt it wouldn't be fair on his actor friends. It
would interfere with their getting a living. While
one of the ladies told me that Clarkson, the perru-
quier, had told her he considered that in tragic parts

122 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
she was quite the equal of Ellen Terry. But one
and all agreed that never had they had so thoroughly
competent a professional coach.
' What we should have done without you !' ex
claimed my hostess, with raised eyebrows and a sad
smile. On the evening of the performance my name
appeared in large letters on the programmes — ' The
whole produced under the direction of Mr. Charles
Brookfield, of the Haymarket Theatre.' Everyone
was delighted. I was publicly thanked before the
curtain, and it was generally admitted that, whatever
might be my merits as an actor, they were entirely
eclipsed by my genius for stage-management.
Many years ago, when I had been quite a short
time on the stage, and when my opinion was even
more valueless than it would be now, an old gentle
man and his wife called upon me with their daughter
to consult me about her 'becoming an actress.'
The father was foreign — Mexican or South American
— and spoke with great enthusiasm about his
daughter's genius and the certainty of her success,
' We propose to take Drury Lane, just for one or
two matinees, that the world may see what my little
girl can do,' he remarked. ' Then we should simply
sit at home and consider the offers from managers
as they came in. I don't think I should let her play
every night. Three, or at most four, times a week

THE END OF A 'DEBUTANTE' 123
would be quite enough. Some ordinary perform
ance might be given on the other nights. The only
question in my mind is, in which walk of the drama
to reveal her talent first — tragedy or comedy ?
Lady Macbeth or Beatrice ?'
I said all I could to dissuade them from their
scheme, and I pointed out that it is very seldom the
person for whose advantage a special performance
is given who reaps the benefit ; that they would
perhaps find, after all their trouble and expense, they
had merely enabled the press to discover a new
Macduff or a novelty in Don Johns. They obviously
resented my advice, saluted me rather stiffly, and
withdrew. Ten or twelve years later I was on Drury Lane
stage. I had been superintending a rehearsal of a
burlesque which Sir Augustus Harris and I had
written on ' Pagliacci ' (the title of which was so
abject that I blush when I recall it) for the Palace
Theatre. As I went out, a young woman touched
me on the arm.
'Oh, Mr. Brookfield,' she said, ' could you give me
a line ?'
' I'm rather afraid that's impossible,' I answered.
' You see, it's only a sketch. We're limited as to
time, and every line makes a difference.'
' Oh, but one word wonld do,' she pleaded. ' At
present I'm just standing on, and that means only

124 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
twelve shillings a week. If you could give me a
word to speak, it would bring it up to a pound.'
' Very well. I'll speak to Sir Augustus,' I said.
' Who are you ?'
She told me her name, which conveyed nothing
to me.
' Of course you can't remember me,' she said, with
a sad little smile. ' My father and mother brought
me to see you, in Thurloe Place, years ago. Just
before my matinee of " Much Ado." Perhaps you
didn't hear of it? There was some mistake, or a
counter-attraction or something, and it wasn't noticed
in the papers — at least, only in one or two. We
gave up the idea of the " Macbeth " matinee after
that. Will you do what you can ?'
I assured her that I would. I didn't dare ask
her if her father and mother were still alive. There
was a. farouche air about her which seemed to repel
inquiry. But I spoke to my collaborator, who at
once consented that she should have a line to speak
(I think it was : ' Aren't you coming in, old chap ?').
The next day at rehearsal I sent for her. But I
learned that it had been decided to reduce the
number of ' extras ' by six, and that my unfortunate
friend was one of those who had gone. No one
knew her address.

CHAPTER VII
The 'leading juvenile' — His social popularity — His wiles— His
trysts — His imagination — The Thames Valley — A colony of
dipsomaniacs — A young man who lived by his wits.
The ' leading juveniles ' of twenty years ago were
a wonderful study. We once had two in the Hay
market company at the same time. Mr. Lancelot
had been a 'juvenile ' for a good many years — about
fifteen, perhaps — whereas Mr, Beaumains had only
recently left one of the learned professions to adorn
the stage. Accordingly, he watched every action of
Mr, Lancelot, even off the stage, in order to learn
how to comport himself as a leading romantic West
End actor should. If Mr, Lancelot chanced to ex
hibit a peeress's card amongst the invitations which
proclaimed his social popularity from the frame of
his dressing-glass, Mr, Beaumains would follow suit
to the best of his ability by displaying in the margin
of his mirror a request for his company from, say,
the lady of a City knight. If Lancelot, during his
'wait,' stood in the prompt entrance, becomingly
dressed in sky-blue satin breeches and a laced

126 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
ballet-shirt (we were playing a ' powder ' piece just
then), apparently watching the scene, and all un
conscious that he was the cynosure of three pairs
of bright eyes in the royal box, Beaumains would
appear the following evening in the opposite prompt
first entrance, attired in olive silk breeches and a
shirt of soft white batiste, and angle for a glance
from the corresponding stage-box on the other side.
Once, when we were all assembled in the green
room, Lancelot burst in with an anxious brow.
' Has anyone seen an envelope,' he inquired, ' ad
dressed to me in a lady's handwriting ? There's
nothing in it, only there's a d  d great coronet
which somebody might recognise. It's not the sort
of thing one wants to leave lying about.' It was
never found. But a short time afterwards Beau
mains made a similar entrance. ' Has anyone seen
an envelope lying about addressed to me in a
feminine hand ?' he asked eagerly. ' It's nothing of
importance, only there's an infernal great coat-of-
arms outside, and one doesn't want to set people
gossiping.' This compromising ^?^c^ de circonstance
was never forthcoming, either. A minor member
of the company wasted the whole of the next after
noon in manufacturing an enormous sort of panto
mime envelope, about 30 inches by 18, which he
emblazoned with the royal arms in heraldic colours.
He chose a moment when both our 'juveniles' were

A CHIVALROUS JUVENILE 127
in the green-room to drop this work of art on the
carpet, and then appealed to the company. ' Has
anyone seen an envelope addressed to me with a
devilish great big sort of escutcheon thing on it ?
I wouldn't have it create a false impression for the
world.' Most of us were amused, but neither
Lancelot nor Beaumains took the poor man's jest
at all in good part.
One night we were all smoking in Lancelot's
dressing-room (in defiance of regulations and fire
assurance companies), when his dresser appeared.
' Could I speak to you a moment, sir ?'
' Well ?'
' It's — it's a private message, sir.'
' Never mind, you idiot ! What is it ?'
' Mrs. Overvie-Tracy's compliments, sir, and her
brougham will be waiting for you at the corner of
Suffolk Street at a quarter-past eleven.'
' You infernal fool !' cried Lancelot. ' How dare
you blurt out a private  ! Get out !' Then,
turning to us : 'I shall have to sack that scoundrel.
Conceive his coming and bellowing out a poor
devil of a woman's name like that !'
One of the comedians slipped out of the room for
a minute, and then came back. Presently his dresser
put in his head.
'Could I 'ave 'alf a word with you, sir, on a
private matter ?'

128 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' Nonsense, you infernal rascal ! Never mind
these gentlemen. Out with it at once !' cried his
master, rakishly cocking his three-cornered hat.
' The Duchess of Redcliffe's compliments, sir, and
I was to remind you that the last Putney bus leaves
Piccadilly Circus at ten minutes to twelve.'
Lancelot ' smiled at the wit, but never forgave
the satire.'
The unfortunate Mr. Beaumains came to a tragic
end. He fell upon bad times some years ago, and,
sooner than accept the managerial valuation of his
services, he put an end to his life. Poor Lancelot
is now so invalided that he gets, I am afraid, but
little enjoyment out of life. It seems a very few
years ago (and yet it is over twenty) that we were
all living in the Thames Valley. Beaumains had a
house-boat, so nicely poised that I remember when
Corney Grain and I once called upon him he had to
shift the refrigerator and buffet to the port side of
the saloon before we could sit safely to starboard.
Lancelot had a little eight-roomed cottage near
Shepperton Station. But he had an imagination
which must have been given him by a fairy god
mother. The cottage was called ' Montressor Villa.'
Lancelot dropped the ' Villa,' and ' Montressor '
immediately became — in his mind's eye, Horatio —
a turreted, ivy-covered family mansion standing in
the centre of a well-timbered estate, with a trout-

A DIPSOMANIAC COLONY 129
stream ; while at the same moment the neighbouring
hired loose-box where he kept his pony became
' my stables,' and the tool-shed where he kept five
unruly cross-bred collies ' my kennels.' I one day
met Mr. Thurston, the landlord of the Woburn
Park Hotel, who pulled up his dogcart and accosted
me. ' I beg your pardon, Mr. Brookfield,' he said,
' but I've had a letter from Mr. Lancelot asking me
to come over to " Montressor " to give him an
estimate for thoroughly stocking his wine-cellars.
I don't know really where " Montressor " lies, as I
haven't been settled in this part of the country long.
Could you give me any rough idea as to the extent
of the cellarage there ?' ' Well,' I said, ' it all
depends whether Mr. Lancelot intends to use the
cupboard in the scullery Or the cupboard under the
stairs. But neither would hold, I should say, more
than a dozen and a half.' I believe the ultimate
order was for six bottles of whisky, six bottles of
claret, a bottle of brandy, and six siphons.
I had a small furnished cottage at Halliford, a
tiny hamlet that joins on to Shepperton, on the
Thames. In the bar-parlour of the Ship Hotel
there used to foregather a wonderful little band of
stanch old purple-faced dipsomaniacs — Mr. Fuller
(steward over much of the neighbouring property),
Captain Tanner, R.N. (retired). Major Belcher
(retired), and Dr. Botting (retired, I think, owing
9

130 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to a little misunderstanding with the Royal College
of Physicians). The whole four, however, were
seldom assembled together. ' Where's old Tanner
to-day ?' Major Belcher would ask. ' Poor old
Tanner !' Dr. Botting would reply. ' He had a
nasty fall last night coming back from the Anchor.
Stumbled against one of those infernal white posts
by the corner there, bruised his knee, and got a
nasty abrasion on his elbow. I'm keeping him in
bed to-day.' 'Poor old chap! 'They're infernally
awkward things those posts, especially late at night.
I must see if we can't have 'em done away with,'
Mr. Fuller would remark sympathetically. Then
Major Belcher would propose a stroll to view the
spot, and, after standing for awhile round the up
rooted impediment, they would saunter into the
Anchor and drink to their friend's speedy recovery.
Captain Tanner would reappear, plastered and
bandaged, the next evening, and, after receiving
the congratulations of his friends on his recovery,
he would ask, ' But where's the doctor ?' ' Poor
old Botting ! He got very bad last night,' Major
Belcher would reply. ' He would have it there was
a hole in the floor, and that a brass alligator was
looking out at him. So we put him to bed. He'll
be as right as rain in a day or two.' I remember
one of the party complained — with some hesitation,
lest he should be laughed at for his fears — that the

LIVING BY HIS WITS 131
shadows cast by a particular row of trees on the
road from the railway-station filled him with alarm
when he had to come that way by night. ' But
I'm not surprised!' cried Mr. Fuller, the steward.
' Those infernal horse chestnuts ! Enough to
frighten any man ! I'll have 'em pollarded to
morrow.' And he did.
There was a young fellow named Schroder living
at Shepperton in those days. He was the son of a
well-known classical scholar. He was a tall, power
ful chap of four-and-twenty, well educated, clever,
and very amusing. But he would not work at
anything. His father, in despair, had made an
arrangement with Mr. Bennett, the landlord of the
Anchor, by which this sturdy young rogue was to
be supplied with bed and breakfast, but nothing else.
' If he wants dinner and supper, he must earn them,'
the Spartan father had said. Schroder possessed
nothing in the world but one suit of flannels, a pipe,
and a wonderfully clever black spaniel called Rook.
When the flannels needed washing, Schroder went
to bed, and remained there until they came home.
The only way in which he could ever have been
said to earn a meal was by occasionally lending a
hand to assist in pulling a boat up to Chertsey
Bridge. He was an expert oarsman, and knew the
river well. But he seldom went without his dinner.
He had, if the phrase is permissible, a diffident
9—2

132 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
effrontery which was almost irresistible. He would
burst into a private room during a dinner-party with
a time-table in his hand, apologize profoundly,
explain that he had thought the room had been
empty, then proceed to consult his ABC, talking
pleasantly all the time, discover that he had lost his
last train, and interest the strangers in his imaginary
misfortunes to such an extent that nine times out of
ten they would press him to join their party. But
his most ingenious method for gaining admittance
to a circle of strangers was by means of his dog
Rook. Schroder would lie on the lawn of the
Chertsey Bridge Hotel on a Saturday or Sunday
morning, when steam-launches were apt to stop
there for luncheon. As soon as he had selected the
party he would like to join, he would whisper to
Rook, who would, apparently of his own accord,
approach the new-comers and commence a series of
tricks — walk on his hind-legs, turn round, stand on
his head, turn somersaults, etc. ' Rook ! Rook !
Come here, sii !' Schroder would shout. But all to
no effect. Rook would go stolidly on with his
entertainment. Then his master would step forward,
cap in hand, with his best manner, and say : ' I'm
afraid my dog's annoying you. I'm most awfully
sorry !' ' Oh no ! Not in the least ! I never saw
such a clever dog,' some dazzling damsel would
reply sweetly. ' Well, he is rather clever. I got

A BORROWING TARIFF 133
him in rather a peculiar way,' etc. And Schroder
would^ instal himself with his new friends and
entertain them until luncheon was announced. And
then, invited or not, he would stroll into the hotel
with them, pick up the wine-list, and say : ' I don't
know if you know the wines here. I carit recom
mend their Carte Blanche. But their Clicquot's first-
rate. We'd better have a magnum, hadn't we ?'
It would only be about once in ten times that he
would get kicked out with ignominy — and then he
didn't mind.
Schroder, as a borrower, never committed the
folly of killing the goose who laid the eggs of gold —
or silver, as the case might be. He would 'try' the
goose ' pretty high,' but never actually kill it. I
fancy he had the gift of reckoning at a glance the
' touchable ' value of those about him ; that is to
say, he would calculate : A is good for three
sixpenny drinks per diem, and five shillings now and
then, say once a month ; B wouldn't stand frequent
' tapping ' — ;^io once, and a possible fiver later on, is
about his form ; C is worth keeping for a desperate
emergency : a telegram from abroad — say, ' Luggage
lost, friends travelling, please send ^50, urgent ; will
explain,' or something of that kind. One afternoon
he confided to me that he was in urgent need of a
sovereign — I forget for what specific purpose. But
he told me this with no arriere pensde. He knew

134 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
that he had had all that he reckoned himself entitled
to out of me for the time being, and he merely said,
' I want a sovereign badly,' as another might say, ' I
want a holiday badly.' And I replied in the same
sort of spirit, ' I'm sure I hope you'll manage to get
it.' That evening, in the bar-parlour of the Ship,
the conversation turned upon baldness (the missing
member of the conclave upon this occasion was
Major Belcher, who was temporarily indisposed with
alcoholic blood-poisoning). Various specifics were
reviewed, but presently Dr. Botting asserted, with
the authority of a man of science, that no combina
tion of tonics and emollients could equal a simple
decoction of dock roots. A glimmer shone in the
eye of Schroder, who until this moment had been
sitting silent in a corner. ' Would you mind writing
that down, doctor ?' he asked, advancing to the table
with a slip of paper and a pen. ' With pleasure, my
dear boy,' said the doctor. And he proceeded to
write out, with some difficulty, a simple receipt :
' Simmer dock roots in water, and rub in the strained
liquid on the head daily.' ' And d'you mind signing
it?' asked Schroder. ' Not at all,' replied the other,
who rather enjoyed signing his name with the
initials of his old degrees. And the slip of paper
was duly embellished with a flourishing ' Alexander
Botting, M.A., M.D., D.Sc' The following morn
ing Schroder called upon me early. He possessed.

FLOTATION 135
as I said before, only a suit of flannels. But he
knew various people within a small radius who
between them could fit him out with a kit suitable
for the City. On me he always reckoned for the top-
hat, for our heads were much of a size. ' I'm going
up to town,' he said, ' to raise that quid I spoke to
you about. I've no right to ask you, but if you
could lend me half a crown for my fare, till to
morrow, I should be awfully obliged. And I won't
bother you again for ever so long. And may I
borrow your hat ? Thanks awfully ! You shall
have that back.' And he sped on his way to borrow
Hamley's frock-coat, and I^amley's trousers, and
Bramley's patent-leather boots. In the course of an
hour or two he presented himself at the offices of
Hiram Schwarzchild, the great financier, and sent
up his card. Whether the merchant-prince mistook
him for someone else or not I cannot say, but
Schroder was shortly ushered into the august
presence, and, quite unabashed, opened the conver
sation. ' I have called, sir, in the hope of interest
ing you in a little industrial venture we are bringing
out. Indeed, I am sanguine of persuading you to
become our chairman  ' ' Really, sir,' stammered
Schwarzchild, almost dumb with amazement, ' I
don't know you, and I am not at all disposed  '
' Kindly hear me out,' rejoined Schroder calmly.
' This is the draft prospectus. Quite in the rough, I

136 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
need hardly tell you : The Botting Hair-Restorer
Company, Limited ; capital, ;^3o,ooo in 30,000 shares
of ;^i each, whereof 40 are Founders' Shares.
Issue of 29,960 ordinary shares payable as follows
 ' ' I cannot spare you any more of my time,
sir, ' interrupted the financier. ' Will you be so good
as to  ' 'Directors,' read out Schroder: 'Captain
Tanner, R.N., Major Belcher, Mr. Fuller, Mr.
Schroder — that is myself — Dr. Botting, who will join
the board after allotment. Temporary offices : the
Ship Hotel, Halliford.' ' Leave my office !' cried
Schwarzchild. ' If you prefer that we should work
it privately — just you and I,' suggested Schroder,
in a rather confidential undertone. ' Mr. Schmitz,'
shrieked the merchant, ' turn this man out !' But
Schroder changed his tactics. He appealed to
Mr. Schwarzchild, told him that he was an orphan,
that he had never had a chance, that at last he had
been dazzled by the prospect of making a fortune
out of this discovery that he held in his hand — a
discovery recently made by a distressed man of
science, and in which, despite Mr. Schwarzchild's
indifference, he still believed there was a fortune.
He even contrived to weep. Mr. Schwarzchild,
who was a generously disposed man, softened
towards the disappointed young stranger, and offered
him a sovereign. ' No, sir,' replied Schroder. ' I'm
not quite reduced to that. But, so that there shall

HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 137
be no element of favour in the matter, I will sell you
this receipt for the nominal sum of £$•' And
feeling that it was, after all, not much to pay to get
rid of so persistent a visitor, Mr. Schwarzchild paid
the money and secured all rights in the Botting
nostrum. One morning Schroder ran into the road opposite
the Anchor and stopped three of his friends.
' Come in, you fellows !' he cried, beaming all over
his face. Then he added, in an exultant whisper,
' There's a new barmaid, and she doesn't yet know
Tm not allowed credit /' The four boon companions
trooped into the little bar. ' Good-morning, Miss
Middleditch,' said Schroder politely. ' We want —
let's see — two best Scotch whiskies, one brandy,
one gin, and a large and a small seltzer divided.
And won't you join us yourself. Miss Middleditch ?'
' Oh, thanks,' said that young lady languidly, ' I
don't mind if I have a little drop of Benedictine.'
'Ah, that's right,' said Schroder cordially, adding,
' My number's 22.' The damsel served the drinks
with the air of a banished peeress, humming a
melancholy melody the while. ' My love to you,'
she said graciously to the company as she raised her
glass, and she proceeded to enter the amount of
two and tenpence to the debit of No. 22. While
she was thus engaged, Mr. Bennett the landlord
entered suddenly, and took in the situation at a

138 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
glance. ' Now then, Mr. Schroder,' he exclaimed,
' this is a great deal too bad. You know distinctly
the understanding that my young ladies are not
allowed to give you credit, and you take ad
vantage  ' ' Hush ! hush !' pleaded Schroder.
' Before my guests ! Mr. Bennett, what an out
rage !' ' Oh, nonsense !' retorted the landlord ;
¦ they know how you're situated as well as you do.
I call it dishonest. It's a theft, that's what it is.'
' Come, come, Bennett,' said Schroder soothingly,
' that's a serious thing to say. I admit I exceeded
my rights on this solitary occasion ;' and as he spoke
he contrived, unseen by Bennett, to abstract a
couple of sixpenny cigars from a box which lay
open on the counter before him. ' But I don't see
why we should quarrel about such a trifling esca
pade. Have a cigar, Bennett ?' and he proffered
one of those which he had that instant stolen.
' Well, thank you, Mr. Schroder ; I — I think I will
try one of yours. They're not too strong, I hope ?
I don't want to be unpleasant, you know, but busi
ness is business.' And they lit their weeds at the
same match. ' I think you'll like that cigar,' said
Schroder. ' A little green, perhaps. I doubt if
I've kept 'em long enough.'

CHAPTER VIII
Percy Vernon — Stone's — The sporting tailors — The Caf^ de
I'Europe — The teetotum, and how to spin it — Half-crown-
hunters and their methods — The Haymarket flower-girls —
Polly.
It was in the revival of the ' Overland Route ' in 1882
that I first met a very amusing character who then
made his d^but on the London stage, young Percy
Vernon (who is now the third Baron Lyveden).
He played the part of Captain Sebright, R.N., who
has nothing to say (or does he exclaim ' Jenny !' as
he comes on .''), and only appears just before the
fall of the curtain. Percy Vernon was extremely
good-natured and imperturbably good-tempered.
He had a curious affectation in those days of drop
ping his h's — in fact, of talking generally like one
of Mr. Rudyard Kipling's chick-a-leary soldiers. A
good deal of his humour was, I fancy, unconscious.
There used to be in those days a little wizened
stump of humanity who crawled about Piccadilly
selling matches. As far as one could see, his
anatomy ceased at the breast-bone. It was, as it

140 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
were, an animated bust on wheels, which propelled
itself along with its hands. Vernon and I observed
this unfortunate object struggling along the pave
ment one afternoon. Vernon gazed at it with a
puzzled expression for a few seconds ; then, turning
to me, he inquired in an undertone, ' Lame,
am ter
In Pinero's play of ' Lords and Commons ' Vernon
played my valet Pressinger, and at the beginning of
the third act — an evening scene on a terrace, if I
remember rightly — he had to come on with a
cushion and some rugs, and arrange them on a stone
bench. He was always eager for more to do, and
he was accordingly enchanted when Bancroft told
him he might hum an air as he came on. At the
final dress rehearsal he discovered there were a few
bars of music to take up the drop-scene. ' 'Ello !'
said he, ' is Bucalossi goin' to play that at night ?'
' Yes,' I told him. ' Well, but 'ow about my
'ummin' ?' he inquired. ' Oh, if I were you,' said I,
' I should wait until the orchestra had finished, and
then go on humming the same air.' ' Ho, that be
blowed !' cried Vernon ; ' / can't 'um Italian !'
Vernon and I used often, after the theatre, to
look into the back-room at Stone's in Panton Street,
where twenty years ago and more a very cosmo
politan society used to gather round a bowl of rum
punch. There were Mr. Graves, the engraver ;

SPORTING 'SNIPS' 141
Adolphus Glover, of the War Office, and his friend
Major Harding ; an old bootmaker, whose name I
forget, who owned the greater part of Warrior
Square, Hastings ; Henry Warr, an Admiralty
Court barrister ; and two or three others, all smoking
long clay pipes. William and Tom were the two
waiters, and every New Year's Eve William, who
was an old Yorkshireman, used to stand up and
sing an old-fashioned song of forty or fifty verses
about ' Parson Brown.' But in course of time
Stone's changed hands, the old-fashioned boxes
were upholstered in plush, some system of ventila
tion was introduced, our old members died off —
partly, I think, as a protest against these new
fangled alterations. William and Tom invested
their savings in a business, and, I am afraid, came
to grief
There was a society of friends which used to
assemble every morning in the back-parlour at
Stone's. Most of them were tailors from St. James's
Street, and the others (' you can't expect 'em to be
all tailors,' as the late Lord Hardwicke remarked
to the sporting snip who complained that the Hunt
was getting, from a social point of view, ' terribly
mixed') — the others were tradespeople from the
neighbourhood representing various industries.
There was Mr. Thurston, the maker of indestruc
tible braces, from two doors off, there was the

142 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
maker of pyjamas from round the corner, and the
saddler from a few doors further still. The bond
which united this little brotherhood was an interest in
horse-racing, or, at all events, in speculation on that
sport, and a genius for selecting winners. Whence
they got their information I don't know, but it was
from some wonderfully infallible source, for every
Monday I used to see the ' sporting tailors,' as they
were generically styled, sitting, rosy with success,
round bottles of champagne, while poor little
Geldenstern, the bookmaker, stood in the front-bar,
pale from financial anaemia, sourly surveying them
over a glass of gin-and-water. ' Pore me pays !' he
once exclaimed to me peevishly, as an order for
'another magnum' was shouted forth in broad
Scotch by a military-accoutrement maker.
One day the purple-faced Mr. McNab (of Pall
Mall) accosted me. ' I beg your pardon, sirr,' he
said, with a broad Glasgow dialect, ' but caan ye
tell me ony thing aboot amaan caa'd Darrley ? He's
on the stage, I believe.'
' What do you want to know about him ?' I
asked. ' Well, he's been to ma place and ordered two or
three suits of clothes, and I'm just wondering will I
let him haave them. It's a maatter of aboot five-
and-twenty poon.'
' I think if I were you,' I said, ' that I should ask

A BOOKMAKER ' BESTED ' 143
for a little bit down before you start cutting the
cloth, say five or six pounds just to cover the actual
cost of material and so on.'
I felt justified m suggesting this, as Mr. Darley
was an undischarged bankrupt, and Darley was
neither his real name nor the name he was in the
habit of going bankrupt under, ' I'm very much
obliged to ye, sir, for your advice,' replied Mr,
McNab. Some weeks afterwards little Mr. Geldenstern
came up to me. ' I say, Mr. B.,' he asked, ' do you
know anything about a man called Darley — some-
thin' in the theatrical line, I fancy he is ?' ' Why
do you want to know ?' I inquired. ' Well, it's this
way: Mr. McNab, of course, is an old client of
mine, worse luck ! for I never knew such a marvel
for findin' winners, and he introduced this Darley
to me. Darley had ten pounds off of me the first
week ; then he found the winner of the Alexandra
Plate, Bushey Park, and that week pore me 'ad to
pay him over twenty sovereigns. The foUowin'
week one or two of his little lot went down to the
tune of fifteen pounds. That's a bit back, thinks I ;
but I've never seen the man since, and I can't get
no answer to my letters.'
I believe when, later on, Mr. Geldenstern caught
sight of Mr. Darley in faultless new clothes, and the
whole truth dawned upon him, he went as near

144 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
assaulting Mr. McNab as one of the prudent old
law ever goes.
The regular ' house of call,' however, for the
members of the Haymarket Theatre was the Caf6
de I'Europe, a few doors up the street. It has
frequently changed hands — and names — but no one
has yet succeeded in making a fortune there. The
miscellaneous company that used to frequent it
afforded me endless entertainment. There were
respectable tradespeople from the neighbourhood,
' lumberers,' confidence-men, money-lenders' touts,
journalists, and actors, and occasionally a Scotland
Yard detective or two. I made friends with several
of ' the boys,' as the flash' gentlemen who live by
their wits are called. One of them showed me one
day a very ingenious contrivance. This was a
teetotum with a movable stem. Such of my readers
as are familiar with this amusing toy will, I hope,
forgive me for explaining it for the benefit of the
remainder. When you spin with one end, only a
I or a 2 or a 3 will turn up, but by surreptitiously
pushing the stem through, and so spinning on the
other end, with the top the other way up, it will
expose a 4 or a 5 or a 6. ' There was an American
I got acquainted with at the " Piccadilly," ' my
friend told me, 'who knew — well, he seemed to
know as much as what / did. Racing, cards, he
wouldn't be taken on at anything. One morning I

HOW TO SPIN A TEETOTUM 145
got up and I lay this 'ere teetotum in the gutter of
the Haymarket just alongside of the curb. Pre
sently I meets my Yankee friend. " 'Mornin',
Seth," says I. " How are you ?" says he, and we
start down towards the Two Chairmen for our
first drink. All of a sudden I kicks up this bloomin'
top. "Hullo!" says I, " 'ere's some poor little
kiddie been and dropped 'is top. Poor little beggar !
he'll miss that, I dare say, as much as you or I'd
miss a ten-pound note. I'm passionately fond of
children," I says ; " I've got five of my own." And
we got yarning away about kids and that. Pre
sently we gets to the bar. " What's yours ?" says
I. "No, no," says my Yank, "this is my shout."
" Not a bit of it," says I. " I insist," says he.
At last I says, " Let's spin and see whose turn it is
with this kiddie's top." And we started spinning
for drinks, and we got on to shillings, and dollars,
and sovereigns, and before twelve o'clock I'd lifted
just on two hundred pounds off of him.' And then,
after a pause, ' And all down in that little bit of
bar across the way there — the Two Chairmen
they calls it.'
Another unfailing source of entertainment at
the old Caf6 de I'Europe was the litde band of
derelicts who would arrive in the morning one by
one, each punctual to his self-appointed time, and sit
there till night, ready to drink, lunch, or borrow.
10

