LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 IRVINE 
 
 JAMES K.MOFFITT 
 
 PAULINE FORE MOFFITT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
 
 A7 
 W3
 
 William Thomas Arnold 
 
 Journalist and Historian
 
 SHERKATT & HUGHES 
 Publishers to the Victoria University of Manchester 
 
 Manchester : 34 Cross Street 
 London : 60 Chandos Street W,C.

 
 William Thomas Arnold 
 
 Journalist and Historian 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HUMPHRY WARD AND C. E. MONTAGUE 
 
 a 
 
 a r /\ ^ a i/ 5 
 
 MANCHESTER 
 
 AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 1907
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 THIS memoir was originally published in July, 1906, 
 along with W. T. Arnold's fragmentary studies on Roman 
 Imperialism. It is now reprinted separately in response 
 to numerous requests. It is written by his sister Mrs. 
 Humphry Ward, and by Mr. C. E. Montague, for many 
 years his colleague on the staff of the Manchester Guardian. 
 Mrs. Ward has written the portions which deal with her 
 brother's early life and last years. Mr. Montague has 
 contributed the account of Arnold's Manchester life and 
 of his activity as a journalist. The index has been com- 
 piled by Miss Marjorie Cooper, B.A. A bibliography of 
 W. T. Arnold's writings has now been added. 
 
 March, 1907.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY YEARS 
 By MARY A. WARD
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY YEARS. 
 
 WILLIAM THOMAS ARNOLD, the subject of this brief memoir, 
 lived, on the whole, one of the "hidden lives" of England. He 
 was a journalist, and, in the words of his intimate friend 
 and colleague, he " took anonymity seriously." He never 
 regretted this " self-obliteration," for he believed, as Mr. 
 Montague says, that it served the true end of his work, 
 and that " for a man who wanted to get things done, there 
 was no work like journalism." But it is well that when 
 the work is over, those for whom a man of this type has 
 spent ungrudgingly the best years of his life, and the 
 maturity of great powers, should know something about 
 it. England is daily served, through her Press, by a 
 wonderful wealth of conscience, ability, and public spirit. 
 Arnold delighted, to believe this; and whenever it was a 
 question, during his lifetime, of doing honour to the 
 qualities and services of the higher journalism, in the case 
 of other men, no one was keener than he. The inference 
 that such honour carried with it, as to his own 
 personal case, would never have occurred to him. But 
 those who watched him work, and those to whom the 
 high level of English professional character is dear, will 
 pardon it, I think, if we, his sister and his friend, 
 endeavour, now that he is gone, to tell shortly the story
 
 4 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 of William Arnold's strenuous life and premature death, 
 to point out the rarity and beauty of the qualities he 
 possessed, or to illustrate the seriousness of the work to 
 which he gave his powers. Of his historical writing, 1 
 others have spoken elsewhere. In these chapters we 
 propose to give a general biographical account, and to 
 show, in particular, Arnold's relation to journalism. 
 
 William Thomas Arnold was the eldest son and second 
 child of Thomas and Julia Arnold, and was born at 
 Hobart, Tasmania, on September 18th, 1852. His father, 
 Thomas Arnold, was the second son of Dr. Arnold of 
 Rugby, and Matthew Arnold's junior by less than a year. 
 Moved by a young and democratic despair of the conditions 
 of life, social and political, in the Old World, Thomas 
 Arnold, like Philip Hewson, in the " Bothie of Tober- 
 na-Vuolich," his partial portrait indeed, at the hand of 
 his dear friend, Arthur Clough, went out, in 1847, to 
 seek for " simpler manners, purer laws " in the Colonies. 
 He went to New Zealand, where Dr. Arnold had bought 
 a little land some few years before. But the Oxford first 
 classman, steeped in George Sand, Emerson and Carlyle, 
 was not made for the rough-and-tumble conditions of an 
 infant colony. He did his best; there was no idleness 
 or shirking. But disillusion and disappointment were 
 inevitable ; and when, in 1849, Sir William Denison, then 
 Governor of Tasmania, hearing that a son of Arnold's, 
 with distinguished university antecedents, was in New 
 Zealand, offered the young colonist the post of Chief 
 Inspector of Schools for Tasmania, the offer was gladly 
 accepted. Within a few months Thomas Arnold, the 
 younger, had landed in Tasmania, and taken up his new 
 work; he had also fallen in love with Miss Julia Sorell, 
 
 1. See for thia List of Writings by W. T. Arnold, pp. 127-128.
 
 EARLY YEARS 5 
 
 the grand-daughter of a former Governor of the Colony, 
 and he married her on June 15th, 1850. 
 
 Rather more than two years later their son William 
 was born to them. He was a sunny, good-tempered child, 
 placid generally, and self-contained, but getting his own 
 way at times with the humorous determination he often 
 showed in later life. A relation, for instance, gave him, 
 on his fourth birthday, a little jacket, of which, as being 
 no doubt a more masculine garment than he was accustomed 
 to wear, he was vastly proud. A covetous elder sister of 
 five tried to coax it out of him, and when baffled, declared 
 that selfish boys could not go to heaven. Willy protested 
 that he was certainly going there, and then added, hugging 
 his jacket to him, "but I'll go with my jacket on though !" 
 The sister and brother, a pair of happy companions, played, 
 together in Tasmanian fields, till, in 1856, dark days came 
 upon the family. Thomas Arnold, after various vicissi- 
 tudes of thought and belief, joined the Church of Rome 
 in that year, and his position of Chief Inspector of the 
 Colony's schools became untenable. He sailed for England 
 in the autumn of 1856, with his wife and three young 
 children. 
 
 It was a difficult and uncertain life to which he and 
 they were going. He was without money or prospects at 
 the time of his return; yet not without friends. Within 
 a few months, he had been offered the professorship of 
 English Literature in the new Catholic University of 
 Dublin, of which Dr. Newman was the head, and for the 
 next five years the family home was fixed in Ireland. Years 
 of straightened means and constant struggles, passed in 
 dismal furnished houses in Rathmines or Kingstown, with 
 only the joys of the wide Kingstown sands, their gulls and 
 their cockles, or the excitement of the storms in winter 
 dashing against their little house on the sea-wall, or the
 
 6 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 delight of the yearly box, in which the kind Tasmanian 
 relations sent presents for father, mother and children, to 
 brighten a record marked by few of the pleasures now 
 lavished on the modem child. But throughout this time 
 of poverty and stress, Thomas Arnold's old home, Fox How, 
 the grey stone house and beautiful garden in the Lakes, 
 where Arnold of Rugby had passed his holidays was 
 often a place of paradise to the Tasmanian children. The 
 delights of the garden; of its brook, which could be 
 dammed and bridged by the third generation, as Matthew 
 Arnold and his brothers and sisters had dammed and 
 bridged it in the second; the charm of its wooded knolls, 
 its strawberry beds, its rocks where the wild pinks 
 grew, its hidden thickets of wild raspberries, its border 
 of wood above the rippling or swirling Botha ; the humours 
 of its old gardener, Banks, who gave out the Psalm and 
 hymn-tunes on Sunday, in Rydal Chapel, with a tuning- 
 fork; its beloved birch-tree, its outlook on the deep bosom 
 of Fail-field, its roses and its rhododendrons, these things 
 sank deep into young hearts, and William Arnold's love of 
 the Lakes, and of all the detail of their streams and hills', 
 must be dated from these childish days. Nor was it only 
 the garden and the fells that made their mark. Inside 
 the house there were the influences of a home life which 
 had been moulded by the personality of Arnold of Rugby, 
 by his high intelligence, his unworldliness, his religious 
 faith. The Doctor indeed was gone. Of his nine children 
 only one Frances, the youngest daughter was still at 
 home and unmarried. But his widow, wonderfully helped 
 by " Aunt Fan," still held the family together, was still 
 the idol of her children, scattered as they were over the 
 world, and was now to become the friend and good angel 
 of her grandchildren. William Arnold was always 
 peculiarly devoted to her. Her gentleness, her clear brain,
 
 EARLY YEARS 7 
 
 her sympathy with children, her sense of fun, made even 
 delightful Fox How more delightful. To tuck oneself up 
 on the sofa beside "Grandmamma" while she told a story, 
 to be shown the treasures of a little cabinet behind the 
 sofa, which contained many relics of the Penroses from 
 whom " Grandmamma " descended, to say one's hymn to 
 her on Sunday afternoon, or to be promoted to drive with 
 her to Rydal or Ambleside, these were among the chief 
 pleasures of the fast-increasing grandchildren; and there 
 are many signs in Willy Arnold's letters from Kugby 
 and Oxford which show how deeply Mrs. Arnold's 
 personality and the Fox How influences generally had 
 touched his affections as a child. 
 
 And as he grew older there were other houses of the 
 Arnold kindred open to him, where he spent happy hours 
 and learnt the love of nature. Woodhouse, near Lough- 
 borough, a small estate on the edge of Charnwood Forest, 
 where lived Arnold's second daughter, then Mrs. Hiley, 
 was a happy hunting ground to Willy, as to his brothers 
 and sisters. " Isn't the avenue of limes near the Long 
 Pond beautiful?" he asks eagerly in a childish letter 
 written from Woodhouse when he was ten. And here, too, 
 the mistress of the house, and the atmosphere surrounding 
 her, were of importance to the boy's development. Mrs. 
 Hiley " Aunt Mary " was always a special friend to 
 her brother Tom's children, and her generous impetuous 
 character will never be forgotten by those who knew her. 
 A Liberal and reformer, as befitted her father's daughter, 
 in the midst of a Tory countryside, a follower of Maurice 
 and Kingsley in her ardent youth, keeping to the end of 
 her life the same eager temperament, the same interest 
 in religious and political discussion, " Aunt Mary," with 
 her fine rugged face and keen dark eyes, was, even for a 
 child, a very stimulating companion. The influence on
 
 8 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 Willy Arnold of her passionate Liberalism, her natural 
 love of equality, her sympathy with and understanding 
 of peasant life, was renewed in many later visits, and he 
 often spoke of it in later life. There were also another 
 kind aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Cropper, of Dingle 
 Bank, Liverpool, with whom the little boy passed happy 
 weeks and months, in a house and grounds beside the 
 Mersey, where he might spend his quick wits day by day 
 in the watching of the tidal river and its shipping. 
 
 Meanwhile the struggle with poverty and a constantly 
 increasing family had been somewhat lightened for 
 Thomas Arnold and his high-spirited overburdened wife, 
 by his appointment to the Classical Mastership of the 
 Oratory School, Birmingham, of which John Henry 
 Newman had recently become the head. The household 
 moved to Edgbaston in January, 1862, and the two elder 
 sons, Willy and Theodore, entered the Oratory School. 
 By the terms of a compact then common in such cases, it 
 had been agreed at the time of the father's conversion 
 to Catholicism that the boys should follow his faith and 
 the girls the mother's. But Catholicism never laid any 
 hold upon the boys, owing no doubt to the influence of 
 their mother and of the Arnold and Fox How traditions. 
 Willy, especially, often recalled in later years the deter- 
 mination he had formed, even as a child in the Oratory 
 School, to give it up as soon as he should be of an age to 
 do so. But any conflict between father and son was 
 averted by a temporary change in Tom Arnold's own 
 opinions. Influenced by causes that he himself describes 
 in his " Passages from a Wandering Life," he left the 
 Church of Rome and broke off his connection with Dr. 
 Newman, after three years at the Oratory. Old friends 
 his own and his father's encouraged him to settle as a 
 private tutor at Oxford; and thither the family "moved in 
 the summer of 1865.
 
 EARLY YEARS 9 
 
 Thenceforward the tide of their life set in a new 
 direction. Or rather the years in Dublin and Edgbaston 
 may be said to have represented a deviation from a more 
 normal path, a path to which they now returned, the 
 children permanently, the father for a time only. The 
 spirit of Oxford and Rugby recaptured them. Willy, 
 now thirteen, was sent to Rugby, and went to a preparatory 
 school for a year, while living as a child of the house in 
 the family of the headmaster, Dr. Temple. Thence he 
 was transferred to the house of Mr. Charles Arnold ; 
 he became in due time Head of School, won an open 
 scholarship at University College, Oxford, in 1871, and 
 went up to the University in the autumn of that year. 
 
 Already in his school-days he had given promise of the 
 chief powers and characteristics of his manhood. He won 
 an English literature prize of 5 at the Oratory when he 
 was twelve years old, and well remembered Dr. Newman 
 putting the golden coins into his hand, and the joy of the 
 spending ! He read " Paradise Lost " at the same age, 
 and wrote sententiously to his mother : " I can truly say 
 with Pope it has afforded me much pleasure !" And at 
 Rugby, as he says in an Oxford letter, he read " all the 
 English poets," read indeed omnivorously, with a hungry 
 delight and curiosity, which affected all his later develop- 
 ment, but was not perhaps immediately favourable to his 
 success in the Oxford Schools. His bodily prowess 
 developed at the same time. He was not in the first rank 
 as a cricketer or a football player, but he was Captain 
 of his House Eleven at Rugby, and head of the Twenty- 
 Two, while he only just failed to play in the School Eleven 
 against Marlborough. Later on, boating at Oxford, 
 " hare and hounds," and long walks took the place of 
 cricket and. football. 
 
 The influences of Rugby, however, during William
 
 10 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 Arnold's later years there, were by no means wholly 
 advantageous. Those were the days of Dr. Hayman, and 
 the internal strife which for a time darkened the fortunes 
 of the School affected the older boys, and diverted their 
 attention from more profitable matters. Arnold after- 
 wards spoke with some bitterness of his Eugby training. 
 But at the same time he owed to Eugby several of the 
 warmest friendships of his after life, and one friendship 
 above all that with his future brother-in-law, Mr. 
 E. L. B. Allen which was of the greatest importance to 
 his happiness and development. Arnold was already high 
 in the School when Edward Allen entered it. It was in 
 1869, " when I was emerging from the Middle School," 
 says Mr. Allen, " that our real acquaintance began. 
 
 " He had not yet become really good at any of the 
 games except perhaps fives (for that matter he was 
 not then either big or strong enough to be so), and so 
 was not what was technically called a 'swell/ which 
 practically meant a football ' cap ' or a member of the 
 School Cricket Eleven the only sure title to prestige 
 
 (of the first rank) and (generally) popularity He 
 
 was mentally much more grown up than his compeers, 
 I should say. He was no good at mathematics or 
 science ('stinks'), but in all else seemed to me to have 
 a knowledge, or a facility, that put him on a different 
 plane from the rest. He was a very stimulating 
 personality to me when I got to know him, as he had 
 such a vivid interest in knowledge generally, and a 
 lightning-like way of seeing the interesting points in 
 things new to him. He liked work it came as natural 
 
 to him as flying to a bird His mind seemed to 
 
 me to make hawk-like pounces on new interests. Art 
 I mean pictures was one of these, and a permanent
 
 EARLY YEARS II 
 
 one His love of poetry was already a strong 
 
 growth; but the phase of it, that I was, as it were, 
 present at the dawning of, was the spell which sensuous 
 romance like that of the ' Earthly Paradise ' had for 
 him and me. It went hand in hand, as it were, with 
 an eager projection of one's soul into the possibilities 
 of romance that our own lives might hold, and of course 
 the Eternal Feminine figured largely in it. It was of 
 our years, I suppose ; for this was towards the end of our 
 joint Rugby days. But the spell had also in it a sort 
 of Forest of Arden charm ; woods and streams came into 
 it, which Willy always had a wonderful feeling for, in 
 themselves, while mine was always complicated with 
 fish and deer. We used to go long walks away down 
 the Barley Road and others, and even the Rugby 
 country had bits that ministered to the instinct for the 
 1 good green wood.' .... He was an omnivorous 
 reader, and I suspect that his vivid interest in all 
 manner of things rather worked against his specialising 
 in some department of classics which (later) would have 
 paid better at the University. However, he was Head, 
 of the School, and I for one hardly conceived of a 
 dizzier eminence." 
 
 Mr. Allen adds that Arnold was not, so far as could be 
 seen, much influenced by religion during his school years, 
 but he had " a strong sense of moral dignity, of the 
 KaXov xayaOov, a term he taught me, and he had a 
 sort of savage hatred of brutality. His friendship was for 
 me very much the making of my school life, as also it has 
 been the friendship of my life." 
 
 It is clear that when he reached Oxford, in October 1871, 
 he was already a strong personality. From some of his 
 early Oxford letters to Edward Allen, we may see how 
 open was the youth of nineteen or twenty to the influence
 
 12 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 of literature, or of the contemporary forces in art and 
 verse reading Spenser constantly, and scribbling Spen- 
 serian verse, absorbed in William Morris, influenced by 
 his uncle, Matthew Arnold, delighting in pictures, curious 
 about travel and foreign parts, living in his friends' lives 
 and fortunes, and at the same time rich in personal 
 enthusiasms, for Nature above all, and Nature's reflection 
 in great poetry. 
 
 " I get to love Art more and more," he wrote to Edward 
 Allen, when he was but nineteen, " to make it more 
 and more the great study and delight of my life, and I 
 don't know that anything could give me so much 
 pleasure as that you should be penetrated by the same 
 feeling. . . ." 
 
 And a passage describing a Claude engraving, written 
 nearly a year later, may be quoted as showing a command, 
 already considerable, of easy and imaginative prose, to- 
 gether with a certain quick instinct for moral reality 
 which lays its bracing touch upon him, even in the Temple 
 of Art: 
 
 " There is nothing I can see in Turner like the warm 
 and dreamy imagination, the subtle and exquisite fancy, 
 which I find in Claude. His pictures give the mind a 
 sense of peace and rest ; one becomes an old Greek, living 
 in the fairest country in the world, and, from the dark 
 shades of the tall trees that keep out the scorching after- 
 noon sun, looking out dreamily over the blue waters of 
 the Mediterranean, far away to where in the dim 
 distance rise the white peaks of the opposite coast. A 
 little inland rises the great temple of Aphrodite, gleam- 
 ing with pure white marble, up whose gleaming steps 
 pass quickly and gladly the lover and the beloved, she 
 bearing perhaps in her bosom two white doves as an
 
 EARLY YEARS 13 
 
 offering to the goddess, or carrying on her head a basket 
 filled with golden apples. He carries us to a pleasant 
 land of all loveliness, 'a land where it is always after- 
 noon,' but one has to shut one's eyes, and turn away 
 one's face, and remember that man was not only made 
 for such things as these. . . ." 
 
 Arnold's early letters indeed may be said to be divided 
 between the twin passions for beauty and knowledge, and 
 an abiding, sense of ' conduct,' in Matthew Arnold's sense. 
 He tells his friend that he is writing an elaborate essay on 
 " that most delightful of poets, Chaucer." Or he is at- 
 tempting verse in the Elizabethan manner : 
 
 " Quick through the veil of trees I stepped and stood 
 On a green slope, thick-grassed outside the wood 
 Down sloping to the stream; most joyous was 
 This softest moss, twined with the greenest grass 
 Through which the bluebells peeped, and daisies small 
 And buttercups; . . ." 
 
 While, to the same date, almost, as these verses, belongs 
 a letter of sympathy written to his friend Allen on the 
 occasion of a sister's death, which breathes another note, 
 equally true and representative : 
 
 " I really was very sorry to hear about your sister. 
 You remember how we used to say that we didn't believe 
 we should care the very least if somebody died whom we 
 had never seen, however dear that person may have been 
 to one dear to ourselves. But I found when the reality 
 came that it had the effect of sobering and saddening 
 me for several days. ... I think such a death might be 
 a lesson to us both. You will remember that latterly, in 
 our talk at all events, we came very near believing the
 
 14 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 idea of life, held by such men as Morris and his school, 
 namely that life was a joyful thing, out of which it 
 should be a man's great end and aim to get as much joy 
 as possible for himself. This view of life is sternly con- 
 fronted by the grim ugliness and joylessness of death. 
 What can Morris give us when confronted with this?" 
 
 Friendship, humour, intellectual curiosity, the love of 
 beauty, and moral seriousness, marked by these main 
 traits, Arnold's character rapidly unfolded. Edward Allen, 
 in the year after William Arnold entered the University, 
 went out to China as a Student Interpreter. It was a great 
 wrench to Arnold. " To think that we shall not be able to 
 see each other for six years ! But we will not forget 
 though the experience of all men says that we must forget. 
 That unheard of misery and baseness shall not be ours. 
 What are six years ? At first no doubt " after Allen's 
 return " we shall be strange with one another, feeling 
 back, as it were, to the old grooves, but not for long not 
 for long. Keep a good heart, old fellow. If we were only 
 going together to that new world ! Then I at least should 
 not be sad but jubilant !" Nor do the friend's claims 
 weaken with absence. The eager letters go regularly across 
 the sea; Arnold forms a "Chinese Library" that he may 
 the better follow Allen's fortunes; and when a new era 
 dawns for himself, it is in Allen that he naturally confides. 
 
 It was in the summer of 1872 that Arnold first saw the 
 lady who five years later became his wife, and brought him 
 what he called in one of the letters of his later years " the 
 supreme good fortune of my marriage." It was at Fox 
 How, while he was staying on a summer holiday in the 
 old family home, that he first saw Miss Henrietta Wale, a 
 grandchild of Archbishop Whately, the intimate friend of 
 Arnold of Rugby. Arnold's children and Whately's
 
 EARLY YEARS 15 
 
 children had been affectionate comrades in the second 
 generation, and now, in the third, the old attraction 
 flowered afresh. From the moment when Arnold first 
 made acquaintance with his future wife, that feeling 
 declared itself which was to be the romance of his youth, 
 the joy of his manhood, and the best consolation and sup- 
 port of his last suffering years. But naturally relations 
 counselled prudence. When he first fell in love Arnold 
 was not twenty, and his Oxford career had. only begun. A 
 year's probation was imposed, and an engagement was not 
 allowed till December 1873. The betrothal lasted three 
 years and a half, and they were married in June 1877. 
 
 This new and overmastering affection greatly influenced 
 his Oxford life. The records of it are contained first in a 
 Journal, full of young romance and high inspiration, 
 written during the latter part of 1872, then in a series of 
 letters written to Miss Wale's mother during the year of 
 probation, and finally in the love-letters which chronicle 
 his most intimate thoughts and feelings during his long 
 engagement. By the help of some of these, we are able to 
 see how the serious wish to marry curbs a mind, tempered to 
 wander in too many paths, and leads the young lover to work 
 for examinations, as he has never yet worked. Unfortunately 
 lost time could not be wholly recovered. In pure scholar- 
 ship he could not overtake men who had come up from 
 school better prepared; and when Greats work began, the 
 tendency to follow up subjects and studies not relevant to 
 success in the schools, was still too strong, and he just 
 missed his first. But he missed it through aiming at too 
 much rather than too little, and the stores of miscellaneous 
 reading which availed him scantly in the schools were of 
 great service to his later career as a journalist. Meanwhile 
 he went through recurrent periods of over-work and starved 
 sleep which strained his health; and the disappointments
 
 16 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 of his two second-classes were severe. Yet, as many of 
 his letters show, he met these reverses, after the first 
 shock was over, with a fresh and elastic courage, inspired 
 no doubt by that intimate and abiding happiness which 
 love had brought him; and he had no sooner passed 
 through Greats than we find him plunged in teaching and 
 lecturing, already remarkable in both, and on the way to 
 that brilliant Arnold Essay, which was so soon to retrieve 
 his position both in his own eyes and in those of others. 
 
 I have arranged the following poems, and extracts from 
 letters, so as to give a few illustrations of his thoughts and 
 pleasures during these Oxford years, especially of his 
 delight in nature, in the Oxford river country, or in the 
 Westmoreland mountains; while a few other letters will 
 show his growing historical interests, and the passing of his 
 boyish love of poetry into a scholarly knowledge of English 
 Literature, or reveal to us the working of that moral 
 discipline of life which was so gently and fortunately 
 brought to bear on him by his engagement and early 
 marriage. 
 
 This trio of poems for instance, while they show, 
 poetically, no more than that facility and charm which 
 many a clever youth commands, are yet very characteristic 
 of the two main strains in him moral earnestness, and 
 a Spenserian love of beauty. The first sonnet was 
 written in his twentieth, the other in his twenty- 
 second year ; and " The Garden of the Hesperides " was 
 contributed to a private magazine called The Miscellany, 
 edited by two daughters of Dr. Bradley, then Master of 
 University and afterwards Dean of Westminster, one of 
 whom has since become the well-known novelist and poet, 
 Mrs. H. G. Woods, the author of "A Village Tragedy," and 
 "Esther Vanhomrigh." Arnold took a lively interest in 
 The Miscellany, which ran a short but energetic course.
 
 EARLY YEARS 17 
 
 The Rossetti influence in the following is of course 
 plain to see. The lines were suggested by the famous 
 passage at the end of the 3rd Canto of the Inferno. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 In light more clear than any earthly day 
 God was. The fashion of his form, by me 
 Unspeakable, with dreadful majesty 
 
 Enchained mine awestruck eyes : I could but pray 
 
 Silent. The just souls round about God lay 
 In intense prayer, and each in his degree 
 Rose towards Him by some power silently, 
 
 And they were God, and God himself was they. 
 
 Beneath all dark. With eager straining sight 
 Through the thin cold and unsubstantial air, 
 
 I saw those proved unworthy sinking light, 
 
 Like leaves slow scattering downwards from the bare 
 Tree-tops in winter motionless despair 
 
 Into the dim forgetfulness of night. 
 1872. W. T. A. 
 
 In the two other poems, the gaiety of the first, and 
 the strong feeling of the second, show the natural develop- 
 ment of the happy year following on his engagement. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES. 
 Near a noise of unseen fountains, 
 Far above the ancient mountains, 
 
 Stand the golden-fruited trees. 
 By them stand three white-robed maidens, 
 Sing in sweet and solemn cadence, 
 
 Sing the three Hesperides. 
 
 Thronging up, a wall of wonder, 
 Cradle of the rattling thunder, 
 
 There above the mountains meet. 
 Here the grass is cool in shadow, 
 Down below each field and meadow 
 
 Golden in the summer heat.
 
 18 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 Far beyond, the great sea-spaces 
 Silent in the noon's embraces, 
 
 Wide they lie beneath the sun. 
 High aloft the white clouds hover, 
 Cast their purple shadows over; 
 
 Slowly passing, one by one. 
 
 Heaven is kind; and earth and ocean, 
 Stilled for once their restless motion, 
 
 Sleep beneath her silent wing. 
 He, who stands among the mountains, 
 There beside the plashing fountains, 
 
 Only hears the maidens sing. 
 
