32- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES NEAR1NG JORDAN HEARING JORDAN By E. T. REED NEARING JOBDAN BKING THE THIBD AND LAST VOLUME OF SIXTY YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS BY SIR HENRY.LUCY " c~," WITH A FRONTISPIECE SPECIALLY DRAWN BY E. T. REED SECOND IMPRESSION LONDON SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE 1916 Att rightt reerved PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AMD SONS, L111ITKD LONDON AND BBOCLB8, ENGLAND ftlb i i 3 TO THE MAEQUIS OF CEEWE, K.G LEADER OP THE HOUSE OP LORDS THIS BOOK IS INSCEIBED IN TOKEN OP A FRIENDSHIP CHERISHED THROUGH C* A QUARTER OP A CENTURY r"^ 1 I Oi/JL TO THE READER SEVEN years ago there was published a volume of personal reminiscence entitled " Sixty Years in the Wilderness," recording some passages by the way. The favourable reception accorded by a generous public suggested a second volume, continuing the narrative. It was not less successful in attaining favour. It may appear an ungrateful return to put forward a third. I can only plead in extenuation that, with Jordan in sight of the wayfarer, as pictured in the frontispiece by my old Friend and long-time Colleague on Punch, E. T. Reed, it is positively the last. It is not in supplement of the others by way of enlargement of portraits and episodes already dealt with. It is simply a continuance of the story carried forward through later years. As was the case with its predecessors, a portion of the contents of the present book ran for eight months through the Cornhill Magazine. It con- tains additional matter equal to one-third of the whole. WHITETHORN, HTTHE, KENT, May, 1916 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAOK I. DAWN OF HOME BULK 1 II. A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND 10 III. FEOM MY DIARY 21 IV. SOME CHURCH MEMORIES AND AN IDYLL . . 37 V. AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE 46 VI. FROM MY DIARY 58 VII. FRANK LOCKWOOD 73 VIII. MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 85 IX. MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN (continued) Du MAURIER AND LINLEY SAMBOURNE ... 98 X. MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN (concluded) CHARLES KEENE, PERCIVAL LEIGH, LEECH, THACKERAY, CHARLES DICKENS Ill XI. FROM MY DIARY 123 XII. FIRST CHAPTER OF GENESIS OF THE HOME RULE BILL 132 XIII. "AN IDYLL" AND A SEQUENCE . . 137 x CONTENTS OH APT ME XIV. FROM MY DIABY . 140 XV. EDMUND YATES 156 XVI. FBOM MY DIABY 169 XVII. ON GOING DOWN TO THE SBA IN SHIPS . . . 180 XVIII. YOUTHFUL INDISCBETIONS 199 XIX. FBOM MY DIABY 207 XX. OLD PABLIAMENTABY HANDS SIB WM. HABCOUBT, DB. TANNEB, THE O'DONOGHUE, SIB JOHN RIGBY, JOSEPH COWKN 217 XXI. OLD PABLIAMENTABY HANDS (concluded) " JEMMY " LOWTHEB, BEBESFOBD-HOPE, FBANK LOCKWOOD, WILFBID LAWSON, W. S. CAINE, STAFFOBD NOBTHCOTE, LOBD EANDOLPH CHDBCHILL, LOUIS JENNINGS, SIB JOHN MOWBBAY, SIB JOHN GOBST 232 XXII. A GBOUP OF PEEBS VISCOUNT MOBLEY, EABL WEMYSS, LOBD GBANVILLE, LORD DUFFEBIN, LOBD DEBBY, LORD SHERBROOKE . . . 252 XXIII. A GBOUP OF PEEBS (concluded) LOBD COTTESLOB, THH DOKK OF RUTLAND, LOBD CBANBBOOK, THE MABQUIS OF RIPON, LOBD NOBTON, LOBD STBATHEDEN AND CAMPBELL, LOBD GRANABD, LOBD BASING, LOBD STBATHNAIBN, LOBD ONSLOW 269 CONTENTS xi OHAPTXK PAGE XXIV. CAPTAINS IN THE BOEB WAB .... 287 XXV. SOME MEN OF LETTEKS 307 XXVI. ALFRED TENNYSON 337 XXVII. BROWNING AND SWINBURNE 349 XXVIII. A TALE OF A TABLECLOTH 357 XXIX. MODERN PAINTERS 369 XXX. "ACROSS THE WALNUTS AND THE WINK" . . 386 XXXI. THE OLD BEEFSTEAK BOOM AND THEREABOUT . 405 XXXII. "BUSINESS DONE TOBY, M.P.'s " . . .434 INDEX , 447 NBAEING JOEDAN BEING THE THIRD AND LAST VOLUME OF "SIXTY YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS" DAWN OF HOME RULE MY first visit to Ireland was paid at a critical moment in its history. The Centenary of O'Connell befell on the 5th of August, 1875. I was despatched to Dublin as the Special Corre- spondent of the Daily News with the mission of describing the proceedings. They proved exceed- ingly lively. Early in their progress the fissure apparently inevitable in the field of Irish politics presented itself. The Church, grateful for the successful efforts of the Liberator, desired to give the celebration a predominantly religious direction. The National Party, incited by their Members, at the time coming riotously to the front in the House of Commons, were not inclined to let slip a rare opportunity of bringing to the fore the demand for Home Eule. The accepted represen- tative of the latter party was Isaac Butt. Sir B 2 NEABING JOEDAN Charles Gavan Duffy, home from Australia on a visit to the country whence earlier in his career he found it expedient to take flight, was selected by the Church party as their lay champion. The Lord Mayor of Dublin presided over a banquet given on the night of the Centenary in honour of O'Connell. The Exhibition Palace, where the feast was spread, was packed by guests pretty evenly divided between Clericals and Home Kulers. The toast list was not far advanced before the feeling bubbling in the breasts of the latter exploded. Among the toasts was one to " The Legislative Independence of Ireland." The name of Gavan Duffy was attached, with promise of response. Another was to " The Irish People," Isaac Butt being called upon to reply. That seemed a sufficiently fair division of the honours of the evening. But the shrewd eyes of the Nationalists discerned in the arrangement strategy designed to place their hero at grave disadvantage. The toast with which his name was associated was placed so far down on the crowded list that on the most sanguine estimate it would not be reached until two o'clock in the morning, when, if Butt remained at his post, the larger number of what should have been his audience would have retired. When the Lord Mayor rose to propose the first toast he was greeted by a roar of execration, merging in yells of " Butt ! Butt ! " Turning DAWN OP HOME BULE 3 fiercely in the direction whence the loudest uproar came, he shouted, " I will not go on until I have order." For all answer the Home Rulers bellowed "Butt! Butt!" Whereupon the Lord Mayor abruptly resumed his seat. The Mayor of Cork, gallantly coming to the assistance of a distressed brother, was impartially howled down. After a pause the Lord Mayor rose again. In pity for the profound emotion under which he laboured, he was heard in comparative silence till on concluding he called upon Gavan Duffy to respond. Then burst forth a shouting which utterly eclipsed all former efforts of the evening. The scene was comparable only with that described in the " Ingoldsby Legends," where Doldrum, the opera manager, attempts to force Fal de Lai Tit upon an audience who have taken tickets in the expectation of hearing their favourite Fiddle de Dee. " Fiddle de Dee, none but he," was their persistent answer to managerial blandishments used in favour of Fal de Lai Tit. It was thus at the Exhibition Palace when the Lord Mayor would have introduced Gavan Duffy. The Home Kulers roared without ceasing, " Butt, Butt, none but Butt ! " Duffy rose and stood silent, facing the angry mob. The Lord Mayor, stung to desperation by this last insult to his authority, leaped upon his chair, and, with one foot upon the table, attempted to quell the storm. Butt also rose and said 4 NEAEING JORDAN something, lost amid the roar of voices. This went on for what seemed some minutes, the dramatic position suffering its first alteration when Duffy resumed his seat. Observing this, the Lord Mayor descended from the table, where he had been violently but vainly gesticulating, and, abruptly wishing the company "Good night," turned to leave the room. Several bishops seized hold of his lordship and entreated him to remain, which he consented to do. As he again took his seat the Bishop of Nantes sprang up on his chair no one thought of standing on the floor and with magnificent gestures besought the company, by their love of Ireland, not to mar the glories of the day by breaking up in riot. Few present could follow the passionate torrent of French poured forth by the Bishop, who, having exhausted him- self, sat down amid fresh cries for " Butt I " Taking advantage of a brief lull in the storm, Butt, addressing the Mayor across the table, said, " My lord, may I speak a word ? " " No," replied his lordship, with great prompti- tude ; " no, sir, you may not ; sit down." Whereupon Butt meekly obeyed. After this the Lord Mayor snapped around indiscriminately. A mild-mannered gentleman who observed that " perhaps Mr. Butt was going to support the chair " was threatened with instant expulsion. The hubbub continuing, his lordship left the chair, and was followed by a large number of bishops and other dignitaries of the Church. As he departed, a DAWN OF HOME EULE 5 short, swarthy priest leaped upon the table, and was proceeding to address the company, when, Butt getting on his legs, the new-comer retired in his favour. Butt explained that when he had un- availingly risen to speak he had desired to say that his friend Gavan Duffy was, with his full concur- rence, selected to respond to the toast. Had he been permitted to make that explanation, he added, the scene they had just witnessed would not have occurred. " Whatever disturbance has arisen at this meet- ing," he emphatically declared, " the Lord Mayor of Dublin is responsible for it, and I say that deliberately." At this point the gas began to fade, and a number of ladies in full evening dress hastily retreated from the gallery, whence they had been spectators of the scene. Still the uproar pro- ceeded, when another of the sunlights in the roof was extinguished. It was not till the gas in the third and last sunlight was turned off that the bulk of the excited company left their seats, and, guided by a few dim lights on the orchestra, groped their way out. I stood by the side of Isaac Butt when, earlier on this historic day, he addressed a mass meeting at Glasneven. It was quite in accordance with the generally disorderly elements predominant in the city that, after a spell of fine weather extend- ing over a week, a change took place on the morning of the Centenary. Just as Butt, mounted 6 NEAEING JOEDAN on a waggon, opened his mouth to address the meeting, the rain descended and the floods came. He made a gallant stand against the downpour, speaking for several minutes. After an interval of forty-one years I turn up a rain-stained note made of a passage in this brief oration, which has peculiar interest at a time when the purpose of the man who invented the name "Home Rule," and advocated it when his voice was as one crying in the wilderness, is on the eve of fulfilment. " The heart of Ireland," Butt said, amid loud cheering, " is set upon the restoration of our native Parliament. No one who saw the demonstration of yesterday can doubt it, for it was the spirit of nationality that moved that great and magni- ficent gathering. It was the spirit of attachment to Irish nationality that inspired respect for the memory of O'Connell. For myself I can truly say that every day deepens my conviction that it is utterly impossible for any Parliament but an Irish Parliament to give us the measures Ireland needs honestly and sincerely. This is a subject on which I dare not deceive you. I say every day deepens my conviction that the restoration of that Parliament rests with ourselves, and if Ireland is true to the national cause you will yet have your own Parliament on College Green." After this the rain literally came down in torrents, and, giving up the unequal struggle, Butt adjourned the meeting. DAWN OF HOME EULB 7 At the General Election of 1874, sprung upon the country by Gladstone, Isaac Butt was returned to the House of Commons as the head of a com- pact little party pledged to carry Home Rule. He was the Moses of the long journey through the Wilderness, and, like Moses, was destined never to enter the Promised Land towards whose gate- ways he led what in time became an overwhelm- ing host. His career was throughout a story of profound pathos. A man of statesmanlike instinct, a fine orator, a persuasive advocate, he suffered from excess of geniality which made preferable for him the primrose path of conviviality. There was a time in his history when for a while he dis- appeared from the ken of his friends, a blank he never volunteered to fill up by narrative. In the early days of his Parliamentary Leader- ship all went well with him. He was treated by his colleagues with the reverence due to his age and services, whilst the House generally listened to him with respect and charmed interest. At this time Parnell had not entered upon the scene. Soon after he arrived transformation took place. Butt resented, occasionally openly reproved, out- breaks of disorder which formed part of ParneU's settled policy. A crisis was reached one afternoon, when, entering the House crowded at Question time, the Leader walked past his old quarters below the gangway, and, amid derisive cries from his former followers drowned in sympathetic cheers from the English Members, took a corner seat 8 NEARING JORDAN behind the Front Opposition Bench. There for two or three sessions he was sometimes seen with flushed face, shrunken figure, restless hands, the nervous movement of which indicated the depth of his vexation of spirit. Always his back was turned upon his compatriots below the gangway. A letter he wrote to me when nearing the end presaged its early coming : " 41, NORTH GEEAT GEORGE STREET, DUBLIN, "Jan. 12, 1878. "Mr DEAR MR. LUCY, " At the end of the last session I was quite knocked up by overwork, late hours, worry and anxiety about the Home Rule cause, I have been for a long time subject to weak and irregular action of the heart, and at the end of the session this assumed a distressing, although in no sense dangerous form. I was told there was no remedy but rest, above all from political anxiety and excitement. I need not tell you that I have not been able altogether to escape them, but I have greatly recovered my energy and strength, although a very little exertion throws me back. " Both Butcher and O'Leary have jointly pressed on me very strongly not to go over to Parliament for some time, they say until Easter. I am, on the other hand, greatly pressed by my colleagues to go over for the opening days of the session and then come back. I think the journey over and back would knock me up, and, unless I DAWN OF HOME EULE 9 change my mind, which is very unlikely, I will not appear in Parliament for some time. " If you think it worth while to allude to this in Mayfair, you may safely say it is very im- probable I will be in the House for some time. " I am afraid it will be thought that this illness is a mere political one. I assure you it is not. I would give a great deal to be able to be in the House in vigour and strength. I would not, however, like to be there merely to show that I was unwell and even feeble. Even if I incurred no danger this would be the only result of my making a hurried journey to London at present. " Yours, my dear Mr. Lucy, very sincerely, " ISAAC BUTT." He did not long survive the severance of old friendships. He was not old as years are counted. But he had warmed both hands at the fire of life. Too often he had heard the chimes at midnight. Bowed in body, harassed in mind, the last blow shattered him. II A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND DURING my visit to Dublin in connection with the O'Connell Centenary my wife and I were the guests of A. M. Sullivan at his residence in North Great George Street. Sullivan, " the eloquent Member for Louth," as Gladstone called him, entered the House among the swarm of Irish Members elected in 1874. Several were men of great ability, of born Parliamentary aptitude, formidable debaters, upon occasion rising to the height of eloquence. A. M. Sullivan was the most effective speaker of them all. It was easy to conceive how, addressing a mass meeting of his countrymen, this nervous, passionate, finely strung man, whose lips were touched by the heaven-born fire of oratory, could sway an excitable race. In the House of Commons Sullivan found himself, in common with the rest of Irish Members, regarded as a pariah. This condition of things, as it affected a numerous and powerful section of the House, was unique. The camaraderie which is one of the most attractive characteristics of the House of Commons, placing dukes' sons and cooks' sons A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND 11 on a footing of equality, did not in the 'Seventies and 'Eighties extend to the Irish Member. No British representative walked or talked with him in the Lobby, the corridors, the Terrace, or other quarters of social intercourse. As for asking him to dine at their houses, they would as readily have distributed cards of invitation among a colony of lepers. It must be said that the new-comers, presently to be known as Parnellites, not only justified this attitude but gloried in compelling it. To win personal favour in an alien Legislature was by them regarded an act of treachery to Ireland. A. M. Sullivan, whilst free from suspicion on this ground, undesignedly won the esteem of the House. He characteristically came to the front in con- nection with a memorable scene when Plimsoll was moved to passionate indignation by records of sailors shipped on unsea worthy but well-insured vessels, finding their inevitable fate in the depths of the unplumbed salt estranging sea. The Mer- chant Shipping Bill, introduced under Disraeli's leadership, being withdrawn towards the close of a busy session, Plimsoll, in defiance of all rules, sprang on to the centre of the floor of the House and, as I wrote at the moment, " stood on one leg and shook his fist at the Speaker," what time he hotly denounced the betrayer on the Treasury Bench. Unprotected at the time by rules for the preservation of order, later necessitated by the outbreaks of Irish Members, the Premier could do 12 NEAEING JORDAN nothing more than call upon the Speaker to repri- mand the Member for Derby. Plimsoll being ordered to leave the House whilst the proposal was considered, Sullivan followed him. Presently returning pale and breathless, he pleaded, in terms the House accepted by loud cheering, that consideration and indulgence might be extended to the sailor's friend suffering under excitement born of profound disappointment. Disraeli promptly accepted this way out of a grave difficulty. Plimsoll was ordered to be in attend- ance in his place that day week. He duly obeyed the mandate, and, whilst " declining to withdraw any statement of fact," apologised for his disorderly conduct. Nevertheless he compelled a powerful Minister to reconsider his settled programme. Before the prorogation the Merchant Shipping Bill was hurried through and added to the Statute Book. " Plimsoll's Line " was painted on the hulls of all merchantmen flying the British flag. As for A. M., as he came to be called for shortness, it was recognised that he had done the House and the Premier (more particularly the latter) a great service. It would have been a dangerously un- popular thing to place under formal ban of censure a man honoured throughout the country for his championship of the safety of the sailor. Sullivan died too early for full establishment of his position. Felix opportunitate mortis, inas- much that the end came before the Parnell tragedy A LITTLE TOUR IN IEELAND 13 rent in twain the Irish Party. The scenes in Committee Room XV. in the session of 1886 would have broken his heart. Somewhat late in life he took a new departure, qualifying himself for practice at the English Bar. He found Sir Henry James, that resolute anti-Home Ruler, a generous friend and patron. He was beginning to make his way when Death rapped at the door of his chambers and all his briefs were returned. During the week including the ceremony con- nected with the O'Connell Centenary, Sullivan kept open house in North Great George Street. At his table we met a posse of Catholic bishops, English, Irish, and foreign. Also there were men who, by parentage or early personal association, had been connected with what the statute law regarded as seditious undertakings. Among them was a young man named John Dillon, studying for the medical profession, which presently he aban- doned to become one of the most familiar figures in the Parliamentary arena at Westminster. Like his friend Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Sullivan was a total abstainer; unlike him, he did not impose his personal predilection upon his guests. Among the stories that habitually brightened Sullivan's conversation was one relating to a ball given by Sir Wilfrid Lawson at his Cumberland home. For his guests there was abundance of the good things of life barring anything in the way of alcoholic drink. In convenient contiguity to his park gates was a little station through which 14 NBABING JORDAN a train passed on its way to Carlisle. For the accommodation of his guests Sir Wilfrid arranged that on its last journey the train should stop to pick up any going that way. "It was all perfectly done," Sullivan added. " A large saloon carriage was reserved and was quickly crowded. As soon as the train started it was filled with a combination of odours that would have knocked Sir Wilfrid over. Knowing what was in store for them (or rather what was not in store for them), every man had brought his flask, and with one accord the company seized this opportunity to refresh themselves." We were included in an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan to visit the South of Ireland. Halt- ing first at a hospitable house in Cork, we went on to another at Bantry. Our host's hospitality exceeded the bounds of his own dwelling. The whole party gathered beneath his roof for meals, but some slept out. We found ourselves included in the above category, the best bedroom in the best inn being engaged for our use. I dare say in respect of hotel accommodation an improvement has since taken place in Bantry. At the time of our visit there was some lack. Early one morning I was awakened by an unaccountable noise, madden- ing in the regularity of its recurrence. Getting up and striking a light to solve the mystery, I found it was nothing more alarming than the drip of heavy rain, making its way through a leakage in the ceiling, falling upon the lid of a trunk containing, A LITTLE TOUE IN IRELAND 15 I was given to understand, something precious in frocks. No damage was done beyond untimely disturbance. But the incident suggested the pre- caution of taking an umbrella with you when you went to bed in an inn in Bantry. Bantry was the birthplace of the Sullivan family. A. M., returning to it after a hard Parliamentary Session and a turbulent week in Dublin, became a boy again. Close at hand was Bantry Bay, studded with many small islands, sentinelled on either side by lofty hills. We began the morning with a bathe in the sea, which, with a west wind behind it, came rolling straight in from the Atlantic. It being made known to our host's household that included in the party from Dublin was a visitor from England, it was resolved that Ireland should not be disgraced for lack of a pennyworth of tar. Accordingly the old boat was hauled ashore, turned keel uppermost, and liberally treated with a fresh coat of tar. I never heard whose brain devised, or whose hand effected, this kindly service. I always sus- pected the butler, a delightful old boy, who, arrayed in a blue coat with brass buttons, waited upon the company at the evening meal. There was about his presence a faint but unmistakable smell of hay, hinting that when not engaged in the pantry or the dining-room he looked after the horse in the stable. The impression was confirmed by a habit he had of softly whistling when handing over one's shoulder soup, fish, or game, the sibilation suggestive 16 NEAEING JORDAN of rubbing down a horse. What I do know about the newly tarred boat was that, returning after a swim round and hauling myself up into the boat, the rushing tide swept my body against the side, holding it there for an appreciable time. For the remainder of my stay in Ireland I was what is known in the artistic world as "an arrangement in black and white," being tarred from chest to knee. Fresh from the House of Commons, where the Irish members had called down upon themselves the just reprobation of the public concerned for the prevalence of decency of debate and the pre- servation of the ancient tradition of Parliament, I confess I was surprised at the firm hold the demand for Home Rule had gained upon the people. It did not greatly matter what was written in the journals of extreme views, or what was said on platforms by men who were probably more concerned to hurt England than to help Ireland. What struck me was the views expressed in private conversation by prosperous merchants, well-to-do tradesmen, and struggling farmers. Looking back on personal experience, I later came to understand how English politicians not for- getting that unimpeachable Conservative, Lord Carnarvon sent to Dublin Castle were slowly but surely brought to believe that the only possible way to govern Ireland was to let Ireland govern herself in respect to her internal affairs. When I returned to England, I found awaiting A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND 17 me the subjoined letter from one of the famous co- editors who re-established and, whilst they lived, maintained at highest level, the reputation of the Spectator : "94, HARLEST STREET, W. " DEAR SIR, I have been reading your letters in the Edinburgh Daily Review, and some papers attributed to you in the World. Would it suit you to give the Spectator an article occasionally ? If so, would it be convenient to you to call on me at the Spectator Office on Tuesday after one o'clock, or on Wednesday at any time ? " Yours faithfully, "M. TOWNSEND." It occurred to me, in accepting the invitation, to pen some reflections on the Home Rule question arising from a visit to the country. The article was widely copied in the Irish Press. It was, I fancy, chiefly notable for the fact, editorially stated by the Nation, that it was " the first article dis- cussing the Home Rule question without prejudice for which the columns of an important English journal have hitherto been opened." There has been a good deal of writing on the subject since. My personal acquaintance with A. M. Sullivan, deepening into a friendship that lasted to the day of his death, originated in an article appearing in a series published in the Gentleman's Maga- zine during the Session of 1874, subsequently 18 NEAEING JOEDAN republished in book form under the title " Men and Manner in Parliament." Describing the lively Irish Parliamentary Party then fresh to Westminster, I singled out the member for Louth as its brightest ornament. Meeting Sullivan to- wards the close of the Session at one of the pleasant parties with which Justin McCarthy used to enliven Gower Street in the immediate vicinity of his house, he asked to be introduced to the writer in the Gentleman s Magazine^ and we forthwith fraternised. Publication of my little book had upon the publisher an effect analogous to the proverbial last straw on the camel's back. He shortly after became bankrupt, and I never received a penny for my work. But there were compensations, one of quite recent realisation. I once heard an im- passioned Salvationist, preaching by the wayside, adjure his audience " not to tie your talent up in a napkin and cast it on the waters, hoping to find it again after many days." I wrapped my talent, such as it was, in these magazine articles, and from a quite unexpected source recognition was forth- coming after many days. On the eve of the election campaign of 1912 which resulted in the election of Dr. Woodrow Wilson as President of the United States, there was published a biography of a candidate who, though Governor of New Jersey, was not personally known even by name to the multitude of the electors. The work was undertaken by Mr. William A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND 19 Bayard Hale, who in the course of his narrative stated that, whilst a student at Princeton College, young Wilson came upon the volume of the Gentleman's Magazine published in London in 1874, containing a series of articles entitled "Men and Manner in Parliament, by the Member for the Chiltern Hundreds." The author of the biography continued : " From the moment his life-plan was fixed. The member for the Chiltern Hundreds, in intimate daily familiarity with the Parliamentary scene and its actors, wrote in a style of delicious charm, the leisurely style of good-humoured banter and elegant trifling, his chatter affording withal a picture of unsurpassed vividness, vivacity, and verity. Safe behind his anonymity, there was no personality, no measure, no method upon which the member for the Chiltern Hundreds hesitated to turn his keen discerning eye. The Gentleman's Magazine contributor was Henry Lucy, who later created for Punch the character of Toby, M.P., and was knighted by King Edward. Nothing could have better served to awaken in a young reader a sense of the picturesqueness and dramatic interest of politics. Mr. Wilson has said to the author of this biography, no one circumstance did more to make public life the purport of his existence or to determine the first cast of his political ideas. His mind was now settled definitely upon a public career. The impulse received from the Gentleman's Magazine has been decisive." 20 NEAEING JOKDAN Lord Northcliffe, sending me a copy of the book, the first intimation I had of its publication, wrote : "This is very interesting. You may well be proud of having by your early writing influenced the career of a man who, if he lives, is certain to become President of the United States." The Daily Mail printed an editoral note out- lining the story. I sent a copy of the paper to Dr. Wilson, still on the war path. A fortnight after his triumphant return to the White House, I received the following letter : " MY DEAR MR. LUCY, Thank you sincerely for letting me see the newspaper. I read the passage with real interest. I am glad to have this occasion to thank you for the interest you, many years ago, stirred in my breast with regard to the action of public affairs in Great Britain. " I shall always think of you as one of my instructors. " Cordially yours, "WooDKow WILSON." Ill FROM MY DIARY March 11, 1891. I hear that the Empress Frederick of Germany, now sheltered under her royal mother's wing at Windsor, is deeply hurt by the disastrous result of her visit to Paris, undertaken at the com- mand of her son .with intent to pave the way to reconciliation between France and Germany. Those who have come into personal contact with the lady who was once our Princess Royal are agreed in regarding her as by far the ablest member of her family. She has all the ability of the Prince Consort, whose favourite child and pupil she was. Her range of accomplishments is remarkable, and her judgment, though it does not shine in this latest fiasco, is almost unerringly true. Bismarck recognised in her a foe worthy of his steel. The Emperor Frederick was entirely dominated by her, gladly suffering that direction by skilful hands where the subject is permitted to imagine that he is the master. Had her husband lived to prolong his reign, she would have been the most autocratic sovereign in Europe. An English statesman intimately 22 acquainted with her says that if by chance she had come to the throne of England she would have filled a place in history second only to Elizabeth. The Duke of Edinburgh is a shrewd business man. The Prince of Wales possesses a measure of tact which, to one in his position, is as useful as genius. For sheer capacity neither is near the level of the Empress Frederick. During the life of the late Emperor Frederick two members of a Koyal Commission visited Ger- many to make inquiries into the national pottery work. One, William Woodall, is a member of Parliament, the head of a large pottery firm in the Midlands. The Crown Prince, as he then was, invited them to dinner with the Crown Princess, a parti carre. They chiefly talked pottery. Woodall told me he was amazed at the profundity and accuracy of the Crown Princess's knowledge of a business in which he had been engaged all his life. It is the same .with other departments of knowledge. The Prince Consort was encyclopaedic in his knowledge, and the gift has descended to his loving pupil. It is not the least striking of the Empress's recommendations that with a full consciousness of this capacity for affairs, with unbounded ambition and a strong liking for public life, she can so completely efface herself as she has done till enlisted on the mission to Paris by command of her heedless, headlong son. April 6, 1891. The Dissentient Liberals are FEOM MY DIAEY 23 fulfilling the old rule. They eat, drink, and are merry, knowing that on the morrow of the general election they will die. They are by far the best- dined section of the House of Commons. Not being numerous, it is just possible for the mag- nates of the party to entertain them at dinner en bloc, without giving rise to heartburning by the issue of discriminating invitations. Dukes delight to honour them ; earls are eager for their com- pany. There are very few Wednesdays at this period of the session when free entertainment is not provided. A fortnight ago Lord Fife gave a great feed. Last night, Baron Ferdinand Rothschild opened to them the doors of his beautiful mansion in Piccadilly. Over thirty sat down to one of the Baron's best dinners, a vacant chair indicating the place where Hartington should have been. Hartington was later than usual has not, I believe, arrived to this hour. Diners-out in the circle where he may be met know to their sorrow the meaning of " Hartington's half-hour." As a matter of course and of habit he is always half an hour late for dinner, a genial custom he carries into all relations of life. Wilfrid Lawson insists that he is really not so old as the records date the event, since he was sure to be from twenty minutes to half an hour late in arriving. Long ago his habit of turning up late in the House of Commons, even on urgent occasions when his attendance as Leader pf the Opposition was 24 NEAEING JORDAN imperative, earned him the nickname of County Guy. " Bird, breeze, and flower proclaim the hour, But where is County Guy ? " Baron Ferdy's house in Piccadilly is unique among the princely residences of London. It has more gilt about its ornamentation than any I know. Though the fashion is perilous, it is con- trolled by such excellent taste, and the surround- ings are so perfect, that the effect is rather one of simplicity than of gorgeousness. A peerless white marble staircase, uncarpeted, flanked by a beautiful fretwork of iron, leads to the dining-room and drawing-room. In all the rooms and passages the house is kept at a delightful temperature. On State occasions, like last night, it smells like a rose garden. On the walls hangs perhaps the finest collection of old masters in London. No. 143 Piccadilly might be regarded as the most perfectly equipped house in the South of England, were there not Waddesdon Manor, near Aylesbury, the Baron's country house, on which the resources of boundless wealth have been lavished with equal taste. June 30, 1891. On Tuesday night the House of Commons, nemine contradicente, expunged from its journals a Resolution passed on June 30, 1880, declaring that neither by taking the oath nor by making application might the elect of Northampton seat himself in the British Parliament. Early this FROM MY DIARY 25 morning Charles Bradlaugh, after brief illness, turned his face to the wall and died. There is some doubt whether his last moments were soothed by knowledge of this crowning triumph in a stormy career. He was, I believe, conscious for a few hours on Wednesday, and the news was whispered in his ear. He smiled and nodded ; but no one is sure he understood. Still, the House of Commons is glad it did not withhold this act of grace, and all the papers teem to-day with eulogy on a man who throughout his life, from earliest boyhood, stood with his back to the wall in fighting attitude. If he had not chanced to get into the House of Commons he would have died in something worse than obscurity, the opprobrium attached to his name before he found opportunity of making himself better known remaining with him. In Parliament he had a splendid opening and a diffi- cult position. He made the best of both. A man of considerable natural capacity, tireless industry, great shrewdness, quick insight, he would, had he only chanced to have been born in a higher social circle, have made a name amongst England's foremost statesmen. His father was a solicitor's clerk who had scarcely bread, much less schooling, to give his boy. A Sunday-school teacher, a coal merchant without capital, embarked in the business of selling braces on commission, a private in the dragoons, an errand-boy at ten shillings a week after he had passed his twentieth year, a solicitor's 26 NEAEING JOEDAN clerk, an itinerant lecturer, co-editor of an obscure paper chiefly filled with contributions in which the two editors abused each other, litigant in a dozen law courts, Hyde Park orator, atheist, Malthusian Bradlaugh crept through dingy paths to reach the