Upon the occasion of the Prince of Wales's opening the new breakwater at Holyhead, in 1873, his Royal Highness was entertained together with a large party at a country house in the neighbourhood. The Prince called to me, and said: "This is very slow. You really must do something to enliven the proceedings." "Well, sir," said I, "I will run a hundred yards race with Lord ----. As he is Irish, he is sure to take me up if I challenge him." Sure enough, Lord ---- accepted the challenge, but on conditions. These were: that I should race in full uniform, excepting my sword, while himself should "take his wardrobe from off himself." Lord ---- then proceeded to divest himself there and then of his Patrick ribbon, coat, waistcoat, and boots, which he confided to the care of the wife of a certain distinguished Liberal statesman. He dropped his Patrick ribbon into her lap, saying: "Madam, will ye have a care now of me Jewel, for glory {118} be to God there's no saying what twist this mad one might give me!" Entirely at ease, with the seat of his breeches patched with stuff of another colour from the rest, and his toes sticking from his stockings, he was wholly unperturbed by the laughter of the assemblage. Although attired in cocked hat, frock coat, and epaulettes, I had the speed of him, and waited on him. Then the devil entered into me; and when Lord ---- drew abreast of a big plant of pampas grass, I cannoned into him, pitching him head first into the grass, not, of course, intending to harm him. But to my consternation and sorrow, Lord ----'s leg was broken below the knee. I put the poor lord into his coach--he had a coach and four-in-hand--and drove him back to his hotel. That excellent and magnanimous sportsman was perfectly unconcerned. "You hit me a bad skelp, and I am destroyed," said he. "Never mind, they all laughed, anny way." It was about this period of my life, when, returning from a ball in London in the early morning, I came upon a person selling whelks. He invited me to sup--or breakfast--upon a plate of these delicacies. "How much do you charge for a plateful?" "Threepence," said he. "I'll give you sixpence for every plateful you eat yourself." "Done," said he. He finished two platefuls, and had begun a third, when he was overtaken by rebellion from within, swiftly followed by catastrophe. "That's not fair," I said. "You can't count those two platefuls." "O my Gawd," he said. "'Ave I got to begin again?"