When one of the officers came to say good-bye to us, he gave a most amusing account of the bidding and some of the bidders. Speaking of one of his ponies that I knew very well and used to ride sometimes in paper-chases, he said: “You know the poor old pony cannot gallop faster than I can kick my hat.” This was embroidering a little. It was a handy little beast and had played in many a game of polo, helping out the stable on occasions though by no means one of the owner’s best; nevertheless it realized a price that trebled what had originally been paid for him, and after a couple of years’ work. [Illustration: 9TH LANCERS’ POLO GROUPS AT WOOLWICH _Left to right. Standing_: Capt. Clayton, Mr. Palairet, Capt. de la Garde Grissell, Capt. Fife _On ground_: Lord William Beresford, Mr. Moore] During the early days of polo there used to be sad accidents, and sad rows too sometimes; the amenities were not so refined as they are to-day, though even at polo I have observed occasionally a soft answer may turn away wrath. From Woolwich, Lord William went with his regiment to York, and to this day the period the 9th Lancers were quartered there is remembered as a red-letter time, for they were a great social success. At that time the neighbouring country houses were more often in the occupation of their owners than they are now, and Yorkshire could boast of its old-fashioned hospitality and love of sport. I have heard the north country accused of being boorish and stiff, but this is a matter of opinion with which I, personally, do not altogether agree. An amusing incident happened outside the solemn old club which stands close to the Lendal Bridge at York. Lord Rossmore went into the club one evening just in time to see one of the servant girls from the kitchen regions make her escape from a young man who was evidently annoying her. She fled down the area steps; Lord Rossmore collared the youth, and began giving him a lecture of an improving nature. At this moment, who should come out of the club but Lord William. He at once scented battle; without having the slightest idea what it was about, but longing to be in it, he cried, “Let me have him, Derry. Oh, do let me have him.” “No,” replied the other, jealous of his capture. “_I found him_; he is my man.” They became so absorbed in the argument as to who should make the prisoner’s teeth chatter that the man took the opportunity to make his escape. Looking round and discovering his loss, Lord Rossmore indignantly reproached his friend. “Now look what you have done!” he cried; “this is what comes of trying to steal my man.” Then as the absurdity of the whole thing struck them, they laughed until their sides ached. After which Lord William apologised profusely for having spoilt “Derry’s” sport, and losing his man.