146 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
I saw one of them, Mr. Meakins, only the other
day. He has transferred his vicarious custom to
another tavern. I believe the late landlord of the
cafe objected to his raffling objets cCart at the
luncheon buffet, and the artist left in a huff
Meakins was at one time a prosperous owner of
plantations and slaves, but somehow or other he is
now ' reduced,' and sits on a bench in the corner of
a bar-room waiting for something to turn up. He
often remarks pathetically, partly, I suppose, as a
reason for doing no work, ' I was a gentleman
once.' He wilfully exaggerates the shabbiness of
his clothes ; indeed, when he wishes to appeal
especially to your sentiments, he will don an old
' billycock ' hat, which he has blacked with blacking
like a boot. This harrowing coif signifies generally,
' Shillings and half-crowns would be of little use to
me to-day ; I need gold. It is a question of King's
taxes, brokers, etc' Meakins is the most dis
contented recipient of alms I ever met. I am sure
that, if he had fallen among thieves and been assisted
by the good Samaritan, he would have said after
wards, ' Oh yes, it was kind of him, of course,
but I don't see that he could have done less. A
man who can afford to pour about oil and wine like
that must be pretty well off, you know. I think he
might have made it fourpence, dash it all !' I re
member some years ago — it was the afternoon before

A DISCONTENTED DERELICT 147
Christmas Day — a big, burly, benevolent journalist
called Jack Boom came into the tavern where
Meakins was sitting, and heedlessly wished him the
compliments of the season. ' Oh, it's all very well
ior you to talk about " merry Christmases," ' snapped
Meakins peevishly. ' I dare say you've got a
Christmas dinner to go home to to-morrow.'
Boom's face softened. He crossed the road to the
shop of a neighbouring poulterer, and returned pre
sently with a large goose and a pound of sausages.
' There, Meakins,' he exclaimed heartily, ' there's a
contribution, at all events, to your to-morrow's
banquet.' ' Now I don't know how to get it home,'
grumbled Meakins. ' We'll take a cab,' said Boom,
and off they drove to the wilds of Maida Vale. A
kw days later Boom met Meakins wearing on his
face a resigned, pathetic, but withal forgiving ex
pression. ' You were swindled over that goose,'
he said simply. ' Toughest bird I ever put a knife
into.' One day I went into the Cafe de I'Europe and
found Meakins waiting for me with an extra woebe
gone expression. He was wearing the Day-and-
Martined hat. This time it was his gas, I think,
that was in jeopardy. ' No, my dear Meakins,' I
said firmly. ' For one thing I can't afford it. And,
besides, I'm rather tired of helping you when you
do nothing to help yourself. You never go out and
lO — 2

148 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
look for work. You sit here all day long consuming
drinks that others pay for, and go home too fuddled
to do any work, even if you had any to do.
Appointments don't drop into people's laps through
the ceiling of a public -house.' ' It's very easy to
kick a man when he's down,' whined Meakins. ' It
isn't a question of that,' I said. ' You asked me to
help you. I refuse, and I'm giving you my reason
for refusing. If you'll come to me and say, " Look
here, I'm doing regular work " — I don't care how
small the job may be, if it's only five shillings a
week — I shall be happy to help you again in a small
way. But I'm dashed if I'll do a thing more for
you until you do something for yourself Meakins
slunk dejectedly away, muttering something about
'advice being jolly cheap,' and I think expressing
regret, that he had ever allowed me to take him by
the hand. A few days afterwards he came beaming
into the cafe, a straw sailor-hat cocked rather
defiantly on one side. ' Hullo, old chap !' he cried,
' thought I might find you here. I say, you did
give it me hot the other day ! Quite right, though,
quite right ! Perfectly true, every word you said.
And I took it to heart, I assure you. And I'm glad
I did, for I've settled down now to regular weekly
work.' 'That's right,' said I. 'It's really a fine
thing to have done, because after one's been doing
nothing for a long spell  ' 'Oh, I didn't find

HOW TO BORROW A COAT 149
much difficulty once I got my neck up to the collar,'
replied Meakins cheerily. ' It's literary work —
nothing very tremendous, but it may mean big
money /' ' Capital !' I cried. ' Er — what will you
have ?' ' Thanks, I'll have a small Bass,' said the
returned prodigal, and in another moment it was
hissing down his throat. ' And what is this literary
work ?' I asked. ' Is it journalistic ?' ' In a sense,
yes,' he replied. ' The fact is, I've gone in for
these Pearson's missing-word competitions. I got
very near it this week, " Savoury " instead of
" Savourless," you know.'
Poor Leekins had failed at a singular number of
things considering that he was barely thirty. He
had failed as a doctor, as an actor, as a journalist,
and as a boarding-house proprietor. One day, early
in March, I heard an extraordinary report close to
me as I stood in the caf6. It was a combination of
a bark, a shout, and a wail, and proceeded from my
friend Leekins, ' Got a cough ?' I asked, ' Cough !'
he replied, in a hollow voice. ' I've got a cavity in
the apex of my right lung the size of a hen's egg, a
thickening of the base of the left, the whole of the
pleura is congested, and I've had three haemorrhages
in the last ten days.' ' Good heavens !' I exclaimed.
' But are you wise to be out in this east wind without
an overcoat ?' ' It's absolute madness, of course,'
answered Leekins, ' But how am / to get a great-

150 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
coat ?' I was wearing at the time a yellowish,
greenish, brownish sort of ulster, I took this off
and said to him : ' Here you are. I can only lend
you this, because it's a coat I always take to Scot
land. It's a particularly good colour for the hill.
But you're welcome to it till the summer comes.'
Leekins was profuse in his thanks. And the coat
must have exercised an instantaneously beneficial
effect, for that cough, like the cry of a lost soul, did
not recur. The following August I was about to
start for the Highlands when I bethought me of my
ulster. I sought out Leekins. ' Would you mind
letting me have that coat ?' 1 said. Leekins pulled
a long face, and pensively rubbed his chin. ' What's
it in for ?' I asked, after a pause. He looked
relieved that I had grasped the situation. ' Only
eighteen bob,' he said. 'Then there'll be the
interest — a mere bagatelle. Let's see : six months —
about two and threepence. Then, if you're in a
hurry for it, there'll be my bus each way — twopence.
Let me have twenty-five bob, and I'll bring it back
at once.' And in an hour's time he returned me my
coat with an air of conscious rectitude. The day
after I came back from Scotland (it was a chilly day
towards the end of September) I looked in at the
caf6, where I saw my friend Leekins. He was
about to greet me, when his features contracted
spasmodically and, with a sudden jerk like the

A CHEERFUL BORROWER 151
movement of a railway-signal, his limbs went into
extravagant angles, and he leant against the bar like
a deserted marionette. ' My dear fellow, what's the
matter ?' I exclaimed. ' Sciatica, or what ?' ' There
is, undoubtedly, a certain amount of inflammation of
the sciatic nerve, or, rather, of the sheath of the
nerve,' he managed to gasp out. ' But the main
trouble, I'm afraid, is tubercular disintegration of
the coccyx, that sort of appendage to the sacrum,
you know  ' ' In fact,' I interrupted, ' you want
the coat again ?' ' Thanks, old chap, if you don't
mind,' said Leekins. And immediately his muscles
relaxed, and, with an easy shrug, he hoisted on my
ulster. That was the last time I ever saw it.
Malkin is a far cheerier type of borrower than
either of those I have described. He is by way of
being a stage-manager, or what is nowadays called
a ' producer.' One afternoon I asked him to dine
with me at a cheap restaurant. ' Well, it's like
this,' he said. ' How are you off for stuff? If you
stand me a dinner, will you still be able to lend me
five bob afterwards ?' ' Oh, I think I can manage
that,' said I. ' Capital !' cried Malkin. ' Come on,
then.' The other night he tacked himself on to a friend
on the plea that he had lost his last omnibus or
train or something, and the friend arranged a
' shake-down ' for Malkin in his lodgings. After

152 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
breakfast, when his guest had gone, the host had
the curiosity to ask the maid-of-all-work ' whether
Mr. Malkin had made her a present.' ' Oh yes,
sir,' replied the drudge, beaming. ' He give me a
present of sixpence — and his I.O.U. for two shillin'
he asked me to oblige him with.'
One morning a friend to whom he owed a trifle
hailed him outside the theatre where he was em
ployed. ' Hallo !' responded Malkin, ' how are
you ? Come over the way and have a drink. But
just wait one moment — I haven't any "stuff."
Where's one of our young patrician supers ?' At
that moment a young exquisite fresh from Oxford,
an aspirant to theatrical honours, hove in sight.
' Now then, Mr. de Lacy,' cried Malkin with some
asperity, ' have you got five shillings about you ?'
' Yes, I fancy,' stammered the youth, fumbling in
his Poole-made pocket, ' Here's half a sovereign,
if you've  ' ' All right, that'll do,' snapped
Malkin. Then, turning to his creditor, he invited
him to the hostelry opposite. ' You can come, too,
if you like,' he muttered grudgingly to Mr. de
Lacy. ' Three whiskies and a soda divided,' he
ordered, adding, as he tossed the half-sovereign
into the air and caught it again, ' Light come,
light go.'
The flower-girls still lend a picturesqueness to the
Haymarket neighbourhood, though I am sorry to

'POLLY' 153
observe that they are beginning to abandon their
marvellous picture-hats laden with ostrich feathers,
and taking to sailor-hats — severely unadorned —
which are unbecoming and out of character.
Polly (no one knows her patronymic) has been
for the past ten or twelve years the most popular of
the flower-sellers who ply their trade in the Hay
market neighbourhood. Time has changed her
from a Greuze to a Rubens, but has not dimmed
her bright blue eye, nor assailed her merry teeth,
nor robbed her rosy face of its winning expression
of radiant good-nature. There is not an insurance-
agent, nor picture-dealer, nor actor who frequents
the Caf6 de I'Europe whose purse-strings do not
fly open at the magic of Polly's ' 'Ave a flar, dee' ?'
Some six or eight years ago a domestic event
robbed us of Polly's presence for a while ; but only
for about ten days, when she reappeared as well
and active as ever, beaming with all the pride of
motherhood. ' 'E's a dear,' she confided to us.
' I've called 'im John. Nobody can't help but
admire 'im. I'll bring 'im down 'ere one evenin',
just to show yer.' And, sure enough, a very few
months afterwards, towards midnight, she entered
the cafd with her first-born, and set him on the
counter that all might do him homage. He was
dressed in a peacock-blue plush Mother Hubbard
bonnet lined with fluted salmon-coloured silk, and

154 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
he had on a brand-new pair of enamelled patent-
leather boots, coming half-way up the calf A riff
raff court collected round the babe and echoed
Polly's praises. John himself was exceedingly
affable. He nestled (as fondly as his head-gear
would permit) against the two smart barmaids who
supported him in the rear ; he cooed at the grimaces
of the kindly low comedian, made playful clutches at
the beak of the benevolent money-lender, and toyed
with the light finger of the racecourse tout. Every
one drank John's health ; but we learned a few
weeks later that our toasting had been of no avail.
Polly came in with an anxious face and told us he
was down with bronchitis, that she had had to leave
him at Charing Cross Hospital. ' Oh, they are
dears, the nurses there !' she exclaimed. ' They let
me come in and see 'im almost any time. And they
do love John. What d'ye think they arst me ?
They arst me if I got 'im off of a Christmas-tree !'
and she gave a beam of joy as she recalled the good-
natured nurses' kindliness. The poor baby's life
hung in the balance for two or three weeks — he got
a little better one day, a little worse the next, and
so on, until one morning, a few days before
Christmas, the swing doors of the cafd flew back
and Polly entered. ' I've lost John !' she cried, and
then burst out weeping. One of the smart barmaids
immediately dipped under her counter and came

THE EXIGENCIES OF HOPPING 155
forward and took the poor, shabby mother in her
arms and made much of her. It was a very pretty
sight. I presendy prevailed on Polly to accept a
trifling sum towards the funeral expenses and the
purchase of ' a bit of black,' by which the humbler
classes set so much store. Her gratitude knew no
bounds. I met her a few days later, her picture-
hat surmounted by an enormous butterfly bow of
black crape. The only object she possessed of any
value was a huge coloured silk neckerchief, what is
called a ' kingsman,' which she wore about her
shoulders. ' If I 'ad this washed and ironed,' she
asked me, ' would you wear it ?' ' Of course I
would,' I answered. And in due course she pre
sented me with a splendid Oriental wrap, the history
of which goodness only knows, and I gave her an
uninteresting new one in exchange. I prized her
gift very highly, and I was very sorry when at last
it was stolen from me.
The only other financial operation of any magni
tude in which I was ever engaged with Polly was
one autumn some years later when she wished to
raise a loan to take herself, father, mother, brother,
and Mary Anne (a baby whom Providence had sent
to console her, poor thing ! for the loss of John) on
a hopping expedition. ' How much do you want ?'
I asked. 'Well, yer see, dear,' said Polly, with
apologetic hesitancy, ' I want a good deal. There's

156 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
four of us, not countin' Mary Anne, and there's one
or two noo things I should 'ave to buy. I'm afraid
I can't do it all under ten shillin's. Yer know, yer
cant go 'oppin any'ow.' Evidently there are laws
of fashion that prevail in Kentish fields as on the
plages of Dieppe and Trouville.

CHAPTER IX
'Summer season' at the Haymarket — The meanness of the
'dead-head' — 'House full' — Bold advertisement — Stage-
door beggars — A pious crossing-sweeper — A distressed
foreigner.
Nothing is more difficult to gauge by the eye than
the holding capacity of a theatre. I am able to
speak with authority with regard to one, the
Haymarket, as I once rented it for a summer
season. At that time it held (I speak from ex
perience) ;^I2 a night. I understand, however,
that Messrs. Maude and Harrison have made
certain structural alterations, and that nowadays it
holds considerably more than that modest amount.
I believe that the summer of 1884 was the hottest
we had had for twenty-two years. The ' Fisheries,'
or whatever the particular exhibition in the far west
of London chanced to be that year, did all the
business. I had an excellent company and a very
pleasant little programme. I was the pioneer of the
revival of the triple bill, which afterwards had a
prolonged vogue, but not, unfortunately, during my

158 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
six weeks of management. We began the evening
with ' The Waterman,' with young Sims Reeves in
his father's part of Tom Tug, Henry Kemble as
Robin (with song), and charming Miss Julia Gwynne
as Wilhelmina. This was followed by an old-
fashioned two-act comedy, a version by Walter
Pollock of ' Le Reveil du Lion,' which we called
' Evergreen,' in which I played the principal part —
an old beau who danced, sang, played the violin,
fenced, had most of the good things to say, and
who seldom left the centre of the stage. I was
ably assisted by clever Miss M. A. Victor, Harry
Conway, and Miss Julia Gwynne, who made a most
engaging inginue in a white foulard Empire frock.
I made the period 1810, and designed the costumes
myself (my sketches were afterwards used for the
dresses in ' Beau Austin '). We wound up the bill
with one of the broad old farces, either ' Two in the
Morning' or 'Twenty Minutes with a Tiger,' I
forget which, with Kemble and me in the principal
parts. All the press notices were most favourable,
some of them enthusiastic, but the public stayed
away. I permanently injured my hand-writing by
the number of ' complimentary ' passes I had to sign.
Every night waxed hotter than the night before. I
bought a few gross of Japanese fans from Liberty's,
very pretty ones, with raised birds and flowers upon
them. They cost nearly threepence each whole-

AUTUMN BOOKING 159
sale. I sprinkled these about the house for the
comfort of my audience ; but it was enough to turn
anyone into a cynic. I discovered that two or three
people came in early with orders, collared five or
six fans apiece, and left before the performance
began !
' What time shall I bring you the " second
returns " ?' inquired my acting manager early in the
run. ' Just before my pathetic scene, if you please,' I
replied. The regular box-office-keeper came to me very
good-naturedly and told me he had had an offer to
go immediately to Miss Mary Anderson ; that, as
there was no booking for my entertainment, he felt
he had better save me his salary. I thanked him
and let him go, and promoted to his place an extra
ordinarily intelligent lad, a youth who in the Ban
crofts' time was one of the clerks. I never knew so
young a body with so old a head. I used to look
into his office in the morning, glancing at the out-
sides of my letters in the way I had seen Bancroft
look at his.
'And how's the booking, Leverton ?' I would
ask. Without turning a hair he would gravely reply :
' Well, sir. Bond Street's looking rather healthier.
There are two balconies booked for Thursday.'

160 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
I am happy to say that Mr. Leverton has retained
ever since the position to which I by chance had the
pleasure of promoting him, though the position itseli
has, of course, improved considerably.
One afternoon, when I was standing on the steps
of the theatre, I saw a poor old friend of mine who
was very hard up and very shabby, and who, besides
that, had been a little bit touched in the head
through a series of financial misfortunes. I very
meanly turned on my heel and took refuge in the
theatre to let him go past.
' I can't afford to help him, poor chap !' I reflected,
' and it would be no kindness to offer him seats for
the theatre, for he lives a long way off'
A few minutes later I blushed crimson with
shame, for I found the poor old derelict had come to
the pigeon-hole, planked down a sovereign, which
might have kept him for a fortnight, and purchased
two stalls for himself and his wife to come and see
me act.
One night, when there was only ^S in
the house, I told my people to put all the boards
out. Accordingly the eye of the passer-by was
arrested a few minutes later by these announce
ments : 'Stalls full.' 'Balcony full.' 'Gallery full.'
' House full.' ' Standing room only.' Within a
quarter of an hour my receipts were exactly doubled.
People inquired eagerly :

PRESERVING ORDER 161
' Can we stand up at the back of the stalls ?'
' Certainly, if you wish,' replied the obliging
Leverton ; and the enthusiastic playgoers paid their
half-sovereigns and hurriedly made their way to
the almost empty parterre. However, it was not a
game one could play every night.
There was still a tendency, even as late as 1884,
for a few malcontents to muster on a Haymarket
first night and clamour for the missing pit, to the
inconvenience of tha rest of the audience. So on my
first night I engaged a few fighting men to keep
order. During the overture an individual in the
front row of the gallery began to shuffle his feet,
and to call out, ' Where's the pit ?' He was
picked up by his collar and the seat of his trousers
and handed over the heads of his neighbours from
one of my sturdy stewards to another, until at last
he found himself at the top of the gallery staircase,
where an East End light-weight, in an excess of zeal,
struck him on the side of the head and knocked
him downstairs. He wrote me a protest against my
' cowardly attempt to burke an expression of honest
opinion.' I replied by acknowledging the receipt
of his letter — ' which was evidently written under
some misapprehension.'
One afternoon a magnificent carriage and pair
drove up to the- stage-door, and a message was
brought to me that I was wanted. I went out, and
II

162 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
found Gillie Farquhar in the Duke of Beaufort's
carriage. He had called to ask me if I would play
for his ' benefit,' which was shortly to take place at
the Gaiety Theatre. I told him I would play for
him, but that I should charge him for my services,
as I didn't see why anyone who had been such a
short time on the stage, and who had rich relatives,
should have a ' benefit.' During this conversation I
noticed two or three of the stage hands appeared to
be closely admiring, as well they might, the beautiful
japanning of His Grace's equipage, but I did not
suspect how they were actually employed. All the
workmen in the theatre used to carry variegated
gummed labels about lo inches in circumference bear
ing the legend ' Haymarket Theatre, Mr, Charles
Brookfield's Summer Season — "Evergreen" — To
night !' which they would idly stick on to lamp
posts and palings and counters. When Gillie called
out to the Duke's coachman, ' Twice round the
park and then home !' and the splendid pair of
horses bounded down Suffolk Street, I discovered
that my faithful employes had covered the back of
the carriage with these gaudy announcements.
That night we had quite a distinguished audience.
The neighbourhood of the stage-door has always
been the happy hunting-ground of the professional
beggar. Sometimes he will assume the guise of a
super or stage- hand out of work, but he is then apt

A DEVOTED OLD CABMAN 163
to break down under cross-examination. One very
clever old swindler entirely took me in by pretend
ing to have been a cabman who had driven me
constantly in days gone by. He nearly, but not
quite, marred the illusion by an extravagant though
artistically-conceived touch, which was to address
me as ' Master Charles.' Had I reflected, this
might have been all right in a faithful old family
coachman, but it was quite unaccountable in a
professed cabman, who by his own showing had
only known me since I was fully grown up.
' You've forgotten me. Master Charles,' he protested
in a husky voice. ' Yet many's the time I've driven
you and that good lady, your mother, in the old
days.' And a tear glittered in his eye. ' Thurloe
Place, number thirty, it was ! You was one of my
" regulars," you was. Master Charles. 'Appy days
those was. But I've fallen on terrible bad times
just lately, Master Charles — got chucked off of my
"showfuU" and laid up six weeks in the 'orspital.
If you could let me 'ave three 'alf-crowns to make
up the price of a new license. Master Charles. . . .'
A very few weeks later a lady called in deep
black and claimed to be the devoted old cabman's
widow, and produced a list of benefactors who were
subscribing to set her up in a ' litde business.'
'Very suddenly he went off at the last, poor
George !' she remarked. ' Very suddenly indeed !'
II — 2

164 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
But her heart was not in her work. She was
evidently bored with her own story, and glad to
scuttle home to her ' late ' husband with a shilling.
Another wretch used to call at the Criterion (when
I was there in 1889) who had something hideous
the matter with his leg; and by surreptitiously
stamping his foot just before you came into the
hall where he was, he could cause this leg to
present such an appalling appearance that you
cheerfully gave him all you possessed not to show
you the other one.
One niofht I was called out to see a Mr. Williams,
an ill-looking ruffian, who appealed offensively to
every sense. He said he had just been discharged
from Reading Infirmary, whence he had walked
that day, and that he had still to walk on to Green
wich, where his wife lived, before he could lay him
down to rest. And he heaved a sigh which I trusted
might reach her, if she existed and really lived
at Greenwich, warn her of his approach, and
give her time to clear out from home before his
arrival. ' But why do you come to me ?' I asked.
'Who told you about me?' ' It was the party in
the next bed to me at the infirmary advised me to
apply to you, sir. 'E told me you 'ad a feelin' 'eart,
sir. I couldn't tell you 'is name, sir, but them was
'is words, sir. " Go to Mr. Brookfield at the
Criterion Theatre. 'E 'as got a feelin' 'eart, 'e 'as !" '

AN ENVOY FROM THE SWAN 165
' I'm afraid I don't believe that,' I said. 'But I'll
tell you what I will do. I'll give you two shillings
if you'll tell me, truthfully, where all you blackguards
meet together and advise one another where to go.'
A look of sadness flashed across Mr. Williams' face,
followed by a radiance of resignation. ' As trew as
'eaven's above, Mr. Brookfield, I'm tellin' you
gawspel trewth. " Don't you be afraid to call on
Mr. Brookfield," said the party in the next bed,
"even if he speaks 'arshly to you at first," 'e said,
" 'E 'as a feelin' 'eart — an 'eart that can bleed fer
another," 'e said,' 'Well, I can't stop talking to
you,' I said, turning to go, ' If you like to earn
that two bob, here it is,' And I held up a florin,
A gleam came into his eye for a second, and then his
features fell, 'It's 'ard not to be trusted,' he sighed,
' especially after walkin' close on forty weary miles,
footsore and tired, 'ungry and — and thirsty,' he had
the effrontery to add. Then, as I disappeared
down the corridor, he called after me. 'Mr. B.!'
he cried. And I went back to him. ' Is that right
about that two bob?' he asked earnestly. ' Certainly,'
I said, ' if you tell me the truth.' ' Well, then,
look 'ere, Mr. B.,' said Mr. Williams : ' I think if
you was to look in at the Swan, in Fetter Lane,
you'd see one or two familiar faces.' ' That's
more like it,' said I. ' And who sent you here ?'
'Well, Mr. B., it was this way,' said my friend,

166 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
with a leer : ' I was jolly well broke to the world,
and I looked in at the good old Swan, and I see
that there man with the sore leg^ — Pretty Dick we
calls 'im — and I says, "What cheer, Dickie ! D'yer
know anything ?" And 'e says, " What's wrong ?
Down on yer luck?" "Stony-broke," I says.
" Well, then," says Dick, " you go down to the
Criterion Theayter and try old Brookie. 'E's
always good for a couple o' bob." ' I thanked
Mr. Williams cordially, gave him his two shillings,
and told him to regard it as an annuity. He was
very grateful. He called, a little prematurely, and
drew a further two shillings a few months later ;
tried to repeat the operation a week afterwards, and
failed ; and I have never seen him since. It is
equally likely that he is dead or in gaol.
One day I was walking in the neighbourhood of
St. Martin's Church, when a crossing-sweeper, a
ragged youth of about eighteen, attracted my atten
tion in the usual manner by brushing little besom-
fuls of dust on to my boots. ' Spare us a copper,
sir,' he pleaded. ' 'Ave a feelin' 'eart ! I 'aven't
tasted food this day, sir, as Gawd is my judge.'
'Get out!' said I brutally. 'I've a sick wife at
'ome,' the fellow went on, 'an' a little bibey pinin'
awigh. You'll never miss it, kind gentleman — on'y
a copper, to buy berread.' Then, I am sorry to
say, I lost patience with him and uttered an oath.

A DISTRESSED FOREIGNER 167
Upon which he snatched off his cap, raised his eyes,
and, with the seraphic smile of a martyr, burst into
prayer. ' Ho Lord !' he cried, ' forgive 'im this
hidle word. Thou 'oo in wrath rememberest mercy,
pardon this pore sinner !' I was so amused that I
am afraid I gave the blasphemous scoundrel
twopence. One summer night, many years ago, when the
Savile Club was still in Savile Row, my old friend
Henry Kemble and I left its hospitable doors at
about midnight, I bound for home, he for the
Garrick. I think we had both been upon some
country jaunt during the day, for we were both in
' dittoes ' and ' billycock ' hats. We had not gone
many yards before we were accosted by a man
dressed far better than we were in a good frock-coat
and a top-hat. He was small of stature, and he
spoke with a German accent. ' I peg your pardon,
gentlemen,' he said ; ' I hef no right to accost you in
this menner, but I em a foreigner. I hef lost my
luckedge, I hef pin robbed of my purse, and until I
can call to-morrow at my Empessy, I am absolutely
without means. I hef to appeal to you as gentle
men, as men to men, to assist me in my emerchency
and to lent me a sovereign.' There was something
so unconvincing in his tone and in his glibness that
we hardened our hearts and refused to help him.
' Really, gentlemen,' he persisted, ' I em sorry to pe

168 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
importunate, but I must ask you to regonseeder. If
you will not assist me, I shell hef to walk apout the
streets all night ;' and tears began to course down
his pale face and bury themselves in his scanty
beard. The more he wept and pleaded; the more
distinctly did he betray himself to be an impostor.
' Upon my word !' exclaimed Kemble presently, ' if
I could only see a policeman, I'd give this impudent
blackguard in charge. Ah ! there's one at the
corner !' But when we reached the constable, our
petitioner who humbly begged had vanished. In a
minute, however, he reappeared. ' Gentlemen,' he
resumed, ' I cannot pelieve that you are really so
hard-hearted. Conseeder if you were yourselfs
strented in a foreign city, without money, without
friends, without luckedge.' Another policeman
hove in sight, and again our suitor disappeared.
At Piccadilly Circus I bade good-night to my old
friend, hailed a cab, and went home.
The following morning I received from him a most
indignant letter. ' What do you think happened just
after you left me?' he said. 'That infamous little
scoundrel accosted me again in Long Acre. There
was a policeman close by, so I exclaimed, " Now,
my friend, I'm going to give you in charge." Before
I could say another word the German had slipped
in front of me, and actually had the audacity to
complain to the policeman of me\ He said I had

RETALIATION 169
been begging of him, that he didn't wish to press
the charge, but merely to be relieved of the annoy
ance. A crowd assembled in a second. I was
utterly dumfounded at the creature's impudence, and
before I could speak another well-dressed German
came forward, who pretended to be a stranger to
the first one, and said, pointing to me, if you please,
" Oh yes, he's an old offender. He was begging
from me this afternoon in the Tottenham Court
Road." The constable, who was a shy young man,
appeared overwhelmed by the evidence of the
apparently independent witnesses, and gave me a
push on the shoulder, and said, " Pass away, pass
away ; don't let me see you hanging about here
again." ' The rest of the letter glowed with pardon
able rage and resentment.
Some months afterwards — it was in January —
I was hurrying down Charing Cross Road on my
way to the Underground Railway Station. It
was a bitterly cold night, there had been a
sudden hard frost after a thaw, and the roads
were coated with ice like a cake. Suddenly a
familiar voice sounded at my elbow. ' I peg your
pardon, sir,' I heard ; ' I hef no right to accost you
in this menner, but I em a foreigner ; I hef lost my
luckedge.' I looked round. I recognised the little
ruffian who had annoyed Kemble and myself the
previous summer. ' I hef pin robbed of my purse,

170 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
and until I can call at my Empessy,' he went on, ' I
am absolutely without means.' I looked up and
down the street. There was nobody about. He
was a very small man but a very great nuisance. I
hit him hard on the point of the jaw. He fell flat
on the curb, and I took to my heels. It was not a
heroic act, but it was a very comforting one.

