"^
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 THE 
 
 LITERARY LIFE 
 
 OP 
 
 THE REV. WILLIAM HARNESS.
 
 THE 
 
 LITERARY LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE REV. WILLIAM HARNESS, 
 
 VICAR OP ALL SAINTS, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, 
 AND PREBENDARY OF ST. PAUL's. 
 
 BY . 3^"^ 
 
 THE REV. A. G.'-^L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 /v 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBORGUGn STREET. 
 
 1871. 
 
 The Right of Tramlation is reserved.

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This sketch of the long and laborious life of 
 my esteemed friend is the only return which it is 
 in my power to make for the many favours he 
 conferred upon me. From what I knew of his 
 character, I feel sure that the tribute would not 
 have been unacceptable to him. Some record, 
 also, appeared due to the public, for his life, un- 
 obtrusive as it was, presented many a useful lesson 
 of generosity, cheerfulness, and moderation. His 
 wide sympathies extended to all classes of society ; 
 he took an interest in their joys and sorrows, their 
 toils and relaxations. Such kindly feelings gained 
 for him the affections of rich and poor, and made 
 him a successful advocate of those Christian prin- 
 ciples which he lived and laboured to inculcate. 
 
 A. Gr. L'ESTEANGE. 
 
 LONDON : 
 October, 1871.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. — EARLY FRIENDSHIP WITH MARY RUSSELL 
 MITFORD. — SCHOOL DAYS AT HARROW. — BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH 
 LORD BYRON. — INTERRUPTION AND RENEWAL OF THEIR INTIMACY. — 
 VISIT TO NEWSTEAD. — LIFE AT CAMBRIDGE. — REFINING INFLUENCE OF 
 LITERATURE AND SOCIETY. — LETTER FROM DR. BLAND . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. HARNESS ENTERS THE MINISTRY. — HIS HAPPINESS IN A COUNTRY 
 PARISH. — DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN LORD AND LADY BYRON. — BYROn's 
 ECCENTRICITY. — INJURIOUS CHARACTER OF HIS LATER WORKS. — MR. 
 HARNESS APPOINTED BOYLE LECTURER . . . .19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. — RISE AND PROGRESS OF THE DRAMA. — THE ELIZABETHAN 
 AGE. — MR. HARNESS VISITS STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. — EDITS SHAKES- 
 PEARE. — HIS CHARACTER OF THE POET. — CONTEMPORARY STANDARD OF 
 MORALITY. — EARLY THEATRES. — CRITIQUE ON " THE TEMPEST." — THE 
 KEMBLES IN AMERICA . . . . . .40
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHARADES BY MR. HARNESS AND MISS MITFORD. — MAGAZINE ARTICLES. — 
 EDITION OF MASSINGER COMMENCED. — DRAMATIC POEMS. — MEMORIALS 
 OF CATHERINE FANSHAWE . . . . .75 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PARISH DUTIES. — SUCCESS IN THE PULPIT. — STYLE AND DELIVERY. — 
 ATTACHMENT TO THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. — CAUSES OF RITUALISM. — 
 UNIMPORTANT DISTINCTIONS. — DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN. — 
 OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS. — SKETCH OF OLD ENGLISH PATRIARCHAL 
 LIFE — PSALMODY ...... 106 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. — FRIENDSHIPS WITH REMARKABLE 
 MEN. — KINDNESS OF LORD LANSDOWNE. — CRABBE. — SCOTT. — COLERIDGE. 
 — JOANNA BAILLIE. — MISS MARTINEAU .... 132 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ANECDOTES CONTINUED. — SHERIDAN. — ROGERS. — MRS. GORE. — AMERICAN 
 FRIENDS. — THEODORE HOOK. — LYDIA WHITE. — VISIT TO IRELAND. — 
 REMARKABLE DREAM. — MISCELLANEOUS REFERENCES. — CHRISTMAS 
 STORIES ........ 151 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 POLITICS. — BENEFITS OF SETTLED GOVERNMENT TO RICH AND POOR. — 
 POLITICAL ALLUSIONS UNSUITABLE IN THE PULPIT. — NECESSARY EX- 
 CEPTIONS. — CONDUCT OF THE GOVERNMENT IN INDIA. — ABSENCE OF 
 RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE IN THE COUNCILS OF THE NATION. — STATE 
 AID. — REFINEMENT NOT NECESSARILY CONDUCIVE TO MORALITY. — 
 OBJECTIONS TO UNSECTARIAN EDUCATION . . . 181.
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN DISTRICT-VISITING ASSOCIATION. — EVIL RESULTS 01' 
 INJUDICIOUS CHARITY ...... 205 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 BUILDING OF ALL SAINTs', KNIGHTSBRIDGE. — CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP 
 BETWEEN MR. HARNESS AND MISS MITFORD. — TOKEN OF ESTEEM. — 
 HER LAST LETTERS AND DEATH. — COMMENCEMENT OF THE " LIFE OF 
 MARY B,USSELL MITFOKD." — DIFFICULTIES. — PROGRESS OF THE WORK. 
 — INTIMACY WITH MR. DYCE ..... 237 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LETTERS FROM MR. HARNESS, FOR 1866, DURING THE PREPARATION OF 
 " THE LIFE OF MARY RUSSELL MITFORD" . . . 25t 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF LETTERS FROM MR. HARNESS FOR 1867-63-69. — OUR 
 LAST INTERVIEW. — HIS SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED DEATH . 287
 
