Things I can tell

Chapter I

My recollections : A woman's " Don't " ; " Under the spreading chestnut tree " : My birth and parentage : Rossmore and its associations : Lady Hester and the Highwayman : The inevitable banshee : Truth stranger than fiction : " Lady " Anne Douglas Hamilton and her lovely mother : A forgotten romance of the Peerage

« CHAPTER n

My extravagant grandfather : A political duel : My father : Bagpipes at the dentist's dinner ; " Tom Thumb " : Pau : We become inmates of a lunatic asylum : My mother's second marriage : " Old Craw " and the Colonel: "Still a gentleman": "A happy New Year " : Treasure Island : School days : Bad food at Rugby : Happy Hanover : The broken window : I get one back on Beardy Pp. 18-36

V a raconteuse: The late King Edward, a delighted listener : " A real Duchess " : Some Mark Twain stories : Mrs. Ronalds : Penelope Cavendish Bentinck : The late Duchess of Teck : " How's poor old Francis ? " : The Duke of Connaught and the foot-warmer : Knowledge is power : The Archbishop of " Cork " and the Archbishop of York Pp. 104-123

CHAPTER Vn

Jimmy Davis ; The wonderful William : " Smoked 'addock, my lord " : Duels : Still they come : Bessie Bellwood at Supper : The late Lady Meux : Her vagaries : A dinner at Kettner's : Peter does likewise : Pratt's Club ; Briggs' eggs and bacon : He reports me to the Committee : The late Lord Dufferin's courtesy : The late Lord Winchilsea : Some stories about the late Viscount Massereene and Ferrard : " What's yours ? " : The farmer sees double : Massereene's best epitaph : Charlie Western and I at the theatre : " Take a lemon " : Peter's wife's mother's family : Daubeneys and Eaglesfields : An early tub : The tell-tale umbrella : An apology in rhyme : An awkward meeting with King Edward : His wonderful tact : A garden party at Marlborough House ; A dinner party at Hyde Park House : Why the King left in a hurry ; His charming disposition Pp. 124-148

viii

CHAPTER VIII

I start racing : The late King Edward's first trainer ; The match that " Duppy " made : Captain Machell : His cuteness : A three-legged winner : Fred Archer : My dream about him : Machell's equally strange experience : The late Duchess of Devonshire at Lewes : The great Ernest Clay-Ker-Seymer : " I've forgotten your name " : Injured dignity : Mowerina : A hard bargain : Worth her weight in gold : Richard Christopher Naylor : I win the City and Suburban with Passaic : " I want to marry your daughter ! " : Old Naylor at Downshire House : King Edward : The proper get up for the races: "Have you come r-ratting ? " : Marcus Beresford at the Turf club : The late Lord Vivian : " Hook and Eye " : George Payne : " Hook and Eye's " early cup of tea : The sad results : Keep away : The fat blackguard : " Bertie wins " : Jim Goater and Present Times: Why Archer was "off" riding : Sir John Astley : " Ashley's ticker " : " Too big for the plate " : Billy Bevill and Jim Blank : Sir Frederick Johnstone at Stockbridge : The late King a visitor at his house : A distinguished audience : Charlie Forbes : The Bridge of Sighs : " In with you " : A royal rescuer : The Prince's hat goes down stream : Racing and I part company Pp. 149-179

ix

CHAPTER IX

Why don't you hunt now ? : The old order changeth : Hunters of men: Somerby : "Snipey" Green: Burglars in the bath-room : Bay Middleton : He hides in a lady's bed : Bay's presentiment of his death : Sir Herbert Langham : His red red nose : Hughie Cusker's whole-hearted admiration of it : How the nose belied the owner : " Chicken " Hartopp : Bald as a coot : Lord Howth : "There's always a black sheep in every flock " : The aniseeded boots : Hunting the train : How " Chicken " hanged the Jarvey : Hartopp's hunting : A lengthy description : A topper to hounds : " According to De Crespigny " : Miss Nay lor takes first place : McGerr and his horse : An Irishman's farewell to his steed : Percy La Touche : The late King Edward and Percy : Huguenots or Hottentots ? : Lady Rossmore : Her accident at Newmarket : Why she never rides now : Lady Bailey upholds the family's reputation in the hunting field Pp. 180-203

