The Chaplins had been squires in Lincolnshire since the year 1658, when on the marriage of John Chaplin with Elizabeth Hamby, only daughter and heiress of Sir John Hamby of Tathwell in that county, they removed thence from Wiltshire. John Chaplin's father, Sir Francis Chaplin of the Clothworkers' Company, was Lord Mayor of London, and lies buried in the Church of St. Catherine Cree in the City, close to the grave of Sir William de Bouverie. It is a curious coincidence that at about the same time as the Chaplins left Wiltshire, Sir William de Bouverie's son Edward bought Longford Castle [Map], almost adjoining their former property; and nearly 200 years later, a daughter of the Chaplins (Helen, Countess of Radnor (age 79) — Henry Chaplin's sister) married another Pleydell-Bouverie [William Pleydell-Bouverie 5th Earl Radnor], and thus linked two families which had been long before near neighbours.

John Chaplin settled on his wife's property at Tathwell, and became High Sheriff of the county. The Hambys traced their descent direct from Walter Hamby of Hamby in the county of Lincoln, who lived in the time of King Edward I. They had all been more or less notable figures in their own shire, and more than one had married an heiress from another part of England, thereby adding not only substance to their money bags, but also quarterings to their coats of arms. Elizabeth Hamby's mother was daughter and sole heiress of Richard Porter of Lamberhurst in Kent, and her paternal grandmother, the wife of Francis Hamby, had been Magdalen Leeds, an heiress from Sussex. So Tathwell, which now passed by marriage to the Chaplins, was a very goodly heritage.

John Chaplin's younger brother Robert represented Great Grimsby in Parliament, and was granted a baronetcy, but, dying without a son, the title passed by special remainder to John's grandson (age 19) and namesake, a son of Porter Chaplin. This young man died of the small-pox in 1730, after a few days' illness; as he left no male heir and only a posthumous daughter, the title became extinct and the property of Tathwell, which was entailed, went to his uncle Thomas (age 46), another son of John Chaplin. It is to Thomas Chaplin that his descendants owed the estate of Blankney, which he bought and made his home in 1719. From that date until the close of the nineteenth century, Blankney was the Chaplin home.

The demesne of Blankney had been the property of the Deincourts since the Conquest, until in the fifteenth century it passed through the marriage of an heiress [Alice Deincourt 6th Baroness Deincourt, Baroness Lovel and Sudeley] to the Lovels of Tichmarsh. All the estates of the house of Lovel were, however, confiscated to the Crown by Henry Vll., after the battle of Stoke-on-Trent, when Lord Lovel himself only escaped by swimming his horse across the river. Blankney was bought by the Thorolds, who did much to embellish the house with the fine carved panelling of the period. But in the reign of Charles I., through a marriage with the Thorold heiress [Mary Thorold], it passed into the hands of Sir William Widdrington, who was created Baron Widdrington of Blankney in 1643. Lord Widdrington's great grandson [William Widdrington 4th Baron Widdrington] had the indiscretion to take part in the rebellion of 1715; he was taken prisoner at Preston and convicted of high treason, and though his life was spared his estates were confiscated in the following year.

A tradition of hidden treasure at Blankney Hall survived for more than a century. When Lord Widdrington was attainted it was said that, foreseeing the confiscation of his land, he endeavoured to secure as much of the movable property as possible by concealing it in secret places, and a legend ran that he had deposited a large chest of plate in a vault beneath the great staircase. The family hopes, however, were dispelled when on one occasion, having workmen in the house, Mr. Charles Chaplin, uncle of the last squire, ordered the vault to be opened. The oak chest was there indeed, but it only contained a salt cellar of white metal and an iron ladle. Either Lord Widdrington had deliberately misled the Government treasure-seekers, or thieves had cheated posterity.

Three years later, in 1719, Blankney, twice the sport of political circumstance, was purchased from the Commissioners of Confiscated Property by Thomas Chaplin (age 35), who in the following year married Diana, sister of Thomas Archer (age 23), afterwards Baron Archer of Umberslade.

In the north chancel of the Church of St. Vedast [Map] at Tathwell the beautiful Hamby monument still remains. Beneath the shield bearing the Hamby arms and quarterings is a Latin inscription to the memory of William Hamby, Esq., who "peacefully fell asleep in the Lord on the 25th day of January, 1626". Below the inscription he kneels in a black robe at a desk with a book. Lower down on the monument are the figures of his brother Edward and his wife Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of Francis Read of Wrangle, "who begat a numerous progeny and were the grandparents of Sir John Hamby. On either side of these effigies, who also kneel at a desk, are three shields of the arms of the Hambys and Reads and their quarterings. A white marble slab of later erection is inscribed to the memory of John Chaplin, Esq., who died in 1714, and his wife Elizabeth, only daughter and heiress of Sir John Hamby.

Thomas Chaplin, as we have seen, inherited further the Tathwell estate on the death of his nephew Sir John in 1730, and became a person of "high consideration", both political and social, in Lincolnshire — the first of a long line of notable squires who followed him for 150 years in direct succession. He seems to have had some difficulty over the inheritance of Tathwell, for he writes rather testily, referring to Sir John's executors or the lawyers: "The gentlemen have pretty well fleeced the estate that they need not be squeezing for more, and if they had signed the Conveyance sooner, the money would have been ready, and it is not reasonable that anybody should pay for their neglect."

His daughter Diana married in 1749 Lord George Sutton Manners, a son of the Duke of Rutland, while his elder son and heir John formed an alliance with another great house by his marriage with Lady Elizabeth Cecil, daughter of Brownlow, Earl of Exeter. Lady Elizabeth, being for long an only child, was regarded, even until after her marriage, as Lord Exeter's sole heiress, but ultimately a son [Thomas Cecil] was born to him. Had it not been for the birth of this child, the further great inheritance of Burghley would have come to the Chaplins. As it was, Lady Elizabeth brought some very beautiful plate into the family — in compensation, it was said, for the loss of the property. This included a vast silver wine cooler, the size of a bath. The story of its acquisition is as follows: On one occasion when her husband was staying at Burleigh, Lord Exeter after dinner pointed out to his guests a silver wine cooler which he was perfectly prepared to give to any of the gentlemen present, if they could carry it out of the dining-room. Thereupon John Chaplin went down on his hands and knees and, after great difficulty, managed to get the wine cooler on his back and crawled out of the room with it.

While the adjoining church of St. Oswald's (from which the late Henry Chaplin took his title) was practically rebuilt in the nineteenth century, Blankney Hall was fortunate in escaping the destruction that befell so many castles and houses confiscated at different times owing to the political views of their owners. It has been modernised and altered at intervals according to the taste and the standard of comfort of the period, but to this day it retains all the spacious dignity of an old English country house.

Henry Chaplin (age 1) was born on December 22, 1841¹, at Ryhall Hall near Stamford, being the third son of the Rev. Henry Chaplin (age 52), the Lord of the Manor and Rector of the Parish, and of Caroline Horatia (age 26), a daughter of William Ellice of Invergarry, M.P. for Great Grimsby, and niece of Horatio Ross.

Note 1. There was some doubt as to the year of his birth. See p. 146.

His father, like all the Chaplins, was a great horseman and follower of hounds, and his children were taught to ride from infancy. He was a country gentleman of the old type as well as a clergyman, and his sons had every opportunity of acquiring that taste for sport and an open-air life which was to be one of their most marked characteristics. Ryhall is close to Burghley, and Lord Exeter, regarding the Chaplins as belonging to his own family, allowed the young people the run of the house and land which had so nearly been their own.

The Rev. Henry Chaplin in 1849 while his children were still young, and though their mother (age 35) took a house in London, in Montagu Square, the greater part of their happy childhood was spent with their uncle Charles Chaplin (age 63) at Blankney. The latter, who represented Lincolnshire in Parliament from 1818—1832, had married Caroline Fane (age 58), a grand-daughter of the 8th Earl of Westmorland. He had no children, and Harry (age 9), the subject of this memoir, after the death of his two brothers, was brought up as his uncle's heir.

Caroline Horatia Ellice: Around 1815 she was born to William Ellice of Invergarry. On 19 Aug 1834 Reverend Henry Chaplin and she were married. The difference in their ages was 25 years. On 19 Jun 1858 Caroline Horatia Ellice died.

Charles Chaplin was a survivor of a most ancient order of squires. A complete autocrat on his own land, and owning property in three counties, it was said of him that he could himself return no fewer than seven members to Parliament, since to vote the way the Squire ordered was the whole duty of the good tenant. He was regarded with universal respect and a good deal of awe, and was a perfect terror to the poacher. It is told of him that on one occasion when he was sitting on the Bench a young lawyer from London, who was present, ventured to criticise a pronouncement of the Squire's as not legal. "Young man," thundered Mr. Chaplin, as much astounded as he was affronted by the interruption, "you are evidently a stranger in these parts or you would know that my word is law."

Harry as a small boy was sent to Mrs. Walker's school at Brighton, and it was here, while his family were staying in the place, that he suffered his first real grief in the death of his elder and much-loved sister Harriet, who had been his special companion. He was inconsolable at her loss, and his little sister "Mattie (age 79)" (Helen, Countess of Radnor) relates that she earned the one and only snub of her life from "Brother Hal" by her well-meant efforts to heal the wound, with the pious platitudes derived from her nurse.

Mrs. Henry Chaplin — "Mrs. Henry" as she was always called at Blankney to distinguish her from her sister-in-law — was thirty years younger than her husband, and took the place of a daughter to the old Squire and his wife, since she lived so much with them after her husband's death. She was a woman of remarkable ability and of great strength and sweetness of character. She had a wonderful head for figures and was of immense assistance to the Squire, who was Chairman of the Great Northern Railway, which in 1849 only extended to Essendine, a few miles beyond Peterborough. Her daughter can remember her seated constantly before sheets of beautifully neat figures, being the balance sheets of the railway company which she prepared for the use of the Squire, but she was never too busy to attend to the interests, or to listen to the chatter, of the younger members of her family. On their journeys by road from Ryhall to Blankney they travelled in what was known as the "chariot ", and Mrs. Henry, finding the interior of the vehicle stuffy, was in the habit, when the weather was fine, of sitting outside in the rumble. When this was impossible and they had to sit inside, her little girl suffered a good deal from the swaying motion of the "chariot " and she can still remember the entertaining conversation with which her mother throughout the long hours distracted her attention from a physical uneasiness which she herself probably shared.

