O 
 

JAMES HURNARD. 
 
 CHIEFLY AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL, ///~ 
 
 WITH ~(& 
 
 /<?<? 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM HIS POEMS. 
 
 cA 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 HIS WIDOW. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAMUEL HARRIS & CO., 
 
 5, BISHOPSGATE WITHOUT, E.C. 
 
 1883. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 BARRETT, SONS AND CO., PRINTERS, 
 IO, BEER LANE, E.G. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My ancestors My birth and early life I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Removal from Boreham to Kelvedon School life 
 
 Hard times Contemplated emigration 14 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Voyage across the Atlantic Early adventures before 
 
 settling 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Residence at Wilmington Typhus fever Death of 
 Lucy " Lucy's Grave " Illness and recovery of 
 others Kindness of sympathising friends Anec- 
 dotes of Quaker ministers 38 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Return voyage to England Violent storm A ship on 
 
 fire Safe arrival ... 58 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Return to Kelvedon Friendship with the Bowman 
 family Various early Poems : " When Friend meets 
 Friend " " My First Grey Hair " " From Grave 
 to Gay" "Hope" "Death of Martha "Death 
 of his younger sister " My Sisters " 65 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 IT may require some apology in bringing before the 
 public the Memoirs of one who, though known to a 
 large circle of friends, was not a public character; 
 but I hope the work, which is chiefly in his own 
 words, with occasional alterations, will be found 
 interesting, giving a picture of emigrant life early in 
 this century, and, later on, of quiet useful home life, 
 in which his filial devotion has left a bright example. 
 Amongst his poems, it is believed, will be found some 
 of considerable beauty and high poetic finish. 
 
 The compilation having been carried on chiefly 
 upon an invalid couch, the work may, I hope, claim 
 a lenient reception. 
 
 LOUISA B. HURNARD. 
 
 Lexden, Colchester, 
 
 Fifth Month loth, 1883. 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 Fourth Month 2oth, 1837. 
 
 BIOGRAPHY has always appeared to me the most 
 delightful department of literature. We naturally 
 take a pleasure in tracing the career of illustrious 
 individuals who have worked their way from obscurity 
 to high honours and distinctions. 
 
 Even in those cases where merit has lived and died 
 unrewarded, our interest is but the more excited. 
 Our sympathies are called into activity by misfortunes 
 which could not be averted, by sufferings which did 
 not seem to be deserved, by the rebuffs which the 
 proud have inflicted on those whom they deemed 
 their inferiors, and by the ridicule which little- 
 minded people have bestowed on those whom they 
 could not appreciate. 
 
 Whether we read the biographies of princes, 
 statesmen, warriors, poets, or philosophers, we 
 delight, not only in contemplating the splendour of 
 their performances, but in observing the progress of 
 their minds, and the development of their characters. 
 
X AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 This feeling of interest is not confined exclusively to 
 the biographies of great men. On the contrary, 
 however humble the condition and circumstances of 
 an individual may have been, if the events of his life 
 are well narrated, the workings of his mind clearly 
 described, and the contrasts of his character faith- 
 fully pictured, the attention of the reader is sure to 
 be arrested by his story. I hold the opinion that the 
 life" of any human being would be interesting if it 
 were well told. Everyone has his hopes and fears, 
 his loves and dislikes, his joys and sorrows, his 
 aspirations and depressions, his recollections of the 
 past and his anticipations of the future ; these, like 
 the summer evening clouds on the western horizon, 
 produce an endless variety of novel combinations 
 which fix the attention, enrich the mind, and delight 
 the fancy. 
 
 Biography is not only pleasing, but it is eminently 
 instructive. That which Burke says of history may 
 be equally well applied to biography. " In history," 
 said he, " a great volume is unrolled for our instruc- 
 tion, drawing the materials of future wisdom from 
 the past errors and infirmities of mankind." Human 
 life is laid open in biography, and we are taught cir- 
 cumspection by the " past errors and infirmities " of 
 those who have gone before us. Experience is the 
 most expensive thing in the world, and it is always 
 the best policy to borrow that of other people ! 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. XI 
 
 Biography may be divided into two kinds one in 
 which a man relates his own story, and the other in 
 which it is related by some one else. 
 
 Each kind has its peculiar advantages. If I write 
 the life of another person I may say many highly 
 interesting things of him which he himself could not 
 mention without subjecting himself to the charge of 
 egotism. At the same time, I labour under a variety 
 of difficulties ; I cannot always trace those workings 
 of the mind from which his actions have resulted ; 
 there are many things which I cannot fully explain 
 respecting him ; and above all, there are many 
 pleasing circumstances in his life of which I have no 
 knowledge, and which are, therefore, irretrievably 
 lost to posterity. On the other hand, if a man writes 
 his own life he enjoys the advantage of having a 
 perfect knowledge of his subject. He can describe 
 the gradual development of his mind, and can trace 
 effects to their remote and secret causes. He best 
 can reveal the hopes that have cheered him, and the 
 sorrows that have depressed him, and describe the 
 struggles of conflicting principles which have agitated 
 his bosom. On the whole, therefore, I am inclined 
 to think that the narrative which a man gives of 
 himself is the most valuable kind of biography. Nor 
 are we to suppose that his account of himself is 
 less authentic than if it had been written by some 
 one else. 
 
JAMES HURNARD 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 My ancestors My birth and early life. 
 
 I WAS born at Boreham, a little village near 
 Chelmsford, in Essex, on the 3rd of Third Month, in 
 the year 1808. 
 
 Before I proceed with the narrative of my life, I 
 must premise that it is so interwoven with the 
 history of my father's family that I am compelled, in 
 the first place, to devote a few pages to that subject. 
 My great-grandfather was the captain of a vessel. 
 He was, I believe, a man of intemperate habits, and 
 had lowered his condition in society. He left his 
 children in extreme poverty at his death. 
 
 His two sons, Robert and John, found themselves, 
 at an early age, turned out into the world to gain a 
 livelihood. These two boys proved themselves to be 
 no common characters. Whether their father, aware 
 that his example was not good, gave them "precept" 
 instead, I know not; but certain it is they possessed 
 three of the most needful qualifications for making 
 
 ? B 
 
2 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 their way in the world honesty, industry, and fru- 
 gality. Their first employment was that of farmers' 
 boys. 
 
 One of them, I know not which, used to allow 
 himself eightpence a year for pocket-money; and one 
 year contrived to save fourpence out of it. 
 
 Of the career of Robert I have learned but little. 
 He became a respectable farmer, at Latchingdon, in 
 Essex, remained a single man, prided himself on his 
 team of fine, fat, coal-black horses, and practised the 
 easy country hospitality of former times. Of his 
 brother John, who was my grandfather, I have heard 
 more particulars. 
 
 He was born about the year 1726 I think, at 
 Manningtree, or some village in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Having obtained a situation with a surgeon, at Ford- 
 ham, near Colchester, he acquired a little knowledge 
 of medicine, and learned to draw teeth and to bleed. 
 
 In process of time John went into the employment 
 of a shopkeeper at Chelmsford, who was a member of 
 the Society of Friends. He subsequently became 
 convinced of the truth of the principles of that Society, 
 and was received into membership. 
 
 About this time he married, and entered into busi- 
 ness on his own account as a shopkeeper, in the 
 village of Springfield. His wife did not live long ; 
 she left a daughter, who was named Jane. 
 
 After some little time he married again. ,The name 
 of his second wife was Jane Pullyn. Her father and 
 mother lived at Hellesdon Hall, beyond Norwich, and 
 had a family, I think, of fourteen children,, several 
 of whom lived to a remarkably great age. When 
 
A MEMOIR. 3 
 
 Jane Pullyn's father died, he left his widow with 
 eleven children. The family soon afterwards were 
 dispersed, and Jane obtained a situation as a shop- 
 maid, I believe, with an aunt. 
 
 She subsequently obtained two other situations. 
 I have heard that she stayed seven years at each 
 place, had seven pounds a year at each, and did 
 not take her wages each time until she left. She 
 was, therefore, at a mature age when my grand- 
 father married her. I know not in what year 
 my grandparents moved to the sequestered little 
 village of Boreham. The shop into which they 
 moved was the only one in the place, and was the 
 one in which the bride had passed the last seven 
 years of her service. She lived there while it was 
 in the occupation of John Griffiths, an eminent 
 minister in the Society of Friends. I love to think 
 of that house, and conjure up its picture in my imagi- 
 nation, for under its roof I was born, and my father 
 before me. At this abode John Hurnard continued 
 to reside for the remainer of his days. His business, 
 though small, was profitable ; and, if he did not 
 grow rich, he enjoyed a plain abundance. He brought 
 up his family in all the strictness of the religious 
 sect to which he belonged ; and such was his cha- 
 racter for benevolence and integrity that few in his 
 circumstances and station in society have acquired 
 a higher or more general respect. 
 
 He was an uneducated man ; but possessed a sound 
 understanding and a considerable share of wit. But 
 it was in conversation and in the relation of anecdotes 
 that he especially excelled. Of anecdotes he possessed 
 
4 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 an inexhaustible store ; and when he related them 
 in his slow impressive manner there was something 
 about him that fixed the attention of his listeners. 
 
 He was distinguished by great personal courage and 
 firmness of character; and the following incident will 
 show that he was not deficient in presence of mind. 
 
 He happened to be in London during the riots in 
 the time of Wilkes, the great popular demagogue. 
 The streets were deserted except by the inflamed 
 mob who paraded them in lawless triumph, and 
 everything wore the aspect of anarchy. 
 
 John Hurnard, not troubling himself about political 
 affairs, proceeded, in his usual way, to attend to the 
 business that called him to London. He crossed 
 London Bridge, but not another person was to be 
 seen upon it. While passing, however, along Tooley 
 Street, he suddenly beheld the mob at a short dis- 
 tance advancing towards him. What was to be 
 done ? To go forward seemed impossible ; and to 
 attempt to escape equally dangerous, for the popu- 
 lace had shot a young man the same day who had 
 run away from them. 
 
 Dressed in his plain attire therefore, and conse- 
 quently presenting a somewhat striking appearance, 
 he boldly walked towards the dense mass of people 
 whom he saw approaching. On coming up to them 
 he took off his hat, and, waving it in the air, shouted 
 at the top of his voice, "Wilkes for ever!" At 
 once the mob, dividing on each hand, made a way 
 for him to pass through the midst of them ; and, 
 waving their hats, responded to his words, and rent 
 the air with shouts of " Wilkes for ever ! " 
 
A MEMOIR. 5 
 
 I shall frequently have occasion, in the succeeding 
 pages, to advert to my grandfather ; but there is one 
 other anecdote of him which I think it well to insert 
 here. I requested my father, some time ago, to 
 write it down for me. He complied with my request. 
 I shall, therefore, give it in his own words : 
 
 " I think it was about the year 1790 that my father 
 was applied to on behalf of a man who had been in 
 the Excise, and who, for some fraud which he had 
 committed, was then immured in Chelmsford gaol, 
 where he had been confined for the said offence 
 about three years without a prospect of liberation, 
 except in the event of the King's death, when a 
 gaol delivery takes place of persons in confinement 
 for such offences. 
 
 " This man, having heard the character of my 
 father, sent a respectful message requesting to see 
 him. He went to him accordingly, heard his state- 
 ment of facts as to the length of time that he had 
 been in prison ; the situation of his suffering family, 
 consisting, I think, of a wife and several children ; 
 and wished to know how he could serve him. He re- 
 quested that my father would be so kind as to speak to 
 one of the Commissioners of the Board of Excise, who, 
 he thought, could, if he pleased, procure his release. 
 My father undertook this delicate and difficult task, 
 which few in his station who knew the character of 
 this Commissioner would have dared to undertake, 
 or could have hoped to succeed in. He resided part 
 of the week in London, and the other part at his 
 mansion, New Hall, Boreham. He was of an over- 
 bearing, dictatorial, and passionate temper, and 
 
6 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 could ill brook control, especially from an inferior. 
 But these were not qualities to daunt an honest 
 Friend in the discharge of what he believed to be his 
 duty, namely, to serve a fellow-creature in distress. 
 He therefore soon waited upon the Commissioner, 
 and, on being announced, was ushered into the 
 presence of the great man, who addressed my father 
 thus : ' Sit down, friend. What is your business 
 with me ? ' 
 
 " ' I have some business with thee,' said my father; 
 ' but before I mention it I will, if thee please, take a 
 piece of bread and cheese after my walk.' 
 
 " ' So you shall, friend,' said the other, and imme- 
 diately rang the bell, and ordered some cold meat 
 and bread and cheese to be set on the table, and 
 while my father was eating they chatted on indiffe- 
 rent subjects. As soon as he had done, the gentle- 
 man, impatient to know his errand, again said, ' Well, 
 now, friend, what is your business ? ' 
 
 " ' I am come,' said my father, ' to intercede with 
 thee on behalf of a poor man now suffering imprison- 
 ment for a fraud committed against the Excise Laws, 
 and I believe it is in thy power to procure his release.' 
 
 " ' What is his name ? ' he asked. 
 
 " My father had no sooner mentioned the name 
 than he gave way to the most violent and unrestrained 
 expressions of anger imaginable, till he actually 
 frothed at the mouth with passion, swearing he should 
 ' lie in gaol and rot ; which he well deserved.' 
 
 " My father sat silent, not attempting to speak till 
 the ebullition of his wrath began to subside ; he then 
 mildly said he did not come there to extenuate the 
 
A MEMOIR. 7 
 
 man's crime, but would put to his consideration 
 whether a confinement in gaol of three years' dura- 
 tion was not a sufficient punishment for his offence ; 
 and I believe he also appealed to him on behalf of 
 the man's wife and children. 
 
 "His simple advocacy found its way to the heart 
 of the great man and disarmed him of his anger, and 
 he said, ' Well, I will do what I can for you.' 
 
 " ' But what further steps must I take in the case ? ' 
 asked my father. 
 
 " ' Why,' said he, ' go to the man and tell him to 
 draw up a petition to the Board.' 
 
 " ' And will thee present it ? ' said my father. 
 
 " He promised that he would ; and they parted in 
 a very friendly manner. The result was that in 
 three weeks the prisoner was set at liberty ; and I 
 remember his coming over to thank my father for 
 his kindness." 
 
 While the great ones of the world delight to point 
 to the long line of their ancestors, too often distin- 
 guished more by their titles than by their worth, I 
 ask no one's leave while I thus linger over these 
 anecdotes of my own upright and independent fore- 
 father. If the titled are proud of their ancestors, I, 
 too, according to my notion of human excellence, 
 have a right to be proud of mine. 
 
 It was in the year 1795 that John Hurnard was 
 taken ill as he was going up to London in the 
 coach. He reached his destination, but survived 
 only a few days, leaving a wife, two sons, and two 
 married daughters, namely, John, Rebecca, Mary, 
 and Robert. 
 
8 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 His daughter Rebecca married John Steed, of 
 Earith, in Huntingdonshire ; and Mary married 
 Thomas Docwra, of Latchingdon. Robert was my 
 father. He was born in 1774, and was sent to 
 Ackworth School at an early age. This school was 
 a newly-established one, and belonged to the Society 
 of Friends. 
 
 But the period at length arrived when he was to 
 enter on the cares of life; for his father died, and at 
 the age of twenty-one he succeeded him in his busi- 
 ness. 
 
 My grandfather had not accumulated what is 
 termed wealth, but he had a sufficiency for his wants; 
 such was the unanxious way in which he lived that I 
 have heard he never took stock. His mode of living 
 was simple, and trade was less of a struggle then 
 than it has been since. 
 
 There is another subject to which I must here 
 advert. My father, early in life, began to feel the 
 importance of education. He possessed a taste for 
 literature ; and he industriously set about the task 
 of self-improvement. He read a great deal, and took 
 lessons in French of one of the poor priests whom 
 the Revolution had exiled from France. He also 
 cultivated the acquaintance of educated persons, and, 
 as he inherited considerable talents for conversation, 
 he soon outshone the other members of his family. 
 
 My father, at his outset in life, like my uncle John, 
 underwent a severe stroke of affliction. The young 
 woman to whom he was engaged was taken ill and 
 died. He was young, and his loss deeply afflicted 
 him. He had, however, an uncle, Matthew Fennell, 
 
A MEMOIR. 9 
 
 of Bury, in Suffolk, a worthy man, who some time 
 afterwards strenuously recommended him to come 
 and see a young woman of the name of Hannah 
 Clark, who was residing with a brother in that town. 
 My father at first was in no mood to undertake such 
 an enterprise. His indefatigable uncle, however, 
 introduced him to the young woman ; he was pleased 
 with her, paid his addresses to her, and at length 
 obtained his suit. 
 
 Hannah Clark was born at Chipping Norton, in 
 Oxfordshire, in the year 1767. She was the daughter 
 of John and Hannah Clark. Her father, I have 
 heard, was a useful man in his day, and did good 
 service by his exertions to prevent the enclosure of 
 Chipping Norton Common. His wife was an amiable 
 woman, of considerable talent and great beauty. He 
 died young, leaving a large family, and his wife 
 survived his loss only about three months. 
 
 Their youngest son was Bracy Clark, whose name 
 is not unknown in the scientific world (he was a 
 noted veterinary surgeon) ; their fourth daughter was 
 my mother. 
 
 Bereft of their parents at an early age, inheriting 
 some property, and possessing talents and personal 
 attractions, the family were much exposed to the 
 contact of the world, and they preserved but little 
 appearance of being members of the Society in 
 which they had been born. My mother, however, at 
 length formed a friendship with a young woman of 
 remarkable piety who was in membership, and her 
 example had a great effect in attaching her to the 
 Society of Friends. I have heard that my mother 
 
10 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 had many suitors ; and as she was brought up a lady 
 and had a fortune of a thousand pounds, it was 
 rather remarkable that she should accept my father, 
 who was then a bashful young man, and not much 
 refined in his manners by polished society. But my 
 mother was a woman of a calm and unambitious 
 character, and possessed a discerning mind ; and 
 she appreciated my father's worth as well as his 
 abilities. 
 
 Great were the preparations at Boreham to receive 
 the bride. 
 
 My grandmother, who had kept my father's house, 
 removed to a cottage at the bottom of the garden. 
 
 Alterations were made in the house and premises. 
 The sitting-room, with its nicely sanded floor, was 
 converted into a carpeted parlour, and the house was 
 duly furnished according to more modern notions. 
 
 The marriage of my parents took place on the 
 7th of Tenth Month, 1800. 
 
 My father at the time was twenty-six years of age, 
 and my mother thirty-two ; and, in the course of the 
 ensuing eight years they had four children, viz., 
 Lucy, William Clark, Ann, and myself. 
 
 I have now brought down the history of my family 
 to the time of my birth. 
 
 As I have stated before, I was born on the 3rd 
 day of the Third Month in the year 1808. My life, 
 I have heard, was very near being brought to a 
 premature close by an adventure of mine during my 
 infancy. It happened thus : 
 
 My mother went to pay a visit to her brother, 
 John Clark, at Bury, and of course she took me 
 
A MEMOIR. II 
 
 with her. One day I was left in the parlour with no 
 one to take care of me but a negligent girl. 
 
 Placed on the floor, and finding myself at liberty, 
 and, moreover, being in a new place, my roving 
 disposition was excited, and I crawled forth to make 
 discoveries. 
 
 Meanwhile the girl, having a great many things 
 to think of, very soon forgot all about me. After 
 awhile, however, hearing a noise, she looked round, 
 and, greatly to her alarm, perceived that I had made 
 my way to the fire-place, and crawled completely 
 underneath the grate where a large fire was burning. 
 Happily no sparks fell upon me ; and I was snatched 
 from my perilous situation without sustaining any 
 injury. 
 
 I learned my letters by a very simple method long 
 before I learned to talk. My father pasted the letters 
 of the alphabet in large Roman characters on the 
 separate pages of an old book. I was soon taught 
 their names, and learned to turn over the leaves till 
 I found any one that was required. 
 
 I remember very well being first sent to school. 
 It was kept in an upstairs room in a house across the 
 Green. The schoolmistress was a little, tidy, old- 
 fashioned woman, who went by the name of Dame 
 Rutley. My terror of her has imprinted her appear- 
 ance on my mind very distinctly. She used a huge 
 pair of spectacles, through which, she was wont to 
 tell us, she could see us when she was not looking at 
 us. Round her cap she wore a black band, and at 
 her side hung a large, shining pair of scissors, and a 
 great black pincushion. She had seen trouble but 
 
12 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 of that I knew nothing then and trouble, added to 
 the wear and tear of human patience, expended in 
 planting the seeds of knowledge in stubborn ground, 
 had soured her disposition. She used to box our ears 
 unmercifully. I once played truant, and amused 
 myself much to my satisfaction. My eldest sister, 
 however, found me out. I escaped without punish- 
 ment, but was sensible that I had done wrong, and 
 I never played truant again. There is an inde- 
 scribable pleasure in looking back on the morning of 
 life. When we recur to the years of our childhood, 
 time seems to sift out the memory of our youthful 
 sorrows, and preserve nothing but the recollection of 
 our innocent enjoyments. My parents, indeed, were 
 blessed with a happy family circle. Their children 
 were trained up in the practice of moral and religious 
 habits with sedulous anxiety. We were not allowed 
 to associate with children in the street, and, being 
 well-managed and amused at home, we scarcely felt 
 the restriction. It was the practice in the family 
 to have a portion of the Scriptures read every 
 morning, after 'breakfast, in the presence of the 
 assembled household. On a First-day evening some 
 Friends' book was substituted, perhaps Chalkley's 
 life, or Woolman's, or Ellwood's all of them 
 breathing devoted piety, and rendered interesting by 
 diversified adventures. It must not be supposed, 
 however, that our reading was restricted to Friends' 
 books. I well remember listening with delighted 
 attention while my brother read aloud to my sisters 
 and me the " Surprising Adventures of Robinson 
 Crusoe." In those early years of my life I was a 
 
A MEMOIR. 13 
 
 lively, lighthearted child, but I am not aware that I 
 displayed any appearance of superior talent. My 
 memory was never tenacious, and even then any 
 momentary perturbation would suspend its powers. 
 My peculiar mental constitution has often made me 
 appear a dunce, and, being painfully sensitive of 
 shame, I have suffered accordingly. I was, happily, 
 not subjected to the process of undergoing a prema- 
 ture education, according to the manner of modern 
 times. 
 
 How can I describe the delight afforded by one 
 little event of my childhood a journey to Southend? 
 All of us went, we young ones being packed in the 
 head of the chaise. On beholding the sea my delight 
 was unbounded. That was, indeed, a happy day ! 
 My notions of space acquired a new character. 
 
 On its unstable waves, with trembling pleasure, 
 and almost overpowered with novelty, I soon had a 
 ride. I little foresaw, while dancing, for the first time, 
 on the green sea, the events of future years. 
 
 Of such trifles as these our life is made up. 
 
14 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Removal from Boreham to Kelvedon School life Hard 
 times Contemplated emigration. 
 
 BUT I must now turn away from the recollection 
 of my early years, to enter on the important subject 
 the affairs of the family. 
 
 At the time of my father's marriage, the country 
 was deeply involved in the calamity of a Continental 
 war. Every kind of commodity was enormously dear. 
 The single circumstance that the price of a quartern 
 loaf was is. io|d. will give some notion of the state 
 of the times. My father at once found that his 
 domestic expenditure was doubled, and the claims of 
 an increasing family soon began to be felt. The 
 unwelcome truth was forced upon him that, with all 
 his care, his little property was diminishing. Year 
 after year the depressing conviction was brought 
 home to him that his expenses exceeded his income. 
 With a beloved companion whose happiness was 
 identified with his own, and a young family growing 
 up around him for whom he felt all a parent's love, 
 the circumstances in which he was placed were 
 deeply harassing and painful. His exigencies, at 
 length, drove him into the dangerous practice of 
 drawing bills. This system of conducting business 
 soon increased his perplexities. He was continually 
 in want of money, and this kept him in a state of 
 mental trepidation and anxiety lest demands should 
 
A MEMOIR. 15 
 
 be made upon him which he would be unable to meet. 
 I have often heard him say that he used sometimes 
 to envy the day labourers who passed his door, 
 exempt, as they appeared, from the cares which 
 surrounded him. 
 
 Many were the Providential interpositions which he 
 experienced in those days of tribulation. One little 
 circumstance I must not omit. My father was always 
 remarkably regular in the attendance at his usual 
 place of worship at Chelmsford, though the distance 
 was four miles. One First-day morning the weather 
 was extremely wet and unfavourable for going out. 
 His brother-in-law, Henry Clark, who happened at 
 that time to be on a visit at Boreham, recommended 
 him, therefore, not to go. " Oh, yes, I shall," he 
 replied, " perhaps I may find a fifty-pound note on 
 the road." When he returned his brother-in-law 
 took care to ask him if he had found the fifty-pound 
 note. " No," he replied, with an air of satisfaction, 
 " not a fifty pound note, but a hundred." It 
 appeared that, on entering Chelmsford, a friend had 
 met him with a letter containing the pleasing intel- 
 ligence that a distant relation had left my mother a 
 legacy of one hundred pounds. I need not say how 
 acceptable it proved. 
 
 On the whole the difficulties which he went through 
 were, without doubt, of service in the formation of his 
 religious character ; and I believe that he was not 
 insensible that they were intended for his ultimate 
 benefit. About this time my father found out that 
 the field which he had bought contained brick-earth. 
 In the hope of improving his circumstances, without 
 
l6 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 knowing much about the business, he commenced 
 brick-making. 
 
 This only served, by engrossing his capital, to 
 increase his difficulties. 
 
 Several of his friends, who were millers, appeared 
 to be thriving men ; he therefore turned his attention 
 to the milling business. 
 
 A mill was to be let about a mile off, at Little 
 Baddow, and he resolved to go and look at it. On 
 entering the mill he was rather startled at seeing an 
 acquaintance of his of the name of Mark Whitehead, 
 who was there on the same errand. 
 
 Eventually they went into partnership with each 
 other and hired the mill. 
 
 The capital with which my father entered into 
 this engagement was principally lent to him by his 
 brother-in-law, Thomas Docwra, who was descended 
 from an ancient and distinguished line of ancestors. 
 
 The following paragraph from the Morning Chro- 
 nicle, in reference to the origin of the Twopenny 
 Post Office, contains some curious particulars re- 
 specting the family. 
 
 " It is not generally known that this important 
 benefit to the comfort and convenience of the inha- 
 bitants of London and its environs, and also to the 
 revenue, believed to be between two thousand and 
 three thousand pounds per annum, was the invention 
 of a Mr. Docwra, who, about the year 1680, seeing 
 the deficiencies in this respect of the General Post, 
 established an office for the conveyance of letters to 
 all parts of London and its environs, within ten 
 miles, at one penny each, purchasing a great num- 
 
A MEMOIR. 17 
 
 her of horses, and engaging steady men, who, it 
 may be supposed, in those times were armed. It 
 almost instantly gained universal approval and 
 acceptance. The Government soon cast an anxious 
 eye on this powerful novelty ; and, finally, took it 
 into their own hands. 
 
 " What licence or patent he had is not fully 
 known ; but it is understood he had some, besides a 
 moral right ; but he, imprudently, made no demand 
 for compensation. 
 
 " It is a singular fact that to another of the same 
 family, London is indebted for one of its principal 
 ancient relics, viz., St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, 
 built by Sir Thomas Docvvra, the last Grand Prior of 
 Malta in England, who sat in the House of Peers. 
 His family arms, derived from Palestine, are carved 
 on the outside, and painted on the roof. 
 
 " This was a noble and very generous family, 
 originally in the north, afterwards in Herts, and in 
 Ireland, where they obtained lands and a peerage for 
 distinguished services in 1621. They were allied to 
 many noble families ; and, through that of the first 
 Lord of St. John of Bletso, to the royal stock. Of 
 their name, between noo and 1650, they reckoned 
 about twenty knights, English and foreign. A grand 
 memorial is seen in Lilly Church, Herts ; and two 
 houses, styled Docwra Hall, remain at Kendal and 
 Penrith." 
 
 My father soon found his new business to be liable 
 to serious fluctuations. 
 
 At that time the power of Napoleon was flickering 
 like a taper in its socket ; and political events affected 
 
 c 
 
l8 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 the markets in a terrific manner. I have heard my 
 father say that, on one occasion, he and his partner 
 bought wheat at thirty-eight pounds and a crown a 
 load ! and before they could make it into flour they 
 could buy wheat equally as good at twenty pounds a 
 load. These fluctuations were frequently taking 
 place ; the business, therefore, was extremely dan- 
 gerous except to men of large capital. 
 
 At the end of two or three years he determined to 
 dissolve the partnership, and succeeded in obtaining 
 another mill about eight miles off, at Kelvedon. 
 
 I shall never forget receiving the first intimation 
 that we were going to leave Boreham. I could point 
 out the spot, even now, where I stood at the time. 
 It was like awakening from a long and pleasant 
 dream. The thought of quitting the place of my 
 birth had never before crossed my mind. In child- 
 hood we have no comprehension of the vicissitudes 
 of life. We have not lived long enough to notice 
 the effects which time produces. We take for granted 
 that the old were always old ; and we fancy, though 
 we ourselves may grow bigger, we shall always still 
 be young. The illusion, however, is, at length, 
 destroyed ; and the price that we pay for the know- 
 ledge which we acquire is sorrow of heart. 
 
 It was in the year 1815 that we removed to 
 Kelvedon, into the house at the corner near the 
 public pump. 
 
 Soon after we came to reside at Kelvedon my 
 brother was sent off to an excellent boarding-school 
 at Epping. My father set a high value on educa- 
 tion ; and, as he never expected to be able to give 
 
A MEMOIR. 19 
 
 his children much property, he determined to give 
 them a good share of knowledge. 
 
 My sisters were sent as day-scholars to a superior 
 boarding-school in the village. It was kept by two 
 intelligent ladies of the name of Jane and Elizabeth 
 Cubbidge. 
 
 Being too young to go to school, my father, by 
 the aid of a little coercion, made me write copies, 
 and wear out my table book at home. In the 
 science of figures I made extremely small progress. 
 I had, even then, an unconquerable aversion to any- 
 thing like drudgery. The delight of my boyish days 
 was angling. The river and ponds in the neighbour- 
 hood of my father's mill afforded me ample scope for 
 this amusement, and much of my time was spent 
 in it. 
 
 In the year that we removed to Kelvedon occurred 
 the far-famed Battle of Waterloo. Many of the 
 troops that were there passed through Kelvedon on 
 their way to the place of embarkation for the Con- 
 tinent. The village was kept in a constant state of 
 excitement by the passing regiments, with their 
 martial music and trains of baggage-waggons. In a 
 few months they returned victorious ; but, oh, how 
 changed ! Their looks were jaded, their clothes 
 were shabby, and the numbers of wounded men 
 plainly told how dreadful had been the conflict. 
 
 I used, sometimes, to accompany my father when 
 he went out into the street to talk to the soldiers, 
 and heard them describe the great battle. I 
 remember one of them said he had been in many 
 engagements before ; but they were all child's play 
 
20 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 compared with it. The circumstances which I 
 have mentioned, together with the great topic of 
 the times, the downfall and flight of Napoleon, 
 all tended to excite my young and susceptible 
 mind. 
 
 I shall never forget the pleasant evenings that 
 we used to have at this period of my life. As soon 
 as my father reached his long tobacco-pipe, my sister 
 Ann and I used to sidle up to him, and say, " Do, 
 father, tell us a tale ! " " Stop a bit," he would 
 reply, " till I have lighted my pipe; " and, with that, 
 he would very deliberately begin to fill it with 
 tobacco, little by little, with all the art of a true 
 smoker ; and appeared to be considering what tale 
 to tell us. Meanwhile, we were watching him with 
 eager and impatient countenances, and fancied that 
 he kept us as long as possible in suspense. At 
 length his pipe was filled, and, taking a pipe-light, 
 he would slowly and thoroughly ignite the soothing 
 weed, and not till then would he begin. His tales 
 were sometimes laughable and sometimes serious, 
 but always interesting. 
 
 At the commencement of the year 1818, I was 
 sent to a boarding-school, about eight miles distant, 
 at Earl's Colne. It was kept by a minister in the 
 Society of Friends, named William Impey. I was, 
 without doubt, one of the best boys in the school ; 
 and so I ought, for, whatever my natural disposition 
 might be, I had excellent parents to train me up, 
 as the following letter from my father, while I was 
 at school, will evince : 
 
A MEMOIR. 21 
 
 " Kelvedon, Tenth Month ist, 1818. 
 
 ". . . . Above all, my dear James, I hope thou art 
 daily endeavouring to be a good boy; indeed I cannot sup- 
 pose thou hast forgotten, or wilt forget, the good advice 
 thy dear mother and I have often given thee, namely, 
 that as we are never for a moment out of the Almighty's 
 sight, so He knows all that we say and do ; and as He 
 loves those who love Him, so they may reasonably 
 expect His blessing who are careful not to offend Him 
 by saying or doing what is amiss, and who strive to be 
 thankful for all His favours. Among so many school- 
 fellows, there may, perhaps, be some who possibly, may 
 not have had the same watchful care over them which 
 thou hast had, or who may have slighted it ; do thou set 
 them a good example, and never associate or play with 
 a boy who does not fear to tell an untf uth ; and be sure 
 never to vex or tease any, especially those who are less 
 than thyself; and be always willing to forgive those who 
 have offended thee. Thus thou wilt seldom feel uncom- 
 fortable in thy mind, and we shall think it a blessing to 
 have such a son. 
 
 " I remain, 
 
 " Thy affectionate father, 
 
 " ROBERT HURNARD." 
 
 I insert the above letter as a kind of acknowledg- 
 ment of my parents' care over me. How well do I 
 remember shedding tears while reading it. In truth 
 I was a tender-hearted child. 
 
 To the care of my father and mother, in those 
 days, how much do I owe ! They taught me rather 
 by example than precept, and led me rather than 
 coerced me. I am grateful to them also, for not 
 
22 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 weighing down my young spirits with the drudgery 
 of acquiring unavailable knowledge. 
 
 Contrary to what would be the general opinion of 
 my fellow-men, and what might suit some characters, 
 I esteem it an advantage to me that circumstances 
 prevented me from going again to school. If I had 
 continued there, I should, probably, by tedious 
 industry, have become technically correct in the 
 usual branches of education, and then have been 
 driven forward into the unfathomable bog of Latin 
 and Greek, where my spirit would have been worn 
 out, and where, eventually, I should have foundered. 
 As it was, the world became my school, and in this 
 school I selected my own teachers and my own 
 studies. I might lose in point of rudimental accuracy, 
 but acquired larger views, sounder opinions, and freer 
 processes of thought, and my knowledge was less 
 reflected from books than radiated from actual life. 
 
 When I stepped once more into our cheerful front 
 parlour at Kelvedon, how warm was the greeting that 
 I received ! 
 
 I had not long returned when my sister Lucy asked 
 whether anyone had told me where they were going. 
 I replied in the negative. She then informed me that 
 we were likely to leave England: that we were going 
 to emigrate to America ! I was startled at this 
 intelligence, but not much displeased. The thought 
 of beholding new sights and scenes found a respon- 
 sive feeling in my heart ; and, if I was not delighted 
 with the prospect of wandering over sea and land, I 
 was anything but sorry that I was not to return to 
 school again. 
 
A MEMOIR. 23 
 
 The general distress of the times had induced 
 many persons about this period to emigrate to 
 America. It occurred to my father to expatriate his 
 family to the back settlements of that country, where, 
 according to popular report, it was less of a struggle 
 to live than in his native land. When my parents 
 contrasted their present difficulties and prospects 
 with the picture which they formed of the happiness 
 of settling down in a new country where the land 
 was cheap, and the soil was rich, and provisions were 
 abundant ; where there were no tithes, no taxes, nor 
 poor-rates ; where there was plenty for the time pre- 
 sent, and no anxiety for the future, they paused 
 they wavered they made up their minds to go. This 
 determination, however, was not arrived at without 
 fervent and humble supplications to the Guide of 
 the righteous and the Author of all good to direct 
 their steps aright, and to bless them in the way. 
 
