^umn„ B 3 311 fl7S II lUl iM'' THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES POET AND PHILOLOGIST. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES POET AND PHILOLOGIST BY HIS DAUGHTER LUCY BAXTER ("LEADER SCOTT") Hon. Member of the Academy of Fine Arts, Florence; Author of " A Nook in the Apennines," " Renaissance in Italy," etc. IToubon MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1887 The Right of Trantlution and lieproduetion i$ lietrrved Richard Clay and Sons, london and bungay. u PREFACE. Some men live before their age, others behind it. ]\[y father did both. In action he was behind the world, or rather apart from it ; in thought he was far before his time — a thinker who may probably lead the next generations even more than his own. A great and deep student of the past, he drew from it inferences and teaching for the future. The reading world know him chiefly for his poems — but the making of poems was but a small part of his intellectual life. His most earnest studies and greatest aims were in philology; but he was also a keen thinker in social science and political economy. For one hand to do justice to all the phases of a many-sided mind is not an easy task, and no one can feel more than I do my own inadequacy to it. Although perfectly aware that there are many others who would have made a worthier book in its literary aspect, yet when the work of biographer was given to me I gladly undertook it, knowing my father's wishes as to the spirit in wliich it should be done. He viii PREFACE. always had a great repugnance to be " written about," and though he so far recognised the possibihty of a future -necessity for his life to be given to the public as to collect and arrange notes, memoranda, letters, etc., as data for the writer, yet he always refused to commit this material into other hands. On my last visit to England I was one day walking with him in the garden at Came, and begged to be allowed to take his note-books back with me to begin writing his life, but he shrank from it, saying, " If it must be done, I would rather one of my own children should do it, but not now — leave me to my quietude while I live." Again, in his last illness, when speak- ing with his son, the Rev. W. Miles Barnes, he requested that if his life were written the facts should be simply and plainly adhered to, and not obscured or glossed over by " fine writing." It is this wish that I have tried to fulfil, and have merely given the true events of a pure and simple life, in as plain and unglossed a manner as possible. No criticism of works has been attempted ; indeed what has been done so fully and appreciatively by abler hands would be out of place, from a daughter — there is only a slight description of them, and as much of their inner story as I knew. I regret that the Life could not have been written in a more joyous spirit whilst he was still with us, but as far as possible it has been my aim not to PREFACE. ix allow the -^Titer's personality to overshadow the subject. That the poet may, as far as possible, be his own interpreter, I have selected as illustrations those poems which seem to have expressed his feelings at the dif- ferent epochs of his life. They are chosen entirely for their fitness, not their literary rank. I must not neglect to render hearty thanks for assistance in sending " memories " and letters, to the Hon. Mrs. "Williams, of Herringston ; Mrs. Tennant, Mrs. Colfox, and Miss Bayley ; to Prof. Palgrave, F.R.S. ; Edmund Gosse, Esq. ; Thomas Hardy, Esq. ; Charles Holland Wame, Esq. ; J. S. Udal, Esq. ; Daniel Ricketson, Esq., of New Bedford, Mass., U S.A. ; and the members of my own family. " LEADER SCOTT." (LUCY E. BAXTER.) Florexce, 1887. N.B. — Although I have been otherwise advised, I have decided to retain my signature " Leader Scott," which is better known than my own name to English readers, and was moreover chosen for me from family names by my father himself. conte:n^ts. PAGE CHAPTER I. Poetical Illustration— " Rustic CiiiLnnooD " 1 Youth and Friendship 3 CHAPTER II. Poetical Illustration — "Walking Home at Night" . . 21 Chantry House 23 CHAPTER HI. Poetical Illustration — " Learning " 39 The Teacher . • • 41 CHAPTER IV. Poetical Illustration— " Sonnet TO Dead Friends " . . 55 Literary and Social Life. 1839—1811 57 xii CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. PAGE PoKTiCAL Illustration — " Vull a Man " 71 The Dorset Poems. First Series 73 CHAPTER VI. Poetical Illustration — " Thr Woodland Home " . . . . 87 The Dorset County Museum, and English Poems .... 89 CHAPTER Vll. Poetical Illustration — " Our Church " 99 Ordination and College Life 101 CHAPTER VIII. Poetical Illustration- " Plorata veris Lachrymis" . . 113 Sorrow 115 CHAPTER IX. Poetical Illustration — " Tweil " 133 The Phiiolcgical Grammar ,,.... 135 CONTENTS. xiii CHAPTER X. PAGE Poetical Illustration — " OiR Early Landscape" .... 149 HwoMELY Rhymes 151 CHAPTER XI. Poetical Illustration — " The Trial Past " 171 Troublous Times 173 CHAPTER XII. Poetical Illustration — " Vo'k a Comen into Church " . 193 The Rector 195 CHAPTER XIII. Poetical Illustration— " The Du'sET Militia" 215 Literary Friendshii's 217 CHAPTER XIV. Poetical Illustration— " Fancy " 235 English Poems -•^' CONTENTS. CHAPTER XV. PAGB Poetical Illustration — " Peotjd of His Home" 253 The Antiquary 255 CHAPTER XVI. Poetical Illustration — "Walk and Talk" 271 Autumn Days 273 CHAPTER XVII. Poetical Illustration — " Children's Children " 289 The Grandfather 291 CHAPTER XVIII. Poetical Illustration — "Bed-Ridden" 307 Last Illness and Death 309 APPENDICES. Appendix I. Some Letters 331 ,, II. Published Works 350 ,, III. Works not Printed 357 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES POET AND PHILOLOGIST CHAPTER I. RUSTIC CHILDHOOD. No city primness trained my feet To strut in childhood through the street ; But freedom let them loose to tread The yellow cowslip's downcast head ; Or climb, above the twining hop And ivy, to the elm-tree's top ; Where southern airs of blue-sky'd day Breath'd o'er the daisy and the may. I knew you young, and love you now, shining grass and shady bough ! Far off from town where splcndoui' trios To draw the looks of gather'd eyes, And clocks, unheeded, fail to warn The luud-toiigued party of the nioi'n, B : THi: LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. I spent in woodland shades my day In cheerful work or happy play, And slept at night where rustling leaves Threw moonlight shadows o'er my eaves. I knew you young, and love you now, shining grass and shady bough ! Or in the grassy drove by ranks Of white-stemmed ashes, or by banks Of narrow lanes, in winding round The hedgy sides of shelving ground ; Where low-shot light struck in to end Again at some cool-shaded bend, Where we might see through dark-leaved boughs The evening light on green hill brows. 1 knew you young, and love you now, shining grass and shady bough ! Or on the hillock where I lay At rest on some bright holiday ; When short noon-shadows lay below, The thorn in blossom white as snow ; And warm air bent the glist'ning tops Of bushes in the lowland copse. Before the blue hills swellino' higrh And far against the southern sky. 1 knew you young, and love you now, shining grass and shady bough ! YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 1801— 182G. Though from henceforth the names of Barnes and Dorset will never more be divided, their connection is by no means a new one. It is supposed that Barnes in Surrey was the original home of the family, though there have been Barneses in Dorset for so many a long century, that it is said the first of the name came down in the train of king Jolin when he visited his hunting lodge at Gillingham. Gillingham still retains some sign of this royal occupation, for the khig's manor and forest keep tie old title of a " liberty," and the town has in its quaint Saxon bye-laws the remains of the ancient sac and soc. In old times its court, which was under the reeve seneschal of the lord of the manor (who in this case was the king), consisted of this seneschal and twelve men called the homage ; its business was to hear causes of sac and .sor, and to witness any deeds of the transfer of lands, and its nAh have been preserved intact I'rom 13 2 4 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. the time of Henry VIII., from whom a certain William Barnes, for service rendered to the king, had a grant of land in 1540.^ The family must have taken root and flourished at Gillingham, for in Elizabeth's reign they had also lands at Bourton and Shearstock, where George, the grand- son of William above mentioned, settled. Three John Barneses next follow in hereditary succession at Gillingham, the first of whom was " head borough " of the town in 1604. After these comes Jerome (son of the last John), who was the wealthiest man of the line, for he owned three other estates, one in Hamp- shire, one at Todber, and a third at East Stower. This latter property fell to the share of his eldest son, John, through whom in the third generation we reach John Barnes, the grandfather of the subject of this memoir, in whose time the last of the lands seem to have passed out of the possession of the family. The poet has told the story in " Gwain to Brookwell," ^ where, in describing a morning's drive, he says — *' At Harwood Farm we pass'd the land That father's father had in hand, An' there in oben light did spread, The very grown's his cows did tread, An' there above the stwonen tun Avore the dazzlen mornen zun, Wer still the roUen smoke, the breath A' breath'd vxom his wold house's he'th ; ^ The parchment of particulars for the grant of lands and tenements in the parish of Gillingham to William Barnes is still preserved in the Eecord Office. 2 Dorset Poems, Collected edition, p. 273. I.] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 5 An' there did lie below the door, The drashol' that hi.? vootsteps wore ; But there his meate and he both died, Wi' hand in hand, an zide by zide ; Between the seame two peals a-rung, Two Zundays, though they wer but j^oung, An' laid in sleep, their worksome hands, At rest vroiu tweil wi' house or lands. Then vower children laid their heads At night upon their little beds, An' never rose agean below A mother's love, or father's ho' : Dree little maidens, small in feace, An woone small bwoy, the fourth in ple'ace. Zoo when their heedvul father died, He called his brother to his zide, To meake en stand in his own stead. His children's guide when he wer dead ; But still avore zix years brought ro;;nd The woodland goo-coo's zummer sound, He weiisted all their little store, An' hardship drove em out o' door, To tweil till tweilsome life shoiild end T'thout a single e'thly friend." Thus John Barnes, who was left an orphan with three small sisters, the eldest only sixteen years of age, was no longer a landowner, but became a tenant farmer. It is true he had the franchise on the title of a freehold house and land which he jiossessed, but he certainly did not live in it. The birthplace of his son, our William Barnes, was " Rushay," a farm not far from Pentridge ; tlie family afterwards removed to the "Golden Gate," a house which has since been ]>iill('(l down, and tln'U John Banies bought a .small lilclKild house at Biiglxir. The vale of Blackmore, in whirh all these houses of a THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. his forbears were situated, is a kind of Tempo — a Happy- valley — so shut in by its sheltering hills, that up to quite modern times the outer world had sent few echoes to dis- turb its serene and rustic quiet. Life in Blackmore was practically the life of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, until the nineteenth was actually far advanced. The farmer helped to till his own land, his wife did not disdain to churn her butter and curd her cheeses, and the days passed in homely and rustic duties, which to our mind have a sweet old-world charm. The family meals were eaten in the oak-beamed old kitchen, where was the " settle and the girt wood vire," with the hams and bacon hanging overhead, and thus the ears of the boy would have been from infancy accustomed to the sound of that dialect, the love of which clung to him throughout life and was the basis of his fame, being the speech which most easily clothed his poetic thoughts. Nothing can give so true an idea of the easy rustic life of goodwill and fellowship in this "old-world- vale of Blackmore" than the following description of "Harvest home," which was one of William Barnes's first contributions to Hone's Year-book not long after he had left Bagber, and was certainly a page out of his youthful life : — " When the last load was ricked, the labourers, male and female, the swarthy reaper and the sunburnt haymaker, the saucy boy who had not seen twelve summers, and the stiff horny-handed old mower, who had borne the toil of fifty, all made a happy group, and went with singing and loud laughter to the " harvest home " supper at the farm-house, where they were expected by the good mistress, dressed in a quilted petticoat and a I.] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 7 linsey-wolsey apron, with shoes fastened by large silver buckles, which extended over her foot like a pack- saddle on a donkey. The dame and her husband welcomed them to a supper of wholesome food, a round of beef and a piece of bacon, and perhaps the host and hostess had gone so far as to kill a fowl or two or even a turkey which had fattened in the wheat-yard. This pure F^nglish fare was eaten from wooden trenchers, by the side of which were put cups of horn filled with beer or cider. When the cloth was removed, one of the men, putting forth his large hand, like the gauntlet of an armed knight, would grasp his horn of beer and, stand- ing on a pair of legs which had long outgrown the largest holes in the village stocks, and with a voice which, if he had not been speaking a dialect of the English language, you might have thought came from the deep-seated lungs of a lion, he would propose the health of the farmer in the folloudng lines : — " ' Here's a health unto our measter, The founder of the feast ; And I hope to God, wi' all my heart, His soul in heaven mid rest. That everything mid prosper That ever he teiike in hand. Vor we be all his sarvants, And all at his command.' " After this would follow a course of jokes, anec- dotes, and songs, in some of which the whole company joined, without attcnti(jn to the technicalities of counter- point, bass, tenor, and treble, C(jmiii(in cliords and major thirds; but each singing the air, and ])itching in at tlie key that best suited his voice, making a medley of big 8 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. and little sounds, like the lowing of oxen and the bleating of old ewes mixed with the shrill pipings of lambs at a fair." It has been said that the minds of great men are influenced by their mothers ; this was evidently the fact as regards William Barnes's earliest development of taste. His mother, Grace Scott, of Fifehead Neville, was a woman of refined tastes and with an inherent love of art and poetry. She only lived long enough to give her son the very first leanings towards art, which the boy showed in drawings on wall and floor, with chalk or anything which would mark, but the seed planted in the infantile mind grew after her death, as his memories of her strengthened. These memories showed her to him as a slight, graceful figure with delicate features, they recalled her voice as she recited to him passages of poems which she had learned, and they pictured to him a young mother leading him by the hand through the pleasant country lanes to where some figures in molten lead, representing the seasons, stood on the parapet of an old bridge near her old home at Fifehead. These rustic sculptures, from which he probably got his first idea of the inner meaning of art, disappeared when he was quite young. Another recollection was of her holding him up in her arms to see a statue on the pillared gate of an old disused manor-house. This was possibly the original of " The stwonen boy upon the pillar " — *' 'ithin a geat a-hung But fastened up and never swung. I.] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 9 Upon the pillar, all ahvone Do Stan' the little buoy o' stwone, 'S a poppy bud mid linger on Vorseaken when the wheat's a-gone, An' there, then, wi' his bow let slack, An' little quiver at his back, Drough het and wet the little chile A^rom day to day do stan' and smile. And there his little sheape do bide, Drough day an' night, an' time an' tide. An' never change his size or dress Nor overgrow his prettiness." The young mother's taste for poetry no doubt throAV a poetic halo on all the scenes in the idyllic vale of Blackmore, and gave the boy that key to the inter- pretation of nature which never failed him. We can imagine him dreaming along the banks of the Stour, watching the water-lilies floating on its breast, where — " The grey-bovighed withy's a-leaning lowly Above the water thy leaves do hide ; The bending bulrush, a-swayen' slowly, Do skirt in zummer thy river's side. And perch in shoals, 0, Do vill the holes, 0, Where thou dost float, goolden summer clote." Or else we see him as he sings — " Wi' happy buoyish heart I vound The twitterin' birds a builded round Your high-boughed hedges, zunny woodlands. You gie'd me life, you gie'd me jay Lwonesome woodlands, zunny woodlands, You gie'd me health, as in my play I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands," 10 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Whether in fields or woodlands, the poet was in these early years imbibing at every glance the impressions which later found utterance in poesy. The boy sees and hears only the outward things, and vaguely feels that there is in them some mysterious meaning ; the man whose soul is fully grown understands where the boy has wondered, and speaks, where the boy has been dumb. Some of his memories show that in spite of incipient genius he was very boyish after all. He used to tell his children of a day when their father was a naughty boy, and steered his fleet down the river Stour. The fleet consisted of little William himself in a large tub, and the cat towed behind in a wooden bowl. The boy fearless in the spirit of adventure, and the poor cat with her back arched and her tail extended in the agonies of terror. William Barnes's young mother used to grieve over him when a child, for he was small and delicate, and when she took his little tapering fingers into hers — he had the psychic hand — she would sigh, "Poor child, how will he ever gain his living ? " for the hands were quite unfitted for the manual labour of a farm. To her ideas, which were bounded by rustic life, this seemed the only thing possible. The village oracles in the shape of wise old women comforted her, for one said, "The boy is born with a silver spoon in his mouth," and another, more prophetic but less oracular, quoth, " Never you mind what he looks like, he'll get his living by learning-books and such like." After his mother's death the boy remembered see- ing in the house a pair of embroidered high-heeled satin i] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 11 shoes which had belonged to her, and which lingering in his memory gave rise to one of his most charming 23oems, Grnmmcr's Shoes} And now a word of the father of William Barnes. It was from him he inherited the stern good sense and keen judgment which marked his dealings with men, and from him he took the ever unsullied good name of his forefathers. John Barnes was an upright old man with an honest, rugged face,^ yet of the same character as that of his son. We have little record of William Barnes's early edu- cation. He learnt his letters at a village dame's school, and afterwards went daily to Sturminster to attend a kind of endowed school for both boys and girls there. The master was a clever little man named Mullett, — usually known as Tommy Mullett. An old lady of ninety who went to the same school remembers that "little Willie Barnes," as his schoolfellows dubbed him, " excelled all the others and outstripped them by far. He was a general favourite, all the scholars, both boys and girls, would willingly, if necessary, have fought for ' In after years he tried to obtain these shoes as a relic, but in vain. The following letter was found among his papers after death : — " Dear Barnes, " I am very sorry I have never seen your mother's satin shoes since I have been in the house. Your Aunt Jane says there were such shoes, but cannot tell what became of them." To his last day there hung upon the wall of the poet's room at the head of his bed two litlle old-fusliitmed samplers in needlework with the Lord's Prayer and some; texts worked in faded silk. The memory of her whose hands had worked them never faded. 2 One of the poet's treasures was a portrait of his father by the Sturminster artist Thorne, which the rector, Mr. Lane Fox, once sent him as a present. 12 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. and protected him." From tlience lie was taken into the office of Mr. Dashwood, a local solicitor at Stur- minster. The promotion (in the eyes of the school) was so great that it was the " general talk and wonder- ment of the pupils." Probably in those days writing was more considered than classics, for some remarkable specimens of his youthful skill in penmanship remain to us. " It was a proud day for the young William Barnes when some time in the year 1814 or 1815 a local solicitor, the late Mr. Dashwood, entered the school and inquired if there were a boy clever enough with his pen to come and copy deeds in his office in a clerkly hand. The only lad who at all approximated to such a high description was Barnes, and the scene of testing him with the long quill pen and paper, and his selection by the lawyer, must have been one to which Mulready alone could have done justice." •^ Being jjlaced at the office desk so early in life proves that his school education could have been nothing but elementary, but this was of little importance, for the learning which made his name was no grammar-school knowledge, it was the result of a receptive mind which imbibed knowledge in any possible way it was presented to him. No school teaching gave him his faculty of penetrating to the root of every study which came in his way, it was the natural instinct of a keen and penetrative mind. If no schools existed such a mind would educate itself. The office work at Mr. Dashwood's was on the whole more congenial to him than the labour of the farm, for 1 Mr. Thomas Hardy, Athenceiim, Oct. 16, 1886. i] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 13 much as he loved the country and country-folk lie did not see in it the proper sphere of his life's labour. His mind craved for intellectual development, and his passion for books was insatiable. Oat of office hours he was always learning something, either classics from the good clergyman, Mr. Lane Fox, who lent him books and helped him in his difficulties, or music from the organist, Mr. Spinney, who soon found out his talents in that direction. He dreamed of a wider life, but his means were limited, and the great world on the other side of the sheltering hills of Blackmore was as yet un- known to him. However, he soon took his flight over them, for in 1818 he left Mr. Dashwood and came to the office of Mr. Coombs of Dorchester. Such was his loveworthy character, that to the end of their lives these two estimable lawyers were his firm friends. Thus at eighteen years of age began his connection with the town, into the very heart of which he grew so deeply, that when he passed away all wished to preserve his memory in the streets where his loved presence had been so familiar. While fulfilling his clerkly duties, he and a friend, William Carey (afterwards a lawyer at Calne), lodged together in apartments above Mr. Hazard's pastrycook's shop, and the spare time of the two young men was passed in reading and studying. The rector of St. Peter's, Mr. Kichman, soon found out his new parishioner's pas- sion for learning and kindly gave him evening lessons in the classics, placing his library at Barnes's disposal, tlius laying the foundaticctat(y)% was ascribed to Addison's friend and Pope's rival, Ambrose Phillips. The name "Orra" in conjunction with Lapland would seem to point to William Barnes's knowledge of this poem, though his own was no doubt quite different in substance. That these earl}'- poems attracted a good deal of attention at the time, we gather from several complimentary letters addressed to him by admirers. One from a fellow poet, Mr. Aubrey, presents him with a copy of his own poems ; another tribute is from an appreciative fellow-townsman whose admiration is greater than his genius, for he addresses Mr. Barnes as " The Poet Laureate of Dorchester," and begins in this style, with plenty of capital letters : " Barnes, when thy muse inspires the song My soul is all on fire, Thy numbers sweetly flow along While I well pleased admire ; " and so on for seven verses. Orra was published by the help of the author's first efforts in wood engraving. A Mr. James Criswick was at the time printing a book named Walks round Dorchester, and the young Barnes engraved the following blocks for it : — Lulworth Castle. Bindon Abbey. Milton Abbey. Corfe Castle. Cerne Abbey. Arched rock at Lulworth. Eoman Amphitheatre. Poundbury. These first trials show a raw and unpractised hand, which however soon improved into a more forcible style, I.] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 17 but they served their purpose in providing the artist with funds to publish Orra in 1822. It was iUustrated with tailpieces engraved by himself. This talent for engraving seemed to some of his friends worthy of cultivation, and one of the most influential among their number sent specimens to the eminent London engi-avers, Scriven and Watson, both of whom wrote ])raising their promise, but advising further training in the technicalities of the art before a(loi)ting it as a profession. The artistic training was not to be had just then, and he continued to work on by himself, obtaining several local commissions which were useful in giving him a more pi'actised hand. Tliis time of his youth was the poet's Vita Nuova illumined by the faithful love which filled his whole life, for in 1822 he was betrothed to Julia Miles, and though they had very little prospect of worldly wealth, they had love and courage enough not to be dismayed at facing difficulties and working with and for each other. The future lay all in dreams, but the present was made delightful by happy walks and meetings, and by boating excursions on tlie Frome. One of these is very naively described in some improm])tu verses on the back of a letter to Miss Miles, being evidently a recollection of a happy hour spent by them before he left Dorchester. The Aquatic Excursion. The f.; littering' waters siiioollily flow, The moon is shininj^ brij^'ht, My love is come that I may row Her up the stream to-night. 18 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Lo I in the rocking bark I stand, And Julia, by the river side. To me holds out her lily hand And quits, with trembling foot, the land, Upon the waves to ride. Now put I out the bending oar The curling stream dividing, And we, with light hearts, quit the shore And o'er the waves are gliding. Paris, I ween, the Trojan boy, When, in his bark so light, He bore young Helen off to Troy Did never feel a greater joy Than what I feel to-night. Nor they who trade to mines of gold E'er thought their barks so richly laden As mine now seems while proud to hold My sweetly smiling maiden. The stream is flowing wide and deep, We pause, and look around. Where rocks are rising high and steep Or hills with greenwood crowned. Or where upon the verdant ground The wand'nng cattle feed. Whose lowing is the only sound That passes o'er the silent mead. Soft gliding we have sailed a mile. And Julia, sitting at the stem, Looks on me with a winning smile And gently asks me to return. I turn the boat, the stream is wide And we are sailing with the tide And throwing down the oars to rest I sit me down by Julia's side And press her to my breast. She slyly turns the rudder round And in the bed of reeds we ride And Julia she begins to chide " Away," says she, " away and guide I.] YOUTH AND FRIENDSHIP. 19 The boat, or else 'twill run aground." I take the oar, on flies the boat The boat strikes up the foam As o'er the glittering waves we float And we again reach home. These years of his life were also marked by a beautiful friendship, which I think must have had a great influence upon his mind and character. Edward Fuller — the Damon to his Pythias, — was at the time livinsr in Dorchester, and the two had studied French together, walked and talked together on the banks of the crowfoot-studded Frome ; and played music together in their bachelor rooms ; for Fuller was a lover of the flute, and William Barnes at that time began playing the violin. Sometimes the duet became a quartette in the house of their mutual friend, Mr. Zillwood, who was a good violinist, while his sister Mary played well on tlie " Forte-piano," as it was called in those days. When Barnes went to Mere, he and Mr. Fuller cor- responded in French to keep up the language. He had also studied Italian, and began to translate Metastasio and Petrarch. It is much to be regretted that his own letters are no longer extant, for if they were like Mr. Fuller's they would have thrown much light on his tone of mind at the time. His was the leading mind of the two, and Fuller looked up to him with an admiration which was very fresh and fervent. Fuller's letters arc very charming, showing intellect, taste, and a deliglitful enthusiasm. An injustice or dishonesty excites him to a righteous wrath, a beautiful puL-ui or picture calls forth ecstasies of appreciation. c 2 20 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. i. Being almost exclusively thrown with such true characters as Fuller, Carey, and the good rector, Mr. Richman, who was one of the most simple-hearted Christians that ever lived, it is no wonder that William Barnes's first flight from the " Happy Valley " into the world (not a very great world, it is true) did nothing to quench his primitive faith in human goodness or to lower his ideal of manhood. Not only was he " never heard to say an unkind word of any human creature," as some of his old friends asserted, but he never even thought ill of a living soul, and when the know- ledge of evildoing in others was brought before him unavoidably it caused him the deepest pain. To his last day the thought of crime or injustice was to him the saddest of all thoughts, and he invariably turned away from such topics as soon as he could. 21 CHAPTER 11. THE POET TALKS. WALKING HOME AT NIGHT. Husband to Wife. You then for me made up your mind To leave the rights of home behind. Your width of table rim and space Of fireside floor, your sitting place, And all your claim to share the best, To guide for me my house, and all My home, though small my home may be. Come, hood your head ; the wind is keen ; Come this side — here : I'll be your screen. The clothes your mother put you on Are quite outworn and wholly gone. And now you wear, from crown to shoe, What my true love has bought you new ; 22 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. That now, in comely shape, is shown. My own will's gift, to deck my own ; And oh ! of all I have to share For your true share a half is small. Come, hood your head ; wrap up, now do ; Walk close to me : I'll shelter you. And now, when we go out to spend A frosty night with some old friend, And ringing clocks may tell, at last. The evening hours have fled too fast, No forked roads, to left and right. Will sunder us for night or light ; But all my woe's for you to feel. And all my weal's for you to know. Come, hood your head. You can't see out ? I'll lead you right, you need not doubt. 23 CHANTRY HOUSE. 