 See his lips half part asunder ! 
 See his eyes, their look of wonder ! 
 
 See him passing through the trees ! 
 Louder now the sweet song rises. 
 Maidens ! guard your golden prizes. 
 
 See, he cometh ! Heracles ! 
 
 W. T. ARNOLD. 
 
 The Miscellany (Edited by E. M. B. and M. L. B.), 
 April, 1874 (Vol. viii., No. 26.) 
 
 IN THE SWEAT OF THY BROW SHALT THOU EAT BREAD. 
 
 My spirit has fed full of idleness 
 
 And through the empty chambers of the mind 
 
 Goes wand'ring ill at ease, nor can it find 
 What may console or stay its loneliness. 
 
 With ghostly, echoing feet follows behind 
 The phantom of Unrest. Sad thoughts oppress 
 An unseen band, but blightf ul none the less, 
 
 The spirit sunder'd from its toiling kind.
 
 EARLY YEARS 19 
 
 Thus hopeless, sick at heart, it onward strays 
 
 Through many a dust-strewn chamber, till at last 
 To a window looking outwards it has passed ; 
 
 And there the whole toilsome earth with one long gaze 
 Sees, and, borne downward on the trumpet-blast, 
 
 Hears God's oracular answer : " Work and Praise." 
 
 W. T. ARNOLD. 
 (Spectator, May 23, 1874.) 
 
 With regard to this latter poem, and also to the remark 
 already quoted from his friend Edward Allen, as to the 
 apparent absence of the religious motive during his Rugby 
 years, perhaps a few words may be said here once for all 
 as to his attitude towards religion and religious questions. 
 He was naturally religious, and in a very real sense, 
 naturally Christian, in spite of intellectual difficulty. 
 " Notwithstanding his extreme reserve on deepest things," 
 said one who knew him intimately, " an under-lying 
 craving for religious help and certainty was a marked 
 characteristic of him throughout his life." It found ex- 
 pression in a saying of his, near the end, to a younger 
 friend and colleague, in the heyday of strength, ' I can't 
 understand how one can go far in life without religion,' 
 and on the threshold of manhood, this natural tendency 
 was much quickened by the experience which love brought 
 him. His sympathy in his later years was increasingly 
 with those who believed, and he was much drawn to and 
 touched by the Christian life, wherever he came across 
 it. Though affected by German criticism, he was quick 
 to notice any of those tendencies in it which strengthened 
 the traditional view, as when Professor Harnack endorsed, 
 in the main, the traditional dates of the New Testament, 
 or spoke of Christ as 'unique.' Arnold's early letters 
 are full of religious expression, and though on him, as
 
 20 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 on the generation to which he belonged, the historical 
 and critical investigation of early Christianity acted with 
 disturbing force, the innermost and abiding mind in him 
 was a mind of faith. He longed for an assurance which 
 often seemed denied him ; but he never ceased to yearn for 
 it, and at times he grasped it. 
 
 But let us return to Oxford, and the struggle and 
 disappointment of his second-class in Moderations, in the 
 summer of 1873. The following lines were written in 
 the July of that year, when he was still uncertain as to 
 the result of his schools. 
 
 To E. L. B. Allen. Oxford, June 17, 1873. 
 
 I have quite made up my mind to getting a second (in 
 Mods.). I have only been working for Mods, for the last 
 six months, working hard, it is true, but then most men 
 work for two years. I scarcely like to say how hard I 
 worked for the last few weeks before Mods., somewhere 
 between sixteen and twenty hours a day. I never had 
 more than four hours sleep and generally not so much. 
 The result will be out on one of the first days of July. 
 
 The dreaded failure overtook him, and after it he 
 writes again 
 
 I find it so much easier to work very hard for 
 a short time than tolerably hard for a long time, 
 and that's just what lost me my first in Mods. I wasn't 
 exactly lazy but I would work at all sort of subjects except 
 the ones I was told to work at. ... One must understand 
 that there are certain realities in life, and the man who 
 refuses to face them and tries to ignore them must in- 
 evitably be smashed. They will be too strong for him. 
 And the chief of these realities is work. I know how
 
 EARLY YEARS 21 
 
 terribly hard it is to get back the habit of work once lost, 
 but it can be done, and once recovered the chain is worn 
 lightly enough. ... I have felt the truth of what I am 
 saying so much myself that I can't help putting it down 
 for your benefit. 
 
 More intimately and poignantly than in the letters to 
 Edward Allen the bitter disappointment of his " Mods." 
 second was expressed in the correspondence with Mrs. Wale, 
 his future mother-in-law, which helped him through his 
 year of probation. But it would be unprofitable to repeat 
 these records of self -blame. Stormy natures are the richer 
 for such checks and heart-searchings, and in the hope and 
 ardour of his engagement Arnold found the spring of a new 
 energy. Love-letters as such can rarely be quoted, but a 
 few extracts will show the energy with which the young 
 lover of twenty-one tried to lead his betrothed to share his 
 own intellectual interests. He had the deepest and most 
 chivalrous respect for women, and love itself would have 
 been incomplete for him without intellectual sympathy. 
 Miss Wale wishes to read, and to be guided; and this is 
 how Arnold writes : 
 
 To H. M. L,. W. Laleham, April 25, 1874. 
 
 The sum of what I think is shortly this. Mental work 
 has two ends to strengthen the character, to improve the 
 mind. All honest work, however well-directed, will do the 
 first, as for the second, each must judge for self. I can 
 only say this. If you find that your work does not fill 
 your mind, does not give you material for thought, doesn't 
 seem to touch nearly upon your own experience and 
 thoughts, and doesn't have the effect of making you look 
 upon your life as a problem to be studied, and a history to 
 be acted ; doesn't in fact make you understand that there
 
 22 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 is a problem; doesn't make you feel your fellowship with 
 the rest of mankind, both of the living, and of the countless 
 dead, whose blood is in your veins ; then your work is not 
 very greatly valuable to you. Perhaps you would be 
 better employed in washing clothes or digging potatoes ! 
 The subject of all human learning is briefly this, the world 
 and man. With these is, of course, intimately bound up 
 the greatest of all knowledge, the knowledge of God. 
 Suppose our study is man. What does this mean? A man 
 is born, he lives, he dies. Where does he come from? 
 Where does he go? What is his nature? What his 
 powers ? How does one man act upon another ? . . . Busy 
 yourself for a year or two in sharpening your mind, and 
 trying its edge on all subjects. Get intellectual interests. 
 Read all good books that come in your way with an 
 omnivorous appetite. Don't try and be systematic just at 
 present. Then after a while we may set forward together 
 
 on the study of man The grand fault of woman's 
 
 education, it seems to me, is that they compose a great deal 
 too much. 
 
 Here are some thoughts on " argument," which will il- 
 lustrate his own character, and his impatience of hasty 
 and immoderate statement. 
 
 Laleham, May 12, 1874. 
 
 ... If you can't at once think of something to say to a 
 plausible argument which you feel convinced is wrong, 
 don't say something at once which you know to be an 
 insufficient or inapplicable answer; but think over it, and 
 if possible bring on the same subject again, with a better 
 foundation of thought to go upon. No man ever reasoned 
 rightly or well without taking trouble and thinking. 
 When you hear a clever person saying what seem fine 
 things, be sure that in nine cases out of ten those thoughts
 
 EARLY YEARS 23 
 
 do not, as seems to you, rise at once in his mind, and are 
 then spoken but are the result of previous meditation and 
 argument with others, and again meditation. Clever 
 talkers hardly ever come across a really new subject. 
 Almost all conceivable subjects have been already thought 
 over, and the conclusions formed are packed away in the 
 pigeon-holes of the brain. 
 
 The following letter shows the growth of his historical 
 temper. It is almost contemporary with the publication 
 of Green's " Short History," by which the young Oxford of 
 the moment had been deeply stirred. There are many 
 references to the " Short History " in the letters. 
 
 Laleham, February 3, 1875. 
 
 . . . Till one gets not only to know but to feel that the 
 men and women of whom one reads were not puppets with 
 dates attached to them whom a hard fortune compels one 
 to know about, but creatures of flesh and blood like our- 
 selves, " of like passions as we are," and that under all cir- 
 cumstances and disguises human nature has been funda- 
 mentally the same; till we can throw ourselves into their 
 place and surround ourselves with their circumstances and 
 ask ourselves how we should have acted in their place 
 better or worse ? should we have been able to mould and 
 direct their circumstances as some of them did, or should 
 we have been moulded and constrained like them ? given 
 the circumstances, could we have done better than Magna 
 Charta? what side should we have taken in the Civil 
 War? what should we have thought of Marlborough 
 and Pitt? till we can at least put these questions to 
 ourselves as necessary to be answered, history won't teach 
 either our heads or our hearts much. To put these ques- 
 tions means that you have what is called an " historical
 
 24 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 sense." Remember it is your own people of whom you 
 read, that all these wars and struggles and changes and 
 reforms and developments have produced you and me, and 
 put us where we are, and surrounded us with the society 
 in which we live. If I ask myself Why am I writing here 
 at Oxford in 1875? Well, to answer that question all 
 history and all science must unroll themselves before me. 
 
 Meanwhile time slipped on, and the ordeal of " Greats " 
 arrived. Arnold had worked hard, but as has been already 
 said, he had not been able to concentrate himself with 
 sufficient strictness on the subjects of the Schools, and 
 before defeat came, he was already aware of it : 
 
 Laleham, November 19, 1875. 
 
 Somehow I feel I shan't see my name in the Firsts when 
 the list comes out. So you must make up your mind not 
 to be disappointed. Besides that I am not really the 
 equal of the best men up here who get firsts, I think I 
 hardly do myself justice in an examination. I can't write 
 with the necessary speed and precision. 
 
 It is curious that a man whose "speed" and "precision," 
 as a journalist, were in later life amongst his most remark- 
 able characteristics should have felt this difficulty at 
 Oxford. Meanwhile he was learning and feeling much 
 outside of lecture-rooms. The Oxford country is well 
 caught in the following letter to Edward Allen : 
 
 Oxford, October 28, 1872. 
 
 .... The day was bright and softly sunny, one of 
 those delicious autumn days, with all the sweet scents and 
 sounds of autumn in the warm air, which seem almost 
 better than midsummer. About five miles from Oxford,
 
 EARLY YEARS 25 
 
 we got to the top of a slight eminence, and there looking 
 onwards, as far as the eye could see, we saw a great plain 
 stretching away lazily on all sides before us, bounded in 
 the far distance by low sweeping ranges of blue hills, and 
 covered in the greater part by a perfect waste of noble 
 woods. Every tree singly is a glory of rich colour; 
 imagine then the sight when a whole forest is one mass of 
 splendid tints, the rich golden-yellow of the oak, and deep 
 blood-red of the beech, not allowing one to decide which 
 of all was the most beautiful. And all this under a bright 
 sunny sky flecked with innumerable patches of cloud, all 
 hurrying along under the strongly-blowing west wind, 
 with the fresh smell of recent rain still in the air, and the 
 keen cool wind blowing pleasantly about one's heated 
 temples. Truly there is something else in the year worth 
 having besides those " high midsummer pomps " of which 
 Matt Arnold so pleasantly speaks. 
 
 A reading-party at Howtown, on Lake Ulleswater, in 
 August, 1874, with his friend and tutor, Mr. Bernard 
 Bosanquet, gave occasion for the following record of a 
 Westmoreland walk : 
 
 To H. W. Howtown, August 24, 1874. 
 
 .... After a while we made our way back, and three 
 miles' walking brought us to Insedale Beck, which I have 
 described. It was a little sombre and melancholy. After 
 a few minutes we went on, meaning to come down into the 
 valley, on the other side of the fell, and so make our walk 
 a complete circuit. We stepped out, and all of a sudden, 
 as we came to the edge of the high ground, I saw the 
 most wonderful, glorious sight that my eyes have ever 
 beheld. We could see four large valleys at one view, 
 divided by the hills. Bight in front of us was the range
 
 26 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 of Helvellyn, over which the clouds hung low and black 
 and ominous its top swathed in rushing mist. Helvellyn 
 ran on into Fail-field, which was hardly less magnificent, 
 and the valleys of it, brightened as some of them were by 
 the perpendicular shafts of light, shot into them by the 
 sun from behind the edge of a dark storm-cloud, were a 
 relief to the eye after the sombre majesty of Helvellyn. 
 Far to the eastward was the dark mass of Skiddaw ; to the 
 west was Illbell, that big fellow we saw from the other 
 side, and the long range of High Street. Straight below, 
 at what seemed an immense distance, was the Kirkstone 
 Yalley, with its green pastures and ruddy ploughed lands. 
 There was no sound except the unceasing roar of the 
 distant waterfalls, and a rushing sound in the air which 
 one might easily take to be made by the sweep of the great 
 mists we could see driving across Helvellyn. But it is all 
 indescribable. Remember all the feeling of solemnity 
 and awe, all the gloom and glory of the mountains which 
 you have ever yourself felt, and try to throw it into my 
 weak words. 
 
 Two more " notes " of Oxford landscape will perhaps 
 be welcome to those who know the fields and streams 
 beloved of " Thyrsis " and the " Scholar Gipsy." 
 
 Laleham, May 6, 1875. 
 
 .... Just before me lay the valley of the Thames. I 
 could not see the river. But the dense woods and the 
 wonderful fertility of the valley marked its course. Such 
 a luxuriant wealth of variegated foliage ! with here and 
 there a vermilion roof peeping through, and the distant 
 houses of ancient Wallingford viewed on my right and 
 curling round behind me. The road ran straight on a 
 mere white ribbon through the great fields on either side,
 
 EARLY YEARS 27 
 
 green with the young wheat. A few miles on were the 
 two knolls I was aiming at. Before long I was there. 
 Oh, that heavenly little hill ! It was all grass, quite 
 golden with the buttercups, and falling on the east side 
 into natural terraces with steep sides rising quickly from 
 the plain. And on the very top such an exquisite little 
 beech wood, big forest trees, with no brushwood, only 
 the soft mossy grass and the cowslips growing profusely 
 round their grey roots. And the distant cuckoo, and the 
 eerie noises of the great tree-trunks swaying in the wind, 
 the only sounds. I got round to the east side, where I 
 was sheltered from the wind, and could look and see. 
 There lay old Father Thames, his blue windings glittering 
 in the sun. To come suddenly upon that exquisite blue 
 was such a delight to the eye. And there was Dorchester 
 on the other side of the river, with its old red-tiled church, 
 and to the north the Nuneham woods, concealing Oxford 
 that lay beyond. 
 
 From the next we get a glimpse of one of the " Hare and 
 Hounds " runs, by which he varied his book-work. 
 
 Oxford, November 6, 1876. 
 
 .... The day was fine, with cloud enough to 
 accentuate the lights and darks, but not enough to make it 
 in the least gloomy. Roberts and I set out at 3-1 5 from 
 the station, took to the fields directly, and after a mile or 
 so got over the palings into the sacred ground of Nuneham, 
 through which place we ran for about four miles, now 
 through wood, now over plough-land, and now along 
 lawny park-land, startling the deer, and seeing often the 
 rabbits rise just beneath our feet. I felt wonderfully 
 fresh and fit, and ran with a strength and speed that 
 surprised me. I led the other man throughout, without 
 the least difficulty. It was delicious, speeding over that
 
 28 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 elastic grass, with the fresh wholesome air filling one's 
 lungs, and being given out not with the quick panting 
 of distress, but with the strong regular beat that tells of 
 wind and training. I never felt so young and so strong, 
 and so much in love ! 
 
 The following passage from a letter of '75, is a comment 
 upon a visit to Mr. Coombe's famous collection of pictures, 
 of which " The Light of the World " was for so long the 
 chief treasure : 
 
 To the same. Laleham, May 9, 1875. 
 
 .... I was pleased to find how greatly my knowledge 
 and judgment in art matters had grown since I last saw 
 these pictures, about two years ago. I was able to study 
 them yesterday just as I should a poem, and take a much 
 keener pleasure and delight in what was beautiful in them. 
 Nothing is more delightful than to feel that one's nature 
 has opened out in any such way as this, and that one has 
 gained new capacities of happy and healthful pleasure. 
 Do you remember our talking about this when we were 
 last at Littleton, one bright wintry afternoon, as we were 
 walking home by that Sunbury lane, watching the snow 
 on the fields and noticing how intensely brown the trees 
 looked, relieved against the snow and cold blue sky? On 
 my way home from College lately I several times turned 
 into the Taylor Gallery, and have been pleased to find 
 myself taking a fresh and genuine pleasure in many of the 
 Raphael sketches, above all, those of Michael Angelo, 
 whereas it is not so very long since looking through them 
 was little more than a duty task and rather a bore. Now 
 I am beginning to find out the wonderful freshness and 
 youthfulness and force there often is about these direct 
 translations of the painter's struggling thought, before it
 
 EARLY YEARS 29 
 
 was bound down and perhaps enfeebled in the complete 
 and laboriously- wrought picture. 
 
 To the same. Oxford, March 20, 1876. 
 
 I have been reading a good deal of Mazzini lately, and 
 mean to read everything of his. He is the most inspiring 
 and elevating of all teachers perpetually insisting on 
 Duty in contradistinction to Happiness, and with the 
 tenderest feeling for his fellow-men. 
 
 The two following extracts show him happily at work 
 as a lecturer to women students. Those were the days 
 immediately preceding the foundation of the Oxford 
 Colleges for Women, when the Higher Education of 
 Women was still comparatively a new cry, and a general 
 stir of lecturing was going on all over the country in 
 which Arnold's brother-in-law, Humphry Ward, had for 
 some years been taking much part, while Arnold was a 
 new recruit in the cause : 
 
 To Miss Wale. 5, King Edward Street, 
 
 January 10, 1877. 
 
 .... I have been reading Shelley most of to-day. He 
 is wonderful, wonderful ! And to think that I hardly 
 knew him ! I read him through at school, as I believe 
 I read every English poet, but was, of course, entirely 
 unable to understand or appreciate him. I have nearly 
 finished " Prometheus Unbound," which I am not sure 
 that I should not call the most beautiful poem in the 
 world. 
 
 To the same. Oxford, February 3, 1877. 
 
 I finished the big volume of Gray's Letters yesterday 
 
 evening. I think that, though I say it that shouldn't, the 
 
 next will be a good lecture. I have got a vast amount
 
 30 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 oj: interesting material. I read through all those letters 
 to supply myself with six short quotations. But then 
 they will come in so happily that it would have been worth 
 while to read half a dozen such volumes. I am going to 
 do the same with Pope's letters. In this way I get all 
 sorts of pointed little illustrations of their real ideas of 
 
 poetry and nature As my experience widens I feel 
 
 more and more that a general style of lecturing is felt 
 to be vague and leaves little impression, if it is not lit up 
 in this sort of way. 
 
 Arnold took his degree early in 1876, and by the middle 
 of 1877 he had already secured enough work as a " coach " 
 and lecturer to make it prudent to marry. His wife was 
 the daughter of t\e late Mr. Charles Wale, J.P., and grand- 
 daughter on her father's side of General Sir Charles Wale, 
 K.C.B., a member of an old Cambridgeshire family settled 
 at Little Shelford, near Cambridge. Her mother, as we 
 have said, was Henrietta Whately, now the only surviving 
 daughter of the famous Archbishop. The Liberal and 
 Evangelical traditions of the family mingled very naturally 
 with those of his own kindred. 
 
 The young couple settled in lodgings at Oxford, and 
 Arnold had no lack of pupils. But new powers and 
 ambitions were stirring in him. He was developing his 
 historical knowledge and learning German; and when 
 the subject of the Arnold Essay for 1878 was announced 
 as " Roman Provincial Administration," the younger 
 Arnold threw himself into the competition for the prize 
 with a student's ardour, made all the keener by a very 
 natural wish to prove himself worthy of his grandfather's 
 name, and by the desire to retrieve what he looked upon 
 as his failure in Greats. He won the prize (January, 
 1879), producing a book which has ever since kept its place
 
 EARLY YEARS 31 
 
 as the chief English authority on a great subject. I may 
 recall here that when the Essay was first published 
 in 1879, Mark Pattison, no mean judge, and one who 
 measured his words, spoke with warm admiration of the 
 "extent of reading " which it showed, and the "exactitude" 
 with which it had been carried through ; while a few years 
 later, M. Waddington, Ambassador and archaeologist, 
 praised it as " a very good summary of a subject little 
 known and little worked out in England." Arnold always 
 intended to issue later an enlarged and corrected edition, 
 including the manifold notes and additions he had 
 gathered, as the harvest of continuous reading, into his in- 
 terleaved copy. But with this, as with later projects, the 
 scholar's fastidious search after perfection interfered. In 
 the very last months of his life he recurred with eagerness 
 to the hope of a second edition " before I die." But it 
 was not to be; and the re-issued book, enlarged by many 
 of the notes he collected, owed its revision last year to a 
 friend's care, himself now, alas, gathered to the dead. 1 
 But it is good to remember that a reference to it, 
 twenty-five years after its publication, by a high Indian 
 official, as throwing light on some of the problems of 
 Indian frontier administration, was one of the pleasures 
 of his last weeks on earth. 
 
 After this success it would seem natural that Arnold 
 should have remained at Oxford, and become the " student 
 and bookworm " he had foreseen as a boy. But other 
 chances opened. In 1879 the editor of the Manchester 
 Guardian, Mr. C. P. Scott, came to Oxford in search of 
 a new member for the staff of what is perhaps the most 
 
 1. The late Evelyn Shuckburgh, M. A. Mr. Shuckburgh died suddenly 
 while the second edition of the Essay, to which he had given much time 
 and generous care, was passing through the press.
 
 32 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 important Liberal newspaper in England. Through. 
 Mr. Humphry Ward, Arnold's brother-in-law, the two 
 were brought together. Mr. Scott was struck by the wide 
 range of Arnold's interests, and attracted by his person- 
 ality. He asked him to come to Manchester on trial. 
 The young people went there first in the summer of 1879 ; 
 the work proved congenial to Arnold, and by the autumn 
 we find him fairly in harness, writing regular leaders and 
 Art criticism, and throwing himself besides into that 
 miscellaneous enrichment of the paper from all sources 
 which made both his duty and his happiness through the 
 years which followed. After settling in Manchester, the 
 Arnolds lived till the autum of 1886 at 226, Plymouth 
 Grove, and thenceforth at 75, Nelson Street " a house," 
 Arnold wrote to his mother, " nearer town, but in a much 
 prettier street, with a really charming, old-fashioned 
 garden, and all our friends who have seen it are most 
 congratulatory of our luck." A Manchester friend 
 writes : " Arnold rejoiced in this old house,* at one time 
 the home of John Owens, who founded Owens College, 
 and a legible memorandum of an earlier social state; 
 justly proportioned, solidly built of mellow red brick, 
 snug rather than large, with a modest stable, capacious 
 cellars, and a high-walled garden like a convent's, it 
 recorded a time when the Manchester spinner or merchant 
 no longer dwelt over his warehouse and had not yet taken 
 a manor in Cheshire, but lived in quiet comfort, a mile 
 or two from 'Change, riding in to business on his cob and 
 shooting snipe at a few minutes' walk from his door." 
 
 Arnold's removal to Manchester, heartily as we rejoiced 
 in it, was to myself a real personal loss. He and I, 
 during our grown-up years, had seen too little of each 
 
 * Recently demolished. The original number of the house was 10.
 
 EARLY YEARS 33 
 
 other. We had been close companions as children; then, 
 after our father's return to England, began long years of 
 school for both of us ; and our holidays were very seldom 
 spent together. We were both bookish, confident, and 
 argumentative ! and there was very little daily contact 
 to make each acquainted with the sensitive points of the 
 other. But he came up to Oxford in 1871, and I married 
 and settled in Oxford during the following year, and from 
 that time a new relation began. In a precious letter, 
 written after his last illness had declared itself, he 
 describes the effect upon him of his gradual realisation 
 at Oxford of my affection for him; while for me this 
 revived companionship and understanding were among 
 the chief joys of an expanding life. After he went to 
 Manchester, I watched his development with ever-increas- 
 ing pride and delight. He counselled me in literary or 
 historical work : he was the first to prophesy the success 
 of Robert Elsmere; he wrote to me of his own schemes 
 and plans; and we met as often as the busy life of both 
 households permitted. 
 
 But if we missed him from Oxford, where our own lot 
 was cast for ten years, it was soon clear how well fitted 
 he was for that part in the life of a great manufacturing 
 town to which he had been called. From the beginning 
 he made Manchester interests his own. The vast ma- 
 chinery of Manchester trade and manufacture, its 
 economic bearings, and its human implications; Man- 
 chester art and music; or the plays given at Manchester 
 theatres ; the neighbouring country, its moors and streams, 
 and woods on which the mills encroached year by year; 
 Lancashire dialect and Lancashire poets; Lancashire 
 birds and flowers; the growth of Owens College, the de- 
 velopment of an Art Gallery, the preservation of local 
 traditions; to all these matters, great and small, he gave
 
 34 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 his eager mind, almost from the first. At different times 
 he refused two offers of posts in London and Oxford, that 
 must have tempted one to whom access to the British 
 Museum or the Bodleian would have meant so much. 
 He was influenced by attachment to journalism and his 
 paper, but also by his wife's and his own love for " T' Owd 
 Smoky " a local expression which he often liked to use, 
 analogous to the " Auld Reekie " of northern fame. 
 
 As one turns over the voluminous collection of what he 
 wrote in the early years of his work on the Guardian, one 
 sees that before he was entrusted with a share in the chief 
 leaders of the papers those on the current political topics 
 of greatest importance, he made his mark, first by the 
 growth of that extraordinary command over foreign lan- 
 guages and the foreign press, of which Mr. Montague will 
 have much to say later on ; and, secondly, by the keen in- 
 telligence he brought to bear on local topics. In his very 
 first year, we find him familiar with French, German, 
 Italian and Spanish newspapers and reviews; not over- 
 burdened by them ; but making shrewd, popular, effective 
 use of them as sources of information; while his wide 
 range of outside knowledge made his handling of local 
 affairs all the more vivacious. Meanwhile he steadily 
 informed himself on the main political questions. Those 
 were indeed stirring years. The Liberal Ministry of 1880 
 came into power immediately after Arnold's migration to 
 Manchester. Ireland and the Land League, Mr. Forster's 
 Administration, the Phoenix Park murders, " Parnellism 
 and Crime," the Land Act, and the Home Rule Bill, the great 
 disruption of 1886, and the inauguration of the long Tory- 
 Rule Majuba, Arabi, Gordon, these are the names and 
 memories, which for us of middle life, leap like flame-points 
 on the dark as we look back on these years. In all that 
 they stand for, Arnold's quick thought and passionate
 
 EARLY YEARS 35 
 
 sympathies were concerned. In 1880, the Guardian sent 
 him to Ireland to report on Irish distress. He went 
 through some of the worst and most disturbed districts, 
 and when, latei in the year, Arnold's uncle by marriage, 
 Mr. Forster, took office as Chief Secretary for Ireland, 
 Arnold studied the course of Irish affairs with a peculiar 
 and painful interest. But, like many other Liberals, he 
 could not ultimately follow Mr. Forster; Mr. Gladstone 
 captured him ; and he became and remained a Home Ruler. 
 The daily political articles of twenty years ago hardly 
 bear quoting, but I may repeat here perhaps the words 
 of emotion in which the young journalist and scholar 
 described for his paper the never to be forgotten scene of 
 Lord Frederick Cavendish's funeral, in the green church- 
 yard of Edensor: 
 
 " May, 1882. 
 