lofty pedestal on which he finally stood. A forceful debater, an orator of rare skill, up to the very last his finest orations were fatally slurred by one ineradicable relic of early associations. He never could master the use of the letter "h." Crowded audiences, subdued by his eloquence, convinced by his arguments, shuddered at his fatally frequent references to " this 'ouse." July 9, 1891. The Prince of Wales gave a garden party to-day at Marlborough House. It was a lovely afternoon, and ladies dared to fare forth in daintiest summer dress. All the gowns were new, and most of the wearers beautiful. Probably the only plainly dressed woman in the throng was the Queen of England. Those who know her Majesty intimately speak of a certain dignity in her bearing, which atones for some niggardliness on the part of nature. I have seen her in the House of Lords, standing on the steps of the throne, with gesture of mingled grace and command signalling permission to the crowd of peers and peeresses to be seated. Then she looked every inch (there are not many) a Queen. The fullest excess of loyal feeling could not recognize anything queenly in the bearing of the little old lady in black who, with one hand clinging to the FEOM MY DIAEY 27 arm of her stalwart son, the Prince of Wales, the other holding a stick, hobbled this afternoon through the crowd that, as she passed, bent low before her. The contrast was trying in any circumstances. Here were gathered the most beautiful and best- dressed women in Europe, the fairy colours of their summer dresses shining in the brightness of a July afternoon. Athwart this rainbow of colour there slowly passed the figure in the homely dress, with a large old-fashioned bonnet, its blackness made more funereal by here and there a bunch of white ribbon stuck in, apparently by the hand of the village milliner. Whilst the Queen of England and Empress of India scarcely vindicated the supremacy of royalty in the matter of dress and personal appearance, there were two ladies in the royal circle who held their own against the best that London could muster. These were the Empress of Germany and the Princess of Wales. The Empress created all the more pleasurable sensation as there had spread abroad an idea that she was a personage of the heavy German type, probably squat in appearance. She is, on the contrary, tall, with a fine figure, a graceful bearing, and a vivacious manner. She wore a silk dress of the palest blue, panelled at one side with white and gold brocade, with a fichu of lace draped upon the bodice and hanging in long lines almost to her feet. As for the Princess of Wales, she is simply a 28 NEAEING JORDAN miracle. It is growing near to thirty years since Alexandra from over the sea was welcomed to London as the bride of the Prince of Wales. Only the other day she became a grandmother. Look- ing at her this afternoon as she stood smiling and bowing, she seemed scarcely a clay older than when she first drove through the streets of London. She was dressed with almost girlish simplicity in a gown of white brocade, with here and there the blue cornflower of the Hohenzollerns peeping from its folds. In this notable gathering, including some of the most famous men in Europe, the young Kaiser was decidedly the most striking personage. It was curious to see him talking to Lord Salisbury, the Premier standing passive whilst the Emperor, with constant quick gesture of his right hand, poured forth a torrent of eager speech. llth August, 1891. As soon as a vacancy in Northampton was declared, consequent on the death of Bradlaugh, Sir Charles Dilke's name was mentioned as the Liberal candidate. It was evident the suggestion was unauthorised. Sir Charles was at the time in Toulon, where he still remains, quietly at work in the little summer house he possesses. Moreover, if he has his eye upon any constituency, it is the Forest of Dean, where he was campaigning in the autumn, though without posing as a regular candidate. Meanwhile he, with outward appearance of satisfaction and even enjoyment, leads a life in PROM MY DIARY 29 strange contrast with the brilliant career which so recently as the summer of 1885 seemed open to him. He lives quietly when in town, dining out seldom, though entertaining pretty regularly. In the summer he goes up the river to a house he has built for himself on one of the curious little islands that ineffectually try to check the flow of the Thames. Here he renews his boating experiences, rowing with old Cambridge compeers, and making the acquaintance of some new-comers by the Cam. To one who, like myself, knew him intimately in the days when he was at the Foreign Office and in the running for the Premiership, there is some- thing pathetic, when visiting him up the river, to find his ambition apparently settled upon reducing his riding and rowing weight by an ounce or two. Always a terrible worker, he has now turned his energies in new directions. A tireless oarsman, a constant rider, a redoubtable boxer, he is a par- ticularly skilful fencer. A regular contributor to the magazines, he occasionally writes a stupendous book, such as his " Problems of Greater Britain." He also maintains a regular correspondence with a few of the statesmen with whom he was formerly in official communication. This is notably the case with foreigners, who are not capable of under- standing the public sentiment which has led to so valuable a life being wasted. Mr. Gladstone is not one of those who have utterly abandoned a fallen colleague. He occa- sionally finds time to call at Sloane Street to 30 HEARING JORDAN make friendly inquiry after Sir Charles's health. The greater number timidly stand aside, only Mr. Chamberlain remaining on the old terms on which one of the most popular members of Gladstone's Cabinet used to be held. 5th September, 1891. Minute and exhaustive study of the by-elections which have taken place since 1886 has convinced Mr. Gladstone that the result of the forthcoming general election will be to return the Liberals to power with a minimum majority of 100. 1 Previous to the election of 1880 he made a similar calculation based on the same principle. It worked out a large majority for the Liberals. The result of the polling showed that he had adopted the minimum of promise. 20th September, 1891. The Empress Eugenie is just now at Balmoral, the Queen having placed at her disposal the charming house and grounds at Birkhall. Last night, as the Court Circular re- cords, the Empress dined en famille with her Majesty. She is sadly changed of late years, but bears her infirmities with inborn grace. No one looking at her with her almost snow-white hair, her pinched, pale face, her bowed shoulders, and her limp, would recognise the beautiful arbi- tress of European fashion, who, thirty years ago, held Court at the Tuileries and Compiegne. Since the death of the Prince Imperial the Empress has i The majority turned out to be forty a bitter disap- pointment. FEOM MY DIAKY 31 withdrawn entirely from political relations, and lives the life of a recluse, by France forgotten though not forgetting France. Almost her last enemy died when that remark- able failure, Prince Napoleon, breathed his last. Even in his death his ancient fires of personal animosity towards his Imperial cousin's wife burned. There lately appeared a book which, though bearing another name, carried unmistak- able evidence of the authorship of " Plon-Plon." It professed to give an account of the political intrigues of the Empress Euge'nie while she was yet on the throne, intrigues which, according to the author, were responsible for all the woes of France. Extracts were given from letters and private memoranda that could have been supplied only by one in high confidential position. Two chapters were devoted to confirmation of the familiar charge that it was the Empress who had the last word to say which brought on the war with Germany. The book has some circulation in Italy, where it was published, and in France, in whose language it is printed. Only two copies came here, one being carefully addressed to the Empress Eugenie. It is to be hoped some friendly hand in her household averted the flight of this venomous dart. 15th January, 1892. In the very hour the Duke of Clarence was lying unconscious at Sand- ringham, already within the Valley of the Shadow 32 HEARING JORDAN of Death, there passed away another and different figure. At a quarter-past nine yesterday morning the Duke died. At eight o'clock Cardinal Manning breathed his last. The one twenty-eight, the other eighty-four ; one finishing a life that had been scarcely more than a half-awakened dream, the other closing a career of storm and stress, of plain living and high thinking, of unselfish devotion to the call of duty and the service of his fellow- man. The personality of Cardinal Manning had for Disraeli that strong fascination which direct oppo- sites sometimes possess. He made elaborate sketches of him in two of his novels, first in " Lothair," returning in " Endymion " to the subject. His description of him is graphically close. "Above the middle height," Disraeli wrote of Lothair's friend, Cardinal Grandison, " his stature seemed magnified by the attenuation of his form. It seemed that the soul never had so frail and fragile a tenement. His countenance was naturally of an extreme pallor, though at this moment slightly flushed with the animation of a deeply interesting conference. His cheeks were hollow, and his grey eyes seemed sunk into his clear and noble brow. But they flashed with irresistible penetration/' That is Cardinal Man- ning with almost the precision of photography. The Cardinal, though ascetic in habit, felt it his duty to take a prominent part in worldly affairs. Two years ago, regardless of his fourscore years PROM MY DIARY 33 and two, he worked day and night in the effort to reconcile masters and men during the great dock strike. He accepted a seat on the Royal Commission which preceded legislation on the subject of education, and on another which dealt with the problem of the housing of the poor. His attendance on both was constant, his counsel ever ready. Ten years ago, during the early struggle of the Irish National Party under the leadership of Parnell, he was a frequent visitor to the House of Commons. For many sessions there was no sight more familiar in the Lobby than that of the Cardinal in conference with one or other of the Irish Members a mediaeval saint stepped down from the stained windows of a church, standing with pale face and finely sculptured head bent, attentive whilst one of the Harrington Freres, or some other big-limbed, fleshy, loud- voiced man, poured into his ear a torrent of voluble invective. January 16, 1892. On Friday last the Duke of Clarence celebrated his birthday at Sandringham, among the merry circle gathered round being his bride -elect. To-day the young Prince lies dead in his father's house, and cousin May is widowed before she is wed. Never, since history began to be acted or romance to be written, was there so pitiful a story. It would have been sad enough for the heir to one of the greatest thrones in the world to die in early youth. It is tenfold worse D 34 NEABING JOEDAN to pass away amid such circumstances as have marked the last days of the Duke of Clarence. The hearty shout of congratulation at his betrothal still rang in his ears when he took to his bed. All over the kingdom people were busy preparing for the wedding day. Princess May's dress is already in hand, and far advanced towards completion. The girls were at work upon it till work was stopped by the news of this morning, spread by telegraph all over the kingdom. Now the gown on which so much skill and care have been bestowed may be put away, as was Miss Havisham's in " Great Expectations," though for quite another reason. Sympathy with the Koyal Family is widely spread and deep. I think it centres chiefly on the maiden left forlorn at the very moment when there had opened up to her vision a prospect rarely given to women. All her life has been passed in a family circle somewhat straitened by circumstances. The most she could hope for, as far as worldly position was concerned, was a wedding with some well-to-do peer's son. The Fairy Prince threw Cousin May his handkerchief, and instantly she was transformed into one of the principal personages in the kingdom, destined in due time to share with her husband the Throne of England. A few weeks passed amid the blaze of adulation that broke out around her. Then comes Death, hustling the marriage procession off the scene, taking possession of the bridegroom that was to FEOM MY DIARY 35 be. If some bold novelist had devised this plot and worked it out through three volumes, he would have been accused of exceeding the limits of reasonable invention. Yet, as we know, the drama has been played out, scene by scene, and the curtain has already fallen. Another peculiarity in the piece is that only the other day it was Prince George who was lying on a sick bed, suffering apparently from a disease exceeding in gravity that which last Saturday attacked his elder brother. There were doubts then whether Prince George would be well enough to attend the wedding when it came off, whether, indeed, his death might not have the effect of postponing the happy day. To-day Prince George is well, almost strong again, and finds himself in direct succession to the Throne of England. January 23, 1892. Now the Duke of Clarence has been laid in his grave, people are turning with queer unanimity and grim persistency to the con- clusion that Prince George must, as soon as possible, be married. The coincidence in the case of the Czar of Eussia has not been overlooked. His elder brother, heir to the throne, died just as the Duke of Clarence did, at the very time when preparations were going forward for his wedding. These were interrupted, not abandoned, for the younger brother not only took the reversion of the throne, but adopted the bride and is now married to her. Labouchere, with the frankness that sits so 36 HEARING JORDAN charmingly upon him, publicly uttering what everybody thinks, blandly commends this arrange- ment to the consideration of whom it may concern at Sandringham and Windsor. Such a settlement would, as he says, " undoubtedly be popular," adding the last touch of romance to a domestic story that through ten days has enthralled the world. IV SOME CHURCH MEMORIES AND AN IDYLL IN the first volume of this series of reminiscences I mentioned the immense advantage derived in early boyhood from reading Smiles' " Self Help." An earlier influence in moulding character at that impressionable age was the work of the Kev. John Macnaught, Vicar of St. Chrysostom's Church, Everton. He was a remarkable man, for record of whose life one looks in vain in that comprehensive work, the "Dictionary of National Biography." Son of a popular doctor in Liverpool, he com- menced his career as curate-in-charge of a sort of chapel-of-ease connected with Everton Church. In a short time the limits of what was originally a schoolroom proved too narrow for the congrega- tion drawn by the sermons of the young curate. At the end of his first year of incumbency a movement was set on foot to build a church for him somewhere in the neighbourhood. As the congregation was necessarily small and unembar- rassed by the company of the rich, the enterprise seemed hopeless. It was, nevertheless, entered upon and triumphantly carried through. St. 38 NEAKING JORDAN Chrysostom's Church stands to this day a hand- some and commodious structure. My father was one of the earliest pew-renters. Among the congregation there was no more con- stant attendant at morning and evening service than a small boy then in his twelfth year. Mac- naught's sermons, delivered extemporaneously, opened out a new world to my young eyes. 1 am afraid the interest created was rather intel- lectual than devotional. The preacher, though duly trammelled by a text, made occasional ex- cursions into the region of history, of books, of science, of astronomy, of geology, even of great events happening throughout the world talk which many good people thought should be con- fined to weekdays. I have vivid recollection of a sermon in which, by way of illustration of his theme, he minutely described the growth of a rose from the state of earliest bud to the beauty of fullest bloom. I found this much more in- teresting than reflections upon Transubstantiation, or observations upon Original Sin. As the little schoolroom in Mill Lane filled under the fascination of the young preacher, so in due time the spacious aisles of St. Chrysostom's Church were thronged. Circumstances happening a few years after the church was opened extended the fame of the preacher beyond the borough boundary. Naturally a broadminded man, lack- ing in sympathy with the narrowness of creeds, the course of his study and reflection led him to SOME CHUKCH MEMORIES AND AN IDYLL 39 question the accepted doctrine of the verbal in- spiration of the Scriptures. He set forth his views in a little volume of which I possess a rare copy, given me by the author many years after this turning path in his career had been courage- ously traversed. The book created a profound sensation in all the churches and religious semi- naries throughout the country. The furore was exceeded only by the earlier publication of the more famous " Essays and Reviews." Strong pressure was put upon the Bishop of Chester to inhibit the Vicar of St. Chrysostom's from performing church duties. He stopped short of that, but after brief interval the bolt fell obliquely. Macnaught invited the Rev. H. B. Wilson, one of the contributors to " Essays and Reviews," to preach in his church. The invitation was cordially accepted. Public announcement of the engagement was made. On the morning appointed St. Chrysostom's was thronged. Mac- naught as usual read the Service. At its close, instead of making way for the visitor, he ascended the pulpit. Explanation was forthcoming in start- ling fashion. He read a communication from the Bishop of Chester inhibiting Mr. Wilson from preaching. Having slowly read the formal docu- ment, he paused for a moment, looked round the hushed congregation, and with gesture uncon- sciously reminiscent of Burke with his dagger in the House of Commons, flung the paper to the ground. 40 NEABING JORDAN " And now," he quietly said, " I will read Mr. Wilson's sermon." Which he forthwith did. After facing the storm for what seemed a lengthened period, Macnaught took a step which had the effect of instantly stilling it. Of his own free will he retired from the church that in especial degree was his own, forfeiting an assured income, the reward of splendid labour. Still young, married, the care of a family imposed upon him, he went out into the world, in some narrow sense a proscribed man, to begin his life again. Some years later, he, perhaps unconsciously following the example of the Rev. Chas. Honeyman, pur- chased the lease of a proprietary chapel in Conduit Street, London. Avoiding sharp controversial topics, he was not less successful in filling the place with admiring pew-renters than was the divine esteemed in the Newcome family circle. To-day I am privileged to renew one of the oldest of my friendships in the charming company of Mr. Macnaught's daughter, the wife of Sir Thomas Sutherland, Chairman of the P. & 0. Co. In addition to this early habit of church-going, I was a diligent attendant on the Sunday-school. In this pursuit I achieved what is probably a record, since I was expelled by two teachers in succession. The first was a teller in one of the Liverpool banks, named Mewburn, who took an active part in raising the funds necessary for the building of St. Chrysostom's Church and upon its completion acted as churchwarden. His class met SOME CHUECH MEMORIES AND AN IDYLL 41 in the schoolroom in Mill Lane. One Sunday morning, arriving with constitutional desire to obtain the greatest possible good out of anything accessible, Mr. Mewburn invited me to step with him into the vestry. To my surprise he politely but firmly directed me to discontinue my attend- ance. I had not the slightest idea why this sentence was passed upon me. There being no appeal I was obliged to obey, and went forth in fuller sympathy with the feelings of Hagar at a critical epoch in her history than had hitherto possessed me. Years afterwards, acquaintance being renewed on other lines, Mewburn was dining with me in London. Still piqued with curiosity about the genesis of this little episode of my boyhood, I asked him to tell me why I was expelled. I ventured to plead that on the whole my conduct had been exemplary. " So it was," he replied. " And that made the more painful the step I felt bound to take. The fact is that in the course of the lessons you used from time to time to pose me with questions I was not able to answer straight off. The consequence was, I found, or perhaps only felt, that my authority with the- other boys was suffering, and that the only thing to be done was to get you out of the way." It may by kind critics perhaps be accepted as proof of catholicity of view that the doors of a Church of England Sunday-school being thus 42 NEAEING JORDAN banged, bolted, and barred against me, I meekly knocked at the portals of one conducted in con- nexion with a neighbouring Congregational Church. It happened by chance that in the girls' depart- ment of the school there was one in regular attend- ance who had been an old sweetheart. We had parted in a tiff. Perhaps accidental rencontre might lead to reconciliation. That is neither here nor there. I was welcomed to the senior class of the Islington school and remained in attendance for some months. Disaster dogged my footsteps. In the day- school where I gained all my education there was a general custom, constant as the coming of noon, that one of the elder boys should go round the forms, seat himself beside a- youngster, and remark that " So-and-so," indicating another boy of whom the younger had but the slightest, if any, know- ledge, " says you are afraid to fight him." If the impeachment were admitted the lad was put down as a sneaking coward, and the big boy went farther afield in his mission. If the challenge were accepted, the fight came off in the playground as soon as school was dismissed for the dinner-hour. I made a practice of accepting the challenge whencesoever it was alleged to have come, and as the adversary was invariably much bigger than I only of late had I emerged from the trappings of lace-frilled pantalettes, white socks and shoes I suffered much banging when I ought to have been dining. I fancy, though I do not precisely remember, SOME CHUECH MEMOEIES AND AN IDYLL 43 that some such custom obtained in the Sunday- school to which I later repaired. However it be, one day after the morning class I found myself en- gaged in single combat. The other fellow was, as usual, much bigger and burlier than I. But practice makes perfect. I came off victor, my adversary going home with a black eye that was the im- mediate cause of what followed. His parents having extracted particulars of the encounter reported them to the Superintendent of the school, who deputed three Elders to wait upon my parents, inform them of my depravity, and ask them to keep me at home on Sunday mornings. Their arrival found my mother at home. Cir- cumstances were not auspicious. It happened that a week earlier she had, in the gathering gloom of a February afternoon, received a visit from a smartly dressed, provokingly veiled, young girl who demanded an interview on a matter of serious importance. In the course of it she informed my mother that I having sedulously gained her affections had basely trifled with them. In short I had attached myself to Another, leaving the afternoon caller forlorn. My mother, one of the most lovable and unselfish of women, her daily domestic lot ever brightened by flashes of humour, bridled up at this attack upon her favourite son. The conversation growing heated was broken by the veiled visitor screaming loudly, throwing up her arms, flinging them round my mother and covering her face with kisses. 44 NEARING JORDAN Well, / was the afternoon caller. My sisters had craftily attired me in a suitable selection of their clothes, and, assuming a mincing voice and an attitude of woe proper to a forsaken maiden, I had deceived my own Mother. No one enjoyed this joke more than she. Naturally it placed her on her guard. When the three Elders representing Sunday-school authority presented themselves, she instantly sus- pected that this was another of my little games. Possibly I kept in my pay relays of Congrega- tional Church Elders ready to go on misleading missions to confiding mothers. She would have nothing to say to them, and they shaking off from their feet the dust of the hall mat departed, shrewdly suspecting they knew whence I had inherited my evil propensities. I did not go back to the Sunday-school, and, disheartened at this recurrence of undeserved ill-fortune, did not try a third. Hearing by chance a favourite hymn in vogue half a century ago at St. Chrysostom's Church, there came back to me these memories of my first spiritual Pastor and of Sunday-school discipline. There is one other, perhaps too trivial to be mentioned in this solemn connexion. The pew before ours was regularly occupied by a family which included a prim and pretty damsel, my junior I fancy by about a year. When the Litany was reached she had a habit of turning SOME CHURCH MEMORIES AND AN IDYLL 45 round and kneeling at the seat. I found it more convenient to lean forward over the book-rail which ran along the front of the pew. The con- catenation of circumstance was undesigned. Its result inevitable. When I looked over the pew- rail there was the pretty-faced devotee murmuring the responses: ''Spare us, good Lord." "Good Lord, deliver us." Presently she looked up and we shyly regarded each other. As the Sabbaths passed and resembled one another, inasmuch as they provided this delightful opportunity, the shy look was exchanged for a friendly smile. I do not know how long this voiceless idyll lasted. I never spoke to the object of my adora- tion, for I never met her outside the church door. I did not know her name nor she mine. Perhaps if by chance these lines should meet her eye, she may, when hearing the Litany said or sung in another church, think of the days when we were indeed very young. V AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE IN 1893 my wife and I revisited Ireland, this time at the invitation of Lord Houghton, recently appointed Lord Lieutenant. It was a period of fresh crisis in the Home Rule movement, which had in the meanwhile advanced by long strides. Mr. Gladstone had been returned to power for his fourth, as events proved his last, Administration. His majority in the House of Commons was only forty. \ Its smallness was sorely disappointing, but it did not affect the determination of the old warrior to take the field again under the Home Rule flag. Nor did it damp the energy with which he conducted a campaign (with the House of Lords as yet untrammelled) predestined to defeat. He was particularly happy in his choice of Lord Lieutenant, Lord Houghton concealing behind an almost nervously modest demeanour the qualities essential to success. Among minor considerations that have hitherto separated the two Nations is the inconvenience of the time-arrangement by which passengers from London by the fast train reach Dublin. Arriving AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE 47 at Holyhead somewhere in the dead of the night, they are turned out of their snug sleeping-berths and called upon to face an invariably troubled voyage across the Channel. They arrive in Dublin at a time when decent people are still in their beds. Driving from the station to the Viceregal Lodge there is the Liffey to skirt and cross. The smell of it polluting what should be the sweet morning air is indescribable. We arrived at the Lodge too late to complete a so-called night's rest by going to bed, too early for breakfast. When I ventured downstairs I found seated at the breakfast-table, sole occupant of the room, an exceedingly mild-mannered gentle- man. There was no one to introduce us, and I had not the slightest idea of his identity, nor I fancy he of mine. In these awkward circum- stances we had to make conversation throughout the meal. In due time I learnt that my fellow- guest was Thomas Hardy. Here began a friend- ship cherished through subsequent years, though opportunity of enjoying it has been limited by the novelist's habitual residence in his much-loved Dorset. Lord Houghton up to his induction to the Viceregal Lodge was unfamiliar with official State duties. But he took to the position of represen- tative of his Sovereign with an alacrity and completeness that left nothing to be desired. Throughout the day, whether at home or abroad, he inflexibly preserved the attitude and manner 48 HEARING JORDAN imposed by his high estate. No one was more impressed by them than his Aide-de-camp. It was the established custom for guests to assemble in the drawing-room punctually at the hour fixed for dinner. Presently the Aide-de-camp dis- appeared, promptly returned, and, standing at the open doorway, in awed voice announced " His Excellency ! " Whereupon the guests with one accord rose to their feet. The idea subtly con- veyed was that, strolling out by the door, Mr. Guise had unexpectedly come upon the Lord Lieutenant advancing towards the drawing-room. Stricken by his majestic personality, fearful if it blazed unannounced upon the company they would faint, he with great presence of mind pulled himself together and at full speed returned just in time to avoid catastrophe. To do this once in a life-time was a memorable achievement. Mr. Guise not only did it every night with the same appearance of unbounded surprise at the recurrence of the phenomenon, he nightly managed to import into this announcement a new tremor of voice that added appreciably to the sensation created. Whilst throughout the day and till the with- drawal of outside visitors at the dinner-table Lord Houghton preserved the manner proper to the representative of sovereignty, he, during our stay, nightly put off the Lord Lieutenant and became again for awhile, to his evident pleasure and our delight, a poet and a man of letters. After the AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE 49 ladies had retired for the night, our host, now transformed by substitution of a smoking-jacket for his uniform or dinner dress, Thomas Hardy, and myself forgathered in the smoking-room, where I listened to conversation chiefly on literary topics, anything outside the field of politics. For the new Viceroy the task of the hour was one of supreme difficulty. Heretofore, save during the brief term of Lord Aberdeen's first Administra- tion, the position of the Viceroy had been clearly defined. He had been the headpiece, the outward and visible sign of that British ascendancy which galled the Irish and gratified Ulster and other sections of " the garrison." Ireland was at that period sharply divided into two camps, the English and the anti-English. Lord Houghton came upon the scene with the dawn of a new era. It is understood that the Lord Lieutenant has no politics, being simply the repre- sentative of the Sovereign. But Lords Lieutenant come and go with Ministries, and, however cleverly they may hide the colour, are steeped in the hue of party politics. Lord Houghton was the repre- sentative of the Queen in Ireland. He was also the nominee of a Government straining every nerve to give Ireland Home Eule. No one talked politics in the drawing-room or dining-room at Dublin Castle, or amid the pleasant environment of the Viceregal Lodge. But facts are stubborn things. Whilst the populace of Dublin recognised in Lord Houghton the standard-bearer of Home E 50 HEARING JORDAN Rule, the Ulster party that is to say, all that is rich and powerful, professional, and official regarded him as a traitor to the Union. Dublin is a military centre, and militarism is invariably a hotbed of Toryism. There were wild stories about Lord Wolseley's convictions, attri- buting to him nothing less than intention to mutiny in case of conflict arising upon the passing of the Home Rule Bill. These were gross exag- gerations. But in private conversation Lord Wolseley had a frank soldierly fashion of talking about politics almost the only science he did not understand which left no doubt on the mind of the listener as to where his sympathies lay on the question of Home Rule. Writing to me from the Athenaeum Club shortly after our return from Ireland, he thus defined his position vis-d-vis politics : " I feel highly flattered by what the Daily News says of me and mine in Dublin. I used, like all men of my liberal views, to read that clean paper, but as I never was a politician I cared nothing for party matters. It was Mr. Gladstone's heptarchical policy which drove my friends and myself into the other camp to find salvation in The Times." "Heptarchical policy" is good and, I think, new. At the luncheon given at the Viceregal Lodge on the Queen's birthday I chanced to sit near a AT THE VICEEEGAL LODGE 51 distinguished officer who almost apologised to me for his presence. He said he had been invited by Lord Houghton both to the luncheon and the State banquet in the evening. Cherishing, as every one does, a strong personal admiration for Lord Hough- ton, he felt he would be a traitor to the Empire if he paltered with the evil thing (Home Rule) even to the extent of sitting at meat the guest of Mr. Gladstone's Lord Lieutenant. After long wrestling with his conscience he arrived at a compromise. Out of personal deference to Lord Houghton he would go to the luncheon. From concern for his country he would abstain from the banquet. Later in the day I met him at tea at the Chief Secretary's Lodge, his arm in a sling. " Ah," he said, " you see one cannot bow the knee in the temple of Rimmon with impunity. When I was riding to town after luncheon at the Viceregal Lodge my horse came a cropper on the cobble-stones, and I have sprained my wrist." I tried to convince him that this was rather a judgment for his having declined to go to the State banquet instead of to the luncheon. But he was inexorable. In a letter written to me from the Viceregal Lodge towards the close of his first year's tenancy, Lord Houghton describes the situation in a spirit which accounts for his success in grappling with it. " Under present conditions," he says, " the course of the Lord Lieutenant is not easy to steer. 52 NEABING JOEDAN Any encouragement such as yours is particularly welcome, considering I find that everything that matters goes pretty smoothly. But the incredible extent to which political and sectarian differences invade the most private and unprovocative occa- sions obliges one to be continually careful. At the same time a sense of humour prevents one from feeling any annoyance at these queer explosions of party or religious jealousy," With Mr. Gladstone reinstated in power, devoting the last years of his life to a final effort to give Ireland Home Eule, with a Liberal Viceroy installed at Dublin Castle, it might have been thought that Ireland in general, Dublin in particular, would have modified its attitude of implacable hostility to British rule. The antici- pated change was not appreciable to the observer. Whilst the Lord Lieutenant was studiously boy- cotted by the landlord and Ulster parties, the balance was not struck by outward testimony to his popularity proffered by Home Rulers. The Nationalist Leaders, including Members of the House of Commons, ignored invitations to social parties at the Viceregal Lodge. An event of the Dublin season is the appearance of the Lord Lieutenant and his suite driven in semi-state to Punchestown Races. Lord Houghton, as might be expected of him, lived up to the occasion, his turn-out, notably the horses that drew his carriages, beating the record. Here was an opportunity for AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE 53 popular demonstration that might have done some- thing to recompense Mr. Gladstone's labours at Westminster and encourage the Lord Lieutenant in his self-denying task of conciliation. A great throng, presumably Nationalist in its composition, watched the arrival of the Viceregal party. Not a hat was uplifted or a cheer raised. Even more striking testimony to the ineradi- cable force of Irish hatred of anything British was forthcoming in connexion with the terrible fate that befel Lord Frederick Cavendish on the very day he arrived in Ireland, bearer of the olive- branch. Immediately opposite our bedroom win- dow, on the other side of a lawn leading from the Viceregal Lodge to the public road in Phoenix Park, is the place where the assassins had fallen upon the unsuspecting Chief Secretary and his colleague Mr. Burke. From the room below Lord Spencer, looking out, saw the scuffle, and thought it was horseplay on the part of youths out on their Saturday half-holiday. I walked down to the spot expecting to find some memorial recording the event. There was none, unless fancy recognised one in a blasted tree by the roadside. It was under this that Lord Frederick and Mr. Burke fell, done to death by the knives of the assassins. The withering of this particular tree may be, probably was, due to prosaic conditions of which I found no record. The fact remains that after the murder the tree began to wither, and at the time of my visit was in the condition described. 54 NEAEING JOKDAN Close by a small cross, unobtrusively cut in the roadway, marked the fatal spot. Inquiring why this should be, I was told that, the erection of a suitable memorial being suggested shortly after the murder, the authorities were privily in- formed that it would forthwith be destroyed, and that any attempt to rebuild it would be similarly frustrated. So for sole memorial there is scratched in the roadway this rude cross Frederick Cavendish and Thomas Burke, their mark. Lord Charlemont, Comptroller of the Viceregal household for twenty-seven years, on duty under Earl Spencer at the time of the murders, assured me that within twenty -four hours of the commission of the crime which startled and shocked the civilised world, the Dublin police had in their possession the names of the seventeen men who took part in it. They had, however, no legally incriminating evidence. So they waited month after month, patiently watching night and day the movements of the men, drawing closer and closer the invisible mesh. Finally, on January 13, 1883, more than eight months after the crime, they swooped down on their prey, lodging them in the gaol from which five emerged only to step on to the gallows. The rest, other than the informers, were sentenced to various terms of penal servitude. Another member of the Viceregal household told me a gruesome story in connexion with the event. As is well known, Sir George Trevelyan, carrying his life in his hands, gallantly undertook AT THE VICEREGAL LODGE 55 to fill the office out of which Lord Frederick Cavendish had been thrust at the point of the knife. Ten days after he had taken up his residence in the Chief Secretary's Lodge, pleasantly set among woods fronted by the gracious beauty of the Wicklow Hills, Lady Trevelyan, looking round the drawing-room with housewifely care, observed something lying under the sofa. A servant being summoned to have it removed, it turned out to be the blood-stained, dust-begrimed, knife-pierced coat of Frederick Cavendish. After the murder he was carried to the home he thus entered for the first time. The coat, taken off and thrust under the sofa, escaped the notice of the vigilant Irish housemaid. In one of the monthly magazines to which at the time I was contributing a series of articles dated " From behind the Speaker's Chair," I told this story as it was told to me. The article coming under the notice of Lord Wolseley, he wrote to me, " I never heard the story of Lord Frederick Cavendish's coat before. How well I remember the night of that ghastly murder." In the following letter Sir George Trevelyan gives authoritative contradiction to a treasured tradition of the Viceregal Lodge : " 8, GrROSVENOR CRESCENT, " April 28, 1897. "DEAR Lucy, Lady Trevelyan and I read your article with great pleasure. As a matter of 56 NEABING JOEDAN fact, the discovery of the coat was legendary. But we did not care to correct anything in the work of one who is always so essentially accurate, and, as we have found him, so inexhaustibly friendly. " No one has asked us about it. But Frederick Cavendish was brought to the Chief Secretary s Lodge, and the inquest took place there, and the room and table on which the body was laid were always shown to us. But I was not there at the time. Spencer would give more certain informa- tion. My knowledge is not sufficient authority. There is a beautiful photograph of Cavendish, when laid out in flowers for the funeral. I should be inclined to ask Spencer, if you think it worth while. I am sure the body was at the Lodge, and, I thought, poor Burke's as well. " I remain, " Very sincerely yours, "GEORGE TREVELYAN." Dramatic turns of the tragedy prevailed throughout, culminating in assassination of the informer, who fled to the Cape. News of the murders, addressed to the Home Secretary, reached London about nine o'clock on Saturday evening, May 6, 1882. Lord Hartington, as he then was, had been dining with Lord Northbrook, First Lord of the Admiralty, who had entertained the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, Lady Northbrook being afterwards "at home " to her many friends. Lounging through the room after dinner with one 57 hand in his trousers pocket' and his thoughts set upon the door that would give him exit, Hartington met Sir William Harcourt, who, calling him to one side, told him that his brother had that evening been done to death in Phoenix Park. Some years after Harcourt told me that the news reached him in a brief telegram whilst he was dining at the Austrian Embassy. Perhaps never since dinners began at the West End of London has such a missive been handed to a guest between the soup and the fish. Gladstone, then Premier, chanced to be among the guests, and the Home Secretary, himself dazed with the terrible news, passed on the telegram. The first thought of both colleagues was of the brother of the murdered man. Harcourt set out personally in search of Hartington with intent to break the news to him as gently as possible. He found him in the scene of gaiety at the Admiralty, and there, perforce, the ghastly story was told. VI FROM MY DIARY February 1, 1892. The announcement that Arthur Balfour is to be Leader of the Unionist Party in the House of Commons in succession to W. H. Smith is a terrible blow for Goschen ; may even prove a crushing one. It is not only disastrous in what it does, but for all it implies. There has not for a long time been any question of Goschen leading the Conservative party when in Opposition. Had he proved all the fancy of the Conservatives painted him when he was induced to cross the floor of the House and take service under Lord Salisbury, it would have been a natural, even an inevitable, thing that he should now step into the leadership of the party in the House of Commons, retain the post when in Opposition, and steadily march forward to the Premiership when Lord Salisbury abandons it. Probably that was the picture he had in his mind's eye when he took the decisive step of separating himself from the party with which he had worked all his life, and from colleagues whose counsels he had shared in and out of office for nearly a quarter of a century. FROM MY DIARY 59 Gradually, as months passed and sessions suc- ceeded each other, this vision must have begun to fade. The Conservative party began to murmur that they had not found such a bargain in their Chancellor of the Exchequer as they looked for. His Budgets not only did not prove sources of strength to the Ministry, but were, in two suc- cessive years, failures so hopeless that in order to avoid worse things they were given back into his hands to remodel. Then came W. H. Smith's frequent absences from the post of duty, and Goschen's opportunity of showing what he could do as leader of the House. It was significant of the situation that on these occasions he naturally took Smith's place. Every one understood that in the ordinary course of events he would lead the Conservative party in the Commons, and these chance openings were useful as training. This opportunity proved to be, politically, the death of Goschen. In the closing weeks of last session the House had the chance of seeing how he would do when the leadership came into his hands, and it discovered that he would not do at all. Those brought near him in the intimacy of Cabinet work speak of him as a well-inten- tioned man, terribly afraid of making up his mind. That in itself is a fatal objection to a candidate for the leadership. The leader of the House of Commons is constantly called upon to decide at a moment's notice, alike on matters of small detail and of Imperial importance. Goschen, 60 ' v ; , HEARING JORDAN hesitating and shuffling, would speedily land the House and his party in hopeless dilemma. Like all weak men, he is prone, after long hesitancy, suddenly to make up his mind in the wrong direction. In the fortnight he acted as leader, poor " Old Morality " having at last succumbed to the toil of the session, he succeeded in making two egregious mistakes which sealed his fate. Such blundering would have been fatal to the prospects of a Conservative bred and born. To have an alien thrust upon them who bungled in this fashion was more than the Conservative party could stand. The situation must have been a painful one for Lord Salisbury. It is understood that when Goschen took the Conservative shilling the Premier gave him a definite pledge of succession to the leadership of the House of Commons following on the retirement of Smith. Almost up to the last day it was expected that an arrangement would be made whereby he would lead the House for what remains of the present Parliament a period that cannot decently extend beyond the present session and that thereafter, when the Conser- vatives go into opposition, Arthur Balfour should come to the front. It was doubtless with intention of carrying out this arrangement that Lord Salisbury hastened home from his holiday haunt. But day by day it became clearer that the Conservative party will not have Goschen at any price. More than that, it had made up its mind whom it would have, and FEOM MY DIAEYj 61 Lord Salisbury, with whatever regret at inability to keep his promise, has been forced to hand the baton to his nephew. When the House of Commons meets it will find, in the place of anxious, painstaking, plebeian Mr. Smith, the inflexible, self-confident, aristocratic stripling who, still al- most in his apprenticeship in official life, has for five years ruled Ireland with a firmness unknown since the days of Cromwell. 1 February 4, 1892. The death of Morell Mackenzie creates a profound feeling of sorrow throughout the wide circle to which he was per- sonally known. The suddenness of the conclusion adds much to the painfulness of the shock. Every- one knew he was ill, but according to the pre- ultimate report he was approaching convalescence. Constitutionally he never was a strong man, being prone to attacks of asthma that sometimes pros- trated him for days. A tremendous worker, he probably undermined his health by application to professional duties. Nor was he the kind of man to go quietly to bed as soon as work and dinner were over. He was always closely drawn to the theatrical profession, in whose ranks his eldest son some years ago enrolled himself. He fell into the theatrical habit of suppers, often giving elaborate midnight banquets at his own house, sometimes going out as the guest of others. He was never so happy as when surrounded 1 In 1900 Lord Salisbury raised Mr. Goschen to the peerage with the rank of Viscount. 62 NEAEING JORDAN at his hospitable board by a chosen company of friends. During the summer-time he kept open house up the river, near Wargrave, from Saturday to Monday. The chance caller would be sure to meet one or more of the theatrical or musical stars refreshing themselves in anticipation of another week's toil. Almost every actor and singer on the London stage in need of the services of a throat doctor was his patient. From the poorer members of the craft he never would take a penny for services which elsewhere commanded fabulous fees. February 5, 1892. There has just come to light a curious and interesting relic connected with the old Houses of Parliament. It is a key, said to be the one used by the Lord Chamberlain of the day, going about his business on the opening of the session in search of a possible Guy Fawkes. It is nearly a foot long, of wrought iron, beautifully cut. The peculiarity about it is a hinge in the middle of the shaft, which would seem to make rather embarrassing an attempt to turn it in a lock. Picked up on the morning after the fire at the old Houses of Parliament, it was recognised by an official as the very key that unlocked the doors of the vaults beneath the Houses of Parliament. It came into the hands of a clergyman in Essex, who presented it to the Speaker with particulars of its history. Mr. Peel thought it would more appropriately belong to the House of Commons, and has accordingly passed on the gift. When the session opens the key will be found on FROM MY DIAEY 63 view in the library, shrined in a glass case, with an inscription setting forth its strange history. February 6, 1892. A little more than three months ago Mr. Spurgeon was journeying to Mentone, travelling en prince, Lord Rothschild having placed at his disposal his luxurious sleeping- car. To-day the great preacher is making another railway journey, this time coming northward, lying even more profoundly at rest than when in October he stretched his weary limbs on the millionaire's couch. Yesterday the funeral procession started from the house at Mentone in which the famous preacher died, the hearse flower-laden, the coffin hidden beneath branches of palms. It is a sad and an unexpected ending of a stubborn fight for life. Almost up to the hour at which he became unconscious Spurgeon believed he would come off triumphant. He knew his flock at the Tabernacle were praying for him night and day, and his faith in the efficacy of prayer waa not to be shaken by the weariness of his own body. He wrote to me what was probably one of the last letters penned with his own hand. He had been reading in an Australian paper a letter of mine in which reference was made to his southern flight in search of better health. " You are most kind," he wrote. " The Sydney paper has given Mrs. Spurgeon and myself much pleasure. It is a great joy to her to be with me yet alive, and as great a joy to me to see her in 64 NEAKING JOEDAN fair health after being so long an invalid. During this week of bad weather I have not gone back a great marvel I But my whole case has been one of the marvellous working of God in answer to the prayers of so great a multitude. It cheers me that you take so generous an interest in me. May my Lord reward you I We have just heard of the Prince's death, and all feel sorrowful sympathy with the parents and the young fiancee. Yours very heartily." It is eighteen years since I made Spurgeon's personal acquaintance. He was at the propitious moment sitting on a fence by the roadside some miles out of London, overlooking the dropping of coppers, shillings, and stray half-sovereigns into a stout box. The collection was made on behalf of the expense of building a new chapel, to which end Spurgeon contributed a stirring sermon, delivered under an historic oak-tree. I saw a good deal of him about that time. He was celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of his beginning work in London, and talked a great deal of his early experience. He vividly remembered the day of his arrival in London. He told me he never noticed how people were dressed. But he remembered very well how he himself was arrayed when he set out from his quiet home in Water- beach in reply to an invitation to preach a sermon at New Park Street Chapel, Southwark. Anxious to make a good appearance calculated to militate FEOM MY DIAEY 65 against the exceeding juvenility of his aspect, he selected a huge black-satin stock, which he wound round his neck with the happy assurance that it gave him almost a venerable air. Not to overdo it in that direction, he possessed himself of a blue handkerchief with white spots. These, of course, in addition to his ordinary Sunday clothes. When he first came under the lights of Lon- don, a country bumpkin in his nineteenth year, he made his way to a boarding-house in Queen Square, Bloomsbury. I gathered from his conver- sation it was a place resembling Mrs. Todgers', where Mr. Pecksniff and his blooming daughters used to put up on their visits to London. It was full of boarders on the night of his arrival, and they were all anxious to know what had brought this country lad to London. He felt no hesitation in telling them he was going to preach at the New Park Street Chapel, a prospect which, instead of impressing them, as he hoped it would, rather amused them. It seemed greatly to tickle them that this country lad with his black-satin stock, and his blue handkerchief with white spots, should, in the course of a few hours, appear in a London pulpit and address grown-up men and women, heads of families. Spurgeon went to bed in a cupboard over the front door, and what with the excitement of the journey, and apprehension of what might befall him when he came to face a London congregation, he slept scarcely a wink. Years after he wrote some lines about that 66 NEAEING JORDAN memorable night, which animate the scene with the touch of a great master. " Pitiless was the grind of the tramp in the street ; pitiless the recollections of the young City clerks, whose grim propriety had gazed upon our rusticity with such amusement ; pitiless the spare room which scarce afforded space to kneel ; pitiless even the gas lamps which seemed to wink at us as they flickered among the December darkness. We had no friend in all that city full of human beings ; we felt among strangers and foreigners, hoped to be helped through the scrape into which we had been brought, and to escape safely to the serene abodes of Cambridge and Waterbeach." Spurgeon, as it turned out, had come to stay, and rapidly made for himself a name and fame that will endure as long as those of Whitefield or Wesley. That he was a great preacher all the world knows. Less widely spread is acquaintance with his genius for organisation. If he had not been a preacher he might have been a general in command of an army, or a great railway director. The Tabernacle, under his direction, became the pivot of a far-reaching congeries of beneficent work. In addition to the Pastors' College, one of his earliest enterprises, there were the orphanage, an almshouse, and a school for boys and girls. Even when suffering the bodily agony from which he was rarely relieved, he cared for all these things with a personal, fatherly affection, beautiful to see FROM MY DIARY 67 Taking him for all in all, as preacher and worker, his too early death removed one of the four or five mightiest human influences of the age. February 20, 1892. Of Mr. Gladstone's old Cabinet colleagues who remained faithful to him after the estrangement that followed the intro- duction of the Home Rule Bill, Sir William Harcourt alone succeeded in preserving ancient friendly relations. He was one of very few with whom Mr. Chamberlain remained on speaking terms. Another unbroken friendship of even greater intimacy was maintained with Sir Henry James, with whom he ran neck to neck in the Parliamentary race, received Ministerial promotion on the same day, and worked in comradeship as a Law Officer of the Crown. One day, in conversation, Lord Morris remarked on the charm of this incident in the storm and stress of party warfare. " Yes," said Harcourt, softly, with a wistful, faraway look in his eyes, " we are, as you may say, brothers." " So were Cain and Abel," said Lord Morris. Apropos, Sir Henry James used to tell a good story. During the heat of the Home Eule struggle he went over to Paris for a few days. He there met an acquaintance who happened to have been in the House of Commons on a particular night when Sir Henry had a sharp passage of arms with his old friend Sir William Harcourt. " Ah," said the Frenchman, shaking him warmly 68 NEAEING JOKDAN by the hand, " I see. You come over here to arrange a little affaire with Sir Harcourt ? " To the French mind, accustomed to the manner of the Chambre des Deputes, a meeting with pistols or swords seemed the natural and inevitable con- sequence of the encounter on the floor of the House of Commons. April 6, 1892. Beginning to grow alarmed at accumulated evidence of personal interest taken in me by the common hangman. One Sunday after- noon, many years ago, Calcraft called upon me. I was not at home, and he left his card with a memorandum on the back stating that, having greatly enjoyed the " Cross Bench " article in the current issue of the Observer, and having an idle afternoon, he thought he would drop in to make the personal acquaintance of the gifted author. And now his successor, Mr. James Berry, ex- executioner, has paid me the delicate compliment of sending me a copy of his biography, its intrinsic value much increased by the linking of my name with his in his autograph. It is an interesting work, full of information as to the business department over which Mr. Berry long presided. It includes reminiscences of eminent persons now no longer with us, having, indeed, literally " dropped " out of life, with por- traits, illustrations of notable prisons, and " a scale showing the striking force of falling bodies at different distances." For the student of human nature the central figure of absorbing interest is FEOM MY DIAEY 69 the executioner himself. Plow Dickens would have gloated over this book, and what fascinating in- terest it would have had for Thackeray ! Mr. Berry, as is the case with men successful in particular walks of life, is an enthusiast in all that relates to his profession. As he says, if it is right for men to be executed (which some people directly con- cerned strenuously deny), it is right that the office of executioner should be held respectable. He has always endeavoured to maintain the highest traditions of his post. Affable with all, especially the subjects finally committed to his charge, he has not been inclined to stand undue interference by persons in authority however highly placed. When he first took up the work he was in the habit of applying to the Sheriff of the county whenever a " job " was pending. " I no longer consider it necessary," he proudly writes, " to apply for work in England, because I am well-known. But I still send a sample address card when an execution in Ireland is announced." He presents a facsimile of his card. "James Berry, Executioner," is its severely simple style ; " Bradford, Yorkshire," his sufficient address. I suppose when he arrives on business at one of Her Majesty's prisons he leaves a card for the occupant of the condemned cell, with one of the corners turned down to show it has been personally delivered. The artist's terms are Wl. for an execution, 5l. if the condemned is reprieved, together with 70 NEABING JORDAN all travelling expenses. Mr. Berry finds his own rope. There are on an average some twenty execu- tions annually. In this business, as in others, there are slack times, and, shrinking from " having to peruse newspaper reports in hope that a fellow- creature may be condemned to death," Mr. Berry strongly approves the suggestion that the execu- tioner's office should be a Government appoint- ment, with a fixed salary. On this subject he has been in communication with Lord Aberdare, Presi- dent of the Lords' Committee on Capital Punish- ment, and has suggested a fixed annual sum of 350Z., or if the Home Office prefers it, a nominal sum of 100/., a year, in addition to fees paid by Sheriffs. Lord Aberdare's reply is not included in the volume. May 10, 1892. A prominent and notable figure in the crowd gathered at Christie's to-day, when the art treasures of the famous house of Murietta fell under the hammer, was a distin- guished-looking man, with thin pale face, parch- ment-like skin, set off by imperial and chin tuft, white silvery hair, closely cut, crowning his strong intellectual head. It is more than twenty years since I last saw him, and certainly did not recognise the Henri Eochefort I knew when I was a student in the Quartier Latin and he was its hero. I have a vivid recollection of the gas- light in the Boulevard St. Michel falling on a somewhat whitened face, as Henri Kochefort, lifted FEOM MY DIABY 71 shoulder-high by the students, was rapidly hurried down the broad avenue in a triumph he did not unreservedly enjoy. It was not exactly a com- fortable position, his conductors being of various heights, and all much excited. Moreover, at that time (it was the month of May, 1869) Napoleon III. was still on the throne, and the police, disturbed by the rumblings of the coming earthquake, were particularly active. No one could say into whose hands he might not fall when dropped from his uncomfortable elevation. Nothing happened as a result of that even- ing's entertainment. Shortly after Rochefort fled, editing from Brussels his weekly Lanterne, smuggled into Paris in spite of the efforts of the police to keep it out. I remember how it was regarded in the Quartier Latin as the height of chic to go about with a corner of the blood-red cover of La Lanterne peeping forth from one's jacket pocket. A great deal has happened since that May night, Rochefort having his full share in the changes of fortune. He still keeps up his journalistic con- nexion with France, editing IS Intransigeant from his house at Clarence Gate, London. The Republic for which he worked and plotted in 1869 has come at last. He gets along with it no better than he succeeded with the Empire. Under both he was proscribed. With neither is it possible for him to live in Paris. Like the Third Napoleon and Louis Philippe, the revolutionist, driven from France, 72 NEABING JORDAN seeks a home in England, and has quietly settled down in the most eminently respectable quarter of London. It was reported that he had resolved to trans- fer himself and his belongings to Switzerland. He has no such intention, being content, as he well may be, with his charming residence on the borders of Regent's Park. When he is not con- spiring against the authorities of the day, under whatever style they may reign, he is either arranging a duel or buying pictures. No figure is more familiar in the London sale-rooms, and during the quiet years of his residence here he has picked up some rare prizes. He loves his country too well to use any language but that it taught him, and though now regularly domiciled in London he cannot speak a word of English. VII FRANK LOCKWOOD TWENTY years ago Frank Lockwood was member for York, Recorder of Sheffield, one of the most successful practitioners at the Common Law Bar, and one of the most popular men in the House of Commons. He might have been several other things had fortune chanced to alter the direction of his steps. He actually did begin with the stage, going about the country for some time play- ing minor parts in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Kendal. He had then been called to the Bar, and had hopefully sat in wig and gown waiting for the briefs that never came. It was Mrs. Kendal who by personal application to Sir Albert Rollit, then a practising solicitor in Hull, obtained his first brief. He soon got another, and rapidly acquired a splendid practice. He had great facility with the pencil. Had he given himself up to study of its use he would have made a position amongst the small band of artists in black and white. There was scarcely an inci- dent in House of Commons life during the term of his membership that was not illustrated by a sketch 74 NEABING JOEDAN from his pen. He had a keen sense of humour and drew with remarkable rapidity. When look- ing round the House of Commons one saw a piece of paper passing from hand to hand, a broad smile spread along its wake, it was concluded that one of Frank Lock wood's sketches was making its round. It was the same in Court, any spare moment being filled up with vivid sketches of witnesses counsel or Judge. A valuable and remarkable volume left behind him was a copy of the evidence before a Royal Commission which sat at Chester to inquire into corrupt practices alleged to have taken place at a Parliamentary election. Each commis- sioner was supplied (at the expense of the State) with fine large pencils, blue and red. Lockwood used his up adorning every page of his copy of the evidence with coloured sketches, comprising por- traits and incidents in court. He had at home a large collection of caricatures of Judges and other eminent persons, which were occasionally matters of embarrassment. When any of his unconscious sitters chanced to be dining with him, he was careful to put away mementoes personal to themselves. " It is a strange thing, Mr. Lockwood," said Lord Chief Justice Coleridge, turning over one evening a portfolio containing more or less freely drawn portraits of his learned brethren on the bench " a very strange thing, that you don't seem ever to have drawn me." FEANK LOCKWOOD 75 If he had only seen the contents of a large envelope carefully hidden in a drawer before his arrival, the Lord Chief Justice would have had food for other reflection. Even at the height of his professional and Parliamentary success, Lockwood's secret desire was to draw for Punch. He had a natural gift for caricature. Lack of study, and of conse- quent acquirement of finish, precluded reproduc- tion of his sketches. Nevertheless they in many cases were found worthy of redrawing by more skilled hands. He frequently came to me in the Lobby of the House of Commons bubbling over with suggestion of a sketch arising upon an inci- dent of current debate. His execution was ex- ceedingly rapid. After discussing the matter, he would return in a few minutes with a sketch. I have many of the originals, one of the best illus- trating a chance phrase in a speech by the present Earl Spencer, at the time known in the House as " Bobby." Debate arising on the question of the condition of the farm labourer, " Bobby " pre- sented himself at the table, the perfection of high art in tailoring, his columnar collar, rivalling in fame Mr. Gladstone's, gleaming round his neck. " I am not," said " Bobby " in mincing tones, " an agricultural labourer." This suggested two sketches, one a faithful portrait of the Vice-Chancellor, standing at the table, the top of which the tips of his fingers daintily touched ; the other of what he might 76 NEARING JORDAN have teen had fate fixed his lot on a farm. He was presented dressed in white smock, knee- breeches, white stockings, a ribbon-decked pitch- fork over his shoulder, tripping forth to his daily work. By way of recognition of his collaboration, Lock wood's name was added to the list which procures for the staff of Punch an early copy of the week's paper, a privilege of which he was excessively proud. Another lightning sketch that had great success was drawn whilst on a week-end visit to Sandringham. Among the guests was Sir William Harcourt. A phance reference to Gladstone's eighty-fourth birthday drew from him the remark that he had perfect recollection of an occasion when he was nursed on the knee of his illustrious colleague and chief. This was irresistible to Lock- wood. In an instant, realising the scene of sixty years earlier, he drew on the back of the menu a fancy picture of Harcourt in short clothes, his supernatural girth girdled by a sash, his face very much what it was in the 'nineties, smiling be- nignly into the face of Mr. Gladstone, who is giving him a " ride a-cock-horse to Banbury Cross." Queen Alexandra, then a resident at Sandringham, possessed herself of the sketch, which remains a cherished souvenir of other days and scenes. Edward Prince of Wales took great delight in the society of the witty Q.C. One night at FEANK LOCKWOOD 77 Lincoln's Inn, the Prince in his capacity of Grand Master of the Freemasons presided at the installa- tion of a Lodge exclusively recruited from the Chancery Bar. Inquiring who was appointed to respond to the toast of the Bar, he was told it was Mr. Pope, Q.C. Pope was an amiable and learned gentleman, who carried a light heart under a heavy weight of flesh. But he was not exactly the kind of after-dinner speaker who sets the table in a roar. His seniority imposed on him the duty of responding for this toast, and he -might not be displaced. The Prince wanted to hear Frank Lockwood, and the ingenuity of the chair- man was equal to the occasion. The toast of " The Visitors " was added to the formal list, the Prince himself proposing it, coupled with Lock- wood's name. The response sparkled with humour. One of its happiest points referred to an incident that had taken place before dinner. At a certain stage of the installation of the Lodge only brethren who had passed the chair were by the occult rules of Freemasonry permitted to be present. Lord Hals- bury and Lockwood were among those whom this rule temporarily dismissed from the room. Allud- ing to the incident Lockwood observed that in a certain class of cases, not unfamiliar to learned Judges present, women and children, representa- tives of all that was beautiful and pure, were ordered to leave the court. "In the same way, Sir," he said, turning to 78 N EARING JORDAN the Prince of Wales, " at a particular stage of the ceremony over which your Royal Highness pre- sided, Lord Halsbury and I were ordered to quit the room, and of what thereafter took place we are absolutely ignorant." The idea of Lord Halsbury as a type of female beauty shyly withdrawing from conversation un- fitted for the ear of a young damsel was so irresistibly comical that it was some time before the shout of laughter that welcomed the hit permitted Lock- wood to proceed. It was in these flashes of unpremeditated humour that Lockwood was seen at his best. I remember one irradiating a dinner-table at Sheffield, where Lockwood and I were the guests of the local Press Club. It happened a short time after he had resigned the recordership. Alluding to his term of office and the pleasant recollections he cherished of it, he was interrupted by a general cheer. After a brief pause, in which he scanned the audience with a look of pained surprise, he said, turning to the chairman, " Really, Sir, I did not know that we had amongst us to-night so many gentlemen who had occasion to appear before me in my judicial capacity, and who seem to have been permitted to leave the Court with agreeable memories of the encounter." The gentleman known in the 'nineties in the House of Commons and at the Bar as " Bob " Reid was a perennial source of amusement to Lockwood, a sure incentive to his genial but pointed wit. FRANK LOCKWOOD 79 Inseparable friends, it is impossible to imagine two men of more widely different temperament a Yorkshireman bubbling with wit and humour, a dour Scot placidly suffering the position of a butt, not quite understanding all his companion's allusions, or why others should laugh while he spoke, but trusting him with dog-like affection. The member for Dumfries, advancing ahead of his brilliant companion, was made Solicitor-General at a time when Lord Kosebery's Government, weakened by internal dissensions, was tottering to inevitable fall. Lockwood, speaking at a con- gratulatory dinner to Sir Robert Reid given by the Eighty Club at Cambridge, remarked that on passing his friend's chambers the previous day he observed that his new title, Solicitor- General, had been added to his name on the door in a single coat of paint. " I do not know," he continued, " whether that indicates uncertainty as to the life of the Government of which my friend has just become a member, or whether it is merely the outcome of the constitutional economy of a Scotchman." Among customs growing out of an inseparable friendship delightful to watch, Lockwood and Reid annually gave a dinner at the Garrick Club, gather- ing round them a bright company of legal, Parlia- mentary, and literary stars. A frequent guest was Sir Charles Russell, afterwards Lord Chief Justice. On one occasion he regretfully expressed his inability to be present since he had staying with 80 NEAB1NG JOKDAN him in Harley Street a guest from America. The cheery hosts made the perhaps expected response, " Bring him along with you." This the Attorney- General did, with comically disastrous consequences. When, dinner over, coffee and cigars were served, the gentleman from America (he was a member of the Bar in that country) began to talk. He was listened to with the courtesy due to a visitor from a foreign land. Encouraged by this attention, evidently inspired by patriotic desire to let the Britisher know what's what, he went on talking by the hour. The company included some of the brightest conversationalists in London. None of them had a chance. If in vain attempt to turn the tiresome monologue one made a remark it served as a text on which the gentleman from America went off on a new tack. Seated nearly opposite Sir Charles Russell, I watched with delight his expressive countenance. If the bore had been there on anyone else's intro- duction, he would, in manner not unfamiliar to witnesses in the box or to junior counsel, have stormily shut bim up. As it was, the sole respon- sibility rested with him. So he sat silent, tossing about in the chair, dosing himself with snuff by the spoonful, and shaking his blood-red bandana, frequently applied it to his nose, and trumpeted like an irate elephant. As he afterwards with rare apologetic manner admitted, he felt he had unwittingly been accessory to spoiling what should have been a delightful PEANK LOCKWOOD 81 evening. It certainly was hard to begin with. But the company, beginning to see the humour of the situation and keeping their eye on the Attorney- General, successfully made believe to enjoy it. It was agreed that since the time of Faust never was so strikingly realised the fate which Frankenstein brought upon himself. Lockwood barely attained the high position in Parliamentary debate his capacity promised. The fact is he was afraid of the House. He told me he felt a chill run down his spine whenever he rose