CHAPTER II

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

(1831-1853)

John Peter Labouchere,[1] the younger son of Pierre-César Labouchère, was a partner in the firm of Hope at Amsterdam, and, later, a partner in the bank of Williams, Deacon, Thornton, and Labouchere. He married Mary Louisa Du Pre,[2] second daughter of Mr. James Du Pre of Wilton Park in Buckinghamshire, and granddaughter of Sir William Maxwell of Monteith, by whom he had a family of three sons and six daughters, of whom one son and four daughters are still living. He was the owner of Broome Hall in Surrey, and his town house was at 16 Portland Place. He was an extremely religious man and well known for his charitable and philanthropic labours. At one period his elder brother, Lord Taunton, then Mr. Henry Labouchere, also had a house in Portland Place, and he used to relate that he was constantly pestered by persons confusing him with his brother the banker, who called to ask for his help and patronage with regard to various evangelical enterprises. It was his habit to reply to them: "You have made a mistake, sir; the good Mr. Labouchere lives at No. 16."

Henry Du Pre, the eldest son of John Labouchere, was born at 16 Portland Place on November 9, 1831. His {17} education, had he been a docile pupil, would, according to his father's wishes, have been that of a conventional English boy with some reasonable expectations of a fine career in the financial or the diplomatic world, into either of which he had an easy _entrée_ through the influence of the Labouchere family. But he displayed, at the very beginning of his career, a curious and original character, which did not seem to follow easily any of the known paths of learning marked out for the youth of his period. The earliest repartee recorded of him was made to the headmaster of the private school to which he was sent at the age of six. Before breakfast, the morning after his arrival, the new boys were placed in a row, and asked whether they had all washed their teeth. One by one they answered in the affirmative, until came the turn of Henry. "No," he answered firmly. "And pray why not?" wound up the master indignantly, after a long lecture on the enormity of the crime of neglecting the cleanliness of the teeth. "Because I haven't got any," smiled Henry suddenly. He was just at the stage of changing his baby teeth, and his toothless gums were displayed for the full benefit of the discomfited moralist.[3] Nearly fifty years later Labouchere published the following account of his school-days:

"When I was a boy I was sent to a school which was kept by one of the most ill-conditioned ruffians that ever wielded a cane. He used to suffer from lumbago (this was my only consolation), and would crawl on his hands and knees into the schoolroom; then he would rear up and commence caning a few boys, merely, I truly believe, from a notion that the exercise would be beneficial to his muscles. The man was ignorant, brutal, mean, and cruel, and yet his school somehow had a reputation as an excellent one--mainly, I suspect, because he had the effrontery to charge a high price for the privilege of being at it."[4]

{18}

He went to Eton in the September of 1844, and was entered at the house of Edward Balston, who afterwards became headmaster. Dr. Hawtrey, whose classical teaching has been described as "more picturesque than useful," was headmaster during the three years and a half that Henry Labouchere was at the school. The boy seems to have been a fairly idle scholar, and nothing remarkable in the way of a sportsman. He was exceedingly small for his age and, in consequence, a light weight, so that he was much in request on summer afternoons as a "cox." Among his contemporaries at Eton were the late Lord Avebury, the late Sir George Tryon, Lord Roberts, the late Sir Arthur Blackwood, Sir Algernon West, and Lord Welby. Lord Welby recollects that he had, even in his Eton days, the dry, cynical manner and original mode of verbal expression which, later on, marked him out from his fellows.

Labouchere fell under a suspicion of bullying whilst at Balston's, and the consequences he was forced to undergo are interesting as illustrative of the Eton justice of the forties. He was in the fifth form, and the elder boys of his house summoned the captain of the lower boys, one Barton, who was a good deal bigger than Labouchere, to fight him in the house. Barton had no quarrel on his own account with Labouchere--it was a case of representative justice. The fight was arranged to take place in one of the rooms after tea, it being the uncomfortable practice in those days always to fight after a meal. Labouchere and Barton punched away at each other for an hour or so, until the big boys went down to supper, when they were allowed to rest. After the elders had supped, the fight was renewed until Labouchere succumbed. However, it was generally allowed that he had made a good show before a bigger man than himself. The next day the eyes of the combatants were bunged up, their noses swollen to bottle size, and their complexions coloured bright blue and green with bruises. They could not go into school. Balston was obliged to take notice of what had {19} happened, which he did with well-simulated indignation, and, when they were able to return to school, reported them to Hawtrey, who "swished" them both.[5]

