The Arts Club numbered some very distinguished men among its numbers. When I belonged, Val Prinsep, Marcus Stone, Phené Spiers, Louis Fagan, Pellegrini, Archibald Forbes, Tenniel, Dr. Buzzard, Marks, and Tadema were frequenters of the Club, as also was Charles Keene, who combined an air of the sixteenth century very successfully with his idea of modern dress. Keene used to smoke a clay pipe which was both becoming and in keeping. These clays, of which he had a continual supply, were among a number found in the Thames, where they had probably been buried at some time, unless, perhaps, a pipe factory had existed in old days on the banks of the river. Another prominent member, John Tenniel, (so Linley Sambourne told me) had never seen either Dizzy or Gladstone in the flesh till years after his earlier cartoons of them appeared in _Punch_. It may be also new to my reader that Sambourne gave the nucleus of the idea for his famous cartoon "Dropping the Pilot" at one of the weekly dinners of the staff, the original drawing of which, I believe, is in the possession of Lord Rosebery. When I left Connaught Street and went to live on the other side of the Park, I became a member of the Orleans Club, and enjoyed the then unique advantage of belonging to one where ladies were permitted to dine. Here I made many pleasant acquaintances and spent a good time. [Illustration: THE BEEFSTEAK CLUB. _The Clubroom occupied from 1876 to 1895._] Shortly after I joined the club a branch was opened at the Orleans House, Twickenham; but, although it was a delightful place to go to in the long summer days, and many a good cricket match was played there, the attendance each season grew smaller until the club was forced to close. I believe to-day the little Orleans in King Street, St. James', continues to enjoy a considerable reputation for good food and fellowship. The late veteran Sir George Wombwell, a constant attendant, who was known to be one of the smartest figures in London, and was always immaculately dressed, unfortunately spilt one evening some coffee down his shirt front, thereby spoiling his appearance for the supper he was giving that same evening. Being much concerned, and as I was in the club at the time, he consulted me as to what was best to be done. It was too late to go home to change, he remarked. I thought a little. What about billiard chalk? No, it wouldn't be sufficiently permanent. Then, as luck would have it, I remembered there was a tube of Chinese white in the pocket of my overcoat, so with this I completely eradicated the stains. Sir George was so pleased with my success as a shirt restorer that he invited me to his supper. At this period I paid occasional visits to Theobald's Park. On one of these, while Sir Henry Meux was away in Scotland, Lady Meux was entertaining a few guests previous to leaving England. An idea struck her before the party broke up, and she suggested a little farewell dinner and a theatre afterwards in town.