to address it. Had he been able to throw into his speeches the joyous abandon with which he set himself to address a jury he would have had equal success. After all, the House of Commons is a common jury, larger in numbers than those found in the Law Courts, but equally human, susceptible of similar emotions. Lockwood, whilst conscious of his infirmity, could never school himself to take that view. Towards the end he began to improve, and on one occasion captured the House by display of his familiar manner elsewhere. The defeat of Lord Rosebery's Government in 1895 found Lord Salis- bury unprepared with a Solicitor-General. At the request of the Premier Lockwood consented to con- tinue in charge of his office till a successor was appointed. Two years later the Government were challenged upon a line of policy just adopted which was directly contrary to one pursued when they entered upon office. G 82 NEARING JORDAN " Can the Law Officers of the Crown," asked an indignant member on the Opposition benches, " justify the advice they must have given to their colleagues on the former occasion ? " Finlay, who had after an interval succeeded Lockwood, replied, " The Law Officer at the time was her Majesty's then Solicitor-General whom I see sitting opposite." Here was a predicament unknown in Parlia- mentary history. Never before had a member seated amongst other ex-Ministers been called upon after an interval of years to vindicate an opinion delivered by him as a Law Officer for the Government of the party to which all his life he had been consistently opposed. With an inimi- table air of mock gravity, Lockwood, responding to the challenge, explained "what was precisely the advice I gave her Majesty's present Govern- ment on the occasion referred to." His speech, brief but pointed, was punctuated by hilarious cheers from both sides. The House recognised, if it had not already discovered, the secret I won't say of comparative failure as a Parliamentary man, but of his stopping short of the highest peak. The process of preparation and an uneasy feeling of responsibility were fatal to full success. When, as on this occasion, he was suddenly called upon to speak he was at his best. Whilst he loved his daily work in the Law Courts which brought him money and fame, his deepest affection, his highest ambition, were rooted FEANK LOCKWOOD 83 in the House of Commons and its possibilities of promotion. The turn of his thoughts appears in the following letter : " ROYAL COURTS OF JUSTICE, " June 15, '94. " MY DEAR LUCY, I fully expect that Rigby will succeed Russell in the House of Lords. I find that there is a general opinion that I don't care about a Law officership : this has no doubt to some extent been caused by my strong feeling in favour of Bob Reid's appointment. I understand that it has also been suggested that my seat at York is not safe. I have this morning received letters, entirely unsolicited, from the Conservative agent and the Editor of the Liberal Unionist paper giving me the strongest assurance that in case of my seeking re-election I should not be opposed. I don't know what your view may be as to my qualifications ; I am only anxious that you should not think that I am indifferent in this matter. It does seem to me about time that representation of an English constituency ceased to be a disqualifi- cation for an English Law officership. " Yours ever, "FRANK LOCKWOOD." The purport of this diplomatic communication was discreetly made known in the proper quarter, and within a few months, on the first opportunity, he was made Solicitor-General. In the ordinary course of events, unexpectedly 84 NEAEING JORDAN realised in the case of his bosom friend Bob Reid a remarkable instance in modern life of the tor- toise beating the hare in a race Lockwood might have reached the woolsack. His political friends dropping back in 1895 into the shade of Opposi- tion with no visible prospect of emergence, his ambition was bounded by the limits of a puisne judgeship. Such appointment he greatly desired. Fulfilment of the desire was fatally delayed. On an afternoon nearing Christmas-time 1897, Lord Halsbury, then Lord Chancellor, called at Lennox Gardens intending to offer Frank Lockwood a judgeship about to be vacated. He was too late. On Sunday morning, December 19, 1897, Frank Lockwood, in his fifty-second year, was called to the bar of a higher Court. VIII MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN THE first time I sat at meat with Mr. Punch at the weekly dinner in Bouverie Street was on Wednesday, July 16, 1884. The company in- cluded Frank Burnand (in the chair), Tenniel, Linley Sambourne, Arthur a Beckett, du Maurier, Milliken, Gil a Beckett, Charles Keene, The Professor (Percival Leigh), and Harry Furniss. William Agnew, not yet knighted, and dear William Bradbury, one of the best fellows in the world, in their capacity of proprietors at subse- quent dinners alternately occupied the vice-chair. Of that merry company I only am left. Burnand and Furniss, though retired from the circle, are at this time of writing still alive. The rest are landed in the far countrie. " For them all winds are quiet as the sun, All waters as the shore." Although I was not admitted to the Table till the date named, I had for some time been a regular contributor. It was at the opening of the session of 1881 that the first entry in " The Diary of 86 NEAEING JORDAN Toby, M.P." appeared. It was continued, session after session, through thirty-five years with the single interval of three weeks in 1908 when I was confined to my room by an attack of bron- chitis. I remember how, dining with the proprietor of the Observer sometime in the last century, his wife (Mrs. Beer) asked me how I managed if I happened to be taken ill on a Friday morning, the time set apart for writing "The Cross Benches" article ? That is a tale of bricks provided week by week through a longer vista of sessions even than the Punch article. It struck me when the query was put as a record possibly without parallel that I had never sent away empty the printer's boy waiting at noon on Fridays for Observer " copy." The material " Punch Dinner " began modestly enough in keeping with the financial resources of the budding periodical and its staff. In Mark Lemon's time it was given in various city restau- rants, the guests taking pot-luck, always ending up with a bowl of punch. When I joined the Table I was under the impression that the meal would be plain, not to say Bohemian, in its character. A joint, peradventure a porter-house steak, with a stoup of stout or bitter beer, seemed about the appropriate thing. Sentimental pre- dilections were agreeably shocked by finding the Wednesday dinner a regular banquet, with multiple courses, including two soups, a choice of fish, and the rest in proportion. When the paper became the property of Bradbury, Agnew & Co., the ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 87 principal room in the offices in Bouverie Street was set apart as a dining-hall. For some months during 1898, the old offices being pulled down and rebuilt, Mr. Punch with generously hospitable hand led his young men to their weekly dinner sumptuously spread in the best hostelries in London. On May 31, 1899 (Derby Day), the company reassembled in new quarters in Bouverie Street, but still round " the old Mahogany Tree " of which years ago Thackeray sang. On this special occasion, marking a new start in an historic career, every seat at the Table was occupied. All told, the company was fourteen, including three representing the proprietarial firm. Besides the Table, on which are cut the names of Punch men as far back as Mark Lemon's time, some pictures and busts, a snuff-box, a water -jug, and a couple of goblets of Bohemian glass out of which according to tradition no one ever saw any of his colleagues take refreshment nothing remains of the Punch room in which forgathered Douglas Jerrold, Leech, Charles Keene, Tenniel, Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Thackeray, and Albert Smith. On this particular night there remained of this group only John Tenniel, still hale and merry- hearted. After the staff settled in Bouverie Street the weekly dinners were held at No. 11, a building later appropriated for Post- Office purposes. It is at No. 10, Bouverie Street the second and third gene- rations of Punch men have dined together on suc- cessive Wednesdays through more than thirty-five 88 NEABING JOEDAN years. The only variation of the custom beyond the long interval mentioned was the cheerful practice in summer-time of occasionally dining at a hostelry up the river, or driving four-in-hand to some old-fashioned country inn, outings which did not survive their founder and personal con- ductor, William Bradbury, who was never so happy as during these not infrequent joyances. Mr. Punch's Jubilee was celebrated at the Sign of the Ship, Greenwich. William Bradbury's genius for hospitality rose to the occasion. He devised a banquet worthy of it. I preserved a copy of the bill-of-fare and here present it, not only as a record of what the old Ship could do when, encouraged by a blank cheque, it got up steam, but as useful for anyone desirous of enter- taining a circle of friends at a quiet little dinner : E. I. Madeira Ponche a la Roinaine. Amontillado. Riidesheimerberg. Pontet Canet. Sorbet a la Francaise. Potages a la tortue olaire et tortue liee gras verts au jus. Aileron de tortue etuvee aux tines herbes. Carrelets souche ; Saumon de Severne souche ; whitebait. Rissoles de Homard. Christines a la Mantua. Boudins de Merlans a la Danoise. Anguilles etuvees a la Bordelaise. Truite grillee, sauce a la Tartare. Omelette de crabs au cordon bleu. Filet de sole a la creme au Parmesa Cotelettes de saumon a 1'Ecossaise a 1'Orientale. Whitebait a la Diable. Kari de Crevettes au riz. ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 89 Irroy Carte d'Or, vint. 1878, and Moet dry Imperial Champagnes. Liqueurs. 1865 Brown Sherry, Ch. Larose, 1870. Port 1863. Punch Bowl. Souffle d'Ecrevisses glace. Filet de Volaille a 1'ecarlate. Epaule d'agneau grillee et Haricots Verts. Canetons rotis et petits pois verts. Asperges en branches glacees. Cailles r6ties et salade a la Franyaise. Bacon and beans. Jainbon grille a la Diable et salade de tomates. Creme d'abricots. Dames d'honneur. Meringues a la creme ; eclairs aux chocolate. Mille fruits glaces. Pailtes de frontage. Glaces. Creme d' Ananas. Eau de Cerises. Creme aux fraises. Eau de Citron. Fait boire. Dessert. Ananas, melons, peches, nectarines, fraises, rasins, conserves. Fourteen different dishes of fish following in succession, each exquisitely cooked, was a unique procession even at Greenwich. Thus did we cultivate literature on a little oatmeal. Later there was another jubilee, this time celebrating John Tenniel's half-century of service on the paper. It was marred by untoward 90 NEAEING JOEDAN circumstance. For regularity, not less than for length of period, Tenniel's attendance at the weekly dinner beat the record. As he never took a holiday and, in spite of his fourscore years at the time achieved, was rarely indisposed, his presence at the Table was regarded as a matter of course. With that expectation, his colleagues fixed the dinner on the night of December 7, 1900, as the occasion for presenting him with some token of their affectionate regard. The project was kept secret, guarded especially from the ears of one for whom was intended a genial surprise. A full muster of the staff was arranged, Linley Sam- bourne, on a visit to Scotland, travelling all day to be in attendance, returning northward by the night mail. When the company gathered round the Table there was one empty chair that associated with the cheerful presence of the great cartoonist. For once in a score of years Tenniel was not well enough to join the weekly dinner. It was nothing serious, merely a chill. Doubtless if he had known what was to the fore he would have muffled himself up and driven down to Bouverie Street. As it was, he, all unconscious, kept his room, where in the course of the evening he received mysterious intimation that a deputation was about to wait upon him. These were the representatives of his colleagues at the Table carrying with them a message of ever-increasing regard. Also they conveyed a handsome tobacco-box in solid silver, ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 91 wrought from a design by the artistic pen of Linley Sambourne. A brief inscription recorded the events of fifty years' service. On the four square sides of the box were engraved in facsimile the signatures of the Punch staff. An historic Punch dinner, not held in Bouverie Street, took place on a night in June, 1901. It was designed to bid farewell to Tenniel on finally laying down the pencil that for half a century had delighted mankind. There has not often been found together under one roof such distinguished company as gathered to do him honour. Litera- ture, Science, Politics, Art, and the Drama were each represented by its foremost men. Lord Rose- bery was one of the few leading statesmen missing from the galaxy. This abstention, consequent on the recent death of his mother, was the more notable, since the banquet was one of his happy thoughts. Mr. Chamberlain was precluded by engagement elsewhere from carrying out his intention of being present. The Speaker (Mr. Gully) whose name appeared in the list of the organising committee, had a home-dinner party. All Tenniel's colleagues on the staff of Punch were present, some presiding at the tables set at right- angles with that at which Mr. Arthur Balfour, the chairman, sat. Few present knew that, as far as the number of tables went, the vice-chairmen sat to the left and right of the editor in the order taken at the regular Wednesday dinner. There being only seven of these tables, the other three 92 NEARING JORDAN members completing Mr. Punch's team sat at the other end of one of them. Mr. Balfour was in his element, and delivered a charming, sympathetic speech. His salute of the guest of the evening, " a great artist and a great gentleman," was rapturously cheered. It was felt that he had said everything in a sentence. Familiar with his oratorical manner elsewhere, I fancy he had not prepared his phrases in advance. Possibly he had thought over the main lines of his speech certainly the first half of it was delivered in that slow, hesitating manner peculiar to him when un- expectedly called upon in the House of Commons to make an important statement. A unique dis- tinction about the dinner was that all the speeches were at the highest level. At ordinary festivities, one, or at most two, stars shine in the post-prandial firmament, wide spaces filled up by mediocrity. Mr. Balfour and Mr. Choate (the American Minister), and Augustine Birrell were each at his best. Even the Duke of Devonshire, proposing the Chairman's health, brightened up and told an interesting story about Gladstone bringing the current week's copy of Punch into the Cabinet Council and laughing over the cartoon. The chief success of a brilliant night was the speech Tenniel didn't make. " A speech that makes one in love with silence," was Mr. Birrell's happy description of the episode. It was a pathetic scene whilst the veteran stood before the silent audience vainly endeavouring to recall the oration ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG. MEN 93 he had spent nearly two months in composing and committing to memory. There was nothing painful about it. There was, indeed, a prevalent feeling that nothing could have been better. As an artistic touch it was the highest development, more effective even than a speech marked by the point of Mr. Birrell and delivered with the fluency of the American Minister. The breakdown was not unexpected by Tenniel's comrades. They remembered how something nearly approaching it happened when he sat for the last time at the table where he had been a colleague of Thackeray's. Acknowledging presentation of a farewell souvenir of fifty years' association with Mr. Punch, some moments elapsed before he could command his voice and recall the drift of his speech. Being at home among old friends, he finally succeeded, and spoke some touching words. Nevertheless greater was the triumph of " the speech that makes one in love with silence." At the Punch Table on August 5, 1903, whilst the staff gathered for the weekly dinner, came news of the death of Phil May. It was not a surprise, since his condition had for more than a month been hopeless. Nor was it a regret that the inevitable end had closed over a worn-out body. But there was poignant sorrow at this premature cutting-off of a life precious to art. Like Lycidas, Phil May was " dead ere his prime." Only a few weeks earlier he spent his thirty-ninth 94 HEARING JORDAN birthday. In happier circumstances of bodily health he might fairly have counted upon at least twenty years of splendid work. A Bohemian by instinct and habit, he had not the physical stamina to enable him to sustain the vagaries of Bohemian life. Generous to a fault, he was the daily prey of a large class of hangers-on at Fleet Street bars and late night-clubs. Anybody could get anything out of him by asking, and there were many who were not restrained by conscience in the matter. He was the sort of man who would think nothing of giving his coat to a stranger on a cold night and walking home in his shirt-sleeves. His work commanded exceptional price. At one time, not long before the end came, his income was little less than that of the head of a State Department. He welcomed it as being all the more to spend. He has been known to give a newspaper-boy half a sovereign for an evening paper. Sovereigns and shillings being of equal account to him, and the divisions of a purse unknown, a cabman was as likely as not to get gold for silver at the end of a half-mile drive. His generosity extended to lavish scattering of his original drawings. A short time after he joined the Punch staff, it became a point of etiquette not to praise his contribution to the current number. " Do you like it ?" he would say. " Give it you." The next morning would arrive the original drawing. Headers of Punch not personally acquainted with ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 95 the artist have frequently entertained him un- awares. He was fond of drawing his own portrait, not always in flattering circumstances. One of his most wonderful sketches addressed to me on an envelope, a little thing tossed off in a moment of inspiration with a few strokes of the pen, presents the outline of his head as marked by the forefront of his hair. The lines of the face are not drawn by a single touch. Exactly at the spot where the big cigar was ever in his mouth, there it was stuck. Instantly those familiar with the face saw it with its grimly humorous smile. It was sad, but not surprising, to learn that, after the custom of the kingdom of Bohemia, Phil May died practically penniless. He did not seem to have left behind him many of the original sketches of his regular contributions to magazines and books. Had they been available they would have brought high prices. Death having nipped his subtle fingers and finally closed his sketch- book, he was with increased enthusiasm recognised as a prince among black-and-white artists. But he gave away the originals of his precious sketches, as he was ready to give away any of his possessions, to the first beggar he chanced to meet. Amongst his genial customs, observed up to within a couple of years of his death, was to keep open house on Sunday night. There were drinks and smokes for any friends, or even mere acquaintances, who liked to look in ; and many of them did. If only these and others to whom this too open-handed 96 NEARING JORDAN man gave or lent money or money's worth had returned a tithe of it, the effort, cheerfully under- taken by some of Phil's old colleagues in Bouverie Street, to make permanent provision for the widow, would have been liberally assisted. A flood of light is thrown on Phil May's con- stitutional habits by a cynical remark of an old friend present at the funeral. " Phil," he said, " with all his faults was too good a fellow to go anywhere but to heaven. All the same, it'll be a bitter disappointment to the other place. The first thing he would have done on arrival would have been to stand drinks all round. And you know they sorely need the refreshment." At the opening of the last year of the Boer War an interesting relic testifying to the univer- sality of Punch reached the office in Bouverie Street. It was a leaf from the number dated August 17, 1867, on which was printed the cartoon of the day. It was enclosed in a letter from a corporal who stated that he picked it up in the Boer trenches after the battle of Colenso. At the date of publication Parliament was on the eve of prorogation, having, under Lord Derby's adminis- tration, passed a reform Bill involving the prin- ciple of household suffrage. In Tenniel's cartoon of this far-off date, Disraeli, looking wonderfully young, is represented standing by a file of his colleagues in the Cabinet on bended knees, with MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 97 hands uplifted. The legend, taken from " The Critic," runs as follows : " Puff (Disraeli) : Now pray all together. All (kneeling) : Behold thy votaries submissive beg That thou wilt deign to grant them all they ask, Assist them to accomplish all their ends, And sanctify whatever means they use To gain them." The gallant corporal, sharing the common impres- sion that anyone can edit a newspaper, command the Channel Fleet, or design a cartoon for Punch, suggested that the scene and the quotation might be reproduced, Kruger taking the place of Disraeli as Puff. There were difficulties in the way of adopting the proposal. But the find, and the scene that leaps to the eye of some homely Boer in the trenches, waiting for a shot at the Rooinek, whiling away the tedium by studying a back number of Punch, are curious and interesting. Among the spoils brought home by Howard Vincent on his return from the front was a fat leather-bound, weather-stained Bible printed in the Dutch lan- guage, picked up in the camp where Cronje stood at bay at Paardeberg. That was natural enough. A thirty- three year old number of Punch taken out to the battle-field is quite another thing. IX MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN (continued) DU MAURIER AND LINLEY SAMBOURNE MY long connexion with Punch brought me weekly a stream of letters from all parts of the world. Many were of the personally friendly style of the subjoined, which bears neither address nor date : " RARE TOBY, Your honest bark is one of the delights of my Life. I never heard you growl yet, Good Dog. I hope you may long continue to sit (on your tail) in the Temple of the Great God Gab and never suffer the indignity of a Muzzle. Tho' Gold Muzzles do not hurt like the Wire ones. May you never get Hydro Phobia or have cause to yelp or whine unless you develop currishness. But you are of too good a Breed for that. I am an old dog but since my Puppyhood I have never heard a more delightful Bark than yours. Good Dog, Good Dog. Cudden Jack. P.S. My love and respects to your revered Master the Guide Philosopher and Friend of Humanity, Punch the Great. C.J." MB. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 99 Of graver character is the following, interesting as recalling an historical controversy. The writer at the date held high office in Lord Salisbury's Administration, and has since filled an even more important position. " July 2, '99. " MY DEAR LUCY, I have always experienced such kindness at your hands that I think you will forgive me even for interfering in what does not concern me. I have only read the open letter to Milner in the last Punch this moment and I confess I am red-hot with indignation. I cannot trust myself to write what I think of this stab in the back of a public servant who has never yet failed his country, who is now on duty in the most difficult and critical part of the whole Empire, and who cannot defend himself. I will content myself with saying that I could in a short conversation prove to any fairminded man on the Staff of Punch, and I believe that definition includes the whole Staff, that every hostile comment (contained in this letter) on Milner is unfair, being based either on imperfect knowledge or misapprehension. " You may be perfectly certain that it will be, has already been, by telegraph, taken in South Africa as Punch's verdict on Milner, and it will excite the bitterest resentment in the mind of every colonist of British extraction. May I point out that in my experience such a letter is without a precedent in the annals of Punch ? Punch is 100 NEARING JORDAN always fair, even to politicians, generous to public servants who are not politicians. " Believe me, " Yours sincerely, Not the least pleasant portion of my corre- spondence consists of letters addressed to " My Baronite " when he solely assisted his revered Chief, " The Baron de Bookworms," in reviewing books for Punch readers. This undated letter is from an American lady who became the wife of Lord Edmond Fitzmaurice. The book alluded to was her brother's graphic narrative of mountain- climbing in South Africa, " 2, GREEN STREET, GROSVENOR SQUARE. " DEAR MR. Lucy, The Review in Punch far exceeds our expectations and we are filled with pride at seeing such mention of the ponderous book under that well-loved cover ! Indeed of all the reviews (nor has there been cause to complain either of their length or tone) it is the only one that gives me just exactly this pleasurable feeling. " What responsible people you are, to be sure, who keep alive for us, like a little wax taper burn- ing before our altar of the ideal, this good old wise Punch. I firmly believe it helps you having such a cover to live up to. I was brought up to feel an English child in America and I associate Punch with my first knowledge of England, my ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 101 first sight of smooth turf and daisies that open and shut real daisies smooth well-fed-looking dray-horses and the other striking features of a country for which I cherished a passionate longing and adoration, at a time when I scarcely dared hope I might one day live in it. " I have ceased to notice much the turf, the daisies, or the dray-horses. These and most other important features have grown familiar. But the adoration for Punch has survived many rude shocks, and if I were far away a sight of it, or a reading of ' Toby, M.P.'s Diary,' would do very well to revive it. " Ever yours truly, " CAROLINE FITZMAURICE." Towards the close of his Editorship Sir Francis Burnand conceived the idea, and for a week or two put it in practice, of printing the signatures or initials of contributors to the literary columns of the paper. The following letter deals with the subject. I may add the innovation did not survive beyond a fortnight. To Sir Francis Burnand. "WHITETHORN, HYTHE, KENT, "January 2, 1900. "I must write a line, dear F. C. B., to con- gratulate you on the appearance of the new depar- ture of Punch. It looks bright, light, beautifully 102 NEABING JOEDAN printed, and the pictures come out uncommonly well. " What I particularly want to say I am sure you will recognise not in a carping spirit, but with the conviction that in these circumstances first impressions are most valuable is, I don't believe you will carry out the scheme of signing articles, and above all, paragraphs. In ordinary cases it gives a paper a snippety appearance, dividing its authority. In the case of Punch it is absolute desecration. There is only one Punch, and his contributors should not be more in evidence than the veins and arteries of his impressive body. I know you will say this comes coolly from one who contribute regularly under a distinctive style. But ' Toby ' has from the first been, in humble fashion, part of Mr. Punch. It is moreover a nom de plume like 'The Fat Contributor.' It is a different thing when, writing in the sacred name of Punch, we intrude our insignificant family names, or, in some cases, as far as the public are con- cerned, our irrecognisable initials. " I confess I was shocked when looking over the paper to-day, I saw my initials at the foot of a trifling paragraph, and my name in full appended to a prosaic notice of a half-crown annual. Noms de plumes are quite another thing. Your ' Baron de Bookworm' is delightful, and has an interest subtly differentiated from ordinary signatures. I should much prefer to have my book notices marked by the feather I drew from your plume. ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 103 It was only because I was embarrassed by the responsibility of the appearance in the column of ' Nautical Baronites,' ' Baronitesses,' and the like, that I jumped at your suggestion that I should sign my contributions with my initials. But, for Punch's sake, I should much prefer to remain 'My Baronite,' and in the same sacred cause would not like to see either my name or initials emblazoned on articles, still less on idle paragraphs. " I am sure you won't think I am presuming to advise you in the direction of the paper. That would be impertinent in the elder and true sense of the word. Putting myself rather in the position of a reader of Punch than of a con- tributor, I am just telling you frankly the im- pression this essential and critical departure from long established usage makes on my mind. " Yours faithfully, "HENRY LUCY. " I remember when I was a boy watching with keen delight a Punch and Judy street exhibition. Suddenly I caught sight of a pair of feet below the framework of the show. Whereupon the spell was broken. Which thing is an allegory. The world oughtn't to see the feet of Mr. Punch's young men/' At the weekly Punch dinner du Maurier sat at the end of the table to my left, too far removed for 104 NEABING JORDAN intimate conversation. His immediate companion was William Bradbury, occupying the vice-chair. Bradbury had to leave shortly after ten o'clock to catch a homeward-bound train. When he departed I sometimes slipped into his seat and listened whilst du Maurier, mellowed by his claret, soothed by his cigarette, delightfully chatted. For some time preceding his death he was sorely hampered by weakness in his single eye, a growing defect that had much to do with turning his attention to literature. " If I cannot see to draw," he said, " I can manage to dictate for the Press." He came comparatively late in life into the field of Literature, but he reaped a bountiful harvest. From George du Maurier. " NEW GROVE HOUSE, HAMPSTEAD HEATH, "June 3, '91. " MY DEAR LUCY, Many thanks for your kind letter (which I shall ever value) about Trilby, the daughter of my old age. I am indeed proud to think she beguiled your weariness instead of send- ing you to sleep, and that you are not insensible to ' the charms of my literary style ! ' I hope she will go on pleasing you till she departs this life which she. is committed to do in the August number of Harper's Magazine and that Mrs. Lucy will drop a tear ! With kind regards to you both ; " Yours ever, " G. DU MAURIER." MB. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 105 Though " Trilby " brought du Maurier fullest fame and, including receipts for stage rights, larger fortune, he agreed with me in preferring his first novel, " Peter Ibbetson." "Drawing again in fear and trembling," he wrote to me from New Grove House, Hampstead Heath, on January 20, 1892. "The beastly spot in my eye is still there but much smaller and I try to look round it. I hope soon to dine in Bouverie Street. I have been beastly ill since I came back." Under his signature is a dainty drawing of a winged Cupid with eyes bandaged writing on a scroll resting on his knee. I find the following entry in my Diary under date March 7, 1902 : " Dined last night with Sir George Trevelyan. Had the good fortune to sit at dinner next to one of the Trilby set who larked and worked in the studio of M. Gleyre at Paris in the early 'fifties. 