Another time I saw her, in circumstances indelibly impressed on my memory. It was on her Coronation day, and the splendour and brilliancy of that scene, the gorgeous dresses, the magnificent solemnity of the whole ceremony, do not recur so often to my recollection as the time when, seated on her Regal chair, she received the homage of the Peers of England. One of the eldest among them, Lord Rolle, who had passed the allotted span of life, in approaching to do her honour, tottered, and nearly fell to the ground, while she, with a gracious and merciful impulse, rose with outstretched arms to save him from what might have been a painful fall. I was just above the spot in question, and well remember the sort of buzz or whisper that spread far and near among those who witnessed this touching incident. I have nothing of interest to record in the events of the next two or three years. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVII MILLARD’S HILL—TENBY—CHARLES YOUNG AND A COURT BALL In the year 1840, my mother gave up the apartments she had so long occupied at Hampton Court Palace—the place having become intolerable to her since the death of her beloved and only brother, Mr Poyntz, who had died suddenly at his house on the Green. This bereavement determined her to accept the offer of her brother-in-law, Lord Cork, to take possession of a small house on his property in Somersetshire, called Millard’s Hill, an unostentatious building, in a very picturesque part of the county. We took great delight in furnishing and decorating the empty rooms with our pictures and china and “treasures from many lands”—in fact, in storing our household gods, without which, no house can ever be a home. Uncomely as was the exterior of the building, the situation and surroundings were very pretty—a perfect specimen of English field and woodland, and the neighbouring walks, rides and drives were delightful. Added to these, there was another charm in my eyes, the possibility (which was very difficult for us at Hampton Court) of having domestic pets—ponies, dogs—of many different kinds, and last, though not least, a beautiful peacock of gorgeous plumage, the present of my dear friend and close neighbour, the Duchess of Somerset. “Narcissus” was as proud and jealous as he was beautiful, but very tame, and would come in at the open window, of a summer’s morning, while we were at breakfast, and eat out of my hand. On one occasion, finding my Scotch terrier sitting beside me, he flew spitefully at the interloper, and pecked him so furiously as to drive him from the field. “Chaillach,” my trusty Skye,—whom I once described as something between Lord Rochester’s wig and a door-mat; who was never out of temper, and never out of mischief—the dauntless Chaillach, whose spirit never quailed before a mastiff or a blood-hound—to be put to confusion by a mere bird! [Illustration: