Outlines of Scenes and Thoughts Perhaps Worthy of Memory in My

O UT L I N E S O F

S C E N E S A N D T H O U G H T S

P E R H A P S

W O R T H Y O F M E M O R Y

I I N M Y PA S T L F E .

H N R U K I N L L D O S . J . ,

H O NO RA RY S T UD E NT O F C H R I S T C HUR C H ,

W I N A RY F E L L F R P C H R S T I CO L L E E X . A D HO NOR O O C O US G , O FO R D

VOLUM E I .

WI TH S TE E L

G E O R G E A L L E N

N N Y I D E O R P I N G T O N K E N T . S U S , ,

1 886 . W on don and le s bur P rinted b az el! ats on Vine Ld A . y H , , y, L y y P R E F A C E .

‘ HAVE written these sketches of eﬁ b rt

an d in ciden t i n former years for my frien ds ; an d for those of the public wh o

have been pleased by my books . h I have written them t erefore , frankly, garrulously, and at ease ; speaking of what it gives me j oy to remember at any length I like—sometimes very carefully of what I think it may be useful for others to know ; and passing in total silence thin gs which I have no pleasure i n

n an d reviewi g , which the reader would

ﬁ nd of no help in the account . My described life has thus become more vi F P R E A C E .

n amusing tha I expected to myself, as I summoned its long past scenes for present

: scrutiny its methods of study, and general

ustiﬁe d principles of work , I feel j in recommending to other students : and very certainly any habitual readers of my books will understand them better, for having knowledge as complete as I can give them of the personal character which , without

n endeavour to conceal , I yet have ever

n ow taken pains to display , and even , and then , felt some freakish pleasure in

exposing to the chance of misinterpretation .

I write these few prefatory words on

’ my father s birthday, in what was once — my nursery in his old house , to which

h e - two brought my mother and me , sixty

n years since , I bei g then four years old . What would otherwise in the following pages have been little more than an old ﬂ owe rs ﬁelds in of youth , has taken , as I a wrote , the nobler aspect of dutiful

c o ﬁ e ring at the grave of pare n ts who trained my childhood to all the good it

n could attai , and whose memory makes declining life cheerful in the hope of

being soon again with them .

HE R E H LL N I ,

I ot/z ﬁl a 1 8 8 . y, 5

E N C O N T T S .

C HA P . THE S P R INGS O F WAND EL

I I H E R NE - H L L A O D B LO S S O M S . I LM N

T E B A K S O F TAY III . H N

V U D E R N E W TUTO R S H P S I . N I

P AR NAS S US AND P LYNLI MM O N

VI S C AFF AUS E AND M LAN . H H N I

VI I P AP A AND A A . M MM

V V E S TE R C E AE III . , AM N

T E C OL D E LA FAU LL E I X . H C I

UE TU E P O E E Q M , M L M N

I C H R S T C UR C H X . I H H C O I R

X I I R O S Y C AP E . L N H L ed mon th l but y, th en compl eted

P R /E T E R I T A .

I CHAPTER .

T H E O F SPRI NGS WAN DEL .

AM was , and my father before me , a

Violent To ry of the old school ; (Walter

’ ’ Scott s school , that is to say, and Homer s , ) I name these two out of the numberless great

r To y writers , because they were my own

’ tw o masters . I had Walter Scott s novels , I ’ and the liad , (Pope s translation , ) for my

was only reading when I a child , on week d ays : on Sundays their effect was tempered by Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim ’ s Pro g ress ; my mother having it deeply in her h eart to make an evangelical clergyman of 2 I T H E O F . SPRINGS WA NDEL .

l . ortunate e me F y, I had an aunt mor

evangelical than my mother ; and my aunt

’ u gave me cold mutton for S nday s dinner, which—as I much preferred it hot—greatly

’ diminished the inﬂ uen ce of the Pilgrim s

Progress , and the end of the matter was , th at I got all the noble imaginative teaching

e t—am of Defoe and Bunyan , and y not an

evangelical clergyman .

I n had , however, still better teaching tha

da theirs , and that compulsorily , and every y

of the week . Walter Scott and Pope ’ s Homer were

own r reading of my election , but my mothe

forced me , by steady daily toil , to learn long

chapters of the Bible by heart ; as well as

a to read it every syllable through , loud ,

th e hard names and all , from Genesis to

: t Apocalypse , about once a year and to tha — discipline patient , accurate , and resolute

I owe . , not only a knowledge of the book ,

ﬁnd which I occasionally serviceable , but

much of my general power of taking pains , W 1 o r A N D E L . . TH E SPRI NGS 3

and th e best part of my taste in literature .

’ rom F Walter Scott s novels I might easily , h ’ as I grew older, ave fallen to other people s

le d novels ; and Pope might , perhaps , have

’ ’ me to take Johnson s English , or Gibbon s , as types of language ; but , once knowing the

2 n d 1 th th e 3 of Deuteronomy, the I 9 Psalm ,

th I 5 of I st Corinthians , the Sermon on the

r Mount , and most of the Apocalypse , eve y

wa of syllable by heart , and having always a y thinking with myself what words meant , it was not possible for me , even in the foolishest

s u erﬁcial times of youth , to write entirely p

' or formal English ; and th e aﬁ ectation of trying to write like Hooker and George Herbert was the most innocent I could f have allen into .

own n From my chosen masters , the , Scott and Homer , I learned the Toryism which — my best after thought has only served to

ﬁrm con .

That is to say a most sincere love of kings , and dislike of everybody who attempted to . 1 W . S RI N O F A N DE L 4 TH E P GS .

in in — n rs o ar k g s, or k g lovi g pe ns , do h der work

— ti on to me I obs erved that they n ot only

uan ti il or roﬁ O f at h q ty of s po p t. l e it as s eemed to me that th e idea of a kin g has

c xa l th e n ra y t i s a be ome e ct y co t r of h , and th t

erson n eral v rn es s an d p s ge ly to go e l , get more,

wa s a an y o y ls . So t at s th an b d e e h it , perh p ,

qui t e as well that in th ose ear ly days my I T H E O F . SPRINGS WANDEL . 5 contemplation of existent kingship was a very

n e distant o . The aunt wh o gave me cold mutton on

’ Sundays was my fath er s sister : she lived at

- h ad Bridge end , in the town of Perth , and

r — a garden full of gooseber y bushes , sloping

th e to down to Tay, with a door opening

it — w the water, which ran past , clear bro n over the pebbles th ree or four feet deep ;

f — —an inﬁnite swi t eddying , thing for a child to look down into . My father began business as a wine merchant , with no capital , and a consider able amount of debts bequeathed him by

d h H e my gran fat er . accepted the bequest , and paid them all before he began to lay

by anything for himself, for which his best I friends called him a fool , and , without

n n expressi g any opinio as to his wisdom , which I kn ew in such matters to be at

th e least equal to mine , have written on

‘ granite slab over his grave that he was an

’ entirely honest merchant . As days went on WA N D E L O F . 6 1 . TH E SPRINGS

he was able to take a house in Hunter

Street, Brunswick Square , No . 54 , (the

it windows of , fortunately for me , com m anded a View of a marvellous iron post, — o ut of which the water carts were ﬁlled

- through beautiful little trap doors , by pipes — like boa constrictors ; and I was never weary

r of contemplating that myste y , and the de licio us dripping consequent); and as years

on ﬁ v e went , and I came to be four or years old, he could command a postchaise an d pair for two months in the summer, b y help of which , with my mother and me , he went the round of his country customers (who liked to see the principal

own of the house his traveller); so that , at a - j og trot pace , and through the panoramic opening of the four windows of a post

chaise , made more panoramic still to me because my seat was a little bracket in d front , (for we use to hire the chaise regularly for the tw o months out of Long

Acre , and so could have it bracketed and

8 I O F . . TH E S PRINGS WANDEL

Square in the least more pleasantly habit able , to pull Warwick Castle down . And ,

s at this day, though I have kind invitation enough to visit America , I could not, even

r for a couple of months , live in a count y c so miserable as to possess no astles .

Nevertheless , having formed my notion of kinghood ch icﬂy from the Fitz j ames of the Lady of the Lake , and of noblesse

s from the Douglas there , and the Dougla in Marmion , a painful wonder soon arose

- i in my child m nd, why the castles should

a n ow be always empty . Tantallon w s — there ; but no Archibald of Angus z Stir ling , but no Knight of Snowdoun . The galleries and —gardens of England were beautiful to see but his Lordship and h er

Ladyship were always in town , said the housekeepers and gardeners . Deep yearning took hold of me for a kind of ‘ Restor

’ ation , which I began slowly to feel that Charles the Second had not altogether ff w e ected , though I always ore a gilded I O F . . THE SPRINGS WANDEL 9

oak - apple very piously in my button - hole h on the 2 9 t of May . It seemed to me that Charles the Second ’ s Restoration had

been , as compared with the Restoration I

- wanted , much as that gilded oak apple to a

th e real apple . And as I grew wiser, desire

for sweet pippins instead of bitter ones , and K Living ings instead of dead ones , appeared to me rational as well as romantic ; and gradually it h as become the main purpose

and f of my life to grow pippins , its chie

'e Kin s ﬁ hope, to see g I have never been able to trace these

prejudices to any royalty of descent : of my

’ of father s ancestors I know nothing , nor my mother ’ s more than that my maternal grandmother was the landlady of the Old

’ King s Head in Market Street , Croydon ;

n and I wish she were alive agai , and I

’ Th e St. George s Company was founded for th e p ro motion of agricult ural ins tead of town life : and my o nly

o e of ros er for E n n or an o er coun r in h p p p ity gla d, y th t y

w a e er e e e is in e r ve n and o e n h t v lif th y l ad, th i disco ri g b yi g

men ca a e of K n o p bl i gho d . WAN D E L 1 O F . I O . TH E S PRINGS

’ ’ could paint her Simone M e mmi s King s

Head , for a sign . f My maternal grand ather was , as I have l said , a sailor , who used to embark , ike

Robinson Crusoe , at Yarmouth , and come back at rare intervals , making himself very delightful at home . I have an idea he had something to do with the herring

am business , but not clear on that point ; my mother never being much communi c it H e ative concerning . spoiled her, and her (younger) sister, with all his heart , when he was at home ; unless there ap

eared . p any tendency to equivocation , or

r imaginative statements , on the pa t of the

for i a l un ve b e . children , which were always g My mother being once perceived by him

lie to have distinctly told him a , he sent the servant out forthwith to buy an en tire bundle of n ew broom twigs to whip her ‘ did with . They not hurt me so much

’ ‘ ’ on e n as (twig) would have do e , said my

‘ ’ t/zou /zt it mother , but I g a good deal of . WA N D E L I T H E O F . . SPRINGS I I

My grandfather was killed at two - and

n thirty , by tryi g to ride , instead of walk , in to Croydon ; he got his leg crushed by his horse against a wall ; and died of the

’ m orti fin was n hurt s ﬁ g . My mother the s even or eight years old , and , with her s ister, was sent to quite a fashionable (for — ’ Croydon)day school , Mrs . Rice s , where my

was mother taught evangelical principles , and became the pattern girl an d best n eedlewoman in ' the school ; and where my aunt absolutely refused evangelical prin

ci les p , and became the plague and pet

o f i t .

My mother, being a girl of great power ,

w n ot an d ith a little pride , grew more more

e n cons men ti o us xemplary in her e tirely career ,

at much laughed , though much beloved , by

; wh o W1t her sister had more , less pride ,

an d . At no conscience last my mother ,

n formed into a co summate housewife , was s ent for to Scotland to take care of my

’ paternal grandfather s house ; who was 1 I T H E O F . 2 . SPRI NGS WAN DEL gradually ruining himself ; and who at last

ff f. e ectually ruined , and killed , himsel My father came up to London ; was a clerk in

’ a merchant s house for nine years , without a holiday ; th en began business on his own

’ account ; paid his father s debts ; and married his exemplary Croydon cousin . Meantime my aunt had remained in

B th e Croydon , and married a baker . y

was n time I four years old , and begi ning —m to recollect things , y father rapidly taking higher commercial position in

— was — London , there traceable though to

me , as a child , wholly incomprehensible —j ust the least possible shade of shyness

on the part of Hunter Street , Brunswick

Square , towards Market Street , Croydon . — But whenever my father was ill , and hard work and sorrow had already set

—we their mark on him , all went down to Croydon to be petted by my homely

D u as aunt ; and walk on pp Hill , and on

the heather of Addington . W N I T H E O F A D E L . 1 . SPRINGS 3 My aunt lived in the little house still — standing o r which was so four months

— fash ionables t S ago the in Market treet , having actually two windows over the shop , in the second story ; but I never troubled myself about that superior part of the mansion , unless my father happened

in I to be making drawings ndian ink , when I would sit reverently by and watch ;

n my chosen domai s being , at all other times , the shop , the bakehouse , and the stones round the spring of crystal water at the back door (long since let down into the modern sewer); and my chief com

’ panion , my aunt s dog , Towzer , whom she

t on had taken pi y when he was a snappish , starved vagrant ; and made a brave and

' aﬁ ectionate dog of : which was the kind of thing s h e did for every living creature

that came in her way , all her life long .

t Contented , by help of hese occasional

glimpses of the rivers of Paradise , I lived until I was more than four years old in I . I T H E O F 4 . SPRI NGS WAN DEL .

Hunter Street, Brunswick Square , the greater

part of the year ; for a few weeks in th e summer breathing country air by taking

lodgings in small cottages (real cottages ,

s o — not villas , called)either about Hampstead ,

’ ’ or at Dulwich , at Mrs . Ridley s , the last of a row in a lane which led ' out in to the

ﬁ elds was Dulwich on one side , and itself full of buttercups in spring , and blackberries im in autumn . But my chief remaining pressions of those days are attached to

’ t Hunter Street . My mo her s general prin ci les ﬁrst p of treatment were , to guard me with steady watchfulness from all avoidable pain or danger ; and, for the rest, to let me amuse myself as I liked , provided I was neither fretful nor troublesome . But

law ﬁ nd the was , that I should my own amusement . No toys of any kind were at — ﬁ rs t allowed and the pity of my Croydon aunt for my monastic poverty in this respect

O n i was boundless . one of my b rthdays , thinking to overcome my mother ’ s resolu

” 1 6 I T H E O F . SPRI NGS WA NDEL .

I s uffi cient still think , entirely possessions , and being always summarily whipped if ‘ I c was ried , did not do as I bid , or tumbled on the stairs , I soon attained serene and secure methods of life and motion ; and c ould pass my days contentedly in tracing the squares and comparing the colours of — my carpet ; examining the knots in the wood of the floor, or counting the bricks in the opposite houses ; with rapturous intervals of excitement during the fillin g

- of the water cart, through its leathern pipe , from the dripping iron post at the pave ment edge ; or the still more admirable proceedings of the turncock , when he turned and turned till a fountain sprang up in the middle of the street . But the carpet, and

ﬁnd what patterns I could in bed covers , — dresses , or wall papers to be examined , were my chief resources , and my attention to the particulars in these was soon so accurate , that when at three and a half I was taken to have my portrait painted 1 O F . 1 . TH E SPRINGS WAN DEL 7

M r h ad n ot n ten by . Northcote , I bee minutes alone with him before I asked him why there were holes in his carpet . The

' portrait in questio n represents a very pretty child with yellow hair, dressed in a white — frock like a girl , with a broad light blue sash and blue shoes to match ; the feet of the child wholesomely large in propor tion to its body ; an d the shoes still more wholesomely large in proportion to the feet . These articles of my daily dress were all sen t to the old painter for perfect reali z ation ; but they appear in the picture more remarkable than they were in my nursery , because I am represented as running in a ﬁ eld at th e edge of a wood with the trunks of its trees striped across in the manner of

Sir Joshua Reynolds ; while two rounded hills , as blue as my shoes, appear in the

n dista ce , which were put in by the painter at my own request ; for I had already

n n n ot to n bee o ce , if twice , taken Scotla d ; 1 8 1 O F . TH E SPRINGS WAN DEL .

’ and my Scottish nurs e h av in g always sung to me as we approached the Tweed or

Esk ,

‘ Fo r Sco and m n e fu in m ew tl , y darli g , li s ll y Vi ,

W th h er a e fo o ed e and mou n a ns s o i b r t lassi s, t i

’ b e lu , the idea of distant hills was connected in my mind with approach to the extreme felicities

’ of of life , in my (Scottish) aunt s garden gooseberry bushes , sloping to the . Tay .

M r But that, when old . Northcote asked me (little thinking , I fancy, to get any answer so explicit) what I would like to d have in the distance of my picture , I shoul have said ‘ blue hills ’ instead of ‘ goose ’ — k berry bushes , appears to me and I thin without any morbid tenden cy to think over

—a s ufﬁ cientl much of myself fact y curious ,

of t and not without promise, in a child tha age . I think it should be related also that having , as aforesaid , been steadily whipped I T H E O F . 1 . SPRINGS WANDEL 9

if I was troublesome , my formed habit of serenity was greatly pleasing to the old painter ; for I sat contentedly motionless , h counting the holes in his carpet , or watc ing him squeeze his paint out of its bladders ,

—a i beautiful operation , ndeed , to my think ing ; - but I do not remember taking any

’ n M r North cote s i terest in . application of the pigments to the canvas ; my ideas of

in delightful art , in that respect , involving dispensably the possession of a large pot ,

ﬁlle d with paint of the brightest green , and of a brush which would come out of it

was soppy . But my quietude so pleasing to the old man that he begged my father and mother to let me sit to him for the face of a child which he was painting in a classical subject ; where I was accordingly represented as reclining on a leopard skin , and having a thorn - taken out of my foot by a wild man of the woods .

In all these particulars , I think the treatment , or accidental conditions , of my 0 I T H E O F . 2 . S PRINGS WAN DEL

childhood, entirely right , for a child of my temperament : but the mode of my in tro du c tion to literature appears to me questionable ,

am r St and I not prepared to car y it out in .

’ m odiﬁcation G . eorge s schools, without much I absolutely declined to learn to read by syllables ; but would get an entire sentence

by heart with great facility , and point with accuracy to every word in the page as I i t . repeated As , however, when the words

were once displaced , I had no more to say ,

u en my mother gave p , for the time , the

deavou r to teach me to read , hoping only

that I might consent, in process of years , to

a dopt the popular system of syllabic study .

But I went on to amuse myself, in my own

way , learnt whole words at a time , as I did patterns ; and at ﬁv e years old was sending

’ for m y second volumes to the circulating

library .

‘ This eﬁ brt to learn the words in their

“ collective aspect , was assisted by my real

admiration of the look of printed type , I . T H E O F SPRI NGS WANDEL .

which I began to copy for my pleasure , as other children draw dogs and horses . m ’ The following inscription , facsi ile d from the ﬂy- leaf of my Seven Champions of

Christendom , ( judging from the independent

irl" - ~\o@ b “g UK? o A g 7 m te a b v x3 w ar m h e” ) “ ent e recl t in X w h e r D ra then e Vav “ e M kﬁ “ " hA ‘m ‘ O V d A N S O E . SO d AES 3 6 0d ¢ W I“; o h ’ t f o r t s u nd mor hi s s ea t em s e n h a e ? t kp a a c

Views taken in it of the character of the L G letter , and the relative elevation of , ) I believe to be an extremely early art study

of this class ; and as by the will of Fors,

ﬁ rs t the lines of the note , written after an

n ﬁft i terval of y years , underneath my copy

it M r of , in direction to . Burgess , presented I T H E O F . 2 2 . SPRI NGS WAN DEL some notable points of correspondence with i t , I thought it well he should engrave them together, as they stood .

My mother had , as she afterwards told

‘ ’ me , solemnly devoted me to God before

in I was born ; imitation of Hannah . Very good women are remarkably apt to make away with their children prematurely , in this manner : the real meaning of the Z pious act being , that , as the sons of ebedee

or are not ( at least they hope not), to sit on the right and left of Christ , in His kingdom , their own sons may perhaps ,

t o they think , in time be advanced that respectable position in eternal life ; especially if they ask Christ very humbly for it every day ; and they always forget in the most na'ive way that the position is not His to give

’ Devoting me to God, meant , as far as

my mother knew herself what she meant,

tr that she would y to send me to college , an d make a clergyman of me : and I was

2 I T H E O F . 4. . SPRIN GS WAN DEL

‘ ‘ h e ever father shed , ) would have been a

’ Bishop .

Luckily for me , my mother, under these distinct impressions of her own duty, and with such latent hopes of my future emi nence h , took me very early to churc ; where , in spite of my quiet habits, and my

’ mother s golden Vinaigrette , always indulged

its to me there , and there only, with lid unclasped that I might see the wreathed open pattern above the sponge , I found the bottom of the pew so extremely dull a

in m - s place to keep quiet , ( y best story book being also taken away from me in the

morning , ) that , as I have somewhere said

before, the horror of Sunday used even to cast its prescient gloom as far back in — the week as Friday and all the glory of

Monday, with church seven days removed

it again , was no equivalent for .

ab Notwithstanding , I arrived at some

o wn M r stract in my mind of the Rev . .

’ Howell s sermons ; and occasionally, in I T H E O F . 2 . SPRINGS WANDEL 5

imitation of him, preached a sermon at — home over the red sofa cushio n s ; this performance being always called for by

’ my mother s dearest friends , as the great accomplishment of my childhood . The

was sermon , I believe , some eleven words long ; very exemplary, it seems to me , in — that respect and I still think must have been the purest gospel , for I know it began

‘ ’ with , People , be good . k We seldom had company, even on wee days ; and I was never allowed to come

t e down to desser , until much later in lif

n whe I was able to crack nuts neatly . I was then permitted to come down to crack other people ’ s nuts for them —( I hope they liked the ministration)—but never to have any myself ; nor anything else o f dainty kind, either then or at other times .

Once , at Hunter Street, I recollect my

n mother giving me three raisi s, in the

o ut forenoon , of the store cabinet ; and I remember perfectly th e ﬁrs t time I tasted 6 2 1 . O F TH E S PRINGS WAN DEL .

N l custard, in our lodgings in orfo k Street —where we had gone while the house was

being painted, or cleaned, or something .

My father was dining in the front room ,

ﬁ n i h and . did not s his custard ; and my mother brought me the bottom of it into the back room .

’ But for the reader s better understandi n g of such further progress of my poor little life as I may trespass on his patience in

n ow describing , it is needful that I give some account of my father ’ s mercantile position in London .

' The ﬁ rm of which he was head partner may be yet remembered by some of the

older city houses , as carrying on their

business in a small counting - house on the

ﬁ rs t ﬂoor of narrow premises , in as narrow — a thoroughfare of East London , Billiter

Street , the principal traverse from Leaden

hall Street into Fenchurch Street . The names of the three partners were give n in full on their brass plate under 1 O F . 2 . TH E SPRI NGS WANDEL 7 — u - h the co nting ouse bell , Ruskin , Telford ,

D om ec and q.

’ M r D om ec s . q name should have been

M r ﬁ r s t . the , by rights , for my father and

H e Telford were only his agents . was the sole proprietor of the estate which was th e m ﬁ rm — V ain capital of the , the ineyard of

Macharnudo , the most precious hillside , for growth of white wine , in the Spanish peninsula . The quality of the Macharnudo v in tage essen tially ﬁxed th e standard of X " ’ — eres sack, or dry , secco sherris , or s th e r ifth herry , from days of Hen y the F — to our own ; the unalterable and unrivalled — chalk marl of it putting a strength in to the grape which age can only enrich an d d — a . arken , never imp ir

' M r D om ec w as I n . Peter q , believe , Spa ish

born ; and partly French , partly English

an d bred ; a man of strictest honour, kindly

d h ow n ot isposition ; descended , I do know ;

V how he became p ossessor of his ineyard ,

I do not know ; what position he held , 2 8 1 O F . . TH E S PRINGS WAN DEL

i ﬁrm G ordon when young , in the of ,

Murphy, and Company, I do not know ; but in their house he watched their head clerk , my father, during his nine years of d u uty, and when the house broke p , asked him to be his own agent in England . My

M r father saw that he could fully trust .

’ D om ec s — q honour, and feeling ; but not

r so fully either his sense, or his indust y ;

’ and insisted , though taking only his agent s commission , on being both nominally, and

- ﬁ rm practically, the head partner of the .

M r D om ec f . q lived chie ly in Paris ; rarely

Visiting his Spanish estate , but having perfect knowledge of the proper processes of its

t cultivation , and authori y over its labourers

’ H e almost like a chief s over his clan . kept the wines at the highest possible

stan dard ; and allowed my father to manage

all matters concerning their sale , as he

n M r thought best . The second part er, .

Henry Telford , brought into the business what capital was necessary for its London I T H E O F . 2 . SPRI NGS WAN DEL 9

branch . The premises in Billiter Street belonged to him ; and h e had a pleasant

Widm ore country house at , near Bromley ; — a quite far away Kentish Village in those days .

‘ H e was a perfect type of an English cou n try gentleman of moderate fortune ;

n u married , living with three unmarried

— reﬁ nemen t sisters , who , in the of their

n highly educated , unpretendi g , benevolent, and felicitous lives, remain in my memory more like the ﬁgures in a beautiful story than realities . Neither in story, nor in

n o f reality, have I ever agai heard , or

n M r see , anything like . Henry Telford ; ff so gentle , so humble, so a ectionate , so

clear in common sense , so fond of horses , — n t and so e tirely incapable of doing , hink

in h g , or saying, anything t at had the slightest taint in it of the racecourse or

the stable . Yet I believe h e n ever missed any great

race ; passed the greater part of h is life on 0 I T H E O F 3 . SPRINGS WA NDEL . horseback ; and hunted during the whole

Leicestershire season ; but never made a bet, never had a serious fall , and never hurt a horse . Between him and my father there fi was absolute con dence , and the utmost friendship that could exist without com

was munity of pursuit . My father greatly

’ M r proud of . Telford s standing among the

M r country gentlemen ; and . Telford was affectionately respectful to my father ’ s steady

1ns t1nct industry and infallible commercial .

’ M r . Telford s actual part in the conduct of th e busin ess was limited to attendance in the counting—house during two months at Midsummer , when my father took his holiday, and sometimes for a month at the beginning of the year , when he travelled for

M r At . orders . these times Telford rode

Widm ore into London daily from , signed

what letters and bills needed signature , read

the papers, and rode home again ; any matters needing deliberation were referred

to my father, or awaited his return . All

I T H E O F 3 2 . SPRINGS WAN DEL .

th e accident importance . The essential point

to be noted , and accounted for, was that I

’ c ould understand Turner s work when I saw it n o t ; by what chance , or in what year,

ﬁrs t M r it was seen . Poor . Telford , never

th eless , was always held by papa and mamma primarily responsible for my Turner insanities .

In a more direct , though less intended way, his help to me was important . For, before my father thought it right to hire a carriage for the above mentioned Mid

M r us summer holiday, . Telford always lent

n his ow travelling chariot . N ow the old English chariot is the most luxurious of travelling carriages , for two persons , or even for two persons and so much of third personage as I possessed at

three years old . The one , in question was hung high , so that we could see well over stone dykes and average hedges out of it ; such elevation being attained by the old

- fashioned folding steps , with a lovely padded 1 O F WA N D E L . TH E SPRINGS . 3 3 c n ﬁ ttin n ushio g i to the recess of the door, —steps which it was one of my ch ief travellin g delights to see the hostlers fold up an d down ; though my delight was painfully alloyed by envious ambition to be

m self z— allowed to do it y but I never was ,

n ﬁn ers lest I should pi ch my g .

’ ‘ d n The ickey, (to thi k that I should

n ever till this m ome n t have asked myself th e

n w an d n o w derivatio of that ord , be unable t o it ! — n get at ) bei g, typically , that com

’ h er manding seat in Majesty s mail , occupied b and n y the Guard ; classical , eve in modern

’ M r literature , as the scene of . Bob Sawyer s a n n h —was n rra geme ts wit Sam , throw far

’ in M r back . Telford s chariot , so as to give perfectly comfortable room for the legs (if

o n e h on ﬁn e c ose to travel outside days), an d to ar rd beneath it spacious area to the

boot, a storehouse of rearward miscellaneous

u w h—w l ggage . Over hic ith all the rest of — forward and s upe rﬁcial luggage my n urse

Anne presided , both as guard and packer ; I T H E O F . 3 4. . SPRI NGS WAN DEL

l in ﬂatn ess unriva led, she , the and precision

in — of her laying of dresses, as in turning

ﬁ n e of pancakes ; the precision , observe , meaning also the easy wit and invention of k her art ; for, no more in packing a trun

n n tha commanding a campaign , is precisio possible without foresight . Among the people whom one must

’ life miss out of one s z dead , or worse than

ﬁft can dead , by the time one is past y, I m - only say for y own part , that the one I

practically and truly miss most , next to

n father and mother , (and putti g losses of

m r o s i agina y good out of the questi n , ) is thi ’ e Anne , my father s nurse , and min . She was one of our (our many being

few always but , ) and from her girlhood to

her old age , the entire ability of her life

was us given to serving . She had a natural gift and speciality for doing disagreeable

things ; above all , the service of a sick

room ; so that she was n ever quite in her

’ ‘ ’ F e Me n e a e n an n . orm rly i i , tt d t compa y 1 O F . . TH E SPRINGS WANDEL 3 5

glory unless some of us were ill . She had also some parallel speciality for s aying dis a greeable things ; and might be relied upon to give the extremely darkest view of any s ubject, before proceeding to ameliorative a it ction upon . And she had a very creditable an d republican aversion to doing

was immediately, or in set terms, as she bid ; so that when my mother an d she

o t and g old together, my mother became very imperative and particular about having her teacup set on one side of her little r ound table , Anne would observantly and punctiliously put it always on the other ;

m e which caused my mother to state to , e r ve y morning after breakfast, gravely, that , if ever a woman in this world was possessed b th e was y Devil , Anne that woman . But in spite of these momen tary and petulant aspiratio ns to liberality an d independence of c haracter, poor Anne remained very servile in soul all her days ; and was altogether o ﬁfte en ccupied , from the age of to seventy 6 1 O F . 3 . TH E S PRINGS WAN DE L

’ in h d two , doing ot er people s wills instea

’ s of her own , and seeking other people good instead of her own : nor did I ever hear on any occasion of her doing harm

two to a human being , except by saving

hundred and some odd pounds for her‘ relations ; in consequence of which some k of them , after her funeral , did not spea

to the rest for several months .

The dickey then aforesaid , being indis pensable for our guard Anne , was made

two t wide enough for , that my father migh

go outside also when the scenery and day

ﬁ ne a were . The entire equipage was not

light one of its kind ; but, the luggage being

carefully limited, went gaily behind good horses on the then perfectly smooth mail

roads ; and posting , in those days , being

universal , so that at the leading inns in r “ ! every count y town , the cry Horses out

u down the yard , as one drove p, was

answered, often instantly, always within

ﬁve h minutes , by the merry trot throug I O F . . TH E S PRINGS WANDEL 3 7 the archway of the booted and bright jacketed rider, with his caparisoned pair,

’ there was no driver s seat in fro n t : an d

ﬁ ttin the four large, admirably g and sliding

t n o windows , admit ing drop of rain when

u they were p , and never sticking as they

were let down , formed one large moving

oriel , out of which one saw the country

n . rou d, to the full half of the horizon My

own prospect was more extended still , for my seat w as the little box containing my

clothes , strongly made , with a cushion on

one end of it ; set upright in front (and well

w . for ard), between my father and mother

I was thus not the least in their way, and

my horizon of sight the widest possible . When no object of particular interest presented

itself, I trotted , keeping time with the post

n n boy on my tru k cushio for a saddle,

’ and whipped my father s legs for horses ;

ﬁ rst h at t eoretically only, with dexterous motion of wrist ; but ultimately in a quite

an d e fﬁ cien t practical manner, my father 8 1 o r . 3 . TH E SPRI NGS WAN DEL h aving presented me with a silver—mounted

’ postillion s whip .

The Midsummer holiday , for better

M r enjoyment of which . Telford provided u s with these luxuries , began usually on th e ﬁfte e n th of May, or thereabouts ;

’ my father s birthday was the tenth ; on that day I was always allowed to gather the gooseberries for his ﬁ rst gooseberry pie of the year, from the tree between the buttresses on the north wall of the Herne

Hill garden ; so that we could not leave

r before that fa m. The holiday itself con sisted in a tour for orders through half the English counties ; and a Visit (if the counties lay northward) to my aunt in

Scotland . The mode of journeying was as ﬁxed as that of our home life . We went from

ﬁft forty to y miles a day, starting always early enough in the morning to arrive com

’ fo rtabl - y to four o clock dinner . Generally,

f ’ o ﬂ a therefore , getting at six o clock , a st ge

I T H E O F . S PRINGS WAN DEL . and although in the course of these many worshipful pilgrimages I gathered curiously extensive knowledge, both of art and natural

inﬁnitel scenery , afterwards y useful , it is evident to me in retrospect that my own character and affections were little altered by them ; and that the personal feeling and native instinct of me had been fastened , irrevocably , long before, to things

e mod st , humble, and pure in peace , under the low red roofs of Croydon , and by the cress—set rivulets in which the sand danced and minnows darted above the Springs of

Wandel . CHAPTER II . — HERNE H IL L ALMOND BLOSSOMS .

HEN I was about four years old my father found himself able to buy the lease of a house on Herne Hill , a rustic eminence four miles . south of

’ the Standard in Cornhill ; of which the leafy seclusion remains , in all essential points of character, unchanged to this

: in day certain Gothic splendours, lately dul ed g in by our wealthier neighbours , being the only serious innovations ; and these are so graciously concealed by the

ﬁne trees of their grounds , that the passing viator remains unappalled by them ; and I can still Walk up and down the piece of road between the Fox tavern — 2 I . 4 I . HERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS

and the Herne Hill station , imagining

myself four years old . Our house was the northernmost of a group which stand accurately on the top o r , dome of the hill , where the ground

is for a small Space level , as the snows are , (I understand, ) on the dome of Mont

Blanc ; presently falling , however, in what

be may , in the London clay formation ,

considered a precipitous slope, to our valley of Chamoun i ( or of D ulwich) on the east ; and with a softer descent into Cold

- : Harbour lane on the west on the south , n o less beautifully declining to the dale of

' Effra Eﬁ rena the , (doubtless shortened from , U signifying the nbridled river ; recently,

I regret to say, bricked over for the con

venience M r Biﬁi n of . , chemist, and others)

while on the north , prolonged indeed with

s so light depression some half mile or ,

Said in th e Hi s tory of Croydon to be a nam e which

h as n z z e an uar es and ne lw n n ear lo g pu l d tiq i , arly a ays fou d

R n oma military s tations . - A I I . HERN E H ILL L MON D BLOSSOMS .

and receiving , in the parish of Lambeth ,

’ th e chivalric title of Champion Hill , it plunges down at last to efface itself in

the plains of Peckham, and the rural

barbarism of Goose Green .

The group , of which our house was

the quarter, consisted of two precisely

- similar partner couples of houses, gardens and all to match ; still the two highest blocks of buildings seen from Norwood on the crest of the ridge ; so that

- the house itself, three storied, with gar rets above, commanded, in those com

arativel p y smokeless days, a very notable view from its garret windows, of the Nor wood hills on one side , and the winter sunrise over them ; and of th e valley of the Thames on the other, with Windsor telescopically clear in the distance, and

ﬁ ne Harrow, conspicuous always in weather to open Vision against the summer sunset . It had front and back garden in sufﬁ cien t proportion to its size ; the front, richly set - A L I I . H ERN E H I LL L MON D B OSSOMS .

wi - c th old evergreens, and well grown lila and laburnum ; the back , seventy yards long

th e by twenty wide , renowned over all hill for its pears and apples , which had been chosen with extreme care by o ur

e th e pr decessor, (shame on me to forget name of a man to whom I o we so much - and possessing also a strong old

— r mulberry tree , a tall white heart cher y

t tree , a black Kentish one , and an almos

ae unbroken hedge , all round , of altern t

r gooseber y and currant bush ; decked , in

for due season , ( the ground was wholly beneﬁcent of , ) with magical splendour

: abundant fruit fresh green , soft amber, and rough - bristled crimson bending th e spinous branches ; clustered pearl and pendant ruby joyfully discoverable under the large leaves that looked like Vine . The diﬁ érences of primal importance which I observed between the nature of

this garden , and that of Eden , as I had

it all imagined , were , that , in this one, — I I . H ERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS . 4 5

the fruit was forbidden ; and there were no companionable beasts : in other respects the little domain answered every purpose

of Paradise to me ; and the climate, in

that cycle of our years, allowed me to

i it r pass most of my life in . My mothe never gave me more to learn than she

knew I could easily get learnt, if I set

’ myself honestly to work , by twelve o clock . She never allowed anything to disturb me when my task was set ; if it was not

’ said rightly by twelve o clock; I was kept it in till I knew , and in general , even when Latin Grammar came to supplement

was own the Psalms , I my master for at

- least an hour before half past one dinner,

n and for the rest of the afternoo .

