A Few Days Later Mr. Brummell, Who Had
Carefully Dissembled His Wrath, Invited The Unwary Youth To
Breakfast, Telling Him That He Was Leaving Town, And Had A
Present Which His Young Friend Might Have, If He Chose To
Fetch It.
The boy kept the appointment, and the Beau his
promise.
After an excellent breakfast, Brummell took a whip
from his cupboard, and gave it to the Poodle in a way the
young dog was not likely to forget.
The happiest of my days then, and perhaps of my life, were
spent at Mr. Ellice's Highland Lodge, at Glenquoich. For
sport of all kinds it was and is difficult to surpass. The
hills of the deer forest are amongst the highest in Scotland;
the scenery of its lake and glens, especially the descent to
Loch Hourne, is unequalled. Here were to be met many of the
most notable men and women of the time. And as the house was
twenty miles from the nearest post-town, and that in turn two
days from London, visitors ceased to be strangers before they
left. In the eighteen years during which this was my autumn
home, I had the good fortune to meet numbers of distinguished
people of whom I could now record nothing interesting but
their names. Still, it is a privilege to have known such men
as John Lawrence, Guizot, Thiers, Landseer, Merimee, Comte de
Flahault, Doyle, Lords Elgin and Dalhousie, Duc de Broglie,
Pelissier, Panizzi, Motley, Delane, Dufferin; and of gifted
women, the three Sheridans, Lady Seymour - the Queen of
Beauty, afterwards Duchess of Somerset - Mrs. Norton, and
Lady Dufferin. Amongst those who have a retrospective
interest were Mr. and Lady Blanche Balfour, parents of Mr.
Arthur Balfour, who came there on their wedding tour in 1843.
Mr. Arthur Balfour's father was Mrs. Ellice's first cousin.
It would be easy to lengthen the list; but I mention only
those who repeated their visits, and who fill up my mental
picture of the place and of the life. Some amongst them
impressed me quite as much for their amiability - their
loveableness, I may say - as for their renown; and regard for
them increased with coming years. Panizzi was one of these.
Dufferin, who was just my age, would have fascinated anyone
with the singular courtesy of his manner. Dicky Doyle was
necessarily a favourite with all who knew him. He was a
frequent inmate of my house after I married, and was engaged
to dine with me, alas! only eight days before he died.
Motley was a singularly pleasant fellow. My friendship with
him began over a volume of Sir W. Hamilton's Lectures. He
asked what I was reading - I handed him the book.
'A-h,' said he, 'there's no mental gymnastic like
metaphysics.'
Many a battle we afterwards had over them. When I was at
Cannes in 1877 I got a message from him one day saying he was
ill, and asking me to come and see him.
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