“Children of Alfred, from every clime
    Your glory shall live to the deathday of Time! 
    Hereafter in bliss still ever expand
    O’er measureless realms of the Heavenly Land! 
    For you, like him, serve God and your Race,
    And gratefully look on the birthday of Grace: 
    Then honour to Alfred! with heart-stirring cheers! 
    To-day is the Day of a thousand years!
      Chorus,—­Hail to his Jubilee Day,
                        The Day of a thousand years!”

This song was set to excellent music, and went well, especially in the chorus.  Several Americans were of our company, in particular, Richmond, a literary friend of mine.  At the dinner I had to make a principal speech, and my cousin Gaspard of the Artillery (now General) answered for the Army.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SHAKESPEARE COMMEMORATION.

On the three-hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare at Stratford-on-Avon I contributed an ode, to be found in my extant book of poems.  Among the notabilia of the feastings and celebration, I remember how Lord Houghton raised a great laugh by his pretended indignation when the glee singers greeted the guests at dinner as “Ye spotted snakes with double tongue!”—­Doubtless it was a Shakespearean old English piece of music,—­but stupidly enough selected for a complimentary greeting.  My ode was well received, but I’ll say no more of that, as it can speak for itself.  Lord Leigh made us all very welcome at his splendid Palladian mansion, and there I met Lord Carlisle, then Viceroy of Ireland, who kindly told me that as he had known my father, and knew me, and my son was then in Ireland (he was a captain in the 29th Regiment), he would put him on his staff, as a third generation of the name.  I am not sure if this happened, for my son soon was sent elsewhere; and he has long since gone to the Better Land.  But Lord Carlisle’s kindness was all the same.  At the ball I remember Lord Carlisle’s diamonds hanging like a string of glass chandelier drops at his button-hole with a Shakespeare favour, and jingling perilously for chippings as he danced:  for size those half-dozen Koh-i-noors must be—­foolishly—­invaluable.

At Stratford Church, either then or some while after, I strangely was the means of saving Shakespeare’s own baptismal font from destruction, as thus:  the church had been “restored,”—­i.e., all its best patina was polished away; and among the “improvements,” I noticed a brand new font.  “Where is the old one?” “O sir, the mason who supplied the new one took it away.”  So I called and found this font—­quite sacred in Shakespearean eyes as where their idol had been christened—­lying broken in a corner of the yard.  Then off I went to the rector, I think it was a Mr. Granville, expostulating; and (to make the matter short) with some difficulty I got the font mended and put back again, as it certainly never should have been removed.  I have since been to Stratford, and find that they use the new font, and have put the old one in a corner of the nave.