ﬁ ndin My mother, herself g her chief

in f personal pleasure her lowers , was often

planting or pruning beside me, at leas t

her if I chose to stay beside . I never thought of doing anything behind her back which I would not have done before — 6 1 1 . 4 . H ERN E H I LL AL MON D BLOSSOMS

her face ; and her presence was therefore

no restraint to me ; but , also , no particular

pleasure , for, from having always been

left so much alone , I had generally my

own ff little a airs to see after ; and , on the

whole , by the time I was seven years old , e was already g tting too independent , ment ally, even of my father and mother ; and,

having nobody else to be dependent upon ,

e b gan to lead a very small , perky, contented ,

— —C r conceited , Cock Robinson rusoe so t of life , in the central point which it appeared

to me , (as it must naturally appear to geometrical animals , ) that I occupied in th e universe . This was partly the fault of my father ’ s m odes t and H e y ; , partly of his pride . had

’ so much more conﬁde nce in my mother s j udgment as to such matters than in his own , that he never ventured even to help , much less to cross her, in the conduct of my

ﬁxed education ; on the other hand , in the purpose of making an ecclesiastical gentle

- A . I I . HERN E H I L L L MON D BLOSSOMS

ortunit p y of ﬂight into regions of romance , compatible with the objective realities of existence in the nineteenth century, within a mile and a quarter of Camberwell

Green .

Herein my father, happily, though with no deﬁn ite intention other than of pleasing me , when he found he could do so with

’ out infringing any of my mother s rules , became my guide . I was particularly fond of watching him shave ; and was always allowed to come into his room in the morning (under the one in which I am n ow writing), to be the motionless witness

t — of that opera ion . Over his dressing table

- hung one of his own water colour drawings, made under the teaching of the elder

Nasmyth . I believe , at the High School

of Edinburgh . It was done in the early

manner of tinting , which , j ust about the time when my father was at the High

o Sch ol , Dr . Munro was teaching Turner ;

- namely, in grey under tints of Prussian — 1 1 . . HERN E H I L L ALMON D BLOSSOMS 4 9

blue and British ink, washed with warm

re re colour afterwards on the lights . I t p t sented Conway Cas le , with its Frith , and,

ﬁsh erm an in the foreground , a cottage , a , ’ ! and a boat at the water s edge .

had ﬁ nish e d When my father shaving , he always told me a story about this picture . The custom began without any initial purpose of his , in consequence of my troublesome curiosity whether the ﬁsh e r man lived in the cottage, and where he was going to in the boat . It being settled, ’ did for peace sake , that he live in the

ﬁ sh cottage , and was going in the boat to

near the castle , the plot of the drama

e aft rwards gradually thickened ; and became ,

I believe , involved with that of the tragedy

of Douglas , and of the Castle Spectre , in both of which pieces my father had h performed in private t eatricals, before my

mother, and a select Edinburgh audience ,

This drawing is s till over th e ch imn ey - pi ece of my

n b edroom at B ra twoo d . 0 I I - A 5 . H ERN E H ILL LMON D BLOSSOMS .

when he was a boy of sixteen , and she , at grave twenty, a model housekeeper, and very scornful and religiously suspicious of

as theatricals . But she w never weary of

h ow telling me , in later years , beautiful my w father looked in his Highland dress, ith the high black feathers . h In the afternoons , when my fat er returned (always punctually) from his

- business , he dined , at half past four, in the front parlour, my mother sitting beside him to hear the events of the day, and give counsel and encouragement with re

ch icﬂ spect to the same ; y the last, for my father was apt to be vexed if orders for sherry fell the least short of their due

two . was standard , even for a day or I

t never present at his time , however, and only avouch what I relate by hearsay and probable conjecture ; for between four and six it would have been a grave misdemeanour in me if I so much as approached the parlour door After that, - 1 I I . H ERNE H I LL ALMON D BLOSSOMS . 5

we in summer time, were all in the garden as long as th e day lasted ; tea under the white - heart cherry tree ; or in winter and

’ rough weather, at six o clock in the

- — draW1n I g room , having my cup of milk ,

- - and slice of bread and butter, in a little

it recess, with a table in front of , wholly sacred to me ; and in which I remained

MOI in the evenings as an in a niche , while my mother knitted , and my father — read to her, and to me , so far as I chose to listen .

The series of the Waverley novels, then drawing towards its close, was still the chief source of delight in all households caring for literature ; and I can no more recollect the time when I did not know them than when I did not know th e Bible ; but I have still a vivid remem brance of my father ’ s intense expression

h e of sorrow mixed with scorn , as threw down Count Robert of Paris, after reading three or four pages ; and knew that the — 2 1 1 . A M 5 H ERN E H I L L L ON D BLOSSOMS . life of Scott was ended : th e scorn being a

very complex and bitter feeling in him, partly, indeed, of the book itself, but ch ieﬂy of the wretches who were torment ing and selling the wrecked intellect, and

not a little , deep down , of the subtle dishonesty which had essentially caused the

ruin . My father never could forgive Scott his concealment of the Ballantyne partner

ship . Such being the salutary pleasures of Herne

Hill , I have next with deeper gratitude to chronicle what I owed to my mother for the resol utely consistent lessons which so exercised me in the Scriptures as to make every word of them familiar to my car in

t — i habi ual music, yet in that familiar ty

reverenced , as transcending all thought , and ! ordaining all conduct .

‘ eﬁ ected This she , not by her own sayings

or personal authority ; but simply by com

o ar th a f r C mp e e s nd paragraph o chapte iii . of B ible

f A n o mi e s . - I I . H ERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS . 5 3

t u pelling me to read the book horo ghly,

was e for myself. As soon as I abl to read

ﬂ uenc with y, she began a course of Bible work with me , which never ceased till I went to Oxford . She read alternate verses

ﬁ rs t i with me , watching , at , every ntonation

th e of my voice , and correcting false ones , till she made me understand the verse , if within my reach , rightly, and

energetically . It might be beyond me altogether ; that she did not care about ; but she made sure that as soon as I got hold of it at all , I should get hold of it

by the right end . I n this way she began with th e ﬁ rs t

verse of Genesis , and went straight through , to the last verse of the Apocalypse ; hard

u law names, n mbers , Levitical , and all ; and began again at Genesis the next day.

If th e a name was hard, better the exercise — if was in pronunciation , a chapter tire —if some, the better lesson in patience , _

loathsome , the better lesson in faith that — 5 4. I I . H ERN E H I LL ALMON D BLOSSOMS .

there \ was some use in its being so out spoken . After our chapters, (from two to three a day, according to their length ,

ﬁrs t f the thing a ter breakfast, and no — interruption from servants allowed, none

th e from visitors, who either joined in — reading or had to stay upstairs, and none f rom any Visitings or excursions , except

few real travelling , ) I had to learn a verses by heart, or repeat, to make sure I had

was not lost, something of what already

t t known ; and, wi h the chapters hus gradually possessed from the ﬁrs t word to

the last, I had to learn the whole body

ﬁne of the old Scottish paraphrases , which

are good, melodious , and forceful verse ;

and to which , together with the Bible

ﬁ rst itself, I owe the cultivation of my car in sound . It is strange that of all the pieces of the Bible which my mother thus taught

t me, hat which cost me most to learn ,

’ and which was, to my child s mind ,

6 - 1 1 . 5 . H ERN E H I L L ALMON D BLOSSOMS

I insisting, partly in childish obstinacy,

and partly in true instinct for rhythm , (being wholly careless on the subject both

of urns and their contents, ) on reciting it

with an accented qf. I t was not, I say,

’ f t till a ter hree weeks labour, that my mother got th e accent lightened on the

’ f th e o . and laid on ashes , to her mind

But had it taken three years , she would

i t have done , having once undertaken to

i t s it do . And, a suredly, had she not done , — ’ well , there s no knowing what would have I ’ m f did happened ; but very thank ul she . I have just opened my oldest (in use)

— a Bible , small , closely, and very neatly d printe volume it is, printed in Edin D burgh by Sir . Hunter Blair and J . Bruce ,

’ Printers to the King s Most Excellent

1 8 1 6 Y Majesty, in . ellow, now, with age ,

ﬂexibl e and , but not unclean , with much

use , except that the lower corners of the

8th and pages at of I st Kings , and 3

Deuteronomy, are worn somewhat thin and — I I . H ERN E H ILL AL MON D BLOSSOMS . 57

two s dark , the learning of these chapter

’ having cost me much pains . My mother s

t s list of the chapters with which , hu

le life learned, she established my soul in )

it e has j ust fallen out of . I will tak What indulgence the incurious reader can

t give me , for printing the list hus acci dentally occurrent

1 2 0 th Exodus , chapters 5 th and .

2 1 e Samuel I st, from 7th vers

to the end . 8 th .

2 rd 2 nd 0 th 3 , 3 , 9 ,

1 8t 1 0 rd 9 , 3 ,

1 1 ath 1 1 th , o ,

1 th 3 9 .

2 nd rd 8th l ath Proverbs , g , , .

This expres s ion in F01 5 h as naturally b een supposed by some readers to m ean th at my m oth er at thi s tim e

and ev n e r Th made me vitally a g lically eligious . e fact

r s e I ean n a h was far oth e wi . m t o ly th t s e gave me s ecure

ll u ure e rac ca or r round for a s ua . See th e g f t lif , p ti l pi it l

paragraph next following . — 1 1 . 5 8 . H ERN E H I L L ALMON D BLOSSOMS

th I saiah chapters 5 8 .

6th th th . Matthew 5 , , 7

6th Acts a .

1 1 1 . Corinthians 3 th , 5th

th James 4 . h 6th t . Revelation 5 ,

And truly, though I have picked up the e lements of a little further knowledge i n mathematics , meteorology, and the like , i n - owe after life , and not a little to the

teaching of many people , this maternal installation of my mind in that proper ty

conﬁden tl of chapters , I count very y the m ost precious, and , on the whole , the one

' ‘ erremza/ part of all my education . And it is perhaps already time to mark w hat advantage and mischief, by the chances

of life up to seven years old, had been

irrevocably determined for me . I will ﬁ rst count my blessings (as a n ot unwise friend once recommended me

to do , continually ; whereas I have a bad — 1 1 . . H ERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS 5 9 trick of always numbering the thorns in

ﬁn ers my g and not the bones in them). And for best and truest beginning of all blessings , I had been taught the perfect meaning of Peace, in thought, act, and

word . I never had heard my father ’ s or mother ’ s voice once raised in any question with each

other ; nor seen an angry, or even slightly ff hurt or o ended, glance in the eyes of

either . I had never heard a servant scolded ; a nor even suddenly, p ssionately, or in any

m . severe anner, blamed I had never seen a moment ’ s trouble or disorder in any house

hold matter ; nor anything whatever either

r done in a hur y, or undone in due time . I had no conception of such a feeling as

’ anxiety ; my father s occasional vexation in

the afternoons, when he had only got an order for twelve butts after expecting one

ﬁfteen n for , as I have just stated, was ever

manifested to me ; and itself related only to the question whether his name would - 60 1 1 I A . . H ERN E H LL LMON D BLOSSOMS

’ be a step higher or lower in the year s list of sherry exporters ; for he never spen t more than half his income, and therefore found himself little incommoded by occa

ional it h ad s variations in the total of . I never done any wrong that I knew of beyond occasionally delaying the commit ment to heart of some improving sentence, that I might watch a wasp on the window

r and pane , or a bird in the cher y tree ;

I had never seen any grief.

Next to this quite priceless gift of Peace , I had received the perfect understanding O of the natures of bedience and Faith .

ﬁ n er r I obeyed word , or lifted g , of fathe or mother, simply as a ship her helm ; not only without idea of resistance , but receiving the direction as a part of my

law as own life and force , a helpful , necessary to me in every moral action

law as the of gravity in leaping . And my practice in Faith was soon complete nothing was ever promised me that was 1 1 - 6 1 . H ERN E H I LL AL MON D BLOSSOMS . not given ; nothing ever threatened me

was inﬂicted that not , and nothing ever t was old me that not true .

Peace , obedience , faith ; these three for c to hief good ; next these , the habit of ﬁxed attention with both eyes and mind — on which I will not further enlarge at rac this moment , this being the main p tical faculty of my life , causing Mazzini

to say of me , in conversation authentically

two reported , a year or before his death , that I had the most analytic mind in

’ An far Europe . opinion in which , so as am am I acquainted with Europe , I myself entirely disposed to concur .

Lastly, an extreme perfection in palate and all other bodily senses , given by the

comﬁts utter prohibition of cake , wine , , or , except in carefullest restriction , fruit ; and by ﬁ ne preparation of what food was given me . Such I esteem the main bless ings of my childhood ; next, let me count the equally dominant calamities . - 6 2 1 1 . . H ERN E H IL L AL MON D BLOSSOMS

irs t . F , that I had nothing to love — My parents were in a so rt visible

powers of nature to me , no more loved than the sun and the moon : only I should have been annoyed and puzzled if h eit er of them had gone out ; (how much , — now, when both are darkened still less did I love God ; not that I had any H im quarrel with , or fear of Him ; but simply found what people told me was

His service , disagreeable and what people

told me was His book , not entertaining .

I had no companions to quarrel with , neither ; nobody to assist, and nobody to

as thank . Not a servant w ever allowed to do anything for me, but what it was their duty to do ; and why should I have been grateful to the cook for cook — ing , or the gardener for gardening , when th e one dared not give me a baked potato without asking leave , and the t ’ o her would not let my ants nests alone , because they made the walks untidy ?

- 6 1 1 E . 4. . H RN E H IL L ALMON D BLOSSOMS without shyness : but the shyness came later, and increased as I grew conscious of the rudeness arising from the want of social discipline , and found it impossible to acquire, in advanced life , dexterity in any

accom bodily exercise , skill in any pleasing

lishmen t p , or ease and tact in ordinary behaviour .

Lastly, and chief of evils . My judg

ment of right and wrong , and powers of

Ie independent acti on ﬁ were left entirely undeveloped ; because the bridle and “ oﬁ h blinkers were never taken me . C il dren should have their times of being off

duty, like soldiers ; and when once the

obedience , if required , is certain , the little creature should be very early put for periods of practice in complete command

of itself ; set on the barebacked horse of

its its own will , and left to break it by

o n h w strengt . But the ceaseless authority

Action o s er e I s a ere : in t/zou /zt I was too , b v , y h g

I a n e en en as s a o e. i d p d t, id b v 1 1 - 6 . H ERN E H ILL AL MON D BLOSSOMS . 5

exercised over my youth left me , when

cast out at last into the world , unable for some time to do more than drift with its

vortices .

My present verdict, therefore, on the

general tenor of my education at that time ,

be was must , that it at once too formal

and too luxurious ; leaving my character, at the most important moment for its

construction , cramped indeed, but not dis

ci lined p ; and only by protection innocent,

instead of by practice virtuous . My mother

saw this herself, and but too clearly, in later years ; and whenever I did anything — - r wrong , stupid , or hard hea ted, (and I

have done many things that were all three, )

— ‘ I t always said , is because you were too

’ much indulged . w Thus far, ith some omissions , I have merely reprinted the account of these times

given in Fors : and I fear th e sequel may

co nce n be more trivial , because much is

trate d in the foregoing broad statement , - 66 1 1 . . H E RN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS which I have now to continue by slower — steps and yet less amusing , because I tried always in Fors to say things , if I could , a little piquantly ; and the rest of the things related in this book will be told as plainly as I can . But whether I suc ceede d in wr1 t1n g piquantly in Fors or not, I certainly wrote often obscurely ; and the description above given of Herne Hill seems to me to need at once some reduction to plainer terms . The actual height of the long ridge of

— at Herne Hill , above Thames, least above the nearly Thames - level of its base at

Camberwell Green , is, I conceive , not more

than one hundred and ﬁfty feet : but it gives th e whole of this fall on both sides of it in about a quarter of a mile ; forming , east and west, a succession of quite beautiful — i pleasure ground and gardens , nstantly dry after rain , and in which , for children , running down is pleasant play , and rolling

u a roller p , vigorous work . The view — 1 1 . 6 HE RN E H I LL ALMON D B LOSSOMS . 7

w as from the ridge on both sides , before

: railroads came , entirely lovely westward at

evening, almost sublime , over softly wreath

ing distances of domestic wood ; - Thames

ﬁ elds herself not visible , nor any except

immediately beneath ; but the tops of twenty square miles of politely inhabited

O n groves . the other side , east and

south , the Norwood hills , partly rough

with furze , partly wooded with birch and

oak , partly in pure green bramble copse ,

and rather steep pasture , rose with the promise of all the rustic loveliness of

Surrey and Kent in them , and with so

much of space and height in their sweep , as gave them some fellowship with hills

- ello sh i n of true hill districts . F w p o w

inconceivable , for the Crystal Palace , with out ever itself attaining any true aspect of size , and possessing no more sublimity than

two a cucumber frame between chimneys , w yet by its stupidity of hollo bulk , dwarfs th e hills at once ; so that n ow one thinks — 6 8 1 1 . . H ERN E H I LL ALMON D BLOSSOMS of them no more but as three long lumps l of clay, on lease for bui ding . But then ,

- the Nor wood , or North wood , so called

o as it was seen from Croydon , in opp sition to the South wood of the Surrey downs, drew itself in sweeping crescent good ﬁve m 1les round Dulwich to the

‘ south , broken by lanes of ascent, Gipsy

Hill , and others ; and, from the top , com manding Views towards Dartford , and over th e — in plain of Croydon , contempla tion of which I one day frightened my mother out of her wits by saying ‘ the eyes were coming out of my head ! She thought it was an attack of coup — de soleil .

Central in such amphitheatre, the crown ing glory of Herne Hill was accordingly, that, after walking along its ridge south ward from London through a mile of chestnut, lilac , and apple trees, hanging over the wooden palings on each side e sudd nly the trees stopped on the left, and - 1 1 . 6 H ERN E H I LL ALMON D BLOSSOMS . 9 out one came on the top of a ﬁ eld sloping down to the south into Dulwich valley

field cow open animate with and buttercup , and below, the beautiful meadows and high avenues of D ulwich ; and beyond, all that crescent of the Norwood hills ; a footpath , entered by a turnstile , going down to the f le t, always so warm that invalids could be sheltered there in March , when to walk elsewhere would have been death to them ; and so quiet, that whenever I had anything diffi cul t of to compose or think , I used to do it rather there than in our own garden . The great field was separated from the path and road only by light wooden open palings ,

in four feet high , needful to keep the cows .

Since I last composed , or meditated there , various improvements have taken place ; ﬁ rs t the neighbourhood wanted a new

church , and built a meagre Gothic one with

a useless spire , for the fashion of the thing , at the side of the ﬁ eld ; then th ey built a

it two parsonage behind , the stopping out - 0 . 7 I I . H ERN E H I LL ALMON D BLOSSOMS

half the view in that direction . Then the

Crystal Palace came , for ever spoiling the i view through all its compass, and bring ng

- ﬂ every show day , from London , a ood of pedestrians down the footpath , who left it ﬁl thy with cigar ashes for the rest of the

: week then the railroads came, and ex

atiatin p g roughs by every excursion train , wh o knocked the palings about, roared at the cows, and tore down what branches of blossom they could reach over the palings on the enclosed side . Then the residents on the enclosed side built a brick wall to defend themselves . Then the path got to

r ins uﬁ erabl di be y hot as well as rty, and was gradually abandoned to the roughs, with a policeman on watch at the bottom .

Finally , this year, a six foot high close paling has been put down the other side

i t of , and the processional excursionist has the liberty of obtaining what notion of the country air and prospect he may, between the wall and that, with one bad cigar

- . 7 2 I I . H ERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS downs free to the poor of England , with out charging me, as it has j ust done , a hundred pounds for its temporary perform ance of that otherwise unremunerative

t du y . I shall have to return over the ground of ﬁll these early years , to gaps , after getting on a little ﬁr s t ; but will yet venture here the tediousness of explaining that my saying in Herne Hill garden al l fruit was for

” bidden , only meant , of course, forbidden unless under deﬁned restriction ; which made the various gatherings of each kind in its season a sort of harvest festival ; and which

had this further good in its apparent severity,

c that , although in the at last indulgent a ras , the peach which my mother gathered for

me when she was sure it was ripe , and the cherry pie for which I had chosen the

cherries red all round , were , I suppose , of more ethereal ﬂavour to me than they could have been to children allowed to pluck and

t eat at heir will ; still , the unalloyed and — . O I I H ERN E H I LL ALMON D BL SSOMS . 7 3 long continuing pleasure given me by our

- in fruit tree avenue was in its blossom , not its bearing . For the general epicurean enjoy ment of existence , potatoes well browned ,

of green pease well boiled , broad beans — the true bitter, and the pots of damson and currant for whose annual ﬁllin g we were dependent more on the greengrocer d than the garden , were a hundre fold more important to me than the dozen or two of nectarines of which perhaps I might get the — halves of three , ( the other sides mouldy) — or the bushel or two of pears which

e l So s tor sh e f. went directly to the that, very early indeed in my thoughts of trees , I had got at the pr1nciple given ﬁfty years afterwards in Proserpina, that the seeds and fruits of them were for the sake of the

flowers flowers . , not the for the fruit The fi rs t joy of the year being in its snow

was drops , the second , and cardinal one , in — the almond blossom , every other garden and woodland gladness following from that 6 I — 74. I . H ERN E H ILL ALMON D BLOSSOMS .

in an unbroken order' of kindling ﬂower and shadowy leaf ; and for many and many

u a year to come , ntil indeed , the whole

of life became autumn to me , my chief

prayer for the kindness of heaven , in its

ﬂ owe rful seasons , was that the frost might n ot touch the almond blossom . CHAPTER II I .

‘ O F TH E BAN KS TAY .

H E reader has , I hope , observed that

all in I have hitherto said, emphasis has been laid only on the favourable con ditions which surrounded the child whose

am history I writing, and on the docile and impressionable quietness of its temper . No claim has been made for it to an w y special po er or capacity ; for, indeed , none such existed , except that patience in looking , and precision in feeling , which a fterwards , with due industry , formed my a nalytic power .

In all essential qualities of genius , except

th ese I deﬁcien t r , was ; my memo y only of

a verage power . I have literally never known

a child so incapable of acting a part, or

t O n h elling a tale . the ot er hand, I have 6 1 1 1 o r 7 . T H E BAN KS TAY .

never known one whose thirst for Visible fact

was at once so eager and so methodic .

ﬁnd I also that in the foregoing accounts ,

be modest as I meant them to , higher literature is too boastfully spoken of as

ﬁ rs t my and exclusive study . My little ’ I a Pope s liad , and, in any underst nding of c them , my Genesis and Exodus , were ertainly of little account with me till after I was

ten . My calf milk of books was , on the n lighter side , composed of Dame Wiggi s

of Lee, the Peacock at Home , and the like nurse ry rhymes ; and on the graver

’ E d ew orth s side , of Miss g Frank , and

’ Harry and Lucy , combined with Joyce s

s cie n tiﬁc dialogues . The earliest dated

ff ﬁ nd e orts I can , indicating incipient

‘ ’ - motion of brain molecules , are six poems on subjects selected from those works ; between the fourth and ﬁfth of which “ 1 8 6 : 2 . my mother has written January , This book begun about September or

1 8 2 6 ﬁn ish ed October , , about January, 1 1 1 O F . . TH E BAN KS TAY 77

1 8 2 it was 7 . The whole of , therefore , written and printed in imitation of book

is print, in my seventh year . The book

s a little red one , ruled with blue, six inche

- ﬁ ve high by four wide , containing forty leaves pencilled in imitation of print on — titl e n a e th e both sides , the p g , written in 8 form here approximately imitated , p . 7 ,

on the inside of the cover .

O f s the promised four volumes, it appear that (according to my practice to this day)

o th e I acc mplished but one and a quarter,

ﬁ rs t volume consisting only of forty leaves , the rest of the book being occupied by

‘ ’ the aforesaid six poems , and the forty

leaves losing ten of their pages in th e

‘ ’ copper plates , of which the one , purport

‘ ’ ’ r n ew ing to represent Ha ry s road , is , I

ﬁ rst ff believe, my e ort at mountain drawing .

The passage closing the ﬁrst volume of

this work is , I think , for several reasons,

t . it wor h preservation I print , therefore ,

e with its own divisions of line , and thre 1 O F . 7 8 1 1 . TH E BAN KS TAY

HARRY AND LUCY CON CL UDED B E ING THE LAST

PART O F

E AR LY LE SSONS

in four volumes

vol I with copper

P R INT E D and compo sed by a little boy

and also drawn .

T H E O F T A Y . 8 0 II I . BAN KS

r n the r e lectrical . Harry a for an el ectrical app aratus Which his fath er h ad give n him and th e clou d electriﬁed his app aratu s p o sitively after th at ano th er cloud came Which

electriﬁed _ his apparatus negatively and th en a lo ng tr ain o f smaller o nes bu t b efo re this clo ud came a gre at clou d o f d us t ro s e from the gro un d and followe d th e pos itiv e cloud and at length seemed to come in co ntact with it and wh e n the o th er cloud came a ﬂ as h b f lightning was s e en to dart through th e cloud of dus t u po n which the n egative cloud s p re ad ve ry mu ch and dissolved in r ai n which pr es e ntly cle are d th e s ky After this phenomenon was over and also the surprise Harry began to wonder how electricity could get where there was s o much water but he soon 8 1 1 1 1 O F . . TH E BAN KS TAY

observed a rainbow and a rising mist under it which his fancy soon transform

e d H e into a female form . then remembered the witch of the waters at the Alps wh o was raised from them by takeing some water in the hand and throwing it into the air pronouncing some

unin elli abl e t g words . And though it was a tale it affected Harry now when he saw in the clouds some end of Harry thing

it and Lucy like .

Th e af several reasons oresaid, which induce

of me to reprint this piece , too literally ,

‘ ’ — ﬁ rs t composition , are the , that it is a toler able specimen of my seven years old spelling ; — ' air it was tolerable only , not f , since extremely unusual with me to make a mistake 8 o r 2 1 1 1 . . TH E BAN KS TAY

are e at all , whereas here there two (tak ing

unin telli able can and g ), which I only account for by supposing I was in too great a hurry

h u th e th e to ish my volume ; second, that adaptation of materials for my story out of

’ "’é J oyce s Scientiﬁ c Dialogues and Man

th e fred , is an extremely perfect type of

r th e inte woven temper of my mind , at beginning - of days just as much as at — their end which has always made foolish s cientiﬁ c readers doubt my books because there was love of beauty in them , and foolish zes th etic readers doubt my books because there was love of science in them ; the

t t a t hird , hat the extremely re sonable me hod of

Th r is as w v l e o nal as sa e o . . e on of igi p g follo s , vi , diti

1 8 2 1 1 . 8 , p 3 .

‘ Dr F n n n ons a e e a earanc w . ra kli m e ti r markabl pp e hich W occurre to Mr . e a n e a e e ec r c an . Ou th e d ilk , co sid r bl l t i i

’ 2 0th of 1 8 at re e in th e a ernoon h e July , 75 , th o clock ft ,

o s er e a rea uan of us r s n th e roun b v d g t q tity d t i i g from g d ,

and co er n a ﬁeld an d an of th e own in w c h e en v i g , p t hi h th

was . ere was no w n and th e us v e en Th i d , d t mo d g tly

owar s th e eas w ere ere a eare a rea t d t, h th pp d g t black cloud , which electriﬁed h is apparatu s pos itively to a very high 8 1 1 1 o r . . TH E BAN KS TAY 3

ﬁ nal n m j udgment , upo which I found my clai to the sensible reader ’ s respect for these

r n e dipa tite writings , can ot be b tter illustrated than by this proof, that , even at seven years “ ff ” old , no tale , however seductive , could a ect

—in Harry , until he had seen the clouds , or i elsewhere something like t .

O f the ﬁ rs t six poems which follow , the is

—n n n on the Steam e gine , begi ni g ,

W e n u r ous u f ne th e wa e r o ur s h f i p rom mi s t p , And cle ar s from r u s ty moi s t ure all th e o re s

“ th e in and the last on Rainbow , blank

n verse , as bei g of a didactic character, with

w th e us e ree . s wen owar s th e es d g Thi cloud t t d t, d t

owe it and con nue to r s e er and er foll d , ti d i high high , till it

e a ck ar in the of a s u ar- oa and at compos d thi pill , form g l f,

n At e le gth it s ee m ed to be in contact with th e clo ud . som

s ance s ere e ano er rea u w a di t from thi , th cam th g t clo d , ith

n s rea o f e on es w c e lectriﬁed his a ara us lo g t m small r , hi h pp t

ne a e and w en e e near th e os e a g tiv ly h th y cam p itiv cloud , ﬂas h of lightni ng was s een to dart th rough th e cloud of

us u on w c the ne a e s rea ve uc d t, p hi h g tiv clouds p d ry m h ,

and ve in ra n w c res e n ea e th e a mo dissol d i , hi h p tly cl r d t

” r s ph e e . 8 1 1 1 o r . 4 . T H E BAN KS TAY observations on the ignorant and un reﬂ ective dispositions of certain people .

B ut os e a do n ot kn ow a ou a th th t b t th t light ,

R eﬂ e ct n ot o n an d in all a it th t light ,

No t o n e o f all th e colou r s do th ey kn ow.

It was only, I think , after my seventh year had been fulﬁlled in these medi tations , that my mother added the Latin

- lesson to the Bible reading , and accurately established the daily routine which was sketched in the foregoing chapter . But it

r extremely surprises me , in t ying , at least

’ for my own amusement , if not the reader s ,

ﬁnish to the sketch into its corners ,

’ that I can t recollect n ow what used to fi happen rst in the morning , except break

r fasting in the nurse y , and , if my Croydon cousin Bridget happened to be staying with us , quarrelling with her which should have the brownest bits of toast . That must

a o n h ve been later , though , for I could not have been promoted to toast at the time I am o thinking f. Nothing is well clear to 8 1 1 1 O F . . TH E BAN KS TAY 5

’ me of the day s course , till , after my father

o had gone to the City by the c ach , and my mother ’ s household orders being quickly

o - given , less ns began at half past nine , with

the Bible readings above described , and the

tw o or three verses to be learned by heart ,

with a verse of paraphrase ; then a Latin

declension or bit of verb , and eight words of vocabulary from Adam ’ s Latin Gram

h was mar, (the best t at ever , )and the rest

as of the day w my own . Arithmetic was wholesomely remitted till much later ; geography I taught myself fast enough in my own way ; history was never thought

of , beyond what I chose to read of

’ Scott s Tales of a Grandfather . Thus , as aforesaid , by noon I was in the garden

ﬁ ne own on days , or left to my amuse

ments on wet ones ; of which I have farther at once to note that nearly as soon — as I could crawl , my toy bricks of lignum

vita had been constant companions : and I am graceless in forgetting by what extra 86 F O . 1 1 1 . T H E BAN KS TAY

vagant friend , (I greatly suspect my Croydon

was aunt , ) I afterwards gifted with a

- ﬁ ttin s two arched bridge , admirable in g of voussoir and keystone , and adjustment of the level courses of masonry with bevelled edges , into which they dovetailed , W in the style of Wa terloo Bridge . ell made centreings , and a course of inlaid w steps do n to the water, made this model

: largely , as accurately , instructive and I was z mbu ildin never weary of building , g,

it was ( too strong to be thrown down ,

taken — but had always to be down , ) and

it h rebuilding . T is inconceivably passive — or rather impassive contentment in doing , or reading , the same thing over and over again , I perceive to have been a great condition in my future power of getting thoroughly to the bottom of matters . Some people would say that in getting these toys lay the chance that guided me to

an early love of architecture ; but I never s aw or heard of another child so fond of

88 1 1 1 A O F . TH E B N KS TAY . — sawyers , or paviours , whose work my nurse would allow me to stop to contemplate in

or our walks ; , delight of delights , might be seen at ease from some fortunate window of inn or lodging on our j ourneys . In those cases the day was not long enough for my rapturous and riveted observation .

Constantly , as aforesaid , in the garden

ﬁ ne when the weather was , my time there was passed ch ieﬂy in the same kind of close watching of the ways of plants . I had not the smallest taste for growing them , or taking care of them , any more

th e than for taking care of the birds , or trees , or the sky , or the sea . My whole time passed in staring at them , or into them . In no morbid curiosity , but in 'w admiring wonder, I pulled every ﬂo er to pieces till I knew all that could be seen

’ of it with child s eyes ; and used to lay up

wa little treasures of seeds , by y of pearls and beads , never with any thought of sowing them . The old gardener only came 8 1 1 1 O F . . TH E BAN KS TAY 9

n once a week , for what sweepi g and weed ing needed doing ; I was fain to learn to

was sweep the walks with him, but dis couraged and shamed by his always doing th e was bits I had done over again . I

extremely fond of digging holes , but that

Ne ces form of gardening w as not allowed .

saril y, I fell always back into my merely

contemplative mind, and at nine years old —I began a poem, called Eudosia, forget

wholly where I got hold of this name ,

it O n or what I understood by , the

’ Universe, though I could understand not

i n t ow . two a little by , A couplet or , as the real beginn ing at once of Deu

n and calio Proserpina , may be perhaps

allowed , together with the preceding , a

place in this grave memoir ; the rather that I am again enabled to give accurate date

2 8th 1 82 8— September , for the begin

‘ ’ irs t ning of its F book , as follows

‘ ’ W e n ﬁ rs t th e wra h th of he ave n o er wh elme d th e

wor ld , 0 1 1 1 o r 9 . T H E BAN KS TAY .

’ ’ An d o er th e r ocks and s an d ou n a n s h url d , hill , m t i ,

’ ’ Th e wa ers a er n an d s e a o er s ore t g th i g mass h ,

T e n ou n a n s fe ll an d a e s u n kn own e ore h m t i , v l , b f ,

La w er e e we r e Far e r e n was th e E ar y h th y . diff t th

W en ﬁ r s t th e ﬂ oo e own an at its s e con r . h d cam d , th d bi th

Now for its r odu ce l— u een of ﬂ owe r s 0 r os e p Q , ,

F w os e a r co oure l e v e s s u c o ou r ﬂ ows rom h f i l d a h d ,

T ou u s n ow be e o re s u ec s n e h m t b f thy bj t am d ,

B oth for thy b eau ty an d thy s we e tn e s s fam e d .

’ T ou ar t th e ﬂ ower o f En an an d th e ﬂ ow r h gl d, — ’ O f B eau ty too of Ve n u s o drou s b owe r .

An d ou w o e n s e s wee o o ur s r oun th ilt ft h d t d d ,

! And o e n s oo n de e a on roun . ft t pi g, hi thy h d g d

An d e n th e l l o we r n u s o rou th i y, t i g p p d ,

An d ra s n its a e a n th e v ar ou s crow i i g g y h d amo g i d ,

T ere th e l ck s o s u on a s car e rou n h b a p t p l t g d ,

’ An d ere th e a e r—o n e l e v e ar e ou n th t p p i t d a s f d .

2 2 0 ﬁ rs t In lines , of such quality, the book ascends from the rose to the oak . — The second begins to my surprise , and i n extremely exceptional Violation of my

above - boasted custom with an ecstatic apostrophe to what I had never seen '

— ’ — An awkward way ch ieﬁy for th e rhym e s s ake of

a n a ros es are o en too ea for r s a ks s yi g th t ft h vy thei t l .