 " Some of the familiar words (in the Burial Service) 
 came with a new meaning, and a deeper hush fell upon the 
 crowd, as the voice rose full and clear : ' In the midst of 
 life we are in death.' The chief mourners were grouped 
 as before round the open grave, the Duke of Devonshire 
 and Lady Frederick Cavendish on the north side, opposite 
 them the Marquis of Hartington, behind, the clergyman, 
 Lord Edward Cavendish, and Mr. Gladstone. The sun 
 was shining at the time, with the mellow radiance of a 
 soft spring day, and the Premier held his hat in his right 
 hand to shade his eyes against its rays. As the crowd 
 was on his right, this unconscious manoeuvre partially con- 
 cealed the workings of his face, from the thousands of 
 eyes that were intently watching him. But as the service 
 ended, and Mr. Gladstone stepped for a moment to the 
 edge of the grave, the hands were held down, and the look 
 of sad resignation on the face will live in many a memory. 
 Perhaps the more eyes were directed to the Premier, as it
 
 36 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 was not possible for the stoutest heart to look at the 
 nearest relatives of the dead man without something 
 of a feeling of intrusion upon sacred grief. As the 
 Duke of Devonshire led Lady Frederick Cavendish away, 
 the other mourners followed, and the crowd surged in 
 towards the grave. Almost everyone present had a glimpse, 
 if only for a moment, of the coffin, or at all events of its 
 black velvet pall, covered inches deep with white roses and 
 other flowers, and thus saw the last that any man will see 
 this side of the grave of the loyal friend and gallant 
 gentleman, and zealous well-doer, who was in all the vigour 
 of life and health but five short days ago. And as those 
 who had seen this sight, and who knew something of the 
 honour and simple nobleness of the man who lay there, 
 turned away from his open grave, some such epitaph rose 
 in the minds of many as came to the lips of the Roman 
 historian in commemorating the virtues of Rome's most 
 spotless son : Qui nunquam recte fecit ut facere videretur, 
 sed quia aliter facere non poterat." 
 
 With every year that passed the paper naturally gave 
 him more important work to do. He was soon its most 
 powerful and trusted contributor; he threw his young 
 strength ungrudingly into its service, thinking no effort 
 too great for the upholding of its reputation and efficiency. 
 At the same time he maintained from the beginning the 
 literary and historical interests of his own personal life 
 which he had brought with him from Oxford. Some time 
 in 1881, he agreed to write for Mr. Murray one of the 
 series of " Students' Manuals," then appearing under the 
 editorship of Dr. William Smith. My brother's Manual 
 was to deal with the history of the early Empire, from 
 Actium to Marcus Aurelius, and with all the eagerness 
 of his youth he entered on a project which, passing 
 through various transformations, in the end filled all the
 
 EARLY YEARS 37 
 
 leisure hours of fifteen years, and was still only begun, 
 so far as final execution was concerned, when the illness 
 which killed him overtook him. " I am working away at 
 my history," he writes to his brother Theodore on Sep- 
 tember 25th, 1881, " perhaps they have told you that 
 Murray has asked me to do a ' Students' Roman Empire.' 
 I suppose it will be out in three or four years." But 
 in the language of a friend, who was also a close 
 observer of his life " his full scholarship burst the 
 narrow vessel; handbooks, to be done at all, must 
 be what an expert feels to be rough-and-ready; 
 Arnold tried vainly to pack into a handbook his 
 gatherings from inscriptions and other early sources, 
 from German monographs and specialist reviews. The 
 handbook was abandoned, and from that time his purpose 
 was to write an exhaustive history of the early Empire, 
 for which the whole of the original evidence and all that 
 has been written on it should be passed through the sieve 
 of a serious scholarship. For the rest of his life he 
 worked at Roman history, penetrating pretty soon to the 
 austerer region where all the companionship is that of a 
 few specialists. As he went on, indeed, the specialist's 
 habit deepened; he concentrated on a briefer period, and 
 the call to first-hand work on the foundations of the evi- 
 dence grew more imperious." 
 
 Almost at the same moment, however, when he began 
 what was to be the historical work of his life, another and 
 kindred idea occurred to him, suggested partly by his 
 work and partly by family affection. For many English 
 minds, writes the friend I have already quoted, it 
 was the work of his grandfather, " the elder Thomas 
 Arnold, which had first raised Roman history from 
 the dead. It had for some time been William 
 Arnold's wish to fortify that rousing fragment against
 
 38 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 supersession; if lie could, to complete it; at any 
 rate to save its place in the esteem of scholars 
 by bringing it abreast with later knowledge." In the 
 autumn of 1881, I find a letter from him to me, which 
 mentions this idea, as well as other interests of the time : 
 
 " I have suggested to Aunt Forster," l he writes to 
 me, " a one-volume edition of the grandfather's history, 
 and have offered to write an introduction. . . . Ap- 
 parently the copyright expires in a year or two, and, as 
 Uncle Matt says, it will be necessary to be ready then. 
 I want to point out what the Germans think of the 
 book, and what line research has taken since. . . . 
 
 "... The history moves, that is the reading does. 
 For I shan't put pen to paper for three years. Entre 
 nous, I have come to the conclusion that we in England 
 know absolutely nothing of the history of the Empire. 
 It has to be largely reconstructed from epigraphic 
 sources, and of these hardly anything is known in this 
 country. You know my opinion of Merivale, and will 
 therefore understand the satisfaction with which I read 
 the other day in a first-rate German book : "Die Biicher 
 von Duruy und Merivale sind Compilationen mittel- 
 massiger Giite." And yet most people take Merivale 
 seriously as a sort of Gibbon ! . . . I am rather per- 
 turbed about what you say as to 's thinking I should 
 have got better terms," i.e., from the publishers who 
 were to bring out the Roman History volume " But, 
 then, you see, in the first place, I was only too glad of 
 the opportunity of producing a book on the subject on 
 any terms. I would, in fact, have done it for nothing. 
 All the reading goes for the real subject of my heart 
 the history of the world under Rome. The interleaved 
 
 1. Mrs. W. E. Forster, Dr. Arnold's eldest daughter, and at this date 
 his literary representative.
 
 EARLY YEARS 39 
 
 edition of my book (the Arnold Essay) is already 
 crammed with additions and corrections, and I look 
 forward to a second edition some day. 
 
 " I see I am getting egotistical. So by way of re- 
 venge you must tell me how your book is getting on. 
 I can give you some good authorities on Roman Spain 
 if you want them. Don't attempt too much journalism. 
 It is already difficult enough for the mother of a family, 
 and mistress of a house, to do serious work as well, 
 without further tying yourself when you are not obliged. 
 You are in the at once happy and unhappy position of 
 having put the German standard before yourself in these 
 matters, and you know what that means. . . . 
 
 " I read your Spain and Africa article (in the Pall 
 Mall Gazette, then under Mr. Morley's editorship). It 
 was translated in the Debats. My impression is that 
 Spain would fight for Morocco. I am at bottom some- 
 what heterodox about the African question, though I 
 keep it dark ! I suppose much Roman Empire reading 
 is calculated to make one grudge the loss of the northern 
 coast to Europe. I only regret France's way of doing 
 the job, and allow that it was not worth her while to 
 quarrel with Italy for Tunis. It will be lucky if all 
 Europe is not by the ears about Africa in the next 
 generation." 
 
 His scheme, however, for a new edition of the complete 
 " History of Rome," was ultimately modified into a new 
 edition of those chapters in the " History " concerned with 
 the Second Punic War; and this book appeared in 1886, 
 winning the warm praise of experts, classical and 
 geographical such as Mr. Douglas Freshfield for the 
 care and learning which had been lavished on the notes, 
 so as to include or indicate all the additions made to 
 knowledge since the original publication, on matters like
 
 40 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 the battles of the Trebia and Lake Trasiinene, Hannibal's 
 passage of the Alps, and the geographical capacity of 
 Polybius. 
 
 Besides this task, and the continuous work on the bigger 
 scheme, from 1886 to 1895, he contributed to the " English 
 Historical Review " several long notices of books on 
 ancient history. Among these the minute criticism of 
 Mommsen's volume on " The Provinces, from Caesar to 
 Diocletian," in 1886, (E. H. R., Vol. i., p. 350), and the 
 study of Professor Ramsay's " Church in the Roman 
 Empire," and Dr. E. G. Hardy's " Christianity and the 
 Roman Empire," in 1895 (Yol. x., p. 456) are perhaps 
 the most noteworthy. 1 
 
 But in the new passion for Roman history the old 
 passion for English poetry was not forgotten. Before he 
 left Oxford, he had already edited the first book of 
 " Hyperion " for the Clarendon Press, and this was 
 followed in 1884 by an edition, in one volume, of " The 
 Poetical Works of John Keats," with an Introduction, 
 dealing mainly with the sources of the Keatsian diction, 
 to which Arnold gave untiring work. In this charming 
 book he reprinted the Keats volumes of 1817, 1818, and 
 1820, i.e., all the poems published by Keats himself in his 
 lifetime, together with a selection from the posthumous 
 poems. The volume, though beautifully printed and 
 arranged, was not a financial success, and probably 
 suffered from the fact that Mr. Buxton Forman's 
 exhaustive four-volume edition had appeared only a few 
 
 1. Arnold's other contributions to the " English Historical Review " 
 include reviews of J. P. Mahaffy's " Greek World under Roman Sway, 
 from Polybius to Plutarch," in 1892 (vol. vii., p. 124); the second 
 volume of Henry Furneaux' edition of the "Annals " of Tacitus, in 1893 
 (vol. viii., p. 538) ; W. Warde Fowler's "Julius Caesar and the Founda- 
 tion of the Roman Imperial System," on p. 746 of the same volume, and 
 H. F. Tozer's "Selections from Strabo," in 1895 (vol. x., p. 116).
 
 EARLY YEARS 41 
 
 months before it. 1 At the same time, the book remains 
 for the lover of Keats one of the most convenient and 
 stimulating of editions. Mr. Sidney Colvin says of it, in 
 the Preface to his own study of Keats : " The Introduction 
 to this edition contains the only attempt with which I am 
 acquainted at an analysis of the formal elements of Keats's 
 style." Arnold's old friend and tutor, Mr. Bernard 
 Bosanquet, the well-known author of the Logic, and 
 translator of Lotze and Hegel, wrote to him : " I always 
 said the function of the critic was imprimis to tell one 
 something true, and build up doubtful theories afterwards 
 if he pleased. Now I am much the wiser for your 
 Introduction; and as a rule I spend much bad language 
 on literary criticism, and come out of it with a soured 
 temper. All that about Keats' knowledge of country is 
 most jolly, and is an excursion into the higher range of 
 criticism." Matthew Arnold writes a few words of 
 characteristic reservation and characteristic praise, very 
 grateful these last! to the young nephew who both 
 loved the author of " Thyrsis " as a kinsman, and 
 passionately admired him as a writer. " I have looked 
 through the Preface very good ! One can hardly speak 
 with too much delight of him; but how few pages suffice 
 to contain all of his work which truly gives this delight ! 
 I never turn over the leaves without discontent at finding 
 how much space is taken by Endymion." And Mr. 
 F. T. Palgrave writes to Matthew Arnold that he has 
 found in the book " a great knowledge of our early 
 writers," which he thinks the editor might use " to great 
 advantage if he turned his mind to editing any of the 
 neglected Elizabethans." Thus encouraged and welcomed 
 
 1. My brother's edition was, in fact, completed long before the publica- 
 tion of Mr. Buxton Forman's book. But its appearance was delayed by 
 the accidental destruction of the whole first MS. of the Introduction and 
 Notes by a fire on the publisher's premises.
 
 42 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 by a few of the discerning, the book went on its way. 
 Arnold remained to the end of his life a votary of the 
 qualities he most admired in Keats simplicity, natural 
 magic, the power of the right word, together with the 
 " sweet and easy slipping movement," common to both 
 Keats and to Spenser, the love of his boyhood. 
 
 So much for the details of these early years of manhood. 
 If I look back upon the impression he made upon his 
 family and friends during this time, I see him standing 
 before the fire in the drawing-room of the pleasant house 
 in Nelson Street, alert and vigorous, his broad shoulders 
 somewhat overweighted by the strong, intellectual head, his 
 dark eyes, full of fun and affection, beaming on the guest 
 who had just arrived, perhaps, from the south, delighting 
 in the family gossip which brought his family information 
 up to date, or listening with quick sympathy to literary 
 plans and projects. When it came to his turn, he would 
 talk eagerly, in his crisp, humorous, broken way, of 
 his own current interests, of men and books, or of 
 some new development in the Guardian which promised 
 to bring it more closely into touch with local needs, or 
 abreast of modern knowledge. You felt his ambitions 
 for the paper; you realised also the shrewd and practical 
 form into which he threw them. After dinner, one said 
 good-bye to him; he went off to the Guardian office, and 
 did not re-appear till the small hours. But next morning 
 one would find him in his study, smoking happily over the 
 latest German volume on his history of the Empire, one dog 
 on his knees and another at his feet, the walls round him 
 filled with the rapidly accumulating and well-read books, 
 which were at once the landmarks and the instruments of 
 his life. In these morning hours he was the scholar; the 
 journalist was laid aside. No use then to hurry him ! to 
 ask when the book he had promised Dr. Smith was to come
 
 EARLY YEARS 43 
 
 out. His brown eyes, in which a good-humoured laugh 
 seemed to be always latent, simply on this point evaded 
 you. What was the good of publication of finishing 
 of anything but digging ever deeper into the roots of 
 things, penetrating fresh subtleties of the Roman mind 
 and administration, " unseen by the Germans yet ?" His 
 morning mood was not his evening mood. The more rapid 
 was the journalist, the more leisurely was the scholar. 
 The two sides of his life completed and balanced each 
 other; at least so far as the quality of his work was con- 
 cerned. His journalism profited by his research, and 
 vice versa. But undoubtedly the very stress under which 
 his newspaper work had to be done, strengthened the 
 fastidious temper of the savant. In his historical work he 
 felt himself free to linger; and the lingering grew upon 
 him, till his illness overtook him, with the magnum opus 
 of his life, from which the fragments published since his 
 death are taken, only begun. 
 
 In these days and nights of perpetual brain-work, how- 
 ever, there were many fresh-air interludes. Every fine 
 Saturday Arnold and his wife would take train out of Man- 
 chester, to some point where moors and woods began, 
 whence a bit of Roman road, perhaps, was to be reached, or 
 an "edge" climbed, or a water-shed explored. Of the 
 wide knowledge of country thus gained, evidence will be 
 found later on. And to this local knowledge and love of 
 northern England, he was soon to add the knowledge and 
 love of many places abroad. Mrs. Arnold's family had an 
 old affection for the Lake of Geneva, and with Glion and 
 Clarens, with the Rochers de Naye, and Jaman " delicately 
 tall," Arnold became familiar in the years of his engage- 
 ment, and those immediately following his marriage. But 
 soon more ambitious flights became possible. He saw Venice 
 for the first time in 1887, again in 1888, and Rome in 1889.
 
 44 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 And always and everywhere, he beheld new country 
 or new cities with the same keen eyes and the same unspoilt 
 delight he had brought them as a youth. The historical 
 sense and the geographical eye went with him as they had 
 gone with his grandfather, Arnold of Rugby, on a similar 
 quest. 
 
 Certainly, as one looks at these ten years of his early 
 manhood, one can but feel that they were years of great 
 happiness and rich activity. Politically the cause of 
 Ireland lay nearest his heart. To that, as we have seen, 
 his chief work on the Guardian was devoted. Through all 
 the great moments of the long battle the Gladstonian 
 Land Act, the struggle with the Land League and the 
 Irish members, the Home Eule fight, Mr. Balfour's ad- 
 ministration, and the Parnell Commission he was the 
 main spokesman of the paper. He fought hard and long, with 
 fairness, consistency, and courage. Mr. Balfour's political 
 personality was clearly uncongenial to him, but for Lord 
 Hartington, and even for Mr. Chamberlain, heartily as he 
 disagreed with them both, he has many a generous and 
 even admiring word. For Mr. Gladstone except through 
 the " Egyptian Muddle," which as he says " almost made 
 me a Tory " his admiration was deep and steady ; and 
 after the defeat of 1886, a new note, intimate and "touched 
 with emotion" enters into the political support he gave the 
 beaten minister. Next to Imperial politics came the 
 claims of Manchester. For the first ten years of his con- 
 nection with the Guardian he reported every Art Exhibi- 
 tion that was held in Manchester, and took a special and 
 patriotic interest in the doings of Manchester artists. One 
 of these artists gives an account, in an interesting sketch 
 now lying before me, of the foundation of the Brasenose 
 Club, which was meant to provide a meeting place for 
 young writers, painters, and musicians. "Mr. Arnold," he
 
 EARLY YEARS 45 
 
 says, "joined the club soon after his arrival in Manchester, 
 and at once became a leader in the artistic circle, and by 
 personal intercourse made himself acquainted with the 
 aims and capacities of the individual members." The 
 writer goes on to record his obligation and gratitude for 
 the increased recognition which the local art began at 
 once to obtain in the columns of the Guardian. The 
 appreciation and earnestness of the Guardian notices, the 
 pains taken, and the knowledge shown, were "new to the 
 public," and " commanded the respect of the artists." 
 
 " It is impossible to judge how much of the great revival 
 of interest in the art of painting which took place in 
 Manchester during the eighties was due to Mr. Arnold " ; 
 but " it is certain that his influence was very great. 
 While he was with us the Corporation accepted the gift of 
 the Art Galleries to the City. The School of Art was 
 built, and many changes and important affairs took place. 
 He took an active part in all." Thus was his boyish 
 passion for art deepened, justified and made effective, 
 through his work as a journalist. It was the same with 
 the theatre, and a short collection of reprinted articles on 
 " The Manchester Stage," issued in 1898, written by 
 W. T. Arnold, C. E. Montague, Oliver Elton and A. N. 
 Monkhouse, show with what conscience and eagerness the 
 young writers on the Guardian tried to support the claims 
 of good work and competent acting, always with an eye 
 to wide horizons and general ideas. For music, though 
 Arnold was not musical, there was the same general 
 sympathy, the same warm support. All that made for 
 beauty and the higher joys, for those ideal ends that shine 
 above " the tumult of our war," touched him now as they 
 had touched his youth, only with a deeper power. He had 
 passed like Keats out of " the Chamber of Maiden 
 Thought" into those chambers of experience, where "axioms 
 are proved upon our pulses " ; but beauty and poetry were
 
 46 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 still with him, still the lights upon his way, as he did his 
 daily work in the dark Manchester streets. 
 
 Of things more intimate there can be but little to say. 
 His married life was exceptionally happy, based upon a 
 sympathy of ideas and aims unusually complete. His 
 younger brother, F. S. Arnold, settled as a doctor in 
 Manchester, not very long after his own migration, and 
 the bond between them, which had been very close in 
 boyhood, became closer still. His father, who became a 
 Fellow of the Royal Irish University in 1880, would often 
 pause at Manchester on his journeys between Dublin and 
 Oxford, and in spite of their differing religious or political 
 beliefs Thomas Arnold had re-entered the Church of 
 Home in 1876 father and son were both of those spirits 
 whom the world cannot tame, and so were linked through 
 all division, whether of occupation or opinion. The 
 spiritual face of the father, his gentle, hesitating ways, 
 were in sharp outward contrast with the rugged, intellectual 
 strength of the son ; yet no doubt Arnold owed some of his 
 most characteristic qualities to his father. His mother died 
 in 1888, after many years of suffering. He was with her just 
 before the end, and he realised with her other children the 
 pathos of her death after a life of many rebuffs and bitter 
 disappointments, just as the lives of those whom she had 
 borne in every detail of which she had taken a passionate 
 interest were gaining new joys and powers which might 
 have been shared with her. Arnold's own house was 
 childless ; nevertheless a growing boy or girl was always to 
 be found in it. Some nephews or nieces, whose parents 
 lived abroad, shared the Nelson Street home in due 
 succession, and went to school in Manchester. In the 
 details of their school-work, games, and general develope- 
 ment, their uncle took a keen interest, and was repaid 
 by their loyal affection. And outside the claims of family, 
 there were other claims to which Arnold never failed to
 
 EARLY YEARS 47 
 
 respond, claims of misfortune, of poverty, of the stranger 
 within our gates. The house was seldom without guests. 
 In December, 1881, he writes to an old schoolfellow : 
 
 " We had a lively time all the summer, three 
 months' sunshine fancy that in Manchester ! a great 
 picture exhibition, the British Association, etc. We 
 had a constant stream of visitors, including a French- 
 man of thirty-five, a very nice fellow, a brilliant French 
 lady of fifty, a French boy of eighteen, awful good sort, 
 and great fun and two Russian professors, who stayed 
 a week, and, according to the veracious Elizabeth," (their 
 faithful parlourmaid), " did not wash once all that time, 
 besides smoking all day in their bedrooms." 
 Of many of the things he did, he would not have liked 
 
 me to speak. They were the " little nameless unremem- 
 bered acts " which sweeten life. But one charity was 
 patent to all the world. The stray or starving four-footed 
 creatures that found shelter in Nelson Street could not be 
 hid. Any benighted stray that appealed to him as he 
 walked home between midnight and 2 a.m. was offered 
 food and lodging. On March 9th, 1886, he reports to 
 Mrs. Arnold, on one of her brief absences from home: 
 
 " Last night, coming up the Grove, about midnight, 
 I saw a strange beast loafing about, called 'Benson,' 
 and was rewarded by a frantic courbature, and jumping 
 around, which must nearly have dislocated the animal's 
 spine. Took him home and gave him biscuits, then 
 water, of which he drank pints. The poodles smelt him, 
 and remonstrated loudly from the kitchen. Took him 
 up to my room with the idea of giving him a bit of my 
 bed, but he was so awkward and nervous, and made 
 such a row that I had reluctantly to turn him out again. 
 He seemed fat and in good case, and only shut out of 
 his own home by accident."
 
 48 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 On country walks he would watch for the first frenzy 
 with which a town dog resumes possession of the open 
 earth. " There was lots of snow about," he writes to 
 Mrs. Arnold on April 1st, 1883, " and Kinder was really 
 beautiful. We walked back across the mountain. Lovely 
 day and most enjoyable. The only drawback was that 
 Bendy " (a bull-terrier) " would not go mad ; for that 
 apparently your presence is necessary." 
 
 And Arnold's hatred of vivisection was the public 
 expression of this aspect of his home life. He held that 
 vivisection was immoral, and that what ethics forbade 
 science could not legalise ; and, although he knew well that 
 men as humane as himself were in the opposite camp, his 
 own view never wavered. The following letter written to 
 a near relation gives full expression to it. It is dated 
 May 29th, 1890:- 
 
 
 
 "You sympathise with the crusade against 'cruelty in 
 vivisection,' and joyful I was to read the words, for I 
 had imagined that the difference between us went down 
 to the roots. But the very point of my letter was that 
 vivisection necessarily implies cruelty, that English 
 vivisection is, to a large extent, cruel vivisection. . . . 
 You see in my mind ' a certain callousness to human 
 suffering.' That is a charge which it is clearly not 
 for me to answer. But I can assure you that if it is 
 just, the fault is my natural depravity, and not at all in 
 my championship of the beasts. I am sure I am less 
 callous than I should be if I did not trouble myself 
 about them. And then surely the remark has no value 
 if it is merely personal to myself. My own experience 
 has been that the people who care for humans most, 
 and whose sympathy is warmest and surest, are those 
 who care for the beasts. The Committee of the Anti-
 
 EARLY YEARS 49 
 
 Vivisection and the Prevention of Cruelty Society here 
 include the names of the hardest philanthropical workers 
 in the place. There is, in fact, no falser view of human 
 nature than to assume that sympathy is in the nature of 
 a limited reservoir, and that to give so much to the 
 animals is to take so much from the humans. On the 
 contrary, the more sympathy is exercised, the more of it 
 there is to exercise." 
 
 On this subject, indeed, his feeling was so strong that 
 he would speak of it only seldom and briefly, even to close 
 friends. He evidently found a difficulty in discussing 
 it offhand without losing the balance that he always strove 
 to maintain between strength of feeling and restraint in 
 statement. For the qualities which he most often 
 mentioned with admiration were, besides courage, the 
 Aristotelian " moderation " and " excellent seriousness." 
 His own practice in this respect is seen in the precepts 
 of an intimate letter written by him on December 27th, 
 1895:- 
 
 " I have been contradictious and disagreeable these 
 last few days. It is the pedagogue in me which needs 
 subduing. But also you do state views too rashly and 
 absolutely. It isn't the fashion of our time to do so. 
 However dogmatic and pig-headed au fond, almost 
 all educated people are tentative and deprecatory and 
 suggestive rather than affirmative on the surface. So 
 that your sweeping, affirmative manner surprises and 
 startles a little. I don't attach excessive importance 
 to all that. But what is more important is that you 
 do not give the impression of having considered the 
 other side, or of having realised that there is another 
 side. Even the vivisector has his point of view, from 
 which he contrives some sort of moral justification of
 
 50 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 himself in his own mind, and if one is to influence 
 uncommitted people one must consent to understand 
 such points of view, quitte, of course, to repudiate and 
 contest them afterwards. Truth is a delicate, elusive 
 thing, and heat and dogmatism are poor helps to get it." 
 
