IVELLJS*
 
 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM
 
 l-'roni a /-'uniting by
 
 LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 SARAH SMETHAM 
 
 AND 
 
 WILLIAM DAVIES 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 MEMOIR OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 IT is not considered either necessary or desirable to 
 give any long or detailed biography of the writer of 
 the following letters. They tell their own story 
 through the struggles of an earnest life. The apology 
 for their publication, if any such is needed, may be 
 contained in the fact that of all his numerous corre- 
 spondents scarcely one is known ever to have destroyed 
 a letter he wrote : a circumstance which has made the 
 task of selection rather a difficult one. In the publi- 
 cation of these letters it may be premised that there is 
 no faith broken, no confidence betrayed. For the most 
 part they are the expressions of the life and feelings 
 of the writer, as his pictures were in another form, and 
 claim no closer confidence. Under other conditions, 
 if, for example, the pen instead of the brush had been 
 chosen as his vocation which might well enough have 
 been the case a good portion of the matter of them 
 would doubtless have been given forth by that means. 
 Of the letters themselves any extended terms of praise 
 would be misplaced here; but it seems to me that 
 some of them, in their lightness of touch, airiness, and 
 sportiveness of character, in their quick and visual 
 modes of thought, and their disposition to discern a 
 
 B
 
 comic element in the most serious moods and on the 
 darkest occasions to say nothing of their literary ease 
 and freedom of expression place them amongst the 
 best reputed examples of this kind of writing. 
 
 James Smetham was born at Pately Bridge, in 
 Yorkshire, on the 9th of September 1821. The 
 account of his origin and early years will be best 
 given by himself in a letter written in answer to a 
 request from Mr. Euskin, dated 16th November 1854. 
 It is as follows : 
 
 "DEAR SIR It is kind in you to show such an 
 amount of interest in my scribblings, and to express 
 so much sympathy in my pursuits. I fear you over- 
 rate the work, and that my desires and your appro- 
 bation will not be justified by anything worthy of 
 permanent regard. 
 
 " I have, however, a great love for art and all that 
 concerns it, and have devoted my life to its pursuit ; 
 nor can I resist the opportunity of informing you what 
 has been the course of my history : not so much 
 because I look on it as at all remarkable, but because 
 you are, I am persuaded, capable of understanding 
 without a long explanation why I should find pleasure 
 in telling it at all. 
 
 "Beginning at the beginning, I must inform you 
 that I am the son of a Methodist preacher, who spent 
 his life in periods of two or three years in various 
 towns of the kingdom with only one object in view. 
 My first awakening to consciousness, as far as I can 
 remember, was in a valley in Yorkshire, outside the 
 garden gate of my father's house, when at the age of 
 two years. I have a distinct remembrance of the
 
 ecstasy with which I regarded the distant blueness of 
 the hills and saw the laurels shake in the wind, and 
 felt it lift my hair. Then I remember thinking my 
 elder brother one of the cleverest lads alive, because he 
 drew a horse and a bulldog in water-colours ; and also 
 at four years of age running away on the nearest heath 
 that was at ISTantwich, in Cheshire and delighting 
 in the little pools, which were called pits. At eight I 
 recall a moonlit night, when the moonlight had the 
 effect of enchantment on me, and I listened softly to 
 the noises of the night. I took to drawing about the 
 same age with a box of water-colours which ought to 
 have cost fourpence, but which, by my frequent asking 
 the price, the good woman let me have for threepence. 
 That was at Congleton, in Cheshire. From that time 
 I formed the desire and design of becoming a painter, 
 and afterwards never had a thought of being anything 
 else, and made my father promise to let me be one. 
 At eleven, from Leek, in Staffordshire, I went to a 
 boarding-school at Woodhouse Grove, in Yorkshire, 
 where the sons of Methodist preachers are educated, 
 or ought to be; and where I ought to have learned 
 more than I did. There I copied Eaphael's cartoons 
 from the Penny Magazine. What time was not con- 
 sumed in drawing was spent in prowling about the 
 Grove, and slipping away to Calverley Wood, and in- 
 venting ghost- stories to fit old Calverley Hall. On 
 leaving school I was articled for five years to E. J. 
 Willson, of Lincoln, a Gothic-architect, who wrote the 
 literary part of Pugin's Examples of Gothic Architecture. 
 His office was at the Castle, in a round tower; and 
 there I ought to have learned more architecture than 
 I did, but I was always drawing Comuses and Satans
 
 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 and Manfreds. Mr. Willson was very fond of paint- 
 ing, and very kind. He scolded me before my face, 
 and praised me to my fellow-clerk behind my back ; 
 and at length, to effect a compromise, set me to draw 
 all the figures about the Minster. I spent a grand 
 solitary year at this work. With a key to myself I 
 poked about every comer at all hours, and twice a day 
 heard the organ-music and the choristers' singing roll 
 about among the arches. I sat on the warm leads of 
 the roof, and looked over the fens, and dreamed and 
 mused hours away there, and then came down over 
 the arches of the choir and drew the angels drumming 
 and fiddling in the spandrils. I made a large and 
 careful drawing of the Last Judgment from the south 
 porch, and had a scaffold up to it to measure it. But 
 I fretted my soul because I wanted to be a painter, 
 and at length boldly asked Mr. Willson to cancel my 
 indentures, who said decidedly that he would not, and 
 that Dewint, the painter, who was coming down shortly, 
 would put that and other foolish notions out of my 
 head; for painting was precarious, and few excelled in 
 it or could live by it. This he meant, I doubt not, in 
 great kindness. When Dewint came, he said he could 
 sympathise with me, having been in similar circum- 
 stances himself, and advised Mr. Willson to let me go, 
 which he did at the end of three years, my father's 
 approbation having been previously secured by myself. 
 I was thus thrown on the world by my own act 
 and deed, and with very little practice announced 
 myself in Shropshire as a portrait -painter, getting 
 employment at once ; working when I wanted money, 
 strolling to Buildwas and Wenlock and Haighmond 
 Abbeys, and scrambling to the top of the Wrekin, and
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 wandering in lane and meadow and woodland. I went 
 on after this fashion till 1843, when I came to London 
 and entered as a probationer in the Boyal Academy, 
 having previously drawn a little while at Gary's. I 
 made no doubt that getting into the Academy I 
 should keep in, and drew, I suppose, carelessly, for 
 at the end of three months I did not get the student's 
 ticket. I went to Jones to see how I ought to have 
 done my work, taking some drawings with me. He 
 told me not to be anxious, for in or out of the 
 Academy I should succeed. I sent in another draw- 
 ing as probationer, and got in again, intending to look 
 about me more, but was suddenly called away into the 
 country. 
 
 " I went into the neighbourhood of Bolton Abbey, 
 where my father then resided ; and here you will 
 understand me when I speak of the great change 
 which came over my life. The death of my brother 
 (a Wesleyan minister in London) cast a great shade 
 over my wild dreams and extravagant ambitions. I 
 did a great deal for his approbation, and when he had 
 gone my spirit followed him. I perceived that to 
 attain to him was not a matter of fancy or specula- 
 tion, and ' the commandment ' came to me. A com- 
 plete uproar and chaos of my inward life followed, 
 and I fell into the ' slough of despond.' The beauty 
 of nature mocked me, my fancies became ghosts. I 
 felt my discordances with the spiritual universe ; and 
 it was not till my father also died that my soul was 
 stilled and set in order. I had worked on (except for 
 one dreadful period of four months, when I could not 
 work at all, though in perfect health) wearily and 
 painfully ; but now I resumed my pursuits with new
 
 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 zest, and devised the plans of study, some of the 
 results of which you have seen. My views of art 
 were changed in some particulars, and I think enlarged, 
 but I dared no longer strive on my old principles and 
 impulses. A salutary fear shut me up in a happy 
 seclusion, and I could not precipitate myself into the 
 battle of life ; so I went on painting portraits and 
 interspersing them with fancy pictures, gaining money 
 enough to keep me, and then snatching a month or 
 two for study ; now in a large town, now in a little 
 one, now in a remote farm painting the farmer and 
 his family, and roaming in his fields and by the edge 
 of his plantations ; then in London. 
 
 "I exhibited in Liverpool first in 1847; at the 
 Academy in 1851, -2, -3, and -4, but the last two years 
 my best picture was returned and the portraits put in. 
 
 " I ought to mention another feature of my life. 
 While studying I became so impressed with the im- 
 portance of form as an universal language, that I was 
 boring all my friends with its utility, and inveigled 
 young men to tea that I might talk myself hoarse in 
 persuading them to draw everything. But they did 
 not profit, and I longed for some sphere where I could 
 advance the cause of drawing as an element of educa- 
 tion, and demonstrate my own theories. My fever 
 was allayed by a request that I would undertake the 
 instruction in drawing of a hundred students, who were 
 in course of training to be teachers, at the Wesleyan 
 Normal School, Westminster. I accepted it ; and for 
 three years one of my happiest duties has been the 
 fulfilment of my task of four hours a week there. I 
 teach model and freehand drawing and perspective. 
 The staff of teachers then became my circle, the objects
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 of the institution part of my life ; and I completed the 
 connection six months ago by marrying the teacher of 
 one of the practising schools there, who still retains 
 her position. Our united salaries make us for the 
 present independent of painting as a means of liveli- 
 hood, and I have five days in the week for picture- 
 making. 
 
 " This sums up, I believe, all I need care to tell 
 you of my history. Of my purposes, perhaps, I had 
 better say nothing ; of my works, nothing. 
 
 " There is a passage in the second volume of 
 Modern Painters, p. 136, 12, ' Theoria the Service of 
 Heaven,' which I have half chanted to myself in many 
 a lonely lane, and which interprets many thoughts I 
 have had. I love Art, and ardently aspire, not after 
 its reputation (I think), but the realisation of its power 
 on my own soul and on the souls of others. 
 
 " I don't complain of want of employment, or any- 
 thing of that sort ; for I have found it easy to earn 
 money when I have set about it, but I have felt the 
 dearth of intercourse on the subject of my occupations, 
 and am pleased with this opportunity of writing to 
 you. With artists generally I have not felt much 
 drawn to associate. In my own associations there is 
 on the part of others little true sympathy with my 
 work. I have to spin everything out of myself; and 
 yet I would not at all be understood to complain ; 
 scarcely, all things considered, to wish that things were 
 otherwise. 
 
 " I have made my letter quite long enough already, 
 and will only reiterate, my thanks to you for the kind 
 spirit in which your note was written. I am, dear sir, 
 sincerely yours, JAMES SMETHAM."
 
 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 This comprehensive survey may be supplemented 
 by a few other particulars. The poetic instinct in his 
 young mind was awakened and nourished by the sweet 
 influences of the country. Years after he wrote : " To- 
 day I remembered, when I was eight years old, leaning 
 out of the bedroom window at Congleton in the moon- 
 light, seeing ' the white kine glimmer ' with precisely 
 the same feeling for nature and poetry which has 
 pursued me ever since; and I remembered this in- 
 cident and the rapture of it, as if it were last night." 
 His lifelong friend, Dr. Gregory, who was his senior 
 by two years, gives a characteristic anecdote of his first 
 day at school. A game was being played in which 
 certain portions of the playground were marked off as 
 "islands." Dr. Gregory, standing on one of these, 
 heard an unaccustomed voice murmur, " One foot on 
 land and one on sea ; to one thing constant never." 
 Looking round he saw the new boy, a tall, thin lad of 
 delicate appearance, standing on one foot and playing 
 the other loosely over the line which marked the shore. 
 " From that time," says Dr. Gregory, " our hearts were 
 knit together as the heart of David to Jonathan." 
 
 Although his school advantages were not great, 
 his home atmosphere had been favourable to his 
 intellectual development. His father had a good 
 library, and was a deep, clear, unconventional thinker ; 
 whilst his eldest brother possessed a mind of no 
 common order, earnest and refined, brilliant and pene- 
 trative. A letter written by him to the subject of this 
 memoir on his entrance into the active world is still 
 preserved, remarkable for its intensity and elevated 
 seriousness. James Smetham had also taken with him 
 to school several literary favourites, amongst which
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 were Macpherson's Ossian, and several volumes of 
 that now almost forgotten selection or rather collec- 
 tion, for the compilation was somewhat heterogeneous 
 of literary pieces considered best worthy of note at 
 the beginning of the present century, called Elegant 
 Extracts. 
 
 He left school at the early age of fifteen, and was at 
 that time placed under the tutelage of Mr. "VVillson. 
 Recalling this period in 1871, he writes: "Though I 
 never gave my mind to architecture, yet I was 
 familiarised in a wonderful pictorial way with it, and 
 got ideas singularly useful for my ultimate purposes. 
 Mr. Willson set me to draw all the sculpture about 
 Lincoln Cathedral, and I passed a year in the Minster, 
 drinking in the grandest impressions of form and light 
 and shade. Ah me ! " he exclaims, " great tower of 
 Lincoln, with the white moon shining on thee 
 ' whiter than my true love's shroud ' how can I 
 forget thee, and all that thou beholdest ? O pealing 
 organ, rolling waves of melody along the roof-trees ! 
 O wind, breathing solemnly against the vast chancel 
 window, where the youth gazed with wide eyes through 
 at the horizon ! O place of dreams, warm leaden roof 
 of transept or tower, where many a summer hour was 
 dreamed away ! " 
 
 In a fragmentary reminiscence, written about the 
 year 1870, we find the following : " Shade of William 
 Hazlitt, what hours were thine and mine in those early 
 days in the antiquary's study, where the battered 
 helmets and breastplates and long gray swords, eaten 
 into holes by the earthen damps, hung its walls over 
 the head of the venerable, learned, kind, large- 
 browed, silver-haired antiquary himself! There was
 
 10 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 the library, and in it the London Magazine, and 
 in the magazine Hazlitt's ' Essays on Art.' It 
 is said in books we have read since then that 
 Hazlitt was a gloomy and rather dangerous-looking 
 man, who seemed as if he were feeling for a dagger. 
 We won't believe it. We will allow him to have been 
 dark and solemn and quiet and Dantesque ; but what 
 was mistaken for sinister and malignant was only 
 a knitting the sober brow of II Penseroso frowning 
 away ' the brood of folly without father bred.' " He 
 adds : " We hesitate to re-read at this distance of time 
 Hazlitt's ' Essays on Painting.' We fear to brush off 
 the exquisite bloom of memory to wind the dis- 
 enchanting horn which would bring down that lovely 
 castle in the air. Sheltered in that nook by the 
 window, the London Magazine at our elbow, what a 
 deep impress of the romance of painting did we receive ! 
 It has never departed. It was not Hazlitt who sowed 
 the love of painting in our young mind ; for this began 
 long before, when in childish Scotch-plaid skirts we 
 saw that the far-off hills were not green, but an 
 enchanting blue, and wondered why. But it was 
 Hazlitt who, at our own entry into life, sounded the 
 bugle-notes which led the chase among the wizard 
 forests and endless glades of the picture - world. 
 Therefore we fear to send to Mudie's for that delicious 
 book, Tlw Picture Galleries of England. If we do, we 
 won't be disenchanted ; time shall not rob us of our 
 treasured spoil." Dr. Gregory gives some further par- 
 ticulars of this period. He says, "At Mr. Willson's 
 he corresponded regularly with his elder brother, with 
 whom I was then fellow-tutor at Woodhouse Grove, 
 and his letters were all read to me. He was devoted
 
 MEMOIR 11 
 
 to and absorbed in bis profession as an artist. His 
 residence with Mr. Willson was of immense advantage 
 to him. He met at his table the most select society : 
 artists, architects, and the 4lite of the Eoman Catholic 
 clergy, all men of culture, for Mr. Willson was a 
 distinguished member of the Mediaeval Church, and 
 his house was a favourite trysting-place for men of 
 genius and rare accomplishments." 
 
 After leaving Mr. Willson he spent some time at 
 Eedditch and Madeley. From the former place he 
 had the opportunity of making many congenial rambles 
 with his early friend Dr. Gregory, who contributes 
 these reminiscences : " Whenever duty would permit 
 we used to make long explorations together in the 
 charming Worcestershire and Warwickshire lanes and 
 fields. He saw everything with a painter's eye, and 
 his conversation was stimulative, recreative, and rest- 
 ful. He loved not to argue, but to expatiate. We 
 were both at that time disciples and devotees of 
 Tennyson, whose early poems we studied line by line 
 and word by word, as one might study a Greek play." 
 
 The impression made upon the minds of the friends 
 by the poems of the Laureate at that early time may 
 be considered in the light of a discovery, for it was not 
 then the fashion to admire them, as it is now. Indeed, 
 they were scarcely known beyond a restricted literary 
 circle. James Smetham's edition of the Poems was 
 that of 1843 (bought in that year), in two volumes; 
 in which, by the way, he made some charming mar- 
 ginal illustrations. I first became acquainted with 
 him in the year 1846, and remember well his en- 
 thusiasm for and enjoyment of the delicate touches 
 and artistic refinement of the early poems of Lord
 
 12 
 
 Tennyson. They remained to him an influence during 
 the rest of his life ; and perhaps nowhere could the 
 Laureate have found a more faithful treasury of his 
 writings than in this "heart of a friend." Besides 
 appealing to his aesthetic sense they stimulated his 
 artistic faculty, and afforded him subjects for many 
 pictures. He himself alludes to this period in a 
 subsequently written letter : " I remember also a 
 pleasant walk one evening to an old manor-house, 
 which B. G. and myself called ' The Moated Grange.' 
 It lay out of all neighbouring sight. It was deserted : 
 
 The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : 
 
 Unlifted was the clinking latch ; 
 
 Weeded and worn the ancient thatch 
 Upon the lonely moated grange. 
 
 There was a moat and an orchard. Water-rats ran 
 about the edge of the moat, and weeds filled the 
 orchard. We went through the place into a large 
 fireless kitchen, where I piped out ' The Mistletoe 
 Bough,' to which the large ingle answered. A broken- 
 down carved chest and table, the head of a carved 
 bedstead, and a tumbling stool or two, were all that 
 filled the void. There was a large, wide, oaken, 
 ornamented Elizabethan staircase, with a gate which 
 swung between it and the great landing." 
 
 In the month of October 1843 he went to London, 
 and acting on the advice of John Phillip, E.A., and 
 Marshall Claxton, made his admission drawing for the 
 Academy at Gary's. His drawing " The Young 
 Apollo " admitted him as probationer. He, however, 
 broke off his attendance there either for want of present 
 means or for other reasons. At this time he painted a
 
 MEMOIR 13 
 
 little picture, which he called " The Brookside." It 
 was exhibited at Liverpool, at that time perhaps the 
 most important of provincial exhibitions. It was thus 
 described and spoken of in a review of the time : " A 
 gem : not the less beautiful and valuable because of its 
 smallness. The attitude, anatomy, and expression of 
 the boy, who is throwing back his head in joyful 
 anticipation of the cool luxury of the brook, are with- 
 out exception amongst the most exquisite traits of 
 character we have ever beheld. It is a work full of 
 beauty." Nor were these terms of praise too high. 
 Original in its key of colour, of fine tone and easy but 
 firm touch, it might have stood by the side of the 
 work of Wilkie in one of his happiest moods. 
 
 His wife reviews his position at this time in these 
 words : 
 
 " The question presented itself to him, How shall I 
 order and direct my life : what shall I aim at ? He 
 felt that to give himself up to the pursuit of painting 
 simply and entirely would not meet the need of his 
 nature. Both his moral and mental imperfection 
 demanded a continuous and extended culture, and he 
 began to formulate a plan of life, beginning in a course 
 of long disciplinary study, and intended to combine 
 art, literature, and the religious life all in one. He 
 carried this out. Speaking of this large scheme of 
 culture long afterwards, he says, ' This took me twenty- 
 five years ; but my purpose was to paint concurrently 
 with it ; so, with rare exceptions, I painted some hours 
 ev.ery day and practised every requisite of art drew 
 every bone and muscle over and over again, sketched 
 books on books full of every phase of nature, studied 
 perspective thoroughly, studied the antique, went
 
 14 
 
 through as full a course as any student in the Koyal 
 Academy ; but alone.' Thus he withdrew from the 
 normal lines of the art career and struck out a path 
 for himself. Looked at from the merely professional 
 or commercial side it was doubtless a great mistake, 
 and was the parent of much of the difficulty of his 
 future life; but regarded from the higher point of 
 vision which recognises the dignity of the whole man 
 in his relations to the moral and spiritual, we may 
 perhaps come to the conclusion that he had the better 
 portion. Certainly amidst all the difficulties of his 
 life he never regretted his decision or thought his 
 course a mistaken one." 
 
 To place the accepted basis of his life-course in a 
 clearer light the following extracts from his own 
 letters may be given. 
 
 In 1861 he writes : " I do think I am a little sym- 
 pathised with as a painter who ' has not got on some- 
 how ' ; whereas in my own secret heart I am looking 
 on myself as one who has got on, and got to his goal 
 as one who if he had chosen could have had a 
 competence, if not a fortune, by this time ; but who 
 has got something a thousand times better, more real, 
 more inward, less in the power of others, less variable, 
 more immutable, more eternal, and as one who can 
 afford a sly wink to those who know him, which 
 wink signifies that he is not so sure that he is not 
 going to do something comfortable in an outward and 
 artistic sense, after all. But be this as it may, his 
 feet are on a rock ; his goings (so far) established with 
 a new song in his mouth and joy on his head and 
 4/6 this blessed moment in his pocket, besides some 
 postage stamps."
 
 MEMOIR 15 
 
 Again, in 1863, he writes: "As a man I feel 
 persuaded my course of study has been right, and this 
 joy no man can take from me. But as an artist 
 let me reflect. My friends on the outside can see 
 what I was capable of twenty years ago, and how I 
 might have had 5000 in the bank, and been widely 
 known. They are capable of judging of this ; but they 
 can't tell how far it was necessitated by my history, 
 my moral condition, and the demands of my moral 
 nature. These have been met, and I enjoy the blessed 
 results. If it should please God to give me health and 
 strength for a few years longer, I may be able to show 
 them a phase more likely to meet with their approval." 
 
 The energy with which he entered upon his pro- 
 jected plans of culture and work, the earnest tension 
 of his mind, and the development of the moral forces 
 of his interior life, combined in the year 1845 to 
 induce a state of profound mental depression ; and it 
 was only at the death-bed of his father two years later 
 that the light became clearly revealed to him by which 
 his future life was guided, and he entered upon that 
 high service to which his best energies were sub- 
 sequently dedicated. Recurring to this period in the 
 year 1872, he says: " One of my most formidable 
 enemies was a vivid and ill-trained imagination. 
 Against outward and inward evils of this kind there 
 existed a very powerful love of truth and purity, and 
 great approval of and delight in the law of God. The 
 antagonism of these two forces between the ages of 
 twenty and twenty-six went nigh to threaten my 
 reason. At length my deeply -wounded conscience 
 was pacified by faith in Christ, and a life of great 
 happiness commenced, which still continues."
 
 16 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 From this time life wore a more joyous aspect to 
 him. Work was resumed on the old lines. Study, 
 portraits, with occasional fancy subjects, went on at 
 Warrington, Selby, Manchester, Liverpool, and other 
 places. In 1849 he painted "The Flageolet" (a 
 country boy piping on the grass), "Christ at Emmaus," 
 and " The Bird-catchers " ; all of which were ex- 
 hibited at the Eoyal Academy. 1 
 
 In 1850 his thoughts turned once more to London. 
 In a diary which he kept at this time, he thus notifies 
 his resolutions : " Many things more valuable to me 
 than gold and silver attract me towards another sphere 
 of life. My mission the mission of the Art I profess 
 is to those who understand and are waiting for its 
 influences ; not to the men who on a narrow path, in 
 a confined circle, are urging their way to heaven 
 without ever dreaming of the existence of those 
 influences, and totally insensible to their high office. 
 I want the society of those who can perceive and 
 sympathise with my aims. I trust that pride is not 
 the foundation of my desire for more communion with 
 souls who love what I love. I see the truth and I 
 love it, and, I think, can henceforth never be content 
 to pursue lower truths than I have been led to 
 perceive. If, then, I myself be trusted to seek 
 ' fresh woods and pastures new/ my spirit pants for 
 them." 
 
 1 The following is a list of his pictures exhibited at the Royal 
 Academy as far as they have been recorded : Christ at Emmaus, 1851 ; 
 The Bird-catchers, 1852 ; The Flageolet, 1853 ; Two Portraits, 1854, 
 Counting the Cost, 1855 ; Robert Levett, 1862 ; The Moorland Edge, 
 1863 ; The Hymn of the Last Supper, 1869. Besides these, he was a 
 frequent exhibitor at the Old Post Office Place Gallery in Liverpool, 
 which did so much towards popularising the pre-Raphaelite movement 
 in art.
 
 MEMOIR 17 
 
 It was in the year 1851 that he became teacher of 
 drawing to the students at the Normal College, West- 
 minster, as already mentioned in his letter to Mr. 
 Euskin. This post he filled with pleasure to himself 
 and to the helpful benefit of the students for twenty- 
 six years. Here he found congenial society and 
 formed friendships which gladdened his life ; notably 
 with Professor W. K. Parker, that remarkable specialist 
 in science and most lovable of human beings, now 
 departed from amongst us, and Mr. Charles Mansford, 
 whose long-tried friendship and active helpfulness con- 
 tributed to make so many rough places smooth to the 
 struggling painter. These and others combined to 
 form a congenial circle, the meeting with which was a 
 periodical pleasure, drawing the naturally introspective 
 mind from a too close concentration upon itself and 
 its processes. 
 
 In 1854 he married, first settling in Pimlico, 
 but after the birth of his first son in 1856 he 
 removed to Park Lane, Stoke Newington, where he 
 resided till the illness which clouded the last years 
 of his life came upon him in the latter part of 
 1877. 
 
 This was a pleasant and cheery change, on the 
 margin of the great city and yet in the neighbourhood 
 of green fields and rural lanes. He thus describes his 
 home in a letter to a friend : 
 
 " Look at Mrs. Stowe's ' Sunny Memories.' Observe 
 that she spends a day at Stoke Newington, at a Mr. 
 Alexander's, a Quaker. Note that she speaks of 
 ' Paradise,' and then reflect that our front windows 
 overlook that Paradise, and our back ones overlook 
 gardens, now blossoming. All is peaceful. I have a 
 

 
 18 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 true studio now all to myself, a sanctum in my home 
 for the first time. I have begun to enjoy it. I walk 
 in the fields and on breezy roads. I am growing 
 familiar with trees and banks and blossoms and clouds. 
 God has given me my heart's desire, and I only desire 
 that I may dwell in him as peacefully as I dwell in 
 my home." 
 
 Previously to his marriage he had depended chiefly 
 on portraits for the certain part of his income, which 
 was pretty well assured and satisfactory. But this 
 source was cut off to him, as to many others, by the 
 invention of photography. In fact, to the portrait- 
 painter, who at that time occupied as necessary and 
 well-recognised a position and function as the photo- 
 grapher occupies now, photography proved fatally 
 disastrous, and many respectable painters who had 
 given themselves to the painting of portraits were 
 ruined by it. He often recalled with pleasure his 
 experiences in this capacity in its revelation of char- 
 acter and broad illustration of humanity. 
 
 In the autumn of 1857 occurred his first serious 
 illness, giving intimation, as it were, of the darker 
 years by which his life was closed. In the preceding 
 February he had received from Mr. Euskin a kindly 
 warning which proved only too prophetic. The draw- 
 ing referred to in the following letter was the first 
 draught or conception of a picture painted four years 
 afterwards, which he called " The Women of the Cruci- 
 fixion." It represented the women who beheld the 
 crucified Jesus "afar off"; their countenances suffused 
 with devout anguish and pity. It is now in the 
 possession of James S. Budgett, Esq., of Stoke Park, 
 Guildford.
 
 MEMOIR 19 
 
 DEAR MR. SMETHAM I hardly know whether I am more 
 gratified by your kindly feeling or more sorry that you should 
 think it is in any wise necessary to express it in so costly a 
 way ; for costly this drawing has been to you, both of time, 
 thought, and physical toil. I have hardly ever seen any work 
 of the kind so far carried as the drawing in the principal face. 
 I shall indeed value it highly : but if indeed you think any 
 words or thoughts of mine have been ever true to you, pray 
 consider these likely to be the truest, that it is unsafe for you, 
 with your peculiar temperament, to set yourself subjects of this 
 pathetic and exciting kind for some time to come. Your health 
 is not sturdy : you are not satisfied with what you do ; and 
 have to do some work that is irksome and tedious to you. If 
 your work is divided between that which is tedious and that 
 which tries your feelings and intellect to the utmost, no nervous 
 system can stand it ; and you should, I am very strongly per- 
 suaded, devote yourself to drawing and painting pretty and 
 pleasant faces and things, involving little thought or pathos, 
 until, your skill being perfectly developed, you find yourself able 
 to touch the higher chords without effort. I should like to 
 know, if you have leisure any day to tell me, your entire mean- 
 ing in this drawing. Is it merely the women at the cross with 
 the multitude behind deriding ; or have you intended any 
 typical character in it ? 
 
 I hope Mrs. Smetham is well, and that she will forgive me 
 for being the cause of this additional toil to you. With sincere 
 remembrances to her, believe me, gratefully yours, 
 
 J. EUSKIN. 
 
 At this time he laid aside his systematic general 
 studies, and devoted himself to making his way as a 
 painter. In October 1858 he writes : " I look back 
 with love and wonder and pleasure and thankfulness 
 at the long sand -lane (with occasional mire) into 
 which, for the sake, I am sure, of good and right and 
 pure motives, and better results in the end, I diverged 
 some twelve years ago, and in which I sacrificed almost 
 every outward, palpable present form of comfort or
 
 20 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 success. (Strange, that just as I emerged from it I 
 should be called to suffer !) But I am all through it 
 to the last curve. I have done at least one thing 
 which I intended, and, like Prospero, I have broken 
 my wand and buried my books. Henceforth I belong 
 solely to the outward. It is mine, if spared, to do, to 
 put out, to give ; no longer specially to receive. Fool 
 as I am, I am as wise as I expected to be. ' The 
 glory dies not, and the grief is past.' I now, because 
 of the monumental way in which I have prosecuted 
 my designs, cannot by natural law lose anything, but 
 must gain by meditation rather. If I know little, I 
 have learnt the bearing of things have learnt to 
 admire, to appreciate richly to enjoy. But the most 
 delightful consequence just now to me is that as the 
 whole stream of labour goes to the outward, I begin to 
 see the results of work." 
 
 In 1859 he sought to make his way into book 
 illustration, but without much success. Not, however, 
 from a want of imaginative power. He had the most 
 fertile and ready pictorial invention I have ever 
 known. His failure to find any extensive vocation 
 here was perhaps rather to be attributed to his want 
 of the organising faculty to adapt himself to the 
 material conditions required, not only technical, but 
 in a certain persistence and aptness for business 
 requirements on which so much depends where com- 
 merce is concerned. His want of any. decided success 
 here led him to conceive the idea of etching his own 
 designs at a cheap rate, and of issuing them quarterly 
 to subscribers. When his project became known, about 
 six hundred subscribers sent in their names. To a 
 mind teeming with pictorial imagery, and longing for
 
 MEMOIR 21 
 
 the means of putting outside of itself a portion of its 
 artistic wealth without spending too much time in the 
 process of elaboration, this constituted a very success- 
 ful medium, and it was with enjoyment to himself and 
 satisfaction to his clientele that this plan was con- 
 tinued for three years. In connection with this he 
 received the following from Mr. Ruskin : 
 
 My dear Smetham I received your interesting letter with 
 great pleasure, and you may use my name in any way you please 
 among your friends, but I would not have it in public prints 
 except unconspicuously and alphabetically under letter R. It 
 is impossible, however, to see you just now. I am just finishing 
 Modern Painters, and can really see not even my best friends, 
 among whom I am proud to class you. With best regards to 
 Mrs. Smetham. Affectionately yours, J. BUSKIN. 
 
 Of one of these etchings, " The Last Sleep," Mr. 
 Buskin wrote 
 
 I think the last very beautiful indeed, and it is quite a 
 lesson in etching to me just now, which I much wanted. 
 
 Later also he says 
 
 These etchings of yours are very wonderful and beautiful ; 
 I admire both exceedingly. But pray, on account of the 
 fatigue, don't work so finely, and don't draw so much on your 
 imagination. Try and do a few easier subjects than this Noah 
 one. The labour of that has been tremendous. 
 
 The etching here alluded to was one of the build- 
 ing of the ark, containing many figures, elaborated to 
 a high degree of finish. 
 
 After a while, when he had completed a respectable 
 number of etchings, which were collected under the 
 title of " Studies from an Artist's Sketch Book," he 
 became somewhat dissatisfied with the point as an 
 interpreter of his conceptions, being laborious, and
 
 22 
 
 excluding colour. He modified his plan, substituting 
 an oil-colour sketch or drawing in the place of an 
 etching, for which he charged the moderate sum of 
 three guineas ; afterwards elaborating the workman- 
 ship and charging nine guineas. Of course this nar- 
 rowed his subscription list ; but many of his friends 
 were glad to possess one of his graceful conceptions at 
 so cheap a rate. He called this plan his fortification 
 or, as he often wrote it, 40fication ; his aim being 
 to supply forty members in the year as being a 
 defence against pecuniary needs. It had many advan- 
 tages and some disadvantages. It gave him the means 
 of expressing himself in numerous colour studies which 
 were adapted to his peculiar capacity. Of course these 
 varied in quality and value. Some of them were 
 charming in choice of subject, in colour, tone, and 
 sentiment ; others less so : but in all was to be traced 
 the hand of the poetic mind, and some of them were 
 so happy as to be called veritable gems. One of these 
 in my own possession represents two male figures in a 
 panelled chamber, one with his legs stretched out 
 before a wood-fire, his hands in his pockets, reflective, 
 listening, the other touching a lute by his side. A 
 side window shows a landscape covered in snow. The 
 glow from the fireplace is given with considerable 
 richness and harmony of tone throughout the room. 
 The whole was intended to illustrate Milton's " Sonnet 
 to Mr. Lawrence," in which he had yet managed to put 
 some personal touches of the painter and his friend. 
 Another a water-colour represents a mysterious 
 traveller draped in a shawl or plaid hasting over a 
 heath, backed by a storm-cloud. Behind him in dis- 
 tance an ass is seen grazing, whilst just in front of him
 
 MEMOIR 23 
 
 is a milestone marked with vague figures. Serious and 
 impressive, I believe this was intended to symbolise 
 to some extent his own life and aims at the time of 
 painting it. 
 
 In 1869 he braced himself up for a higher effort 
 by taking up a subject more ambitious than any 
 hitherto engaged upon. It was that of " The Hymn 
 of the Last Supper." The history of this picture dates 
 back to 1854, when, attending one of Mr. Euskin's 
 lectures at the Working-Man's College, he was induced 
 to show Mr. Euskin some of his books of drawings, 
 which Mr. Euskin took home for their better inspec- 
 tion. This brought from him a letter in the following 
 terms : 
 
 DENMAKK HILL, 15th Nov. 1854. 
 
 MY DEAR SIB I am quite amazed, almost awed, by the 
 amount of talent and industry and thoughtfulness shown in 
 these books of yours. What is the nature of your artistic occu- 
 pation ? I am very anxious to know all that you are willing to 
 tell me about yourself. Please let me keep the volumes at least 
 till Tuesday next. I cannot look them over properly sooner ; 
 and meantime send me a line, if I may ask you to take this 
 trouble, telling me what your real employment in life has been, 
 and how your genius has been employed or unemployed in it. 
 Faithfully yours, and obliged, J. KUSKIN. 
 
 This letter inaugurated James Smetham's acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Euskin, and drew from him the auto- 
 biographical reply already given. Mr. Euskin's letter 
 was followed a day or two afterwards by the request 
 that he might be allowed to show one of these books 
 at his next lecture. This was accordingly done, 
 when the lecturer drew special attention to the great 
 originality of one of the drawings on a theme so 
 frequently painted as that of the Last Supper. This
 
 24 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 caused James Smetham to dwell on the subject until 
 it had taken a more distinctly pictorial form in his 
 mind. He says in a letter: "The sentiment of the 
 subject has possessed me ; a large space of deep un- 
 searchable gloom in the room where they are assembled, 
 leading off into other portions of the house, and the 
 face of Judas waiting a moment outside to listen to the 
 hymn." 
 
 The subject was commenced on a canvas three feet 
 in length. He was occupied upon it during the 
 winter of 1868 and 1869, and in the month of April 
 in the latter year he wrote to his friend Mrs. Taylor : 
 " On the evening before Good Friday, i.e. on the even- 
 ing of the Last Supper, as we commemorate it, I got 
 'The Hymn' finished, but without at all trying to 
 complete it by then. I was rather pleased at the 
 coincidence." 
 
 The picture was afterwards exhibited in the studio 
 of his friend D. G-. Rossetti, where it was seen amongst 
 others by Mr. Watts, R.A., who said, " It must be con- 
 sidered a great picture though it is a small one." The 
 picture was sent to the Royal Academy Exhibition. 
 Mr. Watts was a hanger that year, and it found a place 
 on the line, where it received a good deal of notice 
 from thoughtful people. 
 
 Encouraged by the success of this picture, he 
 proceeded with a good heart to the painting of two 
 large subjects : one, which he called " Hesper," a 
 poetical composition five feet long, and " The Women 
 of the Crucifixion," already mentioned, of somewhat 
 similar dimensions. These pictures were completed in 
 1871. Writing to a friend, he said: "These two 
 pictures ought to establish me, but art is so precarious
 
 MEMOIR 25 
 
 that I dare not allow hope or fear to have play, and 
 so try not to think, but to do." These pictures were 
 purchased by Mr. Budgett, and remain in his posses- 
 sion. They were sent to the Eoyal Academy for 
 exhibition. One was rejected, one doubtful : both of 
 them were returned unhung. 
 
 This may be said to have formed the crisis of his 
 professional career as far as the public was concerned. 
 The subsequent rejection of " The Dream of Pilate's 
 Wife " and " Prospero and Miranda " crushed out his 
 hopes of ever meeting the public as a representative 
 painter. From that time he sought to do no more 
 work of an ambitious kind, and I believe he never 
 sent anything to the Academy afterwards. 
 
 And yet there was something noble in this work 
 which might have claimed a recognition amidst so 
 much that was ignoble and trifling. " The Dream of 
 Pilate's Wife " was a large serious conception carried 
 out worthily in its treatment. She was represented 
 as having raised herself on the couch in the silence of 
 the night, and with closed eyes was groping in uneasy 
 perplexity. The corrugated covering of the couch 
 suggested the turbulent nature of her vision, and aided 
 in some way the impression of the " many things " she 
 was suffering in the tragical presentment. Perhaps 
 there may come a time in the history of art when its 
 higher function shall be more discerningly recognised, 
 when the world will turn back to such a picture as 
 this, and pass many acres of artfully-laid-on paint to 
 look at it and drink in its profoundly impressive 
 spirit and sentiment. 1 
 
 1 This picture is now in the possession of J. F. Hall, Esq., Shar- 
 couibe, Somersetshire.
 
 26 
 
 But if appeals to the public were more or less 
 abortive, James Sinetham was backed by many ap- 
 preciative and loving friends : at this time none more 
 so than Mr. James S. Budgett of Stoke Park, Guild- 
 ford, who with a nobleness and generosity more than 
 rare in this world, relieved the pressure of his circum- 
 stances and the uneasiness of his mind by aid at once 
 timely and substantial. He claimed to be a sleeping 
 partner in his business transactions, and held the self- 
 elected post as long as he, James Smetham, lived, 
 securing to him all the advantages possible during 
 the sad years of his later life. Other friends, notably 
 Mrs. Brames Hall, Mr. John Frederick Hall, Mr. J. 
 Fishwick Stead, and Mrs. Steward, by their long- 
 maintained sympathy and stimulative appreciation, 
 were very helpful, and always ready by the suggestion 
 of a personal visit or a run to Scotland to relieve the 
 jaded brain and overwrought faculties. 
 
 Amongst these friendships those of F. J. Shields 
 and D. G. Eossetti must be mentioned as of high value 
 and importance to him, artistically and every way. I 
 believe he first made acquaintance with Eossetti at the 
 Eoyal Academy School in 1843. It was renewed 
 when he came to settle in London in 1851. I 
 remember he took me to see Eossetti in 1862, whom 
 I then saw for the first time. He occupied a flat at 
 the top of a tall house near Blackfriars Bridge. The 
 little room in which I saw him was hung round with 
 his wife's pictures, who at that time lay in her last 
 illness. The windows commanded a panoramic view 
 of the river and its neighbourhood. There were 
 occasional correspondences and intercourse between 
 the two friends up to the year 1863, when the rela-
 
 MEMOIR 27 
 
 tionship became more friendly and brotherly. An 
 arrangement was made by which James Smetham 
 should spend every Wednesday at Eossetti's studio, 
 paint there all day, pass the evening at one of the 
 studios of the circle or with friends at Kossetti's house, 
 and remain there until the next morning. This was 
 after Eossetti had taken up his residence at Chelsea. 
 This arrangement continued until the spring of 1868, 
 when the temporary failure of Eossetti's eyesight drove 
 him from his easel into the country. They were warm 
 friends and correspondents until the last clouded years. 
 To the end of his life Eossetti frequently spoke to me 
 with tenderness and affection of his old friend, whose 
 ultimate sad state of depression, I believe, often added 
 a dark hour to his own. To Mr. Euskin also he was 
 indebted for much wholesome stimulus and encourage- 
 ment. Neither to Mr. Euskin does the friendship 
 appear to have been a barren one, since he writes of 
 his death as being " one of the most deeply mourned 
 losses to me among the few friends with whom I could 
 take ' sweet counsel.' " 
 
 Eelieved from immediate anxiety, James Smetham 
 proceeded during the winter and following summer to 
 complete many pictures in various stages of advance- 
 ment, as well as to commence others. The result was 
 that in the autumn of 1873 he was able to have a 
 private exhibition of his works in his studio, to which 
 he sent out cards of invitation. A characteristic 
 letter received in response from his friend D. G. 
 Eossetti is worth reproducing. 
 
 KELMSCOTT, LECHLADE, 27th Oct. 1873. 
 
 MY DEAR SMETHAM Thanks for the card you so kindly sent 
 me. I wish heartily I were now looking at your pictures, but
 
 28 
 
 am not likely to be coming to town just yet. You know that 
 your work is of the kind that I really enjoy, because you have 
 always an idea at the heart of it ; and what I hear from friends 
 about your latter doings makes me sure that they would excite 
 my admiration even more than former ones. Owing to your 
 plans of life, you have remained as yet much more in the back- 
 ground than could possibly have been the case had your works 
 been more widely seen. This state of things must, I firmly 
 believe, change ere long, and such change will be quite as truly 
 a gain to the higher kind of English Art as to yourself. Your 
 work is the result of mental as well as of artistic gifts, and must 
 prove permanent. With kind remembrances, ever your friend, 
 
 DANTE G. ROSSETTI. 
 
 The result of this exhibition was a liberal harvest 
 of sales amongst appreciative people. Lord Mount- 
 Temple bought his study for the " Hymn of the Last 
 Supper " from him, and from Lady Mount-Temple he 
 had much wa.rm sympathy. This, however, was his 
 last outward success. Wanting the potent diploma 
 of public praise or popularity, his works and himself 
 were left unnoticed by the busy world. The fine 
 fibre of his mind ultimately gave way. He sank into 
 a profound melancholy from which he never recovered. 
 Ere the darker days had quite closed upon him, his 
 generous friend and helper Mr. Budgett came forward 
 with unstinted kindness. Mr. Frederic J. Shields and 
 Eossetti were very substantially helpful (nor was this 
 the last of their kindnesses) : the former made a selec- 
 tion of his works, which were exhibited in the studio 
 of the latter. Eossetti acknowledged having received 
 them to Mrs. Smetham in the following terms : 
 
 3rd Feb. 1878. 
 
 DEAB MRS. SMETHAM This morning the pictures have 
 arrived, and many of them have quite delighted and astonished me
 
 MEMOIR 29 
 
 by their extreme beauty. Indeed they are, in colour, sentiment, 
 and nobility of thought, only to be classed with the very 
 flower of modern art. His extreme isolation of life can alone 
 account for such work not having found a more extended field 
 of encouragement. . . . Yours sincerely, 
 
 D. G. EOSSETTI. 
 
 Important sales were made here. But this closed 
 the account. The pencil was laid aside, the hand had 
 lost its cunning. The light of his fine intellect faded. 
 He abode in the silence of a closed spirit. The 
 abundant kindness of his friends, the endearments of 
 an affectionate family, the most skilful medical treat- 
 ment all failed to bring back the retired activities. 
 He died on the 5th of February 1889. What is 
 mortal of him rests in Highgate Cemetery under the 
 inscription : " I shall be satisfied when I awake with 
 Thy likeness." 
 
 But though his earthly history was thus closed in 
 darkness darkness to the human intelligence shall 
 it be said or thought for a moment that in this aberr- 
 ation there was a failure of the life-purpose, that it was 
 destructive or nugatory to the long training and de- 
 fined scope of a lifetime ? Certainly not. Eternal 
 Being does not work by waste and failure. Spiritual 
 growth and advancement are carried on as infallibly 
 as organic development. There are no mistakes, no 
 failures, with the Eternal Purpose and Operation, 
 spiritual or natural. My own feeling is, that in 
 this case a new dispensation was necessary, new lines 
 of being required, and this was the foreclosure. Why 
 the body should have lived when the light of the soul 
 had passed or lay dormant, I do not know. But who 
 shall know what are the processes by which a soul is
 
 30 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 moulded and advanced to its ultimate scope ? Only 
 this we know, that the blossom must fade that the 
 fruit may ripen, and that the tree lives potentially in 
 the dry seed. But if we shift the point of view to a 
 higher plane we may perhaps gain still clearer light. 
 It is only in the dark night that the myriad stars of 
 heaven become visible. To attain the immortal the 
 mortal must be destroyed. When every temporal 
 hope is crushed and every earthly light extinguished, 
 when the old stays are broken down," and the divine 
 support itself appears to be withdrawn to the mortal 
 apprehension, then rebirth into the unconditioned 
 sphere of spiritual freedom is at hand. It will be 
 remembered that it was not before the suffering Christ 
 had cried, " My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken 
 me ? " that He could bow the head of his fulfilled 
 mission, and say, " It is finished ! " 
 
 For myself, I may add, our friendship was warm 
 and faithful, of that kind of which a lifetime rarely 
 affords more than one example. So enduring and 
 deep-rooted was it, that the time of his departure was 
 marked to me, ignorant of his illness and many hundreds 
 of miles away, by profound mental disturbance other- 
 wise unaccounted for; thus furnishing one more instance 
 of the loving lives which in death are not divided. 
 
 It was in the year 1846, as I have already said, 
 that I first met him at Warrington, where he was 
 painting the portraits of some distant family con- 
 nections. His appearance in youthful manhood was 
 striking ; indeed his personality was always noticeable 
 as specially characteristic. He bore the stamp of an 
 intellectual beauty strangely attractive. His hair 
 grew in a sort of reckless profusion, tending to the
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 leonine in mass and hue, not reddish, but a low-toned 
 chestnut. His face was harmonious and proportionate, 
 the features delicate, the forehead well pronounced, 
 lofty, and expansive ; the nose aquiline, not over-pro- 
 minent ; the mouth firm, rather small, delicately cut ; 
 the lips ample, inclining to fulness; the chin refined 
 in mould. He always shaved, only reserving the side- 
 growth, as the beard was unusual when he was young, 
 and he was conservative in his personal modes. His 
 figure was tall and rather spare, with a slight tendency 
 towards the student's stoop. He always wore a frock 
 coat, a loose necktie, the bow carelessly tied by his 
 own hand, and invariably clothed throughout in black. 
 There was a sort of wavering or undulating motion in 
 his gait, slightly expressed, and sometimes a certain 
 movement with the hands indicated how may it be 
 described ? as if feeling or groping towards the 
 Unknown in the endeavour to seize something not 
 wholly out of reach, but still eluding the grasp. This 
 was quite unconscious to himself, doubtless, and not 
 marked, but when observed was significant. The ex- 
 pression of the eye was feminine in softness, but at the 
 same time wide and earnest, laden with the spirit's 
 message. His manner was distinctly reposeful, and 
 had nothing of haste or fidgetiness in it. He was always 
 gentle, kindly, and courteous to all. I never heard 
 him use a harsh tone or saw him assume a command- 
 ing manner to any one at any time. He was patient 
 and forbearing in all things ; reserved in speech on 
 ordinary occasions, never interrupting another, easily 
 overborne in talk, saying nothing often when he felt 
 and thought much. One did not always get at his 
 opinion easily, and it might have been supposed on
 
 32 
 
 some occasions he had none, but on waiting inquiringly 
 for it it was given in a decided form, clear, nervous, 
 unmistakable. 
 
 His conversational powers were remarkable when 
 he was in the vein, but so unforced that unless moved 
 to speech I have known him to remain a whole day 
 almost without uttering a word. When he did speak 
 he never failed to command a hearing. Whether 
 serious or jocular, one was met by a freshness of view 
 and aspect at once arresting. I remember once he 
 kept a roomful of persons for a long time in fits of 
 laughter describing an old gentleman he had seen in 
 an omnibus take a pinch of snuff. He began by pic- 
 turing in a humorous way the personal appearance of 
 the subject of his story, giving at the same time a 
 speculative diagnosis, so to speak, of his character, 
 He was described as absorbed in reflection, when it 
 suddenly occurred to him to take a pinch of snuff. The 
 box was accordingly withdrawn from his pocket ; then 
 he seemed to forget his purpose, relapsing into a brown 
 study, which was circumstantially analysed and ex- 
 patiated upon in the narrative ; after which he again 
 paused dreamily, as before ; then his fingers were 
 plunged into the box, his supposititious course of thought 
 being again followed by the narrator. Finally, the 
 catastrophe lay in his taking the pinch of snuff. It is 
 impossible to reproduce the grotesque drollery which 
 he put into this whimsical narrative. It was heightened 
 by touch after touch of fanciful burlesque which only 
 the natural gift of humour can impart. Many examples 
 of this faculty of humour will be found in the letters. 
 
 He was possessed of large literary powers, as these 
 letters will amply testify. With him the literary taste
 
 MEMOIR 33 
 
 and feeling were an endowment; not the factitious 
 investiture of the time. Books to him, in his early 
 life particularly, were " a substantial world both pure 
 and good." His mind, however, rather dwelt in the 
 abstract region of ideas than in that of fact and form. 
 He did not affect much science or technical study of 
 any kind. The authors of name and note who have 
 always been recognised as the world's teachers were 
 more or less thoroughly studied and remembered by 
 him. Fragmentarily (for he made no claims to academic 
 scholarship) the literature of ancient Greece and Eome, 
 more fully Dante, Chaucer (read, as I remember, in an 
 old black-letter folio), Shakespeare, Milton, and the 
 chief succeeding writers, were appropriated in no super- 
 ficial way. He remembered them, and it was one of 
 the charms of his conversation that by some slight 
 touch or allusion he so often recalled a phrase or a 
 line to those who knew which added light and point 
 to his utterances. The substance of what he read was 
 made his own by the double force of form and language, 
 for he generally embodied his reading always his 
 serious reading in drawing, symbolical or otherwise, 
 on the margin of the book he read or in his note- 
 books. His diction was pure and nervous, and held a 
 concentration of thought which appealed directly to 
 the hearer. There was an impress of the spirit's power 
 on all he said distinctly removed from the common- 
 place, even when concerned with commonplace subjects. 
 It seemed as if there was breathed about him an atmo- 
 sphere of subtle intellectualism, of which even inept 
 people were conscious, although they did not quite 
 understand it. Both in his written prose and in the 
 desultory verses he wrote some of which are sub- 
 
 D
 
 34 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 joined to this volume the same compression of phrase 
 and adaptability of expression are clearly noticeable. 
 
 His modes of study were inexorable. Every 
 morning the assigned portion had to be completed 
 before his brush was taken in hand. He had a large, 
 wide-margined Bible in which he tabulated pictorially 
 all he read. Verse or chapter, the fact of its 
 having passed through his mind was duly registered, 
 and took its place afterwards as a part of his being. 
 He had an interleaved Shakespeare, and this too bears 
 ample evidence of the recording hand as a help to 
 the appropriating brain. But indeed it would be 
 impossible to specify his work in this kind ; it is far 
 too abundant in quantity and too multitudinous in 
 detail. 
 
 He never much favoured the exercise of his literary 
 power in the way of publication. It was only by the 
 persuasion of friends or for some special object that he 
 was induced to appear in print. With the exception 
 of a few stray poems published in early manhood in 
 Blackwood's Magazine, and some also in later Wesleyan 
 Journals, the only examples of his writing before the 
 public are four articles printed in the London Quarterly 
 Review, with the following titles : " Religious Art in 
 England," 1861; " Life and Times of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds," 186 6; "Alexander Smith," 1868; "William 
 Blake," 1868. The essay on Blake was in great part 
 reprinted as an addendum to the second edition of 
 Gilchrist's Life of Blake, edited by D. G. Rossetti, who 
 considered the article to contain the best and most 
 penetrative review of the life and character of Blake 
 that had up to that time been published. 
 
 Of his religious life I shall not here enter into any
 
 MEMOIR 35 
 
 close or exact analysis. Religion the large sense of 
 the subjection of everything else to the soul's relation- 
 ship with God was ever present to him, earnest, real, 
 the one important moulder and factor of his life. He 
 was born a Wesleyan, as has been said ; he remained 
 one in spirit as well as form. It suited him. Wesleyan- 
 ism may be said to be a religion of expression, and 
 thus differing from all forms of Quietism. It is 
 specially social in its economy. It seeks by bringing 
 soul in contact with soul to kindle and maintain the 
 heavenly fires. It encourages no solitary brooding, 
 fosters no lonely struggles, but bids them come out into 
 the light of day, for revelation and redress if it be 
 possible. Perhaps by nature, certainly by breeding and 
 education, this was suited to James Smetham. The 
 enforcement of expression, whether by words or forms, 
 was a part of the mission of his life. It was nearly 
 related to his artistic faculty, and was perhaps a 
 condition of it. " It is well for poor man," he says in 
 one of his letters, " to put his thinkings as quickly as 
 possible outside of him ; for when he dies ' in that very 
 day his thoughts perish,' and who cares what he 
 thought ? Meditate on this, and either write or draw all 
 you think." He allied himself closely to his com- 
 munity, became a class-leader a valuable and helpful 
 one and remained so as long as his health allowed it. 
 He had the fearless courage of his opinions, and never 
 would stand on a false footing, even for a moment. If 
 there was any danger of a misunderstanding, or the 
 least necessity for doing so, he at once avowed himself 
 a servant of the Cross. Not that religion was ever 
 dragged into his ordinary intercourse : he had a sense 
 of the uselessness of that, but it remained with him as
 
 36 
 
 the central motor of his life, and was never concealed 
 or ignored when he came into close contact with those 
 who might have misinterpreted him. His duty was 
 fulfilled as he saw it to the utmost. I remember once 
 he left me during a pleasant sojourn we were making 
 together in the Isle of Wight in order to join his weekly 
 class, though there was no other reason for his leaving 
 at that time. It was perhaps amongst the people whom 
 he thus met that his usefulness was most felt and 
 valued. The policeman on his beat, the young shop- 
 man, the tradesman at his counter, together with many 
 young students and others of a wider culture, still 
 remember with gratitude his sustaining aid in the life- 
 struggle, his warm and appreciative sympathy. The 
 large nature extended a helpful hand where its 
 expansive breadth could be felt, though not fully 
 understood. 
 
 His life -beams were laid on grand lines. His 
 conceptional view of life was a noble one. It lay in 
 the clear apprehension that the main purpose and 
 object of it the only real and essential one was 
 educational in the widest sense of the term ; that the 
 soul was born into this world in order that it might 
 be expanded, elevated, and perfected to the divine 
 standard. Towards this end the mechanism of his life 
 was arranged, and his more serious attention wholly 
 directed. All contributed to this, and it formed the 
 key to the right understanding of his life course. 
 Even his art became to him but a means towards the 
 attainment of this lofty purpose. To carry it out 
 thoroughly the most laborious and detailed plans were 
 entered upon ; not merely mental ones, but all definitely 
 expressed in lines almost appalling in their elaboration.
 
 MEMOIR 37 
 
 Piles upon piles of pocket-books and note-books were 
 filled with the pictorially drawn results of his read- 
 ings, his thinkings, his relationships with the world, 
 his mental conceptions, and his spiritual aspirations ; 
 some of them interwoven with a network of connecting 
 lines which could only be disentangled by himself. 
 Whatever he did or wherever he went, whoever he met 
 or by whatever circumstances he was surrounded all 
 went into the register and contributed to the tabulated 
 sum and tale of his life. Nothing that happened was 
 lost or wasted ; just as every grain of sand and fibre 
 of wood contribute their mite to form the structure of 
 a building. Amongst these records may here and 
 there be found the most exquisite little pictures 
 elaborated with a loving touch to the most marvellous 
 degree of finish, where he has dwelt upon some incident 
 or conception of special importance. Others are slight, 
 barely indicated, with a name or a letter only by 
 himself understood ; in other places they are merely 
 hieroglyphics. 
 
 It was a noble conception, to build a monument of 
 a life by expression in order that no experience of any 
 kind should be wasted or forgotten. Perhaps it repays 
 the builder : it repaid him, doubtless ; but alas ! with- 
 out the guiding hand, the leading eye, to others it 
 remains a blank as far as instruction goes : only a 
 wonder, the miracle of a splendid intention carried 
 out, a lofty purpose accomplished. For here, if we 
 could but read it, indeed lies the veritable history of a 
 Human Soul in its course through this world written 
 out in full in a rare fashion : its hopes, its fears, its 
 struggles, its sorrows, and its joys, all embodied or 
 indicated in a visible form. But although they will
 
 38 
 
 never be completely deciphered here, they must still be 
 intelligibly charactered 
 
 Where all pursuits their goal obtain, 
 And life is all retouched again ; 
 Where in their bright result shall rise 
 Thoughts, virtues, friendships, griefs, aud joys. 
 
 The system of " putting everything outside of you " 
 as marks or indications of the road-march of life, he 
 called Monumentalism. The manner in which this 
 was usually done was by what he called Squaring, 
 that is, enclosing each design, however slight, within 
 quadrangular lines. The books in which the results of 
 his reading were thus stored were christened Knowledge 
 Books. Other terms occurring in these letters, well 
 known to his circle, are those of Ventilator and Ven- 
 tilation. From his early days he maintained a more 
 or less regular correspondence with his tried friends in 
 the usual letter form, but this was not found adaptable 
 to all occasions. He devised another. It consisted of 
 several sheets of note-paper, each sheet cut horizontally 
 into three slips, which were then stitched together in 
 pamphlet form. He generally kept some half-dozen of 
 these in his pocket-book, and when a thought arose 
 which he considered worth noting, it was pencilled 
 down in one or other of them ; it might be whilst 
 waiting for a train at a railway station, on the top of 
 an omnibus, walking in the street, or sitting by the 
 fire ; thus they gradually got filled up, and were then 
 posted to their destination. Some, however, were 
 retained, for one reason or another : these were con- 
 signed to a box labelled, " Suppressed "Ventilators." 
 The designation " Ventilator " arose from one of his
 
 MEMOIR 39 
 
 friends having first dubbed these quaint epistles " Idea- 
 ventilators." Afterwards it became shortened into 
 " Ventilator," and the mode of writing was spoken of 
 as " ventilation " and " ventilating." Ere the term 
 became thoroughly domiciled in the friendly circle, a 
 lady, one of his correspondents, very much astonished 
 her mother by exclaiming, " Dear me, you have sent 
 my dress to the wash with a ventilator in the 
 pocket ! " 
 
 This system of writing down himself on every 
 occasion became a part of the daily routine, and had 
 the double advantage of fixing the fleeting moment 
 in a substantial and tangible form, as well as 
 that of affording relief to an oppressed and over- 
 burdened mind. In the latter capacity it might have 
 appropriately borne the motto of Wordsworth's lines 
 
 To me there came a thought of grief : 
 A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
 And I again am strong. 
 
 This sketch would not be complete without mention 
 made of a defect or inadequacy of character, which 
 acted as a great hindrance in his professional career. 
 It was that of a want of power to meet and contend 
 with the demands of the outward, or even the ability 
 to recognise its inexorable claims. In this world we 
 must not only have wings for the empyrean, says a 
 German writer, but also a stout pair of boots for the 
 paving-stones. James Smetham never realised this. 
 He would work industriously, setting a value on the 
 results of his labour, and then leave it, oblivious of 
 exhibitions or other means to have it seen. This, of 
 course, is not sufficient, as he knows who has pressed
 
 40 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 to the fore. Not until it was absolutely required did 
 he ever turn his attention seriously to the sale of his 
 works, and it generally had to be accomplished at a 
 disadvantage. It was not that the question of the 
 maintenance of a family was absent from his mind ; it 
 had an abiding place there, and elaborate systems were 
 laid down to meet it; but they remained in the 
 shadowy realm of ideal projection, and were not 
 brought into action. This insufficiency to meet ex- 
 ternal requirements unquestionably gives the key to 
 the lack of greater success in his profession. It was 
 not so much the artist who failed as the man of 
 business. But even in his pictures sometimes the 
 same requirement made itself felt, in the want of a 
 certain completeness and absoluteness of treatment 
 which is called for, although the work may be slight. 
 For him it was enough to have clearly set down his con- 
 ception, and perhaps for some of those who knew him, 
 and loved his work ; but for the public, which only 
 sees precisely what is put before it, it was not enough. 
 
 In order to assign the right position to the art-work 
 of James Smetham it will be necessary to look back- 
 ward for a moment. 
 
 He entered the field of art at an anomalous time. 
 On his coming into it old foundations were shaken, 
 new ones had not been laid. He was naturally 
 endowed with a pictorial style, a mode of expression 
 peculiarly his own : just as Wilkie's was his own. It 
 did not bear translation did not brook reforming 
 influences ; it only required development. After 
 Wilkie had been in Italy his art as an expression of 
 character was ruined. Its individuality was destroyed, 
 the life-spirit which vivified it and appealed by inward
 
 MEMOIR 41 
 
 potency was eliminated. It could afterwards only 
 speak by qualities of brush-work. - Its words were the 
 echoed words of others, its thoughts incarcerated, as it 
 were, in an unfamiliar and imperfectly appropriated 
 medium. This was very much the case with James 
 Smetham. Some of his early work indicated an 
 individuality of character rare to behold. It was the 
 outcome of the old broad school, soon to become mori- 
 bund and finally extinct. His touch was ample and 
 firm, his colour rich, harmonious, and glowing, character 
 well expressed, and the picture always well grasped. 
 Then came the adverse influences adverse to him, at 
 all events Photography, Pre-Eaphaelism, and Euskin- 
 ism. He had not the power to resist these. They 
 bore him down. After a hard fight with the public, 
 they had won their way, and soon held their own. 
 The great revolution which then took place can hardly 
 be imagined by the younger generation of Painters. 
 He who would realise the difference between former 
 and present modes between the former broad and 
 synthetic school and the modern analytic one let 
 him set before him in landscape, say, examples of 
 Girtin, Cox, or Dewint, and any good representative of 
 the most recent school, and let him note well the 
 difference between the two kinds. In the former he 
 will be struck with the eclectic power displayed ; all 
 is sweetness, simplicity, spacial largeness ; nothing 
 used but what is wanted, no confusion or distraction ; 
 only the expansive breadth and freshness of nature. 
 Oblivious of pigment, he smells the hay and sniffs the 
 marsh freshets. He meets the wind with uplifted 
 brow. The landscape lives in palpitating light. He 
 looks, as it were, underneath the picture, and feels the
 
 42 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 inward vitality that throbs and pulsates beneath its 
 surface. It is a conception of the mind, not a work 
 of the hand. It seems as if it was only for a moment 
 that it is flushed with effluent gleams, and he looks 
 expectantly to the next phase, when the big cloud 
 shall advance with its shadow, and gloom and gray 
 shall be where there are now silver and gold. Then 
 turn to the more recent interpretation. Academically 
 it is right : there is no false drawing, no erroneous 
 perspective. It is called a picture, but it is really a 
 study of the form and face of nature, exact in its facts, 
 literal in its truthfulness, exhaustive in detail ; but it 
 is the picture of a corpse, not that of a living organism. 
 The painter does not seek any longer as his main 
 object to enter into the living spirit of nature, as they 
 did, but only to depict its appearance and external 
 form, without any sympathy with it as a symbol of 
 life and ever -changeful emotion. Not only of the 
 painting of landscape is this true, but also of the figure. 
 Let us take a picture, say, by Eaeburn, as about the 
 latest exponent of the broad school, and approaching 
 the period under consideration. Let us place this 
 beside a work of a similar kind of the modern school 
 the best not for criticism, as we are simply trying to 
 illustrate a period in art, but for comparison. In the 
 recent one we shall find an attention to detail, an 
 elaboration of minutiae, a sense of manipulation a 
 paintiness, in fact not found in the other. The 
 painter of the broad school has been thinking of the 
 man, not of his picture. He has obliterated himself. 
 We forget it is a painting. We make a new acquaint- 
 ance, and meeting him in the street, would like to take 
 him by the hand and exchange a friendly greeting.
 
 MEMOIR 43 
 
 I do not know if I have succeeded in placing before 
 the more youthful of my readers thus hastily the 
 differences between the two phases of art in question. 
 It was this difference, on the very line of its shifting, 
 that James Smetham had to meet. If it could have 
 been met absolutely, bravely, uncompromisingly, he 
 would have triumphed. But who is independent of 
 the spirit of his age ? In the history of art no such 
 thing was ever known as purely independent work- 
 manship. He was constrained to modify his processes, 
 his point of view, and in doing so he lost the best part 
 of himself, what was purely his own. Others who 
 threw themselves absolutely into the new and advancing 
 spirit of the time succeeded ; he who still clung to the 
 departing fashion had to stand aside, whilst the more 
 express disciple of the newer phase took his place. 
 
 Perhaps it was in the poetic idyll of not too elabo- 
 rate a finish that his artistic mission was best represented. 
 The inward pressure, both of form and idea, sought 
 continually to relieve itself in expression by the shortest 
 and least encumbered way. The "poetic idyll," as 
 revealing a sentiment of the soul rather than repre- 
 senting a material fact, seemed to be his peculiar 
 vocation in art ; and it may be that it is the fault of 
 general ignorance, and not that of the painter, if people 
 do not see more distinctly the aim and intention 
 through that which is done, and build the nobler con- 
 ception from the inadequacy of the means by which it 
 is sought to express it. If the painter only worked 
 for those who have the best right to look at pictures, 
 he might save himself much trouble in battling with the 
 elaboration of his material, a process which as often 
 obscures as reveals the inward intention of the mind.
 
 44 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 So far is this now beginning to be recognised in art 
 that in some schools a slight and impressional treatment 
 is sought for artificially, the attempt being made to 
 stimulate the spectator to a creative effort of his own 
 rather than to fulfil all the conditions of complete and 
 actual representation. Its true and legitimate use, 
 however, lies in the endeavour of rich and inventive 
 pictorial minds to express rapidly the outlines of their 
 thought by suggesting its leading features and indicat- 
 ing rather than trying vainly to embody that which 
 the pencil can only partially reveal ; and this is un- 
 questionably the nobler aspect. Cheap ignorance can 
 detect and denounce a piece of careless or indifferent 
 drawing, or a passage of colour not rendered by the 
 literal hues of nature, but it takes the artistic eye and 
 aesthetic sense to discern the nobler qualities of creative 
 power and the divine insight under the impetuosity 
 of an impatient execution and the restraints of a not 
 wholly pliable material. It may be prophesied that 
 this aspect will one day furnish the key to a new 
 phase of art, the present one being almost effete, 
 exhausted by the predominance and overwork of the 
 imitative faculty appealing to the vulgar elements of 
 an untutored realism which does not know how to 
 discern the difference between what is a mere study 
 and that which constitutes the nobler effort and the 
 wider mission of a picture. 
 
 It was on some such lines as these indicated that 
 James Smetham's art-course lay : that in which the 
 thing to be presented is rather prefigured and symbol- 
 ised than fully and clearly expressed. Fitful passages 
 of colour reminding one of what is best in art, touches 
 of invention that mark the poet as well as the painter
 
 MEMOIR 45 
 
 always preference given to and stress laid upon the 
 end, rather than a waiting on the threshold of the 
 means ; his appeal was to the mind rather than to the 
 eye, to the subtle rather than to the gross sense. 
 Work such as his will always reach those to whom it 
 is addressed. To him it was no question as to whether 
 his audience was likely to be a large or a small one ; 
 only that his message should be faithfully delivered 
 and his life-purpose, as such, should be fully accom- 
 plished. Whatever the measure of external success 
 awarded to it, can any life with such an ideal as this 
 before it be counted a failure ? 
 
 WILLIAM DAVIES.
 
 Ti- 
 
 Ji- 
 
 lt will be observed that the literary quotations in various 
 parts of these letters are not always verbally exact, as they have 
 apparently been made from memory and sometimes slightly 
 altered to suit the text. It has been thought better not to 
 restore them to the original reading.
 
 LETTEKS 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 28th August 1853. 
 
 LAST night I had a walk twice round Vincent Square 
 by starlight (after the prayer- meeting, which, I assure 
 you, is a source of much hale and calm enjoyment to 
 me). There was a broad, vast light in the west and 
 golden stars above it, and my spirit went upwards into 
 it. I thought about you. I am beginning to enjoy 
 my life with a more direct and unquestioning will. 
 I have had so many great inward shocks (something 
 like the overthrow of the " Palace of Art ") that I have 
 touched the joys of existence with a timorous finger. 
 Health, love, friendship have seemed to be, not unreal, 
 but more than I dare use for my own delight. The 
 thousandfold web of life had to be woven; the 
 anchors " entering within the Veil " had to be thrown 
 out; the foundations and ramparts of study had to 
 be dug and builded. I seemed like a pilgrim in 
 spirit : I dared not tarry in all the plain. There were 
 the everlasting hills, and there they are still, and pil- 
 grim I must yet be; but with, I trust, a different 
 feeling. Christian meets with Hopeful, and they " fall 
 into discourse " the two happy simpletons and then
 
 48 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1853 
 
 fall to congratulating themselves on the increased 
 happiness of "the way." Swedenborg says that the 
 angels are always advancing towards their spring-time. 
 The oldest angel is the youngest. There is something 
 in the idea, not for the angels (bless them), but for you 
 and me. I feel more like a child than I did, and so 
 do you. I am incomparably happier than in my 
 spring-time. I don't think life need be so very in- 
 complete a thing as some think it (and we in some 
 moods). Actually I begin to realise a sense of shape- 
 ableness. My delicious " knowledge books," as you 
 call them, are so tangible, so orderly, so soothing, so 
 vital, that they have wrought my soul into a condition 
 a most specific condition difficult to express, but 
 inexpressibly charming. It is as if my past life was 
 not dead, the thoughts still bloom and live and put 
 forth new shoots and blossoms. It is like an inward 
 realisation of the " Domain of Arnheim " ! I want 
 not fame, but life ; the soul's calm sunshine ; Life in 
 the eye of God. 
 