Blankney was an ideal home for children, and the four boys and their sister do not seem to have found their uncle at all alarming. They were allowed plenty of scope for their high spirits and love of outdoor exercise. They rode the ponies he provided for them — the boys teaching their small sister to ride as well as themselves — Harry, all his life an entirely fearless rider, leading the way over the jumps, but taking care that the little girl should run no unnecessary risk. Very many years later he rewarded his pupil by referring to her as one of the best judges of a horse that he knew; and there could scarcely be a higher compliment from one Chaplin to another.

In all matters pertaining to sport, and indeed in most others, the young Chaplins had a perfect counsellor and friend in their neighbour, Lord Henry Bentinck (age 45). He was at the time Master of the Burton Hunt, and Mr. Charles Chaplin was his principal supporter—subscribing £1200 a year. Lord Henry taught the children everything that they had to learn about horses and hounds, and they were proud indeed when he told them that the hounds which had been "walked" by them were among his best. He was a kind of fairy godfather to them all in his own strange way; Harry in especial owed him much, and in spite of the difference in age, there was a close and lasting friendship between them.

Though sport, and above all riding, was naturally the main preoccupation of the children during their holidays, Blankney provided other interests. Their uncle ruled, as we have said, in the autocratic fashion of the squires of his day over his many thousand acres and the picturesque village, but it was a benevolent despotism. The young people were known and welcomed by all the neighbouring tenants, and Harry, the future squire, had very early in life the opportunity of acquiring that intimate and affectionate knowledge of the land and the farmers which was to serve him so well in later life.

Among the old customs which still survived at Blankney was the Blankney Feast, and a record has been kept of one of these held in 1847. The "seven shillings to be run for by first event is donkeys " (best of three heats). We can picture the future M.F.H. and owner of Hermit, at six years old, astride a donkey, urging his mount with youthful zeal and precocious judgment to the winning post; or perhaps coerced by a stern nurse to content himself with backing the favourite—as much as he could see of it over a thoughtless barrier of the voluminous skirts of the period. Other items in the programme include "A cheese to be won by men jumping in sacks", and "A pig with a soaped tail, to be run in all classes by boys under fourteen years of age: to be caught by the tail and dropped over the shoulder. The final item in the programme is "five shillings for a jingling match to last twenty minutes "—for which entertainment the reader may consult the pages of Tom Brown's Schooldays. So serious and sportsman-like were the whole proceedings under the direction of the Squire, that a steward and a clerk of the course were appointed, and no dogs or cats allowed on the course by order of the steward or whom he may appoint ".

From his dame's school at Brighton, Harry Chaplin went with his brothers to Harrow, but for various reasons he left early and was sent to a private tutor, Mr. Furneaux, at Walton, Northamptonshire, to be coached for Oxford. There is not much record of these years, but it may be gathered from his mother's letters, all of which he carefully preserved, that he enjoyed life to the full and committed all the minor and proper indiscretions of a healthy, high-spirited schoolboy.

Throughout his life he had a profound zest for the simple material pleasures of existence. It was a part of that infectious power of enjoyment which kept him young, and which it was impossible for his companions of the moment not to share with him. But to a wise and affectionate mother, the attendant dangers upon what she felt to be a form of self-indulgence were naturally apparent. Her son's light-hearted expenditure in "tuck shops" called for a serious warning.

"I send you a sad batch of bills to look over," she writes in 1857, and I am sure you will feel sorry when you see how much they amount to, particularly when you remember that almost the whole of this large sum was spent in less than three months... It seems very dreadful to think of throwing away so much money upon eating and drinking when so many are starving! But I won't say any more about it now, my darling boy, as I hope and trust it will be a lesson to you for the future, and that you will ever remember how wrong it is to buy what you have not the money ready to pay for. You cannot think the mischief and miseries it leads to, or the good which must arise from exercising a little self denial.

"I have no doubt they cheat very much at these eating shops, and I do not at all like to pay their bills, but it must be done."

And then, having done her whole duty for the moment in reprimands, Mrs. Henry thankfully turns to congenial matters, gives him some account of the guests staying at Blankney, and begs to be told which day he is returning for his Easter holidays, as Uncle Charles wants to know on account of the mare "

Even as a schoolboy—when he could find time for it—Harry Chaplin was the excellent letter writer which he remained all his life. "I was very glad to get your nice long letter," writes his mother. "Never be afraid of not having enough to tell me. Everything you do interests me." She not only kept up a regular and intimate correspondence herself with her boys, but wisely endeavoured to help them at times with what they regarded as their duty letters to their "I think you ought to write to Uncle elder relations. Willy¹ and that he would be much pleased to hear from you. He is so kind that you will not have much difficulty in writing to him. Thank him for his kind letter and tell him you will try to follow his good advice, which I earnestly hope and pray you will, my own dear child. (This was presumably at the time of the boy's confirmation.) And then you can tell him all about Mr. Furneaux and how you like him and your companions and all about Walton."

Note 1. Mrs. Henry Chaplin's brother, William Ellice — one of Mr. Chaplin's guardians.

Mrs. Henry was at this time living wholly at Blankney, her sister-in-law being much of an invalid, and she was constantly engaged in entertaining the Squire's guests. In February 1857 she writes to her son on what was probably his first entrance into society away from home, when he was already, at the age of sixteen, an acknowledged social success.

You gave a charming account of all your gaieties. I think you write very nice letters if you could but improve in the handwriting. I am very glad you enjoyed yourself so much and got on so well. It was very kind of Lady Willoughby asking you to dinner—I liked your going there and to Lady Mordaunt's ball very much. I think the Leamington one was rather an extra, but I suppose it was only for once in a way, and now you must be very steady and studious to show us that you are not the worse for all the gaiety!

And again a month later,

I like your nice letters very much, but I am not sorry you were bored at the Leamington ball, as I am sure you would have been much better at Walton.

Harry, like all her children, was deeply attached to his mother, but at seventeen he was naturally ready to grasp with both hands the pleasures and adventures that life brings to a handsome and popular and, above all, happy-natured young man. With proud and loving anxiety Mrs. Henry strained her eyes to the horizon of that fair sea of fortune on which her eldest son was about to set sail. But she did not live even to see him embark.

Harry Chaplin matriculated at Christ Church, and went up to Oxford in January 1859. In the previous July he had suffered a severe blow in the death of his mother. Mrs. Henry Chaplin's death was a very real grief to all those who knew her and whose affection she had won by her remarkable character, by her intelligence no less than by her sweetness. To her children the loss was irreparable: to the three young boys at school, to the little girl of twelve, now to be left so much alone with her uncle at Blankney, and certainly not least to her eldest son, just emancipated from the discipline of boyhood and about to start on his university career. Mrs. Henry had shown more than ordinary maternal discernment where her son Harry was concerned. The loss of her intelligent and far-seeing counsel was to mean much to him and his fortunes.

The elder Mrs. Chaplin followed her in November, and the old Squire, doubly bereaved, felt the full burden of responsibility towards the young people left to his care. From his letters to his nephew, which have been preserved, glimpses may be had of the latter's life at Oxford during his first term. On February 5 the Squire writes, on hearing that the young man has suffered the common fate of freshmen of recognised means and position at the hands of the Oxford tradesmen: "You appear to have been sadly plundered on your first arrival at Oxford, but it is, I suppose, no use grumbling. I enclose you an order for £15, but you must recollect this makes up more than the first quarter's allowance. Therefore you must be very careful. I am sorry to hear you have so little to do. If you apply to the Dean I have no doubt he will order you to attend some more lectures." This ingenuous advice was apparently ignored, but the old Squire writes again a month later:

I began to think it was a long time since I heard from you when your letter arrived. I have been at Tathwell the last three days and had other letters to write before I went that I could not answer yours sooner. I was in hopes you would have told me the names of the set you generally live in at Christ Church, as I suppose by this time you are able to give some information as to those with whom you chiefly associate, as it is of the greatest importance not only to your present comfort, but also to your future prospects after leaving Oxford, to have formed a good acquaintance there, particularly as you left Harrow so young.

Caroline Fane: On 28 Dec 1791 she was born to Henry Fane of Fulbeck and Anne Buckley Batson. Before 1858 Charles Chaplin and she were married. On 22 Nov 1858 Caroline Fane died.

I was at Brickenden about a fortnight since, and I arranged with your Uncle Russell that when you had ascertained what quantity and sorts of wine it was desirable to order, you should write to him and request him to order it for you, and the bill to be sent to me. I will pay it and shall charge it as a part of your allowance. I should not recommend you to order a large quantity, as it is very probable if you do that some of it will be stolen. I hear Lord H. B. [Henry Bentinck] has had some good sport and found plenty of foxes, particularly on this side, but the country is now getting very raw and dry. I am going to London to-morrow to attend a Railway Board. Mattie is Very well.

There is something pathetic in the efforts of this old and childless gentleman to attend to the interests of each member of his adopted family, and to keep pace with the doings of a young man at the University, which, no doubt, he found strangely altered in the fifty years which had elapsed since his own under-graduate days. It is evident that, in common with all parents in all ages, he discovered Oxford to have become an amazingly extravagant place for the next generation.

In March he writes again:

I congratulate you upon being elected into the Christ Church Club. At the time I Was at Oxford, there were no clubs for undergraduates that I ever heard of. It does not appear that many Of your intimate friends are members of the Club. I Can hardly think your vacation will be as early as you suppose, but I shall be glad to see you whenever it occurs. I have ordered the mare to be ready for you. Teddy¹ writes that his vacation will not begin till the Wednesday before Easter; Harrow is to be on the 12th or 13th.

Note 1. Edward Chaplin, born 1842, second surviving son of the Rev. Henry Chaplin; Lieut.-Col. in the Coldstream Guards; represented the City of Lincoln in Parliament 1874—80; died 1883.

Meantime, as an undergraduate, Harry Chaplin was enjoying himself extremely. As long as King Edward VII. lived, he remained one of his intimate friends, and the Prince of Wales's set to which he belonged in his Oxford days was naturally composed of young men of birth and fortune whose interests at that age were concerned rather more with the pleasures of existence, and especially with sport, than with the academic side of university life. A photograph has been preserved of the Bullingdon Club in 1859, of which he was a prominent member. Among the others were Sir Frederick Johnstone, Bart., who, later, was member for Weymouth, and until his death in 1913 was one of Mr. Chaplin's closest friends; Sir William Hart Dyke, Sir George Grant, Tom Baring, and George Lane Fox.¹

Note 1. Eldest son of George Lane Fox, for many years Master of the Bramham Moor hounds.