 In 1890, Mr. C. E. Montague joined the Guardian. He 
 was thenceforward so intimately linked with my brother 
 in work and friendship, that the story of the next six 
 years belongs to him. To him also the detailed account 
 of my brother's methods as a journalist; in which he will 
 speak with a knowledge and vividness no member of 
 Arnold's family could possibly rival. Before he takes 
 up the pen, however, I may perhaps conclude this sketch 
 of the early Manchester years by a few quotations from 
 later letters to me, written before 1898, and one to Miss 
 Arnold of Fox How, which may be of interest to those 
 who have followed the preceding pages with sympathy. 
 
 The following passage was occasioned by my story of 
 " Bessie Costrell," which I sent to him in February, 
 1895:- 
 
 "... I have read your story with that painful and 
 yet salutary stir of mind which the deeper things of 
 literature evoke, and the last pages with an uncom- 
 fortable constriction of the throat. It is no doubt one 
 of the best things you have done, all the figures very 
 definite and living, and the kind of opium-dream before 
 detection, and futilities of a trapped animal after 
 it, almpst painfully true. How curiously hard litera- 
 ture is on these butterfly existences, which by a kind 
 of ignorance more than choice of evil, beat themselves 
 against the walls of circumstance, and under happier 
 conditions would have been blameless enough. How
 
 EARLY YEARS 51 
 
 hard Shakespeare is on the immoderation and pas- 
 sionate egoism of Romeo and Juliet ! though there is 
 nothing worse one can say of them." 
 
 In the spring of 1896, just before his breakdown in 
 health, he writes : " I have been much preoccupied of 
 late with questions of style and architectonics, and have 
 come to see that merely to write an accurate modern book 
 on the Roman Empire isn't worth while. What I have 
 to do, if possible, is to write a book with lots of air and 
 ideas in it, and a style ! Hitherto I have divided my work 
 into separate parts, journalism, which has to be read- 
 able, and historical Wissenschaft, in which I have not 
 troubled myself about readableness at all. Now, that 
 won't do, and if I can summon up the requisite energy I 
 look forward to recasting considerably what I have done, 
 and making a much more resolute bid for interest. Mean- 
 while I am reading widely, and trying to fathom how 
 ' the other fellows ' do it." 
 
 Pathetic aspiration! written just as life was breaking 
 beneath his feet. The earlier sentences of the letter speak 
 of " rheumatism," the first attack in truth of the illness 
 which killed him. 
 
 In the autumn of 1897, he wrote a propos of a small 
 address of mine : 
 
 " I think you took the right point about Socialism. 
 If the world of occupation is to be divided into two 
 circles, covering between them the whole ground thus : 
 
 Collectivism Individual 
 
 Enterprise 
 
 it does not much matter whether the former gain here 
 and there from the latter when reason and experience
 
 52 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 justify it. As long- as there is the alternative circle, 
 the socialistic tyranny will be impossible. What is 
 to be resisted to the death is any a priori attempt to 
 make the first circle cover all the ground." 
 A remark which may be conveniently compared here with 
 another passage in a letter written to a friend several 
 years later : 
 
 " One of the general conclusions that has emerged 
 from my reading of all these Germans is that German 
 economists have ceased, or are ceasing, to take Socialism 
 seriously. They regard it as played out. Its logical 
 basis was Marxism, and Marxism has been exploded 
 a Socialist named Bernstein, oddly enough, contributing 
 largely to the work. Of course there are facts like the 
 large Socialistic poll in Germany on the other side. 
 Still, the German economists regard the movement as 
 stricken with death, and no longer of the first import- 
 ance." l 
 
 The long letter which follows, the last I shall quote of 
 those written before his illness, was written in April, 
 1896, to Miss Arnold, of Fox How, Dr. Arnold's youngest 
 surviving daughter. Readers of Stanley's Life of Arnold, 
 will remember the statement that in 1820, Thomas Arnold, 
 then twenty-five, " married Mary, youngest daughter of 
 the Rev. John Penrose, Rector of Fledborough, in 
 Nottinghamshire." This " Mary Penrose," Matthew 
 Arnold's mother, was the gracious grandmother to whom, 
 as we have seen, William Arnold, as child and boy, had 
 cherished a peculiar attachment. He had always felt a 
 special interest in the Penrose records, and in the story of 
 his grandfather's marriage. Certain charming verses 
 written by Arnold of Rugby during his engagement to 
 Mary Penrose remain; and there are some contemporary 
 pictures of the life of the small Fledborough parsonage 
 
 1. With this letter, written about 1900, the recent German elections 
 (January, 1907), with their heavy Socialist losses, make an interesting 
 comparison.
 
 EARLY YEARS 53 
 
 as it was about 1810, with its mingling of plain the 
 plainest living, and high cultivation, its gentle studious 
 father, and its bevy of girls, one ironing, one sewing, 
 while another read aloud " The Lady of the Lake " or 
 " Marmion " just fresh from the press. William Arnold 
 had long wished to make a pilgrimage to Fledborough, 
 and in the spring weather of 1896 he set out there : 
 
 " We took the train to Eetf ord on the Great Northern, 
 and then rode the seven miles southwards along the 
 Great Road to Tuxford. On the way we passed the 
 villages of Gainston and Markham (suggestive of ' Mrs. 
 Markham'), 1 and after lunching at Tuxford, interesting 
 as the place where anyone bound for Fledborough in the 
 old days must have left the great coach road to plunge 
 into the wilds, we set out due east. Four miles or so of 
 a very lonely country road, or rather lane, with endless 
 masses of primroses in the hedge banks, brought us to a 
 three-lane-ends, and on one arm of the decrepid signpost 
 was 'To Fledborough only.' The road was bad, so we 
 took to the path, and after another mile saw the low 
 steeple of Fledborough, dismounted at the gate, and 
 walked up the drive (as you know, church and rectory 
 are all in one place, so to speak), which was lined with 
 splendid wallflowers in full blow and fragrance, looked 
 into the open church for a few minutes, and then to the 
 rectory door and sent in your letter. Presently the maid 
 told us to come in, and Mr. Kershaw made his appear- 
 ance and very kindly welcomed us a fresh-coloured, 
 pleasant man and a gentleman. He is a widower, and 
 there is only one child at home a Repton schoolboy. 
 He was just finishing some letters for the post, so we 
 begged him to go on, while we went out to the Holm 
 
 1. " Mrs. Markham " was Mrs. Charles Penrose.
 
 54 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 and down to the Trent. It was very pleasant and 
 sunshiny and restful, and the broad Trent, with two 
 fishing smacks moored hard by, quite imposing. You 
 may imagine one thought of the young lovers of three- 
 quarters of a century ago, and all the pleasant walks 
 they must have had there ! But as one looked south- 
 wards there was a mighty change. The new East and 
 West railway, starting from Chesterfield, to a point on 
 the Lincolnshire coast, goes right through Fledborough, 
 and we had been following its course all the way from 
 Tuxford. It is being carried over the Trent meadows 
 by a great viaduct of many arches as yet unfinished, 
 and as one looks from the drawing-room windows of the 
 Rectory these great arches by no means ugly, happily 
 are the conspicuous object in the distance, perhaps a 
 mile away. There will be a railway bridge, of course, 
 across the Trent, and a Fledborough station, so that 
 " Fledborough only " will be a thing of the past. By 
 the way, Mr. Kershaw told us that the original form 
 of the signpost was still better " Fledborough and no 
 further" and that it was his predecessor, Mr. Neville, 
 who had put up the " Fledborough only " some thirty 
 years ago. He showed us all over the house, and 
 carefully explained all the changes which had been 
 made by himself and the Nevilles, so that we could 
 realise the original home fairly well. Then we did the 
 church thoroughly under his guidance, including, of 
 course, your tiled floor, with the marble slab and 
 inscription in the middle, and the plain stone inscribed 
 John Penrose, and the little brass to him, and perhaps 
 most interesting of all the register with the marriage 
 in it, and the signatures of Thomas Arnold and Mary 
 Penrose. Then there was the vine which your grand- 
 father was pruning on the last day of his life, and in
 
 EARLY YEARS 55 
 
 the garden the wild yellow tulip of which Aunt Lydia 
 speaks (tulipa silvestris). It does not apparently grow 
 on the Holm any more, but has found a refuge in the 
 rectory garden, and is regarded by Mr. Kershaw as 
 quite indigenous. We begged a bulb, as we thought 
 you might like it for the Fox How garden, and Frank, 
 who carried it off, will be sending it you. Then Mr. 
 Kershaw gave us tea, and we parted great friends, after 
 a most successful little visit, which had not one 
 unpleasant touch in it, as these attempts to give form 
 and substance to a mind-picture, formed from reading 
 and listening, so often have. Mr. Kershaw is full of 
 respect and regard for the old memories, and the whole 
 place is just as it was, 
 
 'A nest in a green dale, 
 A harbour and a hold.' "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 
 By C. E. MONTAGUE
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MIDDLE LIFE. 
 
 Of Arnold's last years in Manchester one may attempt a 
 sketch, but not a record, so few were their changes or 
 events; and this by his own choice: a journalist, he took 
 anonymity seriously, was not seen on platforms, seldom 
 entered a club, never spoke at a public dinner; when he 
 left the city, few of those who had read him for 
 seventeen years can have heard of his name. He kept it 
 unknown with a kind of zest ; bearing himself to his paper 
 as a Jesuit to the order, he relished the reach it gave his 
 powers and relished the self-obliteration in their use not 
 from any sentimentalism of self-sacrifice, nor from insensi- 
 bility to the pleasure of distinction, but for reasons that he 
 gave. There is no limit, someone has said, to what a man 
 can do who does not care who gains the credit for it. 
 Arnold, who liked the saying, thought that for a man who 
 wished to get things done there was no work like journalism, 
 Imagine, he would say, what politics might be if the man 
 who is in love with great ends had not to be always seeing 
 to it that he is not overlooked if he could give up his 
 chance of a name for the chance of making, unknown, 
 a deeper dint on the life of his time. 
 
 Not that Arnold thought that in the press any force 
 worth using was to be had easily. No one was surer that a 
 man had better sweep streets well than write with nothing 
 more to go upon than volubility, brisk ways of putting 
 things, quickness in reading up briefs and a turn for 
 being in a heat at once about things that heat others.
 
 6o W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 But, on terms, a journalist could keep his soul and his 
 brains. First, he must think of his paper not as a spring- 
 board or a crutch for his own use, nor as a hoarding for 
 the posters of a party, but as an instrument of civilisation 
 that he can spend his life in plying without fear of feeling, 
 when he is dying, that he has been parasitic, either in the 
 sense of having lived on popular imbecility or vulgarity, 
 or only in that of having stood by, gossiping or nagging, 
 while better men worked. There must be no uncritical 
 assents, in politics, morals or criticism, to fashionable 
 second-bests, no vending to foolish people of expression 
 for their foolish thoughts. That was, in Arnold's view, 
 the first clause of a journalist's honour; he must beware 
 of " reflecting public opinion " ; he must say, not what his 
 clients might like, but what he believes. 
 
 Next, he must earn a right to believe ; he must feel that 
 to tell the truth is not a matter of will only, but of skill 
 and pains. Having often to make his mind up swiftly 
 on points of evidence, he must find a mental discipline to 
 train in him some special faculties that are more easily 
 kept strong and supple by the daily work of a scholar or 
 a judge. Since he may have to write on many subjects 
 and cannot be an expert upon them all, he must make 
 himself a first-rate expert upon one, that he may keep 
 unblurred his sense of what knowledge means, and that to 
 themes to which he cannot bring an expert's knowledge, 
 he may bring at least an expert's method his sense of 
 relative values in evidence; his caution, and also his 
 reach, in generalising; his adhesiveness to the point; his 
 enjoyment of accuracy as accuracy. Arnold would often 
 say that a young journalist should, in the old phrase, try 
 to know everything about something, and something about 
 everything. Unless he made some subject his own, 
 his mind tied to it with an elastic string and leaping
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 61 
 
 back to it upon release from other work, lie was likely 
 to fritter brains and character away upon a trashy 
 universalism ; and perhaps be forced in middle life, when 
 his early education had died out in him, and high spirits 
 had sunk, to slip down into indescribable quackeries and 
 effronteries in the effort to seem to be worth minding. 
 And yet, to be fit for his work, he should have wide 
 curiosity too; nothing should strike him as unclean or 
 common that preoccupies very many normal persons; 
 rather he should have a touch of the child's or artist's 
 tickled sense of fact, simply as fact; and this sense he 
 should bring, above all, to principles in their working 
 clothes, institutions with the dust of life on them rthe 
 racket and humours of elections, the way a jury talk when 
 they have left the box. 
 
 Nor would all the gain, Arnold thought, be on one side. 
 To be an expert was the making of a journalist; but to be 
 a journalist might save an expert some mistakes. Bagehot 
 would not have been a prince of journalists without his 
 economic training; but Maine, if he had been a journalist, 
 might not have had his vision of an average audience of 
 skilled English artisans as "roughs and clowns." "Even 
 the Historical Method has its own clap-trap." 1 Arnold 
 hoped the work of a historian and of a journalist might be 
 each other's complement, the special mental discipline 
 of each the antiseptic to the other's special maladies. 
 And an amphibious writer, one foot in journalism and 
 one in scientific history, might not merely be schooled 
 by both; he might serve as intermediary between them; 
 he might convince a fellow expert here and there that a 
 mind may keep its edge, and even sharpen it, on the daily 
 clinical study of affairs ; and, as friend to coherent thinking, 
 
 1. John Morley. " Studies in Literature " (1891), p. 111.
 
 62 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 he might say a word to the man in the morning train 
 might even, Arnold hoped, shake his fixed idea " that 
 science is the same thing as the physical sciences and that 
 scientific method can come only through the latter." 
 
 Arnold lived with a will the life thus planned. But 
 such plans for using life are bets on its length. Gibbon 
 won on the June night when he laid down the pen in 
 his garden house at Lausanne. Almost every year the 
 throw is seen lost, when the desk of someone who had left 
 a sense of possible greatness on other workers at his 
 craft like Lewis Nettleship, Adamson, York Powell is 
 found, at his early death, to be full of masses of jotted 
 notes, drafts of chapters, perhaps a scheme for the whole 
 organism of a book, but nothing built ; only heaped bricks 
 and a pencilled plan. For these defeats there is no wide 
 sympathy. To work twenty years in a mine and send up 
 nothing marketable, and then be brought up dead to 
 many minds this is the very type of futility. What ailed 
 him, to waste the sun while he had it? A few fellow 
 students may know that the work begun was good ; laymen 
 incline to see only the fate of another Casaubon; 1 the rows 
 of frustrated note-books even warm them with a conscious- 
 ness of truer sanity in letting their own minds live from 
 hand to mouth ; had they also tried to write, it might have 
 been on like sand. 
 
 As a historian Arnold lost. Dying at fifty-two, disabled 
 at forty-four, unable during his twenty working years to 
 give to history more than the leisure of an exhausting 
 profession, he published very little, and scarcely any part 
 of his main design had been carried, when he died, to 
 the point at which he would have wished a work of his to be 
 judged. 
 
 1. The Casaubon, needless to say, of " Middlemarch " ; not Isaac 
 Casaubon, nor Meric.
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 63 
 
 But only in one field out of two was there little 
 to show. In his dual career each half was, he hoped, 
 to help the other out; history to give journalism 
 severity of method; journalism to keep history supplied 
 with certain ingredients of sagacity, certain modes of 
 alertness and caution. If he did not live to prove this 
 use of journalism, he proved the converse use of history; 
 no one watching his mind at work could doubt that it was 
 partly the historical discipline that gave him the place he 
 held, in the esteem of his profession, beside Bagehot, 
 Greenwood, Morley, Barth, Godkin and the few others 
 who in Europe or America have shown aptitude and zest 
 for the exertion of first-rate minds and picked characters 
 under the condition of modern journalism. He wrote, 
 by choice, on far more things than most men, of fair 
 mental power and alacrity, can discuss at call without 
 risk of becoming mere thinkers by proxy and re-arrangers 
 of unfelt phrases ; he wrote on politics, on the theatre, on 
 painting and sculpture, on criticism and "pure literature," 
 and these were not all, and yet he always wrote from 
 reserves of relevant knowledge, and you felt behind the 
 words the push of an eager mind. 
 
 The reserves were systematically fed. To each of four 
 or five subjects Arnold applied the method by which an 
 expert in it keeps himself aware what his fellows are 
 doing. The expert, of course, does more; he adds to the 
 stock of things known, besides noting additions made by 
 others. In that sense Arnold was not an expert in 
 economics or the history of art, or geography, or dramatic 
 criticism. But he knew what the experts were at; a 
 civilian, he rode round the outposts; the journalist, he 
 thought, should pass and re-pass between the firing line of 
 knowledge and the base, or the non-combatants; a paper 
 failed if it left unnoticed any new fact or fruitful idea
 
 64 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 that research had added to knowledge of a subject on 
 which the paper offered to speak if it rushed out to tell 
 people how to stage Greek plays, or how to look at Central 
 Asian politics, in terms that showed that it had not heard 
 of some essential point first brought out a week before in 
 a German classical review or at a meeting of Viennese 
 geographers. There was scarcely an English, French, or 
 German specialist review of the first rank, political, 
 economic, geographical or critical, which Arnold did not 
 scan. Friends at work on subjects far away from Roman 
 history would get word from him of recondite foreign 
 monographs which he feared they might have overlooked. 
 Sometimes a fresh subject, large or slight, would draw 
 him, and the same sweeping, small-meshed net would be 
 cast in the new waters. Some years before the bicycle 
 had become first a fashionable plaything and then a 
 general utensil, Arnold's attention was piqued by its 
 possible uses; a friend would find him on Saturday 
 morning scouring with swift minuteness the whole week's 
 output of cycling periodicals from Western, Europe, lest a 
 fact or idea worth having should go to waste. 
 
 To use such a method to any purpose several qualities 
 were needed, all distinct and few of them common. First, 
 a versatile energy of curiosity that pressed, for the 
 pleasure's sake, towards the heart of every human interest, 
 not in mere amateurish inquisitiveness, nor in search of 
 raw material for dilettante talk, but with a natural passion 
 for thoroughness. Next, a particular kind of imaginative 
 sympathy with the plain man who is no specialist, a 
 sympathy so rare that exhaustive knowledge of any subject 
 is almost expected to put a bar between a man and his 
 kind. Then, to make the method physically practicable, 
 the swiftness in reading that seems to rip the sense out of 
 a printed page as one turn of a skilled wrist guts a whole
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 65 
 
 fish. Arnold was one of those who might seem to be merely 
 cutting the pages of a new book, on a subject that they 
 know, but will lay it down at the end with the net addition 
 already filed and docketed that its contents can make to 
 their own stock. Without this knack a man who tries to 
 keep up with so much as one fair-sized subject is oppressed 
 or flurried with a sense of "ever climbing up a climbing 
 wave " ; without the further knack for marshalling his 
 memoranda he may be half paralysed with fear of drown- 
 ing, out of sight of land, as Stevenson said of Balzac, in 
 the ocean of his own material. Arnold's multifarious 
 mass of cuttings, notes and references, was arranged 
 in concentric circles about him; the most vital parts 
 re-read and digested; the next in order of value 
 merely indexed in his mind and kept ready to his hand 
 by the help of some 378 spacious pigeon-holes; the outer 
 ring of material not preserved bodily but kept within call 
 by notes of its whereabouts, filed in the appropriate 
 pigeon-hole. Thus he sat, as oarsmen say, above his work. 
 If a subject suddenly gained its first prominence say, for 
 illustration, the question of keeping or ousting the 
 Polynesian labourers in Queensland its emergence would 
 find him equipped with (1) a fair hold, in his own mind, 
 of the simplest of the governing considerations; (2) an 
 instantly available store, in a pigeon-hole labelled perhaps 
 " Tropical Industry," of extracts from the chief recent 
 contributions of competent economists, physiologists and 
 geographers to scientific knowledge of points involved; 
 and, in a pigeon-hole possibly labelled " The ' White 
 Australia ' feeling," the most salient recent expressions of 
 various strains of Australian public feeling on these points ; 
 (3) in the " Tropical Industry " pigeon-hole, a body of 
 references to passages in books in which experts of 
 authority have touched the problem on the scientific side; 
 and, in the " White Australia " pigeon-hole, a similar
 
 66 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 body of references to passages of books in which Australian 
 feeling had been studied by qualified observers. The full 
 strength of the method was only seen in conflict with that 
 old enemy of the journalist, the new theme sprung upon 
 him by the wire late upon some night when miners have 
 been rioting under the Equator or fishermen fighting for 
 bait on the shore of Newfoundland. The challenge 
 found Arnold's forces only waiting for mobilisation; he 
 had good guns in action while others would still be looking 
 for stones. 
 
 Yet another qualification was needed some knowledge, 
 not an expert's and yet not quite an amateur's, of each 
 subject to which the method was applied. To fetch news 
 from any particular frontier of knowledge you must know, 
 for one thing, where that frontier is; for another, you 
 must know the code that knowledge writes her news in, to 
 be able to decipher it. Experts were apt to come with a 
 start upon unexpected pockets of special knowledge in 
 Arnold's mind. The letters on German feeling towards 
 England which he wrote in the Spectator during his last 
 illness 1 showed a command of current political literature 
 in Germany that no previous English writer on the subject 
 had gained. A distinguished French man of letters, 
 M. Augustin Filon, whose help Arnold had sought in 
 tracing a stray line of French to its source, has told 2 how 
 
 1. Reprinted in book form with additions and notes, under the title 
 " German Ambitions, as they affect Britain and the United States of 
 America." Smith, Elder & Co., 1903. 
 
 2. De son erudition, je puis juger indirectement par un souvenir qui 
 m'est personnel. Je 1'ai vu preoccupe d'un vers franais, cite par Dryden 
 et appartenant sans nul doute a 1'un de nos poetes de ce temps. A 
 moins que Dryden ne se fut accorde la fantaisie d'inventer un vers 
 fran9ais, tout de meme que le cardinal de Retz improvisait devant le 
 parlement une phrase de Ciceron pour enlever un vote. Arnold me 
 demanda mon secours ; mais, en discutant avec lui, je m'aper9us bien 
 vite qu'il en savait plus long que moi sur Racan, Mairet, Benserade, 
 Sarrasin, que le nain de Julie et Conrart, malgre la prudence de son 
 fameux silence, n'avaient pas de secrets pour lui. S'il etait in forme a 
 ce point sur un sujet etranger et lointain, effleure en passant, que ne 
 devait-il pas savoir sur ces siecles de 1'empire romain, ou il a, en 
 quelque sorte, vecu? ("Journal des Debats," June 29, 1904.)
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 67 
 
 he found that Arnold knew better than he the mass of 
 French verse of Dryden's age; and the story has since 
 drawn from another Frenchman with an exceptionally 
 wide knowledge of literature, M. Lucien Mahieu, the 
 comment : " M. Filon is right. Mr. Arnold knew con- 
 temporary French literature much better than I did. I 
 learned a great deal from him, even on this subject." 
 
 These pockets were kept full by gusts of special 
 acquisitiveness. The impulse to work on Roman history 
 was never displaced ; it was a trade-wind ; it held ; off that 
 track, curiosity blew where it listed; only, always hard. 
 At one time all his leisure would go to Goethe. " I 
 surround myself," he writes, " with Goethe books did I 
 ever tell you that my present mania is Goethe and that I 
 am reading everything by him and about him that I can 
 lay hands on ?" And, four months later : " I grind away 
 at Goethe." Another three months and he is absorbed 
 in Greek tragedy, especially Euripides, who, he writes, 
 " raises the fundamental problems almost more than any- 
 body." 
 
 " I have been reading Euripides with much interest 
 of late. The naive brutality of the Creon-like passages 
 is of an amazing crudity. How remote from the real 
 thing are the current expositions of the Greek drama ! 
 But read the ' Iph. Aulis.' The scenes in which Achilles 
 finds out what is going on (the audience of course 
 knowing it already no puzzles for the audience in 
 Greek theatre !) and Clytemnestra turns upon her 
 blundering, lying old husband with an " A has les 
 masques !' are splendid." 
 
 Arnold's reading of Greek drama was vitalised by a turn 
 for discriminating, in their classical expression, modes 
 and qualities of feeling in which moderns find special
 
 68 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 piquancy and which they are prone to call modern. To a 
 friend who had told him how in bed at night on the East 
 coast of Scotland, with the wind whining round the house, 
 after a long day in the open, he had found himself 
 laughing with glee at the very idea of a house, with its 
 cunning snugness, Arnold wrote : 
 
 " What you say about St. Andrews and the well- 
 compacted house at night tickled my fancy a good deal. 
 But hasn't Sophocles been before you? You remember 
 the great chorus on the Beginnings of Civilisation in 
 the " Antigone." First man teaches himself sea-faring. 
 And then tillage. And then he tames the animals to 
 his service. And then 
 
 CKTTVVOfJLOVS 
 
 o/oya? eSi8daTO KCU SvcravXcav 
 Traycoj/ SialOpeia KOI 
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 TraiTOTTO/OO?. 
 
 Just the same note of surprised pleasure at man's 
 'cuteness, isn't it? I had it myself the other day while 
 I was standing on Battersea Bridge. It is constant in 
 Homer, and one of the charms of him." 
 
