In London there was a great luncheon in Westminster Hall given by both Houses of Parliament with the Lord Chancellor, Lord Halsbury, in the chair. The French officers were also entertained at one of those magnificent feasts for which the hospitality of the City is world-famous, and this furnished the occasion for what was one of the noblest expressions of chivalrous feeling that could be conceived. It aroused great and admiring enthusiasm at the time, but in the course of years these things are forgotten, and the French visit is worth recording here if for no other reason. When the procession of carriages passed through Trafalgar Square, where a great crowd had gathered, Admiral Caillard stood up in his landau, turned to the column, and with great dignity saluted the statue of Nelson. All the officers of his following did the same. It touched England to the quick, and even now, after the lapse of ten years, I cannot tell the tale without emotion. Could that knightly inspiration, so gracefully carried out, have been bettered? * * * * * In the summer of 1905 King Edward did us the honour of paying us a visit at Batsford; it was the fulfilment of an old promise, and on the 8th of July he arrived. The King was an enthusiastic gardener, and for many years I had the honour of sharing with him in what, in a letter to a friend, he once described as his favourite pursuit. At Sandringham, Buckingham Palace, Windsor and Balmoral he never wearied of walking about with Sir Dighton Probyn, another fanatic worshipper of the great god Pan, and myself, planning or listening to plans for improvements. Among the guests who were to meet his Majesty we had invited two great horticulturists, Mr. Chamberlain, whose special cult was that of orchids, and Georgina, Countess of Dudley, whose skill and care converted a hopeless jungle into one of the loveliest pleasaunces that could provoke a poet’s song. The King brought with him Sir George Holford, the greatest of all English gardeners—so there was much flower talk. When the King arrived I was rather taken aback, for almost the first thing that he said to me was, “Now I must warn you that I will not go up a hill”—with a great stress on the _not_. This was rather a blow, for such merit as the garden at Batsford possesses is due to the fact that it is nothing but a hill, and indeed a pretty steep one. However, it was a lovely afternoon, and we all sallied forth. Presently, when we came to a turn leading upward, the King began wandering on and so, led by one view or grouping of plants after another that took his fancy, he climbed and climbed until he had reached the furthest and highest point.