CHAPTER X
Bohemian amenities — Mrs. Alfred Wigan and Mrs. Keeley —
' Bottle on it !' — My earliest recollection of Beerbohm Tree —
An unchronicled conflagration at Her Majesty's Opera-House
— One or two Bancroft stories — A conscientious ' extra-lady '
— Harry Kemble and Arthur Cecil and the New Year —
Cecil as an equestrian.
No unprejudiced observer who enters Bohemian
society can fail to be impressed by the spirit of
camaraderie and good-fellowship, by the generous
appreciation of a fellow-artist, by the mutual esteem
and admiration, which prevails among actors and
actresses, and which distinguishes their conversation
when they talk of one another. Though I am
bound in honesty to say that a very similar tone
prevails in the intimate gossip of soldiers and
soldiers' wives, parsons and parsons' wives, barristers
and barristers' wives, and even of bricklayers and
bricklayers' wives.
I remember once, many years ago (unfortunately
for playgoers, both ladies have since gone to the
realm where there are no critics), hearing Mrs.

172 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Candour thus take up the cudgels on behalf of her
friend, Mrs. Checkers. ' You know, I've heard all
sorts of stories about Mrs. Checkers' early life. I
don't believe one of them. I believe they're all a
pack oi malicious falsehoods. And I'll tell you why.
Of course, in my life I've had to meet all kinds of
women, including plenty who were — well, no better
than they should be, as the saying goes. But in
every one of them, however old and weather-beaten
she might be, there was always some little trace of
charm that you could identify and say, " Ah ! that's
what the men used to admire. Now, there's nothing
of that sort about Mrs. Checkers." '
That delightful actress whom many of us re
member in our youth, Mrs. Alfred Wigan, began
life as a stilt-walker. When a child, with her little
feet strapped to a couple of tall poles, she would
stalk in and out of the coaches on the hill at Epsom,
and rally and cajole small change out of the
assembled sportsmen as they lunched. Or in the
summer, in Mayfair, old dowagers taking tea at
open drawing-room windows would be startled by
the sudden appearance of a pathetic little figure,
clad in tawdry muslin and spangles, tendering her
scallop-shell across the balcony and pleading for
coppers. At the time that I knew the Wigans they were
not only universally popular as comedians, but were

A GLIMPSE AT SOCIETY 173
sought after in society, when society was society —
that is to say, before it had been successfully raided
by Financiers of the Old Law. Alfred and his wife
were frequently honoured by a command from Her
Majesty to bring their company to perform at
Windsor. It is not to be wondered at that her
social success rather turned the head of the gifted
Leonora — that is to say, that she became a little apt
to give herself airs among her brother and sister
artists who had been less favoured.
One day, when she was directing the rehearsal of
a modern comedy on the stage of the Olympic,
some little question of manners arose, and Mrs.
Keeley ventured to express an opinion at variance
with Mrs. Wigan's. ' Nonsense, my dear !' ex
claimed the manageress. ' Such a thing would be
unheard of! And I think I ought to know. You
must admit, my dear, that I've seen a little more of
the inside of a London drawing-room than you
have.' ' I, know you have, dear,' replied Mrs. Keeley,
without a moment's hesitation — ' through the first-
floor windows I'
Mrs. Alfred Wigan once told me a story which
illustrates very graphically the spirit in which the
histrionic artist is apt to regard his creations. And
which also shows that an author may know nothing
of his brightest lines. It was when the Wigans
were managing the Olympic Theatre in Wych

174 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Street. The play was a melodrama, in which a
shipwreck occurred, and there was a scene upon a
desert island. One night Mrs. Wigan stood in the
first entrance to watch this scene. The low-
comedian, who represented a sailor, in due course
appeared. He had the stage to himself, and
advanced to what used to be generically termed a
' bank ' (that is to say, an object rather like a coffin,
covered with green baize, which, before the days of
realism, did duty for a rustic bench, a rock, a bit of
a ruin, or, in fact, for any kind of open-air seat).
He then produced a black bottle from the side-
pocket of his reefer-jacket, placed it upon the ' bank,'
admired it for a moment in silence, then came down
to the footlights and, smiting the side of his nose
with his forefinger, exclaimed mysteriously : ' Bottle
on it !' At which there was a shriek of delight from
the audience and a deafening storm of applause.
As soon as the act was over, Mrs. Wigan called the
comedian to her. ' I wanted to ask you,' she said,
' about that line " Bottle on it !" '
'^ Didn't it go ? My word ! They're a splendid lot
in front to-night — sympathetic! intelligent! quick!'
said the stage castaway, glowing with triumph.
'But why do you say " Bottle on it"?' inquired
the manageress.
' Why do I say it?' repeated the bewildered
artist. ' Didn't you hear how they roared ?'

A GRATEFUL GUEST 175
' But what does it mean ?' she persisted.
' " Bottle on it " ? Oh, I don't know ! It means
— Well, at all events, it's in my part.' And he

produced a dirty, curled-up copy of his r61e, and,
turning over the well-thumbed pages, came at last
to the desert island scene. ' There you are,
Mrs, Wigan !' he exclaimed triumphantly, and he
pointed to the passage. It was a stage direction :
' (Jack Marlin advances to bank C, and places
bottle on it.)' But the copyist had accidentally
closed the bracket after the word ' places,' so that
the words ' bottle on it ' appeared as part of the text
to be spoken. When Mrs. Wigan explained to the
actor this obvious mistake, he almost had a fit. He
raved, threatened, and implored, and became so
hysterical that at last she gave in to him, and he
was allowed to speak the utterly meaningless three
words for the remainder of the run. There are
still, in the present day, plenty of ' bottle-on-it '
actors on the stage.
The first time I ever saw Tree was at Cambridge,
probably in 1877. He had not been long on the
stage, and he was staying at Trinity with a friend
of mine called Pashley. Pashley was invited to
dine with the Hibernian Club (I presume it was
on March 17), and, on his explaining that he had
someone staying with him, he was told to bring his
guest to the dinner. It was a tremendous banquet

176 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
given in the Guildhall, and there were something
like 200 guests. After various toasts, the president
in due course proposed the health of ' The Guests,'
and a distinguished old Irish peer on his right
took a final glance at his notes and a final gulp of
port, and dug his knuckles into the table so as to
hoist himself into position to reply, when, at a
remote end of the room, a slight, auburn-haired
youth rose, pushed back his chair, and addressed
the company.
' Mr. President and gentlemen,' he said, ' I
thank you from my heart for the gracious way in
which you have drunk my — our health. I will not
inflict a long and tedious speech upon you, but I
will give you a few imitations of popular actors.
Mr. Irving : " Eah ! daun't you hear — the sund of
bell-11-ll-lls ?" '
The elderly peer turned purple and barely
escaped a fit of apoplexy. The president turned
pale, hurriedly scribbled a note-^thanking Tree for
his kind offer to entertain, but explaining that the
prearranged toast-list must first be duly gone
through, and despatched it down the table by a
flying waiter.
But the young histrion, with a characteristic
gesture, waved the menial aside, and proceeded.
'Mr. Macready as Melantius in "The Bridal"  '
I think two or three presidential notes were sent

A FIRE AT HER MAJESTY'S 177
begging him to stop, but all in vain. He went
right through his repertoire, from Irving vii Toole
and Thorne to Edmund Keane as Oroonoko, and
then sat down without turning a hair.
The Irish peer rose after him, and endeavoured
to speak, but failed to utter a single intelligible
word. One summer's night in 1888 Comyns Carr and
Tree and I had been dining together, and as we
walked up the Haymarket soon after ten o'clock we
noticed a very trifling conflagration on the terrace
of the old Her Majesty's Opera-House. Someone
had opened the theatre with a season of promenade
concerts, and the balcony above the principal
entrance was tastefully laid out with grottos and
palms in pots, and illuminated with coloured lights,
so that an imaginative Londoner could sit there and
smoke, and fancy himself miles away — say at
Rosherville Gardens. Somehow or other, a Chinese
lantern had set alight to an eightpenny plant, to
the great alarm of a sentimental couple who were
sharing a glass of shandy-gaff close at hand. But a
waiter soon extinguished the blaze by a few adroit
flicks of his napkin. However, Comyns Carr
decided that this was a matter to be inquired into,
so we buttoned our overcoats up to our chins, with
a vague idea of giving ourselves an official appear
ance, and walked up to the check-taker. 12

178 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' We've called respecting that outbreak of fire on
the terrace at 10.15,' said Carr to the man, in a
confidential yet authoritative undertone. ' I pre
sume you'll let us pass quietly, without obliging us
to exercise our authority ?'
' Otherwise  ' exclaimed Tree impetuously,
clutching at some imaginary object in his inside
breast-pocket. ' Sh-sh, mate !' said Carr. ' Gently does it !
Give the chap a chance. He seems an orderly,
well-conducted man.'
' I've nothing about him in my notes,' said I.
We had by this time telepathically cast ourselves
— Carr as a kind of inspector. Tree as an utterly
impossible Gaboriau detective, and myself as a sort
of nondescript mouchard.
The check-taker turned rather pale.
' Are you from — the police ?' he inquired, in a
rather awestricken tone.
' From the Yard,' said Tree, in a metallic
voice. ' If you'll kindly step this way,' said the man, ' I'll
fetch the manager.'
' If you please,' said Carr. ' And it is my duty to
inform you that anything you say will be taken
down in writing, and altered and used against you
at your trial.'
We were soon on the terrace, interrogating

A NEW TOY 179
couples and cross-examining waiters. Tree turned
to me, and said in an audible aside :
' Corky ! twice down the terrace and report !'
When I got back, the manager was begging that
we would all come to his room and take a glass
of wine, and Carr was taking impressions of the
waiter's thumbs in his pocket-book by means of a
piece of burnt cork. There was tall rockery
covered with ferns near where we stood. Tree now
advanced to it, and pulled out a large jagged piece
of rock, which proved to be a kind of corner-stone,
for the whole structure fell in fragments on to the
tessellated pavement.
' Why, what's that for ?' inquired the astonished
manager. Tree nodded his head two or three times
mysteriously, then slipped the stone into his
side-pocket, and ejaculated in sepulchral tones,
' Analysis !'
It was not until nine years later that he took the
rest of the theatre.
I shall never forget the almost childish delight
with which Tree used to watch the building and
completing of the present Her Majesty's Theatre.
His enthusiasm would often impede the traffic of
the Haymarket, for he would wander into the
middle of the road and waylay passers-by to infect
them with his fervour. Most people probably
12 — 2

180 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
know the story of how he one day caught Sir
Squire Bancroft by the arm as he was wending his
way to the London and Westminster Bank.
' Well, Bancroft,' cried Tree, waving his hand
triumphantly towards the Charles Street side of his
colossal new toy, ' and what d'you think of it ?'
The practical Bancroft surveyed the building for
a few seconds through his glass, then turned to the
excited young manager and observed :
' A lot of windows! They'll all want cleaning.'
I remember one first night at the Haymarket,
under Tree's management, a very beautifully-staged
classical piece was produced (the name of which I
forget), which dazzled the eye and pleased the
senses. But the dramatic critics were doubtful as
to its merits as a play. The Bancrofts were in
the stalls, and at the end of the second act, when
the ordinary playgoer was smoking his cigarette
outside, two or three of the wilier journalists
conceived the ingenious idea of extracting an expert
opinion from the soundest judge of a play in London.
Accordingly, the most audacious of them^-I think
it was the late Willie Wilde — edged into the seat
behind Bancroft, and boldly plunged in medias res.
' Well, Bancroft, and what's the verdict ?' he
inquired. His fellows crept up stealthily, like
marauders on a battlefield. Each surreptitiously
shot the shirt-cuff over his left hand, and nervously*

CAUGHT TRIPPING 181
clutched a stump of pencil in his right, in order to
note down the words of wisdom which were to
simplify his critical task. Bancroft slightly frowned
as though in deep thought, turned his head a little
on one side, scrutinized at a two-inch range the
plush that covered the stall in front of him, then
dropped his glass, leant back, and observed :
' It was in the December of 1880 — what am I
saying ? — of 1879 — that I had these stalls covered
— just about eleven years ago. They're as good as
new. It shows the advantage of going to a really
good firm.'
One night, when we were playing ' Diplomacy,'
the first act had already begun, and I was dressed
and made up as Baron Stein, when I was invited to
speak to someone at the stage-door. In my hurry
to attend to this summons, I caught my foot in a
piece of worn-out matting, and fell down a steep
flight of stairs, landing on my head. I was stunned
for a moment, and the wooden staircase, enclosed
by wooden walls, shook with the shock of my fall,
and echoed forth a sound like that of a big gun. I
was brought to in time to hobble on and play my
scene, and after it was over I sought out Bancroft
and apologized to him for the interruption my
accident must have caused to the progress of the
act. ' My dear fellow,' he exclaimed, 'I'm so glad
it was nothing worse. When I heard that tremen-

182 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
dous crash, I was afraid — I was really afraid for a
moment — that it was a piece of the scenery !' To
anyone who did not know him this might sound a
little unsympathetic. He only meant, of course,
that he was afraid some heavy piece of the dicor
had fallen upon me.
Bancroft was very punctilious in matters of detail.
When we were going to do Burnand's version of
' Lolotte ' called ' A Lesson,' in which I played an
elderly Scot, he came to me a few days before the
production, and asked me, ' How old do you propose
making Sir Thomas Duncan?' 'Oh, I don't know,'
I said casually. ' I suppose about fifty-five.'
Bancroft thought for a moment or two, and then
suddenly suggested : ' Or — fifty-six ?'
We had at one time in the Haymarket company
an old lady whom adverse circumstances had turned
into a time-server. She had a bad word for every
one but her employer for the moment. One night
I came into the green-room and found her kneeling
at the side of ' Mrs. B.' and stroking her hair.
' Oh, Mrs. Bancroft,' she said, in her rather mincing
voice, ' why do you ever wear a wig when you have
such beautiful hair of your own ?' ' Well,' said
Mrs. B., ' at all events there's plenty of it.' ' Oh,
but the quality is so exquisite,' cooed the charmer,
' and the colour is perfectly lovely. So many of my
friends have said how they envy you your marvellous

A CONSCIENTIOUS ARTISTE 183
chevelure.' I was standing in front of the glass,
and at this I took off my wig and ran my fingers
through my own locks, ' My hair has been very
much admired,' I said, ' By whom, pray ?' inquired
the old lady, who disliked me, ' By my company
when I was in management,' I replied.
It is almost pathetic to witness the extraordinary
conscientiousness sometimes of those who have very
minor parts to play. A delightful comedy actress —
the most artistic on the stage to-day — told me that
years ago, when she was playing in burlesque at the
Strand, she once had to dress with a Miss Julie
Walsingham (who has since blossomed into a
manageress of Shakespearian provincial tours).
This young lady used to arrive an hour and a half
before her services were required. She had to
impersonate a sailor, in white satin bell-mouthed
trousers and a blue silk slop. But so determined
was she to do her duty to the public and the
management that every night she used first of all
to get her dresser to whiten her from her forehead
and neck down to her waist with blanc de perle ;
then, when she had made up and completed her
toilet, she would drink a magnum of champagne to
' pull herself together ' ; then she would sit for the
remainder of her time descanting upon the nerve-
destroying nature of a theatrical career, debating
whether the momentary triumph of a stage success

184 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
was worth the price the artist had to pay, in the
sacrifice of nerve tissue, of peace of mind, of home
life, of domestic pleasures.
' 'Pon my word, Lottie,' she would exclaim some
times when in a cynical mood, ' if a good, honest,
loving man with a thousand a year or so were to
come along and ask me to be his wife, I'm not at
all sure I shouldn't throw up art and the whole
thing, and simply marry and go and hide myself
away in the country, and just lead a simple, un
eventful, happy life.'
' Oh, but wouldn't that be a pity !' her friend
would say politely. ' Think of the public. What
would they say ?'
' The public ! Pah !' Miss Walsingham would
exclaim with contempt. ' Do they appreciate art ?
Not they. They only want your low comedians — a
laugh at any price ; that's all the public wants.'
And when this young lady finally appeared, all
she had to do was to advance to the footlights in
the course of a concerted number, hitch her white
satin trousers, and carol forth, ' Dick Fid, Dick
Fid, avast and belay !' and then resume her place.
Which proves that the artistic temperament is not
confined to star actors and actresses.
It was at about half-past eleven at night one
thirty-first of December that it suddenly occurred to
Henry Kemble and Arthur Cecil, as they sat over

GOOD INTENTIONS 185
their supper at the Garrick Club, that there were
more spiritual ways of beginning a new year than
in draining the wassail-bowl. Accordingly, they got
into their wrap-rascals — Kemble into his well-known
brown watchman's cape with the astrachan collar,
and Cecil into his Baron Stein pardessus with the
beaver facings — and they started to ' walk to a four-
wheeler ' which should take them to one of the
fashionable churches where midnight services were
held. But cabs were scarce, and they toddled all
the way up Regent Street without seeing one that
would take them. There was a hansom or two,
but Arthur Cecil would sooner have mounted an
Australian buckjumper than sit in a two-wheeled
cab. It wanted but ten minutes of midnight.
' There's a church, Arthur,' exclaimed Kemble,
pointing to the sacred edifice in Langham Place
with the marling-spike steeple. ' It's nearly twelve
o'clock ; we'd better go in there.' ' H'm ! But
d'you know if there's a service goin' on there.
Beetle ?' asked Cecil doubtfully. ' I'm certain there
is,' said Kemble ; ' I saw two ladies go in just now.
There's another one,' he added as a devout-looking
lady, apparently foreign, entered the building. ' All
right, then,' said Arthur ; and the two friends crossed
the road and went in. The church was dimly
lighted, but they found their way into an unoccupied
pew near the sanctuary. ' Isn't it curious — the

186 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
small percentage of men ?' whispered Kemble. ' I
don't believe I noticed one. How different from
the Church of Rome !' However, they knelt side
by side, and were soon plunged in their devotions,
lamenting lost opportunities in the year that was
dying and making golden resolutions for the year
that was about to be born, when Kemble, who was
nearest the aisle, was touched on the shoulder.
' Do you want to speak to me ?' whispered a tall,
grave-looking clergyman attired in a long cassock.
' Thank you very much,' replied Kemble in an
undertone, 'but I — er — I don't know that I do —
particularly.' ' Then, perhaps,' continued the clergy
man, ' you and your friend would like to go before
the service begins.' ' On the contrary,' said Kemble,
' we came expressly that we might have the benefit
of the service.' ' The only thing is,' said the parson,
evidently somewhat embarrassed, ' this is a special
service for — er^ — er — for — er — for fallen women!
Kemble and Cecil leapt to their feet, seized their
hats, and fled. I cannot but think they were
mistaken when they told me they believed that as
they hurried down the aisle, they heard a chastened
titter from one or two of the poor penitents.
In his later days Arthur Cecil was wont to
bestride the elaborate modern substitute for the old
' bumping-chair ' of our ancestors — one of those
machines, covered with a saddle, which go through

' LA HAUTE 6C0LE ' 187
every kind of pace in obedience to a lever, and walk,
trot, canter, or gallop without gaining ground. I
have often gone into his bedroom in the Haymarket
at about half-past eleven in the morning, and found
him in his night-gown and a pair of pince-nez, with
a resolute expression on his face, sitting well back
in his pigskin seat, going through all the sensations
of Mornington Cannon on Flying Fox. It is
recorded that Arthur Cecil was once beguiled into
riding a real pony. He was staying with some
friends near Windsor, and one morning his host
exclaimed : ' Look here, Arthur, you must come for
a ride. We'll put you on old Sarah, the Shedand
that all the children used to ride. She's really
quieter than an ordinary arm-chair.' So Arthur
allowed himself to be persuaded, and mounted the
old pony, who walked very nimbly for her age, by
the side of the host's smart thorough-bred, through
the streets of Windsor into the Old Park. ' Now
then, Arthur, what d'you say to a canter now we've
got on to the turf ?' asked his friend. ' Presently —
I think it might be — rather pleasant,' replied
Arthur, with assumed jauntiness, ' when I've got a
little more — used to her — er — paces. Just then an
academy of young ladies hove in sight, about ten of
them, mounted on palfreys of various sorts and
sizes, in charge of a riding-master. Old Sarah
must have recognised, or thought she recognised, a

188 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
friend — some contemporary of Blink Bonny or
Wild Dayrell — for she suddenly pricked up her
ears, gave a snort through her grizzled nostrils, and
started off at an eight-mile-an-hour canter in the
direction of the manege. Cecil followed his first
instinct, and seized the pommel of his saddle firmly
with both hands. Sarah soon got alongside of the
class of girls, who looked with merry astonishment
on the stout, amiable, middle-aged gentleman with
the curly silver hair who appeared so ill at ease on
his tiny charger. Cecil felt it was his duty to make
some remark which should at once proclaim that he
wished to commit no breach of good manners, and
also disguise the fact that he was no longer master
of his steed. He had heard of the bonhomie which,
in the hunting-field, levels all formal social barriers.
So he hardened his heart, increased his left-hand
grip on the saddle-bow, and got the right hand free.
With this he contrived to raise his hat, and, with a
blood-curdling attempt at a smile, he contrived to
ejaculate : ' Would you — young ladies — object to
my pony — -joining your party ?'

CHAPTER XI
Maurice Barrymore — A conjugal reproof — Justice in the Far
West — A bigamy trial in Pennsylvania — 'The Burglar and
the Judge' — Stage burglars and real ones — Criminal 'lines
of business' — Card-sharping — An old American 'sport' —
The road to wealth — Millionaires at play — Mr. Lowenfeld.
One of the pleasantest companions I ever met in a
theatre was Maurice Barrymore — now, I am afraid,
no longer with us. He was a fine-looking fellow of
a convivial disposition, and gifted with a very ready
wit and an elegant choice of words. He was much
sought after, and not averse to be found, and his
popularity in all sorts of society robbed his first wife,
a very bright American actress, of a good deal of
his company. She was not only pretty and brilliant,
but a very devout Catholic ; and, belonging to a
practical race, she could on occasion select and hurl
forth without hesitation the word best adapted to
convey her meaning in compact form. It is related
that one morning in New York she was leaving the
house at about seven o'clock, in order to hear her
daily Mass, when she met Maurice, in dishevelled

190 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
evening clothes, coming home from a supper-party.
He had his latch-key in his hand, and was steering
a course up the steps, determined to discover the
keyhole or perish in the attempt. His wife
clutched her prayer-book, and looked glassily over
his head.
' Why, Georgie Anna !' he exclaimed, with the
sentimental reproach of one who has been up all
night, ' aren't you going to speak to your husband ?'
' Oh, you go to h — !' she exclaimed, with an
angry flash. ' /'m going to Mass !' And off to
Mass she went.
Barrymore once told me the story of a tragedy,
and its sequel, which occurred some years ago in
the Far West of America. He was travelling with
' Diplomacy,' and the company were all assembled
on the platform of some little mining town waiting
for the train. Suddenly there appeared to them a
desperado of such ludicrously truculent aspect that
he hardly seemed real, and the comedian of the
company, he who played Baron Stein, a perfectly
harmless, middle-aged man, burst out laughing at
his demeanour. The ragged bully immediately
drew forth his revolver, or gun, as it is called out
there, and shot the actor dead. He was then over
powered and, at Barrymore's insistence, but not as
a matter of course, thrown into prison.
A considerable time passed before the trial came

WESTERN JUSTICE 191
on. Determined that the murderer of his friend
should not escape through lack of evidence, Barry
more handed over his part to the understudy, and
travelled over a thousand miles in order to appear
as a witness. Judge Nicholson, who tried the case,
was a one-armed man, a big chap — over six feet in
height, and well proportioned. In early life he had
been so injured in some fracas that the left forearm
had had to be amputated at the elbow.
The counsel for the prosecution submitted to the
jury an overwhelming case against the prisoner.
He was a notorious character, and had many a time
escaped hanging only by the skin of his teeth.
There were local witnesses of his recent cold
blooded crime, besides Barrymore, who gave a lurid
and impressive description of the whole occurrence.
There was absolutely no evidence for the defence ;
but the jury, without leaving the box, returned a
verdict of 'Not Guilty.' 'Not Guilty!' shouted
Barrymore, leaping to his feet. ' Why, I tell you I
saw the scoundrel deliberately  ' But here he
was dragged down into his seat, and induced to
remain comparatively silent, while the judge con
gratulated the accused on his escape.
The court then rose and adjourned to a neigh
bouring bar, whither Barrymore strode over too, in
righteous indignation. 'A set of blackguards, the
whole lot of 'em — from that evil-looking Judge

192 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
downwards !' he exclaimed to the crowd assembled.
' They must have been squared by somebody, I
guess there wasn't a man in court who wouldn't sell
his soul for a " whisky sour !" ' Some of his hearers
looked towards him with lack-lustre eyes, but
nobody seemed offended. However, the prose
cuting counsel edged over to his side, and said,
' Look at here, Mr. Barrymore. You'd better get
'way back to New York as soon as you can. They
think nothing of killing anyone out here. Every
single man on that jury is a murderer, and Judge
Nicholson has killed five men just in the twelve
years he's been here. Think of it ! You see, being
Sheriff, he's the only man in the town that's allowed
to carry a gun on his belt. Of course, that gives
him some more opportunity. There's a train going
through about 5.15. I b'lieve you'd better try and
get on board of it, if you don't want to get shot.'
Calmed by a cocktail or two, Barrymore decided to
take his new friend's advice, and he crossed to the
hotel, packed his satchel, and hurried to the depot,
just in time to see the hind-lights of the 5.15
disappearing in the distance. There was nothing
to be done, then, but to return to the inn and dine,
and await the train which should go through in
about five hours' time.
It was lovely summer weather, and Barrymore
and a few ' drummers ' sat out after dinner in front

A COMING EVENT 193
of the restaurant, enjoying the magnificent beauty
of the night. It was only natural that he should
get back to the subject that was filling his mind,
and, with an audience of commercial travellers from
all parts of America, he felt that he could hardly be
accused even of indiscretion in declaiming against
the corruption and venality of the particular State in
which they were for the moment sojourning. ' Of
course, the arch-villain of the whole crowd is that
maimed murderer Judge Nicholson !' Barrymore was
exclaiming loudly and impetuously, when suddenly
across the brightly moonlit roadway there shot
the shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered figure of
a man, with the peculiarity that the greater part of
the left arm appeared to be missing. The symmetry
of form was destroyed by the stump on one side,
which swung in rhythm to the walk. It was seen
by all. The conversation stopped abruptly. The
shadow lengthened, veered round, shortened, and
the voice of Judge Nicholson was heard a minute
later inquiring at the bureau in a languid drawl :
' Mr. Barrymore stopping at this hotel ?' No one
moved for a few seconds. Then four or five
' drummers ' rose from their seats, impelled by a
premonition of trouble, and, bowing silently to
Barrymore, slipped back into the hotel. All went
but one, a diminutive traveller in dry-goods, who
remained in his cane chair. 'Anything I can do
13

194 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
for you ?' he asked in a whisper, which sounded
partly professional, but mainly friendly. ' Have
you got a gun ?' murmured Barrymore anxiously.
' Not down here,' replied the commercial. ' Got
one upstairs, in my grip-sack.' ' Thanks — that's
no good,' replied the apparently doomed man. Just
then came a reassuring reply from the hotel clerk,
who had been glancing down the register. ' Barry
more ?' he exclaimed. ' Barrymore left for New
York City on the 5.15.' 'Sorry I missed him,'
replied the Judge. And the incomplete shadow
again shot across the road. Barrymore's heart gave
a cheerful leap, and his new friend, interested until
to-night only in hosiery, gave him a beaming glance
of congratulation. But at this moment an officious
nigger, who was engaged round the corner in prose
lytizing boots to his own complexion, suddenly looked
up from his work and ejaculated, ' Mr. Barrymore ?
Why, he's sitting right there !' The Judge turned,
surveyed Barrymore with a leisurely gaze, then
advanced slowly to him. ' Pleased to meet you,
sir,' he said. ' Clerk said you'd gone.' And he
unbuttoned the pistol-case which hung on the front
of his belt. Barrymore got ready to strike up the
weapon as soon as it should appear, and to tackle
his adversary. But the Judge proceeded: 'Thought
p'raps you'd like to have the gun which killed your
friend.' And he produced a battered six-shooter,

AN ABSENT-MINDED HUSBAND 195
with the trigger filed off, and, handing over the
grim relic, bade Barrymore a grave good -night
and went his way.
Charles Coghill was one of the very best actors
of our time. He was extremely accomplished, and
a charming, fascinating companion, but absolutely
destitute of any moral sense whatever, or any
substitute for it. He seemed to have a cynical
contempt for all the feelings and rights of others.
Yet, when he died a year or so ago, I am sure he
was mourned by everyone who knew him. He had
a very handsome and delightful wife, whom I had
the honour of meeting a few years ago when he
and I were playing together. She was absolutely
devoted to him, although I am afraid there were
long periods during which he entirely ignored her
existence. I think it was in about 1885 that he was touring
in America. His health was a good deal broken by
the life he had led, for to every ordinary form of
self-indulgence he added the habit of taking drugs
and anaesthetics. Mrs. Coghill, faithful and devoted,
as injured wives are apt to be, always kept more
or less within hail of her errant husband, in case
misfortune or illness should befall him and give her
an opportunity of proving, for the thousandth time,
her unaltered loyalty to him. During this tour,
then, she was living in lodgings in New York City.
13—2

196 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
I think it was in Pittsburg that the shattered but
still impressionable Charles met a girl, young,
beautiful, and good, with whom he fell desperately
in love. He called upon her father, stated his
income (which for the time being was a large one),
described the depth of his devotion, and asked for
the girl's hand in marriage. The father agreed,
saying he felt his daughter's happiness would be
safer in the hands of a man of middle age than in
the keeping of some lad who might not be sure of
his own mind. And in a few days the happy pair
were united by the Mayor.
A little while afterwards the fond parent was
horrified to learn, from a friend who had lived more
in the civilized world than he, that Coghill had been
married for twelve or fourteen years, and that his
wife — his real wife — was at that moment living in
New York. Charles was immediately arrested on
the charge of bigamy, and thrown into prison
pending his trial. The most important witness for
the prosecution was, of course, the woman who had
been outraged and insulted for so many years — the
faithful wife who, luckily for the cause of justice,
was more or less close at hand. Mrs. Coghill was
duly subpoenaed, and brought to Pittsburg. The
lawyer felt he had an easy task with such a witness
on his side. He may have quoted to himself the
words of Cibber : ' We shall find no fiend in hell

A LOYAL WIFE 197
can match the fury of a disappointed woman —
scorned, slighted, dismissed without a parting
pang.' The momentous day arrived. The bigamist was
placed in the dock with a janitor on either side.
He had engaged no one to defend him, and stood
sullenly prepared for conviction and sentence. His
wife went into the witness-box. The prisoner
exhibited no emotion whatever. He merely gazed
abstractedly at the ceiling.
' What is your name ?' asked the counsel.
' Katharine Anne Rivers,' replied the witness.
Even the cynical Charles could not restrain a
slight start.
' That is to say, I presume,' suggested the
lawyer, ' Katharine Anne Rivers — Coghill ?'
'No,' said the lady firmly ; ' Rivers is my sur
name.' Her husband fixed his glass in his eye, and gazed
at her.
' But — er — you are the wife, are you not, of the
prisoner at the bar ?' asked the bewildered advocate.
' No,' answered Mrs. Coghill. ' I lived with him for
many years as his wife, but we were never married.'
And there was no proof that the devoted woman was
perjuring herself, for the possibility of her wishing
to save her husband — especially in this desperate
manner — had never so much as entered the head of

198 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
the matter-of-fact lawyer, and accordingly he had
not taken the precaution of sending to England for
a copy of the marriage certificate. There was,
therefore, no evidence against Coghill, and he left
the court with his faithful wife, who had sacrificed
her good name to save him. For all I know to the
contrary, this proof of devotion worked an entire
change in his character, and he became a most
solicitous and devoted husband. But for this I
cannot vouch.
It is strange how little one can judge, even after
years of experience, what will ' go ' with an audience
and what will not. I remember a piece which we
produced at the Comedy Theatre, by a popular
author and very strongly cast, which amused us all
so much that we could hardly rehearse it. Hawtrey
used every now and then to warn us : ' Now, don't
speak too soon on that ; there's certain to be a big
laugh, and we don't want them to miss the next line.'
We rehearsed for six weeks. On the first night
nothing went wrong — but the piece. There was
not one laugh nor one round of applause from start
to finish. But I remember — to Hawtrey's great
credit — that, when the curtain fell, he turned to us
and said : ' Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very
much for working so admirably in such discouraging
circumstances. However people may account for
the failure of the play, they can't blame the acting.'

