s$«^m&sfc«S ■SB ?%»? ■<«l>W»<»^i>ijiji^(>^^> yi l(i l li » i i y m >i»( wnw -jwyitttyrWtyr):; , ->:■.■«:;::■. ■•.■■■. r.:>.; V Jcu^z^t^. f /A//: P*^ // # /s- yp. 4 oLt*1*--<- a^r/L &C4- v^e- e^is-e^/l a^J^-t^j?- OX/ki^ MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE VOL. I. By AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE. "A sympathetic and "well-informed friend who has himself A en over the places described, and has appreciated them with the same mingled sentiments of inquif itivenr ss, rezterence and inexplicable histor- ical longing, with which the traveler of taste must approach a city of such vast and heterogeneous attractions as Home."— Wesi minster Review. Walks in Rome. Two volumes in one. S3. 50. Walks in London. Illustrated. 2 volumes, $5.00. Two volumes in one, $3.50. Cities of Northern and Central Italy. With Maps and Illustrations. 3 volumes. £6.00. Citiesof Southern Italy and Sicily. Illustrated. S2.50. Days near Rome. With many Illustrations, i vol- ume. $3.50. Memorials of a Quiet Life. With Portraits on Steel. 2 volumes, $5.00. Two volumes in one, $3.00. The Life and Letters of Frances Baroness Bunsen. With Portraits on Steel. 2 volumes, $5.00. Two volumes in one, $3.00. All of the above are bound in Cloth, i2mo. To be had of all Booksellers, or -will be sent, Jrre- paiJ , on receipt of price by the Publishers. GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, 9 Lafayette Place, New York. - 'HE* ■' • - J2^^&^^>, J 8 23 MEMORIALS OF A Q^U I E T LIFE. By AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE AUTHOR OP " WALKS IN EOME," ETC. Amemcan Edition Reprinted entire from the Ninth English Editioh, the Two Volumes Complete in One. WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY F. D. HUNTINGTON, S. T. D., author or "christian believing and living," btc NEW YORK: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, AND ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & CO. LIBRARY la- LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. If it is a splendid service to men to make the way of duty look to them as the way of joy, to clothe the com- mon drudgeries of obedience in garments of beauty, to render household routine sacred, and self-sacrifice attract- ive, then no ordinary honor belongs to these " Memorials of a Quiet Life." The saying of one of the noble per- sons whose characters form the chief value of the vol- umes, and whose pithy and pointed sentences are almost as wholesome examples in style as his manhood was in Christian magnanimity — "What we can do for God is little or nothing, but we must do our little nothings for His glory," — which deserves to be placed along with George Herbert's encomium of holy sweeping, is one of the keys, found here and there on the pages, to the sin- gular power of the impression which pervades the whole. There is a healing docliine in it that would cure, if it could have free course, much of the fret and fever of our unquiet modern society. Very likely it would convert some of our infidelities, by sweetening their bitter springs. For there are two diseases that poison the people's pe&ce, generating a chronic religious unbelief — the ambition of showy performances, and a forgetfulness of the divine U INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. element and end in all strong and beautiful conduct. That element is always tranquil; and, accordingly, those lives where the Heavenly Presence is felt are always serene and steadfast. What needs to be demonstrated of the Christian Faith now seems to be not so much the credibility of its documentary evidence as the genuine- ness of its original quality; not so much its top -growth as its root ; not so much its capacity of noise and disten- sion as the blessedness of its patient, silent and yet in- tensely earnest waiting upon God. To be ardent without affectation, enthusiastic without inconstancy, vigorous with- out assumption, cheerful without irreverence, equal to all occasions without courting either applause or opposition, is ♦.he perfect type of piety. Thus far it appears to have been yielded noAvhere in Christendom, in its purest and finest form, so often as in the Christian homes of Eng- land. America need not be ashamed to acknowledge it. She will be wise if she learns from it. She will be foolish if she forfeits the highest charm of national and personal bearing by refusing, in a self-sufficient pride which is her peculiar temptation, to mould her temper and mannei after that chaste model. English defects are obvioua enough ; but English household-religion is a very gra- cious thing, and we should do well to claim it as a part of our ancestral heritage. Sooner or later we must find out that gentle breeding, a child of Christianity, is a posi- tive good, and that neither energy nor independence can INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. ill be a substitute for it in the true measurement of human greatness. We may go on multiplying enterprise and knowledge, making money and pushing discovery, but unless we crown these growths and gains with that su- preme grace which is the fascination of the biography before us, we shall come to a discovery that will mortify us ; namely, that eagerness and restlessness, hurry and clamor, are symptoms of vulgarity or of disorder ; that even religion does not give the best peace unless its fountains are in secret and still places ; and that " in quietness and confidence " is the abiding " strength " of the soul of man. The special office of this work, therefore, is that it leads us into one of the most refined and cultured and lovely of those English homes ; a home from which, as if by some wonderful breath from Heaven, almost everything that is not hallowed and generous seems to have been purged away ; a home as much of prayer as of thought, of love as of learning, of spiritual humility as of intellectual superiority, where charities to the lowest of God's crea- tures flow from an unfailing spring, in an unstinted stream, and where all the amenities and dignities of a very fas- tidious training are lifted into the freedom and light of an atmosphere of tender devotion. Into this privileged circle every reader is permitted to enter at Hurstmonceaux, at Alton, at Hodnet. Unembarrassed by his own awk- wardness, with no sense of intrusion — such is the benefit of books — he watches the moving figures ; he hears the loi f ?,» 7 natty and genial conversation ; he catches, before IV INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. he is aware, the spirit of the scene. Those of our o~m friends who have actually been there assure us that the biographer does not paint any unreal features into the por- traits, or over-color the picture. And so all who read are the better. If we were to mention the one trait which more than all others marks the work itself, because it first marks the men and women whom it represents, we should call it moral healthiness. He is a great missionary to the modern world whose inner life has this complete health. In our age, and in the current literature, a book of characters where nothing is overdone or underdone, nothing is mor- bid, nothing is for effect, nothing one-sided or extravagant, in drawing or in tone, and yet all is fresh and bright, is surely worth a welcome. No sceptic, no worldling, no atheist pretending that there is no God because he has seen nominal Christians only pretending that there is one, can sneer at the argument for the Gospel and Faith and Church of Christ which shines in the mind and life of the principal personages that are here portrayed. Those who are tired of tedious controversies about the sphere and work and education of woman will be drawn here, without disgust, towards some sound conclusions — not a syllable, howevei, being written on the subject, — be- cause they will see womanhood at its best estate, witness- ing the utter womanliness of it where its power is greatest and its ascendancy most undisputed. Preachers, no mat- ter how well they preach, will be able to mend their INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. V method by Augustus Hare's. And the lover of Letters will detect the hidden human sources from which the Guesses at Truth," the "Victory of Faith," and the " Mission of the Comforter," came out, on their errands of delight and cheer and inspiring help, not among schol- ars only but among all classes of English-speaking men. It will materially assist the reader to know, at the out- set, that Augustus, Julius, Marcus and Francis Hare were four brothers ; that the writer of the " Memorials," A. J. C. Hare, is the son of Francis ; that Maria Leycester was the wife of Augustus ; Catherine Leycester the wife of the Bishop of Norwich, and mother of Dean Stanley ; Lucy Stanley, the Dean's aunt, the wife of Marcus Hare, and Esther Maurice the wife of Julius. The Author, Mr. A. J. C. Hare, has written another work, full of antiquarian and classical erudition, " Walks About Rome." But among all the trophies and tombs of that old civilization of a thousand years he has opened no treasures for the eyes of men like the simple living monuments, here placed before us, of that inward " vic- tory of faith," overcoming the world, which is gained in every believing heart by communion with Him who is the same yesterday, t D-day and forever. F. D. HUNTINGTON. PREFACE. ONG ago, in the first months of her widowhood, these Memorials were begun by my dearest mother, as a Memoir of her husband, and of their common life at Alton. Many old friends of the family then gladly lent their assist- ance, and came forward with letters and journals which they offered for her use. But in her weak health she was unable to bear the strain of a work so full of conflicting excite- ments of pleasure and pain, and, after a long effort, she was reluctantly compelled to lay it aside. Many years after, when, upon the death of her sister-in- law, Mrs. Julius Hare, the last link was broken with another portion of her sacred past, and when the remembrance of all that Hurstmonceaux Rectory had been, seemed likely to perish with the loving circle of those who had shared its joys and sorrows, my mother again took up the pen she had so long laid aside, and wished to continue her work as a Memorial of the Two Brothers, Augustus and Julius Hare, who were the authors of the " Guesses at Truth." But age vi PREFACE. / and infirmity were already pressing upon her, and she soon became unable to do more than arrange the materials in her hands, and add notes for my guidance as to the form and manner in which she wished them to be applied. In the last two years of her life she yielded to my earnest wish, that — in carrying on her work if I survived her — I might make her who had been the sunshine of my own life the central figure in the picture. And she then consented to employ the short interval through which she was still spared to bless us, in writing down or dictating many frag- ments concerning those with whom her earlier life was passed, and who had long since joined the unseen "cloud of witnesses." My mother had always tried to make the simple ex- perience of her own quiet life as useful to others as it might be, and many who came to visit her had found in her gentle counsel that help and comfort which many books and much learning had failed to inspire. Her own heart was always so filled with thankfulness for the many mercies and blessings of her long life, so grateful to the Power which had upheld, guided, and comforted her, that she was ever filled with an earnest yearning to lead others to establish themselves on the same Rock ; and whenever she felt that the story of God's dealings in her own life could lead others to a simpler faith and more entire trust in Him, she never ailowed any self-seeking reticence to interfere with this instrumentality. " If I might only be a bridge upon whicb PREFACE. \n\ any Christian might pass over the chasm of doubt and become altogether believing," was her constant feeling, and ■ Oh, that my past life, which has been so wonderfully blest by God, might be made useful for His service and lead others to more entire trust in Him." And in this feeling, when she was passing away from me, she permitted me, if I thought it could be made useful for others, to uplift the veil of her home life, and allow others to look in upon her private thoughts and meditations, , and so endeavour to make them in some degree sharers in the blessing her dear life has been to me. My mother's existence was so bound up with that of the immediate circle of her beloved ones, especially with that of her husband, her sister, her brother-in-law Julius, and her two sisters-in-law, Lucy and Esther Hare, that the story ot her life becomes of necessity that of their lives also, and this I have tried to tell in no words of my own, but in such selections from their common letters and journals as may give the truest picture of what they were. It has been rightly observed that no real interest can b.: derived from a memoir which tells less than "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth ;" a".id thus — while in collecting the fragments which remain fiom the lives of my loved and lost ones, I am chiefly urged by the desire of making others feel the influence of the sunshine of love which has lighted up my past life — I have striven to make my story no mere eulogy of those of whom I have written, V1U PREFACE. but to g'rve such traits of their living, acting reality as shall present a true portrait to the reader's mind. 14 They are all gone into the world of light 1 And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. u l see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days ; My days which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays. ** O holy hope, and high humility, High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me To kindle my cold love." HOLMHUfcST, August, 1073. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. MM t. CHILDHOOD ••»»••••• I n. STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET • • • • • l8 III. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX • • • • . 66 IV. AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE *••••« IS9 V. CHANGES ..•••••••• 207 VI. WEST WOODHAY •••••••• 245 VII. HOME PORTRAITURE . 284 VIII. TAKING ROOT AT ALTON >•••••• 315 IX. JOURNALS — "THE GREEN BOOK" . . • • • 344 X. WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES • • • 352 XI. SUNSHINE • • • • • 383 XII- THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD ..••«. 445 L CHILDPIOOD. " I begin My story early — not misled, I trust, By an infirmity of love for days Disowned by memory — ere the breath of spring, Planting my snowdrops among winter snows." Wordsworth, The Preludt. A BOUT a mile from the small town of Knutsford in Cheshire, an avenue of elm-trees leads to the pleasant old-fashioned house of Toft. No family but one have ever lived in that house. The family of De Toft claimed direct descent from Gunnora, Duchess of Normandy, grandmother of William the Conqueror, and the first De Toft who settled in England came over to this country with his royal cousin. In 1300, the property passed into the hands of the Leycesters, when its heiress, in the reign of Richard II., married Rafe Leycester, of Tabley, a younger brother of the family who then, as now, occupied the adjoining estate. Until late years the alliances of Cheshire gentry were almost always sought within the limits of " the good old county," and thus, in the time of Charles II., the owner of Toft again married into the family of his neighbour at Tabley, in the person of Eleanor, daughter of Sir Peter VOL. I. B S MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. I.eycester, the historian, from whom therefore the families of Tabley and Toft are equally descended. The " Hall " of Toft was built about 1600, on the site of an earlier manor-house, for the chapel of which the Pope had granted an indulgence in 141 2. It consists of a central tower with a long, low wing on either side, once of red brick, but long since covered with stucco ; and it looks,, on one side across the richly wooded Cheshire plain to the rock which is crowned by Beeston Castle, and on the other upon a low-lying park, studded with fine trees, and upon a large pcol into which the family threw their wine at the time of the rising of the Stuarts,* and whence it was fished up, not much improved, a hundred years after. Rafe Leycester of Toft, whose widow was still living in the old family house at the time this story opens, had been the father of thirteen children of very different ages ; scveraJ of these had died in childhood, others were dispersed by marriage or other causes ; but the youngest, Oswald, at that time Vicar of Knutsford, was established at Toft with his mother and his eldest brother George, who was un- married ; and then, and long after, Toft was the centre and rallying-point of the whole family, and beloved and looked upon as one of the dearest and pleasantest of homes to the circle of relations and friends to whom it was ever open. Its very name as well as look cheered the heart and spoke of love and unity. An aged member of the family used to say that she always thought of this family home in reading tliat verse in Acts iv., " Neither said any of them that • The family plate and the maids' hoops were at the same time buried under the mangers. CHILDHOOD. x aught of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had all things common." It was such a spirit as this • which was long manifested in the domestic circle at Toft — what was for the good and enjoyment of one, was also for the others ; for all, mtum and tuitm was tuum and meum also. Oswald Leycester had married Miss Mary Johnson, of Timperley; and at Toft, in the family home of many generations, his four children were born : Catherine, April 15, 1791 ; Edward, Sept. 16, 1794; Charles, March 10, 1796; and Maria, Nov. 22, 1798. Among the notes which my mother has left concerning her Childhood are the following; : — " When I (Maria Leycester) was born, my grandmother Leycester was still living, and the earliest record of my existence was a quaint Cheshire saying of hers on first seeing the new-born babe — ' Well, she is hearty fow (very ugly), to be sure.' She died in the following February, at the age of ninety. " My uncle George, with wnom we lived, loved to play with me, and used to put me on the chimney-piece, and then laughed at my terror. When my nurse Sally was ordered to take me away, because I cried at the sight of visitors, he would say, ' Let them see her cry, for they have seen her laugh often enough ;' and his question of ' why are your eyes so dirty, Maria ? ' was one which I fully believed to be founded on fact, and not on the brown colour of my eyes. "The earliest recollections of my childhood centre around my mother and my nurse Sally. ' The days of ray years are now threescore and ten,' but I remember them both perfectly. I have been told that in her earlier days my mother was very pretty, with a very delicate coloui in 4 MEMORIALS OF A (JWiT. Li:n. her checks. My recollection of her is as ve.y pale, with light blue eyes, rather a long upper lip, and brown curls in 'a front' — as her own hair was shorn close, and she wore a turban of white muslin, and a clear white muslin handker- chief in folds under her gown. She taught me in all my lessons except French, but her weak health and bad head- aches often prevented her hearing me, and many a time I had to stand outside her door waiting till I could be heard, which fretted me a good deal. When the lessons went ill, 1 was sentenced to sit on the staircase till I was good, and the task perfect. I imagine that though my mother was most gentle, she was firm in her management of me. In after years, her successor, Mrs. Oswald Leycester, used to say that when she had suggested my doing something because it would be pleasant, my mother appealed to me, 1 1 think my little girl has a better motive for it j what is it, Mia?' and, ' Because it is right, 1 was my reply. " My nurse was as passionately fond of me as I was of her. Many years after, when she had married, and had a little boy of her own, she said, ' Oh, Miss Maria, I think I am beginning to love him almost as much as I did you.' She had been very well trained, for she had lived as a girl with my aunt J. at Wilmslow, who was so strict with her servants that she kept a pincushion on which she stuck a pin for every fault they committed, as a reminder. With this, my loving nurse, how well I remember the delight of our walks, on spring evenings, into the Toft fields, to see the young lambs and to pick spring flowers. ^Ye had also our gardens in the wood, and my brother Edward had a project of digging through the earth to the other side of the world, which gave us unfailing occupation. He and Charles went to school at Warrington before they went to Eton and Rugby. Their holidays were a joyful time to me, and Edwaid used to amuse me by taking me on his knee and CHILDHOOD. 5 leTmg me stories of Sinbad and Ali Baba. The family habit was to dine at three, and to have a hot supper at nine ; and on a Sunday evening, when my brothers were at home, we were allowed to sit up to this supper, having first been made to repeat the Church Catechism. When Edward repeated the explanation he had learnt at school, and ended that of the Lord's Prayer by calling its close the ' Dox- ology,' we looked upon him as a model of wisdom and knowledge. On these Sunday evenings also, when my sister Kitty was at home, she played a sonata of Haydn or Mozart for uncle George's amusement. This she did with great spirit and execution, and she taught me, though I shed many tears over her lessons. " My stock of childish literature was limited to a very few books. ' Juvenile Travellers,' ' The Robins ' (by Mrs. Trimmer), ' Evenings at Home,' ' Perambulations of a Mouse,' ' Dick the Little Pony,' ' Jemima Placid,' and Mrs. Trimmer's Old and New Testament abridgments, with her Roman and Grecian histories, were our whole library, till, by the recommendation of some one, my mother procured me ' Goldsmith's Geography,' ' Scripture Biography,' ' Sacred Dialogues,' and the ' Parent's Assistant,' which last I esteemed a perfect treasure, and read and re-read. " My great delight was to go to Alderley Park and play with the ' Miss Stanleys' ; and it was a joy when, standing by the breakfast-table, I heard it settled that the carriage was to be ordered to go to Alderley, and that I was to be of the party. In these visits to Alderley, one great source of pleasure was in the children's books which were lent me, of which * Tales of the Genii,' and such like, were the most attractive. When my little friends returned my visits, we had tea under the trees opposite the book-room, and hide- and-seek followed. ''Another happiness of my childhood was derived from 6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. the visits of the Ralph Leycesters, who came to Toft evrry alternate year. Charlotte Leycester and I were inseparable, and for the day before they went away our grief was un- controllable. I remember vividly the misery of the dreary winter's morning, when little Charlotte came in before day- light to give me a last kiss and say good-bye, before another two years' separation, — and the sad day that followed. We slept in the same room, and many talks we had after we had Iain down, ending sometimes with the request, ' When you are asleep, tell me.' " I had another young companion in the orphan child of my mother's sister, Mrs. Bower, who, on the death of her lather, came to live with my mother ; but she was less con- genial to me, and I was not sorry when she was sent to live under Mrs. Butler's care, by the seaside, where she died before she was grown up. " One of my father's sisters having married a brother of Lord Stamford, a great intimacy was carried on between the two families, so that we were very intimate with Lord Stamford's daughters — the Ladies Charlotte, Maria, and Jane Grey, of whom the two elder were about my age. One of our amusements was to change our designations. The Ladies Grey thought it as charming to be called ' Miss,' as we did to be styled ' Lady,' and we thus always transferred our titles in our plays. " The dress of those days was very different to that which childien have now My white frocks were of lawn 01 Irish cloth, without any work or ornament ; and, when I went out, I used to wear a little green-baize coat. My food also was of the simplest kind, consisting principally of buttermilk and potatoes. " The church at Knutsford which we attended, and of which my father was vicar, was very large and very ugly. The most striking remembrance that I retain of that church CHILDHOOD. f is of tko Sunday after the news of Nelson's death, when every one appeared hi the appointed mourning, with scarlet and black ribbons. "Great events in the annals of our Toft life were the periodical visits of my father's cousin, Lady Penrhyn, who was prepared for as if she had been the queen ; and she arrived with six horses, and always drove to church with this state. Having no children herself, she had no love for them, and in her visits we were always kept out of the way ; but I amused myself by imitating her pomposity, and strutting about saying, ' Now I am milady Penrhyn.' "When my sister returned from school, in 1S06, she began to educate herself, and a little dressing-room out of our bedroom was furnished with a bookcase and bureau, where she read and wrote ; and, in imitation of her, I also set up a little table with my books and writing things, where I prepared my lessons, which she taught me from that time. "In 1809 my sister accompanied Mrs. Stanley (afterwards Lady Maria) to London, and I was then sent to a small school kept by Mrs. Butler, a widow lady, who had been governess to the Alderley children. She lived at Leighton Cottage, a pretty picturesque house, near Parkgate, and situated in a lane leading up from the sea-beach to some fields and a barn, which was the scene of our plays. Along the side of this lane flowed a clear brook, and there I first learnt my love of wild flowers, — cranesbill, speedwell, and forget-me-nots. Two of the Stanleys were my companions here, and many other girls. We were all devoted to Mrs. Butler, who wished us all to be like her own children, and we thought it the highest privilege when our turn came for a walk with her, or to have a private talk in her room. "In 1806 my father's old college friend, Sir Corbet Corbet, had presented him to the living of Stoke-upon-Terne, but we only passed the summer months there for the first two years, 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIKE. when mv uncle George always accompanied us. Thi< /ear uncle of my childhood used to say that he did not set why we should pray against ' sudden death,' he thought it so desirable to avoid a long illness, and in 1809 he was found dead in his bed at Cheltenham, whither he had gone for his health. Upon this, my father resigned the living of Knuts- ford, and we went to live altogether at Stoke, and my uncle Ralph Leycester, with his children and grandchildren, came to reside at Toft. "On the 8th of May, 1810, my sister was married in Stoke Church to Edward Stanley, Rectoi of Alderley. Upon her marriage I left Leighton Cottage, and until my mother's death I remained at home. My lather gave me lessons in — it must be confessed — bad French and Italian, but it was my sister who still directed my studies'by letter, constantly sending me questions on the books which I read, and expecting me to write her the answers. In this way I in a certain sense conducted my own education, and much did I enjoy these studies. Sometimes they were carried on in a little bathing-house on an island in the river Terne, which had been given to me as a possession to plant as I liked with primroses, violets, and snowdrops, and which was a great delight. " Edward Stanley was to me the kindest of brothers, and great was the amusement he gave by the playful verses he wrote to please me, especially those on the death of one of my black bantams. These bantams were given to me by Lady Corbet, and were fed after breakfast from the dining- room windows : it was the time when Bonaparte's name was held up in terror to every one, so that when two of the cocks fought the hens, they were named Bonaparte and the King of Rome. " A rival with Edward Stanley in my affections, as well as in his fun and humour, was my dear uncie, Hugh CHILDHOOD. ? Leycester. He was, both with his brothers and nieces, the great favourite of the family — his knowledge and kindness, ns generosity and affection, his wit and anecdotes, alike conducing to render him beloved. The only fault which people could find in him was his violent political zeal and Tory partisanship, which made him intolerant of any oppo- sition on these subjects. He had been an intimate personal friend both of Pitt and Perceval, and the sudden death of the latter was a great grief to him. In the later years of his life he was quite deaf, and we could only communicate with him by writing on a slate ; but he continued his lively interest in us all, and after they were too infirm to meet, he kept up a witty daily correspondence with his old friend, Mr. Jekyll, who was his next neighbour in New Street, Spring Gardens. " Another constant visitor at Stoke was our dear cousin, Eliza White, who often passed many months with us at a time, and who always made herself most pleasant to us all. Often did I sit on a little stool at her feet, pouring out all my childish joys and sorrows, and receiving her counsel. " As I had no companion, I always accompanied my parents in their visits. Those to Sir Corbet Corbet, at Adderley, were always a great pleasure. Lady Corbet was most amusing. Every morning after breakfast she put on a gardening dress, and with a bunch of keys, knife, &c, at her side, sallied forth to make the round of her stable yard, poultry yard, pigstyes, and gardens, and I thought it a great treat to go with her. Then in the evening she would read to us out of her Italian journals, and my first longings to see Rome came from this source. The house was filled with pictures by old masters, and over the drawing-room chimney- piece was a very beautiful bas-relief of the Nine Muses. The only drawback to the pleasure of Adderley lay in the early dinners at three o'clock, and Siv Corbet's impatience of any lO MEMORIALS OF A QUIE1 LIFE. •jnpunctuality ; when he was fidgety, Lady Corbet used to call him • Sir Crab.' " The autumn of 1811, which was one of several we spent a'. Penrhvn Castle, was most delightful, as Edward and I enjoyed it together, riding on Welsh ponies to the different mountains and waterfalls. How enchanting were the morn- ing walks to the bathing-house ; how pleasant the picnic rxpeditions to Ogwen Bank, with its waterfalls and garden sct's shaped like mushrooms ! Then also there were visits to the slate quarries, and the sight of all the different kinds of slate, called ' Duchesses, Countesses,' &c. In the after- noons, after dinner, we used to walk to Pennysinnant, an ornamented farmhouse, to see the poultry yard, on whi( h occasions I gave great offence to Lady Penrhyn, by admiring the sight of the mountains more than her poultry*, and she used to complain of it to my mother. She was very formal and stately, and we were greatly afraid of her, and many a hard gallop home did Edward and I have upon our ponies, to be in time tor the early dinner, for fear of the scolding which should await us. Lady Penrhyn had three pugs, very ugly, and always dressed in little scarlet bonnets and cloaks. When she was in London, in her house in Grosvenor Square, they used to be taken out thus attired to walk in the square, with a footman to attend them. She left them each an annuity when she died, and they lived an immense time. Once, in Lord Penrhyn's time, when she and Lord P. were driving in their coach and six, through the streets of North- wich, the pugs were looking out of the windows, and the by- standers, mistaking their species, exclaimed, ' Eh ! milord and milady are mighty fine, but their children are hearty fow.' " On our way to and from Penrhyn Castle, we used to visit the Ladies of Llangollen. They were dressed in men's hats and cloth habits, with powdered hair. Lady Eleanor Butler was short and fat, but Miss Ponsonby was tall and CHILDHOOD. 1 J thin, and used often to be supposed to be a man in disguise. They had a romantic attachment for each other, and had forsaken their own family to be more entirely together, but though professing to lead a recluse life, few people could see more of the world, and their correspondence was with royalties and nobility of all nations. Their cottage was filled with oggelti of every kind, chiefly presents they had received, and it had coloured glass windows and carved oak furniture. It was they who first told Lady Penrhyn that my handsome brother Edward was like her, and it is said they thus gave her the first idea of making him her heir ; but I believe that which really made her do so was her amusement when her young cousin in riding home had not enough money left to pay a turnpike gate, and was obliged to leave his hand- kerchief in pawn with the toll-collector. "In July, 1812, my dear mother had a paralytic stroke. Though the immediate danger was averted, she was unable to do anything, or to speak clearly from that time. Every night I used to read to her, and kneel by her bedside to pray before going to bed. She had gradually been regain- ing her lost powers, could read a few lines, and had beg!rh to knit some socks for her little grandchild, Owen Stanley, when, on October 12, we were waked in the night by her having another seizure, and on the following afternoon her spirit passed away. It was my first affliction, and a very great one. On the day of her burial, I saw the procession from my bedroom window, and realised the lines which I had long been familiar with in Cowper's Poem on his mother's picture : — ' I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,' &c. My brothers were my chief comforters, and we all tried to soothe our father's grief. 13 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " I do not remember ever hearing the slightest cross or angry word pass my mother's lips. She preferred every- body's opinion before her own, and thought no good offic2 too trivial for her performance. She seemed only able to see the good in others, and was ever willing to make allow- ance for their faults. ' To the poor she was most kind and iharitable, working for them herself with the greatest dili- gence, and assisting them in every way. To those who bad displeased her she was always forgiving, and she never would show any impatience against them, but would reprove them .nildly and gently, and during her illness she was a. ways satisfied and grateful for all that was done for her. M\ brother Edward wrote some lines after her death, which I will insert here : — > • If filial love could animate the clay, Or bid the Hitting soul resume its sway, Say, could I wish reversed the mournful do >m Which laid my mother in the silent tomb ? No ; while with moistened cheek and downcast eye I heave in selfish grief the bitter sigh, w Still let me own that lenient was the blow Which put the period to a mother's woe, Which bid disease and pain for ever cease, And whispered, e'en in death, eternal peace.'" Her mother's death was perhaps the first event which led Maria Leycester, young as she was, to seek the highest source of comfort, and to endeavour to make her life useful and helpful to others. An old yellow fragment of paper still exists on which she poured forth her soul in prayer in the first burst of sorrow. u Oct. 14, 18 1 2. — Oh ! most holy and merciful God, now in this time of affliction I call unto thee. Oh ! forsaka CHILDHOOD. 13 me not — give me strength and fortitude to bear this great trial with resignation to thy divine will. Oh ! comfort and support my afflicted parent and his motherless children ; make us sensible of the justice and wisdom of all thy decrees ; and in thinking of and admiring her virtues, may we endeavour to imitate them, and become, as we hope and trust she is, partakers of thy everlasting kingdom. Oh! enable me to be a support and blessing to my dear father, may I make it the business of my life to console and com- fort him, and may I never give myself up to my own selfish pleasures, but consider him in all my actions. I am de- prived of the dear and excellent mother who has been the guide and protector of my youth. Oh ! may I always act as she would wish me to do if she were present, and may I look for that motherly protection (of which I am bereft here on earth) to my heavenly Father. Direct and guide my steps in the paths of wisdom and virtue, make rne sensible of the uncertainty of human life, and grant that I may be prepared for death whenever it shall arrive. ' The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord ' — ' Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.' Amen." From the many letters which were written by Mrs, Stanley for the instruction of her young sister, the insertion of the following may not be deemed superfluous : — C. S. to M. L. K Juiy 28, 1809. — The first and great object of your read- ing should be to improve your own knowledge, and thereby enlarge your mind and give you a guide in the most im- portant duties of life, by furnishing you with the opinions and examples of others, and by enabling you to form opinions for yourself. When you sit down to your book, H MEMORIALS OF A QUIF.T LIFE. then, consider that you are not taking it up to amuse and away the present hour, but to give you some informa- tion you have not had before, to acquire some new ideas, or perhaps to see some of your own ideas put in a better form than you would have been able to put them yourseif. ' There are many who read with constancy and diligence, and yet make no true advancement in knowledge. They are deluded with the notions and things they read of as they would be with stories that are told, but they make no observations upon them, learn nothing from them, their eyes glide over the pages or the words over their ears, like the shadows of a cloud flying over a green field in a sum- mer's day.' If, when you have shut your book, you have also shut your mind ; if you never call yourself to account for what you have been reading and learning, if you skim over the pages and read only those parts which can amuse or divert your mind at the time, without bestowing one thought upon it afterwards, though you read every day and all day, you will have made no improvement in any way, and would have been doing almost as much in counting the grains of sand upon the sea-shore could that have been any amusement to you, though you would probably be shocked at the idea of so wasting your time. Books of amusement — mere amusement — are naturally pleasing and alluring at your age, and indeed at any age, and, with a disposition and desire to improve as well as amuse yourself, there is no book of mere amusement, unless it be very silly indeed, from which you may nut gain something ; and, even in a silly book, you may exercise your judgment by finding out what is foolish, and how it would have been better other- wise. AYhat I mean to impress upon your mind is that you arc not to fancy yourself fond of improving yourself merely because you are fond of reading, for reading, without obser- vation while you are reading, and reflection afterwards upon CHILDHOOD. IJ what you have read, is, as I have said before, little better than loss of time. " I wish you to write down your observations and re- marks upon every book you read, of whatever kind it is, in your MS. book. Put down in it the pages which have particularly pleased or interested you, or those which have given you any new ideas, if you think the subject sufficiently important to be remembered and fully understood, which a little consideration will soon enable you to judge of; — give a short account of the contents of the book, or the contents of any part of it which you have especially liked. Any book that is worth your reading is worth these pains, for your own experience will tell you that you have but a faint recollection of the books you read a year, or even half a year ago, — at least, if you were called upon to give an opinion about them, and point out any parts you liked or disliked, though you might have a general idea of whether the book on the whole pleased you, and of the general nature of its contents, its details will completely have faded 'rom your remembrance, and you would be unable to give any opinion concerning it, or to recall any observations which occurred to you while reading it. What I have been recommending to you will obviate this entirely; you will have your opinions of books in their first clearness and freshness to refer to, besides having them more deeply im- printed on your memory by the very act of writing them down and thinking about them more than you would other- wise have done. " You are now in a progressive state of improvement ; every year makes a more sensible and perceptible difference in your powers of mind now than perhaps it will do some few years hence; if you would look back even into the last year of your life, into all your feelings and thoughts for one day, you would probably be surprised to find them so 1 6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIl'E. different from what they are now, and you would wonder what pleasure you could take in things which then appeared to you the height of happiness, and how you could be so stupid as to find no pleasure in things you now delight in. And in future years, when you look back upon your present enjoyments, you will be able more accurately to estimate your advance in knowledge, &c, by having a few of the remarks and ideas of different periods of life to refer to, than by any other means I can think of. Do not let your obser- vations be confined to the things you particularly like; mark also those passages you do not understand, either to have them explained by some abler head than your own, or that you may explain them yourself to yourself at some more advanced period of knowledge. A few books read in this way, I need hardly tell you, will be of more service than a whole library swallowed as children usually swallow books — whole, without either chewing or digesting them, so as to render them serviceable to the general welfare of the mind. You are not too young to begin this, because the moment you can know and feel that you have a mind capable of improvement, it becomes your duty to improve it to the utmost extent of that capability." .... In the spring following her mother's death, Maria Leycester paid her first visit, with her cousins, the Ralph Leycesters, to London, where she had the benefit of masters. Alter the summer holidays, she returned for a time to the care of Mrs. Butler, but came to live at home again upon her father's second marriage, in June, 1814, to Eliza White, the beloved cousin of his first wife. The news of his en- gagement was a source of unmixed joy to his daughter Maria, to whom the friend of her childhood became thus a constant companion ; anc her warm reception of her step- CHILDHOOD. 17 mother was never forgotten by Mrs. Oswald Leycester, who, while fulfilling to the utmost a mother's duties towards all her husband's children, reserved the principal warmth of her affection for his youngest daughter. Miss White to M. L. "May 27, 1814. — You have gratified every feeling of my heart, my dear Maria, by your reception of the news of our future relationship, and I would not even have dispensed with your tears on the occasion. They were a just and feeling tribute of affection to the memory of her who so well deserved our love, and whose example will, I trust, through life, have an influence over both your character and mine. With my best ability I will strive to be what she was both to your father and her children — most particularly to you and Charles, as the only two about whom she was wont to express anxiety. "On the 14th of next month the gig will be sent to fetch you to Stoke, where I hope you will be in readiness to receive me on the 27th. I have been so accustomed to see there so many dear faces brighten up on my arrival, so many kind hands extended to welcome me, that I confess I sickened at the thought of taking possession only of empty apartments. My dear Maria will in that moment seem all the world to me, for she will appear to me as the dear representative of her most dear mother. . . I wish you to be to me only what you have been ever since you could distinguish right from wrong. The terms 'authority' and 'obedience' must not be known or felt among us ; we must live together as persons united for life in the bonds of mutual affection and social interest, each seeking to live for the happiness of the other, and striving to banish every selfish consideration . . . God bless you, my own little Maria." vol. 1. c n. 310KE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. " La jeunesse devait etre une caisse d'epargne." Madame .Swetchihr. " This life which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air, By sporting children's breath, Who chase it everywhere, And strive who can most motion it bequeath." William Drummond, 1585 — 1649. '"PHE great interest and pleasure of my mother's early home life came from Hodnet, two miles from her father's rectory, where Reginald Heber held the living. Her first acquaintance with the Hebers began through her constantly walking across the heath from Stoke to the after- noon Sunday service, to hear him preach. From frequently seeing her at church, the Reginald Hebers began to invite her to pass Sunday with them ; and the intimacy thus engen- dered increased till scarcely a day passed, part of which was not spent at Hodnet — Maria Leycester joining the Hebers in their afternoon rides through the delightful glades of Hawkestone, and remaining to dinner; while, in the evenings, Mr. Heber would read aloud, poetry, or Walter Scott's newly published novels, " Waverley," " Guy STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. j g Mannering," and " Ivanhoe," which, for several years, while their authorship remained a mystery, were generally attri- buted to Richard Heber, the rector's elder brother. In 1817, Miss Leycester spent her mornings also at Hodnet, where, when she wished to learn German in preparation for a foreign tour, Mr. Heber offered to become her instructor. At the same time, he frequently wrote songs to suit her music, as he greatly delighted in her playing and singing. His little poem, " I see them on their Winding Way," was written thus in October, 1820. Nor was it only by lessons in literature that Reginald Heber instructed his pupil. No one could live constantly within the influence of his cheerful active life, devoted, either at home or amongst his parishioners, to the good of others, yet with the most entire unostentation, without praying that his mantle might fall upon them. " In no scene of his life, perhaps," wrote Mr. Blunt, "did his character appear in greater beauty than while he was living here, ' seeing God's blessings spring out of his mother earth, and eating his own bread in peace and privacy.' His talents might have made him proud, but he was humble- minded as a child — eager to call forth the intellectual stores of others, rather than to display his own, — arguing without dogmatism, and convincing without triumph, — equally willing to reason with the wise, or to take a share in the innocent gaieties of a winter's fireside ; for it was no part of his creed that all innocent mirth ought to be banished from the pur- lieus of a good man's dwelling ; or that k* is called upon to abstract himself from the refinements and civilities of life, as if sitting to Teniers for a picture of the Temptations of St. to MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Anthony. The attentions he received might have made him .selfish, but his own inclination was ever the last he con- sulted ; indeed, of all the features in his character, this was, perhaps, the most prominent — that in him self did. not seem to be denied, to be mortified, but to be forgotten. His love of letters might have made him an inactive parish priest, but he was daily amongst his parishioners, advising them in difficulties, comforting them in distress, kneeling, often to the hazard of his own life, by their sick-beds; exhorting, encouraging, reproving as> he. saw need ; when there was strife, the peacemaker; when there was want, the cheerful giver. Yet, in all this, there was no parade, no effort, apparently not the smallest consciousness that his conduct differed from that of-other men — his duty seemed to be his delight, his piety an instinct. Many a good deed done by him in secret only came to light when he had been removed far away, and but for that removal would have been for ever hid ; many an instance of benevolent interference when it was least suspected, and of delicate attention to- wards those whose humble rank in life is too often thought to exempt their superiors from all need of mingling courtesy with kindness. That he was sometimes deceived in his favourable estimate of mankh.u, it would be vain to deny ; such a guileless, confiding, unsuspicious singleness of hrriri as his, cannot always be proof against cunning. But if bs had not this worldly knowledge, he wanted it perhaps in common with most men of genius and virtue ; the ' wisdom i f i he serpent ' was almost the only wisdom in which he did uot abound."* • Quarterly Review, 1827. STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. a I The following extracts fWm letters give some glimpses int6 Maria Leycester's home-life during these years of her youth: — M. L. to Miss Hibbert. " Oct. 18, 1816. — I want sadly to know all you have been doing and seeing since the luckless day that bore me away from happy, happy Alderley. I only permit myself as a relaxation, as an amusement, to think of the six happy weeks at Alderley, when I have been very industrious . . in short, you do not know the pleasure I have in it. " Part of last week we spent at Adderley, Sir Corbet Corbet's — the most comfortable, enjoyable house imaginable, and Lady Corbet the most agreeable woman, with a con- stant fund of anecdote and entertainment, and never-failing good spirits, which are surprising at her age, for I think she is above seventy." "Nov. 22, 1816. — Did you ever read Foster's 'Essays.' E. Stanley gave them to me three years ago, and Kitty re- commended me to delay reading them for some time. I scrupulously followed her advice, and looked at them with an envious eye every day till the present moment arrived, when I thought, that as a recompense for being eighteen, I might allow myself to open the tantalizing book. Oh that you were here, that I might show you passage after passage as it delights me ; the thoughts are sometimes so exceedingly ingenious, the sentiments so exactly what one has thought oneself a hundred times, without being able to clothe them in the same language." "May 24, 1817. — I have just spent two delightful days at Hodnet rectory. Oh, the charms of a rectory inhabited by a Reginald Heber, or an Edward Stanley ! To be sure, splendour and luxury sink into the ground before such real happiness I do not think I ever before enjoyed the beauties of nature as much as I have done this spring, and 21 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. you cannot imagine how interesting my solitary rides are made by the varieties of light and shade — the lightness and elegance of the newly come-out trees, backed by magnifi- cent black or purple clouds, and the various pretty bits that strike my fancy. I attribute one cause of my increased pleasure to the having learnt to colour. A hundred beautifully tinted cottages, or trees, or mossy rocks which I never remarked before, now give me much pleasure, just as I felt before that the knowledge of drawing itself made me find out many picturesque things which my natural taste would not have discovered." " June 2, 1817. — We have had the Stanleys here for ten delightful days, for two of which we all adjourned to Hodnet, and were extremely happy there. The evenings were per- fectly delightful. We drank tea out of doors, and after tea, Edward Penrhyn* and I generally walked about till eleven o'clock. You have sometimes, I believe, heard me talk of his perfections, and yet, vain as you may have thought me then, I believe now, that I never knew him perfectly till this time." "June 7, 1 81 7. — I have spent a very agreeable week; but you will not be very much surprised when you learn that two of the days we had the Reginald Hebers here, and the rest I spent at Alderley. I never saw, or rather heard Mr. Reginald Heber so agreeable, though, indeed, I always say this of the last time of seeing hirn ; but real y, his stories are quite inexhaustible — the more he tells, the more he seems to have to tell. His brother, Mr. Heber, was here likewise one day, and was very agreeable too ; but not so Moveable as Reginald. How happy I am to be able to say I love him 1 I may thank Mrs. R. H. for that. I dine with * Edward Leycester took the name of Penthyn with the fortune of Llx father's cousin, Lady Penrhyn, upon her death. STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 33 them on Saturday, that I may ride with them in the evening, and in short, I see them continually." "Jiine 12. — Do you wish to have the overflowings of my happiness ? Well, then, you shall be satisfied. After waiting in anxious expectation from five o'clock — hearing six strike — then seven — just meaning to go to dress — just trying to persuade my sanguine hopes that they would not come — the rattling wheels of a hack-chaise were heard, and the two dear faces of my two dear brothers presented them- selves You may imagine how I enjoy such com- panions after my solitude." "June 14. — A most delightful evening with the Hebers — ■ Reginald reading and reciting verses, and telling various entertaining stones. Among others, he mentioned that a letter had lately been received at the post-office directed ' To my son,' and great was the difficulty as to whom the letter should be delivered, till a sailor solved it by asking if there was a letter ' from my mother,' when it was given up to him at once. Late in the evening he recited a poem of Coleridge's — ' The Ancient Mariner.' " A letter from Mrs. Stanley at this time presents an idea of the happy relationship which existed between the sisters :— "AMcrley, Dec. 4, 181 7. — Your letter was just what I meant to draw forth by a little sentence in my last, and I know you so well that I was pretty sure such would be the effect, and that is one great charm of perfect acquaintance and confidence in character — the certainty that everything will tell, and that there will be a certain rebound, and that there are no hidden irregularities or unsoundnesses to make that rebound a false one, or, to speak more plainly, that there is the certainty that one mind will feel in reading exactly what the other felt in writing; and perhaps it is 24 MEMORIALS 0* A QUIET LIFE. necessary to have more experience than can or ought to be h;ul at nineteen of the inconceivable bizarreries of human character, which so often interfere with this kind of confi. dence, to make this certainty sufficiently valued. I have often thought with you that we have not made use enough of this mutual advantage. I believe it is on the principle that very different people often make the best companions and friends — that there is a certain difference of conforma- tion necessary to give variety and piquancy to conversation, and that the interchange of thought is more interesting when things are seen under different aspects — and that we should not do to live together literally because we are toe much alike, so that it would be like talking to oneself, and our faults would meet with no counterbalance to check them. " However, we have friends enough, and different enough, to secure us from all dangers of this sort, and I think we may find advantages enough in our similarity to do away all apprehension of not being the greatest mutual pleasure and comfort to each other all through life. I think I was two years older than you at nineteen, that is to say, the thoughts which are passing through your mind now probably went through mine at seventeen — the different circumstances which called me so much sooner from my state of childhood to take my part in life being probably the cause of this earlier development, which I apprehend that all minds which are minds feel sooner or later. I do not think there is any advantage in this ; rather the contrary ; we are sure to grow older, mind and body, sooner than we wish, and so the longer we can keep to the earlier stages the better. Then I used to read Miss Hamilton and Akenside as you do, and I delighted in the latter ; but now 1 look back to my old marks, and find many blemishes to take »way some of the delight, and I find that the taste become? STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 25 more nice and refined, and that many things ^ .ich ap- peared insipid then, as a very beautiful Claude Lorraine picture would to an ignorant eye, strike me now from their harmony, just proportion, delicate touches, &c, which are overlooked when the mind is seeking for vivid impressions, strong feelings, &c. You are not much given to romance or imagination, therefore there is no necessity to guard against any excesses of this kind, and I would rather talk with you of what I was then than what I may be now, not to forestall those observations and improvements and changes which are good for nothing, unless they are worked out in a regular course of operation by the mind itself. I would always rather that you expressed the feeling and opinion first, and left me to say that I had thought and felt so before you, than that I should tell you what had been my case, and then that you should find out yourself in it, for there is always a danger of spoiling the originality of thought and character in any degree of following after another ; and so I would have you rather encourage than check any thought which may happen to rise different from mine. Trust implicitly to your own heart to inform you whether I shall ever be tired of reading all you can write about yourself. I should be more interested in it than any other subject, even if you were not my sister, but being as it is !— " In May, 1818, the Edward Stanleys decided on accom- panying the family from Stoke in a long continental tour, but their departure was considerably delayed by an accident which befell old Mr. Hugh Leycester, who broke his arm by falling down-stairs, on coming out of the opera-house. While he was being nursed, in London, his niece Maria remained at Privy Gardens with her friends the Stanleys, 86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and much enjoyed seeing many people of whom hitherto she had only heard, but especially making the personal acquaintance of Lady Maria Stanley's niece, Miss Clinton, with whom she was ever afterwards united in the closest bonds of affection. The family tour lasted more than five months, in which they visited a great part of France, the north of Italy, Switzerland, and the Rhine, Mr. Penrhyn joining the party in Switzerland. M. L. to L. A. S. (Lucy Anne Stanley). " Paris, June 14, 18 18. — We left Calais with four horses, which in England would be considered as far below the rank of cart-horses, harnessed together with ropes, which, being extremely loose, gave them the opportunity of going one to one side of the road, the other to the other, ad libitum, whilst the sole office of the postillions seemed to be to crack their whips over their own heads, making a noise 1 never heard equalled by anything before. But this, amusing as it was, was nothing compared with the excessive drollery of the postillions themselves — their powdered heads and long pigtails, and their jack-boots. Of these last no description can give an adequate idea ; one little fellow, who with some difficulty had got into them, no sooner attempted to walk than over he went, jack-boots and all. and had a fine roll Here all is new, all is amus- ing : one hears and reads of all the things, but it is astonishing how little impression it makes on one. I have felt surprised with many things, and only remembered afterwards that I have known them before. I expected to have a fine view of Paris, or at least some intimation of it before arriving ; but no, we went on through avenues and coin-fields, close to Montmartre, up one hill and down STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET, «7 another, expecting each to give us a view of the town, but no sign of a great capital appeared till we got close to the first gate, and entered in a moment upon high houses and long streets, in which the lamps suspended across, and the large gutters down the middle, give the first different appearance from London. We arrived at a place looking like a prison, with one large door, heavy and massy, and windows barred doubly and trebly with iron. The cutside of a hotel is not inviting, but inside is a grand conn, and our rooms are handsome This morning, Sunday, we have been to the Chapelle Royale ; the squeezing almost intolerable, first lifted up, then pushed down, sideways, forwards, threatened with broken arms and legs ; and after all, by peeping over and under some dozens of heads, and standing on tiptoes leaning against a pillar, contrived to see the fat but not unpleasing Louis XVIIL, the Due and Duchesse de Berri and the Comte d'Artois, with all their old courtiers, in their bag wigs and swords and lace ruffles. . . . We have also been to Malmaison. Little remains of the interesting Josephine but the saloon where she lived, a most delightful room, filled with pictures still, though all the statues are gone, and with her tiny chapel at one end, deprived of all its ornaments, nothing remaining but her little altar. But though the house has suffered from those who have succeeded her in the possession of it, the grounds are all most wild and beautiful : in the middle of them is a little temple dedicated to Cupid, than the situation of which you can imagine nothing more delicious, close to a. pretty rivulet, the banks of which are covered with the most flourishing rhododendrons and azaleas, and quantities of beautiful flowers, which seem to grow quite wild French- people in general seem much more ready to talk of the Emperor and Empress than of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. It is a curious specimen of French character 28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. that during the bloody days of the Revolution, when numbers were every day guillotined, a mock guillotine was placed at the comer of most of the streets, and as fast as real heads were chopped oft" in one part of the town, Punch was guillotined in ridicule in another. "June 8. — One cannot much wonder that the French should regret "Bonaparte. There is hardly a part of the town, which is very handsome, of which we are not told 1 FEmpereur Fa fait,' and the only parts which want anything are those which are despoiled of what he placed there. . . . St. Cloud is enchanting, and one cannot imagine how Louis XVIII. can prefer the gloomy Tuileries to this de- lightful spot, where his rooms open on fine lawns and groves of trees down to the banks of the Seine ; yet it is with he greatest difficulty that he can be persuaded to leave Paris whilst his chimneys are swept. " Milan, July 17. — Here we are really in Italy, hearing the •weet sounds of the Italian tongue, and having been intro- duced to Italian roofs and to lovely Italian vineyards, aung in festoons like the wreaths of a grand festival . . . The sun had set when we reached the Lake of Como, but its rays still illumined all the mountains, which rise abruptly from the water. There was a gentle swell; the splashing of the oars and the rippling of the waves was the only sound heard. Some of the mountains gradually assumed the dark shades of twilight, whilst others were still tinged with the last rays of the sun. In this delightful scene imagine a moon more clear, more beautiful than any you ever saw, rising in a sky of the most lovely blue, and reflecting its silver light far upon the lake. You would be quite en- chanted with the moons of Italy ; the sky and atmosphere are so excessively clear, the deep blue makes the moon r.till more beautiful, and in the lake one side is most brilliantly illuminated, whilst the other remains in darkness '' STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 39 M. L. to MlSS HlBBERT. "Stoke, Oct. 20, 1818. — After an absence of neirly six months, a return to one's home is not at all disagreeable For the first day I could hardly fancy where I was, and now that I find out that I am really at Stoke, I begin to fancy all that I have seen a delightful dream — too delightful to have been true. When I left Stoke I left it full of hopes and expectations which have been more than fulfilled and surpassed ; not a cloud has obscured the bright sunshine of a tour the most delightful that could be taken, and to me infinitely endeared by being enjoyed with the two people I love best— my sister and Edward Penrhyn. In short, I cannot imagine it possible for any one to enjoy more perfect happiness than I have done for the last six months — 'les plus beaux de ma vie.' It is well that you are away from me, or your ears would be perfectly stunned with the never- ceasing Ranz des Vaches or Tyrolean airs echoed through the house, and your eyes would be quite wearied in always seeing Switzerland, Italy, or the Rhine on my table in the form of sketches and journals. " Nov. i 2. — I am still wild about the Ranz des Vaches. Every day sees me at the top of the field making the air resound with the calling of my cows, but they answer not to my call ; no little bell tinkles as they feed on then, green pastures, and it is a most extended stretch of my imagina- tion to transform the flooded meadows into a beautiful lake, the wooden barns into Alpine chalets, and the pointed clouds into snowy Alps ; bui still the remembrance is there, and how dear, how delightful it is to me ! "Dec. 14, 1818. — My brothers and I have had such a pleasant visit at Hodnet ! There were only Mr. and Mrs. R. Heber, Mr. Heber, and Mr. Augustus Hare there. The latter is the oddest and most agreeable person I have seen foi a very long time- very clever and enthusiastic, but quite 30 MEMORIALS Of A QUIET LIFE. unlike other people, which is a relief sometimes, for every- day people are so common in this world. I was very happy in reading some of my German with the dear Reginald, and found myself infinitely advanced since the last time I read with him." "March 25, 1819. — There is something in the feel and appearance of a bright sunny spring day which makes one feel pleased with everybody and everything in spite of one- self. It gives an elastic spring to one's feelings, which is very delightful, and the sun seems to light upon the bright side of every prospect and recollection, and to leave in oblivion every less pleasing part. I have been spending two whole days with the Reginald Hebers ; he was very, very delightful, and our evenings were most snug and com- fortable. Reginald Heber made songs for us as fast as we could sing them." " Aldcrley Rectory, May 10, 1819. — We live here in such perfect retirement and tranquillity that it is more like Stoke than Alderley, and I enjoy exces.rvely the exemption from all interruption to the happiness of my life here. I believe you will not have any difficulty in imagining how great that happiness is, in the society of two people that one loves excessively, with children that are as interesting to one as if they were one's own, and with all the luxury of deli- cious spring weather in beech woods and green fields. I would defy you to tantalize me with the greatest temptations London could offer ; as far as happiness, real true happi- ness is concerned, nothing in London could present to me half as much as one perfectly retired uninterrupted day at Alderley." The autumn of i8iQ was spent by Maria Leycester in travelling through Scotland with her brother Edward in a gig — considered a most adventurous enterprise for a young STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HOBNET. 31 lady in those days — seeing Arran, Staffa, and a great part of the Highlands, and paying visits at Blair Athol and Tay- mouth, at both of which places they fell in with Prince Leopold, for whose recent bereavement great interest was then excited. M. L. to C. S. " Kenmore, Sept. 13, 1819. — It was by the most curious piece of good fortune that we arrived at Blair the very day that Prince Leopold came there. Thomas was sent on before us with my father's letter and a card to the Duke of Athol, and in great curiosity to know the result, we arrived at the inn, and found our answer awaiting us. They should be very happy to see us at dinner at seven o'clock, and were very sorry not to have it in their power to offer us beds. I was obliged to summon up all my courage at the idea of being ushered into an immense party of utter strangers with no other chaperon than Edward, and wished the day over many times, especially as I had little power, with the contents of our small gig-box, of making myself sufficiently dressed for such a party. However, there was nothing now to be done ; the chaise came to the door, and we were soon rattled down to the castle. At the entrance, we were received by the piper, dressed in a very handsome complete High- land costume. He showed us into the hall, where we were met by a very fine gentleman, who, in the most awful silence, preceded us through many long passages, and up a flight of stairs to the drawing-room. At the door, we were met by the Duke, who, after inquiring a little about the difference in our names, which had puzzled him much, led us into the room. Fancy my unhappy situation, with a most formidable circle of ladies before me at one end of the room, and a crowd of gentlemen at the other. Fortunately the Duchess was near the door, and I was quickly presented 32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to her, and, I believe, to the Prince, who was seated by her; but I really have no recollection of what was before me at that moment. The Duke then led me to a chair, by some of the ladies, and I was very happy to find myself seated, after being introduced to nine in succession. Dinner was soon announced, and the Duke assigned me to the care of Colonel Grant, whose grey hairs were rather comforting to me. On my other hand, I found seated next me at dinner, a pretty and very unaffected girl, who, in the course of dinner, assisted me in discovering the names of all the party. . . . First let me introduce you to his Royal Highness Prince Leopold. He is very dark, very hand- some, and when listening to conversation, he looks under his eyes very much ; but there is something in his manner particularly graceful and charming, and quite unaffected, though with a great appearance of depression. His suite consisted of Baron Hardenbroke, a complete German in appearance, with a large nose, and of a circumference which looked as if eating, drinking, and sleeping were his sole occupation; Sir Robert Gardiner, a courtier-like man; and' Dr. Stockmar, the physician. Besides these, there was Lord Huntley, a good-humoured, sprightly little man of about fifty; Sir John Oswald, a remarkably gentlemanlike and pleasant military man ; Lady Oswald, an extremely pretty and sensible young woman, about your age, married at the same time, and with the same number of children. She and her two sisters were nieces of the Duke, one of the latter being my pleasant lively neighbour, and the elder, Miss Murray, excessively pretty. Then there was Lady Emily Murray, wife of Lord James, and daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, fashionable, and with plenty ctf small-talk ; and several other nieces of the Duke and Duchess. Besides these, there was Dr. M'Culloch, a very learned and scientific man, employed in drawing, and STOKE. AT.T>ERLLY. AND HODNET. 31 seeming to understand it very thoroughly. I have not yet mentioned the Duke — an oldish man, very like Lord Penrhyn in face and size ; or the Duchess, a fine looking woman, very duchess -like, speaking with a very pretty Scotch accent, and excessively good-natured. These, I think, were the principals of the party before me. Do not you wonder how, out of my gig-seat, I could make myself fit for such a party ? I assure you the Duchess complimented me greatly on my good management. You can have no idea of the excessive kindness of her manner towards us, and she succeeded very soon in making me feel quite com- fortable and at my ease. The evening passed away pleasantly enough, the Prince playing at cards, the others talking in different groups. On Friday morning Edward went off early with all the gentlemen to the mountains to shoot deer. They had little sport, but he says it was beautiful scenery, and very interesting following them and trying to catch them, and the train of Highlanders looked very fine scattered about. The Prince is a great geologist, and was much pleased with finding great curiosity in the rocks, &c. t and Dr. M'Culloch said he seemed to know a great deal about it. I had some beautiful walks meanwhile with the Miss Murrays. So passed Friday, though I should not omit how much honoured I felt by being spoken to in the evening by the Prince. On Saturday morning he went away. Then they lent me a very nice pony, and sent two servants on horseback to attend us, one to be the guide, the l other to hold our horses — to see some waterfalls and a lake at some distance from Blair ; and in the evening we had Highland reels. Edward and I intended to go away on Sunday, but the Duchess pressed us so much to stay, that we willingly gave up our intention, and stayed till to-day. I enjoyed myself excessively the last day or two. We had an addition to the party in two Italians, very handsome, VOL. I. D '34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. pleasing young men. The Conte de Velo was a Venetian, well acquainted with Parolini, so we talked a great deal to him ; the other, Marchese Capponi, was a Florentine. There was very little formality, and everybody extremely good-natured ; and I got quite accustomed to all the d.fferent titles, and did not feel alarmed lest I should say, 1 My Lord ' where I ought to say ' Duke,' &c. ; and I learnt to curtsey in the right place, and, in short, felt very much at home. Lord Huntley made us a very pretty speech about his sorrow that we were not going northwards, that he might have the pleasure of receiving us. It is a very different style of living from the English houses, everything on a magnificent scale, but very little show or decoration, the grounds not at all dressed or ornamented, as in English parks, but very wild and beautiful. I forgot to say that after dinner the first evening the Duches-s told us that she had not been able to offer us beds, bec-iuse she had not been sure how many persons the Prince would bring with him ; but he had brought fewer than she expected, and she was very glad to be able to find two beds for us in con- sequence, so we stayed in the house all the time. It ^ an immense house in length, and almost the ugliest I ever saw, and without much furniture. "As nothing but princes will do for us now, we came to- day to Taymouth, sent up a note to Lady Breadalbane to ask when we might wait upon them, and received for answer that they hoped to see us at dinner, but had no beds. No post-chaises are to be had here, and as it was im- possible for me to go into such a party dressed for dinner in a gig, I was obliged to give it up with great reluctance, and send Edward alone, and he is now dining with the Prince, Lord Lauderdale, and I don't know who else, and to-morrow, perhaps, they may have beds for us. "There has been a grand dinner for the tenants, and I STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 35 have been well amused all evening watching them as they assembled in the village before going home, — some hundreds of Highlanders, whose dress exceeds in gaiety and vaiiety everything you can imagine : it looked just like a scene in a play, seeing one after another pass out of a gate in the park, dressed in bonnet and kilt, sporran and hose and plaid. There was a very fine scene at Lord Huntley's to surprise the Prince the other day, — he was at the top of some high hill, when all of a sudden up started five hundred Highlanders just like Roderick Dhu's troop. "It is quite comical how much society we have had. At Fort-William we met with Mr. E. Lomax again, and at Inverness with Mr. Augustus Hare, so we have not had much time to get tired of each other. We get generally envied for our independent and comfortable way of travelling, and nothing can have more enjoyment than we have when it is tolerable weather. "Sept. 14. — Edward had a very pleasant dinner. We have refused their invitation for to-day, and have been making the tour of Loch Tay instead. To-morrow we go to stay at Taymouth, and shall see the interesting Prince again, as he stays there till Thursday. "Sept. 24. — I left you last just as we were going to Tay- mouth. That you may go on with us in idea through all our proceedings, I must go back, I suppose, to that time. I was exceedingly glad to be spared all the awful entrance into the drawing-room full of strangers, which I had to encounter at Blair, for by going in the morning I made ac- quaintance with all the ladies, and felt much more at home amongst them. The dinner presented nothing formidable to me. Would you know our party? Prince Leopold and suite to begin with, and I must tell you that when he came into the room before dinner he came across to me, and said in his sweet manner, 'How do you do, Miss Leycester? I 36 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. was not aware that you were here ;' and then he went to Edward and inquired from him why I had not come with him the first day to Taymouth, and whether he had been back to Blair to fetch me. He has that happy faculty for a prince of never forgetting anything. There was his great friend Lord Lauderdale, an odd-looking little man, dressed like a groom, yet quite the gentleman in his manner, and with a very intelligent countenance and style of conversation, ■ — Sir Peter and Lady Mary Murray, — Sir Niel and Lady Menzies, and Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. We had a very agree- able dinner, not certainly from the ladies' agreeableness, but from Lord Lauderdale, Mr. Kinnaird, and the Prince I was fortunate enough to sit opposite his Royal Highness, and he talked a great deal, and told many anecdotes of Bona- parte, &c. In the evening we had music, dancing, and t.ards, and the Prince joined in singing 'Auld Lang Syne' with Miss Murray : he has a very fine bass voice, and sang with much taste and a thorough knowledge of music. I was so sorry that there was none of Don Giovanni there for him to sing, for he seemed so well acquainted with that, and hummed it so well, that he would have sung more, I daresay, but unfortunately Lady Elizabeth Campbell was from home, and had taken all her music with her. " Thursday morning was beautifully fine. We breakfasted with the Prince at seven o'clock, and afterwards he embarked with some of the party in a boat on Loch Tay. I went with Lady Breadalbane in her carriage to meet them at the other end of the Loch, fifteen miles off, at a very pretty cot- tage of Lord Breadalbane's. We arrived before the boat. A cold dinner was prepared, and when the Prince landed, a troop of Highlanders, preceded by bagpipes playing and colours flying, escorted him up to the cottage. At two o'clock he left Auchmoor, the cottage, and proceeded on his journey 10 Callendar, and it seemed really quite a blank STCKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 37 when he was gone, his manner is so very engaging s.nd pleasant. We had a capital specimen of a Highland chieftain in the Laird of MacNab, who came to wait upon the Prince in full chieftain dress, — eagle plumes in his bonnet, &c. He was a fine-looking man, and seemed to consider himself by far the greatest person in the com- pany. . . . " On Friday we left Taymouth and proceeded to Dunkeld and then to Loch Katrine. Every step of the way from Callendar, as we traced tie progress of Roderick's cross of fire, was interesting, and I cannot tell you how every bush and tree, every copse and mound, seemed animated, or how exactly Scott has pictured the character and style of scenery. I expected to be disappointed from having so high an idea of Loch Katrine in my own mind, but never were expectations of beauty more fully realised. I have enjoyed no day so much on our tour as this one : we spent many hours on the lake and in the Trosachs, scrambling up Ellen's Isle, visiting the pebbly beach, the aged oak, &c and feeling every line in the 'Lady of the Lake ' echoed in one's own sense of great delight. It is quite curious how completely it is all considered as reality by the people of the place, and you are shown with as much gravity where the gallant grey was lost, and where Fitz James or Ellen stood, as if they had been real persons and real events. " We have since had another interesting day on Loch Awe, the scenery in which ' Rob Roy' is laid. We had an introduction to Dr. Grahame, who went with us, and as he had been with Walter Scott there before ' Rob Roy ' was written, he knew all the spots he particularly noticed then, and has since most accurately described. He showed us the rock from which Morris was thrown, the tree by which Baillie Jarvie hung, and the beautiful spot where Helen Macgregor gave her breakfast, which Scott has 38 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. described quite with minute accuracy. Here Dr. Giahame said Walter Scott sat without speaking for twenty minutes, looking at the waterfall and rocks. It is a wonderful power of sketching in his own mind a scene as accurately as any drawing could render it, and describing afterwards." M. L. to Miss Hibbert. " Stoke Rectory, Oct. 24. — I have not yet told you of the pleasantest part of our tour, our visit to Walter Scott. He lives about three miles from Melrose, and our first day's journey from Edinburgh was to his house. We had a letter to him from Reginald Heber, and Mr. Scott persuaded us to stay three days with him, during which time we had full opportunity of becoming acquainted with him. We were the only strangers, and therefore had his conversation all to ourselves, and most highly were we gratified. He is un- affected and simple in his manner to the greatest degree, and at first his countenance only bespeaks good humour; but mention any subject that interests him, and he lights up in an instant into fire and animation. He is a kind of person one could not feel afraid of for a moment. What- ever subject you begin is the same to him ; he has something entertaining to tell on every one, and the quickness with which he catches up everything that is passing, even at the other end of the room, is surprising. His family consists of a very insignificant little wife, a French woman, quite in- ferior to him, and his daughters, who are 'fine sensible, clever girls, quite brought up by him. The eldest sang Jacobite songs and border ballads to us with such spirit and enthusiasm, that it was delightful, and their love for Scotland makes them quite worthy of it.. Their chief delight is in the Border stories and traditions, in which they are very rich. His house is built by himself, and is very odd and picturesque. There is a little armoury with painted STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 39 glass windows, and the walls and chimneypiece covered with antiquities — Claverhouse's pistol, Rob Roy's gun and purse, Highland arms, targets, and claymores, quaighs, thumb- screws, trophies from Waterloo, ancient armour— in short, it is the most interesting and curious little room. " Then at every step about the house you come to some curious thing. He has got the gate of the Old Tolbooth. and the great keys which have locked up so many victims, and the real tower, removed to his house. But I have no room for more about Walter Scott now, except that we came away quite enchanted with the poet, and still more with the man." "Jan. 17, 1820. — All last week Charles and I passed at Hodnet, and I need not say if we enjoyed it. Only Miss Heber was there, and Mr. Stow, a friend of Reginald's who is at present living at Hodnet as his curate. Of this latter person I must say a little more, for I never met with any one so like Edward Stanley as he is, no less in his jet black eyes, eyebrows, and hair, than in the energy and enthusiasm of his character, the extent of his information on every sub- ject, and the excessive quickness and activity of his mind and body. After this description I need not say whether he was an addition to the party. We had every kind of amusement in the evenings in dancing, singing, and acting. Reginald Heber and Mr. Stow are both excellent actors, and we acted a French proverbe one night, and the f Chil- dren in the Wood ' another, forming in ourselves both the performers and the audience, and very amusing it was. It was all extempore, and our dresses we got up in a few minutes at the time, so there was no trouble attending it, no spectators to alarm us, and perfect unanimity and good- humour to make it enjoyable. In the mornings one of the party read Scott's new novel, ' Ivanhoe,' aloud to the others . . ." 40 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Maria Leycestcr's religious impressions became much strengthened about this time by the opening of a corre- spondence on spiritual subjects with her friend Lucy Stanley — an intercourse which was continued through their whole lives. On January 6, 1820, she had first written : — M. L. to L. A. S. " I cannot tell how much pleasure it gives me to think that you have become interested in that subject which to those who think seriously about it must be the most interesting that can be found — the comfort, the assist- ance, the support it affords, are so far beyond that which anything else can give, that, having once found it, I am not afraid you should forsake it. For my own sake, too, I am glad, for I always feel a great reluctance to express to another person feelings which I am not sure that they will perfectly understand ; and I feel, and I daresay you have felt this far more with regard to religion than to anything else. There is a sacredness about it which prevents one entering upon it except where it will be entirely entered into — where there can be no mistake about the nature of one's feelings. It is not a feeling which can be explained ; it must be ielt. as tbat which leads one to aspire to an ambition higher far than we can find here, as that which affords a noble and exalted motive for every exertion . . ." In March, 1820, a great sorrow came to the family at Stoke, in the sudden death of Charles Leycester, from — what was not then known as — diphtheria. To his sisier itiis grief was aggravated by her not being permitted to see him for fear of infection, but he was most devotedly nursed by Mrs. Oswald Leycester. STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 41 M. L. to Miss L. H. and L. A. S. " Stoke, March 29, 1820. — It was so sudden, so unex- pected, that I was almost stunned, and hardly knew what I felt for a time. We had been so peculiarly happy together that I could not believe in the danger to the very last. Every recollection from my earliest years, every interest, every prospect, every pleasure, was united with him. For the last three months we have never been separated, and there is not a room or a thing in the house which does not recall him to my memory, and make me feel in its utmost bitterness the dreadful vacancy. But I feel it is the hand of God, a means for leading us more to Him who has given us all ; and his mind was so pure, his thoughts so serious, and he was so convinced that he should not live long, that I feel confident he was prepared. I saw him after his spirit had fled, and his countenance was so heavenly and beauti- ful, that it was the greatest comfort to me ; and when I think of it now I feel how selfish is all my sorrow. I have yet one brother left, and many, man) blessings — but Charles, dear Charles ! "April 14. — I can feel quite composed now in writing or thinking of him I have lost ; but when they talk of other things I feel a sinking — a weight that I cannot overcome ; and if my thoughts can be diverted from the subject which is almost ever present to it, it is a bitter return to it. We have been so uninterruptedly blest that I feel it is good for us to be afflicted, to lead our hearts to Him who hath given us all. I was too confident, too pre- sumptuous in the expectation of a continuance of iuch happiness, and now to Him who gave and nath taken away 1 have turned for consolation and support — and oh ! if that feeling of nothingness — of resignation into the hands of an Almighty Will could last which we feel in the hour of afflic- tion — how different we should be ! No one who has felt the 42 MEMORIALS OF A QUIE1 LIFE. purifying, elevating effect of such feelings could wish to put them away or return to the same round of worldly occupa- tions or pursuits, without one thought beyond the present hour or day. " There is no bitterness, no harshness, in our grief. It is so softened down by every recollection, so chastened, so subdued, that I cannot bear to put it away or try to forget it, and those who wish to divert and turn one's attention to other things, know little of the feeling of real affliction, which is of so elevating a nature that it cannot be wrong to indulge in it. There is something so sacred and hallowed in one's affection for one who is called to another world, it seems to unite one's heart with eternity — to refine it from any exclusive attachment to earth. I feel fears mingled with my love for those who are left, and shudder at the thought of their being taken too, but I can think of him without fear or dread, and feel that the affection which was begun and cherished here will be perfected hereafter. " I cannot bear to think of the time when the impression of Charles will be less strong than it is now. It is such a pleasure to fancy I see him by me — to remember, till recol- lection almost becomes reality, everything he said, the tone of his voice, the expression of his eye, to imagine he is not dead but parted for a time, even though the illusion is very short." The summer of 182 1 was spent by Miss Leycester with the Stanleys in Anglesea. M. L. to Mrs. Reginald Heber. " Penrhos, August 13, 1821. — The last has been a most interesting week. It was just before dinner on Monday that the report was spread through the house that the blue flag was hoisted on the signal station on Holyhead moun- STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND KODNET. 43 tain. This we knew to signify that a number of ships were in sight. In an instant the balcony was filled and every telescope in requisition, and having ascertained the fact to be so, we went to dinner. We had not half finished dinner when a gun was heard, announcing the red flags being sub- stituted for the blue ones. The dinner-table and house were speedily deserted, and we hurried to Holyhead, and took our station at the top of the lighthouse which is at the end of the pier. There we waited for some hours, watching a tremendous thunderstorm, and seeing all the vessels in harbour sail out to meet the King. It grew darker and darker, and at last we were obliged to return home in despair. About 2 a.m. Sir John was waked by a letter from Lord Anglesea, saying that the King was anchored in the bay, but had not yet decided on landing. At six we all sallied forth to see the beautiful souadron, consisting of two fine frigates, four large yachts, and sloops of war and in- numerable cutters. The morning was spent in hearing divers reports of what the King intended to do, sending him presents of fruit and flowers, which were, I believe, very ac- ceptable, and watching him while he was walking on deck, and visiting the Active and Liffy. Whilst on board the Liffy, intelligence came that the King designed to land. We hurried back to the lighthouse, from the balcony of which we had the most extensive and uninterrupted view imagin- able. The scene which followed was really magnificent. It was a most beautiful day, a bright sun shining upon all the vessels, and the sea a deep dark green colour. .At four o'clock the guns of Holyhead and Penrhos batteries fired the royal salute — a sign that the King had got into his barge, in an instant every yard was manned, every vessel covered with flags of every colour and form, and every gun was fired from each vessel, giving one in some degree an idea of \s hat an engagement must be, as the clouds of smoke and 44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFR. fire issued from each and echoed through the bay. The suu shining on the flags, and little regiments of men on every yard, and beautiful cutters sailing about in all direc- tions, really exceeded all one could imagine in beauty. By degrees the royal barge approached, attended by the boats belonging to each ship, the crew dressed in black, scarlet, and gold, the oars tipped with gold, and the royal standard at one end. It reached the shore, and as the King placed his foot on the first step, the guns fired, the band (which at- tended in one of the boats, struck up ' God save the King,' every hat and handkerchief was waved, and loud hurrahs and cheers came from the crowds of people assembled on the pier. It was a moment never to forget, for every recol- lection of individual folly and unworthiness was banished from one's mind in the overpowering feeling and enthusiasm of the moment, and the deep silence which followed the burst of applause when he landed on the pier was very striking. There, in the midst of the two rows of people, Sir John knelt to receive him. The King made a speech ex- pressive of his gratitude for the attention shown to him, and his pleasure at seeing the country of which he had so long borne the name. Sir John then read the Address, again knelt and kissed hands, and the King then proceeded to his carriage, attended by Lord Anglesea, followed by several catriages, and the crowd cheering all the way as he drove slowly through a triumphal arch erected at the end of the pier. " On Wednesday the King returned from Plas Newydd, and the greater part of the scene was again repeated. On Thursday morning a King's messenger arrived with the news of the Queen's death. We saw the despatch was carried down to him in his cabin. Of what might be his feelings we of course knew nothing; every outward mark of decency has been shown, all the flags being, by his order, put half STOKE, ALDERLEY, ANk HODNET. 45 mast high, and he not appearing on deck at all, and dining alone in his cabin. One could not help a feeling of melan- choly at the idea that while he was receiving the homage of his people, surrounded by all that could be of grandeur and magnificence, his poor Queen was lying on her death- bed, deserted by all who had any natural ties to lament or regret her loss." In December, 1822, the Bishopric of Calcutta was offered to Reginald Heber, with but little hope that he would be willing to sacrifice the comforts and interests of his Shropshire living for a mitre on the banks of the Ganges. He was, however, led to its acceptance by the consciousness of how wide a sphere of usefulness he would reject in its refusal, and almost immediately began to prepare for his departure from Hodnet. Greatly as his approaching loss was felt by many in the neighbourhood, the blow was in- comparably most severe to Maria Leycester, who for many years had been like a sister to him, and who had derived her chief home-pleasures from his society, and that of Mrs. Heber. M. L.'s Journal. "Feb. 8, 1823. — The extreme suffering I felt on first hearing of the intended departure of the Hebe's for India, has now passed. Those vividly painful feelings seldom con- tinue long in the same form, when the necessity for exertion, variety of society, and change of place, call upon the mind for fresh thoughts. But though the immediate shock is over, and my mind is by time habituated to the idea, so that I can now think and write of it calmly, it is no less a source of the deepest sorrow to me. Nor is it merely in 4^ MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. the pain of parting with such friends that I shall feel it. It will be in the daily loss 1 shall experience of kind and affectionate neighbours, of an interest always kept up, of the greatest part of my home enjoyments. " I had so little foreseen, at any time, the possibility of this event, that I was totally unprepared for it, and although now it appears quite natural that Reginald, who is so pecu- liarly fitted for the situation, should wish for it, I could hardly at first believe it to be possible. . . . The remem- brance of the last two years rises up before me so much the more endeared from the thought that those happy days will never again return. There is nothing out of my own family which could have made so great a blank in my existence as this will do. For so many years have they been to me as brother and sister, giving to me so much pleasure, so much improvement. It will be the breaking up of my thoughts and habits and affections for years, and scarcely can I bear to think that in a few months those whom I have loved so dearly will be removed from me far into another world — for such does India appear at this distance." " April 3. — So much has one feeling occupied every thought for the last two months, that it seems but a day since I wrote the last few lines — with this only difference, that the reality is so much more bitter than the anticipation, and that the certainty of my loss is now brought back to me by the knowledge that I shall never see them again, here or at Hodnet. The chord is snapped asunder, and I feel in its full force the effect it must have on my future happiness. I look around in vain for a bright spot to which to turn. All that I valued most, out of my own family, will be at once taken from me, and it will leave a blank that cannot be filled. To find a friend like Reginald, with a heart so kind, so tender, and a character so heavenly, must be utterly impossible, and the remembrance of all the interest he has STOKE, ALDERLEY, ANr HODNET. 47 shown in me, and all his kindness, makes the feeling of his loss very difficult to bear. . . ." August 1, 1823. — This evening I have, for the arst time, ventured to go by Hodnet. It must be done, and it was better alone than with others. So, having dined eurly, I took a long ride — one of our old rides which I have so often taken with him. There stood the poor deserted Rec- tory, with its flowers and its fields — the green gate, which I have so seldom passed before unopened, all looking exactly the same as in days of happiness, and now how changed from their former merriment to solitude and silence ! Those beautiful park-fields where I have so often walked, and where I shall never walk again, lay shining in the evening sun, looking most tranquil and peaceful, as if in a world so beautiful unhappiness could not be found. Scarcely could I believe, as I looked around me, that all were gone with whom I had enjoyed so many happy days there, and that those same trees and fields were alone remaining to speak to me, of the past, every step recalling to me some word or look. As I rode along, recollections crowded on me so fast that I felt hardly conscious of die present and its gloom, in living over again a period of such happiness. . . ." But the feelings of grief with which Maria Leycester watched the departure of the Hebers for India, did not solely arise from the pain of losing their society. In losing them she lost also the only means of communication with another, who had become, in the last few years, even more closely endeared to her, and with whom her acquaintance had begun and ripened under their roof, and been fostered by their sympathy and protection. It was in the autumn of 1819, upon her return from Scotland, that she first met with Mr. Martin Stow, a person who was to have much in- 4* MEMORIALS OF A Q'.IET LIFE. fiueficc over her future life. Though regarding him as " a mere country curate," she was at once interested in him by the likeness which many perceived between him and her beloved brother-in-law, Edward Stanley. Early in January, i 8 20, she spent a week at Hodnet Rectory, during which they were constantly together, sharing in the many amuse- ments of that happy home, in all of which Mr. Stow was a most willing and able assistant, and in which his high spirits seemed to communicate themselves to every member of the party, and to spread a spirit of life and vivacity around him. In the following summer, the acting of Mr. Heber's little play of Blue Beard again assembled the party at Hodnet, where there was always the most enjoyable kind of society, no form or dulness, but conversation of every kind, sometimes playful and sometimes serious j a bright colouring seemed to invest everything, and those who were admitted into the little circle of intimates of which Reginald Heber was the centre, found a charm in every occupation and pursuit which they had never felt before. It was not to be wondered at, that, meeting on such terms, two persons whose pursuits and tastes were similar, should become in- timate. It was in the midst of this happiness (March, i3r.o) that Charles Leycester's death occurred after a single week's illness. His sister at the time was almost crushed by the blow, and the first person to whom she turned with interest, when she began to recover from the stunning force of sorrow, was Mr. Stow, who had been the intimate friend of the brother she had lost ; and in the following summer in her rides with her brother Edward, he constantly joined STOKE, AI.DERLEY, AND HODNET. 49 them, and the three rambled together over the woods at Hawkestone, discovering new paths, and enjoying their beauties. In the following summer of 182 1 Maria Leycester was constantly urged by the Hebers to form one of their party, and her visits to Hodnet Rectory were of almost daily occurrence. Mr. Stow was generally there ; the walks with him and Reginald Heber had an indescribable charm, and the affection which had gradually and unconsciously been drawing their hearts together, could not but daily gain strength. In June, Maria Leycester was again staying at Hodnet, at the time of the christening of the little Emily Heber, at which she and Mr. Stow knelt side by side as proxy god- father and godmother. During this visit he begged per- mission to make known to her family the feeling with which he regarded her, but his advances were coldly received by them, and both his daughter and Mr. Stow became aware how impossible it would be ever to obtain Mr. Leycester's consent to their union. Without this she would not marry. In that autumn Mr. Stow accepted the British chaplaincy at Genoa, whence he maintained a constant correspondence with the Hebers, through whom a certain degree of com- munication was preserved. In February, 1822, Mr. Stow was recalled to England by his father's death, and came again to Hodnet, bringing his sister with him, and he and Miss Leycester met with that calmness of intercourse which arose from no change in the degree of their attachment, but from the confirmed steadi- ness with which it had now become part of themselves, and VOL. I. K 50 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. which it had acquired in the experience of many months separation, and when he returned to Genoa it was with a mutual though unspoken assurance of unchangeable affec- tion on either side. The following summer was passed by Maria Leycester in a happy state of tranquillity, not unenlivened by hope. The summer was a very hot one, and she passed whole days in the open air, living under the lime-trees, which crown the steep mossy bank at Stoke Rectory, with her table and books, reading " Spenser's Fairy Queen " for the first time, listening to the Hodnet bells, and existing in a world of her own, where all was peace and happiness. The Hebers were at this time in London, Reginald Heber having been appointed preacher at Lincoln's Inn ; but every evening, when it became cool enough, Maria Leycester would mount her horse Psyche and ride over to Hodnet Rectory to visit their little Emily, who rewarded her with her many smiles. It was in January, 1823, that Maria Leycester was first told that Reginald Heber had accepted the bishopric of Calcutta. A thunderclap could not have stunned her more. To his preferment in England she had long and anxiously looked forward as involving her own prospects also, frit for this she was wholly unprepared. It was cutting oft at once not only all present connection with Mr. Stow, but all hopes of future preferment ; it was taking away the only society in which she felt any interest, and the only friends who had ever been her support and consolation in her separation from him, both in their sympathy, and the means of communication they afforded. Whichever way she looked, STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET, Jl her loss appeared heavier. On their return to Hodnet every visit became more and more melancholy, as every- thing around reminded her of their approaching departure. The whole of Passion Week was spent by them at Stoke Rectory, and they were then accompanied by Mrs. Heber's favourite cousin, Augustus Hare, with whom Maria Leycester had become intimately acquainted during his many visits at Hodnet, and who was also the dearest friend cf Mr. Stow. It was a party that in happier times would have been delightful, but it was now filled with too bitter recollections and anticipations. The spirits, however, in which Reginald Heber spoke and thought of this new sphere opened to him did much to turn their thoughts towards the interests and occupations of his future life. Each day was employed in walks to Hodnet Rectory, which looked more and more deserted as it was gradually emptied of all its contents, and little left but the bare walls of the rooms which had been the scene of so much enjoyment. On Easter Sunday the whole party went to Hodnet Church, where Reginald Heber preached a beautiful and deeply affecting farewell sermon, in which he expressed his anxiety to partake with his friends for the last time of the Holy Sacrament, which he after- wards administered to them, " as strengthening that feeling in which alone they would in future be united, till the East and West should alike be gathered as one fold under one Shepherd." On the following day the Hebers left Stoke. Maria Leycester walked up with them to Hodnet for the last time, and through life remembered the kindness of Reginald Heber during that walk — the affectionate man- ner in which he tried to soothe her grief at parting with 52 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. them, and to talk of future happy times — the assurances he gave her that amidst the new interests of India he should often turn to former friends and think of the days they had passed together — and that they should still ever be united in prayer. The whole warmth of his heart was shown in those last moments, till they parted, when he and Mrs. lieber turned in at the gates of Hodnet Hall. As Maria Leycester returned to Stoke across Hodnet Heath, Augustus Hare walked with her, and his brother-like sympathy and affection gave her great comfort, and inspired her with the utmost confidence, especially as he alone, except the Hebers, was acquainted with all the circum- stances of her relation to Mr. Stow. He spent the rest of that day at Stoke, while waiting for the coach which was to pass in the evening. Meantime, Bishop Heber had made the offer of his Indian chaplaincy to Mr. Stow, who gladly accepted it, in the hope that Miss Leycester might consent to accompany him, and that her family, in the knowledge that she would An this case remain with the Hebers and form part of their family circle, might be induced to assent to their marriage. But these hopes proved entirely fruitless : and when Maria Leycester accompanied the Stanleys to London to see the last of the Hebers, she had an interview with Mr. Stow at Lincoln's Inn, which she quite believed to be a final one. The following letters belonging to this period are not without interest to the story: — Reginald Hebkk to Augustus W. Hare. "Hodnet, March 3, 1823. — I take abundant shame to myself, my dear Augustus, lor not having sooner answered STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 53 one of the most gratifying letters which I have received for many months ; but you will, I am sure, impute my silence to any cause but indifference either to the intelligence ^hich you communicated or to the friendship of the kind com- municator. It was, indeed, a very great and most unex- pected honour which the University conferred on me ; and, perhaps, the distinction of all others which, if it had been named to me, I should have most desired. Yet 1 will fairly say that I derived more pleasure still from the kind and cordial manner in which you congratulated me, and the renewed conviction which I felt of your regard and favour- able opinion. I heartily wish I may through life retain, and continue to deserve them both. Your cousin and I are here in the midst of packings and leave-takings, both un- pleasant operations, and the latter a very painful one. I do not, indeed, feel so much parental emotion as many people profess under similar circumstances, and as I myself partly expected I should, in bidding adieu to the stones and trees which I have built and planted. But, besides my mothei and sister, and besides the other kind friends with whom 1 have passed so many hours here, there are among my parishioners many old persons whom I can never expect to meet again, and many, both old and young, who evidently lose me with regret, and testify their concern in a very natural and touching manner. My comfort is that Emily, who is as much regretted as I can be, and who has, if possible, more ties than I have to bind her to England — ■ now that the first struggle is over — is not only resigned, but cheerful and courageous, and as resolute as I am to look only on the bright side of the prospect." Martin Stow to Augustus W. Hare. " Feb., 1823. — The dream is at an end. In losing the Hebers I have lost Maria Leycester. Not a hope, nor a 54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. shadow of a hope, can remain. It is not only that Reginald was the only quarter from which I had the least chance of preferment or recommendation, but they were the only links between the Leycesters and myself; they are taken away, and their departure, as far as I am concerned, is utter and absolute ruin. ... Do not think that I suppose Reginald wrong in going ; far from it. I look upon it as a high and noble self-devotion to the cause of God and the good of mankind ; nor do I know any man whom I would so wil- lingly see at Calcutta. The difficulties to be encountered in India are precisely those with which he is especially qualified to cope — obstinacy and prejudice on the one side, an/i notorious evil living on the other. He is in his own person the confusion of both." Martin Stow to Reginald Heber. " Rome. April 10, 1823. — The last post brought me your kind letter, and I lose no time in returning you my sincerest thanks for the considerate kindness and attention to my interest which has led you to make me so noble an offer of preferment. ... I do not know whether Maria Leycester may have been aware of your intention, or whether she would regard it as favourable or otherwise to our hopes; but as I can hardly suppose that you did not mention it to her, or that she was averse to the place, I have ventured to en- close a letter to her father, stating the nature of the prefer- ment in my power, and requesting his permission to declare my affection to Maria. . . ." Martin Stow to Mrs. R. Heber. '■'■Rome, April 14, 1823. — Do you think there is any chance of my being able to carry my dearest Maria to India ? I think this would give you pleasure ; we should then have 30 much to remind us, *ven on the banks of the Ganges, of STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 55 former days of happiness. Her great love for you both, would, I think, outweigh any personal objection of her own, but I fear that I have scarcely a hope of her father's consent. . . . The little note you have transmitted from Maria is so mournful, yet so resigned, so evidently without hope, that it almost breaks my heart. . . . Addio, and may God bless you for all you have done, and intend to do, for me." Augustus W. Hare to Mrs. R. Heber. " May, 1823. — So Stow has accepted ! He has written to me to implore me to set before Maria Leycester, not his misery, but the certainty of their love being destroyed, if he goes to India without her ; and to prove to her how happy she would be, making one of that circle in India, which has been so very dear to her in England. He wishes me to see her before his arrival, and as he wishes it, I wish it too, Surely, you can contrive this for me. Excellent as she is, I am sure he deserves her, and I am sure he loves her enough to make ten ordinary husbands. Would it not be a great point to familiarise her mind to the possibility of going to India ? So many excellent things are never do^ae, because the parties concerned vote them impossible — ' Cela ne se fait pas ' is the only argument to which I can never find an answer. It is out of my power to say how anxious I feel that this matter should be brought to a good issue. Object- less for myself, and loving no one (in the technical sense of the word, for in its more enlarged meaning God knows I love many people, among others, you and Reginald much), all my wishes tend to furthering the love of a friend from whom, during the last twelve years, I have received so many marks of confidence and affection, and some real services that no other, perhaps, could or would have rendered me — scoldings, by the way, not a few, among the number." 