 Section 9 of Reminiscences of Captain Grono This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ruth Golding. Reminiscences of Captain Grono by Captain A Dinner at Sir James Bland Burgesses in Lower Brook Street, Autumn, 1815. I was once invited to dinner by Sir James Burgess, father of my friend Captain Burgess of the Guards. It was towards the end of the season, 1815. I there met, to my great delight, Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott, and amongst the rest of the company were Lord Caledon and Crocker, the secretary to the Admiralty. Sir James had been private secretary to Pitt at the time of the French Revolution, and had a fund of curious anecdotes about everything and every body of note at the end of the last century. I remember his telling us the now generally received story of Pitt dictating a king's speech offhand, then a more difficult task than at the present day, without the slightest hesitation. This speech being adopted by his colleagues nearly word for word as it was written down. Walter Scott was quite delightful, appearing full of fire and animation, and told some interesting anecdotes connected with his early life in Scotland. I remember his proving himself what would have been called in the olden times he delighted to portray a stout trencherman. Nor were his attentions confined by any means to the eatables. On the contrary he showed himself worthy to have made a third in the famous carousel in Ivanhoe between the Black Knight and the Holy Clark of Cotmanhurst. Byron, whom I had before seen at the shooting galleries and elsewhere, was then a very handsome man, with remarkably fine eyes and hair, but was, as usual, all show-off and affectation. I recollected saying that he disliked seeing women eat, or to have their company at dinner, from a wish to believe, if possible, in their more ethereal nature. But he was rallied into a vowing that his chief dislike to their presence at the festive board arose from the fact of their being helped first, and consequently getting all the wings of the chickens whilst men had to be content with the legs or other parts. Byron on this occasion was in great good humour, and full of boyish and even boisterous mirth. Croker was also agreeable notwithstanding his bitter and sarcastic remarks upon everything and everybody. The sneering, ill-natured expression of his face struck me as an impressive contrast to the frank and benevolent countenance of Walter Scott. I never assisted at a more agreeable dinner. According to the custom of the day we sat late, the poets, statesmen, and soldiers all drank an immense quantity of wine, and I, for one, felt the effects of it next day. Walter Scott gave one or two recitations in a very animated manner from the ballads that he had been collecting, which delighted his auditory. And both Lord Byron and Croker added to the hilarity of the evening by quotations from and criticisms on the more prominent writers of the period. Lord Byron I knew very little of Lord Byron personally, but lived much with two of his intimate friends, Scrope Davis and Wedderburn Webster, from whom I frequently heard many anecdotes of him. I regret that I remember so few, and wish that I had written down those told me by poor Scrope Davis, one of the most agreeable men I ever met. When Byron was at Cambridge he was introduced to Scrope Davis by their mutual friend Matthews, who was afterwards drowned in the River Cam. After Matthew's death Davis became Byron's particular friend and was admitted to his rooms at all hours. Upon one occasion he found the poet in bed with his hair on papillote, upon which Scrope cried, Ha, ha, Byron, I have at last caught you acting the part of the sleeping beauty. Byron in a rage exclaimed, No, Scrope, the part of a damn fool you should have said! Well, then, anything you please, but you have succeeded admirably in deceiving your friends, for it was my conviction that your hair curled naturally. Yes, naturally, every night returned the poet. But do not, my dear Scrope, let the cat out of the bag, for I am as vain of my curls as a girl of sixteen. When in London Byron used to go to Manton's shooting-gallery in Davis Street to try his hand, as he said at a wafer, wed of Byron Webster was present when the poet, intensely delighted with his own skill, boasted to Joe Manton that he considered himself the best shot in London. No, my lord," replied Manton, not the best, but your shooting today was respectable, upon which Byron waxed roasts and left the shop in a violent passion. Lord's Byron, Yarmouth, Pollington, Mountjoy, Wallacecourt, Blandford, Captain Burgess, Jack Buvery and myself were, in eighteen-fourteen and for several years afterwards, amongst the chief and most constant frequenters of this well-known shooting-gallery, and frequently shot at the wafer for considerable sums of money. Manton was allowed to enter the betting list, and he generally backed me. On one occasion I hit the wafer nineteen times out of twenty. Byron lived a great deal at Brighton, his house being opposite the pavilion. He was fond of boating, and was generally accompanied by a lad who was said to be a girl in boys' clothes. This report was confirmed to me by Webster, who was then living at Brighton. The vivid description of the page in Lara, no doubt, gave some plausibility to this often told tale. I myself witnessed the dexterous manner in which Byron used to get into his boat, for, while standing on the beach, I once saw him vault into it with the agility of a harlequin in spite of his lame foot. On one