1 Few, including du Maurier who immortalised the story of their student days, are now alive. My fellow-guest, though he does not play a prominent part in the novel, has since risen to the highest pinnacle of the profession at whose beginnings Trilby ministered. Up to the last he .preserved the intimate relations with du Maurier opened in those far-off days. After the lapse of nearly half a century scenes they lived through together remained vividly in his mind. The two shared the 1 Sir Edward Poynter, P.R.A. 106 NEAKING JOEDAN same studio. Du Maurier, he testified, was the life and soul of the party that used to gather within its shabby walls to spend the evening after dinner. "Amongst its rare and prized pieces of fur- niture was a piano, at which du Maurier was constantly playing when he ought to have been working. He had a beautiful tenor voice, and was always ready to oblige with a song. The fellow-students foregathered when they returned to London, though not living in such intimate connection. At that epoch du Maurier developed a dangerous tendency towards laziness. He had obtained a foothold on Punch, which, owing to this characteristic, he was in danger of losing. Mark Lemon, then editor, found it necessary to talk seriously to him on the subject. Soon after du Maurier married, and the course of his life changed. He took the editor's warning to heart, buckled to his work, and speedily rose to the pre- eminence on the Punch staff maintained to the last." Whistler for some time held over the head of du Maurier a threat of an action for libel arising out of the publication of " Trilby." The passage upon which complaint was founded does not appear in the book-form of the novel. This was dis- appointing to readers, who clamoured for it at all the libraries. Whistler also threatened an action against Messrs. Harper, in whose popular magazine ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 107 the serial story first ran. Much to du Maurier's chagrin, they agreed to publish an apology, and moreover sent Whistler a cheque for 10/., a modest solatium ostensibly designed to cover the prelimi- nary charges of his solicitor. They also undertook to withdraw from circulation any copies in hand of the number of Harper in which the alleged offence was committed. This was certainly an act of self-abnegation, since the public, put on the scent, and at fault in hunting up the novel, harked back to pick up this March number. Those who failed lost very little. I read the novel as it came out in the magazine, and, though pretty well acquainted with Whistler, failed to recognise in the slightly sketched character of Sibley a person quite immaterial to the course of the story any suggestion of resemblance to a genial friend. I asked several other more intimate of Whistler's acquaintances whether, having read the novel in serial form, they recognised " Jemmy " through the vaporous figure of Sibley. In all cases the answer was in the negative. This was secretly discouraging to du Maurier, who did not deny that in drawing Sibley, whether by pen or pencil, he had an old friend in his eye. For him to pass unrecognised by the ordinary reader was a reflection upon his art. If Mr. Punch had a chaplain on his staff Canon Ainger would certainly have filled the post. From earlier days his personal connexion with its con- tributors was peculiarly intimate. Perhaps his 108 NEARING JOEDAN closest friend was du Maurier, whose funeral service he, with cheeks wet with tears, conducted. He was a man of infinite charm, personal and literary. It was a natural thing that, above all English writers, he should have been drawn closely to Charles Lamb, with whom he had much in common. So far as I know he never wrote for Punch. But he was directly concerned in the contribution of one of its most successful pictures. Fond of children, who instinctively loved him, the Canon one night repaired to a party given by children for children. "Don't announce me," he said to the servant. Leaving his coat and hat downstairs, he quietly opened the drawing-room door, where the buzz of voices announced presence of company. Dropping on his hands and knees he entered, making strange noises, distantly resembling the neighing of a horse. Conscious of dead silence, he looked up and found guests assembled for an eight o'clock dinner regarding him with disgust not unmixed with alarm. He had entered the wrong house, the children being gathered next door. Du Maurier drew the picture in Punch, of course avoiding trace of portraiture of his reverend friend. There was something pathetically appropriate in the circumstance that Linley Sambourne died at the dawn of a Wednesday morning (August 3, 1910), a day of the week whose evening has, for more than half a century, found Mr. Punch and MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 109 his young men seated round the hospitable board. By coincidence Phil May and Tenniel also died on a Wednesday. Of their passing news reached Bouverie Street even whilst the dinner was going forward. Tenniel died whilst the table he loved so well, at which he regularly sat on Wednesday nights for fifty years, was still spread. But his going away was so characteristically unobtrusive and peaceful that it was not noticed for some hours after the journey on this side had been accom- plished. " They thought him sleeping when he died." It is thirty-six years since Sambourne realised the height of his ambition by being invited to join the exceedingly small inner staff of Punch who are bidden to the weekly feast. Up to tke last he clung to old associations. At a time when old friends mournfully recognised that he was stricken by the hand of Death, he insisted upon coming to the dinner. He took his old place at the right hand of the Editor, listening with wistful face to the cheery conversation. He was not able to stand the excitement more than an hour, and left before dinner finished the business of the evening dealing with the cartoon of the following week commenced. He was among the most well-beloved of the brotherhood, bearing among them the affectionate diminutive of " Sammy." In the congenial company of the Punch con- fraternity Sambourne was, almost up to the last, 110 HEARING JORDAN boyish in the exuberance and simplicity of his humour. His tour de force, reserved for excep- tionally festive occasions, was the reproduction of " The Gnome King," a character of fire and fury he had somewhere seen at a penny show. Its due presentation, involving much violent physical exertion, must have been trying to the performer, following as it did close upon participation in a bountiful meal. A little judicious egging on generally found Sammy ready to oblige. Another of his peculiar flights of humour, suggested possibly by recollections of Sairey Gamp and her friend Mrs. Harris, was to invent imaginary personages and relate circumstantial stories and conversations attributed to them. One Major Punkah, long time resident in India, was most prolific in his exuberant fancy. At rest now is the skilful hand, hushed the gay chatter, for ever stilled the impulses of a kindly nature. Among a wide circle of friends the memory of Sammy will long be kept green, freshest of all among old comrades at the Punch table. X MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN (concluded) CHARLES KEENE, PERCIVAL LEIGH, LEECH, THACKERAY, CHARLES DICKENS THE death of Charles Keene came with little surprise for the narrow circle with which he was intimate. When in the spring of the preceding year (1890) Mr. Punch took his young men on a trip to Paris, Keene, not liking to be out of the fun, drew one of the illustrations for the Paris number. But he had for nearly two years prac- tically been in retirement. It was even longer since he had appeared at the Wednesday dinner. A man of singularly retiring disposition, he had few friends and still fewer acquaintances. At one time he was a pretty frequent visitor to the Arts Club. He was content for the most part of the year to sit in his room looking out on the Fulham Road, alone with his thoughts, his work, and his pipe. This last was a curious instrument. No one knew where he got his apparently inexhaustible supply, or how he became attached to the peculiar form. It was a trifle larger than the Japanese 112 HEARING JORDAN pipe, differing from it inasmuch that, whilst that is made of metal, Keene's was of ordinary clay. I think he liked the pleasure of filling it, his some- what grim-looking countenance being ever subdued as he charged his pipe. One thing that would recommend it to him was that the constant atten- tion it required filled up pauses in conversation, and he did not shine in conversation. Looking at him in ordinary times, watching him sit silent, grave, almost sad in the liveliest company a London dinner-table supplied, one would have been disinclined to give him credit for humour, a scepticism rebuked by thousands of flashes struck on the pages of Punch. Society, which would have welcomed him with open arms, knew him not, for he could never be got to "go out." His habitual seclusion made the more precious the memories of old friends who recog- nised in him that kindness of heart, that simplicity of manner, that uprightness of character that mould the gentleman. Of Punch artists Keene ran Tenniel and du Maurier pretty close in popularity. Among artists generally his supremacy was acknowledged. The humour of his sketches was patent to everybody. Only the trained artistic eye could discern and fully enjoy the peculiar genius that shone through them. He had an enormous correspondence from people with whom he was personally unacquainted. Every man and woman visited by what they regarded as a flash of humour, wrote to him giving ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 113 particulars in full detail, anxiously opening the next number of Punch in the expectation that Keene would have seen the little joke and im- mortalised it with his pencil. Out of the bushel of chaff he generally got a handful of corn. I believe that, as a matter of fact, nearly every one of his sketches was drawn from suggestions sent through the post. His portrait was painted for a collection with a curious history. Its proprietor was a granite merchant in Aberdeen, his advertisement of monu- mental stones appearing regularly in the London papers. He had a strong affinity for art, and was not bashful in pushing his claims for admission to artistic circles, chiefly based, as far as was known, upon his rendering of headstones for graves. In later years he was obliged to take to a bath-chair, and overcame the conservative traditions of the Royal Academicians to the extent that on private view days admission was afforded to his convey- ance, seated in which he was a familiar figure. Wheeled round the pictures, curiously examining them, he picked up acquaintance with most of the artists of the day, and with some succeeded / * in obtaining their portraits done by themselves. The fee offered was not much. 25 was the uniform sum, but the granite purveyor pleaded that he was merely the custodian of the treasures, and that when he died they should be transferred to his native town. He got all the Punch artists to contribute to his collection. Tenniel, du Maurier, I 114 NEARING JORDAN and Linley Sambourne, practising for the Ufizzi Gallery, did their own portraits. Keene, who had a rooted objection even to being photographed, consented to sit to a painter engaged by the shrewd collector. The result was not an unqualified success. Whilst Keene still sat in his rooms in Fulham Road, ill, but apparently not nearer death than he had been since he knocked off work, it was reported that the Royal Academicians, determined to atone for long neglect, had resolved to elect this supreme black-and-white artist to the outer fringe of their august body. It was not by any means the first time Keene's name had been mentioned as a proximate A.R.A. But it was known that the matter had recently been influ- entially brought forward, and it was believed that at last the Academy would be relieved from the reproach that the honourable designation it is privileged to confer was withheld from such a rare artist. It is true, contrary to proverbial custom, he was a prophet in his own country. But the admiration his genius extorted from British artists was feeble compared with the enthusiasm with which his work was hailed in French and German circles. The only parallel to this appreciation was probably found on the Punch staff itself, where Keene's colleagues were ever ready to acknowledge him as the master. The Royal Academicians dallied too long round their rumoured intention to recognise the genius ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 115 of this great artist, a conclusion of the matter it was thought at the time might probably have the effect of hastening their hand in extending recog- nition to John Tenniel. There is certainly no country in the world which, having such an in- stitution as the Royal Academy, would have barred out from its sacred enclosure men like Keene, Tenniel, and du Maurier. A friend whose acquaintance with Keene dated back thirty years describes him then as " tall, walking with stalwart step. He had a finely formed head, covered with a crop of short jet- black curly hair. He had a trick when telling a funny story of winking the wrong way of open- ing one eye instead of shutting it." Except that as years went by his hair took on a tinge of grey, his face grew sharper in outline and more wrinkled in surface, this is a fair description of " Carlos " the last time I saw him, as he filled his little pipe, and, nodding good-night, left the dinner-room in Bouverie Street never to return. At our weekly dinner, when he had finished his meal, smacking his lips over a gooseberry-pie or other sweet thing that recalled to his palate memories of departed pleasure, he produced his pipe and relapsed into silence, what time the business of the week was discussed by his col- leagues. I never heard him offer a suggestion either for the creation or the improvement of a cartoon. Keene's father was a solicitor living in a 116 NBABING JORDAN northern suburb of London. When, later, the family removed to Ipswich, he had the advantage of a grammar school education. He was intended O for the law was, indeed, entered as a clerk in a solicitor's office in Furnival's Inn. Thence he stumbled upon the more congenial work of an architect ; next became apprenticed to a wood engraver, and so drifted into the course which brought him fame and fortune. When the term of his apprenticeship was over he set up for him- self in a studio, finding congenial quarters on the attic floor of an old house in the Strand. Here, amid dust and cobwebs, old costumes and proper- ties hung upon a clothes-line drawn across the room, he worked hard for his living. He would have no charwoman about his premises. Any dusting and cleaning required he did himself. Also he was his own cook. This habit he kept up to the end. When in the course of years he reached his studio in the King's Road, Chelsea, he took with him a gas stove, with whose dubious aid he prepared his midday meal. Some men would have supplied themselves with a better- equipped apparatus. The expenditure upon gas was quite enough for Carlos without running into extras in the way of plant. A cheap gaslight set on a stool and connected with a chandelier by a flexible tube supplied the heat, whilst for cooking contrivance he ingeniously adapted the coiled spring taken from an old Gibus hat. This, combined with a jam gallipot, served him just as well as the MB. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 117 elaborate kitchen contrivance at the Reform pleased Soyer when he was the club's chef. Keene had, to tell the truth, close sympathy with one of the Scotchmen he immortalised him who, coming to London, " had not been there two hours when bang went saxpence." In receipt of a handsome income from various sources, he care- fully guarded the expenditure of every penny. In a rare access of garrulity he told me that walk- ing home late one night from his studio, after a hard day's work, he was haunted by apprehension that he had left the gas burning in his cooking- stove. That meant an appreciable expenditure utterly wasted. The night was far advanced. He was worn out with fatigue, and the studio was distant. But he could not sleep in his bed with the idea of the reckless gas flaunting aimlessly through the long night. So he walked all the way back, and never decided whether he was pleased or vexed to find his dereliction of duty purely fanciful. The gas had been properly turned out. The result of these frugal habits was that when he lay dead in his plainly furnished room at Ham- mersmith, it was found he had left behind him nearly 40,000. There is something unspeakably pathetic in the last note penned by him. It was to an old friend who had written an affectionate letter and to whom he wished to send a responsive message. Asking for pencil and paper, he, blind and weak, falteringly wrote across the sheet 118 HEARING JORDAN " DEAR DUDLEY, Too late to write to write to to a dying man. " Yours ever, "CHARLES S. KEENENE." Charles Keene, untitled, undecorated, died and was buried. " Ci-gtt Piron qui nefut rien, Pas meme academicien." Percival Leigh, though not a member of the staff at the inception of Punch, joined it in the early days of Mark Lemon and remained up to the day of his death. He had in his youth studied for the medical profession, a circumstance that probably led to his being known at Table as the " Professor." There was certainly no other ex- planation. He was always called the Professor, and nobody knew why. In the course of his long life Leigh was the recipient of many letters from eminent men, a selection of which he preserved. At his invitation I spent an interesting morning looking through this treasure-trove, and was per- mitted to make some extracts. Amongst the collection were letters from the successive editors of Punch, from Mark Lemon downwards. In recurrent passages penned by different hands they testified to the infinite painstaking care that goes to the creation of the weekly cartoon in Punch. There was a bundle of eighty from Shirley Brooks in which he suggested and discussed subjects for ME. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 119 cartoons and their treatment. In one long letter, written in 1873, Brooks throws off half a dozen elaborate suggestions for treatment of the forth- coming cartoon. Thackeray was a voluminous correspondent. Probably the most charming bundle in the lot are the letters written by Leech. Added value is given to these by free indulgence in the habit, happily extant among Mr. Punch's young men of the present day, of illustrating his letters with sketches. From Ireland, visited by Leech in the 'sixties, he wrote many letters to the Professor. They have all the brightness and humour of his sketches. Here is an extract describing a pig as he had been studied in Connemara : " In Ireland you would see your friend the pig in all his glory. I don't know that ever I was more amused than in watching his eccentricities. He is by far the most important creature in the Irish cottage. He walks in and out at his leisure. If a child happens to be in the doorway he coolly upsets it with his snout and slips over the body with all the gravity possible, saunters round the apartment, grunts, eats some mess from the floor, of which there is every variety, wags his tail and comes out again. I fully expected to see him in a dressing-gown, smoking a pipe. He generally settles down in this style [Leech here sketched a sleeping pig] on the threshold of the floor, from 120 NEARING JORDAN which place no one would think of disturbing him. He is altogether a wonderfully perceptive, clever fellow. I am only sorry he makes such bad bacon." Some letters of Thackeray's of an earlier period disclose the fact that there was a time when the prosperity of " The Newcomes " was regarded with apprehension. Thackeray was at Naples when finishing the work, which came out in monthly numbers in 1853-4. The Professor had evidently written to give him a somewhat discouraging account of the reception of the book. Thackeray replies : "So they have found out there is no story, have they? There is one coming and I think it will be a good one. I know if I live it will be a good one. It has a slow beginning, to be sure, but just wait. In IX and X the people are all moving very friskily, and in volume II there will be some lively business. Let 'em talk. I am not afraid. Tell Bradbury and Evans [the publishers] not to lose heart." Thackeray, as everyone knows, was right. It is marvellous to any reader of " The Newcomes " to think there was a time when its publishers began to lose heart. A curious hitherto unrecorded incident in the history of the book comes to light in one of these letters. When No. 6 of "The Newcomes" was MR. PUNCH'S YOUNG MEN 121 made up it was found to be short by three pages. The publishers did not know how to meet the dilemma. Nor could Thackeray, still in Naples, help them. He was made aware of the shortage, but not being fully informed upon details could not meet it. He writes to the Professor : " You see now I can't tell what has happened to six, how the number has been filled up ; whether out of seven or from the overplus of five and the copy which I sent for six : nor will there be time for me this month to get your reply and send back copy if need be. At all events < please send me a line hither and let me know my fate." Finally, he makes the extraordinary suggestion that Percival Leigh should fill up the hiatus. " If you can," he writes, " see how to fi]l up three pages out of your own noble invention, just going goose-step, as it were, and making the story pretend to march (which indeed it has been doing for some time), pray do so." " If not," he adds, " a notice must be fixed to No. 7 to say that ' a portion of the author's MS., which was sent from abroad, has ' in fine the scrape must be met somehow. Nothing can be well taken from No. 8, as the story comes to a sort of period in that number with the departure of the Colonel. Con- found those three pages, which I got up trembling in a fever to supply in January, and that my carelessness should have led you to suppose that 122 NEAEING JORDAN it was not for No. 6, and No. 5 that they were intended." It would be interesting to know a question I unaccountably omitted to put to Percival Leigh how the thing ended. Did the Professor fill in the three pages ? and, if so, did Thackeray rewrite the passage or omit it when the book came out in volume form ? Or are we to this day entertain- ing unawares three pages of " The Newcomes " from the pen of the Professor ? It is generally supposed that Charles Dickens, who was specially intimate with Mark Lemon and other members of the Punch staff of the day, was a frequent contributor to the paper. As a matter of fact " Boz " sent only one contribution. The manuscript consists of a single page and is entitled " Dreadful Hardships Endured by the Shipwrecked Crew of the London, Chiefly for Want of Water." Contrary to the callousness of able editors, Mark Lemon rescued this folio from the printers after it had been set up, and pencilled on it, " The only contribution of Charles Dickens to Punch, M. Lemon." The treasure came into the possession of Mr. W'right, a diligent and discriminating gatherer of relics and memorials of Charles Dickens. On his death the collection was dispersed. XI FROM MY DIARY May 30, 1892. New York, more ready than Birmingham or Rochdale, is determined to have a statue of John Bright. A committee has been formed, and steps are in progress for carrying out the work. John Bright was nearer the American heart than any Englishman, with the exception of Gladstone. On the first Sunday after the an- nouncement of his death, sermons were preached in most of the American churches. I have seen a report of one delivered in the Church of the Messiah, New York, by the Rev. John Collier, who chose for his text, " There was a man sent from God whose name was John." This literal application of a text reminds me of a delightful story told at our dinner-table by Dr. Boyd Carpenter, not yet retired from the Bishopric of Ripon. Having accepted an invita- tion to preach before a congregation of journalists holding an annual meeting at York, he looked about for a suitable text. He found it in the eighth chapter of St. Luke, describing Christ's preaching through cities and villages and the 124 HEARING JORDAN density of the crowd that followed him. In verse nineteen it is written : " And there came to him his mother and his brethren and they could not come at him for the press." This hint at the pertinacity of the Press always flocking to the front when anything is going on, was tempting. On consideration the Bishop let the opportunity pass. June 10, 1892. To one of the magazines of the current month I contributed an article describing, " How Gordon went to Khartoum." I wrote : "A member of Mr. Gladstone's Cabinet from 1880 to 1885, who from the Front Opposition Bench listened to Sir Charles Dilke's speech against the Soudan movement, heard it with amazement. He knew that Dilke was largely responsible for sending Gordon to Khartoum." Sir Charles Dilke writes to me, declaring this story to be " entirely without foundation." He continues : " Putting together two statements made by Lord Granville in the House of Lords and the dispatches laid before Parliament, we find that on the 16th January, 1884, Sir Evelyn Baring's request for a British officer to be sent to conduct the retreat from Khartoum was considered. On the 18th January a meeting of members of the Cabinet took place at the War Office which decided that Colonel Gordon should go, not to Khartoum but, to Suakim to consult the friendly Sheiks, and FEOM MY DIARY 125 to report upon the means of bringing about the evacuation of the Soudan. From Lord Granville's statement in the House of Lords we find that he had previously heard Colonel Gordon was willing, but apparently had only heard this about the time that Sir Evelyn Baring telegraphed for a British officer to be sent. The Cabinet approved the action taken by the Committee at the War Office. It appears from dispatches laid before Parliament that the alteration by Colonel Gordon of his journey from Suakim to Cairo was approved by the Cabinet under circumstances which Colonel Gordon's telegrams described ; also that when Colonel Gordon saw Sir Evelyn Baring at Cairo, they revived the proposal of the latter for sending an officer that is, Colonel Gordon himself to Khartoum to personally conduct the evacuation." In his "Life of Gladstone" Lord Morley gives an account of what passed at this fateful meeting. "On January 18, 1884," he writes, "Lord Hartington, then Secretary of State for War, Lord Northbrook and Sir Charles Dilke met at the War Office in Pall Mall. The summons was sudden. Lord Wolseley brought Gordon and left him in the ante-room. After a conversation with the Ministers he came out and said to Gordon, ' Government are determined to evacuate the Soudan. Will you go and do it ? ' I said ' Yes.' He said : ' Go in.' I went in and saw them. ' Did Wolseley tell you our orders ? ' I said ' Yes,' and it was over and I left at 8 P.M. for Calais;" 126 NEAEING JOEDAN This is a little mixed in the matter of personal pronouns. The report of the conversation between Wolseley and Gordon is taken from the published letters from the latter to a friend. What is important to the present purpose is the fact that Dilke's responsibility for sending Gordon to Khartoum, described by his colleagues as " large," was shared by two other Cabinet Ministers, a circumstance that reduces it to mathematical proportions. Four days later, at a full Cabinet meeting over which Mr. Gladstone presided, the decision was approved. As Lord Morley points out, there was hardly choice in the matter, for by that time Gordon was already at Brindisi. June 16, 1892. Arthur Balfour's undoubted success as Leader of the House of Commons dis- sipated any fluttering hopes that may at this crisis have filled the bosom of Kandolph Churchill. Had he failed Lord Randolph might have made his own terms with his party, more especially in view of the imminence of their being relegated to the Opposition benches. There was a time when it seemed as if failure were imminent. For some weeks at the beginning of last session, the first of his Leadership, Arthur Balfour disappointed expectation. He began by treating the House of Commons as if it were composed entirely of Irish members. Friction naturally followed. Even the Conservatives fell away from their allegiance in pained surprise. Balfour, whose interposition in FROM MY DIARY 127 debate as Chief Secretary had ever been the signal for enthusiastic cheering, now stood at the Table amid chilling silence as he answered questions addressed to him in his capacity as Leader of the House. On more than one occasion the Govern- ment narrowly escaped defeat in the division Lobby. Once their majority on a critical division was brought down to four. Some men would have gone under before the growing tide of ill-luck that at the outset pressed against the young leader. Tt was characteristic of Balfour that instead of promising amendment he turned and rated his own side, plainly intimating his determination to leave them to shift for them- selves unless he were spared the humiliation of these reduced majorities. This message, delivered at the end of a troublous week, had effect which reacted upon himself. Candid friends in the Press, writing in quarters usually favourable to the Ministry, told him the truth about his faults of manner. He made no other sign of acknowledg- ment except to mend them. This he did effectually, and, warming under the returning enthusiasm to his followers, quietly settled down in his seat and rode without fall or even stumble. June 28, 1892. From Mr. Speaker Peel. " HOUSE OP Coiotoxs, " June 27, 1892. " DEAR MR. LUCY, I have just seen a copy of the Cross-Bench article in the Observer of the 26th. 128 NEAEING JORDAN It would perhaps be scarcely fitting that I should thank you for the expression of a favourable criticism on my public conduct. For such criticism might well be favourable at one time and adverse at another, as the circumstance might warrant. " But feeling the value of your criticism and being, therefore, naturally pleased that it should be of the approving sort, what I do wish to thank you for at the close of a Parliament is much personal kindness which I have received from you during many years, and not only kindness, but real sympathy, when I stood much in need of it. I beg to remain, very truly yours, " ARTHUR W. PEEL." The reference in the last sentence is to the death of Mrs. Peel. July 2, 1892. The social lion of the week is M. von Blowitz, whom Paris has spared to us for awhile. As all the world knows, he is the friend, companion, and confidant of princes, kings, em- perors, chancellors, and the Pope. Incidentally he is Paris correspondent for The Times. Apart from his undoubted journalistic genius he is a very remarkable man. In height he is, I should say, fully five feet, and in diameter some three feet ten inches figures that do not lend them- selves to symmetry. In truth he approaches the grotesque in appearance. So remarkable is his fascination that with a bevy of ladies the hand- ' somest man in London has no chance with him. FROM MY DIARY 129 Looking at him in a drawing-room, sitting on a sofa, his feet well off the ground, surrounded by fair and famous women, one thinks of John Wilkes's boast that, with a quarter of an hour's start he would not fear the competition of any man in the race for beauty's favour. So superior are M. Blowitz's natural advantages that five minutes' start would be enough for him. He has learned English lately and talks it with fluency, if not always with precision. There is a charming story told of his greeting to his host and hostess when he visited Bearwood on his arrival in England at the end of last week. "And are you well off, Mr. Walter?" he asked, anxious for the state of his host's health. " Ah, and there is Madame. She is well off too, I can see." M. Blowitz returned to Paris this morning a little done up after his brief visit. He was much run after, and the weather happening to be close and thunderous his course of daily life did not agree with him. Long habituated to Parisian social habits, he did not take kindly to the variety presented by life in London. At home he was accustomed to his early coffee, with the simple roll and butter, his dejeuner at eleven o'clock, his dinner at seven. Between these hours lay long intervals for work or leisure. In London he found himself set down at nine o'clock to a breakfast of many courses ; at half-past one, or two, a luncheon of the massivity of the German midday meal, K 130 NEABING JORDAN which they at least call dinner; at eight (which often meant half-past) a dinner that lasted through an hour and a half; finally a tussle round a supper table at some crowded salon. He found these habits murdered sleep as effectively as did Macbeth. One afternoon midway in his stay he went to the House of Commons, and being seated in the distinguished strangers' gallery, peacefully rested his chin on the rail and went to sleep. It was small blame to him, for these last days of Parlia- ment have been dolefully dull. His position was a little prominent, and the friend and counsellor of emperors and chancellors was furiously vexed with himself for yielding to the weakness. One of the evening papers had a sketch of him taken in flagrant delicto, which did not serve to soothe his irritability. Meeting him at dinner at Philip Stanhope's I had the opportunity of a long, quiet talk with the great man, and gained a most favourable impression. Tete-a-tete with a brother journalist he was absolutely unaffected in manner, charm- ingly simple in conversation. Now and then, when speaking of eminent persons, there flashed into his speech the brilliant light of epigram. As far as his work for The Times is concerned he is inclined to rest on his many laurels. He is, he pathetically says, growing too old now to make fresh acquaintances or undertake new conquests. Moreover, all his early associates are dead or have FEOM MY DIAEY 131 withdrawn from the scene. A man who has had to do with Gambetta and Bismarck cannot be expected to condescend to Carnot, an estimable, commonplace bourgeois whom, faute de mieux, France has accepted as her President. M. Blowitz reflects complacently on his contest with Boulanger. He never accepted him, and does not hide his conviction that this disconcerting circumstance may have had something to do with le brav' general failing to reach his highest aim. He complacently tells what powerful and persistent efforts were made to bring him and Boulanger together. After long effort they succeeded, and he met at breakfast the man who at that time was the foremost and most feared person in France. M. Blowitz's twinkling little eyes saw through the sham. He found there was nothing in the showy soldier, and said so with brutal frankness in a dispatch which appeared in The Times of the following morning. Boulanger read it, and wrote a pitiful epistle expressing his surprise that after spending so pleasant a morning with him, Blowitz should sit down to write a bitter attack on his host. " I have got that letter yet," M. Blowitz said. Probably some day it will see the light with other records of the life of this curious phenomenon in modern journalism. XII FIRST CHAPTER OF GENESIS OF THE HOME RULE BILL THE first Home Eule Bill was drafted by Mr. Chamberlain in collaboration with Sir Charles Dilke, and in collusion with Mr. Parnell. It was wrecked by Lord Hartington, a curious concatena- tion of circumstances in view of the momentous changes, in two cases tragic, that befell these four men within the narrow space of twelve months. The earliest authorised intimation of the circum- stances reached me from Sir Charles Dilke eight years after their accomplishment. His communica- tion arose upon a " Cross Bench " article in the Observer, a series of which he was a diligent reader, always delighted to correct me if I fell into error upon any minutiae of the facts with which he was crammed. Dealing with what took place in May, 1885, when Dilke and Chamberlain, with the approval of Parnell, submitted to the Cabinet a scheme of Home Rule for Ireland going far beyond anything Gladstone had at the time advocated, I said it had been " rejected." Promptly came Dilke' s correction. GENESIS OF THE HOME RULE BILL 133 "PYRFORD ROUGH, NEAR WOKING, " November 2, 1893. "My DEAR LUCY, The Chamberlain-Parnell National Council Scheme was not rejected. With the exception of Granville all the Peers were against it ; all the Commoners save Hartington in its favour. That made an equal division. The Scheme proposed an elective Irish National Council with a Central Board armed with executive and administrative powers. Gladstone, after some hesitation, declared himself in its favour, but was not able to carry with him even the necessary majority of one. Had it been otherwise Har- tington doubtless would straightway have re- signed. " I had not a hand in the preparation of the Scheme, but I had to obtain the consent of certain persons to it. "Yours faithfully, " CHARLES DILKE." This last sentence is doubtless an allusion to Dilke's correspondence with Parnell which resulted in the Irish leader's expressed approval of the scheme, and giving an undertaking that in con- sideration of its being submitted to Parliament in the form of a Bill, no opposition would be offered to the renewal of the Coercion Act for a limited period and in modified form. In his " Life of Gladstone," published ten years after Dilke wrote to me, Lord Morley sketches in 134 NEABING JORDAN outline what Dilke calls the Chamberlain-Parnell Scheme. At the present moment, with the Home Rule Bill once more, presumably for the last time, occupying the attention of Parliament and the country, it is interesting to consider the terms of a plan which, had it been carried through the Cabinet in May, 1885, would have satisfied the Irish Party, retained the services of Mr. Chamber- lain under Gladstone's premiership, averted the disruption of the Liberal Party, and changed the course of English history running through a stirring period of nineteen years. The main principle was the creation of a system of representative county government in Ireland. Upon this basis was to be built up a Central Board seated in Dublin, in the main executive and administrative, but endowed with power to make by-laws, raise funds and pledge public credit by such methods as Parliament should ordain. The Central Board would take over education, public works, poor law and sanitary administration. The whole charge of justice, police, and prisons would remain with the executive. The Board would be chosen by the Representative County Boards, whose election was the direct action of the people. By way of sop to Members of the Cabinet and others not disposed to follow Mr. Chamberlain too far, a clause was to be inserted in the Bill provid- ing that property should have a specially enlarged representation on the Board. Gladstone, after full consideration, accepted GENESIS OF THE HOME RULE BILL 135 these proposals and was willing to embody them in a Bill. Lord Hartington was as obdurate against this tentative conversion of the Cabinet to Home Eule principles as he proved when, less than a year after, he worked hand in hand with Mr. Chamberlain, who, dissenting from Gladstone's own Bill, led into revolt the flower of the Liberal flock. On a division there was, as Dilke states in his letter, a tie, and the Bill was dropped not, as I too bluntly put it, " rejected." I observe in a letter to one of his colleagues, quoted by Lord Morley, that Gladstone, with characteristic amplitude of words, described the result as " the negative of what was either a majority or a moiety of the entire Cabinet." At this crisis the spirit of prophecy was upon the veteran statesman. When this epoch-making Cabinet broke up it was May 9, 1885 he turned to one of his colleagues and said, " Ah, they will rue this day." Writing to Lord Spencer, Viceroy of Ireland, he said : " The scheme for a Central Board is dead for the present only. It will quickly rise again as I think, perhaps in larger dimensions." A passage in a letter to Lord Hartington, dated May 30, 1885, presents striking testimony to Gladstone's foresight, piercing the political horizon far beyond the ken of his contemporaries. " I am deeply convinced," he wrote, " that the 136 NEABING JOKDAN measure [Mr. Chamberlain's Home Rule Bill] will, especially if accompanied in similar measures elsewhere (e.g. in Scotland), be good for the country and the Empire." In connection with Mr. Asquith's Home Rule Bill eventually enacted, the idea that it is the first step towards the establishment of Home Rule all round within the limits of Great Britain and Ireland is a commonplace argument and assertion. I heard all the debates in Parliament on the Home Rule Bills of 1886 and 1893. I do not recall any reference to this extended programme. Certainly no organised effort was made to establish the principle. In Mr. Asquith's Bill the Central Board is openly and officially described as the Irish Parlia- ment. It is, moreover, armed with powers, adminis- trative and executive, exceeding those affright at which drew Lord Hartington over to the majority of Peers in the Cabinet of 1885, and wrecked Mr. Chamberlain's earlier scheme. XIII "AN IDYLL" AND A SEQUENCE IN the February Cornhill there appeared a story about an irreverent small boy mutely flirting over the rail of the family pew with an anonymous little girl in the pew before him, this at a time when both should have been devoutly following the morning service in the parish church. The " Idyll," as it was called, was widely quoted by the Press in town and country. It brought me the following letter : " CHESHIRE, " February 10, '14. " DEAR SIR, I enclose cutting from a Church newspaper which I was reading a few days since, containing extract from an article contributed by you to Cwnhill. " I can possibly identify for you the little girl you refer to, but she is no longer alive. I think you must refer to my wife (formerly Miss B.) and the Church as St. Chrysostom's, Everton. Her family occupied a pew in that church from about 1860 onwards. The father died in 1869. I came 138 NEAEING JOEDAN to reside at Richmond Terrace, Everton, in 1871, and was married in the following year. After our marriage we still occupied for some time