Another contemporary of Mr. Labouchere's at Eton, the late Frederick Morton Eden, related a story about him at a dinner given to him some years ago, as the senior "Old Etonian," in the School Hall of the College. Whilst the old chapel was being restored, a temporary chapel of wood and iron was run up. The corrugated iron roof made the heat intolerable during the summer months, so Labouchere hit upon a plan to put a stop to the nuisance of "chapel in the shanty." One boy was to pretend to faint and four others were to carry him out. A fifth was to follow bearing the hats of the performers. The plan worked admirably. The service was brought to a temporary stop and the boys, as soon as they were outside, scampered merrily off and procured some agreeable refreshment. The repetition of this comedy, of course, aroused the suspicion of the masters, but nevertheless, like many of Labouchere's intrigues in later life, it produced eventually the desired effect. There was no more chapel during the hot weather until the restoration of the old chapel was complete.

A reminiscence of his Eton days that Mr. Labouchere was fond of relating has already found its way into print, but will bear repetition, as all may not have read it. One day, his store of pocket-money being at high-water mark, he conceived the notion of doing the man about town for an hour or two; so, having dressed himself with scrupulous care, he sallied forth, and, entering the best hotel in the place, engaged a private room, and in a lordly manner ordered a bowl of punch. The waiter stared but brought the liquor, and went away. The boy, having tasted it, found it horrible. He promptly poured it into the lower compartment {20} of an antique oak sideboard. He waited a little to see whether it would run out on to the carpet. Luckily the drawer was watertight, and Labouchere rang the bell again and proudly ordered from the amazed waiter a second bowl of punch. He poured this also into the oak sideboard, and in a few minutes rang for the bill, tipped the waiter majestically, and swaggered out of the hotel, quite satisfied that he had won the admiration and respect of the whole staff.

After the Christmas half of 1847, Labouchere left Eton. He was then in his seventeenth year, and, before going to the university, it was thought advisable to place him for a year or two with a private tutor.

It is interesting, before we leave Labouchere's Etonian career, to record his views on fagging, that venerable institution, which is generally considered by Englishmen to have contributed so largely towards their superiority to the rest of mankind. "When I was at Eton," he wrote, "fags thought that all was fair in regard to their masters. I had a master who used to send me every morning to a farmhouse to get him cream for his breakfast. On my return I invariably added a trifle of my milk to the cream and thickened my milk with an infusion of my master's cream. Thus, by the light of that revenge, which Lord Bacon calls a 'rude sense of justice,' I anticipated the watering process which has been practised by so many public companies. Sometimes he would have jugged hare. These occasions were my grand opportunity, and, unknown to him, I used to pour out into my own slop basin a portion of the savoury mess, and conceal the deficit by an addition of pure water. Fagging in fact, is productive of more evil to the fag than the fagger. The former learns all the tricks and dodges of the slave."[6]

Labouchere's matured judgment of Dr. Hawtrey was expressed as follows:

Dr. Hawtrey was the headmaster when I was at Eton. He was {21} an amiable and kindly man and a fine gentleman. He probably flogged about twenty boys every day, on an average. He did it with exquisite politeness, and, except on rare occasions, the whole thing was a farce. Four cuts were the ordinary application, and ten cuts were never exceeded. The proceedings took place in public, and any boy who had a taste for the thing might be a spectator. If the victim flinched there was a howl of execration. Far from objecting to this, the doctor approved of it. I remember once that a boy fell on his knees, and implored him to spare him. "I shall not condescend to flog you, but I leave you to your young friends," said the doctor. I happened to be one of the young friends, and I remember aiding in kicking the boy round the quadrangle for about half an hour.[7]

The reflections of boys on the education to which they have been subjected are remarkably interesting, because they are so exceedingly rare. We have Rousseau's criticism of his upbringing, but it was penned when youth was behind, and it is tinged with an affectation of intellectual detachment and middle-aged self-consciousness which robs it of the spontaneity which would be its only recommendation. St. Augustine, when he wrote his confessions, knew far too much to be able to write with simple sincerity of his foolish youth. Labouchere's early note-books, unlike these masterpieces, possess the uncommon value of being youth's judgments upon youth, written with all the hardy ingenuousness of a clever boy, who was, besides being clever, extremely young for his age.[8] About the period of his life which has been described Labouchere wrote, at the age of twenty-one: "I will give ... an outline of my life, and the different courses that led to my discovery of early wisdom. I went through the usual numbers of schools, by which I learnt that an English education, for the time and money that it consumes, is the worst that the world has yet produced. One {22} clergyman alone of all my masters knew how to teach. His conduct was perfectly arbitrary, and he gave no reason for it--while, in the several branches of learning, his pupils either made rapid progress or left his house. My acquaintance with him was of short duration. He insisted on my teaching in an infant school on Sunday, or leaving his house--and I foolishly preferred the latter. I was then too young to go to college, so I was transferred to a clergyman in Norfolk, the very antipodes of my former master. Here I amused myself, and was flattered for a year or two, and then went to the university."

