Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

With The Necessity Of Any Immediate Step More Desperate Than

Dinner.  This We Enjoyed Like Men Who Had Earned It; And Long

Before I Deposited My Dear Friar In His Cell Both Of Us Were

Snoring In Our Respective Corners Of The Chaise.

A Word Or Two Will Complete This Romantic Episode.  The Next

Long Vacation I Spent In London,  Bent,  Needless To Say,  On A

Happy Issue To My Engagement.  How Simple,  In The Retrospect, 

Is The Frustration Of Our Hopes!  I Had Not Been A Week In

Town,  Had Only Danced Once With My Fiancee,  When,  One Day, 

Taking A Tennis Lesson From The Great Barre,  A Forced Ball

Grazed The Frame Of My Racket,  And Broke A Blood Vessel In My

Eye.

For Five Weeks I Was Shut Up In A Dark Room.  It Was Two More

Before I Again Met My Charmer.  She Did Not Tell Me,  But Her

Man Did,  That Their Wedding Day Was Fixed For The 10th Of The

Following Month; And He 'Hoped They Would Have The Pleasure

Of Seeing Me At The Breakfast!'  [I Made The Following Note

Of The Fact:  N.B. - A Woman's Tears May Cost Her Nothing;

But Her Smiles May Be Expensive.]

I Must,  However,  Do The Young Lady The Justice To State That, 

Though Her Future Husband Was No Great Things As A 'Man,' As

She Afterwards Discovered,  He Was The Heir To A Peerage And

Great Wealth.  Both He And She,  Like Most Of My Collaborators

In This World,  Have Long Since Passed Into The Other.

The Fashions Of Bygone Days Have Always An Interest For The

Living:  The Greater Perhaps The Less Remote.  We Like To

Think Of Our Ancestors Of Two Or Three Generations Off - The

Heroes And Heroines Of Jane Austen,  In Their Pantaloons And

High-Waisted,  Short-Skirted Frocks,  Their Pigtails And

Powdered Hair,  Their Sandalled Shoes,  And Hessian Boots.  Our

Near Connection With Them Entrances Our Self-Esteem.  Their

Prim Manners,  Their Affected Bows And Courtesies,  The 'Dear

Mr. So-And-So' Of The Wife To Her Husband,  The 'Sir' And

'Madam' Of The Children To Their Parents,  Make Us Wonder

Whether Their Flesh And Blood Were Ever As Warm As Ours; Or

Whether They Were A Race Of Prigs And Puppets?

My Memory Carries Me Back To The Remnants Of These Lost

Externals - That Which Is Lost Was Nothing More; The Men And

Women Were Every Whit As Human As Ourselves.  My Half-Sisters

Wore Turbans With Birds-Of-Paradise In Them.  My Mother Wore

Gigot Sleeves; But Objected To My Father's Pigtail,  So Cut It 

Off.  But My Father Powdered His Head,  And Kept To His Knee-

Breeches To The Last; So Did All Elderly Gentlemen,  When I

Was A Boy.  For The Matter Of That,  I Saw An Old Fellow With

A Pigtail Walking In The Park As Late As 1845.  He,  No Doubt, 

Was An Ultra-Conservative.

Fashions Change So Imperceptibly That It Is Difficult For The

Historian To Assign Their Initiatory Date.  Does The Young

Dandy Of To-Day Want To Know When White Ties Came Into Vogue?

- He Knows That His Great-Grandfather Wore A White Neckcloth, 

And Takes It For Granted,  May Be,  That His Grandfather Did So

Too.  Not A Bit Of It.  The Young Englander Of The Coningsby

Type - The Count D'orsays Of My Youth,  Scorned The White Tie

Alike Of Their Fathers And Their Sons.  At Dinner-Parties Or

At Balls,  They Adorned Themselves In Satin Scarfs,  With A

Jewelled Pin Or Chained Pair Of Pins Stuck In Them.  I Well

Remember The Rebellion - The Protest Against Effeminacy -

Which The White Tie Called Forth Amongst Some Of Us Upon Its

First Invasion On Evening Dress.  The Women Were In Favour Of

It,  And,  Of Course,  Carried The Day; But Not Without A

Struggle.  One Night At Holkham - We Were A Large Party,  I

Daresay At Least Fifty At Dinner - The Men Came Down In Black

Scarfs,  The Women In White 'Chokers.'  To Make The Contest

Complete,  These All Sat On One Side Of The Table,  And We Men

On The Other.  The Battle Was Not Renewed; Both Factions

Surrendered.  But The Women,  As Usual,  Got Their Way,  And -

Their Men.

