on

House gardens, and never any one occasion did he allude to his misfortun s. He bore in his conduct testimony to the wsdom of Jaques Roux, who says: "Happy he who mortifies the bitter pleasure of calling out at all that hurts and pains him! he will be at peace with others and him-elf." This res rve I call true courage, and the Count possessed it in the highest degree. Even cruel ingratitude, which in general embitters most dispositions, failed to arouse in him any feeling of indignation. At the time I speak of the late Emperor Napoleon resided, when Louis Napoleon, near Gore House, where he spent all his time. When, in 1850, the Gore House establishment had to be broken up, and its occupants went to Paris, they naturally expected that the President would have shown them all possible kindness. On the contrary, he treated his old friends with coldness and indifference, and the Count even then never complained. Lady Blessington did not practise so much restraint. A good mot is told of her, when the President on some formal occasion asked her, "Vous pensez rester à Paris très long tempes, Milady?" she replied, "Et vous, Monseigneur?”

Doubtless it was difficult for the President, after Count d'Orsay's prolonged self-imposed exile from France, and occupying as he did a very large space in a very important circle in English society, to place him over the heads of those who were more ostentatious ly connected with him, and who had been associated with all his schemes; but still, he should have remembered that Gore House was for a long prid a real home for him in his time of anxiety and disappointment, when there seemed to be little chance of the reali

sation of his ambition. Count d'Orsay painted a charming picture of Lady Blessington as she presided over the nightly reunions of all that was most eminent in literature and politics and social distinction. Her face at that date was still beautiful, and she dressed with the grace beyond the reach of art, which sets off those advantages that survive even the lapse of time. It was a

sson for us of the younger generation to observe the grace with which the grands seigneurs bent the knee as they kissed her hand, and then addressed her beautiful nice, Marguerite Power, with such curteous words as bring "the smile to beauty's lips and light to glorious eyes." Count d'Orsay was always rich in epigram and amusing anecdote, pleasing every one in turn by some kind remark. If any young member of Parliament had made any trifling success in the House, d'Orsay was sure to have heard of it, and to say, "Mon cher, comme vous avez bien exprimé cette idée." The occupants of Gore House bore testimony to the truth that the charm of all manuer must come from the heart

P. Did the Count die in Paris? A. Yes. Lady Blessington did not long survive the change from her charm ng home and entourage to a new society, and after her death the Cunt pined away,he had no object in life or interest left. Whn at last the President did offer him the place of Directeur des Beaux Arts, he was unfit for any work. I visited him at that time, and found his room all hung with b ack curtains, the bed and window curtains were the sume; all the souvenirs of one so dear were cllected around him. It Was most sad. There are moments and scenes even in early

youth in which we are deeply impressed with the nothingness of all worldly things: such a scene and such a moment was this to me.

P. It must have been a painful sight! You spoke of Crockford's. Was not that a very pleasant club?

A. It was indeed the beau-ideal of a club. The notion that any man of large fortune was at once elected a member, in order to pluc and pigeon him, was quite absurd. A novel was written at the time I speak of called 'Crock ford's; or, Life in the West,' which was about as true a representation of the life and manners of that time as 'Lothair' is of the present. The fact is, it was very difficult for any one, however well known or highly considered, to be elected to Crockford's. The number of candidates being out of all proportion to the vacancies, a man of large fortune and good birth was, cæteris par bus, more widely known, and so far was preferred to a person with not the same credentials; otherwise success depended on personal qualifications. It cannot be said that the club was independent of play, for it could not have been kept up in such a luxurious style without play; but many a member never entered the play-room. It was at the end of a long suite of magnificent apart ments. The custom, if members like myself partook frequently of the supper and never played, was at the close of the season to throw a ten-pound note on the play-table and leave it there. But that was really conscience - money; no one inquired, asked for it, or perhaps even noticed it.

P. These must indeed have been delightful noctes cœnæque.

A. We shall never see their like again. During the parliamentary season, supper was provided from twelve o'clock to five in the morn

ing and such a supper! Francatelli was chef. I rather think he received £800 a-year. But there was every dish and drink that could gratify the most fastidious taste; and night after night were met there all those who were noted for any superiority, intellectual or personal. Politics, literature, art, fashion, rank; the wit, the courtier, the poet, the historian, the politician, were found at the table. It was frequently a tilt of freshest wit and clever repartee. There every night after the House of Commons might be heard the sparkling epigrams and wit of the party whips, Henry Baring and Ben Stapley, rivals in social and political life; there might be seen that arbiter eleg intiarum, Mr Auriol, whose good luck, appetite, and appearance obtained him the name of Crockford's Ugly Customer." There the great leaders, who, like Charles Fox, " in retreat laid their thunder by," would meet on neutral ground, forgetful of all party objects in the good - fellowship of mutual enjoyment. The dandies of course mustered strong; and there, as I have remarked, Count d'Orsay generally every Saturday night was seen, and again on Sunday night until half-past eleven, when he left, so as to reach Gore House before the Cinderella hour of twelve, where he would not unfrequently find some of those who were so anxious for his society waiting at the gates; but he was safe until the last stroke of twelve.

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P Why was such a pleasant resort ever broken up?