In February, 1850, he went up to Trinity College, Cambridge. His tutor was Mr. Cooper. In his note-book describing the university period of his career Labouchere wrote: "My father sent me to college, where, instead of improving my mind (for manners, I own, must be bad to be improved by such a place), I diligently attended the race-course at Newmarket. I had a general idea that here (at the university) I should astonish the world by my talents--I attended no lectures, as I considered myself too clever to undergo the drudgery. I considered myself--on what grounds God knows--an orator and a poet. I went to the Debating Society and commenced a speech in favour of the regicides, but, to my astonishment, entirely broke down. To my equal astonishment, upon writing the first line of a prize poem, I found it impossible to find a second. To become known in the university was my ambition--my short cuts to fame had failed--it never entered my head to apply myself really to study, so, in default of a better method, I resolved to distinguish myself by my bets on horse-races. I diligently attended every meeting at Newmarket and spent the evenings in a tavern, where the sporting students and sporting tradesmen assembled to gamble. At the end of two years I had lost about £6000, and I owed to most of my sporting friends.... Upon a dispute with the College authorities my degree was deferred for two years, and I left the University."

{23}

So many incorrect versions of Labouchere's dispute with the university have been given in various newspaper biographical notices at different times that a short account of what actually did happen will not be out of place here.

A court was held on April 2, 1852, at King's Lodge, to hear a complaint brought by the proproctor, Mr. Barnard Smith, against Henry Labouchere for having sent to various university officers a printed paper, signed by himself, imputing unfair conduct to Mr. Barnard Smith towards himself whilst in the Senate House during an examination.

What happened at the Senate House is best told in Labouchere's own words. I quote the printed letter which he sent to the university officers, and which was the cause of his leaving Cambridge before he took his degree.

The undersigned went into the Senate House for the previous Examination on Monday last, and had not been there long before he was painfully surprised by the suspicions of one of the proproctors, the Rev. Mr. Barnard Smith of St. Peter's College. This gentleman, from the beginning of the Examination, continued to watch the undersigned in so marked a manner as not only to be noticed by himself but by other members of the University, under examination, who sat near him. The undersigned felt much distressed at this special surveillance. He had done nothing to deserve suspicion of being likely to resort to any unworthy practices in the Senate House, and the knowledge that he was thus subject to what he felt to be little short of a direct personal insult hindered his giving undivided attention to the examination questions which he had to answer.

Notwithstanding this discouragement, the undersigned sent in his answers, which he has since been assured by one of the Examiners were satisfactory....

On the day following (Tuesday), having nearly answered all the questions, the undersigned was stopped by the Rev. Mr. B. S. and charged with mal-practices in the Examination, of which he was not guilty.

HENRY LABOUCHERE.

After a short inquiry, during which it was ascertained {24} that Labouchere had been guilty of writing the above letter, the court delivered the following sentence: "The court being of opinion that the charge has been fully proved, and that the conduct of Mr. Labouchere has been highly reprehensible and injurious to the character and discipline of the University, sentences Henry Labouchere to be admonished and suspended from his degree for two years." In the course of the inquiry, Labouchere defended himself with great ability, though unsuccessfully.