 One of the keenest of these by-interests was in geography. 
 Arnold had the strategist's imagination; maps were 
 pictorial to him ; when he studied one you felt that he 
 could then shut his eyes, and look down mentally as a man 
 standing looks at the floor, and see a whole shire lie there 
 like an unrolled scroll. And this topographic vision, when 
 its exercise had warmed him, he could communicate. 
 Cycling with him you felt wide tracts of countiy coming 
 out in their relief, vertebrate with water-sheds, the streams
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 69 
 
 searching into the heads of all the valleys, almost visibly, 
 as hyacinth-roots grope out into the end of a glass- jar. 
 He liked to ride down the picked spots where nature's 
 transactions come to a point and their meaning meets the 
 eye would make, delightedly, for the very boss of earth, 
 on the moors near Buxton, whence part of each shower 
 that wets it runs down to the Humber, and part to the 
 Irish Sea, or the upland field near Market Harborough 
 where the Nen and the Avon rise and, as he liked to feel, 
 the puff of a child's breath on a still day might send a 
 falling snowflake to the German Ocean or, if the child 
 turned, to the Atlantic. Central and Southern Europe 
 he knew not merely well, but vividly, with a mind full of 
 notes of points for imagination to work round and start 
 from, points like that earth's-navel near the top of the 
 St. Gothard where the tendons of Europe's frame are tied 
 into a central knot, and the Rhine, the Rhone and the Po 
 come up, as to a clearing-house, to fetch back to the Adriatic 
 and the Gulf of Lyons and the North Sea what each has 
 lent to the sky. Such places kindled his mind, springing 
 in it sensuous images of the swing and return of great 
 forces over wide fields. Away from home and maps, he 
 still kept an easy visual hold of the lie of country, and 
 was ready to plan for a friend new lines of search for 
 points where these transfiguring glimpses of geographical 
 reality were to be obtained cardinal watersheds, strongly 
 featured coasts, silted or scoured estuaries, nodal points 
 in the articulation of ranges of hill. To a Manchester 
 friend he writes from abroad : 
 
 " Very interesting about your passion for the Pennine. 
 I felt it too. But I don't see the Wrekin, etc., as 
 Pennine. For me the chain dies away in that high 
 table-land between Crewe and Stafford, and you will
 
 70 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 see what you have to do is to explore (1) the source 
 of the Trent. Train to Congleton and work south to 
 Colwich or Stafford. See the junction with Derwent 
 and master the great Trent bend. By the way, the 
 country about Colwich has always looked very interest- 
 ing from the train, and quite unknown. (2) Train to 
 Tebay Junction and work down the Lune to Lancaster. 
 This is feasible, even in the day. By the way, an old 
 cyclist one told me that there is high ground, some- 
 where in that region, whence you can see at one and the 
 same moment two fifty-mile-an-hour expresses hurling 
 themselves Northwards on the North-Western and the 
 Midland ten miles apart and quite unconscious of the 
 juxtaposition, but brought into one focus by the lonely 
 cyclist's eye. Doesn't that appeal to your imagination ? 
 (3) The least known hill district of all England that 
 Bowland region which you and Patchell and I walked 
 that day. Bide through the Trough of Bowland 
 (Cp. the Trouee de Belfort) from Whalley or Clitheroe 
 to Lancaster. I don't think it can be geologically part 
 of the Pennine, but am not sure. Anyhow it is worth 
 exploring for its own sake. (4) The whole Craven 
 region Settle, Clapham, the Upper Wharfe, etc." 
 
 Arnold's method ruled his style. To read so much 
 and also write much, a man must often write 
 fast. As it was, few men could write as fast as he 
 with less loss. There was no painful crushing of the desire 
 to bevel and inlay the phrase; rather he took light from 
 haste, as a man who can talk takes light from looks that 
 ask him to go on. The best things of all are not written 
 thus, but a man of full mind, humour and a virile habit 
 in using words will sometimes write surprisingly well with 
 the smell of the printer's ink to go to his head and warm
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 71 
 
 him ; the more so if at other times he writes word by word, 
 and each word weighed, as Arnold wrote history. Out of 
 the slow cometh forth swiftness : Arnold knew that the 
 waters of style, like other waters, flow their fastest after 
 damming, and he worked the knowledge into a place in 
 his scheme ; as newspaper thought should learn order from 
 specialist study, so was newspaper style to learn rapidity 
 from the slowness of specialist writing : in the two-speed 
 gear of the pen the low speed was not only to alternate 
 with the high, but to enhance it, as recoil puts pace into 
 spring. 
 
 This enhanced speed he desired not merely in order to 
 get work done in time. He traced a relation between the 
 pace at which a thing is read and that at which it should 
 be written : to a rapid scanning of a newspaper leader or 
 criticism on the way to town the right correlative, in his 
 view, was a mode of writing that conformed more closely 
 to the quick, broken flow of forcible speech than political 
 or critical writing commonly does; and one of the means 
 by which he thought that this sympathetic relation 
 between reader and writer might be attained was an 
 extreme rapidity in writing; that those who run might 
 read, it was best to write running. Here, to show the idea 
 in action, is a typical passage from a notice of a play that 
 Arnold had just seen for the first time: 
 
 " At the same time ' The - - of - ' is by no 
 means a good play, though, as is natural with Mr. 
 
 , a good deal more brightly and smartly written 
 
 than the average. Its psychology is trivial and its ethics 
 downright perverse. Shelley said in his half humorous, 
 half serious way, of the 'School for Scandal' : ' I see the 
 object of this comedy. It is to associate goodness and 
 kindness with drinking, and villainy with books.' So in
 
 72 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 ' The of ,' the good people break the Ten 
 
 Commandments freely, while those who keep them are 
 hypocrites or callous egotists. A very juvenile 
 Rousseauish opposition of 'duty' and 'Nature' constantly 
 recurs as if philosophers meant by living 'according to 
 nature' living according to the elementary, often anti- 
 social and inhuman instincts of the flesh. Mrs. A 
 
 is a sympathetic and charming person who committed 
 adultery while she had three young children living. 
 
 L A is a gallant young fellow who forges 
 
 his friend's signature to an accommodation bill. These 
 facts are a little too solid, and the audience rebels some- 
 what when it is asked to give all its sympathy to the 
 wife and son and none to the straight-living pharisaical 
 father. It is quite true that a man may live straight 
 and not have the root of the matter in him ; but it is not 
 true and it is of immoral tendency to represent it as 
 true that all virtuous people are hypocrites and egotists. 
 
 There should have been a foil to Mr. A , a 
 
 virtuous person who is also amiable but the odious 
 
 minister, Mr. D , is worse than his patron. The 
 
 devil really has too much the best of it. We have not 
 the slightest sympathy with the mock prudery that 
 would banish from the stage all serious treatment of one 
 great side of life. But it is not serious treatment of it 
 
 to represent Mrs. A 's proceedings of ten years 
 
 ago as a mere venial lapse, quite consistent with her re- 
 maining a happy wife and happy mother, and respected 
 by all who knew her, and with a " day at home " for the 
 Slite of Warminster. The French have a logic of their 
 own in these things, and think that a grande passion 
 justifies everything. But then they have the wit to see 
 that a grande passion of that kind necessarily ends in a 
 grand smash, and that it is not permissible to make the
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 73 
 
 best of both worlds which is what Mrs. A sub- 
 stantially does." 
 
 Arnold would have been quick to show that this prose is 
 not of the very best that it is not exquisite ; that, though 
 there is rhythm, there are no new finds in rhythm, none of 
 the prose melodies that ripple, trail, or climb to the ear in 
 ways of their own; that the phrase might be richer in 
 second intentions, that there might be more harmonics to 
 the notes; that the emphasis with its frontal attack, the 
 open laying out of the antitheses, the whole technical 
 affinity to Macaulay, preclude the best choiceness. Yet it 
 is good work-a-day prose ; it has connection ; not the con- 
 nection of conjunctive particles; it coheres organically; 1 
 the paragraph, not the sentence, is the unit of thought, the 
 strong sense crossing in its stride the little breaks at 
 which bad writers fuss with their little bridges. The 
 style, again, is what the craft calls fluffless there is no 
 inky humming and ha-ing, or clearing of the literary 
 throat ; and the whole is a-tingle with an unbookish ring ; 
 you would think that he said it aloud while he wrote, and 
 indeed it reads as his talk sounded, and one hears in it the 
 rise and fall of his eager voice pressing its points. 
 
 On this level of force and vivacity Arnold wrote as fast 
 as the pen could move, in the hour or two hours after a 
 play ended, or in the train, or amid the Sibylline whirl of 
 leaves of tissue-paper from which the leader-writer must 
 extract the gist of a long or late debate in Parliament. 
 He was aware of the risks of the practice; nobody hated 
 better the second-rate journalist's smooth and washy flow 
 of commonplace. In one letter he says : 
 
 "I have been reading the elder Seneca, and have come 
 
 1. Arnold often quoted with approval the saying of Jowett, " Style is 
 connection."
 
 74 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 across this lovely bit about the ordinary X and facile 
 
 writers generally ; ' Erat explicatio JFusci splendida 
 quidem sed operosa et implicata, cultus nimis adquisitus 
 . . . ; summa inaequalitas orationis, quae modo exilis 
 erat, modo nimia licentiavagaeteffusa . . . ; nihil acre, 
 nihil solidum, nihil horridum; splendida oratio et magis 
 lascivaquamlaeta. . . . Nunquam inopia verbi substitit, 
 sed velocissimo ac facillimo cursu omnes res beata cir- 
 cumfluebat oratio.' Observe particularly the words itali- 
 cised. That nihil horridum is really magnificent, and 
 made me chortle." 
 
 A safeguard, he thought, for a writer forced to work 
 fast was to keep his mind steeped in the work of men who 
 had mastered the great bare way of writing, in which the 
 thought goes naked and must bear looking at. " Men fear 
 death as children fear to go in the dark." " The time has 
 been that, when the brains were out, The man would die." 
 To write like that, Arnold used to say, was a test as well 
 as a feat; long before the wording of what most men had 
 to say was cut down to that point, the poverty or staleness 
 of their thought would be unbearably well rendered; and 
 to test and keep his integrity a journalist should learn to 
 strip his matter. Of course he could not do this always, 
 for nothing, in any art, takes so long to reach or needs 
 more power than plainness a good Rodin is only a thought 
 with every shred of marble verbiage, that had clogged it, 
 chipped away. Arnold meant that a man should train 
 himself to go, when he could, as far as he could, in paring 
 down expression towards the fineness in which it fits upon 
 feeling like a cry; and this was to be done by reading and 
 re-reading authors whose phrase had austerity and bite, 
 like the Bacon of the "Essays," Swift in the "Modest 
 Proposal," Fuller, Goldsmith in some of his irony, and
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 75 
 
 Shakspeare in the few parts where he tries to be grimly 
 plain and is grimmer than anybody. No harm done 
 either if this gave the style a tang of salt quaintness; 
 good American slang, with its jagged concision, has this, 
 and we all draw on it, and rightly; why not, too, on 
 piquancies of our own make, or our fathers' ? No matter 
 if some semi-literates found a discomforting queerness in 
 the archaism of jets of force like Fuller's : " Who shall 
 say which of us lay uppermost in Adam's loins, or took the 
 wall in Eve's belly?" Reading the memoir of Cherbuliez 
 written for the Revue Bleue by M. Emile Faguet at the 
 novelist's death, Arnold pounced on a passage animated 
 by his own idea, cut it out and posted it to a fellow writer. 
 
 " Bead this by Faguet on Cherbuliez. The bit about 
 style is excellent : 
 
 "'Cherbuliez etait persuade qu'il suffisait de pratiquer 
 une langue, dans un monde qui la parle bien, pour la 
 connaitre; mais qu'il n'etait pas inutile cependant de 
 1'etudier pour la savoir mieux. Aussi la recherchait-il 
 dans les auteurs de vieux terroir francais, c'est-a-dire 
 la ou elle est, dans les ecrivains originaux du XVIe et 
 du XVIIe siecle, et il etait comme penetre de cette 
 " substantifique moelle." C'est ce qui a donne a sa 
 langue cette forte et fine saveur de delicat archaisme, 
 dont, pour mon compte, je suis ravi, et c'est ce qui a 
 induit certains chroniqueurs qui prennent Thespis pour 
 une deesse et qui mettent un solecisme dans chaque 
 ligne de leurs proses et dans chaque vers de leurs 
 drames, a assurer qu'il f audrait " apprendre le f rangais 
 a M. Cherbuliez, lequel ne sait que le suisse." : 
 
 " I always think there is a bit of the ' substantifique 
 moelle ' of Bacon in your own style, and I aimed at
 
 76 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 something of the kind myself. And then the way the 
 common or garden reader appreciates Cherbuliez is very 
 funny. ' Quaedam in Livio patavinitas.' " 
 
 A writer who cares for his craft is apt, as he goes on, 
 to think not quite as he did of causes that he has set out 
 to serve. He set out, perhaps, sure that they were good; 
 he is sure of it now; still that sureness may have started 
 full-grown, and can grow no more ; what grows is his sense 
 of intrinsic value in other, ancillary things modes or 
 by-products of advocacy; to be fair, to keep to the point, 
 to treat as a trust the use of words more and more do 
 these seem to him to be no mere means to win a case, 
 but ends. Bad writing breeds fanaticism; you have not 
 the skill to put a point well, or you will not be at the pains, 
 and the next thing is that to put it ill is a mark, in your 
 sight, of a faith too whole and single to care for forms. 
 To the better workman comes more easily a sense of the 
 remoteness of some of those further ends, and of the 
 dimness of the ways to them remote and dim, that is, 
 compared with the gain that is laid up whenever so much 
 as one well-turned sentence brings its tiny cell of new 
 tissue to repair the living body of a language. Arnold 
 had this sense in politics; he was contained and critical, 
 saw few sheep either white or black, but a great many 
 grey, of various tones, between which it piqued him to 
 discriminate, and also to draw events to scale; in an 
 ordinary day's molecular activity he would neither 
 deplore a state of coma nor trumpet the stir of new worlds 
 in the womb. Yet he took politics to heart and attained 
 a politics of his own, mixed from ingredients of his own 
 bringing. 
 
 One of these ingredients was a more than common relish 
 for moral individuality. In his friends he liked a strong-
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 77 
 
 lined temperament even more than learning. " So-and- 
 So," he would say of someone who only spoke or saw with 
 the tongue of his class or the eye of his time of life, " is a 
 mere shell of a man." In the will to stand by one's own 
 ideas of what is worth having and doing he found a kind 
 of seminal virtue; anyone taking the world in a way of 
 his own was experimenting for us all ; to thwart him at 
 his sowing was not so much a wrong to him as to us; 
 it might impoverish the moral flora. So, too, what 
 was racy in a race had its use and its right to be used; 
 whatever made Welshmen less Welsh or Poles less Polish 
 lessened the diversity and richness of the general outlook 
 upon life; it took from an observatory part of its advan- 
 tage of remoteness ; and if political safety were pleaded in 
 excuse Arnold would laugh; he would speak of the flying 
 machine that was much the best of its kind, but must not 
 quit the earth lest it break ; what was politics for if not to 
 enrich life and character, what was its use if it must live 
 by missing its aim? Autonomy was a mode of self- 
 expression which he thought it wasteful to withhold from 
 any nation the test of nationality being, to his mind, the 
 consciousness of it. There was perhaps no political object 
 for which he cared more, or wrote with more fire, than 
 Irish Home Rule. " Do, for Heaven's sake," he wrote 
 to a fellow- journalist in 1903, when scarcely able to pencil 
 the note, " ' smack Bulgaria on the back for all you are 
 worth, and give a lash to those vile Greeks who are selling 
 their souls to the Turks.' ' The last reference to politics 
 in his letters was an expression of passionate sympathy 
 with the Basques, among whom he was living, in their 
 resistance to the French official policy of denationalisation. 
 On these topics Arnold wrote like one who had felt, with 
 the full energy of the imagination, what it would be to 
 see a foreign flag over St. Paul's, and English pooh-poohed
 
 78 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 as a patois in a Surrey school. His own patriotism was 
 not a resultant of trains of reasoning, nor an inflamed 
 sense of property in a wide estate: it was affection; the 
 sight of English fields as the train came up from Dover 
 stirred him to a kind of ecstacy like old Gaunt's; words 
 that he let fall showed how his mind could rest and doat, 
 lover-like, on the visual idea of England lying out apart 
 from Europe, at her incomparable moorings, all of her 
 juicy green with her temperate rains and suns and tramped 
 up and down by Shakspeare clowns; everything charac- 
 teristically English the lie of a Cheshire village, with its 
 church, manor and parsonage; the harsh pith of rustic 
 speech on Pennine moorlands; an English peasant taking 
 his bearings in a new shire, crumbling a clod in his hand 
 and snuffing up the smell of the tilth after rain ; a wayside 
 smithy that might not have changed its look since Chaucer ; 
 Oxfordshire farmers meeting in the market train and talk- 
 ing like Shallow and Silence of the price of wool and the 
 deaths of acquaintances everyone English finds savour in 
 these things, but to Arnold the English accent on them 
 was almost an intoxicant. He seemed to taste it as much 
 more delightedly than most men as most men feel the 
 accent of the eighteenth century more clearly than that of 
 their own. 
 
 Erom this passion for England sprang another feeling 
 towards the Empire. The exertion, especially if thankless, 
 of great qualities that he thought peculiarly English, 
 always stirred his enthusiasm; 1 the thought of an English 
 
 1. A friend in whose house Arnold and his wife sometimes passed a few 
 days writes : " I had, now and then, a glimpse of his deeper feelings. 
 For instance, his enthusiasm for anything which gave evidence of self- 
 sacrifice in social work. I remember how he kindled at once in speaking 
 of a young man of our own class who at one time took lodgings on the 
 premises of one of the Manchester Lad's Clubs in order to devote himself 
 more completely to the work during his evenings."
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 79 
 
 magistrate or doctor used up obscurely in India or Poly- 
 nesia thrilled the Puritan in him, a Puritan who had re- 
 ceived the Renaissance, and whom the beauty of an austere 
 dutifulness warmed like the glow and sweep of a Titian; 
 he would rage against the shallow journals of travel 
 mainly by Russians in which the minor English civil 
 servant in the plains of India is casually sketched as an 
 idler or even as a small Verres. Yet he felt that the 
 Empire might be England's dangerous rival for the love 
 of Englishmen. He was much haunted by the Roman 
 tragedy of an Empire whose extremities grew at the cost 
 of her heart, 1 and feared that in some cases expansion 
 might de-Anglicise English conquerors and unman the 
 races conquered. These mingled strains of feeling are in- 
 dicated in a letter to a fellow- Liberal : 
 
 " Are there not sides to the British Empire of which 
 the most ardent Liberal can be justly proud? The guid- 
 ing clue is, to my mind, the distinction between the 
 Colonial Empire (not really Empire) and the genuine 
 Imperial article. For the peaceful extension of our race, 
 with peace, order and self-government, over the waste 
 places of the earth one can have little but welcome and 
 feel little but pride. But the real Empire is govern- 
 ment, by the sword, of inferior races generally 
 coloured. In these cases, even if the Government is 
 just and the Pax Romana, or Britannica is assured, 
 there is always the dread question whether the fibre of 
 the ruled is not fatally weakened, whether you are not 
 in the long run, in depriving your fellow-men of self- 
 government, depriving them of their manhood. The 
 
 1. In expressing this misgiving he would sometimes quote the stanzas 
 of Matthew Arnold's " Obermann Once More," beginning at the line 
 " Like ours it looked in outward air."
 
 8o W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 case is still worse in the comparatively rare cases of 
 dominion over unwilling white and equal races, e.g., the 
 Boers. No doubt there are cases Malay Peninsula, 
 Fiji, etc. in which our rule appears a blessing. Still, 
 the extension of Empire in these two latter senses is, I 
 think, to be watched with the greatest jealousy and, as a 
 rule, resisted. But this should not make one unjust to 
 the individuals who have to work the administrative 
 machine in India, etc." 
 
 A note from Chesieres, written later, expresses the fear 
 he often felt lest, in watering our garden, we should let 
 our household die of thirst : 
 
 " James Long's letter in Thursday's Manchester 
 Guardian, about the agricultural labourer, is important 
 and interesting. It reminds me that the foreigners had 
 an entertainment here the other night pour les pauvres, 
 gained 400 francs, and then found there were no pauvres 
 to give it to ! What a country ! And then look at 
 England and the rheumatic old labourers in the work- 
 houses. But what is to be done in this or any other 
 salutary direction until the Imperialistic tyranny is 
 overpast ?" 
 
 The other main ingredient in Arnold's politics, and 
 indeed in all his judgments, was a more than common 
 deference to the authority of special knowledge. Liking 
 moral nonconformity, he hated intellectual impudence ; at 
 forty, his face would still tingle, he said, to think how he 
 had pulled the beard of one of his betters, J. A. Symonds, 
 in some critical discussion twenty years before, as men will 
 do in their airy youth; friends will remember the gusto
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 81 
 
 in his voice when he spoke of a " competent expert," or of 
 " going to head-quarters," or distinguished someone who 
 was " just a brilliant amateur " from someone else whose 
 " judgment counted with serious people who wanted to 
 understand." He had a way, when a new point arose, of 
 asking himself how it would have struck some mind that 
 he looked up to ; some view on affairs of to-day was surely 
 what that great Liberal, Dr. Arnold, would have thought ; 
 in criticism he would frame judgments, to see how 
 they looked, in terms of the probable verdicts of Matthew 
 Arnold or Pater, or, at the theatre, of Lemaitre and 
 Sarcey, then the first dramatic critics in Europe. As a 
 critic he may at times have carried respect for authority 
 too far, urged by the feeling which he derived from 
 Matthew Arnold that in these things education could best 
 be carried forward on a strong central stream of organised 
 European opinion. In politics this respect, qualifying 
 Arnold's love of human individuality and eagerness to 
 liberate and encourage it, made him a Liberal exception- 
 ally alert to meet such maladies of democratic politics as 
 the assurance that arrogates finality for casual, half- 
 informed judgments, or the worldliness that falls in. 
 unenquiringly with what is in vogue for the time in 
 a party or a nation. At some moments he would seem 
 almost sardonically critical of what was current; but this 
 only gave the measure of his belief in the unexhausted 
 possibilities of democracy. 
 
 To many younger colleagues Arnold was a teacher. He 
 had always liked sharing what he knew; though he had 
 never wished to be a schoolmaster, he had some of the 
 compelling qualities of one a controlled, judicial 
 impatience, a kind of wrathful affection for ignorance; 
 he would scold like a guide who will not let you lie down 
 in the snow. To a clever man fresh from a good degree
 
 82 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 and perhaps a little conscious of a mission to purge the 
 press of its dross, 1 the first contact with Arnold was 
 somewhat formidable. He was nearly six feet high, 
 sinewy and broad, a thirteen-stone athlete with (in these 
 later years) a student's stoop. His face was, for an 
 Englishman's, extraordinarily dark, with black hair, a 
 redoubtable chin and mouth and a great, beetling, lined 
 forehead; 2 his look was enigmatic till he laughed; he had 
 a shyness easily mistaken for ferocity. As he talked, in 
 packed, clipped sentences, with suspensive nods, or little 
 grunts of distaste, he would sometimes rub his hands, and 
 between them the grain that had served so well at the 
 Schools or in prize essays seemed to crumble, before the 
 producer's eyes, into an afflicting bran. " Do you really 
 think all that ?" " Very nice, you know, but what are you 
 going upon ?" " ' The mundane movement ' ! Mundane 
 movement ! Mean to say they let men talk about the 
 'mundane movement' at Oxford now?" Repeated by 
 him, quite simply, banality and inflation found themselves 
 out ; they took fright and looked foolish. " I'm afraid it 
 is pigwash, rather," a patient ruefully conceded. " My 
 dear boy," was the reply, " It's nothing like so definite." 
 He wondered that the universities should not do more to 
 teach the negative parts of writing. " It really seems," 
 
 1. To a colleague who had overlooked, in revision, some expression of 
 this state of mind, Arnold wrote : 
 
 "... Discriminate between good journalism and bad, but never 
 allow journalism as such to be discreditably spoken of. This is one 
 of the points I always watch for in proof the ' superior ' contributor 
 is very prone to this damned foolishness ; there was much of it in 
 . . . till he grew older and wiser." 
 
 2. The face of Dr. Arnold in the Westminster Abbey bust owes some 
 touches to sittings given by William Arnold to the sculptor, Mr. Alfred 
 Gilbert.
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 83 
 
 he would say, " as if every Greats man needed a year in a 
 newspaper-office to unlearn his journalese." 1 
 
 But if the first clearance had its rigour, the generosity 
 that refilled was incomparable. Everything that by any 
 pains he could impart facts, communicable dexterities, 
 pregnant ideas, stores of references that stood for months 
 of labour Arnold would pour out in total unconsciousness 
 of doing anything unselfish. He would watch for a 
 younger colleague's achievement, point it out and exult in 
 it as some men do in their own. On the work of those 
 under him there was a constant fire of intimate, inspiriting 
 criticism that overlooked nothing slipshod and nothing 
 that had merit. He was slow to despair of anyone ; you 
 would find that what he remembered best about a writer 
 usually sapless or perfunctory was some piece of work in 
 which he had been raised above himself by an authentic 
 thrill of feeling. So-and-so, he would agree, was a poor 
 political writer, " but his .... article," Arnold would 
 add, " was quite superb in its own Corinthian way," refer- 
 ring, perhaps, to some vivid, turbid narrative of an 
 adventure. Of a middling journalist who had amazed him 
 by writing something vertebrate, he wrote : 
 
 " It is curious and interesting about X . Is he 
 
 drunk when he writes like that? If so, one is tempted 
 to say with Lincoln, when they told him that Grant 
 drank too much whiskey, ' What is the brand, that I 
 may send some to my other generals ?' ' 
 
 1. The inexact rhetorical use of historical parallels by educated men 
 was a special irritant to Arnold. In the autumn of 1899 he writes : 
 
 " Cheerful about Milner, isn't it ? That stuff about ' Helots ' is 
 dreadful makes one think that, after all, the ' practical man ' is right 
 in distrusting the don in real affairs. And the joke is that Milner has 
 used his Oxford so badly, the Outlanders not being Helots at all, but 
 very exactly UCTOIKOI, who at Athens did all the trade, but were, 
 of course, aliens from Asia and unenfranchised."
 
 84 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 It troubled him to see a man not attaining the full 
 possibilities of his talent, or losing the benefit of some 
 qualities for lack of others to help them out or set them off. 
 A passage from a letter to a writer who had knowledge, 
 industry and conscience, but, at that time, wanted fire, 
 shows with how tender a finger Arnold could touch l : 
 
 " You are too modest and fastidious, my dear boy, and 
 while all the young chaps are going in for le substantif 
 rare, I'adverbe voyant, et I'adjectif extraordinaire, and 
 are saying nothing with a great profusion of speech, you 
 stick to your classic vuxfrpotrvvri and eschew all the fashion- 
 able humbug, which is good, only one must remember 
 the conditions of journalism and the ' necessity of in- 
 flicting strong blows upon ' your readers. So I was 
 pleased to see a picturesque, voyant epithet or so in that 
 notice, and generally an extra dash of glow and colour. 
 Go on in that vein. With all the young ones beating 
 each of them his little drum, as loud as he knows how, 
 to draw attention to his remarkable performances, we 
 elders cannot afford to be too classically fastidious. And, 
 after all, is not the ideal to combine the colour and in- 
 
 1. The same characteristic is illustrated in a passage from a letter to a 
 younger man who had sent Arnold a proof of some unpublished verses 
 for criticism : 
 
 " The measurements raise the point discussed by Wordsworth 
 a propos of his ' Thorn ' ; 
 
 ' I've measured it from side to side, 
 'Tis five feet long and three feet wide.' 
 
 His friends made him change it. He found the particularity typical 
 of the man's mental distress. The dazed consciousness notes unessential 
 trifles. So Rossetti's 
 
 ' One thing then learnt remains to me, 
 The word-spurge has a cup of three.' 
 