56 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Tlie meeting at Lincoln's Inn was not the last. When Mr. Slow was about to leave England, he could not resist the desire of seeing Miss Leycester once more, and followed her to Cheshire. Their last meeting was in the beech-wood at Alderley. Augustus Hare then accompanied his friend into Cheshire, and remained with him till the 1st of October, when he sailed for India in the Ganges, with his sister. In the following winter, during visits in the neighbourhocd of London, Augustus Hare was the only person Miss Leycester had any pleasure in seeing, and she gratefully received his kindness and sympathy. Though he was more reserved and cautious in speaking of the future than he had hitherto been, he talked much of past days, and but to hear and talk of them was sufficient happiness for her. From him she learnt of the safe arrival of the Ganges in India, and of the welfare and well-being of his friend. Meantime (in 1S23, 1824), Maria Leycester's home life was diversified, and her attention to a certain degree diverted from sorrowful thoughts, by many visits to Knowsley, and by the happy marriage of her brother Edward (Dec. 16, 1823) to Charlotte, eldest daughter of Lord Stanley, and grand- daughter of the twelfth Earl of Derby. On the 1st of February, 1825, Maria Leycester went to Shavington to visit her friend, Lady Frances Needham, from whom she had long been separated, and to her, whose sympathy she had always received, she spoke much of her prospects and hopes, regardless of the sad tone in which she was. answered, and the turn which Lady Frances judiciously STOKE.. ALTJERLEY, AND HODNET. ft gave to the conversation. The visit was to have lasted some days, but, on the second day, there came a note from Stoke, begging that Miss Leycester would return home immediately. It excited her surprise, but nothing more, till the sudden recollection that Lady Frances had disap- peared from the room on receipt of a similar note, awakened alarm. But in vain did Maria Leycester seek to discover its contents from her friend, and in all the wretchedness of suspense she rode home, feeling an inward conviction that the blow, in some form or other, must come from Alderley, as there was no other quarter from which, in her absence, she imagined her family would have heard. She turned to every possible and impossible shape she thought it could assume, but of the right one never did a moment's suspicion cross her mind. She reached Stoke, and in a few minutes the truth was before her — Martin Stow had died of fever at Dacca, on the 17th of July, 1824 ! Reginald Heber to Augustus W. Hare. " Dclaserry River, near Dacca, July 22, 1824. — My dear Augustus,— Little did I anticipate when we parted, with how heavy a heart I should commence what (I am almost ashamed to say) is my first letter to you. We have lost poor Stow ! He set out with me five weeks since on my visitation, leaving his sister with Emily and her children, who were dissuaded by our medical advisers from accom- panying me on the formidable journey ; but whom we hoped to meet in February next at Bombay, whither they were to proceed by sea, while we found our way across the continent, through Rajpoohana and Malwa. Stow had been seiiously ill in Calcutta, of something like a dysentery . but it was anticipated by everybody that a sail of three 58 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. months on the Ganges, and a subsequent journey to t cooler climate would be of the utmost service to him, and he was not only permitted, but strongly advised by Dr. Abel to accompany me. These favourable expectations seemed verified by the experience of our first fortnight ; the cool breeze of the river seemed to revive him most essen- tially, and his spirits and appetite increased perceptibly, while he took an increasing interest in the wild and seques- tered, but beautiful and luxuriant scenes through which we passed, while threading the great Delta of the Ganges in our way to Dacca. Unhapp : Jy, as his strength returned, he became less cautious; he one evening particularly exposed himself to the sun while yet high, and to the worst miasma which this land of death affords, by running into a marsh after some wild ducks. From that time his disorder re- turned, and he reached Dacca on the 5th of this month so weak and exhausted, as to be carried from the boat to the bedroom prepared for him. The means of cure usually employed were tried without success. He struggled, how- ever, against the complaint with a strength which surprised both his medical attendants and myself, and which long flattered us, alas, with a delusive hope of his recovery. During the three last days of his life, he was fully sensible of his approaching end, and I trust I shall never forget the earnestness of his prayers, the severity and deep con- trition with which he scrutinized all the course of his (surely) innocent and useful life; the humility and self-abase- ment with which he cast himself on God's mercy through Christ, or the blessed and still brightening hope which — - after his first mental struggle was over — it pleased his gracious Master to send him. He sent his love to you with a request that all his papers might be sent to you ' to do what you thought best with them.' He observed that the anniversary was just passed of the day in which he STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 59 parted with M. L. in the woods of Alderley. ' Dear, dear Maria!' he said, 'I hope God is not offended with me for thinking of her in this hour.' He often named his 'poor sister,' recommending her to Emily's care and mine. But all the rest of his time was occupied in praying, with me, or mentally, and in listening to different texts of Scripture, which he took great delight in my reading to him. ' God,' he said on Friday evening — ' God and his- dear Son are mercifully making this passage more and more easy to me.' He slept very little, being interrupted by constant spasms. At length, in the course of Saturday, a slight wandering came on, though he never ceased to know me, or to express uneasiness if, by any alteration of position, or any other cause, he, for a moment, lost sight of me. His end was visibly fast approaching, and his face had assumed that unequivocal character which belongs to the dying, when he called me closer to him and said in a half whisper, ' Do you think I shall see my poor, poor sister to-night?' I could not help answering, ' It was by no means impossible.' I know not in what sense he meant the question; but, indeed, I cannot think it even unlikely that the spirit of a just man may be permitted for a time to hover over those objects it has loved most tenderly. Some violent but shore spasms succeeded, after which he sank into a calm slumber, and a few minutes after twelve, literally breathed his last, without a struggle or groan. I myself closed his eyes, and, with the help of a surgeon (whom, in the forlorn hope of some favourable turn taking place, I had got to remain in the house the last three nights), composed his limbs. It was necessary that we should do this, since the superstition of the wretched people round us had put them to flight. " He was buried in the evening of the next day (Sunday, the 1 8th), in the cemetery of the station, which, that day week, I had consecrated. A wild and dismal place it is, as 60 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. ever Christian laid his bones in, at about a mile's distance from the inhabited part of Dacca, but surrounded by ruins and jungle, and containing several tall, ruinous tombs of former residents in the days when the commerce of this province was the most important in India. Some of these have been very handsome, but all are now dilapidated, and overgrown with ivy and the wild fig-tree. There is, however, a high wall, with au old Moorish gateway, which protects the graves effectually from the jackals, and I have given direc- tions for a plain monument to be erected over my poor friend. His illness, his youth, his amiable manners with the few in Dacca who saw him, and his general character, excited a great sensation in the place. Inquiries came every day, with presents of fruit, or often of books, which might elucidate his distemper or amuse him, and similar marks of attention and interest, not only from the English residents, but from the Nawab, from the principal Zemindar of the neighbourhood, and from the Armenian Bishops of Ecmiazin and Jerusalem, whom I met here, engaged in a still larger visitation than my own, of the different churches of their communion in Persia and India. All the English residents, and the officers from the military lines, with a detachment of artillerymen, came, unsolicited, to his funeral. We were the guests of Mr. Masters, the principal judge, whose nephew you may have known at Baliol ; and from him more particularly, and from Mr. Mitford, the junior judge, brother to my friend Mitford of Oriel, we received daily and unwearied kindness. Mrs. Mitford, on finding that poor Miss Stow thought of setting off for Dacca to nurse her brother, not only wrote to ask her to their house, but offered to accelerate a journey which Mr. M. and she were meditating to Calcutta, in order to take care of her in the dismal homeward voyage. I trust, however, that my letters would arrive in time to stop her, STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 6j and lest they should not have done so, I am now diverging from the great stream which is my direct course towards Patna, in order to ascertain whether she has really set out, and, if so, to meet and take her at least the greater part of flie way back again. " Emily had entreated, on hearing the first alarm, that, hi the event of poor Stow's death or inability to proceed, I would not refuse her permission to join meat the Rajamehal Hills, and to go with me, at whatever risk, through the rest of the journey ; and I know her so well that, though there will certainly be some circumstances trying to her strength, I am disposed to believe she would suffer more by not being allowed to follow me ; so that, in about a month's time, I may hope to see her and my children. Whether Miss Stow will accompany them, or immediately return to England, I know not; her brother seemed to think she would prefer the former, and I have written to invite her to do so. Yet, alas ! what motive has she now for lingering in. India? " This is the second old and valued friend (poor Sir C. Puller was the first, though my intimacy with Stow was far greater) which this cruel climate has within a few months robbed me of. In the meantime, I have great reason for thankfulness that, in all essential points, my own health has remained firm ; that my dear wife, though she has been an invalid, has been so from causes unconnected with the climate ; and that my children are pictures of health and cheerfulness. How long this is to continue, God knows, and I thank Him that my confidence in his mercy and protec- tion has not yet been shaken. Meantime, I am far from repenting my coming out to India, where I am sure I am not idle, and hope I am not useless — though I have, alas ! fallen far short of my own good intentions, and have failed, to a greater extent than I expected, in conciliating the 62 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. respective bigots of the High and Low Church parties. But I cannot help feeling most painfully the loss of my most sincerely attached and intelligent friend, to whom, under any difficulty, I could open myself without reserve — whose cheerful conversation was delightful to me in health, and to whose affectionate solicitude and prayers I looked forward as a sure resource in sorrow or in sickness. " I write this letter from my boat. I am writing also to Mrs. Stanley, to beg her to break the sad tidings to Maria. But I have been so long in my letter to you, that mine to her must be a short one. If you think these details likely to interest them, you may send this letter. God bless you, dear Augustus. " Ever yours affectionately, " R. Calcutta." Mrs. Stanley to Augustus W. Hare. " Alderley, Feb. 5, 1825. — .... I feel for you truly. I know what you have lost, and how you valued him you have proved too well. I fear there is no hope now, the news coming from two other distinct quarters is only too strong confirmation. I shall be thankful if Maria can be kept Jq ignorance till not a shadow of doubt remains, for in her present state I should dread anxiety more even than grief for her It will be a relief to you to know that Mrs. Leycester had the presence of mind to let her mount her horse and ride to Shavington, while she was actually engaged in the act of reading your first letter, taking the precaution of writing to Lady Fanny Needham fo say that unpleasant reports were afloat from India, and begging her to take care that Maria did not see a paper unguardedly. " However melancholy the source of our acquaintance will now be to us both, let me trust it will still be continued, and STOKE, ALDERLEY, AND HODNET. 63 that no opportunity of improving it will be neglected. I shall ever feel the warmest interest in you, and a high value for your friendship. I shall write to you again without scruple, if there is anything to say about my sister that you will like to know, and I do know you will be anxious about her. Feb. 6. — I have heard again from Mrs. Leycester, who dreaded Maria's hearing at Shavington, and made an excuse to send for her home ; and, after that preparation, broke the news. " Feb. 28. — I have been to Stoke, and after being with Maria for a few days, she improved more than I dared to hope at first. Constant talking on the subject with the greatest freedom relieved her, and when I left her about ten days ago she could do this with calmness. I left my two little children with her, and she was able to play witi» and talk to them when she could do nothing else." Augustus W. Hare to (his Aunt) Lady Jones. " Feb. 3. — Truly Stow was, after yourself and my brothers, the person I most had loved in the world He was the only person with whom Reginald would lay aside the bishop, an indescribable happiness to a man of his simple turn of mind. With him, and with him alone, Reginald could be and could feel as he formerly did by his rectory fireside. Now that is over. I need not say how much he would have gained himself by what he would have seen and done, for he is now gaining and learning infinitely more. As he was to be taken from me, thank God it was in God's service. It was in doing what the Apostles, had they been alive now, would have been doing too, and be- cause he was doing it, that he died., This fact is like a rock of comfort to me. There is no moving or shaking the cou- 64 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LUrlC viction that those who die for God shall also live with Him. He is quite safe." Al. L. to Augustus W. Hare. " I must write a few lines, although I feel it almost need- less to do so, for Augustus Hare knows all my feelings too well to doubt what they must be now. I have received every comfort that the tenderest, the most affectionate kindness could give ; but it is to you 1 turn as the sharer, the fellow- sufferer, in my grief. You only know what the loss is. I cannot help at times feeling that if I had been there this might not have happened, but I believe it is presumption to think so. The God who has willed to take him away # had the power to have preserved him had He seen fit to do so, and ought we not to rejoice that his spirit is removed from a world of sighing and sorrow to one where it will be perfected in happiness and joy ? I have not felt the resignation I ought to have done, but sorrow is very, very selfish. I am sensible that I have much to be grateful for, that few women have had the happiness of being loved with affection so strong and so disinterested — few can have had the means of loving such excellence and noble-mindedness ; but to feel that this is gone for ever, and that we can live only in the past, is very hard to bear ; and yet when I think of that sister to whom he was friend, protector, everything — I feel it almost wrong to grieve for myself. I know that if you can you will come here. When we have once met it will be a comfort to mourn together. I look to one only source of comfort, and you too, my dear friend, must, in a Hope which can never fail, seek for that consolation which nothing earthly can afford." STO£F, ALDERLEY, AND HODMCT. 65 Here our narration must pause. Augustus Hare and his family have henceforward so large a share in it, that it seems necessary to go back into their lives, and connect their story with this. III. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAITX.. "The true Past departs not, nothing that was worthy in the Past departs ; no Truth or Goodness realised by man ever dies, or can die ; but all is still here, and, recognised or not, lives and works through endless changes." — Carlyle'S Essays. KSS than four miles from the Sussex coast, at the point where the huge remains of the Roman Anderida break the otherwise monotonous sea-line, but divided from the sea by the flat marsh meadow-lands known as Pevensey Level, stand the ruins of Hurstmonceaux Castle. Once> before the Level was reclaimed, the sea itself must have rolled in almost as far as the ancient manor-house which preceded the castle upon the same site ; and the plain is still wholly uninhabited, except by one or two farmers, who watch over the immense herds of cattle which pasture there and who live in small houses amid solitary tufts of trees, on slight rising-grounds, which were once islands, and whose names still show their or gin, in the ancient termination of ey, or island, as in Pevensey, Horsey, Langney. From the churchyard above the castle, the view is very strange, looking down upon the green, pathless THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 67 flat, into the confines of which no one ever wanders except the cowherds, or those who cross to Pevensey by the distant highroad. The church and castle are literally the last buildings on the edge of a desert. The castle is still most grand and stately in its premature decay; nothing can be more picturesque than its huge front of red brick, grown grey here and there with lichens and weather-stains, than its arched gateway and boldly projecting machicolations, or the flowing folds of ivy with which it is overhung. Though only built in the reign of Henry VI., it is said to have been the earliest large brick building in England, after the time of Richard II., when De la Pole's house was built of brick at Kingston-on-Hull ; and it is considered a most valuable specimen of the transition of domestic building from a fortress to a manor-house. The front is pierced with loop-holes for crossbows, and ceillets for the discharge of matchlock guns, which are relics of the former intention, while the large windows of the dwelling- rooms, and more especially the noble oriel known as " the Ladies' Bower," are witnesses to the latter. Bishop Littleton,* writing in 1757, states his opinion that Hurstmonceaux was at that time the largest inhabited house in England be- longing to any subject, its rival, Audley End, having been then partially destroyed. Unfortunately the castle is built in a damp hollow, and, as Horace Walpole observes,! " for convenience of water to the moat, it sees nothing at all." All the present sur- loundings of the building are in melancholy harmony with * Archseologia, vol ii. p. 147. f Walpole's Letters, edit. 1837, vol. i. p. 176. 68 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. its condition. Dim mists, which float upwards from the great dykes of the marsh, shroud the whole hollow towards evening, and seem prophetic of rheumatism and ague. The moat, which even in Elizabeth's time was converted into a garden for the sake of salubrity, is now an undrained wilderness of dank grass and rushes ; beside it, a line of tall Spanish chestnuts fling up their antler-like boughs against the sky, and are nearly the only relic of the many stately avenues which once crossed the park in every direction. Almost all the other trees near it are cut down, or blown down by the salt-winds, which blow savagely over the un- guarded hill-side, and only a few mutilated beeches, a few plantations of the last century, and some thickets of furze, which afford shelter for innumerable rabbits, remain to show where rich vegetation has once existed, and to con- trast with the brown turf, which scantily covers the poor unproductive soil. Ivy alone flourishes, clinging and clustering about the walls with a destroying vigour, which makes one i egret the day when old Marchant, the gar- dener, who died only a few years ago, used to tell us that he " turned the first plant out of a penny flower-pot." But that which contributes most to the sadness of the place, is the shortness of the time since it fell into decay, for less than a hundred years ago the castle was perfect and inhabited, the antler-hung hall was filled with guests, Horace Walpole was coming down from London to hunt up the antiquities, and Addison was writing a play about the castle ghost-story.* Now, not a single room remains perfect, but the empty mullions of the windows frame broad • See " The Haunted House," Addison's Works, vol ii. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 69 strips of blue Sussex sky, and in ihe interior the turf is everywhere strewn with masses of red and yellow brickwork, which lovers of Rome have compared to the huge fragments which litter the Baths of Caracalla. The name Hurstmonceaux is a combination of the Saxon word " hurst," meaning a wood, and " Monceaux," the title of one of its lords, who came over with the Conqueror.* The family of Monceaux built the early manor-house, which existed long before the castle, and was coeval with the foundation of the church on the adjoining hill. In the time of Waleran de Monceaux (1264), Henry IH.t visited and slept in this building, and one of his nobles, Roger de Tournay, was accidentally killed by an arrow as he was hunting in the park. In the reign of Edward II., Maude de Monceaux brought the castle by marriage to Sir John Fienes. The head of this family bore the title of Lord Dacre of the South. In 1405, died William Fienes, whose magnificent brass remains in front of the altar of the church. In 1440, the old manor-house where William Fienes died was pulled down by Sir Roger Fienes, Treasurer of the Household to Henry V., by whom the present castle was built, at a cost of ,£3, 800. J In 1534, died Thomas, second Lord Dacre, whose grand altar-tomb in Hurstmonceaux Church bears his effigy, with that of his son Thomas, who died before him. It was the grandson of this Lord Dacre, and not himself, as Horace Walpole affirms, who was beheaded in his twenty-fourth • Sussex Archaeol,, vol iv. p. 128. f Id., p. 134. I Pat. Roll., 19 Hen. VI., "licentia kernellandi." 70 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. year on Tower Hill * for accidentally killing a gamekeeper ii» Laughton Park,t "chiefly," says Camden, " because of his great estate, which needy courtiers gasped after, and which caused them to hasten his destruction."! In 1593, his daughter Margaret, Baroness Dacre, brought the pro- perty by marriage (for the strictness of the entail saved the estates from forfeiture) to Sampson Lennard, described by Camden as "of great worth and politeness," with whom she lived in the castle. This couple built the great staircase, and adorned the chimney-pieces with carving in stone, and they are buried at Chevening under a splendid monument. Their grandson Richard, Lord Dacre (the builder of Chevening), died at Hurstmonceaux, and was buried there, August 18, 1650. The last Lord Dacre (Thomas) who possessed Hurstmonceaux married Lady Anne Fitzroy, a natural daughter of Charles II. by the Duchess of Cleveland, and they adorned the castle with fine carvings by Gibbons. In 1708, Thomas, Lord Dacre, sold Hurstmonceaux to George Naylor, of Lincoln's Inn, who was a very handsome man, of stately presence and large fortune. His wife, who was a picturesque little woman with curls, sparkling eyes, and a snub-nose, § was Lady Grace Holies, sister of Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle. George Naylor and Lady Grace were married in 1705, and kept a most bour tiful house at Hurstmonceaux, where • This is the subject of a tragedy by Mrs. Gore. 1 Hollinshed says the catastrophe occurred at " Pikehaie " in Hellingly, a parish joining Hurstmonceaux on the west "* Camden's Britannia. § See their portraits by Sir P. Lely. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 71 all guests were hospitably received, according to their degree, while butts of beer were left standing at the park gates for the refreshment of chance passers-by. If the exterior of the castle was damp and gloomy, it was amply atoned for within the walls. The visitor, upon crossing the bridge, was received in a vaulted portico, on one side of which the porter had his lodge. Hence he entered the great courtyard, generally known as " the Green Court," surrounded by slender pillars of brick, and shaded in part by the great holly which stood in the centre of the quad- rangle, and of which a fragment still remains in the ruins. Above the cloisters, a line of windows on every side lighted the galleries into which the principal apartments opened upon the upper floor. That on the left was called the Bethlehem Gallery, and was hung from end to end with gilt stamped leather, a fragment of which, Dame Burchett, an old woman in a red cloak, who showed the castle till a few years ago, used to wear in her bosom as a kind of talisman, till the day of her death. This, and the other courtyards, were always kept bright and free from weeds by twenty old crones, who were constantly employed about the place under the title of " the castle weeding women." Immediately beyond the Green Court was the great hall, paved with square glazed tiles, and covered by an open timber roof, whose massive beams were supported on corbels adorned with the alant or wolf-dog — the badge of the Dacres, and which ended in a music-gallery. Beyond the hall was the Pantry Court, whose picturesque gable lighted the great staircase built by Margaret, Baroness Dacre, which led to the upper galleries, of which the Green Gallery, hung with 7* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. green cloth, was filled with pictures, and the Bethlehem Gallery derived its name from the guest-rooms which opened into it, and which were always reserved for the entertainment of strangers. Beyond the Pantry Court a paved passage led to a gateway and bridge, opening upon the garden. On the right of the main artery of the castle, occupying the east front, were the principal dwelling apartments, including the great drawing-room, adorned by the Earl of Sussex, where a vine, the masterpiece of Grinling Gibbons, was represented as springing out of the ground near the fireplace, and spreading its branches and tendrils over the ceiling, whose pendants were formed by the hanging bunches of grapes; the chapel, whose tall windows contained " the seven long lean saints ill done," described by Horace Walpole ; and on the upper floor, " the Ladies' Bower," whose peculiar oriel window is so conspicuous a feature. On the west side of the castle were the kitchen and bakehouse (in the great oven of which, guide books declare that a coach and six could turn with facility), and a small court, known as the Pump Court. The chambers on the upper floor are described by Grose as "sufficient to lodge a garrison." "One was bewildered," he says, ''by the gallciies that led to thern, while on every window was painted on the glass the alant, or wolf-dog, the ancient supporters of the family of Fiennes. In the time of Lady Grace Naylor, these vast suites of guest-chambers were constantly filled with visitors, who fre- quently included the lady's own two brothers, both impor- tant persons of their time. That Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle, did not forget the poor friends he made while THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 73 staying with his sister, is testified by a weather-beaten tombstone still standing beneath the vestry window of Hurstmonceaux Church, and inscribed to the memory of "Richard Morris, who died the 21st day of July, 1749, aged sixty-three, who himself desired that it might be remembered that he owed his bread to his grace the Duke of Newcastle, his great benefactor." * An aunt of George Nay lor had married Richard Hare, the descendant of a family which had been settled at Leigh, in Essex, for many generations, and had died, leaving an only son, Francis, who was a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, where he had formed an intimate friendship with Sir Robert Walpole, and where he had the care of John, Marquis of Blandford, only son of the great Duke of Marlborough, who died in his college of small-pox, in 1702, and is buried there in the chapel, under a monument, which bears a long Latin epitaph, composed by his tutor.? In 1704, Francis Hare was appointed Chaplain-General to the army in Flanders, under John, Duke of Marlborough, and was present at the battles of Blenheim and Ramilies. He described the campaign in a valuable series of letters to his cousin at Hurstmonceaux, and in a journal, pre- * This Duke of Newcastle married Henrietta, grand-daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, in 1717. The younger brother of Lady Grace was the famous Henry Pelham, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Her sisters were Frances, Viscountess Castlecombe ; Garthwriglit, Mrs. Polhill ; Margaret, Lady Shelley ; and Lucy, who married Henry, seventh Earl of Lincoln, Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Prince George of Denmark, Paymaster-General in George I.'s time, and Knight of the Garter. t In the novel of "Esmond," "Dr. Hare" is portrayed as being called in to whip the Duke of Marlborough's children. 74 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. served among Archdeacon Coxe's papers in the Brirish Museum. In the autumn of 1709, he returned to England, and xas married tJ his first cousin, Bethaia, sister of George Naylor, who thereupon removed with her mother to H Amen Corner," where Francis Hare appears to have possessed some descrip tion of home, and where members of his family were previously residing. But, in the following April (1710), he was again obliged to join the camp near Douay, when he left his wife with her family at Hurstmonceaux, which ever after continued her principal home; for Lady Grace died in 171 1, after an illness of two years, her husband only survived her loss a few months, and the Duke of Newcastle dying at the same time, little Grace, the heiress of Hurstmonceaux, was left to the guardianship of Francis and Bethaia Hare. The story of Grace Naylor is a very sad one. Left an orphan at five years old, she grew up in her home, the idol of her father's tenants, equally endeared to them by her beauty of person and natural sweetness of character. In her twenty-first year (1727), she died mysteriously in Hurstmonceaux Castle. Her aunt was already dead,* and it is said that the desolate girl was starved to death by the malice of a jealous governess, in whose care she was left ; the fact probably being, that, in order to give her one of the slim waists, which were a lady's greatest ambition in those days, she was so reduced by her governess, that her consti tution, always delicate, was unable to rally. She has no monument at Hurstmonceaux, and the beloved name of • Bishop Hare married his second wife, Miss Alston, in the year rocceeding Grace Naylor's death. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 75 Grace Naylor is only commemorated upon that of her nurse, Margaret Beckett, who died December 27, 1750, aged seventy-eight, and who is mentioned as having "all her lifetime daily and hourly lamented " the decease of her young mistress. There is a beautiful portrait of her extant. Very little is really known of her life, but tradition and truth have woven themselves together in many stories, which are still told in her old home, where the bower-window, in which " the last of the Naylors was starved to death," is the object of chief attraction to those who visit the ruins of Hurstmonceaux Castle. Of the life of Francis Hare, whose son Francis (born May 14, 1713) succeeded to the Hurstmonceaux estates on the death of his cousin, we are less ignorant. His sermons and pamphlets had long been keeping the ecclesiastical world alive, and were constantly arousing the abusive energies of the press ; but at the same time, bringing his great talents before the public, which, aided by the protection of the Duke of Marlborough, and the friendship of Sir Robert Walpole, led him rapidly up the ladder of preferment. In 1709, he enjoyed, in addition to the chaplaincy of the Duke of Marlborough, and the office of Chaplain-General of the Forces, a royal chaplaincy, given by Queen Anne, a Fellowship at Eton, a Canonry at St. Paul's, and the Rectory of Barnes, in Surrey. Thus, when he married Bethaia, he was already well provided for. In 1715, he received, in addition, the Deanery of Worcester. In 1722, he was appointed Usher of the Exchequer, which brought him another thousand a year, by Henry Pelham, the younger brother of Lady Grace. In October, 1726, upon the 76 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. resignation of Dr. Godolphin, he exchanged Worcester foi the richer deanery of St. Paul's ; and, in the same year, wai advanced to the episcopal mitre (without resigning St. Paul's, which he held till his death), being on the 17th December, 1727, consecrated Bishop of St. Asaph, where he sate for barely four years. This double elevation was the more remarkable, because, during the latter part of the reign of George I., he had fallen into disgrace on the strength of party prejudice; and, in 17 18, had been dis- missed from his royal chaplaincy, together with Dr. Sherlock and Dr. Moss. But on the accession of George IP, he was restored to the court favour, and Queen Caroline had already intended to have nominated him to the see of Bath and Wells, but yielded to the remonstrances of the ministry, who alleged that it would disoblige the whole bench of bishops to have the newly consecrated ones let into the best prefer- ments at once.* That Bishop Hare was considered one of the famous preachers of his time, we learn from the verses of Pope : — " Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain, While K.ennet, Hare, and Gibson preach in vain."f W hen the estates of Hurstmonceaux came to his son, who forthwith took the name of Naylor, Bishop Hare consented to pass as much time at the castle as his various offices allowed him ; but he brought up the young Francis there in the most severe manner, " obliging him to speak Gteek as his ordinary language in the family." { The property was already much impoverished. Not only were the repairs of • Nichols's Literary Anecdotes. + Dunciad, bk. iii. s. 199. X Cole MS. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 77 the great fabric itself a continual drain upon the income, but custom had imposed a burden of hospitalities, and a dis- play of liveries and retainers, which the Bishop found great difficulty in abolishing. His letters complain bitterly of the expenses of the un remunerative deer-park, from which " half the county expected to be supplied with venison," of the weeding women, the public beer-butts, and the number of useless hangers-on who by custom were attached to the estate, and whose number may be estimated by the fact, that there were four persons whose only duty was that of clock-windeis. After his son came of age, Bishop Hare never returned to Hurstmonceaux. While visiting his paternal estate of Skul- thorpe, near Fakenham,* he had become acquainted with the family of Mr. Joseph Alston, of Edwardstone, whose wife was Laurentia Trumbull, niece of Sir William Trumbull, the Secretary of State.! Joseph Alston's eldest daughter, Margaret, was married to Bishop Hare in April, 1728, and brought him a large fortune in the estate of Newhouse, in Suffolk, and the Vatche, near Chalfont St. Giles, in Bucking- hamshire, where they always resided in the later years of his life. This property had descended to Margaret Alston through the Claytons : who, in their turn, derived it from the Fleetwoods, through whom the Bishop's second wife was related to Oliver Cromwell, of whom she possessed a valuable portrait. The Vatche took its name from the * Sold by his son Robert in 1 780. f Minister Plenipotentiary in Turkey in the reign of William III., and the great friend and patron of Pope, who wrote his epitaph ill EasthamDstead Church, Berks. 78 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Vache, a dairy-farm of King John. The estate was a rich one, and the house, in the Bishop's time, was a fine old resi- dence, standing on high ground, surrounded by noble trees. It was approached by a long lime avenue from the pic- turesque village of Chalfont well-known to lovers of great men, as having once been the residence of Milton, who took refuge there from the plague in 1665, and wrote his " Paradise Lost " in a gable-ended cottage, built by one of the Fleet- woods, which still exists. The comparative economy of the Vatche, and its near- ness to London, made it a far more popular residence with the Bishop than Hurstmonceaux. He fitted up a desecrated chapel in the grounds for divine service, which was per- formed by one of his chaplains, and hung a gallery, a hun- dred and fifty feet in length, with the portraits of his ancestors.* At the Vatche, tne seven children of his second marriage were born.t Meanwhile, his eldest son, Francis, gave the Bishop con- siderable Uneasiness, by avenging himself for his strictly guarded youth, in extravagance and dissipation of every description, and by eventually joining the Medmenham brotherhood, or "Hell Fire Club," a society of wits and humorists, who called themselves Franciscans, from their founder, Sir Francis Dashwood, afterwards Lord Le De- spencer. They met in the deserted abbey of Medmenham, on the banks of the Thames, where they spent six weeks ever) • Sheahan's Hist, of Bucks, pp. 822, 823. t Four of these lived to grow up, Robert the eldest son ; Laurentia who died 1760, aged thirty-one; Anne who died 1816, aged eighty- one ; and Francis, who died in the East Indies, 1 77 1. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX 79 summer in the widest orgies, during which, a cordorj was drawn round the abbey, to prevent the approach of the un- initiated. " Fay ce que voudras " (the inscription in Rabelais' abbey Thelme) * was their motto, which they engraved over their porch at Medmenham, where, time- staiued and ivy-mantled, it may still be seen ; and whatever they chose that they did, though they sometimes chose to do things which the present century would never allow, and the last century was greatly scandalized at.f When he con- sented to leave the brotherhood, the first step which Francis Naylor made towards reform, was one most displeasing to his father, by engaging himself to his stepmother's younger sister, Carlotta Alston, who was penniless, though beautiful. The Bishop prevented their marriage in his lifetime, but it took place after his death, when they went to live per- manently at Little Thurlow, in Suffolk, with the third Miss Alston, who was married to a Mr. Stephen Soane, leaving Hurstmonceaux to the rats and mice. Had Francis Naylor married during his father's lifetime, " the Bishop and his son had been brother-in-law," says Cole, " and by that means would have added yet another scandal." X That the Bishop's own second marriage had created some scandal at the time, we learn from Whiston, who writes, " And I will venture to say that Bishop Hoadley and Bishop Hare seem to have been among the first, pretending to be Christian Bishops, that having children already, and being in years, * See Cole MS. under the head of Soane. f For details concerning the Medmenham brotherhood, see " Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea," vol. iii. c. 17. \ Cole MS xvi. 107. »0 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. have married twice, and ventured to officiate as Christian Bishops afterwards." * But Bishop Hare did not regret the course he had taken, and his second married life was a very happy one, saddened only by the deaths of little Mnry, Charlotte, and Frances, taken away in their childhood. His leisure time at the Vatche was constantly devoted to literary pursuits. In 1724 he had published in London a new quarto edition of Terence, according to that of Faernius, with notes and a dissertation upon comic metre. This publi- cation led to a dispute between Bishop Hare and Dr. Ben- tley, heretofore his intimate friend, which lasted many years.! In this dispute Bishop Hare is generally considered to have had the worst of it, but Dr. Barr, who thought him one of the best Latin scholars of his or of any age, gave it. as his opinion that " he proved himself quite a match for his anta- gonist in his knowledge of the genius and spirit of the lan- guage." Bishop Warburton had also the highest opinion of his critical skill, saying, " Cood sense is the foundation of criticism; this it is which has made Dr. Bentley and Dr. Hare the two greatest critics that ever were in the world." J Bishop Hare had a considerable knowledge of Hebrew ; and in 1736 he published an edition of the Bsalms in that language. Concerning this, as about all the works of the Bishop, opinions differed widely. Dr. Richard Grey, in the preface to his Hebrew Grammar, highly extols it, as recover- * Whiston's " Memoirs of Himself," vol. i. p. 540. t See a letter from Dr. Salter of the Charteihouse to Dr. Nichols, Gent. Mag. for 1 779, pp. 547- 54 8 > * Nichols's Lit. Auec, ii. 06 1HE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 8l ing what for ages had been lost, the knowledge of Hebrew poetry, and in several places restoring the text to its original beauty and accuracy, as also teaching the method of learning the Hebrew language without points ; but Bishop Hare's arrangement of the Psalms was ably confuted by Lowth in 1766. Meanwhile the Bishop's sermons continued to excite in- creasing attention, and to be the signal for a warfare of attacking and defending pamphlets. For the defence of a single sermon on King Charles's martyrdom (preached 1731) no less than six pamphlets were issued by different persons.* In 1 73 1 Bishop Hare was translated from the see of St. Asaph to that of Chichester. In 1736 he narrowly escaped elevation to the primacy. The case is thus de- scribed in Lord Hervey's Memoirs : " During Archbishop Wake's illness, in 1736, there was a question who should succeed him. Lord Hervey proposed Potter, but Sir Robert seemed much more inclined to take Hare, provided he could get the Queen to accept of him. Hare having been his tutor at the university, gave Sir Robert some prejudices for him ; and the good correspondence in which he had lived with him ever since made his vanity, I believe, more inclined to Hare than Potter, as the promotion in that case would have been more marked out to have been made solely by his influence. Lord Hervey told him, ' You will certainly repent of it, if you take Hare. He is a haughty, hard- natured, imperious, hit-headed, injudicious fellow, who, I firmly believe, would give you more trouble at Lambeth than even Sherlock himself; and besides that, is so tho * Cole MS. vol. xvi VOL. L G 8* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. roughly disliked in private and feared in public life, that I do not think you could lodge power in more unpopular hands.' This did not weaken Sir Robert's bias towards him, but Lord Hervey's constantly talking to the Queen in this train strengthened the natural bias she had against him ; and his lordship never lost any opportunity of doing Potter as many good offices as he did ill ones to Hare, and as all he said on these two subjects had the ground-work of her own inclination, it made an impression which, without that aid, would have sunk less deep, and been much easier effaced."* That Bishop Hare's character was not sucn as to con- ciliate court favour or form new friendships may be seen from much contemporary evidence. Cole says, " That the Bishop was of a sharp and piercing wit, of great judgment and understanding in worldly matters, and of no less saga- city and penetration in matters of learning, and especially of criticism-, is sufficiently clear from the works he has left behind him, but that he was of a sour and crabbed disposi- tion and behaviour is equally manifest."! The few friends who remained faithful to the Bishop in his later life, were chiefly those he had made in his early youth, the Pelhams and Walpoles, and other friends of the old Naylor con- nection. Another firm ally was Dr. Warburton, who was first introduced to the notice of the court by his influence.! Bishop Hare died at the Vatche on the 26th of April, • Lord Hervey's Memoirs, ii. no. t See also on this subject the author of the Critical Review for Feb., 1763, p. 82. X See the Life of Bishop Waiburton affixed to his Works, vol. L o. 17. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 83 40, and was buried in a mausoleum which he had built for his family adjoining the church of Chalfont St. Giles. Great was the lamentation for him both in private and public Bishop Warburton wrote, " In the death of Dr. Francis Hare the world has lost one of the best patrons and supporters of letters and religion. How steadily and suc- cessfully he employed his talents of reason and literature, in opposing the violence of each religious party in their turn, when court favour was betraying them into hurtful extremes, the unjust reproaches of libertines and bigots will never suffer us to forget How generously he encouraged and rewarded letters, let them tell who have largely shared in his beneficence, for his character may be trusted with his enemies or even with his most obliged friends. In him the author of the ' Divine Legation of Moses' has lost the most candid of his readers and ablest of his critics ; what he can never lose is, the honour of his esteem and friendship." Many other persons have awarded a favourable verdict to Bishop Hare, and since Bentley was dead, he left no avowed enemies behind him ; but the belief in his orthodoxy as a Churchman was by no means universal. Spencer's Anec- dotes mention him as " engaging to prove very clearly that the Book of Job was written a little before Ezekiel's time.' Dr. Conybeare quotes him as saying, " The Book of Job is, perhaps, the finest dramatic piece that ever was written. It is evidently a tragedy, and the design of it is to show, 'cur malis bone, et bonis male.' Taken with that single pre- caution, it is very easily understood all through, and the per- formance is very well for a young man." Upon the death of Francis Naylor, in 1775, tne H urst 84 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LITE. ' monceaux property devolved upon his half-brother Robert, son of the Bishop by Margaret Alston. He received his name from his godfather Sir Robert Walpole, who gave him as a christening present the sinecure office of sweepership of Gravesend, worth ^400 a year, but divided for some time between him and a Mr. Gee. This he held till his death. Its only duty was to go down to Gravesend once a year, and to give ten guineas to the watermen there. Bishop Hare had decided from their cradles that his sons must follow his example in marrying heiresses. " The estate is charged to raise ^3,000 apiece for the younger children, and one would hope that Master Hare's wife's fortune would clear that encumbrance," wrote the Bishop's widow, imme- diately after his death. The wife and her fortune were very easy to fix upon. Only two miles from the Vatche was the beautiful estate of Ghalfont St. Peters, belonging to a Mr. Lister Selman, who had no son, but two lovely daughters. Of these, one, Helena, married John Lefevre, of Heckfield, and was the grandmother of the present Lord Eversley; the other, Sarah, married Robert Hare in 1752, and died in 1763 of a chill brought on by eating too many ices when over- heated by dancing at Sir John Shaw's, at Eltham, leaving to the Hares a diamond necklace, valued at ^30,000, and three children, Francis, Robert, and Anna Maria. In 1768, Robert Hare married another heiress, Miss Henrietta Henckell, a woman as extravagant as she was ambitious. She preferred Hurstmonceaux to the Vatche as the grander residence of the two, and after the death of the Bishop's widow in December, 1784, she persuaded her husband to sell the latter, together with his property at the THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 85 White Hou.;e and Burfield in Hampshire, and at New House in Suffolk, and to settle the proceeds upon her children, -who were seven in number, though only two daughters — Caroline and Marianne — lived long enough to bear any conspicuous part in the family history. But far more distressing to her stepsons was the idea of Mrs. Hen- rietta Hare, that if she could pull down the castle, which was necessarily entailed upon the eldest son of her pre- decessor, she could build with its materials a handsome house on a higher site in the park, which could be settled upon herself. With this view she called Wyatt to her assistance, who declared that the castle was in a hopeless state of dilapidation, though another authority had just affirmed that in all material points its condition was as good as on the day on which it was built. In 1777 the castle was unroofed. Those who began to pull it to pieces found how strongly built it was, and the materials were so injured in the taking down that they were quite unfit to use again. A great sale was held in the park, whither the London brokers came in troops, and lived in an encampment of tents during the six weeks through which the sale lasted. Almost everything of value or interest was then dispersed. The great vine of Gibbons's carving is said to have been bought for Petworth. Even the portrait of Grace Naylor herself was sold to a farmer at Hellingly. Mrs. Henrietta Hare and her husband afterwards resided at Hurstmonceaux Place, the new house which Wyatt was commissioned to build, and lived there with such extrava- gance that they always spent a thousand a year more than their income, large as i* was, and annually sold a farm from 86 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFK. the property to make up the deficiency. It was a proverb in the neighhourliood at that time that " people might hunt either Hares or Foxes." Robert Hare was a clergyman. In the later years of his life he had a canonry at Winchester, and there he died. It was upon one of the rare visits of his eldest son, Francis Hare Naylor, to Winchester (for he was upon the most unhappy terms with his stepmother) that he made an acquaintance which was of the utmost consequence to his future life. About two miles from Winchester is the picturesque village of Twyford, having an old church with a magnificent yew-tree in its grave-yard, and close beside it a handsome, substantial red-brick house of the last century, standing rather too near the high-road. Beyond the road is, ho\7- ever, a fine avenue of chestnuts called " The Grove." The house itself is apparently only two stories high, for the third is concealed by a parapet, with round holes opposite the windows, after the fashion of the time. Below the house and the churchyard a green bark studded with elm-trees slopes down to the river Itchen, which is here crossed by a wooden bridge. Altogether Twyford is a far pleasanter residence than any other place in that generally bleak but healthy neighbourhood. In the earlier part of the last century Twyford House was inhabited by a family called Davies, whose heiress married Jonathan Shipley, a London merchant. Their only son, Jonathan, rose high in ecclesiastical honours. In 1749, being then a doctor in divinity, he was made Canon of Christ Church, and in 1760 Dean of Winchester, He THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 87 vms next advanced to the bishopric of Llandaff, whence he was translated to St. Asaph in 1769. The sermons of Bishop Shipley obtained great praise, though no collection of them was published till after his death in 1792. He was celebrated by the poets of his day. " Who views St. Asaph, e'en with envious eye, That dares his learning, wisdom, worth, deny ?" The following letter to the newly-appointed prime minis- ter, Lord Shelburne, seems worth insertion as showing the boldness with which Bishop Shipley asserted his principles, regardless of self-interest. " Chimbolton, November 21, 1782. — My dear Lord, — Permit an old friend, who has told you many an honest truth, and has never in any instance imposed upon you, to return a very serious answer to an official letter. I need not remind your lordship that it was my constant endeavour and warmest wish to bring about a cordial reconciliation between yourself and Lord Rockingham. I always con- sidered you as the respectable heads of the same party, and I considered your difference as arising from mutual jealousies and little personal offences, and far unworthy to be the ground of a serious division among the friends of their country. Your lordship need not be reminded of the warm, the frequent, and perhaps impertinent remonstrances I have made on this subject, and I have a right to be credited when I assure you that I never omitted any opportunity of expressing the same wishes to Lord Rockingham, as tar as a very inferior degree of intimacy would allow of. Almost the last words I ever spoke to him were these : ' My lord, you see the arts and intrigues that are used to disunite you 88 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and Lord Shelburne : that very circumstance ought to con vince you both that it is your interest most cordially to agree.' I ilattered myself, indeed, that my wishes were accomplished when you so nobly concurred with Led Rockingham in forming the late Cabinet. Two or three more such acts would have made you what I always hoped to see you, — a great, independent, popular statesman, head- ing a most respectable band of honest men, the friend of your country, and the most powerful man in it. Your memory will justify what I say, if you recollect the tendency of all the political conversations with which your lordship has formerly honoured me ; and though my endeavours have perhaps been too officious, and certainly fruitless, and even though they have made me lose your lordship's friend- ship and confidence, yet I shall have the spirit to consider the part I took as the most virtuous act of my life. I con- gratulated your lordship with the warmest approbation and love on your shortdived reconciliation with Lord Rocking- ham, and I own I could not congratulate you on a promo- tion that occasioned the desertion of so many worthy men. That great and solid combination ought at all events to have been kept entire. Before the death of that valuable man I left town, and have been resident either at my diocese or on my living in an utter ignorance of all State transactions since that period. I pay no regard to papers or common reports, and my correspondents have been either silent or mysterious. God forbid that I should suspect your lordship has aban- doned your good principles and your generous views for the public service ; pursue them with firmness, and you will have my weak support, and much better than mine ; but il you find yourself entangled and embarrassed, like Lord Chatham, in Court artifices, break through the mercenary chains at once, and assert your liberty and honour. " If from different views of things 1 should at any time THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEA T JX. 89 find myself obliged to differ from you, it will give me some comfort to show that my long attachment to your lordship was not of an interested kind. I am, my Lord, your most obedient, faithful, humble servant, " J. St. Asaph." Bishop Shipley married Anna Maria, daughter of the Honourable George Mordaunt, and niece of the famous Earl of Peterborough, who, in her youth, was celebrated as " the beautiful Miss Mordaunt," and was Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline. They had one son and five daughters. The son, William Davies, took orders ; and, while still a young man, was appointed to the Deanery of his father's Cathedral of St. Asaph, where, by residing on the spot, he was enabled to perform many duties which would otherwise have devolved upon his father, and to allow of his passing a great part of the year on his own estates at Twyford,and at Chimbolton, near Andover. Dean Shipley married a Miss Yonge, coheiress with her sister (who never married, and lived with the Dean), of Bodryddan, a fine old house, em- bosomed in woods, and backed by rocky purple hills, about three miles from St. Asaph. There he lived, full of enjoy- ment in hunting and shooting, — rollicking, popular, and good-natured, — though r.ot very ecclesiastical. The daughters of the Bishop, unlike their decanal brother, were entirely devoted to literature. The eldest, Anna Maria, was of a stern character, which caused her to be re- garded with considerable awe by her sisters, and lived principally with her cousin, Lady Spencer, at Althorpe, where she attracted the attentions of the handsome young tutor, afterwards the celebrated Sir William Jones. In spite 90 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. of the disparity of position, Bishop Shipley entertained so great an admiration for the genius of young Jones, that he would probably not have refused his consent to their union, especially as he had himself been permitted to make his own happy marriage with Miss Mordaunt, while he was a tutor in the family of her uncle, Lord Peterborough. But William Jones determined not to seek the hand of Miss Shipley till his own efforts placed him in a position which he considered worthy of her, and he was thus stimulated to greater exer- tions. " It was a fixed principle with him, never to be jeterred by any difficulties that were surmountable, from prosecuting to a successful termination, what he had once deliberately undertaken." In the course of his short life, he acquired : Eight languages studied critically : — English, Latin, French, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Persian, Sanscrit. Eight studied less perfectly, but all intelligible with a dictionary : — Spanish, Portuguese, German, Runick, Hebrew, Bengali, Hindi, Turkish. Twelve studied least perfectly, but all attainable : — Tibetian, Pali, Phalari, Deri, Russian, Syriac, Ethiopic, Coptic, Welsh, Swedish, Dutch, Chinese (twenty-eight languages). It was not, however, till April, 1783, when his services to Oriental literature had won the honours of knighthood, and the appointment of Judge at Fortwilliam, in Bengal, that he claimed the hand of Miss Shipley, who almost immediately after accompanied him to India. The marriage gave great THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 91 pleasure to all the friends of the family ; most of all to the venerable Benjamin Franklin (there is a beautiful letter of his written upon the occasion), who was Bishop Shipley's most intimate friend, and with whom he used to walk for hours up and down " the Grove" in eager conversation, during the summers he spent at Twyford. The loss of Lady Jones was bitterly felt by her family ; her sisters never passed a day without writing to her in a long journal letter every most trifling event of their lives ; and her father confided to her his every care, and watched for her return with the most unwearied affection. Thus, after hearing that a serious ill- ness was likely to send her home, he wrote : — Bishop Shipley to Lady Jones. " May 31, 1787. — I admire Sir William's sense and good- ness in a hundred instances, but in none more than that, though he knows your value so well, he will for that very reason consent to part with you. The great difficulty I foresee, will be to gain your consent to leave him in India alone. I conceive how deeply so long a separation must affect your sensible and worthy minds, but your own reasonable thoughts will suggest that you only part to preserve your life, and increase your happiness. I fear I may appear selfish in saying that you will meet with love, and friend- ship, and kindness at home, that may atone for everything but the loss of Sir William; but all the rest will be slight and superficial in comparison of the joy you will bring to your own family, and chief to the bosom of your anxious parents. Shall I once more see and embrace my dearest Anna ? Shall I hear from her own mouth her dangers, her adventures, her observations? That thought revives me-, it lessens the infirmities of age, and shows me there is still 92 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. something worth living for. I cannot help anticipating the pleasure in thought of receiving my dearest daughter once more into my aged arms : it makes me wish to live a few years longer. Give my blessing and ever affectionate re- spects to Sir William, and think often of your wishing and doating father, "J. St. Asaph." A great contrast to Lady Jones, both in appearance and character, was her sister Georgiana, the fourth and most in- teresting of Bishop Shipley's daughters. As she passed from a happy childhood, spent in the sisterly circle, into her brilliant girlhood, she displayed a degree of beauty which caused her to rival her cousin, a more celebrated Georgiana, " the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire," to whom she bore a striking resemblance. From her earliest years, she delighted her father by displaying the most ardent love for learning of every kind. Not only was she thoroughly versed in all the modern European languages, but she was also deeply read in Greek and Latin authors, which she studied with him. Her extraordinary artistic talents were cultivated under the eye of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, when they were in London, was almost a daily visitor at her father's house ; and, in the remarkable literary circle which frequented her home, the enthusiasm with which she entered into all the political questions of the time, and the originality of her conversational powers, made her a general favourite. To Georgiana, the marriage of Lady Jones made an especial blank in the home circle ; for Mrs. Shipley had always brought up her daughters " to go in pairs," and, sympathizing most in all their pursuits, Anna Maria and THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 93 Georgiana Had always "gone together." The separation, too, took place at a time when she most especially needed the support and advice of her elder sister. During her father's residence at Twyford, while wearied with the dull society of the country squires of the neighbourhood, she had found a congenial spirit in Francis Hare Naylor, the son of the Canon of Winchester. His good looks, and his hopeful disposition amid much poverty and constant unkindness from his father, not only interested her in his behalf but the Duchess of Devonshire also, who looked upon him as the hero of a living romance, and who, when Georgiana Shipley came to London, never omitted an opportunity of throwing them together. Bishop Shipley, who had more ambitious views for his beautiful daughter, tried in vain to break off their intimacy, for meetings were contrived almost daily at Devonshire House ; and, as Georgiana Shipley wrote to Lady Jones, " each day was a blank " on which they did not take place. At length, seeing the hopeless state of his daughter's affections, the Bishop was induced to invite Francis Hare Naylor to Twyford. The following day he was arrested for debt, while driving in the episcopal coach with Georgiana and her parents. He was then forbidden the house; but, on his release, he contrived to communicate with his beloved by dressing up as a beggar, and appearing at her carriage window, as it ploughed its way through the muddy lanes between Winchester and Twyford. She recog- nised him, and kissed her hand in the presence of her family. The scene of indignation and reproach which fol- lowed brought matters to a crisis. Robert Hare refused to do anything for his son, but tlie Duchess of Devonshire gave 94 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. them an annuity of ,£200, with the promise of a place in Ireland, and on this they married. The place in Ireland never came ; and, soon after the marriage, they retired to Carlsruhe, and afterwards to the north of Italy, where their pittance was comparative riches. Here their eldest son was born, at Vicenza, on January 6, 1786, and was baptized by the names of Francis George in the following June, when the Duchess of Devonshire, passing through Italy at the time, officiated as his godmother. In 1792, the Hare- Naylors proceeded to Rome, where Mrs. H. Naylor gave birth (November 17) to her second son, called Augustus William, after his royal godfather, Prince Augustus Frederick, and Sir William Jones. The first years she spent in Italy were devoted by Mrs. Hare-Naylor to painting, and she has left many fine, copies of the pictures in different celebrated galleries. Ber perfect mastery of languages and immense knowledge eno-bJed her to enter fully into all the intellectual interests a found her. Rome afforded her the most entire enjoyment. The fol- lowing verses, written during her stay there, ren xln among her papers : — " What art thou, Rome ? An empire's cemet'ry t The skeleton of greatness still thou hast : Thy shattered Coliseum stern and vast, Thy long, long aqueducts — from water free ! Thy mould'ring fanes — without a deity ! Grey columns too, whose very names are pastf A, Yet, still erect, their length'ning shadows cam, As though they mark'd the hours of destiny. •• What art thou, Rome ? I look again around, There meets mine eye the grave procession'* gloom, And in mine ear the swelling anthems sound, THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 93 And nearer still the clouds of incense loom, And lofty cupolas my mind astound : What art thou, Rome ? a temple, or a tomb ? " In 1795, wearied of wandering, the Hare-Naylors formed a fixed residence at Bologna, where they could live more economically than in the south. Bologna, which still main- tains an intellectual supremacy over all the other cities of Italy, was at that time the resort of many especially emi- nent and learned persons who were attracted thither by the university, and who formed a society at once literary and agreeable. Chief among its eminent citizens was the famous Mezzofanti, with whom the Hare-Naylors became very intimate ; and it used to be one of the delights of their little Francis, in his childhood, to swing the censer upon the steps of the altar, when the future cardinal was celebrating mass.* " At this time, also, the chief instruc- tors in the Scuole Pie of Bologna were members of the recently suppressed Society of Jesuits. In Spain the order had been exiled long before it was suppressed, and its mem- bers, taking refuge in Italy, were warmly welcomed in the Papal States, and were led to establish themselves at Bologna by finding in its schools a field of labour almost identical with that of their own institution. One of the most remarkable of these refugees was Father Emmanuele Aponte, a native of Spain, who had been for many years a member of the mission to the Philippine Islands. An enthusiast in the study of Greek, Aponte possessed a solid and critical knowledge of the language, of which he wrote an excellent and practical grammar for the schools of the • Francis Hare's Reminiscences. 96 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. uni/ersity, frequently republished since his time; and it was probably to this habit of close and critical examination, which he acquired under Aponte's instruction, that his pupil Mezzofanti owed the exact knowledge of the niceties of the language, and the power of discriminating between all the varieties of the Greek style, for which he became so eminently distinguished."* Living with Aponte, as his adopted daughter, was a lady whose acquirements were even more remarkable than his own. This was Clotilda Tambroni, whose bust and picture 'now decorate the walls of the university, where, in spite of her sex (though not the first lady so distinguished), she was appointed to the chair of the professor of Greek, and where her lectures were eagerly attended. In appearance and dress, if we may judge by her portrait, she resembled the Sibyl of Domeni- chino.f With the utmost devotion Mrs. Hare-Naylor now gave herself up to the education of her eldest son, whose wel- iare, spiritual or temporal, was never absent from her thoughts. To teach him, she again applied herself to the classical studies, which had been the cjelight of her un- married life, and with the assistance of Clotilda Tambroni, for whom she formed a passionate friendship, acquired a knowledge of Greek and Roman literature almost un- equalled in a woman. From the best Italian, Spanish, French, and English authors she collected all passages which she thought might prove useful for her son's edu- * See Russell's Life of Mezzofanti. t She lived till 1840, and is buried in the cemetery of Bologna, wheie her tomb has a marble medallion and a long inscription. THE HARES OF HUSTAMONrEAUX. 97 cation or guidance. She compiled a book of " Maxims * for his constant reference, writing on the first page—" As i for the diligent, their minds are at ease ; their time is employed as they know it ought ; what they gain they enjoy with a good conscience, and it wears well, nor do only the fruits of their labours delight them, but even labour itself becomes pleasant ; " * and " Nam caetera neque temporum sunt, neque aetatum omnium neque locorum ; haec studia adolescentiam alunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis perfugium ac solatium praebent ; delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, peri- grinantur, rusticantur." f Above all, Mrs. Hare-Naylor sought to interest her son in religion, but on that subject alone not to bewilder himself with useless inquiries. With this view she also introduced in the beginning of her maxim-book the following words of Seeker : " It is our duty to believe with humility and simplicity what the Holy Scripture hath taught us ; and to be contentedly ignorant of what it doth not teach us, without indulging speculations or conjectures, which will only perplex the subject." She taught her little Francis early to compose prayers and medi- tations of his own, and commit them to paper. Of these, the following remains to us in his large round child's hand of 1795. "I beseech thee, O my God, to be indulgent to what I have been : to assist me to amend what I am ; and, of thy goodness, to direct what I shall be ; so that the love of virtue and the love of thee may always be first in my heart, Amen." Before he was four years old Francis Hare had begun * From Seeker. f Cicero pro Archia poeta. VOL. I. H 98 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to display the talents which afterwards distinguished him, speaking (said his mother in writing to Lady Jones) Eng- lish, French, and Italian with equal facility. Before he was ten, he could read easily with his mother in all the easier Greek and Latin classics, and he was familiar with many of the best authors in French and Italian. The only recreation he cared for was the work of a carpenter. He had no young companions except during his fifth year, which he passed in England with his parents, when a childish friendship was begun with " Harry Temple" (after- wards Lord Palmerston), which was never laid aside. At Bologna his mother was his constant companion, and with her, and her dog Smut, and her favourite bird in its cage, he used to pass long days in the woods and olive gardens near the town. The family group was painted thus by Flaxman, whose friendship was one of Mrs. Hare-Naylor's greatest pleasures, and whose advice and assistance added much to the perfection of her paintings. It was for her that he made his drawings of the Iliad and Odyssey. To the little Francis, on his birthday of Jan. 6, 1795 his mother addressed the lines : — " Beneath yon mountain's venerable brow, The youthful oak adorns its native wood, And guarded by that Power who bade it grow, Defies the whirlwind and the raging flood. Its trunk enlarges and its roots extend As health and strength each vital part pervade: In foliage rich the tulted boughs ascend, And the gay sunbeams gild its verdant shade. Thus, O my darling, comes the tenth glad year, Which from thy birth receives its joyous date, THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 99 While the loved object of thy parent's care, Thy life has passed in childhood's happy state. Thy ductile heart is fashion'd to revere That Power benign on whom we all depend, And thy young bosom glows with love sincere Tow'rds God, thy Maker, Father, Judge, and Friend. Blithe health is thine, and gaiety of heart, With spirits light, as breath of fragrant morn, And all the genius Nature can impart, And all the charms, which playful youth adorn. No tale ot woe has pain'd thy tender ear, No thought impure has stain'd thy spotless mind ; Unlearn'd in flattery and untaught to fear, Yet mild to all, as loving all mankind. Instructed virtue, more than fame to prize To help the helpless, to relieve the opprest, The use of wisdom, to make others wise, The use of riches, to make others blest. Yet, much I fear the ardour of thy soul, Which prudence vain would check, and reason still, Once left to lawless passion's fierce control, May change the fervent love of good, to ill ; Convert thy parent's imaged dream of joy To deep regret and unavailing tears ; Shade ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace destroy, And blast the promised harvest of thy ^ ears. The vivid light'ning bursting o'er the plain Resistless as wild passion's boundless tide, Consumes the oak, of strength, of beauty vain, And levels with the ground the forest's pride." In the summer of 1795, Mrs. Hare-Nayloi retired from the heat of the plains to the valley of Valdagno near Vicenza, and there she gave birth (September 13) to .her third son, Julius Charles. IOO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Mrs. Hare-Naylor » Lady Jones. "Valdagno, Oct. 10, 1795. — My third boy is at present the beauty of the whole family — fine dark eyes and a lovely skin. On Monday we are to have the christening, and a great dinner afterwards. The Duchess of Brissac holds the child, and is to be the only sponsor, for they will not admit of Protestants standing even by proxy, and she is the only Catholic I ever saw whom I could wish to answer for a child of mine. She gives him the name of Julius — a name dear to her, as being her father's, and that of her only son, whom she lost young. When we return to England I shall have many drawings to show you, and any you like will be yours, as much as myself and all which belongs to me, for my gratitude is only exceeded by your kindness. . . We live so happy in each other, so happy in our children, so unmolested by any extraneous tracasseries, that I often doubt whether any change in our situation be desirable, could I but be gratified in my earnest wish of once more seeing you, my best friend and dearest sister. This place much resembles the most beautiful and romantic parts of North Wales. Hare and I ramble all day long, cross torrents, and climb rocks, and converse with the peasants, who are here a simple, intelligent, natural set of beings, with better understandings and more goodness of heart than any Venetian noble ; you cannot imagine the pleasure it is to be able to comprehend their patois, which I now speak to perfection." On the 9th of November in the following year, a fourth son, Marcus Theodore, was born at Bologna, and received his name of Marcus from his godfather, the Marchese Marescotti, a cittadino of Bologna, who had married Lad) Sophia Butler, a friend of his mother's. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. IOI In 1797. Robert Hare died, and it was then discovered that his intention of leaving everything he had to his second wife was frustrated by the fact that she had un- wittingly built Hursttnonceaux Place upon entailed land. Upon the receipt of this news, the Hare-Naylors deter- mined at once to set off for England, though it was a time of war, and travelling difficult. They settled only to take their little Augustus with them, for whose education Lady Jones had undertaken to provide. Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Lady Jones. Bologna, August, 1797. — A very, very happy week have I spent with my beloved friend, Madame de Brissac, who came from Valdagno on purpose to visit us before her return into France. We talked over many plans and built many castles, and I was gratified, after a long absence, in again enjoying all that social pleasure can bestow, in a union of sentiment and principles. Hours passed in her conversation seem to give one a foretaste of the happiness to be enjoyed hereafter I have not mentioned your kind offer with regard to my boy to any one in England, and perhaps you had better not mention it either, because if he is not so fortunate as to gain your affections when you know him, I have still two remaining for you to choose from, for the contributing to your happiness is as much my object as the real good of my child. The account you give, my beloved sister, of your own health and spirits renders me doubly anxious to come to you, and I shall be most thankful to God if my presence shall give you either com- fort or pleasure, and I think it will both, because you will see in me your own G., the child of your earliest affec- tions, unchanged from what I was when we parted, and IOS MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. preserving a grateful memory of the long series of kind- nesses and favours you have unremittingly shown me." Julius and Marcus were left with Betta, a trustworthy Bolognese servant, under the eye of the Marescottis, and Francis was placed in the house of Dom Emmanuele Aponte, as a joint pupil to him and Clotilda Tambroni. Nothing will give a better idea of the atmosphere in which Mrs. Hare-Naylor brought up her children than a few extracts from the letters of the little (half-Italian) Francis to his parents. Francis Hare (aged eleven) to his Mother. "Bologna, Sept. 16, 1797. — Dear mama, I Avish that you and Pappa and Agustus are all arrived perfectly well in England, and have finished the journey without any acci- dent or quarrel. On Monday I went with Don Tineo and the Rector to Ranizzi, which is really a very pretty place, and after dinner we had a dancing bear. On Tuesday morning we began our studies. Thucydides and Herodotus I read with Dom Emmanuel together with the Spanish and its grammar, Callimachus and Xenophon with the Clotilde, and Hesiod by myself, and in Latin Horace. In the evening we went up to see Betta and the children, and at night after tea we read Sallust I hope that you will soon settle your affairs and see Housemonseux, and write me word how my friend the castle stands, and what classics you have — I mean those that the unnatural (for this is the only epithet she merits) Mrs. Hare left you." "Sept. 23, 1797. — We go on very well in our studies, which last every day at least seven and a half hours I read eveiy day for one hour in the morning one of those THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 1^3* prayers that you left me, and thirteen chapters in the Bible, and two psalms, and some of the ' Grandeur de Dieu.' Then from nine to two we continually study, in which time we read Thucydides and Callimachus, which is a very fine poet (but tell Pappa he will not understand it, and that I hope, when he comes back, I will give him the choice of any Greek authors, even one that I have not, and I will certainly beat him ; but by that time Dom Emmanuel hopes I may be a perfect Grecian) ; then we read Xenophon's ' Cyropaidia,' which is sometimes obscure, and in Latin Horace, which I agree with you is a very fine poet. After dinner I read a little Hesiod by myself, and after tea, if the Rector comes, we read Sallust ; if not, Herodotus, which is the prettiest and most interesting history I ever read, and written very beautifully." " Oct. 21. — Monday morning we went to see the casino of the college with the Rector, Don Tineo, and Colon. eo (from whom I have learned to play at chess and at dama), Marescalchiand Carlino, Padre Scandellari and Don Puero. and the chaplain of the church of Castenazzo, where we had a very good rural dinner. My brothers, both Jule and Marcus, have come into the town, and I have seen the house, which I did not much like, but the room where Betta sleeps is not a bad one. " Oct. 24. — -^ay tell me how Agustus goes on in learn- ing and in goodness. Pray give me some news of the poor old castle and of the gardens, and if you can find a room for me to work in. Pray send me word how you like Eng- land, and if it is disposed to change, for if it is I hope to go over and serve my country. " Jule loves especially Dom Emmanuel, and Marcus the Clotilde. Jule is very fond of me. Pray give one kiss to Agustus from us three. Jule shows great wish to learning, tor yesterday, when we went to the library of the college, 104 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. he did nothing else but want to carry away some of the books." The next letter is signed " F. G. Hare. I attest and subscribe myself a true English citizen and a perpetual defender of its liberties, and never to be persuaded by the tempting power of monarchy. Justice— -fraternite ! An English citizen who swears himself an enemy to all that dare to touch the rights of the people. A preserver of the English liberty and an eternal opposer to the encroaching tyranny of the king and ministry, and of the detestable parliament which now exists, which, except a few, are the greatest raskels and slaves that ever existed, who for a little money given them by ministry, will sell the sacred rights of the people to tyrannism ; and if Pitt have any virtues, one may say of him, as Cato says of Caesar, in Addison's famous play, ' Curs'd are his virtues, for they have undone his country.' " (This, and all the other letters of young Francis, bear the dates and months of the French Republic.) "Nov. 17, 1797. — I hope you are all very well, so are Julius and Marcus. Jule knows very well all the letters. " Every evening we go to see the Rector, who is not well, upon which account Don Tineo shows all his goodness in assisting the Rector. Don Tineo is certainly a man in whom, without knowing him intimately, one does not find out all the virtues — a man of great talent, and indefatigable towards study, and of great goodness. Together with a good deal of learning, he is very humble. At first knowing him he seems rather serious, but that is his temper; but knowing him, he is the mildest person you can imagine, and his virtues are most shining in comparison with Don Puero, who does not understand anything but about operas, and I THE HARES OF HURSTMC NCEAUX. 105 may rightly think him one of the best friends I have. Pray always remember me as I remember you." *' Dec. 16. — Smut and the bird do very well, but the cat is lost that Betta took to Bologna, to which you passed three pauls a month. The other is up in the Casino getting very beautiful and tame. I like my mathematick master much ; he is one of the most famous in Italy, and the most famous in Bologna for II Calcolo Differentiale and Integrate and Algebra. We now study algebra problems, and he says before the month of May he will make me, if I study, a profound Algebrist, and then study geometry and consecu- tively all the other parts of mathematicks. He wants punc- tually done all he sets, and if not he redoubles the portion, and makes me do it another time." "Jan. 27, 1798. — For Monday I have made a new divi- sion of time. From seven to nine I do my penso ; from nine to two, Greek and mathematicks ; from three to seven, French and Greek, or Latin and mathematicks, and read the Bible ; then from seven to nine read, and at twelve go to bed — that I may be worthy when you come back of the things I have asked you to bring me." Dom Emmanuele Aponte to Mrs. Hare-Naylor {from the Italian.) "Sept. 16, 1797. — Francis is well and happy, and most diligent in his studies. Yesterday after dinner we all three went to visit the two children, and found them most flourish- ing. Julius constantly repeated, ' Mama is away, papa is away, but Nono is at home,* Clotilde is at home, Betta is at home.' As soon as he catches sight of me he runs to- wards me quite breathless v/ith joy. Marcus laughs, and holds out his hands to snatch my cap from my head, and then gives it back to me with gracefulness itself, to begin the • Grandpapa — Dom Emmanuele. lo6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. same play v avdpomwv, 4 Vale igitur, mi Fran- cisce, et rnei fac sis raemor.' re^uputos." Thus much is introduced here from the letters of Aponte and Clotilda Tambroni because it was to their early training that the brothers felt they owed so many of the principles which guided their after life, and which Francis transmitted to the others, who were too young to remember more than the almost parental affection of the " Nono " and the " Clotilde." It was in 1794, while she was still residing at Bologna, that Mrs. Hare-Naylor received the news of the death of her brother-in-law, Sir William Jones. He had written to Elizabeth Shipley, his wife's sister, that he talked " of 1790 as the happy limit of his residence in the unpropitious dimate of India;"* but this period was afterwards indefinitely prolonged. In December, 1793, the health of Lady Jones was so affected by the climate that a return to .England was pronounced to be the only means of preserving • Letter to Mrs. E. Shipley, Sept. 7, 1786. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. «2* her life. She embarked, therefore, for England, Sir William being exceedingly anxious for her departure, though he had previously declared that if they were compelled to separate, he should " feel like a man with a dead palsy on one of his sides."* He hoped to follow his wife in the course of the next summer, but in the spring was attacked with inflamma- tion of the liver, and died April 27, 1794. " He was found lying on his bed in a posture of meditation; and the only symptom of remaining life was a small degree of motion in the heart, which, after a few moments, ceased, and he ex- pired without a pang or groan. His bodily suffering, from the complacency of his features and the ease of his attitude, could not have been severe ; and his mind must have de- rived consolation from those sources where he had been in the habit of seeking it, and where alone, in our last mo- ments, it can ever be found." f Sir W. Jones was only forty-seven at the time of his death. He was buried at Cal- cutta. A monument was erected to him in St. Paul's by the Directors of the East India Company, and by his widow in the ante-chapel of University College, at Oxford, where there are two portraits of him, both of which have been engraved. The following verses were written to his memory by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, with whom he had long kept up a correspondence : — " Unbounded learning, thoughts by genius framed, To guide the bounteous labours of his pen, Distinguish'd him, whom kindred sages named J 1 The most enlightened of the sons of men.' • Letter to Mrs. E. Shipley, Sept. 7, 1786. t Lord Teignrur>u'h's " Life of Sir W. Jones." J Dr. Johnson. 132 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. *' Upright through life, as in his death resign'J, His actions spoke a pure and ardent breast ; Faithful to God and friendly to mankind, His friends rever'd him, and his country bless'd. " Admired and valued in a distant land, His gentle manners all affection won ; The prostrate Hindu ovvn'd his fostering hand, And science mark'd him for her fav'rite son. ** Regret and praise the general voice bestows, And public sorrows with domestic blend; But deeper yet must be the grief of those Who, while the sage they honour'd, loved the friend." The desolation which Lady Jones now experienced, and the desire of benefiting her favourite sister by undertaking the expenses of his education, induced her to make the offer of adopting the little Augustus Hare, and to desire that he should accompany his parents when they left Bologna for England. From their detailed letters to the little Francis, the following passages are taken : — " The Red Tower, Aiiorf, Sept. 22, 1797. — We arrived at Altorf before dark. I believe it would be, of all others, the most economical spot to inhabit, since you find no food either for vanity, taste, or learning, not an article of luxury to be purchased, and not one bookseller's shop, even for almanacks or magazines. Yesterday morning we embarked on the lake, with an idea of going to Lucerne; but the wind being contrary, and threatening to blow hard, we were pru- dent enough to change our plans, and disembark at Brunnen, after three hours' navigation. We there found a cart to convey our luggage, and walked to the town of Schweitz. We stopped a moment at the chapel built in memory of William Tell, and Augustus kissed the ground on which he stood, when, escaping from tyranny and injustice, he had THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 123 the boldness to throw himself, with his child, into the stormy lake, and brave the waves, less cruel than mankind." " Zurich. — We have been this morning to visit the cele- brated M. Lavater, and I scarcely ever saw a man possessed of more fire of genius, joined to a greater simplicity of manners. He is the author of a celebrated work upon physiognomy, and pretends to discover, in a very great degree, the human character from the features of the face. As we had no introduction, the regard with which he re- ceived us was very flattering. You may believe I was anxious to show him the heads of my four angels.* He wrote two very pretty lines in German upon them, but said that he had not sufficient time to examine them separately. He only said that your head was a physiognomy to under- stand Greek well, and that Marcus would give me the most trouble of all four. Pray tell my dear Cassandra this pro- phecy of her son. At parting he gave me a present of several of his smaller works on religious subjects, and we have settled a correspondence for the future." " Carlsruhe, Oct. 2. — Often, in the course of this journey, have I thanked God for having inspired me with the reso- lution to separate from my boys, and to prefer their good to the fond indulgence of having them with me. You, my dear Francis, would have lost some of the most precious hours of your life, that part which is to fit you for what you are to be hereafter — and the fatigue for my two babies would have been beyond their years to bear. My poor little Augustus has suffered much from Basle hither. . . . One night we were sent on from the station we had intended to stop at, every room being taken ; and about eleven at night we arrived, in a hard rain, at a village called Appenweyer ; * A picture by the Bolognese artist Friuli, in which the Four Brothers are thus represented, and which is still in possession of the family. 124 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. every soul was gone to rest, and, after repeated callings, we were answered that not a bed could be had. We then de- manded horses to proceed ; they said that was impossible, as we could not pass the next village, and our only hope of comfort was in my travelling-bed, for me and Augustus, when, on opening it, we found the rain had penetrated in every part. It was quite a moment of despair, when, for- tunately, the noise I made disturbed the slumbers of a French officer. He entered very good-naturedly into our distress, abandoning to us his own room, with three beds, and seeping himself on the floor on his coat. A French soldier was equally obliging in procuring us a light, and unloading the carriage, yet we had to suffer much from cold and hunger. To this night I owe a severe cold and toothache, which confines me to my room, while your papa is gone to dine with the Margrave of Baden. You will often have heard us speak of Carlsruhe as the place where we passed the summer before you were born. It is built in a circular form, the palace forming the centre, from which the streets proceed in rays. The plan is cer- tainly beautiful, but the buildings are in general inelegant, and the plan is too aristocratical to please me. However, the Margrave is an excellent man, who lives economically, and studies to promote the good of his subjects. He has a son just your age, and I had promised myself much plea- sure in seeing him, and comparing him with my Francis. When we arrive in England, I shall hope to find a long and interesting journal of all you do, and all you think ; it will improve you in the facility of writing English, and it will continue you in the habit of treating your parents with that confidence which their indulgence and affection have a light to claim. I expect to hear all your faults candidly told, that my advice may assist you in mending and correcting them ; if you tell me you are always good, I shall not be THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 125 beve it, for it is neither for your age, nor for human frailty, but I hope to hear that you are attentive to e\erything which is said by your excellent friends, and that when your spirits lead you to transgress or slight that advice, you are repentant and concerned. This I have a right to hope from your good sense and good heart, and if I hear otherwise you will disappoint me." "Oct. 5. — Still at Carlsruhe, my dear Francis, and still suffering much, yet to-morrow we have fixed to recommence our journey, for as quiet and rest do not cure me, it is but suffering a little more, and we get on, though God knows which road we are now to take. I never saw your papa lose his courage so totally, and I shall not be surprised any morning to set out for Hamburgh, that he may go a road he knows to be open, no matter how far round ; indeed, he will have one proverb on his side, 'The farthest way about is the nearest way home;' and as to me, I suffer so much, that having now pain added to fatigue, I feel the indifference of desperation, and care not where we go — all I pray is that at last we may arrive safe in England. There is every ap- pearance of hostilities recurring, and, on the part of Austria, with faint prospect of success, and no one doubts seeing the tree of liberty planted at Vienna before Christmas. It may be planted anywhere with my good wishes, except at Carlsruhe, and here I should be sorry to see it ; indeed, would every sovereign imitate the Margrave of Baden, and seek like him to reign in the hearts of his subjects, he need but little fear either French troops or French principles. His son, who I told you was nearly your age, has the disad- vantage of being an only son, and his parents' too fond in- dulgence promises to ruin their best hopes — caprice they call genius, passion passes for spirit, and so on. How much, my dear Francis, is such a boy to be pitied, and what grati- tude do you owe to the good Dom Emmanuele, who loves 1*6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFB. you for your own good ! Tell me all and everything. Salute affectionately il Nono and la niadre dei niiei figli, and be assured youi papa and I love you most tenderly." " Saarlibre. Oct. 10. — I never saw your papa better pleased than when we quitted the Austrian lines, and entered the French, and now everything goes well, and he is as happy as possible, conversing with every soldier and every officer he meets, and confessing with me, how much the liberty of thinking improves the human mind, and how much superior is the republican to the automedons we have parted from." "Morlatncr, Oct. u.— It is a pleasant sight to travel through France, and to behold the comlort and opulence of the farmers and peasants ; the ground is everywhere well cultivated, and herds of cattle descend into the villages at evening, and at every poor man's house stop his cows, his sheep, his hogs, and his geese. Indeed, my dear Francis, I am much surprised at the general appearance of comlort which prevails among the peasantry, who were formerly poor and oppressed, but now seem rich and comfortable. They are perhaps the only class of society who have really profited by the revolution, but their situation is surprisingly ameliorated. .... At Metz a band of military music played at our door, 'pour l'honneur L'Angleterre.' . . . With honour, courage, and generosity, those virtues of ancient chivalry, may my four sons possess those solid virtues, which render life happiest in a private station." " Avesnes, Oct. 14. — We continue advancing fast on our journey without any difficulty or impediment; everyplace as quiet as in perfect peace, the churches everywhere open, and the fast observed on Fridays and Saturdays so strict, even at the inns, as to make us fare very ill. Sunday too is kept as a fete, but all shops are open, and a man works, or goes to church, or amuses himself as he likes, — in short, I THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 137 perceive scarce any alteration, except that people talk politics and are discontented as in England. As for me, I am heartily sick of travelling, and look forward to no com- fort, until I can again give my blessing to my Francis and his two dear brothers." " Lisle. — My next letter will, if God pleases, be dated from London. Augustus talks very often of you, and tells every one he loves you best of all. He is very well again, and much amused with the windmills. Adieu, my dearest boy. I recommend you always in my prayers to the care of God Almighty." As soon as the Hare-Naylors arrived in England, they pro- ceeded to Hurstmonceaux. It seems that they had never before understood how completely the castle was a ruin, and great was their anger at beholding it, and bitter their resent- ment at the injustice of their stepmother, upon whom the litde Francis was encouraged to write Greek epigrams at Bologna. Among other injuries, Mrs. Henrietta Hare, in a fit of jealousy, had destroyed the oil portrait of her predecessor, the beautiful Miss Selman, only preserving the figure of her child (Francis H. Naylor) riding upon a stick. With the " Place " itself they were much pleased. Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Lady Jonf.s. "Hurstmonceaux Place, Oct. 29, 1797. — I am most impatient to see you, and yet Twyford will recall ten thousand melan- choly ideas. Had you been in town, I would have persuaded you to give your preference to Hurstmonceaux, where new objects and new schemes offer themselves, and we want your advice about a thousand things. The place is delight- ful, and charms me from not being sc magnificent as I ex- 128 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. peeled, or leading to any uncommon expenses. The house is vastly comfortable, but if we live in England it is not larger than we should desire, and every piece of the ground may be turned to profit. It possesses all the beauties of a fine place, with the comforts and pleasures of a small one ; the parish too is just what one could wish, not so large, or so poor, but what we might be the means of giving much happiness. I think Prudence will recommend us to live here or live in Italy ; the first I hope, not again to be separated from so beloved a sister. We were received with such natural demonstrations of joy, and my Hare seems so much to possess the hearts of his tenants, that I have spent some delicious hours. As to our name, we prefer the name of Hare to Naylor as plus noble, but we shall continue to sign all letters, papers, deeds, &c, by the name of Hare-Naylor, as we have hitherto done, and the generality I imagine will give us both names, which makes least confusion, and is what we would like best for many reasons." "Bolton Street, Nov. i, 1797. — I know not how to ex- press my sense of all your kindnesses. We are here in your house receiving every attention and enjoying every comfort, as if we were served by our own servants and had long been settled. My boy is in love with your maid Hick- man, and calls her 'The Lady of the Bird.' ... As to change of person, you will find it in me, and I have no doubt I shall find it in you. Hickman thinks me like you, but thinner. Sorrow brings with it change of health and change of spirits, and whose sorrow was ever like yours? yet every action and every thought shows me my own kind and beloved Anna — she, whose affection for me was ever true affection — interested in my conduct, and anxious that I should be esteemed as she esteemed me. I fear I shall not do half the right or proper things which you suggest — want of time and want of carriage are two good excuses. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 1 29 The Dowager Lady Spencer* has written to me that she hopes to see me in town ; the young onef I will write to. 1 We think of arriving at Twyford the day your maid does, and if we come to dinner it may hurry your spirits less than in the evening ; with this idea we think of sleeping one night either at Hampton or Heckfield. My feelings are full of gratitude to God for allowing me to live to so blessed an hour, mixed with regret for your loss, for our loss, for the world's loss. I could not, without tears, visit your apart- ment, to reflect that it wanted its chief ornament and treasu-e. What is wealth without it? But tried as you have been, it is my prayer that to me and my children it may be given to make you know all the comfort you yet can feel. I h».ve a very kind letter from my brother. I always loved him, nor do I know, except from others, that he ever felt di-'pleased with me." " Bolton Street, Nov. 4.— All the quiet happy castles I had built with you at Twyford seem tottering from their founda- tion. It is true, I most anxiously wished for an interview with my dearest brother, but the idea of spending a month or six weeks at "Bath does not suit my wish for quiet and repose, and the pleasure of social converse over old times with my beloved sister with which I had flattered myself. Mrs. Ann Hare J found us in bed this morning, and is now talking so fast I scarce know what I write. The Lefevres arrive to-day, and express much pleasure at the idea of see- ing us ; indeed, I find more friends than I expected, but I find not my dearest sister, for whom alone I consented to leave my three angels I have written to young Lady Spencer, who has not as yet honoured me with an answer. • Margaret Georgiana Poyntz, whose mother was first ccusin of Mrs. Shipley, the wife of John, first Earl Spencer. t Lavinia, wife of George John, second Earl Spencer. \ Only surviving daughter of Bishop Hare. VOL. 1. K. I30 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFK. So much the better. I have no ambition, and independence and comfort are in our power. If we regain Buckholt, ;£i 7,000 we shall have, perhaps too much for that media vita I wish for myself and my boys. " P.S. — I have this moment a most gracious visit from Lady Spencer, only very angry I have a son named Marcus." * The plan of joining Mrs. Shipley at Bath was carried out, and thence Mrs. Hare-Naylor wrote to little Francis at Bologna. "Dec. ii, 1797. — Yesterday I finished a long letter to my dear Cassandra, and to-day I once more take up my journal to my dear Francis, which has been so interrupted. .... Novels are the present fashionable study in England, and everything is read, good or bad, which bears that title ; even your papa is obliged to follow the current, as the con- versation, in whatever society, falls upon this topic ; we have had two which are the most talked of — ' The Monk,' which is an assemblage of crimes, horrors, and improbabilities, but calculated to excite the passions, and therefore read ; and ' Caleb Williams,' whose author is among the illuminated of the present age, but as his hero, who is drawn a model of honour and moral rectitude, is led by circumstances to com- mit murder and other atrocious crimes, I think a reflecting mind may fairly extract this conclusion, that religion alone has sitffuic?it power to preserve man from evil. "Dec. 14. — I should not, my dear Francis, have dwelt so long on the present state of literature in England if I did not consider that it is the truest test of the character of its inhabitants. They are sunk into an indolence of mind • Her not having seen any of her relations since their anger at het marriage caused Mrs. Hare-Na) lor's anxiety as to their reception of her. THE HAKES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I3I which requires to be fed by such productions as these, and hence it is that, unless an author can excite their passions, warm their imaginations, or awaken their curiosity, he has little chance of being praised, and still less of being read. " Paoli dined with us to-day, and we talked over the adventures of his interesting life, and I wished that the Republic possessed two or three such patriots. He has been ill-treated by all governments and all parties, being himself a stranger to that egoism which pervades every scene of this corrupted age. It is a vice so odious that I wish it may be banished from the world before you enter upon your part, and I think it will, for surely there must be a great change in morals and conduct ere long. " Since I came to Bath I have only bought a Pliny. All my money goes away in caps and bawbles, while I regret the sad necessity of conforming to fashion, and consider my four boys, like Cornelia, above all jewels. Tell the Rettore I see every day Lady Bolingbroke, and that we often talk o'l him and his obliging attentions to the pretty women of out nation. We are invited to return to the Palmerstons after Christmas, and then I shall more particularly think of my Francis, though the certainty of the permanent good you will derive from the lessons of our respected Dora Emmanuel stifles every regret as it rises, and I believe you happier there than you would be with us, since an occupied life is always happy, and we, on the contrary, exist in a kind of noise and confusion, which annihilates every faculty. This evening I may indeed call comfortable, since I am left alone to write to my darling, or to pursue my next favourite employ- ment of reading and reflection. Assure II Nono and La Sorella mia amata that I am eternally attached to them, and accept my warmest prayers and blessing." "Dec. 27. — On Monday I went to hear a celebrated preacher, to receive the sacrament, and with a grateful heart 13a MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to pray for blessings on my four boys. The preacher dis- appointed me, not in his manner, but as to matter. He was for dividing faith and reason, while I am for uniting them ; true reason must ever support true faith, since they both come from God, and the mental powers He has given us were no doubt intended to fortify our faith, however man may have perverted his own nature. Dr. Randolph, on the contrary, would have us believe and not inquire. A Moham- medan, or a Pagan, can be advised to do no other, but the Christian surely has a nobler doctrine to teach. "Your letter of Nov. 11 is written with a warmth of patriotism which does honour to your feelings, but would not suit the present times : when a government possesses so great an influence over the minds and passions of the nation, a wise man must only sigh in private. Pitt has gotten the pride of Englishmen on his side, and pride has more particu- larly ever been the strongest feature in the national charac- ter of England. Before you are of an age to act your part on this world's stage, this government will have undergone a reform, in which case the true patriot in serving his country will advance himself; or otherwise, it will have settled into so complete a despotism founded on corruption, that the efforts of a single man will avail no more than in Athens a Demosthenes opposing the gold of Philip. Yet even in this worst state of things, the principles you now hold will operate so far as to make you remember in every action of your life that the poor and the rich are the same in the eyes of God, and while prudence may teach you to mode- rate your zeal in the cause of political freedom, you will perceive that large is the power of doing good and being useful to mankind, under whatever government you live." The prudence which Mrs. Hare-Naylor inculcated in her children with regard to their political conduct was in no- THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. T33 wise evinced by her husband, whose violent and dem Dcratic principles made him many enemies. Even the friends who at first sympathized with him were generally alienated by the violence of his political conduct, so that " the Hare with many friends " became a by-word. At one time he received the offer of a baronetcy, which he rejected, and professed to despise as one of the aristocratic distinctions against which he was always inveighing. His public im- prudence was a great disadvantage to his children. Lady Jones alludes to this in a letter she wrote to them many years afterwards :■ — " Your father will never get over the unfavourable impres sion of the violent democratic expressions he made use of on his first return to England; they not only stick by him. but have bee*n of great disadvantage to his children ; you will find it necessary through life to remember that the prejudice of the world in that respect is against you." It was in the spring of 1798 that the Hare-Naylors re- turned to Bologna to seek their children. They reached Italy in June in time to see " the Cassandra" and Aponte before their departure from Bologna, and then removed for a time to Padua, where the education of Francis was continued under the Abbate Sinigaglia and other professors of the University. During this, their last visit to Italy, they formed the fine co'lection of pictures, which they afterwards had at Hurstmonceaux. Of this time is the following :-- Mrs Hare-Naylor to Lady Jones. "Bologna, June 23. 1798. — Here is an anecdote of Francis which I think will please you, as it evinces a degree 134 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. of presence of mind uncommon at his age. He was at dinner at a gentleman's house in the country, when one of the servants came in to say there was a man in the court, with a dromedary and a bear. Francis immediately jumped up from table, ran out alone to see the beasts, and as their conductor assured him there was no danger, he began play- ing with the bear ; the animal immediately seized him in his paws, and the owner, instead of coming to his assistance, cried out to him in a fright, ' Defend yourself, or you are dead.' Upon this, Francis, who had observed that the bear was blind in one eye, struck the beast with all his force in the good eye ; the bear instantly let go his hold, Francis seized the moment, and getting loose from his grasp, fled as fast as he could towards the house. The bear ran after him, and tore his cheek with his paw, which was all the injury he received. All this passed without anybody knowing the least of the matter ; the boy returned to table, said the bear had scratched his face, continued to play as usual during the rest of the evening, nor was the story known till the follow- ing day, when it was in everybody's mouth at Bologna." The intense happiness which the Hare-Naylors looked for in an English home may be seen from — Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Lady Jones. "Padua, March 16, 1799.— My weak state confirms me in an idea I have long taken up, that we shall never arrive at settling with our family at Hurstmonceaux, from a per- suasion that our life would be then too happy for our mortal state. It was the same thing with you, my beloved sister, when happiness was almost within the grasp, that visionary deiry vanished from your sight ..... In all my fatigues I have thought of my sweet Augustus enjoying every comfort and attention, happy and beloved by my dearest sister, for THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I35 I feel assured the better you are acquainted with him, the more dear he will become to you. He is endowed with one of those happy soils, which need little culture and little care, as weeds cannot take root in his sweet mind I wish very much that Jules and Marcus may preserve their present beauty, till you see them : Jules is a true Mordaunt face, and Marcus is the very image of his father. Francis too is remarkably well-looking, and so amiable and attractive in his manners, so much knowledge, and so much vivacity, I am sure you will be partial to him : indeed, I long for you to see them all, though none will excel my dear Augustus in sweetness of temper, and sensibility of disposition — in- deed they may well call them les qaatrefils d'Ay/nou." In the spring of 1799 the Hare-Naylors returned to England with all the children, and before settling at their own home, took them to visit Mrs. Shipley at Bath. The following letter from Lady Jones to the Dowager Lady Spencer was written then : — "July 17, 1799. — I can, thank God, continue to make a most comfortable report of my mother. She has been bustling about in her dear little old ways, arranging things for her Italian children, and the finding herself equal to such little exertion has certainly mended her spirits. The Hares arrived to tea yesterday, all vastly well. Jule and Marcus are very lovely engaging babes, and Francis, whom we were quite prepared to see an awkward, shy, plain boy, is quite the reverse — I really think a most remarkably pleasing face, and his manners are totally unaffected and unpresuming, lively and boyish, which I feared, with his knowledge (which for his years is extraordinary), would not have been the case. My poor li tie Augustus certainly I3<> MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. appears to disadvantage by his brothers, but I believe his mind is as amiable, and that he is likely to prove as great a blessing to his parents as any of them. I hope we shall manage not to let them be too much of a worry to my mother, and then they will amuse and do her good. I keep the rock-horse in my dining parlour, which is constant lure for them to be there the greatest part of the day, and a tintamarre-de-diable they have been making there these last three hours, God bless their little throats." During this summer's residence at Bath, Mrs. Hare- Naylor formed the greatest friendship of her later life with Miss Bowdler, whose literary and classical tastes formed a bond between them. She accompanied the family to Hurstmonceaux, where on October 9, 1799, Mrs. Hare- Naylor gave birth to her youngest child, Anna-Maria Clementina. A long series of letters to her beloved sister Anna describe the family life, which began most peacefully and happily at Hurstmonceaux, where the Hare-Naylors settled with the conviction that they should be able to live quietly within their income, and filled with schemes for the assist- ance and improvement of their poorer neighbours. Too soon, however, they found that the expenses of an im- poverished estate and a house greatly out of repair were far beyond their receipts, and life became a constant struggle, filled with anxieties as to the sale of some of the pictures they had brought from Italy, or the production of Mr. Naylor's plays of The Mirror, and The Age of Chivalry at Drury Lane, to which they looked almost for the absolute means of subsistence. Indeed, they could not THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I37 have lived at all, but for the constant and unwearied assist- ance of " the best of sisters." Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Lady Jones. " Hurstmonceaux Place, Dec. 31, 1799. — I am made very anxious by your account of Augustus, and though that dear boy has been longer absent from us than any of our other children, yet a mother is always a mother, and in my heart my affection for him is mixed with my affection for the rest : five children, yourself, and Hare, fill it, as in one mass of blessings. I am saddened by the thought of my dear mother, and can guess what she must suffer from any diminution of her powers of sight, because I have often said, that the privation of light is the only misfortune perhaps to which our nature is liable, which I behove I should never bear with fortitude or patience ; here reason, 1 fear, would lose her influence. " Wilberforce writes to inquire when we shall be in town, that he and his wife may renew our acquaintance and friend- ship. He says he and my husband think so much alike on politics, he will venture to say to him, he fears there can be no safety while France is a republic with all the energy and irritability which the reform possesses. You who condemn my politics, I am persuaded, do not know what they are ; it is to Mr. Wilberforce and Hannah More I will appeal, when I want a good character. We have nearly concluded her book, but although I go very far with her in her system of education, I think she repeats so often the word Christian she will surfeit numbers^ just as honey, if the dose is too strong, will pall the stomachs of children. We are by nature such lovers of variety, that even goodness and religion should be recommended under various forms n order not to clog. As for me, my religion is as simple as my politics, and as I think the best government that where l$8 MEMORIES OF A QUILT LIFE. people are most virtuous and most happy, so in religion. I think the simple study of the Scriptures with the moral duties they teach ?\nd the rewards they promise, far more calculated to insp-'re true piety and cheerful dependence on God's providence, than an inquiry into all those obscure systems of faith, grace, and original sin, on which saints and theologians have written si?iefine" "Feb r, 1800. — The rejection of The Mirror was a. dis- appointment to me, because 1 see pieces in every way inferior are continually produced ; but I suspect Sheridan has an old private pique to gratify. Our pictures too, I fear, are in no likely method of producing money, and I feel that the dear Poussin must be sacrificed for half its value if we can no otherwise raise sufficient money to pay the bills we owe To be sure, coming into possession of a place so out of repair and unfurnished as we found this, while possessed ourselves of no ready money, gave us from the first great difficulties to struggle with." " Pray read the 9th chapter of Revelation. It has struck me vastly, particularly the following verse : ' And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue he hath his name Apollyon! Now the Christian name of Bonaparte is Napollione, which is evidently a Corsican corruption of the Greek — the only change being in the N, otherwise the word is merely Italianised. The concluding denunciation of ruin is so terrific, that I think our pious ministers might read and tremble." " I cannot but write my list of family misfortunes. O ir best pigs are very ill and likely to die, after all the great expense we have been in at fatting them. In short nothing thrives without doors ; and within doors the library chimney has taken to smoke so much, that I am obliged even of an evening to sit with the window open. . . ." THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 139 u Feb. 27, 1800. — I think of all our disappointments the greatest has come from our History of Switzerland. As for the other pictures, they must be put up at a public sale. I think we are rather in want of a present sum of money for furniture and stock, than any increase of income, as I am convinced, if we were once set a-going, we should find our income equal to our wants. I wish I could flatter myself into a belief that a view of those pictures you have chosen would be a source of pleasure to you. I confess they were so to me, and that the Poussin especially gave to my senti- ments that tranquil character with which in it our Saviour as an infant regards the future cross. I never felt it, except in that and one other, a Guido which represents the cruci- fixion, before which I have knelt and prayed with a more entire giving up of the whole mind than happened to me anvwhere else." "May 11, 1800. — May is come, and yet you are waiting in London, and lose all the charms of this season in this beautiful place. Why do you go and look at villas near London, and not come to your own villa at Hurstmonceaux ? At least come and pass this month with us, and do not think of going to live by yourself en misanthrope, while we are here, whose domestic joys will be so enlarged by your partaking them. No words can paint the charms of this place, and Hare and I never walk arm in arm contem- plating the scene and speaking of our mutual happi- ness, without giving a sigh to the absence of our only friend The Montpellier Terrace, as I call the footpath to church, is always dry, and warm, and sheltered* when our sun is too hot, the shrubbery is pleasant; and when you choose both sun and air there is the road to the gate nearly completed. God bless you, my more than sister, and leward you for your constant kind attachment to your G." 140 MEMORIALS OF A. QUIET LIFE. One of the first interests at Hurstmonceaux had been found in the preparation of the sunniest and pleasantest room in the house for the reception of Lady Jones during her long annual visit — a room which is called " Lady Jones's Chamber " to this day. Thither she came for three or four months every summer, bringing the little Augustus to his brothers, when they used to play in the gardens of the "Place," or ramble about in the castle ruins or that old deer-park. Even as a child Augustus was of a much gentler disposition than his brothers, and more unselfish. If any- thing was given to him, his only pleasure in possession seemed to be that he had it to give to some one else, and " his conversation was not like a child's — he would admire the works of God in every tree and weed." — "On one occa- sion, when very little, he told his aunt a lie. It happened on a day when Lord Spencer and Lord Teignmouth were coming to dine with her; she had intended that Augustus should dine with them, and he was greatly delighted at the prospect of it, but in consequence of what he had done, she ordered him to stay in his room and have nothing but bread and water. His nurse, who was greatly devoted to him, was not able to go to him till night, when she took him some strawberries, the first of the year, with which at first he was much pleased, but then asked if his aunt had sent them, and on being told 'no,' could not be prevailed on to fouch them, saying that she had thought him too wicked to have anything that was good." — " Once when he was playing with a little boy, the son of the Duchess of Devonshire, and they could not keep a little sledge, with tin soldiers in it, steady, he went and fetched a silver crucifix and beads given THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 14I to him by his Italian nurse, and put it into the sledge, say- ing, ' Here is something that will manage this and every- thing else in the world.' " — " After a long illness, he expressed his gratitude and thanks in such a manner to those who had been kind to him, that he was more loved than ever."