T H E O F T A Y . 9 2 I I I . BAN KS

ning of sound botanical knowledge . But , while there were books on geology and

mineralogy which I could understand, all

- on botany were then , and they are little

n ow — mended , harder than the Latin

was grammar . The mineralogy enough

at am for me seriously to work , and I inclined ﬁnally to aver that the garden time could not have be en more rightly

passed, unless in weeding . At six punctually I j oined my father and

- mother at tea , being, in the drawing room , restricted to the inhabitation of the sacred

niche above referred to , a recess beside /

ﬁ re lace the p , well lighted from the lateral

‘ window in the summer evenings , and by

- the chimney piece lamp in winter , and

out of all inconvenient heat , or hurtful — draught . A good writing table before it s in hut me well , and carried my plate and

' or cup , books in service . After tea , my father read to my mother what pleased themselves , I picking up what I could , or 1 1 1 . O F THE BAN KS TAY . 9 3

reading what I liked better instead . Thus I heard all the Shakespeare comedies and — historical plays again and again , all Scott ,

and all Don Quixote , a favourite book

’ of my father s , and at which I could then

now laugh to ecstasy ; , it is one of the

in saddest , and , some things , the most ff o ensive of books to me . My father was an absolutely beautiful

‘ — reader of the éerz poetry and prose of

Shakespeare , Pope , Spenser, Byron , and

Scott ; as of Goldsmith , Addison , and

Johnson . Lighter ballad poetry he had not ﬁneness of ear to do justice to : his sense of the stren gth and wisdom of true

n h meani g , and of the force of rig tly ordered syllables , made his delivery of

ae Hamlet , Lear, C sar, or Marmion , melo diously grand and just ; but h e had no

n idea of modulati g the refrain of a ballad , and had little patience with the tenor of

n n He the its se time t . looked always , in h matter of what he read , for eroic will 1 O F . 9 4 1 1 . TH E BA N KS TAY and consummate reason : never tolerated the morbid love of misery for its own

own sake , and never read, either for his r pleasure or my inst uction , such ballads as

Twa Burd Helen , the Corbies , or any other r hyme or story which sought its interest in vain love or fruitless death . o But true, pure, and enn bling sadness began very early to mingle its undertone with the constant happiness of those days ;

— a ballad music , beautiful in sincerity , r and hallowing them like cathed al , chant .

— I o Concerning which , must g back now

’ to the days ‘ I have only heard of with th e of hearing of the ear , and yet which some are to me as if mine eyes had s een them .

It must have been a little after 1 7 80

C ath e rl n e that my paternal grandmother,

Tweeddale , ran away with my paternal grandfather when she was not quite six

’ teen ; and my aunt Jessie , my father s only f sister, was born a year afterwards ; a ew

6 1 1 1 O F . 9 . TH E BAN KS TAY

steeply to the Tay , which eddied , three or

r four feet deep of sombre crystal , ound the

steps where the servants dipped their pails . A mistaken correspondent in Fors once complained of my coarse habit of sneering

at people of no ancestry . I have no such

habit ; though not always entirely at ease in writing of my uncles the baker and

u the tanner . And my readers may tr st

no w me when I tell them that , in remembering my dreams in the house of the entirely honest chief baker of Market — Street , Croydon, and of Peter not Simon ,

e the tanner, whos house was by the

riverside of Perth , I would not change the

dreams , far less the tender realities , of

those early days, for anything I hear

now remembered by lords or dames, of

their days of childhood in castle halls, and by sweet lawns and lakes in park - walled forest .

Lawn and lake enough indeed I had, in the North Inch of Perth , and pools of 1 1 1 . O F TH E BANKS TAY . 9 7

pausing Tay , before Rose Terrace, (where I

brieﬂ used to live after my uncle died, y

- apoplectic, at Bridge End, ) in the peace of

the fair Scotch summer days , with my widowed aunt, and my little cousin Jessie , then traversing a brigh t space between her ! n — sixth and inth year ; dark eyed deeply ,

‘ an d so like her mother, similarly pious ; that she and I used to compete in the Sunday evening Scriptural examinations ; and be as proud as two little peacocks

’ an d because Jessie s elder brothers, sister

‘ ’ Mary , used to get put down , and either

‘ ’ Jessie or I was always Dux . We agreed upon this that we would be married when we were a little older ; not considering it to be preparatorily necessary to be in any

degree wiser .

—- - n n of Stra gely, the kitchen serva t all work in the house at Rose Terrace was a very

” ’ M ause old , before, my grandfather s

h arknes s of e e r s n As oppos ed to t e d m r i i , maki g

r es th e eyes like black ch er i . 1 1 1 A K o r 9 8 . TH E B N S TAY

—wh o servant in Edinburgh , might well have been the prototype of the Manse of Old but had even a more

solemn , fearless , and patient faith , fastened

in her by extreme suffering ; for she had been nearly starved to death when she was n a girl , and had literally picked the bo es — — out of cast out dust heaps to gnaw ; and w ever after ards , to see the waste of an atom of food was as shocking to her as “ ! ” blasphemy . Oh , Miss Margaret she said once to my mother, who had shaken some crumbs off a dirty plate out of the “ window, I had rather you had knocked me down . She would make her dinner upon anything in the house that the other

Vulgar m odern P uritani s m h as s h own its d egeneracy in nothing more than in its incapability of unders tanding

’ co s ex u s e ﬁ ni h r r n n r S tt q i it ly s ed p o t aits of th e C ove a te .

’ I n Old Mor a a one ere are our w c canno t lity l , th f hi h t be s ur as s e th e ca one E s e au es s s u e p d typi l , l p th , f ltl ly blim and ure th e s econ E ra Macbriar n th e too p ; d , ph im , givi g c n ras e of th e c arac er w c is ouc e w ommo ph h t , hi h t h d ith as ce c ns an th e r Mans e co oure and e ti i ity ; thi d , , l d mad

1 0 0 T H E O F T A Y . I I I . BAN KS

unchristian state of provocation on this

‘ ’ ’ subject, when we re married , we ll jump

c oﬁ we — boxes all day long, if like may have been partly instrumental in giving me

that slight bias against Evangelical religion , which I confess to be sometimes traceable in my later works ; but I never can be

thankful enough for having seen , in our

“ ” own Old M ause , the Scottish Puritan

spirit in its perfect faith and force ; and been enabled therefore afterwards to trace its agency in the reforming policy of

Scotland , with the reverence and honour

it deserves .

- My aunt, a pure dove priestess, if ever

there was one, of Highland Dodona, was

of a far gentler temper ; but still , to me ,

remained at a wistful distance . She had been much saddened by the loss of three

’ of her children before her husband s death .

Little Peter, especially , had been the corner

’ stone 01 her love s building ; and it was thrown down swiftly —white swelling came . T H E O F T A Y 1 0 1 I I I BAN KS .

s ufl ere d in the knee ; he much , and grew

a n weaker gradually, dutiful alw ys, and lovi g ,

and wholly patient . She wanted him one

day to take half a glass of port wine , and

took him on her knee , and put it to his

‘ ’ lips . Not now , mamma ; in a minute ,

h e said ; and put his head on her shoulder,

l ow . and gave one long, sigh, and died Then there was Catherine and— I forget

’ the other little daughter s name, I did not

see them ; my mother told me of them ; — eagerly always about Catherine , who had

been her own favourite . My aunt had been talking earnestly one day with her husband about these two children ; planning this and that for their schooling and what not at night, for a little while she could not

saw sleep ; and as she lay thinking, she

two the door of the room open, and spades

i t h er come into , and stand at the foot of

bed . Both the children were dead within

was brief time afterwards. I about to ’ — write ‘ within a fortnight but I cannot [ 0 2 T H E O F T A Y . I I I . BAN KS be sure of remembering my mother ’ s words accurately .

But when I was in Perth , there were

— r still Ma y , her eldest daughter, who looked after us children when M ause was too busy ;

James and John , William and Andrew ; (I can ’ t think whom the unapostolic William

B ut was named after). the boys were then all at school or college , the scholars ,

William and Andrew, only came home to

tease Jessie and me , and eat the biggest jargonel pears ; the collegians were wholly abstract ; and the two girls and I played in our quiet ways on the North Inch , and

‘ ’ ‘ ’ by the Lead , a stream led from the Tay past Rose Terrace into the town for

r molina y purposes ; and long ago , I suppose , bricked over or choked with rubbish ; but

then lovely, and a perpetual treasure of

ﬂowin us . g diamond to children Mary , by

was — the way , ascending towards twelve fair,

- blue eyed , and moderately pretty and as pious

as Jessie, without being quite so zealous .

1 0 E O F T A Y . . T H 4 I I I . BAN KS

w e Kinn oull wa serious when went up y, especially if I wanted to stay and look at the

’ little crystal spring of Bower s Well . ‘ But you say you were not afraid of P anything writes a friend, anxious for the

unassailable veracity of these memoirs . Well ,

I said, not of ghosts , thunder, or beasts , meaning to specify the commonest terrors

of mere childhood . Every day , as I

grew wiser, taught me a reasonable fear ; else I had not above described myself as the most reasonable person of my acquaint

ance . And by the swirls of smooth black ﬂ ness , broken by no eck of foam , where

ale M edusa Tay gathered herself like , I

awe never passed without , even in those thoughtless days ; neither do I in the least mean that I could walk among tombstones in the night (neither, for that matter, in

n the day), as if they were only pavi g stones set upright . Far the contrary ; but it is im

I a wa s nk o f Ta as a o es s r er as Gre a l y thi y g dd iv , t a n h ymp on e . 1 1 1 . O F 1 0 TH E BAN KS TAY . 5

’ portant to the reader s conﬁdence in writings which have seemed inordinately impressional t and emo ional , that he should know I was —I never subject to should perhaps rather say ,

of— sorrowfully , never capable any manner of illusion or false imagination , nor in the least liable to have my nerves shaken by surprise .

ﬁve When I was about years old , having been on amicable terms for a while with a black

Newfoundland, then on probation for watch dog at Herne Hill ; after one of our long summer j ourneys my ﬁ rs t thought on gettin g home was to go to see Lion . My mother trusted me to go to the stable with our

— n one serving man , Thomas , givi g him strict orders that I was not to be allowed within ’ h stretch of the dog s c ain . Thomas , for

. better security , carried me in his arms Lion

n n o was at his din er, and took notice of h either of us ; on which I besoug t leave to 1 0 6 1 1 1 O F . . TH E BAN KS TAY

' as corner of my lip on the left side . I w

brought up the back stairs, bleeding fast, but

not a whit frightened , except lest Lion should

o be sent away . Lion indeed had to g ; but

not Thomas : my mother was sure he was s a orry , and I think bl med herself the most . The bitten side of the (then really pretty)

mouth , was spoiled for evermore , but the

u wound, drawn close , healed q ickly ; the last

use I made of my moveable lips before Dr . Aveline drew them into ordered silence for a

’ while , was to observe , Mama , though I can t

’ ﬁddle speak , I can play upon the . But the

was house of another opinion , and I never attained any proﬁciency upon that instrument worthy of my genius . Not the slightest diminution of my love of dogs , nor the slightest nervousness in managing them , was induced by the accident . I scarcely know whether I was in any real danger or not when , another day , in the same stable , quite by myself, I went head foremost into the large water - tub kept for the

1 0 8 1 1 1 A or . TH E B N KS TAY .

In the general course of this my careful narration , I rebut with as much indignation as may be permitted without ill manners , the charge of partiality to anything merely

was was because it seen when I young . I hesitate, however, in recording as a constant truth for the world , the impression left on me when I went gleaning with Jessie , that Scottish sheaves are more golden than are bound in other lands , and that no harvests elsewhere Visible to human eyes are so like the corn of heaven as those of Strath - T ay

—a and Strath E rn .

2 . P salm l xxviii . 4 CHAPTER IV

N EW UNDER TUTORSH IPS . HEN I was about eight or nine I had a bad feverish illness at Dun keld, during which I believe I was in

am some danger, and sure I was very uncomfortable . It came on after a long walk in which I had been gathering quantities of foxgloves and pulling them to pieces to examine their seeds, and there were hints about their having poisoned me ; very absurd , but which extended the gathering awe from river eddies to fox glove dells . Not long after that, when we were back at home, my cousin Jessie

on fell ill , and died very slowly , of water h the brain . I was very sorry, not so muc

ff in in any strength of early a ection, as the feeling that the happy, happy days at

I O 0 I V N E W O 1 1 . UN DER TUT RSH I PS .

was Perth were for ever ended , since there

no more Jessie .

' Before her illness took its fatal form , before , indeed , I believe it had at all — declared itself my aunt dreamed one of her foresight dreams , simple and plain ’ — enough for anyone s interpretation ; that she was approaching the ford of a dark river, alone , when little Jessie came running up behind her, and passed her, and went

ﬁ r t through s . Then she passed through herself, and looking back from the other

M ause side , saw her old approaching from the distance to the bank of the stream .

And so it was, that Jessie, immediately afterwards , sickened rapidly and died ; and

few a months , or it might be nearly a year afterwards , my aunt died of decline ; and

M ause two , some or three years later, having had no care after her mistress and

o Jessie were gone, but when she might g to them . I was at Plymouth with my father and

1 1 2 I V N E W U I . . UN DER T TORSH PS

inoﬁ ensivel principle, honestly and y pious ,

t and equal tempered, but with no pret y

girlish ways or fancies . She became a serene additional neutral tint in the household har mony ; read alternate verses of the Bible with

my mother and me in the mornings , and

went to a day school in the forenoon . When we travelled she took somewhat of

we a governess position towards me , being allowed to explore places together without my nurse ; but we generally took old

Anne too for better company . It began now to be of some importance what church I went to on Sunday

morning . My father, who was still much

o broken in health , could not g to the

long Church of England service , and , my

mother being evangelical , he went con

ten te dl y, or at least submissively , with her

and me to Beresford Chapel , Walworth , D where the Rev . . Andrews preached,

regularly , a somewhat eloquent, forcible,

to and ingenious sermon , not tiresome I V N W . E 1 1 UN DER TUTORSH IPS . 3 him : the prayers were abridged from

we the Church Service , and , being the grandest people in the congregation , were

— now allowed though , as I remember, not without offended and reproachful glances from the more conscientious worshippers to come in when even those short prayers were half over . Mary and I used each to write an abstract of the sermon in the after — noon , to please ourselves, Mary dutifully ,

it and I to show h ow well I could do . We never went to church in afternoon or evening . I remember yet the amazed and appalling sensation , as of a vision preliminary to the Day of Judgment, of going, a year or

two ﬁrs t . later, into a church by candlelight

We had no family worship, but our servants were better cared for than is often the case in ostentatiously religious houses .

h s My mother used to take t em, when girl , from families known to her, sister after

. sister, and we never had a bad one

O n the Sunday evening my father would V N E W I 1 1 . I . 4 . UNDER TUTORSH PS

’ us sometimes read a sermon of Blair s, or

be it might , a clerk or a customer would

us dine with , when the conversation , in mere necessary courtesy , would take generally

the direction of sherry . Mary and I got

h ow we u through the evening co ld , over

’ ’ the Pilgrim s Progress , Bunyan s Holy War,

’ ’ uarles s t Q Emblems, Foxe s Book of Mar yrs,

’ r —a Mrs . She wood s Lady of the Manor,

er v y awful book to me , because of the stories in it of wicked girls who had gone

to balls, dying immediately after of fever,

’ r —of and Mrs . Sherwood s Hen y Milner, — ’ which more presently, the Youth s Maga

zine , Alfred Campbell the young pilgrim ,

and , though rather as a profane indulgence, permitted because of the hardness of our

’ B in l s e . hearts, g y Natural History We none of us cared for singing hymns or psalms as

such, and were too honest to amuse ourselves

with them as sacred music, besides that we

id ﬁ nd d not their music amusing .

My father and mother, though due

1 1 6 N E W O S I . IV . UN DER TUT R H PS

da ! so said he would call some y And ,

was little by little , the blissful acquaintance h made . I mig t be eleven or going on twelve by that time . Miss Andrews , the “ ” eldest sister of the Angel in the House , was an extremely beautiful girl of seven “ ” ! teen ; she sang Tambourgi, Tambourgi with great spirit and a rich voice , went at blackberry time on rambles with us at the

Norwood Spa, and made me feel generally that there was something in girls that I did not understand and that was curiously agreeable . And at last, because I was so fond of the Doctor, and he had the reputation (in Walworth) of being a good scholar, my father thought he might pleasantly initiate me in Greek, such initiation having been already too long deferred . The Doctor, it afterwards turned out, knew little more of Greek than the letters, and declensions of nouns ; but he wrote the letters prettily , and had an

”6 H e r b ew mel odies . I V . N E W 1 1 UN DER TUTORSH IPS . 7

He accurate and sensitive ear for rhythm .

began me with the odes of Anacreon , and made me scan both them and my Virgil

thoroughly , sometimes, by way of interlude , reciting bits of Shakespeare to me with

t force and proprie y . The Anacreontic metre

th e entirely pleased me, nor less Anacreontic

sentiment . I learned half the odes by heart

merely to please myself, and learned with

certainty , what in later study of Greek art it has proved extremely advantageous to

me to know, that the Greeks liked doves,

swallows , and roses just as well as I did . In the intervals of these unlaborious

Greek lessons, I went on amusing myself

partly in writing English doggerel , partly

’ in map drawing, or copying Cruikshank s

illustrations to Grimm, which I did with

n ow great, and to most people incredible , t exactness, a sheet of hem being , by good

was hap, well preserved , done when I

saw between ten and eleven . But I never any boy ’ s work in my life showing so 1 1 8 N E W I IV . UN DER TUTORSH PS . l litt e original faculty , or grasp by memory .

I could literally draw nothing , not a cat ,

‘ not a mouse, not a boat, not a bush , out

’ Was of my head , and there , luckily , at present no idea on the part either of

parents or preceptor, of teaching me to

’ draw out of other people s heads . o Nevertheless , Mary, at her day scho l, was getting drawing lessons with the other

girls . Her report of the pleasantness and

zeal of the master, and the frank and somewhat unusual execution of the draw

r ings he gave her to copy , inte ested my

father, and he was still more pleased by

’ Mary s copying , for a proof of industry while he was away on his winter ’ s journey — copying , in pencil , so as to produce the ff e ect of a Vigorous engraving , the little

watercolour by Prout of a wayside cottage , which was the foundation of our future

- water colour collection , being then our only

— of possession in that kind other kind , two

r miniatures on ivo y completed our gallery .

1 2 0 I V N E W . UN DER TUTORSH I PS .

my mother could not bear dirty places, and my father had a nervous feeling that the

ladders would break , or the roof fall , before

we got out again . They went with me ,

n o evertheless , wherever I wanted to g , my father even into the terrible Speedwell m ine at Castleton , where , for once, I was

a little frightened myself. From Matlock we must have gone on

’ ﬁn d to Cumberland , for I in my father s

2 8th writing the legend, Begun November,

1 8 0 ﬁ nish ed 1 1 th 3 , January , on the

‘ ’ ﬂ - I teriad y leaf of the , a poem in four

books, which I indited, between those dates , on the subject of our j ourney among the

Lakes , and of which some little notice may

on be taken farther . It must have been in the spring of 1 83 1 that the important step was taken of giving

me a drawing master . Mary showed no gift of representing any of the scenes of

r our travels, and I began to exp ess some

m sel wish that I could draw y f. Where O I V . N E W I UNDER TUTORSH PS . 1 2 1

’ , upon Mary s pleasant drawing master, to whom my father and mother were equitable enough not to impute Mary ’ s want of m genius , was invited to give e also an hour

in the week . I suppose a drawing master ’ s business can only become established by his assertion of himself to the public as the possessor of a style ; and teaching in that only . Never

’ l M r Runciman th e ess . s , memory sustains disgrace in my mind in that he gave no impulse nor even indulgence to the extra ordinary gift 1 had for drawing delicately with the pen point . Any work of that kind was done thenceforward only to please

M r . t myself. Runciman gave me no hing but his own mannered and inefﬁ cient

th e drawings to copy , and greatly broke force both of my mind and hand .

Yet he taught me much , and suggested

H e more . taught me perspective, at once accurately and simply an invaluable bit

He n of teaching . compelled me i to a 1 I V N E W U . 2 2 . UN DER T TORSH I PS swiftness and facility of hand which I

found afterwards extremely useful , though

‘ ’ th e what I have just called the force ,

H e strong accuracy of my line, was lost .

cultivated in me , indeed founded , the habit of looking for the essential points in

the things drawn , so as to abstract them

decisively, and he explained to me the

meaning and importance of composition , though he himself could not compose .

A very happy time followed , for about

two years .

I was , of course , far behind Mary in

- was touch skill of pencil drawing , and it good for her that this superiority was acknowledged, and due honour done her for the steady pains of her unimpulsive

o r practice and unwearied attention . F , as she did not write poems like me , nor collect spars like me , nor exhibit any prevailing

was Vivacity of mind in any direction , she gradually sinking into far too subordinate

- a position to my high mightiness . But I

I V N E W 1 2 . . 4 UN DER TUTORSH IPS . for any one who cares to note such

Can nativities . Two little pencillings from terbur y south porch and central tower, I have given to Miss Gale , of Burgate House ,

Canterbury ; the remnants of the book itself

- - n on to Mrs . Talbot, of Tyn y n , Barmouth , both very dear friends . e But, b fore everything , at this time , came my pleasure in merely watching the sea . 1 was not allowed to row, far less to sail , nor to walk near the harbour alone ; so that I learned nothing of shipping or anything e ﬁve lse worth learning , but spent four or hours every day in simply staring and won

—an dering at the sea, occupation which never failed me till I was forty . Whenever I c ould get to a beach it was enough for me

at to have the waves to look , and hear , ﬂ and pursue and y from . I never took i to natural history of shells, or shr mps , or

- ﬁsh P ebbles — . P weeds, or jelly yes if there were any ; otherwise , merely stared all day l ong at the tumbling and creaming strength I V . N E W H 1 UN DER TUTORS I PS . 2 5

. n ow of the sea Idiotically, it appears to

m e i , wasting all that priceless youth n mere

dream and trance of admiration ; it had a

n it certai strain of Byronesque passion in ,

which meant something : but it was a

fearful loss of time .

1 8 2 h The summer of 3 must, I think, ave

been passed at home , for my next sketch book contains only some efforts at tree

drawing in Dulwich , and a view of the

’ n ow - u EEra bridge over the bricked p , by which the Norwood road then crossed it at

: the bottom of Herne Hill the road itself, j ust at the place where , from the top of

th e the bridge , one looked up and down

n ow streamlet , bridged into putridly damp shade by the railway, close to Herne Hill

ﬁ rs t h Station . This sketch was the in whic I was ever supposed to show any talent for

n h drawing . But on my thirtee th birt

’ 8th 1 8 2 , day, February, 3 , my father s partner

’ M r n , . He ry Telford, gave me Rogers Italy

and determined the main ten or of my life . W I V N E . 1 2 6 . UN DER TUTORS H I PS

At that time I had never heard of t Turner, excep in the well remembered

’ ‘ M r R unciman s saying of . , that the world had lately been much dazzled and led away by some splendid ideas thrown out by

’ Turner . But I had no sooner cast eyes on the Rogers Vignettes than I took them

to for my only masters , and set myself

1mitate them as far as I possibly could by

ﬁne pen shading . I have told this story so often that I

begin to doubt its time . It is curiously

M r tiresome that . Telford did not himself

write my name in the book , and my

‘ wh o it f father, writes in , The gi t of

Henry Telford , still more curiously,

: for him , puts no date if it was a year

later, no matter ; there is no doubt however that early in the spring of 1 83 3 Prout published his Sketches in Flanders and

Germany . I well remember going with my father into the shop where subscribers

entered their names , and being referred to

N E W 1 2 8 IV . UN DE R TUTORSH I PS .

’ of all manner of good , by God s help f lﬁlle d u . We went by Calais and Brussels to

Cologne ; up the Rhine to Strasburg , across ff the Black Forest to Scha hausen , then made a sweep through North Switzerland t by Basle , Berne , In erlachen , Lucerne , Z — urich , to Constance, following up the

Rhine still to Coire , then over Splugen

to Como , Milan , and Genoa ; meaning , as

now . I remember, for Rome But, it being

us June already, the heat of Genoa warned

: we of imprudence turned , and came back

saw over the Simplon to Geneva , Chamouni ,

and so home by Lyons and Dijon . To do all this in the then only possible

wa — y, with post horses, and , on the lakes,

with oared boats , needed careful calculation

of time each day . My father liked to get

to our sleeping place as early as he could , and never would stop the horses for me to draw anything (the extra pence to postillion for waiting being also an item I V . N E W UNDER TUTORSH IPS . 1 2 9 — of weight in his mind); thus I got into the bad habit , yet not without its disci pline , of making scrawls as the carriage

‘ went along , and working them up out of

’ my head in the evening . I produced in this manner, throughout the journey, some thirty sheets or so of small pen and Indian

ink ﬁv e drawings , four or in a sheet ; some

u not inelegant, all laborio s, but for the

most part one just like another, and with out exception stupid an d characterless to

the last degree . ﬂ With these ying scrawls on the road ,

- I made , when staying in towns, some

elaborate pencil and pen outlines, of which

perhaps half- a- dozen are worth register

’ and preservation . My father s pride in a study of the doubly—towered Renaissance

church of D 1j on was great . A still more laborious Hotel de Ville of Brussels remain s

with it at Brantwood . The drawing of

that H étel de Ville by me n ow at Oxford

’ is a copy of Prout s , which I made in illus W 1 0 N E I . 3 IV . UN DER TUTORSH PS

tration of the volume in which I wrote the

beginning of a rhymed history of the tour . For it h ad excited all th e poor little faculties that were in me to their utmost

strain , and I had certainly more passionate happiness , of a quality utterly indescribable

to people who never felt the like , and m s ore, in olid quantity, in those three m onths , than most people have in all their lives . The impression of the Alps

first Sch afi h ausen seen from , of Milan and of Geneva, I will try to give some account o f —m fi rst now afterwards , y business is to

o n get .

’ The winter of 3 3 , and what time I

’ c in ould steal to amuse myself , out of 3 4 ,

were spent in composing , writing fair, and drawing vignettes for the decoration of th e aforesaid poetical account of our tour,

’ in imitation of Rogers Italy . The drawings were made on separate pieces of paper and

pasted into the books ; many have since b een taken out, others are there for which

1 2 I V N E W I 3 . UN DER TUTORSH PS .

Finding me in all respects what boys could only look upon as an innocent , they treated me as I suppose they wo uld have treated a girl ; they neither thrashed nor

' ch afi ed —fi ndin fi rs t me , g, indeed , from the r f efl e t that cha f had no c on me . Gene

i t rally I did not understand , nor in the least mind it if I did , the fountain of pure conceit in my own heart sustaining me n serenely agai st all deprecation , whether by

intelli master or companion . I was fairly

h ad gent of books , a good quick and holding memory , learned whatever I was bid as fast as I could , and as well ; and since all the other boys learned always

was far as little as they could , though I in retard of them in real knowledge , I

’ almost always knew the day s lesson best .

ﬁ rs t I have already described , in the

ictio n M r . chapter of F Fair and Foul , Dale ’ s rej ection of my clearly known old

‘ ’ grammar as a Scotch thing . In that one action he rejected himself from being my I V . N E W 1 UNDER TUTORSH I PS . 3 3 master ; and I thenceforward learned all he

1 i t told me only because had to do . While these steps were taken for my

classical advancement, a master was found for me , still in that unlucky Walworth , to

M r teach me mathematics . . Rowbotham

was an extremely industrious , deserving , and

fairly well - informed person in his own

wh o branches , , with his wife , and various impediments and inconveniences in the

‘ ’ way of children , kept a young gentleman s

’ Academy near the Elephant and Castle , in one of the ﬁrst houses which have black

plots of grass in front, fenced by iron

railings from the Walworth Road .

H e an d h knew Latin , German , Frenc

‘ grammar ; was able to teach the use of the globes ’ as far as needed in a prepara

th e tory school , and was , up to far beyond

point needed for me, a really sound

u m mathematician . For the rest, utterly

acquainted with men or their history , with nature and its meanings ; stupid an d discon W 1 N E . 3 4 IV . UN DER TUTORSH I PS

an solate, incapable of y manner of mirth or fancy, thinking mathematics the only proper occupation of human intellect, asthmatic to ff a degree causing often helpless su ering , and hopelessly poor, spending his evenings ,

r after his school drudge y was over, in writing manuals of arithmetic and algebra , and compiling French an d German gram i mars , wh ch he allowed the booksellers to

o — cheat him out ﬂ adding perhaps, with

’ - ﬁftee n all his year s lamp labour, or twenty pounds to his income ; a more wretched , innocent , patient, insensible , unadmirable , uncomfortable , intolerable being never was produced in this aera of England by the culture characteristic of her metropolis .

Under the tuition , twice a week in the

M r evening , of . Rowbotham , (invited always to substantial tea with us before the lesson as a really efﬁ cien t help to his hungry

n scie ce , after the walk up Herne Hill ,

asth ma I 1 8 painful to , ) prospered fairly in 3 4 ,

picking up some bits of French grammar,

1 6 N E W . 3 IV . UN DER TUTORSH I PS

extremely proud of myself. But my narrow knowledge of the language , though thus w available for business , left me sorro ful and

M r ashamed after the fatal dinner at .

’ D om ec s q , when the little Elise , then just

n ine , seeing that her elder sisters did not

choose to trouble themselves with me , and being herself of an entirely benevolent and

pitiful temper, came across the drawing

room to me in my desolation , and leaning

an elbow on my knee , set herself deliber

' ately to chatter to me melliﬂuously for an

- hour and a half by the time piece ,

requiring no answer, of which she saw I

was s atisﬁed incapable , but with my grate

ful and respectful attention , and admiring

interest , if not exactly always in what she

it said, at least in the way she said . She

gave me the entire history of her school , and of the objectionable characters of her

teachers , and of the delightful characters of

her companions , and of the mischief she got

into , and the surreptitious enjoyments they I V W . N E 1 UN DER TUTORSH I PS . 3 7

an d devised , the j oys of coming back to

an d the Champs Elysees , the general like ness of Paris to the Garden of Eden . And the hour an d a half seemed but too short , and left me resolved, anyhow, to do r my best to learn F ench .

80 , as I said , I progressed in this study

M r h to the contentment of . Rowbot am , went easily through the three ﬁ rst books

in of Euclid, and got as far as quadratics I Algebra . But there stopped, virtually ,

for ever . The moment I got into sums

n of series , or symbols expressi g the relations

n n n i stead of the real mag itudes of thi gs ,

in partly in want of faculty , partly an already

well - developed an d healthy hatred of thin gs e — I vainly both ring and intangible , jibbed

—or stood stun ned . Afterwards at Oxford they dragged me through some con ic

of , sections ‘ which the facts representable by drawing became afterwards of extreme

value to me ; and taught me as much

n n trigonometry as made my mou tai work , 1 8 I V N E W 3 . UN DER TUTORSH I PS .

in plan and elevation , unaccusable . In

1 was elementary geometry always happy , and , for a boy , strong ; and my conceit , developing n ow every hour more venomously as I began to perceive the weaknesses of my masters , led me to spend nearly every moment 1 could command for study in my own wa 1 8 y, through the year 3 5 , in trying f to trisect an angle . For some time a terwards I had the sense to reproach myself for the waste of thoughtful hours in that year, little knowing or dreaming h ow many a year to

was come , from that time forth , to be worse wasted . While the course of my education was thus daily gathering the growth of me into a stubborn little standard bush , various frost stroke was stripping away from me the

ﬂ owe rs— or —of poor little herbs the forest, that had once grown , happily for me, at my side .

1 0 v P LY N L I M M O N . 4 . PARNASSUS AN D

n operations in an east wind . Her brow

h er and white spaniel , Dash , lay beside

co ﬁi n l e body, and on her , ti l they wer taken away from him ; then he was

h ad brought to Herne Hill , and I think been my companion some time before

u s Mary came to . With the death of my Croydon aun t ended for me all the days by Wandel streams , as at Perth by Tay ; and thus when I was ten years old, an exclusively

Herne Hill - top life set in (when we

beneﬁcial were not travelling), of no very character . — My Croydon aunt left four sons John ,

William , George , and Charles ; and two r daughters Margaret and B idget . All handsome lads and pretty lasses ; but

Margaret , in early youth , met with some mischance that twisted her spine , and hopelessly deformed her . She was clever, and witty , like her mother ; but never of any interest to me , though I gave a kind of V . P LY N L I M M O N 1 1 PARNASSUS AND . 4

ff brotherly , rather than cousinly , a ection to all I my Croydon cousins . But never liked ’ h invalids , and don t to t is day ; and

Margaret used to wear her hair in ringlets , I ’ which couldn t bear the sight of.

Bridget was a verydifferent creature ; a

- or black eyed , , with precision , dark hazel

- eyed, slim made , lively girl ; a little too

s harp in the features to be quite pretty ,

a little too wiry - j ointed to be quite grace

selﬁsh ful ; capricious , and more or less

in temper, yet nice enough to be once or

us twice asked to Perth with , or to stay for a month or two at Herne Hil l ; but never

a us n us ttaching herself much to , either to

her . I felt her an inconvenience in my

n ursery arrangements , the nursery having

’ become my child s study as I grew studious ;

or be and she had no mind, , it might , no

leave , to work with me in the garden . t The four boys were all of hem good ,

and steadily active . The eldest, John ,

with wider business habits than the rest, 2 V A N D P L Y N L I M M O N . 1 4 . PARNASSUS

went soon to push his fortune in Australia ,

s o d and did ; the second , William , prospere also in London . t The third brother, George , was the bes

H e of boys and men , but of small wit . extremely resembled a rural George th e

F benev o ourth , with an expansive , healthy , lent eagerness of simplicity in his face , greatly bettering him as a type of British

H e in character . went into the business

Market Street, with his father, and both were a great joy to all of us in their r aﬁ ectionateness and truth : neither of them in all their lives ever did a dishonest ,

— bu t unkind, or otherwise faultful thing ! still less a clever one For the present , I leave them happily ﬁllin g and driving their cart of quartern loaves in morning round from Market Street .

The fourth , and youngest, Charles , was

- like the last born in a fairy tale , ruddy as the boy David, bright of heart, not

ood wanting in common sense , or even in g

1 v P LY N L I M M O N 44 . PARNASSUS AND .

- h w ith a pony . As ill luck also would ave i t , there was no manner of farm or marsh n us ear , which might of necessity modify

these restrictions ; but I have already noted with thankfulness the good I got out of the

tadpole - haunted ditch in C roxte d Lane ; w us hile also , even between and tutorial

W ﬁeld alworth , there was one Elysian

" for me in the neglected grass of Camber

” 70615 well Green . There a pond in the c it r un orner of , of conside able size , and — known depth , probably , even in summer, full three feet in the middle ; the sable opacity of its waters adding to th e mystery of danger . Large , as I said , for a pond , perhaps sixty or seventy yards the long

ﬁft way of the Green , y the short while

on its western edge grew a stately elm ,

from whose boughs , it was currently

reported , and conscientiously believed, a wicked boy had fallen into the pond on

Sunday , and forthwith the soul of him

into a deeper and darker pool . V . A ND P LY N L I M M O N 1 PARNASSUS . 4 5 It was one of the most valued privileges o f my early life to be permitted by my n urse to contemplate this judicial pond

‘ awe th e with , from other side of the

it way . The loss of , by the sanitary c onversion of Camberwell Green into a

’ r - bouquet for Cambe well s button hole , is to this day matter of perennial lament to me . In the carrying out of the precautionary laws above described I was, of course, never a o llowed , on my Visits to Croydon , to g

out with my cousins , lest they should lead me into mischief ; and no more adventurous j oys were ever possible to me there, than my walks with Anne or my mother where the stream from Scarborough pond ran across the road ; or on the crisp turf of D uppas Hill ; my watchings of the process

’ o f n my father s drawings in India ink , a nd my own untired contemplations of the p ump and gutter on the other side of the — s o— called street, but really lane, not more

So than twelve feet from wall to wall . 1 6 v P LY N L I M M O N 4 . PARNASSUS AND .

t that, when at last it was thought tha

s Charles , with all his good natural gift and graces , should be brought from Croydon

o town to London city , and initiated int the lofty life and work of its burgess

was orders ; and when , accordingly, he , after various taking of counsel and making

r of enqui y , apprenticed to Messrs . Smith ,

l ~ C o 6 l 85 . E der, , of 5 , Cornhi l , with the high privilege of coming out to dine at

r new Herne Hill eve y Sunday, the and beaming presence of cousin Charles became a Vivid excitement, and admirable revelation of the activities of youth to me , and I began to get really attached to him . I was not myself the sort of creature

a —or that a boy could c re much for, indeed any human being , except papa and mama ,

d of and Mrs . Richar Gray ( whom more presently); being indeed nothing more than a conceited and unentertainingly troublesome

s little monkey . But Charles was alway kind to me, and naturally answered with

1 8 v P LY N L I M M O N 4 . PARNASSUS AN D .