 But is there such sufficient reason for the particularity here ? I do 
 not feel sure, and the Philistine would certainly object. I should be 
 inclined, therefore, to yield."
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 85 
 
 dividuality of the Romantic with the sobriety and sound 
 judgment of the Classic? . . ." 
 
 Sometimes these criticisms would pass into more general 
 observations on journalism, or on special sides and func- 
 tions of it. Of a new war-correspondent he writes : 
 
 " Z is no use for war. I never saw a great oppor- 
 tunity so missed as in his .... telegram. As if we 
 wanted his noble sentiments . . . ! One wanted the 
 chose vue the detail which is the life and soul of all 
 journalism (of course the general idea is the life and 
 soul too resolve how you can, you who can), but, above 
 all, of descriptive reporting, and one did not get it. I 
 said to myself ' Hum ! I don't see what the Westminster 
 can reproduce out of this.' ' 
 
 To a younger classical scholar he sends, with a copy of 
 Farnell's " Greek Lyric Poets " for review, a note on the 
 function of the specialist reviewer in a daily paper : 
 
 " It would be necessary to show how the collection 
 compares with Bergk's. . . . But though, if a scholar took 
 up the review, he ought to be able to see that it was 
 written by a scholar, still the general educated reader, 
 who has half forgotten his Greek, but who loves poetry, 
 and who might be tempted to rub up the language if 
 assured that he would thereby find in this book poetical 
 impressions otherwise unattainable, is rather the reader 
 to be kept in mind. A few little versions of the 
 Volkslieder either prose or verse might help to make 
 the review interesting." 
 
 Arnold's mind dwelt much upon the nature of the 
 relationship between a newspaper and its readers; it was 
 to eschew alike the reflection of their opinions and the 
 criticism of them wholly from without; a journalism
 
 86 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 that merely " gave the public what the public wants " 
 would be a trade for upright men to avoid; but 
 " bear in mind," he writes to another journalist, " that a 
 newspaper is not an individual and has a special relation 
 to its readers which makes the purely cosmopolitan, degage 
 attitude of the philosopher impossible for it." Not to 
 have borne this always in mind was almost the only 
 fault which he would admit in the journalism of 
 E. L. Godkin; that great journalist, he thought, sometimes 
 carried scientific detachment, in discussing his country's 
 affairs, to a point at which he lost the ear, as well as the 
 assent, of the plain man whom blood warms. Another 
 strong feeling was his dislike of attempts by journalists to 
 " govern the country," as he put it meaning, to formulate 
 positive policies on their own responsibility and try to 
 force them on Ministries. He disliked also the practice, 
 still common in English journalism, of concentrating 
 almost the whole writing strength of a paper upon politics, 
 to the neglect, or scamping, of literary and other criticism. 
 Of the critical work he says in one of his letters : 
 
 if 
 
 " No part of a paper stavnps it more. Your educated 
 man does not always at once discern a good leader from 
 a bad one, but two sentences from a criticism are enough 
 to show him whether the writer is in the swim or not, 
 and whether the paper deserves respect or the contrary." 
 
 For serious criticism of every kind he had an insatiable 
 appetite, devouring it in every published form, from 
 monographs on fundamentals to magazine articles. His 
 letters abound in passages like these : 
 
 " I am sending you a little birthday offering of 
 Swinburne's book on Shakspeare. I hope you haven't 
 got it already. I never heard you speak of it, so hope 
 for the best. I had occasion to look it up the other day,
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 87 
 
 and was struck, as one always is, by the childishness of 
 his argumentation, but also by the miraculous sureness 
 of his instinct for fine poetry. He really, in virtue of 
 this sleuth-hound scent of his, interprets makes one 
 see beauty where one had not seen it before. 
 
 " I have been reading two things lately which you 
 must read. Christie Murray on Burns in this month's 
 Contemporary really new and illuminating; Leslie 
 Stephen's " Shakspeare as a Man," in the 4th volume 
 of his new " Studies of a Biographer," insisting 
 (contre vous, tnon ami) that S is not always wearing 
 the dramatic mask, and that one can detect a great deal 
 of his personality. 
 
 " I have also, lately read a great German book on 
 .^Esthetics, by one Vischer really a man of genius, the 
 best German on such subjects since Lessing. The 
 Germans object to him that he puts Shakspeare on top 
 and draws his examples from him rather than from 
 Goethe and Schiller. But that does not spoil him !" 
 
 Wherever Arnold's reading, of any kind, brought him 
 to anything of value, his impulse was to write off at once to 
 someone who could use or would enjoy it. He writes 
 to his wife on February 18, 1892 :- 
 
 " Tell Aunt Jane 1 to get the 4th volume of the new 
 cheap edition of Froude's " Short Studies," containing 
 his " Oxford Counter-reformation." It contains the 
 only warm defence of the Evangelical party and 
 principles by a first-rate man of letters that I know (the 
 High Anglicans have had almost the monopoly of that 
 kind of help), and should please her." 
 
 1. Miss Jane Whately, the eldest daughter of Archbishop Whately.
 
 88 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 He treated his own knowledge quite naturally and 
 instinctively as a candle that would be none the worse 
 for lighting another man's. To a friend who had just 
 annotated for schools a part of Palgrave's " Golden 
 Treasury " l he writes : 
 
 " Should you some day write a few more notes to this 
 book let me know, and I will send you a sheaf of cuttings 
 in which there may be a grain or two, as well as the 
 foreign stuff chiefly German which has been written 
 about Keats." 
 
 He delighted especially in helping people to fall to work 
 on new subjects without waste of power or false starts 
 along unprofitable lines of study. To a young Cambridge 
 man who wished to qualify himself for a French master- 
 ship in an English public school, he had written, on March 
 19, 1889: 
 
 " I wouldn't use for more than a book of 
 
 reference. The Trench say he is full of blunders. 
 Anyhow he is thoroughly un-French and pig-headedly 
 British in scores of ways. Read all you can of the 
 critical work of Montegut and Faguet (they will suggest 
 further reading), but above all read the French classics 
 themselves, from Montaigne downwards. For philology, 
 Brachet to begin with ; after that I would go straight to 
 Grober's great book (in German) on the philology of the 
 Romance languages. Get the big Littre by all means if 
 you possibly can. Darmesteter's " Life of Words " 
 (Kegan Paul) is very good." 
 
 To the same correspondent he had written two days 
 before : 
 
 1. " Palgrave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics." Book IV. 
 Edited with notes by J. H. Fowler. Macmillan & Co., 1901.
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 89 
 
 " You cannot work too hard and apply too much effort 
 of mind to master (1) the teaching problem the best 
 method of getting knowledge into a boy's brain, (2) the 
 French genius. It seems to me that a man in your 
 position fails if his better boys leave him, as most boys 
 do leave school, with the fixed idea that French is a 
 tiresome language, in which are written stilted poetry 
 that nobody can read, and nasty novels that nobody 
 ought to. You ought to be an interpreter of the best 
 qualities of the French mind to your capable boys, and 
 leave them with a liking for the language and the litera- 
 ture. All this is a large order, but I am sure you will 
 agree with me that one's mistakes do not come from 
 pitching one's ideal too high. You can do everything 
 for your mind in the next five or six years if you will 
 work hard, and with your feelers well out." 
 
 The letter will remind Arnold's friends of his own liking 
 for French literature and his sympathy with many French 
 habits of mind. To read French and to talk it with 
 Frenchmen always gave him pleasure ; the " virtue," 
 the characteristic quality of the language, was congenial 
 to him; a French idiom tasted like a nut. He would 
 watch with a happy curiosity an educated Frenchman's 
 mental bearing, his valuations, the way things struck 
 him. The conclusion grew stronger in him, as he grew 
 older, that on the whole the modern German contribu- 
 tion to civilisation had been over-rated and the modern 
 French contribution undervalued. He had begun by ac- 
 cepting without abatement the current estimate of the pre- 
 eminent seriousness of German scholarship, though irritated 
 by some characteristically German modes of addressing 
 the mind to a question. "I read German," he had written 
 to one of his brothers in 1881, "till I am almost sick. Un-
 
 90 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 fortunately those beastly Germans are the only people who 
 know anything about anything." In his later years any- 
 one who set up the stock contrast between German 
 thoroughness and French slightness would draw from 
 Arnold vehement citations of first-rate contemporary 
 French work of research in history, economics and 
 theology; he would bring up solid, little-known achieve- 
 ments of recent French archeology and classical scholar- 
 ship, to put against those which German students had 
 placed with more success upon the intellectual market. 
 
 Twenty years before the recent growth of amity 
 between England and France Arnold was urging on 
 all occasions that the two countries were the natural 
 joint leaders of free Europe and guardians of its peace. 
 And it was not as a public writer only that Arnold 
 worked for this end. He had a plan for animating 
 and equipping at least some few intermediaries between 
 French and English middle-class feeling. He was aware 
 that a certain number of young Frenchmen, who had 
 distinguished themselves at the University, were granted 
 travelling scholarships to enable them to study English 
 language and literature in England, most of them, on 
 their return, becoming masters in French secondary 
 schools. It grieved Arnold that these future teachers of 
 Frenchmen should perhaps know little more of England 
 than some cheerless London lodging and the Reading 
 Room of the British Museum. Helped by his friend the 
 late Mile. Souvestre, 1 he sought acquaintance with them, 
 entertained them at his house in Manchester, sent them, 
 armed with many introductions, to Oxford and Cambridge, 
 
 1. Daughter of the late Emile Souvestre, the novelist, and for many 
 years a schoolmistress in England. She was a woman with a rare talent 
 for conversation and for friendship.
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 91 
 
 to Uppingham, Malvern, and Charterhouse; he thought 
 out minute schemes for showing them at its best the life 
 of the English student, of the English undergraduate and 
 schoolboy, of the English cathedral city and country 
 house. He would devise itineraries, with ingenious breaks 
 in journeys, combinations of trains and calculations of 
 hours and expenses. To one, whom he had not then seen, 
 he writes in an invitation to Manchester : 
 
 " I should advise you to take the first train in the 
 morning from St. Pancras station to Rowsley, which is 
 on the Midland line from London to Manchester ; book, 
 in the first place, to Rowsley only; leave your luggage 
 at the station and walk a mile to Haddon Hall, which is 
 one of the show places of England; walk back to the 
 station and take an afternoon train (there is a good one 
 between 4 and 5) on to Manchester. In this way, with- 
 out any extra expense, you would see a very interesting 
 place. Haddon Hall is perhaps the most perfect speci- 
 men of the late mediaeval dwelling-house that exists in 
 Europe. You should also visit the famous Peacock Inn 
 at Rowsley, if only for a glass of beer. From Rowsley 
 walk a quarter of a mile along the road ; then when you 
 come to the bridge over the river, take to the fields on 
 your right and walk along by the stream to Haddon. 
 If you have a fine day you will have a delightful experi- 
 ence. You could either lunch at the Peacock Inn, which 
 I should advise, though it is rather dear, or take sand- 
 wiches with you from London. The enclosed map may 
 be useful." 
 
 From Manchester he would bring them familiar, like 
 most English-reading Frenchmen, with the Brontes, 
 especially Emily, and with Mrs. Gaskell on great walks 
 to Haworth and Knutsford; or to Hebden Bridge, to see
 
 92 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 co-operation; or to his favourite Windgather Rocks, or 
 Kinder Downfall; or to the frayed Pennine edge of urban 
 Lancashire where the factory hooter wakes the grouse, 
 and you hear the clogs, before dawn, tapping a dotted line 
 of sound through peat and bracken. A circumstantial 
 thoughtfulness levelled before them the social molehills 
 that loom so mountainous before shy, bookish youth in a 
 foreign country, the time to " dress " and the time to 
 refrain from dressing ; how they should ask for a friend at 
 the door of an Oxford college; they must not be amazed 
 when the porter ejaculated his " Tom. Number 7. Two 
 pair." And this is not for their comfort merely. He 
 coveted for them a real precision of intimacy with 
 English usage. Why not throw off the educated French- 
 man's seated habit of writing our " Esq." with a small e? 
 Had they never laughed at the English popular way of 
 writing Mile, with an interpolated d? 1 
 
 It was Arnold's hope that one of these friends might 
 write on England, for Frenchmen, with at least the 
 authority of Mr. Bodley's studies of modern France. He 
 says, in 1889 : 
 
 " I am convinced that if you go on as you have begun 
 you will get a hold of English and England such as is 
 excessively rare in France. All French books about 
 England and English literature are by intelligent 
 outsiders. But there is room for a book by an insider 
 who knows us and our language almost like an English- 
 
 1. Arnold's fastidiousness on points where carelessness is a kind of 
 international incivility, was always vigilant. When he was away from 
 home a reference in the paper to " De Musset " would bring from him 
 an instant protest : " This is a pure Briticism. They say, of course, 
 'Alfred de Musset,' and ' M. de Musset,' but never ' De Musset ' always 
 Musset, Tocqueville, Coulanges, etc.
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 93 
 
 man, and yet remains French all the time, and it should 
 be your ambition to write that book." 1 
 
 He helped and prompted them in every project that 
 might set English life and literature in a fairer light. 
 One of them thinks of writing a study of Bunyan, and 
 Arnold writes a long letter of encouragement and advice ; 
 he has already arranged for an introduction to the chief 
 English authority on Bunyan's life and time; will not 
 go to Bedford at once and work on the spot ? Arnold 
 has enquired for lodgings, has written to interest a cadet 
 of a family paramount in Bedfordshire; he encloses a 
 pretty full Bunyan bibliography. An instance of the sanity 
 controlling feelings so strong in him as his impatience of 
 some traits of German culture and his delight in French 
 love of England is offered in a later letter to the same 
 correspondent, who had just distinguished himself at the 
 University of Paris in classical and English scholarship : 
 
 " H makes the remark that it is somewhat of a 
 
 contresens that you should know English so well, and 
 German not at all. I think there is some truth in this, 
 and that you should seriously consider it. It would 
 greatly strengthen your intellectual equipment to add 
 German to English. The fonds classique is too strong 
 in you for there to be any danger of your Teutonising 
 your mind overmuch, as some Frenchmen have done." 
 
 1. Arnold received with delight, a few weeks before his death, a little 
 volume (" England and the English," by A. Beljame and L. Mahieu, 
 published in Paris by Hachette), in which one of his suggestions to this 
 correspondent had borne fruit : 
 
 " Many thanks for the letters and the book. I have roared over 
 the latter, and so has everybody who has seen it. It is a brilliant idea, 
 most felicitously and humourously carried out, and one quite envies 
 the little French folk whose English lessons, instead of being a corvie, 
 will be a delightful lark."
 
 94 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 Arnold was at special pains to prevent natural French 
 preconceptions from warping the valuation of English 
 institutions. He writes on November 3, 1890, to a 
 boursier for whom he had obtained an opportunity to 
 study at an English public school the " semi-paternal, 
 semi-fraternal " relation, as Arnold called it, of an English 
 schoolmaster to his boys : 
 
 " What you say about religion and French schools is 
 sound in this sense, that no one is justified in teaching 
 what he does not believe. But you must not transfer 
 French experience bodily to England, and assume that 
 the English schoolmasters inculcate religion without 
 believing in it. Those of them who have no belief 
 manage to leave it alone, and do not go to a school 
 where special stress is laid upon the matter, like Malvern. 
 But many of them quite honestly believe. It is the 
 fundamental difference between England and France." 
 
 To the same friend who had just announced his sense 
 of a touch of dullness in a journal that was then one of 
 the most formidable opponents of the domestic policy that 
 Arnold had most at heart he writes on December 1, 
 1892:- 
 
 " I understand what you mean by the tediousness of 
 the Spectator. At the same time, with all its faults, it 
 is so characteristically English, and in many ways so 
 worthy of respect, that you might do worse than read it." 
 
 That was what he worked for that English and French 
 should penetrate to what is characteristically French and 
 characteristically English ; it was not credible to him that 
 the core of any nation, when reached, could be unattrac- 
 tive ; mutual dislike or contempt was simply another aspect 
 of shallow observation. " Your conversation," he writes
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 95 
 
 to a friend at Paris on May 14, 1890, " with, the young 
 Frenchman who judged I'esprit britannique by " Ally 
 Sloper" was a really valuable piece of experience. That is 
 just the way in which nine Englishmen out of ten judge 
 France and things French." It angered him to see the 
 contrast between English popular ideas of French char- 
 acter and the lives of the Frenchmen whom he knew. 
 One of these, a school-master, had just broken down 
 through over-work, and Arnold suggested that during his 
 unwelcome leisure he should be asked to write some- 
 thing : 
 
 " He has three children and they are expecting a 
 fourth the hardest-working, most affectionate, most 
 honourable young couple you can imagine. And this 
 is the people of adulterers, as John Bull conceives them ! 
 I was actually told the other day, by one who knew him 
 
 well, that that nice fellow - (who knows no 
 
 French), would really rather like to have a war with 
 France, he being a fastidiously virtuous person and 
 conceiving France to be Sodom and Gomorrah." 
 
 In this work of reconciliation, as in all that he under- 
 took, Arnold was helped and inspirited, beyond any 
 measure that can be suggested here, by his wife, a lady 
 whose sensitive sympathy and eager benevolence are 
 freshly remembered in Manchester. Writing on May 3, 
 1895, to a friend who had sent word of his engagement, 
 Arnold spoke of a fortunate marriage as "the one thing in 
 this world which gives solid and lasting happiness, if one 
 deserves it, and which is not vanity of vanities." 
 
 It is worth while to record the impression left by Arnold 
 on the young French students who became his friends 
 all of them men whose lives were to be passed in inter-
 
 96 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 preting English life, character and letters, to the youth of 
 France. M. Lucien Mahieu wrote, two months after 
 Arnold's death : 
 
 " This I may say, that I have thought of him every 
 day since the 29th of May. I have known good men, 
 but they were not so intelligent, so full of taste and 
 learning as he ; I have met with clever people, but they 
 were not so upright, and helpful, and disinterested, and 
 human as he ; and withal so brave, and simple, and un- 
 assuming ! I consider my intercourse with him as one 
 of my chief blessings : 
 
 And again, on October 18, 1904: 
 
 " I should like to tell the story of our intercourse. . . . 
 I should relate how he took me up, a lonely, friendless, 
 insignificant foreigner, cast away in huge London, how 
 he found time to talk and walk with me, devising plans 
 for my entertainment and instruction, trying to make 
 me form an unprejudiced estimate of England and 
 things English. He never thought, all the time, that 
 he himself was a living proof of the excellence of 
 English civilisation and culture. It would be a simple, 
 uneventful story, but it would show how kind he was 
 and eager to help and anxious to foster a good under- 
 standing betwen French and English." 
 
 M. Lucien Bourgogne, writing in October, 1904, said : 
 
 " Aujourd'hui c'est une affliction pour moi de penser 
 que . . . je ne pourrai revoir cet ami au coeur si excel- 
 lent, dont la remarquable intelligence et la haute culture 
 etaient un modele d'humanite. Peut-etre, etant donne 
 ses idees, eut il ete content de savoir que son influence 
 sur moi a ete grande et qu'avec les annees j'ai toujours
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 97 
 
 mieux compris et apprecie le genie et la civilisation de 
 son pays qu'il m'a un des premiers appris a eonnaitre et 
 a aimer." 
 
 M. Emile Bourdon writes on January 24, 1905: 
 
 " Pour ma part j'ai garde des entretiens trop courts 
 qu'il m'a ete donne d'avoir avec lui un souvenir ineffa- 
 gable, et plus d'une fois, aux heures critiques de ma vie, 
 j'ai regrette de ne pouvoir lui demander conseil et 
 reconfort; du moins me suis-je efforce de me conduire 
 comme il me semblait qu'il m'eut engage a le faire, en 
 me rappellant 1'exemple vivifiant de son energie, de sa 
 droiture et de son amour passionne du Bien. Un tel 
 homme faisait honneur a son pays, et c'etait pour nous, 
 Fran^ais, un precieux temoignage que 1'estime et la 
 sympathie qu'il n'a cesse de professer pour notre nation, 
 malgre les fautes et les folies qu'elle a pu commettre 
 sous 1'influence de mauvais guides." 
 
 After Arnold's death it was found that almost every 
 line that he had ever written to any of these French 
 friends, even mere notes of street routes hastily jotted 
 down on half sheets of notepaper while they were in his 
 house ten or twelve years before, had been carefully 
 preserved. 
 
 During these years Arnold liked to keep a little stream of 
 strangers, of some intellectual distinction, flowing through 
 Manchester. They needed it, he would say laughingly; 
 had not a head-master of Eton lately spoken, in the Times, 
 of the "head-master" of Owens College? Arnold wanted 
 to give Manchester its rights in such eyes; at his house 
 were met, for several years, many of the most salient or 
 typical figures in the life of the city, and most of them 
 were at their best there; Arnold's own talk, when he let 
 himself go, had a fine headlong brilliancy ; one remembers
 
 98 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 his enjoyment, the great sudden roar .of laughter, the 
 rushing narrative; and he liked almost every man's 
 " shop " ; he would seek out anyone who seemed as if he 
 might yet do anything signally well, or who had any heat 
 of gallant enterprise scholars ; potters with ideas ; young 
 artists bitten with unworldly admirations of Corot or the 
 then half-ignored Rodin ; young business men adventuring 
 in verse in their evenings; he would accost each in the 
 dialect of his own interest. To his friend, Mr. J. H. 
 Fowler, of Clifton College, formerly a master at the 
 Manchester Grammar School, he writes : 
 
 " So it was your colleague, Mr. Irwin, who suggested 
 that Euripides parallel. If ever it should be possible I 
 would ask you to introduce me to him. His " Lucian " 
 is a favourite book of mine. Apart from Jowett's 
 magnum opus, I think it is the liveliest and most idio- 
 matic version from the Greek that we can point to of 
 late years. The "Parasite" is rendered with a charming 
 sly drollery, and the "Nigrinus" with a seriousness and 
 elevation of style that suit the Greek. I do not want 
 to bother either him or you with a correspondence, but 
 I wish you would submit a passage from the latter to 
 him, and some day tell me what he thinks. On p. 177 
 of his "Nigrinus" he renders ot ret? Tro'Xet? eTnrer/oajU/AeVot 
 " governors of cities." Should it not be " governors of 
 provinces ?" the aggregate of city-states constituting a 
 province? So in Horace, Od. III., iv. 76, " urbes," as 
 Page points out, means "the world," the ancient world 
 being a city- world. Of course I would not put my view 
 on any point of pure scholarship against Mr. Irwin's, 
 but, as you know, I have pottered a good deal in the 
 provinces, and one gets to have a feeling for words 
 dealing with provincial things."
 
 MIDDLE LIFE 99 
 
 At the same time Arnold was free from the subtle 
 snobbishness that picks all its friends for the length of 
 their intellectual purse ; indeed he disliked sheer intellect, 
 and was repelled by mere forensic agility in handling 
 ideas, presenting cases and prosecuting reforms. " Mere 
 intellectual exercise," he would say, dismissingly, of much 
 journalism that passes as capable, and of certain highly- 
 reputed social reformers ; " yes, they are intolerable 
 philanthropists avev rov <j>i\eiv, a sort of modern version 
 of the Sophists, who taught virtue without having it." 
 He had, certainly, no skill in suffering fools gladly, if they 
 were at their ease ; assurance found him alarmingly mono- 
 syllabic and gruff; hollow, sounding people who live by 
 phrases suffered strange discomforts in his company; but 
 he could be as "tender to the bashful and merciful to the 
 absurd" as Newman's ideal gentleman; he seemed to keep 
 a half-humorous liking for your true, unpresentable dull 
 dog, trundling his own little hoop of a life, with no 
 speculation in his eyes. Perhaps it was akin to his love of 
 all animals, "not one of whom," he would enthusiastically 
 quote from Whitman, " is respectable, over the whole 
 earth." 
 
 From these strenuous years they were so tranquil too 
 almost the only things that seemed to stand out, dated, 
 in Arnold's memory were some salient savours of holiday 
 travel. They need not be put into a list. Its pell-mell 
 look would indeed reflect his gift of serious enjoyment, in 
 its versatility; but not in its depth; and that was what 
 struck us most, who were his friends : this sketch of his 
 mind at work in its prime is not of use if it gives no sense 
 of the passion of purposeful zest with which he lived, and 
 used his strength. With no mere flitting and dipping 
 catholicity, he "loved of life the myriad sides" and found 
 nothing dull on the earth.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAST YEARS 
 By MARY A. WARD
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAST YEARS. 
 
 It was in 1896 that Arnold felt the first real symptoms 
 of the spinal mischief which killed him. At first the 
 severe pain which it induced was supposed to be rheu- 
 matic, and as one turns over the letters of that date it 
 wrings one's heart to see how hopeful he was of throwing 
 it off, now by this method, and now by that. In the May 
 of 1896, I begged him to come out and join us at 
 Bellagio, that the beautiful spring of the Italian lakes 
 might help him to conquer these new and persistent pains. 
 He could not come. But, in August, he went to Switzer- 
 land for the holiday always so eagerly enjoyed. Alas, 
 the holiday weeks were marked with terrible attacks of 
 pain, and his letters from Beatenberg and Rosenlaui are 
 piteous reading. By the autumn he was already very 
 ill. A short holiday near Morecambe Bay, in the house lent 
 him by his old and dear friends the Misses Gaskell, Mrs. 
 Gaskell's daughters, was again of no avail, and in Novem- 
 ber the doctors sent him to Bournemouth to try long rest, 
 and a milder climate than Manchester. In a letter to me 
 of this winter he spoke of his long companionship with 
 the " sad sister, Pain," and with gratitude of the special 
 love and devotion which his illness had evoked in relations 
 and friends. At Bournemouth, for a time indeed, he 
 seemed to improve. Many days were free from pain; he 
 was able to bicycle occasionally, and to read a good deal ; 
 while he never tired of listening to Scott's novels, which 
 his wife read to him. In the spring of 1897 they started 
 for the Riviera, Mentone first, then Bordighera. But the
 
 104 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 malady made progress, though there were good times as 
 well as bad, and his eager love of beauty, now as always, 
 brought him moments of oblivion and delight, when he 
 sat among the pines, looking out over mountain and sea. 
 The hope of getting better never left him, and the smallest 
 respite roused in him fresh projects of work. 
 
