LORD BEACONSFIELD'S HUMOUR 33 are never more than two eggs in a pigeon's nest! Lord Byron's description of the Park shows us what it used to be: Those vegetable puncheons Called parks, where there is neither fruit nor flower He There is an amusing story told of Lord Beaconsfield in connection with the Embankment. was one of the guests at a large house-party. After dinner one evening the ladies in the drawing-room were playing the game of finding out the difference between two apparently synonymous words, and the two words selected were accident and disaster. None of the players could discover any difference. Lord Beaconsfield then sauntered into the room, and a lady said, "O, let us ask him." The question being then put before him, he said, "There's a great difference between the two words. For example, if I were to be walking along the Embankment with Mr Gladstone and he were to tumble into the river, that would be an accident; but if I were to pull him out again, that would be a disaster." This story has been told 34 FAMILIAR LONDON in various ways; but, I fancy, the above is the most nearly correct. Perhaps the most impressive and beautiful sight I have ever witnessed was the funeral procession of Queen Victoria. It was good to see the love and reverence shown to this great Queen, even by the poorest of her subjects. On the little children, on the old and feeble, as on all others, appeared some little badge of mourning: even where one saw that the bands of extreme poverty were most tightly drawn-even there was the little scrap of black ribbon or the band of crape. I shall never forget it. I was standing in that gigantic crowd at Stanhope Gate, and oh, the sadness of it all. So much has been said and written on this great and sorrowful event that I dare not fully enter into any eulogy of that great life. The Queen had made herself beloved of her people. She had borne such sorrows in her heart with such splendid patience she had been such an example to us all, so full of love and dignity,—that she had become our own. And then to feel that all these strong ties were broken-no: not really broken, for they will remain always, binding the hearts of her people to her memory! It was sad beyond measure to see it all. Near me there was standing a big man QUEEN VICTORIA 35 -probably a costermonger-with a stricken faceevidently a thorough man-but hard-looking, as one so often sees in that type. The crowd was quite wonderful-the silence and the solemn feeling of intense, respectful sorrow on all around were more than I can describe. Well, this man remained, very still and attentive, during the hours I waited there; and then at last came by us that splendid throng of mourning kings and princes, with their beloved dead. I cannot express what only the beating of one's heart can tell. This man remained grim and silent. As soon as As soon as the procession came in sight he dragged off his battered cap, and the hard face changed-and in it one saw the influence of the sorrow that had touched his heart, as it touched the hearts of all-for he had lost his Mother in his Queen. The procession passed along, under the cold grey sky, in silence almost oppressive. Even the tramp of the soldiers' and sailors' feet sounded muffled as they marched bygrey-cloaked figures, with just here and there a foreign uniform, making a vivid splash of colour against the sombre background; and then one heard the mournful strains of Chopin's funeral march. London had looked its last upon the Queen, but was left with its imperishable memories 36 FAMILIAR LONDON of her who had for more than two generations been the centre and the focus of the love and reverence of the Empire. The London gamin has always afforded me great amusement. All about Chelsea he is accustomed to the sketcher, and is critically interested in that artist's work. I confess to feeling quite encouraged when I hear him say to one of his pals, "That's foine," or "That's all roight-ain't it?" I remember waiting once quite breathlessly for "Bill's" answer to the question, "I say, is she hartist or hamertoor, Bill?" "Why, hartist, in course, silly!" said Bill. "You oughter see the things them hamertoors does!" Sometimes the verdict has been less favourable. A small boy once stood (I should think for quite an hour) watching me intently-as I thought, in silent admiration. Up comes a pal, with the familiar "That's all roight-ain't it?" "I don't know," said my critic: "it looks better than it did; but you wouldn't have thought much of it if you'd a seen it 'alf an hour ago." The boys who hang about in the parks appear to be of a class quite different from those who frequent the streets. They are much more mischievous. One time, when I was painting near |