ﬁ rs t Strange , that the true impulse to the most reﬁ ned instincts of my mind should have been given by my totally uneducated, but entirely good and right

’ minded, mother s sister . But more magniﬁ cen t results came of

’ Charles s literary connection , through the interest we all took in the embossed and gilded small octavo which Smith 85 Elder

‘ ’ riendsh i s published annually , by title F p

‘ ’ O fi erin as g . This w edited by a pious — Scotch missionary , and minor very much — minor key, poet , Thomas Pringle ; men tioned once or twice with a sprinkling of

’ honour in Lockhart s Life of Scott . A strictly conscientious and earnest, accurately

trained , though narrowly learned, man , with all the Scottish conceit, restlessness for

travel , and petulant courage of the Parks

and Livingstones ; with also some pretty tin ges of romance and inklings of phil osophy

w as to mellow him , he an admitted , though

little regarded , member of the best literary V . A N D P L Y N L I M M O N PARNASSUS .

circles , and acquainted , in the course of catering for his little embossed octavo ,

r with eve ybody in the outer circles , and

H e lower, down to little me . had been patronised by Scott ; was on terms of polite correspondence with Wordsworth and Rogers ; of familiar intercourse with the

Ettrick Shepherd ; and had himself written a book of poems on the subject of Africa , in which antelopes were called springboks , and other African manners and customs

carefully observed . Partly to oblige the good—natured and

wh o lively shopboy , told wonderful things — of his little student cousin ; partly in the look—out for thin compositions of tractable

ﬁll th e stucco , wherewith to interstices in

‘ ‘ ’ ’ hi s O fi erin M r riends . masonry of F p g,

i visited us l Pringle at Herne Hi l , heard the

traditions of my literary life , expressed some — interest in its farther progress, and some times took a copy o f verses away in his

H e ﬁ rs t pocket . was the person who 1 0 V P LY N L I M M O N 5 . PARNASSUS AND . i d m ntimate to my father and other, with s ome decision , that there were as yet no wholly trustworthy indications of my one d ay occupying a higher place in English l iterature than either Milton or Byron ; an d accordingly I think none of us attached

m uch importance to his opinions . But he

had the sense to recognise , through the

’ parental vanity, my father s high natural

powers , and exquisitely romantic sensibility ;

’ n or less my mother s tried sincerity in the

e vangelical faith , which he had set himself

apart to preach : and he thus became an

honoured , though never quite cordially

welcomed, guest on occasions of state

Sunday dinner ; and more or less an adviser thenceforward of the mode of my

e He t ducation . himself found in erest enough i n my real love of nature and ready faculty

o f rhyme , to induce him to read and

criticize for me some of my verses with

a n ttentio ; and at last , as a sacred Eleusinian

initiation and Delphic pilgrimage , to take

1 2 V . A N D P LY N L I M M O N 5 PARNASSUS . culated to interest the polished minstrel of

’ St I . James s Place ; but again fell into mis demeanours by allowing my own attention , as my wandering eyes too frankly confessed , to determine itself on the pictures glowing from the crimson - silken walls ; and accord i l M r e ng y, after we had taken leave , . Pringl took occasion to advise me that, in future , when 1 was in the company of distinguished I men , should listen more attentively to their conversation . — I These , and such other ( have else

’ where rel ated the Ettrick Shepherd s

us favouring Visit to , also obtained by

M r — l oriﬁcations . Pringle) g and advance ments being the reward of my literary ff d e orts , I was nevertheless not beguile by them into any abandonment of the scientiﬁc studies which were indeed natural 1 and delightful to me . have above registered their beginnings in the sparry

’ walks at Matlock : but my father s business

h e also took him often to Bristol , where V . A ND P LY N L I M M O N 1 PARNASSUS . 5 3

l w p aced my mother, ith Mary and me , at

’ Ed or h Clifton . Miss gew t s story of Lazy

Lawrence , and the visit to Matlock by

Harry and Lucy, gave an almost romantic and Visionary charm to mineralogy in those dells ; and the piece of iron oxide with

h — 1 brig t Bristol diamonds , No . 5 of the

— t Brantwood collection , was I hink the ﬁ rst stone on which I began my studies of it silica . The diamonds of were bright

with many an association besides , since from Clifton we nearly always crossed to

— n f Chepstow, the rapture of bei g a loat, for

half an hour even , on that muddy sea , concentrating into th ese impressive minutes the pleasures of a year of other boys ’

— and boating , and so round by Tintern

Malvern , where the hills , extremely de lightful in themselves to me because I

run was allowed to free on them, there being no precipices to fall over nor streams

to fall into , were also classical to me

’ ‘ ’ r through Mrs . Sherwood s Hen y Milner, I 3 A N D P LY N L I M M O N 1 V . 5 4. PARN ASSUS e a book which I loved long , and r spect

So s till . that there was this of curious an d precious in the means of my education i n these years , that my romance was always ratiﬁed to me by the seal of locality— and every charm of locality spi r itualized by the glow and the passion of

romance .

There was one district , however , that

of the Cumberland lakes , which needed no charm of association to deepen the appeal of

its realities . I have said somewhere that

’ my ﬁ rs t memory in life was of Friar s Crag

o n — I Derwentwater meaning , suppose, my ﬁ rs t memory of things afterwards ch ieﬂy I p recious to me ; at all events, knew f Keswick before I knew Perth, and a ter

the Perth days were ended , my mother

and I r stayed either the e , at the Royal

In n Oak, or at Lowwood , or at Coniston

Waterhead , while my father went on his

business j ourneys to Whitehaven , Lan

c aster, Newcastle , and other northern

1 6 V P LY N L I M M O N . 5 . PARN ASSUS AN D

afternoon towards Hafod, dashed only with some alarmed sense of the sin of being so i happy among the hills , nstead of writing — ’ out a sermon at home ; my father s presence and countenance not wholly com

us forting me , for we both of had alike a subdued consciousness of being profane and rebellious characters , compared to my mother .

- - From Pont y Monach we went north , gathering pebbles on the beach at Aber

stwith y , and getting up Cader Idris with

: help of ponies it remained, and rightly , for many a year after, a king of mountains

. to me Followed Harlech and its sands ,

es tinio Aber lasl n and F g, the pass of g y , marvel of Menai Straits and Bridge , which

at t I looked , then , as Miss Edgewor h had taught me , with reverence for the me ch anical — skill of man , little thinking , poor innocent, what use I should see the creature putting his skill to , in the half century to come . V . A N D P L Y N L I M M O N 1 PARNASSUS . 57

B r id e The Menai g it was, remember,

t uée — good reader, not but the trim plank roadway swingin g smooth between its iron cobwebs from tower to tower . And so on to Llanberis and up

Snowdon , of which ascent I remember, as

ﬁndin the most exciting event, the g for

“ ” the ﬁrst time in my life a real mineral ! for myself, a piece of copper pyrites But the general impression of Welsh mountain form was so true and clear that subsequent

it journeys little changed or deepened . And if only then my father and mother had seen the real strengths and weak nesses of their little John ; if they had given me but a shaggy scrap of a Welsh

a pony, and left me in ch rge of a good

Welsh guide, and of his wife , if I needed h any coddling , t ey would have made a

an d f man of me there and then , a terwards

own h an d the comfort of their earts , probably the ﬁ rs t geologist of my time in

Europe . 1 v A P L Y N L I M M O N . 5 8 . P RNASSUS AN D

If only ! But they could no more have done it than thrown me like my cousin

Charles into Croydon Canal , trusting me to

ﬁn d my way out by the laws of nature .

1nstead th e , took me back to London , 0 y and my father spared time from his n business hours , o ce or twice a week , to — - take me to a four square, sky lighted, sawdust - ﬂoore d prison of a riding - school

M oorﬁelds in , the smell of which , as we

it r r turned in at the gate of , was a te ro and horror and abomination to me : and there I was put on big horses that j umped,

and and reared, and circled , and sidled ; “ fell oﬁ them regularly whenever they did any of those things ; and was a disgrace

an d to my family, and a burning shame misery to myself, till at last the riding school was given up on my spraining my right - hand foreﬁ n ger (it has never com e

s mce — — k straight again ), and a well bro en

an d th e Shetland pony bought for me, two of u s led about the Norwood roads

1 6 0 V P LY N L I M M O N . . PARNASSUS AND impulse from a friend who entered after

‘ wards intimately into our family life, but

of whom I have not yet spoken .

My illness at Dunkeld , above noticed ,

two —m was attended by physicians , y — mother, and Dr . Grant . The Doctor must then have been a youth who had 1 j ust obtained his diploma . do not know the origin of his acquaintance with my

parents ; but I know that my father had almost paternal influence over him ; and

was of service to him, to what extent I

know not, but certainly continued and ff e ective , in beginning the world . And as I grew older I used often to hear expres sions of much affection and respect for

. Dr Grant from my father and mother, coupled with others of regret or blame that he did not enough bring out his

powers , or use his advantages .

Ever after the D unkeld illness, Dr . v P L Y N L I M M O N 1 6 1 . PARNASSUS AND .

—of like a gritty and acrid nature, which , 1 by his orders , had then to take . The name thenceforward always sounded to me — r r - g ish and granular ; and a certain dread,

u — not amo nting to dislike but, on the

‘ aﬂ ectionate me — contrary , , (for ) made the Doctor ’ s presence somewhat solemnizing to me ; the rather as he never jested, and had a brownish , partly austere , and sere , — wrinkled , and rhubarby, in fact, sort of a face . For the rest , a man entirely

aﬁ ectionate kind and conscientious , much to my father, and acknowledging a sort

’

- - of ward to guardian s duty to him , together with the responsibility of a medical adviser, acquainted both with his imagination and his constitution . I conjecture that it must have been

’ owing to Dr . Grant s being of fairly good family, and in every sense and every

t th e n reali y of word a gentleman , that, soo after coming up to London , he got a surgeon ’ s appointment in one of His 1 6 2 V P L Y N L I M M O N . . PARNASSUS AN D

’ Majes ty s frigates commissioned for a cruise on the west coast of South America . Fortunately the health of her company gave the Doctor little to do professionally ; and he was able to give most of his time to the study of the natural history of the coast of Chili and Peru . One of the results of these shore expe ditions was the

ﬁndin g such a stag - beetle as had never

or before been seen . I t had peculiar

’ —I ‘ chias os colossal nippers , and forget what

ch iasoi means in Greek , but its jaws were . It was brought home beautifully packed in a box of cotton ; and, when the box was opened, excited the admiration of all

C h ias o nath os beholders , and was called the g

’ Grantii . A second result was his collectio n of a very perfect series of Valparaiso humming birds , out of which he spared ,

as for a present to my mother , as many ﬁlled with purple and golden ﬂutter two

’ M r glass cases as large as . Gould s at the

British Museum , which became resplendent

v P LY N L I M M O N . 1 64 . PARNASSUS AN D the ﬁlm on the surface of an unpresuming specimen , amounting in quantity to about th e sixteenth part of a Sixpence , was ‘ native silver ’ ! Soon after his return from this pros

e ro us . n p voyage , Dr Gra t settled himself in a respectable house half- way down Rich mond Hill , where gradually he obtained practice and accepted position among the gentry of that town and its parkly neigh bou rh o od And now . every and then , in the

n - summer morni gs , or the gaily frost white winter ones , we used , papa and mama , I and Mary and , to drive over Clapham and Wandsworth Commons to a breakfast “ picnic with Dr . Grant at the Star and

” Garter . Breakfasts m uch impressed on my mind, partly by the pretty View from

u the windows ; but more , beca se while my orthodox breakfast, even in travelling ,

’ was of stale baker s bread , at these starry picnics I w as allowed new French roll . V . P LY N L I M M O N 1 6 PARNASSUS AN D . 5

Leaving Dr . Grant, for the nonce , under these pleasant and dign iﬁe dly crescent cir cums tances , I must turn to the friends wh o of all others , not relatives , were most

inﬂ uen tial o n powerfully my child life, — ‘ M r . . and Mrs Richard Gray . Some considerable time during my father ’ s clerkdom had been passed by him in Spain , in learning to know sherry , and seeing the ways of making and storing it

X . At at erez , Cadiz , and Lisbon Lisbon he became intimate with another young

o wn Scotsman of about his age , also

1 n in employed, co ceive , as a clerk , some h Spanish ouse , but himself of no narrow

O n clerkly mind . the contrary, Richard Gray went far beyond my father in

the romantic sentiment , and scholarly

love of good literature , which so strangely

’ mingled with my father s steady business

an d habits . Equally energetic, industrious ,

’

M r . high principled, Gray s enthusiasm

n was nevertheless irregularly , and too ofte 1 66 v P L Y N L I M M O N . PARNASSUS A N D .

’ u selessly, coruscant ; being to my father s , as

Carlyle says of French against English ﬁ re

“ ” a t Dettingen , faggot against anthracite .

Yet, I will not venture absolutely to

’ maintain that, under Richard s erratic and

e ﬁ ervescen t inﬂue nce , an expedition to a Cintra , or an assistance at a Village fest ,

—ﬁ h t or even at a bull g , might not some m ti es , to that extent, invalidate my former

general assertion that, during nine years ,

At my father never had a holiday . all

events , the young men became close and

‘ affectionate friends ; and the connection had

a softening , cheering , and altogether bene

’ ﬁ t ff t N cen e ect on my fa her s character . or w as their brotherly friendship any whit

ﬂawed or dimmed, when , a little while

M r . before leaving Spain , Gray married an extremely good and beautiful Scotch

girl , Mary Monro .

Extremely good, and, in the gentlest — way entirely simple , meek , loving , and s erious ; not clever enough to be any way

6 v P LY N L I M M O N . 1 8 . PARNASSUS AND

two in as any of them , delighted , and beloved by all three . Their house was near the top of the

— was Grove , which a real grove in those

- days , and a grand one, some three quarters

s te e ishl of a mile long , p y down hill, beautiful in perspective as an unprecedently

” — elm long drawn aisle ; trees , elm , wych , sycamore and aspen , the branches meeting at top ; the houses on each side with trim a stone p thways up to them , through small plots of well - mown grass ; three or four — storied, mostly in grouped terraces , well — built, of sober coloured brick, with high

r — and steep slated oof not gabled , but polygonal ; all well to do , well kept, well

di niﬁedl broomed, g y and pleasantly vulgar, and their own Grove - world all in all to them . It was a pleasant mile and a furlong or two ’ s walk from Herne Hill to the Grove ; and whenever Mrs . Gray and my mother had anything to say to each — other, they walked up the hill or down V . A P LY N L I M M O N 1 6 1 PARN SSUS AN D . 9

’ it M r to say ; and . Gray s house was always the same to u s as our own at any time of day or night . But our house not at all so to the Grays , having its for malities inviolable ; so that during the whole of childhood I had the sense that

. we were , in some way or other, always

— or above our friends and relations , more

n less patronizing everybody, favouri g them

r by our advice , inst ucting them by our

was example , and called upon , by what

n due both to ourselves , and the constitutio

of society , to keep them at a certain

distance . With one exception ; which I have

n th e deep pleasure in rememberi g . In

ﬁ rs t n chapter of the Antiquary , the la d

’ lord at Queen s Ferry sets down to his esteemed guest a bottle of Robert

’ Cockburn s best port ; with wh ich Robert Cockburn duly supplied Sir Walter h im

self, being at that time , if not the largest , the leading importer of the ﬁ nes t Portugal 1 4 1 0 V A N D P LY N L I M M O N . 7 . PARNASSUS

M r . w . ine , as my father of Spanish But Cockburn was primarily an old Edinburgh g entleman , and only by condescension a w ine - merchant ; a man of great power a n d m pleasant sarcastic wit , oving in the ﬁrs t circles of Edinburgh ; attached to my father by many links of association with

‘ ’ t h e auld toun , and sincerely respecting h im H e . was much the stateliest and t ruest piece of character who ever sate

ha at our merc nt feasts .

Mrs . Cockburn was even a little higher, as representative of the Scottish lady — of the old school , indulgent yet to the

’ n e w firs t . She had been Lond Byron s of “ fi rs t loves ; she was the Mary D ufi of

- - r Lachin y Gair . When I ﬁ s t remember

h er , still extremely beautiful in middle age,

h mix full of sense ; and, thoug with some t m ure of proud severity , extre ely kind .

two They had sons , Alexander and

Archibald, both in business with their f ather, both clever and energetic, but

V A ND P L Y N L I M M O N . 1 7 2 . PARNASSUS

for people , though I never coveted any

’ r myself. I read all Captain Mar yat s

o novels , without ever wishing to g to sea ; traversed the ﬁeld of Waterloo without th e slightest inclination to be a soldier ; wen t on ideal ﬁshing with Isaac Walton without

’ ever casting a ﬂy ; and knew C ooper s

’ ’ Deerslayer and P athﬁnder almost by

a heart, without handling anything but

- ﬁnd pop gun , or having any paths to beyond the solitudes of Gipsy Hill . I used sometimes to tell myself stories of campaign s in which I was an ingenious general , or caverns in which I discovered veins of gold ; but these were mer ely to

ﬁll e vacancies of fancy , and had no referenc 1 whatever to things actual or feasible . — ' already disliked growing older, never ex

ected p to be wiser, and formed no more plans for the future than a little black

silkworm does in the middle of its ﬁ rs t

mulberry leaf. A CH PTER VI .

A N D SCHAFFHAUSEN M ILAN .

HE ﬁ eld Visit to the of Waterloo ,

spoken of by chance in last chapter, must have been when I w as ﬁv e years

’ — on old, the occasion of papa and mamma s taking a fancy ' to see Paris in its festivities X following the coronation of Charles .

We stayed several weeks in Paris , in a

inn quiet family , and then some days at

— n o Brussels , but I have memory whatever

i . of intermed ate stages It seems to me , on

n was revision of those mati times , that I n very slow in receiving impressio s , and needed to stop two or th ree days at least

n in a place , before I bega to get a notion

' it of ; but the notion , once got , was , as

w n an d n e far as it e t , always right ; si c I S 1 V I A ND 74. . SCHA FFHAUSEN M ILAN .

I had no occasion afterwards to modify

it , other impressions fell away from that

principal one , and disappeared altogether . Hence what people call my prejudiced — Views of things , which are , in fact, the

- udiced exact contrary , namely, post j . ( I do not mean to introduce this word for i general serv ce , but it saves time and print

no j ust w . ) Another character of my perceptions I — ﬁnd curio usly steady that I was only

interested by things near me, or at least l clear y Visible and present . I suppose this

is so with children generally ; but it — — remained and remains a part of my

—u grown p temper . In this Visit to Paris, I was extremely taken up with the soft

u red c shions of the armchairs , which it took one half an hour to subside into after

n — eic uisitel sitting dow , with the q y polished

- ﬂoor of the salon , and the good natured French ‘ Boots ’ (more properly who skated over 1t 1n the morning till

1 6 V I . 7 . SCHA FFH AUSE N AND M ILA N

surprises, or interests , except only the drive

ﬁeld to Waterloo and slow walk over the . The defacing mound was not then built it was only nine years since the ﬁgh t ; and each bank and hollow of the ground was still a true exponent of the courses of charge or recoil . Fastened in my mind by later reading , that sight of the slope of battle remains to me entirely distinct, while the results of a later‘ examination of it after the building of the mound , have faded mostly away . I must also note that the rapture of getting on board a steamer, spoken of in last letter, was of later date ; as a child I cared more for a beach on which the waves broke, or sands in which I could dig, than for wide sea . There was no

‘ ’ ﬁ rs t m e sight of the sea for . I had

’ gone to Scotland in Captain Spinks cutter,

was then a regular passage boat, when I only three years old ; but the weather was

ﬁ ne e , and exc pt for the pleasure of tattoo . A N D 1 V I SCHA F FHAUSEN M I LAN . 77

in g myself with tar among the ropes , I

might as well have been ashore ; but I

n grew into the se se of ocean , as the Earth

h n shaker , by the rattling beac , and lispi g

sand .

I had meant , also in this place, to give

a word or two to another poor relative,

y C lowsle Nann y, an entirely cheerful old

n wh o woma , lived , with a Dutch clock

and some old teacups , in a single room (with small bed in alcove) on the third

storey of a gabled house , part of the group of old ones lately pulled down on I Chelsea side of Battersea bridge . But had better keep what I h ave to say of

Chelsea well together , early and late ; only,

I n in speaking of shingle , must ote the

use to me of the View out of Nanny

’ Clowsley s window right down upon the

Thames tide, with its tossing wherries at

ﬂ ow an d . the , stranded barges at ebb

n ow o n And , I must get , and come to

the real ﬁ rs t sights of several things . 1 8 v 1 . 7 . SCHA F FHAUSEN A ND M ILAN

1 said that, for our English tours ,

M r u s . . Telford usually lent his chariot

n ow But for Switzerland, taking Mary , we needed stronger wheels and more room ;

an d for this , and all following tours

ﬁ rs t abroad, the preparation and the beginning of delight was the choosing

a carriage to our fancy , from the hireable

’ M r reserves at . Hopkinson s , of Long Acre . The poor modern slaves and simpletons

who let themselves be dragged like cattle,

or felled timber, through the countries

they imagine themselves Visiting , can have no conception whatever of the complex joys, and ingenious hopes, connected with the choice and arrangement of the travel

ling carriage in old times . The mechanical

ﬁrs t — questions , of strength easy rolling , — steady and safe poise of persons and luggage ; the general stateliness of effect to be obtained for the abashing of plebeian beholders ; the c unning design and dis

tribution - of store cellars under the seats ,

1 80 v 1 . . SCHAF FHAUSE N AN D M ILAN

Mary , a dickey , unusually large , for

Anne and the courier, and four inside seats , though those in front very small , that papa and Mary might be received inside in stress of weather . I recollect, when we had ﬁn ally settled which car ria e we M r g would have , the polite .

Hopkinson , advised of my dawning lite rary reputation , asking me (to the joy of my father) if I could translate the motto of the former possessor, under his

Vix ea nortm v ow painted arms , , which I accomplishing successfully , farther wittily observed that however by right belonging to the former possessor, the

motto was with greater propriety appli

ar cable to . For a family carriage of this solid

construction , with its luggage , and load of

six or more persons , four horses were of course necessary to get any s ufﬁ cien t w ay — on it ; and half- a dozen such teams were

- kept at every post house . The modern v 1 . 1 8 1 SCHA FFHAUSEN AND M ILAN . reader may perhaps have as much diﬁi culty in realizing these savagely and clumsily locomotive periods , though so

a n recent, as y aspects of migratory Saxon or Goth ; and may not think me vainly garrulous in their description .

The French horses , and more or less those on all the great lines of European

w n travelling , ere properly stout trotti g

— an d cart horses , well up to their work

it - over ; untrimmed , long tailed, good

h umo uredl n y lice tious , whinnying and frolicking with each other when they had

a chance ; sagaciously steady to their

work ; obedient to the voice mostly, to the rein only for more explicitness ; never

was touched by the whip, which used

’ merely to express the driver s exultatio n

— n obs truc in himself and them , sig al

n wa tive vehicles in fro t out of the y, and advise all the inhabitants of th e Villages and towns traversed on the day ’ s

journey, that persons of distinction were 1 8 v 1 2 . . SCHAFFHAUSEN AN D M I LA N honouring them by their transitory pre sence . If everything was right, the four horses were driven by one postillion rid ing the shaft horse ; but if the horses were y oung , or the riders unpractised ,

was there a postillion for the leaders also .

As a rule , there were four steady horses and a good driver, rarely drunk, often very young , the men of stronger build

fo r being more useful other work , and any clever young rider able to manage

- - the well trained and merry minded beasts , besides being lighter on their backs .

Half the weight of the cavalier, in such

was cases , in his boots , which were often brought out slung from the saddle like two buckets , the postillion , after the horses were harnessed , walking along the pole and getting into them .

ofﬁ cial Scarcely less , for a travelling a carriage of good cl ss than its postillions ,

was - the courier , or properly, avant courier, whose primary o fﬁ ce it was to ride in

1 8 v 1 . 4 . SCHAF FHAUSEN A ND M ILAN

and you would yourself best like to see , gave instructions to your valet - de - place

n r accordingly , interfering o ly as a highe power in cases of difﬁ culty needing to

H e be overcome by money or tact . invariably attended the ladies in their

shopping expeditions , took them to the

fashionable shops , and arranged as he

thought proper the prices of articles .

Lastly , he knew , of course , all the other — high class couriers on the road, and told

you, if you wished to know, all the people of consideration who chanced to be with

you in the inn . My father would have considered it an insolent an d revolutionary trespass on the privileges of the nobility to have mounted his courier to ride in advance of u s ;

besides that , wisely liberal of his money

for comfort and pleasure , he never would have paid the cost of an extra horse for

show . The horses were , therefore , ordered

n in adva ce , when possible , by the postil v 1 . 1 8 SCHA FFHAUSEN AN D M ILAN . 5

or lions of any preceding carriage ( , other wise, we did not mind waiting till they

0 11r were harnessed), and we carried courier behind us in the dickey with

Anne, being in all his other functions and accomplishments an indispensable luxury to us ﬁ rs t . Indispensable, , because none of us could speak anything but French , and that only enough to ask our way in ; for all specialties of bargaining , or details of information , we were helpless , even in — France, and might as well have been

r migrato y sheep , or geese, in Switzerland or Italy . Indispensable , secondly, to my

’ father s peace of mind, because, with per fect liberality of temper, he had a great

- H e dislike to being over reached . per fectly well knew that his courier would have his commission , and allowed it without question ; but he knew also that his courier would n ot be cheated by

an d was re other people, content in his presentative . Not for ostentation , but for 1 86 v 1 . . SCHA F FHAUSE N AN D M ILAN

real enioym ent and change of sensatio n

from his suburban life , my father liked

large rooms ; and my mother, in mere continuan ce of her ordi n ary and essential

n an d habits , liked clean o es ; clean , large ,

inn ﬁrs t means a good and a ﬂoor . Also my father liked a view from his

w n y d i dows , and reasonabl sai , Why should we travel to see less th an we

ma P — so n ﬁ rs t r ont y . that mea t ﬂoor f .

m at Also y f her liked delicate cookery , j ust because he w as one of the smallest and rarest eaters ; and my mo ther liked good . i t meat . That meant , d nner wi hout limit

in . g price, in reason Also , though my

h n th e fat er ever went into society , he all

re veren more enjoyed getting a glimpse ,

tiall — I y, of fashionable people mean , people

—h e of rank , scorned fashion , and it was a great th ing to him to feel that Lord an d Lady were on th e opposite land in an d an t g , that, at y moment , he migh co nceivably meet and pass them on th e

1 88 v 1 . SCHA F FHAUSE N AN D M ILAN .

s even miles an hour, including stoppages ,

—w e for minimum pace , had done our

' ﬁft forty to y miles of journey , sate down

— two to dinner at four, and I had hours of delicious exploring by myself in the

evening ; ordered in punctually at seven to

ﬁ n ishin l — tea , and g my sketches till ha f past — - nine , bed time . O n longer days of j ourney we started at

t six, and did twen y miles before breakfast ,

’ u coming in for four o clock dinner as sual . I n a quite long day we made a second s i top , dining at any nice V llage hostelry , and f ' coming in for late tea, a ter doing our

eighty or ninety miles . But these pushes w ere seldom made unless to get to some pleasant cathedral town for Sunday , or

pleasant Alpine Village . We never travelled o n Sunday ; my father and I nearly always w n e t as philosophers to mass , in the

n mor ing, and my mother, in pure good n us s aw ature to , (I scarcely ever in her a trace of feminine curiosity , ) would join v i . 1 SCHAFFHAUSE N AND M ILAN . 89

with us in some such profanity as a drive

n on the Corso , or the like, in the afternoo .

we But all, even my father, liked a walk

ﬁ elds a in the better, round an Alpine ch let

Village . At page 1 3 0 I threaten ed more accurate note of my ﬁ rs t impressions of Switzerlan d

and 1 8 O f Italy in 3 3 . customary Calais I

n on - have somethi g to say later , here I

n h n note o ly our going up R i e to Strasburg ,

where , with all its miracles of building , I w as already wi s e enough to feel the

cathedral s tiﬁ and iron - worky ; but was greatly excited and impressed by the high

and roofs rich fronts of the wooden houses , in their sudden indication of n earn ess to

Switzerland ; and especially by ﬁn din g the scen e so admirably expressed by Prout in

6th n the 3 plate of his Fla ders and Germany,

n still uninj ured . And the , with Salvador — was held council in the in n parlour of

— it n Strasburg , whether was the the Friday

— - afternoon we should push on to morrow

1 6 1 0 V I A N D . 9 . SCHAFFHAUSEN M ILAN

‘ ’ n for our Su day s rest to Basle , or to ff Scha hausen . — H ow much depended if ever anything

‘ ’ n n depe ds on a ything else , on the issue of that debate ! Salvador inclined to the

- straight and level Rhine side road , with the luxury of the Three Kings attainable

n by su set . But at Basle, it had to be

admitted, there were no Alps in sight, d no cataract within hearing , and Salva or honourably laid before u s the splendid of alternative possibility reaching , by traverse

of the hilly road of the Black Forest, the f gates of Scha fhausen itself, before they

closed for the night . The Black Forest ! The fall of Schaff hausen ! The chain of the Alps ! within ’ ' one s grasp for Sunday What a Sunday , instead of customary Walworth and the Dulwich ﬁelds ! My impassioned petition

i t at last carried , and the earliest morning s aw u s trotting over the bridge of boats

to Kehl , and in the eastern light I well

1 2 . A ND 9 VI SCHA F FHAUSE N M ILA N .

the black woods, glowed the Visible , beau i t ful , tangible testimony to it in the purple

v larch timber, car ed to exquisiteness by the joy of peasant life , continuous , motionless there in the pine shadow on its ancestral

‘ — turf, unassailed and unassailing , in the

blessedness of righteous poverty , of religious peace .

I The myth of William Tell is destroyed

? and forsooth you have tunnelled Gothard,

ﬁlled be and , it may , the Bay of Uri ; and it was all for you and your sake that the grapes dropped blood from the press

St of . Jacob , and the pine club struck down horse and helm in Morgarten Glen ? " Diﬂi cult enough for you to imagine , that old travellers ’ time when Switzerland

was yet the land of the Swiss , and the Alps had never been trod by foot of man .

Steam , never heard of yet , but for short fair weather crossing at sea (were there — paddle packets across Atlantic ? I forget).

Any way , the roads by land were safe ; and . A ND 1 V I SCHAFFHAUSEN M ILAN . 9 3 e ntered once into this mountain Paradise,

n we wound on through its balmy gle s ,

n past cottage after cottage on their law s , s de till glistering in the w . The road got into more barren heights

th e - by mid day, the hills arduous ; once or twice we had to wait for horses, and we were still twenty miles from Sch aﬁ h ause n at sunset ; it was past midnight when we reached her closed gates . The disturbed — porter had the grace to ope n them n o t quite wide enough ; we carried away one o f our lamps i n collision with th e slantin g

h h e h H ow bar as we drove throug t arc . m uch happier the privilege of dreamily e e h th e ntering a medi val city, t ough with h loss of a lamp, t an the free ingress of being jammed between a dray and a tram ' car at a railroad station It is strange that I but dimly recollect the following morning ; I fancy we must have go n e to some sort of church or other ;

n and certainly , part of the day we t in 1 V I 94 . SCHA FFHAUSE N AN D M ILAN . admirin g the bo w - windows proj ecting into the clean streets None of u s se em to have thought the Alps would be Visible without profane exertion in climbing hills .

an d We dined at four, as usual , the even

ﬁn e ing being entirely , went out to walk ,

us —m all of , y father and mother and I Mary and . We must have still spent some time in — town seeing, for it was drawing towards sun set when w e got up to some sort of — w garden promenade west of the to n , I believe ; and high above the Rhine , so as to command the open country across it to

At the south and west . which open

r l ow n count y of undulatio , far into blue , gazing as at one of our own distances from Malvern of Worcestershire , or Dork — — — ing of Kent , suddenly behold beyond , There was no thought in any of us for a moment of their being clouds .

They were clear as crystal , sharp on the pure horizon sky , and already tinged with

1 6 v 1 . 9 . SCHA FFHAUSE N AND M ILAN dead between Martigny and Aosta But h for me , the Alps and t eir people were alike beautiful in their snow, and their humanity ; and I wanted , neither for them n o r myself, sight of any thrones in heaven

but the rocks , or of any spirits in heaven but the clouds .

Thus , in perfect health of life and

ﬁ re of heart, not wanting to be any

I w as thing but the boy , not wanting to have anything more than I had ; knowing of sorrow only j ust so much as to make life serious to me, not enough to slacken in the least its sinews ; and with so much of science mixed with feeling as to make the sight of the Alps not only the revelation of the beauty o f the earth , but the opening of the

ﬁ rst - 1 page of its volume , went down that evening from the garden - terrace of

' Sch aﬁ h ausen with my destiny ﬁxed in all of it that was to be sacred and useful .

To that terrace, and the shore of the . A N D 1 V I SCHAF FHAUSEN M ILAN . 97

Lake of Geneva, my heart and faith

return to this day, in every impulse that

i s yet nobly alive in them, and every

t hought that has in it help or peace . The morning after that Sunday ’ s eve

a t ff was Scha hausen also cloudless , and we

drove early to the falls , seeing again the

c th e hain of Alps by morning light, and n‘ learning , at Lau en , what an Alpine river

was . Coming out of the gorge of

B al s tall , I got another ever memorable

sight of the chain of the Alps , and these

d n istant Views , ever seen by the modern

traveller, taught me , and made me feel , more than the close marvels of Thun

and Interlachen . It was again fortunate

n that we took the gra dest pass into Italy , — that the ﬁ rs t ravine of the main Alps

saw was ﬁ rs t I the Via Mala , and the

lake of Italy , Como . We took boat on the little recessed l ake of Chiavenna, and rowed down the w wa hole y of waters , passing another 8 V 1 I . 9 . SCHAF FHAUSEN AND M ILAN

C aden abbia Sunday at , and then , from villa to villa , across the lake , and across , to Como , and so to Milan by Monza .

w as r It then full , though early , summe time ; and the ﬁ rst impression of Italy always ought to be in her summer . It w as also well that, though my heart was

artiﬁcial with the Swiss cottager, the taste

’ in me had been mainly formed by Turner s

’ rendering of those very scenes , in Rogers

’ tw o Italy . The Lake of Como , the

’ n moo light villas , and the Farewell , had prepared me for all that was beautiful d and right in the terrace gardens, pro

" of portioned arcades , and white spaces

sunny wall , which have in general no

honest charm for the English mind . But

to me , they were almost native through

n — Tur er , familiar at once , and revered . I had no idea then of the Renaissance evil

in them ; they were associated only with

" what I had been told of the ‘ divine art

an d m ' of Raphael Lionardo , and , by y

2 0 0 V I A N D . SCHA FFHAUSE N M ILAN .

exhibition , of which the vanishing has been in later life a greatly felt loss to me,

’ Burford s panorama in Leicester Square , which was an educational institution of the highest and purest value, and ought to have been supported by the Govern ment as one of the most bene ﬁcial school 1 instruments in London . There had seen , exquisitely painted , the view from the roof of Milan Cathedral , when I had no hope of ever seeing the reality , but with a joy and wo n der of the deepes t ; and n ow - to be there indeed , made deep wonder become fathomless .

t w as Again , most fortunately , the wea her

clear and cloudless all day long , and as the

sun drew westward , we were able to drive

to the Corso , where , at that time , the higher Milan ese were happy and proud

an d as ours in their park, whence , no

railway station intervening , the whole chain

of the Alps was Visible on one side , and the beautiful city with its dominant frost V I . A N D 0 1 SCHAFFHAUSE N M ILAN . 2

crystalline Duomo on the other . Then the drive home in the open carriage through the quiet twilight , up the long streets ,

th e and round base of the Duomo , the smooth pavement under the wheels adding with its silentness to the sense of dream

— abs o wonder in it all , the perfect air in

e ncom lute calm , the just seen majesty of

— so passing Alps , the perfectness it seemed — to me and purity , of the sweet , stately ,

n stainless marble agai st the sky . What more , what else , could be asked of seem in l e g y immutable good , in this mutabl world ? I wish in general to avoid interference

’ with the reader s j udgment on the matters which I endeavour serenely to narrate ;

h for but may, I think, ere be pardoned observing to him the advantage , in a

abs trac certain way, of the contemplative tion from the world which , during this early continental travelling , was partly

an d enforced by our ignorance , partly 2 0 2 A N D VI . SCHAF FHAUSEN M ILAN .

secured by our love of comfort . There — is something peculiarly delightful nay , delightful inconceivably by the modern

- - German plated and French polished tourist , in passing through the streets of a foreign city without understanding a word that

’ anybody says ! One s ear for all sound of voices then becomes entirely impartial ; one is not diverted by the meaning of syllables from recognizing the absolute guttural , liquid , or honeyed quality of them while the gesture of the body and the expression of the face have the same value for you that they have in a pantomime ; every scene becomes a melodious opera to you , or a picturesquely inarticulate P unch .

Consider, also , the gain in so consistent

t . ranquillity Most young people nowadays , o r even lively old ones , travel more in s earch of adventures than of information . One of my most valued records of recent wan dering is a series of sketches by an a miable and extremely clever girl , of the

2 0 V I . 4 . SCHAFF HAUSEN AND M ILA N

meritorious , or that people in general

n n should k ow no language but their o w .

