Transcribed from the 1905 Smith, Elder, & Co. edition byDavid Price, . Second proofed byMargaret Price.
TRACKS
OF
A ROLLING STONE
BYTHE
HONOURABLE HENRY J. COKE
AUTHOROF
‘A RIDE OVER THE ROCKYMOUNTAINS’ ‘CREEDS OF THE DAY’ ETC.
WITH A PORTRAIT
SECOND EDITION
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1905
[All rights reserved]
TO
MY DAUGHTER SYBIL
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
The First Edition of this book waswritten, from beginning to end, in the short space of fivemonths, without the aid of diary or notes, beyond those cited assuch from a former work.
The Author, having no expectation that his reminiscences wouldbe received with the kind indulgence of which this Second Editionis the proof, with diffidence ventured to tell so many talesconnected with his own unimportant life as he has done. Emboldened by the reception his ‘Tracks’ have metwith, he now adds a few stories which he trusts may further amuseits readers.
June 1905.
CHAPTER I
We know more of the early days ofthe Pyramids or of ancient Babylon than we do of our own. The Stone age, the dragons of the prime, are not more remote fromus than is our earliest childhood. It is not so long agofor any of us; and yet, our memories of it are but veiledspectres wandering in the mazes of some foregone existence.
Are we really trailing clouds of glory from afar? Or areour ‘forgettings’ of the outer Eden only? Or,setting poetry aside, are they perhaps the quickening germs ofall past heredity—an epitome of our race and itsdescent? At any rate then, if ever, our lives aresuch stuff as dreams are made of. There is no connectedstory 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 lifeare lost in darkness.
It is very difficult to affix a date to any relic of that dimpast. We may have a distinct remembrance of some pleasure,some pain, some fright, some accident, but the vivid does nothelp us to chronicle with accuracy. A year or two makes avast difference in our ability. We can remember well enoughwhen we donned the ‘cauda virilis,’ but notwhen we left off petticoats.
The first remembrance to which I can correctly tack a date isthe death of George IV. I was between three and four yearsold. My recollection of the fact is perfectlydistinct—distinct by its association with other facts, thenfar more weighty to me than the death of a king.
I was watching with rapture, for the first time, the spinningof a peg-top by one of the grooms in the stable yard, when thecoachman, who had just driven my mother home, announced thehistoric news. In a few minutes four or fiveservants—maids and men—came running to the stables tolearn particulars, and the peg-top, to my