 As my father intended to become a farmer in the 
 wilds of Ohio, he resolved to take a youth with him 
 as an assistant in the family. There was a young man 
 in the village, a native of Oxfordshire, who had a 
 brother at home who, he thought, would be glad to 
 go with us. He was accordingly sent for to come on 
 approval. Eventually it was settled that he should 
 accompany us ; and he was regularly bound appren- 
 tice to my father to learn whatever business he might 
 engage in. His name was Christopher Stopes. He 
 was about sixteen years of age. His father being a 
 farmer, he had been brought up in a way which 
 seemed to qualify him well to succeed in a new 
 country. At driving a bargain he was cleverer than 
 
24 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 most men, and felt himself, in short, equal to almost 
 any undertaking. 
 
 And now came the busy preparations for our 
 departure ; the packing up of three distinct kinds 
 of articles, some to use on board ship, some when 
 we landed, and the others when we were duly settled; 
 and then the sale of the remainder of our goods and 
 chattels. 
 
 I must here mention that my uncle, William 
 Clark, who was a tanner at Moulsey, finding that his 
 business did not answer, and having a large family 
 to provide for, had resolved to accompany us. My 
 father and uncle accordingly agreed to take one side 
 of the ship Thames, about to sail for New York, for 
 their party consisting of about thirty persons. And 
 now, having sent off our packages to London to be 
 stowed away on board the ship, and having taken an 
 affectionate leave of our relations, friends, and neigh- 
 bours, and we young ones having received a shower 
 of presents of books, knives, &c., we left Kelvedon 
 by the Coggeshall coach on the morning of the ist of 
 the Fourth Month, 1819. It was on the 4th of the 
 Fourth Month that we put off from Gravesend in a 
 boat to the vessel, and bade farewell to our native 
 land. 
 
A MEMOIR. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Voyage across the Atlantic Early adventures before settling. 
 
 EVERYTHING around us was new and strange ; and 
 the charm of novelty dispelled the sense of sorrow. 
 On climbing up the side of the ship I seemed to enter 
 a new world, where all was disorder, and the inhabi- 
 tants of which appeared to be a most motley race of 
 creatures. The anchor, however, was soon weighed, 
 the sails were unfurled, and we glided down the river. 
 
 It is difficult to describe the scene of confusion 
 which presented itself on going below into the steer- 
 age. It seemed almost filled with boxes and packages 
 of various kinds, some of which ought to have been 
 below in the hold ; others, at the same time, which 
 ought to have been left above, were below. Some of 
 the passengers were trying to find their boxes, others 
 were busy nailing up old curtains before their berths, 
 and others preparing their dinners. It was a rich 
 scene of confusion. Among our stores we had a 
 half-hundred of red herrings. They smelt rather 
 strongly, and one of the company proposed to " heave 
 them overboard." Some one of us, however, con- 
 trived to put them out of sight, and they proved very 
 acceptable afterwards. Our steerage was 34 feet in 
 length by 24 feet in breadth. Round the sides and 
 further end w r ere two tiers of berths, one above the 
 other, each large enough for two persons to sleep in. 
 Along the middle of the steerage boxes and packages 
 
26 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 were piled up almost to the ceiling, filled with stores 
 for the voyage, belonging to the various passengers. 
 Our steerage, therefore, was our bedroom, sitting- 
 room, store-room, and pantry ; and as there were 
 sixty occupants, the population was rather dense. 
 
 For the first few days we were most of us too ill to 
 go on deck much, or to pay a great deal of attention 
 to the English coast along which we were sailing. 
 The night of the 8th was very tempestuous. The 
 wind howled through the rigging, the waves dashed 
 over the vessel, and the holloaing of the sailors on 
 deck increased the terrors of the night. Some of our 
 timid passengers lay and trembled like mice. Every 
 now and then a ponderous wave would descend upon 
 the deck like a cart-load of gravel, while the berths 
 creaked, the tin-ware rattled, and some of the boxes 
 getting loose tumbled about the floor of the steerage 
 in disorder. Life at sea we found to be not altogether 
 a state of perfect happiness. Sixty of us being cooped 
 up in one room, which it was impossible to ventilate. 
 Setting aside sea-sickness, it is no wonder that our 
 appetites were not very good ; we relished almost 
 nothing. Potatoes and eggs were our principal food. 
 While we were in this dainty condition someone 
 happened to remember our half-hundred of red 
 herrings. They were soon produced and tasted, and 
 at once pronounced a great delicacy. Our neighbours 
 perceived the savoury smell, and soon begged to be 
 supplied with a few. No one now any longer pro- 
 posed to " heave them overboard." The demand for 
 our red herrings increased. The fame of them spread 
 far and wide, and, at length, reached the cabin. But 
 
A MEMOIR. 27 
 
 the supply was limited, and fast diminishing. Such 
 was the request in which they were held at last, that 
 when the steward of the cabin came a-begging, he 
 confined his request to the favour of half a herring! 
 
 The only fireplace on board was in the caboose, 
 or little kitchen on deck. As there were not only the 
 steerage passengers to cook for, but those in the 
 cabin also, as well as the sailors, it may easily be 
 imagined that there was considerable competition for 
 the use of the fireplace. The gentlefolks in the 
 cabin, and the crew of the ship, had everything pro- 
 vided for them by the steward and the cook, but the 
 poor steerage passengers had to fight their own battle, 
 and scramble amongst themselves for precedence. 
 
 As my own health had improved, I kept principally 
 on deck, and enjoyed, even thus early in life, the 
 grandeur of ocean scenery, and inhaled the pure air 
 with delight. 
 
 What glorious sunsets there are at sea ! Not the 
 beams alone, but the broad expanse of water, forming 
 together one grand spectacle, glowing and glittering 
 in the golden effulgence of the setting sun ! Not less 
 beautiful were the moonlight nights. 
 
 By the 25th we reached the banks of Newfound- 
 land. The scene which this dreary region presented 
 I shall never forget. The weather was boisterous, 
 the sea agitated and turbid, the air piercingly cold, 
 and the horizon contracted by a dull impenetrable 
 fog. One might imagine oneself arrived at the gloomy 
 confines of some unexplored ocean. 
 
 The 3oth was a fine blowing day. By holding 
 fast I managed to keep my seat on deck in spite of 
 
28 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 the tremendous rolls of the ship. While I was 
 sitting in a mood of idle contemplation someone 
 espied a vessel on the starboard bow. It had no 
 sail set and appeared to be rolling about at the 
 mercy of the wind and waves. The second mate 
 reached the telescope from the companion-way and, 
 after looking at the vessel through it for a few 
 moments, gave it as his opinion that it was in 
 distress. She was about half a mile off to windward 
 of us ; but no sign of any living creature was to 
 be seen on board. All eyes were intently turned 
 towards her when, suddenly, a man appeared on her 
 deck. It seemed that he saw us, for he instantly 
 took off his hat and waved it in the air. The effect 
 upon us was electrical, and we waved our hats 
 joyfully in reply. He presently disappeared again, 
 and the next time that the vessel was borne to the 
 top of the waves we perceived that there were three 
 others on deck. One of them was seen crawling 
 along the bowsprit and, in a short time, they contrived 
 to set their jib-sail. Meanwhile our captain had 
 given orders to back our own topsails ; and the ship 
 was laid to in order to await the strange vessel 
 which now drove towards us before the wind. It 
 was an anxious and exciting interval to us all. As 
 she approached us we observed the waves every now 
 and then sweep over her deck like a cascade. But 
 we were not long kept in suspense. She soon neared 
 us, and the first words that we heard from her crew 
 were, " We are going down ! " With considerable 
 difficulty the poor fellows were got on board our 
 vessel ; their own was then set adrift either to sink 
 
A MEMOIR. 29 
 
 or swim. The poor men were sickly nd half-starved, 
 and altogether in a wretched plight. 
 
 " Seventy days we have thus been tossed 
 In a leaky sloop with our rudder lost ; 
 Our food was salt beef and Indian corn, 
 No water we had, it had long been gone ; 
 But we spread forth a sheet whene'er it rained, 
 And what we wrung out was all we obtained." 
 
 " The Sloop in Distress." 
 
 The 2nd of the Fifth Month was a remarkably 
 fine day. We spoke a brig bound to Boston, laden 
 with dried fruits ; eighty-eight days from Trieste, 
 and forty-nine from Gibraltar. A little incident of 
 this kind is a highly interesting event at sea. 
 
 On the morning of the 6th several of us, myself 
 among the number, rose at daybreak in the hope of 
 seeing land. We saw the sun rise majestically, but 
 no land was to be seen. At nine o'clock, however, 
 it was discovered right ahead, lying like a dense 
 cloud along the horizon. The announcement diffused 
 universal joy. The morning was most beautiful, 
 and we were all in a mood to be happy. Emotions 
 of delight warmed and exhilarated every heart. We 
 were now soon to escape from our long weary ocean- 
 imprisonment, and before us lay the land of our 
 destination a world both new and strange. Mean- 
 while a fresh breeze bore us rapidly forward over the 
 green sea. A large number of coasting vessels were 
 in sight, and a pilot soon boarded us. Directly in 
 front was the entrance to the bay of New York, 
 while to the right stretched Long Island, and, on 
 
30 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 the left, the lovely highlands of Neversink, unfolding 
 fresh beauties the nearer we drew. We were highly 
 pleased with the appearance of the country along 
 which we were sailing. The scenery was rich, and 
 every now and then adorned with tasteful villas and 
 cheerful farmhouses. But the ship rapidly passed 
 onward, and, about three o'clock, we cast anchor 
 off the great commercial city of New York, after a 
 voyage of thirty-two days. 
 
 My brother having boasted one day that he was 
 the last off English ground, I had predetermined to 
 be the first who should set foot in America. I 
 managed to effect my object, but at the cost of a 
 reprimand from my father for my precipitancy. 
 
 Having taken up our abode in Pearl Street, we 
 proceeded to clear out our baggage from the ship. 
 The remainder of our store provisions were sold by 
 auction for a mere trifle ; and our packages were 
 shipped off to Philadelphia to be put into a ware- 
 house till we should be settled. The weather set in 
 wet and cold during this bustling time, and my 
 sister Lucy was taken ill. This was an awkward 
 and distressing circumstance, and occasioned us 
 some detention. My uncle, William Clark, took 
 lodgings for his family at another house. They left 
 New York before us, and proceeded to Morris Birk- 
 beck's settlement in Illinois, where they purchased 
 land and became farmers. I may add that, in going 
 down the river Ohio in an ark, they had the mis- 
 fortune to lose one of their little girls overboard. 
 She was a sweet child, and the melancholy event 
 cast a gloom over their opening career. Meanwhile 
 
A MEMOIR. 31 
 
 my father and mother made good use of their letters 
 of introduction, and were handsomely invited and 
 kindly entertained by several of the opulent in the 
 city, who were members of the same sect. 
 
 During our stay the Yearly Meeting of the Society 
 took place, and many persons from distant parts 
 were there. At one table at which my father dined, 
 he was placed next to a personage who had risen, 
 at an age beyond the usual term of human life, to 
 unenviable distinction. This man was Elias Hicks. 
 He was a minister in the Society who had adopted 
 Unitarian sentiments. He was a plain country 
 farmer, extremely simple in his dress, and affable in 
 his manners. In countenance he bore, it was said, 
 a strong resemblance to Washington. He was 
 greatly followed, and collected a large number of 
 adherents. 
 
 Eventually he effected a great and afflictive schism 
 in the Society, which shook it to its very foundation. 
 My father had considerable conversation with him 
 as they sat at dinner, and spoke to him, among other 
 things, about his preaching, and told him plainly 
 that if he were to go to England the Elders in 
 the Society there would not allow him to preach. 
 " Indeed ! " he retorted, " what would they do to 
 me ; would they hang me ?" This, doubtless, was a 
 dexterous allusion to the sanguinary laws of England. 
 My father told him, in reply, that they would not 
 hang him, but that they would transport him back 
 to his own country again. The old man, at parting, 
 kindly invited my father to visit him at his farm in 
 Long Island. My father, by thus mixing in society, 
 
32 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 acquired a knowledge of the people, and had the 
 advantage of hearing their disinterested opinions 
 with regard to his future movements. His friends, 
 rinding him to be a man of a social character, with 
 a gentlewoman for his wife, and having a family of 
 slim delicate-faced children, advised him strenuously 
 to give up his intention of going to settle in the 
 backwoods of the country. 
 
 On the 3ist of Fifth Month we left New York, 
 having been there upwards of three weeks. After an 
 agreeable journey we reached the beautiful city of 
 Philadelphia. There, as at New York, we boys were 
 very eager to see what was to be seen. We roamed 
 the place in all directions, admiring the handsome 
 houses with their fine marble steps, the plated 
 knockers on the doors, and the broad brick pave- 
 ment duly washed every morning, and coloured with 
 red ochre. We often visited the market, which, for 
 size and abundance of good things, I believe is 
 nowhere equalled in the world. 
 
 Having engaged cheap lodgings about seventeen 
 miles distant, at a place called Village Green, we 
 left Philadelphia, and about mid-day we reached our 
 destination. The house was a frame one, and stood 
 almost alone, " a little above the stars," as Joel 
 Swayne, our landlord, expressed it ; that is to say a 
 little further up the road than the inn called the 
 " Seven Stars." Altogether the place looked rather 
 forlorn ; but we were quite disposed to make our- 
 selves contented ; and we entered at once upon 
 American rural life. 
 
 Joel Swayne was a small farmer. He kept a horse 
 
A MEMOIR. 33 
 
 and cow; and it became my province to milk the cow. 
 Having, however, an abundance of leisure on our 
 hands, we employed much of our time in roaming 
 about the neighbouring woods and fields. 
 
 The weather had set in excessively hot, and we 
 boys soon adopted the practice of the country people 
 and left off our shoes and stockings. This practice 
 is one of the greatest luxuries of a warm climate. 
 Our feet were tender at first, and we often made 
 them bleed ; yet they soon hardened, and by sliding 
 them along we were even able to walk over a clover 
 field after it had been mown. If, in our rambles, we 
 came to a run of water, how refreshing it was to 
 dabble about in it till our feet were cooled, and then 
 pursue our way ! 
 
 Christopher was the proud possessor of a gun ; 
 and he took an early opportunity of showing us his 
 proficiency in the art of using it. 
 
 In our fishing operations, our success was unsatis- 
 factory. There was a mill-dam about half a mile off 
 which we used sometimes to visit. It was almost 
 encircled by woods, and was a lonely, sultry, dreamy 
 nook, where I have sometimes felt a sensation of 
 awe, mingled with fear, such as I never felt in any 
 other place. I believe it was partly occasioned by 
 the number of water-snakes which frequented the 
 place, of which we all had a great horror. We were 
 afraid to bathe because of them. 
 
 Having prepared two eel-lines, we laid them over- 
 night in the head water. Early in the morning we 
 hastened to see what we had caught. We began to 
 pull up our lines slowly, and were surprised to find 
 
 D 
 
34 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 that the ends of them were carried out of the water 
 and brought to the bank and buried in the mud. 
 However we pulled away at them, and, to our 
 astonishment, found that we had caught two large 
 terrapins, or water-turtles, commonly called snap- 
 ping turtles, from the unyielding tenacity with which 
 they bite. 
 
 Another adventure of ours I must not omit. One 
 fine day we took a walk in search of fox-grapes, to make 
 a pie with. These grapes are a kind that grow wild. 
 They are remarkably large and tempting to the eye ; 
 but very sour and nauseous. Their name, therefore, 
 is doubly significant. Well, having searched a long 
 time, we at length came to a field, at the farther 
 end of which we espied a bush overrun with a wild 
 vine. We hastened to it ; and, on peeping through 
 the leaves to discover if there were any grapes, we 
 were horrified to perceive a large black snake close 
 to us, suspended amongst the branches. We started 
 back a few steps in the greatest alarm, and ignorant 
 what to do. We had heard a great many frightful 
 stories about snakes, and we had a strong antipathy 
 to them. Christopher had his gun with him as usual, 
 and he resolved to fire ; but not being able to see the 
 snake where he stood, and, therefore, being uncertain 
 whether he had shot it, he was not satisfied without 
 giving it another volley. So he loaded his gun 
 again, and once more fired away at the bush. 
 
 We saw nothing of the snake ; and all was still. 
 After waiting awhile we summoned up resolution 
 enough to approach the bush and peep through the 
 leaves. To our great satisfaction there hung the 
 
A MEMOIR. 35 
 
 snake quite dead. We were afraid, however, to pull 
 it out ; but made the best of our way home, and 
 related our exploit. 
 
 By the next day our courage had revived enough 
 to enable us to go again to the place. We found 
 the snake in the same situation in which we left it ; 
 and, drawing it forth, carried it home in triumph. 
 It measured nearly five feet in length. 
 
 These black snakes are sometimes called racers ; 
 and I have myself seen them glide downhill with 
 astonishing rapidity. 
 
 In the meantime my father was busily occupied in 
 visiting a number of farms that were to be disposed 
 of in different directions. But he saw nothing that 
 quite pleased him. One objection to almost all of 
 them was, that the springs were always dried up in 
 hot weather. 
 
 At length, therefore, he set off for Susquehanna 
 county, a newly-settled district. After an absence of 
 about three weeks he returned well satisfied that it 
 would never do to take his family there. 
 
 It would take up too much of my space to relate 
 my father's various adventures during this journey. 
 His ride along the " Narrows," with mountains 
 towering above his head on one side, and the River 
 Susquehanna sixty feet beneath him on the other ; 
 how he dined at a house, and, falling into a pleasant 
 chat with the landlord, went away and forgot to pay 
 for his dinner; how he travelled through a burnt 
 forest twenty miles in extent ; how he lost his way 
 in the woods ; his adventure with an old woman, 
 who accommodated him with her little black tobacco- 
 
36 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 pipe in his utmost need ; how he was beset by land 
 speculators ; how he saw a log-house built in one 
 afternoon ; his meeting with a party of half-savage 
 hunters in the woods ; all these, and many other 
 matters, served, for years afterwards, to afford topics 
 for agreeable narrations over his evening pipe. 
 
 Although we were disposed to make ourselves 
 happy at Village Green, yet we underwent many 
 privations there. 
 
 We were badly off both for good bread, and also a 
 supply of fresh meat. We obtained the latter once 
 a week; but, owing to the intense heat, it would not 
 keep. Not the least of our privations was the want 
 of good water. Our own pump and the pumps in 
 the neighbourhood became dry ; we had, therefore, 
 to fetch it from a considerable distance. 
 
 The summer was now wearing away, when my 
 father heard of a farm for sale on the Delaware. 
 As he considered that the more he saw of the 
 country before he settled the better, and as the 
 farm lay in a district that he had not yet visited, he 
 resolved to go and see it. However, he was again 
 disappointed, for, though the farm pleased him well, 
 the owner had altered his mind about parting with it. 
 
 The day was intensely warm ; and, after walking 
 over the farm, 'through fields of Indian corn that 
 reached three feet above his head, where scarcely a 
 breath of air was stirring, he set off to walk to 
 Wilmington, on his way home. 
 
 At this town resided a certain Dr. Gibbons, a 
 member of the Society of Friends, whom he had met 
 with once, and who had invited him to his house 
 
A MEMOIR. 37 
 
 if he ever came that way. Weary as he was, the 
 country through which he was travelling pleased 
 him much better than any that he had before seen 
 in America, and when the handsome town of Wil- 
 mington burst upon his sight, he was taken with 
 pleasurable surprise. On the whole, my father was 
 so well satisfied with the town and his new acquaint- 
 ance that he resolved to take my mother there. 
 They were received with great kindness by their new 
 friends, and arrangements were soon made for the 
 removal of the family to this town. 
 
38 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Residence at Wilmington Typhus fever Death of Lucy 
 " Lucy's Grave" Illness and recovery of others Kind- 
 ness of sympathising friends Anecdotes of Quaker 
 ministers. 
 
 THE woods had begun to put on their autumnal 
 appearance when, without regret, we bade farewell 
 for ever to Village Green. We had hired a tilted 
 waggon for the occasion, which held our boxes and 
 ourselves on the top of them. In this style we pro- 
 ceeded on our journey ; and, after a rough ride, in 
 which we could see but little of the country through 
 the holes in the tilt, we reached Wilmington in the 
 afternoon. The town, at this period, contained about 
 six thousand inhabitants ; and, standing on a gentle 
 hill, presented a beautiful appearance. In front, in 
 full view, at the distance of about two miles, the 
 broad river Delaware rolled its vast waters. On 
 each side of the town flowed a smaller river, which, 
 winding through the meadows below, at length 
 united, and, after taking another graceful sweep, fell 
 into the Delaware. The principal thoroughfare of 
 the town, about a mile in length, extended over the 
 brow of the hill from one of these smaller rivers to 
 the other, each of which was crossed by a bridge. 
 As the spectator stands with his face towards the 
 Delaware, the one of these rivers which is on the 
 right is the Christiana, an ample stream capable of 
 
A MEMOIR. 39 
 
 bearing ships upon its surface, but turbid, dull, and 
 uninteresting, flowing through flat and marshy fields. 
 The one on his left is the Brandywine, a river much 
 smaller in volume, but incomparably more beautiful, 
 rippling through a wild region, and adorned with 
 rocky precipitous banks, covered with calmias, wild- 
 vines, and graceful forest trees. 
 
 Our house stood in the principal street, on the 
 highest part of the hill. It was, however, old and 
 dilapidated, and had been empty some time. From 
 the back of it we caught a view of the Delaware, 
 which made it more pleasant from the number of 
 vessels that were constantly passing. 
 
 Our friends at Wilmington were very kind in 
 welcoming us to our new abode. Before we had 
 purchased any chairs we had a company of friends 
 to tea. Boxes were arranged round the room for 
 seats, while a larger one answered the purpose of a 
 table, and very happy we made ourselves. It can 
 hardly be denied that there must have been some- 
 thing about the members of our family that attracted 
 favour. My father's and mother's entertaining and 
 unassuming qualities pleased the Americans, and, 
 accustomed as they were to emigrants from the 
 north of England, it was a frequent compliment 
 which they paid to us, that we talked as good 
 English as themselves. Above all, my sister Lucy 
 attracted admiration. Her fine features, her sim- 
 plicity of manners, and her good sense, improved 
 by education, made her a general favourite. On oui 
 part we were equally well pleased with our new 
 friends and with the town. We could now supply 
 
40 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 ourselves with every commodity that we wanted ; 
 and, as there were two markets in the week, pro- 
 visions were to be obtained in great abundance, and 
 extremely cheap. Having provided ourselves with a 
 little furniture, and having received our large store 
 packages from the warehouse in Philadelphia, and 
 added to our comfort by their contents, we now felt 
 ourselves settled for the approaching winter. 
 
 The cold weather had already set in when my sister 
 Lucy, whose health had for some time been delicate, 
 was taken unwell. A kind friend of ours, Lydia 
 Aldrich, happening to call, and finding that Lucy's 
 disorder did not yield to the usual treatment, felt 
 her pulse, and at once recommended us to send for 
 Dr. Gibbons. Being in a land of strangers, and 
 our house very incompletely furnished, we were ill- 
 prepared for sickness ; but so it was. Our friend 
 the physician soon came. On the following morn- 
 ing, she was evidently worse. In the course of the 
 day, perceiving herself that she was no better, she 
 said to her father, very emphatically, " Father, dost 
 thou think that I shall die ? " He replied, " My 
 dear child, I think thou wilt not ; I trust thou wilt 
 be spared to us awhile longer." She rejoined, " But 
 dost thou know I shall not die ?" He replied, " No, 
 I do not know : but if, my dear, it should please the 
 Almighty to remove thee from us, tell me, dost thou 
 feel peace of mind ? " She reflected awhile, and 
 then, in her diffident manner replied, " On looking 
 over my past life, I do not remember that I have ever 
 done anything much amiss ; but, father, is it wicked 
 to have bad thoughts ? " He told her, " No, except- 
 
A MEMOIR. 41 
 
 ing so far as they were given way to, then they 
 became sinful, but not otherwise." My father and 
 mother kneeling by her bedside, and weeping over 
 her, she proceeded, " I have prayed against them 
 from my infantile days I have prayed against them ; 
 but I am sensible I have not been so watchful as I 
 ought to have been, particularly in meetings. I am 
 almost too weak to pray ; do you pray for me." 
 After awhile she added, " I know the Almighty is 
 no respecter of persons, and that though our sins 
 may have been as scarlet, He can make them white 
 as snow." Then, throwing her arms out of bed, 
 and clasping her hands in an attitude of supplica- 
 tion, she exclaimed, " Oh, Lord God, look down on 
 me, a poor creature ! I think I should like to live 
 awhile longer, if it be Thy will, on my dear mother's 
 account ; on no other account would I desire it. I 
 think I am quite willing to leave the world, if I 
 might be permitted to enter one of those mansions 
 whose walls are salvation, and whose gates are praise ; 
 where the weary are at rest, and where the wicked cease 
 from troubling. Praise, honour, and glory, be ascribed 
 unto Thee, who art worthy, for evermore. Amen ! " 
 
 It soon appeared that her complaint was no other 
 than that dreadful one, the typhus fever. The dark 
 cloud of domestic affliction had indeed fallen upon us! 
 
 As soon as our friends knew that sickness had 
 broken out in our family, their warmest sympathies 
 were called forth on our account, and they displayed 
 the uncommon kindness of their dispositions. Some, 
 we knew not who, sent us bedding and other furni- 
 ture. 
 
42 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 Some kind friends sat up with our invalids, for by 
 this time my mother was laid up with an attack of 
 pleurisy ; while two others, whose names I shall 
 always hold in veneration, Lydia Aldrich and Mar- 
 garet Morton, came on alternate days to attend upon 
 my mother and sister. Our friend, Margaret Morton, 
 very nearly fell a victim to her generous kindness to 
 us ; she caught the typhus fever, and was brought so 
 low that her recovery was almost despaired of; but 
 she revived, and lived to favour us ever afterwards 
 with her friendship. 
 
 Often, when I look back on this period of my life, 
 and remember the kindness of these friends to us in 
 our deep affliction in a strange land, far away from 
 our relations and our former friends, my eyes over- 
 flow with irrepressible tears. 
 
 My sister Lucy soon became aware of the impro- 
 bability of her recovery. After a few days a stupor 
 came on. On the 8th of First Month the physician 
 perceived symptoms of approaching dissolution. One 
 or two of our friends were kindly with us to witness 
 the last sad scene. The little mournful company 
 around my sister's bed maintained now a solemn 
 silence, awaiting her last breath. That breath she 
 soon breathed. There was no struggle, not even 
 the discomposure of her beautiful and placid counte- 
 nance, and her joyous spirit was translated to the 
 world of rest. 
 
 But the season of affliction was not yet over. My 
 dear mother, distressed beyond expression at the 
 death of her eldest child her companion grew 
 increasingly ill. In a few days my brother sickened, 
 
A MEMOIR. 43 
 
 and it soon became obvious that he, too, was attacked 
 with typhus fever. He became rapidly worse, and 
 grew delirious. Meanwhile my father, worn with 
 grief, fatigue, and anxiety, exerted himself to the 
 utmost in watching and waiting upon them, allowing 
 himself no rest neither by day nor night, till his 
 strength became so exhausted that if he sat down in 
 a chair he instantly fell asleep. At this time the 
 weather was so intensely cold that, although blankets 
 were nailed before the windows and a large fire was 
 kept blazing, yet water froze in the sick room. It 
 was now my turn to be taken down with the 
 fever, and soon afterwards our Christopher. Our 
 attacks, however, were of a milder character. But I 
 will not prolong my painful narrative with further 
 particulars. Having had about three months of 
 severe domestic affliction, it was now that we were 
 getting better that our kind neighbours displayed 
 once more their sympathy and benevolence. They 
 inundated us with presents of good things. What- 
 ever was adapted to recruit the strength of invalids 
 was not forgotten. 
 
 Who is there that remembers his once happy fire- 
 side circle being first broken that remembers the 
 first inroad of death into his beloved family but 
 feels a response in his bosom at this recital of our 
 affliction ! 
 
 There is something in the first death in a happy 
 domestic group which casts around a peculiar melan- 
 choly. No one can tell what death is till its victim 
 is the beloved being at one's side. Every pleasant 
 recollection is then embittered by association with 
 
44 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 the memory of that beloved one who was and is not. 
 Every theme of family conversation leads to one 
 mournful subject, and every thought is tinged with 
 one pervading sorrow. Such was our case when we 
 once more collected around our social hearth, and saw 
 and felt that one of us was missing. In our sadness 
 we naturally looked back to our own country. We 
 suffered the more because we were in a foreign clime, 
 far away from our relations, and we felt an inexpres- 
 sible yearning for our native land. 
 
 Here may be aptly introduced a poem written by 
 him some years later : 
 
 LUCY'S GRAVE. 
 
 Far away o'er the turbulent wave, 
 
 Far away from this soft azure sky, 
 The breezes, around the sad grave 
 
 Of my Lucy, at evening sigh ; 
 Full oft to that grave, when on high 
 
 The pale moon shines pensively clear, 
 On the light wings of fancy I fly, 
 
 And shed o'er my Lucy a tear. 
 
 The same moon looks down on the place 
 
 Of her peaceful, but dreamless, repose ; 
 And the sun, at the end of his race, 
 
 His parting beam over it throws ; 
 The tall summer grass on it grows, 
 
 Gently waving when light winds arise, 
 And the night-hawk, at evening's close, 
 
 Hovers round it and plaintively cries. 
 
A MEMOIR. 45 
 
 And there, o'er my loved Lucy's grave, 
 
 In battle the thunder-clouds meet; 
 And round it the wintry winds rave, 
 
 And the merciless hurricanes beat. 
 Yet thy slumber, my Lucy, is sweet 
 
 As the spring flowers that over thee bloom, 
 And as silent and soft thy retreat, 
 
 As the light snow that falls on thy tomb. 
 
 Yes, my Lucy, far off is thy grave 
 
 From the scenes of thine infantile glee; 
 But though thou art o'er the wide wave, 
 
 Thou art ofttimes remembered by me. 
 For cold must my young bosom be, 
 
 And the powers of my memory slight, 
 If my love could e'er lessen for thee, 
 
 Or thy worth could grow dim in my sight. 
 
 But thy spirit is flown to the skies, 
 
 To those mansions from misery free, 
 Which are not for the brave, or the wise, 
 
 But the pure and the humble like thee. 
 And the thought is consoling to me 
 
 Thou art gone to that happier sphere ; 
 For this life is a billowy sea, 
 
 And every billow a tear. 
 
 Fare thee well, then, my Lucy, farewell ! 
 
 Long shall peace linger round thy last home , 
 While the night-hawk above seems to tell 
 
 Of her woe at thy premature doom. 
 The spring flowers shall over thee bloom ; 
 
 The breezes at evening shall sigh ; 
 And the moonbeams flow down to thy tomb, 
 
 From their beautiful fount in the sky. 
 
46 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 And the Brandywine, too, shall still flow 
 
 Down its rocks and green vales as of yore ; 
 And at night, when the winds cease to blow, 
 
 Thy requiem shall be its deep roar. 
 Fare thee well, my loved Lucy ! Once more 
 
 A long and a fervent farewell ! 
 May we meet, when my journey is o'er, 
 
 In the land where the purified dwell. 
 
 Several reasons rendered it desirable for us to 
 remove from the house which we now occupied. 
 We therefore hired a neat red-bricked house at the 
 corner of Wood and Tatnall Streets. To this house 
 we removed on the 25th of Third Month. A friend 
 observed to my father that there was now an excel- 
 lent opening for a school, as the master of a day- 
 school which was kept in a room belonging to the 
 Society was. going to leave. He applied for the 
 mastership, and was duly chosen. We opened the 
 school with four or five scholars, and, in the course 
 of a few months, we had thirty boys. 
 
 About this time my mind appeared to receive a 
 new impulse. I became exceedingly fond of reading. 
 My mother recommended me to read Falconer's 
 " Shipwreck." I began it ; and from that time I may 
 date my love of poetry. 
 
 Our Christopher had, all along, displayed ingenious 
 talents and uncommon ability in the art of bargain- 
 making. He was the leading spirit in our boyish 
 speculations. It is the custom of the American 
 housewives to make their own soft soap. It is 
 simply ley, from their wood ashes, boiled with 
 kitchen grease. The product is a beautiful jelly. To 
 
A MEMOIR. 47 
 
 make it come is a matter of skill, and many fail in it. 
 My mother tried and failed. Christopher asked per- 
 mission to try ; and was eminently successful. In 
 consequence he conceived the plan of making it for 
 sale. My brother and I entered into his scheme ; and 
 we soon opened a little trade. We bought a couple of 
 old oil hogsheads and made ley tubs of them ; and pro- 
 ceeded in our enterprise with boyish spirit. Though 
 our trade was small our profits were good. 
 
 An acquaintance, who was a shoemaker in the 
 town, kindly offered to instruct us boys in the art 
 of shoemaking, on condition that we never would 
 set up against him. As it seemed desirable to be 
 acquainted with a handicraft trade, we availed our- 
 selves of his offer ; and set to work resolutely with 
 our awls and wax-ends, and learned soon to make 
 shoes. As to myself, after practising the various 
 branches of the art, I made one pair of shoes wholly 
 with my own hands, which were sufficiently decent 
 for me to wear. Having completed my task I relin- 
 quished for the future all connection with leather 
 and lapstone. 
 
 It was, I believe, during the winter of 1821 that my 
 brother and I attended a number of familiar lectures 
 on '' electricity " and the "laws of matter." They 
 were delivered by Dr. Gibbons to his sons ; and he 
 kindly invited us to hear them, In order to imprint 
 them on our memory he repeated each lecture 
 several times. This plan was a good one; and, 
 being thus well grounded in the subjects, we derived 
 much advantage from our attendance. We acquired, 
 in this way, something of a taste 'for natural philo- 
 
48 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 sophy ; and the acquisition of every new taste is a 
 new source of enjoyment. 
 
 As the school brought us in a maintenance we 
 launched out in our expenditure so far as to hire 
 a mulatto girl as a servant. As we now lived in 
 the town we were more in the way of having casual 
 visitors. The Americans are a social people, and 
 use but little ceremony in their intercourse with 
 each other. It was no uncommon thing for us to 
 have several of our friends call upon us unexpectedly 
 of an evening to indulge in pleasant conversation, 
 and smoke cigars with my father. 
 
 I must not omit to describe one of our friends who 
 frequently spent an evening with us. His name was 
 Benjamin Ferris, a surveyor by profession. His 
 countenance beamed with intelligence and cheerful- 
 ness ; and his voice was musically sweet. In con- 
 versation he excelled all others that I have ever 
 heard. His very smile was electrical. There was 
 refinement in whatever he said ; yet there was 
 nothing of effort or affectation about him. In his 
 fascinating company hours passed away without 
 being noticed. While listening to him one might at 
 once give credence to those reported powers of con- 
 versation which are associated with the names of 
 Coleridge, Burns, and Savage. The society of such 
 a man could not fail to give a bias to my opening 
 mind. His sister Deborah, who was married to 
 Joseph Bringhurst, a chemist, and a friend of the 
 celebrated Robert Fulton, was the most extra- 
 ordinary woman with whom I was ever acquainted. 
 It was not, her person, however, but her mind and 
 
A MEMOIR. 49 
 
 manners, and powers of conversation, which distin- 
 guished her. She became my mother's most intimate 
 and valued friend. 
 
