At our dinner to-day at Lord A.'s Mr. Campbell was next to me, and told me he was most anxious to be recalled to the French Ambassador, that he had been his fag at Rugby, and had never seen him since. Of course they made acquaintance again after dinner, and plunged into all sorts of recollections of their school days. The other men who were smoking with them said the talk was most interesting and curious, as their careers in after life had been so very different. At every turn W. finds someone who had been at Rugby or Cambridge with him.

To H. L. K.

April 9, 1885.

This morning it is pouring, so I gave up the Oxford and Cambridge boat race. W. and Count de Florian started all with light blue rosettes (Cambridge). W. was on the umpire boat. Cambridge won easily, which was of course a great pleasure to him (having rowed himself so many years ago in the Cambridge crew), in the evening. He said he was so much cheered when he got up to speak—young men standing on chairs to see him—that he had to wait some time before he could begin. He is certainly the only foreign Ambassador that ever rowed in the Cambridge eight. He was quite pleased when he came home, so many old memories of happy boyish days had been brought back. We talked for some time after dinner, and recalled all sorts of Cambridge experiences—once when the Queen came with Prince Albert to Cambridge the students were all assembled in the court-yard as her carriage drove up. It had been raining, and the Queen hesitated a moment in getting out, as the ground was wet and there was mud. Instantly W. had his gown off and on the ground, the others followed his example, and she walked over a carpet of silk gowns the few steps she had to make. W. said he had never forgotten her smile as she bowed and thanked them.

To J. K.

The Garth, Bicester,
Sunday, April 19, 1885.

I believe this is my week, Dear Jan. I am staying here at a queer little hunting box in Oxfordshire with Hilda Deichmann (née de Bunsen). It is literally an enormous stable, with a cottage attached, but they have added a story and wings and it is the most wonderful-looking place, very low—but comfortable. W. went off to Paris Sunday, and I came down here last Saturday with Mimi. He is very fond of the children—a big boy of 11 and a girl of 7—and has enjoyed himself thoroughly. We feel awfully cut up at Pontécoulant's death. He has been such a good friend to us, and so completely associated with all our political life. It seems incredible that a strong man should be carried off like that in 4 days from a cold. Henrietta will miss him awfully, as, now that we are so much away he was always there and attending to anything she wanted done.

Of course everyone is talking and speculating about the Anglo-Russian question. W. thinks the English must fight, and that they will. I think this government, with Gladstone at its head, will never make up their minds to fight seriously or in time, judging from the way the Soudan campaign has been conducted.

We have been driving all over the country, which is charming, flat, but all grass (Oxfordshire is a regular hunting country), and since three days the weather has been enchanting. Yesterday we made a lovely excursion to Blenheim on Deichmann's coach. We picked up 2 neighbours, nice, pretty English girls, and had a beautiful drive over the downs. Mimi had never been on a coach before, and was in a wild state of delight when all four horses galloped up the hills, and they blew the horns at all the railway stations and passing thro' the villages. I had forgotten how magnificent Blenheim was. The house is rather dismantled, as the present Duke has sold all the books and some of the handsomest pictures, but there are plenty left—Van Dycks, Rubens, etc., and the rooms and halls are splendid. There were lots of portraits of the Dukes and Duchesses, from the great Duke down, some curiously like the present Churchills, particularly the women. When we had finished sauntering through the house, we drove about the park looking for a shady place to lunch, and then established ourselves; the horses were taken out, the lunch basket opened, and we had a very good lunch on the top of the coach. We drove back through Woodstock and stopped for tea at Dashwood Park, one of the great places of the country. They gave us tea, with every variety of toast, cake, and bread that can be imagined, in a beautiful room as large as a church, opening on a stone terrace, and the most lovely (English) views of grass meadows and trees, stretching miles away. There were quantities of family portraits there, too, but we hadn't time to see them. We got home at 7 o'clock, rather exhausted, but having had a lovely day.

I began my letter this morning before breakfast and will finish it now. The children are off to the woods with the German tutor after primroses, but it is too warm for us—so we shall take a walk after tea. I am very fond of Hilda Deichmann. She is very clever—knows a great many things—draws well, paints well, is a good musician, and is womanly and practical. We fraternised from the first moment. We are going back to London to-morrow afternoon. Mimi's school begins on Tuesday, and I think he has had a good outing for the present. I haven't an idea what we shall do this winter. Perhaps when W. comes back he will have some plans. With this new Ministry, it is difficult to make any. I am so afraid of their proposing some beastly measure, like the exile of the Orléans Princes, or something of that kind to be popular before the election. The Wales' visit to Ireland seems to be progressing most delightfully and much more quietly than people thought. He has such wonderful charm of manner. I should think personal contact with him would always work wonders. I must stop now or my letter will not go this afternoon.