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tracks of a rolling stone-第61章

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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 
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