* Around Hurstmonceaux Place the country, which is c o bare near the castle, becomes luxuriantly rich and wooded. The house is large, forming a massy square with projecting semi-circular bows at the comers, the appearance of which (due to Wyatt) certainly produces a very ugly effect outsidi -., but is exceedingly comfortable within. Mr. Wilberforce, who rented it in 1810, thus describes it : — "1 am in a corner of Sussex, in an excellent house, and a place almost as pretty as the neighbourhood of the sea ever is. There is a fine old castle here, built in Henry VI. 's time, but in complete preservation till some twenty years ago, and, though this is a very good private gentleman's habitation, yet when one sets it against a complete castle, one side of which was two hundred feet long, and which was in the complete costume of the age in which it was reared, it dwindles into as much insignificance as one of the armed knights of the middle ages, fully ac- coutred, who should be suddenly transported into the curtailed dimensions of one of the box-lobby loungers of the opera, or even one of the cropped and docked troopers of one of our modern regiments. "The castle is in the park, but, horrendum dictul it was pulled down, and the bare walls and ivy-mantled towers * These anecdotes were told forty years after by Lady Jones's maid Hickman, then Mrs. Parker. I^a MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. alone left standing; the materials being applied to the con- struction of a new house, which, on the whole, cost twice as much, I understand, as it would have taken to make the castle habitable, for it had fallen a little into arrears. I don't know, however, that we who inhabit the new mansion may not have made a good exchange, by gaining in comfort what is lost in magnificence; for the old budding was of such a prodigious extent, that it would have requited the contents of almost a whole colliery to keep it warm ; and I l!i ink lew things more wretched (of the kind, I mean) than living in a house which it is beyond the powers of the fortune to keep in order; like a great body with a languid circulation, all is cold and comfortless."* Mrs. Hare-Naylor's life at Hurstmonceaux must have astonished her rustic neighbours, and still more her neigh- bours in her own rank of life, of whom there were few with whom she cared to associate, except the ladies at Ashburn- ham Place, where the fine library was a great delight to her. Not only, when within the house, was she always occupied in the deep study of Greek authors, but during her walks in the park and shrubberies she was always seen dressed in white, and she was always accompanied by a beautiful tame white doe, which used to walk by her side, even when she went to church. Her foreign life led her to regard Sunday merely as a fete day, and she used frequently to scandalize the church-going population by sitting at a window looking out upon the road, working at her tambour-frame, when they were going to church. Her impetuosity in liking and • Letter to Lord Muncaster. See Wilberforce's "Life and Cor- respondence," vol. iii. pp. 464, 466. Load., 1838. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 1 43 disliking often led her to make friends with persons beneath her, or to take them into her service when they were of a character which rendered her notice exceedingly undesirable. The two women she took most notice of in the parish were the last persons who ever did public penance at Hurstmon- ceaux, having both to stand in a white sheet in the church- yard for their " various offspring," so that people said, " There are Mrs. Hare-Naylor's friends doing penance." And it was long remembered with amusement that when one of her maids was afterwards found to have misbehaved herself, she said, " Poor thing, she cannot help it ; I really believe it must be something in the air /" Yet in her heart she was of a most holy life ; ardent in all her feelings and acts, her whole soul was constantly poured out in prayer. As a Mr. Mkchell, one of whom she saw much at this time, said afterwards to her son Julius, " She did truly embrace Christ with her whole heart." Her words were cherished through life by her children as those of an angel, and to their latest days the recollection of the Four Brothers lingered lovingly over every incident of the early years spent with their "precious mother" in the family home. "Othat old age were truly second childhood ! It is seldom more like it than the berry is to the rosebud," wrote one of the four many years after ; and another (Julius) who, living hard by, was wont to cherish every recollection of his beloved mother in the scenes where she had lived, wrote in recollection of these happy days, " What a type of a happy family is the family of the sun ! With what order, with what harmony, with what blessed peace do his children the planets move around him, shining with the 144 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFK. light which they drink in from their parent's face at once on him and on one another."* For the two first years of their residence at Hurstmon- ceaux the family circle was enlarged by one who made up in some degree for the literary and intellectual society they had left at Bologna, and in her letters to her valued Aponte, Mrs. Hare-Naylor constantly dwelt upon the fortunate choice she had been enabled to make in appointing Dr. Lehmann as tutor to her son Francis, and under whom he was making such progress as to be an astonishment to all who knew him and an intense delight to his mother. Whea Lehmann returned to Germany in 1802, with the intention of taking a professorship in the University of Gottingen, it was intended that Francis should accompany him thither, that he might continue to have the benefit of his teaching, for he had been a most indefatigable tutor, in spite of a devotion to his own studies of natural history, so that, as Mrs. Hare-Naylor quaintly observes in one of her letters, he would impart information to Francis even while he was " dissecting the brains of a butterfly, or ascertaining the legs of a louse." The German plan, however, was abandoned, in order to send Francis to the tutorship of Dr. Brown, an eminent professor in the Marischal College at Aberdeen, and •fcitivsr be proceeded in August. 1802, after a visit to Lord Paimerston at Edinburgh. He remained at Aberdeen two years without returning. Of the diligence with which his days there were employed the following letter to his mother will give an idea : — • " Guesses at Truth, " 1856, p. 554. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 14$ " April 14, 1804. — To give an account of my da)'. Before breakfast I read Cicero's and Demosthenes' orations alter- nately by myself. From ten to eleven I read Tacitus, of which I explain five chapters each lesson to Mr. Siev- wright at night, and at the same time I write a translation of a chapter of Livy. From eleven to twelve I read books on politics and moral philosophy, from one to two Dr. Brown as usual three times a week ; from two to four I study the Law of Nature and Nations, as a preparation for my study of the common law; seven to eight, Mr. Sievwright; eight to nine, I read Homer and Virgil alternately by myself; nine to ten, Smythe ; ten to eleven I prepare Smythe's lesson, and if there is any time to spare I employ it in read- ing English poetry, as even that has great use. So much till eleven o'clock, when I undress. I have given up going to supper, when the college ended, for want of time. Foi Ihe time for which nothing else is allotted, and on Sundays, there is miscellaneous and superficial English and French reading. The time I have allotted for walking is from twelve to one, but I seldom employ it for that purpose. " I long to be present at the unpacking of the fine library which has come from Bologna, and I envy you the pleasure of seeing again our old friends the Scanderbeg and the Judith. I shall be very glad to hear how you managed to hang both the great Guido and the great Guercino in the dining-room. Then what is to become of the Paul Veronese, for certainly it deserves a place inter prior cs ?" Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Francis Hare. "Sept. 5, 1802. — 'Nil mortalibus arduum est.' This, it is reported, Bonaparte said, when he ascended the Alps to conquer Italy. You have chosen it, my beloved Francis, for your motto, and in the difficulties you have at present to encounter, to iviil is to do. In speaking slow you have vol. 1. L I46 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. only to conquer an ill habit of not pronouncing the finals distinct. You have not, like Demosthenes, any natural impediment to surmount, nor, like Bonaparte, to conquer countries without arms or ammunition ; but still the prin- ciple of industry and attention to amend in time a fault which would become a real prejudice to your advancement hereafter, is a great and material step towards still more important objects. " Dr. Brown must have heard, with the deepest regret, of Mr. Brand's throwing away his money on a county election. Perhaps this ill-judged measure at his first entry into life may destroy many of those fair prospects which his early virtues gave the promise of. To get rid of a good fortune with little credit and no honour, there is no surer method than a contested election, nor in this case was there ever a prospect of success. You know with what prudence your father behaved last year with regard to this county, nor has his merit been less this year in withstanding the general voice that called upon him to oppose our present member. " Perhaps, as we have so very often experienced the favour of Providence, and the wisest of us are so inadequate to decide on our own real advantage, it may be among His kindnesses our not having let our house this autumn ; for in ;he general opinion war is but too likely to recommence, and in that disastrous case, happy are those who are living in their own land, and able to protect their own property. You, my Francis, are probably born to live in a portentous age. You inherit the principles of true and genuine liberty from your ancestors. You have yourself seen the lament- able effects of anarchy and licentiousness assuming the name of the true goddess, and treading down her altars. And now, under the care of the pious, wise, and learned Dr. Brown, you are imbibing at their source the untainted senti- ments of real patriotism and real freedom ; but, above all, THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX,. 147 my Francis, I exhort you to study the works of my favourite Cicero. Demosthenes excels more in argument and decla- mation, but none of the ancients have written with more purity of mind and principle of the great question of public good and the duties of the citizen. Your father did not intend publishing the continuation of his history until our arrival in France, when he intended to revise the first two volumes and publish them anew, together with the two succeeding ones, when he had the means of consulting some new authorities ; but should we remain in England, I imagine this plan must change. Adieu, my best-beloved — my darling son." The History alluded to in this letter is that of the Hel- vetic Republic, which Mr. Hare-Naylor had begun at Bologna, and which he afterwards published, dedicated, " To the immortal memory of Charles James Fox, the enlightened champion of civil and religious liberty." In March, 1803, good old Mrs. Shipley died — a great loss to her numerous children and grandchildren. " She lived to a good old age, being in her eighty-seventh year," wrote Lady Jones to Mrs. Parker, " and enjoyed all her faculties to the last, and resigned her breath without any suffering — not a sigh or groan, but went off in a quiet angelic sleep." In 1803, Mrs. Hare-Naylor, who had never quite given up the pursuit of painting, to which she had been so devoted in Italy, and who never ceased lamenting the destruction of Hurstmonceaux Castle, and the loss it occa- sioned her children, formed the design of leaving them a perfect series of large finished water-colour drawings, repre- senting all the different parts of the castle, interior as well 148 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. as exterior, "before its destruction. This series of drawings she completed, never relaxing her labour and care till the whole were finished ; but the minute application for so long a period seriously affected her health, and after she had complained for some time of pain in her eyes, and an eminent oculist had been consulted, it was found that disease of the optic nerve had begun, which obliged her to lay aside at once all her usual employments, and which ended, two years later, when she was only in her forty- eighth year, in total blindness, the calamity which five years before she had spoken of to Lady Jones as the only misfortune utterly unendurable. It was remembered at I lurstmonceaux how exceedingly tall and thin she was at ihis time, and that she used to knock her elbows together behind her back till they clicked ! In January, 1804, Julius and Marcus were sent together 11* Tunbridge School, which was then under the care of Dr. Vicesimus Knox; but Julius soon fell ill there, and as his symptoms were of a consumptive tendency, he was removed, to the great grief of his little brother, who exclaimed, " If Jule go away, Marcus pisen hisself." It was decided that Julius should accompany his parents to the Continent, for it was now absolutely necessary that they should go abroad, as Mrs. Hare-Naylor's health was failing so rapidly, that foreign air was looked upon as a last resort. They left Kngland early in August, 1804, and travelled first to Vienna, returning by slow stages to Weimar, where they spent the following winter. Francis in the meantime was sent to another private tutor's, Mr. Michells, at Buckland, neai Cambridge, where he pursued his studies with the THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEATJX. I4<) utmost ardour. Augustus remained under the care of Lady Jones, who sent him at ten years old to Mr. Stretch's school at Twyford, where he used to play with his little companions at " the siege of Copenhagen," amongst the great tomb stones in the churchyard. Hence he was removed to Winchester in 1804. His father at this time writes to him, " Your letters have given the greatest pleasure both to your mother and me, and the affectionate manner in which you speak of her illness has quite delighted her." It is to this winter of 1804 — 5, spent at Weimar, that Julius owed his first acquaintance with and interest in German literature. There, the great names of Goethe, Wieland, Herder, and Schiller became to him familiar household words. The extraordinary gifts of his accom- plished mother gathered around her, even in these days of sickness, all that was most intellectual in that most intel- lectual of German cities. And the good duchess who honoured the great men of her city, as she was honoured by them, was the kind friend whose presence daily cheered the darkened chamber of the blind lady, and whose sweet ministrations were constantly afforded in the long hours of suffering from which she was now scarcely ever free. It was as he left Weimar, in May, 1805, that Julius Hare first saw the Wartburg, the scene of Luther's nominal imprison- ment ; and there, as he used playfully to say in after years, he " first learnt to throw inkstands at the devil." During the year spent at Weimar, Mr. Hare-Naylor wrote the novel — the very dull novel — of "Theodore, or the Enthusiast," which was dedicated, " To Her Serene High- ness the reigning Duchess of Saxe-Weimar, in token of T50 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. gratitude, admiration, and esteem." Flaxman, who, with his sister (who was governess to little Anna), accompanied the Hare-Naylors to Weimar, made a series of beautiful little illustrations for this novel, which have never been engraved. Mrs. Hare-Naylor to Lady Jones. " Weiftmr, Nov. 12, 1804. — The calamity I have so long foreseen and dreaded, my dearest sister, is at length fallen upon me : it is now two whole days since I have distinguished any visible object. The tranquillity of despair, dreadful as it is, is nothing compared with what I have suffered during the last twenty months, in a fluctuation between hope and fear. You, my beloved sister, who know my ideas and sensations on every subject, will picture to yourself all 1 might say, and I shall have not less of your compassion than your love. It is towards you that I look for all I can hope of comfort either for myself or my poor dear children. Indeed, it is amongst my heaviest afflictions, the feeling myself incapable of the duties of wife and mother : this admits of but one consolation, that though David was not permitted to build the temple of the Lord, yet it was accepted, for he had it in his heart. " Hare is very much at court, but always most kind and attentive to me. It was only on the 9th that the hereditary prince brought home his bride, a Grand Duchess of Russia, since which there have been nothing but dinners and festivals, though Hare prefers the quiet society he met at Prince Clary's, at Teplitz, to all the splendour and mag- nificence displayed on this occasion. The grand duchess's wardrobe arrived in eighty waggons, and her profusion of jewels is such that she could change the set every day for a twelvemonth. Julius has learned a great deal of German, THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 151 but is too shy to speak May God in his mercy preserve you to support and assist your poor blind " G. H. N." In the summer of 1805 Mrs. Hare-Naylor's longing desire for the presence of her son Francis, caused him to be summoned to her side, as her health was daily becoming worse. She rallied, however, sufficiently to carry out her strong wish of revisiting Switzerland — the land of liberty whence she had drawn such ardent aspirations in the days of health and happiness, and when the Hurstmonceaux life, now closed for ever, was just opening before her. They moved first to Bruckenau, and afterwards to Lausanne. Hence she sent to her cousin, the Dowager Lady Spencer, her verses ON BLINDNESS. " He chastens whom He loves ! " — 'Tis thus we read In that blest book from whence all truths proceed* "While then his mercies humbly we implore, 'Tis ours to bow, submit, and still adore, Content, in awe, to venerate his plan, When laid too deep for mortal eyes to scan. Our keenest sufferings to some purpose tend, To calm our passions, o~ our hearts to mend ; To lift our thoughts from earth to heaven above, And teach frail man to trust his Maker's love. In all our trials subject to his will, God blends some good to counterpoise the ill ; And when his wrath divine inflicts a woe, His love paternal mitigates the blow : E'en in the heaviest loss, the loss of sight, That love can fill the mind with inward light, Bestow on other organs ampler powers, And bless our night, like nature's, with its flowers. I52 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. No more that orb whose vivifying ray Gives life and vigour to returning day, Gladdens my eyes with its resplendent flame, Yet still its warmth revives my drooping frame. No more, to me, the moon reflects her light, Nor glittering planets meet the unconscious sight, Yet o'er my senses steals the calm serene, And all within is tranquil as the scene. In vain would nature too her charms conceal, Her treasures, though unseen, I see, I feel. The torrent, dashing from the mountain near, Breaks in rude cadence on the astonished ear; While the clear rivulet that gently flows With lulling murmurs soothes me to repose. Ofttimes I seek the grove or shady bower When contemplation claims the sober hourj Oft the pure fragrance of the plants inhale, And tread the flowery mead, or spicy vale, The quickened scent delighting to explore A thousand sweets, unmark'd, unknown befor*. E'en though the landscape flies the clouded r./e, Imagination can her tints supply, O'er the rude scenery cast a brighter hue, And bring a new creation to my view. The pine frowns darkly o'er the ivied cell, The ruin proudly nods, the torrents swell ; Above the wooded vale steep Alps arise, And threat with snow-clad peaks their kindred skie Thus as rich fancy paints with varying grace Bold nature's grand majestic forms we trace, Ideal beauties decorate the scene, No clouds obscure it, and no specks are seen. Oft too shall Harmony's celestial strain Soothe to a soft forgetfulness of pain, Lull in seraphic dreams our mental powers, And steal from adverse fate some blissful hours. But chief the social pleasures are designed To charm the ear, and fascinate the mind. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 1 53 Satire's keen edge, whose point e'en vice can awe, Seductive wit restrain'd by moral law, The patriot thought in manly language drest^ The tale well told, the laugh-creating jest, The classic page (deep mine of treasured ore By turns to criticize, by turns explore) — These, the pure sources of convivial mirth, Expand our talents, and give genius birth, The soul's appropriate energies reveal, Nor need the eye, to make the bosom feel. Still we enjoy those dear delightful ties, On which the firmest prop of life relies. When the fond husband or the child draws near The well-known step sounds grateful to the ear : A son's sweet voice can vibrate to the heart, And love's soft touch the thrill of joy impart: And memory now restores to mental sight Their long-loved features lost in shades of night, Now joys with thoughtful gratitude to blend In one dear form the sister and the friend. Friendship too opens wide her treasured store, And as we grow the poorer, gives the more. Her tender sympathy is ever nigh, Nor lets a wish escape its watchful eye ; While, as the sun revives with genial heat, The droop ng flowers on which the tempests beat, How sweet compassion cheers our clouded days, And loves in us the feelings that we raise. Wisdom presides o'er God's omniscient plan- But Faith and Hope are given for guides to man. While Hope consoles us in this vale of tears, Faith here prepares us for the heavenly spheres, And when our mortal part is wrapt in night, Uplifts our spirits to the throne of light. During the illness at Lausanne, Francis was of the greafest possible assistance to his parents. He entirely undertook for the time the education of his brother Julius 154 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. a task wl ich he afterwards in some degree continued by writing a series of essays on different literary subjects for the benefit of his brother. " Francis Hare, who gave Julius his first initiation into Greek, was also an excellent German scholar, and no doubt used his knowledge of that, as of other modern literature, to make his lessons more lively." As Mrs. Hare-Naylor felt her last moments approaching, she solemnly and urgently in writing commended her five children to her sister's care, but especially her little daughter Anna. She lingered till the late spring. On Good Friday, she said to Coleman, her faithful maid, " The day after to- morrow will be that of our Saviour's resurrection, and will possibly be the last of my life ; " adding, " If I meet your mother in another world, I will tell her how kind and atten- tive you have been to me." And so it was. Having taken her husband's hand and kissed it, on the morning of Easter Sunday, the 6th of April, 1806, she fell into a sweet sleep from which she never awakened, " giving up her soul to Him, who, as on that day, overcame death."* Just cue week before her cousin, died in England, on March 30, 1806, Georgiana, the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire. At the time of his wife's death, Mr. Hare-Naylor, being then in his fifty-second year, was still very handsome, but exceedingly reserved and cold in manner. He could not bear to return to Hurstmonceaux, where, as he wrote to • Epitaph at Hurstmonceaux. THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. 155 Lady Jones, every flower and every plant recalled the recol- lection of happy moments " past with his lost Georgiana." His debts were numerous and his children many, and in the following year he sold the estate of his ancestors, a step which all his descendants have never ceased to deplore. Without failing in the respect due to their father, it was to Lady Jones and to their Shipley relations that his chil- dren henceforward always turned for advice, for comfort, and affection, and in the house of this beloved aunt they found the only home they knew from this time. " My dearest Georgiana," wrote Lady Jones, on hearing of her loss, " if she knows in the realms of bliss she assuredly inhabits what passes in the world, shall ever see that I will exert my feeble endeavours to supply her loss, as long as life and health permit me to do so. My dear little Anna especially I shall receive with open arms." And henceforth little Anna always lived with her, recognised before the world as her adopted daughter ; Augustus was educated at her expense, and passed his holidays with her, and her care and anxiety for his welfare proved that she considered him little less her child than Anna ; Francis and Julius con- sulted her and looked up to her on all points, finding in her " a second mother, a monitress wise and loving, both in encouragement and reproof." "To the reverence which Julius entertained for Lady Jones," wrote one who knew him well in later days, " may be ascribed much of the nobleness and purity of character, the chivalrous respect for womanhood which distinguished his whole life." TJie country home of Lady Jones was at Worting, a place which she had bought, near Basingstoke, a comfortable old- 156 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. fashioned red brick house, with some fine trees near it, but the surrounding country flat, open, and barren to the last degree. For this very reason had Lady Jones chosen it — she had been so relaxed by her long residence in India, she said, that she wished for the most bracing and exposed situation it was possible to discover. In March, 18 13, Lady Jones fetched little Anna home very unwell from her school at Chiswick, and though she was nursed by her aunt with almost more than maternal devotion, she sunk at the end of a week. Lady Jones never could bear her to be mentioned afterwards. After her own death a small parcel with a black edge was found in her writing-case, marked "Memorandums, Helas!"' con- taining the medical account of her illness, the newspaper notice of her death, and a little packet inscribed, "Triste et Chere,"' enclosing the earliest primrose of that year's spring, on which Lady Jones had written, " The sweet angel brought me this little nosegay, Wednesday, 17th March. On Wednesday, 24th, she herself had faded, drooped, and ceased to breathe." In the same parcel is preserved this fragment of a letter from old Lady Spencer : — "'We now call it death to leave this world, but were we once out of it, and enstated into the happiness of the next, we should think it were dying indeed to come into it again.' So says Sherlock, whom I was reading when you sent to me Sunday evening. Had dear little Anna's life been prolonged, it would have been a course of suffering to herself and anxiety to you. Now you can feel no anxiety on her account, for I think it was quite remarkable the little traits of amiable feelings that appeared during h^r illness." THE HARES OF HURSTMONCEAUX. I 57 Augustus Hare wrote to Lady Jones : — " Amid abundant cause for sorrow, it must be some con- solation to you to reflect that my sister is gone to that mother who committed her to your care, and that she will have nothing to recount but instances of your countless goodness. You have exchanged for a form that prayed lor you on earth, a spirit that is praying for you in heaven. All the improper habits that you have ever checked in her, all the good principles you have ever in- stilled into her, all the religious precepts you ever taught her, are, and will be, day and night rehearsed in the ears of our merciful Judge, and if they are blessed who give food here, what shall be done to them who minister spiritual sustenance, who have conducted the steps of others to the well of everlasting life, who have exerted themselves to redeem a soul from the bondage of sin and Satan ? Indeed, when I think of these things, I feel I would not disbelieve a future state for the universe. Then, indeed, would our fate be wretched, and what comfort could we possibly derive from the never-ending sleep of my dear sister, since we never should see her again ? Even in this world the care you have lavished upon her will not be in vain. The recollection of it is lodged in the bosom of her surviving brothers, and will, I trust, produce a harvest of affectionate and grateful exertion." In 1807 Mr. Hare-Naylor had contracted a second marriage with a connection of his first wife, the widow of Colonel Mealey, by whom he had become the father of three children, Georgiana, born Nov. ir, 1S09; Gustavus, born Sept. 15, 181 1; and Reginald, born Dec. 29, 1812. In iSiijhe went abioad with his second family, and died 1 58 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. at Tours on the 16th of April, 18 15, after a lingering illness, in which his son Augustus shared the fatigues and anxieties of his stepmother. His remains were removed to Hurst- monceaux, where he is buried beneath the altar of the parish church. IT. AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. "The great secret of spiritual perfection is expressed in the words of St. Ignatius Loyola, ' Hoc vult Deus.' God wishes me to stand in this post, to fulfil this duty, to suffer this disease, to be afflicted with this calamity, this contempt, this vexation. ' God wishes this, whatever the world and self-love may dictate, hoc vult Deus. His will is my law." — Broadstone of Honour. " T\ IOGRAPHIES are wholesome and nourishing reading in proportion as they approach the character of auto- biography, when they are written by those who loved or were familiar with their subjects — who had an eye for the tokens of individual character, and could pick up the words as they dropped from loving lips." Thus, in middle life, wrote Julius Hare, the younger of the two authors of the " Guesses at Truth," and thus, in following the footprints of his life and that of his brother Augustus, the truest picture is that which can be drawn from their own letters or thoughts, from the recollection of their surviving relations and friends, or from the reminiscences of the poor who loved them in solitary Little Alton amid the Wiltshire Downs, or among the leafy lanes of Hurstmonceaux. The chief influence in the youth of both brothers was that of their aunt, Lady Jones, whose house was their home, l6o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and who generously made herself responsible foi their education. Unlike their own mother, of whose gentle loving-kindness her four sons retained an equal recollection, Lady Jones chiefly showed her affection for her nephews by the severity with which she corrected their faults, while for herself she exacted respect rather than love, and had no sympathy with any demonstration of affection. Her nephews, though devoted to her from motives of gratitude, never ventured to be familiar with her, and Augustus especially suffered in after life from the want of mutual confidence which was thus engendered. In society Lady Jones could be "exceedingly pleasant and agreeable. Miss Berry, who knew her well, always spoke of her as " that most perfect gentlewoman." She was very quick in her movements, old- fashioned and peculiar in 'dress, short in person, and she had sharp, piercing eyes. Lady Jones sent Augustus Hare to Winchester as a Commoner at the beginning of the short half-year, after the summer holidays of 1S04: he was placed at once in the middle division of the Fifth Form. Archdeacon Randall, who followed him to Winchester in October of the same year, thus describes his personal appearance at that time : — "Hare was then, as afterwards, tall, thin, and delicate- looking, and his dress peculiar, varying from that of other boys — much such as might have been supposed to have had its cut and colour selected by a lady who, though not an old maid, was a widow, and not much conversant with the habiliments and habits of boys in general. He was, how- ever, even then an object of general interest in the school. There was a near race between Hare and Boscawen AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. l6l (younger son of the then Lord Falmouth), for one of the highest p'aces in the Part, and as the half-year drew to its close, the marks that they daily obtained in the Classicus Paper were eagerly watched by their respective friends. Of course, the public wishes were divided, but I think if the precedence had been settled by votes, Hare would have had it, perhaps for the very reason that he was in person such as I have described him, young, and looking too slight for a struggle of hard work. This carried him through a great deal, for though he had peculiarities of voice and manner that were often laughed at, J do not think he ever underwent any unkind treatment, but was always regarded as a tender plant that ought to be gently handled. He was successful in this contest, which was a happy thing for him, as it insured his being put up into the senior part of the Fifth before the great struggle of the half-year, and 1 the standing-up week ' at the end of it, the preparation for which would probably have tried his strength rather too severely." Augustus went into college at Election, 1806, which was a fortunate time; for he had got up so high in the school as a Commoner, that he came into college as a Pra;fect, and, consequently, had no fagging to undergo, and the life of a college Praefect was as comfortable as it is possible for a school-boy life to be. Randall became a Praefect at Elec- tion, 1807, and from that time began an intimacy with Augustus. " We were both of us thoughtful and imagina- tive," writes Archdeacon Randall, "great politicians, and full of speculative plans for the improvement of the republic in which we lived, and the constitution of which in the main VOL. I. M l02 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. we much approved and admired, though we were sensible of blemishes which we longed to remove. We both thought, as I believe almost every public school-man that has seriously considered the subject does think, that the authority of the Prefects and their responsibility for the order and character of the school, and as a correlative and compensation for this, their power over their inferiors, and right to command their services, ought to be maintained ; but we also per- ceived the many occasional abuses of this power. The problem was, how to repress these without obliging the oppressed junior to bring his complaint before the masters, which was always an invidious proceeding, and one in which the masters could rarely get to the bottom of a case, so as to do real justice between the parties. The public opinion of the school, and especially the public opinion of the general body of the Prefects, was always against a tyrannical Prsefect ; but an ill-conditioned Praefect, much like an ill-conditioned great-landlord, or manufacturer, or ship captain, or other man possessed of power, did not care about public opinion ; and the question was, how to bring it to bear upon him in some way so that he should feel the weight of it. For this purpose we devised a parliament, and I am sure no constitution-mongers in the world ever set about their work with more earnestness and affection than we did. We knew it could never be brought into practical operation, at any rate in our day, but it was such a pleasure to contemplate it as a thing possible. What delightful talks we had about it ! How we returned to the subject again and again ! How we discussed details ! How we canvassed and obviated objections ! How we AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 163 settled the place of meeting and all the form and order of proceedings ! It must be confessed that our undertaking was not an easy one. The republic with which we had to deal contained in it eighteen separate authorities, each of them absolute over all the subjects, who were in number only fifty-two, and each of the fifty-two subject to each of the eighteen, and bound to serve that one of the eighteen that first required his service. This was the constitution, upon which we did not presume to think of infringing. I daresay you will think it odd that at the distance of more than half a century I should go back to this subject as the point of interest that I specially remember of my intercourse with Hare. But though it looks like playing with straws, it shows the bias of the mind. To be in Parliament was, all through his young days, the thing for which he longed." Weak health and a naturally indolent disposition pre- vented the school career of Augustus Hare from being as brilliant as that of his brother Julius, and his frequently missing the prizes he tried for, brought down angry letters from his relations, whom he more seriously offended in the autumn of 1808 by taking part in a rebellion raised by the Winchester Praefects against Dr. Goddard for his making a Saint's Day into a School Day, without their consent. His account of this scrape to Lady Jones is so candid and open as to seem deserving of insertion. "Nov. 21, 1808. — I suspect, my dear aunt, from your long silence, that you are very angry with me ; indeed you have, I am grieved to say, more reason for this than you perhaps imagine. However, before I begin my narrative, permit me to assure you that with a new year I intend, if 1 6.1 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. possible, to turn over a new leaf. I say if possible, because after the many assurances I have given you that I intended to throw oft* idleness, from the time I was eight years old, I am almost afraid to make another resolution. I have not, during this half-year, been content with doing no good, but I have done harm : I consented, fool that I was, to join in an act of resistance to the authority of the masters, and when the names of the insurgents were given up, mine was at the top. The circumstances of the case were these. It has always been customary to ask the Prefects whether they had any objection to have a Saint's Day a School Day. Hence arose a supposition that we had by the statutes a right to a holiday on a Saint's Day. Goddard infringed that supposed right ; we remonstrated, he persisted, and it was proposed that the Prefects should exert their authority over the in- feriors, and keep them out of school. I was angry with Goddard, and ashamed, stupidly ashamed, of differing from my schoolfellows. I asked if the other Prefects consented to this step, I was answered ' Yes.' ' Then so do I,' was my answer. I afterwards found that all the Prefects were so far from agreeing in the step, that there were but eight besides myself who consented out of seventeen, and they were chiefly junior Prsefects. I immediately hurried down into our playground where the insurgents were, and deter- mined, as all the Prefects were not unanimous, to have nothing to do with the business. Just at that moment Gabell came into school, my retreat was cut off, and I con- tinued one amongst the other fools. We, however, in ten minutes all came to our senses, and returned into school, and upon making our submission, have all been pardoned, and an act of amnesty has been passed. But the masters cannot look upon us in future with any confidence ; they cannot entrust us with any offices. This, however, is a punishment light in comparison of what I ought to expect, AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 65 This account must give you a great deal of uneasiness. Endeavour, however, I beg of you, to pardon it. Goddard has already done so." After receiving Lady Jones's answer to this, which was milder than he expected, Augustus Hare wrote : — "Nov. 29, 1808. — In your letter you neither said nor threatened anything, which I did not deserve. It was all true, as was a great deal more which you might have added if you had determined to punish me with the greatest severity. You might have added that for the last ten years and a half I have been a plague to you ; that you have ex- pended hundreds of pounds upon me ; that I have been far from improving, as I ought to have done, the advantages I have had ; that in return for all your kindness I have never conquered my natural indolence. There is only one thing you could not have added, that I have not loved you as Kiuch as my other brothers would. I wait with submission md anxiety for your final decision concerning my punish- ment." In the beginning of 18 10 Dr. Goddard thus wrote to an- nounce to Lady Jones a vacancy at New College, to which Augustus was elected in the following summer : — " Your nephew is a young man for whom I have always entertained a high regard, and I am therefore happy in any- thing that bids fair to promote his welfare. There was a time, when he appeared not to be going on so well as I could wish; I was then unwilling either to disturb youi mind or to disguise the truth, and therefore thought it most prudent to hold my tongue, unless a communication should appear absolutely necessary, which I flattered myself it l66 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. would not be, for as he possesses a good heart and a good understanding, I gave him credit for recovering his senses, which were warped a little by an early elevation to a high situation. Experience has proved that I was right ; for more than a year past he has gradually been recovering my esteem, which I assure you he now possesses as fully as ever." In 1806 Julius had been sent to the Charter-house (then under the guidance of Dr. Raine), where he soon made rapid progress. Among his companions there, were Thirl- jvall and Grote ; the future historians of Greece ; Wad- iington, afterwards Dean of Durham ; Sir William Norris, And Sir Henry Havelock. The two last especially were united with Julius Hare in a school friendship which lasted through life. Havelock was always called Phioss by the others, a name intended as short for philosopher. During his time at the Charter-house, Julius received constant txtra assistance in his studies from Francis, his "kindest brothe.," as he always called him, to whom he sent his versis .for inspection before they were shown up. Francis alwr.y. loved Julius the best of his brothers, though the t >ole four were united almost to a proverb — " The mos'i \**>therly of brothers," Landor used to call them. At this time Francis Hare was at Christ Church, but he did not distinguish himself there. The fact was that the pupil of Mezzofanti, Lehmann, and Dr. Brown went up to college knowing too much. He found himself so far beyond all his compeers, and he had such a profound contempt for the examinations of the Oxford schools, as compared with AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 67 those which he had been accustomed to see in the Italian and German universities, that he neglected study altogether, and devoted his whole time to hunting and other amuse- ments. In spite of this, he was so naturally talented, that he could not help increasing his vast amount of knowledge, even during his idle years at Oxford, so that Dean Jackson used to say of him, that " he was the only rolling stone he knew that ever gathered any moss." When he left Oxford, Francis Hare lived principally at his rooms in the Albany, and the remembrance of many of his old friends still lingers on his pleasant chambers (in the end house in the court), and the delightful parties which used to meet in them, and which included all that was most agreeable and clever in London young-manhood. In his conversational powers he was almost unrivalled, and it was thus, not in writing, that he made known his immense mass of information on all possible subjects. " Francis leads a rambling life of pleasure and idleness," wrote his cousin, Mrs. Dashwood, " he mast have read — but who can tell at what time? for wherever there is dissipation, there is Francis in its wake and its most ardent pursuer; yet in spite of this, let any subject be named in society, and Francis will know more of it than nineteen out of its twenty." When Augustus Hare went to reside at New College in the Michaelmas term of 1810, he found himself surrounded by a large circle of his Winchester friends. Randall had gone up to Trinity, Oxford, the year before, but Black- Btone and Stow were with him at New College, and many l68 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE others with whom he was less intimate. Hull of Brasenose and Arnold of Corpus also belonged to the closest circle of his friends. " Friendship," he wrote in one of his note- books of this time. " is love without the veil and the flowers." A miniature Parliament was still the Elysium in which the imagination of Hare and his friends delighted. Ran- dall and he at once wished to establish a debating club at Oxford, on the principles of that which already existed at Cambridge, under the name of " The Cambridge University Political Society." They talked to all their friends about it, and tried to enlist them ; but the overture was coldly received for the most part. They met with only two hearty coadjutors, Kent of Trinity, and Comyn of St. John's. Even these two, and Randall himself, took rather a de- sponding view of the matter. They thought the attempt would be an utter failure, and that they should only be laughed at ; but they could not bear to disappoint Hare, whose heart was entirely set upon it. Thus " The Attic Society" (so called after much deliberation, with something of a punning reference to the abodes of most of its first members) held its first meeting in Randall's rooms and under his presidency. The members at first were only seven in number. They were : — i. Kent, Trinity. He was the star of his college and of the society. He took a distinguished first-class in mathe- matics, and was the delight of every company that he entered, the dearest friend of all his friends, who were many, and moreover, the best oar upon the river. He died in his twenty-eighth year, having given promise of a brilliant AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 69 career in his profession, though as yet only a pleader under the B?.r. 2. Cornyn, St. John's. He was Chief Justice at Madras, retired ou a pension, and died in London. 3. Hare, New College. 4. Roe, Trinity, a lively Irishman from Tipperary ; clever, good-humoured, and much liked; but with a con- siderable spice of the Irish capacity for blundering. He sat in Parliament (1834) for Cashel, as a joint of O'ConnelFs tail. 5. Randall, Trinity, Archdeacon of Berkshire. 6. Streatfield, Trinity, afterwards Vicar of East Haw. 7. Everth, Trinity. From this scanty beginning the society increased more rapidly than its founders had ever ventured to expect. Among the members shortly enrolled were: — Singleton, Trinity, another good specimen of Irishry. Ackerley, Trinity. Smith, Trinity, afterwards Vicar of Grays near Henley. Villiers, Baliol, afterwards Vicar of Bromsgrove. Basevi, Baliol. Lowe, Brasenose. Milman, Brasenose, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's. Hull, Brasenose. Arnold, Corpus, Head Master of Rugby. Bartholomew, Corpus, Archdeacon of Barnstaple. Belin, New College. Beckley, New College. Blackstone, New College, Rector of Heckfield. Stow, New College, Heber's chaplain in India. Ching. St. John's. Hayter, Trinity, Sir W. G., Secretary lo the Treasury. 170 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIF1. Evans, Trinity. Andrews, Trinity. Lowndes, Brasenose. The Attic Society was such a darling object of Augustus Hare's affections, that its history is in a great measure that of his college life. Communication was opened between the young Oxford society and that previously established at Cambridge. Copies of their statutes were mutually trans- mitted, and the members of each society were made honorary members of the other. It is not recollected that any member of the Cambridge society ever availed himself of the privilege of attending the Oxford meetings ; but Augustus Hare, on a visit to Cambridge, took his seat and spoke in theirs. He was complimented upon his speech, when, with characteristic patriotism, he assured the Cam- bridge men that in his own society he was quite an ordinary speaker, and had many greatly his superiors. When the society was fairly established, its founders delighted themselves in building airy castles of its future glories. They speculated upon the time, when in process of years the present or some future undergraduate mem- bers would have grown up into Dons and Heads of Houses, and when even a Vice-Chancellor would on some grand occasion leave his bedel and staff at the door, and take his seat as a member, subject, while so sitting, to the authority of the president. These grand anticipations were not destined to be realised. The Attic Society was too far in advance of its age. The Dons always looked unfavourably upon it ; and in the troubled years that suc- ceeded the peace of 1815, when all Debating Societies were AUGUST 'JS AND JULIUS HARE. 171 in bad odour, it came to an end, either in consequence of some intimation from the authorities, or from the mere prudence of its members. After its dissolution in Oxford, the Attic Society was reformed into an annual meeting in London, which lasted two or three years, and then dropped, owing to the early deaths of several of its choicest members.* Augustus was exceedingly fortunate in at once obtaining " the garden rooms " at New College, and from these rooms, with their charming view across the green lawns and between the old chestnuts to the beautiful Magdalen Tower, he never afterwards moved. His opposite neighbour upon the same staircase was afterwards " Chancellor Martin," and with him he had the common use of rooms and books which intimate friends so located at Oxford generally enjoy. Martin was already distinguished, even from his school- days, for the sound judgment, steady practice, and manners at once firm and conciliating, which made him afterwards so valuable to his bishop as a judicial officer, and so in- fluential a member of Convocation. The interest which Augustus Hare felt in politics in- creased during his Oxford life, and, in October, 1813, he gave evidence of the sagacity and clear-sightedness with which he had followed Napoleon in his German campaigns, by a practical joke which he played upon the University, and which rendered him remarkable for years afterwards, in societies where his better and worthier talents would have passed unnoticed. On returning one evening from a meeting of the Attic Society he wrote an account of a * AH the information regarding the Attic Society is due to notes contributed by Archdeacon Randall. 172 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. great battle, and a victory gained over the Crown 1'rnce near the imaginary village of Altendorn, in imitation of a bulletin from Napoleon. This arrived at Oxford the next day by post, enclosed in a cover, to Martin Stow, Fellow of New College, and professing to come from his father's office in London, of which Mr. Eve (in whose name the letter was written) was a clerk. Mr. Eve's letter began by some statements about money matters, and proceeded, " I am sorry to say that an account of a great victory over the Crown Prince by Bonaparte has just reached the office, which, as it has arrived too late for insertion in the evening papers, I take the liberty of copying for you. There are two dispatches to the Empress; the first, dated the 12th, merely gives an account of what we heard before, that Bonaparte having left Dresden, detached a large army towards Berlin and then retreated on Duben. It concludes thus :-*-' If the allies follow us, a great battle may be hourly expected.' The second is as follows, dated the 21st, head- quarters at Duben " Then came a long account of the supposititious battle which concluded — " Thus has the justice of Providence, and the brilliant dispositions of the Emperor, in a moment dissipated those numerous battalions that threatened to carry us across the Rhine and violate the integrity of the Empire. An impartial posterity will rank the Battle of Altendorn among the days of Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland. Th.e head-quarters will to-morrow be removed to Delitsche. The Emperor, notwithstanding his fatigues, continues to enjoy the best health." So similar was the style to that of the usual bulletins, so accurate the geographical details, and so probable the move- AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 73 ments described, that all the members of the University who read the fictitious dispatch were completely taken in for more than a day and a half, till the coaches of Monday bringing down the morning papers dispelled the illusion. Even then, and long afterwards, those who had eagerly studied the fictitious dispatch, and the geography of the imaginary movements, found it difficult to separate the story of the victory at Altendorn, from that of the real history of the campaign.' 1 ' Another practical joke which Augustus Hare assisted in playing upon the University, was at the time when Madame de Stael was at the height of her celebrity. It was announced that she was in England, and was about to visit Oxford, where she had an undergraduate friend. For a few weeks the undergraduate who was to be so highly honoured, became an object of universal interest. At length it was noised abroad that the great lady had arrived, and under the extraordinary circumstances and to meet so illustrious a guest, the undergraduate ventured to invite several of the heads of houses, and even the Vice-Chancellor himself, to meet her at breakfast. The party assembled, Madame de Stael was there, and so charmed everybody by her grace, wit, and brilliancy, that they all went away feeling that they had found her even more than they anticipated. It was not till many weeks after that it was discovered that she had never been in Oxford at all, and that she had been represented by a clever undergraduate, who had resided for many years in France ! t * Contributed by the Rev. F. Blackstone. \ Rev. F. Blacksloite : s " Reminiscences." 174 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. On first going to New College, Augustus was rendered very indignant by the negligence of the college tutors, who " took no notice of the undergraduates, beyond hearing them construe a certain portion of the classics for two hours every day." On this subject, however, Lady Jones wrote to him : — " I am neither dismayed nor disappointed at the very litile assistance you will receive from the college tutors. By what I have always known and heard of university studies I am convinced that they entirely depend upon the student's own inclination and application. I might mention only the former, for, where that prevails in a sufficient degree, the latter will follow. I know in your boyish days you have always wanted some one to spur you on, but I am convinced this is no longer the case, but that your own good sense is a sufficient spur to overcome your natural indolence, and, in spite of indolent tutors, you will steadily and assiduously proceed with your studies. You have talents and a fair field open before you. The Church was never so devoid of learned men, and the laity are very clamorous about it — so that a Barrow, a Lowth, or even a Horsley, with your gentle manners and correct principles, would be certain of dis- tinction, and, what I am sure to you would weigh far more, would be a means of happiness to thousands, and a greater blessing to the nation than political cabals would ever make any one, be their talents what they may I like you too well just as you are to wish any great change either in mind or body, but especially in the former, which I delight in thinking is such as will secure your own happiness here and hereafter, and make the solace and pride of my old age. That God may bless my dear Augustus is the fervent prayer of his affectionate aunt." AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 75 It was during the summer of 1813 that the repugnance which Augustus had always felt for taking Orders became so strong, that he ventured to risk the anger of Lady Jones by its ayowal. Knowing how strongly her wishes were fixed upon this subject, both from a real desire for his future use- fulness in the Church, and from the natural wish that he should succeed to the rich family living of Hurstmonceaux, he greatly dreaded the effect which his decision would have upon her. During a visit which he paid in the summer to his cousins the Hebers,* he consulted them as to how he could best break the disappointment to his aunt, and the result was that Reginald Heber himself undertook to write to Lady Jones upon the subject. " Dear Lady Jones, — I am anxious to write to you on a subject in which you take a most kind interest, and on which you flattered me so far as to consult me when last we met. I mean the future plans of our friend Augustus. It was then and is still my opinion that his disposition, attain- ments, and habits are all such as will be most likely to make a valuable and happy clergyman, and I doubt whether his health is sufficiently firm to allow of his being equally happy as a barrister. In the early part of his visit to Moreton I perceived that he was wavering between the choice of these professions, and took some pains, by such means as were least likely to make him suspect my intention, to shoiu off, as I may say, the utility and interest of my own clerical pursuits, to which, as I am myself fond of them, I had con- siderable hopes of attaching him, or of at least removing any prejudices which he might have conceived against them, • Reginald Heber had married (April, 1809) Amelia Shipley, youngft^t daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph. 176 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and, since it has been no longer necessary that I should appear ignorant of your wishes and those of his other friends, I have, in plain terms, had many discussions with him, and he in my presence consulted Mr. Warren. I can say with great truth that I can see no reason whatever to suspect that either idleness or any childish aversion to a black coat have influenced his opinion on this subject. He has dwelt much and sensibly on the great remoteness of his own prospects of any extensive field for utility in the Church, or of any comfortable maintenance to be drawn from it, and though his objections have not related to any part of the duties of a clergyman, he has expressed a doubt whether, without a real relish for them, he should ever perform them well. There are, he says, other disadvantages in his prospects, some of which are peculiar to his college, — which holds out very few prospects of preferment and no encouragement to become a tutor, so that for many years a curacy must be the boundary of his hopes. I am not my- self convinced by these arguments, but they are I confess such as joined to the encouraging view which Mr. Warren gave of his profession, may fully justify him in refusing a* present to pledge himself to enter into Orders, which, indeed, he as yet cannot do, — and, I must add that it is my opinion, that if left to his own reflections, the very indolence which we have remarked in him will, as the time draws nearer, be likely to decide him in favour of present ease and tranquillity over a distant chance of legal honours and fortune. He has promised me to ask the opinions of his own legal friends, of the young as well as those who have mastered the difficulties of their profession, of the unsuc- cessfu'. as well as the fortunate, and their answers will (to judge from my own experience) be not unlikely to make him decide as you now wish him, and believe me when 1 say that it is not without very evident pain that he has on this occasion differed troni one to whom tie owes so mucii.. AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 77 Under these circumstances, a year's time on the part of all advisers will not, I think, be too much to ask for him. He may be right or wrong in declining the Church, but as the black stair., once circumfused, can never, thanks to our wise lawyers, be washed off, we cannot blame him for hesitating." During the last year of his undergraduate life Augustus Hare was occupied by an attempt to extinguish (on the ground of lapse of time, and consequent wearing out of all real relationship) the privileges of Founders' kin at Win- chester and New College. He also printed an attack, in the form of a letter to his friend George Martin, on the privilege or custom of New College men not going into the school for the public examinations, but claiming a B.A. degree after an examination by their own authorities in college, which not unnaturally brought down a hurricane of wrath from the Warden, and most of the Fellows of the College, who attempted to make it a reason for refusing him the grace necessary for taking his degree. On this point they were baffled, as the only statutable ground for refusing a degree is insufficiency of scholarship, but their anger is not surprising when it is considered that this, the first attempt at " University Reform," was made by an undergraduate against the fundamental principles of the society to which he belonged, and whose privileges he had so long benefited by. In 1817 Lady Jones gave Augustus ^150 to spend in travelling on the Continent, and he left England with his brother Francis on the 29th of July. The following ex- tracts are from his foreign letters : — Augustus to Julius Hare. " August, 181 7. — Coleridge ought to have written a poem on v he lalls of Schafthausen, as a companion for his hyrun VOL. I. N 178 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. on Mont Blanc. To me that fall was certainly the most majestic sight I had yet seen ; and so awakening were the images and emotions it called up, that I could not refrain from attempting to embody them in words, at the very moment when I was possessed with the fullest consciousness that no words could represent them to myself, much less convey to others, the rushing and whirls, the flashes and roar, the mountains of foam and columns .of spray, which had just been surrounding and amazing me. We are too lavish of strong expressions, in speaking of little things, to have a sufficient store of them in reserve for great. What is louder than thunder, what more momentary in brightness, more awful in rapidity, than lightning ? And yet these two super- latives of nature are called in day after day, to give conse- quence to cracks and sparkles, until we reach this mighty waterfall without an image or illusion left to impart a notion of what the eye and ear are feeling. " The Rhine at Schaffhausen is already a considerable stream, some hundred feet in breadth. Between the town and the fall, which is about half a league from it, the river, after making two right angles in its course, turns abruptly and makes yet another, to plunge headlong down a preci- pice of seventy feet. We crossed it at Schaffhausen, and followed the left bank through vineyards until the walls of Laufen Castle, which overhangs the fall, prevented our pro- ceeding farther. We then mounted the rock on which the castle stands, and while waiting for the key of the door that was to admit us to a sight of the cataract, I looked out of a window in the court, and saw the Rhine already emerged from the fall, but still one stream of foam, flowing on and gradually changing colour, until it disappeared betwixt the quiet banks of green, itself also by that time as green and quiet as if it had never been disturbed. The door was now unlocked, and we descended a steep winding path, until we AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 79 found ourselves in a little jut.ing gallery, opposite the cas- cade, and within its spray. Then opened on my eyes and ears (which hitherto I had deafened purposely to avoid getting accustomed to the noise of the fall before I saw it) a scene wherein sensation for awhile absorbed me. When at last I became collected enough to distinguish the sights and sounds which had astounded me, I perceived that on my left hand, very near as it then seemed to the right bank, two rocks broke the stream. Of these one stood perhaps thirty yards before the other, and the torrent rushed furiously through the opening between them. On the left hand, just above the fall, the waters had scooped out a large basin, the issue from which into a narrow channel produced on that side of me the same violent cross-current as the passage be- twixt the two rocks produced on the other. Between these two cross-currents the main body of the water fell, or rather - — to speak as it looked — turned on its axis. For as the bottom of the descending stream was lost in its own vapour, this part of the river, from incessantly rolling down an unbroken mass of foam, seemed an ever-revolving avalanche crested with snowy spray. But how to give an idea of the depth of the sound, when the two cross streams, which had been prancing along sideways, arching their necks like war- horses that hear the trumpet, broke from the main stream and forced their way into it ! From the valley of thunder where they encountered rose a towering misty column, behind which the river unites unseen, as though unwilling that any should witness the awfully tender reconcilement of its waters. In returning up the path, contrasting in my mind the confusion I had just left with the comparative tran- quillity of the stream above, and its subsequent quiet still- ness as it winds between its green banks, I found it remind me of the one day of teiror which is to separate time from eternity. The idea was strengthened when looking back 180 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. on the scene of turbulence from a summer-house immedi- ately over it, I saw the glorious sun, that visible eye of God, not only smiling on the river in both its states of quietness, but beautifying the very fall itself with the colours of a per- fect rainbow, thus brightening the depth of the extremest uproar with a gleam of light and peace, and a sign of hope. " After fully examining this side of the waterfall, we got into a boat to cross over. In our passage I discovered that what I had taken for nearly the whole stream was little more than a third of it, and that between the right bank and the two rocks before spoken of was a third, which divided the remainder of the river into two unequal parts, so as to make three cascades in all. One has been already described. The middle fall is perhaps the broadest, and though not so interesting as either of its brethren, brings its waters down with great dignity in one straight unbroken flood. The fall adjoining the right bank is the smallest. To this we ap- proached very near by means of a mill which is built close to it. Here I perceived to my great delight that what pre- viously and at a distance seemed a savage contest between the currents, is only a fiercer joyousness and the fury of mimic war. The waters, after rushing to the onset, leap back from it with a laughing exultation and boyish alacrity incompatible with hostility or hatred. The third fall is very beautiful indeed, the whole stream on that side running aslant over a bed of rocks till it tumbles forward in vast masses like enormous blocks of crystal, with edges so while and brilliant, so sudden in appearance, and following one another with a speed so glancing, that they gave the idea of frost lightnings."* • This passage has already appeared in the Second Series of the •"' Guesses at TiuUi." AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. l8l From Schaffhausen the travellers proceeded to Zurich, and then made a tour of the Grisons in company of two young Englishmen, Mr. Neave (afterwards Sir Digby) and Mr. Penrhyn. The latter was already known to Francis Hare, but to Augustus this was the first introduction to the family with which he was afterwards most closely connected. A. "W. Hare to Lady Jones. " Sept. 12. — There was perhaps no place which we were to visit that I was more desirous of seeing than the lake of Lucerne, since one finds on its shores not only the field of Rutli (or Grutli, as the people here call it), famous for being the spot on which the liberty of Switzerland was first con- certed, but likewise William Tell's chapel, where at a dis- tance of twenty years I well remember my mother made me kiss the pavement as a mark of homage to the virtues of the peasant hero. The chapel, I am afraid, disappointed me ; but climbing up to the field of Rutli was very delightful, and my draught of water from the three springs which they cherish there, in honour of the three first planners of Hel- vetic independence, was one of the best things that I have done since I left England. It was impossible to reflect on the action, of which we were celebrating the memory, with- out a religious emotion. For that three-and-thirty peasants without any wealth but 'their cross-bows, and without any earthly resource but their own courage, should have formed the desperate resolution of waging war against the House of Austria, and that in consequence of this daring attempt their descendants should have enjoyed five centuries of uninter- rupted liberty, is one of the most extraordinary among the crowd of miracles, misnamed ' unaccountably fortunate occur- rences,' which cross the reader at every step of the page of history." 1S2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. "Bologna, Oct. 25. — At last we have got an Italian sun, and a beautiful sight it is. There is nothing that I can persuade myself into fancying I remember here but the great square, and even that has grown so much smaller to my eyes since I left Italy, that but for its name and situation \ should not have had the least chance of recollecting it. S A .ill it is a great pleasure to visit a place that I have heard and thought so much about. Though the town has lost the six pictures which my mother copied in the Zampieri Palace, and which were bought some years back for the Gallery at Milan, it can still boast of a beautiful collection : as one sees in it some of the finest works of every great artist belonging to the Bolognese School except Annibale Caracci,and besides these the famous St. Cecilia of Raphael. " Oct. 27. — I am quite delighted with the people of Bologna. They all seemed so glad to see my brother again. Mezzofanti especially, who was formerly one of his thousand and one instructors, and who is now celebrated as the greatest linguist in the world, being perfect master of thirty languages, besides being more or less acquainted with twenty others, could hardly satisfy himself with looking at his old pupil, who, he had heard from Fazakerley, had turned out a great Grecian. Then he alluded, with looks of gratitude, to my brother's great kindness to him in a dangerous illness, then talked to me a little, then began rejoicing over Francis and his Greek again. We saw besides him Count Fava, who was my father and mother's great friend there. Old Senni and his wife are still living at Bologna, and we of course paid them a visit. She, it seems, was the person who first received me from the nurse's arms, and who always dressed some wound in my head that I was born with, and she shrieked out when she saw us, that next to her own dear son from heaven, we were the two persons she most wished to see. You may have heard my mother speak of her, by AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 183 the name of Woolley. From her we went to the mother of the Clotilde, whose brother, by-the-bye, is the best painter in Bologna, and has done himself great credit by restoring some old pictures. When she heard our names, the dear old woman put on her spectacles, and examined us for some time, then shook her head and said she did not recol lect us, but told us to sit down. I happened to take a chair near the window, so that the light fell full on my face, and a few moments afterwards she cried out in Italian, ' Oh yes, I recollect him now, the little Augustus;' and she held out her hands to me, so that I might come and kiss her as I used to do. We finished our calls at the house of the Rector of the Spanish College, an old friend of Dom Emmanuele." From Bologna the brothers proceeded to Florence, and thence, after much hesitation as to how far it would. dis- please Lady Jones, having received no letter from her, Augustus proceeded with his brother to Rome. Thence he wrote to Lady Jones : — "Dec. 5, 181 7. — We left Perugia at five a.m., that we might have plenty of time for the cascade of Terni. This, like almost every other which I have seen, except the Rhine, is only beautiful, and the idea of force is so inseparably connected in my mind with torrents and waterfalls, that mere beauty on these occasions does not satisfy me; but the scenery in which it is set is equal, perhaps more than equal, in loveliness to anything that I saw in Switzerland. The thing most like it is the Linthal in Canton Glarus, ex- cept that the latter is topped by glaciers On Wednesday we left the Apennines, and got into the Cam- pagna about twentj miles from Rome. It almost seems 184 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. that Italy is still in mourning there for the fallen grandeztf of Rome. Not an animal, not a man, not a house, not even a ruin is to be seen there to cheer one into the recol- lection that it was once inhabited. I had, however, been prepared gradually for this desolation by the general barren- ness of the Papal States. The Apennines, were they left alone, would probably produce grass enough to feed sheep in abundance ; but the inhabitants torment them too much, in hopes of getting corn, to allow them to be good pasture, and consequently they bear nothing, except in some privi- leged spots, which are covered with cork-trees and la- burnums, and a thousand other shrubs, whose names I never heard." At Rome the brothers lived with their friends the Martins, by whom they had been joined at Florence, and who after- wards accompanied Francis to Naples, while Augustus re- turned to England after a very short stay in Rome, from fear of his aunt's displeasure, not receiving in time a letter from her, saying : — " I wish to set your heart at rest as to my approbation of your motions, whatever they may have been. I feel fully assured your wish has been to act according to my wishes, but as the uncertainty of your brother's movements has pre- vented your getting my letters, you must have been left to at t for yourself, and if you have gone on to Rome, be assured I shall not be at all displeased ; and shall only hope that you will stay long enough to see what is most worthy of being seen in your birth-place, and then that you will get a safe conveyance home as soon as you can, for I certainly do not wish you to go on to Naples, Dalmatia, or whatever wild-goose chase Francis's vagaries may lead him." AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 185 Augustus was even more impressed than he anticipated with the wonders of Rome, especially of St. Peter's. He wrote : — " People say that St. Peter's looks larger every time they see it. It does more. It seems to grow larger while the eye is fixed on it, even from the very doors ; and then ex- pands, as you go forward, almost like our idea of God. . . . On entering St. Peter's my first impulse was to throw myself on my knees ; and but for the fear of being observed by my companions, I must have bowed my face to the ground and kissed the pavement. I moved slowly up the nave, op- pressed by my own littleness ; and when at last I reached the brazen canopy, and my spirit sank within me beneath the sublimity of the dome, I felt that, as the ancient Romans could not condemn Manlius within sight of the Capitol, so it would be impossible for an Italian of the present day to renounce Popery under the dome of St. Peter's But how disproportionate are the projects and means of men ! To raise a single church to a single apostle the monuments of antiquity were ransacked, and forgiveness of sins doled out at a price. Yet its principal gate has been left unfinished, and its holy of holies is encrusted with stucco." January, 1818, found Augustus Hare again in England, and he soon returned as a tutor to New College, which continued to be his principal residence for seven years longer. His life there was now considerably changed. His old friends had dispersed in different directions. Stow, the dearest of them, had taken orders, and was curate of Houghton-le-Skerne ; Randall also had left Oxford almost broken hearted by the death of his friend Kent in th^ first 1 86 • MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. year of his married life. Augustus wrote to him on hearing of it :— "January 24, 1818. — I have seldom been more hurt than at hearing from Blackstone of the sad loss we have both sustained last autumn. On you, to whom Kent was every- thing from similarity of tastes, principles, and profession, the affliction must have lighted with a force heavy indeed. Even to myself, little as I had seen of him for some time past, it has been a hard and sudden blow. Fortunate as I have been in most of my acquaintances, and worthy in every sense of the word, but especially in the best and highest sense of it, as my friends have all happily proved, I could ill afford to spare out of their number the one who was most distinguished for clear discernment and steady prudence, while he was fully equal to any amongst them in honest strength of principle and friendly warmth of attach- ment. But you who knew him much better than I could boast to do, will be conscious how weak and inefficient these or any other words are to give an idea of his real merits. And thus at once to be deprived of them, thus to lose the comfort they afforded, thus to find the light which his example shed behind it to guide his friends who were following in the same path, unexpectedly and in a moment quenched, is, alas, bitter ! How can it be other than more bitter to you above all his other friends, my dear Randall, to whom he was exactly as a brother in sincerity and fervour of affection ? In losing him you have lost a brother indeed ; but turn your eyes to the surviving friends who have been made yours by time and trials, and days spent together in joy, and hours mutually devoted to sorrow — turn to them, and you will find that you have yet a few brothers remain- ing to you. It is you, indeed, who ir your present solitude are the object of my chief solicitude, for I feel sure that to AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. him who has last left us, the change cannot be otherwise than a happy one. Departing, as he has done, in the innocence of youth, with all his honourable and, I believe, all his religious sentiments fresh upon him, their lustre yet un- sullied by the contaminations of the world, his lot is, I believe and trust, one that we should envy, could we see it. It has indeed been determined that we should not see it, and with all our usual proneness to be deceived by appear- ances, we mistake the clouds, which conceal from us the state of the departed, for their state itself; and thus come to lend to it the coldness, and darkness, and dreariness, borrowed from our own deep ignorance and sad imaginations. But even Paganism in its happier hours guessed better things. ' Largior hie campos rether, et lumine vestit pur- pureo, solemque suum, sua sidera norunt,' was the heart- boding suggested to it by nature, during the absence of more certain information ; and is it likely, nay, is it possible, that the dreams of man should be more cheering than the glorious magnificence prepared for his children by God?" Lady Jones continued to press upon Augustus Hare her desire of his taking orders. On May 4, 1818, he wrote to her from New College : — " I ought to be one of the happiest persons in existence : so many delights are crowding round me in all shapes and sizes. The weather, with all its spring accompaniments of air, sunshine, verdure, and singing birds, has been here so perfect as to make Blackstone cfy out a hundred times a day that for such days he believes there is no place like England. Then we have had Reginald Heber here full of spirits at the idea of becoming a lather. He came to preach, and did give us two such sermons — one on, ' To die is gain,' showing that to make this possible required 1 88 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. an Atonement, the other upon the choice of principled friends, — that, I believe, if he were to settle here and become a regular preacher, he would bring church-going, and perhaps religion itself, into practice And now- after all these pleasant subjects to a less agreeable one. I am afraid you are quite right in suspecting that Trinity Sunday and its approach have made much less impression on me than they ought. My southern expedition was certainly of use to me in opening my eyes and ears to sights and sounds in nature. But alas ! this good is just at present counterbalanced by the indisposition it has pro- duced in me to give up my time and thoughts to the abstruse study of my profession. That it is my profession I know well, and that it is under my circumstances of situation the best employment to which I can betake myself. But an employment in which one engages merely from con- siderations of prudence and duty, without feeling an interest in the occupations which it involves, is somewhat irksome, and one does not without an effort succeed in bringing the mind to dwell on it. I fear all this would not be pleasing to you, and I feel that I have nothing to urge that can make it so ; the cause, however, I hope, will ere long be over, and then I trust all things will go on smoothly as ever." Yet the high estimation in which Augustus Hare already held the clerical office, may be seen from the following, written to his friend Frederick Blackstone, upon his ordination : — "Dec. 18, 1818. — I am not sorry for a necessity foi writing, as it ensures the expression of my deep sympathy in the sacred character which you are on the point of assuming. You are about to become a teacher in our new Israel ; and the titles of 'watchman' and 'father of souls,' high as they are, will from henceforth be yours. Happy ! AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 1 89 tlince happy ! the person by whom their full dignity is fek. What a freedom from the thralls of the world and the flesh — what a piercing insight into the true nature of tilings ; how large a share of the wisdom that is from above must be possessed by such a man ! To me it is a source of much real joy, that you, my much-tried friend, who are entering into Christ's ministry, are blest, I will not say with such a perfect sense of its glories as I have been figuring to myself, but certainly with the fittest dispositions for in time arriving at it. With perhaps not fewer surface faults than many of my acquaintance, I can yet with truth say, that in sincere straightforward singleness of heart, I believe it would be difficult to go beyond you Certainly the Church is the sphere for you. In the service of a Creator and Re- deemer, your zeal will enjoy the amplest and fairest scope ; while in the spirituality of your future objects, whatever of earth still clings around you, must in time find a corrective. Only in striving to be perfect do not be betrayed into timidity. Our scrupulousness, taken in its extreme, consists neither with Christianity nor with faith, for it degrades the Deity into a taskmaster. Plans of life and the relations of duty must be once examined, and afterwards acted on. ' Quod putavi, putavi,' was Latimer's rule at the stake, and must to a certain degree be the principle of all who are not willing to spend life in questioning. " And now Adieu in the literal sense of the word. And may He, the Being, to whom you are thus committed, the Father and Friend of all, instruct you in the truth, fill you with the spirit, confirm you in love, strengthen you in goods together all things in earth and heaven, as that whv. 1 ? affords the only explanation of all the great facts of hrs- tory, of all that has produced any real effect upon mankind in poetry, art, science. Selfishness he traces, indeed, everywhere : but as the disturbing, destructive force ; the * Quarterly Reiiew, cxciii. 202 MKMORIALS 01 A QUIET LIFE. enemy of the ordei of the world, not its principle ; that which the Son of God by His Sacrifice came to subvert, because He came to renew and restore all things. Theology is here, as elsewhere, the necessary climax as well as the necessary foundation of all his other thoughts ; he does not want to reconcile them with it ; it is the reconciliation of them. The sermon on " The Sin against the Holy Ghost " is in strict harmony with these, inasmuch as it connects the common daily life of the English student in the nineteenth century with the principles set forth in Scripture, even with the most awful sentences in it. These are not used to produce a fearful impression upon the nerves, but to keep the conscience alive to its continued peril, as well as to its mighty treasures and responsibilities — to the truth, that all true and righteous deeds, by whomsoever they are enacted, are the work of the Holy Spirit now as in other days.* Until these Cambridge sermons were preached, Tutors and Fellows alike felt sure that no undergraduate could be induced to sit through discourses of such prodigious length, yet they were not only listened to with patience, but not more than two days after the preaching of the first sermon, a petition for its publication was sent to Julius Hare, more numerously signed than any that had been known for years. After publication, however, these sermons scarcely met with the success which was anticipated. Many would perhaps have been more impressed by them if they had not taken advantage of their peculiarities — of the quaint ex- pressions they contained, to turn aside; these seemed to afford a handle to such as were glad of one, to take hold of • Set Preface to Hare's Charges, 1843 — 46. AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 203 as a diversion from the serious impression they could not otherwise avoid. The chief external pleasures of Julius Hare's Cambridge life were derived from his intimacy with the family of Sir John Malcolm, who was at that time residing at Hyde Hall, in its immediate neighbourhood. In 1826, he stayed for a long time in their house to recruit, after a severe attack of illness. Of this home he wrote : — " The house, in which, above all others I have ever been an inmate in, the life and spirit and joy of conversation were the most intense, is a house in which I hardly evei heard an evil word uttered against any one. The genial heart of cordial sympathy with which its illustrious master sought out the good side in every person and thing, and which has found an inadequate expression in his delightful ' Sketches of Persia,' seemed to communicate itself to all the members of his family, and operated as a charm even upon his visitors. For this reason was the pleasure so pure and healthy and unmixed ; whereas spiteful thoughts, although they may stimulate and gratify our sicklier and more vicious tastes, always leave a bitter relish behind." Of Sir John Malcolm himself he afterwards spoke as — "The illustrious friend, who was always so kind, always so generous, always so indulgent to the weaknesses of others, while he was endeavouring to make them better than they were — he who was unwearied in acts of benevolence, ever aiming at the greatest, but never thinking the least beneath his notice ; who could descend, without feeling that he sank, from the command of armies and the government of an empire, to become a peacemaker in village quarrels — he, 204 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE, in whom dignity was so gentle, and wisdom so playful, and whose laurelled head was girt with a chaplet of all the domestic affections, — the soldier, statesman, patriot." In the family of Sir John Malcolm, lived at this time, as governess, a Miss Mary Manning, with whom Julius formed a friendship of mingled love and reverence, which was as great a feature of his later years as that of Cowper with Mrs. Unwin. Of very humble origin, she owed her ad- mirable education to the generous kindness of Elizabeth, Duchess of Buccleugh, in whose family her father was a factor. Lady Malcolm was greatly attached to her, and as she was always treated rather as an honoured guest than an inferior, she had opportunities of becoming acquainted with the many remarkable persons who visited the house. Having great observation and a retentive memory, she amassed by this means an extraordinary amount of general information, which she had the gift of imparting to others in the most lively and agreeable manner. Few persons came within her influence without being attracted by her ; by most of the friends of the family she was almost adored ; clever Cambridge professors were wont to seek her society, and even to ask her advice on an astonishing variety of subjects, and her unfailing fund of anecdote and quiet wit made her equally charming to her younger hearers. In his later life many people believed that Julius Hare had been engaged in his youth to Ma-man, as sne was playfully called ; but this was never the case. The Cambridge vacations of Julius Hare were frequently passed at Bodryddan, in the society of his cousins, the daughters of the Dean of St. Asaph. Lady Jones had AUGUSTUS AND JULIUS HARE. 205 always dreaded that Augustus would fall in love with the second daughter, Anna Maria, who, while still quite young, had returned to her father's house as the widow of Colonel Dashwood, and whose interest in poetry, art, and Italian and German literature made her conversation exceedingly attractive to both the brothers. Julius, however, was always her favourite cousin, and she was quite devoted to him. In 1828, he became engaged to her, but without any prospect of marriage, until he should obtain a living. But the engagement was in itself a great source of delight to him, and for some years he spent as much time as possible at Bodryddan, where Mrs. Dashwood continued to live with her aunt, Mrs. Yonge, after Dean Shipley's death in 1825. This charming family-home is described in a poem by Leigh Hunt : — " Their very house was fairy. None Might find it, without favour won For some great zeal, like errant knight, Or want or sorrow's holy right ; And then they reach'd it by long rounds Of lanes between thick pastoral grounds Nest-like, and alleys of old trees, Until at last, in lawny ease, Down by a garden and its fountains, In the ken of mild blue mountains, Rose, as if exempt from death, Its many-centuried household breath* The stone-cut arms above the door Were such as earliest chieftains bore, Of simple gear, long laid aside ; And low it was, and warm, and wide,— A home to love, from sire to son, By white-grown servants waited on. Here, a door opening, breathed of bowers, Of ladies who lead lives of flowers ; &A MEMORtAT.3 OF A QUIET LIFS, There, walls were books, and the sweet-wite^ Painting, had there the rooms made rich With knights, and dames, and loving eyes Of heaven-gone kindred, sweet and wise; Of bishops, gentle as their lawn, And sires, whose talk was one May-dawn. Last, on the roof, a clock's old grace, Look'd forth, like so ne enchanted face That never slept, but in the night Dinted the air with thoughtful might Of sudden tongue, which seem'd to sajr, •Ike start are firm, and hold their swap.'* ▼. CHANGES. "God writes straight on crooked Hn« M Spanish Ppw trl. •Circumstance, that unspiritual God, was then a most fruitful source of spirituality." — Digby. TT was in returning from Scotland in 1818, that Augustus Hare, while visiting the Hebers at Hodnet, made his first acquaintance with Miss Leycester. He was at Hodnet on her birthday (November 22). On the preceding day the conversation had turned upon Italy — a subject which always called forth the full powers of his enthusiasm — and she had playfully asked him to write an ode upon it. In the night hours he wrote, and on the following morning presented her with, his Ode to Italy. " Strike the loud harp, let the prelude be, Italy— Italy ! That chord again, again that note of glee- Italy— Italy ! Italia, Italia ! the name my bosom warmetb, Italia ! Italia ! the very sound it charmeth— High thoughts of self-devotions, Compassionate emotions, Soul-stirring recollections, With hopes, their bright reflections, 2o8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Rush to my troubled heart at thought of the*, My own illustrious, injur' d Italy. Dear land of woody mountains, And consecrated fountains, Within whose rocky heav'n-aspiring pale Beauty has rix'd a dwelling, All others so excelling, To paint it right, thy own sweet tongue would failf Hail to thee ! Hail ! How rich art thou in groves and streamlets clear! And those broad pines within th-e sunniest glade So reigning through the year, Within the hallow'd circle of their shade No sunbeam may appear. Thy double sea too, with its glittering blue, How beauteous ! — but I may not dwell On charms, which decking thee too well, Allur'd the spoiler — let me fix my ken Rather upon thy godlike men, The good, the wise, the valiant, and the fre% On memory's pillar tow'ring gloriously, A trophy rais'd on high upon thy strand, That every race in ever)- clime May mark and understand, What memorable courses may be run, What and how precious treasures may be won, From time, In spite of chance, And worser ignorance, If men be ruled by virtue's fix'd decree, And wisdom hold unquestion'd mastery. What art thou now ? — Alas ! alas ! Woe, woe ! That strength and virtue thus should pass From man below — That so divine, so beautiful a maid Should in the with'iing grave be laid As one that — Hush ! nor dare with ominous breath, To syllable the name of Death; CHANGES. 20$ The fonl alone and unbeliever weepelh — We know she only sleepeth — And from the dust, At the end of her correction, Truth hath decreed her glorious resurrection t She shall arise, she must : Nor can it be that wickedness hath power To undermine and topple down the tower Of virtue's edifice : And yet that vice Should be allowed on sacred ground to plant A rock of adamant. But who may bide the dazzling radiancy, "When first the royal dame awaking Darteth around her keen indignant eye — When first her firm spear shaking, Fixing her foot on earth, her looks on sky, She standeth like the archangel, prompt to vanquish, Yet still imploring succour from on high ! days of wearying hope and grievous anguish, When will ye end ? Until that end be come, until I hear The Alps their mighty voices blend To swell and echo back the sound most dear To patriot hearts, the cry of Liberty — 1 must live on : but when the mighty queen, As erst is canopied with Freedom's sheen, When I have prest with salutation meet, And reverent love to kiss her honour'd feet, I then may die — Die, how well satisfied ! — Conscious that I have watch'd the second birth Of the most beauteous being upon earth — Conscious beside That no more glorious sight can here be giv'n; Serener visions are reserv'd for Ileav'n."* • The poem given here, printed from the original MS. of Augustus Hare, differs in many respects from that already published, as altered by his brother Julius VOL. I. P 2IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. The interest in Maria Leycester which was aroused in Augustus Hare during this visit was afterwards kept awake by fne letters of his friend Stow, and the share which he had in their joys and sorrows. The summer of 1S19 was passed by Augustus Hare at the English lakes. Thence he wrote to his friend Frederick Blackstone : — " Of the Lakes I will only say that I found Southey more egotistical, less identified with his family, and more reflective than I expected. By the way, I am surprised you should represent him as inimical to discussion, for into one I was betrayed by him unawares, and into another he attempted to lead me, challenging and almost pulling me to the field. At first I thought his manner cold, but it gradually thawed, and before we parted he seemed to begin to take consider- able interest about me. Wordsworth I found much greater in the common concerns of life than I had anticipated. He is as perfect an instance in his way of the connection between genius and kind-heartedness as Mr. Scott is, of whom you know my admiration ; and it is interesting to observe two men of great powers, who are so remarkably different in many respects, agreeing and reflecting each other's character in this." On November 19 he wrote to Lady Jones :— " I left Edinburgh by way of Selkirk and Melrose, stopping by the way to see Walter Scott. He lives in a cottage transmogrified by additions into a sort of castle, on the road between these two places. His family consists of a silly little Frenchwoman — his wife, two stout lassies of daughters under twenty, the eldest of whom is said to be a CHANGES. til very extraordinary person, and a great favourite with her father, and an enormous staghound, with three or four other dogs of various kinds as his satellites. Walter Scott him- self looks like a very stout, good-h umoured shepherd ; and if it be a merit in a poet not to be ' all-poet,' he possesses it in a very high degree. He kept me all day with him, and in the evening had a large party of borderers to dinner, which I regretted, as I would rather have seen him merely with his family. But in the morning he was very delightful ; we walked together round his little property, and the interest he took in his plantations, fences, and crops — reaped, sow- ing, and to be sown — reminded me completely of Worting. At the same time he has not the affectation of dropping the author altogether, for in pointing out the various objects around to me he did not omit to mention the lands of Deloraine, ' which,' he added with a smile, ' you may per- haps have heard of.' In the same way, many of his beasts are named after persons in his works — his old mare is Sybil Grey. He talked of the tales and novels exactly as an indifferent person would have done, except that he praised them less and alluded to them more. He seemed extremely attached to Reginald Heber, and indeed to everything else except Bonaparte and a few Scotch Whigs, for never did I meet a man so overliowing with the milk of human kindness." 'o In the summer of 1820 Augustus was selected as one of the School Examiners at Oxford, and during this time "Augustus Hare examined Cicero Rabbit," which caused great amusement to the University. " My work began on Monday," he wrote to F. Blackstone ; " I was extremely frightened the first day, and though my spirits gradually increased, it was long before I ventured on a viva- 212 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. voce appearance in Logic. I also find great difficulty from being out of practice in minutiae of the two grammars. Things which I have been accustomed to take for granted till I have forgotten the reason why they should be so, are denied, and the unexpectedness of the answer has more than once silenced me, and made me doubt the accuracy of my own memory. So much easier is it to say what is right than to confute what is wrong." In 1822 Augustus Hare was after a manner brought into public notice by his " Letter to Sandford," to repel an attack upon Oxford in the Edinburgh Revieiv. In the summer of that year he again visited Southey and Wordsworth at the English lakes. In the autumn of the same year he succeeded to the Logical Tutorship at New College, with a stipend of j£ioo a year, upon which he resigned, on his thirtieth birth- day ^ioo of the £120 he had annually received from Lady Jones, " wishing to begin a new decade with an act of justice to her for the thousand acts of generosity he hail received from her." In December of the same year he was recommended by Reginald Heber as the successor of Gif- ford in the editorship of the Quarterly Reviezv ; but, though strongly supported, withdrew in favour of Coleridge. In 1824 he published a defence of the Gospel narrative of the Resurrection, under the title of " A Layman's Letters to the Author of the ' Trial of the Witnesses.' " " To this publication his Drother Julius contributed the fourth letter, in which, with his wider knowledge of German theological literature, he fought the battle on the ground which the Rationalists had chosen. The rest of the book was a terse, CHANGES. 313 rigorous answer to the more vulgar form of denial which was then represented by Taylor, and Hone, and Carlile, and this was entirely the work of Augustus. Those who know the clear, bold English of the Alton sermons, and the epigrammatic point of most of the Guesses which came from his pen, can form some estimate of the effective skill with which those weapons were employed by him. Dif- ferent as the details of the strategy of the enemy may be now, those who wish to answer M. Renan's version of the Resurrection, so as to gain the ear of acute but half-taught men, will not find it lost labour to turn to the ' Layman's Letters.' "* Augustus Hare was now much happier in his life at New College, where his romantic chivalrous disposition, and the interest which he threw into all his instructions, endeared him to his pupils, while his peculiarities of manner never failed to amuse and attract attention. " He was very eccentric," is the remark of almost all who knew him at this time. If excited in conversation he would spring up in the midst of his talk, twirl himself rapidly round three times, and sit down again without pausing in what he was saying, as if some external action was necessary to let off the force of his excitement. After dinner, at the houses of his intimate friends he would " rush up and down the drawing room in the vehemence of his spirits, and then cast himself upon a sofa, and throw up his legs in the air."f Of this time are the following letters : — * Memoir of Archdeacon Hare, prefixed to the " Guesses at Truth," ed. 1864. t Letter from Archdeacon Randall. 214 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIrE. A'-ofsrir.s Hare to Lady Jones. M November 17, 1823. — Writing on my birthday, I can only say, what a change since last November in all my prospects! and how entirely, under God, am I indebted to you for it ! May He who has given you the means and the heart to be liberal reward you for it. He alone can, by enabling you to see in this world the happiness which your hand has planted for me, blossoming and bearing fruit, and hereafter by giving you such good things as we can neither conceive or ask for." Lady Jones to Augustus Hare. March 18, 1824. — You will readily believe, my dear Augustus, how severe a blow my heart has received by the sudden death of my beloved Dowager Spencer. I had a note from her written at eight yesterday evening, so delighted with Lord Althorp's approaching marriage with Miss Ack- lom. She had complained of a cold, but said she should go to Lady Clermont's this evening, so could not come to meet Sloper at my house. It seems she slept well as usual, and was getting up at eight o'clock, had walked from her bed to the fire, said ' Oh ! ' and sat devra in her chair, and instantly expired. A most blessed end for such a life. The loss is to the survivors, and not even the firm persuasion that you and I have of a blessed hereafter can prevent heartache on such trials, so selfish and inconsistent are our feelings ! I lose one of the very few strong ties that still held me to this world, and 'tis a most merciful dispensation that these trials gradually wean us from a world which in the course of nature I must soon leave — God only knows how soon. May all the afflicting warnings I have received not have been given in vain ! God bless you, my dear Augustus, and continue you what I now think you, and then I have a blessing and prop to look forward to, should my life still be prolonged a few years." CHANGES. 215 In the spang of 1825, Augustus Hare had told Miss Leycester that, upon receiving the news of Martin Stow's death, he thought within himself, " If I were to die now without ever having been of use!" — and that evening he decided upon taking Orders. On Advent Sunday, 1825, he was ordained in Winchester College Chapel by the Bishop of Hereford. That in taking this step he was not influenced by worldly motives alone may be seen from the zeal with which he fulfilled at Alton even the high idea of ministerial duty which he had formed for himself and suggested to his friends. Doubtless each year spent among his village people brought with it a growth in grace and a ripening for immortality ; but the work was not begun at Alton. As he himself wrote about this time, perhaps with reference to the mental struggle which had been so long oppressing him : " In darkness there is no choice. It is light that enables us to see the differ- ences between things, and it is Christ that gives us the light." On December 24th, 1825, he had written to Lady Tones a letter (on the outside of which she has inscribed " Mirabilia ! ") as follows : — u I have at last made up my mind to take Orders at the Bishop of Hereford's next ordination. I know this will give you pleasure ; and may God, who by the workings of his providence thus seems to call me to a particular state of life, enable me to do my duty in it. My wish would be to continue tutor at New College during my year of deacon- ship, to be ordained priest soon after that year is com- pleted, and after that to take the first good country curacy that offers. 2l6 MEMORIALS OF A QU1F.T LIFE. "So far I feel certain that you will like my letter. Would I were as sure you would be equally pleased with the re- mainder. But the truth may as well be told at once ; and as I have lost no time in communicating to you my decision when once formed, so will I be equally candid in confessing what has induced me now to form it. In two words, it is Maria Leycester. You know how long and how sincerely I have been anxious to see her united to my lost friend. The last words I had from him were as follows : ' How blessed it would be if, after all, I were to owe my happiness to you ! ' God, who has forbidden this, well knows that could any persuasions, any exertion of mine have brought it to pass, it would have happened long ago. But it was ordained otherwise. In the meantime, as poor Stow's friend, I have seen' and heard very much of her, and all that I heard and saw convinced me of her great worth. Never was woman exposed to a nearer scrutiny. No love was in the way to blind my judgment, while I had oppor- tunities of observing her character and habits, such as I can never in any case expect to enjoy again. The result on my mind was thorough esteem founded on a conviction of her thorough excellence. And there the feeling would have rested but for my late loss ; since which I have begun to feel desirous of securing, if possible, for myself, what up to that time I had loved to dwell on as a treasure reserved for my best friend. To have been loved by him and edu- cated by Reginald doubles her value in my eyes, and I am sure will not diminish it in yours." In April Augustus Hare met Miss Leycester at Alderley, still as the friend of Mr. Stow, and a fellow-mourner with her for his loss. But on the day before he left, in speaking of his distress in going away, he disclosed involuntarily what CHANGES. tlj his own feelings had been, while he was doing all he could to promote the happiness of his friend. The early summer of 1825 was passed by Maria Ley- cester at Alderley. M. L. to Miss Clinton. " Stoke, July 27, 1825. — That I have not written to you before you will easily understand to have arisen from my unwillingness to lose a single hour of my last days at Alder- ley. They were indeed very precious to me, and after staying there for four months uninterruptedly, you may well imagine how painful it was to me to leave all those who were more than usually endeared to me by the comfort they had afforded me during a time when nothing else could have pleased or interested. Certainly too, altogether, with its inhabitants, its abundance of books, of drawings, liberty unrestrained, beautiful walks and rides and seats, luxuriance of flowers, and in delicious weather, there cannot on earth be so perfect a paradise. During the hot weather we generally went on the mere or rode in the evenings. Every morning before breakfast Lucy and I met in the wood at the old Moss House, where we spent an hour together, and Owen came to ferry me home. With so much around to interest and please me, I put away self as much as pos- sible, and endeavoured as much as I could to enjoy the present. You know how dearly I love all those children, and it was such a pleasure to see them all so happy to- gether. To be sure it would be singular if they were not different from other children, with the advantages they have, where education is made so interesting and amusing as it is to them While others of their age are plodding through the dull histories, of which they remember nothing, of unconnected countries and ages, K.'s system is to take one particular era perhaps, and upon the basis of the 2l8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. General History, pick out for them from different books all that bears upon that one subject, whether in memoirs or literature, making it at once an interesting study to herself and them. " M. L. to a Friend in London. "March 29, 1827.— All your doubts and difficulties I enter into and understand, and I think there is scarcely so trying a situation, one so full of fears, as that of a person who struggles to act up to the highest sense of right, and yet wishes not to seem uncharitable, or to condemn those around who act differently or think less to be necessary. To those who have once separated themselves from the world, openly shown and declared the difference of their opinions, and are consequently countenanced by many others who think and act as they do, the difficulty is far less — the struggle is at an end. They have made their choice, and though they may often judge imperfectly and be judged harshly, they are, I do not doubt, happier than those who try to reconcile their better feelings with the habits of the world by taking a middle course. To persevere with firm- ness and courage in what we know to be right, caring not lor the ridicule of others, and at the same time to disarm their censure by the mildness, humility, and charity with which we differ from them, is one of the most difficult points to gain; but I agree peifectly with you that no one can judge of another's mind, or what may have an effect upon it. It is the object we are to attain which should be alike to all, the means of ai riving at it may differ in every different person, and we must remember we are account- able only for ourselves. As far as we can make Sunday a day of rest, not so much from outward acts as from earthly feelings, it must sureJy be right, and in London, above all places, this is so difficult to do, that every help we can give CHANGES. 215 to our wavering fancies must be needed ; indeed, I have always looked back with shame upon the waste of so sacred a day, which the habits of London life entail even upon such humble sharers in it as myself. As for theatres, I cannot understand where their individual harm lies. How far example and sanction is right is another question ; but I cannot but think that there is much to be said of the good produced by the presence of respectable and good people. Such amusements in the case of these all deserting them, would become much more pernicious in their character, and the staying away of ever so many would not deter others from going, while their presence may be a restraint and pre- servation from evil " Augustus Hare frequently met Miss Leycester during the winter of 1825-26, which she passed with her brother at East Sheen, and the following summer he visited Stoke. M. I to L. A. S. " Stoke, June 23, 1826. — After dining early, Augustus and I proposed an expedition to Hodnet, and my fafher joined us. It was the most bright, beautiful evening, and I cannot describe to you how lovely the rectory looked, it is so improved since the trees are grown up, and there was such an abundance of flowers, which seemed to mock the desolation of the house within. As I stood there, looking at that beautiful view, my mind went back to years gone by, and I could almost have fancied myself again the Maria Leycester when it was a place to me of such exquisite en- joyment. I thought of all the happiness I had received there from those I loved so dearly, and turned to find them all gone, Augustus standing by me as the only remaining link of all that had been. We went together over the garden J20 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. in silence, both feeling mucn that could find no utter- ance ; but it was a comfort to know that all was under- stood." Of this time is the following letter from Bishop Heber :— " Bombay, June 3, 1825.— .... It has not been alto- gether business which has prevented my writing ; for, busy as I have been, and must always be, I could still long since have found or made time to say how gratified I am by your keeping me in recollection, and with how much eagerness I open letters which bring me near to such valued friends at so great a distance, and which call me back, as yours do, for a time, from the broad, arid plain of Rohilkund to the quiet lanes and hedgerow walks of Stoke or Hodnet. There are, however, alas ! so many painful associations connected with my handwriting since the period of my letters to Augustus and Mrs. Stanley, that I have felt, to say the truth, a strange reluctance to address a letter to you, out of a fear to disturb afresh the grief of an affectionate and innocent heart, which had been so severe a sufferer by the events which took place at the commencement of my pre- sent journey. That journey, interesting as it has been, and full of scenes and circumstances peculiarly adapted to excite and gratify, has had its pleasures, indeed, throughout, alloyed with very sad recollections, and much as I enjoyed the beautiful country and singular people through which my course was laid, I could not help often, very often, calling to mind that I was seeing all these things alone, and divided by distance, or a yet more awful separation, from my wife, children, and the attached and affectionate friend with whom I had hoped to share my pleasures and toils, and whose ac- quirements, good sense, and invincible good temper and cheerfulness so remarkably fitted him lo enjoy and profit by CHANGES. 