1823—1834. ' ' The next great step in the life of William Barnes was made at the instance of Mr. W. Gilbert Carey, who shared his rooms in Dorchester, and was — next to Edward Fuller — his most intimate friend. Carey had been educated in the school of a Mr. Robertson, at Mere in Wiltshire, and as the latter was now leaving that town, Carey very strongly recom- mended Barnes to take his old master's vacant post. As his chief object at this time was to make a home, this opening, although perhaps not what he would have chosen, seemed too opportune to be lost ; there is no doubt that a schoolmaster had more chance of being able to support a wife than a lawyer's clerk. He pro- posed the plan to Julia Miles, and she, so far from discouraging the idea of his leaving Dorchester, urged it ; and by way of doing her part in assisting the object, proposed taking pupils at Dorchester herself to grow accustomed to teaching, so that she could help him in after years. This idea she actually carried out, and was 24 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. all the happier in the thought that she was doing some- thing for him while he was away working for her sake. The remove to Mere took place in 1823, and for the first few years his life was very much Avhat it had been at Dorchester. The office was exchanged for the school, and all leisure time was employed in study, none of the known languages coming amiss to him. He writes in his note-book, " I took up in turn Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and German. I began Persian with Lee's grammar, and for a little time Russian, which, as being wanting in old lore, I soon cast off. I luckily had a French master as a friend in M. Charles Masson, an old French surgeon, who had heretofore been brought to England as a prisoner of war, and had married an Englishwoman of this neighbourhood, and was living at Mere. For some time I kept a diary of short daily notes in Italian or German for the sake of improve- ment in those lan^uases. " I did not at Mere wholly forget my love of art in drawing and engraving. In 1826 I cut some little blocks for Mr. Barter, a printer in Blackmore, and was mostly paid in bookbinding and cheese. "In 1827 and 1828, I engraved some blocks for Mr. John Eutter, of Shaftesbury. Most of them — all I think but three — were for his Delineations of Somerset, published in 1829." Many of these illustrations are very artistic, showing a firm hand and good chiaro-oscuro. Mr. Barnes had also a compact little copper-plate press, and tried his hand on metal, with as good success as on wood. So good, indeed, that he writes : " I had at one time an II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 25 idle (lay-dream for a week or fortnight of trying my fortune as an engraver at Bath." Much of his spare time was occupied in a sprightly correspondence with his future wife — letters in which there is a great deal of naivete and independence on his side, and of archness and repartee on hers. In one ho tells her he does not like the form of her D's, which are "round-backed creatures, reminding me of nothing but bent old age, and I cannot reconcile them to your graceful figure " To which she answers that " the thought of one's latter end is very wholesome for youth, and that as a moral warning to him she should continue to make the round-backed D's." In one. dated March Gth, 1826, the lover takes his mistress to task for some little autocratic speech, say- ing : " Not content with governing my heart you want to regulate my thoughts also, I see, as you give me some advice about it in the latter j)art of your letter, and since you take that liberty I shall offer you some in return. As you are perfectly mistress of my heart, I advise you to be content with your power, and, not like an ambitious Prince, to endeavour to extend your empire beyond its proper limits. I suppose that after a time you would want to order when I am and am not to use my hand in writing to you, and my feet in coming to see you, which would be indeed ' binding me hand and foot.' " The peculiarity of these old love-letters is that when- ever he gives a reproof of any kind there is certain to be a salve to the wound, in tlic shape of some verses "To Julia" on the ])ack ol Ihc letter. In the epistle just (juoted is a poem, ul' whicli one verse runs — 26 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. T^lien thou, my love, art far away, My hours are gloomiest and slowest ; When near, an age would seem a day, Because the smiles that thou bestowest Divest my heart of every woe. Then should I not wert thou mine own Prize thee more, since thou alone I find canst soothe me so. Four lonely years were passed by William Barnes at Mere. He lived in lodgings, the school being held in a large public room. At last he saw his way clear to the greater enterprise of taking a house, and the lot fell on a large old-fashioned building named Chantry House, which had once belonged to the Grove family — Charles II.'s friends. It stood near the church, and had before the Reformation been used as a chantry or priest's residence. His first action as soon as the house was taken was to write to Mr, Miles, telling him all his hopes and prospects. The result is summarised in his diary in the words: " In 1827 I took Chantry House at Mere, and on a happy day — happy as the first of a most happy wedded life — I brought into it my most loveworthy and ever-beloved-wife, Julia Miles, and then took boarders." And now begins an idyllic life, traces of which are found in his Italian diaries. These diaries, which he continued to the end of his life, merely consist of a few words every day, but by putting them together the whole life stands revealed ; the peaceful happiness of a love-enlightened home, the gradual expansion of a great and varied mind, the extraordinary versatility of taste, and never failing occupation, which made his life II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 27 so full and complete. Chantry House was a roomy old Tudor buildinsx, with lar^o oak wainscoted rooms, whose wide stone mullioned windows were entwined with greenery. It had a large garden and lawn, at the bottom of which ran a flowing stream, here widening into a pond overshadowed with trees. Here were trout and dace, and sometimes a flight of wild ducks or other water-birds would swim by. Near this pond was a favourite nook where William Barnes often came with his Petrarch in his pocket to pass a few happy leisure moments. The lawn was always mowed by his busy scythe, and he rose early in the spring and summer mornings to cultivate his garden. A frequent entry in the Italian diary is the word " Zajjpando " (digging), or "Gathered my apricots and took some to our friends." He remembered a wonderful Mayday when it was so very warm he had to throw off his coat while mowing, and sat down to rest under a hawthorn tree in blossom. Within a few hours a sudden change came, wild clouds fled before the wind, and the ground was soon covered with snow. Speaking of sudden changes of wind recalls a sagacious dog he had in a kennel in the garden of Chantry. In the night a great east wind arose and brought frost and snow with it. The dog, feeling the cold and damp in his face, got up, and by pushing with his fore-paws turned his kennel completely round with its back to the east. William Barnes found the dog enjoying the "lewth " and dozing comfortably next morning, the footmarks on the ground and sides of tlie kennel being witness to his sagacious labours. In those days the young couple were poor, but very 28 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. happy; the school was increasing, and the husband spent his spare time in engraving, and as he tells us in his notes, he spent the j)roceeds of this work of his leisure in buying trinkets or plate for " Julia." At one time a silver butter knife would appear on the table, and when Julia took it up wondering, she would find engraved on the handle her own name and his entwined together. Once a pair of silver sugar tongs suddenly appeared in the sugar basin, and were received with delight by the young wife, and once a whole dozen of tea spoons ciphered, greeted her glad eyes. The daily walks with her are chronicled, the favourite one being to a certain " Hinch's Mill," for since leaving the home of his boyhood the poet always had a pre- dilection for a river bank. Sometimes the walk was changed for a nutting expedition with friends. But the most astonishing thing which these mono- syllabic diaries show us is the immense amount of literary work and study Mr. Barnes got through, which, when one reflects that it was only the result of spare hours, when the labour of the school was over, seems little less than miraculous. Culling a word here and there we find that in 1830 he read Buffon, Josephus, Burns, Ossian, History of Spain, German and Russian books. Theology, Gray's Connection (?), and Rollin's Ancient History. In 1831, History of France, Sallust, in Latin, Logic, Hutton's Mathematics, Welsh grammar and literature, Shakespeare, Hebrew, Blackstone's Com- mentaries, Germany. In 1832 and 1833, Greek authors, Ovid, Herschel's Astronomy, Herodotus, Hindustanee language and writings, &c., &c. These are only the II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 29 books he mentions by chance, and probably do not include the whole of his readings. Petrarch was his beloved poetical companion, and in a great measure that poet first formed his style in verse. In 1830 we find him writing sonnets both in English and Italian. The first were, "A Father to his Child;" written on May 26th, "Evening ;"i May 28th, " The Overthrow ; " May 31st, " The Storm " and "Esther inter- ceding for the Jews;" June 1st, "The Dead Child,'' " Dreams." " The ones entitled, " I saw a sunbeam," " Let me awake," &c., came later in the year ; speaking of these, Mr. Barnes writes : " Some of these sonnets have been printed in my little book of English poems (publisher, J. E. Smith, 1846), though some of my trials in verse in those days have worthily perished." As these sonnets almost all belong to the early period, and were rarely repeated after he began writing in dialect, it will be well to give a specimen of them. The Trial. O that the stormy sea of life would lie With calmer bosom through the darksome night Of ignorance and fear, or that the light Of truth would burst upon me from on high. O that the haven of my peace were nigh, Or that some guiding beacon were in sight. Or that my Lord would listen to my cry, And come and steer my erring vessel right. Oh, feeble is my bark, my sinking soul ; And great its load : while only error steers 1 Poems, partly of Rural Life, p. 39, - IbUi p. 88. 30 THE LIFE OP WILLIAM BARNES. [chap, Bewilder'd o'er the wide and stormy main ; And while for break of dawn I wish in vain, A wikl Euroclydon of hopes and fears Blows hard and drives me onward on the shoal. Besides these sonnets, several papers Avere published in the Dorset County Chronicle under the nom-de-plume of " Dilettante." They seem to be a free outpouring of his thoughts on many subjects. Under the head of " Linguiana" " Dilettante " traces many words from their Greek and Latin origin. Under the heading " Cant," he pours out his soul in righteous wrath against hypo- crisy, in every rank and class, sparing neither king nor subject. In another paper he criticises the too lenient treatment of criminals as contrasted with the hardships of the honest poor. In another he celebrates Petrarch as the prince of melancholy poets, and in- stances his many imitators of the Medicean 23eriod in a style which proved that he himself was well versed in humanist Italian literature. In an article on " Human Progression " he arrives, through tracing the tendency of all things to progress either in good or evil, at a conclusion which, though now widely endorsed, was then far in advance of the age. " It is not because children are taught to read and write at the charity schools that those establishments are so beneficial to the state, but because they ' train up a child in the way he should go,' and consequently obviate his pro- gress in a wrong covirse. From the consideration of the progressive habits of man we find the demoralising tendency of very low wages, and the plan of paying the poor a fixed sum per man out of the parish funds ; for when a man knows that he cannot better his condition II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 31 by exertion, his exertion ceases. And if his daily wants sliould leave an odd shilling in his pocket he spends it in the alehouse, and becomes ' progressive ' in sloth." As early as 1829 a little book was published by Whittaker, entitled An Etymological Glossary of English Words of Foreign Derivation, so arranged that the Learner is enabled to acquire the Cleaning of many at once. This pamphlet was the first of a long line of valuable publications on philology. In 1881 William Barnes first appears in connection with the Gentleman's Magazine ; the papers of that year are : in June, " On English Derivatives;" August, "On the Structure of Dictionaries ; " October, " Pronunciation of Latin ; " December, " Hieroglyphics." These all prove the gradual turning of his mind to the study of language as a science. Nothing came amiss to him, from making garden arbours and carved chairs for his wife, and dolls' cradles and carriages for his children, to the turning' out of Latin epigrams, one of which was an epitaph on a friend's child who died before it was named. Here is an epigram in four languages on a man who steals some books : — Se Fuom die dcruba un tomo Trium literarum est homo, Celui qui durobe trois tomes A man of letters must become. The Romans called a thief a man of three letters, from//r/-, a thief. In 1830, April 2Gth, William Barnes chronicles a new 32 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. invention, — nothing less than a pair of swimming shoes. They consisted, I believe, in a flat sole, like that of a snow-shoe strapped on to the foot. This fiat sole was furnished with hinges, so that in drawing up the foot the valves closed together in such a way as to offer no resistance to the water, but in pushing against the stream they opened wide, and formed a strong- resistance. On Mayday the inventor went to find a suitable piece of water to try the swimming shoes, but unluckily the straps broke ; a second trial was no more successful, so on May 2.5th he had another pair made on a different principle, but a trial on June 2nd proved these also to be impracticable. Some more important inventions had better success, one was a quadrant of his own making, another an instrument to describe ellipses. Again, we find him artistically painting the doors of Chantry House, — then making a receptacle for his engraving tools. He played the flute, violin and piano, — he invested in a turning lathe, and turned his own chessmen. His lathe stood in the unused coach-house, and turning was one of his favourite amusements. The border of the chess-board was carved by him in a raised scroll. The friend with whom he played chess could not bear to be beaten, although his wTath was soon over. It is recorded of this friend that when once he played with his wife — who being his pupil had the temerity to beat him — he took up board and men and threw them all together into the fire and departed. The wife rescued them, but the black marks must have been a continual reproach to the irascible man. II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 33 From the back of tlic lionse it was only a few steps to the church, and WiUiam Barnes spent a good deal of time practising on the organ. His skill in music, and a good baritone voice made him a valuable member of the church choir, and for a short time he became a voluntary organist there. In November 1832, the diary records the writing of a sermon by him, and on November 18th we find the entry, "Alia chiesa (il mio sermonc predicato)," pro- bably his friend the Rector preached it. The Sunday diary generally contains the announcement " siwnavo Porgano." At one time a dramatic company came to Mere, and Mr. Barnes went to the theatre every evening for a week, a course of diversion which had the im- mediate effect of exciting his genius, for on March 21st he beean writinii: a farce which was finished in three days, and an epilogue was added on the 25th of the same month. The obliging actors at the little theatre must have taken it up con amorc, for on the 31st the Honest Thief was acted on the stage at Mere, the author having added another scene to it. The dramatic inspiration did not stop here, for in April we read, " I "wrote a comedy wliicli I read to Mr. Larkham." This critic must have been encouraging, for on April 27th the comedy was acted at Wincanton, pro- bably by th(; same company who performed the farce at ^Icre. The author went to see the first representa- tion, but the diary sadly remarks, "La 2>remicra fu mat rqncsf.niata ; " the first in this instance being the new comedy the Blastinrj of Ecrcnfje ; or, Justice for the Just, whicli was fi^llowed by the farce already familiar to D 34 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. the company. The characters announced in the play bill are : — Lord Ethelstead, Mr. Pahner. Truman, his tenant, Mr. Murray (of the Salisbury Theatre, who has kindly volunteered his services for one night only). Mrs. Truman, Miss Melville, Fanny Truman (with a song), Mrs. Mulford. Marwell (Lord Ethelstead's steward), Mr. S. Davis. Henry Tuffman (sailor), Mr. Mulford. Holden (sheriff's officer), Mr. McLean. Tom Gauge (merry exciseman), Mr. Stanton In May we find the author revising his comedies, which were sent to London, but, I suppose, never acted there, for no further mention is made of them, and the dramatic impulse died a natural death. The life of the young couple at Chantry House was a pleasant social life — they were surrounded with congenial friends, and we read of evenings at chess, nutting parties, and excursions, Dorcas meetings for the ladies, with admission to musical husbands at eight o'clock, and pleasant little supper parties, such as, "Went to Stourton to Mr. C, where we supped, and talked of science and the fine arts." October 30th, 1832, "Suonando gli strumenti dimusica col Sig. Cosens ed altri amid." Again, November 8th, " Played musical instruments at the house of Mr. Mitchell." This appears to have been a quartette club, meeting periodically at the different houses of the members. There was a good deal of music when Edward Fuller came to stay with them and brought his flute. A party was made for him on May-day, II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 35 and sweet sounds were discoursed in the oak-beamed room of Chantry. This stirred up William Barnes's universal invcntiv'e genius, and he wrote a valse and a song, " There's a Charm in the Bloom of Youth," which he set to music himself, modestly announcing it as " Faccndo v.n aria per la mia canzone!' On February Gth he wrote a comic song called the " Hopeful Youth," and as the sonnet on " The Mother's Grave " was composed the same day it would appear that he worked off a melancholy impression by a lighter one, in the same way that Canova found relief when sculpturing tombs by modelling dancing Graces. The aroma of peace and happiness in these halcyon days breathes out in the little word "Felice" which, like a sigh of content, ends many a day's short but pithy chronicle. Only once or twice is a breath of sadness heard, such as, January 25th, 1832, " Giorno triste c perduto," perhaps the student was disturbed from his books or the idea of a sonnet nipped in the bud by some commonplace interruption. In January 1834 is the touching sentence, " Giv.lia malata — giorno triste!' And soon after follows his own illness from the same low fever, and a long time of struggling through daily duties with an enfeebled frame. No writing, and but little reading, is done in this sad time. The holidays were generally spent in visits to the parents or friends of Mrs. Barnes. In one of these excursions to Abergavenny, in June 1831, Mr. Barnes writes, " I was quickened with a yearning to know more of the Welsh people and their speech." He ascended the mountain Blorcnge, went to Abergavenny fair, and talked Italian with a wanderer from the sunny South ; D 2 36 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. he went fishing, and " studying Welsh on the shores of the Usk ; " took a twenty-mile walk to Llangelly and Nant-y-glo, and came home after all this with the germ of a new lore, which was destined to influence the whole of his career in literature. In the Welsh lan- guage he recognised the pure British unmixed with Latin and other streams, and from it he got his appreciation of the beauty of purity in language, which his whole aim as a philologist was to attain to. He would have English retain its pure Saxon just as Welsh had kept its British, and if his dreams were Utopian, he was, as far as lay in his power, true to his theories. The Saxonising of his style in English only began in later life, when his researches had taken him deep into the origin of Teutonic speech. His first Welsh studies resulted in several papers, which appeared in the Gentlemaris Magazine, such as in 1832, " The Identity of National Manners and Lan- guage," " Songs of the Ancient Britons," " Origin of Language," and " The English Language." Besides these philological papers were several archaeo- logical ones on interesting buildings in Dorset, illus- trated with his own woodcuts, such as. May 1833, " Napper's Mite, Dorchester ; " June, " Silton Church ; " July, " Sturminster Newton Church," and " Nailsea Church;" September, " Chelvy Cross," &c. On the occasion of making the sketch for Sturminster Church Mr. Barnes stayed with the rector, Mr. Fox, and this day of his return to his childhood's home is marked '" Felice," though he half sadly remarks that the *' inhabitants did not recognise him." One of the most valued of his Mere acquaintances II.] CHANTRY HOUSE. 37 was General Shrapnel, of Punckuowle House, a great mathematician, who was occupied at the time in the invention of his weapon of war the " Shrapnel shell." Mr. and Mrs. Barnes sometimes visited him, and the former was, I believe, useful in aiding some mathe- matical calculations connected with the shell. An Essay on the Advantages of the Study of Mathematics, published by William Barnes in 1834, was dedicated to General Shrapnel. These literary labours were alter- nated with engraving several wood blocks for Mr. Phelps's History of Somerset, which proved to be un- profitable work, for he says "jooor Mr. Phelps never finished his too great undertaking, and I never re- ceived for my woodcuts even a copy of the History." It was in the years 1833 and 1834 that William Barnes wrote his first poems in the Dorset dialect, which were some eclogues published in the Dorset County Chronicle, with the following classical titles : — Busticus dolens (now entitled " The Common a took in " ) ; Busticus gaudcns ( " The Lotments " ) ; Busticus emigrans (probably " The House Ridding " ) ; Busticus domi ( " Father come Home," March 1834) ; Busticus rioxms ( " The Best Man in the Yield) ; Busticus res agrestes animadvertens ("Two Farms in Woone"); Busticus irroeus ( " A Bit of Sly Courting " ). These attracted much local notice, and were the occasion of some correspondence in the paper. The same train of thouglit and sympathy with the honest labourer inspired these, which we see in the articles on " Leniency to Criminals," and " Human Progression," mentioned above ; and the idea of putting the expression of these sentiments into the 38 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ch. ii. speech and person of the labourer himself, was an artistic way of emphasising it. From this time the poet more frequently wrote in Dorset than in English, finding that it more fitly clothed the simple life which he chose to portray. CHAPTER III. LEARNING Heavenly source of guiltless joy, Holy friend through good and ill, When all idle pleasures cloy, Thou canst hold my spirit still. Give the idle their delights, Wealth unblest, and splendour vain ; Empty days and sleepless nights, Seeming bliss in real pain. Take nie to sonic lofty room Lighted from the western sky, Where no glare dispels the gloom Till the golden eve is niuh. Where the works of searching thought Chosen books may still impart What the wise of old have taught, What has tried the meek of heart. 40 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES- Books in long-dead tongues, that stirred Living hearts in other climes ; Telling to my eyes, unheard, Glorious deeds of olden times. Books that purify the thought, Spirits of the learned dead. Teachers of the little taught, Comforters when friends are fled. Learning! source of guiltless joy, Holy friend through good and ill, When all idle pleasures cloy, Thou canst hold my spirit still. Poems of Rural Life, 1846. 41 THE TEACHER. 1835—1849. In tlio begiuniug of the year 1835, William Barnes began to think of change, feeling that a wider sphere would be beneficial to his school. One of his note-books says, " Mere was out of the way for pupils, and I always yearned for Dorset and Dorchester ; and as I had strengthened my teaching power, and was told by friends at Dorchester that there was then an opening for a boarding school, I put my hopes of after life in work at that place, to which I returned in 1835, and was happy and thankful with an income on which I brought up my children." As soon as the sunmier holidays began in June, several days were occupied in packing furniture, settling accounts, and bidding friends farewell. Tlu; two sonnets, "A Garden," and "To a Garden — on Leaving it," ^ were both written in this month; the latter is a tender expression of his regret on leaving ^ Sonnets xxi. and xxii. in rocm?, ixirthj of Jiinal Li/r, 1846. 42 THE LIFE OF AVILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Chantry House, where such hajapy days had been spent. Sweet garden 1 j)eaceful spot ! no more in tliee Shall I e'er while away the sunny hour. Farewell each blooming shriib and lofty tree ; Farewell the mossy path and nodding flow'r ; I shall not hear again from yonder bow'r The song of birds or humming of the bee,' Nor listen to the waterfall, nor see The clouds float on behind the lofty tow'r. No more at breezy eve or dewy morn My gliding scythe shall shear thy mossy green ; My busy hands shall never more adorn, My eyes no more may see this peaceful scene. But still, sweet sj^ot, wherever I may be, Mv love-led soul will wander back to thee. The Italian diary of June 26th, sighs " Andammo da Merc a Dorcliestc7% Dio ci hcnedica," and in his " 3Ie- moranda for his Life " he speaks of this change as follows : — " June 26th, 1835. We left Chantry House and Mere, and came to Dorchester, to settle in a house which we had taken in Durngate Street. " Boys came in very hopefully, and we had soon a fair and fast-filling school, though we did not feel the happiness of the change in the strait-pent house instead of the old Chantry House with its fine open garden. " The little I had learnt of Hindustani or Persian now became handy, as one of my first pupils was Mr, C. V. Cox now General Cox, the son of the Rev. C, Cox III.] THE TEACHER. 43 of Cheddington, Avho came to read Avith me for Addiscombe. " At Dorchester I rarely took up the graver, though after a while I began to string some more Dorset rhymes. " Some may wonder how far I could work faithfully with my charge of a school, while I gave my mind so far as I did to writing or other kinds of knowledge than those which were needful for the day in the school- room. It was my way at Mere as well as at Dorchester to give tlic boys every morning a sentence or two of dictation and then to discourse on the substance of it, in words and matter, and this quickened me to study sundry subjects that I might keep ahead of the boys.^ " It was my way again through the school months to pass much of my time and evening in a study within sight of the playground or within call of boys or ushers, 1 The Rev. J. 13. Lock, aw old pupil of ]\Ir. Barnes, and now Senior Fellow, Assistant Tutor, and Lecturer in IMatlieniatics and Physics in Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, thus describes Mr. Barnes's method : " I was sent to his school in South Street wlien about eight years old, and I can still picture to myself the old school-room in which onceaweek Mr. I'arnes \ised, punctually at nine o'clock, to give to the whole school a lecture on practical science. His lecture on electricity — he gave us some sharp shocks with a frictional machine — on the physical geography of the Alps, on the steam-engine — he showed us a model which his son, Egbert Barnes, liad made — on bridge building— he had a model arch in wooden bricks — I can still remember in detail. We had each, big and little, to write an abstract of the lecture in the most approved modern fashion. It seems worth recalling that such lectures were given in Dorchester thirty years ago, just such lectures as are now given in most of the great public schools, in which such subjects were still un- taught much less than tliirty years ago. These lectures of my old master were as wonderfully adapted to his audience, as they were clear and accurate in substance," 44 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. and so I worked even against the irksomeness of lone- some confinement, and I found the thoughts and work of the Dorset idylls refreshen rather than weary the mind." It was aptly remarked by the Rev. E. M. Young, at the " Barnes Memorial Meeting " in Dorchester in December 1886, in reply to a proj)osition that a scholar- ship or some educational memorial of him would be the fittest tribute, " that though he was a man to whom numerous old pupils owed a deep debt of gratitude, yet he, Mr. Young, could not help thinking that fifty years hence Mr. Barnes would not be remembered as a school- master but just as a poet." This is, I believe, perfectly true, but as the part of his life which was given to teaching was a very im- portant part, both in its influence on others, and on the development of his own mind, as well as on his career as a philologist and man of science, I propose to devote a chapter to the poet schoolmaster. It was part of his character to be entirely thorough' and so, though he may have liked writing poems better than teaching boys, he gave his whole mind to make the teaching; the best that could be done. It was also part of his poet nature to see the inner meanings of things, and so his conception of education took in more than mere putting of facts and rules into the boys' brains, it meant training them to be reasoning and reasonable men. Of course with these views he was not content to follow merely the curriculum of ordinary schools, nor to confine his teaching to ordinary school- books. He had methods of his own and comijiled his own books, many of which were published at his III.] THE TEACHER. 45 personal expense. I liave mentioned his Etymological Glossary, published in 1829. A Catechism of Govern- ment in General and that of England in Pa/rticular, was printed by Bastable of Shaftesbury in 1838. This was a useful book to gi'ound the minds of future politicians, though not a branch of knowledge usually taught in the school-room. In 1841 a small book named In- vestigations of the Laws of Case in Language, was printed by Longman and Co., and Whittaker and Co. This was an amplification of an article " On the Laws of Case," which came out a short time previously in the Gcntlemans Magazine. In it he deduces certain fixed laws wliich are the same in all languages, he brings his proofs from a comparison of fourteen tongues, and which when understood greatly facilitate the study of foreign languages as well as classic lore. This little book was the germ of the great philological grammar and almost entirely forms the treatise on cases of nouns in that remarkable but little known work. One of Mr. Barnes's former pupils then passing through one of the universities writes on December 1 842 : — My Dear Mr. Barnes, I received your kind letter with the ]\[ncmonic verses last month, for which I have to tender you my best thanks, for indeed I have found them of great use. Having shown your very elegant treatise, " Laws of Case," to the Rev. H. Cope (my master), whose brother is Professor of Mathematics at Addiscombe, he so much approved of it as to intnjducc it to tlie notice of one of 46 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. the highest classical men of the time, a Dr. Tate, Head Master of Richmond Grammar School (author of several classical works), and Canon Residentiary of St. Paul's, who requested that I would let him have a copy of it — fortunately I had two and consequently spared him one — he returned a letter to Mr. Cape stating his opinion, of which the following is a copy : — " Mr. Barnes is a very ingenious and acute-thinking man, and with those grammarians who build grammar on a basis of logical or metaphysical origin, ought to enjoy a very high rank of esteem. I, who consider sensible objects with material qualities and local rela- tions, as at the bottom of all language apparently so, and the names of such things as transferred by the necessity of the case to indicate the objects and notions of the mind, of course see varepov Trporepov (I don't know whether you can understand my Greek writing ?) in Mr. B's line of investigations ; and if it had been our lot to live in the same neighbourhood much friendly discussion would have arisen when Ave met." Another useful book with which Barnes endowed his scholars in the same year, 1841, was an Arith- metical and Commercial Dictionary, containing easy explanations of commercial and mathematical terms, and important articles of commerce, of all arithmetical rules and operations, and a set of tables. No pupil in Mr. Barnes's school could perform arithmetical problems without knowing the why and wherefore. In 1842 Whittaker brought out the Elements of English Grammar, which is certainly unique amongst school- books. His objects in writing it were "to keep uj) the III.] THE TEACHER. 47 purity of the Saxon English language, to give pupils a comprehension of the principles of the English deriva- tion, and to offer teachers a grammar so scientifically based, as to prepare the pupil's mind for further philo- logical studies." The grammar has never, ■ I believe, been adopted by other schools, though Mr. Barnes found it very successful in his own. The great differ- ence between his arrangement of cases and classification of verbs would render its introduction almost as sub- versive as the conversion of the English money and measures into the decimal system, yet if once accom- plished the practical benefit would be great. For instance, what would the student of Murray say to having his three cases multiplied into nine ? Here they are : nominative, vocative, genitive, possessive, dative, accusative, originative, local, and instrumental ; add to these a further list of mixed or double cases in seven conjunctions. Lindley Murray's tliree sim- plify the boy's task of learning, but do not train his discrimination, nor are they reasonably philological. In 1844 he printed two useful little books, Elements of Perspective, and Exercises in Practical Science. Next it appeared to him that the geography as taught in schools was too bald and bare, containing none of that human interest which the study of the world and man should contain. Consequently in 1847 he published his Ovilincs of Gcograj)liy and Ethno- fjTapliy for youth. This was printed for him by Mr. W. Barclay, of Dorchester, and certainly the student who learns from it will gain some Avidcr ideas of geography than names of places and their situ- ations on the map, for it is at once a physical aud 48 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. descriptive geograjDliy, besides giving a great deal of ethnography. And now a word as to William Barnes's method of teaching. His theory was that minds should be trained and not crammed ; that the school curriculum ought to contain the germs of all the knowledge which the man would require in after life. He held Mr. Herbert Spencer's views as to the importance of science in all branches of political life, and also its value in developing the reason and observation, which alone make knowledge practical — this was long before Herbert Spencer had Avritten his Essays on Educa- tion, but he was not the first great thinker of whose views Barnes was a prototype. His object was to render science not only comprehensible, but interesting, so as to induce the boys to wish for more knowledge. This was done by a daily lecture, generally taking the first hour of the day. The subject was varied every day of the week, and in turns botany, natural history, physics, chemistry, electricity, and geology, were all discussed. The lecture (which combined dictation, orthography, and composition, in such a way as to make them all interesting) began with a short dicta- tion ; if on botany or natural history, the distinctive marks of an order or class formed the subject. Then some flowers or specimens were shown, and the boys had to find the distinctive marks of the class, or to reject the specimen as not apposite. This trained their discrimination ; the master then gave a lecture on the subject, and the boys were required to take notes, and write them out in a clear form as a composition for one of the daily tasks. The walks were made both inter- m.] THE TEACHER. 