occasion, whilst his lordship was dining with a few of his friends in Charles Street, Palmal, a letter was delivered to Scrope Davis, which required an immediate answer. Scrope, after reading its contents, handed it to Lord Byron. It was thus worded, My dear Scrope, lend me five hundred pounds for a few days, the funds are shut for the dividends or I would not have made this request. Gee, Brummel! The reply was, My dear Brummel, all my money is locked up in the funds! Scrope Davis! This was just before Brummel's escape to the Continent. I have frequently asked Scrope Davis his private opinion of Lord Byron, and invariably received the same answer, that he considered Lord Byron very agreeable and clever, but vain, overbearing, conceited, suspicious, and jealous. Byron hated Palmerston but liked Peale, and thought that the whole world ought to be constantly employed in admiring his poetry and himself. He never could write a poem or a drama without making himself its hero, and he was always the subject of his own conversation. During one of Henry Hobhouse's visits to Byron at his villa near Genoa, and whilst they were walking in the garden, his lordship suddenly turned upon his guests, and apropos of nothing exclaimed, Now I know, Hobhouse, you are looking at my foot!" Upon which Hobhouse kindly replied, My dear Byron, nobody thinks of or looks at anything but your head. Shelly! Shelly, the poet, cut off at so early an age, just when his great poetical talents had been matured by study and reflection, and when he probably would have produced some great work, was my friend and associate at Eaton. He was a boy of studious and meditative habits, averse to all games and sports, and a great reader of novels and romances. He was a thin, slight lad with remarkably lustrous eyes, fine hair, and a very peculiar shrill voice and laugh. His most intimate friend at Eaton was a boy named Price, who was considered one of the best classical scholars amongst us. At his tutor Bethels, where he lodged, he attempted many mechanical and scientific experiments. By the aid of a common tinker, he contrived to make something like a steam engine, which, unfortunately, one day suddenly exploded to the great consternation of the neighbourhood, and to the imminent danger of a severe flogging from Dr. Reet. Soon after leaving school, and about the year 1810, he came in a state of great distress and difficulty to Swansea, where we had an opportunity of rendering him a service, but we never could ascertain what had brought him to Wales, though we had reason to suppose it was some mysterious affair du coeur. The last time I saw Shelly was at Genoa in 1822, sitting on the seashore. And when I came upon him, making a true poet's meal of bread and fruit, he at once recognised me, jumped up, and appearing greatly delighted, exclaimed, Here you see me at my old Eaton habits, but instead of the green fields for a couch, I have here the shores of the Mediterranean. It is very grand, and very romantic. I only wish I had some of the excellent brown-bread and butter we used to get at Spears's, but I was never very fastidious in my diet. Then he continued in a wild and eccentric manner, Granna, do you remember the beautiful Martha, the heebie of Spears's? She was the loveliest girl I ever saw, and I loved her to distraction. Shelly was looking care-worn and ill, and as usual was very carelessly dressed. He had on a large and wide straw hat, his long brown hair already streaked with grey, flowing in large masses from under it, and presented a wild and strange appearance. During the time I sat by his side he asked many questions about myself and many of our school-fellows, but on my questioning him in turn about himself, his way of life and his future plans, he avoided entering into any explanation. Indeed he gave such short and evasive answers that, thinking my inquisitiveness displeased him, I rose to take my leave. I observed that I had not been lucky enough to see Lord Byron in any of my rambles. To which he replied, Byron is living at his villa, surrounded by his court of sycophants, but I shall shortly see him at Leghorn. We then shook hands. I never saw him again, for he was drowned shortly afterwards with his friend Captain Williams, and his body was washed ashore near Via Regio. Everyone is familiar with the romantic scene which took place on the seashore when the remains of my poor friend and Captain Williams were burnt in the presence of Byron and Trelawney in the Roman fashion. His ashes were gathered into an urn and buried in the Protestant cemetery at Rome. He was but twenty-nine years of age at his death. Robert Southey, The Poet In the year 1803 my father received a letter of introduction from Mr. Reese of the well-known firm of Longman, Patton Osterow, presenting Robert Southey the Poet to him. He came into Wales with the hope of finding a cottage to reside in. Accordingly a cavalcade was formed consisting of Mr. W. Gwynne, the two brothers Southey, my father and myself, and we rode up the valley of Neath to look at a cottage about eight miles from the town. The Poet, delighted with the scenery and situation, found it upon taking it. But the owner, unfortunately for the honour of Welshman, actually declined to let it to Robert Southey, fearing that a poet could not find security for the small annual rent of twenty-five pounds. This circumstance led the man of letters, who eventually became one of the most distinguished men of his day, to seek a home elsewhere, and the lakes were at length chosen as his residence. Probably