221 juch a pilgrimage. My wife and one of my children — our dear little Emily — I have since been permitted to rejoin, and the accounts we receive of little Harriet, whom they were obliged to leave behind in Calcutta, continue very comfortable. .... For myself, I really do not recollect a time when I have enjoyed more perfect health than now, and though my hair grows grey all the faster for the fiery sunbeams which have beaten on it ; yet ' that,' as I remember a poor old woman saying of her rheumatism, ' is, at my time of life, excusable? As to the general outline of our lives in India, you have had, I know, a diligent and faithful, as well as a most attached, correspondent in Emily, who will have told you both the wide expanse of river, mountain, forest, and plain which I have since been travelling, her own still more romantic and perilous situation during the mutiny at Bar- rackpore, and (as I believe she has written since her arrival here) the long voyage of six weeks which she made to rejoin me round the whole southern half of India. We have since had a little experience of camp-life together; and it gave me pleasure to find that, though the weather, even on the hills', is too hot at present for a long continuance under canvas, she is likely to enjoy a marching life as much as I do. For myself — ' My tent on shore, my pinnace on the sea, Are more than cities or serais to me.' — So far as enjoyment only is concerned, I know nothing more agreeable than the continual change of scene and air, the exercise, the good hours, the good appetite, the temperance, and the freedom from the forms and visiting of a city life to which we are enabled or compelled by a long march, encamping daily with our little caravan through even a moderately interesting country, nor, except during the in- tense heat and the annual deluge of rain (which, by the way, t22 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. it must be owned, occupies one half oi our tropical calendar), I should desire no other than a canvas roof during the rest of my abode in India. Many indeed as the discomforts and dangers of India are (and surely there are few lands on earth where death so daily and hourly knocks at our doors, or where men have so constant warning to hold them- selves in readiness to meet their Maker), and much as, I cannot help feeling, I sacrificed in coming hither, I have never yet repented my determination, or have ceased to be thankful to God for the varied interest, the amalgamated knowledge, and, I hope and think, the augmented means of usefulness which this new world has supplied to me. I have, indeed, abundant reasons for thankfulness in the pre- servations which my wife and children have met with amid all the dangers of unhealthy climates, wide wanderings by land and sea, and the incidental dangers and difficulties of political disturbance (in my wife's case even at her own door), and in mine, during my progress through countries which ure never, according to European ideas, settled or tranquil. Still more ought I to be thankful for the support and encou- ragement whicl" I am receiving from almost all classes of men in my attempts to discharge my duty. And, after all, India in itself, taking one province with another, is really a noble field either of duty or speculation, abounding in everything which can interest either an artist, an antiqua- rian, a lover of the picturesque and romantic beauty, or a curious observer of human life, both in their most refined and their simplest dresses. I have often thought how Edward Stanley would be at home here, and how lien a portfolio he would have acquired in such a journey as I have been making, from the wild and naked Bheel, with his bow and arrows of bamboo and his kennel (for his house deserves no better name) in the dark recesses of the jungle, to the splendidly-equipped Patan, with his bright chain-mail, his CHANGES. 22 J silver-studded lance, his shield of rhinoceros b'/de as trans- parent as amber, and the trappings of silk, silver, and bro- cade which almost sweep the ground as he passes on his beautiful charger. Either of these would make, as you may well believe, a spirited picture ; nor might less striking sketches be made from the courts and processions of the native princes, with all, which noise, bustle, banners, ele- phants, and horsemen can give of magnificence, or from the totally different ostentation of the more austtie Brahmins and religious mendicants. You may conceive t'je former of these, with their heads close shaven, their u&ked bodies covered with chalk and cowdung, a white clofu round their waists, and their countenances composed into a studied calmness, the meekness and abstraction of which is some- times singularly contrasted with the steady, watchful, crafty, glittering eye which seems to look into those its owner speaks with ; the latter mad, filthy, hideous, his hair and his beard full of ashes, his garment a tiger's skin, his limbs distorted and his body scarred with the efiects of his volun- tary austerities, his eyes inflamed with spiritual piide and intoxicating drugs, and his whole mind and body wilfully lowered to the level of the wild animals among whom he chiefly affects to have hi? habitation. Add to all this a very rich and luxuriant scenery, a sky which gives to every object a glow beyond anything seen in the old Italian paintings, and (in some of the older and more renowned cities) buildings which in beauty of material (white marble) far surpass, and in grace and majesty bear no unfavourable comparison with, our finest Gothic architecture. Such is India ; and such a country is doubtless well worth visiting, even if one had no stronger motives than curiosity in com- ing hither. Yet I own there are times when, though I do not repent, I cannot help being melancholy ; and it is, perhaps, one of the advantages for which 1 ought to be 224 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. thankful, that I have too much and too constant employ- ment on my hands to have much leisure for indulging gloomy thoughts. You are probably aware that I had an opportunity of visiting the mountains which form the first stay and outwork of the Himalaya. The season, however, was too far advanced and my time too limited to allow of my penetrating more than five days' journey from the plains of Hindoostan, or to climb to a greater height than about nine thousand feet, where Merdideer lay before me at about forty miles direct distance, and above sixteen thousand feet higher still. It was tantalizing to turn back at such a time ; but even thus far the scenery which I passed through not only surpassed all which I had seen, but all which I had fancied previously. Adieu, dear Maria. That you may be blessed with all temporal and eternal happiness is the ear- nest wish of your sincere and affectionate friend. " R. Calcutta '' This was the last letter of an affectionate correspond .nee of many years. On returning to Stoke from Toft, on the ist of September, 1826, Maria Leycester received the fol- lowing : — Augustus W. Hare to M. L. "August 30, 1826. — I must write a few lines to my dear Miss Leycester, because I am sure she will be a fellow- mourner with myself. It was only this morning I received the mourning-ring my poor uncle left me ;* and already the news had reached me that Reginald went before him to heaven. So closely do misfortunes, in this world that we love so much, press and follow on each other. I did not • Dean Shipley died at Bodryddan, in June, 1825. He is buried in the parish church of Rhyddlan ; there is a line statue of him in one ol the tiansepts of the cathedra] of St. Asaph. CHANGES 225 think he could have been taken from us so soon. For our sakes, and for the sake of India, I trusted he would have been spared, though he was fully ripe for being gathered into the garner of God. But our Saviour was making up his jewels, and missed so bright a one, and sent for it. And we repine ! and must repine ; for when was there a better man, a kinder, a more delightful, or one more fitted to make Christianity appear in its true light as a mild and amiable dis- pensation ? May a double portion of his spirit fall upon his successor, that India may not have cause to feel his loss, as we must, to be irreparable. For we shall never see any one like him again, and therefore do I grieve." C. S. to M. L. " Alderley, Sept. 1, 1826. — Of course, my first impulse is to take up my pen and write to you. I could hardly believe what I saw when my eyes fell upon the words ' Bishop of Calcutta ' — nor can I now. I had always a presentiment, alas, how false ! that he was — would be safe — that his energy of mind would carry him through , and that as he had begun, so he would go on. Alas ! how you will feel it ! — how every- body must ! — how incalculable the loss to the world ! And poor Mrs. Reginald : the shock must have been apparently as unexpected as to us in taking up the paper. Now, she is probably on her way home, and the first news on landing will be her father's death. My first thought was of you, and how this must revive in their original form all your feelings. All one can say is, that he yet lives to you almost as if he was alive, and that one's affection and remembrance of such a character does indeed live beyond the grave." M. L. to Augustus "W. Hare. " Stoke Rectory, Sept. 3, 1826. — I did not think you would a second time have had to communicate intelligence so vol. 1. Q 226 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. grievous. . . . Dear, dear Reginald. I had hoped so con- fidently he would have been spared ; that so faithful a servant, so noble a pattern of what a Christian should be, would have been preserved to continue the great work for which he seemed so peculiarly marked out ; but God's ways are not as our ways, and the same confidence which led us to trust in his preservation, must now convince us that it is for some great and high purpose he is removed from us. This is one of those mysterious dispensations in which nothing but an unlimited faith can avail us anything. Here is no selfish grief : the public loss seems almost even more than the private one ; yet, who that has ever felt the support and comfort of his friendship, who that ever knew the tender- ness, kindness, and gentleness of nature, added to those uncommon talents and powers of mind, can ever cease to j egret that they shall see him no more? And Emily, poor Emily, where can she seek for comfort upon earth? She too, on her return to England, which, I suppose, will not be long delayed, will find a second affliction awaiting her, and (he home and protector to whom probably she would look for support and comfort, gone likewise. Her children too, who can ever supply the place of such a father to them ? For him, if such a word as envy can be used, how much cause is there for such a feeling in thinking of the termina tion of such a life, in which he exchanges this world of tria. and sorrow for one of never-fading glory ! I am most grateful to have had such a friend — to have been permitted an inti- mate acquaintance with a character like his, but after re- ceiving from him the affection and kindness of the tenderest brother, after living so constantly with him as 1 have done, you may well believe that it is now a hard struggle to feel that we have in this life parted for ever. It was only yester- day morning, before leaving Toft, that I copied out of Mrs. Hutchinson's ' Memoirs ' a passage, which I little thought CHANGES. 237 would, in a few hours, be brought home to my mind with such renewed force. I must quote a few lines of it for you. ' Let not excesse of love and delight in the streame make us forget the fountaine : he and all his excellencies came from God, and flowed back into their owne spring : — there let us seek them, thither let us hasten after him, there having found him, let us cease to bewaile among the dead that which is risen, or rather was immortall, — his soule conversed with God so much when he was here, that it rejoices to be now eternally freed from interruption in that blessed exercise, — - his virtues were recorded in heaven's annals, and can never perish ; by them he yet teaches us, and all those to whose knowledge they shall arrive ' " We are going soon to stay with the Stanleys at Penrhos. I am glad this bitter news reached us while we were at home; here, at least, we are surrounded by those who know how much cause there is to grieve. It has been a comfort to me writing to you, for on this subject we can have but one feeling, and you will not be tired with my dwelling upon it so long. Dear Augustus, we have lost two whom we dearly loved ; but their spirits continue to live with us, their memories to rest in our hearts, that we may place our hopes on that world to which they are gone before us, and so live here that we may one day be united to them in heaven." C. S. to M. L. "Sept. 5, 1826. — You will well imagine that for the last two days I have thought of little but you, and what you must be suffering : the gap in one's own mind is so great, in everybody's it must be. To be sure he has died at his post as much as any soldier on the field of battle. There is something very fine and affecting, and soothing and ele- 2 28 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. vating, in reading of the occupation of his time up to the very moment of his death, the suddenly giving his benedic- tion in the Tamul language to the people at Tanjore, his very last act having been the visit to the native colony ; in short, preparation was necessary for those who are left behind — not for him. One is so sure that if he had had to choose his death, except the suddenness of it for our sakes, he would have chosen thus to die in the midst of his labours, thus perhaps giving an efficacy to his last words, and leaving an impression on the minds of all who had just heard and seen him, which no labours of a long life spent amongst them could have done. In this respect it is a death worthy of him, of his character, and better than if his health had been impaired and gradually undermined. . . I long to have you out of sight of Hodnet Tower." After a visit to Penrhos, Maria Leycester returned with the Stanleys to Alderley, in order to attend the marriage of her friend, Isabella Stanley, with Captain Parry. In June, she went for three weeks to the Isle of Wight, and thence to Paris with her father and Mrs. Oswald Leycester, returning to Sheen for the christening of her brother's eldest son. One of her great interests this year was in the publication of the " Guesses at Truth," by the two brothers, Augustus and Julius Hare. As their " minds had grown up together, been nourished in great measure by the same food, sympathized in each other's affections and aversions, and been shaped reciprocally by the assimilating influences of brotherly com- munion, a family likeness is perceivable throughout the volumes, although perhaps with such differences as it is not displeasing to behold in the children of the same parents."* • Preface to the " Guesses." CHANGES. 229 Augustus Hare, who was to pass the next winter in Italy, spent two days at Sheen while the Leycesters were there; and, as they returned to Stoke, they passed through Oxford, and visited him at New College. M. L.'s Journal. " Sheen, July 22. — Two days spent together here have done away with the reserve hitherto kept up between Augustus and me, and I have far more than I once thought possible, been able to give a degree of affection I was scarcely myself aware of, till it was called forth. Time has done its work in softening down every painful remembrance, in making the past appear as a dream, and giving to the future more of reality. Unconsciously and imperceptibly the feelings of esteem and friendship have assumed a new character, and something of the tenderness and beauty at- tending a warmer interest taken their place. . . . Devotion of heart such as his must either be met and answered, or re- pelled ; there can be no medium of indifference ; and where there is an interest so strong 3.3 I have always felt in him, admiration of the whole character, gratitude for the kindness and attachment felt by him, it must be a colder nature than mine which could remain unmoved. It is well that such openness of heart should have been reserved till now, earlier I could not have entered into it so much ; now the seed that is sown needs but watering, and I feel all the happier that we understand each other perfectly, and that both are satis- fied that nothing but time is wanting to give us all the happiness that may be enjoyed by persons between whom there will be such perfect confidence and affection. How extraordinary and singular good fortune has attended me, that I should twice have met with that kind of deep feeling which alone could, 1 think, have power to interest me, — that when the only species of happiness which I imagined to be 230 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. perfect was taken from me, it should spring up again as it Avere from the ashes of the other, and assume a form nearly as beautiful, and I trust, more enduring." " Sfoke, August 16. — I feel now a glow of inward happi- ness which I have long been without, and whether I con- template the beauty of the world around me, or turn inward and dwell on the beauty of feeling, and the many sources of gratification it has given me, my heart swells with gratitude for such enjoyment. Secure of the affection of Augustus, I feel no longer a blank in life, and everything takes a new and brighter colouring. " It was a pleasure, though a mixed one, to see Augustus again (at Oxford). The moments of anticipation are in so short a meeting the most real in enjoyment : you do not then dwell upon the parting so soon to follow, and think but of the meeting, — and what feeling is so exhilarating as that of hope ? But when you see the person whom a few minutes is about to separate you from for a length of time, the present is not able to exclude the recollection of the future that is so soon to come. ... I do indeed daily feel the blessing of having such a friend to love, and with whom I can hardly be mistaken in looking forward to a happy future." M. L. to L. A. S. "East Sheen, July 10, 1827. — What a pleasure it is tc think that the most exquisite moments on earth are but faint images of that which will be ! In beautiful days and nights such as these, how far easier is it to raise one's thoughts, and lift oneself up to higher spheres, and what a miserable and aching void must those hearts feel which cannot ascend beyond the present ! When we look around at a world so beautiful, our hearts must glow with gratitude (or having so much of enjoyment given ; and if there are CHANGES. *JI some things which are kept from us, if we have some trials, some annoyances, if all is not as we could wish it, we must see the mercy of it in leading us to seek that comfort which if every earthly blessing were granted to us, we might per- haps neglect and forget. Oh, at times how clear, how straight seems the path we should follow, making one object our chief and great concern, and all things subser- vient to that — forgetting ourselves, except in the exercise of examining self — and striving to show worthily our Christian profession by a more unwearied endeavour after good and love to all around us. But then comes human weakness, and our highest resolves often fall, and become of no avail : this, too, has its use, for without such humbling experience, we should not fly to Him who alone can make us strong. We shall never be tried beyond what we are able to bear, and assuredly those whose struggle here has been the strongest, will hereafter reap the more abundantly. " I close every evening now by learning a hymn of my dear Reginald's, which sends me to sleep in peace and love. You are hardly aware in reading them, how calculated they are for private devotion." " East Sheen, July 29, 1827. — Augustus is just gone. . . It is indeed a blessed thing in a world which it needs not eight-and-twenty years to show in its true colours, to feel the repose of resting upon the certain hope of devoted affection, and a peaceful and happy future ; and, although for his sake I could wish for more lightness and gaiety of heart than ever comes to me now, I am quite satisfied for my own that the past has net been in vain, and that it is far better to have earthly hopes and feelings subdued and mingled with higher ones — that I can never forget how uncertain and perishable everything here is, and how dependent one must feel on God for every possession granted to us. Of the dearest earthly treasures, any single moment may deprive 232 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. us ; and, in the midst of the purest blessings to be enjoyed here, so much of care, of anxiety, and of vexation is mingled, that nothing but constant and habitual recourse to spiritual comfort can stay the mind in perfect peace, and calm the variableness of human feelings. Surely I should be grateful for the chastening which has brought this more forcibly home, and for the links of sweet remembrance which have attended even my hours of suffering and sorrow." M. L.'s Journal. "Stoke, August 9, 1827. — I have been walking with perfect composure with Mrs. Reginald Heber over those fields where we have so often walked in happier days ; but how did my heart swell within me as I looked upon that beautiful view once more, and, instead of Reginald, had by me only his widow and children ! Time strangely accustoms us to all, even the bitterest deprivations, and above all it teaches us to hide deep within us what is felt. Some years ago I could hardly have thought of the circumstances under which we have now met as bearable. How all is changed — the gay, the spirited of our party then, now gone to their eternal home, no trace left of those who were so very dear ! I am much affected by the letters from Dacca, which Mrs. Reginald has given me to read. How powerful a lesson does such a death-bed give ! The same hour must come to all, and cold, lukewarm, and indifferent as the heart now is, in the near approach of a separation of the soul and body, the true state of things will flash upon us with the same strong conviction. To put myself in imagination in this situation I ever find the best means of making my heart feel its own insufficiency. I feel that in the moment of expecting to appear before God, every fancied good must at once sink into nothing, and the blessed pri- vilege of seeking the mercy of the Saviour be clung to as CHANGES. aj3 the only refuge. But without going beyond the present, I find a strange difficulty in bringing myself to more than a cold belief in all the Gospel teaches. I am but as a beginner in those things which I have so long thought of, and I am aware that my heart is filled with pride, vanity, and selfishness, even when I seek to do my utmost. That I am sincere in my endeavours to discover the truth, to seek after the right way, God surely knows, and in his own good time I know that He will assist and strengthen me in every good work, and give me that blessed hope which brightened the last days at Dacca." " Oct. 28. — The more we advance in Christian knowledge the narrower seems the way : so many difficulties seem to start up, so many trials to arise, of which we have lived unconscious before, and the self-humbling nature of all real inquiry into ourselves leaves an almost discouraging sense of how much there is yet to be done. We are too apt to compare ourselves with others as imperfect and perhaps more erring, instead of seeing how far below the Gospel we fall, or how inferior we are to many who have so much more to struggle with than we have ; in short, if there be a way in which it is possible to deceive our own hearts into the belief that we are better than others, or that we have excuses for not being so, we instantly adopt it. Surely, of all the Christian graces, that charity, which vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, beareth and endureth all things, is the most hard to attain. I daily feet it so. It is so difficult to bear with patience and allowance the faults of others. It is very mistaken to think that the great occasions of life only demand religious feeling and principle : it is in the everyday petty annoyances, the constant call upon our charity, forbearance, and meek- ness, that we feel the constant want of some stronger and more powerful stimulant than the feeling of the moment, 234 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to smooth down the rubs of life and make our existence one of peace and happiness." "April i, 1828. — As I search deeper into things unseen I seem to gain clearer views of evangelical truth, and in looking back I see how little my former ideas upon the subject were consistent with the word of God itself. For this increase of knowledge I feel that I am chiefly indebted to those books and those writers usually stigmatized as Evangelical and Calvinistic. I cannot enter into the (as it appears to me) narrow and prejudiced feeling which would at once discard every book in which there were expressed any opinions differing from one's own, and even in which there might be mingled expressions at variance with good taste and judgment. Fallible as all human efforts are, we must distinguish in everything the wheat from the tares, and though I may not agree and feel on many points with another, I can benefit by and admire others which he perhaps may represent in a more striking light than many a less earnest and zealous author, who may be free from objection and yet may be far less useful. The truth is, nothing but a very strong feeling of religion can inspire such language as shall excite interest and awaken attention in the heart. This strong feeling is usually connected with a strong view on doctrinal points, but it is not inseparable from some of them." In the autumn of 1827, Augustus Hare went to Italy. He was detained for six weeks at Perugia, by the results of an accident, where he was most kindly nursed by Mr. (after Sir Augustus) and Mrs. Calcott, who, when iie was able to move, took him on to Rome in their carriage. Here he passed several months, chiefly in the society of the Blessingtons, who were then living at the Villa Negroni, CHANGES. 233 " Their house is not perhaps the house for a clergyman," he wrote to Mrs. Stanley, " though not a word is ever said there either on religion, or morals, or politics, which could offend the most scrupulous ear, but I cannot quarrel with people who for my brother's sake have received me both cordially and kindly. Lady Blessington reminds me of Julius' Guess — ' Flattery is the nicest thing in the world ; pray don't sugar it too sweet ; ' Lady Blessington sugars it too sweet. New College, Francis, the Vicar of Rum- ford, Landor, all are almost equally superlative : but she is attentive, she is clever, she is affable, she is amusing, she is Irish, she has black hair, and if she does not tire of me, which is not impossible, I foresee that she will continue to force me to dine with her five times a week." In the following summer, Maria Leycester also went abroad, accompanying her sister, brother-in-law, two of their children, and her friend Lucy Stanley, to Bordeaux and the Pyrenees, an excursion which gave her the greatest delight. It was on her return to England after this tour that her engagement to Augustus Hare received her father's sanction. M. L. to L. A. S. "Stoke, Oct. 13, 1828. — After all the long uncertainty which has attended every future prospect I have ever had, the change now to thinking one may in reality look forward to the happy rectory I have so often fancied to myself, with one dear companion sharing every thought and feeling, is so great I can hardly at times feel it to be really so. Although to most people the prospect of a curacy on ^700 a year 336 MEMORIALS OF A QUIRT LIFE. 1 would not be a very promising prospect, you may imagine how very little it will affect me, and how happy I may be with the smallest possible outward advantages, provided the essentials are there, and of this, the more I see of Augustus, the more I feel how impossible it is not to love him dearly and entirely — indeed there is far more fear of my loving too well than too little, and of the present happiness engrossing every thought and feeling too much. But united as we are in interest about higher things than our mere present happiness, I do trust we may go on together through life improving and advancing towards a better state than this can ever be under its best aspect. . . . I cannot tell you how my heart overflows with love and gratitude to all in this time of joy, or how deeply sensible I am of the goodness which has led me through so many years of chastening and useful anxiety to bring me to such a haven of peace and happiness as I cannot but hope our little home will be. " Oct. 24. — Anybody would perhaps be astonished to find me sometimes reading upon resignation and afflictions in a time of rejoicing, but the truth is I cannot rejoice without trembling, and never felt more strongly the need of support and stay upon something not human than now, when 1 feel my whole soul is so engrossed with what is and must be so uncertain and precarious. I tremble for myself and for him. We are building upon a happiness to come which appears so perfect that I cannot but feel the possi- bility of its not being realised. In thinking of the future it is with the earnest prayer that I may enjoy what is given me of happiness here, in subjection and complete submis- sion to the divine will, whenever it is thought fit to deprive me of it. Whichever way I turn I see such causes for thankfulness that I know not how to give utterance to half that passes through my mind ; at the same time 1 CHANGES. 237 cannot but feel the trial that such a tie tc earth is. On this point, however, I feel sure that I cannot remain stationary with a companion such as Augustus, and that the duties opening upon me will rouse my every faculty and exertion, and be ? constant call to watchfulness and attention." "Dec. 27. — I find it increasingly difficult to know how far consistently with a firm sense of truth we can and may suppress what we know and believe to be right, and how far we should yield to the fear of putting a stumbling- block in another's way by differing in anything not essentially material. There are some people, doubtless, who dislike any stronger feeling of religion than they possess themselves, but I think the generality are annoyed by those little things which are usually marks of a party spirit, and which have little necessary dependence upon true faith. I am sure the more we grow in knowledge and advance in love, the more we should strive to preserve that simpli ;ity which is so peculiarly the characteristic of the Gospel and the more we should guard against the uncharitableness Df supposing that any other view except our own must be useless or erroneous. I cannot fancy it possible that one can ever go ' too far,' because the more one feels on the subject, the more humble one becomes, and one clings to the simple words of the Bible alone, and makes Him one's pattern who never turned any away because they were not entirely perfect, but with gentleness showed them how they might go on to perfection. ..... If we analyze ourselves, we may find ample employ- ment without judging our companions ; and in our own imperception and ignorance, may see abundant cause for making allowance and excuse for others, gladly hailing all there is of good, and trying only to lead them on in that path we have found lead to happiness by gentleness and our own fruits of the Spirit." 9$S MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. L.'i Journal. " Oct. iS. — The He is cast, and our fate is decided. After the long years of uncertainty and suspense attending ^ery future prospect the first certainty was overpowering — the first certain conviction that I should indeed become the wife of one to whom every warmest affection is now given. It scarcely yet assumes the form of reality, nor do my thoughts accustom themselves without surprise to the pre- sent view of things. The break through old habits, and the change to new, must be felt strongly whenever it comes, and I feel entering so completely upon a new line of duties, feelings, and occupations, that I rejoice to think I have a little time of quiet previously to prepare for it. How my heart does overflow with gratitude whenever I think of him, — of his deep affection, his tender feelings, his generous and disinterested nature ! And the high and overrated estimate he forms of me, I begin to feel, so far from exciting pride or vanity, tends to lower and depress both by making me feel how little I really come up to it, and how earnestly I must strive hereafter not to disappoint the expectations he has formed of my character. His standard is that of Chris- tian feeling and action, and to come up to it in every daily occurrence of life, will require that watchfulness which must not slumber. How it raises and exalts earthly affection when it is joined as it is to such entire confidence and unity of feeling on every subject, and when the motive is so much the same ! Oh, may I be enabled to fulfil this new part oi life in such a manner as may become a real follower of Christ — in humbleness and sincerity — endeavouring as much as possible to put away self from every consideration, labouring for the good of others, submitting without a mur- mur to their will, and seeking so to temper and moderate the strongest feelings of my nature, that they may never CHANGES. 239 draw me too much from higher thoughts, making me love the creature more than the Creator. To Him may I show my deep and fervent gratitude for his infinite mercies to me by making his woid the guide and rule of every action, and striving to advance each day in holiness, and in love and charity to all around me. How wonderfully have all things worked together for my good ; and even those things which seemed the most bitter to endure, proved the means of my ultimate happiness ! Most clearly does it show how weak- sighted and fallacious are our judgments— how entirely we ought to trust to that power which overrules everything in his mercy for our real good." "£>cc. T3. — How bright a colouring does the sunshine of the mind invest everything with ! — the everyday enjoyments of life become clothed with new attractions, as the mind is invigorated and enlivened by happiness, and seem to wear a different aspect from what they once did. And yet I pause, whilst I feel how bright is the prospect before me, and ask, will it indeed last ? The question may be asked, and the fear com-e across as a shadow over the gleam of the sun, but we shrink from an answer to such a doubt, and the real pre- carious and uncertain thread on which our whole happiness depends, is seldom dwelt upon with anything like a feeling of the truth. There appears to me, however, nothing which can quiet and ease the undefined anxieties respecting the future, but that firm trust in the constant and immediate superintendence of God, which is by so many frittered away in the consideration of second causes. With the sure know- ledge that our smallest concerns are regulated by Him, we may repose in confidence that if it is good for us such hap- piness will be granted ; and if it be hereafter chequered, as we see is often the case, the support and the comfort will come with the trial " 3s home, where you will pass the first weeks of married life, is not to be your permanent one ; but perhaps you will discover as many charms at Alton-Barnes, and every bank you look upon will now be Thymy, and every view sunny and smiling." "June 22. — You do indeed draw a picture of the sunny Thymy bank so beautiful, that one cannot help wishing life should just now stand still for awhile with you I hardly ever heard any description of happiness after marriage which sounded so perfect as yours. Everybody says and writes that they are happier than any one ever was, but I am sure that you are so." M. II. to C. S. "June 12, 1829. — We dine at five o'clock, and walk after- wards. You cannot imagine anything more delightful than these fields are — so very extensive, more like a park, stretch- ing before the house in a long uninterrupted surface of green terminated by a range of green hills ; and then the hawthorn is such a mass of snowy white, that it quite puts to shame all lanes and hedges with you. What a different style of country it is to be sure — so much more really retired and country it looks than the north. I shall try the pony in 3 day or two with him walking by my side ; he thinks it will not run away. Sometimes he reads to me a little, and any- body woulJ have been amused to see him one evening read- WEST WOODHAY. a$l fog me a sermon of Skel ton's, ' How to be happy, though married.' To-day he has got down a volume of Rousseau out of the little old library in the drawing-room, and has read me some of the letters to Julie, which he calls eloquent nonsense. "June 13. — I am most perfectly happy and comfortable. Last night we had a delicious walk to a farm-house about a mile off — so pretty, it was covered with roses and plants all over the outside of the house, and I made friends with the mistress, who sent me a loaf and oven-cake as a present. Breakfast over, I go to the kitchen, inquire into matters there, scold about the bad bread, contrive a dinner out of nothing, find out how many things are not to be had for asking. ' No, ma'am, you can't have that because there is not such a thing,' is my general answer. Then my bonnet is put on, and we sally out into our park, find out new paths, come home, ' Letters and butcher,' and so there is business for the morning. "June 20. — The last week has been very enjoyable. I have ridden every day, and Molly goes quite well, only fidgeting at setting out. However yesterday she gave us a fright. We went up the hill, higher than we had yet been, to a point where was a gailows erected. It was exceedingly windy, and in getting up the highest mound, such as the beacon at Alderley Edge, the pony was excited, either by the noise of the wind against my hat, or by its being so high ; and if Augustus, who was at a little distance, had not seen — for I think he could scarcely have heard my cry of distress — and hastened to my aid, in another minute I should have been galloping away over those high downs as hard as the pony could go. My terror was momentary. Augustus led the animal down, the wind being too high for eithet of us to speak ; but when we got under lee of the wind, and the pony was quiet again, the fervent way 111 *53 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. which he seized my hand — ' God bless her ! — God be praised ! ' — showed how he had been frightened. I don't suppose there would have been any danger for a bold rider, who would have given herself up to the speed ; but I think I should have been too much frightened to stick on long. It was a splendid map view, and our way home through delicious lanes. " He is going with me through the Greek Testament, reading two chapters each morning after breakfast and lecturing upon them, he reading the Greek, I the English; and he goes into it thoroughly. Sometimes he surprises me by, ' Now this is very difficult — I don't understand this one bit ; ' and so then we compare different passages, see what is the connection, what is alluded to, &c. — in short, it is a very interesting lecture." M. H. to L. A. S. "June 27. — This place is quite what I have so often thought the first home ought to be, and what it so seldom is in reality I delight in our Sundays ; the relief it is to cast one's self upon Him who will be with us in joy as in sorrow, and upon whom we may repose with sure con- fidence those trembling feelings of joy, whose uncertainty is often felt, showing us the need of support even in rejoicing. I longed for you to have been here last Sunday to have heard my husband in the church. His preaching is so earnest, and brings the subject so home, that I cannot but feel all the time it must be doing good, and if his peculiar manner has the effect of rousing attention, it is certainly useful. Then he cordially unites with me in every plan of considering the good of our little household* and I look forward with still greater pleasure to all that we shall join in when we have our own parish. I can hardly tell which part of our day is the most enjoyable ; but perhaps our WEST WOODHAY. 253 evening walk or ride is the most so. Do not you know the pleasure of hunting about in a library full of odd volumes and old editions of books, all mixed in strange confusion? We found yesterday an old ' Pilgrim's Progress,' with queer cuts and engravings, which was amusing to look over. He is reading Milton to me, and sometimes Wordsworth, and anything else called forth by the occasion. Then he enjoys a little song, and there is a very tolerable large pianoforte for me to play to him upon." M. H. to C. S. (the same evening). " Augustus and I were in the midst of our reading an h-our ago, when a chaise drove up to the door, and in walked Mr. Sloper. His first words were, that Lady Jones was scarcely expected to live through the day, and Augustus would just have time by the return chaise to catch the coach. There was a note from Julius, begging him to come immediately. You may guess the hurry and agitation of the moment, the putting up his things, &c, and now, almost without my knowing it has been so, he is gone. Yesterdav she was very ill indeed. There was a consul- tation of Brodie, Warren, &c. The latter thought very ill of her, and feared for to-day. Mrs. Warren * was with her till past eleven last night, thought once or twice she was gone. She rallied however a little, but Mr. Sloper seems to think she cannot get over this attack. I do hope Augustus may urrive in time to see her, and I feel quite rejoiced to have him off. How one regrets that she has not lived to benefit by the happiness she has given. I feel easier on this point now that I have seen her in London, and that he will feel * Penelope Shipley, eldest daughter of the Dean of St. Asaph, married (1R14) Dr. Pelham Warren, the eminent physician. Of a most unselfish and charming disposition, she was greatly beloved by all the family. She died in 1865. *54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. she did know me. How thankful I am to be his \rife — able to comfort him, and with the right to know and hear every- thing. We had no time for any words when he was leaving, except his reminding me of a dream he had about his aunt a week ago : that she puzzled him by saying she was going into the Barn, when he asked about her coming to Wort- ing, and which he made out, still in his dream, by the texl of the wheat being gathered into the garner ; and he said to me at the time, ' Remember my telling you this.' I got a note from her, written some days ago, full of affection, and thanking me for knitting her some mufntees. . . . Dearest Augustus ! how I shall feel now he is gone the increase of love in the last three weeks. We were saying yesterday how it seemed to grow every day, and how it was quite a grief to him to think of it ; for it could not last, we had no right to be so much happier than other people. . . How naturally I fall to writing to you in any emergency that you may share with me every feeling." Julius Hare to M. H. " South Audley Street, June 27. — Augustus will probably have left you before tRis, and you will rejoice to hear he will have the comfort of finding my aunt considerably better. This morning she said she was a great deal better than yesterday. When I was reading some of the prayers for the sick, she asked, • Is there not one for rendering thanks for an amendment of health ? ' Still, though the danger is averted for the present, I am afraid we must not indulge the hope, even if we ought to cherish the wish, of keeping her long amongst us. Her general weakness is so great, and seems rather increasing than diminishing, that her constitu- tion, however naturally strong, will hardly be able to hold out much longer ; and when her life is so much more thickly beset with suffering than with enjoyment, even those WEST WOODHAY. «55 who will grieve most at losing such an object to love and revere, ought hardly to desire that she should be detained from her heavenly reward. " God bless you, and make you and Augustus the endless source of happiness to each other. He will probably soon need you to replace his best counsellor and friend, and he is fortunate in having already secured so good a substitute. I hope some time or other to be a witness of, and therefore a partaker in, your happiness. " John Sloper has been as kind and attentive, and almost as one of her own nephews, to my aunt." A. W. H. to M. H. " South Audiey Street, June 28. — Though Julius wrote to relieve your anxiety yesterday, I presume the loving wife will send over to Newbury for the letter I promised by the night coach, and her messenger must not return empty- handed. Alas ! though there is an improvement in my aunt, it can only be a question of weeks or days. " At Newbury I heard the last coach had been gone half an hour. ' Horses immediately.' At twenty minutes after four I was driving up to the inn at Reading, having gone seventeen miles in an hour and a half. ' Is the last coach gone?' 'No,' said the landlord, 'it is changing horses at this minute.' ' Gallop on, driver ! ' He did, and we caught it before it started. There was an inside piace, so in I got, and by nine p.m. was at home. You may conceive my joy when the servant who opened the door said, ' Her ladyship is much better.' "June 29, — What a delightful note, dearest, did you send to greet my waking this morning, and make me feel less solitary and widowed, shall I say, or more. It is just so I would have wished my wife to write and think, years before I had one, and when the name was little more than an idea 256 MEMORIALS OK A CJUILT LIFE. to me. To find that idea realised in my own Mia, is at blessing a thousand times too great for me, did God mea sure out his bounty according to our deserts, and not rather pour it out of his exceeding bountifulness and loving- kindness. " My aunt is slightly better. Her nurses have hitherto been my aunt Louisa and Penelope alternately. Dear, good, affectionate Penelope would never dream of feeling tired, or own that she was so, till she dropt ; but drop she will if this attendance lasts much longer, and it may go on for weeks. Julius has formed a plot for you to come up and relieve her a little by sharing her duties. Alas ! if my aunt had done two years ago what she has so nobly clone for us this year, she would have had you now to comfort her. As it is, you are still so much of a stranger to her, that there is some fear of her not feeling sufficiently at ease with you in her infirmities. My belief is that three days would get over the difficulty, and make your presence a continual joy to her. I only mention this, that you may not be surprised if you receive a summons. You would come, of course, to a lodging 5 you would come to attend on a sick person; you would have to exercise much judg- ment and steadiness ; but you would feel that you were of use to her who has united us, you would be sensible it is the only return in all probability you will be allowed to make her, and you would rejoice that at the sacrifice of some personal convenience you are permitted to minister a degree of satisfaction and ease to her last moments." M. H. to A. W. H. " West Woodhay, June 30. — What a joy to me have your lettcis been this morning. It is in such times as these that one feels the full delight of the perfect con- WEST WOODHAY. 3$) Adence there is between us. I felt so sure of your under- standing what my feeling would be about your aunt, that it was quite unnecessary to express it. 1 think if I <.ame I might be of some little use, though less I fear than many, with equal goodwill, from my awkwardness and inexperience. But in this, as in everything else, do and order as seemeth you best ; here I am, your devoted wife, whose highest happiness is to do what you think it right she should do. " Do not be very vain when I tell you that there was a very large congregation on Sunday evening, great part of which was much disappointed at not hearing you preach — for which laudable purpose they had gone to church ! So you see your sermon of the Sunday before gained other ap- probation besides that of your partial Mia. " I need not tell you how much I miss you, nor tantalise you with thinking what a delicious walk we should have had yesterday evening after the rain ceased ; but somehow 01 other Woodhay does not look so gay and cheerful as it did some few days ago, and I hear no laughing voices sound- ing in its passages." M. H. to C. S. "June 30. — I am satisfied to have had our first month of enjoyment unsullied. That enjoyment has been so great as to make me only the more anxious to show my gra- titude to her who has given it, and to gratify him by the full extent of whose tenderness and consideration I have benefited by so much. The separation of this week will reconcile me to being in any place with him, though the exchange of Woodhay delights for a lodging, with summer-days to be passed in a sick-room in London, is not exactly what one should choose. But there is no help, and I doubt not if it is to be, we shall find ample cause to rejoice in having done it. VOL. I. S 2$8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " I thought this morning what a pleasure there is in the power of sending one's one servant off to the post just at the time he ought to be bringing in breakfast — submitting to the indignity of having the coffee brought by a maid ra her than wait for the letters. No quantity of servants or money could make me feel more independent than the perfect command which marriage gives one over the few one has, and the complete choice left to one's %€\iwhich inconveniences to choose. I have just regained strength and spirits enough to enter upon the new duties awaiting me, if so it is to be. How destined my life seems to be not to stagnate. I look forward to Alton as quite a haven of rest and peace. As much as anything I dread the jealousies there will be about my being with Lady Jones; however, I have nothing to do with that." M. H. to A. W. H. "July 1. — How I did want you yesterday to admire the most glorious sunset. Mr. Barker, or Burford, or whatever is the name, might have taken some good hints for his Pan- demonium in that glowing sea of fire, with the streams issuing out of it, and the splendid battlements of clouds piled one above another closing it in. Even Mr. Sloper was obliged to stand still and admire it, in spite of the ominous appearance for the hay ; and truly it has not de- ceived us, for to-day the heavens seem inclined to pour out their utmost fury upon us, and it will be well if you find anything remaining of Woodhay floating on the top of the waters when you return. " Let me take advantage of Mr. Sloper's absence among his workpeople, to draw near to my Augustus and tell him how he lives in my thoughts. I can no longer cheat myself with the fancy that he is ensconced, book in hand, pre- tending to write letters of business in the library; nor flatter WEST WOODHAY. 259 myself with the idea that he is pacing the tapestry-room for exercise this rainy day. It seems to assume a very real air of separation now " "July 2. — The account to-day is most disheartening. That our dear aunt may be spared further pain is now all that we can hope or pray for her in this world. Would that I had gone with you and could have shared the anxiety and attendance of those who have so devoted themselves to her last days, and to whom it will be a lasting satisfaction to feel that they have done so. But this could not be, and I only feel thankful that you have yourself been able to be with her to the last. I have had a very distressing thing to do this morning, in breaking to Ravenscroft (the cook) the sudden death of a sister to whom she was much attached. She was in sad affliction, and it went to my heaxt to cause so much grief; but there could not be a time when such a communication would be made with more sympathy than after receiving your sad letter, and feeling that ere this you probably are mourning the departure of one who has so long been an object of interest and anxiety. Dearest, how I wish to be with you it is needless to say. You are with those who feel as you do, you will have much to do, and you know that when the time comes, and everything is done that can be done, and you have paid the last tribute of respect and affec- tion to her who has been so kind to you from childhood, you will find me to r eel for you and with you, and who through life will seek to be your comforter and friend. I cannot tell you how glad I am that this has not happened before. As your wife I may share every feeling, and, as far as earthly comfort can go, contribute all I can to replace what you will lose." A. W. H. to M. H. "July 2. — She is much weaker. All muscular power has ceased. When lying quite back in her chair she seems «6o MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. easiest. The fire is going out for want of fuel. The pulse proves the vitality which still remains, but the machine is worn out. Penelope still insists on sitting up every night. There is an occasional cheerfulness in my aunt's manner, and a constant thought and care about others, which are the best practical Christianity, and worth all the sermons in the world. "J u ty 3- — ' Much the same, but feebler, and, ii possible, thinner,' is Dr. Warren's report to-day. Her senses are growing dimmer. Last night, for the first time, she did not make me out. This morning she did not know Julius, and Penelope doubted if she knows anybody. The greatest comfort is that she is calm and quiet, and apparently suffers little. She often smiles ; and her talk, as far as I have heaid it, though wandering, is on agreeable subjects. '■''July 6. — My black seal and paper will have announced to you that all is over. She was called from us at ten minutes after nine this morning. Nothing could be easier than her departure. She literally expired, or breathed away her soul, without a struggle or a groan. Shall we envy 01 grudge her the reward of her years on years of active munificence r ' M. H. to A. W. H. " West Woodhay,Ju1y 8. — My own dearest Augustus, you know how I feel with you — how every thought and feeling goes along with you — in recurring to the many )ears of kindness and affection which must come before you, in feeling that she to whom you have so long looked foi assistance and guidance, who has been an object of such long anxiety and interest, is indeed gone. How grateful I am that I have seen her, and to have the impression which none but personal evidence can give of what she was, and still more grateful am I to have the power now of sharing WEST WOODHAY. »6l your grief and seeking to fill up the chasm her loss must have made to you " Very little doubt had been entertained before the death of Lady Jones as to the contents of her will. To Mr. Sloper, to Dr. Warren, and to other friends, she had frequently spoken of it ; and all her relations believed that she had left her property at Worting to Mrs. Warren (Penelope Shipley), her house in South Audley Street to Francis Hare, a legacy to Julius, and the residue of her property, with her library, pictures, and furniture, to Augus- tus, whom she had always regarded as her adopted son. After her death, however, the rightful will was never found, and it was supposed that she had destroyed it when her mind was enfeebled by her last illness, mistaking it for the old will, which was found, and which was inscribed — " To be burnt." To all the three brothers this was a great distress as well as a serious loss. A. W. H. to M. H. "July 7 1829, South Audley Street. — Dearest, dearest Mia. How providential our marriage took place when it did ! Had it been delayed another month, it might not have taken place for years. My aunt, the most methodical of women, and possessing an amount of clear understanding which would have done credit to the best men of business, she, with all her minuteness of detail, has left two wills in the same envelope, and in such a state that it seems clear the second is good for nothing, and the chief question is, whether it invalidates the first. If it does, she has died intestate ; if it does not, her money goes almost entirely (for the greater part of it will certainly go) to the last pos- 262 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. «ible persons in the world she would have wished. And 33 for Worting, it is not even named ; though she had promised it to Dr. Warren, and, it is quite clear, meant to give it him. "The last will, which has the signature obliterated, ami ' this to be burnt ' written at the bottom, is dated as far hack as 1 82 1. The other is a will of 1809, when my sister was alive, and is chieily in her favour However, thank God ! her life was spared long enough to carry into partial effect her kind and generous intentions in my behalf. "July 8. — Old Lewis, the Worting bailiff, has written, ' No doubt our loss is her ladyship's gain, and her dear soul is at rest.' His letter is perfect in its way, from its serio- comic mixture of genuine feeling with scraps of book and sermon phrases. He talks of 'How much she will !>e missed by the poor of Wortipg, and regretted by all.' She w'/ll be missed, indeed, unless the search to-morrow at Worting after a will is successful, and produces some inheritor of her kind-heartedness as well as of her land. T have myself not a doubt that it will produce it. The more Julius and I have compared our thoughts on the matter, the more certain we are that my aunt has not by negligence, in the most important arrangement o( her life, contradicted sixty years, or more, of methodical and provident activity. "July 9. — Doubtless there is another, and of course a perfect will. So many circumstances on inquiry have come out, all pointing the same way, that the fact appears to me as certain as anything can be, which rests only on pro- babilities and presumptions. It was made about last Michaelmas, and it cannot have been destroyed since. Mislaid it may have been ; but sooner or later it will be found. Perhaps it is so now, or at least it will be, ere I finish my letter, for Francis, Julius, Mr. Seton (our good lawyer), and Charles Shipley, set out in a britska this morn- ing at seven, for Worting ; and, allowing them six hours WEST WOODHAY. 263 for their journey, they are at this moment searching for it. They return to-night, but it will be late before they can get back. It is for the sake of justice, and of seeing my clear aunt's intentions (whatever they may be) carried into full effect — it is that those who have equitable claims on her, and that the poor, may not be deprived of what she destined for them, and not from any personal interests of my own, that I am anxious to have her will produced. "July to. — You will grieve to hear that our expectations have been sadly disappointed. Worting has produced nothing. That a will was made at the time she obliterated the signature from the will of 1821, and that she believed it, or some subsequent one, to be in existence, is quite certain, from fifty speeches during the last two months. Whether it has been destroyed by accident, or laid by too securely to be found, I know not. It is not forthcoming, and perhaps never may be ; but to Julius and me, and indeed to all who love her, and not her property, it is a great consolation that this inconvenience, grievous and manifold as it is, is not aggravated by a conviction — no, nor even by a suspicion — that she was procrastinating or neglectful about her last and most important worldly act. In the meantime a suit — an amicable suit, for so I find they call those suits which provoke more ill-blood than any other — must be instituted in Doctors' Commons ; and if the second will is not quashed there, the interpretations of the last clause carries us, still amicab/y — it is wonderful how amicable people are when their dirty interests are engaged — into the very pleasant Court of Cnancery God show us the way out of all such evils ! " if. H. to C. S. " l ju/y 12. — I wish you could know that at this moment I have got him back. Mr. Sloper being too ill to return yesterday for his duty to-day, Augustus was obliged to put 264 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. aside his scruples about leaving the house in South Audley Street, and come in his place, and you may imagine what a meeting we had about eight o'clock last night. If he had been dead and risen to life again, I could scarcely have felt more in having him again. He looks most wretchedly, so thin and care-worn, and has been made quite ill. He consulted Dr. Warren, who said, 'You have come from the extreme of happiness to the extreme of misery, and the revulsion has been too great. Go home to your wife, and she and quiet will be better than all the medicines in the world.' It seems quite clear that there must have been a subsequent will, even if she destroyed it by mistake. Francis seems to have behaved very well. In giving directions the first day after her death, he burst into an agony of tears, and could not go cm. When the will leaving a thousand pounds to him was read, he proposed at once its being divided between Julius and Marcus. In case neither of the wills are good foi anything, the property would be equally divided amongst the brother and sisters' children — giving thus one share to the Dean's children, one to Mrs. Hare's children, one to Mrs. C. L. Shipley, and one to Mrs. Sloper's only child, Mrs. Charles Warren, so of course the Hares' proportion for each would be small. Lady Jones leaves ^3,000 in one of the wills to charities. It is very puzzling, very annoying, and likely to be a long source of discussion. Everything else found is order and method itself — letters all ticketed in packets, 'For Augustus and Julius to read, and afterwards to be burnt,' and the same to others. All accounts are paid up to Easter. Augustus heard her mutter to herself, 'All my worldly affairs are settled, servants and all.' A few days before her death she dictated as clearly as possible a beautiful letter to Lord Spencer. A year ago he had asked for Sir J. Reynolds's portrait of Sir W. Jones, evidently wish- ing to complete his collection. She was affronted, and re WEST WOOD HAY. 265 fused. This letter was to tell him she had reconsidered his request, thought Sir W. J. would have wished him to have it, and begged his acceptance of it ; that she had now but a few days, perhaps hours, to live, and could not be satisfied without employing her nephew Julius, as she was too ill, to write ; spoke of the mortification she had felt in his doing nothing to promote Marcus, which she had so much at heart ; but as worldly things had become of less import, the pain she had felt on this account had diminished, and she heartily forgave it to him, and hoped he would equally forgive any hasty word she might have used in speaking on the subject; that she had now great pleasure in complying with his request, and had always retained the sincerest affection for him. She begged it might be sealed with black, and sent when she was gone, and she then seemed satisfied that everything was done. The brothers give Mrs. Pelham Warren a diamond ring with Lady Jones's hair in gratitude for her attentions. Augustus says Julius cried himself into a fever on the day of the death." A. W. H. to M. H. "July 17. — John Sloper will tell my dearest Mia all the particulars about the funeral — how Julius read the service over her, slowly, distinctly, and with a voice that scarcely faltered ; how, after it was over, the brothers walked down with Charles Shipley to the church to fix on a place for her monument j how liberally and with what disinterested- ness Charles has behaved in the scheme he has drawn up for a compromise; and all other how's which you would have a painful interest in hearing." M. H. to C. S. " West IVoodhay, July 19. — I think 1 wrote on Thursday night after Penrhyn went. Friday was a thorough wet day 266 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. again. I had my fire, and wrote out a long extract from Blackstone about New College and Winchester, Founder's kin, &c, as I was ordered, and was thinking how comfort- able one could always be when left quite alone, when in walked Mr. Sloper. However, he brought me a letter from Augustus, and the latest news about the funeral, &c. Julijs read the service. Nobody attended but the servants, the three brothers, Charles Shipley, Mr. Seton, and himself. The only news about the will is that they have found some money in the French funds, making her property amount to above ^"60,000. They say Mrs. C. Warren is sure to do what is right and handsome, and Mr. Sloper is very anxious she should, as she is his cousin. Then Shipley Conwy, who is heir-at-law to Worting,* has written in the handsomest manner to Dr. Warren, saying that his aunt did not intend him to have it, and as she had declared her wish that he should have it, he shall certainly make it over to Dr. Warren — a fine thing to do, as ^7,000 might have been too great a temptation to give up at twenty-two. She in- tended to have founded two scholarships out of Worting, which I believe Dr. Warren will do, and he has some land in Wales, which he will probably give to Shipley Conwy — near St. Asaph — so it will be a system of giving up and giving. I find the envelope to all the papers was evidently new, and not written above a year ago. This seems to me decisive that the new will was put into the same cover, and that it has been wrongly destroyed. To be sure it is provoking ! " You may guess how impatient I am to hear about Alton-Barnes. When once settled, I think I shall be so happy I shall not know what to do. There is something so enlivening in having real things to do, and I shall be so busy in making my ga den and everything nice. I * His father, William Shipley was eidest son of the Dean of St. Asaph. WEST WOODHAY. 267 begin to feel a little more naturalised, and less as in a dream. "July 26, 1829. — I am glad you feel the comfort of my details, and that you find in this I am not as yet changed ; indeed, I know not how it could be otherwise, and with one who has so long shared every thought and interest. I feel as if 1 could hardly— separated as we are likely to be — tell enough of all I feel to make up for the want of personal observations and intercourse. I regret so often that it will be so long before you see us as we are He has been very busy composing his letter to the Bishop of Winchester about the evils of Founder's kin, which plague him much, and he walks up and down the great saloon up-stairs half the day. I do not know what he is to do at Alton with rooms too small for any quarter-deck — here he has been so spoilt by having such great space for his pacings. Then on Friday came a notice to Mr. Sloper of a confirmation whilst he is away, so Augustus will have to prepare the people for it. He is certainly very queer about his writing ; whilst he takes such time often to write a letter, at other times he is equally rapid. Yesterday before service he was about ten minutes writing a sheet-full upon confirmation, which after his sermon he brought out, with the bishop's letter, and I dare say surprised the people not a little, telling them how, a stranger amongst them, he was unable to do all he would otherwise wish to do in inquiring into the state of theii families, &c, but exhorted them to attend to this notice, and that he was ready on his part to do everything to help them to a right understanding of this part of their duty ; that he should fix a time when he knew who were willing to come — such a time as might suit not his convenience but theirs, to whom time was more valuable ; and then he brought forward every objection they could make to being confirmed, and asked what Christ would say on being told it was too much trouble ! 268 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " Yesterday I had my mind enlightened upon the origin uf Augustus's interest in and fancy for military tactics and politics — of all the youthful dreams he had, all kept to him- self, and nourished up — the long vision of delivering his country, as he then considered Italy, from the Austrian yoke. His account of his early habits of thought quite accounts for any originality of ideas — always making a point of not read- ing the opinions of others, finding out the fads, and working them out in his own mind. " I am amused to think hew little most women would have suited him, and how exactly I do. His love for ruminating by himself, to anybody without resources of their own, would be so dull, and he would not like that eternal interruption which many wives would give; then their being fussy about trifles, talking about their neighbours' concerns, vagueness, and the very least regard to appearances or show, would annoy him so much ; and yet, without liking a wife to be troublesome in fondness, he would ill have borne with the slightest coldness ) so that, without vanity, I cer- tainly am more adapted to his wants than most could have been. Perhaps I might equally say of myself that, indulged as I have always been, I should have borne ill any person of more irritable nature, and less tender and considerate. Putting aside all other considerations, I never saw anybody so easy to live with, by whom the daily petty things of life were passed over so lightly ; and then there is a charm in the refinement of feeling, which is not to be told in its influence upon trifles. "July 27. — A new parcel of books has just arrived, and Augustus having seized upon one, I have no chance of a word foi some time, and so you shall hear all what you are wishing to know about his expedition. At Salisbury he went through all the forms of institution with the bishop. Saturday, with difficulty, he found his way by cross-roads to WEST WOODHAY. 269 Alton-Barnes, put his hand upon the church key, rang the bell three times, and on Sunday went through the morning service with all the Articles and other necessary declara- tions — the evening service, prayers, and sermon ; which latter, not being prepared, he was obliged to borrow a ser- mon, and says it was the worst he ever read. This all done, he was duly inducted rector of Alton-Barnes. And now for the house. It has steps up to the door, a wide passage, good staircase, dining-room on one side, study on the other ; up- l stairs drawing-room, three bedrooms and dressing-closet, ' five good attics, fit for single gentlemen. The rooms low, small, confined. The first thing to be done to cut away a dump of trees just before the windows, excluding all air from the lower rooms. Church a couple of hundred yards off; and a second church close by, belonging to Alton- Priors, a parish of which we shall have the principal charge probably, as the clergyman lives four miles off, and there is only sendee once in three weeks. Augustus looks for com- fort to the high downs on each side of us. I think my eagerness to get to our own house and the readiness to leave Wood hay has much abated since I have anticipated the exchange from this large room, large windows opening on so fine a lawn, to the little confined limits of a low room, small windows, a chalk road, and a barrier of trees, and I look at our fine expanse here with infinitely more admiration in thinking how short will be our enjoyment of such luxury. Then Woodhay now, with the return of fine weather, of Augustus, &c, has returned to its first charm, and we shall have a second honeymoon in comfort." " August 2. — Augustus is so shocked at the ignorance of the people here who have come to him about confirmation, that he is set down to write a sermon for them this evening. I therefore will sit down to instruct you, not about confirm- ation, but about Alton-Barnes. 170 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. '* To be sure, Woodhay does seem a paradise on return, ing, and the line space and breathing-room is so enjoyable ! But comparisons are odious, and we will forget Woodhay, whilst I tell you of our home that is to be. A delightful day we had on Friday. The drive through Marlborough Chase — Lord Ailesbury's — was exquisite. We stopped at Marlborough about three-quarters of an hour looking at household furniture to be sold, and we found little enough to wish for. About two o'clock, after a beautiful drive through the' vale of Pewsey, we arrived at Alton. Could we have stopped three miles on this side, we should have been in the prettiest, most delightful country I ever saw ; but we are just a little too far, getting too much upon the barren chalk downs. Alton itself is quite an oasis in the desert — a hamlet, with much wood and green meadows, all shut in to a small compass, backed on every side by the green hills, which are more broken and better formed than those here, and in a drawing I dare say would give the effect of being in a fine mountainous country ! It was much prettier than I expected, and the approach to the Rectory agreeably surprised me. It is red brick, it is true, and the door is in the middle, with little windows on each side, but then it has the tint of old age ; the front is nearly covered with clematis and jessamine, and the little green sloping terrace and shrubs and trees round it, though rather con- fined, give a lcok of quiet and retirement. The inside was much what I expected, very comfortable as to the number of rooms, but the size being fourteen and fifteen feet square, and low, seemed very confined after our spacious quarters here; and then, as we dined eleven, we saw them to the greatest disadvantage. The study, which has shelves all round and cupboards below, looked the best; the others scantily furnished and wretched ; yet I could not help thinking how much we should have to do to make them WEST WOODHAY. 2/1 even as full as they are now Miss Crowe took me all over the house and offices. She was, I suppose, a little shy, and I felt exceedingly the awkwardness of the situation, coming to turn out these people who had lived there eighteen years, and were much attached to the place ; so that, further than seeing went, I made little progress, and I felt quite in despair how to set about anything further. After dinner we went out to the church, which is the smallest place you ever saw, with about half a dozen pews. A farmhouse close to it, with the prettiest possible flower- garden, excited my envy. I was introduced to the lady of it and her daughters, who are of quite a higher order than our farmers in the north. Alton Priors is quite close, and the church, which I wish was ours, has a fine old tower and magnificent yew-tree. I settled my first sketch at once. Altogether it is certainly very pretty. The worst part is the roads, being chalky, and in winter they say it is like walk- ing through so much mortar, no stirring without pattens — old Stoke lanes must have been excellent in comparison. Next morning we got on much better. Miss Crowe began to find out my ignorance, and to offer her advice ; and with much kindness set to work helping me to take dimensions for curtains, carpets, &c. She was, I am sure, much amused by my ignorance, and Augustus's perfect helpless- ness, and I believe she pitied me greatly in having no assist- ance from him, but ' settle it just as you please.' " I feel no doubt we shall get very fond of the place, and that Augustus will be heartily sorry to exchange it for Hurstmonceaux. The barrenness of the downs gives our little hamlet quite the appearance of an oasis in a desert, and there is something especially appropriate to the character of a pastor and his flock in the having them all so immediately under his own eye. I am very happy in seeing, by the ex- perience here, how much Augustus makes himself beloved 272 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. by the poor people, and how much they like his plain and homely style of teaching them. "August 6. — Augustus says, 'Now you will write iG IC.,' all the people being gone, and as it is a pity not to fulfil his expectation, I will so enjoy myself. Of course Mrs. Hare-Naylor's dreaded visit has not been so alarming as my expectation. She came just before dinner on Monday, with our two half-brothers, Gustavus and Reginald, and our half-sister Georgiana David could not have waited upon us all, so Mary came in to assist him, which she did with the same good sense and good humour with which she does everything. Everything seemed to go on with so little trouble, I wondered how people with tolerable servants can contrive so much fuss. One day, to be sure, Augustus said there was not dinner enough, and another day too much ; but I told Mrs. H. N. she must in her mind unite the whole, and it would amount to a right proportion of feeding during the three days ; and she laughed heartily, and I dare say forgave the inequality. " Did I tell you of the good sermon Augustus got up to preach on Sunday evening, written in three hours. In such sort of talking sermons he will never have any difficulty. He had a hard day's work — the men and women in the morning to be questioned, and in the evening, after dinner, the farmers' sons. One man of fifty wished to be confirmed. 'Do you know who Jesus Christ is?' 'Why, please your Honour, I canna' rightly say.' But of the seventy people in the parish, twenty-seven are to be confirmed. Yesterday was a charming day. Uncle Hugh Leycester came just as we were going to breakfast. He was very much affected on seeing me, and some time before he could recover himself, and I thought he looked ill. He was much interested ia seeing the place, and he looked so pleased to see xac so happy, and cried a good deal when he went away. WEST WOODHAV. 2 73 * As Mr. Sloper's hay was spoiling for want of hands, Augustus set us all to work yesterday to turn it, setting the example himself. "August 26. — Having shut out these stormy winds, beat- ing with the fury of December against the windows, made up my tire, and got candles, I will employ my solitary even- ing in writing to you. Augustus is gone with Mr. Sloper to dine at Lord Carnarvon's at Highclere ; for yesterday, as Augustus and I had been riding in the park there, just as we were going out of it, we met Lord Porchester, who expressed much surprise at seeing him, and much regret at not having known before of his being in the neighbourhood, as well as of his being about to leave Highclere himself. So this morning there* came a servant over with a note, begging Augustus would excuse the short notice and dine there to-day. As nothing was said about me, I did not sup- pose myself invited, but advised him to accept so kind an invitation. Highclere is a most beautiful place. The woods there, though on a larger scale and wilder, reminded me of the Alderley beech-wood, and were not less admired on that account. The day before we rode to Lord Craven's, Hampstead, which is on a smaller scale, but extremely wild and pretty. You may think how I enjoy these rides, and seeing something of this country. My steed is the pleasant- est I ever mounted, having all the free-going and spirit of s. hunter, and the steadiness which gives perfect confidence As for Augustus, he trots along upon Molly, and keeps m? in a fright, when she is in one of her fidgets, with the addi- tional anxiety, that when he gets annoyed with her, he does not choose to be conquered, and so sets off, leaving rne to my fate, while he finishes the battle in a ploughed field. I think at our neighbour Mr. Butler's they must be much amused by him — finding a volume of Clarendon or of Par- liamentary Statutes the minute he gets into the room, and vol. 1. T a J i MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. without another word sitting down in a corner, and not speaking till dinner. I am sure I am invaluable to him ia saying all the proper things and laughing at his ways. We dined there on Saturday, and he got up at five on Sunday to write his sermon. He has now got through four of the confirmation series, and will end next Sunday. The last was on the Atonement, and taken partly from Erskine's Internal Evidences. He talks to the people about the star that shines so brightly over Woodhay Hill, about what the house at Highclere is built of, about the crown in the Tower of London, with various other illustrations, amusing enough I dare say to them. He finds greater facility both in writing his sermons and in catechising than at first, and will certainly take a great interest in it. " The Cedars, East Sheen, September 2. — Here I am once again, and very strange and odd I feel being here in a new capacity. We arrived yesterday about four p.m., and found them all standing at the door to receive us. We have parted from West Woodhay quite as our home, and have now done with it as our house, and shall never be there again in the same way. It is the close, too, of a happy era — the first three months — which we both regret ; and, com- ing away to other people, it seems becoming like them, and getting accustomed to separation. "September 12. — We have been several days in New Street
o we set out about ten, and never returned to New Street till five or six, stopping to eat when we felt disposed. Tn a -shop in Wardour Street Augustus bought a study WEST WOODHAY. 275 chair, of old carved oak, with a crimson cushion, and he flatters himself that his reverence seated in that will be much respected ; and I ordered a book take according to my own fancy, having two shelves above, a bureau part, and shelves below, with a cupboard at each end. These have been our only extravagances. " West Woodhay, September 21. — We took Worting on our way back here, getting there by two o'clock. It is an ugly country of enclosed downs, but of course was full of interest. We stopped at the inn at Worting to order some dinner, drove up to the house, about two hundred yards up a lane — a pretty wooded village, with three or four good houses in it. It was a less formal and much prettier place than I expected, even as it looked on such a wet day. Mrs. Butcher, Lady Jones's faithful maid, was there to receive us, having been ordered there to attend to the valu- ation of everything, and very sad she looked. Augustus took me all over the old places, and — ' Here she used to sit ■ — this was her arm-chair— this her sofa — and so I used to move it for her,' &c. — with many little details. Down-stairs is a dining-room, little study, and breakfast-room ; up-stairs a drawing-room, with three windows and books all round, very like the room at Penrhos, and just fitted up in that sort of style, very comfortable without being fine. A fine gleam came luckily to enable us to go out and I went all # over the gravel walks with Augustus, and verv pretty they are — nice beech avenues making a round of about three- quarters of a mile. We saw old Lewis the bailiff, and Susan our future dairy-maid. Augustus picked out all books be- longing to himself, a few pamphlets out of one drawer and a few out of another, put aside out of the china what belonged to them as children, &c, for Mrs. Butcher to keep apart. She, poor thing, seemed sadly distressed at what to do, nobody to say what should be done or not — so troubled 27 6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. that Augustus would not dine there. There was the sketch hung up of Augustus and his wet-nurse. I should like to have that. I longed to have stayed longer looking over all the old places. It looked as if Lady Jones had just left it, and I am very glad to have seen it in the old original state. The books would make a very nice addition to our library, a great many modern and some good standard books. After dining at the inn, we set out in pouring rain, going three miles out of our way to Overton to see old Sally Penton. The poor old woman wept bitterly on seeing us ; said she could not get over her loss as she ought ; so delighted to see me ; and sate all the time with both my hands in bens, kissing me, and saying, whenever Augustus went to talk b the granddaughter, what a dear good man Augustus was, and how everybody loved him, and wished he could have had Worting, and of all he used to say and do, and talked about how lucky we were married first, just as you would do. She is just such a little withered acute old woman as Lady Jones was herself, eighty-four, but would hobble down to the door to see us go away, and never did visit I believe give more pleasure. We took her two bottles of wine and a chicken, and Augustus gave the granddaughter ;£io towards the payment of the pension, which unluckily Lady Jones had forgotten to pay before leaving Worting. All this was delightful. We had then about eighteen miles on here. Before we reached Highclere, the daylight was gone ; one of our lamps was broken, so we could only light one. The post-boy could not find his way in these most intricate crors-roads ; and, after driving into a farmyard or two, having to ask our way, &c, we at last took a guide, who, perched on the boot, directed the turns, and some- times helped to turn the wheels when the horses refused to draw up some of the steep hills, as they did two or three times, being completely knocked up. Anything so bad or so WEST WOODHAY. «77 dark, or so doubtful if we should ever get home, I never felt. We began to debate about sending for Mr. Sloper's cart-horses to drag us on. However, at last, by stopping every hundred yards to rest, we got here at ten o'clock, having been five hours coming from Worting. " Woodhay looked its old self in yesterday's sunshine, and I enjoyed it exceedingly, and love it so for our first days of happiness. It seems strange not being master and mistress, arid we think it. was regulated better in our reign. To- morrow forty people or more come to a bow-meeting, and Mr. Sloper having given no positive orders about the dinner or anything, makes a confusion which nothing but good temper can regulate. Of these forty 1 know two, and shall have to do the honours to all ! " " Sept. 16. — Mr. Sloper went out hunting on Monday, and gave no definite orders to the last. Augustus and I laid our heads together to arrange the dinner, measure the table, and set in some sort of order the profusion of game which filled the larder, and some of the party actually arrived on Tuesday whilst I was writing out the bill of fare. It. was awkward enough for me, having to receive people I never saw in my life ; hpwever, Mr. Sloper returned, and about one o'clock thirty-six people were assembled. The day was fair and fine. The lawn, mown as smooth as that at Sheen, with the meadows and hill beyond, was just made for such a purpose, and certainly wanted nothing but a little sunshine to make it a beautiful scene. Luncheon was laid at two o'clock, and the shooters ca*me in by turns. Six ladies and about fourteen gentlemen shot. Of the former, a sulky- looking girl, who had the good wishes of none of the party, carded everything before her, and succeeded in winning the prize, a very pretty butterfly brooch. I had little to do • but look on, and every now and then Augustus and I escaped to rest ourselves and moralise on the wearisoineness 278 MEMORIALS OF A QUII'T LIFE. of pleasure. I got dressed early, and then, by showing the people to their different rooms, getting their respective things carried up, and assisting at the toilettes of two or three, made amends for any inattention in the morning, for my conscience rather reproached me for skulking away. It was half-past seven before we got to dinner in the hall ; really, considering all things, it was wonderfully well arranged, and very little confusion. I begged off sitting at the top of the table, and sat by Mr. Sloper. After dinner were speeches and toasts and the presenting of the prize ; then I bowed to the lady nearest me and we came out. Whilst they had their tea and coffee I stole out to super- intend the lighting of the ball-room. The saloon up-stairs was capital for this purpose, and altogether the number and size of the rooms just suited such a party. About ten we began dancing, and I really found myself dancing away with all the gaiety, I was going to say, of fifteen ; but no — at fifteen I never danced with half the spirit. You cannot think what request I was in as a partner. Mr. Tom Smith, the keeper of the foxhounds in this county, begged Augustus would present him to me, it must be such a treat to dance with anybody who enjoyed it so much. Accordingly, I found him as much up to it, and we flourished away just as you and R. L. used to do. He was quite a better sort of foxhunter, said he liked everything he did only too well, and evidently could find resource in everything he under- takes. You may guess how thoroughly Augustus was bored. If was nearly three o'clock before we went to supper, and four before the house was cleared and we went to bed. and I never was more dead tired. However, every body seemed pleased. The supper was very pretty, and there was much marvel how Mr. Sloper could have managed it so veil. I have no doubt I got infinitely more credit than I had any right to, for I really don't know how it was west woodhav. a 79 all done It was rather amusing likening the different people to those one knows \ they are exactly the sort of class described in ' Emma.' " Francis Hare is just arrived. What an odd man he is. He walked in just as if he had been in the house two months, talked in the same tone, and has a sort of non- chalance which is very curious. Yet when he rouses himself up, he comes out with something odd and humor- ous, and has sense enough about common things. " Sept. 30. — Yesterday Augustus had a cold, and, besides, thought that a thirty-mile ride would be further than either he or his pony would approve of, so Mr. Sloper drove me to Alton in his gig, and I was charged with full powers of decision about everything to be settled. We set off about eight, taking David on the pony as our pioneer througli the bad roads. It was a lovely day, and I certainly seemed doomed to see the most favourable side of Alton. We got there soon after eleven, and found a pretty state of con- fusion — a waggon at the door carrying off chairs and tables, and the entrance blocked up by our goods coming in. There, at the door, lay the great case from Clementi, the least necessary part of the furniture being the first to arrive. Mr. and Miss Crowe soon made their appearance from their packing operations, and certainly dressed to suit their work. I was amused by Miss C. instantly setting to business, and with scarcely the preamble of ' How do you do ' show- ing me the various tin-pans, &c, she had bought. The house was entirely cleared of furniture, men were white- washing, and women scouring, so that you may fancy the state it was in, showing off all deficiencies in the walls and papers to the utmost. The rooms looked of course larger, and they were beautifully clean. The red American creeper and clematis covering the iront of the house, and the old stone over the doorway and windows, made it look suffi- 280 M F.MORI ALS OF A QUIET LIFE. ciently picturesque, and anything of hills for the varieties of light to fall upon is always an advantage to a place, i engaged a man to work, in the garden for eight shillings a-week, milk our cows, clean the pony, and feed the pigs ! Mr. Sloper sends his waggon with our goods the end of next week, with cow and pig, and on Tuesday the 13th I suppose we shall transport ourselves and our household. All the new things looked nice, and there certainly is a pleasure in beginning from the very beginning, knowing exactly every individual thing in the house. " Francis was in better spirits on Sunday. He went tuj upon statues, and antiquities, and Italian traditions, and was very entertaining all the evening, and had some good stories about the Speaker and the etiquettes o\ Parliament, &c. He met Sydney Smith in the coach, who said if he was to appoint he would make Augustus warden oi Win- chester. 1 am glad he has not the power." C. S. to M. H. "Dec. 19. — Certainly your present condition is full of wholesome interest and occupation, and, except loving Augustus too much, I don't see any wrong paths before you, and I cannot but admire how entirely you have laid aside all thought and trouble about the will and its decision. " Nothing can be more wholesome, more comfortable, more satisfying, than the account you give of your stud ej and life. 1 perfectly agree with you in wishing to have m > interruption from the trash of book-clubs. It would i e well if we had all of us a literary Jephson to put u on a restricted diet of solid food. How I shoul i 1 to assist — no, not assist, but listen invisible I colloquies; but I expect, by the tune we meet a ; you wiil be so drawn out, that I shall be L>c cump-i.^.^ siient one. WEST WOODHAY. 28 J "On Wednesday, when we were at Lathom, came an express from Knowsley, saying there was to be a railroad exhibition that day near Prescot, and the Liverpool tunnel lighted up for Lords Harrowby and Sandon next day. So we got off as soon as we could, and drove straight to the railroad at Prescot, and there found Charlotte and Penrhyn, and the wonderful locomotive engine flying past. To us, who have no turn for these things, and therefore cannot or do not realise any description, the seeing them comes with such novelty and force, and brings such a train of new thoughts — this thing, which is to convey carriages, people, goods, everything, from Liverpool to Manchester, thirty miles in an hour, ruining half the warehouses at Liverpool by making Manchester into a seaport town, the goods landed at the docks at Liverpool being henceforth transported at once into the warehouses at Manchester in as short a time as they now take in being carried from the lower to the upper part of the town. The effect of the velocity is that when you stand on the railroad and watch the machine coming, it seems not to approach, but to expand into size and distinctness like the image in a phantasmagoria. They •sould not take any car for passengers that day as it was a r.ewly constructed engine, and they were only trying ; but it gave one a sensation seeing it whiz past. The next day, c.t ten o'clock, Penrhyn, Edward, Mr. Stanley, and I, set off in the Derby coach and four for the tunnel, which is at the end of the aforesaid railroad — an excavated vault of a mile and a quarter under the town of Liverpool, coming out at the docks. Lord Harrowby and Lord Sandon were just arrived, with Adam Hodgson, one of the directors of the said tunnel, Scoresby of the Arctic Regions, James Hornby — altogether about twenty of us. We went first to see the carriages in preparation for the railroad. I had no idea it was all in such a state of forwardness. They 282 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. are like the omnibus, a coach with a chariot at each end, some fit for twenty, some for thirty passengers ; also cradles for pigs, cattle, and goods ; and platforms with railroad wheels, upon which you may drive your carriage and horses as into a steamboat, stand still, and be transplanted as upon the fairy carpet for thirty miles while your horses are baiting, ready to drive off and take you on, and making a ferry of it ! They are now thinking of continuing the tunnel under the Mersey, so as to supersede the real ferry altogether to Seacumbe. This seen, we got into a kind of German post-waggon — all twenty- — a horse cantered with us up the little tunnel as they call it, and then was taken off, and we were launched into the great tunnel, a vaulted passage lighted with lamps suspended from the centre ; a slight push sent us off, and away we started at the rate of thirty miles an hour, our speed increasing as we went on, perceptible only from the strong current of air, and the passing the lamps so rapidly. I never felt so strange, so much in a state of magic, of enchantment, as if surrounded by new powers and capabilities. In less than three minutes from having entered the tunnel in the country, we came ou*; on the other side of Liverpool at the docks. The first effect of daylight was beautiful, and of finding ourselves we did not know where, after the rapid motion, bewildering. We got into our coach again grumbling at Macadam roads, and the Derby pace of ten miles an hour — Edward lament- ing his hard fate at being fifty years old at the beginning of such things, Mr. Stanley amusing in his speculations as to the effect of these things in various directions. I tell you all this because you in the South must be in a state of com- parative behindness and darkness, and you will hardly believe, as I did not, what is doing till I had seen it. I dare say Augustus will like to know it all. Alas ! at this moment you have not him to turn to — not that I pity WEST WOODHAY. 283 you one bit. I do enjoy complete solitude and freedom so much myself, that, though you have a great privation to set against it, I am sure you have a sister feeling about it." M. H. to C. S. " Oct. 1829. — You must have one more letter from Wood- hay. At this moment the waggon is loaded with our twenty- seven boxes, and is to start early to-morrow, and Mary goes off by coach to get to Alton a day before us. She has taken all the trouble, thought of everything, and is quite what E. S. would call a brave femme — her spirits rise with the occasion. " I shall feel as if we were married again, or rather that we really belong to each other, when we are in our own house. Good-bye, dearest K., I wish you could see how very happy I am. That 2nd of June was a blessed day 1" HOME PORTRAITURE. "Nature has perfections, in order to show that she is the faeage of God ; and defects, in order to show that she is only His image." — Pascax. 'T'HE New College living of Alton -Barnes which Augustus Hare had accepted was perhaps the most primitive village in Wiltshire. Completely isolated in the great treeless plain of corn which occupies the Vale of Pewsey, its few whitewashed mud cottages, their roofs thatched with straw and sheltered by large elm-trees, are grouped around an oasis of two or three green meadows, in one of which stands the tiny towerless church of Alton- Barnes, or more properly Alton-Berners, from St. Bernard ; and in the field adjoining the more imposing but still very small church of Alton-Priors, which derives its name from a small monastic institution, of which no relics exist, except the brass of a nun in its pavement, and the name of " The Priory " by which a rather better class of cottage close by is dignified. An antiquarian might find much to interest him in the peculiarities of the surrounding country. The extreme openness of the Wiltshire down d strict causes the ancient HOME PORTRAITURE. 285 Saxon landmarks to be more visible than in any othci county in England. For instance, in the parish of Stanton, which adjoins Alton, all the boundaries mentioned in Domesday Book are still visible ; such as, an immense thorn-tree of absolutely immemorial age, on the exact spot where " Anna's Thorn " is mentioned ; Anna's Crumble, a crumble being a small round pool for beasts to drink out of; and Anna's Well — all these names re erring to the saint under whose protection the village was placed. It is interesting, in reference to these ancient boundaries, to read the charter which mentions them to any old shep- herd, and tell him to stop you if he hears any name he knows ; and this is the best means of verifying them. The name Alton is Saxon — Ea-wal-ton, " the place of beautiful springs," corrupted to Awltoun, hence to Alton. The place is spelt Awltoun in Domesday Book. There are still five springs in Alton-Priors ; one of them is still called Bradwell, by which name it is mentioned in Domesday Book. The exceeding antiquity of the little church of Alton- Barnes is attested by its flat buttresses, refuting the village tradition that the church was removed to its present site from Shaw, a farm high up on the side of the downs. That which was removed from Shaw, where a chapel certainly existed, was probably the windows of the church, which are of much later date than the rest of the building. The absolute isolation of the place, without any gentle- man's house except the rectory, without any public-house, with scarcely even anything which can be dignified by the name of a village-shop, has preserved in the character of the villagers a simplicity which is most unusual ; and though 286 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. rough and very ignorant, their straightforward, free-spoken, grateful dispositions made them peculiarly susceptible to the kindness they received from their new rector and his wife, and to the interest which they knew that he felt in them. My dear mother has herself left notes referring to her husband's ministerial life, which I will now give in her own words. " An artist in painting a portrait finds he has done little towards effecting his purpose when the features are drawn, and the outline completed. These may be true to the life, and yet the whole character of the face — the man himself ■ — may be wanting. It is a rare thing for a painter to give a likeness that is satisfying to those who have long been familiar with a face, and have been accustomed to see the changes and variations that pass over it as circumstances draw out the inward feeling, to those who have almost lost sight of the outward form in the light that shines forth through it. Now is it less difficult to portray in words the peculiarities and beauties of a living character ? Here and there may be a line of resemblance, here and there a trait recalling him who is departed ; but the whole, the living whole, the source and spring of all the separate acts and words, how can this be manifested ? How can those who knew the original furnish those who did not know hiir. with anything like an adequate conception, or meet tb.. wishes and feelings of those who having known, and loved, and valued the living, desire to have the never-fading recollection in their own minds conveyed to others ? " The beginning of Augustus's ministerial services was at West Woodhay. The three months subsequent to his mar- HOME PORTRAITURE. 287 riage were spent there, and, in the absence of its usual minister, he performed the service of the church. Hitherto an occasional sermon in a friend's church had been the extent of his experience in preaching, and of the people he addressed he had been wholly ignorant. But while at Woodhay, the examination of some candidates for confirma- tion brought to his knowledge a degree of ignorance on the part both of young and old that both astonished and shocked him. It was clear that, when the ground was so little prepared, the seed of the Word read and preached in church, and the services of the Liturgy, could profit little. He threw aside at once the more regular form of sermon to which he had been accustomed, and wrote down as if he had been speaking, and in the plainest words, such simple instruction as seemed adapted to the wants of people un- taught in the first rudiments of Christian faith. This is mentioned here because it was the beginning of that attempt to teach the poor in a way they could understand which he had so earnestly at heart during his stay at Alton, and which, both in his intercourse with his clerical brethren and in his own family, he often loved to dwell upon, ever noting down from the experience of others what- ever seemed likely to effect this great object. Having lived but little in the country, and his attention having been en- grossed by other subjects, he was, from education and habits of life, unacquainted with the character and wants of the poor. The poverty of their minds, their inability to follow a train of reasoning, their prejudices and superstitions, were quite unknown to him. All the usual hindrances to dealing with them, that are commonly ascribed to a 388 MEMORIALS OF A QUII/I LIFE. college life, were his in full force. But there were sonic points arising out of his peculiar character and tastes that lessened the difficulty. One of these was his love of plain and simple Saxon English, his dislike of everything like what is called ' fine writing,' and his study of a rhetorical and forcible manner of expression. To those who look upon learning and scholarship as identical with long words and abstruse thoughts, it seemed a marvel how one whose knowledge lay so much more in books than in men, whose mind was both by nature and culture raised above the com- mon standard, could ' condescend to men of low estate/ and clothe his thoughts in language suited to their capacity. But this mystery found its key in the simplicity which belongs to the substance not the shadow of learning, and in the delight he had ever taken in pure mother-English freed from all the foreign innovations that modern affectation has introduced. The chief means, however, by which the want of experience and knowledge touching the minds am! nabits of the poor was overcome, was the love he felt to- wards all his fellow-creatures, and his sympathy in all their concerns. In earlier days this Christ-like mind had mani- fested itself towards his friends, towards servants, towards all with whom he was brought into contact. It now taught him to talk to his poor parishioners and enter into their interests with the feeling of a father and a friend. This is the feature in his character on which the people of Alton now love most to dwell in recollecting their former minister. " From the circumstances of the place, it necessarily hap> pened that Augustus could not leave his own house to go HOME PORTRAITURE. 2 r 'rj abroad without passing by the cottages of the greater part of his people ; while they, too, were constantly reminded of him and made familiar with his ordinary habits of life by their close neighbourhood. Many, doubtless, have watched his pacings to and fro on the little garden terrace near the house, and felt a grateful love spring up in their hearts as thev thought how often the meditations there indulged were directed to their profit. " Nor did those simple-minded people fail to look on him with reverence when, seated in his study in the midst of his books, they beheld the sources whence he drew so much of knowledge and wisdom as passed their understanding. He had the power of throwing himself out of himself into the feelings and interests of others; nor did he less draw out their sympathies into his own, and make them sharers in his pleasures and his concerns. It was not only the con- descension of a superior to those over whom he was placed, it was far more the mutual interchange of feeling of one who loved to forget the difference of station to which each was called, and to bring forward the brotherly union as members of one family in Christ, children of the same Heavenly Father, in which blessed equality all distinctions are done away. Often would he ask their counsel in matters of which he was ignorant, and call upon their sympathy in his thank- ful rejoicing. His garden, his hay-field, his house, were as it were thrown open to them, as he made them partakers oi his enjoyment, or sought for their assistance in his need. And when any cause of alarm to his property occurred, they showed how fully they had unconsciously imbibed the feel- ing that it was theirs too. In him they found a friend ready VOL. 1. U t<)0 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to listen to all their little grievances, and prompt to remedy them when it was possible to do so. "His exceeding love of justice and hatred of oppression made him energetic in restoring the rights of all who had been in any way injured; while his respect for 'the powers thnt be ' — his child-like submission to authority — prevented his sanctioning for a moment any insubordination of feeling, or undue exaltation of the lower above the higher classes. The attempt to soften the hearts of the farmers to their ser- vants, which he continually laboured to effect, was specially needed in the winter of 1830, when so much of hostility was manifested between the two orders in the riots that took place. He then showed himself foremost in defending the property of his chief farmer in the formidable attack made upon it, and at the risk of his personal safety addressed the rioters to try to avert the destruction they were bent on. Two of the most furious amongst them held their weapons over his head, enraged at his interference with their purpose, and they were withheld from offering him violence only by the timely interposition of a neighbouring farmer, who came up at the moment. In consequence of his thus taking part with the farmers, the rectory was threatened with an attack. Before, however, the threat could be executed, the heads of the mob were taken and the rest dispersed. But though he spared no pains to defend his neighbour and to detect after- wards the unhappy men who had wantonly ravaged his house and maimed his person, when the prisoners were tried at Salisbury and evidence was wanting to convict the chief offender of the full crime he was supposed to be guilty of, he returned home rejoicing ir. the beauty of his country's HOME PORTRAITURE. 29 1 laws, which administered justice so strictly and impartially, and inclined to the side of mercy rather than of punishment. " One instance of the interest he took in the welfare of the lowest of his parishioners occurred in a dispute between a young lad and his master, ending in a slight misdemeanour on the part of the boy, for which he was committed to gaol. Having in vain tried to save him from this punishment, which he thought too severe a one, he sought by every means in his power to turn it to his good, and, both by writing him letters while in prison and visiting him there, to soften his heart, and bring him to a right sense of his duty to God and man. A great change has since taken place in the character of this young man, and he is now as steady and seriously disposed as his anxious friend desired him to become. " It was a favourite saying of his, ' We must get at the souls of the poor through their bodies;' and, in accordance with this principle, his delight in ministering to their tem- poral comfort was extreme. The arrival of a stock of clothing for the poor was an event of such rejoicing that all who were in the house could not help sharing in his joy. The half-starved peasant, in receiving his warm jacket, was less glad at heart in his new possession than he who was thus enabled by God to share his abundance with those who needed it. Often would his heart seem full to over- flowing when, at a feast prepared for the old men and women among his flock, he waited on them himself, and, by by his gentle and loving words, gave a savour to their food which it would otherwise have wanted. It was clearly he who felt the debt of gratitude to be the greatest in being 292 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. permitted to give to the least of his brethren in his Master's name. But the lively interest lie took in all theii worldly concerns was shown most fully when visiting the allotments which he had portioned out to each cottager from off the glebe. His delight, as ne collected these his tenants round him by his kitchen fire, and consulted their respective in- clinations and powers of cultivating their little plots of ground, according to the size of their families, was very great. Nor did he fail to encourage the industrious and reprove the negligent husbandman, in such a manner as testified how truly their gain and their loss was his also. On many a summer's evening, when the labourer after his day's work repaired to his allotted garden, would his kind friend come and stand by and watch his progress in pre- paring the ground, 01 weeding it, or sowing his seed, and talk over the various crops of potatoes and beans or barley that he hoped to see spring up in it, and this in so friendly and playful a tone as could not fail to win all hearts.* " It may be mentioned, as a proof rather of the prevailing lack of Christian feeling which may truly ' set one mourn- ing,' than of any remarkable instance of consideration on his part, that a labourer who had been allowed to leave his work and was sent home to attend his mother's dying-bed, without deducting the wages due to him had he continued * Another method by which Augustus Hare materially assisted his people was keeping a shop, in which he sold at two-thirds of the cost price all kinds of clothing and materials of clothing.. The shop was held in the rectory-barn once ever}- week, when Mrs. Hare attended and measured out the flannels, fustian, &c. No amelioration of theil condition was ever more valued by the people of Alton than this. HOME PORTRAITURE. 293 at work, was so touched by this little attention to his feelings that he still speaks of it with tears in his eyes. " But though the temporal good and comfort of his people was near Augustus's heart, far nearer was their spiritual wel- fare. On his first coming to Alton the greater part of his hearers were so unaccustomed to listen to instruction or to follow any arguments, that his earnestness in the cause of God was the chief lesson which taught them. It seemed to be the prominent impression on all, whether they understood his teaching or no, whether they were disposed to profit by it or no, 'Mr. Hare does long to save our souls.' The great im- portance he attached to their serving God, and the high standard of Christian life he set before them, were the points that chiefly impressed their minds in the beginning of his ministry among them, and it seemed to awaken in many a sense of their own shortcomings in godliness. As he became more intimate with the capacities and wants of his people, and still more in proportion as his own spiritual feelings became fresher and purer from increased experience of the truths he had to declare, his teaching became more adapted to the congregation before him. Human reasonings gave way to simpler and more spiritual appeals to the hearts of his hearers, and the people were themselves alive to the change, and observed, ' how our minister does grow] and that ' he went more and more on in the Scriptures.' " It was in the winter of 1S30, that, finding how ignorant they were of the meaning of what they heard in church, he began assembling the men of both parishes once a week in a barn adjoining the rectory. One of the Gospels, or the Acts, was. then, gons through, and explained in a familiar 394 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. way, illustrated so as to bring it home to their comprehen« sion, beginning and ending with a short prayer. Many expressed the benefit they derived from this mode of teaching, and the additional interest it gave in all they heard in church, and the attendance there was much in- creased from that time. He took great delight in thus drawing them around him, and in the opportunity it afforded of speaking to them more familiarly and directly than the usual services admitted of. Any little events that had occurred in the parish, any misbehaviour or misunder- standing, might then be commented on or set right. It was one of his constant practices to seize on any passing cir- cumstance, and turn it to profitable account. A few words thus spoken in season, how good are they ! More especially while standing over the grave of one newly committed to the dust, would he address the mourners around with suitable words of warning and consolation, and, while he bid them not sorrow as those without hope, exhort them to lose no time in seeking Him who is the Resurrection and the Life, that when they too must lie down in the grave they might lose their life only to find it. On hearing of the death of a man whose sick-bed he had seldom quitted for some days, he hastened to the cottage without loss of time — ' Perhaps in the first moments of their affliction I may be able to say something to the mother and her children that may touch their hearts/ and so, collecting them around him, he sought to impress on them the warning which the father's sudden illness and death had spoken to all. " The misconduct of any one that he thought well of was a real grief to him, an 1 he would spare no pains to bring the HOME PORTRAITURE. 