 Of his work as a Teacher of Drawing to the students at the 
 Wesleyan Normal College he writes : 
 
 6th December 1853. 
 
 I AM filled to-night with a sense of gratitude. In 
 this quiet parlour, on this foggy evening, by the cheer- 
 ful candle-light, I have mused on my estate, which I 
 see to be, in one sense, only " a little lower than the 
 angels." I am 
 
 Past Thymiaterion in calmed bays. 
 
 What a honourable position I hold at the Normal 
 Institution ! I say this fully aware of the secular
 
 1853 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 49 
 
 insignificance of it. What if I only mark with chalk 
 on a black-board the same old diagrams ! It is the 
 Creative Truth gleaming white on the Abyss of the 
 Infinite. When I feel there is some definite use to 
 be made of knowledge, and see illustration polishing 
 with use, embarrassment going, influence increasing, 
 great truths developing find myself loved and sup- 
 ported by a warm-hearted band of men who are doing 
 the same work, joined mind and spirit in a common 
 bond I cannot desire more. " What shall I render 
 unto the Lord for all His benefits towards me ? " 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 8th March. 
 
 " LADY OF SHALOTT " gone to the E.A., with all her 
 imperfections on her head. I did not think that I 
 should have sent it : did not dream of trying, till one 
 morning I got in an effect that stimulated me to try. 
 You have also gone, and a female portrait ; but till I 
 know if they are accepted, best say nothing about them. 
 They may be all returned, so little certainty do I feel 
 about the Academy. If received, they will probably be 
 ill-hung. If noticed, the "Lady of Shalott" will be 
 abused. It is a picture which lies very open to abuse, and 
 can be made fun of by irreverent folk with great ease. 
 
 I have worked so closely at it that I am palled by 
 it ; and yet, I believe, there is good in it. I have a 
 great dissatisfaction with all I have done, though I must 
 not say this to any but my intimate friends, scarcely to 
 any but you ; they would take it for granted that I 
 ought to know best, and would not buy. I don't mean 
 that at all, but only that I have not yet done what I 
 should like to do, and am able to do. 
 
 E
 
 50 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1853 
 
 I wish, as a painter, that I had a greater dramatic 
 interest in life. I think I can enter into it and 
 distinguish character, and with little labour could 
 realise it ; but I have a strange indifferentism about me, 
 no animal spirits to spur rne on in this direction : not 
 lazy, but easily content with beauty. The world cares 
 a little about beauty, but much more for dramatic 
 situation and a story. In the Vernon Gallery the 
 " Marriage a la mode " overwhelms everything else in 
 public interest. 
 
 The " Order of Eelease " of Millais is a very fine 
 specimen of what I should like to aim at. I can find 
 nothing wanting in that picture. Concentrated and 
 universal interest, intelligibility, and realising power, 
 coupled with a sense of beauty of ordinariness glorified 
 by expression. The ugly, red-haired, thick-lipped 
 Scotch child, fast asleep, with a pouting smile, on 
 its mother's shoulder, is a conception far above those 
 horrible little beauties that mothers love, and put blue 
 sashes round, curling their hair in papers. 
 
 I have been reading promiscuously lately Hay- 
 don's Life. I cannot tell the emotions it produces. I 
 gloat over it with a strange fascination, and cannot 
 grasp it yet with any philosophy. Keats' Life also, 
 and Letters by Monckton Milnes, which leaves this line 
 ringing in my soul 
 
 Mighty poets in their misery dead. 
 
 I should like if I had language to talk much about 
 Haydon and Keats with you. 
 
 Keats seemed to have a penetrating imagination 
 which saw truth by instinct, but he had no reasoning 
 in him, as he himself says. His letters are like the
 
 1854 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 51 
 
 flight of small hedge-birds : hop, hop, hop twitter, 
 twitter, and every now and then a flight into a little 
 oak-tree. They are tender-legged, too, like linnets, not 
 having much to stand on. You can scarcely remember 
 a word of them, and yet you cannot help being pleased 
 with them. But his poetry ! His " Hymn to Pan " I 
 " Ode to Nightingale " ! " Hyperion " ! 
 
 Never let people measure poets, or artists in any 
 material, by common gifts. There is a shrine where the 
 spirit is at home, is dignified, is priest-like and inspired. 
 
 1854. 
 
 CHKISTMAS approaches, a charmed time to me. I 
 hear its music afar off, the song of the angels, the 
 breathing of the bells, but most the divine song from 
 out the central glory. I feel like a swain " simply 
 chatting in the rustic row." It has begun, it is de- 
 scending in the sloping line from the Infinite a wave 
 ebbing from the other side of the ocean to break ere 
 long on the high shore of the world, faint with distance. 
 A revolving carol that traverses the spheres always, 
 and once a year is heard among our stars. The angelic 
 " waits " go the round of the universe, and when Christ- 
 mas falls they come 
 
 Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace ; 
 Peace and goodwill to all mankind. 
 
 Do you not hear it a filmy melody like a starbeam ? 
 No, it is lost again, for the wind shook the perishing 
 leaves, and their whispering drowned the music: but 
 I heard it, and it is ten thousand miles nearer than it 
 was the attenuated trumpet -note, the fine silver-
 
 52 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 trumpet note, long drawn out, like a gossamer thread, 
 and the thrill of the harp - string, something also 
 answerable to the fife, keen, like a star in the nebulous 
 music, and a wind-borne voice buoyed as the phos- 
 phoric crest of a wide wave of vocal sound these, 
 mixed, yet distinguishable, for one instant I heard from 
 far beyond where the phantom clusters of astral world- 
 fire grow pale by reason of distance, in an abyss 
 between two milky veils, so ghostly that they were 
 visible and invisible, veils which were galaxies. Across 
 that abyss, as a small meteor fluttered and fell into the 
 night-gulf, so I heard that music. And on Christmas 
 morn I know that they who sleep, but their hearts 
 wake, will hear one full carol and feel the shining of 
 the glory ; but it will not stay, only the music will 
 linger in them all day, and the glory will brood over 
 their heart, and some divine sentence from the lips of the 
 King will come up every hour to make them wonder at its 
 depth and meaning. " The "Word was made flesh and 
 dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of 
 the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth." 
 
 The following letter gives an account of his first visit to Mr. 
 Ruskin. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 5th February 1855. 
 
 I WALKED there through the wintry weather and 
 got in about dusk. One or two gossiping details will 
 interest you before I give you what I care for ; and so 
 I will tell you that he has a large house with a lodge, and 
 a valet and footman and coachman, and grand rooms glit- 
 tering with pictures, chiefly Turner's, and that his father
 
 1855 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 53 
 
 and mother live with him, or he with them. There were 
 two gentlemen and two ladies, and a boy like your 
 brother Ned, who were somehow related to him, who 
 came to dinner; and if all came to all, I daresay he 
 has a cat, but let that pass. 
 
 His father is a fine old gentleman who has a lot 
 of bushy gray hair, and eyebrows sticking up all rough 
 and knowing, with a comfortable way of coming up to 
 you with his hands in his pockets and making you 
 comfortable, and saying in answer to your remark that 
 " John's " prose works are pretty good. His mother is 
 a ruddy, dignified, richly dressed old gentlewoman of 
 75, who knows Chamounix better than Camberwell: 
 evidently a good old lady, with the Christian Treasury 
 tossing about on the table. 
 
 She puts " John" down and holds her own opinions, 
 and flatly contradicts him ; and he receives all her 
 opinions with a soft reverence and gentleness that is 
 pleasant to witness. 
 
 The old gentleman amused me twice during the 
 evening by standing over me and enlightening me on 
 the subject of my own merits, with the air of a man 
 who thought that I had not the remotest conception 
 of my own abilities, and had therefore come to " threap 
 me down " about them. " I never saw anything to 
 equal them [the sketches]. Why, it seems to me the 
 labour of a life ; besides, you must have," etc. etc. 
 He finished by saying, as if he had taken it to heart 
 and considered himself personally ill used, in- a con- 
 fidential tone, " I wonder you would trust them with 
 John : you paid him a great compliment to send them 
 at all. / wouldn't. I have not let them come down 
 out of the study for fear wine or anything should be
 
 54 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 spilt on them. Why, I wouldn't/' etc. etc. and for 
 fear lest I should lose or injure them in taking back 
 he sent me home in his carriage. 
 
 The old lady was as quaintly kind. " Has John 
 showed you this ? " " Has he showed you the other ? " 
 " John, fetch Contet's for Mr. Smetham to see " : and to 
 all her sudden injunctions he replied by waiting on 
 me in a way to make one ashamed. " You must come 
 in the daylight, John has heaps of things to show you, 
 and can you get away when you please ? " etc. As 
 these are in reality traits in " John's " character, I 
 have given you them at length. I wish I could re- 
 produce a good impression of John for you, to give 
 you the notion of his "perfect gentleness and lowlihood." 
 
 He certainly bursts out with a remark, and in a 
 contradictious way, but only because he believes it, 
 with no air of dogmatism or conceit. He is different 
 at home from that which he is in a lecture before a 
 mixed audience, and there is a spiritual sweetness in 
 the half -timid expression of his eyes, and in bowing 
 to you, as in taking wine, with (if I heard aright) " I 
 drink to thee," he had a look that has followed me, a 
 look bordering on tearful. 
 
 He spent some time in this way. Unhanging a 
 Turner from the wall of a distant room, he brought it 
 to the table and put it into my hands ; then we talked ; 
 then he went up into his study to fetch down some 
 illustrative print or drawing; in one case, a literal 
 view which he had travelled fifty miles to make, in 
 order to compare with the picture. And so he kept on 
 gliding all over the house, hanging and unhanging, and 
 stopping a few minutes to talk. There would have 
 been, if I had not seen from the first moment that he
 
 1855 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 55 
 
 knew me well, something embarrassing in the chivalrous, 
 hovering, way he had; as it was, I felt much other- 
 wise, quite as free and open as with you in your little 
 study. To his study we went at last, and over the fire, 
 with the winter wind sounding, we spoke, as you and 
 I speak, about things I should be sorry to open my 
 heart concerning to scarcely any ; only of course he 
 guided the conversation. A fragment or two will give 
 you the key to it. 
 
 J. E. " And did you pray during that time ?" 
 
 J. S. " No. I ought to have done so, but I was 
 
 obstinate and discouraged." 
 
 J. R " But was there no one near you to tell you 
 
 that prayer is often long unanswered ? " etc. 
 
 J. K. " I can understand this life well as the 
 preparation for another, but not its incompleteness in 
 itself; when man finds out what he is fit for, and is 
 able to do it, he dies." 
 
 J. S. " Yes, but the individual must prepare for the 
 other life by passing through and promoting the 
 advancing civilisation of the race." 
 
 J. K. " If life here is to be for itself as well as the 
 other, I can understand it ; but if not, why should we 
 toil ? let us throw all our encumbrances away, and live 
 on bread and milk, and think of the other world alone." 
 
 J. S. " But the practical part of the question has 
 staggered me. If best, let us do it. But how ? What 
 action must the world take ? " 
 
 J. E. with a smile. "Turn shepherds and agri- 
 culturalists ; they are free, and happy, and simple, and
 
 56 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 could also be holier. I don't know but that art 
 painting, poetry are devices of Satan." 
 
 J. S. " I should be sorry to think so. I can't think 
 so. I believe I am doing my right work, and am 
 happy in it," etc. etc. 
 
 Over the chimney-piece of the study was a copy he 
 had made from Tintoret, a Doge in his robes adoring 
 the infant Saviour. 
 
 J. S. " According to your principle that men should 
 represent all subjects in the costume of their own time, 
 and we were to paint this subject, it would be well to 
 substitute Lord John Eussell for the Doge in a surtout, 
 and place his hat on the pedestal here." 
 
 J. R knowingly. " I don't flinch from it ; yes, if 
 it would not look well, the times are wrong and their 
 modes must be altered." 
 
 J. S. " It would be a great deal easier (it is a 
 backward, lame action of the mind to fish up costume 
 and forms we never saw), but I could not do it for 
 laughing." 
 
 J. R " Ha ! but we must do it nevertheless." 
 
 He had two drawings, portraits of Turner, in his 
 study ; one done by Count D'Orsay. 
 
 At the door. "We shall hope to see you here 
 again (reiterated by the old gentleman and lady), and 
 you will allow me some day to come and look at your 
 pictures ; " and taking my hand in both his with great 
 gentleness, and looking in my face, murmured (I think) 
 " The Lord be with you." 
 
 As I had got quite enough for my money I 
 " chevied " (don't be offended at a somewhat frequent
 
 1855 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 57 
 
 use of this word, I like it) and was in a sort of soft 
 dream all the way home ; nor has the fragrance, which, 
 like the June sunset, 
 
 Dwells in heaven half the night, 
 left my spirit yet. 
 
 Of a painter's difficulties he writes : 
 
 SURELY few persons have any idea of what it is 
 to be a painter ; where first of all the mind within is 
 taxed to conceive, to feel, to suffer, or excitedly to 
 enjoy every new subject, and then has to search the 
 earth over for ever-new materials to enable it to realise 
 the idea, materials lying wide apart in the most differ- 
 ent associations. The scholar has his library round 
 about him. Southey can spend his fourteen hours a 
 day with his books, far removed among the lakes, 
 going his mountain walk at his appointed hour. The 
 painter can do no such thing. He wants a gourd : 
 he goes to Kew, and spends his day, but the gourd is 
 not growing, and his picture must be at the exhibition 
 before the gourd blossoms. He wants a costume, and 
 has to find it and haggle about it with a Jew, or hunt 
 through Marlborough House Library for it. He wants 
 a sailor's head, and goes to St. George's in the East, 
 not easily to find it ; to walk much and idle about 
 much, and then only imperfectly to accomplish his 
 object. The primroses for his bank blow in the woods 
 of Kent, and the anemones and hyacinths. The mill 
 wheel turns slumberously round miles and miles away 
 in another direction. The bit of wild wood scenery is 
 accessible with trouble and expense, but the weather 
 just when he has time is gray and cold, and the east 
 wind prevails. It would be the risking of his life to
 
 58 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 paint, as he desires, that ashy gray and green tree root, 
 because he has already a cold, and the ground is damp ; 
 and yet his picture would be engemnied by it, and he 
 hankers after it. The golden day arrives when he 
 could go into the woods, but the primroses are dead, 
 the hyacinths drooping, or the fancy picture must be 
 put on one side for the more remunerative portrait. 
 
 Carry out this train of thought, and you will 
 wonder how a complex picture gets painted at all. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 IQth August 1855. 
 
 I HAVE read " Maud," and the rest of Tennyson's 
 last volume. I suppose you have read it too. It 
 must live, like all exquisite art and as art it is 
 exquisite an episode of life with the commonest 
 romance-plot and the paltriest moral, but wrought out 
 with the lyrical changefulness of the life of this our 
 time. A very complete story, told with flying hints 
 and musical echoes ; as though Ariel had piped it in 
 the little wild island of the Tempest. 
 
 The poetic power which can swallow newspapers 
 full of business, bankruptcy courts, sanitary commis- 
 sions, wars, murders, and medical reports on the 
 adulteration of food, and then reproduce them, as the 
 conjuror brings out his coloured horn from his mouth 
 after a meal of shavings, is poetic power. 
 
 What I object to in it is an objection fundamental, 
 and is not so much against it as a work of art, but as 
 a moral work. The old tale. Thinking and feeling 
 men, in a time when civilisation has grown rank, and 
 the fat weeds of peace rot on the Lethean wharf of
 
 1855 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAfa 59 
 
 Time, are perplexed beyond measure by the social and 
 moral problems of their era. They have been accus- 
 tomed to regard their offices of Philosopher or Poet as 
 of vastly more importance than they are. They are 
 the Eegenerators. Eead Tennyson's poem called " The 
 Poet," and see how one " poor poet's scroll " is to 
 shake the world. But they have more pride than 
 power. Now and then such ferment of the nations, 
 in the disgusting rancid simmer of unregenerate peace, 
 or in the blasts and thunder-rockings of war, arises 
 that they feel it a solemn duty to leave their pastoral 
 hills and pipe a prophecy to still them or to heal 
 them. The Eed Indian physician is not more power- 
 less. The spirits " will not come when they do call on 
 them." Their watchwords, their secrets, are as silly 
 and as successful as Master Slender's in the procuring 
 of a wife (Merry Wives of Windsor, Act V., Scene v.) : 
 " I went to her in white, and cried mum, and she 
 cried budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; and yet it 
 was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy." The fact is 
 that Poetry is to delight and adorn and supplement 
 the happiness of man ; it is one of the good things 
 which God will not withhold from them that love 
 Him. Painting has no mission but to make men 
 happy, teaching what truth it can steal from the 
 eternal fountains. And Philosophy is to pass round 
 by the Cross and be baptized, and then it is to make 
 the Intellect happy by throwing glorious magical light 
 on truth. But the Eegenerators are not these. 
 
 " Mr. Poet, what is the remedy for an evil peace ? " 
 Mr. Poet storms and raves, and answers, " WAR " 
 
 That is "Mum" 
 "And what is the remedy for a horrible War?"
 
 60 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 The poet smiles, and whispers, " Pe-a-c-e." 
 That is " Budget" 
 
 " And yet it is not Anne, but a postmaster's boy." 
 
 Nothing for it, my brave boy, but war to the 
 knife and to the death with every other gospel, 
 though an angel from heaven preach it. Not half 
 poetry and half gospel, nor half philosophy and half 
 gospel. 
 
 In this respect we will not even sharpen our 
 coulters and axes at Philistine grindstones, and with- 
 out disputing about the extent to which this must be 
 done, or may be done (must be, in some respects, else 
 we must needs go out of the world), I cannot help 
 sympathising with Miss Greenwell's l tone of mind on 
 this subject. 
 
 As a general principle, I say, "Happy is he that 
 condemneth not himself in the thing that he alloweth ; " 
 and let the hesitancy always lean to the safe side. If 
 we can bear the prophecy of Balaam and the vaticina- 
 tions of Saul, without cleaving to them, or being held 
 to be of them, let us hear them while we can glean 
 good, and before they use witcheries or begin to 
 blaspheme. 
 
 I would have you, on this point, when you write 
 to Miss G., refer her to a fine passage in Modern 
 Painters, p. 133, 8. 
 
 This is the great quarrel I have with it, and all 
 such morals. The poetry, the art, is, as I said, exquisite. 
 The Eose Song is a very skilful example of the absorp- 
 tion of poetical feeling. The " purple light " of love 
 " flushes the soul " in the first assenting blush, and the 
 
 1 Miss Dora Greenwell, at that time a voice in our little circle, now, 
 alas ! silent here.
 
 1855 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 61 
 
 universe is coloured with it. The eyes see red, and 
 only red. The red man dances by his red cedar tree, 
 and the blowing, floating song compasses the earth till 
 the West is East in the iteration 
 
 Rosy is the West ; 
 Rosy is the South ; 
 Roses are her cheeks, 
 And a rose her mouth. 
 
 It ought to be read through ruby spectacles. 
 
 The Shell Song is as airy and finished as the little 
 whorls and delicate frills of one of Brother Parker's * 
 lovely specimens of the Foraminifera, and answers well 
 to an unvarying condition of a mind in anguish, viz. to 
 be riveted and fascinated by very little things, and to 
 have a racking sense of beauty. I remember a similar 
 feeling on a mossy hill-top watching a silver thread of 
 water steal through the moss alive with little brilliant 
 insects. 
 
 The new stanza of " The Daisy " and the " Address 
 to Maurice " are very precious. 
 
 And should some ship of battle creep 
 Slowly beneath the milk-white steep, 
 
 And through zones of sun and shadow 
 Glimmer away to the lonely deep. 
 
 Quoted from memory ; if you have not seen it, it 
 will give you an idea. Two quiet orderly rhymes a 
 restive leap all out of rhyme and then Imagination 
 curbed, and gracefully, but with a flickering movement, 
 submitting to a third rhyme in honour of Law, which 
 it is too gentle to break. 
 
 1 Professor W. K. Parker.
 
 62 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1855 
 
 EASTBOURNE, 23^ Aug. 1855. 
 
 I HAVE been, in the dusk of the evening, taking a 
 walk along Peveusey Level a quiet, broad, seaside 
 road ; the wind soft and cool ; the sky orange, most 
 soft in the west, but with leaden, purple, ragged clouds 
 floating here and there in masses and wild flakes about 
 the sky, and dragging streaks of rain across the dark- 
 ening downs. In the east, a large, rose-coloured, 
 steadfast cloud arising from fresh blue-gray banks of 
 sinking nimbi, with the summer lightning incessantly 
 fluttering in its bosom, like thoughts. 
 
 Yesterday I sat by the sea and began to write in 
 a little book. I thought that I would write some- 
 thing to publish. It seemed that perhaps I might 
 ease something of that sense as if a reservoir were 
 straining at its banks in the moonlight among York- 
 shire fells. 1 Do these feelings mean that it is one's 
 duty to write ? I can often not interpret that wild 
 stirring, most aptly described in the little poem you 
 read me of Acton Bell's ; 2 figured also in the sub- 
 lime journey of Sir Bedivere with the load of Prince 
 Arthur on his shoulders. 
 
 He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
 Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. 
 
 It is not that my belief and opinions are unfixed, or 
 my sources of happiness imperfect. If these would 
 give calmness, I should be calm always. It is not 
 that I do not know how to fill my time ; I know it 
 
 1 Referring doubtless to the Holmfirth disaster of 1852. 
 
 2 I think this must refer to Emily Bronte's fine lines beginning, 
 "Ay, there it is, it wakes to-night." Not " Acton," but " Ellis" Bell.
 
 1855 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 63 
 
 well. I have made the most deliberate choice of 
 principles, pursuits, studies ; and yet this inward 
 goading and lashing comes uncalled for, and will not 
 let me rest. Suddenly, often when it has become 
 almost painful, it disappears in a suffused sweetness 
 and sublime comfort. Miss Greenwell's remarks 
 about happiness were opportune, and did me good. I 
 fear that we must be content to be pilgrims in feeling, 
 coming now and then to Elim, where there are wells 
 and palm trees, but for the most part (vide the grand 
 fragment on " Will," in Tennyson's last vol.) 
 
 Toiling in immeasurable sand. 
 
 Not, however, with halting footsteps, but seeing, never- 
 theless, the " city of habitation," not as from the hills 
 of Beulah, bright and near, but as when 
 
 Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill, 
 The city sparkles like a grain of salt. 
 
 COLOSSIANS III. What a rich, full chapter ! Surely 
 it will transform the whole mind, well and prayer- 
 fully to study such words. This is the way of peace, 
 and to find it let us only receive these words, study 
 them, roll them over and over in the mind, and, as oil 
 makes the joints supple, so shall we feel our spiritual 
 nature penetrated with the strength of the words 
 spoken to us. I think, seriously, that we are too 
 superstitious, in our want of simplicity, in our wish to 
 be independent, original, and that we even miss that 
 aim. Let us first produce the intense summer calm 
 of spirit which ought to dwell in us richly through 
 the word of Christ, and then in the brooding light of
 
 64 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1856 
 
 heaven all knowledge will be simple and easy, and 
 our minds will play freshly, and pluck no crude or 
 unripe fruit. The only truly grand people I have 
 known are those whose moral simplicity licked up, 
 like sunlight, the foetid, exciting, sickening, uncertain 
 torch-flames of intellectual pride. 
 
 Who are the wise ? I know who the learned are 
 
 With eyes well practised in Nature, 
 With spirits bounded and poor. 
 
 Who were Heman, Chalcol, Darda, but moral thinkers, 
 genuine men, sleeping under the stars, and revolving, 
 revolving, revolving, till truth came by midnight 
 simple, pure, white, like a visiting angel, and dwelt 
 with them ? 
 
 8th Jan. 1856. 
 
 I HAVE just finished Villette and The Tenant 
 of Wild/ell Hall, having been seized with a desire 
 and determination to know the whole Bronte litera- 
 ture ; half impatient that I should be so swayed out 
 of my regular course as to study with interest five 
 novels. But indeed these things, though they contain 
 some elements of the ordinary " founts of fictive tears," 
 are of another cast and purport to all other similar 
 books. They are Currer Bell's particularly so far 
 autobiographic that one looks on them to be important 
 revelations of a life that has been lived, and of 
 thoughts that have been thought; no frivolous, un- 
 worthy, ambitious life either, but something pure, 
 strong, deep, tender, true, and reverential ; something 
 that teaches one how to live.
 
 1856 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 65 
 
 I know this, that I perceive principles and motives 
 and purposes nobler than my own in several aspects 
 of that quiet, shy, observant, and yet powerful nature 
 which calls itself " Jane Eyre" and " Lucy Snowe," 
 and hovers over Shirley and Caroline Helstone as 
 their presiding genius and instinct. 
 
 It is of no use for me to spurn the teaching be- 
 cause I have got it from a source I do not generally 
 acknowledge as authoritative, nor to reply that it is 
 fiction. What I refer to is not fiction, it is what has 
 been lived, and may be lived. It is moral, and not 
 imaginative, in its origin. It does not come (as I 
 think) from a healthy or perfect moral nature, but 
 from a noble one nevertheless. It reminds one of the 
 Prometheus Vinctus ; an enduring, age-long suffering, 
 unquenchable spirit, beset and bound by vast powers,- 
 Strength and Force ; and accompanied by a wailing 
 chorus who alternately cheer and depress it; with 
 the vulture eternally gnawing, and the chain eternally 
 galling it : never complaining, never undignified, and 
 ever seeing beyond the present suffering the scintilla- 
 tions of distant sunrises, and hearing the music of 
 invisible plumes " winnowing the crimson dawn," or 
 the silver spikes of the aurora lace the hemisphere 
 with crackling whispers. 
 
 As to Wuthcring Heights I can't find in my heart 
 to criticise the book. If I were walking with you 
 over those empurpled fells for an autumn day, start- 
 ling the moor sheep and the lapwing with passion- 
 ate talk, I could not criticise what I said or what you 
 said. It would become sacred. The remembrance of 
 it would make my heart swell and the tears come to 
 my eyes in the midst of the stern, hard life of the 
 
 F
 
 66 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1856 
 
 city. And yet, if I could see it to be a duty, I 
 should greatly enjoy shutting myself up in a lone 
 farmhouse for three days in the winter to write a 
 criticism on it. It is a wild, wailing, moorland wind, 
 full of that unutterable love and anguish and mystery 
 and passion which form the substratum of high 
 natures. Turner has a landscape which is it. It is 
 those wild hills, and a storm is wuthering over them, 
 and the molten lightning is licking the heather, and 
 nobody knows it but the one solitary soul, which he 
 has not put there, who is watching it from a window 
 in the waste. 
 
 But there is a very solemn and peaceful perception 
 of a truth most powerful just now to my mind, even 
 while I am giving inwardly a full unrestrained tribute 
 of sympathy and admiration to it, and the mind that 
 conceived it, viz. that the real, eternal, the true, the 
 abiding, does not lie in these grandeurs and swelling 
 emotions, and entrancing passions in any measure. 
 They are, indeed, noble lineaments of our nature, but 
 that by which we live is different. 
 
 Heathcliff is quite impossible, and therefore, so 
 far, feeble. He is no bogie to me at all. Catherine 
 is far more fearful, because quite possible. Heathcliff 
 is an impalpable nightmare, and I put him beside the 
 man who followed me in a dream with a loaded horse 
 pistol, among the rafters of Lincoln Cathedral, holding 
 a dark lantern. 
 
 A few months after he wrote on the same theme the follow- 
 ing : 
 
 IF a traveller, passing in a " dark summer dawn" 
 over a lofty mountain track, across moorlands very
 
 1856 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 67 
 
 wide aud waste, were to see, as the amber of the east 
 revealed the world to him, a strange-looking image at 
 a distance among the heather, dark against the purple 
 horizon and the yellow daybreak, " in a bed of daffodil 
 sky," and, coming near to it, were to discern unmistak- 
 able evidence that a huge granite rock had been carved 
 into the rude images of two human beings : if, won- 
 dering, he were to examine its base and find that 
 neither by name nor by style could he tell whether it 
 had been carved two or ten centuries ago ; to his eye 
 it would seem as if Michael Angelo, striding in his 
 sleep across the wild, had been trying to realise a 
 human nightmare which would not let him rest in his 
 bed ; and yet, though there is the colossal aim, there 
 is not the science of Angelo. Two human forms are 
 locked in an embrace strong and stern as death. The 
 woman strains her arms round the man, but the man 
 or, as he looks, is it the fiend ? flings one arm and 
 one clenched hand outwards and upwards, as if in 
 imprecation. The faces gaze at each other with por- 
 tentous passion. The features as he strives to study 
 them he sees that there are no features but lichen and 
 moss and obscure trenches of gray, storm-battered 
 stone glimmer into expression only while he is not 
 searching them. He doubts whether it is an unheard- 
 of freak of nature ; and yet there is design, and unity, 
 and simplicity, and meaning, and unutterable passion, 
 with pathos which rends the heart. " Who did it ? 
 and when ? and why ? and what does it mean ? and 
 why have I not heard of it before ?" he asks. 
 
 The shapeless base springs out of ruddy clustering 
 heath ; a wild rose or two has found its way there ; 
 the bleat of a yearling lamb cries out of the deep
 
 68 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1856 
 
 bloom of the heather. Overhead a lapwing gleams 
 and wails. Dew lies and sparkles all about. He 
 cannot tear himself away ; he dare not stay, for he 
 begins to think curious thoughts better for him not to 
 indulge ; and coming some days after into the town, 
 his friends think him silent and " queer" ; and in 
 answer to his story about the granite figures, they look 
 silently at one another; and as he cannot tell the 
 whereabout, and no one has ever heard of them before 
 or since, they conclude that he only set out on his 
 pedestrian tour after the strain of publishing his last 
 volume just in time. 
 
 The place, though, where he saw them was Wutlier- 
 ing Heights, and the granite figures were Heathcliff and 
 his lover Catherine. 
 
 The above rhapsody is my " impression " of Ellis 
 Bell's work, and I think I feel it to be great. But 
 whether it comes from my own or another mind, such 
 a mode of using the grand and glorious faculties of the 
 mind demands continual protest ; and I feel, as I grow 
 older, and, I trust, wiser, more disposed to denounce 
 and renounce all such action of the intellect and heart. 
 At twenty, I should have gloried in it ; at thirty-five 
 I as heartily despise it, both in myself and others. 
 
 I HAVE bought the third volume of Modern Painters, 
 and mean to read it with the slowness, iteration, and 
 thought which it deserves. I have glanced at the 
 chapter on " Finish," and I see the exquisite definition 
 of it : " added fact." How clear, how true ! Finish, 
 from first to last added fact. How this leads to the 
 great principle, study nature. 
 
 I do not altogether care that in Art he should be
 
 1856 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 69 
 
 absolutely consistent. It is a thing in which mood 
 and feeling are concerned, and a man may speak in 
 various ways, according to his moods. A man who 
 does not would be likely to say cold and unmoving 
 things about Art. If we have the verdant tropical 
 zones of mountain, the sharp stony precipices and 
 pearly snows of the Andes, with the dark large blue 
 waves lapping their base, and can see them for our 
 own delight through a golden haze, let us not care if 
 now and then a smoking cone thunders and spits 
 volcanic fire. Just before I began this letter Ruskin 
 drove away from our door. He fulfilled his long- 
 spoken intention, and brought my books. I showed 
 him what I had to show. A quiet, kind conversation 
 of half-an-hour, perhaps ; encouraging on the whole, 
 and showing a pleasant interest in what I am about. 
 
 1856. 
 
 IT is the Truth that lives. This evening, going 
 round the fields and lanes, on my old steps of thirteen 
 years ago the same gray twilight, sharp air, and 
 pensive gold purple sunset over Highgate my heart 
 glowed within me as I thought how my life has 
 changed by the belief of a few simple things since 
 those old days. I thanked God aloud. I sent some 
 plain expressions of praise upwards to the heavens, 
 where I saw one white star in the gray, tender blue, 
 eastward ; such expressions as I could scarcely repeat, 
 so unlike me to say aloud were they ; but I could not 
 help it. My heart was glowing silently like that star 
 in the heavens. A star is ever the same. All that 
 we know of it was known by the shepherds of the 
 East by us as children but it is for ever there. The
 
 70 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1858 
 
 leaves are tossing on the grass, or perishing in the pool, 
 but the star is simple and the same. The leaf is not 
 so simple to us as the star, it is not so grand, it is not 
 so ineffable. 
 
 I find the Truth to be like that ; I know no more 
 intellectually of it than when I first believed ; but what 
 a result comes from its abiding ! A deeper, deeper 
 happiness absorbs the heart and pervades the soul. A 
 deepening calm rules and assimilates the faculties, and 
 compels them into action ; not excitement, but definite 
 and proper action. 
 
 The peace of God, which passes all understanding, 
 which baffles analysis, which has an infinitude of depth 
 about it. As you cannot understand remote stars, nor 
 the overhanging vault which you cannot at all explore, 
 but can only feel as you feel your life, so you cannot 
 touch this Peace of God with your understanding. It 
 lies round you like an atmosphere. It dwells in you 
 like a fragrance. It goes from you like a subtle 
 elixir vitee. " My peace I leave with you, My peace I 
 give unto you : not as the world giveth give I unto 
 
 you." 
 
 May God double to you His peace. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 1858. 
 
 DON'T get into the focus of Criticism. Many men 
 spoil their enjoyment of Art by looking on it as some- 
 thing to pull in pieces, rather than something to enjoy 
 and lead them to enjoy nature, and through nature to 
 enjoy God. How wretched is that feverish, satiated, 
 complaining spirit of criticism. Never contented, never
 
 1858 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 71 
 
 at rest. " Is this better than that, these than those ? 
 Is this a great man, and if great, how great ? Is he as 
 great as Rossetti, or as great as Raphael ? or is he 
 little, like Brown, Jones, and Robinson ?" all the while 
 avoiding The Tiling and its relish : not thinking art, 
 but about art ; not conversing with nature, but with 
 names. When they talk of their Raphaels, Correggios, 
 and stuff, continue to shift your trumpet and only 
 take snuff, and ask them with some earnestness if the 
 Atlantic cable is likely to work again. I wish you 
 were near enough to go with me to see the Sheep- 
 shanks Gallery and Turner's sketches at Marlboro' 
 House. These last are very interesting and profitable. 
 They confirm what I have long believed to be true, 
 that in preparing for painting the best way is not to 
 paint finished things from Nature, but to make slight, 
 often symbolic records, in abundance of facts. There 
 is scarcely an instance of a finished sketch of effect 
 directly from nature in all Turner. Careful outlines, 
 however, of places, with true position of everything 
 marked down zealously and minutely : and generally 
 very modest, almost timid, in touch. I like the rever- 
 ence this betrays. Some are slight, others hasty, for 
 want of time ; but all are full of tender, reverential 
 feeling. The leaves from his sketch books reveal to 
 me how he lived pencil in hand every variation of 
 coast-line ; every heave of the vessels he saw, as long 
 as he could see them ; every pulley, and block, and 
 tackling ; every utensil and costume ; every fact of 
 growth, time, place, and size. To me this spirit is 
 wonderfully fascinating. 
 
 Sept. 19. Another week of work gone, and this 
 letter not gone. Never mind, old boy.
 
 72 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1858 
 
 Some think this life is pleasant ; 
 Some think it speedeth fast ; 
 In Time there is no present ; 
 In Eternity no future ; 
 In Eternity no past : 
 
 and a week more or less is nothing. 
 
 Still it is good to get more life outside of you. Of 
 all lives a painter's is perhaps most complete in this 
 respect; deliciously complete. Monday's face, Tues- 
 day's hand, Wednesday's foot, Thursday's flowers and 
 foliage, Friday's drapery, Saturday's flying touches 
 all there just as you thought them, counting for you 
 the fled moments of the past, and destined to live in 
 hours and moments when you have fled beyond all 
 moments into the unembarrassed calm of Eternity. 
 
 Where Day and Night divide God's works no more. 
 
 Paul Veronese, three hundred years ago, painted 
 that bright Alexander, with his handsome, flushed 
 Venetian face, and that glowing uniform of the Venetian 
 general which he wears; and before him, on their 
 knees, he set those golden ladies, who are pleading in 
 pink and violet ; and there is he, and there are they in 
 our National Gallery : he, flushed and handsome, they, 
 golden and suppliant as ever. It takes an oldish man 
 to remember the comet of 1811. Who remembers 
 Paul Veronese, nine generations since? But not a 
 tint of his thoughts is unfixed, they beam along the 
 walls as fresh as ever. 
 
 Saint Nicholas stoops to the Angelic Coronation, 
 and the solemn fiddling of the Marriage at Cana is 
 heard along the silent galleries of the Louvre. ("Heard
 
 1858 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 73 
 
 melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter ") 
 yes, and will be so when you and I have cleaned our 
 last palette, and " in the darkness over us, the four- 
 handed mole shall scrape." 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 BEADING Voltaire's Histoire de Charles XII. Pro- 
 fited by it. He was an imitator of Alexander, but 
 without his debaucheries ; a man of one idea, firm, 
 unflinching, having taken account of life and death 
 and put aside the fear of death, so being prepared for 
 anything ; sitting on horseback with a broken toe till 
 his boot let blood out through the leather, without 
 betraying any sign of emotion ; fighting the battle of 
 Pultowa in a litter, and only hoping for a glorious 
 grave ; undistracted, undivided, and believing in the 
 glory of his destiny ; pushing his men through forest, 
 flood, and frost, through marsh and iceberg, while they 
 fell round him by thousands gnawed away by the 
 hungry North ; swimming black and turbulent rivers, 
 and climbing their precipitous snowbanks only to 
 fight unlooked-for Cossack hordes in the white wilder- 
 ness, out of hearing of friends and home ; swallowing 
 mouldy crusts in front of his army, from which his 
 men turned with loathing ; and reassuring them by his 
 cheerful " // n'estpas Ion, mais ilpeut se manger" (By 
 the way, it is not good taste to put French into 7m 
 mouth, for he, though he knew it, would never speak 
 it, and hated everybody that did.) This is the sort of 
 man to accomplish. The defects of such men are 
 very patent, but they do not lie in their indomitable-
 
 74 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1858 
 
 ness nor in their perseverance. Why should not 
 these qualities exist along with faith and peace and 
 humility ? 
 
 Bishop Usher used to say to a friend before part- 
 ing, " One word for Christ." It is Saturday evening, 
 and I do not like to go to bed without something 
 more serious than has been yet put in my letter. Any 
 person, acquainted at all with Christ, ought to be ready 
 to speak of Him whenever he has leisure for anything 
 else. At first one's conceptions of Him are abstract to 
 a great extent ; they ought to become more and more 
 concrete. To find ourselves any nearer the belief that 
 we have an High Priest, once a man, now passed into 
 the heavens, and whom the heavens will contain till 
 the restitution of all things, ought to be a glad thought. 
 We feel His workings, His efficacies. I thought to-day, 
 when I was weary, of His saying, " In the world ye 
 shall have tribulation, but in me ye shall have peace." 
 We feel it. Say not in thine heart, " Who shall ascend 
 into heaven, that is, to bring Christ down from above. 
 Behold, the word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth and 
 in thy heart." This to me has always been a mar- 
 vellous explication of the mystery of faith the in- 
 carnate Word, the truth, the life, the syllable, and the 
 essence. 
 
 Wliate'er we hope, by faith we have 
 Future and past subsisting now. 
 
 But as experience advances we ought to get nearer to 
 the realisation of " Whom, not having seen, we love ; 
 and in whom, though now we see Him not, yet be- 
 lieving, we rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory." Should we not be able to speak of Him, and
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 75 
 
 feel towards Him something as certainly as of a living 
 friend whom we knew to be in the next room ? 
 
 To J. R H. 
 
 Wth March 1860. 
 
 I SUPPOSE I ought to wish with you to go to Eome 
 and Venice, and that it is the duty of painters to go 
 when they can seems pretty clear. But, really, I feel 
 so very happy among our English hedgerows, and find 
 such inexhaustible and transcendent delight in the 
 English flowers, and birds, and trees, and hills, and 
 brooks, and, above all, in the wondrous sweet English 
 faces and charming English ways, that nothing but a 
 sense of duty will ever drive me to Rome and Venice. 
 My difficulty is to appreciate our little back garden 
 our copper beech, our weeping ash (a labyrinth of drop- 
 ping lines in winter, a waving green tent for my babies 
 in summer), our little nailed-up rose trees and twisting 
 yellow creepers, whose names I have been told a 
 hundred times, but shall never get off by heart. The 
 Vale of Hornsey seems a vast " foreign parts " to me 
 a happy valley, into which I get a glimpse once in 
 six weeks or so a valley of wonders. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 llth May 1860. 
 
 THEEE is an unspeakable repose in being independ- 
 ent enough to keep quiet. Great wealth is loud and 
 noisy. But poverty is noisy also. 
 
 It certainly takes the shine out of work to feel that 
 you are dependent on the small amount of real taste 
 and knowledge there is at the command of a painter in
 
 76 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM I860 
 
 private life. The feeling of "proud wrath," which 
 characterises the proud and haughty scorner of the 
 Book of Proverbs, is a besetment of any one who feels 
 he can do what people won't believe he can do, or 
 won't let him do, for them. 
 
 I am in hope that my efforts to get illustration 
 work last autumn were not fruitless. I have a fifty- 
 guinea commission, on which I am at work, to illustrate 
 a book on '^Mexico by E. B. Tylor. Little picturesque 
 vignettes on wood, just the thing for enjoyment ; and 
 I mean to push this branch of trade till I get enough 
 work to give fortification to our resources. Let " High 
 Art " go to Hanover (where I daresay it would meet 
 with every encouragement), but let me and my beloved 
 wife and children be free from imminent uncertainty 
 as to the honest things of this life. Let our fireside 
 have no spreading shadows that hard work in humble 
 ways could dissipate. The hand of labour and the 
 honest shilling for J. S. 
 
 But really you don't know what an essential 
 difference these little changes (i.e. wood drawing and 
 etching) have made in our experience, even in the 
 mode of thought the power to follow out a quiet, 
 unruffled train of sweet thoughts or fancies what a 
 change it has made ! I am reaping the fruits of long 
 and arid toils which were made in hope of this haven. 
 I have begun to recur with zest and still renewal to 
 what you christened my knowledge books. They are 
 just what they ought to have been, and I feel that for 
 the rest of my days " my resting is my work, my 
 working is my rest." For though I am infinitely 
 ignorant I have learnt to be content. Though I know 
 little yet, for my pursuit of painting I have broken up
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 77 
 
 the fallows, and have found treasure in the deep-delved 
 earth. I have found the Art of Finding how to get 
 thought out of books, out of men, out of things. I 
 have learned the art of Appreciation. I am nearer to 
 my kind. And I have learned blessed knowledge ! 
 the philosophy of Life, as it respects me and mine. 
 Eureka ! I have found Him of whom Moses and the 
 prophets did write ; I have found how He comes to 
 man's soul, how He dwells, rules, guides, consoles, how 
 He suffices. I have found the Way, the Truth, the Life. 
 Fourteen years ago I prayed earnestly that He 
 would be my sole teacher, and show me the "Way of 
 Life that He would be the centre of all my studies, 
 all my motions ; and this balmy Saturday evening I 
 review the past, as Jacob did his fourteen years of 
 servitude. With my staff I crossed this Jordan ; now 
 I am become two bands. Wonderful guidance ! Blest 
 Angel of the Covenant, who has redeemed me from all 
 evil ! 
 
 More things are wrought by prayer 
 
 Than this world dreams of. 
 
 14th June 1860. 
 
 IF you stop your diligence in writing to me because 
 you are afraid of being too personal, learn that you 
 labour under a mistake. I never did let this stop me 
 in writing to you, and (though I have, I trust, got past 
 certain phases of insideness) I never mean it to stop me. 
 It may not be good in books written for the world to 
 crowd in too much of the Ego, but I have thought out 
 the subject of private friendship, and I learn that one 
 of its sweetest essences is the mutual and unforbidden 
 outpouring of the perilous stuff which "haunts the
 
 78 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 
 
 worn heart and will not let it rest " : duets in the 
 Psalm of Life. One nightingale warbles in the moon- 
 lighted dell as Keats heard it warble sad, and long, 
 and solemn, and penetrating, like Ariel crying to the 
 winds out of the compression of the pine tree ; and, 
 when the song is ended for the time, a distant trill 
 comes from a deeper grove. " And I also also also 
 
 " it begins, and light echoing music-billows tumble 
 
 against the silver crags, trickling away in the gurgle 
 of a hidden stream. 
 
 Of his mode of letter-writing he says : 
 
 THIS way of " thinking aloud " is the only one in 
 which I can ever get along with friends, and I don't 
 want and won't have friends with whom I can't do it. 
 I have found within the last few years that it is a 
 "kill or cure" method. Some folks won't stand it. 
 They have themselves acquired the art of being careful 
 and measured, and think it highly derogatory to a per- 
 son's dignity to play the schoolboy, and swear and vow 
 and commit yourself to the mercy of other people. 
 They don't tell you much about the working of their own 
 heart and life, but ask you if you have read Silas Marner, 
 and enter on a short criticism of it, not half as good as 
 you could read in a review, when you ought to get a 
 living letter from a living friend. They will talk 
 generals, when you want particulars about others, 
 when you want to know about themselves. These 
 people are excellent people often. They are respectable 
 people, people to be respected. You always do respect 
 them ; you respect them when you see them flirt off 
 two specks of dust from their waistcoat and see what 
 a " clean shave " they got in the morning, and how
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 79 
 
 difficult it is to get an impromptu opinion out of them, 
 and how their whole life seems one endeavour not to 
 commit themselves. 
 
 Well, as I was a -say ing, this way of thinking 
 aloud is a kill or cure with them, and I have been 
 quietly dropped by a few of them, here and there, for 
 thinking aloud. 
 
 My manners have not that repose 
 That stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. 
 
 But I beg to go on thinking aloud though they have 
 gone out of earshot, and to remark that the caste of 
 Vere de Vere is very welcome to its repose, and then 
 when I find out by this patent method (of thinking 
 aloud) that they are the caste of Vere de Vere, it is a 
 great pleasure to leave them to their repose. They 
 shall sleep a hundred years, like the princess in the 
 nursery tale, in the sweet silence which is not broken 
 by the thin bugle of a gnat, and Mr. Spouter will not 
 be the fairy prince to awake them. 
 
 The ideal of a letter is that it should do on paper 
 just what you do after the little party is over, when 
 you poke the fire and spread the screen and mix the 
 
 I was going to say " toddy," but that has such 
 
 a bad sound ; let us say the sugar and water. No, we 
 won't say sugar and water, because there must be the sly 
 cigar unbeknown to the caste of Vere de Vere, and no 
 mortal Englishman could smoke with eau sucrde. What 
 we will do is to give an intelligent wink and pass on. 
 
 " When you mix the " (wink here) and get into 
 one of those moods that don't come every day, the 
 mood so well described in Longfellow's " Fire of Drift- 
 wood," which you are to get down and read this very
 
 80 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1860 
 
 minute before you go any further. When you open 
 your heart without fear of being misunderstood, when 
 you talk of yourself and listen with more eagerness 
 for a corresponding voice from ^emselves and when, 
 without swearing one another to secrecy, you feel that 
 the penates of the heart have been passing to and fro 
 between their secret chambers, as the angels passed 
 and repassed on the ladder of Jacob, each with a soft 
 forefinger on his lip ; and that these mystic rites of 
 friendship are most sacred, never to be fully revealed 
 except for some occasion of benefit or service : is 
 not that the right notion of a letter, as distinguished, 
 I mean, from an order (for "a ton of your best 
 coals ") or a criticism (" By the way, have you read 
 the Essays and Eeviews, etc.," and " I fear the late 
 Civil War in America is likely to prove bloody work, 
 etc.") ? Starting from this conception, letters become 
 one of the prime blessings of life. 
 But how few such correspondents ! 
 
 To MRS. STEWARD. 
 
 2Qth October 1860. 
 
 I INTENDED long before this to have written to 
 you again, but have been driven with business a new 
 class of complaint with me. I am very glad I gave 
 you a picture, as it turned up, of the opposite state of 
 things, when I was buffeting with the waves. 
 
 Indeed I think it is a good thing when any one 
 will speak out what is befalling him, not in mystic 
 hints but in plain English. Then both he and his 
 friends will ultimately see " the Lord's dealing " (dear 
 old phrase), for He works through all ; and for Him,
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 81 
 
 and to Him, and through Him are all things, to whom 
 be glory for ever. Oftentimes it will be seen how He 
 delivers and guides. The 107th Psalm will be found 
 justified, and they will understand the lovingkindness 
 of the Lord. Whereas, when you only get hints from 
 which you cannot tell to a shade whether the deponent 
 has had the toothache, or a house on fire, or has lost 
 his silver spoons, you can neither fully sympathise 
 with him, nor learn much from him. 
 
 Did you ever read Isaac Taylor's Saturday Evening ? 
 In 1842 B. Gregory introduced it to me. What it 
 was all about I have forgotten, but not the deep tranquil 
 impression made by it. 
 
 Light 
 
 Which, broods above the sunken sun, 
 And dwells in heaven half the night. 
 
 Still and vast with a plenitude (Baby gives a 
 grunt and a kick in the cradle just as I was coming 
 to something real stunning, and I have to stop and 
 rock, being all alone with him) with a plenitude of 
 of amber light softening upwards towards the 
 purple night, star-strewn " through all the silent spaces 
 of the worlds," and enthroned on Helvellyn, with a 
 brow marble cold and marble calm " the Cherub Con- 
 templation" considering considering life and death 
 and change and immortality considering these things, 
 not purblind, but with clear eyes faithful to the truth, 
 and seeing by the light of the Gospel. 
 
 Well, that was Isaac Taylor's Saturday evening, 
 and this is mine ; and for many years every Saturday 
 evening I have felt just like that, " In the beginning 
 of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn towards the first 
 day of the week." 
 
 G
 
 82 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM I860 
 
 " My dawning is begun," like the Jews' dawning, 
 the evening before. 
 
 So that if Mr. Chitty, the gardener, didn't come in 
 to talk away an hour why woman was made from a 
 rib in preference to any other bone; if I hadn't 
 promised Mr. Shaw his etching, and to call on brother 
 Paul (not of Tarsus, but of Spenser Eoad, Albert 
 Town) ; if I had not to post accounts in re-etching- 
 ibus, or ideas in my big parchment book to keep them 
 for use, if all and several such hindrances did not 
 strew all the way, there is no knowing what long 
 letters I should get written to all my dear friends, you 
 among the number; for then the sense of benignity 
 and regard, outgoing and unrestrained, is always very 
 strong upon me, lying like deep waters a tidal sway 
 of affection " of pure ablution round earth's human 
 shores " ; and it is one of the most delicious feelings 
 on earth. As Saturday evening is to the coming 
 Sabbath, so is this feeling to the coming heaven. 
 
 I have had some kind letters from Ruskin, one 
 giving me leave to print anywhere or anyhow any 
 opinion he may have expressed about my work in 
 private letters, in bits, or wholes, or how I like, and 
 concluding by a very characteristic sentence : " I never 
 wrote a private letter to any human being which I 
 would not let a bill-sticker chalk up six feet high on 
 Hyde Park wall, and stand myself in Piccadilly and 
 say 'I said it.'" Isn't that "spirity," but is it not 
 also very grand ? I wish I could say as much. He 
 says he is "proud to class me among his best friends." 
 
 To W. D. 
 I HAVE been thinking lately of the set-offs against
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 83 
 
 a painter's difficulties, which are greater to him because 
 of his structure. 
 
 Cords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
 Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 
 
 1. He is less than many dependent on money for 
 happiness and supply ; " His mind to him a kingdom 
 is," and if he can pay his way, and his wife and 
 children not want the ordinary comforts of life, money 
 can do next to nothing for him. He would rather 
 walk than ride, rather dine plainly than delicately, 
 dress plainly than finely. A few books are all he 
 wants. A sixpenny sketch-book and a lead pencil set 
 him up at once, and in a new colour-box he sees the 
 wealth of Ormus concealed. He " makes the heaven 
 he cannot find." His belongings are not too narrow ; 
 they are too vast for him. Park Lane and the peep 
 into the New Eiver give the combinations of Paradise 
 (Eow), 1 etc. etc. 
 
 2. Nobody expects him to be rich. Some even 
 think it a degradation if he care for money at all. 
 All good society concedes him an upper seat at the 
 board, which a large fortune does not open to the mere 
 man of money. So that, in fact, solvency is to him 
 equal to two thousand a year. 
 
 The following notes may be interesting on the works of 
 painters, then comparatively little known to the public. 
 " Edward Jones" is Mr. Burne Jones. 
 
 24^ March 1860. 
 
 A LETTER from Eossetti. He is coming to see us 
 
 1 Paradise Row adjoins Park Lane at Stoke Newington, where he 
 was then living.
 
 84 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1860 
 
 before long. He has some fine things at the Hogarth 
 Club, to which he gave me a ticket. There is a man 
 there, Edward Jones, whose work you would like 
 amazingly. There is a tall cabinet, seven feet high, 
 designed and painted by him from Chaucer, the legend 
 of the little boy whom the Jews murdered, but who 
 would go on singing "Alma redemptoris, evermore," 
 till some saint, or somebody, put a grain of wheat on 
 his tongue. It might have been done by Giotto, only 
 Giotto could not have done it near so well. Eossetti 
 has Dante and Beatrice in Paradise ; a glorious thing. 
 The sky is gilt, the name is put on scrolls (' Hortus 
 Eden ') in the sky, and the names are written near the 
 heads. The background is a rich rose hedge, with 
 birds of Paradise pecking roses, and nestling, and sing- 
 ing birds singing lustily. There is a floor of tall 
 buttercups, hyacinths, and lilies, among which the five 
 figures are treading ankle deep. Coloured calm, 
 "above all pain, all passion, and all pride," reigns 
 in the atmosphere. There they walk in knowledge, 
 love, and beauty evermore. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 HYTHE, th July 1860. 
 
 I WISH you were down here with us. Just six 
 years ago on our wedding trip we were at Eastbourne 
 with the Boltons and their four children, now we are 
 here. We are spread into bands. We have taken a 
 house and the cook thereunto belonging (for Bolton 
 likes his servants to enjoy the seaside as much as they 
 do), so we have plenty of fun with the children and no 
 trouble. So you see we are as nicely fixed as we
 
 1860 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 85 
 
 could desire ; only if you were with us we should be 
 fixed nicer-er. 
 
 Since I came down I have been trying to find 
 something in the way of worry to overcome by 
 " consideration," but I declare I can't ; and so I am 
 obliged to confess the fact. "We cannot reasonably 
 be uneasy about money matters now ; and as we are 
 all in health and at peace, it would be wrong not 
 to be very thankful and content. And yet in the 
 multitude of my thoughts within me it has been 
 " borne in on my mind " that one may give an aspect 
 of too self-sufficient contentment to one's historic life. 
 There are so few who are at peace, who are satisfied, 
 who are truly happy, that it is grating to their feel- 
 ings to inform them that you have no sorrow or 
 trouble to share with them, that you have become 
 independent of sympathy ; that your mountain stands 
 strong. I have had this thought even in regard to 
 spiritual peace and rest. It seems little comfort to 
 others to tell them of your joy, while perhaps they are 
 yearning and striving after repose which does not 
 come. It often comes back on one's mind as if it 
 were selfish. But I have thought this last difficulty 
 pretty well out, and conclude that as such peace is not 
 the product of skill, or labour, or thought, but a 
 divine gift, free for all who seek it in the right way, 
 it would be wrong not to announce it. 
 
 It is of no use for Maurice and the like to taunt 
 (as it appears to me he does in his refined and power- 
 ful style) those who affect to attain personal fellowship 
 and adoption into the family of God, as if it were a 
 narrow and presumptuous claim of special goodness 
 and special favour. I reply in my own heart that the
 
 86 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1860 
 
 objection is not only unfair, but positively childish. 
 I think that as the wellbeing of a nation is the 
 aggregate of individual weal of family welfare so 
 the happy church (in which he would, seemingly, have 
 all believers, somehow, I cannot see how, lose their 
 identity) is the host of happy souls of pure souls. 
 And I think the more intensely each member of that 
 church realises his own relation to God, the more 
 expansiveness will his religion have. 
 
 Yesterday went a walk with Bolton's young ones ; 
 took sketch-book ; drew flowers by the way. 
 
 There are two ways of sketching. One is pic- 
 turesque sketching, which gets pretty effects ; the other 
 is knowledge sketching, which draws things with their 
 constructive elements the petals, the calyx, the stem, 
 the leaf, which thus recognises classification and knows 
 what is what. I don't mean botany, for I have not 
 got to that yet, but that kind of order which links one 
 summer to another and makes you remember the 
 yellow-horned poppy of six years ago, and makes you 
 see that English-flower elements are not endless so far 
 as they concern the poetic charm of your English 
 country walks. It is the " wild briar and the vine and 
 the twisted eglantine ; " it is the cowslip and the daisy 
 and the buttercup and the clover and the wild 
 geranium, and the one o'clock that you puff away 
 with your breath ; it is the dog-rose and the feathery 
 grasses things that dwell everywhere, have a re- 
 cognised prominence and predominance; it is these 
 that subdue you and haunt you, and not the things 
 that you put in a hortus siccus and label with names 
 that you would hate to learn if the knowledge of them 
 didn't make you seem somebody.
 
 1860 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 87 
 
 If you are out on a serious working expedition 
 take the picturesque mode of working, and make pretty 
 landscapes. But if you are idling for health, do these 
 fragments that will breathe out of your note-books in 
 winter-tide, and bring back the lanes and fields to you 
 when you are far from them. 
 
 I am reading Bulwer's Harold. One of the best 
 ballads of the sort I ever read is one towards the 
 beginning of the book about " Eollo the Norman," sung 
 by Taillefer at a feast. 
 
 Your theory of poetry-making is a good one. It 
 is singular that only a few days before your descrip- 
 tion came I was thinking that if ever I was taken 
 poetical again I would write it in prose first, but as to 
 the rest I rarely alter anything. Having got the sub- 
 stance and sentiment before me, I can't put down a 
 word till I have got the right one as far as I can 
 grasp the right one. So it is very slow work. So 
 usually, when written I can't mend it, because I have 
 done my best. 
 
 What a strange demand is that which an idea 
 makes now and then, which won't let you rest till you 
 have written it in poetry ! 
 
 Have you seen Mrs. Browning's poem in Cornhill 
 Magazine for July, with Leighton's very fine drawing 
 of Pan ? It is as fine as if Keats had drawn it. 
 
 KINGSLEY says he gave up his Professorship of His- 
 tory at Oxford because he could only make out history 
 to be one long tissue of lies. TJuit at least is a credible 
 fact. Yet we must amuse our imaginations, and if we 
 keep believing the opposite of an historical fact we 
 shall keep near enough to the truth for all practical
 
 88 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 purposes. " In much wisdom is much grief, and he 
 that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." Nay, 
 there is nothing like living beings and the thing that is. 
 " A living dog is better than a dead lion." N. Haw- 
 thorne said, when he saw the British Museum Library, 
 " Let us burn them all and begin again." How to hit 
 the truth between these two moods, the book-mood 
 and the life-mood, is the question. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 7th January 1861 (5.40 P.M.) 
 
 BEEN down to the end of Church Street to get a 
 blow before settling for the evening. A sublime sort 
 of evening windy, vast, with wild clouds and great 
 spreads of mournful light where the sun had been, 
 clearing away for a while into a starry purple dome, 
 with the Pleiades and Orion and the Great Bear and 
 the Galaxy, a sight that makes man feel his immor- 
 tality and his littleness more than perhaps any other. 
 As I went Mr. Clissold's house in the dark park had 
 a curious gleam on it, a phosphoric light from the 
 west that made one think of ghosts, and across the 
 pale amber two or three dark, almost black, little 
 clouds drove slanting like collapsing balloons. Against 
 this western screen the trees showed their leafless 
 fringes, and a bend of the New Eiver lay gloomy and 
 blue beneath them. 
 
 Winds were blowing, waters flowing, 
 We heard the steeds to battle going, 
 
 Oriana, 
 And the hollow bugle blowing, 
 
 Oriana.
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 89 
 
 To Mrs. Taylor lie writes : 
 
 MANY best wishes to you at the beginning of 1861. 
 I hope it may be the happiest year of your life, as 
 I think each succeeding year of everybody's life 
 should be, if only everybody were wise enough to see 
 things as they are ; for it is certain that there really 
 exists, laid up and ready to hand, for those who will 
 just lay hands upon it, enough for every one and 
 enough for ever. 
 
 I am quite sure that the central mistake of all 
 lives that are, mistaken is the not taking this simple 
 unchangeable fact for granted, not seeing that it is so, 
 and cannot but be so, and will remain so " though we 
 believe not." A man in prison, with a signed and 
 sealed permission to leave it and walk at liberty lying 
 on the table beside him, untouched, unopened, yet 
 bemoaning himself and unhappy in his cell, is just the 
 image of us unbelievers who have even a fragment of 
 unhappiness about us. I think I can trace every scrap 
 of sorrow in my own life to this simple unbelief. How 
 could I be anything but quite happy if I believed 
 always that all the past is forgiven and all the present 
 furnished with power, and all the future bright with 
 hope, because of the same abiding facts, which don't 
 change with my mood, do not crumble, because I totter 
 and stagger at the promise through unbelief, but stand 
 firm and clear with their peaks of pearl cleaving the 
 air of Eternity, and the bases of their hills rooted 
 unfathomably in the Eock of God ? 
 
 Mont Blanc does not become a phantom or a mist 
 because a climber grows dizzy on its sides, and yet we
 
 90 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 make mistakes just as great as if we fancied, being 
 climbers, that it did. 
 
 (Saturday night). 30th March 1861. 
 
 BEEN a walk along the Lower Koad, Islington, 
 among the grocers' shops. Man, getting bald, looking 
 so respectable among his cannisters that I stood and 
 stared at him. He thought I was admiring his shop 
 and should become a customer ; deluded man ! 
 Watched a man with two candles wrapped in brown 
 paper to give a better light very ingenious with an 
 old tea-tray for a table, making toasting forks. Honest 
 nice man, liked that man ; scrubby looking, but 
 honoured him. I honoured him more than the 
 respectable grocer, though I have no doubt he is a 
 nice man, and have a great respect for him, and his 
 coffee smelt very fragrant; and if I had not money 
 enough to be a grocer I would make toasting forks. 
 Do you think I feel myself above that ? Then you 
 are mistaken. I know that either you or I, if need 
 be, could wrap our two candles in brown paper, trudge 
 out with our old dirty tea-tray with all the paint 
 gone off long since, set the two candles aflaring, and 
 begin to twist toasting forks in the sight of the 
 public ; and then when our fingers ached, hold up the 
 forks, big and little, and with a contented, quiet, 
 experienced, husky voice, say, " One penny ; large fork 
 only twopence ; tobacco stopper, one penny." Only 
 take care to wrap up well, for the sake of our family 
 and society ; for neither the one nor the other could 
 do without our toasting forks. I know another man 
 who would do the same thing, and be extra cheerful 
 over it : and that man is John Euskin ; and whether
 
 1861 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 91 
 
 a man would do such a thing and not whine over it, 
 if he were put to it, is one of the best ways of estimat- 
 ing a man. 
 
 I wish you had been with me. I know your heart 
 so well in some directions, and am sure that it is filled 
 often with the 
 
 Sweet, sad music of humanity, 
 
 Not harsh or grating, but of ample power 
 
 To chasten and subdue. 
 
 There can be no more refreshing thing than such 
 a walk after a hard day's home-work, especially at a 
 peculiar class of pursuits. You are taken out of your- 
 self by seeing how many kinds of work and styles of 
 mind and ways of living there are in the world ; and 
 how honest, and hearty, and genial, and heroic, some 
 old dirty, fudgy people are. I wish I could be certain 
 that they were all going to heaven. Some of them are, 
 and I thank God on their behalf. I have a world of 
 such meditations about old rheumatic chaps that I 
 have known long years ago, whom I have met in prayer- 
 meetings, men " despised and rejected of men," and not 
 noticed in the thoroughfares of life, but dear to God. 
 It is a comfort to me to know that lots of them have 
 gone to God. Two such old men have gone from our 
 little society here at Stoke Newington. One sold a 
 bit of tea, aud had a little pension, and staggered along 
 in June days with a tendency to hernia, and prayed as 
 if he had a fortune of ten thousand a year, and were 
 the man best off in the world, and prayed like 
 Solomon. The other sold brushes in a decent shop, 
 and used to lead the singing in the prayer-meetings in 
 a way to craze a sensitive person, and he prayed like
 
 92 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 a good old muff; but he was one of those who lasted 
 out, a " Class Leader "50 years ; only think ! 
 
 And now he is past all his sorrows and ignorance, 
 beyond your thought and mine. These old men, I 
 notice, always die grandly. They don't talk much. 
 They say, " I am willing to stay or willing to go, and I 
 have peace with God," and that is about all you can 
 get out of them. They dread their grave as little as 
 their bed. 
 
 The following refers to his constant habit of drawing all he 
 read ; " Squaring," as he termed it. (See Memoir.) 
 
 THE comparison in judging of my books should 
 never be between them and good art; but between 
 them and nothing ; for that is just it. When I consider 
 that many of the facts and ideas that passed through 
 my mind, say ten years ago, would by this time have 
 vanished utterly, I do think it is better to have lame 
 ghosts of them which can be brought to life than no 
 memorial at all. 
 
 I stayed as well as I could in my rapid years-long 
 camel ride through the desert, or by Elim when at rest, 
 and I built my rude monuments, and often since then 
 have I revisited what otherwise would have perished 
 utterly ; revisited them, pouring the oil of joy on the 
 shapeless stone in which I saw my thought as Michael 
 Angelo in his marble saw hidden the gigantic shapes of 
 Night and Day, though to others they look even now 
 like cairns in which rude fanciful resemblances to 
 human life may be traced by ingenious eyes. So in a 
 beetling coast-rock picnic parties are shown, as one of 
 the sights, the enormous head of " the Old Duke," 
 staring like Cortez stared at the Pacific.
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 93 
 
 Depend upon it, that in many of those old illumi- 
 nated books, done by pious monks in retired abbeys, 
 ages ago, standing silent among the corn-seas, there 
 are wrought into the borders of the gospels and other 
 books the whole life and soul and history of the men 
 who did them ; but tenderly veiled. I trust that under 
 the fig leaves of the margin God saw many a Nathaniel 
 at his orisons, and that where unopened eyes now only 
 see idle wanderings of pure crimson, gold, and 
 purple, there flowed rivers of thought that divided the 
 plains of vellum, hiding in their " dimpling coves " the 
 triumph or the hope, or the care, or the dark and 
 twisted temptations to which I fear those too solitary 
 souls, warm with humanity which no whips could tame 
 or water drown or quench, were often exposed. 
 
 To me an illuminated book is a mystery, like the 
 Microcosm. I am sure, by the mode of their inventions, 
 by the subtlety of their imagery, by the sensitiveness 
 to natural Fact and Being shown in their imitations, 
 that they could not avoid finding out the fundamental 
 principles of Monumentalism, and that more is meant 
 than meets the eye. People wonder at their patience. 
 Ah ! they would not wonder if they knew how in a 
 remote corner of a crowded page there may be trivial 
 forms that ring out to the mental ear like huge golden 
 bells in the eternal chime to Jerome striving to rise 
 from the mastery of all human passion into the thrice- 
 purged heavenly passion of Christian love for Paulina, 
 loosed from, or at least striving to shake off, all the 
 " chains of sense." I Mow that many of those pages 
 were done in a bewitching dream, with eyes full of the 
 dew of hopeless love. I know that those female faces 
 those angels in the borders lived in castles within
 
 94 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 sight of abbeys in the vales. I know that the silent 
 painter -monk saw the vision of the lady in the 
 convent chapel. I know that though his lips moved 
 in paternosters, and though his beads fell steadily 
 through his fingers, that the power of beauty enthralled 
 his eye and imagination, and that for days after he 
 muttered in green and purple and gold to the Eternal 
 Silence. 
 
 I WENT to Gilchrist's 1 on Saturday. Found him 
 living next door to Carlyle, and to be an intimate 
 friend of his. The day before he had gone with C. 
 to hear Kuskin lecture at the Eoyal Institution 
 (Carlyle kept inquiring the time every ten minutes, 
 and at last said, " I think he ought to give over now "). 
 Euskin is a favourite of his, or he would not have 
 gone at all, for he hates art in reality ; but K. sent 
 him a ticket. Gilchrist and several others we heard 
 of thought the lecture a failure ; but C. would not add 
 the weight of his opinion to this, whatever he might 
 think. G. seems to be a nice fellow, and very fond of 
 art. 
 
 1861. 
 
 I HA.VE read several interesting books lately. Bos- 
 well's Tour to the Hebrides is one of the j oiliest books 
 that can be ; like nothing so much as having been 
 there along with Dr. Johnson and him. I am enjoy- 
 ing Carlyle's French Revolution just now ; a singular 
 book, but very interesting, and so full of fancy and 
 humour and reflection of the oddest kind that it is 
 
 1 A. Gilchrist, the biographer of Etty and Blake.
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 95 
 
 unlike any other history. It is all prelude so far; 
 but the prelude is portentous, and he makes you feel it 
 to be so : " Distress of nations, with perplexity, the sea 
 and the waves roaring." He presents through gaps, 
 again and again, the image of the 25,000,000 of France, 
 till it haunts you as the sea haunts you ; and each 
 time the swell and the trouble of it seems greater, and 
 you cannot but feel that such a tempest as never brewed 
 before is labouring up. 
 
 The wrong of centuries can not be revoked, and as 
 you watch financier after financier build up his hope- 
 less schemes, and see them rattle down, you can't help 
 mocking with the rest. 
 
 The red clouds " dragonish " mount all round the 
 horizon ; and what can avert the crimson rain which 
 will soon drive over land and sea ? for, " There is 
 sorrow on the sea, it cannot be quiet." JEREMIAH. 
 
 I OFTEN impersonate the Heavenly Wisdom to my- 
 self as a pure and beautiful woman, fresh, and sweet, 
 and soft, and radiant, and strong, who has a mystic 
 embrace for those who will be enamoured of her. I 
 find imagination to be a great help to religion. The 
 Bible encourages me in this more than any book 
 in the world ; and often, when the accustomed forms of 
 truth grow less attractive, or when the pressure of moral 
 responsibility becomes intense, the bright wand of the 
 ideal transfigures in endless directions truth on truth. 
 And so a strong refreshment comes to the soul by that 
 very agency which in past years I have often been led 
 to regard as an enemy.
 