49 esting and profitable by following out tlie morning's lesson. Sometimes the boys vied with each other who should find the greatest number of "Cruciferous" or " Composite " flowers ; other days they went armed with hammers and bags for a geological expedition, finding specimens of tcrclratulcc, ccJiinus, or hclcmniie in the chalk cutting of the then new railway. These were very delightful walks, and it was a pleasant thing to see the master and his wife, and now and then a little daughter, walking calmly through the heaths and lanes with a skirmishing party of boys around them. First one would rush up with a flower he did not know, to ask its name and order; then another would come to display with great pride a new butterfly. Sometimes they saw very interesting things : one afternoon a boy threw a stone at a bird on the wing, which being stunned by the blow came fluttering down in circlets to the ground, when another bird, probably its mate, flew hastily to its assistance, and helped it to return to a tree. A favourite walk was to Yellowham Wood, where the boys climbed the steep banks of yellow sandstone to explore the sandmartin's holes ; and in the spring there was a great deal of tree climbing in search of birds' eggs. A 2yT02')os of this was a standing joke about the boy who spoke the truth. " Come down, Blair," said the master to a boy on the branch of an elm, " we are going on now." " I'm coming directly, sir," cried Blair as well as he could speak, with his mouth full of linnet's eggs. He had hardly said the words when the branch cracked, and the boy came suddenly down with a good deal of clutching at saving branches in his descent. E 50 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [cha.p. As soon as William Barnes found that his pupil was not hurt, he remarked dryly, "You kept your word, Blair ; I like a boy who speaks the truth." " I did not mean to do so this time, sir," replied the boy rubbing himself ruefully, but in spite of his inten- tions the name of " the truthful one " stuck to him throughout the school. The half-holidays were spent in cricket-playing in the summer, and "hare and hounds," or practice with the leaping-pole over the brooks and runlets of the water-meadows near the Frome, in the winter. Some- times there were merry picnics to the hills of Maiden Castle, the old British earthwork, or to the green woods of Skippet, near Bradford. Or private theatricals took place in the school-room, where a lisping Henry IV. exclaimed excitedly : — " Now itli tlie winter of our ditlicontent Made gloriouth by thith thummer thun of York." And cried with a wild flourish of sword — " A horth, a Iiorth, my kingdom for a hortli." And where a hoydenish Queen Anne, very much impeded by her unaccustomed skirts, came to grief at " What shall I do, what shall I say ? " and, after repeating this distressed query, peering everywhere for inspiration, called in an agonised voice to the prompter, " Why don't you tell me ? what a duffer you are ; " all of which characteristic by-play delighted William Barnes, who sat laughing among the audience at finding high comedy in a Shakespearian tragedy. m.] THE TEACHER. 51 But this is a digression, we will return to the lectures. There were of course in such a school as this all kinds of collections — birds' eggs, butterflies, fossils, dried flowers, &:c. The chemistry, physics, and electricity lectures were always illustrated by experiments. Some of the " old boys " have since turned out eminent men of science, and bear testimony to the good fruit borne by these lectures. One of his former pupils, now a clever naturalist, writes : " I became a pupil of his forty-three years ago, and from the first day of our acquaintance to the end of his life we were friends, with never in pupilage or after it, any break either in the matter or manner of our friendship." ^ William Barnes's system of moral training was as unique as it was successful. No obligatory tasks, no caning (except solely, and seldom, for lying), no re- strictions and restraints, except only the natural consequences of wrong-doing. If a boy had done badly it lay entirely with himself to retrieve his position. The only visible register was an invention of the master's own, called the "topograph." It con- sisted of a large flat box in which lay a board pierced with holes and painted in lines of coloui' — white, red, blue, &c., and ending with black. The boys' names were placed at the top of the board opposite each file of holes, and according to his want of diligence the peg was moved down, only to be put up again on the completion of a voluntary task. Of course if the boy were too careless to redeem it he could leave it, but a low standing was a kind of disgrace which they all felt ' Dorset Counli/ Chronicle, XovcmbLT 2r)tli, IRHn. E 2 52 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. so keenly, that generally the boys lost no time in re- instating themselves. To have one's peg in the " blues " caused the loss of a holiday ; that a peg reached the " blacks " was a thing almost unheai'd of. This method was proved by practical use to be more efficacious than all the canings and impositions in the world. The boy was kept up to his best — by, first, his conscience, secondly, his own interest, and thirdly, by fear of falling in the opinion of others, three motives which are all powerful. The conscience being the true ruler of the soul, moral influence of the mind, and self-interest governing the worldly career. A more successful school, as far as regarded the moral and mental welfare of the boys and the cordial affection between them and their masters, could not exist. Boys left and went into the world abroad or at home, but as soon as they won any honour, their first care was to write to their master and thank him for it. One who had passed first of all England for the Indian Civil Service — thanks to William Barnes's preparation in mathematics and Hindustani — rose to be a judge, and the same post which brought the news to his parents brought also a letter of loving gratitude to his master. Another Hindustani pupil, now General .... getting promotion fast in the wars of Goolab Singh, sent home to his father a box of antelopes' heads, and other trophies of the chase, with injunctions to " send some of them to his dear friend and tutor." As a proof of William Barnes's power to win the love of his pupils we cannot more fitly close this chapter than by the insertion of a letter which the news of the poet's death brought from an old pupil in South Africa. III.] THE TEACHER. 53 " I liave to thank some kind and thoughtful individual for sending me the Dorset County Chronicle of October the 14th, containing a notice of the death of ' our Dorset poet.' I say our poet, for, to quote the concludinsf lines of one of Barnes's latest and cleverest poems with slight alteration, " ' For lie in childhood's days, of playful hours, Belonged to us, and henceforth he is ours.' My earliest recollections of Dorsetshire and childhood are associated with my first schoolmaster. How well I remember being carried on rainy mornings on the back of one of my father's old servants down the narrow ill- paved South Street, to the school near the Alms' Houses; there, I, together with many others now scattered far and wide, were taught. How we reverenced him ! and yet how playful and kind he was in his manner with children. I think his sym- pathetic nature was touched by them, even more than flowers and blossoms, which he has painted so well, and which live again in many of his very charming poemB, witness " The Zummer Hedge " and " Come out o' Door, 'tis Spring, 'tis May." Leaving the old school- room, in South Street, for Dr. Penny's " down to Crewkarne," and to Bath and onwards, into the world of an active and anxious life, we did not meet again. At tlie close of a hot steamy day on the east coast of South Africa I received from a friend The Poems of Rare I Life ill the ])orset JJialat, iwA my wliolo natui-o was so touched and refreshed by tlio W()rd-{)ictures of schoolboy scenes, so cool and sparkling in contrast with 54 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ch. hi. my present surrounding, that I could not refrain that night from writing to the poet and thanking him, I daresay in a very gushing style, for the unexpected and very great treat I had enjoyed. A few months after- wards I received a very characteristic and kindly reply, in which, in memory of the old school, he called me " his mind's child," stating he was happy in affording me pleasure by his descriptions of meadows, and streams, and Dorset downs. After a few years I got another letter from him, in reply to one I had written, and any Dorset man will understand how they are prized and kept. I had intended to have sent a wreath of South African "everlasting flowers" to be placed upon his grave, but missed the opportunity, and instead offer my heartfelt tributary words to the memory of the greatest man Dorset has produced F. Ensoe, Surgeon, South Africa. CHAPTER IV. SONNET TO DEAD FRIENDS. Departed spirits, living far away ; Oh, could ye hear my whispers where you dwell, Or could my prayer, like magic spell, Bring back your beaming forms to where I stray. How would I meet you, when the garish day Had left calm moonlight in the wood and dell. And talk with you of other times, and tell The joys and sorrows of this mortal clay. But ye are far away, no more to tread The busy ways of men, or to be seen In lonely path, or laughter-sounding room. A gulf between the living and the dead Is fix'd for ever, and our Lord has been Our Resurrection ouly through the tomb. 57 LITEEARY AND SOCIAL LIFE. 1839—1841. "VVe must now return a few years, and trace the literary life of William Barnes during these first years of his residence in Dorchester, and read the thoughts which " freshen his mind " in the retired little study where he could look on the boys at play, but only hear their voices in a distant echo which did not interfere with his flow of thouglit. The house which he and his wife found so "strait-pent" after dear old Chantry with its gardens, was no longer large enough to hold, the increasing numbers of the school, and, in 1837, they removed to a roomy old house in South Street which had a two-storey annex at the back forming spacious school and play-rooms. The narrow house in Durngate Street seems to have cramped not only William Barnes's personal freedom but his genius, for no literary work of any kind is recorded (hiring tlie two years he Jived there. In 1837 he put his name on the books of St. Joliu's Collerre, Cambrid\ him on tliis tliooiy appeand in tlic AiiJuurnul in 1855, it was written on Feli. I:itli. ItiO THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Mr. Hall, the antiquary at Osmington, Rev. J. Dale, the naturalist at Glanville's Wooton, and a week at Stourton Caundle with an elderly lady of the old school, who had a delightfully antique country house. Her drawing- room was hung with large portraits by Lely and Reynolds, and the quaint garden was bounded by a cloister cut in yew, beneath whose arches Charles I. had walked in a bye-gone century. But the room which most pleased William Barnes was the quaintly styled " Book-room," on whose shelves reposed the most attractive old parch- ment bound tomes, and such old-fashioned books as Ye Arte of Ingenyouslie Tormmtynge, and Tears from Ye Bottle of Jonas 3Iickclthwayte. ■ lu this room the poet generally spent his mornings, engrossed in ancient literature ; the afternoons were passed in long drives and visits to country houses. The diary of much of this year is written in Spanish instead of Italian, and records a great deal of reading of Welsh and Hindustani. For the following year it is in W^elsh and consequently rather untranslateable. This was probably caused by his summer holiday having been spent in Wales, where the poet walked in the vales of Neath and Taff, talking to peasants and thus gaining a more practical knowledge of the language. A great deal of lecturing is recorded during these years. William Barnes was a warmly welcomed and well-known figure on the platforms of the Town Halls and Institutes all over the county. A lecture on the "Britons" was given at Dorchester, to the "Working Men's Mutual Improvement Society," the report of which in the local papers brought several letters from strangers. One from John Gifford Croker, Bovey X.] HWOMELY RHYMES. IGl Tracey, Devon, gives an interesting account of some rock cisterns discovered on Dartmoor, For a month or two William Barnes alternated his subjects of thought by writing one day on the Saxons, and another on the Britons ; he gave lectures on both subjects at Sturminster, Wimborne, Corfe Castle, Wincanton, and Sherborne. He went to the latter town on the warm invitation of Macready the tragedian, who had settled down into active and benevolent private life there. This last visit brought him into personal acquaintance witli the Rev. Edward Nares Henning, who was one of the most valued friends of his later years. Mr. Henning was, I think, the first to introduce public readings of the Dorset poems, of which he had long been an ardent admirer, cutting them out from the Dorset paper as they appeared, and making a book for himself. Here is his account of the first reading in 1856 : — Sherborne, Jan., 185G. My Dear Sir, I am much obliged to you for your kind acknowledgment of n)y poor endeavour to make known at Sherborne the beauties of your Dorset rhymes, and delighted that T did not do them so much injustice as I expected. The pieces I read (for they are too much on an equality for selection) were " The Woodlands " " The Girt Woak Tree," "Wood combe Feast," "May,"" Jenny's Ribbons," " Whitsuntide," " Jenny out vrom Hwome," " What Dick an' I done," " Grammer's Shoes," " The Vaices that be Gone," " The Bells of Alderburnham," " The Times." I never .saw anything like the reception of this selection, and I hope it will lead to the increased sale M 162 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. of the book. I believe the audience would have sat patiently to hear the whole volume ; as it was, I kept them an hour and half beyond their usual time. Miss Macready sent for the poems next day, and has been employing herself (on her own account) in modernising some of them ; which I told her was like polishing up a Queen Anne's farthing. And last night I was at a party where I was so fairly pestered for a few more specimens that I was obliged to go home for the book. I see there is a very good notice of the reading in the Dorset County Chronicle of Thursday last. Burns never beat the two last lines of " Jenny out vrom Hwome" or the third stanza of " Vaices that be Gone." 1 very much regret I had not asked you the other day to read one or two to me, which when I am next in Dorchester I shall with your permission do, though even that could not raise my admiration for them. I am, etc., etc., Edward Nares Henning. The Christmas holidays from New Year's Day, 1859, were spent at Mere, visiting his old friends there. The associations, dear as they were, must have been very sad, for on January 8th the diary says in pathetic Italian, "Dined at Chantry House (loved place) with Mr, L., a very courteous and cultivated man. Who can tell what I felt at my heart, seated in the room of that sweet old home, of which my dear Julia was once the mistress ! " On February 23rd, 1857, William Barnes, going as usual to take his class at the Working Men's Institute, X.] HWOMELY RHYMES. 163 found a surprise prepared for him. The youthful diary before quoted gives tlie following account of it : — " Monday, February 23rd. ' A white cross day.' My sister and I accompanied father to a debating class of the Young Men's Improvement Society. He was chairman. After a very interesting discussion on 'dreams, clairvoyance,' &c., the young men unex- pectedly presented to him a framed testimonial, and a very handsome pencil-case. They spoke of his kindness in giving them lectures and instruction, and in encour- aging their society when it was first begun, and looked down on by many people. I felt so proud when they spoke so heartily of him. One of the working men, named Cole, spoke wonderfully w^ell, every w^ord shoAving a refined mind and good feeling. Then father rose to return thanks ; he began by sympathising with them, and said that he himself was not nursed in the lajj of luxury, but was, like themselves, a working man, so he cheered them on the path they had chosen, of cultivating their minds and refining their tastes. It vxis a happy evening." In 18.57, a second series of Dorset poems, entitled Hwomely Rhymes, was ready for the press, and William Barnes proposed publishing them by subscription. His publisher, Russell Smith, however, thought that as he was now so well known this course was unnecessary, and added, " If you will ask no unreasonable sum I will buy the MS. right out and save you all further trouble and risk." The poet did not, fortunately, accede to these terms, and the second series was published in 18.58, he receiving 15/. from Russell Smith, tlie pubHsher, for liberty to print 400 copius. This collection contains M 2 1(J4 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. some of the most beautiful poems, among which are " Hallowed Pieiices," " Angels by the Door," " My Love's Guardian Angel," " Vo'k a-comen into Church," and " The Water Crowfoot," a tribute to the floral beauty of the river Frome, which was second only to " Cloty " Stour in his affection. Some of the humorous poems in this collection are very graphic. " The Waggon a- stooded " is a perfect scene from life. " The Shy Man," and " Gammony Gay," are very laughable. " The Lady's Tower " was one of the poet's especial fancies, written after his wife's death. In imagination he reared a beautiful tower to her memory, making exact drawings of it with the architectural measurements just as he describes it in the poems. It had eight pillars and a winding external staircase, leading to the room with marble floor, " An' there — a-painted zide by zide In memory o' the squier's bride In zeven paintens true to life Wer zeven zights o' wedded life." Mr. Henning was provoked by the receipt of the Hwomely Bhymcs to write a long letter of acknowledg- ment in good Dorset rhyme ; and a very ardent admirer, Mr. Charles Tennant, wrote on October 2nd, 1858, a warm invitation to his house in London with a view to introducing the poet personally to his London readers. He says, " I have long thought that the Dorsetshire folk have not shown a due appreciation of their own poet by allowing him to have been so long in comparative obscurity. But he has only to make his appearance in the great metropolis to insure for Barnes, the Dorset X.] HWOMELY RHYMES. 165 poet, a celebrity equal to that of Burns, the Scotch poet, whose hundredth anniversary is now about to be celebrated." Then follows an invitation to stay with JMr, Tennant during- the season, and give some private readings in higher circles, with '• if we do this well, you Avill wake one morning and find yourself famous." In a second letter, after William Barnes's acceptance of this kindness, JMr. Tennant writes, " I have heard to-day from a friend on a visit in Scotland, where he met Mrs. Norton, both great admirers of your poetry, that we may count upon the Duchess of Sutherland placing her rooms at our disposal for your readings of your inimit- able Dorset jioetry, Easter is considered an unfavourable time, as all who can then leave town. But immediately after Easter a tide of fasliion sets into London for the full flush of the season." In the March of the following year, 1859, Mrs. Norton wrote, saying : — Dear Sir, The Duchess of Sutherland has written me a kind note respecting your future lecture, saying she will be too happy to do as we proposed, and let one be given at Stafford House. I have written to your friend Mr. Tennant about it, that he may make what plans he thinks best, and with all wishes for your success. Believe me, yours very sincerely, Caroline Norton. The same day Mrs. Norton wrote to Russell Smith ordering copies of the poems to be sent in her name to the Duchess of Sutherland and the Right Honourable Sidney Herbert. 166 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. A letter from Mr. Tennant on April 4tli, 1859, fixes the first week in May for this first reading, and names several of his favourite poems, which he hopes will be in the list selected. Unfortunately, just at the last moment the reading was postponed, on account of the illness of some member of the family of the Duchess of Sutherland. The correspondence begun on this subject with Mr. Tennant never ceased, but ripened into a close literary friendship, and they became collaborators in several articles on political and social economy, in which their opinions harmonised well, although they dififered amicably on some political questions. The Hivomdy Rhymes brought William Barnes into another interesting acquaintance, with the Chevalier de Chatelain, who was at the time editing a work entitled BeauUs dc la Fot^sie Anglaisc, in two volumes, and wrote to beg permission to translate for it some of the Dorset poems. He tells the poet that he thinks he has succeeded in giving a fair rendering of " Trees be Company," and some other poems, but adds, " J'ai voulu, mais en vain, tenter de traduire ' The Wold Wall,' j'en suis convaincu que votre charmant dialecte etait sou vent intraduisable. Adieu, A Dieu je vous confie, et j'espere bien qu'il vous laissera enrichir la litterature anglaise de nouvelles Hwomcly Bhymes, &c., &c. " Le Chevaliek de Chatelain." The Chevalier succeeded well in " The Vaices that be Gone," and " The Beam in Grenly Church." He published some of his translations in the Gazette de Guernsey, from which they were copied into other French papers. The letter-friendship between William X.] HWOMELY RHYIMES. 167 Barnes and bis translator -was cemented when the Chevalier and Madame de Chatelain made a pilgrimage to Dorchester in 18G0 to visit the poet. It was doubtless with a view to the London reading spoken of above, that the poet tried his hand as a public reader, by giving a selection of his poems to the members of the Working Men's Institution at the Town Hall in Dorchester. It was an evening to be remembered. The hall was thronged almost to suffocation with rich and poor, and seldom has an audience been more excited by various emotions. At one moment the whole mass of people would be breathless with interest at such de- scriptive poems as " Jeane's Wedden'-day in Mornen','' " Grammer's shoes ; " the next, the women would be sobbing audibly over " Meary Ann's Chile," or " My Love's Guardian Angel ; " then hey presto ! sorrow would flee away, and the multitude of faces relax into smiles, with now and then a burst of hearty laughter, at " What Dick and I done," or " A bit o' Sly Courten'." It seemed to one of the poet's children that the crowd of human beings was a magic harp on which he played, bringing forth at his will the emotions he chose. If this seem exaggerated, let it be remembered that it was the first time a Dorset audience had heard its feeling, language, and daily jlife portrayed in its own common speech, and the effect was all the greater from the newness of the emotion. After the success of this reading, all the other insti- tutes would have no other subject from their favourite lecturer than"tlio Dorset Dialect," in which readings were given at Sherborne, Wincanton, Poole, Wareham, Corfe Castle, Blandford, Mere, &c., during that season, 168 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. and all met with the same hearty reception. So much notice did the}^ attract that an enthusiast, writing to the Dorset County Chronicle under the signature of " Falmarti qui meruit fcrat," pleaded earnestly for a cheap edition of the poems, so that Barnes may take his true place as a " poet of the people," one who " is fighting the battle side by side with rich and poor under the banner of Him who is Maker of them all." A man wrote from Westbury to the lecturer that he had walked nine miles to hear him and would willingly do as much again. The same year in which Hwomcly BJtymes appeared is marked also by the publication of Britain, and the Ancient Britons. Mr. Kussell Smith seemed very doubtful about the success of this venture, and wrote on March 24'th, 1858, "I have dipped into it here and there, and rather like it, as it is not quite so dry as some other books I have published on the ancient Britons, none of which filled my exchequer — so that I am doubtful of venturing further ; but if you can make up your mind to accept a few copies when printed, I will take the risk, as it will not make a large book," A memorandum to this letter in the author's hand runs, " Yes, for the copies (with a copy also of Talicssin); on condition that you will bring it out at once." I suppose there never was an author so easy for a publisher to make terms with as W. Barnes, who by this time had a firm conviction that his books were not for the million, but only for the few, and that therefore he could not command a jjrice for them. I do not think he even kej)t the copyright of most of them, except fortunately the poems. There is however this to be said, no other publisher would probably have been so X.J ir^^OMELY RHYMES. 109 persistent as Russell Smith in bringing out one abstrase book after another, winch were so far over the heads of the paying public. But he being an antiquary himself, preferred publishing works of that kind, and had to the last a firm belief that his client's genius must succeed in the long run. This book as usual proved a literary, if not a pecuniary success. An entirely new light was thrown on the Ancient Britons which showed them to be anything but the wild savages hitherto supposed. The Athenccum cavilled at this view, and evidently agreed with the schoolboy's idea that the skins worn by the Britons were mere rough skins not made into any form of garment (skins were never worn by the Britons more than in these days of fur garments, by the by), and seems to doubt his assertion that " The government of the Britons was a limited monarchy of a form afford- ing the people the greatest freedom," yet it has the justice to add, "But although the author takes as we think too Welsh a view of his subject, and is moreover a hobbyhorse man (as may be seen by perusing his chapter on the Triads where he treats of the threenesses of things), yet is this little book of much value. Mr. Barnes has applied himself to the study of British and Welsh literature, which he truly says has been too often neglected by antiquaries. He has evidently thought deeply on the social and political features of British life, and he communicates his conclusions in language which is clear, concise, and forcible." The legends of Arthur could never have spining irom a savage and uncivilised people, and that they were, although much idealised, founded in a measure on real life is almost certain, in the same way as Homer gives a 170 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ch. x- true idea in a poetical form of life of the Ancient Greeks. How could tlie garments of Enid — the tapestry of Guinivere's maidens — the embroidery of Elaine on Lancelot's shield cover, or the furniture of the Castle, be described if garments, and elegant works, and artistic handicrafts, were imknown, as they would be in a savage race whose idea of clothing was the mere wearing of undressed skins ? William Barnes was not far wrong in the conclusions he drew from his Taliessin, Morvryn, and other Bards. The chapter on Triads is peculiarly interesting, and worthy of study. Being perhaps discouraged at the limited number of his readers, he about this time took the idea of writing a novel. A letter from Mr Tennant, who was much in the poet's confidence says : — " I am very glad, as everybody would be, to know that you entertain the idea of writing a work of fiction, and are only waiting for the plot. I hope you will soon hit upon something which will please your critical fancy. How often I wish I had you here with us in this little old-fashioned house near the ' Pantiles ' [at Tunbridge Wells], where Samuel Johnson in his plum-coloured coat, ditto shorts, and scarlet and gold waistcoat, used to walk with the beautiful Miss Chudleigh and close to the most beautiful common I ever saw." This work of fiction never got written, or as far as I know even begun. It would probably have been a story of rustic life, but as the plot did not suggest itself, most likely the idea faded from his mind before the sad realities of the next few years. CHAPTER XL THE TRIAL PAST. How sorroAvful was life, the while My God, in love, withheld His smile ; And though He kept me in His sight. Yet gave my pining soul no light To show my darksome goings right : And yet would find me holding fast To promises of seasons past. Enduring to the end. So by His Spirit's sweet control In patience I possess'd my soul. And walked my guileless path, nnd drew Sweet solace from His plants that grew So blest by sun, and air, and dew ; And all that lived around me, fed By His love given daily bread, Enduring; to the end. 172 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. But now his smile at last has blest My heart again with joyful rest, How melting is the backward thought That 'twas His love again that wrought, What I had deem'd His ancrer brouc^ht. So blest is he that can abide His day of sorrowing when tried, Endurinof to the end. 173 TROUBLOUS TIMES. 1858. The next literary venture was the publication of Vieivs of Labour and Gold, a rSsum^ of several lectures, which had been delivered during the past two years. Like all William Barnes's works, these " Views " were original, but original in such a good and high sense that one would wish them to be more than " Views." His social science is as different from Malthus and Bentham and the materiality of the earlier writers on the subject, as it is from Henry George and Chamberlain, who look only on one side of the question, and while claiming " rights " for all, propose wrongs to some as a means of obtaining them. Like Ruskin, Barnes bases his social science on Christian principles ; the rights he allows to every man are the right to justice, and to practise and receive loving-kindness. He raises his voice earnestly against all shams, frauds and commercial injustice, by which traders obtain money by giving less than it is worth. He pleads thus for care of the rights of the working man: "But our deductions of unproductive hands are not great enough ; for very few W(jrk till 174 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ohap. they reach their eightieth year, and the production of the nation's income lies heavier on some classes than on others ; and thence arise the stern calls for a lengthening of the daily labour of the toilworn body, which so often leaves a man no evenings wherein his mind may wander free, while his body may rest on the bench by the cottage door, or by the hearth amid the gambols of his smiling children; and which leaves him no time to strengthen the hallowed bonds of kindred ; no time to solace himself with the gifts of his God, the donuis et placciis uxor; no time to enlighten and purify his soul by a peaceful reading of the Word of Life ; we were going to say, no time for the ordinances of grace, for too often the overworked body, if it has the rest of a Sabbath, is on the Sabbath thrown listless on the bed of indolence if not sickness. If it is not healthy to work for ever at a business in which, for example, the thumb and fing-ers shall gain skill while all the rest of the body shall wither from inaction, so neither is it good for the man of soul and body to be holden too long in work in which the body only is in action, while the soul and mind are left in a dulness almost below rationality. Man goeth forth to his work until the evening, the Word of God tells us ; but the life of the overworked man in some parts of England almost belies it, as the stern calls of toil leave him no evening, but keep him from the peace of his solace and rest almost till the dead of night. Cheerless to him are both the going forth and the coming home. A day's toil should be sweetened by the foretaste of the evening of freedom that looms from behind it ; and the week's labour should be like a walk through the nave of a cathedral, bright from the light at the end of XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 175 it, and not like a cave leading only from deep to deeper darkness. " It is to the house that we must look for the growth of the most lovely social Christian graces ; the affections of kindred, a reverence for the kindly feelings, and a love of home, which in its full outgrowth becomes that bulwark of the safety of a community and constitution, amor 'patria:, the love of one's fatherland. For what is England that she should be dear to me, but that she is the land tliat owns my county ? Why should I love my county, but that it contains the village of my birth ? Why should that village be hallowed in my mind, but that it holds the home of my childhood ? " The holy affection of kindred for kiudred grows out of the liappier hours of freedom and rest in house-life ; it rises out of the harmless play of the summer evening ; the cheerful talk that beguiles the stormy winter's night, the daily teaching of a father's and mother's care, the godly exercises and talk of the Sabbath ; the love that so carefully folds up the little play-tired children on their evening beds, and gathers them with a smile to their morning meal. " These graces therefore grow out of incidents and services for which some time, with freedom from toil, is needful. Good fathers and mothers (and there are good ones among the poor, and there would be more with a happier hovise-life) are the best teachers of children, and a good home is the best school for the formation of the mind. " Let tlie poor therefore have some time, if it can anyliow be afforded to tliem, to seek light for their own minds, and grace for their own hearts, by reading or 176 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. kindly talk, or at least to refresh their bodies and minds by an evening's rest and peace, and to train their children in the wholesome love of English house-life and the social virtues." His distinctions between capital and wealth, real and commercial value, labour and compound labour, &c., are clear and logical, as are all his definitions. The chapters on " Dignity and Disdain of Work," " Labours with a good Reaction," " True Wealth," contain many deep truths. The latter ends with one of Barnes's favourite " threenesses," which shows his views of " sociality." " There are three divine gifts which are the elements of true happiness or wealth : the spiritual one of righteousness, the bodily one of health, and the social one of good government ; but the more common kinds of worldly wealth are of uncertain effect, though the peace of a community is none the safer for a greater inequality of wealth, such that one class may be over- rich to wanton luxury, while another is poor to naked hunger." The following letter from his hitherto unseen corre- spondent, Mr. Tennant, is one of the best critiques possible of the book. London, llth June, 1859. My Dear Sir, I am very much pleased with your views on " Labour and Gold " which I obtained from your publisher the other day. You touch lightly on the difficulties of the Currency Question, and I am not sure that I understand what XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 177 your opinion really is on that question. But some of your views are quite original ; and especially so your mode of expressing them, and altogether, what you 'write comes very fresh and forcible to my mind. But if the book contained nothing more than the pages 170 and 171 ^ it %vou]d be a valuable gift to the present generation and to posterity. What I so much like is the tone of Christian Philosophy which pervades your Political Economy, and I see the same delightful tone through all your Pastorals, which first charmed me when I accidentally met with your volume of Dorsetshire poems many years ago, in Dorsetshire. In short I must, with your leave, make your personal acquaintance, for I fancy there is a great deal to be picked out of you, and