 THE LITEHAEY LIEE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EEY. WILLIAM HARNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BIKTH AND CHILDHOOD. — EAKLY FEIENDSHIP WITH MABY KIJSSELI, 
 MITFORD, — SCHOOL DATS AT HAREOW. — BECOilES ACQUAINTED WITH 
 LORD BTRON. — INTERRUPTION AND RENEWAL OF THEIR INTIMACY. 
 — VISIT TO NEWSTEAD. — LIFE AT CAMBRIDGE. — REFINING INFLUENCE 
 OF LITERATURE AND SOCIETY. — LETTER FROM DR. BLAND. 
 
 William Haeness was born on the 14th of March, 
 1790. In date he was thus highly privileged, for 
 he was contemporary with those remarkable men 
 who rendered the earlier decades of this century 
 the brightest in Enghsh literature. His birthplace 
 was near the village of Wickham,* on the verge 
 of Bere Forest — a tract which, like many others in 
 South Hampshire, was then rich in sylvan luxu- 
 riance, and retains even to the present day some 
 hngering vestiges of its ancient beauty. Here Dr. 
 
 * Where William of " Wykeham " was born. 
 
 B
 
 2 MAEY RUSSELL MITPORD. 
 
 Harness,* liis father, lived until tlie year 1796, 
 when on the breaking out of the war he accom- 
 panied Lord Hood to the Mediterranean as Physician 
 
 to the Fleet. 
 
 One of WiUiam Harness's earhest friends— born 
 at Alresford, in the same woodland district-was 
 Mary Russell Mitford. Their famihes had long 
 been connected: Dr. Harness gave away Miss 
 Russell, who became Miss Mitford' s mother; and it 
 was here that the future authoress passed those 
 happy days-and her earhest years were her hap- 
 piest-to which she reverted with such fond remem- 
 brance in after-hfe. Here, in the spacious library, 
 hned with her grandfather Russell's books, or in 
 the old-fashioned garden, among the stocks and 
 hollyhocks, she and httle Wilham would chase 
 away the summer hours, until the time when the 
 carriage arrived, which was to carry her playmate 
 back To Wickham. A picture taken when she was 
 about six years old enables us to form some idea 
 of her at this time. It represents her with her hair 
 cut short across her forehead, and flowing down 
 at the back in long glossy ringlets, while in her 
 
 * From some observations he had made in the West Indies, he 
 conjectured that the use of lemons would greatly improve the 
 sanitary condition of the Navy. The discovery has smce been 
 generally adopted, and proved an inestimable benefit to our seamen. 
 The family of Harness is said to- be ancient, and the name to 
 have been originally " Harneis.'
 
 VOYAGE TO POETUGAL. 3 
 
 face there is a sedateness and gravity beyond her 
 years, such as we might expect to find in a young 
 lady devoted to study, and celebrated for early feats 
 of memory. William Harness, on the other hand 
 — by two years the younger — was full of joyous 
 and exuberant spirits, with a bright beaming coun- 
 tenance, a rosy complexion, and a profusion of 
 dark hair which curled and clustered on his open 
 brow. 
 