BRITISH SENSE OF HUMOUR 199
I have heard other managers on similar occasions
address their company in very different terms from
these. We took off the comedy in ten days, during
which we rehearsed as a stop- gap a conventional
three-act farce with no literary pretensions. I think
it ran for a year.
When I wrote a little play called ' The Burglar
and the Judge,' founded on a clever story by F. C.
Philips, there was a line in the early part of it which
I thought was certain to 'go.' A judge is asleep in
his chair after dinner. When his servant wakes
him, his lordship begins mechanically : ' Well,
gentlemen of the jury, it is for you to decide. If
you believe the evidence for the prosecution, you
will come to the conclusion that the prisoner at the
bar  ' Whereupon the valet reassures him :
' It's all right. Sir Geoffrey ; you're at home in
Grosvenor Place.' 'God bless my soul, so I am!'
says the Judge, looking around him. ' I was so
very comfortably asleep that I quite thought for the
moment I was administering justice.' It is not a
particularly subtle piece of humour. On the con
trary, it errs, perhaps, on the side of obviousness,
which is in its favour for stage purposes. Again, it
is levelled at authority, and jests at the expense of
law and order are generally highly esteemed —
witness, at Christmastide, the popular enthusiasm
when the pantomime policeman falls on the butter-

200 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
slide. But, although the lines were admirably
delivered in each case, not Cyril Maude nor
Weedon Grossmith, nor Frederick Kaye, nor
William Wyes, ever succeeded in causing them to
raise a smile. Whereas, when the burglar appears
a little later on, finds a piece of Camembert cheese
in the buffet, and exclaims : ' Lor' ! it do 'um !' the
entire audience — gallery, balcony, stalls, and boxes,
— used to shout with delight, as though Joseph
Jefferson were delivering an epigram by Brinsley
Sheridan. The highest compliment I ever had paid me
during my career, or, at all events, the compliment
which gave me the greatest pleasure, I received
with regard to that very part of the burglar. And,
as I have now left the stage for good, I may
perhaps be forgiven if I am so vain as to repeat it.
I gave a couple of dress-circle seats to an old friend
of mine, a professional thief who desired to take his
wife to the play, and, in addition to a charming
letter from her, I received unqualified praise from
him. 'My word, Mr. B.,' he exclaimed, 'you must
have been a Tea-leaf in your time!' 'Tea-leaf
being, as most of my readers are no doubt aware,
the rhyming slang equivalent for ' thief.'
I was obliged by the nature of the story to make
the housebreaker in that little piece a ragged,
starving youth, but, as a matter of fact, although a

HOW TO BURGLE 201
man in such a plight might be driven by hunger
and poverty to break into a house and steal in an
amateur way, the professional burglar who has
deliberately selected his calling, as another might
select the Stock Exchange, is a very different class
of man.
Whether or not there was ever an absolute
prototype of the delightful evening-dress cracksman
with whom Mr. E. S. Willard made us agreeably
familiar a few years ago, the professional burglar
of to-day is much nearer akin to the Spider than to
Bill Sykes. To begin with, he must have access to
money, for the requisites to modern burglary are
expensive. In an ordinary job, where the object is
jewels, the first step is to find out, generally through
a servant, where the gems are kept. Then the
lawn must be carefully pegged out with wires to
trip up any unwary henchman who may venture on
pursuit. A ladder in a neighbouring yard is
requisitioned, and at a suitable moment, perhaps
after dinner, while the family are indulging in the
innocent excitement of table-tennis, the burglar
enters the sacred bedroom of the lady of the house,
prizes open the safe as though it were a penny
money-box, secures his swag, then leaves all his
tools, though they are valuable and brand-new, and
makes off to where his dogcart awaits him. His
next step is a singular one, namely, to deposit the

202 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
parcel — containing, perhaps, thousands of pounds'
worth of pearls and diamonds — in, say, a disused
drain, where he or an accomplice can find it
presently when people are less likely to be on the
alert. The reason for these precautions is this : Sup
posing the victims of the robbery have discovered
their loss, and communicated with the police, and
an officer is waiting at the local railway-station, he
will have no right to arrest Gentleman Jack if he
finds that he has neither burglarious implements nor
stolen property about him. It has most likely often
happened that, when a distracted householder has
been deploring the loss of his heirlooms, they have
been still lying in a dry ditch within a few hundred
yards of his despoiled mansion. Or the ragged
old woman who has met him on the highroad
and offered to sell him a pair of laces, and met
with a snappish rebuff, may have had her shabby
wallet laden with his wife's tiaras and stars and
crescents. It is curious — to an outsider — how thieves will
stick to their own 'line of business,' as it were.
The burglar would not dream of picking a pocket
nor the forger of cheating at cards. Also an expert
from Scotland Yard, when any dishonest work is
submitted to him, can generally identify it at once
as the work of a particular artist, just as a con-

HOW TO CARD-SHARP 203
noisseur in pictures can recognise a Reynolds or a
Hoppner or a Rembrandt from a square inch of
canvas. Probably the most exacting criminal career is that
of a high-class card-sharper. He must practise daily,
like a great musician. First of all, arranging an
apparently impregnable hand at the bottom of the
pack, he will exercise himself in rapidly dealing five
hands in such a way that the ' faked ' hand shall fall
to the imaginary victim. If you approach him on
tiptoe while he is at his studies, you will find him
throwing out the cards with lightning quickness, and
perhaps muttering under his breath, ' One, two,
three, four, and a slip ; one, two, three, four, and a
slip,' the ' slip ' signifying that the last card is to be
dealt from the bottom. Then he will practise with
the further complication of another ' faked ' hand,
apparently a poor one, but containing the odd trump
which just makes the difference ; and he will deal
five more hands, this time allotting the same tempting
array to the chimerical ' mug ' and the little assort
ment that will just beat it to himself or his assumed
partner. But to be a ' sport ' of this high calibre
requires a special vocation. He has to be born,
not made. For those who have the ambition but
not the skill to manipulate the ' broads ' to their
profit, there are cards contrived, just as there are
pianos with attachments for the use of the thumb-

204 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
fingered musician. These are prepared thus : The
high cards are placed in a vice and their side edges
sand-papered in the middle ; the smaller cards are
submitted to the same process towards the ends ;
the edges are then re-gilt and the packs replaced in
their Government envelopes. When you cut these
cards by their middles, you must obviously display
a small one, and when you cut them by their ex
tremities, you cannot help turning up a big one. It
is as well to carry a duplicate «;«sand-papered pack
with similar backs, in case the loser should ask for
the cards as a memento. The game played is Blind
Hooky, but so much money has been lost at this
particular game that the name often causes alarm.
This danger is averted, however, by the simple
subterfuge of calling it something else.
' What shall we play ?'
' Oh, I don't know. There's rather a good game
they used to play at the Embassy in Washington '
(this gives tone to the speaker) ' called Persian
Monarchs.' ' I don't know it.'
' Don't you ? Well, it's perfectly simple. You
merely cut round to the other players in turn, and
each one bets he's got the highest card at the
bottom.' 'Why, that's just like Blind Hooky.'
' Yes, it is — awfully like Blind Hooky ; in fact, if

A SELF-PITYING 'SPORT' 205
you can play Blind Hooky, you can play Persian
Monarchs.' I see the same old game cropped up
the other day as Petits Paquets.
A few years ago I met at Cowes an American
' sport ' called ' Colonel ' Troy. I believe he has
since died. He was a man of about fifty, stout,
with his sandy hair en brosse and a moustache
hdrissde. The only feature that gave him away was
his eyes, which were small and furtive. He was a
genial old party, but with that strong strain of self-
pity which is conspicuous in all the habitual criminals
I have met. They have no sense of right and
wrong (though they generally have many other
excellent qualities), but, in place of it, a perpetual
feeling of grievance against the existing order of
things. ' Colonel ' Troy waxed quite pathetic over
his own plight. ' You know, Mr. Brookfield,' he
said, ' I'd give anything to have a small annuity —
say about 2,000 dollars — just enough to live on
in some little quiet watering-place. I hate late
hours, and I hate cards ! As It is, I make the
acquaintance of some bright young fellow ; he
invites me down to his place and gives me the best
of everything; and after dinner, when I'd like to
go to bed like everything, I have to say to myself,
" No ; you've got to sit up and rob this young
man. That's the return you're goin' to make for
all his hospitality." Mr. Brookfield, It's a miser-

206 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
able life, and I .hate it.' The obvious alternative,
which he could not face, however, was giving
it up. In these days of self-made men — of millionaires
who commenced life in humble circumstances — it is
interesting to hear from their own lips to what trait
in their characters or to what incident of boyhood
they attribute their subsequent good fortune. There
are evidently other methods than the old-fashioned
one of picking up a pin and ostentatiously returning
it to its owner.
I travelled to Brighton one day with Mr. Barkis,
the wealthy contractor, with whom I was slightly
acquainted. He was a shrewd-faced old man, white-
haired, clean-shaven, and with quick, bright eyes.
As he lounged on the cushion of the carriage with
a huge cigar in the corner of his mouth, resting a
Wellington boot on the edge of the window, his
waistcoat unbuttoned to display three large diamond
studs, he looked more like a prosperous miner than
anything else. ' I dare say you're aware,' he said
in the course of our conversation, ' that I began life
as a turnpike boy. Well, of course, in those days I
lived by thievin', just as I do now. The gov'nor
got a bit suspicious, so he put another boy on to
watch me. I tumbled at once to what he was up
to ; so the first cart that comes through I takes the
twopence and I gives it to the lad, and I says.

MILLIONAIRES AT PLAY 207
" That's for you." The next that comes through I
takes the twopence and I puts it in my pocket, and
I says, "That's for me"; and the third that comes
through I takes the twopence and I puts it in the
drawer, and I says, " That's for the gov'nor." So,
you see, through bein' so jolly artful, the silly old
cuckoo only got a third instead of 'arf '
I commend this story to the careful consideration
of some of those theatrical managements who employ
four or five 'business representatives' to do the work
of one acting-manager.
Talking of millionaires — which is, after all, but
cold comfort in these hard times — I once went to a
gorgeous midnight supper given at the Cafe Royal
by the hospitable George Edwardes. The principal
guest was Colonel North, the Nitrate King, who
was on the eve of returning to South America, He
arrived, nearly an hour late, with his secretary.
They had come straight from a City dinner. There
were several other industrial monarchs — Silver
Kings and Diamond Kings, Railway Kings and
Oil Kings ; I think there was a Pork King, too.
After a magnificent banquet, followed by music and
singing (a special license had been procured), we
got into private omnibuses which were in attend
ance, and all drove to one of the big hotels in
Northumberland Avenue — I don't know why, but
I presume Colonel North was staying there, and we

208 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
were loath to part with him. I was interested to
watch millionaires at play. It was after 3 a.m., but
their keen brains were still alert. They needed
more relaxation before they could compose them
selves to sleep. So they got hold of the night-
porter, and for over half an hour they threw him
sovereigns to take them one by one up to the top of
the great hotel and down again in the lift. They
were as eager as schoolboys. The porter must have
made three or four years' income in about thirty-five
minutes. It was in 1893 that I first made acquaintance
with Mr. Henry Lowenfeld. He had just taken
the Prince of Wales's Theatre, and he engaged me
for a variety of duties. He gave me an office,
which I had to attend from 10.30 to 5, with an
interval for luncheon. I was to read manuscript
plays and give opinions upon them, tinker at pieces
requiring alteration (in which, should they prove
successful, I was to have an interest), coach the
tenor in his acting, and occasionally assist with the
advertisements. ' Now, how are we going to put
all this in a contract ?' asked my new employer,
with just a trace of a foreign accent. I had been
warned that I ought to be extraordinarily wary in
my dealings with Mr. Lowenfeld, that he was
extremely ' sharp ' in business. But I said that, as
far as I was concerned, I had much rather have no

. . . 'TIS NOT IN THE BOND' 209
contract at all, and trust entirely to him. His
face lighted up, and he exclaimed, ' You won't
lose anything by that, Mr. Brookfield,' and
shook hands on it. I discovered afterwards
that I had dealt with him in just the right way.
He turned out not only a thoroughly fair and
straightforward master, but a very generous one.
On the other hand, I remember the case of a young
lady who came to be engaged as a solo dancer.
She came accompanied by her mother and by a
solicitor, who drew up a long and complicated
agreement, the main object of which was to insure
against her being obliged to dance in the incidental
dances with the rest of the corps de ballet. She
consented, however, to dance in a pas de quatre,
and this willingness was duly set forth in her
indentures. A few days later she burst into Mr.
Lowenfeld's office in great dudgeon.
' Mr. Lowenfeld,' she cried, ' I find you've
arranged to push me on with all the rest of the
ballet. Mr. Charles says I'm to come on and
dance with fifteen others. Now, you can't make
me do that ; it's against the terms of my agree
ment' ' Nonsense, my dear,' said her manager sooth
ingly. ' Let's have a look at your contract. There
you are : " The said party of the first part agrees,
however, to dance with three other dancers — that is
H

210 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to say, in a set of four." Well, now you're
dancing in a set of four, and there are three other
sets of four on the stage at the same time. You've
nothing to complain of, my dear ; it's all budgeted
for in your contract.'
Mr. Lowenfeld has been in almost every trade
and business. When he came of age he was sent
out into the world by his father with a hundred
pounds in his pocket, as his brothers had been
before him. He drifted to London, where he found
himself about twenty years ago almost at the end of
his capital. One day, as he was loitering along a
street in the City, he noticed in a shop window a
new kind of lamp worked by clockwork. Out of
curiosity he went in and asked the price.
' Twenty-five shillings,' said the man.
' That's a big price,' said young Lowenfeld.
' It's the clockwork that makes them expensive,'
the man explained. ' We can't get it made under
nine shillings wholesale price.'
' Suppose I offer to supply you with the same
article at a lower price, will you give me the
contract ?' asked the young Pole.
' With very great pleasure,' replied the dealer.
' Then kindly let me have the clockwork by itself
at the wholesale rate,' said the youth, tendering nine
shillings. It was a pure speculation on his part, for he knew

A COMMERCIAL GENIUS 211
nothing whatever about clocks or clockwork. But
he went all over London the following day search
ing for a workman who could manufacture this con
trivance of cog-wheels at a lower price. Twelve
shillings, twelve-and-six, ten shillings, were the
best tenders he could obtain. Then he sallied
across to France, where he found the estimate even
higher. At last, in Vienna, Lowenfeld pitched on
a young mechanic who undertook to reproduce the
mechanism at six and a half marks, and made a
specimen. With this Lowenfeld returned to Eng
land and contracted to supply the lamp firm with
clockwork at eight shillings.
' That's the first job I undertook,' he told me,
' and I cleared just over a thousand pounds by it.'
A few years ago, on his child's birthday, Mr.
Lowenfeld looked in at a toy-maker's in Holborn
to choose a present. He picked up a mechanical
model steamboat.
' What's the price of that ?' he inquired.
' Thirty shillings,' replied the man.
' Now, what a ridiculous price to charge !' said
Lowenfeld, who has a genius for ' spotting ' the
value of things. ' That toy was made at Nurem
berg. It probably cost you between five and six
shillings. Don't you see that by selling it at, say,
fifteen shillings you'd sell ten times as many and
:make a much bigger profit ?' 14 — 2

212 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
'Well, sir,' said the shopman, 'you see, the toy
season is an extraordinarily short one. It's only at
Christmas time toy-dealers do any trade worth
mentioning ; therefore we're obliged to go in for
big profits.'
' I'll tell you what to do,' said Lowenfeld, after
thinking the matter over. ' Get a file of the Times
for the last fifteen years ; then every day write to all
the mothers whose names and addresses appear in
the Births column, saying, " Dear Madam, — We note
that your son's — or daughter's — birthday occurs next
week; we accordingly venture to enclose price-list.'"
The man carried out his idea, and wrote to him
a year later saying the plan had worked admirably.
' But how terrible it would be,' I suggested,
when Lowenfeld related this to me, ' if, as must
often be the • case, the poor woman had lost her
baby !'
' What would dat matter to de toy-maker ?'
replied he, in simple surprise at my comment.
A young fellow-countryman was sent to Lowen
feld with a letter of introduction.
' What's your job ?' inquired he. ' What can you
do?' ' I don't know, sir,' replied the youth. ' I've had
an ordinary sort of education. I don't know that I
have any special bent.'
' Well, look here,' said Lowenfeld, ' you can havet

DON'T BEAT YOUR CARPETS 213
this room for an office. Here's a Continental com
mercial directory. I'll supply you with stationery
and stamps. You start at the beginning, and write
to the various firms in that book, asking if they
require a London agent, and if so to forward
samples and particulars.'
The young man did as he was told, and the office
began gradually to fill with specimens of various
patents — agricultural implements, garments, medical
instruments, drugs, collapsible boats, delicatessen,
etc. Lowenfeld looked in every day and inspected
what the post had brought, and promptly gave his
verdict. ' No good.'
At last, when the youth had got well into the
E's, and was wearying of his task, there arrived a
kind of musical-box in which Lowenfeld saw money.
His proteg6 obtained the agency, and is now the
wealthy manager of a huge repository.
There was an enormous carpet, which Mr.
Lowenfeld had picked up a bargain, which we used
in the first act of ' Poor Jonathan.' He decided to
have it cleaned, and sent for Mr. Jetley, who came
on to the stage where the huge roll lay.
' What will you charge to clean this carpet and
make it as good as new ?' asked Mr. Lowenfeld, as
he kicked back the bulk and exposed a yard or two
of the border.

214 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' Oh, it doesn't want much doing to it,' said Mr.
Jetley; 'it's in pretty good condition. How big
did you say it was ? Well, we'll say a couple of
sovereigns, and I'll let you have it back by the end
of the week.'
' Right,' said Lowenfeld. ' Mr. Levilly, just draw
up a contract.'
Next day Mr. Jetley arrived in a terrible state of
mind. ' That carpet's in a terrible condition I' he ex
claimed. ' The centre of it is covered with grease
and dirt ; indeed, it's all discoloured and stained
except just the yard or two you showed me. Of
course, / thought that was a fair sample. It will
take me at least a fortnight to clean it, and I shall
have to charge you eight or ten pounds, and even
then I'd sooner someone else had the job.'
' Oh, get away, Mr. Jetley !' said Lowenfeld,
beaming with delight. ' Go home and look at your
contract. You've got to make that carpet as good
as new by next Saturday for two pounds. Mr.
Brookfield, kindly explain to Mr. Jetley the nature
of commercial risk.'
The day before ' Poor Jonathan ' was produced
Mr. Lowenfeld saw me idle, so he called me to him
and told me to go to my room and write a paragraph
to send round to the evening papers.
' What about ?' I asked.

SECRET HISTORY 215
' Oh, anything to draw attention to the produc
tion,' said he. ' Write something about the carpet,
for instance.'
So I went upstairs, and wrote, as nearly as I can
recollect, as follows :
' Playgoers who are interested in the minor
romances of history should notice the Aubusson
carpet used in the first act of " Poor Jonathan," to
be produced to-morrow night at the Prince of
Wales's Theatre. Originally designed for General
Fleury's chiteau at Compiegne, it attracted, while
yet on the looms, the attention of the Empress
Eugenie, and was by her desire transported to the
Tuileries. At the sacking of that palace by the
Communards in 1871, it was wrenched from the
floor and presently sent to Vienna, where it was
discovered by Mr. Lowenfeld, who immediately
purchased it for the nominal sum of two hundred
guineas. The costumes in the first act have been
especially designed to harmonize with the delicate
tints of this interesting relic of a fallen Empire.'
I remember the newspapers waxed very indignant
over the paragraph.
' And has Art come to this ?' they asked.

CHAPTER XII
Music-halls — The variety artist's coachman — The Great Vance —
An original prestidigitator — Mr. Samuel French and his
entertaining friends — Eric Lewis as a dog-fancier — ^Alfred
Cellier — The tale of a cheque.
Many years ago, before promotion from the
theatrical stage to that of the music-hall was recog
nised as an artistic upwards step, a friend of mine —
an actor named George Powell — was prevailed upon
by tempting terms to appear as a comic vocalist.
He had to sing at three different halls, and he
accordingly hired a fly from a proprietor used to the
business, which should take him from one palace of
varieties to the other, ' I dare say you have an
experienced driver,' said Powell, 'who knows where
the stage-doors are, and how long it takes to get
from one to the other and so on ?' ' Lor' bless you,
yes !' said the proprietor. ' I've one been at it
thirty -eight year. He's driven Harry Clifton,
Laburnham, Jolly Nash, the Great Vance — all the
talent, in fact. He's a careful driver and a steady
chap you can rely on — what I call a regular gentle-

BETWEEN 'TURNS' 217
man's servant, if you understand me.' The follow
ing evening, punctual to his time, this treasure of a
coachman drew up at George Powell's door in
Theobald's Row, where he had rooms. He was a
well-set-up man of about sixty, clean-shaven and
rubicund, in a fairly well-fitting livery coat and a
rather besoaped hat with a cockade, which caused
a pleasant flutter in Powell's innermost heart, though
the glow which this flattering badge kindled chilled
a little when he had to hear himself give the direc
tion : ' Drive to the Oxford, will you ? The — er —
the stage-door.'
The driver saluted respectfully and drove off, and
George Powell successfully performed his first turn.
Immediately afterwards, he removed the bulk of his
' make-up, ' threw on a big fur-lined coat — the official
badge of his new calling — and returned to his car
riage to be driven to the next hall. After a few-
minutes, the vehicle pulled up outside the Marquis
of Granby. ' You've plenty of time,' observed the
driver, craning round towards the offside window.
' Mr. Vance used gen'ally to paternize this 'ouse
when he was workin' these turns,'
Powell felt rather dry and flat, so he availed him
self of the suggestion, and was soon gulping down
a tumbler of something with ice in it, ' Perhaps
this old driver would like a drink, too,' thought
Powell under the generous influence of refreshment ;

218 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
and, looking out into the street, he called to his new
servant, 'Would you — ^^er — like something yourself?'
The old man threw off the rug which covered his
knees, and leapt nimbly from the box. And then
Powell discovered for the first time why this treasure
of a whip could only aspire to livery-stable work.
His legs (which, by the way, were clad in shepherd's
plaid trousers) were only about twelve inches long.
The pigmy approached the bar with the gait of a
dachshund. ' What will you have, coachman ?'
inquired Powell genially. The little fellow looked
round with an angry flash in his eye. ' Look 'ere,'
he said, 'not so much coachman — see ! Doorin' this
'ere job, as long as you're in these 'ere shops, you're
George and I'm Punch, understand.' And having
enlightened Powell on this social point — which he
could no doubt have established by precedents ex
tending over years — Punch rounded off his period
with the pacificatory remark, ' Mine's Irish — hot.'
I once had the pleasure of being presented to the
Great Vance. It was in the Cafd de I'Europe,
adjoining the Haymarket Theatre, just before my
evening's work. I think it was Harry Conway who
introduced me. ' Let me introduce Mr. Brookfield,'
he said. ' What name ?' interrogated the great man,
and it was repeated. ' Pleased to meet you ' (a
favourite formula in theatrical circles ; I think it
hails from America). We got on to the subject of

A SEAT OF HONOUR 219
entertainments. ' Ah,' said Vance, ' since poor old
John Parry learnt the great secret, there's only me
and Dick Grain left!' After a few minutes' con
versation, I explained that I must be off 'Where
are you going ?' inquired the Giant Comique.
' Only next door,' I said, ' to the Haymarket
Theatre.' ' Well,' he exclaimed cordially, ' take my
carriage ; it's doing nothing.'
One summer evening in the early seventies, a
young fellow-officer of my brother's in the 13 th
Hussars (it may have been Baden-Powell) strolled
into one of the music-halls. In those days there
was a chairman — generally with curly hair and a
heavy moustache, and invariably decorated with
diamond studs — who sat with his back to the
orchestra conductor and presided over a table at
which it was the ambition of every budding man
about town to be invited to sit. The Lieutenant
strolled into the stalls, which were sparsely filled,
and was presently honoured by a beam from the
arbiter elegantiarum, who pointed hospitably with
his hammer to an empty chair on his right hand.
The young officer accepted the invitation, took the
proffered seat, and ordered a bottle of Moet and
Chandon, the merits of which wine were being at
that moment musically extolled on the tiny stage
by a gentleman in a heavy fair moustache, a tow
wig, and a long claret-coloured frock-coat. ' Things

220 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
seem rather quiet,' commented the hus.sar. ' Oh,
shockin', dear boy — shockin'!' replied the chairman
in an affable undertone. ' But we expect to be a
bit quiet in August. Let me see, I seem to know
your face. In the profession ?' ' I'm a conjurer,'
answered the officer — ' Professor Vesuvio. You
may probably know my name.' 'Can't say I'm
familiar with it,' said the other. ' Still, here's your
good 'ealth, dear boy.' They chatted for some
time, until at last the soldier suggested that, to give
a fillip to the proceedings, he should be allowed to
go on the stage and give his legerdemain enter
tainment. ' I won't give a long show,' he said, ' and
I should like to see how it goes with a London
audience. If they like it, we can talk business. All
I shall require is a small table.'
The Master of the Revels communicated through
his speaking-tube with the stage - manager, and
presently all was arranged. The chairman rapped
on the table, exclaiming in stentorian tones, ' Signor
Vesuvio, the Wizard of the World, will next appear,'
started the applause, and the young officer advanced
to the footlights. ' Ladies and gentlemen,' he said,
' I propose to submit to your kind attention an
exhibition of prestidigitation upon an entirely new
principle. I guarantee that no one in this hall has
ever seen an illusion performed in the manner in
which I am now going to perform this one. I will

A NEW TRICK 221
use nothing but articles borrowed from the audience.
Will any gentleman kindly lend me a silk hat ?' An
old man in the stalls who was listening with rapt
attention immediately handed up his topper. ' Now
I want a good sharp pocket-knife. No, that's not
large enough. Thank you, sir ; that will do nicely.
Now, can anyone oblige me with a large bandanna ?
or a lady's light shawl would answer my purpose.
Thank you, madam.' He then proceeded to cut the
upper part of the hat entirely away from the brim.
' Now, you observe, ladies and gentlemen, there's
no deception, no mirrors or apparatus. I don't
think there is anyone in the hall prepared to
affirm that I have not cut the brim entirely off this
gentleman's hat. Now we'll see whether we can
repair it or whether we can't ;' and he placed the
remains of the hat and the pocket-knife on the little
table which stood at hand, and covered them over
with the borrowed shawl. ' Now will some gentle
man with a watch kindly time me ?' he inquired, and
a young man produced his timepiece and volun
teered. ' I shall leave the stage for a time, and in
two minutes precisely by this gentleman's watch —
well, you shall see what you shall see.' The
orchestra struck up the strains of the ' Beautiful
Blue Danube ' waltz ; the gallant entertainer stepped
lightly to the stage-door, hailed a hansom, and drove
off to supper.

