In Mrs O’Connell’s memoir of her father we have a glimpse of a few of his eccentricities. So anxious was he to be helpful when his interference could be of any use, that while acting as Mayor of Clonmel he did not mind clambering on the top of his cars to pack the luggage of passengers; and he would give himself any amount of trouble to get situations for young men in whom he had confidence. While generous in his charities, he was scrupulous to parsimony when there was a chance of making a good bargain. This trait of character, however, is not uncommon. We have heard related the anecdote of a wealthy London banker, who one day saw his coachman taking home a pie of tempting appearance for dinner. Inquiring the price of the pie, he learned that it cost half-a-crown. ‘If you please, James, I’ll take the bargain off your hands; there is half-a-crown for you, and you can easily get another pie for yourself.’ So saying, the banker secured the pie, which would last him for dinner for a week. Bianconi was equally acute in trying to turn the penny. ‘One day, in Fleet Street, just after he had engaged a four-wheeled cab, my father saw a stout gentleman walking very quickly towards him, and who was evidently in distress at not being able to find a conveyance. The spirit of Charles Bianconi, carman, woke up too strongly to be suddenly quelled. “I have a cab, sir,” he said. “If you will give me your fare, I will set you down where you like.” The stout gentleman was profuse with thanks, and said he wanted to go to the Exchange. When they were in the cab, he begged to be allowed to know to whom he was indebted. “My name is Bianconi,” said my father. “The great Bianconi?” replied the gentleman. “And what is your name, sir?” replied my father, without half the politeness of his companion. “My name, sir, is Rothschild.” My father, in telling me the story, admitted that he was so much overawed by the presence and the affability of so famous a man, that he had not presence of mind to return the compliment and say, “The great Rothschild?” This was by no means a singular instance of my father’s eccentricities in this way; often at home, in Ireland, when he was driving in his own carriage along the high-road, he would take in a traveller who would otherwise have gone by the car, provided that he paid the car fare.’