295 offender back to tne right path ; and his joy in the slightest sign of amendment was proportionally great. A poor woman once mourning over the ungodly disposition and behaviour of her only son, he cheered her by the story of Monica's prayers for Augustine, and encouraged her to pray and not faint, in the hope that God would hear her prayers and be pleased to turn his heart. Any surly or ungracious behaviour towards himself was at all times a stimulus to show a more than usual degree of loving-kind- ness, and to endeavour by continuance in courteous words and deeds to subdue the unkindly and harsh feeling. In a road along which he frequently passed there was a work- man employed in its repair, who met his gentle questions and observations with gruff answers and sour looks. But as day after day the persevering mildness of his words and manner still continued, the rugged features of the man gave way, and his tone assumed a far softer character. " The one pattern ever before his eyes was his Lord and Master Jesus Christ ; the first question he asked himself, '- What would Jesus Christ have me to do ? What would He have done in my place ? ' Receiving once an almost insulting letter from a person to whom he had shown great kindness, he sat down immediately to answer it ; and when the extreme mildness of the reply was objected to, as addressed to one undeserving of such forbearance and meriting rather a rebuke, his answer was, ' I am not aware tnat I deserve better treatment than my master J ?sus Christ, and He was dealt with more roughly than I am,' or words to this effect. " On all Saints-Days, and on Wednesdays and Fridays in *o6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE Lent, sen ice was performed in church at such an hour as might best suit the habits of the labouring poor; and by shortening the number of prayers, it was brought within the limits of time they could devote to such a purpose — between their return home for dinner, at eleven o'clock, and the going back to their work. Those who could not attend, he exhorted at the sound of the church-bell to follow George Herbert's rule, and, while in the field, to worship their God in heart and mind. On these occasions he was wont to explain the epistle or gospel, and in a few words to give such instruction as the time admitted of; and his people often said they learnt much at such seasons. In the last year of his stay at Alton, he also adopted the plan on a Sunday of commenting on the Old Testament lesson in the morning service, as there was then commonly no sermon except in the afternoon ; and this exposition he used to call ' Postilling.' " From his first coming to Alton-Barnes, it was an earnest wish of his heart to do something for the neglected people of Alton-Priors, who were as sheep having no shepherd. Once in three weeks only did a clergyman from a distance come to perform service in the church, and in the intermediate time no notice whatever was taken of any of the parishioners. His desire was to have had the church of Alton-Priors, which was very much out of repair, and the larger of the two, fitted up so as to hold the joint congrega- tions of the two villages, and to have had the two parishes united in one. But this could not be effected without the concurrence of the proprietor, and the passing of an Act of Parliament for the purpose. He therefore performed the HOME PORTRAITURE. 297 duty alternately, morning and evening, in the two crunches, the same congregation attending in both j and finding the. church in Alton-Barnes too small to contain the additional number who attended from Alton-Priors, he had the arch communicating with the chancel considerably widened, so as to give space for additional pews, and admit those who sate in the chancel to hear and see, from which they were before shut out. For the equality shown to the inhabitants of both parishes, in this and other respects, they ever expressed the most grateful feeling. " In the vale of Pewsey the parishes are nearly all small and closely adjoining each other, and as every church has its own minister, the number of clergy is proportionally great. It seemed desirable that these clerical brethren should form some closer bond of union than the common mode of visiting presented, and meet together more ex- pressly for purposes connected with their calling. He therefore united with his brother clergy in forming a clerical society, one object which he felt to be specially needed being the removal of prejudices and lessening of party feeling in the minds of all towards each other, and the enabling those who were young in their profession to benefit by the experience of their elders. Many difficulties arose from the difference of opinion that prevailed among the members as to the propriety of beginning their meetings with prayer, and as to the nature of that preparatory prayer. The High Churchmen were strongly prejudiced against any use of prayer on such occasions, from a notion of its like- ness to dissenting societies ; the zealous Evangelicals urged the advantages of extempore prayer as fitted for the peculiar 298 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. circumstances of the time or place, and they resolutely refused to agree in the formation of any society lor clerical purposes that did not adopt some form of worship at its beginning. The middle course that Augustus took was to propose the selection of suitable prayers out of the Liturgy, alleging that they might in this way approach as nearly as the spirit of the times would admit of to the habits of the olden times, when divine service used daily to be performed in the church. After much discussion, and the lap.;e of a year, in which all parties drew nearer together, the society was formed, chiefly through his instrumentality, upon the plan he had suggested, and it has since continued in brotherly harmony. On this and other occasions Augustus would often say his was ' Halfway House.' There were few things which made him more angry than to hear people use the expression of 'going too far' when applied to reli- gion. ' Too far I when shall we go too far in serving and loving God, in being made like Christ?' Disliking all illiberally of feeling, he was more particularly annoyed by it when expressed towards those who, acting from religious motives or scruples, differed in opinion or manner of life from others. In such cases above all others he thought the motive hallowed the act so far as to entitle it to be regarded with respect and permitted in charity, even if not altogether consistent with the strictest judgment and most enlightened wisdom. " In earlier years he had been ever forward to assert the cause of truth, and fight manfully under its banner when- ever he thought it was opposed ; nor was he slow to wield his sword for liberty or justice. In truth, he seamed to le HOME PORTRAITURE. 299 the champion of righteousness under every form, and in society was consequently often engaged in discussion and argument. From the active spring of his own mind he was usually foremost in stirring up conversation in others, and drawing out their thoughts by the vigour of his own. But latterly he became much more reserved and silent in society. This arose partly from an increasing dislike to anything like controversy, and from the consciousness of how much his own opinions differed from others. On subjects both of religion and politics, there was in the prevailing mind of the age, so much in the one of party feeling and sectarian spirit, and in the other so little of enlarged and sound wisdom looking beyond the expediency of the present moment and temporal good, that he found it difficult to sympathise in the views of many whom he respected. " While, however, he censured the error of others, he was sure to spare and excuse the holder of it. In points of personal conduct, too, he had the rare faculty of hating the sin and loving the sinner. His charity and liberality ot mind was not the kind-hearted easiness of a naturally sweet disposition, reluctant to find fault and tolerant of evil. In him a severe love of truth and uprightness, a hatred of all iniquity, was blended closely with his feeling of kindness and fear of giving pain. An instance of cruelty, of oppres- sion, or of falsehood, would make a change pass over his countenance ; his whole soul seemed to revolt at the mention of any unkindness or ungodliness ; and if in any case an op- poitunity occurred where he could hope to convince anyone of the evil of his way, no false delicacy to the person con- cerned, nor indulgence to his own feelings, hinder xl him MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. from speaking the whole truth. He was ready to administer the stern rebuke no less than the gentle encouragement at his Master's call. But, in speaking about others, the smallest spark of /good was observed and dwelt upon, while every contrary principle that was manifested would be passed over in silence. Even in speaking of those with whom he was most nearly connected, not a word of blame would ever pass his lips. Any extenuation of misconduct that could be urged, any allowances thai could be made, were brought forward, and it was often only by the joy he expressed at the slightest sign of improvement, that it could be known how much he had ielt its need, and how earnestly he had desired it 'Not more than others I deserve, Yet God hath given me more,' were words that expressed not only his feelings on one particular occasion, but the prevailing disposition of his mind. Continual expressions of thankfulness would burst from his lips, not as mere words denoting, as they often do, only a feeling of satisfaction in the blessings he was enjoy- ing, but they were the outpourings of a heart full of thankful love to Him who bestowed the blessings, to the Giver not only of the great gifts, but of every little daily comfort of life ; and this, his gratitude, sprang up from the deepest sense of his own unworthiness of such mercies. " Perfect contentedness with what was appointed for him, and deep thankfulness for all the good things given him, marked his whole being. In deciding what should be done, or where he should go, or how he should act, the question of how far it might suit his own convenience, or be agree- HOME PORTRAITURE. 30* able to his own feelings, was kept entirely in the background till all other claims were satisfied. It was not apparently at the dictate of duty and reason that these thoughts were sup- pressed and made secondary ; it seemed to be the first, the natural feeling in him, to seek first the things of others and to do the will of God, and to look at his own interest in the matter as having comparatively nothing to do with it. And so great a dread had he of being led to any selfish or interested views, that he would find consolation in having no family to include in the consideration— ' Had I had children I might have fancied it an excuse for worldly- mindedness and covetousness.' His children truly were his fellow-men, those who were partakers of the same flesh a id blood, redeemed by the same Saviour, heirs of the same heavenly inheritance. For them he was willing to spend and be spent, for them he was covetotis of all the good that might be obtained. A friend, on looking over his account- book, and seeing how comparatively large an amount of his expenditure had been directed to the benefit of others, suggested that one head of his yearly summary should be entitled ■ Public Spirit.' He was never weary in well-doing, never thought he had done enough, never feared doing too much. Those small things, which by so many are esteemed as unnecessary, as not worth wliile, these were the very things he took care not to leave undone. It was not rendering a service when it came in his way, when it occurred in the natural course of things that he should do it ; it was going cut of the way to help others, taking every degree of trouble and incurring personal inconvenience for the sake of doing good, of giving pleasure even in slight things, that di& 302 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. r tinguished his benevolent activity from the common forms of it. The love that dwelt in him was ready to be poured forth on whomsoever needed it, and, being a free-will offering, it looked for no return, and felt no obligation conferred. " In society he did not choose out the persons most con- genial to his own tastes to converse with. If there was any one more dull and uninviting than others, he would direct his attention to that one, and while he raised the tone of conversation by leading such persons to subjects of interest, it was done in so gentle, so unobtrusive a manner, that it seemed as if the good came from them, and instead of being repelled and disheartened by his superior know- ledge, they would feel encouraged at finding they were less ignorant than they had supposed themselves to be. How often has the stiffness, the restraint of a small party been dispelled by the loving manner and words with which he would seem to draw all together, and endeavour to elicit the good in all ; and though by nature excitable, and there- fore dependent on outward circumstances more than many, there was ever an inward spring of active thought which made his conversation quite as lively and energetic, when alone with his family, as when called into play by the exertion of entertaining guests. Yet, although he enjoyed society, he liked to be often alone — he liked to walk alone, to be in his study alone. There seemed to be greater freedom for his mind when thus without companions, and he would utter aloud what was passing in his mind, or the words he was composing for his sermons.'* The portrait which the loving wife began to paint breaks HOME PORTRAITURE. 303 off here, is left unfinished, and as it was left by her hands, so must it remain ; no one co aid venture to retouch it. Only a mile from Alton, separated from it by the vast undulation of treeless corn-fields, another little village called Stanton clusters around its church and a few elm-fringed meadows. Hither, soon after the Hares were settled at Alton, George Majendie came as rector, and the two clergy- men were soon united in the closest and most affectionate intimacy. Scarcely a day passed without their meeting. " When I came to reside in Wiltshire," wrote Mi Majendie several years after, " I found that Mr. Hare was my nearest clerical neighbour. I was not at that time personally acquainted with him, but I had known his cha- racter at Oxford as a man of talent and of considerable literary acquirements. I soon became intimate with him, and then found that he was not only an accomplished scholar, but that his heart was in his work as a minister of Christ, and that he had truly devoted his life to the care of ' those few sheep in the wilderness ' to whom he had been sent as a shepherd. Like George Herbert, he ' knew the ways of learning, but declined them for the service of his master Jesus.' He was not only ready to do good to the poor around him on Christian principle, but he seemed to identify himself with them, to study their characters, to enter into their feelings — literally, ' to weep with those that wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced.' I have often heard him express his admiration of the strength and fulness of their homely phrases, some of which he loved to intro- duce into his sermons. " I shall never forget his appearance at the iectures he 304 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. used to give to poor men on Wednesday evenings. The place was a small bam on his own premises, and the many holes in the boarding, but ill covered with sackcloth, ad- mitted the cold air freely. There was a long table reaching from one end of the room to the other, and on each side of the table sat the smock-frocked audience, most of them old men, each of those that could read with his Bible before him. Mr. Mare himself stood at the head of the table, to distribute to them the bread of life. His great coat was closely buttoned up to the chin, and a large woollen wrapper covered him up to the lower lip. His tall figure was erect, his expressive countenance full of animation — his face and figure were not unlike those of Mr. Pitt. A drawing-room lamp, strangely in contrast with the scene, shed a strong light upon the wrinkled and weather-beaten faces of the vdlagers. " When Augustus Hare heard of any kind or noble action performed by another person, 1 have seen him suddenly start up from his chair, with a strong exclamation of delight uttered in his shrill tone, and hurriedly pace the room, rubbing his hands with glee. He really felt ' a luxury in doing good.' I remember being present at a supper which he gave to some old men in the barn already mentioned, where he assisted in waiting on the poor people, evidently enjoying the repast more than those who partook of it ; and when the entertainment was over, and he returned to his own fireside, his first act was to run up to Mrs. Hare and kiss her, with an ecstasy of benevolence too big to be repressed. " He seemed always to think all others better than hinv HOME PORTRAITURE 305 self. One day I heard him speaking of one of the pooj men of his parish, and I asked whether he was a good man. " Oh yes, ha is a good man, a much better man than I am.' On another occasion I remember his saying, ' What we can do for God is little or nothing; but we must do our Utile tio/Jiings for his glory.' " His whole religion was full of affection. He was not a mere orthodox divine, denning with the closest precision the doctrines which he taught, but every doctrine was mixed up in his soul with love — with love to God and man. It may be said of his creed — ' Of hope, and virtue, and affection full.' I well remember one day his laying his hand upon his Bible, and saying, with an indescribable look of reverence and delight, 'Oh, this dear book !' On another occasion he spoke of it as, 'God's great Medicine Book, full of recipes for every spiritual malady.'" After Augustus Hare was taken from among his people, one of the residents in Alton-Priors wrote : " I can truly say that the glimpse of his figure approaching our home made my heart leap with joy, and never did he leave it without impressing some valuable truth on my mind. Living too, as I did, m a parish not his own, but one to which he voluntarily and g r atuitously gave a pastor's care and superintendence, I felt doubly grateful both in my own behalf and that of my fellow-parishioners ; and well do I remember on one occa- sion, when sitting alone with him in his study, the striking answer he mide to my expression of thanks for his kind- ness in coming daily into our parish to spend an hour by voi„ 1 x 306 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. the sick-bed of Charles Gale, a poor man, who I believe, through his instrumentality, to have diet! in peace with God through Christ : 'God has given me an abundance,' he said, 'of which I describe nothing, and doubtless for wise reasons has withheld from me the blessing of children; and if I never crossed that little brook which separates what you call your parish from my parish, I think it very likely that Jesus Christ would say to me in the Last Day, jw/ do not belong to my parish? ° Amongst others, I believe that he was the first instru- ment under God in awakening serious thoughts for her soul in Jane Jennings. She told me that that which first made her feel a sorrow for sin was a sermon which he preached in Alton-Priors Church. She said, ' I was standing by the door, and as he was earnestly asking us what we came to church for — whether we prayed with our hearts, whether we prayed at home and with our families — I felt as I had never done before, and when I went home, where I never prayed at all, I told our folks I was sure we were living in a very different way to what we ought to live and that it cut me to the heart to see our minister labouring so much to teach us, and that we paid no attention to his words.' And then she added, ' You cannot think how anxiously I looked through the sermon-books afterwards, to see if that sermon was amongst them, and when I found it I was so very glad.' She also told me that soon after this Mr. Hare made a rule that before the baptism of any child its parents should go to him for advice and instruction, and it so happened that Jane and her husband were the first summoned for this purpose. She said she had never before dreaded anything so much in her life, having been told by her neighbours she HOME PORTRAITURE. 307 would be puzzled with hard questions. Her minister saw by her trembling how frightened she was, and, as he kindly put a chair for her in the study, said, ' Don't be frightened, or think I keep a large dog to bark and jump out at you.' But his words afterwards made too deep an impression ever to be forgotten, for, turning to the parents, he said with much solemnity, ' Do you wish your child to become an angel in heaven, or a devil in hettV 'If I were going to give your child a large present in money, say twenty pounds perhaps, you would be ready and willing to thank me ; how much more then should you thank God for allowing you to bring your child to the font at baptism, where He promises to give him his Holy Spirit, and make him happy for ever, if you will only heartily and earnestly pray for his blessing ? ' After these words (which first awakened in the mother's heart that feeling of responsibility she now so largely pos- sesses for her children) he knelt down with them, earnestly praying both for them and their child, and Jane said to me, ' God knows, and at the Last Day I shall know too, but I always think that prayer was answered, for none of my other six children ever asked me the questions which this little boy does — for always, when I have him alone with me, he begins talking of Jesus, and asking what he must do to please Him, and when he can go to see Him.' " When Prudence Tasker, who had been one of the first received into his newly-formed Sunday-school, was seized with violent illness, how tenderly did Mr. Hare daily visit her dying-bed, obtaining for her the advice of an eminent physician in addition to that of the village doctor, often him- self administering her medicines, applying her leeches him- 5^3 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. self, and trying to overcome the repugnance she felt to bleeding by telling her it was her ' pastor' who desired it; and how often since have her parents dwelt upon the prayers which he offered up in that little chamber of death ! " I remember David King telling me once that nothing ever ' ad' him so much as the words which Mr. Hare preached after his recovery from illness, and that once while working in his garden, his minister, whilst talking to him, in order to illustrate the wonderful love of Christ in taking man's fallen nature upon him, asked David how he should like to become a toad, convincing him thereby that however loathsome such a change would be to him, yet it was nothing compared to that which the Son of God under- went when He laid aside his glory." Augustus Hare was perhaps the first village preacher (there have been many since) who did not scruple in his sermons to speak to his people in the familiar language of ordinary life, and who made use of apt illustrations drawn from the simple surroundings in which his people lived. It is probably from this connection with outward and tangible things that so many of his words still live in the memories of his congregation as vividly as when they were spoken. The following are instances of this practical teaching : — " The road of life is not a turnpike road. It is a path which every one must find out for himself, by the help of such directions as God has given us ; and there are so many ether paths crossing the true one in all quarters, and the wrong paths are so well beaten, and the true path in places is so faintly marked, so many persons too are always going HOME rORTKAlTURE, 309 the wrong way, and so few are walking straight along the right, that between the number of paths to puzzle him, and the number of wrong examples to lead him astray, a man, if he does not take continual heed, is in great danger of turn- ing into a wrong path, almost without perceiving it. You know how hard it is for a stranger to find his way over the downs, especially if the evening is dark and foggy. Yet there the man is at liberty to make out the path as well as he can. No one tries to mislead him. But in the paths of life there are always plenty of companions at work to mis- lead the Christian, to say nothing of his own evil passions and appetites, which all pull him out of the way. One neighbour says to him, ' Take this road ; it is almost as straight as the other, and much pleasanter.' Another says, ' Take this road ; it is a short cut, and will save you a world of trouble.' A third says, ' Walk part of the way with us for company's sake ; you cannot be far wrong if you keep with us ; at worst, it is only crossing back into your narrow lonely path if you don't like our way after trying it.' A fourth cries to him, ' What makes you so particular ? Do you fancy you know the road to heaven better than any- body else ? We are all going there, we hope, as well as you, though we no not make such a fuss about it.' Is it a wonder that, with so many bad advisers and bad examples to turn him astray, with so many wrong paths to puzzle him, with so many evil passions as man has naturally pulling him out of the straight and narrow path — is it a wonder, I say, that, with all these things to lead them wrong, men should so often go wrong ? It is no wonder ; nay, were it not that God's Word is a lantern to our feet and a light to our path — were it not for the Spirit of God crying to us, ' This is the right way,' when we turn aside to the right hand or tc the left — we should all of us go wrong always." 310 MEMORIALS OF A QUIKT LIFE. " If a man had to receive a legacy by going to Bristol, what good would it do him to set out on his way thither unless he went all the way? Would he get anything by going as far as Melksham, or even as far as Bath, unless he went still further? The legacy is to be paid at Bristol and nowhere else; and if the man is lazy or fickle enough to stop before he gets to Bristol, not a sixpence of it will he receive. Therefore we must persevere unto the journey's end if we would have a share in Christ's great legacy." " Has the increase of godliness amongst us kept pace with the increase of our Bibles ? Are we as much better as we ought to be with our more abundant means? Has the fresh seed scattered over the land produced a proportionate increase in the harvest? These are very important ques- tions. For if the Lord of the farm, if the great Sower does not see the promise of a crop in some measure answering to the good seed He has bestowed on the land, He will be sure to ask, 'Why is this? Did I not sow good seed in the fields of England ? Then how come they to be so full of tares, so full of thistles, so full of poppies? How is it that in some parts of the farm I even see the foxglove and the deadly nightshade ? Useless weeds, gaudy weeds, weeds that overrun the ground, even poisonous weeds, I see in it. But I see not the plenty of good wheat which I ought to find, and which alone can be stored in my barn. Why has the crop failed so shamefully?"' " How often do we see the sinner, perched on the dung- hill of his vices, clapping his wings in self-applause, and fancying himself a much grander creature than the poor Christian, who all the while is soaring on high like a lark, and mounting on his way to heaven?" HOME PORTRAITURE. 31I " The great plenty of Bibles and Testaments which God has given us in this land makes us, I fear, more neglectful than we ought to be of our Prayer-books, especially of that part of the Prayer-book which contains the Epistles and Gospels. Now this is just the same kind of mistake as if a man, because he had turnips and potatoes in his fields, were to neglect sowing any in his garden. The turnips and potatoes raised in gardens are generally of a choicer kind. So it is with the little portions of the Epistles and Gospels which are selected to be read in the Communion Service. They are like so many choice plants culled out of the New Testament for some useful lesson of doctrine or practice." " Do not think it enough if you learn to spell, and t; read, and to say the words of Scripture, but seek to learr. the truths of Scripture. Do as the bees do. A bee, when it sees a flower, does not fly round and round it, and sip it, and then off again, like the foolish, idle butterflies ; it settles on the flower and sucks the honey out of it. So should you when you come to one of the beautiful parables which Jesus spake, or to one of the miracles which Jesus did ; you should do as the bees do — you should settle your thoughts on what you read, and try to suck the honey out of it. But why do I speak of the parables and miracles ? Almost every verse of the New Testament has its honey. Almost every verse contains a spiritual truth fit to nourish some soul or other." " You can no more see a Christian grow than you can see the corn grow. But you can all see whether it has grown by comparing it with what it was twc months back. So may you discover whether you have advanced in grace." 312 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LITE. u Everything which God has set apart in any way for his own and put his mark on. everything which in any way be- longs more particularly to Him — His word, His ordinances, His house, His people — are things which God has cleansed, therefore we must not call them common. He has set them apart for his own service ; He has fenced them oft", as it were, from the waste of the world, and has enclosed them for His own use. Hence there is the same sort of difference be- tween them and all merely worldly and common things as there is between a garden and Salisbury Plain. No one who knows how to behave himself would bring a horse into a garden, or walk over the strawberry beds, or trample down the flowers. But in riding from here to Salisbury everybody would feel himself at liberty, while crossing the downs, to gallop over the turf at pleasure. Well, the same difference which there is between common down and a cultivated garden, the same is there also between worldly days, worldly books, worldly names, worldly people, and God's day, God's book, God's name, and God's people. The former are common, and may be treated as such : the latter are not common, because God has taken them to Himself, and brought them within the limits of his sanctuary, and thrown the safeguard of His holiness around them." " Many of you can lift a sack of wheat, and can carry it some little way. But think of being condemned to walk from here to Devizes, or rather from here to Bath, with a sack of wheat on your shoulders every day for a month together. How soon would the stoutest man among you break down under such a load ! He might contrive to stagger on a little way, but his strength before long would fail him, and if he did not drop his load it would crush him. Now sin — when a man is in his right senses, when he knows / HOME PORTRAITURE. 313 whither he ought to be going — is a weight on the soul, and presses it down, just as a weight on the back presses down the body." " The religion of Jesus Christ is altogether a practical thing. Just consider how we are taught anything else that is practical. It is not by hearing or reading about making shoes that a man becomes a shoemaker, but by trying to make them." "The means, the exercises appointed by our Saviour whereby we are to become holy and godly, are His sacra- ments, prayers — public and private — and the reading and teaching of His holy word. Still the means are not the end ; the road which leads to London is not London." Nothing seems a more suitable close to this chapter of general reminiscences of Augustus Hare's life at his beloved Alton than the following note, written Feb. 19, 1832, by one who was afterwards his sister-in-law, L. A. H. : — " I am just come up to bed, dearest Mia, and it comes into my mind to copy for you first a passage I met with in a sermon of Jeremy Taylor's. Every Sunday evening I settle myself in a corner, with a book, trying to shut my eyes to all without. Often comes a short digression, during which I am fancying all you and the Aug. are doing. I hear you sing the evening hymn, kneel with you to prayers, end with praying God to bless you both, and then return my attention to the book. This evening I met with the following passage, and send it you privately, thinking that you may perhaps find as good a likeness for it in somebody living as in the worthy knight. Sir G. Dalstone : — v 314 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " ' For God was pleased to invest him with a marvellous sweet nature, which is certainly to be reckoned as one half of the grace of God, because a good nature, being the relics and remains of that shipwreck which Adam made, is the proper and immediate disposition to holiness, as the corrup- tion of Adam was to disobedience and peevish counsels. A good nature will not upbraid the more imperfect person, will not deride the ignorant, will not reproach the erring man, will not smite sinners on the face, will not despise the penitent. A good nature is apt to forgive injuries, to pity the miserable, to rescue the oppressed, to make every one's condition as tolerable as he car., and so would he ; for as when good-nature is heightened by the grace of God, that which was natural becomes now spiritual, so these actions which were pleasing and useful to men, when they derive from a new principle of grace, they become pleasant in the eyes of God— then obedience to the laws is Duty to God. Justice is Righteousness, Bounty becomes Graciousness, ar d Alms is Charity.' M VIII. TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. a The happiest periods of history are not those of which Tre hear the most : in the same manner as in the little world of man's soul, the most saintly spirits are often existing in those who have never distinguished themselves as authors, or left any memorial of themselves to be the theme of the world's talk, but who have led an interior angelic life, having bome their sweet blossoms unseen, like the young lily in a seques- tered vale, on the banks of a limpid stream." — Broad-stone of Honour. M. H. to C. S. " ALTON-BARNES, Oct. 15, 1829.— Are you not ira- patient to hear of our first beginning? We dined at Woodhay at one o'clock, and left it immediately afterwards, not without some regret after the many happy days we have spent there. At half-past five we landed at our own door, where Mary's smiling face was ready to greet us. You have already, I dare say, anticipated what I am about to say — that we found ourselves less uncomfortable than we expected. The carpets were laid down, the beds put up, though, to be sure, there were neither bolsters nor pillows, and there was a strong smell of paint ; but we took refuge in the drawing- room, where it does not penetrate, and with the one table and couple of chairs Miss Crowe left us, we managed very well. These, with the piano, were our sole stock of fur- niture till to-day, when the arrival of fourteen packages hai 316 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. given us a day's hard work in the barn, the result of which is, that I am sitting in as comfortable a drawing-room as I could wish to see or sit in. "To-day has been beautiful, and before we began our morning's work we took an exploring walk, and after wading through a bed of mortar we did get to a dry walk up the downs. Our great object is always where to find a place tolerably dry for our walks, and our first errand to Devizes has been to beg the shoemaker to come and measure us for waterproof shoes. In spite, however, of its wet, Alton looks very pretty — the tints of the trees so rich, with the back- ground of the hills— and the creepers in front of the house cluster in at the windows quite after my heart's desire. There are many little reforms wanted in the way of making bells ring and windows shut ; but we shall not do anything beyond these needful things at present. Our gardener's name is Gideon, and his dress a brown fur cap, a short drab jacket, and blue plush breeches reaching half-way down his legs. He and all the people here talk such a dialect I can hardly understand them. I do so much enjoy the un- interrupted quiet, and it seems as if, in fact, we were now for the first time really married. How little difference much or little money makes except in the scale of things in a small house ; we are so much more amply supplied with common comforts than many people are in large ones." " Oct. 20. — A week has done wonders. The bellhangers have put in order all the bells and locks, chimney-sweepers have done their work, and a carpenter has filled up the holes and crevices in floors p^nd wainscoting which let in so much air. You are quite right in not wasting any com- passion upon me ; in short, could you see me in the evening reading Coleridge's ' Friend ' with Augustus, or playing to amuse him, or watch us reading over some of his old letu rs, you would not think we were much harassed by business. TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 317 We have made some acquaintance in the parish ; but the cottages are so low that I fully expect every time that Augustus will break his head against the beams. A school is a mitter of great difficulty. Not a person can we find either here or in Great Alton, as they call Alton-Priors, who seems fit to teach a school, and the way in which the great girls last Sunday attempted merely a spelling-book lesson was lamentable. However, they are all eager to belong to ' Mrs. Hare's school,' and, I dare say, we shall contrive something for them. On Sunday, as there is only one church-service, it leaves a long time for them ; but the boys even on that day are out ' shepherding.' " We never think or speak of the will, or anything con- cerning it. We have such delightful days ; we go up ' Old Adam ' daily, the view is so beautiful, the air so bracing. We shall have ten times more pleasure in seeing things grow before our eyes into comfort, than if we had found them so. We are going to visit the Miss Hares at Millard's Hill, and I already hear my own laments over leaving Alton." "Millard's Hill, Nov. 5. — My school on Sunday mounted up from three to twenty-three, and some very nice girls, aJid all seeming very happy to be taught; so I had them in the afternoon in the usual church hours, and made the bigger girls teach the little ones their letters. One of them is called Charity Begood. I do not remember any other events before I left our dear little home. I left Mary to super- intend carpet-making and cleaning, &c, and also not to shock the aunts with a notion of my being a fine lady. It is a very pretty drive all the way here, about thirty miles, a delightful house, capitally furnished and thoroughly com- fortable. They were delighted to see us, and withal are so kind-hearted and easy to talk to, that I do not dislike it as I expected. Then they are charmed with me, because I always like what gives least trouble. On Tuesday Aunt 3l8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Marianne took me on horseback to Longleat, a magnificent house and beautiful park. Yesterday we went in their carriage to Frome, where, being a manufactory of cloth, I wished to buy a winter coat; they directly insisted on giving me one of the best cloth. In the evening they hail a party, and in order to induce two of the guests who sang well to join, I sate down to the instrument, and was so nervous I made shocking work; however, they were quite satisfied with my readiness. "Alton, Nov. 12. — You may guess how glad we were to find ourselves back in our own little home, which looked very comfortable. Every day something new arises wanting repair or reform, and if we can weather the storm of all the bills to be paid, we shall do wonders. I suppose we shall manage it ; but it is a near calculation of comings-in and goings-out. How rich we shall seem to be when we have nothing but regular housekeeping going on The days seem to fly so quick. The retirement of Stoke was nothing to this, and the roads are worse than ever. I suppose we shall not be fit company for anybody when we emerge into the world ; having no new book, no paper but a country one, no link with the outer world but the Athe?i(ciim, which, they say, will soon be given up, we shall become quite rusticated. " November 21. — It is always easier to talk to a person when fresh from reading their letter, and so I will begin my letter just when I have enjoyed yours. Many little things which 1 meant to say escape me when there is an accumu- lation of things to tell, and you will have full as much inter- est in what I have to say in the sameness of our present life, as when there were events to record. I suppose many would find it dull ; to me it certainly seems less so than any part of my life ever has been, the difference being that instead of looking on and enduring the present in expecta- TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 319 tion of what is to come, I regret every day as it goes by; but then of course all depends upon the nature of one's companion. Now the activity of mind which Augustus has prevents the stagnation which in us for instance constant living together produces, so that there seems rather an increasing stock for conversation than a lesser one, and he is just as much excited and alive when there is nothing exterior to furnish food for remark as in society. I believe there is a book-club at Devizes, but we do not at all want to have recourse to it, and I certainly prefer the having no such temptation to idle reading at present. The reading a little only of what is good, and that with great attention, is particularly wholesome for me, whose habit has hitherto been so much the contrary, and who from indolence have got into so slovenly a way of understanding things. Our evening's reading, you will be amused to hear, is sometimes Cicero's Orations, in which I look over as r£ translates, and shall get some idea of Latin. Coleridge's ' Friend ' is our general book, however, which is hard to understand occa- sionally, but I like it very much indeed. Then, if we are not in a mood for such serious reading, Lan dor's Dialogues come in, of which I have not heard half yet. Then I make my objections, and he explains. There is some affectation in Landor's style — he leaves a good deal to the imagination to supply — and it requires some attention *to find out the extreme nicety with which, in all the little circumstances, he keeps to the character of the age and speaker. But his words and sentences are beautiful sometimes. When he tells a thing, he keeps so much to what he says of Demos- thenes, that he never dwells upon that which must occur to the reader in consequence of what has already been said ; and this gives great strength to his language, which, with the delicacy of his touches of feeling, I can admire greatly. In the morning one chapter in the New Testament with the 320 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Greek translated literally, and compared, one Gospel with another, with references to commentaries, takes up some time, which, with a walk, reading and talking over letters, lasts us generally till luncheon, and then there are always orders to be given and workmen to be looked after. I have many schemes of improvement in the flower-garden ; and into the kitchen-garden I go with my head full of Mawe — 'Ought not the sea-kale tc be covered up?' — and I feel much ashamed to be obliged to ask the names of spinach, and endive, and celery, and to be told this is not the time when such things can be had. We persevere in going up the hill, a work really not of slight difficulty in these frosty days when the ground is so very slippery, and every step covers one's shoes with a galosh of mortar. Many new air- holes for cold wind have been found out in the last few days, and I think, like all small and old houses, we shall find our rectory^ery cold. " We have had several new visitors, and the consequential manners of some of them prepared us doubly to appreciate Colonel Montagu Wroughton and his brother Captain Mon- tagu, who I only hope were as much pleased with us as we were with them. " Dece?nber 5. — At this moment Augustus is writing about God's works having a middle — a point of perfection ; about Jesus Christ being the middle of the world, the tree of life in the midst of the garden. He always puts off his sermon till Saturday, that it may not take up more than its day ; whereas, if he began on Monday, it would go on all the week. He began his visiting of the sick a few evenings ago, when he went out after dinner to read prayers by a sick woman. He durst not tell me till he came back, knowing I should scold, as he had only just recovered from his cold ; but he pleaded that this would have been no reason again s/ going out on the devil's work, and that he TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 321 could not eat his dinner from hearing of her illness,, and thinking that he had not been to her." In December Augustus Hare left his wife and parish for a short time to visit his brother Julius at Cambridge, the great object of his journey being that he might fulfil his aunt's dying wish in persuading his brother to break off his engagement to his cousin, Anna Maria Dashwood, which she had strong reasons for disapproving. These reasons Augustus affectionately and firmly uiged to Julius, and though he received his arguments with great indignation at first, he was eventually convinced of their justice, and the engagement was ultimately broken off, though Julius always continued to be the most faithful and trusted friend of his cousin. How bitter a sacrifice his renunciation of this marriage was to him, is told by his letters written at this time. On that very day he was preaching upon " The Law of Self-Sacrifice," before the University. Here is the grand concluding passage of the sermon : — " We have seen that through every order of beings, in things inanimate and things animate, in the natural and in the spiritual world, in earth and in heaven, the law of self- sacrifice prevails. Everywhere the birdi of the spiritual requires the death of the carnal. Everywhere the husk must drop away, in order that the germ may spring out of it. Everywhere, according to our Lord's declaration, that which would save its life loses it, and that which loses its life preserves it. And the highest glory of the highest life is to be offered up a living sacrifice to God for the sake of our brethren. This is the principle of life, which circulates through the universe, and whereby all things minister to VOL. I. Y 3»a MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. each other, the lowest to the highest, the highest to the lowest. This is the goMen chain of love, whereby the whole creation is bound to the throne of the Creator." M. H. to C. S. "Alton, Dec. 14. — Having just seen my Augustus into a farmer's gig which is to take him to meet the coach (a distance of four and a haifmiles, which they say will take an hour and a half, so you may judge of the kind of roads), 1 must find consolation in writing to you. He is to be away ten days, going on from London to Cambridge to see Julius, and to hear him preach his Commemoration Sermon. My heart is full at parting with him, but I shall find plenty to do, and be very comfortable whilst he is away, and am very glad he should go. It is such a beautiful morning for his drive, and will enable me to chase away every uncom- fortable feeling at letting my tender bird out of its cage by the clear air on Old Adam. " I have had a good deal of talk with Augustus about his ideas on Inspiration. His notion is that in all the mere detail of facts, narrative of events, &c, there is not a verbal inspiration ; for instance, that it required no help of the Spirit to give the names of David's thirty captains, nor does it in the least signify whether one was left out or miscalled ; that in everything that was of the slightest importance to the conveying the knowledge of God — his scheme respect- ing men, precepts, doctrines — there the Spirit dictated, and as such we must receive it ; but the mere historical detail he thinks cannot, with all its variations and inconsistencies, be dwelt upon as every word inspired by God without incurring the difficulties which this over demand on people's belief so often creates. In the Gospels, St. Matthew mentions two blind men, St. Mark one ; this proves they were not copied one from the other; but if verbal accuracy is required, TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 323 as it must be if inspired verbally, here would be a difficulty. In the Christian revelation more especially, which is in this peculiarity distinguished from the Jewish, he thinks the spirit and not the letter should be attended to throughout. By prayer, by singleness of heart, he thinks that he who does the Will will never fail to know of the Doctrine, and to distinguish between what may be rested on with faith and what may be deemed unimportant, but which being made too prominent may become a stumbling-block. I have not time to enter further into this argument, or into another we had yesterday about the heathen philosophers — how far the truth was revealed to them indirectly through communica- tion with the Jews, and how far the expression ' God has not left Himself without a witness ' may in a spiritual sense refer to them — how their theories, without a better founda- tion, fell to atheism amongst the Romans, till religion rose again with a reviving power in Christianity. " In his sermon yesterday Augustus told a story about fourteen children who were poisoned from eating herbs at Luneville, in consequence of a great famine, and whose funerals he himself saw in passing through — and so on to the Bread of Life. He brought in too my old woman at Stoke, who learnt the prayers from hearing them at church. The interest excited is great, and probably all the more from the novelty." M. H. to A. W. H. "Alton, Dec. 14, 1829.- — One might suppose that nine or ten hours at Alton would not afford much food for a letter, yet I begin to feel already as if I had a great deal to talk about. First, there were the letters Then, I set forth on my walk. I had such a delightful ramble over the Downs ; the sun shone so bright, and the air was clear and reviving, and I pushed on till I turned a point of the hill, 3*4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and there sprawling beneath me lay the great White Horse in all its chalky glory. I would not go back ignominiously when so far, so I went on, and soon planted my stick in the White Horse's tail ! Far beneath in the hollow the sheep were collected together, and the shepherd boy was seated on his knoll of grass. What a time for meditation ! no wonder the great poet of Israel was a shepherd, or rather, to give the cause before the effect, vice versa. I dare say, however, no very sublime thoughts are conceived on the Wiltshire Downs, and I should fear the mind was as inactive as the body in the boy I saw stationed on the hill with that wide view all below him. Foi myself, I do enjoy greatly the rambling about on those green hills, and, for- getting that the sun was not always so bright, I began to wonder that Ave had taken so little advantage of such good turf and free air. About three o'clock Mary came in to announce the arrival of the live stock from Woodhay When J. tell you that I have had a talk with Becky King about the Sacrament, I believe I shall have completed the history of this, my first day's solitude, in which I have not had one moment to spare, and been as happy as I can be without my own dearest husband. I feel so much difference from the time when I was left at Woodhay. Here the change from having you to having only my own thoughts and books is far less striking, and I am never dull, though, dearest, the arm-chair looks very empty, and the silence is not so pleasant as the sound of the voice one loves." " Dec. 1 6. — Is it two whole days, dearest, since I have talked with you, and nearly three since you wont away? It has not seemed very long, and your Mia has been very happy in her solitude, and does not feel half as desolate here as she used to do in that great house at Woodhay ; but then a good honest Christmas fire is a much TAKING ROOT Al ALTON. 335 better companion than a make-believe summer one, with winds and rain driving against the windows " I have just had my second talk, with Becky King, who told me she used to think the latter part of the Catechism was ' the biggest of nonsense] but that now she knew better what it meant. It seems your reading the latter part of the Communion Address encouraged her to come and ask questions, and it seems to have been thought by some, as Mr. Crowe never read that part, that it was your putting in. Poor woman ! she is beset with fears and doubts, and had she fallen into the hands of Methodists would soon have been in a state of despondency. She said nothing had ever given her the comfort that reading her Bible had; and yet people ask, What good can teaching to read do ? " By this time, I suppose, the object of your mission is come to a point. Would I could see you for one minute through a telescope as you are talking with Julius, and guess at the result. The best I can hope for is, that il you fail, as I fear you must do, he may succeed in con- vincing you that his judgment is not so far wrong as you have been disposed to think it is. At all events, I trust to the sincere affection which prompts the one to censure and the other to grieve over that censure, keeping your hearts open to the kindly feeling which between such brothers should prevail in the midst of disagreement. It is singular how it has hitherto struggled through all the harshness of opposition, and always succeeded in keeping uppermost, Let it still do so, and all will be well. God be with you, and bless you, my own dearest. Good night J " A. W. H. to M. H. " Cambridge, Dec. 16. — Julius has delivered his Com melioration Sermon manfully. It was on Self-sacrifice, show- ing that throughout the universe, animate and inanimate, 326 MEMORIALS O* A QUIET LIFE. from God to the lowest living created thing, every good thing that is done is done by self-sacrifice of some kind ot other. So instead of commemorating the departed, he showed how alone things worthy of commemoration could be accomplished ; and Bacon by his maxims, and Newton by his life (both members of Trinity), furnished him with examples most appropriate to the subject and to the day. The great feature of the beginning was an attack upon the Paley doctrines, which debase virtue into a refined selfish- ness. But as the sermon lasted an hour and a quarter, you may conceive how impossible it is to give the darling Mia even the slightest sketch of it. After service, we came back to Julius's Tooms, to be present at his distribution of the college prizes for the year; and almost more than in the sermon did I delight in the readiness with which he said something kind and gratifying and appropriate to almost every man as he came to him in succession." M. H. to C. S. " Dec. 20. — I think I told you about Becky King, who begged to talk to me about the Sacrament. She said she had often wished but never dared to come. She cer- tainly affords an instance of God's Spirit working in her. She seems to have met with no one likely to put such thoughts into her head — has no cant or display, but docs seem really to feel that she is sinful, and that she is un- worthy to come before God. Sometimes she says she feels as if she must be cast away, and then the words of the Bible comfort her — ' And if I do but say God help me, it seems to do me good, ma'am.' She told so simply how much she was taken up with cares about this world, and how to struggle on with their poverty and pay their debts, and that she could not help fretting about it, though she knew it was so wrong, that T really felt quite ashamed that she should TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 327 Bee me sitting at my ease, with every luxury around me. I hope to be some comfort to her, but it does strike one as something like mockery to talk to such poor creatures about being thankful for what is given them, and cer- tainly they do need the hopes of something hereafter to look on to. " I am very busy writing a sermon to be ready for Augustus's return. I don't know whether it will be of any use to him, but it is partly done in his style, which is rather that of plain talking than preaching. We have got a large cargo of flannel and blankets from Frome to cut up, and we shall give them the day after Christmas, which will be a good way of knowing all the people. "Dec. 22. — Your account of seeing the railway takes away my breath, and puts my head into a perfect whirl. What will this all come to ? Some great change must take place. I want, as you say, my companion to talk it all over to. However, you are quite right that even great as my privation is of not having him, there are independent charms of being alone which we enjoy more than most. It is such a pleasure having things done that I know will please him or make him more comfortable. For instance, I have moved the chairs and tables, till I have made more space for my poor man to walk about. He is so patient, that he never says a word about it, but I know he must long to expel half the furniture that is in the way of his long legs and walks. It is very good for him, however, to be a little curtailed. He will lose the habit of jumping up and twirling round, from the impossibility here of doing it with- out knocking something over. I have always forgotten to copy for your amusement some lines addressed to him, I forget who by, but describing a Debating Society at Oxford, of which he was a member. Here are those relating to him : — $2& MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. "And first thyself that planned the vast design, And bade such powers of eloquence combine- Yes ! sure 'tis he ! 'tis Hare whose gamut voice Bids treason flourish, Jacobins rejoice ; "Who tells in alt what ills our State disgrace, And mumbles out corruption's fall in base. 'Tis he, whose restless hand, now out, now in, Threats all around, or strokes his beardless chin ; Each adverse speech he vows on conquest bent— 'To declamation without argument ;' Next well composed antitheses ensue — 'Naught true is novel, and naught novel true;' Till, as vast nutaphors distend his breast, He winds his period up, and chokes the rest." I have been reading a little of Schleiermacher. Thirlwall's preface, with the history of all the different theories, is quite bewildering, and enough, I think, to turn any one disbe- liever in the inspiration. Schleiermacher, I think, clearly has a right feeling himself, and only wishes to account for the discrepancies in the best way he can, believing in thi main points as divinely taught. But I suspect the effect on most would be rather of creating doubt than of satisfying it. Still there are many singular theories about how % this story must have originated in the telling of the Virgin Mary, and that in the telling of the shepherds, &c, which do not at all take away from the high origin ; and the supposition that it was originally written down in detached portions, occasioned by the questions of the early converts, and afterwards col- lected together, does not seem to me at all to take away from its truth or spiritual inspiration, and accounts for the want of connection. " Yesterday evening I was actually obliged to go to bed from the cold, having tried alternately whether the draught from the door or window was the most bearable. One is obliged to move one's position sometimes so that an undue TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 329 partiality of warmth may not be shown to one side. You cannot think how beautiful Alton looks in the snow. Yes- terday the sunset on the snow-hills was quite Alpine. But, my poor Augustus — I wonder how he will ever get home to- day through the deep drifts, and shall be most glad to have him safe here. "Dec. 30. — You will not be very glad of Augustus's return, as it stops my pen so much. I do not know how it happens, but when he is at home there seems no time for anything. He brought his aunt's dog Brute home with him. Can you fancy me with a little beast ? However, I shall learn to talk to one soon I think. " We had a great day on Saturday for giving away to all the people, and so got all their names and histories, and Augustus scolded the mothers whose daughters had ' misfor- tunes,' and told them how, in the parish he came from, such a thing was unheard of. On Christmas Day we had only two communicants, besides my woman and ourselves. On Sunday the Great Alton clergyman did not come on account of the snow, and Augustus had to do the whole morning service there, as well as the evening here. "Jan. 6, 1830. — Julius came on Monday, bringing our young half-brother Gustavus with him, that he might read with Augustus. A new person coming upon one's solitude seems to let in so much new light. Then Julius is much more communicative than Augustus, and more generally conversable. But with all that mildness of demeanour and character, I am surprised to hear him so vehement on politics, &c. I think he will be obliged to end by living in Germany, he is so much annoyed by the present system of things in this country — by the overpowering commercial spirit which fills everything. He must have surprised a fellow-traveller in the coach, who was rejoicing in the present books for children, by saying that there was not one 33° MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. .a. fit for them to read ; and had he gone on to express his regret that the poor had no longer popular romances to -ead, his companion would have wondered still more. He oes not conceal his dislike of people when he feels it, and is .ot near as cautious as Augustus is. I hope he will preach m Sunday. By-the-bye, Augustus preached my sermon last Sunday, with a few alterations of his own, which did very well. He says he never saw the people so attentive. It was something like my copies of your drawings — having a good foundation, but imperfectly worked up, and wanting the spirit and force of an original. "Jan. 29. — Pray tell Charlie that when his uncle was five or six years old his great play at school was taking Bergen-op-Zoom, the scene of action being Twyford church- yard, and his fortifications composed of string from one tombstone to another. Without any knowledge of geo- graphy, he picked out the names he could hear of, so that Malta and Copenhagen were side by side sometimes, and all his leisure hours were spent in arranging plans for assaults, and thinking over, as he grew older, what he read in Thucydides, &c His trouble in teaching Gustavu? is really repaid by the delight Demosthenes gives him. His language and style is as plain and homely as that of Cobbett, and his eloquence produced entirely by the force of argument. Of course my studies have lain in this line lately, one thing brings up another so; and then I feel so ignorant of all the genera/ principles, as if there was so much to be known and thought about that a poor weak mind cannot embrace anything, and I wonder at the bigotry of those who think their own opinions infallible. " I begin almost to dread seeing you again, the happiness will be so great. Julius has left us, having been much shocked the day before by hearing of Niebuhr's death. We laments him no less for the excellence of his prvate TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 33 1 character than for his literary attainments — says the world has a great loss in the latter, for his researches were so very deep. Having a very nervous mind, it had preyed on the troubles of the times, and worn him out quite in his prime.'' M. B.. to A. W. H. (absent at Oxford). " Feb. 9. — The warm sun and mild air yesterday seemed to be purposely made for your release from prison, and left me no excuse for grumbling over your going away As I went my way along the lane to-day, thinking how I could do any good in the parish, I met one of Gideon's children. ' Where have you been to, Mary ?' ' To school at Mrs. Patrick's, ma'am.' So in I stepped to Mrs. Patrick, and found she had begun to take in a scholar or two. This was just what I had before thought of, as you may remem- ber, so I sat down and we had a good talk, the burden of which on her part was that she wanted to get a few shillings, and that she was able to teach reading, sewing, and writing ; and on mine that I should be very glad to have somebody in the parish who would teach the children, and that I would talk to you about it when you came home ; in the meantime she must try to get what scholars she could. She certainly seems fully able to undertake the office ; the house is large enough for as many as she is likely to get at present, and till something else turns up we cannot do better than support her. I think when I have announced the birth of your one hundred and first parishioner in the cottages, you will know all the parish news I have heard in the last twenty-four hours." M. H. to C. S. "Feb. 11. — There are two things in your last letter I thought of commenting on. One was what you say about 33* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. our imperfect powers of mind. Certainly they do prove the corruption and weakness of our intellectual nature, but this I conceive to be a distinct thing from the moral cor- ruption of which St. Paul speaks, except so far as they act and react upon each other. With regard to religious truth (I mean not unessential points, but a Christian faith), I believe Augustus would say that it is the corruption of the will that perverts the intellect — some hidden undis- covered cause perhaps ; but he holds that there is no person perfectly sincere and honest in his search after truth, who will not sooner or later be allowed to find it, and be helped in his inquiry. But then to be unprejudiced and open to conviction is just the point on which we all fail. Our limited capacities, I think, would alone convince us of there being a something far higher to which we shall one day attain, and where all will be made clear which now seems often so obscure. The striving of our nature after some- thing better, and its reluctance to stand still, might be a proof that the image of God in our souls has not wholly been done away; if it was, there could be no chord to be struck, nothing to answer the call, to lay hold of the means held out — in darkness we must remain. I suspect that in many the extreme to which the contrary doctrine is pushed proceeds from a degree of jealousy lest sufficient stress should not be laid upon Christ's doing all and not part of our salvation ; and so (as I think Whately somewhere observes) are doctrines, net necessarily de- pendent on each other to their extreme point, made to hang together for fear lest in loosening one both should give way. " People ought to marry, that by communion with another mind they may look at themselves with other eyes. Now the thing which I see more clearly than I used to do is, how much the system of indulgence gives a false view of TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 333 life, and tends to raise an expectation and wish of self- gratification in everything, as well as making those occa- sions when that is not possible appear in the light of great trials and sacrifices. I am much struck with the effect which a different system has had upon Augustus, and how much more wholesome to his character the severity of early discipline was, and the constant giving up of self. Some bad consequences result from the fear produced — reserve, and in a less upright mind perhaps deceit ; but I begin to think that in the days when subjection to elders was enforced, and when less was done to promote the amusement and gratification of children, more was done to form their minds to a right view of themselves and others. It is well that something of humiliation at finding my own notions of duty lower than they should be arises out of mar- riage, or what would become of me with such excessive spoiling? " To-day I have been on the Downs as far as the Beacon, and am quite stiff with the hard work it was getting up the hill through the deep mortar" M. H. to Miss Clinton. • " Feb. 27, 1830. — Nothing can be more convenient than a parish, no house of which is beyond a ten minutes' walk. Then the power of knowing every individual in it, and of ministering even with our small means to the comfort of all, is a very great advantage. But there is scarcely a grown-up person who can read, and I was not aware before how much the want of this simple knowledge leads to a general dulness of intellect, and how greatly it adds to the difficulty of giving anything of religious instruction. How is the mother of a family, who can never or rarely get to church, and has no means of learning anything at home, to know or care anything about any world but this? I hope 334 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. we may in time be able to do something towards enlighten- ing their minds a little, but it is a work of great difficulty, and I long for a missionary spirit to be able to speak the truth and the whole truth to them with plainness and openness. The first thing has been of course to begin with the children. Those who are not advanced beyond A B and B A of course get on very slowly, but we have now begun a little village school. The people seem a good deal struck by Augustus's sermons, which, being extremely plain, and at the same time out of the common way, with illustrations from their own sphere of life, have a greater effect than many finer discourses. But how very hard it is to give them the least notion of religion, except as one of forms and outward acts. I am now visiting a sick woman, one of the most respectable in the parish, who has attended church better than her neighbours and brought up her family well She is pleased to have me read to her, but beyond the Jewish creed of a God that will reward and punish, and to whom we must pray for help and protection, she seems to have as little sense of her needing a mediator, or of all that she owes to Him, as any heathen might have ; and to convince her that the faults, for which she takes God's pardon as a matter of course, are such as the Bible teaches us proceed from the heart and must be repented of, I feel some trouble in making her understand. Till I came here I was scarcely aware, having only seen parishes which had long been civilised and attended to, how much devolves upon the exertion and attention of the Rectory in teaching the poor people ; and the state of simplicity which one might expect, as you say, from the distance from a high-road, having no town near, and no public-house in the village, is far less than might be hoped. The system of all the women and girls acting as field-labourers— ploughing and shepherding, &c. -in itself produces a rough and savage state of society." TAKING RO.)T AT /LION. 335 M. H. to C. S. (after a happy visit from the Stanleys at Alton and an absence in London). " Alton, June i, 1830. — Here we are again at our own quiet home, which, in the depth of shade and exceeding freshness of foliage, looks more retired and more rural even than when you saw it: You may fancy the pleasure it has been to me to receive from Mrs. Reginald Heber a parcel of the ' Life.' She seems to me to have done it so judici- ously in making him his own biographer by his letters and journals, and they bring him most vividly before one. Wherever his mind comes forth, the sterling sense united with the candour and liberality is very remarkable. I feel one's loss of him renewed by having him thus brought home to one's recollection. To be sure, how unlike he was to any one else. I cannot read the book without tears. " Augustus has been working hard at his own hay, going out every half-hour to see what they were about, watching the clouds with an anxiety worthy of any farmer, and scolding because the cocks were not judiciously made, to say nothing of moving half the grass when mown into the next field to dry sooner, which answered completely. Mary has worked in the hay all day, dressed me, brought in dinner, milked the cow, and at seven o'clock there she was in the hay again. When I saw her in the croft, I laughed and said, 'You have had enough variety to-day.' ' Oh, yes,' she said, ' I feel as if I was at home.' Certainly, whether a country gentleman's daughter is the thing for a wife or not, a respectable farmer's daughter is the thing for a servant." 1 M. H. to L. A. S. "June 2, 1830.— I daresay you have followed us to-day in our walks and rides, and guessed how many recollec- tions have come across us of the beginning of our lift* 3$6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIKE. together, of which this is the first anniversary. How blessed this year has been to us both ! Who knows what another may be. But we are, thank God, in better hands than our own, and our care for the future as for the present must all be cast on Him. We were so glad to be able to spend this day alone together, and at our own dear little quiet home, which is so very green and fresh ; the roses cluster in at the windows, and it looks so very retired and comfortable, that I long for you to see it in its summer dress. " Augustus has established a second service on a Sun- day, which was never before known ; and it has been re- ceived thankfully, as also his attempts to teach these poor ignorant people something about the Sacrament, which has been entirely neglected. He had quite a little congre- gation last week on those evenings in which, after a prayer he made for the occasion, he talked and explained to them for above an hour, and they seemed greatly pleased. If we can do something how thankful we shall be, but it must take a long time before any great change can be made : and when the novelty of having a pastor who cares about their souls is a little gone by, we must expect to have many discouragements .... " How it unites the interests of rich and poor when the one is enabled to contribute so essentially to the welfare of the other, and when they can join together in one great feeling. I am sure they are wonderfully sensible of, and grateful for, one's taking an interest about their spiritual concerns as much as for their temporal, and it quite saddens one to think that such a weight of responsibility as attaches to the clergy should be so often misused and slighted. Pray for us that we may be enabled to persevere, that God may bless our weak attempts to lead others into that service of perfect freedom, and that He may strengthen our own TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 33 J faith, that whilst teaching others we also may be advancing in his love and knowledge of the truth, and that we may give all the praise to Him. This last especially I would say must never be out of our minds, for our poor weak nature is so ready to take all the glory to itself. ". . . . I am often tempted to wish there was not another religious book in the world except the Bible, and then there would I believe be far less difference of opinion and more simplicity of feeling. Were Christ himself the model of life and his precepts the standard of opinion, many who are by the errors and ill judgment of even his faithful fol- lowers led astray, would be filled more with that spirit of love and peace which marks his character." M. H. to C. S. " Alton, July 8. — The aunts are just gone — and oh ! on Monday next down go the partition walls of the drawing- room, and lo ! our beautiful new room twenty-three feet in length ! No sooner was the suggestion made of such an im- provement being practicable, and the probable execution talked of for a future time, than each sister looked at the other — ' I see what you are thinking of, Marianne, and the same thing struck me.' And then came that it was a great pity to delay such an increase of comfort, and that they should have real pleasure in giving it to us. Nothing could be done more kindly and handsomely. It was a beautiful day for their arrival, and all looked to advantage. They expressed satisfaction in everything, found no faults, and I did not ask opinions on things I did not intend to follow, and did upon points where I could. The village was well astonished by the great ladies and their tout horses. "We aie going to Stoke in a fortnight. . . . I am sure it \i necessary and wholesome to mix in the world sometimes to vol. i. z 338 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. prevent one's notions becoming narrow and bigoted, as they will do if one never associates except with those who think with one's self. But certainly the truest enjoyment must always be in one's own dear home, striving to help those around us, regretting only how weak and inefficient are the human means of benefiting them I do not know if I have ever told you what my study is now — Greek. I read a few verses each day in my Testament, and get on pretty well, my maste/ tells me, and it is such a delight to me. " Stoke Rectory, July 24, 1830. — I can hardly believe that I am not Maria Leycester again ; in other respects Stoke is Stoke — its own green, beautiful, summer dress on. The flowers are even better than usual, the Hawkestone and Kenstone range looks strangely wooded and rich, and the bookroom is certainly grown half as big again at least. You would have laughed to see Augustus immediately measuring length and breadth, looking directly at the cornices, and yesterday our first walk after breakfast was to dairy, larder, pig-styes, cScc; in short, I find myself observing on various things I passed over so entirely when I lived here, — considering whether the pasture was good in the field, see- ing all the weeds in the garden, &c. " We had a delightful journey, and no adventures. Seeing the little schoolgirls in the lane first upset me. But I behaved very well on getting here — only felt my heart jump into my mouth. My father was at the door. Augustus was as happy and proud in bringing me back as I was to get here. Of course we had a great peal of bells on our arrival, and next day, which is quite a new and grand sound to us. ' ; Stoke, Sept. 25. — The terrible news of the railway acci- dent and Mr. Huskisson's death quite occupies us. Augustus and I have been making out from the newspapers TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 339 how many variations there are in the accounts of the story, as told professedly by those who were on the spot ; and had he to preach in the neighbourhood at this time, he says he should certainly make use of them as an instance how absurd it would be some years hence to doubt the truth of the way in which Mr. Huskisson was killed because one eye-witness calls it the right, and another the left leg that was injured — because one says he fell on his face, knocked down by the door, and another that his foot slipped, &c. ; and how similar are the doubts raised of the truth of the Gospels by the variations of the evangelist story." A. W. H. to a Clerical Friend. "Sept., 1830. — .... You may remember you said to me, as I was getting into the carriage to leave your house, that you hoped I did not think the worse of you for the discussions we had had together. Now I will not pay your penetration so bad a compliment as to suppose it possible you should not have perceived how greatly I admire many things about you — your care of the parish, your love of natural science, your activity, your unremitting endeavours to improve the condition of the poor around you. Heartily do I wish that I resembled and equalled you in these respects. All I deplore is, that with so much energy of character, and such a love of truth, you should be content to remain, on many points, halting between two opinions ; and that you should suffer your peace to be dis- turbed and your days embittered by questions which, if you would only grapple with them steadily, would many of them, I am convinced, turn out to be little more than phantoms. I do not deny that there may be many diffi- culties in the narratives we have so often discussed together; but, in the eyes of a Christian, they kick the beam when weighed against the positive evidence afforded us in the life 340 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and character of Jesus. ... I am disposed to say to any Christian who vexes himself about such questions as that of Jonah and his fish, for instance, 'What matters it, whether the story be literal or allegorical, so long as we believe in Jesus and his tomb, and know that He rose from it triumph- antly?' The darkest passages in the Old Testament are illuminated by that event with a retlected light, which shows them to be either true or unimportant. " Apropos of light, a fancy occurred to me the other day, which, if you would mature and execute it, would show, I think, more clearly than any words can do, how small a part, the difficulties are compared with the whole scheme ; and, at any rate, how small is the shade they cast on the great surrounding objects. That they are nuisances in themselves I can readily conceive, but then it is simply us being negations ; they are but minus quantities, and can no more affect or obscure the glorious truth, with which they are found in juxtaposition, than a thousand thistles in a park can conceal or out-top the oak in it. Over those thistles, be they as high and prickly as they may, the oak will still be seen conspicuously ; and it will still afford its giant shelter to all who can force their way through the briars and nettles up to it. And, after all, the Bible abounds in oaks, and has not half so many thistles in it as I have cut down at Hurstmonceaux. My fancy, however, is this, to draw a sort of map of the whole. The Old and New Testa- ments might be the two worlds, the different books would be so many provinces, the chief events would be like great cities, the difficulties would be deserts, marshes, &c. In short, not to allegorise too much, it would be easy, I think, to colour this plan or map with various colours, from white lo black, marking the different shades and gradations of belie! as you feel them to exist in your own mind, from the highest intensity of persuasion and conviction to the TAKING ROOT AT ALIGN. 341 shadows, clouds, and daikness — if it ever amount to dark- ness — of any degree of doubt you may be conscious of. Might not such a synopsis as this have the advantage of making you feel more strongly than you at present seem to do how small a proportion your serious difficulties bear to the many great points on which your mind is quite at rest. It is painful to see an anxiety r.bout small matters hanging like a clog about your mind, ever flapping against it and distracting its exertions, and retarding its progress towards perfection. He who is ever laying the foundation afresh will never finish the building. He who has not the founda- tion laid sufficiently by the beginning of autumn has little time to lose, if he means to have his house comfortable by Christmas. Your house is not comfortable. Would you could bring yourself to devote your energies to the making it comfortable, with a determination of persevering till the work is done. A few months, nay, a year or two, would be well employed in an occupation the certain issue and reward of which are peace. " I need hardly say that this applies with equal force to your misgivings about some of the Calvinistic tenets. In 1 \y opinion, the Arminian who relies on Divine grace, the moderate Calvinist who insists on holiness and refrains from preaching retribution, and the man who dismisses the controversy from his thoughts as too high for his learn- ing and abilities, when brought within these wholesome limits, as being partially unimportant — all these men, I conceive, may meet together in one Church, as in a common field, in which each has an equal right to till. ..." M. H. to C. S. "Alton, Oct. 26, 1830. — You may guess the joy with which we found ourselves at home again, and we have had such greetings from all the people Yesterday J 342 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. mounted Jack again for the first time, Augustus walked by my side, and we enjoyed much going along that beautiful terrace you remember on the Downs, and coming back through the pretty lanes where the bluebells were. Nothing can be more perfect than our present life. The third Sunday we were away, Mr. Bleeck had service at Great Alton church in the morning. In the evening Mr. Peck, as usual, had service in our church. When he came out, the clerk stepped up to him — ' That was a very good ser- mon, sir, you gave us ; to be sure, we heard every word of it this morning from Mr. Bleeck ; but we shall remember it all the better.' Was it not singular ? "Oct. 27. — We have had nothing but doctoring in the parish. The fever reached the house at the end of our lane, and on Sunday night a little girl, one of my best scholars, died of it. Her father lay dangerously ill and another child also. Having just heard of how malignant a nature it was from the doctor, you may guess whether it did not require a little faith to see Augustus go into the infected house to read prayers to the sick man without much anxiety. How- ever, here was a case of duty, and after making him lake every precaution, I was quite calm in his doing it, and all the things he ordered were very necessary to prevent worse consequences. The man is now, I hope, getting better ; but they have it in another house next to Gideon's, and yesterday, as Augustus was passing in the afternoon, he happened to speak to the woman, saw she was crying, and, on inquiry, found that the girl who was so much better in the morning, was, they thought, dying. He came home for some brandy, and ran back with it in spite of the rain, and waited till the child had taken some, and by means of that and nibbing mustard on the throat begun to revive ; and 10-day she is alive and certainly better. But it seems like a sort of miniature plague, attacking people so suddenly TAKING ROOT AT ALTON. 345 with swelling in the limbs, &c. Two more in the same house now have it. There is such a making of broth and gruel. The barn does very well with the laundry stove in it, and makes an excellent room for school, and Augustus aaeans to lecture there one evening in the week.'' DC. JOURNALS— " THE GREFN BOOK.* **Love, lift me upon thy golden wings From this base world unto thy heaven's hight, Where I may see those admirable things, Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might, Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight, That I thereof a heavenly hymne may sing Unto the God of love, high heaven's King." E. Spenser, 1553 — 98. M. H.'s Journal. " ALTON-BARNES, Nov. 22, 1S29, Sunday.— My thirty- first birthday ! my first married one ! God be praised for the happiness that attends it. Others have been accom- panied by hopes, and plans, and expectations for the future ; this presents the realisation of ali, and more than all I ha\ e ever dared to hope. I no longer look on to what is in store; rather I dwell upon the present enjoyment, and tremble lest another year should bring with it any change. My heart is often full to overflowing when I think of the many fond dreams I cherished of the days to come, and feel now how they have all so fully come to pass. It was in our own little church I this day knelt and prayed, and it was my husband's voice to which I listened, and with him have I this evening read the Psalms and Lessons to our little household, and so joined together in the sacred services of the day, How long has this been an object of my wishes, JOURNALS — " THE GREEN BOOK." 345 to unite with the partner of my heart and life in such duties. In his tender affection, and in the perfect confidence which exists between us, there is a charm thrown over our daily li/e which certainly equals, and I think exceeds, what I had fancied would be the case ; and such is the fear and trem- bling with which its duration is thought of, that I am anxious to record something of these happy days as they pass, which may hereafter recall them to the recollection more vividly than memory unassisted could do. I can breathe no prayer for the present, but that a sense of our utter dependence on God may never leave me, and that He will in his mercy strengthen my faith and resign me to His will ; that whatsoever that will may require from me, be it in suffering or be it in joy, my comfort as well as my thankfulness may rest solely on Him. " I begin a new life, with new duties, new responsibilities, and I heartily pray that I may fulfil them in that Christian spirit which may in some measure atone for the imperfection in their performance ; and that he whom I so dearly love may together with me grow daily in the knowledge of the truth and in the love of God, may He of his goodness grant by the assistance of his Spirit. I feel myself sadly wanting in submission, often failing in thankfulness, wayward in the ' midst of blessings, ruffled by the merest trifles ; the pride and self-will in my heart are continually struggling against my better feelings, but they will, I trust, not always gain the victory, and when no higher motives have influence, the strength of earthly affection will do much. Why do not we fear to grieve Him, from whom we receive all, as much as we do to cause one painful feeling to our nearest earthly friend? My own Augustus ! I must not love you too much, or God in his wisdom will recall my wandering affections to Heaven, by taking from me that which makes Earth — ■ Heaven. 346 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M JVbv. 29. — Augustus read in the morning serrice to-day Doddridge's paraphrase on the 1st of St. John, which wants only simplifying in the words to make it intelligible to the ignorant. Sunday is always a day of rejoicing with me, and I love my dear Augustus more than usual when he has been exerting himself for the good of his people. "Dec. 1. — A letter with the account of Mrs. A 's death affected me a good deal. So young a person taken away in the bloom of happiness is always an awful thing ; but here her having so long desired the very event which has closed her earthly course is a striking lesson, and I feel that I ought to benefit by it. How wrong it shows it to be longing after that, the consequence of which we can so little foresee. To God we must commit ourselves entirely, and not dare wish for that which he withholds. "Dec. 2. — With what a characteristic dispute about great- ness does the iSth of Matthew open. This is the constant struggle now as then, and the simplicity and humbleness of a child are as little to be met with in these days of know- ledge and learning as in those of ignorance and poverty. ' By their angels in Heaven,' sounds to me very strongly as if there were appropriate spirits to minister to each faithful Christian. Augustus has been reading Coleridge this evening. Nothing can be more delightful than his style when not involved in obscurity ; I certainly prefer it to Landor. "Augustus told me a curious story of Mr. Pitt being waked out of a sound sleep by Mr. Windham and others, and told that the mutineers had sei :ed Admiral Colpoice. He rose up in bed, asked for pen and paper, and having written ' If Admiral C. is not released, fire upon the ship from the batteries till she is destroyed,' gave it to Mr. Windham, lay down, and was snoring before they got out 0/ JOURNALS — U THE GREEN BOOK." 347 the room. Lord Spencer was one of the party, and told Lady Jones. "Dec. 13. — We have had a long talk about the heathen philosophers. Augustus thinks it is to the crumbs of truth they picked up that the verse ' God has not left himself without a witness ' may be spiritually applied — that they might from the Hebrew poetry and prophecies gain some light Coleridge's opinion is that they had themselves a providential, though not a miraculous, dispensation to raise their intellect above the sensible world — to spiritualise their ideas. How inefficient this was, is proved by the fall of their theories into epicurism amongst the Romans. The Stoics were austere moralists, the falseness of whose system was soon detected, and consequently rejected by those who liked to live for pleasure ; and, just when the religion of the Jews had become corrupt, and the philosophy of the heathens sunk into Atheism, Christianity rose with reviving force. At no other time could it have been spread so rapidly or extensively as when all countries in the civilised world were subject to one power, and connected with one another through this medium. The Reformation was a resurrection of Christianity, which was repeated in England after the French Revolution by the Methodists. " Christmas Day, 1829.— This blessed day is the first since we have been so blessed by the gift of each other. How my heart swelled within me on receiving the cup of blessing from my husband's hands at the altar of our own little church, where he read with so much feeling and earnestness those beautiful words of comfort, encourage- ment, and prayer. I never felt them come so much home to my feelings ; and imperfect and cold as my best attempts are to realise to myself the presence of Christ, I trust that these will be accepted, and that God will grant to me a daily increasing knowledge of, and love for, my blessed 348 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Saviour. That we may assist and help each other in the use of spiritual things, is my earnest desire and prayer; and never do I feel more thankful for my present happy life than when we unite in these feelings t and w shes. It was a thorough Christmas Day. The sun shone bright upon a Lapland snow, and there was a wholesome clearness in the air, invigorating to mind and body. "Dec. 31. — We have reached the end of this happy, blessed year, 1829. It has given to each of us, I believe, that which is more precious than any other gift of God, and not one anticipation of the happiness attending our union has been in vain. Seven months have we now been one, and not one cloud has come between us; each day seems only to draw us more closely together, and to unite our thoughts and feelings more intimately. Let this conviction produce in our hearts true thankfulness to Our Father who has given such earthly happiness, and make us watchful lest it grow into a too engrossing feeling, excluding that higher love to which it should be subject. "Jan. 1, 1830. — The new year begins most brightly and happily, but I scarcely like to look on to its events ; for when the present is so blest, one cannot but fear the changes which may be wrought. But my trust must not fail, for God can give us strength to bear. May He lead us daily and yearly nearer and nearer to himself, that our cold hearts may glow with more love of heavenly things, and be weaned from dependence on anything earthly. May I per- form the new duties which are opened to me with rhe humility of a little child, conscious of my own un worthi- ness, and seeking earnestly for help in all my struggles after holiness. "Jan. 10. — Julius is here, and reads to us in the evenings. He enjoys a story with all the simplicity of a JOURNALS — "THE GREEN BOOK.." 349 child. In church, his reading of the lessons and prayers was most solemn and devotional, but in the sermon his tone rather wants variety and energy. Nothing could be better and plainer than the words of his sermon, and the thoughts were beautiful. I particularly liked his allusion to our love of tracing things from their beginnings, &c, and the showing how knowledge is not the one thing needful — • how much we need a Redeemer, &c. I think, however, for the audience he spoke to, that little would be understood of the natural longing after good ; and the classical allusions rather proceeded from the scholar than the parish-priest. I long for him to be thrown more into the world, that, by mixing with different classes of society, his theories may become less visionary. " Jan. 18. —It grieves me to have to part with Julius just as we were becoming more intimate, but the moment of parting calls forth the real feeling, and his farewell speech of how happy it made him to have a real sister was a great delight. "Jan. 28. — When I come to study any subject it always appears to branch off into so many channels, and there arise before me so many points on which I am ignorant, that, instead of keeping steadily to one, my mind is apt to glance off to all the various means before me — gleaning, perhaps, a little from each, but not making any completely my own. To be sure, the more one knows the more one must sinkbefore one's self in consciousness of utter ignorance, md before the overwhelming force of all the materials for uiman knowledge, spread out in all ages, and so little made ise of as they should be. " I am interested in reading connectedly the Mosaic history -how constantly and immediately God presided over the 'sraelites — how entirely their laws were adapted to every particular occasion, not general in principle— h'»w strongly 350 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIfF.. the necessity of atoning for sin is shown forth ir. the sacri. ficial ordinances. "Feb. ii. — If substance means literally what is beneath, to understand a thing must be to find out that substance — to penetrate below the surface to what lies under. If nobody pro- fessed to understand a thing who had not thus stood under it, and seen its deeper and hidden parts, how much error and confusion would be saved ! How equally does God proportion things, that where outer trials are wanting, inner ones are created by the perversity of our own heans. The system of indulgence under which I have abvays lived makes anything less of ease and comfort seem a hardship which requires compassion ; and I find that while great sacrifices, by calling out a degree of admiration, are a means of fostering our self-love, little ones which often do not cost us less are more salutary, because they pass unnoticed. I grievously need a more humble and submissive faith — a more perfect trust in the Divine will. If this were, indeed, attained, all would be peace, and it is the weakness of our faith which leads us to murmur, to grieve, or to be anxious. I have much, very much to learn. God grant me grace to learn of Christ to gain more of the spirit of child-like meek- ness and more resignation to his will. "June 2, 1830. — This happy day has come again, telling how a long year of happiness has been granted to us. We have lived over again in memory every hour as it passed of that eventful day, and rejoiced in feeling how much nearer and closer is the tie that binds us than it was even then; and I more especially enjoy the remembrance of that which first secured to us our present comfort whilst it is undis- turbed by all the painful and agitating feelings of the last and of June. How can we be grateful enough for so much of earthly blessing ; and yet how often am I half disposed to murmur, or at least grieve, that others are not added, of JOURNALS — "THE GREEN BOOK. 351 which I know not if they would contribute to my happiness. God knows what ij best, and in His hands I can mostly rest my hopes, though the flesh is weak, and will sometimes presume to wish for itself. . . . Oct. 23, 1830. — I have been many weeks away with my own family. How dearly I love them, and yet I cannot help feeling now how little they are in comparison with this one, and how much happier my life is now in my own home, with its duties and interests, than the less active one I formerly led. When I was at Stoke, I felt how little I had ever done there, and how much more I should now like to do. The last year has brought with it so much more of apparent responsibility that I am aware of a much stronger feeling of the necessity of exertion than I formerly had. Yet even now how far does it fall short of all which I ought or even wish to do. Some idle excuse, some vain scruple, some foolish pretence rises up at every turn to divert one from the right path of making the consideration of others always supersede that of self. God be praised that we are returned safe to our dear home, and may He assist our weak efforts and fill our wavering hearts with good desires, that so we may go on increasing in knowledge of His Truth, showing it forth in our own lives, and making it known to all around us.* • The Journal called " The Green Book " was continued through my mother's whole life. Extracts fiotn it will from this time be occa- ricaally inserted at the dales where they occur. WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. " What an union for two believers is a Christian marriage —to have one hope, one desire, one course of life, one service of God in common the one with the other! Both, like brother and sister, undivided in heart and flesh, or rather really two in one flesh, fall down together on their knees, they pray and fast together, they teach, they exhort, they bear one another mutually; they are together in the church of God, and in the Supper of the Lord ; they share with one another their griev- ances, their persecutions, and their joys ; neither hides any- thing from the other, neither avoids the other ; the sick are visited by them with pleasure, and the needy supported ; psalms and hymns resound between them, and they mutually strive who shall best praise their God. Christ is delighted to see and hear things like these ; He sends His peace on such as these ; where two are, lh«.:e is He, and where He is, evil comes not." — TfiRTULLlAN. A. W. H. toC. S. " A/^^* 2 4' I ^3 0, — F° r f ear ) f ° u should be alarmed t y cross-country accounts in the newspapers, I write a few lines to say we are all safe, after one of the most painful days I ever went through. " About two o'clock we were summoned by two half- drunken men who professed to be sent on. They came to the door, and asked tor money, 'any trifle,' announcing that two hundred were coming at their heels. After failing of their errand, they went down to Pile's house, opposite us, whither I iollowed them. He was gone to Marlborough, WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 353 and there were none but women in the house. As the only chance, I had the church-bell rung, but none of the labourers came ; perhaps they were too far off, and did not hear. About ten minutes after the troop arrived. The machine had been taken to pieces, but that did not satisfy them ; they must break it. And breaking it they were, when Pile on horseback dashed in among them, and fired. They would have dispersed, perhaps, in a fright, but in a place where they could close with him, his gun went off a second time. They dragged him down, and have nearly killed him. They then burst into the hcuse, and broke everything to pieces, and for some time I expected they would serve us in the same way; so irritated were they, and so mad with drink. Indeed, they talked of coming back to-night, and burning down all his ricks and barns. But the news had reached Devizes even before I could send a messenger. The Yeomanry were here by six, and I have just heard that they have surprised several of the rioters in the public-house at Woodborough. On the Marlborough side ten men were taken to-day ; and a regiment of Lancers were to be there by eight o'clock to-night. So we feel safe again. Maria behaved perfectly, as she always does, thinking of everything that was wanted, and taking every kind and proper ste£ towards her poor afflicted neighbours. I had no idea the English peasantry were such cowards as the men to-day on both sides proved themselves. We hear Wood hay has been ransacked. The fires on Saturday and Sunday were dreadful." M. H. to C. S. "Alton, Nov. 25. — We have had no further alarm beyond the many reports, of which, if we believed one half, one could not have much rest. However, at Pewsey there has Win a meeting. Col. Wroughton says the people are VOL. 1. A A. 354 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. satisfied, and there will be one at Devizes to-day. TrooDS kre at Marlborough and Devizes. We have our own special constables, patrols, and fire-engine, and I trust are in a better state of preparation than we were. Poor Mr. Pile is not out of danger, I fear, though I hope he will do well. A large fire-ball was found in his field the morning after the attack. We hear of five great fires over the hills towards Calne, and at Salisbury dreadful work is going on. Our ringleaders are chiefly taken, and we had the pleasure of seeing some of them go past with the cavalry yesterday morning. All the vilhges round us seem to have contributed their share of men ; and I fear there are some very bad ones amongst them. Our village had not one, and only two were from Great Alton, but of course they all rejoice secretly at what is to bring them greater wages. At the same time they are frightened to death, and the wives come crying about their husbands, — they are sure they will get their heads broken, &c. At all hours people are coming, — fanners to consult about what should be done, and with fresh stories. In short, we live in a strange, nervous state ; and if we do not make an example, and that speedily, of some of the worst,, there will be no end to these out- rages. " On Tuesday evening, when all was over, and our fears for the night were quieted by the arrival of the cavalry, Augustus and I sat each in our arm-chair, so completely worn out by the anxiety and fatigue of the day, that we neither of us uttered a word for a couple of hours. From my station at the drawing-room window, I saw the whole combat, and you may guess my horror when, hearing the confusion of Mr. Pile"s fall, I saw Augustus rush towards the place, surrounded by the 'bull-dogs,' — and my sub- sequent joy when I saw him get away and walk home. They threatened vengeance so loudly that he kept out of WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 355 sight from that time, and I talked to the people who came to the door. As soon as they had filed off across the field to Mr. Miller's, I went down to Mr. Pile's, and such a state of distraction as the house presented I never saw. I went again to hear the doctor's report. The sisters were all activity, and busied about their brother, whilst the poor old mother, not allowed to go into the room, went moaning about, lamenting first over her son, and then over her china ; she herself got a great blow from one of the iron crows. The greater part of our rioters are men who earn from twelve to twenty shillings a week at the Wharf, and spend it all at the beer- shops. "Nov. 26. — The activity of the magistrates and yeomanry have struck a panic, which will, I trust, spare us any further alarm. Yesterday a Bow Street officer came to get infor- mation. He came out of Kent, and says his own impression is certainly that the fires proceed from the people of the country. He hoped to have got a good clue to one of our incendiaries. The chiefs of our ringleaders are in custody, and Augustus went this morning with Mr. Miller to identify some of the prisoners. He was doubtful about one, till the man put an end to his hesitation by saying, ' You, sir, can witness I was not breaking the machine, for I was talking to you.' " The worst of such alarms to one's self individually is the want of security they create ; every unexpected noise, or delay, or interruption, makes one nervous. How anybody accustomed to wars would laugh at one's petty fears ; but certainly a body of undisciplined savages with nothing to lose are not pleasant neighbours. Our own parish is un- touched by suspicion, even ; but it is very uncomfortable talking to the people. It has, and naturally, too, raised their own discontent, and one hears nothing but murmurs, 35<5 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and \ery rarely an expression of proper feeling at the outrages, though they are all as much terrified as if they were likely to be attacked. I hope a general agreement will soon be entered into, which will settle things. Our tithes of course must fall as the price of labour rises, and we can get little this winter. Had a few people acted at first in a spirited manner, and resisted the giving of money, it would not have reached such a height ; and Sir Edward Poore, as a magistrate, is very much blamed for having given them such encouragement. All agree in condemning the beer-shops as one great incentive to evil. " I have written so confusedly before that I thinic you will have no clear idea of my share of the day, so I will tell what I saw. On the approach of the troop, as they came over the bridge, Augustus said to me, ' Go home, and keep in the house ;' and so amid the cook's entreaties that ' Master would come too,' which I knew was vain, we betook ourselves to the house, locked and bolted doors and windows, and had just retreated up-stairs, when a thundering knock came at the front door. Finding my plan of concealment would not do, I presented myself at the drawing-room window, and held a parley with them. ' They wanted to do no harm.' ' What have you got those clubs and hammers for, then?' I refused money and went away, but the continued knocking, and threats of breaking doors and windows, soon made me pull out some shillings and throw to them, with which they went away content. Meanwhile I saw in the churchyard all the women and children collected : leaning over the wall of Mr. Pile's yard I could distinguish Augustus and one or two others j and in the farmyard and all round it were the mob, with shouts, hammering the machines to pieces. I suppose this had gone on for twenty minutes or half an hour, when \\t (the WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 357 cook and myself, for the other servants were all gone nearer the scene v)f action) heard a tremendous gallop, and in an instant saw Mr. Pile ride furiously amongst the mob, who gave way directly, and had he kept his ground there, all had been well. There was a confusion, and all I could distinguish was that the farmyard was cleared ; a report of a gun came from the ricks behind the barns, there was a great scream set up, loud shouts, and to my horror I saw Augustus and those with him rush into the field amongst them. However, the alarm for him was not long ; after a few minutes I distinguished him leaving the crowd, and making his way to the house, and never did my legs carry me more willingly than as I flew down-stairs to open him the door. When I again got to my station, the mob were all come round and advancing upon the Piles' house, and the noise was terrible of breaking their windows and doors. As they had vowed vengeance against Augustus for having brought the gun out of the house, he kept out of sight, whilst I sent away the few who came for money, and who were easily contented. After they had completed their destruction at Mr. Pile's, which was not till the poor mangled victim was brought down-stairs again, and had given them ;£io, we had the satisfaction of seeing them file away across the fields to Great Alton. In about half an hour they returned to break the Crowe's machine which we had put in the field, and then we saw no more of them ; but as they went off to Stanton, declaring their intention >. i returning at night, it was an amazing relief when Mr. G. and some other men arrived, who said they had just left Devizes, and heard the troops ordered 'on Alton.' And 30 ended our siege, which it must be owned was as little resisted as ever enemy was ; but the best labourers were all at a distance, and those near, far to j much frightened to give any help." 35^ MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LITE. Nov. 30. — I must copy for you part of Julius's letter about the riots : — ' The gentry, the farmers, the clergy, the citizens, the tradesmen of the towns must assemble and form constitutional associations for preserving peace and order. By active energy we may still avoid the danger, which if we are supine will crush us. Most now are weak and yield to intimidations, for it requires an inordinate degree of courage to resist a mob with such fearful weapons* and so unscrupulous in having recourse to the most fiendish measures. Surely, too, if people are but active, many a poor harmless peasant may be saved from joining the wicked hordes, many may be saved from the snares they have already fallen into. Surely the clergy still have an influence over their flocks : they should preach from the pulpit, they should speak in every cottage of the blessings of peace and order, of the intolerable, inevitable calamities that must fall on every class from a system like the present. Surely our nobility and gentry, in spite of the pestilential watering-places and other temples of vanity and frivolity that draw them away from their estates, may still marshal faithful tenants and peasants, if they will but appear among them and at the head of them. Surely the charity which the ladies of England have bestowed so liberally and almost prodigally, has not altogether fallen on stony ground, but will produce some good fruit even for themselves here. The heart of England I am convinced is still sound, in spite of all that has been done to poison it. But it must be appealed to strongly and honestly. We are trying at Cambridge to organize a kind of body for the protection of the country round, in the hope tha't our example may be followed, though there are many who say there is no need of it yet. Good God, not yet ! When will the time come to shake off oui sleep ? When that sleep is cast off by the pangs of death ! I was rejoiced by your ringing the church WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 359 bell ; but, alas ! the Dark Ages are past when that sound would have acted as a summons to every living being for miles around.' " M. H. to Miss Clinton. ..." Owing to our predecessor farming his own glebe, we have large farm buildings, and those so connected with the house by thatch, that had the rioters chosen to fire the farthest stack, it would have run like wild fire through our old timbers. I was so stunned by the events of the day, that for some time afterwards I could scarcely feel, and rather thought than could utter a prayer of thanks- giving. What should we do in such moments without the consciousness that whilst man is against us, we have God with us, and the privilege of going to Him, in the earnestness of real want, to implore His protection. Did we but ask for spiritual gifts with half the energy with which in time of need we beseech Him for temporal aid, how surely should we find within us the growth ^f Christian graces, which we so sluggishly ask for in general." M. H. to C. S. "Alton, Dec. 10. — The odd thing about the riots is, that this is not a year of scarcity. There has been no hard winter and no uncommon pressure of any sort to raise this outcry. And when one sees that half of the discon- tented are men who spend their money at the beer-shops, and who might get ample if they chose, it rather hardens one against sympathy with their distress, and inclines one to think the lenity and indulgence granted in return for their proceedings, not the best-judged. "Our carpenter alleged as a reason for the riots here"- 360 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. ' Oh, they are so ignorant in this county, — there's a ma.iy who boast that they do not know a. great A from a turnip* and certainly in this vale the march of intellect does not appear to have been great ; but it is disheartening to see how small fruit is produced by exertion, and attempts at improvement. Some of the worst characters come from Mr. Methuen's parish, and he has been working for years both week-days and Sundays.'' M. H.'s Journal (The Green Book). " Dec. 11. — We are returned to a calm after a period of much anxiety and alarm, in which we have been mercifully preserved from evil. In the hour of need how necessary and supporting it is to lift oneself above earth, and implore protection from above. I know not how else great trials can be borne, and even in smaller ones, it is through prayer alone that the spirit can be refreshed and comforted, and strengthened to bear the evils around. Yet I felt the weak- ness of my faith, and how hard it was to cast all one's care on that merciful Father who invites us to do it ; some would still cling to earth and raise unworthy doubts and fears, and selfish feelings are ever pulling strongly against those heavenly ones of trust and confidence, which should possess one's soul. I feel myself so unworthy of the mercies granted to me, so unable to feel for them that gratitude they should inspire, that when I look on myself 1 can find no comfort. When the moment of danger arrives, then I feel the wavering of my faith and how much my happiness is set on things below. Whilst I cannot but long for other blessings, I feel how difficult it is to bear those I have with a spirit of resignation to the Giver. May He who knows my weakness have mercy on it, — shew me to myself in every secret fault, — and lead me by gentle steps to that fountain which alone ckanseth from sm." WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 361 "Jan. 4, 1 831. — How fearfully does the year open to this country. With trials and condemnations, and, though with less of disturbance than a month ago, with the con- tinual apprehension of such. A bad spirit seems to be everywhere at work, and the ties and bonds of society to be loosening amongst all classes. An impatience of restraint and disregard of authorities and government is growing up, and the ignorant alike with the informed cast from them the wholesome ties which formerly re- strained them. Whence all this originates— how it is to be conquered — no one seems philosopher enough to dis- cover ; and it is not easy to trace back to their causes the effects which the change of times and circumstances have produced : in short, when I begin to think on it, all seems confusion and difficulty. That wiser heads may through God's grace be led to the best mode of remedy ing the evil, is all one can pray for. When one thinks of the advantages and blessings hitherto granted to this country, and sees around one so few really fteling and acting upon Christian principles, so few to whom the Gospel seems to have been really made known in more than its form, can one wonder if God should withhold His protection, or permit our neglect of Him and setting up of ourselves to meet with their fit reward ? " Excess of luxury and refinement have brought other nations low before us, and if our only superiority, the pos- session of Christianity, is made of non-effect, how can we expect to stand more than they did ? Let each look at hom* 3 . What do I see there ? Perfect thankfulness for all the mercies I receive ? entire submission to, and . hearty trust in Him who gives them ? an immovable faith and love in God my Saviour, an increasing effort to do Him service, to live to His glory, to promote the knowledge of Him ? Alas, no — I find none of these things. And yet 362 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. because others think of me better than I deseive, be- cause they love and cherish me, I would fain deceive myself with flattering delusions. Oh, may I pray for a true know- ledge of myself, that I may find out every secret spring of action, let it be ever so mortifying to my own proud spirit ; and whilst I learn to judge of others with more mildness, and find excuses for every deviation they may make, may I probe deeper into every fault of my own, and listen not to the tempting voice of praise, remembering ever for how f§uch I have to account, how many advantages, few temptations, and great mercies. And oh, Father of all mercy, do Thou assist me by Thy Spirit, and grant to me and my beloved such a measure of it as may lead us day by day and year by year nearer and nearer unto thee, that our pilgrimage may be continually one from earth to heaven, and our life here prepare and fit us for the eternal home when Thou wilt be to us All in All." M. H. to Miss Clinton. "Alton, Dec. 17, 1830. — I hope by this time you are as free from apprehensioir as we are. I was told only two days ago that Mr. Hunt was coming with some unknown multitudes to invade us, but, as they have not yet appeared, we may conclude, I think, that we were thought unworthy of so illustrious a company. But I suspect we are not yet peaceable at heart, nor can be so till all discussion is at an end, as to the price of labour, &c. The farmers in their first alarm promised more than they can now perform — then the laboureis rebel. Some of those in the neighbouring villages threaten to punish those in ours for submitting to a lower rate, and our yeoman-farmer declares he will not be bullied into paying more until all is settled and the country ouiet again. What a struggle of interests it is ! . . . . WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 363 There certainly is a general spirit of insubordination show- ing itself in all classes. How much less is the authority of parents over children upheld than it used to be, and the attachment between master and servant. Of this latter bond, our wounded neighbour, Mr. Pile, was saying that in his father's time the single labourers all lived in the house, took their meals with the family, and went quietly to bed at nine o'clock. Now they will not do it, but prefer being in- dependent and having their time to themselves. Conse- quently the hours after labour are commonly spent by the young men in drinking or rambling about, and all that social tie is broken through which used to connect them with their master's interest Then in dress, how it has lessened in respectability, through the cheap and flimsy nature of the materials introduced by modern im- provements. We were riding one day lately and passed a woman dressed so perfectly according to the old style, with her kerchief pinned tightly over a dark blue gown which looked quite new, that Augustus inquired where she got so good a dress. ' Ah, sir, you cannot get such nowadays ■ — it was part of the moreen bed-curtains that old Lady Wroughton gave me above twenty years since, and it has been washed many a time, and always keeps new.' . . . I have moralised enough, and, to turn to our proceedings, must tell you that we had a dinner party of eight yesterday — an event so rarely happening in our little rectory, that it was not at all a thing of course, that the dinner should come and go, and the company take their chance of being pleased or not. I assure you due consideration had to be given as to the best mode of enabling one boy to wait on eight people, — and also where the six strange horses were to go. Augustus brought out his choice Trinity ale, aud I regaled them with my Portugal plums and Alderley ginger- bread and all kinds of clerical dainties. There were no 364 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIF« contretemps, they seemed well-pleased, and all went cfl much to the satisfaction of my anxious maid Mary, who thought, doubtless, that our credit would have been ruined for ever had there been any disaster. The party was entirely clerical, but not one word of theology was talked, which was quite as well. Had it been, one knows at what a low ebb it would have been, and how truly the Evangelicals might have said how much more attention was engrossed by the temporal than the spiritual wants of the people, and how little of real interest or concern the latter excited. To be sure, if the early Christians could return to earth and be present at some of the Christmas parties of the present day, they would be puzzled to recognise their brothers in name, and would not easily believe that they both professed to serve the same Master. " I suppose you have seen in the paper the decision ot Sir J. Nicholl in favour of Lady Jones' intestacy. It is, all things considered, the only fair decision, and though we are losers, Augustus rejoices in it as more conformable to his aunt's wishes than the re-establishment of the first will would have been. " We dined at Devizes the other day to meet the Napiers and T. Moore. I liked the poet much better than I ex- pected Our drive home was enlivened by the post-boy being attacked by a man with a pistol, threatening to shoot out his brains if he did not stop, — and with difficulty ne contrived to flog his tired horses out of «-each." M. EL to C. S. " Alton', Jan. 4, 1831. — Julius is here. He preached on Sunday on, ' The Lord is my Shepherd, therefore can I lack nothing.' It was a beautiful New Year's sermon — the latter WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 365 part referring strongly to the present state of things — the want of security ; how an Englishman's house was no longer his castle ; warning them against evil advisers — agents of Satan, going about in sheep's clothing — in reality their bitterest enemies ; that every newspaper is now telling to what end their counsels lead in this world, and they must know what it would be in the next, &c. He ended by a prayer, beginning, ' Heavenly Shepherd.' He was more animated, and I think the sermon was more of an address than last year. Still it had his usual faults of being too much drawn out without a point to rest upon, if you know what I mean — not leaving any very distinct impression as to the tenour of the whole argument ; and further, the scrip- tural part seemed rather as if added to, than moulded together with, the philosophical deductions. I suppose he never thinks it dull here. Several evenings he read out pieces in Milton's Reformation, which is, to be sure, a different English from the present, and strong enough. He and Augustus had a long argument on Sunday evening as to how far Milton was responsible for the savage expressions he uses towards the bishops of his own day ; Augustus maintaining that in men of genius, that was the mode of temptation to evil passions ; Julius asserting that he did not really feel it, and that it was merely imaginative violence and manner of expressing the principle of hatred towards what was bad I have been obliged with Julius, &c, to put in a word for Evangelicals, feeling as I do, that, how- ever bigoted on many points, and however inconsistent occasionally, and however presumptuous and absurd, there is amongst them more of real influential piety and spiritu- ality of mind than amidst most of the accusers ; and that taking out a few such exceptions as Arnold, Arthur Per- ceval, &c, they are more likely to do good as clergy than the opposite party." 