These young men hunted and raced and entertained their friends and one another, and were entertained at Blenheim and Nuneham and other great houses in the neighbourhood. Some of them in preparation for their future careers talked politics at the Union, but for the majority attendance in the lecture room occupied an inconsiderable portion of their time.

To acquire a knowledge of the kind of life which suited him, and to make congenial friends, seems to have been Harry Chaplin's main preoccupation at this period. Life smiled upon a young man who smiled back as pleasantly as he did, and the death of the old Squire, in May 1859, left him, in his second term at Christ Church, master to a greater extent of his own actions.

To his grandson, Lord Castlereagh (age 23), he once gave an account of his college days. From this we learn that he had four hunters of his own at Oxford, an unheard of number in those days, and, in addition, he had the "command " (the word he used) of eighteen horses belonging to a cousin, a banker, which were stabled at Bicester, the cousin being unable to hunt before January. With a stud of this size he hunted six days a week, and it was very rare indeed for him to spend a whole day in Oxford.

But if life smiled upon the young man, the authorities were inclined to be less lenient. It had not infrequently occurred that Harry Chaplin had been summoned to the handsome and commanding presence of Dean Liddell and lectured for some such venial offence as the wearing of hunting kit under his surplice in Cathedral. One morning, however, the matter proved to be more serious. The familiar blue slip reached him at breakfast and he made haste to obey its summons. But on this occasion the Dean greeted him with all that impressive severity before which more than one generation of delinquents was destined to tremble.

"My dear Mr. Chaplin," he began austerely, "as far as I can gather you seem to regard Christ Church as a hunting box. You are hardly ever in college, and I must request you, unless you change your habits, to vacate your rooms and make way for some one who will benefit from his studies during his residence at the University." The reply was remarkable even to one so familiar with the vagaries of youth as Dean Liddell. "But, Mr. Dean, what do you expect me to do?" "Do," replied the Dean, "you must go in for an examination." "My dear Mr. Dean" — and the undergraduate's answer this time in spite of its suavity, was not unmixed with mild reproof — "if only you had told me before, I should have taken the necessary steps; but when is there one?" "In three weeks," was the curt reply.

The ingenuousness of Harry Chaplin's attitude may be partially explained by the fact that he was what was known in those days as a gentleman commoner, living out of college. In the 'sixties it was not the custom at Christ Church, as it is to-day, to allot every freshman immediately he comes up to a tutor, who will arrange his scheme of work with him for the first year, and instruct him as to what examinations he is expected to take. Harry Chaplin, entirely occupied with matters which seemed to him of greater moment, was genuinely ignorant and had taken no pains to inform himself of what was academically expected of him. But throughout his life it was his habit to do with all his might whatever his hand found to do, provided it were a sufficiently reasonable or pleasurable occupation. So, on this occasion, being impressed by the Dean's arguments, he lost no time in securing the services of a coach whom he described as "an old bottle-nosed man", but with whom, his abilities diverted into this fresh channel being no less effective than his energy, he worked so well that he passed Mods. with distinction.

It was not long before another blue slip reached him at his breakfast table. This time the Dean addressed him with an entirely cordial, if dignified, approbation. "Mr. Chaplin, I must congratulate you on your excellent performance. But now I must earnestly entreat you to go in for the Honours Schools. You have shown us your abilities, and you will become a credit, not only to this house, but to the University if, as I confidently expect, you are successful."

But the Dean was once more to meet with the unexpected from this apparently amenable under-graduate. The taking of a degree had been no part of Harry Chaplin's programme at the University. "When I left Oxford ", he used to say in later life, "I went for my education in big game shooting to and it is probable that his mind had been America fixed for some time upon this other and, as he then considered, more important branch of education. He felt that by his recent success he had done all that could reasonably be expected of him in his college career. "Mr. Dean," he replied politely, "if only you had told me before, I would have done so, but after my last interview with you, in which you intimated that I should have to vacate my rooms, I am very sorry to inform you that I have arranged to go for a trip to the Rocky Mountains."

In 1861 Mr. Ellice's active and helpful interest — at the age of eighty — in his great nephew's projected expedition was naturally of inestimable value. Harry Chaplin's chosen friend, Sir Frederick Johnstone (age 19), was to accompany him, but as this young man was under age and a ward in Chancery, it was not permissible for him to go to so great a distance without an elder and more responsible person. Mr. Ellice was fortunate in procuring for the purpose the services of his friend Dr. Rae, later Sir John Rae, the Arctic explorer and famous scientist, who in the course of his geographical survey of the northern coasts of America had discovered the remains of the Franklin expedition in 1854. Later Dr. Rae had been appointed surgeon to the Hudson Bay Company, and in 1858 Mr. Ellice had made a tour with him through the United States. To shoot buffalo on the plains and ultimately to reach the Rocky Mountains in pursuit of grizzly bear was the intention of Harry Chaplin and his companion, and with this inspiring programme before them they shook the dust of Oxford from their feet, made their preparations and left England in the spring of 1861.

But in New York they found interest of yet another kind awaiting them. Civil war between the Northern and Southern States was declared four or five days after they landed. The forced surrender of Fort Sumter in South Carolina, to the Confederates on April 11, had acted as a live coal to inflame the patriotic passion of the people in the Northern States. This insult to the American Flag could only be wiped out by war, and on the 15th April Lincoln issued his proclamation.

The two young men were naturally in no mind to desert immediately a scene which promised so much dramatic interest. The introductions which they had brought from Mr. Ellice, apparently enabled them to see something of the outbreak of hostilities at close quarters. Harry Chaplin has unfortunately left no written record of his experience, but it is clear that he succeeded in making friends with General Grant, and that the latter made him a present of a pony which he subsequently brought back to England. It appears that he also witnessed from a distance the loss of the great national armoury at Harper's Ferry, which was part of the Confederate design to capture Washington.

Mr. Ellice died in 1863 before he had time to realise that, thanks to the wisdom and forbearance of Lincoln, the worst of his prognostications were not to be fulfilled.

Meantime, even these most stirring events could not long detain the two young Englishmen from their real purpose. So, no doubt reluctantly, they turned their backs upon fighting which did not after all concern them, and in company with Dr. Rae, set their faces northward to Toronto. From Toronto they travelled in four days to St. Paul, and thence after nine days more they reached the Red River, the navigation of which was in itself something of an adventure.

Mr. Chaplin used to describe in later life how they arrived at Fort Garry, afterwards Winnipeg, in a canoe made out of the hollowed log of a large tree. They found only one stone house and six enormous wooden houses surrounded by a palisade. These were the headquarters of the Hudson Bay Company, where the Red River hunters disposed of the furs which they had collected from all parts of the regions to the north and west. The hunters and trappers remained at the settlement all the winter, and in the spring, when the snow had gone, they were ready for new expeditions. They killed buffalo, of which in those days there were vast quantities on the prairies in the winter, when the coats were long and silky, and they also did a large trade in dried meat from buffalo flesh cured in the sun and in pemmican.

Even at this age and with his mind and body fully occupied with new and engrossing experiences, Harry Chaplin seems to have shown himself the good correspondent which his mother had found him as a schoolboy. "Everybody is delighted with your letters," writes Mr. Edward Ellice from Glenquoich, where he was as usual entertaining a large house party, and from the spirit and health in which you set out on your western adventure, I augur well of the result of your travels. Dimidium facti, qui bene coepit, habet [He who began well is half done]. All things, even your muddy voyage down the Red River, seem to have prospered with you."

Harry Chaplin and his party remained a month or more at Fort Garry, while Dr. Rae collected a small army of men and horses in readiness for the journey to the mountains. These were placed under the leadership of a famous guide, James Mackey, a Scotch half-breed, a man whose character and individuality made a lasting impression upon the young Englishman. Dr. Rae's interest in the expedition was naturally scientific, but in the account which he gave of it in the following year before the Geographical Society, he remarked that "the two young gentlemen whom he accompanied were anxious to kill any and all kinds of game. They travelled over several hundred miles before they could kill an animal larger than a badger. They had the ablest hunters in the country, all picked men, the Red River half-breeds, and their object was entirely to kill game — yet that was the result of their hunting. They would have starved had they not carried plenty of provisions with them."

Dr. Rae reported that the party travelled very hard, having excellent horses—two to each man. After sixteen or eighteen days they came within 150 miles or eight days' journey of the Rockies. Beyond this, it was destined that they should go no farther. The very formidable obstruction in their path was nothing less than the appearance of the Black Foot Indians, a wild tribe living far from civilisation, and now, as it happened, on the war-path.

The Red River hunters and the buffalo runners entirely refused to go through their country. The situation was apparently complicated by the presence in their party of a negro who was acting as cook. The hunters declared that if they approached near enough for the Indians to catch sight of this man, they would insist at whatever cost upon having his scalp, and would pursue them relentlessly until they got him. Nothing would induce them to go a yard farther; even the threats and persuasions of James Mackey were unavailing. So there was nothing for it but to abandon their main aspirations—the Rocky Mountains and the grizzlies. The twelve horses were put back into the twelve carts which accompanied them and the whole party returned in the direction from which they had come.

From a scientific point of view the expedition seems to have been more satisfactory. Dr. Rae was able to establish the latitude of several points on the route and to rectify the position of other places. He also reported to the Geographical Society the discovery by his party of the existence of two salt lakes of considerable size situated among the elevations of the Cöteau du Prairie in the neighbourhood of Moose-jaw which had not previously been placed on the map. He named these the Lakes Chaplin and Johnstone in honour of his young companions. History does not relate how far the latter found consolation in their scientific privileges for the sport to which they had so ardently looked forward. To one at least of them, however, in later years, it was a constant source of entertainment that the lake named after him should originally in the Indian language have been called "The Witches' or Old Squaws' Lake" and that, in the first new map published after the receipt of Dr. Rae's information, it appeared as "Chaplin, or the Old Wives' Lake". Thus it may be found in the Times Atlas at the present day.

After his mother's death the paramount influence on Harry Chaplin's life was that of Lord Henry Bentinck. In spite of the disparity of age, Lord Henry had been a good friend to him and to all the family from boyhood. As the young squire grew up the friendship became closer, and Lord Henry was also his guide and mentor on all matters pertaining to sport.¹ He was still master of the Burton Hunt when Henry Chaplin came of age, and the latter continued his uncle's subscription of £1200 a year. When in 1864 he wished to be relieved of the mastership Mr. Chaplin bought the hounds from him for £3500.

Note 1. See pp. 198-208 and 260-69.