 On Dr. Harness receiving an appointment at 
 Lisbon, his family left Wickham. A voyage to 
 Portugal in those days was something approach- 
 ing to an adventure. Vessels bound for that coast 
 started from Falmouth or Mount's Bay,* and as 
 they were entirely dependent upon canvas, the 
 day of their departure was as uncertain as that of 
 their arrival. They had a tedious voyage, with 
 bafiQing winds; and httle Wilham Harness long 
 remembered 
 
 " The noise and racket 
 Of that odious Lisbon packet," 
 
 which Byron so heartily anathematized a few years 
 afterwards. But all the sickness and suffering were 
 forgotten and fully compensated when they steered 
 into the broad Tagus with flowing sails, and the 
 
 * As in Milton's time : — 
 
 " Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
 Looks to Nomancos and Bayoua's hold." 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ACQUAINTANCE WI'M LORD BYRON. 
 
 view of the city, rising in terrace above terrace, 
 amid gardens and orange groves, broke upon their 
 lonsrino; sig^ht hke some vision of a brio-hter 
 world. 
 
 Soon after his father's return to England, William 
 Harness was sent to Harrow, where he was placed 
 under the care of the celebrated Dr. Bland. On 
 his entering the school, he became acquainted with 
 Lord Byron in a manner which was certainly most 
 creditable to the latter. It will be best to give 
 Mr. Harness's own account of this circumstance : 
 
 " My acquaintance with Lord Byron began very 
 early in life, on my first going to school at Harrow. 
 I was then just twelve years old. I was lame from 
 an early accident, and pale and thin in consequence 
 of a severe fever, from which, though perfectly 
 recovered in other respects, I still continued weak. 
 This dilapidated condition of mine — perhaps my 
 lameness more than anything else — seems to have 
 touched Byron's sympathies. He saw me a stranger 
 in a crowd ; the very person likely to tempt the 
 oppression of a bully, as I was utterly incapable 
 of resisting it ; and, in all the kindness of his 
 generous nature, he took me under his charge. 
 The first words he ever spoke to me, as far as 
 I can recollect them, were, " If any fellow bullies 
 you, tell me ; and I'll thrash him if I can." His 
 protection was not long needed ; I was soon strong
 
 TEMPORARY CESSATION OF INTERCOURSE. 5 
 
 again, and able to maintain my own ; but, as long 
 as his help was wanted, he never failed to render 
 it. In this manner our friendship began when we 
 were both boys, he the elder of the two ; and it 
 continued, without the slightest interruption, till he 
 left Harrow for Cambridge. 
 
 " After this there was a temporary cessation of 
 intercourse. We wrote to each other on his first 
 leaving school; but the letters, as is wont to be 
 the case, became gradually less and less commu- 
 nicative and frequent, till they eventually ceased 
 altogether. The correspondence seemed to have 
 come to a conclusion by common consent, till an 
 unexpected occasion of its renewal occurred on 
 the appearance of his first collection of poems, 
 the ' Hours of Idleness.'* This volume contained 
 
 * The critiques on which called forth " English Bards and Scotch 
 Reviewers." Byron seems always to have had an unfortunate and 
 irresistible love of satire. Mr. Dyce (in Rogers' Table Talk) makes 
 the following reference : " At the house of the Rev. W. Harness, I 
 remember hearing Moore remark that he thought the natural bent 
 of Byron's genius was to satirical and burlesque poetry. On this 
 Mr. Harness observed : ' When Byron was at Harrow, he one day, 
 seeing a young acquaintance at a short distance who was a violent 
 admirer of Bonaparte, roared out • 
 
 " ' Bold Robert Speer was Bony's bad precursor, 
 Bob was a bloody dog, but Bonaparte a worser.' 
 Moore immediately wrote the lines down with the intention of 
 inserting them in his ' Life of Byron,' which he was then preparing ; 
 but they do not appear in it."
 
 b CORRESPONDENCE RENEWED. 
 
 an early essay of Ms satirical powers against the 
 head-master of his late school ; and very soon after 
 its publication T received a letter from Byron — 
 short, cold, and cutting — reproaching me with a 
 breach of friendship, because I had, as he was 
 informed, traduced his poetry in an English exer- 
 cise, for the sake of conciliating the favour of Dr. 
 Butler. The only answer I returned to the letter 
 was to send him the rough copy of my theme. It 
 was on the Evils of Idleness. After a world of 
 puerilities and commonplaces, it concluded by warn- 
 ing maukind in general, and the boys of Harrow 
 in particular, if they would avoid the vice and its 
 evils, to cultivate some accomplishment, that each 
 might have an occupation of interest to engage 
 his leisure, and be able to spend his 'Hours of 
 Idleness ' as profitably as our late popular school- 
 fellow. The return of post brought me a letter 
 from Byron, begging pardon for the unworthiness 
 he had attributed to me, and acknowledging that 
 he had been misinformed. Thus our correspond- 
 ence was renewed : and it was never again inter- 
 rupted till after his separation from Lady Byron 
 and final departure from his country." 
 
