PREFACE TO SECOND 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.
The Author, having no expectation that his reminiscences
would be received with the kind indulgence of which this
Second Edition is the proof, with diffidence ventured to tell
so many tales connected with his own unimportant life as he
has done. Emboldened by the reception his 'Tracks' have met
with, he now adds a few stories which he trusts may further
amuse its readers.
June 1905.
CHAPTER I
WE know more of the early days of the Pyramids or of ancient
Babylon than we do of our own. The Stone age, the dragons of
the prime, are not more remote from us than is our earliest
childhood. It is not so long ago for any of us; and yet, our
memories of it are but veiled spectres wandering in the mazes
of some foregone existence.
Are we really trailing clouds of glory from afar? Or are our
'forgettings' of the outer Eden only? Or, setting poetry
aside, 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 no connected story of events, thoughts,
acts, or feelings. We try in vain to re-collect; but the
secrets of the grave are not more inviolable, - for the
beginnings, like the endings, of life are lost in darkness.
It is very difficult to affix a date to any relic of that dim
past. We may have a distinct remembrance of some pleasure,
some pain, some fright, some accident, but the vivid does not
help us to chronicle with accuracy. A year or two makes a
vast difference in our ability. We can remember well enough
when we donned the 'CAUDA VIRILIS,' but not when we left off
petticoats.
The first remembrance to which I can correctly tack a date is
the death of George IV. I was between three and four years
old. My recollection of the fact is perfectly distinct -
distinct by its association with other facts, then far more
weighty to me than the death of a king.
I was watching with rapture, for the first time, the spinning
of a peg-top by one of the grooms in the stable yard, when
the coachman, who had just driven my mother home, announced
the historic news. In a few minutes four or five servants -
maids and men - came running to the stables to learn
particulars, and the peg-top, to my sorrow, had to be
abandoned for gossip and flirtation. We were a long way from
street criers - indeed, quite out of town. My father's house
was in Kensington, a little further west than the present
museum.