A. In consequence of the report of the gambling Committee of the House of Commons, of which I was a member. Lord Palmerston was our chairman, and he did all in his power to save

Crockford's, on the ground that the play was fair, credit was seldom given, and that anything was preferable to private play. The sequel has proved how correct he was. This was a most interesting Committee. All the k epers of the various gambling-houses, the bonnets, touters, and accomplices, were examined, and startling revelations were made One episode in the course of the examination of witnesses amused us very much. Some important turf authority was in the witness-box, and Milner-Gibson failed to obtain any distinct evidence from him. Then Lord George Pentinck tackled him, and he at once gave us full information. Milner - Gibson was very angry. Why do you reply to Lord George," he asked, "and not to me? "Because his lordship knows what he is talking about, and you don't." The whole report of that Committee is well worth studying as a picture of the turf and the gambling circles of fifty years ago. But all the chairman's efforts failed to save Crockford's. The Committee recommended that on the declaration of two householders the police should be empowered to enter any house where public play was carried on. Very shortly after the report of the Committee the required declaration was made, and the police at once acted upon it. In vain it was declared in court that the club existed independent of play, that the gaming was carried on in another part of the establishment. The magistrates decided against it, and it was at once closed. The anticipations of Lord Palmerston proved to be correct; for since then private play has greatly increased, and has led to very painful results.

1. So there was an end of these festivities?

A. An end of the play and of

this pleasant life. But a supping club was started in Piccadilly, called the Coventry; it was not, however, the same thing. It was easy to succeed Crockford's, but not to replace it. The Coventry dragged on a lingering existence. There was not the same desire to belong to it. Coventry House was very near the old famous club Watier's. P. The centre of the old dandies you have been talking of?

me

A. Exactly; it was their headquarters. Lord Willoughby de Eresby, then Lord Gwydyr, was chief of the dandies. This great friend of the Prince Regent told how important the dandy class of society was, not only socially but politically; so much so, that at the Coronation, when there was great fear of disturbance in consequence of the Queen's expressed intention of presenting herself at the Abbey during the ceremony, George IV. was in a state of great anxiety, and he sent for Lord Gwydyr to ask him what was the feeling of the dandies; who replied, "It is not favourable to your Majesty." "I care nothing for the mob," exclaimed the king, "but I do for the dandies!' and asked Lord Gwydyr's advice. Lord Gwydyr suggested that to keep them in good humour it might be well if his Majesty invited them to breakfast somewhere in the vicinity of the Abbey on the morning of the Coronation. The king acquiesced. A grand breakfast was prepared in one of the rooms of the House of Lords, and the king regained all his popularity with the dandies.

P. You spoke of the private play which followed on the closing of Crockfords; but surely, from all you have heard, much larger fortunes were lost formerly than haye been lost in recent days?

A. That is quite possible; but I can understand that the results

wer not so bad when playing against a public bank. With a public bank there can be no persnal quarrels, no bitter feelings awakened. A man ses his money; there is an end of it. No one can be personally reproached or suspected; there is no hasred, malice, and all uncharitablen ss afterwards; there are no ties of affection and friendship broken. This was Lord Palmerston's contento. No doubt immense fortunes were squandered at Crockford's, and the high play and high living were attended with the sad dest results. I have been told on unquestionable authority that sev eral of the members of Wair's Club committed suicide. I myself can recal six or seven of that set (Watier's was closed before my time) who did so. It must have been a life of intense excitement, and the nervous system could not stand it. Moreover, in those days hard drinking was the custom, and weakened alike both mind and body.

P. Did you see much of Louis Napoleon at Gore House?

A. Constantly. He was always there. Th strange thing is that the Count d'Orsay, who was such a remarkable judge of character, had no opinion of the Prince's ability. "C'est un brave garçon," he used to say, mais pas d'esprit;" and he smiled when the Prince used to speak of the poss bility of his return triumphant to France-a conviction which he always possessed. At the time of the vacancy of the Greek throne it was suggested that the Prince might be an excellent candidate for the succession; if elected, he would have been so with the good wishes of France and England. This was Lord Palmerston's idea; but when the Prince was sounded on the subject he declined at once, and privately ex

plained that all his hopes were centred in France. He had such implicit confidence in the future, that he used to say to his cousin the Duchess of Hamilton (Princess Marie of Baden), "Marie, when I am at the Tuileries I shall make such and such changes;" and she would reply, "I wish, Louis, you would not always talk like this people only laugh at you." Even when he was leaving Paris for his prison at Ham, he turned to the officer who commanded the guard of Chasseurs drawn up on the platform of the station, and expressed his intention of changing the uniform of the regiment. He was a regular fatalist, like his uncle with the sun of Austerlitz.

P. Louis Napoleon really liked the English?

A. Very much so. I recall a dinner at the Elysée. We were about thirty English and the same number of French. After dinner, when, in French fashion, we all rose to leave the table with the ladies, the President said, "No, no, we follow the English fashion to-day;" so to the astonishment of all the establishment wine was put on the table, and we remained about an hour after the ladies. He was always very kind to the English and grateful for the attention he had received, except, as I have said, in the case of Lady Blessington.

P. You young men who had a fair start must have had a good time of it in those days.

A. We had indeed. I was early in public life, and the polit cal youth of the nation filled a large space in men's minds then; the leaders greatly interested themselves in the young generation. It was not only in political circles that we were welcomed, but all the salons were opened to us; and there were salons then such as can never