 Another of our visitors was William Poole, one of 
 the great Brandywine millers. He was a man of 
 extensive information, affable, and full of anecdote. 
 As a specimen I shall insert one which he told us 
 respecting Thomas Colley, who was, originally, a 
 drummer in the English Militia, and afterwards 
 became a minister in the Society of Friends, and 
 paid a visit to America in that capacity. While 
 travelling in that country he came to Richmond, in 
 Virginia, at which town he felt a religious concern to 
 hold a public meeting. There was no building in 
 the place so suitable for his purpose as the Hall of 
 Legislature, which was then sitting. As soon as it 
 became known to them that an English Quaker 
 preacher was desirous to have the hall to hold a 
 meeting in they adjourned their sitting and allowed 
 him to have the use of it. Several members of the 
 Legislature attended, and, among the rest, the gen- 
 tleman who related the following particulars. He 
 said that when he sat down in the meeting he felt 
 ashamed of himself for being there ; and he was still 
 more ashamed when the preacher rose, and he per- 
 ceived that he was a little, insignificant man, and, 
 evidently, uneducated. He thought it presumptuous 
 in Thomas Colley to pretend to come there to 
 enlighten them, who were men of education. He 
 hung down his head in order that he might not be 
 observed by any one present. He said that the text 
 of Scripture with which the preacher began was one 
 
 E 
 
50 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 that he had never been able to understand, and, 
 therefore, had disbelieved, It was this, " Except a 
 man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of 
 God." He was rather struck to hear Thomas 
 Colley pronounce this text ; and wondered what he 
 would make of it. At first the preacher spoke with 
 extreme slowness ; but as he proceeded with his 
 subject, and explained the text according to its 
 spiritual meaning, he waxed warmer and warmer, 
 till the gentleman began to be deeply interested in the 
 discourse. At length he ventured to look up at the 
 preacher; and he said that he could not help fancy- 
 ing that it was an angel to whom he was listening 
 and not a man. Somehow or other his tears, he 
 said, began to flow ; and on stealing a glance around 
 he observed that many of those about him were 
 affected in the same manner. It was an occasion 
 such as he had never witnessed before ; and, at the 
 conclusion of the discourse, he felt that he had been 
 enlightened and edified. As soon as the meeting 
 was over several of the legislative body who had 
 been present collected to discuss the merits of the 
 sermon. They had all been very much gratified 
 with it ; and it was proposed, and immediately 
 resolved upon, to make up a purse of money, and 
 depute one or two of their number to present it to 
 Thomas Colley, with a request that he would allow 
 his sermon to be printed. The deputation accordingly 
 proceeded to his tavern, where they were introduced to 
 the friend who travelled with him as his companion. 
 Having stated their business to him they were sur- 
 prised to be informed that the discourse, with which 
 
A MEMOIR. 51 
 
 they had been so much pleased, was preached with- 
 out premeditation, and that it was in vain to offer 
 money to Thomas Colley, as the ministers in the 
 Society of Friends never received any pay for their 
 sermons, except the " penny of peace." 
 
 Another of our frequent visitors was Evan Lewis, 
 a tanner by business, who was rather a prominent 
 character in the Society. He possessed an en- 
 lightened mind and extensive information ; and was 
 a warm philanthropist, and an especial friend to the 
 negro race. Evan Lewis, being a man of a social 
 disposition and fond of anecdote, we often had his 
 company. It is for the sake of another story respect- 
 ing an English Quaker preacher that I mention 
 him. The incident to which I refer is the account of 
 a visit paid by William Crotch to Cowper, the poet. 
 William Crotch was a man in very humble life, 
 and could scarcely read or write, but was a deeply 
 religious character, and possessed in an extraordinary 
 degree the gift of spiritual discernment. Being once 
 in the neighbourhood of Cowper he felt a religious 
 concern to pay him a visit. He accordingly went 
 to the house. A man-servant came to the door. 
 William Crotch requested to be introduced to his 
 master, but the servant replied that his master saw 
 no one, and he had strict injunctions not to admit 
 anybody. William Crotch was rather disconcerted 
 at this refusal, and he continued to urge his request ; 
 but still in vain. At length he said, " Go and tell 
 thy master that a poor creature like himself wishes to 
 see him." The servant carried the message in, and 
 presently returned with his master's permission to 
 
52 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 introduce the stranger. On entering the room where 
 the poet was sitting, William Crotch walked up to 
 him, and, without any other salutation, took him by 
 the hand, and sat down by his side. For one whole 
 hour they thus sat hand in hand, without speaking a 
 word. In relating the circumstance, William Crotch 
 said that during the time that they thus satin solemn 
 silence a clear conviction was afforded him of the 
 extraordinary purity of Cowper's mind. He at 
 length addressed the poet, and, having in this way 
 disburdened his spirit, he took leave of him, well 
 satisfied that he had obtained the interview. 
 
 William Crotch went to America, and in the course 
 of his travels paid a religious visit to the family in 
 which our friend Evan Lewis was a boarder when 
 he was a young man. Evan Lewis, at that time, 
 was rather a wild youth, and he had no inclination to 
 be present at the sitting, and he therefore absented 
 himself. William Crotch inquired whether all the 
 family were present. He was answered in the 
 affirmative. He, however, seemed rather dissatis- 
 fied, and made some further inquiry. He was then 
 informed that there was a young man who was a 
 boarder in the family who was not present. William 
 Crotch desired to have his company, and on being 
 sent for Evan Lewis rather unwillingly complied. 
 Knowing something of the character of William 
 Crotch, he trembled with apprehension ; and his 
 worst fears were soon realised, for the preacher 
 directed nearly the whole of his discourse to him. 
 When the sitting was over, William Crotch, as is 
 usual on such occasions, shook hands with all the 
 
A MEMOIR. 53 
 
 company. Evan Lewis was glad that the time of his 
 deliverance was come. He was disappointed, how- 
 ever, for William Crotch, on shaking hands with 
 him, said, " Young man, I have not done with thee 
 yet ! " 
 
 They accordingly had a private sitting, in the course 
 of which William Crotch addressed him in the 
 most extraordinary manner, as if he had known him 
 all his life, and had been the depository of all his 
 secrets. Evan Lewis assured us that William Crotch 
 mentioned circumstances to him which he had 
 thought nobody in the world knew of but himself. 
 The occasion was one never to be forgotten. 
 
 I have several times heard my father relate the 
 following anecdote. George Dillwyn, of Burlington, 
 New Jersey, U.S., was an eminent minister of the 
 Society of Friends at the beginning of this century. 
 He was very remarkable for his spiritual discernment 
 into the religious states of individuals, and other 
 mysterious mental impressions. On one occasion, 
 when sitting in the parlour with his wife, he suddenly 
 rose from his seat, took his hat, and seemed about to 
 go out for a walk. His wife attempted to detain 
 him. She told him that it rained (of which he 
 seemed to be unaware), and also said that it was 
 nearly dinner time. He replied that he must go. He 
 could not explain this feeling of necessity, but only 
 obeyed the impulse which he felt. His wife, there- 
 fore, fetched him an umbrella, and away he set off 
 along the street, without knowing what was his 
 destination. By and by he came opposite a house, 
 and felt prompted to open the door and walk in an 
 
54 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 act quite in accordance with the free and unceremo- 
 nious habits of the country. On entering the front 
 parlour he found two men, who appeared greatly 
 astonished to see him. He sat down by them in 
 silence, and then said that he had felt impelled toenter 
 that house, though for what purpose he could not 
 tell ; but perhaps they could inform him. They then 
 told him that they had been having an earnest dis- 
 cussion on the doctrine of a particular Providence. 
 One of them stoutly maintained this doctrine, while 
 the other as strenuously argued against it. The 
 dispute ran high between them. At length the latter 
 said that if Mr. Dillwyn were to walk into the room 
 at that instant he would believe the doctrine. He 
 had no sooner said the words than, said he, " you 
 came in." After this remarkable incident George 
 Dillwyn addressed them in an impressive manner, 
 and then took his leave. 
 
 Our present house being small, we boys had no 
 room to carry on our little manufactory of soft soap. 
 We therefore obtained the use of an old oil-house 
 close by. Having bought an iron boiler, we under- 
 took to fix it up in this place, and set to work with 
 the industry of so many ants. We got some brick- 
 bats, and made some mortar, and without, as far as 
 I know, ever having seen a boiler hung, commenced 
 operations. Having hung our boiler, we had the satis- 
 faction to find that the furnace drew remarkably well. 
 We now commenced soap making on a rather larger 
 scale, and we made money fast. As we had been 
 taught from early life not to spend it in cakes and 
 oranges, we became substantial little men. My 
 
A MEMOIR. 55 
 
 father was our banker, and in order to encourage us 
 he gave us good interest. Our soap-making business, 
 though small, was so profitable that the thought 
 occurred to my father to set up as a soap manufac- 
 turer. Although the school brought him in a living, 
 yet he disliked the occupation, and wished to intro- 
 duce his sons into some advantageous business. He 
 was a man who devoutly desired that all his steps 
 should be rightly directed. After much considera- 
 tion, therefore, in the present concern, he concluded 
 to proceed in it. 
 
 It was now autumn. My father in the meantime 
 had been to Philadelphia and bought ash tubs, iron 
 pans, and other apparatus, at a very low price. I now 
 finished my school-boy days, and with Christopher 
 was employed in many duties connected with the 
 business. My brother was too useful to my father in 
 the school to be often with us. The way in which we 
 commenced was to do a little business and do it well. 
 We made our commodities of excellent materials, 
 and sold our goods at reasonable prices, and thus 
 we procured customers. Our profits, nevertheless, 
 were large, and we soon began to prosper. 
 
 About this time we took into our family a little 
 foster child of about three years of age. Her name 
 was Grace Mitchell. Her mother had died and left a 
 family of eight small children, and, according to the 
 custom of the country, her friends took them into 
 their families to bring up, or else procured situations 
 for them elsewhere. In this instance the family of 
 the child were entire strangers to us. 
 
 At first little Grace preserved a complete silence. 
 
56 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 For a few days she hardly lifted her eyes from the 
 ground, and uttered not a word. She often sighed 
 deeply, and there seemed to be something that 
 weighed heavily on her little heart. But after a time 
 she brightened up and became a very pleasant addi- 
 tion to our family. Poor dear little orphan ! what 
 were thy feelings when thou didst find thyself among 
 strangers ? Was it the thought of thy dead mother 
 that saddened thee ? Thou wast a beautiful and an 
 amiable child ; and, when the sense of thy early loss 
 and infantine affliction had passed away, how did thy 
 young heart bound again with spontaneous happiness. 
 If thou art still alive, a blessing on thy head ! 
 
 The neighbourhood of Wilmington afforded great 
 facilities for fishing, bathing, and skating, as well as 
 shooting ; and we boys were not so bound down as 
 not to avail ourselves of them occasionally. Of 
 bathing and skating I was excessively fond ; while 
 the marshes below the town, along the banks of the 
 Delaware, which were frequented by immense flocks 
 of blackbirds and reed birds, were an irresistible 
 temptation to Christopher. 
 
 These shooting excursions remind me of a lively 
 little Frenchman of the name of Joseph Zambier, 
 who dwelt within a stone's throw of our house, who 
 was very fond of shooting. He was a blacksmith by 
 business, but had travelled far and seen much of the 
 mutations of human life. Originally he was a soldier 
 in the army of Napoleon, and had fought on the 
 burning plains of Egypt. He subsequently took up 
 his abode in St. Domingo. While he was residing 
 there with his wife the memorable and bloody Revo- 
 
A MEMOIR. 57 
 
 lution in that island occurred. At that dreadful time 
 of anarchy and massacre the whites were in the 
 utmost danger. In the confusion of the times poor 
 Joseph Zambier and his wife, while attempting to 
 make their escape, were separated, and each supposed 
 that the other was killed. His wife, however, managed 
 to get on board a vessel and reached Philadelphia, 
 where she went into service. She remained in that 
 city a year or two, as well as I remember. One 
 day, as she was sweeping the pavement before the 
 door of the house where she lived, a gentleman came 
 along, who, perceiving perhaps by the handkerchief 
 tied jauntily round her head that she was a foreigner, 
 stopped and inquired of her if she knew where a man 
 of the name of Joseph Zambier lived. She threw 
 down her broom in astonishment, and exclaimed, 
 " Can you tell me where he lives ? " The gentleman 
 replied that he worked somewhere in that neighbour- 
 hood, but he was not certain where. It was true. 
 He had escaped in another vessel and had reached 
 Philadelphia, where he had obtained employment as 
 a blacksmith. The poor woman, overjoyed at the 
 intelligence that he was alive, would not leave the 
 gentleman, but quitted her work and accompanied 
 him in search of her husband. With a little further 
 inquiry they found the shop where he worked. On 
 entering it, there was poor Joseph Zambier! The 
 hammer dropped from his hand at the sight of his 
 wife, and they flew into each other's arms. 
 
58 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Return voyage to England Violent storm A ship on fire 
 Safe arrival. 
 
 IT was in the autumn of the present year, 1824, 
 that a circumstance occurred which formed the com- 
 mencement of a new era in my life. 
 
 I was at work one day in the factory when my 
 father came over to say that I was wanted at home 
 as soon as I was at liberty. 
 
 I soon went over ; when my father had collected 
 us all in the parlour, he informed us of the death of 
 his Aunt Rebecca Barritt, and of a handsome legacy 
 which she had kindly left us. It was quite a scene. 
 We were almost bewildered with joyful amazement. 
 The absorbing thought which took possession of us 
 was, that we might now return to our own country. 
 It was true that we had an increasing business and a 
 fair prospect before us ; but we loved our own country 
 best ; we were able to return to it, and we soon made 
 our resolve. When our friends were informed of our 
 intended return there was a general feeling of regret 
 expressed. 
 
 We found but little difficulty in disposing of our 
 business ; and once more the time came round to 
 undertake the mighty task of packing up for a sea 
 voyage. 
 
 Our little foster-child, Grace Mitchell, had now to 
 go to a new home. We were sorry to part with the 
 
A MEMOIR. 59 
 
 dear little creature, and her friends would willingly 
 have allowed us to take her with us ; but it appeared 
 undesirable. 
 
 Having packed up everything that we intended to 
 take with us, then came the sale of the rest of our 
 furniture and effects. It proved a good one. 
 
 Being now without a home, our friends kindly took 
 us in for a day or two, which we occupied in paying 
 farewell visits. This was a sorrowful task. We had 
 been treated with great kindness by many of them in 
 times of affliction and distress, and the parting with 
 them was very painful. 
 
 The morning at length arrived for our departure 
 for Philadelphia in order to embark. 
 
 We took breakfast at the house of our friend 
 Joseph Bringhurst. A number of our other friends 
 met us here to accompany us to the steamboat, which 
 soon parted from her moorings, and ploughed her 
 way between the winding banks of the Christiana 
 into the broad waters of the Delaware. Wilmington 
 was long in sight ; and as we gazed upon it from a 
 distance, how many thoughts rushed upon our minds. 
 It was there that we had known such various vicissi- 
 tudes and adventures ; there our hearts had sunk so 
 low, and there our hearts had bounded so high and 
 joyously ; there, too, were so many that we loved and 
 valued, and there was Lucy's grave ! 
 
 On arriving at Philadelphia we paid a visit to the 
 ship Electra, in which we were going to sail. We 
 found the steerage was a small and wretched hole ; 
 and as our circumstances were now improved, we 
 agreed to take our passage in the cabin at the rate of 
 
60 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 100 dols. for each. For several days we were occu- 
 pied in preparing for our voyage, paying and receiving 
 visits, and going to see whatever was remarkable in 
 the city. Among other places we visited the spot 
 where grew the venerable elm-tree under which 
 William Penn made his Christian treaty with the 
 aborigines of the country. The day of our embarka- 
 tion was the 8th of the Fourth Month, 1824. 
 
 Some incidents of the home voyage may here be 
 quoted from the journal of his sister Ann : 
 
 " On the 22nd we experienced one of the most 
 sudden transitions in the weather that anyone on 
 board had ever witnessed. From the enjoyment of 
 a beautifully serene morning we were called upon to 
 experience one of the most awful storms. We were 
 seated at dinner, and Absalom, the mulatto cabin- 
 boy, who had been sent on deck to call our first 
 mate, came in haste with the intelligence that a 
 yard-arm was just snapped in two by the wind. 
 This was so very unexpected that Captain Robinson 
 instantly ran on deck to ascertain the extent of the 
 damage. It very soon began to rain, and continued 
 almost without intermission until about six o'clock, 
 when it ceased and we expected a return of fine 
 weather. We were seated at the tea-table waiting 
 for Captain Robinson, who was changing his wet 
 clothes. As he was doing so he perceived a sudden 
 alteration in the wind by the motion of the ship ; 
 and so imminent was the danger that he was obliged 
 instantly to go on deck without coat, hat, or shoes, 
 and remained without the latter for two hours. We 
 
A MEMOIR. 6l 
 
 were alarmed at the extraordinary motion of the 
 vessel. The wind howled with the utmost violence, 
 the sea raged, and the rain poured down in torrents. 
 I never before felt anything so awful. It seemed as 
 if old Ocean were determined to convince us of his 
 own power and our impotence. We were buried in 
 the deep and then lifted up on the pinnacle of a 
 mountain wave, where the vessel hung for a moment 
 and trembled like a leaf or a feather, and then again 
 plunged headlong into the fathomless abyss. The 
 loud roaring of the contending elements must be 
 heard to convey a correct idea. 
 
 " About ten o'clock Captain Robinson came down 
 for a few minutes. We congratulated him on his 
 safety. He said he believed we were now out of 
 danger. It was a most providential circumstance 
 that we had but two sails up at the time ; if we had 
 had one more he says he has no doubt but that the 
 vessel would have been lost. Captain Robinson has 
 crossed the ocean fifty-four times, and he says he 
 never witnessed anything like this for suddenness 
 and violence. 
 
 " On the 24th a small cloud of smoke was dis- 
 covered to the north-west of us. We were now in 
 lat. 42 20' ; long. 39 15'. Our second mate instantly 
 ran up the rigging and confirmed our suspicions by 
 the appalling cry of ' Fire ! ' 
 
 " The sound ran through the ship like an electric 
 shock, many supposing it to be our own vessel 
 on fire. It was about six p.m., the sky dark and 
 lowering ; we neared it rapidly and soon could plainly 
 distinguish that it was indeed a large ship on fire. 
 
62 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Oh, what was all that we had seen, all that we had 
 heard, compared with what we now saw ! It is 
 impossible to give an adequate description of our 
 feelings. Men were now sent aloft to look out for 
 boats, as it was beyond a doubt that the poor 
 unhappy sufferers were either already consumed, or 
 had taken to their boats, as the masts of the vessel 
 were burnt down. We could distinguish its hull 
 and distinctly smell the smoke. 
 
 " The vessel being now directly to windward of 
 us, the captain said it would be three hours before 
 we could approach nearer to it, as we must go con- 
 siderably beyond it, and so get on the other side. 
 It now began to grow dark, but we all thought, 
 improbable as it was that we could save the sufferers, 
 we ought to do all that lay in our power, and we 
 accordingly hung out a large light and bore away on 
 the other tack. We were, as near as we could 
 judge, about a mile from the fire at dark. All hope 
 of rendering the crew any assistance was now at an 
 end, and we contemplated this sublime but awful 
 spectacle with feelings indescribable. To be so near 
 the unfortunate sufferers and yet feel it impossible 
 to snatch them from such a dreadful death was 
 indeed distressing, and caused a deep and saddening 
 gloom to prevail amongst us all. We lay by a 
 considerable length of time, but it appearing to 
 Captain Robinson useless to wait any longer, he 
 reluctantly gave orders to spread the sails and pursue 
 our voyage, at the same time declaring that he 
 had used his utmost endeavours to save the lives of 
 the crew. We left the poor creatures to their fate, 
 
A MEMOIR. 63 
 
 sincerely hoping they had been picked up by some 
 other vessel. 
 
 " After our arrival we learned that the vessel we 
 had seen on fire was the Hannibal, from Virginia. 
 It was struck by lightning. Five persons perished. 
 The remainder, finding it impossible to save the 
 vessel, escaped in their boat, and were picked up by 
 a brig and carried to England. 
 
 " 2 f jth. Although it is such a sweet evening our 
 barometers, the noisy geese, prognosticate stormy 
 weather. We place great confidence in them as 
 they were very correct in the case of the memorable 
 22nd. 
 
 " $th of May. About ten a.m. we were gratified 
 with the intelligence that land was discovered from 
 the mast head the Scilly Isles at about nine 
 leagues distance. 
 
 " 6th. To-day we were greeted with the joyful 
 sight of old England, which appears like a little 
 streak of fine mist along the horizon. A great 
 number of vessels of all descriptions are sailing in 
 all directions. Although the evening is cloudy it is 
 one of the most beautiful sunsets I ever saw ; a large 
 crimson cloud, towering to a vast height, reflects a 
 bright glow over the whole surface of the water, and 
 we appear as if floating on a sea of gold. 
 
 " loth. At twelve o'clock we arrived at the Lon- 
 don Docks ; but while the vessel was in the act of 
 being towed round the corner the rope broke, and 
 before it could be replaced the tide became too low 
 to proceed, and we were obliged to cast anchor in 
 the middle of the river. 
 
64 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 " iith. Having all our parcels previously arranged, 
 we had nothing to do but to inform the officer, who 
 happened to be a very civil man, that we wished to 
 go ashore. He then came down and, slightly glancing 
 over them, told us we were at liberty. Our boatman, 
 fortunately for our escape from the officers on the 
 wharf, who no doubt would have ransacked our 
 parcels, rowed us as far as the Tower stairs, where, 
 to our great joy, we landed without interruption." 
 
 Thus after an absence of five years, all but a 
 few days, did we found ourselves once more in Old 
 England. Having no place of permanent settlement 
 in view, we removed from our London lodgings to 
 Henley ; and as we had no further need of the services 
 of Christopher, my father gave him up his inden- 
 tures, and he went home to his native village. 
 
A MEMOIR. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Return to Kelvedon Friendship with the Bowman family 
 Various early Poems : " When Friend meets Friend" 
 " My First Grey Hair " " From Grave to Gay " 
 "Hope" "Death of Martha" Death of his younger 
 sister " My Sisters." 
 
 IN order to make a little change my father took 
 a journey to Norwich with William and myself. 
 We visited the Mile-end house, in which Aunt Barritt 
 had lived, and also Hellesden Hall, beyond Norwich, 
 in which her ancestors had dwelt. On our return 
 through Essex we visited Boreham and Kelvedon, 
 the scenes of my childhood. Every object appeared 
 to be diminished about one-half in size, and though 
 it was very pleasant to see once more old faces and 
 places, yet there seemed a pervading dulness every- 
 where. 
 
 I must here mention an incident which happened 
 to myself, as it had, I believe, a permanent influence 
 upon me ; and it is, therefore, right that I should 
 record it. I was walking one day in a lane near 
 Henley, in a somewhat melancholy mood, when my 
 heart was suddenly warmed with a divine influence. 
 It seemed as if a holy glow pervaded my inmost soul. 
 It was, I believe, a manifestation of the love of God 
 to me. I felt His kindling presence, and, as I stood 
 
 F 
 
66 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 and leaned against a gate, tears of mingled joy and 
 sorrow flowed from my eyes. 
 
 I believe that all are blessed with similar divine 
 visitations ; and it is well if they are looked back 
 upon as promptings to virtuous conduct in the time 
 of temptation, and as sources of true consolation in 
 the days of adversity. 
 
 After awhile we removed to Kelvedon, to which 
 place we seemed more attached than to any other. 
 Having but little to engage my time and attention I, 
 at this time, by way of occupation, made a vigorous 
 incursion among our books. Among other works I 
 read the " Spectator," and also Beattie's " Minstrel," 
 which had once been a task to me, but was now a 
 delightful employment, for my mind had begun to 
 expand. 
 
 My principal favourites, however, were Johnson's 
 " Lives of the Poets," and Blair's " Lectures on 
 Rhetoric," &c. These I studied with profound 
 interest. The " Lives of the Poets " inflamed my 
 ambition, while Blair's " Lectures " seemed to embody 
 principles and illustrations which already existed in 
 my mind. They seemed, as it were, to call into 
 life and activity my latent knowledge, and render 
 palpable what before was unperceived. In the spring 
 we resolved to make another move. The dear old 
 corner house, which we left when we went to America, 
 was vacant. We accordingly hired it, and thus, 
 after all our wanderings and adventures, we returned 
 to the very spot from which we had set out. 
 
 There was at this time living at Kelvedon an 
 ancient lady of the name of Elizabeth Day. She 
 
A MEMOIR. 67 
 
 was a sprightly old-fashioned dame, with never a 
 gray hair in her head. This cheerful old lady had 
 a family of grand-daughters of the name of Bowman, 
 some of whom always lived with her. With this 
 family especially we young folks formed a close 
 intimacy. Their youngest brother Alfred had been 
 my schoolfellow at Colne, and was now in a mercer's 
 shop at Ipswich. He frequently came to see his 
 sisters, and, as we were about the same age, our 
 boyish acquaintance was renewed and ripened into 
 sincere friendship. 
 
 When friend meets friend, how time glides on ! 
 
 How swiftly steal the hours away ! 
 
 The heart forgets each tiny care, 
 
 And warmly beats with bounding play; 
 
 The sparkling eye, and cheerful brow, 
 
 And beaming smile that hour attend 
 
 That happy hour of social joys, 
 
 The happy hour when friend meets friend. 
 
 The blackbird loves the close of day ; 
 The skylark loves the morning dawn ; 
 The nightingale the hour loves best 
 When other birds to sleep are gone ; 
 The schoolboy loves the hour of play ; 
 The swain the hour his labours end; 
 But oh ! give me that happy hour, 
 The happy hour when friend meets friend. 
 
 My friend Alfred Bowman and I were somewhat 
 similar in our tastes and pursuits, and when he was 
 away we carried on a frequent correspondence. We 
 
68 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 compared and corrected for each other our efforts 
 in rhyme, exchanged sentiments on distinguished 
 authors, and thus derived mutual instruction, and 
 improved ourselves in the art of composition. 
 
 I wrote several minor pieces about this time, one 
 of which I have preserved. It is as follows. I 
 must, however, premise that this poem, and others 
 which I may hereafter insert, have received cor- 
 rections more or less since they were first written. 
 
 ON MY FIRST GREY HAIR.* 
 
 The mossy well, the trembling tower, 
 The rainbow through the misty shower, 
 The autumn's drooping, withering flower, 
 All alike this truth display, 
 Art and Nature's works decay. 
 
 This silvery hair, untimely guest, 
 Like snow upon the summer's breast, 
 Awakes in me sad interest. 
 
 While I gaze it seems to say : 
 
 Man must also pass away. 
 
 Since, then, proud towers, by Time decayed, 
 Must bow to earth ; all nature fade ; 
 And man must in the grave be laid, 
 
 Reason and Religion say : 
 
 Prepare for an eternal day. 
 Fifth Month 6th, 1825. 
 
 * His hair began to turn grey about the age of sixteen. 
 
A MEMOIR. 69 
 
 FROM GRAVE TO GAY. 
 
 Some centuries ago, in the days of the fairies, 
 
 When monarchs indulged in the strangest vagaries, 
 
 And people did likewise, there lived an odd king, 
 
 Whose whims and whose ways I am going to sing. 
 
 There never was seen such a comical fellow, 
 
 He dressed in all colours, blue, purple, and yellow. 
 
 Now he sailed in the air, now rode in a carriage, 
 
 For whatever he did he could not disparage 
 
 His title or fame. This seems strange in your sight, 
 
 But Jiis doing a thing made it proper and right. 
 
 His power was despotic o'er his whole jurisdiction, 
 
 Yet his people had for him a strange predilection. 
 
 For whatever he ordered, however outrageous, 
 
 Was promptly obeyed by all sexes and ages ; 
 
 And once he commanded, as a stretch of his might, 
 
 Folks should sleep in the day and be up all the night. 
 
 This made them all wonder, yet glad to obey, 
 
 They crept out at midnight, and snored all the day. 
 
 He made many such laws, which I need not here mention, 
 
 Because to repeat them would be a detention. 
 
 But if he had ordered that all who perambulate, 
 
 Each, instead of his ten toes, should walk on his pate, 
 
 I suppose that the folks would have quickly obeyed, 
 
 And each tottered forth on his hands and his head. 
 
 Though so strange in his ways, yet by all he was loved, 
 
 At least he was followed, though by some not approved. 
 
 But admired or not, he had little to fear, 
 
 Since the loudest against him trod close in his rear. 
 
 By two things he was known ; he was partial to ladies ; 
 
 And to please any whim never cared about pay-days. 
 
 I have finished my picture, and faithfully dressed him. 
 Some, perhaps, from this sketch will be fit to detest him, 
 
70 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Will be anxious at least to be told of his name, 
 Ere they laugh at his whims or incautiously blame. 
 Then I'll say what they call this droll king of the nation 
 His real name is Folly, his true name is Fashion. 
 
 STANZA. 
 
 How sweet is night, and sweet night's blushing Queen 
 As forth she moves majestic, calm and slow, 
 Augustly riding o'er the blue serene, 
 And gilding nature with a tranquil glow ! 
 How breathlessly the wide world sleeps below ! 
 Clouds 'neath her path in rugged grandeur lie, 
 Like mountains crowned with everlasting snow, 
 While stars hang forth their torches in the sky, 
 And strew their pearly beams o'er heaven's broad canopy. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Look at her cheerful brow, 
 Her locks that lightly on her shoulders lie, 
 
 Her mantle dipp'd in snow, 
 And the quick lustre of her dark blue eye. 
 
 Hope ! lovely maid divine ! 
 Delusive tho' the world may say thou art, 
 
 Thee I will ne'er resign, 
 Thou sweet consoler of the woe-worn heart. 
 
 The fields with flowers array'd 
 Exult in beauty only for awhile ; 
 
 But thou, delightful maid, 
 Alike all seasons, thou dost ever smile. 
 
 I'll call thee, then, mine own 
 Hope ! thou young wanderer from the starry skies; 
 
 Come, make my breast thy throne, 
 And when I weep wipe thou my tearful eyes. 
 
A MEMOIR. 71 
 
 The principal part of my spare time I continued to 
 devote to the correction of an epic poem. But when 
 I had gone through about half of it, a change came 
 over me which put a stop to my labours. Strong 
 religious convictions possessed me that it would be 
 wrong for me to proceed in this employment. These 
 convictions, I believe, in part arose from the circum- 
 stance of a religious visit which was paid to us by 
 my former schoolmaster, William Impey, a devout 
 man, who was a minister in the Society. In his 
 communication to me he laid great stress on the 
 necessity of my giving up my " delectable things," 
 in order to obtain divine favour. After much reflec- 
 tion, I came to the conclusion that it was wrong for 
 me to employ my time in the composition of a poem 
 which related events as facts which, in truth, never 
 took place. Under this impression I felt it to be my 
 duty to destroy my poem, and I therefore burnt it, 
 only reserving a table of its contents and a few 
 extracts, which I thought might prove of service at 
 some future time. This was a severe trial of prin- 
 ciple to me, for I doted much on my epic. But 
 though I have since come to the belief that the 
 argument against the use of fiction is not in all 
 cases to be maintained, and though, in this particular 
 instance, I consider that it was not sufficient, seeing 
 that the poem was intended to illustrate that great 
 moral, the impolicy of war, yet I have never regretted 
 that I made the sacrifice, for this simple reason, that 
 I believed it at the time to be a point of duty. In 
 future, if I be ambitious, let it be to do good, and if 
 I be honoured, let it be for the good that I have done. 
 
 Whilst I was thus versifying with an industry 
 
72 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 and ardour which few could surpass, my thoughts 
 and feelings were agitated by passing events, which 
 deeply affected my enjoyments. 
 
 The family of the Bowmans, with whom we were 
 so intimate and for whom we entertained such a 
 sincere friendship, gave up housekeeping this sum- 
 mer, and left Kelvedon. 
 
 Perhaps I may as well in this place anticipate 
 the future, and relate the short remaining history 
 of Martha Bowman, my especial friend. She married 
 Benjamin Donbavand, of Pontefract, had one child, 
 and, shortly afterwards, died of consumption. Her 
 husband, in about a year, followed her to the grave. 
 I did not hear of the death of my lamented friend till 
 the day of her funeral. I lay awake that night and 
 composed the following verses on the melancholy 
 event. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MARTHA. 
 
 The canopy of night is flung far over earth and sky, 
 And here and there a lonely star gleams faintly from on 
 
 high ; [north, 
 
 The sullen clouds, in many a fold, hang o'er the gloomy 
 And winds from their unknown abodes come wildly 
 
 whistling forth. 
 
 This midnight hour will I consign to grief for one no more, 
 Whom once I knew, as well as loved, in days that now are 
 
 o'er, 
 In years when pleasures circled me, and flowers my path 
 
 o'erspread, 
 And day-dreams of delight were mine that with those 
 
 years are fled. 
 
A MEMOIR. 73 
 
 They tell me she has died, oh, yes ! they tell me she has 
 
 died, 
 That gentle one who oftentimes has wandered by my 
 
 side, 
 
 Who often has admired with me, in days and years gone by, 
 The hill and vale, the moon and stars, the pomp of earth 
 
 and sky. 
 
 To-night, to-night, the chilly earth is her untimely bed, 
 The curtains of the grave, alas ! are drawn around her 
 
 head, 
 And those illumined eyes are quenched, that sparkled 
 
 once with glee, 
 And hushed are those expressive lips whose music flowed 
 
 for me. 
 
 Oh spirit ! wheresoe'er thou art, the object of my love, 
 Whether thou wing'st thy way unseen to happy realms 
 
 above, 
 Or walk'st the courts of heavenly bliss, or sit'st in sacred 
 
 bowers, 
 Where angels wreath their holy harps with amaranthine 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 Or whether, as a guardian saint, thou flittest here unseen, 
 And visitest thy favourite spot and scenes where thou hast 
 
 been, 
 Or dwell'st in one of yon bright stars, those stars which 
 
 we have guessed 
 Might be. perchance, the sweet abodes and mansions of 
 
 the blest ; 
 
 I know thou wear'st a crown of bliss wherever thou 
 
 may'st be, 
 For crowns of bliss to those are given who live and die 
 
 like thee ; 
 
74 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 But I shall mourn while others laugh, and sigh among 
 
 the glad, 
 To think these eyes no more shall greet the friend that 
 
 once I had. 
 
 Here let me pause a moment, while I take a part- 
 ing glance at the compositions of my early days. 
 They give, I acknowledge, but little promise of 
 future excellence ; but to those who love to trace the 
 current of the mind they will not be without interest. 
 It may be observed that many of them are serious in 
 their character. My mind, in truth, was deeply 
 imbued with religious principles. My spirit panted 
 to get free from the thraldom of human nature, and 
 luxuriate, as it were, amidst the holy and the pure. 
 I was ambitious of distinction, but I earnestly desired 
 to render this passion of my mind subordinate to the 
 superior concernment of a preparation for a future 
 state of being ; and, as such a passion was infused 
 into my nature, I sought to direct it into worthy 
 channels, and to make it subservient to noble pur- 
 poses. 
 
 A subject which deeply engaged our thoughts at 
 this time was the declining health of my sister Ann. 
 It was evident to all her friends, although we our- 
 selves could hardly see it, that she was gradually 
 sinking in a consumption. I frequently took her a 
 little drive ; but neither this, nor the prescriptions of 
 her doctors, arrested the progress of her lingering 
 complaint. 
 
 On the night of the 6th of the Second Month my 
 father came to summon my brother and myself to her 
 
A MEMOIR. 75 
 
 death-bed. My sister was quite sensible, but a great 
 change had come over her. She, whose lips were so 
 unused to speak on the subject of religion, whose 
 piety, like a vestal flame, burnt secretly in the sanc- 
 tuary of her own heart, now, on the verge of the 
 eternal world, cast aside her natural reserve, and 
 opened her dying lips in devout ejaculations, and, in 
 sacred humility, put up her last prayers to the great 
 Author of her existence, before whom she was about 
 to appear. 
 
