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

Empty Pocket,  Was A Lesson Which I Trust Was Not Thrown Away

Upon Me.  It Did Not Occur To Me To Do So,  But I Certainly

Might Have Picked A Pocket,  If - Well,  If I Had Been Brought

Up To It.  Honesty,  As I Have Often Thought Since,  Is Dirt

Cheap If Only One Can Afford It.

Before Departing From My Beloved Glenquoich,  I Must Pay A

Passing Tribute To The Remarkable Qualities Of Mrs. Edward

Ellice And Of Her Youngest Sister Mrs. Robert Ellice,  The

Mother Of The Present Member For St. Andrews.  It Was,  In A

Great Measure,  The Bright Intelligence,  The Rare Tact,  And

Social Gifts Of These Two Ladies That Made This Beautiful

Highland Resort So Attractive To All Comers.

The Winter Of 1854-55 I Spent In Rome.  Here I Made The

Acquaintance Of Leighton,  Then Six-And-Twenty.  I Saw A Good

Deal Of Him,  As I Lived Almost Entirely Amongst The Artists, 

Taking Lessons Myself In Water Colours Of Leitch.  Music Also

Brought Us Into Contact.  He Had A Beautiful Voice,  And Used

To Sing A Good Deal With Mrs. Sartoris - Adelaide Kemble -

Whom He Greatly Admired,  And Whose Portrait Is Painted Under

A Monk's Cowl,  In The Cimabue Procession.

Calling On Him One Morning,  I Found Him On His Knees

Buttering And Rolling Up This Great Picture,  Preparatory To

Sending It To The Academy.  I Made Some Remark About Its

Unusual Size,  Saying With A Sceptical Smile,  'It Will Take Up

A Lot Of Room.'

'If They Ever Hang It,' He Replied; 'But There's Not Much

Chance Of That.'

Seeing That His Reputation Was Yet To Win,  It Certainly

Seemed A Bold Venture To Make So Large A Demand For Space To

Begin With.  He Did Not Appear The Least Sanguine.  But It 

Was Accepted; And Prince Albert Bought It Before The

Exhibition Opened.

Gibson Also I Saw Much Of.  He Had Executed A Large Alto-

Rilievo Monument Of My Mother,  Which Is Now In My Parish

Church,  And The Model Of Which Is On The Landing Of One Of

The Staircases Of The National Gallery.  His Studio Was

Always An Interesting Lounge,  For He Was Ever Ready To

Lecture Upon Antique Marbles.  To Listen To Him Was Like

Reading The 'Laocoon,' Which He Evidently Had At His Fingers'

Ends.  My Companion Through The Winter Was Mr. Reginald

Cholmondeley,  A Cambridge Ally,  Who Was Studying Painting. 

He Was The Uncle Of Miss Cholmondeley The Well-Known

Authoress,  Whose Mother,  By The Way,  Was A First Cousin Of

George Cayley's,  And Also A Great Friend Of Mine.

On My Return To England I Took Up My Abode In Dean's Yard, 

And Shared A House There With Mr. Cayley,  The Yorkshire

Member,  And His Two Sons,  The Eldest A Barrister,  And My

Friend George.  Here For Several Years We Had Exceedingly

Pleasant Gatherings Of Men More Or Less Distinguished In

Literature And Art.  Tennyson Was A Frequent Visitor - Coming

Late,  After Dinner Hours,  To Smoke His Pipe.  He Varied A

Good Deal,  Sometimes Not Saying A Word,  But Quietly Listening

To Our Chatter.  Thackeray Also Used To Drop In Occasionally.

George Cayley And I,  With The Assistance Of His Father And

Others,  Had Started A Weekly Paper Called 'The Realm.'  It

Was Professedly A Currency Paper,  And Also Supported A Fiscal

Policy Advocated By Mr. Cayley And Some Of His Parliamentary

Clique.  Coming In One Day,  And Finding Us Hard At Work, 

Thackeray Asked For Information.  We Handed Him A Copy Of The

Paper.  'Ah,' He Exclaimed,  With Mock Solemnity,  '"The

Rellum," Should Be Printed On Vellum.'  He Too,  Like

Tennyson,  Was Variable.  But This Depended On Whom He Found. 

In The Presence Of A Stranger He Was Grave And Silent.  He

Would Never Venture On Puerile Jokes Like This Of His

'Rellum' - A Frequent Playfulness,  When At His Ease,  Which

Contrasted So Unexpectedly With His Impenetrable Exterior. 

He Was Either Gauging The Unknown Person,  Or Feeling That He

Was Being Gauged.  Monckton Milnes Was Another.  Seeing Me

Correcting Some Proof Sheets,  He Said,  'Let Me Give You A

Piece Of Advice,  My Young Friend.  Write As Much As You

Please,  But The Less You Print The Better.'

'For Me,  Or For Others?'

'For Both.'

George Cayley Had A Natural Gift For,  And Had Acquired

Considerable Skill,  In The Embossing And Working Of Silver

Ware.  Millais So Admired His Art That He Commissioned Him To

Make A Large Tea-Tray; Millais Provided The Silver.  Round

The Border Of The Tray Were Beautifully Modelled Sea-Shells,  

Cray-Fish,  Crabs,  And Fish Of Quaint Forms,  In High Relief. 

Millais Was So Pleased With The Work That He Afterwards

Painted,  And Presented To Cayley,  A Fine Portrait In His Best

Style Of Cayley's Son,  A Boy Of Six Or Seven Years Old.

Laurence Oliphant Was One Of George Cayley's Friends. 