 Lord Byron thus refers to their early acquaint- 
 ance at school : " I was then just fourteen. You 
 were almost the first of my Harrow friends — 
 certainly the first in my esteem, if not in date ....
 
 ACCIDENT. '■ 
 
 How well I recollect tlie present of your first 
 flights ! There is another circumstance you do not 
 know; the first lines I ever attempted at Harrov,r 
 were addressed to you." 
 
 Such was the commencement of this remarkable 
 friendship. The two boys must have been very 
 dissimilar in disposition as they became such 
 different men. Byron alludes to their difference 
 in conduct when at school ; but their characters 
 were not then formed. Moreover, they had several 
 bonds of sympathy ; both were fond of poetry and 
 romance ; both had warm and affectionate disposi- 
 tions ; both were devoted to study ; and both were 
 — lame. When William Harness was little more 
 than an infant, he was playing with and clinging 
 about some curious carving on the posts of an old 
 oaken bedstead which were tied together and lying 
 against the wall. By some unfortunate movement 
 he caused the heavy mass to fall, and it came 
 down with crushing weight upon his foot. He 
 never entirely recovered this accident, and he 
 always felt a shght pain in walking; but such 
 was his spirit and perseverance that in after-life 
 he became a good pedestrian. 
 
 After the explanation to which Mr. Harness 
 alludes- and Byron's letter of apology, they again 
 became friends. " Our intercourse," writes Mr. 
 Harness, " was renewed and continued from that
 
 8 GEATIPYING BEQUEST. 
 
 time till his going abroad. Whatever faults Lord 
 Byron might have had towards others, to myself 
 he was always uniformly affectionate. I have 
 many slights and neglects towards him to reproach 
 myself with ; but, on his part, I cannot call to mind, 
 during the whole course of our intimacy, a single 
 instance of caprice or unkindness. 
 
 Before leaving England for Greece, in 1809, 
 Byron made a most gratifying request of his 
 friend : — 
 
 *' I am going abroad, if possible, in the Spring, 
 and before I depart I am collecting the pictures of 
 my most intimate school-fellows. I have already a 
 few, and shall want yours, or my cabinet will be 
 incomplete. I have employed one of the best 
 miniature painters of the day to take them — of 
 course at my own expense, as I never allow my 
 acquaintances to incur the least expenditure to 
 gratify a whim of mine. To mention this may seem 
 indelicate; but when I tell you a friend of ours 
 first refused to sit, under the idea that he was 
 to disburse on the occasion, you will see that it 
 is necessary to state these preliminaries to prevent 
 the recurrence of any similar mistake. I shall 
 see you in time, and will carry you to the limner. 
 It will be a tax on your patience for a week, 
 but pray excuse it, as it is possible the resem- 
 blance may be the sole trace I shall be able to pre-
 
 LETTER EEOM SCHOOL. 9 
 
 serve of our past friendship and present acquaint- 
 ance. Just now it seems foolish enough ; but in a 
 few years, when some of us are dead, and others 
 are separated by inevitable circumstances, it will 
 be a kind of satisfaction to retain, in these imao-es 
 of the living, the idea of our former selves, and 
 to contemplate, in the resemblance of the dead, 
 all that remains of judgment, feeling, and a host 
 of passions. 
 
 " But all this will be dull enough for you, and 
 so good night ; and to end my chapter, or rather 
 my homily, 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " My dear Harness, 
 " Yours most affectionately, 
 " Byron." 
 
 The following letter from school is interesting 
 from its date, and as showing the early intimacy 
 between William Harness and Miss Mitford : 
 
 "Harrow, 31st July, 1808. 
 
 "My dear Doctor Mitford, 
 " I was impudent enough to invite myself to your 
 house, and you were kind enough to say that I 
 should be welcome; it was afterwards settled I 
 should come to the Races. I am too selfish to let 
 such an opportunity slip, and fully intend to boro
 
 10 STUDIES AT CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 you for some time at Grasely. I hope Mrs. Mitford 
 will not turn me out. Will you then, my dear Sir, 
 let me know when the Races are, and when I shall 
 be least troublesome to you ; for as soon as you 
 appoint I shall come down and harass Miss Mit- 
 ford to death ! My father and grandmother send 
 their love and compliments to Mrs. and Miss Mit- 
 ford and yourself. I shall keep all my civil things 
 till we meet. 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "W. Harness." 
 