that the serene rays of your genius have been too long buried in the un- fathomed depths of Dorsetshire, Would you like me to write and send a short review of Lahour and Gold where I think it will be received and extensively circulated and may help the sale ? for the public seem to have a stupid disinclination to books on this subject, which makes it difficult to know how to set about letting in any light on their frightful ignorance. If you approve, I will try my hand at a short notice, which, at any rate, will serve as an avertissemenf, appStissant, if nothing more, and, if you like, I will send it to you, to be dressed up a little before I forward it for insertion. Etc., etc., C. Tennant. ^ The two pages quoted above. N 178 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. In a letter of July 16th, 1859, Mr. Tennant writes that his critique will appear in September in the Financial Reformer, an organ of the Association for extending the knowledge of the Government scheme of taxation. The Association was under the presidency of Mr. Robertson Gladstone, elder brother of the late Premier, then Chancellor of the Exchequer. He adds, " I confess it does appear to me quite hopeless to expect by any moralizing to lift a people out of their moral degradation and misery, without enabling them at the same time to lift themselves out of their physical destitution. . . . You will excuse me for having cut you up about your chapter on " Machinery." I could have TYiinced you for that. But I have dealt tenderly with you for your own sake. Etc., etc., C. Tennant. The chapter on "Machinery " here referred to goes to prove it not an unmixed good. In the same month Mr. Tennant writes again abovit the reading of the poems at Stafford House, which had been postponed the previous season. The time was not now propitious. " The dissolution of Parliament and the distraction of parties have quite deranged the London season and, I am afraid, have driven pastoral poetry out of the people's heads. But whether the readings come off or not at Stafford House, I hope you will keep to your promised visit to us — and we should be glad to know when this would best suit your convenience." The letter finishes by naming the 15th of that month (June), but the visit did XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 179 not take place ; probably William Barnes was not feeling in cue for London gaieties, and was unwilling to incur the expense. For a long time he had great anxieties ; his litt-rary Avorks, deep and clever as they were, never- theless were not of the kind to pay. His sons had to be provided for, one entering at St. John's College, Cambridge, and the other wishing to follow the career of an engineer, all of which entailed sacrifices with a diminishing income. Then came sickness and other troubles, the result of underhand dealing on the part of one whom William Barnes had trusted for years — but Ave need not enter into this, for he, with his characteristic shrinking from the thought of injustice of any kind, always put away the memory of this especial injury as soon as ever its efiects had ceased to wound him. What- ever were the cause, the school diminished, pupils were withdrawn one by one for no expressed reason, and great anxiety preyed on the master. One day in especial is remembered when he came in with a sad face, holding some of these dreadful letters in his hand together with others eulogising the poet. " What a mockery is life," ho exclaimed ; " they praise me and take away my bread ! They might bo putting up a statue to me some day when I am dead, wliile all I want now is leave to live. I asketl for bread, and they gave me a stone," he added bitterly. He little know then how projihetic this bitter remark was. The following letter to Mr. Warne touches upon his feelinjis at this time : — N 2 180 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Dorchester, 20th Septemher, 1860. Dear Me. Warxe, Do not think I have forgotten you, or lost my affection for you. I have had for nearly two long years a very unprosperous time, with great expenses, and I had made up my mind not to write to yon till I had some definitely better news to tell you. As St, Paul puts it, " If I make you sorry, who is he then that maketh me glad, but the same which is made sorry by me ? " I have not written a word for the press these ten months, for I have not had an assistant. **** **** The experience of your heart with the thought of the lost angel of the house is my own. My great consolation is that T can hope I was a good husband, so that she is not gone with aught against me to the Great Judge. If I had not this balm, oh ! . . . . My daughter J is at Berlin, and the Princess Frederic William has most graciously given her, at Her Highness's cost, a first-rate master in singing, so that if it be needful she can do very well, and I am told that Lord Palmerston has promised another of the Ministers — my friend in the case — that he will place my name on the Civil List. He has certainly sent me, through the Lords of the Treasury, £30, as of Her Majesty's Royal Bounty. It is, however, still an anxious time Last year the " Hundreds Barrow " at Culliford Tree was opened by Captain Damer — 4 skeletons east and west, one beside the other, at about 2 feet asunder; on a lady's neck a necklace of a substance unknown to us ; Captain Damer has promised to show it to the learned in London. He dug a little into the tops of two other barrows and found XI.] TROUBLOUS TBIES. 181 skeletons. A fine urn, now in the D. C. Museum, was found under a barrow at Winterbourne by Mr. Mansfield, and as there are some interesting British relics from Dorset barrows in the Museum, you ought to come down a day or two and take your own notes. I am so tied up that I could not satisfy my own mind, though I might yours, with particulars I might give you ; for as you are going before the world in print, you ought to trust as little as you can in others' descriptions and opinions. Etc., W. Barxes. A few days after this Barnes had a more personal antiquarian discovery to tell his friend : — Dorchester, 27/A Septemler, 1860. Dear Mr. Warne, I find by a sewer just dug through my garden that I am on the site of a Roman house. Tlie men have cut through a Roman rubbi.sh pit, and we have picked out of their earth Samian and black pottery, with very many pieces of the painted frescoed plaster of a room (some of them are at your service when I see you), a bone hair-pin, and stune stud. Yours truly, W. Barnes. There were gleams of sun.shine even in these dark times, when the mantle of anxiety fell heavy on tlie young shoulders of tlie motherless girls, as well as on those of their father. One especially liapjiy gK'ani was 182 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. on a certain Sunda}', when, after taking the service at Came for the absent rector, William Barnes dined at Came House with Captain Damer, who had once been a private pupil of his, and always kept a warm affection for him. While the two sat quietly over their dessert, Captain Damer remarked that " it was not probable his cousin would retain the Rectory for many years," and promised that when the living became vacant his guest should have it. This promise was the greatest solace to the whole family — it was as though they were in a disabled ship, tossing on the sea in troubled waters, and saw a far-off shadow of land, which kept up hope, even though many leagues of breakers might yet lie between it and them. William Barnes did not let himself build on a far-off promise, but continued his life as though it had not been made. He became a candidate for the chaplaincy of the Asylum, and also in June for the head mastership of the Bath Grammar School. His failures to obtain them caused some disappointment at the time, though after events proved that God knew best. Quite a long spell of sunshine came in the summer of 1858, when he went to live at Came Rectory as locum tenens during the rector's absence. The happiness of the girls at this delightful change may be gathered from the same old diary quoted before. After describing the settling in on June 21st it adds : " W., I., and myself, finished the evening by walking arm in arm round the garden, giving vent to a little of our superfluous joy in sundry songs, duets, trios, &c., much, I fear, disturbing the repose of the birds in the shrubbery, who were not accustomed to hear the night echoes awakened in such a noisy manner." XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 183 Their first efforts at choir practice were rather un- promising : — • " June 22nd. We went to Whitcombe to practice — quite a hopeless case, I fear ; none of the six children can sing, and three of them cannot read." " June 28th. How charming this country life is ! The perfect peace and happiness of it is doubly pleasant to us who have anything but a tranquil life at home." In the end of July this bright gleam faded, the family went back to the routine and anxieties in the old home on July 2oth, where " there is a great smell of paint and many other dis- comforts. There is also a great deal of disagreeable work to be done. Father wanders about looking miserable, and sits all day in the empty schoolroom with no pupils, and the house, though very light and roomy, seems to hang over us like a cloud of trouble." One of the chief events of the summer of 1859 was a visit from Prince Lucien Buonaparte, who had been very much attracted by the poems, and came to make William Barnes's acquaintance. He took him for a drive to Weymouth, and they talked philology all the day, for Prince Lucien was a great linguist, and had given many years to a comparative study of local dialects. He had collected specimens of all the dialects of Italy and France, and now wanted to add the English ones. The subject chosen for his com])arisons was a curious selectitm — "The Songf of Solomon," which he had caused to be translated into scores of different dialects. Mr. Barnes undertook the arrangements for the Somerset and Devonshire translations, the first of which he put into the hands of ]\Ir. Thomas S. Bayncs, the latter 184 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. into those of Mr. George Pulman. Of the poet's own translation into Dorset the Prince writes: " I thank you for the trouble you have taken in the Devonshire, Wiltshire, and Somerset translations. I expect them with anxiety. I have been exceedingly pleased with your clever observations on the Dorset dialect. They will add a great value to your translation. ... I hope soon to be able to send you St. Matthew in the Milanese and Bergamese dialects, as well as the Cornish ' Song of Solomon,' and twelve copies of your own." The Prince kept up for many years an interesting literary corre- spondence with him, sending him copies of all his works, and keeping him au courant wdth all his labours in the field of comparative philology. The Italian diary for 1859, Sept. 12th, says: "Keturned from Lulworth, and found 30 books which Prince L. L. Buonaparte has given me." In October of the same year Prince Lucien returned to Dorchester to consult with his collaborator there, who dined with him at the hotel. In the end of 1860, Mr. Tennant, through Thomas Hughes, introduced William Barnes to David Masson, the editor of Macmillans Magazine, who wrote at once a warm welcome to him, as one of his staff, saying, " It would please me much if we could have the advantage of an occasional paper from your pen, and bearing your name. ... I doubt not there are subjects on which your knowledge and your opinion in the form of such brief papers as our limits allow would be very welcome to our readers." The first article by the new contributor was a paper on " Beauty and Art," published in May, 1861. In XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 185 acknowledgingtliis with the usual cheque Mr. Macmillan himself writes : — I have only been able to look it oyer partially as yet, but have read enough to convince me that I shall have a great admiration of it, as our editor told me I should — the style and thought seem so fresh and genuine. I trust this is by no means your last contribu- tion to our magazine. Mr. Venables has several times promised us an article on your poetry, which I hope he will fulfil before long. I am. Dear Sir. Yours very respectfully, Alex. Macmillan. Here is the enthusiastic Mr. Tennant's verdict, in a letter to the author : — Dear Mr. Barnes, I am sure you are a most remarkable man. I must see you somehow or other. If you won't come to me, I must go to you. I want to see you. I picture you to myself with the head of Socrates. You don't care much about Plutus, and if you worshipped any heathen deity it must be Pan. You don't care much about commerce, but you delight in the "Beautiful," and you know what is beautiful. If I were rich 1 would offer you £1000 a year to un- dertake tlie education of my son, a little boy of nine years old. I think you could make him just such a man as I sliuuld wi.sh him to be ; though you don't dot your i's or cross your t's. It has taken me two days to make out " Cincinnatus " in your last letter, and, but for those five acres of yours in the Vale of Blackmore I never 186 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. should have made it out. I could make nothing out of it but " Canaanites," and that did not make sense. But I like your handwriting because it is your own, and unlike anybody's else. It puts me in mind of a fly escaped from drowning in a bottle of ink, and crawling over your paper. But I like it all the better for that, because it is so unlike my own. There is a good deal of original thought in the paper on " Beauty and Art." To begin with, the definition of Beauty is terse and comprehensive. " The lemitiful in Nature is the unmarrccl result of God's first creative or forming will, and the hcautiftd in Art is the result of an unmistakcn working of man in accordance with thcheautifal in Nature." By saying God's first will one must not understand the author to mean that God has two con- flicting wills, but that where man has marred His created work, His will often remedies this by afterwork. Thus it is God's first will that the ash tree should grow from one single stalk with a certain type of grace and propor- tion in its branches. When man had polled the ash, and marred its natural grace, God, still working through nature, gives it other branches and leaves, but it is not His primary will that it should be a stunted, round-headed tree, consequently the polled ash is less beautiful than the natural tree. " If the heautifnl he the good of God's first forming will, then hcauty must he good." And so it is. In the first chapter of Genesis we read that God saw every- thing that He had made, and behold it was very good ; here the Hebrew word for good (tov) means, also, beautiful; as in the Septuagint it is given by the word KoXd, beautiful. The beautiful is also the good, by reasoning of a fitness XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 187 or harmony wliicli it possesses. But fitness, again, may be of sundry kinds." Here the writer traces the different kinds of fitness — fitness of quantity, of strength, of form, of number, of harmony. A great deal of liis theory of harmonic proportion and nature's matchings of colours is woven in. The theory of fitness or unfitness is applied to landscape and decorative art. The sixth part, "Art true and false," is an application of the theory of beauty to moral art, such as poetry and the drama and human character. "The aim of high art is the seeking and interpreting the beautiful of God's works, and a working with His truth," says the writer ; this, when his defini- tion of the beautiful is admitted, is much deeper than Mr. Ruskin's aphorism. " That art is the greatest which conveys to the mind of the spectator, by any means whatever, the neatest number of the greatest ideas, and I call an idea great in proportion as it is received by a higher faculty of the mind, and as it more fully occupies, and in occupying exercises and exalts the faculty by which it is received." ^ Gleams of light and shadows of darkness followed each other quickly in the poet's home in these last year.s, before all the troubles melted away. There came a certain April day, when the only daughter who was at home was arranging some primroses she had just brought from a long country ramble, when two gentle- men entered, saying they had come to offer their hearty congratulations to Mr. Barnes. " On what ?" asked the girl, wonderinrr. " On having received a Civil List pension of £70 a year," and they showed her a Dnily Tclr graph with the ^ Modern I'ltiiitrrs, vol. i. cliap. ii. p. 12. 188 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARl^ES. [chap. list of newly-granted pensions, and there truly was her father's name as one of the chosen recipients. "Let us go and tell father directly," said the girl, hastily taking up her hat ; "he is gone to the station to see a friend off." So she and her two friends set off in eager haste to bring the good news, which was to him a veritable godsend. The official notice from Lord Palmerston followed the next day, AjirillTth, 1861, and then began to pour in letters of hearty congratulation from all the county. The memorial asking for it had been signed by forty magistrates, and by all the Members of Parliament who had a jDersonal interest in him, such as R. Brinsley Sheridan, H. Ker Seymer, Mr. Floyer; and Mr. Sturt (since Lord Alington), had written private and spon- taneous letters on his behalf to the Premier; and all were now hearty in their joy at their success. In acknowledg- ing the grant to Lord Palmerston 's Secretary, and rendering thanks to Her Majesty and to him, William Barnes concludes : " I hope that my future writings may not disgrace the literature of Her Majesty's kingdom, and that those works in the dialect of my own county may promote peace and good will among her rural subjects in the west, so that his Lordship (Palmerston) may never have the pain of finding he has recommended for the Civil List an unworthy name." But the joy and relief in the family were soon damped, for almost the next post brought the news of the death of one who had lately entered the home circle. So mingled were the two conflicting elements that many of the letters from friends are a touching mixture XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 189 of congratulations and condolence. The " silver lining " is but the heavenly reverse of a " dark cloud." It was in the end of this eventful year, November, 1861,^ that the most extraordinary of all Barnes's philological works was published. This was Tivj\orA Vuw of the Roots and Sterns of the English as a Teutonic Tongue. On August 1st he wrote to Russell Smith : — Dear Sir, The books are come to hand, but your printer is very slow with my hopeful brat, Tito. Will he go faster after a while ? Yours truly, W. Barnes. To which the publisher answered laconically, " Been standing still for you; he has not enough MS. for a third sheet. — J. R. S." The " hopeful brat," Tiv\ was one of the author's pets among his literary children, and for nearly all his life after its publication he followed up his labours among roots and stems. His theory was that in primi- tive times language was limited to a few fundamental sounds or words, and that in the course of ages and different uses these roots expanded into many distinctive forms, each class of which lie calls a stem. The roots treated of are those of tlio Teutonic sjseech, and the book is entitled Tito, because the god from whom the Teutonic race took their name was so called, 1 It was (lilted 18G2, as books puLlisliud in the winter season are generally dated for the new year. 190 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. By tracing back English words through the dialectic and older Saxon forms, comjoaring them with German, Icelandic, &c., the author arrives at these primitive Teutonic roots, of which he gives a list of about fifty in this form, lj*ng, fi*ng, svj*ng, &c. The first consonants forming the unchangeable root, which is retained in all words derived from it ; the asterisk is in place of a vowel sound, which is not radical but change- able ; and the ending ng figuring the consonant closing the word, which changes for each of the stem forms. This ending may become intensified into nh, so that from the root CT*ng we get "crank," or it may soften into nge, and form " cringe " or diminish into g, so that d*ng gives " dig," and pr*ng " prig," or augment into dge or tch, forming "bridge," "ridge," "pitch," "ditch," &c. Sometimes it goes out altogether, leaving only the root with a vowel, such as " die," " fry," " cry," &c. Besides the stems formed from the primitive oig by speech wear, and which are distinguished as root stems. there are other stem forms made by replacing the ending ng by the different consonants or clippings, such as the st " stem," in which from 23*7ig we get " past," the sh, U*ng, " blush," the M stem, i)r*ng " prim," the B, d, N, L, and R stems. The development of this ingenious theory occupied many years of William Barnes's life ; his lists of stem words grew longer and fuller with every new word which in dialect or common speech struck him as helping his proof. The study became quite engrossing when he could build up a whole root into its many branching stems, with good proof that the stems were the real off- spring of the root. XI.] TROUBLOUS TIMES. 191 William BarnesseemstoLaveliad the idea that tlieroots of all tongues, if thoroughly investigated, would prove to be identical, for he finds Latin and Greek words may equally be traced to these same fundamental sounds, and discovers traces of some primitive roots even in the Indo-Teutonic languages.^ The appearance of the book is so mysterious — until one takes the trouble to really study it, when it becomes simple and clear, opening out to the mind a vast deal of thought and investigation — that few critics took the trouble to analyse it. One merely gives it a few lines in a long notice of the third series of the poems, saying, " The book he has called Tiio appears to open up a secret but certain page in the history of human civiliza- tion — that page which lays bare the first mainsprings that guide the utterances of thought, and shape the philosophy of language. Mr. Barnes has done in this department enough to place his name by the side of those of Home Tooke and Max Miiller, and that is more than any other British philologist has achieved." Among the many whom the outward look of Tnu prevented from trying to understand it was Mr. Tennant, who facetiously writes, " I have got Tiw, and though it bears witness to much labour and learning, I cannot think it will ever be found in the list of entertaining literature. . . . Some of your distinctions between roots and stems seem to me to require a nice discernment. But though I know nothing about it, I can see that you know a great deal. 1 am expecting in April a learned German, Dr. Kramer, from Berlin, on a visit to ^ A lecture on tlii.s suliject by I^fr. I'arries was read at tlie Philological Society on December 4lli, lbG.'3. 192 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ch. xt. me for a month or six weeks I shall make him study Tiw. London, 2\st April, 1862. Dear Mr. Barnes, Dr. Kramer is with us, and I expect will remain with us into June. I hope you will come and stay with us before he goes. He has got your Tiw, but I don't think he will be able to throw any new light on it. Your P.S. interests me. . . . CHAPTER XIL VO'K A COMEN INTO CHURCH. The church do zeem a touchen zight, When vo'k a-com^.n in at door Do softly tread the long-ail'd vloor Below the pillared arches' height, Wi' bells a-peal^n, Vo'k a kneelen, Hearts a-heal6n, wi' the love An' peiice a-zent em vroin above. An' there, wi' mild an' tliouglitvul feiice Wi' downcast eyes, an' vaices dum', The wold an' young do slowly come An' tciike in stillness each his j)leiice, A-zinken slowly, Kneelen lowly, Seeken holy thoughts alwone In pray'r avore their Meiiker's throne. o 194 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. An* there be sons in youthful pride, An' fathers weak wi' years an' pain, An' daughters in their mother's train The tall wi' smaller at their zide ; Heads in murnen Never turn^n, Cheaks a-burn^n wi' the het 0' youth, an' eyes noo tears do wet. There friends do zettle, zide by zide The knower speechless to the known ; Their vaice is there vor God alwone, To flesh an' blood their tongues be tied. Grief a-wringen Jay a-zing^n Pray'r a-bringen welcome rest, So softly to the troubled breast. 195 THE RECTOR. 1862. The year 1862 dawned brightly. The Christmas holidays were occupied by visits to friends in different parts of the county, and in giving gratuitous lectures to the Literary Institutes. The " Dorset Dialect with Read- ings " was chosen for Sherborne on the 7th of January, Mere on the 8th, Shaftesbury on the 9th, and Bridport on the 13th. At Weymouth and Blandford the lectures were on " Trial by Jury," a subject which Mr. Barnes afterwards worked up into an article fir MacmiUans Magazine, in which it was published in March, 18G2. On the loth, William Barnes and his daughter were spending the evening with a clerical friend, wlien they heard a report that the rector of Came had accepted another benefice. This caused a great deal of hopeful excitement among the young people, who for many days ardently expected the postman's knock, hoping for a letter showing that Captain Damer had remcrabcred his promise. Scjme friends suggested writing to remind him but tliis William Barnes utterly refused to do, fir nothing would ever make him stot)p to ask a favour for himself. " If it is Captain Damer's wish that I shall have u 'J. 196 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. the living he will give it me, if not, the forcing him to maintain a word perhaps forgotten, perhaps repented of, could bring no happiness to him or to me," was his argument. A friend who had a warm interest in the poet, did indeed, unknown to him, write on his behalf to the patron on Jan. 81st. It was however needless> for even as she wrote, the following letter was in the future rector's hands. MoRETON House, Jan. 30th, 1862. My dear Mr. Barnes, I am not unmindful of my promises I can assure you, and I have delayed till this day, when I was officially assured of my cousin's resignation of Came living within the next six months, to offer for your acceptance the same, which I do with the most heartfelt pleasure in the world, hoping you will long live to enjoy it. I may hope to see you next week in Dorchester, Remember me kindly to all your family, and with Mrs. Damer's kindest wishes, Believe me. Very truly yours, Seymour Dawson Damer. Great was the delight of all and every member of the family. The poet saw before him peace and ease of mind, genial work among the poor he loved, and leisure for his studies. The girls, remembering that happy suiumer they had once spent in the nest-like little rectory, rejoiced in the idea that henceforth it would XII.] THE RECTOR. 197 be their home. They were elated with the relief of feeling that the mantle of responsibility, which had rested so heavily on their shoulders, in a household which was difficult to guide, was sHpping off, under the sunny rays of a more congenial future. Friends who had grieved with them now rejoiced in their joy, and letters of congiatulation poured in by every post. Only one witty friend sent a lament instead of rejoicing, in the form of a parody on a popular song. In Paradiso (a new version). A schoolboy sat by Napper's Mite, Tho' long the sun had set, He seemed with grief o'erburdened quite, His cheek with tears was wet. " And where is he," I asked the boy, " To whom all languages were joy, Who every tongue did know ?" He pointed eastward, out by Came, And sobbed — he scarce the words could frame, '' In Paradiso — in Paradiso. " He left me here alone," he said, " An uninstructed boy ; The teacher Irom his pupil fled To dwell in peaceful joy. No more my tutor he will be, No more — alas ! — he'll punish me ; I own that I was slow. Darner has borne him froni the school, O'er Caiue's glad parish folks to rule. All at his ease, oh ! — all ;it his ease, oh." The happy days were still lialf a year distant, but tliose last six months before the now small school was 198 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [vuat. dissolved for ever flew by on the wings of hojoe, and the summer holidays made an end of the irksome days of teaching. A curious instance of the irony of fate marked the close of William Barnes's teaching. The very week his last few scholars left him the lists came out in the Times, recording his pupil Tolbort's name at the head of the Indian Civil Service Examination, and forthwith the master was deluged with letters offering pupils. " I told them it took two to do it," he said afterwards, thus dividing his honours with the scholar. At the time his feeling was figuratively expressed, " When I was drowning no one offered help ; now I have come to land, hands are held out to me." On the 30th of July the outgoing rector called to hid good-bye, and handed over the key of the rectory. In August the family moved into residence, but the new rector w^as not really instituted till November 4th, when he went to dine and sleep at the palace at Salis- bury, and the ceremony took place in the chapel of the palace after morning prayers. On December 1st, the curious ordeal of induction was performed at Came Church, and he was presented with a sod of earth, and had to ring the church bell, besides other ancient ceremonials. The midday of life had been with the Dorset poet a season of clouds and storms, coming after a sunny morning, but now the calm, restful evening began, and not the shadow of a cloud dimmed the sunset. Anxiety, dread of the future, the restraint of uncongenial duties, the wear and tear of mind in a never-ending routine of teaching, were all gone, and in their place were peace and repose ; the XII.] THE RECTOR. 199 country life he loved was his portion, and the rustic poor he sympathised with were his care. He found leisure too, so that when poetical thoughts were born, they were not crushed out of existence by sordid realities. The rectory of Came is a cosy little nest — a thatched cottage with wide eaves and wider verandah, on whose rustic pillars, roses, clematis, and honeysuckle entwine. It has a flowery lawn in front, and a sheltering veil of trees at the side. The poet's study was a room on the upper floor, which overlooked the sunny fruit garden, and here he could watch the blossoms expanding and falling from his apple and apricot trees, and see the breezes waving his feathery-headed asparagus. And how he enjoyed his garden and tended his shrubs ! Sometimes he took a fancy to mow his own lawn, in memory of early days at Mere, but the use of a little mowing machine, the invention of later times, useful though it were, never gave him the same feeling as did the scythe of his earlier days, making its graceful curves. The parish of Came is wide, with a nucleus of cottages and school round the church, in the very garden of the Squire's house ; other groups of cottages with bams lie in different isolated portions on the out- skirts of the wide park, and the farmer's house, with another little hamlet, two miles away, at the top of a down ; while the dairy nestles in a woody hollow near the rectory. Wlatcombe, whose people received their former curate with joy as their rector, lies above a mile from Came along the high road. There is a long hill leading to it, between the cliffs of a deep cutting, wiiere the liercest 200 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. winds and the hottest sun share the times of the year between them. Up this long hill the parson and his daughters would toil through rain or snow or sunshine every week, greeted when they appeared on the summit with the triple harmony of the village church bells. In summer a roof of blue overhung the deep cleft of ruddy soil, whose banks were covered with wild flowers — pinks, crow's-bill, golden pennyroyal, and tender silver- weed — and the poet read sermons in them all. " See what a harmony of colour," he exclaimed one day ; " look at these harebells by the tuft of green grass ; pale blue and green — oh, that is lovely in the sunshine ! " He often plucked a leaf, and would remark how the green of the outside was toned down by the grey be- neath, saying, " We should make fewer mistakes in the arrangement of colour if we took hints such as these from Nature's book." In winter he often stopped on his way home from church to watch the Winterbourne flowing under the bridge, across the road to the distant woods, where the red sun reflected level rays, and produced some enchant- ing effects of colour. " Now if we could take a brush and paint the moment as it is — there's a picture ! " Then after a long pause he would put his spectacles — which he only used at such moments as this — back into their case, take his stick do\^^l from under his arm, and walk on with a sweet pleased expression, as though he had had an insight into the mystic world. It was not long before he arranged his parish duties on a definite system ; he divided his parish into four districts, of which he took two, and his daughters two. XII.] THE RECTOR. 201 every week ; in this manner a constant watch over all his flock was kept up. It was jileasant to see him starting out to visit liis district, a leather bag slung round his shoulder over his flowing cassock. In the bag were prayer-books, or at need a pocket font, or communion service. Sometimes the well-filled pockets of the cassock coat bobbed against the comely stockinged legs — for they were apt to be full of sweets for the children — or now and then si, doll might be seen with its head peering out of the clerical pocket. Thus accoutred he trod sturdily beneath the hawthorn trees, and across the shadows of great elms in the park, and knocked with his stick at the cottage doors when he reached them. The housewives were always glad to see him, and poured out all their confidences, sure of comfort and sympathy. If he did not come on the usual day they met him with a half reproach next time, " Ah, sir, we thought you had forgotten us." The children would creep nearer and nearer, peeping into those big pockets from which " goodies " were wont to come. I do not believe a child, however shy, was ever afraid of " our parson." One of the women once remarked to the writer, " There, miss, avc do all o' us love the passon, that we do : he be so plaiiu. Why, bless you, I don't no more mind telling o' un all my little pains and troubles than if he was my grandmother." Here she blushed. "I don't mean any disrcspec', miss, but o'ny to show how he do understand us, and we (hj seem to understand him." Weather was never allowed to interfere with these parochial walk.s. He would leave his breakfast untasted to visit a sick person, or baptize a weakly infant at the 202 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. other end of his parish in snow or rain. It was one of his sayings, " Oh, nonsense, how can the weather hurt us ? We should be fit for nothing if we minded such trifles." Again, " Go out and rough it, then come home and enjoy a rest — you will have earned it." He was quite as welcome a visitor in the Squire's house as in the cottage. The lady of the manor, the Hon. Mrs. Williams, of Herringston House, shall speak for herself on this point, in a letter addressed to his son. Herringston lies between the parishes of Came and Monkton, and thus forms a connecting link between-the two rectors (father and son), and was the favourite rest- ing place of the poet when on his way to Monkton, for he knew he was always welcome there. Herringston is a very perfect specimen of Tudor architecture ; the great arched drawing-room has some interesting carved oak panelling with quaint scenes from Scripture, and the central hall has been the scene of many a Christmas feast, such as the one described in the poem of Herring- ston (page 302 Collected Poems). Heeringston, Felruary, 1887. My dear Mr. Barnes, I had no idea when you asked me to put on paper any reminiscences of your father, how hard I should find it to do so ; but the fact is, he was so completely con- nected with our home life, that to write of him as we remember him is, in fact, to write about ourselves. He loved our old house, and the first time I ever heard his name was when we came to live here, and my husband told me there was a poem about it by the Dorset XII.] THE RECTOR. 