 The awfulness of a death-bed scene is a reality 
 in a world of shadows which experience alone can 
 make men comprehend. 
 
 Many and bitter were the tears which I shed that 
 memorable night. 
 
 Sometimes her spirit seemed already to have 
 entered on the fruition of heavenly joy. " Oh 
 eternity ! " she whispered, " Eternity, what is it ? " 
 " I fancy I hear the sound of music not earthly 
 music." " Oh how delightful to sink to glory ! " 
 
 Having repeatedly bade us farewell, she at length 
 once more sweetly said, "Farewell all;" then closing 
 her eyes she lay still as if she were falling into a 
 peaceful slumber. A solemn silence intervened for 
 about a quarter of an hour, and then her spirit gently 
 passed away. 
 
 The funeral took place at Kelvedon on St. Valen- 
 tine's day, and the attendance was large. The snow 
 fell heavily on the coffin as we stood round the grave 
 of my sister, and a prayer arose in my heart that my 
 end might be as peaceful as hers, and my portion in 
 the world to come as glorious. 
 
76 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 MY SISTERS. 
 
 I had two sisters in my youth, 
 Before I knew their worth and truth 
 Lucy and Ann. Early they died, 
 But not unloved, unwept, unsighed. 
 But those that loved, wept, sighed, alas ! 
 Mostly, like them, sleep 'neath the grass. 
 My mother, chief of all, whose heart 
 Ceased never to endure the smart, 
 Till death drew nigh, his seal to place 
 On her so fair angelic face. 
 
 From one paternal stock they came, 
 Their early nurture was the same, 
 And yet they were unlike. Their lot 
 Was cast together in one spot ; 
 Both nestled softly in one bed, 
 Both from one porridge-bowl were fed, 
 Both heard one clock proclaim the hours, 
 Both grew amidst the self-same flowers ; 
 Yet Nature gay, capricious, bold 
 Fashioned them in a different mould, 
 In form and character and mind. 
 Nature is wise, 'tis we are blind. 
 But there was mystery deeper still, 
 A mystery woven, as with skill, 
 Into the tissue of their fate 
 Which who shall solve ? For, strange to state, 
 The maladies from which they died, 
 These two anomalies supplied. 
 Each was the contrast, in its course, 
 Of her who sank beneath its force. 
 A strange and marked antithesis 
 Twixt life and death was surely this. 
 
A MEMOIR. 77 
 
 But though their deaths had each this type, 
 Yet both alike for heaven were ripe. 
 
 My sister Lucy was " a mild, 
 A sweet, engaging, charming child; " 
 And thus she grew to full seventeen, 
 A tall meek girl of gentle mien. 
 Oval and shapely was her face, 
 Of rosy brown, in which the grace 
 Of thoughtfulness prevailed. Her eyes 
 Were hazel, wherein beauty lies ; 
 Her voice was rich, distinct and slow, 
 Coming from tranquil depths. We know 
 Voices, like faces, never match; 
 But both possess the power to catch 
 And fascinate the observer's heart, 
 And hers succeeded without art. 
 As flowers exhale their perfumes, so 
 A sense of goodness seemed to flow 
 As from her presence ; and she stood 
 Erect, the rose of maidenhood. 
 All but for one small fault or foil, 
 For faults like hers improve not spoil. 
 Her dark hair was of curlless grain, 
 Inflexibly, yet meekly plain, 
 The type of an enduring will, 
 Of suffering, yet of conquering still. 
 
 The times were adverse. Wasteful wars, 
 Harsh Government, restrictive laws, 
 Had crushed the springs of trade. Around 
 Seditious cries burst from the ground ; 
 And hungry men, and women too, 
 Were both mowed down on Peterloo. 
 Like many more our little band 
 Launched forth to seek a happier land 
 
78 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Across the unmeasured sea. Our helm 
 Towards Washington's enfranchised realm, 
 Guided our bark. Erelong we found 
 A shore with peace and plenty crowned, 
 The breastwork of a mighty sea 
 Formed to be free and to set free ; 
 An empire rising from the main, 
 Like a young eagle from the plain, 
 And soaring Westward ! In that land 
 We found the stranger's helping hand 
 And loving heart but not a home. 
 They who to distant regions roam 
 Alone can tell, midst fairest scenes, 
 All that the word " home-sickness " means. 
 
 We dwelt beside the Delaware, 
 The broad and surging Delaware, 
 Where ships from England stemmed the tide 
 In flying jib and topsail pride, 
 Bringing the news from distant parts, 
 And love from long-divided hearts. 
 
 The Indian summer, with its calm 
 And hazy air, and breathing balm 
 A sylvan carnival the old 
 And sober forests dressed in gold, 
 Purple and saffron all had passed, 
 And idle winter came at last, 
 Freakish, and full of uncouth play, 
 Acting the chandler on his way. 
 Keen was the cold ; while from some high 
 And temperate region of the sky, 
 The rain came down, and, as it fell, 
 It froze as by some mystic spell, 
 Whate'er it touched, converted it 
 Into a diamond tissue, fit 
 
A MEMOIR. 79 
 
 For fairy palace, bright, but cold ; 
 The house, the barn, the forest old, 
 Were cased in ice ! Each tiny twig 
 Grew, with the slow accretion, big ; 
 The leafless, yet o'erladen trees, 
 Surging and swaying in the breeze, 
 Bent their proud heads. Even the oak 
 Beheld his limbs bowed down and broke. 
 The horseman in the forest drear, 
 When the wind rose, beheld with fear 
 The ponderous boughs, with crashing sound, 
 Hurled bright and shivering to the ground; 
 And spurred his steed to quit with haste, 
 The precincts of the spectral waste. 
 
 While thus the Frost-king fixed his hold 
 On flood and field, on wood and wold, 
 Our Lucy faced a sterner king ! 
 She lived just long enough to bring 
 Admirers round her, though perchance 
 Unconscious of the admiring glance. 
 And then we lost her ! Her complaint 
 Was raging fever. She, the saint 
 Of more than human meekness, fell 
 Beneath the furious scourge. How well 
 Do I remember yes, e'en now 
 Her burning cheek and anguished brow. 
 Yet was her pure and tranquil mind 
 Alike to life or death resigned. 
 'Twas for her mother's sake alone 
 She wished to live not for her own. 
 
 Two kings strove o'er her day and night, 
 The Frost-king, armed with direful might, 
 Into her very chamber came, 
 Despite the wood-fire's potent flame ; 
 
80 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 But though thus fiercely he assailed, 
 The King of Terrors, He prevailed ! 
 
 A group of loving friends stood round 
 Her mean, uncurtained bed. No sound 
 Was heard ; but every tearful eye 
 Was fixed on her. We watched her die 
 Gently unconsciously as though 
 A bubbling brook had ceased to flow ! 
 And when her spirit was dismissed, 
 Her moveless lips we stooped and kissed. 
 
 A winding sheet of snow was spread 
 O'er nature, when to her last bed 
 Lucy was borne an emblem just 
 Of her who now returned to dust. 
 
 She sleeps beside the Delaware, 
 The broad and surging Delaware ! 
 Whence ships to England speed their way, 
 With gallant hearts and streamers gay. 
 But she, whose grave is on that shore, 
 May see her native land no more ! 
 
 Younger by four revolving years 
 Than Lucy child of smiles and tears 
 W T as my fair sister Ann ; a girl 
 Unfit for life's unfeeling whirl ; 
 Of temper quick, and yet a maid 
 Of Spartan courage, not afraid 
 To go at evening-hour alone, 
 When a mere child, to bring a bone 
 From the dim charnel-house that stood 
 Behind the village church. The wood 
 The flowery fields, she loved to pace ; 
 None could outstrip her at a race : 
 And, in that distant foreign land, 
 Barefoot, amidst the burning sand, 
 
A MEMOIR. 8l 
 
 She wandered wild ; or on the mead 
 Captured and rode the unsaddled steed. 
 She lavished many tender thoughts 
 On animals of various sorts. 
 She tamed them with instinctive skill, 
 And made them docile to her will. 
 But bards and heroes most of all 
 Held her romantic mind in thrall. 
 Once with another laughing elf 
 (Doomed to die early like herself) 
 She sought the fortune-teller's door 
 To profit by her mystic lore. 
 She promised her a Valentine. 
 Too true, O, Grave ! for she was thine ! 
 
 With years and growth there also came 
 Development of mental frame; 
 And impulses for good or ill 
 Strove for the mastery of her will. 
 Fierce wars disturbed her inner life ; 
 But goodness triumphed in the strife. 
 
 Five changeful years elapsed. Again 
 Homewards across the Atlantic main 
 Midst howling storms our course we bore, 
 Quitting that friendly, foreign shore 
 With many fond regrets. We left 
 While wood and field were still bereft, 
 By winter's long protracted sway, 
 Of every tinge of green. O, day 
 Of rapture ! day of pure delight ! 
 At last old England blessed our sight, 
 Clothed in that flush that summer yields 
 Of emerald beauty with the fields 
 Golden with buttercups and trees 
 Waving their young leaves in the breeze, 
 
 G 
 
82 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 While merry skylarks, on the wing, 
 
 " Welcome to England ! " seemed to sing. 
 
 Near by the German Ocean's shore, 
 Amidst her childhood's scenes once more, 
 New modes of life, new trains of thought 
 Their changes in my sister wrought. 
 Modelling herself by those around 
 Her proper bearing soon she found. 
 Her vaulting spirit sought to soar 
 As high as others. In the lore 
 Of books she feasted. Science drew 
 Her feet fresh labyrinths to pursue. 
 And thus, ere long, a woman grown, 
 Amongst the fairest forth she shone 
 Perfect in symmetry. Not tall, 
 But round of form. Her head was small 
 But firmly set upon her fair 
 And graceful neck. Her auburn hair 
 Flowed in luxuriant folds. Her face 
 Was pale, as of the lily race. 
 
 Romantic girl, too soon she found 
 The path she trod was hollow ground ; 
 That life was not what fancy told ! 
 That all that glittered was not gold ! 
 Ardent, true-hearted, soon she learned 
 That one, o'er whom her soul had yearned 
 A female friend of brilliant powers 
 The confidante of social hours 
 Full of professions of regard 
 Was false at heart ! The blow struck hard. 
 My sister's soul, thus rudely woke, 
 Recoiled within her at the stroke. 
 Her eyes were opened ! She beheld 
 Life's first illusive charm dispelled. 
 
A MEMOIR. 83 
 
 But deep the wound within remained, 
 
 And nature's vital chords were strained. 
 Her soul's capacity of love 
 
 And joy were boundless ; far above 
 
 That of inferior natures. Hope 
 
 Illumed her fancy's wildest scope ; 
 
 But actual life fell sorely short 
 
 Of her ideal standard. Nought 
 
 Could soothe her breast. The fiery strife 
 
 Burnt inwardly the thread of life. 
 
 Or was it that some secret flame 
 
 Of unrequited love o'ercame 
 
 Her proud young spirit ? Did she sigh 
 
 Over some idol of her eye 
 
 In lonely grief? Perhaps she did ! 
 
 Too oft the fondest love is hid. 
 
 Her health gave way. A slow decline 
 
 Seemed her young strength to undermine. 
 As when a veteran chief sits down 
 
 Before some coveted fair town, 
 
 So does Consumption, with like skill, 
 Besiege his victim. Patient still, 
 
 But persevering, day by day, 
 And month by month, he works his way 
 By sap and mine and slow approach, 
 Nearer and nearer to encroach ; 
 Uses each art of feint and fence, 
 With vain illusions lulls each sense, 
 Cuts off supplies of vital strength, 
 And captures by surprise at length. 
 Thus sank my sister by this slow, 
 This sure, but most delusive foe. 
 " Better," still " better " she would say, 
 Yet growing weaker day by day, 
 
84 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And laying plans for future years, 
 As if to banish others' fears. 
 
 Fond of the dumb creation still, 
 An aged friend, with kind good will, 
 Gave her a little kitten, lithe 
 As india-rubber, and as blithe 
 As blithest lambkin of the field ; 
 Much pleasure did its antics yield 
 To my poor sister and she nursed 
 The little beauty with a burst 
 Of mother's love. She watched it play 
 With ceaseless interest every day. 
 It served her fancy to beguile 
 And sometimes won a happy smile. 
 
 Thus, month by month, she sank. 'Twas strange 
 To mark the sure, but gradual, change 
 Wrought in her spirit, once so high ; 
 And yet the brightness of her eye. 
 Grew more intense. Sometimes the strife 
 Of feelings in her inner life 
 Dissolved her into tears. Then peace 
 Would follow, and the conflict cease. 
 Disease dealt gently with her. Bland 
 The touches of the spoiler's hand ! 
 In wisdom fitted to subdue 
 Her rebel nature, and renew 
 A childlike spirit. No complaint 
 Was uttered by the dying saint ; 
 But to her face each day was given 
 Still less of earth still more of Heaven. 
 
 At length the midnight hour drew nigh 
 When my sweet sister Ann must die. 
 We gathered round her. She was calm 
 As though reposing on an Arm 
 
A MEMOIR. 85 
 
 Divine ! And now her lips in prayer 
 
 And praise were opened. All the air 
 
 Was holy in her presence. Love 
 
 And joy o'erflowed her from above ! 
 
 Nothing stood in her way. She thought 
 
 Her ea'-s the songs of angels caught. 
 
 "O ! how delightful is it thus 
 
 To sink to glory ! " So, to us, 
 
 She with the voice of triumph cried. 
 
 Her brothers kneeling by her side, 
 
 Upon her elder brother's head 
 
 (He, too, alas ! long since is dead) 
 
 She placed her hand then on my own 
 
 And called down blessings from the Throne 
 
 Of Heaven upon us. Strange to think, 
 
 Though on Eternity's dread brink, 
 
 She did not, at that hour, forget 
 
 Her young and playful little pet ; 
 
 But made us promise we would take 
 
 Care of her favourite for her sake ! 
 
 Then, bidding us farewell, she lay 
 
 As if asleep ; and passed away 
 
 In peace. The waft of death was mild 
 
 As Zephyr playing with a child ! 
 
 There is one short month in ev'ry year 
 Of which the fourteenth day is dear 
 To every female heart. But I 
 Welcome it ever with a sigh, 
 For on that day the Grave held wide 
 His arms to claim his beauteous bride. 
 Her marriage wreath was driven snow. 
 Tears at a wedding sometimes flow; 
 And many tears were shed that day 
 When our fair bride was given away. 
 
86 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Thus, at the age of twenty-two 
 Short years her lease of life run through- 
 Our Ann we lost ; a great, a glad, 
 A glorious change for her ; a sad 
 And ceaseless loss to those she left 
 Behind, of household light bereft. 
 But all is doubtless for the best 
 That she is gone to endless rest ! 
 Me duty calls still to endure ; 
 And duty's recompense is sure. 
 
A MEMOIR. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Removal to Colchester Reflections on attaining his majority 
 " Ambition " Non-resistance : an anecdote Book 
 Society Poem on his friend Alfred Bowman, entitled 
 " Arthur and Helen." 
 
 ON the 25th of Third Month, 1828, my father 
 having hired some premises at Colchester for a 
 brewery, our little family, which consisted now of 
 only four, once again left Kelvedon, to begin the 
 world anew. 
 
 There was one thing belonging to our new resi- 
 dence which particularly pleased me. At the back 
 of the house there was a little upstairs room which 
 overlooked the garden. To this room I laid claim. 
 I made it my little castle, to which I could resort at 
 all times, and find a quiet shelter from the harassing 
 cares of life. Here I placed my secretaire, containing 
 my writing ammunition and all my manuscript trea- 
 sures. I suspended some shelves for my few beloved 
 books, and round the whitewashed walls of my 
 room I nailed up pictures and engravings of the 
 most motley description, and called it my picture 
 room. 
 
 It happened very singularly that only a few days 
 before we left Kelvedon I received a letter from our 
 old companion in adventures, Christopher Stopes. 
 After a consultation among ourselves we concluded 
 that it would be very desirable to have his services 
 
88 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 in our new employment. We accordingly sent him 
 proposals which he at once accepted ; and, in the 
 course of the following month, he once more came 
 and took up his abode under our roof. 
 
 The 3rd of Third Month, 1829 at length arrived, 
 and I found myself of age. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON COMING OF AGE. 
 
 " I have now been twenty-one years an inhabi- 
 tant of earth. I look back and perceive that the 
 gates of boyhood are closed upon me for ever. Dur- 
 ing these twenty-one years I have undergone many 
 tribulations ; and I have also enjoyed many plea- 
 sures. I have been in the Old World and I have 
 been in the New World. I have known what it is 
 to be in danger of losing my life both on land and at 
 sea. I have seen much of men, and of the ways of 
 men. And now, at the age of twenty-one years, I 
 look around me with a somewhat experienced eye. 
 
 "Hope is pointing out to me prospective pleasures, 
 permanent in their nature, and unalloyed in their 
 composition ; but I know that her promises are 
 fallacious. Fancy, too, is inviting me to her flowery 
 vales ; but I know full well that they are all ideal. 
 I see that virtue is, beyond all controversy, the 
 greatest treasure here on earth, and that the attain- 
 ment of a life of immortal bliss in Heaven is of all 
 things most worthy the concern of a soul immortal." 
 
 The passions of men, it appears to me, were 
 implanted in the human constitution for good pur- 
 poses. They were implanted by the Divine Being, 
 
A MEMOIR. 89 
 
 and all that He does is good. It is the duty and a 
 part of the great business of man to regulate and 
 govern these passions, and to turn them to their 
 proper account. What I mean is that his love 
 should be directed to that which is virtuous his 
 hate to the hatred of that which is v/icked his 
 covetousness to the possession of that which is 
 really valuable and his ambition to the attainment 
 of the purest glory. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 What racking thoughts disturb my mind ! 
 
 What visions cheat my eyes ! 
 I long to leave the gloom behind ! 
 
 I long aloft to rise. 
 
 How boundless are the soul's desires ! 
 
 How far her aims extend ! 
 Still on the wing she never tires, 
 
 Nor finds her journey's end. 
 
 I long to take my stand with you, 
 
 Ye dazzling sons of Fame ! 
 To drink the unsullied ether's blue, 
 
 And share the world's acclaim ! 
 
 I long the mountain top to climb ! 
 
 Stand on its crown of snow ! 
 And shout on any crag sublime, 
 
 Where others dare not go. 
 
 And there, with eager arms outspread, 
 
 Reach darkling into space ; 
 Talk with the spirits of the dead, 
 
 And bards of old embrace. 
 
90 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 In dreams like these e'en life and love, 
 
 Unheeded, are forgot ; 
 The earth beneath the world above 
 
 And e'en my humble lot. 
 
 To others on oblivion's deep, 
 Let wealth and power be given ; 
 
 Mine be the hand the harp to sweep ! 
 The eye to reach to Heaven ! 
 
 Eleventh Month zjth, 1830. With regard to myself 
 and my affairs, being now in the twenty-third year of 
 my age, I am taking a great deal of interest in politics 
 and literature. 
 
 Twelfth Month ist, 1830. Went up in the evening 
 
 to see . Talked politics. Told me of great 
 
 disturbances at Alton. Many of the inhabitants 
 made special constables. We then discussed how 
 far the principles of non-resistance, arising from a 
 trust in an all-protecting Providence, would secure a 
 man in times of popular commotion. 
 
 I related an anecdote of a family in the back settle- 
 ments of America. The Indians were at war with 
 the Americans. A man one day perceived a party of 
 Indians approaching his house. His wife and family 
 were with him indoors. What was to be done? He 
 expected they would be tomahawked, and the house 
 burnt to the ground. He immediately opened the 
 door, extended his hand to the chief of the party, and 
 invited the whole of them in. They were astonished. 
 He and his wife produced what provisions they had 
 in the house, and treated the party with respectful 
 
A MEMOIR. QI 
 
 hospitality. After having regaled themselves, and, I 
 think, returned thanks to their host, they peaceably 
 withdrew. They had not gone far, however, when 
 the chief ran back, and pulling a feather out of his 
 cap, stuck it over the door as a sign to another party 
 who were foraging in the neighbourhood, and might 
 perhaps come there, that they should spare that 
 house. 
 
 First Month $th, 1831. Monthly Meeting. Some 
 friends to dinner. Discussed the subject of forming a 
 Book Society. Several of us met at William R. Dell's 
 in the evening, and agreed upon the principal features 
 of the Society, and drew up some primary rules 
 accordingly. These we signed. Having more time 
 than most of the other members, and taking a 
 great interest in its prosperity, the management 
 of the Society soon devolved chiefly on myself. I 
 became, in short, its Librarian, Treasurer, and 
 Secretary. 
 
 The many new and interesting publications which 
 it introduced to my notice greatly enlarged my know- 
 ledge, and made me acquainted with the literary 
 character of the age. Hitherto my reading had prin- 
 cipally been among a departed school of authors, 
 and I had imbibed a strong prejudice against the 
 moderns; but now I saw some of the periodicals 
 in which, though I met with much that did vio- 
 lence to my taste, yet I also found a great deal 
 that served to stimulate my mind and induce me 
 to exert myself to work out my way, if possible, to 
 excellence. 
 
 Our town was visited this summer (1834) by that 
 
q2 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 fearful pestilence, the cholera. It commenced its 
 ravages in Asia, and proceeded westward in its deadly 
 march around the globe. On its arrival in England 
 we were greatly alarmed. Nervous people, especially, 
 were dreadfully afraid of its approach. 
 
 The ravages of the cholera were principally among 
 the poor and the intemperate, and many very affecting 
 cases occurred. It was particularly dismal to hear 
 the constant tolling of the funeral bell. I remember 
 on one occasion being struck with the sight of a 
 passing funeral where there was not even one solitary 
 mourner to follow the coffin to its resting-place 
 neither father, nor sister, nor child ! It seemed to 
 me to show the fearful character of the pestilence 
 more than anything else that came under my 
 notice. 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to mention that, during 
 the time when the pestilence was prevalent, the phe- 
 nomenon occurred of a remarkable flight of insects. 
 Millions of billions rilled the air, over, I believe, the 
 whole extent of the country. They were very small 
 in size, but their wings were large in proportion ; and 
 from east to west they continued their silent flight, 
 without cessation or diminution, for weeks together. 
 
 Tenth Month jth. Died, at Bardfield, about five 
 o'clock in the morning, my dear, congenial friend 
 and correspondent Alfred Bowman. Although I 
 have before mentioned the name of this estimable 
 young man, yet I have refrained from dwelling much 
 on the subject of our friendship, as I have related the 
 particulars of it in the following poem, under the 
 fictitious names of 
 
A MEMOIR. 93 
 
 ARTHUR AND HELEN. 
 
 They say that men are faithless. O ! there are 
 Whose hearts are steadfast as the polar star; 
 Beings whose love deep, tender, and sublime 
 Can outlive hope, and triumph over time ; 
 Who, if the objects of their fondness cease 
 To love in turn, through coldness or caprice, 
 Can still love on, can every ill forgive, 
 Forego new joys, and on remembrance live; 
 Clasp to their breasts the visionary dove, 
 And die the victims of devoted love. 
 
 In youth's warm spring-time generous thoughts impart 
 A glow to life ; and warm was Arthur's heart. 
 Within his breast no seeming mystery dwelt 
 O'er which Conjecture and Suspicion spelt; 
 But all was frankness there : no dark disguise 
 Veiled up his character from curious eyes ; 
 The look of candour which his countenance wore 
 Might move less interest, but it pleased the more. 
 His form was handsome, though his frame was weak, 
 A sickly paleness dwelt upon his cheek ; 
 But o'er his manly face that sickly hue 
 An air of Heaven a charm of beauty threw. 
 Around his lips the eye his soul could trace, 
 And sunshine seemed reflected from his face. 
 His voice was liquid and his words flowed fast, 
 And sweetly trembled as his lips they passed. 
 He spoke without reserve and spoke with sense, 
 And reasoned well when driven to defence. 
 But chiefly he was wont in woman's ear 
 To pour the eloquence she loves to hear. 
 He made acquaintance soon with every child : 
 They looked up at him, trusted him, and smiled ; 
 
94 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Forgot their little fears and first alarms, 
 
 And ran, confiding, to his clasping arms. 
 
 Much had he read, but yet he studied not; 
 
 And what is idly read is soon forgot ; 
 
 Still, much he knew; and what he knew was worth 
 
 More than much knowledge which, in nooks of earth, 
 
 Dull schoolmen prize. The wisdom which he drank 
 
 Was not drawn up from Learning's leaden tank, 
 
 He quenched his thirst at Nature's crystal rills, 
 
 And sipped the dew-drops which the morn distils. 
 
 The song of birds, the wind's majestic roar, 
 
 The solemn fall of billows on the shore. 
 
 Nature has many tongues with which to teach ; 
 
 He knew them all, and comprehended each ; 
 
 And when he looked on earth or gazed on high, 
 
 And saw the planets navigate the sky, 
 
 Mind, with her various powers, within him wrought 
 
 And furnished soon his treasury of thought. 
 
 He saw ideal forms all pure and bright. 
 
 And peopled earth with denizens of light. 
 
 Exalted thus above the mean and base 
 
 He shunned the frigid of the human race. 
 
 He was not proud, and yet he could despise 
 
 Ignoble minds that never dare to rise. 
 
 He loved the bards : he loved to feel their power 
 
 Come o'er his spirit in the lonely hour. 
 
 Nor was this all : his feelings warm and strong 
 
 He too poured forth in animated song. 
 
 Music and song his spirit seemed to suit, 
 
 Sweetly he blew the mellow-sounding flute. 
 
 His pencil, too, he used with pleasing skill, 
 
 And called forth forms of loveliness at will. 
 
 Not stern of soul, nor muscular of form, 
 
 He was not made to buffet with the storm. 
 
A MEMOIR. 
 
 95 
 
 But sensitive alike of joy or woe, 
 Feelings were his which only poets know. 
 His conscientious eye was clear and strong, 
 Detecting what was right and what was wrong ; 
 He spurned the wrong and sided with the right, 
 And kept the tendency of things in sight. 
 No fierce defender of his favourite cause, 
 He knew society and owned its laws ; 
 In manhood, still partaking of the child, 
 His mind was active, and his manners mild ; 
 This gave a charm to all he said or did ; 
 But half his worth within his breast he hid. 
 
 And we were friends. From boyhood we were friends : 
 How sweet a charm the recollection lends ! 
 But we were sundered soon. He bent his way 
 To Caledonia's lakes and mountains gray, 
 New scenes to him ! And there he tarried long. 
 He loved the land of battles and of song. 
 It suited well his taste. But as for me 
 My lot was cast upon the boisterous sea, 
 To ride a puny bark with masts and sails, 
 The sport of waves, the plaything of the gales ; 
 To suffer hardships in a foreign clime, 
 (Exiled from home, though guiltless of a crime,) 
 Recall my native land though distant, dear 
 And soothe my grief with many a boyish tear. 
 Long time elapsed. At length my foot I set 
 Once more on Albion's isle. Again we met. 
 But both were changed. To opening manhood grown 
 Our characters had each acquired its tone ; 
 His had received that polish which we find 
 Mixing with men bestows upon mankind ; 
 My own the stormy fretfulness of those 
 Who roam the world, but never find repose. 
 
g6 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And yet we were alike in one respect, 
 
 This saved our friendship, else it had been wreck'd. 
 
 One bent we had in both the love was strong 
 
 The ardent love of spirit-stirring song. 
 
 We talked of bards of old whom each admired, 
 
 Whose music pleased us and whose genius fired; 
 
 And while we passed their merits in review, 
 
 Unnoticed by ourselves, our friendship grew. 
 
 We dwelt apart. How oft it happens here 
 They dwell the farthest off we would were near. 
 We dwelt apart ; yet sometimes met, and when 
 Placed at a distance we employed the pen. 
 We wrote of many, many things ; sometimes 
 We sent each other our precocious rhymes 
 To mend and smooth, for in my humble way 
 I, too, could frame the pleasant sounding lay. 
 Thus rolled Time's onward flood, and still it bore 
 Sweet gems and shining shells to Friendship's shore. 
 
 And now at length my friend attained the age 
 To act his part on manhood's busy stage ; 
 To share its ceaseless toil, its 'wildering strife, 
 And feel the sweet solicitudes of life. 
 His future path lay pleasant to the sight, 
 His hopes were buoyant, and his sky was bright. 
 Fond of society, a friendship grew 
 Between young Arthur and a chosen few. 
 And one he loved. She seemed to Arthur's eyes 
 Some beauteous emanation from the skies ; 
 Or dream embodied ; such as dance around 
 The brows of bards in pleasing slumbers bound. 
 Her form was slight, her step was full of grace, 
 And gentleness was pictured on her face. 
 Pale was her dimpled cheek ; her dark brown hair 
 Hung curling down her neck and nestled there. 
 
A MEMOIR. 97 
 
 She wore a meek reserve; and though her heart 
 Had warm affections, yet it had no part 
 In those more passionate and hidden fires 
 Which live in some hearts when all else expires. 
 Her character was not like his, yet still 
 He loved her, in defiance of his will ; 
 For love exerts a strange, tyrannic might, 
 And bids the most dissimilar unite ; 
 Glows with the fervour of the noon-day sun, 
 And melts discordant natures into one. 
 Music was her delight, and when, to please 
 Young Arthur, she would sweep the ivory keys 
 With her white fingers, and, with varying voice, 
 Now mourn with pity, now with hope rejoice, 
 And turn and fix her large bright eyes on him, 
 His limbs would tremble and his sight grow dim. 
 And Helen loved young Arthur: and they two 
 Were happy in each other's love ; for who 
 Can feel confided in, and can confide, 
 Share the sweet sympathy of hearts allied, 
 Partake the dear and unreproved caress, 
 Feel heaven expand above and earth grow less, 
 And not be happy ? Happier than the morn 
 When the lark greets her with his silver horn. 
 
 ! youthful love ! how exquisite thou art ! 
 Thou fill'st with joy that little world, the heart ; 
 And, with thy presence and thy magic powers, 
 Turnest the desert to a land of flowers ; 
 Throwest a halo round all earthly things, 
 
 And fannest fragrance from thy downy wings ! 
 
 A rumour reached my ear. I heard it said 
 
 That Arthur that my friend would shortly wed. 
 
 1 own these tidings took me by surprise ; 
 
 This may seem strange. But I must not disguise 
 
 H 
 
98 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 That now he seldom wrote. Yet I inferred 
 No change in him because I seldom heard ; 
 On such neglect I laid but little stress, 
 I knew his heart and knew it loved not less. 
 The world's engrossing cares, I knew full well, 
 Had bound him with a strong enthralling spell, 
 And so I was content : and when I learned 
 This startling news, my heart within me burned, 
 The Past rolled back upon me like a tide, 
 While Hope a bright futurity supplied. 
 My spirit rose, my thoughts began to chime, 
 And soon I wrote, in sprightly Scottish rhyme, 
 A long and quaint epistle, which I sent, 
 To show my interest in the great event. 
 Arthur had promised, in his warmth of heart, 
 Long since, some effort of his pencilling art; 
 This promise now I pressed him to fulfil ; 
 I wished for some such effort of his skill 
 To grace my picture-room, that when long miles 
 Deprived me of his cheerful voice and smiles 
 It might recall, whene'er it met mine eye, 
 The friend I loved. He wrote me no reply. 
 
 Erelong another rumour reached my ear 
 A vague report that o'er my friend's career 
 A storm had burst, and all his prospects all 
 His gilded hopes were buried in one fall ! 
 
 Again we met. My friend, I ought to say, 
 Had relatives who dwelt not far away; 
 'Twas there we met. I found him still the same, 
 His face all smiles, his eyes a lambent flame. 
 The whirlwind that had laid his fortunes low, 
 Had changed him not, nor touched his brow with wot 
 But like the bulrush, bent beneath the blast, 
 He rose uninjured when the storm was past : 
 
A MEMOIR. 99 
 
 For though his frame was weak, and though his face 
 
 Showed not the firmness of the Stoic race, 
 
 His was the innocent, elastic mind, 
 
 Which soon rebounding, leaves its cares behind. 
 
 The hour arrived, and Arthur left the place 
 Where shone no sun for him but one dear face ! 
 O'er that last hour let darkness spread its wings, 
 And be it buried with forgotten things. 
 They who have known what partings are, can tell 
 All that lies hid beneath that word Farewell ! 
 He left the place, and reached another scene ; 
 The weary breadth of England lay between : 
 But, like himself, where'er he chanced to roam, 
 He made at once his new abode a home. 
 Her love he still possessed whose love could throw 
 A light around him and assuage his woe ; 
 And letters passed that medium which supplies 
 The absent voices of the lips and eyes; 
 Brings separated friends and lovers near, 
 And whispers secrets in a distant ear. 
 And Arthur's heart was social, and he found 
 Companions soon, with whom to gather round 
 The cheerful evening fire, and talk, and play 
 With children like himself as was his way. 
 And he seemed happy, though a pensive sigh 
 Would now and then his cheerfulness belie : 
 For Helen's image beauteous, gentle, kind 
 Haunted from day to day his secret mind ; 
 And when he left the circle where he shone 
 An hour before, and found himself alone, 
 It was to feel more sensibly the smart 
 Of hopeless love still rankling at his heart. 
 And then his troubled spirit would repine, 
 And he would ask why feelings all too fine 
 
IOO JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Too exquisitely fine disturbed his breast, 
 Which others knew not of, and so were blest. 
 But soon the thought would tranquillise his mind, 
 That all his sorrows, doubtless, were designed 
 To render him more humble, and more prone 
 To place his trust in Providence alone. 
 And he would pray to have his inmost heart 
 Made calm, and pure, and more from earth apart. 
 
 I said that Arthur found new friends; but yet 
 'Twas not in him his old ones to forget, 
 For whom (to use his words) his life-blood still 
 Boiled through his veins : and he would sometimes fill 
 The friendly page, to tell me how he fared, 
 And have his pleasures and his sorrows shared. 
 The promise, too, which he in days long passed 
 Had kindly made, he now fulfilled at last, 
 And sent a sketch to illustrate First Love 
 A young girl clasping to her breast a dove. 
 Yes ! there she is, in all her youthful charms, 
 Pressing the gentle bird within her arms ! 
 O ! never, never, can I gaze on her, 
 And not to thee, my faithful friend, recur ! 
 
 Time rolled away, and once again we met 
 It was in Spring ; and ere the sun had set, 
 We wandered forth, on nature's face to gaze, 
 And talk, as we were wont in former days. 
 Down a green lane we turned, an English lane ! 
 What is so lovely as an English lane ? 
 With shady oaks and elms on either side, 
 Spreading their boughs the calm retreat to hide ; 
 Delicious banks, where young herbs lift their heads, 
 And velvet mosses make their fairy beds ; 
 And there a bright and ever-gurgling brook, 
 Where the sweet primrose peeps from every nook, 
 
A MEMOIR. 101 
 
 Tempting the children of the hamlet near 
 
 With many a wish, subdued by many a fear. 
 
 While thus we rambled carelessly along, 
 
 We talked by turns of science and of song; 
 
 Of woman, too ! a theme in which his heart 
 
 Was wont to take an animated part. 
 
 Woman ! that theme of which men ne'er grow tired 
 
 That theme on which the dullest are inspired ! 
 
 I spoke of Helen, who, as yet, was known 
 
 To me by little more than name alone ; 
 
 For in his letters never would he dwell 
 
 On that one subject why, I could not tell. 
 
 I knew not then that Helen had enchained 
 
 His inmost heart, and o'er his bosom reigned. 
 
 He made one brief remark: he said that he 
 
 Was bound himself, but that he left her free. 
 
 We parted ; and my friend returned, again 
 To hide with outward smiles his inward pain, 
 And trust the future for that happier lot 
 Which present time, alas ! accorded not. 
 