For some years during the hunting season Mr. Chaplin lived in Lincoln at the old house at Burghersh Chantry. Blankney was on the outskirts of the country, some of the meets being thirty miles distant, while Lincoln was much more central. In consequence he saw a great deal of Lord Henry, who lived what he called his " vagabond life " at an inn in Lincoln, the White Hart, where he had a bedroom and a sitting-room. He had also a first-rate cook and an admirable cellar of his own. Some of Mr. Chaplin's reminiscences of this remarkable man, which in part will be familiar to the readers of Lord Beaconsfield's Life, may be set down in his own words.

Lord Henry and myself were constantly together. I used to dine with him at his hotel and sometimes he used to dine with me and I saw a great deal of him. Everything I know of sport of all kinds he taught me, except racing, and a good deal of politics too. On one occasion when I was dining alone with him after a day's hunting, he told me that in days long gone by it was he and his brother, Lord George Bentinck, who had been the means of enabling Disraeli to become the proprietor of Hughenden, where he lived for the rest of his life.

The way in which Hughenden was acquired was described to me by Lord Henry as follows: Lord George, who was bitterly opposed to the policy of Sir Robert Peel and his particular proposals for the repeal of the Corn Laws, was at that time working hard in Parliament with the aid and assistance of Disraeli, and came down to Welbeck after a hard session, apparently out of spirits and rather downcast and worried, which was most unusual for one of his indomitable courage and ardent spirit. His brother naturally asked him, " What's the matter, George? You don't seem like yourself. Have you got any trouble that is depressing you? "Yes," he said, "I have a great trouble, and it is this. I have found the Party the most wonderful man the world has ever seen, and I cannot get these fools to take him as leader because he is not a country gentleman."

At this Lord Henry burst out laughing, which Lord George was inclined at first to resent. Then he asked him this question, "Is that your only trouble, George? If so, the remedy is perfectly simple. Make him one, George; make him one...." Lord George understood at once what he meant. "If you are ready to help me," he said, "you are right. The matter is perfectly simple."

Now none of the three Bentinck brothers was married, and none of them was likely to marry, and the Duke, their father, was probably the richest man in England at that time. So the three combined had the command of any amount of money that they wanted. Lord George gave instructions forthwith to one of the principal land agents in London, to find at the earliest moment that he could a country residence within easy reach of London, which would be suitable for a prominent politician, or even for a man who might soon be in the position of Prime Minister. This arrangement was quickly carried out by the agent, who secured the offer of the property at Hughenden, which happened at that time to be in the market. This information was conveyed by Lord George, I believe, to Disraeli, and upon such terms by way of mortgage and the interest to be paid thereon as would enable Disraeli with all propriety to take advantage of it.

All this was told me by Lord Henry Bentinck himself on one occasion when I was dining with him alone at Lincoln.¹ But what he did not tell me was this; and I did not learn it till Mr. Buckle published the Life of Lord Beaconsfield. What I learnt was that after Lord George's death, it was Lord Henry Bentinck who greatly helped Mr. Disraeli to the leadership of the Party, by the work and energy which he displayed in securing for him the support of many of the most prominent and powerful leaders of the Party. This is amply recognised by Disraeli in the pages of the third volume of Mr. Buckle's fascinating work.

Note 1. The story is to be found in the Life of Disraeli by Monypenny and Buckle, iii. pp. 147-152. Mr. Chaplin was misinformed on one point; there was no intervention on the part of a house-agent. The Disraeli family knew Hughenden well, as it was within easy reach of Bradenharn. Disraeli's father, in the last year of his life, busied himself to secure for him that permanent home in the country, on which both father and son had set their hearts" (loc. cit., page 148).

Lord Henry Bentinck's was in some respects a strange and hard character, though a strong one and capable of the utmost generosity. He was always said to be the favourite son of his father, the then Duke of Portland (age 68), and it was some time after the death of Lord George Bentinck that an unfortunate quarrel arose between Lord Henry on the one side, and his eldest brother, Lord Titchfield (age 32), on the other, and they ceased to be on speaking terms. What it was about I never knew, but it was a question in connection with some property which had been left to Lord Henry in Scotland, I believe, in regard to which he was convinced that Lord Titchfield had behaved badly. Later the Duke became seriously ill, and he died without ever seeing Lord Henry again.

Lord Henry at that time represented in the House of Commons one of the Nottinghamshire seats¹ which, as happened in those days, were more or less under the control of the Duke of Portland. Mr. Denison, afterwards Lord Ossington, who had married one of the Duke's daughters, Lady Charlotte Bentinck, and became Speaker of the House of Commons, represented another, and when the next election came, for reasons best known to himself, Mr. Denison thought himself justified in denouncing Lord Henry on the hustings. This created a tremendous sensation in Nottinghamshire. Lord Henry left the county, vowing he would never set foot in it again; and he never did.

Note 1. Lord Henry was Member for North Notts, 1846—57.

Meantime, Mr. Denison, who had made this attack upon Lord Henry, was elected Speaker when Parliament met. In his position as Leader of the Tory Party, it fell to Mr. Disraeli to follow the then Prime Minister in congratulating the Speaker-elect upon the position which he had achieved, and this he did in language which perhaps may have been somewhat exaggerated. Lord Henry told me that after all he and his brothers had done for Mr. Disraeli he did not like it, but after thinking it over he determined to say nothing about it. He afterwards received a long letter from Mr. Disraeli, explaining why he thought it necessary to say what he had done in his speech about the Speaker. Lord Henry's expression to me was that "his letter damned him, and I never will speak to him again".

Lord Henry Bentinck had died, I think, on the last day of 1870¹, and the Party Dinner was given quite early in the following year, 1871. As I was shown into the room, Mr. Disraeli said to me, "Both you and I have lost a great friend since we last parted." I replied, "Yes, Sir, I know that poor Lord Henry and you were great friends at one time, and he has often talked to me about you in those days." "Ah!" said Disraeli, "that is true, and I always wished it could have remained so." And then, after pausing a moment, he went on to say this, "I always said of Henry Bentinck that, taking him all round, I think he was probably the ablest man I ever knew, and with some eccentricities of character he combined the highest qualities of human nature in a greater degree than any I ever was acquainted with." This was a tribute, coming from a man such as Mr. Disraeli, which was indeed striking. It was as just in my opinion as it was striking, in view of the sacrifice which Lord Henry had made from regard for his brother's memory and aspirations, for a man with whom he was at that time not even on speaking terms.

Note 1. This is correct.

A curious instance of the more eccentric side of Lord Henry's character occurred on one occasion when King Edward as Prince of Wales came down to stay at Burghersh Chantry for a week's hunting. Lord Henry did not approve of the Prince of Wales coming to hunt. He had apparently a morbid horror of being supposed to toady anybody. He had, however, a reputation for being the finest whist player in Europe and the Prince was particularly anxious that he should come and dine at the Chantry and have a rubber with him. This, to my extreme annoyance, Lord Henry refused to do.

The Prince came up to me, soon after we got to the Meet, which I had arranged for him at Wellingore Gorse, and said, "I wish you would introduce Lord Henry Bentinck to me." I said, "Certainly, sir," and I brought him up and introduced him. The Prince began in his charming manner — "I understand, Lord Henry, you hunted the county for a great many years and with great success." "Yes, sir," said Lord Henry, "I was king of the county once, but they deposed me as happens to other crowned heads at times." That was the sort of man he was. He did not want to toady him. He told me what had happened, and said, "I don't think he will trouble me much more to-day." I was horrified.

Mr. Chaplin had also kept an interesting record of the famous quarrel and duel between Lord George Bentinck and Squire George Osbaldeston, the particulars of which he appears to have received from Mr. George Payne, who was on intimate terms with both parties to the dispute:

Mr. Osbaldeston and Mr. Horatio Ross¹, the famous deer-stalker, were probably the two most celebrated pistol shots in England of their day. At that time letters were usually sealed with small round wafers, which were made by stationers in twelve different colours. A not uncommon practice, I was told, in pistol shooting, was to stick these wafers on a target in a straight line, one above the other about two inches apart, and when the word of command was called out, in quick succession the marksmen had to fire at the colour named. Each of these men was frequently able to hit each of the wafers in succession without a single miss.

Note 1. See p. 255.

Lord George, on the other hand, I believe, was only a moderate shot at best, although in years to come, during the debates on the Corn Laws, he was frequently either called out by offended opponents, or called out others himself. Indeed, old General Peel¹, who was a contemporary—and, though a brother of Sir Robert, a member of the Tory Party, —used to tell me that there was seldom a big debate on the Corn Laws that he had not to spend a considerable time in either taking or receiving challenges on account of Lord George, who was very outspoken about his opponents.

Note 1. Jonathan Peel [General] was the fifth son of the first Sir Robert Peel, but a man possessing more geniality than his father and more manners than his eminent brother. At the secession of the Peelites he remained staunch to his Party and served as Secretary of State for War under Lord Derby in 1858 and 1866. He was devoted to racing. In 1824 he ran second in the Oak' to Cobweb with his mare Fille de Joie, whom he had bred; and he won the Derby of 1844 with Orlando, after the disqualification of Running Rein.

I remember one duel being fought in my own time between the late Sir Michard Bulkeley and Colonel Armitage, but they had to fight in France. There were three other instances also, where people were called out and would have had to fight had the causes of the quarrel not been settled.

It was only a few days before the date fixed for the ceremony that the blow fell with dramatic suddenness. Felicitations and presents had been received, the invitations to the wedding had been issued and every detail arranged. The young Squire, proud, happy, and unsuspecting, was busy, in the intervals of the social claims of the London season, in preparing Blankney to receive his bride [Florence Cecilia Paget Marchioness Hastings (age 21)]. On a certain Thursday in July Lady Florence paid a visit for the day to her future home and went round the stables and kennels with Mr. Chaplin to inspect the recent improvements. The following evening they were together at the Opera, and on Saturday morning she showed herself to her father in her wedding dress, which had just been sent home.

The popular legend has it that she afterwards went out driving with Mr. Chaplin and disappeared at the door of Marshall & Snelgrove's — to reappear ultimately as the wife of Lord Hastings. As a matter of fact, it did not happen in this manner, and the story probably arose from the fact that she had been constantly seen driving with Mr. Chaplin in the Park in his smart "cab" with the little tiger standing up behind and a single horse stepping "up to its nose" On this fateful morning, Lady Florence, on the plea of making some final purchases, drove alone—unattended by a servant, which was unusual in those days—in her father's brougham to the Vere Street entrance of Marshall & Snelgrove. She walked straight through the shop to the door in Oxford Street where she was met by Lord Hastings, and the two were presently seen by a common friend driving in a cab in the direction of Euston. There are many who may have cause to be grateful that a beneficent Providence intervened to prevent them from marrying their first love, but happily few suffer so cruel an awakening.

