er was any cause to refer
to an Ordnance Map or Admiralty Chart. There never was a Secretary's
Office, nor did Mr. Linley Sambourne either design or provide the
notepaper or envelopes, nor are there any records in existence, either
printed or written "in a neat and clerkly style," of the merry meetings
of this unique Club. It ran its delightful and dangerous course, its
wild career, unmarred by any dispute or accident. The last "meet" was to
dine Lord Russell on his elevation to the Bench.

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF ME AS A MEMBER OF THE TWO PINS CLUB, BY
LINLEY SAMBOURNE.]

I shall never forget the first occasion on which I saw the late Lord
Russell. It was in the old days when the Law Courts were in
Westminster,--and I, in search of "character," strangely enough found
myself wandering about the Divorce Court, where so many characters are
lost. It was a _cause celebre_,--the divorce suit of a most
distinguished Presbyterian cleric who charged his wife, the
co-respondent being the stable-boy. Russell (then plain Mr.) was for the
clergyman, and when I entered the crowded court, he was in the midst of
his appeal to the jury, working himself up to a pitch of eloquence,
appealing to all to look upon the saintly figure of the man of prayer
(the plaintiff, who was playing the part by kneeling and clasping his
hands), and asking the jury to scorn all idea of his client having any
desire to free himself of his wife so as to marry his pretty governess,
or cousin, or whomever it was suggested he most particularly admired.
Russell had arrived at quoting Scripture,--he was at his best, austere,
eloquent, persuasive, an orator, a gentleman, a great advocate, and as
sanctimonious as his kneeling client.

[Illustration: THE LATE LORD RUSSELL, THE PRESIDENT OF THE TWO PINS
CLUB.]

He was interrupted by someone handing him a telegram. As he opened it he
said, waving it towards his client, "This may be a message from Heaven
to that saint,--ah, gentlemen of the jury, the words so
pure--so--so----" (he reads the telegram).

"D----! D----! D----!" He crushed the telegram in his hand, and with an
angry gesture threw it away. Although his words were drowned by the
"laughter in Court," his gestures and face showed his chagrin and
disgust. The Grand National had been run half-an-hour before.

Years afterwards, on his own lawn at Tadworth, I told him of this
incident, and asked him what the contents of that telegram were. He
declared I