203 poet, and got the book for me to read it ; I was always fond of local dialect and Avord origin, so the volume in- terested me on other grounds, but it was not until Mr. Barnes became our rector (1862) that we made his per- sonal acquaintance. From that time till his death we were in constant communication. He was a dcliglitful companion, and among our large family party of all ages there was not one but felt this. The wonderful ranofe of his information accounted for the interest of his conversation, but I think its great charm lay in his own perfect simplicity, and enjoyment of the talk of others ; his hearers always felt they were talked icith, not talked to. His quaint modes of expression gave point to all he said, and his infectious laugh when he told a story of any of his people, especially if it told against himself, with the dry, " Ah, she (or he) was too sharp for me there," comes back to me as I write this. He used to talk to the cottagers on all points, religious and political, and his intimate acquaintance with their dialect and modes of thought gave him an opening where other men of his intellectual superiority would have been at fault, and have only excited suspicion or reserve. Ho always saw the best side of individuals, but he was not so lenient or so hopeful about the times we live in. The increase of ready-made articles and of contrivances to save trouble did n(»t conmicnd themselves to him. He said it destrijyed invention and self-reliance in child- hood, weakened the sense of responsibility in later life, and reduced things to a standard of nun; money cheap- ness, \vhi< li he thought involved cheapness of character too. I lunicniber his saying, " When I wasahttle chap if I wanted a top or a whistle I must make it ; but now 204 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. ever so smart a one can be got for a halfpenny, and it is easier to ask ' mother ' for the money than to make a whistle." It distressed him that the cottage women no longer baked, and the farmers no longer brewed, " You can't take a pride in a thing which you don't make," he said. I am glad to see that Mr. Palgrave's article in the National Review touches upon the mention of children so frequent in Mr. Barnes's poems. They were not only an amusement, but a study to him. He used to say that mothers should keep a book of their children's sayings, and that attention to them would prevent some educa- tional mistakes. The first time I remember his referring: to the subject was when I told him a question from one of our children. " Mother, does God keep the angels in bottles ? " " No dear. Why ? " " Because we keep our sj)irits in them." " Ah," he said, " a child's reasoning is mostly right ; its premises are often wrong from ignorance, but its observation is right as far as it gees." And his love of " speechcraft " as he called it, made their language inte- resting to him. I recollect his beginning an interesting talk over early English, upon a child's saying to me, '' Bettern't we go out now ? " Instead of " Had we not better ? " A long while after he was confined to his room, he was told of children who called honey " bee-jam," and at once remarked " That's valuable to a 23hilologist." All children loved Lim ; they knew their welcome did not depend on company manners and clean pinafores, and ours would rush across the lawn in all stages of garden grubbings when he appeared at the gate. One XII.] THE RECTOR. 205 day I snid, " I really must dress those creatures in sack- cloth," and he replied with his hearty laugh, " And trust them to find the ashes for themselves." To young girls — " maidens " as he called them — he was the perfection of old-world courtesy, and to his especial favourites would give names from the Persian poets, " The gliding Cypress," " Rose of Paradise," and such like. But it was not only in sunshine that we learnt to value him ; those who are gone from us could have told more than I can, of his help and sympathy, which never failed to high or low. I think the burst of appreciation of his literary work, which resounded when the news of his deatli became known, came upon his parishioners with an odd sense of surprise. It was not that we did not know and love his poems — they were household words, but somehow " celebrity " was the last thing we ever thought of concerning him, he was so genial and so utterly unaspiring. I remember Miss Barnes once laughing over a visit from some strangers who wished to see the Dorset poet, and one of them said, " Oh, I shall feel quite afraid of any one so clever," and one of the children took it up and said quite indignantly, " But no one ever was afraid of Mr. Barnes." I wish I could remember more accurately sayings and words. I retain only the general sense, and also very much information about almost every subject upon which wo ever talked, and sad is the rerncmbrancc that such talks are over now. Yours, S. W. 206 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Came Church is as poetical a little church as one would wish to see, with its ivied tower and nave half hidden by tall elms, between whose trunks the sunny slopes of the park appear. The churchyard is a veritable garden, where the dead repose among the flowers. Here the "parson" preached many a sermon, not in Dorset, as one of his critics has said, but in that terse Saxon- English which to strangers sounded so quaint, but was quite plain to the simplest villagers. Some of these sermons have been remembered, and the memory of one in especial has since brought comfort in a dark hour to many of us. It was at Easter time, and the text was of the Maries saying on their way to the tomb, " Who shall roll us away the stone ? " and when they reached it " the stone was rolled away." He applied it so simply to the many trials we have and dread, and to God's way of smoothing out the most difficult paths before us, as the stone which the women would have been helpless to move, was by Providence taken out of their way. More than once the writer has heard the cottagers, when speaking of their coming troubles, of leaving Came, or of threatened illness, and wondering however " they should get over it," suddenly remember- ing this sermon, and adding, " There, miss, I often think I am like the Maries when I dread things so. I dare say it will all come right, and I, too, shall find the stone rolled away when the time comes." At first he used to write his sermons, but this soon gave way to jotting down mere headings in phonetic spelling, but even if he forgot the sermon book entirely, his people were no losers. One Sunday at Whitcombe he went into the pulpit as usual, but with empty hands. XII.] THE RECTOR. 207 He soon discovered the absence of his book, and while the hymn was being sung he again descended to the vestry to seek it. Not finding it however, he returned to the pulpit Bible in hand, before the hymn was over, and preached a very good extempore sermon. The lost one was afterwards found between the cloth and the lining of his cassock, having slipped through a hole in the pocket. William Barnes used to call his daughters his curates, for they shared all his work of schools and districts, and took much pleasure in training the village choir. The young men and maidens soon learnt to read music and to sing in parts. One brawny young blacksmith especially had a good bass voice. The rector w-as amused at a bit of his na'ivcU at practice one day when he stopped in a chant to exclaim, " Oh, please miss, do stop a bit, while I do fetch up that big note from the bottom." Having found and " fetched up " a resounding " Fa" he continued the chant with great satisfaction. Another of the village w'orthies who dclicfhted the rector was his old clerk at Whitcombe, whom he used to call the " Arch- bishop of York," because he so prided himself on his office as to boast to the young men who misbehaved, " Now you 'ave a-got to mind I. I be the second man in the church — I be." The rector's ministry at Came was suggestive of m.my of his poems, such as Vuh a Comcn into Churcli at the head of this chapter, Rirjliting up the Church, in the English edition, The Two Churches, The Village Flay- gro'imd (uii])ublishe(l), and the following pretty little bit, also unpublished, whicli describes part of his parish — the rnint;d chancel window of an ancient church, standing 208 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. alone in a wide grassy field, near Herringston, the only remains of the once existing village of Farringdon. It was one of the poet's favourite musing places, to sit in the shadow of that old ruin and think of the parishioners whose very homes had disappeared, leaving only uneven spots in the waving grass to show where they had been. The Depopulated Village. As oft I see by sicrlit, or oft In mind, the ridges on the ground, The mark of many a little croft And house where now no wall is found, I call the folk to life again And build their houses up anew ; I ween I shape them wrong, but who Can now outmark their shapes to men 1 I call them back to path or door In warm-cheek'd life below the sun, And see them tread their foot-worn floor That now is all by grass o'errun. To me the most of them may seem Of fairer looks than were their own, Yet some of all their lives were shown As fair's the fairest of my dream. I seem to see the church's wall And some grey tomb below a yew, And hear the churchyard wicket fall Behind the people passing through. I seem to hear, above my head. The bell that in the tow'r was hung ; But whither went its iron tongue That here bemoaned the long lost dead 1 This church of the vanished dead took, in the rector's mind, no small place in his ministry. He used to say, " In the other churches I teach — here I come to learn." XII.] THE RECTOR. 209 It was on first coming to Came that William Barnes habitually clad himself in the characteristic dress, which was as quaint as it was clerical. Cassock and wide- brimmed hat, knee breeches and large buckles on his shapely shoes. He had passed through many phases of costume before finally adopting this one, which he deemed enjoined by the ecclesiastical canons. Just as he adapted his theories of proportion to his books and picture frames, his theories of colour to his furniture and children's gar- ments, so did he adapt theories of fitness and utility to dress. At one time a friend had brought a "'' poncho " (the cloak of the South American Guacio) from his travels, and the shape of this struck William Barnes as so beautifully simple, that he forthwith got a large square of cloth, and making a central hole in it for the head, wore this peculiar but efficient covering through the cold and rain of more than one winter. At another time the convenience of the Scotch plaid made that his favourite out-of-door garment. " You see," he said, "the beauty of this is that you can just cover the side most exposed to the wind, and need not be over covered elsewhere," A favourite article of dress, which held its own even in the days of clerical robes, was a red cap. His first one was a Basque cap, which his friend, Mr. Colfox, had brought him from the Pyrenees, the next a Turkish fez a friend had procured in the East. In after years these were replaced by the handiwork of his eldest daughter. In none of these garments had he any idea of dressing for the sake of appearance : comfort or utility was always his object, united very often with a total disregard of appearance. This disregard would at times have gone far to sacrifice P 210 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chai-. the dignity of his appearance if it could have been sacri- ficed — as for instance when he walked down Dorchester High Street and out to Came with a poker, shovel, and tongs slung on his back, above the customary bag. On his family remonstrating with him, he simply said, "As I was coming myself, it was not worth while to give the tradespeople the trouble of sending them over. Slung like this the weight was nothing to me." This same shrinking from giving any one trouble was carried out through his life. Many a time when he wanted coals in his study, he refrained from ringing the bell, but would bring the scuttle down with a gentle," Oh, Mary, loould you be so kind as to give me some coals ? " On which " Mary " would become intensely deprecatory. The poet's days were passed in a gentle routine, broken only by visits to and from friends. After break- fast he took a stroll round his garden, noting this and that blossom in its growth, then he gathered up the letters which had strewn his breakfast table, and pro- ceeded to answer them. General correspondence was always more or less irksome to him, and so to get the thouofht of it off his mind he answered his letters as soon as he received them. These written, he would come down and place them in the green letter-box under the verandah, which the postman cleared every evening, and with a sigh of relief would start off to visit his poor. The afternoon was spent in his study, and in the evening his venerable head rested in his armchair in the drawing- room, enjoying the music his daughters made for him. He had one or two favourite pieces, which he always asked for last, as soothing influences for the night. " Waft her. Angels," and a few bits of Schumann were among them. XII.] THE RECTOR. 211 Like most authors, Barnes had a great many letters from strangers. His philological work, " Tiw " and the Grammar, as well as the reports of his speeches at archaeological meetings, brought him a deluge of corres- pondence. Every one wanted to know the origin of the name of his family, or dwelling place, and not one of them was left without an answer. Some British, Saxon, or Koman origin was discovered for each name, and on further correspondence with the questioner was found to fit. A place beginning with Moi^ or Mee generally proved to be situated near a piece of water or the sea. Cor proved the site to have been once a round enclosure for civil or religious rites, as the old name of Stonehenge was Cor-gawr — the giant's ring. Cat from " Coit," would mean a place near a wood, as Cattistock. A great many letters contained appeals for autographs ; others besought for a cheap edition of the poems. One of the most touching was from a very learned man — a curate with a large family, who had been a member of the Philological and Royal Asiatic Societies, but who had been obliged by pecuniary distress to withdraw from both — who wrote to beg for a gratuitous copy of the Philo- logical Grammar for use in his lectures on Language. Needless to say, the request was promptly granted. Then there came applications from compilers of selec- tions, for permission to insert poems in their books. Coventry Patmore put him into The Children s Garland, Miss Martin into her Pod's Hour, the Rev. Charles Rogers gave him a place in the Lyra Britnnnica. Some of the humorous poems were published in Poems of Wit and Humoxtr, and the Chevalier de Ciiatelain, who had already placed some translations from the poems in V -1 212 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. llayons ct Bejiets, dedicated to him in a very pretty poem, his new translation of the Tempest (Shake- speare's). One of the most interesting letters to the poet was the following, written in an uneducated round hand : — December 29i}i, 1869. Reveeend Sir, I wish you most heartily a happy New Year, and hope you will excuse a poor Woman writing to you. I had to dust some Books the other day that came from a sale, and amongst them was your poems in the Dorset dialect. Sir, I shook hands with you in my heart. And I laughed and cried by turns. The old Home of my Youth and all my dear ones now mouldering in the earth came back to mind. How happy we used to be at Christmas time. And sometimes I sit down in the gloom of an under- ground London Kitchen and shut my eyes, and try to fancy I am on Beaminster Down, where I have spent many a happy hour years ago. But I try to think we must be content wherever the Lord has cast our lot, and not to hanker for the past. May God bless you and all yours, Is the true wish of an old Domestic Servant, who loves the very name of Dorsetshire." As a pendent to this we may quote a most spontaneous outpouring of the spirit of a working shoemaker, who Avrote to ask if there were a cheap edition, as anything expensive was beyond his reach, though he had contrived to possess himself of one volurae. XII.] THE RECTOR. 21 .'i " My ancestors," he said, " were Dorset people, and I love the book ; it brings back the familiar words of the loved ones that are gone, and I love you — for the god- like goodness, kindness and affection of your kind and loving heart peeps out at every verse. I have tried for years to see you and hear you read, and I hope I shall yet ; but if not, I hope I shall see you when earthly distinctions are passed ; but may you long live to write, and may you long live to read, and may the earth be always blessed with such lights, and may they always be loved and honoured, and when earthly praise shall cease, may the music of a thousand voices bid you wel- come and say ' Well done.' Trusting you will forgive me for taking the liberty of expressing my feelings. " I remain, &c." Who shall say, after these spontaneous outbursts, that the Dorset poems would be a sealed book to the poor ? They would, on the contrary, offer the clearest proof of the refining effect it would have on the minds of the masses, were the poems given them in a form not beyond the reach of the poor man's pence. For these are only two out of many letters from would-be readers, whose poverty pleads for a cheaper edition. CHAPTER XIIL THE DO'SET MILITIA. HURHAH, my lads, vor Do'set men A-muster'd here in red agean ; An' welcome to your files to tread The steady march \vi' toe to heel ; Welcome to marches slow or quick. Welcome to gath'rens thin or thick ; God speed the Colonel on the hill, An Mrs. Bingham, off o' drill. When you've handled well your lock An' flung about your rifle stock Vrom han' to shoulder up an' down ; When you've Iwoadcd an' a-vired Till you do come back into town, Wi' all your loppen limbs a-tired ; An' you be dry an' burnen hot, Why, here's your tea an' coffee pot At Mister Greenen's penny till Wi' Mrs, Bingham oil' o' drill. 216 TPIE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. Last year John Hinley's mother cried, " Why, my bwoy John is quite my pride, Vor he've a-been so good to-year, An' han't a-mell'd \vi' any squabbles, An' han't a-drown'd his wits in beer, An' han't a-been in any hobbles. I never thought he'd turn out bad He always were so good a lad ; But now I'm sure he's better still, Drough Mrs. Bingham, off o' drill." Jeane Hart, that's Joe Duntley's cha'ice Do praise en up wi' her sweet vaice Yor he's so strait 's a hollyhock (Vew hollyhocks be up so tall) An' he do come so true's the clock To Mrs. Bingham's coifee stall ; An' Jeiine do write an brag o' Joe, An' teake the young recruits in tow, An' try, vor all their good, to bring 'em A' come from drill to Mrs. Bingham. God speed the Colonel, toppen high, An' officers wi' sworded thigh, An' all the sargeants that do bawl All day enough to split their throats An' all the corporals, and all The band a-playen up ther notes, An' all the men vrom vur and near We'll gi'e 'em all a hearty cheer. An' then another cheeren still Vor Mrs. Bingham, off o' drill. 217 LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 1862 TO 1865. The year 18G2 brought William Barnes into connec- tion with his brother poet, Coventry Patniore. The acquaintance began by Patmore sending a copy of Mac- iiiillan on June .5th, 1862, in which was an appreciative article on Barnes, the Dorset Poet, by his hand. His next letter runs : — British Museum, June lOth, 1862. My dear Sir, As the notices in the North British Rcvinv and in Macmillans Magazine pleased you, I cannot resist the temptation to tell you that I wrote them myself. They but poorly express all the admiration and gratitude I feel. I am rejoiced at the hope of seeing you in London. Thank you much for your kind invitation to Dorchester ; but I fear that there is little prospect of my being able to venture from the bedside of my sick wife. I am glad to hear from Professor ^lasson that there is a prospect of a new edition of your poems. Etc., etc. Ml-. r.'itiiiMrc; was soon cillcd to jciss t liroii'^h the licry trial wliich i-veii tlicn lnonicil lidurc liim. Ilis wile, 218 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. " The Angel of the House," died early in July. A cor- dial invitation was given him to come for change of thought and scene to Dorchester, but he was not then in spirits for even that. On July IStli, 1862, the following year, he wrote fixing the ensuing month for his visit. " Ever since I first opened your poems, a pilgrimage to Dorchester has been a definite ambition and purpose with me. I shall not be content with ' little ' walks. I am a great walker, and shall ask permission to relieve you of the duty of entertaining me for some hours at a time in order that I may visit the haunts of ' Blackmore Maidens ' and other pleasant places made sacred by the truest rural poetry I know of. " Mr. Patmore brought his eldest little daughter with him, and their visit was greatly enjoyed by the family at Came. By this time the Angel in the House was pub- lished, and Barnes in his turn had become reviewer, in an article in Fraser, on the invitation of the editor, Mr. Froude. As the Angel in tJic House was just then the favourite reading at Came, the household volume being covered with marks of admiration, the article was written with all heartiness, and appeared in the July number oi Fraser, 1862. When Patmore's Faithful for Ever was published, Barnes asked to be allowed again the office of reviewer. To the end of the Dorset Poet's life the reciprocal pen of Mr. Patmore was always prompt in his praise, until the obituary articles in *S^^. James s Gazette and the Fort- nightly Revieio in October and November 1886, closed his tributes. About this time also Barnes made the acquaintance by correspondence of Lord Tennyson, who wrote on x-m] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 21!) February 28tli to acknowledge a gift of the poems which he had for many years known and admired. Some few years after visits were interchanged. Barnes made a stay of some days with the Poet Laureate at Freshwater, and I believe it was under the stimulus of this influence that the " Northern Farmer" was written, to try if the northern dialect would lend itself as well to i^oesy as the western speech. Another interesting correspondent was a friend of Mr. Tennant's, whom he styles "The old Anchorite of Guernsey — Georges Metivier." "There is," remarks Mr. Tennant, "a peculiar charm in this eccentric old pliilosopher. He never moves away from his retired little hermitage, where he lives with one old Welshwoman as servant. I suspect that his worldly means are very small, and chiefly confined to very old books, of which he has a curious collec- tion scattered about his little dark den, but he seems to have no wants. His memory struck me as something marvellous. ... I should very much like to get M. Metivier over here in the spring, and set you together like the two Kilkenny cats, and myself to look on. Would this tempt you, if we can get Prince Lucien to make a third ? Let me know, Mr, Rector, what you think of this, and believe me, &c, " Charles Tennant." M. Metivier was, in a way, a fellow worker with William Barnes, being a great student of French and insular dialects. He, too, worked for Prince Lucien, for whom he translated the " Song of Solomon " and the 220 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Gospel of St. Matthew into Jersey patois. His letters to the Dorset Poet are chiefly philological. In the spring of 1864, WiUiam Allingham, who had introduced himself at Came by the welcome gift to his brother poet of his charming poems, came to stay a few days at the Rectory, a visit which much interested the family, Mr. Allingham was then j)ublishing Laurence Bloomfcid in Ireland, and the reckless way in which he corrected his proofs, often rewriting the Avhole verse, highly amused the Dorset Poet, who, out of tender regard to his printers, made very few corrections. The visit was returned in the autumn, when Barnes lectured at Lymington in November, and became the guest of Mr. Allingham. The same tour took him to Lyndhurst, where Mr. Hamilton Aide, author of Rita, &c., was his entertainer for a few days. They had pleasant ex- cursions in the shades of the New Forest, one of the most enjoyable being a lunch with " Dolores," in her flower-embowered one-storied cottao^e. She sangr some of her pretty songs, and gave the poet a " good time " in the way that he enjoyed best. Soon after this visit " Dolores " chose one of the Dorset poems to set to music as a song. Madam Sartoris (Adelaide Kemble) also set some of the poems to music. It was early in 1863 that another literary ac- quaintance with Mr. F. Furnivall was begun by the latter writing to ask for a paper on the Dialect, for the Philological Society. This was written, and was read by Mr. Furnivall at one of the meetings. It was published for the Society by x\.sher at Berlin, in 1863, under the comprehensive title of " A Grammar and Glossao^y of the Dorset Dialeet, with the history, out- xiii.] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 221 spreading', and bearings of south-western English." Tlie minute of the resuhition of the Society about the pubH- cation of this paper was as follows : — " We recommend the paper of Mr. Barnes for printing in the transactions, provided that the author be good enough : " 1st. To put it into printable shape, inserting stops, marking where pamgrajihs begin and end, &c. We also recommend — as well for the sake of greater clearness as for saving space — tliat all the less important matter, such as anecdotes, &c., be printed in smaller type than the rest and be marked accordingly. " 2nd. To substitute the usual terms for the unusual ones — as voice (sounds), voicings (vowels), clippings for consonants, mate-wording for synonyms, &c., there being no reason to introduce such quaint and unhappy words — what notion does clippings convey to one's mind ? — especially as other usual terms — diphthongs, pronouns, &c., are retained, and ' vowels ' is used more than once. " 3rd. To put the glossary in alphabetical order — fJiiH is iviperaiive — and to omit the imaginary headings which imply etymological connections, the proof of which is not given, and should not be attempted, as many of them are extremely doubtful." The Philological Society was clearl}' not inclined to become " pioneers in the effort to restore the Saxon language ; " they clung to their Latinized language, and were content to elucidate Saxon English as one treats of a dead Language, but not to bring it back to its purity in daily use, William Barnes gave way on all these points, substituted the usual grammatical words of Latin derivation, and put his glossary into more correct arrange- ment before it went to the Gi'ivnau [jriiitcr of the society. 222 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Other papers were written for the Philological Society in the course of the year. On the 4th of December two were read together ; one " Our elder Brethren, the Frisians, their Language and Literature as illustrative of those of England." The other " Trades of a Primary Root f*ng or f* in the Indo-Teutonic Languages." During the following year he supplied the Philological Society with papers on " Language of the Stone Age," and on " Lost English words," which were read by Mr. Furnivall, who wi'ote on June 4th : — " I read your papers last night at our meeting, but I am sorry to say that our members did not show much sympathy with them. When the two words are both in use, as ' desert ' and ' wilderness,' they thought that a distinction of meaning has grown up, and if not, they would sooner have two words than one for the same thing, as it prevents repetition. A few of the shorter old words they liked, but all the old ones that have become strange to them, they did not want revived. The classical feeling was stronger than I had expected. " The Stone Age they rebelled at. Your ' Tiw ' is not accepted." It is strange that Barnes found the least sympathy in a society, the object of whose existence would have led him to ex]3ect the most. An article was published in Macmillan of March, 1863, on the Rariora of Old Poetry. In asking him to write it, Masson, the editor, says, " The subject is a very curious one, and in your hands, with the due trouble in giving such interpretations as would be intelligible to popular readers, the paper, I believe, would be verv interestinsr." xiii.] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 223 In this paper Barnes begins by proving the dramatic and odic poetry of tlie Greeks to have come from still older and less civilised sources. The chorus is traced through nearly all savage nations, with the same union of the three Graces — Dance, Tune, and Song. Thence we are carried on through the Norse, Druid, and Scald songs to the Welsh Bards ; then to the Christian hymn, the Latin ode, the Saxon letter-rhymes^ to the old English poets, — an intense compression of learned matter. On February 14th, 1862, the editor of the National Revievj, who was then preparing a critique on the poems for its columns, wrote to ask William Barnes to become a contributor. He was at this time writing cilso for the Reader, at the solicitation of David Masson, who was editing that review, as well as Frasers. In July, 1863, the article on Coventry Patmore's poetry appeared in Frascr, and in September, a paper on the " Credi- bility of old Song History and Tradition," a subject which he handled thoroughly from Homer to the Welsh Bards. Whilst all these scientific writings were being thrown off here and there, the poet's mind was occupied by a new subject for his pen, a book on Marri(i(jc, whicii however, his faithful publisher. Russell Smith, refused to bring out, it not seeming hopeful. The Bridegroom's book was at last given to Mrs. Warren, editor of the Ladies Treasury, under the title of " A View of Christian Marriage," and was printed in the monthly parts of that magazine, during the year 1866. Besides taking up the subject on its Christian ground, it is treated exhaustively, both in its moral and historical aspect. 224 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. It was about this time that Stuart Mill's first work ou Utilitarianism, came out in Frascr. From the first Mill's views had roused the sj^irit of confutation iu William Barnes, so that he was quite ready to respond to the following letter from Mr. Tennant. " I send you a remarkable book lately published by John Stuart Mill, entitled Utilitarianism. He is the son of Mr. Mill, the Political Economist, and author of British India, with whom I was acquainted, and who imbibed his false philosophy from his old friend and next door neighbour in Queen Street, Westminster — Jeremy Bentham. I have lost sight of John Stuart Mill since he was a boy, but he follows his father as a political economist, and is called par excellence the ' Great Thinker ' and ' Master of Logic' " It is the more wonderful that he should have written such a book as this, and that such a doctrine should in these days have so many disciples." The answer to this letter has perished, but it seems to have pleased his colleague, who, after thanking him, adds, " You have tried him more directly by the rules of logic than I could pretend to do, but I think we agree in our resolve of refuting him. I confess I was surprised at some of his reasoning, and I think his conclusions false and extremely objectionable. If so, they ought to be answered, coming as from a person who is looked upon as an authority." There was a talk of a joint article, but the matter ended in both the friends writing refutations. Mr. Tennant's was published separately in 1864, and he did his utmost to get Barnes's article into one of the Quar- terlies, but in both the ground was preoccupied, and the XIII.] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 225 MS. remained in the author's drawer as one of the " handwrits not printed." The chief points in which he disagreed with Stuart Mill were that Mill makes the physical man almo.st an object of worship, quite for- getting the spiritual man ; also on his confusion between '•'Utility," "Pleasure," and "Happiness," all of Avliicli Barnes clearly defined and distijiguished from each other. Broadly stated, his distinction was that utility was a purely material good concerning the body only ; pleasure was good of body and mind ; while happiness reached still higher, including what was best for mind, body, and soul. During these few years (1863-4-5) the readings of the poems extended greatly, and were no longer confined to his own county. Mr. Barnes received and responded willingly to earnest invitations from Salisbury, Buck- land-Newton, Bristol, Christchurch, Trowbridge, Romsey, Ryde, Portsea, Yeovil, Lymington, Lyudhurst, and Marl- borough College, where he was invited, while on a visit to the Head Master, to read to the boys. At Wellington College, too, he was a guest of Dr. Benson, the Head Master, now Archbishop of Canterbury. All these readings, which were in every case gratuitous, were enjoyable to him, as he had congenial friends at nearly every town. One scarcely knows which he most en- joyed — a laugh over Dorset with his lively admirer, the Rev. E. Nares Henning, at Sherborne; an antiquarian talk with Mr. Colfox, at Bridport; a clerical chat with the Rector of Buckland; or a literary talk with Mr. Allingham at Lymington ; they were all in turn delight- ful to him. But he did not give all his readings to literary institutes. At Ryde it was the Young Men's Q 22G THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Christian Association which benefited by them ; at Poole the fund for the new Temperance Rooms. He was appealed to by philanthropic Mr. G. Ff. Ehot, who had opened at Weymouth a reading-room for the navvies employed on the railway, to come and help him sfive these rough men a little rational entertainment, which he did as willingly as he went to Wimborne to teach a budding working man's society what " co-operation " meant. Next the rectors of country parishes began to appeal to him for readings to their villagers in the parish schoolroom, and he read for the flock of his old friend, Rev. J, Dale, the naturalist, at Glanville- Wootton, and for Mr. Ravenhill, at Buckland, besides many others, and these country audiences were more sympathetic to him than the town ones. One of his favourite audiences was that which assembled in the militia barrack room, at times when the militia were called out. Mrs. Bingham, the Colonel's wife, was very earnest and energetic in giving the men good amuse- ments during this time, which might have been injurious to honest peasants, if spent in idleness. She opened a coffee and readincr room for them, and she often called on the Dorset Poet to give " her boys " an evening's entertainment. How they laughed and enjoyed the Dorset rhymes ! and what pictures the poems put before them of their rustic homes in the vale ! One night the applause reached its height when the reader propounded a riddle. " Tell me, my men, why is the Dorset militia like blue vinne'yd (veined) cheese ? " The rustics in uniform showed puzzled faces and could not tell. " Be- cause they'll stand vire (fire) and never run," said the lecturer, himself bursting into a laugh as hearty as the xiir] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 227 roar which greeted his joke against the uninelting moods of Dorset cheese. Another evening the meeting was wild with entlm- siasm on the reading of a poem written expressly for them, which if only as a tribute to the success of Mrs. Bingham's philanthropic efforts deserves quotation. Therefore I have chosen it as the poetical illustration of this chapter. In 1865 began William Barnes's connection with the Arclueological Institute, which in the summer of that year held its Congress in Dorchester. It may well be imagined that a man who knew all the British and Saxon history of liis count}^ and could put his finger on every ruin or cairn worth studying, was sure to come to the fore on such an occasion. He was unanimously chosen guide of the Society, and it was a pleasant thing to see him pointing out the bits of old Roman wall and British earthworks to a listening crowd, all pressing near to gather his words. He did not have it all his own way, liowcvcr, for tliere was, of course, the sceptical member, who would believe nothing, and the one idea'd member, who wanted to find in everything traces of Phoenician occupation in Britain, and the argumentative member, who knocked down by a flow of very hard words every assertion made by others. Many were the arguments the local antiquary allowed himself to be V>etrayed into by this fluent adversary, whose words were more overpowering than his logic. There were delightful excursions to distant spots in a long procession of carriages, and when the archiDological explanations W(/re over, tliere Avero luncheons in some old abbey (jr Tudor iiian(jr-house, and licre Ininioui' took 228 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. the place of dry learning in the speeches. The three most prominent for humour were a remarkable trio, the Bishop of Oxford (Wilberforce), Mr. J. H. Parker, and the Dorset Poet. A certain thunderstorm in Sherborne Park, Avhen the whole Society was imprisoned for an hour under an archway in Walter Raleigh's ruined castle, will long be remembered ; for the trio above mentioned kept them in fits of laughter the whole time by one funny story after another. The morning at Maiden Castle was a fatiguing one to many, as the carriages had to be kept at the foot of the earthworks, while the Poet led the members over the " vallum " and mound, and up the steep walls of turf at a rate more in accordance with his own eagerness than the strength of their lungs. One very enthusiastic lady was determined not to lose a word of wisdom from the mouth of the guide for the day, and she literally hung on to the skirts of his cassock as he clambered up the sides of the hills. Arrived at the top a vigorous discus- sion took place, Barnes holding Maiden Castle as a British work, and the argumentative and another mem- ber declaring that it was Roman. Barnes fled as usual to philology for help. " It's very name is Celtic," he said. " Mai dun, the stronghold by the plain, or with a plain top." Here he glanced round on the wide expanse of green turf which formed the summit of the earthwork. The Rev. H. Moule confirmed this by quoting an Irish friend's derivation of it from the Irish Magh dun, which meant the same thing. An interesting discovery was made of some subter- ranean huts — which are described in the following letter to Mr. Warne, who, "to the poet's regret, was XIII.] LTTEPvAPvY rRTEXDSTTIPS. 220 not able to attend the Congress, but sent his paper- to be read. Caaie Rectory, August lllJi, 18G5. Dear Mr. Warne, You will see in your !MS. that I have written a few of your words in my own hand, lest I should hitch in my public reading of it, as I did when alone, and mar its effect. Maiden Castle wants fifty pounds' worth of digging. ^Ir. Cunninoton has duij a little more in what we think hut-holes, two steined with rough stones, and aff(jrding in tlie soil, bits of rude and Roman pottery and tiles. ■Some man told him at the Congress that he thought the whole work Roman, So you must give up all your Celtic earthworks to the f/ens togata. What say you of the rough stone pitching ? Is that Roman ? If so, the tesselated pavement of Dorchester may be British or Phoenician ! But what if they find bits of Roman pottery ? Must the work then be Roman ? Is every pass in New Zealand an English work if English axes are found in it ? The man who took away the bases of tlic gate jambs was standing among us, and showed us where Iil' dug them out. He is a homely Dorset swain, whose word is as good as his affidavit. I liave yet to "))nll the torch" with you about Wareham. Long before Alfred and the Danes, Ware- ham was so called, and Wareham means tlie " mouiul, or fence inclosurc." It is said ef ISiytrie, " his lie lid uet Wareham" {Saxon ('hrdiiiclr. A D. 7^ i;. Therefore Ware- ham walls were U]) in liis time. I don't read Asscr as vou do. He speaks of the castellum ca/to/ Wareham ; 230 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. not at or in Wareliam, " walled with mounds was the castle." Castelhim, a stem from castra, meant an earthwork till stone castella were built in far later times. It was my design to give a preface to the reading of your paper, and to have blown you at least one blast of praise, but I was cut out. Yours very truly, W. Barnes. In September the Hon. Sec. of the Arch geological Institute wrote to beg permission to print in the journal of the Society, the paper read by William Barnes at the Congress, and which was thought especially im- portant as throwing light on many obscure place names- Another influential member, Mr. Thomas Purnell, wrote : — 19//t August, 1865. My dear Sir, I extremely regret I had to leave Dorchester without the pleasure and privilege of a chat with ypu, but hope at some future time I shall be so fortunate as to meet you again. I can assure you that I, like all who have spoken with me on the subject of the late " merry meeting" at Dorchester, carry away very pleasant recol- lections, not the least of which are your readings and courteous kindness during the week. I sent you the Welsh paper which I thought you might be pleased to see. The next day the editor printed your lecture. I XIII.] LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS. 231 am sure he would be glad to print a note with additional observations if you were to favour him with it. Believe me, &c., Thomas Purnell. To the Rev. W. Barnes, B.D. Extracts from Diary. Jan. 1\st, 1866. — The Hon. Mrs. Norton came here to lunch. Feb. ^th. — Sent my paper on " Tuscan Stornelli," to Masson, for Macniillans Magazine. Feb. 11th. — A furious storm. The top of an elm by the church tower was broken off and cast down on the tower, and it broke off some of the battlement stones ; they fell on the roof, which was much broken. (In spite of the bad weather, the rector, with his daughter, struggled across the park, a work of difficulty, they having often to hold on to each other, not to get carried away in the blast which made the trees crack. They waited in the empty church, but no congregation came, and on their return home they found that a tall fir tree in the shrubbery had been blown down, and lay across the rector}' lawn ; fortunately it fell free of the house itself. The church was newly roofed at the joint expense of parson and .squire, and on April 1st was embellished with an organ, given by Mr. William Miles Barnes, jun., who had developed a talent for amateur organ building.) ^f(|y 28///. — ])iiicd at the Rectory at Preston, and met Mr. Martin Tupper. June Idth. — Mr. Martin Tupper here. 232 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARXES. [chap. June 22nd. — In Dorchester, examining the boys at the Grammar School. June 2oth. — Examining Grammar School boys in French. The next event chronicled in the diary is a domestic one of a very gratifying kind. It runs : — Sept. 5th. — I met Mr. Vyvyan (the outgoing Rector of Monkton) in Herringston Lane, coming to our house with a letter from the Hon. Mrs. Strangways (Lord Ilchester, the patron of the living, being at that time a minor), telling him that she gave to William the living of Monkton. Her letter to young Mr. Barnes received the next day was a very graceful tribute to the father as well as the son. This appointment gave great pleasure to the Poet, who would now have his son near him for the remainder of his life, and this constant communication and mutual parochial assistance formed a great bond between them. On the day when the elder William Barnes took the district which led him nearest to Monkton, it was erene- rally his custom, as I have before said, to lunch at Her- ringston House, where a place was always ready for him, and then to go on to Monkton to dinner. This was kept up through a long series of years, while the little grandchildren, one by one, Avere added to the group of welcoming faces that ran out to the gate to " watch for grandpapa," and while the nmsic of babbling babies' voices which pleased him first, grew into the music of a trained choir and family orchestra, which was the delight of his old a remarks of these, " That they read like translations out of some original, and as though Mr. Barnes, which was very probably the case, had thought them out in Dorset, ana\e face its blossoms had dressed for her last sleep. In this floral nook the poet would place his basket-work seat, and with his eyes closed and face upturned into the sunlight, he would sit for an hour at a time, sometimes brooding poetry through the medium of visions, sometimes think- ing out a deep question of ethics or philosophy, or peidiaps puzzling out a new metre. His studies in metre were thorough and wide. No one reading his poems in their seeming simplicity would imagine that the art which created them was drawn from fountains of poetic lore in all ages and hands. Professor Palgrave remarks on this art of metre and rhythm in his masterly lecture on " William Barnes and his Poems," delivered at Ox- ford University, November 11th, 1886 (printed in the National JRcvictu for February, 1887), and quotes the rhythm and assonances of Woak JTill as a type of his peculiarly rhythmical style. The metre of Woah IliU Avas one of the poet's favourite forms, the distinguishing parts of it are not only the assonances Avliich i'rofessor Palgrave remarks, but the hidden rhymes in the refrain. The original of this metre is a Persian poetical form called the " jiearl," because the rhyincs form a continual ^ See Letter No. XII. Apiiondix, p. .'^K;. 248 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. string, like beads on a thread. I give a few verses, italicising the " pearls." WoAK Hill. Wlien sycamore trees wer a-spreaden Green-ruddy in hedges, Bezide the red donst o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill. I packed up my goods all a-sheenen Wi' long years of handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon To ride at Woak Hill. The brown thatchen roof o' the dwellen I then wer a-leaven, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Meary, My bride at Woak Hill. But now vor zome years her light vootfall 'S a-lost vrom the vlooren, Too soon vor my jay an' my children, She died at Woak Hill. But still I do think that in soul She do hover about us, To ho' vor her motherless children. Her pride at Woak Hill. Zoo lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her uncall'd at house-ridden, To hide at Woak Hill : I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippens All soundless to others. An' took lier wi' airreachen hand To my side at Woak Hill. XIV.] ENGLISH POEMS. 249 On the road I did look round, a-tulken To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the doorway, Miles loide vrom Woak Hill. That's why vo'k thought, vor a season My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely X-tried at Woak Hill. But no ; that my Meary mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill, Tlie Knoll (page 150, English Poems) is in the same metre. Another Persian metre much used by him was the ghazal. This is similar to the " pearl," having a rhyme followed by an assonance at the end of each verse, which in the ghazal is a couplet instead of a four- lined metre. Here is a specimen : — Green. Our zunimer way to church did wind about Tlie clilf, where ivy on the ledge wer green. Our zuinnier way to town did skirt the wood, Where sheenen leaves in tree an' hedge wer green. Our zummer way to milken in the mead Wer on by brook, where iluttren zedge wer green. Our hwomeward ways did all run into one Where moss upon the roofstwoue's edge wer green. Lowshot Light and Ilaiiiig Tlnif!^ in the English edition are also gltnuil poems. 250 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. There is anotlier uncommon metre which is a little altered from a Welsh Bardic measure, called the Eir a thoddaid, the long or melting measure. The peculiarity is in the rhyme to the penultimate line being in the middle of the last line instead of at the end. All the previous lines rhyme in the ordinary way. FelloivsMp {Poems of Rural Life in Common English, page 169) is a specimen. In Meldmi Hill the poet has taken still further license with this Bardic metre, by introducing the middle rhyme three times in the verse, instead of merely at the end. Meldon Hill. I took the road of dusty stone To walk alone by Meldon Hill, Along the knap with woody crown That slopes far doion by Meldon Hill, While sunlight overshot the copse Of underwood, with bro%m-twigg'd tops, By sky-belighted stream and pool, With eddies cool by Meldon Hill. And down below were many sijlits Of yellow lights by Meldon Hill, The trees above the brindled cotos, With budding houghs by Meldon Hill, And bridged roads and waterfalls, And house by house with sunny walls, And one, whence somebody may come To guide my home, from Meldon Hill. White and Blue (page 14, English edition) is a kind of rendering into Enghsh of the Hebrew thought- rhyming. The first two lines of the verses show this : — XIV.] ENGLISH POEMS. 251 "White and Blue. Mj'' love is of comely height and straight, And comely in all her ways and gait ; She shows in her face the rose's hue, And her lids on her eyes are white on blue. When Elemley club-men walked in May, And folk came in clusters every way, As soon as the sun dried up the dew, And clouds in the sky were white on blue. She came by the down with tripping walk, By daisies and shining banks of chalk, And brooks with the crowfoot flow'rs to strew, The sky -tinted water, white on blue. She nodded her head as played the band, •She tapped with her foot as she did stand, She danc'd in a reel, and wore all new A skirt with a jacket, white and blue. I single her out from thin and stout. From slender and stout I chose her out ; And what in the evening could I do But give her my breast-knot 1 — white and blue. Of the Anglo-Saxon alliterative poems we have already spoken in Chapter VT. Sometimes he tried some Italian metres, such as the rispdio and the terza rima. In fact, he drew the science of his art from all the sources his philology could open to him. But after all, the science was but the fashion of the outer garb of his verse. Its most precious quality was the love that produced it — the love of Nature and the love of humanity. In speaking of some verses by "Agrikler," an imitHtor wlio seemed to think tliat poems 252 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [ch. xiv. ill dialect (his was Somerset) must be either low or satirical, William Barnes one day said : " There is no art without love. Every artist who has produced any- thing worthy has had a love of his subject. The old artists, as Raphael and his school, had a true love of religion, and therefore painted true works of art in a religious spirit. A scorn of the subject produces satire, therefore satire, however clever, is no more true art than a caricature is an artistic painting." It was this love of his subject that gave him so much sympathy with his people as a priest. He did not study them merely as subjects for jDoems, though poetry was sug- gested by every cottage scene and rustic-life drama, but he entered into their lives and feelings, saw their sor- rows as they saw them, laughed in their joys as they laughed, for his heart remained to his old age simple as the heart of a child, though his head was stored with the lore of a sage. The English poems were not, commercially, so suc- cessful as the Dorset ones. Mr. Macmillan, in regretting this, writes that " he grieves at such an evidence that appreciation of fine, delicate, and truthful pastoral poetry is not more widely spread. Our heated time," he adds, " needs such refreshment." CHAPTER XV. PROUD OF HIS HOME. Up under the wood where tree tips sway All green, though by skyshine tinted gray ; Above the soft mead where waters glide Here narrow and swift, there slow and wide ; Up there is my house, with rose trimmed walls, By land that upslopes, and land that falls On over the mill, and uj) on the ridge Up on the ledge above the bridge. The wiml as it comes along the copse, Ts Iniid with the rustling trees' high tops, The wind from beyond the brook is cool, And sounds of the ever- whirling pool, Up there at my house, with well-trimmed thatch, And lowly-wall'd lawn and arched hatch Beside the tall trees wliere blackbirds sing, Over the rock and water spring. 254 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. And when from the north the wind blows cold, The trees are my screen a hundred fold, And wind that may blow from sonthern skies Through quivering lime trees softly sighs, And out in the west a tow'r stands gray, And hills on the eastward fade away From under the wood, above the mill, Over the stream, below the hill. As people along the road go by, They suddenly turn their heads awry. They slacken their canter to a trot With, " Oh ! what a pretty little spot." They take for their trot a walking pace With " Heigh ! what a charming little place." They lift up their hands with wond'ring look, With, " Lo ! what a lovely little nook." They see my laburnums' chains of gold, And pallid blue lilac flow'rs unfold ; They look at my fuchsias' hanging bells. And calceolarias' yellow shells. And cups of my lilies, white as snow. And pinks as they hang their blossoms low ; And then at my roses, fine and fair As ever have sweeten'd summer air. The foot-weary man that there may tread The road, with no place to lay his head, Will say, as he heaves his sighing breast, " How blest is the man in that sweet nest." 255 THE ANTIQUARY. 1869 TO 1877. "Dec. ord, 18G8. — I sent my copy of Uarly England and the Saxon Englisli, to J. R. Smith," writes W. Barnes in his diary. It was accepted on similar terms to the book on Britain and the Britons, and, wdth the same lack of pecuniary benefit to the author, was pubHshed in 1869. As a history of the Anglo-Saxons in England it is perhaps the most fundamental one known. Tracing both Angles and Saxons from their earlier sources, the author particularises their conquests in England, and traces the landmarks of their first settlements, which are now left in the form of dykes.^ The names o counties are traced to their Saxon roots, and a chrono- logical chapter gives an account of Saxon-English feuds. Tlie religion, laws, and social life, diess and customs are described very graphically. The latter part of the book is given especially to the Frisians, the " father-stock" of the English people. This part of the book — chiefly a reprint from a paper read before the Philological Society — brought the author into an ' See Letter VI. AiipciMlix I. 256 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. chap. interesting correspondence with a Dutch gentleman named Halbertsma, whose late father had been working on the same lines. He writes in June, 1873, thus : — My dear Sir, Having heard from your friend, Mr. Charles Warne, the great interest you take in the works of my lamented father concerning the Frisian language, I fulfil herewith a promise made to your friend, of sending you a copy of his optis postumum, which no doubt will claim your at- tention still more than his anterior publications, as he had himself proposed to show the great affinity that exists between the genuine English dialects and the Frisian, from which fact he would most probably have deduced another fact- — viz., that it was especially the Frisians who, at the time of the so-called Anglo-Saxon invasion peopled a part of England and Scotland. I hope you will accept of the book I offer you, and remain, Truly yours, T. J. Halbertsma. No better proof of the correctness of W. Barnes's inferences could be given than that a scholar in a different land had arrived independently at the same conclusion, especially as it is not easy to trace the many Teutonic tribes in their changes and emigrations. A second proof of the kinship of the English and Frisians was given when the gift of Herr Halbertsma was acknowledged by a present of the Dorset Poems. In thanking him for them the recipient says, " I imme- XV.] THE ANTIQUARY. 257 diately perused your poems with great pleasure, and became convinced that the Dorset dialect is a true daughter of the Saxon, by the fact that only now and then I had to take recourse to your useful glossary, as most of the words were almost familiar to me, by their resembling so much Friesic, Dutch, and Saxon words." The publication of Early England and the Saxon Ewjlisli led also to an invitation from Mr. Arthur Kinglake, — who was bringing out an important work entitled Somersetshire Worthies, — to furnish him with some sketches of King Alfred. This William Barnes did con amore, Alfred being one of the characters he had studied most deeply. In thanking the author for his " interesting Alfred sketches," Mr. Kinglake writes : " Your own thoughts of Alfred as a poet must be very interesting to you as a poet. I have his character now pretty well in hand from you. I must get some intelligent barrister to record it as a great lawgiver and jurist. Where can I get the little book Dialogues of JElfrie ahont Agrienlture 1 This seems to be very interesting." A very different course of studies induced William Barnes to make a new translation of the Psalms from a comparison of the Hebrew and the Septuagint. His object was to render them as literal and intelligible as possible, and at the same time to preserve the rhythm and " thought-matching " of the Hebrew poetry. His translation was very melodious, and one or two of his friends were so pleased that they thought this version ought to form part of the new translation of the Bible, then being made. ^Ir. Craig, rector of Dilamgcr-hcndi Insula, sent one of the Psalms, with the author's notes, to Bishop Wilberforce in February, 1S70, proposing s 258 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. that Mr. Barnes should be made a "corresponding member of the committee of revisal," and another friend wrote on the same subject to Dean Stanley, who promised to submit his version to the Old Testament revisers. The translation was judged by them to be very correct and scholarly, but as it did not enter into their views to entirely change the existing translation, it was not literally adopted, although a letter from one of the revisers, in thanking him for it, says that " in some instances we have already adopted a rendering which, though not in your own words, gives the sense you prefer. We are now at work upon Isaiah xvi., and shall be glad of any hints which you may have to give us." The Psalms did not seem to promise well as an investment to any publisher, and they remained in the poet's drawer as "hand-writ," which was his way of saying manuscript. In 1869 and 1870 the rector of Came had much pleasant intercourse with a new member of his con- gregation — Dean Close — who at intervals visited his daughter, Mrs. Prevost, then living at Came House. If the rector wished to have a holiday to visit his friends, the Dean — who playfully styled himself " curate of Came" — was always ready to take the duty at "our little church," as he called it. After one of these services he writes : — Came, Septeniler 6th, 1869. My deae Mr. Barnes, I plodded through all your duties yesterday with- out much terrible fatigue, and — barring a few additional nightmares, rather prospective than retrospective — I am none the worse to-day. I said a few words in favour XV.] THE ANTIQUARY. 259 of your offertory and school, and hope I did not do wrong. If I did your curate humbly asks pardon. I enclose a cheque as my first annual subscription to your school. Can I assist you in seeking a mistress for it ? I shall always take a deep interest in your pretty little parishes. Displeased with what I had prepared when I looked at the little flock at Whitcombe, I let off a purely extempore address on "We do not know which shall prosper — this or that." We leave for Carlisle to- morrow. With kind regards to your circle, Most truly yours, F. Close. It used to be a favourite stroll of the Dean's, to walk down to the Rectory and have a chat. Sometimes the two ecclesiastics would discuss the revision of the Bible, and other such grave topics : sometimes they merely let their humour run away with tliem, and peal after peal of laughter rang from the verandah-shaded windows of the Rectory. The following little note refers to one such Avitty meeting. Came, August 12 th. (The Murder of tlie Innocent Grouse. Dear Mu. Barnes, I find I have let a day drop out of my calendar. I purpose to go to Weymouth next Sunday, and to Swanage on the 31st, so the 24th of August intervenes, and on that day, therefore, I shall be hajipy to assist S 2 260 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. you at our little church. We had rather a merry meeting for grave parsons yesterday, but when I meet with wits, why you know the old axiom, " Action and reaction are equal, and in opposite directions." Believe me, etc., F. Close. About this time the diary contains many an entry " Scrivendo gli animali " (writing animals), which would seem rather enigmatical, were it not explained by a remark in a letter from his friend, Mr. Tennant, " What an extraordinary undertaking for you — a dic- tionary, and etymological too, of animals.^ I think you must be hard at work if you hope ever to get to the zebra. But surely that work ought to qualify you to make the animals talk appropriately." This last remark was a propos of some political fables which Mr. Tennant was writing ; one, called The Woods and Forests and the Monkeys, is quoted in this same letter, which also contains an urgent invitation for the poet to visit him in London, with a further request for a reading of poems there. He accepted, and the next letter runs as follows : — \bth June, 1870. My dear Mr. Barnes, We have fixed Friday the 25th for the reading, and have sent out a good many cards. I enclose one to convince you that you are caught, and Mrs. Tennant begs you to write the " Hon. Mrs. Norton" on the back, and send it to her, as she will be delighted to take the 1 This was never published — Messrs. Macmillan said it wanted amplification. XV.] THE ANTIQUARY. 2G1 opportunity of meeting you, and we of making lier acquaintance. We have asked Dawson Damer, and I am sure he will come if he can. Also Disraeli and other M.P.'s on both sides. The reading went off very successfully, the audience being supplied with printed words of the poems chosen, so as to be the better able to follow the sense of the Dorset dialect, and a delightful week was spent in London by the poet. At one dinner-party they met Lord Tennyson and the Bishop of Gloucester. Lady Leslie made a pleasant little dinner for him, and they went to a concert at Lady Ashburton's, where Titiens, Gardoni. and other celebrities sang. Some of his friends insisted on taking the poet to the studio of a fashionable artist-photographer to have his Hkeness taken, and a very successful portrait was the result. The friendship between Barnes and Mr. Tennant was cemented by this visit, and their correspondence on social and political questions was constant. Taxation, paper currency,^ the Irish question, and the franchise were all discussed between them, and if they did not always take precisely the same view of things, they gave due weight to each other's arguments. Telegram, W. Colfox to Rev. W. Barnes. Oct. 28th, 1870. "Mr.Moncure Conway, an American writer, is anxious to be introduced to you, and will call about half-past three." ' See Letters Nos. I., 11., ;uid 111. in Appenilix. Mr. Tcimant died, greatly regretted by his friend, in March, 1873. 262 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BAHNES. [chap. In this truly American style did an interesting visitor from the New World announce his coming. As he has published an account of it in Harpei^'s Magazine for January, 1874, he shall speak for himself and give his own impressions. After a long drive from Weymouth, and one or two mistakes in the cross-country roads, Mr. Conway and his driver " came to the region of deep and shady lanes again. As we passed one of these, the sharp report of a gun close to our horees' heads, fired by some sportsman from whom we were separated only by a hedge, startled us. It seemed dreadfully out of keeping with the peaceful solitude, and a most incongruous salute for our arrival the next moment at one of the loveliest country cottages that ever gave a poet a sacred solitude. Before it, the trees stood like friendly guard- ians of a scholar's seclusion ; on its doors climbed lovely roses, and into the windows the pendulous flowers peeped, as if each bore in its heart some secret it was commissioned to bear, from the sunbeam that wrote, to the eye that could read, the mystic cypher of their hues " But even the nestling tree-tops and flowers are forgotten when one enters the little drawing-room, with its unostentatious treasures of art and antiquity, still more when he meets the genial face of the gentle- man and scholar, whose thoughts are as beautiful, and his virtues as fragrant as his roses. Mr. Barnes has a face of the finest Saxon type, its natural strength filtered, so to say, and refined, through generations of pure and thoughtful life. His features are regular, his forehead high, broad, and serene, his mouth wears a kindly smile, and his snow-white hair and beard — the XV.] THE ANTIQUARY. 263 latter falling almost to his breast — form a fit frame for a countenance at once venerable and vivacious. He wears an antique Dorset gentleman's dress, with black silk stockings fastened at the knee with buckles, a costume decidedly quaint, and at first seeming to be the Episcopal costume. What most struck me about him was the look of spiritual and intellectual healthy and the expression of these in his soft blue eyes, and in his clear, flexible voice. I could not help feeling some surprise that he should be a clergyman, as the traits and tone of the literary man seemed to be so predominant in him." The poet and his guest appear to have talked much philology and folk-lore, of which there is a great deal in the poems. They spoke of the Wce2^cn Leady, the Beam in Grcnly Church, the witchcraft and fairy stories of the poet's youth, and the Haunted House, and then they got on the favourite subject of roots of words^ which lasted them the rest of the morning. After luncheon they walked into Dorchester, the American carrying with him, as a souvenir, a little book of unpublished poems ^ with the poet's photograph, one of which, Proud of His Home, we quote at the head of the chapter as a pendant to Mr, Conway's description of the Rectory. " Winterbourne Came is but a mile or two from Dorchester," says Mr. Conway, " to which city Mr. Barnes walked with me. He mentioned one or two Americans who had visited the neighbourhood in order to discover connections between Dorchester in America 1 The book was Yirinted by Mr. W. Miles Barnes at his parish press at MoiiJiton, in aid of \\U Schuul Fund. 264 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. and its ' mother town ' here. But few facts concerning the Dorchester adventurers, who, under the Rev. John White, so speedily followed the Plymouth pilgrims, can have esca.ped the keen eye of Dr. Palfrey. Mr. Barnes called my attention to the occasional recurrence of the name of C banning in the earlier annals of the town, remarking that the ancestors of the famous preacher went from Dorchester. One of the records concerning the Channings was of a very unhappy character. It was that in the great Roman amphitheatre, the most important of the town antiquities, a crowd of 10,000 people gathered in 1705 to witness the execution of Mary Channing, who was strangled and burned for poisoning her husband." The cqnnection between this Dorchester and her child-town in America had long been an interesting topic to William Barnes, who had more than once received visitors from thence, and discovered a good many names of families which were identical with the old stock, still existing here. He was much interested to find many Dorset words extant in the speech of the American colony. He held some correspondence on the same subject with another American writer, Mr. Daniel Ricketson, a poet, who began a correspondence with him in 1869, by a gift of his poems, The Autumn Sheaf, and continued it till Mr. Barnes's illness in 1884. Their letters were mostly on poetical subjects, often mutual descriptions of Nature in the Old and New Worlds, and the aforesaid Dorset colony was also a frequent topic.