An Amusing Incident—Lady Caroline Murray—An Anecdote of Queen
Victoria—Lord Rossmore’s Wager—The Match at the Wall—Practical
Jokes—Some Boys at James’s
Boys at Eton rarely made friends outside their respective houses.
Therefore, when Hodgson left, I spent most of my spare time with Doyne,
who even then was very stout, and, though older than I, below me in the
school. When he left Eton, my chief companion was a boy named Harry
Gridley, with whom I messed for a short time, and with whom I often went
for walks on a Sunday along the playing-fields by the river.
Gridley, who was in the Fifth Form, was a dark-haired boy, very kind and
good-natured. He was in the Boats, and a capital oar, and rowed later
in the _Monarch_, the ten-oared Upper boat. Sometimes I would go to
Windsor with him to play billiards, notwithstanding that this was against
the rules. One day, whilst we were playing, I, by way of a joke, began
ordering him about and calling him “Peter,” and then, to tease him, told
him that some man who was in the room thought he was my fag. He flew into
a rage, and, when the man had left the room, rushed at me and caught me
by the throat, as though he would strangle me. However, we soon made
friends again, but, strange to say, this nickname of “Peter,” which I
had given him for the first time in the billiard-room at Windsor, always
stuck to him, even in the 5th Lancers, which he joined later. He was
very fond of reading, and one day took up “Adam Bede,” by George Eliot;
but he told me that he could not finish it, as the hero was a very ugly,
red-haired man, and he disliked reading about ugly people. He quite set
me against the book, for I never read it after he said this.
[Illustration: Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author.
[_To face p. 80._]
[Illustration: Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford.
[_To face p. 81._]
Alexander, the Captain of the Oppidans, was a very good-looking boy
of eighteen; dark, with black, curly hair. His memory was quite
extraordinary, and he could repeat the whole of the _Odyssey_, in the
original Greek. Once he had read a book and mastered its contents, he
never forgot it. Even Mr. James was astounded at Alexander’s marvellous
gift for remembering things. Locke was also clever, but in a different
way from Alexander.
Some time after I went to Eton, my tutor got his cousin, Mrs. Bower, to
look after the boys instead of the housekeeper, which was a pleasant
change for us. She was about thirty-five and a very nice woman, and,
having taken rather a fancy to me, used often to invite me to her room at
five o’clock and give me tea and cake.
One day some friends of Doyne—a baronet and his three daughters—came
from London to see him. As it was a Sunday, I did not get up until late,
when I ran into Doyne’s room, clad only in my night-shirt, and with my
water-jug in my hand, to get some water to wash with. To my horror, I
suddenly found myself confronted by three ladies, who, on catching sight
of me, uttered a scream, and then, as I turned round and incontinently
fled, burst into fits of laughter. Doyne told me afterwards that his
friends were highly amused at this incident, and declared that they
should never forget their visit to Eton.
A boy named Charles Balfour was my fag when I was in the Fifth Form.
Doyne, who was still in the Lower School, found my having a fag very
convenient, as the latter had to cook the steaks and chops for our
breakfast. Balfour was a good-looking boy, and I liked him very much;
but he could not bear doing anything for Doyne, as the latter was lower
down in the school than he was. I met the late Charles Balfour, with his
father and family, at Wiesbaden in after years. His sister Hilda, a very
pretty girl, subsequently married Lord de Clifford.
With Balfour I met another old schoolfellow, Baldock, who was with his
sister at Wiesbaden. He was twelfth man for the Eton Eleven one year,
when I was there and Keeper of “Sixpenny,” and was a general favourite
with the lower boys. Later on, in town, I recollect going to a ball at
his house in Grosvenor Place. He was made a C.B. by King Edward VII.,
having served thirty-six years in the Yeomanry and reached the rank of
colonel.
The present Lord Harris, G.C.S.I., the well-known cricketer, was in the
Eton Eleven in my time and afterwards Captain of it. I can recollect
him perfectly—a tall, fair-haired and remarkably handsome boy, with
merry blue eyes, who always looked the picture of health. Amongst those
who made their mark at cricket and football, and, at the same time,
distinguished themselves in school, were the late Earl of Pembroke and
Montgomery, then the Hon. Sidney Herbert, who was a good-looking boy,
with blue eyes and black hair, and the late Earl of Onslow. The latter
was at one time in the same division as myself.