 96 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 July 1861. 
 
 " To save a soul " : I can't somehow realise the idea 
 that / should ever be so honoured of God. To save 
 ray own soul, and wear through the long fight without 
 losing my own crown, and without bringing disgrace 
 on the cause of Christ, these have seemed the limit of 
 my hope. I can go on working ; I can sow a little ; 
 I can add my labour to the heap in hope that among 
 other agencies I may help rather than retard the work 
 of Christ. But to " save a soul," as the direct result 
 of my own direct effort, has scarce ever entered into 
 my contemplation. I shall be glad if both he that 
 soweth and he that reapeth rejoice together. Though 
 " a son in the gospel " must be a pleasant relationship. 
 
 [I transcribed the above this morning, 8th August 1889. 
 This evening Mrs. S. called. She said, " I never had the 
 pleasure of knowing Mr. Smetham, but I have heard so much 
 of him since I came to Stoke Newington that I feel as if he 
 were a personal friend. There is scarcely a social meeting held 
 in Green Lanes but his name is mentioned. At a Love feast a 
 few Sabbath evenings since, a gentleman said, ' I shall praise 
 God to all eternity that I was ever led to Mr. Smetham's class, 
 I owe all the good I have to his teaching and influence. '"- 
 S. S.] 
 
 2Sd Aug. 1861. 
 
 PAINTED three and a half hours in the morning at 
 Caedmon. The sense of urgency would make me 
 overwork myself, as Haydon used to do. I know it 
 won't do. A few days' good work would be done, and 
 then would come that ineffable disgust which would 
 sap all strength out of mind and nerves, and make me
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 97 
 
 hate the sight or thought of a picture. Five hours a 
 day is as much as any but iron men can do safely ; 
 and yet artists are just the men to get roused to the 
 utmost at times, by the sense of imperative action. 
 
 Eeligion helps me greatly here. The large views of 
 the gospel, the high hopes, the deep consolations, 
 enable me to master myself even when I should be 
 carried away by what seems a praiseworthy stimulus. 
 " Godliness is profitable for all things " : profitable to 
 direct. 
 
 24th Aug. 
 
 SUCH a sky ! Such films and threads of infinite 
 tenuity ! Such flat roofs of cirri, lying high up in 
 perspective, beyond the reach of science ! Euskin's 
 " don't know," in the last volume about clouds, is very 
 manly and noble after his " spouterism " in the first 
 volume of Modern Painters on the same subject. 
 There he spoke as if he had " entered into the Springs 
 of the Sea"; "walked in search of the Depth"; "seen 
 the treasures of the Snow, the treasures of the Hail," 
 and " by which way the light is parted," and " the way 
 for the lightning of thunder," and knew whether the 
 " rain had a father, and who had begotten the drops of 
 dew and had numbered the clouds of heaven." 
 
 I love him more for the subdued, reverential re- 
 nunciatory tone of his last writings, which come not 
 from less knowledge but more wisdom. 
 
 As the sun dropped, these long ranks which might 
 have been the immeasurably distant effect of an army 
 of "mailed angels on a battle day," all took a purple 
 and scarlet fire ; but I had to leave them before they 
 
 H
 
 98 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 acquired, what I was sure they would have before long, 
 a "sort of metallic lustre dark and flowing. 
 
 Sunday, 20th Nov. 1861. 
 
 THOROUGHLY enjoyed the Sabbath. The total and 
 enforced change cleared my head of the finishing 
 touches of my paragraphs in the Essay l which would 
 follow me, as 
 
 Bells say ding to bells that answer dong. 
 
 KOSSETTI. 
 
 The night was cold and wild, and the fire looked 
 so comfortable after chapel as I enjoyed my cigar and 
 the sweet repose of thought till bedtime, full of thanks- 
 giving for " all the way in which the Lord has led 
 me." 
 
 Monday, 6.30. 
 
 MONUMENTALISING the historical introduction to 
 Rossetti's Early Italian Poets, friends of Dante; 
 delicious work. E.'s sketch is good strong common 
 sense writing without a touch of oddity or of extra- 
 vagance, and very intelligent. 
 
 There is a beautiful clear sketch of the life of Guido 
 Cavalcanti, evidently a great gun in Florence in the 
 days of Dante, rich, learned, handsome, polite, disdainful, 
 studious, solitary : a man whose society all coveted, 
 and of whom all anecdotes were acceptable : one of the 
 subjects of the Boccaccio's Tales. It is pleasant to see 
 the dark lantern's level ray thrown on " The night of 
 
 1 This refers to his Article on Religious Art in England, published 
 in the London Quarterly Review.
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 99 
 
 Time " to illuminate some solitary ghostly passenger 
 who moves from the uncertain gloom on one hand to 
 the impenetrable oblivion on the other, across a track 
 of solid life which he has made for himself by a poem, 
 or a picture, or a benevolent or brave deed. 
 
 To Mr. J. F. HALL on the death of Mr. Thos. Farmer of 
 Gunnersbury. 
 
 1861. 
 
 I HEARD on Sunday evening from Dr. Osborn that 
 your grandfather was gone. I had previously posted 
 a scrap of letter to you, which, if you get it, I hope 
 you will put by till some time when it will be more 
 congenial. 
 
 The immediate presence of death makes outward 
 things seem very small and unimportant, and the 
 ordinary gossip of life tame and sapless. It is well 
 that it does, for we often need to be carried nearer the 
 borderland, and see how we hasten there ourselves. 
 I am glad, however, that in your household death 
 will not come, as it does in too many, a dark surprise 
 when its real presence is felt there. The certainty 
 and importance of death is one of the elements in the 
 problem of life to all believers. The way in which we 
 look at it will be to each of us a good test of the whole 
 of our mental and moral organisation and training. 
 To many Christians, even, it comes very cheerlessly 
 when it invades their homes. It is hard to judge of 
 others, though, by this test, however serviceable it may 
 be to ourselves. We must not suppose faith to be too 
 low, or to be absent, where the reality of death presses 
 heavily and gloomily at times. Even John Fletcher
 
 100 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1861 
 
 murmured now and then in his last hours, " The cold 
 grave, the cold grave ! " and very great and good 
 people, with much forethought and outlooking into the 
 future, feel deeply awed and humbled by the very 
 remembrance of death. It is of itself so very obscure 
 and mysterious. Life ceases so silently. The soul 
 passes so utterly from the senses of the survivors, and 
 in the unanswering pathetic decadence of "the remains" 
 we feel so baffled. "We have no power over those we 
 loved most. They will slide away from us, and all 
 our force of will and ingenuity is nothing to the calm, 
 inexorable wasting of our friends and lovers and ac- 
 quaintance into darkness. I have in one of my books 
 a memorial sketch of Quintilian with his wife and 
 three children all dead beside him. All his quiet 
 philosophic studies, so sweet for years with the 
 " placens uxor " and the dear children, are broken in 
 upon by a mystic death that he cannot dispute with 
 and cannot see; and he is lifting his hand impotently 
 and declaring that a man could not be a man who did 
 not curse those gods and that Fate who sit behind the 
 scene of mortality and do all this to Mm. 
 
 Oh how precious does that intangible faith (as real 
 though as invisible as death) become in the presence 
 of death ! What peace can there be in death, either 
 to the dying, or the witnesses of it, but that which 
 comes from the possession of faith ? There may be 
 Stoicism, but not Peace. " I know that he shall rise 
 again." Do you indeed ? How do you know it ? 
 You have seen death often ; have you seen a resurrec- 
 tion ? If you know that he shall rise again, you are a 
 believer ; for here there is no proof but Faith. How 
 blessed is he that believes ! Every portion of faith is
 
 1861 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 101 
 
 precious, from the first dawning recognition of God to 
 the " full assurance of faith." It is a comfortable 
 thought that Christ dieth no more and that He will 
 bring with Him those who sleep in Him ; and how 
 comfortable it ought to be to those who knew and 
 loved your grandfather, that as he shared in the fellow- 
 ship of Christ's sufferings, so now he has taken his seat 
 in Christ's rest. If we know this only by faith, yet 
 we do know it ; and this fact, carefully entertained 
 and treasured, ought from this time to be constantly 
 at work on our moral nature. The death of a good 
 man is precious in ten thousand ways, precious to God, 
 for He knows, as we cannot, what is in store when the 
 probation is faithfully and safely passed, and when 
 the proved soul has entered through the gates into the 
 City ; but it is also most precious to those who 
 remain. No one can be the same after the death of 
 one very near to them ; they will either be much 
 better or much worse, and surely then, when the hand 
 of God is stretched out to resume a soul, the ear of 
 God is very near and very open, and his voice very 
 clear in saying, " What can I do for thee ? " He waits 
 then for some very earnest response ; and if ever men 
 may ask for some good thing, if ever they are in the 
 right temper for asking, it is then. 
 
 EOMNEY, the painter, a man far superior to Reynolds 
 in native poetic power, was originally a cabinetmaker 
 in Kendal, where he painted portraits with success, 
 and married, and had two sons. He came to London, 
 leaving them to be sent for when he had made his way. 
 He achieved fame and fortune, and never sent for his 
 wife for thirty-seven years ! When he was old and
 
 102 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1862 
 
 helpless he returned to her, and she nursed him till he 
 died. He was the friend of Cowper the poet, and of 
 Flaxman the sculptor. I know how it was : " This 
 country wife would ruin everything : how could I have 
 her here and keep her bottled up ? and how could I pre- 
 sent her ? Fancy Lady Hamilton having a talk with 
 her ! Fancy me, with these deep, classic, thronging 
 conceptions, Titanic glimpses of nature and the pas- 
 sions, presenting a ' missus ' who says, ' Yes mum ' and 
 ' No mum,' and calls me ' Our George ! ' ' Here was a 
 case where pride carried with it the shame of sense, 
 and substituting one word for the other it suggests 
 the line 
 
 The crime of sense became 
 The crime of malice, and was equal blame. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 24th March 1862. 
 
 I HAVE been to the Exhibition of the British Artists 
 this afternoon. I can'b say that I saw any very good 
 work, though there were some decent pictures. The 
 two best little things (by Provis) were actually stuck 
 away in corners on the floor. I felt not disinclined to 
 go to the man at the secretary's table (as he was a 
 little one) and pull his ears, as the representative of 
 the body. I could scarcely have believed such a piece 
 of malevolent injustice without seeing it with my own 
 eyes. I greatly dislike exhibitions scarcely ever 
 love painting less than when I am in them. They 
 are, no doubt, necessary evils, for sales could not be 
 effected very well without them ; nor could the public 
 as such get well acquainted with their country's art, but
 
 1862 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 103 
 
 the incongruity of the swarms of ideas thrust on the 
 eye at once, and the occasion they give to petty 
 jealousy and passions, take half the charm from them. 
 But it was not always so. How well do I remember 
 in 1844 the first sight of Collins's pictures and others. 
 I remember half wondering if I should live, till the 
 doors were open and I could get a fair sight. The 
 picture I then saw of Collins's is now, I am thankful 
 to say, in the South Kensington collection the " Sea- 
 ford," with the cloud shadows chasing each other on 
 the windy sands, and the lovely group of children in 
 the foreground. 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 AFTER a good day's work perambulated the neigh- 
 bourhood till 9 P.M. How wonderful are the new 
 streets ! The whole business of such a walk is enough 
 for two volumes of a Middlemarch tale. The mere 
 effects are grand the black field beyond the lamps 
 with the mystic white old houses ; the wild light and 
 shade in gardens from varied lights ; the steady stars 
 as of old up above ; the new shops new ventures in 
 the " grocery line," the " confectionery line," the fruit- 
 erer in a fair way of doing well ; the solemn old men 
 smoking in the dusk, come from no one knows where ; 
 young married folk setting up housekeeping on very 
 little a year, yet with notions of being " above some 
 folks." The interest is profound and endless. A slow 
 walk in a neighbourhood both old and new stopping, 
 prowling, poking is a wonderful thing. 
 
 21s December 1862. 
 IT is a windy morning, and the grass is driven to
 
 104 LETTERS OP JAMES SMETHAM 1862 
 
 the earth on the bank. These changes in the weather 
 are influential over some folks' thoughts. That poem 
 in " In Memoriam," about the rooks blown about the 
 skies, and 
 
 I scarce could bear the strain and stir 
 That makes the barren branches loud, 
 
 is a valuable contribution to the natural history of 
 sensitive people. The elements seem to make sport of 
 the surface of thought, just as they do with grass and 
 reeds and little pools, and brooks and garden plots. 
 
 I got your letter last night. I wish you would 
 believe that the most trivial detail of your life is deeply 
 interesting to me. I set you an example by giving 
 you what is uppermost always ; whether it be etching 
 or painting, or visiting, or grumbling, or bad temper, or 
 anything. This is the only way to keep on writing 
 letters. If we have to escape from our present mood 
 and engrossing thoughts in order to write a letter, 
 writing becomes a pain and a difficulty. The person- 
 ality of a letter is one of its commendations. 
 
 Life is indeed blessed. All the outward success in 
 the world could not produce the feeling I had last 
 night after a service led by Mr. C. Taylor. Such 
 sweet and fresh emotions dwelt in me as I could not 
 describe. 
 
 Beside that, when I sum up what God has given 
 me externally, such friends, such associations, such safe 
 retreats, such delicious pursuits in which I realise the 
 flushing joy of art employed on all the highest topics 
 of human thought, there seems enough indeed to fill 
 me with unbounded joy and satisfaction. Blessed be 
 God.
 
 1862 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 105 
 
 To MRS. HALL. 
 
 9th September 1862. 
 
 IT is my birthday, as I found on waking by Ally's 
 betraying the secret that a pair of worked slippers 
 were under the bed from Mama, with an affectionate 
 inscription. Presently Johnny turned up with a 
 packet containing a pair of olive gloves (now perpetuated 
 by the illustrious camera). This was an opportune 
 present, for I had only one glove in the world, and 
 that was an old one, its fellow being dropped on the 
 Bradford Eailway ; and I was resolved not to spend 
 money on another pair just yet, seeing that an honest 
 man can go without, or make believe with one. I 
 believe I have " took in " the public for at least eight 
 weeks. The public has been living under the delusion 
 that I have had a whole pair of gloves, whereas, by a 
 dazzling series of manoeuvres with one, they have 
 lived in a hollow cheat. I shall now go on a different 
 tack, making such a display as to convey somehow the 
 impression that I have four hands instead of two (all 
 with gloves on), and that I have a brand new pair on 
 every morning. This will lead to the supposition that 
 I must be very well off indeed ; which will lead 
 people to buy my pictures (it being well known that 
 they only buy them of those who don't need to sell 
 them) ; and so, by what may be well called a coup de 
 main, I intend to become rich, prosperous, admired, 
 sought after, and afterwards a " statute " erected to my 
 memory, with a pair of gloves on, in the Italian style, 
 where you can see the hands through, as in the veiled 
 ladies, etc.
 
 106 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 To MRS. HALL. 
 
 I8th January 1863. 
 
 I FEEL somewhat the effects of close work lately, in 
 a sort of eagerness and solicitude. I grudge every 
 moment not spent at the easel. 
 
 The work I have done ought, one would think, to 
 be telling in outward ease of circumstances, and I 
 hope is gradually telling, enough to justify me as to 
 faithful labour in the eyes of all right-judging people. 
 Yet it often is a strain upon me to feel that there is 
 no proportion between labour and result. 
 
 To keep from murmuring, from rage, from de- 
 spondency, from unmanly perplexity, is the thing I have 
 to contend with to go on peacefully, meekly, hoping 
 against hope, and acquiescing in all these changing and 
 complicated tests; not seeking relief by going to 
 Egypt for help, or to that king Jareb, who is only a 
 heathen scamp after all. To expect to be free from 
 these or similar trials would be to wish the course of 
 Christian life to be other than the Bible represents it 
 to be. Why am I thus ? Why, for more reasons 
 than thou canst conceive of; for everything blessed 
 and good, and perfect and permanent. Good even 
 now ; good, because strength is made perfect in weak- 
 ness ; good, because a true man rejoices to contend 
 and endure, and does not look to ease and rest as the 
 highest good. 
 
 To A FRIEND. 
 
 THERE is yet another thought I have for you : "If 
 thou seekest for her as for hid treasures, then shalt
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 107 
 
 thou find the knowledge of God." I want you to take 
 this view, that whereas hid treasures never sweat them- 
 selves to the surface on the rumour that a treasure- 
 seeker is afoot after them, there is that strange element 
 in the truth. Try to realise while you seek that as 
 soon as your foot is turned to the fields of gold all 
 heaven is astir to help you. Strange helps will come 
 to you hints, intuitions, breathings, curious allure- 
 ments, as of singing-birds flitting to show you the way. 
 A divining-rod will put itself into your hand, and it 
 will press and waver and draw and point, and though 
 it may lead you into darker places than you like, and 
 though you may even grow faint and fearful, yet if 
 you don't draw back you will come into the whole land 
 of Havilah, where there is gold, and to Paradise, where 
 the streams divide themselves into four and water the 
 whole earth. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 27th March 1863. 
 
 YESTERDAY when I put up my canvas I found 
 myself checkmated by that sense of mental nausea 
 which results from having expended the delicate store 
 of nervous power required for work. I could almost 
 have cried, but remembered the patience of Job. I 
 did not lose the day, but wrote hard in " ventilators " 
 to drive off the blues. Yet the nature of the hindrance 
 is the vexing part of it. I was well enough to have 
 gone on with almost any other kind of business. It 
 is faint inodorous gases that are generated slowly and 
 pour invisibly over the silver rims of the brain. It is
 
 108 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 fine bubbles that swim round the optic nerve and 
 burst to meet the gas, and by their meeting create that 
 Vis vivida animi without which painting is as futile 
 as firing with a broken arm. 
 
 You have seen a lecturer on chemistry come to the 
 experiment of the evening. You have noticed his neat 
 manipulation and quiet self-collected voice. Yet as 
 the preparation for the grand explosion, that is to 
 prove a series of statements previously made, is going 
 on, you see that something is wrong. The boy in 
 buttons, who runs with glass balls and retorts ; the 
 assistant, with his hair parted in the middle ; the 
 maestro himself, though he talks on and puts the cart 
 before the horse in his statements, shows by his knit 
 brow and restless glance that something, somewhere, is 
 going wrong the flame is not blue enough, the bubbles 
 don't rise. At last he is obliged to say " Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I am extremely sorry that through some at 
 present undiscovered hindrance I shall be obliged to 
 lay aside this interesting demonstrative experiment," etc. 
 
 And so, just as the lecturer cannot point out to 
 John Bull why the experiment didn't go, John Bull, 
 who loves an explosion and doesn't see why, if you 
 know what you are about and have pluck and capital, 
 you can't command your spirits from the vasty deep, 
 doesn't see why you can't send for two-penn'orth of 
 stuff from the chemist and go on. Just as it would 
 need a Faraday to catch at the meaning of an apologetic 
 phrase because he sees into the Arcana, so often to an 
 observer an artist seems fitful and fearful, when indeed 
 he is checkmated by invisible foes. 
 
 I know, as well as Mr. Gradgrind, the value of 
 painting-time, and believe in work as much as he does ;
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 109 
 
 yet I maintain that in the long run I get more and 
 better work done than if I were not, at such seasons, 
 to use even the " golden hours " to allay a state of feel- 
 ing which if not allayed and suffered to accumulate 
 would terminate in hypochondria or in paralysis. 
 For often, when no one would think we moved at all, 
 the sense of numerous, resisted pressures within is so 
 great that I feel like a man in the gorge of St. Paul's 
 on the illumination night when the human currents 
 set in furiously from Whitechapel and Temple Bar. 
 Just such a sense of stifling, of surrounding panic, of 
 watchfulness at all points, of consciousness that no one 
 knows nor cares, having to take care of himself, and 
 yet that in a few minutes he may be down under 
 the heels of the crowd, where no scream can be heard 
 and no breath taken, and no blow of the iron heel 
 resisted. 
 
 The truth is that the artist's work is so intensely 
 and incomniunicably personal and inward, that it can- 
 not be discerned unless he take infinite pains to make 
 it known. 
 
 When a man builds a house that takes six months 
 in the building, there is a sign and wonder to a whole 
 neighbourhood. Masons and carpenters, and Mike and 
 Pat and mortar-boy, while the full-fed builder looks on 
 with hand in pocket ordering about the whole noisy 
 crew. To any one man employed on it, whether he 
 be architect or mortar-boy, the building of a house is 
 nothing to the building of a picture. Silent as a sun- 
 beam on the wall of a deserted palace " where no one 
 comes/' the whole complex labour is transacted, and 
 does not in the least seem like labour. The more it 
 has had, the less it bears the marks of labour. It is
 
 110 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 gay and free and glowing and light, burning under the 
 crown of a central idea which has pressed on one brain, 
 thrilled in one hand, fluttered round one heart remote 
 as Mariana the dejected. 
 
 A picture while in hand is like " the order of a 
 peopled kingdom." 
 
 In the " Moorland Edge," for instance, now on my 
 easel, .how shall I dispose of those distant hazy fields 
 and that rising smoke contained in two and a half 
 inches of distance ? Shall they be light, dark, gray, 
 warm, blue, yellowish ? If I alter one touch I alter 
 nearly all. That tuft of new grass, is it not too sharp, 
 too cold, too green ? 
 
 But as I work I feel the soothing of the angles 
 of the sweet fields, and the peace of the tree-tops, and 
 the comfort of love, so 
 
 5.20 P.M. I lay down my brush in better spirits 
 than I have done for some time, and instead of pro- 
 jecting my anxieties into the middle of next week I 
 shall go on merrily to finish my two pictures. 
 
 So merrily jog the footpath way, 
 
 And merrily hent the stile-a ; 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 A sad one tires in a mile-a. 
 
 With which grave observation I will go down to tea, 
 full of " nods and becks and wreathed smiles." 
 
 2d June 1863. 
 
 INTERESTING and clever sketch of Eugenie Guerin 
 by Matthew Arnold in the Cornhill Magazine. 
 
 One is often curious to know how a Methodist 
 Memoir would strike an outsider. He has picked up
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 111 
 
 Emma Tatham (I guess in pursuance of some 
 conscientious review of our Modern Poetry in his 
 character as Professor at Oxford) and we get a touch 
 of how it affects him. He is no scoffer, and I have 
 noticed a strong effort in several of his papers at 
 manly fairness and extended sympathy. He is a true 
 man, a real worker, and in good earnest " up to his 
 light." I believe the candle he works with is rather 
 snuffy (from a Methodist point of view). Let us hope 
 it will enable him to find much and lasting treasure. 
 
 What a blessed thing the bigness of the world is, 
 and the completeness and isolation of its social circles, 
 wheel within wheel. Eugenie Guerin has her orbit, 
 and Emma Tatham has hers, and Matthew Arnold has 
 his. His coin passes in his own country. Kreutzers 
 won't pass in an English shop. If a traveller fresh 
 from China were to satirise his acquaintance Chang 
 Wing who lives in a small town somewhere up the 
 Yang-Tse-Kiang (you see what an array of Chinese 
 learning I can command in its proper place), no great 
 harm would be done anyway. He would have to 
 make it very funny in order to excite any interest ; 
 such is the power of distance mere removal. Let 
 Chang Wing come here and we will pull his pigtail for 
 him. I should like to know what a Chinaman's 
 " consciousness " is in respect of his pigtail. It must 
 be a great idea ; far more central than such as you 
 and I can realise. I daresay it is his honour, some- 
 thing to swear by, to make vows upon. When you 
 consider the solemn risks it runs (as for instance of 
 being tied to somebody else's pigtail), and how great a 
 purchase it would give to his enemy if he were to 
 catch hold of it, and what a dreadful thing it is when
 
 112 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 the hair seems as if it was going to pull your scalp off ; 
 I say, when you consider these things I believe they 
 will throw a new light on thoughtful minds. The 
 Chinese are a philosophic people. We, say " Hard 
 words breaks no bones"; I would venture to affirm 
 that the equivalent proverb with them is, " Hard words 
 pull no pigtails." 
 
 AT present I see nothing better to be done than 
 to have communion with friends. Some people may 
 think it would be better to write for the press. At 
 present I don't think so. What is lost in superficies 
 is gained in force. After a course of years it is very 
 probable that germs of thought, grown warm from 
 the heart, might ultimately be gathered, reset, and 
 regrown in a more permanent form. Even if not, why 
 need a man speak to a crowd if he has a little audience 
 who understand him and which he understands. A 
 man ought to have a strong call before he intrudes 
 into the region of literature in these over-pampered 
 days, when high public rewards ought to be given to 
 men who won't print their thoughts. What is the use 
 of arrows fired in the air in comparison of arrows shot 
 at a mark? Dissipation of thought, aimlessness, 
 multitudinousness, are some of the faults of our age. 
 It is the difference between the ballroom and the 
 homestead ; the one all sparkling and irritating, and 
 superficial and dangerous, the other all profound and 
 calm and healthful and mighty. To " study to be 
 quiet and to mind their own business " is one of 
 the first correctives the people of this generation need. 
 Why did the Saviour remain in obscurity for thirty 
 years ? Why did He choose one by one, two by two,
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 118 
 
 His humble disciples till they amounted to twelve ; a 
 small class for His esoteric teaching in Gethsemane 
 under the olives, where " He often went with His 
 disciples " and the seventy for a small congregation of 
 scholars ? Why did He so frequently complain of the 
 crowding, and long for and seek the desert, and take 
 moonlight rambles near the foxes' holes and the silent 
 nests in the palms ? He left us an example that we 
 might tread in His steps. There are many reasons 
 for all this when once it is fairly analysed. In every 
 efficient act there is the agent and the object ; and at 
 either end a thousand considerations show that to 
 make an act efficient certain conditions are necessary. 
 Christ knew this ; and when the multitude thronged 
 Him He got Peter to thrust out from the shore to isolate 
 Himself and to command His audience. But when He 
 wanted to plant His kingdom He carefully grafted in 
 the hearts of Peter and James and John those living 
 words which after His death were brought to their 
 remembrance by the Holy Ghost. How personal He 
 was. He loved Lazarus and Mary and John. He 
 took a strong vehement interest in Peter, and followed 
 him with love, and pity, and prayer ; and He said to 
 Thomas, " Beach hither thy hand," so that Thomas said 
 " My Lord and my God." 
 
 When Mahomet got one convert thoroughly made 
 it was a great step. It was then Mahomet and Co. 
 
 To HIS WIFE. 
 
 EUSEMERE, 5th July 1863. 
 
 LIFE seems to me to be wonderfully blessed and 
 
 i
 
 114 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 perfect (considering its necessary incompleteness until 
 the restoration of all things). All things fall so well 
 and suitably into their places that there is no want, no 
 vexatious craving for something we have not got. I 
 could scarcely wish to realise more on earth of an 
 earthly kind. All I wish is to increase the knowledge 
 of God and the sense of repose in Him as King and 
 Father, through his Son the Mediator by whom we 
 receive all satisfying gifts. 
 
 How much more simple Eeligion seems than it 
 used to do. I find it easier to believe the " faithful 
 saying." Freeing my mind of what is not to the 
 point of all doubtful controversies and idle reason- 
 ings I ask for the things I think I need. When 
 dark problems as to God's dealings with the World 
 occur to my mind, or those which relate to questions 
 of what is Eevelation or Inspiration, or how this and 
 that can be reconciled, or anything for which there is 
 only ?msettlement, and no data for settlement, I say 
 broadly, " Well, if the Bible is not true, I don't know 
 anything that is more so, and nothing so adapted to 
 what J want. I will therefore, till I get clearer views, 
 assume that it is true, and put it to experiment. If 
 it turns out not true, I shall be no worse off than those 
 who don't believe it. If it is true, then all will be 
 well. In the meantime, as a companion I have (so to 
 speak) picked up on the way of life, I have got to 
 love it for its strange suitability to my notions of how 
 man may use his powers to the best advantage ; and at 
 the lowest estimate, as far as I can judge for Man, 
 I think it would be a grand thing if its principles 
 could be realised. They come nearer to the right idea 
 of harmony and power and happiness and progress than
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 115 
 
 anything else I ever heard of. And so, as I said, in 
 the meantime I will make a Venture and run the risk 
 of my soul on this foundation." 
 
 9th July. 
 
 SITTING on a mossy stone by the lake, which is 
 glassy and calm. A man in a little boat with a dog 
 is rowing across, leaving a straight silver line ; a fish 
 leaps to a fly ; a few swallows dart over the lake with 
 an occasional chirp ; the sky is full of high gray 
 clouds. No cloud rests on the hills, which lie in 
 veils of shadow, soft and gray. The echo of children's 
 voices by the " Flush gate," and the report of an 
 echoing gun are heard now and then. It is pleasant 
 to see all this in your slippers and dressing gown, 
 which I am now doing. 
 
 How time rushes on ! It seems a short time 
 since I last sat here and saw these mountains and 
 waters, yet a year has gone. I feel increasingly 
 anxious that what remains of life should be used well. 
 If life be looked at from a pagan point of view, it 
 seems sad that Time should hurry away so fast, and 
 that youth should leave us, and life on the whole be 
 so short. Christianity alters all. This life is not the 
 only sphere of being. If the great objects of life be 
 fulfilled, who can mourn at the advance of life towards 
 its final blessedness ? Are these objects being fulfilled ? 
 I can't help frequently summing up my purposes and 
 pursuits. Of those of others I cannot judge. I don't 
 want to grind life away in a state of anxious slavery 
 to some mistaken conception of " Duty," but I can't 
 be content that life should be blank or aimless or even 
 feeble, though well-meaning. How can the greatest
 
 116 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 amount of force and compactness be given to life 
 without imposing burdens which are too heavy for it ? 
 On the whole I am obliged to believe that I am doing 
 what I ought to do, and that for the best part of my 
 life I could not well have done otherwise. 
 
 It seems one of the laws of life that the outer and 
 inner man should be compensatory to each other. 
 The young people here are full of life and animal 
 spirits, and those who are past middle age are not. 
 But who would exchange the quietness of the mind 
 and soul and its increasing light and wisdom for mere 
 spirits ? If we could have the two, life would be more 
 superficially agreeable. One's soul is, like those 
 mountains this morning, at times sunny and calm, but 
 with a broad blue haze over them. This mingling of 
 outward dimness with inward light and joy and rest 
 shows where we are, and makes the prospect of heaven 
 nearer and more precious. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 EUSEMERE, 23d July. 
 
 I HAVE been here three weeks, boating in a way so 
 masterly that if you had seen me pulling myself about 
 on the lake last evening it would have given you a 
 new respect for nautical life ; walking up fells, and 
 lying on turf among moorland blackfaced sheep, with 
 nice young ladies, and curlews and lapwings and grouse ; 
 sketching now and then, when driven by a sense of 
 duty ; reading more or less in the books' current in the 
 household, or which looked gamey enough to be pulled 
 out of the library. This place is a paradise for a 
 painter. Out of doors there are the mountains, among
 
 1863 LETTERS OF J.AMES SMETHAM 117 
 
 whom Helvellyn is king, and Catchedecam grand 
 vizier ; the lake, which has a large variety of aspects 
 in different weathers, smooth and glassy, with all the 
 firry woods reflected and the two masts of the yacht 
 clear under the keel, smoothly rippled when these 
 reflections are broken yet visible, roughly rippled when 
 no reflections are visible, rising in blue waves with 
 white " dogs " on their tops, or what Longfellow 
 christens " the white caps of the sea," leaden and 
 sulky when it seems out of humour and indifferent to 
 reflections or waves either, dark blue, cold and frown- 
 ing, or reflecting the frowning fells and dusky curtains 
 of cloud it has as many humours as a man and 
 woman put together. 
 
 Eouiid the low, large, slatey- looking house (de- 
 fended with a slate-like mail against the fierce south- 
 westers), over its solid stone wall, and with a porch 
 covered with roses and honeysuckle, a glass door open- 
 ing out of the dining-room to the lawn; the flower 
 beds, the sun-dial, the belt of birch and fir, the lake, the 
 mountains and the beyond (which on a moderate compu- 
 tation is at least 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 
 of English miles off). Eound and behind this is a 
 garden surrounded with stone walls and an orchard 
 where there is grass and apple trees, and down in the 
 depths and verging on the low pasture is a spreading 
 oak tree with a seat under it. 
 
 There is no fairer spoken tree 
 From here to Lizard Point. 
 
 There are what the people here call " rneedows " 
 and cornfields in the valley ; solemn but amiable cows ; 
 six or eight long-legged and unformed white and brown
 
 118 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 calves, who now and then, under a persuasion (produced 
 by secret influences from Dr. Cumming's works) that 
 the sky is falling, gallop wildly to get out of its way ; 
 turkeys gobbling with their broods ; cocks and hens and 
 ducks and chicks and pigeons pigeons who, like Metius 
 Curtius, leap into the gulf of the pie-dish for the good 
 of the community; a peacock, whose dark blue and 
 emerald and purple glories are enhanced by the white 
 wife, who walks where he walks, and who (between 
 you and me) treats him shamefully. I call her Lady 
 Cecilia Dreddlington (see 10,000 a Year, by S. 
 Warren, Master in Lunacy). She has all the airs and 
 all the neck and all the emptiness and all the exclusive 
 insolence of the bride of Tittlebat Titmouse, and I 
 despise her, not being an aristocrat myself (but don't 
 mention this, for she may have influence in high 
 quarters, and either do me a good or a bad turn). 
 
 Mr. Steward's library is ample and good, and it 
 contains Hildersheim's works in one dark volume 
 quarto, and on the sofa (it is the comfortablest sofa 
 within the four seas) in the back drawing-room I did 
 read certain chapters in it over my cigar, which I shall 
 keep in terrorem in case thou shouldst get uppish at a 
 dinner party, making a display of thy theology ; then 
 will I gently turn the tide of discourse to Hilders- 
 heim's works, which it is a moral impossibility that 
 thou canst ever have heard of. But if it should 
 happen that thou hast, I have yet a resource Salt- 
 marsh's Sparkles of Glory. 
 
 To HIS WIFE. 
 DUNOON, 2Qth July 1863 (Sunday morning, 3 A.M.) 
 
 THE exercise and novelty of yesterday (a review on
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SAIETHAM 119 
 
 the Clyde) were too much for me, although I felt in 
 good spirits all day, so that I cannot sleep, and I get 
 this little book and write rather than lie, revolving 
 vague thought. But for the want of freshness next 
 day an occasional wakeful night is a thing to be en- 
 joyed, and that it conies to most people now and then 
 is indicated by the verse : 
 
 If in the night I sleepless lie, 
 
 My soul with heavenly thoughts supply. 
 
 There is a verse, too, that I often wonder what is its 
 meaning : " Thou boldest mine eyes waking." There 
 is another : " Who giveth songs in the night." I have 
 found many pleasant and thankful trains of thought 
 filling my mind in the darkness, calm and equable 
 impressions of truth and a steady peaceful frame of 
 feeling, a sense of God and of salvation, a resting by 
 faith on His Word and Will, a thousand pleasant 
 memories of His grace, a persuasion of being where 
 He would have me be, and on the whole of doing 
 what He would have me do a life going in the right 
 track, enclosed within the bounds of the Church and 
 seeking its good and the good of the world. And this 
 without any supposition of merit, but with a clear 
 acceptance of mercy and strength in Christ. 
 
 So I thought I might as well record these feelings 
 instead of letting them pass. They are my habit 
 and experience under similar circumstances, and it is 
 pleasant to share them with you. It is this bond of 
 perfectness which has made our lives so happy, and 
 which will continue to do so while God spares if we 
 walk by the same rule and mind the same things.
 
 120 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 9th August 1863. 
 
 I HAVE been reading the newspapers a little. A 
 newspaper often depresses me ; it is so suggestive of 
 sin and sorrow. Yet a little reflection shows that 
 the close bringing together of things makes them seem 
 more frequent and dark than they are. My heart 
 bleeds at the things brought before the eye of the 
 mind. It reminds one of the description of the Lazar 
 House in Milton, shown to Adam by the angel as a 
 picture of the results of the Fall. My heart gets both 
 more firm and more tender. Every little child I see 
 touches me; and yet I can look on terrible things 
 with a steadier eye, knowing, as I do, that the world 
 is not left to itself, but has a King, who is its Ke- 
 deerner. I fly to Him, first for refuge, first for my 
 own sins, the burden of which, but for His love, would 
 be intolerable ; and then for comfort as to the world's 
 condition, but for Him so gloomy and hopeless. If I 
 don't go far in politics it is partly because, on the one 
 hand, it shows to the human mind such a web of 
 helpless confusion, and, on the other hand, I believe 
 that God sits on the waterfloods and reigns a King 
 for ever. To keep in my own little place, doing my 
 own work as well as I can, not taking the world's 
 burdens on me, where I can only talk and not help, 
 seems the best that can be for me. 
 
 Irreverent and empty twaddle about the nations 
 and their histories and fate, prognostications on small 
 data constantly overturned by events, partisanship 
 raging all seem very vain and idle, and always make 
 me think of the good old man who would never read a 
 paper, but said, " It shall be well with the righteous."
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 121 
 
 He returned from this pleasant Scotch visit to the Thomp- 
 sons of Dunoon by way of Edinburgh, visiting Abbotsford and 
 Melrose Abbey. 
 
 LEIGH, I5th Augitst 1863. 
 
 WALKING towards Platfold [his mother's home in 
 Lancashire]. A coat of yellow wash is over the cot- 
 tage. How I like to stop and look at the nest of 
 our family : the fields, the pool with its rushes and 
 flags, the old barn, and the willows and orchard trees ! 
 
 The Leigh that is, and the Leigh that was, are 
 two. The tide has washed over nearly all that is 
 connected with the past, and our family is blown like 
 thistle seeds here and there into new soil. It is a 
 consolation to think that all true and good things 
 remain the same. The God of our fathers who spake 
 to them in their cottage is our God, and speaks to us 
 at Stoke-Newiugton in the same still voices. This 
 grand unity of essence is entirely satisfying, binding 
 all the earth and all the heavens together. Time and 
 Death can only steal away accidental things from us. 
 
 The air is fresh and pleasant. I am just by Asher- 
 ton Bridge, with its broken lions and sphinxes, and 
 the pools choked with water-lilies, reeds, and rushes. 
 It seems as if one could never ponder long enough 
 among these old scenes old even to me; for in 
 1843, after painting at some portraits I was doing in 
 Leigh, I used to pace these very walks, and lean over 
 the gray bridge, looking at the lilies and reeds and 
 rushes, but with far more unquietude in my heart and 
 nature. Now every sound and sight is sweet and 
 refreshing. There is more beauty and meaning than
 
 122 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 I can fathom in all I see. I am filled with praise 
 and thankfulness. 
 
 After all, association has a great deal to do with 
 pleasure in nature. These level meadowy walks, with 
 their whispers of poplar and fir and willow, their 
 waving corn and rich grass, their distances of low 
 undulating hills, the dark green pools they call " pits," 
 with sword-sedges, bending bulrushes, and coating of 
 thin yellow weed here and there all that was here 
 before railways delights and soothes nie as Keble 
 intends his Christian Year to soothe the ear of the 
 Church. Perhaps it is a fancy that there is an affinity 
 of the frame with its native air. Be that as it may, 
 no air seems so balmy and sweet ; the pure breath 
 of thatched farms, quaint quiet gardens and fields 
 where Quietude herself might walk from morning to 
 evensong. 
 
 These " pits," with flapping lily leaves and trem- 
 bling rushes, are quite a feature of the scenery. 
 There is one in every hollow where a few fields meet. 
 Very often there are fish in them. 
 
 7th October 1863. 
 
 SPENT yesterday with Parker [Professor W. K 
 Parker]. Mansford was there. P. talked in generals 
 as long as he could abide, and then he gave us such a 
 furious storm of ornithological anatomy about a bird 
 that was an ostrich and a crocodile and a grouse and 
 a crane and a hen. Do you understand ? all of them 
 together, each of them separately, and was going to 
 be published in eight quarto plates, exquisitely tinted, 
 the cartilaginous bones one colour, the solid bones 
 another. Do you see ? And Owen has put his foot
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 123 
 
 in it (crossing his in imitation of the mess that Pro- 
 fessor Owen is in executed on his own legs from 
 which I gather that Professor Owen is just like this, 
 as near as I can make out) ; and 
 [Here is a drawing of as to the " crocodile bird," why 
 
 Professor Owen with . . 
 
 legs crossed and re- that is a net, you perceive, but not 
 
 crossed ending in a g p ^ out> j t j g a net a]1 j n a 
 diminishing tail of r 
 
 crossings.] lump, the reticulations crossing 
 
 (like Professor Owen's legs) through 
 countless ages. It is evident that Professor Owen's 
 legs are in a mortal twist, and it is impossible that he 
 can ever stand upright again ; and so, as I was saying, 
 there is no doubt that the reptilian character of this 
 bird and its intricate relations to the " mound-makers" 
 birds that peck their way out of the shell and dig 
 their way out of the dunghill is also established. 
 Beside this now look here ! there are three (grin) 
 distinct (shakes finger) 'bony, bony plates (ready pre- 
 sent) on each side of the spino-occipital-basis (fire !), 
 and Professor Owen I'll tell you what it is that 
 man rather than confess an error would build up a 
 hollow system (get his legs more and more twisted). 
 Well, he says there are only two \ \ (Stare, Boswellian 
 pout, solemn appealing look, first at Mansford then at 
 me ; Mansford horrified, I express by a shocked look 
 the sentiment, " like his imperence"). 
 
 This is good fun, but it is really grand to listen to 
 P., even when one only catches glimpses of his sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Walking, LORDSHIP ROAD, 16th October 1863. 
 
 THE sun shines out on the glistening roads ; the 
 wind blows warm and soft ; the mere ripples under its
 
 124 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 influence ; a gentleman has got leave to fish in it. 
 There is a sweet remote white cottage with a verandah 
 seen across it, which can only be approached through 
 fields. Lordship Eoad looks hollow and woody, like 
 some country roads near parks. You like open, un- 
 bounded scenes ; so do I sometimes. But generally I 
 cleave to seclusion shelter. The most limited scene 
 supplies me with ample material for Thought and 
 Imagination. Wide scenes overwhelm me with mul- 
 titude and suggestion. So I like a glade a meadow 
 nook with an oak tree " an odd angle of the isle," 
 
 A rose tree blowing 
 In a green island far from all men's knowing, 
 
 Arnheim or the mystic lake where Fenimore Cooper 
 lays the whole scene of one of his Mohican stories, 
 
 The dim tarn of Auber, 
 The misty mid-region of Weir. 
 
 llth November 1863. 
 
 EEAD a chapter or two in David Copperfield. Mr. 
 Micawber fills me with wholesome terror; not that, 
 like him, I ever expected, in his sense, anything to 
 " turn up," but because I see that all " being behind- 
 hand" has a fatal quality about it. I never saw this 
 as I see it now, because I never saw any danger of 
 my being behindhand. I used to feel sure that Work 
 must bring reward. So it does, as I experience, in 
 the long-run. But I have seen that attempt after 
 attempt may be made in vain. That vague abstrac- 
 tion, Society, which Mrs. Micawber scolds and Mr. M. 
 defies, is, I see, an impregnable thing so long as it is 
 looked at in the abstract. There is both Justice and
 
 1863 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 125 
 
 Mercy in the world if you come into contact with 
 those who have them. Kindness and Help there are 
 also, or " Society" would have trampled me under 
 long ago. 
 
 Nov. 12. I'll just tell you what it is, women's 
 opinion about women's beauty is just worth nothing. 
 They haven't the least idea how women look to the 
 other sex, and just as little of how they look in the 
 abstract. This disparaging remark arises out of your 
 criticism of my picture women. But, at the same 
 time, it causes me to review that subject. My first 
 observation is, that every painter has had, and has, 
 his favourite style of face, and it is always peeping out 
 in his works. Raffaele, M. Angelo, Titian, Perugino, 
 Eossetti, Millais, Frith. This comes from his notion 
 either of beauty, or what he likes. A painter won't 
 do what he doesn't like, even though others may call 
 it beautiful. And whatever type he chooses, there 
 will be six out of ten who will not like it, and four 
 will pronounce it " ugly." Also, another thing : an 
 artist makes his first sketch often from his nearest 
 model, and seldom effaces his first impression, even 
 though he consult subsequent models. The great 
 difficulty of procuring models is certainly the root and 
 ground of most of these similarities. It is said of 
 Perugino that he was miserly, and when he had paid 
 a model to sit, he used up the sketch as often as he 
 could, to save trouble and expense. Professional 
 models, as Etty used to say, " take a good deal of the 
 gilt off the gingerbread." 
 
 I muse deep on my painter course, not that I am 
 in any doubt or perplexity, for I think I have found 
 a footpath through the forest.
 
 126 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 I feel a stirring of far greater powers than will 
 ever find their earthly development. You will be 
 more likely to believe this than most people (besides 
 it is not said to " most people," and they have nothing 
 to do with it), and it is one of the things with which my 
 religion and philosophy have to do battle. I can 
 throw light on it by some analysis of Leslie's course. 
 Leslie was the type of a painter, pure and simple. 
 What did it cost him ? It cost him all his time. He 
 did not profess to be a scholar. He read Shakespeare, 
 Smollett, etc., Goldsmith, Cervantes, Addison, the 
 Bible. All his subjects were got out of these. His 
 first picture was exhibited when he was twenty-three, 
 " Sir Eoger de Coverley going to Church." His last 
 of any vigour was, " Sir Eoger de Coverley in Church," 
 and all the interval was a placid seclusion among 
 those few authors, expressing out of them by constant 
 reading a few, very few, subjects from each ; and on 
 this foundation all his labours were built. If you 
 don't know it, you will be surprised to hear that a 
 good half of his whole life work is at South Kensing- 
 ton. Including his heads (of any importance), I can 
 only mark fifty-six pictures which deserve the name 
 of serious effort. He painted duplicates of the prin- 
 cipal ones, but here no invention was required. He 
 lived to be sixty-five. Including small portraits, he 
 painted about 120 pictures in forty mature years : 
 three per year, but most of them small. The time 
 was not bestowed on mere finish ; it was absorbed in 
 the action of consummate Taste and Judgment. On 
 the floor of the picture, " The Dinner in Ford's house," 
 there are about half a dozen small flowers scattered. 
 It is recorded that for these flowers there are sheets
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 127 
 
 on sheets of studies in water-colours of flowers from 
 nature. That was his life's work. He wrote three or 
 four mild books mild, prudent, unselfish books in 
 which, even in the autobiography he scarcely men- 
 tions his own work, so we know little about him. He 
 strolled half an hour in the garden before breakfast, 
 gathered a flower in flower time, and painted all day. 
 In the evening he either read by his fireside, or talked 
 to a friend who " liked pictures," or went to see one 
 who did, or who had good pictures. If a man didn't 
 like pictures, he didn't care two pins for him. He was 
 always in low water as to money ; most of his life in 
 debt. He had a few good friends, Lord Egremont 
 particularly. Lord E. would like him because Leslie 
 was must have been a gentleman of the old school, 
 honourable, quiet, simple, undemonstrative, tasteful. 
 Also Mr. Sheepshanks. Now I heard Mr. Sheepshanks 
 say, and he said it to me, " Yes, poor fellow, I used to 
 have him to dinner on a Sunday, and his wife and 
 children. He had to work hard enough, for he had a 
 large family. When I bought that picture (a child, 
 Leslie's own, drawing a cart in a garden), he said, ' If 
 you'll take this, I'll never draw trees any more,' for," 
 added Sheepshanks, " his trees were very bad indeed." 
 I used to see Leslie at RA. lectures and soirees. 
 He was a little, dry, prosaic-looking man with short 
 black hair over his forehead, and like a country shoe- 
 maker in his best clothes. 
 
 SCENE IN LESLIE'S STUDIO 
 
 on a cold winter evening with a fire, which he keeps 
 poking to brighten. 
 
 He is quite restless, and has been all the afternoon.
 
 128 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1863 
 
 He pokes his lips out and stares, with the poker in 
 his hand. He makes a grimace at the corner of the 
 ceiling in an abstracted manner, and then heaves a 
 great sigh and blows like a porpoise. Then he ruffles 
 his forehead into a ploughed field by elevating his 
 eyebrows as far as they will go, gapes like a fish, and 
 goes into a cataleptic stony stare at a hot coal. He 
 does, in fact, what thoughtful people do when they 
 are threatened with an execution in the house. What 
 is it all about ? I'll tell you as if I saw it. He is 
 thinking whether he had better put that bit of white 
 flower under the tablecloth in the picture of " The 
 Dinner at Ford's house." One would think, to see 
 his light and airy touch, that he had flitted over his 
 pictures like a swallow. Oh dear ! the mouth of Mrs. 
 Page, the lady in black and amber, with her charming 
 laugh, would cost days of watching, and musing, and 
 fidget, and alteration. 
 
 Nov. 13. I fall back on this truth, that, after all, 
 the greatest thing about a picture is its Conception 
 the Thought of it. If this be sufficiently conveyed, 
 the highest of all its purposes is served. 
 
 6th December 1863. 
 
 I WOKE up to a pleasant fact as I sat reading this 
 evening, viz. that J. F.'s pleasure in art is having a 
 good stimulating influence on me, just as on a larger 
 scale Schiller had on Goethe. I seldom see a thing at 
 once : I wake up to it, and then it becomes a strong 
 idea. My life for twenty years has been so locked in 
 that I have been actor and audience both, and though 
 I know quite well that through my etchings and a few 
 pictures I have been gaining the rudiments of a circle
 
 1863 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 129 
 
 where my life is felt, no one scarcely has come near to 
 me with any of the instinctive, love of what makes my 
 intellectual life-work. Davies does, certainly; but I 
 have seen him too seldom to get that salt-freshness of 
 stimulus. The Eossettis and Euskins I dare not, much 
 as I admire them, go often to. J. F.'s visit on Mon- 
 day put this into my head his rooting among the 
 sketches and curiosity to find some new " study." 
 This sort of interest has just the kind of temporary 
 incitation that is needed in a studio. There is some 
 danger of becoming too much isolated, for although 
 my range of study has embraced literary aims, I never 
 intended nor intend to ally myself with literature and 
 so confuse my life. I am a Monumentalist, an artist 
 in an original field (a field where you can see over the 
 hedge into literature and morals and religion). From 
 my chosen position I don't intend to move. It is per- 
 fectly suited to me, to my power, to my tastes, to my 
 habits. I have no need to look beyond it. I don't 
 say I will do no pictures in the ordinary sense, because 
 I will; but my speciality will be Idylls in Oil. And 
 all I ask is current stimulus and undisturbed leisure 
 to produce them. 
 
 28th November 1863. 
 
 HAD a turn at Leslie's pictures yesterday, rummag- 
 ing over them with the catalogue and making notes of 
 all the details. In my opinion there is scarce a modern 
 painter like him. Mere finish, smoothing up of hands 
 and faces, even with the floral colour of Mulready, con- 
 sidering the enormous labour it takes, is nothing to 
 the salt-breezy life of Leslie's indications. Instead of 
 attempting a close deceptive imitation he thinks in 
 
 K
 
 130 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1864 
 
 delicious touches of oil colour, and with a handling so 
 refined and piquant as makes even Mulready seem 
 dogged and laborious. I would rather have the in- 
 describable vigour of the slightly painted " Bourgeois 
 Gentilhomme," the racy " lunge " of the foil which 
 bends against his distracted breast wielded by his 
 maid-servant, than any single picture of Mulready's in 
 which you can't help getting entangled in the sweet 
 reflection that knuckles are pink and veins are blue, 
 and that emerald green and purple look very well 
 together. Leslie . sweeps all this away, and you brim 
 over with laughter at the poor terrified lumbering 
 affectation of the old gentleman who thinks it is the 
 thing " to fence," and the saucy spirit of the maid with 
 the broom, who, knowing nothing about " carte and 
 tierce," knows, nevertheless, like Bailie Nicol Jarvie, 
 how to strike home. What is called his want of 
 " colour " is for the most part mere disdain. He had 
 no boarding-school taste for pink and sea-green, and 
 believed the world of men and women to be a quiet 
 mixture as to colour. He was a Man painter, and not 
 one who matched tints with a snuffle. 
 
 To MRS. HALL. 
 
 January 1864. 
 
 TOOK down Tennyson ; glanced at the fly-leaf " J. 
 Smetham, 1843." That book has a charm for me 
 that no other book but the Bible has. It is like moon- 
 light and music and the shores of old romance and the 
 " light that never was on sea or land." I know by 
 heart, if not by spontaneous memory, every line of his
 
 1864 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 131 
 
 poems. The days of my youth are enfolded in their 
 scent, as the scent of violets hidden in the green. My 
 memory kindles over them; my blood runs more 
 quickly; my nerves thrill, and love and joy, even 
 through the dusky shades that in places hang over the 
 past, are recalled. The rabies for Tennyson has passed 
 with the public, but he has taken his immortal seat 
 among the poets. 
 
 AN Old Book, frail as it seems, is an awful thing. 
 It preserves its personal identity. Paper is more 
 unchangeable than stone. We have the very books 
 on which Henry of Huntingdon wrote and looked, and 
 the drawings upon which Eaffaele rested his hand; 
 but the drifting sand, and changing earth-mounds, and 
 crumbling stones, have really altered the very being of 
 scenery. Nothing remains but the latitude and longi- 
 tude. The eye walks the enclosures of an old book as 
 patiently as the feet traverse meadow and wilderness, 
 yet it remains for traveller after traveller to wander 
 in. At a cunning corner of the road, at the same 
 page, top or bottom, lies lurking the witty sentence 
 that relaxes every traveller's face into a smile, or the 
 pathetic lines that unlock the fountain of tears ; and in 
 years to come the traveller's eyes that come that way 
 will " weep there." 
 
 i 
 To T. A. 
 
 Smiday. 
 
 A TENDEK April morning opening the pores of the 
 nature and filling it with " all the fulness of the 
 Spring." All is easy and bland. Eeligiously, no 
 state is without its materials for fear. The service on
 
 132 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1864 
 
 Friday was so refreshing and soothing ; yesterday so 
 fine in the open air all day long ; to-day is so pleasant 
 and restful, that Mephistopheles is disposed to say, 
 " Upon my word, this is very pleasant work. I 
 thought religion was a sort of being crucified. It is 
 time to turn pious myself." This is really too bad. 
 Nothing pleases Mephistopheles (Mephistopheles is 
 Suggestor in Ordinary to one stronger than he and 
 darker). Talleyrand, Machiavelli, Ahithophel, are only 
 fragments of Mephistopheles. So I'm called to 
 consider whether what I suppose to be Divine Best is 
 the voluptuous apathy in which the men of Laish lay 
 when the sword brake in on them, " a bluidy, bluidy 
 ane." Still we ought not to be cheated out of our 
 comfort because Mephistopheles exhorts us to make 
 ourselves long-faced and miserable in order to show 
 that we are true men. Wisdom is justified of her 
 children. The Son of man came eating and drinking, 
 and they say, " Behold a gluttonous man and a wine- 
 bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners." John the 
 Baptist came neither eating nor drinking, and they 
 say, " He hath a devil." 
 
 To keep up the sacrifice of Praise and Prayer 
 among the violet banks, " stealing and giving odours " 
 while the spell of beauty lies on you, and the soft 
 west wind fills you with a tingling sense of immunity, 
 requires fresh baptisms of grace ; and to triumph in 
 Christ over joy and prosperity is as difficult as over 
 grief and pain. 
 
 GREEN ST. GREEN. 
 
 ONE simple attribute of Place, true of course of 
 Cheapside, but more impressive in the deep country
 
 1864 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 133 
 
 is peculiarly solemn. A Place has its solitary entity ; 
 just as a soul has. There is that bend in the road, 
 for example, where the cottage stands, "built in 1705" 
 (when Queen Anne, Queen Anne, she sat in the sun !) 
 Well, that bend in the road is only seen at the bend. 
 You must go to it, as David to his tost child, it won't 
 come to you. There, under all solar and astral aspects; 
 when snow loads the fir tree, or Autumn shakes the 
 brown corn in the ridge above it, it asserts its right to 
 locality, as the soul to being. The latitude and longi- 
 tude are its own ; one speck of a globe with its own 
 right line that reaches some star vertical to itself, " 
 where and where ? " is a very important question. 
 The individuality of space is a touching element in the 
 Universe. 
 
 To THE REV. M. C. TAYLOR. 
 
 SINCE portraiture went down, it has taxed my wits 
 to the utmost to till the more poetic side of my calling. 
 Parnassus was ever barren, I suppose ; only if a man 
 by circumstances is left high and dry on it he must get 
 what he can out of it. I have to keep hold by 
 correspondence as well as by painting of a great 
 many threads ; first this, then that, and by this means 
 get along somehow; but it leaves me often devoid 
 both of time and energy to have the converse I should 
 like with even my best friends. I sometimes feel 
 ludicrously like a street musician who plays drum and 
 bagpipe, pan's pipe, and cymbals all at once with 
 mouth, fingers, elbow, and knees. It is a good thing 
 that it answers somehow, and that people throw pennies 
 enough out of the window to keep us all alive.
 
 134 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1865 
 
 To HIS BROTHER. 
 
 IQth February 1865. 
 
 NOTHING can be more enchanting than the method 
 of study which I have practised for nearly twenty 
 years. Whatever it may be for others, for an artist it 
 is a glorious way : 
 
 (And now they never meet in grove or green 
 But they do Square.) 
 
 You must therefore fancy that almost every morning 
 somewhere between 9 and 1 1 A.M. I am " squaring " ; 
 not like Tom Sayers, but otherwise. For example, 
 this is a scribbly little square [drawing] containing a 
 meditation on vers. 36, 37. What a great deal is 
 implied in the words " having land." And here is 
 " the Son of Consolation " pacing his (paternal ?) acres, 
 
 the Cyprian fields, thinking of . Did he never 
 
 wander there like Isaac with his hands behind him 
 musing at eventide ? 
 
 If you suppose every fragment to be " squared " 
 on this principle, and the square to grow a little at 
 every recurrence to it, and sometimes to get faint hues 
 of colour that deepen into a miniature picture at last, 
 you have a notion of the shape my meditations take. 
 I call it Monumentalism, i.e. instead of letting ideas 
 die I build to each a lasting monument. The effect 
 the mental effect is surprising, though I use it most 
 of all for Bible work. 
 
 To T. A. 
 EVERY sentence penned in letter or ventilator, every
 
 1865 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 135 
 
 " square " embodying some new discovery of Divine or 
 Human fact, is something rescued from the rush of 
 Oblivion. 
 
 " He being dead, yet speaketh." A man ought 
 to contrive, as far as may be, to embalm his life 
 so that it shall last when the body is gone to 
 dust. The question is not whether he can give 
 new thoughts, but right thoughts echoes of truth 
 where there would otherwise be no thoughts. He 
 was a reflective man who carried a sponge to fight 
 the Devil with. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 IQth February 1865. 
 
 BEAD after dinner Haydon's lecture on Wilkie. 
 That lecture comprises much of the bitter truth which 
 seems to make any labour or trouble light, that 
 enables a man to find the happy middle way so next 
 to impossible to find in Art. It has been found by a 
 few, and ought to be sought by many more. Wilkie, 
 after painting the " Blind Fiddler," was suddenly 
 placed on the pinnacle of fame, and Haydon graphically 
 describes the effect. The older men of influence were 
 incensed, and sought high and low for a rival to pull 
 Wilkie down. They found a sort of rival in Bird of 
 Bristol, and then glided in and out among patrons as 
 snakes glide. Sir G. Beaumont was " fond of a new 
 genius," and Fuseli the painter asked in a hoarse 
 whisper of Haydon, " what Sir George thought." He, 
 Sir George, was to Art, what " the Eulers " were to 
 Religion of old. Then they advised Wilkie, who was 
 humble, and timid, and modest, and diligent, next
 
 136 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1865 
 
 Exhibition to withdraw his picture, lest Bird's should 
 floor it, or as the phrase goes, " kill it." Wilkie was 
 humble and sensitive enough to comply. Then the 
 Eulers trampled on him the more : said he was afraid 
 of contest with Bird. Then, affecting a pity for him, 
 they got the Prince Eegent to buy Bird's picture and 
 to order a pendant to it from Wilkie, as if Wilkie were 
 make-weight to Bird. Then Haydon found Wilkie 
 lying on his sofa, almost dying, with the prayerbook 
 in his hand, and gasping for breath. Then followed 
 illness, fever, slow restoration, life-long liability to 
 disease. 
 
 The force of this can only be felt by those 
 capable of estimating the art of Bird and Wilkie. 
 Says Haydon, " I date my disgust at the mean 
 passions of the Art from this moment. The 
 ecstasy, the fears, the hopes, the prophecies, that 
 Wilkie would be done for, are not to be expressed, 
 or understood now, after so many years ; but I 
 witnessed all." 
 
 It is true that Haydon quarrelled like a madman 
 with these things, and ruined himself ; and he saw no 
 medium between what he called the " toadyism " of 
 Wilkie, and his own rampant rebellion against the 
 world as it is. 
 
 But if he be not greedy of fame or gain, and he 
 have ability. There is a medium between servility on 
 the one hand and uproar on the other. 
 
 Such a victory has been gained by old Linnell, 
 the true patron and friend of Blake, when he, Linnell, 
 had little to spare. 
 
 I should like to throw a bouquet to old Linnell, 
 who defied the Academy, and the dealers, and the
 
 1865 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 137 
 
 public, and everybody else by work and waiting, 
 though the snow of age was beginning to fall on his 
 summit before it was seen that his crest was higher 
 than that of others. 1 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 THE other day I met a scholastic prosaic man who 
 said, " Now I should like to know what Tennyson 
 meant by 
 
 Spinning for ever down the ringing grooves of change. 
 
 A friend of mine did ask him, and he said, ' It was to 
 be understood figuratively, it was an ideal expression.' 
 Humph ! Now I should like to know what sort of 
 an explanation that is ! " 
 
 I would hazard a conjecture, however, at this 
 distance of time. Did you ever see tenpence spilt 
 on a jetty, chiefly in ha'pence ? The tenpence is 
 " change," without a doubt. Many of the ha'pence 
 would " spin " on the planks, and " ring " in the 
 " grooves " or open spaces between them. Let the 
 great world change its positions and aspects as 
 frequently as these coppers change their positions 
 and their aspects. " Let " it ; what then ? Why 
 not ? Avast ! 
 
 If now you give your Captain Cuttle's hook a wave 
 in the air, and cock your eye on the horizon, it seems 
 
 1 Mr. Linnell paid a high tribute of respect to the writer of these 
 letters, in that he wished him to be his literary executor and biographer. 
 This, however, James Smetham did not feel himself at liberty to 
 undertake.
 
 138 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1865 
 
 to me you are out of your difficulty as completely as 
 you are ever likely to be. 
 
 The following is a letter from Eossetti : 
 
 16 CHEYNE WALK, 1\st November 1865. 
 
 MY DEAR SMETHAM Thanks for your letter of the other 
 day, which is very interesting, and lets me into much concern- 
 ing you. I am afraid you will think no better of me for 
 pronouncing the commonplace verdict that what you lack is 
 simply ambition, i.e. the feeling of pure rage and self-hatred when 
 any one else does better than you do. This in an ambitious 
 mind leads not to envy in the least, but to self-scrutiny on all 
 sides, and that to something if anything can. You comfort 
 yourself with other things, whereas art must be its own comforter 
 or else comfortless. 
 
 I will hope to see you to-morrow to dinner at six. After 
 which we will go to Scott's, and you remember I have a bed for 
 you ; and am meanwhile and ever, my dear Smetham, very sin- 
 cerely yours, D. G. ROSSETTI. 
 
 And do please kindly let more distant forms be dropped on 
 both sides, being, as we are, almost ten-year-old friends. 
 
 To HIS BROTHER. 
 
 WENT on Thursday to the Portrait Gallery at South 
 Kensington the third and last assemblage, and con- 
 taining the whole semblance of our era. Among other 
 records is the very portrait of Cowper's mother to 
 which he wrote the lines so well known, " that those 
 lips had language," etc. a most affecting record. 
 There are seventy portraits by Sir T. Lawrence : the 
 great -Duke in his fresh prime, who used to take his 
 sittings at 7 A.M., a picture retaining somewhere the 
 last touch of " the vanished hand," as when Lawrence
 
 1865 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 139 
 
 said, " There, that will do now," strikes strangely on 
 the senses and intellect and heart. Men taken in 
 their prime, who were afterwards seen in their decay, 
 and now not seen at all how strange is the arresting 
 process ! Sir John Moore bade Lawrence " good morn- 
 ing," and went to Corunna, and was " buried darkly 
 at dead of night." Castlereagh made his bow and then 
 destroyed himself; but there are no traces of these 
 subsequent histories in the silent canvases. There are 
 four pencil drawings of Lamb, Coleridge, Southey, 
 Wordsworth (when Coleridge was 23) for Cottle of 
 Bristol Coleridge with white hair, by Phillips, and 
 also (with a cathedral window) by Washington Allston, 
 and in both cases with a snuff-box. There is Tom 
 Moore by Lawrence, small, smart, wonderfully painted, 
 and Campbell by Lawrence, and Byron by Phillips. 
 In Byron's Journal there is this entry : " Sat to Phil- 
 lips for faces." Here is the " faces " as fresh as ever, 
 and where is Byron ? There is Phillips himself with a 
 cloak over his shoulder, very gentlemanly. I remem- 
 ber as a young man Phillips's kindness to me. It 
 determined me to stay in London and study at the 
 Academy. How these links move one ! A gallery 
 like this with sufficient knowledge is more enchanting 
 than an Arabian night. There is a drawing of Arthur 
 Hallam, as a boy of 1 6, by the side of his father that 
 is to say, the pictures are side by side. 
 
 Blest be the art that can immortalise. 
 
 And what a comfortable proverb is that : "A cat may 
 look at a king." Here are awful warriors and sages 
 and poets and judges who would make you shake in 
 your shoes, and yet you may poke your nose within
 
 140 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1866 
 
 an inch of their faces. As dependable likenesses how 
 vastly superior are all since Hogarth to Lely and 
 Kneller, and indeed to Vandyke in some respects. 
 Lawrence beautified his subjects, but he sought out 
 the most trifling " modellings " in his faces and fixed 
 them for ever. The ordinary portrait-painters of our 
 era give us what may be reasoned upon. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 21st May 1866 (Monday, 8 P.M.) 
 
 IT is not often on week days that I can follow up 
 any serious thoughts with the pen. All my wit is 
 taxed to cut and contrive for current work, and any 
 leisure is only good for a bit of recreation and a joke 
 or two to keep one's spirits up. 
 
 Dickens, in a bright speech as chairman at the 
 dinner of the Newspaper Press Fund yesterday, gave 
 a graphic description of the romantic toils of the re- 
 porter; but these compared with his subsequent ones as 
 literary inventor were light. To any man of health and 
 pluck mere action and energy are delightful. I never 
 could much value a man for being merely " a scholar," 
 for it is so easy if a man wills to become one. He has 
 but to sit all day eating books. A far different thing 
 is invention, especially invention by which you have 
 to live, which it requires the toil of months to produce, 
 and which yet a breath may blast. All the array of 
 fact to be at hand, and wielded under certain con- 
 ditions, subjected to delicate aesthetic laws, which are 
 not written on brass, but are like the airy music and 
 flying noises on Prospero's island so filmy and fine 
 and then exposed to the coarse and blustering air of
 
 1866 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 141 
 
 popular judgment. And this not at full leisure, but 
 on the rigid conditions of supply and demand, made to 
 turn out whether you will or no as the captive Jews 
 were buffeted and bid to sing "one of the songs of 
 Zion." " How can we sing in a strange land ? " said 
 they. " Anything else you like : tales, histories, car- 
 penter's and smith's work, fetching and carrying to any 
 extent ; but those delicate songs which we used to sing 
 in the height of Zion, warbling among the corn-lands 
 and the vineyards, don't ask us." 
 
 " No song, no supper," says the Babylonian ; " you 
 and your Jew's harp." 
 
 One wouldn't care so much if it comported with 
 one's views to become a mere David Eoberts or view- 
 taker. The penalty you pay for affecting invention is 
 to be taxed in all your powers and passions. No 
 doubt if you succeed you get some of the rewards of 
 repute, and when a man is hot set on that it is (as one 
 of the famous says) "purgatory to have, and hell to 
 want." 
 
 There is a way (which the vulture's eye hath not 
 seen) in which a man may pursue what the pursuers 
 of fame pursue, and yet find neither purgatory nor the 
 worst alternative ; but that secret path is the path of 
 increased toil and dizzy climbing. The man who, 
 while putting forth all his mental energy,, wishes to 
 find rest to his soul, must fight ten where the other 
 fights only one. But with this difference, that he is 
 sure to win. This is true. I believe some men have 
 as truly vanquished fame, as others covetousness or 
 pleasure. One is as hard as the other. One is as 
 easy as the other. Religion can so lift a man up that 
 the rains and floods can't shake his house. But even
 
 142 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1866 
 
 so much religion won't give a man leisure, though it 
 gives him peace. The world can't understand the 
 believer's life. With a worldling " drive " is either 
 distraction or pain or oblivion. Not so with the be- 
 liever. He may be " pressed out of measure beyond 
 strength," but he is at rest. " Ye shall find rest unto 
 your souls." 
 
 Got your ventilator fresh as buttercups. " One 
 word at or near the spot is worth a whole cartload of 
 recollections " (Gray the poet). 
 
 Others apart sat on a hill retired 
 In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high 
 Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, 
 Fix'd fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute, 
 And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 
 Of good and evil much they argued then, 
 Of happiness and final misery, 
 Passion and apathy, and glory and shame : 
 Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy ; 
 Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm 
 Pain for aivhile, or anguish, and excite 
 Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdured breast 
 With stubborn patience, as with triple steel. 
 
 To those -who know God one of the most saddening 
 sights is these groups of dreamers on the hillsides, 
 seen from the vale of humble love. 
 
 As opium laps the votary of it in Elysium, so, 
 exactly so, Thought sustains the thoughtless. They 
 stick thought about them as a dignity and adornment, 
 as the idiot sticks the peacock's feather in his wispy, 
 tangled hair. One would think they would wake 
 sometimes and see things rightly through the misty 
 gaps in their dreaming and go wild, or be like Bel- 
 shazzar when he saw the hand on the wall. Perhaps
 
 1866 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 143 
 
 they do sometimes. Perhaps, at some new sweep of 
 the endless " mazes," they call out in the lonely deserts 
 or frightful hollows of the monstrous hills where there 
 is none to hear, when the whole air hurtles with un- 
 certain noises and the earth vibrates with the tread of 
 gigantic footsteps, and the eyes strain with " fearful 
 lookings for." 
 