Yet the meek ignoran ce has these advan tages . We did not travel for adventures , nor for company , but to see with our If eyes , and to measure with our hearts . h you have sympat y , the aspect of humanity

' is more true to the depths of it than its words ; and even in my own land , the things in which I have been least deceived are those Which I have learned as their

ec tor Sp ta . V I I C H A P T E R .

P A N D APA MAMMA .

H E work to which , as partly above

u described , I set myself d ring the year 1 83 4 under the excitement remaining

was f from my foreign travels , in our distinct d irections , in any one of which my strength might at that time have been fixed by defin ite fi rs t encouragement . There was the effort to express sen timent in rhyme ;

n the sentiment being really genui e, under all the supe rﬁcial vanities of its display ; m and the rhy es rhythmic , only without any

was n ideas in them . It impossible to explai , either to myself or other people , why I liked s on taring at the sea, or scampering a moor ;

in n but, one had pleasure maki g some sort o f s it melodious noi e about , like the waves I 7 6 v 1 1 . 2 0 PAPA AND MAM MA .

themselves , or the peewits . Then , secondly ,

w as i there the real love of engrav ng , and of such characters of surface and shade as it could give . I have never seen drawing ,

by a youth , so entirely industrious in delicate line ; and there was really the making of

ﬁ ne ﬁ ure a landscape, or g outline , engraver in me . But fate having ordered otherwise , I mourn the loss to engraving less than

that before calculated , or rather incalculable , ! one , to geology Then there was , thirdly , the Violent instinct for architecture ; but I

n never could have built or carved anythi g ,

because I was without power of design ; and have perhaps done as much in that direction as it was worth doing with s o

e limited faculty . And then , fourthly , ther d was the unabated , never to be abate ,

now o n geological instinct , fastened the

ﬁfte en th Alps . My birthday gift being I ’ left to my choice , asked for Saussure s

’ ‘ Voyages dans les Alpes , and thence

’ forward began progressive work , carrying

2 0 8 V II . PAPA AN D MAM MA . e ssential weight in the determination of s ubsequent lines , not only of labour but f o thought , that while my father, as before

told , gave me the best example of emotional r r eadzh eading , g , observe , proper, not r 1 ecitation , which he disdained, and dis

' '

- m liked , y mother was both able to teach

me , and resolved that I should learn , absolute accuracy of diction and precision

of accent in prose ; and made me know, as a 1 soon as I could speak plain , wh t h ave in all later years tried to enforce on

my readers , that accuracy of diction means a n ccuracy of se sation , and precision of

a . ccent , precision of feeling Trained , herself

’ n in girlhood , o ly at Mrs . Rice s country

s chool , my mother had there learned

s everely right principles of truth , charity ,

and housewifery , with punctilious respect for the purity of that English which in

her home - surroundings she perceived to be by no means as un deﬁled as the ripples of

W a . w s andel She the daughter , as afore V I I . PAPA AN D MAMMA . 2 0 9

th said , of the early widowed landlady of e

’ n l Ki g s Head Inn and Tavern , which stil

two exists , or existed a year or since , pre

n - senting its side to Croydo market place ,

its front and entrance , door to the narrow alley which descends , steep for pedestrians , impassable to carriages, from the High

th e Street to lower town . Thus n ative to the customs and dialect

now of Croydon Agora, my mother, as I

an read her, must have been extremely

n i intelligent , admirably practical , and a vely

n h n ambitious girl ; keepi g, wit out conte tion , the headship of her class , and availing her self with steady discretion of every advantage the country school and its modest mistress.

ff I n - could o er her . ever in her after life m heard her speak with regret, and seldo

of without respectful praise , of any part the discipline of Mrs . Rice .

kn ow s for n I do not what reaso , or under what conditions , my mother went to live with my Scottish grandfather and grand 2 1 0 V I I . A N D PAPA MAMMA .

ﬁ rs t mother, at Edinburgh , and then at the

’ house of Bower s Well , on the slope of

Kin no ul 1 . was the Hill of , above Perth s tupidly and heartlessly careless of the past history of my family as long as ‘ I could

’ have learnt it ; not till after my mother s death did I begin to desire to know what

I could never more be told .

But certainly the change , for her, was i — nto a higher sphere of society , that of

fre real , though sometimes eccentric , and quently poor, gentlemen and gentlewomen . She must then have been rapidly growing

ﬁ nel into a tall , handsome , and very y made

ﬁ rm ness girl , with a beautiful mild of expression ; a faultless and accomplished

n un housekeeper, and a atural , essential , a ff ssailable , yet ino ensive , prude . I never

n heard a single word of any sentime t,

ff n accident , admiration , or a ectio disturbing the serene tenor of her Scottish steward s hip ; yet I noticed that she never spoke without some slight shyness before my

V I I A N D . 2 1 2 . PAPA MAM MA

hood , intent on highest moral philosophy, “ though still the house affairs would draw her thence my father was a dark i h eyed , br lliantly active, and sensitive yout of sixteen . Margaret became to him an absolutely respected and admired— mildly

— conﬁdan te liked governess and . Her sym pathy was necessary to him in all h is ﬂashingly transient amours ; her advice in

h er all domestic business or sorrow , and

n i encouragement in all his pla s of l fe . These were already determined for com — merce ; yet not to the abandonment of

H e liberal study . had learned Latin tho

e o f roughly, though with no larg range reading , under the noble traditions of Adams at the High School of Edinburgh while, by the then living and universal inﬂuence y his of Sir Walter, ever scene of native city was exalted in his imagin ation by the purest poetry, and the proudest history , that ever hallowed or haunted the streets and rocks of a brightly inhabited V I I A N D . PAPA MAMMA . 2 1 3

1 capital . have neither space , nor wish , to extend my proposed account of things

n that have been , by records of correspo d — ence ; it is too much the habit of modern biographers to confuse epistolary talk with

Vital fact . But the following letter from

Dr . Thomas Brown to my father, at this

critical juncture of his life, must be read, in part as a testimony to the position he already held among the youths of Edin

and burgh , yet more as explaining some points of his blended character, of the

s i n iﬁ cance deepest g afterwards , both to

an himself d to me .

’ AVI D TR EET E D NB UR GH 8 N . ST . D s , S I , “ F ér uar 1 816 1 8 0 . e y , 7

M Y SI R DEAR , “ When I look at the date of the letter which you did m e the honour to send me as your adviser in literary — matters an ofﬁ ce wh ich a pr oﬁ cient like — you scarcely requires I am quite ashamed ff of th e interval which I have su ered to v 1 1 . 2 1 4 . PAPA AN D MAM MA

elapse . I can truly assure you , however, that it has been unavoidable , and has not

arisen from any want of interest in , your intellectual progress . Even when you were a mere boy I was much delighted with your early zeal and attainments ; and for

o wn your sake , as well as for your excel

’ lent mother s , I have always looked to

th e you with great regard , and with belief that you would dis tin gu1sh yourself in h w atever profession you might adopt .

You seem , I think , to repent too much the time you have devoted to the Belles

Lettres . I confess I do not regret this

am for you . You must , I sure, have felt

‘ the eﬁ ect which such studies have in giving a general reﬁn em en t to the manners

and to the heart , which , to anyone who

7m m a s cience is not to be strictly a f , is

the most valuable effect of literature . You must remember that there is a great dif

t r o ’ rs iona/l ference be ween studying p ﬁ y, and

studying for relaxation and ornament . In

6 v 1 1 2 1 . PA PA AND MAM MA . and narrow habits which that profession is sometimes apt to produce ; and which is of perpetual appeal in every discussion on

ﬁ nancial ff mercantile and a airs . A mer chant well instructed in Political Economy must always be ﬁt to lead the Views of

— it ‘ his brother merchants without , he is a mere trader . Do not lose a day , therefore, w1th ou t providing yourself with a copy of

’ ’ Adam Smith s Wealth of Nations , and — read and re - read it with attention as I am sure you must read it with delight . In giving you this advice I consider yo u

mer chant as a , for as that is to be your profession in life, your test of the import ance of any acquirement should be h ow far it will tend to render you an fl anoum éle — and mer cbant a character of no small estimation in this commercial country . I therefore consider the physical sciences as greatly subordinate in relation to your prospects in life , and the society in which you will be called to mingle . v 1 1 . PAPA AND MAMMA . 2 1 7 All but chemistry require a greater prepa ration in mathematics than you probably h ave , and chemistry it is quite impossible

. to understan d without some opportunity of s on eeing experiments systematically carried . If , however , you have the opportunity to attend any of the lecturers on that science

in London , it will be well worth your

n while, and in that case I thi k you should

’ h M r purchase either Dr . T omson s or .

’ new Murray s system of chemistry , so as

to keep up constantly with your lecturer . Even of physics in general it is pleasant

s u erﬁcial to have some View, however p , and therefore though you cann ot expect without math ematics to have anything but

s u erﬁcial a p View , you had better try to

1 atta1n t. With this View you may read

’ ‘ ’ Gregory s Economy of Nature , which

n o t though not a good book, and always

accurate , is , I believe, the best popular

v sufﬁ cien tl c book we ha e, and y ac urate h for your purposes . Remember, owever, 2 1 8 VI I . PAPA AN D MA M MA .

that though you may be permitted to be

s u erﬁcial a p natural philosopher, no such indulgence is to be given you in Political

Economy . The only other circumstance remaining for me to request of you is that you will not suffer yourself to lose any of the lan O f guages you have acquired . the modern languages there is less fear , as your mer can tile communications will in some measure keep them alive ; but merchants do not

h s correspond in Latin , and you may per ap lose it unconsciously . Independently , how w ever, of the admirable riters of whom l you would thus deprive yourse f, and considering the language merely as the

m of accomplish ent of a gentleman , it is too great value to be carelessly resigned . ll arewe . th e F , my dear sir Accept regard of all this family , and believe me,

s with every wi h to be of service to you ,

Your sincere friend , T . B ROWN .

0 AND 2 2 VI I . PAPA MAM MA . f e 1n deed rankly confess d j oy, not in the

Wickﬁ eld Agnes way , I have loved you f ’ all my li e , but feeling and admitting that it was great delight to be allowed

o no t love him w . The relations between Grace Nugent and Lord C olambre in

’ Miss Edgewo rth s Absentee extremely resemble those between my father and

C olambre mother, except that Lord is a more eager lover . My father chose his wife much with the same kind of serenity and decision with which afterwards he chose his clerks . A time of active and hopeful content ment for both the young people followed, mv mother being perhaps the more d eeply in love, while John depended more absolutely on her sympathy and wise friendship than is at all usual with young men of the present day in their relations with admired young ladies . But neither of them ever permitted their feelings to d egenerate into fretful or impatient passion . VI I A ND . PAPA MAMMA . 2 2 1

My mother showed her affection chiefly in steady endeavour to cultivate her powers

n of mind, and form her man ers , so as to ﬁt herself to be the undespised com panion of a man whom she co n sidered

much her superior : my father in u nre mitting attention to the business on the success of which his marriage depended and in a methodical regularity of conduct and correspondence which never left his

mistress a moment of avoidable anxiety, or gave her motive for any serious dis

pleasure . O n these terms the engagement lasted

nine years ; at the end of which time , my grandfather ’ s debts having been all

paid , and my father established in a

n business gradually increasi g , and liable

\ now to no grave contingency, the not very young people were married in

Perth on e evening after supper, the servants of the house havin g no suspicion of the even t until John and Margaret

1 8 2 2 2 V I I . A N D PAPA MAM MA .

drove away together next morning to

Edinburgh . In looking back to my past thoughts

an d ways , nothing astonishes me more than my want of curiosity about all these

matters ; and that , often and often as my mother used to tell with complacency

r the sto y of this carefully secret marriage ,

F B u t I never asked , , mother , why so

s ecret, when it was j ust what all the

friends of both of you so long expected , an d what all your best friends so heartily wished P

But, until lately , I never thought of writing any more about myself than was

set down in diaries , nor of my family at all : n ow and thus too carelessly , and , as I

think, profanely, neglected the traditions

‘ of my people . What does it all matter,

’ ‘ ? I we now said ; are what we are , and

’ shall be what we make ourselves .

n Also , u til very lately, I had accustomed myself to consider all that my parents

P 2 2 4 VI I . APA AND MAM MA . ple tes t if I write as its connected subjects

eb occur to me , and not with formal ro nolo gy of plan . My reason for telling it in this place was chieﬂy to explain h ow my mother obtained her perfect skill d in English reading , through the har

‘ eﬁ ort n which , through the years of waiti g ,

' eﬁ ace she made to the faults , and supply

eﬁ b rt the defects , of her early education ; which was aided and directed unerringly by her natural—for its intensity I might — justly call it supernatural purity of hear t n and conduct, leadi g her always to take most delight in the right and clear lan guage which only can relate lovely things . Her unquestioning evangelical faith in the l as iteral truth of the Bible placed me ,

n soo as I could conceive or think, in the presence of an unseen world ; and set my active analytic power early to work on the questions of conscience , free will , and responsibility , which are easily deter mined in days of innocence ; but are v 1 1 . PA PA AND MAMMA . 2 2 5

h approached too often wit prejudice, and

n always with disadva tage , after men become s tu iﬁed p by the opinions , or tainted by

: the sins , of the outer world while the gloom , and even terror , with which the restrictions of the Sunday , and the doc

’ trines of the Pilgrim s Progress , the Holy

’ War, and Quarles Emblems , oppressed the seventh part of my time, was useful to me as the only form of vexation which I was called on to endure ; and redeemed by the otherwise uninterrupted cheerfulness and tranquillity of a household wherein the common ways were all of

n h pleasantness , and its si gle and strait pat ,

of perfect peace . ’ f My father s failure of health , ollowing n ecessarily on the long years of responsi

bilit y and exertion , needed only this repose C eﬁ ect an to its cure . Shy to extreme

d in egree general company , all the more because he had natural powers which

h e was unable to his own satisfaction 2 2 6 . V II . PAPA AN D MAM MA

— was e n to express , his business faculty tirely superb and easy : he gave his full energy to counting—house work in the o m rning , and his afternoons to domestic

~ a rest . With inst nt percep tion and decision in all business questions ; with prin ciples of dealing which admitted of no l n fraction , and involved neither anxiety nor

— was concealment, the counting house work more of an interest , or even an amuse ment, to him, than a care . His capital was

’ t S . either in the Bank , or in Catherine s

Docks , in the form of insured butts of

ﬁnes t the sherry in the world ; his partner,

M r D om ec . q, a Spaniard as proud as him self, as honourable , and having perfect

— t trust in him , not only in his probi y , but

— t his j udgment , accurately complying wi h all his directions in the preparation of wine for the English market, and no less anxious

it than he to make every variety of , in its several rank , incomparably g ood . The letters to Spain therefore needed only brief

v 1 . 2 2 8 1 . PAPA AN D MAM MA triumphantly any and every ordeal of blindfold question which th e suspicious customer might put him to . Also , when correspondents of importance came up to m town , my father would put hi self so far o u t of his way as to ask them to dine at

Herne Hill , and try the contents of his o n w cellar . These London Visits fell into

s groups , on any occasion in the metropolis o f interest more than usual to the pro

vincial mind . Our business dinners were then arranged so as to collect tw o or

three country Visitors together, and the table made symmetrical by selections from

’ the house s customers in London , whose conversation might be most instructive to

its rural friends . Very early in my boy ’ s life I began

much to dislike these commercial feasts ,

and to form, by carefully attending to their

dialogue , when it chanced to turn on any

h l ow ot er subject than wine , an extremely e stimate of the commercial mind as such ; VII . PAPA AND MAMMA . 2 2 9 —estimate which I have never had the s lightest reason to alter . Of our neighbours on Herne Hill we s aw one nothing , with exception only , afterwards to be noticed . They were for the most part well - to - do London trades m en h ad of the better class , who little ’ — s ympathy with my mother s old fashio n ed

’ ways , and none with my father s romantic sentiment . There was probably the farther reason for our declining the intimacy of our immediate neighbours , that most of them

we n were far more wealthy than , and i clined t o demonstrate their wealth by the magni ﬁ cence of their establishments . My parents lived with strict economy , kept only female

! servants , used only tallow candles in plated c dl h an esticks , were content with the lease old

r territory of thei front and back gardens ,

o as e us 1 nk ar in s a e for m Th m l ft , thi p tly h m y permanently inj ure d lip ; and we never h ad another

r n i ndoo m ans erva t . 2 0 v 1 1 3 . PAPA AN D MAM M A .

— r scarce an acre altogether, and kept neithe

- horse nor carriage . Our shop keepin g neighbours on the contrary , had usually great cortege of footmen and glitter of

r plate , extensive pleasu e grounds , costly hot houses , and carriages driven by coachmen in wigs . It may be perhaps doubted by some of my readers whether the coldness of acquaintanceship was altogether on our side ; but assuredly my father was too proud to join entertainments for which he could give no like return , and my mother did not care to leave her card on foot at the doors of ladies wh o dashed up to hers in their barouche . Protected by these monastic severities and

aristocratic dignities , from the snares and

disturbances of the outer world , the routine

ﬁxe d of of my childish days became , as

' n lin the sunrise and sunset to a es t g . It may seem singular to many of my readers that I remember with most pleasure th e time when it was most regular and most solitary

2 3 2 V I I . PAPA AN D MAM MA . praise of a like home education in the environs of London . But one farther good

in it there was , hitherto unspoken ; that great part of my acute perception and deep feeling of the beauty of architecture and scenery abroad , was owing to the well - formed habit of narrowing myself to happin ess within the four brick walls of o ur ﬁfty by one hundred yards of garden ; an d accepting with resignation the aesthetic e xternal surroundings of a London suburb , and , yet more , of a London chapel . For

’ as Dr . Andrews w the Londonian chapel

deﬁn able in its perfect type , as accurately

—an — l as a Roman basilica, oblong , ﬂat cei ed

barn , lighted by windows with semi

— ﬁlled circular heads , brick arched , by small

ﬁne paned glass held by iron bars , like

threaded halves of cobwebs ; galleries

propped on iron pipes, up both sides ;

in m pews , well shut , each of the , by

ar t1t10ns d p of plain eal , and neatly brass

ﬁllin latched deal doors , g the barn ﬂoor , V I I . A N D PAPA MAMMA . 2 3 3 all but its two lateral straw - matted

n passages ; pulpit, sublimely isolated , ce tral from sides and clear of altar rails at

- end ; a stout , four legged box of well

th e grained wainscot , high as level of front galleries , and decorated with a

n cushion of crimso velvet, padded six

inches thick , with gold tassels at the

corners ; which was a great resource to !

me when I was tired of the sermon , because I liked watchin g the rich colour of the folds and creases that came in

it it when the clergyman thumped . Imagine the change between one Sunday

— n “ and the next , from the morni g service

in this building , attended by the families of the small shopkeepers of the Walworth

n Road , in their Sunday trimmi gs ; (our

’ plumber s wife , fat, good, sensible Mrs .

ew Goad , sat in the next p in front of

us , sternly sensitive to the interruption of her devotion by our late arrivals);

fancy the change from this , to high 2 3 4 VI I . PAPA AN D MAM MA .

‘ ﬁlled mass in Rouen Cathedral , its nave by the white - capped peasantry of half Normandy ! Nor was the co n trast less enchanting or marvellous between the street archi tecture familiar to my eyes , and that of

Flanders and Italy, as an exposition of

’ mercantile taste and power . My father s — counting house was in the centre of

' e fi aced Billiter Street , some years since from sight and memory of men , but a type , then , of English city state in per f tio n ec . We now build house fronts as a t dver isements , spending a hundred thou sand pounds in the lying mask of our

’ bankruptcies . But in my father s time both trade and building were still honest .

His counting - house was a room about

fifteen feet by twenty , including desks for two clerks , and a small cupboard for s fi rs t w herry samples , on the floor, ith a larger room opposite for private polite receptions of elegant Visitors , or the serving

2 6 v i 1 3 . PAPA AN D MAM MA . annual paint were cut into a beautiful

th e slant section by daily scrubbing , like coats of an agate ; ) and were admitted by lifting of latch , manipulated by the head

’ cle rk s ' h an d - in the counting house , with out stirring from his seat .

This unpretending establishment, as I

of said , formed part of the western side

—it Billiter Street, a narrow trench may

t — adm1tt1n have been thir y feet wide g , with careful and precise driving , the pass

’ ing each other of two brewers drays . I am not sure that this was possible at the ends of the street , but only at a slight enlargement opposite the brewery ff in the middle . E ectively a mere trench between three - storied houses of prodigious brickwork , thoroughly well laid, and pre senting no farther entertainment whatever to the aesthetic beholder than the alter nation of the ends and sides of their beautifully level close courses of bricks , and the practised and skilful radiation ~ V I I . P A P A A AN D MAMM . 2 37 of those which formed the wi n dow

n li tels .

Typical , I repeat, of the group of

e diﬁces London , east of the Mansion

House , and extending to the Tower ;

- the under hill picturesquenesses of which , however, were in early days an entirely forbidden district to me , lest I should

tumble into the docks ; but Fenchurch

L eadenh all and Streets , familiar to me as the perfection of British mercantile state

- ff and grandeur, the reader may by e ort , ff though still dimly, conceive the e ect on my imagination of the fantastic gables

- of Ghent , and orange scented cortiles of

Genoa .

I can scarcely account to myself, on any

of the ordinary principles of resignation , for the undimmed tranquillity of pleasure

inﬁnite with which , after these excitements

in foreign lands, my father would return to his desk opposite the brick wall of the

brewery , and I to my niche behind the 1 9 8 V I I A 3 . PAP AN D MAM MA .

- drawing room chimney piece . But to both

us of , the steady occupations , the beloved

samenesses , and the sacred customs of home were more precious than all the fervours

new us of wonder in things to , or delight

in scenes of incomparable beauty . Very

early , indeed , I had found that novelty

was soon exhausted, and beauty , though

a‘ inexhaustible , beyond certain point or

en time of enthusiasm , no more to be

~ joyed ; but it is not so often observed by

philosophers that home , healthily organized ,

is always enjoyable ; nay , the sick thrill of pleasure through all the brain and heart

with which , after even so much as a 1 month or two of absence , used to catch

ﬁ rs t the sight of the ridge of Herne Hill , and watch for every turn of the well known road and every branch of the — familiar trees, was though not so deep or overwhelming — more intimately and vitally powerful than the brightest passions

of joy in strange lands , or even in the

7 0 1 1 1 . 2 4 . PAPA AN D MAM MA troubled by the charms of any unattainable

Margaret , for his master had no daughter ;

it but , as worse chance would have , a son : so that looking forward to possibilities

s aw as a rising apprentice ought , Charles that there were none in the house for him beyond the place of cashier, or perhaps

- only head clerk . His elder brother, who had taught him to swim by throwing him

1 nto Croydon canal , was getting on fast as a general trader in Australia , and naturally longed to have his best - loved brother there for a partner . Bref, it was resolved that

o Charles should g to Australia . The

1 8 Christmas time of 3 3 passed heavily ,

r for I was ve y sorry ; Mary , a good deal

so z more and my father and mother, though in their hearts caring for nobody in th e world but me , were grave at the thought

’ of Charles s going so far away ; but

us tiﬁabl honestly and j y, thought it for the

’ ‘ lad s good . I think the whole aﬁ air was

’ outﬁt decided , and Charles s furnished , and . 1 VII PAPA AN D MAMMA . 2 4

’ ’ ship s berth settled, and ship s captain interested in his favour, in something less t than a for night , and down he went to

Portsmouth to join his ship joyfully, with B the world to win . y due post came the

off news that he was at anchor Cowes , but that the ship could not sail because of the west wind . And post succeeded post , and still the west wind blew . We

own liked the west wind for its sake , but it was a prolonging of farewell which

us teazed , though Charles wrote that he was enjoying himself immensely , and the captain , that he had made friends with every sailor on board, besides the passengers .

And still the west wind blew. I do — not remember h ow long some ten days

At fortn1 h t . or g , I believe last, one day my mother and Mary went with my father into town on some shopping or sight - seeing business of a cheerful charac h ter ; and I was left at ome , busy also h about something that c eered me greatly , 2 2 v 1 1 4 . PAPA AND MAM MA .

I know not what ; but when I heard

in the others come , and upstairs into

- the drawing room , I ran eagerly down and into the room , beginning to tell them about this felicity that had befallen

was . me, whatever it They all stood

an d like statues, my father mother very grave . Mary was looking out of the — wmdow the farthest of the front three

on from the door . As I went , boasting of myself, she turned round suddenly , her face all streaming with tears , and

h er caught hold of me , and put face close to mine , that I might hear the

‘ ’ sobbing whisper, Charles is gone .

The west wind had still blown , clearly

and strong , and the day before there had been a fresh breeze of it round

the isle , at Spithead , exactly the kind

of breeze that drifts the clouds , and

’ in ridges the waves , Turner s Gosport . The ship w as sending her boat on

s — e r hore for some water, or the like h

2 v r1 P 44 . PA A AND MAM MA .

At carried to sea . last came word that his body had been thrown ashore at Cowes : and his father went down to see him buried . That done , and all the story heard , for still the ship stayed , he

’ came to Herne Hill , to tell Charles s

‘ it auntie all about . (The old man never called my mother anything else than auntie . ) It was in the morning , — in the front parlour my mother knitting

u ﬁre s ide at in her sual place at the , I

o wn my drawing , or the like , in my place also . My uncle told all the story, in the quiet , steady sort of way that the common English do , till j ust at the end he broke down into sobbing, saying

‘ now (I can hear the words ), They

011 caught the cap of his head, and yet

’ ’ they couldn t save him . V CHAPTER III .

V E S T E R , C A M E N A E .

H E death of Charles closed the doors

of my heart again for that time ; — an d the self engrossed quiet of the Herne

n Hill life continued for another year, leavi g little to be remembered, and less to be ' h . eHo rt ow told My parents made one ,

n ever, to obtai some healthy companionship for me, to which I probably owe more than I knew at the moment . Some six or seven gates down the hill

ﬁ eld i 1 towards the , (wh ch have to return

n most true thanks to its prese t owner,

M r v . Sopper, for ha ing again opened to the public sight in consequen ce of the passage above describin g the greatness of its loss both to the neighbour and the s n tra ger), some six or seven gates down

2 0 2 6 . . 4 VI II VESTE R , CAM E NAE

l o w that way, a pretty lawn , shaded by a spreading cedar, opened before an ex trem el y neat and carefully kept house , where lived two people , modest in their ways as my father and mothe r

—M r themselves , . and Mrs . Fall ; happier, however, in having son and daughter instead of an only child . Their son ,

was I Richard , a year younger than ,

and but already at school at Shrewsbury, somewhat in advance of me therefore in regular discipline ; extremely gentle and — — good natured , his sister, still younger , a

’ t clever little girl , her mother s constan companion : and both of them u npre

o e tending , but rigid , examples f all Hern i s H ll proprietie , true religions , and useful

n I recollec learni gs . shudder still at the

’ tion of Mrs . Fall s raised eyebrows one day at my pronunciation of naivete

’ ve as n ai tte . I think it must h ave been as early

1 8 2 h as 3 that my father, noticing wit

2 8 v 1 1 1 4 . VESTER , CAME NAE . of those Christmas holidays was white r

n ow e than it is , though I might give som reasons for supposing that it remained

h afﬁ rm longer w ite . But I decisively that it used to fall deeper in the neighbourhood of London than has been seen for the last

- fiv e as twenty or twenty years . It w quite usual to fi n d in the hollows of the Nor wood Hills the fi eld fences buried under crested waves of snow , while , from the

t higher ridges , half the counties of Ken and Surrey shone to the horizon like a cloudless and terrorless Arctic sea .

Richard Fall was entirely good - humoured sensible , and practical ; but had no par ticular tastes ; a distaste , if anything , for

H e s tifﬂ my styles both of art and poetry . y declined arbitration on the merits of my compositions ; and though with pleasant cordiality in daily companionship , took rather the position of putting up with

of me , than of pride in his privilege

H e acquaintance with a rising author . v 1 1 1 . . 2 VESTER , CAMENAE 49 was never unkind or sarcastic ; but laughed me inexorably out of writin g bad English

’ n for rhyme s sake, or demonstrable no sense either in prose or rhyme . We got gradu

be far ally accustomed to together, and on into life were glad when any chance

us n brought together agai .

1 8 n The year 3 4 passed i nocuously enough ,

roﬁ t but with little p , in the quadripartite industries before described , followed for my — o wn pleasure ; with min glings of sapless

‘ e ﬁ ort in in r the classics , which I neithe

f . felt, nor oresaw , the least good — enou /z Innocuously g , I say , meaning , with

h w - as little misc ief as a ell intentioned boy,

' s uﬁ er Virtually masterless , could from having

own conﬁ rmin all his way, and daily g himself in the serious impression th at h is own way was always the best .

I cannot analyse, at least without taking more trouble than I suppose any reader would care to take with me , the mixed good and evil in the third rate literature V A 2 0 1 1 1 . . 5 VESTER , CAM E N E

which I preferred to the Latin classics .

— - My volume of the Forget me not, which

gave me that precious engraving of Verona ,

( curiously also another by Prout of St . ’ V Mark s at enice), was somewhat above the general caste of annuals in its quality o f letterpress ; and contained three stories ,

’

- The Red nosed Lieutenant, by the Rev . G ‘ ’ eorge Croly ; Hans in Kelder, by the

‘ ’ author of Chronicles of London Bridge ;

‘ ’ and C The omet, by Henry Neele ,

Esq . , which were in their several ways e xtremely impressive to me . The partly c hildish , partly dull , or even , as aforesaid ,

idiotic, way I had of staring at the same

things all day long , carried itself out in

reading , so that I could read the same

u as things all the year ro nd . As there w neither advantage nor credit to be got

ﬁ ctitious by remembering circumstances , I

was, if anything , rather proud of my skill

i n n forgetti g , so as the sooner to recover th e zest of the tales ; and I suppose these

2 2 5 VI II . VESTER , CAME NAE .

I do not know when my father ﬁ rst w began to read Byron to me , ith any expectation of my liking him ; all primary

th e h avm training , after Iliad , g been in

Scott ; but it must have been about the beginning of the teen period , else I i should recollect the ﬁ rs t eﬁ e ct of t.

at Manfred evidently , I had got , like

Macbeth , for the sake of the witches .

Various questionable changes were made ,

1 8 1 n however, at that 3 tur ing of twelve , in the Hermitage discipline of Herne Hill . I was allowed to taste wine ; taken to the theatre ; and , on festive days , even dined with my father and mother at four : and it was then generally at dessert that my father would read any otherwise suspected delight : the No ctes Ambrosianm regularly when they came out— without the least missing of the naughty words ;

at and last, the shipwreck in Don Juan ,

- of ﬁ ndin a re which , g me rightly pp ciative , my father went on with nearly . . 2 VI I I VESTER , CAMENAE 5 3

all the rest . I recollect that he and my mother looked across the table at each other with something of alarm ,

fe w when , on asking me a festas after wards what we should h ave for after w ‘ dinner reading , I instantly ans ered Juan

’ ’ and Haidee . My selection was not

n adopted, and , feeling there was somethi g

w i t wrong some here , I did not press , attempting even some stutter of apology which made matters worse . Perhaps I was given a bit of Childe Harold instead , which I liked at that time nearly as well ;

and , indeed , the story of Haidee soon y became too sad for me . But ery cer

tainl 1 8 y, by the end of this year 3 4 , I

knew my Byron pretty well all through , d all but Cain, Werner , the Deforme

e Transformed , and Vision of Judgment , non

a of which I could understand, nor did pap and mamma think it would be well I

should try to . The ingenuous reader may perhaps be m R 2 u . 54 . VESTE , CAM E NAE s o much surprised that mamma fell in with

' all this , that it becomes here needful to mark for him some peculiarities in my mother ’ s prudery which he could not dis c over for himself, from anything hitherto

' H e told of her . might indeed guess that , after taking me at least six times straight through the Bible , she was not afraid of plain words to , or for, me ; but might not

' feel that in the energy and aﬁ e ctionateness o f her character, she had as much sym pathy with all that is noble and beautiful

’ i n Byron as my father himself ; nor that h e r Puritanism was clear enough in com mon sense to see that , while Shakespeare an d Burns lay open on the table all day , there was no reason for much mystery with Byron (tho u gh until later I was not allowed to read him for myself). She had d trust in my isposition and education , and was no more afraid of my turn ing out a Corsair or a Giaour than a Richard o r a Solomon . And she was perfectly

2 6 5 VII I . VESTER , CAM E NAE .

And there was one more feature in my mother ’ s character which must be here a sserted at once , to put an end to the notion of which I see traces in some n ewspaper comments on my past descrip tions of her, that she was in any wise like Esther ’ s religious aunt in Bleak h House . Far on the contrary, t ere was a h earty , frank, and sometimes even irre ! pressible , laugh in my mother Never s deﬁnitel ardonic, yet with a very y

Sm olle ttes ue it ! n q turn in so that , betwee themselves , she and my father enjoyed their Humphrey Clinker extremely , long before I was able to understand either

it the j est or gist of . Much more , she could exult in a harmless bit of Smol l e ttes que reality . Years and years after this time , in one of our crossings of

w we the Simplon , just at the top , here

us had stopped to look about , Nurse

An ne sat down to rest herself on the

n raili gs at the roadside , j ust in front of v 1 1 1 . 2 VESTER , CAMENAE . 5 7

— 0 11 the monastery ; the roadside , from which the bank slopes steeply down o n utside the fe ce . Turning to observe

n h er the pa oramic picturesque , Anne lost

n bala ce , and went backwards over the

n wn raili gs do the bank . My father could n o t help suggesting that she had don e it expressly for the e n tertain ment of the

Holy Fathers ; and neither he nor my mother could ever speak of the ‘ per formance it (as they called ) afterwards ,

n h without laughin g for a quarter of a our . If , however, there was the least

bitterness or irony in a jest , my mother did not like it ; but my father and I

liked it all the more, if it were just ;

an d n d it , so far as I could understa , I

n rejoiced in all the sarcasm of Don Jua .

ﬁ rm n n But my decisio , as soo as I got

n i t well i to the later cantos of , that

was Byron to be my master in verse , as

. n Turner in colour, was made of course i that goslin g ( or say cyg net) epoch of 2 8 V1 1 1 5 . VESTER , CAM E NAE .

th e existence , without consciousness of deeper instincts that prompted i t : only two i t th ngs I consciously recognized , tha his truth of observation was the most

r exact , and his chosen exp ession the most concentrated, that I had yet found in B literature . y that time my father had himself put me through the two ﬁ rs t

‘ books of Livy , and I knew, therefore , what close - set language was ; but I s aw w then that Livy , as after ards that Horace and Tacitus , were studiously , often labo ri ou sl e y, and sometimes obscurely , con en trate d : while Byron wrote, as easily as a

ﬂies hawk , and as clearly as a lake reﬂe cts , the exact truth in the precisely

u narrowest terms ; nor only the exact tr th , but the most central and useful one . O f course I could no more measure Byron ’ s greater powers at that time than

’ I could Turner s ; but I s aw that both were right in all things that I knew right from wrong in ; and that they must

2 60 V 1 1 1 . VESTER , CAM ENAE .

ternal means to support him in h is

- elevation . Did Fox pay /zzr debts ? or did Sheridan take a subscription ? Was s drunkenness more excusable than his ? Were his intrigues more notorious than those of all his contemporaries ? and is his memory to be blasted and theirs respected ? Don ’ t let yourself be led away

by clamour, but compare him with the

OX n coalitioner F , and the pensio er Burke , as a man of principle ; and with ten hundred thousand in personal Views ; and

with none in talent, for he beat them all out and out . Without means , with

out connection , without character (which

ﬁ rs t might be false at , and drive him

mad afterwards from desperation), he beat

them all , in all he ever attempted . But, ! — alas poor human nature Good night,

or rather morning . I t is four, and the w da n gleams over the Grand Canal, and

’ unshadows the Rialto .

