Collections and Recollections | Page 3

Paper Bill
in the House of Lords on his eighty-eighth birthday. He died in
1862.[1]
A conspicuous figure in my early recollections is Sir Henry Holland,
M.D., father of the present Lord Knutsford. He was born in 1788, and
died in 1873. The stories of his superhuman vigour and activity would
fill a volume. In 1863 Bishop Wilberforce wrote to a friend abroad:
"Sir Henry Holland, who got back safe from all his American rambles,
has been taken by Palmerston through the river at Broadlands, and lies
very ill." However, he completely threw off the effects of this
mischance, and survived his aquaceous host for some eight years. I well
remember his telling me in 1868 that his first famous patient was the
mysterious "Pamela," who became the wife of the Irish patriot, Lord
Edward FitzGerald.
Every one who went about in London in the 'seventies will remember
the dyed locks and crimson velvet waistcoat of William, fifth Earl
Bathurst, who was born in 1791 and died in 1878. He told me that he
was at a private school at Sunbury-on-Thames with William and John
Russell, the latter of whom became the author of the Reform Bill and
Prime Minister. At this delightful seminary, the peers' sons, including
my informant, who was then the Hon. William Bathurst, had a bench to
themselves. William and John Russell were not peers' sons, as their
father had not then succeeded to the Dukedom of Bedford. In 1802 he
succeeded, on the sudden death of his elder brother, and became sixth
Duke of Bedford; and his sons, becoming Lord William and Lord John,
were duly promoted to the privileged bench. Nothing in Pelham or
Vivian Grey quite equals this.
When I went to Harrow, in 1868, there was an old woman, by name
Polly Arnold, still keeping a stationer's shop in the town, who had sold
cribs to Byron when he was a Harrow boy; and Byron's fag, a funny old
gentleman in a brown wig--called Baron Heath--was a standing dish on

our school Speech-Day.
Once at a London dinner I happened to say in the hearing of Mrs.
Procter (widow of "Barry Cornwall," and mother of the poetess) that I
was going next day to the Harrow Speeches. "Ah," said Mrs. Procter,
"that used to be a pleasant outing. The last time I went I drove down
with Lord Byron and Dr. Parr, who had been breakfasting with my
father." Mrs. Procter died in 1888.
Among the remarkable women of our time, if merely in respect of
longevity, must be reckoned Lady Louisa Stuart, sister and heir of the
last Earl of Traquair. She was a friend and correspondent of Sir Walter
Scott, who in describing "Tully Veolan" drew Traquair House with
literal exactness, even down to the rampant bears which still guard the
locked entrance-gates against all comers until the Royal Stuarts shall
return to claim their own. Lady Louisa Stuart lived to be ninety-nine,
and died in 1876.
Perhaps the most remarkable old lady whom I knew intimately was
Caroline Lowther, Duchess of Cleveland, who was born in 1792 and
died in 1883. She had been presented to Queen Charlotte when there
were only forty people at the Drawing-room, had danced with the
Prince of Orange, and had attended the "breakfasts" given by Albinia
Countess of Buckinghamshire (who died in 1816), at her villa just
outside London. The site of that villa is now Hobart Place, having taken
its name from that of the Buckinghamshire family. The trees of its
orchard are still discoverable in the back-gardens of Hobart Place and
Wilton Street, and I am looking out upon them as I write this page.
Stories of highwaymen are excellent Links with the Past, and here is
one. The fifth Earl of Berkeley, who died in 1810, had always declared
that any one might without disgrace be overcome by superior numbers,
but that he would never surrender to a single highwayman. As he was
crossing Hounslow Heath one night, on his way from Berkeley Castle
to London, his travelling carriage was stopped by a man on horseback,
who put his head in at the window and said, "I believe you are Lord
Berkeley?" "I am." "I believe you have always boasted that you would
never surrender to a single highwayman?" "I have." "Well," presenting

a pistol, "I am a single highwayman, and I say, 'Your money or your
life.'" "You cowardly dog," said Lord Berkeley, "do you think I can't
see your confederate skulking behind you?" The highwayman, who was
really alone, looked hurriedly round, and Lord Berkeley shot him
through the head. I asked Lady Caroline Maxse (1803-1886), who was
born a Berkeley, if this story was true. I can never forget my thrill when
she replied, "Yes; and I am proud