 But in the main it is not so. "Pleasing sorcery," 
 " fallacious hope," " stubborn patience," these are the 
 workings of the Circean cup of Pride and Thought. 
 The calmest of men are these placidly obdurate. 
 
 When a man is full of opium you may shake him 
 rudely, but he is not provoked. Whether in the body 
 or out of it he cannot tell ; he is beyond vulgar haul- 
 ing. De Quincey made attempt after attempt to 
 recover himself out of the snare of opium, but the 
 deep-rooted fascination was too much for him, and 
 though the dreams became darker and vaster, and the 
 awaking to the cold drizzle of life more intolerable 
 month by month, he was led downward by the spell 
 such as you see Burne Jones illustrating in the Old 
 Water-colour Society's Exhibition, where Merlin can't 
 help himself, though the lid of the sepulchre rises 
 to admit him, then to seal him safely for ever and ever. 
 
 What set this fragment in motion, though, was this 
 reflection, that what makes religion vital is not the 
 stern proud thinkings about it ; it is the " drawing near 
 unto God"; it is the "coming boldly to the Throne of 
 Grace." It is a humbling thing for the little Rotifer, 
 with his two little wheels of Thought and Imagination 
 creating his little currents and finding his food in the 
 vortex he makes, to realise his place in the universe. 
 The Eotifer and the "Great Thinker" who will not
 
 144 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1866 
 
 draw nigh to God seem a pair. He makes a stir 
 among the Rotifera, and is the fear and dread of the 
 Polygastri something or other ; but that is his reward, 
 his " be-all " although not his " end-all." The Rotifer 
 has the best of it. He is in his place, doing his happy 
 little whizzing duty. He lives in God. He reveals 
 God. He proclaims God to all who gaze and see his 
 wheels at work. But the other one has unmoor'd him- 
 self. He goes about bullying the Poly-ceteras for tlie 
 time leing. He has the best of it in his " pleasing 
 sorcery," " fallacious hope," " stubborn patience " ; yes, 
 the best of it among the Poly-what's-their-names ; but 
 then the whole organic relations are not yet brought 
 to the test the time of the end has not yet come. 
 The Rotifer that is now making vortices in the north- 
 west bay of a teaspoon may find himself somewhere 
 else in a hundred years. Fancy a Rotifer who in one 
 year is on terms with the inhabitants of a teacup being 
 removed in time out of sight, out of mind, into some 
 unsounded dark depth of the Pacific, where we can't 
 follow him or watch him ! 
 
 Men live as if they were in the hands of the pre- 
 sent, and as if they bore no fixed relation to a whole. 
 He publishes his quarto or duodecimo, and it is cir- 
 culated by tens of thousands, and he thinks he has 
 done it. But he has only done a little bit of it 
 whirled his wheels, made his vortex, swallowed the 
 Polys that happened to be in the nor'west bay of the 
 teaspoon. But he'll be caught alone some day ! 
 
 ABOUT Stothard, I want to know why "They" 
 didn't buy up his work and croodle over it a little 
 sooner ? why they let him have an execution in his
 
 1866 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 145 
 
 house in Newman Street ? There goes the calm, 
 seedy, philosopher-looking old man, walking for hours 
 with his sketch-book, and getting life from the fresh 
 air, and knowledge from the hedges and from the 
 passing incidents of being, and then he plants himself 
 with one foot on the rail of his easel till it is worn 
 through, and does things for 30s. that fetch 20 guineas 
 now that he can't know about it. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 SOUTHPORT. 
 
 THE dwelling on any subject of study is very calm- 
 ing and soothing. I am at present on the Epistle to 
 the Hebrews. The great difference of such a subject 
 from all others is that all the interests of Time and 
 Eternity are wrapped up in it. The scrutiny of a 
 title-deed to 100,000 a year is nothing to it. How 
 should it be ? Is there a Christ ? Is He the Heir of 
 all things ? Was He made flesh ? Did He offer the 
 all-perfect sacrifice ? Did He supersede the old order 
 of priests ? Is He the Mediator of a new and better 
 Covenant ? What are the terms of that Covenant ? 
 There are no questions like these. They raise, in 
 their very investigation, the whole soul into the Em- 
 pyrean. All other interests seem low, trivial, petty, 
 momentary. How needful to search the Scriptures to 
 see " if these things are so " ! Certainly the God of 
 Truth desires us to receive nothing that is not in 
 accordance with the clearest reason, nor to render any 
 but a " reasonable service." I am astonished, too, at 
 the imperative tone of this Epistle, and the element 
 of holy scorn against those who refuse to go into 
 these great questions carefully. The Voice seems to 
 
 L
 
 146 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1866 
 
 shake the heavens and the earth in order to establish 
 in the hearts of the obedient the kingdom that cannot 
 be moved. 
 
 The effect of a more detailed study of such an 
 Epistle is not to be enough set forth. It is as the 
 difference between a well-constructed but breathless 
 body, beautiful and strong, and the same body when 
 the breath of life comes into it. It gazes, it speaks, 
 it moves with ease, simplicity, and power ; it is warm, 
 glowing, attractive, influential at every pore. It is 
 mighty through God. It arises and stands upon its 
 feet. Now, no one can describe the difference between 
 inanimation and life,, but the whole nature echoes 
 loudly to it. " Because I live," says the Great High 
 Priest, " ye shall live also." 
 
 I only see more and more that dealing with 
 " Doubt" is dealing with a phantom changeable and 
 elusive as a writhing mist about an inaccessible crag. 
 
 " If we believe that Jesus died and rose from the 
 dead." How much hinges on this ! What step 
 behind the Veil can we take without this ? Is it 
 annihilation, or is it metempsychosis, or is it absorp- 
 tion into the Divine Nature if there be one ? Ask 
 all the ages, and you have just a dead silence of six 
 thousand years. You may fancy a ghostly laugh at 
 your perplexity, but it is all fancy. There is nothing so 
 distinct as laughter. It is all blank and world- wide 
 silence. There is a little dust before your eyes, and 
 that is all you know of the matter. 
 
 In Art, if a man says Titian cannot colour, or that 
 Danby's landscapes are not " poetic," Tm done. Some 
 folks would find pleasure in firing up, accusing the 
 objector of want of " soul," others would begin a
 
 1866 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 147 
 
 thesis, and refer to Burke on the Sublime ; but what 
 strikes me, even in Art, is the gigantic quantities to 
 be dealt with in discussion, their subtleties, and the 
 variable basis arising from capacity, knowledge, taste, 
 etc. Eandom hints, or mere syllogistic foiling, are 
 waste of breath and energy, and the discussion is a 
 matter of years and protracted study. 
 
 But to the believer in Danby all the persuasion 
 and settlement is there the data of "the poetic" 
 that dark pines cutting crimson horizons are poetic ; 
 that misty tarns with the purple evening departing 
 from them are poetic; or that Danby's pines and 
 Danby's tarns are so, if a hundred instances in which 
 pines and tarns are not so in other men's pictures, or 
 were not so in given circumstances in nature, were 
 cited. " No," says the cautious mind, " here is no 
 chance of coming to a conclusion ; too many things 
 to be stated, sorted, compared." Eossetti would grant 
 me at once the whole question, because at a glance he 
 sees the whole. Here is a man who does not, or will 
 not. No matter, let us turn the conversation. But 
 no ; he has new questions about the nature and value 
 of " authority." What if Rossetti agrees with you 
 about Danby ? Eossetti is not infallible, and Frith 
 thinks Danby's pictures " miserable." " Eossetti ? 
 where are his pictures to be seen ? Npw Frith 
 painted for the Queen and Eoyal Family, and is E.A." 
 
 Even in painting, the mere conception of disputa- 
 tion gives me a sense of being wholly addle-headed. 
 Yet Titian is a colourist, and Danby's pictures are 
 poetic; and those who say they are not are in a 
 quagmire. But those who understand Titian and 
 Danby didn't argue themselves up to it. They saw it
 
 148 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1867 
 
 at once, as soon as they clapped eyes on them. The 
 evidence came with a flood of clear light. 
 
 In perspective, now, it is otherwise. " I've only 
 this point short, I know all the rest." I say, " My 
 dear fellow, your very difficulty shows you don't know 
 the first principles." Here it is merely a matter of 
 time and attention, unless he deny data. "Hays of 
 light don't go in straight lines ; I've a right to my 
 opinion ; light is a fluid." 
 
 " But you must grant that they do." " I can't." 
 " Then, of course, we had better say Good morning." 
 
 But in Eeligion, it always seems to me that while 
 one simple, central, line of truth is so plain that peer, 
 ploughman, philosopher, child, may all see it and walk 
 in it, all but that one way is sheer morass, and argu- 
 ment is like trying to fill up a morass, or to pick one's 
 way across a bit of it. It gives at every point. 
 
 When Paul preached, he preached Jesus and the 
 Eesurrection ; he reasoned of Righteousness, Temper- 
 ance, and Judgment to come ; he told his own expe- 
 rience. Some believed and were saved ; some trembled 
 and delayed to obey ; some mocked ; some doubted ; 
 some contradicted ; some blasphemed. And that is a 
 summary of what is to be done, and what will happen 
 in regard to the gospel from age to age. 
 
 The following is a note from Mr. Ruskin, in answer to one 
 telling of the death of James Smetham's mother : 
 
 M March 1867. 
 
 DEAR SMETHAM Thank you for your note. I am always 
 glad to hear from you. You are happy in feeling that your 
 mother is " at rest" My father died this day three years ; but 
 I look when I pass, at the place where he lies as at a prison 
 from the blue sky and things he loved. I've had many a loss
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 149 
 
 since, of various kinds, too Deaths in life ; worse than Deaths 
 true. You are very happy in your peace. Ever affectionately 
 yours, J. RUSKIN. 
 
 To MRS. TAYLOR 
 
 WE have often to pay a high price for our best 
 blessings ; and how little it matters what the moment- 
 ary mood or aspect of affairs may be, if out of it 
 comes the true blessing knowledge of God's will in 
 higher degrees, and obedience to it, and rest in Him ! 
 What son is he whom the Father chastens not ? If 
 our own wisdom and wit and energy had to shape 
 things to a good end, we should in most cases be quite 
 at our wits' end ; but it is not so. A God of infinite 
 perfections has the whole of our lot in His hands, sees 
 the end from the beginning, knows how to adjust the 
 strain of trouble to our powers of endurance, sends 
 appropriate little mitigations of one kind or another, 
 like temporary cordials ; and by a long and wonderful 
 series of interventions, succours, and secret workings, 
 Jacob, who at one time said, " All these things are 
 against me," finds himself housed in Goshen, in the 
 land of light. In the training and discipline, par- 
 ticularly of the families of God's people, as we read 
 of it in biographies, hear of it in Church fellowship, 
 talk it over in private, how large and important a part 
 does trouble play ! 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 STUDIO, 11.20, 
 Saturday, 19th July 1868. 
 
 JUST going off to Hampstead Heath with the 
 children. It is my eldest boy's birthday, age 13.
 
 150 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Did I ever rave about the Eotifer to you I have 
 to others, I know but to you ? I think not. I will 
 to-day for a while if possible. Some folk want Whales, 
 Mammoths, Iguanodons, Behemoths, to rave about. 
 They won't rave under two tons. But being a 
 speck myself, my speculations are exhausted and over- 
 done, and carried out of soundings by a Eotifer. 
 
 7.45 P.M., Studio. That last paragraph was the 
 occasion of more than I thought, and it shows how the 
 events of our life may depend on the most casual 
 trifles. I wrote the last paragraph, put on my straw 
 hat, got ready to set off with the boys, got a little 
 sketch-book, lest it should be wanted, went out at the 
 side door, and just before opening the trellis gate felt 
 in my right waistcoat pocket for I really forget what, 
 but pulled out instead a scrap cut out of a paper 
 weeks ago, a little poem by Bishop Middleton. The 
 " ring " of the verse struck me, and my head being 
 full of the Eotifer, I got out the sketch-book, and on 
 the way to the rail, and in the railway carriage, and on 
 the heath, I wrote the poem which I shall now proceed 
 to publish by sending you a copy. 
 
 THE ROTIFER. 1 
 
 When, out in midnight's huge expanse, 
 
 Our gazing orbits stop 
 On galaxies in braided dance 
 
 The Sea becomes a drop. 
 
 But when, to microscopic ken, 
 
 Life's lessening gulfs lie free 
 The inverted wonder turns, and then 
 
 The drop becomes a Sea ! 
 
 1 A few copies of this were printed by a friend.
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 151 
 
 And look ! the tideless, shoreless deep 
 
 Translucent to the eye, 
 Is charged with vital shapes that keep 
 
 All forms of monarchy. 
 
 Behemoth of the small abyss, 
 
 With ribs of glass-like steel 
 The force which makes the kingdom hie, 
 
 Turns his colossal wheel. 
 
 And down a shining vortex slide 
 
 His helpless myriad prey, 
 Who gathered life from depths that hide, 
 
 Where none could search but they. 
 
 And yet, who knows ? even there the scale 
 
 Of downward life begins, 
 Where less leviathans prevail, 
 
 And lesser prey-wheel spins. 
 
 what is great and what is small, 
 
 And what the solemn bound 
 Of great and little, where the all, 
 
 The last of life is found ? 
 
 To Thee, the ONE the Infinite- 
 Is neither large nor less 
 
 Where thundering sun-stars sweep and light 
 The chasms of nothingness. 
 
 Or where, enclosed in globe on globe, 
 
 The lessening less descends 
 Majestic Being drops her robe, 
 
 And Life's last throbbing ends. 
 
 Great God ! whose day's a thousand years 
 
 Whose thousand years a day 
 Pity the doubts forgive the fears 
 
 Which vex me on my way ! 
 
 Why should I fear, who, wondering, see 
 
 Those deeps too small to view ? 
 The Power that made such life to be, 
 
 Makes life to feed it, too.
 
 152 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Remembered sparrows numbered hairs 
 
 Clothed lilies ravens fed 
 Enfranchised spirits ours and theirs, 
 
 The Living and the Dead. 
 
 Vast spheres of life dim shades of death 
 
 To-day and yesterday 
 The vault above the void beneath 
 
 Hark what their voices say 
 
 " No room for fear no place for care 
 
 That single eye can see 
 Opened by faith and purged by prayer, 
 
 And turned and fixed on THEE." 
 
 But that is not, after all, the direction of my proposed 
 " Eave about the Eotifer." That's not a " rave " 
 at all. " If I should intend Liverpool and land in 
 Heaven," said John Howe in regard to crossing from 
 Ireland, I intended Liverpool and got what will do 
 me and others good for How long ? 
 
 My Liverpool was a commercial idea, but the 
 course was devious like the voyage from Belfast. Did 
 you ever see a Eotifer ? If not, see one, and what you 
 will notice is this, that you will not only see a Eotifer 
 but see through one. 
 
 In some senses I'm a Eotifer. Some people are 
 cuttlefish hid in a cloud of sepia. A crocodile isn't a 
 Eotifer. Nothing less transparent, both in looks and 
 ways, than your crocodile. Eead in Baker about the 
 shameful conduct of the crocodile to the little birds in 
 the Atbara. But a Eotifer ? You see all his machinery, 
 you think he's a little fool. You do see all his 
 machinery, but he isn't a little fool. He isn't a little 
 fool because you see through him. The man whose 
 life is a game at chess, and who sits like Moritz
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 153 
 
 Eetzsch's " Satan playing for the Soul," may call him- 
 self " deep," and it sometimes answers : something 
 depends on the other player. There is a difference 
 between a player in deadly earnest and one who has 
 sat down to oblige a friend, meaning only a light 
 tilting, while the other has couched his unblunted 
 spear for " play," like those in Israel's day who 
 sported by the pool in Gibeah. At a point in the 
 devilish game the sinister eye pierces across the board 
 with " mate in six moves " (see Wendell Holmes on 
 this head). But to him the other (who has been partly 
 following his soft fancies down the stream and partly 
 keeping an eye on a trivial game) "What's that 
 eh ? in six moves don't quite see it. Check 
 check check mate ! " 
 
 However, I see I can't just now complete the 
 discourse. In gathering matter and impetus I've 
 overloaded the mule, as they did in Abyssinia, and he 
 has, in the open day, rolled right over the crag and 
 perished in the pool. 
 
 July 30. Look out in the Recorder for "The 
 Rotifer." The Editor kindly says the verses have 
 " cheered and stirred " him, and we're going to press. 
 The Lord make them serviceable to any poor clerk, or 
 artist, or farmer who doesn't know what's to become of 
 him and his missis and little Tommy and Esmeralda 
 Hann " if this weather continues." 
 
 I have seen lately what never struck me so closely 
 before, viz. that ventilation has been given me, as 
 horns to bull, hoof to ass, wheel to Eotifer. I only 
 see the full bearings now that we are upon a hill and 
 at a distance. I began it as a theatrical clown begins 
 his career, without any idea that he shall ever find it
 
 154 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 of account in getting a living. But the time rolls on. 
 He's much too flighty for the brewery, and " gets the 
 sack," after his marriage, too, to Mary the maid of the 
 inn. And they are starving in a garret as woebegone 
 as Marks' " Toothache in the Middle Ages," when all 
 of a sudden, his toothache is cured by a Thought ; " I'll 
 be a clown ! " Pale Mary thinks he's gone off his 
 head ; but no. Six weeks more and the " music from 
 the town, the murmurs of the drum and fife," are heard 
 by the Talking Oak, and now and then the clink of a 
 cymbal levigated by the breeze that sinks and swells 
 and blows " the sound of Minster bells " all round 
 and round its " towering top." The drum and fife is 
 the recruiting party. The music from the town is 
 Bulwer being chaired down High Street, and the 
 cymbal tone, the staccato, is the travelling theatre. 
 The dreamy noise invites the dreamy poet to the fair, 
 and there is the canvas pavilion, and Toothache with 
 his hundred jokes, and pale Mary crushed into beauty 
 by carmine, the tragedy Queen, whose part has been 
 pared down to suit her limited memory, most of what 
 the audience catch being " kyind ev-vin ! " and " her 
 babes " are in short frocks, and spangles and stomach- 
 ache. 
 
 The tragedy is worth all the money ; and yet it 
 would never draw if it were not for electrified 
 Toothache ! what spasms of effort does he make, 
 what twinges of wit, what darting, stabbing, throbbing 
 hits right and left, what climaxes of anguished 
 funniness, as if the doctor must have it out at once 
 and an end to it ! 
 
 Impassive and stolid crowd ! Why don't you walk 
 up, ladies and gentlemen, walk up ? Yes, here and
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAiMES SMETHAM 155 
 
 there the clever clown singles out a bashful young man 
 and draws attention on him, and, as it were, threatens 
 him out of threepence. Here a round-faced, burly, 
 white- whiskered squireen renders himself ridiculous by 
 mounting the steps, and brings tears from the Tragedy 
 Queen (who takes the money) by insisting on giving 
 her five shillings for his ticket : " No, really, Sir, the 
 chawge is only thrippence." " Well, that's threepence, 
 isn't it ? Are you blind ? " 
 
 " I've heered him say that afore," says Zachariah 
 Clod, " let's go an' have a shy at the cocoanuts." 
 
 The ground is exhausted and must be left in 
 fallow. No more fish in that pond ; no more food 
 for the Kotifer in that drop. "No wish to unpeg 
 the pavilion, no desire to move troublesome work 
 moving. Huggins's people are at the next town. 
 The villages about here don't pay horses are 
 hobbled caravan wants a wheel mending ; but it's 
 no use, Mary, we must go. Where's the soap ? I 
 wasn't made to wear red half moons on a face of flour, 
 was I, Mary ? Wasn't a painted buffoon when you 
 first knew me, was I ? 
 
 " There is kind people in the world, though Thomas 
 isn't there ? There's that gent as give five shillings 
 last Thursday, and I believe it was a liking for the 
 ligimit dramnur as much as anything. He couldn't 
 a' seen as we was in want of a meal's meat underneath 
 such a good colour as I always put over it, could he ? 
 And beside, he seemed on-struck when it come to 
 where the bloodthirsty tyrant ketches hold o' me and 
 says, ' Now you're mine mine ! ' The old gentleman 
 he outs with his pocket handkerchief and mops hisself 
 and actilly blubbers. I see it as plain as I see our
 
 156 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Billy amessing hisself with the coloured soap suds." 
 (After a pause.) " Thomas, Thomas, perhaps he's the 
 London Manager ! " 
 
 " Oh dear no ; no such luck." 
 
 Of course, this is the merest tornado of fancy, 
 making believe that there is a parallel between that 
 case and ours. 
 
 When the working power is low, and the Severn 
 murmurs over its pebbles, instead of rushing deep 
 over Sabrina and her train, then matters exaggerate 
 themselves into worse than that. 
 
 But still it is Founded in Fact. 
 
 The Squireen you will recognise ; but Squireens 
 like him are as one to a thousand. The Legitimate 
 Drama has but a poor chance where we are, and as 
 much depends upon Thomas Toothache, as on the 
 Mysterious Baron and the Wronged Beauty. So we 
 are tinkering our yellow wheel and sending out the 
 stage carpenter to the nearest towns, and trying to find 
 a line of migration. " What a fool you are," says the 
 gloomy brewer, " to let anybody know." Thomas 
 Toothache (with a slight inclination of the head), " Yes, 
 but you see I'm a Kotifer, and not a ' Krorkindill.' " 
 
 To MRS. M. L. TAYLOR, shortly after the death of 
 MR. TAYLOR. 
 
 ONGAK, 5th, August 1868. 
 
 I HAVE been over to Stamford Eivers, and seen 
 Isaac Taylor's tomb and house. With reverence I 
 thought what a pleasant thing it would have been to 
 walk with you over this as in old days. But I must 
 not incense memory either for you or us. God is good.
 
 1868 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 157 
 
 "What He does is best. Yet a little while and we 
 shall see it, and acquiesce with triumphant joy in the 
 things which have tried us most. We have need of 
 patience, but " let patience have her perfect work, that 
 we may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing." 
 
 Eemember that the very element which would have 
 made it so pleasant to have borne news of Stamford 
 Rivers was an unearthly element. This life only a 
 " Saturday Evening." Its theory, the theory of 
 " Another Life " ; and what makes Isaac Taylor's grave 
 (under the silent, or whispering, trees over the wall 
 which separates it from an ample farm-stead) so well 
 worth a pilgrimage is this, that there is " another and a 
 better world," of which among infidel philosophers he 
 was the champion, and we must not complain if in due 
 season the. other life verifies and asserts itself, and 
 claims its population, selecting at all ages its proper 
 subjects with a full right to 
 
 Raise to glory all 
 Who fit for glory are. 
 
 The inscription round I. T.'s tomb is "Looking for 
 that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the 
 Great God and our Saviour, Jesus Christ." 
 
 To T. A. 
 BOGNOR, 9th Aug. 1868. Friday, 6.40 P.M. 
 
 SCENE A lane ; on one side a wall seven feet 
 high ; on the other side a turnip field, a field of wheat 
 in sheaves, farms, and beyond, a line of silver-gray 
 undulating Downs. Overhead a cloudless sky ; several
 
 158 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 larks up in it. Birds in the coppices ; and one, 
 in particular, which sounds like drawing a cork 
 that won't come out, but grates and squeaks. Over 
 the wall and the hundred yards breadth of mystery to 
 which there is " No entrance this way " is the Sea. 
 
 Coming round farther to two mushroom -headed 
 gates, it is clear that the mystery of Laurel and Poplar 
 is a gentleman's seat with a coach road. I scorn to 
 inquire whose seat it is. He wants to be secluded, 
 or he'd not build walls seven feet high round his seat, 
 and say " No entrance this way." He shall be the 
 " Great Unknown " ; but whether short or tall, young 
 or old, fat or thin, married or bachelor or man at 
 all, and not woman, spinster or widow all this is 
 involved in a haze of conjecture as obscure as the age 
 of " dateless old Hephsestus." 
 
 Nevertheless, on the other side of the mystery, and 
 between it and another nay, on this side now, for like 
 a planet I have rounded the Poplar shades on this 
 side there is a cooler lane, all trees and birds. The 
 songs in the shades of Poplar are so numerous that the 
 entire effect is that of a simmer, or rather that of a 
 quick boil of summer song. A roof of mossy barn 
 under a huge tree, the breath of a farmyard, twelve 
 milch kine hushed in by shelving thatch and close 
 growing fir trees, outer doors cut into the very roof, 
 Giles, with milk -pails over his shoulder, talking to 
 Jessy. A deeper lane, but trim and human ; a gate 
 open to a placid meadow, four-square and lined with 
 fir trees ; a yellow sun fast setting, and all entwined 
 with other influence, with the pale gibbous moon, with 
 the scent of honeysuckle ; that which is both whisper 
 and moan and wonder, the diapason of the sea.
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 159 
 
 (" Where has he got to now ? " says T. A.) Well, 
 I've got a bit farther. I'm in a field. Stunted trees 
 all lean one way from the prevailing sea-winds. 
 There's the line of the sea itself. One sail far off ; for 
 no ships dare come within ten miles of this coast ; too 
 many sunken rocks. Now I'm on the Marge " the 
 beached Margent." The sea is steel-colour, the horizon 
 is lilac, and, above the horizon, a long film of reddish- 
 gray cloud spans all, like a flattened rainbow a rain- 
 bow bankrupt, as it were, colour and credit gone. The 
 gibbous moon gathers its bright night hue, as the sun 
 goes away in the flats. Solitude, silence all, except 
 the " enchanted moan " varying, multiplied, muffled, 
 and complicated with shingle pebbles. 
 
 When I get free from the harness, and get time to 
 do it, then I think of Thee, O T. A. ! I thought of 
 thee on Wednesday evening. On Wednesday evening 
 it rained, but a topcoat and an umbrella and a lee 
 wall made two hours pacing to and fro possible. Now 
 Ally and I came down here on Monday. (Mamma and 
 the " chicks " are coming to-morrow.) The half-year 
 was one of close labour; no breathing time, a good 
 deal of contest arising from money worry, happily 
 ended last week by a sudden wave of " sale of stock " 
 that overlapped our bills and left us beforehand with 
 cash ; so made this change, needed by us all, possible. 
 Praise God for his goodness ! 
 
 Saturday, 7.10 P.M. Walk round town, Georgy 
 and little Edwin with me. We hovered near the 
 circus, pitched for the day only, and which swallows 
 most of what Bognor has to spare of excitement or 
 interest. There is a curious quaint pleasure in hover- 
 ing round a fair or a circus. We have some Bulwer
 
 160 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 and Dickens and even some Shakespeare in us, and 
 most legitimately. These circus men ! As a matter 
 of Art I would like to sit and smoke and make 
 acquaintance with these " Star Artistes," these " Bare- 
 backed Eiders," these "Champion Vaulters," these 
 " Lion Leapers," this " King of Clowns." 
 
 There is one of them lying in his human costume, 
 chill and lonely, in the grass behind the " waterproof 
 Pavilion," smoking his short pipe, melancholy as 
 Jacques 
 
 Who was his Father ? 
 Who was his Mother ? 
 Has he a Sister ? 
 Has he a Brother ? 
 Or is there a dearer one 
 Still, and a nearer one 
 Yet than all other ? 
 
 There is a strange family likeness in these Eovers with 
 the paint off; a hardy look, an anxious look, as if 
 their eye were with their heart, and that far away. 
 They are a mystic people ; they puzzle the senses. 
 At noon one of them was steadying himself on a throne 
 whose royal state surpassed the wealth of Strand- 
 Theatric-Ind, while his stately guards trembled, up- 
 right, firm as quivering rocks, in six places on the top 
 of the caravan drawn by six piebald Arab steeds. 
 His infant daughter drove her fairy car. All was great 
 and grave. Nothing was wanting of Scandinavian 
 awful Kinghood but the reality. And ere long in the 
 bright arena, amid strains of melody, the transmigration 
 of ideas will become more bewildering. Mr. Pickwick 
 will stand lightly on two horses' backs, his coat and 
 white waistcoat will vanish. Shylock will stand where
 
 1868 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 161 
 
 Pickwick stood in the mazy ring (and what becomes 
 of the knife and scales ?) It is not Shylock, bewildered 
 brother, it is a Mohawk Indian pursuing his deadly 
 
 foe to the . No (by the Horse powers), it is an 
 
 Inca of Peru ; and even while I look again, it is 
 Mercury new lighted on a heaven-kissing hill, a shame 
 for ladies to look at, but very pretty notwithstanding. 
 No, no, it is none of them ; it is Jacques, who lay in 
 the cold grass and smoked his short pipe, and looked as 
 if he saw " the Dacian mother, he their sire butchered " 
 (as it were) to make a Bognor holiday. 
 
 Suppose T. A. and J. S. to have been Circus-sians. 
 We might have been T. A. would have been " The 
 King of Clowns," J. S. the Pantaloon or Butt, now and 
 then soldered up into the Scandinavian king, big- 
 bearded, be-spangled, uneasy, placed there partly for 
 length, partly for Quixotic gravity partly because a 
 tumble from his throne would matter less than in any 
 other case. And yet, " down in the deep heart of 
 him," as Carlyle would say, there is love for his 
 wife children friends. 
 
 WHATEVER theory of life a man starts with, it will 
 bring him into difficulties. Let a man make prudence 
 his watchword, then you have a man like Griffiths, " a 
 safe man." But watch his course in various directions, 
 and you will find that he makes few friends, and that 
 their affection for him is not enthusiastic. But let a 
 man try the other tack ; speak out all he thinks and 
 feels, utter all his mind, not keep it in till afterwards, 
 and he will land in another class of difficulties. He 
 may do it not from incontinence of speech, but on 
 some theory of Honesty or Chivalry, disdaining what 
 
 M
 
 162 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 is sly and selfishly considerate. He will express 
 himself affectionately and win love, plenty of it and 
 widely spread, but the steady -going years will run 
 him down, if he doesn't mind. The artist is very 
 liable to have the pleasure of life spoiled by the vast 
 amount of love and friendship he gets, if not wisely 
 handled. He goes into a family at the age of 20 
 and paints all the lot father, mother, children, and 
 dogs and cats too. His heart flows out to all, and 
 they swear him into eternal friendship, and give him 
 slippers and cigars as he mounts the coach, and " he'll 
 be sure to write." He is quite sad for 10 miles. He 
 gets to new quarters, among more fathers, mothers, 
 children, dogs, and cats. He writes enthusiastically to 
 the last lot, and they look for a letter every month 
 thenceforward for life. 
 
 But the second family group draws nigh to finish. 
 The sitters have all become endeared, and there is a 
 new compact of mutual affection. Two eternal friend- 
 ships, as it were. Well, a strong young man might 
 manage two but two dozen ! two hundred ! In 
 twenty years the possibility of evincing his attachment 
 is trodden down as hard as gravel. Each lot of 
 fathers, mothers, children, dogs, and cats has only 
 known one faithless artist, while the faithless artist is 
 quite crushed with family circles. 
 
 Before, like an Abyssinian captive, I was delivered 
 by Prince Photograph I was getting into sad messes 
 of this sort.
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 163 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 2Mh October 1868. 
 
 BLESSINGS of home ! Profound delights of books ! 
 What a world! I admire thee, T. A., that thou 
 lovest a good BOOK. 
 
 A Book ? a little world with plains and gardens, 
 and deep solemn woods, and high mountains, and 
 ridges, and uplands, and fallows 
 
 Fallows gray, 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray 
 
 and " silver horns " above them, and arching skies 
 above them, and stars above them. Those white 
 Margins, too, T. A. ! They ? They're like silver 
 sands round salt sea-pools " for marginal notes," says 
 T. A. " For squares," says J. S. " Same thing," says 
 T. A. " Bow wow," says J. S. Well, we won't 
 quarrel over these quiet margins. We'll walk round 
 and survey them by our two selves. We'll be 
 Johnson and Savage arm in arm, hungry and poor, 
 and out at elbows, but hopeful and ardent, and deter- 
 mined to " stand by our king and country." We'll be 
 Addison and Steele, with less liquor, and not spouting 
 " The Christian Hero " at that rate. What two won't 
 we be ? We're free. We may run and rollick round 
 the margins, and halloo in the silence like two young 
 Mohawks in the moonlight, and no 'Charlie' will take 
 us up. We may linger pensive in the glades, and 
 talk low and long, or rise high up the steeps and 
 survey mankind from Chayney to Peru ; free of the 
 whole domains.
 
 164 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 One of the funniest, bewilderingest, charmingest, 
 things about a Book is that the letters keep in the 
 same place. You may stop at the word "in," or 
 " on," or " and," and you will find it all there when 
 your eye roves back to the place after you've put the 
 book by, and been all over the world, and grown 
 gray there it is, just where it was. It is this 
 petrified mind that is so astonishing. 
 
 WED. 6.20 P.M. All quiet. Children gone to 
 Sunday school " treat." Treat at home in consequence. 
 Sir K. Walpole, comparing sketch of him in Bioy. Did. 
 with the delineation of him in Macaulay's Essays. 
 Learn from his career not to love power too much. 
 There in 1692 (in the marginal gallery of squares you 
 see the fresco) there under a tree at Eton are two 
 boys, one sturdy, the other of the J. F. H. type of look. 
 The sturdy boy is Bob Walpole, the slim one is 
 " Sinjohn." 
 
 My St. John leave all meaner things. POPE. 
 
 It was too early for Gray to take " a distant prospect 
 of Eton College," or he might have watched those two 
 and sighed 
 
 Ah ! why should they know their fate, 
 Since sorrow never comes too late, 
 And happiness too quickly flies ? 
 Thought would destroy their paradise. 
 No more : where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise. 
 
 "Their fate" they did not know it; we read their 
 lives backward.
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 165 
 
 There is old Sir Eobert Walpole, aged 69, like a 
 beleaguered old bull, standing up boldly against every- 
 body, you may say, except a few poor creatures that 
 would truckle to him his head in danger, the power 
 just slipping from his grasp. 
 
 There is Viscount Bolingbroke, aged 36, muffled 
 and furtive, going to offer himself to the Pretender 
 because he, too, has lost power and wants it back. 
 
 There he is again, night by night his long Eoman 
 sort of visage bent over books by a lamp, writing 
 against religion, or, as Sam Johnson said, " loading his 
 blunderbuss." He dare not fire it during his lifetime, 
 but "gave half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman to 
 fire it off after his death." All that couldn't be seen 
 under the tree at Eton, but we can see it. 
 
 I saw him rise, I saw the scroll complete : 
 Noting, gray chronicler, the silent years. 
 
 Those lines are in H. K. White somewhere. The last 
 is as fine as can be. 1 
 
 MACAULAY'S History state of England in 1685. 
 What a delightful, unctuous, jolly piece of history, Vol. 
 I. ! Look at the life of the " Parson " of those days. 
 Fancy T. A. getting up before the pudding and going 
 
 1 The fragment of Kirke "White alluded to is as follows : 
 
 Once more, and yet once more 
 
 I give unto my harp a dark-woven lay : 
 I heard the waters roar, 
 
 I heard the flood of ages pass away. 
 thou, stern spirit, who dost dwell 
 
 In thine eternal cell, 
 Noting, gray chronicler, the silent years ; 
 
 I saw thee rise, I saw the scroll complete, 
 
 Thou spakest, and at thy feet 
 The universe gave way.
 
 166 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 into the corner to wait till called on to return thanks. 
 Fancy his marrying none but the lady's maid at best. 
 And then " t' Squoire " and Justice talking and acting 
 " like a carter," only learned in heraldry. One scarcely 
 can think it possible to have lived under such crushing 
 circumstances as the man of mind must have had to 
 endure who did not happen to be born a lord. 
 
 What a change in 1867 ! We don't half value 
 our privileges. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 Do you know that as I live I become more and 
 more impressed by one word, and that word is " Now." 
 Between twilight and sunrise at Peuiel Jacob went 
 through what he could never recall. " What saidst 
 thou, O Jacob, in that night-long contest ? " Jacob 
 could not have remembered that except in its main 
 lines. The veerings of hope and passion and doubt 
 and fear and intense stringent resolution passed as the 
 rolling night clouds passed, melting into flecks and 
 streaks of morning light. 
 
 It is the now that makes the sinner ; 
 It is the now that makes the saint. 
 
 Satan has great power over the past and over the 
 future ; he has less power over the Now. He has terri- 
 fied me many a time, as if to the gate of death, by his 
 power over the past, to make it lurid and terrible and 
 inexpiable. He has made heart and flesh fail with the 
 thought of all that lies before me. But he has far less 
 power over the Now. Here I am more truly myself. 
 I can dip my pen and go on writing, and he can't 
 compel me to do nothing or to do wrong. Oh that I
 
 1868 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 167 
 
 " could sport the oak " between the past and the future 
 very frequently and dwell in the shrine of the present, 
 forgetting the things that are behind as far as they 
 cloud the great work of the Now ! 
 
 I find that the elixir in the hidden crystal vase 
 down in the depths of the frame somewhere is very 
 low after the half-year's usage, during which it has 
 been plentiful and sparkling. When you have to 
 begin to force yourself to paint there is something 
 wrong. Many painters, who have not learned the 
 great arts of revulsion, idle for weeks together and 
 wait till the working power comes of its own accord, 
 which it will often do with the rush of a " bore " in 
 the Ganges some fine morning, or, more often, on some 
 tempestuous morning when the rain streams down the 
 pane and the wind roars in the chimney. But there 
 is a better way than this. Change is more powerful 
 than rest, and the art of life consists in providing a 
 sufficiently large area of change for all possible moods, 
 so as to husband the forces and turn the freaks of 
 fancy to account, and, as the modern chemic science 
 does, make the very dust and waste yield back their 
 original riches. The art can't be had for wishing. It 
 must be cultivated. 
 
 When people have had " a good schooling " and are 
 " genteel " and yet have no ideas and no tastes, you 
 will notice that they keep up gentility and consideration 
 by fine words, which mean just what plain ones mean, 
 but which are as velvet paletots to plain broadcloth. 
 
 " And so," says the young man, " we found an ex-
 
 168 LETTERS OF [AMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 cellent hostelry, and mine host gave us some delicious 
 salmon and cucumber, and a salad compounded with a 
 great variety of ingredients, and we discussed the viands 
 set before us with considerable relish and imbibed a 
 quantity of the vinous fluid, etc." Actually the man 
 thinks he has been talking to you in a refined and 
 genteel way, whereas it is, when analysed, nothing 
 more than the well -washed pig grunting over his trough 
 with a more or less Latinised grunt. But Latin pigs 
 are only pigs after all. 
 
 To MRS. STEWARD. 
 
 THERE is a small picture in the National Gallery to 
 me very full of interest. When Raffaele was about 
 15 he seems to have made great progress with 
 Perugino, and to have been "pluming his wings and 
 meditating a flight, and thinking, so heaven help him, 
 of immortality," like Milton, and to have had a waking 
 vision of the Choice of Hercules sort. He represents 
 himself as a young sleeping knight to whom Pleasure 
 and Labour present their inducements and rewards in 
 the midst of an Italian landscape of thin trees and 
 light brown and blue hills. But the interesting thing 
 is that the bit of bluish ribbed paper on which he 
 made his design in light pen and ink strokes, now 
 gone brown, and which he had pricked through for the 
 purpose of tracing the design on to the panel, is framed 
 in the same glass cabinet. He left it about, not 
 thinking that in 350 years it would be under glass in 
 the distant city of London, stared at by English 
 roughs, who would say, " Sithee Bill, he's pricked it a'
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 169 
 
 through with a pin, and spilt th' ile on it ! " for there 
 are two or three of those umber-coloured blurs which 
 come from a sketch being inadvertently put down on a 
 palette knife. 
 
 To HIS BROTHER. 
 
 ABOUT 1849 I read Euskin, and saw the logical 
 and verbal force of what he said, and determined to 
 put it to the proof, painting several pictures in the 
 severely imitation style, and deriving much of both 
 profit and pleasure from it. After a fair trial I saw 
 that words and pigments are not at all the same 
 things. As he, after fifteen years close study of 
 painting, found his eyes opened to the Venetians, who 
 upset half his former theories, so I by sheer experiment 
 saw that truth for the nineteenth century art lay 
 between Holman Hunt's work and Titian's work ; that 
 absolute imitation of nature with twelve pigments is 
 simply impossible, that there was a flaw in the logic 
 about " resemblance to nature," that the true basis of 
 a painting may be defined thus : " the expression of 
 the feeling of an individual man about nature, needing 
 some good amount of culture on the part of the 
 observer to understand his language," must therefore 
 for ever be laid open to endless varieties of opinion, 
 being in fact a Fine (aerial, attenuated, subtle, im- 
 ponderable) Art. Then with much thankfulness to 
 John Euskin for his great services in so eloquently 
 calling the attention of the British public to the 
 subject, and for many wonderful fruits of his own 
 observations of nature and pictures, I retired once 
 again into my own lines of operation, conscious of my
 
 170 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 position, and disabused of many early dreams of 
 perfectibility and public recognition of Art. 
 
 Said J. R, in early days, " any man with proper 
 pains may arrive at perfectly certain judgments." 
 But at what expense ? I ask. Look at the reply. 
 " For fifteen years I was blind to the greatest work 
 of all, though daily and ardently engaged in close 
 and profound study of this one thing." What of the 
 busy puisne Judges and Barristers ? What of Sir 
 Benjamin Brodie and his followers ? What of the 
 the anybody, but the son of a wealthy merchant born 
 with " this art gift of mine," buttressed with money, 
 emancipated by leisure, urged on by taste, and 
 passionate desire for Turner's defence against a world 
 of antagonists and depreciators, who had to be told by 
 a knight on horseback that Turner was the greatest 
 landscape painter the world ever saw ! But to be told 
 this is next to nothing, and the people who would not 
 have bought a Turner in 1849 will now give 3000 
 for one not intrinsically worth 500, and to them 
 no more than a Creswick would be. They know no 
 more of Turner now than in 1849. The conclusion of 
 near thirty years' experience and gradual disenchant- 
 ment has been that no one knows the difference 
 between a moderately good picture with no glaring 
 errors in it, and a transcendent picture, except artists 
 who are themselves producers. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 GKEEN LANES, on way to Railway Station, 
 8th June 1868. 
 
 IT is true that to spend five days over a head and 
 three days over a broomstick handle doesn't come home
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 171 
 
 to one's own purpose, though Sandys spends a week 
 over a hand, and wisely. Nothing is more exquisite in 
 mental process than to go about enjoying and adjusting 
 the end to the means, and reorganising that adjust- 
 ment. The Dutch painters were not poets, nor the sons 
 of poets, but their fathers rescued a Republic from 
 the slime and covered it with such- fair farms that I 
 declare to this day I like Dutch cheese as well as any, 
 because it sends one in imagination to the many- 
 uddered meadows which Cuyp has embossed in gold 
 and silver. What savoury hares and rabbits they had 
 in the low blunt sandhills and how the Teniers boor 
 snared them, and how the big-breech'd Gunn-Mann, 
 (I haven't any knowledge of Dutch, but I am sure that 
 must be the Dutch for " sportsman ") banged off his 
 piece at them, and then how the shining Vrow saw 
 them in the Schopp and bargained for them. The 
 Schopp had often a window with a green curtain in it 
 and a basso-relievo of Cupids and goats beneath, with 
 a crack across the bas-relief, and iron stains on the 
 marble, and a bright brass bulging bottle on the sill, 
 and such pickling cabbage as makes the mouth water. 
 
 " Donner and Blitzen ! " says Gerhard Dow in 
 passing, " Pots-tausen ! but I will baint that Fraulein," 
 and the vine leaves gave a conscious nutter. 
 
 If Art is to be really good there must not only be 
 the basis of poetry but the basis of true representation. 
 
 This requires prodigious labour, and as (they say) 
 you must have races to develop horse power, so in 
 each direction of science or art, some must carry a 
 given principle to the utmost, and so yield their 
 contribution to the world's progress. Here is a young 
 painter impatient because his great picture of " Ulysses
 
 172 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 pottering in Nausicaa's washtub " takes him a whole 
 month. Let him go to be cured at S. Kensington. 
 Let him realise the studio of Mieris, Ostade, or 
 Gerhard Dow. Let him see what reverent conceptions 
 of a carrot one of these men entertained, and what it 
 took to realise them. Nothing but an almost religious 
 estimate of soup could have buoyed them up. You 
 may say so, but that was not all. Look at Ostade's 
 " Physick." Here you have a wise leech peering 
 through the ruby texture of the globular bottle in his 
 hand held against the light, you have " simples " 
 drying on the wall, and tomes open on the table, and 
 severe, long superseded instruments on the sill. 
 
 No. They were thoughtful men. It was not all 
 Art plus Gastronomy. It was not Gastronomy that 
 let us in among the sheds and shealings of Teniers, 
 with the venerable boors at labour and the barn door 
 fowls scratching among the chaff. Art is not the 
 moulder of a nation's life and sentiment : it is its 
 expression. So the trumpeters of Terburg, the solemn 
 dances on the wax'd oak floors of sunny interiors by 
 De Hooghe, and his bowlings on the lawn, the cud- 
 chewing, tufted yellow banks of Cuyp with screens of 
 silver cloud above the windmills, the clash and burly 
 chatter of the night guard, with heroic, light-haired, 
 captains in buff of Eembrandt, and his school. These 
 render back the rich Republic in a way in which men 
 might realise it, if they cared to do so, with an 
 accuracy equal to contemporaneousness, as far as 
 aspect is concerned. 
 
 Thank you, Jan Van Huysum ! 
 
 Thank you, Mr. Thomas Hope ! 
 
 Thank you, Albert the Good !
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 173 
 
 Thank you, curators of the S. K. Museum ! 
 
 Thank you all, gentlemen, with all my heart ! As 
 to you, dear old Jan Van Huysum, you have edified 
 me beyond expression. You teach me that a man 
 can't be too careful as to his work, be it what it may. 
 That if a picture takes as long to build as a house, and 
 is as valuable, it is proper to take as varied pains over 
 it carving timber and stone, and having all manner 
 of ledgers and day-books and wage-books and little 
 wooden houses on wheels with " OFFICE " over the door. 
 
 Mr. Slapdash whips out his pocket-book, scribbles 
 for five minutes on one page, and from that memor- 
 andum paints with the aid of the depths of his con- 
 sciousness the whole of his picture. Not so the true 
 follower of Gerhard Dow and Jan Van Huysum. To 
 him the silent surface with the " white ground " is a 
 sacred place that is to tell on after ages, and bring 
 pleasure or power or knowledge to hundreds of thou- 
 sands as silently. No eyes, emperor's or clown's, tell- 
 ing the other that they have been there. It is worth 
 this man's while to spend a whole sketch-book, if need 
 be, over one twelve-inch panel. 
 
 Jan Van Huysum, your pearly dewdrops on the 
 fresh gathered cool green things of the earth refresh 
 me. Your tiny ants on the petals of the pink teach 
 me in their minute completion to be like the star, 
 " Ohne Hast, Ohne East." How cool and calm and 
 cheerful and confident you are, Jan ! 
 
 A writer in the Daily Telegraph, reviewing Holman 
 Hunt's " Isabella and the Pot of Basil," compares him 
 to Gerhard Dow. " He is Gerhard Dow en grand." 
 That's all very well, but he pours contempt on " the 
 little rubbishing Dutchmen " who were not as good as
 
 174 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Gerhard Dow, and names Mieris. That is a hateful 
 style of criticism. For the sake of carrying your point 
 you abuse those who work in an opposite direction. 
 "Shame, shame, turn him out put him under the 
 pump ! " 
 
 I mean the critic, not the man he abuses. When 
 a boy I remember the enhancement of the Biographies 
 of Painters in the London Encyclopaedia as I lay on my 
 father's study floor, aged 11, reading them. The 
 Arabian Nights Entertainments were nothing to them. 
 How Van Huysum would never let anybody into his 
 studio, and guarded against dust with dragon watchful- 
 ness, and made his own colours and brushes because 
 none were good enough; and how the pictures with 
 white grounds were most prized, and how only the 
 men of enormous wealth could get them. 
 
 All about G. Dow and Mieris and Ostade and 
 Teniers and Eembrandt. What a charm ! More than 
 the rainbow in the very sound and sight of their 
 names. " And are there any of these matchless works 
 in England ? " Yes, to be sure ; the great Dutch mer- 
 chants, the Hope family, have some of their choicest 
 works. " But I shall never see them unless, perhaps, 
 / become a great painter and go to London." This 
 was long ago, and long ago. 
 
 But now, in the Magic Halls which belong to you 
 and me as much as to Queen Victoria, the Prince and 
 Princess of Wales, and all the Eoyal Family in the 
 South Kensington Museum yesterday I found myself 
 hanging enraptured over these very things. What eyes 
 have gazed at those two Van Huysums since he 
 finished that flourishing name and date, done as a 
 writing-master might chisel it in marble, and drew
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 175 
 
 the curtain and let the burgomaster in to have "the 
 first sight of the marvel and hear him offer his 1500 
 guilders for it ! How little the crowds that move past 
 those pictures know what they are looking at, and 
 what a stir each of those canvases has made in the 
 clean Dutch Kepublic and in the saloons of England 
 ever since the days of Charles the Second ! As little 
 do they see the embalming of human thought and 
 labour. 
 
 To the stuffy old white- waistcoated squire with the 
 gold eyeglass, port-wine face, loud voice, and air which 
 implies that Mulberry Park is the centre of all things, 
 visible and invisible to him a flowerpiece is a flower- 
 piece. " Pretty flowerpiece that, eh ? " Jan Van 
 Huysum's heart " hears it and beats though it's earth 
 in an earthly bed." To him (the old squire of Mul- 
 berry Park) and to the obstinate-headed man of words, 
 and thoughts -in -words, who believes that thought 
 divorced from words is homeless to these all pictures 
 are as like " as my fingers are to my fingers " (one of 
 the silliest sayings I ever saw in a sensible article 
 where that topic was introduced). 
 
 " Pretty flowerpiece that ! " He comes round to 
 the other 1500 guilder picture and says, " Ha ! I see ! 
 Yes ! another Centerpiece ! " and passes on to the 
 Ostade. 
 
 His " faculty " is not equal to the occasion. Now 
 suppose that things pleased only as long as they are 
 new. Grant it, for it is true. Then conies the question, 
 How long is a given entity " new " ? The power of 
 evolution is one thing and the matter evolved is 
 another. Kingsley picks up the pebble, and to him it 
 is enough for an eloquent lecture. " Oyes," says
 
 176 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Squire Mulberry, " your man of genius (with a sneer 
 as if it meant ' stable boy ') can make sunshine out of 
 cucumbers." That's true, Squire, but it is not a case 
 in point. The pebble was too much for Kingsley, 
 though too little for the squire. 
 
 I shall here refer to one of Mr. Spouter's [his own] 
 poetical effusions written in the year 1850, in which 
 the same thought is touched on 
 
 The full-orbed mysteries of the sky, 
 Which here in glittering fragments lie, 
 And all our baby wonderings try ; 
 
 While now with glee, and now with dread, 
 In small experiments we tread 
 Among the living and the dead. 
 
 Peering into the daisy's crown 
 Until its wonders deep have grown 
 A mighty gulf to drink us down. 
 
 Let us " hark back." How long is a given entity 
 new ? That depends on what is in it as well as what 
 is in the observer. That Van Huysum (the husky 
 " pretty-pret-ty " of Squire Mulberry) dies along the 
 Museum distances, and we can stoop over the rail and 
 poke our nose to within two inches of the picture 
 (closely watched though by X55, and creating a 
 transit in the keeper's motions; X55 and the keeper 
 narrowly looking for the pin or penknife which is 
 going to Fenianise the colours that began to bloom 
 among the Amsterdam tulips before the last century 
 was born). What is in it ? Why, there's a dewdrop 
 in it. That's a novelty and will please little children 
 for 1 minute 30 seconds and 12 parts of a second. 
 See how the light strikes it ! See how it is just going 
 to roll off ! See how the green of the leaf is reflected
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 177 
 
 on the under side of it ! That dewdrop was not done 
 with a brush ; now was it ? It couldn't be. (X5 5 and 
 the keeper exchange looks and walk yards asunder, 
 one to his perpendicular reverie on Mary Hann, the 
 other to his melancholy nail-paring and tender wonder 
 what there will be for dinner.) 
 
 There was a day when Jan Van Huysum said (it 
 was a cool summer morning about 9.30 A.M.), " I think 
 I will put a dewdrop there. Gretchen ! " (at the top 
 of the stairs) " Gretchen, go and gather me a brocoli 
 leaf out of the shade with the dew on it, and mind 
 and don't shake it, and tell your missis I can't go out 
 with her, shopping, this morning." He met Gretchen 
 at the door for none must enter that still studio 
 and then then it's all a mystery, for no one ever saw 
 how Jan Van Huysum did it. (X55 is attracted by 
 the talk, and stands close by, hands in white gloves 
 crossed as on drill, head on one side, smile of 
 deprecation and interest, twisting mouth and eye.) 
 " But you don't mean to say that you're going to clap 
 on a Novelty Scale with such an observation as that as 
 the unit ? " Don't I though ! If Squire Mulberry 
 looks at one picture and calls it a " flower piece," and 
 at another picture and calls it a " cow piece," and 
 passes on, all I can say is that his universe is in a nut- 
 shell. (I strongly suspect that at any rate it is in a 
 globe a little larger, the north pole lying level with his 
 elbow and the south a little above the os coccygis.) 
 
 I've not the least objection to cede the question. I'm 
 a baby, and am only pleased with what is new. There ! 
 will that do ? Sir Isaac Newton went so far as to say 
 he was an infant (was it infant or child ?) on the sea- 
 shore, etc. Let's have it out. Let's go the whole baby 
 
 H
 
 178 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Here dear, 
 Little one, 
 Go slow, 
 Do not run 
 
 and don't think it a slur merely on secular things that 
 they must be " new " if they are to please. The sweet 
 poet of The, Christian Year knew better : 
 
 New mercies each returning day 
 
 Hover around us while we pray, 
 
 New perils past, new sins forgiven, 
 
 New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. 
 
 And don't think that Keble was the first to perceive 
 this, for 
 
 His mercies are new every morning, and repeated every 
 evening. 
 
 I can only compare these fruitful writing moods to 
 a fen full of wild ducks, widgeon, and teal, winging and 
 clanging till you bring them down. One could wish 
 them to be turned to account somehow, yet my ducks 
 and teal die if I try to domesticate them. 
 
 THERE are many forms of conceit. There is the 
 conceit of empty and light-minded men, which is 
 flighty and irritable, and the conceit of the serious and 
 able man which is calm and deep. When Malvolio 
 parades the garden "practising behaviour to his own 
 shadow," in his ridiculous yellow stockings and cross 
 garters, we laugh at him for a fool. " I thank thee, I 
 will smile," he says, and he smiles ineffable self- 
 approval. Yet if we collate his whole character we 
 see that he was no fool. He " thinks nobly of the 
 soul." He knows the doctrine of Pythagoras. He is
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 179 
 
 shocked at all misbehaviour. He is a " full solemn 
 man." We see our Malvolios now and then, some 
 trifling local dignity will develop them. The hat 
 brim becomes broader, the coat longer tailed, the yellow 
 stockings and cross garters are translated into the 
 modern equivalents. The head goes insensibly on to 
 the tilt, the mouth is pursed into a point of distance, 
 or expands into a smile of toleration or condescendency. 
 His shadow has not grown less, but larger, according 
 to the Eastern good wish, and he begins to practise 
 behaviour to it. Very ridiculous behaviour it is, 
 but the last man to see it, or be conscious of it, is 
 Malvolio. 
 
 To R. S. 
 
 WHAT is true of the body is true also of the soul. 
 The laws of God are to the moral powers what the 
 laws of nature (so called) are to the physical powers. 
 Obedience to the laws of nature preserves the bloom 
 and life of the body; obedience to the law of God 
 preserves the bloom of the soul. 
 
 " In all these things is the life of thy spirit." 
 Moral death, ever enlarging itself, is as inevitable upon 
 a course of sin as speedy mortality upon a course of 
 vice. When sin enters it brings forth abundantly 
 after its kind, and death is not so much its arbitrary 
 award as its inevitable procreation. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 No doubt sin is a great evil the greatest evil 
 tfce evil. But its treatment is a thing which only the 
 " good and kind Physician " knows. I read a sermon
 
 180 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 by Archbishop Manning on " I, if I be lifted up from 
 the earth, will draw all men unto me ; " very eloquent 
 and fine, but as different from the sweet gospel voice 
 " singing in silence " as the lurid flaming of Sinai from 
 the soft light which shone on Peter's face from the 
 sepulchre of his wronged and risen Saviour. With 
 this school of theologians there is no doubt a strong 
 sense of the evil of sin. But it is like the sense of 
 sin which the lost have in its fulness : Merlin, with 
 his hand on his aching heart, pacing for ever in en- 
 chanted forests, crushed and haunted and vexed for 
 ever by dim unappeasable foreshadowings of doom 
 whispers of the inexpiable, the irretrievable, the gone, 
 the lost, the harvest past, the summer ended, the sin 
 to be dragged slowly out by years of torturing fear and 
 pain and penance, the sum of which is to be " carried 
 over " into " doleful shades " of Purgatory. This is 
 the mere enchanter's gospel. Ah, how different from 
 the gospel of our Lord and Saviour ! 
 
 I have had enough of the presentment of sin, enough 
 of the miserable wandering in the mazes of the dark 
 woods of moral metaphysics, enough of the terrible 
 unrolling of the scrolls of doom. But I do thank God 
 that you and I have been saved from the clutches of 
 these darkeners of God's counsel who, with temptations 
 like ours, and consciences awake and starting like ours, 
 would have clawed and rolled us as we might imagine 
 a wild solemn-eyed Sphinx might have smitten clown and 
 terrified a wanderer in Egyptian deserts, laying her 
 huge paw on his chest, and gazing awfully into his 
 eyes till reason failed and death relieved him from the 
 incubus. 
 
 How different are the voices we love, like the
 
 1868 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 181 
 
 charming voices of children singing " Hosanna ! Peace 
 on earth, goodwill to men ! " Angel voices, sweet and 
 swift ! 
 
 See all your sins on Jesus laid ! 
 
 The Lamb of God was slain ; 
 
 His soul was once an offering made 
 
 For every soul of man. 
 
 Analyse your sins ? No, nail them to the Cross. 
 Weep tears of blood, sweat drops of oozing agony in 
 secret chambers, in lonely walks ? Oh no 
 
 Jesus my salvation is ; 
 Hence my doubts, away my fears ; 
 Jesus is become my peace. 
 Happy soul who sees the day, 
 The glad day of gospel grace ! 
 Thee my Lord (thou then wilt say), 
 Thee will I for ever praise. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 August 1868. 
 
 Two of my boys and myself have been for a fort- 
 night to Shelley, near Ongar, to visit Mrs. Steward. 
 The influences of the country were very soothing 
 fields, fields, fields, beautiful brooks with flag and 
 water-lily and rush and water-flowers in abundance, 
 and indoors good books and good talk in abundance ; 
 the only objection to the talk being its suggestiveness 
 and excitements. One wants to mump and muse in 
 holidays and talk to clods and pikestaves. There's no 
 need of excitements; life never drags, is never dull. 
 The only difficulty is to fetch out of the fragrant clods 
 of the valley the steaming strength of nerve and 
 muscle which gives fuel to thought and labour. I
 
 182 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 had to write for three weeks when the painting power 
 had dropped off merely to find employment for the 
 unharnessed faculties, and even then it was not easy 
 to repress the clamorous thoughts which wanted to be 
 back at the easel and fumed and fretted not a little. 
 
 And I feel how humble it becomes me to be, in 
 the thought that all my planning and contriving may 
 come to naught. Yet what can any man do but use 
 his reason and will and working power to the utmost 
 and then be content to " leave it " ? I wish I could 
 be content to see the possible result of utter failure. 
 Who am I that I should escape the lot of many a 
 better man ? How many, especially in the arts, have 
 actually been beaten by the insuperable necessities of 
 their position. Wordsworth dreaded this. (See his 
 poem on " Eesolution and Independence," or something 
 of that sort.) 
 
 I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 
 
 The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; 
 
 Of him who walked in glory and in joy, 
 
 Following his plough along the mountain side. 
 
 By our own spirits we are deified. 
 
 We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
 
 But thereof come in the end despondency and madness, 
 
 etc., and got cured by the firm-mindedness of an old 
 leech-gatherer on a lonely moor. 
 
 This is what one would like, not to bargain with 
 Providence that there shall be success, but to learn to 
 be content to bear what so many have to bear and do 
 bear manfully. 
 
 It is a great help, nevertheless, to know when you 
 are really at your post a great help even in prospect 
 of defeat. Now I know that whether it be bailiffs or
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 183 
 
 ill-health or disablement or death itself, it is my busi- 
 ness to finish the work in hand to the best of my 
 ability, and that if this won't do nothing will. 
 
 I used to think that "fortification," etching, or 
 other possibilities might, if I only bestirred myself, 
 carry us clear of the risks of painting. I tried them 
 faithfully and long. I see they won't. It's no use 
 "taking on" and wishing I had taken some other 
 trade. I've no more doubt about being in my right 
 place than you have. 
 
 And it's no use looking to this or that individual 
 quarter. It isn't a friend or two that can undertake 
 to prop you up on and on. This increases the need 
 of patience, and Satan would like to put you out of 
 temper, like that man in Samaria who was trodden 
 down when the plenty came. The Lord has all sorts 
 of windows. I didn't see our way to any holiday this 
 summer, but here's Mrs. Steward invites us for a 
 fortnight, and his uncle sends for Johnny, and another 
 friend sends for Ally into Warwickshire, all unrequested. 
 So if there's not windows, there's pigeon holes, and we 
 mustn't cry out before we are hurt. Dinner ready. 
 
 12th August. 
 
 PAINTING power beginning to tap at window and be 
 up to his tricks, but won't come in, like Master Slender 
 
 " Come, gentle Master Slender, come, we stay for 
 you." 
 
 SI. " I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir," etc. 
 
 Much encouraged this morning by a letter from 
 Shields. Agnew bought a ten-inch study of mine not 
 long since. Shields called to inquire if it had sold.
 
 184 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 " Yes, readily." Very thankful. If that class of work 
 (viz. the scriptural) goes " readily," then that is where 
 I am furnished for a hundred years to come, and that 
 is what I should best love to do, and to do in that 
 medium way, not ambitiously, a la Holman Hunt, not 
 in shadowy indication, a la Blake, but with solid finish 
 of the broad sort, and say sixteen inches long on panel, 
 so that a week would suffice to realise an idea. 
 
 DON'T you remember for your life is pretty well 
 running abreast of mine (and may we reach the 
 " blest shore " in due season !) that just when you were 
 shedding your mere youth and entering on the golden 
 age in which most men begin, if ever, to make them- 
 selves, there appeared what was considered a starry 
 group of poets, soon, and most unfairly, obscured as 
 " the spasmodic school " ? Professor Aytoun it was who 
 did it ; and the chief men of the little cluster were 
 Alexander Smith and Sydney Dobell. Mind you, I 
 can't say that I was ever carried at all off my feet by 
 them. I was too early sealed to Milton, Shakespeare, 
 Wordsworth, Keats, Tennyson, and the older poets, 
 Chaucer, Spenser, and others, readily to admit more 
 into the warerooms. So not having hoorayed for them, 
 I had not the shame of being a renegade and guffawing 
 when Aytoun sneered and laughed. It was probably 
 just so with you. Therefore we can the more tenderly 
 recognise and enjoy the full meaning of these Last 
 Leaves of Alexander Smith and the memoir attached 
 by P. P. Alexander. The Memoir is instructive. 
 Alexander Smith was a fine fellow. It is written with 
 a smell of Carlyle about it, and of all odours none is 
 so like stinking fish in all literature where it does not
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 185 
 
 come from the blubber of the huge whale himself the 
 great Gothic whale lumbering and floundering in the 
 Northern Seas, and spouting his " foain fountains " 
 under the crackling Aurora and the piercing Hyper- 
 borean stars. The Last Leaves are good essay- 
 writing, and the essay on " Essayists " is worth reading. 
 The essay on " Sydney Dobell " is touching as a gentle 
 attempt to reply after long silence, and when Aytoun 
 mists had exhaled, to the sneer about " Spasmodic." 
 I used to dislike the " Festus " and " Balder " tone 
 considerably, and the only book I ever flung to the 
 other side of the room was " Festus." I never could 
 get far enough into Dobell to come across his real 
 merits, but I declare, in its way, I know nothing so 
 fine as the ballad that A. Smith quotes here. It is of 
 the supremest order in that line. In music, in 
 acute suggestiveness, in unearthliness of imagery and 
 humanity of sentiment. I really couldn't match it in 
 the same space by any quotation. Here, I'll write it 
 for thee, and thou canst read it thy best for thy 
 friends, only mind that nobody needs to come in with 
 the coal scuttle, or " wants missis if you please." 
 Twilight would be best, coming home from a picnic, 
 when you can only half see to read, but fill up with 
 memory. 
 
 KEITH OF RAVELSTON. 
 
 The murmur of the mourning ghost 
 
 That keeps the shadowy kine. 
 Keith of llavelston, 
 
 The sorrows of thy line ! 
 
 Ravelston, Ravelston, 
 
 The merry path that leads
 
 186 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 Down the golden morning hill, 
 And through the silver meads. 
 
 Ravelston, Ravelston, 
 
 The stile beneath the tree, 
 The maid that kept her mother's kine, 
 
 The song that sang she ! 
 
 She sang her song, she kept her kine, 
 
 She sat beneath the thorn, 
 When Andrew Keith of Ravelston, 
 
 Rode through, the Monday morn. 
 
 His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, 
 His belted jewels shine. 
 
 Keith of Ravelston, 
 The sorrows of thy line ! 
 
 1 lay my hand upon the stile, 
 
 The stile is lone and cold, 
 The burnie that goes babbling by 
 Says nought than can be told. 
 
 Yet, stranger, here from year to year, 
 
 She keeps her shadowy kine. 
 O Keith of Ravelston, 
 
 The sorrows of thy line ! 
 
 Step out three steps where Andrew stood ; 
 
 Why blanch thy cheeks for fear ? 
 The ancient stile is not alone, 
 
 'Tis not the burn I hear ! 
 
 She makes her immemorial moan, 
 
 She keeps her shadowy kine. 
 Keith of Ravelston, 
 
 The sorrows of thy line ! 
 
 I call it very lovely, and gathering steadily, as he 
 was doing, strength during another twenty years, who 
 knows what a strong author and poet he might have 
 become !
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 187 
 
 But what matter, there are books enough, more 
 than enough. Men need to use what there is. Yet, 
 like coral insects, we must work and die, and leave our 
 tiny bone to build the rising reef on which the palm 
 groves are to flourish in ages how far away ! 
 
 The twilight is dimming my paper, and the calm of 
 the " Saturday Evening " is gathering and deepening. 
 What we wish for the Alexander Smiths the poets 
 and the prose writers is that they should not only 
 leave their inevitable modicum imbedded in the reef, but 
 that they should find a happy place of their own in 
 the eternal " fitness of things." 
 
 The following was written a few days afterwards : 
 
 JUST as my beginning to you about the Eotifer led 
 further than I thought, so these reflections led me to 
 take out half a quire of paper and begin a sort of 
 essay review on Alexander Smith's Last Leaves. 
 I've been running on the spring-board for a month, 
 and have ventured to leap at last. Most probably, 
 therefore, no more ventilation, except through the 
 press, for nobody knows how long. 
 
 It was at this time the article on Alexander Smith published 
 in the London Quarterly Review, already mentioned, was written. 
 It was immediately followed by the one on Blake. He after- 
 wards received the following letter from D. G. Kossetti on the 
 subject of the essay. 
 
 PENKILL, 27th October 1868. 
 
 MY DEAR SMETHAM The L. Q. R. arrived yesterday, and I 
 read your article aloud, which gave us all a great deal of pleasure. 
 It is full of real stuff in every paragraph (by the bye, it is a pity 
 the paragraphing and punctuation are not better ; this I suppose
 
 188 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 is the printer's fault), and is as just in criticism as it is excellent 
 in style and rich in imagery. . I was specially delighted with 
 what you say about Dobell's " Keith of Ravelston," not only 
 because you have so flatteringly lugged in my name in connec- 
 tion with it, but because I have always regarded that poem as 
 being one of the finest of its length by any modern poet rank- 
 ing with Keats's " La Belle Dame sans Merci," and the other 
 masterpieces of the condensed and hinted order so dear to 
 imaginative minds. What a pity it is that Dobell generally 
 insists on being so long winded when he can write like that ! 
 There is a snatch of sea song (about the Betsy Jane) in 
 " Balder " which is fifty times as good as anything in Dibdiu, 
 who is nevertheless not contemptible. 
 
 Our circle here, though small, is a highly appreciative one, 
 and I assure you you could not have been in better hands. Our 
 ladies are Miss Boyd and a charming old lady, an aunt of hers 
 who (as I thought in reading) exactly realises what you say of 
 old age in your review, and who has a great love of poetry. 
 
 The weather begins to break up here now, and I shall be soon 
 returning to town to see what I can do towards work not very 
 hopeful, I am sorry to say. 
 
 Affectionately yours D. G. R. 
 
 LUKE XII. " Bemerton Church ! Ah ! See how 
 the swallow darts in and out of the rafters ! Hear 
 how the bee hums in and out of the casement ! How 
 sweet that blowing breeze ! How cool that ancient 
 marble ! How peaceful that little storied urn that 
 animated bust [well, I don't know, he looks &flat, but 
 let that pass], and those few simple good folk ! 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so " 
 
 George Herbert (with a look}. " I have observed, 
 my friends pardon me that on this occasion I do not 
 at once proceed to divide the bread of life that it 
 is one part of a minister's duty to bring, by such 
 simple arts as he may possess, the minds of his hearers
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 189 
 
 to a posture of reverence and receptiveness. The 
 work of the Sanctum Sanctorum, the Holy of Holies, 
 is sweet and deep. There is, nevertheless, needful to 
 it a prior labouring of the soul, something superliminare, 
 some pausing on the threshold, some preparations of 
 the heart, that the answer of the tongue may not be 
 empty and vain ; or our minds will be as that 
 swallow, drifting over our heads; as that bee, humming 
 half in, half out of the Holy Temple ; as that breeze, 
 passing no- whither and is in danger of being insensate 
 to the words of Truth ; as that cold marble vase and 
 burial urn, or that bust which hath indeed the features 
 of a man, but is not informed with a living soul" 
 
 Luke xii. Here George Herbert, glimmering out 
 of the Past for a moment, melts into the blue air, 
 and the ripples of the beech and ash recall me 
 to the page with which I began. " The old is better." 
 Yes, these squares were enclosed seven years ago, 
 perhaps ; and that little one three-quarters of an inch 
 long I don't remember when it was first made, as 
 the thought, contained in it, tolled like a bell high 
 up in the starry midnight of Thought. It was rude at 
 first ; the merest germ. A line now, a line then, have 
 made it more and more distinct. But still it is rude 
 and obscure to the outer eye ; to the inner eye (which 
 is " the bliss of solitude ") it represents a close farm- 
 yard, and a bordering wheat field over which the 
 twilight is " falling brown," and " some one pacing 
 there alone." What is this ? and who is he ? I 
 know him well. In a hundred even -falls he has 
 rebuked me when " the cares of this life," if not " the 
 deceitfulness of riches/' crowded round me to choke 
 the good seed and render it unfruitful. When I was
 
 190 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 inclined to murmur at my lot to make haste to get 
 rich, to let the lusts of other things entering in dis- 
 place the life of God, I felt and as I, pausing for a 
 word even now, shade a very little in between the 
 darkening barns where there is laid up much goods 
 for many years I feel as if the square were a Holy 
 Thing, a solemn and sad thing ; for as a living voice 
 to me is the voice of that man in the twilight, like a 
 late bird chirruping : " Soul, take thine ease, eat, drink, 
 and be merry ; " because I know he is singing his 
 death -song, and that he will come no more to the 
 haunts where he has worn out and expended the life 
 of his spirit. 
 
