at £60,000," disposed upon my dress.-Some people thought I had overdone it.-A few were ill-natured enough to observe that I had eclipsed myself. But betwixt ourselves, good reader, I should have been glad enough to have exchanged the radiant Lord Ormington of 1838, for the simple Cecil who had philosophized on the tomb of Buckingham in 1831;—and far more so, for the happy, triumphant CECIL, who, at the coronation of George IV. had been wandering among the myrtle hedges of Italy with Byron,—my soul bright with the brightness of its glory, and his own. — It is something, however, after living through four reigns to be able to look back upon such a youth as mine, illustrated by such a friend! Illam mæa si partem animæ toto Nec carus æque, nec superstes But it were of evil omen to close with words so dolorous the chapter treating of the accession of our young Elizabeth. "Dicite Io Pæan," therefore CHAPTER XII. Six years had pass'd and forty ere the six, Locks of pure brown, display'd th' encroaching white. And Time's strong pressure to subdue the man. 1 rode or walk'd as I was wont before, But now, the bounding spirit was no more; I took my dog and gun, but saw the brute Was disappointed that I did not shoot. My morning walks I now could bear to lose, And bless'd the show'r that gave me not to choose. In fact, I felt a languor stealing on ; The active arm, the agile hand, were gone. I lov'd my cards in order to dispose Told the same story oft-in short, began to prose ! THE above lines, " on which I stumbled the other day, in the course of my morning's reading," as the M.Ps. say, when they want to introduce a quotation,-caused my ears to tingle.—But do I repeat myself, oh! Public of my soul? Am I growing an old bore?-Can you accuse me of holding you by the button?If so, hang me on the spot!--for I swear I would sooner be a knife-grinder's dog, and bay the gas lamps, than have reason to believe that the respectful lane made for me as I enter the lobby, or the Clubs, or even the crush-room at the Opera, arises from the apprehensions which act as a Lord Chamberlain to clear the way for those most eminent bores of modern times-(" name, name, name !" from the opposition benches.) Thank you, my Public!-all things considered, I had rather not! It would cut me to the soul were I to learn that you had said-(not per favour of the Reviews-which like those of Hyde Park,are "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," but through those whispers of the coteries which signify very much, albeit as softly sibilant as the rustling of a barley-field in the breeze,)—that my memoirs resemble the mechanical music of a snuff-box, at first brilliant and animated, but waxing slower and slower towards the close, till, after dragging its slow length along, it ends in utter tediousness at last.— One of the cleverest of writers has informed us that to write a book is a craft requiring as long an apprenticeship as to construct a clock or manœuvre a campaign. It is true. the Prince de Condé got into a post-chaise on leaving school, drove to the theatre of war, and won a battle that made him immortal,—as the first part of my memoirs my Self-Cependant, il faut plus que de l'esprit pour être auteur, et il me semble que je dis les choses bien plus finement que je ne les écris. It is not my fault, good Public, if you choose to read instead of listen. Moreover, if you do find me a leetle slow, have the goodness to remember that I am now in the Upper House. |