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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. THE First Edition of this book was written, from beginning to end, in the short space of five months, without the aid of diary or notes, beyond those cited as such from a former work.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819927297
Langue	English

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PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
THE First Edition of this book was written, frombeginning to end, in the short space of five months, without theaid of diary or notes, beyond those cited as such from a formerwork.
The Author, having no expectation that hisreminiscences would be received with the kind indulgence of whichthis Second Edition is the proof, with diffidence ventured to tellso many tales connected with his own unimportant life as he hasdone. Emboldened by the reception his 'Tracks' have met with, henow adds a few stories which he trusts may further amuse itsreaders.
June 1905.
CHAPTER I
WE know more of the early days of the Pyramids or ofancient Babylon than we do of our own. The Stone age, the dragonsof the prime, are not more remote from us than is our earliestchildhood. It is not so long ago for any of us; and yet, ourmemories of it are but veiled spectres wandering in the mazes ofsome foregone existence.
Are we really trailing clouds of glory from afar? Orare our 'forgettings' of the outer Eden only? Or, setting poetryaside, are they perhaps the quickening germs of all past heredity -an epitome of our race and its descent? At any rate THEN, if ever,our lives are such stuff as dreams are made of. There is noconnected story of events, thoughts, acts, or feelings. We try invain to re-collect; but the secrets of the grave are not moreinviolable, - for the beginnings, like the endings, of life arelost in darkness.
It is very difficult to affix a date to any relic ofthat dim past. We may have a distinct remembrance of some pleasure,some pain, some fright, some accident, but the vivid does not helpus to chronicle with accuracy. A year or two makes a vastdifference in our ability. We can remember well enough when wedonned the 'CAUDA VIRILIS, ' but not when we left offpetticoats.
The first remembrance to which I can correctly tacka date is the death of George IV. I was between three and fouryears old. My recollection of the fact is perfectly distinct -distinct by its association with other facts, then far more weightyto me than the death of a king.
I was watching with rapture, for the first time, thespinning of a peg-top by one of the grooms in the stable yard, whenthe coachman, who had just driven my mother home, announced thehistoric news. In a few minutes four or five servants - maids andmen - came running to the stables to learn particulars, and thepeg-top, to my sorrow, had to be abandoned for gossip andflirtation. We were a long way from street criers - indeed, quiteout of town. My father's house was in Kensington, a little furtherwest than the present museum. It was completely surrounded byfields and hedges. I mention the fact merely to show to what agedefinite memory can be authentically assigned. Doubtless we havemuch earlier remembrances, though we must reckon these by days, orby months at the outside. The relativity of the reckoning wouldseem to make Time indeed a 'Form of Thought. '
Two or three reminiscences of my childhood havestuck to me; some of them on account of their comicality. I wastaken to a children's ball at St. James's Palace. In my mind's eyeI have but one distinct vision of it. I cannot see the crowd -there was nothing to distinguish that from what I have so oftenseen since; nor the court dresses, nor the soldiers even, whoalways attract a child's attention in the streets; but I see araised dais on which were two thrones. William IV. sat on one,Queen Adelaide on the other. I cannot say whether we were marchedpast in turn, or how I came there. But I remember the look of theking in his naval uniform. I remember his white kerseymerebreeches, and pink silk stockings, and buckled shoes. He took mebetween his knees, and asked, 'Well, what are you going to be, mylittle man? '
'A sailor, ' said I, with brazen simplicity.
'Going to avenge the death of Nelson - eh? Fond o'sugar- plums? '
'Ye-es, ' said I, taking a mental inventory of starsand anchor buttons.
Upon this, he fetched from the depths of hiswaistcoat pocket a capacious gold box, and opened it with a tap, asthough he were about to offer me a pinch of snuff. 'There's foryou, ' said he.
I helped myself, unawed by the situation, and withmy small fist clutching the bonbons, was passed on to QueenAdelaide. She gave me a kiss, for form's sake, I thought; and Iscuttled back to my mother.
But here followed the shocking part of the ENFANTTERRIBLE'S adventure. Not quite sure of Her Majesty's identity - Ihad never heard there was a Queen - I naively asked my mother, in avery audible stage-whisper, 'Who is the old lady with - ? ' Mymother dragged me off the instant she had made her curtsey. She hada quick sense of humour; and, judging from her laughter, when shetold her story to another lady in the supper room, I fancied I hadsaid or done something very funny. I was rather disconcerted atbeing seriously admonished, and told I must never again commentupon the breath of ladies who condescended to kiss, or to speak to,me.