 In June, 1897, he and his wife reached Manchester 
 again after their long absence, and Arnold hoped he 
 might resume work again in the autumn. But, instead, 
 the summer was marked by a serious operation, and all 
 the later months of the year were full of suffering. In 
 January, 1898, however, he wrote for the Fellows of King's 
 College, Cambridge, a criticism on a Roman History Dis- 
 sertation, sent in for a King's Fellowship, and was warmly 
 thanked by the College for the care and fulness with 
 which it was done. For a few weeks afterwards there 
 was a gleam of improvement. He struggled down once 
 or twice to the Guardian office, did some work, and seemed 
 none the worse. But March brought another operation, 
 which did nothing to relieve him, and so the weary 
 months went on. His wife's diary shows that during the 
 summer there were occasionally painless and happy days. 
 He lay out in his hammock in the Nelson Street garden, 
 during August, doing a little work now and then, and 
 sometimes there is an entry, made doubly pathetic by 
 what followed, like that of October 4th. " W. came in 
 to dinner, sat at bottom of table, and was his delightful 
 self, in great spirits." In November he made a desperate 
 effort to take up night-work again, only to find it quite 
 impossible, and at last it was evident both to himself, and 
 to the owner and editor of the Guardian, that some fresh 
 arrangement must be made. He resigned his post, the 
 Guardian allowing him a pension; and the doctors urged 
 him to try a milder climate than Manchester.
 
 LAST YEARS 105 
 
 The separation from the Guardian was a sore grief to 
 him; but the suffering he had gone through had gradually 
 weaned him from his work, and he let himself hope that 
 time and rest would make it possible for him to do 
 occasional writing for his beloved newspaper in the future, 
 though under changed conditions. Universal kindness was 
 shown him in Manchester. His colleagues on the Guardian 
 wrote him a joint letter of farewell, accompanying the 
 gift of a silver vase, a reproduction of one in the famous 
 treasure of Bosco Reale : 
 
 " In token of our very deep sympathy and affection, 
 and of our recognition of the part you have played in 
 making the paper what it is. Some of us, who may say 
 that we have been your pupils here, feel that we owe 
 more to you than is possible to express, and wish to 
 thank you from our hearts for your unfailing wise and 
 generous help and counsel. We all unite in admiration 
 of your work as a journalist, of your loyalty and kindness 
 to your colleagues, and, will you allow us to add, of 
 the splendid courage with which you have borne the 
 sufferings of the last three years." 
 
 Arnold wrote in reply: 
 
 " Dear friends and colleagues, I cannot thank you as 
 I would wish for your beautiful gift and letter. But I 
 shall always prize both as among my very dearest 
 possessions. I shall never read the list of names 
 appended to your letter without recalling some pleasant 
 association with each one of them, whether they be of 
 my seniors, contemporaries, or juniors, and without a 
 vivid realisation of the part which each has taken in 
 the development of the great newspaper to which we are 
 all attached. It is my belief that an even wider influence 
 than it has yet attained, lies before the Guardian, and
 
 io6 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 it will always be one of the chief interests and pleasures 
 of my life to watch not without a sign of envy ! the 
 share contributed by each one of you to its authority and 
 usefulness. Yours with all grateful affection, W. T. 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thus closed the main chapter of his life. What remained 
 was an epilogue, full of pathos, full also of noble endur- 
 ance ; and not without its intervals of respite and happiness, 
 when, to use his own expression, the " black crow " of 
 gnawing pain spread its wings and departed, and in its 
 stead " a perching dove " in the shape of an easy day or 
 hour, would descend on him, giving full play to all his 
 old power of mind and heart, and awaking in those who 
 watched him the vain hope that after all the worst of the 
 disease might pass away, and be succeeded by a period, 
 perhaps a long period, of comparative ease. 
 
 In May, 1899, he and his wife settled in a little house 
 in Carlyle Square, Chelsea. An upstairs library received 
 all his cherished books, and Roman history collections. 
 It looked west over a pleasant square garden, and here, 
 either on his sofa, or in a deep armchair, he spent most 
 of his days, tenderly visited and remembered by his old 
 friends, and making many new ones. Mr. Prothero, the 
 editor of the Quarterly, and Mrs. Prothero were among 
 the former; Mr. Haldane and M. Augustin Filon, the 
 London correspondent of the Debats, first became personally 
 acquainted with him after his move to London ; while with 
 Mr. St. Loe Strachey, his colleagues Mr. Hawke, Mr. 
 J. B. Atkins and Mr. Leonard Hobhouse, Mr. Henry 
 James, the late Mr. George Murray Smith, the well-known 
 publisher, Mr. GK W. E. Russell, Lady Oakeley, an old 
 Manchester friend, and others who had known him in 
 youth or at Manchester, he renewed or strengthened links
 
 LAST YEARS 107 
 
 already formed ; intimate friends like Miss Eleanor Sellar, 
 or his frequent visitor Mile. Souvestre, and his kinsman 
 Dr. Adolphus Ward, saw him whenever they could, and 
 brought him books, news and precious sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Haldane writes to me : 
 
 " I have the most vivid recollections of my visits to 
 your brother. His interest in both German literature 
 and German philosophy was very keen, and his talk 
 turned much on these themes. Goethe as a thinker 
 was a subject that much attracted him, and had he 
 lived, I feel pretty sure that he would have written on 
 this aspect of Goethe's personality. We talked also of 
 modern Liberalism. Although he was then an invalid 
 and could hardly move, the topic inspired him with 
 energy, and he would discuss things as vigorously as 
 though he had daily been listening to the debates in the 
 House of Commons. His was a rare gift the keenness 
 which comes of concentration; and whether the talk 
 was of literature or of affairs, the same qualities 
 appeared, in all he said sincerity and fearlessness. It 
 is not often that this type of man appears among us, 
 and society is the poorer when one such is taken away." 
 
 And Sir Ian Hamilton has very kindly sent me the 
 following account of a conversation he had with my 
 brother, early in 1903. The historian and the soldier 
 were evidently drawn to each other by a common open- 
 ness and freshness of mind. 
 
 " Tidworth House, Andover, 
 
 " 18th May, 1906. 
 " Dear Mrs. Ward, 
 
 " Yes, I have a vivid recollection of the general 
 effect produced on me by my encounter with the strong 
 and sympathetic personality of your brother, but I fear
 
 io8 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 that this attempt to give an account of the event will 
 seem to you very slight and inadequate. After so long 
 a lapse of time details have got blurred in my memory 
 and outlines blunted, although the pleasure and profit 
 received remain, and ever will remain, a source of real 
 gratitude. 
 
 " I went to see Mr. Arnold about certain parallels 
 between English and Roman history which were then 
 very much in my mind. ... I wished to give them 
 precision and point by consulting a competent authority 
 concerning the Roman frontier provinces; the methods 
 of keeping the legions up to strength in foreign quarters, 
 and the characters of Augustus and Tiberius. Here 
 my fortune led me, through the good offices of a mutual 
 friend, to pay the, to me, memorable visit to your 
 brother which you now ask me to describe. 
 
 ' Directly I arrived we plunged into a discussion 
 concerning the parallel offered by the Roman Empire 
 to our own, and Mr. Arnold gave me some papers he 
 had written on the subject, as well as some German 
 pamphlets which proved quite invaluable. All through 
 this part of our interview he seemed to prefer to make 
 me expound my theories whilst he kept the conversation 
 alive by corrections or suggestions. When he did speak 
 he was delightfully to the point, and I felt that his 
 words were indeed golden, each of them expressing a 
 sincere and well-considered conviction. 
 
 " But although I had come to talk about Rome, as a 
 matter of fact the greater part of our interview was on 
 the subject of South Africa. The way of it was this. 
 I admired a photograph on the mantelpiece; a photo- 
 graph of the picture by Velasquez illustrating the 
 surrender of Breda. Your brother made some illu- 
 minating remarks on the gracious, gentle, chivalrous
 
 LAST YEARS 109 
 
 attitude of the victorious Spanish general, whose hand 
 was resting protectively upon the shoulder of his con- 
 quered enemy. I was thereby led to speak of General 
 Delarey, who had once told me that his family were 
 of Spanish origin, although they emigrated to South 
 Africa as French Huguenots. I said that Delarey had 
 inherited the courtly instincts of the Spanish general 
 at Breda. His manners were perhaps those of the veldt 
 rather than of the London drawing-room, but he was 
 none the less for that essentially a Spanish grandee of 
 the 16th century. 
 
 " As far as I can recollect, the course of our subse- 
 quent conversation took something of the following 
 shape Mr. Arnold guiding and sustaining it by draw- 
 ing out such items of practical knowledge as I had 
 been able to glean during the war. We discussed 
 a might-have-been. By the time peace was con- 
 cluded with the Boers, the continuous, prolonged fight- 
 ing had burnt up most of the old rancours and jealousies 
 which, since Majuba, had distracted the unhappy South 
 African land. The whole country was sick unto death 
 of war; the Anglo-Saxons were temporarily dominant; 
 the old-fashioned Boers were a law-abiding and, in 
 their own fashion, a generous and chivalrous race. 
 There was nothing so fantastic as was generally sup- 
 posed in the view that the moment of signing the terms 
 of peace had been the moment of all others for pro- 
 claiming our confidence that the Dutch would loyally 
 fulfil their share of the conditions. It was at least 
 conceivable that no harm, but much good, might have 
 resulted had the disarmament of the Boers been im- 
 mediately followed by the granting of a Constitution 
 and the announcement that every British soldier should 
 be withdrawn from the Transvaal and Orange Colony
 
 no W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 as soon as the new government found they could dis- 
 pense with their services. The Boers had lost their 
 teeth; the British were too weary to be exultant. Left 
 at that moment to stew in their own juice, a good, 
 working, compromise Government might have evolved 
 itself without too much politics or talking. For a few 
 weeks the conquerors had been vouchsafed a fair, sport- 
 ing chance of extricating themselves for ever from the 
 expense and unpopularity of directly governing a diffi- 
 cult country and a difficult congeries of people. But, 
 as I pointed out, nowhere amidst any section of the 
 British public or press had an inclination been shown 
 to run a big risk for the sake of perhaps doing as big 
 a thing as has ever been done in history. Under such 
 conditions we must realise that we had avoided the 
 off chance of honourable disaster only at a cost of a 
 certain, long period of expenditure, responsibility and 
 worry, and that we had now got to make the best of the 
 results of our own choice. Half measures were no use. 
 Far from reducing our garrison we should now, if 
 possible, strengthen it and console ourselves by regard- 
 ing it as a convenient posted reserve to India, which is 
 only separated from South Africa by that British lake 
 the Indian Ocean. 
 
 " There was a look of suffering about him, but, in 
 his manner or talk, not a vestige of the egotism or self- 
 centrement of an invalid. The walls of the rooms were 
 covered with books, and as he moved forward to get 
 one of them for a reference to some point in the dis- 
 cussion, I could clearly see that they were his own 
 familiar friends. I was greatly impressed by his 
 alertness of sympathy for the interests of other people. 
 I specially and clearly remember his habit of listening 
 with a slow sympathetic smile which gave the en-
 
 LAST YEARS in 
 
 couraging impression that, whether he agreed or not, 
 he liked hearing what his visitor had to say. 
 
 " Finally, I realised as I left the little house that I 
 had enjoyed a rare privilege, and that although Mr. 
 Arnold was shut out by cruel circumstances from the 
 whirl of active life, his mind rose superior to his frail 
 body and moved habitually on the plane of big thoughts 
 
 and bold ideas. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " IAN HAMILTON." 
 
 With M. Augustin Filon, Arnold made friends a propos 
 of an article written by the French journalist for the 
 Manchester Guardian. It seems to have been through 
 Arnold that the article was sent to the Manchester 
 Guardian, and in announcing its publication to the writer 
 he adds : 
 
 " May I say for myself personally that I have long 
 been a reader and admirer of your work? I think I 
 have read almost everything of yours in the Revue des 
 Deux Mondes. ... If you ever had the leisure and 
 inclination to come so far as this house, you and 
 Madame Filon would find two persons for I speak for 
 my wife as well as for myself who would regard such 
 a visit as an honour as well as a pleasure." 
 
 M. Filon came; the two men talked long and pleasantly; 
 and the day after the visit Arnold wrote to his new 
 acquaintance : 
 
 " Friendship is a delicate plant, and to reach after it 
 too quickly is sometimes the best way to tear it up by 
 the roots. Still I cannot help telling you, after our 
 meeting of yesterday, that it will be your fault, not 
 mine, if we do not make friends. We are no longer 
 young, either of us, and one may be excused for cutting
 
 112 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 short the preliminaries and hesitancies of friendship 
 which are natural with young people. Then we have 
 hoth suffered .... and neither of us has to envy in 
 the other the brutal superiority of the robust ! More- 
 over, you meet the world with a pleasant humour which 
 I find very exemplary and consoling ; and I am sure that 
 to see more of you would do me good. Whether the 
 converse is likely I by no means dare say." 
 The fruits of this brief but real friendship will be seen 
 in certain lines which I hope to quote later on, when 
 M. Filon sums up for a French audience the impression 
 which Arnold made upon him. 
 
 None of us who saw William Arnold at this time in 
 the little room in Carlyle Square, will ever, I think 
 forget the wasted, stooping form, the brooding look, 
 born of long suffering, with which he would some- 
 times greet even those nearest and most familiar and 
 then the sudden kindling, the old humorous smile, the 
 talk, now whimsical and affectionate, now packed with 
 thought and information on some book that interested 
 him, some project of travel, or some visit of a friend. 
 Never was his mind more active than during some of these 
 later years. He took all his old interest in the subjects 
 at which his friends might be working. His devotion to 
 the Guardian never flagged. He kept a constant and 
 critical eye on its columns, wrote often to the friends who 
 were still working on its staff, and never missed an oppor- 
 tunity of serving it. Meanwhile he kept up with his own 
 subject, and added much to his Roman history notes and 
 collections during this time. He revised his father's 
 edition of Dryden's "Essay on Dramatic Poetry" for the 
 Clarendon Press, and he was still engaged in a similar 
 revision of Thomas Arnold's " Selections from Addison " 
 when he died. For the Dryden he read largely " all
 
 LAST YEARS 113 
 
 Dryden's prose, all Corneille's, and a whole lot of miscel- 
 laneous books from Ben Jonson and Daniel downwards," 
 and began to look forward to the possibility of more 
 editing of English texts. In 1903 he wrote a biographical 
 article on his father, "Thomas Arnold the Younger," for 
 The Century magazine, and contributed besides a striking 
 series of letters on " German Ambitions " to the Spectator, 
 which were afterwards republished in book form. His 
 object in these letters was to draw attention to the German 
 " Flotten-Literatur " and the hostile attitude towards 
 England of the German Chauvinist press. The number 
 and variety of the German books and pamphlets quoted 
 in them is, as usual, astounding. Mr. Strachey recalls 
 how he would " tear the heart " out of them in an incred- 
 ibly short time, and with what practised ease he first made 
 himself acquainted with the whole ' lie ' of the literature, 
 and then gathered in all that the foreign booksellers of 
 London could provide him with. One of his darling 
 projects of the last two years was a new edition of Mrs. 
 Gaskell. He had always been the faithful reader of her 
 books; her daughters had been to him the kindest of 
 friends; and nothing could have been more agreeable to 
 him than the proposal made to him by Mr. Reginald 
 Smith that he should undertake the rearranging and 
 editing of her novels and tales with such separate Intro- 
 ductions as might be necessary. He at once began to 
 scheme and plan ; the Miss Gaskells promised to help him ; 
 but before his death he had done no more than collect a 
 good many notes, and arrange a new provisional order of 
 the books. 
 
 The chief new study of these later years, however, 
 was Goethe. In May, 1901, he wrote me, "I read Goethe, 
 and have Miss Austen read to me. If I was up to serious 
 composition which I am not at present I would tackle
 
 114 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 Goethe. I am amazed at the lack of serious English work 
 on him." By November of the same year, he was 
 " getting vertieft in Goethe. I am more and more im- 
 pressed with the need of a new life of Goethe." A birth- 
 day present of a cheque to spend on Goethe books, brought 
 him " a delightful hour in the big bookshop " at Mon- 
 treux, where he and his wife were then wintering, "getting 
 Goethe books which had been sent me on approval, and 
 which I had hitherto refused, and ordering others, and 
 generally enjoying myself. The next great step in my 
 Goethe-Forschungen must be a visit to Weimar perhaps 
 next year, if I am up to it. ... The amount of new 
 material since Lewes, and even since Diintzer, is kolossal. 
 Two big volumes at least would be wanted. But, alas ! 
 can I reasonably hope to do it when a single letter tires 
 me? Perhaps a typewriter might make things easier 
 for me. My twenty years of journalism seem to have left 
 behind them a permanent weakness so far as writing is 
 concerned." In March of the following year, Mr. 
 Prothero pleased him by asking him to write a Goethe 
 article for the Quarterly. His mind played eagerly with 
 the project, and the full notebooks grew fuller still. But 
 by a pathetic, half-confessed adjustment of the task to his 
 powers, he gradually gave up the plan of writing on the 
 great Goethe himself. In the course of his reading, the 
 figure of 'Frau Aja,' the mother from whom Goethe 
 inherited his " lust zu fabuliren " had caught Arnold's 
 quick imagination. He read everything he could lay 
 hands on about her, and another notebook was soon filled. 
 But ultimately it was his niece Janet Mrs. George 
 Trevelyan who, with tender care, made use of these notes 
 in an article for the Quarterly, called " Goethe's mother," 
 which contained a short sketch of Arnold, and was pub- 
 lished in October, 1905.
 
 LAST YEARS 115 
 
 Meanwhile his classics were always beside him. His 
 little Homer is scored with fresh notes, made about 
 this time. He read Virgil through again, and much 
 of the Greek drama. And all through these years 
 of pain, when his intellectual interests were all of 
 active life that remained to him, every power of the heart 
 remained as warm and constant as ever. His sympathy 
 with his sisters and brothers, his grateful affection towards 
 his wife's cousins, and his own life-long friend Mrs. Eaden, 
 towards Mrs. Wale, his mother-in-law, and two other 
 kind cousins, Miss Mildred Wale and Mrs. Walter Smith, 
 who thought no trouble too great to take if it might soothe 
 and help him, his tenderness towards his nieces and 
 nephews these things never failed, through all the pre- 
 occupations of illness. Of a young relation, who was 
 spending fifteen months in Indian travel, he wrote : "All 
 your news about - is delightful. What pleasanter 
 spectacle is there on this earth than a high-minded and 
 generous young man, with all this shining, wonderful, 
 beautiful world before him, and with such advantages for 
 making the best of extraordinary opportunities ? " In all 
 my books as they came out he took the old critical interest. 
 " Eleanor," if I remember right, did not much appeal to 
 him, but, to my delight, he found " great help and dis- 
 traction, during a dark time, in ' Lady Rose's Daughter.' ' 
 " The Beschreibung in it," hewrote, " is reduced to the 
 minimum, and the Handlung brought to a maximum, as 
 the great Vischer says they ought to be." Of discussion, 
 or long descriptions in a novel, he was always impatient. 
 He liked a story to be " ripely human, and tasting of life." 
 Mrs. Oliphant delighted him ; at her best he put her very 
 high, and there was scarcely a story of hers that he could 
 not read or hear with pleasure. How many hours were 
 charmed or lightened by her books ! I have often wished
 
 Ii6 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 I could have told her. Trollope, too, was a beguiler of 
 whom he never tired. And one book, Miss Lawless's 
 '*' Major Lawrence," was a real event in the last winter of 
 his life. " How good it is ! " he would say, dwelling on 
 the points of it with all the shrewdness of his best days; 
 " why isn't it better known ? " 
 
 With politics, naturally, through the dark years of the 
 war in South Africa, his soul was much vexed. He could 
 not whole-heartedly accept the English plea; but once in 
 for the struggle, he suffered, and felt, and triumphed 
 with the army. At the beginning, he was inclined to ask 
 a correspondent who endorsed the war, whether " you 
 virtuous and capable people, who support the war at 
 home, are not really dupes and pawns in the Rhodesian 
 game ; " but as time went on, he more and more inclined 
 to believe the trial of strength to have been past the 
 avoiding of statesmen; and he never at any time joined 
 in the denunciation of the army to be found in certain 
 Liberal papers during the later stages of the war. Just 
 as in 1895, a propos of Armenia, he had refused to make 
 a dogma out of " English brutality," so now. " With all 
 our faults ours is the humanest and most civilised of all 
 armies. . . . The point is, are we justified in suppressing 
 a nationality? To argue the question on a theory of our 
 special depravity, and Boer special virtue, is absurd and 
 irrelevant, besides being dead contrary to the plain facts." 
 None the less, the doubt expressed in this last quotation 
 weighed on him heavily. His feeling for his country 
 indeed was natural, pugnacious, human; soon set aglow. 
 Of an article on the work of Treitschke by an English 
 scholar, he says on January 10th, 1897 : " I thought it too 
 indulgent, from an English and Liberal paper to that 
 hater and contemner of England, and of every Liberal 
 idea." " Still," he adds, characteristically, " it was
 
 LAST YEARS 117 
 
 interesting." Yet no one could have been less Chauvinist 
 than he. Keenly as he felt the ill-will of certain strata 
 of German society towards England, which he illustrated 
 in the letters to the Spectator, he was sensitive lest his 
 friends should misread him, especially those among them 
 who realised the passionate respect he felt for the Germans 
 in the field of knowledge. " Thanks," he writes on July 9, 
 1902, " about the ' Spec.' letter. I am glad that neither 
 you nor Morley (who sent me a kind message about it and 
 ' was glad I had written it ') misunderstood it. One 
 would rather do anything than fortify the Jingoes just at 
 present." 
 
 And of a review of the book he writes that it was 
 " exactly what I wanted emphasising the fact that the 
 book was no mere diatribe against the Germans." But he 
 believed that the possibility of future menace from Pan- 
 Germanism was serious, and that the proper security 
 against it was a closer friendship between England and 
 France. 
 
 Ah ! how good it is to remember that in the long 
 struggle of these years there were, as I have already said, 
 some golden moments of rest and ease, when his naturally 
 happy nature could expand in the old ways. From the 
 summer of 1901 to the summer of 1902, he and his wife 
 were in Switzerland, at Chesieres, Clarens, Charnex and 
 Mont Bary in the Gruyere country which he loved, where 
 the mountains and the flowers spoke to him with the same 
 magic as in his youth. " I am basking in the sun on our 
 balcony," he writes from Chesieres, " with the Dent du 
 Midi and the Aiguille Verte in front of me, and the air 
 crystal-pure and life-giving. . . . The weather here has 
 turned to beau fixe, only that there is generally a heat-mist 
 in the air, which veils, or rather blurs, the distant peaks. 
 The hotel commands a regular drop-scene view. Chesieres
 
 n8 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 and Villars take the sunshine, on a great semi-circular 
 terrace, in the parky zone, with the north end of the Mont 
 Blanc range framed in between the Muveran and the 
 Dent du Midi. In the morning I look into the heart of 
 an untrampled glacier, quite level, and girt by black 
 aiguilles which cast long, solemn shadows. Oh, to be the 
 first that ever burst into that silent sea of ice, on one's 
 way from the Chamonix valley to the Val Ferret or 
 Orsieres ! This view has given me an idea that the ideal 
 method of exploration would be to live for a week in a 
 range, and then to go over to the range and do it. How 
 delicious it would be to make one's way into that great 
 sheet of dazzling neve, and suddenly to realise that this 
 was the friend into whose heart one had looked every 
 morning before breakfast at a distance of thirty miles 
 away ! One commands the Weisshorn, I believe, in a 
 similar way from Montana, above Sierre, the Combin from 
 Champex, and so on." From Charnex he wrote happily 
 in 1903 : " The ground drops rapidly from here to the 
 Lake, and one looks to blue lake through white pear and 
 cherry blossom, as in the old Ruskinian days before the 
 vine-planting began." 
 
 Midway between the Swiss and the Pyrenean experiences 
 I captured him for a few precious weeks on the Lake of 
 Como in 1903. One afternoon comes back to me, an 
 afternoon in May. On a loggia, garlanded and tapestried 
 with roses, a group was gathered, listening to a translation 
 into English black verse of certain of the Fioretti, read 
 by the poet-translator 1 in person. The air was heavy 
 with the scent of roses ; outside the sun burned on dazzling 
 bushes of white spirea, on azaleas in full flower, on the 
 cypresses flanking a flight of steps descending to the lake, 
 
 1. Mr. James Rhoades.
 
 LAST YEARS 119 
 
 on the blue water spreading towards Lecco, on the craggy 
 face of Monte Grigna. Butterflies hovered outside; 
 sometimes a nightingale sang in the trees behind the 
 house. And on his long chair, Arnold lay, his wasted 
 form warmly wrapped, his fine brow bent forward, his 
 intent and smiling eyes bent upon the reader, his varying 
 look reflecting the pleasure stirred by the fine scholarship 
 and delicate simplicity of the verse. . . . And again I 
 remember a strange experience strange when one connects 
 it with his frail state. We had started from Cadenabbia 
 on a bright afternoon, in a rowing boat, for Yarenna 
 across the lake. The water was smooth on the Cadenabbia 
 side, but as soon as we got well out into the middle of the 
 lake the wind caught us and the troubled water from the 
 Lecco arm. It became extremely rough, and there was 
 still half the lake to cross. Arnold looked round him, 
 grasped the situation, shook himself out of the languor 
 of illness, and took command. Steering himself, he 
 peremptorily gave the orders, as though it had been the 
 river at Oxford; his iron will and presence of mind 
 transfiguring his physical weakness, and bringing the boat 
 and its load safe to land out of a disagreeable experience. 
 I remember, when we were certain it had done him no 
 harm, the kind of thrill I felt, a thrill of joy, as though 
 once more the ghost of his young strength had appeared 
 among us, effacing years and pain. 
 
 So the months passed, and it seemed for long as though 
 the disease made no striking progress. But in the summer 
 of 1903, he rapidly lost strength. The winter was passed 
 in great suffering, but in the spring of 1904 there was 
 a certain rally. He began to see his friends anl to read 
 again, and in mid-March he and Mrs. Arnold started for 
 the Pyrenees. When I said good-bye to him at Charing 
 Cross, it was with better hopes than I had felt for months.
 