CHAPTER X

Mountain Lodge : An Irish grouse moor : The peasantry : The Duke of Connaught : Why his sport was spoiled ; Anne Holland : A woman gamekeeper : Trespassers will be — shot : When the season commenced : Irish bulls : Lord Iveagh at Rossmore : A bad headache : Woodcock stories : The double right and left : The late King at Elveden : " Where did you get that hat ? " : Jodpores : King Edward's witty remark : His wonderful memory: The brailed pheasants Pp. 204-218

CHAPTER XI

I go to South Africa ; My servant Menelly : Why the maids gave notice : The soi-disant Lord Darnley : An audacious impostor : My fraudulent namesake : An awkward question : " Oh no, we never mention her " : Race hatred : A begrudged loaf : We ask for bread and get a biscuit : Ikey Sonnenberg : Dinner at his house : "A nice game of cardths " : Swalbacher : He resents my toasts ; He is flung out : The second time of asking : Outside once more : Fallen among thieves : The black woman steals his ticker : " Thou shalt repay " : " Thanks, I've got to meet a man " : The true story of the drive over the precipice : Young Carson and the Dop : " Furrin' parts " : A short stay in Australia ; I have supper with Fred Leslie and Nellie Farren : A dog and a chop story

CHAPTER XII

A Home Rule story : The Roslea incident : The late Duke of Manchester : The two Mr. Duffys : Monaghan stories : A lecture on ornithology : " The soft impeachment " : The wrong roll of notes : The revolving carpet : A fishy tale : The potheen industry : The land agent's ruse : How I brought the potheen to Rossmore : Black Peter's brew : Dublin Castle : A sleepy Duke : Quick dinners with the Londonderrys : "Erly" Clonmell: The brocaded seat: The Cadogans : Pompous Pogson : The late Lady Cadogan's charm : " Does your master's horse prefer Irish or Scotch ? " : Lady Annesley and the cabman : Madame Melba : The last record : Milestones : An Irishman's memories Pp. 239-270

XU

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Lord Rossmore I'rontispiece

Mrs. Waring To face page 8

Lady Hester Westenra .... ,, 12

View from the Entrance to Rossmore Castle ,, 14

Camla House ,, 48

The Rossmore Family Mausoleum . ,, 98

Lord Rossmore „ 182

Rossmore Castle „ 250

Lady Rossmore ,, 269

Xlll

TO MY FRIEND

WHO HAS RENDERED ME INVALUABLE ASSISTANCE IN THE PREPARATION OF THESE REMINISCENCES

CHAPTER I

My recollections: A woman's "Don't"; "Under the spreading chestnut tree": My birth and parentage : Rossmore and its associations : Lady Hester and the Highwayman : The inevitable banshee : Truth stranger than fiction : "Lady" Anne Douglas Hamilton and her lovely mother : A forgotten romance of the Peerage

I HAVE often been asked to write my recollections but, as I have never done anything important, I am afraid I shall have to content myself with relating some interesting and intimate things about my friends.

I can fancy some people saying, " Oh, I hope he won't mention me," but they can breathe freely, for that kind grandmother the law of libel protects them, and, after all, what is the good of revealing everything you know ?

When I told Mrs. Cornwallis West that I and take after your estate." How's that for a serpent's tongue with an acidulated drop on the end of it ?

My publisher tells me that the best authors avoid the obvious in writing, but, as our banshee is most obvious and never avoids us, I think I must defy E. Nash, and relate the story of the first Lord Rossmore and the banshee's warning.

