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

Pipes And Wooden Pipes And Meerschaum Pipes.  What Was The

Best Way To Colour Them,  The Advantages Of Colouring Them, 

The Beauty Of The 'Culotte,' The Coolness It Gave To The

Smoke,  &C.  We Listened To The Venerable Sage - He Was Then

Forty-Three And We Only Five Or Six And Twenty - As We Should

Have Listened To A Homer Or An Aristotle,  And He Thoroughly

Enjoyed Our Appreciation Of His Jokes.

Some Of Them Would Have Startled Such Of His Admirers Who

Knew Him Only By His Poems; For His Stories Were Anything But

Poetical - Rather Humorous One Might Say,  On The Whole. 

Here's One Of Them:  He Had Called Last Week On The Duchess

Of Sutherland At Stafford House.  Her Two Daughters Were With

Her,  The Duchess Of Argyll And The Beautiful Lady Constance

Grosvenor,  Afterwards Duchess Of Westminster.  They Happened

To Be In The Garden.  After Strolling About For A While,  The

Mama Duchess Begged Him To Recite Some Of His Poetry.  He

Chose 'Come Into The Garden,  Maud' - Always A Favourite Of

The Poet's,  And,  As May Be Supposed,  Many Were The Fervid

Exclamations Of 'How Beautiful!'  When They Came Into The

House,  A Princely Groom Of The Chambers Caught His Eye And

His Ear,  And,  Pointing To His Own Throat,  Courteously

Whispered:  'Your Dress Is Not Quite As You Would Wish It, 

Sir.'

'I Had Come Out Without A Necktie; And There I Was,  Spouting

My Lines To The Three Graces,  As Decollete As A Strutting

Turkey Cock.'

The Only Other Allusion To Poetry Or Literature That Night

Was A Story I Told Him Of A Mr. Thomas Wrightson,  A Yorkshire

Banker,  And A Fanatical Swedenborgian.  Tommy Wrightson,  Who

Was One Of The Most Amiable And Benevolent Of Men,  Spent His

Life In Making A Manuscript Transcript Of Swedenborg's Works. 

His Writing Was A Marvel Of Calligraphic Art; He Himself,  A

Curiosity.  Swedenborg Was For Him An Avatar; But If He Had

Doubted Of Tennyson's Ultimate Apotheosis,  I Think He Would

Have Elected To Seek Him In 'The Other Place.'  Anyhow,  Mr.

Wrightson Avowed To Me That He Repeated 'Locksley Hall' Every

Morning Of His Life Before Breakfast.  This I Told Tennyson. 

His Answer Was A Grunt; And In A Voice From His Boots,  'Ugh!

Enough To Make A Dog Sick!'  I Did My Utmost To Console Him

With The Assurance That,  To The Best Of My Belief,  Mr.

Wrightson Had Once Fallen Through A Skylight.

As Illustrating The Characters Of The Admired And His

Admirer,  It May Be Related That The Latter,  Wishing For The

Poet's Sign-Manual,  Wrote And Asked Him For It.  He Addressed

Tennyson,  Whom He Had Never Seen,  As 'My Dear Alfred.'  The

Reply,  Which He Showed To Me,  Was Addressed 'My Dear Tom.'

My Stepfather,  Mr. Ellice,  Having Been In Two Ministries -

Lord Grey's In 1830,  And Lord Melbourne's In 1834 - Had

Necessarily A Large Parliamentary Acquaintance; And As I

Could Always Dine At His House In Arlington Street When I

Pleased,  I Had Constant Opportunities Of Meeting Most Of The

Prominent Whig Politicians,  And Many Other Eminent Men Of The

Day.  One Of The Dinner Parties Remains Fresh In My Memory -

Not Because Of The Distinguished Men Who Happened To Be

There,  But Because Of The Statesman Whose Name Has Since

Become So Familiar To The World.

Some Important Question Was Before The House In Which Mr.

Ellice Was Interested,  And Upon Which He Intended To Speak. 

This Made Him Late For Dinner,  But He Had Sent Word That His

Son Was To Take His Place,  And The Guests Were Not To Wait. 

When He Came Lord John Russell Greeted Him With -

'Well,  Ellice,  Who's Up?'

'A Younger Son Of Salisbury's,' Was The Reply; 'Robert Cecil, 

Making His Maiden Speech.  If I Hadn't Been In A Hurry I

Should Have Stopped To Listen To Him.  Unless I Am Very Much

Mistaken,  He'll Make His Mark,  And We Shall Hear More Of

Him.'

There Were Others Dining There That Night Whom It Is

Interesting To Recall.  The Grotes Were There.  Mrs. Grote, 

Scarcely Less Remarkable Than Her Husband; Lord Mahon, 

Another Historian (Who Married A Niece Of Mr. Ellice's),  Lord

Brougham,  And Two Curious Old Men Both Remarkable,  If For

Nothing Else,  For Their Great Age.  One Was George Byng, 

Father Of The First Lord Strafford,  And 'Father' Of The House

Of Commons; The Other Sir Robert Adair,  Who Was Ambassador At

Constantinople When Byron Was There.  Old Mr. Byng Looked As

Aged As He Was,  And Reminded One Of Mr. Smallweed Doubled Up

In His Porter's Chair.  Quite Different Was His Compeer.  We

Were Standing In The Recess Of The Drawing-Room Window After

Dinner When Sir Robert Said To Me:

'Very Shaky,  Isn't He!  Ah! He Was My Fag At Eton,  And I've

Got The Best Of It Still.'

