Among the stories told of the late Lord Rus sell of Killowen is the following, printed in The Westminster Gazette : In the autumn of 1897, Lord Russell had fin ished the Assizes at Hereford, and, being a keen horseman, he took the idea of riding to Shrews bury through the lovely Stretton Hills, and thence taking train to London. He arrived at Church Stretton very tired, and asked at the hotel for a private room, where he could rest for a few hours before resuming his ride to Shrewsbury, thirteen miles further on. The manageress declared the hotel was full to over flowing, and that she could not give him a private room, though she would gladly provide him and his horse with whatever refreshment they needed. He declined the offer, and on being informed that the next village, Leebotwood, was only three miles away and boasted of a good inn, he decided to proceed there. Arriving there tired, dusty, and in by no means a good temper, Lord Russell called the landlady, an independent, democratic Welsh woman, told her he was the Lord Chief Justice of England, and that he required bait for his horse, food for himself, and a private room where he might sleep undisturbed for a few hours. Now Church Stretton, in addition to its natural beauties, possesses two large private asylums for males and females respectively. The landlady was reminded of this on behold ing an angry, dust-stained, untidy man who called himself the Lord Chief Justice of Eng land. She probably considered that if he was the personage he represented himself to be, he should travel in a coach with outriders, and wear a full-bottomed wig and ermine-trimmed robes. So she took him to be a fugitive from Stretton House, and proceeded to treat him accordingly. She told him he could have some tea and fresh boiled eggs for refreshment. " I see a nice ham there," said Lord Russell. " That's not for the likes of you," replied the hostess. " That's for to-night's lodge " — an allusion to the local lodge of a friendly society which met at her inn. Lord Russell could not succeed in getting even one slice of the ham; so, having eaten his eggs and drunk his tea, he laid himself down for a rest in her parlor. His lordship was just dozing to sleep when the landlady remembered
that certain family treasures lay unguarded with in the stranger's reach. So she bustled into the room, rummaged among drawers, and retreated triumphantly with some silver spoons, her mar riage lines, and the first cuttings of her boy's hair. Lord Russell bore the intrusion meekly enough for him, and, when she had left, resumed his sleep. But not for long. The landlady sud denly felt misgivings about her presentation clock (from the lodge to her husband), which ticked placidly on the mantelshelf. She burst in on his slumbers once more and carried off the clock, with as much haste and dignity as its great weight would allow. This was more than Lord Russell could bear. He jumped up, rated her soundly for her dis turbance and ill-treatment, called for his horse, and stated that on reaching Shrewsbury he would report her to Captain Williams Freeman. Now Captain Williams Freeman is (or was then) Chief Constable of Shropshire, and the men tion of his name was not without effect on the license-holder. " I told you I was the Lord Chief Justice of England, and there is my name for you to remember," thundered Lord Russell, handing her his card. She looked at it and said, " Well, you ought to have come here as a lord, and not like a dusty tramp 1 " Lord Russell rode on to Shrewsbury, and I suppose the humor of the situation dawned on him, because the landlady suffered no annoyance from the Chief Constable; and she now treasures the Lord Chief's card with the silver spoons, her marriage lines, and the first cuttings of her son's hair. The above tale recalls to The Law Times the good story told by O'Connell concerning Lord St. Leonards, who, when Lord Chancellor of Ireland, was fond of visiting lunatic asylums. The Lord Chancellor made an arrangement with Sir Philip Crampton, the Surgeon-General, to visit, without any previous intimation, a private lunatic asylum at Finglas, near Dublin. Some wag wrote to the asylum that a patient would be sent there that day, " a smart little man who thought himself one of the judges or some great person of that sort," and he was to be detained by them. The doctor was out when the Lord Chancellor arrived. He was very talkative, but the keepers humored him and answered all his