 But above it is another, and over it the word 
 " Consider," a figure stooping reverently over a tall 
 lily (to my eye all graceful and finished as if Jan Van 
 Huysum had lent his pencil in his secret studio, 
 bringing it me finished as by miracle though a 
 scribble of pen and ink to the Miss who has " learned 
 drawing under the most eminent professors " : Pro- 
 fessor Jones to wit, who was greatest in poonah 
 painting, and Professor Eobbins, whose greatest maxim 
 was " to put the lights and shades and colours in their 
 right places"). And above that a little bird on a 
 spray, " not forgotten before God ; " and then a head 
 shown in the back view because the point of the 
 record is that "the very hairs of your head are all 
 numbered." And then a single hair, and then the 
 section of a hair, and then, above that, a square with 
 the rude sketch of the wheel of a Eotifer. (That 
 awful sight I saw one day in Mr. Budgett's microscope 
 has haunted me ever since. I see it now ! Those 
 transparent ciliee whirling round and round and making
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 191 
 
 an infinitesimal vortex ; each mysterious spoke, no 
 doubt, as hollow and organic as that tubular hair, 
 which to the spoke-tube would be as huge as the large 
 main drainage pipes to the leaden pipe from our 
 cistern. And the spoke -tube, no doubt, as large 
 relatively to other tubes in the microcosm as the 
 cistern pipe to the hollow hair.) Then a bit of the 
 Atlantic Cable lying in the ooze and bottom of the 
 sea among the forms of life brought up by lines of 
 endless fathom in a bit of sludge sent to W. K. Parker, 
 the greatest and profoundest fathomer of the un- 
 fathomed life of the deep's unknown, who under his 
 microscope (received from the Microscopical Society 
 itself, because he could see farther than any of them, 
 and was the best boy of the lot) resolves that sludge 
 in glittering rows imbedded in lines and blots of 
 Gum or Canada Balsam glittering rows of the most 
 bewitching shells, who " never expected the gentleman 
 to look at them " from above, with bigger than Brob- 
 dignag eyes, but were content in the un-" turbulent 
 profound " to pass away their days of love beyond ken, 
 love possibly as strong as that which swells in the 
 bosom of a whale. 
 
 To MRS. TAYLOR. 
 
 I CAN conceive no greater mingling of spiritual 
 and intellectual blessedness than to have at length 
 the whole letter and meaning of the Bible transferred 
 beyond the encumbering machinery of study into the 
 substance of the mind itself, for the purpose of medi- 
 tation and use. Some portions of the Word attain
 
 192 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 this lodgment early. The parable of the Prodigal Son, 
 for instance, may be said to have thus fixed itself in 
 all Christian minds. Indeed, most of Christ's parables 
 are so fixed. Well, to have the Epistles dwelling 
 there as clearly and orderly, with as distinct detail 
 and as ready generalisation, would be unspeakably 
 pleasant, and in course of time it may be done. The 
 Philippian Church ought to be as distinct as a Metho- 
 dist Circuit. Philemon is circuit steward at Colosse, 
 Epaphros is the " Super," Onesimus is a Class Leader ; 
 there " a faithful and beloved brother," though at one 
 time he was only so so. Euodias and Syntyche at 
 Philippi did not get on well together, like some folks 
 at Stoke Newington and elsewhere. 
 
 The plan I am at present following is this : The 
 Philippians I have thus gone through, first squaring 
 the substance of it, then reading through Alford, 
 Wesley, Clarke, Howson, and Conybeare, and the 
 Horse Paulinse ; I get through a commentary on an 
 Epistle like winking when once the squares are made ; 
 for a jotted word or added square gives it all a perfect 
 vital relation. Then I add the various readings, 
 the important words in the original, all forms of 
 generalisation, so as to get big " scopes " and little 
 " scopes " ; lateral " scopes " and the other sort ; so 
 that at last the thing is transferred bodily out of the 
 book into the mind, and " all the building rises fair," 
 just like a translucent house of crystal, where you see 
 all through it at a glance a house of light with no 
 corner dark, and the pillars and grounds of the Truth 
 firm and soaring and opalescent all at once. 
 
 As to Studio work, the large landscape of " Hesper " 
 is in a manner done, and is laid by to get mellow, and
 
 1868 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 193 
 
 wait for " toning," etc. Since then I have been at 
 work on the " Shadow of the Cross," and have got 
 over the hill-summit in respect to it, having, as I 
 think and my friends think, mastered the real difficulty 
 of the picture, which is the central face. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 IF a painter, having made a good design and got it 
 to look finished as a picture, will then mentally convey 
 himself into one of those remote Chinese villages 
 where all the long days and evenings a Chinese artist 
 constructs the "laborious orient ivory, sphere in 
 sphere," learning that same continuance in welldoing, 
 and not beginning a new thing till the old is finished, 
 he will take a new sort of delight, and his work can 
 scarcely fail to be valuable in one way or another. 
 Most failures lie in not going on long enough. 
 
 I heard a man in a meeting in the country long 
 ago, say that one of the most encouraging verses he 
 knew was a verse of common metre to this effect 
 
 Go on, go on, go on, go on, etc. 
 
 IT is one of the signs of the true connoisseur not 
 to talk much in the presence of pictures. The gabble 
 and fribble, the shallow exclamations of delight, and 
 the presumptuous hasty censure of the E.A. crowd, who 
 come more to be seen than to see, mark out the persons 
 to whom pictures are like bracelets and bugles more 
 than like Sibylline books. One of the finest expres- 
 sions we ever see on a human face is that with which 
 a good judge of painting looks at a picture. Eeynolds 
 
 o
 
 194 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1868 
 
 on one occasion was painting the portrait of sucli an 
 one. The sitter would keep turning his head to look 
 at a picture on the wall, and the look and posture were 
 so fine that Sir Joshua took a new canvas and began a 
 new portrait. 
 
 Sir Joshua, when West had painted the " Death of 
 General Wolfe," and had ventured to clothe his heroes 
 in the dress they actually wore, sat before the work for 
 a whole half-hour and spoke never a word. And then 
 flowed the oracular sentence, " West has conquered, 
 this picture will create a revolution in art." 
 
 I don't know whether it is wholly a benefit or a 
 hindrance that ventilation has to be chiefly confined to 
 fighting my own battle. I am so full of interest in 
 other things, characters, people, events, books all sorts 
 of things. Yet the genius of ventilation rebukes me if 
 I wander far from the battle of life to-day. It has to 
 be fought either in cloudy thought or by the tongue, 
 or at the point of the pen ; and the last is far the 
 mightiest mightier than the sword. In the long run, 
 truly, it touches most of the great human subjects of 
 interest, because man is a microcosm and his life "an 
 image of the mighty world." " If I have told you of 
 earthly things," how that I am meek and lowly of heart, 
 that my kingdom is not of this world, that a lily is 
 arrayed more gloriously than Solomon, that what men 
 prize and strive for is precisely what is worthless, that 
 covetousness is idolatry, that content is true riches, 
 that care is curse, that predominance is slavery, that 
 pride is meanness, that it is more blessed to give 
 than to receive, and ye believe not ; how can ye 
 believe if I tell you of heavenly things ? of mysteries
 
 1869 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 195 
 
 of Divine manifestation, of heavenly repose and one- 
 ness with the Father, of the " quiet seats above the 
 thunder" in undying bliss, of the rapturous and 
 seraphic affections of finished love, of the perpetuity of 
 joy and the pleasure for evermore ? 
 
 To MRS. TAYLOR lie writes as follows concerning the 
 progress of his painting : 
 
 <ith March 1869. 
 
 I AM now at the last stage of the " Hymn of the 
 Last Supper," where no single day's work, however 
 laborious, would be apparent to a strange eye, though 
 thousands of minute touches are added, but the accre- 
 tion of these subtleties makes the work very different 
 in time. The tension of the faculties required in the 
 carrying fully out of such a picture is more than could 
 be told. For you to know every touch, so that you 
 lose all sense of freshness and are liable to think your 
 picture too dark, too light, too strong in colour, not 
 strong enough, twenty times a day, and have to bridle 
 yourself in, and reason from point to point, screwing 
 along as if you were going to take Magdala. Yet it 
 is delightful toil, and the love of toil grows on you. 
 I hope when this is done, which will be in another 
 fortnight, if all is well, to go on with the " Shadow of 
 the Cross," which is advanced since you saw it. 
 
 The only other pursuits in the way of study I allow 
 myself are the Odes of Horace, which I go over in all 
 sorts of ways, endlessly, hoping ere long to be quite at 
 home in them as Latin poetry, and the Epistle to the 
 Romans in the Greek, which I treat in the same way. 
 In these two I have set up my (intellectual) rest for 
 perhaps a year or two. I mean to leave neither till I
 
 196 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1869 
 
 know them as well as I know the multiplication table 
 (which I do know up to 12 times 12). 
 
 I know you will like this detail of my work better 
 than general news, not to say that I don't know about 
 anything else but (1) my picture; (2) Horace; (3) 
 the Eomans. Any inquiries on these three heads will 
 command my best attention. 
 
 To THE SAME. 
 
 8th April. 
 
 ON the evening before Good Friday, i.e. on the 
 evening of the Last Supper, as we commemorate it, 
 I got " The Hymn " finished ; but without at all 
 trying to complete it by then. I was rather pleased 
 at the coincidence. On the Saturday morning Mr. J. 
 S. Budgett came and offered me my price (300 gs.) 
 for it. Since then it has been in Eossetti's studio for 
 a week, where it was seen a good deal and proved a 
 complete success. One who saw it was G. F. Watts, 
 one of the " Hangers " at the E.A. this year. I must 
 tell you the summary of his opinion as reported by 
 E. " It must be called a great picture though it is a 
 small one." On Tuesday I went to see Watts myself. 
 He confirmed the words spoken to Eossetti, and 
 promised to serve me in any way he could. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 BOGNOR, IGth Augiist. 
 
 JUST had a bathe in the Sea the Sea, the open 
 Sea, the blue, the fresh, the ever free.
 
 1869 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 197 
 
 The little joys of life give more satisfaction than 
 one would think. You recollect at supper time that 
 you " got your hair cut to-day " ; too long delayed, but 
 done at last. What a serenity steals over you as you 
 sit down to supper ! You give your razor and knife 
 to a grinder, and to-morrow morning what a delight it 
 is to find that your razor cuts. You cut your pencil, 
 and for a week you feel like a free man as you handle 
 your penknife. 
 
 GOT Hawthorne's Notes. His minute notice of 
 small incidents suggests what a blessing it is to be 
 able to sketch. There are points in N. Hawthorne I 
 can well understand (the same in Landor), viz. the 
 being the slave of impression at certain times. It is 
 a hindrance in some directions, a strength in others. 
 It made N. H. silent, and W. S. L. furious, the only 
 two avenues of relief. But the first is safe, the second 
 dangerous. 
 
 I like the description of N. H. sitting all the 
 evening, and never saying anything but taking in 
 every little fact. 
 
 Your habitual talker may have a Johnsonian 
 amplitude of diction, and get into certain ruts and 
 formulae which will look like extempore power just 
 as in speech-makers you may find out where the " It 
 has struck me, Mr. Chairman " soon merges into the 
 MS. But where a subtle fancy and acute taste, and 
 strong feeling blend, as in N. H., it stops the clapper, 
 and his talk is as prosaic and ordinary as N. H.'s 
 account of Eydal and Grasmere, which any one who has 
 been there sees is just like a school-girl's journal 
 except that he sees " the new moon over his right
 
 198 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1869 
 
 shoulder," which was a revengeful touch of his 
 genius. 
 
 I'M often inclined to burst out in mere enjoyment 
 of squaring. What it has become after twenty-two 
 years but perhaps it is useless. No new principle 
 has been developed this ten years. It is the wondrous 
 combination, the startling or soothing chords or its 
 diapason, which brings such exquisite delight. For 
 example, every walk is " squared," and these things 
 that N. H. notes in words are put in much more 
 efficiently in form. Here is a twilight walk, and by 
 inflections of slight shading I can record the sentiment 
 " andante," " con spirito," the very time and tune, as 
 in music. In fact, in addition to its veraciousness of 
 fact, it has become musical, so that there be bass 
 squares and treble squares, and all sorts of echoing 
 influences, humming as in the Isle of Prospero round 
 the simple facts of life, none of which (within certain 
 analysed limits) are too trivial to record. So that I 
 live close to my kind habitually. 
 
 It has all grown insensibly, as all sorts of scented 
 and curious things grow under the oaks of the dim 
 unfathomed forest. 
 
 I delight in "W. S. Landor's theory of Proportion, 
 and how there ought to be a place for every ornament, 
 solid and full of relation. 
 
 Unity, mystery, majesty, grace, 
 
 Stone upon stone and each stone in its place. 
 
 The thing that honest Old Time shows us is that if 
 your temple be large it must be bare, if it be finished 
 and elegant it must be small.
 
 1869 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 199 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 BOGNOR, Wednesday, 12.15 P.M. 
 
 As I write there pass coaches and four, half a dozen 
 of them (one with postilions in blue), going to Good- 
 wood races. [Here is an illustration.] 
 
 That is a " swell young man " with a horn. The 
 Honourable Somebody, no doubt. Coaches clean, not 
 dusty, as when we saw them return last evening ; 
 dresses clean and stylish ; horses spanking and skittish. 
 The drivers are swells : some young swells, others old 
 swells, with white reins. As they pass the Hon. Mr. 
 Hornblower sees me standing at the toy shop door, 
 and he thinks to himself seeing one whom nature 
 marked out for an aristocrat, but who is reduced to a 
 perambulator and two little children to take care of 
 at a toy shop door " How that fellow envies us ! 
 How he wishes he were going to Goodwood, poor 
 devil ! I'll treat him to a taste of my horn " and so 
 he holds it straight out, and makes it say, Tootle-tootle- 
 too-oo-oo-oo-oo ! which was very kind of him, and 
 may he never want a horn to blow, and an elegant 
 middle-aged party to admire him standing at a toy 
 shop door. What the angels who excel in strength 
 think of him and the Goodwood races, and all that 
 system of things of which the four-horsed coaches 
 form a part, is another thing entirely. 
 
 In the twilight last evening, walking on the 
 promenade, I heard a trumpet and a viol, and looking 
 across, saw windows open and a party of a dozen 
 seated at dinner, attended by near a dozen liveried 
 servants : white cravat, spotless linen, black dress,
 
 200 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1869 
 
 faces fresh and glowing, hair crisp and wavy and nicely 
 parted, and brushed smoothly and clingingly to the 
 smooth forehead. Every face, whether it were a fat 
 face like Monsieur Jullien's, or an Apollonic face like 
 Byron's, was what we understand by an aristocratic face 
 not disturbed by cares of the petty and common 
 kind, with a manner properly and gently restrained. 
 
 How this dozen got over the hours between 9.30 
 P.M. and this morning I don't know; but here they 
 are again, fresh as out of bandboxes, and imagination 
 follows them to Goodwood, and sees the phenomena of 
 the racecourse, and their return, not so dusty to-day 
 as yesterday, for it rained this morning sees the 
 Wednesday's dinner, the pattern of Tuesday's sees 
 the solemn tides roll in opposite their window on the 
 twilight sands sees the days speed by, and the little 
 black moustache turn gray, and the square-chested 
 guardsman in 1895, possibly on Bognor pier, recalling 
 this very week, when he is 75, as the tide of that 
 year and day rolls in, solemn, whispering sees his 
 escutcheon in the little country church sees the 
 black paint on it crack and turn gray sees it decay, 
 and asks in a sort of bewilderment, " How is it that 
 the gray tide is so regular and constant, and as it were' 
 sly and reticent, as if it were always going to say 
 something, and yet never does say it ? " 
 
 I never did say, I don't say it now, that there is 
 any virtue in only having a perambulator by way of 
 carriage. I don't say that riding in a four-horsed 
 coach with postilions in blue jackets and white hats 
 sharpens the avenging angel's sword. What I say is 
 that the gray tide has a very wonderful way with it, 
 and rolls on longer than coaches to Goodwood, and a
 
 1869 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 201 
 
 wonderful wise saying strikes me as I write quite a 
 sweet thing in sayings, which is this 
 
 They who live longest will see most ! 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 FELPHAM, Friday, 7.30. 
 
 HEEE is the shore where dear old Blake the painter 
 in his four years' residence used to wander, seeing 
 Moses and the prophets. 
 
 I am reading at intervals D'Israeli's Venetia, which 
 is, as you probably know, based on the life of Lord 
 Byron. There do not seem to me, as yet, any great 
 strokes of genius in it, nor much polish of style. 
 
 In holidays a good burst of changeful light reading, 
 all in one vein, is not a bad plan ; so I mean to follow 
 this up with Vivian Grey, The Young Duke, etc. 
 Even the boyish work of a man who had force enough 
 to become Prime Minister can't be trash, and must 
 contain in solution much drawing from nature. There 
 is no question as to the delightfulness of good novels, 
 at any rate for holiday hours. Novels are bad, not 
 because they are novels, but only in so far as they 
 falsify Nature and Life. This is true also of painting. 
 
 1th August, 7.30. 
 
 On shore. Reading The Young Duke, a wilder- 
 ness of wicked vitality, no doubt substantially true, 
 "when George the Fourth was king." The brilliant 
 sketching in his own razory manner is in some 
 chapters wonderful. He never reaches Bulwer in a 
 sort of starry amplitude and genuine sense of the ineff-
 
 202 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1869 
 
 able, but he is more dazzling in rapid penetration 
 and brief certainty, and his wit and humour are finer 
 and more native. Bulwer has a sort of stilted patrician 
 and quixotic strut, not void of real nobility, but while 
 witty in a cultured sort of way, he seems so from a 
 sense of duty. 
 
 Tuesday, 5 P.M. 
 
 Got into Contarini Fleming which was spoken of 
 to me as an interesting description of the education of 
 a poet. D'Israeli himself in a recent preface speaks 
 well of it. The singular way in which he ducks and 
 dives from the craziest romance to the most frigid, 
 drawing-room, keen finish of acquaintance with "good 
 society" is very noticeable. If a young man of no 
 connections wanted to know how to comport himself 
 in " Society," I should say read Bulwer and D'Israeli 
 very closely. B. and D'l. both believe in " Society," and 
 never suspect their creed. They therefore perceive 
 its elements, as painters catch aspects and sportsmen 
 have an eye alive to game. The animus of this school 
 of manners may be often worthless, but the Art of it 
 is valuable just as while the sensuality of the 
 Venetian School may at times be great, their method 
 is always nearest the grand truth. 
 
 JUST now the Epistle to the Galatians is a kind of 
 Mont Blanc in importance and attractiveness. What 
 bears on it in profane literature acquires interest from 
 that cause. Because Cicero and Csesar and Pompey 
 indirectly had to do with the Galatae they seem some- 
 body. I am never tired of going over the ground, nor 
 of squaring any fraction of it, nor of laying down any 
 new analysis of it, nor of delving nor tunnelling. It
 
 1869 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 203 
 
 is as important to me as if I were proprietor of the 
 province. Yet if the question were asked, " What are 
 you going to do with it ?" all I can say is, (1) Feed 
 on it ; (2) Teach it to half a do/en young journeymen, 
 and think myself abundantly repaid if they will attend 
 regularly. 
 
 And all I crave is an increase of this principle of 
 concentration, it is the best way to get a little, and do 
 a little good. 
 
 And how little of genuine good we can either get 
 or do in this little bit of life ! To do a thing with 
 one's might is a serious business. No labour seems 
 too great, no reiteration too frequent, if one can but 
 really grasp such a piece of work as the Galatiaus so 
 as to give it over, simplified and impressive, into the 
 hands and hearts and heads of half a dozen others. 
 What are the dreams of classic poetry and mythology 
 which lull and stimulate alternately the imagination to 
 the granitic vastness, length, breadth, depth, and height 
 of such high arguments as are found in Paul's Epistles ! 
 It is the difference between living and dreaming. 
 
 The following is written in acknowledging the receipt of 
 Matthew Arnold's St. Paul and Protestantism. 
 
 THANK you, my dear boy, for the book just come, 
 and which I shall read, though I have my unfathomable 
 doubts as to M. A.'s fitness to give a new interpreta- 
 tion to St. Paul, whose Epistles I have only lately got 
 to some extent generalised so as to be open to future 
 meditation. Whatever I have studied of them, and 
 this has been for many years, and with as much 
 yearning eagerness and breathless awe as I have felt
 
 204 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 in nothing except the words of the Lord Jesus, has 
 tended to the confirmation of the old evangelic inter- 
 pretation of them, in which perhaps I should not have 
 seen my way so clearly but .for their accordance with 
 my own " experience." All that unutterable sense of 
 sin, that terrible deadly fight with evil, those strivings 
 of the Spirit I went through, and more ; all that 
 deliverance, that liberty of the Gospel, that being 
 justified by faith in Christ, that peace with God, that 
 shedding abroad by the Holy Ghost of the love of God 
 in the heart, that coming in of the " new creation " ; 
 all the shades and lights of experience since then. 
 Twenty-three years of such experience, which inwardly 
 is as great and as simple a fact as the facts of seeing 
 and hearing, make me unable to receive, even to per- 
 ceive, any other interpretation. And I have met with 
 such scores and hundreds who strike hands with me in 
 life and death on these great matters that it is settled 
 " without controversy " to me. 
 
 I believe if I could have been doubtful I should 
 have been. My mental habits, my tastes, everything, 
 would have led me away from the Puritans. 
 
 Thus much for myself. As to others, their sincerity, 
 their safety, I positively withhold all judgment. I 
 leave them to my Master and theirs. He does all 
 things well and will " do right." 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 SOTJTHPORT, 29th January 1870. 
 
 HAVE read three vols. of The Ring and the BooJc, 
 with a curious mixture of impatience and admiration.
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 205 
 
 The holding-out of so much thought, effort, power, 
 over such a long course is like Captain Somebody 
 walking a thousand miles in a thousand hours. The 
 penetration reminds you of the Bow Street runner : 
 " Wherever did the man get his information ? " (not 
 always correct. Hophni for Uzzah, Peter's wife's sister 
 for her mother). 
 
 Then to find every character thinking and talking 
 Browning, is like strong coffee that swells the nerves 
 and causes a dull ache over the eyes. Pompilia, full 
 of ellipses and obscurity, is so different from the mode 
 of the sweet creature he has consummately set before 
 you. Peruvian bark, strong coffee, tea at 10 P.M. that 
 keeps you staring all night with intense reproduction 
 of the events of the day, the scarlet verbena you saw 
 in the conservatory ever enlarging its image among all. 
 Yet the book is a mine of intellectual wealth. 
 
 nth February 1870. 
 
 GKEATLY relished the pictures to-day. Perhaps the 
 most haunting impression produced by the Rembrandt 
 landscapes. Painting puzzles me as much as ever, 
 though all my life has been spent over it ; I mean as 
 to what constitutes its spell. It is a thing you may 
 sicken over, a thing requiring a fine freshness of the 
 mind and senses, fine conditions of contact, cautious 
 uses of it, as of wine ; but its nameless, weird power 
 is enormous : that dusk and glimmering river bank 
 shelving and sloping, those D-utch peasants hauling 
 their nets in the foreground, at once obscure and 
 distinct, as if only as much lived of them as Thought 
 willed to live, those trees leaning here and there in 
 the darkness " forests and enchantments drear,"
 
 206 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 that church, rising dark by the dark village against 
 the troubled-pensive gleams in rolling clouds. And 
 again, those mysterious flats on either side the 
 shadowy, solemn river, and the heights beyond them, 
 with the distance moving off into loneliest remoteness, 
 the eye able to stay nowhere, but obliged to wander, 
 like "the gloomy brewer's ghost" or the "Flying 
 Dutchman." 
 
 The sublimity of homely melancholy, composed of 
 gravest reason, flitting imagination, and most deep fire- 
 side love and affection. These effects are not tricks 
 of Rembrandt Van Rhyn, they are humanity working 
 out its own image in its own way, and with its own 
 materials. 
 
 The pre-Kaffaelite dicta of ten years ago would 
 have laid these landscapes dead. The " awe of observa- 
 tion" peeping and botanising and protesting, and 
 putting the screw on square inches, would slay all 
 such art, and it is the grandest of all. 
 
 And the only answer to all mere verbal logic of 
 imitation in this direction is a Flanders hurricane of 
 disgust whistling over the wolds. 
 
 To HIS BROTHER. 
 
 June 1870. 
 
 JUST got home from a country excursion. I left 
 on Tuesday to meet the Budgetts at Faversham in 
 Kent. Last year I spent a similar week with them 
 in exploring Surrey. They took the coachman with 
 them, a pair of horses, and a waggonette, and the party 
 consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Budgett, Miss Budgett, and
 
 1870 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 207 
 
 myself. Our route, after I joined them, was not over 
 the best ground, not comparable for beauty to last 
 year in Surrey, but I think the enjoyment was greater 
 and the intercourse of the pleasantest sort, involving 
 all the best elements religious, intellectual, and social, 
 yet unexciting because of its simplicity. At Eochester 
 we learned from the verger of the Cathedral that 
 Charles Dickens had been seized at dinner with a fit 
 on Wednesday evening. On our way we had to pass 
 his house at Gad's Hill stopped opposite to it for a 
 moment, and saw two physicians evidently in consulta- 
 tion at the bay window. This was at 4.30, and at 
 that moment he was dying. He expired at 6 or soon 
 after. It was affecting to see, for the first time, his 
 country house under these circumstances. A few 
 weeks ago I passed him as he walked in a weary sort 
 of way, and wrapped in his own thoughts, from the 
 Royal Academy Exhibition and down Piccadilly. 
 
 Did I tell you that Cassell offered to pay me for 
 the right to copy the " Hymn " as a " first-class broad- 
 sheet wood engraving " to give away with a new 
 edition of their Family Bible ? I agreed to give them 
 the Copyright if they would make it a good thing. 
 It will be a capital advertisement, and the subject 
 must be of use in setting in motion good and useful 
 thought. 
 
 To MRS. STEWARD. 
 
 ONE of the amazing things of life is the mingling 
 of the occult and the obvious in the relations of man 
 to man. Nothing expresses it better than the circle 
 and its radii. The centre knows A B C D E F, but
 
 208 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 B and D don't know each other, nor F and C nor A 
 and E. All operate on the centre. The centre operates 
 on all. But that is only the beginning, A B C D E F 
 are all centres of new circles, of various sizes and 
 potencies ; some mechanical, others magnetic ; and 
 they commingle in a way too rapid to follow. We 
 can only know them by knowing " what God and 
 man is." 
 
 The one central point of bliss from which alone 
 one dare safely look out on life and meet the 
 600,000,000,000,000 of waves per second, is a heart- 
 felt faith ; and this, one feels more and more, is just " the 
 gift of God," and can't be reasoned away from the outside. 
 Its real nature can no more be defined than life can 
 be defined, or than light can be defined. The best 
 that David Livingstone could make of it, in reciting 
 his conversion, was that it was as when a blind man's 
 eyes are opened to see colours. He can't explain 
 further to the blind ; those who see understand without 
 explanation. 
 
 How it is that its power and beauty cannot be 
 much enhanced by reason, and how it is that the 
 many waters of unreason cannot quench, and scarcely 
 dim it, is as wonderful as most questions are when 
 gone into. So we say, " The man is a great philoso- 
 pher and an eminent scholar, and yet a humble 
 believer ; " and we say, " Betty Foy is as silly an old 
 goose as you'll meet in a sandy lane, and yet every 
 one knows her to be a saint such as there isn't one 
 greater in the parish." 
 
 The philosopher's saintliness is found on exactly 
 the same plane as Betty Foy's, and marked by the 
 same tokens. The difference is not a matter of
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 209 
 
 degree but of kind : one can't be measured by the 
 other. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 2lst July 1870. 
 
 ON the beach under Hunstanton. The sun a round 
 plate of red gold dipping near the Sea among lilac-gray 
 clouds the Sea itself steel colour with a touch of 
 yellow in it. Due north it is grand to think there is 
 nothing between yourself and the icebergs. 
 
 Secret continuance sublime 
 To the Sea's end. 
 
 (N.B. Always spell " Sea " with a capital S. It 
 is only right.) 
 
 The feet make no sound on the flat wide sands. 
 You hear the sound of your pencil as you write. All 
 human beings have become distant black dots. A 
 gull wings low by the edge of the tide. There is a 
 lighthouse on the cliff above which has a tall white 
 flame seen far up the North Sea. And now the sun 
 is like the red golden dome of the Kremlin at Moscow, 
 or rather of the church of St. Isaac at St. Petersburg 
 as described to me by W. B. Pope l (whom I love to 
 think of, so good and wise is he). And now there is 
 no sun of to-day. There are some fiery wings spread 
 over where he was, whose feathers thin off into the 
 upper skies where there are no clouds, and no muta- 
 tions. A muffled sound of artillery comes over the Sea. 
 Can it be that the hosts have broken into war ? 
 
 If outward circumstances could produce the highest 
 happiness it would be mine just now. The enumera- 
 tion of blessings seems almost too solemn to array 
 
 1 Dr. Pope of Didsbury Theological College. 
 P
 
 210 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 and these vast sweeping, simple sands ; this sound of 
 the Sea. (" The same sound is in my ears, which in 
 those days I heard ") ; this sky of crimson and amber 
 and lofty blue are all favourable to large perceptions 
 of life and its bearings. And I am, thank God, 
 reasonably happy. But since we came (and this is 
 generally the case for the first few days of one of 
 these grand Sea holidays), a languid, listless depression 
 hangs over the faculties, like the mist by the ocean in 
 the last Arthurian battle by the shore, and even the 
 soul partakes of it. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 THIS morning we had a row on the Sea. It is the 
 height of holiday joy for a father to take his boys 
 with him in a boat and row with them. No joy more 
 sweet and pure than to see them get brown in the 
 sun and grow stronger in the Sea air. 
 
 There are no dreams like " Sea Dreams." How 
 grand it was last night after sunset to walk a quarter 
 of a mile beyond our lodgings and find myself in a 
 solitary white road with barley and wheat fields on 
 each side, a hint of vast distance eastward, the Sea 
 westward, the lighthouse with its steady white star, 
 the lightship out at Sea with its red light going in 
 and out, the first stars appearing, the soft fresh night 
 breeze blowing, the hush, the calm, the sublime calm, 
 " the rising mind," the sense of God ! 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 30th July 1870. 
 
 How much attention and thought is claimed by the
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 211 
 
 state of the continent just now ! You will scarcely 
 remember the congratulations on the Era of Peace 
 which were so general in 1851 when the great elm 
 trees under the glass of the first Crystal Palace grew 
 green in the May weather. It is distressing to recall 
 the universal tone then and to glance along the Ehine 
 now, and think of how little at present science has 
 done for peace ! 
 
 What of our most peaceful art during these days of 
 suspense and trouble? In Prussia the passenger 
 trains are looked on with contempt as a sort of 
 impertinent lumber; so just now people won't care 
 very much about pictures, with such a tempest about 
 to blow. A thousand trumpets will drown the piping 
 of Arcadia. 
 
 2d August 1870. 
 
 WHAT a venerable old man must Stothard have 
 looked in his later years ! The bust in the vestibule 
 of the National Gallery is to my mind almost awe- 
 striking. It is like Old Father Thames when seen 
 from a point where the shaggy eyebrows drop over the 
 deep-set eye. It would have been memorable to hear 
 him talk. He used the polite, stately, and deferential 
 " Sir " in many of his sentences. " That is all glazing, 
 Sir," he said to a friend as they reclined under some 
 trees through the tops of which the filtering yellow 
 light produced that transparent effect obtained in oil 
 pictures by the process technically termed "glazing." 
 " It looks very unfinished, Sir," he said to Constable 
 when that painter showed him the picture of " The 
 opening of Waterloo Bridge," a most strange and 
 unlikely subject for Constable.
 
 212 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 One of the exquisitely pleasant crofts and paddocks 
 of painting is found in the sketches and studies of 
 Stothard. We see his wondrous pen trying a variety 
 of attitudes for so small a design as a book plate. The 
 suggestive grace of these deliberative thinkings is 
 bewitching. Next to these come his smaller works, 
 oil studies about six or eight inches long. In these 
 his sense of colour, the grace of attitude and composi- 
 tion, are seen quite as well as on a large scale, while 
 his deficiency in expanded natural detail is not seen. 
 It is seldom that so refined, sensitive, and contemplative 
 a nature rises into that force of perception of surface 
 detail which marks men like Dickens, and men like 
 Meissonier. It cannot come down to be curious about 
 it. It does not care for knuckles and veins. These 
 things also consume endless time require endless and 
 exhausting labour, and when expressed have little 
 intellectual force or meaning. What has a well- 
 imitated silk stocking or shoe-buckle, taking a week 
 of consummate toil to realise what has this to do with 
 such thinking as that of Stothard ? True, there is a 
 medium. Stothard's " drawing " was one of his greatest 
 gifts, but it was not the drawing of Wilkie or of Dadd. 
 It was far more noble than that of Wilkie, though 
 far from being so " racy." It was less express than 
 that of Dadd, but it had not the fever of acute and 
 consuming observation upon it. It was cool and sweet 
 as the dark bowers where his ladies sit on the grass, 
 or where his nymphs hide by the sedge of their 
 fountains. But alas ! not one in a thousand can enter 
 into the breathing beauty of a little Stothard. Any 
 one can criticise the size, shape, colour, of a shoe-buckle 
 or a silk stocking.
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 213 
 
 Such men as Stothard give a veuerableuess and 
 solidity to art. Erskine once got him into a witness 
 box and tried to bother him with mathematics. What 
 about this angle and the other? But the calm old 
 Triton put things so well that Erskine said, " It's no 
 use angling here, I find." 
 
 There is nothing produces a more lovely impression 
 on the mind than one of those " glimmering bowers 
 and glades " where Stothard's Desdemona-like ladies 
 are engaged with book, or lute, or dance. When the 
 thin trees shoot lightly against an obscure glooming of 
 the groves, and leave a sort of infinite whispering 
 sensation on the imagination. You have to leave off 
 at a certain point with him. He was the Quaker of 
 Art, and the Charles Lamb conception of the Quakeress 
 with all its doveiness was embodied in his work. But 
 of broad brim and cut collar, and suppressed, shrewd 
 innocence of spotless brown and speckless gray silver 
 you may have just enough, and that ere long. Life 
 of the best sort is forceful as well as reticent, and has 
 no peculiarities or tiny shibboleths. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 4th May 1870. 
 
 THE proper place for the right seeing of Thomas 
 Stothard's work is at the rate of three in a parlour, 
 and that parlour the parlour of the Vicar of 
 Wakefield : no one to see them without going there, 
 and drinking in the influences of the Vicar's household 
 first, and taking a " dish " of the vicar's wife's 
 tea, or a glass of her cool cowslip wine. Were 
 I a despot I would thus distribute Stothard all
 
 214 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 over the kingdom into the nooks of this kind. No 
 one should have more, than three. These would mostly 
 be done on a millboard and framed in plain flat with 
 no moulding, and they would run from 6 inches to 
 12 inches, or even as high as 14 inches. When 
 Stothard gets beyond that we feel a want, when he 
 keeps within that key no Arcadian shepherd of the 
 Golden Age ever piped a sweeter song. He excels 
 Eaffaele, he transcends Phidias in pure immortal 
 " Grace." 
 
 Monday, 9.15 A.M. Crowded in a Brake to Broad Street on way to 
 Westminster. 
 
 WHAT deductions from the mere intellectual force 
 of life come from the " conscience that makes cowards 
 of us all." The " native hue of Eesolution is sicklied 
 o'er with the pale cast of Thought." The moral forces 
 are to the intellectual what the higher phenomenal 
 forces of nature are to the lower. Fancy a garden in 
 the Bahamas, the growth of years, suddenly desolated 
 by a hurricane. It is clear that no small calculations 
 will serve in reckoning up the sum of life. Your 
 " Key to all the Mythologies," your sour wincing under 
 the strokes of Mr. Carp, about your " tractate," your 
 " Excursus on Crete." Poor old Thomas Aquinas ! A 
 little "fatty degeneration of the heart" is enough to 
 end all those. Your foot slips on the mere splashing 
 of the kitchen grease of existence. It is enough to 
 rouse all the powers of anguish and make the deep of 
 the heart to boil ; for what is your life ? 
 
 We go out and take Science by the throat and 
 shake her ; " You only lead me to face and enter the 
 blackness of darkness, you tell me nothing, you
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 215 
 
 sorceress ! What care I for your ghastly researches 
 among the slimy " dragons of the prime " ? Is there 
 no voice nor any that answers ? 
 
 I thank God through Jesus Christ my Lord. 
 
 Voices ? Yes ; they began " crying in the wilder- 
 ness." They broke out of the darkness over 
 Bethlehem 
 
 Peace on earth. Goodwill to men. 
 
 The earth broke forth with singing, the trees of the 
 field clapped their hands. The Voices took wing 
 dove -voices that no devil -hawks could swoop on. 
 They spread abroad, the trembling gold of their wings 
 glittered against the cloudless cope of Infinity. They 
 lodged on every pinnacle and parapet of Time, and 
 among the rest, " as doves to their respective windows," 
 a good number flew into the dovecot of Wesley's 
 Hymns. 
 
 While Jesu's blood through earth and skies 
 
 Mercy, free, boundless mercy, cries. 
 
 The Truth ("I am the Truth") is this, that the 
 " covering cherub " for all the clashing accidents of 
 Thought and Time is the sweep of the Atonement. 
 " The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice, let the 
 multitude of isles be glad thereof " ; or else perhaps 
 
 A still small voice says unto me, 
 Thou art so full of misery, 
 Were it not letter not to be ? 
 
 To C. M. 
 IT matters little among: various allowable methods
 
 216 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 what a man does if he will only follow it up long 
 enough. You have your man with his " Common- 
 place Book," his " Index Rerum," his " Squaring." All 
 depends on going on. Galton reminds the real 
 traveller not to wish to get to his journey's end, not 
 to go too fast. " Three miles a day," says he, " will 
 take you across a thousand miles in a year." Only go 
 on. In due time you will 
 
 Gaze at the Pacific, and your men 
 Stare at each other with a wild surmise, 
 Silent upon a peak in Darien. 
 
 This touch from Galton has so impressed me that I 
 use the word " Galtonise " for the not making haste 
 
 Breathed, as it were, 
 To an untiring and continuate goodness. 
 
 " Three miles a day," but all mastered, all rich, all 
 satisfying ! 
 
 ZQth October 1870. 
 
 THE yellow fog again from early morning till now 
 10 P.M. 
 
 " You seem to have many hindrances in your 
 calling," says the Observer. At times, it seems all 
 hindrance. The vexing influence of the one element 
 of Light, which is related to Painting as silence is to 
 Music, might be enough to take the heart out of an 
 impatient man. In a chorus at an oratorio a few 
 whispers, even a little chat, does not make much 
 difference, but in a Jenny Lind trill you must be able 
 to hear a pin drop. For certain parts of pictures the 
 light, and the eye, and the hand, and the mind, and 
 the model must all combine into a thrilling serenity
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 217 
 
 of mutual action passion governed to the point of 
 perfect repose. When this state is broken in upon 
 from without, the man is never more liable to be in a 
 towering passion. We should excuse an astronomer 
 if, when having waited for the long-coming moment of 
 occupation, he were engaged in some delicate observa- 
 tion, and some paltry interruption threatened him, he 
 were to lose temper. In the painter's work these hours 
 of exigency are frequent ; yet because they are not 
 distinguishable from the outside, sufficient allowance 
 is not made for the effect of interruption. Indeed, 
 the variety of occupation and moods demanded by a 
 picture leads to misapprehension. His painting is 
 like an Oratorio : while his choruses are drumming and 
 banging and roaring, the painter is prepared to take 
 things easily ; but when the more delicate solos are 
 being sung, he is in a fidget ; and as the one phase 
 runs so rapidly into the other with no time to explain, 
 it does give the sense of being assaulted when his 
 varying moods are misunderstood. This is one reason 
 why some painters will never admit any one to their 
 studios. 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 2d November 1870. 
 
 How puzzling to the mind is the difference be- 
 tween the individual and the great abstract entity of 
 a public event a war ! e.g. A is a Prussian aged 
 thirty, height six feet, square-shouldered, fresh, strong, 
 thoughtful, accomplished ; knows, after years of the 
 gymnasium, several languages. It cost him much to 
 get, at first, the inflections of a single irregular verb,
 
 218 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 but he did get them, and has them down in bins in 
 the cellars of his mind. Also Botany ; so that on the 
 Hartz mountains in last May he told "Gretchen" 
 wonderful details about a very little flower got high 
 up on a steep place told her the result of many 
 lamplight, midnight hours. There is no end to what 
 that man knows. He was mobilised in July saw 
 Wissenburg and Worth, saw the Emperor surrender, 
 and knew, as an individual, as much about the war as 
 one head could carry. See him now helping at his 
 gun, all his blood up, his eyes glistening with the 
 excitement of battle as the shells fall near him. Such 
 is A. 
 
 The scene was laid on October 28th at 3 P.M. 
 The battle ended at 5. At 5.30 the camp kettles 
 were steaming, and there came the news of the capitu- 
 lation of Metz, which was what A's eyes and mind 
 were straining to see and hear. "We shall hear of 
 it before noon to-morrow," said he. But at 3.10 (and 
 20 seconds) a shot from a chassepot went into the 
 temples of this man into the penetralia of his mind's 
 temple, " the dome of thought, the palace of the soul," 
 and lodged close against the fibres which on the one 
 side held fast the irregular verb and on the other the 
 Hartz flower. He fell straight by the simple force of 
 gravity ; and there he lies. In a few seconds B was 
 called to his place at the gun. And where is the 
 war ? It goes on as briskly as ever. The Germans 
 once more conquer. Moltke's steam-hammer works, 
 and A is only one of the sparks that fly upward. The 
 Daily Telegraph gives a vivid summary of the action, 
 city men rattle it off; the working man misspells it;
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 219 
 
 and the old squire down in the Queen Anne's Hall 
 among the woods describes it huskily over the walnuts 
 and port. 
 
 One has got into a web somehow about it. A 
 seemed so real; and one thinks so much of a man 
 who is ready with his irregular verbs ; and the 
 stamen of a Hartz flower is such an astounding 
 thing with its gums and dews on it, and its miracu- 
 lous look under the microscope. The fairy tales 
 of science are so very important that it is hard 
 to understand such sudden foreclosing and endings 
 because of a chassepot bullet of the destiny of which 
 the man who fired it had not the slightest idea. Is 
 one not to stop to think about A and try to unravel a 
 little ? But the clock strikes eleven, and one almost 
 " feels condemned " for having thought about A and 
 puzzling at all when a piece of duty on canvas lies 
 spread sternly before the eye as much a duty to 
 think over and wonder about and strain after as A's 
 sixty -pounder, or the foregone irregular verb, or the 
 little flower on the Hartz Mountains. 
 
 One dare not follow A any farther because there 
 glimmer on the mental disc such strange images going 
 and coming as in dissolving views. Yet they will go 
 and come exhalations of thought, ten thousand on 
 ten thousand images and thoughts. The best way to 
 finish the self-raised history of A is a pinewood on a 
 height 
 
 " And one far off divine event 
 To which the whole Creation moves." 
 
 But whatever should have brought up the next image 
 out of the vasty deep ? Is there any rational connection,
 
 220 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1870 
 
 or even proper sequence of perplexity, in a view of 
 " Napoleon the third taking soup at Wilhelmshohe " ? 
 
 To R J. S. 
 
 December 1870. 
 
 A HAPPY new year to you ! 
 
 You are doing a service in protesting against those 
 abominable French influences which more or less are 
 lowering the moral perceptions of some of our own 
 artists, and which, if suffered to prevail against what 
 they are pleased to call " puritanism," would rapidly 
 poison us as a people, and bring us where the French 
 now are. 
 
 " Lust hard by hate " has been the dominating 
 genius of the French school for long past. So their 
 canvas either drips with blood, or glows with false 
 passion. It would be better for us to have no name 
 in Art among the nations, or to go on with our harm- 
 less domestic subjects our little girls with sashes, 
 saying, " Come and tee me dump," than that this reek 
 of hot blood should steam up from our studios. 
 
 SOMETIMES in the darkest hours an idea for a 
 picture will start up like Aurora, and begin a new day 
 for the mind. I believe I owe much of my health to 
 the ever-springing changes and surprises of the Ima- 
 gination in the course of my work. Painting has 
 this enormous advantage that it blends the ideal and 
 the mechanical so completely. After weeks of real 
 drudgery over one picture the imagination which had 
 ceased from invention has been couching beneath in 
 the quiet caves, not overdriven by constant irritation, 
 and comes forth with the dew of its youth upon it.
 
 1870 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 221 
 
 One of the richest characteristics of imagination is that 
 it does not lessen with age, but grows in real power. 
 " Something which men call their Imagination," said 
 D. G. Eossetti to me once, " may decline as the animal 
 spirits lessen, but the genuine thing grows with age." 
 This is quite true. Imagination is the twin sister of 
 common sense, and not the fretful and excitable 
 bantling of overstrung nerves. The delirious dream- 
 ing of a fidgety fancy is no more Imagination than 
 the grotesquerie of St. Vitus's dance is wit. 
 
 The years of available and happy life which have 
 been already enjoyed ought to be the cause of thankful- 
 ness, even if " the days of darkness " were many. " The 
 sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier 
 things," says Tennyson. Surely, in the sphere of Faith 
 at least, there is some mistake here. " For what we 
 have received the Lord make us truly thankful." 
 
 BEAUTY, grandeur, subtlety, delicacy of perception, 
 are commonly supposed to be attained by those who 
 pick and choose and disdain. Never was a greater 
 mistake. It is the man who knows nothing common 
 or unclean that wrings the fine essences out of Nature. 
 The dilettante is he who misses the mark. Nathanael 
 Hawthorne attained to wonderful subtlety of expression 
 and perception, but his power was gained by his 
 reverence for the commonest things. He had no need 
 to " scale the Andes' clifty side " to see vast horizons. 
 
 " POOK woman, she is beset with fears and doubts, 
 and had she fallen into the hands of the Methodists 
 must soon have fallen into a state of despondency. "- 
 Mrs. Hare, Memorials of a Quiet Life.
 
 222 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 One is penetrated with sadness at seeing people 
 stand in the Christian Church on each side of impass- 
 able gulfs of misunderstanding, neither of them able to 
 join hands. Think of the mistake above indicated, 
 awful in its separating power, grotesque in its mis- 
 apprehension ! 
 
 He received this letter from Mr. Ruskin. 
 
 OXFOUD, 1st January 1871. 
 
 MY DEAR SMETHAM I cannot easily tell you how glad I am 
 to have your letter, how more than glad to know of your tranquil 
 and honourable life. Long may it thus continue. But let me 
 have a line sometimes to say that it does so. If I cannot answer, 
 you will know it is only because my hand is weary, or the power 
 of the dog gone before its task is done. Ever affectionately 
 yours, J. RUSKIN. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 6th April. 
 
 DAVID Cox was not farther off the world of 
 Meissonier and Gerome than I. Yet a D. Cox fetches 
 as much as a Gerome. Gerome would be a babe on 
 the wild fields and moors, and under the impending 
 storms of D. Cox. D. Cox would be a babe among 
 the marble and carved steel of Gerome. As Thomson's 
 " Seasons " to a levee at St. James's, so is D. Cox to 
 Gerome. The loose, solemn, sweet and windy thought 
 and fluent rapture of Thomson, swelling with the soul 
 of nature and "musing praise," that is Cox. The 
 reception of Sir Garnet "Wolseley in orders and stars at 
 the levee, that is Gerome. You can bring D. Cox and 
 Gerome to no sort of common element except that
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 223 
 
 they are both " authors " (as Turner called himself) 
 and need the chromatic gamut of the twelve pigments 
 to write their books. 
 
 To me the Life of D. Cox is a " revival service " of 
 the highest order. He was a quiet, calm apostle, who 
 spoke as Paul at Lystra and as the sixty-ninth psalm 
 speaks. Men don't listen to that side of truth much, 
 but some are sent to proclaim it, and keep God's work 
 before God's world, and I rise to a higher life as I see 
 this grand old husbandman out early and late in the 
 former and the latter rain, having long patience, 
 waiting for the precious seed. 
 
 And his 5 notions of pay come home to me with 
 the moral majesty of the true evangelist's rebuke 
 of the calling " gain godliness," and the unheroic 
 Christianity of so many Christians. 1 go to his 
 " inquiry room " subdued and ready to learn, and rise 
 with renewed energy. 
 
 As to the relative advantage or importance of oil 
 or water colours, I am obliged to leave that to pure 
 feeling. By closely watching the course of work I 
 have noticed that for three or four months together I 
 can pursue oil painting with delight; but that often, 
 most suddenly and unexpectedly, a strong disgust of 
 the senses will set in, and that then I am thank- 
 ful to escape to the land of Water Colour. In like 
 manner, on finding how tedious and laborious some 
 water-colour pictures become towards their close, and 
 that it will in certain parts take several days to execute 
 in water what might be done in a few hours with oil 
 colours, I am ready to vow that I will never work 
 except with oils. Practice equalises their claim some- 
 what, and each is found to have its special charms.
 
 224 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 The fascination of water colour is in its soft, silent, 
 insensible, thought- like operations, in the ease of 
 retouching it without disturbing the surface, in the 
 pleasant sense of protection and glimmering veiling 
 produced by the needful glass over the picture's face, 
 which dreads no dust, and never gets " ruined " in an 
 Exhibition. Water colour never gained so much on 
 my love as during the latest spell of it, beginning 
 about a month ago ; and when I think of Samuel 
 Palmer and Boyce and Dewint and David Cox, and 
 the exquisite " bits " we see yearly in all the exhibi- 
 tions by unknown men, when I recall the outdoor 
 delight of a twelve-inch drawing " on the spot," and 
 the creeping silence (as of a moving sunbeam on the 
 wall) of the pencil, the rapid drying of colour under 
 the brush, as dew from grass at sunrising, the correct- 
 ive possibilities, the portfolio conveniences, the com- 
 parative unpretentiousness of this medium, and add 
 to this the demands of the drawing-room for bright 
 decoration as compared with the demand for oil pictures, 
 it sometimes seems as if water colour would win the 
 day. 
 
 The framing, too, is so pliant that most men could 
 afford a mount, and bead, and glass, which is sufficient 
 to house the stranger from the Thought Land. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 10th June 1871. 
 
 THE windings of the river of study are charming 
 sometimes half odd. For example, I found myself 
 squaring Much Ado About Nothing, Act II. scene 3,
 
 1871 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 225 
 
 in following out Isa. xxiv. 8. Bible study, indeed, is 
 all study in its possibilities. 
 
 9.10, Broad Street. " Ter-rain ! " " Why here I am 
 on the wrong platform," hasty run out of breath 
 just catch it get seated make reflections on " absence 
 of mind." I really don't see how a painter of 
 imaginary scenes is to get over the occasional fits of 
 absence. So far from being "wool-gathering" it is 
 nugget-digging. Since I set off to the railway I have 
 had a good picture subject presented to my mind with 
 great vividness. It will be painted some day and be 
 worth 50. A man can't both see pictures in the 
 mind and signboards over the shops. What he 
 does see outwardly is usually only some accident of 
 the passing object, the effect of rain on the roof, the 
 gradation of gray in the church in the mist, something 
 that will tell in a picture some day. This is the 
 painter's practicalness. If he did not even indulge 
 the concentrated absence of mind to what usually 
 catches the attention of men he would be a lazy 
 dreamer. 
 
 A painter of this class has a right to be angry at 
 the ignorance of those who expect as much prompt- 
 ness and clearness in externals from him as from a 
 man whose whole life is a study of current events, 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 23d April 1871. 
 
 TRULY I do enjoy this quiet writing almost more 
 than face to face. The reason is simply that somehow 
 the fibre of my physique is not quite strong enough, and 
 the very delight of direct intercourse with many of 
 
 Q
 
 226 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 those I love at once generates a sort of acid that eats 
 into the fibre. And, if the elements are congenial, as 
 where in the case of F. J. S. art is combined with all 
 else dear to me, it is almost worse. Looks, tones, 
 gestures, the very eyelashes and the "accidents," in 
 general are etched deep with this aquafortis, which 
 does not get at the mental conditions except through 
 this here " fibre " ; then, reflexly, it touches them so 
 far as to create reaction. No amount of experiment 
 does more than modify this. I went to Ford Madox 
 Brown the other evening, and though I took a small 
 dose, yet B.'s beautiful geniality and ingrained kindli- 
 ness, and that of his family, Arthur Hughes's face 
 and retiring gentle power, Burton's kind greeting (he 
 reminds me of Thackeray's Colonel Newcome, some- 
 how), E. B. Jones's " wide blue eyes as in a picture," 
 Morris's rum and indescribable " deportment " (not at 
 all like Turveydrop's). All these things not simply 
 pass ; they bite. They always did ; and if I let the 
 acid stay on too long, there is a bubble and a sharp 
 fume, and a black ragged line, instead of the sweet 
 incision of event. The remedy has always been in the 
 mechanical adoption of a life like that of the Lady of 
 Shalott. She weaves continually. She dare not stop 
 her weaving, either night or day, so is not an idle 
 hussey. At the same time, she is not cut off from 
 the outward world. She sees all, but it is in a glass. 
 Shakespeare, too, has it in perfection : 
 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 
 Into his study of imagination, 
 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 
 Shall come apparelled in more precious habit,
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 227 
 
 More moving, delicate and full of life, 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 Than when she lived indeed. 
 
 This, indeed, has become a sort of life-motto with me. 
 It is not that life is a mere voluptuous dream. My 
 " weaving " goes on. I have just, in fact, come to the 
 end of my Bible " squaring," which has cost me 
 twenty years of leisure, having tunnelled through the 
 whole Book. My work in the Church is just as con- 
 tinuous and direct. I keep up correspondence with 
 all my friends, and, as Von Moltke fights battles in his 
 cabinet and knocks armies really to pieces, so do I 
 conceive of this Camera Obscura life laid on me un- 
 willingly by this defect of " fibre." 
 
 I could say more, but I see I have taken too long 
 a radius in my compasses. At this proportion I shall 
 never be done. 
 
 I sympathise with your long toil. I see you 
 exhausted on the 8th, and know what it means : that 
 occult, reiterated, breathless labour which is appreciated 
 by one man in 2000 even of the intelligent. That 
 having things " right " at " the price of blood." Still 
 it tells in the long run, and you will come out Con- 
 queror. In two different ways I see and admire the 
 stern toil of F. M. B. and D. G. R No one knows 
 what work costs these men, and how profitable it is to 
 see their example. 
 
 About this time he received the following from D. G. 
 Rossetti. 
 
 THE MANOR HOUSE, 
 KELMSCOTT, 
 
 LECHDALE. 
 
 Morris is here now from Iceland, and has brought a fund of
 
 228 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 anecdote, of course, though the country seems pretty well barren 
 of all else, as far as I can judge. However, such things will 
 not do at second hand ; the face and voice of the man who was 
 their " pars magna " are the life and soul of them. An Ice- 
 landic pony for his two charming little girls is the tangible 
 result of the journey. It carried him, incessantly almost, for 
 many weeks, and is now grazing with unexpressed, but I should 
 think unquestionable, relish in the English river-meadow behind 
 this house. 
 
 There is much in your letter which is quite beyond the 
 scope of a hasty answer like this ; but I cannot help reverting 
 with real sorrow to what you say so reservedly but poignantly 
 of your professional difficulties. That picture of the Hymn 
 should have met with better recognition, but it is among the 
 Works whose audience is limited ; and it is sad to see how 
 little permanent hold it seems to have given you on hanging 
 committees. When in London again I must absolutely bring 
 Graham to you, i.e. when he also returns from his present 
 holiday in Scotland. Davies told me of a picture you were 
 doing from Comns, which he seemed to think very successful 
 in tone and method. I want to see it ; but more to see you, 
 and hope ere long to try and get you to Chelsea again as my 
 stay here cannot last much longer and to renew old ideas and 
 discussions. 
 
 My health is not brilliant in any way, but I push on as yet. 
 Do you get news of Shields? Not that I ask this question 
 to burden you with more correspondence, but hope to see you 
 soon in a Studio new swept and garnished, though a devil or 
 two may be there yet. Ever yours, D. G. K. 
 
 To D. G. R. 
 
 IZth September 1871. 
 
 I MUST indulge myself for awhile in a little con- 
 versation with the pen in reply to your welcome letter. 
 I am not quite sure whether I am not more healthy 
 and happy under the veil of correspondence than in 
 much face to face intercourse with vivid actual life. 
 What your tapestry at Kelmscott is to you fixing
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 229 
 
 your goggle eye trancedly on some huge problem on 
 Samson's shoulder the phenomena of visible inter- 
 course are to me. All is so great, so pleasant, so 
 wondrous. Deep calls to deep, and I haven't got 
 the physical grit to take it easy. But in the studio 
 with the pen it is like being in a Camera Obscura ; 
 all silent yet moving, life and dream together. 
 
 My explanation about the Article 1 related more to 
 myself than to you. I felt sure on the whole that 
 you would see the motions of the thing; but as I 
 have never been careless or capricious in regard to 
 undertakings I felt bound sometime to account for the 
 arrest of what under other conditions would have been 
 truly a labour of love. I am profoundly grateful for 
 your settled confidence in my affections for you and 
 . . . thank you most kindly for your offer of help. 
 But the fact of the case is that we are not in actual 
 want of money, nor are likely to be for some time to 
 come. Ever since we were married we have, one way 
 or other, been able to pay our way. It is true that a 
 sense of the exceeding precariousness of painting, and 
 of late a sort of awakening to the perception that my 
 instrument was elaborately set to tunes that were not 
 popular, have made me faint and sicken with fear as 
 to the possibility of getting hemmed in by debt or 
 dependence, but the day has not yet come. This 
 summer I have been pulling my organ to pieces, and 
 pricking new tunes on the barrel : " Polly put the 
 Kettle on," " 'Tis jolly to hunt in the six-foot fern," 
 " My Heart's in the Highlands," etc., i.e. I have been 
 sketching out of doors heather and fern and country, 
 sort of English scenes, which are to be tenanted by 
 
 1 Proposed review of Rossetti's poem.
 
 230 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 live rustics, instead of the other sort. I have not yet 
 had time to finish anything in this style, but my 
 ambition now is to drop all pretensions to " 'igh Art," 
 and take my place among the labouring classes. I 
 love these wood walks and lanes and banks as in- 
 tensely as anything else, and it will be no cross to 
 come down if I can do it, which remains to be seen. 
 What I want is to produce something which will have 
 a kind of strict market value, not of the fancy kind. 
 I believe that moderate sized pictures from 20 to 50 
 guineas and from 18 inches to 3 feet are strictly 
 in demand if they suit the taste of the typical English 
 householder of the Upper Middle Classes. Then I'm 
 their man if I can suit as to work. I've no qualms 
 as to being an ill-used professor of better things, for 
 the joy of life has long risen above this sort of 
 nonsense. My doubts relate to whether I can take 
 my place in competition with those who have stuck 
 their heads into heather and fern all their lives. Truly 
 the very thing I want is that Wallis, Agnew, Vokins 
 (or Nokes or Stokes, or Styles or Brown or Thompson) 
 should give me 2 2 5 30 guineas for a two-foot oil 
 "View in Surrey," having a shepherd boy with an 
 oak branch in his hat. Then as to the Academicians 
 and their hangings " Bless their old gaiters ! " I care 
 as little as I care for the permission to dine given to 
 all the rest of the world by the Emperor of China or 
 Japan after he has got his own tuck-in. . . . 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 TONE in a picture is one of the noblest of all its 
 elements, but it has a sort of spiritual entity ; it has
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 231 
 
 no existence in itself. It has no parts, yet it is a 
 reality as much as the most precise piece of form in 
 the picture. It is the overruling element. It is 
 the kingly element. It brightens and subdues and 
 ignores and adjusts. It has a splendour, but it is the 
 splendour of Law, of subordination, of strong repression 
 and cautious exaltation. It is felt by the observer as 
 the pressure of authority is felt ; but its motions can 
 only be seen by the initiated. Correggio and Titian 
 were masters of it, and it is this which crowns their 
 art and makes it magical. 
 
 It is exactly in painting what the overruling 
 perception and purpose is in life. 
 
 I ENTERED into every turn and winding of word, 
 thought, feeling in your ventilator, and feel happy on 
 your behalf; for it shows that you have hold of the 
 golden chain of life which is " content," and is " great 
 gain." How great none can tell, and making compound 
 interest every hour. 
 
 What is content ? The true answer to that is a 
 world of bliss and rest. It is not helpless submission 
 to necessity. It is not the fulfilment of our rov- 
 ing desires. It is a sublime condition, the product 
 of knowledge and faith and hope and love. One of its 
 conditions is the perception of our proper place in the 
 universe, and the belief that we have strictly a vocation. 
 Another is that cheerful humility of spirit which 
 honour upholds, and which makes no extravagant 
 demands on the Universe or on Providence. Another is 
 the alchymic eye to see much in little the spirit 
 which made the old woman say to Bishop Burnett, as 
 she held up her crust, " All this and Christ."
 
 232 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 See how it is " great gain " when a crust . is El 
 Dorado ! 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 I WENT down to Dulwich last week to have a look 
 at the Gallery. It is the most delightful gallery in 
 arrangement and surroundings that I know, or know 
 of. You don't turn out of a hot street, where on the 
 hot pavement you meet hot and discontented people 
 coming out in lavender and straw-coloured gloves, 
 irritated with British art, like a bull that has seen a 
 red rag "(the ingrates !) You walk along a breezy 
 quiet road " This way to the Picture Gallery " ISP 3 
 under green trees, after green fields, and you give a 
 little gravelly side turn, and " The Picture Gallery is 
 now open." How kind ! How civil ! How silent ! 
 You write your name in a visitors' book, and see that 
 yesterday John Ruskin was here. Then you begin 
 your lounging round, and 'note the thin browns of old 
 Teniers' "Caves of Temptation," and Gerhard Dow's 
 " Old woman and porridge pot," and Gainsborough's 
 "Mrs. Siddons." All is sober and uncrowded, and 
 well lighted and profoundly still. And there is a man 
 of sixty in gray suit with nankeen coloured waistcoat, 
 and red flower in buttonhole, and white hat, and 
 tasselled cane, and silver spectacles, and ruddy, 
 thoughtful face. He has a blunt mouth, and somehow 
 reminds one of Sir Joshua. You get into conversation 
 with him. He has a real Vandevelde at home. His 
 mother brought him here fifty years ago ! I saw him 
 muttering to Titian's " Europa" (it must have been about 
 his mother and the flight of Time.) I learned his
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 233 
 
 name afterwards from the visitors' book, but if you 
 think I am going to tell it you, you never were more 
 mistaken in your life. The keeper of the Gallery 
 comes and peers at you over his spectacles. He is not 
 quite sure in his little room which are the pictures 
 and which are the visitors, and he's come to see. I 
 could have told him that the gentleman in gray and 
 myself were certainly mere pictures walking in a vain 
 show, soon to disappear, and that fifty more years will 
 see that little boy yonder with his mamma coming an 
 old man in gray to recall the impressions of to-day 
 and of Ms mother. But he won't find us. 
 
 It is always " Jacob's Dream " which turns the scale 
 as to whether I come to Dulwich or no. Hazlitt wrote 
 about Jacob's Dream in the London Magazine some- 
 where about 1824. Hazlitt! Where's Hazlitt? 
 But " Jacob's Dream " is there ; every tint and every 
 scratch of the pencil in the trees is there. That 
 picture was painted between Eembrandt's breakfast and 
 his tea, on a late October day, when the wind was 
 sighing and the leaves falling. I know it was. 
 
 SEE poem to Gladstone on " Use and Beauty " by 
 " H." This eternal confounding of confusion on the 
 question of Use and Beauty is enough to appal any one 
 who has studied the subject. All you can answer is 
 this, Ugliness never did, and never can do any good. 
 On the other hand, Beauty won't save the soul, only 
 Christ, who is the "Primeval Beauty," can do this. 
 But these two poles are found in everything. Ignorance 
 can't save the soul, and knowledge can't. And plain 
 gowns can't, and gowns at thirty guineas can't, and 
 discord can't, and music can't, nor mathematics, nor
 
 234 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 Irish bulls. If you want to be warm you must make 
 a fire and stand near it, and not be under some stupid 
 delusion that extracting a square root or measuring 
 laughing gas with a two -foot rule has, somehow, 
 something to do with being warm. 
 
 Then I saw that it is of much more importance to 
 preserve a fresh and tender love to man and to God 
 than to turn a corner of an art career ; also, that the 
 opinion of a small circle in a parlour won't be altered 
 supernaturally ; that Providence works by natural 
 events, natural opinions, and elements, and that the 
 victory which overcomes the world is not that which 
 makes the world succumb, but that' which rises 
 above it. 
 
 GOD is angry with the wicked every day. Well, 
 but is He angry with thy industry, thy truthfulness, 
 thy obliging ways, thy affectionateness ? Go to the 
 wise woman of Abel Beth Maachah, and she will 
 show thee that Joab has no need to batter down a 
 whole town for one rebel's sake ; and will teach thee 
 just where the whole secret lies. Pitch Sheba's head 
 over the wall and thy city shall be safe. 
 
 IGNORANCE is so crass. Preach your throat dry 
 and men won't be convinced. " Smith of Chichester " 
 made 2000 a year, while Eichard Wilson took 
 picture after picture to a low dealer, who heaped them 
 up saying, " Look here, Dick, I can't sell those I have 
 got." Yet " Smith of Chichester " is now a byword, 
 and Kichard Wilson a renown. People look to men 
 in power. So Reynolds overshadowed Wilson with 
 his bland jealousy. People wait of one another
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 235 
 
 " What do you think, eh ? " " Is it or is it not ? " i.e. 
 they wait till the cry of the mob has been raised and 
 then they say, " Hooray ! Wilson for ever ! Smith 
 down the river ! " and would fain buy Wilsons when 
 they are only to be had for great sums. If anything 
 could sour a man who has the support of such a 
 delightful pursuit, it is to feel sure of all this, as 
 Richard Wilson was, and watch the timid ignorance 
 of a public professing to care for art while in reality 
 caring only for name. 
 
 1st October 1871. 
 
 You seem interested and amused by my theory of 
 Ignorance in relation to art. But one of the first 
 nights off the mere clods of art into the Empyrean is 
 the dictum that one of the most " snobbish " things in 
 painting is perfection that one necessity of the best 
 kind of art is imperfection. 
 
 The analogy between Art and Eeligion is just that 
 between earthly and heavenly things; but if these 
 earthly things be obscure, a fortiori, much more 
 obscure are the heavenly. Note one part of the 
 analogy. In Christ's kingdom all was " bouleverse- 
 ment," and a Spartan, a Roman, a Greek, seeking after 
 wisdom, of course could not receive the " kingdom of 
 God." In their eyes the Christian was a sneak: 
 " poor in spirit." Yet the servant was as his master. 
 He could call twelve legions of angels, yet he did not 
 invoke one ; not even in the hour and power of dark- 
 ness. The apostle said, " when I am weak, then am I 
 strong." Frightful paradox to the pugnacious gladiator 
 in the arena with the knuckle-dusters on. "Never-
 
 236 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 theless I live," said Paul. As the life of electricity 
 to the life of mechanism, however complex, so is true 
 life in all kingdoms ; and to grasp at a glance the true 
 equations of art, so as to separate the precious from 
 the vile, requires the swift disintegrating and reunit- 
 ing power of intuition. 
 
 It is just that which throws men out so in the 
 region of art. They are always receiving the shocks of 
 Electric Paradox, and often get angry and say there is 
 nothing in art because their mechanics fail them. 
 They buy a mill and put a principle in it to grind. 
 It won't grind and they smash their mill. They don't 
 see that the solutions are effected by an invisible 
 Power, conducted by innumerable wires en rapport with 
 the Universe. Cogs and wheels are next to nothing. 
 
 Put your medal in a solution, and all the silver 
 flies to it in invisible flakes and molecules which won't 
 obey any mechanical spirit will only obey the proper 
 spell, and come out of their holes to the music of the 
 world, as the rats to the piper of Hamelin, trooping in 
 drifts of invisibility to the design of Wyon, the Demi- 
 urgus "in wavering morrice." 
 
 But then nothing comes amiss to the true life. In 
 the most prosaic picture the thrilling sensibilities of 
 the higher powers fetch out the particles of poetry. 
 Things are not discriminated by names. You don't 
 say " Blake is poetic and Nasmyth is prosaic, therefore 
 give us a Blake give us a Nasmyth." 
 
 Guide-posts serve men who don't know the way 
 itself. 
 
 2d October. 
 
 I FANCY from the barometric observations on all
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 237 
 
 hands that the northern iceberg system of rigour and 
 Polar frost is near to dissolution. I hear mysterious 
 cracks across the snow-fields, and hope presently that 
 the bergs will float away all glistening and melting 
 " where the monstrous narwhal spurts his foamy foun- 
 tains in the sea." 
 
 But what if it is not so ? " Shall we go mourn for 
 tluit, my dear ? " I was too happy among the solemn 
 North Seas with the Auroras crackling round the skies 
 to be too anxious for mere coddling and comfort. 
 