222 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Mr. Samuel French, who acquired the business
of Lacy, the theatrical publisher in the Strand, con
ceived a singular idea for cheering his declining
years. He assembled together half a dozen friends,
younger men than himself, all endowed with various
powers of entertaining. He reminded them that he
was a wealthy man, that his son was well provided
for, and that he was minded to divide the bulk of
his property among this selected few, if they on
their side were willing to devote some of their time
to him. His conditions seemed not unreasonable.
He merely desired that they should dine with him
every Sunday evening, and after dinner amuse him
by the exhibition of their various accomplishments.
One was to recite, another to play the piano,
another to sing, another to give his clever farmyard
imitations, and so forth.
' The only stipulation I make,' said Mr. Samuel
French, ' is that if you elect to go in for this arrange
ment you undertake to go through with it. If you
think it's going to bore you to dine with me Sunday
after Sunday, why, just say so right away, and we're
as we were. I shan't be offended.' There was a
unanimous outcry and protest. ' Oh, Mr. French !
Bored ! What next !' exclaimed one. ' My dear
Sam, quite apart from the question of any little
remembrance in the future, there's nothing I should
enjoy so much as a little weekly reunion !' cried

A GALAXY OF TALENT 223
another. In fact, they all agreed to the scheme
with alacrity, and each went home walking on air
and dreamt that he possessed a yacht, a deer-forest,
and a four-in-hand.
The first Sunday's banquet was a great success.
The dinner was excellent, and the wines generous
and plentiful, and guest vied with guest as to which
should most amuse the kindly old host. The comic
vocalist sang George Grossmith's ' You should see
me dance the polka' with much of the original
composer's vivacity, and with innumerable grimaces
of his own thrown in ; the pianist played his ' Carmen
Fantasia ' with brilliancy and precision ; and the
comedian (a middle-aged man inclined to embon
point) laid an imaginary egg on the sofa, then ran
round the room cackling a maternal paean, and
finally stood on the sofa and flapped the sides of his
evening coat, and crowed himself purple in the face.
Mr. Samuel French was delighted. He cere
moniously thanked each guest as he shook him by
the hand, adding the reminder, ' Next Sunday,
then, at seven o'clock. Don't forget.'
The following week's entertainment seemed a
little less piquant. There was a richauffd flavour
about it, perhaps, which made it suffer by comparison
with the inaugural show. However, the host was
as cordial as ever, and when it was over he thanked
them as heartily for their kind efforts, and wished

224 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
them au revoir till next week. And each artist
consoled himself with the reflection that 'one is
bound to vary a bit,' that ' the second performance
always goes a bit flat,' and ' at all events the old
man seemed pleased, and that, after all, is the
main thing.'
The third Sunday the singer dashed boldly into
the Judge's song from ' Trial by Jury,' at which he
had been working hard all the week. ' Hullo !'
exclaimed Mr. Samuel French, ' what's this ?
What about the polka ?' ' I thought,' stammered
the vocalist, ' you might like a change.' ' No, no,
no, thank you !' said his host ; ' the rollicking polka's
good enough for me. When I want a change I'll
tell you.' So the tale of the ' impecunious party '
was abruptly abandoned, and the mortified buffo had
again to feign enthusiasm for the old-fashioned
polka. The pianist, who had prepared a novelty in
the shape of selections from ' La Cavalleria Rusti-
cana,' very wisely let his roll of new music lie in the
hall, and contented himself with a repetition of the
popular ' Carmen Fantasia.' The mimic, however,
commenced a serious recitation. He had chosen a stir
ring passage from the 'Rubdiyat' of Omar Khayydm.
' Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and saint, and heard great argument
About it and about — but ever more
Came out by the same door as in I went.
With them the seed of learning did I sow  '

AN ANGRY LAYER 225
' Hullo ! hullo ! what's all this ?' inquired Mr.
Samuel French.
' It's from the " Rubdiyat " of Omar Khayydm,
the great Persian philosopher,' said the comedian
proudly, thinking to himself, 'Til show him I'm not
a mere clown.' 'It's a really fine thing.' And he
proceeded :
' With them the seed of learning did I sow.
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow.
And th's was all the harvest that I reapt —
I came like water, and like  '
' No, no !' interrupted the host, ' never mind
about the Rabat Lakoum ; I want the old hen.
Come on, George ! lay the egg !'
There was no help for it. George had to roll
up his handkerchief and hide it on the sofa, and
commence his ' Brt-bt-bt-bt-bt !' finishing with the
leap on to the quaking sofa and the hoarse ' Cock-a-
doodle-do !' with the head thrown back. But he
was too angry to be able to succeed in bringing the
true scent of the farmyard into the drawing-room.
His clucking had an indignant ring in it, which
suggested less the cachinnation of a contented
Cochin than the wail of an aggrieved Spanish
mother. When he was leaving with the others, and his
host added the usual reminder to his farewell, the
layer -oi-eggs-malgri- lui said boldly, 'No, Mr.
15

226 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
French, next Sunday I'm afraid I shall not be able
to give myself the pleasure of dining with you.'
The old man's face slightly clouded over. ' Why
not, pray ?' he inquired gravely. ' Because — er — I
shan't be in town. I shall be staying with some
friends in the country,' said the comedian defiantly.
' I am afraid,' said Mr. Samuel French firmly, ' you
will have to disappoint your friends in the country.
You must tell them you were previously engaged to
me. That was the understanding, you know.'
The other bowed his head. There was no escape.
He and his fellows had sold themselves, on credit,
to the American publisher — for Sundays, at all
events — for the term of his natural life.
For the greater part of a year these half-dozen
men, once 'jolly companions every one,' stuck
loyally to their bargain. But melancholy com
menced to furrow their cheeks, their eyes lost their
lustre, their bodies became emaciated, their bright
accomplishments became tedious infirmities. Their
genial old host seemed to perceive no difference in
them, however. As they grew paler, sadder, and
older every week, he seemed to grow rosier,
merrier, and younger.
Only one apostatized. I think it was the once
comic singer. He gave no word of warning —
simply vanished from the country. His name was
never afterwards mentioned at the Sunday banquets.

FORCE OF HABIT 227
and the five who remained, cemented together by a
common auri sacra fames, rejoiced in the thought
that each would get an extra one-thirtieth of
Mr. Samuel French's fortune when the time should
arrive for him to go ' where all good publishers go.'
One Sunday night, after the usual excellent
dinner and subsequent solemnities, Mr. Samuel
French, who was in exceptionally high spirits,
remarked, as he bade his guests good-night : ' I am
sorry to say, my good friends, that next Sunday I
shan't have the pleasure of receiving you. I shall
be the loser. Next Sunday's a holiday for you.'
' Oh, Mr. French,' they exclaimed, though their
hearts bounded at the prospect of a real day of rest,
' don't put it like that ! We shall very much miss
your kind hospitality, I'm sure.' ' I'm glad you feel
it that way,' replied their host, beaming with good-
humour. ' Sunday week, then ?' inquired one.
' You'll hear from me,' was the reply. ' Good-night.'
They walked along, debating what was to be done
on this forthcoming holiday. And such is the
force of habit that, when the day came round, it
ended in their all dining together at Pagani's in a
private room with a piano, at which the pianist sat
himself after dinner and mechanically played the
' Carmen Fantasia,' and the others followed suit
with their various tricks, like so many wound-up
toys, concluding with the mimic, who laid a newer
15—2

228 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
egg than he had laid for months, and cackled over
it as enthusiastically as though it had been his first
born. In the course of the week each received a card
printed in silver, with a lady's maiden name in the
corner crossed with an arrow, announcing the re
marriage of Mr. Samuel French. And not very
long after the old man died. But not one of the
sprightly entertainers received a legacy, large or
small. Whether matrimony altered Mr. Samuel
French's views, or the scheme from the first had
been a sardonic practical joke on the old man's part,
no one will ever know. I believe the comedian has
entirely given up laying.
Eric Lewis and his kind old father once answered
an advertisement of a ' Dachshund. Pedigree dog.
What offers ?' and obtained for a small sum about a
yard of dog, of which they became inordinately
proud. Eric, I remember, blossomed into rather
doggy clothes — coloured waistcoats, and a scarf-pin
representing a scudding hare. He also commenced
to take in the Field and prated of the K.C.S.B.
All Royal Avenue were at the diverging feet of
Buster, as the dog was called, and all the neighbour
ing Chelsea tradesmen paid him homage. He was
much praised by the baker, who did a brisk trade in
Spratt's biscuits ; by the milkman, who assured
Eric ' they want a lot of milk just while they're

SUCH A DOG 229
shaping'; by the greengrocer, who represented that
' living in town, where they can't find the herbs they
need, you should give 'em plenty of green meat,'
and foisted an extra daily cabbage on to the dog-
fanciers ; and by the butcher, who declared there
was ' nothing so good for strengthenin' a young
dog's teeth as a sirloin bone.' At last Eric chanced
to meet a man who had bred many kinds of dogs,
and obtained prizes all over the country. His first
instinct was to brag about Buster, but more modest
principles prevailed, and he decided the dog should
exhibit his own merits, and conquer this canine
authority as he had conquered Chelsea, by the
length of his body and ears and the faultless
bandiness of his fore-legs. Accordingly, Eric
invited the breeder to come and dine.
' Look here, father,' he said, as they were await
ing their guest, ' we won't say a word about Buster.
We'll tell William to let him in after the pudding,
and we'll just watch our guest's face when he
catches sight of him. I wonder what he'll say.'
' I don't feel inclined to part with Buster,' said
the old man, 'whatever your friend may offer for
him.' ' No, no, of course not !' said Eric. ' Besides, I
don't fancy he's really a very rich man.'
Just then the guest was announced. The dinner
was bountiful and excellent, but conversation

230 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
flagged, for both hosts were looking forward to the
effect which should presently be produced by their
coup de thMtre. At last, as the final spoonfuls of
baba au rhum were disappearing, the door opened
by some invisible means, and in waddled Buster,
the conquering hero. For some time the authority
on dogs took no notice of him. At last he fixed his
glass in his eye, and, after staring for a moment at
the pampered favourite, he inquired doubtfully :
' Isn't there a bit of the Dach about that dog ?'
' I wonder if anyone can change me a cheque
for £2 ?' asked the gentle, humorous, lovable
composer Alfred Cellier one night, as he entered the
supper-room of the Cormorant Club. ' It's a most
extraordinary thing, but the hall-porter tells me he's
not allowed to cash cheques for members.' (This
was a new rule, which the committee had been
compelled to make, owing to the faulty financial
methods of many of the light-hearted young Cor
morants.) 'Dorothy,' Cellier's most successful light
opera, was in the height of its success at this time.
He was enjoying a spell of tremendous prosperity,
and it was accordingly the poverty, and not the will
of the smartly-dressed bucks assembled which
prevented them from obliging the popular musician.
Not one of them, as it happened, could muster more
than a sovereign, when suddenly a swarthy, un
kempt Irish journalist, in untidy day clothes, Barry

TO OBLIGE A FRIEND 231
Lyndon, the most notorious cadger in the club,
exclaimed from his corner, ' I think I can manage
it for you, Alfred, my dear boy, if you'll come
over here.' Everyone was amazed — first, that
Barry should be in possession of £2 ; and,
secondly, that he should have the effrontery to
proclaim it in a club where he owed money to
everyone, including the servants. But Alfred
Cellier was still more astounded when he crossed to
where Barry Lyndon was sitting, and saw him
produce a pocket-book containing a big bunch of
bank-notes. ' Look here,' said Barry : ' I haven't
anything so small as gold. But you'd better write
a cheque for more than two, hadn't you ? Nothing
annoys a bank so much as having to cash a lot of
little footling cheques for ones and twos and threes.
Wouldn't you like a note for twenty ?' And he
proffered a Bank of England ;^20 note. ' No, no !
thanks very much,' said the modest Alfred. ' I
really only want £2. I've got a cab outside
that I've had all day — I suppose he'll want
about a sovereign ; and then I shall want a
little supper and a cab home : £2 will be
ample.' 'Well, I've nothing less than a note for
ten,' said Barry, 'and I daren't trust myself with
loose gold,' he added, with a leer. ' It only leads
one into mischief So write your cheque for ten, if
you won't have more.' And he threw a ^10 note

232 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
on to the table. Alfred wrote his cheque, which he
handed with profuse thanks to the journalist, rang
the bell, cashed the note, sent out £i to the
cabman, and settled himself down to a grill and a
pint of wine. Barry sat patiently on, as the club
emptied itself, and towards four o'clock he and the
composer were left alone — Cellier was always a
late bird. ' Alfred, my dear boy,' said the Irishman,
drawing his chair round to the fire where his friend
was sitting, ' I'm in the devil of a hole, and I want
you to get me out of it. I'm so infernally hard up,
I don't know which way to turn. I don't want to
bore you with all my worries, but I haven't even
the price of a cab home, or of a whisky-and-soda.
But, worse than that, I've got to find by to-morrow
morning — that's to say, by eleven o'clock this
morning  ' ' But I thought,' interrupted Cellier —
' I fancied — I was delighted to notice, that's to say —
that you'd got a pocket cram full of money.' ' So I
have — but not a penny of it's mine. It's all my dear
old mother's. I had to go into the City to-day to
draw her dividends. She's been a great deal
kinder to me already than she can afford. I darerUt
tell her of my troubles, for I know she'd give me
the money at once, and I mustn't let her, poor old
soul ! I'm sure you'll appreciate my feeling in the
matter. Of course, your cheque's just as good as a
Bank of England note. I'll pay the lot into her

FLEECED 233
account to-morrow. But I mustn't let her know of
my troubles. So I thought that perhaps you'd let
me have ;^8 for a week or two, like the good-
natured chap that you are. You said you only
wanted two, you know  '
And Alfred Cellier immediately bade a permanent
farewell to eight hard-earned sovereigns, like the
tender-hearted lamb that he was.

CHAPTER XIII
A 'Customers' Protection Society' — Charing Cross Hospital —
An operation — An unwarrantable intrusion at Westminster
Hospital — A lady who changed her doctor — Firemen and
their ways — How to make out a fire assurance inventory —
Fires in theatres.
It was in sheer idleness and with no ulterior object
that I chanced one morning to count the contents of
one of the boxes of cigarettes which I used daily to
buy at Messrs. Myburg and Piper's, and found that
it contained only twenty-four instead of twenty-
five. But the discovery came back to my mind a long
time afterwards when I received a letter from the
Mutual Communication Society for the Protection
of Trade, conjuring me to pay Messrs. Myburg and
Piper's account. It occurred to me that just as the
Chinaman who paints an ugly face on his shield to
frighten his enemy must be himself timid of such
bogies, so the poor tradesman whose untutored
mind thinks to alarm by flourishing the name of a
debt-collecting 'society' would possibly be terrified

THE PROTECTION OF CUSTOMERS 235
by similar means. Accordingly, I immediately
had some notepaper printed with the heading :
Mutual Communication Society for the
Protection of Customers,
I, The Cloisters, Temple,
London, E.C.

Secretary : George Washington, Esq.
I also had the name painted over the door at the
address mentioned, which was that of a friend,
and upon a sheet of his official paper, ' George
Washington (per C.B.),' wrote to the other secre
tary, saying that I would pay Messrs. Myburg and
Piper's account at my own convenience ; that this
was without prejudice ; that, should their clients elect
to take proceedings in the meanwhile, a counter
action would be brought to recover ;^5, being the
value of I, coo cigarettes, which I considered I had
paid for and not received, owing to Messrs. Myburg
and Piper's custom of selling as quarter-hundred
boxes boxes containing only twenty-four cigarettes.
The following day I received a humble apology
from the firm, who never molested me again.
Another time I had paid a small account — five or
six shillings only — to a druggist, a Mr. Fryer (who
offered me a receipt which I refused, saying I should
only lose it) ; but, notwithstanding this, I presently
received from the Trade Protection Society an

236 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
application for payment. George Washington
immediately wrote back, saying :
' Fryer's Account.
' Dear Sir,
' We have paid Fryer's account, and hold the
receipt.' Then came a polite request that we should show
the receipt we held. To which George replied :
' Fryer's Account.
' Dear Sir,
' We are sorry to have to refuse to show your
client's receipted bill, except in the County Court,
for the following reasons : (i.) To show the impor
tance of keeping receipts; (ii.) to show the careless
ness of West-End tradesmen ; and (iii.) to show the
fallibility of Societies for the Protection of Trade.'
That ended the correspondence.
The Society for the Protection of Customers was
of considerable service to me for a long time. It
ceased abruptly to exist, owing to an unpardonable
practical joke played upon me by one Harry
Morrell. I was dining with him in Edinburgh, and
he introduced me to his brother-in-law — a Mr.
McKenna, I think, was the name — a most agree
able man. My host made me tell him all about
'George Washington' and the 'society,' to which he

'COME, PREPARE!' 237
listened with apparently amused attention. When
I had finished, Morrell said : ' And now it's only
fair to tell you who McKenna is. He's Stubbs, the
editor of Stubbs' s List.' My Chinaman's shield was
shattered in an instant.
It was about fifteen years ago that my friend the
late Edward Bellamy advised me to submit to his
knife. He arranged for me to be taken in at
Charing Cross Hospital, in a ward (presented, I
believe, by one of the Rothschilds) which had not
yet been officially opened, so that I had a room to
myself He told me I need not go in till ten o'clock
the night before the operation ; so until nine-fifty I
sat jovially in a neighbouring club. Two or three
boon companions walked with me to the door of the
hospital, where we parted in high spirits ; but no
sooner had they left me and I had crossed the
threshold, bag in hand, than I found all my gaiety
oozing out at my finger-tips. There was a grave
air about the place which gave an impression of
strict attention to business. I glanced into a little
cubicle on one side of the entrance-hall ; a young
surgeon was stitching up the head of a van-driver,
who had probably fallen off his box. In a
corresponding apartment on the other side of
the atrium another young doctor was administer
ing aid to a poor woman, who was covered with
mud and appeared to have been recently run over.

238 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Presently the receiving-officer called me to his
desk :
' Name ?'
' Charles Brookfield.'
' Address ?'
' 2 7 a, Sackville Street, Piccadilly.'
' Nearest friend ?'
' I beg your pardon ?'
' Nearest friend, in case anything happens.'
' Oh, I see ! My wife, I suppose.'
' Same address ?'
' Oh yes, certainly.'
Then the porter hoisted my bag on his shoulder
and led the way up a staircase and along a long
corridor to a lofty, airy, dimly-lighted room, where
I was received by the Sister of the ward, a delight
ful kindly lady — Sister Frances she was called — and
two nurses. They set up a screen and bade me
undress, which I did, and got into bed. It was an
operation-bed, harder and higher than an ordinary
one, but very comfortable. I slept very soundly.
In the morning the Sister held a kind of parade of
— apparently — all the appliances the hospital pos
sessed. She arranged on a table in my full view,
to my great discomposure, a jar of chloroform and
a jar of ether, each with a minute pyramidal felt cap
over the stopper (destined presently to be used in
stifling me), rolls of lint and of cotton-wool, a

' POOR LIVING CORSE !' 239
tourniquet, various kinds of threads for tying arteries,
and all sorts of basins and utensils and leather cases
and towels, till I felt as though I were going to be
cut into hundreds of pieces. Presently Bellamy
arrived, accompanied by his poisoner, who appeared
to me, from the cheerfulness of his countenance, to
have a very inadequate idea of his responsibilities.
Bellamy himself was looking pale and, I thought,
anxious. He leant over my bed and confided to me
that he had been dining with old Somebody the
night before, and they'd had a late night. I felt
inclined to suggest that he should postpone the
operation to another day, when his nerves might be
steadier. But it was too late ; the anaesthetist had
pushed my bed forward on its well-oiled castors, and
was busy hocussing me with a capful of chloroform.
After a few seconds he lifted my eyelid, and said,
' He's gone off' And then I felt like a man in a
nightmare. I tried to call out that I was still in full
possession of all my faculties, but I could neither
speak nor move. Just then the toxicologist clapped
another cap over my nose and mouth, this time
sprinkled with ether. ' Now,' I reflected, ' he's
overdone it. I don't suppose he really meant to
kill me, but that's what he's done. This is the end ;
this is death,' And thousands of wheels of various
colours began to whirl to a rapid, pulsating accom
paniment which soon melted into an alarming dream.

240 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
in which I fancied I was pursued by some deformed
creature so hideous that I dared not turn round and
face it. And then I heard voices, apparently a long
way off, which gradually came nearer and nearer
and more and more intelligible, until they turned
out to be those of Bellamy and his Friar Laurence
friend at the foot of my bed, discussing some scien
tific topic of the day.
I had a very happy ten days in Charing Cross
Hospital. Bellamy scribbled on the slate over my
bed, ' Free diet ; two ounces of whisky, one cigar
after dinner.' The nurses were most attentive and
kind, and the food was excellent,
I went a little while ago to pay a visit to a friend
of mine who had broken his ankle, and who had
been taken to Westminster Hospital. ' Can you
tell me where I shall find Mr. Anning ?' I inquired
of the hall-porter. ' Second door on the left on the
third floor,' he replied. ' No ! I'm wrong,' he called
after me, correcting himself ' It's the second floor
— turn to your left — the third door.' I rather con
fused these directions in my mind, and I think I
must have gone to the third door on the third floor.
I was a little surprised to find my old friend appeared
to be indulging in the extravagance of a private
ward. However, I burst in, heartily, and found
myself alone in a small room with a poor corpse all
bandaged up and neatly arranged. I was so taken

'LA MALADE IM AGIN AIRE' 241
aback that, hardly knowing what I did, I made a
low bow, and stammered out, 'Oh, I beg your
pardon!' and withdrew. I found Anning in the
accident ward on the floor below, on the highroad
to recovery, indulging in a substantial tea, with a
boiled egg in an indiarubber egg-cup.
Although Mrs. Chalmers was nearer seventy than
sixty, she still stood somewhat in awe of her elder
sister. Lady Derwentwater, who was eighty-three,
and who, on the death of their mother sixty years
before, had acted in loco parentis to all her younger
brothers and sisters. The relationship between the
two was much more that of guardian and ward than
of sister and sister, and it was more a sense of duty
than a desire for affectionate intercourse which
prompted Mrs. Chalmers to pay a monthly visit to
her rather formidable kinswoman. All the family —
there had been ten sisters and four brothers — were
tall, straight, and vigorous.
Lady Derwentwater, despite her eighty -three
years, daily read the Times without spectacles, and
until recently had been in the habit of walking her
three or four miles a day. But for some time past
she had had a pain in one of her knees, and, like
most people who have never been ailing before, was
very impatient of the slight discomfort she had to
suffer. It never occurred to her that age might
have something to do with her trifling visitation. i6

242 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
She believed it to be entirely owing to the careless
ness or incapacity of her medical advisers, and she
accordingly changed her doctor about once a week.
One day, when Mrs. Chalmers called at her
sister's house in Onslow Square, she met in the hall
an old friend of the family, Major-General Fontanier,
who had only lately returned from India, and whom
she had not seen for twenty or thirty years. ' How
are you, my dear old friend ?' she exclaimed cordially,
putting out her hand. ' How very delightful to see
you again after all these years ! And how very
well you're looking, and, if I may be allowed to say
so, how remarkably young !' ' Thank you, my dear
Mrs. Chalmers,' replied the old soldier, but in a pre
occupied tone, as though he had something grave
upon his mind or conscience. ' You're extremely
kind. I — I'm sorry I have to go just as you're
arriving.' 'Have you seen my sister? How is
she ?' asked Mrs. Chalmers. ' Oh yes, I've seen
her,' answered the General, with unaccountable
embarrassment. ' I have — er — seen her,' he re
peated. ' She's — er — she seemed to me, I regret
to say, a good deal changed — in her manner, that
is.' ' Must you go in such a hurry ?' pleaded
Mrs. Chalmers. ' I'm sure my sister would be
delighted if I could persuade you to come back.'
' No, no, no !' cried the old gentleman emphatically.
'I — I really must be off, and at once. Good-day to

' LE M^DECIN MALGR6 LUI ' 243
you, my dear Mrs. Chalmers — good-day.' And he
hurried down the steps as fast as his stiff litde legs
could carry him. Mrs. Chalmers was a good deal
mystified by the singular bearing of her old friend,
but she made her way upstairs. ' How are you, my
dear Maria ?' she inquired of her sister, who was
lying on the sofa. ' I hope you're no longer in
pain.' ' I am suffering the acutest agony! Lady
Derwentwater retorted. ' I wrote to Dr. Fairchild,
and enclosed a cheque, and told him that, as he
evidently did not understand my case, I had to
request him not to call again. And I sent for a
new man. Dr. — I forget his name, but somebody
Rhoda recommended. He called just now. You
may have met him in the hall.' (Mrs. Chalmers
began to guess at the cause of the gallant General's
discomfiture.) ' He was a stupid little man,' the
elder sister went on. ' He came bounding into the
room, and greeted me with all the effusion of an old
friend. I let him look at my tongue, which seemed
to puzzle him. And then I said, " Perhaps you
would like to see my knee," and I showed it to him.
He stuck his eyeglass in his eye in a most affected
way, and exclaimed : " Devilish fine, 'pon my
honour!" (I really don't know what medical
practitioners are coming to !) I asked him if I
might drink a glass of port. He said, " By all
means, my dear madam ; but don't ask me to join
1 6 — 2

244 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
you. I daren't touch it myself." He then said he
had to be off. " But aren't you going to give me
anything?" I exclaimed. But the extraordinary
little man was halfway down the stairs by that time.
I shall certainly write to Rhoda and tell her what I
think of him !'
I lived once in a ground-floor flat in Albert
Mansions. I forget the number, but my bedroom
was exactly over the Underground Railway, and my
soap-dish used to rattle every day at 6 a.m. as the
first train passed beneath it. I came home one
morning at about half-past two, and was soon in a
very sound sleep. A few hours later, probably at
about five, I heard a report which woke me en
sursaut. It sounded to me like the report of a
pistol. And, while I was wondering who could be
discharging firearms in my immediate neighbour
hood, and why, and so forth, slumber re-overtook
me, and I fell back into a stertorous, dreamless
sleep. Two or three hours later I was awakened
again by a huge fireman, fully equipped in a brass
helmet, and with brass shoulder-guards, who was
attacking the door of my bathroom, which was
close to my bed. He was much too great a swell
to open the door in the ordinary way, by turning
the handle. He preferred to fell it in a professional
manner with his axe. A hose like a sea-serpent
was then trailed through my room, and my magnifi-

'ASSURANCE DOUBLY SURE' 245
cent new friend grasped its brazen snout and com
menced to pour tons of water into my tiny lavatory.
It appeared that my neighbour overhead was due to
arrive that morning from the Continent, and that
some faithful servant had put a mattress to air in
front of the fire, that a red-hot coal had leapt on to
the bed and set it smouldering, that presently the
fire spread to the floor, and that the sound I had
heard, which I had taken to be a pistol-shot, was
caused by all the furniture of the apartment above —
tables, chairs, ottomans, bookcases, knick-knacks,
coal-scuttle, etc. — falling within three yards of my
head into my bath. But the fireman assured me the
fire was under control, and could not reach my bed,
so I turned over and finished my sleep.
I forget with what society my furniture was
insured, but I wrote to the secretary, and an agent
called upon me the following day. I opened a pint
of champagne. We each drank a glass. ' That's
an extremely nice wine, sir,' remarked the agent.
' I'm very glad you like it,' said I. ' It's a very nice
wine indeed, sir,' he went on to say, smacking his
lips. ' I was in the wine trade myself at one time,
and I appreciate a good glass of wine. Thank'ee,
sir.' We then proceeded to inspect the wretched
bathroom. My neighbour's furniture, so suddenly
hurled into my charge, had been by this time
removed. 'Well, sir,' said the agent, 'what do

246 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
you claim on ?' 'I'm afraid I can't put in much of
a claim,' I replied reluctantly. 'You see, there was
practically no furniture in the room. Only a wash-
stand and, as it happened, an old portmanteau.'
' Mahogany washstand with double row of tiles in
back,' murmured my friend as he wrote in his note
book. ' China ewer, basin, soap-dish, brush-holder,
sponge-bowl, and slop-pail. And what did you say
besides, sir ? A portmanteau ?' And, with no
prompting from me, he continued to dictate to him
self : ' Sole-leather portmanteau, turnover foldings,
cap corners, extra thick, turned over at ends, four
steel bands. Was there nothing else in the room,
sir ?' he inquired. ' We're not allowed to make
suggestions, you understand, sir,' he added. ' But,
I suppose, when you get out of your bath, you
just stand on the bare boards, don't you, sir ?'
' Oh no,' I said ; ' there was a scrap of carpet of
some kind.' 'Thank you, sir,' said my friend,
returning to his notes. ' Axminster seamless
carpet, 6 feet by 9 feet, with border. And you
don't mind, I suppose, sir,' he proceeded, 'the
neighbours looking in and seeing you in your bath ?
Of course you'll excuse my asking, but we're not
allowed to suggest  ' 'There was a blind to the
window, of course,' I said, ' Very well, then,' re
torted my friend with rising enthusiasm ; ' that's
what I wanted to know ;' and he went on muttering

AMATEUR FIREMEN 247
his inventory as he wrote it : ' Inside roller blind,
best worsted tammy, with best shaped valance,
finished with fringe to match.' I forget what I
ultimately received from the company ; I fancy it
was nearly ;i^5o. And if only I had done the
thing handsomely, and opened a bottle instead
of a pint, I feel it might have run into three
figures. I think firemen are more childish than even
doctors on the subject of professional etiquette
(witness the man who would chop down my door
instead of opening it by the handle). One night
during the run of ' An Ideal Husband ' at the Hay
market, during the management of Messrs. Waller
and Morrell, a little fire broke out on the stage
behind the scenes, out of sight of the audience.
Jack the fireman chanced at the moment to be over
the way at the Waterloo, ' splicing the main-brace.'
The conflagration was a very trifling one. A lamp
had been upset, and a few yards of stage round
about began to splutter and flicker. Two or three
men who happened to be near stamped out the
flames, and the call-boy gave the expiring embers
their coup de grace (homely, old wife's remedies are
often the best) by spitting upon the few scattered
sparks that remained. At that moment (that is to
say, when all was over) the zealous Jack appeared,
brave in brass, an axe in one hand and adjusting the

248 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
curb of his helmet with the other. I rather think
he was shouting ' Hi, hi, hi !' under the impression
he was on his engine and clearing a passage through
a crowded thoroughfare. It was sad to witness his
disappointment when he reached the spot where the
flicker had taken place. He looked round, heaved
a sigh, and retired, muttering as he went away,
'It's a jolly funny thing people can't mind their
own business. 'Ow would they like it, I wonder, if
I was to go on to the stage and play their bloomin'
parts for 'em ?'
Much has been said about the danger of smoking
in theatres ; but after a great deal of inquiry I have
only heard of one case where a fire (and that no
more serious than the one I have just mentioned)
has occurred in a theatre owing to the use of tobacco.
It was several years ago, and, I fancy, at the
Criterion. It was the duty of the night-watchman (who was
also a fireman) to patrol the theatre at intervals —
say every four hours — and this duty he conscien
tiously carried out. At four o'clock one morning he
found the cocoanut matting in one of the passages
ignited and glowing. He speedily extinguished it,
and then set himself to think to what this conflagra
tion could owe its origin. Being a man with a
memory and a logical mind and Sherlock Holmes
instincts, he finally came to the conclusion that the

FLAGRANT EVIDENCE 249
cause of this phenomenon was traceable to the fact
that, on his previous round to see that all was safe,
he had chosen that particular spot at which to empty
out against his heel the contents of the pipe he was
smoking.

