THE TILNEY STREET OUTRAGE—­“ARE YOU NOT GOING TO PUT ON THE BLACK CAP, MY LORD?”

One evening, while sitting with some friends in Tilney Street, there was one of the most tremendous explosions ever heard.  It seemed as if the world was blown up.  But as nothing happened, we did not leave the room, and went on with the conversation.

It was not until the next day it was ascertained that an attempt had been made to blow in Reginald Brett’s front door, which was a few houses off, and that it had been perpetrated by some Fenians, whose friends had been awarded penal servitude for life for a similar outrage with dynamite.  Why their anger was directed against Mr. Reginald Brett—­a most peaceful and excellent man—­it was difficult to say, for he was very kind-hearted, and, above all, the son of the Master of the Rolls, who never tried prisoners at all, only counsel.

Having made inquiries the next morning—­I don’t know of whom, there were such a number of people in Tilney Street—­I was astonished to hear some one say, “They meant to pay you that visit, Sir Henry.”

“Then they knocked at the wrong door,” said I.

The stranger seemed to know me, and I had a little further conversation with him.  It turned out he was a Chancery barrister, and a friend of Brett’s.

“Why,” I asked, “do you think they meant the visit for me?”

“Well,” he answered, “it was.”

“If it was intended for me,” I replied, “I can only say they, were most ungrateful, for I gave their friends all I could.”

“Yes—­penal servitude for life.”

“Very well,” I added; “if they think they’ll frighten me by blowing in Reginald Brett’s front door, they are very much deceived.”

Lord Esher, I believe, always considered that he was the object of this attack, and as I had no wish to disturb so comforting an idea, took no further notice, and the Fenians took no further notice of me.  Years after, however, my name was mentioned in Parliament in connection with this case; nor was my severity called in question.

There were no more explosions in Tilney Street, but a singular circumstance occurred, which placed me in a position, if I had desired it, to deprive Lord Esher of the satisfaction of believing that he was the object of so much Fenian attention.  But if it was a comfort to him or a source of pride, I did not see why I should take it away.

A reverend father of the Roman Church told me that a long while ago a man in confession made a statement which he wished the priest to communicate to me.  It was under the seal of confession, and he refused, as he was bound to do, to mention a word.  The man persisted in asking him, and he as persistently declined.

Some considerable time, however, having elapsed, the same man went to the priest, not to confess, but to repeat his request in ordinary conversation.  This the father could have no objection to, and the culprit told him that he had undertaken to throw the bomb at the front door of Number 5, but that through having in the gas-light misread the figure, he had placed it against that of Number 2.  He begged the priest as a great favour to assure me on his word that the bomb was certainly intended for me, and not for Brett.