Sir Hubert Parry, so famous as a composer, was at Eton with me, but much
higher up in the school than I was. He was at Vidal’s, and a boy in his
house told me that he played the violin beautifully. I can remember that
he was a good football player, and that I thought him a very fine-looking
fellow, but I only knew him by sight.
Craven, when in the Fifth Form, kept his fags dancing attendance on him
all their spare time, and used to send them on long errands to Windsor.
“Mug” was his fag for one half, and had a very lively time of it at
first; but afterwards Craven treated him very much better. I was John
Lister-Kaye’s fag at one time, and found him more exacting than Locke,
with whom I had had a very easy time; but he became a friend of mine
when I was higher up in the school. “Mug” was his fag at the same time,
and liked fagging for him very much, as he treated him very kindly. His
younger brother, Cecil Lister-Kaye, was a friend of mine from the very
first. Both brothers were very good-looking boys, with fair hair. The
elder, afterwards Sir John Lister-Kaye, who rowed in the _Victory_ at
Eton, subsequently entered the “Blues.” On one occasion, the Lister-Kayes
and myself were invited to dine at Upton Park, with Mrs. Adair, a very
lovely woman, who, I recollect, was dressed in black velvet, which set
off her superb figure and dazzling skin to great advantage. She was a
grand-daughter of the Duchess of Roxburghe and a great friend of my
cousin, the Hon. Emily Cathcart, maid-of-honour to Queen Victoria.
[Illustration: W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow.
[_To face p. 82._]
[Illustration: The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria.
[_To face p. 83._]
One day, the Hon. Charles Finch, afterwards Earl of Aylesford, who was in
the same division as myself, told me that he had stopped my cousin while
she was walking with a lady in Eton, and that a few days later, when he
happened to meet her again, she said to him:—
“I have a bone to pick with you. Do you know whom you kept waiting when
you spoke to me the other day? It was the Princess Louise (afterwards
Duchess of Argyll)!” The Earl of Aylesford, like myself, was a cousin of
Emily Cathcart.
While at Eton, I used occasionally to spend the day with my great-aunt,
Lady Georgiana Cathcart. She lived near Ascot, and once when I was
driving with her and her daughter we called on the Ladies Murray, who had
a fine house in the neighbourhood, and Lady Caroline told us that if we
had come some minutes earlier, we should have met Queen Victoria, who had
lunched with them in quite an informal way, saying:—
“Give me what you have ready, nothing else.”
Lady Caroline told me that, owing to bearing the same name, she had
frequently been mistaken for my mother’s aunt at Richmond, who had
recently died. She showed me an oak-tree which her brother, the Earl of
Mansfield, had planted in his garden the last time he had come to see
her. In her younger days, she had been lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of
Kent, at which time she was considered a great beauty.
One day, when I was dining at Ascot, I met my cousin Emily, who was
wearing a lovely dress of violet velvet, trimmed with white lace, and
said:—
“Her Majesty said I was not to wear this dress at Court, and I have only
worn it once before, although it cost me a good deal of money.”
Queen Victoria, it seems, would often take a dislike to some dress worn
by one of her maids-of-honour.
I frequently went to Windsor Castle to see my cousin. On one occasion,
I mistook the room, and had to wait for some time in a drawing-room.
Presently, a lady came in, who was very charming in her manner towards
me, and had some tea and muffins brought to me by a man-servant in the
scarlet livery of the Palace. This lady I afterwards learned was the
Countess of Erroll. Once, when I called at the Castle I was received by
the Hon. Harriet Phipps, who told me that my cousin had left Windsor and
that she had taken her place in waiting. She invited me to have some tea,
which was brought in in a solid silver teapot, and served in very fine
porcelain cups, on both of which was the Royal crown, and was very kind
and amiable.
One day, my cousin Emily asked me to bring the late Lord Alexander
Kennedy, son of the Marquis of Ailsa, who was in my division at Eton, to
the Castle to tea, which I did. He and I smoked cigarettes in her room,
and, when we heard her coming, threw them out of the window. However, she
smelt the smoke and said:—
“I hope you have not thrown the cigarettes out of the window, for ‘H.M.’
is coming this way, and I shall get into trouble if she sees them.”
We tried to calm her, but she appeared to be rather annoyed at the time.