 120 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 They settled in a friend's house near St. Jean de Luz, and 
 for two months Arnold enjoyed the beauty of the Pyrenean 
 spring, and the kindness of many friends old and new. 
 " Oh, such a heavenly country of foothills ! " he wrote 
 " such sun, such divine, aromatic air." He surrounded 
 himself with books, many of them lent him by the 
 kind friend Mr. Butler Clarke, whose pretty Basque 
 cottage was close by. Nothing could have been more 
 fortunate than the chance which brought Arnold 
 into Mr. Butler Clarke's neighbourhood at that moment. 
 Mr. Butler Clarke was first of all an admirable scholar in 
 paths little trodden by Englishmen. From him we might 
 but for his early death have received that History of 
 Early Spain, which still remains a lack in historical litera- 
 ture, never to be filled except by one who 'is, as he was, 
 a master both of Spanish and Arabic. His fresh and 
 original power of research attracted Arnold, but his 
 personality still more. " There were few afternoons that 
 we did not see him," writes Mrs. Arnold, " hurrying down 
 the broken grass-slope that led by a short cut to our steep 
 drive, with a pile of books under each arm. The two men 
 would talk happily in the rose-girt verandah, generally on 
 a subject which specially fascinated Willie, a book of 
 importance which Butler was planning. The delicate, 
 thoughtful kindness of the younger man was shown to us 
 in a hundred ways. He himself was not strong, and could 
 only work a few Jiours in the day. Bufl nothing hindered him 
 when it was a question of help. That workman's library of 
 his at Aice Errota, with its big writing table, and its ranks 
 of books a few rare curios and Moorish tiles gleaming here 
 and there will stand lastingly in many a mind. We spent 
 a last long afternoon in it, and in his blooming garden, 
 where the distant wash of the sea was heard, and its 
 freshness mingled with the fresh borders of heavily per-
 
 LAST YEARS 121 
 
 fumed spring flowers. Then when our journey home 
 had suddenly to be planned, a dazzling May noon saw 
 him taking our luggage himself to Biarritz for booking. 
 He joined us there later in the train, and cheered Willie 
 with his bright presence as far as Bayonne, where we felt 
 for the last time the pressure of that kind hand, and heard 
 his last encouraging words as the train moved on." Alas ! 
 the younger man has now followed the older into the 
 Great Silence. 
 
 I meanwhile was at Cadenabbia, working at a novel, 
 and rejoicing in the thought of the little household at 
 St. Jean de Luz. Letters from the villa showed my 
 brother reading and driving, delighting in the Basque 
 people and country. " He may live many years yet, and 
 the stage of acute suffering has passed away," one said 
 to oneself, in thankfulness. But suddenly came bad news. 
 There had been an attack, a change for the worse. They 
 started for home, and I was hastily summoned. I reached 
 London to find him in his own room at Carlyle Square 
 dying. Some lesion had taken place in the brain, and 
 hope was gone. Yet he knew me perfectly, threw his 
 arm round my neck, and murmured happily that he had 
 done some " wonderful work " at St. Jean de Luz. For 
 a few days he lingered. His brother, his two younger 
 sisters, to whom he was always devoted, and Mrs. Eaden 
 came; two of his brothers-in-law, the Rev. F. E. B. Wale, 
 and his life-long friend, Edward Allen, from their distant 
 homes, and Mr. Montague, and Mrs. Sellar. "I leaned over 
 him," wrote Mrs. Sellar, " and kissed his forehead, and 
 he faintly smiled, and I left the room, feeling " they love 
 him not, That would upon the rack of this rough world, 
 Stretch him out longer." Some pathetic murmurs now 
 and then seemed to give glimpses into depths we could not 
 reach. "God only knows what I have suffered" . . . "It's
 
 122 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 all love." ..." God is the strong power "... and, 
 scarcely breathed, on the last day before his death, " I 
 love God ; . . . I love God ! " Gradually the sunburn 
 which still told of the hot days at St. Jean de Luz passed 
 away; the aspect grew more majestic, more remote. He 
 lay, watched by his devoted wife, whose life had been in 
 his, and we all came and went. On Sunday morning, 
 May 29th, there was a celebration of the Holy Com- 
 munion in his room, but he was unconscious, and on Sun- 
 day afternoon he passed away. A few days later, on June 
 2nd, 1904, he was buried in the beautiful churchyard of 
 Little Shelford, Cambridge, amid his wife's kindred. 
 
 After his death many letters reached Mrs. Arnold. I 
 can only quote one or two. One of the most brilliant of 
 English scholars wrote : "A rare and beautiful spirit has 
 passed away in your husband. Few men have attracted 
 me as he did, for qualities of mind and heart. And I 
 have watched now for years with silent admiration his 
 heroic struggle against pain and death." And another, 
 also a distinguished man of letters, and for a time a col- 
 league of Arnold's at Manchester, wrote to a friend : " I 
 remember in a visit to town some years ago, the impres- 
 sion, standing out beyond all others, of Arnold, with death 
 then in his face, and holding on hard to every theme and 
 interest in life, looking like a disembodied spirit, and 
 speaking with that sort of authority on the influence of 
 Goethe and the like. I thought that bodily wreck gave 
 his judgments a new touch of refinement and originality. 
 The robustness, force, etc., became a higher quality." 
 His cousin, Mrs. Yere O'Brien, struck something of the 
 same note : " Every time that I was allowed to be with 
 him of late, and to hear his kind cousinly voice, and see 
 that look on his calm patient face as of one that had 
 gone through mysterious depths of suffering unknown
 
 LAST YEARS 123 
 
 to most of us in our easy-going lives I came away with 
 a feeling of reverence that was stronger even than pity 
 and with a sense that it had been good for me to be there 
 if only for a few minutes." 
 
 Of public tributes, hidden as his life had been, there 
 were a good many. The long obituary notice in the 
 Manchester Guardian, written by his former colleagues, 
 together with the notice in the Times, showed the world 
 something of the wealth and variety of his nature, and in 
 the columns of the Debats, M. Filon, one of the French 
 friends he so gladly made and so faithfully kept, drew a 
 portrait of him as "A Liberal," which summed up perhaps 
 what was most representative and significant in his life 
 those features and traits by which he would have been 
 most willing to be remembered. " In the continuous effort 
 to understand public questions, wherein, " said M. Filon, 
 " he acted as a guide to so many others, Arnold was him- 
 self guided by the spirit and method he had acquired 
 through his Roman History research. Is not Roman 
 History, indeed, the best school for the politician? And 
 to speak more generally, does not the whole secret of good 
 journalism depend upon the application to the men and 
 events of the passing hour, of the same critical processes 
 which we apply to the men and events of 2,000 years ago ? 
 The ordinary journalist is an advocate, the good journalist 
 is a historian. Arnold was that man."
 
 LIST OF WRITINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 W. T. ARNOLD
 
 WRITINGS BY W. T. ARNOLD. 
 
 (In this list anonymous journalistic writings are not included.) 
 
 1874. 
 THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES. Verses. In The Miscellany, Vol. viii., 
 
 No. 26 (a magazine privately printed in Oxford). 
 IN THE SWEAT OF THY BROW. Sonnet. In The Spectator, May 23. 
 
 1877. 
 
 Keats' " Hyperion." Book I. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by 
 W. T. A. Oxford : Clarendon Press, 8vo, pp. 32. 
 
 1879. 
 
 THE ROMAN SYSTEM OF PROVINCIAL ADMINISTRATION, TO THE ACCESSION 
 OF CONSTANTINE THE GREAT. Being the Arnold Prize Essay for 
 1879. London : Macmillan & Co., 8vo, pp. 240. New Edition, 
 in 1906, revised from the author's notes by E. S. Shuckburgh, 
 Litt. D. Oxford : B. H. Blackwell, 8vo, pp. 288. 
 
 1880. 
 
 Critical Introductions to the selections from William Browne, George 
 Wither, William Habington and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in 
 T. H. Ward's ENGLISH POETS. London : Macmillan & Co., 
 4 vols. 
 
 1884. 
 
 The Poetical Works of John Keats. Edited, with Introduction, by 
 W. T. A. London : Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 8vo, pp. 349. 
 Reprinted in 1888. 
 
 A footnote to the " Note on the Text " says : " This edition was 
 arranged and planned, in all its essential features, in 1880. Its appear- 
 ance has been delayed by unforeseen causes, of which the fire at the 
 publishing offices was the chief.") 
 
 1885. 
 
 MOMMSEN'S NEW VOLUME. Being a review of Vol. v. of Mommsen's 
 " History of Rome." Macmillan's Magazine, June, p. 140. 
 
 1886. 
 The Second Punic War; being chapters in the History of Rome by the 
 
 late Thomas Arnold. Edited by W. T. A. London : Macmillan 
 
 & Co., 8vo, pp. 435. 
 Review of Mommsen's " History of Rome. Vol. v. The Provinces, 
 
 from Caesar to Diocletian." In The English Historical Review, 
 
 Vol. i., p. 350.
 
 128 W. T. ARNOLD 
 
 1889. 
 
 THE POSSIBILITIES OF AN ART GALLERY IN MANCHESTER. By a Man- 
 chester Man. With an Appendix on the Gallery of Antique 
 Sculpture at Cambridge. Manchester : J. E. Cornish, 8vo, pp. 38. 
 
 1892. 
 The " Sarine Valley " section of MURRAY'S HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS 
 
 IN SWITZERLAND, SAVOY, PIEDMONT, THE ITALIAN LAKES, AND 
 
 PART OF THE DAUPHINS" ; 18th edition. London : John Murray. 
 Review of J. P. Mahaffy's " Greek World under Roman Sway, from 
 
 Polybius to Plutarch." In The English Historical Review, 
 
 Vol. vii., p. 124. 
 
 1893. 
 Review of Vol. ii. of Henry Furneaux* edition of the "Annals" of 
 
 Tacitus. In The English Historical Review, Vol. viii., p. 538. 
 Review of W. Warde Fowler's " Julius Caesar and the Foundation of the 
 
 Roman Imperial System." In The English Historical Review, 
 
 Vol. viii., p. 746. 
 
 1895. 
 Review of H. F. Tozer's " Selections from Strabo." In The English 
 
 Historical Review, Vol. x., p. 116. 
 Review of Ramsay's " Church in the Roman Empire," and E. G. Hardy's 
 
 "Christianity and the Roman Empire." In The English Historical 
 
 Review, Vol. x., p. 456. 
 
 1900. 
 
 Notices of " The Second Mrs. Tanqueray " ; " Trilby " ; " The Greatest 
 of These"; Modjeska in "Romeo and Juliet" and "Frou-Frou"; 
 Bernhardt in " Phedre " ; Edwin Booth in " Hamlet " and "Richard 
 III."; Salvini in "Hamlet" and "Othello," and Irving in "The 
 Merchant of Venice." In THE MANCHESTER STAGE, 1880 1900. 
 Westminster : A. Constable & Co. 
 
 1903. 
 THOMAS ARNOLD THE YOUNGER. In The Century magazine, Vol. Ixvi., 
 
 p. 115. 
 Dryden : An Essay of Dramatic Poesy. Edited with notes by Thomas 
 
 Arnold. Third edition revised by W. T. A. Oxford : Clarendon 
 
 Press, 8vo, pp. 179. 
 GERMAN AMBITIONS, AS THEY AFFECT BRITAIN AND THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 By Vigilans sed Aequus (W. T. A.). London : Smith, Elder & 
 
 Co., 8vo, pp. xix., 132. 
 
 POSTHUMOUS. 
 
 STUDIES OF ROMAN IMPERIALISM. Edited by E. Fiddes, with Memoir 
 by Mrs. Humphry Ward and C. E. Montague. Manchester : The 
 University Press, 8vo, pp. cxxiii., 281.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 A 
 
 Addison, selection from, Thomas Arnold's edition of, 112. 
 
 African question, the, Arnold's opinion of, 39. 
 
 Africa, south, 109, 110, 116. 
 
 Aja, Frau, Goethe's mother, 114. 
 
 Allen, Mr. E. L. B., friend and brother-in-law of W. T. Arnold, 10, 
 
 1114, 19, 24, 121. 
 Arabi Pasha, 34. 
 Arnold, Dr., of Rugby, 4, 6, 52. 
 
 Mrs., wife of Dr. Arnold, 7, see Penrose, Mary. 
 
 M^ary, daughter of Thomas Arnold, 7, 8 ; see Hiley, Mrs. 
 
 - Matthew, 4, 12, 38, 41, 80. 
 
 Frances, daughter of Dr. Arnold, 6, 50, 52. 
 
 Thomas, father of W. T. Arnold, 4, 46 ; his relations to the Church 
 
 of Rome, 5, 8, 46; W. T. Arnold's biographical article on, 113. 
 
 Julia, mother of W. T. Arnold, 4, 46. 
 
 Mary A., sister of W. T. Arnold, 5, 33; see also Ward, Mrs. 
 
 Humphry. 
 
 Theodore, brother of W. T. Arnold, 8. 
 
 - F. S., brother of W. T. Arnold, 45. 
 
 William Thomas, early years of, 3, 8 ; school and college, 9 30 ; 
 
 marriage, 30 ; in Oxford, 31 ; in Manchester on the staff of the 
 Guardian, 32104; in Ireland, 35; literary work of, 3741, 74, 
 87, 104 ; bibliography of his writings in the English Historical 
 Review, 40 ; his edition of Keats, 40 42 ; his work as a journal- 
 ist, 40, 59, 60 76 ; his politics, 44, 76 79 ; his views on German 
 and French, 88 97; letters of, 21 26, 80; friends of, 106; his 
 love of animals, 47 49, 99 ; illness, 103122 ; death of, 122. 
 Mrs., see Wale, Henrietta, 122. 
 
 Mr. Charles, Arnold in the house of, 9.
 
 130 INDEX 
 
 Arnold Essay Prize, won by W. T. Arnold, 30. 
 Art Gallery, the, in Manchester, 33, 45. 
 Art, School of, in Manchester, 45. 
 Austen, Jane, read by Arnold, 113. 
 
 B 
 
 Balfour, Mr., administration of, 44. 
 
 Basques, the, Arnold's sympathy with, 77. 
 
 Bodley, Mr., his studies of modern France, 92. 
 
 Birmingham, the Arnolds at, 8. 
 
 Boers, the, 80, 109. 
 
 Bosanquet, Mr. Bernard, friend and tutor of W. T. Arnold, 25, 41. 
 
 Bourdon, M. Emile, writing of Arnold, 96. 
 
 Bourgogne, M. Lucien, writing of Arnold, 96. 
 
 Brachet, recommended by Arnold for philology of French, 88. 
 
 Bradley, Dr., Master of University College, Oxford, 16. 
 
 Brasenose Club, the, foundation of, 44. 
 
 British Association, the, meeting in Manchester in 1881, 47. 
 
 C 
 
 Carlyle Square, Chelsea, Arnold's house in, 112. 
 Casaubon, in Middle-march, 72. 
 Cavendish, Lord Frederick, funeral of, 35. 
 
 Lady Frederick, 35. 
 
 Lord Edward, 35. 
 
 Century, magazine, the, 113. 
 
 Chamberlain, Mr. W. T. Arnold's opinion of, 44. 
 
 Chaucer, an essay written by W. T. Arnold on, 13. 
 
 Chelsea, Arnold living in, 106. 
 
 Cherbuliez, memoir of, by Faguet, quoted by W. T. Arnold, 75. 
 
 Chesieres, letter from Arnold from, 80; the Arnolds at, 117. 
 
 Clarens, visits of the Arnolds to, 43, 117. 
 
 Claude, a picture of, described by W. T. Arnold, 13. 
 
 Clough, Arthur, 4. 
 
 Colvin, Mr. Sidney, his criticism of W. T. Arnold's edition of Keats, 41. 
 
 Corneille, read by Arnold, 113. 
 
 Cropper, Mr. and Mrs., son-in-law and daughter of Dr. Arnold, 8.
 
 INDEX 131 
 
 Daniel, S., his works studied by Arnold, 113. 
 
 Darmesteter, Arsene, his Life of Words, 88. 
 
 Debats, Journal des, the, 106, 123. 
 
 Denison, Sir William, Governor of Tasmania, 4. 
 
 Devonshire, the Duke of, 35 36. 
 
 Dryden, his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, edited by Arnold, 112. 
 
 Dublin, the Catholic University of, Thomas Arnold at, 5. 
 
 E 
 
 Eaden, Mrs., cousin to Arnold's wife, 115, 121. 
 
 Earthly Paradise, Morris", 11. 
 
 Edensor, burial place of Lord Frederick Cavendish, 35. 
 
 Edgbaston, the Arnolds at, 8. 
 
 Elton, Oliver, articles by, 45. 
 
 English Historical Review, contributions of W. T. Arnold to, 40. 
 
 English Literature, the Professorship of, at University College, Dublin, 
 
 given to Thomas Arnold, 5. 
 Euripides, read by W. T. Arnold, 67. 
 
 Faguet, M. Emile, 88, his memoir of Cherbuliez in the Revue Bleue, 
 
 quoted by W. T. Arnold, 75. 
 
 Farnell, Mr. L. R., his edition of Greek Lyric Poets, 85. 
 Filon. M. Augustin, a friend of Arnold's, 106, 111 112; his opinion on 
 
 Arnold's knowledge of French Literature, 67. 
 Fledborough, visit of the Arnolds to, 53. 
 Forman, Mr. Buxton, his edition of Keats, 40. 
 Forster, Mr. W. E., Administration of, 34; Chief Secretary for Ireland, 
 
 35. 
 
 - Mrs. W. E., daughter of Dr. Arnold, 38. 
 Fox How, the old home of the Arnolds, 6, 14. 
 French, the teaching of, Arnold on, 88 89. 
 French literature, Arnold's knowledge of, 89. 
 Frenchmen, in England, Arnold's interest in, 90 93.
 
 132 INDEX 
 
 Freshfield, Mr. Douglas, his opinion on W. T. Arnold's edition of the 
 
 History of the Second Punic War, 39. 
 Fuller, studied by W. T. Arnold, 74. 
 
 G 
 
 Gaskell, Mrs., 91; Arnold projecting a new edition of her works, 113. 
 
 the Misses, 103, 113. 
 
 German, Arnold's opinion of, 89, 90. 
 
 Gibbon, historian, 62. 
 
 Gladstone, Mr., 35; admiration of W. T. Arnold for, 44. 
 
 Godkin, Mr. E. L., journalist, 63, 86. 
 
 Goethe, read by W. T. Arnold, 67, 107, 113114. 
 
 Goldsmith, studied by W. T. Arnold, 75. 
 
 Gordon, General, 34. 
 
 Green, John Richard, his Short History, 23. 
 
 Grober, on philology, recommended by W. T. Arnold, 88. 
 
 H 
 
 Hamilton, Sir Ian, a friend of Arnold's, 107 111. 
 
 Hardy, Dr. E. G., W. T. Arnold's criticism on his Christianity and the 
 
 Roman Empire, 40. 
 Harnack, Professor, 19. 
 Hartington, the Marquis of, 35, 44. 
 Hayman, Dr., of Rugby, 10. 
 Hiley, Mrs., daughter of Dr. Arnold, 7. 
 Hobart, birthplace of W. T. Arnold, 4. 
 Hobhouse, Mr. Leonard, a friend of Arnold's, 106. 
 Home Rule, Irish, 34 ; the fight for, 44 ; Arnold's support of, 77. 
 Hyperion, Keats', edited by W. T. Arnold, 40. 
 
 I 
 
 Ireland, the Arnolds in, 5 ; W. T. Arnold sent by the Guardian to, 35 ; 
 his interest in the cause of, 44. 
 
 J 
 
 Jonson, Ben, read by Arnold, 113.
 
 INDEX 133 
 
 K 
 
 Keats, various editions of the poems of, by W. T. Arnold, 40 42. 
 Kershaw, Mr., rector of Fledborough, 53, 54. 
 
 L 
 
 Laleham, letters of W. T. Arnold from, 21, 24, 26. 
 
 Lakes, the, visits of the Arnolds to, 6. 
 
 Lancashire, interest of W. T. Arnold in, 33, 92. 
 
 Land Act, the, 34, 44. 
 
 Land League, the Irish, 34. 
 
 Lawless, Miss, books of, 116. 
 
 Lemaitre, dramatic critic, 81. 
 
 Liberalism, 8, 107. 
 
 Liberal Ministry, the, of 1880, 34. 
 
 Little Shelford, Cambridge, burial place of W. T. Arnold, 122. 
 
 Long, James, letter of, in the Manchester Guardian, 80. 
 
 Lucian, the, of Mr. Irwin, discussed by Arnold, 98. 
 
 M 
 
 Mahieu, M. Lucien, his opinion on Arnold's knowledge of French litera- 
 ture, 67; writing of Arnold, 96. 
 
 Majuba Hill, 34. 
 
 Manchester, W. T. Arnold in, 32 106; his interest in, 33, 34, 44; Art 
 Gallery in, 45. 
 
 Manchester Guardian, the, 31 36, 42 46, 104, 111, 123; Arnold's work 
 on the staff of, 32106. 
 
 Marxism, 52. 
 
 Mazzini, read by Arnold, 29. 
 
 Mentone, Arnold at, 103. 
 
 Merivale, Dean, Arnold's view of him as a historian, 38. 
 
 Miscellany, the, magazine contributed to by W. T. Arnold, 16. 
 
 Mommsen, Arnold's criticism of his volumes on The Provinces from 
 Caesar to Diocletian, 40. 
 
 Monkhouse, A. M., articles by, 45. 
 
 Montague, Mr. C. E., 121; on Arnold's "self-obliteration," 3; joins the 
 Guardian staff, 50 ; articles by, 45. 
 
 Montegut, critical work of, recommended by Arnold, 88.
 
 134 INDEX 
 
 Mont Bary, the Arnolds at, 117. 
 
 Montreux, the Arnolds at, 113. 
 
 Morecambe Bay, Arnold at, 103. 
 
 Morley, John, 63, 117. 
 
 Morris, William, influence on W. T. Arnold, 12, 13. 
 
 Murray, Mr. Christie, 36 ; Arnold's view of, on Burns, 87. 
 
 N 
 
 Nelson Street Manchester, W. T. Arnold's house in, 32, 42. 
 Newman, John Henry, 8; Arnold as a type of his "ideal gentleman, 
 
 99. 
 New Zealand, Thomas Arnold in, 4. 
 
 O'Brien, Mrs. Vere, cousin of Arnold, 122. 
 
 Oliphant, Mrs., books of, 115. 
 
 Orange Colony, the, 109. 
 
 Oratory School, the, at Birmingham, 8. 
 
 Owens College, 32. 
 
 Owens, John, founder of Owens College, 32, 33. 
 
 Oxford, the Arnolds at, 8 ; W. T. Arnold at, 930. 
 
 Palgrave, Mr. F. T., his criticism of W. T. Arnold's edition of Keats, 
 
 41 ; his Golden Treasury, 88. 
 Parnell Commission, the, 44. 
 " Parnellism and Crime," 34. 
 
 Passages from a Wandering Life, Thomas Arnold's, 8. 
 Pater, Walter, 81. 
 
 Pattison, Mark, his view on W. T. Arnold's prize essay, 31. 
 Penrose, Mary, Matthew Arnold's mother, 52, 54 ; see Arnold, Mrs. 
 
 John, 54. 
 
 Phoenix Park, murders in, 34. 
 
 Prothero, Mr. G. W., editor of the Quarterly Review, 106, 114. 
 
 Punic War, the Second, history of, 39.
 
 INDEX 135 
 
 Q 
 
 Quarterly Review, the, 106, 114. 
 
 R 
 
 Ramsay, Professor, W. T. Arnold's criticism on his Church in the 
 
 Roman Empire, 40. 
 Revue des Deux Mondes, the, 111. 
 
 Roman History, W. T. Arnold's interest in, 38 40; 67, 112. 
 Roman Provincial Administration, W. T. Arnold's essay on, 30. 
 Rome, the church of, joined by Thomas Arnold, 5 ; left by him, 8 ; 
 
 rejoined by him, 46. 
 
 visit of the Arnolds to, 43. 
 
 Rossetti, D. G., his influence on W. T. Arnold, 17. 
 Rugby, W. T. Arnold at, 9, 10. 
 
 S 
 
 Sarcey, dramatic critic, 81. 
 Schuckburgh, Mr. Evelyn, editor of a new edition of W. T. Arnold's 
 
 prize essay, 31. 
 Scott, Mr. C. P., editor of the Manchester Guardian, 31, 32. 
 
 Sir Walter, the novels of, 103. 
 
 Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, 51 ; studied by W. T. Arnold, 75 ; 
 Swinburne on, 86. 
 
 Shelford, Little, home of Sir Charles Wale, 30; burial of W. T. 
 
 Arnold at, 122. 
 
 Shelley, his influence on W. T. Arnold, 29. 
 Smith, Mr. Geo. Murray, a friend of Arnold's, 106. 
 - Mr. Reginald, 113. 
 
 Mrs. Walter, cousin to Arnold's wife, 115. 
 
 Dr. Wm., editor of Students' Manuals, 36. 
 
 Sorell, Julia, wife of Thomas Arnold, 4. 
 Souvestere, Mile., 90, 107. 
 
 Spectator, the, articles of Arnold's in, 66, 113. 
 Stage, the Manchester, articles on, 45. 
 Stanley, Dean, his Life of Arnold, 52. 
 Stephen, Leslie, his Shakespeare as a Man, 87. 
 Students' Manuals, edited by Dr. William Smith, 36.
 
 136 INDEX 
 
 Student's Roman Empire, Arnold's projected, 37. 
 Swift, the Modest Proposal of, studied by W. T. Arnold, 74. 
 Swinburne, his book on Shakespeare, criticised by W. T. Arnold, 86, 87. 
 Switzerland, Arnold in, 103, 117. 
 
 T 
 
 Tasmania, 4. 
 
 Temple, Dr., W. T. Arnold in the house of, 9. 
 
 Times, the, 123. 
 
 Transvaal, the, 109. 
 
 Treitschke, an article on the work of, 116. 
 
 Trevelyan, Mrs. George, niece of Arnold, 114. 
 
 V 
 
 Vischer, his book on ^Esthetics, read by Arnold, 87. 
 Vivisection, Arnold's viewa on, 48, 49. 
 
 W 
 
 Waddington, M., his view on W. T. Arnold's prize essay, 31. 
 
 Wale, Mr. Charles, father of Arnold's wife, 30. 
 
 General Sir Charles, K.C.B., grandfather of Arnold's wife, 30 
 
 Henrietta, wife of Arnold, 14. 
 
 Mildred, 115. 
 
 Mrs., Arnold's mother-in-law, 21, 115. 
 
 Ward, Mr. Humphry, W. T. Arnold's brother-in-law, 29, 32. 
 
 Mrs. Humphry, 121; novels of, 33, 50, 115. 
 
 Dr. A. W., 107. 
 
 Whately, Archbishop, 14. 
 
 Miss Jane, 87. 
 
 Woods, Mrs. H. G., novelist, 16.
 
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