They will reach Euston about 1 p.m. to-morrow. Could you find two careful men to meet them? One saddle is gone with the horses, so another saddle would be necessary. They should be walked carefully through London, as one of them specially is very shy and unused to town.
I am going over to Liverpool to-night. I enclose order for the horses.—-Yours very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.
Parnell rented some stables fairly near my house for his horses, and took much interest in their welfare. He was not a man who had very much knowledge of horses, but he was a fine horseman, and on his hunter President, a beautiful horse of sixteen hands and a weight-carrier, he looked remarkably well. He took a scientific interest in the shoeing of the horses and, to the great annoyance of his grooms, would constantly try new methods of shoeing in order to deaden the "jar" of the contact of the road. This trial of new methods proved a boon to my horse Dictator—given me by Parnell—for the tenderness of his feet was completely cured when Parnell, dead against the conservative ideas of my stableman, insisted on his having leathers inserted between Dictator's foot and shoe.
This horse Dictator was a great pleasure to us, though he pulled rather badly. He was very fast and extraordinarily sure-footed, keeping his feet in the worst frost, even when driven on the slippery London paving in hard night frosts. He would trot away to London in much less time than Parnell could get there by any other means. Parnell did not drive well, leaving the reins slack upon the horse's back, so that he had no control over it in any emergency. My nervousness in this was so great that he very good-naturedly left all the driving to me, saying: "Well, that's how the jarveys drive in Ireland!" in answer to my plaintive "I've never seen anyone drive like that."
President was a very solid horse, in mind as well as in body, and once when Parnell had ridden him up to New Cross in a frost President sat down violently and was so impressed with the safety of his position that he refused to get up again until Parnell—who was of immense muscular strength—with the help of a couple of stalwart policemen, literally lifted him to his feet.
Parnell then went into an adjacent saddler's shop to buy a "rubber" to give President a rub down and, finding a rather original make of pocket-book on the counter, with beautifully-sewn leather covers, became so immersed in the selection of one for me that at length an irate policeman looked in to order him to remove his horse at once, as it was causing "an obstruction!" Parnell, recalled to the problem of how to get President and himself to Westminster Bridge, where his servant was waiting to take the horse, proceeded to rub him down while considering the matter, thereby delighting the crowd of onlookers.
The policeman besought him to "get on the 'orse, sir, and ride hoff," before the whole street got "'eld hup," but Parnell gently declined, as he knew that President had now no chance of keeping his feet on the ice-coated pavement. After fully considering the matter he found the chief thing was to get himself out of the crowd as quickly as possible, and, slipping a little comfort into the constable's hand, he ordered him to put the horse up at the nearest stables and drove off, ignoring all queries and protests.
He sent me a telegram from the House to assure me of his safe arrival, but forgot all about his waiting servant, who, after some hours, not daring to return home, telegraphed to me to know what he was to do, as his master had not arrived. The whole thing amused Parnell intensely, but unfortunately he had given the policeman the name of Prescott, and, in absence of mind, sent his groom the next day to find and bring back the horse of "Mr. Stewart." It was a most expensive trial of President's utility. The pocket-book I still use daily, and prize very highly; it is as perfect, though much worn, as when he bought it, some twenty-six years ago.
After my old collie Elfie died, Parnell offered to get me another dog, and, as I wanted an Irish wolf-hound, he and I went to see one that was advertised for sale. It was a magnificent animal, but we had much doubt as to its true breed, and decided that Mr. Parnell should not buy it.
He then suggested bringing me an Irish setter the next time he went to Ireland, and, as the idea pleased me, he brought a half-grown setter given him by Mr. Corbett, M.P., who said this dog, Grouse, was the very best he had ever had. Grouse became at once the constant companion and pleasure of his master and myself. He was a beautiful dog, and most faithful and affectionate. Mr. Parnell would tease him by pretending to be jealous when Grouse lay at my feet with his head on my foot, and when the dog rose with the dignity that always characterized him, and went over to Parnell, resting his head on his knee and assuring him of his absolute devotion, I would in my turn despair at having no dog to love me.