Robert Rossmore was on terms of great friendship with Sir Jonah and Lady Barrington, and once when they met at a Dublin drawing room, Rossmore persuaded the Barringtons to come over the next day to Mount Kennedy, where he was then living. As the invited guests proposed to rise early they retired to bed in good time, and slept soundly until two o'clock in the morning, when Sir Jonah was awakened by a wild and plaintive cry. He lost no time in rousing his wife, and the scared couple got up and opened the window, which looked over the grass plot beneath. It was a moonlight night and the objects around the house were easily discernible, but there was 4

The Banshee

nothing to be seen in the direction whence the eerie sound proceeded. Now thoroughly frightened, Lady Barrington called her maid, who straightway would not listen or look, and fled in terror to the servants' quarters. The uncanny noise continued for about half an hour, when it suddenly ceased. All at once a weird cry of " Rossmore, Rossmore, Rossmore," was heard, and then all was still.

The Barringtons looked at each other in dismay, and were utterly bewildered as to what the cry could mean. They decided, however, not to mention the incident at Mount Kennedy, and returned to bed in the hope of resuming their broken slumbers. They were not left long undisturbed, for at seven o'clock they were awakened by a loud knocking at the bedroom door, and Sir Jonah's servant, Lawler, entered the room, his face white with terror.

"What's the matter, what's the matter?' asked Sir Jonah, " is anyone dead.'^" "Oh sir," answered the man, " Lord Rossmore's footman has just gone by in great haste, and he told me that my lord, after coming from the Castle, had gone to bed in perfect health, but that about half past two this morning, his own man hearing a noise in his master's room went to him, and found him in the agonies of death, and before he could alarm the servants his lordship was dead."

Lady Barrington often used to tell this story, and would say solemnly in conclusion, " Lord Rossmore was actually dying at the moment when we heard his name pronounced."

The banshee has been fairly active from time to time since then, and although personally I don't care a straw for the family spectre, it is firmly believed in by the country folk, and it would require a bold " bhoy " to walk after dark past a certain wood which is popularly supposed to be its stronghold. What I cannot disbelieve, however, is the Barrington episode, which is one of the least known but best authenticated of Irish ghost stories.

My father's first wife was "Lady" Anne Douglas Hamilton, the only child of James Duke of Hamilton and a lovely lady who lived with him as his wife. I have always under- 6

Anne Douglas Hamilton

stood that the lady was an actress when she first met and fascinated the Duke, and she must have been a beautiful creature judging from her picture. She was a most interesting and charming person, and when the Duke died she married Major Scott Waring, whom she long outlived, for her age was well over a hundred when she passed away. My mother, who used to visit her, saw her lying in her coffin, a tiny shrivelled up form, with not a trace of the loveliness which looks down at us to-day from her pictured presentment at Rossmore.

Lady Anne was born at Hamilton Palace, and was always recognised by the Duke's family as the Lady Anne Douglas Hamilton, and she went into society with her aunt, Lady Anne Hamilton. She inherited, from the Duke, a considerable fortune which consisted of part of the Island of Arran, and my father built the present shooting box there. The property was re-sold to the Hamiltons by him in order to buy more land in Ireland, and thus obtain political influence, but it was an ill day when he parted with Arran, for the acquired estates were a poor exchange.

My mother when very young knew her predecessor well, and has told me that when she first saw her she thought her a very imposing figure indeed. Lady Anne loved her father's family, who claimed her as a near relation, and were much attached to her. She did not like Ireland, and her dying request was that she might not be buried there. Her mother's story is a forgotten romance, but I believe it has always been held that there was a Scotch marriage between her and the Duke of Hamilton.

Family portraits remind me of the tale of how my ancestress Lady Hester Westenra once had a great ride with a highwayman. She must have been a fearless woman judging from her picture, one of those ladies who like their own way, and always get it too. Anyhow she was plucky, and a rare good sportswoman if all accounts of her are true.

Lady Hester was a daughter of the Earl of Cavan, and a regular Irish Di Vernon ; she 8

Mrs. Waring.

Lady Hester Westenra

had her own pack of foxhounds in Queen's County where the old Westenra estates were situated, and her hunting exploits were the talk of the countryside.