366 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H. to L. A. S. * Sunday after Christmas, 1S30. — It should have been the blessed Christmas night itself that I wrote to my own L., but I was otherwise engaged last night, and this evening will serve as well to share with you the joy of this season, and say how I have felt that we were one in the services and rejoicings of the past two days. A bright sunshine and clear frost seem to belong to Christmas, and give outwardly the cheerful brightness which one's inner man is led to feel in dwelling on the glad tidings this day brought. It is the custom here for the carols to be sung in the night, and it is so delightful to be waked out of sleep by the many voices below our window, proclaiming Christ to be born in Bethle- hem. There is something in the stillness being so broken, without any visible change, which thrills through one's very heart What joy and happiness those lose who care nothing for that Saviour so freely offered, and who would cling to the cold formalities of natural religion, putting aside so entirely the merciful link connecting us with heaven. It does seem to me also a wonderful perversion of human un- derstanding to find in Scripture any ground for lowering the nature of that Saviour, and making Him less than God. I have been the more struck with the inconsistency lately, having compared the different passages on the subject, and both directly and indirectly the evidence does appear so unanswerable. Was it not Erasmus who said he understood the Bible till he began to look at commentators ? I think 1 almost agree with him " You cannot think, in my visitings away from home, how fearful I often feel lest I should be seeming to agree too much with one side or the other ; but the fact is that, when I hear fresh instances of party spirit, of presumption, and of that ugly thing called Cant, I cannot help agreeing in the con WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 367 demnation of such unchristian conduct, though generally giving most of the accounts the credit of exaggeration ; and then, on the other side, when I see how much more of real spiritual feeling there is amongst those who are called evangelical, I cannot help preferring their society and con- versation, although I dislike exceedingly the notion of belonging to a sect, or of thinking all Christianity void that is out of it. In short, it always ends in my going to the Book, where there is not one following of Paul or another of Apollos, but Christ is all in all, and where the simplicity is so strikingly contrasted with the colour given by all human authorities, and where humility and charity are the graces most earnestly inculcated. My chief feeling, in hear- ing anecdotes unfavourable,, is the longing that those to whom they relate could know how much discredit they bring on the doctrine they wish to adorn, by a too formal adherence to the letter without regarding its spirit ; and though it would be worse than mean to compromise what is really essential, I do think much harm is done, or at least many a stumbling-block is laid, by attaching so much im- portance as some do to trifles, and by the jealous fear of being too liberal. Excellent as are many of the religious books of the present day, I believe that were religious teaching to be confined more exclusively to the Bible, it would be more wholesome, and that fewer errors would be taken up ; and in the same way I think that, delightful as the communication is with those who agree with you en religious points, the kind of religious conversations held between people of the same opinion has a great tendency to breed party-spirit and nourish a degree of self-conceit." " March 20. — I fully understand your feeling of preferring a life which has its crook. I do believe that following only one's own pleasure and having no call for exertion is not only the least wholesome, but, taking It all in all, the least 368 AflF.MCR ALS OF A QUIET LIFE. happy way of passing life. I am sure I always find it so ; and that to have sacrificed one's own inclination in ever so trifling a way, is always repaid doubly. I cannot tell you with what joy I look forward to this spring, in the hope of getting you here ; but I would earnestly guard you, in coming here, against expecting too much, either from our people, who have as yet perhaps made but little progress, or from us who are at present but beginners in the art of teaching others, and perhaps in teaching ourselves. O. thought this the dullest and the ugliest place he was ever in, so you must not fancy that you will find a Paradise out of doors of beauty — such there certainly is within of love. But I have no fears of your not being happy here." M. H. to C. S. "East Sheen, May 27, 1831. — We came up here on Monday On Wednesday evening I went up with Mrs. O. L. to the Ancient Music concert : we had good seats just before the director's box, and were in time to see the Queen enter the royal box, and hear the ' God save King William ' struck up. With all the discussions and feelings excited lately, one could not hear this without look- ing forward and feeling the unsettled state of things just now; nor could one look at the Queen and help thinking on how frail a tenure her elevation might perhaps rest some time hence. There was something very thrilling—almost overpowering — to me, in the ' God save the King,' sung in chorus, all standing up ; and I am now so unaccustomed to [mllic places, that even the number of people, all well dressed, had the effect upon me, as on a child, of novelty. I was sorry not to be nearer the Queen ; one has a curiosity about such people — to see how they talk (you know what I mean), whether they really are amused and interested by what goes on. The selection was a 1 articu WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 369 larly good one, and Pasta sang gloriously ' Ombra Adorata ' and a song of Paisiello, and one heard her so perfectly. The harmony and melody of the Knyvetts was delicious in its way, and I have seldom heard at a concert less of the tiresome music one generally has." "Alton, May 30, 1S31. — Did you think of us on Satur- day, returning with Lucy (Stanley) to our quiet home ? It was a very cool travelling day, and cleared up to a beautiful evening ; so that our drive in our own carriage from Marl- borough was delightful, and Lucy was enchanted with all the woody lanes we came through. Augustus was preparing her all the way for the change she must expect when she got here. However, our little peaceful green home was all she could wish, and I believe fully answered her expecta- tions. The three weeks we have been away seem to have made such a change in the growth of summer, and the extreme quiet strikes one much on coming back. I believe Lucy was in one of her most delicious moments, feeling the completion of her long-raised hopes." " Alton, June 2, 183 1.— There could not have been a more delightful day for the celebration of our second anni- versary. The sun shines without a cloud, and everything looks as joyous and happy as our hearts feel. It is indeed a blessed thing to have had two years of such happiness, and this is quite a fit day to represent it. You may suppose how Lucy has enjoyed it. We had the long table and benches brought out of the barn, and put on the grass-plot under the cherry-tree, by the quince, and twenty-five chil- dren came at twelve o'clock to a dinner of bacon and potatoes, and gooseberry pies. The Piles, Miss Miller, &c, came to look on, and had chairs put out to sit under the trees. What is so common with you, being quite a new thing here, was much thought of. Augustus said a grace before and after, and the children sang their hymn, and vol. 1. B B 37© MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. each had gingerbread given, and then away they went. It was really no expense, very little trouble, and gave much pleasure. The boys, being out at plough this afternoon, are to have their supper at seven o'clock ; and we, having dined at three o'clock, are now going — Augustus and I — to take a delicious ride together, and Lucy to enjoy her solitary ramble on the Downs, with her camp-stool and Brute. " — We are all come in now, well tired, but I must finish my letter to you. It has been the most exquisite summer's evening, and you may guess how we have enjoyed our ride. How I rejoiced in our being in the country again in this fine weather, for though Sheen is very pretty, it is not above half country. "We have a curious case in the village just now, of a poor woman, named Mary Browne, who was seized while she was peeling potatoes with what she calls the Dreads, fancying an evil spirit came over her, and she has now taken to her bed for three weeks, constantly tormented by this spirit, which, she says, tells her she shall never be forgiven, tries to hinder her praying, and puts all sorts of bad thoughts into her head whenever she tries to think of God or heaven. She seems perfectly sane, but so very miserable, it is quite sad to see her. Then she has taken a fancy that she is thus tormented in consequence of having taken the sacrament, which I had persuaded her to do on Good Friday, and thought I had satisfied her scruples. There is the oddest mixture about her of self-justification and self-condemnation. I used to think her so insensible when I talked to her, and now she seems to feel only too sensitively." M. H. (Journal). "June 2, 1 83 1. — Our third wedding-day ! Two years of uninterrupted happiness have been granted to us — such years as perhaps may never again be permitted us to enjoy. WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 37 1 We have grown in love to each other, and in comfort with all around us. Have we grown as much as we ought in love and devotion of heart to our Heavenly Master ? This is a question I hardly like to ask, for I fear the true answer would be a mortifying, self-condemning one. Some- thing of earnestness in the great work appointed to us, has, I would hope, been added to us ; a few seeds scattered amongst* our people, have, I trust, been the beginning of some good, which, by God's blessing, may spring up even from the weakest instruments. But when I look into myself I find nothing there but food for sorrow and mourning, that, with such advantages of situation and circumstances, I have made so little progress in attaining a true Christian spirit ; that I am so little humbled before God • that my faith is so weak, my trust so wavering. Oh, my God and Saviour, do thou listen to my earnest prayer! Take from me the cold- ness and deadness of heart I so often feel in spiritual things. Enlighten me by Thy Word of Truth to see and know Thy will, and by the Holy Spirit assisting me, enable me to struggle without ceasing in bringing my thoughts and affec- tions into obedience to the Cross of Christ. Help me to subdue every selfish and wayward feeling, every desire lift- ing itself up against Thy will, and make me to feel what immense causes I have for thankfulness to Thee. This day united us for ever upon earth. Oh, may it be the fore- runner only of that more perfect union we may hereafter enjoy in heaven ! Do Thou, gracious Lord, be with my husband, softening his heart more and more into perfect love for Thy service, strengthening his faith, and filling him with that joyful communion and heavenly peace which Thou dost bestow on Thy true believers. We must look forward to times when all may not go on as smoothly as it now does. Troubles and sorrows must come ; and I feel at times a painful dread lest there should be found wanting a chasten- 372 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. ing hand to wean me from a too great love for the things of this life, and from placing my affections too entirely on earthly objects. I have been, with one exception, perhaps too prosperous, and my life has too little call for self-sacrifice to be altogether as wholesome as it might be. I must endeavour to supply the need of outward teaching by a more watchful self-examination, a more diligent study of God's Word, and more earnest and unremitting prayer for help and support. May God in His mercy quicken my feeble wishes, and bring them into reality and fulfil- ment." A . W. II. (Note-Book). " Whitsunday. — Who has not seen the sun on a tine spring morning pouring his rays through a transparent white cloud, filling all places with the purity of his presence, and kindling the birds into joy and song ? Such, I con- ceive, would be the constant effects of the Holy Spirit on the soul, were there no evil in the world. As it is, the moral sun, like the natural, though ' it always makes a day,' is often clouded over. It is only under a combination of peculiarly happy circumstances, that the heart suffers this sweet violence perceptibly, and feels and enjoys the ecstasy of being borne along by overpowering, unresisted influxes of good. To most, I fear, this only happens during the spring of life : but some hearts keep young, even at eighty." L. A. S. to C. S. il Alton, June 3, 1831. — I have only been letting a few days pass over the heads of my ideas here, before I began to write. Everything is exactly like my expectation, except that I had imagined too large a scale, and that I had WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 373 no idea how great a difference there was between Augustus known, and Augustus unknown, — for I never knew him before in the least. The second day after I came I thought a little child would look very dear on the little lawn, but I hardly think it is necessary to their perfect happiness, — it is so entire. For myself, I can only say the guest without a husband is as happy as the hostess with ; and, when I was walking over the White Horse's Tail yesterday evening, I felt the very feeling of Wordsworth's Solitary in the ' Excur- sion,' when — ' No prayer he breathed — he proffered no request.' The only alteration I wish, is to cut down half the trees, but Augustus does not at all agree. It is so amusing to see the interest the grave scholar takes in his cow, and horse, and meadow. He came in yesterday and said he meant to water the grass in the orchard, and was very angry one day because Maria and I had walked all through the long grass, which was to be cut at five this morn- ing. He takes his daily round through the village, and re- turns with a minute account to his Mia. You would have en- joyed seeing Maria yesterday, busy preparing for her school- children, filling the jars with flowers, placing the table under the cherry-tree, all the children meanwhile peeping through the gate ; and then, when all was ready. Augustus exclaim- ing, 'Throw open the doors,' — and putting each happy little thing in its place. The feast concluded with the children singing the Morning Hymn, led by Maria. I did enjoy the day thoroughly. It is no difficult task to rejoice with those who rejoice,- — and rejoice was written in every look and action of the two throughout the day. Then we dined, at three, and I and my camp-stool went to explore the Downs. The carpet of cistus, and milkwort and thyme there, is quite beautiful. I delight in the Downs, but they are very fatiguing. The only thing I long for is a running brook, with forget-me-not. The source of the Avon is like the o 374 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. outpourings of a soap-tub. Likewise there is a great scarcity of flowers — except downy ones. M. H. to C. S. "Alton, June 8, 1831. — I do not think our political horizon is at all more cheering than yours. On Saturday night, a great fire consumed four wheat ricks, and four barns full of thrashed corn, about seven miles off, near Abury, because the farmer had used a machine. On Monday we called on Mrs. Goodman, and found the old lady in great alarm ; one of her sons, who is a farmer, having sent word that morning that one of his servants had been told by a horseman riding by — ' If your master does not pull down his machine, all his ricks will be burnt by to-morrow night.' This sounds just like November again, and Augustus and I rode home with something of the same feeling returned. This, with the expectation and threat of burning all the corn as soon as it is ripe, makes one look forward with some dread to the next few months. There is no doubt that a most fearful spirit of insubordination and dissatisfac- tion is abroad, and if ministers do not speedily find some remedy, I fear the Reform Bill will have little effect in quieting the disaffected We read Burke, and find him really a prophet, and lament there is no such wisdom now. "One day Lucy attacked Milton's 'Paradise Regained' as lowering Christ ; so Augustus brought it out to see, and, I think, allowed it to have that tendency. You would laugh to hear her say she has only one objection to Alton, — that she could not be alone enough, — meeting people in every field ; and even on the Downs on Sunday evening she met some men who entered into conversation, and told her a long history about the parish, and ' if Lady Hare thought she would ever do any good she was mistaken,' &c. WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 375 Augustus is getting very fond of her, and says it is some- thing quite new to him, — the books she mentions, and the people, and some of her remarks. She certainly lives more in another world than this; — but nothing can be more charitable and lenient than her way of speaking of people. She is much delighted with our hay being all about, and the whole family turning out to work. One day a swarm of bees settled in our kitchen chimney. The next day two claimants came to own them, — that great division existing as to whether they had flown here from the north or south. Augustus referred the matter to certain judges, who decided against our parishioners; and I believe it ended in Augustus paying both parties for them, and the bees are established in our garden. " The little carriage has arrived at Marlborough ; but now is a great difficulty as to who can be trusted to drive it over here? As our new horse has not been tried, and William has never driven him, we are afraid of sending him for it. Gideon offered his services, but not being used to coach- manship he has been rejected, and in short, I do not at present see how it is ever to get over the nine miles between Marlborough and here, unless we call a parish meeting to ascertain if any of our flock can drive. Then when got here, where is it to be housed, the barn being otherwise used? So you see we are put to great inconvenience by our new gift." M. H. (from her Parish Journal). "June 11, 1831. — There had lately come into the parish a Baptist named Richard Douse. I had not held any com- munication with him till this evening, when in coming from my usual visit to Mary Browne, I went into his cottage. After some little talk about poor Mary's unhappy state of mind, he said, ' Ah, I was once in as bad a way as she is. 376 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. It is nou many years since I was turned to the Lord.' 1 asked him what caused him to think seriously. ' Why it was one day when I was working for Mr. Pile's father-, there were a many of us, and we were talking of dying. I said I was not afraid of death, why should 1? I had not been cursing nor swearing, nor doing as many did. I always went to church, and did nobody any harm. The next day it came over me all at once. I was not able to go out to work for eight weeks. I thought I was so vile a sinner, God would not have mercy on me. I could get no rest, and they were for sending me to a mad-house, thinking 1 must be mad. One day I was out in the field. I had beat away my wife and mother that I might go and pray, .when all of a sudden it did seem to I as if I heard a voice say in my ears, "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." and in that minute it seemed just as if two great hefts of wheat were lifted off my back.' From that time Richard Douse seems to have been comforted, and said what a blessed thing it was ; that he had seen others in a like way. A young woman at Ailing ton had sent for him when she was ill. He had talked with her, she was bad a long time. Some time after she died ; he was not with her, but he heard she was triumphant. Another case he told of a relation of his own. When she was dying, she sent for him, and, hearing he could stay all night, said, ' Oh, let us bless the Lord for it, then you'll be with me and hear the last word !' He answered, he hoped it would be a com- fortable one. She replied, ' I can only give as it is given.' When her parents asked, why she liked so much to have her uncle with her, 'Oh, because we talk about Jesus Christ;' and she would not talk of anything else. "A woman coming in at this time, we took our leave, when he followed us out of the door, putting out his rough hand to shake mine, the tears standing in his eyes." WILTSHIRE RIDTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. $77 M. H. to C. S. " Alton, June 15, 1831. — You will be glad to hear we have got our little carriage from Marlborough. We bor- rowed one of Mr. Miller's servants to ride Goodman Dull to fetch it, and on Saturday it arrived. The pony looks twice as well in harness, and goes admirably. On Monday we were, as you may imagine, all impatient to try it, and set out about five, Augustus driving. The very first turn, we came suddenly on two immense timber loads, and narrow indeed was the alternative of going into the ditch, or being fastened on a wheel. However, we did escape both evils and went merrily on, and nothing can do better. The carriage runs so easily and quietly, and Dull scarcely merits so unflattering a name now, he goes so perfectly, never starting or stumbling, and just fit for his driver. " My poor woman continues much the same, though we have doctored her body with physic, and her head with vinegar and water, and endeavoured to exercise her mind by reading and talking. It is a very singular case certainly. She is a woman that a year ago, in an illness, I found it impossible to make any impression on. She was ' not worse than her neighbours, went to church,' &c. Now she has these tempts come over her, that God will not forgive her, and that the Evil One will carry her away. It makes her in a siveat all over. Then she prays and it goes away ; but her dread is, lest it should get the better. She is comforted and very grateful for our reading to her, and says, if she can get over this, she thinks she shall be happier than she ever wis." C. S. to M. H. " Highlake, June 23, 1831. — A beautiful day on Monday tempted me to choose the open carriage on the railroad. 37 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. We got there an hour before the time ; but not having s*er. the establishment, I was anxious to investigate the whole apparatus of engine and carriages. At ten we started. Three open cars have cushions and divisions, and look very inviting empty, but when filled you are brought into inevitable contact with much that is disagreeable. I was especially so, for I had an intolerable fat neighbour, who was up and down every minute, till at last some one told a story of a man who was killed last Friday by standing up contrary to advice, in that very carriage, and tumbling back- wards over the side ; after which he was a little quieter. The carriage held four-and-twenty. Two men who sat opposite amused me by their conversation. Respectable tradesmen they looked ; one — indeed both — sensible moderate men. Of Reform, one said he had been a Reformer all his life and was so now ; but should be more hearty in the cause if he could be sure it would stop; but when he heard the triumph of the demagogues in the success of their perseverance, he could not but agree with them that they had but to persevere again to get what they wanted more ; that he knew many Reformers who were beginning to look the other side the question. He was the sort of man that looked as if he spoke the opinion of a certain class. Nothing can be less enjoyable, I think, than the mode of travelling. You see nothing before nor behind but the carriages before and behind. The noise is deaf- ening, the motion jarring, and besides the Manchester atmosphere you carry with you, which there is no sea- breeze, as in a steamboat, to counteract, particles of cinders or iron dust get into your eyes and blind you for the time, and make your eyes weak for a day or two after- wards ; however, in the shut carriages these evils are avoided. Our train consisted of a hundred and fifty. It is as well managed jpparentlyas it can be; but to me, who detest WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. 379 all bustle of the kind, the luggage and the omnibus, and the quantity of trunks that even three little people take to convey their goods when everything must have its place, make the convenience of one's own carriage rise sensibly before one. I feel it, however, almost wrong and un- grateful to speak disrespectfully of such a wonderful in- vention and arrangement as it is. The rapidly improving state of the country through which it passes is curious, Chat Moss getting into cultivation — houses building, &c." M. H. to C. S. " MiUards Hill, July 2, 1831. — We left Lucy to her solitude on Tuesday, and set off hither at eleven o'clock in the little carriage — only Augustus and I. We trolted merrily on to Trowbridge, it being a cool day, and thought we had maligned Dull. Then we waited an hour, had dinner, read the newspaper, and set off again at half-past five. The road was so hilly all the way to Frome, that we got on very slowly. Our chief amusement was that, in going up one of the long hills, we were overtaken by a newsman from Bath, who began talking to Augustus, saying how many more papers had been in request — at the rate of eight or nine a week more than before the Reform Bill. Then he talked of how many miles he walked a day, &c. ; ' but I shall not have to do it much longer.' ' Why ? how so? Have you got some other place?' ' No, sir; a rela- tion has died in the East Indies, and I and my brother are his heirs, and we never saw till lately the advertisement. which had been for three years in the papers. We were offered yesterday ^4,000 for our shares.' ' But you won't take it ? ' ' No, sir ; we know what the amount is — ninety- three thousand odd hundred pounds.' He entered into all the details of how the Will was in Doctors' Commons, and about the interest and legacy duty, &c ' Not that W4 380 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. should have been up to this if the lawyers had not set us up to it.' He was the commonest pedlar-looking man. Augustus was very near giving him a shilling, for the sake of saying that he had done it to a man worth the half of ninety-three thousand pounds." C. S. to M. H. " Alder ley, July 7, 1831. — We came back from Highlake by the train, but in the shut carriages. There was a man killed in our train, but we knew nothing of it at the time, but that there was an unexplained stop of a minute; in fact you know just as much of what goes on in any other part of the train as if you were at Alton. There were only three places vacant when we went three hours before the time to take our places. It is more like taking places at a theatre than anything else. You book yourselves for the seats you choose, and, having a number on your ticket, find your place accordingly in the train. Another remark I made was, how little idea you have of the distance you pass over, when the objects are not previously known to you. No road having ever been upon the line of railroad, of course there are no landmarks, and for anything one sees, the distance might be only twelve miles. It did seem marvellous, indeed, to find one's self at Huyton Church, six miles, in eight minutes, from Liverpool." M. H.toL. A. S. '• Stake, Sept. 30. — I felt very sad in parting with you, dearest Lucy, and in thinking that I should return without you to our peaceful home. Our pilgrimages are at present, it is true, through widely different paths, and yours is often rugged, whilst mine is permitted for a time to be strewn with flowers ; but the final home is the same to both, and perhaps the very thorns and briers which seem a bin- WILTSHIRE RIOTS AND VILLAGE DUTIES. $%l drance at the time, may be the best and surest means ot arriving at the end in safety, and further the poor weary pilgrim on his journey far more effectually, than the more pleasant attendants on the road in flowers and smoothness. However this may be, it is happily for us arranged for our good by One who seeth not as man seeth, and whose infinite wisdom and mercy knows how best to suit our needs. May we only use the means placed in our power, whether of joys or sorrows, so as to advance nearer and nearer to His eternal kingdom, and then it will matter litde whether these few years be spent in one way or another. What a blessing it is. dearest, that our re-union has proved indeed so true a one, and that we feel ourselves in the same course, running the same race ; we indeed are far behind, yet I would fain hope striving after the same prize; and especially do I rejoice that it is no longer I alone who share your thoughts and love and prayers, but my own dearest Augustus also who is united with me in your heart. This is no trifling result of our three months' happiness, and will endure long after the impression of it becomes less strong than it is at present." " Stake, October 10. — When I think how I used to com- plain of the want of interest and the dreariness here, which now seems to me by comparison so extended and beautiful, and think how it never has occurred to me, at our little miniature of a garden and house and grounds, to feel a deficiency, I am fearfully sensible what a great weight of happiness rests upon one person, and how dependent I am — upon what ? Upon a Father who loveth His children better than any earthly parent, and will never leave nor ior- sake them. We have had a delicious evening service. Julius, who is staying here, read prayers, and Augustus preached, J having just before had the pleasure of hearing one of my favourite cottagers say of the last Sunday's sermon, ' I have jS*' MEMORIALS OF A IJUIET LIFE. never had it out of my head since. I never heard a minister that satisfied me so well. I hope I shall never forget it, he went so desperate deep ; ami told such truth, one could not but understand it. I take it he must be a rare good liver to preach like that.' " XI. SUNSHINE. "Every one might to read in a triple boob,— — in the book of Creatures, that he may find Gofl ; — in the book of Conscience, that he may know himself; — in the book of Scripture, that he may love his neighbour " Alanus de Insulis. M. H. to C. S. " T-JECKFIELD PLACE, Oct. 15, 1 831. —Who do you think we have here ? — Lady Elizabeth Whitbread. She is mother to Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre, wife of the member for Hants (which I never knew till I came here, so un- communicative is Augustus about his relations), and sister, as you probably know, to Lord Grey. I must speak of her first, for I can only think of her. She is a magnificent woman, — has been very handsome, and is so dignified, with such simplicity and strong sense ; one could see in a moment it was no ordinary character. When Augustus was reading a letter of Lord Grey's in the paper to-night, her eyes filled with tears ; and when he said anything in praise, her face glowed with delight. Just now, one does look with great interest at any person connected with political life, and she has all the old experience of it, and delights Augustus by bringing up what she has heard from Charles Fox. Mrs. Lefevre is very much pleased at our coming, wants lis to 384 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. stay longer, and is all kindness. There is nobody bul her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre, and her children, who live here. Mr. S. Lefevre is absent at Winchester ssasions, but returns to-morrow. It is an ugly-looking red brick house, but very excellent inside, rooms on a large scale, and everything very handsome and well appointed, though a little formal. There is a charming large common close by, with copsewood, and wild brambles and furze, looking both cheerful and picturesque ; and the distant views, like Wo >d- hay, are soft and rich. Mr. Blackstone is the vicar, and comes in and out here whenever he likes. He has been here both evenings, and this evening we have had some amusing discussions, in which Lady Elizabeth bore her share, and that a very delightful one. There is a genuineness and truth about all she says that does one good to hear ; and then she does listen in such a way ! and raises herself up oX times in her plain black dress with such dignity, when any opposition to her opinion is raised. Augustus had attacked some expression of Mrs. Shaw-Lefevre's at dinner, and she said immediately, ' Oh, you and mamma would agree about language, she is as fastidious as you are;' and accordingly, as soon as we went into the drawing-room where Lady Elizabeth was (for she has been very ill, and only comes down in an evening), they began a discussion upon language, in which she quoted Fox's opinion that you should always talk with the people, and she found as much fault with modern corruptions as Augustus himseif— said she could not understand half of what was said nowadays, there was so much phraseology in certain sets. Then they got upon public speaking, and she criticised some of the speeches, and spoke with delight of her brother's; then to preachers, when we had a very amusing discussion between her and her daughter about Mr. Howi-ls. . . . But I must not go on in this way; you may imagine how entertaining it is. f SUNSHINE. 385 quite delight in this country, it is so cheerful and airy, and yet so well wooded; just the sort of country to live in for enjoyment." M. H. to L. A. S. "The dear Alton, Oct. 22, 1831. — A threatening shower passed away before we got into the Vale, and the sun shone brightly as we came over the brow ; and said Augustus, ' Well, it is not so beautilcss? There stood Miss Miller and her cousin busy at work in their garden ; there were the little school-girls at the usual corner ; and some little way farther, there came out of his cottage-door, at the sound of the wheels, John Brown himself, in his blue cap, which he took off, stroking down his hair as you may see him doing, with his honest welcome. The dear little peaceful home ! You know what my feeling is when I come back to it, and that I have scarcely a word ready to give the servants who greet us, so full is my heart at this moment." L. A. S. to M. H. " Corinne Bay, Penrhos, Sept. 28, 1831. — This has been a happy Sunday. I could not go to church, and have spent most of the morning and afternoon in my rocky chamber, with the seagulls and kittewakes for a congregation. No- where, I think, can one enter more into the beauty of Christ's discourses than by the sea, where most of His words were spoken. The waves, in their stillness or motion, must be the same everywhere, and the sound, on our ear as we read, was in His when he spoke. " At this moment, a huge brown seagull is flapping over my head, two white-sailed sloops are lying in the bay, and the air is as soft as June. The wind does not touch my paper, but there is enough to give the sea motion, VOL. I. C C 386 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and make the small waves break over the limpet-covered rocks." " Oct. 16. — I intend this to find you when you arrive at the dear home. I have fancied you saying every now and then to Augustus, ' next Sunday we shall be in the little church ;' and much as you have enjoyed seeing all the dear Stoke and Alderley people, I know the full heart of grateful joy, and the thrilling sensation, with which you will see Gideon run to open the gate, and feel, as you drive in, that you are once more all in all to each other." " Nov. 7. — Now for two happy hours. They all went to Beaumaris this morning, since which I have fulfilled all necessary duties, and now have established myself in the breakfast-room. The three Greek books are ready open ; my task for to-night, the thirteenth and fourteenth verses of Matt. vi. When I was eating my solitary dinner just now, I thought of the last I ate at Alton, with Brute by my side. It is blowing a heavy gale, and there are such strange noises abroad ; the dogs are snuffing and listening as if they heard people — growling low. Your letter came just as I was thinking of you both in prayer, and spoke less of earth than heaven. You place me- completely by your side. How little I did what I ought to have done ; how much I did which I ought not to have done at dear Alton, and yet it is very sweet to me to think that we are perhaps sometimes helped on our way and fresh grace given, in answer to the hurrble prayer of some of Christ's little ones, who remember the little word of advice or comfort we offered, long after our own fleeting thought of it passed away. I have been refreshing myself with some of St. Augustine's and St. Anselm's meditations, and I always find myself most honestly described in the writings of these old Fathers, — there is such a deep knowledge of the human heart, with such simplicity and heavenly-mindedness. They spoil one SUNSHINE. 387 for modern authors. I find Julius very often in these old men's quaint sentences." Only a week after their return to Alton, Augustus left for London, to hear the legal argument of the Winchester Appeal, which he had been long occupied in drawing up on the Founder's Kin question. M. H. to A. W. H. "Alton, Oct. 29, 1831. — When the dearest Augustus gets this, his ordeal will be over, and the argument whether good or bad will have come, I trust, to a conclusion. Either you will be railing at the inefficient manner in which Jenner served your cause, or at the long-winded prosiness of your opponents ; you will have longed to get up and defend your own position, or you will scarcely feel a triumph from the weakness of your adversary. I hardly dare venture to hope that this will find you satisfied with the able way in which the question has been argued, and content to rest its decision on the impression that argument has left. You know how much your own darling Mia will think of you and wish for your success on Monday ; and if you are dis- heartened and wanting comfort, you will like to have a few lines telling you so, though they can do you no further good. I rejoiced so much yesterday in the beautiful day for your journey, I hardly could regret you were not with me to enjoy it ; and my walk up the hill was full of pleasant and grateful thoughts, both of you and the dear Luce, who had been my last companion on the Downs. With so bright a sky and balmy an air, one could only love tenfold those whom God has given us to love, and feel how little reason one has to doubt his wonderful care over them. I am glad you do not know how weak and faithless my heart otten is as regards the future, and how many t ; mes there 388 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. comes across my happiness an unreasonable dread of what is to come ; such feelings are however useful, I daresay, and serve to keep up a sense of our dependence and need of help, which might with stronger nerves be forgotten or weakened. We have received such great mercies hitherto, we cannot doubt that the same loving Father will be with us always, whether in chastening or joy. Dearest Augustus, you know how tenderly I love you ; and how, when you are absent, my heart cannot help gushing over with affection, for then I feel how bare and desolate life would be without you. It is so blessed a thing in our affection that no blights or spots obscure it, as is often the cas£ in little things, between those who are really attached, from dis- similarity in character, or some unavoidable circumstance of unsuitableness. But I must not dilate on this often-told theme. I hear a voice calling me to give an account of myself, and though it should be ever so unimportant in the eyes of many, to my own husband I know that the details of my day cannot be uninteresting. ..." The school was, of course, my first object ; where I was much pleased with the progress the children had made in our absence. They had learnt all I had set them very perfectly, and said it very well, and I was well satisfied that Mrs. Patrick had done her duty thoroughly . . Then, what else did I do ? — scold Gideon, who did not much like it, and said he should be three days over the work, which three days were short ones, seeing the potatoes were safely hodded — is not that the word ? — before night. " Oct. 30. — No dear Sunday work to-day — no sermon to pin, no date to write, no hymn to hear. The house seems especially dull and unlike itself to-day; and, when the reach- ing was over, and service ended, I missed the dearest Aug. sadly. The only consolation I could find was that the singers did not choose to sing, and that both morning SUNSHINE. 389 and evening service were without any lelief, so that you would have been tired. The churches were reversed in consequence of the frost this morning, which made the great church'too damp for use ; but this afternoon we had service there, and our seat, I am happy to find, has been new boarded at last. " I have been reading Chalmers' 'Civic Economy.' How admirable what he says of the advantages of Local Districts, and thg bringing teachers and people into contact; and the want of more labourers in the vineyard to make the harvest plenteous. In how many places one hears complaints oi the want of churches, and ignorance of all the people; and yet people talk of no Church reform being necessary. The danger is, lest in these change-loving times, a stone or two may be pulled out, which may chance to be the main prop of the whole, and the whole edifice may come down at once, where repair and amendment only are needed. We must labour all the harder whilst means and time are allowed us; and, if in this little spot we could sow some ol the good seed, it will be a blessed support and comfort when the great earthquake does come. I pray for my dearest Augustus that he may be strengthened and con- firmed in his own faith, and enabled to win many over to the Truth, and may we both make many shoots upwards, if it is only as a sign of our thankful love for all the blessings given us. . . . Sleep well to-night, and do not dream about stand- ing up before the Bishop to plead your Anti-Founder's cause, and do not let all the ghosts of poor Wykeham's much injured and greatly beloved kinsfolk haunt you; When may I look for the dear step, ' that has music in it, as it comes up the stair ; for there's nae luck aboot the hoose when my gude man's awa'?'" 39G MEMORIALS OF A QUIE1 llfh. A. W. H. to M. H. " London, Oct. 31, 1831. — We were at it til] dark. Sir Herbert Jenner learned and composed ; Erie, strong, clear, and veiy good ; Phillimore, as yet, weak as water, save such strength as in spite of himself Wykeham's statutes give him. He has got half through his speech, and will pro- ceed to-morrow morning. Then comes Lefevre, who will, I fear, be powerful. We have the right of reply, and all is clone. You would have been amused at the objection taken at the beginning of the case against my presenting the Appeal, because I was no longer a member of New College. He also read a passage from the statutes against those who, 'at the instigation of the old Serpent,' plot ;.ny innovation on Wykeham's statutes. So that all my labours have been at the instigation of the Devil ! Truly, if so, he has been a worse paymaster than usual, for he has given me none of his coin. " Nov. 2. — Our argument was resumed yesterday. I got to the Court a quarter before ten, and found Phillimore at work. They had begun about ten minutes. But what sort of a place is the Court? Why, like any other Court, with one end raised, like a horse-shoe, with a great round chair in the centre, wherein sat the Visitor, with the collar of the Garter, but out of lawn sleeves. Patteson was on his right, and Lushington on his left, on less conspicuous seats. These rilled the centre of the horse-shoe ; we occupied the right of it, Phillimore and Lefevre the left. In the centre, below us, was a large green-baized table, round which sat the reporters and the audience. When Phillimore ended, up got Lefevre, very serious, and wisely diffident. With the Canon and Civil Law he had the good sense not to meddle. His best point was an attempt, and I expect a very just one, Uiough .t made little impression on the Judges, to infer irom SUNSHINE. 391 a variety of old documents that the questions discussed before Bromley and Laud were not of degree, but of pedi- gree — and, if so, the main prop of our argument is cut away. Jenner replied, and made some good points in reply to Phillimore, and would have made more, but Phillimore, to break the effect of his speech, kept inter- rupting him every other sentence. His law was dull and lengthy, and I half wished the reply had fallen to me. I woke the night before with my head full of what I should say if I had to speak. About four the business closed, and the Judges departed, not half so tired I hope as I was. My impression of the ignorance of Doctors' Commons is unchanged. With Jenner's industry and attention I have every reason to be satisfied. But most assuredly, if the case were to be re-argued, I would go to work myself; and I will venture to say, that with the insight I have gained into the bearings of Civil Law on the question, and the ad- vantages of great and good libraries, I could do better, or at least provide better materials on the question." M. H. to L. A. S. " Nov. 2. — What is the dear Luce about, that I have not had a word to comfort me in my solitude ? but, indeed, you are with me now in every walk, and it is quite curious how you rise up in my path wherever I go. It is no longer an occasional thought and wish that you might sometime or other come here, a feeling I used to have when breathing trie Down air — this Lucy would enjoy ; — but it is the cer- tainty that you know every bye-lane and house and field around us, and that to your mind's eye they are often as present as they are to mine in reality. The little sparkling old Hannah Baillie told me the other day, ' I never can help thinking of she as I go down that lane, nor should I if I lived to a hundred ! ' And then she told me of youi 392 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. sitting down and reading to her there, and of all that was said on both sides. The dear little woman is as eager to hear and to learn as ever, and there is a sincerity about her which one must hope much from. ' Ah,' she said, ' I hope God Almighty will bless that good lady for all she did here —indeed her pleasure seemed to be amongst the poor;' and, little as it may seem to many, by you the prayer and blessing of poor Hannah will not be despised. All hands and minds are just now as busy in getting in potatoes as they were in gleaning when you were here, and few people are at home. Do you remember the canting old man, who talked of how many chapters he read in a year ? Since we went he has sent his son and daughter, and their children, away, and taken his sweetheart to live with him. So much for the good his chapters did him ! I begin to think his former wife was not much to be wondered at for having a distaste for texts. "And have I written all this, and not said a word of the dear Master, the chief subject of my rejoicing over your visit that you have learnt to know and love each other ? It is such a pleasure to me to think that there is now one person who knows what he is, and there is no one but you who does know it in the same degree, and there is a sensible difference between thinking it right people should love each other, and thinking it impossible they should do otherwise." "Saturday Evening, Nov. 12, 1831. — Augustus has not gone down to the Study. He is walking about in the drawing-room, then sitting down, and scribbling as fast as he can, then referring, it may be, to the newspapers before him ; for his subject is the cholera — his text, I believe, is 2 Chron. vii. 4 — and what a subject it is ! How soon has England followed the fate of its sister countries, in spite of that sea, which so many hoped would save it from the scourge, If the evil really comes home to our own doors, SUNSHINE. 393 God will, I hope and trust, strengthen us to meet the trial. At present, I confess, I shrink at the prospect, and feel very faint-hearted in thinking of the winter before us. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of the indescribable dread I feel of all the trial of our faith likely to beset us, and the more we love each other, and enjoy our present happiness, the more I tremble for the sad reverse it may please God to bring upon us. For the first time, I now really rejoice that I have no children to watch over and add to my anxieties, and, in the present state of this country, I feel sure it is far better to be as independent of outward circum- stances as possible. My faith is sadly weak at times. Pray for me, dearest, that I may have grace given to help and support me, and to enable me to set my affections more upon things above, and that my Augustus may be helped to rouse the sleepers and excite the slothful to watch and be ready. The liability to fevers in this vale has taken away one's confidence in iht treeless openness. Augustus brought from London a medicine chest full of the proper medicines, and he has been giving orders to get the unsavoury lane purified, as well as a dry path made for the people to come to church. " And now, to turn to a more agreeable subject What do you think he brought me from London ? the most beautiful little Greek Testament you ever saw. Then I have a Parkhurst like yours. With these excitements, I hope to get on much with Greek, and, by-the-bye, I can comfort you with the experience I have had — that, having for a long time been forced to study every word, and fancy it was all uphill, and I was getting on so slowly, all at once I found myself far more advanced than I thought, and got on mu r .h more rapidly. It is much the best way to read only a little, and make yourself thoroughly mistress of it, as you seem to be doing." 394 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " Sunday Evening. — How I wish you could have been here to-day, and have heard the sermon. Augustus began by saying that he should explain what the danger was that the form of prayer alluded to, and entered into all the details respecting the disease, its beginning, and gradual approach; read out of the newspaper the symptoms, and also the advice of the physicians about temperance and cleanliness ; then specified how this country, from its thick population and rapid communication, was, more than any other, likely to have it spread in every part; entered into the details of how every house should be ventilated, and how both personal and domestic cleanliness were essential as precautions, and all this before it came to our doors. When it was really come — if it did — ' the first thing, to put the patient into a bed as hot as possible, the second thing to come to me,' without a moment's loss of time — an hour's delay might be fatal : he had procured all the necessary medicines. When, from the temporal danger, and the pre- cautions necessary, he turned to the far more important need of timely repentance, and the impossibility in this sickness of turning to God at the last hour, and was gradually warmed by the subject to exhort and beseech their consideration of these things, you may fancy how the dear Augustus's countenance was lighted up, and how all the feebleness of bodily fear (of which he has by nature much in cases of danger) was subdued and conquered by the bright hope within him and the prospect of serving his Lord and Master ; and when his appeal to their soul's wel- fare ended by his triumphant question of, ' What have Christ's servants to fear? — a little sickness, a few pangs, a plunge into the grave, and an issue thence to life and glory ! ' the impression left was far from being the melan- choly one which all the earlier details of his sermon might have led one to expect, and I really feel more comfortable SUNSHINE. 395 than I have done for some days. It was in Great Alton Church, and the people were, as you may suppose, all atten- tion, and some, I believe, in tears. God giant their hearts might be touched. Augustus got through it very firmly, but could scarcely get through the blessing. At this moment he is resting upon the sofa, and I have been playing and singing the hymn in times of danger, — 'And when thy sorrows visit us, oh grant thy patience too.' " A. W. H. to L. A. S. " Nov. 22. — The dear Mia and her husband unite — when are they disunited ? — to send greeting to their dear Luce. They wish she was here to keep the birthday to-day, and to rejoice with them in their happy lot I have taken a great liking, a great respect, rather, for Pontin. We were asking him about bedding, and he said, with the greatest simplicity, ' Oh, we are very well off now — we have got sheets.' 'But, to keep you warm?' ' Oh, yes, and we are warm enough with the sheets — we do very well, thank you.' And his little girl the other day, seeing our Jack and Dull coming down the brow, put down her umbrella, though it was raining, and hid it under her cloak. ' Why did you do that, my little girl ? ' * Not to frighten the horses.'" M. H. to L. A. S. "Nov. 22. — Augustus is just gone off to the barn having been busy studying the ' Sermon on the Mount ' for to-night. I wish for you so much in our daily evening lecture. Sumner's book is very good for the purpose, and, of course, Aug. puts in explanatory bits of his own, and he sometimes reads one of Reginald's hymns. The people bring their Bibles, and look out any references, and it is just what I ha^e long wished for. We have to-day finished, 396 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFK together, Malachi, and shall begin to-morrow with Lowth's [saiah. You, too, will be studying this prophet, for he is in the course ; so you may think of us, and I know you like to know our line of thought and study." Julius Hare to M. H. " Cambridge, Nov. 22, 1831. — Very many happy returns of the day to you, dearest Maria ! and on very many xyths and 2 2nds of November may you and Augustus drink each other's healths, each of you blest in seeing the other by your side, both of you blest in living amid a Hock to whom you are administering the comforts of earth, and whom you are buiding towards the bliss of heaven. Dearest Maria, it is a great joy to think that one of my brothers, the dearest of them, is blest with the choicest gift that Heaven can bestow, a good and loving wife. For myself, though I know full well how to prize it, though there is nothing on earth that my heart reveres so much as the graces of womanly virtue, my destiny has cut out a path for me, from which I can only gaze at it from afar, but which, God be thanked, has many pleasures of its own, far more than enough to content any heart, not a prey to morbid cravings. Still, I rejoice most heartily that one of my brothers has met with the goodlier lot, the choicer happiness ; and may God bless you, Maria, for being the source of it — for making Augustus so happy ! I wish I could give you my greetings by word of mouth, and could drink your healths in your presence. As it is, I must content myself with doing so in my lonely tower : and yet I ought not to call it lonely ; for it is thronged with immortals, though the outward shell of mortality is rarely seen in it. " When you come here next spring, — and, as you have set your mind upon dragging me away from my beautiful looms to Hurstmonceaux, in order that you may stay in SUNSHINE. 3Q7 your beautikss parsonage of Alton, you positively must not put off coming here, God willing, beyond the coming out of the leaves next spring, — you must make yourself at home here for at least a week, and then you will have time to find out what noble-minded persons I am living among. " Edward Stanley seemed thoroughly well pleased with his stay here, and told me that our great men were the best people he had ever met with, talking wisdom and nonsense in the same breath, and with the same uncon- straint, and pouring out their knowledge as liberally as if it was dross." L. A. S. to M. H. " Penrhos, Nov. 15, 1831. — My week of solitude, unlike yours, has seemed only a day long. I have done so much Greek. No study ever came in one's way at a better time ; it puts everything else out of my head and makes the hours fly : and living as I do so much alone in thoughts and interests, though with many round, it is very wholesome to have some one engrossing study; and to look steadily at the times before us, with the almost certain approach of cholera, requires a steady and continual practice of Faith, which though I can enforce strongly, I shrink from at times myself in looking forward to all that may be in store for those I love. One thing always will come into my prayers — that if the cholera does come, it may not reach Alton. "Nov. 22, 1 83 1. — The first thing I remembered when I woke was — your birthday, and my eye fixed on the dear Alton picture over the fireplace. The first verse of the morning Psalm is the proper language of rejoicing for this day — oh, how often we forget to thank God for the present blessings he is loading us with, while we are anticipating a time when they may cease, forgetting that if we are his children they never can cease. God bless you both, is 39^ MEMORIALS OF A QUIKT LIFE. the constant prayer of my heart. Do not fear the cholera. Put all into the hands of that God, whose eye is ever over us. You may say of me — ' she talks to me, who never had a husband, and I am very weak in Faith ' — but we both know there is a Rock and Shelter from every storm. There is a beautiful passage on Faith in our favourite Leighton, — • 'Faith rolls the soul over on God, — Faith sets a soul in Christ, and then it looks down upon all temptations, as at the bottom of a rock, breaking themselves with foam,' — or something like this." " Alderlcy, Dec. 22. — I dreamt last night I was at Alton, and you told me in consequence of something Augustus had said at church, that Mary Brown had decided on going to the sacrament at Christmas. Often, when I am on my knees in prayer, the white cottage, or the dirty Jane, have come so visibly before me, it is no exertion of thought, but quite natural to pray for her. Poor thing, the more one feels the perfect joy it is, to walk under the light of God's countenance, the more easy it is to pray for those who are for a time suffered to walk in darkness. All this would be Greek to poor Mary, but tell her I thought of her last Sunday in church, when reading the Collect and Epistle, >nd the Epistle struck me as one just comfortable and short for her to learn. It is a good Christmas greeting. 'Rejoice in the Lord always; and again I say, Rejoice' — as if there was nothing more else for God's people to do, but to rejoice. I shall rejoice much with you this Christmas, for I shall spend much of my time with you. I hope Julius will have some sunny days to walk up Old Adam, and if he calls the view from thence beautiless, he will be only fit to live all his days with the noble-minded sages of Trinity College. " Augustus would be ashamed of me (though you will not) if he knew how I delight in all the smallest things you can tell me about him, the Mia, and Alton. You need never SUNSHINE. 399 fear speaking of him, though it be in praise. Remember I have lived under the same roof for three months, and love him so much, that I can well understand your loving him almost too much. If all Christian pastors were like him, there would be a different spirit in England now. The seed you are now sowing in Alton will not be lost, but after many years of perseverance and trial, with God's blessing on your labour, may we not hope a little Christian band of rescued souls will, from that apparently barren soil, enter into heaven, there to prove your crown of rejoicing." "Dec. 29. — Your note has just come. Such brings some- times more comfort and love and healing on its wings, than pages of writing. If much talking is bad, a word in season is very good. If God indeed is our God, we do well to rejoice, but very ill to complain of any little passing trouble. It is in the storm and amid the rocks that the Anchor and Beacon are most prized, and many a blessed promise in the Bible would remain a sealed promise, if the key of sorrow, or trial, or temptation, were not sent to open its stores, and send warm to one's heart such words as — 'Be of good cheer, it is I, be not afraid.' .... "I have been trying lately to like old Jeremy as well as I do Leighton, because Augustus does, but I cannot help finding my greatest delight in the meek and spiritually minded Leighton. Jeremy puts a great staff into my hand, but Leighton does the same, and at the same time puts a rose into the other hand." M. H. to L. A. S. " Dec. 14, 1831. — I am just returned from the top of Old Adam, having thought of you as I can scarce help doing always on those green sloping Downs, with all that wide country spread below one ; and watching, not the busy gleaners and the vaggons loading, but the slow, toilsome 400 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. plodding of the horses and oxen at the plough. The soft mild air and autumn gleams make one's position so high above all earthly fogs and smoke as wholesome for mind as body, and I am come home all the better for the pure air I breathed there. " Augustus gives an extra lecture this evening to as many as like to come, about the Sacrament, and will have more next week upon it, preparatory to Christmas. He takes increasing delight in this part of his work, as well as in our domestic lecture, and I do hope and trust that God's blessing may attend his labours. "The cholera seems gaining ground My really greatest fear of future trouble and sorrow arises out of the conviction I have, that such would lead me nearer to God, and that my heart does need often a greater exercise of self- denial, and to be taught a greater dependence on happiness not of this world. I want to be helped to be ever ready to let, ' Rapture, comfort, present ease, as Heaven shall bid them come and go.' One thing I do feel, and that is after moments of greatest depression, there comes across me a bright and cheering hope that God will, when the hour comes, He will make a way for us out of the trial, or strengthen and support us through it. As we were reading on Sunday evening of dear old Latimer's last moments, how glorious did one feel a Christian's end to be, and what the triumph over human impurity and weakness which such a spirit had gained. " Last Sunday as Augustus had preached in our church in the morning, he had not been able to write a second sermon for Great Alton, so he took a volume of Bishop Wilson's sermons, which are very plain, up into the pulpit, and after a few words explanatory about the good old man, he read them a very good Advent sermon, with his own little alterations. ' SUNSHINE. 40 1 " Sf. John's Day. — I longed yesterday to ha\ e answered your dear letter, but the sun shone so bright, that, when Shop was ended, I could not resist a ride till our early Christmas dinner. When I came into the house I met Augustus in the passage, his face radiant with joy, and he pulled me into the study to see a parcel just arrived from Aunt Louisa, containing three most comfortable warm shawls for our three best old women, and a parcel of warm stockings for the men. Cannot you fancy the dear man's happiness over them : I could not guess what had hap- pened. Our Christmas Day was perfect, except that in consequence of some dissension amongst the singers, we were deprived of our waking carol, and I was obliged to be satisfied with the good news being communicated by a voice sweeter to my ears than a more harmonious one would sound to many. Perhaps the moment of greatest joy in the whole day was when I saw the red cloak and black bonnet of little old Hannah Baillie amongst those who were round the altar, and saw and heard Augustus, with eyes full of tears and such a smile of joy, and his voice trembling with emotion, give her the blessed bread and wine. He could hardly say the words, and the affectionateness of his man- ner to her, and the simplicity of heart with which we knew she was receiving the blessing, were most touching. Poor Mary Brown, alas ! had no heart to come, but I saw her in the evening steal across the fields to church, and I hope she picked out a great deal of comfort and good from thu sermon." M. H.'s Journal (The Green Book). "Jan. 4, 1832. — Perhaps it is for me the more desirable to have some written trace of my present enjoy- ment left, since I bear about with me a constant impression, a feeling I can hardly give words to, that my present Hie is VOL. I, D D 402 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. as it were a dream, from which I shall be awakened befor; it has lasted any great length of time, to find myself once more alone in the world, with God only as my refuge and comfort. This is no new feeling or view of things, although it is of course strengthened by the circumstances undei which this year has begun — circumstances which, I must own, press at times heavily on my mind, far more so, I fear, than a faithful trust would allow of. ' Be not faithless, but believing,' is a charge I too often need as regards temporal things ; for though I have a firm belief that with the trial will come strength meet to support it, if we only seek and ask for it, my faint heart is sadly apt to shrink from the prospect of trial and suffering, and from the possibility of having my greatest earthly comfort and treasure taken away. Most deeply do I feel the weakness of my faith and how little it practically works within me, when fears and doubts and anxieties cross me about a future which is all in the hands of Him who has so mercifully ruled all the past for my happiness, and who will not leave nor forsake me, even should He see fit to call to himself the heavenly spirit he is now preparing for heaven. To that home we are both journeying. Oh ! may we never turn aside from the strait way, but whatever rocks beset our path, may we be per- mitted to tread it together, and may the light, as we go on, ever brighten before us and lead us on from hope to hope, forgetting what is behind and beside us, and pressing forward with greater earnestness to the prize of our high calling." M. H. to L. A. S. "Jan. 22, i S3 2. — Augustus has now an evening school on Mondays, and studies as much for it as if it was a scien- tific work, in all the School-Books, to learn the best mode of drawing out the sluggish understanding of his untaught SUNSHINE. 403 t lads. It has always been a subject of reproach to me that we had made no attempts to teach this class who are above the Sunday school in age, though far below it in knowledge, and the prospect of confirmation just gives us a handle for instructing them. There are many grown people who express a wish to be confirmed, and we shall not dissuade them, as it affords a pretext for talking and reading to them, and enforcing an examination into the state of their souls, and may eventually lead them to come to the Lord's Supper with fewer scruples and more hope of benefit. Every way opened for one is so good a thing, for it requires some courage, and I fear more boldness than we have, to press the subject on people uncalled for. "We dined with the C's. the other day, and at this dinner party an agreement was made amongst the clergy to meet at our house on the 10th of February to discuss how they might form a society amongst themselves to meet at stated times and communicate together on professional and religious subjects. The difficulty will be how to make it general enough to admit members of different opinions and degrees of zeal, which, in order to do general good, must be an object ; and how to make it, as Mr. Majendie well said, a meeting not like a common dinner-party of neighbours, but one from which each might return home better, and encouraged and stimulated on to further exertion. The hope is that the decidedly uncongenial will not join, and that those who are only a little sluggish and partially asleep may get some little good. " I wish you had seen Augustus's grateful face the other day when he had been talking with old Pontin, who came to him for advice about confirmation, and who did express himself so thankfully for all he had received, more especially for the spiritual instruction he got in the barn. I came in at the moment, and when the good old man left the room, 404 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Augustus cried like a child. Truly it is a blessed office to have thus to minister comfort and consolation to the sick in heart, and with even one's weak and imperfect endeavours to be able to do some little good ; and whilst so much remains to be done, and so much is undone, I trust we shall not be tempted to bow down to our own acts, though one must be ever watchful, for of all the deceitful insidious ways by which self sets itself up, there are none more so than through the medium of things done. When there is something tangible to lay hold of, then self erects its head : ' I have done all this, — spent this money, or time, or trouble ! ' " "Jan. 9. — The Master began his sermon on New Year's Day by telling the people what was meant in the world by " a happy new year,' and then dilated on what he wished for them by the expression, in referring to that blessing as in- cluding all he could most desire to be granted them, and explaining to them all it included. It was a very happy New Year's Day, and the first week of 1832 has been most blessed. Every day we seem to grow happier and more united, and often do I tremble and turn away from the thought that it is so, in dread of its being thought fit to withdraw it from us. "I quite long for you to read Neander. To be sure it does make one groan over the change from Early Christi- anity, and yet he is so fair and impartial, he does not in the least attempt to conceal that human nature was then just the same as now, — just as prone to set itself up and rest in the change produced by forms, just as ready to slacken its zeal whenever persecution lessened. Neander thinks so much more of the inward than outward service, that you will see he is not very orthodox according to our Church on outward forms of government, &c, but the Christian life he does set forth most beautifully, and I can hardly conceive a person SUNSHINE. 405 reading through his book and not feeling more impressed with the feeling and understanding of what spiritual Chris- tianity ought to be, and how it should leaven our whole life and amalgamate itself with our habits. In a passage quoted from Tertullian on the blessings of a Christian marriage, you will, I hope, think of us. About prayer it is excellent. I will quote a passage as a specimen : ' The spirit of thankfulness to a heavenly redeeming Father, the spirit of childlike resignation to Him, the feeling in regard to Him of the needfulness of his assistance, and the con- sciousness of being nothing and being able to do nothing without Him, must animate the whole Christian life. This life must, therefore, be a continued thanksgiving for the grace of redemption, a prayer of constant longing after an increase of holiness by communion with the Redeemer. This was the view of prayer which the New Testament was designed to substitute in the place of that which had pre- viously prevailed.' " We never take ' the Sabbath day's journey ' now ; it is too late after church. It is now only in the new orchard walk, and thence we see all the dear people going across the great field in their smock frocks and red cloaks. The church is fuller than ever. " Feb. 21. — Whenever anything is going on I long to tell you, because I know you will rejoice when we rejoice and sorrow when we sorrow. Augustus has been very busy the last day or two bringing into effect his long-wished-for plan for giving the cottagers each a piece of land for their own, and Maslen having consented to give up a part of our glebe which he rented, Augustus has determined to let it out in lots to every family in the parish in proportion to its size. Gideon, as our ambassador, went round to give notice, and yesterday, after the Shop was over, every man having a house in the parish came, and they all stood round the 406 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. kitchen while the happy rector put down the quantity of land each wished to have, and read to them his conditions and rules, to which they all joyfully consented. " It is since I last wrote that the cholera has made such near approaches to us. In consequence, Augustus gave notice on Sunday in church that he had always determined when it came so near, to have weekly prayers in church, and he therefore now told them that it was his intention to have them at half-past eleven o'clock every Wednesday, the lime at which he hoped it would be most convenient for them to come, — that they were not to be alarmed at the approach of danger, but meet it with the boldness of Christians. And then he told them how the heathen fled from their sick in time of pestilence, and how the primitive Christians nursed them and devoted themselves fearlessly in the service of others ; and after a little further exhortation on how they should feel on this occasion — how it behoved them more especially to repent and turn to God in earnest, he said that he hoped those who were not able to come and join with us in church in imploring God's mercy and forgiveness, would, when they heard in the field the church bell summoning us to this service, put up their own prayers for the same purpose. " We are looking forward with great impatience to the Feast day, which is to succeed our Fast, and you will fancy how the dear Augustus chuckles over the thought of our dimier-party in the barn, of Becky King, Hannah Baillie, and all the old men in both parishes. They know nothing of it yet These would seem very egotistical details to any one but you. " Wednesday Eiming. — Our congregation was thirty-five besides children, which was satisfactory, and shows they liked the plan. Of course Augustus chose and shortened the prayers a little, so that they might get to their work in time." SUNSHINE. 407 A. W. H. to L. A , S. " We have just got Arnold's second volume. As far as I have seen them, the sermons are quite a model : they are aimed with great care and skill at the congregation he is addressing, and he generally hits between wind and water. You must read them He ought to be a bishop ; though his promotion will occasion a great outcry. An excellent high-churchman said of him the other day, ' I know him and revere his virtues; but I will not buy his book : I may perhaps look into it ; for he is just the man to do incalculable mischief.' So was said of Wilberforce ; so was said of Luther ; so will ever be said of those clear-voiced men whom God raises up from time to time to speak plainly in the ears of his sleeping people." L. A. S. to M. H. " Alderley, Feb. 1 5. — I long to read Dr. Arnold. AH my prejudices are in his favour; it seems to me the present times are particularly calculated to keep prejudice low and humble. The narrow road to heaven, though still we are sure as strait as it was when our Saviour described it, is, to the human eye, now so broken up into very narrow lines, that some good men walk side by side, their eye fixed on the same object, their feet avoiding the same stumbling-blocks, but yet with a wall between them, which prevents the more lowly on-creeping traveller from seeing that they are walking together. How differently the world speaks of and judges two such men as Dr. Arnold and Mr. Girdlestone ; and how differently they themselves see human measures and things, — yet they are one in spirit, and one in labouring to do all for their Master's glory. Many, we may trust, are loving members of that blessed invisible Church within a visible Church, which Cowper speaks of, who are, to earthly eyes, walking very far asunder. 4^3 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. " Feb. 28. I open your letters with a little blessing, and I close them with another. From the first day I heard of the cholera being in London, I have said an additional prayer, with my evening one, for you, my darling, that your faith might be strengthened, and that you might be enabled to cast all your care, your one great care and treasure, wholly and entirely on God. The moment I heard of the cholera, I remembered what Augustus said about having prayers, and hoped he would. When I read of the dear people standing round^the kitchen, listening to their rector, my heart was as full as if I had been one of them. .... "It is very comforting to see how strong the spirit of Protestantism still is in England and Ireland, that if there really is danger, thousands will flock to their post, and as yet a Radical Ministry will not be England's Law. I have felt so often lately how much easier it must be to ' act the martyr's part,' than the patient waiter and truster, — how glorious and enviable must have been the last moments of some of our Reformers, their human feelings, knowing what a legacy they were leaving to their country, — their heavenly eye seeing what St. Stephen saw. If there is so much dispiriting and sad in the present state of England and Ireland, there is much also most reviving; and, perhaps, if actual danger should come to England in a political or religious form, all party spirit will be forgotten, and the true Christian Martyr and Patriot again appear united." The intimate knowledge which Augustus Hare had now attained of all the family and domestic interests of his parishioners had drawn the tie between pastor and people at Alton so very close ; and the grateful affection with which they regarded him, the warm welcome with which they greeted him on his morning walks (for the very small SUNSHINE. 4°9 size of the place enabled him to visit almost every cottage daily), had brought the Alton villagers so near his heart, that he looked forward with dread to any possibility of separation, and felt that in any other event, except that of the wardenship of Winchester being offered to him, — a post for which he felt himself peculiarly qualified, and whose duties he could not venture to evade, — he could not endure to be separated from them. No pecuniary advantages could weigh in his mind against the comfort of his quiet home, — a home which was not so much marked by any outward site, as its foundations were laid deep within the hearts of his people. Thus the prospect of the rich family living of Hurstmonceaux, in view of which he had married, and which he knew would be offered to him by his brother, upon the death of his uncle Robert Hare, had ceased to afford him any pleasure. Unlike his brothers, whose affec- tions clung around its old castle, and who were attached by the associations of childhood to its every field and wood, Hurstmonceaux had never been his home. He had only been there on occasional summer visits with Lady Jones, and associated the place with his mother's increasing strug- gles against poverty and ill health, and her complaints of the rudeness and uncouthness of its people, who were con- trasted by her with the grateful peasantry, to whom she had been accustomed near her villa at Bologna. He remem- bered also, that his mother herself, as she observed the nervous susceptibility and delicate refinement of her little Augustus, had felt how unfitted he would be to cope with such a people. as that of Hurstmonceaux then was, and how much she would prefer seeing him establishe.l elsewhere. 4IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and her quick and ardent Julius in the family living. All these circumstances Augustus had for the last year urged upon his brother Julius, entreating him to take the richer living, when it fell vacant, and to leave him undisturbed ir the humble rectory of Alton. Since the death of Lady Jones, to whom he had been most tenderly attached, and with whom he had been in the habit of staying whenever he could get away from Cam- bridge, Julius Hare had had no other home than his beauti- ful rooms in the tower overlooking the Lime Avenue at the back of Trinity College. Here he had rejoiced in the con- stant society of a noble band of friends, Whewell, Worsley, Peacock, Thirlwall, Sedgwick, — and, in a younger genera- tion, Sterling, Trench, Maurice, and Cavendish. At this time also, the professor of Italian at Cambridge was the Marchese Spineto, whose clever and charming wife had been a Miss Campbell, of Craigie. With her, in great measure, lived her handsome sister, Jane, widow of Sir Thomas Munro, Governor of Madras, who had died in India in 1827. A close intimacy with the Spinetos led, two years after his separation from his cousin, Mrs. Dash- wood, to the second engagement of Julius Hare, with I^ady Munro — an engagement which lasted for many years, far into his Hurstmonceaux life. Junus Hare to M. H. (Inserted here as belonging tc the subject.) ** Trinity, August 30, 1831. — I have two long letters to thank you for, dearest Maria, and both of them, especially the latter, are exceedingly delightful and affectionate. The subject of that latter one bc'ng so much the most important, SUNSHINE. 411 I will say a few words about it first. Much that Augustus said, and many of your arguments, have had very consider- able weight with me. If my blessed mother's plan was really such as he says, and events, in spite of apparent obstacles, have thus, in a manner, been working together for its fulfilment, I should be most loth to hinder it, for the slightest expression of her will would be to me like the law of heaven. The greater fitness of a small parish for Augustus's health, I also admit. I believe, too, there is a greater likelihood of working with efficiency in your parish than at Hurstmonceaux, where, from all I hear, the flock are in a very wild state, almost at enmity with their shepherd. Your farmers again are a good deal more tract- able than my uncle's. All this, on thinking over the matter, I see clearly ; but on the other hand, I do not like to think of you shut up for life in that beautiless, uninteresting country, with your no garden. The house might do very passably; but the no garden to me would be an insuperable objection. However, of course it must rest with you to balance between the advantages and disadvantages of your present station; if, when Hurstmonceaux becomes vacant, you still prefer remaining where you are, it will then be my duty to think about taking it. Remember, however, that nothing that has passed is to be considered by you as imposing any obligation upon either of you. You are at the most perfect liberty to change your mind to-morrow, next month, next year, or whenever the living falls; you excite no expectations in me, no wishes, and consequently you will disappoint none. I am always averse to forming plans, to making decisions about the future, which the very next month may utterly frustrate ; and more especially in the present state of England, how impossible is it to calculate what will be the state of any living in England, or whether there will be any 1 vings at all, next year ! If the Birmingham 412 V1EY.0R1AI.S OF A QUIET LIFE. political yjr'.or. take it into their heads to say there shall not, our ministers and our parliament will crouch before them, and execute their decree. So far as concerns myself, I should be very sorry were any event to happen soon which would take me away from my present station. And this leads me to your very kind sisterly admonition. Now both you and Augustus seem to me to have forgotten that, according to the principles and the universal practice of our Church, the education of youth at both schools and universities is especially entrusted to the care of her ministers ; so that he who is engaged in that office is labouring in his vocation. These principles and this prac- tice seem to me to be perfectly justifiable and right. It is u narrow notion of the duties of the Christian ministry to conceive that a Christian minister is not following his calling unless he is employed in pastoral duties; though tnese are perhaps the noblest and heavenliest part of his office. So that if you tell me I am not performing my duty as Christ's minister, I will answer, Yes. But that is owing to my own weakness and waywardness, and is no way chargeable on the post where I am standing. It is per- fectly true that the welfare of England, perhaps her very existence, depends mainly on the activity and zeal of her ministers, and on God's blessing prospering their en- deavours. But it is also of great importance, more especially at this season of the intellectual chaos, that the fountain* heads of knowledge should be under proper care, and that the young men who go forth by hundreds every year to act in their several callings, should be duly stored with sound principles. Such being the case, I think it may fairly be left open to any individual to select that sphere of the ministerial duties on which he chooses to enter; supposing his choice be regulated,, not by caprice or indolence, but by Ira weighing of his own qualifications, and of the good SUNSHINE. 413 he is likely to* accomplish. Now it seems to me that the task I am engaged in is of all others the one I am best fitted for, by such talents and acquirements as I possess ; and little as may be the good I do here, I think God has so constituted me that I might do more good here than I could in any other station. At the same time, by peculiarly fortunate circumstances of time and place, by being in this glorious college, and having such noble contemporaries, I am most singularly blest. Severa 1 times in the course of last summer, in conversing with persons I became acquainted with, and hearing them speak of their situation, did my heart bound with gratitude for my singularly favoured lot. It would be a sad exchange to give up my beautiful rooms, my friends whose converse strengthens and steadies my mind, and the brother of my heart, Worsley, whose bright face kindles a feeling of the same sort in me every time he enters my room, whose step is so gladdening a sound on my stairs, for the dismal solitude of that great, big house, with not even a cottage within half a mile of it, and not a soul nearer than my friend Townsend at Brighton, with whom I should have a thought in common. I speak with the utmost sincerity, when I say I do not think I should make an efficient parish priest. I know not what, but there is an incapacity about me for conversing with the lower orders ; part of it may be constitutional • habit may have much increased it • the very nature of my pursuits, of my studies and speculations, withdraws me more than others from the commerce of ordinary thought. I find a great, difficulty in carrying on a conversation except with a very few of my friends : my thoughts don't seem to move in the same line as theirs ; my views, my interests, seem to be so different- it is ha*d to find a point of union. This grows upon me year by year. I know not how to check it ; and I feai I should never get over it. I fear I should never learn 4^4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to talk to the poor as they ought to be talked to ; in time, perhaps, I might learn to preach to them ; but that you know is a very small part of what a parish priest has to do. Thank you again, dearest Maria, for your very kind, sisterly letter. I have tried to show you that it is not mere selfish- ness that makes me averse to exchange, and that I am at a post where, if I work zealously, I shall be acting the part of a Christian minister. At all events, you will see that it is very, very questionable whether you would be consulting my happiness in placing me at Hurstmonceaux ; and therefore you must not allow such a notion to have any weight with you in refusing it." The news of Mr. Robert Hare's death arrived at Alton on the 27th of February, 1832; but, before that time, having obtained the consent of his brother Francis to the transfer, Augustus had secured the promise of Julius that he would accept the living of Hurstmonceaux. Both brothers went into Sussex to attend their uncle's funeral. Thence Augustus returned happy to Alton, and Julius made up his mind to leave Cambridge, but decided upon spending a year in Italy before entering upon the duties of his parish. M. H. to A. W. H. "Feb. 29, 1832. — The eight o'clock coffee is just finished — such a good new loaf, pity the dear master is not here ! And now I may talk to the dearest Aug. without fear of interruption. He knows full well how the fountain is bub- bling up at the very thought of him, and how ready it is to pour itself over on the paper. I should like to know where you are this evening, whether at some dirty inn, or at Tulius's Rectory. God be with you wherever you are, and *atch over you, and bring you safe back to the loving wine SUNSHINE. 415 the dearest, the Mia. I think she cannot ever have loved you before when you have been away. It was only make- believe. Now it is real, if there is reality in anything." M. H. to L. A. S. " Feb. 29, 1832. — You will guess what we felt on Monday when the packet of letters came in, and three with black seals at once convinced us what had happened. Certainly, the first sensation was joy, to think that everything was settled, and that there was no longer a question left about our leaving Alton. We could not help putting ourselves in a different situation, and fancying what we should have felt had it been otherwise ; and I think Julius would have been quite satisfied had he heard us, that we had acted for our own comfort. I daresay with the additional income we should not have been able to do half so much for our people there, and so much would have had to be spent in unprofitable ways ; and when we were vainly striving to excite some ieeling amongst a scattered people living at a distance, how often should we have thought of our little family at Alton with regret and sorrow. No ; I am quite certain we have decided for our own happiness, and, hoping as we do, that it may be a means of calling forth all Julius's power for the good of others, I cannot think we have been wrong in fol- lowing our own inclinations." '■''March 13 (Sunday evening). — This has been so beautiful a day, that as I was walking about the fields between services, and studying my afternoon's lesson for the children, it made me seem to see you and your class under the trees on those lovely summer Sundays last year. I do love a fine Sunday; it seems to cheer and lighten the way to God's house, and fill one's heart with deeper thoughtfulness, to know all alike can enjoy it ; and the dear Augustus was so earnest, and 4'6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. applied his subject so home, that I do trust the seed might not fall quite in vain on some hearts present." L. A. S. to M. H. " Alderley, March 3, 1832. — T do hope, dearest, you have indeed chosen best for your own happiness, as you surely have for those around you ; and we will hope that Hurstmonceaux will be no loser. . . . Tell Augustus, that when I read the letter which fixed him at Alton, I lit a large bonfire in my heart, round which all the old men and women and little boys and girls of Alton shouted and danced for joy. " I have read almost all Arnold's ' Sermons,' and like them much. They are like ' Watts's Hymns for Children,' so beautifully simple, yet containing all the deep truths of religion." '&• Julius Hare to M. H. " Trinity, March 9, 1831. — Your sisterly letter came at a time when it was most acceptable ; for, finding that half measures, as usual, were good for nothing, 1 betook myself to my bed altogether last Friday, determined not to leave it till my foot had regained its usual dimensions. You will, perhaps, tell me that my malady was sent to convince me that a college is not quite such an Elysium as I appeared to tancy, and that, at all events, it is a bad place to be ill in. To be sure, as Worsley is not here, I have had a very great num- ber oi lonely hours these last three week:?, seldom interrupted except by a flying visit of inquiry or two ; and with no great aversion to solitude, still, not being in a plight for hard-working, I should not have been sorry to have heard a Jittle more of the human voice. The letters of my friends, however, — and especially, as women know best how to com- fort a .-ick-bed, of my female friends, — have supplied me with SUNSHINE. 417 a delightful substitute for it : and among them, yours has chimed in very sweetly with those I have received from Anna and Lady Munro. What I said tc Augustus will have proved to you, that unless he hac changed his mind, which I did not think likely, mine is made up. As I was talking to Thirlwall on the subject the other day, and speaking of my happy removal hither, and of the well spent ten years I have passed here, he said, ' Yes, this has been a very pleasant Purgatory ; may your next removal be to a Paradise ! ' This struck me the more, superstitious as I am, from its coincidence with the expression I made use of in my letter to Augustus. Be this however as it may, whether Hurstmonceaux is to be a paradise to me or a wilderness, or, as is more likely, something between the two — my lot is now cast. I am to quit this goodly college, with all its goodly inmates, and to take up my rest there, in all proba- bility for life. Indeed, when I have once grown familiar to it, I think hardly anything in the world would ever induce me to leave it. I agree entirely with you, that ' a life of mere literary activity is not all that is required from a minister of Christ's Church ; ' indeed, for my own part, I do not think a life of mere literary activity can be wholesome for anybody, it ought always to be combined more or less with practical activity. If I were not engaged in tuition, I would grant to you that my present life is not suited to my profession ; but, by the practice of our Church, as well as that of the Roman Catholic, the education of youth has been con- signs d almost exclusively to the clergy; nor do I think it at all desirable that the clergy who are employed in this task should combine it with the cure of souls. That this practice of committing education to the clergy is wise and wholesome, I do not think you will deny : if you do, I will leave Augustus to prove to you that it is so ; but this you leaye wholly out of sight in your objections to my merely literary VOL. I. E K 41 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. life. The question then ought to be, there being these two posts tor a clergyman to fill, for which I am the fittest, naturally and by my acquirements? I fear such a question must be answered in favour of my staying where I am, so that I have many scruples of conscience to mingle with my numerous personal regrets. However, as it is the sad wedding that makes the happy marriage, so he who feels no pain at leaving one home, is never likely to find, and in- deed does not deserve, to find another. Happy are they who discover objects of interest and attachment wheresoever it pleases God to place them ; and I believe He has blest me with the power of doing so in rather more than an ordinary degree. 11 It was singular that it was only on the Saturday night I 6ent to Thirl wall the last page of our second volume of ' Niebuhr,' containing our little prefatory note, and on the Sunday morning I heard of my uncle's death. But there is still a third volume to come; and I am already en- gaged in the Philological Museum, which, though I trust it will not stop, will hardly go on so well when 1 am removed from its immediate superintendence ; yet I should be sorry to see it discontinued, now that, after having been so many years projecting it, I have at length started it, and in such flourishing plight. Perhaps Thirl wall will undertake some portion of the editorial cares, as, I rejoice to say, he is to succeed me as lecturer, and probably in my rooms, unless Whewell does so, so that I shall have a rich fulfilment of that noble prayer : ' May my successors be worthier and better than I.' However, while these rooms are still mine, you must positively come and see them. 1 should like to- have the leaves out when you are here, so that you may see my avenue in its beauty ; and I should like too, if possible, to manage that you should be here with Lady Murjo." SUNSHINE. 419 M. H. to L. A. S. "Alton, March 19, 1832. — I have enjoyed a little visit to Oxford much, partly because I saw so many people that it was pleasant both to see and hear, and partly from the pleasure of seeing the dear Aug. so pleased. Many of the people you will not care to hear about. They were interesting to me chiefly from having for many years been associated with Augustus, and from the interest they seemed to feel in seeing him again. But there were one or two people that I wished for you to see and hear with me. One was Mr. Pusey, the Hebrew Professor. I had a good deal of conversation with him, and was much delighted with his extreme goodness and modesty. All he said about the poor, about a country clergyman's life, of which he spoke with envy, was so right feeling, and his manner was so encouraging, that I felt as if I could have said anything to him ; there was truly in him the humility of deep learning. He talked to Augustus about Neander, with whom he had lived as much as he could when in Germany, and said it was of such as him he was thinking when he praised the theologians of Germany, and not of the Rosenmiillers, &c, whom he had been accused of favouring. " Another person, not less interesting, Augustus took me to call upon — Blanco White. He is sadly out of health, and was walking up and down his little room, wrapt in a great cloak, and complained of being unable to do anything. However, after a little time he got animated, and forgot his grievances. At first his good English would make one forget he was not an Englishman, but by degrees the foreigner showed itself in the cast of countenance, action, and, when animated, by a little hesitation in bringing out his words. He spoke of the work he is now writing on the Inquisition, and said he had been tracing the origin of it in persecution up to the times of Theodosius, but he said it 420 MEMORIALS OF A QVIET LIFE. was very painful and irritating to his feelings dwelling upon it. 'They are not dead, these old fathers; they are every one of them living. I see them all.' He talked a good deal of Whately, who was a great friend of his ; and then got upon the signs of the times, and that he thought everything was at work for a change, and of course in the struggle, evil must be produced, and would perhaps for a time seem to overbalance the good, but he had a confident hope good would prevail — just as a body in a state of fer- mentation appeared to be in one of decomposition ; that the error of the present interpreters of Prophecy seemed to him of the same nature with that of the old Jews, when they looked forward to the temporal kingdom of Messiah on earth. There was a remarkable mildness and suavity of manner mixed up with his energy, reminding one of the Spanish priest, whilst his evident sincerity and enlightened views showed how he had broken through the bondage. " Living in a college seems to me much like living in a magnificent prison, being surrounded by such high walls, but the Warden of New College has a very good house, and it is pleasant being there. I think, on the whole, my im- pression of Oxford was even much more favourable than I had expected ; that there certainly are a great many who are very excellent and labouring to do good, whilst many who sometime ago would have been content with the form of godliness, are by degrees being leavened with a much larger portion of its spirit." A. W. H. to L. A. S. "March 25, 1832. — The dear Luce will probably like to hear a little about our Fast and Feast. We got back from Oxford just in time to allow of my preparing a sermon on Lev. xxiii. 27, as a kind of preface to Wednesday's service. Monday and Tuesday passed much like other days, except SUNSHINE. 4 2 * that two of the farmers told their men they should be paid for a day's «0-work on the Fast-day, provided they came to church, and kept away from the beer-shops. How many came foi this promised pay, and how many from a right feeling, I know not — though from the interest which they manifested about the Fast, I hope and trust the right motive predominated. But,, between the two, the church was filled fuller than it has ever been in my recollection, excepting on the first Good-Friday after our coming to Alton. Unluckily, I was rather out of voice ; however, by the help of singing 'a hymn proper for the day,' I got through my long service; and, during the sermon, the interest gave me back my lungs again. The text (I know you like such little par- ticulars) was from Luke xxi. 34 — 36. The subject was first an exposition of the chapter, and its division into its main parts, namely, the destruction of Jerusalem, and the tread- ing down of the Jews till the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled ; the signs which are to intervene between the fulfilling of those days and the coming to judgment ; and the practical lesson which the text affords of the conduct to be pursued by us, if we would not be taken unawares. The practical lesson, of course, formed the main part, in its two branches of drunkenness on the one hand and worldly cares on the other, and I never saw the people more attentive. Our Fast was kept on vegetables, the servants abstaining voluntarily from dressing meat for themselves as well as for us. In the evening I had a supplementary lecture in the barn ; so passed the day. And then came the Feast. There had been all sorts of consultations ; what should be ordered ? and who should be asked ? But we will suppose them well over — the ox's head and skin for soup, and the cut of the— I forget what — for boiling, safely brought into the larder; and the guests invited; and Mary busy pre- paring the savoury viands. ' But where is the suet for the 422 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. puddings? It is two o'clock. Very odd of that butcher disappointing mistress. Betty Perry, step over to All Cannings, and see why they have not sent it?' Thus spake the careful Mary, but the assisting Betty did not disobey her word, but she stept forth, and stept, too, pretty hastily, for she was back again from All Cannings in an hour and a quarter with the long-expected suet : so active are people when they go upon their own errands, and serve with a ready will. We had Majendie to dine with us, and J. floper, too, rode over, which made us a large party in the drawing-room waiting the announcing of the com- pany. And now the door opens, and John says, ' Please, ma'am, they are all come ; ' and the dear wifie has put on her cloak, and we are all gone together into the barn, where, ranged on the two sides of the long table are stand- ing—three old Kings, and old Hailstone, and old Perry, and old Hams and John Swanborough, and Becky King and her good man with the large appetite and weeping eyes, and Hannah Baillie, and Sally Browne, eleven in all. And at the top and bottom of the said table were tureens of good, rich, substantial broth ; with Sloper at one end, and the Master at the other, to help the same. And now the Master has said grace, and the standers have become sitters, and the spoons are in full activity; and Majendie and the dear wife and Mary are waiting upon the full-mouthed guests. And they are all looking very happy, and saying that this will be a day to talk of, and drinking our good health, as the sober mug of beer is set before them. After the broth came the beef, and then the puddings, which I think were the favourite part of the feast; and then another grace, and we are once more in the drawing-room, pleased at having been able, and with how very little money and kindness and attention, to please so many of our people. And so, having finished my story, what remains but to with SUNSHINE. 4*3 the dear Luce good-bye, and to commend ourselves and our parishes to her prayers. " (M. H.) The dear Master's report will not preclude my say, for he has not told what two dear, appropriate graces he uttered before and after the Feast, nor how the old men raised up their hands together as he said them, and prayed for a blessing both on the receivers and givere, and joined in their hearty amen ; nor has he told that of the remnants six families have had an abundant meal sent home to them to- day. You may fancy the delight the dear Aug. took in his evening ; and I scarcely ever felt more thankfulness, more love, not for the dear people, nor for the precious husband but for Him who gives the means and inspires the will. How I wished for you on Wednesday. You would have liked the sermon much, and would have spent the day to your heart's desire. The chief part of the sermon was urging the necessity of making the day a symbol of our future life by greater self-denial, more continual prayer, and deeper humiliation, that it might not pass away in a few hours' service, and that perhaps lip-service, but in a real fast of the heart. "April i. — We have, though not as yet actual death, dangerous sickness before our eyes just now, and our last two days have been taken up almost entirely by attending three sick-beds. One of them is at Stanton, whither in Mr. Majendie's absence they sent for Augustus yesterday morning, to a poor sick-boy of seventeen, who had had a horrible accident ; falling from a hay-cart on the sharp teeth of a harrow, which went in through his back four inches, and of course his torments were excruciating. Both times when Augustus went yesterday he was scarce able to speak, except in ejaculations of ' Lord, have mercy on me ! ' but his father's account was very touching, how he had prayed, and how he had warned him about 424 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. his future life; and once, when he woke from a doze, he said ' Father, I have been a long way. I saw in my dream a great hill, and there was a narrow path up it, and I wanted to go along it, but there were so many bushes on both sides I could not get along, and I saw Christ at the top calling me to him, but I could not get to him till He held out his hand and helped me.' Is not this a singular and touching story ? The father never left him, while the mother and sister were going on, unconcerned, with their work below stairs, only seeming to grieve over the loss of the father's day's work. " Of our own two cases, one is the blacksmith's daughter, a young pretty girl of sixteen, who lived with Miss Miller as servant, and came home a few days ago with constant sickness, which has now turned to inflammation on the brain, and I can hardly think there is a chance for her. She was quite insensible herself to-day, but after helping to hold her whilst the doctor bled her for the third time, Augustus and I knelt down with the poor afflicted father and sister, and he prayed for her and for them, and more sincere prayers, I am sure, were never uttered. Augustus could hardly get through them, much less wish them good- day afterwards. Our other patient, poor James Powell, is nearly in the same state, and I belies from the same cause — inflammation on the brain. Both these cases show how vain is the hope of administering spiritual comfort even, and much less spiritual instruc- tion, in dangerous illness. Neither of them could even join in the prayers, but for the survivors it is a call that may not be in vain, and some words uttered in such moments, when sorrow has opened the heart, may go home with God's blessing on them. You may suppose how wretched poor Avis Powell is ; and really here, where we live so much amongst and with the people, two such cases SUNSH NE. 4 2 5 of affliction throw quite a sadness over everything. I suppose were we oftener summoned to such scenes, the heart would grow in some degree hardened to them, but we have had so few of them, that Augustus was quite worn by the feelings they excited. Poor Prudence I feel the more interested for, because she has all winter been one of my Tuesday's confirmation class, and seemed to take such interest, and be so grateful for all I taught her : she ap- peared to be a thoroughly good girl, and perhaps to one in her rank of life this may be taking her away from the evil to come. When the poor have strong feelings, it is the more touching, because they come out so naturally, and the father's hard features, moistened by tears, following so anxiously to know what one thought of his ' darling ' (so he called her), and so resigned to think it was best if God did take her, were very hard to hear unmoved. We have just sent John off to Pewsey (eight o'clock), to carry the last news of the poor patients to the doctor. Augustus is about his sermon — ' Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,' — and I have tried to make you present with us by setting before you the subject of oui thoughts and employment to-day and yesterday. In re- turning from such sick-beds, how grateful do I feel that hitherto God has in mercy spared us such anguish. When- ever the time comes, as come it must, when we too shall be tried, we shall have your prayers, dearest Luce, and He who is oar rock and fortress will be with us and support us through every storm. " Sunday Evening. — This morning Augustus sent Gideon off to Devizes for Dr. Brabant, that nothing might be left undone ; and he came whilst we were at church, and pro- nounced both cases to be utterly hopeless. Poor James is not so insensible as Prudence, but only seems occasionally to recognise those around him. When Avis said to him to 4 2 <> MEMORIALS O* A QUIET LIFE. day, 'Do you hear Mr. Hare praying by you, James?' he muttered, ' I shall soon hear more than I have ever done yet ! ' but generally he appears quite unconscious of who is there, and only holds up his hands, as if praying inwardly. You may suppose how solemn a day this has been with us all ; how my first class wept over their dying companion as I touched upon her state to them; how Augustus alluded in his sermon to the two cases of extreme sickness, and be- sought all to be ready ; and how many tears were called forth. If anything can touch those hitherto careless, surely death, when it calls the young and healthy and the stout and robust, as James was a year ago, must preach most powerfully. "April 17. — Two hours ago I watched the remains of poor Prudence consigned to the grave — ashes to ashes. It was such a lovely evening, and the view of the hills above the little cottages from Great Alton churchyard in the still evening light, with Augustus standing over the grave, read- ing those fine words, and the group of people all round, sobbing their responses, was truly a sight not to be forgotten. I do not wonder at the effect of field preaching. There is a solemnity in the scene where the sky is above one and nature all round, that is far above the most hallowed aisle. It is an affecting sight to see a young maiden borne as this was by young men, and the white sheet carried over the bier by eight young girls all dressed in white, with white hoods over their bonnets. In this case also the bearers were true mourners, and wept bitterly over the loss of their companion, and besides her own family, there was scarcely a dry eye in the church, which was nea.ly full of people. Augustus took the opportunity, and in a few touching words, after the lesson 15th Cor. was ended, addressed the congregation asse-nbled. Pointing to the coffin where lay the body of hei who one little fortnight since looked forward to life with as much confidence as the SUNSHINE. 