Emily Cathcart was very good-looking, with dark eyes and black hair and
a fine figure. In her general appearance, she always reminded me very
much of the late Empress of Austria. Her manner was charming, and she was
always very amiable, and had so pleasant a smile that it seemed as though
it would be impossible for her to be angry with anyone. I remember her
telling me once that at Windsor she rarely ever spoke English, having
to receive so many foreign guests for Her Majesty. On the occasion that
Kennedy and I went there, we saw the Duc d’Aumale walking away from the
Castle as we arrived.
Queen Victoria liked to be read to by her maids-of-honour, which was
sometimes a very trying experience for them, particularly by night. A boy
at Eton was one of her pages-of-honour, and, as he was late in coming out
of school one day that his services were required, he did not stop to
wash his hands, but hurried off to the Castle, in order to be in time for
some ceremony. Afterwards, the train which he had to hold was found to
have dirty spots on it, so he was immediately dismissed from his office
by Her Majesty. This story was told me by Mr. James.
My mother told me that Queen Victoria was once lunching at the house of
the Duke of Sussex, and, on being asked if the mutton cutlets were to her
liking, replied carelessly:—
“Oh! the chops are not bad.” She also related that once, in her younger
days, the Queen was visiting the country-seat of a certain nobleman,
where everything imaginable in and out of season had been procured for
Her Majesty’s delectation, no matter at what cost. However, on the
Queen being asked what she would be pleased to take, to the horror and
amazement of her host, she named the only thing which was not in the
house, and which there was no possibility of procuring. It was whispered
that the Queen had asked for this particular _plat_, which was one of a
simple but unusual kind, purposely, as she appeared to be amused at the
consternation her request had aroused.
Just after I left Eton, Emily invited me to the Haymarket Theatre,
telling me to inquire for the Queen’s box. I arrived, and was duly
ushered into the Royal box, which, however, was untenanted. So I sat
there in solitary state, to the no small curiosity of the audience,
who perhaps imagined that I must be some quite important person,
until presently my cousin arrived, accompanied by a very handsome and
exquisitely dressed woman, who, I learned, was Lady Churchill. The
latter, who was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, was most fascinating, and
had all the distinction of a _très grande dame_. She was most kind and
gracious to me, even going out of her way to draw me out, so that I was
soon quite at my ease in her company.
In winter, if we happened to have a frost hard enough to make Virginia
Water safe for skaters, we used to be taken there by Mr. James to skate
and play hockey on the ice, a game in which my tutor always took part
himself. Windsor Steeplechases were an event always looked forward to by
the boys, for, though we were forbidden to go to them, we went all the
same. Sometimes we would be attacked by roughs, who tried to prevent us
crossing certain ditches to get to the race-course, and on one occasion
a man tried to stop me. But I pushed him aside, managed to jump a ditch,
and got safely to the course. Windsor Fair was at one time forbidden to
the boys, but this did not prevent them all going there. I went once with
Craven and saw a circus without paying anything, the man at the entrance
having overlooked us as we rushed in. Afterwards, Mr. James happened
to mention the Fair, when we all laughed and began to talk about the
different shows we had seen. The master took it in good part, merely
remarking:—
“It’s lucky for you I did not catch you there.”
The Christopher Inn at Eton was also out of bounds, but at times some of
the big boys would invite the smaller ones there. If, however, one of the
masters happened to catch sight of them coming out, there would be the
devil to pay. I don’t remember ever going to the “Christopher,” though I
did most things that were forbidden.
The elder son of General Sir John Douglas, Captain Niel Douglas, who
was an Old Etonian and an officer in the Scots Guards, then stationed
at Windsor, invited me to lunch at the barracks, where I was introduced
to Lord Mark Innes-Ker, who used to ride his own horses in the Windsor
Steeplechases. I enjoyed my lunch very much, as it was quite a novelty
for me. Eton boys were often invited to the barracks to lunch with
officers of the Household Brigade whom they knew, as so many Old Etonians
went into the Guards. I remember Blane, who was a pupil of my tutor, once
coming down to Eton just after he had left the school, and telling me
that he was about to join the Scots Guards, who were then stationed at
Windsor. Lord Rossmore, whom I knew very well at Eton, entered the 1st
Life Guards, and was killed riding in a steeplechase over the Windsor
course in 1874. By a singular coincidence he had fallen at the same jump,
while riding the same horse, the previous year. Rossmore, who was in
the same division with me, was very popular at Eton. He was perpetually
playing practical jokes, and I can recollect that on one occasion he made
a bet that he would drive a trap through Eton. He won it, too, by driving
through the town on a cart, disguised as a waterman, so that the masters
did not recognize him. If one of them had happened to penetrate his
disguise, he would perhaps have been expelled.
