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

Christian Name) Who Hailed From Norfolk.  I See Her Now:  Her

Jolly,  Round,  Shining Face,  Her Extensive Mouth,  Her Ample

Person.  I Recall,  With More Pleasure Than I Then Endured, 

The Cordial Hugs She Surreptitiously Bestowed Upon Me When We

Met By Accident In The Passages.  Kind,  Affectionate

'Carrots'!  Thy Heart Was As Bounteous As Thy Bosom.  May The

Tenderness Of Both Have Met With Their Earthly Deserts; And

Mayest Thou Have Shared To The Full The Pleasures Thou Wast

Ever Ready To Impart!

There Were No Railways In Those Times.  It Amuses Me To See

People Nowadays Travelling By Coach,  For Pleasure.  How Many

Lives Must Have Been Shortened By Long Winter Journeys In

Those Horrible Coaches.  The Inside Passengers Were Hardly

Better Off Than The Outside.  The Corpulent And Heavy

Occupied The Scanty Space Allotted To The Weak And Small -

Crushed Them,  Slept On Them,  Snored Over Them,  And 

Monopolised The Straw Which Was Supposed To Keep Their Feet

Warm.

A Pachydermatous Old Lady Would Insist Upon An Open Window. 

A Wheezy Consumptive Invalid Would Insist On A Closed One. 

Everybody's Legs Were In Their Own,  And In Every Other

Body's,  Way.  So That When The Distance Was Great And Time

Precious,  People Avoided Coaching,  And Remained Where They

Were.

For This Reason,  If A Short Holiday Was Given - Less Than A

Week Say - Norfolk Was Too Far Off; And I Was Not Permitted

To Spend It At Holkham.  I Generally Went To Charles Fox's At

Addison Road,  Or To Holland House.  Lord Holland Was A Great

Friend Of My Father's; But,  If Creevey Is To Be Trusted -

Which,  As A Rule,  My Recollection Of Him Would Permit Me To

Doubt,  Though Perhaps Not In This Instance - Lord Holland Did

Not Go To Holkham Because Of My Father's Dislike To Lady

Holland.

I Speak Here Of My Introduction To Holland House,  For

Although Lady Holland Was Then In The Zenith Of Her

Ascendency,  (It Was She Who Was The Cabinet Minister,  Not Her

Too Amiable Husband,) Although Holland House Was Then The

Resort Of All The Potentates Of Whig Statecraft,  And Whig

Literature,  And Whig Wit,  In The Persons Of Lord Grey, 

Brougham,  Jeffrey,  Macaulay,  Sydney Smith,  And Others,  It Was

Not Till Eight Or Ten Years Later That I Knew,  When I Met

Them There,  Who And What Her Ladyship's Brilliant Satellites

Were.  I Shall Not Return To Lady Holland,  So I Will Say A

Parting Word Of Her Forthwith.

The Woman Who Corresponded With Buonaparte,  And Consoled The

Prisoner Of St. Helena With Black Currant Jam,  Was No

Ordinary Personage.  Most People,  I Fancy,  Were Afraid Of

Her.  Her Stature,  Her Voice,  Her Beard,  Were Obtrusive Marks

Of Her Masculine Attributes.  It Is Questionable Whether Her

Amity Or Her Enmity Was Most To Be Dreaded.  She Liked Those

Best Whom She Could Most Easily Tyrannise Over.  Those In The

Other Category Might Possibly Keep Aloof.  For My Part I

Feared Her Patronage.  I Remember When I Was About Seventeen

- A Self-Conscious Hobbledehoy - Mr. Ellice Took Me To One Of

Her Large Receptions.  She Received Her Guests From A Sort Of

Elevated Dais.  When I Came Up - Very Shy - To Make My

Salute,  She Asked Me How Old I Was.  'Seventeen,' Was The

Answer.  'That Means Next Birthday,' She Grunted.  'Come And

Give Me A Kiss,  My Dear.'  I,  A Man! - A Man Whose Voice Was

(Sometimes) As Gruff As Hers! - A Man Who Was Beginning To

Shave For A Moustache!  Oh! The Indignity Of It!

But It Was Not Lady Holland,  Or Her Court,  That Concerned Me

In My School Days,  It Was Holland Park,  Or The Extensive

Grounds About Charles Fox's House (There Were No Other Houses

At Addison Road Then),  That I Loved To Roam In.  It Was The 

Birds'-Nesting; It Was The Golden Carp I Used To Fish For On

The Sly With A Pin; The Shying At The Swans,  The Hunt For

Cockchafers,  The Freedom Of Mischief Generally,  And The

Excellent Food - Which I Was So Much In Need Of - That Made

The Holiday Delightful.

Some Years Later,  When Dining At Holland House,  I Happened To

Sit Near The Hostess.  It Was A Large Dinner Party.  Lord

Holland,  In His Bath-Chair (He Nearly Always Had The Gout), 

Sat At The Far End Of The Table A Long Way Off.  But My Lady

Kept An Eye On Him,  For She Had Caught Him Drinking

Champagne.  She Beckoned To The Groom Of The Chambers,  Who

Stood Behind Her; And In A Gruff And Angry Voice Shouted: 

'Go To My Lord.  Take Away His Wine,  And Tell Him If He

Drinks Any More You Have My Orders To Wheel Him Into The Next

Room.'  If This Was A Joke It Was Certainly A Practical One. 

And Yet Affection Was Behind It.  There's A Tender Place In

Every Heart.