Now , observe , that passage is noble , . 6 1 . 2 VIII VESTER , CAME NAE primarily because it con tains the utmost number that will come together into

th e space, of absolutely j ust, wise , and kind thoughts . But it is more than

noble , it is because the quantity it holds is not artiﬁcially or intricately

w th e s concentrated , but ith serene swiftnes

’ of a smith s hammer - strokes on hot iron ; and with choice of terms which, each in

n its place , will co vey far more than they

’ mean in the dictionary . Thus , however

‘ ’ used ‘ ins te ad s is of yet, because it stand

’ ‘ ‘ or for howsoever, , in full , for yet

' ’ ‘ ’ did of whatever they . Thick society, w because it means , not merely the cro d ,

’ ‘ but the fag of it ; ten hundred thousand

’ n d instead of a million , or a thousa

’ thousand, to take the sublimity out of

us the number, and make feel that it is

h n e a number of nobodies . T en the sente c

’

n , . , in pare thesis , which might be false etc

1t im is in deed obscure , because was possible to clarify it without a regular 2 6 2 m u . VESTER , CAM E NAE .

pause , and much loss of time ; and the

’ r eader s sense is therefore left to expand it

for himself into it was , perhaps , falsely said

’ o f ﬁ rs t him at , that he had no character,

‘ ’

e tc . u Finally , the dawn nshadows

on— lessens the shadow the Rialto , but

leam does not g on that, as on the broad w ater .

Next , take the two sentences on poetry , i n 1 his letters to Murray of September 5th ,

1 8 1 1 2 th 1 8 1 8 7 , and April , ; (for the collected force of these compare the deliberate published statement in the answer to Blackwood in

1 8 1 7 . With regard to poetry in

n am ge eral , I convinced , the more I

it all think of , that he (Moore), and of

us— Scott, Southey , Wordsworth , Moore , 1 — Campbell , , are all in the wrong , one

as much as another ; that we are upon

' a wrong revolutionary poetical system , or

systems , not worth a damn in itself, and from which none but Rogers and Crabbe

2 6 . 4 VI I I VESTER , CAM ENAE .

’ k ing Lord Hervey against Pope s attac , but — — Pope quoad Pope , the poet, against

all un ustiﬁable the world , in the j attempts b egun by Warton , and carried on at

“ this day by the n ew school of critics

an d wh o scribblers , think themselves poets

not because they do write like Pope .

-I have no patience with such cursed

h umbug and bad taste ; your whole generation are not worth a canto of the R ape of the Lock , or the Essay on “ M an u d , or the D ncia , or anything that

i s There is nothing which needs explanation i n the brevities and amenities of these two

ﬁ rs t fragments , except , in the of them ,

th e distinctive and exhaustive enumeration

o f - the qualities of great poetry, and note especially the order in which he puts

t hese .

a ﬁ rs A . s t . Sense That is to y, the thing yo u have to think o f is whether the — w ould - be poet is a wise man s o also . 6 VIII VESTER , CAMENAE . 2 5

‘ in the answer to Blackwood , They call him (Pope) the poet of reason is that any reason why he should not be a poet ?’ B . Learning . The Ayrshire ploughman

may have good gifts , but he is out of

c ourt with relation to Homer, or Dante,

or Milton .

’ C ff ze in . E ect . Has he cﬁ c ncy his verse ? —does it tell on the ear and the spirit in

‘ ’ an instant ? See the effect on her

’ ‘ ’ audience of Beatrice s ottave, in the

’ r 2 86 sto y at p . of Miss Alexander s Songs

of Tuscany.

D I n l o . magi ation . Put thus w because

many novelists and artists have this faculty ,

yet are not poets , or even good novelists

” or painters ; because they have not sense to i ff t . manage , nor the art to give it e ect

E . . Passion Lower yet, because all good men and women have as much as either they or the poet ought to have . e F Invention . And this lowest, b cause 66 2 . A VII I VESTER, C M E NAE . one may be a good poet without havin g

' this at all . Byron had scarcely any him

e — e t self, whil Scott had any quantity y never could write a play .

‘ B ut n nor neither the force and precisio ,

’ W at the rhythm, of Byron s language , ere all the central reasons for my taking him

s for master . Knowing the Song of Mose

‘ and the Sermon on the Mount by heart , and half the Apocalypse besides , I was in no need of tutorship either in the majesty or simpl icity of English words ; and fo r their logical arrangement , I had had

’ own d Byron s master, Pope , since I coul

ne w s lisp . But the thing wholly and preciou to me in Byron was his measured and

tr ut/z— living measured, as compared with

n Homer ; and livi g , as compared with

o wn m eas ur everybody else . My inexorable — ’ ing wand , not enchanter s , but cloth

’ ’ — e worker s and builder s , reduced to mer incredibility all ” the statements of the poets

' usually called sublime . It was of no use

2 6 8 A VI II . VESTER , C ME NAE . disciples as idle tales ; and they believed

’ t hem not . But here at last 1 had found a man wh o s poke only of what he had seen , and

n known ; and spoke without exaggeratio , w ithout mystery , without enmity , and

‘ is — without mercy . That so make what

’ you will of it ! Shakespeare said the Alps v th e oided their rheum on valleys , which

ﬁ nal indeed is precisely true , with the truth , i n — that matter, of James Forbes , but it was told in a mythic manner, and with an unpleasant British bias to the nasty .

‘ ’ n But Byro , saying that the glacier s cold and restless mass moved onward day by

’ da saw y, said plainly what he and knew,

- So no more . also, the Arabian Nights h ad told me of thieves who lived in e nchanted caves , and beauties who fought w ith genii in the air ; but Byron told me o f thieves with whom he had ridden on t heir own hills , and of the fair Persians or G reeks who lived and died under the very v 1 1 1 . 6 . 2 VESTER , CAME NAE 9 s un that rose over my visible Norwood h ills . w And in this narro , but sure, truth , to

Byron , as already to me , it appeared that

L . ove was a transient thing , and Death

H e a dreadful one . did not attempt to

’ c onsole me for Jessie s death , by saying she

’ was happier in Heaven ; or for Charles s , by saying it was a Providential dispensation

H e to me on Earth . did not tell me t hat war was a j ust price for th e glory of

c aptains , or that the National command of O f m urder diminished its guilt . all things within range of human thought he felt the

facts , and discerned the natures with accurate j ustice .

a But even all this he might h ve done,

and yet been no master of mine , had not

h e sympathized with me in reverent love

o f beauty , and indignant recoil from ugli

n ess . The witch of the Staubbach in her rainbow was a greatly more pleasant vision

’ than Shakespeare s , like a rat without 2 0 VI I I E 7 . V STER , CAM ENAE .

’ B urns s a tail , or , in her cutty sark . — The sea king Con rad had an immediate

’ advantage with me over Coleridge s long ,

n lank , brown , and ancient, mari er ; and

t h ave whatever Pope migh gracefully said , or honestly felt of Windsor woods and

' s treams was n , mere tinkli g cymbal to me ,

’ compared with Byron s lo ve of Lachin - y

Gair .

I must pause here , in tracing the sources

in ﬂ u en ce r of his over me, lest the reade should mistake the analysis which I am n ow able to give them , for a description of the feelings possible to me at ﬁfte en ;

Most of these , however , were assuredly within the knot of my unfolding mind as the saffron of the crocus yet ben eath — the earth ; and Byron though he could not teach me to love mountains or sea

1 ﬁrs t more than did in childhood , animated them . for me with the sense

H e of real human nobleness and grief. taught me the meaning of Chillon and of

' 2 2 7 VI II . VESTER , CAM E NAE . to the symmetrical clauses of Pope ’ s logical

of metre, and to the balanced strophes classic and Hebrew verse . But though I l fo lowed his manner instantly in - what

o wn verses I wrote for my amusement , , my respect for the structural , as Opposed to ﬂuent, force of the classic measures, supported as it was partly by Byron ’ s con

h is tempt for own work , and partly by my own architect ’ s instinct for ‘ the prin

’ ci le p of the pyramid , made me long

to endeavour, in forming my prose style , keep the cadences of Pope and Johnson

’ O f s for all serious statement . Johnson inﬂ ue nce on me I h ave to give account in the last chapter of this volume ; mean

of time, I must get back to the days

— e mere rivulet singing, in my poor littl watercress life . I had a sharp attack of pleurisy in

’ n the spri g of 3 5 , which gave me much gasping pain , and put me in some danger

w c o ur for three or four days , during hi h . . 2 VI II VESTER , CAMENAE 7 3

l . Wa s h man and old family physician , Dr , my mother, defended me against the wish of all other s cien tiﬁc people to h ave me

‘ H e bled . wants all the blood he h as

ﬁ h t ’ in him to g the illness , said the old w doctor, and brought me ell through , weak enough , however, to claim a fort

’ night s nursing and petting afterwards,

‘ during which I read the Fair Maid of

’ ‘ ’ u Perth , learned the song of Poor Lo ise,

’ Stanﬁeld s St and feasted on drawing of .

’ t Michael s Mount, engraved in the Coas ’ ’ l Scenery , and Turner s Santa Saba , Poo

th e of Bethesda , and Corinth , engraved in ’ l Bible series , lent me by Richard Fall s ittle u sister . I got an immense quantity of usef l

am learning out of those four plates , and very thankful to possess n ow the originals

of the Bethesda and Corinth .

Moreover, I planned all my proceedings

n was on the journey to Switzerla d, which

to begin the moment I was strong enough .

‘ ’ 1 shaded in cobalt a cyanometer to 2 v 1 1 1 . ; 74 VESTER , CAM ENAE measure the blue of the sky with ; bought a ruled notebook for geological observa tions , and a large quarto for architectural

s - ketches , with square rule and foot rule ingeniously fastened outside . And I deter m ined that the events and sentiments of this j ourney should be described in a poetic d iary in the style of Don Juan , artfully combined with that of Childe Harold . T wo cantos of this work were indeed — , ﬁ nish ed carrying me across France to

— ﬁ ndin Chamouni where I broke down , g that I had exhausted on the Jura all the d escriptive terms at my disposal , and that none were left for the Alps . I must try to give , in the next chapter , some useful account of the same part of the jo urney i n less exalted language .

6 . 2 7 IX . T H E COL DE LA FAUCILLE d ominant over the poplars and osiers of t h e marshy level he is traversing . Such glimpse rs probably all he will ever wish to get of them ; and I scarcely know h o w far I can make even the most s ympathetic reader understand their power

o wn over my life . The country town in which they are — ~ central , once , like Croyland , a mere

’ ’ m onk s and peasant s refuge (s o for some time called —among the swamps

6 0 of Somme , received about the year 5

‘ ’ —‘ ’ the name of Abbatis Villa, Abbot s

' ’ 1 : ford , had like to have written house

and Village , I suppose we may rightly — f say , as the chie dependence of the great

St monastery founded by . Riquier at his

ﬁve native place , on the hillside miles

e ast of the present town . Concerning

r w hich saint I translate from the Dict e

ues d es E ccle sq Sciences , what it may

perhaps be well for the reader, in present

p olitical junctures, to remember for more 1X . T H E C O L D E L A FAUCILLE . 2 77 weighty reasons than any arising out of such interest as he may take in my

n poor little nasce t personality .

St . Rich arius Riquier, in Latin Sanctus ,

C en tula two born in the Village of , at leagues from Abbeville, was so touched by the piety of two holy priests of

Ireland , whom he had hospitably received ,

“ ” that he also embraced la penitence .

Being ordained priest , he devoted himself

n to preaching , and so passed into E gland .

Then , returning into Ponthieu , he became , ’ l by God s help, powerfu in work and word in leading the people to repentance .

H e preached at the court of Dagobert ,

’ and , a little while after that prince s death , founded the mon astery which bore his

- name , and another, called Forest Moutier, in the wood of Crecy , where he ended

’ n his life and pen ite ce . I h nd further in th e Ecclesiastical History of in 1 6 6 Abbeville , published 4 at Paris

‘ n St . s by Francois Pelica , Rue Jacque , 2 8 7 IX . TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE .

’ ’ l en s ei ne du St a g Pelican , that . Riquier

St was himself of royal blood , that .

An ilber t g , the seventh abbot , had married Charlemagne ’ s second daughter Bertha

‘ ’ qui se ren dit aussi Religieuse de l ordre

’ de Saint Benoist . Louis , the eleventh

was - abbot , cousin german to Charles the

’ f An ilbert s Bald ; the twel th was St. g ’ n son , Charlemagne s gra dson . Raoul , the

was thirteenth abbot, the brother of the

Empress Judith ; and Carloman, the six h teent . , was the son of Charles the Bald i L fting again your eyes , good reader,

as the train gets to its speed , you may see gleaming opposite on the hillside — the white Village and its abbey, not,

indeed , the walls of the home of these

princes and princesses , (afterwards again

and again ruined , ) but the still beautiful abbey built on their foundations by the S monks of t . Maur . In the year when the above quoted history of Abbeville was written (say

2 80 1 co 1. . x . TH E DE LA FAUCILLE

’ ’ it n town s mark on . Moreover, the tow contained , besides the great church of

St Wulfran . , thirteen parish churches , six

ﬁ ve monasteries , eight nunneries , and

am hospitals , among which churches I

St especially bound to name that of .

George , begun by our own Edward in

1 6 8 r o th 3 , on the of January ; trans

‘ ferred and reconsecrated in 1 4 69 by th e

and Bishop of Bethlehem, enlarged by

‘ th e 1 6 Marguilliers in 5 3 , because the congregation had so increased that num bers had to remain outside on days of

’ solemnity . These recon structions took place with so great ease and rapidity at Abbeville , owing partly to the number of its

n unanimous workme , partly to the easily workable quality of the stone they used , and partly to the uncertainty of a fo unda

n ow tion always on piles , that there is scarce vestige left o f any building prior lf ﬁf ee h St . Wu ran to the t n t century . . co r. 2 8 1 IX TH E DE LA FAUCILLE .

St . h itself, with Riquier, and all t at m h re ain of the parish churc es (four only ,

n ow St W lfr . u an , I believe , besides ), are

fl — s of the same amboyant Gothic, wall and towers alike coeval with the gabled

timber houses of which the busier streets chieﬂ ﬁ rs t saw y consisted when I them .

I must here , in advance, tell the general

reader that there have been , in sum ,

’ : n three centres of my life s thought Roue ,

at Geneva , and Pisa . All that I did

- Venice was bye work, because her history

no t had been falsely written before , and even by any of her own people understood ; and because, in the world of painting,

Tin toret n was Virtually u seen , Veronese unfelt , Carpaccio not so much as named, when I began to study them ; somethi n g also was due to my love of glidin g about

n n and in gondolas . But Roue , Ge eva,

I n Pisa have been tutresses of all k ow,

th e and were mistresses of all I did , from

ﬁ rst moments I entered their gates . 8 2 2 1 . x TH E CO L DE LA FAUCILLE .

In this journey of 1 83 5 I ﬁ rs t saw — Rouen and Venice Pisa not till 1 84 0 ; nor could I understand the full power of

any of those great scenes till much later .

But for Abbeville , which is the preface

an d interpretation of Rouen , I was ready

o n th that 5 of June , and felt that here was entrance for me into immediately h ealthy labour and j oy . For here I saw that art (of its local k ind), religion , and present human life ,

were yet in perfect harmony . There were no dead six days and dismal seventh in those sculptured churches ; there was no

m e ew beadle to lock out of them , or p

in s hutter to shut me . I might haunt

them , fancying myself a ghost ; peep round

t heir pillars , like Rob Roy ; kneel in them , m and scandalize nobody ; draw in the , and

disturb none . Outside , the faithful old

l r town gathered itse f, and nestled unde their buttresses like a brood beneath the

’ u mother s wings ; the q iet, uninjurious aris

2 8 I 4 X . TH E COL DE LA FAU CILLE .

its place , and order, and recognised function , unfailing , unenlarging , for centuries . Round all , the breezy ramparts , with their long waving avenues ; through all , in variously circuiting cleanness and sweetness of navig able river and active millstream , the green

- chalk water of the Somme . My most intense happinesses have of

fo r course been among mountains . But

r cheerful , unalloyed , unwea ying pleasure , the getting in sight of Abbeville on a

ﬁne in summer afternoon , jumping out

’ l E uro e the courtyard of the Hotel de p ,

s ee t and rushing down the street to S .

" Wulfran again before the sun was 011

t the towers , are things to cherish the pas — for , to the end . O f Rouen , and its Cathedral , my

be saying remains yet to be said, if days

‘ ’

us . given me , in Our Fathers have told

The sight of them , and following journey

ns up the Seine to Paris , then to Soisso

f th e and Rheims , determined , as a oresaid, ' . 2 IX THE COL DE LA FAUCILLE . 85

ﬁ rs t - centre and circle of future life work .

—le— Beyond Rheims , at Bar Duc , I was brought again within the greater radius of

m was the Alps , and y father kind enough

o to g down by Plombieres to Dijon , that I might approach them by the straightest

pass of Jura . The reader must pardon my relating so much as I think he may care to

1 8 r hear of this journey of 3 5 , ather as

w ed what to happen , than as limitable to that date ; for it is extremely difﬁ cult for me n o w to separate the circumstances of any one j ourney from those of s ubs e

we quent days , in which stayed at the

n same in s , with variation only from the

s aw blue room to the green , the same

sights, and rejoiced the more in every

— ne w pleasure that it was not .

‘ And th is latter part of the road from

Paris to Geneva, beautiful without being

terriﬁc the least or pathetic, but in the

most lovable and cheerful way, became 2 86 IX . TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE . afterwards so dear and so domestic to me, that I will not attempt here to

i it check my goss p of . We used always to drive out of the yard of La Cloche at Dijon in early m — orning seven , after joyful breakfast at

- half past six . The small saloon on the ﬁ rst ﬂoor to the front had a bedroom a it cross the passage at the west end of , whose windows commanded the cathedral towers over a low roof on the opposite

s . ide of the street This was always mine, and its bed was in an alcove at the back , separated only by a lath partition from an extremely narrow passage leading from the A ’ outer gallery to nne s room . It was a delight for Anne to which I think she

looked forward all across France , to open

a little hidden door from this passage, at the back of the alcove exactly above my

— or pillow, and surprise wake , me in the

morning . I think I only remember once starting

2 88 I X . TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE .

they ' were—the long blue surges of them

’ e e coul d fading as far as y see to the south ,

- more abruptly near to the north east, where

the bold outlier, almost island , of them ,

rises like a precipitous Wrekin , above Salins .

“ n ew Beyond Dole , a wildness comes into

n chieﬂ the more u dulating country , notable y for its clay—built cottages with enormously

high thatched gables of roof. Strange , that I never inquired into the special reason of

that form , nor looked into a single cottage

to see . the mode of its inhabitation !

The Village , or rural town , of Poligny , clustered out of well - built old stone h ouses , with gardens and orchards ; and gathering at the midst of it into some

pretence or manner of a street, straggles along the roots of Jura at the opening o f a little valley , which in Yorkshire or D erbyshire limestone would have been a ff gorge between nodding cli s , with a pretty

in pattering stream at the bottom but,

J ura is a far retiring theatre of rising . 2 8 IX TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE . 9

w ﬁ eld terraces , ith bits of and garden getting foot on them at various heights ; a spiry convent in its hollow, and well built little nests of husbandry—building set in corners of meadow , and on j uts of rock ;

k of m 11 no stream , to spea , nor springs , nor the smallest conceivable reason for its

it being there , but that God made .

‘ ’ — Far retiring , I said, perhaps a mile

into the hills from the outer plain , by

half a mile across , permitting the main road from Paris to Geneva to serpentine and zigzag capriciously up the cliff terraces

n ﬁ n din with innocent engineeri g , g itself every n ow and then where it had n o

notion of getting to , and looking , in a

circumﬂex was of puzzled level , where it — to go next ; retrospect of th e plain of Burgundy enlarging un der its backward

of sweeps , till at last, under a broken bit

ﬁnal steep crag , it got quite up the side ,

and out over the edge of the ravine, where said ravine closes as unreason ably 2 0 1X T H E C O L D E L A 9 . FAUCI L LE .

and as it had opened, the surprised tra

ﬁnds veller himself, magically as if he

n ew were Jack of the Beanstalk, in a

plain of an upper world . A world of level

rock, breaking at the surface into yellow

soil , capable of scanty , but healthy , turf, and sprinkled copse and thicket ; with here

and there , beyond , a blue surge of pines ,

and over those, if the evening or morning

were clear, always one small bright silvery

likeness of a cloud . These ﬁrs t tracts of Jura differ in many pleasant ways from the limestone levels

round Ingleborough , which are their

English types . The Yorkshire moors are

mostly by a hundred or two feet higher, and exposed to drift of rain under violent, nearly constant , wind . They break into

ﬁ elds wide of loose blocks , and rugged

‘ slopes of shale ; and are mixed with sands and clay from the millstone grit, which nourish rank grass , and lodge in occasional morass : the wild winds als o

2 2 co r. 9 IX . TH E DE LA FAUCILL E .

ﬂow n where they will after the ext shower, an a d a tricklet here t . the bottom of a

it crag , or a tinkle there from the top of , is always making one think whether this

is one of the sources of Aire , or rootlets

o f Ribble , or beginnings of Bolton Strid, o r threads of silver which are to be spun

into Tees .

nor But no whisper, murmur , nor

patter, nor song , of streamlet disturbs the

e nchanted silence of open Jura . The rain

c ff ﬂ oats loud clasps her cli s , and along her

ﬁelds ; it passes , and in an hour the rocks

de w are dry, and only beads of left in — the Alchemilla leaves , but of rivulet , or b — — rook , no vestige yesterday , or to day , or

- ﬁ ure t o morrow . Through unseen s s s and ﬁlmy crannies the waters of cliff and plain

have alike Vanished , only far down in the d epths of the main valley glides the strong

r . iver, unconscious of change One is taught thus much for one ’ s earliest

lesson , in the two stages from Poligny to 1X . T H E C O L D E L A FAUCILLE . 2 9 3

Champagnole, level over the absolutely

- crisp turf and sun bright rock , without so much water anywhere as a cress could grow in wa in — , or a tadpole g his tail , and then ,

n by a zigzag of shady road , formi g the Park and Boulevard of the wistful little

n n Village, dow to the si gle arched bridge

n that leaps the Ain , which pauses under eath

in m agniﬁcen t pools of clear pale green :

th e green of spring leaves ; then clashes in to foam, half weir, half natural cascade, and into a co nfused race of currents beneath hollow overhanging of crag festooned with

n leafage . The only marvel is , to a yone

n k owing Jura structure , that rivers should be Visible anywhere at all , and that the rocks should be consistent enough to carry them in open air through the great valleys , without perpetual ‘ pertes ’ like that of the

Rhone . Below the Lac de Joux the Orbe

n thus loses itself indeed , reappearing seve hundred feet ! beneath in a scene of which

Six un re an d e Frenc ee . aus s ure 8 . h d d ighty h f t S , 3 5 2 94 IX . TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE . I permit myself to quote my Papa

’ Saussure s description . A semicircular rock at least two d hundre feet high , composed of great hori

z on tal rocks hewn vertical , and divided ! by ranks of pine which grow on their

projecting ledges , closes to the west the

Valorbe valley of . Mountains yet more

elevated and covered with forests , form a i circuit round th s rock , which opens

only to give passage to the Orbe , whose

source is at its foot . Its waters , of a

ﬂow ﬁ rst perfect limpidity , at with a majestic tranquillity upon a bed tapestried with beautiful green moss (Fontinalis

an ti ret‘ica py ), but soon , drawn into a steep

slope , the thread of the current breaks itself in ‘ foam against the rocks which

occupy the middle of its bed , while the

ﬂowin borders , less agitated , g always on

off their green ground , set the whiteness of the midst of the river ; and thus it

’ ’ a és a ic r o s et ent ec u ee . T ill p , p

2 6 c0 1 . 9 IX . TH E DE LA FAUCILLE . to rise to the ledge of its outlet from a deeper interior pool . The old Hotel de la Poste at Cham pagnol e stood j ust above the bridge of

’ Ain , opposite the town , where the road got level again as it darted away towards

1 Geneva . I think the year 84 2 was the ﬁ rs t in which we lengthened the day from Dijon by the two stages beyond

Poligny ; but afterwards , the Hotel de la Poste at Champagnole became a kind of

us : home to going out , we had so much delight there , and coming home , so many

thoughts , that a great space of life seemed

a to be passed in its peace . No one w s ever in the house but ourselves ; if a

s o family stopped every third day or , it was enough to maintain the inn , which ,

own besides , had its farm ; and those

a who did stop , rushed away for Genev

in We early the morning . , who were

to sleep again at Morez , were in no hurry ; and in returning always left Geneva . 2 IX TH E COL DE LA FAUCILLE . 9 7

on Friday , to get the Sunday at Cham

a nole p g .

But my o wn great joy was in the early

h ad m June evening , when we arrived fro

an d Dij on , I got out after the quickly dressed trout and cutlet for the ﬁ rst walk on rock and under pine . With all my To ry prejudice (I mean principle), I have to confess that one great — joy of Swiss above all , Jurassic Swiss

' ef1ectu al no t ground to me , is in its ,

‘ liéer z merely theoretic , y. Among the

’ o greater hills , one can t always g just

— is too where one chooses , all around the — far, or too steep , one wants to get to

’ and this , and climb that, can t do either ;

o wa but in Jura one can g every y, and be happy everywhere . Generally , if there was m of time , I used to cli b the islet

on h crag to the north of the Village , whic

few there are a grey walls of ruined castle , and the yet traceable paths of its plea

’ l of sance , whence to look if the ikeness 2 8 1 9 x . TH E COL DE LA FAUCILL E .

w hite cloud were still on th e horizon . S till there, in the clear evening , and again

and again , each year more marvellous to

m e ; the derniers rochers , and calotte of O Mont Blanc . nly those ; that is to say j ust as much as may be seen over the

’ du e St Dome Gout from . Martin s . But it looks as large from Champagnole as it

h er — h e does t ef glowing in t last light like

a harvest moon . If there were not time to reach the

castle rock , at least I could get into the

e ﬁ rs t woods abov the Ain , and gather my fl Alpine owers . Again and again , I feel the duty of gratitude to the formalities

and even vulgarities of Herne Hill , for making me to feel by contrast the divine

wildness of Jura forest . Then came the morning drive into the

th e Ai n higher glen of , where the road began ﬁ rst to wind beside the falling

n h ow stream . One ever understands those winding roads steal with their tranquil slope

0 0 3 IX . TH E COL DE LA FAUCIL LE .

n intelligent of things other tha pastoral ,

- set watch making and the like , though

n n in the midst of the meadows , the ge tia d at its door, the lily of the valley wil b in the copses hard y. M y delight in these cottages , and in the sense of human industry and enj oy ment through the whole scene , was at the root of all pl eas ure in its beauty ; see the passage afterwards written in the Seven Lamps insisting on this as if it were general to human nature thus to

admire through sympathy . I have noticed

h ow since, with sorrowful accuracy , many

ﬁn d people there are who , wherever they

themselves , think only of their position . But the feeling which gave me so much

happiness , both then and through life,

‘ diﬁ bred also curiously , in its impersonal

character , from that of many even of the

best and kindest persons . In the beginning of the Carlyle—Emerson

correspondence , edited with too little com 1 . co 1. 0 1 x TH E DE LA FAUCILLE . 3

n ment by my dear frie d Charles Norton , — 1 h n d at page 1 8 this to me entirely

m y h as disputable , and to t ought, so far

undisputed , much blameable and pitiable,

’ ‘ exclamation of my master s : Not till we

can think that here and there one is

n us us thinki g of , one is loving , does t ’ his waste earth become a peopled garden .

h as My training , as the reader perhaps

enough perceived , produced in me the

M of precisely opposite sentiment . y times happiness h ad always been when 72050c was thinking of me ; and the main dis comfort and drawback to all proceedings

and designs , the attention and interference

of the publicw repres ente d by my mother

n o and the gardener . The garden was

n o t waste place to me, because I did

suppose myself an object of interest either to the ants or the bu tterﬂies ; and th e f only qualiﬁ cation of the entire delight o my evening walk at Champagnole or

h r St. Laurent was the sense that my fat e 0 2 1X . T H E C O L D E L A 3 FAU C ILLE .

wer e and mother thinking of me , and

would be frightened if I was ﬁ v e minutes

late for tea . I don ’ t mean in the least that I could have done without them . They were , to ’ f me , much more than Carlyle s wi e to

him ; and if Carlyle had written , instead

of , that he wanted Emerson to think of

him in America , that he wanted his father

, and mother to be thinking of him at

Ecclefechan , it had been well . But that the rest of the world was waste to him

i t unless he had admirers in , is a sorry state of sentiment enough ; and I am somewhat

tempted , for once, to admire the exactly

own opposite temper of my solitude . My entire delight was in observing without bein g — if myself noticed , I could have been

. was invisible , all the better I absolutely

interested in men and their ways , as I was

interested in marmots and Chamois , in tomtits l and trout . If only they would stay stil

and let me look at them , and not get into

0 I X . T H E C O L D E L A 3 4 . FAU CILLE .

w Jura , there ill be assuredly clouds on the

Alps .

It is worth notice , Saussure himself not

it having noticed , that this main pass o f Jura , unlike the great passes of the

- Alps , reaches its traverse point very nearly under the highest summit of that part f o . the chain The col , separating the s ~ ource of the Bienne , which runs down S t . to Morez and Claude , from that of the Valserine , which winds through the midst of Jura to the Rhone at Bellegarde , is a spur of the D ole itself, under whose prolonged masses the road is then carried six miles farther , ascending very slightly to the Col de la Faucille , where the chain o pens suddenly , and a sweep of the

fi ve road , traversed in minutes at a trot, opens the whole Lake of Geneva , and the chain of the Alps along a hundred miles of horizon . I have never seen that View perfectly — but once in this year 1 83 5 ; when I i x. co L TH E DE LA FAUCI LLE . 3 0 5 d w n an d re it carefully in my then fashio , have been content to look back to it as the confirmin g sequel of the fi rs t View

‘ A Sch aﬁ h aus en of the lps from . Very few in travellers , even old times , saw it at all ; tired of the long posting j ourney

from Paris , by the time they got to the col they were mo s tly thinking only of their dinners and rest at Geneva ; the

guide books said nothi n g about it ; and

though , for everybody , it was an inevitable

n task to asce d the Righi , nobody ever thought there was anything to be seen f rom the Dole . Both mountains have had enormous

infl uence on my whole life ; the Dole continually and calmly ; the Righi at sor

rowful l . interva s, as will be seen But

aucille the Col de la F , on that day of

1 8 3 5 , opened to me in distinct vision the Holy Land of my future work and

h a true home in this world . My eyes d

been opened , and my heart with them, to 0 6 . L A 3 IX TH E COL DE FAUCILLE . see and to possess royally such a kingdom ! — Far as the eye could reach that land

y and its moving or pausing waters ; Ar e , and his gates of Cluse , and his glacier

inﬁnitude fountains ; Rhone , and the of his sapphire lake, his peace beneath the narcissus meads of Vevay his cruelty beneath the promontories of Sierre . And all that rose against and melted into the s ky , of mountain and mountain snow ; and

! burn1n all that living plain , g with human

— —a gladness studded with white homes , milky way of star - dwellings cast across its sunlit blue .

0 8 X . O . 3 \ U E M TU , M EL POM E N E

learning , which might have had better

it consequence than ever came of , had the stars so pleased . I cannot, and perhaps the reader will be thankful , remember anything of the Apolline instincts under which I averred to incredu l ‘ 1 ous papa and mamma that, though could not speak , I could play upon the

’ ﬁddle I look . But even to this day, back with start s of sorrow to a lost opp o r tu n i t w y of sho ing what was in me , of that manner of genius , on the occasion of a grand military dinner in the state room of the Sussex , at Tunbridge Wells ; where , when I was something about eight or nine years old , we were staying in an unadventurous manner, enj oying the pan tiles, the common , the sight, if not the taste , of the lovely fountain , and drives to the High Rocks . After the military dinner there was military music, and by connivance of waiters , Anne and I got

in u . , somehow, mixed p with the dessert x. ( I E M 0 Q TU , MELPOMEN E . 3 9

I believe I was rather a pretty boy then , and dressed in a not wholly civilian

manner, in a sort of laced and buttoned

as surtout . My mind w extremely set on watching the instrumental manoeuvres of

— but the band , with admiration of all ,

burning envy of the drummer . The colonel took notice of my rapt

attention , and sent an ensign to bring, I me round to him ; and after getting ,

th e know not how, at my mind in

1 o th e matter, told me might g and ask drummer to give me his lovely round

was headed sticks , and he would . I in two i t minds to do , having good con

ﬁden ce in my powers of keeping time . — But the dismal shyness conquered z I shook my head woefully , and my musical career was blighted . No one will ever know what I could then have brought if out of that drum, or ( my father had perchance taken me to Spain) out of a tambourine . 1 0 X U M 3 . Q E TU , M E LPOM E N E .

My mother, busy in graver matters , h ad never cultivated the little sh e had b een taught of music , though her natural s ensibility to it was great . Mrs . Richard Gray used sometimes to play gracefully to me , but if ever she struck a false

ﬁ n ers note , her husband used to put his g

h is n in ears , and da ce about the room ,

‘ ’ e 0 ! xclaiming , Mary, Mary dear and so

o n r extinguish her . Our w Perth Ma y

- played dutifully her scales, and little more ; bu t m un con I got useful help , al ost

s cio usl y, from a family of young people

wh o ought , if my chronology had been

s ff ystematic , to have been a ectionately

s poken of long ago . In above describing my father ’ s counting

house , I said the door was opened by

a latch pulled by the head clerk . This

o r head clerk , , putting it more modestly,

two topmost of clerks , Henry Watson , was a person of much import in my father ’ s 1 life and mine ; import which , per

1 2 X . . 3 Q U E M TU , M E LPOM E N E m erchant ’ s clerks are apt to hope they

s may at least become partner , if not

’ successors . Also , Friedrich s clerks were absolutely ﬁ t for t/zeir business ; but my

’ father s clerks were , in many ways , utterly unfit for theirs O f which u nfi tness my f ather greatly complaining , nevertheless by n o means bestirred himself to fin d fi tte r

‘ o H e - s en d H e nr W nes . used to y atson on

u b siness tours , and assure him afterwards that he had done more harm than good h e would n ow and then leave Henry

Ritchie to write a business letter ; and, I

ﬁn d think, with some satisfaction that it

d two was nee ful afterwards to write , him

it self, in correction of . There was scarcely a day when he did not come home in some irritation at something that one or o ther of them had done , or not done .

But they stayed with him till his death .

O f M r i the second in command , . R tchie , I will say what is needful in another

conﬁden ce place ; but the clerk of , Henry X . T U 1 Q U EM , MELPOMEN E . 3 3

Watson , has already been left unnoticed

H e too long . was , I believe, the principal support of a widowed mother and three

- u grown p sisters , amiable , well educated ,

n and fairly se sible women , all of them ; reﬁned beyond the average tone of their

— s position , and desirou , not vulgarly, of keeping themselves in the upper - edge circle of the middle class . Not vulgarly, I say, as caring merely to have carriages stopping at their door, but with real sense of the

z} good that in good London society , in

’ London society s way . They liked , as they

’ own h s did not drop their , to talk with people who did not drop th eirs ; to hear

a what w s going on in polite circles ; and .

’ entr ee n to have to a pleasa t dance , or rightly given concert . Being themselves both good and pleasing musicians , ( the

n qualities are not united in all musicia s , ) this was not difﬁ cult for them ; never th el ess it meant necessarily having a house

in a street of tone, near the Park, and 1 X J E M . 3 4 . Q TU , M ELPOM E N E

v being nicely dressed , and gi ing now and

O n then a little reception themselves .

the whole , it meant the total absorption

’ n of Henry s salary , and of the earni gs , in

oﬁi cial o c some , or otherwise plumaged

cu ations two v p , of brothers besides , Da id

n ow and William . The latter , I think

it was — of , a West End wine merchant ,

- supplying the nobility with Clos Vougeot,

di n iﬁ e dl h Hochheimer, g y still C ampagne , and other nectareous drinks , of which the

ﬁlls bottom up half the bottle , and which are only to be had out of the cellars of

Grand Dukes and Counts of the Empire .