Gridley and I once went for a bicycle ride in the country, and, happening
to be seen, were sent up to the Head Master, Dr. Hornby, who said:—
“It is too grave an offence for me to swish you, so each of you must
write out a book of the _Iliad_, with accents, stops and breathings.”
Fortunately for us, Mrs. Bower made Mr. James persuade the Head Master to
let us off when we had done a quarter of the work.
When I first went to Eton, the Head Master was Dr. Balston, a very
handsome, stately and severe-looking man, whom the masters and boys
liked—at a distance. When Dr. Hornby succeeded him, it was feared that
he would introduce a great many reforms, which the masters dreaded as
much as the boys; but these apprehensions proved to be groundless. While
I was at Eton, Dr. Hornby was very much liked by the boys; but I cannot
say that his popularity extended to his colleagues, some of whom, I know,
regarded him with far from friendly feelings.
There was a “sock”-shop, called Brown’s, near James’s house in those
days, where excellent buttered buns were sold. An Old Etonian, Theobald,
Viscount Dillon, told me that, on his return to Eton when past sixty, he
tried the buns again, and exclaimed:—
“Goodness! how these buns have altered; they aren’t half as good as they
used to be!” Then, looking round at the boys, who seemed to be enjoying
them just as much as he and his contemporaries had done in days of yore,
he added regretfully:—
“After all, it isn’t the buns that have altered. It is simply that I have
lost my taste for them.”
I used often to go to Brown’s, generally of a morning, to eat a buttered
bun, which I enjoyed immensely. There was another “sock”-shop, called
Webber’s, where in summer we used to indulge in strawberry messes.
Marmalade was in favour with most of us for breakfast, and I recollect
how Craven used always to send for eighteenpenny pots at a time, saying
that the others were too small for his appetite.
One Fourth of June my father came down to Eton, and asked at my tutor’s
for Charles Douglas, the younger son of General Sir John Douglas, and
William Kinglake, who was in a different house and whom I did not then
know. We all walked down to the river to see the boats. It was a very
pretty sight, and prettier still in the evening, when the fireworks
began. I saw several lovely young girls, beautifully dressed, drinking
champagne with their brothers, and envied the latter having such pretty
sisters. William Kinglake was a nephew of the author of “Eöthen,” who was
a first cousin of my father. He was in the Boats the following year, but
died soon after he left Eton. Charles Douglas, after leaving Eton, joined
his father’s old regiment, the 79th Highlanders, but soon retired from
the Service, while still a lieutenant.
I passed my “exam.” in swimming before Mr. Warre at my first try, and
often went on the river. But I was a “dry bob,” and generally preferred
playing cricket in “Sixpenny,” some of the fields by the river, which in
winter were used for football matches. Doyne never went on the river,
since, as he was not allowed to bathe, he could not pass the necessary
“exam.,” and so was forcibly a “dry bob.” At James’s, only Alexander
and one or two others were “dry bobs,” and, as the house was a small
one, we had no cricket eleven, like other houses. James’s football
colours were a combination of reds of different shades with violet and
black, which were not by any means pretty colours. Yonge’s were red and
black; Day’s, black and white; Evans’s, scarlet with a black skull and
cross-bones; Warre’s, a combination of red, yellow and other colours;
and Vidal’s, yellow and black. The well-known cricketer, C. I. Thornton,
was at Vidal’s, and was a great friend of Williamson, while the latter
was there. Thornton was a tremendously hard hitter at cricket, and I can
remember many of his wonderful hits beyond the ropes when he was playing
for Eton against Harrow at Lord’s. The colours of the Second Eleven or
Twenty-two at cricket were blue and black; the Eton Eleven, of course,
wore light blue, as did the Eton Eight.