I give his defence verbatim, as the detail with which he gave it is the best possible account of the circumstances which led up to his insubordinate act:

The whole business seems so indefinite that it is almost impossible to offer a defence. I am convened before the Vice-Chancellor for sending a printed notice to the Examiners and for bringing a charge against Mr. Barnard Smith. But what my copying or not copying in the Senate House has to do with it, it is difficult to say. But, as my copying has been brought forward and is supposed to bear on the subject, I am happy to have an opportunity of disproving it. Mr. Fenwick, on being asked, brought forward 3 charges why I was sent out of the Senate House: first, for having a paper concealed which I refused to give to the Examiners; secondly, for asserting that the paper had nothing to do with the Examination; and thirdly, for owning that it had. Mr. Fenwick (who it appears had the direction of the case) made no further charge. Mr. Barnard Smith now brings an entirely different charge, which is that I slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, and that he imagines he saw me do so. Why he didn't stop me at the time he does not say. Now all the Examiners who had been examined here to-day, except Mr. Latham, say that from my general conduct I was suspected of copying on Monday. Mr. Fenwick, however, is more particular, and says that my position excited suspicion. Mr. Woollaston says that I did not appear to be occupied with the Examination. So that what my general conduct was is explained. Having partly finished 10 questions in the Scripture history, I, more as a rest than anything else, wrote a note to a friend asking him how he {25} had got on, and mentioned that I had just given a long answer to the 10th question: I added, "I suppose the Shunamite woman was the person whose son was struck with the sun." While reading this note to myself, I saw Mr. Barnard Smith coming towards me; upon which I threw it away as far as possible; and upon his asserting that he had seen a paper in my hands I said that he had, but that I had no crib, nor had I in any way copied, that it was a note having nothing to do with the Examination. Not being in the habit of having my word questioned I saw no reason for producing it. Mr. Barnard Smith, however, thought differently; and, as the Examiners agreed with him, upon demanding its production I said that I had thrown it away, and it was probably somewhere on the ground. Having looked close by and not perceived it, I told Mr. Fenwick that I didn't see it. Mr. Fenwick, on this, ordered me to look for it, in a manner so offensive, that I took no further trouble about the matter. I then told the Examiners that, if they wished to know what was in the note, there was a question about the Shunamite woman, and told them I had just finished the answer to that question. I then gave up my papers and left the Senate House. The inference I believe drawn from the last two charges is that I told a lie. Upon this point any person may form his own opinion. I am asked whether I had a paper. The paper is by that time thrown away. I answered that I had. Had I denied it there would have been no evidence, and the matter would probably have dropped.

According to the Examiner I had first said the paper had nothing to do with the Examination, and then, finding that the paper is not produced, tell them that the paper had to do with the Examination. I simply stated what it contained and should not have told a lie against myself. The fact was, not seeing the paper, and considering that Mr. Fenwick had ordered me to look for it in rather an offensive way, I told them what it contained. I had finished the Examination question at the time, and the question in the note was not put in with any desire to know whether it was right or wrong. I simply put in that I supposed it was right more for something to say than for anything else. But I certainly did not consider it had anything to do with the Examination in the way which Mr. Barnard Smith meant. {26} With respect to Mr. Barnard Smith's impression that I slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, I wish that he had said so at the time, that I might have disproved it. I can only say now that there is a sufficient internal evidence in my answers to show that I didn't obtain assistance from any notes, as I had a general knowledge of the subject, and confined myself to general facts. After having been dismissed from the Senate House, and having, in vain, challenged an investigation before the Vice-Chancellor, as I understood the Examiners openly asserted that I had told a lie, I sent a circular to them denying the charge. I did this, lest at any time hereafter, such an action should be brought to my charge, and also that it had been unrefuted. I have now denied the charge, and for their individual opinion I care little.

The court asked, at this point, if Mr. Labouchere deliberately wished these words to be recorded: he said "Yes" and then went on with his defence:

But, as in their office of Examiners they had unjustly asserted that I told a lie, I did my duty in openly denying it. I mean to say that I sent this circular to the Examiners in their public capacity and not as private individuals. I sent it to justify myself from a charge which I consider unjust, and upon which I could not obtain an investigation.

The immediate reflection that presents itself to the mind of any one who knew Labouchere well and who studies his defence is that it is curious that it should have been over a Scripture History paper that he was suspected of cribbing, for, thanks to his early evangelical training and his innate love of his Bible, Labouchere was almost phenomenally proficient in Scripture knowledge. He quoted the Bible, and rarely incorrectly, on every occasion--in his parliamentary speeches, in his journalistic articles, and in private conversation--and he could, invariably, if questioned, give chapter and verse for the verification of his quotation.

