H. H.'s method of working was the despair of many a secretary. Tidiness he abhorred, and was never happy until every chair in his library was piled high with books, the floor scattered with paper and his writing table a chaotic mass of literature. Sandwiched between postal complaints and parliamentary Blue books would be found various ill-spelt little letters written in childish scrawls beginning, "I have brok mine horse," which H. H. could not be induced either to destroy or to keep in a more suitable place.
Serious young men who require the stillness and silence of locked doors when they set to work on some intricate problem would be surprised at the methods of the Postal reformer in his home. He would go to his library after dinner to write, let us say, an article for "The Ninetcenth Century." Passing the drawing-room he would listen to the music for a few moments, and with a special request, "Please leave the doors wide open so that I may hear the singing," he would begin his assault on the blundering and plundering of the post office.
H. H. was fortunate in attaching to himself, as well loved friend and secretary, Edward Cant Wall—a man of scholarly attainments and high character. Between H. H. and Edward Wail existed the most complete confidence and a depth of affection rarely found. Had H. H. lived to fulfil his intention of writing his memoirs, he would have included a high tribute to Mr Wall in grateful memory of his loyal support and valued services.
Four sons and two daughters composed H. H.'s family. His eldest son, John—the present holder of the baronetcy—married the Honble. Sermonda Burrell, daughter of Lord Gwydyr. At the time of
