This horse Dictator was a great pleasure to us, though he pulled rather badly. He was very fast and extraordinarily sure-footed, keeping his feet in the worst frost, even when driven on the slippery London paving in hard night frosts. He would trot away to London in much less time than Parnell could get there by any other means. Parnell did not drive well, leaving the reins slack upon the horse's back, so that he had no control over it in any emergency. My nervousness in this was so great that he very good-naturedly left all the driving to me, saying: "Well, that's how the jarveys drive in Ireland!" in answer to my plaintive "I've never seen anyone drive like that." President was a very solid horse, in mind as well as in body, and once when Parnell had ridden him up to New Cross in a frost President sat down violently and was so impressed with the safety of his position that he refused to get up again until Parnell--who was of immense muscular strength--with the help of a couple of stalwart policemen, literally lifted him to his feet. Parnell then went into an adjacent saddler's shop to buy a "rubber" to give President a rub down and, finding a rather original make of pocket-book on the counter, with beautifully-sewn leather covers, became so immersed in the selection of one for me that at length an irate policeman {233} looked in to order him to remove his horse at once, as it was causing "an obstruction!" Parnell, recalled to the problem of how to get President and himself to Westminster Bridge, where his servant was waiting to take the horse, proceeded to rub him down while considering the matter, thereby delighting the crowd of onlookers. The policeman besought him to "get on the 'orse, sir, and ride hoff," before the whole street got "'eld hup," but Parnell gently declined, as he knew that President had now no chance of keeping his feet on the ice-coated pavement. After fully considering the matter he found the chief thing was to get himself out of the crowd as quickly as possible, and, slipping a little comfort into the constable's hand, he ordered him to put the horse up at the nearest stables and drove off, ignoring all queries and protests. He sent me a telegram from the House to assure me of his safe arrival, but forgot all about his waiting servant, who, after some hours, not daring to return home, telegraphed to me to know what he was to do, as his master had not arrived. The whole thing amused Parnell intensely, but unfortunately he had given the policeman the name of Prescott, and, in absence of mind, sent his groom the next day to find and bring back the horse of "Mr. Stewart." It was a most expensive trial of President's utility. The pocket-book I still use daily, and prize very highly; it is as perfect, though much worn, as when he bought it, some twenty-six years ago.