Now another equally well-known character in the neighbourhood was Freyney, the famous highwayman, as handsome a dare-devil as ever lived by breaking the eighth commandment. One fine morning Freyney found that his finances were at a pretty low ebb, and he had to face the hateful fact that want of cash is about the worst evil which can befall a man. Of course as Freyney's method of taxation had always been slightly drastic, the ratepayers had naturally begun to jib, and resorted to all kinds of subterfuges to circumvent him, and he was sick to death of holding up prosperous looking individuals only to discover that they apparently made long journeys with very little money in their pockets.

Well, on this fine morning both Lady Hester Westenra and Freyney were as two minds with a single thought, which was ahunting we will go, but they meant it differently. Lady Hester donned the scarlet habit she always affected ; Freyney tightened in three inches of his belt, and tried to forget that breakfast had ever existed, and both, mounted on the "best in the world," met face to face by the covert side where the hounds had just found and were giving tongue.

I can quite imagine Hester looking like a fresh young Diana, and Freyney the picture of a real stage highwayman. Up he rides to the lady who didn't know him from Adam, and says sweetly with all the good manners which were a sine qua non with gentlemen of the Road : —

" My Lady, I am very sorry to interrupt your sport, but I am destitute, and as I live by my wits and my horse's heels, I'll have to trouble you for your purse."

Hester turned on him, bright sparks in her eyes and black rage in her heart, for surely wouldn't any real sportswoman detest being talked to about her purse just when the hounds had found ?

lO

Hester and Freyney

Says she, " Purse — you fool — don't you hear the hounds have found ? "

Freyney was quite undisturbed and answered with the cold callousness of a desperate man, " I can't help it if the hounds have found, I must find for myself; I've got to live, and you must please hand over your purse."

Lady Hester looked at him. She saw that he was hungry, perhaps she noticed that Freyney was a little bit the worse for wear, maybe his personality appealed to her (it had always been a great asset to Freyney in his dealings with women). Anyhow she replied, " x'\ll right — but don't worry me with your nonsense just now ; come man — ride the run with me, and whoever has the best of it gets the purse," and off she went after the hounds which had just broken covert.

"Accepted, my lady," called Freyney, knowing that his mare was the real right thing, and feeling sure that the purse was as good as won.

It was a famous run over a stiff country, but Lady Hester and Freyney didn't care.

II

They rode a record run ; the plucky girl beat the highwayman hollow, and he came up to her while the hounds were breaking up the " hunted one."

Like the nice woman she was, Hester turned all smiles to Freyney. " Well," said she, producing a fine fat netted purse from somewhere in her scarlet habit, "here's the purse. I've had all the luck or you'd have beaten me easily," and she forthwith held out the money with the easiest grace in the world.

Freyney had bowed low when he first spoke to Hester Westenra, but now his head swept almost to his knee, and his hat right down to his stirrup. Then he looked at her, his handsome reckless face all aglow with excitement, and he said with real emotion, " No, no, your ladyship ! No, Lady Hester, 'twas finely ridden and fairly won. Gentlemen of the Road have their own ideas of honour, and mine is to thank you for the good sport, and to wish you good day."

With that he rode off, and I daresay Hester wished, as I do, that Freyney " found " on the

Lady Hester IVeslenra.

A Daring Robber

return journey, and was able to give his gallant little mare a good feed, and to eat a hearty breakfast himself.

Those were exciting days to live in, and although some people maintain that it encourages crime and fosters unhealthy appetites to glorify those dead and gone knights of the Road, I must say that I think we ought to take off our hats to Freyney — and also to Hester Westenra.

Talking of highwaymen, I remember the late Mr. Norton Lane of the Field, well known as "Twenty Thousand Shots," and who died at the age of ninety-three, once telling me of an adventure which befell his mother.

Mrs. Lane came to a meet, and her pony carriage was stationed at a point where it was supposed the fox would break. The field waited some distance away, and Mr. Lane suddenly observed a smart looking man on horseback talking to his mother, but he paid little or no attention to the incident. When he and his father returned home in the evening, they found Mrs. Lane in a state of tremendous agitation, and it transpired that the smart stranger was a highwayman who had demanded and taken her valuables in full view of everybody.