the picturesque beauties of Cumberland compensated the laureate for the indignity put upon him by the Welshman. An act of vandalism perpetrated in the same veil of Neath, and reflecting no honour on my countrymen, deserves here to be noted with reprobation. A natural cascade called Dulles, which was so beautiful as to excite the admiration of travellers, was destroyed by an agent to Lord Jersey, the proprietor of the estate, in order to build a few cottages and the lock of a canal. The rock down which this beautiful cascade had flowed from the time of the flood, and which had created a scene of beauty universally admired, was blown up with gunpowder by this man, who could probably appreciate no more beautiful sight than that which presents itself from a window in grey's or Lincoln's inn, of which he was a member. Captain Hesse, formerly of the Eighteenth Hussars One of my most intimate friends was the late Captain Hesse, generally believed to be a son of the Duke of York by a German lady of rank. Though it is not my intention to disclose certain family secrets of which I am in possession, I may nevertheless record some circumstances connected with the life of my friend, which were familiar to a large circle with whom I mixed. Hesse, in early youth, lived with the Duke and Duchess of York. He was treated in such a manner by them as to indicate an interest in him by their royal highnesses, which could scarcely be attributed to ordinary regard, and was gazetted a cornet in the Eighteenth Hussars at seventeen years of age. Shortly afterwards he went to Spain, and was present in all the battles in which his regiment was engaged, receiving a severe wound in the wrist at the Battle of Victoria. When this became known in England, a royal lady wrote to Lord Wellington requesting that he might be carefully attended to, and at the same time a watch with her portrait was forwarded, which was delivered to the wounded Hussar by Lord Wellington himself. When he had sufficiently recovered Hesse returned to England, and passed much of his time at Oatlands, the residence of the Duchess of York. He was also honoured with the confidence of the Princess Charlotte and her mother, Queen Caroline. Many delicate and important transactions were conducted through the medium of Captain Hesse. In fact it was perfectly well known that he played a striking part in many scenes of domestic life, which I do not wish to reveal. I may, however, observe that the Prince Regent sent the late Admiral Lord Keith to Hesse's lodgings, who demanded, in his royal highness's name, the restitution of the watch and letters which had been sent him when in Spain. After a considerable amount of hesitation the Admiral obtained what he wanted the following day, whereupon Lord Keith assured him that the Prince Regent would never forget so great a mark of confidence, and that the heir to the throne would ever afterwards be his friend. I regret to say from personal knowledge that upon this occasion the Prince behaved most ungratefully and unfeelingly, for after having obtained all he wanted he positively refused to receive Hesse at Carlton House. Hesse's life was full of singular incidents. He was a great friend of the Queen of Naples, grandmother of the ex-sovereign of the two Sicilies. In fact so notorious was that liaison that Hesse was eventually expelled from Naples under an escort of Jean-Dame. He was engaged in several affairs of honour, in which he always displayed the utmost courage, and his romantic career terminated by his being killed in a duel by Count L, natural son of the First Napoleon. He died as he had lived, beloved by his friends, and leaving behind him little but his name, and the kind thoughts of those who survived him. Section 10 of Reminiscences of Captain Grono This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ruth Golding. Reminiscences of Captain Grono by Captain Rhys Howell Grono Visiting in the Country When I returned to London from Paris in 1815 upon promotion, I was accompanied by Colonel Brooke, who was good enough to invite me to pass some time at his brothers, Sir R. Brooks, in Cheshire, upon the occasion of the christening of his eldest son. The fate was truly magnificent and worthy of our excellent host, and all the great people of the neighbouring counties were present. Soon afterwards I went to the Hale, a country house near Liverpool, belonging to Mr. Blackburn, one of the oldest members of the House of Commons, where many persons who had been at Sir Richard Brooks's met again. Mr. Blackburn was extremely absent and otherwise odd. Upon one occasion I gave him a letter to Frank, which he deliberately opened and read in my presence. And on my asking him if it amused him, he replied that he did not understand what it meant. Upon another occasion, the Duke of Gloucester, accompanied by Mr. Blackburn, went out to shoot pheasants in the preserves near the Hale. When, all of a sudden, Mr. B, observing that the Duke's gun was cocked, asked his Royal Highness whether he always carried his gun cocked. Yes, Blackburn always was the reply. Well then, good morning, your Royal Highness. I will no longer accompany you. At dinner Mr. Blackburn was very eccentric. He would never surrender his place at table even to royalty, so the Duke was obliged to sit near him. Whenever the royal servant filled the Duke's glass with wine and water, Mr. B invariably drank it off. Until at length the Duke asked his servant for more wine and water, and anticipating a repetition of the fast that had so often been played, drank it off, and