But Tom Potter did not suffer so much as I did in that little room in Pall Mall Place. One night in 1877 or 1878 I got there late, after dining with Sir George Grove at his house at Sydenham. I was hot and thirsty, and William Black, whom I found there, immediately suggested to me the propriety of a whisky and soda. I accepted the suggestion. As the foaming glass was handed to me, it occurred to me that the Century Club must have been recently painted; but I was too thirsty to stop to make any remark on the subject, and hastily drank off the cool beverage with which I had been supplied. Directly I had done so, I knew that I had been poisoned. Whatever I had swallowed, it certainly was not whisky. I suppose I turned ghastly pale, for I felt a terrible nausea suddenly overcoming me. Black and my other friends in a state of consternation examined the bottle from which I had been served, and discovered that although it bore the label of a well-known brand of whisky, it contained turpentine. I confess I was relieved when I heard this, as I feared it might have been oxalic acid. But turpentine is bad enough as a beverage, and I do not think I ever spent a more uncomfortable four-and-twenty hours than that which followed this misadventure. There was no doctor present, but Black undertook to supply his place. "There is only one thing for you to do, my dear Reid. You must get drunk directly." I declared, with reason, that I had drunk too much already, and crept away to my bed, which happily was close at hand. For at least two days after that incident I smelt like a newly-painted lamp-post, but I have always felt grateful to the careless dog of a servant for not having served me up oxalic acid or vitriol in place of the turpentine. After that affair I do not think I ever went back to the Century Club. It was bad enough to be bored by the irrepressible Club Jorkinses, but to be poisoned also was more than flesh and blood could stand.