tracks of a rolling stone-第43部分

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hasize　my　horror　of　small　loaves　and　other　Tory　　abominations　…　the　board　gave　way；　and　I　narrowly　escaped　a　　ducking　by　leaping　into　the　arms　of　a　'supporter。'

The　end　of　it　all　was　that　my　agent　at　the　last　moment　threw　　up　the　sponge。　　The　farmers　formed　a　serried　phalanx　against　　Free　Trade；　it　was　useless　to　incur　the　expense　of　a　poll。　　　Then　came　the　bill。　　It　was　a　heavy　one；　for　in　addition　to　　my　London　agent　…　a　professional　electioneering　functionary　…　　were　the　local　agents　at　towns　like　Malmesbury；　Wootton　　Bassett；　Shrivenham；　&c。；　&c。　　My　eldest　brother；　who　was　a　　soberer…minded　politician　than　I；　although　very　liberal　to　me　　in　other　ways；　declined　to　support　my　political　opinions。　　I　　myself　was　quite　unable　to　pay　the　costs。　　Knowing　this；　Lord　　Radnor　called　me　into　his　study　as　I　was　leaving　Coleshill；　　and　expressed　himself　warmly　with　respect　to　my　labours；　　regretting　the　victory　of　the　other　side；　he　declared　that；　　as　the　question　of　Protection　would　be　disposed　of；　one　of　　the　two　seats　would　be　safe　upon　a　future　contest。

'And　who；'　asked　the　old　gentleman；　with　a　benevolent　grin　on　　his　face；　'who　is　going　to　pay　your　expenses？'

'Goodness　knows；　sir；'　said　I；　'I　hope　they　won't　come　down　　upon　me。　　I　haven't　a　thousand　pounds　in　the　world；　unless　I　　tap　my　fortune。'

'Well；'　said　his　Lordship；　with　a　chuckle；　'I　haven't　paid　my　　subscription　to　Brooks's　yet；　so　I'll　hand　it　over　to　you；'　　and　he　gave　me　a　cheque　for　500　pounds。

The　balance　was　obtained　through　Mr。　Ellice　from　the　　patronage　Secretary　to　the　Treasury。　　At　the　next　election；　　as　Lord　Radnor　predicted；　Lord　Ashley；　Lord　Shaftesbury's　　eldest　son；　won　one　of　the　two　seats　for　the　Liberals　with　　the　greatest　ease。

As　Coleshill　was　an　open　house　to　me　from　that　time　as　long　　as　Lord　Radnor　lived；　I　cannot　take　leave　of　the　dear　old　man　　without　an　affectionate　word　at　parting。　　Creevey　has　an　ill…　natured　fling　at　him；　as　he　has　at　everybody　else；　but　a　　kinder…hearted　and　more　perfect　gentleman　would　be　difficult　　to　meet　with。　　His　personality　was　a　marked　one。　　He　was　a　　little　man；　with　very　plain　features；　a　punch…like　nose；　an　　extensive　mouth；　and　hardly　a　hair　on　his　head。　　But　in　spite　　of　these　peculiarities；　his　face　was　pleasant　to　look　at；　for　　it　was　invariably　animated　by　a　sweet　smile；　a　touch　of　　humour；　and　a　decided　air　of　dignity。　　Born　in　1779；　he　　dressed　after　the　orthodox　Whig　fashion　of　his　youth；　in　buff　　and　blue；　his　long…tailed　coat　reaching　almost　to　his　heels。　　　His　manner　was　a　model　of　courtesy　and　simplicity。　　He　used　　antiquated　expressions：　　called　London　'Lunnun；'　Rome　'Room；'　　a　balcony　a　'balcony'；　he　always　spoke　of　the　clergyman　as　　the　'pearson；'　and　called　his　daughter　Lady　Mary；　'Meary。'　　　Instead　of　saying　'this　day　week'　he　would　say　this　day　　sen'nit'　（for　sen'night）。