said, Well, Blackburn, I have done you at last. After dinner the Duke and the men went to join the ladies in the drawing-room, where the servant in royal livery was waiting, holding a tray upon which was a cup of tea for the Duke. Mr. Blackburn, observing the servant in waiting, and that nobody took the cup of tea, determined on drinking it. But the domestic retired a little, to endeavour to prevent it. Mr. Blackburn, however, followed and persisted, upon which the servant said, Sir, it is for his Royal Highness. Damn his Royal Highness, I will have this tea! The Duke exclaimed, That's right, Blackburn, and ordered the servant to hand it to him. Colonel Kelly and his Blacking. Among the odd characters I have met with, I do not recollect any one more eccentric than the late Lieutenant Colonel Kelly of the First Footguards, who was the faintest man I ever encountered. He was a thin, emaciated-looking dandy, but had all the bearing of the gentleman. He was haughty in the extreme and very fond of dress. His boots were so well varnished that the polish now in use could not surpass Kelly's Blacking in brilliancy. His pantaloons were made of the finest leather and his coats were inimitable. In short, his dress was considered perfect. His sister held the place of housekeeper to the Custom House, and when it was burnt down Kelly was burnt with it in endeavouring to save his favourite boots. When the news of his horrible death became known, all the dandies were anxious to secure the services of his valet, who possessed the mystery of the inimitable Blacking. Brummel lost no time in discovering his place of residence, and asked what wages he required. The servant answered, his late master gave him one hundred and fifty pounds a year, but it was not enough for his talents, and he should require two hundred pounds. Upon which Brummel said, well, if you'll make it guineas, I shall be happy to attend upon you. The late Lord Plymouth eventually secured this phoenix of valets at two hundred pounds a year, and bore away the sovereignty of boots. Lord Allen and Count Dorsey Lord Allen being rather the worse for drinking too much wine at dinner, teased Count Dorsey, and said some very disagreeable things which irritated him, when suddenly John Bush entered the club and shook hands with the Count, who exclaimed, voilà la différence entre une bonne bouche et une mauvaise Allen. The following bon mot was also attributed to the Count. General Ornano, observing a certain nobleman who, by some misfortune in his youth, lost the use of his legs, in a bath-chair which he wheeled about, and inquiring the name of the English pierre, Dorsey answered Père la chaise. The Count had many disciples among our men of fashion, but none of them succeeded in copying the original. His death produced, both in London and in Paris, a deep and universal regret. The Count's life has been so well delineated in the public prints, that nothing I could say would add to the praise that has been bestowed upon him. Perfectly natural in manners and language, highly accomplished, and never betraying the slightest affectation or pretension, he had formed friendships with some of the noblest and most accomplished men in England. He was also a great favourite in Paris, where he had begun to exercise his talent as an artist, when death prematurely removed him from society. Mr. Phelps Mr. Phelps, a chorus singer and an excellent musician with good looks and address, contrived to ingratiate himself with the marchiness of Antrim, and was fortunate enough to marry her ladyship, by whose means he was created a baronet, and allied to some of our most aristocratic families. The late Lord Bloomfield The late Lord Bloomfield likewise owed his elevation to the peerage to his musical talents. When the Prince of Wales was living at the Pavilion at Brighton, he wanted someone who could accompany him on the violin cello, and having ascertained that Captain Bloomfield of the Royal Artillery, who was then at Brighton with his troop, was an accomplished violin cello player, the captain was accordingly summoned to appear before the Prince at the Pavilion. From that night commenced an intimacy which for many years existed between the Prince and Captain Bloomfield, who for a considerable length of time was well known in fashionable circles, under the title of Sir Benjamin Bloomfield. A court intrigue headed by a fascinating marchiness caused him to be sent into splendid exile. This lady attributing to Sir Benjamin Bloomfield, her being compelled to send back some jewels, which had been presented to her by the Prince Regent, but which it was discovered belonged to the Crown, and could not be alienated. Sir Benjamin was created a peer, and sent to Stockholm as ambassador, where his affable manners and his unostentatious hospitality rendered him exceedingly popular, and he became as great a favourite with Bernadotte as he had been with the Prince Regent. The name of Bloomfield is at this day respected in Sweden. The Right Honourable George Canning When Mr Canning retired from Portugal he was received at Paris with a distinction and a deference, perhaps never before bestowed on a foreign diplomatist. He dined with Charles the Tentz, almost tetatet, and was scrambled for by the leading aristocracy of France. It happened that he also dined on one occasion with the Bayille Ferré, who was the oldest foreign ambassador in Paris, and it was generally understood that Canning, who had the reputation of being a gourmand, and was not in robust health at the time, never thoroughly