Two anecdotes have frequently been given in the press about Labouchere's alleged cribbing at Cambridge. I never {27} heard him relate them himself, and they are probably legends of the kind that are born in the journalist's brain whilst he is racking it for copy in the shape of anecdotic detail. The first is that his academic career terminated abruptly because he had made a bet with another undergraduate that he would crib in his Little Go examination without being caught, and that when caught he accused the examiner of being in collusion with the other party to the bet. The other is that during the examination he was observed to be frequently looking at something concealed beneath a sheet of blotting-paper. On being asked to produce it, Labouchere refused. But, when obliged to do so, it was found that the concealed object was the photograph of a popular variety artiste, whose bright eyes, he asserted, stimulated him to persevere in his academic efforts.

There are, of course, any number of popular anecdotes of Labouchere's university days. A good one is the following. On one occasion, having taken French leave to London, he was unexpectedly confronted one morning in the Strand by his father, who looked extremely annoyed to see the youth there, when he imagined him to be occupied with his studies. Henry's wits as usual were on the alert. He returned his father's cold greeting with a surprised stare. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "I think you have made a mistake. I have not the honour of your acquaintance." He pushed by and was lost in the crowd. Rapidly consulting his watch, he found he could, by running, just catch a train for Cambridge. He did so, and what he had foreseen happened. Mr. Labouchere, senior, after having accomplished the business he was about, took the next train for Cambridge. On reaching the university he was ushered into his son's study, where he found him absorbed in work. He made no reference to his rencontre in the Strand, being persuaded that it must have been a hallucination.

Another story relates how he used to go about in a very ragged gown. One day the Master of Trinity, Whewell, {28} came across him and said, "Is that a proper academic costume, Mr. Labouchere?" "Really, sir, I must refer you to my tailor," was the reply.

Labouchere continues in his note-book to describe, with naïve minuteness of detail, his search for wisdom after he left the university. "With great liberality," he wrote, "my father paid my debts, and advised my return home. My family ... was religious, and, finding my father's house dull, I had accustomed myself to live at a tavern in Covent Garden.... After remaining there for two or three weeks, I used to return home, and leave it indefinite from where I had come. Until my leaving College and the payment of my debts by my father, I had kept up an appearance of respectability at home. Now, however, I threw off all restraint, and openly lived at my tavern for about two months, during which I lost several hundred pounds at hells and casinos."

The tavern which Labouchere frequented at this period was far from being the haunt of vice which, with the gloomy sternness of moralising youth, he wished to depict it. It was a species of night club, known as Evans', and was the resort of all literary and artistic London. It constantly figures in Thackeray's novels and other books of the period as a place of Bohemian rendezvous and the scene of a good deal of rough-and-tumble jollity. The house, of which it formed the cellar, had once been the home of Sir Kenelm Digby. Above the tavern, or "Cave of Harmony" as Thackeray called it, was the hotel in which Labouchere had his rooms. In later years, that is to say in the later fifties and early sixties, the popularity of this place of conviviality increased so much that it was found necessary to pull down the little room where Labouchere used to listen every night to the singing of more or less rowdy songs, and build on its site a vast concert-room, with an annexe, consisting of a comfortable hall, hung with theatrical portraits, where conversation could be carried on. There was a private {29} supper-room in the grill, and this annexe became a popular resort for men about town. Some of the smartest talk in London was to be heard at Evans', for it numbered among its patrons such wits as Douglas Jerrold, Thackeray, Lionel Lawson, Edmund Yates, Augustus Sala, Serjeant Ballantine, John Leech, Serjeant Murphy--and Henry Labouchere. The presiding spirit of the establishment was a great friend of Labouchere's. He acted as head waiter and was known as Paddy Green. He had commenced his career as a chorus-singer at the Adelphi Theatre, and had won for himself in all classes of society an immense popularity on account of his courtesy and unfailing good-humour. The prosperity of Evans' only waned when the modern music-halls, where women formed the larger part of the audience, became the fashion.[9]

From the superior point of view of the maturity of twenty-one, Labouchere was inclined to survey, with an eye of undue severity, the follies he committed at the age of nineteen. He wrote: "Whenever I entered into conversation with any person, I introduced the subject of gambling, and boasted of sums I had lost, which I appeared to consider, instead of a disgrace, a subject on which I might justly pride myself. During this period I believe I had a general wish to elevate myself to some higher position, as, while passing my days and nights in profligacy, my chief study was Dr. Johnson's _Life_ and Lord Chesterfield's _Letters to his Son_." And again: "Inflated with conceit I imagined myself equal to cope with all mankind. In society I was awkward, and therefore sought the society of my inferiors, while I endeavoured to delude myself with the notion that I was a species of socialist and that all men were equal. Conversation, properly so-called, I had none. I could argue any subject, but not converse--my manners were boorish--I had never learnt to dance, so I seldom entered a ball-room, or if {30} there, I pretended to despise the amusement, as I never owned myself incapable of anything. If I entered a drawing-room, I either held myself aloof from the company, or I argued some subject by the hour with my neighbour. In fact, in manners I was an _outré_ specimen of an uncultivated English young man--the most detestable yahoo in creation."

