Any one reading the novels of the commencement of the nineteenth century must have noticed how wonderfully popular practical jokes, often of the crudest nature, then were.  A brutal practical joke always seems to me to indicate a very rudimentary and undeveloped sense of humour in its perpetrator.  Some people with paleolithic intellects seem to think it exquisitely humorous to see a man fall down and hurt himself.  A practical joke which hurts no one is another matter.  All those privileged to enjoy the friendship of the late Admiral Lord Charles Beresford will always treasure the memory of that genial and delightful personality.  About thirty years ago an elderly gentleman named Bankes-Stanhope seemed to imagine that he had some proprietary rights in the Carlton Club.  Mr. Bankes-Stanhope had his own chair, lamp, and table there, and was exceedingly zealous in reminding members of the various rules of the club.  Smoking was strictly forbidden in the hall of the Carlton at that time.  I was standing in the hall one night when Lord Charles came out of the writing-room, a big bundle of newly written letters in his hand, and a large cigar in his mouth.  He had just received a shilling’s-worth of stamps from the waiter, when old Mr. Bankes-Stanhope, who habitually puffed and blew like Mr. Jogglebury-Crowdey of “Sponge’s Sporting Tour,” noticed the forbidden cigar through a glass door, and came puffing and blowing into the hall in hot indignation.  He reproved Lord Charles Beresford for his breach of the club rules in, as I thought, quite unnecessarily severe tones.  The genial Admiral kept his temper, but detached one penny stamp from his roll, licked it, and placed it on his forefinger.  “My dear Mr. Stanhope,” he began, “it was a little oversight of mine.  I was writing in there, do you see?” (a friendly little tap on Mr. Bankes-Stanhope’s shirt-front, and on went a penny stamp), “and I moved in here, you see” (another friendly tap, and on went a second stamp), “and forgot about my cigar, you see” (a third tap, and a third stamp left adhering).  The breezy Admiral kept up this conversation, punctuated with little taps, each one of which left its crimson trace on the old gentleman’s white shirt-front, until the whole shilling’s-worth was placed in position.  Mr. Bankes-Stanhope was too irate to notice these little manoeuvres; he maintained his hectoring tone, and never glanced down at his shirt-front.  Finally Lord Charles left, and the old gentleman, still puffing and blowing with wrath, struggled into his overcoat, and went off to an official party at Sir Michael Hicks-Beach’s, where his appearance with twelve red penny stamps adhering to his shirt-front must have created some little astonishment.