During the whole of the winter our noble master kept open house, and although, as I have said before, sport and sporting men formed the chief components of that society, yet there was scarcely a leading member of the London World who was not represented at the hunting-lodge. There I met and became acquainted with the well-known Count D’Orsay, the witty Lord Alvanley, and the eccentric Colonel Leigh, brother-in-law to Lord Byron, and many others. I was an especial favourite of the last-named, and he on his side was a source of great amusement to me. I used sometimes to say to him: “So-and-So have invited me to their house in the country,” and his retort courteous was, “Did they name the day?” If I remarked that such a person had a most agreeable house, he would ask: “What sort of a cook?” If I complained that the Whittlebury servants had made an enormous fire, he would rejoin: “May I ask, do you pay for the coals?” One day he insisted on my walking round the garden with him, and begged me to tell him the name of every flower as we passed. I am no botanist, and my only knowledge of flowers consists in knowing when they are sweet and beautiful; but that morning I was bent on mischief, and, one after another, I invented in succession what appeared to me the most plausible names with Latinised terminations. So far my deceit prospered, but a trial was in store for me. The next day I was sitting at my little open window, which looked out on a picturesque portion of forest scenery, with a magnificent oak in the foreground, when my old friend came under the window and called out to me to come downstairs, a summons which I immediately obeyed. When I stepped out on the lawn, he presented his friend, Mr Elwes, to me, who had a splendid garden of his own on the other side of the county. [Sidenote: “YOU SCORED”] “We will show you over the grounds,” said Colonel Leigh, “together. As you well know, I am a perfect ignoramus where flowers are concerned, but Miss Boyle will tell you the names of every one in the whole garden.” Here was a dilemma, but I was not unequal to the occasion. “My dear Colonel,” I said, “it is all very well when I pronounce the names in your hearing, but I am not going to show off my bad Latin before so great a connoisseur as your friend.” The next day I confessed my crime, and received absolution because the trick had been successful; failure of any kind was unpardonable in the eyes of Colonel Leigh. “You scored,” he said, “so I forgive you.” Poor Colonel Leigh! I was very sorry when I heard of his death, and very grateful to him for the present he made me of the last riding-whip which Byron had used at Missolonghi.