This latter hope was in course of time to be fulfilled with another and a very different Florence, but the rest of the letter can hardly have been consolatory. It must have added to Mr. Chaplin's mortification to know that the woman he was in love with had thrown in her lot with a man who was quite unfitted to make her happy. Lord Hastings might have been the model for a sensational hero of the fiction of that period.¹ At the time of his runaway marriage he was already in bad health and threatened with financial catastrophe, but nothing was allowed to interfere with his determination to win Lady Florence, and there was perhaps a further attraction in winning her from so popular a person as Henry Chaplin.

Note 1. See p. 298.

The latter's friends and relations, many of whom felt in their hearts grateful for what they regarded as his escape from a disastrous marriage, rallied round him in this tragic situation. Mr. Chaplin, sorely wounded in his affections and still more in his pride, set off almost immediately to Scotland to seek that peace and serenity of mind which never failed him in his mother's country.

We find Lord Henry Bentinck writing to him, as an old friend, with affectionate candour.

I was very sorry to miss catching you at Blankney. I have had two or three letters from Doneraille, touching the Hounds question. He had been on the point of writing to you direct, when that event occurred which will have annoyed you so much, but which all your true friends, and look upon as a blessed deliverance, and you have many... Doneraille thought that it was not the time to annoy you with any trivial matter....

Mr. Chaplin did not for the moment feel disposed for the company even of his best friend and mentor, and went straight up to the Reay Forest, which he had rented for the deer stalking.

A month later Lord Henry writes:

If you will only open your eyes to the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, then the wound will become callous at once. Otherwise, neither Scotland nor exercise, nor three score years either, will heal such a sore. "Experto Crede".

The healthy interest of sport, fresh air and exercise, wise counsel and the warm family affection which surrounded him, helped to restore his spirits, and his naturally sane outlook upon life was not long in reappearing. Ultimately he decided to go to India for a year, again with Sir Frederick Johnstone, to seek escape from the speculations of the curious, and to complete his recuperation of mind in new surroundings and the novel adventure of tiger shooting.

As time passed Mr. Chaplin's feeling of outrage naturally became less acute. The violence which his pride and his affections alike had suffered from Lady Florence's treachery had cured his infatuation for her. It was not in his nature to brood for long over an injury. Whatever he continued to feel about Lord Hastings, he had probably not been long in forgiving the lady, with whom casual encounters in the same social set were inevitable. On her part Lady Hastings had soon realised her mistake. She had found herself married to an irresponsible rake, who was ready to risk everything to gratify the desire of the moment, the risk being half the pleasure, and who, having won her by so bold a stroke, seems to have tired quickly of her company. It would not be surprising if her thoughts turned often and regretfully to that other whom she had so unscrupulously deserted. Pathetic little notes, written on the miniature writing paper with its blue or pink border and its disproportionately large monogram, which it was the fashion to use in the 'sixties—the envelope about two inches square, too small to trust to the post, and almost too small, one would have supposed, to be carried safely between the finger and thumb of a tall footman—began in course of time to find their way to Mr. Chaplin's rooms. You don't know how awfully happy you have made me by speaking to me to-day," she writes in the first of these. "It was so good and kind of you, and it is the first bit of sunshine I have had in my life for months. I only hope now we shall always remain the best of friends. I so often think of your words that if ever I wanted a friend I should find one in you God knows I want one at the present moment. Whatever I may have caused you to suffer once, I am paying bitterly for now, as my life is too utterly miserable, and I have nothing on earth to look forward to. I know I ought not to write in this way to you, but I cannot help it."

Mr. Chaplin could scarcely do otherwise than accede to this request and, in addition, he won a small sum of money for the lady at Newmarket. The response was a further outburst of mingled gratitude and distress.

How too awfully kind of you. You don't know how really grateful I am to you, not only for your goodness about Harry, but also for having won me the money. You can have no idea how useful it has been to me. Thank you a thousand times. I shall never forget it. I had a letter from our agent this morning, telling me that all the race-horses are to be sold at once, the Quorn Hounds to be given up at the end of the season, and we are to retrench in every possible way. God knows, there is no sacrifice I would not make if I could only get some sort of affection in return. How I dread going home and how I dread the winter! You can have no idea. I feel as if I should never have the strength to go through it. But I will do my duty. for I am awfully worried about his health. What a miserable life mine is! I am quite disheartened.... I am very glad you had such fun at the ball. I wish you had had ladies staying with you and had asked Lady Westmoreland and me. I was in hopes from your letter that you were coming to London, and that I should have caught a glimpse of you.

In June of the following year, some difference, the cause of which remains obscure, arose between Mr. Chaplin and Lord Hastings. Lady Hastings writes characteristically.

I was glad to be able to have that talk with you, and to hear the truth, for I have always had such a tremendously high opinion of you that I could not bear to think you had done anything to make me alter it. You know the position I am placed in, and that of course in the eyes of the world I am bound to stick to my husband. Therefore, I cannot go boldly about and say I believe you in preference to him, but I want to tell you that I do believe you implicitly, and I am quite satisfied with the explanation you gave me, as far as you yourself are concerned.

Lady Hastings was not, however, prepared to be wholly deprived of Mr. Chaplin's society. She spent the summer of 1868 with a woman friend at White Place near Maidenhead, whence she continued to write him letters full of the wretchedness of her life, and remorse, by this time needless, for the suffering she had caused him.

At first, when I was certainly happy, I don't think I viewed my conduct in the same light I do now (and to tell you the truth I did not think you really cared about me): but now when I am utterly miserable I see my behaviour to you, as I never seemed to see it before, and God knows how deep and bitter are my feelings of remorse. If I only could have seen the future then as I see it now, how differently I should have acted; how different both our lives would have been.

And so on in the exaggerated terms of a woman who is still trying to grasp after a happiness she has deliberately thrown away.

She writes again:

Is there any chance of your coming down to Temple again soon? If so, please let me know and I will go over there too. I should have gone over there last Sunday, but when I heard who the ladies were, I thought your time would be so fully occupied that you would not have a moment to talk to me, so I kept away.... No one is going there next Sunday I know, but I should think the Sunday after a party might be arranged. God bless you.

Apparently Mr. Chaplin paid one or two visits to the neighbourhood and permitted himself a mild flirtation with a lady who was still young and pretty and who made so ardent an appeal to his compassion. We find her lamenting that on a certain evening he has a dinner engagement.

If you had come down, you would have dined with us, for I don't think any one would be a bit the wiser if you did, would they? Can't you manage to throw them over? Please do if you possibly can. I would not ask you, only I shan't see you again for such ages, and I should like to have one more evening like last Sunday at Temple.

Her release was, however, at hand. Lord Hastings' misfortunes had culminated in the defeat of his mare Lady Elizabeth in the Derby of 1868, and he died in the autumn of that year—a career of brilliant promise finishing in tragic disaster at the age of twenty-six. Mr. Chaplin had been careful to set a limit to his friendship with Lady Hastings, and he had no intention of falling a second time into her toils. In 1870 she married another racing friend, Sir George Chetwynd, and settled down to a comparatively happy domesticity.

In 1885, when Mr. Chaplin had been a widower for four years, we find her writing to him again with regard to her financial difficulties.

April 13.

My Dear Mr. Chaplin—I was so pleased, and I might add surprised, to get your nice long letter, for I really began to think you had quite, quite forgotten me. I don't believe you ever intend coming here again. At the risk of your wishing me up several chimneys, I am going to bother you again about trying to win me some money before the end of the summer. I shall be so, so grateful if you will, for I really am in a regular fix. When you couldn't win me any last year, I was obliged to borrow, and now I shall have to pay it back and have not the smallest idea how to do it. I have asked George over and over again to win me some, but he never does, and I dare not tell him why I want it, for naturally he would be frantic. But you have always been such a kind dear to me that I don't mind saying anything to you.

She goes on to give a pleasing picture of her home life.

I shall very likely take Guy to London on his way back to school at the end of the month. If I do, I will let you know and you must come and see me. The little house in Curzon Street is rather nice, but I honestly do not care about London and infinitely prefer my chicks and my chickens and my home pursuits. I daresay you would consider mine the dullest of dull lives, but I like it.

Her outlook on life changed with the years, but it is evident that Mr. Chaplin remained always in her mind as a friend who could be relied upon in the hour of need. Three years later, in 1888, we find her writing to him as a Cabinet Minister to solicit his interest on behalf of a favourite parson for a Crown living, but whether this request also was complied with is not recorded.

On his twenty-first birthday in December 1862, Harry Chaplin came into his heritage. In his old age he was fond of saying that on his uncle's death he had inherited properties in three different counties—which was in fact the case. In addition to the large estates of Blankney, Tathwell, and Metheringham, Temple Brewer and Little Caythorpe, and the smaller ones of Hallington, Hougham, Maltby, Raithby, and Scopwick, all in Lincolnshire, and covering about 25,000 acres, two small properties also came to him in Nottinghamshire and in Yorkshire, both of which were, however, sold shortly after his majority.

His grandfather, another Charles Chaplin of Blankney, had married Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of Robert Taylor of Newark on Trent and Pocklington, and it was through this lady that the land in Nottinghamshire had been brought into the family. The property in Yorkshire, part of the Manor of Snape, is of some historical interest. Snape originally belonged to the Nevills, and on the death of John, last Lord of Latimer of the Nevills in 1577, himself a son of John Nevill, Lord Latimer, and of Catherine Parr, afterwards King Henry VIII.'s queen, it passed as her portion to his second daughter, Dorothy, who had married Thomas Cecil, first Earl of Exeter. When John Chaplin, nearly 200 years later, married Elizabeth Cecil, daughter of the 8th Earl of Exeter, the Snape property no doubt formed part of her dowry, perhaps as compensation on the birth of her brother for the loss of the Burleigh estate.

It was a great inheritance, though since his many acres were mainly devoted to the growing of wheat, it was not, even in those days, so substantial as it appeared. The young Squire's spirits, energy, and intelligence promised well for the handling of his property. But from his earliest days his ideas of living were on a generous scale, and demanded for their sustenance an increasing and not a diminishing fortune.

