His Holiness, he said, after some very complimentary remarks, had inquired of him how he translated the passage at the beginning of Canto vii. of the “Inferno”—

“Papé Satan, Papé Satan, aleppé.”[[1]]

The difficulty, Lord Vernon told us, was overcome by his telling the Pope that a great diversity of opinion existed as to the passage in question, and he would therefore be especially grateful to his Holiness if he, the highest authority possible, would tell him what the exact meaning of it might be. The Pope, however, who was just as quick at parrying home-thrusts as Lord Vernon, changed the subject, and pounced upon another passage, describing the effect of sunshine upon a rock, which he said he had been able to verify one day near his convent when he was a Carmelite monk. Lord Vernon then said to him, “Your Holiness’s observation is most valuable, and, with permission, I will put it in a note to the translation I am making.” “No, no!” exclaimed the Pope; “non bisogna mai nominare il Papa,”—“There is no need whatever to mention the Pope at all.”

Anything which recalls the past becomes of interest as time goes on, and some of the mementoes of other days which I have carefully preserved bring vividly back to one’s mind scenes now almost historical, as well as the people who figured in them.

Programmes of public meetings and menus of banquets are amongst the trifles which I have collected and kept, and of these I have a considerable number. The menus I sought for with the greatest eagerness were those of public lunches or dinners attended by some great orator or politician, and when I got them I generally managed also to obtain the signature of the guest or guests of the evening, which naturally adds very greatly to their interest. Of these souvenirs recalling great social functions of the past, I have in particular a quantity of the time of the Jubilee of 1887, which has now become almost an historic memory. Besides their interest as souvenirs, these menus may one day be interesting as illustrating the way in which the people of our time dined. As a matter of fact, there has been very little change in the number and nature of the dishes served at public dinners and banquets during the last thirty-five years, as can be seen from some menus I still retain as a remembrance of the entertainments given to the late Shah of Persia (that is the one before the last), on his first visit to this country in 1873.

Other relics which I treasure are certain old cards of invitation to parties, weddings, and other social functions, which recall to my mind friends for the most part, alas, long since passed away.

WEDDINGS OF THE PAST

There was a good deal of robust joviality about the weddings of old days, and the bride and bridegroom always drove away in a chariot drawn by postillions resplendent in blue jackets and white breeches, and wearing enormous white favours at their breasts. These, as a rule, were mounted on what were generally known as “Newman’s Greys”—horses supplied by Newman, the job-master. A team of four was by no means uncommon, and very smart and appropriate such an equipage looked. What astonishment would it not create at a wedding to-day! But the post-boys and postillions of my youth in their quaint attire, together with “Newman’s Greys,” have long ago journeyed their last great stage and left no successors behind them. Their calling has now long been obsolete, and were they once more to reappear they would attract about as much attention as men in armour. Lord Lonsdale (I believe, almost alone) still makes use of postillions, who in yellow jackets and white beaver hats strike a picturesque note at Ascot and some other race-meetings which he attends in old-fashioned style.

I remember some amusing stories told in connection with marriages of the past. There was, for instance, the old peer who, though very proud of his family, tempered his pride with a considerable sense of humour. One day he was very much surprised to be told by his sister that she had conceived a great affection for a well-known though somewhat eccentric savant who, although generally esteemed, was of very humble Semitic extraction.

Not quite determined as to what course of action he should take, he sent for the prospective bridegroom with the intention of talking matters over, and after some conversation said,—