 What I was going to say indicates a change in the 
 air. It is three years since I read anything, i.e. with 
 more than the intention to distract the mind. This 
 week I have actually read and squared Timon of 
 Athens and Corwlanus.' Dr. Johnson says that " the 
 tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most amusing 
 of our author's performances." No one writes a 
 sentence like that nowadays, any more than they 
 wear cocked hats and breeches. " Amusing " had a 
 different meaning then. Shakespeare stands the 
 wonder of all time. Now why ? He had small 
 Latin and less Greek. Ben Jonson had large Latin 
 and much Greek; but who really cares for Ben 
 Jonson except literary fogies who pity your ignorance 
 if you say so ? It is just this : Shakespeare was all 
 alive, a nimble spirit like the lightning, who could put 
 " a girdle round the earth in forty minutes " and not 
 feel that he had done anything particular, but at the 
 age of 46 to go to Stratford and buy a bit of property, 
 and loll over the gates, talking to farmers and graziers, 
 and Bill the butcher's boy, and the Squire at the Hall : 
 at home with the Universe. His sort of carelessness 
 in his plays reveals the man. When his blood is up
 
 238 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 he makes heaven and earth bend and deliver up what 
 he wants on the instant, and goes crashing through the 
 forest of words like a thunderbolt, crushing them out 
 of shape if they don't fit in, melting moods and tenses, 
 and leaving people to gape at the transformation. If 
 the grammarians object, he goes on like the hero of 
 Jabberwocky 
 
 frubjus day ! Calloo, Callay ! 
 He chortles in his joy ! 
 
 He's not going to stop and put their heads on straight. 
 They should have kept out of his way. 
 
 The truth is he did not conceive things in words at 
 all. He was a Seer. He first saw the thing or the 
 character, as if he had got out of himself into it, and 
 then with the " noble mould of Marcius " he just drove 
 the words together with a voice of thunder. 
 
 The poet's eye in a fine phrensy rolling 
 
 Did glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 
 
 Do you think he was a talker ; talking people down 
 with his small Latin ? He talked, yes ; but so as to 
 make everybody " unbolt to him," and he had them 
 ere they were aware by the gift of sympathy. He had 
 what is reported of Mirabeau, le don terrible de la 
 familiarite, and caught them without guile. Sure am 
 I of this, that Shakespeare was like putty to every- 
 body, and everything, the willing slave, pulled out, 
 patted down, squeezed anyhow, clay to every potter. 
 But he knew by the plastic hand what the nature of 
 the moulder was. Your weak-strong man butts and 
 asserts himself, and gets to know nothing and 
 nobody.
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 239 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 29th October 1871, 
 Breakfast Room, 4.45 P.M. 
 
 PIANO in this room, accordion in that ; both going ; 
 also mamma explaining aloud to three youngest some 
 '' squares " I drew in margin of W. M. Bunting's life. 
 I never like to stop the dear home-noises when directed 
 to any end, even when they reach a " fair "-like clash 
 and confusion. " Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, this 
 way up to the giant." " Bang ! " says the gun. 
 " Clash ! " go the cymbals. " Yo Ho ! " says the speak- 
 ing trumpet. Then he has a turn at us. "Never 
 mind the parson and picter-maker. There they go ! " 
 What a blessing to be well enough to write quietly ! 
 (I forgot to mention the linnet in the cage ; bless his 
 little throat.) 
 
 But the row will be over soon enough, and there 
 must be no memories of painful and threatening 
 "hushes" and stoppages of the torrent of innocent 
 childish noise. 
 
 Bless God likewise for hard work, and even for 
 repression in progress. This is a dangerous thing to 
 say ; it is like inviting further testing. Only we have 
 not got a High Priest who is provoked by our speeches 
 and ventilators to catch us and trap us. One of the 
 sublimest and most calming thoughts is that He reads 
 the heart and the life straight through. " Lord, thou 
 knowest all things." Peter cut the knot. It would 
 have been a poor case for Peter in argument. We 
 are better off with our Saviour's omniscience than 
 with all the best efforts of our best friends. To them 
 I, for one, feel I could never make the crooked
 
 240 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 straight. We say too much to this man, too little to 
 that. Our promise is greater than our performance, 
 our impulses than our acts ; not to mention our 
 varying passions, our mobile loves, and angers, and 
 resentments, and indolences. We mean well, nay, 
 we mean the best, but there is neither time nor power 
 to put things right all round. But Omniscient Love 
 cleaves all like lightning and ends all at a glance. 
 
 Love, how cheering is thy ray ; 
 All pain "before thy presence flies. 
 
 DURING the last week my fancy has been full of 
 the early boyhood of Charles Dickens. My little 
 Edwin, who is near ten years of age, roasting chest- 
 nuts, and Georgey, near twelve, compounding for a 
 piece of my pear, represent that terrible period of his 
 life. Both are childish. Only think of one between 
 those ages having to fight all his own battle without 
 any help of any kind ; " no adviser, no consolation, no 
 guidance, so help him God ! " 
 
 The entire character, life, work, of Dickens, and its 
 total bearings on the interests of the race, form a 
 problem to which my thought is not equal. But 
 this I know, that no good comes from wholesale 
 denunciation and darkened sympathies. " Pure love 
 to every soul of man " is the only basis of true judg- 
 ments of men. The green fibre of the tobacco plant, 
 the root of the vine, the fires of the volcano, the gases 
 of the slow-running drainage at Londesborough Lodge, 
 are all a part of His work whose " sober spotless 
 mind " constitutes " our heaven on earth." The one 
 thing defined for us is to have that mind.
 
 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 241 
 
 20th November 1871. 
 
 A GOOD day at my picture. Glanced at the Life 
 of Wilkie by Allan Cunningham. This book, given 
 me by my father in 1843, has been one of the most 
 secretly delightful books in all the world. It has 
 been read and re-read ; and I could now sit down and 
 read over the journals of work in the first volume 
 with appetite, though, like a child with a fairy tale, I 
 know " what is coming " at every step. How long it 
 took to paint the little picture of " The Jew's Harp " 
 I have several times reckoned up, and should like to 
 do it again. None but a professed painter who has 
 made painting his life work knows the peculiar savour 
 of such inquiries. 
 
 I know each lane and every valley green, 
 Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood, 
 And every bosky bourn from side to side, 
 My daily walks, and ancient neighbourhood. 
 
 But of late years, the occasional reviving of appetite 
 for Wilkie's Life (so well bethumbed) has raised 
 questions like a flight of fieldfares questions so 
 solemn, so practical, so home-thrusting, that I often 
 feel as if I were before some judge and jury, and 
 bound to go through them all in self-defence. 
 
 Miss Landon, who was popular when I was a 
 youth, and who wrote a poem about Maclise's " Vow 
 of the Peacock" at a time when Maclise took the 
 public by storm as the public took against him at 
 a later period Miss Landon wrote some verses 
 headed " We might have been." If one wanted a bit 
 of fun for social purposes one might write a reply 
 
 E
 
 242 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 headed, " Why were we not ? " Every new touching 
 of Wilkie's Life, not to speak of a thousand incitatious, 
 raises these two trains of thought. But why Wilkie ? 
 To me, for many reasons. The book came out and 
 was given to me just at the beginning of my career 
 as a painter. It is the most express and detailed 
 painter's life I know anything of. It unfolds the 
 whole secret of success, and the price which must be 
 paid for it; and Wilkie was the absolute type of a 
 man devoted solely to one object in life, and pursuing 
 it with the pertinacity of a bloodhound up to his 
 latest hour on board the steamer from Malta. He 
 was the absolute type of the successful worker. He 
 sowed for what he reaped, and he reaped in full 
 measure that which he sowed. Turner might be 
 placed with him fully in these two respects. 
 
 I saw all this at the age of twenty-two ; and felt 
 it with as total a force as ever since. My early 
 advantages in some respects were not equal to Wilkie's. 
 He studied at the Trustees' Academy in Edinburgh 
 and at the Eoyal Academy in London. He was only 
 fifteen when he went to the former. At fifteen I 
 went to Lincoln to study Architecture under E. J. 
 Willson. At school between the ages of eleven and 
 fifteen I had drawn Kaffaele's Cartoons and many 
 good things in Indian Ink from the engravings in the 
 Annuals of that period (and delicious things those 
 gem-like steel engravings were). At the age of six- 
 teen I began to paint in oil, and from life. At 
 eighteen I essayed portraits ; and from that time have 
 maintained myself by painting. I studied for a little 
 while at the Eoyal Academy, quite enough, as I 
 think, for I had been well practised in drawing, and I
 
 1871 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 243 
 
 distinctly remember the keeper speaking of my drawing 
 as " masterly," as well as being told by Phillips the RA. 
 something as encouraging, and by Jones that " in or 
 out of the Academy I was sure to succeed." From 
 eight years of age and even before, as I can clearly 
 recollect, all my nature was enchained to painting, 
 not simply as an amusement but in a rapturous and 
 enthusiastic way, as high-minded in feeling as if I 
 "rode a horse with wings that would have flown." 
 This full tide of enthusiasm has run through my whole 
 life, and I feel it now as strong as ever. 
 
 Putting all these things together, it might reason- 
 ably have been expected that, like Wilkie, I should 
 have lived a life of unmixed devotion to painting, and 
 that the result would have been some amount of fame 
 and fortune. 
 
 Let me examine my course. 
 
 Have I been idle ? Not for an hour. 
 
 Have I been triflingly employed ? I have been 
 on full stretch with the highest employments I could 
 set before my mind and hand. The crucial question 
 comes next. Have I suffered my energies to be diverted 
 from the one object of painting ? Answer. Yes and No. 
 
 But I will not answer any more questions before I 
 have had time to speak about Wilkie and his career. 
 What did his success cost him? Eead his life and 
 you will have a minute account of the way in which 
 his time was spent daily. He did nothing but paint. 
 What he read was only by the way ; and though his 
 mind no doubt was " piercing in its energy of investi- 
 gation" in his own line, yet he was no better than 
 the average small tradesman out of it. Witness his 
 " Lectures " and the small style of his observations
 
 244 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 generally. Witness his small love for "the great." 
 "To sit at their tables, mon, it is grand." Weak 
 and watery to a great degree outside his art, his life 
 was commonplace except within it. He reaped as 
 he sowed, and we reap the benefit of his sowing also, 
 with untold delight. No blame therefore to Wilkie, 
 and great gain to us. 
 
 Perhaps it was no part of his biography to speak 
 of his soul's history, nor was Allan Cunningham the 
 man who could have done it. I see no evidence in 
 his writings that in his youth or manhood his soul 
 was ever awakened within him. There is nothing to 
 distinguish him from the good-natured, moral, canny 
 Scotchman of the world. No doubts as to his course 
 seem to have retarded him for an hour. He leaped 
 into fame at a bound at the early age of twenty-one. 
 He was joined at once to polite society ; to the society, 
 in fact, of " the great," and there he dwelt all his years 
 on the earth respected and respectable. His religion, as 
 far as appears, might be summed up in the concluding 
 sentence of a sermon heard by my friend Mr. Chubb 
 from the lips of Sydney Smith (whose preaching, by the 
 way, Wilkie much admired), "Finally, my brethren, if 
 you wish to die respected, be respectable." 
 
 Beyond this depth I see nothing deeper in Wilkie's 
 soul ; and I seem to hear an echo, faint and watery as 
 in a cold old mossy well, " Well ! what more would 
 you have ? " It is this " what more " that is the key, 
 the cross, the crown of my whole history from that 
 year 1843 to this present time. 
 
 29th November 1871. 
 
 HAVE got Leslie's Life of Constable. The half-
 
 871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 245 
 
 rapturous zest, secret and exceeding, of such a book, 
 every inflection of which is delightful ! I love the 
 concentrated love of Constable. The rambling, travel- 
 ling, widespread, insatiate, hasty spirit misses of art's 
 greatest aim (so named by Wordsworth), Tranquillity, 
 If Pascal read one book (Montaigne), surely one Sussex 
 Valley is enough for one life. A couplet from the 
 " Farmer's Boy " quoted in an old Academy Catalogue 
 has stuck to me for thirty years. 
 
 Small was his charge, no wilds had they to roam, 
 But bright enclosures circling round their home. 
 
 When we consider that a whole sky, through all the 
 seasons, is open to one vale, with its stars and sun and 
 moon and clouds of all measures and manners and 
 colours, what more can an immortal mind desire ? 
 The same tree, well beloved and honoured, is twenty 
 trees from twenty different points of view. But in a 
 valley there are many trees, and so, many different 
 combinations. Add the hills, the stream, the cottages, 
 the bridges. Ring the changes on sky and earth in 
 the sheltered, single vale, and what more can you 
 long for ? If eight bells will yield so many changes, 
 what of a Sussex valley ? 
 
 BQth November, 9 P.M. 
 
 BEADING Constable's Life with varying feelings. 
 To me the pinch of such reading is in the confirmation 
 of certain conclusions about the practice of painting in 
 England. The variations and uncertainties of opinion 
 for its own sake I care nothing for ; they do not 
 agitate me. They are interesting, and so much is to 
 be said on all sides. But when I see that the most
 
 246 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 highly cultivated intellects are often the feeblest 
 possible judges of painting ; that success may be kept 
 down for a lifetime, and opportunities and encourage- 
 ments denied for want of a fair judgment ; that critics 
 are largely " handled " and used indirectly by the men 
 of push and ambition ; and that without their aid, 
 large or even moderate success is next to impossible ; 
 that any measure of original thought is looked on 
 coldly, even among the best judges, till it prevails by 
 very gradual acceptance (note Sir G-. Beaumont's entire 
 difference from Constable, as to the soundness of his 
 art, and compare Sir G-. B.'s opinions with those of 
 Leslie on this subject) ; that the painter's strength lies 
 in waiting and in silence (seeking for commissions 
 only defeating its own object); there is apt to creep 
 over me a feeling almost weird and shuddering, such 
 as is symbolised by such a circumstance as the being 
 locked at twilight in a solitary building about which 
 a man has been happily and long wandering, and 
 which he entered as a treasure house of science or art, 
 or as when an imperfectly informed settler finds him- 
 self enclosed by dangers of the woods or hostile tribes 
 where he expected to found a peaceful settlement. 
 
 The following are selections from a note-book written about 
 this period : 
 
 2d December 1871. 
 
 BOUGHT a new box of water colours ; then walked on 
 to National Gallery and studied Constable's "Corn- 
 field." Constable was fifty years old when he painted 
 it, and it is in the maturity of his solemn, sober, russet 
 way of thinking among "hamlets brown and dim 
 discovered spires," hearing " their simple bell."
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 247 
 
 No eloquence could express my personal thankful- 
 ness for the National Gallery and the Museum at S. 
 Kensington. To have examples of all the best masters, 
 ancient and modern, at command, as free of access as 
 if they were hung in your own house and better 
 illuminated, is so delightful that to a painter no 
 mental feast is equal to it. In the lives of Wilkie 
 and Constable we read of the occasional privilege of 
 studying a few of these very things at " Angerstein's," 
 " Sir Geo. Beaumont's," " Peel's," etc. There is a 
 pleasant notice in Constable's Letters of a visit to Cole- 
 orton, the seat of Sir G. Beaumont, and. of his rapture 
 at being in daily converse with Claude's " Narcissus 
 and Echo," his " Annunciation," his " Cephalus and 
 Procris," and the Field Study with the piping shepherd. 
 Yet for years and years I have conned these very works 
 with the utmost leisure. One of the rarest privileges 
 of 25 years ago was to know some one who knew some 
 one else who had been permitted to go and see "Turner's 
 Gallery ' in the mysterious house in Queen Anne's Street, 
 with its blind, windowless frontage a haunted house 
 to all young painters. The ear drank in the lightest 
 echoes of report as to the material of the Gallery. 
 But for years all the Arcana have been laid bare 
 nay even his sketches and his studies are all anatomi- 
 cally arranged on the walls of those fairy rooms at 
 South Kensington, and " The Crossing the Brook," 
 " The Frosty Morning," and all the mystic contents of 
 " Turner's Gallery " are largely assimilated by many 
 minds. 
 
 To run in to the National Gallery in passing, merely 
 to see, for example, the relative depth of colour in the 
 corner of that little Claude (The Annunciation) which
 
 248 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 Sir G. Beaumont loved so well that he carried it with 
 him whenever he removed to his various residences, 
 gives the feeling of the Fairy Tales having come true. 
 And then the sketches at S. K. which fit themselves 
 to every conceivable mood, done in pencil, in pen and 
 ink, in water colour, in oil, in sepia done elaborately 
 or slightly, in every sort of temper and manner, from 
 the very earliest uncertain scribbles of a first thought 
 to the cautious preliminaries of the picture itself ! 
 Sketches in chalk are here which Gainsborough used 
 to make in his tranquil evenings at home, now framed 
 in battered, smoke-toned, old-fashioned frames, brought 
 out of dusky rooms in town and country ; Wilkie's 
 fastidious scratchings of various ways of putting in the 
 background of " Duncan Gray," and his not facile 
 attempts to hit off Scottish harvest-women in pencil, 
 at which work many a score of our draughtsmen for 
 periodicals would beat him hollow in these days ! 
 But in this direction nothing can equal those ebony 
 stands in the Sheepshanks rooms, in which, as in a 
 revolving black letter book, are mounted the studies of 
 Mulready the Conscientious, the man who, from the 
 day when he knocked at the door of Banks the 
 Sculptor and wiped his feet so carefully that he won 
 the heart of the old housekeeper when he was a boy, 
 down to the green old age when he worked as patiently 
 as Gerhard Dow at the later pictures in the Vernon 
 Gallery, thought of nothing but how to "paint it 
 well." 
 
 All this is such a store of wealth to the painter 
 that tongue cannot utter it. Certainly as I write the 
 pleasure grows " for ever rising with the rising mind," 
 and I am led to recall almost in a spirit of devotion
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 249 
 
 the inscription so appropriately gilded round the dome 
 of the Eoyal Academy 
 
 The hearts of men which fondly here admire 
 Fair seeming shows may lift themselves up higher, 
 And learn to love with zealous humble duty, 
 The eternal fountain of that heavenly beauty. 
 
 No poem I know gives so good an image of the 
 pleasures of painting, especially of Water Colour 
 painting, as " The Brook " by Tennyson. It comes 
 very near the expression of the changeful inward 
 delight which sings on under all skies, and all 
 weathers, to the Sea. 
 
 Men may come and men may go ; 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 When, after a new phase of work, say a summer 
 evening churchyard with the last gleams slanting up 
 the steep roof, the solitary old rustic with his " short 
 and simple annals " standing in the shade, and reading 
 the inscription on the wooden memorial of " the village 
 Hampden " whom he knew in his boyhood when 
 after finishing such a work, his pencil loitering, as the 
 light declines in his studio, over the ivies and brier- 
 bindings of the heaving mossy resting-places, or stain- 
 ing the lichens more deeply on the stones, he at length 
 writes his own name on tomb or grassy hillock, to 
 remain there for perhaps two centuries, there is a 
 thrill of pleasure which has a whispering and weird 
 power in it. " To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures 
 new." Next week, he solemnly records his name in a 
 snowdrift, the winds driving, the sheep huddling, the
 
 250 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1871 
 
 " shepherd blowing his nail." From change to 
 
 change 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance 
 
 never twice the same. There are bitternesses in the 
 pursuit of Painting at times, but its joys are indescrib- 
 able and endless. 
 
 Men may come and men may go ; 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 LONG habit gives a charm of antiquity to the 
 charm of action. To get out a new ventilator and 
 date it outside, or being stirred in spirit to make a 
 new square, there to remain and become a rich, ripe, 
 old one, to mark its solemn boundaries, the hedges 
 and bulwarks of the idea then first beginning its out- 
 ward life these two confluent and effluent habits 
 have become, perhaps, the most enchanting resorts of 
 mental life in the course of years. 
 
 THE other day I went to see one of our older 
 members who is not likely to recover. Small cottage, 
 neat and tidy room. She is deaf, the wife of a boot- 
 maker (cobbler, let us say), and has had a struggling 
 life of hard work with a large family, who have all 
 " turned out well." I have seen two of them die 
 happy, and now God calls her home, and she has no 
 words to express her joy and the sense of having 
 every blessing and abounding. She is afraid to boast, 
 for " she feels herself so sinful ; but then, looking to 
 Jesus is so easy." She is " never lonely, night or day."
 
 1871 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 251 
 
 Here is a soul to whom " an abundant entrance " is 
 being administered, and here is a life that has fulfilled 
 life's noblest ends. 
 
 All this with no adjuncts reads well, and God, and 
 Christ, and the angels, and the cloud of witnesses 
 inquire no more. But Satan, and fallen man, and the 
 world and its fashions and ways go farther and in- 
 quire, " How did the daily life of these people look ? " 
 Look ? Why, mean and depressing, of course ; without 
 a spark of outward attractiveness. She had a quiet, 
 homely, self-contained dignity for a small tradesman's 
 wife, but all was of the lowliest and, except to the 
 purged eye, forbidding. 
 
 One of the truths that is opening out more and 
 more to me is the relation of taste and culture to the 
 religious life. Without care we are entangled in a 
 sense of discrepancy, as if they were opposed, and when 
 we see what is an awful and undoubted fact that 
 the poor and despised dwell in the light far more than 
 the rich and wise, it becomes still more puzzling. The 
 key seems to be furnished in the central idea of true 
 culture. I am told that Goethe defines genius as 
 " being a right appreciation of the situation " i.e. I 
 judge, a perfect sympathy. Here is the detector. 
 Any touch of " Stand off, I am holier, wiser, more 
 refined, more respectable than thou," is like a green 
 precipitate which shows false culture somewhere. And 
 it abounds. Antagonism exchange of merits, admire 
 me and I'll admire you is the rule. 
 
 But the supreme correlative of this is in the one 
 " perfect gentleman " (as Eousseau calls Christ), the 
 " fairest among ten thousand, the altogether lovely," who 
 " had not where to lay his head," and whose best
 
 252 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAAI 1871 
 
 reputation was that He was " the friend of publicans 
 and sinners." We see Him near to the dying woman 
 I have written about, as if He had laid aside all 
 interests and histories but hers ; so He conies to each 
 of us, in our own way. 
 
 I have been commanded to be smitten on the 
 mouth on the subject of art a thousand times : its 
 desirableness, its relative value, its actual uses. Men 
 of science have been insensible and indifferent. Good 
 men (and those often alive to percentages) have been 
 solemnly " dead " to it. The only one who, since I 
 first felt the delightful stirrings of it at five years old, 
 up to now, has never interposed one thwarting thought 
 out of His omniscience, is the Lord Jesus, and He 
 shows me now more clearly than ever that true art, as 
 opposed to its neglect, is the best preparation for the 
 class-room, and the closet, and the sanctuary ; for it is 
 simply a more and more complete " appreciation of the 
 situation " ; tending, therefore, to an universal sim- 
 plicity of life, and to a full reception of all impressions. 
 False culture is confined to partial regions of the 
 nature ; the flesh, the eye, the pride of life. True 
 culture reaches all the powers, the conscience, and the 
 soul. 
 
 It might sound strange to start the thesis in a 
 church assembly, with such material as we have, but I 
 make no doubt of it (as I look on the question) that 
 perfect Science and Art, and perfect Holiness, as exist- 
 ing in a given being (for of course Holiness is not 
 objective), mean pretty much the same thing. 
 
 (Cries of Oh ! Oh ! from the opposition on both 
 sides.)
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 253 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 Southport, 25th January 1872. 
 
 EECEIVED your post- card. The sight of your hand- 
 writing has so long been dear to me that it is among 
 my life treasures ; and I say or write no such things 
 sentimentally or extravagantly. Life, and its "lines 
 in pleasant places," is far too sweet and solemn to 
 trifle with, even in trifles ; and so Personage, and 
 Interview, and Looks, and Smiles, and Tokens, and 
 Communications, and all that makes up the sum of 
 earthly Unions, Friendships, Loves, are no more pass- 
 ing accidents, but monumental things which can never, 
 never pass away. 
 
 Even, in our ashin old is fire-y-reke. 
 
 As to the Hates, Dislikes, Apathies, and Antipathies 
 of life (the two last are good things), its Recriminations 
 and vain Reprisals, there is no room for them towards 
 any, when once the soul thus catches sight of the good 
 of life. The bush burns rosy and lambent, and is not 
 consumed. 
 
 31st January. 
 
 Mr. STEAD'S dining-room ; alone. There is actually 
 gone a whole twelfth of another year ! Something of 
 the bewilderment of the dream comes across the mind, 
 as when dissolving views wrestle with one another till 
 we know not which is to prevail, except by our 
 knowledge of sequence. What, as I wrote, brought 
 up the figure of you across the disc, as I saw you years 
 ago ? In which of the four chambers of the brain has 
 that image been lying all these years ; only now and
 
 254 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 then coming and sitting and sinking and fading into 
 its safe retirement ? All the tears of the muses can- 
 not express these wonders this pathos of life. It 
 would be too great but for a little faith. There is an 
 infinite sea, and an endless shore, and that little dot 
 (vastly too big in my square) is Humanity among the 
 numberless sands, the countless waves, and the diapason 
 of Eternity. 
 
 Doth not all that is 
 Press on thy head and heart, 
 And visibly, invisibly, 
 Weave its mysterious chain 
 Eternally around thee 1 
 
 Now and then this small speck, replete with sensa- 
 tion and sensibility, is caught as by a whirlwind from 
 the devious life of the sands and plunged into the 
 billows of the sea in storm, and tosses as helpless 
 in the waves, as lonely on the sands. Yet it does 
 not perish there. By some power it is lifted out 
 of the storm and restored to its ordinary life of 
 wandering alone. But it cannot choose its lot, nor 
 resist the powers that surround it. Why does its 
 littleness not drive it to despair : Cause it to curl like 
 a sand -worm into some small grave on the windy 
 wastes and disappear ? " What is man that Thou 
 takest account of him ?" Here is the glory and loveli- 
 ness of the strength. " Thou takest account of him." 
 So here is life. This is life. That little dot on the 
 shore is small as a mathematical point ; but such a 
 point is the centre of a circle of power and beauty 
 whose lines of radiations go out to the ends of the earth 
 and beyond it, never reaching the circumference
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 255 
 
 Whose margin fades 
 For ever and ever, as they move 
 
 Powers, which are not appendages, strike through 
 every living line, and Man is safe in God. 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 LAST night read Carlyle's Niagara, and after that 
 heard James Calvert of Fiji tell an unvarnished tale of 
 what simple faith in Christ had done among men-eaters 
 and murderers. It is pleasant to be catholic and give 
 honour to whom honour is due. Still it is right to 
 be just to our own judgment. I see nothing in 
 Carlyle that I don't see much better said in the New 
 Testament, and with the unspeakable advantage of an 
 infallible recipe for doing it. A friend of mine writes, 
 "The advantage of the Gospel is that it enables the 
 humblest man to do what only the hero can do with- 
 out it." 
 
 Carlyle's Drill all the world marching and wheeling 
 and getting ready to fight ! Whereas the fisherman 
 Peter lays bonds and yokes on men which drill a man 
 from within, and he fears God and honours the King, 
 and knows his place, and doesn't put sham work into 
 his harness or his buildings. I know such men by 
 scores and hundreds, and feel sure that there are tens 
 of thousands. 
 
 We don't want eloquent howling to show man 
 " what is good," or to do justice, or love mercy, or walk 
 humbly with God and man. I will back James Cal- 
 vert of Fiji against a troop of Carlyles for the actual 
 accomplishment of the chief good.
 
 256 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 . All this with much admiration of Carlyle neverthe- 
 less. 
 
 llth February. 
 
 FOR a long time past I have seen into a something 
 most wondrous, in what I fear so many think the 
 accident of our circles of friends. It is no accident. 
 If it be true, "He that receiveth you receiveth me," 
 in one sense, it is also in this. God draws nigh in our 
 friend-circles. 
 
 Why hast thou cast our lot 
 
 In the same age and place ? 
 
 And why together brought 
 
 To see each other's face ? 
 
 We are sent to operate on each other and to be 
 operated on ; " diamond cut diamond." It is not good 
 for man to be alone. The effect of this view ought to 
 be most important both in respect to our esteeming of 
 the heavenly gift and in respect of our behaviour. 
 We must " show ourselves friendly." For want of this 
 recognition of " God with us " in our friends great 
 harm is done. Temper is allowed to thwait God's 
 intentions, neglect is allowed to run it to waste, in- 
 sensibility to miss its profoundest lessons ; so life remains 
 a mean and weary thing. It is well to study all this 
 deeply, to watch the pillar of cloud and fire. Con- 
 tented limitation is one of its elements, an unambitious 
 spirit in regard to it the not-too-much, the not-too- 
 many. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 TOUCHED with a sympathy within, 
 He knows our feeble frame.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 257 
 
 Every believer realises by experience that Christ is 
 the only perfect sympathiser. " I'm not perfectly 
 understood," says everybody in fact. But if you are 
 a believer you are perfectly understood. Christ is the 
 only one who never expects you to be other than your- 
 self, and He puts in abeyance towards you all but what 
 is like you. He takes your view of things, and men- 
 tions no other. He takes the old woman's view of 
 things by the wash-tub, and has a great interest in 
 wash powder; Sir Isaac Newton's view of things, and 
 wings among the stars with him ; the artist's view, and 
 feeds among the lilies ; the lawyer's, and shares the 
 justice of things. But He never plays the lawyer or 
 the philosopher or the artist to the old woman. He 
 is above that littleness. 
 
 IQth April 1872. 
 
 PEKHAPS some suffer greater alternations of pleasure 
 and pain than others. Things come with a cutting 
 force from books and life and thought. In Thomas 
 Cooper's Autobiography, last night, I got the poor 
 Leicester " stockingers," who only earned 4s. 6d. a 
 week, dug into me. These and the like images make 
 the simple enjoyment of life a thing to be held in 
 motion by the strong hand of reason overmastering 
 feeling and imagination. "You won't mend matters 
 by being miserable about what you can't help." 
 
 How much depends on the way you put things to 
 yourself. In the family read that part of the Sermon 
 on the Mount which forbids care, and went to work 
 humbly and thankfully, glad to be able by ever so much 
 labour to paint a picture worth a few pounds. " An- 
 other Gospel " might have made me look on myself 
 
 s
 
 258 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 as a neglected "genius," and I might have sworn 
 bitterly all day or dropped work in disgust and gone 
 off loafing to a studio to infect some other " genius " 
 with pride and discontent. But " Bless the Lord, O 
 my soul ! " No ; quite the reverse. How carefully 
 I painted my market woman with her hens in a 
 basket, thankful not to be a Leicester stockinger at 
 4s. 6d. a week ; and when a tired feeling came over 
 me a flush of divine philosophy (not harsh nor crabbed 
 as dull fools suppose, but musical as is Apollo's lute) 
 sent me on spinning again, running and not weary, 
 walking and not faint. 
 
 But the foundation of all this is the foundation of 
 the apostles ^,nd prophets, Jesus Christ himself being 
 the chief corner stone. Whence else could come all 
 this renewing of the youth and strength but from these 
 deep springs, and whence the access of the living waters 
 unless the rock be smitten by discipline and chastening ? 
 
 29th April. 
 
 THE strong ambitious young man envies the estab- 
 lishment, the wealth, the fame of the old. The old 
 envies the strength and freshness of the young. They 
 each want to conjoin the two ends of life, and have 
 the joys of both ends. They can't. Indeed, each life 
 must be cast into an equation of all its elements as 
 related to its great purport, which is eternal. It 
 matters little at what stage of his little round of life 
 a man is just now found. If he be just now young, 
 lie is fast coming to age ; if old, he has had what the 
 young are now having. 
 
 I remember, when I think, 
 That my youth was half divine.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 259 
 
 No man has two youths : no man has less than one. 
 Will a thinking man beg for the probation of youth 
 twice over ? The proper Ego from the centre of voli- 
 tion, which is fairly located equidistant from the 
 various periods of his allotted life, is that which yields 
 up the full answer of life. The Ancient of Days, as 
 in Blake's grand design, takes his golden compass. He 
 alone knows what Eadius will touch all the possibilities 
 of volition, some natures needing more expansion than 
 others. With that radius He strikes the circle of 
 individual life, and volition decides its own destiny. 
 
 7th May. 
 
 Now I say, Make a science of your love. Search 
 out your loves, for there is the fulfilling of your law 
 -of life. You love Tennyson's Claribel ; another man 
 swears at you for it, and turns again and rends you. 
 Never mind him. The " golden furze brings tears into 
 the eyes of Linnaeus," and the City man wants to know 
 what the driveller is blubbering about, and asks for a 
 vote for the ward of Grubbery cum Cash, and that you 
 should join him in a " nip of brandy." Never mind 
 him. He'll be down a steep place into the sea ere 
 long, and the world will spin smoothly on its axis as 
 before. This light of love will develop wonders. 
 There is no fear in love. What is your beloved more 
 than another man's beloved ? 
 
 Nothing ; but it is yours. 
 
 ONE can't paint after the first day at the R.A. 
 One ought not to try, the impressions are so powerful 
 and multitudinous. Millais's landscapes alone are like 
 a discharge of a park of artillery. The consummate
 
 260 LETTERS OF JAMES SAIETHAM 1872 
 
 intelligence of his observation is inspiriting. That is 
 just how things look to a keen, unprejudiced eye, not 
 ruled by convention nor overruled by subjective feel- 
 ing or poetic passion. " Dreams that wave before the 
 half-shut eye " are another life, live in another world. 
 But the eyes of Millais are wide open to this world, 
 and they will most fully recognise the truth and 
 beauty of his work who love Nature most and know 
 her best. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 16th June 1872. 
 
 SPITE of resolutions not to read at all, the volume 
 of Middlemarch from Mudie's tickles me like a trout, 
 and at last George Eliot lays me gasping on the grass. 
 She is like Thoreau, who was en rapport, in a sort of 
 mesmeric way, with the spirit of Nature. He could 
 fetch up any fish he liked with his hand, show it, and 
 let it swim again. The fish came to him. What 
 attracted me in this book was what attracted me to 
 Bethnal Green Museum again, and will take me yet 
 again some instances of true or curious art. Many 
 a man can take a six-foot canvas and paint you two 
 deer lying down in a bit of forest, and you shall not 
 be able to find a single fault. Nay, if the painter's 
 friend has fetched you to see it you shall say, " Those 
 ferns are wonderful, look how he has done the cold 
 skylight on the tips and the golden light shining 
 through," and next you (as I heard at the E.A. con- 
 cerning the ferns in Vicat Cole's " Noon "), the " fat- 
 faced Edward Bull," shall say in a voice welling up 
 through thick oil, " Those ferns are ofly jolly, they are
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 261 
 
 glaw-yus." But the painter's friend is not contented, 
 and says with illogical ellipsis, "What's the matter 
 with the deer ? " But you turn in mild surprise, con- 
 cealing a half yawn with your catalogue, and answer, 
 " I never said anything about the deer ; they are very 
 well done indeed." 
 
 But Eosa Bonheur shall take a twelve-inch panel 
 and put a drift of thin brown over it and paint you 
 not by any means in a juggling way, but rather with 
 simple, childlike pains two deer which you shall 
 never forget. 
 
 " But what's the difference ? " Shall I begin to 
 explain the difference between the art of Harrison 
 Ainsworth and George Eliot ? 
 
 Good art is stimulating : bad is depressing. When 
 I go to some of my art friends I come away in a wet 
 blanket. Going to D. G. R., to Brown, Burne Jones, 
 Boyce (appetising Boyce, he has a charm of his own), 
 Shields, the Linnells all is charm and zest and 
 appetite, kindling pleasant electric shocks of life. 
 None of these men can touch paper, pen, lead pencil, 
 chalk, or brush, but something fresh, natural, powerful, 
 oozes out at their finger ends. So with George Eliot's 
 pen : 'tis all Nature. She does not prejudice you by 
 comment, yet how you love or hate her characters 
 with more or less of that veiling prudence which life 
 compels in loving and hating ! The book is crammed 
 with wisdom, wit, and tenderness, and the style is 
 pellucid and free from strain. 
 
 18th June. 
 
 OUR way there is a preponderance of lions. On 
 some of the grandiose villas they are of marble, and
 
 262 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 they stand up as large as life, Lion and Lioness, on 
 either side of Mr. John Jones' classic door. Arid the 
 temper they show ! . Nothing will pacify them. To 
 all the guests they show their teeth, and one wonders 
 what there is our way to put them out to that extent. 
 It's not the sublimity of the Nemean lion " 'gainst thee, 
 thou lamb, that standest as his prey." It is sheer 
 nastiness, and it weighs on me. 
 
 But, as a rule, our lions are not like that. They 
 are large and round in the head, short in the body, 
 most amiable in temper. They are vegetarians, with- 
 out the least doubt : for as to their eating a lamb, or 
 even such a thing as a lamb chop, look at their faces 
 and you will see the impossibility at once. This 
 wants accounting for. I place it to domestication on 
 door-steps, to the mollifying influence of babies, nurse- 
 maids, perambulators, and the incidents of suburban 
 door - steps generally. There are other influences, 
 among which I put coats of paint in a high rank. 
 Boiled oil and drab paint are wonderful mollifiers. I 
 know one lion who has been on the same door-step 
 for eighteen years. How much longer I dare not say. 
 Every spring he has received his boiled oil and drab, 
 and he is a sort of boiled lion. He glistens for three 
 months always, after that he has nine months of com- 
 parative dulness. But the sense of twenty coats of 
 the best oil paint makes him all we could wish to see 
 in a lion. And yet, I don't know how it is, there is 
 a something below all this which restrains you when 
 you are thinking too lightly of him, a warning twinkle, 
 a feeling that it might be possible to go too far, and 
 that the bound once passed, it were a pity of your 
 life. Prima facie, or a priori for I love to set forth
 
 1872 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 263 
 
 a classical spirit you would not have predicated that 
 Stoke Newington was " arida nutrix leonum " ; but 
 misconceptions of that nature are prevalent among 
 men. We often misjudge both persons and localities. 
 
 SQth July. 
 
 FINISHED Middlemarch, Part IV., to-day. All " like 
 life," but in a far other than the Dickens sense. You 
 are not simply amused by it, you are made to think 
 and feel and laugh and wonder and pity ; and if you 
 are not rapped on the knuckles it is because you are 
 an exception to the weak folks, the proud folks, the 
 indolent folks, of which the world is full. You stand 
 a glorious exception. 
 
 One of the phases of life George Eliot is masterly 
 in treating, viz. Eeasoning and Action on suppressed 
 premises. Life is full of fine snares and pitfalls for 
 the unwary, and G. E. has an eye for them. Casau- 
 bon's life-work is a grand parable a man not sure 
 of himself, whose " Key to all the Mythologies " won't 
 go into the keyhole. 
 
 Glad to get your friendly letter. It was like the 
 coming of Titus [2 Cor. vii. 6]. I think Providence 
 in these days often sends Titus by post. 
 
 30th July. 
 Chapel. Long before time. 
 
 I SUPPOSE I ought to reckon (and do reckon) to- 
 day's intellectual enjoyment perfect. 
 
 Painting, painting in water colours, point by point, 
 an Arcadian vale, with a shepherd and nymph, with 
 all the sensations (probably) of Theocritus. I don't
 
 264 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 forget or undervalue this element of life. But fancy 
 Theocritus a methodist Class Leader, inwardly examin- 
 ing his conduct, his heart, his " way," and not able to 
 be satisfied with many things in it, and the father 
 of six children whose "conversion" is to him the 
 principal thing. But this was the fad ; the one a 
 running accompaniment of the other. Theocritus, 
 "piping down the valleys wild," catching every breath 
 of Nature, its glooms, its exhilarations, its pensiveness, 
 its haunted influences comes as near perhaps to my 
 typical and professional mental state as need be. 
 
 " The grace of God which bringeth salvation hath 
 appeared unto all men," Theocritus included, is as 
 eminently fitted to save him as the Philippian jailor ; 
 and indeed his Idyllic joys are vastly enhanced by it. 
 There is no clashing in his mind. But the union is 
 hard to explain to " small shopkeepers." What matter ! 
 The green pastures, the still waters, are eminently 
 poetic, pastoral, and idyllic. 
 
 There comes in old Father Barnes. He looks like 
 Fagin. He is eighty -six. Can hardly speak for 
 coughing. Yet I much question, whether, if his soul 
 were shown instead of his body, we should not all look 
 poor beside him. 
 
 When. Job said, " Though He slay me yet will I 
 trust in Him," no wealth could enrich him after that. 
 He had reached his climax. "The mind in its'own place." 
 
 To learn the art of protracted patience, to learn to 
 do work well for its own sake, to learn to be contented 
 with very moderate remuneration, and not to be 
 betrayed into excited hopes or greedy desires this is 
 better " than thousands of gold and silver." Yet this 
 is easier to talk about than to practise.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 265 
 
 27th November. 
 
 He (Coleridge) raised a mortal to the skies, 
 She (George Eliot) drew an angel down. 
 
 In reading a page or two before breakfast of a 
 careful essay by Shairp of St. Andrews on Coleridge, 
 in which he shows how Coleridge, broken down by a 
 sense of sin, accepted Christ as a Saviour, and found 
 the peace of God, the setting forth of redemption so 
 quietly and soothingly suited my soul, strengthening 
 me for work and for enjoyment, and I rode high on 
 the white horse of salvation. 
 
 But when last evening in the quiet retirement of 
 the studio I read part VII. of Middlemarch right 
 through, a counter-current ran through me, and agitated 
 the soul. The subtle entanglements of sin, holding a 
 man by its cords, the fatal proclivities of evil, begin- 
 ning in weakness or bolstered up by pride (Fred 
 Vincey-Lydgate) ; the decline and fall of the sinner ; 
 coarse and brutal worldliness which raps out oaths 
 and lives in wine and wantonness, yet does nothing 
 unbecoming " a gentleman," and so denounces the 
 evangelical hypocrite (Hawley, etc.) ; the slippery, and, 
 so to speak, greasy sin of the more brutish among the 
 people (Bainbridge, Horrock, Baffles) taking up its 
 parable against Bulstrode ; the cold, helpless complica- 
 tions of home life where a shallow nature is linked to 
 a grand one (Rosamond, Lydgate) bringing down the 
 Huxley sort of strength to opium and billiards and 
 borrowing, thwarting all the intellect and defeating 
 the life even the nobility of the Garths becomes 
 mainly a rebuke all round : the intense vividness 
 and power and beauty of the handling of all this I
 
 266 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 must say had a wretched effect on my mind and 
 robbed me of some sleep by the bitter outflowings of 
 its applications. 
 
 Down I fell from my white horse into the mud. 
 The truth is, that with all my deep joys of salvation, 
 the 
 
 Meddling intellect 
 
 Misshapes the beauteous forms of things 
 I murder to dissect. 
 
 Alas, how little a young man, who lets his heart cheer 
 him in the days of his youth, knows of the rays of 
 Bethlehem which are to " blind the dusky eyes " of 
 his sins as the light increases ! 
 
 I hope in your preaching you will well set forth 
 this sowing to the flesh and its necessary harvest, as a 
 preliminary to the full salvation which is over against 
 it : Naaman's leprosy replaced by the flesh of a little 
 child. 
 
 It is strange how in the life of the soul two 
 opposite conditions may co-exist. " Lovely peace with 
 plenty crowned " may walk hand in hand with " con- 
 fusion of face " ; and certain of the natural offshoots 
 and consequences of sin may spring among the " flowers 
 of Eden fruits of grace." A certain class of sorrows 
 comes with Evangelical Eepentance and Faith. Your 
 Hawleys and Bainbridges pass on easily and unre- 
 buked ; your Peters are twitted even by maids of all 
 work: "Thou also!" Mrs. Dollop, at the Tankard, 
 knows more about " some folks " than " they would 
 like to say prayer for," and Crabbe, the glazier, " by 
 what he can make out," doesn't see why Peter should 
 reprove a man for swearing and lying.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 267 
 
 All right. " Put it down in thy Gospel, Mark, 
 that I denied him with oaths and curses, and that I 
 went out and wept bitterly, and that, though now I 
 see Him not, yet believing, I rejoice with joy unspeak- 
 able and full of glory." 
 
 11.30. And now I go to my work, shorn of my 
 beams, not glorying. I don't know whether to thank 
 G. E., or any one, for Art like this, for Vivisection 
 with no touch of the Healer. But do thou, T. A., 
 the more preach the grace that brings salvation. 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 THE more I ponder your kind letter the more I am 
 pleased with it. If I had wanted in a few words to 
 say what I (intellectually) live for, have lived for, 
 mean to live for, it is just what you have struck in 
 the bull's eye. While intending to be faithful to my 
 gifts, to sketch and study from nature continually, 
 even for the smallest things weeds and stones, and 
 the mere winkings of nature I propose not to suggest 
 any measure or manner of competition for the prizes of 
 art. Let this man do this better and the other man do 
 the other better, I will spend thought and breath in his 
 praise ; but I will not set up against him. I utterly dis- 
 claim more than a certain amount of regard for technical 
 excellence in any single direction. The white umbrella 
 at Bettws-y-Coed shall have my most respectful bow 
 in passing ; but I never dwelt under it, and never 
 meant, or mean to do. No " Properties " will ever 
 adorn or cumber my studio, nor apt models grow rigid 
 while I do the Pronator Eotundus more expressively
 
 268 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 (yet I have models for all that is of any importance). 
 No, my whole life has begun at another end. If such 
 a conception be allowable, it is as if thirty years ago 
 I had built a burning fiery furnace in a " black 
 country," all shale and cinder to the foot of the 
 traveller, into which everything was cast, "coats, 
 hosen, and hats." Out of this in due time comes this 
 composite something which you have so well re- 
 cognised : an " impression." To my own thought and 
 desire this is the only sort of thing which I inwardly 
 denominate art. I know it is open to objections, to 
 depreciations, to misapprehensions, to all sorts of 
 challenge and scorn. And certainly the market ele- 
 ment of it has been my sorrow and fear and suffering. 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 No man of art ever received such an apotheosis as 
 Turner has received from Euskin, so it is impossible to 
 expound him further. But to know him is more than 
 a library full of Euskin. It is as the Queen of Sheba's 
 exclamation, " The half has not been told." I have 
 had the good fortune to see several collections of his 
 works : that of Fawkes of Farnley near Leeds, of 
 Windus, of Euskin, and others scattered here and 
 there. Fawkes even showed me what he is so chary 
 of showing, and what he wouldn't sell for any money 
 to Euskin a locked-up collection of Turner's studies, 
 quite marvellous. So with certain splendid Turners 
 in the possession of Miller of Liverpool. 
 
 It is the sum total of Turner that knocks you over. 
 No landscape painter ever came near him as a whole.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 269 
 
 To know and have before the mind what he did gives 
 an incessant thrill of awe. What " large-browed Veru- 
 lam, the King of those who know," was to literature, 
 that Turner was among Landscape Painters. I don't 
 love Turner. In seeing Lord Thurlow, who " looked 
 wiser than any man ever was," one might stare and 
 stare with wonder and a sort of fear, but one's heart 
 would be far away somewhere else. The unfaltering, 
 unflagging, unresting energy of Turner is appalling ; 
 yet I see scarce a trace of the love of humanity in his 
 work. Men, women, children to him were figures. 
 He put them in crowds, and seemed to hate them, or 
 to despise them. He never knew just the right bend 
 and attitude of thought, or tender regard, or noble 
 gesture. A wooden, soul-less apprehension of their ways 
 runs through all. As masses, as colour, as composition, 
 as natural occupants of the scene he placed them well ; 
 but he loved them not. I distinguish, observe, as 
 between mind, of which his work is only too full, and 
 soul and heart. 
 
 To MRS. T. 
 
 WHAT I should greatly deprecate as a member of 
 the Church of Christ, especially as a Methodist class- 
 leader, would be to live a life exceptional at all. 
 There is nothing for which I feel more thankful than 
 the fact that I have hold of the sympathies of many 
 to whom I could not in the least explain what I have 
 been writing. To see a perplexed look on the faces of 
 my members especially on those of the postman, police- 
 man, carpenter, servant-girl, or chestnut-seller, would 
 be a great pain. But I never do see it, and hope I
 
 270 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 never may. Out of the complex experiences of my 
 own life has come a better understanding of the lives 
 of others of the essential as separable from the acci- 
 dental of what really is " the pillar and ground of 
 the truth," and I have much boldness in the faith of 
 Christ as the result of the difficulties, moral and 
 mental, through which I attained it, and hold it. 
 
 For between thirteen and fourteen years I have 
 been a class-leader, and have found in the work an 
 unfailing and an increasing peacefulness and rest. I 
 trace much of my enjoyment and calm equable experi- 
 ence in the class to these quiet evening hours with 
 my books. They keep my work constantly up before 
 my mind and heart. Indeed I carry this aspect of 
 the subject much further; for my hymn books, Bible, 
 and other repositories are full of secreted " squares " of 
 individual class -meetings and other occasions, dated, 
 and with the members sitting as they sat, and with 
 budding squares from them of any subject that gave 
 special vitality to the occasion. These things do not 
 perish. I often come across them when after other 
 game, in the " lands where not a leaf is dumb." In 
 this way life becomes a closely woven web, "Each 
 part doth call the furthest brother," and it is partly 
 in this weft and woof that I reach the amount of 
 equanimity which, in spite of my chances against it, I 
 do in fact enjoy. I have such a multitude of escapes 
 that in alternations of dogged labour, of excited imagina- 
 tion, of inward fun (the more precious for repression), 
 of steadily recurring engagements 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 
 Now ventilating to Mansford, to Mrs. Hall, to J. F.
 
 1872 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 271 
 
 Hall, to Mr. Stead, to Mr. Akroyd, to Eossetti, to 
 Shields, to Mr. Budgett, to you ; now squaring : some- 
 times in the London Encyclopaedia, which is a Hyr- 
 cinian forest ; or in the Biographical Dictionary, which 
 is a forest of Ardennes ; or in my Bible, which is a 
 vast Holy Land ; or in my hymn books, which are a 
 sort of Italy; or in my historical or chronological 
 books, which are a sort of British Museum; or in 
 Smith's Dictionaries, which are like " the world as 
 known to the ancients " ; or in lexicons or dictionaries, 
 which are like deserts of pebbly words ; or among 
 the poets, which are like walking in groves and 
 meadows and by streams. This, and going to exhibi- 
 tions and to my friends' houses, with now and then a 
 dinner-party, gives such organised variety to life that 
 it would cure an inveterate hypochondria. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 THE sight of W. B. Scott's studio last Friday was 
 inwardly as romantic and affecting as the two little 
 biographies of Liversedge and Burnet which, at seven- 
 teen years old, I used to read among the old helmets 
 and breastplates in E. J. Willson's study at Lincoln. 
 
 Passing out at the back of W. B. S.'s house, you 
 walk under a winding covered verandah to his studio. 
 The windows are to the north, and their bottom ten 
 feet from the ground. A profound silence reigns, just 
 such as the painter needs. The roof has been raised 
 high with dark oaken rafters, the walls are dark. But 
 what gives the solemn charm is that three of David 
 Scott's ambitious, imperfect, yet grand unsold works
 
 272 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1872 
 
 (for he sold but little), hang on three of the studio 
 walls. On one, "Achilles swearing by the manes of 
 Patroclus." Another I forgot the subject of; the 
 third hangs high in the dusk over the door, " Lady 
 Macbeth" smearing the grooms with blood from her 
 dripping dagger. There they are ; deep in colour, 
 blistered with the sun, mildewy, brown, in solemn, 
 energetic, heavy epic, needing the interpretation of 
 much knowledge and sympathy. There is scarce any 
 one who would buy them, though many would admire 
 and be impressed by them. They are too big to buy 
 at random. Where are they to be put ? They are 
 not perfect enough to represent National Art, as Etty's 
 do at Edinburgh, yet they show as much high intel- 
 lectual power : the shortcoming is in execution. They 
 are too austere and rough to please and satisfy, and so 
 instead of being known by a nation by the nations 
 as Etty's "Combat," "Judith," and "Benaiah" are, 
 here they are in a dark corner, behind an old house in 
 Chelsea, unnoticed, unknown. The gradual broaden- 
 ings of Biography and History may yet fetch them 
 out to take their place in the history of progress. 
 
 Glance at p. 83 of Sartor Eesartus, passage about 
 " Capabilities." How well it might be woven in witli 
 an Essay on David Scott; and, also, the thought of 
 some one as to the "Waste in Nature's Workshop." 
 Run a comparison between Millais and D. Scott. D. 
 Scott immensely the greater man of the two Millais 
 one of the most successful men who ever lived. Ask 
 the Why ? and the Wherefore ? Analyse, go into the 
 country green, and think it out, and you will have a 
 fine time of it.
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 273 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 18th September 1873. 
 
 I QUITE envy you your first reading of Euskin. 
 Euskin is a revelation of a new world ; and it only 
 wants the remove of a century to show him in his 
 colossal proportions, though now, as must be the case 
 with all such men, he has at length roused the dogs 
 and wolves on his trail. Beside this, I think his fibre 
 was too delicate to sustain 
 
 The thousand shocks that come and go, 
 The agonies and energies, 
 The overthrowings and the cries, 
 
 And undulations to and fro 
 
 which such intense perceptions of Nature, Truth, and 
 Beauty laid upon him, having more on hand than he 
 could wield with perfect health and power. 
 
 I do not think his theories of life will work, yet I 
 do esteem him one of the very noblest creatures that 
 ever breathed God's vital air ; a man not a whit 
 behind the Sir Philip Sidneys and the Chevaliers sans 
 peur et sans reproche who have cropped out like the 
 flower which blooms once in a hundred years. I 
 shan't soon forget the silent farms and solitary ways 
 where I first drank in The Modern Painters, TJie Stones 
 of Venice, and The Seven Lamps, and would give a 
 good deal to have it all over again. I have not read 
 anything of his for years. 
 
 What is Art? The interpretation of Nature. 
 What is Nature ? One of the voices of God to 
 Man, and that a mighty voice. 
 
 T
 
 274 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 But what is Interpretation ? Now suppose a man 
 stood up to interpret, and were to read over the exact 
 words of the chapter and then sit down ! Would you 
 call that interpretation ? Yet that is just what ninety- 
 nine hundredths of painters do, or try to do. What 
 do they explain or enforce ? No wonder if pictures are 
 so often thought and called " furniture." 
 
 Now Danby gives us, as no other man ever gave, 
 the poignant beauty and pathos of Nature in the 
 borderland, where she is felt as 
 
 A presence that disturbs us with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
 Of something far mare deeply interfused, 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean and the living air, 
 And the blue sky and in the mind of man. 
 
 " In the mind of Man," for Art is one of " The 
 Humanities." It is relative. Nature is all things to 
 all men. To the hungry food ; to the cold fuel ; to 
 the speculator possession ; to the botanist a flora ; to 
 the naturalist a fauna ; to the fool Nothing. And so 
 Art is nothing. 
 
 Danby must have watched on lonely hills, in silent 
 vales, the last spark of great Day die out and the first 
 rise ten thousand times before he could find the secret 
 of that pathetic dream of Nature which makes his 
 works unique. 
 
 Top of Omnibus going to Westminster, 
 6th October. 
 
 To address myself once more towards making the 
 requisite distinctions, I must use comparisons. Here
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 275 
 
 is a man with a beard and a cherry pipe, and a slouch 
 hat, who sings in a mellow bass voice, " I am a Friar 
 of Orders Grey," or the song of " Simon the Cellarer." 
 He gathers his traps together, and his white umbrella, 
 and he goes to Bettws-y-Coed, and he paints " The 
 Old Mill at Bettws" for the 3456th time. He gets 
 every stick and stone and stump " on the spot " ; and 
 off the spot he is just nothing. As to " the inner eye 
 which is the bliss of solitude," he says it is " all my 
 eye " (I deny that : it is not his eye. It may be 
 Wordsworth's eye, but it is not Simon the Cellarer's). 
 Yet his "Old Mill at Bettws" brings him 250 or 
 300 guineas, and actually the imitation and manipu- 
 lation are made the standard for the man who has the 
 inner eye. 
 
 Now how shall we compare the two sorts of produc- 
 tion ? 
 
 Take a sonnet of Shakespeare's, Collins's Ode to 
 Evening, Gray's Elegy, Tennyson's Come down, Maid, 
 and consider what went to their production. Then 
 read in the Daily News " Our Correspondent at Eams- 
 gate," and consider what went to its production. That 
 gives but a faint image of the two sorts of work. 
 Billy Button's journey to Brentford, as compared with 
 Sir John Franklin's Arctic Voyages, is not more apart 
 than the true poetic from " The Old Mill at Bettws." 
 
 But unfortunately, in the pursuit of " the poetic," 
 unless a painter can live independently of his art, he 
 runs the risk of perishing on the mountains. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 3d October. 
 
 BEADING Timon of Athens. I seldom read Shake-
 
 276 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 speare of late years. It is too rich food. I have to 
 feed on biscuit and water in order to keep calm and 
 cool. The felicitous Titian-touch which turns every- 
 thing into idyllic beauty with such simple unconscious 
 ease as a stroke of Titian's brush gathers into golden 
 knots just at the right point tint and pigment, and 
 thought and thing inextricably mixed and left, in the 
 passing of the wizard hand: -the motion of genius 
 indeed, which can't get wrong and finds right most 
 easy this is Shakespeare, and it is too precious. After 
 reading a play of Shakespeare one feels stuck all over 
 with jewels like the Shah, and wants to put on the 
 comfortable old happy gray coat. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 THE well^governed city 
 
 Piety and fear, 
 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs, and laws. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS (Act iv. Sc. I.) 
 
 Was ever a picture of social weal drawn with such 
 power in so few words ? To feel its full force you 
 have to halt at every word. How seldom you have 
 to do that with any author ! Somehow the richness 
 underlying the simplicity of this passage suggests the 
 state of one of those German towns of the fifteenth 
 century, where all was quaint law and mediaeval repose. 
 Certainly .it has a " Tory " air about it. These few 
 lines have swarmed with life to me during the last 
 week. Baron Leys's pictures give you the colours and
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 277 
 
 shapes for it. The line beginning " Domestic awe " is 
 wonderful. You see the furred grandparents and the 
 house-father like Sir Thomas More, and the son that 
 " carfe before his father at the table," the " Mother 
 Severe " with her face sharp-cut out of a shroud-like 
 head-dress, and the demure, mitten-armed daughter, 
 and the sharp-scolded servants. In " Night-Best " you 
 see the dim town and the belfry of Bruges in the 
 misty moonlight; you hear its soft- clanging chime 
 and the strange-rhymed, godly night-cry of the watch- 
 man with his bill and his lantern. And how compre- 
 hensive is the word " neighbourhood " ! " Who is my 
 neighbour ? " 
 
 By the way, this illustration of what may be got 
 out of a lit of a good book will carry forward the 
 thought I was trying to express yesterday in this 
 ventilator. Why move further : why ? 
 
 If we have souls, know how to see and use, 
 One place performs, like any other place, 
 The proper service every place on earth 
 Was framed to furnish man with. 
 
 One of the causes of continual pity in all directions is 
 the innate restlessness and ignorant discursiveness of 
 men. They have no " blissful centre," no repose. 
 
 OOR LANE, 1st November. 
 
 WIND chill as a snow wind, yet fresh ; light glary 
 roads, damp and with a spotted plage of decay ing- 
 leaves in the mud ; the pebbles washed clean on the 
 watershed of the roads, the sand washed from them 
 lying in the valleys by the kerbstone and " ribbed as 
 is the lean sea-sand."
 
 278 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 Talk with a policeman one of our members : sub- 
 ject, Emigration. His way of pronouncing " situation" 
 is " sitchivation." 
 
 How differently, as a human being, you feel accord- 
 ing to your " sitchivation " ! Walking alone in a quiet 
 lane, walking from the train to your office, walking in 
 a procession (as perpetual Grand Monster of the Odd- 
 fellows, etc., with apron and blue ribbons a foot wide). 
 But there is one sort of walking quite peculiar, viz. 
 making your way in one stream of men and women on 
 an illumination night. Where be your airs and graces 
 then ? Where your fast paces ? You beat with the 
 pulse of the street whose life blood creeps. No temper 
 but good temper is of any use, and that is. 
 
 Now in studying Shakespeare your mind, if it is to 
 apprehend his, must be content to move in that way 
 to get a good look at the illuminations and to appre- 
 hend his knowledge of Nature and man a snail's pace, 
 occasional long arrests when you " grow to marble with 
 too much conceiving," for he is too many for you. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 Uh October 1873. 
 
 ALL that the Press can utter about Sir Edwin 
 Landseer will be as nothing to the mental history of 
 such a man, for which he paid so dearly 
 
 And learned in sorrow what he taught in song. 
 
 I am sure all their interpretations will be wrong. No 
 " master bowman " can ever hit the mark. Just see 
 the glimpses at the raw material of his nature a per- 
 ception so keen and strong that it hit everything, like
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 279 
 
 Kobin Hood's arrow or the pathfinder's bullet a sen- 
 sitiveness so acute that the groaning of creation was 
 audible to every nerve, a something infused with his 
 sunshine-spirit which was like the Scottish "second 
 sight " Ossianic, misty, ghostly, as though he con- 
 stantly 
 
 Saw a hand you cannot see, 
 and 
 
 Heard a voice you cannot hear. 
 
 And this from twelve years of age, when he might be 
 called already a great painter, to the age of seventy-one. 
 The wonder was, not that he spent so much time in 
 the forlorn vale of madness, as that he lived to be of 
 the age of man and painted to the last. 
 
 Even in Sir Walter Scott's palmy days Landseer 
 had a world-wide reputation, and is noted with rever- 
 ence in those wondrous romances. I think there is a 
 sort of impertinence in the praise of Laudseer, if people 
 did but know what his work implies. 
 
 I couple Landseer and Sir Walter Scott together. 
 They had the same delicious romance of Nature, the 
 same ease of power about them, the same universal 
 power to charm. Strange that both had the same love 
 of high life, coupled with sympathy for low life. The 
 former was the weakness of both ; it lost the grand 
 central MAN in the gentleman. 
 
 THERE is such a thing as having the heart over- 
 charged, not only with " surfeiting and drunkenness," 
 but " with cares of this life." My faith has been 
 severely weighted by the apparent rejection of my 
 attempts to follow a high and useful line of work
 
 280 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 instead of trying after what was likely to make money, 
 and the more so as one disillusionment after another 
 shows me that men praise thee chiefly when thou doest 
 well to thyself, and take all manner of advantage of 
 the helplessness of poverty. These things form the 
 boisterous wind in which faith is in danger of sinking. 
 But again and again when I have cried out " Lord, 
 help me," a strong hand has been stretched out, and 
 all has been calm and still. My most precious recol- 
 lections are of these storms and succeeding calms, and 
 when I am safe landed in the ship with Christ I can 
 see deep and far. 
 
 I NEVER before saw, as I have since I tried to get 
 into it more, the humbling influence of the life of 
 Christ. A greater than Jonas Jonas was a can- 
 tankerous, conceited, querulous travelling preacher as 
 ever quarrelled with the stationing committee, and yet 
 was a far more successful preacher than his Lord all 
 our Lord's miracles could not satisfy : " Show us a sign 
 from heaven" You're an earth-demon, a thaumaturge, 
 a mere juggler. He only sighed deeply in His spirit, 
 did not turn round and destroy them, as Elisha the 
 children. Love and pity and patience and silence, as 
 when a sheep before her shearers is dumb. If the 
 image of all this does not break our stony hearts, the 
 Cross itself will hardly break them. The life in Naza- 
 reth alone, with its "thundering silence," is enough 
 when well meditated to cure all worldliness of aim. 
 " He grew, in wisdom, in stature, in favour with God 
 and man." People liked Him, and God loved Him. 
 
 The Christ life is no Nirvana, no dim and dull 
 absorption into unconsciousness.
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 281 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 ONE effect of the autumnal years of life is the 
 Indian summer of thought and study. You see 
 through what used to excite and run away with 
 you. Only, to have the soft, tranquil, golden light 
 lying level over all, there must be the right world. 
 Autumn is not a manufacture ; it is a season, and 
 depends on the " operation of the orbs," on a vast 
 axis, on an enormous orbit, on the silent signs of 
 heaven. It niters downward into every cranny im- 
 partially, gilding our lane, but it comes in its essence 
 from afar, "bound by gold chains about the feet of 
 God." So is life. When a man is past fifty, if he 
 have been a real student, he must feel that he has had 
 enough, more than he can ever use. He sees that things 
 come round and meet again. The youth who has just 
 passed his B.A. examination is far cleverer than he, 
 and many a thing that he was smart about at twenty- 
 five lies in the mud, like Stephenson's old steam- 
 engine, rusting. A new generation is crowing all 
 round him, not wise, but thinking itself so because it 
 spells cock-a-doodle-doo with a K (kokadoodledoo) ; 
 yet he is not disgusted nor cynical, for knowledge and 
 wisdom excel folly, as light excelleth darkness, though 
 man at his best estate is altogether vanity. If he le 
 subject to vanity he is subjected in hope, and has in 
 his heart, if his axis be right, the " Hope of Glory." 
 
 Uth October 1873. 
 
 To allay the Imagination by a square is a sort of bliss. 
 It preserves the otherwise fugitive conception as in
 
 282 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 amber. Yet it consumes no time, and wastes no 
 money, and piles no unfinished canvases against the 
 wall. Indeed by simply going on, squaring has 
 become so glorious that I can't help prating about it. 
 Suppose a sportsman a fisherman out among the 
 reeds and rushes, and " many -knotted water flags " of 
 some vast land of meres where the wild swan rises, 
 and the wild ducks make letters on the sky casts his 
 line, and ere long his float dips suddenly and vigor- 
 ously, and he " strikes," and finds a noble fish secure ; 
 that's not a hundredth part so delightful as roaming 
 along the endless margins of books, and as you pass 
 by a corner, down dips the float of imagination and 
 out comes with a catgut whistle a splendid glistering 
 " subject " which is immediately laid on the bank, the 
 margin, the beached margent, in the form of a square, 
 and left there till called for not even the trouble of 
 carrying it home being appended to the sport. 
 
 To W. D. 
 
 llth October 1873. 
 
 SUCH a happy, healthy fitness of various elements has 
 matured in my life that there is no weariness (except 
 the occasional shrinking in of vital force, which only 
 repose renews). What with painting, what with 
 squaring, what with ventilation, what with outlets for 
 art in class work, and Home life, and Friend life all 
 " co-operate to an end," each relieving the other, like 
 the divine watchers. I don't know what to add on 
 to life. . . . 
 
 Am reading Julius Caesar. The various respects in 
 which excellence is excellent form one of the charms
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 283 
 
 of study. Every now and then one underscores three 
 or four lines of Shakespeare ; the expression is so over- 
 whelming. But in other respects you could not 
 underscore his excellence. It is as the broad spaces, 
 the main lines of a picture. It is not the exquisite 
 imitation, as in Landseer, of miraculous fur and 
 feather : it is the mystic Whole. Nay, in some of the 
 greatest art there is a rather poor perception of the 
 pungent individual Part. I take Francis Danby as a 
 case in point. His very name is precious to me, and 
 represents the highest posture of the specific poetic 
 feeling in landscape. Men might paint " Calypso " 
 better, but none could paint it so well. Large parts 
 of the very grandest pictures are mere " flatting " at 
 5d. a yard, and not well done either, for there are 
 lumps and knots in it, a shame to be seen. It is in 
 seeing these distinctions that the groundlings are dis- 
 comfited. It is so in Religion. Men don't see the 
 Methodist Soul burning in the rude gnarled bush that 
 is not consumed, nor the Church of England Soul in 
 the blossomed glory of the fragrant bush, which 
 perhaps it, after all, was, but which would have gone 
 without memorial but for the God that spake out of 
 its midst. 
 
 3.30 P.M. 
 
 ALONE in R B.'s room, looking at Life of Fara- 
 day, set. 21. Exquisitely quaint, childlike, simple, yet 
 with the innate lungeousness that betokens the leviathan 
 he afterwards became. This I take to be the token of 
 genius, as distinguished from the steady priggish up- 
 growths of talent.
 
 284 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 Friday, 11.30. 
 
 ANOTHER priceless morning. Been round Canon- 
 bury ; now in the lane. One ought to be out all day 
 such days as this. Stothardizing slowly, slowly with 
 sketch book. 
 
 I found a wonderful image in Coriolanus, both in 
 conception and utterance, and have begun it on a 
 twelve-inch panel. 
 
 Like to a lonely dragon whom his fen 
 Makes feared and talked of more than seen. 
 
 Certainly these twelve-inch idylls are the flos florum 
 of my life. Why do people want them larger ? To 
 my mind it is a shame to want them more complete 
 or exact. Fine art of a certain kind is most generally 
 killed by completion. These twelve-inch things do all 
 for you that can be done. They quicken and suggest. 
 When you first saw them you said " How appetising ! " 
 That was just it. The right word for other sorts is, 
 " How gorging " (not gorgeous). 
 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety. 
 
 Now what that " Serpent of old Mle " was to 
 Antony (only without her wickedness), that, I think, 
 such art as I affect ought to be to the dinted and 
 dusted Antonys of commerce and law and what not. 
 
 This full-flowing river of ideas is, in reality, not an 
 excited state of the mind in the present; it is the 
 legitimate outcome of thirty years of orderly and 
 organic study. The picture I paint to-day was often, 
 in fact, conceived twenty years ago, and has been in a
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 285 
 
 state of fusion with thousands more ever since. But 
 the price was paid fully down for it. If it were 
 historic or Scriptural, it came after the hundredth 
 meditation upon it turned over in all sorts of moods, 
 and then, perhaps, suddenly taking form at once. 
 This makes part of the delight of my work. It is a 
 quiet reaping of what was so long since sown, and 
 which I have watched in all weathers with "long 
 patience." 
 
 22d October 1873. 
 
 THEY have opened two new astounding rooms at 
 South Kensington ; in one of which is a cast from the 
 pillar of Trajan itself, only it is in two parts. Eound 
 the column runs a spiral bas-relief. I know not what 
 the subject is, yet every figure is no doubt a study, 
 with eyes, nose, mouth, action, horses and men. Did 
 any man ever see it all ? Who designed it ? Here in 
 London is the very substance of his thinkings for 
 years. However, let that rest. My thought in 
 starting was this. Though you only look at a 
 figure or two of all these winding crowds, yet it 
 is needful that all should be finished', and the assurance 
 that beside the two or three figures you looked at are 
 hundreds more as good, which you might look at ; this 
 reflection fills you and elevates you. You have seen 
 a grand monument. Seen it ? What do you mean, 
 Sir ? What is the two hundredth figure from this end 
 of the procession like ? Or the tenth from that ? 
 what is the last figure of all doing? Has it any 
 significance ? 
 
 When did the sculptor lay down his chisel and say 
 " Done " ? Did he collapse like Gibbon ?
 
 286 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 I ask a few questions, and am not going to reply 
 to them, nor even to knit the reasoning beneath them. 
 
 But be sure of this, that though no single man on 
 earth will ever behold a 10,000th part of what you 
 have done, and though the sculptor himself who did 
 those figures could not after ten years tell you which 
 was which, yet if your work is faithful in the least 
 it will have its final and grand wholeness. 
 
