inclined to exercise authority myself--to such a degree, indeed, that my
father's servants generally spoke of me as "the young master," regardless
of the existence of my elder brothers.

Having already a retentive memory, I was set to learn sundry
"recitations," and every now and then was called upon to emerge from
behind the dining-room curtains and repeat "My Name is Norval" or "The
Spanish Armada," for the delectation of my father's friends whilst they
lingered over their wine. Disaster generally ensued, provoked either by
some genial chaff or well-meant criticism from such men as Sala and
Augustus Mayhew, and I was ultimately carried off--whilst venting
incoherent protests--to be soundly castigated and put to bed.

Among the real celebrities who occasionally called at Chalfont Lodge was
Thackeray, whom I can still picture sitting on one side of the fireplace,
whilst my father sat on the other, I being installed on the hearthrug
between them. Provided that I was left to myself, I could behave decently
enough, discreetly preserving silence, and, indeed, listening intently to
the conversation of my father's friends, and thereby picking up a very odd
mixture of knowledge. I was, I believe, a pale little chap with lank fair
hair and a wistful face, and no casual observer would have imagined that
my nature was largely compounded of such elements as enter into the
composition of Italian brigands, Scandinavian pirates, and wild Welshmen.
Thackeray, at all events, did not appear to think badly of the little boy
who sat so quietly at his feet. One day, indeed, when he came upon me and
my younger brother Arthur, with our devoted attendant Selina Horrocks,
in Kensington Gardens, he put into practice his own dictum that one could
never see a schoolboy without feeling an impulse to dip one's hand in
one's pocket. Accordingly he presented me with the first half-crown I ever
possessed, for though my father's gifts were frequent they were small. It