CHAPTER XIV
A political programme — Trial by jury — Justice shuts her eyes —
An adroit ' get-out ' — A company case — A peevish Judge —
The jury disagree — In the Isle of Wight — Shipwrecks — A
zealous coastguard — The Irex — The Complete Reciter at
fault — A trip to Madeira — A burial at sea — Hospitality at
Funchal — Dutch courage.
Prominent in the multitude of matters about which
I know absolutely nothing is the subject of politics ;
but I found myself one night in the smoking-room
of the Old Ship Hotel, Brighton, during election
week, when everyone was talking vehemently and
enthusiastically about the Conservative candidate
(they were Tories to a man), and it would have
been not only churlish, but almost dangerous, not to
have joined in the paean of praise. However, em
boldened by the cup, I determined to ' go one
better ' than the rest. So, when I was appealed to,
I said calmly : ' I take no interest in the present
election. I shall not go to the poll, nor shall I ever
support a candidate until one shall appear willing to
pledge himself to my programme.' ' And what may

' HEREOF FAIL NOT ' 251
that be, sir ?' asked the Conservative agent earnestly.
'Abolition of the liberty of the press,' said I,
' abolition of trial by jury, and abolition of the
House of Commons ; legislation by the monarch,
supported by the House of Peers.' There was a
storm of applause ; I was acclaimed as the pro-
foundest politician in the room. Everyone agreed
that my programme was an excellent one. And as
years roll on, I am becoming more and more con
vinced of its soundness myself.
My opinion of jurymen was founded on personal
experience. It was about twelve years ago that I
had to go through the extremely unpleasant experi
ence of serving on a special jury. There was no
evading the summons — ' to be and appear in Her
Majesty's High Court of Justice.' I was over
twenty-one and under sixty years of age ; I was not
a borough treasurer, nor a coroner, nor a duly regis
tered dentist (40 and 41 Vict., c. xxxiii., s. 30), nor
a gaoler's sub-officer, nor a peer, nor a Sheriff's
officer, nor one of the Brethren of Trinity House ;
in short, I was not in the possession or pursuit of
any office or occupation which secured me immunity
from the obligation to serve on juries. I was ac
cordingly duly awed by the final ominous sentence
in the summons, ' Hereof fail not,' and I repaired to
Court No. something — I forget what — of the
Queen's Bench Division at the Royal Courts of

252 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Justice at a quarter-past ten of the clock in the fore
noon precisely on the day specified. The only
occupant of the court when I arrived was the usher,
who, with an obvious sense of the confidence reposed
in him, was engaged in the task of collecting, sort
ing, and redistributing numberless quill pens, I
was glad that I met him, for he was the only official
of all whom I met who at all realized my ideal of
what a legal magnate should be. He was judicial
though not pedantic, patronizing though not super
cilious, and busy though not industrious. I trust
this gentleman is well paid, and that he is not obliged
to keep up his position merely on occasional tips of
the odd shilling from the special juryman's guinea.
Gradually the court filled. My fellow-compurgators
and I crowded round the Associate of the court,
and everyone endeavoured to convince him how
exceptionally inconvenient it was in the particular
case of each to leave his business to attend to that
of the Crown. The Associate was civil but obdurate.
There was, accordingly, nothing for us to do but to
take up our places at the back of the court and wait
to be empanelled. Presently my friend the usher
announced the arrival of the Judge, and Lord Silver-
ton entered, supported by a faithful old white-haired
retainer, who attended to his lordship throughouc
the day, brought him his medicine, and so forth.
The case was one which had been part heard, so

JUSTICE NODDING 253
the jury of the day before took their places. It was
a case in which a widow sued a shipping company
for damages for the loss of her husband, who had
been killed by the alleged negligence of one of the
workmen employed by the company, and much use
was made of a model vessel, the rigging of which
soon became hopelessly entangled by the nervous
manoeuvrings of a junior counsel with a limited
knowledge of navigation. But this case was soon
disposed of, and immediately afterwards, at about
mid- day, my name was called out with those of
eleven others, and we entered the box.
The action which we had to try was brought by
a young mechanic against a tramway company for
damages for injuries received in a fall from one of
their cars. The case was a very simple and common
place one, so much so that Lord Silverton on his
return from luncheon — whether from lack of interest
in a case about which his quick perception had at
the outset enabled him to make up his mind, or
merely from the effects of the process of digestion —
allowed himself to fall fast asleep. I am bound to
admit that he had heard two or three witnesses for
the plaintiff before slumber beguiled him ; he had
even been sufficiently awake in the early part of the
afternoon to repeat, as his own, a mild witticism of
the junior counsel, and to join deprecatingly in the
laughter which greeted the litde joke when it came

254 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
from the lips of his lordship. But from about five
minutes to three till a quarter past Lord Silverton
slept like a child of a year old. It was only the
work of a few seconds, however, for the Associate
and the usher and the white-haired servant aforesaid
to arouse his lordship when the time came. And
considering the shock of waking from dreams of a
rural retreat covered with honeysuckle, and of
clambering little ones with golden heads lisping
forth prayers for appointments and sinecures and
marshalships, to the stern reality of a British law-
court, where justice is impartially administered, it is
hardly to his lordship's discredit that he should
inadvertently have begun to sum up upon the pre
vious case. ' Gentlemen of the jury,' he commenced,
' it is for you to decide whether you attach credit to
the evidence given by the witnesses for the plaintift
or to that given by the witnesses for the defendant.
If you believe the evidence of the stevedore, you
will come to the conclusion that the starboard guy-
rope was slackened off in so sudden and unskilful a
manner as to imperil the safety of anyone standing on
or near the counter or in proximity to the binnacle.
You will be bound, in that case, to come to the conclu
sion  ' ' I beg your pardon, my lord,' exclaimed
a rash young barrister employed in the case, ' but
this is the case of Lucock and the Trans-suburban
Tramcar Company.' 'Well, well,' retorted his

A RASH INVESTMENT 255
lordship (a little testily, I thought), ' it's a precisely
similar case. And that, gentlemen ' — turning to us
with confidential impressiveness — ' is why I mention
it. Probably many of you were in court when the
case to which I refer was tried, and such of you will
see the analogy. Both cases were cases of negli
gence ;' and so forth. I thought the old gentleman
extricated himself from what to many would have
proved an awkward dilemma with noteworthy grace
and skill.
On the following day I inadvertently took the
corner-seat next the Judge — who on this occasion
was Mr. Justice Manikin — and discovered that I
had thereby constituted myself foreman. The case
was that of Pennycuic v. The Godshill Valley Rail
way Company. It appeared that Miss Pennycuic,
an elderly spinster, living at Upper Norwood,
dazzled by the prospectus of this company, had,
some two years before, invested ;^500 in a fresh
issue of shares in the form of preference stock,
which was to pay 4^ per cent, before any dividend
was paid on the ordinary or deferred shares. The
paragraph which had attracted the eye of the un
fortunate Miss Pennycuic was the last in the
prospectus :
' The fresh issue of preference shares is offered
in advance at par to shareholders in any of the four
other Isle of Wight Railway Companies, as it is

256 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
obviously to their interest to invest in shares in the
new Company, which will so materially enhance the
value of the stock they already hold. On and after
April ist next all the shares not subscribed for {if
any) will be offered to the general public at a pre
mium of six per cent. All the ordinary shares have
been subscribed for and fully paid up.'
Miss Pennycuic was already a shareholder in the
Isle of Wight Central Railway ; so it appeared to
her that if she were to buy ^500 worth of this pre
ference stock at par, hold it until April i, and then
sell it to the public at six premium, she would be, as
they say in the City, ' on velvet.' And in theory
she was right ; but she was unable practically to
carry out her scheme, as, although the shares were
duly offered to the public at six premium, they found
no buyers, nor did they when offered at ten, twenty,
fifty, or even eighty, discount. There was, further
more, a misleading lack of frankness about the final
dozen words above quoted.
When Sir Humphrey Scratchell, Bart., the pro
moter of the company — in fact, all that remained of
the company — and the defendant in the suit, had
applied to Parliament for permission to give fresh
impetus to his company by making a fresh issue of
shares to the public, this permission was accorded to
him only in the event that he could show that aJl the
original shares had been fully paid up. As only

A PUZZLED JUDGE 257
about ^5,000 worth had been applied for. Sir
Humphrey was for a moment nonplussed, until he
hit on the happy idea of handing over about
;^24o,ooo worth of shares to his contractor in
payment of a bill for about ^10,000. Practically,
putting minor points on one side, the question for
the jury to decide upon was whether the suppression
in the prospectus of the fact that the contractor was
receiving payment of his bill in shares, and not in
cash, and that the great majority of the shares
described as ' fully paid up ' had been handed over
to the contractor in such payment, amounted to a
fraudulent suppression or not.
Mr. Wince, Q.C., conducted the case for the
plaintiff with great skill ; in fact, his hobnobbing
method with the jury struck me as being on the
whole even more convincing than the quietly-
indignant dignity of Mr. Findlater, Q.C. (for the
defendant), who, however, at times almost succeeded
in conveying the impression that a board of railway
directors was a species of court of honour. The case
went smoothly and straightforwardly enough. There
was one slight delay of twenty minutes or so, when
Mr. Justice Manikin, slightly overrating his mental
agility, endeavoured to find a marked passage on
the page of a ledger which was handed to him by
Mr. Wince.
' Who is this Mr. Jones ?' asked his lordship, look-
17

258 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
ing over the top of his double eye-glasses. ' I have
nothing about him in my notes.'
' Your lordship is looking at the wrong page,' said
Mr. Wince. ' If your lordship would kindly look
at the right-hand page instead of the left-hand
page  '
' But why should I not look at the left-hand
page ?' said his lordship, beginning to look seriously
suspicious. ' Because, my lord, with great deference, there's
nothing there concerning this particular case,' said
Mr. Wince, with an engaging smile.
' But if there's nothing here concerning this
particular case,' repeated the Judge, puzzled, and
getting rather annoyed, ' why am I given this ledger
at all ?'
' I was anxious for your lordship to glance at the
passage which I marked in pencil on the right-hand
page, but if your lordship thinks it immaterial  '
said Mr. Wince apologetically.
' I had better commence at the first page, and read
this ledger entirely through,' snapped his lordship,
thoroughly displeased, and convinced that he was
being imposed upon. And whilst Mr. Justice
Manikin was engaged in trying to decipher im
material matter contained in the ledger (which I am
by no means sure he had not by this time got upside
down), Mr. Wince took the opportunity to confide

DISAGREEMENT 259
to US a number of statements disparaging to Sir
Humphrey Scratchell, but which in no wise con
cerned the case before us, and with regard to which
Mr. Findlater in vain appealed to his lordship, who
in his turn was far too much engrossed in the
financial career of Mr. Jones, as shown on the
left-hand pages, to exert his authority and check
Mr. Wince. At the conclusion of the Judge's
summing up, it was, I believe, a surprise to most
people, and not least to Sir Humphrey and his
counsel, who both appeared to me to be ill conceal
ing their amused surprise, to find there were certain
of the jury who were inclined to find for the
defendant. We were accordingly despatched in the
custody of the usher, and locked into a large under
ground room walled with tiles, containing a table
and twelve chairs. An ' old hand ' present suggested
that we should all agree to return the verdict of the
majority, but this proposal was negatived as being
too sensible. It turned out that we were in the
proportion of eight to four — that is to say, eight for
the plaintiff and four for the defendant. And never
before that time, when I discussed the evidence
which had been laid before us, and saw the peculiar
points of view from which the typical juryman
contemplates any assortment of fact, did I at all
appreciate the extent to which England owes her
world-wide reputation for honesty and fairness,
17 — 2

260 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
judiciously tempered with shrewdness, to the main
tenance and practice of her system of trial by jury.
The first man I approached was almost indignant
that the bona-fides of the prospectus should be
impugned. ' Why,' said he, at the end of a long
harangue, as a final reductio ad absurdum of the
whole case, ' I myself have made statements in
many a prospectus which were quite as bad as any
in this here one.' I tried to explain that, as these
other prospectuses were not under consideration, he
might, without in any way dimming the rosy rays
in which his own statements therein contained had
been allowed to bask, contemplate in a colder
light the illegitimate assertions of Sir Humphrey
Scratchell. ' All I can say is,' he persisted, ' if this
here prospectus is fraudulent, then half the pro
spectuses in the City are fraudulent' And he folded
his arms as a sign that the discussion, so far as he
was concerned, was at an end. His next neighbour
repeated all this, only in a more polished manner,
being a man of more finished, or, at all events, of
more satisfactorily commenced, education. He
gave his remarks quite a classical gloss by stating
more than once ' that, whereas there may be a
certain amount of suppressio veri in this prospectus,
there appears to me to be no expositio falsi! And
I think the pleasure of thus glibly talking Latin
to an audience of eleven fellow-citizens was a far

A PATRIOTIC JUROR 261
greater reward to him than the guinea he afterwards
received for his services. The next whom I tried
to win over was an entirely different specimen of
juryman. He was standing aloof from the rest, with
a rather amused expression of face — a fair, bronzed,
military-looking young man, in a smart, loose, blue
great-coat, and a very brightly-shining hat tipped
over his eyes. He only laughed languidly when I
endeavoured to discuss the facts of the case with
him, and all I could get out of him was that ' the
poor old Johnnie wanted the stuff devilish bad — and
he got it, by gad ! Devilish smart of the old
Johnnie!' It was impossible to persuade this light-
hearted son of Mars to take any other than this
somewhat flippantly cynical view of the position.
The fourth and final supporter of the defendant's
case was a far more familiar and British type of
juryman. ' Gentlemen,' he said, addressing all of us
in the tone of one in the habit of appealing to the
higher sentiments of respectable ratepayers, ' who
are we that we should stamp a gentleman — I may
say a Baronet — of Sir Humphrey Scratchell's position
with so grave a — a — taint as the — the stigma of
fraud ? We had it in evidence, gentlemen — I don't
know if you gave the matter your attention — but we
had it in evidence that Sir Humphrey passes his
holidays at home — in his own country. He doesn't
go off to Homburg or Switzerland or France,

262 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
spending his money on foreigners. And I venture
to maintain that it is our duty to encourage our
aristocracy in this course, and not to throw cold
water upon them by finding them guilty of fraud.'
To make a long story less long, the jury failed to
agree. We were reprimanded for our obstinacy by
Mr. Justice Manikin, and poor old Miss Pennycuic
failed to recover her ;^5oo, and had to pay her own
costs. Each of us jurymen received a guinea for
assisting at a sad miscarriage of justice.
Indeed, I personally made a little more, for I
wrote an article for the Speaker, and another for the
St. James's Gazette (to which I have been permitted
to refer), which together brought me in another
seven guineas.
When I lived in the Isle of Wight, I asked my
friend Harry Damant, who was Lloyd's agent for
the island, to let me know some day when he had
news of a shipwreck. Accordingly, he called for me
one February morning in a dogcart, and told me
he had just received tidings of two wrecks — one in
the neighbourhood of St. Catherine's Point and the
other on the Needles. ' I expect we'd better go to
the St. Catherine's Point one,' he said. ' I think
she's the more likely to be a big vessel.' So we
drove off to the south point of the island, and Ather
stone Damant, a younger brother, was despatched
to the Needles. When we reached our destination

THE WRECK OF THE ' IREX ' 263
we found nothing thrilling — only a comic wreck.
A few months before His Imperial Majesty the
Kaiser had very generously sent a gold medal to
someone for rendering assistance by means of the
rocket apparatus to a German crew (envious tongues
maintained that the medal reached the wrong man) ;
and after that gracious act the whole of the South
Coast spent their time scouring the horizon with
their telescopes in hopes of spying another Teuton
vessel in distress, while the coastguard kept a
formidable rocket always ready, poised upon its
tripod. On this particular morning a little fishing
smack, with a crew of three men and a boy, appeared
to be in difficulties about fifty yards from shore.
The inhabitants — possessed with this new life-saving
mania — assembled on the beach, determined to salve
it if only to keep their hands in. Although the
fishermen shouted that they were all right and
needed no assistance, the bronze-faced coastguard
fixed his tripod, levelled his projectile, and with un
erring aim sent it whizzing through the little boat's
bows. She soon settled down, and the crew waded
ashore blaspheming.
When we got home that night, we found that
Atherstone had not yet returned. So we went early
next morning to the Needles and found the wreck
there had been the really serious one. She was a
big three-masted schooner — the Irex from Greenock,

264 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
brand-new, on her first trip. She lay, her bows in
the air, with the sea breaking over her after-deck.
Seven lives had been lost, including the captain's ;
the rest had been saved by the very apparatus the
use of which had been burlesqued the day before.
But a good deal occurred — so I learnt — calculated to
shake one's belief in the poems about the saving of
life at sea which are so proudly and glibly recited at
penny readings, and so rapturously applauded. In
the first place, the lifeboat — instead of riding over
the billows propelled by brawny arms and hearts of
oak, with wives and sweethearts waving their hand
kerchiefs on the distant shore — was towed by a tug
to within hailing distance of the disabled vessel,
and, after a short colloquy under difficulties, was
towed home again without rescuing anyone. Then,
again, when the rocket had been successfully used
and the hawser made taut between the top of the
cliff and the mainmast — in the rigging of which ten
or a dozen soused and half-frozen wretches were
desperately clinging — all were got safely ashore
but one — a lad with a broken leg. ' Who'll go and
save the boy ?' someone sang out. According to all
tradition, there should have been a rush of volunteers.
But, as a matter of fact, although there was a large
crowd assembled, mostly men used to the sea and its
perils, nobody would run the risk. The boy was
left freezing in the rigging, his broken leg dangling.

A DEATH AT SEA 265
until morning, when the ship's cook, a nigger, con
sented to go and fetch him.
I went on board, with Damant, at about mid-day.
We found one of the apprentices' diary, kept up to
the evening before the wreck. The last words were :
' Cargo shifted. We are bound to go down. Going
to have a game at cards.' The poor boy was
drowned, but he had had his game, for we found the
cards scattered about his cabin, which was half under
water. I picked up the six and the two of hearts,
which were making ' Baccarat ' on the end of his
bunk, and I have had them inlaid into the cover
of a card-box made out of a piece of teak which I
found on deck.
At the end of December, 1886, I went by the s.s.
Pretoria to Madeira for a few days. A rather
gruesome incident took place on the voyage out. I
was walking about on deck on New Year's Eve,
after dinner, with a very pleasant man — a second-
class passenger — who talked affectionately about his
wife and baby, told me he was going to Natal, partly
for pleasure, partly on business, and partly for his
health. We turned in at about half-past eleven.
Next morning my servant told me he and others
had been awoke in the night by cries for help, had
rushed to my friend's cabin, from which they pro
ceeded, and found him struggling with the steward.
It appeared that my new acquaintance was a dipso-

266 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
maniac, and that he had contrived to smuggle a
bottle or two of brandy into his cabin, that after
turning in he had made an incursion upon his
cellar, and had brought on an attack of delirium
tremens. After he had been tied down he had had
a relapse, and died at about two in the morning.
At about a quarter to twelve, off Porto Santo, the
engines slowed down and a bell was tolled. We all
came forward, none of us quite sure of what was to
take place, and discovered that the remains of the
unfortunate man were about to be buried in the sea.
There happened to be a couple of hundred troops
on board, who were paraded, and added to the
picturesqueness of the scene. The body was
brought up by six bare-footed blue-jackets in white
ducks. It was stitched up in a hammock, with
weights at the feet, borne upon a plank, and covered
with the British flag. The skipper read the service,
and when he pronounced the words, ' We therefore
commit his body to the deep, to be turned into
corruption,' etc., the plank was tipped up, and from
beneath the Union Jack the grisly load plunged
into the sea. Immediately afterwards ' ping — ping '
sounded from the bridge, the screw resumed its
revolutions, and most of us hurried off to smoke and
chat and cheer ourselves as best we might. In the
saloon the second officer was eating a hurried meal
preparatory to taking his watch. A young Anglican

HOSPITALITY AT FUNCHAL 267
curate, who was stimulating himself with a glass of
sherry, waxed eloquent over the scene we had just
witnessed. ' I never saw anything more impressive,'
said he, in tones which betrayed Oxford as his
alma mater — ' the clear blue sky, the purple ocean,
here and there a seagull poised in mid-air, the im
pressive words of the service, the rugged earnestness
of the old sea-captain, the very engines silent, as if
to pay tribute to the soul that had gone from
amongst us !' ' Oh, it wasn't for that I' exclaimed
the second officer, in perfect simplicity, his mouth
full of cold beef and pickles ; ' it was for fear the
body should foul the screw.'
We presently arrived at Funchal, and I went to
the Santa Clara Hotel. It was very full, and I was
given rooms in the annexe. The Madeira residents
are extremely hospitable, and when my name ap
peared in the visitors' list I received invitations
immediately from all who survived of the old friends
my father and mother had made when they had
spent a season at Madeira in 1853. I had a
delightful dinner with the Hintons one night. (Old
Hinton had been at one time in the Royal Navy,
and could only sleep in a bunk of his own contriving,
slung by its four corners from the ceiling, in which
he used nightly to swing himself to sleep. This he
showed me with pardonable pride.) I was touched
by the simple way in which my host and hostess

268 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
continued the conversation they had left off with my
parents thirty-four years previously. ' And how is
Stephen Spring Rice, who was here with your
father ?' they asked. ' Oh, he died, I think, before
I was born,' I had to reply, ' or, at all events, when
I was quite a child.' ' Indeed, I'm sorry to hear
that,' said Mrs, Hinton. ' He seemed quite strong
and well,' And they inquired with the same friendly
solicitude about numbers of old friends who had
been sleeping peacefully in their graves for a
quarter of a century. They gave me an excellent
dinner and plied me with rare vintages of Madeira
wine to such an extent that, when I left their
hospitable quinta (I had been almost a teetotaler
for about a month), I was quite conscious, to quote
from the police courts, that I 'had been dining.'
However, I was able to walk without the semblance
of a lurch back to the Santa Clara, to wind up my
watch, fold my clothes, and ' retire in order ' to bed.
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I awoke, and
saw my bedroom distinctly jerk from left to right
twice, and after a pause repeat the performance.
The ewer rattled in the basin with each oscillation,
and even the chairs and table seemed to join in the
strange supernatural fandango. ' This,' said I to
myself, ' is evidently an effect peculiar to the wines
of Madeira, and no doubt the phenomenon is
enhanced by my abnormal abstinence of the last few

DUTCH COURAGE 269
weeks. I could never have believed,' I went on to
think, ' that a mere nervous paralysis of the brain,
due to drinking an extra glass or two of good wine,
could possibly have produced such a complete optical
illusion.' And, musing in this fashion, I soon fell
back into a sound sleep. In the morning, when I
left my annexe to go to breakfast, I was astounded
to find the garden ofthe hotel converted into a kind
of concentration camp. Such of my fellow-guests
as had not hired surf-boats and put out to sea were
huddled together under extemporized tents nursing
their jewel-cases, dressing-bags, and valuables.
' Oh, sir !' cried one or two, ' do you mean to say
that you stayed in your room all night ? What a
brave man you must be !' It appeared that during
the night the i.sland had been visited by a violent
earthquake, which I, in all innocence, had attributed
to the bowl !