On St. Andrew’s Day a football match—the game at the Wall—was played
between Oppidans and Collegers, in which the latter were generally
successful, so far as I can recollect. This match always drew a large
crowd, but, for a spectator, I cannot imagine anything more tedious to
watch, unless he be interested in the final result, and even then he must
be gifted with an uncommon stock of patience to be able to watch it from
start to finish. For those engaged in it it is, of course, different, as
some players prefer the wall to the field game, and I have heard that it
affords them more excitement, besides being a far greater strain on the
nerves and muscles. A lady who would enjoy watching the game at the Wall
would in all probability find pleasure in a Spanish bull-fight, though
both would be distasteful to a really nervous, sensitive girl. A young
Spanish lady once told me at Seville that to look at a girl performing
on the trapeze made her feel faint, whereas she never failed to attend
a bull-fight on a Sunday, in which she took a keener pleasure than in
any other form of amusement. This shows how strangely one’s nerves are
constituted, and that this kind of thing is, after all, merely a matter
of habit.
In the summer, Mr. James would often take us with Mrs. Bower on the
river, when we would bring our dinner with us, and would often go as far
as Monkey Island, or even to Maidenhead, returning at night by moonlight.
We all rowed in turn and had dinner in the beautiful woods of Cliveden,
which was at that time the property of the Duke of Sutherland, but now
belongs to Lord Astor, whose father subsequently bought the estate. The
late Duke of Sutherland, who was then the Marquis of Stafford, was with
me at Eton, but higher up in the school, and I can remember him very
well. He was a good-looking boy with fair hair.
Lord Astor (formerly Mr. Waldorf Astor), the present owner of Cliveden,
was at Eton also, though very many years after my time, where he was
Captain of the Boats, and gained the Prince Consort’s Prize for French
one year. His father belonged to one of the best families in the United
States, and the son became a naturalized Englishman.
These river excursions were most enjoyable, and, when coming home, we
sang songs in chorus, which sounded well in the stillness of the summer
night. I was nearly always taken by Mr. James, as I was one of Mrs.
Bower’s favourites, and she insisted on my being invited. A boy named H.
B. Walker, who was then high up in the school, was also generally one of
the party. Walker was very amusing, and used to chaff me to annoy Mrs.
Bower, but all in jest, as we were very good friends. Mr. James was very
pleasant during these outings, and would sometimes indulge his propensity
for making jokes, which at times the boys would appreciate, though at
others they found the wit a trifle strained. One day, Walker said:—
“That joke you made I think I could improve upon, sir.”
“I did not mean it for one; you always see a joke where I cannot see
anything,” replied Mr. James.
“Charles, you know you meant it for a joke,” exclaimed Mrs. Bower.
“Well, if I did, I apologize,” said her cousin, laughing; “but you boys
always appreciate my jokes better in school hours.”
“Because there is generally more point in them, sir,” remarked Walker.
“But the best of it is I never can see any joke in some of the things
I say which provoke fits of laughter, and that always annoys me
considerably.”
“It’s quite a habit of yours, Charles, to make these jokes,” said Mrs.
Bower; “I confess I don’t care for them at any time.”
“Ladies never do,” retorted Mr. James.
And he laughed and looked very pleased at his remark, to which Mrs. Bower
vouchsafed no reply.
[Illustration: Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with the Author.
[_To face p. 90._]
[Illustration: The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present Speaker of the House of
Commons.
[_To face p. 91._]
Another boy who often went on these river excursions was a nephew of
Mrs. Bower, named Holdsworth. He was a fine-looking fellow, older than
I was and much higher up in the school. He was a very good oar, rowing
in the _Victory_ and also in the Eight; but he over-exerted himself in
the latter and died shortly after leaving Eton. His father was a wealthy
man, and his mother was called at one time the “Pocket Venus.” He had a
sister, a pretty, fair-haired girl, who in after years married the late
Sir James Dimsdale, Lord Mayor of London, who was also an Etonian.
Walker also died shortly after leaving school, when he was barely
eighteen. He died of a brain disease at his mother’s house in Palmeira
Square, Brighton. I happened to be at Brighton a few weeks before, and he
came to see me.
One First of April, at Eton, I delivered a message to Walker, which
was supposed to have come from Lord Rossmore, asking him to lunch at
the “Christopher” at one o’clock. Rossmore, who had been very friendly
with Walker at school, had lately joined the 1st Life Guards, who were
stationed at Windsor Barracks, and often invited Walker there. And so
the latter, suspecting nothing, went to the “Christopher,” and waited
there for some time for Rossmore, with the result that he was not only
disappointed of his expected lunch, but missed his dinner at James’s. He
was very angry with me at the time, but he often laughed afterwards at
this practical joke.
