A few days after this, my father received a note from Lord Privilege,
requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his
son Peter who had escaped from the French prison. Of course this was an
invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. I must
say, I felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at
such a distance, that I had always heard his name mentioned more with
reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but I was a little wiser
now. We arrived at Eagle Park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and
were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into
his presence. He was in his library, a large room, surrounded with
handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. A more venerable, placid
old gentleman I never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of
his temples, and were collected in a small _queue_ behind. He rose and
bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out _two_ fingers in
salutation, to me only _one_, but there was an elegance in the manner in
which it was done which was indescribable. He waved his hand to chairs,
placed by the _gentleman_ out of livery, and requested we would be
seated. I could not, at the time, help thinking of Mr Chucks, the
boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true: and I
laughed to myself when I recollected that Mr Chucks had once dined with
him. As soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the
part of my grandfather appeared to wear off.
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