CHAPTER XV
Monte Carlo — The enchantment of the place — Sunny memories
— A giant in those days — The degringolade of the croupier —
A disputed stake — Playing on a system — The only sure way
to win — French detectives — Their naivet^ — A French ' con
fidence-man.'
A PRACTICAL man with no imagination or adapta
bility will see in Monte Carlo only a garish Margate
with a monotonous sea, a deceptive sun, and mur
derous winds, shoddy people, vice in most unbe
coming dishabille, and he will resent being charged
a missionary's ransom for a brandy-and-soda. To
enjoy Monte Carlo, you must be willing to be mes
merized, to submit your will and judgment to the
fairy spirit of the place. You immediately find
yourself in a twinkling paradise where money is
public property — that is to say, as soon as your
pocket is empty, you borrow from the nearest
stranger (the ordinary unit being a mille, or about
^40) ; where everyone is happy in the possession
of the philosopher's stone — that is to say, of a
system different from anyone else's, by which the

A MONTE CARLO 'COTERIE' 271
element of chance is entirely removed from the
games of roulette and trente-et-quarante ; where
you enjoy sumptuous banquets, not knowing who is
host — sometimes it may prove to be yourself ; where
you eat, drink, drive, gamble, shoot, shop, love, lend,
borrow, until the end of April, when the family
solicitor disenchants you and brings you home to
everyday life.
The Princess — up the hill, opposite the casino,
not far from the Mdtropole — was the restaurant
which the particular section of Monte Carlo society
which I knew best used to patronize two or three
years ago. It was admirably managed by Monsieur
Aubanel and his handsome wife. A table was
always reserved for us in the bright, white- enamelled
grill-room which opened on to the street. The food
was very good and, for Monte Carlo, very cheap —
that is to say, the prices were about the same as at
the Savoy Hotel in London. In the middle of the
room was a large table covered with a spotless white
cloth, on which were arranged studies in still life —
fruit, game, fish, vegetables, even tiny joints. And
at this buffet each selected what he fancied. The
beautiful, buxom, big-hearted, and much-divorced
Muriel Kinnleside was generally at our table, often
attended by a shy lad who was nicknamed The
Tadpole, his real name being Newte. Jack Deeley,
the pigeon-shot, was always there, and poor Tom

272 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Dexter, who is now no more. Satyr-faced little
Asti, the composer, was frequently of our party,
sometimes with his charming wife, and sometimes
not. We were rather too Bohemian for Isidore
Notadore, but now and then, when more august
hosts could spare him, he would look in and give us
a little tone. At the end of the banquet, whoever
felt richest produced a purse and paid the bill.
When nobody had any money — which happened on
one or two rare occasions — the meal was put down
to Tom Dexter, who was staying at the hotel, and
had a running, though tethered, account. It is
difficult to imagine Monte Carlo without Tom
Dexter. He was popular with everyone, even the
police authorities, with whom he occasionally joined
issue. He was extremely good-natured, tall, loose-
limbed, athletic, a good pigeon-shot, but, owing to
his generosity, carelessness, and fondness for the
tables, generally in financial low-water. His most
celebrated exploit with the Monte Carlo police was
many years ago, before the local round-house was
rebuilt. In those days it was like a prison in an
opera * set ' — that is to say, it consisted of a small
room, built of stone, with heavy doors studded with
nails. Tom had caused some disturbance late at
night, and, after invaliding several officers of the
law, he was finally overcome by numbers, and at
last led off by ten tiny commissaires de police to this

AN INTERNATIONAL QUESTION 273
ridiculous dungeon. The door was unlocked, and
eight of Tom's guardians preceded him into the cell.
Their ill manners cost them their liberty, for no
sooner were they inside than Tom seized the other
two by the scruffs of their necks, threw them in
after their companions, and locked the massive doors
upon them. He then threw the key into one of the
fountains, strolled home to bed, and slept the sleep
of a Samson. In the morning a smiling Chief
Inspector called upon him and told him that if only
he would restore the key, or tell them where it was
to be found, all should be forgiven. Tom, however,
denied all knowledge of the night's adventure, and
by his truculent demeanour so terrified the police
official that he tore downstairs, leaving his hat
behind him. The prison doors had to be prized
open by workmen. But nothing came of it, as far
as Dexter was concerned, and, for all I know, the
key lies still in the basin of the fountain.
The last time I saw Tom Dexter at Monte Carlo
he was just starting to call upon the British Consul.
' I've got a pretty clear case this time,' he said san-
guinely — ' these rotten little gendarmes ! I'm going
to give 'em a lesson. A thousand pounds damages,
or I'll know the reason why.' ' What have they
done this time ?' I asked. ' Took us off last night —
me and Peter Parley and Jem Finney — and locked
us up,' he exclaimed with the air of a martyr. 'And
i8

274 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
one little wretch actually presented a revolver at my
head !' ' What had you been doing ?' I inquired.
' Nothing at all,' said Tom decisively ; ' that's to
say, we came out of the club — the room upstairs,
you know — rather late, and we wanted a drink.
There wasn't any light in the Hotel de Paris, and
they didn't answer the bell, so I just tried with my
shoulder if the door was fastened, and it opened of
its own accord. We switched up the light and
found some whisky and syphons, and, as there was
nobody to wait on us, we helped ourselves, naturally.
Suddenly a lot of these little commissaire devils
came in and said something about vol de nuit avec
effraction, and walked us off.' ' Did you go quietly?'
I asked. ' Er — yes, oh yes ! Fairly quietly,' said
Tom, ' Of course, I was angry when the little
brute pulled out his revolver.' ' Had you struck
him ?' I asked, noticing that Tom was rather sur
reptitiously nursing a freckled leg of mutton he was
pleased to call his hand. ' No, I'll swear to good
ness I didn't,' protested my friend of the injured
innocence. ' He wouldn't be alive if I had. But 1
may have just — pushed him,' he had conscientiously
to admit as he displayed two broken knuckles. I
am afraid he never got his ^i,ooo damages.
The following will show how casually a Monte
Carlo bailee regards his responsibilities :
One morning I found Tom Dexter and Jem

FLOATING CAPITAL 275
Finney waiting outside the H6tel de Paris ; they
said they couldn't leave until they had seen their
friend Peter Parley, whom the servants were making
vain attempts to arouse. ' You see, last night,' said
Tom, ' Alec Winthrop had won a bit — about five
milles — and he asked old Jem here to look after it.'
' Who's Alec Winthrop ?' I inquired. ' / don't
know,' said Jem. ' He's an American, I believe. I
met him for the first time last night at dinner at
the Helder with old Fitz. But I don't think Fitz
knows him ; I think he was brought.' ' Well, this
American, whoever he is,' Tom went on to say,
' asked Jem to take care of this ^200 in case his
luck should change. He didn't want to lose it ' (a
most anti-Monte Carlist sentiment, but Mr. Winthrop
was a new arrival). ' Jem went to sleep for a bit,
and when he woke up Alec Winthrop had gone.
Then Peter Parley came up and said : " Look here,
Jem; I'm broke. Have you got any stuff ?" And
Jem said, "Yes, I have, luckily. It belongs to a
chap called Winthrop," and handed it over, of
course. And then he went home to bed. But we
want to see Peter and tell him to raise this ^200
before we meet Winthrop, because we know the
chap so slightly. D'you know where he's staying,
Jem ?' ' Haven't the faintest idea,' yawned Jem
indifferently. The de'ringolade of the croupier nowadays is
18—2

276 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
melancholy and marked. In my youth he was a
mysterious being — sans peur et sans reproche. No
one ventured to speak to him except officially, and
if any big winner felt impelled to send him a
souvenir, he sent it in a most roundabout way and
with much trepidation, I think it used to be left
for him at the tobacconist's. But to-day the Knight
of the Rake will murmur hints to his neighbour,
especially if the neighbour be a lady. Should the
tip not come off, he will whisper, ' Je n'ai pas os6,
on me guette ;' but if by a remote chance the
number or colour he has recommended should win,
he smilingly requests a commission. ' Ce que
madame plaira,' he will generously suggest.
One day Mrs. Despard, who had been losing
heavily at trente-et-quarante, came back to roulette,
and ' planked ' a louis en plein on to her favourite
1 7. To her great delight, the croupier called out,
' Dix-sept, noir, impair et manque,' and pushed the
thirty-five louis on to the centre square on the
board. Mrs, Despard stretched forward to collect
her winnings, but before her taper fingers could en
compass them a well-bred-looking, quietly-dressed
English woman sitting on the opposite side of the
table had firmly 'scooped the lot.' 'I beg your
pardon, madam,' exclaimed Mrs. Despard, ' that was
my stake.' The lady with the nine points of the
law on her side, and by this time piled up in four

A TIMELY WITNESS 277
pyramids in front of her, looked gravely up, with no
sign of excitement, and remarked very quietly,
' Perhaps you would like to take my purse as well ?'
Mrs. Despard turned crimson with mortification, and,
with a vague sense that her blush would be taken
as an admission of guilt, turned away, sick at heart,
and hurried from the rooms. But a gentleman
pursued her into the vestiare. ' I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Despard,' he exclaimed : ' I've never had the
honour of being introduced to you, though, of
course, I've often had the pleasure of seeing you on
the stage. My name is Silvester. It was my wife
who, by mistake, claimed your money just now. I
was at the end of the table, and I saw you back 1 7.
She had been planking her money about rather
wildly, and she firmly believed, of course, that she
had put on that number. Here she is. Will you
allow her to apologize ?'
' Oh, Mrs. Despard, how can I apologize suffi
ciently ?' cried Mrs. Silvester. ' Such an appalling
mistake to have made ! Here's the money. Do
pray try and forgive me !'
The good-natured Mrs. Despard made light of
the mishap. But she only realized in how extra
ordinarily an untoward way it might have developed
but for the vigilant eye of the excellent Mr. Sil
vester when that evening, at a dinner-party given
by old Lady Cromlech (whom she only knew

278 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
slightly) at the Metropole Hotel, she found herself
seated face to face with the aristocratic-looking lady
who had so firmly believed she had backed 17.
Little Mrs. Frisby was not what you could call a
gambler. She had very little money, and only
played in five-franc pieces, with an occasional louis
on an even chance. In fact, she often only entered
the rooms from a sort of Dante sense of duty, just
to walk through the Inferno and see what might be
going on. But one day she discovered two old
friends of hers, Lady Hardley-Dasent and her
daughter (whom she had no idea were in Monte
Carlo), sitting beaming, but collected, with piles of
gold in front of them, ' My dear Clara !' exclaimed
the old lady, as soon as she caught sight of Mrs.
Frisby. ' How delightful ! Enid, you must take
the card for a little. I'm tired, and I want to talk
to Clara ;' and, handing a much beriddled piece of
pasteboard to her daughter, she turned round, and
after, as a matter of decency, inquiring after Lysi-
machus (Mrs. Frisby's son and heir, aged three), she
proceeded to divulge a wonderful system which had
been explained to her and her daughter by a
Russian professor who sat near them at the table
d'hote of the Hotel de I'Europe, where they were
staying. It was a system of voisins. Mrs. Frisby
tried hard to grasp it, fired by the glitter from the
golden range of hills in front of her fortunate friends.

' FAITES VOTRE JEU ' 279
' It has been calculated by some of the greatest
mathematicians of the day,' said old Lady Hardley-
Dasent (she was not so invidious as to mention
names), 'that this system can only fail, even assuming
that you play all day and every day, once in seven
teen million years !' Mrs. Frisby, with visions of
new hats, new blouses, new boots for Lysimachus,
and — with persistence — even a Shetland pony,
hurried to a neighbouring table and played, accord
ing to her lights, Lady Hardley-Dasent's system.
' What was it she told me ?' thought the anxious
little lady. ' If 6 turns up to back the carri of 6.
That's 36, of course. And I suppose in the case of
bigger numbers you take the square root. What a
wonderful system it seems to be, and what a clever
man he must have been who discovered it ! I
wonder if Lysimachus will ever develop that par
ticular kind of genius as well as  ' But just then
she heard the voice of the croupier. She heard it
complain : ' Faites votre jeu, messieurs, mesdames.'
And, having observed that 5 came up last, she put
a five- franc piece on 25 — the square — and a louis
on red. They turned up, and she was a winner
of 200 francs. 'But how marvellous!' she ex
claimed under her breath. And after collecting her
money she put another five-franc on 5, the square
root, and another louis on red. Again they turned
up, and Mrs, Frisby was another 200 francs

280 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to the good. 'This is absolutely supernatural!'
thought the delighted little lady. 'Why isn't this
system better known ? Why doesn't everyone play
it ? Because if  ' ' Faites votre jeu, messieurs,
mesdames,' urged the croupier, ' But how's this ?'
reflected Mrs. Frisby. ' If this Russian professor's
theory of cubes and cube roots is scientifically sound,
nothing but five and twenty-five can ever turn up on
this particular cylinder— at least, not for seventeen
million years. I can't have got hold of it quite
correctly. And yet I've won sixteen pounds, so I
must have got, at all events, some rough idea of the
swing of it. I'll just go and ask dear Lady
Hardley-Dasent what you're to do after a certain
number of fives and twenty-fives have turned up ;'
and she sought out her friends. They had black
dabs under their eyes, and they were looking, each
of them, twenty years older. Their golden range
had been razed to the ground — that is to say, the piles
of louis had disappeared, and each lady was prying
into the corners and crannies of her purse to see
whether some venturesome gold piece might not
have rollicked into the gaping copper department,
or insinuated himself into the cleaving company of
the postage stamps. ' My dearest Lady Hardley-
Dasent,' cried little Mrs. Frisby, ' I've come to
thank you for telling me your wonderful system !
I've won sixteen pounds ! Fancy, sixteen pounds!

AN INFALLIBLE SYSTEM 281
Me ! Quite a little fortune I But, do tell me,
what do you do when the square root and the square
have come up a certain number of times, because, I
suppose, they can't really go on repeating for
seventeen million years, or people would get to hear
of it and come and settle at Monte Carlo, just for
the sake of making the money, wouldn't they ?'
' My dear Clara,' snapped her ladyship, ' I'm not
quite in the mood for talking nonsense. I've
lost nearly 8,000 francs in the last twenty
minutes. If you're in love with the system, you're
welcome to it. Go and elope with it, start a
syndicate with it, anything you please ! I don't
know what you mean about cubes and cube roots.
This system is simply backing the numbers round
about the last that won, and as they've been jumping
from one end ofthe table to the other — 4, 33, zero,
28, 3, 36, 4, 31 — the system and the Russian pro
fessor and the administration can all follow their
example and go either to the North Pole or to the
other place as far as Fm concerned !'
There is one system which I believe to be
practically infallible, but it cannot be followed
daily, only once in a way. It needs very litde
capital — three-halfpence will do. It is best to take
up your stand near someone who is playing high
and who is enjoying a run of luck. You choose
your moment and you drop your purse — open — with

282 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
enough in it to jingle, or, at all events, to insure its
reaching the floor rapidly and resonantly. You
mention your misfortune to an official, who im
mediately summons assistants with brooms and
squeegees, who sweep around your neighbourhood,
and with ordinary luck you should get seven or
eight louis, and possibly a gold hundred-franc piece
or two, coins of picturesque as well as commercial
interest. About ten years ago I had some business on hand
in which I thought Monsieur Orion, who was then
Chef de Slaretd in Paris, could help me. I wrote to
tell him I was coming over to see him, and I had no
sooner set foot on the platform of the Gare du Nord
when a diminutive Frenchman of about eight-and-
twenty, with a close-cropped beard, came up and
accosted me.
' Monsieur Brookfield ? Je viens de la part de
Monsieur Orion.'
The Chief Superintendent had described me to one
of his agents, who recognised me as easily as though
I had been an old friend. He introduced himself
as Monsieur L6on, and I saw a good deal of him for
a day or two. I was amused at the extraordinary
ingenuousness of the real French detective. Mon
sieur L6on delighted in talking of his exploits and
in extolling his own adroitness and acumen.
' Supposing you, monsieur, were instructed to keep

FRENCH NAIVETfi 283
an individual under observation,' he said to me,
' you would probably follow on his trail — walk
behind him, never let him out of your sight. " He
shall not escape me, that one !" you would say to
yourself Believe me, monsieur, that is not the
method. Now, the other day there devolved upon
me the delicate duty of keeping watch upon a lady —
beautiful, refined, elegant ! And the back of her
neck ! Alas ! in my profession we are mere
martinets. We cannot choose whom to harass,
whom to help. She was driving in an open landau
with eight springs. I hired a coupe and kept her
in sight. But I was far too crafty to follow her.
What did I do, then ? I drove in front of her,
monsieur — knelt on the seat of my brougham and
spied upon her through the little window at the
back.' On another occasion he said to me, as we passed
a crowd on the boulevard who were watching a
plumber engaged in some rather perilous work upon
the roof of a house :
' Supposing I were to desire you to go into that
crowd, monsieur, and detect for me a thief, how
would you set to work ? I wager you would be
nonplussed. It is, notwithstanding, very simple.
See here ! The crowd is collected to observe that
individual who is working on the tiles — isn't it so ?
Thus, all honest folk will have their faces turned

284 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
7ipwards to study his movements — will he fall or will
he not ? If he were to be seized by a vertigo, poor
devil, what a fate ! But the thief, on the contrary,
is looking downwards this way and that, furtively.
The fate of his fellow-creature is a matter of in
difference to him. All that interests him is the
appearance of his fellow-citizens' pockets. Ah ! it is
a true pleasure to pinch scoundrels of that type.'
On another occasion when I was in Paris, I was
sitting outside the Cafe de la Paix, when I was
accosted in the French tongue by a well-dressed
stranger at the next table.
' I beg your pardon, monsieur,' he said, 'but I am
a stranger in Paris. Can you tell me where I can
procure good draught ale such as we get in the
South ?'
I told him I was sorry I could not direct him.
He then went on to talk with great apparent frank
ness about himself. He told me that his name was
De Bermont, that he was an owner of vineyards, that
this was his first visit to Paris, and presently he
went on to suggest that, if I chanced to be, like
himself, alone and unattached in that gay city, he
would esteem me infinitely obliging if I would take
him round and show him the sights. At first I was
rather flattered at his homage, but as he went on it
occurred to me that the tale he was telling me bore
a strong family likeness to one frequently told in the

A HOSPITABLE STRANGER 285
vulgar tongue in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly
Circus by that confidential confraternity known as
the ' boys.' In fact, I realized that I was being
' taken on ' by a French ' lumberer.' After telling
me all about himself — his income, prospects, and so
forth — it was not unnatural that he should invite a
similar avowal from me. I told him accordingly
that I was an electrician, that I was employed
by a London firm, who paid me 400 francs a
month, and a commission on all orders I obtained ;
that the system in which I was interested was the
' Systeme Siemens — pour la sonnerie et surtout —
l'6clairage '; that I was in Paris partly on business,
but mainly on pleasure, bound, having recently
been paid a matter of 5,000 francs commission on
an order I had obtained ; that I found foreigners
did not even nowadays understand the English
cheque system, and therefore I was carrying my
^200 in loose sovereigns. Monsieur de Bermont's
mouth obviously watered. He gave a gulp. My
story seemed too good to be true, as indeed it
was. ' Will you permit me to offer you a bottle of the
wine of Champagne?' he inquired, with a hungry
glitter in his eye.
'Very willingly,' I replied. And he proceeded to
order ' une bouteille de " G. H." ' (The unfortunate
foreigner is obliged to confine his designation of

286 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
' G. H. Mumm ' to these initials, as M U M M is
obviously a word that none but an Englishman can
even attempt to pronounce.) I was curious to see
how he would approach the question of cards, which
I knew would presently have to be posed.
' Does monsieur know the South of France ?' he
presently inquired.
' A little,' I replied. ' I know Marseille and
Toulon and Grasse.'
' Then perhaps monsieur has been so far as
Monte Carlo i"' he asked eagerly.
' Merely to admire the bay and the situation of the
town,' I answered.
' Then monsieur does not care for play ?' he asked,
rather anxiously.
'Not at public tables,' I said. 'There is no
emotion in playing what is practically a machine.
My mania is for private gambling — between
friends.' Monsieur de Bermont positively yelled with
delight. ' Then, monsieur, allow me to fill your glass !' he
exclaimed, pouring out the wine which the waiter
had meantime brought. ' You must do me the
honour to dine with me to-night, chez Brdbant. I
have one or two fellow-countrymen, vine-growers,
good fellows like myself, who, like monsieur, enjoy
a game at cards. We will make a party of poker !'

A LONG FAREWELL 287
I told him I would be with him at seven, that at
that moment I was due at a board meeting of my
electrical company on the Boulevard Hausmann.
However, I never saw him again, as I left that
evening for London.

CHAPTER XVI
America — The extraordinary hospitality of the natives — The
adventures of a night — In gaol — A novel drive — A cageful
of malefactors — My health breaks down — Consumption, and
how to cure it : by one who has still got it — Bordighera —
Pleurisy — The Black Forest — Chopin's 'Funeral March' —
My obituary notices.
A FEW years ago in the beginning of August I took
a pleasure trip to New York, staying there four
days, and returning in the ship I went out in— the
St. Paul. The voyage is not worth describing, as
most people nowadays have made it. I rose each
day an hour earlier, according to English time, to
see the gorgeous sunrise. There were luxurious
bathrooms and a skilful barber on board. On
Sunday a stout purser read, in a perfunctory way,
some sort of a service in the saloon, and one dismal
evening there was the inevitable entertainment,
which plunged all but the performers into the
depths of low spirits. Most of the passengers
belonged to the commercial-traveller class, and their
tastes were accordingly considered in the catering.
But at sea it is possible to eat anything, even ' rare '

AMERICAN HOSPITALITY 289
mutton. My next-door neighbour, who used to
breakfast in pyjamas, was wont to begin his day
with lobster and greengages, the stones of which he
would consign to the butter-dish.
I made a desperate attempt to discover an English
equivalent to the American word ' elegant,' and to
this end I made a note of the various conjunctions
into which it was placed by an elderly Yankee who
was evidently partial to the epithet. I found, on con
sulting my list, that he had said in the course of one
conversation : (i.) that the Atlantic was an ' elegant
ocean'; (ii.) that a pair of boots he had on (for
which, he told me, he had given six dollars ready-
made) was an ' elegant pair of boots '; and (iii.) that
Newman's hymn, ' Lead, kindly Light,' was an
'elegant hymn.' So that I could arrive at no con
clusion. It is very unjust to judge of a nation by its com
mercial travellers, who are apt, perhaps, to reserve
their best manners and charms for business hours.
When I arrived in New York, I was overwhelmed
by the kindness and cordiality of everyone I met ;
and I mentally blushed as I contrasted it with the
very mild ' You-must-come-and-lunch-some-day ' sort
of hospitality which we are apt to extend to our
visitors when they come this side. I was made a
temporary member of three clubs, and it was only
by a certain amount of scheming that I contrived 19

290 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to have one meal at my own expense during my
visit. But, talking of hospitality, I did on one occasion
during my four nights' stay have it forced upon me
in a way that some might not have relished.
Amongst my letters of introduction I had one to
Mr, ' Bob ' Pinkerton, a partner in the famous
detective agency, who was extremely polite when
I called, and detailed one of his men to ' show me
around ' that evening, A tall, well-dressed, ex
tremely agreeable man called for me at my hotel
soon after dinner, a Mr. O'Donoghue. He took
me a most entertaining round. We visited the
Chinese quarter, which, though not to compare with
the China Town in San Francisco, is nevertheless
very interesting. Most of the little men appeared
to be married to Irish wives. One of these told me
she would rather have for a husband a Chinaman
who would work than an Irishman who wouldn't.
I did not discuss this nice point with her. We
visited a joss-house and a Chinese theatre, where
we saw a portion of a native melodrama played in
front of the orchestra, which was on the stage.
Then we went to a music-hall, where all the audience
were Jews, and to another where they were all 'men
of colour.' Then we called on ' Steve Brodie, B.J.,'
which initials do not signify that Steve is a member
of a religious community, but that he once jumped

AN OBSTINATE DETECTIVE 291
off Brooklyn Bridge and deems himself champion
bridge-jumper of the world. He presides over a
drinking saloon on the Bowery, and there I was
introduced to sundry ' toughs ' and ' Bowery boys '
and ' sports ' of various types. Towards two o'clock
in the morning we were homeward - bound and
nearing my hotel, which was on Broadway, when
O'Donoghue suggested that we should have a fare
well glass. ' I don't think I want any more,' said I.
' Just a soft drink, then ' (by which is meant an
unintoxicating drink), urged my friend ; and he led
the way into a restaurant and called for a bottle of
Vichy water. This was brought. ' How much ?'
asked O'Donoghue. ' Ten cents,' said the waiter.
' Ten cents ! How d'you make that out ?' queried
my friend. ' I'm not going to pay ten cents for a
five-cent drink.' After a brief wrangle the waiter
disappeared to fetch the manager. O'Donoghue
looked over to me and chuckled. ' Don't you say
a word,' he murmured. ' Sit tight. We'll have
some fun with these people.' The manager came
up. ' Aren't you going to pay for your drink ?' he
asked brusquely. ' I'm not going to pay ten cents
for a five-cent drink,' repeated my companion
doggedly. Again the waiter disappeared, and
presently returned, this time with a stalwart Irish
policeman with a gray helmet and a club about two
feet long. ' Not a word ; we'll have some fun,' my
19 — 2

292 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
detective again enjoined in an excited whisper.
' Hadn't we better simply pay the ten cents ?' I
suggested pusillanimously. ' No, no, no !' said he ;
' don't you say a word.' Presendy we were
escorted by the constable to Thirty-third Street
Police-station and brought before the inspector on
duty. 'This,' I thought, 'is the psychological
moment. My friend will now throw back his coat,
exhibit some badge, and exclaim, " I am O'Donoghue
the detective," and they will all be covered with
confusion.' ' What's the charge ?' asked the inspector.
' Two men wouldn't pay for their drinks,' replied
the policeman. The point at issue sounded appal
lingly squalid. I was about to interrupt, for I had
neither ordered, consumed, nor refused to pay for
a drink. And I was perfectly ready and willing
to pay ten cents, or a hundred cents, to get com
fortably home to my clean hotel. But O'Donoghue
saw I was about to speak, and he checked me
by a vigorous shake of the head. Just then it
occurred to me to feel in the pocket at the back
of my trousers (what is called an ' American ' or
' pistol ' pocket) to see whether my purse was safe.
Immediately both my wrists were seized, and held
over my head. ' Is he armed ?' inquired the in
spector. They searched my pockets. 'Yes,' they
replied. And they confiscated a largish pocket-knife

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT 293
that I carried. ' What's your name ?' asked the
inspector. ' Charles Bailey, journalist, British
subject,' I replied. ' Arthur Edwards, merchant,
St. Louis,' said O'Donoghue. And a middle-sized
elderly man in a straw hat, called the 'janitor,' led
us from the inspector's office. Still no revelation of
identity, no discomfiture of the enemy, no fun I
What could be the reason ? And the truth suddenly
hurled itself upon me : although his speech was
clear and his step firm, my hospitable guide had
temporarily paralyzed his powers of judgment by too
many cocktails. He was what is called in the
American language ' full.' We were taken down a
whitewashed passage, lighted by occasional flaring
gas-jets in wire globes. On one side was a row of
cells, and to each cell a door of iron cross-bars.
When we reached a vacant apartment, my faithful
janitor gave an adroit hitch to my collar which flung
me in, and he slammed the iron gate with a clank.
He proceeded by similar means to lodge my detec
tive friend in the next compartment. My room was
about eight feet by five, half of it taken up by a
plank bed. The smell of carbolic was unpleasant
but reassuring. ' Have — er — have I got to stop
here?' I asked the gaoler, rather feebly. 'What
d'you think you were brought here fur ?' he retorted
grimly, and passed on. Presently I heard the voice
of O'Donoghue. ' Mr. Bailey,' he exclaimed, dis-

294 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
creetly addressing me by my nom de cachot, ' I can't
say how sorry I am for this. The fact is, I got a
bit full, and when that darned waiter asked me ten
cents for a five-cent drink I got ugly. But don't
you know anyone in New York you could send to ?
They're bound to ring you up a messenger here if
you ask for one.' There were several people in
New York to whom I could have sent had I felt so
inclined. Also I had a letter of introduction in my
pocket to Colonel O'Brien, the Chief of the Police.
But I felt it possible, although by no means certain,
that I might never again have a chance of sleeping
on a plank bed in a prison cell, and that it was an
opportunity not to be missed. So I took off my
coat and rolled it up, and put it under my head and
lay down. Before going to sleep, however, I
sounded two blasts on a silver cab-whistle which I
chanced to have in my pocket. The old janitor
appeared. ' What d'you want ?' he asked surlily.
'How long have you lived in New Yorki*' I in
quired. ' Don't you know that two rings means iced
water ?' (a fact I had only learned two days before).
This mild witticism amused the old custodian
out of all proportion to its merits. He explained
in a matter-of-fact way that they did not provide
iced water in Thirty-third Street Police-station, but
he was so kind as to hand me a tin mug through my
bars, which I was able to fill at a tap by the head of

A NOVEL DRIVE 295
my so-called bed. ' Now, you're a decent man,' my
warder remarked flatteringly. ' You know how to
talk to anyone. But who's your friend, anyhow ?
Is he a fighting man ?' For O'Donoghue had
assailed the poor old man with showers of un
deserved abuse, mingled with threats. '/ don't
know who he is,' I replied. ' I just — picked him up
in a resort.' (' Resort,' in American, has a wide
meaning. It may mean anywhere, from a gambling-
saloon to a fashionable watering-place.) After a
most refreshing sleep, I was called at about seven, I
think, by my friend the janitor, and we all came to
attention along the corridor outside our respective
cells. We were paraded in a yard, and then put
into the penitentiary waggon, which was to take us
to Jefferson's Market, the central depot. It was a
commodious vehicle, suggestive of bean-feasts and
bank-holidays. To complete the illusion, one or
two of our party were still under the influence of
drink. And there were two or three light-hearted
girls and a rather morose old woman. On the other
hand, there were three policemen on the box, and
two on the step behind. There were leather
curtains drawn up, which could be lowered in case
of bad weather. It was a perfectly lovely morning.
The city glittered like a stream in the golden
sunlight. A little crowd had collected round the
gateway to see our suddenly convened Society of

296 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
Odd Fellows start on their drive. My next-door
neighbour, a cab-driver, in a tall silk hat and light
suit, recognised his little, anxious-faced wife in the
group. She had evidently missed him at home, and
knew where she was likely to find him. He waved
his hand to her cheerily, and exclaimed : ' All right,
Sadie ! Drunk and disorderly !' And he turned to
me as we bowled off, and continued, ' And I suppose,
sir, that's the case with you ?' I handed round my
cigarette-case, which was fortunately a large one,
and we all lit up, including the girls, the old woman,
and a hideous-looking negro. We chatted and
laughed. I advised the young ladies to come over
to our side, where I assured them that, under a
constitutional monarchy, they would find far more
individual liberty than under a republic. But in
the middle of my address upon freedom we had
arrived at the nail-studded doors of our prison, and
we were all — the men, at least — thrown into a huge
cage, where there was already a crowd of male
factors assembled, and where fresh batches arrived
at intervals from various parts of the city. This
was a most noisome den. I sighed wearily for
the fumes of carbolic which had offended me in my
cell, for they were certainly preferable to 'all the
perfumes of Street Araby ' which assailed me now.
My cigarettes, however, were some comfort, and I
distributed them amongst my ' lot o' nice new

VENDETTA 297
friends.' There were 'toughs,' broken-nosed men
for the most part, with an air of fierceness, tempered
by intemperance, with ragged coats over red flannel
shirts and broad-brimmed sombrero hats. These
desperadoes, whose appearance suggested nothing
short of holding up trains or shooting Sheriffs, were
all of them, as a matter of fact, harmless drunkards
who had been mildly disorderly, and were suffering
terribly from headache. As a contrast, a young
Italian was ushered in, called Pietro Barcia, who
had only a few hours previously committed a
murder. He was a lad of eighteen, with a perfectly
expressionless face, and exhibited no emotion what
ever. When I gave him a cigarette, and asked him
what had brought him there, he replied quite
blandly, ' I 'av-a justa shoot a man,' and spat
through his teeth. Several of the ' toughs ' gathered
round and pressed for details. ' Did he draw on
you ?' ' Did you kill him ?' ' That would be way
down Canal Street, I guess,' etc. The young
assassin told his story with perfect sang-froid with a
strong Italian accent and many superfluous final
syllables. ' Was-a what-a we call-a vendetta. 'E
kill-a my father two year ago. I not old-a enough
then. I wait-a. And just-a now I put-a one ball
in his-a shoulder, and another in his-a thigh. Oh
yes ! is-a dead all right,' It was refreshing to be at
last, at about eleven o'clock, ushered into court, and

298 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to see somebody clean. We all stood in a long row
in front of the magistrate, our accusers and their
witnesses being opposite, facing us, and as each case
was disposed of, those concerned in the next edged
up nearer the ' beak.' Next before me was the
morose old lady whose acquaintance I had made in
the pleasure-penitentiary waggon. She knew how
often she had been charged before, and, after
fumbling for a moment in her purse, extracted and
held ready the precise amount of her fine, which she
planked into the clerk's hand almost before the
amount had been mentioned by his Worship. When
our turn came, the case was disposed of in two
minutes. My friend reiterated his economic preju
dice against paying ten cents for drinks of half that
value. The magistrate inquired, in an indifferent
tone, not as though he really cared, whether we had
been locked up all night, and on hearing that we
had, he laconically exclaimed ' Discharged !' and we
were set at liberty. O'Donoghue solemnly vowed
vengeance on the restaurateur, and I have little
doubt he has by this time wreaked it. When I
reached my hotel, dirty and dishevelled, the clerk
gave me a very sly look as he handed me my key.
I endeavoured to look correspondingly raffish, but I
am afraid it was a poor attempt.
It was in the winter following my trip to America
that I felt so weak and ill that I submitted my

THE CURE OF CONSUMPTION 299
thorax to the unerring ear of my friend Kingston
Fowler, who immediately discovered that I was in
an advanced stage of consumption. He told me I
must at once give up London and late hours. I
deeply regret that, through culpable thoughtlessness,
I omitted to note down so important a date as that
of my retirement from the stage. I can only
remember I was at the time under the most con
siderate and generous management in London, that
of Mr. and Mrs. D'Oyly Carte, so that my last
remembrance of the stage was a very happy one.
I had no idea, until I developed the disease my
self, that there were so many simple and infallible
cures for phthisis. Every other man I met had
a remedy. ' My dear fellow, why go abroad ?' asked one.
' Why not simply take a house at Croydon, No
treatment, no diet, no physic. Simply live at
Croydon !'
A lady begged me to go and visit an old man
who ' had electricity in his fingers.' He would rub
my chest every day until a lump came, and then he
would go on rubbing it until the lump went away,
and then I should be quite well. This sounded a
simple remedy, but I was too sceptical to try it.
Another friend of mine told me that a bunch of
watercress eaten every morning before getting up
would heal the most perforated of lungs.

300 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
However, I went through the conventional old-
fashioned treatment — that is to say, I went to
Bordighera, and spent most of my time indoors,
with the windows shut and a big fire in the stove.
My first spell there seemed to do me good, but my
second visit (I had gone back to England for the
summer, and spent my holiday in bed with pleurisy)
nearly killed me. I had taken a house built in the
old Italian fashion — that is to say, with very small
windows, and so disposed as to receive a minimum
of sun. The floors of the rooms were tiled with
red, the ceilings were groined, and the walls were
so thick (about 2 feet) that in case of earthquake,
a not uncommon phenomenon in those parts, they
would either successfully resist the shocks or, if the
worst came to the worst, crush the inhabitants into
powder, with merciful thoroughness.
In Bordighera I was, I believe, the village infant.
I was forty-one, and my youngest playmate was
about twelve or fifteen years older. The inhabitants
of the Riviera conspire to persuade folk at home
that out there there is no winter, and visitors fall in
with the plot in order to console themselves for
having been deceived. As a matter of fact, during
my two visits there, the weather was in every
respect as loathsome as in my happy native land.
When I was permitted, between mistrals and
siroccos and tra montane, to take the air, I used to

NORDRACH 301
meet old gentlemen with shawls over their shoulders
and carrying coloured cotton umbrellas.
'How do you do, Mr. Brookfield,' one of them
would cry across the Marina : ' I hear you've had a
new sound in your lung the last day or two. Now,
would that be a rale or a friction ?'
After getting worse and worse at Bordighera, and
lighter and lighter in weight, I was suddenly told by
Fowler that he had arranged for me to be taken in,
in a couple of months' time, at Dr. Walther's
sanatorium at Nordrach, in the Black Forest. My
wife and I travelled there by easy stages, staying a
few weeks at Bagni di Lucca (a perfectly delightful
spot, beloved by Shelley and Goethe, very pic
turesque, and absurdly cheap ; the Roman baths
are most efficacious, and it is the only country in
Italy which produces edible mutton) and a few
weeks at Badenweiler.
Dr. Walther is far and away the most successful
lung specialist there is, but the treatment is a drastic
one. The walls of the bedrooms are of varnished
wood, the floors covered with oilcloth, the windows
invariably open — generally with the casement re
moved altogether. There is very little furniture in
each room, beyond an extremely comfortable bed, a
chaise longue, a table, and a shower-bath. There
are no assistants or nurses. The doctor attends
personally to his fifty patients, and visits each one

302 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
three times a day, examines his temperature chart,
and regulates his exercise. The meals are the
trying part of the treatment, although everything is
the best of its kind and admirably cooked. They
are taken in an open shed at a long table, presided
over by the doctor, with the German patients on
his right, and the British sufferers on his left. Each
has to eat about three times as much as his appetite
— at all events, if he be English — demands. Break
fast is a comparatively easy meal — a litre of milk,
three or four ounces of butter on white or black
bread, and a few slices of cold meat. But the most
trying ordeal is the mid-day meal ; half a chicken
(leg, wing, and breast), five slices of beef, with
vegetables, and a full plate of pudding, would be an
ordinary dinner, accompanied by a litre of milk.
And for supper (at seven o'clock) hot pork and
three or four pancakes, or perhaps hot veal and a
plate of minced raw beef, together with another
three or four ounces of butter and the regulation
litre of milk. After supper we used to sit about
and smoke till nine, when we went to bed. In all
weathers (and it rained incessantly for the first
fortnight I was there) the patients troop out after
breakfast and after dinner, bareheaded and great-
coatless, in parties of two or three, and walk the
distance allotted by the doctor at a pace not to
exceed two miles an hour. All have to be back an

HOLLOW LAUGHTER 303
hour before the next meal, to rest for the effort it
involves. Dr. Walther is a man of a striking personality —
powerfully built, about five foot ten, a large head,
a long, fair beard, and deeply-set eyes. He is
extremely kind-hearted, and devoted to the v^ell-
being of his patients, but far from suave in his
manner. A poor patient who was suffering probably,
and not unnaturally, from indigestion went to him
and complained :
' Doctor, I have a pain in my head. I think it
must be liver.'
' It may be liver,' replied the great man, with a
slight German accent ; 'it certainly is not brains.'
*The most depressing influence on first arriving at
Nordrach is the hilarity of all the patients. The
whole settlement seems pervaded by laughter, with
a cavity in it. But one soon becomes infected with
the same kind of dance -of-death merriment, and
after a week or two I gained great popularity among
my fellow-sufferers by compiling a comic alphabet,
beginning :
' A's the Acute who is gathered when young,
B the Bacillus they find in his lung,'
and so forth.
When a death occurs (and the percentage of
deaths is extraordinarily low, and most of them due

304 RANDOM REMINISCENCES
to disobedience of orders), the only intimation of the
fact that reaches the patients is the appearance of
the varnisher, on his way to give a fresh coat to the
chamber of death, in order to convert it into a
chamber of convalescence for the next arrival.
Qne evening, as we were sitting over our supper,
an old man appeared outside our shed, with long
white hair, which fell in heavy curls upon his
shoulders, and a wild white beard. He told the
doctor that he was a pianist, a pupil of the Abb6
Liszt, and that he was destitute. He was given a
hearty meal, and we were allowed to sit up till ten
to hear him play. (There was an excellent piano
at the end of the shed.) He was a fine performer,
and went through an excellent programme. But I
shall never forget the effect of this white-haired old
wanderer sitting erect at the piano, his head thrown
back, surrounded by twenty or thirty eager-eyed
patients, in various stages of consumption, listening
with rapt attention to the solemn strains of Chopin's
' Funeral March.'
Thanks to Dr. Walther and his treatment, I put
on nearly 2 stone weight in a little over two
months. I was 10 stone 4 before I went, and
12 stone 2 when I left. And I am over 12
stone to-day, three years later, which seems to me
to speak well for the Nordrach system.
I do not think I can bring these random reminis-

AN APPRECIATION 305
cences more appropriately to a close than by quoting
from two obituary notices of myself which appeared
in the press while I was laid up at Cowes with
pleurisy (when, by the way, I was honoured by
most gracious and kindly inquiries from a royal
patient who was at that time laid up on board his
yacht with an injured knee). Both the newspapers
in question spoke of me far more kindly than I had
any right to expect, and one finished up by saying :
' Never a great actor, he was invaluable in small
parts ' ; while the other remarked in conclusion :
' But, after all, it is at his club that he will be most
missed.'

THE END

BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD

October, igo2.

Mr. Edward Arnold's
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RECOLLECTIONS OF A
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G.C.M.G.
Formerly British Ambassador at Vienna.
Two Volumes. Demy %vo. 255-. nett.
After narrating some interesting episodes of his youth in Paris, the
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although the book necessarily touches but lightly on politics, it contains
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THE HOUSE OF SELEUCUS.
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THE ENEMIES OF ENGLAND.
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This is an inquiry into the causes of the hatred now and for many
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The true cause he finds in the fact that during the last eight centuries
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time animosities, bred from the broken ambitions of each, have slowly
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seas, the future of which all Powers alike regard with apprehension.

LONDON BIRDS AND OTHER
SKETCHES.
By T. DIGBY PIGOTT, C.B.
New Edition, Revised and Enlarged. Large crown 8w. "js. 6d.
With numerous Illustrations.
The warm welcome accorded to the earlier edition of this work by
the comparatively limited circle of readers into whose hands it came
has suggested its publication in an enlarged and popular form. Mr.
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frontispiece is a view of the " Haunt of the Cormorants in St. James's
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RANDOM REMINISCENCES.
By CHARLES H. E. BROOKFIELD.
One vol. Demy Svo. 14J. nett.
Mr. Charles Brookfield, whose retirement from the stage has deprived
the theatre-going public of one of its most favourite actors, has collected
in this volume a large number of exceedingly entertaining anecdotes.
Resolving, in his preface, to endeavour to avoid an error into which the
autobiographer is prone to fall — that of taking himself too seriously — he
strings upon the thread of his career at Cambridge, in London, and in
different parts of the world, a wealth of stories, most of them quite
exceptionally amusing, and nearly all connected, naturally, with the
lighter side of theatrical life. His father's friendship with Carlyle,
Dickens, and Tennyson has enabled him to hand down several
interesting anecdotes of these great men, while of almost all the well-
known names connected with the theatre of the last twenty years he has
some humorous tale to tell. He has known many uncommon people,
and writes of them with delightful sympathy and tolerance.

THE FORESTS OF UPPER INDIA
AND THEIR INHABITANTS.
By THOMAS W. WEBBER,
Late Forest Surveyor for the North-West Provinces, and Deputy Conservator of
Forests in the Central Provinces and Gorakhpur.
Demy ?>vo. With Maps. 12s. 6d. nett.
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about the trees which have been his chief care. The animal denizens
of the forest, their habits, and the methods of hunting them, also pro
vide many interesting chapters, while special attention may be drawn
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WITH MACDONALD IN UGANDA.
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Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.
Demy Svo. With numerous Illustrations and a Map. 15s. nett.
The completion of the Uganda Railway and the consequent opening
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to the little band of white men who, in the face of great natural
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How the exploratory expedition sent out in June, 1897, under the
command of Major (now Colonel) J. R. L. Macdonald, R.E., was,
immediately after its arrival, confronted with a grave situation in
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of what really took place, as written down by one who was on the spot
at the time, may tend to remove them. [Eedruary, 1903.

ECONOMIC SUGGESTIONS ON THE
BRITISH EMPIRE.
By SIR VINCENT H. P. CAILLARD,
Formerly President of the Council of the *Dette Publique,' Constantinople.
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9
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MY ADVENTURES DURING THE LATE WAR:
A Narrative of Shipwreck, Captivity, and Escapes from
French Prisons in X804-14.
By DONAT HENCHY O'BRIEN, Captain R.N.
ADVENTURES WITH THE CONNAUGHT
RANGERS, FROM 1808 TO 1814.
By WILLIAM GRATTAN, Esq., late Lieutenant Connaught
Rangers.
To be followed by
JOURNAL OF T. S., a Soldier of the 7lst Regiment (High-
land Light Infantry), itom 1806 to 1815.
ADVENTURES IN THE RIFLE BRIGADE, in the Penin-
sula, France, and the Netherlands, 181 0-15.
By Sir JOHN KINCAID, formerly Captain Rifle Brigade.
REMINISCENCES OF A NAVAL OFFICER DURING
THE LATE WAR. By Captain A. CRAWFURD, R.N.
THE CAMPAIGNS of NORBERT LANDSHEIT, Sergeant
in the York Hussars and the 20th Light Dragoons, 1794-1814. (Edited
by the Rev. C. R. Gleig.)
THE SUBALTERN; Adventures in the Campaign of the
Pyrenees, 1813-14.
By C. R. GLEIG, late Lieutenant Sjth Regiment.

ESSEX HOUSE PRESS PUBLICATIONS.
Mr. Edward Arnold has much pleasure in calling attention to the
fact that almost without exception these interesting books have all been
bought up and become out of print before publication, while one or two
that have found their way into the sale-.rooms have commanded a high
premium. These books are printe:d by the- Guild of Handicraft, at Essex
House, on the hand presses used by the late Mr. William Morris at
the Kelmscott Press. Members of Mr. Morris's staff are also re
tained at the Essex House Press, and it is the hope of the Guild of
Handicraft by this means to continue in some measure the tradition of
good printing and fine workmanship which William Morris revived.
Subscribers to the complete series of Essex House Publications are
given priority for any new book issued, and the number of subscribers
is constantly increasing. Intending subscribers and persons who desire
to receive announcements of the forthcoming publications are recom
mended to enter their names as soon as possible.

ORDERS MAY NOW BE GIVEN FOR THE FOLLOWING :
Milton's Comus. Vellum series.
Cicero's *De Amieitia' in Latin and English (John Harrington's
translation, Elizabethan).
Burns' 'Tam O'Shanter.' Vellum series. With a hand-coloured
frontispiece by William Strang.
The 'Parentalia' of Sir Christopher Wren. The Life and
Account of the Works of the Great Architect by his Son. Containing a series
of illustrations of the remaining City Churches.
The Guild of Handicraft Song"-Book. With cuts and music in
four-page sheets at is. a sheet, to be issued in sets of ten at a time, or bound
up subsequently by arrangement.
THE PUBLICATIONS ALREADY ISSUED ARE I
I. Benvenuto Cellini's Treatises on Metal Work and Sculpture.
By C. R. ASHBEE. 600 copies. A few still left. 353. nett.
2. The Hymn of Bardaisan, the first Christian Poem, rendered into
English verse from the original Syriac, by F. Crawford Burkitt, of Trinity
College, Cambridge. 250 copies. [Out of pri-nt.
3. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Edited from the earlier editions
by Janet E. Ashbee, with a frontispiece by Reginald Savage. Vellum
cover. 750 copies. 30s. nett.

ESSEX HOUSE PRESS P\JBUCAT\ONS— continued.
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6. Shakespeare's Poems. 450 copies. [Out of print.
7. The Eve of St. Agnes. By John Keats. Vellum series.
125 copies. £2 2s. nett. [Out of print.
8. The Courtyer of Count Baldesar Castillo, divided into Foure
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third of the Vellum Series. 125 copies. [Out of print.
10. Walt Whitman's Hymn on the Death of Lincoln. 125 copies.
[Out of print.
II. An Endeavour towards the Teaching of John Ruskin
and William MorPiS. By C. R. Ashbee. 250 copies. [Out of print.
12. Johh Woolman's Journal. 250 copies. {Out of print.
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15. Spenser's Epithalamion. 150 copies. {Out of print.
16. American Sheaves and English Seed Corn. By C. R.
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17. The Doings of Death, Folio Volume of Large Woodcuts. By
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19. The Old Palace of Bromley. By Ernest Godman. With an
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20. A Coronation Masque, entitled The Masque of the Edwards.
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Limited to 300 copies at ^3 3s. There will also be 20 copies on vellum,
coloured in water-colours by the artist, at £\2 12s.

These volumes are published on behalf of the Essex House Press by
Mr. Edward Arnold, and can be ordered either from him or from any
Bookseller

12
KING EDWARD THE SEVENTH'S
PRAYER-BOOK.
This will be a sumptuous edition of the Book of Common Prayer,
which, by gracious permission of His Majesty, will be entitled ' King
Edward the Seventh's Prayer-Book.'
The new Prayer-Book will be hand printed at the Essex House Press,
and whilst conforming to the Authorized Version will rank, as a piece
of typography, with the Great Prayer-Book of Edward VI. It is to be
in new type designed by Mr. C. R. Ashbee, with about one hundred
and fifty woodcuts, and is to be printed in red and black on Batchelor
hand-made paper. There will also probably be a special binding of
green vellum with a gold block design and clasps.
Exceptional circumstances connected with the Book of Common
Prayer render it essential that this work, in order to be of historic value,
shall be issued with the imprint of the King's printers ; the Prayer-Book
will therefore be published by his Majesty's printers, Messrs. Eyre and
Spottiswoode, acting under the Royal Letters Patent, who will superintend
the work of the Essex House Press.
Mr. Edward Arnold, publisher to the Essex House Press, is now
entering subscriptions for the work, and as the few available copies are
being rapidly taken up, those who desire to possess this important work
are recommended to apply as soon as possible.
The edition will be strictly limited to a total of four hundred copies
for England and America, at a price of Twelve Guineas (;£^i2 12s.) nett.
There will also be five copies for England on vellum at Forty Pounds
{£4°) "•^'tj ^11 of which are already sold.

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ENGLAND IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By Professor
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RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF THE TRANSVAAL WAR. By
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ARNOLD TOYNBEE. A Reminiscence. By Viscount Milner,
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BALLADS OF THE FLEET. By Sir Rennell Rodd, K.C.M.G.
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WAGNER'S HEROINES. By Constance Maud. Illustrated by
W. T. Maud. Crown 8vo., 55.
A BOOK ABOUT ROSES, By the Rev. Dean Hole. Crown Svo. ,
3s. 6d.

13
FICTION.
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'Adalet.' HAD J IRA : A Turkish Love Story. By ' Adalet.' Cloth, 6s.
Adderley. PAUL MERCER. A Tale of Repentance among Millions.
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14
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WUliams, THE BAYONET THAT CAME HOME. By N. Wynne
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15

BIOGRAPHY AND REMINISCENCES.
Adderley. FRANCIS: the Little Poor Man of Assisi. By James
Adderley, Author of 'Stephen Remarx.' Second Edition. With Portrait of
St. Francis. Crown Svo., 3s. 6d.
Adderley. MONSIEUR VINCENT : a Short Life of St. Vincent de
Paul. By James Adderley. With Devotional Portrait. Small crown Svo.,
3s. 6d.
Alexander. RECOLLECTIONS OF A HIGHLAND SUBALTERN
during the Campaigns of the 93rd Highlanders in India, under Colin Campbell,
Lord Clyde, in 1857-1859. By Lieutenant-Colonel W. Gordon Alexander.
Illustrations and Maps. Demy 8vo., cloth, i6s.
Bagot. LINKS WITH THE PAST. By Mrs. Charles Bagot. Fourth
Impression. Demy Svo. With Portrait. i6s.
Brookfield. RANDOM REMINISCENCES. (See page 3.)
Clough, A MEMOIR OF ANNE J. CLOUGH, Principal of Newnham
College, Cambridge. By her Niece, Blanche A. Clough. With Portraits.
8vo., I2S. 6d.
De Vere. RECOLLECTIONS OF AUBREY DE VERE, Third Edition,
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Fenton. THE JOURNAL OF MRS. FENTON IN INDIA AND
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Grattan. ADVENTURES WITH THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS,
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Hare. MARIA EDGEWORTH: her Life and Letters. Edited by
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Hervey. HUBERT HERVEY, STUDENT AND IMPERIALIST.
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Hole. THE MEMORIES OF DEAN HOLE. By the Very Rev. S.
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Hole. MORE MEMORIES : Being Thoughts about England spoken in
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Hole. A LITTLE TOUR IN AMERICA, By Dean Hole. Illustrated.
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Holmes. PICTURES AND PROBLEMS FROM LONDON POLICE
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Holland. LETTERS OF MARY SIBYLLA HOLLAND. Selected and
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7s. 6d. nett.

i6
Jowett. BENJAMIN JOWETT, MASTER OF BALLIOL. A Personal
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Lake. MEMORIALS OF THE VERY REV. W. C. LAKE, D.D.,
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Le Fanu. SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE. By the late W. R.
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Macaulay. THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF ZACHARY
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Macdonald. THE MEMOIRS OF THE LATE SIR JOHN A.
MACDONALD, G.C.B., First Prime Minister of Canada. Edited by Joseph
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Marson. HUGH OF LINCOLN. By Charles Marson, Vicar of
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Morley. THE LIFE OF HENRY MORLEY, LL.D., Professor of
English Literature at University College, London. By the Rev. H. S.
Solly, M.A. With two Portraits. Demy 8vo., 12s. 6d.
Mott. A MINGLED YARN. The Autobiography of Edward Spencer
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8vo., I2S. 6d.
O'Brien. MY ADVENTURES DURING THE LATE WAR, 1804-1814,
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Pasley. A MEMOIR OF ADMIRAL SIR T. S. PASLEY, Bart. By
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Pigou. PHASES OF MY LIFE. By the Very Rev. Francis Pigou,
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Pigou. ODDS AND ENDS. (See page 6.)
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Stevenson. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By Walter Raleigh,
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ToUemache. TALKS WITH MR. GLADSTONE, By the Hon. L. A.
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17
HISTORY.
Benson and Tatham. MEN OF MIGHT. Studies of Great Characters.
By A, C. Bbnson, M.A., and H. F. W. Tatham, M,A., Assistant Masters at
Eton College. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo., cloth, 3s. 6d,
Bevan. THE HOUSE OF SELEUCUS. (See page 2.)
Caillard. ECONOMIC SUGGESTIONS ON THE BRITISH
EMPIRE. (See page 5.)
Cook. RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF THE TRANSVAAL WAR.
New and revised popular edition. (See page 12.)
Fisher. FINLAND AND THE TSARS. By JOSEPH R. FiSHER, B.A.
With Supplementary Chapters on the Events of 1900. Demy Svo., 12s. 6d.
Frederiksen. FINLAND : Its Public and Private Economy. By N. C.
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Gardner. FRIENDS OF THE OLDEN TIME. By ALICE GARDNER,
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Gardner. ROME : THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD. By Alice
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Holland. IMPERIUM ET LIBERTAS. By Bernard Holland.
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Milner. ENGLAND IN EGYPT. By Viscount Milner, High Com
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Odysseus. TURKEY IN EUROPE. By Odysseus. With Maps, i vol.,
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Oman. A HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Charles Oman, Deputy
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Oman. ENGLAND IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By
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Oman. SEVEN ROMAN STATESMEN. (See page 6.)
PeeL THE ENEMIES OF ENGLAND. (See page 2.)
Price. A SHORT HISTORY OF BRITISH COMMERCE AND
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Second Impression. Crown Svo., cloth, 3s. 6d.
Ransome. THE BATTLES OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. Extracted
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Ransome, M.A., Professor of History at the Yorkshire College, Leeds. With
numerous Illustrations by Adolph Menzel. Square Svo,, 3s. 6d.

i8

LITERATURE AND CRITICISM.
BeU. KLEINES HAUSTHEATER. Fifteen Litde Plays in German for
Children. By Mrs. Hugh Bell. Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s.
Butler. SELECT ESSAYS OF SAINTE BEUVE. Chiefly bearing on
English Literature, Translated by A. J. Butler, Translator of ' The Memoirs
of Baron Marbot.' One vol, Svo., cloth, 3s. 6d.
CoUingwood. THORSTEIN OF THE MERE : a Saga of the Northmen
in Lakeland. By W. G. Collingwood, Author of ' Life of John Ruskin,' etc.
With Illustrations, Price los. 6d,
EUacombe. THE PLANT-LORE AND GARDEN-CRAFT OF
SHAKESPEARE. Ey Henry N. Ellacombe, M.A., Vicar of Bitton.
Illustrated by Major E. B. Ricketts. Large crovm Svo., los, 6d.
Essex House Press Publications. (See pages 10-12.)
Fleming. THE ART OF READING AND SPEAKING. By the
Rev. Canon Fleming, Vicar of St. Michael's, Chester Square, Fifth Edition.
Cloth, 3s. 6d.
Goschen. THE CULTIVATION AND USE OF IMAGINATION.
By the Right Hon. Viscount Goschen. Crown Svo., cloth, 2s. 6d.
Harrison. STUDIES IN EARLY VICTORIAN LITERATURE, By
Frederic Harrison, M. A., Author of ' The Choice of Books,' etc. New and
Cheaper Edition. Large crown Svo., cloth, 3s. 6d.
Hughes. DICKENS AS AN EDUCATOR. By J. L. Hughes, Inspector
of Schools, Toronto ; Author of ' Froebel's Educational Laws.' Crown Svo.,
cloth, 6s.
Kuhns. THE TREATMENT OF NATURE IN DANTE'S ' DIVINA
COMMEDIA.' By L. Oscar Kuhns, Professor in Wesleyan University,
Middleton, U.S.A. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s.
Lang, LAMB'S ADVENTURES OF ULYSSES. With an Introduction
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edges, 2s.
Maud. WAGNER'S HEROES. By Constance Maud, Illustrated by
H. Granville Fell. Fourth Edition, crown Svo., Ss.
Maud. WAGNER'S HEROINES, By Constance Maud. Illustrated
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Raleigh. STYLE By Walter Raleigh, Professor of English Literature
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Raleigh. MILTON. By Walter Raleigh, Professor of English Litera
ture in the University of Glasgow ; Author of ' The English Novel.' Crown Svo.,
cloth, 6s.

19
QuiUer-Couch. HISTORICAL TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. By
A. T. QuiLLER-CoucH (' Q '). Author of 'The Ship of Stars,' etc. Crown
Svo., 6s.
Reynolds, STUDIES ON MANY SUBJECTS, By the Rev. S. H.
Reynolds. One vol., demy Svo., los. 6d.
Rodd. THE CUSTOMS AND LORE OF MODERN GREECE.
By Sir Rennell Rodd, K.C.M.G. With seven full-page Illustrations. Svo.,
cloth, Ss. 6d.

THEOLOGY.
Henson. CROSS - BENCH VIEWS ON CURRENT CHURCH
QUESTIONS. By H. Henslby Henson, Canon of Westminster and Rector
of St. Margaret's. Demy Svo., I2s. 6d.
Holland. ESSENTIALS IN RELIGION. Sermons preached in
Canterbury Cathedral. By Canon F. J. Holland. Crown Svo., 3s. 6d.
Onyx. A REPORTED CHANGE IN RELIGION. By Onyx. Crown
Svo., 3s. 6d.

POETRY.
Collins, A TREASURY OF MINOR BRITISH POETRY. Selected
and arranged, with Notes, by J. Churton Collins, M.A. Handsomely bound,
crown Svo., 7s. 6d.
Crabbe. POEMS OF GEORGE CRABBE. Selected and Edited by
Bernard Holland, M.A. With six Photogravure Illustrations. Crown
Svo., 6s.
Rodd. FEDA, AND OTHER POEMS, CHIEFLY LYRICAL. By Sir
Rennell Rodd, K.C.M.G. With etched Frontispiece, Crown Svo., cloth, 6s.
BY TUB SAME AUTHOR.
BALLADS OF THE FLEET. (See page 12.)
THE UNKNOWN MADONNA, AND OTHER POEMS. With Frontis
piece by Richmond. Crown Svo., cloth, ss.

TRAVEL AND SPORT.
Austin, WITH MACDONALD IN UGANDA. (See page 4.)
Bagot. SHADOWS OF THE WAR. By DosiA Bagot. With Illustra
tions from Photographs by the Author. Second Edition. Demy Svo., los. 6d.
Beynon. WITH KELLY TO CHITRAL. By Lieutenant W. G, L.
Beynon, D.S.O., 3rd Ghoorkha Rifles, Staff OflScer to Colonel Kelly with the
Relief Force. With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. Second Edition, Demy
Svo., 7s. 6d.
Bisiker. ACROSS ICELAND. (See page 5.)
Bradley. HUNTING REMINISCENCES OF FRANK GILLARD
WITH THE BELVOIR HOUNDS, 1860-1896. Recorded and Illustrated
by Cuthbert Bradley. Svo., 155.
BuU, THE CRUISE OF THE ' ANTARCTIC ' TO THE SOUTH
POLAR REGIONS. By H. J. Bull, a member of the Expedition. With
Frontispiece by W. L. Wylie, A.R.A., and numerous full-page Illustrations by
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23
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24

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25
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26
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27
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28
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29
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30
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