While we lived at Kensington, Lord Anglesey usedoften to pay my mother a visit. She had told me the story of thebattle of Waterloo, in which my Uncle George - 6th Lord Albemarle -had taken part; and related how Lord Anglesey had lost a leg there,and how one of his legs was made of cork. Lord Anglesey was a greatdandy. The cut of the Paget hat was an heirloom for the nextgeneration or two, and the gallant Marquis' boots andtightly-strapped trousers were patterns of polish and precision.The limp was perceptible; but of which leg, was, in spite ofcareful investigation, beyond my diagnosis. His presence provokedmy curiosity, till one fine day it became too strong forresistance. While he was busily engaged in conversation with mymother, I, watching for the chance, sidled up to his chair, and assoon as he looked away, rammed my heel on to his toes. They werehis toes. And considering the jump and the oath which instantlyresponded to my test, I am persuaded they were abnormally tenderones. They might have been made of corns, certainly not ofcork.
Another discovery I made about this period was, forme at least, a 'record': it happened at Quidenham - my grandfatherthe 4th Lord Albemarle's place.
Some excursion was afoot, which needed an earlybreakfast. When this was half over, one married couple weremissing. My grandfather called me to him (I was playing withanother small boy in one of the window bays). 'Go and tell LadyMaria, with my love, ' said he, 'that we shall start in half anhour. Stop, stop a minute. Be sure you knock at the door. ' Iobeyed orders - I knocked at the door, but failed to wait for ananswer. I entered without it. And what did I behold? Lady Maria wasstill in bed; and by the side of Lady M. was, very naturally, LadyM. 's husband, also in bed and fast asleep. At first I could hardlybelieve my senses. It was within the range of my experience thatboys of my age occasionally slept in the same bed. But that a grownup man should sleep in the same bed with his wife was quite beyondmy notion of the fitness of things. I was so staggered, so long intaking in this astounding novelty, that I could not at firstdeliver my grandfathers message. The moment I had done so, I rushedback to the breakfast room, and in a loud voice proclaimed to thecompany what I had seen. My tale produced all the effect I hadanticipated, but mainly in the shape of amusement. One wag - myuncle Henry Keppel - asked for details, gravely declaring he couldhardly credit my statement. Every one, however, seemed convinced bythe circumstantial nature of my evidence when I positively assertedthat their heads were not even at opposite ends of the bed, butside by side upon the same pillow.
A still greater soldier than Lord Anglesey used tocome to Holkham every year, a great favourite of my father's; thiswas Lord Lynedoch. My earliest recollections of him owe theirvividness to three accidents - in the logical sense of the term:his silky milk-white locks, his Spanish servant who wore earrings -and whom, by the way, I used to confound with Courvoisier, oftenthere at the same time with his master Lord William Russell, forthe murder of whom he was hanged, as all the world knows - and hisfox terrier Nettle, which, as a special favour, I was allowed tofeed with Abernethy biscuits.
He was at Longford, my present home, on a visit tomy father in 1835, when, one evening after dinner, the two oldgentlemen - no one else being present but myself - sitting inarmchairs over the fire, finishing their bottle of port, LordLynedoch told the wonderful story of his adventures during thesiege of Mantua by the French, in 1796. For brevity's sake, it werebetter perhaps to give the outline in the words of Alison. 'It washigh time the Imperialists should advance to the relief of thisfortress, which was now reduced to the last extremity from want ofprovisions. At a council of war held in the end of December, it wasdecided that it was indispensable that instant intelligence shouldbe sent to Alvinzi of their desperate situation. An Englishofficer, attached to the garrison, volunteered to perform theperilous mission, which he executed with equal courage and success.He set out, disguised as a peasant, from Mantua on December 29, atnightfall in the midst of a deep fall of snow, eluded the vigilanceof the French patrols, and, after surmounting a thousand hardshipsand dangers, arrived at the headquarters of Alvinzi, at Bassano, onJanuary 4, the day after the conferences at Vicenza were brokenup.
'Great destinies awaited this enterprising officer.He was
Colonel Graham, afterwards victor at Barrosa, andthe first
British general who planted the English standard onthe soil
of France. '
This bare skeleton of the event was endued 'withsense and soul' by the narrator. The 'hardships and dangers'thrilled one's young nerves. Their two salient features were iceperils, and the no less imminent one of being captured and shot asa spy. The crossing of the rivers stands