At one dress rehearsal, a scene representing a soldiers' encampment, where we were seated at mess, and a group of us dressed as officers ate a sham meal, I remember our enthusiasm was added to by the hospitality of an officer in the company who produced real champagne. Whether the effect lasted until another scene I could never quite remember, but "Odger" Colvile (our young Guardsman, who was very fond of theatricals, and had, I believe, a private theatre at his father's place) displayed wonderful agility in the harlequinade, where, as the policeman, he attacked the proverbial dummy, which at the rehearsal, owing to an oversight, was missing. Looking round in all the excitement of his enthusiasm in the part, he grew exasperated by the delay.
"Where the devil is the dummy?" he cried, and looking round desperately, his eye caught mine; without any warning he was on me, caught me up, and for the next few minutes I saw every imaginable star out of the heavens, he belabouring me with all the ardour which he would have bestowed upon the dummy. He at last let me go, while roars of laughter went up from the others—I would have laughed if I had been able, but I never had such a time in my life, and was obliged to reserve my laughter until I could get my breath, when I laughed as heartily as the others.
The occasion of the Brighton performance was not the less amusing to us, as after it was all over the company met together at supper at the "Old Ship," which included several ladies from the Alhambra ballet, who came down to add to the stage effect.
The following morning (Sunday) "Hughie" Drummond, one of the "Forty Thieves" and a champion practical joker, got on to the balcony of the Queen's Hotel, from which he was able to reach the hands of the clock and deliberately altered the time from five minutes to eleven to a quarter past. This, of course scared the people going to church, and resulted in a general stampede.
While sitting next to Lord Houghton at dinner one evening at the Beefsteak Club, I watched him make a lengthy scrutiny of the menu, which made me anticipate a wonderful selection to come. He ordered a herring! When the fish came, he regarded it stealthily for some time and then suddenly picking it up by the tail shook it violently (ostensibly to remove the flesh) and while I carefully picked off the bits of herring that covered me, the absent-minded poet ate the fragments that had accidentally lodged upon his plate.
He used to take out his teeth at meal times, and, growing accustomed to remove them, he became occasionally rather mixed in his discretion as to their removal. One day, on meeting a lady of his acquaintance, instead of taking off his hat, as he intended to do, he plucked out his teeth and waved them enthusiastically.
I remember the eccentric lord coming into the club one evening looking tired and hungry. Over the mantelpiece a white paper gleamed. It was a list of the Derby Lottery. Something stirred in his mind which was far away on other subjects bent, and reminded him that he was hungry. He scanned the Lottery list, anxiously rubbing his head as though he were apparently shampooing it. At last he was heard to murmur in dissatisfied tones, "Waiter, I don't see anything to eat there."
One couldn't help laughing at his funny ways, but he was a distinguished man after all and very kind.