recovered from these Parisian hospitalities. A short time after this greater rater and the most brilliant statesman of the day, breezed his last at Chiswick, in the same room in which Charles James Fox died. Mrs. Berm of St. James's Square This lady used to give fashionable balls and masquerades, to which I look back with much pleasure. The Prince Regent frequently honoured her fates with his presence. Mrs. Berm, on one occasion, sent invitations to one of her particular friends, begging him to fill them up, and tickets were given by him to Dick Butler, afterwards Lord Glenn Gaul, and to Mr. Rakes. Whilst they were deliberating in what character they should go, Dick Butler, for by that name he was only then known, proposed that Rakes should take the part of Apollo, which the latter agreed to, provided Dick would be his liar. The noble Lord's reputation for stretching the longbow rendered this repartee so applicable that it was universally repeated at the clubs. Dr. Goodall of Eaton This gentleman was proverbially fond of punning. About the same time that he was made provost of Eaton, he received also a stall at Windsor. A young lady of his acquaintance, while congratulating him on his elevation, and requesting him to give the young ladies of Eaton and Windsor a ball during the vacation, happened to touch his wig with her fan, and caused the powder to fly about. Upon which the doctor exclaimed, My dear, you see you can get the powder out of the cannon, but not the ball. Lord Melbourne, the Duke of Lentster, and Lord Normanby. When Lord Melbourne offered the garter to the Duke of Lentster, his grace is reported to have answered that he did not want it, adding, It will no doubt be eagerly accepted by one of your Lordship's supporters in the upper house. On another occasion, when Lord Normanby was soliciting Lord Melbourne to be made a marquis, the noble Premier observed, in his jocular way, Why, Normanby, you're not such a damned fool as to want that! The favour, however, was eventually granted. The Duke of Gloucester His Royal Highness, who was in the habit of saying very ludicrous things, asked one of his friends in the House of Lords, on the occasion when William the Fourth assented to Lord Grey's proposition to pass the reform-bill Koot Kee Koot, who is Silly Billy now. This was in allusion to the general opinion that was prevalent of the Royal Duke's weakness, and which had obtained for him the sobriquet of Silly Billy. The Duke frequently visited Cheltenham during the season. Upon one occasion he called upon Colonel Higgins, brother to the aquary of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and on inquiring of the servant if his master was at home, received for answer, My master is dying. Dying! repeated the Duke. Have you sent for a doctor? No, sir. His Royal Highness immediately ran back into the street, and having the good fortune to find a medical man, he requested him to come at once to Colonel Higgins, as he was on the point of death. The Duke and the doctor soon reached the Colonel's house, and after again asking the servant how his master was, that functionary replied, I told you, sir, that he is dying. They mounted the staircase, and were rather amused to find the reported invalid, busily occupied in dying his hair. Lady Cork! In 1819 this venerable lady lived in Old Burlington Street, where she gave many parties to persons of all nations, and contrived to bring together foreigners from the wilds of America, the Cape of Good Hope, and even savages from the isles of the Pacific. In fact she was the notorious lion-hunter of her age. It was supposed that she had a peculiar ignorance of the laws of Mayum and Tuum, and that her monomania was such that she would try to get possession of whatever she could place her hands upon, so that it was dangerous to leave in the anti-room anything of value. On application being made, however, the articles were usually returned the following day, the fear of the law acting strongly upon her ladyship's bewildered brain. The Duchess of Gordon. This leader of fashion, who was won't to be the admiration of all circles, was looked upon as the most ambitious of women, and her vanity was fully gratified by the marriage of her daughters to the first people in the realm—the dukes of Richmond, Manchester and Bedford, and the marquis of Cornwallis. The late Mrs Bradshaw. Mariah Tree. The two Miss Trees, Mariah and Ellen, the latter now Mrs Keane, were the great favourites of the bath stage for many seasons before they became leading stars in London. Miss Ellen Tree made her first appearance in a grand entertainment called the Cataract of the Ganges, in a magnificent car drawn by six horses. Her beauty made a deep impression on the audience, which was naturally increased by her subsequent exhibition of great talents. Miss Mariah Tree was much admired as a vocalist, and her viola in Twelfth Night was one of the most popular performances of the day. Mr Bradshaw became desperately enamoured of her during her engagement in London, and having learnt that she was about to go by the male coach to Birmingham, where she was to perform her principal characters, thought it a favourable opportunity of enjoying her society. So he sent his servant to secure him a place by the male under the name of Tom Kins. At the appointed time for departure Mr Bradshaw was at the office, and jumping into the coach was soon quelled away. But great was his disappointment at finding that the fair object of his admiration was not a fellow passenger. He was not consoled by discovering