^ It was in the autumn of this year, 1870, a little before Mr. Conway's ^ See Letter No. II., Appendix. XV.] THE ANTIQI^ARY. 2G5 visit, that the Somerset Archaeological and Natural History Society met at Wincanton, on August 23rd, and three following days, during which William Barnes was the guest of Sir William Medlycott, at Venn House. The following letter gives some of his im- pressions : — Came Rectory, August 29th, 1870. My dear Mr. Warne, I thank you for your kind note, and hope that I shall soon ask you for a seat at your hearth, but I must not take a week just at once, as I spent the last week with the Somerset Archaeological Society, with whom I was kindly taken round by Sir William Medlycott. I did not forget your book. We visited Cadbury Camp and the Barrows (so wrongly called) at Milbourne Wick, by Milbourne Port, and I enjoyed very much the men and the sights On the war and warring powers I find that your opinions tally with my own, I shall ask Dorset men (in the newspaper) to form an Archjeological Society for this county. I feel ashamed for it with the Somerset club. One man said to me, " I suppose you have a Dorset Society ? " " No." " Tell it not in Gath," said he. I am, dear Mr. Warne, Yours very truly, W. Barnes. At this meeting a paper was read by him on " Somerset," which was printed in a pamphlet form by the society. His derivation of the name Somerset 266 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. from 80771, a root, meaning "softness," either in climate or from a situation near marshy or moist land, was productive of a great deal of discussion and corre- spondence. Mr, Price, an enthusiast on the point, made it a subject of much research, and found an innumer- able number of place-names all bearing the same meaning — being near rivers or marshes. A few of them are Sommervesle, the vale of Summerseat, Moor- som, Chatsom, Sompting, Somerton, and many others. The same society met again in October, 1874, when another pleasant visit was made to Venn, and a paper read at Sherborne, on " Ealdhelm, first Bishop of Sher- borne," and the meeting of the two churches — English and British — in Wessex. This early diocese of Sher- borne was formed by King Ina in 705 A.D., who finding the See of Winchester too wide, cut off the western end, from Selwood westward, and placed Ealdhelm, a kinsman of his own, as its bishop. Ealdhelm was a great writer in prose and in verse. Bede says his style was clear, and his verse was even clearer than his prose. He wrote Latin hexameters as freely as Saxon. The proof of the manner in which the Saxons and British for a long time kept their churches separate — each having their own place of worship in different parts of the same town — is very interesting. In 1871 the British Archseological Asso- ciation held their congress at Weymouth, when the Dorset poet was again the guest of Sir William Medly- cott, and read a paper on " The Origin of the Hundred and Tithing of English Law," which was afterwards printed in the transactions of that society. He thus writes his account of the week to Mr. XV.] THE ANTIQUARY. 267 Warne, who had unfortunately been prevented from attending : — Came Eectory, September 22)id, 1871. My dear Mr. Warne, Oh, yes \ You kindly thanked me for my small service anent the cromlech.^ I was glad that I could send you a sunprint [photograph] rather than a drawing, as it might have been said that I had wilfully misdrawn it out of ill-will to the restorers. I think the men of this congress have been ear- nestly working ones, and that they have brought out some good bits of history and knowledge. The Times bruised his own knuckles against the truth, in hinting that the association sponged on country houses, for they did not take or seek one free lunch in the whole week. I am very sorry for poor Dr. Smart, and should have enjoyed the week still more if you and he had been among us. Mr. went off his own ground, architecture, and handled what such men as Mr. Bond and Plancho with the Celtic antiquaries understood better than he himself. I with others laughed at Mr. 's theory of the work of the Roman mcnsores, but I like the man, who I believe is thoroughly good, albeit he is a seventh day saint. He is a most wonderful reader of old writings in abbreviated Latin, or queerly written old English, etc. While wo are speaking of Barnes as an antiquary, ' A cromlecli at Portisham, visited by the association, aud which had been restored. 268 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. we may as well anticipate a little, and say that the " Dorset Field Club," which he wished to see in his county, was not long in being established, and many a pleasant day did he pass with it in the following years. At one period of their meetings a cromlech was opened at Fuzbury, under the superintendence of Mr. Cunnington. Within it the excavators found some skeletons, lying east to west, but no pottery, arms, or coins. Some members thought the bodies were those of the slain in some tribal feud ; but Barnes's opinion was that a barrow did not contain the bones of ordinary people, but of the j^enteulu, or father of a household or kindred (chief, in fact). He sat on the barrow surrounded by people, and gave his account of cromlechs and barrows, of British burial, wars, and history, concluding : " The very early lifetime of those who were buried in this barrow is betokened by the burials in it. They could not have been Britons of Caesar's time, who were of the iron age, and so lived long after that of stone cutlery. The barrow shows no tokens of cremation, nor of the use of bronze tools, nor even of the grinding of stonen edge tools, but leaves only the tokens of the earlier life of the stone chip- pers, and between that form of life, while the Britons were coming slowly through the later ones, to the tribes of Cassibelaunus, with their war chariots and other carriages, and triad laws, and a school of poetry and music, we can hardly reckon a time less than a thousand years," (Mr, Barnes was loudly cheered as he finished his remarks.) At another meeting William Barnes read a paper on XV.] THE AXTIQU.ARy. 2G9 " King Athelstan, the Founder of Milton Abbey," which he had compiled from the Saxon Chronicle, Ethelward's Chronicle, Caradoc Llancarven's Hidory of Wales, and MacCullum's Ancient Scots. He disproved the legend that Athelstan founded the abbey as an atonement for the murder of his brother Edwin, and also the assertion that he was the person who had the Bible or Gospels translated into Saxon, for the Saxon version is clearly of an earlier time than his. The Roman and British roads had long been his favourite study, and with the help of the A^itonine Itinerary, the British Chronicles or " Bruts," and his own philological studies in the names of places, he had succeeded in making a complete map of the great roads. He found that these were in ancient times the Ermyn Street and the Akerman Street, both British roads ; the Watling Street, a road through dense forests, which led to the north-western haven, whence ships departed for Ireland ; and the Urhcn-ichl of East Anglia, or the Via Iceniana, the road of the Iceni, whose way lies by so many barrows that it has been styled the Appian way of Britain.^ The chief fact proved by these studies of roads is, that the Britons Avere great roadmakers before the Romans came, and that the Romans frequently made use of the roads already existing, rather than make new ones for themselves. The third meeting of the Dorset Natural History and Archffiological Field Club was held at Shaftesbury, and although the Dorset poet coidd not take his place as cicerone in person, he sent in a paper on the " History of Shaftesbury," which was read before the meeting by 1 See Letter \'1 1 1., Appt'iulix I. 270 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES, [chap. xv. Professor Buckman, and furnished subject for discussion during the whole day. There was not a place in the county of which he could not give a history, nor a name which was not suggestive and pregnant with meaning in his hands ; not an archaeological query was put to him that he had not an answer ready to give to it, and nowhere was the quaint familiar figure more missed than when it ceased to be the peripatetic philosopher of the Dorset Field Club. CHAPTER XYI. WALK AND TALK. Come up the grove, where softly blow The winds, o'er dust, and not with snow, A-sighing through the leafless thorn, But not o'er flow'rs or eary corn. Though still the walk is in the lew Beside the gapless hedge of yew. And wind-proof ivy, lianging thick On oaks beside the tawny rick, And let us talk an hour away. While softly sinks the dying day. Now few at evening are the sounds Of life, on roads or moon-paled grounds ; So low be here our friendly words. While still'd around are men and birds, Nor startle we the night that dims The world to men of weary limbs; 272 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. But let us tell, in voices low Our little tales, lest wind may blow Their flying sounds too far away, To ears yet out, as ends the day. For what we tell and what we own Are ours, and dear to us alone, Past J037-S, so sweet in after thought, And hopes that yet may come to naught ; But wherefore should we not look on To happy days till all are gone ? For if the day, so fair in dreams. Should come less fair than now it seems, Yet while a foreseen day seems gay We have at once that happy day. 273 AUTUI^IX DAYS. 1875-1877. The calm autumn days of the poet's life glided on at this period in a busy and pleasant routine of parish and literary work, only broken by visits to this and that country house, where he was generally the life of the party, and by attending Field Club meetings, where he walked like any youthful member. The winters were still much occupied in the gratuitous lectures at the literary institutions, which had extended all over Hamp- shire, Wilts, Dorset, and Somerset. For the purpose of giving a little useful knowledge or even a little whole- some pleasure to others, no trouble or fatigue on his own part was thought too much. As for the activity of his mind, the following extracts from his diary show how many subjects occu- pied him : — " Jan. 5th, 1875. Began to write Spcechcrafiy " March (several days). Writing verses." "March 31st. Writing The Bcaidiful." " April 3rd. Began to write on the local names of plants." (This was probably suggested by a letter from the president of a scientific society, who wrote to ask T 274 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. what especial flower was called "greggles" or "grey- gles," in Dorset, the name having been given to both the wild hyacinth and the red lychnis in different counties.) "Tuesday, April 13th. Writing on the Bible" (for the Committee of Revision, of which he was a corre- sponding member). " Thursday, April 29th. Writing Persian." " June 7th. Wrote on ' Elementary Schools.' " " June 14th and loth. Wrote on 'Norman Words in English.' " " June 16th. Writing notes on my life for the Ctnvcr- sations Dictionary being published at Leipzig." " July 23rd. Began to write on ' Feudal Laws.' " In this varied manner his busy hand and brain were always employed. The S'pccchcraft, which had been laid aside in 1875, was taken up again on January 8th, 1878, in alternation with Shidies of the Eoman Eoads. In April of that year it was finished, and published immediately by Messrs. Kegan Paul, who sent the author some early copies on May 22nd. His young friend and disciple, Mr. Truman, had been very ener- getic in obtaining subscriptions of names of purchasers to ensure success to the work. In Speechcraft, which the " fore-say " (preface) an- nounces as "a small trial towards the upholding of our own strong old Anglo-Saxon speech, and the ready teaching of it to purely English minds by their own tongue," the anglicising of William Barnes's speech reaches its climax. He boldly puts away all derived or foreignised words, and substitutes Saxon ones, or words XVI.] AUTUMN DAYS. 275 formed by himself from Saxon roots, in their place. Vowels are designated as "free-breathings"; consonants " breath-pennings"; nouns are "tiling names"; the classification of nouns, "thing sundriness"; adjectives are defined as "suchness," and their comparisons as " pitches of suchness " ; while verbs are " time words " ; and syntax becomes "thouglit wording." A kind of glossary of Latinised words put into true EngHsh is very curious and suggestive ; we will give a few of the most apt definitions : — Absorb, forsoak Conjunction, a link-word Accelerate, to onquicken Democracy, folkdom Accent, word-strain Depletion, unfullening Acoustics, sound-lore Deteriorate, worsen Aeronaut, air-farer Emporium, warestore Alienate, to unfrienden Enthesis, an insetting Ancestor, fore-elder Equilibrium, weight-evenness Aphorisms, thought-cullings Equivalent, worth-evenness Bibulous, foaksome Foliate, leafen Botany, wort-lore Initial, wordhead The book certainly shows that it is possible to keep language pure ; but the hope tliat our mongrel English will ever by any national effort be purged from the foreign words which now form nearly half the language of general use, is the dream of an enthusiast. Tlie tendency nf modern languages seems, like that "of the pure mountain bro(dc, to be swollen with tributary streams which become incorporated in it, till no power can divide the different waters. SpecrJicraft was one of William Barnes's favourite mind-children. He writes of it to one of his daugliters in Florence : — T 2 276 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. "Came Rectory, August 30th, 1878. " My dearest J., " I am glad you like my little book. Our speech will go to wreck if the half-learned writers for the press follow their own way. Hitherto no weekly or monthly but the Athenceum has given a word on the Spceclwraft. The Atlienmum thinks I am an enthusiast, but that my book will do good, as it teaches many overlooked (I say little known) points of speechlore. I hope God will send you to me in the spring. I am happy to find that the children are well, and gaining good strength and hardihood on the hills." As early as 1874 Mr. Russell Smith had announced that the first two editions of the Dorset poems were exhausted, and recommended the author to publish the whole in a collected form, kindly promising to cede his interest in the third series still remaining on hand, at the cost price of the books. That a new edition was desirable may be gathered from the immense number of letters addressed to the author from strangers desiring to know where the books could be obtained, and the multitudinous regrets that all efforts to obtain them resulted in the answer, " Out of print." One or two publishers made offers for the publication of the book, but no terms were agreed on with any till 1878, when Mr. Kegan Paul published his edition in a size uniform with the collected works of Tennyson. This again brought scores of enthusiastic critiques and letters, but nothing more substantial. If Barnes's name should live as an English poet, his fame certainly XVI.] AUTUMN DAYS. 277 added little or nothing to his worldly wealth during life. He expresses his own feeling atout this in a letter to his daughters : — " Came Eectory. "Dearest J. and L., " I send you each a flower petal and leaf or two, with my kisses, and have given Dolly, for dear L., some letters for her book of autographs. I am glad for Dolly's sake that she will have the great pleasure of a stay with you in Florence, but I feel on my side that the house is becoming sadly empty of children. I am working on as usual in the parish and my study, though with no markworthy fruit of good. I win more fame than worldly gain ; but I do not write down to the low taste which craves bad sensation. We are begin- ning here our great fight for Church and State, which we think in peril from Gladstone's attack on the Church in Ireland." In one of his notebooks is the entry : " My writings are not of such a kind as may sell quickly, and there- fore it would not be a wonder that the many tilings which I have in manuscript sliould never find a pub- lisher." Regarding the poems, he wrote : " As to my Dorset poems and others, I wrote them so to say as if I could not help it. The writing of them was not work, but like the playing of music — the refreshment of the miud from care or irksomencss. They were almost all printed from time to time in the Dorset County Chronicle, and I did not look, as I sent tlicm to the press, to their going beyond the west of England." So he sang from 278 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BAHNES. [chap. simple insjDiration, without a thought of either fame or gain. Among the results of this republication of the poems may be mentioned some of the literary acquaintance of his later days. One of his greatest appreciators, Pro- fessor Palgrave, Lecturer on Poetry at the University of Oxford, made one or two visits to Came, and Mr. Edmund Gosse was brought over to make the personal acquaintance of the poet by Mr. Thomas Hardy, who was building a house for himself near the Rectory, and often visited at Came. Many a talk and laugh did the Dorset poet and novelist have over old Dorset chai'acters and bygone phrases of country life. Among these William Barnes might recall the honest old Vale farmer, who, seeing his neighbour's daughters going to their music lessons, said to him : " Goin' to spank the grand planner at milking time ! That'll come to sum- mat — that will." And it did indeed come to something, for they became bankrupt. Then there was the boy at school who " scrope out the 'p' in psalm," and when asked by his master for a reason, replied, " 'Cos he didn't spell nothen." Another day he would be reminded of a m.an with whom he had once made a joke about a donkey, and when the same man met him some time after, he said, referring to the story, " I do never see a donkey, sir, but what I do think o' you." Another visitor was J. S. Udal, Esq., a barrister, who used to find time for a visit to the Rectory as often as his duties on circuit brought him near Came. Mr. Udal was of some assistance to the Dorset poet in -sending him new words for the Glossary, which was XVI.] AUTUMN DAYS. 279 always enlarging itself under liis hand, and he returned the service by collecting legends and superstitions for Mr. Udal's contemplated work on the Folk-lore of Dorsetshire, for which, nearly ten years later, Barnes, at his request, wrote an introduction. Folk-lore was to him one of the most interesting subjects of investi- gation, and a long letter from an American corre- spondent, dated Yarmouth, Port Mass., February 2nd, 1874, proves how far he had gone in studying it in its historical and international aspect. The American — Mr. Amos Otis — gives him a most interesting com- parison of the " folk-games " of the country people in Massachusetts with those of Dorset, proving them to be so similar as to add evidence to the connection between the American and English Dorchesters. There are the "Quaker dance," "Thread the Needle," "Queen Anne," and others, of which the words are nearly identical in both countries. It gave William Barnes great regret that these old games are dying out, for he found them of much value in the international study of Folk-lore, Barnes did not by any means confine his researches in lanfjuages to the Teuton and Saxon. In a letter to one of his daughters, dated December, 1877, he said : " I am sure you like to know what I am doing in matters of lore. I have sought, and feel sure I liave found, the cause of a phenomenon in Celtic speech,^ and find that the Professor of Celtic at Oxford (Professor Khys) has been at work on the same problem, and reached the same outcome. He has now seen my paper, and I have seen his, and in his letter to me he sets me on a level ' This waH a key to tlio wonl-mouliling, peculiarity of Celtic. Zeuss, a German, had also an insight into it. 280 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. with himself. He says: 'It is so much in favour of those views, I think, that two men working indepen- dently should have elaborated them.' It gives a useful key to Celtic speech, as Welsh, British, and others. He asks me to continue my Celtic studies." In answer to a question from this daughter, he wrote a long letter on the Runic characters, and their peculiarly angular shape, so suitable for cutting with a knife on the four-sided rods. To another, who was at the time much interested in Etruscan antiquities and languages, he shows himself nearly as deeply versed in Etruscan lore as he was in British and Saxon — evolving the name " Tosca " or •' Hetrusca " from its earliest roots, and going into their history and origin. He says : " You are ahead of me with your historian Xanthus. I do not know of him. Where have you read of his works ? As Herodotus is called the Father, we might call him the Grandfather of History. Hero- dotus is very trustworthy on what he tells you of his own knowledge, and his formerly so-thought fibs are found, on our wider knowledge of the world, to be true. He said that in India wool grew on trees, and he was thought very naughty for speaking thus of what we call cotton." The letter then goes on to quote Strabo, Herodotus, and Dionysius, &c., as to the origin of the Etruscans. A further correspondence led to his being suppHed with Sardinian books, for he thought it might help him to discover the key to that mysterious lan- guage (the Etruscan), which Niebuhr said " he would give forty years of life to find." In January 1875, he wrote: "I have not yet had xvi] AUTUMN DAYS. 281 much time to work on the Sardinian speech-form with Etruscan. I suppose that tlie Sardinian shapes of words, as they differ by Grimm's Law from the Latin ones, might have been owing to the taking of Latin on the speech-laws of another tongue, and that if that tongue were Etruscan, then, since for one case the Sardinian had ' Vaddi ' for ' Valhs,' ' d ' for ' ],' so would I see if, by turning the ' d ' of Etruscan into ' 1,' I could find Etruscan words to have been akin to Latin ones. But, alas ! it seems to me at the outset that ' d ' is not at all common in Etruscan. Why, your collection is becominor one of the lions of Florence, when wise men come from north as well as west to see it." In March of the same year he had given up this clue as a false one, and wrote : " Tell T., with my love, that I hope he will not take any more trouble about the Sardinian Grammar. I see the shape of the Sardinian speech, as far as it is an offshoot of the Latin, and do not find in it any clue to the Etruscan. I think that Mr. Taylor is not quite on the true grounds, although he has shown some clever thoughts.^ The two versions of an inscription, as it was lately read by two men, were about as much alike as the first verse of " God Save the Queen " is to that of the Old Hundredth Psalm. I have thought that the Etruscan might be of kindred to the Coptic, but I have not tried it by some Coptic that I have. I do not believe that the words of the inscription you send are mostly at full Icngtli. Do write an essay on ' Etruscan Golilsiniihing,' as T. has so good a gathering of their work," &c. ^ Isaac Taylor's theory was that the Etruscans were a branch of the Ugric or Tartar (nomadic) race. 282 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. But neither did the Coptic prove to be the key, and the mystery of ages is still locked up. I believe the Etruscan is the only philological puzzle wWch has entiraly baffled William Barnes's mind, and the wish he expressed, " I should like to push back the veil from over the face of that venerable matron, the Lingua Etrusca," remained unfulfilled to him, as it had been to Micah, Lanzi, Niebuhr, and others before him. I give the remainder of the same letter, though on a totally different subject, for the advice he gives his correspon- dent is such a good illustration of his own feeling and practice in writing : — " Try your hand on the 'Essay on Education of Women.' Don't be careful to make it either long or short, but when you have good matter in your mind, pour it forth. Put no padding to lengthen it. There is no life in padding, as you know by men or women who eke out their shapes by cotton or wool. "Do not begin with the thought, either, that the minds of the man and woman are of the same cast, or that one is higher than the other ; neither is the higher, but they differ that each may be the best for its mission, and each has that which the other lacks, and both make together the one full mind of mankind. " Thank Tom for the newspapers. The opening of the sarcophagus of the Medici was very interesting; but why was it needful to handle and undo what was left of the bodies ? Is the simple weight of the brain a sure measure of a man's power of mind ? Is not ' siichness ' as well as ' muchness,' of some weight ? Is a pound and a half of coarse brain a mark of higher mind than a pound of very fine heading ? Is a bull or a donkey more clever than Dolly's doggie Cara ? XVI.] AUTUMN DAYS. 283 " AVe liave had much sickness in the house. Mary, our cook, has been hovering between life and death, but is now better. On Sunday week we had a funny chain of little mishaps — " 1. We were teased with some of the bolder of rats. " 2. Had poison for them in the cellar. " 3. Mary was ill and went not into the cellar. " 4. The rats began to gnaw some haras. " 5. George went down to fetch them up. " 6. The dog went down with him and began to eat the rat poison. "7. Dolly had to go off to church, leaving the dog as he was. "8. I Avas fearful that she would play wrong, from a wandering of mind to the dog. " But the dog is unharmed, while we have still rats for many cats." This same dog was one of the poet's constant com- panions, and well did the two understand each other, " Cara " accompanied him in all his country walks, and lay curled up at his feet Avhen he sat dreaming under the shadows in his corner by the hop vine. As soon as the master appeared with his hat and walking-stick, Cara would dance round in an ecstasy of delight ; but if lie said with a shake of the licad, " You cannot come to-day, Cara," then, after begging a little in vain, the dog would lie down on the })ath, and with a crestfallen, wistful I'Kjk, watch Ins master go slowly up the avenue till the gate clanged. It was gieat fun to see the poet and the dog playing at " liido and seek " for stones, and how he would exclaim laughingly, "Ah ! you are cold, 284 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. Cara," or " Now you have it ! " with all the glee of a child. When that game was over, the one player would go back to his philology, and the other to bask in the sunshine, in some corner of the lawn. He used to say, " Why do we sometimes call a worth- less fellow a dog ? The fidelity, long-suffering, and love of dogs is so great that we cannot give the name to a false friend without doing him too much honour." Cara was the original of the poem which begins : — "The Dog wi' Me. Aye then as I did straggle out To your house, oh I how glad the dog Wi' lowset nose did nimbly jog Along my path, an' hunt about, An' his main pleasure wer' to run Along by boughs, or timbered brows ; An' ended where my own begun At your wold door and stwonen floor." No one enjoyed more the society of the young than WiUiam Barnes did. There were generally some girl friends of his daughters staying at the Rectory, and for them he kept his most delightful table-talk and prettiest old-world homage. He used to bring little posies from his garden to put on their plates at breakfast time ; and proud was the girl who got one of his favourite large yellow oxlips — that was a special mark of favour. His presence was never the bar to the lightest girlish merriment. Once a laughing maiden said, " I fear you must think we talk a great deal of nonsense, Mr. Barnes." " Oh, we don't want a lark to roar like a lion. Prattle XVI.1 AUTUMN DAYS. 285 — prattle — I like to hear you," he replied in his quaint way. He used to give these young friends pet names. One was " The lady with the flaxen locks," and on her wedding day he wrote her a pretty epigram in verse. A tall and graceful girl was named the " Gliding cypress ; " another who was gay and light-hearted he called "Hearts- ease." One of his favourites appeared one day with a scarlet flower on her fair head, and to her he wrote the little poem, Lizzie (p. 405, collected edition). In the book of another he wrote : — " May all your early friends be ever true ones ; And if you lose Some friends you choose, ]May then your Saviour Friend still find you new ones." A girl who once asked for his name in her birth-day book found this written under it : — " Oh ! may those eyes for which is written here My name, be aye unwetted by a tear." The girl artists who competed for the School of Art prizes in Dorchester, where he was sometimes elected as judge, asked him for mottoes for their works for compe- tition. Some of these are perfect aphorisms : — "A stern will wiiiiicth still ; " " Good work, though crossed, is seldom lost ; " " Coiiari non est coronnri " (To try is not to be crowned). "Hoc opu^i inriplentls, (lirasnc insi- pientis" (This work (jf a beginner do not call it that of a silly body) ; "This year's worst may be another's first ; " " For one slight falling, take not to crawling." An artistic friend of Miss Barnes, whom he named 28G THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. " The light of the house," has oriven her memories of one of her visits to Came, during which she made a charming outline sketch of the Rector : — " My visit to Came in August 1876 is one of my dearest memories — a poem a fortnight long, of which each day was a beautiful stanza. " First the morning prayers, when the priest- master read matins from a high lectern almost as if in church ; the bright breakfast, at which he ate porridge and milk ; and then the exact half-hour's walk round the garden. He wore a sort of tunic of brown fustian with a large worsted girdle, knee breeches, black stockings, shoes and buckles, and a felt hat that had peaked itself in front. When I saw him in this home-dress, I was always re- minded of an Italian figure of mediaeval times. The walk round the garden after breakfast was a delightful very short half-hour. He always went first to a leaden bath for bleaching old engravings, which stood in a corner under the trees, where one or two rare prints were under- going restoration of some kind ; and I think his last visit at night and his first in the mornincr were to these loves of his. Then round the grass plot and flower beds, talking of bird, leaf, and flower ; and of everything we talked he had something lovely to say, showing the poetry and the use of things, with sometimes a little antiquarian lore. " He spoke always in pure English, with a beautiful simplicity and correctness, and never used an inappro- priate term ; indeed, it was one of his small daily troubles that people generally do not speak in truer terms, and specially that they use words of foreign orio-in or foreign words themselves, and he used to XVI.] AUTUMN DAYS. 287 laugh in an amnsed, gentle way at many a popular misnomer. When the half-hour's walk was done, he went up to work in his ' den ' — which really did look something like a cave — a cave of books, all old, all rather ghostly-looking, in their curious dusty bindings of calf and vellum. It was very touching to see him handle them; each one had been a sort of friend, helper, or teacher to him, and he held them with a reverent tenderness that was extremely pretty to see. A large piece of old tapestry hung on one side of the room, and this he prized very much ; his writing-table stood near the one window, which looked over the fields. Here he wrote, and here, as he himself put it, had ' his visions.' The ' den,' the garden, the whole place, in its loveliness, was so far removed from all thought of what we call the world, that one hardly wonders to hear now that, largely sold as the Rural Poems have been in America and in England, he never gained as yet six pounds of money a year by them. " After the pleasant mid-day meal, he went back to his study, and generally worked till tea-time ; he was engaged in writing a grammar (I think it was the Grammar of the Awjlo-Saxon Language) Avhen I was there, as well as poems. "After the tea came the crowning hour of the day. ' In the cool of the evening ' we had chairs under the verandali, and sat nearly facing the west, seeing the sunset through the slender beeches. Hero we sat and listened to him, or conversed together of a hundred things, from sunbeams to dewdrops, angels to men, he adding some ancient story to everything. All was so simply said, with now and then a curious little 288 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES, [chap. xvi. ejaculatory query peculiar to him, just a sound, ques- tioning our sympathy and understanding. • "At the eveniugmeal the Welsh bards often presided, and very delightful presidents they were ! The dear Dorset bard sometimes gave us a triad, which he dealt out to us with great enjoyment, explaining to us the darker sayings. Here is one of them : ' There are three kinds of men — The man of God, who gives good for evil ; the man of the world, who gives good for good and evil for evil ; and the man of the devil, who gives evil for good.' " Walks with hira were always full of interest. We were walking once round what to commonplace people would have been a very prosy field, but in his hands the field became all poetry. He told me the English poeti- cal names of all the weeds and grasses, pointing out why they were named so — as, for instance, the ' Shepherd's purse,' which is like the shape of the purses worn at the girdle in olden days. " He had a handsome presence and was a brave gentleman. He did many things in his gentlehood that a man of the world would never think of doing. I remember he would not allow the gate to be shut when I left." CHAPTER XVII. CHILDERN'S CHILDERN. Oh ! if my lin'gren life should run Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten, Below the never tiren zun Till beiibes ageiin be wives and men ; And stillest deafness should ha' bound My ears, at last, from ev'ry sound ; Though still my eyes in that sweet light. Should have the zight o' sky an' ground ; Would then my steiite In time so leiite Be jay or pain, be pain or jay ? Wlion Zunday then, a-wcanen dim As tliciise that now's a-clwosen still, Mid lose the zun's down-zinken rim In light behind the vier-bound hill ; U 290 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. And when the hells' last peal's a-rung, An' I mid see the wold an' young A-vlocken hy, but should en hear, However near, a voot or tongue. Mid zuch a zight In that soft light, Be jay or pain, be pain or jay ? If I should zee, among 'em all In merry youth a-glid^n by. My son's bwold son, a-grown man-tall, Or daughter's daughter, woman-high, An' she mid smile wi' your good feiice, Or she mid walk your comely peace But seem, although a-chatten loud. So dumb's a cloud, in that bright pleace, Would youth so feair A-passen there, Be jay or pain, be pain or jay ? 'Tis seldom strangth or comeliness Do leave us lang. The house do show Men's sons wi' mwore, as they ha' less. An daughters brisk, vor mothers slow. At dawn do clear the night's dim sky, Woone star do sink, an' woone go high. An' loven gifts o' youth do vail Vrom girt to small, but never die ; An' should I view What God mid do Wi' jay or pain, wi' pain or jay ? I 201 THE GRANDFATHER. 