The　independence　of　his　character　was　very　noticeable。　　As　an　　instance：　　A　party　of　twenty　people；　say；　would　be　invited　　for　a　given　day。　　Abundance　of　carriages　would　be　sent　to　　meet　the　trains；　so　that　all　the　guests　would　arrive　in　ample　　time　for　dinner。　　It　generally　happened　that　some　of　them；　　not　knowing　the　habits　of　the　house；　or　some　duchess　or　great　　lady　who　might　assume　that　clocks　were　made　for　her　and　not　　she　for　clocks；　would　not　appear　in　the　drawing…room　till　a　　quarter　of　an　hour　after　the　dinner　gong　had　sounded。　　If　　anyone　did　so；　he　or　she　would　find　that　everybody　else　had　　got　through　soup　and　fish。　　If　no　one　but　Lady　Mary　had　been　　down　when　dinner　was　announced；　his　Lordship　would　have　　offered　his　arm　to　his　daughter；　and　have　taken　his　seat　at　　the　table　alone。　　After　the　first　night；　no　one　was　ever　　late。　　In　the　morning　he　read　prayers　to　the　household　before　　breakfast　with　the　same　precise　punctuality。

Lady　Mary　Bouverie；　his　unmarried　daughter；　was　the　very　best　　of　hostesses。　　The　house　under　her　management　was　the　　perfection　of　comfort。　　She　married　an　old　and　dear　friend　of　　mine；　Sir　James　Wilde；　afterwards　the　Judge；　Lord　Penzance。　　　I　was　his　'best　man。'

My　'Ride　over　the　Rocky　Mountains'　was　now　published；　and；　as　　the　field　was　a　new　one；　the　writer　was　rewarded；　for　a　few　　weeks；　with　invitations　to　dinner；　and　the　usual　tickets　for　　'drums'　and　dances。　　To　my　astonishment；　or　rather　to　my　　alarm；　I　received　a　letter　from　the　Secretary　of　the　Royal　　Geographical　Society　（Charles　Fox；　or　perhaps　Sir　George　　Simpson　had；　I　think；　proposed　me　…　I　never　knew）；　to　say　　that　I　had　been　elected　a　member。　　Nothing　was　further　from　　my　ambition。　　The　very　thought　shrivelled　me　with　a　sense　of　　ignorance　and　insignificance。　　I　pictured　to　myself　an　　assembly　of　old　fogies　crammed　with　all　the　'ologies。　　I　　broke　into　a　cold　perspiration　when　I　fancied　myself　called　　upon　to　deliver　a　lecture　on　the　comparative　sea…bottomy　of　　the　Oceanic　globe；　or　give　my　theory　of　the　simultaneous　　sighting　by　'little　Billee'　of　'　Madagascar；　and　North；　and　　South　Amerikee。'　　Honestly；　I　had　not　the　courage　to　accept；　　and；　young　Jackanapes　as　I　was；　left　the　Secretary's　letter　　unanswered。

But　a　still　greater　honour　…　perhaps　the　greatest　compliment　　I　ever　had　paid　me　…　was　to　come。　　I　had　lodgings　at　this　　time　in　an　old　house；　long　since　pulled　down；　in　York　Street。　　　One　day；　when　I　was　practising　the　fiddle；　who　should　walk　　into　my　den　but　Rogers　the　poet！　　He　had　never　seen　me　in　his　　life。　　He　was　in　his　ninetieth　year；　and　he　had　climbed　the　　stairs　to　the　first　floor　to　ask　me　to　one　of　his　breakfast　　parties。　　To　say　nothing　of　Rogers'　fame；　his　wealth；　his　　position　in　society；　those　who　know　what　his　cynicism　and　his　　worldliness　were；　will　understand　what　such　an　effort；　　physical　and　moral；　must　have　cost　him。　　He　always　looked　　like　a　death's　head；　but　his　ghastly　pallor；　after　that　　Alpine　ascent；　made　me　feel　as　if　he　had　come　…　to　stay。

These　breakfasts　were　entertainments　of　no　ordinary　　distinction。　　The　host　himself　was　of　greater　interest　than　　the　most　eminent　of　his　guests。　　All　but　he；　were　more　or　　less　one's　contemporaries：　　Rogers；　if　not　quite　as　dead　as　　he　looked；　was　ancient　history。　　He　was　old　enough　to　have　　been　the　father　of　Byron；　of　Shelley；　of　Keats；　and　of　Moore。　　　He　was　several　years　older　than　Scott；　or　Wordsworth；　or　　Coleridge；　and　only　four　years　younger　than　Pitt。　　He　had　　known　all　these　men；　and　could；　and　did；　talk　as　no　other　　could　talk；　of　all　of　them。　　Amongst　those　whom　I　met　at　　these　breakfasts　were　Cornewall　Lewis；　Delane；　the　Grotes；　　Macaulay；　Mrs。　Norton；　Monckton　Milnes；　William　Harcourt　（the　　only　one　younger　than　myself）；　but　just　beginning　to　be　　known；　and　others　of　scarcely　less　note。

During　the　breakfast　itself；　Rogers；　though　seated　at　table　　in　an　armchair；　took　no　part　either　in　the　repast　or　in　the　　conversation；　he　seemed　to　sleep　until　the　meal　was　over。　　　His　servant　would　then　place　a　cup　of　coffee　before　him；　and；　　like　a　Laputian　flapper；　touch　him　gently　on　the　shoulder。　　　He　would　at　once　begin　to　talk；　while　others　listened。　　The　　first　time　I　witnessed　this　curious　resurrection；　I　whispered　　something　to　my　neighbour；　at　which　he　laughed。　　The　old　　man's　eye　was　too　sharp　for　us。

'You　are　laughing　at　me；'　said　he；　'I　dare　say　you　young　　gentlemen　think　me　an　old　fellow；　but　there　are　younger　than　　I　who　are　older。　　You　should　see　Tommy　Moore。　　I　asked　him　to　　breakfast；　but　he's　too　weak　…　weak　here；　sir；'　and　he　tapped　　his　forehead。　　'I'm　not　that。'　　（This　was　the　year　that　Moore　　died。）　　He　certainly　was　not；　but　his　whole　discourse　was　of　　the　past。　　It　was　as　though　he　would　not　condescend　to　　discuss　events　or　men　of　the　day。　　What　were　either　to　the　　days　and　men　that　he　had　known　…　French　revolutions；　battles　　of　Trafalgar　and　Waterloo；　a　Nelson　and　a　Buonaparte；　a　Pitt；　　a　Burke；　a　Fox；　a　Johnson；　a　Gibbon；　a　Sheridan；　and　all　the　　men　of　letters　and　all　the　poets　of　a　century　gone　by？　　Even　　Macaulay　had　for　once　to　hold　his　tongue；　and　could　only　　smile　impatiently　at　what　perhaps　he　thought　an　old　man's　　astonishing　garrulity。　　But　if　a　young　and　pretty　woman　　talked　to　him；　it　was　not　his　great　age　that　he　vaunted；　nor　　yet　the　'pleasures　of　memory'　…　one　envied　the　adroitness　of　　his　flattery；　and　the　gracefulness　of　his　repartee。

My　friend　George　Cayley　had　a　couple　of　dingy　little　rooms　　between　Parliament　Street　and　the　river。　　Much　of　my　time　was　　spent　there　with　him。　　One　night　after　dinner；　quite　late；　we　　were　building　castles　amidst　tobacco　clouds；　when；　following　　a　'May　I　come　in？'　Tennyson　made　his　appearance。　　This　was　　the　first　time　I　had　ever　met　him。　　We　gave　him　the　only　　armchair　in　the　room；　and　pulling　out　his　dudeen　and　placing　　afoot　on　each　side　of　the　hob　of　the　old…fashioned　little　　grate；　he　made　himself　comfortable　before　he　said　another　　word。　　He　then　began　to　talk　of　pipes　and　tobacco。　　And　　never；　I　should　say；　did　this　important　topic　afford　so　much　　ingenious　conversation　before。　　We　discussed　the　relative　　merits　of　all　the　tobaccos　in　the　world　…　of　moist　tobacco　　and　dry　tobacco；　of　old　tobacco　and　new　tobacco；　of　clay　　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　prince