A clerk in the Foreign Office at that time carried with him a passport to all that was best in political, diplomatic, literary and artistic society. The best clubs, from the Travellers’ downwards, opened their doors to him, unless there was something personally objectionable in him. And if the Devil found no idle hands among us for mischief during the daytime, our evenings were bright and well filled, for even during the dullest months there was always something to be done; not that by my allusion to Dr. Watts I wish it to be inferred that that something was always mischievous—indeed, I think we were fairly good boys, as boys go, with not much more than just so much of wickedness in us as suffices to give a spice to life. Week-ends were at that time unknown. Saturdays and Sundays were the great days for dinners, and anybody who had attempted to decoy a youth into the country for a Saturday-to-Monday party would have been looked upon as kind, perhaps, but a lunatic certainly. Lady Palmerston’s Saturday night parties at Cambridge House, now the Naval and Military Club, were gatherings at which everybody that was distinguished above his fellows in any branch of life was to be seen. Lady Palmerston, gracious, and still showing great traces of beauty, presided over a tea-table in a little inner room to which special favourites were admitted. Lord Palmerston, gay, smiling and full of geniality—still “Cupid” not only to his contemporaries but also to the youngest and most attractive of the matrons, for to the end he retained a great eye for beauty—had a kind word for everybody, young and old. It was not only the Megatherium that was made welcome. Once I got into disgrace. It was in 1862. Lady Palmerston gave a ball, and I was told off to lead the cotillon. There had been some late nights in the House of Commons, and Lord Palmerston was looking fagged and worn though he was smiling as ever—at three in the morning I thought the hostess would be glad if the ball came to an end and she, who must also have been very tired, for she always sat up for him, might go to bed, so I stopped the cotillon, expecting great praise; but Lady Palmerston, on the contrary, was furious, and for three whole weeks I received no Saturday invitation; but when the fourth Saturday came round I was forgiven, taken into favour again, and bidden to listen to the friendly song of the tea-kettle in the inner sanctum.