Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

A few days after, I received a letter from the club, saying that the committee had met and considered that I should be asked to take my name off the books immediately. I then wrote explaining that I was quite ignorant of a rule which it seems had been (so innocently) violated when I introduced my guest to the club. I received a reply written in quite a friendly spirit, saying they had taken my letter into consideration, and that I was reinstated.

Lady Meux was a hero-worshipper, and one of her peculiarities, which in later years almost amounted to a mania, was the desire to leave her property to a hero. Her difficulty in making a selection must have been great. The popular generals or naval men who had distinguished themselves held very high places in her esteem. Her sporting instinct, which was very strong, was sometimes carried to extremes; for instance, she once wished to test the courage of a nephew of her husband's who was staying in her house, and engaged a professor in the gentle art of prize-fighting to come down and try the boy. The man, by way of a preliminary, knocked the boy about a little, which did not satisfy Lady Meux, who urged the prize-fighter on to harder blows. When the boy's blood began to flow, she was delighted, and considered the ordeal was making a man of him; he made a very plucky stand against his professional antagonist, and when his strength was just at its ebb, the thoughtful lady let him off, and immediately gave him a handsome present for the pluck he had shown.

On another occasion, a curate who depended upon her for the living on her estate, was cruelly persuaded to allow himself to be used as a sort of human firework display. He took his torture very philosophically, and was first tied up in tarpaulin from head to foot, and then covered with every imaginable kind of cracker, a large Catherine Wheel forming a centre piece to complete the scheme. When the fun began, he jerked and jumped, while the various fireworks ignited and exploded with terrific effect. Afterwards, refreshment was administered, and the company were so pleased at the courage he had shown that the men asked him at once to come and have a drink with them.

Actually, Lady Meux was a kind-hearted and intelligent woman in her way; she used to organize "tea-fights" for the village children, and many acts of a generous nature are to be attributed to her; although perhaps her method of bestowing her gifts was sometimes a trifle eccentric.

I was invited to stay at Theobald's Park with a sporting acquaintance. The attractions of the surroundings of this country house were somewhat unusual by reason of its menagerie, which contained a fine collection of animals, including a valuable tiger, and a museum full of old Roman curios, mummies, and innumerable curiosities, collected by Sir Henry Meux, who was himself a connoisseur of antiquities. We arrived, I remember, in advance of the rest of the house party, and that evening, as we drank our coffee, our hostess told us rather an uncanny story of a burglary which had happened shortly before. The man had been arrested and was "doing time." (By the way, Lady Meux visited his wife and befriended her during his imprisonment.) The next evening we were sitting in the billiard room, when we were disturbed by the loud barking of a dog.

"What's the matter, I wonder?" said my friend, as the noise didn't cease.

A moment later, a great roar was heard, followed by most extraordinary sounds, then on the top of this came the firing of a gun, then a trampling and uproar, after which followed a volley of shots, and immediately a sound as if every animal of the Zoo had broken loose, the monkeys screaming and chattering above the trumpeting of the elephant and the growls of the bear.

We jumped to our feet; my friend was horrified, and Lady Meux shrieked: "There are the burglars!" and fled upstairs.

Abandoning our game of billiards, we prepared to seek the scene from which such strange sounds were coming, when a footman appeared and informed us that the tiger had got loose and had mauled the gardener's boy.

"I have orders," he said, "to turn out the lights, lock the doors, and forbid any one to go outside."