I have heard Dr. Hatchell tell that story at least twenty times.  Dr. Hatchell, who was invited to every single entertainment, both at the Lodge and at the Castle, was a widower.  A peculiarly stupid young Aide-de-Camp once asked him why he had not brought Mrs. Hatchell with him.  “Sorr,” answered the doctor in his most impressive tones, “Mrs. Hatchell is an angel in heaven.”  A fortnight later the same foolish youth asked again why Dr. Hatchell had come alone.  “Mrs. Hatchell, sorr, is still an angel in heaven,” answered the indignant doctor.

It was said that no mortal eye had ever seen Dr. Hatchell in the daytime out of his professional frock-coat and high hat.  I know that when he stayed with us in Scotland some years later, he went out salmon-fishing in a frock-coat and high hat (with a stethescope clipped into the crown of it), an unusual garb for an angler.

In the spring of 1868, King Edward and Queen Alexandra (then, of course, Prince and Princess of Wales) paid us a long visit at the Castle.  My father had heard a rumour that recently the Prince of Wales had introduced the custom of smoking in the dining-room after dinner.  He was in a difficult position; nothing would induce him to tolerate such a practice, but how was he to avoid discourtesy to his Royal guest?  My mother rose to the occasion.  A little waiting-room near the dining-room was furnished and fitted up in the most attractive manner, and before the Prince had been an hour in the Castle, my mother showed him the charming little room, and told H. R. H. that it had been specially fitted up for him to enjoy his after-dinner cigar in.  That saved the situation.  Young men of to-day will be surprised to learn that in my time no one dreamed of smoking before they went to a ball, as to smell of smoke was considered an affront to one’s partners.  I myself, though a heavy smoker from an early age, never touched tobacco in any form before going to a dance, out of respect for my partners.  Incredible as it may sound, in those days all gentlemen had a very high respect for ladies and young ladies, and observed a certain amount of deference in their intercourse with them.  Never, to the best of my recollection, did either we or our partners address each other as “old thing,” or “old bean.”  This, of course, now is hopelessly Victorian, and as defunct as the dodo.  Present-day hostesses tell me that all young men, and most girls, are kind enough to flick cigarette-ash all over their drawing-rooms, and considerately throw lighted cigarette-ends on to fine old Persian carpets, and burn holes in pieces of valuable old French furniture.  Of course it would be too much trouble to fetch an ash-tray, or to rise to throw lighted cigarette-ends into the grate.  The young generation have never been brought up to take trouble, nor to consider other people; we might perhaps put it that they never think of any one in the world but their own sweet selves.  I am inclined to think that there are distinct advantages in being a confirmed, unrepentant Victorian.