that there were two males, the one the Birmingham male, the other the Birmingham and Manchester, and that whilst he was journeying by the latter, Miss Tree was travelling in the other. On arriving at Birmingham early in the morning, he left the coach and stepped into the hotel, determined to remain there, and go to the theatre on the following evening. He went to bed and slept late the following day, and on waking he remembered that his trunk with all his money had gone on to Manchester, and that he was without the means of paying his way. Seeing the Bank of Birmingham opposite the hotel, he went over and explained his position to one of the partners, giving his own banker's address in London, and showing letters addressed to him as Mr Bradshaw. Upon this, he was told that with such credentials he might have a loan, and the banker said he would write the necessary letter and check, and send the money over to him at the hotel. Mr Bradshaw, pleased with this kind attention, sat himself down comfortably to breakfast in the coffee-room. According to promise, the cashier made his appearance at the hotel, and asked the waiter for Mr Bradshaw. No such gentleman here, was the reply. Oh yes, he came by the London Mail. No, sir, no one came but Mr Tomkins, who was booked as inside passenger to Manchester. The cashier was dissatisfied, but the waiter added, Sir, you can look through the window of the coffee-room door and see the gentleman yourself. On doing so, he beheld the Mr Tomkins, alias Mr Bradshaw, and immediately returned to the bank, telling what he himself had heard and seen. The banker went over to the hotel, had a consultation with the landlord, and it was determined that a watch should be placed upon the suspicious person who had two names and no luggage, and who was booked to Manchester, but had stopped at Birmingham. The landlord summoned Boots, a little lame fellow of most ludicrous appearance, and, pointing to the gentleman in the coffee-room, told him his duty for the day was to follow him wherever he went, and never to lose sight of him, but, above all, to take care that he did not get away. Boots nodded ascent, and immediately mounted guard. Mr Bradshaw, having taken his breakfast and read the papers, looked at his watch, and sallied forth to see something of the goodly town of Birmingham. He was much surprised at observing a little odd-looking man surveying him most attentively, and watching his every movement, stopping whenever he stopped, and evidently taking a deep interest in all he did. At last, observing that he was the object of this incessant espionage, and finding that he had a shilling left in his pocket, he hailed one of the coaches that ran short distances in those days, when omnibuses were not. This, however, did not suit little Boots, who went up to him, and insisted that he must not leave the town. Mr Bradshaw's indignation was naturally excessive, and he immediately returned to the hotel, where he found a constable ready to take him before the mayor, as an impostor and swindler. He was compelled to appear before his worship, and had the mortification of being told that, unless he could give some explanation, he must be content with a night's lodging in a house of detention. Mr Bradshaw had no alternative but to send to the fair charmer of his heart to identify him, which she most readily did as soon as rehearsal was over. Explanations were then entered into, but he was forced to give the reason of his being in Birmingham, which, of course, made a due impression on the lady's heart, and led to that happy result of their interviews, a marriage which resulted in the enjoyment of mutual happiness for many years. Lady's jewellery and lovers Some of the most magnificent fortunes of England have, in the first instance, been undermined by an extravagant expenditure on jewellery, which has been given to ladies, married and unmarried, who have fascinated their wealthy admirers and made them their slaves. Hamlet and Rundle and Bridge were, in my day, patronised by the great, and obtained large sums of money from their enamoured clients, to whom they often became bankers. On the day after the coronation of George IV, Hamlet made his appearance at the house of Mr Coots in Piccadilly, the corner of Stratton Street. It was during dinner, but owing no doubt to a previous arrangement he was at once admitted, when he placed before the rich banker a magnificent diamond cross, which had been worn the previous day by the Duke of York. It at once attracted the admiration of Mrs Coots, who loudly exclaimed, How happy I should be with such a splendid specimen of jewellery! What is it worth? immediately exclaimed Mr Coots. I could not allow it to pass out of my possession for less than fifteen thousand pounds, said the wary tradesman. Bring me a pen and ink, was the only answer made by the doting husband, and he at once drew a check for that amount upon the bank in the strand, and with much delight the worthy old gentleman placed the jewel upon the fair bosom of the lady. Upon her breast a sparkling cross she wore, which Jews might kiss and infidels adore. The Earl of Sea, whose reputation in the sporting world was of the highest order, and who had obtained some notoriety by his amours, fell into the hands of Hamlet, who was known to the aristocracy by his mock title of Prince of Denmark. Hamlet placed before him, on one occasion, jewels to the amount of thirty thousand pounds, and volunteered, as his client was not of age, to give him credit for several months. The offer was accepted, and the