Both at Blankney and at the old house in Lincoln, he entertained in princely fashion, gathering about him his brothers, the young Ellices, his college friends, and those of his own London set. The large stables provided ample accommodation for their horses, to which he extended the same lavish hospitality. There are still old men who can remember the proud procession of the Squire of Blankney and his guests to the Lincoln races, the former driving his own four-in-hand, and the enthusiastic reception which awaited him on the course, only equalled by that accorded to Royalty. The late King Edward as Prince of Wales, was more than once his guest at the Burghersh Chantry for hunting, and on one occasion for the Grand National Hunters' race, for which the course lay just below the Lincoln Heath. The pace was certainly fast, and racing, hunting, shooting, travel, society, and a full participation in all the pleasures which appealed to the young men of his circle, might well have occupied the whole of the young Squire's time. But Harry Chaplin, though he enjoyed life with that thoroughness which is only permitted to a splendid vitality, was, in spite of certain extravagances, fundamentally level headed. Early training, the virile influence of Lord Henry Bentinck and the honest love of sport, combined with a natural goodness of heart, and a dignity which underlay his genial good fellowship, preserved him from the more foolish excesses of some of his companions. Above all, he had from boyhood a strong inherited interest in his acres and the men who farmed them.

As a landlord he was immensely popular. Quite early in his political career he was to be known as the "Farmers' Friend", but his popularity with his tenants was due probably at least as much to a sympathetic personality as to the unceasing efforts which he made in his public life on their behalf. In his personal dealings with them he was inclined to be recklessly generous, but he could be sufficiently high-handed with any tenant who gave him trouble, and still more with any outsider who ventured to interfere with the privileges of his tenants. An acrimonious correspondence has been preserved with a neighbouring parson who coveted the garden of one of his flock, and it shows the Squire as a tenacious defender of his rights as a landlord. To insist upon his own way, to be immoderately indignant with anybody who tried to thwart him, and then not only entirely to forget his indignation when his object was achieved, but to be genuinely surprised if the offender bore malice, was one of Harry Chaplin's chief characteristics through-out his life. To be greatly loved where one with a stricter sense of his obligations might have been merely appreciated was at once the strength and the weakness of his position.

This artless testimony is of value as showing that, in the midst of his many distractions and at an age which is often thoughtless, he had the inborn kindliness, the natural goodness of heart, which throughout his life prompted him without effort to think of other people's pleasures as well as of his own. To the Rectory kitchen and to the cottage women he was a hero, with a pleasing added element of sentimental romance. That his hand was always in his pocket, and not always judiciously, only endeared him the more to those who were ready to benefit.

For fourteen years after his accession to the estates Mr. Chaplin led a busy life of sport, society, and public service. It was not until 1876 that, at the age of thirty-five, he found the supreme though short-lived happiness of his life in his marriage with Lady Florence Leveson Gower, the elder daughter of the third Duke of Sutherland.

His mother's death had left him at a susceptible age without the restraining feminine influence which means so much to a man of his disposition, and which would certainly have modified some of the extravagances of his youth. And now at thirty-five it seemed that his marriage with this radiant being who had aroused his sincere love as well as his passionate admiration, and whose character promised to be strong enough to steady what in him was erratic and impulsive, would give him that needed sense of responsibility, and the home life which since his boyhood he had missed. Young as she was, she had naturally been much in society, but her nature was fresh and unspoiled, and her high spirits made an especial appeal to Mr. Chaplin's own happy and buoyant disposition. That she shared his love of horses and of sport of all kinds, was probably not the least part of her charm. In his future wife, moreover, he was to find a companion of real intelligence, capable of taking a discerning interest in those public matters which absorbed so much of his own time and attention. Lady Florence, indeed, fulfilled his ideal of womanhood.

Moving in the same social circle, and being mutually attracted, they had probably seen much of one another both in Scotland and in London, and by the time Mr. Chaplin's first letter to her which has been preserved was written—during the season of 1876— friendship on his part had evidently ripened into a warmer sentiment. The letter suggests a more sentimental epoch than ours, when a woman's interest in public affairs, however much it was appreciated, was to be treated rather with playful tenderness than to be taken seriously.

Dear Lady Florence (age 21) — Here is the pamphlet upon vivisection, that subject of such engrossing interest. I'm afraid you will find it very dry reading, unless you are really qualifying for the Leadership of the Women's Suffrage Party and their rights. I have only looked through it hurriedly, but there is nothing to shock you, and it will introduce you to a Parliamentary Bill, than which I cannot conceive anything in this world less amusing. Your entertainment to-night by comparison will be liveliness itself, but I hope it will turn out better than you anticipate. We were lucky, I think, to ride when we did. I wonder when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again! I hope it may be before long, and till then—

Believe me, yours very truly,

Henry Chaplin (age 35).

The Prince of Wales (age 34) was admitted to the secret a very few days after his departure from Goodwood, and on August 2 [1876] we find him writing to Mr. Chaplin (age 35):

Let me offer you my most sincere congratulations on your engagement to one of the most charming young ladies whom I know and whom I have had the advantage of knowing ever since her childhood. I certainly did think you rather reticent at Goodwood when I hinted at the subject, as I had the Duke of Sutherland's permission to do so, but I now quite understand the reason, and you were, of course, undoubtedly right to follow the wishes of the young lady. Hoping that we may meet at Dunrobin in September, from Yours most sincerely,

ALBERT EDWARD (age 34).

To both these requests the lady seems to have demurred, for in his next letter he says: [Henry Chaplin 1st Viscount Chaplin (age 35) to Florence Sutherland Leveson-Gower (age 21)]

You dear One, I hope it isn't unlucky to cut your hair. I wouldn't have asked you if I had known it, but I cannot believe it, and Dot shakes his head when I ask him. You may send it to me with safety when you next write. Yes! and I still want you to weigh, and why should you hate it? If it wasn't that I know you are as light as a feather, I should really begin to think you were very heavy, but if the worst comes to the worst it will be only between you and me, and I'll promise faithfully never to divulge anything over 13 stone. There, darling, isn't that good, and you'll promise not to be angry with me for laughing a little?... All the people about Blankney and at Lincoln have got hold of our engagement, and they are all so delighted and send you all sorts of kind messages already, and whatever you say there is everything to love and to like in you even for outsiders, and if you don't win all their hearts very soon when they know you, I shan't ever give an opinion again.

On his way through London, he writes:

A few people left in London. I saw Granville, the Duchess of Manchester (age 44), Lord Odo Russell (age 47), and Frank Westmoreland, all exceedingly kind and profuse in their congratulations. What do you think of dear Dizzy?¹ They say that the speech he wound up with in reply to William Harcourt on the Bulgarian atrocities was in his very best form, and that he was greatly affected on leaving the House of Commons afterwards for the last time. Well, it has certainly been the scene of the great events of his life, his constant struggles and final triumphs; and I am not surprised. Nor do I believe he could have stood the work of it much longer. You ought to feel some little gratitude, for in spite of everything he has carried your Bill,2 and it was read a third time last night, though with some amendments which perhaps you won't approve, but I am all for a judicious compromise at the right time if they do not go too far.

Note 1. On August 11, 1876, Disraeli made his last speech in the House of Commons in answer to an attack on the Government for their inaction over Bulgarian atrocities. It was unknown to all but one or two present that it was his final appearance as a member of the House. The news that the Queen had created him an Earl was announced next morning. Sir W. Harcourt's exquisite letter of congratulation will be found in Buckle's Disraeli, v. p. 498.

Note 2. Vivisection Bill for the due regulation of vivisection of animals for purposes of scientific experiment, passed August 1876.

August 14 [1876].

I've had a great deal of talk about you to-day for I found an Uncle and Aunt of mine at my brother's, William and Lady Jane Ellice. He was one of my guardians, and she brought up my sister (age 30).¹ They are the best and kindest of people. I have more than affection for both of them, and I painted your picture in colours to them, which made them think, as I do, that I am one of the luckiest men in the world. Some day you'll make their acquaintance, I hope, and I am sure you will like them both.

Note 1. Helen Matilda Chaplin (age 30) married, 1866, William Pleydell Bouverie (age 35), Viscount Folkestone, afterwards 5th Earl of Radnor.

Mr. Chaplin started for Homburg the following day, and his daily letters to Lady Florence give a lively description of his existence in what he felt, under the circumstances, to be a dreary exile.

HOMBURG, August 16. [Henry Chaplin 1st Viscount Chaplin (age 35) to Florence Sutherland Leveson-Gower (age 21)]

I sent you a line from Brussels, but, ugh! the journey from there, never shall I forget it. I've been in India and have travelled from Delhi to Calcutta without stopping, but I think yesterday beat it. It was 90° in the shade yesterday. What it was in the train I don't know, but I should think 190. Dot and Vic panted and puffed with their mouths wide open the whole of the way, though I got them water and ice at every station. And as for me—well, I simply melted and groaned whenever I could. And the dust, the black dust which it was. I declare it got regularly into the skin, and I arrived like one of the niggers who sing comic songs—the Christy Minstrels at Epsom. I've been washing ever since, and I can't get clean.... I was late at the waters, you'd hardly believe it! and every one was gone home. They have a fashion, these people who come to Homburg, of getting up in the middle of the night to drink their waters, some of them beginning between 6 and 7 A.M. I like mine to be aired by the morning sun and to take them between nine and 10.

19th [Aug 1876].—To-morrow we go a party of eight to the races at Frankfurt. They are exceedingly chalk (I explained to you one day out riding what we mean by chalk) but they do to pass the day, and then we dine at Frankfurt, which is only 9 miles from here and rather a pleasant drive home in the cool of the evening. Our host at Frankfurt is Herr Drexell, an hotel keeper and wine merchant, with the best Hock in the world, of which I laid in a stock the year Hermit won the Derby, and which to this day they are all very fond of at Blankney. Talking of dinner, I began by making what " Mr. Jorrocks " would have called a " forepaw ' for I had hardly sat down at the table when I upset a bottle of claret all over the Duke of Cambridge, who was beautifully got up in a white waistcoat, smart light trousers, and altogether very effective. He was seated in a corner, too, with no chance of escaping, and I must say he took it exceedingly well. We retire, I can assure you, quite as early as you do—a quarter to 10 is the average time—and quite as sleepy. The waters have a most soporific effect, especially if you take a long walk as I do besides. The result of all this, I hope, will be that I shall ride a stone and -a half lighter at least in the winter, and be able to keep my temper besides under all the difficult trials which you threaten me with.

