had more like him. He never spoke an unkind word;" an expression in itself a monument to the late Prince's memory.
Gordon's bank-note.
Then we looked into the chapel and admired the grand ceiling by Cipriani. Every Sunday Lord Wolseley and his staff sit in a great oak seat overshadowed by an oaken canopy in the gallery at the far end. At the conclusion of every service the band plays "God save the Queen." As we left the sacred edifice, and passed through the gardens, "Bully," a very ferocious dog, was met with. "Bully" is very ugly. "Bully" poses as a protector, not as a handsome creature. Lord Wolseley is very fond of dogs. He points me out a little mound of earth under a mulberry tree, on which crocuses are growing. The mulberry tree was planted there by James II., and underneath the earth and the crocuses lies "Cæsar"—a dog who was a great pet of Lady Wolseley.
A glorious avenue of trees leads down to the stables. On one side is a field freely provided with difficult hedge-rows, hurdles, and ugly water-jumps—the practice ground of Miss Wolseley. We stay for a moment to watch her "take" the water. Blackberry—a pretty mare—is a bit shy, but a good run and a little inducement does it, and Blackberry clears the water with a good foot of ground to spare. All the horses have their names over their stalls in the stables. Here is Chance, Sir Redvers, Brown Bess, Blue-bell, Blackberry, and Chem. A tiny cat practically lives on Chem's back—a sort of feline jockey. Go into the stables when you will, the cat is always mounted, and Chem seems delighted to afford her accommodation. One or two horses are laid up just now.
Lord Wolseley's great-great-grandfather.
On our return to the house, Blackberry and Miss Wolseley were waiting. Lord Wolseley took the bridle, for Blackberry was not inclined to favour the presence of a sentry, and a convenient camera chronicled the picture. Then Lord Wolseley mounts Paddy, and Lord Edward Cecil stands at the horse's head, while another photograph is taken. Then the bark of a dog is heard. Lady Wolseley is now at the porch, and her pet dog—a fine specimen of the Dachshund breed—christened after King Coffee, takes up his position as well, and a third picture is secured.
Then we entered the house.