He continues: "From my tavern I was again rescued by my father, who sent me abroad under the guidance of a species of Mentor, who was, unfortunately, totally unfitted for his task. Three days after leaving England we arrived at Wiesbaden, where there are public gaming tables. Here I felt myself at home, and the first day gained about £150. My Mentor, who was going to the hotel, offered to carry the money I had won, and give it back to me the next day. The next morning, however, on my asking for it, he refused to return it unless I promised not to play while at Wiesbaden. After my father had so often paid large sums for me, in gratitude I ought to have yielded. This, however, I refused to do, but remained two months at Wiesbaden, while my Mentor continued his travels. At last it was agreed that I should meet him at Paris, and there receive my money, where, I need not add, in a few days it was spent."

Some of Mr. Labouchere's most interesting articles in _Truth_ in after years were the ones he was in the habit of writing, when he was on his summer holiday, describing the various resorts he visited, and he was always eager to recall reminiscences of his boyhood when he found himself at a place he had passed through in his youth. He wrote from Wiesbaden in 1890:

German watering-places are dull places now that the gambling at them has been abolished, and even those who did not play at their tables have discovered this. I am at Wiesbaden. When a jade repents of her ways and takes to propriety, she is little given to overdo respectability. So it is with this and other examples of roulette and _trente et quarante_. The respectability of the Wiesbaden of to-day is positively oppressive. Its devotion {31} weighs upon the spirit. I remember being here nearly forty years ago. I was then a lad travelling on the continent with a bear-leader to enlarge my experience. The bear-leader and I never could quite agree what spot would prove the most improving. He wished to study still nature, I wished to study human nature. So, like Abram and Lot, we generally separated. He betook himself to the Carpathian Mountains, I sojourned here. Wiesbaden was then cosmopolitan. The tag-rag and bobtail of all nations resorted to it, and, if all of them were not quite _sans reproche_, they were all pleasant enough in their way. There was a vague notion that, somewhere or other, there were waters, but, where precisely they were, and what they cured, very few knew. The Kursaal was the centre of attraction, with its roulette and its _trente et quarante_.[10]

From Paris, Labouchere and his tutor returned to England, and, after a month passed at Broome Hall with occasional visits to his beloved Evans', it was arranged that he should make a trip to South America, where his family had had for many years very important commercial interests and could give him some respectable introductions. He noted his impressions of his journey and arrival in America in the most approved early Victorian guide-book manner, but, in spite of an apparent effort to be, at the same time, both stilted and elegant in style, his natural originality peeps out here and there:

