One of my early associations with the Club was on the visit of Mark Twain to this country. He was invited to accompany some of the members to Lambeth Palace, to hear an address from the Librarian upon the many beautiful MSS. which the Library contained. This was most interesting, as was also the visit to the Lollards' Tower, with its many religious associations. After our visit to the Palace we were invited to take tea, if I remember rightly, at the Authors' Club. Here a number of notable authors and others were assembled to welcome the American guest, among them being Dr. Stubbs, Bishop of Oxford, and Canon Barnett. I was one of a group who were narrating some of their interesting experiences, when the Rev. Canon told a story which greatly amused his hearers and especially the members of our Club. The story caused shouts of laughter and the Bishop held up his hands in apparent surprise, and made some remark respecting it. I happened to suggest that the rev. gentleman should be called to order by the Bishop, but he again held up his hands and said, "Not in my Diocese," a retort which caused more laughter than the story. There is one association in connexion with the Whitefriars Club which I shall not be breaking their rules by mentioning. This is our "Summer Outing" in June or July, to which ladies were always invited. One of these "Outings"--and certainly to me the one in which I found my greatest anticipations realized--was that made to the home of our great novelist, George Meredith, in 1902. I give, therefore, the following sketch from notes made by myself and a small extract from the Club's Journal. * * * * * It was on a cloudy, windy, but exhilarating day that a company of "Whitefriars" started on a pilgrimage to Burford Bridge and Box Hill to visit one of England's greatest novelists, George Meredith. The railway journey proved far too short, as we spent the time in discussing with some of our gifted fellow-travellers questions social and political, one topic being "Would England become peopled by an effeminate race should it cease to foster a jingo or warlike spirit." Needless to say, no final discussion upon this stupendous subject was reached before arriving at our destination. At Burford Bridge a capital lunch had been provided, after which the Prior for the day, Mr. Robert Leighton, proposed the health of Friar George Meredith. Other toasts were proposed or responded to by Madam Sarah Grand, Mr. T.P. O'Connor, M.P., and Friar Sir Arthur Spurgeon. After luncheon, a short walk over one of Surrey's most beautiful hills brought us to the haven of our desires. Here, nestled under the shade of hill and foliage, stood Flint Cottage, the charming but unpretentious residence of Friar George Meredith. Above the house stands the Châlet, the workshop of the great novelist, eloquent in its stillness and solitude. In this Châlet many of his masterpieces have been written.