4»7 healthiest amongst us, and who was now called away almost ere she had entered life, he said how only two days before he had been called upon to perform the same office over a man ia the prime of life. He was cut off without more time for. preparation than this delicate flower which had ijcarcel) blossomed. Could any one say that the summons would not call him next? Could any trust that he should have longer warning granted ? Could any feel that he was ready? Which did they think of the hours spent by this young girl did she now look back upon with most pleasure and delight, — those spent in idleness and wasted in folly, or those aevoted to her God ? Be it then our care so to pass our days here, that when, like her, our earthly forms are laid in a narrow box, we may look back on hours of piety and devotion, and that no dreams of wickedness may disturb our rest. Something to this effect was said. Then as we went out of church he spoke a few words of comfort to the poor afflicted sisters and brothers and father. 'Re- member, my good friends, that those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.' The mother was too ill to attend the funeral, a great sorrow to her, poor thing, for they consider these things so much. Her grief is very touching, for it is I am sure hallowed by the true source of comfort. She kept up as long as life remained, and never left her darling's bed, watching her with such intensity, never heeding my going in, but addressing to the poor unconscious girl such words as these — ' Yes, you are going to be a blessed angel in heaven with your dear Saviour, are you not, my child?' Both she and poor James died the same day. It was on Sunday evening that we followed him to his last home Avis and her five children were there. His illness had excited great interest amongst his fellowdabourers, and God grant tbat the softened hearts which shed so many tears as his body was consigned to the grave, may bear in mind that 4-'S MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. they like him may at the last have no time for making their peace with God. The 40th Psalm was, by his own desire, sung during the funeral service, and a hymn over his grave. .... These to others might seem trifling details, but you will be interested in them, knowing how we live as one family with our people, and really the last week these two families have excited all our interest and sympathy. I finite longed for you at the funeral — to stand with me by my earthly treasure, and pray for me that strength of faith and love may be ours daily more and more till we are called hence too. I think I could have stayed by Prudence as I saw her this morning in her coffin for hours, — she looked so calm, so peaceful, and there is something so mysterious in death. Is it not curious that my last lesson to her was that very chapter of Cor. xv." L. A. S. to M. H. " Aldcrley, April 13, 1 83 2. — By this time, I think, poor James Powell can be no longer one of your living congre- gation, but, if he is gone to God, if he should be the first shock of corn gathered from the little field given in charge to Augustus, we may now see how his illness of last summer was sent to prepare his soul for its long journey. Plow well I remember Augustus telling us one day, after one of his visits there, that he had been teaching him — ' I must work the will of Him that sent me whilst it is day — the night cometh when no man can work,' and how much struck he seemed with it. The night has soon come to him ; God grant it prove to him eternal day. Tell Avis, with my best comfort, I prayed for her and her family this morning, and send her this verse from which every Christian family may take comfort. ' Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widow trust in me.' Since I left Alton, I have been so daily in the habit oi SUNSHINE. 429 following you in all your known and fancied pursuits, that I feel as much with you in all you tell me, as if I was really there. During prayers, I have so often found myself walk- ing up the hill towards that white cottage. I used to carry so light a heart up that dazzling hill. I do not think the happiness of any one creature was ever so thoroughly felt by another, as yours by me. Everything you speak of, joy or sorrow, hope or fear, I instantly see reflected in my own heart ; and I do feel it a blessing that the never-failing friend of my early life has a husband, # whom to know well, is to love. I cannot in the least describe the effect knowing him has on my mind — the sort of effect that it is to the eye, looking out on a landscape through an orange-coloured glass window, that makes everything look sunny." Julius Hare to M. H. " Trinity, April 4, 1832. — Alas, what sad tidings the papers contain ! The mightiest spirit that this earth has seen, since Shakespeare left it, is departed. But he departed just like himself, in the perfect healthful possession of all his faculties, as a man who has fulfilled the duties of the day, and falls into calm sleep after it : and even his last moments were moments of enjoyment, he was just express- ing the pleasure he felt in the genial warmth of the spring. What a pleasure it would be to possess the arm-chair irr which Goethe closed his eyes, after having gazed on all that this world could produce, and behold, ' to him it was very good,' and I doubt not that to the very last moments he felt the truth of his favourite stanza : — * Liegt dir gestern klar und offen, Wirkst du heute froh und frei ; Kannst auch auf ein morgen hoffen, Das nicht minder glucklich sey.' 4JO MEMORIALS (FA QUIE1 LIFE. Dear, glorious old man, would I had seen him before he was taken away ; would I had heard his voice, and beheld the calm majesty of his face. " What if — the thought has just struck me — we erect a joint Hare monument to our mother and aunt in Hurstmon- ceaux church ? That would be appropriately a Hare monu- ment ; and I think it seems likely to be the place with which we are to be aaoit intimately connected, and if there is to be another generation of us, we may teach them to venerate the two blessed sisters, out double mother." On April 25, the news of Marcus Hare's return to England reached Alton, and the rector left for Plymouth the next day to meet him and preach on board th? Southampton^ the admiral's flag-ship, to the commander- ship of which his brother had lately been appointed. He rejoined his wife at Sheen, and they afterwards went together to pay their long-promised visit to Julius at Cambridge. A. W. H. to M. H. " Devonport, May, 1832. — Marcus says that when the Crocodile sailed for Sydney, they left one of the crew in hospital there, with a dog that was much attached to him. On they sailed, and no one thought any more of the man, till one night the sentinel came to the officer on watch while they were off Van Dieman's Land — ' Very strange, sir, but M has just walked up the gangway, and his dog with him.' Then came one of the seamen — ' A curious thing has happened, sir; I saw M just now standing between these two guns.' The seaman said nothing about the dog, and there had been no communication between him and the sentinel. This became the common talk of SUNSHINE. 431 the ship, and they found on their arrival at Sydney that the man had been buried the evening he was seen, and, what is a curious coincidence, the dog had been missing at the time for two or three days. This last fact was mentioned by Colonel Lindsay, in whose hospital the seaman had died, and who came on board to inquire into the story, — it had been so much talked of." L. A. S. to M. H. "May 3, 1832. — Have I not followed you closely, my Mia, all through this last week? Did I not see Augustus open the letter, and give the jump ? and did you not hear me wish him joy of the arrival of 'the dear Marcus,' whom I have heard him speak so much of? and did I not see you sending him off to Plymouth, trying to persuade yourself to get through a few days without him, which I will give you full credit for having managed very ill ? " M. H.'s Diary. " May 1 2. — To Cambridge. Trinity College. Dr. Whe- well to dinner. "May 13. — Sunday. Sermon, Professor Scholefield and Mr. Rose. To the Marchesa Spineto. "May 14. — Mr. Kenelm Digby to breakfast. To Babraham. Dinner in Julius's rooms. Thirlwall, Rose's, Spineto's Whewell, Romilly, Airy's. "May 15. — Library. King's College Chapel. Dined Thirlwall's. "May 16. — Breakfasted Mr. Rose. Called Marchesa Spineto. Mr. Landor to dinner. Dined Marchesa's. "May 17. — Mr. Sedgwicks. Luncheon Marchesa's. Dinner Whewell's, Professor Smythe, Rose's, &c " May 18.— Left Cambridge." 43* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIKE. L. A. S. to M. H. " May ii, 1832. — I have been looking in Heber's journal for all he says of Lady Munro. How highly he speaks^ ol her, and the estimation in which she was held, also her beauty and pleasing manners. She must be the most likely person possible for Julius to like. You would like to have such a sister — and one who knew Reginald, too, in India. Now, clearest, I have written enough to show that I think of my darlings when they are absent from their cage, but shall much congratulate them when they hop into it again, and the song is sung, and the perch returned to." " A/derky, May 26, 1832. — At this moment you are returning to Alton, and are, perhaps, descending Dull's long hill — oh, no, I forgot, you come the other way — or you may be just turning in through the gateway, or standing at the drawing-room window, feeling, I need not tell you how, while the Aug. is gone to visit his pig, and his cow, and his meadow, and now you may, for a while, forget the king- dom full of troubles, and lead the lite you best love. I could scarcely be more with you at present than I am in fancy this evening, and Mary is rejoicing, and Brute is sitting erect for joy, and the quince-tree is in full leaf, ready for another swarm of bees. " I mean this letter to get to you on the 2nd of June. How I shall be with you on that day I need not say. I shall creep after you to the study, go through the service with you as you read it with your dear husband, then collect the flowers in Mrs. Pile's garden, and get the table ready for the children. I shall not long to be with you ; but be happier thinking of you at a distance than I was — present — last year, for then, oh how much less I loved you both lhan I do now, SUNSHINE. 433 M. H. foLA. S; " Alton, May 26, 1832. — I have no need to say one word of description to my dearest Luce. On many an evening as* lovely as this have you sat out with me on the little peaceful grass-plat, and listened to the blackbirds, and enjoyed the extreme quiet and shade of our little home. On many such an evening have you walked up the toilsome hill, and sucked in greedily die little breezes of fresh air that met one at the top; and then, when we had come down the green path of the corn-field, we called in at Brown's cottage, and found John with prayer-book or Bible in his hand, and said a few words of comfort to poor Mary. Just so have the dear Aug. and I spent this delightful close of a summer's day, and often does it make me think of you, to return so exactly to the blessed days of last year, only wanting you to enjoy them with us. Nor did we the less miss you as we drove along the lanes yesterday evening in the Dull carriage, and I could almost have fancied you reated in the vacant seat, repeating Keble as we went *.long. The joy of getting home, and in such weather, was, f.s you may guess, very great ; for we have been in so many different places, and seen so many people, that it seems a very long time since we went away, and, surely, no pleasure we have had during our absence has given us half the gratification of hearing poor sick Charles Gale's expressions of joy at hearing our carriage-wheels, and thinking it must be Mr. Hare, or of being told by so many that they have ' missed us desperate.' Yet, much as we enjoy our return, I do not regret that we have been away. It is wholesome, both for mind and body, to have the variety and change of scene, air, and society, and gives us food for future reflec- tion, as well as making us begin our work here again with gi eater zest from the temporary break. I believe it is quite necessary, for one's own individual good, to mix occasion- vol. r. r r 434 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. ally in the concerns of Earth. It draws forth other, and often more trying, points of character than are called out in retirement, and is very humbling to one's inner man in show- ing how hard it is to be tolerant when others differ from *us, how difficult to be charitable when one's own standard is not followed. That we are, not from any merits of ours, but from God's good pleasure, placed far away from the temptations and trials of the world, I do most gratefully feel as a most merciful privilege and favour; but, at the same time, I am fully aware that there remain temptations and trials within us, quite sufficient to make us watch and fear, and that we must be more diligent in our inward search, since the outside has much less need of cleansing ; and I do not think I ever return to our happy life without feeling as if the absence had strengthened and confirmed me in my love for heavenly things, and taught me to know myself better. " Julius's rooms at Cambridge are most perfect, looking as they do down that glorious avenue, and the Gothic windows are filled with beautiful geraniums, &c. ; his walls literally lined and papered with books, except one side, over the fire-place, where Raphael's ' Madonna and Child,' and two or three other good pictures are. I fully enter into his feeling of the unworldliness, the freedom from care, the leisure afforded by such a life, and with him the warmth of friendship keeps alive the affections, which, in general, must lie dormant in a college ; yet I shall be much sur- prised if, after two or three years of his country life at Hurstmonceaux, Julius has not received more of real happi- ness than in many years at Trinity." L. A. S. to A. W. H. " June 2, 1832. — Dearest Aug., to-day one year ago I heard you say the grace for the school children on the lawn SUNSHINE. 435 under the cherry-tree, and I felt from that moment I should like you. It seems a very little while since this day last year, yet in its course we have both had many joys and little troubles, now passed away ; and on looking back nothing seems to have been really of consequence, but how we have done God's work. You. have both been fed in green pastures, and in leading others to the waters of comfort, have been yourselves refreshed and nourished, and may there be a deep well now filling at the door of your hearts from those very waters, to uphold and strengthen you when God shall call you to a more arduous task than that of feeding His lambs and enjoying His mercies. It does not lessen your present happiness to be prepared for a change ; and who can look on England now, and not involuntarily turn round to see if the sword and armour be ready ? I always think of you both, as the two, not best, by I hope many hundreds, but quite as the two happiest people in the world, in your lot and perfect oneness of mind. It is always a holiday to my thoughts when I let them have a ramble to the dear Alton, only they would be there much too often if I did not keep them in order ; but on the 2nd of June ihty are to be with you all the day." A. W.H. toM tl. "June 2. — "No youth ere drank his exiled prince So zealously as I drink thee, No nan ere hung around her cross So fondty as I'll cling to thee. " What words ! a wife — by God's own haofc To man the last, best present given ; Love — the religion of the lieart, The onlj foretaste here of heaven." 43 6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. jM. H. tc L. A. S. " The happy Alton Rectory, June 2. — The evening of this blessed day is come, and our dear Luce is sharing our thanksgiving over its third anniversary. Never were three years more rich in mercies, more sparing in trials and troubles; and how can we be grateful enough or loving enough for being so tenderly treated ? You know, and none so well, all the cause we have for blessing and adoring God that He has brought us together and permitted us to serve Him, and, 'by love's supporting power, to cheat the toil and cheer the way ; ' and it is a comfort to think that we have your prayers that we may not make this our earthly home the only one to which we look, but that we may press onward, feeling in every added mercy an added link to that chain of love which should bind and unite us to our heavenly home ; that so our future pilgrimage, be it set with roses, as the past has been, or, as is perhaps more likely, with thorns, may still be leading us heavenward, and that our union may be perfected and completed hereafter. I was almost afraid we might have a wet day from the showers of the last two, but the sun shone as brightly as on the last .md of June. The table and benrhes were spread under - he cherry-tree, with chairs for the lookers-on ; the jars of d iwers placed upon the table; the children, consisting of twenty-four girls and seven of the little boys, arranged in order. Then came the Master, and said a grace resembling the one of last year in substance, only with the addition of a few verses read first oufc of the parable of the marriage supper. After the second grace the children sang their hymn, and then all the little ones performed their little exercises, and so ended the feast. After the company had walked round the orchard, they took their leave, and my darling Aug. and I were left to ourselves. Whilst he betook himself to his sermon in the afternoon, I went to fulfil his SUNSHINE. 437 duty of reading to poor Charles Gale. I do not know whether you remember him — quite a young man, with a wife and three little children, but sfnce last summer he has never been out to work again, and is now in that slow, lingering consumption, which wastes away day by day, with- out any severe pain, though he suffers much from weakness, &c. He has, however, none of the false excitement and hope of life which usually attend this disease, and has for some time felt that he was beyond the skill of any earthly physician. A more humble and grateful patient I never visited, and as he is able to read, and takes great delight in it, he is far better taught than those we have generally to deal with. Whilst we have been away he has read quite through the ' Pilgrim's Progress,' and he talks of all the dif- ferent parts quite as if they were realities. He was very much interested too in Hooper. He is so very thankful for being taught, and says he never missed anything so much as 'not seeing Mr. Hare,' while we were absent. He has not much of the joy of believing ; he mourns so much over his own want of love, and that, from his weakness, he can pray so little : and he said to-day, 'When God is so merciful to me, and has done so much for me, it seems so bad not to love him more. Ah, this is the grief ! ' But his sorrow is a much softer and more Christian sorrow than poor Mary Brown's, and though he has not an assured, he has a com- fortable hope, I think, at times, and is turning to his Saviour as his only trust and confidence. His poor wife sits by with a sick child on her knee, that will scarcely outlive its father, and I would fain hope that she is learning where she must seek for hope and comfort when her trials come, as they must shortly do. " There was a wedding this morning to celebrate the day, and the bells have been ringing quite suitably. It has been such a warm evening, and the boys have had their supper t3§ MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. aruler the cherry-tree, too, at eight o'clock ; and now bed- time is come, and I must end my talk with you, and rest my tired body to be ready for to-morrow and its duties. "Monday. — It was the most delightful day yesterday, and 0'ir new church arrangements answered very well. We had a very full congregation in the morning, when Augustus preached on Psalm lxviii. 18. In the afternoon all the Stanton people (the church there is being rebuilt) came with Mr. Majendieto Great Alton Church. Augustus went, and I stayed at home to teach the children, for which it gave me a nice long time. We dined at four, had a pleasant rest for reading on my part on your seat in the garden, and for Augustus to walk about and meditate on his lecture till a quarter before seven, when Little Alton church bell again called us together, and we had a very full church. Aug. made variations in the lessons for the benefit of those who had heard the regular ones at afternoon service, and, instead of a written sermon, he took up Arnold's sermons, and took one of those on Faith as his groundwork, adding a great deal of his own, and it had in fact all the impressiveness of an extempore sermon, to which I have no doubt he will, after a little practice, get used in this sort of way. Nothing could do better, and earnestly did I entreat a blessing on his words, that some of those listening so attentively might taKe them home. How the dear Luce would have enjoyed her Sunday ; but perhaps one spent less agreeably would have been more profitable, for outward advantages often make one less watchful, and it is not in proportion to the external that the internal work goes on. To those who have to teach others, too, it is more difficult to turn one's thoughts home and learn for one's self, and I find myself thinking so much oftener of what will benefit others than of taking the lesson to my own use, that there is its danger even in every duty. SUNfHINE. 439 " Our laburnums are in such beauty — they make the place look so gay." " The Luce Seat, June 21. — Before me is the large field, and just beyond it the tower of Great Alton Church peeping out of the trees ; on one side of the field old Maslen's farmhouse, on the other side a bit of our wee church. The great elm-tree spreads its shade over my head, divided from me now by no fence, only a gravel walk, running along on one side into the orchard, and on the other, through an archway of honeysuckles, round the corner to the flower garden. And here I sit, where Luce so often used to sit, where so many Greek lessons have been said, so many newspapers grieved over, and so many comfortable words read from the Book. Scarcely could I believe it another June ; for in the field behind me the Master is hard at work in his hay, and all our little household are engaged in making the most of one of the finest of summer days. I am sure it will need little exercise of fancy in you to place before you the dear Master looking so pleased over his work, and singing his chirping notes of joy as the sun shines, and the pleasant breeze gives assurance of the safety of his favourite hay. Nor will you have any trouble in picturing the bustle yesterday, just after dinner, at the news of an approaching storm, and how the walking haycocks were speedily seen tra- versing the field and uniting into one rick, the tall, thin bearer bending under his load as he went along. Nor would you less have been present a few days since, when Ave were called out by a swarm of bees around the house. They clustered round the chimney, and made an alliance with the former occupiers, and we concluded they were from our own hive ; but up came a man soon after to claim them, and our own we found afterwards in the t hive. When they swarm, I do not expect that anybody 440 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. \\ ill let us keep them, for everybody comes here a r ter their bees, so fond are they of coming to our garde.x. " Poor Charles Gale is dead. He had not seemed any worse the day before when I was with him, but he has left behind his weak and suffering body, and I trust his soul is in that rest for which he so earnestly longed, and yet to tiie last so much feared, lest it might not be for him. Such assurance of hope as many seem to posse.-^s is not given to all, but I think one cannot doubt that where the heart is looking to Christ, and trusting to Him, and doubting only from the greatness of personal humi- liation, the obscurity and dimness which hides the glory from the earthly body will all be removed the moment the spirit quits its weak tabernacle here. I have always been accustomed to incline to think perfect assurance either a presumptuous feeling or a gift to but a few favoured servants of God, though fully aware that it has been constantly united with the deepest humility " Friday. — What a change of weather since yesterday ! Instead of bright sunshine, and summer's sky, all is gloom, and wind, and rain, and the poor master's hay must take its chance. We were all set to work in a great hurry yesterday afternoon, and they got a got>d deal carried before the rain began." "July 1 8. — We have had a great alteration made in our little church, which is such an improvement. That little arch which hid the pulpit and its inhabitant from all the chancel end has been taken away, and a large opening made, which gives room for two pews in addition, and will enable every one to hear and see. We have been obliged to have service in Great Alton Church for two Sun days, and next Sunday our own will he re-opened. Aug. means to speak about the change, and *ake for his \z>y* a verse out of 2 Kings x. ?i — 'And the honr^ o 4 Rj'd r-fyj SUNSHINE 441 full from one end to another ; ' showing how the church may be filled, and yet not by worshippers of God, and that the purpose of it is not for people to stand and sit uncon cerned with all that is read or spoken, as so many seem to think. Our Sunday is now a very busy day, for between the morning and evening services, that is, in the afternoon, Aug. catechises and lectures the class of young men and women for confirmation from two till half-past three or four ; then we dine, and have service again at seven, with a sermon more especially addressed to the young persons, and a good deal put in extempore." L. A. S. to M. H. "Leamington, June 12, 1832. — On Whitsunday we went to hear a Baptist minister, who preached ' in a large upper room furnished,' the last time we were here. They have now built him a chapel. There was nothing finer there than a straw-bonnet ; the singing was literally singing God's praises ; and his sermon the pure simple truth as it is in Jesus. Here we shall go while we stay at Leamington ; for a church is only a building unless it has a soul, and the church here hSs no soul. " Nothing can exceed the attention and tenderness of Dr. Jephson. He has come regularly every day since I wrote last ; and every time we see him, we feel our interest in him increase. An old and venerable clergyman who was at the door yesterday when he came in, said to him, ' Ah, doctor, if you would but take my medicine as readily as I take yours.' " L. A. S. to A. W. H. (After a remonstrance from him upon her attending the Baptist Chapel.) "Leamington, June 27, 1832.— Yes, all the world of Leamington do fill the Church of England Chapel every 44* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Sunday, twice or once, to receive dispensation and en- couragement to commence another week of vanity and folly. There stands at the door a boy, with a heap of dirty tickets in his hand, and a man stops pulling the bell, and says, 'do you want a pew? — give that boy a shilling, and he'll give you a ticket.' You give your shilling, and a clerk, in ap- pearance and expression a close resemblance to Mephisto- pheles,and who walks about all church-time serving Mammon, takes your ticket, and shows you into a crowded pew. I suppose it is possible, when there, for some few so to abstract their minds from the present scene, as to worship God in spirit and in truth, but I cannot do it. Woe unto you, if you look up, you find a hundred pair of eyes, under the smartest bonnets, looking about as if at a spectacle. I can- not be so independent of my senses, when I hear the mockery of worship, as to gain the least benefit from any I art of the service : it seems to me that it is making an idol of the church, if we do not make a difference, according to h dw it is served. If one was starving, and saw a palace, v ith a fine service of plate set out, but no food on it, and just opposite, a wretched mud cottage, with good food on pewter plates, would not the hungry traveller enter the mud ».ottage and eat. The blessed little Baptist Chapel here is the mud cottage, and Mr. Coles the means of leading many souls to Christ. . . . But there is no fear of the most ex- cellent Baptist minister who ever preached, making me desert the Church of England. Every time I go, I feel more strongly how beautiful our service is, and, in my own parish, I would not leave my parish church for any dissenting chapel ; but here, where I am unknown, with no ties, no duties to leave, I feel it would be turning my back on a door which God himself had opened, if I did not go thankfully to Mr. Coles' chapeL" SUNSHINE. 443 A. W. H. to L. A. S. " I am sorry to hear so bad an account cf the Church at \ Leamington ; but it is one of the advantages of our good Church, that we (meaning by 'we' the educated) are only very partially dependent on the qualifications of the minister. If he can read, and most clergymen can do that much, — he must read the liturgy, — all his stupidity, if he be stupid, — all his carelessness, if he be careless, — cannot un- make that into anything unscriptural or undevotional. And as to the sermon, Herbert has said enough about that; you know Who, according to him, when the preacher is incapable, takes up the text and ' preaches patience.' " The day after to-morrow, Julius reads in at H-urstmon- ceaux. God speed him in his new vocation ! I cannot regret that he should be likely to travel with Landor, though I do regret the abuse I hear of the latter. Southey, and when I mention him I mention one of the first literary men in Eng- land as to sterling moral worth, has the following passage about Landor in his ' Vindicise Ecclesiae Anglicanae. ' ' Walter Landor, whom I have pride as well as pleasure in calling my friend.' And this is the man who has been described as being, 'without honesty and principle !' I wish that I could speak publicly in defence of a man whose heart I know to be so large and overflowing ; though much of the water, from not having the branch which Moses would have shewn him thrown into it, has unhappily been made bitter by circumstances. But when the stream gushes forth from his natural affections, it is sweet and plentiful, and as strong almost as a mill-stream. For his love partakes of the violence of his character ; and when he gives it a free course, there is enough of it to fill a dozen such hearts as belong to the ordinary man of pleasure, and man of money, and man of philosophy, and to set the upper and nether mill-stones in them a-working. The loss of Mis- solunghi, a friend of his who was at Florence at the time 444 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIF3. told me, made him ill for a fortnight. ' He ought to have been more resigned,' some respectable man would say at hearing this. Perhaps, sir, he ought : perhaps he felt too much : but what shall we say then of those who felt too little, who felt nothing? what shall we say of the tens and hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who did not eat a mouthful of toast, or drink a spoonful of tea the less, for hearing of the subversion of a Christian fortress, and the destruction of its heroic garrison by hordes of barbarous unbelievers ? And what I so strongly feel is, that while our estimate of ourselves must be the strict standard of the Gospel, our estimate of others must be comparative. He who feels any wrong, or cruel, or base thing more than others, and would go further to prevent it, must always have my good word. And being such a one, I must continue to value Walter Landor, while praying that the good he has already may be improved and hallowed, and that from being a man of men which he now is, he may be changed and lifted into being a man of God. Doubtless, there are pas- sages in his ' Dialogues ' which I should wish away ; and amongst them, most of his attacks (and they are incessant where the subject admits of them) upon Popery. I do not like pulling and tugging at even a decayed branch of a fruit- tree, lest the tree itself should be shaken, and some of the fruit should drop oft." XII. THE SHADOW OF THE CI OUD. ** A religious life is not a thing which spends itself like a bright bubble on the river's surface. It is rather like the river itself, which widens continually, and is never so broad or deep as where it rolls into the ocean of eternity." — Beecher. |N the summer of 1832, Miss Clinton spent a month at Alton, where her warm affectionate interest in all that went on r-^ade her a general favourite. With her, the Hares had more enjoyment of the natural advantages of their hoixife than they had ever yet done, making many pleasant little excursions in the "Dull carriage," or long ramble? amongst the Downs, taking "Jack" the pony, and riding it alternately, and then stopping to sketch. Dming these expeditions, Miss Clinton's vivid perception of the beauties of nature, and her power of seizing and making the most of the picturesque and interesting points which even the dullest landscape affords, seemed to open a new world to them. In the middle of August, Miss Clinton returned to London, and a few days after, the Hares left home to join Mr. and Mrs. O. Leycester. and be their guests at Tenby, instead of the annual visit to Stoke. When they reached 446 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Swansea, after a very stormy passage from Clifton, they found the cholera raging there. In the next house to the inn they first went to, a number of people lay dead and dying, and the friends, not allowed to enter the doors by the town regulations, were standing in an agony outside, waiting for news. To their relief, they found, after some hours, that the hotel where the Leycesters expected thern was in another part of the town, and they moved thither; and the following day, by carriage to Tenby. Cholera was at that time supposed to be exceedingly contagious : the favourite remedy was a glass of port wine, with twenty drops of laudanum, to be taken on the first symptom. The remembrance of the summer at Tenby was always a source of peculiar pleasure to my dearest mother, because she thought that when they were together there, her father first learnt to appreciate and love her husband, to whose marriage with his daughter he had given a most reluctant consent, and with whom he had never got beyond a mere outside acquaintance, during the short summer visits at Stoke. She greatly rejoiced in the sensation which was created in the little town, whenever her husband preached in Tenby Church, as an opportunity of showing her father and Mrs. Oswald Leycester how much he was appreciated by others. And for herself, the summer was filled with days of entire enjoyment, spent in rambling with him amongst the rocky coves, sketching in their caverns, or in longer ex- cursions to Pembroke, and Carew, and to Manobeer, where Augustus cut his name, and that of his Mia upon the ruin, and declared that if she were taken from him he should return to live there as a hermit, as the most utterly desolate THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 447 place that he knew. Each day's companionship increased the delight which they derived from each other, and their entire unity already began to make their friends tremble as to what the effect of any separation might be upon the one who was left. This was peculiarly the case with Lucy Stanley. Speaking of the life which the Parrys (see page 228) were now leading at Tahlee, in Australia, she wrote at this time : — L. A. S. to M. H. " Their happiness so much resembles yours. The foun- dation is the same — the oneness of mind, the sunny view, ever seeing the bright side of things ; and if Bella is en- trusted in her children with the one blessing withheld from you, she has to set against it, in her anticipations of the future, the thought that this is probably the most peaceful spot of her whole life, as from the very nature of his pro- fession and character, it is unlikely that he will sit down idly even by the happiest domestic hearth, as long as there is anything to be done in the service of his country. You, darling, have a ' happy warrior,' whose arms you may help to brighten, and who is most at his post when by the side of his own ' wine,' and in the midst of his people. May God bless you zWfour, and long continue to others the happiness of rejoicing in yours." M. H.'s Journal (" The Green Book "). " Tenby, Sept. 23, 1832. — Why is it that ruins of old build- ings, independently of their picturesque efifet t to the eye, interest and please us so much ? May it not be that they form a link between God's works and man's, having by time and the operations of nature become harmonized, softened, and in some sort likened to rocks and picturesque objects 448 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. of natural beauty, whilst retaining the associations of former animate life ? awakening within us imaginations of what has been, and calling up those feelings of sympathy for times gone by, and people who have lived before us, which in the ordinary course of life are altogether put aside. The sus- picion and jealousy with which a pious mind perhaps is inclined to look at the works of mere man's creation, is here lulled to sleep, by the approach which such remains of former glory seem to make to works fresh from the Almighty hand. There is none of the hardness, the limita- tion, and the consideration of worldly interest, visible in the broken fragments left, which in a complete building fit for present use seems to draw the mind only to earth and its cares and pursuits. All harsh lines are done away, and the roof of open sky seems to connect the perishing materials of earth with the hopes of heaven. God's finger seems to have been at work here, no less in causing the decay of human art, than it appears elsewhere in the formation and arrangement of what are styled Nature's works, and wherever that finger is clearly visible, then one is inclined to admire in adoration. If we looked deeper into things, doubtless we should oftener trace that finger ; but we are very much influenced by external things, and look not within : else how much should we find to glorify God in, from the works of man proceeding as they do from the most glorious work of God, the mind of man." M. H. to L. A. S. " Tenby, August 29, 1832. — Whilst you are enjoying the rocks and waves in your bays at Penrhos, I am delighting in them here. Our large drawing-room has a balcony over- hanging a little garden ; the said garden has steps imme- diately leading to the rocks, over which at high water the waves eddy and rush just as they do on yours : and at lovr THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 449 water there are delightful sands for a couple of miles all along the shore. There are the ruins of an old castle on a promontory forming one side of the Bay of Tenby ; and the rocks on the other are beautiful in colour and form. Then on the other side of the castle rock, where we are situated, we have the open sea before us, with a very fine rocky island called St. Catharine's close to the shore, and many caverns amongst the rocks, which are at the base of the houses. There are a great many people here, but they are not in one's way ; and if the weather becomes fine, we shall find many a snug seat amongst the rocks and little bays or on the old ruins. I never saw a sea-place I thought so enjoyable or beautiful in itself as this, uniting so many advantages." " Sept. 9. — Our days here pass by so quickly. How I ishould like to have had you by me last night as cloud after cloud, black and heavy as pitchy night herself, sailed over the beautiful moon, which from under them all shone so bright in the sea Our Sunday temple for this evening has been amongst the rocks, watching ' the mighty waves of the sea,' as they came rolling up, one bigger than another, or dashing with their white curling foam over trie rocks. They are now still raging and fuming below our windows, and the moonshine is sparkling most brightly on the wide sea beyond j but I will take my eyes off to talk with the dear Luce whose heart has doubtless this day, with ourcs, been raised up in grateful adoration to Him ' who is mightier than the noise of many waters.' We have not hitherto had much stormy weather on our side the coast, and it is one advantage of this place that one may always go to a calm or a windy shore as one pleases, by choosing opposite sides of the town. There is not a great deal to 6ee in the neighbourhood, which I rejoice in ; for I grudge the time not spent amongst the rocks and caverns here, and VOL. I. G G 45° MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. I find endless subjects for drawing. We have been lo se« one old castle, Manobeer, and Augustus was so delighted with its lonely situation, he settled how if he lost me, he should like to fit up a couple of rooms and spend two or three years there, with no other companions than his books and the sea-gulls. He has hitherto been occupied since we came, chiefly in transcribing his Visitation Sermon for the press, and he makes himself very happy here : his delight in the waves and rocks is quite as great as mine, J. think, and we enjoy seeing this fine scenery, the first we ever saw together." "Bath, Sept. 28. — A Quakeress came with us in the packet from Tenby to Bristol, and I had a great deal of conversation with her. She was a druggist's wife, but we should never have detected any lowness of origin from her conversation : it was so sensible and full of love that all want of polish seemed done away. She told me so much of their discipline and modes of proceeding, and gave me some of William Penn's tracts. The gratitude she expressed for my talking so much to her, and the over-estimate she had formed of me during our voyage, quite humbled me. I wish I could tell you all our conversation. She said her heart yearned towards me from the first, when I sat near her in the packet, long before I spoke." L. A. S. to M. H. " Penrhosy Oct. 3, 1832. — Welcome back to Alton, my Darling. In your 'goings out and comings in ' I follow you in spirit very closely. If you saw how I read your letters over and over again, — in the house, — in the tower, — on the rocks, — you would think they were well bestowed I am now come up into my tower for the morning, — a wild stormy day, with driving rain, and break up of the summer weather. I have just read the chapter for the day, and I THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 45 1 hope you have done the same ; I like to think the same verse may perhaps be encouragement and comfort to each, though in a different way. The verse I stopped at just now was, 'and He saw them toiling in rowing, for the wind was contrary to them.' It has been my case lately; though out- wardly our sea may look smooth, and the temptations and hindrances be such as the world cannot understand, we may nevertheless be ' toiling very hard,' feeling the wind to be so contrary, we scarcely make any way at all. And then, if the winds from without lull a little, a heavy ground-swell from within comes on, and the poor vessel almost forgets it has an Anchor ready, and a Haven worth all ' toiling ' to attain. "There is no verse in the whole Bible that again and again comes to me with such support as — ' Be of good cheer ; it is I ; be not afraid. And He went unto them into the ship, and the wind ceased.' Who ever followed Christ, and could not say, Yes, many times He has come into my ship, and the wind has ceased, whether it came from ' fightings without,' or from ' fears within ? ' "Last Sunday but one I went to my 'Chapel on the Rocks,' and when I came to the end of the Epistle, I saw under it written, 'Alton, Sept. 4, 1831,' the last dear Sunday I spent there last year, and I shut my eyes to see that little church, and that blessed and beautiful countenance, and the Mia by my side, and the naughty school-children, and the old attentive faces; and then I opened them again on the broad blue sea before me, and thanked God who had given them another year of such happiness as few of His ungrate- ful creatures will let themselves enjoy, for. He gives the same materials to many." M. H. to L. A. S. " Alton Rectory once more, Oct. 9. — The last day of the fine weather, Dull brought me safe home from Bath, and a 452 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. delightful drive it was, with the thoughts of Alton and the dear husband before me. There he was in the Devizes road, all ready to welcome his Mia after our three days of separation. You may guess how joyful a Sunday ours was, with Augustus in the pulpit, and all the listening old men and women, in the place of fine bonnets and gay gowns I have a new plan which I hope will turn out useful. It is to have a weekly meeting in Gideon's cottage for as many mothers of families as like to come. They are often unable to go to church, and most of them, I suspect, too ignorant to learn much when there, and if I go to their cottages they are generally engaged in washing or something unfriendly to one's doing any good. Betty Smith seemed quite delighted with the proposal, and said she knew many who would be glad of it. So on Thursday, at two o'clock, I am to have the first. Perhaps the dear Master will give us a prayer. '• I am sure there is a good in one's absence from home and the break in one's regular duties, one returns to them with so much greater zest, the people are disposed to be more pleased when they have missed us much, and one begins as it were afresh with renewed hope and energy, feeling all the more how blessed a privilege it is to be allowed to work together as labourers, however humble, in the vineyard." " Oct. 29. — Augustus had a most melancholy letter from Mr. Rose the other day upon the prospects of the Church. .... As far as the Church of Christ is concerned we know that she stands on a rock not to be shaken, and, if persecutions do arise, I doubt not many will be strength* ned and confirmed in their faith, and much latent zeal will be drawn forth. But for England as a nation, if through love of wealth, or expediency, or principles of worldly economy, such as those advocated by political economists, and nowa- i.-i. SHADOW OF THE CI 453 days even by women (Miss H. Martineau fo; instance), it casts off that beautiful Christian edifice which has bound together jarring interests and forced upon the people that instruction they would in many cases be slow to seek for ; or if, by lowering the condition of its clergy, it leaves the higher classes to the influence of all the temptations of their situation, without reverence for those appointed to teach them, what will she have to answer for, and what hand but that of a merciful God can carry us through the evils she may expect to draw upon herself ? " M. H.'s Journal— (" The Green Book "'). " Alton, Nov. 3. — How immediately self enters into every- thing we think or do ! If we are in the course of duty led to any exertion, however small, we are apt to be puffed up by it, ' I have done this,' ' I ought to be thanked.' A return of good crop is expected from the seed sown, and often there arises a secret wish that others should know what has been done. Now this is not that love ' which seeketh not her own,' and of all its characteristics I suspect this is the hardest to make ours. Poor and worthless as we may feel ourselves in the abstract, or when comparing ourselves with the standard of Truth, I fear in particulars, in the detail of our lives, we are but rarely conscious how little we are. And why is this ? Because ' we compare and measure our- selves by ourselves,' that is by others weak as ourselves and who may do less. And even. this would not be so unfair a rule as we make it, if our imaginations would only invest our fancied inferiors with the advantages and trusts committed to us, and suppose what they would do then. But we take people as they are, with all the circumstances of their rela- tive positions unallowed for, and compare our own doings with theirs, and take credit to ourselves for the contrast, without bearing in mind that our talents may have been 454 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. five and theirs one. And truly it is an awful thought to consider that God's justice must weigh the means vouch- safed to his creatures in the balance with their attainments wnen we think what those means have been to us, how singularly great and numerous, whilst the hindrances have been so few; and when, further, the nothingness and weak- ness of our return is estimated without being held up by the self-delusion of our own hearts. " ' In all reforms I would cut off all abuses that cling round an institution as far as possible, but take care to pre- serve the principle unimpaired, and to restore it to its original use. In constitutions, as in individuals, what suits one will not suit another, and the true wisdom is to perfect the one you have, and not seek to substitute another that may not adapt itself as well to the different circumstances of the case.' This, or something like it, Augustus answered to my question of how far one ought to concede in such matters as Reform. It requires, however, more skill and penetration than falls to the lot of many to define the exact limits of that principle — how much is the essential part, that root which may not be touched, how much the aeeidents that may safely be pruned away. The moment a wound is indicted on a vital part, the animated being droops, withers, and at last dies ; but so nearly is that vital part connected with members not vital, that till the consequence follows, the nature of that wound may be unknown." L. A. S. to M. II. " Aldcrley, Nov. 19, 1832. — I have such constant delight in ' Valehead Rectory,' to which I have recourse again and again, when my thoughts grow downwards, from mixture with this most earthly earth. The poetry is beautiful, after long acquaintance, and I never close the book without having gained some of the feeling for which I opened it. THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 455 ' Valehead Rectory ' always seems to me in prose what the * Christian Year ' is in poetry, and what Augustus is in human nature." "Nov. 30, 1832. — . . . Since I came back I have been reading much in the works of the holy and beloved Leigh- ton. I never can read many pages of him, and think of anything else, which I can do, most unhappily, with most others. He is so truly the essence of the Bible, and raises one gently above the earth, and the view of one's own sin- ful self, to the full contemplation of the high standard we are aiming at. Dear old Jeremy always keeps me too much in contemplation of the extreme ugliness of sin, and I think I can get away from it most easily by fixing my eye on the ' Beauty of Holiness ;' but both together — Leighton and Tay- lor — would be a religious library sufficient for any Christian who did not live in the fifteenth century." M. H. to L. A. S. " Alton, Dec. 22, 1832. — I hope this may reach you on Christmas Day, that it may bring us more forcibly to your mind's eye, join us more earnestly in your prayers, and communicate to you something of that share of joy we shall be feeling with you, in the coming again of that blessed season. It is a comfort to think that others are feeling it with us, and that Christmas is to many a quiet hidden soul bringing its glad tidings, not the less surely because it is, alas, in these times, only in secret that the real joy can often be felt. It is, indeed, sad to think that in a Christian country, and uniting as most do in Christian worship, this should be so — that the Name uppermost in our hearts should not be allowed to pass our lips, and that the real cause for rejoicing is the one that cannot be even hinted at. But we must not turn to the sadder side. Let us rather think of the many thousands who have, by the 456 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. first coming of this clay, been turned from darkness into light, and of the peace and comfort to our own hearts springing up with the assurance of ' a Saviour which is Christ the Lord ' — that He who thought it not beneath Him to lie in a manger, and be subject to infant weakness and human suffering, is now mediating for those whom He has re- deemed — watching over their struggles, and sending His Spirit to guide and to help them, more powerfully than when on earth He comforted his apostles by words and deeds. It is, I do believe, our little faith which chains down our thoughts to the mournful recollection of our own. weakness, instead of leading them upwards to forget our- selves in the adoration of our Lord and Master, and which so prevents our feeling our hearts burning within us, and makes us serious instead of glad. When, however, we see how little there is of Peace on Earth, no wonder if we are often sad ; and these days of political excitement are more especially unfavourable to it. We do feel most thankful to be out of reach of it altogether. " Yesterday, being St. Thomas's Day (on which Lady- Jones always gave her gifts), the blankets were given out, and Augustus was as happy as you can fancy him being, calling the people in, one by one. We lend them tid Easter, and they are most thankful. Truly my path lies through green pastures ; my only grief is that I am so little thankful, that I do not love Him more who pours upon me such abundance of earthly comforts. God bless our dear Luce." L. A. S. to M. H. (during an illness of Augustus). " Dec. 31, 1832. — I cannot help the abiding conviction that here all will end well. Klopstock lost his Meta, and George Herbert's wife was left early a widow ! Still it is pel haps a great comfort when we feel that sanguine hope, THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 457 though we cannot always give a reason for it. When the rod falls, we bow beneath it, and meekly and fervently love on. We shall not, shall we, be worse off, for having hoped that in our case the cup may for a while pass by, though we know there is no reason why it should. Your Christian letters come to me like angel-songs, from a brighter and purer world. Yesterday I wrote you a long letter, and burnt it to-day, because I thought it discontented, Oh ! if we could but remember that our Master's eye is never off us, — that He saw His disciples 'toiling in their ships,' though they knew it not. " You and I must feel somewhat differently at the close of a year, though in much together. I shake hands joyfully with the old friend, and hail the new one, as a step nearer Home, — not, I trust, with a morbid feeling — I can never be unhappy in this life ; but the very thought of what is called Death is a sensation of joy to me, which none but you can understand, and you perhaps hardly yet. I do earnestly hope the feeling is not a presumptuous one, still when I am happiest the feeling never varies, though hardly does it bear putting into words. And it is now on the stroke of twelve ; in a few minutes the old year will have passed away. God bless you, my dear ones, and may the close of every year find us with our lamps burning, that if our Lord calls us, we may not fear to follow Him. What a thought it is— that to any one of us, this nextyzax may be the entrance into eternity ! " The church bells have just struck up, and they are ringing in the New Yeir ; the hand of my clock is on the twelve. At this moment our prayers may be ascending together to the throne of Grace. Almighty and Blessed God, Father, Saviour, and Comforter in one, bless us and keep us through the year just opened on us, — guide us with Thy counsel, strengthen us with Thy might, and after- 458 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. wards receive us into glory. To Thee, O God our Saviour, be all glory, majesty, dominion, and power, both now and ever. Amen." In the autumn of 1832, after he had taken possession of the Living of Hurstmonceaux, and had given directions for the addition of several rooms to the house, Julius Hare set out for Italy with his friends Worsley and Landor, visiting Holland and many parts of Germany on the way. Almost all the interesting letters in which he described his travels and his first impressions of Rome to his brother Augustus were unhappily destroyed by Mrs. Julius Hare. Scarcely any memorial of this journey remains but his letters to hia brother Francis : — ■ Julius Hare to Francis Hare. " Augsburg, Oct. 27, 1832. — It is a month to-morrow since we (that is, Landor, Worsley, and I) left London : we saw the great Netherlandish towns, and the treasures they contain, pretty well; spent a couple of days at Bonn, one at Frankfort, and another most delightful one at Nurem- burg, which we all agreed in admiring above all the towns we have ever seen. Landor says Rome is nothing to be compared to it in point of beauty and interest." "Viccnza, Nov. 15. — . . . . We have been seeing much, especially in the way of pictures, though of course rather too rapidly : and both Landor and Worsley have been most delightful and instructive companions. At Munich the Gallery was closed ; but we saw the Glyptotheca, Schliessheinf, and Schelling, who, now that Goethe and Niebuhr are gone, is without a rival the first man of the age, — I know not who is the second. We had three glorious ^ays at Venice, that is, THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 45g » in the picture way, for it rained the whole time. Our last morning we employed in buying. Landor got a Schiavone for himself, and, with inimitable skill in bargaining, a beautiful marriage of St. Catherine by Giovanni da Udine,* and an exquisitely lovely head of St. Cecilia (a Perugino, or early Raphael — Landor inclines to think the latter) for me, for a hundred louis, — so that Hurstmonceaux will again bear witness to the family love for the arts. This morning we spent at Padua. What magnificent relics there are there ! The hall must have been the finest room in the world, as large, to judge by the eye, as Westminster Hall, and covered with paintings by Giotto, Mantegna, and other mighty painters. What a place, too, is the chapel of the Eremitani. Giotto seems clearly to be, with perhaps the single exception of Raphael, the greatest genius that painting has yet seen, at least in the modern world." " Fiesole, Dec. 1 1. — Here at Florence, from being at Lan ■ dor's villa, I have not been able to do as much as I might otherwise have done. But I have learnt to worship Raphael more devoutly and reverentially than ever, and I have seen the Niobe. Many other admirable things, too, have come across me. Pietro Perugino is divine, but the picture at Bologna is still lovelier and heavenlier than any here. In Fra Bartolomeo I am disappointed, his drapery is mostly the best part of his pictures : in the famous St. Mark it is the only good one : the expression is bad. The Job seems to me poor, the Isaiah miserable. In single figures, he, as far as design goes, is a thousand degrees below Correggio, the four Evangelists on the cartoons for his frescoes are the sublimest single figures I ever saw. The Resurrection, in the Pitti, is very magnificent; and peihaps, however, * There was a replica of this picture exhibited at Burlington House, in the Loan Exhibition of 187 J, where it was attiibuted to Marco Basaiti, H7o— 15*>- 9 460 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. * I should have thought better of him, but that Landor had led me to expect something almost equal to Raphael. The Fra Angelicos in S. Marco, are exquisitely beautiful. John of Bologna, too, is a very great man, though I think, in spite of Landor, very inferior in genius to Michael Angelo ; and to place him above Phidias and Praxiteles seems to me to be utter nonsense. The Mercury is a singularly agile figure, but not a god, unless it be a (/in/ i/t' la (hinsc. The Rape of the Sabines and the Nessus seem to me to be much too violent for sculpture, with too many projecting points. His Oceanus, however, and still more his Neptune at Bologna, are very grand. What a grievous thing it is that Michael had not a little of Raphael's meekness, and was not content with doing a thing most beautifully, unless he could astound and amaze. His Madonna and Child at Bruges is worthy of Raphael : his angel at Bologna is as lovely and angelic as any of Perugino's ; and yet he could paint that monstrous and anatomical abortion in the Tribune. He is almost always grand however, and full of genius : every time I walk before the Palazzo Vecchio, I am struck with awe by his David, and nothing can be more solemn and majestic than his Giulio de' Medici, and the four figures at the feet of the monuments. " Rome, Dec. 20. — We just arrived here in time to take one walk round St. Peter's before the venti-qnattro. The general effect of the exterior seems to me much less fine than St. Paul's : the dome does not harmonize well with the fiat roof beneath it. But the dome itself, the colonnade, and the interior, are unrivalled. Our sitting-room, in the Via di Monte Brianzo, looks down upon the Tiber, and over it to the Castle of St. Angelo, the Mont Mario, and St. Peter's. We were greatly delighted at Siena by the admirable THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 46 1 Raphael and Pinturicchio frescoes, and by one of the most beautiful Peruginos in the world. The three Sienese painters are by no means ordinary personages, — at least, Razzi and Pacchierotto are often very great : Beccafumi seemed to us very inferior to his two compeers. We found a beautiful Pierino del Vaga too, though sadly dis- figured by dirt, and a number of other good pictures, at the house of a Cavaliere Brillanti. " Twelfth Day, 1833. — Many happy returns of the day to you. This always used in old times to be a festive day with us ; and I wish circumstances had allowed of our spending it together. Your children, I trust, are brought up, as we were, with a due veneration for the Befana : she seems to be nearly as worthy an object of worship as many that find votaries here. We do not seem to make much way through the map ot materials before us : on the contrary, the horizon seems to widen as we advance. Hitherto, however, holidays and religious ceremonies have stood a good deal in our way : but the puppet-show at Ara Cceli to-day has given us our fill of the latter, and the next, I hope, will be a clear week, without any obstacle or interruption. Yesterday, we spent the morning at me Borghese, but only got through four rooms, and even those incompletely : for when there is leisure, we find it much more profitable to see few pictures at once, and study them, and discuss them, and try to make out the characteristics of the master's style. What a superb collection it is ! though even in it are evidently some misnomers, and Sassoferrato has the post of honour, when there are twenty greater painters in the room. The Garofalo's there, at the Doria, and at the Sciarra (the two landscapes in the best Venetian style), have given me a much higher notion of him than I had formed before : surely many of the numberless monotonous repetitions of the same conventional heads in the small 40 » IffKMOKlALS ur A QU1C.1 i.fFE. :' thered upon him. must be by his scholars. The ng is always good : indeed in this respect the Ferrara school come near to the Venetian : but very often they have little merit besides. Your old favourite, Dosso Dossi, is multitudinous and of all sizes at Modena » but there did not seem to be much in him. The earl} Peruginesque unfinished Raphael at the Borghese is. I suppose, an his- torical picture. But I should be inclined to doubt whether the portrait said to be of himself in his youth by himself, is either one or the other. That by Timoteo della Yite is a very interesting picture : his beautiful Magdalene at Bologna had taught me to admire him. Raphael's Deposi- tion is certainly a most beautiful and sublime picture ; but I think the Germans go too far in calling it his finest work. The Spasimo, so far as one can judge from Trochi's fine engraving, seems to be so, or at all events to stand by the side of the Sistine Madonna. In the Deposition the central figure of the corpse-bearer, which people praise for its muscular strength, seems to me a grievous fault. Rubens may make his Crucifixion an occasion for displaying nerves »nd thews ; but Raphael was too heavenly for such things." To A. W. H. " Rome, Day of the Purification. — .... I rejoiced T»hen I left England in the thought that, till I returned thither, I should not see another proof-sheet ; and lo, they are threat- ening to pour in upon me of all places in the world here in Rome. Here in Rome, where one has so many better ways oi spending one's time ; where authorship seems to be the last thought that ever enters anybody's head, I seem to be fated to publish, and of all things in the world, a sermon. I preached the Sunday before last, and, to suit my sermon to the time and place, took, ' What went ye out into the wilderness to see ? ' for my text, and the evils and dangers THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 463 of living abroad for my subject ; and, as I had resolved, followed your example in scolding the misbehaviour in the churches. But you know people rather like to be scolded, at least, when the scolding comes from the pulpit, and is not immediately personal. Vehement preachers have always been popular ; and so in the following week a num- ber of the congregation expressed, through Mr. Burgess, a strong wish that I might be induced to print it ; and as the applicants were personally unknown to me, I felt myself forced to set about trying to get a papal imprimatur. The chief said he had already heard a great deal about my sermon, and if I would take it to him to read over, that he might see there were no objectionable expressions, he would be very glad to give me his license. Here the matter stands now ; but people say if the license is granted, it will be a great point, for that it will be the first instance of a Pro- testant sermon printed at Rome. To make amends for the trouble it will give me, I have had one or two very touching expressions and thanks. Far the most delightful thing was a note from Bunsen (the Prussian minister), who was there, and borrowed the sermon after church, and read it into German to his family in the evening. Next morning, before I was dressed, I received the following note, which I send you in the original : — " ' Theurer Freund, erlauben Sie mir dass ich Sie mit diesem Namen begrusse. Ihre gestrige Predigt hat mir bewiesen dass der Grund auf welchem unsere Verbindung ruht, zu tief liegt um von der Sturm der Zeit beriihrt zu werden : ein Grund der Gemeinschaft der Ihnen meine Anhanglichkeit furs Leben verbiirgt, und mich mehr als je wiinschen lasst ihre Freundschaft furs Leben zu gewinnen.' " You have heard something of Bunsen, and know that I expected to like him very much. I like him far more than 1 expected, and hardly know any man who unites * n many 464 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. high merits, without, so far as I can sec. a single defect. He is one of the friendliest, most amiable, liveliest, most sensible, best informed, most entertaining of human beings, overflowing with kindness, good humour, with high spirits, most actively and unweariedly benevolent ; and I have never discovered the least spark of ill-nature in him, or of selfishness, or of vanity, though we are constantly together. Over and above everything else, he is a man of the strong- est, purest, most fervent piety. Circumstances have in some degree given another turn to his studies, else his own bias would have been to devote himself entirely to religion. Even as it is, he has done a great deal. He has made a collection of German hymns, a large octavo volume that he has selected from above eighty thousand. He is engaged, too, in publishing a complete collection of Christian litur- gies, and has made great researches in all ages of the Christian Church for this purpose. Nay, he has himself printed a liturgy for his own chapel here, drawn in great measure from ours, or rather from the same sources ; but it differs from ours in some very important points, and I think mostly for the better. The German Protestant chapel itself, too, is entirely his creation, and has been of very great advantage, among other things, by having put a stop to the conversions which had previously been so frequent among the German artists " As for Rome, dear Rome, it seems as if I had seen nothing of it ; and yet I have seen more than in all the other towns I ever was in put together — more objects of love and of thought. It will be a great grief to me to leave her with the thought that I am never to see her again : yet it will be a great happiness to have seen her, and having been seen, she will become a part of sight." THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 465 M. H.'s Journal— ("The Green Book "). "January 14, 1833. — A new year! To how many is it nothing but an old one ; new in nothing but its name, old in the strengthening of all former propensities; oid in indo- lent habits ; old in time wasted or misused. The point is to ascertain how much it is wise to retain of the old, how much ought to become new. Perhaps in these days there is more danger of casting off too much of the old than there is of neglecting to adopt the new. Change is the cry of the day. and though the new may only be what is old, new- cast and under a new form, still there is the restless desire for change, and the extravagant hope that all good is to be effected and all evil done away by such a re-modelling of things. But I am led away from my first idea, which was rather a practical and moral one — to consider within our- selves how the fresh stage of life ought to be a new one in its most useful sense. Now it seems to me a clear principle of Christ that we should never stand still— never feel satis- fied we are doing enough ; else why have we a model before us of perfection we never can reach, if it be not to stimulate us onwards, leading us on step by step, and ever keeping before us a point yet further to be attained, both to keep us humble and excite us to action? Each year, then, should be a stage of advance in our own souls, by a growtii in Christian grace and a weakening of natural corruption, and also an advance in the work we are called to, whatever that work may be. " When I look back on the mercies of the past year, how ashamed and humbled do I feel to think how my heavenly Father has watched over, preserved, and blessed me, and how little I have given Him in return— how little of love — how little of prayer — how little of service ! Yet let me hope it has not been altogether in vain ; that some few seeds of good have been sown though there ought to have been an vol. 1. H H 466 MEMORIALS OF A QUIE'i LIKE. abundance of them ; that some few feelings have been strengthened and realised, though many have been sluggish Alas ! how much readier we are to dwell upon the few miserable little grains of wheat in the year than to seek out and mourn over the harvest of tares ! How much more willingly my mind turns to the hope that I have acquired more power of realising to myself the constant presence of God my Saviour, than it does to the more certain fact of how often I have failed in trusting and believing — how little I have shown my sense of His presence . . . . " One thing I am very sensible of in the past year — a great increased perception of the variance between the principles of the world and those of the Bible. The having so constantly before my eyes in our retired life and parochial duties the higher views of Christianity, and the reading so much more than I used to do of theological books, and so much less of worldly publications, has quickened my perception of the difference, so as to strike me forcibly, either when mixing with others or reading the literature of the day. But perhaps I leave out the chief cause — the living with one whose whole life is based ou Scripture principles, and whose whole thoughts and practice are alike resting on that sure basis. " How little am I duly thankful for such privileges and blessings as God has bestowed on me, in my situation and in my most precious husband, with whom I have been allowed three years of such uninterrupted happiness. Oh, may I be more grateful, more loving, more faithful to Him who gives me all His best gifts in such abundance, and may He bless them to us both, so that we may be yearly more devoted to His service, and more earnest in our calling, not forgetting, whilst we strive to better others, that we, too, have a great work begun which has to be perfected, and foi which we must not cease to watch and pray 1" THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 467 M. H. to C. S. " Alton, Jan. 5, 1833. — Our New Year's Day was a very h.ippy one. After church prayers (which we have on all saints' days and occasional services), the Sunday school, fifty-six in number, assembled in the barn to receive their prizes for their tickets. I invited the Piles and Miss Miller to see, and whilst I sat at one end with the list of names, &c, Augustus gave to each, as called, his or her packet, consisting of the sum for their tickets, made out in scissors, work-bags, books, handkerchiefs, stockings, &c. Being the first reward-day they have ever had, of course it was thought the more of. We made them a speech, and then they begged to sing a hymn the mistress had taught them to surprise me, and away they went. The school- master, mistress, the clerk, Gideon and his wife, and our old cook, came to eat beef and plum-pudding with our servants, and did not seem least pleased with Mr. Hare's going to drink their healths, and wish them a happy new year afterwards." M. H. to L. A. S. '■'■Jan. 6, 1833. — The beginning of another year of life does indeed seem overflowing with thoughts and feelings, mercies past for which we cannot feel grateful enough, and opportunities to come for which no prayer nor faith seems sufficiently strong. Last year we began the year with cholera impending over our heads, revolution threatening us. Now we are mercifully freed from one evil, and the other is at least for a time removed to a distance. Still so weak is my faith, that I am afraid I look back with greater pleasure than forward. And yet the same God and Saviour who has been with us through the one will no less surely be near us through the other, and overrule all things for good. You 4otf MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and I must, of course, feel differently on some things ; and I can only for myself personally desire to have a continuance of present happiness, with greater earnestness and zeal in making use of the great privileges I now enjoy. Still, blest as I am, could Augustus and I both leave the world to- gether, I should look forward to the moment of entrance into eternity, where sin does not dwell, as a moment to be humbly wished for. As it is, since one may be taken and the other left, we can but resign ourselves wholly into our Mas- ter's hands, and entreat him to make our will one with His." " /an. 21. — Let me tell you of Augustus's first attempt at what in Wicklift'e's time was called PostiiltPg. It was luckily the 41st of Isaiah last Sunday morning, such a fine chapter, and his exposition was so plain, being extempore and from the desk, that I think many must have learnt much. He prefaced it by telling them how Scripture used to be thus explained till man perverted the practice, and that was no reason its advantage should be now lost, after so many years. He told them a good deal about the nature of the Prophecy, and the different senses it bore, and the diffi- culties attaching to it, and how its perfect completion was probably not yet come. I suppose it was quite as long as a sermon, and the people were most attentive. We had the real sermon, as usual, in the evening." " Feb. 2. — ... I am so glad that accident has brought A. and C. together again. All my observation has always confirmed me in my belief, that half our harsh and un- charitable judgments of others would be removed could we but look into the windings of their hearts, and see all they had to contend with, and how much more of wheat lay beneath the tares than we should outwardly guess It is well, perhaps, that wt differ in some points, for I am afraid you are inclined to set us up far too high on your shell. The many little rubs of opinion which would occur THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 469 in living together, do not arise in absence, and only what we have in common comes out ; so that in thinking of us, you are too apt to assoc^te all that you delight in, and not to feel that were you here, perhaps you might find many things you would not agree in or altogether approve." L. A. S. to M. H. " ... The next time I clear out the ' Chambers of Imagery,' 1 will examine well and see whether there is any foundation for the accusation, that I put you on too high a shelf. I think it is just possible ; but as I shall probably be absent nine months for once during our lives, you will allow it must be better for one's growth to be always lilting up one's head to a shelf above, rather than stooping to look on one below ; and it is in your power, you know, dearest, to make this mistake, if it be one, useful to you, and equally so to me. Let it make you aim high ; strive to be all >n absence I fancy you are. Whichever of us be foremost in the race, let the other ' urge her with their advancing tread ' (St. Andrew's Day, ' Christian Year '). Remember you have a great advantage in being allowed the privilege given to the ' Herald Saints of old,' going forth by two and two ; whereas some are those *in the situation of the poor man (Luke viii.), who, when he had been cured, and had once heard the voice and seen the countenance of His blessed Master, pleaded hard to remain with Him, but was refused with that striking answer, ' Return to thy house.' Christ will not always let us remain close to Him. He sends us away to work in a corner of the vineyard, where there are perhaps few who can join in our song. He will see whether our love is true, and is it not enough to make us work on, and joyfully, when we do know that the Master's *ye is ever on us, though we see it not." 470 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H. to L. A. S. " Fd. 9, 1833. — Yesterday, abc#t three o'clock, your poor friend Mary Browne breathed her last, and I trust exchanged her sorrowing and weak earthly tabernacle for ' the Con- queror's song.' I was with her about ten minutes before the end, when she was perfectly sensible, and knew me as I stood beside the bed. She lifted up her hand when I uttered a prayer for her, and muttered with her lips, but could scarcely articulate. Her cough has been very bad for some time, but there was no change to excite any alarm till a few days ago, when she took to her bed, and has not been up since. From the last Sunday I thought she would scarcely get up again, and, as you may guess, have been every day to read to her, but a dying-bed admits in most cases of but little spiritual assistance. I have in the last year attended four, and certainly the impression left by all has been how little in general a person in so great a state of bodily suffering is capable of thought or attention to the concerns of their souls, more especially amongst the poor, to whom mental exertion is at all times so difficult. With respect to poor Mary, all that she was able to bear or follow was select verses such as she # knew before, and chiefly ejaculatory ones out of the Psalms, and the hymn of which you sent her two verses, which she knew quite well. I hope and believe her mind was more at peace for the last two days than she had been previously, and she expressed her readiness to go and trust that she would be happy, while still lifting up her heart in prayer and beseeching that for- giveness of which she so much felt the need To me there is a feeling quite beyond describing in standing beside one hovering between this world and the next as she was yesterday : seeing the struggle of the earthly frame, and knowing that the spirit, still alive to visible things, will in a THF SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 471 short time have fled to — where — we know not : that in so brief a moment all that is invisible and unknown to us is before her ; that she whom one has so long taught in heavenly things will know so infinitely more than we do. She knew Augustus, and fixed her eyes on him as he prayed by her very earnestly. He went up the hill, and returned a quarter of an hour after, and all was over. She has so long been an object of interest, that it seems quite a blank to think one shall never see her sitting in the chimney-corner again, or have to cheer her sad grey eye with the blessed promises of Scripture. Hers was a very extraordinary case. I cannot quite make it out ; but latterly I have rarely adverted to her own feelings, thinking it better to lead them forward than allow of retrospect; so that I cannot exactly say how she felt, but not I think till the last two days essentially different from what you remember her. There was then more of resignation than of joy or hope I think, but I am satisfied there was much of bodily infirmity in her, and I always think of her in the seventy-eighth Psalm — ' Will the Lord cast off for ever,' &c, 'and I said this is my infirmity.' " I am always so struck by the different ways of consider- ing death, and the light and indifferent tone in which it is spoken of by those people to whom it ought really to be a subject of terror, one should suppose they looked on it as they would on that of an animal, to hear it spoken of as it is by many ; but the fact is that what is beyond is to them no reality, but so vague an impression, it exercises no influence over their ordinary modes of thinking and speak- ing. How can one be thankful enough for the glorious hope held out to us, for the privilege of knowing and feeling the truth !" " Feb. 12. — Your letter to poor Mary Browne must have been written nearly at the time she was breathing her last ; ji this world. On Monday I took it, and with the Master 47 2 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. went to find John Browne, who was at work in our field, and there, getting under shelter from the high wind, read (with some difficulty, I confess) your letter to him. He said it was a beautiful letter, turning away his face that we might not see his tears, and put it in his pocket, and I promised to go and read it to him again some day when he was at dinner, that Polly might hear it I fully intended to have gone to the funeral, and was ready waiting for it, when so violent a storm of rain and thunder came on just at the time that I could not go ; but I saw them from the window, and thought how poor Mary's spirit was rejoicing perhaps, instead of entering the church as on former occasions cast down and disquieted within her. Only one Sunday before the last she was in her corner at church wishing probably for that peace which she has now entered. You cannot think how much I seem to miss her, having for so long been an object of interest, and her last illness was so short Sometimes when I look back on my Stoke life and my feelings as M. L., I can hardly believe in my own identity. Either that time or this appears to have been a dream, I hardly know which, but quite as often the latter as the former, and I have at times a very strong impression of the time to come when the dream will be over. But in ouj brighter moments of faith, one can look forward without trembling, with perfect confidence in that blessed Saviour who has thus far guided us in safety, and will not, we feel assured, leave nor forsake any who look to Him, and Him only." L. A. S. to M. H. Alderley, Feb. 12, 1833. — Poor, and yet most happy Mary Browne, I had no idea her end was so near. Every night when I have gone to bed, for the last ten days, I have arranged my lamp so that its light might fall on the white THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 473 cottage in your picture which hangs within my bed. I little guessed that her spirit had already fled while I was praying that she might be comforted. How glorious a change for her, for of her safety I trust we need have no doubts. For you, my Mia, it must be very good to live the life you are now leading, and twenty years more of such daily experience in yourself a.nd others will, I think, prove a truer and better key to the right meaning of the seventh of Romans than any searching into man's writings or critical examinings. . . . My own Mia, you know how I may say your earthly happiness is mine, so vividly do I enjoy it with and for you ; but do you know that it is my reserved comfort to think that if now God were to cloud over a part or even the whole of that happiness, I could even then think of you without trembling ; and this is as much my prayer as for the continuing of that happiness ; and may that God and Saviour who has guided you so far bless you both still, and pour into all our hearts more and more of that most excellent gift of charity that we may bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, and endure all things." " Feb. 20. — There is no command oftener sounding in my ears than this, ' Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works.' Every day I see how it is the more necessary for the lamp to burn steadily and brightly, for the conduct to be consistent, uncompromising, and gentle ; for often perhaps, when a word would not be borne, an act of forbearance or self-denial might be re- membered in a cooler moment. Yet so ofteti, when my tree is shaken, does there often tumble down a crab ; any one might be forgiven for doubting the care and attention I pay to the root. I fear, by nature, it was such an inveterate crab, it requires a fresh graft every year to make it bear any fruit." 474 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H.'s Jcjrnal— {"The Green Book "). " March 4. — I seem to myself to have got a clearer notion lately of the different steps which are attained in religious progress, and a difficulty I have felt in reconciling what I see with what I read in Scripture seems to be diminished. There are two distinct classes, say the Evangelicals, those who serve God and those who serve Him not, and I see and acknowledge the truth. Still one cannot look around with- out feeling there are many who are far removed from being indifferent or careless as to their duty — who do sincerely desire to do it, and to a certain degree do serve God more than the world, and yet that these same people are equally far perhaps from that simplicity and reality of Christian faith which makes Christ's service and his yoke a delight and a joy to them. Now may it not be that such persons are in fact Jews in heart and practice ? Of God they have a reverence and fear — they serve Him outwardly, they acknowledge Him inwardly — but of love as a principle of action they are as yet ignorant, consequently their religious service consists in outward acts. Of Christ as a Saviour and Mediator they rarely think, and consider the reference to Him as the great cause of our hope and dependence, as rather of a fanatical spirit. In such persons year passes after year and no change is visible ; the same round of duties is performed, but the spirit which should animate them con- tinues dormant, nor do their worldly thoughts or opinions betray any symptoms of leavening. Of such persons it is untrue to say that they despise or are regardless of God ; but their service is one of fear, and their creed scarcely less enlightened than that of a Jew. People do not consider what it is that distinguishes Christianity from Judaism, and fancy themselves Christians before they have left the old slavery of the letter and form." THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 475 It was in March, 1833, that a bad cold, affecting the thrnat, and a violent cough, formed the beginning of the illness from . which Augustus Hare never recovered. A slight paralysis of the nerves on one side of the face caused severe bleeding to be resorted to, which materially weakened the system. For some weeks he was confined to the house, and his M ia was filled with anxiety. Mrs. Stanley wrote from Alderley urgently desiring to come and assist in nursing him ; but to this he refused to consent, preferring that she should postpone her visit to May, when he hoped to be well and able to enjoy it. In April, all anxiety seemed over, and he was able to resume his parochial duties, and delivered an address upon his first reappearance in his little church, which was afterwards printed in consequence of the impres- sion it made upon his people. During his illness they had shown the greatest anxiety about him. " It seems as if one of my own children was bad, not to see Mr. Hare about," said one ; — and when he was recovering — " I be just about glad Mr. Hare's better, for he is a good friend to all of we." A. W. H. to the People of Alton (Address in Alton-Barnes Church). " Indeed, brethren, I know not how it may have been with you, nor whether you have missed me, during the time I have been kept away from you : but I can truly say, that I have missed you. I have missed the well-filled benches near me; I have missed the familiar faces in the gallery ; I 1 have missed the delight of praying with you, and the pleasure of instructing you. At the season of the great festivals, and especially during Passion Week and Easter, the spirit of the coldest Christian is more alive than at other times. It is impossible to hear the history of Christ's sufferings, — how He was scourged, and nailed to a cross, and left to hang 476 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. there till He died, amid the mocks and laughter of the oy standers, — it is impossible for men to hear all this with their ears, and to have it almost brought before their eyes, and to know that Jesus went through it all for their sakes, that they nn^ht be forgiven, and might live, — it is hardly possible for anybody to hear all this without having his heart burn within him. These then are the seasons when the minister who loves his people has most pleasure in speaking to them and teaching them. He loves to strike while the iron is hot, while the heart is moved and softened, in the hope that at such a time, by God's grace, his words may sink deeper. And yet it was just at this particular season, when I should so much have enjoyed being with you, that it pleased God to affect me with sickness, to separate me for a time from you, my people and friends. Do not suppose I murmur at this dispensation : far from it. God knows best what means and what instruments to employ for the conversion and in- struction of his people. If I had been in health, you would have been taught by me alone. As it is, you have had the advantage of hearing different teachers ; and it may be, the words of some of them may have sunk deeper in some minds, and have done them more good, than anything I should have said, if I had preached to you. If it be so, God be praised for it ! Yea, God be praised for my sickness, even if it had been more severe, if it be the means of calling any one among you to a knowledge of His saving will ! But still it did grieve me much, that I could not be praying with you and teach- ing you. Never did the little church appear more beautiful in my eyes than on those Sundays, while I looked at it with a melancholy pleasure, and watched you as you went into God's house, or returned from it. Truly, at such times, I could well have said with David, ' How amiable, how lovely are thy tabernacles, thou Lord of Hosts ! My «.:oul hath a desire and longing to enter into the courts of the Lord.' " THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 477 M. H. to L. A. S. "March 27.— 'Shall we receive good and not evil at the hands of our Father ? ' Well may we feel that, bright as our sunshine is and has been from year's end to year's end, we may endure, and bless God that He has thought fit for a brief space to send this cloud to overshadow our joy, and make us more fully sensible how dependent it is upon His good pleasure. Now, when it has pleased Him to bless the means used and give us again a gleam of sunshine, I begin to feel more what a feaiful dream I have been in for some days past, and I do more fully cast myself before His throne, who might, had He seen fit, have chastened me so much more severely. My precious treasure looks still very ill, and coughs sadly. Many an anxious moment yet remains before I can feel sure that it will please his heavenly Phy- sician to restore him to former vigour and health ; but there is so much improvement, I indulge a hope he will be able to bless me and his people, and do such little humble service as he can render his Master on earth. His own mind has never for a moment been disturbed ; it has been calm and serene as the most peaceful lake." " March 2S. — God be prai. ed my mind is now at ease, and the cloud is breaking fast and letting the sun shine through again;" " April 2. — ... I have felt during my anxiety that I could not utter long prayers or well connected ones; but that my whole life was a continual prayer, and for this reason I rejoiced to be alone. When I was not in the room with my beloved Aug., which was only at mealtimes, and when I went out into the garden for a short time, I felt I was alone with Him who could help, and would assuredly strengthen if I asked ; and though I could not feel ready and submissive to resign all at his bidding, I did pray 478 MEMORIALS OF K QUIET LIFE. most sincerely to be enabled more and more to be brought to this, and that the present warning might in this way be blest to us both. I am certain I was able to go on better from haying no one, no not the nearest and dearest friend to speak to and dwell upon the circumstances when at liberty and leisure to do so. When I was not engaged with him, it was far better to be thrown upon one's own reflections, which naturally led one above this world to seek His grace and comfort, who will hear, however weak and faithless our petitions are, and miserably weak one does feel at such a time And now that it has pleased our Lord to lake away His chastening hand and restore to us our bright earthly happiness, you must pray for us, my own Luce, that we may not forget how thankful we should be. Now, indeed, there is no fear of it, with the remembrance of the anxiety so lately felt ; but our hearts too soon get used to their blessings, and forget how easily and how readily they may be taken away." " You may think how sad it is to have Easter without its usual minister to officiate, no Wednesday's service, and no evening lectures. Last night, for the first time, he read a few verses and a collect to the servants, but with so trem- bling a voice he could scarce get through that, and it made him cough so that I fear it will be long before he will be fit lor Sunday duty." " Easter Tuesday. — My darling Augustus is going on well. 1 wished lor you so on Friday. Half an hour before altemoon church, Mr. Majendie came. Augustus and I had arranged the room reaiy, and he administered the blessed bread and wine to Marcus, Mary, Augustus, and me, and you may suppose all we felt in so receiving it, with the prayer appointed for sick persons Marcus went yesterday ; he is one of few words, but loves us much." THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 47$ L. A. S. to M. H. "March 29. — I need not tell you how I have suffered with you in these days. I have indeed felt, what I always said, that in one affliction I should be to you a miserable comforter, and what else could the dearest and most sym- pathizing friend be ? Well it is for us that there is a friend whose ear is open to the feeblest call for help, and whose power to give that help is all-mighty. We must not forget under whose hand we are fainting. Though a grievous east wind has for a little season blighted your beautiful gourd, let us lift up our hearts in humble and cheerful confidence, and rest them on Him who doth never afflict willingly or grieve His children. Perhaps after four years of such unvaried happiness, some little check was necessary, to remind you more strongly that there is danger in giving all our affections to one created blessing, however precious and love-worthy that blessing may be. You do not feel now you could say, ' Thy will be done,' and yet it is what God will have his children say, even when he takes away their all. It is perhaps good that you should be obliged to contemplate what nature shrinks from as too hard to bear, and though you cannot now pray long or connected prayers, your whole day must be a striving in prayer, to be conformed to God's will and to have none but His ; and when our beloved Augustus recovers, though you thought you loved God before, you may find that this was wanting, though by your own heart only the lesson may be known. I am so glad * Marcus ' is coming to you. Tell the dear Augustus I have great faith in the simple united prayers of a loving parish, and if no church can be opened, the prayers offered up by his people for his recovery in their separate cottages or at their work will avail much." " Alderley, April 8, 1 833. — I feel that you know all I have 480 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. been thinking in the last week, for our hearts will have been offering up their tribute of joy and gratitude and humilia- tion at the same gracious throne, and gaining from the contemplation of our Saviour's sufferings and glorious resurrection fresh supplies of strength, to go on our way- rejoicing 'with fear and great joy,' as the Marys did when they found the sepulchre empty and Jesus risen — fear lest we should not sufficiently honour and care- fully follow such a Master, and ' great joy ' because we know and are assured that in those dreadful hours of suffer- ing He bore the punishment we each and every one must have incurred ; and it is not the least thing we have to be grateful for, that we live in these days, when eighteen hundred years have gone on proving the truth of our Saviour's words, and gradually and to the letter so fully accomplishing all things, that we may almost wonder how it is our faith ever wavers, or how such a miserable being as an unbeliever or doubter can still exist. I sometimes think if one could but show to any one the love, the peace, which Jesus can create in our hearts, they must long to feel it too. Yesterday morning, as I was walking through the wood to church, with everything in nature to make glad the spirit — the songs of the birds, the myriads of flowers, the bright sun — I thought how many would allow it was de- lightful and most gladdening, and say it required wo peat liar religion to feel grateful and happy while the senses were under such an influence ; but only the believer knows and can testify that those same joyful and thankful feelings, which bring tears to the eye, and overflowing gratitude to the heart, can be felt when all is dark and dreary around, when the animal frame is under no sunny influence, and when in this world perhaps our way must be lonely and often beset with thorns. God's sun shines most warmly on our hearts when the world's sun shines least ; and who that has THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 48 1 once felt its reviving rays would not easily spare the other's, if it be his Master's will I do not ever remember passing Passion Week in so peaceful and happy a frame of mind as this last has been. I could hardly have felt more glad or warmed up J and whenever I was at prayer, it seemed as if the thought of Augustus's recovery was the one drop to make the cup overflow. How clear it is that the Bible was written for the creatures of a changing world ; if we had no sin to mourn over, no afflictions to wean us, half its pages would lie useless. There is one woman in the Bible whose example comes oftener to my thoughts than any other, because hers was a simple, straightforward faith I think one might attain, and should if one aimed higher — the Shuna- mite — she did not doubt for one second but that it was all well ; but it is so difficult to feel secure with God when a trouble comes. How you will watch over your gourd when it quite revives ; but remember, dearest, you must not watch too anxiously, or let your heart beat too easily; the best way to ensure its stay with you will be to trust it wholly and calmly in God's hands. " I think I helped my thoughts very much the last week to keep singly to their object, by carefully reading only what was done on each day, and as far as possible bringing before myself what passed ; then, not having read any of the chapters before, those on the Resurrection, with all connected, came more forcibly, more powerfully home on Easter Sun- day. I do not think in the round of life there is a moment more overpowering, more thrilling, than when the organ peals forth accompanied by those anthems preceding the collect — ' Christ, our Passover, is sacrificed for us.' Oh, we ought to be very joyful all the year round, come what will on our journey, when we think what our home will be— who, the Friend, the Master, preparing our mansions in it. ,; Alderley is looking most beautiful The wood is one VOL. I. I I 482 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET I.II'E. sheet of oaffodils and anemones — larches all greening, and every hedge ready to burst into full leaf. I think even Julius would allow that a mass of young larches, in their first fortnight's unsullied coats, is a refreshing sight." M. H. to L. A. S. "April 13, 1833. — Your plan was exactly one we were talking of one day as so useful — that of realising more the passing events of our holy week ; and though there was no church service except on the Friday, as there would have been had the pastor been among his people, at home we got our little chapters and prayers in the evening. Now he is weak in voice, I generally read the verses, and then he comments on them after ; he reads the collects and prayers, and I say the Lord's Prayer, and so we jointly get through our little humble service Augustus's confinement and inability to do anything is more trying perhaps now when he is better than it was when he was entirely incapaci- tated ; but God's will must be ours, and his time ours, and slight indeed is the trial of our patience He at present sends. May it prepare us for the far greater that may one day be our portion." " April 21. — I cannot close this day — so beautiful with- out, and so full of thanksgiving within — without making our dear Luce share in its great blessings. The sun has shone with almost a summer heat, and the air, for the first time this spring, has been most balmy and delicious, as if to invite the dear pastor once more to his church. He was afraid of undertaking a full service or the whole morning one, so got Mr. Caulfield to take that for him ; and this afternoon we had the happiness of going again together into God's house. Scarcely could I restrain my tears when he entered his desk, and you may think how freely they flowed when, before the general thanksgiving, he rose up and said THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 483 that, having been so long unable from illness to officiate in that place, he begged now to offer his humble and hearty thanks to God for being restored again to health, and theu in the customary place added, ' especially for Thy servant who now desires to return thanks for thy late mercies vouchsafed unto him.' .... My dear Luce will need but to be told the facts of to-day to lift up her heart in joyful thanksgiving with us for the mercy God has shown us in thus restoring us to our great and undeserved happiness ; and the extreme loveliness of the day, combining to fill and soften our hearts, has made it one continual feeling ot praise. Once more did we take our walk in the fields after church, enjoying together the heavenly day; and since dinner, for nearly the first time, I took my way down your well-known lane and up the Luce path, and looked down on the lovely view, with a beautiful sunset glowing all round, and felt that heaven would indeed be on earth were all within as beautiful as all without, if in those peaceful cottages there were no sin, and all were love. I miss sadly poor Mary Browne in her chimney-corner, to speak a con- soling word to as one passes by. Patty grinned from ear to ear as she expressed, in more words than I ever heard from her before, how ' comfortable ' it was to see Mr. Hare in church again. Old Hannah Baillie almost cried her joy, though it was evidently saddened by his looking so ill. The other day, in coming across the field, she quick- ened her step most gladly at hearing him call her; but her countenance soon fell as she turned to me — ' How bad he do look ' — and her merry eyes did not get back their sparkle. I fear the dear old woman is weaken- ing in bodily strength, but if she ripens in spiritual, one must not regret it. She is one of the little ones whom Christ will not despise ; for she hath given of her two talents, two in return." 484 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET L1IE. " April $0— The dear Augustus has been getting on, though the weather since those two warm days has not been kindly to him. He has been out two or three times in the Dull carriage. Stronger he certainly is, and on Sunday morning, by leaving out the Commandments, he got through the whole of the rest of the service, and once again preached to his dear people. He spoke to them about all the seasons that had passed during his sickness, and his feelings during it, in such a way as to melt a great many to tears, and head after head sunk down. Such occasions it is a great pity to waste ; and when their hearts were thus full of affection for him, their minister, we may hope his words were blest with more than usual efficiency to their souls. He got through it very fairly on the whole, and has not suffered from it. The Sunday before, old William Hams told me he could not help crying in church to see ' how bad he did look ; but God in heaven be praised, he is out again.' " "May Day. — To-day we are to have all the men of the parish to hear the Rector's new plan for them — that he will pay the malt duty for all who wish to brew at home. Since he formed his plan, Parliament seems to intend taking it oil; however, that will not be for a year, and I daresay they will not value his thought for them the less." " May 16. — I am sure you will fancy yourself in the little church. Now Augustus has got to two services again ; it seems quite like old times ; and yesterday, Ascension Day, we had prayers and a ' postilling,' as usual. What weather this is ; I never knew so enjoyable a May. In a week everything has become perfect summer, and the foliage is quite thick. I am writing to the music of a swarm of bees, which, as usual, have betaken themselves to our chimney." " May 28. — Last night we had our thanksgiving supper, the preface to which was the verse out Nehemiah viii. 10. THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 4 $ Twelve dear old people thankfully partook of ' the portion prepared for them,' and expressed much joy at seeing Mr. Hare so well again. To-day the grass was begun to be cut, and the master is full of delight at the thoughts of his haymaking. The orchard was all down by six o'clock, and, alter a due consultation of authorities, the croft is now under Gideon's hand and scythe." "June 3. — The dear Luce had her full share of our thoughts and wishes in the happy return of the most blessed 2nd of June. It was a lovely morning, and, weak and miser- able as our thanks are, I did feel my heart overflow with gratitude in thinking of the four years of perfect and unin- terrupted happiness that has been granted to us, with, lately, the added blessing of Augustus's recovery to health. Here, in church, with all the delightful service and Augustus's two dear sermons — one in the morning, the other at the six o'clock evening service, on the Trinity — you may think whether I wished or longed for any one blessing more, except that of a more grateful heart, and more power to utter all the overflowings of one's feelings. It is a great delight having the Stanleys here, and I rejoice that K. should think Alton a loveable place and a haven of peace and rest from worldly cares and troubles." Augustus W. Hare to W. W. Hull, Esq. " April 19, 1833. — As to repenting of my intention of ful- filling what we deem to have been our aunt's wishes as to the charities in her will, if I have anything to repent of it is of my pride — supposing it to be pride ; but I hope it is a joyful thankful feeling, miscalled pride, that two of the three sub- scribers besides myself to this charity fund should be my own dear brothers. And Francis would have been of the party toe, but for scruples of delicacy, and a notion that, by or - faming to pay the chanties. »: m____u_-_g a sort of superiority over tbo>e of my aunt's heirs who do not contribute, and who happen to be at least as m-merou. as ourselves nothing of &r having already rvtr. ■_: tire.-:': --. .1 :■:" :..- ._-_.:_ '.. ::-. - .... :'..---. - he believed my aunt designed it. I ought to add, that our fourth contribntOT is our cousin Mrs. Dasbwooc. apart a portion for pubE. ch seems to as to a setded purpose ; an . money washer with, we bold thai ¥t :'-. : :.'.- a :.;-: r. ;:' -_; ir-.7.-err e_. t .iv.t :: r-t :_ - -.- : - : :t._.- \ :.- 7;: -.: - :-. :. .: _i r. .: :-.-.. v t __■: .-. . '. _.:__ --■-■- -■■--. fee! -._•-■:.■;: y..a: •/. =.;;.; ::_.:.'.- :..- to her supposed itctionr On examining the memoranda «e determined that we would take the , (a *wrt<^— «ii of her p roper' jt standard, and our con- :r .: - lv.'.'_:.- y i:: .: ::r. ;/'.y.:: ::.. "•• "t :'. .: '.:■-.■ trlbutors have rece ween as a fourth of her prop and we contribute , ten us do fee •.-.E_-.ir.lr.e-: :: .. _• - - '. ... :._.•. iter. :-._ _--.-: of the scheme, instead of saying, ' Oh, if there _«een a will I sbo_ ;-.__ -.-.-.-._-.•.-.■_: t •.:":-. Ir. .._.- '_» t-- c_-.-._ :; • t " -. '.IT. determined, kr _r scbe - •• Le*min£tcn. : ' • - — Yesterday we « isri remember in our favo. much easier it - • - - B .... 1 see tnat the holy C 1 the holy ' : _ 7 Bf cxbixfisc walk. on. && g^tny I . ' - : .... ... ... ... :. ~ - '.' _. : ; j; — 77; i::^ srr~ -r; " i~ : .7 v-— ' ;- - - ; : ; '-..: r :-r:: : :rr ;: :_7 '■'■' t :.:.: : :.:-_-— ::_: ;.- - , M;_:- rTrri ~ "-. - i ' :." *.; .^ : " v ^ -j_:-._ ■=■::-_: r' ._—_ r: e:. :..:.: r : :: : ::::: :._— t'-.r. v~: r;;.: 2 r.c^r := -:_; v _- :- ;_;c. ir._ 1 :.-_:': — r=- -; v-. ' C S 1 • — • 7 : ■- ^ - - - : k; ':."_": .-.-. > f *';~:. .'^- . ;r> rers aeons sa :.::...:.. ; .:..; - : - ■ ■ - 4«8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H. to L. A. S. " Stoke, June 24, 1833. — Stoke looks very pretty, and we are veiy happy here; it is such a pleasure to see the old man of eighty as young and sprightly as if he were twenty. .... It seems so odd seeing and knowing so little of the people, and I feel quite ashamed of myself in having for- merly been so little amongst them, and having lived so dreamy a life, for myself always. The shadow of M. L. haunts me here and there, and strangely bewilders me sometimes in the changed feelings of M. H. I suppose I shall never quite lose the mixture here, but the result is a most thankful feeling and a strong sense of increased responsibility." M. H. to C. S. "Stoke, June 26, 1833. — Julius has arrived in England from Italy, and talks of coming here for a day on his road to Cambridge ! He is much delighted with the thought of Augustus and Marcus having furnished his dining-room for him. ' My parsonage will certainly be held out as an example of the luxury of the clergy. And now I shall be able to sit at my solitary mutton chop, with my Atlantian sideboard to bear three knives and two forks, and with eleven splendid morocco chairs stuck round the room, call- ing for ghosts to come and sit on them. My aunts, too, are (joing to bedizen my drawing-room. I have everything I can want, just as if I had Fortunatus's cap without the trouble of wishing ; but the heart-gladdening part of the matter is that the wishes are anticipated by the thoughtful affection of my friends, and that too while I am far away. God bless you all ; would I were worthy of you.' " Towards the end of July, the Augustus Hares ivent tc THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 489 Alderley Rectory, and while they were there Marcus Hare was invited to Alderley Park, which he left engaged to Lucy Stanley, the beloved friend of his sister-in-law. L. A. S. to M. H. "Alderley, August 28, 1833. — My heart is too fall. It is like a cup full to the brim, and I am afraid of letting one drop escape, for fear the whole should overflow. The only thing I am sure of is, that amid all its contending feelings. a sense of grateful happiness is at the top, and that I may cheerfully and confidently go forward, assured that the same Father and Saviour who has led me thus far, will never place His weak and strength-needing child in any pasture so beautiful, as to make her forget the everlasting home, where there shall be neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but when, as St. Mark's hymn ends, — * The saints beneath fheir Saviour's eye, Fill'd with each other's company, Shall spend in love th' eternal day.' " Julius Hare to M. H. " Hurstmonceaux, September 9, 1833. — God be praised for the great blessing he has bestowed on our dear Marcus and on us ail ! I know you will deem it a blessing ; so will Augustus, who already loved Lucy as a sister ; and I feel as if it will also be a very great one to me, although I have hitherto remained in the background, and perhaps, but for this marriage, might never have become cordially intimate with her. Meetings of two or three days, with years between them, are a scanty foundation for friendship to spring from. Now, however, the ice is broken ; she will assuredly do us all much good ; and I hope and trust that she herself will be a gainer by the marriage, that at least in this world it 490 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. will make her happier. It would have been a great thing if Marcus married a person who did not slacken the bonds that unite us ; but he seems to have chosen the only person in the world that will draw them tighter and closer. Marcus's speech to Lucy, ' that he had never in his life done what he liked, except in marrying her/ seems to me one of the most beautiful compliments (that is not the word, but I cannot think of a better) ever paid ; and we who have known him from his childhood know how true it is. It would be indeed very delightful if I could bring you here from Alderley. I should like to have you here while everything is in full beauty ; and though my house will not be in apple-pie order, you will not growl very much at that. Besides, I shall try, if possible, to get Marcus and Lucy for a day or two on their way. I know that every day will be precious to them, and I would not ask it, if I did not think tnat I might be of some use to them, in talking to them about what they are to see and admire, and showing them some of the spoils I have brought back from Rome, such as prints, casts, and so on, which will prepare them for what they are to find. It is a matter of great importance to have one's eyes properly opened. And oh, what a joy it would be to me to have my two beloved brothers and my two beloved sisters here ! My big house would not look lonely again through the whole winter. The very chairs would begin to dance and sing for joy, instead of standing so sullenly round the room, scowling, because, in spite of all the temptations they hold out, nobody comes to sit on them." M. H. to C. S. " Alton, August 25. — A beautiful day took us from Stoke to Malvern. We sallied out as soon as we had had a cup of coffee, I on a donkey and Augustus on foot, and had time for a charming ride round by the south seat, with a THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 491 flood of light from the setting sun on the view. Yesterday morning, having breakfasted, we set off on two donkeys and rode to Little Malvern — a beautiful morning, and it quite reminded me of one of our Pyrenean rides. What a lovely place it is, and the church quite beautiful ! I do quite delight in Malvern, we enjoyed it so much. At ten we set out on our journey, but Augustus's throat and chest were so bad he could not speak much. We got home at half- past eight, Aug. thoroughly knocked up, and it is very provoking bringing him back much worse than he went." On the 1 8th of September, Augustus and Maria Hare returned to Alderley, where the wedding took place on the 24th. While there, his failing health was so apparent that the family persuaded him to consent to give up his duty for a time, and to accompany the newly-married pair to Italy, all difficulties about expense being overruled by Mr. Ley- cester's liberality. M. H. to the Miss Hares. " Alderley Rectory, September 29, 1833. — My dear aunts, the bells are ringing a merry peal to tell the world that Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Hare are one ; so let me give our warmest congratulations to you both, that this most happy event is now really completed, and the awful ceremony over, which has linked together for life two so dear to us all The morning was very wet and stormy, but the church was as full as it could hold, and the view, looking from the side of the altar where we stood, was very striking, with Marcus and his trembling bride in front of the altar, the bridesmaids behind them, Sir John and Lady Maria on each side, ami all of us ranged in the chancel round. Edward Stanley read the service very impressively. 