shooting; in the middle of dinner, even, this irrepressible family could not help bursting into harmony, and such exquisite harmony, too!  Until their sisters grew up, the younger boys sang the treble and alto parts, but finally they were able to manage a male-voice quartet, a trio of ladies’ voices, and a combined family octette.  The dining-room at Glamis is a very lofty hall, oak-panelled, with a great Jacobean chimney-piece rising to the roof.  After dinner it was the custom for the two family pipers to make the circuit of the table three times, and then to walk slowly off, still playing, through the tortuous stone passages of the ancient building until the last faint echoes of the music had died away.  Then all the lights in the dining-room were extinguished except the candles on the table, and out came a tuning-fork, and one note was sounded—­“Madrigal,” “Spring is Come, third beat,” said the conducting brother, and off they went, singing exquisitely; glees, madrigals, part-songs, anything and everything, the acoustic properties of the lofty room adding to the effect.  All visitors to Glamis were charmed with this most finished singing—­always, of course, without accompaniment.  They sang equally well in the private chapel, giving admirable renderings of the most intricate “Services,” and, from long practice together, their voices blended perfectly.  This gifted family were equally good at acting.  They had a permanent stage during the winter months at Glamis, and as every new Gilbert and Sullivan opera was produced in London, the concerted portions were all duly repeated at Glamis, and given most excellently.  I have never heard the duet and minuet between “Sir Marmaduke” and “Lady Sangazure” from The Sorcerer better done than at Glamis, although Sir Marmaduke was only nineteen, and Lady Sangazure, under her white wig, was a boy of twelve.  The same boy sang “Mabel” in the Pirates of Penzance most admirably.

In 1884 it was conveyed to Lord Strathmore that Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, whom he did not know personally, were most anxious to see Glamis.  Of course an invitation was at once dispatched, and in spite of the rigorously Tory atmosphere of the house, we were all quite charmed with Mr. Gladstone’s personality.  Lord Strathmore wished to stop the part-singing after dinner, but I felt sure that Mr. Gladstone would like it, so it took place as usual.  The old gentleman was perfectly enchanted with it, and complimented this tuneful family enthusiastically on the perfect finish of their singing.  Next evening Mr. Gladstone asked for a part-song in the middle of dinner, and as the singing was continued in the drawing-room afterwards, he went and, with a deferential courtesy charming to see in a man of his age and position, asked whether the young people would allow an old man to sing bass in the glees with them.  Mr. Gladstone still had a very fine resonant bass, and he read quite admirably.  It was curious to see the Prime Minister reading off the same copy as an Eton boy of sixteen, who was singing alto.  Being Sunday night, they went on singing hymns and anthems till nearly midnight; there was no getting Mr. Gladstone away.  Mrs. Gladstone told me next day that he had not enjoyed himself so much for many months.