"On the 2nd of November, 1852, in the steam packet _Orinoco_, I set sail, or rather set steam, from England. For the first ten days I remained in bed in all the agonies of seasickness. Some persons, particularly poets, find some pleasure in a voyage, but I confess the _nil nisi pontus et aer_ is to me the most distasteful sight in creation, especially when the _pontus_ is rough. The passengers were chiefly Spaniards to Havana and Germans who were going to 'improve their prospects'--how I have no idea, but, from the appearance of the gentlemen, they might have done so {32} without becoming millionaires. At nine we breakfasted, at twelve lunched, at four dined, and at seven tea'd. The rest of the day was passed on deck. Through storm and sunshine the majority of the foreigners played at bull, a species of marine quoits. The ladies always knitted, and the English read Dickens' _Household Words_. In the evening there was dancing. There was an unfortunate devil of a mulatto on board who offended the prejudices of the planters by dancing with the white ladies. 'Why,' they said, 'that fellow ought to be put up to auction unless anybody owns him.' In eating and these interesting diversions the day passed. The only incident that enlivened the voyage was, that one night the Germans had an immense bowl of punch brewed (I wish I had the recipe of that said punch, for a better brew I never tasted) and sang sentimental songs. One German went round and informed the English they were going to drink to _die_ King of England, and, amid immense applause, they bawled out 'Gott save _die_ Queen.' As the punch got to their heads the songs became more sentimental. A Bonn student seized the bowl, and wished to drink it to the Fatherland, when another, who saw no reason why the Bonn gentleman should consecrate the whole to his patriotism, knocked him down. This was the signal for a general row. Some were sick, some sang, while a little Jew, who, before, I had considered a steward, enlivened the scene by dancing about in his night-shirt. On coming up the next morning I found the Bonn student offering generally to fight a duel with any person who asserted he had misbehaved himself. As no one was valorous enough to do so, the student retired into 'bull.' At St. Thomas we changed steamers and almost died of heat. The mulatto turned out very smart, which excited the ire of one of the planters, who said, 'Look at that fellow with a new coat, he ought to be diving about naked for half-pence in the water.' Decency, however, forbade the mulatto taking the kindly meant advice. Ten days after leaving St. Thomas we arrived at Vera Cruz. I ought to {33} have felt some sort of enthusiasm on first seeing America, but a mosquito had stung me in the eye, so that I saw it under difficulties; indeed, a person must possess a large amount of enthusiasm to be aroused into any outward display by the sandbanks and plaguish-looking shore of Vera Cruz. I had a letter to a merchant, who most hospitably entertained me at his house, where I spent two days bathing my eye in hot water. On the third day, in company with some friends, we left for Mexico in the diligence. In a European town we should have created some excitement marching to the coach office, each armed with guns, swords, and revolvers _ad libitum_. Here, however, no one even stopped to look at our martial appearance. At the diligence office we had a preliminary taste of the pleasure of travelling in Mexico--travellers are only allowed 25 lbs. of luggage, and as every person's portmanteau weighed twice as much, the clerk refused to allow any to go. While my companions were haranguing inside I slipped my portmanteau, which was far the largest, under the coachman's seat, and a dollar into his hand. During the journey I was looked upon as a villain by my fellow-passengers, because each thought that, if I had not existed, their traps would have taken the place of mine. Their position was certainly uncomfortable--their sole luggage was in their hands, consisting chiefly, as it appeared to me, of tooth-brushes which they had taken out of their trunks. It was four in the evening when we started. For several leagues the carriage was pulled along a railway by mules. This comfortable method of travelling soon came to an end, and, with it, all signs of a road; we were jolted along a miserable path full of ruts, in part paved, or rather unpaved, by the Americans during their invasion, to make the road impassable. Little did they know the Mexicans, as this highroad from the chief seaport to the capital has never been repaired to the present time. Alison has given a glowing description of the beauties of the scenery between Vera Cruz and Mexico; it might have been Paradise, but, in that infernal {34} diligence, knocking my head every minute against the top, and holding on by both hands to the window, I was in no mood to enjoy the scenery. Fresh from Europe, I certainly was astonished at the luxuriant tropical jungle, filled with parrots and humming-birds instead of sparrows. While my eyes drank in this new scene, my nose drank in a succession of pole-cats. It is a journey of three days between Vera Cruz and Mexico. The first day and night is passed in a tropical heat, after which commences the ascent to the Grand Plateau of Mexico. A rose smells as sweet under another name, and, as it would be difficult to a European to pronounce the names, I do not much regret forgetting where we stopped the first night; the second was passed at Puebla di los Angelos, a town remarkable for its superstition during the rule of the Aztecs, and equally remarkable at present for its intolerance. When the cathedral was building, two angels came down every night and doubled the work done during the daytime by the mortal masons. The cathedral is the most beautiful in the country; every other house is a monastery and a church. At four we started again and jolted until three. Next morning, even under these difficulties, I could not help admiring the scenery. The only three snowy peaks in Mexico were all distinctly visible, while the road wound through mountains rising perpendicularly from the plain. One we passed is called after Cortes' wife, and exactly resembles in its outlines a giant asleep. At the close of the third day we reached Mexico.

"When the city was in the midst of a lake and approached by causeways it might have excited the admiration of Cortes and his army. In the midst of a dry swamp it failed to excite mine. The advance of Cortes from the shore to the capital was wonderful, but I really think it was to be preferred to the diligence and unpaved road. All sufferings have an end, and mine ended in the diligence hotel. I had imagined, from travellers' accounts, that I should be lucky if I got a corner in a barn with half a dozen mules, but I found myself sleeping {35} in a comfortable room and dining at a table d'hôte in a most distressingly civilised manner."