Rossmore rightly is, as my lady-enemy described it, " a blending of all beauties," and I can imagine no fairer prospect anywhere than that to be obtained from the entrance to the house where one gazes right over a luxuriance of verdure to the distant mountains, and it is a pity that all ups and downs are not like those around my home.

I have been accused of possessing Louis XIV's mania for planting and transplanting, but I contend that all my alterations — especially my new roads — are of real value, and, if this book is a success, it may interest those friends of mine, who laugh behind my back at what they consider an expensive fad, to know that I intend to make another new road.

Writing on this lively subject reminds me to mention that part of the old Dublin coach road is now within the park gates at Rossmore, 14

The Old Dublin Road

for I had the highway re-arranged some years ago, and diverted the traffic in another direction. The enclosed piece ot the road is covered with mossy turf, and if a phantom coach does ever cover the ground at midnight, I'm sure the ghosts don't get nearly so shaken up as they did when they were alive, and rattled over the ruts on the way to Dublin.

The gates were presented by the town of Monaghan to commemorate the birth of my eldest son, and they are handsome examples of their kind, but as this description seems somewhat in the style of a garrulous housekeeper showing a party round, I'll leave the gates alone, and get beyond them to Camla, which was formerly the Rossmore dower house, and which is one of the oldest mansions in the north of Ireland.

My great-uncle Colonel Westenra of the 8th Hussars bought the property and bequeathed it to my father. Camla is a rambling old place which was inhabited long ago by the Montgomeries. Externally it is not much to look at, but there is plenty of room inside, and I find it uncommonly useful as a sort of storehouse for the various antiques which I collect from time to time, always meaning to put them somewhere some day. Why, at Camla we've nearly enough pieces of old oak to build a navy for Ireland if she ever gets Home Rule in the way the extremists want it, and quite enough old iron for some extra special battleships. Anyhow, I know that Camla is comfortable and it faces an artificial lake which has a curious history.

The story goes that in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the Montgomerie of the day, who possessed great influence in those troublous times, exercised it on behalf of a man who was going to be hanged, and got the sentence quashed, much to the delight of the populace, with whom the criminal was immensely popular. The men of the townland whence he came arrived at Camla in a body, and asked Montgomerie whether they could do anything to show their gratitude. Montgomerie wasn't quite sure what he wanted at the moment, but one of the leaders with i6

Camla Vale

a practical mind suggested that they should dig out the small stream which then ran down in front of Camla Vale, and make some kind of a lake. So they set to work, and made quite a respectable-looking sheet of ornamental water. The earth which they dug out proves that they did their job thoroughly, for it is still in existence and takes the shape of a large hillock, which is planted with fine old beeches, and when spring comes she never fails to star the hill with a good scattering of primroses in memory of the grateful workers.

I have already explained why I am writing this book. I have introduced you to the family banshee, and to the family romance, so now I will introduce you to the family, and tell you some things we did " in the days of my youth."

Chapter II

My extravagant grandfather : A political duel : My father : Bagpipes at the dentist's dinner : " Tom Thumb " ; Pau : We become inmates of a lunatic asylum : My mother's second marriage : " Old Craw "and the Colonel: "Still a gentleman " : "A Happy New Year " : Treasure Island : School days ; Bad food at Rugby : Happy Hanover : The broken window ; I get one back on Beardy

Mv father was a charming man, but, unlike the generality of the Westenras, he didn't care for riding or racing. Perhaps he had good reason not to indulge in either, as his father had almost reduced himself to penury through racing, electioneering, hunting, and cockfighting. Luckily, my grandfather's second wife. Lady Charteris, was one of the managing sort, and never rested until, by dint of much screwing and saving, she had pulled the family finances together again. i8

My Grandfather

My grandfather was a great believer in Catholic emancipation, and had sometimes two sons in Parliament, one representing Monaghan, and the other Queen's County. My father's interest in politics once led him into fighting a duel with Colonel Madden on the borders of Monaghan and Armagh. His bullet cut a button off Madden's coat, and Madden's bullet ricochetted off the ground, and shot my father through the ankle. He was very handsome, and I remember my maternal grandmother sayingthat he was the finest man she had ever set eyes on.