1880 to 1884. In the eightieth year of William Barnes's life his book named Redecraft was published by Messrs. Kegan Paul and Co. in a style uniform with S'pccchcraft. Rede- craft means neither more nor less than the art of reasoning, or " logic " ; rede being an old English word for reasoning. The matter of the book is very valuable, and it forms a clear handbook to the art of logic ; but unfortunately for its popularity, the aiming at extreme anglicising of style had led the author to almost coin a new vocabulary of logical terms, which to the general reader require as much to be learnt as the usual Latin terms. " Kind " from " /aw," is, it is true, a very good substitute for "genus," as "hue,'' or "maJce," may be for " species," and " odds" for "differentia"; but when we come to "selfliness" and " li.i| illness" instead of " irro'priitiii" and " accidens," it rocjuires a certain effort of the mind to realise how appropriate they are. A "pr()])()sition " is defined as "thought putting"; a "syllogism" as a " tlu'ce-stepped redeship." The " syllogism " is illustrated in every possible inversion of U 2 292 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. its three " steps." Here is the first shape : " Where the middle step's end, is head-end in the first step, and latter end in the middle one," as — Every breathsome being is lifely, Every man is a breathsome being. Every man is lifely. The great use of the word-ending " some " is ac- counted for by the author as being more expressive than any other term. Some people have said to him, " Why could you not say a ' barking ' dog instead of ' barksome ' ? " But the words are not synonymous. " Some " from the Saxon " sam" means a set or class of things, and to say " All dogs are barksome," — meaning the species which can bark — is not the same as saying " All dogs are barking," — i.e., in the act of barking. Thus the ending " some " becomes of great use in logic, as helping to discriminate between the power of action and the act. A " dilemma " is aptly put as a " two-horned rede- ship," and " induction " as "law-tracking." Once realised, the expressiveness of Saxon-English and Logic, under Barnes's explanation, becomes quite simple. Of " flaws " (fallacies) he says : " A flaw or an unsoundness in redecraft is a thought-putting which is unsound or cheatsome, or guilesome." Twelve classes of flaws are distinguished. There are some words, however, which have quite baflled the translator's power to find Saxon-English equivalents for ; these are " civilisation," " river," &c., in distinction to " stream," " brook," " beck," &c., and " public " in the loose manner it is applied now. After 1 xvri.] THE GRANDFATHER. 293 the publication of Rcdccraft, nearly all William Barnes's literary energies ucre given to " Speechlore," as he called Philology. These days, when a hale and hearty old age had as yet done nothing but tvirn his hair and beard to a venerable silver hue, were very happy days in the Kectory, Home's a Nest. 0, home is a nest by the spring "Where children may grow to take wing. From that nest many of the children had flown long years ago, and now the younger birds sometimes flew to the old nest of their parents, from far and near, and again the poet heard merry young voices ringing about the shrubberies. The days of his Herringston district still ended in the walk to Monkton, where, instead of tiny mites, tall maidens came running out to welcome grandfather and lead him in, and sit nestling beside him to hear his last quaint speech or humorous anecdote. After dinner the violin and 'cello were brought out, and the last new trio played to him ; then the harmonies of the piano and American organ would be added for an overture or symphony. Amongst his favourite concerted pieces were Mendelssohn's Lohjcsang symphony, and the nocturne from the Midsummer Nighfs Dream ; but after even these he would ask for Handel's Largo, and sit listening to it with closed eyes, till the majestic peace that rings in it, seemed to grow into his soul, and he would get up and begin his walk home across the 294 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. quiet parks with the happiest of faces. A well har- monised melody or calm andante always pleased him best ; he did not like what he called " musical fire- works." Came Rectory was a happy meeting-place for all tlie holiday grandchildren, and " grandfather " found delight in all their sayings and doings, from the little half Floren- tine, who sat at his knee and sang " Tre giorni son' die Nina," to the boy from college, who boasted of the victories of " our cricket club," One tiny girl, on her first visit to church, greeted the preacher with " I saw you in church, grandpa. You were up in a box with a white frock on, and you were talking so loud." They soon found out that he was their best playmate, and the little hands that pulled his cassock with " Now then, granny-pa, let us have a nice play," were never denied. And what amusement their queer sayings and doings caused him, especially when they coined words which he considered valuable, such as " put outer" for "extinguisher," or "baby cart" for " perambulator." He was not so pleased at his elder grandson's talk of his velocipede. " Why don't you call it a wheel saddle? " he asked. Here are a few of his letters anent his grand- children : — Came, 29^7i April, 1882. Dear C, E. is with us safe and sound, and I fancy begins to show at times a little of English weather bloom on his face. It so happened that our Bluecoat boy and his sisters have been here for a fortnight, and yesterday XVII.] THE GRANDFATHER. 295 tliey and the Monkton children, and E. and A, from Florence, were here all together, and I had so many children that I should not have known what to do if I had no ground round the house for their play. I am revising to-day a proof of a paper of mine for the Dorset Field Club, on the xvi. Iter of Antoninus, " From Winchester through Dorset to Cornwall," on which I have discovered the places of some stations from the Welsh tongue, such, for a sample, as Londinis, British Llynclaen, which turned into Anglo-Saxon comes out " Brad-pol " — Broadpool by Bridport. Dearest L., I am very glad to have T.'s masterly observations on his consular coins. It is very helpful in the study of a time of Roman history. I hope G. has not forgotten her " Granny-pa," or his gambols with her sprightly self She heard me say to W. that if a man were born in a stable he would not therefore be a horse. Hence this dialogue which I overheard : " W. Are you Italian or English ? " " G. I am Ingleesh." " W. But you were born in Italy." " G. Hee ! hee ! Well, if I were born in a basket I should not be a kitten." I sometimes hardly know oft-hand how nuui}^ I am. I do not, like Jacob, reckon myself " few in number," and want you and J. to write out the names and birth years of your children for my life-book. (This sentiment he has put into poetry in " How great I am become.") I have before me sun-prints of them. ^96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. I am liappy to see that there is not in my little sample of posterities any token of reversion to Darwin's monkey. May God make them " good old men and women." The grandfather's Christmas greetings were a spe- ciality peculiar to himself. They were generally in the form of a quaint posy in rhyme. A few of them are worth preserving : — Came, December., 1877. My deakest J., I give to all of you my New Year's greeting. To C. (Who is al mondo Carlo a me Caro) and May the love of God aye bless Julia his — but mine no less, And give new years of daily joys To May and both the jolly boys. Came, Decemher, 1877. To T. AND L. And theirs at home. Since I from you, my children dear. By land and sea am sundered wide. And cannot meet you voice to ear This ever hallowed Christmastide, I write my blessing — " Be ye blest With all the good that God deems best." W, Barnes. XVII.] THE GRANDFATHER. 297 December, 1879. I send you all my fondest Christmas greeting. A happy life May many loves To man and wife E'er hold yon dear, Long lives of joy And God e'er keep To girl and boy. You free of fear. Your loving father, W. Barnes. The Christmas at the Rectory was always a busy time. There were ancient charities of meat and coal (a bequest of a certain Hugh Millar, whose sculptured effigy has lain on his tomb in Came Church for the last 300 years) to be given out to every family, so on the morning of Christmas Eve a constant coming and going of parishioners took place. In the evening the kitchen was full of guests, for the sextons and choir singers, and their families, from both parishes came to supper. When supper was over, a knock was heard at the kitchen door, and the Rector would enter to welcome them all and sit down amongst them. Then the men sang their songs to him, and the girls joined in some quaint old carols, and the grey-hairud pastor would clap his hands or rap his stick on the floor for applause. He laughed with them and made some merry joke or told a story, cliatting to each by name. But when he rose up from his chair his face and voice became earnest, and he gave them words of advice and encouragement, calling to their ininds that they each had some work to do for God in His church, and that it should be done with reverence ; then with a parting bow he left them. On Christmas Day all the 298 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. members of the family wlio were in England, to three generations, met at the dinner table. It was in the year 1880 that the Rector of Came was invited to preach in Salisbury Cathedral, the invitation being suggested by a remark of the Bishop to one of his canons, " I should very much like to see that venerable old man in the cathedral pulpit." Once a friend remarked to him, " I suppose you have very little to do in such a country place as Came ; merely a little row of cottages near the church." The Rector laughed and said, " I think you have never seen my parish." He knew well of the many leagues he walked from farm to hamlet over the downs on which Came was scattered. One memorable day's work done by this sturdy octogenarian deserves to be recorded from his daughter's note-book. Indeed, the whole fortnight was memorable, beginning from January 18th, 1881. " Tuesday. Woke up to see everything covered deep with snow, and a violent snow hurricane continued the whole day. At dinner father amused us by singing the refrain of an old song — My dear, yoii cannot hunt to-day, It rains, it blows, it freezes, snows, You cannot hunt to-day. " And it did snow ! Trains were stopped or blocked up all night. We began to watch anxiously for the arrival of the coal waggon, and after days of waiting we saw it labouring along, drawn by four horses across a field, as being an easier way than the snow filled road." " Sunday, Jan. 23rd. The roads still impassable, yet father was quite undaunted, and prepared to start for the XVII.] THE GRANDFATHER. 299 service at Whitcombe. However, his kind friends at Came House sent over a sleigh to carry him to church, but once arrived there he very characteristically refused to keep either man or horse waiting, and returned on foot." " Sunday, February 6th. The snow has disappeared, though the country ways are very muddy and much broken up. After his breakfast of porridge and milk, father put on his leather gaiters, and started at half-past eight for Came, to take a wedding there at nine o'clock. On his way a messenger met him and begged him to go on to \Miitcombe, two miles in the opposite direction, to administer Holy Communion to a dying woman. " The messenger was sent to the Rectory to tell his daughter to meet him at Whitcombe in an hour with the Communion plate. He married the couple at Came, and reached Whitcombe soon after ten, in time to per- form the offices for the sick before the service in the church at eleven o'clock. On his return he could only take a hurried dinner, having to be at Came again before two, for a funeral service before the Evensong. So besides his walk of five or six miles to and fro, he had performed two full services, a wedding, a celebration, and a funeral service on this day ! Welcome was the quiet rest in his easy chair by the fire in the evening, and sweet to him the Sunday songs ' O lovely peace,' and ' Waft her, angels,' that he loved to hear his daughter sing." In this same year his activities with tlic Dorset Field Club continued unabated. On May 81st they met at Dorchester, and on -luly (Jth at Sherborne. At this time the diary notes " Wrote on King Athelstan," " Wrote on Britain, and on earthworks." On August 3rd he accom- panied the Club to Milton Abbey, whence there was 300 THE LIFE OF ^YILL1AM BARNES. [chap. an arduous walk to Eggardun, a fine British camp, the history of which he explained to the members. The bad Avalkers were provided with waggons stuffed with hay for this rough excursion, but Barnes's eighty years made, in his mind, no claim for any such indulgence. On September 29th he went with the Dorset Club to Blandford, and saw a barrow opened at Down Wood, near the famous earthwork known as Busbury. In this year the Dorset County Museum, which had counted William Barnes as one of its foster-fathers from the beginning of its existence, made a new step towards permanency. The Old Ship Inn in High Street was purchased and pulled down, and a new Tudor building erected in its place for the Dorset Museum and Library. Here the museum began a new and prosperous career, Mr. Henry Moule undertaking the honorary office of Curator. A portrait of the Dorset Poet, painted and presented by Mrs. Stiles, adorns the vestibule of the museum, and it is proposed to place a statue of him not far from it. So the memory of one who reverenced the past history of his native county, and did so much to preserve it, is to be ever kept fresh within the walls which enshrine the relics of that past epoch. About the autumn of 1881 he took a new de- parture in literature, though only experimentally, by dramatising in Dorset the story of Buth, There is an antique rusticity about the narrative which lends itself very well to rustic speech. His idea was to make a little drama suitable to village actors and village audiences, but as it was never published (being only printed for private circulation), the aim of the author was not accomplished. During the next year an article on xvii.] THE GRANDFATHER. 301 " Dorset Folk : " it appeared in the Leisure Hour of January, 1883. It bad bean a matter of doubt with the editor whether he should ask Mr. Hardy, or his neighbour at Came Rectory, to write the article, bvit he chose the poet as having had the longer and more experienced knowledge of his subject. The article gives not only pictures of Dorset life, and sketches of its folk, but an analysis of their character, and the fundamental causes of their social position. He regrets that the good old- fashioned working squire had vanished, and that the thrifty labourer is now sundered from the farmer by a bailiff, and from the landowner by both the farmer and the bailiff. He has inserted in this article the pretty poem of "The Old Farmhouse " which embalms the semblance of the good old squire farmer of the Vale, and is the one of which he said he saw in a vision the child running about among the glistening straws, {Sec p. 24G.) The Old Farmhouse. Tliat many tiinn'd farmhouse that stands A little off the old high road, Wlien landlords lived npon their lands, Was long its landlord's dear abode ; And often thence, with horn-caird hounds High-steeded througli tlie gate he sped, The while the wliirring grey-wiiig'd doves Flew out of dovecots overhead. And after that, lielow the tun, Tliere burnt for happy souls the fire Of one whose ntime has blest his son, A farmer fit to be a squire. And while his barley-sowing sped, On dusty mould, in springtide light. From thos(! old dovecotes' many doors Tlie grey-wing'd doves arose in ilight. 302 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. And while through days of longsome span His corn was sunn'd from green to red, His son grew up from boy to man, And now is master in his stead ; For him the loaded waggons roll To staddled ricks that rustle dry. And there for him the grey-wing'd doves Around the mossy dovecots fly. There oft his sister, then a child — That's now a mother, fair, though staid — His merry playmate flitted wild And tittering, through light and shade On tiptoe, fanning in her speed The gold-like straws beside her shoe ; While to the dovecots, nigh at hand, The grey-wing'd doves in haste upflew. And still with fondness, and with praise The brother's and the sister's mind Behold their home-spent childhood's days So fair, and left so far behind — As I behold, in thought, the time When first the lord of wall and sward There dwelt, and first the grey-wing'd doves Flew out from dovecotes in the yard. One autumn evening he came down from his room to rest in his easy chair, seeming tired and overburdened in his mind. He said with sadness, " Another work is finished to be put away or to be buried." This was the Etymological Dictionary of our Common Names of Ani- mals, the book at whose beginning Mr. Tennant had jested, and it was only now finished. He had made some great philological discoveries in the names of animals, which he found to be closely descriptive of their life and habits, according to the roots of the names, as in Tiw. xvii.] THE GRANDFATHER. 303 His sigh Avas prophetic, the book is put away ; it never got published. A pleasant visit was made to Sherborne on June 15th, where Mr. Barnes was present at the commemoration day of the Sherborne School, and heard the prize essay read on " The Relation of the County of Dorset to English History," in -which we may be sure his name was not forgotten. Later on in the same year he paid his last visit to his birthplace, for an account of which we cannot do better than quote from the note-book of his son, the Rector ot Monkton. " In 1883, thinking that my father was not looking well, and that a change would do him good, we sug- gested three or four different places, and asked him to accompany us as our guest. He firmly refused them all till we suggested Sturminster, when he accepted at once, and the visit to the scenes and haunts of his boyhood and early life gave him intense pleasure. He took great interest in pointing out the old familiar spots — Stur- minster Bridge, which he had so often passed over ; the view of the ' rushy ' Stour winding on amidst the meadows of the valley, the banks fringed here and there with overhanging trees, and its surface covered in places with water lilies then in bloom. Tlie scene of the turnstile, however, has long since been done away with, and its place supplied by bars. The pathway leading to it is arched over by trees growing closely together, though here and there giving a glimpse of a sunny meadow, and the streak of a meandering stream beyond. There was the old school-house with its stone mullioned windows, where he went to scho(jl as a boy ; 304 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap but we heard no sound of children's voices as we passed, for it has long since been converted into a carpenter's shop, and the endowment, we believe, handed over to the parish school. " The view from the elevated churchyard was very- beautiful, overlooking the well-wooded valley of the Stour. One of its picturesque spots was a parallelogram of stately trees, which, in the dim light, looked like the pillars in the nave of some noble cathedral. It is so described in one of his poems. When we reached the old market-place, he laughed merrily at a recollection of a certain morning of his boyish days, when he leaped down from the steps of the market cross, and with out- stretched arms, and a horrid ' boo ! ' rushed in the front of a herd of cows which a drover was bringing to market. How the enraged drover pursued him, and with what threats of dire vengeance and the punishment he would inflict upon him when he caught him — which he never did. After our first drive he urged us to go to the hotel and pay for the carriage at once, to ease the landlord's mind, ' Because,' he said, ' for aught they know, we might be sharjjers.' The simplicity of this was delicious, and so delightfully incongruous to his appearance, which would have spoken for itself, even in a place where he was less known and reverenced. " Mr. Marshallsay most kindly placed his boat at our disposal during our stay, and many excursions were made in it. Father would sometimes take an oar, but generally asked to steer, and we meandered leisurely up the stream, now lost amid the rushes, now in some quiet nook or under a shady tree, or we gently floated down the current, enjoying the quiet and the songs of the xvii.] THE GRANDFATHER. 305 birds, and reacliing out for water lilies or other aquatic treasures as we passed, " On most of our expeditions we passed over ground very familiar to him, and his remarks as he passed each well-knoAvn spot, showed how he was being carried back into the dim past, and how he was picturing the scenes as they once were, recalling voices which had been long silent, and jDersons who had long gone to their rest, and of whom the present generation knows nothino-. I cannot recall his exact words, though I remember quite well the general sense of his remarks. ' Here is Elbow field ; just step over the fence, and you will see that it is in the form of a man's elbow. How often I have come down here to play with ; and yonder I used to take my books and sit under the tree there. It is not much altered. Further on to the left, my uncle lived, there was his farm. Yes, but the old house is gone ; that must be a new one.' Here a little sadness came over his face; then, ' Now we shall come to my favourite walk. Here it is ! — this shady lane ; but there are fewer trees than there used to be ; there were once fine elms overshadowing the lane. Ah ! and the l)anks ! — how many wild flowers used to grow upon them.' " We went on to the ' Haunted House,' which seemed very attractive to liim. A dark and gloomy lane ran towards it. Father's face beamed with old memories. ' That was the lane your great-grandfather was riding down, when all at once he saw the ghost in the form of a fleece of wool, whidi mllod along mys- teriously by itself, till it got uud^T the legs^of his horse; and the horse went lame from that hour and X 306 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES, [ch. xvii. for ever after,' he concluded, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes." He was very anxious to obtain a photograph of that house, and even a few weeks before his death, asked his son if he had yet got the " sun-picture " of the "Haunted House ? " CHAPTEE XVIII. BED-RIDDEN. The sun may in glory go by, Thougli by cloudiness hidden from sight ; And the moon may be bright in the sky, Though an air-mist may smother its light ; There is joy in the world among some, And among them may joy ever be. And oh ! is there health-joy to come Come any more unto me ? The stream may be running its way Under ice, that lies dead as the stone. And below the dark water, may jilay Tlic quick fishes, in swimmings unshown ; There is sprighthnoss shown among some, Aye ! and sprightly may they ever be. And oh ! is there limb-strength to come — Come any more unto me ? X 'J son LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 1884 TO 1886. There were to be no more Field Club excursions, and few more long parish walks ; for though the mind of the poet remained bright and clear as ever, illness and pain chained the active limbs, which had seldom known fatigue. The first warning of this was a severe chill, caught from exposure to a winter's storm on January 26th, ] 884. Mr. Thomas Hardy says he remembers the day, for he had himself walked from Dorchester with his neighbour through a cold driving rain across the exposed road to Max Gate, and though he begged Mr. Barnes to take shelter at his house, he declined, and pressed on drenched and chilled, to the Rectory. Although he recovered sufficiently from the rlicumatic illness which followed to take his service once more in March, he was never the same again, and that one service was only possible with the help of a carriage. His daughter's diary records this last memorable day, when his parish- ioners received the Holy Communion from his hands for the last time on Marcli 9tli : — ' It was a scene never to be forgotten ; a briglit ray of coloured light shining through the painted window, 310 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. falling on him as lie stood, chalice in hand, at the altar rails, and illuminating his reverent face and white robe as with a heavenly sign. It was a moment of peace, and a suggestion of consolation." As long as he possibly could do his duties, nothing would make him give them up. He often said, " We should use to the utmost all the powers we have of mind and body, and by using we gain more." But with all his energy of mind he could not compel himself to work beyond his strength, and was fain to accept the willing and constant aid of clerical friends, who week after week took his services for him, until his hopes of returning health failed, and he consented to take a curate. Even now, whenever he could, he would take a stroll round the garden, or go to sit in his covered seat at the back of the shrubbery, facing a sunny field that sloped to the east. On some of those sad spring days his strength only served him to sit in the veranda, but whenever he could, he went to see his favourite oxlips. I think he must have had some youthful memory connected with this flower, which ranked next the clote or water lily in his affections. He used to bring roots home from his walks and plant them, till there grew up a row of golden bells gleaming among the dark-leaved ferns under the trees of the shrubbery. Towards the autumn he was better, and wrote to his absent daughters. Anff. 27th, 1884. My DEAREST J. AND L., I greet you both, because I find you are happily and happy together. My ailing is a queer one, as I XVIII.] LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. Oil believe that no or as on October 6th, 1885, when Lord Iddesleigh's speech on Dorset and the Dorset labourers, was given at the Conservative meeting at Sherborne. It was noteworthy how he would eschew all the evil in newspapers ; no theft or murder could ever be read to him. If a subject of this kind were begun, he showed his displeasure by " Tut, tut ! I don't Avant to hear that ; read something else." One day he said, " You will not find that in any of my poems I have ever made a hero of an immoral man or a criminal. There may be such in tin- wrtrld, but I never choose tliom as subjects, nor could I have written my poetry if I liad done so." Speaking of poetry reminds one Imw strnngu it was that he so rarely read the works of contempor- 316 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BARNES. [chap. aneous poets. " I do not want," he used to say, " to be trammelled with the thoughts and styles of other poets, and I take none as my model except the Persian and Italian authors, on which I have framed some, as regards only metre and rhyme." Hafiz, the Persian poet, was much enjoyed by him, and so were Petrarch and Metastasio among the Italians. The art of poesy had not forsaken him even yet ; the sounds of the garden gate clanging after departed friends, and even the tapjDing of a spray of ivy or rose-bush on his window pane were suggestive. His daughter records: "Oct. 13th. Father dictated to me the poem " The Geate a-vall^n to." It was a cold evening, and he was sitting in his easy chair by the fire with his fur-lined cloak and red cap and his feet in a fur foot muff. The firelight fell warm on his face, and even dimly brought out the figures in the ancient tapestry behind his bed. He dictated and I wrote : — In the zunsheen of our summers Wi' the hay time now a-come, How busy wer' we out a-vield "Wi' vew a-] eft at hwome, Wlien waggons rumbled out ov yard Red wheeled, ^\t.' bodj" blue, And back behind 'em loudly slamm'd The geate a-vallen to. Drough day sheen for how many years The geate ha' now a-swung, Behind the veet o' vull-grown men And vootsteps of the young, Drough years o' days it swung to us Behind each little shoe, As we tripped lightly on avore The geate a-vallen to. XVIII.] LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 31^ In evenen time o' starry night How mother zot at hwome, And kept her blazing vire bright Till father should ha' come, And how she quickened np and smiled, And stirred her vire anew. To hear the trampen bosses' steps And geate a-vallcn to. There's moonsheen now in nights o' Fall When leaves be brown vrom green. When to the slammen of the geate Our Jenny's ears be keen, When the wold dog do wag his tail. And Jean could tell to who, As he do come in drough the geate The geate a-vallen to. And oft do come a saddened hour Wlien there must goo away. One well-beloved to our heart's core Vor long, perhaps vor aye. And oh ! it is a touchen thing The loven heart must rue To hear behind his last farewell The geate a-vallen to. " The last verse seemed a sad foreboding to me. Wlien finished he said, ' Observe that word " geiite," That is liow King Alfred would have pronounced it, and how it was called in the Saxon Chronicle, which tells us of King Edward, who was slain at Corfc's geiite.' After a pause he continued, ' Ah ! if the Court had not been moved to London, then the speech of King Alfred of which our Dorset is the remnant — would have been — the Court language of to-day, and it would have been more like Anglo-Saxon than it is now.' "Sometimes he had i[iiite gay and yut wo have anotiur misutiderstanding, in that you seem to hold that llicre is nij 336 APPENDIX I. other value than what I call commercial value, and which is met by money; and I think you very far narrow the meaning of the old Latin valeo and the French valoir. Pliny says that a drug " valet adversus morhum " ; and I think one may say in French, " Les actions valent plus que les paroles y I value very highly your friendship, though I have not rated it in gold, but I will give you the word worth instead of value if you like to have it. I like your fable of " The River and Canal." It is good and not overstrained. The other is good, but not quite original ; it is taken from a Swedish poem, which you will find at page 85 of the Little Swedish Grammar, which I send you, with the English at the foot of the page. I had learnt much of it by rote from another book in my younger years. You may kindly send back the book when you have done with it. With kind love to my dear London guide, D., and all of you singly, I am, yours ever truly, W. Barnes. lY. To the same. Came Rectory, January 20th, 1871. My Dear Mr. Tennant, More last words. I ran down on Tuesday to Chard in Somerset, to read to a Literary Institution, and the secretary to it is manager of a bank. Chard is a town of some factories, and he (the Secretary) tells me that he finds it hard, and often beyond his means, to find silver for the paymasters on their wages days, and mostly he can APPENDIX I. 337 accommodate only his good customers ; and some of them have told him that they pay their hands in clusters, by gold, which they must change and share among themselves as best they may, and that they often do so at the inns — most of them are women — where they pay a discount by the pewter pot. The banker says that although the silver is paid to town hands, it does not Jloat hack to him, and that there is a vast drain of our silver to China. Yours very truly, W. Barnes. To the savie. (Referring to a book on the Irish question written by Mr. Tennant.) Came Rectory, April 10 Coiiiuion Adoption of the Matiu'irmtics us a Uruncli of Education. London: Wliittukcr anil ( 'o. 352 , APPENDIX 11. 1835. A Mathematical Investigation of the principle of Hanging Doors, Gates, Swing Bridges, and other Heavy Bodies. Dorchester : Simmonds and Sydenham. 1840. An Investigation of the Laws of Case in Language. London : Whittaker and Co. Price 2s. 6d. 1841. An Arithmetical and Commercial Dictionary. London : "Whittaker and Co. Price Is. Qd. A Pronouncing Dictionary of Geographical Names. 1842. The Elements of Grammar. London : Longmans and Co. ; Whittaker and Co. Is. The Elements of Linear Perspective and the Pro- jections of Shadows, with sixteen diagrams cut in wood by the author. 1843 to 1849. Reviews of various books in magazines. 1844. Exercises in Practical Science, containing the Main Principles of Dynamics, Statics, Hydrostatics, and Hydrodynamics, with fourteen diagrams. Dorchester : Clark. Small 8vo. " Sabbath Days " : Six Sacred Songs. Words by W. Barnes, Music by F. W. Smith. London : Chappell, 50, New Bond Street. Poems in the Dorset Dialect, with a Dissertation on the Folk Speech, and a Glossary of Dorset Words. Printed by Clark, Dorchester ; pub- lished by J. Russell Smith, London. Price 10s. Second Edition printed by Maurice and Co., published by J. R. Smith ■ in 1847. Third Edition printed by Simmonds, Dorchester. Fourth Edition published by J. Russell Smith in 1862. Fifth Edition by same in 1866. 1846. Poems, partly of Rural Life (in national English) j London : J. R. Smith, 4, Old Compton Street. Price 5s. APPENDIX II. 353 1847. Outlines of Geography and Ethnography for Youth. Dorchester : Barclay, Cornhill. Price 3s. Qd. 1849. Se Gefylsta : An Anglo-Saxon Delectus. London: J. Russell Smith. Second Edition in 1866. Humilis Domus : Some Thoughts on the Abodes, Life, and Social Condition of the Poor, especially in Dorsetshire. Pamphlet. 1853 Papers in the Retrospective Review. Yol. L Art. 4. and " Population and Emigration at the beginning 1854. of the Seventeenth Century" " Anecdota Literaria," pp. 97 and 201. " Extracts from the Diary of John Richards, Esq." Art. 11. " Pyrrhonism of Joseph Glanvill." Vol. II. (Feb.) Art 6. " Leland the Ajitiquary." (May) Art. 5. " Controversial . "Writers on Astrology." (Aug.) Art. 3. " Waterhouse and Fox on the Utility of Learning in the Church." 1854. A Philological Grammar grounded upon. English, and formed from a comparjsoii of more than Sixty Languages. Being an Introduction to the Science of Grammar in all Languages, especially English, Latin, and Greek. 8vo, pp. 31 L'. London : John Russell Smith. Price 9«. 1850. Hwomely Rhymes. A second collection of Dorset Poems. London : J. R. Smith. Second Edition. 1863. 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American Edition, illustrated, published by Roberts Brothers at Boston on December 1st, same year. 1869. Paper on the "Farm LaViourer," and Employment of Women and Children in Agricultvire. Written for the Government Commission. Printed in the Blue Book, Appendix, Part II., to Second Report. 1869. Early England and the Saxon English. London: J. Russell Smith. Small 8vo. Price 3*. A Paper on Somerset. Read before the Somerset Archteological Society at Wincanton. Published by F. May, Taunton. llcpi'intcd from the Proceedings. 1871. On the Origin of the Hundred and Tithings of English Law. Piead l)cfore tlie Briti.sh Archaeo- logical Association at Weymouth. Printed in their Transactions. 1878. An Outline of English Speechcraft, London : Kegan Paul and Co. Price As. 1879. Poems of Rural Life in the Dor.set Dialect. ?>\o, pp. 467. Being a collected form, including all the three series previously published. London : Kegan Paul and Co. Price n.v. 356 APPENDIX II. 1879. 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