21st. [Aug 1876]—Our expedition to Frankfurt was on the whole a success, excepting that José Little and I lost every bet that we made. I may as well confess my shortcomings at once, as that mischievous Duchess [Teresa Colonna], who never leaves me in peace for a moment, threatens to write to you about me every hour of my life, but you may be comforted, for it was with difficulty I could get on more than a fiver a time, and my losses amounted to Z15 in all. We were a party of eight, and went in a conveyance chartered by the Duke, with four horses driven by a Homburg coachman, assisted by the " Ducal Courier "—that is to say, one held the whip, the other the reins, which you know, my dear Florrie, we should not consider to be at all orthodox anywhere else, I suppose, except here. How we got there and back safely I don't know till this moment, but such a turnout altogether I'm sure you never saw in your life. How can I describe it? A large waggonette, fit to hold six, but crammed with eight people, luckily most of them small ones, like me! an awning composed of stuff which looked like dirty green and white curtains: a hump-backed courier and an unwashed-looking coachman, with a cockade in his hat, and whiskers so long that you could have tied them behind his neck, completed the most aristocratic turn-out that was to be seen on Frankfurt race-course. Then the races themselves were 3/4 of them what I should call nothing but "—a ramp, I must explain, means something very ramps much like a robbery. I find they are quite as much if not more up to that kind of thing here as they are even in England, and consequently José and I, not being in the swim, lost our money upon each occasion.

The Duke and Duchess [of Colonna] go off to-morrow, greatly to my regret. I like her extremely. I'm sure she is exceedingly fond of you, and very agreeable and clever, and a great acquisition at such a dull place as this. She wants us very much to go to Rome in the winter, but I told her at once both for you and for me that I thought that was quite out of the question, unless there should be a very long frost indeed, for I don't suppose you'd care to go off to Italy in the middle of hunting or a good vein of sport a bit more than I should.

I'm now just like a schoolboy, counting every day to the holidays. They are all going next week, H.R.H. even on Wednesday, and as he and Fred Marshall are about my only society I cannot be left alone in my glory. You must have a nice letter to meet me in London, and to console me after the fatigue of the journey, and more especially as I am trying to harden my heart and come by a new way from Cologne by a place called Flushing, and where there are seven hours by sea. It would be nice training for the yacht, only I don't think even all my devotion will tempt me on board that vessel, nice as she may be! The weather here has broken up—the heat much less and the fat people breathe once again. But number me no more among them! Homburg and absence from Florrie are giving daily, both to me and Dot, perfectly sylph-like figures.

At last, on the day he left, he received Lady Florence's long-delayed weight.

Only 10 stone, well! I thought it would have been 11 at the least, so with a 13 stone horse you will have just the right thing in hand—about a stone and a half. What a thing it is to be young and graceful! You with your height, or what my friend at Frankfurt would call your "nice length", you ought to be a great deal more.

On his return from Homburg he went north at once and spent some happy weeks with Lady Florence at Dunrobin, and she was persuaded to her lover's views about the date of their wedding, which was fixed to take place at Trentham on November 15.

When Mr. Chaplin left Dunrobin in October, he made an expedition to Coignafearn to consider the possibilities of a site for the lodge in the deer forest which he was proposing to make. He writes on October 14 [1876]:

I have just come in after a soaking wet day, in which however, I have managed to see sufficiently to form an impression of what one side of the ground to the north of the Glen is like. The house at present is too rough for anything, but is situated in a glen with hills rising on either side of it and part of which is very wild and pretty. The ground from the Lodge, all along from the Glen to the Tops as far as one can see is charming, nice green hills with rocks and woods in places near the bottom. But when you get to the Tops, there are miles of flattish soft ground, acres and acres of heather and peat bogs over which at the best of times I hate walking, and I doubt very much whether it would ever be made a really nice place for you. The Findhorn River, which runs all along the Glen, and indeed rises in the hills of the ground, is now full of salmon, but they are rarely to be caught, although you may kill any number of trout. Undoubtedly, 4 or 5 miles of the glen in which the Lodge is situated is exceedingly wild and romantic, which would suit you exactly, but I have made up my mind so far as this, that I shall not be in a hurry about it.

On his way south he stopped at Beverley in Yorkshire to visit "the Count" (otherwise Mr. Hall) of whom he had written to Lady Florence from Homburg. SCARBORO, BEVERLEY,

October 15th. [1876]

I wrote to you from Boat of Garten and again from York. I am enchanted to hear you are coming south so soon I stop here again to-night after hunting, entirely out of regard for my poor old friend. The poor old man is very much broken, and I am inclined to think that it is the last visit I shall ever pay him. I went through all the horses last night under the care of my friend, Miss Pop. I saw one, two, three, four animals which might do. The third and the one I have set my heart on, is a grey horse nearly white, with a head a good deal like an Arab, full of quality and looks just the sort, but Miss Hall says he is so hot she cannot ride him. Still, I mean to try him, and if he answers his looks and is not too violent I think I shall have him. I fancy that you would ride almost anything on the quiet days in Lincolnshire where we have no fields at all. He is a nice size, a very clever shaped one, and a real game-looking horse. Old Hall says the same thing, that he pulls too much for any woman. Still, I have bought so many like that and found them all come quiet, that I am not in despair I enclose you a letter from Cis about Weyhill, and I've telegraphed to him that 13 stone is quite big enough.

October 16th. From 10.15 till 5.30 yesterday I was riding different horses, and five of them for you. Of your lot the grey is certainly all that he looks, and I have no doubt at all is a brilliant animal, but I am afraid he would tire you to death. I know he made me very hot for the half-hour I rode him, but I must say I am considerably bitten, a fine goer in all his paces, as bold as a lion, and feels as if he would jump over anything. I have not decided to buy him, but I have told Hall I'll write to him when I have seen others. I was riding him not with hounds, but after we came in from I wish you had been out with us yesterday. hunting.... We had quite a gallop, very nearly enough for me to blow my first horse, who carried me capitally, and you would have enjoyed it immensely, more especially as I should have piloted you in front of the whole of the Holderness Field for the first half of the gallop, and then you could have gone on by yourself.

A few days later he writes from Blankney: I wish I were with you, you dear one, to cheer you and put you in spirits, and it must seem empty and dull when you are the only ones left, but it is only now for a very short time, and I shall count the days till the 27th October. It is not quite certain, though, till I get to Newmarket, whether I can come to meet you. It is the last time I hope that I shall have any important Jockey Club business to deal with, but as the whole question has been mainly left in my hands from the beginning, now 12 months ago, and I am chiefly responsible for it, I must see it through I enclose a letter from Cis. I expect the horse any moment and I am dying to see him. They say he is quite Al. My only fear now is that old Stanley's chaff will come true and that I shall be left on the right side, or rather the wrong side of the fence now and then. Ted has gone off to-day to join Lady Gwen at the Castlereaghs—that affair I consider as good as settled. All the hunters are looking well, and Bonnie Doon looks fit enough already to win the Liverpool. I have got all the other servants that I wanted, and everything now, I hope, will shortly be shipshape at Blankney and ready to receive its new mistress. I shall still have to bother you about your own rooms when we meet in London, but you won't mind that.

Wednesday.—l have never known more people at Newmarket than there are this week, but I do not enjoy the racing a bit. I have only two animals left, and I feel altogether out of the Hunt, which perhaps is quite the best thing that could happen and just as it should be, but two or three that I bred have won here, and although they no longer are mine, I am always pleased when young Hermits do well. Everybody is most kind in congratulating me upon my good fortune, and I shall have lots of presents. Fred Calthorpe is going to give me a watch. H.R.H. has got something which I am to be given at Marlborough House on Sunday next at 1.45 before lunch, and I will shew it to you at Stafford House immediately afterwards.

He returned to Blankney for a few days in November before his wedding to make sure that all was in order, and for a final trial of the new horses.

He writes:

My new agent tells me that there have been several presents for us exhibited for the last few days in the shop windows at Lincoln from the tenants here and at Tathwell, from the tradesmen in Lincoln and from all the cottagers of the estate. Poor things, it is very nice of the latter out of their little earnings to think of it, and we must give them a good jollification in return. You don't know how excited and pleased people all are here about you. Coming home from hunting last night I called on the widow, Mrs. King, the wife of the old clergyman who kept race-horses. We had found a capital show of foxes in her coverts, so I went to tell her and to be civil. She was delighted, particularly when I said you would hope to make her acquaintance. Her mare Apology you saw run at Ascot this year and win the Gold Cup. She shewed me the Cup with great pride, and announced her retirement from the Turf for the future, so I told her in that respect we were in the same boat. But she is a capital hunting friend, and so was the old man, and it will please the poor thing more than anything in the world if you are kind to her.

Finding the hounds were only 6 miles off this morning, I could not resist going out and riding the grey, Campaigner, that is his name, to covert. I larked him there the whole way over the Heath. He will do. I formed the highest opinion of him as a hunter, and he is a real bold horse, but at the same time, as far as I could judge to-day, as pleasant as possible, and one that you, I feel sure, could ride with a pack thread; a very fine jumper, as quick and clever as possible. I should feel happy about you while you were on him, and his honour, I am sure, may be trusted implicitly.

His last letter to his bride a few days before their wedding has a pathetic interest in view of the few years of marriage which were before them.

[Henry Chaplin 1st Viscount Chaplin (age 35) to Florence Sutherland Leveson-Gower (age 21)]

October 11 [Note. A mistake for November 1876].— Ted (age 34) has gone to Lincoln to make a speech to his constituents to-night. His marriage is settled, and announced to Lady Gwendoline (age 18), and I've had a letter from Shrewsbury acquainting me with that fact. It may be some consolation and perhaps relief to you to know that they have a "Royal Party " at Ingestre and can't come to Trentham next week, but he sends every sort of kind message to you.... I am nervous, not about the ceremony! Now didn't you hope I was going to be? but about your rooms being done by the time they ought to be, but the paper you chose is up and they will look very nice, I feel sure. Darling little woman, do not fret or fidget about the awful ceremony. I often tell you that it has no effect of that sort upon me, and I will tell you why. Because I am as firmly convinced as I can be of anything that the step we are about to take with God's blessing will be, and ought to be, except through our own faults, for our mutual and enduring happiness both here and hereafter. Think of it in this light, and then the momentary passing agitation of a ceremony will not trouble you, and remember, child, that it is to you and your good influence that I look to help us in the cares, may be in the trials and temptations and, please God, the happiness which awaits us in the future.