 These figures were done by him ; and though we 
 know not his name nor place, he is lure, winding 
 round the pillar of Trajan. What is any one worth 
 except for what he says or does ? What's in a name ? 
 
 The actions of the just 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust 
 
 and every day since A.D. 112 thousands of minds have 
 been touched, moved around that spiral column of 
 thought 
 
 1873 
 112 
 
 1761 years. 
 365 
 
 8805 
 10566 
 5283 
 
 642765 days. 
 
 Now for the spectators, the rabble with their ex- 
 clamations, the soldiers who fought in Trajan's wars, 
 the musing philosophers, the poet.
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 287 
 
 The pulsations of reflex thought thus created in 
 each mind ? 
 
 The silent towering of the pillar, at dawn, at 
 twilight, under the moon. 
 
 The things it saw at its base (which was not the 
 base of Pompey's statue, or it might have seen the 
 fall of Caesar, only it was born too late). The dignity 
 and order of some regions, the fury of others, the 
 Gothic shouts later on, the line of popes, all of whom 
 knew the pillar well. And how would a pope look at 
 a pillar of Trajan ? 
 
 The far view, the near view, both enhanced in 
 solemnity by the consciousness of its workmanship. 
 Charlemagne, the " man of iron," stood and looked at 
 it, and it said nothing ; but the procession went wind- 
 ing up to the skies, as his armies wound up the passes 
 of the Alps in 800 A.D., near 700 years after that 
 man in my square was gone, the time of the duration 
 of a majestic nation. 
 
 Charlemagne and his Paladins knew of Trajan's 
 pillar as being a wonder and a sign ; a part of the 
 stateliness of Eome the proud. 
 
 The lesson of these spasmodic dartings of the 
 imagination o'er " the dark backward and abysm of 
 Time." 
 
 This : " He that is faithful in a few things is faith- 
 ful also in much." That's one, and the uppermost 
 to-night. 
 
 " The work is the man." That's another. That you 
 should be reckoned the means of doing this or the other 
 good what could that do for you? But to be the 
 means what can that fail to do for you ? It will be 
 found to praise, and glory, and honour at the glorious
 
 288 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 appearing, when the true solution of these mystic 
 problems of name and fame will be given, and when 
 some will wake to discover the meaning of shame and 
 everlasting contempt, and some will shine as the stars 
 for ever and ever. 
 
 It is deeds that will do that. Then shall every 
 man have praise of his own work. 
 
 Cheer up, then, Soul ! We count them happy 
 that endure. 
 
 22d October 1873. 
 
 BEEN walking and ventilating in the lane. Feel 
 fresh and happy. Thought of the leaders' meeting 
 last night. There was the superintendent. There 
 was a gardener, a baker, a cheesemonger, a postman, 
 and myself. We sat till near 10 P.M. Now what 
 were the topics ? When is the juvenile missionary 
 meeting to be ? When the society tea - meeting ? 
 How best to distribute the poor money ? etc. Here 
 were six people delightfully sitting in a quiet room to 
 forward these ends. What is proposed by each of 
 those ends ? " Peace on earth, goodwill to men." The 
 very heart and substance of the angels' song, and not a 
 particle of anything else. No wonder that being so 
 privileged as to get into such healthy air I have so 
 often come home cured to the core come home, as 
 last night, so fresh, so calm, so delivered from all my 
 fears and troubles. True, the gardener cares less than 
 nothing for what forms the staple of my life's work ; 
 so much the better better BETTER ! as the White 
 Queen says in Alice through the Looking-Glass nor 
 the postman, nor the baker. Why, the point of the 
 thing is to forget to merge. To find a common
 
 1873 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 289 
 
 denominator, all sweet and calm, like sun and air, in 
 which man agrees with man, and all men with God. 
 And this once found bliss runs through all. The art 
 that would otherwise over -heat and dissatisfy, and 
 make querulous and dilettanteish and ex -human, 
 becomes as a soul absorbed into the soul of all. No 
 longer its slave, it finds that art becomes a slave 
 itself with its wonderful lamp. Perhaps the magical 
 stories of Solomon meant something of this sort. 
 Whether or not, here is the true secret, the " Open 
 Sesame," and till a man has found it, be he John 
 Stuart Mill, or Lord Byron, or Goethe, " the glorious 
 devil large in heart and brain who did love beauty 
 only," all other secrets are null, and no good spirit will 
 ever open to their spell. What does open let 
 
 The shadow waiting with the keys 
 tell. 
 
 The river is green and runneth slow ; 
 We cannot tell what it saith, 
 It keepeth its secrets down below, 
 And so does death. 
 
 I was appalled with a grand answer given at the 
 " Sombre close of her voluptuous day," to Cleopatra by 
 Enobarbus. Isaiah asks, "What will ye do in the 
 end thereof V So, when the star of Antony has 
 fallen, and Caesar marches against the gates, she says, 
 " What shall we do, Enobarbus ? " I really don't 
 know from what abyss of thought and expression 
 Shakespeare fetched the answer of Enobarbus 
 
 " THINK AND DIE ! ' 
 
 U
 
 290 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1873 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 19th November 1873. 
 
 MK. and Mrs. Cowper- Temple came to-day and 
 stayed from 2.30 till dusk. He bought the small 
 "Hymn" for 120 guineas. I never enjoyed showing 
 more than to them. They were so apt and so alive 
 to the nicest shades of things. I gave them my usual 
 sermon on monumentalism, and their response to all 
 was of the liveliest perceptiveness. What hours have 
 I spent (like John Willett in Barndby Rudge when he 
 tried to hammer " imagination " into his son Joe) in 
 trying to expound my views on that subject ! But these 
 two awakened souls caught every spark as fast as it fell. 
 
 Eossetti has sent me a letter from G. F. Watts to 
 him in which he says : 
 
 Being in the country it was not possible for me to go to 
 see the pictures at Stoke Newington, which I certainly should 
 have done had I been in town, for I recollect the former pictures 
 proving very remarkable artistic faculties. 
 
 Life does not consist in externals, and I do hope 
 that if more sunny days are in store I may not lose 
 one spark of that blessed inward rest which has been 
 the support of my days of struggle and labour. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 1874. 
 
 THE great importance of the historic study of the 
 Psalms is that it individualises them to the mind. 
 Once get Ps. 142 with its array of words driven into 
 the Cave of Adullam, and sealed with its number over
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 291 
 
 the mouth of the cave, and those words will never run 
 in among the Temple songs. 
 
 One of the greatest hindrances to spiritual profit is 
 confusion of memory. 
 
 Eead, therefore, some Psalms by the red light of 
 Ziklag ; others in the piercing solitudes of Engedi ; 
 others in the blaze of the Temple sacrifice; and the 
 119th on a Sunday evening, "when quiet in your 
 house you sit." 
 
 Nay, if possible, stretch out the eras of time be- 
 tween Psalm and Psalm. Go to Midian in 1490 B.C. 
 for the solemn, vast, desert sounds of Ps. 90. Join in 
 the 150th with the joyful procession round "Jeru- 
 salem Delivered" in 445. 
 
 1490 
 445 
 
 1045 
 A thousand years in Thy sight ! 
 
 Think of a Saxon Psalm written in the year 874, 
 say by Alfred the Great, and a Psalm written by the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury in 1874! Yet this only 
 represents the state of things between Ps. 90 and Ps. 
 150, and the mental posture ought to be accordingly. 
 
 20th March 1874. 
 
 As an instance of the sort of vexatious delays in 
 the progress of a picture is this I want a dead lamb 
 for my " First Passover," and I must have a model. 
 I want it soon. I send to our butcher. He " does 
 not kill lamb yet ; it is too expensive ; in a week or
 
 292 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 two he may, and will let me know." This morning 
 his man says he can't, when they kill, bring the lamb 
 here, for " unless the skin is taken off while it is warm 
 they can't take it off." So I shall have to go to it, 
 and be quick about it. At every turn, and about the 
 least things, this is the way. Madox Brown's models 
 for " Cromwell " make quite a nice tale : the horse, the 
 lamb, the pigs, the ducks. The pigs cost him 50s. in 
 donations and travelling expenses. The duck had to 
 have its bill held open by the servant, and then was 
 killed for its wing. The little pigs squealed the whole 
 time, and bit the man who held them till the blood 
 came. The bother about sunlight complicated the 
 complications. Anything more delightful than paint- 
 ing in itself cannot be found even these delays as to 
 models, etc., would be interesting if time and money 
 did not matter. At best it is slow, very slow. 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 2lst March 1874. 
 
 BLAKE is certainly a teaser. He remains in England, 
 where alone he is known the very best test I know 
 of a man's capacity for seeing the highest essentials of 
 art, the perception of sublimity and beauty when 
 utterly denuded and divorced from externals, " defecate 
 of sense " nay, full of infirmity, his " bodily presence 
 weak and his speech contemptible." If a man can see 
 and feel that which makes Blake what he is, he can 
 see and feel anything. 
 
 " In the Spirit he speaks mysteries." But one must 
 not say this of any of his works, which were very
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 293 
 
 numerous and uninviting in method, material, and 
 style ; now and then positively ugly and awkward, 
 or tame and flat, often childish, dreadfully mannered, 
 monotonous beyond most men in style. He lived to 
 be an old man, was very diligent, always producing, 
 going right ahead through all sorts of highways and 
 byways, bogs and dens and caves, and finding it hard 
 to get 30s. for a drawing, living the external life of a 
 journeyman watchmaker, fully happy in his vocation 
 as a designer and utterly indifferent to worldly ends 
 and aims. One needs to take his life and works as a 
 whole. The man is not separable from his works. A 
 Titian speaks for itself or a Correggio, but a Blake does 
 not. The right understanding of him becomes a kind 
 of second sight. He was " intromitted into the spirit 
 world," as Swedenborg said he was, which means 
 simply that he had the ghostly sensibility, the appre- 
 hension of what is supernatural, not only in the repre- 
 sentation of angels, spirits, demons, but of the spirit 
 that is in man on the earth. His men and women 
 have ghosts inside them, and that's what can be said 
 of not so many. Their impulses, gestures, relations, 
 are not earthly ; they are like " the gods, whose dwell- 
 ing is not with the flesh." They are above carnal 
 household motions and habitudes. A sheet and a 
 turnip-lantern would not alarm before it is found out 
 unless there were some signs of the ghost about it, and 
 Blake often collapses under the daylight gaze, like this 
 apparatus of the sheet ; but anybody could tell a ghost 
 from a turnip in the daytime : you want darkness and 
 its appropriate surroundings. Blake should not be 
 sought " by day, when every goose is cackling." 
 
 These are some of the considerations which wrap
 
 294 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 him round and make him so profound a test. The 
 groundling, hearing that it is a great name, will fly 
 into raptures over every bald, gray, Indian-ink group 
 he sees, and the inapt and imperceptive will show him 
 the door. It is just in the power of steering through 
 his works and rightly discriminating that the art- 
 illuminated soul is discoverable. 
 
 4th May 1874. 
 
 THE conditioning of English art has come to be 
 dramatic and striking. The silent brotherhood disperse 
 over Europe and further : to Damascus, Cairo, Algiers. 
 They go, each apart, to solitary places, and to places 
 desolate of old ; to little Italian towns, quaint Ger- 
 man villages, Scotch glens, bare twilight vales in the 
 Hebrides, and a long hush falls upon them. May 
 comes round, and all is changed. It is as when we 
 stood in the barge at the Boat-race, only instead of the 
 fleeting dream of dark and light blue we have a nation 
 lining the banks, restless and glittering, and waiting 
 for the galley of Cleopatra as on the Cydnus of old. 
 Artillery are in waiting at intervals, and all is expecta- 
 tion. At last comes the golden galley of art high out 
 of the water, with regular pulses of silver oars moving 
 to "flutes and soft recorders." She reclines in pomp 
 under the silken sail swollen to fulness. There is a 
 deck above her on which stand in glittering armour, 
 with sash and plume, the great painters and sculptors 
 of the year, and behind them, but raised on another 
 deck, crowd princes, statesmen, warriors fresh from the 
 field, " with station like the herald Mercury new-lighted 
 on a heaven-kissing hill." Eight beneath you, as it 
 seems, and close over you, suddenly burst and boom
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 295 
 
 the guns of fame, and shake the air and the earth 
 and you. 
 
 You, what are you doing, at your age, in the empty 
 barge moored at the brink ? Why are you not on the 
 galley ? Are you not filled with envy ? Will you 
 not throw some mud as it passes ? No, indeed ; I've 
 brought three laurel wreaths to throw aboard one for 
 Millais, one for Watts, one for somebody else, I won't 
 say who settle it among yourselves, only don't let 
 Hart get hold of it. The only mischief I am inclined 
 for is to put hollow hand to mouth, like Eossetti's 
 " Hector," and yell out, " Where's old Brown ? What 
 have you done with Gabriel Eossetti ? Yah ! " 
 
 I've nothing to say against the galley, and cheer 
 with the loudest, and shall delight myself with every 
 touch of these men, and those also who are not there. 
 
 Still, you know the working of the old problems, 
 and each time the galley sails up the Cydnus I am 
 obliged to ask my heart the old set of questions, and 
 my heart replies with no hesitation as of yore, " I 
 would not have it otherwise. If all were to do over 
 again, I would do just the same." 
 
 Only I say this with more rest and gladness than 
 ever, with more entire contentment, with deeper thank- 
 fulness to God and to inan. 
 
 To D. G. K. 
 
 7th May 1874. 
 
 WENT to-day to the E.A. Exhibition, and afterwards 
 to Christie's to see the Landseer sketches which are to 
 be sold to-morrow. In looking at one of them, there
 
 296 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 was a piece as big as a shilling knocked off, showing 
 the white ground a little finger with a ring on it fell 
 rapidly into the abrasion. Thought I, "That's an 
 artist's hand and trick; nobody but an oil- painter 
 would do that." I looked up, and it was Millais. He 
 was shortly afterwards saluted by some one. " I hope 
 you're well." " Oh yes ; I'm always well, thanks." I 
 wish you could say that, or Shields. Yet, " who knows 
 what is good for man upon the earth ? " 
 
 Millais's "North-west Passage" is a very fine, 
 manly, strong thing every way. His " Still for a 
 Moment" is as good as one of the old masters or 
 Eeynolds. His landscapes I was sorry to be disap- 
 pointed with in comparison with his " Chill October." 
 They are powerful, but too coarse and raw and 
 unfeeling. 
 
 I am glad you are taking it easy. I hope you 
 pound your talk very small, and lie on your back look- 
 ing up into vacancy. Vacancy is one of our best 
 friends at times.' 
 
 In looking at some of the coarse, bold, effective 
 canvases at the Academy there comes the temptation 
 to do six pictures for one, to get into a bold mood. 
 " Boldness " always takes in a crowd, and but for a 
 whole fortress of squares, where in years past every 
 such question has been arraigned, I should in some 
 moods be in danger of betrayal. But I am sure that 
 for lasting usefulness and acceptance it will be found 
 that the quiet, well-thought-out way is best. It is in 
 art as in life. Your bold, loud, fluent man carries all 
 before him in a big meeting, but it's the man alive to 
 difficulties, and conscious of the vast area of things and 
 the feebleness of his own nature, and who looks on life
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 297 
 
 as a whole it is he who survives and grows and con- 
 quers at length. 
 
 The following is illustrated by a group of ferns with curled- 
 up fronds, as seen from the breakfast room window. One of 
 these fronds is taller than the rest, over-topping them, as it 
 were : 
 
 Friday, 9.35 A.M. (Lower Room). 
 
 WE have been wondering at and admiring this 
 group of ferns at a certain stage of growth. It is 
 like a highly respectable family : mother and six 
 daughters one of Anthony Trollope's Barchester 
 families living in the Cathedral Close. Look at the 
 resemblance to a bishop's crozier, and call them the 
 Miss Croziers or the Misses Crozier and their lofty 
 mamma. They are of a splendid brown -gold colour. 
 Higher on the bank is another family, distantly related 
 to the Croziers, and standing about to be noticed a 
 pale green washed-out family the Hart's-tongues, of no 
 position ; the best of them have to get good situations 
 as governesses, which the Croziers help them to not 
 so much that the cathedral has taught them charity 
 unfeigned, but for their own credit's sake. Note the 
 green trimmings of Mrs. Crozier. There is in a nook 
 of the hills yet another and a smaller branch of the 
 same family. These are scarcely green at all; they 
 are gray, with faint assumptions of green, knowing that 
 there is a bishop in the family. I don't know their 
 names ; the Croziers call them " those people." 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 10th June 1874. 
 
 To be too much liked is one of the great evils of
 
 298 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 life. If one friend speaks well of you to another, and 
 he to a third, you are, by this progression, in a mess 
 in no time, especially if you are of the " amiable " 
 sort. "Come and play with me," says the butterfly 
 to the busy bee. Observe the butterfly never says, 
 " Busy bee, I like you, and will come and watch you 
 work." Then if you don't go and play, the butterfly 
 goes winging among the dragonflies, and says you are 
 not half so pretty as she thought; that your black 
 and yellow bands are in bad taste ; and that you are 
 only a hum-drum sort of honey-bagger, always after 
 your hive. When prejudice sets in, then it is well 
 with the honey-bee ; and if the bee every now and 
 then sting savagely, so much the better. The fact 
 will be that you are just in reality wlwd you are, and 
 that what the butterfly and dragonfly say won't alter 
 the fact. Perhaps you are conceited, proud, self- 
 sufficient, vain. If you're not, the butterfly and dragon- 
 fly can't make it be so. If you are, the sooner it is 
 commonly understood the better. 
 
 One naturally thinks, " The more friends the better." 
 " The wider spread is your good name the better." 
 This delusion will last till fifty. Then a little touch 
 of wisdom breaks in, and you see from the other end 
 of the telescope. 
 
 To be told at twenty or thirty " Such a person 
 can't bear you" has an uncomfortable effect. At 
 fifty there is something of a dulcet sound in it in 
 comparison. 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 30th June 1874. 
 
 As in talking with some men your eye glances
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 299 
 
 restlessly from top to toe, your ear quickly curious at 
 every tone and inflection, your observation alive to 
 every gesture, posture, quality, you form your con- 
 clusion of the man's whereabouts ; so with books and 
 claims in general. You watch this man and say, 
 " He's a bit of a fool, but has no touch of the rascal." 
 You look at the other and say, " Clever fellow, but I 
 would not trust him further than I could see him." 
 Yet if in either case you are asked Why ? you can't 
 exactly tell. It's a number of very little things put 
 together. You leave a margin and say, " I may after 
 all be mistaken," but you don't think you are, and 
 you act accordingly. 
 
 Is not our conviction as to the credibility of the 
 Gospels and Epistles practically based on this subtle 
 moral instinct ? " This must be true. It is impossible 
 that either fool or rascal could have invented the 
 14th of John or the 12th of Eomans. They are 
 honest to the bone." 
 
 Some one read to me out of a book of Dean 
 Stanley's what, if I remember rightly, was cited as a 
 specimen of the best of the pretended gospels, and 
 one thought, " If that is the best one can't answer 
 reasonably, but only print the word Bosh in letters 
 twenty feet high." 
 
 Anyhow, if I'm not to make short work of my con- 
 victions it's a poor case ; and my case is better than 
 that of millions. Directly after breakfast and walk 
 comes work : only an hour a day at most when thought 
 can withdraw itself to verify these great matters. 
 Am I to go plowthering and sniffling for years in the 
 immeasurable mass of " Evidences " ? Then God help 
 me and help ^ of the race !
 
 300 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 But my full heart, it replies with the distinctness 
 of a golden bell, "Rabbi, Thou art the Son of God. 
 Thou art the King of Israel." 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 8th September 1874. 
 
 HAVE been " snatching a fearful joy " over the 
 Duke of Argyle's lona this morning. His way 
 of fixing you in the period is fine and poetic. In 
 such processes the mind " forgets itself to marble," 
 " the monumental caves of death look cold," " the 
 cities desolate of old " swarm, time plays at fast and 
 loose with you, c ~ the fallings from us vanishings " are 
 numerous as the "atom -streams running along the 
 illimitable inane." You glance wildly at Emperors 
 and Popes, as if you ought to know them, you do in a 
 sense : " I think I've seen you before." Gregory the 
 Great frowns in passing. " Knowest thou not ine 
 yet ? " as Coriolanus said. Theodore stalks to his grave 
 in Ravenna and lies down in silence. Patient monks 
 write and illuminate through long centuries. Grim 
 hermits are going by mountain passes to their clefts 
 in the rock. The sea bristles with Scandinavian fleets, 
 Benedict sets up his long monastic line on Monte 
 Casino ; and Columba knows nothing about it, but 
 labours, no one knows how, among the Picts. The 
 world of the Past quakes and moves as in Ezekiel's 
 vision. Tell you about it? Nay, I can't do that. 
 I'm no teller of dead men's tales. I simply live, 
 looking on and watching the phantoms pass. They 
 glower and pass on, as the lion that met Csesar in the 
 street of Rome did, and "went surly by." Let other
 
 1874 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 301 
 
 men draw conclusions, and evolve principles, and 
 coolly tell you what the Middle Ages were. 
 
 Tell me what a back street in a Pictish town was, 
 and how the people knew that Columba was going to 
 preach a Charity Sermon, and how he and his congre- 
 gation looked when they met each other with ancient 
 eyes. 
 
 These visions are greatly helpful while living the 
 daily life. Who can be vexed with the gossip in the 
 next street, " the cackle of the bourg," or much dis- 
 contented with his daily life, if he have food and 
 raiment ; or be greatly concerned how he stands with 
 the penny papers if he be in sight of the solemn Past 
 the deeply silent Past ? 
 
 But this very silence, and dim multitude and con- 
 fusion, teach the one lesson, 
 
 Thou, in this Thy Day. 
 
 What hope elsewhere ? Fame ? What worth ? 
 Eiches ? What profit ? But the Duty of to-day, the 
 nearest thing, the nearest person, the holy impulse of 
 the hour that is life and joy and peace. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 13th September. 
 
 HAVE read through the Duke of Argyle's lona : 
 a very delightful little book. There is something un- 
 utterably pathetic in the relations of time. Columba 
 makes lona. You stand where Dr. Johnson stood, 
 his " piety growing warmer," and look for monuments 
 of Columba. You see old walls rent by the sea-blasts, 
 and stare into antiquity. But see now, that ruined
 
 302 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1874 
 
 Chapel is the oldest thing there. Who built it ? 
 Queen Margaret of Scotland built it in fervent memory 
 of the good Columba. But fancy her peering back to 
 the days of Columba, as far as we have to do, to reach 
 Chaucer or Edward the Third. " So long ago lived 
 my Columba," says she, as she paces the moonlit 
 shores. " Who can flit across those five centuries ? " 
 says she. How were they filled up in that " dark 
 backward and abysm of time " ? A little she knows 
 of history among the northern seas, but it is weird 
 conjecture mainly, it is the " long ago " and little more. 
 "And Christ lived twice as far back in the world's 
 events." But many, many moonlights since have shone 
 on the Sound of lona and all its " finny drove." We 
 look much further back on Queen Margaret than she 
 on Columba; for she died in the year 1093. 
 
 And what imagination can deal with the 200 years 
 of quiet monastic life in lona after the death of Columba? 
 2 years ! When only a single sail came to bring 
 an Irish saint, or a little fleet bearing some Scandinavian 
 king to be buried in the Holy Isle ! The Monks 
 who were they ? Where did they come from ? What 
 was the history of only one of them from boyhood till 
 his old age, when he went on penning the Gospel text, 
 or writing a slow chronicle, or keeping the farm 
 accounts? But if these calm 200 years baffle us so, 
 what of the succeeding 300 years when the heathen 
 came out of their cold hard hills and brought fire, 
 famine, and slaughter to every British coast, and 
 spared no holy hairs, and no shrine of peace ? 
 
 Have you and I to face the world of the past as 
 well as the world that now is, and see the dead, small 
 and great, stand before God ?
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 303 
 
 ONE of the most dreadful Old Testament pictures 
 is that of Joram on the wall of Samaria, 2 Kings vi. 
 25-33, in sackcloth. 
 
 Some think these entertaining old books are given 
 to be exercises in ingenious research and criticism, and 
 others scorn them as impudently as Jehoiakim. When 
 they have read three or four leaves they cut it with a 
 penknife and cast it into the fire till the whole roll is 
 consumed, and think no more of it till they are carried 
 to Eiblah and bound before Nebuchadnezzar. What ! 
 Is not a high fever, a hollow consumption, a falling 
 beam, a thousand occurrent evils, as sure and awful as 
 "the worst of the heathen," even though a smooth 
 English doctor moves across the scene, and his varnished 
 brougham waits in the street ? He that is wise and 
 will observe these things sees them to-day. Is it con- 
 ceivable that the God who made the Seven Stars and 
 Orion, and who is without variableness or shadow of 
 turning, played off caprices on the narrow seaboard of 
 Asia Minor in the centuries before our era, which having 
 come to another mind, or being weary, he has ceased to 
 enact in modern days, cowed and overfaced by steam 
 and penny newspapers reeled off without stopping ? 
 Is the Strength of Israel lying or repenting now the 
 world has waxed older and wiser and more scientific, 
 and is clothed in cloth, and builds magnificent club- 
 rooms in Pall Mall, where His name goes for nothing ? 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 8th August 1875. 
 
 To say that " all men are vain " (Thackeray) is a 
 slight accusation, a matter of course. One is vain of
 
 304 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 his wealth, another of his good looks, another of his 
 accomplishments, another of his piety. The grace of 
 God does wonders all round. " Half beast, half devil," 
 was John Fletcher's view of human nature. The beast 
 and the devil disappear are cast out the dumb 
 devil, the unclean devil, the cruel devil, the avaricious 
 devil. The vain devil is such an insignificant Skip 
 Jack that he is often left in a corner, and combs his 
 hair at sixty at the bottom of the pulpit stairs. 
 
 AT first we know too little to teach, all is mist and 
 confusion. Then we know too much, all is intensity 
 and disproportion. It is only when knowledge has 
 settled down and " grown incorporate into Thee " that 
 we teach at once with authority and with simplicity. 
 Our knowledges are then dislinked from our display of 
 them. They may be fresh to the hearer, they come 
 natural to the speaker. He thinks more of the kernel 
 than of the long-since-cracked shell and husk. He is 
 not afraid of being tripped up by a tacit question, or a 
 slippery blunder. " Clearly he sees and wins his way." 
 
 A FALLEN king may become a beggar. That's 
 allowable. But he must not become a greengrocer or 
 an oilman. Aut Caesar aut Oilman is not good Latin. 
 There are no stages between Csesar and Nullus. 
 
 Sunday, 10A.M. 
 day most calm, most bright ! 
 
 LANDSEER'S Hunted Stag in "The Sanctuary," 
 where " nor hound nor huntsman shall his lair molest," 
 among the peaceful echoing evening hills and the lonely
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 305 
 
 rush of the disturbed wild ducks from the water flags 
 into the amber air. This is not seldom the feeling 
 with which I escape from the howling pack of week- 
 day cares. 
 
 JOHN CROME. Born in Norwich, 1769-1821. 
 Apprenticed to coach builder. 
 Became Drawing Master. 
 Painted in leisure. 
 
 When I was a boy he was known among small 
 dealers as " Old Crome." He was only 52 when he 
 died. The name brought up the image of a venerable 
 old fogey painting up to extreme old age. During the 
 last ten years his pictures have been brought to the 
 front, and he is called " John Crome." Some of his 
 works are in the National Collection, and at sales his 
 pictures fetch large prices. 
 
 Had an hour of delightful dwelling on his unknown 
 career last evening. The works are the man, and if 
 the man be able to put soul into them, whether he 
 paint in a little house in Norwich or in a London 
 studio matters little nor how his picture is first sold. 
 It may be bought after much talk by some little house- 
 holder for 5. That is a vast sum. It hangs for 
 years on years in the glimmer of the little back parlour, 
 and no man knows much about it. Whether John 
 Crome were married or single I know not ; but 
 probably he was married and his family large. Being 
 a coach painter at first and a good deep painter 
 afterwards, he could not be much beside. But what 
 matter ? Where would his scraps of Latin and Greek 
 have been now ? While he lived he might have made 
 better way with a transitory forgotten squire if he 
 
 x
 
 306 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 could quote Horace, but he and the squire are a prey 
 to dumb forgetfulness except except what found 
 its way to the point of his brush ; his serious, 
 sunny, all simple, all rich and happy views of the 
 grandeur of the nooks of nature ; the solemn, quiet 
 corners where gray palings become impressive because 
 of their weather marks and boundary marking and 
 other subtle associations with nature and humanity. 
 
 You meet him in your morning or evening walk, a 
 little dingy, not at all gentlemanly, not like " quoloty " 
 who pass him on horseback to their tombs among the 
 forgotten. He has his leather-backed sketch-book out, 
 and is taking a memorandum of some little black pool 
 under oak roots, his bosom quietly glowing with the 
 sense of grandeur and unutterable solemnity. He 
 pockets his book and walks on ; the black pool and its 
 weird growths rendered through the crucible of feeling 
 and thought, and not wholly " like nature " (nature 
 involved with man, which is art and poetry) this 
 picture now moves all kindred souls in now one 
 exhibition, now another. Docks and weeds and peaty 
 waters were nothing to talk about, but moving as the 
 haunts of Keats's Pan when shaped by the coach 
 painter's stubby brush, too manly to condescend to thin 
 lines and photographic dottings. So whether he were 
 communicative or close, shy or genial, good tempered 
 or bad, a man with many friends raining " Good morn- 
 ings " all round, or a sort of water hen scarce known 
 except to his quaint kind a few of the same sort 
 what has that to do with it now ? Mark it with your 
 brush, seal it in a monument. Arthur himself " passes." 
 So with contemporary opinion. What thought the 
 wealthy Norwich lawyer, with his frill and his weight,
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 307 
 
 at Norwich dinner parties in 1800 ? "Mr. Quiddity, 
 I should like to know what you think of the oil pictures 
 of my daughter's drawing -master." " What, Jack 
 Crome? I knew him when he went 'prentice to old 
 Axletree, and a lazy young dog he was. His oil 
 paintings, ma'am ? I'm no great judge, they look rather 
 rough and fuzzy to me. Ought to go to Italy and 
 see some of the Claudes I saw there in the year 1770." 
 
 " Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his 
 cases, his tenures, and his tricks," and his opinion of 
 Jack Crome ? 
 
 " Crome Crome Crome!" blows the solemn wind 
 of Fame, eerier than ever and the black pool with its 
 crooked roots and strange overgrowth and " pipey 
 hemlock " looks, all silent and revealing nothing, into 
 the face of new generations. 
 
 I AM glad to have been gradually forced down from 
 Eoses of Dawn to the Foxglove and Eabbit dingles 
 and dells, to Aylmer's field. If it succeed we will be 
 in no hurry to get to the heights again, for the study 
 of nature among the wild briar and the vine and the 
 twisted eglantine is so soothing and sweet, and will be 
 so useful for background purposes, that it never can be 
 time lost. 
 
 One of the sweet Stothard habits was to stand 
 among the honeysuckle hedgerows, drawing in sketch- 
 books with various coloured inks the tendrils, leaves, 
 blossoms, etc. Wax crayons were not invented in 
 those days. But if Stothard could see my brown paper 
 books he would say, " Sir, you have by experiment 
 attained to the whole series of requirements necessary 
 for the sufficient notation of those facts of nature which
 
 308 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 are needed when you come to paint small subjects in 
 the studio." 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 6th January 1875. 
 
 GOT your kind letter this morning. I am glad to 
 hear good news of you all, and to know where you are, 
 and what you are about. Davies will be glad to hear 
 that you are among his friends, and enjoying the 
 antiquities and art of Home. I should say cultivate 
 Hemans. He is a mine of learning, and a simple, 
 quaint, unworldly man, with no back-thought of self- 
 interest or littleness. 
 
 To say I envy you the rich associations of Eome 
 would be true, and yet not true. I shrink from Italy, 
 though so much thought has been given to it in 
 the course of my life. It is too rosy, and odorous, 
 and relaxing, as it proved to the Goths and Huns. 
 I love the northern grayness, and hardihood, and re- 
 pression, and hindrance, and vexing discipline, and 
 sublimity. 
 
 Bright, and fierce, and fickle is the South ; 
 And dark, and true, and tender is the North. 
 
 Also, without being a rabid anti-popery man, I am 
 obliged by all that I live by, and live for, to tremble 
 at the dismal cloud that rests on Italy and Spain, and 
 is only shattered in France by rebellious lightnings 
 which are not the still, small voice of God. At a 
 distance I can be calm, but the more piercing and 
 beautiful the "Miserere" above in the darkness, and 
 the more enchanting the silver trumpets, the worse I 
 feel. I think this has operated on me all my life, and
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 309 
 
 though I formed no resolution or vow not to " see 
 before I die the palms and temples of the South," it 
 has kept me from the brisk desires and proposals which 
 carry young men to Eome, dearly as my mind clings 
 to the refined and easy-going life which I hear of 
 there. 
 
 29tk March 1875. 
 
 " LIGHT and Shade " is the atmosphere of painting, 
 and varies as the sky and weather vary. Certain 
 phases of it are fixed, and amenable to science and 
 calculation ; others are real and beautiful, but not 
 amenable to science, e.g. in a landscape we never see 
 shadows falling opposite ways ; nor one shadow lengthy, 
 as at evening, and another gathered up, as at noon. 
 Also the slope of things fixes the form of their shadows, 
 and the direction of the light the direction of their 
 shadows. In Seddon's " Jerusalem " at South Kensing- 
 ton we see a piece of literal and exquisite representation, 
 of harmonised lighting, which is quite correct perfect 
 indeed, yet which looks as flat as a photograph, though 
 it has much feeling wrapped up in the treatment of 
 details. They are not harshly, nor coldly, but delicately 
 painted. In Collins's " Seaford," in the Sheepshanks 
 Gallery, we have in the foreground a simple lighting of 
 figures and sandbank, as the way of the light dictates. 
 In the middle distance we have a fine effect of a transi- 
 tory kind produced by shadows of clouds on flat sands ; 
 and the combinations of fixed shadowsa nd accidental 
 ones, woven together by composition with the cloud 
 forms, constitute the light and shade of the picture. 
 But though in Collins there is a scheme of light and 
 shade in relation to the picture as a whole, instead of
 
 310 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 the flat accuracy of Seddon, Collins's cloud shadows 
 are as true as his sandbank shadows. There should 
 be, in order to good effect, the unity of both these 
 requirements, the shadows that must be with the 
 shadows that may be, and these united by the un- 
 searchable faculty of " Composition." But however 
 bold, or deep, or striking effect may be, there must, in 
 order to grand work, be no lying ; nothing impossible. 
 And even the admission of the improbable becomes a 
 ticklish question, and may make a work " outre " or 
 " queer," and so ruin it. 
 
 In these combinations of the must and the may, 
 and their varying degrees of success, we have an en- 
 chanting region of unexhaustive delight, always 
 remembering that there lies behind them the universe 
 of God's handiwork. 
 
 To T. A. 
 
 27th April 1875. 
 
 PEOPLE hesitate to purchase by the usual faint- 
 heartedness which seeks too much evidence before it 
 strikes, e.g. they would like to feel sure that they are 
 buying a Turner, an " Old Crome," a David Cox, a 
 Collins, a Constable, forgetting that this element of 
 universal "Name" has taken time to ripen to its 
 present value. The Turner-, Linnell-, Cox-, Constable-, 
 Collins - work, now at a premium, was all in full 
 flower when I was born. " Old Crome " had done all 
 his work and died, and when I was twenty years old, 
 no one would give more than 10 or 20 for an Old 
 Crome (which was sold on Saturday for 1575). 
 Turner then sold for 100 what yesterday fetched
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 311 
 
 7350. As to Constable and Linnell, at fifty years 
 of age their houses were full of unsold work ; no man 
 cared for it. The unshrewd and unreflective buyer of 
 to-day is deluded for want of biography. He forgets 
 the element of Time, does not draw distinctions 
 between cases, thinks " Name " to be another entity 
 from that which it is, secretly wants the low price, 
 and the universal certainty of name ; not seeing that 
 the two things cannot go together. 
 
 Instead of buying an unsinged and undipped long- 
 legged filly from a remote Yorkshire pasture by the 
 keen eye for hock and shoulder-blade, which sees an 
 " Eclipse " or a " Gladiator " through its foolish foal- 
 hood, he wants to be assured (1) That this present 
 filly won the blue ribbon of the turf; and then (2) To 
 make a 'cute bargain for the filly with the Yorkshire 
 farmer. Can't be done. 
 
 To J. S. B. 
 
 Uth May 1875. 
 
 AT Kew Bridge Station. Sketched this man [a 
 profile] in pocket-book. The real points of differentia- 
 tion between man and man (for the historical painter's 
 purpose) are comprised in just that much of his frame. 
 The facial angle, the brow, nose, nostril, eye, lip, chin. 
 Why sketch his ear, or his hat, or anything else about 
 him ? Ears are the same, hats are the same. If he 
 have a set of the shoulders very individual, then sketch 
 that ; not otherwise. See little enough. This seems a 
 simple discovery, but it has taken a ton weight off my 
 mind since I saw this and the like truths.
 
 312 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 4th June. 
 
 LIKE other truths that lie inward after long practice, 
 this note on re-reading needs an explanation. Of 
 course everything, ears, hats, etc., have to be got from 
 nature, but for historic purposes you may anywhere 
 get a model for an ear or a hat ; whereas the peculiar 
 facial angle must be sketched there and then, or not at 
 all. For you see it unexpectedly, and only for a short 
 time, as a rule ; and sometimes it is a magistrate or 
 J.P. who wouldn't accept your eighteenpence an hour ; 
 and if you can't " bag " his nose, eyes, eyebrows, lips, 
 and chin in a moderately short time in your pocket- 
 book, you can't get him at all, for the finest chances 
 are momentary. Now, when you have reduced that 
 which it is incumbent to sketch to a minimum, leaving 
 out ea'r, hat, etc., your chances are improved manifold, 
 and you can seize him and bear him off with a chuckle : 
 " I've got you, old gentleman, anyhow, you'll do 
 capitally for the villain of the piece." Hogarth used 
 to do this on his broad thumb-nail. One sees very well 
 that Hogarth's faces must have been caught unawares. 
 No one ever consciously sat for those marvellous 
 expressions. 
 
 But as to painting, fresh crops keep springing out 
 of the fallow-field after seasons of stoppage, such as the 
 recent one. The most noticeable product of the past 
 period of reflection and search is an increased resolve 
 : as to painstaking. 
 
 I don't mean mere hard work, for that is often, in 
 art, waste of time ; but hard study and forethought ; 
 a whole brown-paper book full of sketches, where one 
 or two sketches are often thought sufficient. Light
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 313 
 
 oil this subject increases greatly. The real work of 
 the picture should be done off the canvas. And to 
 make yourself see this and do it, is breaking the iron 
 sinew in your neck. There is such a strong instinct 
 to get at your canvas, and to mix your palette. Pro- 
 perly, the putting on of the paint ought to be a mere 
 adjunct to manly study. Every line, mass, colour, 
 expression ought to be known and felt off the canvas. 
 When once this light has dawned a new world of 
 pleasure is opened. 
 
 Again, as men get older, there is a danger of rest- 
 ing on their oars, of living on past knowledge. Just 
 the wrong plan ! The right plan to perpetuate youth 
 and joy is to assume that you never yet knew any- 
 thing, that you have all to learn. This will not 
 actually enfeeble you, for your work will include the 
 results of past knowledge. But the posture of mind 
 will be far grander, because far nearer to the child ; 
 which, in the kingdom of art, as in the kingdom of 
 Heaven, is the only Prince. 
 
 HAPPY hour when I made my first square ! I 
 remember it well. It was on 18th February 1848 
 at 1 1 P.M., if you wish to know. It introduced me to 
 a new life. But for many years, twenty perhaps, I 
 was afield among the ancients. Now Brother C. is 
 more to me than Themistocles or Abbot Sampson, or 
 Boethius, and T. A. is more than Pericles or Alexander 
 the Great. The glory and dignity of a living man 
 grows and grows more and more. What ! make cruel 
 fun of a living man who may die to-morrow and 
 mount high above you in the "air of glory whose 
 light does trample on your days." Nay, a redeemed
 
 314 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 man is a resplendent thing to meet in a lane, or in a 
 parlour, or anywhere. "Your brother whom you 
 have seen." If you love not him, a fortiori, how can 
 you love Him whom you have not seen ? 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 10th June 1875. 
 
 WALKED to Fitzroy Square, and called on F. 
 Madox Brown, who is a delightful man, cram-full of 
 all that makes my mental life sweet and pleasant. A 
 visit to him is like a walk on a breezy shore with the 
 scent of cockles, and mussels, and sea-weed. M. B. 
 described some pictures by Millet now exhibiting in 
 Bond Street. Walked there and saw them. They 
 are a sort of finished studies in oil ; rough, bold, be- 
 stowing all attention on action, composition, sentiment, 
 colour, and putting in no detailed form. Much what 
 I expected. Instructive and interesting. 
 
 I said to Madox Brown, " Millet only exhibited 
 twenty -eight pictures in thirty years." F. M. B. 
 " But that was a large number." But of what sort 
 were these of which one a year was enough ? Now I 
 see. The subject was amazingly simple; e.g. a 
 peasant in a gray nook of the village chopping wood, 
 wedge and mallet, all alone, profoundly alone. Bough, 
 colour fine, action exact, the right moment ; all things 
 primeval, woods dark, obscure, solemn ; features 
 expressed as you see them at sixty yards off, fingers 
 not to be separated by the eye, i.e. they are roughly 
 indicated, yet the Main Thing is held to scrupulously ; 
 the poise of the mallet, the crook of the knee, the 
 " go " of the whole action together. And so, with the
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 315 
 
 combined effect, whites, grays, browns ; with touches 
 (or patches, for there is no " touch ") of blue or bit of 
 red the Wholeness is the thing, and the Homeric 
 simplicity, force, directness. 
 
 THE mutually distinctive effects of certain pursuits 
 reconcile one to much imperfection in the ideal of 
 life, e.g. The Mathematical and Imaginative modes of 
 action are clearly cross currents, and though a man 
 might say, " How happy could I be with either," he 
 must put one or other away, or be" as double-faced as 
 Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy. 
 
 2Sd June 1875. 
 
 ABOUT twelve years ago there were woodcuts in 
 Good Words and other periodicals with " F. W." in the 
 corner. These were of a better sort than the rough 
 and ready scribble usually seen. Then the " F. W. " 
 found its way into the Cornhill under Thackeray, 
 and was attached to illustrations of Thackeray's Philip. 
 These illustrations were very admirable in quality. 
 Among the studios, e.g. from J. C. Moore, came 
 information. " Walker ? Fred Walker ; yes, I know 
 him. You wouldn't think he had anything in him, 
 but he has a fine head, a sort of Greek head, you 
 know. His family is humble. He hasn't much to 
 say for himself, but he's a clever fellow, and he takes 
 such pains. I heard that when he wanted a small 
 bell handle for one of his woodcuts he heard of one at 
 Hampstead and went over on purpose to draw it. So 
 with everything."
 
 316 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 1864-65 ? " Have you seen Fred Walker's drawing 
 at the ' Old Water Colour,' from Philip : ' Philip in 
 Church ' ? " 
 
 "Yes, and a splendid piece of execution it is." 
 
 1868. At D. G. R's a goodish painter, but an 
 intolerable "swell," well connected, to Howell: 
 
 " Oh, by the way, you're the man Howell. You see 
 aw I've asked Fred Walker to supper, and I want 
 to entertain him, and you see aw I can't very well 
 ask my own set to to meet him aw, his sisters 
 I'm told keep a bonnet shop somewhere aw " etc. 
 
 1869. "Frederick Walker, Esq., A.E.A." 
 
 " Have you seen Walker's ' Ploughing ' at the 
 E.A.?" 
 
 " Yes : very powerful. I like it best of anything 
 there." D. G. Pv., " I say ! I'm told that Graham 
 has given Walker 1000 guineas for his 'Bathers,'" 
 etc. 
 
 1875. "Died at the early age of forty -two, 
 Frederick Walker, A.E.A. We can ill afford to spare 
 men so conscientious in all they did," etc. 
 
 June 1875, at E.A. J. S. looking at the last 
 picture F. W. sent to the E.A., "The Eight of Way": 
 Vagrant mother, little boy afraid of sheep. 
 
 Well-dressed visitor to companion : " Now there's 
 a picture ! Very bad, wretchedly executed. Look 
 at that sheep ; its legs are as long as a pig's ! Look at 
 the grass ! Abominable ! " 
 
 What a Eequiem ! 
 
 J. S. "Walker of course. Not one of his best. 
 Very fine in quality. Exquisite perception of grays 
 in sky and distance." 
 
 J. S. at " Old Water Colour," June 1875 :
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 317 
 
 " The Old Gate." F. Walker. " Wonderful, deli- 
 cate, tender, true, powerful. What a world of study 
 it must have cost ! What mental and moral endurance 
 and concealed excitement and energy ! " 
 
 " Yes, this sort of strain probably killed him." 
 We saw together his " Mower " in the " Alms 
 House Grounds," and thought it meant, 
 
 There is a Reaper whose name is Death : 
 
 the old man the chirping, feeble old men who sat 
 beyond the daisied lawn, cram-full of character and 
 power of the Shakesperian sort, " Second childishness 
 and mere oblivion " : one " sans teeth, sans eyes, sans 
 taste, sans everything, 
 
 His big manly voice 
 
 Turning again toward childish treble pipes, 
 And whistles in the sound. 
 
 Another, keeping up to the last, an old, old chirping 
 Eobin with a red, full breast, who " had a grandfather, 
 bless your soul, as lived ten year longer ! " The 
 Mower has mown F. W. down at last ; but every 
 touch of those careful woodcuts the bell handle 
 included every faint gray wash and stipple of his 
 water colours, every palette-knife stroke of his larger 
 canvases survives ; " for the artist never dies." 
 
 And we, shall either die in the midst of our days, 
 or we shall come to this " second childishness and 
 mere oblivion" if we survive our strength. In the 
 sunshine, with chin on breast, we shall look vaguely, 
 half cheered, at the daisies, and recall days long fled. 
 It will be very important to carry down into those
 
 318 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1875 
 
 Vast solitudes and awful cells, 
 Where heavenly contemplation dwells, 
 And ever-musing melancholy reigns, 
 
 some abiding "patience and comfort" better than 
 vague recollections of pleasures long gone, ambitions 
 long thwarted or fulfilled and decayed. 
 
 " HE gained from Heaven, 'twas all he wished, a 
 friend." That is a short allowance, and all a man's 
 eggs had better not be in one basket, for change and 
 death hold such at their mercy. Only Supreme 
 Wisdom can pick us out our friends, and then they are 
 made as slowly as geologic formations ; or if not, with 
 the same mighty powers of central fire and upheaval ; 
 but mostly deposit, with supervening strokes of ele- 
 mental heat or shaking. 
 
 Let any man take a case in his own life see how 
 it has been brought about. It may begin in a trifle. 
 One of my oldest friendships began at the age of 
 fifteen, in a childish taste for acid -drops. Sow an 
 acid-drop, and you grow not only a friend but a whole 
 circle of his friends, who uphold your soul for a life- 
 time. Who would think of beginning a deep and true 
 friendship with an acid - drop ? (Though many an 
 unguarded acid-drop ends a friendship which nothing 
 can replace.) Innumerable delicate circumstances of 
 relation of age, residence, family environment, temper 
 and temperament, pursuits, etc., create such a web of 
 material as only the great Designer can put on the 
 loom. 
 
 Thank God for friends.
 
 1875 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 319 
 
 6th December 1875. 
 ye Frost and Snow, praise Him and magnify Him for ever. 
 
 How are we to strike the balance between the 
 sense of beauty and grandeur, which must arise if we 
 look on God's great ways in nature at all, and their 
 frequent accompaniments of the groaning of creation ? 
 The Lord help us to preserve an even balance and give 
 us to see a little " light in His light." At best we 
 can see but little very, very little. May that little 
 not be all mistake, and misapprehension, and mis- 
 quotation. 
 
 Work has gone on first-rate four months uninter- 
 ruptedly. I've even found out a maxim of painter's 
 philosophy which defeats the dark days ; viz. that for 
 certain elements in a picture the worst days are the 
 best. For " effect " certainly ; for the linking of the 
 greater lines and forms and masses into a whole. One 
 is apt to see too much on bright days. As to mode of 
 work, I am finding entirely new and satisfactory 
 grooves. I never enjoyed work more. I never saw 
 the deep meaning of Audrey's remark in As you like 
 it, " What is Poetry ? Is it honest in deed and 
 word ? Is it a true thing ? " as I have seen it the last 
 three months. I should like to have known that 
 woman. She was a true Briton. 
 
 To C. M. 
 
 2Uh January 1876. 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE. Notice of death of Jean 
 Franc, ois Millet. Aged 60.
 
 320 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1876 
 
 What is fame ? How obtained ? 
 
 This man is unknown, yet well known. Unknown 
 to the populace, well known to the man of culture. 
 Yet he lived half his life in a village in France, going 
 among the hamlets of France as solitary as a coot; 
 in barns, in wide waste-fields, among potato-heaps, on 
 portentous evenings, when the labourer hove up against 
 the bars of fading horizon light and looked solemn at 
 him. Wherever Labour stooped in patience to endless 
 tasks that only yielded bare life, there he was drawn 
 to dwell and watch with the eye of Johnsonian com- 
 passion and melancholy 
 
 (When lonely want retired to die : 
 Of every friendless name the friend.) 
 
 and with Johnsonian powers as a painter he brought 
 the mind of ^Eschylus, and a sort of Phidian sense of 
 the sublime-at-rest into the potato-field and the out- 
 house, and transfigured a chaff-cutter, a sickle, or a 
 mallet, till it became the hammer of Thor, or the 
 " thrashing instrument having teeth," which Amos 
 might pass in a Vale of Ephraim, while his prophetic 
 word became too heavy for the land to bear. 
 
 Millet was a pupil of Delaroche. I never saw 
 much of his work ; only two pictures ; but they were 
 enough. " Ex pede Herculem." I know them all. 
 
 I know little of Millet's history, but it might well 
 be this. " I come from the fifth estate of man ; the 
 Brown Land, where the sky is gray and cold, with 
 none but ominous gleams, and a few quick -passing 
 shafts of sunlight travelling along the furrows nay, 
 from the very borders of the sixth estate, where the 
 light is darkened in the heavens thereof, and where
 
 1876 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 321 
 
 none but God and good angels follow the retreating 
 forms of the inhabitants into the mysterious glooms 
 where no man cares for their souls. I came from the 
 very womb of toil and hardship, and because of the 
 ascetic strength of soul which God gave me, I went 
 upward to fetch the implement of art, that I might 
 monumentalise what the dwellers in the first, second, 
 and third estates will not consider or care for. I will 
 compel some of them to reflect, and force them to see 
 the furrows of the vast estate where all the roots of 
 their comfort and prosperity lie forgotten, while on the 
 side of the oppressor there is power." 
 
 So in the " Exposition," and in the Collector's 
 " Gallery," and in the " Cabinet," he took French 
 society by the throat unaware, making them look by 
 the force of his genius. 
 
 To J. E. V. 
 
 1st July 1876. 
 
 THE life of Harriet Martineau is strong on me at 
 present. When the " Orthodox " begin to frown and 
 curse and maledict, and send everybody into blackness 
 of darkness who does not hold their precise creed, that 
 is more from beneath than from above, and never does 
 any good. And I must say that the lives of some 
 " professors " are below the moral elevation of many 
 who do not see the evangelic scheme at all. What 
 shall we say to these things ? Our position is simple. 
 If Harriet Martineau has a right to avouch her un- 
 belief, we have as much right to avouch our belief. 
 We can do no other. When we have done this, and 
 have exemplified it as far as human infirmity permits 
 
 1
 
 322 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1876 
 
 (Alas, -for my failures here !), then our responsibility 
 ceases. George Herbert gave me twenty -five years 
 ago a strong watchword, " Thou shalt answer, Lord, for 
 me," and it is enough. God knows if H. M. was true 
 to the core I don't. I can't unwind her seventy- 
 four years of act and thought, and if I could, who 
 made me a judge or a divider ? Shall not the Judge 
 of all the earth do right ? He grasps her now, and not 
 an atom shall be wanting in the justice of Divine love. 
 But all her strength of mind and will and honesty of 
 avowal and nobility of action does not shake me : 
 
 What we have felt and seen 
 With confidence we tell, 
 And publish to the sons of men 
 The signs infallible. 
 
 We have something far better and sweeter to do than 
 howl at Harriet Martineau. We have a right to our 
 little tale, as she had to hers, but she must excuse our 
 being shaken and ashamed. Batter down Eevelation 
 with the eighty-ton guns, and you have empty shrines, 
 and empty hearts, and dark homes, and ghastly gaping 
 walls and bulwarks. 
 
 But we don't find this. Walk about Zion and con- 
 sider. / don't see a shot-hole. I see the " temple- 
 haunting martlet " building even on the " coign of 
 vantage " ; for the air is delicate : " the swallow finds a 
 nest for herself where she may lay her young," and 
 even the callow nestling, like Brother Fosket, whom I 
 hope to meet in class to-morrow, is as safe as in the 
 groves of Dodona. 
 
 I've been poking about Zion for near thirty years, 
 a poor limping tramp, let in and tolerated as yet, and
 
 1876 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 323 
 
 I can't but aver that I see nothing but strength and 
 beauty in Zion ; green pastures, still waters, strong 
 towers, vines and olives and shady fig -trees, quiet 
 resting-places, springs that bubble more and more 
 brightly and spring up like Jacob's welL I am 
 " deluded," am 1 ? But I know as sensible men in 
 Zion, as I know out of it, and we compare notes, and 
 must speak as we find. We " can no other." 
 
 13A September 1876. 
 
 AFTER a good day's paintiug, as I lay on the sofa 
 tired, my experience was the whole Book of Psalms at 
 once the joys and the anguish both going on at the 
 same time ; the strange sense of pressure ; the restless 
 storming of the soul ; the flashes of peace, joy, thank- 
 fulness ; the deep-down under-stratum of rest, with the 
 apparently intolerable sense of hindrance and vexation ; 
 the pleading for deliverance with the acquiescence in 
 the blessedness of trial " Oh, who can explain this 
 struggle for life," and yet the sense of steadfast calm ? 
 
 Does the road wind uphill all the way ? 
 
 Yes, to the very end ; 
 And must I travel all the day ? 
 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 
 
 One help in the way of endurance is to look for no 
 remission. 
 
 Don't, as you read this, confuse studio despondency 
 with personal despondency. The two things run a 
 little into each other, but are entirely distinct. The 
 higher satisfactions of my life are built far above the 
 marshy lands of professional success.
 
 324 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1876 
 
 4th November 1876. 
 
 I SHALL never forget one hour in the Highlands. 
 We dismounted from our " pownies " and climbed to 
 the summit of "Dark Lochnagar." We went across 
 a desolate field of huge stones smoothed by the rains 
 and weather of age and age. The guides took us to 
 the brink. We saw only mist. After waiting for 
 half an hour the mist swirled up, as if boiling dis- 
 parted in drifts and we saw wild jagged teeth of 
 ancient rocks, and a terrific precipice and a dim lake 
 far below, and glimpses of immense distance. But in 
 a minute all was a wall of mist again. 
 
 In this fashion, through rendings of a misty veil, I 
 now and then catch glimpses of the absolute good of 
 trial I see a success better than success, I mean in 
 every respect. 
 
 And in spite of the torture of "no results," one 
 sees that steady work day by day must keep us from 
 ruin at least, and justify us in the sight of God and 
 man. 
 
 In the wakeful dead of night, when dark thoughts 
 gathered, I burst away from them hearing the wind 
 whistle and the cold sleet fall to pray for the poor, 
 the needy, the tried, the tempted, the sick, the dying. 
 The relation of such prayers to the mode of their 
 answer is a great perplexity to the understanding, but 
 I found that for the offerer himself they brought 
 immense soothing and deliverance. 
 
 To J. F. H. 
 
 lith November 1876. 
 
 I HAVE been all the happier lately from a height-
 
 1876 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 325 
 
 ened perception of two reasonable truths. 1, That 
 there is a sort of greediness and unfairness in expect- 
 ing to gain, not only the transcendent inward joys of 
 painting and general study and the ravishing delight 
 in Nature which they evolve, but also the same money 
 rewards or rewards of fame which men obtain who 
 find no interest in their daily work, except for what it 
 brings. 2, " Count it all joy when ye fall into divers 
 tribulations " a strange proposition to any principle 
 but that of faith, and an impossible one, but one of 
 the most blessed and most simplifying principles if it 
 can be received. It is allied with the beatitude which 
 turns reviling, persecution, and all manner of evil to 
 gold and pearls, yet its blessedness is partly to be 
 reasoned out. E.g. you are poor. But poverty arrests 
 your pride, your sloth, your sensuality. It makes men 
 ride over your head ; they drive you here and there, 
 but they drive you to forbearance, meekness, submis- 
 sion, tenderness. If they drive you over the edge of 
 life, then after that they have no more that they can 
 do ; they have let slip the leash and can hold you no 
 longer, and you are with God. But short of that, they 
 can only benefit you by their oppression, etc. The 
 simplicity of such truths, when really seen into and 
 realised, is that they cut away all entanglements at 
 once. Half the worries of men consist in some con- 
 test with neighbours for the acres or the percentage or 
 " the pas " (the highest room at feasts), or the estab- 
 lishment of a name or a family or some other futile 
 good, whereas even Diogenes saw into the philosophy 
 of the tub and the hollowed hand instead of the cup. 
 The imperfection of the stoical escape from evil was: 
 1, That it was not the escape of love, but of grim
 
 326 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1876 
 
 resolve; and 2, That the cartilaginous old salts who 
 were able to carry it out were only able to compel 
 themselves. They could not teach the many to do it 
 the weak to do it. But the faith of the Gospel, in- 
 stead of making "cowards of us all," would make 
 heroes of us all, and without the misery of conscious 
 heroism would bestow the content and blessedness of 
 the thing. 
 
 However, the Gospel neither preaches stoical prin- 
 ciples nor stoical barrennesses. It leaves the varying 
 framework of life from king to beggar untouched, 
 except by an inward power and life which would 
 equalise all. 
 
 FRAGMENTS 
 
 December 1876 (Saturday, 4 P.M.) 
 
 EETDKNING from Bethnal Green Museum. Enjoyed 
 the visit to the full. All the Dulwich pictures here 
 and loan pictures from modern collections interesting 
 in ways so subtle as to baffle all words. A lot of 
 small Stothards, both in oil and water-colour; a large 
 Flaxman of "Aurora leading up the Pleiades"; an 
 Indian-ink drawing, two feet long, which Jills me as 
 sublime, as mysterious, as lovely as night crowned with 
 stars. Even Blake did not reach this kind of un- 
 utterable quality. Milton and Shakespeare did, and 
 Tennyson at his most ethereal. 
 
 The humanity of the place, too ! The torrents of 
 influence flowing to the East of London fill me with 
 deep satisfaction. 
 
 *' my wondrous Mother-age."
 
 1876 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 327 
 
 WHEREAS a little vine leaf by Mieris (over a 
 marble bas-relief, with every crack and stain and 
 broken Cupid's nose in it elaborated by a month of 
 labour), has each rib and worm-hole carefully painted, 
 and one of Turner's vine leaves is, when looked at near, 
 only a dab with a palette knife ; yet I know one of 
 Turner's solid landscapes moves you deeply, while 
 Mieris only excites a sort of microscopic interest in 
 certain moods, and becomes a pain and burden in other 
 moods. Even so it is, I affirm, of all true finish and great 
 life projects. Eembrandt said, " A picture is finished 
 when the painter has expressed his intention." 
 
 No Christian believer, however much he may feel 
 the benefit of trouble, ought to make, a single one for 
 himself. The doctrine of penance is from beneath. 
 But he ought not to murmur at a single one made for 
 him. 
 
 ONE cure for difficulty is to have more of it. " A 
 soul inured to pain, to hardship, grief, and loss," is a 
 fortunate soul. 
 
 Truth is often inverted more than people believe. 
 They believe that riches, luxury, ease, are blessings, 
 whereas they are nothing of the sort in most cases. 
 
 CERTAIN airs are alterative certain medicines 
 certain Truths. 
 
 Thomson's Seasons read six times will drive out the 
 overplus of Tennyson-ity. As by certain foods you 
 may make your cattle what you will, so with the food 
 of the mind. These facts prove a great responsibility. 
 
 EVERY picture, large or small, will give delight to
 
 328 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1876 
 
 those to whom it will give it, or can give it ; whether 
 the painter get 1000, or 2, or nothing. And 
 morally and intellectually here is the proper painter's 
 reward. Ich Dien. Here is both the Law and the 
 Gospel of that subject. And what a delivering truth is 
 that I came across, not for the first time, and recorded 
 above : Ich Dien I 
 
 I see a blessed little eight-inch David Cox in oil at 
 S. Kensington, or at Liverpool, or in a private house. 
 What is it ? A little fixed vision of some turn in a 
 lane, some old gate to a common with cottage tops seen 
 over sandy mounds, with some human exquisiteness of 
 joy infused into it. E.g. a kite flying and leaving 
 you to guess who flies it. Done for pure love and 
 " nothing for reward." 
 
 A Beethoven sonata, a strain of Mozart, a lyric of 
 Milton, or Keats, or Tennyson. It bewitches you. 
 
 Some fat fellow, with thick gold dangling in front, 
 well brushed, etc., " spanking," begins to rave about 
 David Cox ; " Skies full of wind, Sir. Good deal of go 
 in Cox. Fetches high prices now. That little thing 
 that you're looking at fetched two-fifty at Christie's at 
 Sniggeti's sale. Going up in the market. I'm told he 
 only got 3: 10s. for it." 
 
 If dear old David Cox only inwardly realised the 
 delight which can never pass into nothingness given, 
 were it only to one and never forgotten, he would have 
 felt himself well repaid. What care I what he got for 
 it ? He got hold of me, and cast a spell over me I 
 shall never lose. 
 
 It is the fat man's song which so many are taught 
 to sing, alas ! And as humming-birds are hunted to 
 death for a fading bonnet's sake, so is the Ariel of art
 
 1377 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 329 
 
 chased into every corner of the Isle of Prospero to 
 imprison him in the pine. 
 
 WHILE the aesthetic temperament undoubtedly 
 brings sublime joys, and has many joyful compensations, 
 it must be kept in view that it has to be taken for 
 better or for worse ; and that there come times when 
 it is like the nigger's wife, who was taken back to be 
 unmarried, for she was " all worse and no better." 
 
 Lancashire Proverb. " It takes three generations 
 to get from clogs to clogs," i.e. Clogs the grandfather 
 rises early, works fast, works late, saves his pence, his 
 shillings, his pounds, buys a second loom and farms it, 
 a third loom, a dozen looms, a weaving shed, a factory. 
 His son is brought up severely and gets three factories 
 and a big fortune. His son goes to college, to the dogs, 
 to the devil, and his son back to Clogs clogs clogs 
 clogs clogs. 1 
 
 SOth January 1877. 
 
 JUST finished Part I. Imperfect Genius: William 
 Blake, by H. G. Hewlett. It is a piece of minute 
 dissection, intended to show that Blake did not realise 
 the fundamental characteristics of the highest rank of 
 genius. 1. Originality, 2. Fertility, 3. Equability, 4. 
 Coherence, 5. Articulateness. He goes about his work 
 well, and dissects minutely; but when the parts are 
 laid out and labelled, it leaves me precisely where it 
 found me a delighted admirer, full of solemn wonder 
 and unwearied relish. I scarce deny a single accusa- 
 tion, or contradict a single criticism. A certain portion 
 
 1 Clogs are the wooden-soled shoes worn by working people in 
 Lancashire.
 
 330 . LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1877 
 
 of Blake's poetry has a pure charm about it (felt by 
 Wordsworth and many others). A good deal of it is 
 ungrammatical and childish. His prophetic books are 
 the most misty nonsense, with floating fine bits not 
 worth fishing out for a busy man. The serious efforts 
 of the Swinburnes and Rossettis to explain and exalt 
 this part of Blake rouse not even curiosity in earnest. 
 As to Blake's designs, I am ready to concede most, not 
 all, that can be said against them in regard to style 
 and execution. Even the charges of plagiarism, thickly 
 studded in Hewlett's criticism, I shrug my shoulders 
 and let pass : Ossian, the Gnostics, Swedenborg, 
 Shakespeare. Even the question of " mad or not mad ? " 
 My verdict is, " mad but harmless." (This opinion of 
 mine is quoted by W. M. Eossetti in his life of Blake 
 prefixed to the Aldine edition of his poems from my 
 article on Blake in the L. Q. R.). Yet after every such 
 concession I feel precisely as a loving daughter feels 
 whose genius of a father is permanently touched with 
 softening of the brain, yet who, if she keep him going 
 at seaside places, out for six hours a day, may yet be 
 saved. She knows how people regard him in passing, 
 how he does queer things which make young people 
 laugh and old people cry ; that one hour he will write 
 like an angel and the next " talk like poor Poll." The 
 love flows high over all ; and even if a letter in the 
 Southport Visitor describes him as having insulted the 
 writer on the promenade, and as having promulgated 
 "dangerous doctrines," calculated to upset the frame- 
 work of society and to poison the minds of the young, 
 she only glances at it with a sigh : " It will blow over." 
 I regard all such analysis as this of Hewlett's as show- 
 ing utter incapacity to sound the depths of such a case.
 
 1877 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 331 
 
 Not exactly cruel, but about as if we were to run to 
 earth that old surgeon friend of W. K. P.'s who found 
 out the " sixth sense " and get Sergeant Ballantyne to 
 " tackle him." 
 
 Blake before the magistrates for addressing a crowd 
 on the promenade with the doctrines of " Thel " ! 
 Blake brought to book and cross-questioned till he 
 broke into a fury and got committed for contempt of 
 court ! Blake leaving the court with a shake of his 
 fist at the Bench, and crying " Amen ! huzza ! Selah ! " 
 Blake revenging himself when he got out by com- 
 posing a mystic book in which the Bench figured 
 among spectres of heaven and hell, serpents and genii, 
 and grand Titianesque cloud spaces, and poddling 
 flowers, and crookly ornaments, such as Edie would 
 draw. But are these the things that lower my esti- 
 mate of Blake ? Of themselves they don't raise, but, 
 taken alongside with his Job and his Ancient of Days, 
 they do. 
 
 It is the easiest thing in the world to go on with 
 the " Look at that leg " style of criticism ad infinitum. 
 Neither is there any objection to the overthrow of mis- 
 taken friends, where they claim a kind of superiority 
 for Blake to which he has no claim. 
 
 Flaxman, Fuseli, Varley, Linnell, these men saw 
 the soul in Blake, knowing that the body of his art 
 could scarcely contain it. This anatomist, with his 
 " origin and insertion " of muscles, murders to dissect 
 the body. 
 
 5th February. 
 
 IN train on way to Westminster. To so many 
 people nothing is " worth while " not worth while
 
 332 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1877 
 
 telling, not worth wliile writing, and yet the incidents 
 of life are pretty similar to all the same sort of people 
 to see and meet, the same troubles and cares and fears. 
 To most men life seems one dull round, out of which 
 little can be extracted. And why ? Chiefly because 
 they have a low opinion of small things. They don't 
 see the dignity of the little. A neighbour is nothing. 
 A man must be Sir Garnet Wolseley or Captain Nares 
 or Charles Dickens to make them care to see him. 
 Not so did Dickens find Sloppy and Kit and Smike 
 and little Nell. 
 
 30th June. 
 
 GOOD work is such fearfully slow work ! How 
 angry I feel with any one who wants to lure me away 
 from the easel ("unless, marry, the prince be will- 
 ing ! ") I spent all yesterday in 1, Levelling in cobalt 
 and rose madder the clouds in " Going Home," which 
 looked too " worsted like." Clouds are light and airy, 
 and don't show brush marks ; and to efface brush 
 marks over a large screen of modulated cloud is as if, 
 instead of flagging a piece of causeway, you were re- 
 quired to pave it with cherry stones one by one. 
 
 2, In " smoothing the ravendown of darkness till 
 it smiled " in Saturn and Vesta, infusing more gold 
 into the dim flesh tints by infinitely small touches. 
 
 I feared a bad night, for oil and water produced 
 " Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble," and " What to send 
 to exhibitions " supervened. However, by 2 A.M. I 
 somehow lost myself in foolish fancies, and waking 
 upon the middle of the night knew I had been asleep 
 and should sleep again. Not but that the garden 
 choir sang shrill, and two or three cocks, taunting, far
 
 1877 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 333 
 
 away, lifted up their voices on stilts out of the dawning, 
 crying, " Cock-a-doodle-doo ! There's a man in Park 
 Lane ! Cock-a-doodle-doo ! Who for twenty years ! 
 Has been trying to get on ! And never will as long 
 as he lives ! Cock-a-doodle-doo^! " And then the 
 cock's big cousin, the steam-whistle, screamed in far- 
 perspective, " Just what I always said myself ! " And 
 then the muffled rumble of the train to the north 
 murmured, " Let us leave him to his devices ; he 
 doesn't do what we always told him ! " 
 
 But two verses seemed given me for my comfort. 
 
 I shall triumph evermore, 
 Gratefully my God adore 
 God so good, so true, so kind ; 
 Jesus is a thankful mind. 
 
 I shall suffer and fulfil 
 All my Father's gracious will. 
 Be in all alike resigned : 
 Jesus is a patient mind. 
 
 5th July. 
 
 As hurricanes in the Tropics destroy many a fair 
 building, and uproot many a painfully-cultivated garden 
 of bliss, so the storms of life, as life goes on, sweep 
 against one's studies. One of the George Herbert's 
 tempests falling all night will make you forget a deal 
 of Horace. Who is Horace when the soul is being 
 blown about by the winds of Eternity ? Even as to 
 painting, I take more and more pains just because I 
 live more and more above it. Conscience is better 
 than taste as a cloud-compeller. If life is short, if art 
 is long, if the night cometh, more reason why I should 
 flee from daubing or haste. Let us get one picture
 
 334 LETTERS OF TAMES SMETHAM 1877 
 
 done, round and sound, and see it solemnly launched 
 on its voyage, and then let us fit out another on the 
 stocks, lay 
 
 The keel of oak for a noble ship 
 Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong. 
 With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
 Stemson and keelson and sternsoii knee, 
 Framed with perfect symmetry. 
 
 Here is the difference between the men of faith 
 and the men of sense and time. One would think 
 that the glories of heaven and the fires of hell would 
 kill all art and science and poetry and wit and humour. 
 My witness is that, all other things being equal, God- 
 liness is profitable unto all these things. 
 
 Where Reason fails with all its powers, 
 There Faith prevails and Love adores. 
 
