The only people who have the right to drive in a carriage down Rotten Row are His Majesty King Edward, who, unlike his mother, has never exercised that privilege, and the Duke of St. Albans, as Hereditary Grand Falconer. An enormously wealthy and well-known financier used to ride every day in Hyde Park. He was never much of a horseman, and as he grew older the little nerve he had possessed gradually went. Nevertheless, he was determined not to give up the habit of years, and if, after all, his ride did not give him much pleasure, it employed a vast number of people, and so lessened the ranks of the unemployed. First of all, a groom had to exercise his horse for a couple of hours, that is to say, take all the pluck out of it, so that a handsome but jaded steed was left for a little gentle exercise. Before, and beside him, two other grooms were in attendance, the idea being that while one was at his service, the other had a second horse in case he required it. More than that, an empty carriage, with a pair of horses and a couple of men-servants, wandered round the Park as long as he was riding, and as close within earshot as possible. They were to take the good gentleman home if he was tired. One would imagine that this was sufficient for one solitary man’s ride for an hour, but not at all. Two or three men in plain clothes, really grooms from this gentleman’s stables, were stationed at intervals down the Row, so that if anything went wrong they might rush to his service at once. I have often wondered if that good man’s morning ride did not cost him more pain than pleasure. Beside the riders who are there for amusement, mounted police are the only people who gallop up and down Rotten Row, but there was an exception to this rule a few years back. In 1890, a year memorable for the number of processions to the Park, and demonstrations held therein, discontent was aroused in the minds of some of the younger policemen at the extra work entailed. These Sunday processions became a weekly occurrence, and of course extra police were required to look after them. Naturally, when this went on for some time the men in blue felt aggrieved. They wanted their Sundays like everyone else. The “agitators,” not being particularly anxious to have their services, at once suggested that they should go out on strike. One hot July day these members of the force struck or committed some such acts of insubordination, and confusion reigned at Bow Street. The unswerving loyalty of the main body of the Metropolitan Police, however, saved the situation, but for a couple of days troopers from Knightsbridge barracks were to be seen patrolling Rotten Row, in place of our usual dignified guardians of the peace.