The family lived, to the edge of their

: means , not too narrowly the young ladies enjoyed themselves , studied German and at that ti me it was thought very ﬁ ne and poetical to study German ; sang extremely well , gracefully and easily ; had good taste in dress , the better for being a little matronly and old - fashioned and the whole family tho u ght themselves

1 6 M x ( E . 3 . w TU , M ELPOM E N E

berwell , was a degradation and disgrace to everybody connected with the business ' and that Hen ry should be obliged eve ry morning to take omnib us into the eastern

City, and work within scent of Billings

s gate , instead of walking elegantly acros

’ a t Picc dilly to an o fﬁ ce in S . James s

w as Street, alike inj urious to him , and disparaging to my father ’ s taste and know

ledge of the world . Also, to the feminine

circle, my mother was a singular, and sor

ro wfull y intractable , phenomenon . Taking

herself no interest in German studies , and

being little curious as to the events , and

little respectful to the opinions , of Mayfair,

she was apt to look with some severity ,

perhaps a tinge of jealousy , on what she thought pretentious in the accomplish ff ments , or a ected in the manners, of the

: young people while they , on the other

’ hand , though quite sensible of my mother s worth , grateful for her good will , and in time really attached to her, were not X . ( I E M T U 1 Q , M EL POMEN E . 3 7 d isposed to pay much attention to the opinions of a woma n who knew only h er o wn language ; and were more restive th an responsive under kindnesses which

frequently took the form of advice .

ff in irreco n cil These di erences feeling ,

a ble though they were, did not hinder the growth of consistently pleasant and sincerely affectionate relations between my mother

and the young housewives . With what

best of girl nature was in them , Fanny,

Helen , and foolishest, cleverest little Juliet ,

e in n njoyed , spri g time, exchanging for a d ay or two the dusty dignity of their street o f tone in Mayfair for the lilacs and labur

n um s — : of Herne hill and held themselves ,

with their brother Henry, always ready

the hill ’ s hospitality to some respected

c n orrespondent of the House , and si g to

n e w u s the prettiest airs from the opera, with a due foundation and tonic inter

mixture of classical German . 1 8 X 3 . Q U E M TU , M ELPOM E N E .

Henry h ad a singularly beautiful tenor voice ; and the three sisters, though not , any one of them , of special power, sang

s ufﬁ cien t their parts with precision , with

n i telligent taste , and with the pretty unison

wa of sisterly voices . In this y, from early

I a childhood, was accustomed to hear great range of good music completely and rightly rendered , without breakings down ,

‘ missin s a11ectati0n s o r g out, of manner, vulgar prominence of execution . Had the quartette sung me English glees , or Scotch ballads , or British salt water ones , or had any one of the girls had gift enough to render higher music with its proper splen

to dour, I might easily have been led spare some time from my maps and mineralogy for attentive listening . As it was scien tiﬁc , the German compositions

‘ were simply tiresome to me , and the i pretty modulations of Italian , wh ch I

of understood no syllable , pleasant only i as the trills of the blackb rds , who often

2 0 X ( E M 3 . w TU , M E LPOM E N E .

girls and a delightful old French gentle

M r R ‘ man , . adell , played afterwards at la

’ toilette de Madame with me ; only I couldn ’ t remember whether I was the necklace or the garters ; and then Clotilde and C ecile played les Echos and other fas — ’ cinations - of dance melody , only I couldn t dance ; and at last Elise had to take pity

on me as above described . But the best,

if not the largest, part of the conversa tion among the elders was of the recent death of Bellini , the sorrow of all Paris for him, and the power with which his

’ ‘ I Puritani was being rendered by the reigning four great singers for whom it was written . It puzzles me that I have no recol lection of any ﬁ rs t sight and hearing of an opera . Not even , for that matter, of

ﬁ rs t my going to a theatre , though I was full twelve , before being taken ; and

was n afterwards , it a matter of inte se rapture , of a common sort, to be taken X J M . ( E . 2 1 Q TU , M ELPO ME NE 3

to a pantomime . And I greatly enjoy — theatre to this day it is one of the pleasures that have least worn out ; yet , while I remember Friar ’ s Crag at Der wen twate r when I was four years old, and

r ﬁve the cou tyard of our Paris inn at ,

am I have no memory whatever, and a

h ave ﬁ rs t little proud to none , of my theatre . To be taken now at Paris to the feebly dramatic ‘ Puritani ’ was no great j oy to me ; but I then heard, and it will i always be a rare, and only once or tw ce in a century possible , thing to hear, four i great mus cians, all rightly to be called of genius , singing together , with sincere desire to assist each other , not eclipse ;

own and to exhibit, not only their power

of singing , but the beauty of the music

they sang . Still more fortunately it happened that a woman of faultles s genius led the fol

lowing dances, Taglioni ; a person of the

highest natural faculties , and stainlessly 2 2 X ( T U 3 . LU E M , M E LPOM E N E . s imple character, gathered with sincerest

ardour and reverence into her art . My

mother, though she allowed me without serious remonstrance to be taken to the

theatre by my father, had the strictest

Puritan prej udice against the stage ; yet e njoyed it so much that I think she felt the s acriﬁ ce she made in n o t going with u s to be a sort of price accepted by the laws of virtue for what was sinful in her m concession to y father and me . She

went , however , to hear and see this group

o f players , renowned , without any rivals ,

r — through all the cities of Eu ope ; and , s trange and pretty to say , her instinct of

the innocence , beauty, and wonder, in

a r every motion of the Gr ce of her centu y,

was so strong , that from that time forth

o my mother would always , at a word, g

with us to see Taglioni .

Afterwards , a season did not pass with

out my hearing twice or thrice , at least, those four singers ; and I learned the

2 X ( E M 3 4 . w TU , M ELPOM E N E .

M r . Marshall , an extremely simple, good

- natured, and good humoured person , by whose encouragement I was brought to

r the point of t ying to learn to sing , Come mai posso Vivere se Rosina n on

’ ’ m ascolta two , and to play the lines of

‘ ’ prelude to the A te o cara , and what notes I could manage to read of accom paniments to other songs of similarly tender purport . In which , though never even getting so far as to read with ease,

ﬁn e I nevertheless , between my rhythmic

’ ear, and true lover s sentiment , got to understand some principles of musical art, which I shall perhaps be able to enforce

beneﬁt with on the musical public mind,

- ﬁ rs t even to day , if only I can get done with this autobiography . What the furrow at Christ Church was

to be like, or where to lead , none of my people seem at this time to have been

thinking . My mother , watching the natu

ralis tic d and metho ic bent of me , was , I X . . 2 QUE M TU , M ELPOME NE 3 5

suppose , tranquil in the thought of my

n becoming another White of Selbor e , or

Wakeﬁ eld Wh is Vicar of , victorious in to nian and every other controversy . My father perhaps conceived more cometic

r or meteoric career for me, but neithe of them put the matter seriously in hand , however deeply laid up in heart : and I was allowed without remonstrance to go on measuring the blue of the sky , and 1 watching the ﬂight of the clouds , till had forgotten most of the Latin 1 ever

’ Anacreon s knew, and all the Greek , except ode to the rose . Some little e110 rt was made to pull me together in 1 83 6 by sendin g me to hear

’ ’ M r . Dale s lectures at King s College ,

M r where I explained to . Dale , on meet ing him one day in the court of entrance , that porticoes should not be carried on the f top of arches ; and considered mysel exalted because 1 went in at the same door with boys wh o had square caps M 6 X ( E . 2 . 3 w TU , M EL POM E N E o n . The lectures were on early English l 1 iterature , of which , though had never r ead a word of any before Pope , I thought myself already a much better

M r j udg e than . Dale . His quotation of “ Knut the king came sailing by stayed with me ; and I think that was about all

I learnt during the summer . For, as my a h ave it dverse stars would , that year, my

’ f M r D omec ather s partner, . q, thought it might for once be expedient that he s hould himself pay a complimentary round o f visits to his British customers, and asked if meanwhile he might leave his daughters at Herne Hill to see the lions at the

on H o e . w w Tower, and so got them all into Herne Hill corners and cupboards would be inexplicable but with a plan of the three stories ! The arrangements were

’ ’ half Noah s ark , half Doll s house , but

in : we got them all Clotilde , a graceful

o - ﬁfteen e val faced blonde of ; C cile, a dark,

ﬁ nel - - y browed , beautifully featured girl of

8 X U 2 . M 3 Q E TU , M E L POM E N E . s fl tars, oating on a sudden into my obscure

ﬁ rm amen t of London suburb . How my parents could allow their young novice to be cast into the ﬁ ery furnace of th e outer world in this helpless man ner th e reader may wonder, and only the Fates

' but th ere was know ; this excuse for them , that they had never seen me the least interested or anxious about girls—never caring to stay in the promenades at Chel tenham or Bath , or on the parade at

D over ; on the contrary , growling and

was 0 11 mewing if I ever kept there , and to the sea or the ﬁ elds the moment I got leave ; and they had educated me in such extremely orthodox English Toryism and Evangelicalism that they could not con ce ive s cien tiﬁc their , religious , and George the Third revering youth , wavering in his constitutional balance towards French

mid n Catholics . And I had never anythi g about the Champs Elys ées ! Virtually con vent - bred more closely than the maids X . O . 2 \ UE M TU , MELPOME NE 3 9

themselves, without a single sisterly or cousinly a11e cti on for refuge or lightning rod, and having no athletic skill or pleasure

to check my dreaming , I was thrown ,

u nacco bound hand and foot , in my m

lish ed ﬁ er p simplicity , into the y furnace ,

ﬁer -wh o or y cross , of these four girls , of course reduced me to a mere heap of h w ite ashes in four days . Four days , at the most, it took to reduce me to ashes, but the Mercredi des cendres lasted four

years . Anything more comic in the extern als

it of , anything more tragic in the essence , could not have been invented by the skil

n fullest desig er in either kind . In my social behaviour and mind I was a curious

l r dd es M . M r . T ra combination of , Toots ,

ﬁdelit M r . and . Winkle I had the real y

- r Traddles M . and single mindedness of ,

M r with the conversational abilities of .

M r . Toots , and the heroic ambition of Winkle —all these illuminated by imagi 0 X . O 3 3 \ U E M TU , M ELPOM E N E .

’ n M r C ﬁel . o er d s ﬁ rs t natio like pp , at his

Norwood dinner .

h er Clotilde (Adele Clotilde in full , but sisters called her Clotilde , after the queen

n 1 t sai t , and I Adele, because rhymed to shell , spell , and knell) was only made more resplendent by the circlet of her sisters ’ beauty ; while my own shyness and u npre s entabl enes s r s ti11e n ed were farthe , or rather sanded , by a patriotic and Protestant con

c c it , which was tempered neither by w politeness nor sympathy ; so that, hile in company I sate jealously miserable like

ﬁsh in a stock ( truth , I imagine , looking like nothing so much as a skate in an aquarium trying to get up the glass), on — any blessed occasion of téte - a téte 1 en

deavo ured - to entertain my Spanish born ,

- - Paris bred, and Catholic hearted mistress with my own Views upon the subjects of

the Spanish Armada, the Battle of Water

loo, and the doctrine of Transubstantiation . To these modes of recommending my

2 X U M 3 3 . Q E TU , M E LPOM EN E .

her departure . This letter, either Elise or Caroline wrote to tell me she had really ‘ d read , and laughe immensely at the French

’ of . Both Caroline and Elise pitied me a little , and did not like to say she had also laughed at the contents .

s aw The old people , meanwhile , little

M r D om ec as . . w harm in all this q, who

~ - extremely good natured , and a good j udge

of character , rather liked me , because he s aw - that I was good natured also , and had

some seedling brains , which would come

up in time : in the interests of the business he was perfectly ready to give me any

of his daughters I liked, who could also

be got to like me , but considered that the time was not come to talk of such

things . My father was entirely of the

same mind , besides being pleased at my getting a story printed in ‘ Friendship ’ s

’ 0 11 1 s aw n ering , glad that somethi g of

girls with good manners, and in hopes

r that if I wrote poet y about them , it X . Q U EM TU , MEL POME N E . 3 3 3

might be as good as the Hours of Idleness .

My mother, who looked upon the idea o f my marrying a Roman Catholic as too monstrous to be possible in the decrees o f Heaven , and too preposterous to be even guarded against on earth , was rather an w noyed at the hole business , as she would have been if one of her chimneys

h ad had begun smoking , but not the s ﬁre lightest notion her house was on .

Sh e s aw more , however, than my father,

n f i to the depth of the eeling, but did not , d in her motherly ten erness , like to grieve

it me by any serious check to . She hoped ,

D om ec s when the q went back to Paris , w e m h ight see no more of them , and t at Adele ’ s influence and memory would pass — ’ away with next winter s snow .

Under these indulgent circumstances ,

i ﬁ ure b tterly ashamed of the g I had made , but yet not a whit dashed back out of my daily swelling foam of furious conceit, s upported as it was by real depth of x 3 3 4 . Q U EM TU , M E LPOM ENE .

feeling, and (note it well , good reader) by a true and glorious sense of the newly revealed miracle of human love , in its exaltation of the physical beauty of the world I had till then sought by its own —I light alone , set myself in that my seven teen th m year, in a state of ajestic imbecility ,

e r to writ a t agedy on a Venetian subj ect, in which the sorrows of my soul were to — be enshrined in immortal verse , the fair

n heroi e , Bianca, was to be endowed with the perfections of Desdemona and the

— e brightness of Juliet, and Venice and Lov were to be described, as never had been thought of before . I may note in passing ,

ﬁ rs t that on my sight of the D ucal Palace , the year before , I had deliberately announced

— it to my father and mother, and seemed

— r I to me stupidly incredulous Ma y , that meant to make such a drawing of the Ducal Palace as never had been made before . This I proceeded to perform by collecting some hasty memoranda on the

6 X . O . 3 3 \ U E M TU , M E LPOME N E

th e mathematics , for I certainly knew dif1erence between a square and cube root when I went to Oxford, and was put by my tutor into Herodotus, out of whom I immediately gathered materials enough to w rite my Scythian drinking song , in imita tion of the Giaour . The reﬂ ective reader can scarcely but have begun to doubt , by this time , the accuracy of my statement that I took no harm from Byron . B ut he need not . The particular form of expression which my folly took was indeed directed by him ; but this form was th e best it could have taken . I got better practice in English by imitating the Giaour and Bride of Abydos than I could have had under any oth er master, (the tragedy was of course Shake s p earian ! ) and the state of my mind was m ’ y mind s own fault , and that of sur rounding mischance or mismanagement ’ 6 . 1 8 not Byron s In that same year, 3 , I

took to reading Shelley also, and wasted X . Q UEM TU , M ELPOMEN E . 3 3 7 much time over the Sensitive Plant and Epipsychidion ; and I took a good deal

Mm r of harm from , in t ying to write lines like prickly and pulpous and blist

’ ‘ ered and blue ; or i t was a little lawny

’ y i le t — islet by anemone and , like mosaic

’ in y . pa en , etc ; but the state of frothy fever

1 in was , there was little good for me to

be got out of anything . The perseverance with which I tried to wade through the

ﬁ nd revolt of Islam , and out (I never

’ did, and don t know to this day) who

‘ was revolted against whom , or what ,

creditable to me ; and the Prometheus really made me understand something of

h lus 1 am fEsc . y not sure that , for what

was I to turn out, my days of ferment could have been got over much easier

at any rate , it was better than if I had

n been learning to shoot , or hu t, or smoke ,

or gamble . The entirely inscrutable thing

to me , looking back on myself, is my

total want of all reason , will , or design x E M 8 . ( 3 3 w TU , M ELPOME N E .

i n the business : I had neither the reso

lutio n win to Adele , the courage to do w ithout her, the sense to consider what

was at last to come of it all , or the grace t o think h ow disagreeable I was making m yself at the time to everybody about

m e was . There really no more capacity n or intelligence in me than in a j ust

ﬂ - u edged owlet, or just open eyed p ppy,

! disconsolate at the existence of the moon . Out of my feebly melodious complaints

to that luminary , however, I was startled by a letter to my father from Christ

w as Church , advising him that there room for my residence in the January

1 8 term of 3 7 , and that I must come up to matriculate in October of the instant 6 1 8 . year, 3

Strangely enough , my father had never e nquired into the nature and manner of i matriculat on , till he took me up to display

— h e in Oxford ; , very nearly as much a boy

I we as , for anything we knew of what

0 x. UE M T U M E LP M E . 34 Q , O E N

How far I agree with the modern f British citizen in these lo ty sentiments,

n my general writings have . enough show ; but I leave the reader to form his own opinions without any contrary comment

r of mine , on the esults of the exploded system of things in my own college life . My father did not like the word

‘ ’ m r — o ur co mone , all the less , because relationships in general were not uncom mon . Also, though himself satisfying his pride enough in being the head of th e

r sher y trade , he felt and saw in his son powers which had not their full scope in the sherry trade . His ideal of my

—now r con vic future , entirely fo med in — tion of my genius, was that I should

r ente at college into the best society , take all the prizes every year, and a double ﬁ rs t to ﬁnish with ; marry Lady Clara Vere de Vere ; write poetry as good

’ as Byron s , only pious ; preach sermons

’ Bossue t s as good as , only Protestant ; be X U . T M . 1 Q U E M , M ELPO EN E 3 4

made , at forty, Bishop of Winchester, and

ﬁft at y, Primate of England .

With all these hopes, and under all these temptations , my father was yet restrained and embarrassed in no small degree by his old and steady sense of what was becoming to his station in life and he consulted anxiously, but honestly , the Dean of Christ Church , (Gaisford , )

be and my college tutor that was to ,

M r . Walter Brown , whether a person in his position might without impropriety

- enter his son as a gentleman commoner . I did not hear the dialogues , but the old

Dean must have answered with a grunt, that my father had every right to make — d me a gentleman commoner if he like , and could pay the fees ; the tutor, more attentively laying before him the conditions

of the question , may perhaps have said ,

with courtesy, that it would be good for the college to have a reading man among

th e - gentlemen commoners , who , as a rule , 2 X ( I E M U . T P 3 4 U , M EL OM E N E . were not studiously inclined ; but he was compelled also to give my father a hint , that as far as my reading had already

was gone , it not altogether certain I could pass the entrance examination which had to be sustained by commoners . This last

was suggestion conclusive . It was not to be endured that the boy wh o had been

r b expected to car y all efore him, should

ﬁr get himself jammed in the st turnstile .

I was entered as a Gentleman - Commoner without farther debate, and remember still ,

d ﬁ rs t as if it were yesterday, the pri e of walking out of the Angel Hotel , and past

’ r Unive sity College , holding my father s

m . arm, in y velvet cap and silk gown

r r Yes , good eade , the velvet and silk

f1 r made a di e ence , not to my mother only, but to me ! Quite one of the telling and weighty points in the home debates con

r cerning this choice of He cules , had been that the commoner ’ s gown was not only

11 ﬂowin of ugly stu , but had no g lines in

x J E M U M L M E T P O E . 344 . Q , E N

for for matriculation , continue still me , at pleasure . But I remember nothing more that year ; nor anything of the ﬁrs t days

we of the next, until early in January r drove down to Oxford , only my mothe

I r and , by the beautiful Henley road, wea y a little as we changed horses for the last stage from Dorchester ; solemnized, in spite of velvet and silk , as we entered among the towe rs in the twilight ; and after one more rest under the domestic roof of the 1 Angel , found myself the next day at

ﬁ reside evening , alone, by the , entered into

o wn command of my own life , in my

P ck ter college room in e wa . XI CHAPTER .

C H URC H CH RIST CHOI R .

ﬁreside LONE , by the of the little

back room , which looked into the fl narrow lane , chie y then of stabling , I sate collecting my resolution for college life . I had not much to collect ; nor, so far as I knew, much to collect it against . 1 had about as clear understanding of my whereabouts, or foresight of my fortune , as Davie Gellatly might h ave had in my place ; with these farther inferiorities to Davie , that I could neither dance ,

was sing , nor roast eggs . There not the d slightest fear of my gambling , for I ha

an d n never touched a card , looked upo

on dice as people now do dynamite . No 2 7 6 xi . 3 4 CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

fear of my being tempted by the strange

was ? woman , for not I in love and

besides , never allowed to be out after — half past nine . No fear of my running in debt, for there were no Turners to be had in Oxford , and I cared for nothing

the w else in orld of material possession . N O fear of my breaking my neck out

’ hunting , for I couldn t have ridden a hack down the High Street ; and no fear of my ruining myself at a race , for I never had been but at one race in my life , and had not the least wish to win

’ anybody else s money .

I expected some ridicule , indeed , for

these my simple ways , but was safe against ridicule in my conceit : the only

in thing I doubted myself , and very

rightly , was the power of applying for three years to work in which I took h . ow not the slightest interest I resolved ,

an d ever , to do my parents myself as

much credit as I could, said my prayers

8 I 3 4 X . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . well enough already that its words were to be understood otherwise than I had been taught ; but the more I believed

i t . was , the less it did me any good I t all very well for Abraham to do what

- s0 1 angels bid him , would , if any angels bid m e ; but none had ever ap

eared of p to me that I knew , not even

’ an Adele , who couldn t be angel because she was a Roman Catholic .

’ Also , if I had lived in Christ s time , of course I would have gone with Him

th e oi' up to mountain , sailed with Him on the Lake of Galilee ; but that was quite another thing from going to Beresford

’ St chapel , Walworth , or . Bride s , Fleet

Street . Also , though I felt myself some h ow called to imitate Christian in the

’ ’ Pilgrim s Progress, I couldn t see that either Billiter Street and the Tower Wharf, where my father had his cellars , or the

- cherry blossomed garden at Herne Hill ,

ﬂo wers where my mother potted her , X I . CH RIST CH U RCH CHOIR . could be places I was bound to ﬂy from as in the City of Destruction . Without much reasoning on the matter , I had Virtually concluded from my general Bible reading that, never having meant or done an of y harm that I knew , I could not be in danger of hell : while I saw also that even the créme de la créme of reli gious people seemed to be in no hurry to

o O n g to heaven . the whole , it seemed

me to me, all that was required of was

o n to say my prayers , g to church , lear my lessons , obey my parents, and enjoy my dinner .

Thus minded , in the slowly granted light of the winter morning I looked out upon the View from my college windows , of Christ Church library and the smooth

P eckwater gravelled square of , vexed a little because I was not in an oriel win dow looking out on a Gothic chapel but quite unconscious of th e real con

o n th e dem nati I had fallen under, or of 0 I 3 5 X . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . loss that was involved to me in having

r and nothing but Christ Church libra y,

a gravelled square , to see out of window

d urin g th e spring - times of two years of youth .

At the moment I felt that, though d ull , it was all very grand ; and that the

was architecture , though Renaissance, bold ,

- learned , well proportioned , and variously I d . idactic In reality , might just as well

have been sent to the dungeon of Chillon ,

e xcept for the damp ; better, indeed, if I could have seen the three small trees from

the window slit, and good groining and

pavement , instead of the modern vulgar

r upholste y of my room furniture . Even the ﬁ rs t sight of college chapel

disappointed me, after the large churches

abroad ; but its narrow vaults had very

fﬁ ce di11erent o s .

O n the whole , of important places and

services for the Christian souls of England, th e choir of Christ C hurch was at that

2 3 5 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

and hand . The Norman vaults above were true English Norman ; bad and rude

we enough , but the best could do with our own wits , and no French help . The

was — inven roof true Tudor, grotesque , tiv el it y constructive , delicately carved ; , with the roof of the hall staircase , sum

’ ming the builder s skill of the ﬁftee n th

. W century The west indow , with its clumsy painting of the Adoration of the

Shepherds, a monument of the transition from window to picture which ended in Dutch pictures of the cattle without either — l shepherds or Christ, but s ti l , the best men could do of the day ; and the plain

‘ ﬁnal woodwork of the stalls represented still the last art of living England in the form of honest and comfortable carpentry .

In this choir, written so closely and con s ecutivel y with indisputable British history ,

’ met every morning a congregation repre senting the best of what B ritain had

- become, orderly , as the crew of a man X 1 . CH RIST CH U RC H CHO IR . 3 5 3

of—war r , in the goodly ship of thei

temple . Every man in his place , accord

ing to his rank, age, and learning ; every man of sense or heart there recognizing

was fulﬁlli n that he either g, or being pre

fulﬁl pared to , the gravest duties required

- of Englishmen . A well educated foreigner,

admitted to that morning service , might have learned and j udged more quickly

r and justly what the count y had been , and

be still had power to , than by months

h is of stay in court or city . There , in

stall , sat the greatest divine of England , — under his commandant niche , her — greatest scholar, among the tutors the n present Dea Liddell , and a man of curious intellectual power and simple

Virtue , Osborne Gordon . The group of

noblemen gave , in the Marquis of Kildare ,

D e sart and Earl of , Earl of Emlyn ,

i n ow Francis Charter s , Lord Wemyss , the brightest types of high race and

c n active power . Henry A la d and Charles X 1 3 54. . CH RIST CHU RCH CHO IR .

u Newton among the senior undergrad ates , and I among the freshmen , showed, if

it one had known , elements of curious

u s possibilities in coming days . None of then conscious of any need or chance

of change , least of all the stern captain , d who , with roun ed brow and glittering

r da k eye, led in his old thunderous Latin the responses of the morning prayer .

1 was For all that saw, and made to

' am think , in that cathedral choir, I most

thankful to this day . The influence on me of the next good

- liest part of the college buildings , the

—was di11eren t hall , of a and curiously mixed character . Had it only been used,

h ave as it only ought to been , for festivity

ma niﬁ cence — d and g , for the refectory aily ,

the reception of guests , the delivery of

speeches on state occasions , and the like , — the hall , like the cathedral , would have had an entirely salutary and bene

ﬁcentl 11 y solemnizing e ect on me , hallow

6 3 5 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

a an d lways , more sullen threatening as

o n the day went , he stalked with baleful e manation of Gorgonian cold from dais to

door, and door to dais, of the maj estic

t — orture chamber, vast as the great council

h n o w all of Venice , but degraded by the

m - its ean terrors , swallow like under caves , o f doleful creatures who had no counsel in

them , except how to hide their crib in ’ Of time , at each fateful Abbot s transit c I be ourse never used a crib , but I lieve the Dean would rather I had used

ﬁft y, than borne the puzzled and hope less aspect which I presen ted towards the a fternoon , over whatever I had to do .

‘ w was And as my Latin riting , I suppose, — the worst in the university, as I never by any chance knew a ﬁrs t from a s o r econd future , , even to the end of m y Oxford career , could get into my head where the Pelasgi lived , or where the

e —it Heraclida returned from , may be ima g in ed with what sort of countenance the X 1 . CH RIST CH URCH CHO IR . 3 57

Dean gave me his ﬁ rs t and second ﬁ n gers to shake at our parting , or with what comfort 1 met the inquiries of my father w and mother as to the extent to hich I was,

in college opinion , carrying all before me .

on As time went , the aspect of my college hall to me meant little more than the fear and shame of those examination days ; but even in the ﬁ rs t surprise and

ﬁn din sublimity of g myself dining there, were many reasons for the qualiﬁcation of

‘ my pleasure . The change from our front

ﬁfteen parlour at Herne Hill , some feet

by eighteen , and meat and pudding with my mother and Mary , to a hall about as big as the nave of Canterbury Cathedral , e with its extr mity lost in mist, its roof in

darkness , and its company, an innumerable , immeasurable Vision in vanishing perspective, was in itself more appalling to me than

ﬁ rs t I appetizing ; but also , from to last, had the clownish feeling of having no

business there . 8 3 5 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHOIR .

In the cathedral , however born or bred , I felt myself present by as good a right as — its bishop , nay , that in some of its lessons

w as and uses , the building less his than

mine . B ut at table, with this learned and d lor ly perspective of guests , and state of

worldly service , I had nothing to do ; my e own proper style of dining was for ver, I — felt , divided from this impassably . With

baked potatoes under the mutton , j ust out

0 11 of the oven , into the little parlour the

’ shop in Market Street, or beside a gipsy s kettle on Addington Hill (not that I had

’ ever been beside a gipsy s kettle , but often — wanted to be ); or with an oat cake and — — butter for I was always a gourmand in

’ a Scotch shepherd s cottage , to be divided

with his collie , I was myself, and in my — ’ place : but at the gentlemen commoners

’ Wolse s - table , in Cardinal y dining room ,

I was , in all sorts of ways at once , less

than myself, and in all sorts of wrong

places at once , out of my place .

6 0 3 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

joy of my companions , to ask him some

’ thing which he didn t happen to know .

But , a good while before attaining this 1 degree of public approval , had made a direct attempt to bring myself into favour

h ad able notice , which been far less suc f l ces s u . It was an institution of the college that every week the undergraduates should write

ex li an essay on a philosophical subject , p cato r y of some brief Latin text of Horace ,

Juvenal , or other accredited and pithy writer ; and , I suppose , as a sort of guarantee to the men that what they

was at wrote really looked , the essay pronounced the best was read aloud in hall on Saturday afternoon , with enforced attendance of the other undergraduates .

Here , at least , was something in which I felt that my little faculties had some scope , and both conscientiously , and with real interest in the task , I wrote my weekly essay with all the sagacity and x1 . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . 3 6 1

eloquence I possessed . And therefore ,

w as though much ﬂattered , I not sur

fe w prised , when , a weeks after coming u a p , my tutor announced to me, with

th at . I look of approval , was to read my essay in hall next Saturday .

conﬁdent Serenely , and on good grounds ,

an d in my powers of reading rightly, with a decent gravity which I felt to be becoming on this my ﬁrst occasion of public distinction , I read my essay, I l have reason to believe , not ungraceful y ; and descended from the rostrum to receive as I doubted not—the thanks of the gentlemen - commoners for this creditabl e presentment of the wisdom of that body .

ﬁ rst But poor Clara , after her ball ,

’ receiving her cousin s compliments in th e

- cloak room , was less surprised than I by my welcome from my cousins of th e

- long table . Not in envy, truly , but in

ﬁ er y disdain , varied in expression through every form an d manner of English 6 I . 3 2 X CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . l O anguage, from the lympian sarcasm of

Charteris to the level - delivered volley of d Grimston , they explaine to me that ' — ‘ I had committed grossest [ere maj erz e — against the order of gentlemen com

’ m on er s ; that no gentleman - commoner s e ssay ought ever to contain more than twelve lines , with four words in each ; and that even indulging to my folly, and c a ir e onceit, and want of f , the impropriety of writing an essay with any m it eaning in , like vulgar students , th e thoughtlessness and audacity of writing o ne that would take at least a quarter o f an hour to read , and then reading it all , might for this once be forgiven to such a greenhorn , but that Coventry wasn ’ t the word for the place I should be sent to if ever I did such a thing

am re again . I happy at least in m embering that I bore my fall from the clouds without much hurt , or even too ridiculous astonishment I at once

6 3 4 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

f - ellow creature ; and the rest of his set , ﬁ ndin g they could get a good deal out o f me in amusement without my knowing i t , and that I did not take upon myself o to, reform their manners fr m any Evan

elical g , or otherwise impertinent , point o f l View, took me up kind y ; so that ,

s o 1 in a fortnight or , had fair choice of what companions I liked, out of the whole college .

Fortu natel — y for me beyond all words , f — ortunately Henry Acland, by about a

me saw year and a half my senior, chose ; what helpless possibilities were in me , a a11e ctio natel nd took me y in hand . His rooms , next the gate on the north side o f ﬁft Canterbury, were within y yards of mine , and became to me the only place

He where I was happy . quietly showed me the manner of life of English youth of good sense, good family, and enlarged education ; we both of us already lived in elements far external to the college x1 . 6 CH RIST CHU RCH CHO IR . 3 5 quadrangle . H e told me of the plains of Troy ; a year or two afterwards I

n showed him , on his marriage jour ey, the path up the M ontanv ert ; and th e

w us friendship bet een has never changed, but by deepening , to this day .

01 n other frie ds, I had some sensible and many kind ones ; an excellent college

' on a on e tutor ; and later , for private , the entirely right - minded and accomplished scholar already named , Osborne Gordon . At the corner of the great quadrangle lived Dr . Buckland, always ready to help

—or me , , a greater favour still , to be helped by me, in diagram drawing for

n his lectures . My picture of the gra ite

T re wavas veins in Head , with a cutter

n i n weathering the poi t in a squall ,

ieldin the style of Copley F g, still , I

th e believe, forms part of resources of

M r the geological department . . Parker , then ﬁ rs t founding the Architectural S ociety , and Charles Newton , already 66 3 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

notable in his intense and curious way

of looking into things , were there to

sympathize with me , and to teach me

more accurately the study of architecture . Within eight miles were the pictures

I n of Blenheim . all ways , opportunities ,

was and privileges , it not conceivable that a youth of my age could have been placed more favourably—if only he had

had the wit to know them , and the

! r will to use them . Alas the e I stood

—o r — tottered partly irresolute , partly

: idiotic , in the midst of them nothing

that I can think of among men , or birds ,

or beasts , quite the image of me, except poor little Shepherdess Agnes ’ s picture

’ of the D uckling Astray . I count it is j ust a little to my credit

that I was not ashamed, but pleased, that my mother came to Oxford with me

to take such care of me as she could .

Through all three years of residence ,

during term time, she had lodging

68 x1 3 . CH RIS T CH URCH CHO IR . they had no mercy on me for a month f a terwards . The reader will please also note that my mother did not come to Oxford because she could not part with me , still less , because she distrusted me . She came simply that she might be at hand

d ‘ l in case of acci ent or sudden i lness .

‘ She had a lways been my physician as well as my n urse ; on several occasions her timely watchfulness had saved me from the most serious danger ; nor was

n ow her caution , as will be seen , un ustified j by the event . B ut for the fi rst two years of my college life 1 caused her no anxiety ; and my day was always happier because I could tell her at tea whatever had pleased or p rofi ted i me in t . The routine of day is perhaps worth telling . I never missed chapel ; and in

’ it winter got an hour s reading before . — - an - Breakfast at nine, half hour allowed x1 . 6 CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . 3 9

10r for it to a second, Captain Marryat with my roll and butter . College lectures till one . Lunch , with a little talk to

in anybody who cared to come , or share

o wn At s . their common with me two ,

’ Buckland or other professor s lecture .

ﬁv e Walk till , hall dinner, wine either

an d given or accepted , quiet chat over i it with the reading men , or a frolic w th those of my o wn table ; but I always got round to the High Street to my

’ mother s tea at seven , and amused myself ! in till Tom rang , and I got with a run to Canterbury gate , and settled to a

’ ﬁnal steady bit of reading till ten . I can t make out more than six hours ’ real work in the day, but that was constantly and l unﬂinchin g y given .

My Herodotean history , at any rate ,

I tr to do W ho u no tes but for the y it t ,

mus t ex a n s ake o f any n ot E nglis h reader pl i

’ ‘ f h e r e at e of th at T o m is th e n ame o t g b ll

r O xford in Ch r s Ch u rch wes er n towe . , i t t 0 X I 3 7 . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

re got well settled down into me , and

mains a greatly precious possession to this

M r day . Also my college tutor, . Walter

Brown , became somewhat loved by me , and with gentleness encouraged me into some small acquaintance with Greek

verbs . My mathematics progressed well

M r under another tutor whom I liked , . Hill ; the natural instinct in me for pure geo

it metry being keen , and my grasp of ,

u At as far as I had gone , thoro gh .

’ ’ ‘ o 8 my little g in the spring of 3 ,

the diagrams of Euclid being given me , as was customary with the Euclid exam

inatio n k paper, I handed the book bac

to the examiner, saying scornfully , I

’ ’ ‘ ﬁ ures don t want any , g , Sir . You had

’ h e better take them , replied , mildly ;

which I did, as he bid me ; but I could

then , and can still, dictate blindfold the

demonstration of any problem, with any

letters , at any of its points . I j ust scraped

w n through , and no more , ith my Lati

2 X 1 3 7 . CH RIST CH U RCH C HO IR .

’ to his o wn and all the class s astonish

ment and disgust , that I did not know

was — what a triglyph , never spoke to me with any patience again , until long after

’ St wards at . Paul s , where he received me , on an occasion of school ceremony,

a11ectio n with and respect .

Hussey was , by all except the best men of the college , felt to be a censo rio us censor ; and the manners of the college were unhappily such as to make

H e any wise censor censorious . had, by

v coun te n the j udgment of hea en , a grim ance ; and was to me accordingly, from

ﬁrs t to last, as a Christchurch Gorgon

E rinn s w or y , whose passing cast a shado on the air as well as on the gravel .

am n ow I amused , as I lo ok back , in perceiving what an aesthetic View I had

—h ow of all my tutors and companions , consistently they took to me the aspect of pictures and h o w I from the ﬁ rs t declined g1V1n g any attentio n to those X 1 . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . 3 7 3

which were not well painted enough .

My ideal of a tutor w as founded o n what Holbein or Durer had represented

or in Erasmus or Melanchthon , , even

’ M a niﬁcoes more solemnly, on Titian s g

’ Bon ifaz io s or Bishops . No presences of that kind appeared either in Tom or P eckwater ; and even Doctor Pusey (who also never spoke to me) was not in the

ﬁ ure least a picturesque or tremendous g , but only a sickly and rather ill put

wh o together English clerical gentleman , never looked one in the face , or appeared aware of the state of the weather .

own - an i My tutor was a dark eyed ,

mated , pleasant , but not in the least

impressive person , who walked with an

unconscious air of assumption , noticeable

by us juniors n o t to his advantage .