From his letters to his wife which have survived, it is clear that in his married life Mr. Chaplin found the complete sum of happiness. Lady Florence's letters, too sacred for other eyes, were destroyed by her husband after her death, but his own are full of his intense joy and pride in her charm and judgment, and delight in her companionship, touched sometimes by a playful tenderness towards her youth. Much of their happiness naturally sprang from the many tastes and pleasures which they shared in common. Lady Florence's love of horses and hunting was scarcely less than his own, but it was left to her husband to initiate her into the science of deer stalking, and together they discussed the forest which he proposed to make out of a tract of the Duke's vast property in Sutherland. Each had an intense hereditary love of Scotland, and to their autumn holiday in the north they looked forward with the same happy eagerness.

They both enjoyed society, which made many claims upon them in London, and also in the country houses of those more spacious days; while at Blankney they received their more intimate friends and for a time entertained in a scarcely less princely fashion than in Mr. Chaplin's bachelor days. Occupied as she was with society, her home, and, later, her children,

to whose welfare she gave devoted attention, Lady Florence yet found time for her duties to her poorer neighbours both in Mayfair and at Blankney, where she became greatly beloved. But there was one taste of her husband's which she could not share. She never professed to take an interest in horse-racing, and it was partly out of deference to her wishes that his racing stable at the time of his marriage was greatly reduced. Reluctant to interfere with his pleasures, Lady Florence must have sometimes felt that larger sums of money were apt to change hands on a race-course than was altogether desirable. An apologetic note may often be observed in the Squire's letters from the various race meetings which he attended alone, and which to the end of his life provided him with an interest he could never forgo.

There was certainly a growing need for some curtailment of Mr. Chaplin's lavish expenditure. His large rent roll, derived, as much of it was, from many thousand acres of wheat-growing land, was deceptive. With increasing foreign competition and a series of bad harvests, it was steadily diminishing, a fact of which no one was more acutely aware than the Squire, as a politician, and which nobody, from a personal and practical point of view, was less disposed to face. Had his wife lived, it is probable that her influence would have prevailed to save at least some portion of his inheritance from the dangers which already threatened it. Certainly, if only for her sake, a more serious effort would have been made to retrench. As it was, she was at least spared the pain of seeing their home pass from her children.

The years of his married life were also years of political anxiety for Mr. Chaplin. The champion, as he already felt himself to be, of the agricultural interests of England, his hands were full in urging in Parliament the claims of the English land upon a preoccupied Government. For they were years also of great unrest in Europe, and as a devoted adherent of Lord Beaconsfield it was incumbent upon Mr. Chaplin to be constantly present in the House to support his leader through the fierce storm of criticism with which he was assailed for his foreign policy by Mr. Gladstone and the Opposition. The Russo-Turkish War in 1877 was a subject of bitter controversy both in and out of Parliament, and this was followed in 1879 by England's campaign in Zululand, as well as a war with the Ameer of Afghanistan.

Owing to his superb vitality of mind and body Mr. Chaplin was usually able to do most of the things that he wanted to do, and he was no less active in his duties as Master of the Blankney Hunt than he was assiduous in his Parliamentary attendance during the session. The winter following his marriage (which took place at Trentham on November 15), when not detained in London by the claims of society or politics, was spent by the young couple mostly at Blankney, testing the merits of the new hunters. The stable, however, was not complete. There were still carriage horses to be chosen for London work as well as for the country. The Squire writes in February from the House of Commons, whither he had gone to attend a debate on the Eastern question, and regrets that he has missed the opportunity "to give the Arch Demon (Mr. Gladstone) another turn" Incidentally, he has attended a sale at Tattersalls.

"The ponies are yours and Steward will match either one or both in colour whenever he can. I drove them again on different sides, and they are A1. There is nothing like them that I have seen in London myself. We got the mare, a very fine goer, but not up to the ponies, who are superb. The chestnuts are both very raw, and will want a great deal of pulling into shape, but they are a rare pair and can go a real good pace as well as step." In his later years, watching the incessant stream of motors¹ hurrying through the Park, the Squire must have sighed sometimes for the more leisurely days of high-stepping chestnuts and superb ponies chosen with such care for a beloved woman.

Note 1. Mr. Chaplin detested motors, but, ironically enough, it was under his aegis at the Local Government Board that the Act was passed which permitted motor vehicles to proceed without a red flag in front of them.

April 4.—I have been lucky to-day. Providence, I think, means to reward me for my virtue in giving up the Turf, or it would be more accurate to say my horses. My big horse won in a canter¹, another in the stable of Cav's (age 43) [Lord Hartington] did the same, and I backed the winner of the big race as well from my own immaculate judgement. I think I must have had for me a very good day and won nearly £3000.

Note 1. Mr. Chaplin's winning horse was Strike, appropriately named, as he was by the Miner. He started second ravourite at 9 to 2. Lord Hartington's success was gained in the Wakefield Lawn Stakes by Ethelred.

Mr. Chaplin went by himself to Goodwood this year at the close of a rather strenuous session. While there the news came of an obstructive agitation in the House on July 20 by the Irish members under the leadership of Parnell for the release of the Fenian convicts. Lady Florence had gone on to Blankney accompanied by her great friend, Lady Edith Ashley (daughter of the Earl of Shaftesbury, the philanthropist), who was responsible for her original interest in the Vivisection Bill.

GOODWOOD, CHICHESTER, Aug. 1.—1 am so glad you got through the journey all right and are none the worse. I quite wish I were there [at Blankney] to see the flowers and my Poppet ! I didn't come down to dinner last night. What with the heat, and not being quite well I thought it better to take things easy and give myself a good rest. There is really nothing serious the matter. I have been so good that I have stayed here quietly to-day, instead of going to the races, on purpose to be fit when I come down to you, and I have just sent for some sandwiches and sherry for lunch, which may reassure you. I am in some hopes of selling my three Hermit fillies after all ; the same man who bid me £3000 for them is after them again. I have asked him £4000 which "my duty to my wife and family would not allow me to refuse, and if he has a good week I think he will take them. That will reduce my stud again to the dimensions that I don't mind, 3 animals in training.

We got the news early by telegraph, that the House of Commons was still sitting at 8 o/c. this morning. The Government, it appears, and the leader of the Opposition determined to tire out these Irish Ultra Blackguards, supported though they were by Mr. Courtney and Professor Fawcett, and we are still waiting to hear the result. Arrangements, it seems, were made for relays of members, policemen, and officials, and I only hope and trust they have stuck to it, so as to wear them out. It will end in the chief Blackguard "Parnell", going into a mad-house, I feel convinced, and the sooner the better. I gave the Duchess your note. She was very kind and nice about you, and hoped you would come here next year. I am dying to hear all about the horses and things at Blankney ; how they are: if Sunbeam's appearance pleases you and what Lady Edith Ashley thinks of it all. I should like to call her Edith, and I think I should if I were there. Cav's mare got beat for the race for which she has been favourite for so long a time, and of course we have all lost our money in consequence.

Their eldest child, Eric, the present Viscount Chaplin, was born in London in September, and in October the Squire once or twice attended the Newmarket meetings. He writes from Newmarket on October 22:

It has been such a lovely day here that I quite wished you were with me and out in your carriage on the heath. A few days here would put you on your feet I am sure. Some day you shall come just to see what it is like and if you like it. I have asked 4 or 6 men who regularly go to Lincoln to make use of Blankney if they go, and Frank Westmoreland (age 51) to do Host and take care of them if I am not there, and very soon after that if it keeps fine like it has been to-day, I hope we shall be able to get there ourselves. . I can't sell my fillies. Everybody says they are beautiful, but nobody seems to have any money. I hope you have been well all day and the little one too. How funny it seems to be writing and asking about our child!

Oct. 23.—I am longing to hear of you to-morrow and to know how you are getting on. If you look in the paper to-morrow you will see Cav's mare, Belphcebe, one that I bred, in a field of nearly 40 horses got 2nd. It is the greatest race, in some respects, of the year, and after looking like winning easy, poor little mare, she was just beat at the finish by a French horse, who has recently come over from France expressly to run for this race.¹ I had to back her, of course, and consequently am a loser to-day of some hundreds, but nothing serious. I am very fond of the little mare, and have given her a large and fat carrot since to make up for the disappointment.

Note 1. This passage refers to the Cambridgeshire. The race was won by Prince D'Arenberg's Jongleur, a three-year-old carrying 8 st. 4 lbs. Lord Hartington's Belphcebe was second with 7 st. 10 lbs. Belphæbe by Toxophilite earlier in the season won the One Thousand. She was the only classic winner the Duke of Devonshire ever owned. Her dam was own sister to Stray Shot, who, mated with Hermit, bred the Derby winner of 1882.—Shotover. See post, p. 329.

I shall be glad to get back again to my child to-morrow. You'll laugh at me very likely and say, " Why do you go, then ? but it is true nevertheless that Newmarket some- times grates on me now in a way it never did formerly, not because I've lost, for that is a trifle after all, but it makes me think more and more how very different now my life might have been at this moment if it had not been for you, bless you. We'll have a little dinner to-morrow, and you are to order it. To-morrow I have probably got to run the mare of my own who disappointed me so much at Goodwood.¹ She has grown into a splendid animal, and whatever else she does will make a great addition to Hermit's Harem. H.R.H. is here and asked much after you.

Note 1. A chestnut two-year-old filly, by Knowsley—Bab at the Bowster. For the Richmond Stakes at Goodwood she had been much fancied, but was beaten by the famous Jannette. She was now beaten again in the Criterion Nursery.

In the winter of 1877 Lady Florence was hunting once more with her husband's hounds, and whenever the Squire could escape from the claims of his Parlia- mentary work, they were constantly together in the field. In February he writes from London to his wife, who was on a visit in Dorsetshire, regarding hunting fixtures.

There, darling, read the enclosed and admit that this neglectful stupid old frump sometimes does manage to arrange what his pretty, wilful, naughty, silly young child of a wife wants ! I have replied that if Lady Castlereagh (the late Lady Londonderry) will let you hear by Tuesday at Stafford House you will write, and that probably either next week or the following would suit us. That will lead, I dare say, to the chance of more of Leicestershire if you like it. I am rather inclined myself to think that next Saturday at Wellingore, the following Wednesday over the water, and then to Heythorpe would be best, but we can talk that over. Lonsdale, I am sure, would make his Cottesmore Meet to suit us at any time. I am dying to hear all about you and how you enjoyed yourself and looked and everything. I hope and I think I shall make a good speech¹ and you, I believe, will appreciate my sentiments.

Note 1. Mr. Chaplin made an urgent protest in the House against the possible occupation of Constantinople by Russia.