492 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. "You will be very sorry to hear that my poor Augustus has been suffering a great deal from his cough, and he took the opportunity, the day after we arrived here, of going over to Bodryddan to see Dr. Warren. Both he and Dr. Brabant agreed in thinking a cessation from duty and exertion of mind so essential to his recovery, that after some trouble, by the united entreaties of all here assembled, he has at last con- sented to put a curate into our house for the winter months, and leave Alton, in the hope that he may return to it strong and well, and able to resume his duties without suffering from it. And where do you think we are to goto? We have actually decided upon accompanying Marcus and Lucy to Italy, where we doubt not, under God's blessing, our dear Augustus will be restored to health. There seemed at first many difficulties attendant on this scheme, but the chief one, which was the money, my father has helped us out of, and all others are no consideration where so great an object is to be attained." M. H. to C. S. " Alton, October 3. — This has been a sad week. Augustus's cough has been much worse since we reached home, and he has been very weak and incapable of any exertion. Yester- day and to-day I think he has begun to rally a little, other- wise I felt quite in fear how he would bear the travelling, being so weak. " The way the people speak of our going is very touching. There is not a dissentient voice about the good of it, if it is likely to do Mr. Hare good, though mixed with regret of their own. An old man in Great Alton, who fell down yesterday and broke his thigh, told Augustus to-day, ' Ah, sir ; when I could not sleep last night, I did pray God would bring you back to us safe and well ; ' and that seemed the uppermost thought of his heart in the midst of THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 493 all his pain. Tney of course look at his pale face and think him worse than he really is. It would never have done to stay here and be unable to do anything. It grieves him so to be a cipher in his own church. We have some trouble in getting help. " I dare not trust myself to say all I feel for your great tenderness and affection for us, dearest Kitty. God biess you for it, and make us thankful for having, in addition to our own happiness in each other, so much in those nearest and dearest to us." " October 14. — Our new curate is Mr. Robert Kilvert, who seems, from his great gentleness of disposition and his earnest desire of doing good, to be just fitted to teach om rustic people ; and, with his sister to teach in the schools and look after the female part of the flock, we shall leave our parish in great comfort." L. A. H. to C. S. "Alton, Sunday, October 20, 1833. — I know you will quite understand how much easier it has been in the very short time I have been here to wish to write than to do it. I need not say how I enjoyed the journey yesterday, with the prospect of Alton at the end, or how my heart beat at the first sight of the White Horse, and the wild soft Downs ; or how the fulness of joy quite equalled all my anticipa- tions, when we drove up through the little gate, and saw first Augustus's head peep out and vanish from the study window, and Maria the same from the drawing-room above. You can guess the feeling of finding one's self in this pretty room again, looking out on that peaceful view, and feeling one's self indeed Maria's sister. To-day has been a blessed day, and one never to forget. There was only morning service at the little church, which Mr. Majendie performed. 494 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. August is had i;aid his taking any part, or preaching, was out of the question. I was not therefore prepared to see him quietly, at the end of the service, open the pew door, and ascend the pulpit, from whence he spoke twenty-five minutes, without any coughing, and scarcely any appear- ance of nervousness. He took Acts xx. 32, dwelt very slightly on his leaving them, but went through the verse, showing how he commended them to God, and to the word of His grace, and how that could build them up. He ended with the twenty-seventh verse of the first of Philip- pians. I need not try to bring before you the attentive faces in the gallery, or the occasional blowing of a nose, or Maria's tearful yet happy face, or my feelings of the purest, most perfect happiness I ever felt on earth, when I knelt at that little altar, with my husband on one side and Maria on the other, and received the cup from Augustus — that part he was able to do. No one who had seen him kneeling before the table yesterday, and watched the earnest prayer and expression of his face, could ever forget it. Not one foreboding of evil came across me to disturb the joy, and I think not across Maria. Even when his cough for a moment disturbed one, it gave one no anxiety. I felt sure he would return to his people stronger and better than ever." Those who were present retain a touching remembrance of the love which Augustus Hare manifested for his people at a farewell supper which he gave to them in his barn a few days before he left England. After he had parted from them with prayer and a short exhortation, he was sitting quietly in the drawing-room, when the singers, underneath the window, unexpectedly began the Evening Hymn. Quickly unfastening the shutter, his face working with emo« tion, he threw up the sash, exclaiming, " Dear people, how THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 495 can I leave you ! " and then sank back on a chair quite exhausted by the mental conflict, and then a terrible fit of coughing came on. Tuesday, October 22nd, was his last morning at Alton, and many were the sad forebodings which his looks inspired in the hearts of his people. " They seemed," wrote Mr. Majendie, " to realise during his sermon on the previous Sunday that they were about to lose him, and they then began to sorrow most of all that they should see his face no more. His manner during that service reminded one oi the lines of Baxter : " ' To preach as if you ne'er would preach again, And as a dying man — to dying men.' " On the Tuesday morning, Miss Miller, who had become especially endeared to him, went in to take leave. He gave her a little plant to take care of for him, and thm said, " You also are a young plant, you know, and a young plant must make great shoots. I shall expect, when I come back, to find you have made great shoots — shoots of grace and holiness." As she was going sadly away across the little field in front of the house, he called her back. It was to speak to her of James Norris, one of her father's work- men, who had taken to drinking. "You must treat him very tenderly," he said ; " he cannot be driven ; he must be very tenderly dealt with." M. H. to C. S. " Southampton, October 23, 1833. — From dinner to tea yesterday Augustus had a succession of people come to say 496 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. good-bye. He had them in the study, and gave a suitable word of exhortation to each, and was much touched by the simple and varying manner in which they spoke of our going. Tuesday happily was a fine morning, so that I could go round and take leave. Poor old Maslen sent a message to say if Mr. Hare had any orders to leave, he begged he would write them down, for he could not bear to come and wish him good-bye At half-past eleven we got into the carriage and drove away, and certainly, by the time we had got over the ' Brow,' I felt the relief of its being over. " We reached Southampton at half-past six, and found Marcus, Lucy, and Julius. You can imagine no enjoyment more perfect than that of our evening together. Lucy was at the summit of happiness." The amusing difficulties of Julius's housekeeping were the chief topic of that last evening ; he had already spoken of them by letter. Julius Hare to A. W. H. " Hurstmonccaux, October 15, 1833. — With regard to pupil-taking I wanted to know your opinion I myself am no less averse to it than you can be, both from taste and from principle ; for I fear that even without them I shall have little time enough for anything beyond the work of the week, and I cannot help grieving at the thought that all I have been doing, all I have been labouring to acquire for the last five-and-twenty years, is to be utterly thrown away, and for what ? In order to do, or rather to fail in doing, that which tens of thousands would have dono quite as well, and thousands far better than I can do. Your womankind won't understand or sympathize with me in "".his ; but they are no authority on such matters. Women THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 497 are too purely heavenly-minded — that is to say, when they are so at all, religion is to them everything ; and they can- not see religion in anything but religion. Science, philo- sophy, statecraft, they know nothing about, and. therefore of course cannot care about. But as I am two thousand pounds out of pocket by my living, I am not sure that I ought not, as a matter of duty, to take pupils, so long at least as that I may lift my head above water, and clear off my debts. What Marcus says about my parting with my servants I do not attach much weight to. Elphick is the only one who would be a great loss, and he would rather cut his hand off than quit the place : only, if his wife goes, he will cease to be an indoor servant I must say a little more about Mrs. Elphick. It is true she is not your Mary ; but where can I find another Mary? She has lived before in this house'; and where could I get any one else ? My cow, though an Alderney, and a delightful gentle crea- ture, certainly gives very little and poor milk. This may be partly owing to the badness of her pasture, which, as we had hardly a drop of rain for above twelve weeks, is, or rather was the other day, so wretched on my hill, that the cattle took to browsing upon the sweetbriar hedge. I my- self saw Elphick churning away, and no butter would come of it. That this is not a thing totally unheard of appears from that delightful passage of Ben Jonson quoted in the Phil. Mus., ii. 211. That Mrs. E. is not inexpert in dairy lore she proved last year, when they bought an old cow of my uncle's for four pounds (mine cost eleven), and made near two hundred pounds of butter in six months. But that was with an old-fashioned churn ; mine, that gives nothing, is a new-fangled one, that is turned round like a wheel. On my return from Alderley, when I was asking whether the cow was improved, she told me what struck me as strange, that they never used a drop either of milk or VOL. I. K K 498 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. cream for the servants. With her, she says, it does nol agree, and that she never eats anv butter. ' But what have the men for breakfast ? ' ' Bread and cheese, and meat and beer.' Well, this accounted for the magnitude of my butcher's bills, and my great consumption of beer. But of course, unless it be the custom to allow them only bread and milk for breakfast, I can scarcely set the example. The women have tea. ' What is done with the milk then ? ' ' Given to the dogs, or thrown away.' This set me on inquiring. ' Thrown away ' does not mean given to the pigs, for I have none yet, nor a stye. Such vulgar animals were not allowed to come near the rectory under the ancicn regime, and the carpenter has had too much to do hitherto in providing lodgings for my books, which even I thought deserved to be helped first. As to dogs, I believe I have none of Arctis sort. But George (my foot-boy), who has a great love for animals, has a spaniel ; and a Newfoundland was brought the other day for approbation, but was too beautiless for such a slave of the eye as I am. So after some days he was dismissed. " I had a letter to-day telling me that another beloved friend is on the point of taking a wife — Digby. His letter is one of the most singular I ever read, one of the most melancholy, and one of the most beautiful. He mourns over the prospect that he must no longer be melancholy, over ' having been made to know the very alarming truth that he is a rich man,' about having ' been made to hear that he is supremely happy in this world ! ' ' I do feel,' he says, 'a secret horror at the thought of rest and happi- ness on earth.' I have also an interesting letter from Arnold, who says, ' As you met Bunsen in Italy, you can now sympathise with the ail-but idolatry with which I regard him. So beautifully good, so wise, and so nobip- minded ! I do not believe that any man alive can have a THE SHADOW OF THE CLOUD. 499 deeper interest in Rome than I have ; yet I envy you nothing in your last year's stay there so much as your continued intercourse with Bunsen.' And all these men are my friends, my dear fond friends, loving me and esteeming me, so far above what I deserve. I can nevei keep my heart from bounding with gratitude, when I think over the long list of great and good men who have deigned to call me friend And now I must have done. So God bless you, and mind you, as our dear aunt used to say j ebr body-minding at least you are in sore need of." END OP VOL. L Qy^zsUa 2%Uty. /8S2. MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. VQL.IL CONTENTS OF VOL. II. XIII. FROM SUNSHINE TNTO SHADE . • XIV. HURSTMONCEAUX RECTORY . . • XV. THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUD • XVI. HOME-LIFE AT LIME • • • • XVII. ABBOTS-KERSWELL • • • • XVIII. FAILING HEALTH AND FOREIGN TRAVEL XIX. HOLMHURST • XX. THE SUNSET BEFORE THE DAWN . • I 74 '47 222 317 328 397 464 xni FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. "Death is the justification of all the ways of the Christian, the last end of all his sacrifices, — that touch of the great Masterwhich completes the picture." — Madame Swetchine. "Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere but in the dark, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust ; Could man outlook that mark ! " Henry Vaughan, 1690. /~\N the 23rd October, the Augustus and Marcus Hares embarked together at Southampton in the Camitia, Julius watching them from the pier till they were out of sight, and the following morning they arrived at Havre, after a very stormy passage. Hence they began to post through France in their own two carriages; "the strange barbarity of the harness and dress of the postillions, and the miserable horses with their fiery eyes,' striking them at first, as they did all foreign travellers in those days. By Rouen, Louviers, and Mantes they reached Paris, where they remained several days, and then by Fontainebleau, Sens, and Auxerre (with the picturesqueness of which they were greatly delighted), to Rouvray and Chalons. Hence they took the Saone steamer to Lyons. VOL. 11. b a MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIKE. M. H. to Rev. O. Leycester. "Lyons, Nov. 12, 1833. — Augustus is better, though I never felt the cold sharper on Alton Downs than we have had it for the last week, and French houses are little cal- culated to contend against it, with their no carpets and many windows and doors Our courier Belloud turns out so inefficient that if it is possible to do a thing wrong, or forget to do it at all, he excels in this ingenuity of stupidity. But Mary, without knowing a word of the language, always contrives to get us all we want, never has a difficulty, and — be the hour what it may — we have always fire to get up by, warm water to wash with, and dry sheets at night, all things which in this weather we feel the value of doubly." "Marseilles, Nov. 20. — We had to wait many hours at Lyons on board the Saone steamer before it could leave on account of the fog — hours which made me full of fear for Augustus ; but at length we were off, and gliding down the Rhone as fast as steam and stream could carry us, and very fast that is — too fast sometimes, I thought, when the scenery was especially beautiful. It was very luxurious sitting in one's carriage and being carried along so easily, with such a succession of pictures before and around me, and though there is not so great a profusion of fine castles, I think the scenery on the Rhone quite as fine as that on the Rhine. At sunset the glow was lovely as we approached Valence, and the little crescent moon and evening star in the midst of it. At Avignon the change to warmth was like that to summer. Between it and Nismes we saw the Pont du Gard, which is indeed beautiful, the old stone work of the great bridge harmonizing so well with the wild and picturesque situation. The leaves were still on the trees, and as the light fell through the great arches on the autumnal tints mixed with the dark olives, the effect was most exquisite. Here we have FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 3 much enjoyed a row through the harbour and on the Mediterranean." "Nice, Nov. 29. — We have greatly enjoyed being here ; and a long stay at Nice would soon fill my sketch-book. We have engaged a Bolognese courier, Lorenzo, who is delighted at finding that one of his masters, Marcus, is a native of the same place as himself. We have not had anything of the Bise at present, and have found it quite too hot for a shawl in the boat going to Villafranca. The little bay with its fortifications and town rising out of the sea, the green covered mountains above, and the little vessels in the harbour, made the most perfect picture imaginable." The travellers left Nice, Dec. 3, and after a delightful journey through the beauties of the Riviera, arrived at Genoa on the 7 th. A. W. H. (Journal). " Lyons. — We spoke to the wife of the doorkeeper at the Musee about the cholera. She said they had escaped owing to the good offices of Notre Dame de Fourvieres. I said a few words about our attributing all such things to God or his Son. She said, ' Vous croyez done au Fils, mais vous ne croyez pas a la Mere.' " " Valence. — Truly a river is a very wilful thing, going as it will and where it will. It strikes me th^t the Rhone would go much more to the west if it had its own way, but for once opposuit nahira — a chain of hills runs along its western bank, in places like a great rampart, and they keep it within bounds. There are many points of view up the valleys, but to me the great beauty is the river itself, with its broad lake-like bends and reaches." " Cujas. — When we arrived here the postillion called oul 4 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to a friend at the inn door that we were ' God damns, della premiera qualita.' " " Genoa, Dec. 3.— Oh the beauty of the first half-day after leaving Nice ! I had begun to suspect that my sense of beauty was dying away, but — unwell as I was all day — I felt the beauty of the country as vividly as I ever did before. Some- times a rocky mountain facing us, sometimes an olive-valley stretching down beside us, sometimes a winding course through that gravest of things, an olive-wood, more than one snow-capped Alp in the distance, and on the right always the shining Mediterranean." It was on the evening of the 7th of December that some matters connected with the dismissal of Belloud had to be arranged before the Court at Genoa. As Marcus was unable to speak either French or Italian, Augustus was obliged to go with him through a cold night air and to exert himself greatly. As soon as he returned to the Hotel of the Croce di Malta he went to bed, but the excitement and fatigue brought on an unusual fit of coughing, and, while Mary Lea was alone in the room with him, he burst a bloodvessel. For a long time he hovered between life and death, and his wife never left him, except for a daily walk on the ramparts, which she always afterwards associated with that period of anxiety when hei happiness first seemed to be crumbling away. M. H. (Journal). " There was a great expression of sternness in Augustus's countenance when we went to him after his attack. Dr. H. intimated one day that he had been ' alarmed about himself.' He looked very serious. ' There are other causes for dread FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 5 besides the fear of death.' ' There are sufferings of mind to endure as well as of body.' " The first thing he asked me to read was the fifty-first Psalm. ' No one knows what I have been going through,' he said to Lucy. The text 'without holiness/ &c, seemed to have struck him very strongly. He said how he had felt the circumstances of the evening he was taken ill. A file of newspapers had come from Mr. Le Mesurer, and he was busy reading them when the servants came to prayers. He said he had been impatient at the interruption, and did not pray willingly or heartily. In looking back over his past life it seemed to him so bad. ' God took me out of the world, and placed me in a little paradise, and hedged me round with blessings, and I have done nothing for him.' He lamented having done so little for the children at Alton, and expressed his strong sense of God's mercy in not taking him in that attack, but sparing him a little longer." L. A. H. to Mr. and Mrs. O. Leycester. " Genoa, Dec. 16, 1833. — Maria has not spared herself a moment, and not had one good night's rest since Augustus was taken ill, but she has borne up wonderfully, and been so calm and serene, I trust she will not feel the effect much afterwards. Nothing, I believe, has so tended to his restora- tion as her perfect self-command and cheerful, quiet, unre- mitting watchfulness. It is indeed an example good for any one to see how she is hourly, almost minutely, in prayer, and striving that her will may be subdued to God's will. Once arrived at Rome, we may hope that his native air will restore him to some degree of health. I need not tell you how at this time I thankfully feel the blessing of being per- mitted to be near them both, and the best proof I can give you of my gratitude for all your past kindness is to watch over your dear Maria. May God help me to do so through life." MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H. to Mr. and Mrs. O. Leyckster. " Genoa, Dec. 25, 1833. — I fear your Christmas will have been clouded by the sad tidings we have been forced to send you. Would you could see how favourably we are now going on. Each day he makes some little step. It is quite like May in the sun, and we have a little balcony, where Augustus can now sit out and enjoy the beautiful view of the harbour and one side of the town. It is only since he has been less ill that I feel what the illness has been to me, and you must not now wonder if I cannot write very steadily. The unspeakable mercy of having him better overwhelms me ; and I do feel my own utter unworthiness to have such a blessing granted when I think how impossible I find it to resign my will to God's when His seems to be con- trary to mine. The time here has completely swept away the remembrance of what went before, and I can scarcely even recall by what road we came to Genoa ; it all seems like a dream. Oh, be thankful with me that it has pleased God to spare me this once, and implore earnestly for me strength to bear whatever He may in future think good to lay on me either of anxiety or trouble " I delight in my daily walk of an hour on the ramparts with the waves dashing up on one side, and so beautiful an inland view of Genoa. Mary has kept up wonderfully and been most invaluable in her attentions, and truly hers is a willing service, for she puts her whole heart into it, and is repaid for every fatigue when she sees any amendment in her master." Mrs Dashwood to Julius Hare. " Bodryddan, Dec. 1833. — Your account of our beloved Augustus, my poor anxiously unhappy Jule, makes me truly miserable. If the vessel heals there is only weakness to FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 7 fear, but that is an enemy much to be dreaded, if he is obliged to continue his journey Poor, poor Maria ! Oh, if she is but blest in seeing her husband recover, her watchfulness will do her no harm. Happiness and gratitude to God are never-failing averters of mischiefs. Oh, Jule, we will pray that it may be so, and your prayers, her prayers, will be heard. How many tears have I shed over the account : I could not read it to my aunt, they choked me. Oh, Jule, if God sees fit to take that blessed being to Himself, I know that it will be as if you were to lose a portion of yourself, and yet he is so fit company for the saints in heaven, so unfit for the unsaintliness of earth. We can only trust to God's mercy — not to him, but to the souls he was leading along the good path, and amongst whom he was a guiding star and rock of comfort." C. S. to M. H. " Christmas Day, 1833. — Your letter is a sad Christmas gift indeed I feel, however, disposed to follow your example of looking only to the present, and leaving the future entirely at His disposal, who knows what is best .... but that this cup — this bitter cup — may pass from you, I do, and may most earnestly pray. As I read Lucy's letter to her mother, how I blessed the day that made her your sister, and gave her the right to be your support and comfort now and ever." A. W. H. to the Miss Hares. " Crocc di Malta, Genoa, Dec. 30, 1833. — I am indeed much better, my dear Aunts, and picking up strength daily. When I was so ill every one had some peculiar merit which they brought into the common stock of nursing, and most thankful I am to them all for all they went through, and all 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIKE. they put up with on my account On Christmas Day I walked out into the balcony and basked for a few minutes in the bright warmth of the softest sunshine This must have been a very different Christmas to you from the last. May the future ones be brighter and happier, and may each of them — forgive a sick-man for concluding his letter seriously — find you both approaching nearer and nearer in heart and spirit to that heavenly kingdom, which God grant we may all attain through the merits of his Blessed Son. We start to-morrow for Pisa." M. H. to Mr. and Mrs. O. Leycester. " Pisa, Jan. 3, 1834. — Most thankfully do I announce our prosperous arrival here. A more perfect May-day could not have been for Augustus to begin his journey on. .... We reached Chiavari at four : found Marcus and the waiter ready with a chair to cany the sick-man up — a good fire, warm room, and bed ready — and so ended the first day to which we had looked forward with the chief fear. .... The scenery for the next two days was most beauti- ful. I can scarcely say I enjoyed it, but I have never seen anything I admired more. There appears to be nothing to admire in the country round Pisa, but, as we came in, the brilliancy of the sky at sunset behind the Leaning Tower and the domes of the town was most beautiful There seems nothing now to be done for Augustus, but to get him as quickly as we can to Rome, where his native air will do more than any medicines." M. H. toCS. " Pisa, Jan. 6.— .... I almost wonder that Italy is recommended to delicate people, the changes of tempera- ture are so sudden. To look out of the windows along the Lung' Arno, you would think by the men's dress you were in FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 9 Russia ) all wrapped up in great cloaks, often lined with fur, and holding them up to their mouths as you see in pictures of winter. Look again at the women, and they are going past in lace veils over their heads, or with gold ear- rings hanging down on the neck, very like what our grand* mothers used to wear from their watches, hanging from the belt. " I have just seen the Leaning Tower, so associated in my mind with childish recollections ; and it is one of the proofs I have often felt of how different a seeing impression is from a hearsay one. It does look very strange certainly, exactly as if some one was pushing it down, and it surprises one never to see it go any further. The Campo-Santo is most interesting, and Augustus tells me my education ought to begin there, as it contains the best specimens of Giotto, Orcagna, Gozzoli, &c. You would be intensely interested in Orcagna's frescoes, which are most Dantesque in concep- tion and spirit. But my present recollections of art are all in favour of a beautiful dead head of Christ with the Madonna, by Michael Angelo, in the Albergo dei Poveri at Genoa, and two most exquisite pictures of Fra Bartolomeo at Lucca, which reach a degree of beauty beyond anything I ever saw." M. H. (Journal). "Jan. 7. — We moved to Leghorn to be ready for me steamer." "fan. 14. — The packet Sully came ir.. We took a boat and went on board, just as our carriages were put in. It was a lovely warm day, and the view of the town and bay quite beautiful — the mountains tipped with snow shining in thu sun. After looking at our berths, we took a further row round the moles of the town under the quarter where all the Jews live, and landed near the English cemetery, an IO MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. enclosed ground, filled with tombs interspersed with cypresses." "Jan. 15. — At twelve o'clock we were on board th«r Su/ly : the wind was cold and easterly, and I greatly feared for Augustus, but we got him down into the cabin, where to our joy we found only one lady and her maid as fellow- passengers. It soon appeared that she was on her way to Rome, to nurse a sick brother, whom they scarcely expected to find alive. No objection was made to Augustus remain- ing in our cabin, so he had my berth, and I lay on the sofa just below him, able to supply all his wants at a moment's notice, and certainly as free from anxiety as circumstances would admit of. The vessel rolled extremely, and the night wore tediously away. It was not till one p.m. that we reached Civita Vecchia. The sun was very hot, and my poor Augustus was quite knocked up, and with difficulty we got him into a boat amongst the crowd waiting to take us on shore. He was carried on a chair through the streets to the hotel, but it was several hours before we could get his bed made." u Jan. 17. — It was ten o'clock before we were fairly on our way to Rome. The road kept near the sea for some miles, then turned across an uncultivated heathy country with little but bushes of myrtle and box, in patches here and there. The sun was extremely hot, and Augustus got very tired as we went along the tedious hills without stopping for three and a half posts, and then, after changing horses, on agaic till about sunset, when all at once he called out 'There is Rome!' and in two minutes after we spied Marcus's head above the britschka, pointing it out. Far to the right a dome was visible that one doubted not was St. Peter's. Augustus, in his anger at the postboy for not stopping to show us S. Pietro, would call out of the window and upbraid him, and thus my first sensations of FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. II delight were turned into those of fear. And truly the sight of Rome, associated as it was with the end of a perilous journey, did make one's heart full to overflowing in addition to all its own associations. It was not till long afterwards that we had passed the tedious hills, and descended into the plain, and reached a few houses and roads between walls, and soon we saw the dome again rising above them on one side of us. Scarcely had we entered the Porta Cavalleggieri, when, through some magnificent columns on one side, the colonnade of St. Peter's burst upon us, lighted up with the bright moonlight, and, as we drove on, not less striking were the Castle of St. Angelo, the Pantheon, and the Fountain of Trevi, as we passed each in succession in going to and from the custom-house." M. H. to E. Penrhyn, Esq. "Rome, Feb. i, 1834. — I write with but a sad heart, for I have little good to tell. We are at last settled in our lodg- ings, and are very comfortable as to rooms. Augustus and I have two, opening into each other, one of which has full morning sun, and is so warm we never need a fire till after sunset. It is very quiet, too, and looks out on the Church of the Trinita de' Monti. We have besides two sitting-rooms, and M. and L.'s bedroom and dressing-room with servants' rooms, for twenty-two louis a month, which at this time is considered very cheap. We moved into them last Tuesday, and feel all the comfort, after our long wanderings, of being at last stationary. I wish I could add that we had the comfort of seeing any amendment in my poor Augustus, but at present I fear there is none For some days he went out foi an hour at twelve o'clock on the Pincio or in the Borghese Gardens, and got out of the carriage for ten minutes to bask in the sun, but now he is not able." .... "The only thing I have seen, except St. Peter's, is the 12 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. view from Bunsen's house on the Capitol He lias lived here for seventeen years, and has a love for anti- quities and art which will be most useful to us. But at present I not only grudge wasting such good things with a mind so little at ease, but I find that the strain upon my attention only makes me feel doubly the anxiety awaiting iny return." M. H. to C. S. " On Thursday Marcus took me in a carriage up to the Capitol where Bunsen lives. Except that moonlight vision of grandeur in entering -Rome, I had as yet seen nothing but the view from the Pincio over modern Rome. Think then of our delight, upon being shown into Bunsen's room, to look down upon all most interesting objects in the ancient city lying beneath us, with the mountains and the towns of Frascati and Albano lit up by the evening sun in the back- ground. We were so occupied in looking out of the win- dow as not to see Mrs. Bunsen come in, and could hardly turn away to speak to her. Soon after he came in : it is a square figure and round face, with a very German look ex- pressive of benevolence, in which one finds out by degrees the lines of thought and intelligence. Then we asked to look again at the view, aid he, with the utmost clearness, in English, pointed out to us the details. Having gone through them from the drawing-room windows, he took us through the salon to his own study, and thence, for the first time, we saw the Coliseum, the Temple of Peace, St. John Lateran. and, far beyond, the Sabine Hills. Having studied all that side, he took us to another window and balcony, which looked out on St. Peter's and the whole of modem Rome, the different views forming the most complete pano- rama. I felt at home with both Mr. and Mrs. Bunsen immediately, and five out of the nine children were running FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 1 3 about with that sort of tact of well brought-up children that are never in the way, yet always of the party. They took us down into the garden, and showed us an Indian fig-tree they had planted seventeen years ago, on first coming, when they found neither doors nor windows in the house." C. S. to M. H. "Jem. 3, 1834. — How constantly you have been in my thoughts since I wrote last, I need not tell you. I feel that you see the case so exactly in its due proportions of hope and fear. I think that I do so myself ; — the present pro- gress, all one can desire, save in the one point of the cough, — the long-continued obstinacy of that, — the tendency to excited circulation, — the anxious, precarious uncertainty be- fore you. Oh ! what a merciful compensation and dispen- sation it is, that the same tenderness of nature which makes you so sensibly alive to smaller anxieties than this, also enables you to feel in its fullest sense that higher love which can alone be your support, and that perfect trust which can rest all in His hands. I cannot tell you how often it has occurred to me within the last fortnight to think of you, your present situation, your present feelings, with almost envy, certainly with comparative comfort, with peace ; to hear all the littlenesses that occupy the uuafflicted, — how health and outward and visible prosperity all fail, how entirel) happiness is independent of all, — and if so now, what in the future?" " Feb. 3. — How many people have burst into tears like you at the first sight of the dome of St. Peter's, but surely no one ever did it with such mingled emotions — the point of hope for so long — all associations lost in comparison with the one prime object; and yet not lost, for if it had been Lucca, Pisa, any other place that was to cure him, the sight would have been welcomed, yet not have affected 14 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. you in the same way If Augustus had not the h.el£ denial to foibear letting down the window and scolding the postboy, how will he be kept from talking to Bunsen, &c. ? " . . . . " Feb. ii. — I am obliged to repeat to myself very often, ' no amendment is to be expected under three wetks,' but it was impossible not to feel disappointed, that when the first fatigue of the journey was over the cough was the same, but the excitement of it is not over yet, — in short, we must rest in patience and hope How I did feel that I went with you to Bunsen's salon ! and I had been think- ing, as you had probably, only of the pleasure of seeing Bunsen, and forgot the situation ; and now if you were to see no more than those two views, would they not be worth a great deal — worth all that we could read, or fancy, or learn from every picture or plan that could be studied ? I recur again and again to the comfort this place and these people will be to you when no other sight-seeing or people- seeing could have either interest or amusement ; and what a comfort it is that Rome is not merely a statue, and picture, and inside-seeing place, that if you never enter a gallery you will still be seeing Rome." M. H. to Rev. R. Kilvert. " Feb. 6, 1834. — .... I scarcely know how to write to you, and can only do so in forgetting our short acquaint- ance, and presuming on that kind interest you have ex- pressed towards us, and on that sympathy which one Christian heart must feel for others on whom God lays his chastening hand. Mr. Hare makes no progress, and I have lately had the anguish of learning that his lungs are now decidedly affected. Under these circumstances I try in vain to be sanguine, and though all things are possible with God, I cannot blind myself to the persuasion that it is in FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 1 5 His eternal counsels that this His servant should be taken away from us. Augustus himself leaves all without fear and anxiety in a Father's hands, and speaks with the utmost calm- ness of the issue, mourning only over his own unworthiness in his Master's service. May that blessed Master, who chastens because He loves, strengthen his faith and mine, to increase his joy and hope in believing, and sustain me throughout the deep waters. He constantly says God gives him nothing to bear — gives him nothing but blessings, yet his cough is very bad and his weakness increases. Your prayers, I know, will be with us, and those of all our affectionate friends at Alton : and we will pray for them also that this and every other trial may lead them on more earnestly to seek that peace and rest which this sorrowing world can never give." M. H. to C. S. 11 Feb. ii, 1833. — As I feel a little calmer to-day than for some days past, I will write you a few lines. If I once give it up, the effort will grow stronger in trying to do it again, and though anything I can say must distress you, you will prefer it to your own imagination. I have always in the best moments looked to this, and felt that ours was too perfect happiness to last, but this does not make it the less bitter now it has come. If it be possible, consistent with His purpose, surely He will spare us ; and yet I feel that in His eyes our earthly happiness is so like dust in the balance when compared with the spiritual good to be effected by His chastisements, that the more He loves the more will He look beyond the momentary to the eternal. I catch at the slightest shadow to rest on, but I feel at times that there is no hope. It was easy to wr te to you calmly from Genoa, when the fear was past, and hope predomi- nant, but how different it is now ! To see every day some l6 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. little increased symptom of evil — some new token of what the evil is, and that one so hopeless. I feel how vain it is to try and blind one's self. He does not know the extent of what others think, though I never conceal my own fears from him The last two days he has been, if anything, a little better ; and yesterday he sat for some time with the window open in our sunny room, and it revived him I can write to no one but you. Tell them at Stoke I will take all the care I can of my own health. Assure Mrs. Oswald I will not fail to consider money as nothing where his comfort is concerned ; and I am sure that I shall only be fulfilling hers and my father's wishes in putting all thought of expense out of my head." C. S. to Rev. O. Leycester. " Feb. 24. — I heard from Julius yesterday. He has no curate, or he would have gone off ; but the letter is a calmer one than I expected, and such a one as leads me to hope that he will be the best comforter she can have ; but for the present truly, she says, God only can help her." C. S. to M. H. " Alderley, Feb. 24, 1834. — When I sit down to write to you, I feel as if I had hardly the power of fathoming the depth and extent of your suffering ; but still, understanding you as I do, knowing all that I do, no one but Lucy can feel as I do. I have been sanguine till the pulse remained obstinate — in short, till the last three letters. Now I see it all too plain. And now what I most earnestly desire' to hear is, that you ha\ e been able to look forward together steadily to the change, convinced that as long as your mind is dis- tracted by the anxiety of hope and fears and daily vicissitudes, it must be utterly impossible to attain anything like resig- FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 17 nation to God's will. Oh ! that he may be spared long enough to allow of the possibility of this preparation, and that he may give you the comfort of seeing him in full pos- session of a Christian's trust and hope. I well understand how in the near prospect all past life rises up before one as one never saw it before — as white paper becomes dirty in comparison with the snow — and how the exquisiteness of his moral sense, being sharpened, makes the comparison with what ought to be almost unbearable. But this is past probably while I am writing, and he is now realising a Saviour's love and promises, and feeling all the more what it is, from this temporary — as it would seem — withdrawal. " The coming spring may, perhaps, bring revival and amendment for a little while ; but oh ! do not let it seduce you into turning away your eyes from the ultimate evil, but take the real advantage of it by turning more and more to the Eternal World, where all, even such affliction, will be counted light. I feel a sanguine hope that you will be sup- ported better than I should have dared to look for some time ago. All the earthly alleviations which have crowded round you, are, I trust, but faint types of the spiritual ones awaiting you, which are the only ones to lean upon at last. I have written tc Julius. I feel so drawn towards him — more than ever— as if he was indeed a brother." L. A. H. to C. S. "22, Via S. Sebastianello, Rome, Feb. 13, 1834. — I do earnestly hope the last bad accounts will have prepared you for what I am now about to write. May the same blessed Saviour whose hand is now supporting your beloved Maria througl the deep, deep waters, and making almost bright to us all the Valley of the Shadow of Death, support you ; for both Maria and I feel how far more bitter the blow will be VOL. IL C 1 8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. to you and Julius than it is to us, who are cheered and com* forted by seeing the heavenly peace given to our dct,i Augustus. Up to Monday morning there seemed no cause or apprehension. Maria came to breakfast saying he had passed a better night, and she had had more sleep. But after he was dressed he was seized with a fainting fit. Mary ran to support him, and thought he would have died in her arms. She had just time to call Marcus, who fortunately was in the passage, and he likewise thought it was the end, his whole countenance became so changed. When I went in a few minutes after, he was lying in bed, supported by pillows, breathing with great difficulty. Marcus and Mary stood by the bed, and Maria, as well as her tears would allow, was reading to him verses from the Bible AH that day he lay very still in a sort of stupor, scarcely speak- ing, except when he wanted some change in his pillows, and once to thank Francis, who had scarcely been able to leave the house since he was taken ill No great change took place that night. 1 'he next day, Tuesday, he spoke more, dictated to Maria letters to Mr. Pile, Maslen, and Julius. He was able to speak very little, and was reserving all his strength to speak seriously to Francis, the thing he had most at heart. Maria was able to read to him in a clear firm voice whenever he wished it. She cried a great deal, but quietly ; once or twice after any great self- command, she would go into the next room, bury her face almost convulsively in the bedclothes, and after an earnest prayer, return with a calm, cheerful face to his bedside. Wednesday — Ash Wednesday— he rallied, and became more like himself, still Thompson said his strength was failing, and amendment could only be temporary. We were all fully prepared for this being the last day, and a blessed day it was. His mind was quite clear, he looked and spoke like himself ; there did not seem a shade or care to disturb FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 1 9 his happiness. Mr. Burgess came and administered the Sacrament in his room. Augustus did not seem at all tired as we expected ; it was indeed a foretaste of the Peaceful World he was about to enter. Maria knelt by his bedside, I next her. Francis and Marcus at the table, Mary and Dawson near the door. Augustus's face was lighted up with a joy and brightness I cannot describe ; his spirit seemed to bound forward to meet the blessed words pronounced, and to take the bread and wine. When it was over we sepa- rated. Maria was perfectly calm throughout * but as soon as it was ended she went into the next room and buried her face in the bed ; then, in a few instants, she was herself again at his bedside. He lay, looking so quiet, so peaceful. He had taken leave of Marcus the day before, of Francis that morning. After the Sacrament, he asked what book Francis had used. It was his own — the old one of Lady Jones. He wrote with his own hand, 'To my dearest brother Francis. Ash Wednesday : It is to be given by- and-by.' There now only remained his farewell to Maria, as he said to Marcus, the hardest task of all. She told me of it afterwards as calmly as I am now telling you. He gave her farewell messages to every one and all his last injunc- tions, made her tie the hair-chain she had given him before his marriage round his neck, to be buried with him, and said, ' I must press you once more to my heart,' which, she said, he did with all his own force. He then said, ' Now earth is passed away, I have nothing more to do with it,' and lay quite still I look at Augustus, and cannot feel grief. That will come for ourselves when he is gone. It is not like watching the approach of Death ; he is stripped of all his terrors. It is rather the feeling of the cry, ' Behold the Bridegroom cometh, go thou forth to meet him.' .... It may be any hour now." ao MEMDRIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H.'s Journal. "On Tuesday, Feb. n, Mr. Burgess came and said a few comforting words to Augustus, who said that he felt now * within the fold.' When Lucy came in, he took our hands and joined them together, saying, ' You must comfort each other;' he expressed a fear that he might not live to receive the Sacrament the next day, and on Lucy saying, 'Then you will not need it,' ' No,' he said, ' but it would be a comfort to all of you to receive it with me.' He repeatedly expressed the sense he felt of being forgiven. ' I feel I am reconciled to God through Christ. I have peace — perfect peace ; but I have not joy.' He said he prayed for four things — for comfort and strength for me, for a death without much suffering, that his death might be edifying, that his successor at Alton might love his people. "On the 1 2th, after Mr. Burgess was gone, he said, ' There is only one thing left now, that is, to take leave of you — when shall it be ? ' Fearful every hour might be the last, I said it had better be now. ' Then shut the door and give me the orangeade that 1 may have strength for it.' Having drank of it, he raised himself up with astonishing strength, and, embracing me, said, ' I must press you once more to my heart ; you have been the dearest, tenderest, the most affectionate of wives ; ' and then he prayed that I might be strengthened and comforted. When I spoke of meeting again, he said, ' No, not for many years. You have too many on earth to love you.' Some time after, ' I did not say what I ought — the truest of wives ; it has been that truth I so delighted in.' Then he gave me messages for all, and then said, " Everything in this world is now done j now let me be alone, I must go to sleep.' He begged me to put the locket on the chain to put round his neck, ' The first thing you ever gave me.' .... FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 21 " When a bad coughing fit came on, he thought it was the last, and, taking my hand in both his, he raised it up saying, ' Dearest Mia,' and lifted up his eyes to heaven, as if in prayer." L. A. H. to C. S. "Feb. 1 8, 1834. — The fever continued all Saturday and Sunday, his strength gradually sinking, but he still retained his quietness and perfect clearness of mind. When I went in at nine on Monday, I had no idea how much worse he was. Maria was sitting by his bedside with a look of resigned misery. He remained all day in a kind of lethargy. Francis seemed unable to leave the room. About five o'clock in the evening, Marcus brought in a letter from you and one from Mr. O. L., and just gave them to Maria as she stood by the bed, Augustus appa- rently insensible of everything. Maria gave them to me to put away. Two hours after, Augustus said to her. 'You had two letters, what were they? Was one from Kitty? You know I always like to hear what she says.' ■ — A few moments after he had forgotten it all again. Mr. Oswald's letter told them of ^200 — how he will re- joice it came just in time. All night he was quiet, but when Dr. Thompson came in the morning, he said he was sinking and could not last beyond sunset. On Sun- day morning he had offered up a prayer in his own words, so full of gratitude, saying that even the annoy ances of his illness were almost turned to blessings by the comforts and luxuries f round him I have come now into the next room to write — Oh, the contrast between that dark silent chamber, and the glorious sun shining through the window on my paper ! but at this moment I am not sad, I can think of nothing but the far brighter sun which will soon burst upon his sight." 91 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Bunsen to Arnold. "Feb. 19. . . . Our dear Augustus Hare has left as. When this arrives, you will already have known that he expired yesterday, in a state of perfect bliss. He had given previous directions that he should be buried by the side of my children. I saw him twice, and loved him from the first moment. His thoughts were always with his friends, his country, his Church, but above all, and up to the last moment, with his Saviour. Requiescat in pace ! His excellent wife has shown herself worthy of such a hus- band."* M. ft. to C. S. " Feb. 21, 1834. — I will write as I am able : I must not keep from you his parting words. On Wednesday, after taking leave of me, he said — ' Tell Kitty I send her my dying blessing, and to all the dear children.' ' Tell your father and Mrs. Oswald how grateful I feel for all their kindness, and for all the assistance they have given us in this journey, though the object of it has failed. Give my kindest regards and love to E. Stanley and to Penrhyn and Charlotte ; ' then after an interval — " You must give a kind message for me to Lou Clinton — give her my dear love — and I would send her a text if I could think of one to suit her ' — and he afterwards gave me one — ' In patience possess ye your souls.' " He said, not long before his last attack, he had such a strong persuasion of Satan's agency, and that he felt as if he would make a last attack upon his faith ; and he dreaded, lest if any great suffering came, he might dishonour his Christian character — ' I do not suffer yet, but it must come ; • This letter has already appeared in Bunsen's Life. FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 23 the separation of soul and body is too great not to require a great struggle.' Never was a fear less realised, nor was faith ever less tried. It seemed at last to be quite freed from all doubts I cannot tell you how I was struck, as I sat by him all those days, when he asked me to read to him, with the utter inappropriateness of all those parts of Scrip- ture which one is accustomed to find most useful for daily use — how entirely to a dying man the whole of the moral view seemed closed, and the spiritual only applicable : the work of repentance, too, one felt had long since been complete. He said, ' I think I have a contrite heart,' but he expressed his wish that he had earlier applied the promises to himself, — he saw they were to the Child of God. The verse he pointed out to me, I think on the Sunday before his last illness, was i Peter v. 10, and one Friday when I read to him Psalm xxx., he made me repeat the 5th verse — 'Remember that, Mia.' " I am hardly come down again from going up with him to a world of happiness and joy, and from feeling the release to his spirit from its earthly prison-house. The moment I look on myself it seems past bearing ; but oh ! I rejoice and bless God that he is spared this bitter anguish of parting, if one must be taken and one left, it is far best as it is. I have so many to comfort me, so many resources he would not have had. It was his particular desire that I should have a home of my own ; where, must be a matter of future consideration, but I feel it would be the greatest comfort to me. We shall stay here till the middle of April —as long as the house is taken for — then go straight home I hope. Marcus and Lucy will perhaps go with me to Alton, and you will come there after a little. I think I shall go first to Julius afterwards. My dearest K., how many things I have to say to you, but I cannot say them now 34 MEMORIALS CF A QUIET LIFE. " Lucy was to have finished this, but she is ill. All is ovci now. Marcus is just come back. When I think of Augus- tus now rejoicing, I forget myself, I forget what this is. When I turn downwards, though I know and feel it is the will of God, and therefore bow beneath it, I writhe under the blow. And yet the very perfect happiness that has been, should be a cause of added thankfulness, not of added grief. That we have had five years of love so per- fect, and union so entire, is a blessing vouchsafed to so few; I would bless and praise God for having lent it to me so long; and tenfold heavier as this trial is than the last, I feel how great a difference the sweetness of the recollecti )ns mingles with it. How I have gone through it, but b) the strength God has given me, I know not, but for the last fortnight my life has been one of constant prayer. I cannot tell you what Marcus is to me, the tenderest and the most thoughtful of brothers. What blessings I have left in your affection, and that of so many : may I be grateful for these, and may that faith which I feel is now supporting me, con- tinue to do so in the trying future." M. H. to Rev. O. Leycester. " Rome, Feb., 1834. — The hand of God has touched me ; and you, my dearest father, who know how devotedly we loved each other, will know how deeply. . . . He dictated three letters, to Pile, to Maslen, and to Mr. Sloper — all, as you may suppose, in the hope of doing good. I never saw more affection than Francis showed — never leaving the house, and scarcely the room, during the whole week, and so happy if he could do him any little service when Marcus was out of the way. All Augustus's expressions were those of thankfulness from first to last — 'God gives me nothing to bear, I have no suffering.' ' I ought to thank God for even moment of ease I enjoy.' . . . About FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 2$ himself, ever since his attack at Genoa, he had felt the deepest contrition, and the sense of his unworthiness pressed him down greatly; but in the last week he repeatedly said he hoped he was in the fold ; that he believed Christ had put him there; that he felt at perfect peace. lie said he had been for two months looking the moral eye of God's justice in the face, and he felt that if it were not for his faith in Christ all his hope of heaven would sink under him. . . . I have not at present suffered from all the deep waters I have gone through, and the air here agrees with me so well, I trust I may be enabled to return to you without any material suffering ; for, believe me, I do not forget how many God has left still to love and care for me, to how many I may still give pleasure, and because He has taken away the one idol that He lent me for a time, shall I repine? Let me rather bless Him that I have had him so long, and that five years have been allowed me of such perfect earthly happiness." Hi. H. to Miss Miller. "Rome, Feb. 27. — How shall I write to you, my dear friend ? . . . You know what our happiness was. and that I always rejoiced in trembling. I knew it could not last long, but yet so buoyant is one's nature that till the last fortnight I was not awakened to a sense how soon it was to end. . . . Till two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon the spirit was struggling for its departure, and when at last its hour was come, God in His mercy took it gently sway. There ■was not a shadow of pain or struggle ; but my beloved Augustus was taken far above earthly suffering to rejoice in glory, to have all his hunger and thirst after righteousness fully satisfied, and bitter, bitter as that moment was, one could not but feel that to him it was one of unspeakable gain. It was on Tuesday, in the intervals of coughing, and 26 MEMORIALS OK A QUIET LIFE. rousing hii lself with a great effort from a lethargy, that he said, 'Tell Miss Miller I cannot write to her, but she does not need anything I can say to her, and I leave her my dying blessing.' . . . . " My Gourd has been taken away, but it has been transplanted a Tree of Righteousness into the Father's kingdom, and I desire to bless and praise him who, lor nearly five blessed years, has lent me this precious treasure. He has taken away my earthly idol. He takes from me the home I so delighted in, but it is to draw me nearer to Him- self, and I can only adore the love which chastens. My dear friend, you too, and our clear people, will need comfort. May God in his infinite mercy give it, and grant one of the last prayers of your minister, that ' he who is to come after may love his people.' Heart-breaking as it is. I must come to you once again. If I can bear it, I shall stay with you as long as I can, and you must be sure that neither you nor my other Alton friends will ever be lost sight of. As far as ran be, my strongest remaining wish on earth will be to comfort you in a loss that I feel can scarcely be repaired. But God's ways are not our ways, He will never forsake those who seek after Him ; He can raise up friends when they think not of it, and when the poor and needy seek water He will hear them, and give them the fountains of Life." M. H. to C. S. "Feb. 27. — . . . Just near the end, his anxiety seemed chiefly that I should not see him suffer, I therefore drew a little of the curtain that he might not see me. Oh, what a feeling it is, watching the departing spirit, and feeling that any moment may be the one when it takes its flight! And yet, scarcely then coukl self "be felt — scarcely could I turn to myse'f, or think of anything but his release ; and still, FFOM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. »f now, when a whole week has past, when every trace of him outwardly is gone, I hardly feel it so personally. We talk oi him as if he were here. I have him with me so vividly, it scarcely seems possible that we are so divided : there was something in his freshness and elasticity of spirit to the very last which to a singular degree prevents one's feeling that he is not. My dearest, dearest Augustus, it does at times come over me that I shall have him no more — that his ever bright mind is to cheer me no longer ; that the perfection of earthly love is passed away ; and then, when the sense of it is too strong to bear, I turn to my God— my Saviour. I feel that this world is passing, that it is but a pilgrimage, and that the home, that home where he is now rejoicing in glory, is the one we shall have for ever ; and then I feel that along my path here, desolate as it now seems, there are many blessings scattered on every side to lighten and cheer it, and I may yet be able to do my Master service. There are still the poor left for me to minister to, still mourners to be comforted, many to love and to be loved by ; and when my heart is very sad, if I only ask it urgently enough, I shall still have the strength given and comfort vouchsafed, that I have had in the last few weeks of extreme need. I have a feeling that I should like my cottage to be at Hurstmonceaux. To be near Julius, and with his people (my natural inheritance), seems to me will be to be nearer to Augustus than in any other spot on earth, when Alton is taken away. The great struggle will be leaving Rome, and then Alton ! But with that sole alleviating mercy which seems to have been shed over the severity of this trial, I shall by the reviving influence of this climate be strengthened in body to bear all there is to come. How I felt the first going out, and looking on God's blue heaven, and feeling there was no change there, — all was unclouded and bright as when my Augustus was here, a8 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. and now he is taken up far above to a brighter light. The first day I could sec nothing eLe ; but to-day I put up my veil, and tried to look boldly on. that lovely view which I have now seen in three different stages, — when first alarmed, when without hope, and now. The Gardens of the French Academy are close to us, at the top of the hill that leads from our door ; it is as quiet as your garden at Aider-ley, and there are walks and seats where I can gu unseen." Last letter of Julius to Augustus. " Hurstmonceaux, Feb. 24, 1833. — Dearest, dearest Augustus, ' Shall I ever see ycu again ? ' You say in your holy letter from Genoa, ' Beware of being too hopeful till we have been at least a month in Rome.' Have I then been too hopeful? Is it not to be? Am I never to see you again? God's will be done. How great has His goodness been to me, in giving me such a brother as you have been, in allowing us to live together with such perfect love for each other, such perfect confidence in each other, as we have done for the last twenty years ! My thoughts during these last days have been wandering over the whole of that period, and I have been thinking of everything that you have been to me. and done for me, and said to me ; and while I remembered numberless marks of the sincerest and most generous affection, I cannot call to mind one single instance in which you ever allowed yourself even to utter a hasty word at variance with it. Alas ! how different lias my conduct to you been. Never have you caused me a moment's pain, unless it was for my good ; and even then you have endeavoured to soften the pain as much as you could. Of a truth your love for me has been ' wonderful, passing the love of women.' And what do I owe you ? that I am where I am ; that 1 have the means, so far as FROM STINSHINE INTO SHADE. 2$ they can be bestowed by another, of enjoying every earthly happiness; that I am placed in a situation where the faithful discharge of ray duty to Christ is become likewise my great earthly duty. Nor is this more than a part, a small part, of what I owe you. Yet I wished, fervently wished, to make this debt still greater, among other things by learning from your example how to walk in the path where you have set me. " How shall I ever be able to walk there by myself? It seems to have been by a kind of prophetic instinct that I was so anxious about your coming here before you left Eng- land. Alas ! that I should have to live in a house which has never been blest by your presence. There has been that sympathy between our hearts and minds that for so many years, whenever I have heard a beautiful thought or story, or seen any beautiful object, one of my first thoughts has always been, how Augustus would like it ! and this bred the wish to tell you of it, or to show it you. Until I had done this, my own enjoyment seemed but half complete. And now what is the worth of all the beautiful objects by which I am surrounded if you are never to see them ? I wanted to see you in my pew, too, which now will ever remain empty : I wanted to see you, to hear you, in .my pulpit. We were to have set up a coach between Alton and Hurstmonceaux. I have often amused myself with writing imaginary letters ' from the rector of Hurstmonceaux to the rector of Alton, greeting.' And now is all the future to be a blank ? Not quite, my Augustus ! As our heavenly- minded comforter — our dear Lucy — says most truly, ' I shall be more blest in walking through the rest of life with the memory of such a brother than most persons are in the possession of living ones.' Oh that that memory may prove a lively motive to me to walk worthily of it. I am so u'e»k, I want human motives, I want human counsel and help. 30 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. But that is to be taken from me. Pray for me before you go, pray that I may become worthy of meeting y©u again hereafter. I am writing despondingly, Augustus, but not as I wrote on Christmas Day. I am grown much calmer, more resigned to the blow that appears to threaten us : [ can bless God for the inestimable blessing He has given us, which will continue an inestimable blessing even after He has taken it away. But still I cannot help feeling that the loss will be the greatest that can ever befall me, that the pain will be the bitterest. Will it befall me? O what a blessing it would be if you were to be given back to us, snatched out of the very jaws of Death by Him who is the lord over Death ! But Maria and Lucy's two letters show me that the danger is great, that there is more ground for fear than hope. They reached me yesterday and the Sunday before : indeed, most of your letters since you have been abroad have arrived on a Sunday ; Elphick usually brings them to the vestry after morning service, and I read them on my way home. Of the former, which reawakened my fears after the account of your recovery at Genoa and of your journey to Pisa and Rome had made me perhaps unwarrantably sanguine, I seemed to have a kind of second-sight while I was preach- ing. My sermon had been an admirable one of Arnold's, from whom I often take my morning sermon ; they are so full of sense ami sincerity, so devoid of everything like pulpit conventional slang, you see he means every word that he says, they only seem to me to want to be made rather more rhetorical in manner. That was on the text, ' The Egyptians, whom ye have seen to-day, ye shall see no more for ever.' In the latter part, after speaking of the vain hopes with which people comiort themselves in speaking of their departed relations, he adds : * But there are others — and happy are those who have many such among their friends and relations — in whom the heavenward bent of FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 31 their minds, and the heavenly character of their actions, is visible while they are here below, whom we have seen in their youth and health treading firmly and steadily in that path which, when they are gone, we may say and feel assured, has brought them to their eternal rest. For such there can be no uneasiness ; nor can the boldest hope half come up to those unutterable joys with which their Master now blesses them.' I know not how, when writing this over, it did not strike me how singularly I was one of those happy persons. But in the pulpit this rose up before me so forcibly, and I saw such a bright vision of my Augustus in bliss, that for a few moments I quite forgot my audience, and, when I opened the letter from Rome, I found that the fulfilment of my vision might perhaps be much nearer than I had anticipated. Among other things I have been think- ing what memorial I should like to have of you. Will you leave me your Sacrament cup, that which you carry about to the cottages? so may I, when I am carrying it for the same purpose, be strengthened by the recollection of him who bore it before me. God bless you, and, if it maybe, restore you to us ; if not, may he render your passage into happi- ness as easy as possible. God bless you, dear dear Augustus, I cannot give up all hope of seeing you again. Were Sterling in Orders you would see me at Rome, and even as it is, if I can manage it, I shall set off to spend a couple of days with you. You need not my assurance that I will always cherish your Maria as a dear beloved sister, beloved for her own sake, and still more so for yours. Again, God bless you ! How can I bring myself to say, when it may perchance be for the last time, God bless you!" L. A. H. to the Miss Hares. " Ro7ne, Feb. 26, 1834. — . . . Augustus did not feel much joy. He was oftener in deep self-abasement before God 32 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. than in any other frame, before we got to Rome. He often said, ' I fed assured that I shall be saved at last, but there seems so much yet to be perfected in me, so much to purify. I dread so much that if I were to get well, I might not serve Him better.' He has constantly read his Bible ; it has been his never-failing companion for the last two months, and latterly as his strength failed he has called upon Maria to read to him. The last few days he could only bear a few verses at a time. The Olney hymns have been a great comfort to him ; the last I ever read to him was on the last Sunday evening — the one beginning, ' Why should I fear the darkest hour' — he said, ' Beautiful' at one verse, and then shut his eyes and lay quite quiet. . . . He said very little the last few days, but the few words he did say showed his hope grew brighter and brighter. . . . Foi the last hour we all stood round the bed. Marcus took poor Maria away just before the very last, and 1 followed. He was not conscious then. Marcus mingled his tears with hers, and comforted her — how, I need not tell you. " Of dear Maria I know not what to say. I trembled at the thought of how she would suffer, for never had happiness been greater than hers, or husband more beloved — more idolised ; but she has been living on prayer during the last two months, and is now reaping the answer, for no one can doubt what and who it is so visibly upholding her. She is in great grief — it cannot be otherwise — but it is a grief so resigned, so cheerful. She blesses the hand which strikes, and does not turn away from comfort. The very first words which she uttered in the first burst of agony, when she leant against the bed after it was all over, were, ' Blessed be God who has taken him to Himself and spared him all suffering; oh, may we be sanctified to meet him j let me not forget all the happiness vvh ch has been given to us for so many years.' And she has said several times, ' The language of praise in FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 33 the 1031c! and the 118th Psalm suit my feelings even now better than any other.' " M. K.ioC. S "March 1. — . . . The very thing which many will per- haps say is a happy thing — the having no child — I feel is perhaps almost the bitterest drop in the whole. Had I a child of his to bring up, to trace out a likeness in, it would have been such a comfort ; but I should have loved it fai too much, and made it, as I did him, into an idol, so that it would have been taken away. All is best as it is. My earthly affections are too strong ; it seems to me as if the union of husband and wife, when perfect, is too near and too strong for this world, where one may be taken and not the other ; but so it is that God prevents our resting here, and forces us to come to Him in the extremity of suffering, and brings home to us the reality of a life, hidden and clouded indeed here, but to be manifested hereafter. I do feel this reality — the brightness of the Light that came to lighten our darkness, and how when brought low, even to the ground before Him, all one's hardness of heart is broken down and the softening influence of His Spirit melts it into love — when I am tempted to look on a^d feel what it h at thirty-five to do so, I send away the thought quickly, for of all things I know by experience the vainest is to dwell on future evils. Life itself is so doubtful, and it may not be a long future though it appears so, and — if it be, doubtless He who has so blest me hitherto will give me all the bless- ings good for me to cheer my path. " There seems no doubt now the blood-vessel broken at Genoa was on the lungs, but, — what signifies the means ? We did all we could to save him, but it was God's will he should not rest longer here; and there, where he is now, there is no mourning for sin, no weariness of body; 'he has the fulness VOL. II. D 34 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. of beauty and goodness ever before him. It is only for his poor, poor Mia you must mourn, and pray that the comfort lier Saviour has poured upon her hitherto may mercifully be continued and strengthened." M H. to Mrs. O. Leycester. "March 8, 1834. — . . . God has bestowed on me every earthly alleviation my sorrow can have, and for the loss itself nothing but the strong persuasion that He who is love has so ordered it, that it must be best in His eyes, can give me any comfort. And shall I not rest all my cares upon Him, who in human form has borne our sorrows, and bless Him for all the happiness He has lent me for a time, to be re- called because He sees it good to do so ? When my heart is quite sinking within me, I go to Him in earnest prayer, and He has never yet failed to give me comfort. But there is much that will be very trying to come, and I feel that I have not yet drunk half the bitterness of the cup before me. I have scarcely yet looked into this world's blank; and in thinking of the joy my beloved husband is now enjoying, I can in my little sunny room, with no companion but my Bible or Lucy, forget the depth of my own loss. " For the last few 'days, however, I have roused myself to take several drives. . . . The interest of Rome is now pain- fully deep, but the remembrance of the things s^en under such circumstances will be so valuable that I would not forego it, though it costs me something now. X felt almost afraid of seeing the Coliseum ; but no print enn five the beauty of that soft colouring, or the blue sky sten through those arches, and the height of that magnificent building, rising up as it were into the sky. No sermon that was ever preached could speak so forcibly of the instability of worldly grandeur as the Palace of the Caesars does ; and I know uot FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 35 tnere could be scenes in such accordance with my present feelings as these, where every step reminds one of the pass- ing away of earthly things, and urges one to look on to that ' house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.' On everything I seem to see the name ' Augustus ' engraved as large as life. " One day we drove to the Villa Pafnfili Doria, and there I wandered about alone among the pines, with a carpet of anemones and violets beneath my feet, as retired from obser- vation as I could desire. We returned by the Fontana Paolina to see the view of Rome at sunset, and gloriously it was lit up ; the haze obscured the mountains, but the town, ancient and modern, lay stretched before us, with every house and tower and dome as clear as an evening sun could make them. . . . One spot there was — one group of trees — that I could not take my eyes from, near the Pyramid of Caius Cestius. Oh, with what a feeling do I look upon that spot, and wonder I can bear to look upon it. Rome, with all its associations of the past, is interesting beyond all other places ; its ruins are filled with all that is most beauti- ful and most attractive, but to me — now — I feel I must love it too well, and when the time comes for taking leave of it, h §w entirely I shall feel it is leaving him too ; yet he, blessed Augustus, will still be ever near me, rejoicing in the light that knows no darkness. " We came into the town through the Porta Cavalleggieri, the same by which we first entered Rome — with what different feelings then ! — so full of hope that here we should find health and regain happiness ; and though with much of present anxiety, little of future fear, at least not realised to one's self. Those noble columns again stiuck me as the grandest works of art as we passed close by them, but were I to see them every day that first impression never could be lost seen through the moonlight, nearly the only object in 36 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. Rome worth seeing that it was permitted me to see with nim. " Being thus out every day makes me feel stronger. My faithful Mary retained her presence of mind to fulfil the last office for her dear master, and has since found her comfort in ministering to my wants, though they are but few; and the same cheerfulness of spirit and tenderness of feeling make her attentions to me no less valuable than they were to him. Nearly at the end, when he gave thanks to God for having given me to him, he gave thanks for all that she had been also. May I be able to lead her on to follow him ; it is the only way I can repay her past services. " I feel that Julius and I shall be the fittest companions for one another for some time, and I shall therefore put off coming to you, and go first to him at Hurstmonceaux. But there will be another place to go to before this. , . . I dare nol think of it now. The last Sunday before we left home, Augustus preached on St. Paul's words to the Ephesians, in Acts xx. 32. Had they known then what was to be, those affectionate people would, like the Ephesians, ' have sorrowed most of all that they should see his face no more.' How mercifully it is ordered that we do not know beforehand all that is likely to befall us." Rev. O. Leycester to M. H. " It is scarcely possible to say how thankful we are for the accounts of you — both body and mind. I could not wish that you felt less — I would not that you felt more ; all is just as it should be : and the principle which dictates all you do and think, is one which will remain with you through life, and be a comforter under all circumstances. You have certainly, in all of us, friends who will do all in their power to alleviate your sorrow, and make your interests their own. I had an indifferent account last night of my dear brother : FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE 37 that we have preserved him so long is a cause of great gratitude to us all. When he goes, I shall be the last remaining branch of that generation. How long it may please God to continue to me this blessing of health, I know not. I pray neither for life nor for death, but submit myself with the most entire resignation to His wisdom and mercy. His mercies I have enjoyed most abundantly through life. I wish I had been more worthy of them ; but, like you, I rely only on the atonement made for me by rny blessed Saviour." M. H. to C. S. "March 12. — On Saturday I went with Marcus to the grave, taking Mary Lea with me. It is three miles off, but just within the walls, and, oh, such a beautiful quiet spot. Immediately behind the enclosure are the Pyramid of Caius Cestius and the ruined turrets of the old walls ; in front is a large flat meadow with trees, and beyond it the green mound of Monte Testaccio, with one end of the town and St. Peter's at the extremity of the hill. There are a few trees and shrubs and aloes round some of the graves. Y011 may think what it was to stand by that new-raised earth. Bunsen's children have a little hedge of roses round ; I begged to have the same : and on the stone I have desired, after the dates, to have that verse out of the Galatians — one of his favourites — ' The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, temperance.' To my mind no memorial could be truer, and though in England none would be needed, here it is well to have a few words that may speak what he was. " I still look to Hurstmonceaux as my earthly home. Elsewhere I could have no right in any of the people ; the poor are his legacy, and with them I shall feel nearest to Alton happiness." 38 MEMORIALS OK A QUILT LIKE. M. II. *s Journal "March 5. — Bunsen called. The last time he was here jny Augustus was lying on the sofa, able to talk to him, and wik him questions. He showed, as I knew he would, the deepest sympathy with my grief, and seemed so deeply touched with my ' allowing ' him to come, one might have thought he was to be the gainer After some other con- versation, I asked what he thought about the abode of the spirit when it leaves the body. ' We must keep to what God's word says — it is never safe in these matters to leave it. Our Saviour said, '' To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." And we are elsewhere told the souls of the faithlul shall be with God ; so that we may safely conclude them to be in bliss, though the full consummation of that bliss is reserved to the end when God shall be all in all. Your Church, as I think, beautifully prays for the accom- plishment of the number of the elect, and I have introduced it into our service. What may be the nature of their em- ployment there, we have no means of knowing ; and fully do I believe that it is in mercy that God has not vouchsafed to reveal more, as it is in mercy that he has revealed so mudi. He but lifts up the veil so high as to encourage us cii/— what more is to be known will be hereafter. We may be &ure there is spiritual activity in heaven — there can be no idleness there ; and what will be the joy of those eternal prai.es sung to God by the saints in glory ! ' I am not sure of the last few words, but it was to this effect. Speak- ing of a hymn used by Hugo Grotius on his dc?ih-bed, and of the superiority of the ancient compositions over the modern ones — 'They were written by persons who had endured great afflictions, who had lived in perilous times : it does very well in prosperity and happiness to go on with lower views, but in fear of death and in suffering there ia FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 39 but one rock to stay on, the merits and love of Christ/ He Beemecl pleased that I had begun to go out again. ' I have alwavs found in affliction that the works of God are the most soothing of all ; and here in Rome you may be so much alone. The word of God and prayer are the first things no doubt, but next to those, His works are the best comforters we can have.' Then he spoke of the first burst- ing forth of spring : 'It is the revival of all things — a type of the revival of the spirit after death.' He rejoiced that Augustus was laid beside his own two dear children. There was not a word that did not speak the meek, humble, and loving Christian, and never did I talk with one who I could feel was capable of deeper sympathy." " March 7. — The Baths of Caracalla are immense in ex- tent and space — give one an idea of what their luxury and magnificence must have been, and there is a wild loneliness about the deserted ruins, with the grass and wild flowers filling up all the courts and halls which were once so splendid, that is very striking. Two picturesque-looking men watching a flock of goats were at the entrance. There are the niches for the statues, bits of old mosaic work and broken pieces of marble and capitals of columns lying about, as signs of what has been. I walked about and felt what it would have been that is the ever-prevailing feeling that casts over all the beauty and all the interest one deep shade." 11 March 21. — A visit from Mrs. Bunsen. Speaking of the different opinions, she said how every year made her feel more tolerant of them, more sure that God only could know what was within. She spoke of the difficulties a minister must experience in feeling his own liability to error, and having to assume authority. In the same way as a mother, she often felt it a struggle to pretend to an infalli- bility she could not feel 40 MEMORIALS OF A (Jli..! LIFE. "March 29. — In the Pamfili Doria. I never felt so strongly before how the works of God praise him, as ia looking at those pines. They lift up their heads to the heavens so completely as if adoring Him who made them. I thought pines were mentioned among the natural objects that unite in praise, but I do not find them, only cedars." M. II. to C. S. " March, 14. — I feel so strongly how the anxiety at and since Genoa has been a preparation most useful ; for though I never could till the last fortnight bring myself to look Death steadily in the face, of course the fear of it was latent, and even for the present I felt it was only by constant cast- ing of my care upon my Heavenly Father that I could bear up; and truly I have since felt how it is by knocking again and again that one does at length find an answer. I have always felt there was a son) thing between me and God j that there was a barrier I had no power over, which did seem to stop as it were my communication with Him — to hide Him from me ; and when I attempted to pray it was often with a feeling — 'When shall I find Him?' — a sort of vagueness about the whole thought of Him. Still, I felt I had a certain degree of Faith ; and I now am aware I did not believe in the reality of any deeper feeling. During the last week before his ill- ness, in my misery, when often I cried the whole night, nothing but prayer could calm me. Sometimes I got out of bed to kneel down and implore God's mercy. I used to pick out a few verses before I went to bed, and repeat them during the night and turn them into prayer. During the last week, you know how I was supported and kept up. Since that the struggle has been at times great. At first it was only between my confiding knowledge and faith in the loving-kindness and far-sighted wisdom of God and my own FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 41 exceeding loss ; but during the last week I have felt the struggle between that inward self-will and the real love of Christ,— not. as God a Judge, but as God a loving Saviour full of mercy and love. I cannot describe it to you, but it seemed to me as if I saw myself so much clearer than before, as if I felt for the first time that I had a soul. I have often tried to put myself in Augustus's place, and to realise the feeling of leaving the body. I never could. Now, it is but faint, yet I have a feeling within — it is not a thought, a belief, bu; a. feeling, sometimes of exceeding mortification in turning to self, and seeing, as I seem to do in a glass, all the vanity and pride attaching themselves to my best actions. I look to myself so ugly in the past that I wonder any one could love me ; and when I read in my Bible, every word seems as if it applied to me personally — words that were before an empty sound, seem to pierce through me, and to have acquired a singular fitness and propriety. Then, when I look up, I feel as if I had all along been deceiving myself by thinking I rested on Christ for my dependence, as if I had not known Him except so generally — not as having anything to do with me. I never did enter into the feeling of having an interest in Him. Now I begin to feel it as the difference one should feel if some great king that one looked up to and admired greatly was to single one out and inquire into one's wants, and interest himself personally in all one's smallest concerns, from the same man looking at one and bowing to one amidst a crowd of others. I feel what it is — in me certainly the love of self (fostered probably by long indulgence) — that keeps one at a distance from God and prevents one's uniting one's heart and desires all to His ; and I feel the utter impossibility myself of removing or softening this barrier, this hardness ; and that only the fixing one's thoughts and affections more on Christ as a personal friend, and asking more earnestly foi the influence of his Spiri f , 4* MLMORIALS OF A QUI tT LIFE. can do it. I have felt several times now such an in- describable feeling come over me, when praying, of His im- mediate presence, and a glow going quite through me that gives me hope and confidence that all or at least the great part of the uncomfortable, the depressing feeling will be melted away, and that God has in store for me something of that spiritual joy I have long desired to have, but never yet tasted freely I have such a sense of all my pre- vious religious impressions having left the root of the matter hitherto untouched, and that the extremity of this suffering has roused it ; — indeed, I felt so strong a persuasion of the need there was of this, that far more than anything else it made me think it probable he would be taken from me ; and how, though we served God together, and though he taught me much, I still made him the idol of real worship. How many bitter tears have I shed in the feeling, ' I don't deserve this happiness, it must be taken from me,' and now it is the bitterest drop that mixes in the cup. But I am sure I am being drawn to God, and having no doubts to contend with, being able to receive as a child what He says, I have a confiding hope and trust in His power to subdue the evil and purify the dross, and that He will lift me up to rest wholly on His promises and taste His peace. I have no need of teaching what it should be. Could I only devote myself as faithfully, as unreservedly, to Him as I did to Augustus, there would be no question of what one should do here or there; and I feel that so far from contracting, it would heighten and enlarge every enjoyment that I can have or desire. Instead of feeling this world one of misery, I feel it one full of riches; but then, when my heart is most full of love and thankfulness for what is given me, I do feel acutely that he is gone — that my enjoyment must be hence- forth alone: that unreserve never can be with any other human being, that complete oneness ; and though I can here FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 43 in my quiet room calm down and soften every grief by think- ing of his unspeakable joy, I know the future will be very trying." "March 15. — I have felt so strongly all you say : what yet remains both of comfort and of work in this world, and how this trial of one's faith may, if indeed blest, be a means of glorifying Him who with the conflict sends the armour and the shield to fight with. My dearest Augustus, perhaps he was not fitted to do his Master's work so effectually in life as he may now do it in death ; and as you have so truly said, all temporal mercies have been but types of the spiritual ones granted. My whole feeling has been one of praise and thanksgiving ; and now that He has given me that spiritual sense of His presence, that exceeding love to Him I told you of last week, I do feel indeed that He has loaded me with benefits I feel quite fearful lest the delicacy of the feeling should be hurt or injured or damped. It is certainly very mysterious. I feel a constant wonder at myself at what I am sure is no delusion, and yet is so distinct from any previous impression. It is not a difference in degree — a strengthening of what was before weak : it is an awakening to life of what before seemed dormant, a remov- ing of what before seemed between me and God, as if He was hid from my eyes. I assure you I have two or three times felt quite the sensation one has on hearing some piece of good news, and thinking it was too good to be true. And when I feel such a longing for Augustus to tell my feelings to — such a sense of whai the happiness would have been had we shared them together — I comfort myself by the certainty that he is rejoicing in the full enjoyment which I have only in part ; by the thought that unfitted as his bodily frame seemed to be to stand even the workings of his mind, far less could it have borne those of the spirit too, and so, when the sanctification here was complete, God in love gave 44 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. him a sense of peace, and took him for the joy to a world where his spirit might rejoice without limits. Do not you feel with me as if one could realise his joy more than one can that of others in Heaven ? one feels almost as if one saw his adoration and ecstasy of love ; — the meeting with the spirits of just men made perfect to him will only be the perfection and fulness of what was his delight on earth, and those spiritual desires which were not granted here of more perfect communion with the Father and the Lamb, are now the crown of his rejoicing. You will easily conceive the unwillingness I have to leave this sacred room, and that it will seem like leaving Heaven to descend again upon earth, for even my drives here hardly seem to break the charm — the beauty that meets one's eye, the air and loveli- ness altogether, give such a distinct character to this over every other place. Surely never was such an overflow of attendant blessings heaped on any one. Nothing here to be done to take off one's thoughts or lower them ; and the extreme quiet giving one all that precious leisure for laying in for the time to come a store of heavenly strength, that I feel will be so much needed. I should fear for myself, fear lest I could not keep that anchor I now rest on, were it not for the strong confidence I have obtained in the answer to prayer, and that, when I most need, the help will be given : if 1 am weak, He is strong." While the shadow of death was resting upon the upper chamber of the Via S. Sebastianello, and the widow of Augustus seemed in spirit to have followed him into the unseen, his eldest brother Francis was established with his family in the Villa Strozzi, a solitary house standing in an old-fashioned garden decorated with grottoes and sumach- trees, just on the edge of the Viminal, where the Negroni FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 45 gardens break away to the slopes of the Esquiline. Francis Hare had for so many years lived entirely abroad, that he had adopted all the habits of foreign life. Familiarly ac- quainted with every variety of Italian dialect, and deeply versed in classical learning, the history and literature of Italy were as familiar to him as his own. He was eagerly sought as a cicerone and adviser by visitors to Rome, but his own preference was for Italian society, of which he always saw the most interesting and the best. He had already three children — a fourth was born on the 13th of March succeeding his brother's death, from whom it was desired that he should inherit the name of Augustus, while his widowed aunt was invited to become his god- mother. M. H. to Mrs. Hare. " I feel greatly obliged by your kindness, my dear Anne, in thinking of me as godmother to your little babe. It is a serious office to take upon one's self, and before I can quite make up my mind to do so, I should like very much to know whether I may be allowed to have any influence over him. You know my notions of what a Christian should be are not after the fashion of the world ; and I could not pro- nounce those solemn promises regarding the future life of a child without intending and hoping to have the power, as far as in me lies, of leading him in the path that leads to lie, and endeavouring to supply him with that armour of faith whereby he may ' fight under Christ's banner as his faithful soldier.' I am sure you will forgive my speaking thus plainly, and will tell me candidly whether you o? Francis are likely to dislike my interfering at all in the bringing up of this little boy." 46 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. M. H. to Rev. O. Leycester. "Rome, Afar'ch 31, 1834. — . . . . You all seem so much disposed to consult only my inclination, that ] feel assured you will none of you be inclined to think it is from any lack of affection that I wish to go in the first instance to Julius from Alton. It was my dear Augustus's wish that I should have a home of my own, and it is strongly my own desire that it should be so. It need never interfere with my being with you whenever you wish me to be so, and paying you as long visits as I should like to do ; but it would break in less upon the habits of the last few years than any other plan could do, and in every way I feel it would be best for me To-morrow I shall have rather a trying day in the christening at Villa Strozzi I can hardly describe to you — from living entirely in one room, when I go ou: seeing no one I ever saw before, and usually walking in beautiful gardens, with views unassociated with any former recollections, and quite alone — how little I feel in the same world with others. My own future life rarely comes across me, and when I do turn to it, the real pang of separation seems felt anew I do indeed feel as if my mind was full to overflowing of all I have learnt from Augustus, and as if all we have thought and felt together was only be- ginning to come forth." From L. A. H. "March* — Maria has much enjoyed walking in the Villa Wolkonski. She docs not say more than a few words, but she looks at everything, and has a sad, but never miserable, expression ; she now and then wipes away some tears, but one could almost think she was, wherever she goes, accom- panied by the spirit of her own blessed Augustus comforting her Bunsen is like no one I ever met with. One has FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 4) seen pious men, and learned men, and admirable men, but he unites them all. In going with him through the museum of the Capitol, and over the site of the ancient temples, you saw all the accuracy of research of the antiquarian aiid scholar, which he explained with all the simplicity of a child. But even from the dying gladiator, or barbarian warrior, as Bunsen says he is, I felt it a relief to turn to a window looking out forth upon the Coliseum and all the surrounding ruins lighted up by that Roman sun which Augustus used to say was to cure him if anything could. I was glad when Bunsen proposed to go down to the Temples and Forum, where we found Maria just returned from her drive ; and she got out and accompanied us, Bunsen giving her his arm." C. S. to M. H. "March 12, 1834. — .... The more I think of the future, the more I feel how very peculiarly rich (for a person without children) your situation is in the resources and interests remaining. There is so much that connects itself with him, so much that one could almost hear his approba- tion of, his delight in, first and foremost, — Julius. I had such pleasure in writing to him that you meant to come first to him. His earnest desire to be something to you is restrained by such a beautiful humility ; and what will you be, and what will you not be to him ! I quite see all the advantages of your independent home, and what a blessing you will find it. To return to anything like your former life would be impossible. Now in the new life you have to begin I can see so much power of usefulness, so much opportunity of keeping in exercise all those thoughts and feelings which have been developed in the last six years ; I can imagine how the happiness you have had may ♦still stretch out its influence to gild the rest of your life, 43 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. though it has set to the mortal eye ; and you are so free from the self-reproach which usually attends any loss, you can feel that you have indeed enjoyed to the utmost, made advantage to the utmost, of the treasure that has been lent you ; in short, your grief is so pure from any other mixture, no one thing to embitter ; and when I sit in my arm-chair, as I do, you may think how often, looking at your picture, I can hope that I may yet again see that cheerful expression. Just as you probably have been too entirely occupied with him to think of yourself, so that all the consequences are but now coming before you, so I have been so entirely occupied with you, that what relates to our own personal loss comes by degrees. " I shall be ready to meet you either at Alton or Hurst* monceaux — you will easily believe that you cannot give me a greater happiness or comfort than in giving me something to do for you. .... In going to Alton, as in so many other cases, you will feel yourself his representative — feel yourself fulfilling his will, finishing his work ; and may we not hope that though it seems to mortal sight like taking away from them what they had just learnt to value at the very moment when most future good might be looked to, yet it is one of the strong instances in which God's ways are not our ways, and it may be putting the seal upon what has been sown. C. D. says she never saw a person who seemed to hold to this earth so exclusively by his affections, and to wall; so much above its care and pettinesses, without cant or enthusiasm. And what a rare blessing it is that this spirit she describes will still surround you — that still you will live in a world within the world." " Stoke Rectory, March 19. — I was anxious to come here before my father and Mrs. Oswald had made up their minds further than the first idea of your returning here, feeling that the more plans they tried the greater the disappointment FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 49 would be. I believe it was a disappointment to my father's hopes and wishes to be told you were not likely to make this a home ; but he is too full of real kindness not to be anxious only for your doing that which is best for you. You may think how eagerly I welcomed your idea about Hurst- monceaux. How and when may be uncertain ; but that your eventual lot will be cast there, I feel persuaded, and it is something to rest upon which does one good to think of. Oh, what a beautiful path I see so clearly marked out for you, how free from the choking thorns of life, how your trials are indeed those of the refiner's fire purging and clearing the gold, how even in this life the) are to be preferred in all their sharpness and anguish to the dead- ening entanglements and hopeless difficulties of a different class of trials. How many, counted happy, ought to, nay, would envy you your affliction and all that belongs to it. " How all you say of your own feelings shows me that every circumstance was fitted to the purpose of lessening the violence of the blow ; that reprieve, which I so earnestly wished prolonged, I now see would have tried you beyond your strength. And then his apprehension of suffering makes one feel his exemption from it so very strongly. There never was a more striking instance of what is sown in weakness to be raised in power. How entirely the body was a clog and incumbrance. What a reality of force and body of meaning must have been given in your mind to words which one has known till they lose their effect almost. I trust we also may still keep him amongst us, as you now feel him. You may easily imagine how difficult / find it to realise his being gone. Then again I recognise the alle-. viating mercy of your situation ; he is not gone yet to you, and the longer you remain quiet as you are, the more gradual the preparation and the withdrawing. The word Rome, if any one uses it, makes me start, gives me such an VOL. II. E 5© MEMORIALS OK A QUIE'J LIFE. indescribable thrill ; it is such a mingled emotion with which I think of it, the interest increased tenfold, and so I trust it will be with you, that all that glorious sun, that lovely skv, those memorials of magnificence, will be hallowed by their association with what you are feeling, what you have felt, and that even what will be a painful effort to turn your eyes upon tune, will be almost a pleasure to look back upon some time hence." " Ahicrhy, March 30. — Your last letters have been such a comfort to me on one point. I have suffered so much from a painful misgiving of my power to sympathise, to be of the least real comfort to you, of whether you could or would find it possible to open yourself entirely to me. Think then how J rejoice in your appreciating so exactly what I can and do feel, and, above all, in the proofs your letters afford of how many points there are on which our minds do go together more than any others do — how I was sure to know better than anybody, almost prophetically, how it would be with you Now that you are about to return to us, I do feel it so invaluable that you should first have felt the want ot our sympathy, and then the comfort of it, and certainly, so far as it is possible, you have it in the fullest extent One of the first remarks has been, ' Oh, if she had a child.' But, as you say most truly, it would have been a most fearful treasure, a severe, more difficult trial, I do believe, than the resignation to having none. And it is in the light of having something belonging to him, and like him, that I think of the brothers each in their way. You will not have to come out of his world ; for you will still have your chief .dealings with the same unworldliness, simplicity, singleness, noble-mindedness ; you will still be as far removed from all the littlenesses. I already love Hurstmonceaux. The more i think of : .t, the more I see in it all that is most necessary for vou, and will it not confirm and strengthen all your ideas of FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 51 it as a hf me, to find how it had occurred simultaneously to Julius, to you, and to me. . . . . " How all your first days of grief are embalmed in all that is most precious on earth as well as heaven. How extraordinary it seems to me to think of you so peacefully, so hopefully, so unpainfully, as I now do ; when I look back upon some six months ago, when I turned away from the most distant idea of such a possibility as not to be borne, I could not look at it. But I am not unreasonable ; I do not expect this continuance ; I know all that is to come. I grudge every day that goes by as bringing you nearer to the end of Rome ; perhaps the very day you get this may be the one before you make that first step into the bitterness of reality — the getting into your carriage alone. But I rejoice in your having now been so much alone ; that is a never-failing resource ; and as that beautiful Bunsen says, ' God's works must be amongst your comforters.' And in all that you will see alone, there is this further to be thought of and felt, that those extreme points of beauty, which come up to all one's imagination ever could conceive, are but faint shadows of what he is now dwelling in, are but helps to our dulled senses to arrive at anything like the idea of the beauty of which he is in full enjoyment, and they should rather lead our associations upwards to him, than suggest even a wish to draw him back to us. This is certainly the feeling with which one would look at a minia- ture likeness here of some far-distant and far more beaa tiful country to which any one loved was gone. In this way, I trust, you may be able to look without the agony you at first described, at all that will be before you for the next two months. It is a most beneficial interval between Rome and England. I was longing to hear you had been at the Pyramid. Every desire I ever had to see Rome, as you may well suppose, has increased tenfold. I shall direct 5* MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. this letter with a sigh to think that it is my last there. Just v hat you say of Rome realising history, is what your letters and feelings do to so many passages in the Bible which have passed unnoticed from their very familiarity. Foi instance, I thought of you so much on Good Friday, from the four first verses of the 40th Psalm." " April 8. — I am grudging every day of this week as it passes. How I shall think of you on Monday, and by the time this reaches you, that return to common life which I have always looked upon as the most trying part of any grief is begun with you Of the differences between one individual case and another, as Mrs. Bunsen says most truly, ' God only can judge.' Every day's observation and experience forces that more strongly upon one's conviction ; but this should not, ought not, need not, hinder one's un- derstanding and being deeply interested in what one cannot personally enter into, and so 1 trust you and I shall find it I look forward to Alton with a mixture of fear, of pain, of intense interest. "Julius writes to me of the happiness it would be to him and his parish if Maria could make Hurstmonceaux her home, ' if she could bear the contrast of the brothers.' " April 19. — I think I have never felt more for you than at the idea of the christening — yet, now that it is over, I am glad of it, probably you are too, certainly you will be : it will give you a power of doing good in that family nothing else could, and it will invest that poor little child with a sacred interest in your eyes which I would fain hope and trust may not be disappointed — and one should think it would be a perpetual memento to Francis. I feel that your coining to England will bring about a great change both ways. I look to your next resting-place being in duties. .... but all has been so for the best hitherto, that it would be ungrateful indeed not to trust that it will continue to be." FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE. 53 M. H. to Rev. R. Kilvert. "Rome, Aprils, 1 ^34- — .... All Augustus's desires and thirsting after holiness— his longing after spiritual joys —are now fully satisfied ; and I am, persuaded you will enter into the feeling of almost happiness that is mingled with my own most severe sorrow, by the certainty that he is now one of the blessed company who sing ' Worthy the Lamb that is slain,' and that his spirit is freed from its earthly tabernacle, and rejoicing in glory unspeakable. For myself, I can only praise God who, in this great sorrow, has poured upon me so much spiritual consolation. He has shown me all the need-be of this heavy chastening, and the light of his countenance has so shone upon me, that un utterable love and gratitude are my only feelings. How light, how exceedingly light, do all trials here appear when we fix our gaze steadfastly on that heavenly Zion which is \o be our home, and to which our journey is constantly fending. Most faithful, indeed, have I found Him who promised." Rev. R. Kilvert to M. H. "Alton, April, 1834. — .... How delightful is the persuasion that there is not a shadow of cloud resting on the last days of your now sainted husband. We look upon the path his spirit has trod, and behold it, like the shining light, increasing more and more into that perfect day in which it has terminated. To us his sun has gone down, and even while it was yet day, yet so gone down as to leave behind not merely a promise and prospect, but a precious assurance of an infinitely brighter r.sing again. May we so die, relying in simple faith on Him who has abolished death for His people, and live for evermore. I desire never to forget, whilst I discharge the office of my ministry in this 54 MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. place, whom I am personating. He speaks by me who was the instrument in placing me here. I see that I am sur- rounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and one there is among the innumerable throng peculiarly the witness of how I run the race, especially the ministerial course, in this place so dear to him." Julius to Francis Hare. " Hurstmonceaux, March 6, 1834. — It is very, very long since I wrote to you. I began a letter to you indeed this day two months, but I could not finish it. All other feel- ings of late have been swallowed up in anxiety about Augus- tus, and I have scarcely written to any one except about him, and to those who could give me the most accurate details. To-day, however, when I have learnt that we have lost him for ever in this world, I feel a longing to tighten the tie with those brothers who are still left to me; and while I have been thinking over all I had, and all I have lost, in him, I have also called to mind what I still have in my other brothers. How much, dearest Francis, do I owe to you. How much have I owed you ever since my earliest years. How patient you were with me ; how in- dulgent ; what pains you took with me ; how you gave up your time to me ! What unvarying, unmerited kindness have you shown me all my life long. And though we have been so much separated by circumstances of late years, and though my negligence has often let a very long period pass without any communication between us, the fault has been entirely on my side, and I found last year at Naples that your affection was still as strong as ever. Such, indeed, has always been my situation, that I have constantly been the receiver of kindnesses from all my brothers, and have hardly ever been able to do anything in return. I can merely acknowledge and feel grateful for them. And to-day has FROM SUNSHINE INTO SHADE re-enlivened my gratitude to you, and makes me anxious to assure you that all your goodness has not been thrown away on one who is utterly unmindful of it. I want, too, to thank you for all your kindness and attention to Augustus. Alas, that I could do nothing for him ! But you and Marcus have fulfilled my share of his nursing as well as your own, and nothing in this respect seems to have been wanting. Still I can hardly bring myself to believe that our brother- hood has lost its heavenliest flower. It seemed to be such an essential part of one's self. I could never conceive myself as living without my three brothers, and almost fancied that time could have no power over a bond so strong in affec- tion. God grant that the same bond which has existed here on earth, and which has now begun to dissolve, may here- after be united again in still stronger affection in heaven !" M. H.'s Journal. "April 10. — Mrs. Bunsen spoke of some German writer, Schelling, I think, who said that every one in the course of life is called upon, like Abraham, to sacrifice his Isaac. She spoke of how often men of genius forget to choose a friend in their wife — how often the man was consequently vulgarised, degraded, by his marriage- how difficult in society it is for a man to understand what a woman reallv is. Her last words to me were — 'The hand of God has touched you, the same hand can heal you,' " April n. — St. Peter's: my last view. On earth, God has no temple like this, and yet in every believer's heart is a truer, a more living temple to His glory. May mine become so ! — may the prayer breathed in that glorious House of Prayer be heard and answered, and Rome,