The Foreign Office—­The new Private Secretary—­A Cabinet key—­ Concerning theatricals—­Some surnames which have passed into everyday use—­Theatricals at Petrograd—­A mock-opera—­The family from Runcorn—­An embarrassing predicament—­Administering the oath—­ Secret Service—­Popular errors—­Legitimate employment of information—­The Phoenix Park murders—­I sanction an arrest—­The innocent victim—­The execution of the murderers of Alexander II.—­ The jarring military band—­Black Magic—­Sir Charles Wyke—­Some of his experiences—­The seance at the Pantheon—­Sir Charles’ experiment on myself—­The Alchemists—­The Elixir of Life, and the Philosopher’s Stone—­Lucid directions for their manufacture—­ Glamis Castle and its inhabitants—­The tuneful Lyon family—­Mr. Gladstone at Glamis—­He sings in the glees—­The castle and its treasures—­Recollections of Glamis.

Having successfully defeated the Civil Service Examiners, I entered the Foreign Office in 1876, for the six or eight months’ training which all Attaches had to undergo before being sent abroad.  The typewriter had not then been invented, so everything was copied by hand—­a wearisome and deadening occupation where very lengthy documents were concerned.

The older men in the Foreign Office were great sticklers for observing all the traditional forms.  Lord Granville, in obedience to political pressure, had appointed the son of a leading politician as one of his unpaid private secretaries.  The youth had been previously in his father’s office in Leeds.  On the day on which he started work in the Foreign Office he was given a bundle of letters to acknowledge.  “You know, of course, the ordinary form of acknowledgment,” said his chief.  “Just acknowledge all these, and say that the matter will be attended to.”  When the young man from Leeds brought the letters he had written, for signature that evening, it was currently reported that they were all worded in the same way:  “Dear Sirs:—­Your esteemed favour of yesterday’s date duly to hand, and contents noted.  Our Lord Granville has your matter in hand.”  The horror-stricken official gasped at such a departure from established routine.

As was the custom then, after one month in the Foreign Office, my immediate chief gave me a little lecture on the traditional high standard of honour of the Foreign Office, which he was sure I would observe, and then handed me a Cabinet key which he made me attach to my watch-chain in his presence.  This Cabinet key unlocked all the boxes in which the most confidential papers of the Cabinet were circulated.  As things were then arranged, this key was essential to our work, but a boy just turned twenty naturally felt immensely proud of such a proof of the confidence reposed in him.  I think, too, that the Foreign Office can feel justifiably proud of the fact that the trust reposed in its most junior members was never once betrayed, and that the most weighty secrets were absolutely safe in their keeping.