 Another storm, severer than the first, 
 Was gathering round young Arthur, soon to burst. 
 His own First Love his Helen she on whom 
 His heart and hope depended she on whom 
 His very life was staked his all on earth 
 His darling choice his only gem of worth 
 Left him ! deserted him ! and cast him off 
 To bide the cold world's pity or its scoff! 
 Her letters, which were once so warm, grew cold, 
 And all that he could dread too plainly told ; 
 And rumours reached him that she smiled on one 
 Whose path was gilded by a brighter sun. 
 
 Stung to the nerve a wound too keen to bear 
 He struggled not, but sank into despair ; 
 
102 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 How deep his anguish was, ah ! who shall say ? 
 
 What dreams were his by night, what thoughts by day ? 
 
 Thus goaded on by agony, at last 
 
 He reached the brink of madness ! There, aghast 
 
 At the dread gulf he stood, and, ere too late, 
 
 Resolved to rise superior to his fate. 
 
 There was in Arthur's character a high 
 
 And manly principle which could not die ; 
 
 A strength of purpose not to be subdued 
 
 By all the shocks of life, however rude. 
 
 Although his looks might make a stranger think 
 
 His soul was one that soon would quail or shrink. 
 
 But, no ! the instant his resolve was made, 
 
 His faculties of mind at once obeyed. 
 
 He took and burnt her letters, all but one, 
 
 He could not bring himself to burn that one. 
 
 Fancy, which sees through all things unrestrained, 
 
 Can guess what precious words that one contained. 
 
 He banished from his breast the killing thought, 
 
 Flew to his books, and, in their study, sought 
 
 To triumph o'er despair; he went down deep 
 
 In speculations, till benumbing sleep 
 
 Would call him to repose ; he climbed on high, 
 
 New lands of human knowledge to descry, 
 
 Until his sight grew dim ; and thus his mind 
 
 Expanded, and he learned to read mankind. 
 
 He left no hour unoccupied, but strove 
 
 To discipline his thoughts that fain would rove. 
 
 And when the engagements of the day were o'er, 
 
 He sometimes sought his friends as heretofore, 
 
 But not to talk, as once, of trivial things, 
 
 But teach his mind to use her new-found wings. 
 
 Thus did he struggle with affliction's storm 
 
 Thus from his thoughts he banished Helen's form. 
 
A MEMOIR. 103 
 
 Yet no vindictive feelings soured his mind, 
 
 His generous bosom glowed for all mankind ; 
 
 He loved her still, no blame on her he cast, 
 
 He only wanted to forget the past 
 
 Forget the blow which all his hopes destroyed 
 
 Forget the dream of love he once enjoyed ; 
 
 For Arthur knew it is not wise or well 
 
 Too long on pleasures that are past to dwell. 
 
 Time fled ; and tidings came that sent a chill 
 Along my veins. I heard my friend was ill. 
 It took me unprepared ; for he again 
 Had ceased to write, it would have given him pain, 
 And, living far asunder, not a word 
 Had reached my ear of all that had occurred. 
 
 Again we met. How glad we were to meet 
 The friendship of old friends is doubly sweet. 
 But Arthur's looks were changed ; his cheek was white, 
 And his sunk eye flashed forth a feverish light. 
 Consumption's long lean fingers had been laid 
 Upon him, and his frame her touch obeyed. 
 The high heroic effort of my friend 
 To bear the death-stroke of his hopes, and bend 
 His sad reflections from the onward course 
 In which they hurried with a torrent's force, 
 Had proved too much for him ; a quick decay 
 Of health succeeded, and his strength gave way. 
 He came back conqueror from the mental strife, 
 But victory's wreath seemed purchased with his life. 
 And yet his looks were cheerful as before ; 
 No signs of latent grief his countenance wore ; 
 His cheeks were radiant with their wonted smiles ; 
 His lips were instinct with their former wiles ; 
 And I was sanguine that my friend erelong 
 With change of scene would soon again be strong. 
 
104 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 The sunshine of the soul which he enjoyed 
 Was proof against ill-health and hopes destroyed. 
 Arthur had long been striving to withdraw 
 From all earth's vain dependencies ; he saw 
 Their futile nature, and he sought and found 
 The only true and firm support ; he found 
 The power that cleaves a pathway through the wave- 
 The power that leads to victory o'er the grave ! 
 
 Though ill in health a prisoner to one spot 
 The playmate of his youth was ne'er forgot. 
 The graceful little sketch, First Love, which he 
 Had drawn at my request, and sent to me, 
 It seems he thought unworthy of his skill ; 
 And therefore he resolved, though weak and ill, 
 To draw another, and, as was his plan 
 When once resolved, with promptitude began. 
 But, ah ! how weak he was he scarcely knew ; 
 Yet still from day to day, he drew and drew, 
 A little at a time, until, at length, 
 So greatly had disease impaired his strength, 
 He one day almost fainted as he sat 
 And wrought upon it ! So my friend with that 
 Gave up the attempt. The drawing I possess 
 Unfinished, but I prize it none the less. 
 
 My friend grew slowly worse ; the sight was sad 
 But yet instructive, for his soul was glad ; 
 Oft ere the sun of human life declines, 
 The moon of future joy distinctly shines ! 
 It was his frequent and his fervent prayer 
 That patience might be given him to bear 
 His illness to its end ; from fear set free 
 Of either when or what that end might be ; 
 And ever anxious what was wrong to shun, 
 He piously would add, " Thy will be done ! " 
 
A MEMOIR. 
 
 Thus with a will subjected and resigned 
 
 He viewed the future with a tranquil mind ; 
 
 He feared not death we know that come it must, 
 
 And Arthur felt a never-failing trust 
 
 That, come what would, all would with him be well: 
 
 And his was not the spirit to rebel. 
 
 His fervent faith was fixed on Him who gave 
 
 His precious life a guilty world to save. 
 
 Faith may be likened to the powerful chain 
 Which holds the ship that dances on the main, 
 A bond invisible like that of love 
 Binding the spirit to the world above. 
 It is a holy confidence and trust 
 In that great sacrifice, in which the Just 
 Died for the unjust He who secret dwelt 
 From all eternity, unseen, yet felt ; 
 Who forth from ancient darkness called the earth, 
 And clothed with dewy green its lordly girth ; 
 And hung the dome of heaven with censers bright, 
 And bade them burn with ever-living light. 
 Low in the dust Faith reverently bends, 
 Nor tries to solve what human thought transcends ; 
 Then, rising, looks with confidence on high, 
 And does Heaven's will without inquiring, "Why?" 
 So when the world was wrapped in waters dark, 
 The lonely dove flew homeward to the ark; 
 Its length, its breadth, its plan were not her care, 
 She only knew that there was safety there. 
 
 Time slowly wore away. Meanwhile, my friend 
 Grew gradually worse. At length his end 
 Seemed to be come ; severe spasmodic pain 
 Such as his ebbing strength could scarce sustain, 
 The sufferer bore ; while every hour they thought 
 Would bring him that dismissal which he sought. 
 
 105 
 
106 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 But e'en in death imaginative still 
 
 His breast one thought with pleasure seemed to fill : 
 
 The thought that if his life that day should end, 
 
 The first that he in Paradise would spend 
 
 Would be a Sabbath, and his soul seemed blest 
 
 In contemplation of that heavenly rest. 
 
 His pain, at length, subsided, and his mind 
 
 Was given to see for what it was designed ; 
 
 The words, "Thy will be done," with which 
 
 He closed each wish and prayer, were words which he 
 
 supposed 
 
 Came from his heart, though by his lips expressed, 
 And found, he thought, an echo in his breast ; 
 But now he saw distinctly in his mind 
 How easier far it is for poor mankind 
 To say, "The will of Providence be done," 
 Than to receive it ; and he felt like one 
 Whom tribulation had refined, and taught 
 The state in which to use them as he ought. 
 And Arthur wished that none, from day to day, 
 Might use them in a light or thoughtless way ; 
 But rather in that state obtain a part 
 In which they might adopt them from the heart. 
 
 And now when Arthur's end seemed drawing nigh, 
 When all earth's shadowy scenes must fade and 
 
 die, 
 
 One darling passion still survived, to cast 
 A halo round the present and the past. 
 Undying love ! triumphant o'er decay, 
 Still in his breast bore undiminished sway. 
 His Helen, dear in life, in death was dear, 
 And, though far off, her image still was near; 
 On her he cast no blame : he thought her will 
 Was warped by others, and he loved her still. 
 
A MEMOIR. 107 
 
 On her he cast no blame : nor yet do I, 
 If she is happy well. I pass her by. 
 I said he burnt her letters all but one ; 
 There was, it seems, a something in that one 
 At once so dear, so soothing to his heart, 
 He felt that with that one he could not part ; 
 But now, when death seemed near, his love inspired 
 An act which must for ever be admired ; 
 The inward struggle might perhaps be hard 
 It shows the more his delicate regard. 
 Anxious at heart that nothing might remain 
 Of which the exposure might afford her pain, 
 Or prove her fickle, what did Arthur do ? 
 To shield her from reproach he burnt that too ! 
 He had a ring inlaid with Helen's hair, 
 Which she, it seems, had given him to wear 
 In days departed, when his hopes were high, 
 And life was gilded by a cloudless sky : 
 This ring he now produced gazed at it long 
 Felt in his breast emotions deep and strong 
 Called it his greatest treasure upon earth, 
 To show how highly he esteemed its worth 
 And, while the memory rose of other years, 
 Over it wept ungovernable tears. 
 This precious ring he bade his sister take, 
 Requesting her to keep it for his sake. 
 His life, he said, on taking a review, 
 Had been a happy one : he thought that few 
 Had been so happy. Men at life may chide, 
 But Arthur gazed upon its sunniest side ; 
 The wind, he not unfrequently would say, 
 Had been, through mercy, tempered day by day 
 To the shorn lamb, and he believed still would : 
 His faith was firm that all was for his good. 
 
IO8 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 From quite the first he thought that he should die, 
 
 And now, when that event seemed drawing nigh, 
 
 Little remained for him to do but wait 
 
 Calmly and cheerfully his wished-for fate. 
 
 The blessed hope, which nothing could destroy, 
 
 Of free salvation and of future joy 
 
 Through the Redeemer, whom he loved so well : 
 
 This was the theme on which he chose to dwell. 
 
 He longed to go away and be at rest 
 
 Among the happy, happy, happy blest 
 
 To be where no temptation can allure 
 
 To be where all is holy all is pure. 
 
 One night when all the firmament was bright 
 With heaven's eternal chalices of light, 
 And the pale crescent's rays in silence fell 
 On roof, and village spire, and distant dell, 
 Slept on the cold and moss-encrusted tomb, 
 And pierced the curtains of the dim sick-room; 
 Arthur, whose pious thoughts were wont to tend 
 From outward objects to his journey's end, 
 Said that, in years elapsed and times gone by, 
 He often had enjoyed the starry sky 
 Enjoyed the dreamy hush, the calm profound 
 Of many a moonlight scene outspread around; 
 But now, far higher joys all bright all pure 
 Not fading joys, but joys that would endure, 
 He hoped to share, in that blest City, soon, 
 Which needeth not the light of sun or moon. 
 
 How does Consumption, with a slow decay, 
 Waste the stout frame and steal the strength away ; 
 Yet never fails to whisper in the ear, 
 False, flattering words, that cheat us while they cheer; 
 The face acquires a spiritual cast 
 Full of the future, heedless of the past; 
 
A MEMOIR. ICQ 
 
 And while the cheek foregoes its roseate dye, 
 
 A livelier brightness flashes from the eye ; 
 
 Till worn-out nature fails, and then the breath 
 
 Grows faint and fainter till it stops in death. 
 
 So the poor land-bird, borne by tempests rude, 
 
 Far mid the sea's mysterious solitude, 
 
 Wings on her anxious way, in hopes to see 
 
 Erelong some verdant isle or leafy tree ; 
 
 But only finds unstable waves instead 
 
 Beneath her feet and far around her spread. 
 
 Weary and faint, she makes a plaintive cry 
 
 Her heart beats quick ; she can no farther fly. 
 
 Life still is dear ! Once more she forward springs 
 
 Her last attempt and flaps her little wings, 
 
 Then droops, and droops, and droops ; strives still to keep 
 
 Her onward course, and sinks into the deep. 
 
 Thus drooped from day to day my early friend, 
 Not hating life, nor fearful of his end ; 
 Around his lips benignant smiles still played, 
 While each kind act his gratitude repaid. 
 And well was Arthur nursed : one, ever nigh, 
 Foresaw his wishes with a sister's eye. 
 Blest be the sex to whom it doth pertain 
 To add to pleasure and to take from pain ! 
 Once, as she watched him at the dead of night, 
 He woke with eyes all radiant with delight, 
 And said he was so happy ; he had had 
 Such a sweet dream ! his very soul seemed glad. 
 He said that, in a vision, he had been 
 Up into heaven, heard judgment passed, and seen 
 The mysteries of the spirits' dwelling-place ; 
 Seen angel forms ; seen all except the face 
 Of the Eternal! And he seemed to burn 
 Again to go, and never more return. 
 
110 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 He drooped, and drooped, and drooped, until, at last, 
 His weakened intellect became o'ercast 
 With dark delirious clouds ; yet gleams of light 
 Would sometimes flash athwart his mental night, 
 And with a sweetly animated face, 
 In which hope, peace, and joy had each a place, 
 He faintly would ejaculate a prayer 
 To be released, and be admitted there 
 Where pain afflicts no more, no griefs molest, 
 The worn are soothed, the weary are at rest ! 
 Even the wanderings of his mind disclosed 
 How much his heart on heavenly things reposed. 
 He seemed to think a chariot, by-and-by, 
 Would come in pomp and bear him to the sky ! 
 Even to Him whom he was wont to call 
 His hope of glory and his all in all. 
 In tranquil stillness lay the dying saint ; 
 He showed no fear, he uttered no complaint, 
 And thus he fell into a peaceful sleep 
 And woke no more ! For in that peaceful sleep 
 The silver chord was broken, and away 
 His soul took wing to realms of endless day. 
 
 The funeral morn arrived. For Arthur's sake 
 I sought the scene, howe'er my heart might ache ; 
 The morn was cold, although the sun was bright, 
 Ten thousand dewdrops glittered in his light ; 
 Autumn's rich tints had beautifully dyed 
 The hedges and the woods on either side; 
 The birds flew merrily from spray to spray, 
 And Nature gloried in her own decay. 
 With heavy heart I joined the funeral train, 
 The heart will grieve, tho' sorrow may be vain. 
 We reached the grave, and there with deep-felt awe 
 These eyes the last sad ceremony saw ! 
 
A MEMOIR. I 1 I 
 
 There lay my friend ! no more the purple rill 
 
 " Boiled through his veins," but all was cold and 
 
 still. 
 
 No joy no gentle voice not e'en a breath ! 
 How silent is the dreary house of death ! 
 It seemed too small, too cramped a dwelling-place 
 For one whose thoughts once ranged o'er time and 
 
 space. 
 
 And, standing by his grave, I sorrowing cast 
 A long, long look on years forever past, 
 When we were wont to meet, and, grave or gay, 
 Walk forth together at the close of day. 
 Of one so dear how strange to feel bereft ! 
 Why was my friend thus taken or I left ? 
 My mind became bewildered and o'erwrought, 
 And feeling seemed to triumph over thought. 
 Some tears perhaps I shed for I am weak, 
 But tears look strange on manhood's stubborn cheek. 
 
 And when the train of mourners had withdrawn, 
 The people had dispersed, and all were gone, 
 Except a few small children on the green, 
 With eyes intent still gazing on the scene, 
 I saw a man, whom years had made to bend, 
 Heaping the earth o'er my lamented friend ! 
 A man whose head was silvered o'er with age 
 Old, yet without the wisdom of the sage 
 A man whose thoughts perhaps had never pass'd 
 Beyond the sphere in which his lot was cast. 
 One whose dull mind no promise seemed to give, 
 Whom haply no one loved, or wished to live 
 Heaping the earth o'er one in manhood's spring, 
 Whose mind had ever been upon the wing; 
 Who had at once such wisdom and such worth, 
 So much of Heaven while yet upon the earth, 
 
112 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Who gave such promise for a future day, 
 Whom many loved so well ! I turned away. 
 
 My narrative is done. It is no tale ; 
 Truth over fiction must at last prevail. 
 With the sad strain my plaintive harp still rings, 
 And tones of sorrow vibrate on its strings. 
 It may be wrong to grieve it may be vain, 
 And yet, sometimes, 'twere shocking to refrain. 
 I have lost much in Arthur. He is gone 
 To pluck the immortal rose that has no thorn. 
 I know full well no tears my eyes need dim 
 For Arthur's sake, for all is well with him ; 
 Nor would I fetch him from his glorious sphere, 
 Once having died, again to sojourn here ; 
 But looking back on pleasures that are past, 
 How blank it seems to stand alone at last ! 
 I look around, but none can take his place ; 
 I miss his kindred heart, his well-known face. 
 Obliging looks and pleasant smiles abound, 
 But kindred hearts are not so quickly found. 
 Oh, what a zest to life does friendship give ! 
 Without its sweets, O ! who would wish to live ? 
 But ah ! our dearest friendships here* below, 
 A thousand things conspire to overthrow. 
 They seem like bubbles on the waves uptost, 
 Which every moment may be burst and lost. 
 Not like those friendships in the world above 
 Where love is friendship, friendship, too, is love 
 First Love is last love nothing can divide 
 Distance or death, misfortune, wind, or tide ; 
 No coldness no caprice no love of change 
 No idle longings for a wider range, 
 But where life's pilgrims, all their wanderings o'er 
 Though parted once on earth, can part no more. 
 
A MEMOIR. 113 
 
 Twelfth Month 315^, 1834. The waning year is 
 almost gone ! Though it has brought its share of 
 sorrows and disappointments, I must acknowledge, 
 with gratitude, that I am blest in many ways, and 
 I greatly desire that I may not be an unworthy 
 recipient of the bounty of an all-benevolent Provi- 
 dence. 
 
114 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Poetical contribution rejected " The Friendless Poet " 
 " The Village Shopkeeper " His mother's death 
 Mechanics' Institute Introduction to O'Connell 
 "Sonnet" to O'Connell Visit to Devon "Sonnet" to 
 Jonathan Dymond Return Home Melancholy thoughts 
 " Sonnet" thereon "Ode on Mutability." 
 
 Third Month ^rd, 1835. My birthday. The fourth 
 and fifth cantos of my poem " The Phantom Land " 
 having been rejected in the last two numbers of the 
 Monthly Magazine, my hopes of bringing myself into 
 notice as a poet seem now to be extinguished. Every 
 avenue of literary distinction seemed to be closed 
 against me, and with a heavy heart I submitted to 
 my lot. I had done all that I was able to do, but 
 had failed ; and I could not reproach myself, on the 
 one hand, with inglorious indolence, or, on the other, 
 with want of honourable perseverance. 
 
 But I did not for one moment relinquish my attach- 
 ment to poetry, and I determined still to write though 
 I might never be read. Although I had failed in my 
 endeavours, I did not despair of ultimate, though 
 far off, success. 
 
 THE FRIENDLESS POET. 
 
 Neglected, poor, dispirited, unknown, 
 The friendless poet wears his life away; 
 
 The world to him appears a desert lone, 
 
 The sun shines darkling at the noon of day. 
 
A MEMOIR. 115 
 
 Alone he walks at eve the billowy shore, 
 
 What time the moon gleams on the waste below. 
 
 And sings to the deep bass of ocean's roar, 
 The story of his soul's melodious woe. 
 
 He sees a thousand silver-crested waves 
 That seek, ambitiously, to scale the skies, 
 
 Thrusting each other to untimely graves, 
 While other thousands on their ruins rise. 
 
 A crowd of stars adorn the vault of night ; 
 
 He marks them glittering with conflicting rays, 
 Such numbers strive to shine that each, though 
 bright, 
 
 Shines unobserved amid the general blaze. 
 
 So fares it in the Temple of Renown ; 
 
 A dazzling concourse crowds the ivory floor, 
 And, while their lustre shines each other down, 
 
 They keep the friendless poet at the door. 
 
 Yet Hope, undying Hope ! man's faithful friend, 
 Heaven's darling gift, the mourner's secret stay, 
 
 Unfailing Hope keeps by him to the end, 
 
 And lifts her torch to cheer his darksome way. 
 
 The following poem may be a characteristic descrip- 
 tion of many a country tradesman: 
 
 THE VILLAGE SHOPKEEPER. 
 
 These many years I now have stood 
 Behind this counter of oak-wood ; 
 And now, at length, I seem grown old, 
 And find I cannot bear the cold. 
 
Il6 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 My counter is my real estate, 
 Which I have tilled early and late, 
 And, having reaped a middling crop, 
 'Tis time, methinks, to shut up shop. 
 
 These eyes are not what once they were, 
 
 I have to use another pair ; 
 
 My active limbs are now grown weak, 
 
 My voice pipes strangely when I speak, 
 
 My memory, too, begins to fail, 
 
 And something seems my feet to ail, 
 
 My head is getting bald at top, 
 
 Tis time, methinks, to shut up shop. 
 
 My name, inscribed above my door 
 Some forty years ago or more, 
 None now can read. My threshold, too, 
 Is worn by many a worn-out shoe. 
 My goods, that line these shelves about, 
 Belong to fashions long gone out. 
 Fair trade hath lost its sterling prop, 
 'Tis time, methinks, to shut up shop. 
 
 Old customers, who every morn 
 
 Would come and chat, are dead and gone ; 
 
 Along the churchyard, as I pass, 
 
 I see their names above the grass. 
 
 My youngers, too, whom I have seen 
 
 Grow up from children on the green, 
 
 Into the grave I see them drop, 
 
 'Tis time, methinks, to shut up shop. 
 
 During the summer of this year, my father suffered 
 much from his old complaints dizziness in the head 
 
A MEMOIR. 117 
 
 and attacks of faintness. He was afraid to be left 
 alone, and unable to take much exercise. My mother, 
 also, was out of health, owing to a cough which had 
 long been undermining her strength. My brother and 
 I of course felt much anxiety about them, in addition 
 to our other sources of disquietude. 
 
 Tenth Month jth. My dear mother is ill, very ill ; 
 but so placid, so beautiful, so uncomplaining. 
 
 Eleventh Month 2nd. My uncle, Bracy Clark, 
 F.L.S., is come to see us. The principal object of 
 his visit was to see my dear mother. Her complaint 
 was pulmonary consumption ; and though we were 
 continually flattered with hopes of her recovery, as is 
 usual in such cases, yet the insidious disease advanced 
 with a rapid and steady pace, till her strength was 
 so much reduced that she was unable to walk 
 upstairs. 
 
 As my mother was unable to take much solid food 
 on account of the soreness of her mouth, and had no 
 daughter now to make custards and other delicacies 
 for her, and our servant had plenty of other employ- 
 ment, I learned to make them myself. It was a 
 satisfaction to me thus to be able to minister to the 
 comfort of one who in years past had done so much 
 for me. 
 
 It was on the morning of the nth of Eleventh 
 Month that my father hastily entered our room with 
 the same agonised expression of countenance which 
 I had seen him wear on two former occasions. He 
 came to tell us that my mother was dying, and that 
 we must come immediately. We were soon dressed, 
 and at her bedside. She was breathing quickly, and 
 
Il8 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 evidently near her end ; but she was quite sensible, 
 though her articulation was almost gone. 
 
 All that she uttered with regard to the state of her 
 mind on this solemn occasion were the words, " No 
 condemnation." She gradually fell into a gentle 
 slumber, or state of unconsciousness, and thus she 
 peacefully expired. 
 
 Oh ! what a blank I feel ! How many tears have 
 I shed ! But this is one of the conditions of the 
 tenure of life. May I, from this time forth, cultivate 
 in an increased degree those virtues which my 
 beloved mother possessed ; that when I come to die 
 there may be no cloud, no shadow, but the pure sun- 
 shine of eternal life ! 
 
 Farewell, my beloved mother ! I shall no more 
 see thee in thy armchair by the fireside ; or on the 
 grass plat, underneath the mulberry tree, with thy 
 little silver fork partaking of the delicious new- 
 fallen purple fruit of which thou wast so fond ! 
 
 During my mother's illness I saw Halley's cele- 
 brated comet. It was near the Great Bear. In size 
 it was about equal to the stars in that fine constella- 
 tion, but less brilliant. The tail of the comet was an 
 extremely faint line of light, extending about one 
 degree, and then lost in indistinctness ; something 
 like the track of a common meteor, but not so vivid. 
 I gazed upon this wonderful circumnavigator of the 
 solar system, which has been the subject of so much 
 fine speculation and profound mathematical labour, 
 with an interest which I cannot express. 
 
 Eleventh Month 2^th. I attended a public meeting 
 this afternoon on the subject of the proposed Eastern 
 
A MEMOIR. 119 
 
 Counties Railway. There are a great many thick- 
 headed men who see strange fears, and declare that it 
 will be an injury to the town, and so forth; but I 
 hail the project as a most noble and advantageous 
 adventure. 
 
 I, at length, concluded to become a member of the 
 Mechanics' Institution ; and when the next election 
 of committee-men occurred I was chosen one of that 
 body. For some time I took no part in the business 
 of the Committee ; but contented myself with being 
 an observer. The Institution was by no means in a 
 flourishing condition. At length I drew up a series 
 of propositions, and laid them before the Committee. 
 These propositions were : First, for a considerable 
 reduction in the charge for membership, in order to 
 induce a much larger number to join the Institution; 
 secondly, for the opening of a reading-room, to be 
 well supplied with London and local newspapers, 
 and literary journals, for the use and improvement of 
 the members ; and, thirdly, for the allowing of each 
 member to bring a female friend with him to hear the 
 lectures, in order to have larger audiences on such 
 occasions. 
 
 These sweeping reforms in the constitution of the 
 Mechanics' Institution were accordingly submitted to 
 the members at the General Meeting, and as there 
 was every probability that the Institute would fall to 
 the ground unless some remedial measures were 
 carried, there was but little opposition to them, and 
 they were finally adopted. A new Committee was 
 chosen to carry these reforms into operation, and 
 I was appointed Honorary Secretary to the Institu- 
 
120 JAMES HURXARD : 
 
 tion. The result answered my most sanguine expec- 
 tations. 
 
 On the 27th of Fifth Month I met with an adven- 
 ture. This was an interview which I obtained with 
 Daniel O'Connell, the great agitator, the Liberator of 
 Ireland, the most distinguished man of the age. A 
 neighbour of ours called upon us in the morning to say 
 that O'Connell was about to pass through Colchester, 
 and would stop at the Cups Hotel to breakfast. I 
 was just in time to be introduced, with others, by 
 David Morris to O'Connell, with whom, to my great 
 satisfaction, I had the honour of shaking hands. 
 
 O'Connell ! thou has brought into the field 
 
 Millions of heroes panoplied to fight 
 
 For Ireland, their freedom, and their right; 
 
 Brave injured men determined not to yield. 
 
 How hast thou armed them ? Not with weapons bright, 
 
 Not with the sword, with which barbarians fight. 
 
 Public opinion is the sword they wield, 
 
 It sheds no blood, yet puts whole hosts to flight ; 
 
 And thou hast given them -a seven-fold shield, 
 
 Through which the spear of war can never smite, 
 
 Passive resistance to oppressive might ! 
 
 Thine are the triumphs of a peaceful field, 
 
 Therefore I honour thee, and place thy name 
 
 Amidst the permanent great heirs of fame. 
 
 On the 28th of Seventh Month, 1836, I took coach 
 in order to pay a visit to my friends in Devonshire. 
 One of them showed me about Exeter ; and not the 
 least interesting visit which we paid was to the grave 
 of Jonathan Dymond, the great Christian moralist. 
 
A MEMOIR. 121 
 
 DYMOND'S GRAVE. 
 
 Standing by Exeter's cathedral tower 
 
 My thoughts went back to that small grassy mound 
 
 Which I had lately left the grassy mound 
 
 Where Dymond sleeps. I felt how small the power 
 
 Of timeworn walls to waken thoughts profound 
 
 Compared with that green spot of sacred ground. 
 
 Dymond ! Death-stricken in thy manhood's flower, 
 
 Thy brow with deathless amaranth is crowned ; 
 
 Thou saw'st the world from thy sequestered bower 
 
 In old hereditary errors bound ; 
 
 And such a truthful trumpet thou didst sound 
 
 As shall ring in men's ears till time devour 
 
 The vestiges of nations. Yet thy name 
 
 Finds but the tribute of slow-gathered fame. 
 
 We made a delightful excursion along the coast to 
 Dawlish., Teignmouth, Babbacomb, and Torquay. 
 
 On the day following we walked to Dawlish, and 
 having loitered a long while among the rocks of that 
 beautiful coast, we took boat and enjoyed a most 
 delighful row to Exmouth, whence we walked to my 
 uncle Henry Clark's pleasant cottage at Withycombe. 
 But as to our various adventures in this journey, and 
 our sayings and doings by sea and land, it is suffi- 
 cient, perhaps, that they should be inscribed alone 
 on the pleasant pages of memory. I bade farewell 
 to my kinds friends on the2Oth of the Eighth Month, 
 and embarked on board a steamboat at Exmouth for 
 London. After a voyage of 320 miles I arrived at 
 London about noon on the 22nd, immediately moun- 
 ted a coach, and reached home the same evening. 
 
122 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 After my return, and when the excitement of the 
 journey was over, I began deeply to feel my forlorn 
 condition. The future was impenetrably dark the 
 torch of Hope burnt dimly and I could not see the 
 steps of my feet. Frequent and earnest were my 
 prayers to the Giver of every good and perfect gift 
 that He would grant me His blessing and shed a 
 light upon my path. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Oh ! for a mind congenial with my own ! 
 
 Loving whatever is divine in thought, 
 
 And beautiful in vision. Life is short, 
 
 My youth is past, and I am still alone. 
 
 Oh ! for a friend with kindred feelings fraught 
 
 To love me, cheer me, and, with skill untaught, 
 
 Forth from my heart-strings call each slumbering tone ; 
 
 One of the true imaginative sort 
 
 To whom I might, confidingly, make known 
 
 What glorious pageants sometimes sweep athwart 
 
 My visual range, and vanish into nought, 
 
 Whither the poet's bubble worlds are blown. 
 
 Is there a voice that can respond to mine ? 
 
 Or must my life in loneliness decline ? 
 
 Tenth Month loth. Finished my ode on " Muta- 
 bility," the first of my series of Sacred Odes. 
 
 ODE ON MUTABILITY. 
 
 The dead, the dead, the mighty dead ! 
 How silent are they in their mouldy graves. 
 The dead, the dead, the mighty dead, 
 Over them all her wand Oblivion waves. 
 
A MEMOIR. 123 
 
 The dead, the mighty dead ; 
 Great men of great observance in their day, 
 
 How is their greatness fled ! 
 How is their glory blown, like smoke, away! 
 Into what degradation are they cast ! 
 Into what ill condition are they come ! 
 Statesmen, whose eloquence held nations fast, 
 
 How soon their lips are dumb ! 
 Monarchs, who ruled the empires of the past, 
 How small the realms o'er which they rule at last ! 
 The dead, the dead, the mighty dead, 
 Neither the stirring tumult of the drum, 
 
 Nor yet the trumpet's blast, 
 Nor yet the excitement of resounding arms, 
 
 Nor Glory's mead, nor beauty's charms, 
 Nor pomp, which is the allurement of the vain, 
 Nor praise, .which is the guerdon of the great, 
 Nor boundless power, nor still more boundless gain, 
 Nor fear, nor jealousy, nor love, nor hate, 
 Nor any might that magic may possess, 
 
 Can win them back from nothingness, 
 And bid them breathe again. 
 
 Cast thine eye Eastward. Dost thou now behold 
 
 Yon plain outspread in sterile disarray, 
 
 Through which yon sleepy stream winds its dull way ? 
 
 There Babel's city towered in years of old, 
 
 The rich the great, the beautiful, the gay, 
 
 Where is she now ? remingled with earth's mould. 
 
 O'er all her pomp the tide of time has rolled 
 
 And left her to the scorching winds a prey. 
 
 Her walls, her baths, luxuriously cold, 
 
 Her gorgeous domes, that glittered in the day, 
 
 Her hanging gardens sweet as sweet Cathay, 
 
124 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Her princes proud, her chiefs and captains bold, 
 Who quaffed potations from their cups of gold, 
 With all her sons born only to obey, 
 Each with his little history untold, 
 All are demolished in one vast decay ! 
 And Bel is tumbled from his lofty keep, 
 And what was once his temple is a heap, 
 A blasted heap ! 
 
 A place untenanted by men, 
 A cage for unclean birds, a lion's den, 
 A wrath-struck object of offended might, 
 
 A mark for thunderbolts to smite. 
 
 The living, too, are hastening fast 
 
 Away, away, 
 To join the pilgrims of the past 
 
 In their decay. 
 Beauty, in all its bloom, 
 Goes down into the tomb 
 
 An early prey. 
 The dearest, brightest, best, 
 How short their stay! 
 Treasures which, ere possessed, 
 
 Are snatched away. 
 The old man bent with time, 
 The strong man in his prime, 
 
 The young, the gay, 
 All take the same sad road, 
 All seek their long abode, 
 
 All pass away. 
 
 The path of years is as the mournful scene, 
 Of some great army's flight, 
 Where all the way tells tales of what has been, 
 Strewed as it is with wrecks of former might, 
 
A MEMOIR. 125 
 
 Chariots o'erthrown, and trophies cast aside, 
 Ensigns and arms, and spoils of human pride. 
 
 But not on man alone 
 
 Is seen the hand of change ; 
 From the Antarctic to the Arctic zone 
 All Nature, through her vast and varied range, 
 Feels the mutations of progressive Time, 
 
 Along his track sublime. 
 Old shores are sinking down into the deep, 
 New isles are springing from the foamy wave, 
 Winds to the earth the oaks of ages sweep, 
 
 earthquakes whelm whole cities in one 
 grave, 
 
 Rivers that were are not 
 Or, fallen into infancy again, 
 
 Run prattling to the main. 
 The very rocks enjoy no sacred lot ; 
 Mere dropping water eats into their grain ; 
 Vexed between moist and dry, and cold and hot, 
 Nature, Earth's mother, never ends her toils 
 What Summer ripens, Winter quickly spoils. 
 But yesterday a bud a flower to-day 
 To-morrow nothing such is Nature's way ! 
 'Tis all a drama on the world's great stage, 
 Wherein each day, with all its joys and woes, 
 Its little triumphs, and its petty rage, 
 Is but a shifting scene which quickly goes ; 
 And night lets down the curtain at the close. 
 
 Thus scene succeeds to scene, 
 While wakeful birds sing symphonies between. 
 The rising sun reveals another morn, 
 
 But yesterday is gone ! 
 
126 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 The stars alone, that walk the solemn sky, 
 
 Or stand bright sentinels at Heaven's gate, 
 
 Seem of a race created not to die ; 
 
 Their golden shields nightly attract the eye, 
 
 Gleaming afar beyond the reach of fate ; 
 
 The emblems of eternity they shine, 
 
 Age after age with unimpoverished light, 
 
 Over the pure transparent hyaline 
 
 Gently, untarnishably, softly bright, 
 
 Orion and Arcturus in their might, 
 
 The same that Job saw in old times and lands, 
 
 When God, who doeth all things right, 
 
 Left him to Satan's hands ; 
 The. same the shepherds of Chaldee of yore 
 Regarded as they roamed their mountains o'er, 
 
 Watching their flocks by night ; 
 And which the weary-hearted of all times, 
 After the tumult of the passing day, 
 With all its aching cares and all its crimes, 
 Have looked upon, and could not turn away 
 So touched, so moved, while all the host above 
 Looked down on them with undissembled love, 
 And bade their calmed spirits to rejoice 
 With their resistless inarticulate voice. 
 
