No one could turn with more elasticity from work to play than George Curzon; he was a first-rate host and boon companion and showed me and mine a steady and sympathetic love over a long period of years.  Even now, if I died, although he belongs to the more conventional and does not allow himself to mix with people of opposite political parties, he would write my obituary notice.

At the time of which I am telling, he was threatened with lung trouble and was ordered to Switzerland by his doctors.  We were very unhappy and assembled at a farewell banquet, to which he entertained us in the Bachelors’ Club, on the 10th of July, 1889.  We found a poem welcoming us on our chairs, when we sat down to dinner, in which we were all honourably and categorically mentioned.  Some of our critics called us “the Gang”—­to which allusion is made here—­but we were ultimately known as the Souls.

This famous dinner and George’s poem caused a lot of fun and friction, jealousy, curiosity and endless discussion.  It was followed two years later by another dinner given by the same host to the same guests and in the same place, on the 9th of July, 1891.

The repetition of this dinner was more than the West End of London could stand; and I was the object of much obloquy.  I remember dining with Sir Stanley and Lady Clarke to meet King Edward—­then Prince of Wales—­when my hostess said to me in a loud voice, across the table: 

“There were some clever people in the world, you know, before you were born, Miss Tennant!”

Feeling rather nettled, I replied: 

“Please don’t pick me out, Lady Clarke, as if I alone were responsible for the stupid ones among whom we find ourselves to-day.”

Having no suspicion of other people, I was seldom on the defensive and did not mean to be rude but I was young and intolerant.  This was George Curzon’s poem: 

[Editor’s Note:  See footnotes at bottom of poem]

10th July, 1889.

    Ho! list to a lay
    Of that company gay,
Compounded of gallants and graces,
    Who gathered to dine,
    In the year ’89,
In a haunt that in Hamilton Place is.

    There, there where they met,
    And the banquet was set
At the bidding of GEORGIUS Curzon;
    Brave youth! ’tis his pride,
    When he errs, that the side
Of respectable licence he errs on.

    Around him that night—­
    Was there e’er such a sight? 
Souls sparkled and spirits expanded;
    For of them critics sang,
    That tho’ christened the Gang,
By a spiritual link they were banded.

    Souls and spirits, no doubt
    But neither without
Fair visible temples to dwell in! 
    E’en your image divine
    Must be girt with a shrine,
For the pious to linger a spell in.

    There was seen at that feast
    Of this band, the High Priest,
The heart that to all hearts is nearest;
    Him may nobody steal
    From the true Common weal,
Tho’ to each is dear Arthur the dearest. [1]