Like All Despots,  She Was Subject To Fits Of Cowardice -

Especially,  It Was Said,  With Regard To A Future State,  Which

She Professed To Disbelieve In.  Mr. Ellice Told Me That

Once,  In Some Country House,  While A Fearful Storm Was

Raging,  And The Claps Of Thunder Made The Windows Rattle, 

Lady Holland Was So Terrified That She Changed Dresses With

Her Maid,  And Hid Herself In The Cellar.  Whether The Story

Be A Calumny Or Not,  It Is At Least Characteristic.

After All,  It Was Mainly Due To Her That Holland House Became

The Focus Of All That Was Brilliant In Europe.  In The

Memoirs Of Her Father - Sydney Smith - Mrs. Austin Writes: 

'The World Has Rarely Seen,  And Will Rarely,  If Ever,  See

Again All That Was To Be Found Within The Walls Of Holland

House.  Genius And Merit,  In Whatever Rank Of Life,  Became A

Passport There; And All That Was Choicest And Rarest In

Europe Seemed Attracted To That Spot As Their Natural Soil.'

Did We Learn Much At Temple Grove?  Let Others Answer For

Themselves.  Acquaintance With The Classics Was The Staple Of

A Liberal Education In Those Times.  Temple Grove Was The

Atrium To Eton,  And Gerund-Grinding Was Its Raison D'etre. 

Before I Was Nine Years Old I Daresay I Could Repeat -

Parrot,  That Is - Several Hundreds Of Lines Of The Aeneid. 

This,  And Some Elementary Arithmetic,  Geography,  And Drawing, 

Which Last I Took To Kindly,  Were Dearly Paid For By Many

Tears,  And By Temporarily Impaired Health.  It Was Due To My

Pallid Cheeks That I Was Removed.  It Was Due To The

Following Six Months - Summer Months - Of A Happy Life That

My Health Was Completely Restored.

Mr. Edward Ellice,  Who Constantly Figures In The Memoirs Of

The Last Century As 'Bear Ellice' (An Outrageous Misnomer,  By

The Way),  And Who Later On Married My Mother,  Was The Chief

Controller Of My Youthful Destiny.  His First Wife Was A

Sister Of The Lord Grey Of Reform Bill Fame,  In Whose

Government He Filled The Office Of War Minister.  In Many

Respects Mr. Ellice Was A Notable Man.  He Possessed Shrewd

Intelligence,  Much Force Of Character,  And An Autocratic

Spirit - To Which He Owed His Sobriquet.  His Kindness Of

Heart,  His Powers Of Conversation,  With Striking Personality

And Ample Wealth,  Combined To Make Him Popular.  His House In

Arlington Street,  And His Shooting Lodge At Glen Quoich,  Were

Famous For The Number Of Eminent Men Who Were His Frequent

Guests.

Mr. Ellice's Position As A Minister,  And His Habitual

Residence In Paris,  Had Brought Him In Touch With The Leading

Statesmen Of France.  He Was Intimately Acquainted With Louis

Philippe,  With Talleyrand,  With Guizot,  With Thiers,  And Most

Of The French Men And French Women Whose Names Were Bruited

In The Early Part Of The Nineteenth Century.

When I Was Taken From Temple Grove,  I Was Placed,  By The

Advice And Arrangement Of Mr. Ellice,  Under The Charge Of A

French Family,  Which Had Fallen Into Decay - Through The

Change Of Dynasty.  The Marquis De Coubrier Had Been Master

Of The Horse To Charles X.  His Widow - An Old Lady Between

Seventy And Eighty - With Three Maiden Daughters,  All

Advanced In Years,  Lived Upon The Remnant Of Their Estates In

A Small Village Called Larue,  Close To Bourg-La-Reine,  Which, 

It May Be Remembered,  Was Occupied By The Prussians During

The Siege Of Paris.  There Was A Chateau,  The Former Seat Of

The Family; And,  Adjoining It,  In The Same Grounds,  A Pretty

And Commodious Cottage.  The First Was Let As A Country House

To Some Wealthy Parisians; The Cottage Was Occupied By The

Marquise And Her Three Daughters.

The Personal Appearances Of Each Of These Four Elderly

Ladies,  Their Distinct Idiosyncrasies,  And Their Former High

Position As Members Of A Now Moribund Nobility,  Left A

Lasting Impression On My Memory.  One Might Expect,  Perhaps, 

From Such A Prelude,  To Find In The Old Marquise Traces Of

Stately Demeanour,  Or A Regretted Superiority.  Nothing Of

The Kind.  She Herself Was A Short,  Square-Built Woman,  With

Large Head And Strong Features,  Framed In A Mob Cap,  With A

Broad Frill Which Flopped Over Her Tortoise-Shell Spectacles.  

She Wore A Black Bombazine Gown,  And List Slippers.  When In

The Garden,  Where She Was Always Busy In The Summer-Time,  She

Put On Wooden Sabots Over Her Slippers.

Despite This Homely Exterior,  She Herself Was A 'Lady' In

Every Sense Of The Word.  Her Manner Was Dignified And

Courteous To Everyone.  To Her Daughters And To Myself She

Was Gentle And Affectionate.  Her Voice Was Sympathetic, 

Almost Musical.  I Never Saw Her Temper Ruffled.  I Never

Heard Her Allude To Her Antecedents.

The Daughters Were As Unlike Their Mother As They Were To One

Another.  Adele,  The Eldest,  Was Very Stout,  With A Profusion

Of Grey Ringlets.  She Spoke English Fluently.  I Gathered, 

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