Labouchere does not think it necessary to his dignified narrative to mention the fact that his tutor accompanied him on this journey, but, upon a reference to his note-book, we find that the long-suffering Mentor formed one of the party. Labouchere is no less severe upon himself and his iniquities in America than he was in England. He wrote:

"We landed at Vera Cruz and proceeded to Mexico. In two months I lost all my money and £250 besides at cards. To induce my Mentor to pay this sum I retired to a neighbouring town and stated my intention to remain there until he provided the money. Here, in the _bena caliente_, in a small inn, with no companion but the innkeeper, I remained for a month. Here I reconsidered my life and determined to commence afresh. I asked myself upon what ground I rested my title to differ from the common race of fools. Was I clever? A scholar? I had read a little. On most subjects I was ignorant--in society I could argue, but not converse. With a lady, with a duenna, with every person in whose society I found myself, I introduced my sole subject--gambling. I told everybody that I had recently lost £6000, which I imagined raised me in their opinion. I could not dance, and I shunned society. I was conceited, and I was unwilling to confess my ignorance of anything. I was an abominable and useless liar, as I was fond of relating adventures of myself that had really never taken place. I was ready to make acquaintance with every person who spoke to me. Of music, drawing, and all the lighter arts I knew absolutely nothing. I was one thing and one alone--a gambler--on that subject I could be eloquent; but I felt that I could not consider myself superior to the generality of mankind on this ground alone. In playing even I failed, because, though I theoretically discovered systems by which I was likely to win, yet, in practice, I could command myself so little that upon a slight loss I left all to chance."

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The last entry in his note-book was made by Labouchere in the seclusion of this little inn at Quotla di Amalpas, and it ends abruptly. Perhaps it was interrupted by the arrival of the Mentor, after his receipt of the letter, the draft of which is given further on.

"In my inn at Quotla di Amalpas I determined on reaching the States to entirely give up gambling. A gambler requires to possess the greatest command over himself, in which I entirely failed. To be very reserved--a reserved person is always supposed to be wiser than his neighbours. To be engaged in as many intrigues as is possible with ladies--nothing forms character so much as intrigues of this description--_probatum est_. To learn with a good countenance to pay delicate compliments and to...."

In the flap of his note-book is the draft of the letter to his tutor, referred to above, which must be quoted, as it is so extremely characteristic of the man whose letters were ever, to the very end of his life, the most frankly illuminative documents as to the state of mind through which he might be passing. Incidentally, also, it cannot fail to suggest to the reader a gleam of compassion for the problems and trials which must have been the lot of its recipient. Here it is:

QUOTLA DI AMALPAS.

DEAR SIR,--I have just come back from Cuernava, where I rode over the worst road even in Mexico. Pray do not trouble yourself to exercise your forbearance, or make excuses, as I can assure you they are not wanted. If you find the slightest pleasure or amusement in writing to innkeepers not to give me money, write to every one in the country, but do not give yourself the trouble to tell me you have done so, as it is a matter of unimportance to me. My stopping in Mexico cannot now be helped, as I certainly shall not leave before getting some money, and I must then go to England to pay it. I had intended not to gamble in America, because of having to pay a double interest--but man proposes and God disposes. As R---- says, I made up a {37} story to avoid paying him. I could not at present leave my gambling debts unpaid, or he would be believed. I shall borrow some money here, and send to England (not to my father) for some to pay it, and then go to England to pay it when it becomes due. It is a pity having to go back as I should have liked to see a little more of America, but what is done is done, and cannot be helped.--Yours truly,

HENRY Du PRE LABOUCHERE.

_P.S._--I have been offered a place as croupier at a Monté bank, so I shall not starve.

[1] Born Aug. 14, 1799; died Jan. 29, 1863.

[2] Died April 29, 1874.

[3] I am indebted to Mrs. Hillyer, Mr. Labouchere's eldest sister, for the above anecdote.

[4] _Truth_, May 28, 1885.

[5] I am indebted to Lord Welby for the above anecdote. He heard it from the late Lord Bristol, who was Labouchere's fag at Eton, and also from the late Mr. Anthony Hammond.

[6] _Truth_, Aug. 8, 1877.

[7] _Truth_, Jan. 31, 1889.

[8] The note-books from which the quotations in this chapter have been taken are in the possession of the Rev. John Labouchere of Sculthorpe Rectory, Fakenham.

[9] Edmund Yates, _Recollections and Experiences_; Serjeant Ballantine, _Experiences of a Barrister's Life_.

[10] _Truth_, Sept. 4, 1890.

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