brilliant present became the possession of a young lady, one of the Terpsichorian tribe, Mamzelle G., whose charms had captivated the youthful nobleman, and who had so irrevocably fascinated him by the expression of her love, awakened by the prospect of a rich remuneration, that she accepted him as the sole possessor of a heart which had been before at the disposal of any rich admirer whose purse was worthy her consideration. This lady, who is now somewhat advanced in years, but has still the remains of beauty, is living in France upon her estate, the produce of the many charms which she once possessed, and which she turned to such advantage as to make her society even up to this day courted by those who look upon wealth as the great source of distinction, and who are willing to disbelieve any stories that they may accidentally hear of her previous history. The Late Lord Henry Seymour I knew Lord Henry perhaps better than any other Englishman, having lived with him on terms of great intimacy. He was famous for his racing-stud and good taste in his carriages and riding-horses. It was said, by persons who were little acquainted with him, that he was fond of masquerades, fighting, and was also the terror of pugilists from his great strength and science in boxing. On the contrary, he was a gentle, retiring, and humane man, and never was known to have been present at a masquerade or any place of the sort. But it unfortunately happened that a man named Franconi of the Circus, a low-born and vulgar fellow, resembled him in looks and stature, and having been mistaken for my noble friend, gave himself out as Lord Seymour in those dens of infamy where the noble Lord was unknown. Lord Henry was a man of fine taste and fond of the arts, and at his death his paintings, library, and plate fetched a considerable sum at public auction. During his lifetime he patronised young artists, often advancing them money and assisting them in every possible way. Lord Henry Seymour was the founder of the French Jockey Club, and in conjunction with the late Duke de Cremont, better known in England as the Count de Guiche, made racing in France what it now is, that is, they placed the turf upon a respectable footing. Lord Henry established a school of arms and gymnasium in his hotel on the Boulevard des Italiens, which became the most celebrated in Europe. He himself was an adept in the art of fencing, his skill was considered by the professors to be incomparable. His kindness of heart and an ostentatious generosity were his noblest qualities. One morning whilst we were breakfasting in his library a friend entered, and with a sad countenance informed Lord Henry that he had that morning been visiting an old friend of his, a man of good birth who, with his wife and children, were absolutely starving, and that they were reduced to sleep upon straw. Lord Henry, touched by this painful information, asked where those poor people were to be found, and, being told, he said not a word more, but ordered his carriage and went out. The next morning the same gentleman made his appearance and said, I call to tell you, Seymour, that I am just come from my poor friend, who, I am happy to say, has received relief in the shape of furniture, bedding, linen, and food from some kind person, who also left a considerable sum of money to purchase wearing apparel for the family. Seymour never moved a muscle of his face, and we were wondering from whence the relief came, when a fine-looking fellow entered, bowing in the most respectful manner, and addressed his lordship in the following terms. My Lord, I am obliged to confess that I have taken some trouble to discover the name of our benefactor, and, from all I have been able to learn, it cannot be any other than your lordship. I therefore deem it my duty, on behalf of my wife, children, and self, to return you my heartfelt thanks for this unexampled act of charity towards a perfect stranger. The poor fellow shed tears in thus addressing his lordship, who kindly gave him his hand, and promised to be his friend for the future, which promise he fulfilled by procuring him a place under the government, that enabled him to live happily, and bring up his family with honour and comfort. France and the French I will not permit this little volume to make its appearance in English society without a few words about a people with whom I have mingled for nearly forty years. When I first came to France, few of my country people travelled save those belonging to the rich and aristocratic classes. It was not, therefore, surprising that those whose interest it might have been on both sides of the Channel to create a bad feeling between England and France found little difficulty in doing so. An Englishman was taught to hate the French as well as to observe the Ten Commandments, and a Frenchman, on the other hand, was educated with the idea that his only enemy on the face of the earth was an Englishman. I regard this stimulated hostile feeling between two nations which must ever influence the welfare of the human race more than any others, as one of the greatest calamities that could curse humanity. We have only to read history from the days of Agincourt up to our later struggles with Napoleon I, to come to the conclusion that the two bravest and most intelligent nations on the face of the earth have, from dynastic ambition and a want of the people knowing each other, been ever engaged in inflicting mutual disasters which have impeded for centuries the progress, civilisation and prosperity of both, whilst the want