I also wrote a note to a boy named Lewin C. Cholmeley, purporting to
come from a person living in a street at the farther end of Windsor,
where I had never been, to say that if he called there he would hear of
something to his advantage. He, too, fell into the trap, went to the
street mentioned, and hunted a long time for the house, but was unable to
find it, as there was no such number there. When he got back to James’s
he found that dinner was over, and I don’t think he ever quite forgave
me for the joke I had played upon him; certainly he never forgot it.
Cholmeley was lower in school than I was at that time. When in the Fifth
Form, he was in the Boats. I heard that, after I left Eton, he fell out
with my tutor one Fourth of June, and was one of those who nearly drowned
him in Chalvey. This affair might have entailed serious consequences for
Cholmeley, had not Mr. James forgiven him and interceded in his favour
with the Head Master. Cholmeley is now a wealthy solicitor in London.
When I had nothing better to do of an evening, I often used to go to
Leyton’s, at Windsor, which was famous for its pastry, and where a good
many Eton boys were always to be found. My companion on these occasions
was usually Lord Edward Somerset, who was in my division. On leaving
Eton, Lord Edward Somerset entered the 23rd Welsh Fusiliers, from which
he subsequently exchanged into the “Blues.” He died soon after his
marriage, while still quite young.
The German master at Eton was Herr Griebel, from whom I took private
lessons at the same time as Count Bentinck. We read together Goethe’s
_Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_ and Auerbach’s _Das Landhaus am Rhein_.
Herr Griebel told me that after he had been in England some time he
forgot German entirely. Then he went back to Germany, and entirely forgot
English. “But now,” he added, “I shall never forget either language, as
I am far too old.” I was in the select one year for the Prince Consort’s
German Prize, and the year following next in marks to the boy who won it.
For the French Prize I was also rather high up in marks. Mr. Frank Tarver
and his brother were the French masters at Eton then. One half the former
got up a performance of Molière’s _le Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, which was
acted by the boys and himself. Molière is said to have portrayed himself
in _le Misanthrope_. It is well known that he used to read his comedies,
first of all, to his old housekeeper, and when she smiled at certain
passages, he felt sure that they would amuse the public also.
Gridley’s younger brother, Reginald Gridley, after I had left Eton, rowed
in the _Victory_ and the Eight, and was a well-known oar at Cambridge,
where he rowed for the University Eight against Oxford. Gridley himself,
after holding a commission in the 5th Lancers and subsequently in the
78th Highlanders, was called to the Bar, but died soon afterwards.
George Baird, who rowed in the Eight in 1873, was also at James’s, and
was my fag for a short time. When he was in the Fifth Form, Arthur
Cavendish-Bentinck, now Duke of Portland, fagged for him. George Baird,
after leaving Eton, joined the 16th Lancers, and is now a colonel. I
saw a good deal of him at my tutor’s, but all I remember about him is
that he was a very nice fellow and that he messed with Blagrove. He had
a cousin, Douglas Baird, who was also at James’s. Craven, on leaving
Eton, entered the Grenadier Guards, from which he retired as captain. He
married soon afterwards, and died at twenty-two. Holdsworth messed with
Thomas Wood, who was also in the Boats (the _Thetis_), and distinguished
himself in school. I met him in after years at Aldershot, where he was in
the Grenadier Guards, and I remember that he behaved very generously to
Temple—“Mug,” as we used to call him at Eton—when he was in bad health
and poor circumstances, assisting him and seeing that he had the best
medical advice in his illness, of which, however, he died when he was
barely twenty years old.
Two other boys who were with me at James’s were Percy Aylmer and Augustus
Ralli. Aylmer, who was a very good-looking and exceedingly nice fellow,
travelled with Colvin in after years, and now resides on his property
in Durham. Ralli was a bright-looking boy, with very dark eyes, and was
very popular in the house. Unhappily, he died of rheumatic fever at Eton
in March 1872. There were, of course, many other boys at James’s besides
those whom I have mentioned, but I cannot now recall anything about them
worth recording here. Doyne left Eton long before I did, and died of
influenza some years ago in Ireland.