part of the family pew. " Immediately behind that pew your father had sittings and thus I came to know him and to hear something about you. I never saw you, but understood you had been located in London for some years. " Your father took a great interest in our little children who later on came with us to the Church, and on one occasion presented my wife with some very pretty lines of poetry about our little daughter, which he said he had got you to write for him. This would be perhaps in '78 or '79. " My dear wife died about two years since, aged 62. If she was the young object of your adoration I can well understand it. There never was a woman of sweeter disposition or a more devoted wife and mother, and to me she was a true helpmate and a support and inspiration in all my work. She lived as a blessing and a centre of joy to her family and to a large circle of friends. The memory of our happy married life and the assurance of a happier reunion hereafter sustained me under the sense of a loss which is hard to bear. Without this assurance the rest of my life would be a blank indeed. " I am, dear Sir, " Yours faithfully, " J. H. G." "AN IDYLL" AND A SEQUENCE 139 I never spoke to the child, never met her out of church, did not even know her name. We were as ships or more precisely cockle-shell boats that pass in the night. I do not think that after I left Liverpool I thought of her again. It was the playing and singing by my wife of a hymn familiar in St. Chrysostom's Church that suddenly, as in a flash of light, recalled the episode. And here after lapse of half a century the story is taken up and finished by the hand of a stranger. What impresses me most in the letter beyond its simply told tale of happy domestic life is the bare statement that my child friend was sixty-two when she died. To the other child this is unthink- able, the idea impossible. For me she never grew even into her teens. XIV FROM MY DIARY June 17, 1892. This afternoon Gladstone almost skipped into the House of Commons, looking a little flurried. He had spent the afternoon in a task that would have sufficed to exhaust the energies of a much younger man. One of the questions looming in the near distance in con- nection with the general election is that of the eight-hour day. Circumstances combine to invest it with more than ordinary difficulty. Gladstone was heckled by a deputation from the London Trades Council, representative of a large section of the working classes, who want to have the hours of labour compulsorily limited. It is well known that the workmen as a body are at variance on the question. If all desired it the way might be made plain to politicians who chiefly hanker after votes. But when there are six eager on one side, and half a dozen strenuous on the other, the pathway becomes thorny. John Morley boldly declared himself against it, thereby imperilled his seat at Newcastle. Gladstone, when the question was somewhat FEOM MY DIAEY 141 peremptorily put to him three weeks ago, evaded it to the extent of declining to talk the matter over with the London Trades Council. That, he was speedily convinced, was an error in tactics that should have been avoided, seeing we are within measurable distance of a general election. He promptly acknowledged his mistake, and the result of further communication was the meeting this afternoon at the house of his friend and host in Carlton Gardens. The scene was a striking one, significant of much in the British Constitution and the increasing share in its direction the working man is appro- priating. At a round table in one of the most princely mansions in London sat the veteran states- man. Grouped before him were something like a dozen men who had given up the opportunity of making half a day's wage in order to talk over the eight-hours' question with an authority whom every one expects the general election will once more make Premier. One of the conference was a compositor, another a cigar-maker, a third a stone- mason, a fourth a gas-worker, a fifth a docker, a sixth a barge-builder, a seventh a lithographic artist, the eighth the inevitable tailor. Artists are fond of painting historical scenes. The Death of Nelson, the Christening of the Prince of Wales, the Meeting of Wellington and Bliicher have each been more or less happily commemorated. For those who have eyes to see, here was a subject worthy of the busiest brush. One thinks with lingering 142 NEAEING JORDAN pleasure what a picture Rembrandt could have made of the scene had it happened in his day, when he was painting burgomasters and other common- place persons whose living faces still look out from immortal canvas. It was an exceedingly tough two hours Glad- stone went through, his keen enjoyment of it exceeded only by that of his colleagues in confer- ence. They were a dozen to one, keen, sharp- witted, practical men, with a thorough knowledge of their subject, strong in the consciousness that behind them stood a host of working men whose votes might turn the scale in many a hot corner of the coming battle. But the Old Man with his more than eighty years, in few of which has been a day whose labour was limited by eight hours, was more than a match for them. They were charmed by his smiling courtesy, his old-world deferential manner. But they felt that, as one said when it was over, they were " getting exceed- ingly little change out of him." He talked a little, and he let them talk a good deal. Nothing was more delightful to the two or three privileged lookers-on from the back of Glad- stone's chair, than the adroit way in which he drew his visitors on to state the difficulties that bristle about this momentous question. The ordinary conduct of statesmen and others receiving deputa- tions on the questions of the day is for the visitors to make one or a series of speeches setting forth their views. Then the right hon. gentleman or PEOM MY DIAEY 143 noble lord, standing up and beginning with the formal address, " Gentlemen," proceeds to set forth seriatim the difficulties that occur to his mind, which he regards as more or less fatal to the pro- posal submitted. Gladstone, by his innocent-looking, subtle inquiries, led the men themselves to set forth the objections to the scheme, which they did with remarkable cogency. They had come to convince the Grand Old Man, and, lo 1 when they had shaken hands with him, and departed under the glamour of his beaming smile, they scratched their heads and began to think that after all it was not quite so clear that a compulsory Eight Hours' Labour Day was as practicable and desirable a thing as it had appeared in the light of early morning when they were shaving and putting on their Sunday clothes to call on Mr. Gladstone. July 10, 1892. The enterprising Editor of a popular American monthly magazine was accus- tomed from time to time to cable to me authority to secure eminent writers to contribute papers on current topics of the day. His terms were liberal. The stipulated length of the article did not exceed 4000 words and the fee offered was 1001. I found Mr. Gladstone on one occasion not to be tempted from early allegiance to the Nineteenth Century. Parnell at a political moment accepted the offer ; but upon reflection thought he had better avoid the topic suggested. 144 NEARING JOEDAN It is interesting to find in the following letter Lord Randolph Churchill's reason frankly set forth for not writing magazine articles. Equally in- teresting is his forecast of the result of the General Election of 1892 fully verified by the event. From Lord Randolph Churchill. " 2, CONNAUGHT PLACE, W., " July 9, 1892. " MY DEAR LUCY, I never write articles in Reviews. Opinions so given are apt to be embar- rassing and cannot be repudiated or explained away easily. Please kindly make my excuses to the Editor of the North American Review. " Well ! what wonderful elections these are. Such heavy polling and such a number of small majorities have surely never been seen. I think Mr. G. may get a small majority, but the carrying on of Government will be a work of immense diffi- culty. I think you must have found the Mid- lothian campaign this time rather monotonous. " Yours very sincerely, "RANDOLPH CHURCHILL." July 27, 1892. The election contest going on throughout the country just now has incidentally added a new word to the English language. It is " Ulsteria," and is meant to describe the excitable tone and manner with which some politicians, particularly the men of Ulster, protest that they will have none of Gladstone's Home Rule scheme. FROM MY DIAEY 145 The derivation of the word is obvious. Its inventor is Campbell-Bannerman, one time Minister for War in Gladstone's Government, a post to which he will probably return after the general election. He does not take a prominent part in debate in the House, but in private circles he delights and adorns he is known as a man bubbling over with natural humour. This is not the first time he has added a phrase to the talk of the day. It was he who spoke of a prominent Dissentient Liberal returning to Glad- stone's fold as one who had " found salvation," a phrase which took on with the public and was long in vogue. In course of time it came to be quoted as a confession relating to his own career in politics, an error he frequently denounced but never succeeded in entombing. August 17, 1892. For some years before antici- pation was realised there was talk of bestowing a peerage upon Sir Algernon Borthwick, whose ser- vices to his Party rendered in the columns of the Morning Post were most valuable. It was particu- larly loud at the time when Lord Salisbury, defeated at the General Election of 1892, was expected to follow the established custom of distributing re- wards among his followers. The subjoined letter from Sir Algernon, at the time member for South Kensington, explains an apparent oversight that greatly mystified the public. 146 NEAEING JORDAN From Sir Algernon Borthwick. " 139, PrCCADILLY, W., " August 16, 1892. " DEAR AND KIND PROPHET, If you comment on the Honours List and my being c out of it ' it may interest you to know that I ' was in it,' high on the list. When at the last moment the Autocrat signified that I was to give my seat to Eitchie and- the offer of rank was made with that condition, I refused. Lord S. does not understand men or constituencies. He thinks these can be bartered as in old times. " If I had accepted the thing would have been done, the writ for South Kensington issued on Thursday, and there would have been a row in S. K. and most likely Ritchie chucked. While I should have looked foolish and been generally reviled. Whereas now I can hold my head up. It is not I who come out badly. " Ever yours, "A. BORTHWICK." August 18, 1892. In the autumn of this year was published my " Diary of the Salisbury Parlia- ment 1886-92." Earlier volumes, the "Diary of the Disraeli Parliament 1874-80," and the "Diary of the Gladstone Parliament 1880-5," were dedi- cated to Lord Rosebery, who suggested the plan of extracting from the World, the " Cross Bench " articles in the Observer, and my daily articles in FROM MY DIAKY 147 the Daily News, current contributions descriptive of Parliamentary men and manners. " To the Eight Hon. A. J. Balfour, principal product of the Salisbury Parliament," this third volume was inscribed. 1 In reply to my request for permission to give the work extrinsic interest Mr. Balfour wrote : " STAN WAY, WINCHCOMBE, " August 14, '92. " MY DEAR LUCY, I am honoured indeed by your proposal to dedicate your forthcoming volume to me. You have the secret of making even the House of Commons amusing. I shall be delighted to have my name associated in any capacity with so striking an example of the transmuting power of Art. " Yours ever truly, "ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR." August 20, 1892. Complaint is not in- frequently, sometimes justly, made of the inadequacy of the reward bestowed upon Party Whips in the House of Commons at the close of long service. The subjoined letter suggests a case where proffer of the appointment as Chief 1 Subsequent volumes The Home Rule Parliament 1892- 95, The Unionist Parliament 1895-1900, and The Balfour Parliament 1900-5 were severally dedicated "to the memory of Lord Randolph Churchill," "to the Right Hon. Joseph Chamberlain, M.P., who made possible the Unionist Parlia- ment," and "to the Rigrht Hon. James William Lowther, Speaker of the House of Commons." 148 NEAKING JOEDAN Whip was equally disappointing. Mr. Marjori- banks (later Lord Tweedmouth) evidently expected something else when Gladstone formed his Government. From Lady Fanny Marjoribanks. "August 18, '92. " DEAR MR. LUCY, I am very much gratified by your kind letter and thank you sincerely for all the nice things you say about my husband ; more pleasing to me because I know it is the general opinion expressed by all sections of the House. That is a little consolation to me for what I confess was a great disappointment. But he deems it an honour to serve Mr. Gladstone and the Liberal party in any capacity where most useful and it is not for me to find fault or place difficulties in the way. " I am just off to Scotland, so we shall not likely meet till the beginning of the year when the struggle commences. But in spite of your telling me not to write I wished to thank you heartily for the kind thought which prompted you to write and which I appreciate. " Yours very truly, " FANNY MARJORIBANKS." September 2, 1892. Just when the public were growing accustomed to the idea of Gladstone settling down quietly at Hawarden, resting after the turmoil of a general election and the labour FEOM MY DIAEY 149 of forming a Ministry, news comes to town that he has been attacked by a mad cow and placed in imminent danger of his life. When it became quite clear that no harm was done, people were disposed to concentrate attention on the humorous side of the incident. Frank Lockwood has drawn an irresistibly comic sketch of him, strategically dis- posed behind a tree steadfastly regarding the cow, which returns his gaze with surprised intentness. " Who speaks First ? " is the title of the sketch. According to the narrative from Ha warden the encounter ended by the cow suddenly turning tail and making off at the top of its speed, leaving Gladstone in sole possession of the ground and the tree. The explanation suggested is that the wary quadruped, suspecting the Premier was about to address to it a speech in which he would proffer for its consideration the inevitable " three courses," took the first and bolted. This is the comic side of the affair, well enough in its way since nothing more serious happened. But it is no joke for anyone to be suddenly assailed by a mad heifer, knocked down and trodden on. For a man in his eighty-third year, with the care of the Empire on his shoulders, it is a matter of doubly serious import. Gladstone makes much less of it than the public were inclined to do when the first rumour of the foray was flashed over the town. When the cow finally disappeared he seems to have walked home and gone about his business as if nothing particular had happened. It was 150 HEARING JOEDAN only later in the day, when in the family circle there was mention of the rumour that there was a mad cow in the park, he related his personal experience. It is odd how prone he is to meet with untoward accident. During his Administration of 1880-5, he for some time conducted the affairs of the nation under a skull-cap. Stepping out of his carriage one night he stumbled, fell on his head and received a wound the scar of which was long visible. A couple of years ago he was knocked down by a cab in the streets of London. That was the occasion which drew from the conscience- stricken cabby the remark, " Well, of all the old gents I ever seed this is the most a-gilest." Instead of picking himself up and examining whether he was hurt, Gladstone dashed after the offending cabby and insisted on taking his number. It was only the other day, on the eve of the general election, that a gingerbread-nut was flung at him. And now, going out for his morning walk, he meets what is probably the only mad cow in Flintshire, which resents his kindly inquiring gaze by rushing on him, knocking him down, and trampling on him. September 21, 1892. Sir Henry Wolff sends me a copy of his " Notes of the Past." The title is alluring, the book rather disappointing. There is no reason why it should be confined to circula- tion among personal friends, unless it be that FBOM MY DIAKY 151 with his natural modesty Wolff does not think the public would be inclined to spend money in acquiring it. In that he is mistaken, since the letters throw light on many of the byways of the epoch-making campaign that closed at Sedan. Sir Henry happened to be at Libremont when the Emperor Napoleon took train there on his way to Wilhelmshohe. Some of the pomp of majesty still clung to him. He arrived at the station in a carriage drawn by four horses, accompanied by his staff. " His features showed little emotion," Wolff, jotting down his impressions at the time, wrote. " He leaned heavily on the servant who helped him out, but walked well. He wore a red kepi embroidered in gold and decorations on his uniform. A dispatch was given him, and after speaking to some of the French Legation and the Belgian authorities he sat down and wrote. He then walked on the platform of the station, and on returning to the waiting-room smoked a cigarette and read the Independance Beige. A special train came for him and he went off with his suite." Off to Wilhelmshohe, and so out of history. This was not the first time Wolff had seen the Emperor. Little more than twenty years earlier he, accompanied by three other Englishmen one Arthur Otway, afterwards Chairman of Committees in the House of Commons stood in the ranks of 152 NEAEING JOEDAN the National Guard and presented arms with the rest as, on a fine frosty December morning, the newly elected Prince-President rode through the streets of acclaiming Paris. The English visitors, failing to secure a favourable place for witnessing the pageant, had, thanks to the good offices of their shoemaker, who was also a sergeant-major in the National Guard, temporarily enlisted in the ranks of that distinguished body. And so, with rusty old muskets held at the "present," they saw the Prince-President ride by, little recking of Sedan. Mr. Carnegie 1 s Desire in Life. "RANNOCH LODGE, KINLOCH-RANNOCH, " PERTHSHIRE, " September 29, 1892. " MY DEAR MR. LUCY, The chief political desire of my life is to bring the two branches of our race together. I really see no insuperable reason why having been once one, they should not again become one. The delegate from Britain to an Imperial Assembly at Washington would reach there as quickly and more pleasantly than the delegate from San Francisco. A man in your position can do infinite good in this direction. " Always yours, " ANDREW CARNEGIE." October 18, 1892. In the City this morning there was pointed out to me a gentleman of whom FEOM MY DIABY 153 it was said, with bated breath, that, owing to the general depreciation of values for some months prevalent on the Stock Exchange, he is five millions sterling poorer than he was before the pulling-up of the Barings gave a cheek to booming markets. With that precision with which in the City other people's private affairs are known, this gentleman's property is alleged to have formerly stood at the respectable sum of eleven millions sterling. As in the course of the last eighteen months many stocks in which he is a large holder have depreciated by 50 per cent., he is now an object of commiseration as being not likely to realise more than six millions if he were sold up to-morrow. The germ of the property thus calamitously reduced does not go farther back than a genera- tion. But it seems quite natural to the family to become millionaires. Eighty years ago the father was engaged in a small retail business in the city, purveying odds and ends of fittings for tailors. His business grew till it expanded into a mighty warehouse, which in due course was, for a con- sideration, handed over to a limited liability com- pany, and is at this day one of the industrial institutions of the City. When the father died he left personalty that amounted to sixteen millions sterling. This had to be divided among his sons and the somewhat seedy-looking gentleman, reverentially pointed out to me in the City, did not acquire more than a trifle of four millions. 154 NEAEING JOEDAN This he sedulously nursed till it became the eleven millions spoken of, a figure which if he lives a few years it may touch again, perhaps even exceed. The habits of this more than millionaire are exceedingly simple. He lives in a big house in a West End square, but is understood to occupy only a couple of rooms. On this point the City is not quite authoritative, since it has never been asked to dine or even lunch on the premises. It is known that the domestic establishment is com- prised in the person of an elderly housekeeper whose genial custom it is to converse with chance callers through an opening of the front door extending no further than the chain will stretch. Neighbours are able to testify that the millionaire never goes to bed till five o'clock in the morning, being understood to spend the night in reading. One would like to know what he reads. That information is unfortunately not obtainable through the partly opened front door or otherwise. Punctually at half-past two every afternoon he is seen walking thrice around the square. A little later he comes forth again and walks off to intercept a 'bus that delivers him at the City. Every afternoon at four o'clock, an hour at which other City men are winding up their business, he appears at his office, where he is waited on by his broker, and the latest prices and near prospects of his innumerable investments are compared and movements planned. FKOM MY DIAEY 155 He is always buying and selling, and his business is naturally a profitable one for those engaged. For some time it was monopolised by a well-known broker who at the general election gratified his ambition by obtaining a seat in the House of Commons. There were more than com- pensating disadvantages. When the contest was over and he proposed to resume attendance at the four o'clock conference, he was informed that the business had been transferred. " I don't want a statesman to look after my affairs," the old gentleman grimly said. The best thing known about his vast property is that its heir recently married the daughter of an eminent and popular statesman on whose sorely impoverished estate the golden shower, when it falls, will be gratefully refreshing. XV EDMUND VAXES THERE was something dramatically appropriate in the tragic ending of Edmund Yates. Had the ordering of the final scene been in his hands he probably would not have arranged it otherwise. Almost literally born in the theatre, he practically died in it. When the curtain fell before the stage of the Tivoli Theatre it dropped upon the close of his vigorous and varied life. There was nothing left for sorrowing friends but to carry home the senseless figure. Yates had just come back from a long sojourn on the Riviera, whither he had been driven by failing health to spend the winter. Hearing of the buds bursting in the London parks, of life throb- bing in all the arteries of the great metropolis he knew so well and loved so dearly, he felt impelled to return to his old haunts. He was encouraged o in this determination by a turn for the better taken with the early spring at Cannes. He felt con- vinced he was endowed with renewal of life, and after his joyous fashion resolved to make the most of it. He had not kept house in London for many EDMUND YATES 157 years, making his home at Brighton. Now he would set up housekeeping again and renew his old morning ride in the Row. In the meanwhile, arriving opportunely for the revival of " Money " at the Tivoli, he would take his old place in the ranks of first-nighters. He came to the theatre alone, in many ways a ghost of his former self. A few years before he was as burly as he was tall. Constitutionally good-tempered, esteeming good living, the sun of prosperity shining steadily upon him after long battling with fortune, one of his besetting sorrows was a tendency to stoutness. After a serious ill- ness he, two years earlier, permanently lost flesh. Many familiar with him in old time did not on that fateful Saturday night recognise in the almost slim figure making its way to a front seat in the stalls at the Tivoli the burly Edmund Yates of five years back. Referring to a recent photograph of his I had somewhere seen, he wrote to me from the Hotel Metropole, Cannes, February 1, 1893 : " My youth has indeed passed away et ne reviendra jamais. But I am fairly slim now, having lost three stone in weight and three and a half inches in girth, and the " masher suit " was one of my ordinary wear. You are girding up your loins for the Session work, while I am loung- ing and loafing and gaining health and strength in this lovely climate. Kind regards to Mrs. Lucy." 158 NEAEING JOEDAN It happened that, coming to the theatre alone, he found himself seated apart from the many personal and some intimate friends scattered about the stalls. Contrary to the usual habit on a first night, there was little movement between the acts, people in the stalls for the most part remaining till the curtain rose again. Thus Yates through his last hour of consciousness sat in the midst of the gay throng silent, solitary, all unconscious of impending tragedy. If he felt any premonitions of what was coming he made no sign. He sat staring at the show behind the footlights with a curious light in his eyes noticed at least by one of his friends whom he passed on the way to his stall. The play finished, whilst around him the throng was rapidly dissolving he made no movement of preparation for leaving. Then he fell from his chair as if struck by lightning, and never again lapsed into consciousness. It is forty years since I made the acquaintance of Edmund Yates. Some articles of mine appear- ing in one of the magazines under the nom de guerre " The Member for the Chiltern Hundreds " attracted his notice. He had just started the World, and was looking out for recruits to enable him to keep it going. He then lived in a house in Cavendish Square, a curious little place, poked in among surrounding stately mansions. I remember the statuette of Voltaire on his writing- desk, and Yates's restless tread up and down the small room as he told me all he was going to do EDMUND YATES 159 with his new venture. He was in his prime then, and had a habit, modified only in later years, of walking about the room like a caged lion when he talked of anything that greatly interested him. He had tried many things before lecturing, novel- writing, journalism, magazine editing. He did well in all, but he was a man of expensive and expansive tastes, and his average income barely sufficed to place him at ease. For a time it seemed as if the World would go the way of earlier ventures. When I was on its staff there was a tradition that on a particular week-end very early in its career the printer notified that unless cash were forthcoming this would be his last service to the proprietor. He was induced to carry on over one week, at which precise moment the turn in the tide came, and the World and its proprietor rolled on to fortune. Perhaps it is not true ; but it is a pretty story that used to be whispered around the sumptuous board at which, once a year, sometimes at the Albion in the City, oftener at Greenwich, the portly, prosperous editor and sole proprietor of the World entertained his literary staff, not for- getting the printer who was the hero of the story, and whom we all respected accordingly. The result of my interview with Yates in Cavendish Square was the commencement of a series of articles, which had some vogue, with the title "Under the Clock." Watching Yates at his weekly work, hearing his hearty laugh, and 160 NEARING JORDAN listening to his jocund conversation, it seemed the easiest thing in the world to edit and conduct a pros- perous weekly journal. I tried it, with the result of two years' hard labour not only unrequited, but involving large money loss. My severance from the World setting up what might have been regarded as a rival shop made no difference in Yates's personal relations with an old contributor. At the end of 1878, under circumstances re- lated in the first volume of these Reminiscences, I finally delivered myself from connection with Mai/fair. Yates wrote : " 3, PORTLAND PLACE, W., " MY DEAR LUCY, I am glad you are released from what you found unsympathetic work. The dead horse is a bad animal to ride, and May fair not merely could not stay but could not start. " Very Truly Yours, "Jan. 6, 1879. " EDMUND YATES." I gather from the succeeding letter that I made some cheerful response to this pitiless, but, I am afraid, indisputable summing-up of a hapless enterprise : " 3, PORTLAND PLACE, W., "January IS, 1879. " MY DEAR LUCY, That is the true spirit in which to receive chaff not intended to be ill-natured. I'm proud of your appreciation. But don't talk of brilliant success with first literary ventures. EDMUND YATES 161 Didn't I when a youth of twenty-five have to pay 900 for the Train that wouldn't move ? Didn't Mr. Bill Tinsley send me into the Bankruptcy Court by bringing me in indebted 3000 as a partner in his infernal Magazine ? Youth and beauty have fled and success has come to find me with a bald pate and a paunch ! " Yours sincerely, " EDMUND YATES." On the eve of what proved to be his last visit to the Continent Yates wrote : " 2, EATON GARDENS, WEST BRIGHTON, " December 13, 1892. "MY DEAR LUCY, Is it possible for you to revive " Under the Clock " in the World this Session ? About a page will be enough in quan- tity. You can be more free than in any other of your Parliamentary work. ' Charles Lewis's white waistcoat ' is the best style for me. I should have thought it useless to have approached you, but hear you have given up your syndicate work. Can you let me have an answer by return ? I want to make all my arrangements before going off, as soon as possible, to Cannes. " Sincerely always, " EDMUND YATES." It was pleasant to have my old master bid me return to the fold. But though I had relieved M 162 HEARING JORDAN myself from the great strain of writing and tele- graphing to the Provinces a daily London Letter exceeding a column in length, I was not able to accept the proposal. Whilst I could not undertake a serial contribution, I cheerfully accepted Yates's invitation to return to the fold as an occasional contributor and to the dinner-table as an honoured guest. Early in the spring of 1893 I had an opportunity of sending to the World an article of the kind his soul loved. " I am very pleased," he wrote from Cannes, " to find you have not forgotten your old friend and your old workshop." Yates made many friends, old and new. There was none whose memory he cherished more tenderly than that of his old master, Charles Dickens. Dickens was an enthusiastic admirer of Yates's mother, a popular actress of her day. This natu- rally drew him to young Edmund when he showed an aptitude for literature. Forster, who did not passionately admire the festive Edmund, prints in his " Life of Charles Dickens " a memorandum in which his chief, paying a high tribute to Yates's capacity, gave instructions that modest drafts by him on the treasury of All the Year Round were to be honoured in advance of work done. Yates's jealousy in all that concerned Dickens appears in the following incident. Among the members of the Daily News Parlia- mentary Corps, of which I was in 1873 appointed EDMUND YATES 163 Leader, there were at least four gentlemen any one of whom might in respect of age have been my grandfather. In those days, differing gruesomely from these, an appointment on the staff of a London daily paper meant provision for life. Among the four was Clarkson, one of the original staff of the Daily News. As I had the honour, many years later, of succeeding Charles Dickens in the editorial chair in Bouverie Street, so, I learnt from Clarkson, I followed, longo intervallo, the father of the great novelist as Leader of the Parliamentary Corps, superadding the work of Summary writer not established in the early days of the paper. Clarkson told me he had vivid recollection of his first respected leader, of his grandly vague conception of his duties, and of an almost ducal manner of not performing them, worthy of Mr. Micawber in his prime. Clarkson helped to carry the old gentleman from the Press Gallery when suddenly attacked by an illness from which he never recovered. From Edmund Yates. "2, EATON GAKDENS, WEST BRIGHTON, " March 6, '92. " MY DEAR LUCY, What on earth makes you say that when Dickens thoughtfully provided for his father by installing him leader of the parlia- mentary corps of the Daily News The old gentle- man of course knew nothing of journalism, was not even capable of shorthand ? 