of a proper understanding between the two countries has materially aided in retarding other nations in obtaining that political emancipation necessary to the happiness of mankind. I have lived through a period characterised by sanguinary wars and huge national debts, and have remained in this world long enough to calculate their results. I am afraid we must often be content with that empty glory which lives only in the pages of history. A battle fought fifty years ago appears very often of no more utility than the splendid tomb of a necropolis. Events and objects for which men by thousands were brought together in deadly combat assume a few years afterwards mighty small proportions, and those who have taken part in deadly struggles at a later period marvel at the enthusiasm which then animated them. I am no believer in that era of happiness which some divines imagined to be so near at hand. Nor do I imagine that the next two or three hundred years will witness the sword turned into the reaping-hook of peaceful industry, but what I do believe in, and what I hope for, is that nations will know each other better than they did of old. It will be more difficult for sovereigns and governments to bring about wars between neighbouring nations now than it was before the existence of that intercommunication which in our day has been created by the press, the railway, and the electric telegraph. I have lived long enough to find hundreds of my countrymen participating in a real knowledge of the French, and believing with me that they are a brave, intelligent, and generous nation. Nearly half a century of experience amongst them has taught me that there is much to learn, and much that is worthy of imitation in France. The social habits of the French, and their easy mode of communication always gain the admiration and often invite the attachment of foreigners. They are less prejudiced than we islanders, and are much more citizens of the world than ourselves. I have received an immense amount of courtesy in France, and if there be less of solid friendship, which, however, in England is based too often on a similarity of birth, position, and wealth, in France you have at least a greater chance than in England of making a friend of a man who neither looks to your ancestors nor your amount of riches before he profits you the most sincere intimacy and, if necessary, disinterested aid, purely on the ground of your own merit and character. Many of the better qualities of the French are not discoverable by the superficial traveller. Any more than the sterling qualities of the Englishmen are appreciated by the foreigner who makes a brief sojourn in Great Britain. Slowly, but I believe surely, the agreeable knowledge that I possess of the French is becoming more universal, and I cannot but imagine that such a correct appreciation will be fraught with the most valuable political as well as social results. Intelligent Englishmen have lived long enough to appreciate the genius of Napoleon I, whose mode of governing France has been applied by Napoleon III with a success which prejudice even has been compelled to acknowledge. But I remember a period when probably not a dozen Englishmen could have been found to speak of the First Emperor with the most ordinary common sense. I will, however, record one honorable exception to the rule. The late Lord Dudley and Ward, an eccentric but able man, was at Vienna in the midst of a large party, who were all more or less abusing or depreciating the fallen hero, whose very name had so long created fear and hatred amongst them. It was naturally supposed that the Englishman who was silently listening to this conversation must, of course, as the natural enemy of France, approve of all that had been said. Prince Metinich turned at last to his guest and said, As an old soldier and an admirer of the Duke of Wellington, I cannot altogether admit the entire justice of the observation. Yet, spoken by an Englishman to the enemies of the Exiled Emperor, it was a gallant homage paid to fallen greatness. The great man who now wields the destinies of France possesses many of the remarkable qualities of the founder of his dynasty. His energetic will, his extensive and varied knowledge, his aptitude for government, his undaunted bravery, and that peculiar tact which leads him to say the right thing at the right time. But to these rare gifts he joins the most princely generosity and a kind and gentle heart. He has never been known to forsake a friend, or leave unrewarded any proofs of devotion shown to him in his days of exile. He is adored by the vast majority of the French nation, and even his political opponents, if accidentally brought under the influence of his particularly winning and gracious manner, are, in spite of themselves, charmed and softened. There can be no doubt that Napoleon III enjoys a well-merited popularity, and that there is, throughout all classes, a deep and earnest confidence that the honor and glory of France are safe in his hands. It is just this mighty power, founded on the love and trust of his people, which is the surest pledge that peace will be maintained between our country and France. Napoleon III does not require to court popularity by pandering to the anti-English prejudices still retained by a small minority of his subjects. And, unlike the representatives of less popular dynasties, he can afford to show that he is not only the beloved and mighty ruler of the French nation, but also the firm ally and faithful friend of England. End of Reminiscences of Captain Grono