They clapped their hands and laughed immoderately on my telling them that I thought those kings of England who could not find room on the windows must have gone down to the cellars.
'They are going,' my father said.

He drank off a glassful of wine and sighed prodigiously.

'They are going, gentlemen, going there, like good wine, like old Port, which they tell us is going also.

Favour me by drinking to the health of Richmond Roy the younger.' They drank to me heartily, but my father had fallen mournful before I left the room.
Pony-riding, and lessons in boxing and wrestling, and lessons in French from a French governess, at whose appearance my father always seemed to be beginning to dance a minuet, so exuberantly courteous was he; and lessons in Latin from a tutor, whom my father invited to dinner once a fortnight, but did not distinguish otherwise than occasionally to take down Latin sentences in a notebook from his dictation, occupied my mornings.

My father told the man who instructed me in the art of self-defence that our family had always patronized his profession.