164 HEARING JORDAN " ' Forster's Life,' chapter iv, vol. i, opens by mentioning that Dickens was nineteen years old when he entered the gallery, and goes on to say ' his father had already, as we have seen, joined the gallery as a reporter for the Morning Chronicle, but his own engagement on that journal dated somewhat later.' Eh ? E. Y." Not recognising the first quotation, I inquired where in my multitudinous writing the passage challenged appeared. " 2, EATON GARDENS, WEST BRIGHTON, " March, 9, '92. "MY DEAR LUCY, I picked it up out of 'Faces and Places/ The point lies not in the fact that C. D/s father was appointed to the gallery staff of the D. N., but in your statement that ' the old gentleman of course knew nothing of journalism, was not even capable of shorthand/ when he had been in the gallery for the M. Chronicle fifteen years previously ! I shall take no notice, but I shouldn't be surprised if one of the D. family are ' down ' upon this. I knew Clarkson well, a hard old Yorkshire tyke. " Sincerely yours, "E. Y." Yates characteristically made light of his im- prisonment at Hollo way upon conviction for a libel in the World he had not personally written. It told severely upon him, mentally and physically, EDMUND YATES 165 and undoubtedly hastened his death. He wrote to me from the Grand Hotel d'Albe, Champs- Elysees, Paris, Easter Sunday, 1893 : "MY DEAR LUCY, I am greatly indebted to you for your kind and practical sympathy. But you were always a staunch and loyal friend. Fourteen months under the harrow, and what Mr. Micawber called the ' final pulverisation ' by the L.C.J. nearly broke me down. My nerves were unstrung, so I hurried off for change. I have picked up wonderfully since I have been here, and have succeeded pro tern, at least, in dropping my burden. We have oceans of sympathy, and * not without hope we sutler and we mourn.' Sir George Lewis is somewhat surprised about the appeal. In any case I can never forget those who have stood by me at this time. " Very Sincerely Yours, "EDMUND YATES." It is a grim coincidence that Lord Coleridge died a week or two after Yates stepped off the stage of life in London. The Lord Chief Justice once had the editor of the World under his thumb, and pressed it down upon him with a weight that some people besides Yates regarded as vindictive. Afterwards Yates had his opportunity of reprisal, and magnanimously declined to avail himself of it. Some years later Lord Coleridge suffered a domestic trouble which, boisterously breaking through the 166 NEARING JOEDAN private circle, became fair game for the daily or weekly commentator. He naturally expected that Yates would pay off old and deeply seared scores. When he held his hand Lord Coleridge wrote a letter in which he not only acknowledged his generosity, but admitted that he had been too severe in his remarks and sentence in the libel suit. Yates resembled the great Master in other respects than the habitual use of violet ink. He was an admirable after-dinner speaker, a rare com- bination of natural gift with the power of literary expression. Also like Dickens he was a born actor and a delightful raconteur. His sense of humour was superlatively keen, its ebullition almost bois- terous. No dinner-table was dull at which Edmund Yates sat. His jovial presence, his ready wit, his contagious good temper were sufficient to ensure the success of the dullest gathering of average dinner guests. He once told me, it striking him as an irresistible flash of humour, that he had originally been designed for the Church. His father had set his heart upon his taking Holy Orders, used to talk about entering him at Charterhouse, his going on to Oxford, and thence entering the gates of the Church. Yates's picture of himself, first as a blushing curate, then possibly blossoming into a portly dean, was intensely comical. On the whole it will be agreed that fate dealt kindly and judiciously in shaping his course as it ran. Few men have lived a brighter or more EDMUND YATES 167 varied life. Up to the establishment of the World he occasionally felt that eternal want of pence that vexes public (and some private) men. There- after for twenty years he lived in affluence, wield- ing considerable public influence and, in spite of censorious criticism, working for the public good. To him next to Frederick Greenwood, whose opportunity came earlier with the old Pall Mall Gazette, is largely due the present improved style of the English daily press. I know something about it, since my professional career has been contemporaneous with the change. Even in the oldest, formerly the soberest, of the London news- papers it is now permissible for a contributor to say what he has to say and then, like the Northern Farmer at the close of the sermon in church, to " coom awa." When I first joined the London press, three years before the establishment of the World, a man on the editorial staff charged with delivery of a message say " twice two are four" must needs wrap it up in verbiage turn- ing the column in length and broken up into paragraphs, of which the middle was longer by about a third than the first and the last. In the World, as was set forth in the original prospectus, of which I preserve a copy, there was projected " an amusing chronicle of current history divested of the nonsense which has hitherto stuck like treacle to public business." This ideal Yates realised. The public were gratefully appreciative. The old-established papers 168 NEAKING JOEDAN at first sneered, then grew angry, finally imitated. In later years it was the keenest satisfaction to Edmund Yates to see, one by one, experiments introduced into his journal, and there successfully carried out, crop up in the columns of staid daily newspapers which ten or fifteen years earlier had gathered close their pharisaical garments when the sprightly World spun past them. XVI FROM MY DIARY October 28, 1892. The universality and exactness of Gladstone's knowledge was illustrated the other night by a new departure. Coming up to town after a visit to Oxford, he went out to dinner with one of his colleagues in the Cabinet. It was a small party. With one exception all the guests were of high degree, their precedence being as strictly ordered as is the law of primogeniture. When the host led the way to the dinner-table there was no difficulty as to whom he should escort. The French Minister was there. As representing a great Government he went first, and was seated at the right hand of the host. After dinner, moving towards the door, everybody made room for Gladstone to lead the way. Lord Eipon was among the company, and the Premier stood aside to let him go first. I am not certain that the Secretary for the Colonies was astonished, knowing that he was a marquis, and should take precedence of a commoner, even though the commoner were Gladstone, and he Prime Minister. As Prime Minister, Gladstone had no precedence assigned to him, and if the strict order were followed 170 NEABING JOEDAN must march in to dinner behind the Treasurer of the Household or the Master of the Horse. In the laughing discussion which followed the incident, in which the host turned back to join, Gladstone was reminded that he was Lord Privy Seal, and Lord Privy Seal takes high precedence, coming even before dukes, marquises, or earls. "Yes," said Mr. Gladstone, "but only if of baronial rank." Later in the evening authorities were consulted and it was found that Gladstone was right. Amid all the cares of State, with all his wealth of scholar- ship and knowledge of affairs, he had found time to study the minutiae of the mysterious law of precedence, had learned and remembered that the Lord Privy Seal goes out to dinner before dukes only if he be a baron of the United Kingdom. Being a commoner his priceless privilege vanishes into thin air, and he is of no more account than if the Privy Seal were not. A couple of years ago an analogous question assumed a position of international interest. A Koyal Commission had been appointed dealing with a public question. It numbered amongst its mem- bers the Prince of Wales and Cardinal Manning. On completion of the report, the Cardinal, as bearing the title Archbishop of Westminster, claimed, or had the claim put forward on his behalf, that his signature should immediately follow that of the Prince of Wales. Privilege was gracefully con- ceded, and when the list was made public there FEOM MY DIAEY 171 was profound stirring up of the dregs of wrath in the Protestant teacup. The anomaly of the titular position of the Premier in such circumstances arises from the fact that the Table of Precedence was set on its legs o long before the time of Walpole, who first had con- ceded to him the title of Premier or First Minister of the Crown. The consequence is that on these critical occasions of going down to dinner or walk- ing in formal procession the Prime Minister, the most important political personage of the day, is literally nowhere. When the Table was arranged the chief ministers were the Lord Chancellor, the Lord Treasurer, the Lord President of the Council, and the Lord Privy Seal, though this latter, as Mr. Gladstone alone remembered, does not enjoy the privilege if he be a commoner. The Church, being in those days more potent than it is now, got itself admirably placed. In the nicely balanced order first comes the Sovereign, then the Prince of Wales, next the Sovereign's younger sons, grandsons, uncles, nephews. Close on the heels of Royalty paces the Archbishop of Canterbury. As for the Speaker of the House of Commons, he is roods off, even an Irish peer taking precedence of him ; while the younger son of a duke, whom, having a seat in the House of Commons, he may have persist- ently snubbed throughout a Wednesday afternoon, might " take it out " of him if he chanced to find himself in the evening at dinner in company with the occupant of the Speaker's Chair. 172 NEAEING JORDAN Another example of Mr. Gladstone's punctilious deference to the rules of etiquette in the matter of precedence was forthcoming in his own house. For a while he, by happy coincidence, rented No. 10, St. James's Square, where during the splendid period of his Second Administration Pitt the Elder dwelt. Through the Parliamentary Session he gave a series of dinner-parties. Among the guests at one of these was a Junior Member of his Government whom, as a reward for plodding work, he had raised to the Peerage. Leaving the table after dinner, the Prime Minister and the new peer, walking together, led the way towards the door. The host opened it and his guest stood aside to permit him to pass out. Mr. Gladstone courteously declined. Here was a Peer of the realm, a brand-new Baron, whilst he was, like a former tenant of the house, a mere Commoner. So the blushing Peer went first. 1 October 30, 1892. Thanks to Labouchere's adroitness and pertinacity, public attention has been centred on the Queen's alleged determination to bar the door of Ministerial office against him. I hear another interesting report bearing on the secret history of Gladstone's Fourth Administra- tion. It is said it was the Queen's personal 1 Early in Campbell-Bannerman's Premiership this anomaly was on the initiative of King Edward partly removed, the Prime Minister on State or social occasions ranking next after the Primate, the Lord Chancellor, and the Archbishop of York. He still, however, has to yield pride of place to a member of his Cabinet the Lord Chancellor. FROM MY DIARY 173 intervention that finally overcame Lord Rosebery's disinclination to take office, a reluctance ostensibly founded upon the state of his health. Her Majesty indited with her own hand an appeal to him to set aside personal considerations and accept the office of Foreign Secretary proffered him. Lord Rosebery is sound on the Egyptian ques- tion, being opposed to the view the Conservatives insist upon attributing to Gladstone of desire to scuttle out of Egypt. With him at the Foreign Office, apprehension on that point need no longer weigh down the patriot mind. Accordingly, so the story runs, the Queen, at the instigation of Lord Salisbury, put pressure upon Lord Rosebery with the object of thwarting Gladstone's wicked, but (to tell the truth) fabled designs. November 9, 1892. There seems to be just now a special fatality among dukes. Only the other day his Grace of Sutherland was translated after brief illness. Now the Duke of Marlborough, 1 going quietly to bed last night, was found stiff and cold in the morning, his right hand clutching at the heart that after frantic effort had ceased to beat. He had of late years been attracted by the poten- tiality of electric lighting, and in connection with several companies formed to spread its use developed remarkable business qualities. Whilst still Marquis of Blandford, he turned his attention to politics. Since his brother had, in accordance with family 1 Lord Randolph Churchill's eldest brother. 174 NEAEING JOEDAN traditions, joined the Conservative party, he characteristically turned his steps towards the opposite camp. I happen to know that he made formal applica- tion to the Liberal Whip to provide him with a seat that he might fight under the flag of Mr. Gladstone. His overtures were so coldly met that he withdrew them, and did not thereafter make further systematic effort to embark upon political life. Since he came into the dukedom he has made no figure in the House of Lords, not having, as far as I remember, once broken the silence imposed upon himself. Some who knew him well affirm that of the two he was a cleverer man than his more renowned brother. Certainly no one could be in his company ten minutes without recognizing his keen percep- tion, his wide knowledge of affairs, and the charm of his conversation. The worst thing that happened to him was that he should have been born at Blen- heim. Had his father been "something in the city," or even an artisan or a field hand, George Charles Spencer Churchill would have made a greater name than he leaves as the Eighth Duke of Marlborough. From Mr. Speaker Peel. "THE LODGE, SANDY, BERKS, " December 8, '92. "DEAR MR. LUCY, The ' unauthenticated member' has paid me a great compliment by FROM MY DIARY 175 sending me his 'Diary of the Salisbury Parlia- ment/ " I have already laughed over its pages as scene after scene is told with all the humour which still never departs from truth. " May you not be embarrassed by wealth of material in the new Parliament and may your recording pen deal lightly and generously with us all seeing that we present ourselves ' as we are ' and not always * as we ought to be.' " With much acknowledgment to you for your present and past kindness, " I remain, " Yery truly yours, " ARTHUR W. PEEL." February 6, 1893. The Prince of Wales was present last night (Sunday) at a dinner-party, to which no reference is made in the Court Circular. The host was the Duke of Fife, and the guests invited "to meet the Prince of Wales," did not exceed a dozen, most of them bearing well-known names, though not ranking in political or ordinary Court circles. Irving was there, serene in the consciousness of the completeness of his prepara- tions for " Becket," to open on the Lyceum stage to-night. Close by him was his much-loved brother whom everyone calls " Johnnie " Toole. Another popular Johnnie (Hare) was there, also Frank Burnand, who rarely performs out of Rams- gate on Sundays, wisely preferring the rest and 176 NEAKING JORDAN quiet of his seaside home, to the attractions of the Sunday-night dinner-party, one of the institutions of smart London Society. This is the kind of symposium his Royal High- ness thoroughly enjoys, and finds it occasionally provided for him by judicious friends. He is thoroughly at home himself, and makes everyone else feel so. No one forgets that the pleasant- faced genial gentleman, with the ready hearty laugh, is the Prince of Wales, Heir Apparent to the Throne. On his part there are no irksome reminders of the fact, which for the nonce he seems delighted to forget. February 15, 1893. To-night after two years' absence Randolph Churchill made his r entree to the House of Commons. The interest excited by the prospect of his return testifies to his abiding power and the fascination he exercises over mankind. The House was filled only in less degree than when, on Monday, Gladstone brought in the Home Rule Bill. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York were again in their places over the clock. Every seat on the floor of the House was occupied. The side galleries overflowed, and as many of the leaders of London Society as could crowd in filled the ladies' gallery. Randolph had the misfortune to have the de- livery of his speech postponed for an hour and a half whilst a fierce wrangle took place round a charge of a breach of privilege brought against the FROM MY DIARY 177 Times. Nothing is more disastrous upon the effect of ordered speech than such preliminary whirlwind of excitement as filled the House. Ran- dolph's private friends knew there was more in the accident than the ordinary inconvenience of delay. Before coming down to the House he, under direc- tion of his doctor, had taken a cordial calculated to maintain his strength over the period of time required for delivery of his speech. That time was precisely the hour and a half appropriated for the squabble about privilege. It followed that when he rose, so far from being invigorated by the tonic, he^as in the limp condition of a man suffering after the evaporation of a dose of drugs. It was a remarkable tribute to his interesting personality that members, satiated with the pro- longed excitement, still kept their seats when the returned wanderer presented himself at the table. Nobody else, not even Gladstone, could have kept a crowded House together in such circumstances. At the opening it seemed to the audience of old friends and enemies closely watching that Ran- dolph was but the shade of his former self. He, the Parliamentary sapeur to whom in his early prime nothing was sacred, now trembled like a leaf, comporting himself more like a young member making his maiden speech, than a veteran Parlia- mentarian, who by sheer pluck, backed by tremen- dous capacity, had risen from the ranks to the highest place in the House of Commons. So painful was his nervousness that it seemed he K 178 NEARING JORDAN must come to an abrupt conclusion before he com- pleted his exordium. The voice which used to ring through the House in savage defiance or scathing mockery faltered. The Prince of Wales, leaning with hand to ear over the gallery, presently gave up the hopeless effort to catch the drift of the discourse. Encouraged by generous cheers, Randolph regained his self-possession, and though he spoke in what by comparison with his older manner was a minor key, he showed that his tongue had not lost its cunning nor his mind its incisive power. Bryce, who from his seat on the Treasury Bench opposite was able to follow every sentence of the speech, told me it was in his opinion equal to anything Randolph had done in his prime. As ' a criticism of the Government Bill the speech was far more weighty, its arguments more destructive, than was the carefully prepared address Arthur Balfour delivered two nights earlier. Members felt as they looked at the two old friends temporarily reunited on the front bench, that the real leader of the Opposition was he who stood at the table, not he who with languorous grace lounged in the seat once filled by Disraeli. March 2, 1893. Labouchere, who has tracked down many designing villains, is still at fault in his pursuit of the ingenious and enterprising person who has, during the past few weeks, been FKOM MY DIAEY 179 crowding Old Palace Yard with tradesmen's carts, bringing goods the tenant of No. 5 never ordered, and embarrassing his friends with unauthorised gifts. John Morley tells me he is one of those benefited by the sudden outburst of generosity attributed to the member for Northampton. On the night before he left London for Dublin there arrived at his residence in Elm Park Gardens a magnificent salmon, with label attached, stating that it was forwarded " with Mr. Labouchere's compliments." He ate the salmon, and now the question presents itself, Who is to pay for it ? The problem has been submitted (not in Mr. Morley 's individual case) to a high legal authority, who unhesitatingly declares that the responsibility lies with the hapless tradesman. It is he who has been duped, not the astute gentleman who was aimed at. I believe in most cases, where perish- able articles have been forwarded " with Mr. Labouchere's compliments," and have been con- sumed by the unsuspecting recipient, the trades- man's account has been discharged. But this is entirely an act of grace, he having no legal claim. XVII ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS IT has been my good fortune throughout a long period of time to enjoy the personal friendship of the great Admirals of our mercantile fleet. Among them were Thomas Ismay, who out of small begin- nings firmly established the White Star Line ; Sir Donald Currie, seneschal of the Castle Line, who died ^st too soon to see the property he created, in the meanwhile amalgamated with the rival Union Line, absorbed at a princely premium by that still youthful Napoleon of the shipping world, Sir Owen Philipps ; the second Lord Inverclyde, who died too soon for full development of heredi- tary capacity for managing so vast a concern as the Cunard Fleet ; Sir Francis Evans, who long time fought Donald Currie on the way to the Cape and back, finally joining his old adversary in management of the Castle Union Line. Last, but not least in affectionate regard, my old friend, Sir Thomas Sutherland, who in his management of the Peninsular and Oriental Line, emulates the achievement of the Roman Emperor who found Rome built of brick and left it stately ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 181 in marble. Sir Thomas found the P. and 0. Fleet steeped in the hoary traditions of days when the voyage out and home was made round the Cape- occupying a considerable portion of a year. The finances of the company were in corresponding state of decrepitude. By indomitable energy, and capacity amounting to genius, he has brought the old line into its present position of efficiency and prosperity. It was, and happily remains, the custom of these maritime princes to celebrate the launching of an addition to their fleet by inviting to a trial trip a representative company of guests. The hospitable habit was occasionally extended by trips to witness naval reviews at Portsmouth inaugurated in the reign of Queen Victoria. Thus when, in 1889, the German Emperor visited Spithead, the Teutonic sailed from Liverpool to take her appointed place a place of honour in contiguity to the Fleet. On the morning of the second day the German Emperor, escorted by Edward Prince of Wales, came aboard and made close inspection of the splendid liner about to make her maiden trip across the Atlantic. A considerable number of guests, chiefly Parlia- ment men, came down by special train. En route John Morley's portmanteau miscarried, and he arrived aboard with no other clothes than those he stood in. The next morning, when walking on deck, his hat blew off, floating serenely out of sight. 182 NEARING JORDAN " Ah," said Mr. Chamberlain, smilingly looking on, " these things supply useful illustration of the practical working of the Separatist policy." There was as usual on these trips some after- dinner speaking. Much was expected from Chauncey Depew, whose fame as a witty talker was at its height. He was disappointed at the reception by the audience of a treasured anecdote about a boy "walking through a churchyard eating green apples and singing ' Nearer, my God, to Thee.' " It was apparently a little too strong for English taste. It is a tragic coincidence, never dreamt of by the guests at the dinner-table of the Teutonic, that twenty-three years later, from the deck of a sister ship doomed to one of the most calamitous wreckages in history there should rise to Heaven the solemn strain of this hymn played by the heroic bandsmen. Lord Dufferin, whose speech followed at brief interval that of the American guest, was interrupted by an incident that greatly tickled the fancy of the company. Rising to propose a toast, he got as far as the explanation, "To the health of my friend ' when the foghorn broke in with a wild shriek of protest almost human in the intensity of its passion. When the outburst and the prolonged roar of laughter that accompanied it subsided, Lord Dufferin, continuing, said, " The name on my lips when thus gruesomely interrupted was that of our host, Thomas Ismay." ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 183 The Teutonic arrived at her moorings on a Friday afternoon, and in order to keep her engage- ment on the sailing list was obliged to steam back to Liverpool on the Sunday evening. Those who had leisure were made welcome to take the voyage. As Parliament was in Session it was incumbent on another and larger section of the party to return by train to London. Landed on the quay, transhipped from the tender, a remarkable scene followed. Being Sunday afternoon, there were no dockers or porters to deal with the accumulated luggage. The tender's crew put it ashore, but could do no more. Mrs. Chamberlain, newty married, had, more Americano, brought with her that bountiful allowance of personal baggage without which no lady from the United States would travel. The last glimpse I caught of Mr. Chamberlain was when, mounting on the top of the baggage, he, like Cortez staring at the Pacific, with eyeglass fixed, anxiously scanned the horizon in search of a porter. For a brief season I earned an unwonted measure of personal popularity. Walking across the wharf to the waiting railway train, I caught sight of a small hand-cart. It was the very thing. I placed on it my gladstone bag and rug. In an instant other overladen wayfarers came up and deposited their goods. Delighted at our good fortune, we got hold of the handle of the cart and cheerily hauled. To our dismay we found it would not move, a circumstance explained wlien on close examination we found one of the hind wheels had 184 NEARING JORDAN been secured by a locked chain. I of course was not responsible for this. But a coolness suddenly sprang up between disappointed travellers and my- self. Sir Frederic Leighton, who, struggling with his portmanteau, joyfully availed himself of the opportunity of getting rid of it, was particularly haughty. One of the most memorable trips enjoyed on the invitation of Sir Donald Currie was on board the Tantallon Castle proceeding to the opening of the Kiel Canal in June, 1895. This was the last of a series of voyages devised by Sir Donald for the benefit of Mr. Gladstone. The chairman of the Castle Line was never so happy as when he was at sea. He had his own yacht, but occasionally made trial trips in Scottish waters in one of the big Castle liners. On one of these voyages we visited an ancient castle which, among other heirlooms, contained a contemporary portait of Rob Roy. It was sorely disillusioning to one brought up on Walter Scott's descriptions of the romantic rover. Tt more closely resembled the appearance of a red- whiskered commercial traveller, which indeed in one sense the chieftain truly was. I was one of a very small party on the first trip in the Channel of Sir Donald's beautiful yacht. The others were Sir Joseph Pease and Lord Alverstone, at that time Attorney- General, commonly and affectionately known as Dick Webster. We cruised about from Friday afternoon 185 till Monday morning. On the Sunday evening Sir Donald held a mitigated church service in the saloon. He read the prayers ; Pease made the responses ; the Attorney-General, noted for posses- sion of a fine voice, formed the choir, and I was the congregation. There was no collection. Another week-end sea trip that dwells in pleasant memory was given by Sir Francis Evans, then chairman of the Union Line, the principal guest being Mr. Gully. He had recently been elected Speaker of the House of Commons, and was, naturally, a little anxious about his work. According to sailing orders, we were to be back at Southampton on Sunday night in time to catch an early-morning train to London. That arrangement admirably fitted in with the Speaker's engagements. Sunday morning found us off Land's End with plenty of time to reach Southampton as appointed. Suddenly a fog came on, increasing in density till we could hardly see across the deck. There was nothing for it but to slow down and keep the fog- horn sounding. It is difficult to imagine a more dangerous spot for a big liner to find itself entrapped in fog. Once there loomed out of the mist what looked like a mammoth sailing-ship. She came so close that I could almost touch her with my hand. Collision seemed inevitable. Happily she did not touch the almost stationary liner, vanishing in the gloom as swiftly and as silently as she had emerged. 186 NEAEING JOEDAN I made man)^ delightful trips in Sir William Wills' (later Lord Winterstoke's) yacht, the Sabrina. On week-end voyages the Channel was the limit of our run, spending the Sunday at Dartmouth, Swanage, or other pleasant anchorage. We gene- rally went ashore and took a country drive. At one of these anchorages I set forth on a walk by myself with disastrous consequence. Straying into a country churchyard, I read the inscriptions on the tombstones, always an attractive study. One told how on a certain date a beloved wife had passed away. After mention of this fact, with other personal particulars, the sorrowing widower caused the epitaph to be closed with the line : " Peace, Perfect Peace." There was an ambiguity about that way of putting it that tickled my fancy. At luncheon on board the yacht, I mentioned my discovery and was instantly conscious of chilling silence. Afterwards a fellow-passenger, Mr. Inglis, then chief engineer of the Great Western Eailway, after- wards manager, took me aside and told me that on the death of his wife Sir William had had this line engraved on her tombstone. Which shows how dangerous is the habit of miscellaneous quotation. During the Cowes week in August, 1906, the Sabrina being moored close by the Victoria and Albert, we had opportunity of observing the rest- less energy of his Majesty King Edward. He was ever passing to and fro in his steam-launch. On Sunday, day of departure of the King and Queen ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 187 of Spain, whose yacht lay close by the grim figure of a Spanish ironclad on guard, there were many visits to pay. The Royal guests having called on the Victoria and Albert pour prendre conge, the visit was promptly returned, the Queen accompany- ing his Majesty to say good-bye. On returning they paid a farewell visit to the Empress Euge'nie, on her yacht, the Thistle. After he had made a tour of the yachts still clustering thick off Cowes, the King expressed intention of visiting Sir George Newnes's magnificent yacht, the Albion. The guests on board were a dozen M.P.'s, including the Attorney-General. They were bound for Norway, but put off sailing in anticipation of a Royal visit that did not come off, His Majesty being compelled at the last moment to abandon his intention. Among the group of Royal personages on board the Thistle, within sight of the Sabrina, the most interesting was the picturesque figure of the Empress Euge'nie. It was pretty to see the defer- ence paid to the fallen star. The Empress met her Royal visitors at the head of the gangway. Queen Alexandra greeted her with sisterly salute. The King, baring his head, bowed low and kissed her hand. Earlier visitors were the Princess Christian and the two daughters of the Duke of Connaught. On taking the hand of the Empress each curtsied as they would have done to a reigning monarch. The Empress walks a little lame, being a chronic sufferer from rheumatism, but she looked well in 188 NEABING JORDAN spite of her fourscore years. A. striking incident happened when she went ashore and walked through the Castle gardens enclosing the Club House of the Royal Yacht Squadron. She came upon Sir John Burgoyne, who, thirty-five years ago, when she was fleeing from the wrath of France, gave her a passage in his yacht and through a stormy sea brought her safely to a British port. I was a passenger on the Satoina for a full month's voyage round the south and west coast of Ireland. This enabled me to look in at parts of Ireland not conveniently accessible by rail. We spent a day at Gal way, where I was struck by evidences of departed glory. Time was when it was a prosperous port, the home of well-to-do citizens. There still remain attached to crazy broken-down mansions, magnificent mahogany doors, the wood imported when Galway did trade with the Spanish colonies. Another and more modern harbour found anchorage for the yacht, the attraction being the desire of our host, director of the Great Western Eailway Company, to see the working of a mono-rail passenger train. The beach shallowing too much to permit the yacht to find anything like wharfage, we went ashore in the pinnace. Our disembarkation was watched with profoundest interest by the population. What particularly piqued their curiosity was the problem how Sir William, a man of height and girth as generous in proportion as was his nature, was ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 189 to be safely delivered from the comparatively frail boat. " God bless him," cried an old lady when he cautiously accomplished the manoeuvre, " he'll weigh twenty stone at laste." The principle of the mono-rail is adapted from the panniers on the back of an ass, or perhaps more directly from the structure of an outside car. To the perfect working of the system it is necessary that the seats on either side, slung across the centre rail, shall be pretty evenly balanced. A rumour, by this time I expect grown into the respectability of a tradition, tells how upon a day a big English- man landed from his yacht, and making a trip over the mono-rail was utilised by the guard to counter- balance the weight of the population of the hamlet. It was Sir William Wills. We went yachting with Sir Donald Macfarlane on the Hiawatha, when, at the General Election of 1885, presenting himself as a Crofters' candidate, he captured the officially Liberal stronghold, Argyllshire. It was a famous victory, largely due to personal popularity gained by his visits in the yacht to outlying parts of the constituency unaccustomed to see a Parliamentary candidate. Steaming homeward-bound after the poll was declared he had a royal reception from the fisher- men, who, coming in with their catches of herrings, poured tribute on the snowy decks of the yacht. Macfarlane was a wonderful shot. His custom 190 NEABING JOEDAN of an afternoon was to have empty bottles pitched overboard as the yacht raced along, and use them as targets. He very rarely missed. During the Parliamentary recess of 1886 we joined the Hiawatha at Marseilles and steamed up the Mediterranean towards the Isles of Greece. Editorial duties prevented my going further east than Naples. But we had a delightful three weeks, calling at most of the points of interest en route. We reached Pisa by a new route. Leaving the yacht at anchor at Leghorn, we voyaged thither by the canal in the steam-launch. Sir John Burns, long time chairman of the Cunard Company, and founder of the Inverclyde peerage, had a yacht familiar from Clyde to Cowes as the Capercailzie. He used it a great deal, and had a masterful way of keeping it to himself and his chosen guests. Paying a country visit in the neighbourhood of Dartmoor, we were one day surprised by receipt of a telegram from his eldest son, George, inviting us to join the Capercailzie at Oban for a fortnight's cruise. It was a far cry from the vicinity of Land's End to a place within measurable distance of John o'Groats. Travelling day and night we managed to accomplish it in something over twenty-four hours, and were rewarded by a charming cruise. A second trip in -the Capercailzie, taken a few years later, had its pleasure marred by tragedy. George Burns, our old friend and fellow-traveller ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 191 in Japan, was now Lord Inverclyde, chairman of the Cunard Company, owner of the Capercailzie and of all his late father's possessions on land and sea. He planned a pretty programme for the pleasure of his guests. Castle Wemyss was their headquarters, and in the bay lay the Capercailzie, waiting to take us out for a day's steaming in the Kyles of Bute, or further north. On the last of these little trips, Lord Inverclyde caught a chill which, not threatening at first, rapidly developed into an attack of pneumonia. He was very ill on the morning when the yacht returned to Castle Wemyss, but insisted that his wife should not eclipse the gaiety of the company by making allusion to his condition. So he sat at the luncheon-table gay and smiling, though, as I heard later, he was suffering excruciating pain. The last glimpse I caught of him was when, seated in the gig, he steered the first batch of passengers over to the Castle slip. Still bravely smiling, he nodded good-bye, I little dreaming that it was the final farewell. On landing he went straight to bed, and within a month was dead. I remember coming across his father, old Sir John Burns, when he was still in personal command of the Capercailzie. It was at Cowes during the regatta week. A party from the Hiawatha landing at the wharf, I, being burdened with a supply of coppers, went on ahead to pay the toll. At the gate stood a sturdy figure in blue serge and yachting cap. As I came up he held out his hand. 192 NEAEING JOEDAN Thinking he was the toll-collector, I stretched out mine full of coppers, when, just iu time to avoid an awkward incident, a glance at his face revealed Sir John Burns. I fancy Sir John, shrewd Scotchman as he was, careful of bawbees, would have smoothed it over by putting the coppers in his pocket. My first trip on a new P. and 0. liner, fore- runner of a long succession each brightened with memories of interesting people, was to Antwerp. Amongst the guests were Edmund Yates and George Boughton, not yet R.A., the first an old friend, the second a new acquaintance acquaint- ance that blossomed into intimate friendship, broken only by death. The new ship had been fitted up with novel luxuries in the bathroom. Notable was the needle-bath, an apparatus within whose rails the patient stands, turns on a tap, and is pelted at close quarters with water rushing from innumerable pinholes. On a sultry morning, Mr. Barnes, the managing director, suggested that we should try the new bath. I was content with the ordinary tub. Barnes felt it was a duty he owed to the Board and the company that he should try the sprinkler. A few moments after the door next to my bath was closed, from the adjacent compartment came a terrific scream. Barnes getting inside the wire framework, not an easy thing for a stout man, had turned on the hot tap, and was in a few seconds parboiled. ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 193 A later trip was paid to Havre, where I saw for the first time battleships painted in the unobtru- sive mud colour now universal in fleets. Just as there is a river in Macedon and a river in Mon- mouth, so there were ships at Cherbourg and ships in the Solent. But there was no nearer approach to what Lord Kandolph Churchill on an historic occasion alluded to as " similarity." Entering Cherbourg Harbour on Saturday night, the Hima- laya steamed past two monster masses floating on the water. I took them to be dredgers, and marvelled at their proportions. The idea, born of contemplation of their shape seen in the growing dusk of the evening, was confirmed by the circum- stance that they were of a ghastly colour, suggest- ing that the buckets having drawn up the slime from the bottom of the harbour it had been acci- dentally and impartially spilled over the hulk. On closer view they turned out to be two of the most powerful ironclads in the French Navy, pioneers of the mighty fleet that entered the harbour next morning and thundered response to the salute of a Russian corvette that lay at anchor. After passing a day in company of these mon- strosities of naval architecture, it was a keen delight when returning to come suddenly upon sunlit Cowes with flocks of bird-like yachts flitting to and fro across the shining Solent. At Havre, Ashmead Bartlett, at the time Civil Lord of the Admiralty, was aboard. The chair- man of the P. & 0., Sir Thomas Sutherland, and o 194 NEARING JORDAN Monsieur de Lesseps, proposed to pay a visit of ceremony to the French flagship. Ashmead Bart- lett suggested that the Admiral would be more gratified if the Civil Lord of the British Admiralty accompanied them. The proposal was not dis- putable, and the Civil Lord, retiring to his cabin, re-appeared, after what the waiting Chairman regarded as an insufferably long time, in a frock coat, patent-leather boots, and a top hat. There was disposition, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons, to chaff the bustling Civil Lord. As he gingerly descended the companion ladder to gain a footing on the steam-launch, the company crowded against the bulwarks and boisterously cheered him and his top hat. The incident greatly impressed some French- men who were on board. As the fun grew fast and furious, I heard one say to another in awed w tones : " II para/it etre grand favori. Hein ? " These trips, which usually extended from Friday afternoon till Monday morning, were highly popu- lar among hard- worked statesmen, judges, barristers, painters, and men of letters. One of the most constant trippers was John Morley. Lord Selborne, a director of the company, Mr. Ritchie, not yet a peer, Lord Rathmore, Sir Horace Davey, Mr. Justice Bigham (Lord Mersey), and the popular Whip, Richard Causton (now Lord Southwark), indefatigable with his camera, were others. On the last night of our voyage, Lord Davey, proposing a toast to the health of the Chairman, ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 195 submitted for his agreement the principle, " Once a First Tripper, Always a First Tripper " ; a suggestion to which Sir Thomas Sutherland cor- dially responded. As a matter of fact, it was in large measure operative from the first. One met again and again fellow- voyagers on earlier trips. The hand most busy in crossing names off the list was that of Death. I have a pile of the list of passengers on successive voyages extending over more than a quarter of a century. It is sad to think how many have gone on to a place where " there is no more sea." One of the most frequent and most popular of the P. and 0. trippers was Czarnikow, a City magnate in the sugar business. He was one of the best judges of a good cigar I ever met, certainly the most generous dispenser of his treasure. When he came aboard the new liner he brought with him several boxes of his best, and throughout the voyage almost literally oozed cigars, pressing them by the handful on his favourites. He was always rather quaintly dressed for a sea voyage. He excelled himself on one occasion when he turned up in a fearsome flame-coloured suit. Complaint was made among his beneficiaries that the cigars he as usual produced from manifold pockets smelt as if they had been singed. I once paid a week-end visit to Czarnikow in his country home. As Lord of the Manor he felt it incumbent on him to attend morning service in the manorial pew of the parish church. We 196 NEARING JORDAN walked together through a park avenue a mile long. At a short distance from the house we came upon an empty mineral-water bottle lying on the carriage-road. The Lord of the Manor, properly as I thought offended by such untidiness, picked up the bottle and carefully hid it away in the shrub- bery. Walking back after Divine service, our souls uplifted by a sermon from the curate, I observed as we neared the house signs of pre-occupation on my dear host's face. He seemed to be looking for something in the shrubbery. ,Was he expecting a rabbit? Suddenly he bounded off to the left, stooped down and brought out the empty bottle. " They allow a shilling a dozen for these when returned empty," he said, a glow of satisfaction suffusing his features. This has an appearance of penuriousness not, I believe, uncommon with exceedingly rich men. As a matter of fact, Czarnikow was one of the most generous of men, never so happy as when distributing gifts. Every Christmas through a long series of years he sent me, not one box, which would have been kind, but half a dozen boxes of his choicest cigars. Included in the bulky parcel were daintily fashioned boxes of costly bonbons, specially ordered from Paris for my wife. Return- ing to his country house from business visits to town he provided himself with supplies of cakes and sweets, which he distributed to the children living in the hamlet at his park gates. They knew the approximate hour of his arrival and, drawn up ON GOING DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS 197 in eager line on the pathway, caught or scrambled for the good things thrown out through the open window of the carriage. I never knew which was the more delighted, Czarnikow or the children. Another regular tripper was Moberly Bell, manager of The Times. On one voyage a fellow- guest was Mr. John Murray, the publisher, who a week or so earlier had been granted heavy damages from The Times in a civil action. He had the cheque photographed, and brought a copy with him. It was an object of much interest among the passengers. As far as I observed, Moberly Bell was the only one who did not have an opportunity of inspecting it. That was of the less consequence since he had seen the original. Another regular passenger was Sir John Aird. He had an ineradicable passion for giving every- body something. Whenever we touched at a port, he went ashore and gratified his desire. Looking in at Queenstown on one trip he brought me a Shillelagh, a natural product of the country he thought might be useful in the lobby of the House of Commons. After dinner, on summer nights, there was often dancing on deck. I have vivid recollection of seeing Sir Thomas Sutherland and Sir John Aird doing a sword dance, the limelight dexterously disposed so as to shine full upon their graceful figures and their rhythmical steps. The last time I saw Sir John Ardagh, Chief of the Military Intelligence Department, Minis- terial disregard of whose timely warnings nearly 198 NEARING JORDAN lost South Africa to the Empire, he was looking over the rail of the liner, saying good-bye to the majority of guests putting off in the tender to catch the train for London. He was on his way to his bath, and had wrapped a towel round his head turban-wise, an arrangement that gave his habitually grave countenance an irresistibly comic look. " Military Ardour we used to call him years ago in Dublin," said Lord Rathmore, laughingly nodding good-bye to one of his oldest and most cherished friends. XVIII YOUTHFUL INDISCRETIONS PERHAPS a little late for conviction to be effectual I am learning the weight of responsibility for the printed word. I recall four incidents which had quite unexpected results. Shortly after Lowe had been raised to the Peerage, he, obeying the instinct common in such circumstances, revisited the old quarters. Seated in the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons he looked down upon what chanced to be an almost empty Chamber. On his legs was a member whose dullness sufficiently accounted for this desolation. One exception to indifference to his remarks was displayed by Mr. Thomasson, at the time member for Bolton. Exceedingly deaf, he was accustomed to carry with him an ear-trumpet. With this in position, seated on a bench below the gentleman on his legs, he eagerly drank in his words of wisdom. From the Gallery Lord Sherbrooke blinked down on the scene. It occurred to me that as he regarded the deaf member making strenuous effort to hear what a dullard was saying, he might murmur to himself, " What a wanton sacrifice of natural advantages ! " 200 NEAEING JOEDAN Noting the incident in " The Diary of Toby, M.P." I described the scene, and in a manner not unfamiliar in that veracious chronicle put the words quoted into the mouth of Lord Sherbrooke. The little jape had great vogue, with unexpected consequence. On the publication of Mr. Patchett Martin's admirable "Life of Lowe," I found the story, adapted by Lowe as his own, entered in his diary as one of the good things he had flashed across the dinner-table. The following letter from his biographer explains the matter : "EEFORM CLUB, PALL MALL, "Aug. 10, 1892. " DEAR SIR, Going through Lord Sherbrooke's papers I found the delightful bon mot about the deaf member in the House of Commons. It was without any note or comment which would have led me to infer that it was not actually a saying of his own. " I think if you do me the favour again to glance at the chapter dealing with his social con- versational qualities, you will perhaps admit that I took some pains to sift the wheat from the tares. But as an admirable article in the present Quarterly sets forth, Lowe had for many years been a ' peg ' on which many wits hung up their ' good things.' " I can only congratulate you on the invention of a happy saying which displays so much of the YOUTHFUL INDISCRETIONS 201 true Lowian wit and point, that, finding it among his papers, I naturally inferred that it was his. Lord Sherbrooke, who never referred to his own witticisms, and as a rule seemed to have forgotten the lively sallies which too often stung his more stupid victims, never (as you infer) claimed the authorship of the felicitous invention. " May I take this opportunity of thanking you for your excellent ' Diary of Two Parliaments,' which as my work testified I found of the utmost service ? " Faithfully yours, " A. PATCHETT MARTIN." In his " Reminiscences," published a few years before his death, Goldwin Smith cites the jape as " one of the highest flashes of Lowe's mordant wit." Another example of this form of cerebration, being of later date, is perhaps more widely known. Just before Lord Hartington was, to the irreparable loss of the House of Commons, called to another place, a story was current which greatly tickled London society. It ran to the effect that, taking a lady down to dinner on an evening when earlier he had made an important speech in the House of Commons, she asked whether it was true that at one stage of his argument he had interrupted himself with a prolonged yawn. He admitted the indictment. " How could you ? " said the lady. 202 NEAHING JORDAN " Ah," said Lord Harrington, "you don't know how dull the speech was." Mea culpal On the occasion in question I observed Lord Hartington, speaking from the Front Opposition Bench, gallantly attempting to restrain a yawn. The rest I unscrupulously in- vented. Some years later, the Duchess of Devon- shire told me that nothing would disturb the Duke's conviction that the conversation, as reported, actually took place. He had heard or read the story so frequently that he had come to accept it as a matter of fact. It found a place in the " Life of the Duke of Devonshire," written by Mr. Bernard Holland, sometime his private secretary. In reply to a note confessing iniquity and enclosing a cutting of the story from the source of its original publication, Mr. Holland replied : " KENSINGTON SQUABE, W. . " Oct. 29, '91. "DEAR MR. LUCY, Thanks for your letter and enclosure. Evidently your story captivated His Grace, as it was exactly the thing which he felt and would have liked to have said so there you showed the highest art. "He was always bored by his own speeches, and so made sure that every one else must be. I wonder how many of the famous sayings in history (excluding those repeated by Hansard) were actually said, or how many grew, and being 203 appropriate, flourished. The ' Et tu, Brute/ etc. " Yours sincerely, " BERNARD HOLLAND." Another instance of this curious habit of imagining one has really said or done something of which he was wholly innocent leaps to light in the " Memoirs of Dr. Kenealy," compiled by his daughter. Describing her father's taking his seat on being returned for the Borough of Stoke, she writes : " The story that he hung his umbrella on the Speaker's mace was true. He described the incident, amused. In sheer absence of mind, when called upon to record his name, he found that he had brought up his umbrella. Looking about for some place to bestow it, a convenient knob upon the mace revealed itself, and there he hung it." Kenealy never hung his umbrella on the mace, for the sufficient reason that, the sacred emblem of authority not extending beyond the breadth of the table on which it lies, such an arrangement would have been impossible. Coming up to the table, he certainly brought with him a stout gingham with generously curved hook. When the oath was administered he leaned the umbrella against the table, and took the Bible in hand. Exuberant fancy suggested the crowning grotesque- ness of hooking the umbrella on to the mace. 204 NEAEING JORDAN It was described as a matter of fact in the Parliamentary record, " Under the Clock," pub- lished in the World in the mid- 'seven ties. Thence it passed into current history, and, it seems, had no more devout believer than Kenealy himself. Only the other night I heard an ex-Minister of wide renown delight a small dinner-party with a graphic account of an historic scene in the House of Commons. It happened on a March night in the Session of 1884. The business before the House was a resolution, moved by a Radical member, closing the door of the House of Lords .against the Bishops. Towards midnight the late Viscount Cross, then Sir Richard, appeared upon the scene. As his dress denoted, he had been dining out. Always severe, even magisterial in manner when dealing with argument put forth by Radicals, he was on this occasion preternaturally impressive. He had unearthed a declaration on the subject under discussion made by Mr. Gladstone in 1870. This, written out on a piece of paper, he, by way of preface to his speech, waved triumphantly towards the crowded benches where the Radicals, some of whom had also been dining, sat in merriest mood. The gesture, a little obscure as it stood without explanation, led up to the remarkable scene that followed. Members opposite tittered. Cross, whose objection to laughter was deeply rooted, looked up from the mysterious note he was studying, and YOUTHFUL INDISCRETIONS 205 through his spectacles regarded the irreverent throng with a glance that should have cowed them. " I hear an honourable member smile," he said in tones of severest rebuke. The titter grew into a ripple of laughter. Climax was reached when Sir Richard concen- trated his attention on his MS. "What did the Prime Minister say in 1870 ?" he inquired. He looked round in vain for answer. All forthcoming was this provoking laughter. He was in no hurry to satisfy curiosity. Mention of the Prime Minister reminded him that the Right Hon. Gentleman was not present. Where is he ? Why should he absent himself on so momentous an occasion ? After discursive commentary on this remissness he came back to the scrap of paper and the reiterated inquiry. " What did the Prime Minister say in 1870 ? " The ripple of laughter now became a roar. " Why," he paused to ask, " should hon. members opposite laugh when I cite the name of the Prime Minister ? Have they so little respect for the opinions of the Right Hon. Gentleman ? " The more they laughed the more obstinately Sir Richard, with increasing severity of tone and look, pursued the inquiry. Members rolled about their seats in paroxysms of laughter. Men who were never known to smile, laughed till the tears ran down their cheeks. Considering that thirty years had sped since 206 NEAEING JOKDAN our host on the occasion referred to read this narrative in the " Cross-bench " article of the Observer, he recited it with remarkable fullness and accuracy. The point that most delighted the company related to the late J. G. Talbot, member for Oxford University, a devout Churchman of lugubrious countenance and melancholy voice. He was represented in the Observer article as going about the lobbies after the division shaking his head, wringing his hands, and murmuring, " On such a solemn occasion too." Nearing Jordan, presently to cross over to its farther shore, I derive something of the consolation supposed to attach to death-bed confessions when I say this was another pure invention. J. G. Talbot, an estimable man, a typical character unknown to the present Parliament, was in his place during Sir Richard Cross's performance. I remember him looking on with countenance that deepened in sorrow. The remark attributed to him was one he might have been expected to make. As a matter of fact he said nothing. XIX FROM MY DIARY THE subjoined letter from Sir Edward Watkin, long time Chairman of the South-Eastern Railway Company, illustrates his tireless energy and his aptitude to be in advance of his time. " ROSE HILL, NORTHENDEN, CHESHIRE, " Jan. 28, '88. " MY DEAR LUCY, Many many thanks for your continuing kindness. " I fear I shall be mainly kept down here as my poor wife's chief nurse. " Could you run down here some day leave King's Cross 2 P.M. here 6.30 P.M. and dine and sleep and talk over daily paper, Sunday included, at \d. ? Say. " I am still in great anxiety here. " Ever truly, "E. WATKIN." The financial terms attached to the offer of the Editorship of the proposed paper were attractive. 208 NEAEING JORDAN My experience as Editor of the Daily News was not conducive of desire to make fresh experiment in that department of journalistic work. The half- penny morning newspaper has in other hands proved a huge success. Here is the germ of it. A better-known idea of Sir Edward's was the Channel Tunnel. At the present date it appears to be moribund. I venture to predict that it is not dead, but only sleeping. April 7, 1893. A telegram just to hand announces the death of Emin Pasha. It is not the first time the explorer has been killed by telegraph. On this occasion there is disposition to accept the report as a matter of fact. I met at dinner last night one of Stanley's lieutenants who saw a good deal of Emin in Africa, and learned from him the story of his life. Some of its aspects have been made known in public records. The romance that underlies the appearance of the prosaic, spectacled German, has, I believe, never been told. Emin's real name is Edward Schneitzer. He was born fifty-two years ago of Jewish parents in Silesia. He went to school in Hungary, and there fell in love with a Magyar girl of his own age. On leaving school he went to Berlin ; studied medicine, and took high honours. He did not feel any impulse to settle down in life, and whilst still a young man set out for the East, meaning to study Oriental languages. He found a billet under the Turkish Government, entering their service as FEOM MY DIAEY 209 a doctor, gallantly fighting the cholera then raging in Constantinople. All his spare time he gave to the study of languages, with the result that when my friend met him in the course of the Stanley Expedition he found it as easy to converse with him in English as if he had been born within sound of Bow Bells. Russian, Turkish, Arabic, Persian, French, and Italian were also numbered among his gift of tongues. After residing in Turkey some years he made the acquaintance of Ismail Pasha not the ex- Khedive, but a famous Turkish soldier who held the Governorship of Scutari. He became the Pasha's intimate personal friend and family physician. One day Ismail, overcoming in the extremity of the hour the prejudices of the Turk, admitted the young German doctor into the harem to attend on his wife who seemed sick unto death. Schneitzer discovered in the patient the Hungarian girl to whom in boyhood he had given his heart, and whom he still fondly loved. In course of time, by one of those bouleversements common enough in the career of Turkish officials, Ismail Pasha was deposed from his governorship and carried off to Trebizond, where he was lodged in a dungeon. Schneitzer, at this time in his thirtieth year, took charge of the young wife, and the two proceeded to Constanti- nople, where Schneitzer devoted himself to the task of obtaining the pardon and release of his old patron. This was brought about after long delay, Ismail 210 HEARING JORDAN Pasha being taken into favour again and made Governor of Janina, in Albania. He did not long survive the horrors of his imprisonment, and on his death Schneitzer for the first time confessed his love for the Hungarian, whom in 1875 he married at Constantinople. That nothing should be needed to the completeness of the domestic tragedy she died in childbirth, and Schneitzer, who had now assumed the name of Emin, closed his account with the civilised world. History records how he became Gordon's lieu- tenant in the Soudan ; how he stuck to his post when the Mahdist revolution broke out ; how Stanley went to his rescue ; how he found and lost him again. Now, if the latest report is true, poor Emin's troubled course is closed. He has sped to rejoin his lost love. June 7, 1893. Within the memory of at least one member of the judicial Bench, who told me the story at Grand Night dinner, a quaint custom prevailed at Lincoln's Inn. Every day at noon a servant went to the outer hall door and three times called aloud, " Venez Manger ! " There were none to come to eat except a few gaping street boys, and nothing on the table to eat had they accepted the invitation. Three hundred years ago they used to dine in the Inn at twelve o'clock, and this was the fashion of bidding the students to their midday meal. Last night being Grand Day of Trinity Term Benchers and students dined together at FROM MY DIARY 211 Lincoln's Inn, the banquet being of quite different style and proportions from that spread to the cry of " Venez Manger" The Duke of York is a Bencher of the Inn, and for the first time dined in Hall. Sir Charles Kussell, Treasurer of the year, hurried over from the Behring Sea Arbitration Court to preside, and eight or ten more or less distinguished guests were bidden to the feast. The students, all gowned, were in their places shortly after seven o'clock, in pleased anticipation of the fact that, for this time only, they were to have served for them exactly the same dinner as was prepared for the Benchers' table. Meanwhile the Benchers and their guests assembled in a private room. When dinner was announced they filed off to the dining-hall two and two, a Bencher conducting a guest as far as guests were supplied, the remainder of the Benchers trooping in by themselves. It was curious to observe that the Duke of York had no precedence granted to him. Sir Charles Russell went out first, leading the Archbishop of York, who sat at his right .hand, the guest of the evening. The Duke, as Bencher, escorted the Lord Chief Justice, others following in due order. It had been arranged that the Duke was to take in Lord Bipon. At the last moment the Marquis was prevented from keeping his engagement. This was a happy accident for the Duke who in Lord Coleridge, perhaps the most famous raconteur of 212 NEARING JORDAN London society, found a livelier companion than the estimable but not animated Secretary of State for the Colonies. I happened to be sitting in a position whence I had a near and full view of our King-that-is-to-be. The impression he creates is decidedly favourable. In appearance he has the strong family resemblance that marks the Guelphs. Not quite so tall as his father, much slighter in figure, he shows in his face the tanned colour gained by sea life. He is much more lively than any of his uncles or the general run of his cousins, in this respect resembling his father. His manner is excellent, being absolutely free from anything like hauteur or restraint. He laughed merrily at some of Lord Coleridge's stories, and on the whole seemed to have that capacity of finding interest and amusement in passing events which to his royal father makes life worth living. After H.R.H. had retired a few of the guests lingered over their last cigar. Lord Coleridge shyly yielded to pressure to tell again the story that had evidently tickled the fancy of the Prince. It related to an ex-Lord Chancellor who gave occasional dinners at which the scarceness of the meats was equalled only by the scantiness of the wine. One night when his Lordship was entertain- ing a select company of judges and leaders of the Bar a section of the party at the end of the table remote from their host became almost boisterously merry. FROM MY DIARY 213 " They seem rather noisy down there," said the pleased Lord Chancellor to his neighbour ; " I wonder what it's all about." "My dear Lord," said the amiable guest, " it is only the natural consequence of even a little wine taken on an empty stomach." July 6, 1893. At the wedding to-day of the Duke of York and the Princess May Gladstone stood in the brilliant throng without display of a single order on his uniform. The reason for this rarely distinguished appearance is simple and imperative. The Prime Minister did not wear an order because he does not own one. He who has showered stars on others, and given garters to Dukes, does not possess the right to wear a bit of red or yellow ribbon. That is a proud pre- eminence from which at this time of day he is not likely to step down even to the level of the peerage. The uniform he wore was that of an Elder Brother of Trinity House, familiar enough with him on Court gala occasions, since it is his only one. It suits him admirably, giving him quite a quarter-deck air. It does not reach the splendid effect wrought by the one other State dress he has upon public occasion arrayed himself withal. It is the official gown of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Only once I have seen him wear it. It was at the opening of the new Law Courts by the Queen. As he stood on the dais, with the simple folds of 214 ^NEAEING JOEDAN the silk gown wrapped about him, one understood why the ancient Romans wore the toga. On this subject Lord Eversley sends me an interesting note testifying to the close supervision of public functions in which she took part that characterised Queen Victoria. " I was first Commissioner of "Works at the time, and arranged the ceremony. When I pro- posed to the Queen that Mr. G. as Prime Minister should be in the procession up the Hall and on the platform she objected. She said that only the Home Secretary (Harcourt) should be in attendance on the occasion. " I then pointed out to her that Mr. Gladstone was not only Prime Minister but was also Chancellor of the Exchequer, and as such was for certain purposes a member of the High Court, and that his presence on the occasion was obligatory in the procession of judges. The Queen therefore gave way, and it was arranged that Mr. G. should appear in the procession in the line before the Lord Chancellor and after the other judges, in his robes as Chancellor of the Exchequer, and very grand he looked in them. Had he attended the Queen as Prime Minister he would have appeared in the ordinary official uniform. Being present as a member of the Judicial Bench in his quality of Chancellor of the Exchequer, he wore the robes of that office. " Later, after the death of the great man when FROM MY DIARY 215 it was determined to erect his statue at the junction of Aldwych and the Strand in front of St. Clement Danes and within sight of the Law Courts, Mr. Thorneycroft asked me to go to his studio and see the model he proposed for the statue. " He depicted Mr. G-. in modern costume with uplifted arms as though addressing a great public audience. I very much disliked it. The attire of the figure was violent and was wanting in dignity and repose. I reminded Thorneycroft of Mr. G.'s appearance at the opening of the Law Courts and how magnificent he looked in the robes of Chancellor of the Exchequer. I suggested that he should depict him as he appeared on that occasion. It would be the more appropriate as the statue would be in view of the Law Courts. I also suggested that the pose should be simple and dignified. " Thorneycroft adopted my suggestion, and made a new model. The resulting statue is, I think, one of the best in London, and to me at least it is reminiscent of the occasion I refer to and of the Queen's objections to his being there." One other appanage Gladstone cherishes in addition to his Trinity uniform and Chancellor of the Exchequer's gown is a State carriage. This is a lumbering relic of olden times before railways were, when it was necessary for English gentlemen travelling about the country to own a suitable conveyance. It is kept in London, and comes out 216 NEAKING JOEDAN only upon such occasions as a Royal wedding. On that day, Gladstone drove to St. James's in it, and afterwards came down to the House of Commons, the police and attendants, familiar with his dingy victoria, amazed at the majesty of the footman hanging on behind, just as if his master were a marquis or a duke. XX OLD PARLIAMENTARY HANDS SIR WM. HARCOURT, DR. TANNER, THE O'DONOGHUE, SIR JOHN RIGBY, JOSEPH COWEN THE peaceful passing of Sir William Harcourt on the last day of September, 1904, rounded off a strenuous life. Unlike his great contemporaries, Disraeli and Gladstone, there was no long watching of the nation by his dying bed. No whisper of serious illness was buzzed through the newspapers preliminary to the announcement that life had closed. During the previous session it was sorrow- fully observed that his health was failing. His speeches were marred by a troublesome cough, fought with dauntless courage. During the progress of Mr. Austen Chamber- lain's first Budget he contemplated making a final addition to a long list of great speeches. Shrinking from anything in the way of taking formal farewell of the historic scene in which he played a leading part for thirty-four years, he yearned for oppor- tunity of making one more big Budget speech. It was vouchsafed, but its fulfilment lacked the glamour of earlier triumphs. The audience, 218 NEARING JOEDAN sympathetic, was scanty, and the veteran gladiator, hampered by physical infirmity, was not able to rise above the depression of surrounding influence. There was something in the circumstance of the hour when the old fighter's funeral-bell was tolling that added to its pathos. Mr. Balfour's Ministry was tottering to a fall. The victory of the Liberals at the pending General Election was assured. Of the leaders of the column long toiling through the wilderness Harcourt, like Moses, died without setting foot on the Promised Land. Happily for his current comfort and his ultimate fame he forestalled opportunity of possible squabbling as to what place he should hold in the coming Liberal Ministry. Too proud to incur possibility of playing the part of laggard on the stage, he, before the session was far advanced, announced his withdrawal from public life. He would have been more than mortal had such conclu- sion been arrived at without a feeling of disappoint- ment. It was no secret that he was deeply wounded when, on the retirement of Gladstone in 1894, the Premiership was passed on to another, a younger man, Lord Eosebery, who a dozen years earlier had served as his subaltern at the Home Office. This arrangement was fatal to the harmony, eventually to the stability, of the Government. Harcourt's temper, at best not angelic, was not smoothed by this knock-down blow. Probably, if he had not had in mind and at heart his great scheme of Death Duties, precursor of others more OLD PARLIAMENTARY HANDS 219 ruthless in range, he would have retired from office in disgust, and from a corner seat behind the Treasury Bench watched with cynic smile the harassed movements of his old colleagues. As soon as he completed the great accomplish- ment of his Ministerial career, the carrying of the Budget of 1894, rumour of his impending resigna- tion set in with unrestrained severity. Meeting one of his Cabinet colleagues at a party with which Lady Tweedmouth celebrated the opening of the session in the following year, I asked whether there was any truth in the persistent rumour. " Well," said the harassed Minister, with for him rare bitterness, " if Harcourt doesn't resign very soon, the rest of us will." Harcourt regarded these rumours with grim humour. Talking to me in this same month of February, 1895, he said with big chuckle, " There is hardly a night when I go to bed in Downing Street that I am not called up by the representative of some news agency wanting to know if it is true I have resigned. It reminds me of Louis XVI., when, after his flight from Paris, he was captured and interned at the Tuileries. Every night soon after the poor man had turned into bed, the mob, suspicious of fresh escape, used to assemble before the palace windows and demand to see him. The hapless King, yielding to necessity, got out of bed, slipped on his dressing-gown, put on the nightcap of Liberty, and, popping his head out of the window, showed himself to the crowd, who thereupon went 220 NEAKING JORDAN home content. So the news agency man comes to me in the dead of the night to assure himself and his employers that I have not slipped out of Down- ing Street by the back door." Happily before he died Harcourt had brief and partial opportunity of realising how high was the esteem, how warm the personal affection, the House of Commons cherished for him. To tell the truth the demonstration was needed. For fully a quarter of a century he was accustomed to find his interposition in debate the signal for noisy interruption from the other side. It was only their fun. It would have been death to a weaker man. What they really thought about him was disclosed when he announced his intention of re- tiring from public life upon the dissolution of the Parliament elected in 1900. Thereafter, on the few occasions he spoke he was listened to with touching deference. Signs of physical failure, dis- closed chiefly in persistent cough accompanying a broken voice, were observed with profound sympathy. In measure he deserved the character attributed to him through many years of being irascible to the extent of unbearable disagreeableness. He had a short temper and a sharp tongue, neither upon occasion restrained. Beneath this mask he painstakingly hid one of the kindest hearts in the world. To find him at home, or to meet him in genial society, was a rare delight. Three years before his death my wife and I were week-end OLD PARLIAMENTAEY HANDS 221 guests at Malwood. The house-party was small, there was no discordant note, and the host was at his very best. He did most of the talking, and none was inclined to break the spell of his enchant- ing discourse. During fifty years he had known most interesting men, read the best of books, taken prominent part in leading events, and was gifted with a tenacious memory. I recall one of the delightful stories he told the charmed circle of his guests. At the famous fancy- dress ball given at Devonshire House in celebration of the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria, Har- court went in the official wig and gown of his ancestor, Simon Harcourt, Lord Chancellor in 1713-14. In the crush he came across Lord Halsbury, arrayed something to the displeasure of Queen Victoria it was whispered at the time, her Majesty thinking the period too recent to be travestied as George III. " Ah," said his Majesty, " you are, I believe, my Lord Chancellor." " Yes, sire," said Harcourt, with precise recol- lection of historical date, " I am, if you are Queen Anne." The intense comedy of the suggestion of Lord Halsbury personifying Queen Anne shook Har- court's big frame with Homeric laughter. Another story was woven round a crow's nest. From their habit of attaching themselves to the neighbourhood of ancient mansions the birds are understood to be of aristocratic tendencies. A 222 NBABING JOEDAN colony, disturbed by the departure from their homestead of a family on whom disaster had fallen, resolved to quit the locality before the incoming of the new tenant, whose name they understood was Smith, far too plebeian a cognomen for them. On the day the new tenants' baggage arrived, an old crow, preparing to start with the rest, hopped down and read the name on a portmanteau. Hurrying back to the crowded tree- top, he said, " It's all right. We can stay. He spells his name with a J." Smijth is obviously quite another thing than the common Smith. So the crows stayed on in their old home. On leaving Mai wood, one of the guests, writing his name in the Visitors' Book, added a verse headed " Transformation " : " Dear Squire of Mai wood ! London knows A scathing tongue, a temper quick ; In this far Forest's sweet repose, Almost your manner's seraphic." His death while still nominally in the harness of Parliamentary life disposed for a time at least of the question of a peerage in the Harcourt family. At the period of the Coronation King Edward, who instinctively did graceful things, offered a peerage to the old Parliamentarian. Harcourt in a manly letter asked permission to decline the honour. The King, in a second autograph letter, expressed the regret with which he acceded to the request. OLD PARLIAMENTAEY HANDS 223 Harcourt was justly proud of these two letters, which he was pleased to show to personal friends. The most implacable political Irishman, readiest to proclaim his hatred of the Saxon, must have been touched by the tone of the obituary notices of Dr. Tanner appearing in the English papers on the morning after his unexpected death. To tell the truth, Tanner's habitual conduct in the House of Commons was more than even his colleagues could stand. Whilst Parliament was sitting it frequently happened that Mr. Dillon and John Redmond were more concerned to "keep Tanner in hand" than they were for the moment to struggle with the common enemy. When the fit was on him no one could prophesy what he might say or do. On the quietest phases of an inoffensive House his strident voice would break with some irrelevancy of personal vituperation. At such times it was absolutely fatal if his eye chanced to fall upon Mr. Chamberlain. The effect was akin to a spark dropping on a train of gunpowder. In one of the latest scenes for which he was responsible he, by way of showing impartiality, turned upon one of his compatriots no longer a colleague. " That's a lie," he shouted, following some remark of Harrington's. The Speaker, promptly rising, called upon him to withdraw the offensive phrase, and apologise. Even in his cups Tanner 224 NEABING JORDAN was, above all things, punctilious for the preserva- tion of order. " No, no," he said, wagging his head knowingly at the Speaker, " I can't get up, you know, as long as you're on your legs." In the end he was suspended, and, under threat of removal by the Sergeant-at-Arms, withdrew. As he stumbled out he caught sight of Mr. Chamberlain on the Treasury Bench. " Judas ! "