At the party to which I am referring, I remember the men with us were Corney Grain, Gerry Portal, Jim Lowther, Lord Hay of Kinfauns, and my young brother, as well as Lord William. Those who knew the men will guess what the evening was like. I was afraid we should disturb the neighbourhood with our laughter over an impromptu that Corney Grain gave us at the partially intoxicated piano of his experiences at the houses of some of his patrons where he had been engaged to amuse the guests. No names were mentioned, but so excellent was his mimicry that we at once recognised a number of people. Having been cheered and heavily patted on the back he proceeded to give us a musical sketch of a certain V.C. hero on board ship making love to a shy young lady. Lord Bill was much tickled and so were we. It was screamingly funny, and with our eyes shut we could have imagined it was Lord William speaking, or perhaps I should say cooing. This was followed by another sketch, this time Gerry Portal supposed to be bamboozling some foreign potentate into believing we, the British, were doing everything for his good, from pure unadulterated philanthropy, while really benefiting ourselves. This was considered too much, and brought the house down. They all set upon Mr. Grain, who, I had better explain for those who never saw him, was a huge man both in height and figure. He clung desperately on to the music-stool with his legs and the piano with his hands, until the piano, music-stool, and Mr. Grain began to move together first in one direction and then another. Lord William tried to get his arms round Mr. Grain’s rather voluminous waistcoat, and Mr. Gerry Portal tried to untwiddle his legs from the music-stool. Jim Lowther seized the tea-cosy from the sideboard and clapped it over the musician’s head. This led to one hand relinquishing its grip on the side of the piano to remove the head-dress, a weak moment on Mr. Grain’s part, for he got separated from the instrument and dragged half across the room when crack went the long-suffering music-stool, and he was on the floor. My brother held the door open while the rest tried to eject the man who dared to be ribald about Mr. Portal’s foreign policy, but each time when it was nearly accomplished out flew a huge and long leg slamming the door to again. At last, when all were hot and exhausted, Mr. Grain was laid unresisting on the front-door mat. We received many apologies next day from our guests for being so uproarious, and Lord Bill wished to provide a new piano and music-stool, but of course we would not hear of it. I never mean to part with that piano, even when it gives up the ghost, for it has witnessed many cheery parties, and has been with me long voyages north, south, east and west.