 He thus describes his last visit to Scotland : 
 
 To MRS. TAYLOR 
 
 27th July (5 P.M.) 
 
 THE scenery, of course, is of the grandest kind. 
 The Lord of the Isles describes the region, and in 
 the camera obscura of memory such scenes are the 
 very finest on which to feed poetry and painting. We 
 had always in view the hills of which Christopher 
 North has this exquisite line 
 
 Morven, and morn, and spring, and solitude. 
 
 The Island of Mull, purple-peaked, was behind us. 
 Ben Cruachau, chiefly invisible, was before us, seven- 
 teen miles away.
 
 1877 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 335 
 
 The weather was treacherous and perfidious to the 
 last degree. If we climbed a hill we had to come in 
 with boots sopping and soaking, and clothes which had 
 to pass half their time before the fire. The boots got 
 hard and unpleasant, and it was not easy with so 
 much drying to get it thoroughly done. Again, the 
 winds of Morven and elsewhere, gusty, wailing, are 
 good in Ossianic poetry and around moated granges in 
 which you don't reside and only write about ; but in an 
 attic with the window open, when you don't sleep on 
 the first intention, these night winds and resounding 
 rains are another thing: they become storm spirits. 
 Then come those piercing chirrups, which, just as you 
 are dozing off, slit the thread of drowsiness, and then 
 the huge cock-crows and the hollow lowings of the farm 
 make your heart within you desolate, and cast such for- 
 lorn lines over your life as you never have in daylight, or 
 when you can move about. Let me record, to the praise 
 of grace, however, that in my wakeful nights, which were 
 several, I found deep within a sweet something which 
 assured my heart, and which would have made the 
 waking hours pleasant but for the resulting depression 
 of the next day. 
 
 When at 8.10 A.M. on Thursday morning I found 
 myself on the majestic Clwvalier in the morning 
 light and morning air, the pale green and white wake 
 of foam streaming a mile behind us from the powerful 
 paddles, the bow of the vessel " flying, flying South," 
 my spirits rose 75 per cent. Yet so very kind and 
 considerate and affectionate were all the friends that 
 this winged exultation seemed almost ungrateful. 
 
 As I sit in the silence of this sweet July evening, 
 having eased off the sense of travel, I am profoundly
 
 336 LETTERS OF JAMES SMETHAM 1877 
 
 thankful, on the one hand, that we are favoured with 
 such a circle of friends among the very excellent of 
 the earth, and, on the other hand, that I arn safely 
 home again. 
 
 To F. J. S. 
 
 30<A July. In garden, 7 P.M. 
 
 I GOT sixty small sketches and other memoranda 
 during my boatings and goings among the islands on 
 the coast of Scotland. Ever since I was sixteen this 
 habit of constant seizing of something rather than 
 nothing has been my chief resource for landscape in 
 the studio. And indeed, for passing effects or incident- 
 ally epic lines, this is the only way. Other men go, 
 as friends of ours now are going, for two months to 
 Arran with boards 2 feet 6 inches long or more, and 
 they sit for a week and paint " The Goat Fell, Arran, as 
 seen from Water-Colour Creek," or " Ben Much Whisky 
 from the foot of Ben More Whisky." When they 
 come home they mount a dozen large and careful 
 " views " and make up a good portfolio. And what 
 can anybody do but admire the serene gray hills and 
 rocks with boats and nets drying, while a Highlander 
 smokes a short pipe just where " the figure is needed " ? 
 I can't do the like o' that. No ; it isn't in my way 
 at all. What I do is to grasp right and left at every- 
 thing striking which promises some day to rise into 
 what I think a solemn or sweet distance ; or to give a 
 rock for Sir Bedivere to clank his iron heel on. But 
 lo you ! while Mr. Briggs will buy the view of Ben 
 More Whisky, because that was where he shot the 
 monarch of the glen, and felt as if his foot was on his
 
 1877 LETTERS OF JAMES SA1ETHAM 337 
 
 native heath, and rejoiced over it at the " Cuil Fail " 
 with Tonald and much whisky : I say Mr. Briggs 
 won't even look at Sir Bedivere ; never heard of the 
 gentleman ; thinks he was a cracked friend of Burne 
 Jones's, who did those confounded fish -coloured pic- 
 tures at the Grosvenor Gallery, and says he must 
 be going. 
 
 We may here allow the reader to take leave of our friend in 
 a cheery mood. Not too long did it last. He returned home 
 weary and somewhat over-excited by his journey. Insomnia 
 commenced. Dark clouds hovered over and around him. His 
 later letters are touched with an infinite pathos the low wail- 
 ing of a minor key seems to make itself heard in them. He 
 saw the dark valley before him, and, as it were, mentally grasped 
 the hands of those who loved and watched over him in a pre- 
 lusive farewell. No need to follow him in his sad bereavement. 
 His latter years were spent in gloomy though peaceful and 
 painless inaction. But they are past, too, now ; and he has 
 learnt the meaning of those transcendent words, clearly or dimly 
 inscribed on every human heart in its upward yearning : 
 
 " In Thy light shall we see light."
 
 POEMS
 
 * # * Of the following poems the first was composed in 
 childhood, and may be worth preserving for the Blake -like 
 simplicity pervading it. The next, " Oh let me die at Dawn," 
 was composed in youth, and printed, together with some others, 
 in Blackwood's Magazine for the month of September 1841. 
 The third, " Restless clouds at shut of day," was also written in 
 early manhood. The rest are the productions of his maturer 
 years.
 
 POEMS 
 
 LINES COMPOSED AT THE AGE OF NINE YEARS 
 
 LITTLE birds that sing so sweet, 
 They deserve to taste their meat ; 
 With their little eye-peeps see, 
 Singing on the cherry-tree. 
 
 In the eve they close their eyes : 
 Lord of heaven and earth and skies. 
 In the morning they do sing 
 Praises to their God and King : 
 
 Sing to Him their joyous notes, 
 Warbling with their little throats. 
 They've no storehouse, barn, nor corn, 
 But God feeds them night and morn. 
 
 OH let me die at dawn, 
 
 The stir of living men 
 Would call my waning spirit back 
 
 Unto its home again. 
 
 But at the early light 
 
 Existence seems afar, 
 Back in the depths of parted time 
 
 As fading planets are.
 
 342 POEMS 
 
 Let me go forth alone 
 
 Before the sun uprise, 
 And meet the springing of the morn 
 
 In its own distant skies. 
 
 Yes ! let me die at dawn, 
 
 The stir of living men 
 Would call my waning spirit back 
 
 Unto its home again. 
 
 RESTLESS clouds of dusky gray 
 Fill the sky at shut of day, 
 Wandering on in solemn hosts, 
 Flitting dark and purposeless 
 As a vessel in distress ; 
 Flitting on like unlaid ghosts. 
 
 Where the gusty south wind passes, 
 Bending all the tufted grasses, 
 Sighing in the bladed sedge, 
 By the moorland water's edge, 
 Making every bulrush whistle, 
 Blowing down from every thistle. 
 
 On the slope of every hill 
 Seems to shudder every tree, 
 Every poplar seems to be 
 Sighing loud against its will ; 
 Little riplets sweep the river, 
 Blinding every clear reflection, 
 Driven in this and that direction, 
 As the curdling waters shiver. 
 
 Where the sky has any light, 
 Tis a wild and fearful gleam, 
 Like the spiritual beam 
 Of the lonely northern night, 
 Where the muffled sledges go, 
 Flying shades in wastes of snow.
 
 POEMS 343 
 
 Not a star can pierce the cover 
 
 Where those wide- winged shadows hover ; 
 
 Not a note of any bird 
 
 When the wind a moment ceases, 
 
 And the sand-drifts fall to pieces ; 
 
 Not a chirrup can be heard. 
 
 Oh, how very strange and lonely 
 To be walking in the meadows, 
 As a shadow blown with shadows ; 
 As it were a spirit only. 
 
 Not a memory of the sun 
 Crosses the gray waste of thought, 
 But the silent dead are brought 
 From their coffins one by one. 
 
 She round whom thy arm would twine 
 When the summer eve was sinking, 
 And your mutual eyes were drinking, 
 Thou from hers and she from thine : 
 
 He whose voice long since would utter 
 What thy lips unconscious mutter, 
 Words of sweet and solemn warning 
 Spoken till thy heart was stilled, 
 And ye paced about the field 
 Silent in the breezy morning : 
 
 All the fragrance of the clover, 
 And the glimmering hedge-roses 
 Closing as the daylight closes, 
 Come and flood thy memory over ; 
 For the clover and the daisies 
 Which the dew unthinking raises, 
 Seven new springs have blown above her, 
 She the lost to thee the lover. 
 
 MANY bells are tolling slow, 
 Midnight past two hours ago.
 
 344 POEMS 
 
 Lightly echoing drips the rain ; 
 Ghostly lies the window pane 
 Slanting on the shadowy walls 
 Where the street lamps' radiance falls. 
 Sleepless I am staring wide, 
 Thought and Silence at my side 
 Wave the hand but close the lip, 
 And in floating fellowship 
 Lead my spirit here and there, 
 Wavering like a gossamer 
 Over London dim and vast, 
 Lengthened street and ample square, 
 Park and garden, tower and stair, 
 Spire and dome and creaking mast. 
 Dreadful London, vast and dim, 
 What thou art no man can tell, 
 Brain and sense and reason swim, 
 Scarcely dare my spirit dwell 
 On thy mingled heaven and hell 
 Scarcely watch, 
 
 That dark river's quivering lamps 
 Struggling through its folded damps. 
 
 OBLIVION claims and equals all 
 
 Of that which was and that which is ; 
 
 I hear the distant torrent fall 
 And crumble in the dumb abyss. 
 
 I see the foaming ages sweep 
 
 To perish in the utter deep. 
 
 Why, throbbing heart, wilt thou impose 
 Thy treasured toil on thankless death, 
 
 Who neither aim nor value knows ; 
 But flings the jewelled drop beneath 
 
 The tear-drifts ever plunging down 
 
 As rich, as fruitless as thine own ? 
 
 For dying ever, ever born, 
 
 Much done and nought accomplished,
 
 POEMS 345 
 
 Man is his own, his fellows' scorn, 
 
 He envies and laments the dead, 
 And, panting still for something new, 
 Nought does but they were wont to do. 
 
 The circuit of the whirling winds 
 
 Scoff rudely at his vague desires, 
 Which neither law nor fulness binds, 
 
 Whom the sweet course of nature tires ; 
 Who, where broad rivers greet the sea, 
 Mourns only their monotony. 
 
 Oh, cease thy dread o'er-labouring course, 
 Thou myriad-tongued, relentless Time ! 
 
 My soul is crushed beneath thy force 
 Of countless motions raised sublime 
 
 Before the view of human thought, 
 
 Whose order it inherits not. 
 
 Here, stretched upon the mountain grass, 
 
 I see the imperious sun ascend, 
 And watch the sparkling moments pass, 
 
 As from the giddy zenith tend 
 Those fiery wheels, till he in haste 
 Has like a gasping racer pass'd. 
 
 Then anguished in the twilight see, 
 
 With brimming eyes, the lofty sage, 
 Who watched in deep antiquity 
 
 That sun fulfil his pilgrimage ; 
 His hopes, his tears, with mine the same, 
 Earth bears no echo of his name. 
 
 I bless the dead, whose scattered dust 
 Has joined new forms of shifting life ; 
 
 I bless the soul escaped its trust, 
 
 Its bonds, its wonder, and its strife ; 
 
 Thee, Christ, I bless, who Death o'erthrew. 
 
 Whose Spirit maketh all things new.
 
 346 POEMS 
 
 IMMORTAL LOVE 
 
 WHO knows the endless wealth of love ? 
 How far its winged odours move ? 
 When Mary brake with breaking heart 
 
 Her spikenard o'er her Master's head, 
 She chose, as erst, the better part ; 
 
 Embalmed at once the quick and dead. 
 
 We smell on earth its fragrance still, 
 It curls and wreathes on Zion's hill ; 
 For as its incense rose sublime, 
 
 From heart and alabaster riven, 
 It filled the ample house of time, 
 
 And every golden hall of heaven. 
 
 THE REST 
 
 SERVANT, cease thy labour : 
 Thou hast borne thy burden ; 
 Thou hast done thy task ! 
 
 In the violent morning, 
 When the blast was bitter, 
 And thy fellows sleeping, 
 Thou wast out and doing, 
 With thy stubborn ploughshare 
 Riving up the hillside 
 Get thee home and rest ! 
 
 In the sweltering noonday, 
 When thy mates were lying 
 By the purling runnel 
 In the pleasant shadow, 
 Thou, with arm wide sweeping, 
 And with trenchant sickle, 
 Filledst thy broad bosom 
 With the tossing corn.
 
 POEMS 347 
 
 While from highest heaven 
 To the western sea-rim 
 Slowly wheeled the great sun, 
 White and fierce and cloudless, 
 Every blazing moment, 
 Eager and unresting, 
 Didst thou clasp the harvest 
 Haste thee now to rest ! 
 
 While the west grew ruddy, 
 And the birds were chanting 
 Softly, softly, " Cease ye, 
 Cease your toil, ye mortals," 
 Stock on stook behind thee 
 Didst thou leave to ripen ; 
 But thy arm is drooping, 
 And thine eye is heavy 
 Thou shalt work no longer ; 
 Get thee home and slumber, 
 Get thee to thy rest ! 
 
 Cross the lengthening shadows 
 Of the peaceful fir-groves, 
 Cross the quiet churchyard, 
 Where the mossy hillocks 
 With their folded daisies 
 And their sleeping lambkins 
 All say, " Requiescat," 
 Lay thee down beside them 
 Till the bells chime to thee, 
 Simple bells that tell thee 
 " Rest thee, rest thee, rest thee ; " 
 Till they bring thee rest ! 
 
 While the huge moon rises, 
 And the large white planets 
 Wheel and glow above thee, 
 Till the cottage tapers, 
 Swallowed by the darkness, 
 Leave no human symbol 
 Underneath the sky.
 
 348 POEMS 
 
 Sleep a dreamless slumber, 
 For thine eyes shall never 
 See the gates of morning 
 Lift their awful shadows, 
 Nor the gold and amber 
 Of the heavenly dayspring 
 Sparkle on the heather 
 Of the purple moorland. 
 
 Thou shalt wake no more ! 
 August 1855.
 
 INDEX 
 
 ANGER, divine, 234 
 Appeal, modes of, in art, 328 
 Arnold, Matthew, 111 
 Aspirations, 62 
 
 BATTLE of life, 194 
 
 Bible, appropriation of the, 191 
 
 Birthday, 105 
 
 Blake, W., 292, 392 
 
 Blessedness of the religious life, 
 
 113 
 
 Bognor, 157 
 
 Book-mood and life-mood, 78 
 Books, delights of, 163 
 Boswell's Tour to the Hebrides, 94 
 British Artists' Exhibition, 102 
 Bronte novels, 64 
 "Brook," Tennyson's, 249 
 Brown, F. M., 314 
 Browning's Ring and the Book, 
 
 204 
 
 CARES of this life, 279 
 Carlyle, T., 255 
 Cheerfulness in religion, 131 
 Christ the sympathiser, 257 
 Christmas, 51 
 Circus, the, 159 
 Class-leading, 269, 288 
 Clown and his wife, the, 153 
 Colossians III., 63 
 Communion with friends, 112 
 Conceit, forms of, 178 
 Constable's Life, 244 
 Content and discontent, 257 
 Cowper-Temple, Mr. and Mrs., 290 
 
 Cox, D., 222 
 
 Criticism discouraged, 70 
 
 DANBY, F., 146, 274, 283 
 Death of friends, how to be re- 
 garded, 99 
 Despondency, 323 
 Dickens, C., 240 
 D'Israeli's novels, 201 
 Dissatisfactions, 106 
 Dobell, Sydney, 184 
 Dulwich Picture Gallery, 232 
 Dutch painters, 171 
 
 EASTBOURNE, 84 
 
 Emma Tatham, 111 
 
 English Art, conditioning of, 294 
 
 Eugenie Guerin, 111 
 
 Eusemere, 113 
 
 Evening walk, 88, 103 
 
 Excursion in Kent, 206 
 
 FRRNS in the garden, 297 
 
 Finish in pictures, 327 
 
 " Fortification," 22 
 
 Franco-Prussian War, 210 
 
 French Art, 220 
 
 French Revolution, Carlyle, 94 
 
 Friends, 256, 298, 318 
 
 GALATIANS, Epistle to, 203 
 George Eliot's novels, 260, 263, 
 
 265 
 
 Gilchrist, A., 94 
 God without variableness, 303 
 Goodwood Races, 199
 
 INDEX 
 
 Gregory, Dr., first acquaintance 
 with, 8 
 
 HAPPINESS increasing with years, 
 
 89 
 
 Hawthorne, N., 197 
 Haydon, B. R., 135 
 Hazlitt's "Essays," 10 
 Heavenly Wisdom impersonated, 
 
 95 
 
 Herbert, Geo., 188 
 Home attractions, 75, 308 
 Home noises, 239 
 Hours of work, 96 
 Human relationships, intricacy of, 
 
 207 
 
 Humility of the Christ-life, 280 
 Hunstanton beach, 209 
 
 IGNORANCE in art, 235 
 Illuminator, the, 93 
 Illustration work, 76 
 Imagination in art, 220 
 Inadequacy of Science, 214 
 Indian summer of thought and 
 
 study, 281 
 lona, Duke of Argyle's, 300 
 
 JONES, E. B., 84 
 
 KEATS'S Letters, 50 
 Knowledge-books, 38 
 
 LANDSEER, E., 278 
 
 Leigh and its associations, 121 
 
 Leslie and his paintings, 126, 129 
 
 Lessons learned in trouble, 325 
 
 Letter-writing, 78 
 
 Light and shade, 309 
 
 Lions in stone, 261 
 
 Little joys of life, 197 
 
 Lordship Road, 123 
 
 MARTINEAU, H., 231 
 "Maud," Tennyson's, 58 
 Mvnorials of a Quiet Life, 221 
 Micawber, Mr., 124 
 Millais's " Order of Release," 50; 
 
 landscapes, 259, 296 
 Millet, J. F., 319 
 Modern Painters, Ruskin's, 68 
 
 Monumentalism, 38 
 
 Moral instinct as a test of truth, 
 
 299 
 Moral law, 179 
 
 NAME in art, 310 
 Newspaper reading, 1 20 
 "Now," 166 
 
 OBJECTS of life, 267 
 "One word for Christ," 74 
 
 PAINTERS' difficulties, 57, 140, 
 
 182, 216 
 
 Paintings "Hymn of the Last 
 Supper," 23, 195, 207 ; " Dream 
 of Pilate's Wife," 25 ; " Lady of 
 Shalott," 49 
 
 Parker, Prof. W. K., 122 
 Pathos of life, 254 
 Permanency of a book, 131 
 Persistence, 193 
 Place, its significance, 132 
 Poems 
 
 Little birds that sing so sweet, 341 
 Oh let me die at dawn, 3U 
 Eestless clouds of dusky gray, 342 
 Many bells are tolling slow, 343 
 Oblivion claims and equals all, 344 
 Who knows the endless wealth of 
 
 love, 346 
 
 Servant, cease thy labour, 346 
 Poetry-making, 78 
 Portrait Gallery, National, 138 
 Price of a blessing, 149 
 Psalms, historic study of, 290 
 
 RAFFAELE'S picture of sleeping 
 
 knight, 168 
 Religious studies, 145 
 Rembrandt, 205 
 
 Reverence for common things, 221 
 " Ringing grooves of change," 137 
 Romney, 101 
 Rotifer, the, 150 
 
 SABBATH, the, 304 
 St. Paul's Epistles, 203 
 Salient points in sketching, 311 
 Saving of a soul, 96 
 Scotland, last visit to, 335 
 Scott's, W. B., studio, 271 
 Sea-dreams, 210
 
 INDEX 
 
 351 
 
 Shakespeare, 237 ; Timon of Athens, 
 276 ; Julius Caesar, 282 ; Corio- 
 lanus, 284 ; Antony and Cleo- 
 patra, 289 ; As You Like It, 319 
 
 Silence before pictures, 193 
 
 Sin, 179 
 
 Sketching, modes of, 86 
 
 Slow and sure, 215 
 
 Small things, 331 
 
 Smetham, James, his birth, 2 ; at 
 school, Woodhouse Grove, 3 ; 
 apprenticed to Mr. Willson of 
 Lincoln, 9 ; goes to London, 12 ; 
 marries, 17 ; acquaintance with 
 Mr. Ruskin, 23 ; his friends, 26 ; 
 acquaintance with D. G. Rossetti, 
 26 ; his last illness and death, 29 ; 
 his personality and character, 
 30 ; conversation, 32 ; studies, 
 33 ; articles in the London 
 Quarterly, 34 ; objects of life, 
 36 ; correspondence, 38 ; busi- 
 ness inadequacy, 39 ; anomalous 
 position in art, 40 ; speciality 
 in art, 48 
 
 Smith, Alexander, 184 
 
 Soldier's destiny, 217 
 
 Spiritual growth and evolution, 47 
 
 " Squaring," 38, 92, 134, 281, 313 
 
 Stimulation of friends, 128 
 
 Stothard, 144, 211, 307 
 
 Strains of social intercourse, 225 
 
 Struggles, 133 
 
 TASTES differ, 259 
 
 Taylor's, Isaac, Saturday Evening, 
 
 81 ; visit to his tomb, 156 
 Teaching at Westminster College, 
 
 48 
 
 Tennyson's poems, 11, 130 
 Theocritus class-leader, 263 
 Trajan Column, 285 
 Troubles not to be sought, 327 
 Truth constant as a star, 69 
 Turner's landscapes, 268 
 
 tian life, 250 
 Use and beauty, 233 
 
 VAIN, the, 303 
 "Ventilators, "38 
 Veronese, Paul, 72 
 Voltaire's Charles XII., 73 
 
 WAKEFUL nights, 119, 324, 332 
 Walker, Frederick, 315 
 Walpole, Sir R., 164 
 Wilkie, D., 241 
 Wilson, Richard, 234 
 Woman's opinion of beauty, 125 
 Wool-gathering, 225 
 Wuthering Heights, 65 
 
 Printed by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh.
 
 October, 1891. 
 
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 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ABBEY (E, A. ) . . .37 
 
 ATTWELL (H.) . . 20 
 
 BERNARD (J-H.) . . 25 
 
 ABBOT (F.E.) ... 33 
 
 AUSTIN (Alfred) . 14 
 
 BERNARD (M.) . . .12 
 
 ABBOTT(Rev. E.) 3,13,30,31,33 
 
 AUTENRIETH^Georg) . 7 
 
 BERNERS (J.) . . .11 
 
 ACLAND(SirH.W-).' . 22 
 
 AWDRY (F.) . . .38 
 
 BESANT(W.) ... 4 
 
 ADAMS (Sir F. O.) . . 28 
 
 BACON (Francis) . 19, 20 
 
 BETHUNE-BAKER (J. F.) . 33 
 
 ADAMS (Herbert B.). . 28 
 
 BAINES (Rev. E.) . . 33 
 
 BETTANY (G. T.) . . 6 
 
 ADDISON . . . 4, 20 
 
 BAKER (Sir S. W.) 28, 30, 37, 38 
 
 BlCKERTON (T. H.) . . 22 
 
 AGASSIZ (L.) ... 3 
 
 BALCH (Elizabeth) . . 12 
 
 BlGELOW(M. M.) . . 12 
 
 AINGER(RCV. A.) 4, 16, 20, 33 
 
 BALDWIN (Prof. J. M.) . 26 
 
 BlKELAS(D.) ... 17 
 
 AINSLIE (A. D.). . . 14 
 
 BALFOUR (Rt. Hon. A. J.) 2s 
 
 BiNNiE(Rev. W.) . . 35 
 
 AIRY (Sir G. B.) . 2, 27 
 
 BALFOUR (F. M.) . . 5, 6 
 
 BIRKS (T. R.) . 6, 25, 30, 33 
 
 AITKEN (Mary C.) . . 20 
 
 BALFOUR (J. B.) . .6 
 
 BjORNSON (B.) . . -I? 
 
 AITKEN (Sir W.) . . 23 
 
 BALL(V.). ... 38 
 
 BLACK (W.) ... 4 
 
 ALBEMARLE (Earlof) . 3 
 
 BALL (W. Platt) . . 6 
 
 BLACKBURNE (E.) . . j 
 
 ALDRICH (T. B.) . 14 
 
 BALL(W. W. R.) . . 22 
 
 BLACKIE (J. S.) . 9, 14, 19 
 
 ALEXANDER (C. F.) . . 20 
 
 BALLANCE (C. A.) . . 22 
 
 BLAKE (J. F.) . . . 2- 
 
 ALEXANDER (T.) . . 8 
 
 BARKER (Lady) . 2, 8, 37 
 
 BLAKE (W.) ... 3 
 
 ALEXANDER (Bishop) . 33 
 
 BARNARD (C.) . . . 27 
 
 BLAKISTON (J. R.) . . 8 
 
 ALLBUTT (T. C.) . . 22 
 
 BARNES(W.) ... 3 
 
 BLANFORD(H. F.) . 9.27 
 
 ALLEN (G.) ... 6 
 
 BARRY (Bishop). . . 33 
 
 BLANFORD(W. T.) . 9, 24 
 
 ALLINGHAM (W.) . .20 BARTHOLOMEW (J. G.) . 3 
 
 BLOMFIELD (R.) . . 9. 
 
 AMIEL(H.F-) ... 3 BARTLETT (J.) . . . 7 
 
 BLYTH(A.W.). . . n 
 
 ANDERSON (A.). . . 14 HARWELL (R.) . . .22 
 
 BOHM-BAWERK (Prof.) . 28 
 
 ANDERSON (Dr. McCall) . 22 
 
 BASTABLE (Prof. C. F.) . 28 
 
 BOISSEVAIN (G. M.) . . 28 
 
 ANDREWS (Dr. Thomas) . 26 
 
 BASTIAN (H. C.) 6, 22 
 
 BOLDREWOOD (Rolf). . If 
 
 APPLETON (T. G.) . . 37 BATESON (W.) ... 6 
 
 BONAR (J.) ... 28 
 
 ARCHER-HIND (R. D.) . 36 BATH (Marquis of ) . . 28 
 
 BOND (Rev. J.). . . 31 
 
 ARNOLD, M. 8, 14, 19, 20, 21, 30 '] BATHER (Archdeacon) . 33 
 
 BOOLE (G.) . . .26 
 
 ARNOLD (Dr. T.) . . 9 
 
 BAXTER (L.) ... 3 
 
 BOUGHTON (G. H.) . . 37 
 
 ARNOLD (W. T.) . . 9 
 
 BEESLY (Mrs.) ... 9 
 
 BOUTMY (E.) . . .12 
 
 ASHLEY (W. J.)- 3 
 
 I!KNHAM (Rev. W.) . 5, 20, 32 
 
 BOWEN (H. C.) . . . 25 
 
 ATKINSON (J. B.) . .2 
 
 BENSON (Archbishop) 32, 33 
 
 BOWER (F. O.) . . .6 
 
 ATKINSON (Rey.J.C.) 1,38 i BERLIOZ (H. . ". . "3 
 
 BRIDGES (J. A.). . . 19.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BRIGHT (H. A.). . . 9 
 
 CLARKE (C. B.). . 9, 28 
 
 DlLLWYN (E. A.) . . I? 
 
 BRIGHT (John) . . 28, 29 
 
 CLAUSIUS (R.) . . .27 
 
 DOBSON (A.) ... 4 
 
 BRI.MLEY(G.) . . .19 
 BRODIE (Sir B. C.) . . 7 
 BRODRIBB(W. J.) . 13,37 
 
 CLIFFORD (Ed.) . . 3 
 CLIFFORD (W. K.) . 19, 26 
 CLIFFORD (Mrs. W. K.) . 38 
 
 DONALDSON (J.) . -33 
 
 DONISTHORPE (W.) . . 29 
 
 DOWDEN (E.) . . 4, 13, 15 
 
 BROOKE (Sir J.) . . 3 
 
 CLOUGH (A. H.) . 14, 19 
 
 DOYLE (Sir F. H.) . . 14 
 
 BROOKE (S. A.) 13, 14, 21, 33 
 
 COBDEN (R.) . . .29 
 
 DOYLE (J. A.) . . .10 
 
 BROOKS (Bishop) . . 33 
 
 COHEN (J. B.) . . .7 
 
 DRAKE (B.) . . .36 
 
 BROWN (A. C.) . . . 26 
 BROWN (J. A.) . . . i 
 
 COLENSO (J. W.) . . 32 
 COLERIDGE (S. T.) . . 14 
 
 DRUMMONo(Prof. J.) . 34 
 DRYDEN . . . . ao 
 
 BROWN (Dr.James) . . 4 
 
 COLLIER (Hon. John) . z 
 
 Du CANE (E. F.) . . a> 
 
 BROWN (T. E. ) . . . 14 
 
 COLLINS (J. Churton) . 19 
 
 DuFF(Sir M.E.Grant) 20,29,37 
 
 BROWNE (I. H. B.) . . n 
 BROWNE (Sir T.) . . 20 
 
 COLQUHOUN (F. S.) . . 14 
 COLVIN (Sidney) . 4, 20 
 
 DUNSMUIR (A.). . . 17 
 DUNTZER (H.) . . . 4, 5 
 
 BROWNE (W. R.) . . 27 
 
 COMBE (G.) ... 8 
 
 DUPRE(A.) .... 7 
 
 BRUNTON(Dr.T.Lauder) 22, 33 
 
 CONGREVE (Rev. J.) . . 33 
 
 DYER(L.). . . . i 
 
 BRYCE (James) . . 9, 28, 37 
 
 CONWAY (Hugh) . . 17 
 
 EADIE (J.). . . 4, 30, 31 
 
 BUCHHEIM (C. A.) . . 20 
 
 COOK (E. T.) . . .2 
 
 EASTLAKE (Lady) . . 32 
 
 BUCKLAND (A.). . . S 
 
 COOKE (C. Kinloch) . . 24 
 
 EBERS(G.) ... 17 
 
 BUCKLEY (A. B ) . . 9 
 
 COOKE (J. P.) . . 7, 34 
 
 EDGEWORTH (Prof. F. Y.). 28 
 
 BUCKNILL (Dr. J.C.) . 22 
 
 CORBETT (J.) . . 4, 17, 38 
 
 EDMUNDS (Dr. W.) . . 22 
 
 BUCKTON (G. B.) . . 40 
 
 CORFIELD (W. H.) . . II 
 
 EDWARDS-MOSS (Sir J. E.) 30 
 
 BUNYAN . . .4, 19, 20 
 
 CORRY (T. H.) . . .6 
 
 EIMER(G. H.T.) . . 6 
 
 BURGON(J.W.) . . 14 
 BUKKE (E.) . . 28 
 
 COTTERILL(J.H.) . . 8 
 COTTON (Bishop) . . 34 
 
 ELDERTON (W. A.) . . 9 
 ELLERTON (Rev. J.) . . 34 
 
 BURN (R.). ... i 
 
 COTTON (C.) . .12 
 
 ELLIOT (Hon. A.) . . 29 
 
 BURNETT (F. Hodgson) . 17 
 
 COTTON (J.S.) . . . 29 
 
 ELLIS (T.). ... 2 
 
 BURNS . . .14, 20 
 
 COUES (E.) . . .40 
 
 EMERSON (R. W.) . 4, 20 
 
 BURY(J.B) ... 9 
 
 CoURl.lOPE (W. J.) . . 4 
 
 EVANS (S.) . . .14 
 
 BUTCHER (Prof. S. H.) 13,19,36 
 
 COWELL (G.) . . .23 
 
 EVERETT (J.D.) . . 26 
 
 BUTLER (A. J.I. . . 37 
 
 COWPER . . . .20 
 
 FALCONER (Lanoe) . . 17 
 
 BUTLER (Rev. G.) . . 33 
 
 Cox(G.V.) ... 9 
 
 FARRAR (Archdeacon) 5, 30, 34 
 
 BUTLER (Samuel) . . 14 
 
 CRAiK(Mrs.)i4, 17, 19, 20, 37, 38 
 
 FARRER(SirT. H.) . . 29 
 
 BUTLER (W. Archer) . 33 
 
 CRAIK (H.) . . 8, 29 
 
 FAULKNER (F.). . . 7 
 
 BUTLER (Sir W. F.) . .4 
 
 CRANE (Lucy) 2, 39 
 
 FAWCETT (Prof. H.) . 28, 29 
 
 BYRON- . . . .20 
 
 CRANE (Walter) . 39 
 
 FAWCETT (M. G.) . 5, 28 
 
 CAIRNES (J. E.) . . 29 
 
 CRAVEN (Mrs. D.) . .8 
 
 FAY (Amy) . . .24 
 
 CALDECOTT (R.) .12, 38, 39 
 
 CRAWFORD (F. M.) . . 17 
 
 FEARNLEY (W.) . . 27 
 
 CALDERWOOD (Prof. H.) 
 
 CREIGHTON (Bishop M.) 4, 10 
 
 FEARON (D. R.) . .8 
 
 8, 25, 26, 33 
 
 CRICHTON-BROWNE(SirJ-) 8 
 
 FERREL(\V.) ... 27 
 
 CALVERT (Rev. A.) . . 31 
 
 CROSS (J. A.) . . .30 
 
 FERRERS (N. M.) . . 27 
 
 CAMERON (V. L.) . . 37 
 
 CROSSLEY (E.) ... 2 
 
 FESSENDEN (C.) . . 26 
 
 CAMPBELL (J. F.) . . 37 
 
 CROSSLEY (H.) . . .37 
 
 FiNCK(H.T.) ... i 
 
 CAMPBELL (Dr. J. M.) . 33 
 
 GUMMING (L.) . . .26 
 
 FISHER (Rev. O.) . 26, 27 
 
 CAMPBELL (Prof. Lewis) 5,13 
 
 CUNNINGHAM (C.) . . 28 
 
 FISKE(J.). 6, 10, 25, 29, 34 
 
 CAPES (W.W.). . . 13 
 
 CUNNINGHAM (Sir H.S.). 17 
 
 FisoN(L.). ... i 
 
 CARLES (W.R.) . . 37 
 
 CUNNINGHAM (Rev. J.) . 31 
 
 FITCH (J. G.) ... 8 
 
 CARLYLE (T.) ... 3 
 
 CUNNINGHAM (Rev. W)3i, 33, 34 
 
 FITZ GERALD (Caroline) . 14 
 
 CARMARTHEN (Lady) . 17 
 
 CUNYNGHAME (Sir A. T.) . 24 
 
 FITZGERALD (Edward) 14,20 
 
 CARNARVON (Earl of) . 36 
 
 CURTEIS (Rev. G. H.) 32, 34 
 
 FITZMAURICE (Lord E.) . 5 
 
 CARNOT (N. L. G.) . . 27 
 
 DAHN (F.) . . -17 
 
 FLEAY(F. G.) ... 13 
 
 CARPENTER (Bishop) . 33 
 
 DAKYNS (H. G.) . . 37 
 
 FLEISCHER (E.). . . 7 
 
 CARR(J. C.) ... 2 
 
 DALE (A. W. W.) . . 31 
 
 FLEMING (G.) . . -17 
 
 CARROLL (Lewis) . 26, 38 
 
 DALTON (Rev. J. N.) . 37 
 
 FLOWER (Prof. W. H.) . 39 
 
 CARTER (R. Brudenell) . 23 
 
 DANTE . . .3, 13, 37 
 
 FLUCKIGER(F. A.) . . 23 
 
 CASSEL (Dr. D.) . .9 
 
 DAVIES (Rev. J. LI.). 20, 31, 34 
 
 FORBES (A.) . . 4, 37 
 
 CAUTLEY(G. S.) . . 14 
 
 DAVIES(W.) ... 5 
 
 FORBES (Prof. G.) . .3 
 
 CAZENOVE (J. G.) . . 33 
 
 DAWKINS (W. B.) . . i 
 
 FORBES (Rev. G. H.) . 34 
 
 CHALMERS (J. B.) . .8 
 
 DAWSON (G. M.) . . 9 
 
 FOSTER (Prof. M.) . 6, 27 
 
 CHALMERS (M. D.) . . 29 
 
 DAWSOK (Sir J. W.) . . 9 
 
 FOTHERGILL (Dr. J. M.) 8, 23 
 
 CHAPMAN (Elizabeth R.) . 14 
 
 DAWSON (J.) ... i 
 
 FOWLE (Rev. T. W.). 29, 34 
 
 CHASSERESSE (Diana) . 30 
 
 DAY(L. B.) ... 17 
 
 FOWLER (Rev. T.) . 4,25 
 
 CHERRY (R. R.) . . 12 
 
 DAY(R. E.) ... 26 
 
 FOWLER (W.W.) . . 24 
 
 CHEYNE (C. H. H.) . .2 
 
 DEFOE (D.) . . 4, 20 
 
 Fox (Dr. Wilson) . . 23 
 
 CHEYNE (T. K.) . . 30 
 
 DEIGHTON (K.). . . 15 
 
 FOXWELL (Prof. H. S) . a8 
 
 CHRISTIE (J.) . . .23 
 
 DELAMOTTE (P. H.). . 2 
 
 FRAMJI (D.) . . .10 
 
 CHRISTIE (W. D.) . . 20 
 
 DELL (E.G.) ... 12 
 
 FRANKLAND(P. F.) . . i 
 
 CHURCH (Prof. A. H.) . 6 
 
 DE MORGAN (M.) . . 39 
 
 FRASER (Bishop) . . 34 
 
 CHURCH (Rev. A. J.) 4, 30, 37 
 
 DE VERE (A.) . . . 20 
 
 FRASER-TYTLER (C C.) . 14 
 
 CHURCH (F. J.). . 20, 37 
 
 DICEY (A. V.) . . 12, 29 
 
 FRAZER (J. G.) . . . i 
 
 CHURCH (Dean) 3,4,13,19,31,33 
 
 DICKENS (C.) . . 5, 17 
 
 FREDERICK (Mrs.) . . 8 
 
 CLARK (J. W.) ... 20 
 
 DIGGLE (Rev. J. W.). . 34 
 
 FREEMAN (Prof. E. A.) 
 
 CLARK (L.) ... 2 
 
 DILKE (Ashton W.) . . 19 
 
 2, 4, 10, 29, 32 
 
 CLARK (S.) ... 3 
 
 DILKE (Sir Charles W.) . 29 
 
 FRENCH (G. R.) . . 13
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FRIEDMANN (P.) . . 3 
 
 HARRISON (Miss J.) . . i 
 
 JONES (F.). ... 7 
 
 FROST (A. B.) ... 38 
 
 HARTE (Bret) . . -17 
 
 KANT . . . .25 
 
 FROUDE (J. A.). . . 4 
 
 HARTIG (Dr. R.) . . 6 
 
 KARI . . . -39 
 
 FULLER-TON (W. M.) . 37 
 
 HARTLEY (Prof. W. N.) . 7 
 
 KAVANAGH(Rt.Hn.A.M.) 4 
 
 FURNISS (Harry) . . 38 
 
 HARWOOD (G.) . .21, 29, 32 
 
 KAY(Rv.W.). . . 31 
 
 FURNIVALL (F. J.) . . 14 
 
 HAYES (A.) . . .14 
 
 KEARY (Annie). 10, 18, 39 
 
 FYFFE(C. A.) . . . 10 
 
 HEADLAM (W.). . . 36 
 
 KEARY (Eliza) . . -39 
 
 FYFE(H. H.) ... 9 
 
 HELPS (Sir A.) . . .21 
 
 KEATS . . .4, 20, 21 
 
 GAIRDNER (J.) . . . 4 
 
 HEMPEL (Dr. W.) . . 7 
 
 KELLNER (Dr. L.) . . 25 
 
 GALTON (F.) . . i, 27 
 
 HERODOTUS . . 36 
 
 KELLOGG (Rev. S. H.) . 34 
 
 GAMGEE (Arthur) . . 27 
 
 HERRICK . . . .20 
 
 KEMPE(A. B.) ... 26 
 
 GARDNER (Percy) . . i 
 
 HERTEL(Dr.) ... 8 
 
 KENNEDY (Prof. A. B. W.) 8 
 
 GARNETT (R.) . . .14 
 
 HILL (F. Davenport). . 29 
 
 KENNEDY (B. H.) . . 36 
 
 GARNETT (W.) ... 5 
 
 HlLL(O-). ... 2 9 
 
 KEYNEs(J.N.). . 26,28 
 
 GASKELL (Mrs.) . . 12 
 
 HIORNS (A. H.) . . 23 
 
 KlEPERT (H.) ... 9 
 
 GASKOIN (Mrs. H.) . . 30 
 
 HOBART (Lord) . . 21 
 
 KlLLEN (W. D.) . . 32 
 
 GEDDES (W. D.) . 13, 37 
 
 HOBDAY (E.) ... 9 
 
 KINGSLEY (Charles) . 4, 8, 10, 
 
 GEE (W. H.) . . 26, 27 
 
 HODGSON (Rev. J. T.) . 4 
 
 11,12,13,15,18,21, 24,32,37, 39 
 
 GEIKIE (Sir A.). . 4, 9, 27 
 
 HOFFDING (Prof. H.) . 26 
 
 KINGSLEY (Henry) . 20, 38 
 
 GENNADIUS (J.) . . 17 
 
 HOFMANN (A. W.) . . 7 
 
 KIPLING 0- L-)- . . 38 
 
 GIBBINS (H. de B.) . . 10 
 
 HOLE (Rev. C.). . 7, 10 
 
 KIPLING (Rudyard) . . 18 
 
 GIBBON (Charles) . . 3 
 
 HOLIDAY (Henry) . . 38 
 
 KlRKPATRICK (Prof.) . 34 
 
 GILCHRIST(A.). . . 3 
 
 HOLLAND (T. E.) . 12,29 
 
 KLEIN (Dr. E.). . 6,23 
 
 GILES (P.). ... 25 
 
 HOLLWAY-CALTHROP(H.) 38 
 
 KNIGHT (W.) ... 14 
 
 OILMAN (N. P.) . . 28 
 
 HOLMES (O. W.,junr.) . 12 
 
 KUENEN (Prof. A.) . . 30 
 
 GILMORE (Rev. J.) . . 13 
 
 HOMER . . .13, 36 
 
 KYNASTON (Rev. H.) 34, 37 
 
 GLADSTONE (Dr. J. H.) 7, 8 
 
 HOOKER (Sir J. D.) . 6, 37 
 
 LABBERTON (R. H.). . 3 
 
 GLADSTONE (W. E.) . . 13 
 
 HOOLE (C. H.) . . . 30 
 
 LAFARGUE (P.). . . 18 
 
 GLAISTER (E.) . . . 2, 8 
 
 HOOPER (G.) ... 4 
 
 LAMB. . . .4, 20, 21 
 
 GODFRAY (H.) ... 3 
 
 HOOPER (W. H.) . . 2 
 
 LANCIANI (Prof. R.). . 2 
 
 GODKIN(G. S.). . . 5 
 
 HOPE(F.J.) ... 9 
 
 LANDAUER (J.). . . 7 
 
 GOETHE . . . 4, 14 
 
 HOPKINS (E.) . . .14 
 
 LANDOR . . . 4, 20 
 
 GOLDSMITH 4, 12, 14, 20, 21 
 
 HOPPUS (M. A. M.) . . 18 
 
 LANE-POOLE (S.) . . 20 
 
 GOODALE (Prof. G. L.) . 6 
 
 HORACE . . . 13, 20 
 
 LANFREY (P.) ... 5 
 
 GOODFELLOVV (J.) . . II 
 
 HORT (Prof. F. J. A.). 30, 32 
 
 LANG (Andrew). 2, 12, 21, 36 
 
 GORDON (General C. G.) . 4 
 
 HORTON (Hon. S. D.) . 28 
 
 LANG (Prof. Arnold) . . 39 
 
 GORDON (Lady Duff) . 37 
 
 HOVENDEN (R. M.) . . 37 
 
 LANGLEY (J. N.) . . 27 
 
 GoscHEN(Rt. Hon.G. J.). 28 
 
 HOWELL (George) . . 28 
 
 LANKESTER (Prof. Ray) 6, 21 
 
 GOSSE (Edmund) . 4, 13 
 
 HOWES (G. B.) . . . 40 
 
 LASLETT (T.) ... 6 
 
 Gow(J.) .... i 
 
 HOWITT(A. W.) . . I 
 
 LEAF (W.). . . 13, 36 
 
 GRAHAM (D.) . . .14 
 
 HOWSON (Very Rev. J. S.) 32 
 
 LEAHY (Sergeant) . . 30 
 
 GRAHAM (J.W.) . . 17 
 
 HOZIER (Col. H. M.). . 24 
 
 LEA(M.) . 18 
 
 GRAND'HOMME(E-) . . 8 
 
 HOBNER (Baron) . . 37 
 
 LEE (S.) ... 20, 37 
 
 GRAY (Prof. Andrew) . 26 
 
 HUGHES (T.) 4, 15, 18, 20, 37 
 
 LEEPER (A.) . . -37 
 
 GRAY (Asa) ... 6 
 
 HULL(E.). . . .2,9 
 
 LEGGE (A. O.) . . 10, 34 
 
 GRAY ... 4, 14, 21 
 
 HULLAH (J.) . . 2, 20, 24 
 
 LEMON (Mark) . . .20 
 
 GREEN (J. R.) . g, 10, 12, 20 
 
 HUME(D.) ... 4 
 
 LESLIE (A.) ... 38 
 
 GREEN (Mrs. J. R.) . 4, g, 10 
 
 HuMFHRY(Prof.SirG.M.) 28,39 
 
 LETHBRIDGE (Sir Roper) . 10 
 
 GREEN (W. S.) . . . 37 
 
 HUNT(W.) ... 10 
 
 LEVY (Amy) . . .18 
 
 GREENHILL (W. A.) . . 20 
 
 HUNT(W.M-). . . 2 
 
 LEWIS (R.) . . .13 
 
 GREENWOOD (J. E.) . . 39 
 
 HUTTON (R. H.) . 4, 21 
 
 LIGHTFOOT(BP.) 21,30,31, 33, 34 
 
 GRIFFITHS (W. H.) . . 23 
 
 HUXLEY (T.) 4, 21, 27,28,29,40 
 
 LlGHTWOOD (J. M.) . . 12 
 
 GRIMM . . . .39 
 GROVE (Sir G.) . . 9, 24 
 
 IDDINGS (J. P.). . . 9 
 ILLINGWORTH (Rev. J. R.) 34 
 
 LINDSAY (Dr. J. A.) . . 23 
 LOCKYER (J. N.) . 3, 7, 27 
 
 GUEST (E.) . . . 10 
 
 INGRAM (T. D.) . . 10 
 
 LODGE (Prof. O.J.) . 21,27 
 
 GUEST (M. J.) . . . I0 
 
 IRVING (J.) ... 9 
 
 LOEWY(B.) . . .26 
 
 GUILLEMIN (A.) . 26, 27 
 
 IRVING (Washington) . 12 
 
 LOFTIE (Mrs. W. J.). . 2 
 
 GUIZOT (F. P. G.) . .5 
 
 JACKSON (Helen) . . 18 
 
 LONGFELLOW (H. W.) . ao 
 
 GUNTON (G.) ... 28 
 
 JACOB (Rev. J. A.) . . 34 
 
 LONSDALE (J.) . . 20, 37 
 
 HALES (J. W.) . . 16, 20 
 
 JAMES (Henry). . 4, iS, 21 
 
 LOWE (W. H.) . . . 30 
 
 HALLWARD (R. F.) . . 12 
 
 JAMES (Rev. H. A.) . . 34 
 
 LOWELL (J. R.). . 15, 21 
 
 HAMERTON (P. G.) . 2, 21 
 
 JAMES (Prof. W.) . . 26 
 
 LuBBOCK(Sir J.) 6, 8, 21, 22, 40 
 
 HAMILTON (Prof. D. J.) . 23 
 
 J ARDINE (Rev. R.) . . 26 
 
 LUCAS (F.) ... 15 
 
 HAMILTON (J.). . . 34 
 
 JEANS (Rev. G. E.) . 34, 37 
 
 LUPTON (S.) ... 7 
 
 HANBURY (D.) . . 6, 23 
 
 JEBB (Prof. R. C.) . 4, 10, 13 
 
 LYALL (Sir Alfred) . . 4 
 
 HANNAY (David) . . 4 
 HARDWICK (Archd. C.) 31, 34 
 
 JELLETT (Rev. J. H.) . 34 
 JENKS (Prof. Ed.) . . 29 
 
 LYTE(H. C. M.) . . 10 
 LYTTON (Earl of) . .18 
 
 HARDY (A. S.) ... 17 
 
 JENNINGS (A. C.) . 10, 30 
 
 MACALISTER (D.) . . 23 
 
 HARDY (T.) ... 17 
 
 JEVONS (W. S.). 4, 26, 28, 29 
 
 MACARTHUR (M.) . . 10 
 
 HARE (A. W.) ... 20 
 
 JEX-BLAKE (Sophia). . 8 
 
 MACAULAY (G. C.) . . 36 
 
 HARE (J.C.) . . 20, 34 
 
 JOHNSON (Amy) . . 27 
 
 MACCOLL (Norman). . 14 
 
 HARPER (Father Thos.) 25,34 
 
 JOHNSON (Samuel) . . 13 
 
 M'CosH (Dr. J.) . 25, 26 
 
 HARRIS (Rev. G. C.). . 34 
 
 JONES (H. Arthur) . . 15 
 
 MACDONALD (G.) . . 16 
 
 HARRISON (F.). . 4,5,21 
 
 JONES (Prof. D. E.) . . 27 
 
 MACDONELL (J.) . . 29
 
 INDEX. 
 
 43 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MACKAII. (J. W.) . . 37 
 
 MOULTON (L. C.) . . 15 
 
 POOLE (R. L.) . . .11 
 
 MACKENZIE (Sir Morell) . 23 
 
 MUDIE(C. E.) . . . 15 
 
 POPE . . . . 4, 20 
 
 MACLAGAN (Dr. T.). . 23 
 
 MUIR (M. M. P.) . .7 
 
 POSTE (E.) . . 27, 36 
 
 MACLAREN (Rev. Alex.) . 34 
 
 MULLER (H.) ... 6 
 
 POTTER (L.) . . .22 
 
 MACLAREN (Archibald) . 39 
 
 MULLINGER (J. B.) . . II 
 
 POTTER (R.) . . .35 
 
 MACLEAN (W. C.) . . 23 
 MACLEAR(Rev.Dr.G.F.) 30,32 
 
 MURPHY (J. J.). . . 26 
 MURRAY (D.Christie) . 18 
 
 PRESTON (T.) ... 27 
 PRICE (L. L. F. R.) . . 28 
 
 M'LENNAN (J. F.) . . i 
 
 MURRAY (E. C. G.) . . 38 
 
 PRICKARD (A. O.) . . 22 
 
 M'LEXXAN (Malcolm) . 18 
 
 MYERS (E.) . . 15, 36 
 
 PRINCE ALBERT VICTOR . 37 
 
 MACMiLLA.\(Rev. H.) 22, 35, 38 
 
 MYERS (F. W. H.) . 4, 15, 22 
 
 PRINCE GEORGE . . 37 
 
 MAC.MILLAN (Michael) 5, 15 
 
 MYLNE (Bishop) . . 35 
 
 PROCTER (F.) . . -32 
 
 MACNAMARA (C.) . . 23 
 
 NADAL (E. S.) . . . 22 
 
 PROPERT (J. L.) . . a 
 
 MACQUOID (K. S.) . . 18 
 
 NETTLESHIP (H.). . . 13 
 
 RADCLIFFE (C. B.) . .3 
 
 MADOC(F.) . 18 
 
 NEWCASTLE (Duke and 
 
 RAMSAY (W.) ... 7 
 
 MAGUIRE(J. F.) . . 39 
 
 Duchess) . . .20 
 
 RANSOME(C.) . . -13 
 
 MAHAFFY (Prof. J. P.) 
 
 NEWCOMB (S.) ... 3 
 
 RATHBONE (W.) . . 8 
 
 2, II, 13, 22, 25, 35, 38 
 
 NEWTON (Sir C. T.) . .2 
 
 RAWLINSON (W.G.). . 2 
 
 MAITLAND (F. W.) . 12, 29 
 
 NlCHOL(J.) . . 4, 13 
 
 RAWNSLEY (H. D.) . . 15 
 
 MALET (L.) . . .18 
 
 NOEL (Lady A.) . . 18 
 
 RAY (P. K.) ... 26 
 
 MALORY (Sir T.) . . 20 
 
 NORDENSKIOLD (A. E.) . 38 
 
 RAYLEIGH (Lord) . . 27 
 
 MANSFIELD (C. B.) . . 7 
 
 NORGATE (Kate) . .11 
 
 REICHEL (Bishop) . . 35 
 
 MARKHAM (C. R.) . . 4 
 
 NoRRis(W. E.) . . 18 
 
 REID(J. S.) ... 37 
 
 MARRIOTT (J. A. R.). . 5 
 MARSHALL (Prof. A.) . 28 
 
 NORTON (Charles Eliot) 3, 37 
 NORTON (Hon. Mrs.) 15, 18 
 
 REMSEN (I.) ... 7 
 RENDALL (Rev. F.) . 31, 35 
 
 MARSHALL (M. P) . .28 
 
 OLIPHANT(MrS. M. O. W.) 
 
 RENDU(M. leC.) . . 9 
 
 MARTEL (C.) . . .24 
 
 4, ii, 13, 19, 20, 39 
 
 REYNOLDS (H. R.) . .35 
 
 MARTIN (Frances) . 3, 39 
 
 OLIPHANT (T. L. K.) 22, 25 
 
 REYNOLDS (J. R.) . . 23 
 
 MARTIN (Frederick). . 28 
 
 OLIVER (Prof. D.) . . 6 
 
 REYNOLDS (O.). . .11 
 
 MARTIN (H. N.) . . 40 
 
 OLIVER (Capt. S. P.). . 38 
 
 RICHARDSON (B. W.) ti, 23 
 
 MARTINEAU (H.) . 5 
 
 OMAN(C.W.) ... 4 
 
 RlCHEY (A. G.). . . 12 
 
 MARTINEAU (J.) . . 5 
 
 OSTWALD (Prof.) . . 7 
 
 ROBINSON (Preb. H. G.) . 35 
 
 MASSON(D.) 4,5,15,16,20,22,26 
 
 OTTE(E. C.) . ii 
 
 ROBINSON (J. L.) . . 24 
 
 MASSON (G.) . . 7, 20 
 
 PAGE(T. E.) ... 31 
 
 ROBINSON (Matthew) . 5 
 
 MASSON(R.O-) . . 16 
 
 PALGRAVE (Sir F.) . . n 
 
 ROCHESTER (Bishop of) . 5 
 
 MATURix(Rev. W.). . 35 
 
 PALGRAVE (F.T.) 
 
 ROCKSTRO (W. S.) . . 4 
 
 MAUDSLEY (Dr. H.) . . 26 
 
 2, 15, 16, 20, 21, 33, 39 
 
 ROGERS (J.E.T.) .11,28,29 
 
 MAURICE (Fredk.Denison) 
 
 PALGRAVE (R. F. D.) . 29 
 
 ROMANES ;G. J.) . . 6 
 
 8, 22, 25, 30, 31, 32, 35 
 
 PALGRAVE (R. H. Inglis) . 28 
 
 ROSCOE (Sir H. E.) . .7 
 
 MAURICE (Col.F.) . 5,24,29 
 
 PALGRAVE (W. G.) 15, 29, 38 
 
 ROSCOE (W. C.) . . 15 
 
 MAX MULLER (F.) . . 25 
 
 PALMER (Lady S.) . . 19 
 
 ROSEBERY (Earl of) . . 4 
 
 MAYER (A.M.). . . 27 
 
 PARKER (T.J.). . 6,39 
 
 ROSENBUSCH(H.) . . 9 
 
 MAYOR (J.B.) ... 31 
 
 PARKER (W. N.) . . 40 
 
 Ross (P.) .... 19 
 
 MAYOR (Prof. J. E. B.) . 3, 5 
 
 PARKINSON (S.) . . 27 
 
 ROSSETTI (C. G.) . 15, 39 
 
 MAZINI (L.) . . -39 
 
 PARKMAN (F.) . . .11 
 
 ROUTLEDGE (J.) . . 29 
 
 M'CORMICK(W.S.). . I 3 
 
 PARSONS (Alfred) . . 12 
 
 RowE(F.J.) . 16 
 
 MELDOLA (Prof. R.). 7, 26, 27 
 
 PASTEUR (L.) ... 7 
 
 RUCKER (Prof. A. W.) 7 
 
 MENDENHALL (T. C.) . 27 
 
 PATER (W. H.) . 2, 19, 22 
 
 RUMFORD (Count) . . 22- 
 
 MERCIER (Dr. C.) . . 23 
 
 PATERSON (J.) . . .12 
 
 RUSHBROOKE (W. G.) . 31 
 
 MERCUR (Prof. J.) . . 24 
 
 PATMORE (Coventry) 20, 39 
 
 RUSSELL (Dean) . . 35 
 
 MEREDITH (G.). . . 15 
 
 PATTESON (J. C.) . . 5 
 
 RUSSELL Sir Charles) . 29 
 
 MEREDITH (L. A.) . . 12 
 
 PATTISON (Mark) . 4, 5, 35 
 
 RUSSELL (W. Clark) . 4, 19 
 
 MEYER (E. von) . . 7 
 
 PAYNE (E.J.) . . 10,29 
 
 RYLAND (F.) ... 13 
 
 MIALL (A.) ... 5 
 
 PEABODY (C. H.) . 8, 27 
 
 RYLE (Prof. H. E.) . . 30 
 
 MICHELET (M.) . . ii 
 
 PEEL(E.). ... 15 
 
 ST. JOHNSTON (A.) .19, 38, 39 
 
 MiLL(H.R.) ... 9 
 
 PEILE(J.). ... 25 
 
 SADLER (H.) ... 2 
 
 MlLLER(R. K.). . . 3 
 
 PELLISSIKR (E.) . . 25 
 
 SAINTSBURY (G.) . 4, 13 
 
 MILLIGAN (Rev. W.). 31, 35 
 
 PENNELL(J.) ... 2 
 
 SALMON (Rev. G.) . . 35 
 
 MILTON . . 13, 15, 20 
 
 PENNINGTON (R.) . 9 
 
 SANDFORD (M. E.) . . 5 
 
 MINTO (Prof. W.) . 4, 18 
 
 PEN-ROSE (F.C.) . . i, 3 
 
 SANDYS (J.E.). . . 38 
 
 MITFORD (A. B.) . . 18 
 MivART(St. George). . 28 
 
 PERRY (Prof. J.) . . 27 
 PETTIGREW (J. B.) . 6, 28, 40 
 
 SAYCE (A. H.) . . .11 
 
 SCHAFF(P.) . . .30 
 
 MlXTER(W.G-) . . 7 
 
 PHILLIMORE (J. G.) . . 12 
 
 SCHLIEMANN (Dr.) . . 2 
 
 MOHAMMAD . . .20 
 
 PHILLIPS (J. A.) . . 23 
 
 SCHORLEMMER (C.) . . 7 
 
 MOLESWORTH (Mrs.) . 39 
 
 PHILLIPS (W. C.) . . 2 
 
 SCOTT (D. H.) ... 6 
 
 MOLLOY (G.) . . . 26 
 
 PlCTON'(J- A.) . . .22 
 
 SCOTT (Sir W.). . 15,20 
 
 MONAHAN (J. H.) . . 12 
 
 PlFFARD (H. G.) . . 2 3 
 
 SCRATCHLEY (Sir Peter) . 24 
 
 MONTELIUS (O.) . . I 
 
 PLATO .... 20 
 
 SCUDDER (S. H.) . . 40 
 
 MOORE (C. H.). . . 2 
 
 PLUMPTRE (Dean) . . 35 
 
 SEATON (Dr. E. C.) . . 23 
 
 MOORHOL SE (Bishop) . 35 
 
 POLLARD (A. W.) . . 37 
 
 SEELEY i J. R. ) . . .11 
 
 MORISON (J. C.) . . 3, 4 
 MORLEY (John). 3, 4, 16, 22 
 
 PoLLOCK(SirFk., 2nd Bart.) 5 
 PoLLOCK(Sir F.,Bart.) 12,22,29 
 
 SEILER (Dr. Carl) . 23, 28 
 SELBORNE Earl of) 12,20,32,33 
 
 MORRIS (Mowbray) . . 4 
 
 POLLOCK (Lady) . . 2 
 
 SELLERS (E.) . . . 2 
 
 MORRIS (R.) . . 20, 25 
 
 POLLOCK (W. H.) . . 2 
 
 SERVICE (T.). . 32,35 
 
 MORSHEAD (E. D. A.) . 36 
 
 POOLE (M. E.) . . .22 
 
 SEWELL (E. M.) . . xi
 
 44 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE PAGE 
 
 SHAIRP (J.C.) . . 4, 15 
 
 TANNER (H.) . . . i WARD (A. W.) . .4,13,20 
 
 SHAKESPEARE . 13, 15, 20, 21 
 
 TAVERNIER (J. B.) . . 38 WARD (H. M.) ... 6 
 
 SHANN (G.) . 8, 27 
 
 TAYLOR (Franklin) . . 24 WARD(S.). . . .16 
 
 SHARP (W.) ... 5 
 
 TAYLOR (Isaac). . 25, 35 
 
 WARD(T. H.) . . . 16 
 
 SHELLEY . . . 15, 21 
 
 TAYLOR (Sedley) . 24, 27 
 
 WARD (Mrs. T. H.) . 19, 39 
 
 SHIRLEY (W. N.) . .35 
 
 TEGETMEIER (W. B.) . 8 
 
 WARD (W.) . . 5, 32 
 
 SHORT-HOUSE (J. H.) . 19 
 
 TEMPLE (Bishop) . . 35 
 
 WARINGTON (G.) . . 36 
 
 SHORTLAND (Admiral) . 24 
 
 TEMPLE (Sir R.) . . 4 WATERS (C. A.) . . 28 
 
 SHUCHHARDT (Carl). . 2 
 
 TENNANT (Dorothy). . 38 WATERTON (Charles) 24,38 
 
 SHUCKBURGH (E. S.) 11,36 
 
 TENNIEL . . . . 38 i WATSON (E.) ... 5 
 
 SIIUFELDT (R. W.) . . 40 
 
 TENNYSON . 14, 16, 21 
 
 WATSON (R. S.) . . 38 
 
 SIBSON (Dr. F.) . . 23 
 
 TENNYSON (Frederick) . 16 
 
 WEBB(W. T.) . . .16 
 
 SIDGWICK (Prof. H.) 26, 28, 29 
 
 TENNYSON (Hallam). 12, 39 
 
 WEBSTER (Mrs. A.) . . 39 
 
 SlME (J.) . . . 9, 10 
 
 THOMPSON (D 'A. W.) . 6 
 
 WELBY-GREGORY (Lady) . 32 
 
 SIMPSON (Rev. W.) . . 32 
 
 THOMPSON (E.). . . 10 
 
 WELLDON (Rev. J. E.C.). 36 
 
 SKEAT (W.W.) . . 13 
 
 THOMPSON (S. P.) . . 27 
 
 WESTCOTT (Bp.) 30, 31, 32, 36 
 
 SKRINE (J. H.). . 5, 15 
 
 THOMSON (A. W.) . . 8 
 
 WESTERMARCK (E.). . i 
 
 Sl.ADE ( J. H.) . . .8 
 
 THOMSON (Sir C. W.) . 40 
 
 WETHERELL (J.) . . 25 
 
 SI.OMAN (Rev. A.) . . 31 
 
 THOMSON (Hugh) . . 12 
 
 WHEELER (J. T.) . . n 
 
 SMART (W.) . . .28 
 
 THOMSON (Sir Wm.) 24, 26, 27 
 
 WHEWELL(W.). . . 5 
 
 SMALLEY (G. W.) . . 22 
 
 THORNE (Dr. Thome) . 23 
 
 WHITE (Gilbert) . . 24 
 
 SMETHAM (J. and S.) . 5 
 
 THORNTON (J.). . . 6 
 
 WHITE (Dr. W. Hale) . 23 
 
 SMITH (A.) . . .20 
 
 THORNTON (W. T.) 26, 29, 37 
 
 WHITE (W.) ... 27 
 
 SMITH (C. B.) . . . 16 
 
 THORPE (T. E.). . . 7 
 
 WHITHAM (J. M.) . . 8 
 
 SMITH (Goldwin) . 4, 5, 29 
 
 THRING (E.) . . 8, 22 
 
 WHITNEY (W. D.) . . 8 
 
 SMITH (H.) . .16 
 
 THRUPP(J. F.). . . 30 
 
 WHITTIER (J. G.) . 16,22 
 
 SMITH (J.) ... 6 
 
 THUDICHUM (J. L. W.) . 7 
 
 WICKHAM (Rev. E. C.) . 36 
 
 SMITH (Rev. T.) . . 35 
 
 THURSFIELD (J. R.) . .4 
 
 WlCKSTEED (P. H.) . 28, 30 
 
 SMITH (W. G.) . . .6 
 
 TODHUNTER (I.) . . 5, 8 
 
 WlEDERSHEIM (R.) . . 40 
 
 SMITH (W. S.) . . .35 
 
 TORRENS (W. M.) . . 5 
 
 WlLBRAHAM (F. M.). . J 32 
 
 SOMERVILLE (Prof. W.) . 6 
 
 TOURGEXIEF (I. S.) . . 19 
 
 WILKINS (Prof. A. S.) 2, ii, 36 
 
 SOUTHEY .... 5 
 
 TOUT(T. F.) . . .11 
 
 WILKINSON (S.) . /C 24 
 
 SPENDER (J. K.) . . 23 
 
 TOZER (H. F.) . . .9 
 
 WILLIAMS (G. H.) . -^. a 
 
 SPENSER . . . .20 
 
 TRAILL (H. D.). . 4, 29 j WILLIAMS (Montagu) . 5 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE (W.). . 27 
 
 TRENCH (Capt. F.) . .29 WILLIAMS (S. E.) . . 13 
 
 STANLEY (Dean) . . 35 
 
 TRENCH (Archbishop) . 35 1 WILLOUGHBY (F.) . . 39 
 
 STANLEY (Hon. Maude) . 29 
 
 TREVELYAN (Sir G. O.) . n 
 
 WILLS (W. G.) . . . 16 
 
 STATHAM (R.) . . -29 
 
 TRIBE (A.). ... 7 
 
 WILSON (A. J.) . . . 29 
 
 STEBBING (W.). . . 4 
 
 TRISTRAM (W. O.) . . 12 
 
 WILSON (Sir C.) . .4 
 
 STEPHEN (C. E.) .8 
 
 TROLLOPE (A.) ... 4 
 
 WILSON (Sir D.) . i, 3, 13 
 
 STEPHEN (H.) . -13 
 
 TRUMAN (J.) . . . 16 
 
 WILSON (Dr. G.) . 4, 5, 22 
 
 STEPHEN (Sir J. F.) n, 13, 22 
 
 TUCKER (T. G.) . . 36 
 
 WILSON (Archdeacon) . 36 
 
 STEPHEN (J. K.) . . 13 
 
 TULLOCH (Principal). . 35 
 
 WILSON (Mary)- -13 
 
 STEPHEN (L.) ... 4 
 
 TURNER (C. Tennyson) . 16 
 
 WINGATE (Major F. R.) . 24 
 
 STEPHENS (J. B.) . . 16 
 
 TURNER (G.) . . . i 
 
 WlNKWORTH (C.) . . 5 
 
 STEVENSON (J. J.) . . 2 
 
 TURNER (H. H.) . . 27 
 
 WOLSELEY (Gen. Viscount) 24 
 
 STEWART (A.) . . -39 
 
 TURNER (J. M.W.) . . 12 
 
 WOOD (A. G.) . . . 16 
 
 STEWART (Balfour) 26, 27, 35 
 
 TYLOR (E. B.) . . . i 
 
 WOOD (Rev. E. G.) . . 36 
 
 STEWART (S. A.) . . 6 
 
 TYRWHITT (R. St. J.) 2, 16 
 
 WOODS (Rev. F. H.). . i 
 
 STOKES (Sir G. G.) . . 27 
 
 VAUGHAN (C. J.) 31,32,35,36 
 
 WOODS (Miss M. A.). 17, 33 
 
 STORY (R. H.) ... 3 
 
 VAUGHAN (Rev. D. J.) 20, 36 
 
 WOODWARD (C. M.). . 8 
 
 STONE (W. H.). . . 27 
 
 VAUGHAN (Rev. E. T.) . 36 
 
 WOOLNER (T.) . 16 
 
 STRACHEY (Sir E.) . . 20 
 
 VAUGHAN (Rev. R.). . 36 
 
 WORDSWORTH . 5, 14, 16, 21 
 
 STRACHEY(Gen. R.). . 9 
 
 VELEY (M.) . . . 19 
 
 WORTHEY (Mrs.) . . 19 
 
 SrRANGFORD(Viscountess) 38 
 
 VENN (Rev. J.) . . 26, 36 
 
 WRIGHT (Rev. A.) . . 31 
 
 STRETTELL (A.) . . 16 
 
 VERNON (Hon. W. W.) . 13 
 
 WRIGHT (C. E. G.) . . 8 
 
 STUBBS (Rev. C. W.). . 35 
 
 VERRALL (A. W.) . 13, 36 
 
 WRIGHT (J.) . . .21 
 
 STUBBS (Bishop) . . 31 
 
 VERRALL (Mrs.) . . i 
 
 WRIGHT (L. ) . . -27 
 
 SUTHERLAND ' A.) . . 9 
 
 WAIN (Louis) . . .39 
 
 WRIGHT (W. Aldis) 8, 15, 20, 31 
 
 SYMONDS (J. A.) . . 4 
 
 WALDSTEIN (C.) . . 2 
 
 WURTZ (Ad.) ... 7 
 
 SYMONDS (Mrs. J. A.) . 5 
 
 WALKER (Prof. F. A.) . 28 
 
 WYATT (SirM. D.) . . 2 
 
 SYMONS (A.) . . .16 
 
 WALLACE (A. R.) . 6, 24, 28 
 
 YONGE (C. M.) 5, 6, 8, 10, ii, 
 
 TAIT (Archbishop) . . 35 
 
 WALLACE (Sir D. M.) . 29 
 
 19, 21, 25, 3, 39 
 
 TAIT(C.W.A.) . .11 
 
 WALPOLE(S.) ... 29 
 
 YOUNG (E.W.) . . 8 
 
 TAIT (Prof. P. G.) 26, 27, 35 
 
 WALTON (I.) . . .12 
 
 ZIEGLER (Dr. E.) . .23 
 
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