 And yet that host, though clothed with Heaven's light, 
 When Time's dread dial marks the appointed hour, 
 Shall, on a sudden, trembling with affright, 
 Feel the invisible strong arm of power; 
 And like a routed army take to flight ; 
 Their golden shields the glory of all eyes 
 Like those that Solomon in Salem wrought, 
 Of which the Egyptian warrior made proud prize, 
 Shall benefit them nought. 
 
A MEMOIR. 127 
 
 Stars against stars in wild dismay shall run, 
 
 And vanish one by one. 
 
 And fear the inhabitants of earth shall stun ; 
 Fierce winds shall whip the sea's affrighted flood; 
 The undulating moon shall roll in blood, 
 
 And darkness dim the sun. 
 And there shall be on high a fearful sound, 
 And Night shall spread her manifold curtain round, 
 Lit only by the lightning's blinding flash ; 
 
 And, 'mid the general crash, 
 The universe, dissolving, shall take fire ; 
 Earthquakes shall agonise the bursting globe ; 
 The skies shall rend asunder as a robe; 
 The elements shall melt with fervent heat ; 
 The rocks flow down ; the sea's proud waves retreat, 
 And Nature shall expire. 
 
 And such is the inevitable fate 
 Which, like a sword suspended by a thread, 
 Hangs over Nature's head ; 
 
 And such the date, 
 
 Such is the short, uncertain, date of man, 
 Placed in this dim probationary state. 
 
 O ! while we can, 
 Ere yet it be too late, 
 Whither for sure protection shall we flee ? 
 Whither, O ! God, our Father, but to Thee ? 
 
 Thy throne is sure, 
 Amidst the flood of ages without end, 
 
 And still will be 
 
 When sun and moon no longer shall endure. 
 Thou only hast the shield that can defend ; 
 And if with pure 
 
128 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And deep humility of heart we trust, 
 O God ! in Thy Almightiness to save, 
 It will not trouble us that we are dust, 
 And that our life is bounded by the grave ; 
 For Thou canst soothe us at our latest breath, 
 
 And give an angel's smile to death. 
 Yes ! Thou canst make our last our happiest day, 
 And in the boundless riches of Thy love, 
 Canst give us an inheritance above 
 That fadeth not away. 
 
 I have now reached that point of time in my life 
 at which I commenced this narrative. Very far from 
 having arrived at that state of perfectness which is 
 obtainable through Divine assistance in this state 
 of being, I may confess that, from my childhood, I 
 have lived in the practice of daily and still more 
 frequent prayer. Not formal tedious oblations, but 
 the short and fervent breathings of the heart. This 
 practice has been of great use to me, and contributed 
 to make me place ajust value on temporal and eternal 
 things, so that I have been at all times willing rather 
 to sink unknown and unnoticed to the grave, than 
 forfeit one single hope of a happy immortality. 
 
 We will now continue the narrative with extracts 
 from his note books and other sources. 
 
A MEMOIR. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Death of his only brother Delegate to the Anti-Corn Law 
 Conference Triumph of Free Trade " Sonnet " 
 thereon Death of Sarah J. Grubb " A Friends' Meet- 
 ing in the Country." 
 
 Second Month 2nd, 1838. Since I last made an 
 entry in this book great and unlooked-for and melan- 
 choly events have taken place in our little family. 
 
 On the 22nd of the Eleventh Month my dear and 
 only brother, William Clark Hurnard, was taken in a 
 fit. It was supposed to be occasioned by a fall from 
 a gig some weeks before. Other fits followed. What 
 anguish what anxiety were ours ! On the 5th of the 
 First Month he died, between one and two in the 
 morning. 
 
 He was buried on the loth ; thus am I left the last 
 of the flock. I am not yet thirty, yet I have lived to 
 see my two sisters and my only brother, after having 
 grown up to maturity, summoned to another and a 
 better world ! How wonderful is this ! For what 
 purpose am I left ? How long shall I remain behind ? 
 How desolate I am ! Do Thou, O Lord, be pleased 
 to bless me, and preserve me, and direct my steps, 
 and enlighten my mind, and grant me Thy salva- 
 tion ! 
 
 Second Month yth, 1842. Went to London to attend 
 the great Anti-Corn Law Conference as a deputy from 
 
 K 
 
130 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 the Colchester Association. The meetings lasted 
 five days. The principal speakers were O'Connell, 
 George Thompson, Joseph Hume, Cobden, Villiers, 
 Joseph Sturge, Grey, Sharman Crawford, Dr. Bow- 
 ring, Taylor, Colonel Thompson, and Diogenes 
 Falvey, a working man. The meetings were highly 
 interesting ; and I feel assured, from the spirit which 
 was exhibited, that the Corn Laws will soon be 
 swept away. 
 
 Having spent about five years of my youth in the 
 United States as one of a family of emigrants sub- 
 jected to many hardships, and deprived of much of 
 the school education which I should otherwise have 
 received, but, at the same time, learning many prac- 
 tical lessons from experience, and observation of men 
 and things, I naturally imbibed many opinions which 
 have greatly influenced my subsequent life. 
 
 One of the most striking facts which arrested my 
 notice was the prodigal abundance of food which the 
 people enjoyed. 
 
 The interminable market place of Philadelphia, 
 stretching throughout the city, glutted with every 
 kind of country produce, and lengthening as the city 
 extended, was a sight never to be forgotten. 
 
 The quantity of food which was habitually wasted 
 at table would have amply fed an English family. 
 Not only bread, the staff of life, but fish, flesh, fowl, 
 and fruit abounded in marvellous profusion. On the 
 return, therefore, of my family to our native land, 
 when I was sixteen years of age, I was shocked to 
 witness the poverty of the working classes, and the 
 struggle of the trading community to obtain a living, 
 
A MEMOIR. Ijl 
 
 overburdened as they were with taxes, the result of 
 useless wars and restrictive laws. 
 
 The Corn Laws especially, which prevented the 
 importation of foreign grain except when home- 
 grown corn reached a famine price, filled me with 
 disgust. These laws were plainly designed by a 
 landlord-Parliament to raise the rent of land by 
 diminishing the supply of food to the people. The 
 interference with the principles of Free Trade some- 
 times produced commercial panics and great distress 
 throughout the country; sometimes even a sangui- 
 nary civil war seemed to threaten the land. At 
 length the Anti-Corn Law League was established 
 at Manchester, the object of which was to overthrow 
 the existing monopoly under which the country 
 groaned, and thereby encourage the free exchange of 
 home manufactures for foreign corn. The leaders of 
 this wonderful organisation were Richard Cobden 
 and John Bright, whose enormous exertions, saga- 
 cious tactics, and convincing eloquence, triumphed 
 after a seven years' crusade. The principles which 
 they advocated were sound and true ; and, although 
 the hostility which they encountered was powerful 
 and bitter beyond what the present generation can 
 conceive, yet at last they convinced and subdued 
 their adversaries. Sir Robert Peel, who was raised 
 to the post of Prime Minister in order to maintain 
 the Corn Laws, and the new Parliament which he 
 summoned to support him, proved, ultimately, to be 
 the very Minister, and the very Parliament, which 
 abolished these iniquitous laws. 
 
 The common manufactures and commerce of the 
 
132 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 country have been enormously increased by Free 
 Trade ; and the prosperity and happiness of the 
 people consequently enhanced. 
 
 I look back on no labours of my life with more 
 satisfaction than the zealous efforts which I made to 
 promote the success of the Anti-Corn Law League, 
 which, however, at the time, cost me the ill-will of 
 the influential people in my neighbourhood. 
 
 Fourth Month, 2ist. We have received four bales 
 of Anti-Corn Law packets, which I am to distribute 
 to the electors of this town. I find the League have 
 done me the honour to print my sonnet among the 
 selected contents of their packets, in company with 
 passages from Byron, Cowper, Elliot and others. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Why should our poor be exiled from the land 
 
 Of their progenitors, and forced to go 
 
 And seek a home in realms of ice and snow, 
 
 Enduring every hardship which the hand, 
 
 The heavy hand, of want can lay on woe, 
 
 And for no fault of theirs ? 'Twere better planned 
 
 To bring food home to them. It is a grand 
 
 Mistake to fancy that we overflow 
 
 With population. Men can never stand 
 
 Too thickly on the soil of England. No ! 
 
 Numbers give strength ; and if the winds might blow 
 
 Food to our harbours London might expand 
 
 On every side, until she reached the shore, 
 
 And John O'Groat beheld her at his door. 
 
 " It will be recollected," says the Ipswich Express 
 
A MEMOIR. 133 
 
 of July nth, 1843, "that, during a recent debate on 
 the Corn Laws in the House of Commons, Sir John 
 Tyrrell, Bart., M.P. for North Essex, defied Richard 
 Cobden, Esq., M.P. for Stockport, and leader of the 
 Anti-Corn Law League, to meet him face to face 
 before the farmers of Essex. Mr. Cobden accepted 
 the challenge, and declared his readiness to discuss 
 the principles of Free Trade and the principles of 
 Protection, in the very division of the county which 
 Sir John Tyrrell represents in Parliament. From 
 the time that Mr. Cobden's intention was known, 
 strenuous efforts were made to excite the farmers 
 against that gentleman, and, by organisation, to en- 
 sure a signal defeat to the Free Trade party. The 
 language employed by the local papers was of so 
 angry a nature that some were not without appre- 
 hensions that Mr. Cobden would meet with personal 
 violence." 
 
 Seventh Month 8th, 1843. The day of the great 
 Anti-Corn Law meeting at Colchester. Cobden 
 obtained a complete victory over Sir John Tyrrell 
 and his party. We had Cobden, Villiers, Diogenes, 
 R. R. Moore, Harbottle, and several others to dinner, 
 and, after the meeting, to tea with us. They were 
 all in the highest spirits at the result. 
 
 Twelfth Month ^th, 1845. Last night I read in the 
 Times newspaper the joyful tidings that the Peel- 
 Wellington Government has, at length, resolved to 
 bring forward a measure for the total and immediate 
 repeal of the Corn Laws at the commencement of 
 the next session. The power of the League and the 
 terror of approaching famine, with all its concomitant 
 
134 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 evils, have combined to overthrow this oppressive 
 law, in spite of the most powerful aristocracy in the 
 world. Those who have laboured in the great work, 
 who have endured insult, contempt, ridicule, and 
 oppression for its sake, have a right to exult at the 
 victory, which will bring comfort and plenty to tens 
 of thousands of fire-sides in Great Britain, and will 
 be a blessing to Europe and America, and every other 
 country on the face of the globe. 
 
 Fifth Month ibth, 1846. Last night the Bill for the 
 repeal of the Corn Laws was read the third time in 
 the House of Commons, and passed by a majority of 
 ninety-eight. 
 
 Sixth Month 26th. This day the Bill for the aboli- 
 tion of the Corn Laws received the Queen's assent. 
 Free trade for ever ! 
 
 We have anticipated the course of events in 
 order to bring the account of the Anti-Corn Law 
 agitation to a conclusion, and now revert to an earlier 
 date. 
 
 Third Month i6th, 1842. Died at Sudbury, Sarah 
 John Grubb, a distinguished female minister in our 
 Society. When young and unmarried she devoted 
 herself a good deal to open-air preaching in mar- 
 ket-places and elsewhere with great earnestness 
 and power. During the latter part of her life 
 she lived in my own neighbourhood, and I knew 
 her well. 
 
 She was a woman of great natural gifts, and 
 
A MEMOIR. 135 
 
 possessed a depth of spiritual knowledge and a force 
 of polished language chat were very remarkable. To 
 listen to her sometimes one seemed to be borne 
 upward calmly and steadily, as on eagle's wings, into 
 the very atmosphere and precincts of Heaven. 
 
 The following poem, descriptive of a Friends' 
 meeting in the country, gave me the opportunity of 
 describing, not only this remarkable female preacher, 
 but the several members of my own family, besides 
 some other characters familiar to me : 
 
 A FRIENDS' MEETING IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 A simple porch an ancient pile, 
 
 Of no especial mark or style 
 
 Green graves, and slumbering trees without 
 
 Bare walls within, and timbers stout 
 
 Here, at this evening hour, a band 
 
 Of silent worshippers have met, 
 Female and male on either hand ; 
 
 A narrow aisle between them set. 
 It is, indeed, a little band 
 Long forms without a tenant stand, 
 And seats that ancient valiants bore 
 Departed know them now no more ! 
 Yet over all a stillness dwells 
 
 Than empty silence far more deep, 
 In which the heart with fervour swells, 
 
 And fear and hope together weep. 
 But all are not alike engaged 
 
 To bow their souls in praise or prayer : 
 The thoughts of some, like birds uncaged, 
 
 Are wandering here or wandering there, 
 
136 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Unmindful of life's narrow span, 
 Forgetful of the debt they owe 
 
 For every breath since life began, 
 And every good enjoyed below ! 
 
 What contrasts, both of mind and face, 
 Of youth and age are in this place ! 
 What different thoughts and feelings stir 
 The brain of him the heart of her ! 
 That tender mother's fervent look 
 Is winning as an open book: 
 Her features are of Roman form, 
 Unmarked by passion's sun or storm ; 
 Her face, indeed, is saintly fair 
 Dark are her eyes ; her silvery hair, 
 Worn short beneath her muslin cap, 
 
 Peeps forth in little natural waves ; 
 Her hands are folded in her lap ; 
 
 She is not one of fashion's slaves ; 
 Alike her countenance and dress 
 Her loyalty to Heaven express. 
 
 This upright man, of sanguine hue, 
 
 And stern, yet sorrow-stricken face, 
 Appears like one still struggling through 
 
 The briars and thorns that mar life's race. 
 But though his head is crisped with gray, 
 
 And though his brow is graved with care, 
 Hope lights his features with her ray, 
 
 And faith defends him from despair. 
 Fighting in faith the fight of life, 
 Through grace he triumphs in the strife. 
 
 A girl is sitting by the wall, 
 Still young, but as a woman tall ; 
 
A MEMOIR. 137 
 
 With face as dark, if not so sad, 
 
 As, haply, Jephthah's daughter had. 
 
 How still she sits in soul retired, 
 
 With peaceful thoughts of Heaven inspired. 
 
 Her eyes are wedded to the ground, 
 
 Moveless to either sight or sound. 
 
 Beside her sits a smaller girl 
 
 Complexioned like the ocean pearl; 
 
 The same in tippet and in frock 
 
 In mind how different seems the stock 
 
 The ardent face, the fitful start 
 
 Reveal the young enthusiast's heart. 
 
 This stripling here with forehead high, 
 With pallid cheek and serious eye 
 So fair a morn gives promise soon 
 To usher in a glorious noon. 
 Next him there sits a pretty boy 
 
 Perhaps of ten years old or less, 
 To gaze upon him is a joy, 
 
 Though quaint and homely is his dress. 
 The rose's blush is on his check, 
 
 The diamond's light is in his eye, 
 His lips, though silent, seem to speak, 
 
 His curly locks around him fly. 
 To sit in stillness is, to him, 
 An irksome task to every limb ; 
 And so, the moments to beguile 
 
 He calls his fancy to his aid, 
 With Xury sails full many a mile 
 
 With Crusoe wanders, half afraid ; 
 Sees in the wainscot's knotted boards, 
 Exploding ships, and flaming swords ; 
 
138 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 The slough that Christian struggled thro' 
 The lions crouching in their lair 
 
 Apollyon, terrible to view, 
 The Doubting Castle of Despair ! 
 
 Here sits a man whose heavy face 
 Of thought or feeling shows no trace ; 
 A man of long-descended wealth, 
 And richer still in changeless health; 
 Respected in his daily walk, 
 But fitted for no higher talk 
 Than that of bullocks or of crops 
 Or how the glass creeps up or drops ; 
 Contented in his rural sphere, 
 To one indulgent bosom dear. 
 
 Yon row of maidens young and fair 
 Have surely known no mother's care; 
 In various colours sprucely dight, 
 
 With bonnets gay, and tresses curled, 
 They seem just fledged to take their flight 
 
 Into the giddy outside world. 
 
 Yon female Friend in middle life, 
 Though handsome, is not yet a wife; 
 Though love in her benignant eyes 
 In gushing fountains seems to rise. 
 Unsullied as the silk she wears 
 Her soul a sacred impress bears. 
 She never loved because unsought ! 
 Or love too rashly set at nought ! 
 Or if she loved 'twas unrevealed ; 
 And thrown away because concealed ! 
 
A MEMOIR. 139 
 
 And so her warm affections find 
 Solace in helping all mankind 
 The poor at home the slave abroad 
 All who can yield her no reward ! 
 
 On the raised benches, at the end, 
 
 Facing the meeting sits a Friend 
 
 Of reverend age. His visage meek 
 
 Seems a glad spirit to bespeak. 
 
 Goodness, untinged by worldly guile 
 
 Has framed his features to a smile. 
 
 A female preacher by his side 
 
 Sedately sits. Her forehead wide, 
 
 And short round features, full of lines, 
 
 Show, by indubitable signs, 
 
 Her mental energy and power, 
 
 Fitted for any place or hour. 
 
 She rises. In her form and mien 
 
 A natural dignity is seen. 
 
 Her Quaker bonnet, backward thrust, 
 
 Reveals her massive face ; her bust 
 
 Swells with her mission ; slow she speaks, 
 
 Her lifted hand due audience seeks : 
 
 "When Christ on earth in person came, 
 He promised that where two or three 
 
 Are met together in His name 
 
 Which is His power there He will be ! 
 
 This day this promise we behold 
 
 Fulfilled amongst us. O'er Christ's fold 
 
 The hovering wing, it may be said, 
 
 Of ancient goodness still is spread ! 
 
 God is a Spirit ! Boundless space 
 
 Is His eternal dwelling-place ! 
 
140 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 The earth is with His presence filled, 
 
 Yet such is His mysterious plan, 
 His sacred pleasure is to build 
 
 His temple in the heart of man ! 
 And there in spirit to be sought, 
 
 In spirit worshipped and obeyed, 
 Until salvation shall be wrought, 
 
 And man is in His image made ! 
 Nor is it strange that He who wheeled 
 
 These worlds into the empty sky, 
 Yet paints the lilies of the field, 
 
 And feeds the ravens when they cry, 
 Should condescend His works to own ; 
 
 And this the chiefest of the whole; 
 And cause His presence to be known 
 
 In man's immortal quicken'd soul ! 
 
 "This revelation from above 
 Within us shows the Father's love 
 To fallen man. It is a lamp 
 To every soldier in His camp; 
 It is the hidden manna given, 
 From day to day, direct from heaven ; 
 Yet daily to be sought a brook 
 As by the way a shepherd's crook, 
 To draw us to Himself a well, 
 Pure, sweet, and inexhaustible, 
 Of living waters. O, how great 
 The privilege ! How good the gift ! 
 How excellent the Giver ! Wait 
 
 In faith before Him. He will lift 
 Our heads in hope. We shall rejoice 
 
 As in His presence, without fear; 
 Shall listen to His gracious voice, 
 
 And feel in truth that God is near. 
 
A MEMOIR. 141 
 
 In this communion we shall know 
 
 No need of outward form or sign 
 Or ceremonial, pomp, or show, 
 
 Or sacramental bread and wine. 
 The blessed substance being ours 
 
 These empty forms are worthless dross, 
 They yield to Christ's superior powers 
 
 Who, dying, nailed them to His cross ! 
 
 "What is true worship ? Let each one 
 
 Ask his own heart. Is it to run 
 
 With eager crowds, on words to feed ? 
 
 Is it to hear a parson read ? 
 
 Is it dependence on a priest ? 
 
 Is it to bow towards the east ? 
 
 Is it to listen to the sound 
 
 Of solemn music swelling round ? 
 
 True worship is a work divine, 
 
 Wrought in the secret of the heart, 
 In which both God and man combine ; 
 
 But man performs the minor part. 
 The soul with God brought face to face, 
 
 Bows low before the King of kings, 
 Adores the wonders of His grace, 
 
 And tribute to His footstool brings. 
 The power for which proud man aspires, 
 
 The treasure prized above all price, 
 The will, the passions, the desires, 
 
 Are offered up in sacrifice. 
 And God is pleased, in boundless love, 
 
 To make His glorious presence felt, 
 Grant holy oneness from above, 
 
 And all the soul in sweetness melt. 
 
142 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And God is gracious to the meek 
 
 And low of heart who own His sway, 
 Who unto Him in spirit seek 
 
 Through Jesus Christ the living Way. 
 This worship we may all perform, 
 
 Each in our own peculiar sphere, 
 Amidst the ragings of the storm, 
 
 When evil men are struck with fear; 
 Or in the calm of daily life, 
 
 Whatever cares engage our hands, 
 Amidst the town's commercial strife, 
 
 Or by the ocean's changing sands, 
 Though o'er the sea we steer our course, 
 
 Or walk as in the cloudy night, 
 The soul may gather to the Source 
 
 Of life divine, of love and light. 
 
 "Jesus is our High Priest. His word 
 Within the waiting soul is heard, 
 Teaching as no man. ever taught. 
 The power to teach cannot be bought ; 
 It is the gift of God. In vain 
 Men seek by study to attain 
 To heavenly knowledge. Learning fails 
 To pluck from human eyes the scales 
 That blind men to the truth. No doubt 
 
 This people was raised up of old 
 To make resistance, meek yet stout, 
 
 To human priestcraft, and uphold 
 A purer standard to mankind 
 
 Of life and doctrine, God's free grace, 
 And man's free will ! But they were fined. 
 
 And mocked, and scourged from place to place; 
 
A MEMOIR. 143 
 
 Robbed by informers, rudely thrown 
 
 Into foul dungeons, suffering through 
 Long months and years ; not men alone, 
 
 But, likewise, tender women, too ! 
 Yet could they glory in their wrongs, 
 
 Nor hope nor confidence would yield ; 
 But raised to Heaven triumphant songs, 
 
 And with their lives their witness sealed. 
 Oh, that in this more peaceful day, 
 
 Those times by none may be forgot ; 
 Why should we cast our shield away, 
 
 As though with oil anointed not ? 
 May neither pride nor sloth deter 
 
 The heavenward progress of our youth. 
 Sell not your birthright ! Nor prefer 
 
 A mess of pottage to the truth ! 
 
 " Thanks be to God, who would that all 
 Should turn to Him and live. The call 
 Is universal. He hath done 
 His part in that He gave His Son 
 To die for sinners ; and hath placed 
 His Spirit in our hearts. Then haste 
 To seek this inward light. Obey 
 Its guidance in the heavenly way. 
 It leads unto the truth. It shows 
 
 The vanity of earthly things ; 
 Reveals to man his inward foes, 
 
 Perhaps unknown before ; and brings 
 His soul from bondage. It destroys 
 
 All false, deceitful colours ; rends 
 The specious veil from worldly joys, 
 
 And shows in what earth's glory ends ! 
 
144 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 This blessed light of truth disowns 
 
 All fraud, all violence, all wars, 
 All tyrannies of states or thrones, 
 
 All harsh, unjust, oppressive laws ! 
 It yields alone true peace of mind, 
 
 It governs every vain desire, 
 Leads to truth-speaking with mankind, 
 
 Plainness of language and attire ; 
 Brings into unity and love, 
 
 That bond of love which nought can break ; 
 Binds us at once to Christ above. 
 
 And to each other for His sake. 
 It is the diadem and crown 
 
 Of our assemblies when we meet, 
 When all within us is laid down 
 
 In nothingness at Jesus' feet ! 
 It is the Unction from on high 
 
 The true Anointing, which alone 
 Can rightly fit and qualify 
 
 To make the glorious Gospel known ! 
 To this, dear friends, in love unfeigned, 
 
 I now commend you, one and all, 
 With mine own soul ; I feel constrained 
 
 Thus to invite you ! Heed the call ! " 
 
 She ceases. She resumes her seat ; 
 
 Yet still would seem the cadence sweet 
 
 To melt upon the ear. Around 
 
 A silence settles calm, profound. 
 
 A glow of heavenly love arrays 
 
 Her face ; but soon she kneels she prays. 
 
 " O Thou ! whose dwelling is on high, 
 Look down upon us with an eye 
 
A MEMOIR. 145 
 
 Of love and mercy ; and preserve 
 
 A remnant which shall never swerve 
 
 From Thy true service ; but uphold 
 
 Thy standard in the earth, with bold 
 
 And faithful hearts ! Shed forth Thy light, 
 
 And vindicate, in all men's sight, 
 
 Thy blessed truth ! And, for the sake 
 
 Of Christ, our risen Lord, O take 
 
 Unto Thyself Thy mighty power ! 
 
 Let not the sword of men devour 
 
 For ever; but be pleased to draw 
 
 The hearts of men away from war, 
 
 To worship Thee ! O God ! subdue 
 
 .Our stubborn wills ! Do Thou renew 
 
 Our spiritual strength. Forgive 
 
 Our erring hearts and bid us live ! 
 
 Be Thou our Guide from day to day ! 
 
 Thy law, O Lord, within us write ! 
 Be Thou our hope, our help, our stay, 
 
 Who art the Truth the Life the Light- 
 That we may know a second birth ; 
 
 For all men must be born again 
 Who seek to be redeemed from earth; 
 
 The second death will then obtain 
 No power to harm us. Cause, O Lord, 
 
 Thy truth to prosper more and more 
 In every land at home, abroad 
 
 That men Thy goodness may adore ! 
 That holiness may yet increase, 
 
 And spread through earth from sea to sea, 
 And men may live in love and peace, 
 
 And welcome incense rise to Thee! 
 To Thee, O Father ! and Thy Son, 
 
 The First Begotten from the dead, 
 
 L 
 
146 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And to the Holy Spirit one 
 
 True God ! our ever-living Head ! 
 
 High praises be ascribed, both now 
 And through eternity ; for Thou 
 Art worthy ! " 
 
 The sunset's soft and yellow beam 
 Along the wall begins to gleam ; 
 The sparrows on the fir-trees nigh 
 Have ceased to chirrup. By and by 
 The little company depart, 
 Some tendered and refreshed in heart ; 
 With every feature that they wear 
 Clothed in the garment of her prayer; 
 And grateful incense breathes above, 
 Accepted by celestial Love. 
 
A MEMOIR. 147 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Prize poem on Slavery : " Crowning Crime of Christendom" 
 Commencement of friendship with Benjamin B. Wiffen 
 " Master and Slave " Sonnet " to a Blackbird " " Ode 
 on the Death of Thomas Clarkson." 
 
 IN the year 1845, a gentleman of Bristol, of the 
 name of Edward Thomas, wishing to stimulate popular 
 hatred of slavery, offered a prize of 10 for the best 
 poem descriptive of a picture by Biard, which had 
 been exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 1840. It 
 represented a scene on the coast of Africa, in which 
 white men were buying negroes, both male and female, 
 from the native slave-traders, and branding them 
 with a hot iron, while a ship lay in the offing, ready 
 to convey them to a Christian land, across the ocean, 
 to toil, and suffer, and die in horrible slaver}-. 
 
 Not having seen the picture, I determined to write 
 a poem descriptive, not of it, but of the slave trade 
 as usually carried on. 
 
 Charles Gilpin, one of the judges, wrote to me to 
 inform me that Edward Thomas, the gentleman who 
 offered the prize of 10, had resolved to give two 
 prizes of that amount ; and also two second-class 
 prizes, consisting of copies of a large engraving of 
 Biard's picture ; and that one of these engravings 
 was allotted to me. 
 
 The following is the poem alluded to, which was 
 
148 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 published in the Anti-Slavery Reporter, Fourth Month 
 ist, 1846 : 
 
 THE CROWNING CRIME OF CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 I saw in the visions of night, 
 An African village on fire ! 
 
 The flames rolled along in their might ; 
 And the shrieks of the victims rose higher and higher, 
 As of infant, and parent, and grey-headed sire. 
 
 The man-stealers sprang on their prey! 
 And hundreds were slain or subdued : 
 
 Some perished from utter dismay, 
 And others were slain while for mercy they sued ; 
 And the soil they had tilled with their blood was imbued. 
 
 One sight I shall never forget, 
 
 Till the sunbeam of life is denied, 
 And the star of my memory shall set 
 A bridegroom, self-slaughtered, enclasping his bride, 
 Who lay murdered, and mangled, and scorched by his 
 side ! 
 
 The captives in fetters were bound ; 
 
 Fear ran through their tremulous frames ; 
 And they sobbed as they gazed round and round, 
 For where children that day had been playing their 
 
 games, 
 There were carcasses, captives, and smouldering flames. 
 
 The vision fled slowly away, 
 
 And another appeared in its place : 
 
 I looked on a beautiful bay ; 
 And ships in tranquillity slept on its face : 
 They were slavers ! the pest of the African race. 
 
A MEMOIR. 149 
 
 On the shore was a horrible mart 
 
 Where man was the merchandise sold ; 
 
 Where the best blood that boils through the heart 
 Was bartered, as though it were stolid and cold 
 As the storm-beaten rock or the slave dealer's gold. 
 
 Sweet babes from their mothers were torn 
 Wives were rent from their husbands away 
 
 Fond brothers asunder were borne 
 And lovers were parted and sold far astray, 
 To clasp hands never more till the great judgment-day. 
 
 I heard them in anguish complain ; 
 For life without love is but dross ! 
 
 But the}' pleaded for mercy in vain ; 
 For the demons, who swore by the creed of the Cross, 
 Turned their faces away with an insolent toss. 
 
 I gazed on the hot iron brand, 
 
 As it hissed on each ebony skin ; 
 I saw the slaves borne from the land 
 To a slave-ship, and packed in a large, loathsome bin, 
 Where the stench seemed to quench the dull light that 
 stole in. 
 
 The vision fled slowly away, 
 
 And another appeared in its place : 
 
 Far around flashed the bright ocean spray, 
 And a ship sped along in her beauty and grace, [pace. 
 Bounding o'er the wild waves with the swift swallow's 
 
 But pestilence, madness, and death, 
 
 Raged and raved in her dark, crowded hold ; 
 
 And the slaves, as they drew their last breath, 
 Uncoffined, unwept, ere their limbs were yet cold, 
 O'er the tall vessel's side were remorselessly rolled ! 
 
150 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Swift, swift, o'er the billowy main, 
 
 Flew onward that death-stricken barque ; 
 
 And, following as swift, in her train, 
 Swam many a monstrous and ravenous shark, 
 Gorging freely their fill of the carcasses dark. 
 
 As I gazed the great deep was unsealed ! 
 I looked down on the broad ocean's bed ; 
 
 And a valley of bones was revealed, 
 Which shall yet be an army with banners outspread, 
 When the last trumpet sounds which shall waken the dead. 
 
 The vision fled slowly away, 
 
 And another appeared in its place : 
 
 Before me a fair region lay, 
 
 Where mountains rose high, like a huge giant race, 
 With sweet, flowery fields lying calm at their base. 
 
 That land was the land of the slave ! 
 The scene of his closing career ; 
 
 Where the generous, the fond, and the brave, 
 Toiled on in their manacles year after year, 
 Paid with stripes for their labour their solace a jeer. 
 
 I saw them worn out with their toil, 
 Urged on by the slave-driver's whip ; 
 
 I saw the lash cruelly coil [drip 
 
 Round their scar-covered backs till the warm blood would 
 While a groan faintly fell from the eloquent lip ! 
 
 Enslaved both in body and mind, 
 The victims of grief and despair, 
 
 They seemed to their fortune resigned, 
 With no will of their own for the future no care, 
 Like the dumb beasts of burden whose lot is to bear. 
 
A MEMOIR. 151 
 
 I beheld a poor African chief, 
 Whose name was once honoured afar ; 
 
 Yet meekly he bore with his grief, 
 And sang to himself, " Callabar ! Callabar ! 
 Me could die in sweet peace could me see Callabar ! " 
 
 The vision fled slowly away, 
 
 And another appeared in its place : 
 
 I witnessed the great judgment-day ! 
 And the branded, down-trodden, enslaved negro race 
 With their tyrants and taskmasters stood face to face ! 
 
 Then spake One from the cloud which He trod, 
 " If man has no mercy on man, 
 
 How can man hope for mercy from God ? " 
 And a cry of despair through the multitude ran, 
 " There is no hope for men who have trafficked in man." 
 
 I have received a letter from Benjamin B. Wiffen, 
 who has seen my poem, and extols it in the highest 
 manner. This is most generous treatment in a per- 
 fect stranger of his standing, and I appreciate the 
 honour accordingly. 
 
 This was the commencement of a friendship which 
 lasted until the close of Benjamin B. Wiffen's life. 
 
 MASTER AND SLAVE. 
 
 Has this chained negro an immortal soul 
 
 Equal in God's impartial eye to thine ? 
 
 Doubtless ; then wherefore thus his limbs confine ? 
 
 Why scourge him till to Heaven his eye-balls roll, 
 
 Hopeless of human mercy? Slave though he be 
 
 He is thy brother Abel. Love divine 
 
 The spirit of his inner man makes free ; 
 
152 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And on the altar of his poverty 
 
 A holy offering pure evangeline 
 
 Sends up rich clouds of incense, such as He 
 
 Will have respect to who the heart can see, 
 
 Whose nostrils will be turned away from thine. 
 
 Prosper thou mayest, yet still it will be found, 
 
 In every age the murderer has found 
 
 The blood of Abel crieth from the ground. 
 
 TO A BLACKBIRD. 
 
 Sing, bonny blackbird ! thy melodious lay 
 Proves that thy breast some heavenly spark contains : 
 Love, joy, and pride distend thy little veins 
 
 As they do mine. Thou needst not fear my stay 
 
 While such a bond of sympathy remains 
 I will not harm thee ; I will never play 
 The kidnapper, and rifle thee away 
 
 For ever from thy native hawthorn lanes ; 
 
 Rob thee of freedom till thy dying day, 
 Far from thy sorrowing mate ; and while thy pains 
 Wring from thy ebon breast sweet plaintive strains 
 Gloat o'er the wrongs that on thy spirit weigh ! 
 Life, love, and liberty thou shalt not lack, 
 Nor be my slave because thy hue is black. 
 
 Tenth Month gth, 1846. This day my poem on 
 "The Death of Clarkson," is published in the Patriot 
 and in the Suffolk Chronicle. He was a man of great 
 eminence as a philanthropist, who, by his enor 
 mous labours, and with some hazard of his life, did 
 more than any other man to abolish the negro slave 
 trade between Africa and the West Indies. He may, 
 
A MEMOIR. 153 
 
 indeed, be looked upon as the great originator of 
 the art of agitation as a means of effecting impor- 
 tant public objects, by stirring up the conscience, 
 and the common sense of the nation, without the 
 dangerous aid of physical force ; and thus effecting 
 great moral and political revolutions. It is to this 
 system of patiently and persistently working out 
 great results by organised agitation, that England 
 owes much of her influence and prosperity as a 
 nation. 
 
 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS CLARKSON. 
 
 Be my rude hand inspired, 
 That once touched Clarkson's righteous hand with joy, 
 
 While I my harp employ, 
 
 Deep in these solemn woodland shades retired. 
 Freedom has lost her dauntless pioneer ! 
 One of those strong-armed axe-men who are born 
 The tangled path of common men to clear 
 A herald of the evangelic morn, 
 When every chain that cramps the human mind 
 
 Shall disappear 
 
 Shall fall asunder, powerless to bind, 
 Like the green withs round Samson's limbs entwined ! 
 For, as the Danite rose from slumbers deep, 
 The nations shall awake, as out of sleep, 
 And shake themselves from error, and behold, 
 Borne on the winds that round the world shall sweep, 
 The mists of ages from before them rolled ! 
 
 The shackles of the mind 
 Wait to be burst some future glorious day ; 
 But those which served the negro's limbs to bind 
 
 Are cast for ever away ! 
 
154 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And he whose honourable course is run, 
 Who raised in youth the banner of the slave, 
 Ceased not his toils, nor sank into his grave, 
 
 Till the great work was done ; 
 But like a soldier, ere his setting sun, 
 
 Saw the great victory won ! 
 
