Much as we all enjoyed our seaside walks and hair-breadth “‘scapes” from the sudden influx of the tide, a temptation to absent ourselves for a while came, at least to the two youngest members of the family, in the shape of an invitation (rather should I say a command) to a Court Ball. It certainly appeared a long way to go to a ball, even for me, with my dancing propensities, but, this was a bal costumé, and therefore doubly attractive in my eyes.

I must confess I never regretted the effort my brother Cavendish and I made on that occasion, for the memory of that night’s scene is one from which I should be loth to part.

I was to be escorted to the palace by two gentlemen of the time of William III., dressed in the garb which is so well-known in the pictures of the Prince of Orange’s landing in England. Their long square-cut coats, their costly lace cravats, and their long flowing wigs, made the two cousins (who bore a near resemblance to each other) look like twins, while I had selected the character, in nowise analogous, of “Sweet Anne Page.” The amusement found in arranging our costumes was greatly heightened by the assistance we derived from Charles Young, and the constant visits he paid us in consequence.

This eminent tragedian and delightful man, with winning voice, beautiful smile, and captivating manner, was ever most kind to me, whom he called his “wild child,” and did he not on that very night lend me his own magnificent pair of diamond shoe-buckles (the present of some great potentate) to “glitter and sparkle,” as he said, “on my little feet”?

The ball was given at St James’s,[[39]] and caused great excitement in London, festivities of that kind having long fallen into disuse. It was a beautiful and deeply interesting scene, and, in my eyes, the most beautiful personage in the whole pageant was the Prince Consort! He had chosen the character of Edward III., wearing a surcoat richly embroidered with the arms of France and England, over a complete suit of armour, his open vizor and perfect profile surmounted by a kingly crown; he looked, indeed, as Tennyson has it, “A very perfect knight.”

[39]. (?) Buckingham Palace.

By his side stood his faithful and loving wife, Philippa, in queenly robes, also rich in heraldic blazonry, displaying in her whole costume that adherence to historical correctness which did my dramatic heart good. The dress was rather a heavy one for our fair young Sovereign, but she bore it bravely, and her dignified and graceful dancing was the theme of universal praise.

I can vividly recall many of the different characters which were assumed for that night only. How well my dear cousin, Lady Exeter,[[40]] looked as Queen Elizabeth of York; how Lord Cardigan, in a magnificent suit of elaborate armour, presented a very grand representation of the brave Bayard, the chevalier (who was at least, sans peur), and my eccentric friend, Lord Houghton, showed his poetical taste by appearing as the great Chaucer. But why enumerate a list of names, the greater part of which, alas! belong no more to the living.

[40]. Isabella Poyntz married to Brownlow, second Marquis of Exeter.

CHARLES YOUNG