 Mr. Harness observed on this occasion that the 
 Mitfords' mode of living was greatly altered. Dr. 
 Mitford's extravagance had almost consumed the 
 golden gift which the Fairies had showered upon 
 his little daughter. A change was visible in the 
 household ; the magnificent butler had disappeared ; 
 and the young Harrow boy by no means admired 
 the shabby equipage in which they were to exhibit 
 themselves on the race-course. 
 
 From Harrow, William Harness proceeded to 
 Christ College, Cambridge, and while there he 
 found time not only for classical and scientific study, 
 but also for the perusal of the light and orna- 
 mental literature of the day. . Those were, indeed, 
 some of his happiest hours, when, full of the
 
 INVITATION TO NBWSTEAD. 11 
 
 enthusiasm of youth, and surrounded by kindred 
 spirits — many of whom were destined hereafter to 
 write their names on the roll of fame — he read 
 aloud the works of some popular author, and lis- 
 tened to the criticism which its sentiments elicited. 
 Mr. Harness was an excellent reader ; his voice was 
 soft and his emphasis correct ; and, as he was 
 always ready to oblige, his services in this respect 
 were constantly put in requisition. His strength 
 was fortunately equal to the task, and he some- 
 times read aloud as much as three volumes in 
 a single day. 
 
 After Byron's return from Greece, we find the 
 following proof of his faithful remembrance in one 
 of his letters to his friend : " I have not changed 
 in all my ramblings : Harrow, and of course your- 
 self, never left me, and the 
 
 Dulces reminisciter Araros ' 
 
 o^ 
 
 attended me to the very spot to which that sen- 
 tence alludes in the mind of the fallen Argive. 
 Our intimacy commenced before we began to date 
 at all, and it rests with you to continue it till the 
 hour which must number it and me with the things 
 that were." 
 
 Shortly before Mr. Harness took his degree, he 
 received an invitation to Newstead; and his stay 
 there must have been one of unusual interest and
 
 12 LIFE AT NEWSTEAD. 
 
 pleasure : this is the account which he gives of his 
 visit. 
 
 " When Byron returned, with the MS. of the first 
 two cantos of * Childe Harold ' in his portmanteau, 
 I paid him a visit at Newstead. It was winter — 
 dark, dreary weather — the snow upon the ground ; 
 and a straggling, gloomy, depressing, partially-in- 
 habited place the Abbey was. Those rooms, how- 
 ever, which had been fitted up for residence were 
 so comfortably appointed, glowing with crimson 
 hangings, and cheerful with capacious fires, that 
 one soon lost the melancholy feeling of being domi- 
 ciled in the wing of an extensive ruin. Many tales 
 are related or fabled of the orgies which, in the 
 Poet's early youth, had made clamorous these ancient 
 halls of the Byrons. I can only say that notking in 
 the shape of riot or excess occurred when I was 
 there. The only other visitor was Dr. Hodgson, the 
 translator of Juvenal,* and nothing could be more 
 quiet and regular than the course of our days. 
 Byron was retouching, as the sheets passed through 
 the press, the stanzas of ' Childe Harold.' Hodg- 
 son was at work in getting out the ensuing number 
 of the ' Monthly Eeview,' of which he was prin- 
 cipal editor. I was reading for my degree. When 
 we met, our general talk was of poets and poetry 
 — of who could or who could not write; but it 
 
 * Aftei'wai'ds Provost of Eton.
 
 SERIOUS DISCUSSIONS. 13 
 
 occasionally rose into very serious discussions on 
 religion. Byron, from his early education in Scot- 
 land, had been taught to identify the principles 
 of Christianity with the extreme dogmas of Cal- 
 vinism. His mind had thus imbibed a most mis- 
 erable prejudice, which appeared to be the only 
 obstacle to his hearty acceptance of the Gospel. 
 Of this error we were most anxious to disabuse 
 him. The chief weight of the argument rested with 
 Hodgson, who was older, a good deal, than myself. 
 I cannot even now — at a distance of more than 
 fifty years — recall those conversations without a 
 deep feeling of admiration for the judicious zeal 
 and affectionate earnestness (often speaking with 
 tears in his eyes) which Dr. Hodgson evinced in 
 his advocacy of the truth. The only difference, 
 except perhaps in the subjects talked about, be^ 
 tween our life at Newstead Abbey and that of 
 the quiet country families around us, was the 
 hours we kept. It was, as I have said, winter, and 
 the days were cold ; and, as nothing tempted us to 
 rise early, we got up late. This flung the routine 
 of the day rather backward, and we did not go 
 early to bed. My visit to Newstead lasted about 
 three weeks, when I returned to Cambridge to 
 take my degree." 
 