Old Henderson, the owner of the Belfast News Letter, was once talking to me at Maze Races, and told me how he recollected my father and mother at a ball soon after their marriage, and what a splendid looking couple they were, indeed so great was the attention they attracted that the dancers stopped and actually made a lane for them as they walked up the room. My father's favourite amusements were yachting, shooting and fishing, and — oddly enough — playing the bagpipes, at which difficult art he excelled.

There is a story that one night he was dining with Brophy, the well-known Dublin dentist, who had engaged a blind Irish piper to amuse his guests. My father said he would give the company a taste of his own playing, so the piper, with a pitying smile, handed him over the bagpipes. But the old man's smile soon faded away, and was replaced with an expression of intense anger as the strains filled the room. At last he could no longer contain himself, and he went for Brophy hammer and tongs and demanded fiercely to know how he dared introduce a rival at the entertainment, since he was absolutely certain that no one but a real professional piper could ever play like that.

I was only seven years old when my father died, and left my mother with six little children, my brother Henry (" Rosie "), who had become Lord Rossmore, Kathleen, Norah, myself, and my two younger brothers, Dick and Peter.

We spent those early days at Rossmore, and led an outdoor life in that ideal place for children. "Rosie" was a born rider, and 20

Pau

possessed a tiny Shetland pony called Tom Thumb, on whose back he would go over places which would have stopped an older person. Tom Thumb was very clever, and I used to ride him into Monaghan when I went to work with the schoolmaster. My favourite amusement consisted in taking the pony into a field and making him jump narrow ditches, which he hated doing, and thought excessively beneath his powers, especially as there were no hounds about. But the little beggar never failed to get his own back, for when he couldn't throw me, he used to get close to a thorn hedge against which he would rub my legs unmercifully.

We children had the usual tutors and governesses at home, and soon after my father died we all went to Pau : we travelled by diligence from Bordeaux, and we were known as " La grande famille." Mother had some stupendous luggage and two enormous trunks, which were called " Les deux petites maisonettes " all along the line. My brothers and I were sent to the college at Pau, and we indulged in many fights with the natives, and Kathleen Candy bears a mark on her forehead to this day where a stone struck her in one of our encounters. We were terrors at stonethrowing, and once I wickedly took aim at a harmless house painter who was working on some railings opposite our stables. The stone knocked the brush clean out of his hand, and hurt one of his fingers very badly, so after that I left stones severely alone.

We used to be asked to many parties given by the English residents, and I wonder whether Peter remembers an afternoon party at Lady Caroline Madden's. He was an unappreciative child, for when Lady Caroline said sweetly that her daughter Sydney (now Lady Ailesbury) was reciting in the next room, he exclaimed, " Oh, thanks awfully," and fled from the house.

My mother used to hunt a good deal at Pau, and often returned with the brush, but we did not remain there long and moved on to Royan, near Bordeaux. About this time we all became temporary inmates of a lunatic asylum, thanks to my grandmother's unfortunate rendering of a

A Strange Health-Resort

phrase in F"rench. She had been told of a wonderful health resort called " Belle Vue," whither we all went, lock, stock, and barrel, only to discover that the Maison de Sante which she translated as " Health Resort " had only one real name, and that was " Bedlam." We didn't realise our surroundings at first, as the proprietor wished to keep us as paying guests. We put down the inmates' eccentricities to the fact that they were French, and, as the proprietor had never seen a collected Irish family before, he probably soothed his conscience and assumed there was some real reason for detaining us. But the truth came out when one of the patients bolted to Paris and took Peter with him in the best kidnapper style. After that mother hastily packed her enormous trunks and left the Health Resort without delay. We next went to Boulogne where we one and all took the mumps, and mother, shaken by the asylum episode, came to the conclusion that a man in the house was imperative as a safeguard against future contretemps. She therefore married Colonel StacpooIe, a very nice fellow, who died some years ago, and who was a kind friend to us children.