Kyn aston was ludicrously like a fat school

boy . Hussey , grim and brown as I said , h somew at lank, incapable of jest, equally

n incapable of e thusiasm ; for the rest, X 1 3 74 . CH RIST CH U RCH C HOIR .

doing his duty thoroughly , and a most estimable member of the college and

i s — un ver ity , but to me , a resident calamity

w male ﬁc far greater than I kne , whose

n fl i uence I recognize in memory only .

inall F y, the Dean himself, though

‘ ﬁ rs t venerable to me , from the , in his — evident honesty , self respect , and real power of a rough kind, was yet in his general aspect too much like the sign of the ' Red Pig which I afterwards s aw

set up in pudding raisins , with black

currants for eyes , by an imaginative grocer in Chartres fair ; and in the total bodily and ghostly presence of him was to me only a rotundly progressive terror, or sternly enthroned and niched Anathema .

There was one tutor , however, out of

wh o my sphere , reached my ideal , but — disappointed my hope , then , as perhaps

o wn his , since ; a man sorrowfully under the dominion of the Greek ci vaify/cn

H e the present D ean . was , and is ,

X 1 3 76 . CH RIS T CH U RCH CHO IR .

own my folly may be justly held , and

u to the f ll , counterbalanced by that one

piece of good fortune , of which I had

i . the w t to take advantage Dr . Buckland

h e was a Canon of the Cathedral , and ,

with his wife and family , were all

- t sensible and good natured , with originali y enough in the sense of them to give l sap and savour to the whole co lege . Originality— passing slightly into gro tes u enes s q , and a little diminishing their ef1ective power . The Doctor had too much humour ever to follow far enough the dull side of a subject . Frank was too fond of his bear cub to give attention enough to the training of the cubbish element in himself , and a day scarcely

’ passed without Mit s com mit - ting herself in some manner disapproved by the statelier college demoiselles . But all were frank , kind, and clever, Vital in the highest degree ; to me , medicinal and saving . x1 . C H UR C H I CH RIST CHO R . 3 77

n Dr . Buckla d was extremely like Sydney " Smith in his staple 01 character ; no rival

i n with him wit, but like him in humour , common sense , and benevolently cheerful

At - doctrine of Divinity . his breakfast table I met the leading scie ntiﬁ c men of the

and day , from Herschel downwards , often — intelligent and courteous foreigners , with

reﬁned whom my stutter of French , by

rec1sron Adele into some p of accent, was

sometimes useful . Every one was at

- ease and amused at that breakfast table , the menu and service of it usually

in h ave themselves interesting . I always regretted a day of unlucky engagemen t on which I missed a delicate toast of

mice ; and remembered , with delight, being waited upon one h ot summer morning by two graceful and polite little 11 wh o 0 . Carolina lizards , kept the ﬂies I have above noticed the farther an d in calculable good it was to me that Acland took me up in my ﬁ rs t and 8 3 7 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

l foo ishest days , and with pretty irony and

—or loving insight , , rather, sympathy with b what was best , and lindness to what

— y was worst in me, ga e me the good of seeing a noble young English life in its h purity , sagacity , onour, reckless daring , and happy piety ; its English pride shining

’ prettily through all , like a girl s in her

beauty . It is extremely interesting to me to contrast the Englishman ’ s silently con

is scious pride in what he , with the vexed restlessness and wretchedn ess of the h is ‘ ’ Frenchman , in thirst for gloire , to be gained by agonized e 110 1 t to become

i not something he s . One day when the Cherwell was run ning deep over one of its most slippery

weirs , question arising between Acland and

me whether it were traversable, and I declaring it too positively to be impas

a n 011 b s ble , Acland i stantly took oot and

H e sock , and walked over and back .

n i ran no risk but of a sou d duck ng ,

80 H UR H C C . 3 XI . CH RIST CHO IR

appearance of Dr . Acland from the saloon in punctilious morning dress , with the

‘ ’ announcement that breakfast was ready . To the impatient clamour of indignation

with, which his unsympathetic conduct was

‘ h e greeted, replied by pointing out that

o not a boat could g on shore , far less

it come out from , in that state of the tide , and that in the meantime , as most of them were wet , all cold , and at the best must be dragged ashore through the surf, if not swim for their lives in i t , they would be extremely prudent to

w . begin the day , as usual , ith breakfast

u The hysterics ceased, the conf sion calmed , what wits anybody had became available to them again , and not a life

a w s ultimately lost . In all this playful and proud heroism of his youth , Henry Acland delighted me as a leopard or a falcon would, without in the least a11e ctin g my own m character by his exa ple . I had been x1 . CHRIST CH URCH CHO IR . 3 8 1 too often adjured and commanded to

n take care of myself, ever to thi k of

r following him over slippe y weirs , or accompanying him in pilot boats through — white topped shoal . water ; but both in

me on art and science he could pull ,

being years ahead of me , yet glad of

my sympathy, for, till I came , he was literally alone in the university in caring

was for either . To Dr . Buckland, geology only the pleasant occupation of his own

merry life . To Henry Acland physiology was an entrusted gospel of which he was the solitary and ﬁ rs t preacher to

the heathen ; and already in his under graduate ’ s room in Canterbury he was — designing a few years later in his pro

fess io n al room in Tom quad, he was — realizing , the introduction of physiological study which has made the university

what she has now become .

’ Acland s Indeed , the curious point in

character was its early completeness . 8 x1 3 2 . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

Already in these yet boyish days , his j udgment was unerring , his aims deter

h is mined , powers developed ; and had

on he not , as time went , been bound

r to the outine of professional work , and s atisﬁ ed in the serenity, not to say a rrested by the interests , of a beautiful

home life , it is no use thinking or s aying what he might have been ; those who know him best are the most thank ful that he is what he is .

Next to Acland , but with a many

- $s th e tic feet thick wall between , in my

choice of idols , which required primarily of man or woman that they should be

comely , before I regarded any of their r farther qualities , came Francis Cha teris . I have always held Charteris the most

ideal Scotsman , and on the whole the grandest type of European Circassian race

hitherto Visible to me ; and his subtle,

e 110 rtless , inevitable , unmalicious sarcasm , and generally s ufﬁ cien t and available

8 x1 3 4 . CH RIS T CH U RCH CHO IR . of his never having made his mark in after life .

D es art C The Earl of , next to harteris , interested me most of the men at my a t ble . A youth of the same bright promise , and of kind disposition , he

t — had less natural activi y , and less being — Irish , common sense , than the Scot ; and the University made no attempt to

give him more . It . has been the pride

of recent days to equalize the position , and disguise the distinction of noble and

h ave servitor . Perhaps it might been

e11acin wiser, instead of g the distinction ,

it to reverse the manner of . In those days the happy servitor ’ s tenure of his college—room and revenue depended on

his industry, while it was the privilege of the noble to support with lavish gifts

the college , from which he expected no h return , and to buy wit sums equivalent to his dignity the privileges of rejecting i alike its instruct on and its control . It x1 . CH RIST CHU RCH CHO IR . 3 85

an d seems to me singular, little suggestive of sagacity in the common English cha racte r , that it had never occurred to either an old dean , or a young duke , that possibly the Church of England and the House of Peers might hold a dif1e ren t position in the country in years to come if the entrance examination had been made severer for the rich than the poor ; and the nobility and good breeding of a student expected to be blazoned con s is ten tl y by the shield on his seal , the tassel on his cap , the grace of his conduct, and the accuracy of his learning .

In the last respect, indeed , Eton and

Harrow boys are for ever distinguished, —whether idle or industrious in after f — li e , from youth of general England ; but h ow much of the best capacity of her n oblesse is lost by her carelessness of their university training , she may soon have more serious cause to calculate than I am willing to foretell . 86 x1 3 . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR .

I have little to record of my admired

Irish fellow - student than that he gave the supper at which my freshman ’ s initiation into the body of gentlemen commoners was to be duly and formally r tiﬁed a . Curious glances were directed to me under the ordeal of the necessary — toasts , but it had not occurred to the hospitality of my entertainers that 1 pro bably knew as much about wine as they

‘ we did . When broke up at the small

hours , I helped to carry the son of

the head of my college downstairs , and walked across P eckwater to my own

rooms , deliberating, as I went , whether there was any immediately prac ticable tri

gon om etric method of determining whether I was walking straight towards the lamp

over the door . — From this time that is to say , from about the third week after I came into

—it residence began to be recognized that ,

u11 be m or milksop though I might , I

8 8 3 XI . CH RIS T CH U RCH CHO IR .

some of them interested in my draw

two— M ing ; and one or Scott urray , for — instance , and Lord Kildare were as

punctual as I in chapel , and had some thoughts concerning college life and its

issues , which they were glad to share

with me . In this second year of resi

d in was ence , my position college thus

alike pleasant, and satisfactorily to my

: and parents , eminent I was received without demur into the Christchurch

w - society , hich had its quiet club room

at the corner of Oriel Lane, looking

St across to the beautiful gate of . Mary ’ s and on whose books were entered the names of most of the good men belonging to the upper table and

its set , who had passed through Christ

- a — = _ @ h a peh 1or th o l as t - . ten or twelve years .

—in Under these luxurious , and the ’ — world s sight honourable , conditions , my mind gradually recovering its tranquillity

and m spring , and making so e daily , x1 . CH RIST CHU RCH CHOI R . 3 89

inﬁn itesimal though , progress towards the attainment of common sense , I believe that I did harder and better work in my college reading than I can at all

n ow remember It seems ~ to me as if

n I had k own Thucydides , as I knew

’ l n 1 Homer (Pope s ), si ce could spell ;

t but the fact was , hat for a youth who had so little Greek to bless

himself with at seventeen , to know every syllable of his Thucydides at half past eighteen meant some steady sitting

it at . The perfect honesty of the

n Greek soldier, his high breedi g , his

political insight , and the scorn of constructio n with which he kn otted his meaning into a rhythmic strength that

wa writhed and wrought every y at once , all interested me i n tensely in him as a

writer while his subject, the central

y traged of all the world, the suicide

was of Greece, felt by me with a sympathy in which the best powers of 0 3 9 XI . CH RIST CH U RCH CHO IR . my heart and brain were brought up to their fullest , for my years .

I open , and lay beside me as I write , the perfectly clean and well

preserved third volume of Arnold , over h w ich I spent so much toil , and burnt with such sorrow my close - written

abstracts still dovetailed into its pages ; and read with surprised gratitude the

’ editor s ﬁnal sentence in the preface dated

H ow 1 8 Fox , Ambleside , January , 3 Not the wildest extravagance of atheistic wickedness in modern times

can go further than the sophists of

Greece went before them . Whatever

audacity can dare , and subtlety contrive , to make the words good and evil

change their meaning , has been already

tried in the days of Plato , and by his

w un eloquence , and isdom , and faith

” shaken , put to shame .

X 1 1 3 9 2 . ROSLYN CHAPEL .

‘ ’ I had lived at the Land s End, and

’ never seen any art but Prout s and his . We were very much set up at making

r his acquaintance , and then ve y happy in i t : the modestest of presidents he was ;

the simplest of painters , without a vestige

of romance , but the purest love of daily sunshine and the constant hills . Fancy

Stan ﬁeld him , while and Harding and — Roberts were grand touring in Italy , and

Sicily , and Stiria , and Bohemia, and

Illyria, and the Alps , and the Pyrenees , — and the Sierra Morena, Fielding never

crossing to Calais , but year after year

returning to Saddleback and Ben Venue ,

o r , less ambitious yet , to Sandgate and the

Sussex Downs . The drawings I made in 1 83 5 were

really interesting even to artists , and appeared promising enough to my father to j ustify him in promoting me from

’ M r Ru ncim an s . tutelage to the higher

“

- privileges of art instruction . Lessons from X 1 1 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 3 9 3 — any of the members of the Water Colour

t n Socie y cost a gui ea, and six were sup posed to have efﬁ ciency for the production

of an adequately skilled water - colour amateur . There was, of course , no question by what master they should be given ; and I know not whether papa or I most enjoyed the six h ours

’ in Newman Street : my father s intense delight in Fielding ’ s work making it a real pleasure to the painter that h e should stay chatting while I had my

’ was f if lesson . Nor my ather s talk ( he could be got to talk) unworthy any

’ painter s attention , though he never put 1 out his strength but in writing . chance in good time o n a letter from Northcote

1 8 0 u in 3 , showing how m ch value the old painter put on my father’ s j udgment of a piece of literary work which

n remains classical to this day , and is i deed

th e best piece of existing criticism founded

’ o n the principles of Sir Joshua s school x1 1 Y 3 9 4 . ROSL N CH APEL .

‘ D R SI R — I E A , received your most kind

was r r and consoling letter, yet I ve y sor y

ﬁ nd to you had been so ill , but hope

n ow you have recovered your health . The praise you are so good as to bestow on me and the Volume of Conversations gives me more pleasure than perhaps you

was apprehend, as the book published

ﬁ rs t against my consent , and , in its appearance in the magazines , totally without my knowledge . I have done all in my power to prevent its coming before the i publ c , because there are several hard and cruel opinions of persons that I would not h ave them see in a printed book ; besides that, Hazlitt, although a man of real abilities , yet had a desire to give pain to others , and has also frequently exaggerated that which I had said in conﬁde nce to him However, I thank

God that this book, which made me

tremble at its coming before the . world, 09 13 received w1 th unexpected favour to

6 x1 1 3 9 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . e ight or nine, during which Copley Fielding taught me to wash colour

s . moothly in successive tints , to shade cobalt through pink madder into yellow o chre for skies, to use a broken scraggy t re re ouch for the tops of mountains , to p s ent calm lakes by broad strips of shade with lines of light between them (usually

‘ at about th e distance of the lines of h t is print), to produce dark clouds and r ain with twelve or twenty successive washes , and to crumble burnt umber with a dry brush for foliage and foreground .

With these instructions , I succeeded in copying a drawing which Fielding made before me , some twelve inches by nine , o f T rosach s i Ben Venue and the , w th

Ach ra brown cows standing in Loch y, so much to my own satisfaction that 1 put my work up over my bedroom chimney piece the last thing at night, and woke to its contemplation in the morning with

- a rapture , mixed of self complacency and X 1 1 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 3 9 7

n n ew the se se of faculty, in which I floated

- all that day, as in a newly discovered and

strongly buoyant species of air .

‘ In a very little while , however, I foun d that this great ﬁ rs t step did not mean consistent progress at the same pace .

saw I that my washes, however careful

in or multitudinous , did not the end

’ look as smooth as Fielding s , and that my crumblings of burnt umber became uninteresting after a certain number of n repetitio s .

With still greater discouragement , I perceived the Fielding processes to be

h e inapplicable to t Alps . My scraggy touches did not to my satisfaction rep re d sent aiguilles , nor my ruled lines of sha e ,

n - the Lake of Ge eva . The water colour

n was n drawi g aba doned , with a dim under current of feeling that I had no gift for i t — h ad n , and in truth I one for colour

n —an d th e n re arrangeme t, pe cil outline turn ed to with resolute en ergy . 8 11 1 1 Y 3 9 . ROSL N CH APEL .

h I had never, up to t is time, seen a

c Turner drawing , and s arcely know whether

lay to th e to score of dulness , or prudence , th e tran quillity in which I copied the

r t engravings of the Roge s vignettes , wi hout so much as once asking where th e originals were The facts be ing that they lay at the bottom of an old d rawer in Queen

c as th e Anne Street , ina cessible to me

— t bottom of the sea, and hat, if I had

t w l y h ave t seen hem , they ou d onl des royed my th e —m pleasure in engravings , y rest in these was at least fortunate : an d the more I consider of this and other such forms of failur e in what mos t people

u wo ld call laudable curiosity , the more I am t fu s disposed to regard wi h thank lnes ,

v th e and e en respect, habits which have

w t al remained i h me during life , of ways

n e y h i u worki g resign dl at the t ng , nder my

t it hand ill I could do , and looking

exclusively at th e thing before my eyes

l ee it til l I cou d s .

0 0 1 4 XI . ROSLYN CHAPEL .

th e l discourtesy , the feelings of pupi s of Sir George Beaumont at the appearance

n of these u accredited views of Nature . The review raised me to the height of black anger ’ in which I have remained pretty nearly ever since ; and having by that time some conﬁdence in my power — of words , and not merely judgment , but

i — ’ sincere exper ience of the ch arm of Turner s w work , I wrote an ans er to Blackwood , of which I wish I could n ow ﬁ nd any fragment . But my father thought it right

’ to ask Turner s leave for its publication ; b it was copied in my best and , and sent to Queen Anne Street , and the old man returned kindly answer , as follows

‘ UE E N A N N s ic ST R E ET WE ST 4 7 , Q ( ) , 6t 6 O ctober h 1 8 . , 3

‘ M Y SI R — 1 DEAR , beg to thank you for your zeal , kindness , and the trouble you have taken in my behalf, in regard of the criticism of Blackwood ’ s Magazine XII . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 0 1

bu for October, respecting my works ; t

in I never move these matters , they are of no import save mischief an d the meal

n tub , which Maga fears for by my havi g f invaded the lour tub . ‘ P — I f S . . you wish to have the manu

h ave script back , the goodness to let me w know . If not, ith your sanction , I will send it on to the possessor of the picture

’ of Juliet .

I can n ot give the signature of this

h n 011 letter, w ich has bee cut for some

' be friend In later years it used to ,

‘ ’ to my father, Yours most truly , and

‘ ’ me . to , Yours truly

’ The ‘ possessor of the picture was

M r wh o . Munro of Novar, never spoke

‘ to me of the ﬁ rst chapter of Modern

’ h n Painters thus comin g into his a ds . Nor did I ever care to ask him about

n i an d two , t ; still , for a year or lo ger I persevered 1n the study of Turn er 0 2 . 4 XI I ROSLYN CHAPEL .

n e gravings only , and the use of Copley

’ Fieldin g s method for such e110 rts at colour as I made on the vacation j ourneys during

Oxford days . We made three tours in those sum

1 8 mers , without crossing Channel . In 3 7,

an d 1 8 8 to Yorkshire the Lakes ; in 3 ,

o 1 8 to Sc tland ; in 3 9 , to Cornwall .

O n 1 8 the journey of 3 7 , when I was eighteen , I felt , for the last time , the pure childish love of nature which Words worth so idly takes for an intimation of immortality . We went down by the

North Road , as usual ; and on the fourth day arrived at Catterick Bridge , where t - here is a clear pebble bedded stream, and both west and east some rising of hills , foretelling the moorlands and dells of upland Yorkshire ; and there the feeling came back to me—as it could never return more .

It is a feeling only possible to youth , for all care , regret , or knowledge of evil

0 x1 1 4 4 . ROSLY N CHAPEL .

’ it a passion is no description of , for

like is it is not , but , a passion ; the

poin t is to deﬁ ne h ow it dgﬁem from

— of other passions , what sort human , pre

eminently human , feeling it is that loves

’ a stone for a stone s sake , and a cloud

’ n for a cloud s . A monkey loves a mo key

’ for a monkey s sake , and a nut for the

’ ’

but . kernel s , not a stone for a stone s

I took stones for bread , but not cer

’ tainl y at the Devil s bidding .

was di11erent I , be it once more said , from other children even of my own type , not so much in the actual nature

the it . of the feeling , but in mixture of

I had, in my little clay pitcher, vialfuls ,

’ as it were , of Wordsworth s reverence ,

’ ’ Shelley s sensitiveness , Turner s accuracy ,

was all in one . A snowdrop to me ,

th e as to Wordsworth , part of Sermon on the mount ; but I never should have written sonnets to the celandine, because it is of a coarse yellow, and . 0 XII ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 5

. I d imperfect form With Shelley , love

in blue sky and blue eyes , but never the least confused the heavens with

own P s chidion And my poor little y .

the reverence and passion were alike kept in their places by the constructive Turnerian element ; an d I did not weary myself in wishin g that a daisy could see

the beauty of its shadow, but in trying ,

f. to draw the shadow rightly, mysel But so stubborn an d chemically inalte r

able the laws of the prescription were ,

n ow 1 886 that , looking back from to

1 8 that brook shore of 3 7 , whence I

could see the whole of my youth , I

‘

/zan ed. ﬁ nd myself in nothin g whatsoever e g

Some of me is dead, more of me

h ave few , stronger . I learned a things

m e I forgotten many ; in the total of ,

am but the same youth , disappointed and

rheumatic .

n n s And in illustration of this stubbor es ,

not by sti11e ning of th e wood with age , 3 1 0 6 4 XI I . ROSLYN CHAPE L .

but in the structure of the pith , let m e insist a minute or two more on the curious j oy I felt in 1 8 3 7 in returning to h the aunts of boyhood . No boy could possibly have been more excited than I was by seeing Italy and the Alps ; neither boy nor man ever knew better the di11er ence between a Cumberland cottage and

Venetian palace , or a Cumberland stream — and the Rh on e z my very knowledge of

' this dif1erence will be found next year e xpressing itself in the ﬁ rs t bit of pro

m 1s1n g literary work I ever did but , after all the furious excitement and wild

com 1n j oy of the Continent, the g back

to a Yorkshire streamside felt like re

turning to heaven . We went on into

well known Cumberland ; my father took

Scawfell me up and Helvellyn, with w a clever Kes ick guide , who knew

M r . mineralogy, Wright ; and the sum

beneﬁcen tl mer passed y and peacefully .

A little incident which happened , I

0 8 4 XI I . ROSLYN CHA PEL . dying out of it however without much

was notice or miss , before I old enough to get any clear notion of her . ’ 8 In this spring of 3 , however , the

M r widowed . Withers , having by that time retired to the rural districts in

r educed circumstances, came up to town on some small vestige of carboniferous

business , bringing his only daughter with

him to show my mother ; who , for a

us wonder, asked her to stay with , while her father visited his umquwh ile clientage

h e - at t coal wharves . Charlotte Withers

was a fragile , fair, freckled , sensitive slip of a girl about sixteen ; graceful in an — unﬁnish ed and small wild ﬂower sort of

a11e ction ate a way, extremely intelligent, ,

l - whol y right minded , and mild in piety . An altogether sweet and delicate creature

r of ordina y sort, not pretty , but quite

h er pleasant to see , especially if eyes

wa m were looking your y, and her ind with them . XII . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 0 9 We got to like each other in a mildly conﬁdential way in the course of a week . We disputed on the relative digni ties of music and painting ; and I wrote

n an essay nine foolscap pages lo g , pro posing the entire establishment of my own discomﬁture opinions, and the total and overthrow of hers, according to my usual manner of paying court to my mistresses . Charlotte Withers , however,

an d thought I did her great honour, carried away the essay as if it had been a school prize .

And, as I said , if my father and mother had chosen to keep her a month

h ave longer, we should fallen quite me lodiou sly and quietly in love ; and th ey might have given me an excellently plea

an d u sant little wife, set me p , geology and all , in the coal business, without any resistance or farther trouble o n my

’ th e part . I don t suppose idea ever occurred to them ; Charlotte was not the 1 0 4 XII . ROSLYN CH APE L .

kind of person they proposed for me .

’ So Charlotte went away at the week s

h r was e . end , when her father ready for

I walked with her to Camberwell Green ,

we - and , said good bye , rather sorrowfully , at the corner of the New Road ; and that possibility of meek happiness vanished for ever . A little while afterwards , her father negotiated a marriage for her

- - with a well to do Newcastle trader , whom

was H e she took because she bid . treated her pretty much as one of his coal sacks ,

two and in a year or she died .

Very dimly , and rather against my own will , the incident showed me what my mother had once or twice observed to i me to my mmense indignation , that Adele was not the only girl in the world ; and my enjoyment of our tour in the T rosach s was not described in any more Byronian h eroics ; the tragedy

u also having been given p , because , when

I had described a gondola , a bravo , the

1 2 x1 1 4 . ROSLYN CHAPEL .

never myself seen the like of it in lake s hores . A winding recess of deep water , without any entering stream to account fo r it— possible only , I imagine , among rocks of the quite abnormal confusion of

the Trosach s ; and besides the natural s it weetness and wonder of , made sacred by the most beautiful poem that Scotland

ever sang by her stream sides . And all that the nineteenth century conceived of wise and right to do with this piece of

mountain inheritance , was to thrust the

n it ose of a s teamer into , plank its blae

berries over with a platform , and drive the populace headlong past it as fast as

t s cu11l e hey can . It had been well for me if 1 had

climbed Ben Venue and Ben Ledi , ham f ll Scaw e . mer in hand, as and Helvellyn B ut I had given myself some literary

was work instead , to which I farther urged by the sight of Roslyn and

Melrose . . XI I ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 1 3

Th e idea had come into my head in

’ the summer of 3 7, and , I imagine , rose immediately out of my sense of the contrast between the cottages of West l more and and those of Italy . Anyhow,

’ the November number of Loudon s f i r efl i

‘ teez um / M ag az ine for 1 83 7 opens with

‘ Introduction to the Poetry of Architec

o r ture ; , The Architecture of the Nations of Europe considered in its Associatio n with

’ n n Natural Sce ery and Natio al Character,

Ka a h us in n ot by t p . I could have put in fewer, or more inclusive words , the deﬁnitio n of what half my future life was to be spent in discoursing of ; while

— ‘ - n the nom de plume I chose , Accordi g to

’ of Nature , was equally expressive the temper in which I was to discourse alike on that and every other subject . The —— im adoption of a nom de plume at all , plied (as also the concealmen t of name on the ﬁ rs t publication of Modern X 1 1 . ROSLY N CHAPE L . m in yself, which it would not have been becoming in a youth of eighteen to claim . Had either my father or tutor then said

‘ n to me , Write as it is becomi g in a — youth to write , let the reader discover what you know , and be persuaded to

’ o u 1 what y judge, perhaps might not

’ n ow h ave been ashamed of my youth s essays . Had they said to me more

‘ sternly, Hold your tongue till you need not ask the reader ’ s condescension in

’ listening to you , I might perhaps have been s atisﬁe d with my work when it was mature .

As it is , these youthful essays , though

in deformed by assumption , and shallow

contents, are curiously right up to the points they reach ; and already dis tin guish ed above most of the literature of

the time , for the skill of language which the public at once felt for a

pleasant gift in me . I h ave above said that had it not

1 6 4 XI I . ROSLY N CHA PEL .

sentences intended, either with swords

’ ’ man s or paviour s blow, to cleave an

’ enemy s crest , or drive down the oaken

an pile of a principle . I never for instant compared Johnson to Scott ,

an Pope, Byron , or y of the really great writers whom I loved . But I at once and for ever recognized in him a man entirely sincere , and infallibly wise in the View and estimate he gave of the common questions, business , and ways of the world . I valued his sentences not primarily because they were symmetrical , but because they were j ust, and clear ; it is a method of judgment rarely used by the average public , who ask from an

ﬁ rs t author always , in the place , argu

in ments favour of their own opinions , in elegant terms ; and are just as ready with their applause for a sentence of

’ Macaulay s , which may have no more sense in it than a blot pinched between doubled paper, as to reject one of John x1 1 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 1 7

’ o wn son s , telling against their prejudice , though its symmetry be as of thunder

two answering from horizons .

I hold it more than happy that , during those continental journeys , in which the Vivid excitement of the greater part of the day left me glad to give spare half—hours to the study of a thoughtful book , Johnson was the one author accessible to me . No other writer could have secured me , as he did , again s t all chance of being misled by my own sanguine and metaphysical tem

eramen t H e p . taught me carefully to

u f meas re li e , and distrust fortune ; and he secured me , by his adamantine common

h in sense , for ever, from being caug t the cobwebs of German metaphysics , or sloughed in the English drainage of them .

n I open , at this mome t, the larger of the volumes of the Idler to which I

fe w owe so much . After turning over a 1 8 x1 1 Y 4 . ROSL N CHAPE L .

1 leaves , chance on the closing sentence 6 of No . 5 , which transcribing , I may show the reader in sum what it taught me, in words which , writing this account of myself, I conclusively obey . O f these learned men , let those who aspire to the same praise imitate the diligence , and avoid the scrupulosity . Let it be always remembered that life is short , that knowledge is endless , and that many doubts deserve not to be cleared Let those whom nature and

h ave ualiﬁe d study q to teach mankind , tell us what they have learned while

i t they are yet able to tell , and trust

’ their reputation only to themselves . I t is impossible for me n ow to kn ow h ow far my own honest desire for truth , and compassionate sense of what is in s tan tly helpful to creatures who are every

m e instant perishing , might have brought ,

h o wn h in t eir time , to t ink and j udge — as Johnson thought and measured , even

2 0 4 XII . ROSLY N CH APE L .

’ m a niﬁce n t battlements . But this g pro mise ends in nothing more tremendous

‘ ’ than a chapter on chimneys , illustrated , as I ﬁnd this morning to my extreme surprise , by a fairly good drawing of the building which is n o w the principal feature in the View from my study — s window , Coni ton Hall .

O n the whole , however, these papers ,

1 8 8 written at intervals during 3 , indicate

' a fairly progressive and rightly co n soli h dated range of thoug t on these subjects , within the chrysalid torpor of me From the T r osach s we drove to Edin

: burgh and , somewhere on the road near

Linlithgow, my father, reading some letters

’ n got by that day s post, coolly annou ced

M r D omec to my mother and me that . q was going to bring his four daughters

ﬁ nish to England again , to their school

New . ing at Hall , near Chelmsford And 1 am unconscious of anything

more in that journey , or of anything XI I . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 2 1

it n after , until I found myself drivi g

down to Chelmsford . My mother had no business of course to take me with her

to pay a VI SI t m a convent ; but I sup pose felt it would be too cruel to leave

me behind . The young ladies were

us allowed a chat with in the parlour, and invited (with acceptance) to spend

n their vacatio s always at Herne Hill . And so began a second aara of that

‘ part of my life which is net worthy of

’ ’ memory , but only of the Guarda e Passa . There was some solace durin g my autumnal studies in th inking that she

Mer e was really in England, really over , I could see the sky over Chelmsford

— h sh e was from my study window , and t at shut up in a convent and couldn ’ t be

seen by anybody , or spoken to , but by

’ nuns ; and that perhaps sh e wouldn t quite

it n like , and would like to come to Her e

n an d . Hill agai , bear with me a little f I wonder mightily no w what sort o a 3 2 2 2 . 4 XI I ROSLYN CHAPEL .

1 creature should have turned out , if at this time Love had been with me instead

of against me ; and instead of the distract ing and useless pain , I had had the joy of

r incalcul app oved love , and the untellable ,

able motive of its sympathy and praise . I t seems to me such things are not

allowed in this world . The men capable of the highest imaginative passion are

always tossed on ﬁ ery waves by it : the

ﬁ n d men who it smooth water, and not

’ scalding , are of another sort . My father s

M r second clerk , . Ritchie, wrote unfeelingly

wh o to his colleague , bachelor Henry , would not marry for his mother’ s and ’ “ If sister s sakes , you want to know

what happiness is , get a wife , and half a

r n . dozen child e , and come to Margate But

M r . Ritchie remained all his life nothing more than a portly gentleman with goose

berry eyes , of the Irvingite persuasion . There must be great happiness in the

- love matches of the typical English squire .

2 4 4 XI I . ROSLYN CHAPEL .

saw it I perfectly well and admitted , having never at any time been in the

slightest degree blinded by love , as I

perceive other men are , out of my critic

nature . And day followed on day, and

month to month , of complex absurdity ,

a11ection pain , error, wasted , and reward

- am less semi virtue, which I content to

‘ wa sweep out , of the y of what better

things I can recollect at this time , into

the smallest possible size of dust heap , and wish the Dustman Oblivion good

clearance of them .

With this one general note , concerning

’ children s conduct to their parents , that a great quantity of external and irksome obedience may be shown them , which

Virtually is no obedience, because it is not cheerful and total Th e 1 02112 to disobey is already disobedience ; and although at this time I was really doing a great many things I did not like , to please my

now one — parents , I have not self approving X I I . ROSLYN CHAPEL .

n s o thought or consolation in havi g done , so much did its sullenn ess an d maimedness

m s acriﬁce pollute the eagre .

But, before I quit, for this time , the

ﬁ eld th e h of romance , let me write epitap of one of its sweet shadows , which

i some wh o knew the shadow may be fl glad I should write . The ground oor, ’ — under my father s countin g house at

Billiter Street , I have already said was C 85 o . occupied by Messrs . Wardell The head of this ﬁ rm was an extremely

reﬁne d intelligent and elderly gentleman , h darkish , wit spiritedly curling and pro

ectin j g dark hair, and bright eyes ; good

and natured amiable in a high degree , well educated , not over wise , always f well pleased with himsel , happy in a sensible wife, and a very beautiful , and

an d . entirely gentle good , only daughter

Not over wise , I repeat, but an excellent man of business ; older , and , I suppose, h n . already co siderably richer, than my fat er 2 6 4 XII . ROSLY N C H APEL .

H e had a handsome house at Hamp stead , and spared no pains on his

’ daughter s education . It must have been some time about

1 8 this year 3 9 , or the previous one , that my father having been deploring

M r to . Wardell the discomfortable state of mind I had got into about Adele ,

M r . Wardell proposed to him to try whether some slight diversion of my thoughts might not be e11ecte d by a

’ Visit to Hampstead . My father s fancy w as still set on Lady Clara Vere de Vere ; but Miss Wardell was everything that

be - of a girl should , and an heiress, perhaps something more than my own fortune was likely to come to . And the two fathers agreed that nothing

ﬁ t could be more , rational , and desi

So rable , than such an arrangement . I was sent to pass a summer afternoon , and dine at Hampstead . It would have been an extremely de

4 2 8 XII . ROSLYN CHA PEL .

— O f unthoughtful , gray eyed face . the

n afternoo at Hampstead , I remember only

ﬁ ne we that it was a day , and that walked in the garden ; mamma , as her mere duty to me in politeness at a ﬁrs t

V1S1t —it , superintending , would have been wiser to have left us to get on h ow d we coul . I very heartily and reverently admired the pretty creature , and would fain have done , or said , anything I

leas e could to please her . Literally to p her, for that is , indeed , my hope with

all girls , in spite of what I have above related of my mistaken ways of re

commending myself. My primary thought

h ow t/zem an d is to serve , make them

happy , and if they could use me for

a plank bridge over a stream , or set

me up for a post to tie a swing to , or anything of the sort not requiring

me to talk, I should be always . quite

happy in such promotion . This sincere

devotion to them , with intense delight x1 1 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . 4 2 9 in whatever beauty or grace they chance to have , and in most cases , perceptive sympathy , heightened by faith in their right feelings , for , the most part gives me considerable power with girls : but all this prevents me from ever being in — the least at ease with them, and I have no doubt that during the whole after noon at Hampstead , I gave little pleasure

m . to y companion For the rest, though I extremely admired Miss Wardell , she was not my sort of beauty . I like oval faces, crystalline blonde , with straightish ,

or at the utmost wavy , ( , in length , wreathed) hair, and the form elastic, and

’ ﬁ rm foot . Miss Wardell s dark and tender grace had no power over me , except to make me extremely afraid of

O n being tiresome to her . the whole, I

011 suppose I came pretty well, for she afterwards allowed herself to be brought

th e out to Herne Hill to see pictures , and so on ; and I recollect her looking 3 3 0 x1 1 4 3 . ROSLYN CHAPEL . a little frightenedly pleased at my kneeling down to hold a book for her, or some such matter . f A ter this second . interview , however, my father and mother asking me seriously what I thought of her, and I explain ing to them that ‘ though I saw all her

beauty, and merit, and niceness, she yet was ~ m r — not y so t of girl , the nego tiation s went no farther at that time, and a little while after, were ended for all time ; for at Hampstead they went on teaching the tender creature High

’ German , and French of Paris , and Kant s

’ Metaphysics , and Newton s Principia ; and i then they took her to Par s , and tired h er out with seeing everything every day , all day long , besides the dazzle and excitement of such . a ﬁ rs t outing from Hampstead ; and she at last getting too pale and weak, they brought her back d to some English seasi e place, I forget where : and there she fell into nervous

2 x1 1 4 3 . ROSLY N CHA PEL .

far less conceived , the misery of unaided

poverty . But I had been made to think of it ; and in the deaths of the creatures l whom I had seen j oyfu , the sense of

o it deep p y, not sorrow for myself, but for them , began to mingle with all the

u thoughts , which , fo nded on the Homeric,

E s ch lean r y , and Shakespea ian tragedy , had n ow begun to modify the untried faith of childhood . The blue of the moun tains became deep to me with the pur — ple of mourning , the clouds that gather round the setting sun , not subdued , but raised in awe as the harmonies of a — Miserere , and all the strength and frame

r work of my mind , lu id , like the vaults

ﬁ re of Roslyn , when weird gleamed on

— ‘ its pillars , foliage bound, and far in the

r depth of twilight, blazed eve y rose

’ carved buttress fair .

E ND O F VO L .