Brougham Having Been Twice In The Same Government With Mr.

Ellice,  And Being Devoted To Young Mrs. Edward Ellice,  His

Charming Daughter-In-Law,  Was A Constant Visitor At 18 

Arlington Street.  Mrs. Ellice Often Told Me Of His

Peculiarities,  Which Must Evidently Have Been Known To

Others.  Walter Bagehot,  Speaking Of Him,  Says:

'Singular Stories Of Eccentricity And Excitement,  Even Of

Something More Than Either Of These,  Darken These Latter

Years.'

What Mrs. Ellice Told Me Was,  That She Had To Keep A Sharp

Watch On Lord Brougham If He Sat Near Her Writing-Table While

He Talked To Her; For If There Was Any Pretty Little Knick-

Knack Within His Reach He Would,  If Her Head Were Turned, 

Slip It Into His Pocket.  The Truth Is Perhaps Better Than

The Dark Hint,  For Certainly We All Laughed At It As Nothing

But Eccentricity.

But The Man Who Interested Me Most (For Though When In The

Navy I Had Heard A Hundred Legends Of His Exploits,  I Had

Never Seen Him Before) Was Lord Dundonald.  Mr. Ellice

Presented Me To Him,  And The Old Hero Asked Why I Had Left

The Navy.

'The Finest Service In The World; And Likely,  Begad,  To Have

Something To Do Before Long.'

This Was Only A Year Before The Crimean War.  With His Strong

Rough Features And Tousled Mane,  He Looked Like A Grey Lion. 

One Expected To See Him Pick His Teeth With A Pocket

Boarding-Pike.

The Thought Of The Old Sailor Always Brings Before Me The

Often Mooted Question Raised By The Sentimentalists And

Humanitarians Concerning The Horrors Of War.  Not Long After

This Time,  The Papers - The Sentimentalist Papers - Were

Furious With Lord Dundonald For Suggesting The Adoption By

The Navy Of A Torpedo Which He Himself,  I Think,  Had

Invented.  The Bare Idea Of Such Wholesale Slaughter Was

Revolting To A Christian World.  He Probably Did Not See Much

Difference Between Sinking A Ship With A Torpedo,  And Firing

A Shell Into Her Magazine; And Likely Enough Had As Much

Respect For The Opinions Of The Woman-Man As He Had For The

Man-Woman.

There Is Always A Large Number Of People In The World Who

Suffer From Emotional Sensitiveness And Susceptibility To

Nervous Shocks Of All Kinds.  It Is Curious To Observe The

Different And Apparently Unallied Forms In Which These

Characteristics Manifest Themselves.  With Some,  They Exhibit

Extreme Repugnance To The Infliction Of Physical Pain For

Whatever End; With Others There Seems To Be A Morbid Dread Of

Violated Pudicity.  Strangely Enough The Two Phases Are

Frequently Associated In The Same Individual.  Both

Tendencies Are Eminently Feminine; The Affinity Lies In A

Hysterical Nature.  Thus,  Excessive Pietism Is A Frequent 

Concomitant Of Excessive Sexual Passion; This,  Though Notably

The Case With Women,  Is Common Enough With Men Of Unduly

Neurotic Temperaments.

Only The Other Day Some Letters Appeared In The 'Times' About

The Flogging Of Boys In The Navy.  And,  As A Sentimental

Argument Against It,  We Were Told By The Humanitarian

Leaguers That It Is 'Obscene.'  This Is Just What Might Be

Expected,  And Bears Out The Foregoing Remarks.  But Such

Saintly Simplicity Reminds Us Of The Kind Of Squeamishness Of

Which Our Old Acquaintance Mephisto Observes:

Man Darf Das Nicht Vor Keuschen Ohren Nennen,

Was Keusche Herzen Nicht Entbehren Konnen.

(Chaste Ears Find Nothing But The Devil In

What Nicest Fancies Love To Revel In.)

The Same Astute Critic Might Have Added:

And Eyes Demure That Look Away When Seen,

Lose Ne'er A Chance To Peep Behind The Screen.

It Is All Of A Piece.  We Have Heard Of The Parlour-Maid Who

Fainted Because The Dining-Table Had 'Ceder Legs,' But Never

Before That A 'Switching' Was 'Obscene.'  We Do Not Envy The

Unwholesomeness Of A Mind So Watchful For Obscenity.

Be That As It May,  So Far As Humanity Is Concerned,  This

Hypersensitive Effeminacy Has But A Noxious Influence; And

All The More For The Twofold Reason That It Is Sometimes

Sincere,  Though More Often Mere Cant And Hypocrisy.  At The

Best,  It Is A Perversion Of The Truth; For Emotion Combined

With Ignorance,  As It Is In Nine Hundred And Ninety-Nine

Cases Out Of A Thousand,  Is A Serious Obstacle In The Path Of

Rational Judgment.

Is Sentimentalism On The Increase?  It Seems To Be So,  If We

Are To Judge By A Certain Portion Of The Press,  And By

Speeches In Parliament.  But Then,  This May Only Mean That

The Propensity Finds Easier Means Of Expression Than It Did

In The Days Of Dearer