 When men go off Life's stage, 
 Their actions form their monument 
 
 To every distant age. 
 The chief, whom nothing can content 
 
 And nothing can deter, 
 A pestilential conqueror, 
 On power and plunder bent, 
 Round whose triumphant chariot wheels 
 The blood of half the world congeals, 
 With whom, to hurl a monarch down, 
 And give away his conquered crown, 
 
 Is but imperial play; 
 What monument, I ask, of true renown, 
 Remains of him when he has passed away ? 
 None ! None, compared with his whose loftier mind 
 Looks only to the good of all mankind ; 
 Who spurns the pomp that conquest might bestow, 
 
 And, urged by zeal profuse, 
 Toils with unslackened ardour, to reduce 
 
 The sum of human woe, 
 To wipe the tears that never ought to flow, 
 
 And let the captive go. 
 
 When such a being to the dust returns ; 
 When the weak bulrush bends its trembling head ; 
 When the lamp feebly in its socket burns, 
 And snow upon the mountain-top is spread ; 
 When the sun's light has fled, 
 
A MEMOIR. 155 
 
 And pipe, and harp, and lute, in vain 
 Attempt their smooth clear notes again, 
 And every ivory key is snapt in twain 
 Yes ! when the torch of life expiring lies, 
 
 Why should we shed a tear ? 
 Poor is the recompense which earth supplies 
 
 For man's best actions here ; 
 
 And therefore when he dies, 
 We rather should rejoice than idly mourn, 
 Because redeemed, and freed from worldly ties 
 His disembodied spirit is upborne, 
 
 Above all tears, all sighs, 
 To find that best reward that glorious prize 
 
 A crown beyond the skies ! 
 
 Emancipated spirit ! wing thy way 
 Amid the golden chalices of light, 
 Onward and onward to the realms of day ! 
 Oh, what rare visions burst upon thy sight! 
 What joys, new kindling, glad thee with their 
 ray ! 
 
 Thy toils are o'er ! 
 Earth's anxious cares disturb thy peace no more ! 
 
 Thy task is done ! 
 Thy objects thou hast lived to see 
 
 Accomplished one by one ! 
 And now from bad men's hatred free, 
 
 Thy triumph has begun ! 
 And lo ! ten thousand of the blest 
 The once enslaved, the once oppressed 
 Come sailing through the blue immense 
 
 Around thy path to wait, 
 And with a holy violence 
 
 Escort thee through Heaven's gate, 
 
156 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Saying, " Rejoice ! the weary chain, 
 That bound thee to the earth, is burst in twain ! 
 And thou art come at length to Zion's height ! 
 
 For ever now made free. 
 Thine is the perfect liberty 
 
 Of the blest saints in light ! 
 'Tis thine the songs of Zion to recite ! 
 'Tis thine to walk in white ! " 
 
A MEMOIR. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Trip to Cumberland and Westmorland "Alone upon 
 Helvellyn " "Spirit Musings" Peace Congress at 
 Paris Tour in Switzerland Excursion with Samuel 
 Fennell to the Highlands of Scotland Trip to Mull, 
 Staffa, and lona. 
 
 IN the summer of 1848, I enjoyed the pleasure of 
 visiting the beautiful scenery of Westmorland and 
 Cumberland. The mountains, the valleys, the lakes, 
 and waterfalls of those romantic regions afforded me 
 a rapturous delight, having been accustomed only to 
 the rockless but fertile fields of Essex. I had no 
 companion either to share my enthusiasm, or to 
 divert my thoughts. 
 
 One morning I mounted the coach at Ambleside, 
 on my way to Keswick ; and finding two young men 
 were about to climb Helvellyn, I dismounted, and 
 asked them whether they would allow me to accom- 
 pany them. 
 
 My companions, I found, were more accustomed 
 to mountain-climbing than myself, and soon out- 
 stripped me. I kept them in sight, however, for 
 not a tree or a shrub obstructed the view. I over- 
 took them at last, as they stood by the little cairn on 
 the top of the mountain just by the edge of the 
 abrupt and fearful precipice beyond it. There they 
 soon left me all to myself, for they proceeded down the 
 narrow, dangerous path called Striden-edge, with a 
 
158 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 precipice on each side of it, which leads by Blea 
 Tarn to the valley far below. It was from this 
 narrow and dangerous path that poor young Gough 
 fell and perished, as related in Sir Walter Scott's 
 poem. 
 
 I watched them in their perilous descent till they 
 were out of sight, and then abandoned myself to the 
 enjoyment of my glorious solitude amidst the grand 
 scenery around me. 
 
 ALONE UPON HELVELLYN. 
 
 Alone upon Helvellyn's top, 
 
 I lingered six ecstatic hours, 
 Above the pathway of the clouds, 
 
 Beyond the fountains of the showers. 
 
 Methought, while slowly labouring up, 
 " If such my toil to climb so high, 
 
 What but the shoulders of a God 
 
 Upheaved this mountain to the sky ! " 
 
 This battle-ground of wintry storms 
 The summer sunbeams now caressed; 
 
 The air was like an infant's sigh 
 
 That dreams upon its mother's breast. 
 
 Cloud-shadows softly mottled o'er 
 The lesser mountains far away, 
 
 That, stretching out their rugged forms, 
 Like wearied giants, slumbering, lay. 
 
 The earth seemed narrowed to a point 
 
 I stood upon its lofty crown, 
 The world was all beneath my feet 
 
 On which, in triumph, I looked down. 
 
A MEMOIR. 159 
 
 The abodes of men far out of sight 
 
 Unelbowed by the human race 
 I seemed earth's sole inhabitant, 
 
 With Heaven alone brought face to face 
 
 My spirit bounded with the joy 
 Of freedom from all worldly care, 
 
 The weight of harass and of pain, 
 That lower mortals have to bear. 
 
 Half-way to Heaven, without a cloud 
 Between me and the realms divine, 
 
 The home of purity and peace, 
 For which the weary-hearted pine. 
 
 And, as I thither raised my eyes, 
 
 The rapturous wish inspired my breast 
 
 " O, for the pinions of a dove, 
 To flee away and be at rest ! " 
 
 The mountain-tops are hallowed ground, 
 An open house of prayer and praise, 
 
 By prophets' and by patriarchs' feet 
 Made holy in the ancient days. 
 
 E'en God Himself, on Sinai's mount, 
 
 Midst cloud and flame gave forth His law 
 
 While thunders, lightnings, and the sound 
 Of trumpet filled all hearts with awe. 
 
 And Christ His future glorious reign 
 
 Clearly revealed to mortal sight 
 When in the Holy Mount He stood, 
 
 Transfigured in the cloud of light. 
 
l6o JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 No marvel that primeval man, 
 In heathen ignorance undone, 
 
 Worshipped, upon those mountain-tops, 
 The god of fire the rising sun. 
 
 In the dim ages of the past, 
 
 Far midst the pre-historic times, 
 
 When Pagan priests to enhance their power, 
 Struck terror with their hideous crimes. 
 
 Perhaps upon this lofty ridge 
 
 The mystic fire at midnight shone ; 
 
 And human victims died the death, 
 
 Or down this gulf were headlong thrown. 
 
 How wondrous are the steadfast hills ! 
 
 Are they not calendars sublime ? 
 Doubtless the gauge of starry space 
 
 Is equalled by the gauge of time ! 
 
 The infinite, eternal God, 
 
 His sovereign purpose to fulfil, 
 
 In fashioning this complex world, 
 
 With grand delay worked out His will. 
 
 Haply ten thousand ages past, 
 
 This crag has reared its forehead grey ; 
 
 The first to greet the quickening dawn, 
 The last to part with dying day. 
 
 But what from olden time has been, 
 Will not, and shall not, always be ; 
 
 A marvellous change awaits the world, 
 And sin and sorrow soon shall flee. 
 
A MEMOIR. l6l 
 
 Erelong the mountains shall bring peace; 
 
 The dayspring from on high shall shine ; 
 And gloriously the mountain tops 
 
 Shall redden with the rays divine ! 
 
 SPIRIT MUSINGS. 
 
 Earth, who made thee ? 
 Who could the great Geometrician be ? 
 If we should seek Him where shall He be found? 
 Who measured out thy depth and breadth and length, 
 
 And girded thee with strength ? 
 Who spread abroad the waters of the sea, 
 And builded up a rampart and a bound 
 
 O'er which they should not pass ? 
 Who forged thy bands of iron and of brass ? 
 
 Who formed thy ribs of rock ? 
 Who chiselled them from out the solid block? 
 Who clothed thee in habiliments so fair ? 
 Who balanced thee on nothing in thin air, 
 
 And bade thee run 
 The circuit of the far off fiery sun ? 
 
 Earth ! who made thee ? 
 
 Earth answers, " God made me ! " 
 Yes, God the High and Holy One, 
 
 Almighty God made thee ! 
 
 And thereby thus His Sovereign Power displayed ; 
 His voice commanded and the world was made, 
 
 He spake, and it was done ! 
 
 How lovely must the youthful earth have been 
 In its first flush of beauty, when the glow 
 
 Of adolescence wrapped each peaceful scene ; 
 And hill, and hanging grove, and lake below 
 
 M 
 
l62 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Glittered each one 
 In the new-kindled, ether-burning sun ! 
 
 When the pure air 
 Sparkled throughout the firmament serene, 
 
 A cloudless firmament for ever fair ! 
 
 And tree and flower 
 
 Put forth the tender leaf of delicate green 
 Lustrous with dew, ere earth had known a shower; 
 Whilst gay enamoured birds of various notes 
 Warbling sweet strains from their melodious throats, 
 And odoriferous winds, sighing along 
 The sylvan solitudes their dreamy song, 
 And brooks, forth-leaping from their moss retreats 
 
 With graceful bounds, 
 Made earth one pleasant scene of sights and sounds, 
 
 A wilderness of sweets ! 
 
 God spake and earth was made ! 
 But man He formed with His own hands divine ; 
 Man is God's workmanship, God's own design, 
 In God's own image fashioned and arrayed ; 
 Let God be ever worshipped and obeyed ! 
 God formed and fashioned him from out the dust, 
 Therefore in dust let human pride be laid. 
 The Lord God formed him of the dust of the ground 
 That in his own deserts he should not trust, 
 But that whatever in his make were found 
 Of good, or fair, or amiable, or just, 
 To God alone the glory should redound ! 
 In His own perfect image man he made, 
 
 And over all 
 
 Dominion gave him, and unlimited power, 
 And placed him free to stand, or "free to fall." 
 
A MEMOIR. 163 
 
 Alas ! in evil hour 
 
 The mandate of his God he disobeyed, 
 And from his high original his state 
 Of innocence, and Eden's blissful bower 
 Offending fell; his faculties decayed, 
 And his first heavenly nature, which so late 
 Beamed with seraphic beauty in his face, 
 Faded, and passed away, and in its place 
 Raged passions, whereof worst were pride and hate ; 
 The signs sad signs of downfall, and disgrace, 
 
 And ruin to his race ! 
 
 The Eternal Father all events foreknows : 
 Some He permits, and some He foreordains. 
 
 Ere the first morning rose 
 Man, and whatever unto man pertains, 
 The Omniscient eye of God foresaw : He saw 
 The end from the beginning ! Yes, God saw 
 Man's downfall, and permitted it, and chose 
 His plan for man's redemption from Death's law, 
 Even the death of Christ, whose death should draw 
 The sting from death, and endless life disclose ! 
 
 Man was created free, 
 
 Endued with power successfully to oppose, 
 And rendered able to defeat the aim 
 Of the arch-fiend, whate'er his shape might be, 
 And warned of danger, and retributive woes, 
 If he should eat of the forbidden tree. 
 His Maker our first parent could not blame, 
 
 But only bow 
 
 His face to earth and kiss his kindred dust 
 In deep humility, and conscious shame, 
 And, with sincerity of heart, allow 
 
 That God is just ! 
 
164 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 But wherefore God permitted man to fall 
 
 Is not revealed ; 
 
 Nor why, for one man's sin, death fell on all. 
 God, in His sacred wisdom, has concealed 
 
 From finite man 
 The scope and full circumference of His plan. 
 
 Deep things belong to Him ; 
 
 While round ourselves mysterious clouds are rolled. 
 Our light comes through a crevice in the wall, 
 And we, like atoms, in the sunbeam swim ! 
 So when the prophet Daniel of old, 
 By Babylon's broad river was foreshown 
 By an angel what far ages should unfold 
 Of monarchies built up and overthrown, 
 And caught faint glimpses of the dim unknown, 
 He heard and saw but could not comprehend : 
 
 Then was he told 
 
 The words were sealed even unto the end. 
 Thus are we left enwrapt in mystery 
 
 Until the end shall be ; 
 But when the long-predicted end shall be 
 
 Then, then our eyes shall see ! 
 
 How strong is human reason ! Yet how weak ! 
 
 Weak beyond lips to speak ! 
 Strong as a giant in its rightful sphere, 
 But feeble as a babe in things divine, 
 Searching the realms of Nature far and near, 
 But stumbling blindfold in the Spirit-mine. 
 At Truth's strong door in vain may Reason knock, 
 
 The key of Revelation can alone 
 
 The door of Truth unlock ; 
 And Truth alone can turn the golden key 
 
 Of Heavenly mystery, 
 
A MEMOIR. 165 
 
 And sacred things to finite man make known ! 
 But Reason, self-sufficient, stands aloof 
 And gazing up at Heaven's miraculous roof 
 Dares to throw scorn on faith, and asks for proof ! 
 The sceptic, like an ape in a balloon, 
 
 Soars up into the air, 
 Betwixt the solid earth and doubtful moon, 
 
 Drifting he knows not where ; 
 Grinning and chattering, and with eyes a-scare, 
 
 And trembling with affright, 
 Impelled by aimless winds, now here, now there, 
 O'er ocean's depth, or mountains' barren height. 
 Through blinding mists, or up through regions rare 
 Of gorgeous cloudland, dazzling to the sight, 
 To be precipitated all too soon, 
 
 Down headlong to the ground, 
 To fill a little common grassy mound 
 
 Death's secret found ! 
 
 Faith is "the evidence of things not seen," 
 
 A supernatural sense 
 
 Given by Omnipotence, 
 Confirming what shall be by what has been, 
 
 In sure and certain hope serene 
 
 A principle of power, 
 By which the illuminated human soul 
 Can read and understand the sacred scroll, 
 
 And antedate, 
 
 With holy joy elate, 
 E'en in this brief probationary state, 
 
 Yea, in the darkest hour, 
 Those great and precious promises of Heaven 
 
 Which in that scroll are given 
 
l66 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 The advent of that bright and gladsome day, 
 
 Come when it may, 
 For which from childhood and unsullied youth 
 
 Our lips are taught to pray, 
 And saints in every age have striven 
 Christ's glorious kingdom ! full of grace and truth, 
 And love, and light, and joy, and peace, and rest ; 
 
 When Mercy shall alone bear sway, 
 
 And none shall be oppressed ; 
 When death and darkness shall afar be driven, 
 And when all sin, all woe, all pain, all doubt, 
 
 Shall be stamped out ; 
 All tears for evermore be wiped away, 
 
 And all mankind be blessed. 
 
 Eighth Month 2ist, 1849. Left London for Paris 
 to attend the Peace Congress held in the Salle St. 
 Cecile. Victor Hugo was called to the chair. His 
 opening speech was animated and eloquent. 
 
 I was curious to notice the French style of public 
 speaking. There was considerable gesticulation, 
 particularly of the fingers, and I observed that the 
 emphasis was mostly laid on the last word in a 
 sentence, and frequently it was uttered in a higher 
 key. Most of the speeches were in French. 
 
 Eighth Month 2$th. Proceeded to the soiree given 
 to the members of the Peace Congress by the Minister 
 of Foreign Affairs, at his official residence in the 
 Boulevard des Capucines. 
 
 About 1,500 people thronged the four or five hand- 
 some rooms that were thrown open to us, or paraded 
 the shady little garden adjoining, which was gaily 
 
A MEMOIR. 167 
 
 illuminated by paper lamps of various colours sus- 
 pended in the trees, or placed in little holes in the 
 ground. All the ministers and most of the foreign 
 ambassadors were present. Cobden told the Minister's 
 lady that so much moral worth had never been con- 
 gregated in that house before. 
 
 During his stay in Paris he visited many places 
 of interest, as the " Madeleine," " Notre Dame," 
 " Louvre," and " Tuileries." 
 
 26th. I took an omnibus to the Place de la Bastille, 
 and then walked half a mile to the " Pere la Chaise " 
 cemetery. It contains 100 acres, and is one of the 
 most interesting objects in Paris. 
 
 Tombs of various shapes and designs abound ; but 
 the humbler graves are the most remarkable. Each 
 is enclosed in a little wooden fence, about 4 feet long 
 by 3 feet wide, painted black, and is ornamented 
 according to the taste of the survivors. Most of 
 them are kept up as little gardens, with the utmost 
 neatness, containing roses, china asters, and other 
 flowers. Generally there is a box at one end with a 
 glass front containing votive offerings of various 
 kinds, such as little images of angels, the Crucifixion, 
 or the Virgin Mary, or pictures of saints with sprigs 
 of artificial flowers, some of which were of silver, and 
 other little ornamental things. 
 
 In one, which was inscribed to the memory of a 
 little girl, there was her thimble, in another a lock of 
 hair ! Over most of the graves there were suspended 
 
l68 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 wreaths of yellow everlasting flowers, some of which 
 were inwoven with flowers dyed black, so as to form 
 inscriptions, such as this : 
 
 " A Notre Bon Pere." 
 
 I have only room to add that, during my stay in 
 France, I did not observe the least indication of an 
 unfriendly feeling on the part of anyone. The French 
 people were polite and obliging, without exhibiting 
 anything like insincere servility; and I trust the 
 Peace Congress at Paris will have the effect of pro- 
 moting a friendly disposition between the French and 
 English. 
 
 Extracts from letters to his friend, B. B. Wiffen, 
 allude to a tour on the Continent in 1850. 
 
 " Ninth Month 2$rd, 1850. I returned last night from 
 my journey, having visited Frankfort, Basle, Berne, 
 Vevey, Geneva, the Vale of Chamouni, and returned by 
 way of Dijon to Paris." 
 
 "Ninth Month zgth, 1850. Every traveller must be 
 delighted with Heidelburg. Bern is a charming place, 
 with its fine situation, its bears, its fountains, its old 
 streets and heavy arcades, and grotesquely dressed people. 
 Who can ever forget a sunset at Vevey ! No one can 
 understand the Mer de Glace without treading it." 
 
 Eighth Month 6th, 1852. In company with my 
 cousin, Samuel Fennell, I left Bury St. Edmunds, 
 on an excursion to the Highlands of Scotland. 
 
 At Edinburgh we ascended the long and steep ascent 
 
A MEMOIR. 169 
 
 to the Castle. This fine old fortress, the scene of 
 so many stirring events in Scottish history, greatly 
 interested my companion. It stands on the highest 
 point of the hill, and beneath it is a fearful precipice. 
 The view from the fortified summit is extremely fine. 
 We looked down on the public gardens, streets, and 
 churches of this picturesque city with the warmest 
 admiration, while in the distance we beheld the Firth 
 of Forth stretching far away, and the range of moun- 
 tains beyond it. The atmosphere being now much 
 clearer, we could appreciate the charms of " Sweet 
 Edinbonr Town." 
 
 :er surveying the lovely prospect for a consider- 
 able time, we proceeded to view the sights of the 
 place. 
 
 First of all we were shown Queen Mary's room 
 and dark and dismal enough it is, being wainscoted 
 with oak. Next we were shown her bedroom. There 
 is scarcely space in it for a modern bedstead. Here 
 King James I. of England was born. 
 
 The Scottish regalia, after being lost for some 200 
 years, was discovered I think, by Sir Walter Scott 
 a few years ago. It consists of a golden crown 
 ^ornamented with jewels), a sword of state, two 
 sceptres (at the top of each of which is a round rock 
 :al as large as an egg), and a magnificent golden 
 collar of the Order of the Garter; besides smaller 
 articles, most of which are adorned with precious 
 stones. They are kept in a small, circular room 
 lighted with gas, and look very brilliant. In the 
 same room is the huge old chest in which they 
 were discovered. 
 
170 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 After breakfast we mounted the coach for Lass- 
 wade ; and on our arrival at the village set off to 
 walk three miles to Hawthornden. Scotch miles 
 are very long, but at length we reached the entrance 
 gate of Hawthornden. Entering the park, we walked 
 down a winding drive to the mansion. Here we 
 found other visitors under the charge of a guide. We 
 joined them, and were conducted to a jutting rock, 
 whence it is said John Knox preached to the people 
 on the opposite bank of the Esk, which flows perhaps 
 100 ft. perpendicularly beneath one's feet a strange 
 pulpit in this beautiful wilderness. This spot com- 
 mands an enchanting view of the wooded and rocky 
 banks of this winding river, and of the mansion once 
 inhabited by Drummond, the poet, perched on the 
 ivied edge of the cliff. 
 
 Passing the old tree under which Drummond and 
 Ben Jonson are said to have sat and conversed, we 
 were conducted to the entrance of a gloomy passage 
 cut in the solid rock. After groping our way some 
 distance daylight appeared again, and we came to an 
 opening in the face of the cliff, high above the rushing 
 Esk, and from which there was no exit. Lighted by 
 this hole in the rock was a small room, called, I 
 think, Sir William Wallace's cave. A huge sword 
 is also shown as his. In another cave is a well of 
 water. Altogether it is a very curious place. 
 
 Having seen the wonders of Hawthornden, our 
 guide dismissed us at the opposite side of the garden 
 to the one we entered, and we found ourselves in a 
 fine shady grove overlooking the Esk, and com- 
 manding a most beautiful view of the old mansion. 
 
A MEMOIR. 171 
 
 Descending to the river side, and crossing it by a 
 foot-bridge, from which the loveliest view of all is 
 obtained, we followed the narrow path which leads 
 along the river to Roslyn Castle. This path is not 
 quite two miles long, but it is so beautifully romantic, 
 so richly adorned with wild rocks, rushing torrents, 
 noble trees, graceful ferns, and strange flowers, that 
 we enjoyed our ramble exceedingly. The wild rasp- 
 berry, as in many other places in Scotland, grows 
 plentifully here. 
 
 The day was now as fine as possible ; and we 
 loitered so agreeably that it must have been nearly 
 two hours before the walls of Roslyn Castle peered 
 above the trees. We first ascended a steep hill to the 
 chapel. The architecture of this old ruin is, perhaps, 
 the richest I ever beheld. The sculptures and odd 
 designs are marvellous. Here is the famous twisted 
 column by the apprentice of the architect who killed 
 him out of jealousy. The sculptures, however, are 
 greatly eaten away by time and exposure. 
 
 12th. This morning we finally left Edinburgh, and 
 after visiting Stirling, Dunkeld, and other places, we 
 at length entered the famous gorge of Glencoe, which 
 presents some of the grandest scenery in Scotland. 
 Lofty, craggy, and dark, the mountains towered above 
 us on either hand, bidding defiance to time and 
 tempest. Above the top of one of the highest cliffs, 
 we distinguished an eagle soaring, and appearing no 
 bigger than a skylark. 
 
 Near the summit of what is called Black Mountain 
 we saw the singular hollow which is called Ossian's 
 Cave. It appears to be quite inaccessible. The 
 
172 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 snow generally lies in the higher clefts of these 
 mountains. Near the outlet of Glencoe we passed 
 the scene of the famous massacre. 
 
 2ist. At seven a.m. we went on board the steamer 
 for Staffa and lona. It was a fine calm day, and we 
 had a beautiful sail. After calling at the Isle of 
 Mull, we arrived about noon off the little low island 
 of Staffa. 
 
 Three boat-loads of passengers went ashore, on 
 approaching which the wonders of the place begin to 
 reveal themselves. We landed in a little cove where 
 the basaltic columns had been broken away. 
 
 How can I convey an idea of this wondrous isle ? 
 It seemed composed of huge, black, upright, wooden 
 piles of all shapes and sizes fitting closely together. 
 The shore is composed of these columns broken off 
 at irregular elevations by the action of the ever- 
 surging sea. 
 
 We walked along this strange pathway beneath 
 the basaltic cliff, stepping cautiously from column to 
 column till we reached the Cave of Fingal. The 
 timid ones stayed behind. Fortunately one can creep 
 along the side of the cave on the flat tops of the 
 broken-off columns nearly to the further end. There 
 is a rope fixed by way of a rail. 
 
 My companion followed my leadership most man- 
 fully, and what a magnificent spectacle we beheld ! 
 The cave resembles the nave of a cathedral with the 
 sea bellowing for ever along its rugged floor. The 
 arched roof is composed of the ends of the upright 
 columns which have been broken away, and which 
 ends hang overhead as if they were ready to fall. 
 
A MEMOIR. 173 
 
 Having lingered half an hour in this extraordinary 
 cavern, we cautiously retraced our steps, and returned 
 to the steamer in high spirits at our adventures. 
 Fingal's Cave is 227ft. long, 40 ft. broad, and 60 ft. 
 high. 
 
 In about an hour we arrived at the low sterile 
 island of lona. We landed in boats on the sea- 
 weedy rocks, and were instantly beset by children 
 with little shells for sale. We visited the ruins of 
 the old monastery, and also those of the cathedral, 
 all of simple primitive architecture. 
 
 In the graveyard are one or two old sculptured 
 crosses, also the effigied tombstones of some of the 
 old kings and bishops of Scotland. A guide con- 
 ducted us about ; but the crumbling walls and quaint 
 old tombstones speak best for themselves. 
 
 Once more embarked we proceeded homewards 
 round the south side of Mull, which presents an un- 
 usually barren specimen of rocky splendour. 
 
 It was a lovely evening when we returned to the 
 picturesque bay of Oban. Passing the Kyles of Bute, 
 and entering the Firth of Clyde, we landed at Bow- 
 ling for Loch Lomond. 
 
 At Inversnaid we took coach and proceeded through 
 one of the wildest districts in Scotland, five miles to 
 Loch Katrine, passing the grim ruins of an old castle 
 by the way. We were set down at the new inn at 
 the lower end of the Loch, where we had to wait 
 an hour for the steamer. It was crowded with 
 passengers. We sailed slowly up the romantic Loch 
 ten miles ; the upper end is superlatively beautiful 
 and grand. The mountains above the woodlands 
 
174 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 were richly tinted with the " blooming heather," 
 which added greatly to the effect. 
 
 Passed through the famous wooded defile called 
 the Trosachs, which are flanked by lofty mountains 
 and extend about a mile. Here we saw one of the 
 wild deer of Scotland. It was as red as a brick. 
 
 They returned home by way of Stirling, Lanark, 
 and Glasgow, arriving at Bury St. Edmunds on the 
 28th. 
 
 A sonnet to one of Scotland's great poets may here 
 be introduced. 
 
 TO BURNS. 
 
 There are more wrecks on thy enchanted shore, 
 
 Sweet Poesy ! than on the rocks that guard 
 
 Cape Horn's terrific coast, where winds blow hard, 
 
 And waves their everlasting thunders roar. 
 
 Poor Burns ! thou child of Inspiration, bard 
 
 Of eagle intellect, and fate ill-starred ! 
 
 Thy strains shall live though thou art seen no more. 
 
 The soldier, far away, in battle scarred 
 
 The shepherd-boy, roaming the mountains o'er 
 
 The sailor, clinging to the mainmast yard 
 
 Each fond enthusiast holds thee in regard, 
 
 And cheers his spirit with thy tuneful lore. 
 
 May I, though tossed upon the self-same sea, 
 
 Escape the rocks that made a wreck of thee. 
 
A MEMOIR. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Footpath Association Gladstone and the Corn Laws French 
 Treaty " England and France " Sonnet to " Bracy 
 Clark, F.L.S." D. W. Harvey Curious rencontre in a 
 stage coach Death of Cobden Sonnet to " Richard 
 Cobden " Death of his father. 
 
 Fifth Month i^th, 1856. Public meeting to preserve 
 the cross paths in Cooke's Field. Received a vote of 
 thanks for my services as Secretary of the Footpath 
 Association. Spirited meeting ! 
 
 Second Month iSth, 1859. Grand Footpath Meeting 
 at the Town Hall, to prevent the inclosure of the 
 Castle Bailey. 
 
 Eleventh Month nth, 1859. It is all over with my 
 dear cousin, Jane Clark. She died on the 3rd inst. 
 After settling some outward affairs, her work being 
 accomplished and her mind at ease, she sank appa- 
 rently to sleep. But presently she opened her eyes 
 again, and uttered these remarkable words, " What 
 a grand company ! " Her aged father says it was a 
 view of the heavenly blessed ones. She then closed 
 her eyes again, and in a few minutes ceased to breathe. 
 I went to London on the gth to attend the funeral. 
 It was a sad day indeed to me. 
 
 Second Month nth, 1860. Last night Gladstone, 
 the Chancellor of the Exchequer, brought forward 
 
176 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 his budget in an eloquent speech, carrying out whole- 
 sale the great principles of Free Trade. 
 
 At the same time Cobden's treaty with the Emperor 
 of the French was discussed. These great measures 
 are of unbounded importance. France and England 
 will be united by the bonds of commerce and the 
 ties of mutual interest. 
 
 To the long-suffering members of the much-abused 
 Anti-Corn Law League it is a glorious consummation 
 of their labours, anxieties, and aims. 
 
 ENGLAND AND FRANCE. 
 
 Shake hands ! shake hands ! let us be friends ; 
 
 Shake hands ! let us forget the past; 
 Hope's bow from shore to shore extends, 
 
 A glorious day has dawned at last. 
 Nations that would be wise and great, 
 
 With all the world must coalesce, 
 'Tis bad alike for man or state 
 
 To live in single blessedness. 
 Shake hands ! and may the dreadful battle-roar 
 Of England and of France be heard no more ! 
 
 Twelfth Month i6th, 1860. This day my dear uncle, 
 Bracy Clark, F.L.S., a noted veterinary surgeon, died, 
 aged nearly ninety years. 
 
 A few weeks before his death he sold the skeleton 
 of the famous race-horse, " Eclipse," to the Veteri- 
 nary College of Edinburgh. I have often seen it in 
 the study, some years ago, and heard him expatiate 
 on the wonderful horse. 
 
A MEMOIR. 177 
 
 TO BRACY CLARK, F.L.S. 
 
 Descendant not unworthy of a sire! 
 
 The Hampden of the common where he dwelt, 
 
 Bracy, this tribute of a deep, heartfelt, 
 
 And honest admiration, I desire 
 
 To offer to thy name. The world has dealt 
 
 Unkindly with thee ; and the heart must melt 
 
 To see a genius, which could not tire, 
 
 Cramped, like the hoof within its iron belt. 
 
 But so it is ; the dead, whom we admire, 
 
 At whose proud tombs past centuries have knelt, 
 
 Were, when alive, the men the world could pelt, 
 
 And see in chains or banishment expire. 
 
 One comfort still remains to gild our earth, 
 
 Men cannot crush the consciousness of worth. 
 
 Tenth Month ist, 1861. This is a great day for 
 England. The paper duty expires, and knowledge 
 is untaxed. 
 
 First Month i^th, 1862. My father got down stairs 
 yesterday and dined, but was glad to get to bed again. 
 Whenever he is drowsy his mind wanders. He is 
 a source of constant care and anxiety. He is very 
 feeble, and requires our frequent assistance. There 
 seems no immediate danger, but it is hardly likely 
 he can recover at his great age of 87. Happily his 
 mind is in perfect peace as regards the future. 
 
 First Month $th, 1863. Another stage of life's 
 journey begun. My father still occupies my daily 
 care. Nothing like conversation now passes between 
 us. I can make him understand little else but " Yes " 
 and " No." But he still fights bravely with old age. 
 
 N 
 
178 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 He still posts the books, and walks his daily mile in 
 the garden when it is fine. 
 
 Third Month 4th, 1863. Daniel Whittle Harvey 
 died recently. He was one of the greatest, if not the 
 greatest, orator of his day. I knew him well as 
 member for Colchester. He died rather suddenly, 
 aged 77. When my father lived at Boreham, in the 
 early part of this century, he had occasion one day to 
 go to London by the Coggeshall coach. As the 
 weather was cold, he travelled inside. Three gentle- 
 men occupied the other seats, two of whom were 
 elderly, and the third was young. 
 
 One of the senior gentlemen and the other who 
 sat opposite to him had a great deal of conversation 
 together as they journeyed along. They talked on 
 various subjects both foreign and domestic ; and, 
 having exhausted the politics of the day, proceeded 
 to discuss the affairs of their acquaintance. 
 
 After a little pause one of them exclaimed, "What 
 do you think of young Harvey ? " This question 
 referred to a speech at a political meeting at Maldon, 
 which D. W. Harvey had recently made, which had 
 electrified his audience by its polished eloquence, and 
 had created a great sensation in the country. 
 
 The question was answered by the opposite gentle- 
 man in a very depreciatory manner. He ridiculed 
 the presumption of the ambitious young orator in no 
 measured terms. He said that young Harvey had 
 actually been seen making a speech before a looking- 
 glass, and throwing his arms about in the most 
 absurd manner ; and he concluded his comments 
 on the young aspirant for political distinction by 
 
A MEMOIR. 179 
 
 boldly prophesying that such a shallow young fellow 
 would never succeed in making any figure in the 
 world. 
 
 My father and his opposite neighbour sat silent, 
 and listened to all that was said without joining in 
 the conversation, which soon changed to other sub- 
 jects. After a while the coach stopped at Romford 
 to change horses. There was another pause in the 
 conversation. 
 
 The elderly gentleman who had been expressing 
 his opinions very freely about Harvey looked across 
 towards the young man, who sat opposite my father, 
 rather earnestly, and said, " I think, Sir, I have seen 
 you before, though I cannot recollect where." " Then 
 I'll tell you," said the young man, in a strong, ringing, 
 voice ; " I had the honour of dining with you a few 
 weeks ago, at Mr. Honeywood's." The elderly gen- 
 tleman, lifting up his hands, as if in amazement, 
 exclaimed, "Mr. Harvey!" His embarrassment 
 may be readily imagined. However, he extended his 
 hand to the young man, and professed his pleasure 
 at meeting him again. 
 
 My father, in relating this anecdote, always ex- 
 pressed his admiration at the reticence of young 
 Harvey, who made not the slightest allusion to the 
 description of himself to which, in this odd manner, 
 he had just had the privilege of listening. 
 
 Eighth Month $rd, 1864. Our housekeeper, Eliza- 
 beth Mead, who has lived with us since theyear 1835, 
 is almost worn out with labour and anxiety. Her 
 efforts to make my deaf father hear seem to have pro- 
 duced a throat complaint and affection of the tongue. 
 
l8o JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 She died a few months afterwards, an example of 
 true devotedness. 
 
 Fourth Month $rd, 1865. Yesterday died Richard 
 Cobden, the greatest benefactor of modern England. 
 Knowing him so intimately, I have felt the sad event 
 as the loss of a private friend. 
 
 TO RICHARD COBDEN. 
 
 Cobden, thy battles for the common good 
 Are noble ! bringing rival nations near 
 In commerce, amity, and prosperous cheer; 
 And proving how divine is brotherhood. 
 Thy victories leave behind no scars or worse, 
 Restrictive laws, deep debt, and want severe. 
 Immortal song such triumphs should rehearse. 
 What good was Waterloo ? It was a curse, 
 W T hich since has filled our land with secret fear 
 Of vengeance, and invasion, and reverse; 
 And wrung a kingdom's ransom, year by year, 
 In hard-earned millions from the people's purse. 
 Napoleon rules in France ! Poor Wellington 
 Lived to behold his well-paid work undone ! 
 
 First Month Jth, 1866. My poor father is much 
 worse ; I think now he is really going. 
 
 nth. My father is no more. A heavenly smile 
 illumined his features ere he breathed his last breath 
 without a sigh or a struggle. A week before he 
 died the nurse tells me he said to her, " My time is 
 short. Thank the Lord on my account that I am 
 forewarned ; that I am so far towards Heaven." 
 