For My Part I Could Never Endure The Original White

Neckcloth.  It Was Stiffly Starched,  And Wound Twice Round

The Neck; So I Abjured It For The Rest Of My Days; Now And

Then I Got The Credit Of Being A Coxcomb - Not For My Pains, 

But For My Comfort.  Once,  When Dining At The Viceregal Lodge

At Dublin,  I Was 'Pulled Up' By An Aide-De-Camp For My

Unbecoming Attire; But I Stuck To My Colours,  And Was None

The Worse.  Another Time My Offence Called Forth A Touch Of

Good Nature On The Part Of A Great Man,  Which I Hardly Know

How To Speak Of Without Writing Me Down An Ass.  It Was At A

Crowded Party At Cambridge House.  (Let Me Plead My Youth; I

Was But Two-And-Twenty.)  Stars And Garters Were Scarcely A

Distinction.  White Ties Were Then As Imperative As Shoes And

Stockings; I Was There In A Black One.  My Candid Friends

Suggested Withdrawal,  My Relations Cut Me Assiduously, 

Strangers By My Side Whispered At Me Aloud,  Women Turned

Their Shoulders To Me; And My Only Prayer Was That My

Accursed Tie Would Strangle Me On The Spot.  One Pair Of

Sharp Eyes,  However,  Noticed My Ignominy,  And Their Owner Was

Moved By Compassion For My Sufferings.  As I Was Slinking

Away,  Lord Palmerston,  With A Bonhomie Peculiarly His Own, 

Came Up To Me; And With A Shake Of The Hand And Hearty

Manner,  Asked After My Brother Leicester,  And When He Was

Going To Bring Me Into Parliament? - Ending With A Smile: 

'Where Are You Off To In Such A Hurry?'  That Is The Sort Of

Tact That Makes A Party Leader.  I Went To Bed A Proud,  

Instead Of A Humiliated,  Man; Ready,  If Ever I Had The

Chance,  To Vote That Black Was White,  Should He But State It

Was So.

Beards And Moustache Came Into Fashion After The Crimean War. 

It Would Have Been An Outrage To Wear Them Before That Time. 

When I Came Home From My Travels Across The Rocky Mountains

In 1851,  I Was Still Unshaven.  Meeting My Younger Brother -

A Fashionable Guardsman - In St. James's Street,  He

Exclaimed,  With Horror And Disgust At My Barbarity,  'I

Suppose You Mean To Cut Off That Thing!'

Smoking,  As Indulged In Now,  Was Quite Out Of The Question

Half A Century Ago.  A Man Would As Soon Have Thought Of

Making A Call In His Dressing-Gown As Of Strolling About The

West End With A Cigar In His Mouth.  The First Whom I Ever

Saw Smoke A Cigarette At A Dining-Table After Dinner Was The

King; Some Forty Years Ago,  Or More Perhaps.  One Of The Many

Social Benefits We Owe To His Present Majesty.

During My Blindness I Was Hospitably Housed In Eaten Place By

Mr. Whitbread,  The Head Of The Renowned Firm.  After My

Recovery I Had The Good Fortune To Meet There Lady Morgan, 

The Once Famous Authoress Of The 'Wild Irish Girl.'  She

Still Bore Traces Of Her Former Comeliness,  And Had Probably

Lost Little Of Her Sparkling Vivacity.  She Was Known To Like

The Company Of Young People,  As She Said They Made Her Feel

Young; So,  Being The Youngest Of The Party,  I Had The Honour

Of Sitting Next Her At Dinner.  When I Recall Her

Conversation And Her Pleasing Manners,  I Can Well Understand

The Homage Paid Both Abroad And At Home To The Bright Genius

Of The Irish Actor's Daughter.

We Talked A Good Deal About Byron And Lady Caroline Lamb. 

This Arose Out Of My Saying I Had Been Reading 'Glenarvon,'

In Which Lady Caroline Gives Byron's Letters To Herself As

Glenarvon's Letters To The Heroine.  Lady Morgan Had Been The

Confidante Of Lady Caroline,  Had Seen Many Of Byron's

Letters,  And Possessed Many Of Her Friend's - Full Of Details

Of The Extraordinary Intercourse Which Had Existed Between

The Two.

Lady Morgan Evidently Did Not Believe (In Spite Of Lady

Caroline's Mad Passion For The Poet) That The Liaison Ever

Reached The Ultimate Stage Contemplated By Her Lover.  This

Opinion Was Strengthened By Lady Caroline's Undoubted

Attachment To Her Husband - William Lamb,  Afterwards Lord

Melbourne - Who Seems To Have Submitted To His Wife's

Vagaries With His Habitual Stoicism And Good Humour.

Both Byron And Lady Caroline Had Violent Tempers,  And Were

Always Quarrelling.  This Led To The Final Rupture,  When, 

According To My Informant,  The Poet's Conduct Was Outrageous. 

He Sent Her Some Insulting Lines,  Which Lady Morgan Quoted. 

The Only One I Remember Is:

Thou False To Him,  Thou Fiend To Me!

Among Other Amusing Anecdotes She Told Was One Of Disraeli. 

She Had Met Him (I Forget Where),  Soon After His First

Success As The Youthful Author Of 'Vivian Grey.'  He Was

Naturally Made Much Of,  But Rather In The Bohemian World Than

By Such Queens Of Society As Lady Holland Or Lady Jersey. 

'And Faith!' She Added,  With The Piquante Accent Which

Excitement Evoked,  'He Took The Full Shine Out Of His Janius. 

And How Do Ye Think He Was Dressed?  In A Black Velvet Jacket

And Suit To Match,  With A Red Sash Round His Waist,  In Which

Was Stuck A Dagger With A Richly Jew'lled Sheath And Handle.'

The Only Analogous Instance Of Self-Confidence That I Can

Call To Mind Was Garibaldi's Costume At A Huge Reception At

Stafford House.  The Elite Of Society Was There,  In Diamonds, 

Ribbons,  And Stars,  To Meet Him.  Garibaldi's Uppermost And

Outermost Garment Was A Red Flannel Shirt,  Nothing More Nor

Less.

The Crowd Jostled