Attractive As He Was In Many Ways,  I Had Little Sympathy With

His Religious Opinions,  Nor Did I Comprehend Oliphant's

Exalted Inspirations; I Failed To See Their Practical

Bearing,  And,  At That Time I Am Sorry To Say,  Looked Upon Him

As An Amiable Faddist.  A Special Favourite With Both Of Us

Was William Stirling Of Keir.  His Great Work On The Spanish

Painters,  And His 'Cloister Life Of Charles The Fifth,'

Excited Our Unbounded Admiration,  While His Bonhomie And

Radiant Humour Were A Delight We Were Always Eager To

Welcome.

George Cayley And I Now Entered At Lincoln's Inn.  At The End

Of Three Years He Was Duly Called To The Bar.  I Was Not; For

Alas,  As Usual,  Something 'Turned Up,' Which Drew Me In

Another Direction.  For A Couple Of Years,  However,  I 'Ate'

My Terms - Not Unfrequently With William Harcourt,  With Whom

Cayley Had A Yorkshire Intimacy Even Before Our Cambridge

Days.

Old Mr. Cayley,  Though Not The Least Strait-Laced,  Was A

Religious Man.  A Unitarian By Birth And Conviction,  He Began

And Ended The Day With Family Prayers.  On Sundays He Would

Always Read To Us,  Or Make Us Read To Him,  A Sermon Of

Channing's,  Or Of Theodore Parker's,  Or What We All Liked

Better,  One Of Frederick Robertson's.  He Was Essentially A

Good Man.  He Had Been In Parliament All His Life,  And Was A

Broad-Minded,  Tolerant,  Philosophical Man-Of-The-World.  He

Had A Keen Sense Of Humour,  And Was Rather Sarcastical; But, 

For All That,  He Was Sensitively Earnest,  And Conscientious. 

I Had The Warmest Affection And Respect For Him.  Such A

Character Exercised No Small Influence Upon Our Conduct And

Our Opinions,  Especially As His Approval Or Disapproval Of

These Visibly Affected His Own Happiness.

He Was Never Easy Unless He Was Actively Engaged In Some

Benevolent Scheme,  The Promotion Of Some Charity,  Or In What

He Considered His Parliamentary Duties,  Which He Contrived To

Make Very Burdensome To His Conscience.  As His Health Was

Bad,  These Self-Imposed Obligations Were All The More

Onerous; But He Never Spared Himself,  Or His Somewhat Scanty

Means.  Amongst Other Minor Tasks,  He Used To Teach At The

Sunday-School Of St. John's,  Westminster; In This He

Persuaded Me To Join Him.  The Only Other Volunteer,  Not A

Clergyman,  Was Page Wood - A Great Friend Of Mr. Cayley's -

Afterwards Lord Chancellor Hatherley.  In Spite Of Mr.

Cayley's Unitarianism,  Like Frederick The Great,  He Was All

For Letting People 'Go To Heaven In Their Own Way,' And Was

Moreover Quite Ready To Help Them In Their Own Way.  So That 

He Had No Difficulty In Hearing The Boys Repeat The Day's

Collect,  Or The Creed,  Even If Athanasian,  In Accordance With

The Prescribed Routine Of The Clerical Teachers.

This Was Right,  At All Events For Him,  If He Thought It

Right.  My Spirit Of Nonconformity Did Not Permit Me To

Follow His Example.  Instead Thereof,  My Teaching Was Purely

Secular.  I Used To Take A Volume Of Mrs. Marcet's

'Conversations' In My Pocket; And With The Aid Of The

Diagrams,  Explain The Application Of The Mechanical Forces,  -

The Inclined Plane,  The Screw,  The Pulley,  The Wedge,  And The

Lever.  After Two Or Three Sundays My Class Was Largely

Increased,  For The Children Keenly Enjoyed Their Competitive

Examinations.  I Would Also Give Them Bits Of Poetry To Get

By Heart For The Following Sunday - Lines From Gray's

'Elegy,' From Wordsworth,  From Pope's 'Essay On Man' - Such

In Short As Had A Moral Rather Than A Religious Tendency.

After Some Weeks Of This,  The Boys Becoming Clamorous In

Their Zeal To Correct One Another,  One Of The Curates Left

His Class To Hear What Was Going On In Mine.  We Happened At

The Moment To Be Dealing With Geography.  The Curate, 

Evidently Shocked,  Went Away And Brought Another Curate. 

Then The Two Together Departed,  And Brought Back The Rector -

Dr. Jennings,  One Of The Westminster Canons - A Most Kind And

Excellent Man.  I Went On As If Unconscious Of The

Censorship,  The Boys Exerting Themselves All The More Eagerly

For The Sake Of The 'Gallery.'  When The Hour Was Up,  Canon

Jennings Took Me Aside,  And In The Most Polite Manner Thanked

Me For My 'Valuable Assistance,' But Did Not Think That The

'Essay On Man,' Or Especially Geography,  Was Suited For The

Teaching In A Sunday-School.  I Told Him I Knew It Was

Useless To Contend With So High A Canonical Authority;

Personally I Did Not See The Impiety Of Geography,  But Then, 

As He Already Knew,  I Was A Confirmed Latitudinarian.  He

Clearly Did Not See The Joke,  But Intimated That My Services

Would Henceforth Be Dispensed With.

Of Course I Was Wrong,  Though I Did Not Know It Then,  For It

Must Be Borne In Mind That There Were No Board Schools In

Those Days,  And General Education,  Amongst The Poor,  Was

Deplorably Deficient.  At First,  My Idea Was To Give The

Children (They Were All