A MEMOIR. iSl 
 
 On the First - day before he died he said to her, 
 " When will the Lord please to take me ? May I die 
 praising the Lord ! " And when the end drew near, 
 the words, " Lord Jesus " were the last which he 
 faintly uttered. 
 
 iSth. Yesterday I followed my father to his grave. 
 Good old Joseph Shewell spoke at the grave, and 
 Jonathan Grubb most beautifully in the meeting 
 afterwards. A memorable day indeed ! 
 
 Fifth Month ^ist. Next quarter-day I am to give 
 up business and leave these premises. Meanwhile 
 the liberty which I used to long for has lost its 
 charms. All my dearest friends are dead, and I feel 
 that I am about to go forth into the world a lonely 
 stranger, not knowing what may befall me. My hope 
 and trust for help and guidance are in the Divine 
 Arm, which has hitherto protected me. 
 
182 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 He leaves Colchester Various wanderings Returns to 
 Kelvedon His marriage Settlement at Colchester 
 Publication of the "Setting Sun" "Lines on St. 
 Botolph's Priory, Colchester" Birth of his son 
 Removal to Lexden "Lexden Springs" "MyGarden," 
 by L. B. Hurnard Visits British Association Meetings 
 Extracts from a poem and prose, by Thomas Lister 
 " The Land's End " " Dirge on the Burial of Living- 
 stone in Westminster Abbey." 
 
 " Loving and faithful, even unto death ! 
 
 Well may it falter 
 The lip this solemn promise as it saith 
 
 Before that altar, 
 
 Where, o'er the trembling covenanters lean 
 Recording Angel and High Priest unseen. 
 
 " Loving and faithful, what is it to be 
 
 Now and forever ? 
 The heart is asking, as it puts to sea 
 
 To turn back never, 
 If it can keep the promise of to-day 
 In its full meaning, sacred and alway. 
 
 " Loving and faithful while a boundless reach 
 
 Of spotless azure 
 O'erarches hearts too full for common speech 
 
 Their bliss to measure ; 
 Loving and faithful when the first clouds lie 
 In rolls of silvered fleece along the sky. 
 
A MEMOIR. 183 
 
 Loving and faithful, while existence fills 
 
 With joy o'erflowing, 
 While in their faces sweet airs from the hills 
 
 Of morn are blowing, 
 And when loud storm-winds have their own 
 
 wild will, 
 Wrapping their vow around them closer still." 
 
 E. LLOYD, Jun. 
 
 AFTER this period, the account in the note books 
 not being sufficiently complete, I have taken up the 
 thread of the narrative of my dear husband's life. 
 He left Colchester on the 23rd of Sixth Month, 1866, 
 for Lowestoft, thence on a visit to relatives at Great 
 Yarmouth, and for some time made his home with 
 his cousins, Dr. and C. Pope, in London, whence he 
 visited various places ; amongst others he stayed at 
 Woburn with his literary friend B. B. Wiffen, from 
 whose dictation he wrote down a narrative respecting 
 the Spanish Reformers (in whose writings B. B. 
 Wiffen had felt great interest), " snatching it, as 
 it were, from the grave's mouth," as B. B. Wiffen 
 died shortly afterwards. 
 
 After nearly a year spent in various wanderings, he 
 went into lodgings at Kelvedon, Essex, and here a 
 great change took place in his experience. 
 
 He became engaged to one whom he had known 
 from her childhood, Louisa Bowman Smith, daughter 
 of his old friend Louisa Bowman, who had married 
 Charles Smith, of Coggeshall. The mother had 
 
184 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 long since passed away, and the father had removed 
 to Kelvedon. 
 
 It was on the i5th of Eighth Month, 1867, that 
 we were married at the Friends' Meeting-house 
 Kelvedon, when, in the simple but beautiful language 
 of the Friends' marriage ceremony, each promised to 
 be unto the other " loving and faithful, until it shall 
 please the Lord by death to separate us." 
 
 There was a good sized family gathering, and 
 amongst those present was the brother, Charles 
 Edward Smith, a young surgeon, who had recently 
 returned from his perilous voyage amid the Arctic 
 Seas, where, unprovisioned for a winter, the ship had 
 been ice-bound, and the crew had suffered great hard- 
 ships. 
 
 Providentially the ice broke up early that spring, 
 and the leaky vessel, with its cargo of dead and 
 living, was permitted to reach Shetland. It seemed 
 as if the wind blew it just to its desired haven, and 
 my brother was alive to tell the tale. 
 
 Eight of that family gathering since then have 
 passed away. 
 
 " As happy married couples often do, 
 Away we hasted to the Isle of Wight, 
 That paradise of newly-wedded pairs. 
 We rambled on the sands of calm Sea View, 
 We visited the grave of Little Jane, 
 We sauntered up sweet shady Shanklin Chine, 
 We roamed about the lovely Undercliff, 
 We clambered up the steep St. Boniface, 
 
A MEMOIR. 185 
 
 And lingered long on Ventnor's sheltered sands. 
 'Twas fine to sit upon the soft sea beach, 
 And idly watch the busy waves at work ; 
 With Neptune's wife 'tis always washing-day. 
 Grand was the flashing moonlight on the deep, 
 And bright the sunshine on the breezy downs : 
 So passed with speed our joyful honeymoon." 
 
 From " The Setting Sun." 
 
 One day as we walked back from Luccombe Chine 
 to Shanklin along the smooth sandy beach, resting 
 on the boulders and admiring the grand cliffs, my 
 eye was attracted by a fossil shell protruding from 
 near the base of one of the hard black rocks, and I 
 went to examine it, and see whether it would leave 
 its hard bed; but this was out of the question. 
 
 Just at this time I heard a deep booming sound, 
 and then we were startled by a sudden crash ! Down 
 came a body of earth and rock at only a few yards 
 distance from us ! It was enough apparently to have 
 crushed us had we not paused to look at the shell, 
 which, in its hard bed where it had rested for ages, 
 was thus providentially made the means of our pre- 
 servation. 
 
 Our trembling hearts were filled with admiring 
 gratitude ! 
 
 After some weeks passed amid the lovely scenes of 
 that beautiful island we settled at Colchester, first in 
 lodgings, and then in a comfortable home in Head 
 Street ; and here my husband was much engaged in 
 continuing and completing a long poem which he had 
 
l86 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 commenced at Great Yarmouth for the sake of occu- 
 pation, and to escape from his tried feelings during 
 his wandering life. It was entitled " The Setting 
 Sun," and was eventually published during the winter 
 of 1869-70. Opinions as to its merits were various. 
 It is a very original poem, " quaint and vigorous," 
 and " abounds in passages of true poetry." 
 
 He felt great interest in the improvement and 
 welfare of the old town of Colchester, which had 
 been his home for so many years, in the election 
 of its Borough Members, of its Town Council, and in 
 the improvement of its Town Hall. 
 
 A poem on one of its fine old ruins may here be 
 introduced : 
 
 LINES ON ST. BOTOLPH'S PRIORY, 
 COLCHESTER. 
 
 The moon looks on thee, desolated pile ! 
 
 She, who beheld thee in thine ancient glory; 
 Her face has not yet lost its youthful smile, 
 
 Nor are her golden locks grown thin or hoary ; 
 No ! still she reigns the sovereign of the night 
 The poet's patron and the lover's light. 
 
 But thou art of those sublunary things 
 
 On which the hand of Time delights to revel ; 
 
 That hand which hurls down monarchies and kings, 
 And lays the Babylons of ages level ; 
 
 That blights the blooming rose on beauty's cheek, 
 
 And bids old age its last asylum seek. 
 
A MEMOIR. 187 
 
 Gigantic skeleton of splendour past, 
 
 Roofless and gateless court of superstition, 
 
 Standing all open to the bleak night blast, 
 Unconscious of thy desolate condition, 
 
 What revolutions in the lapse of time 
 
 Have changed the world since thou wast in thy prime ! 
 
 Winters on winters round thy walls have blown, 
 A thousand storms have spent their anger on thee ; 
 
 The sunshine-smiles of summer thou hast known, 
 
 Chill frost, and rain, and snow, have fall'n upon thee ; 
 
 Winds that have borne infection in their breath 
 
 Have whistled through thy crumbling arches " death." 
 
 King Henry's spoiling hand, with rapine red, 
 Assailed thee in the zenith of thy splendour; 
 
 And that wild storm that broke on Charles's head 
 Burst upon thee, and rent thy walls asunder. 
 
 Thou the stern wrath of haughty Fairfax bore ; 
 
 But tremble not his arm is strong no more ! 
 
 On thy raised threshold Desolation sits 
 And wistfully surveys thy broken arches ; 
 
 For her too harmlessly each moment flits, 
 
 And with too slow a pace Time onward marches 
 
 She loves the ship fast bilging on the shore, 
 
 The sudden earthquake, the wild battle roar. 
 
 High on these dark, yet moon-illumined walls, 
 That once were clad with many a decoration, 
 
 The tall grass trembles and the bramble crawls, 
 And sparrows make their peaceful habitation ; 
 
 And oft the ghostly owl, supplied with food, 
 
 Through the dim air flies homeward to its brood. 
 
i88 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 Here the green ivy wraps thy columns round, 
 And there, along from arch to arch, reposes. 
 
 Thy capitals, with youth and beauty crowned, 
 Smile as a death's head in a wreath of roses. 
 
 Fond plant, these walls thus richly to array 
 
 And hide the ruin which thou canst not stay ! 
 
 Along these aisles no monk now slowly treads 
 Dumb is the solemn voice of supplication ; 
 
 No flaming altar round its incense sheds 
 
 No flaring torch gleams on the rich oblation ; 
 
 But, through the mutilated archway nigh, 
 
 Streams the pale moonbeam from its fount on high. 
 
 Thou placid moon, fair sovereign of the night, 
 Unclasp the tire that binds thy golden tresses, 
 
 Shine forth with all thy beams and put to flight 
 The gloom that reigns in these profound recesses ; 
 
 Shine on this lonely spot with grass o'erspread, 
 
 And soothe the slumbers of the dreamy dead. 
 
 Haply, when darkness fills the midnight sky, 
 Here to and fro the ghost of Ernulph ranges, 
 
 Or leans upon some massive column nigh, 
 To muse upon the world and all its changes, 
 
 Mourn o'er the fortunes of the Papal crown, 
 
 Abbeys profaned, and altars broken down ; 
 
 To sigh " Alas of man it is the fate 
 
 To triumph one short hour, and then to perish ! 
 
 Empires have but a transitory date 
 
 All that man grasps at all that fond hearts cherish ! 
 
 What wonder then if thou art swept away 
 
 Thou hoary pile, of Time the helpless prey. 
 
A MEMOIR. 189 
 
 " E'en royal Rome herself is mouldering fast ! 
 
 Her domes fall prostrate like the broken bubble, 
 Her ruined walls look up to Heaven aghast, 
 
 And all her strength is as autumnal stubble ; 
 And well for her if lightnings winged with power 
 Assail her not and whelm her in an hour. 
 
 " Time on whose shoulders huge the world is 
 borne 
 
 E'en Time grows feeble and his locks are frosted ; 
 Himself erelong insensate, blind, and worn 
 
 Shall throw his burden down like one exhausted 
 Shall, with a sigh, his comrade Death dismiss, 
 And sink into Eternity's abyss ! " 
 
 It was on the ijth of Eighth Month, 1870, that 
 our domestic happiness was crowned by the birth of 
 our only son, who was named Samuel Fennell. With 
 what joy did the father watch the unfolding of the 
 physical and mental powers of his infant son ! 
 What a contrast to the lonely life he so long had 
 led! 
 
 Amid joys and sorrows, the lot of man, our quiet 
 life flowed on, varied generally in summer by a stay 
 at the sea-side, which we loved so well, till, having 
 inherited a considerable accession to his means, on 
 the longest day in 1873, we took up our residence 
 in a lovely country home in Lexden, not far from 
 Colchester. Here my husband enjoyed the country 
 walks of which a favourite one was to Lexden 
 Springs, which inspired his muse. 
 
JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 LEXDEN SPRINGS. 
 
 1829. 
 
 I stood by Lexden Springs to hear 
 
 The music of the murmuring rill ; 
 The skies above were calm and clear 
 
 And all the world around was still. 
 Sad thoughts within my breast arose, 
 
 As by the brook I listening stood, 
 To see that men to men are foes 
 
 To see that man delights in blood 
 
 The stars were lit, the moon was up, 
 
 And though the elms her lustre cast; 
 "O, where," said I, " will avarice stop ? 
 
 How long will man's ambition last ? 
 O, why has man so dark a mind ? 
 
 O, why has man so hard a heart ? 
 He has the power to bless mankind, 
 
 Yet plays the ignoble tyrant's part ! " 
 
 A little foot-bridge spans the stream ; 
 
 I leaned against the oaken rail, 
 And watched the rippling waters gleam, 
 
 And muttered, " What can hope avail ? 
 Want sheds the sad, beseeching tear, 
 
 And sorrow lifts the broken prayer ; 
 But Pride stalks by, unheeding here ; 
 
 Oppression, blindfold, marches there. 
 
 "O, would the sons of men were wise 
 Would mind the warnings of the past 
 
 And learn that all that bad men prize 
 Turns but to loss and dross at last ! " 
 
A MEMOIR. 
 
 The clock now struck the hour of e'en 
 Its voice forbade my longer stay ; 
 
 I left behind the peaceful scene, 
 But took my grief of heart away. 
 
 1876. 
 
 Twice twenty years, and more, have passed 
 
 Since I composed that plantive song, 
 Athwart those years my gaze I cast, 
 
 With feelings deep and pulses strong. 
 This brook still keeps its onward way, 
 
 It knows no round returning track ! 
 And of those years not one short day 
 
 Will unrelenting Time bring back ! 
 
 The foot-bridge still, though sore decayed, 
 
 Bestrides the gentle rippling stream, 
 And, midst the elm trees' leafy shade, 
 
 The moon and stars still sweetly gleam : 
 But on an altered world they shine 
 
 Loud neighs the railway's fiery steed, 
 And words along the electric line 
 
 Flash to and fro with lightning speed. 
 
 Science has changed the phase of life, 
 
 But man is human as of yore ; 
 And passions which engender strife 
 
 Have plunged the East and West in gore. 
 Ambition, Pride, and love of gain 
 
 Still rage within man's guilty breast ; 
 While humble merit strives in vain, 
 
 And honest worth toils on depressed. 
 
IQ2 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 But I am happier than in youth ; 
 
 With wider views I wait " that day " 
 Predicted in the Page of Truth, 
 
 When Right o'er all men shall bear s way ! 
 When He who is the King of kings, 
 
 Shall come in glory from the skies, 
 And sweeten all earth's bitter springs, 
 
 And make our world one Paradise. 
 
 A lovely garden, too, afforded him much enjoy- 
 ment, having it well planted with fruit trees, and 
 watching their growth with interest. 
 
 Some domestic verses, which I gave him on one 
 of his birthdays, written as if by himself, describe 
 some of these enjoyments. . 
 
 MY GARDEN. 
 
 The silver hairs were flowing 
 
 My youth and prime were past, 
 I left the noisy, busy town, 
 
 And found a home at last 
 Within sweet Lexden's peaceful glades, 
 
 Where floats the balmy air; 
 And I can walk, and think, and talk 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, my garden, 
 
 Within my garden fair. 
 
 Oh pleasant are the strolls I take ! 
 
 Refreshing is the breeze ! 
 The summer sun can harm me not 
 
 Beneath the chestnut trees ; 
 
A MEMOIR. 193 
 
 And when the Autumn tints the leaves 
 
 With colours rich and rare, 
 A golden shower falls all around 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, &c. 
 
 The rooks are busy o'er my head 
 
 With cheerful noisy caw; 
 And as I walked beneath the firs 
 
 A pheasant fine I saw; 
 And once I heard young Thomas shout 
 
 And up there jumped a hare ! 
 I love to see each living thing 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, &c. 
 
 Upon the gravel path so trim 
 
 The beech-nuts falling fast, 
 J look aloft, and in the tree 
 
 A squirrel spy at last ! 
 It runs along and leaps so quick 
 
 From bough to bough with care, 
 'Tis welcome to a meal and home 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, &c. 
 
 But most I love to see our boy 
 
 Brimful of life and fun 
 With ball, or stick, or wheelbarrow, 
 
 About the garden run ; 
 With Finch and Florrie by his side, 
 
 Happy and free from care 
 How many joyous hours they spend 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, &c. 
 
JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 His mother, too, when skies are bright, 
 
 And winds are soft and calm, 
 Delights to share my walk and talk 
 
 Leaning upon my arm ; 
 Or on the lawn, beneath the shade, 
 
 Will take her basket-chair, 
 And drink in health and happiness 
 
 Within my garden fair, 
 
 My garden, &c. 
 ***** 
 
 How full of love our hearts should be 
 
 To Him our Heavenly Friend, 
 Who placed us in this happy home, 
 
 Such peaceful days to spend ! 
 Oh, when our time on earth is run, 
 
 Our work fulfilled with care, 
 Then may we all transplanted be 
 
 Into His garden fair ! 
 His garden above, where all is love, 
 
 His perfect garden fair ! 
 
 His home enjoyments were varied by occasionally 
 attending meetings of the British Association with 
 his poet-friend Thomas Lister and wife, of Barnsley. 
 
 Thomas Lister has given a graphic description of 
 these visits, both in poetry and prose. The first 
 occasion was in 1872 : 
 
 " At Brighton 'twas our pride to see 
 And hold with Stanley converse free 
 
 In crowded hall to hear 
 How noble Livingstone he found, 
 Wandering on Afric's burning ground, 
 
 O'er lakes and deserts drear. 
 
A MEMOIR. 195 
 
 " Men of all lands were gathered there, 
 When Science held her ' Annual Fair,' 
 
 And Art in splendour shone. 
 There met we the Imperial three 
 Father and son since gone, and she 
 To mourn them left alone. 
 
 " When Bristol, mart of shipping trade, 
 The wandering savants welcome made 
 
 We trod on Clifton Bridge: 
 The haunts of Southey, Chatterton, 
 And temple-shrines we gaz'd upon, 
 
 And climb'd the limestone ridge. 
 
 " At Plymouth wondrous arts were shown ; 
 There spoke the infant telephone, 
 
 Progressing year by year ; 
 The spacious docks, the noble bays 
 Old Eddystone, which far displays 
 Its light, to warn or cheer. 
 
 " The rich-veined mines of Carradon, 
 The Cheese Wring on its airy throne, 
 (Our portraits pictur'd there) 
 All these we saw, then journey'd far 
 To where Land's End braves ocean's war 
 And sea-birds scream in air." 
 
 " We had all the same wish to see the farthest 
 south-western lands of our native country. For 
 these objects we visited the Land's End, viewing 
 on the way the wondrous Logan Stone, which, 
 though many tons in weight, moved with a slighi 
 lifting of my shoulder. On the further point of 
 
196 JAMES HURNARD: 
 
 the huge granite masses, which jut out into the 
 vast Atlantic, we could feel as C. Wesley so well 
 expresses it : 
 
 ' Lo, on a narrow neck of land 
 Twixt two unbounded seas I stand.' 
 
 "We examined both sides of this mighty projection ; 
 the south-western, with the Longships Lighthouse, 
 and the Runnel Stone, about two miles out, and the 
 north-western with its tunnels and bridges formed 
 by the wasting action of the wild waves and other 
 powerful impulses of creative energy, the first inward 
 bend of Whitesand Bay to Cape Cornwall, 280 feet 
 high, its northern bound (near Botallack Mine). 
 
 " We gathered many curious specimens of ferns, 
 heather, lichens, and flowering plants, and admired 
 many more that were tantalizingly beyond our reach, 
 among the steep rock clefts. We can barely enume- 
 rate the flowers seen or gathered : the beautiful star- 
 wort (or Michaelmas daisy), with its yellow disc and 
 light purple ray, its linear lanceolated fleshy leaves, 
 its glabrous stem and corymbose heads ; the thrift (or 
 sea pink) with linear leaves and light rose-tinted 
 flowers. 
 
 " While some of us took light refreshment at the 
 cottage inscribed, ' The first and last house in 
 England,' or overlooked the varied specimens on 
 the stall in front, or watched the sea birds, the 
 cormorant (or shag), the ring dottrell, and gulls, 
 large and small, our elder companion, J. H., whose 
 genial nature is alike in harmony with social inter- 
 course and occasional thoughtful solitude, retired 
 
A MEMOIR. 197 
 
 once more to the last point of the rocks," the base of 
 which was washed by the deep greenish blue sea. 
 The result of his solitary musings came out when 
 we reached Penzance, by another route, which 
 passed by a long-closed burial ground of the Society 
 of Friends. 
 
 "He produced a pencilled copy of verses in which, 
 as he expressed himself, he had endeavoured to 
 concentrate his thoughts on the prominent but 
 contrasted images before him, the last bold rocks 
 of our land and the beautiful yet inaccessible flower 
 adorning them. I need not say that we and the com- 
 pany at Matthew's Temperance Hotel appreciated 
 the brief but finished portrait of the scene, and the 
 moral combined therewith." 
 
 THE LAND'S END. 
 
 I stood on England's furthest rock, 
 That frowns defiance o'er the main, 
 
 And saw a flower within a cleft, 
 The boldest might desire in vain. 
 
 And so, methought, whilst England holds 
 That Truth and Right are first and best, 
 
 No daring hand shall ever pluck 
 The flower of honour from her breast. 
 
 My husband took great interest in African explora- 
 tions, in reading of Stanley's wanderings on the 
 " Dark Continent," and of his rencontre with Living- 
 stone. After the death of that dauntless pioneer he 
 wrote the following : 
 
198 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 DIRGE ON THE BURIAL OF LIVINGSTONE 
 IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 Bring home the dead ! 
 Hark ! a host's tread ! 
 Bow low each head ! 
 
 No pomp there needs 
 No plume-crowned steeds, 
 When each heart bleeds. 
 Honoured of men ! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben !* 
 
 Find him a tomb 
 Mid minster gloom 
 Till day of doom ! 
 True hero guest 
 He shall sleep best 
 Where the great rest ! 
 
 Honoured of men ! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben ! 
 
 His sun has set ! 
 Passed is life's fret ! 
 Nought to regret ! 
 
 His work is done ! 
 His race is run ! 
 His crown is won ! 
 
 Honoured of men ! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben ! 
 
 * " Big Ben " is the great bell in the clock-tower at West- 
 minster. 
 
A MEMOIR. IQ9 
 
 Through realms of night, 
 Where lions fight, 
 He let in light ! 
 He cleft a way 
 Through beasts of prey 
 For Gospel day ! 
 
 Honoured of men ! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben ! 
 
 Not once hope-crushed 
 Till death pulse hushed 
 And heaven's joy flushed ! 
 Died at his post ! 
 Scorning life's cost ! 
 Lone, but not lost ! 
 
 Honoured of men! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben ! 
 
 Not for a name : 
 Not for mere fame : 
 But a grand aim ! 
 
 High aim and pure 
 Crown to ensure 
 Is to endure ! 
 
 Honoured of men! 
 But dust again ! 
 Sound the knell, Ben ! 
 
200 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Illness of his son Extract from an unpublished poem by J. R. 
 Withers Failing health Three Hymns: "Thy King- 
 dom come," "Psalm 137," "Father! who art in Heaven " 
 His death His funeral Tributary verses by Dr. 
 Spencer T. Hall, and James R. Withers. 
 
 A CLOSE trial attended our lot in the serious ill- 
 ness of our young son from scarlet fever, during a 
 stay at Bristol in 1876 ; hovering as between life and 
 death, surely it was in answer to our prayers, and to 
 the vow breathed in the inmost heart, that he was 
 raised up again. 
 
 During his residence at Lexden my husband car- 
 ried on a considerable correspondence with literary 
 people, and enjoyed at times their society in his own 
 home. 
 
 One of these was the rustic poet, James R. Withers, 
 of Cambridgeshire, who has written a pretty descrip- 
 tion of a visit he paid us, which I will venture to 
 quote from one of his unpublished poems : 
 
 " Near on a hill a town there stands 
 Built, as they say, by Roman hands ; 
 And relics of that mighty race 
 Are thickly found around the place; 
 An ancient castle, grim and grey, 
 And ruins, grand in their decay, 
 
: A MEMOIR. 2OI 
 
 Strong walls and gates long batter'd down, 
 
 When " Ironsides " besieged the town, 
 
 Of which some vestiges remain 
 
 Such times we trust come not again. 
 
 Yet here are trained those sons of Mars 
 
 Whose trade and talk are guns and wars. 
 
 Oh ! when shall all these horrors cease, 
 
 And men join hands in love and peace ! 
 
 I heard the bugle call to drill, 
 
 The thundering drum, and clarion shrill; 
 
 I sigh'd, and could no longer stay, 
 
 By martial music scared away. 
 
 I left the town a mile behind 
 
 And then it was my hap to find 
 
 A quiet home beside the Colne, 
 
 Where Love has fixed his constant throne. 
 
 A peaceful calm pervades the place, 
 
 And tastes refined the mansion grace; 
 
 Around the trees lift high their heads, 
 
 Enclosing lawns and flowery beds, 
 
 Tall graceful trees, and all between 
 
 Are glossy laurels ever green, 
 
 And winding walks beneath the shade 
 
 That seem for musing poets made. 
 
 There is a little rustic seat, 
 
 From which I found it passing sweet 
 
 To gaze upon the vale below, 
 
 The mill, and river's peaceful flow; 
 
 While, just beyond, careering fast, 
 
 The " Iron horse " g6es rushing past. 
 
 'Twas sweet to shut out noise and strife, 
 
 And all the anxious cares of life, 
 
 To watch the setting sun retire 
 
 Behind a bank of gold and fire, 
 
202 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 And see the full-orb'd moon arise, 
 And yield to Fancy's witcheries ; 
 To hear the melancholy dove 
 Soft cooing in the neighbouring grove, 
 With harsher notes of pie or jay, 
 And see the nimble squirrels play, 
 While now and then an acorn brown 
 Or prickly chestnut thudded down. 
 And then to loiter by that pool, 
 Where crystal waters, fresh and cool, 
 In never failing plenty spring, 
 And through the meads the runnels sing. 
 
 ! bless'd beyond the common lot 
 The dwellers in this charming spot. 
 
 * * # # * 
 
 What can I wish for such a pair ? 
 What bliss in which they do not share ? 
 
 1 do not wish them greater wealth, 
 But strengthen'd and continued health. 
 And, since their sum of earthly joy 
 
 Is centred in their gentle boy, 
 That he may stand in brotherhood 
 Amongst the wise, the great, and good; 
 I cannot wish a blessing higher 
 Than wishing all that they desire." 
 
 " Fairy Revels." 
 
 During the last few years of his life, my husband's 
 health was very failing. A weakness of the heart 
 occasioned him much trial. During 1880 he felt his 
 powers too prostrate to care to go far from home, but 
 paid what proved to be a last visit to some of his 
 relatives at Kelvedon, and received many visits from 
 
A MEMOIR. 203 
 
 friends at home. In the Eleventh Month of that 
 year he was elected an alderman of the borough of 
 Colchester. This was a gratifying tribute of respect 
 to his long-tried worth ; but his health was very 
 infirm, and he took but little part in the duties of his 
 new office. 
 
 During the night of the loth of Twelfth Month he 
 had a severe attack of illness from which I doubted 
 whether he would recover ; but he rallied, and was 
 permitted again to join the home circle, and to 
 resume his usual quiet employments within doors, 
 getting out but little during the winter. 
 
 I have given but occasional allusions to his inward 
 religious feelings. He was not one to talk much of 
 these ; but I believe there was a deep under-current 
 of piety, and that there was an earnest endeavour to 
 lead a consistent Christian life. 
 
 Some hymns, written by him, may here follow ; 
 the third is, as far as I know, the last of his poetical 
 effusions. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Thy kingdom come ! Thy will be done ! 
 
 O everlasting Lord ! 
 Awake ! arise ! all glorious Sun, 
 
 And shed Thy beams abroad. 
 
 Unnumbered lands and isles afar, 
 
 Lie wrapt in pagan gloom, 
 Oh, wheel on high T.hy blazing car, 
 
 And bid the desert bloom. 
 
JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 On earth's wide field a million flowers 
 
 To drink thy glory thirst, 
 They wait to own thy vital powers, 
 
 And forth in beauty burst. 
 
 Arise, O Lord ! put on Thy strength, 
 And bless Thy servants' zeal, 
 
 Who ride the ocean's weary length 
 High on the trembling keel. 
 
 The thunders roll, the lightnings flash 
 
 Along the gloomy wave, 
 But though the billows o'er them dash 
 
 They know that Thou canst save. 
 
 Far from their home and native land, 
 
 Beneath a torrid sky ; 
 E'en while they grasp the Indian's hand, 
 
 They know that Thou art nigh. 
 
 And e'en though death itself betide, 
 
 They bow to Thy decree, 
 They know that Thou for them hast died 
 
 And they can die for Thee. 
 
 O Lord ! Thy glorious day reveal, 
 
 The last and best of days ! 
 When all the sons of men shall kneel, 
 
 And shout one song of praise. 
 
 PSALM CXXXVII. 
 
 By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down 
 
 In a strange land, poor strangers oppress'd and o'er- 
 
 thrown, 
 
 We hanged. our harps on the boughs of the willows, 
 And wept o'er our woe to the sound of the billows ; 
 
A MEMOIR. 205 
 
 Yea we wept when we thought, O loved Zion, of thee, 
 And remembered the time when thy children were free. 
 
 For there they who subdued us and led us away, 
 Required of us sternly the musical lay, 
 And they who despoiled us required of us mirth, 
 Saying, " Sing us a song of the land of your birth." 
 But how can we sing the sweet anthems of Heaven, 
 When far from our country in chains we are driven ? 
 
 O Zion ! if e'er I forget thy glad hill, 
 May this right hand forget all its harp-sounding skill 
 And dumb be my tongue if to love thee I cease, 
 Home of my fathers, thou city of peace ! 
 
 Salem ! though strangers thy walls may destroy, 
 
 1 still will prefer thee above my chief joy. 
 
 "FATHER! WHO ART IN HEAVEN." 
 
 Father ! who art in Heaven, my God, my Guide, 
 
 My Strength, My Trust, my Hope, my Life, my Light, 
 
 Humbly I seek to worship Thee aright 
 
 In spirit and in truth in Thee abide 
 
 Leaving the length, and breadth, and depth, and height, 
 
 Of Thy supernal ways, which Thou dost hide, 
 
 In Heavenly wisdom, from man's craving sight. 
 
 I thank thee for existence, though allied 
 
 To sin and death, for Christ, Thy Son, has died 
 
 Triumphant over both in Hell's despite ; 
 
 In whom, believing, I am sanctified, 
 
 And made His fellow-heir of glory bright; 
 
 And when He comes in majesty and might 
 
 I shall be ever with Him at His side. 
 
206 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Some weeks before the close, on my inquiring 
 as to whether, if the call came suddenly, he felt 
 prepared, he assured me of his firm reliance upon 
 the Rock Christ Jesus. 
 
 The call did come suddenly. 
 
 On the 23rd of Second Month, 1881, he attended 
 the week-day religious meeting of Friends in Col- 
 chester, and on the 25th walked in his garden 
 and planted a tree, remarking, however, to his 
 gardener, " Perhaps this may be the last I shall 
 ever plant." 
 
 He retired to rest at about his usual hour, bright 
 and cheerful, but in the course of the night was 
 taken ill, and, though various means were tried for 
 his relief, he passed away, in about an hour, on the 
 26th of Second Month, 1881, in the seventy-third 
 year of his age. 
 
 Yes thou art gone ! the strife is o'er ! 
 
 The "light afflictions " all are past ! 
 Though here they tried thy spirit sore, 
 
 How light to thee they seem at last. 
 Farewell, my precious one, farewell ! 
 How dear thou wast words fail to tell. 
 
 I sometimes think thou still art near, 
 Though closely veiled from mortal eyes, 
 
 Permitted still my path to cheer, 
 To soothe me when the billows rise, 
 
 I seem to see thy well-known face 
 
 Beaming with love and heavenly grace. 
 
A MEMOIR. 207 
 
 No cloud upon thy spirit now, 
 
 No anxious thoughts to press thee down, 
 
 A " weight of glory " on thy brow, 
 And thine a never-fading crown, 
 
 Eternal joy and perfect rest, 
 
 How blest thou art, for ever blest ! 
 
 Oh, be it mine to follow still 
 
 Thy footsteps in the narrow way, 
 Bowing to all the Father's will, 
 
 Thy God my God, thy Strength my Stay ; 
 Till, on that bright and blissful shore, 
 We may unite to part no more ! 
 
 And our loved child, our youthful son, 
 
 Fair offshoot from the aged tree, 
 May he his course in wisdom run, 
 
 Be all his God would have him be; 
 Bring honour to the name he bears, 
 Raise many a heart from crushing cares. 
 
 Fair is the picture Love would trace 
 For that young precious life to be, 
 
 Bright with true love and every grace, 
 From Folly's gilded thraldom free ; 
 
 And, when his earthly course is run 
 
 His, too, the welcome words, " Well done." 
 
 The funeral, on the 4th of Third Month, was 
 largely attended, and proved a solemn occasion. In 
 the meeting words of exhortation were addressed from 
 the text, " Be ye also ready, for at such an hour as 
 ye think not the Son of Man cometh." I believe 
 that many who followed him to his last resting-place 
 felt that they had lost a true friend. 
 
208 JAMES HURNARD : 
 
 Some tributary verses may fittingly close this 
 memoir : 
 
 So rests his wearied frame in native earth^ 
 But ne'er can be entombed his wit and worth ; 
 Long in his cheery volumes they will shine : 
 And find in many a heart a living shrine: 
 Nay more, his spirit, in the realms above, 
 Where all is holiest intellect and love, 
 Will be at home, and God Himself adore, 
 When fame is dead and "time shall be no more." 
 
 DR. SPENCER T. HALL. 
 
 "IN MEMORY OF MR. JAMES HURNARD." 
 
 Gathered like golden grain when fully ripe, 
 And safely garnered in the upper skies, 
 
 His mourning 's ended, for his God shall wipe 
 All dimming tears for ever from his eyes. 
 
 How clearly must his raptured spirit trace 
 The beauties of that glorious world above 
 
 Know all the mysteries of sustaining grace, 
 And all the wonders of redeeming love. 
 
 Freed from earth's thrall that clogs .the spirit here, 
 No taint pollutes his spotless robes of white, 
 
 Made meet in that Assembly to appear, 
 
 Companion of the " firstborn sons of light." 
 
 Our selfish hearts would here have held him yet 
 The widow and the orphan sadly sigh ; 
 
 And age and want remember with regret 
 His ready helping hand and sympathy.- 
 
A MEMOIR. 209 
 
 A few short years were only mine to know 
 His kindred spirit and his sterling worth, 
 
 To see the " setting sun's " resplendent glow, 
 That now has " set " indeed from this our earth. 
 
 But this our loss is his eternal gain, 
 
 His warfare ended he has won the crown, 
 
 With the redeemed in bliss with Christ to reign, 
 Where all is day, their "sun" no more goes down. 
 
 The Muses favoured him, and he was bold 
 In praise of virtue, and in lashing wrong 
 
 But now he's singing to his harp of gold 
 A higher theme, that new and wondrous song. 
 
 In works of charity his life was spent, 
 
 Did good by stealth and "blushed to find it fame ; " 
 But these shall be his lasting monument, 
 
 And grateful memories will embalm his name. 
 
 But higher praise he ever kept in view, 
 
 And this his welcome and his great reward 
 " Well done, thou faithful servant, good and true, 
 "Enter the joyful presence of thy Lord." 
 
 JAMES R. WITHERS.