 Notwithstanding the many valuable friendships 
 which Mr. Harness formed at Cambridge, it was un-
 
 14 EXILED FEOM PAENASSUS. 
 
 fortunate for him, with regard to his success, that 
 he had not chosen the sister University. He had 
 no taste whatever for mathematics, and he found 
 that at Cambridge they were everything. The 
 Graces were kept at a decorous distance by inter- 
 minable Hues of squares and triangles, and no 
 tuneful reeds then grew beside the Cam, except a 
 few which — raised at Eton — had been transplanted 
 to the Koyal Nursery of Kings. The lovers of 
 literature, though happy in one another, found 
 themselves in a barren and delightless country ; 
 and Byron, with characteristic boldness, spoke of 
 his Alma Mater as nothing short of a " harsh 
 beldam." Mr. Harness was one of these exiles 
 from Parnassus. He shared Miss Mitford's distaste 
 for the dry formulas and inevitable deductions of 
 science, but loved the study of nature and of human 
 life in its ever-varying phases and colours. If 
 there was anything which attracted him more than 
 Poetry, it was Art, and he arrived at so consider- 
 able a proficiency in Painting that many hoped he 
 would make it his profession, and predicted for 
 him a successful career. But he was animated by 
 a still higher and nobler ambition — that of elevating 
 not only the taste but the moral feelings of men, 
 and of endeavouring to raise the human mind to 
 the investigation of something still brighter than 
 even the physical creation. He desired to " go on
 
 INFLUENCE OP ORNAMENTAL LITERATURE. 15 
 
 unto perfection." Poetry and Art should be but 
 the handmaids of religion, to bear us with angels' 
 wings to higher and more spiritual truths. Speak- 
 ing of the influence of refined and ornamental 
 literature, he observes : 
 
 " To represent Christianity to the imagination as 
 a blight that withers all the flowers which the hand 
 of a bountiful Providence has so liberally scattered 
 around us, is to disturb the harmony which sub- 
 sists between the word and the works of the 
 Creator. The exclusive system — following up the 
 principle of separating its disciples from everything 
 which interests the generality of men — prescribes 
 an absolute rejection of what it designates as 
 worldly literature. This system, if strictly followed, 
 would effect the annihilation of all the Arts and 
 Sciences which refine our nature, which raise the 
 level of the intellect and cultivate the taste, and 
 which fit the understanding for the profitable 
 reception of better things. 
 
 " Again, the highest perfection to which we can 
 attain, is the perfect cultivation of all and each of 
 our faculties, as well intellectual as moral. Those 
 faculties are cultivated by exercise, and as each 
 is called into action by some different pursuit or 
 study, it is by giving a certain moderate degree 
 of variety to our studies and pui*suits that all can 
 receive that portion of exercise which is essential
 
 16 PURITANICAL DISCIPLINE. 
 
 for their cultivation. Now, there is no Art or 
 Science which does not bring intellectual profit to 
 the man who has mastered it. There is no species 
 of literature (except, of course, such as are of an 
 infidel or immoral tendency) which may not con- 
 duce to the cultivation of some talent which the 
 Almighty has implanted within us, and thus assist 
 us, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, in 
 making greater reaches towards that perfection 
 which is set before us as the ultimate object of 
 our pursuit. 
 
 " There is one objection — a very serious one — to 
 the rigid, ascetic, pharisaic system in this respect. 
 Such overstrained austerity always prepares the way 
 for the grossest depravity. Count Struensee, in his 
 Confessions, mentions the strictness with which he 
 was brought up in his youth as the principal cause 
 of his subsequent vices. Our whole nation, indeed, 
 afforded a most strikino; demonstration of the evils 
 consequent on too severe and puritanical a disci- 
 pline, when, after the formal rigours of the Com- 
 monwealth, the people suddenly flung off the mask, 
 and abandoned themselves to those excesses which 
 followed the Restoration." 
 
 It is a pleasing testimony to find that Dr. Bland, 
 who had been Mr. Harness's tutor at Harrow, 
 continued afer wards to be his personal friend, and 
 frequently corresponded with him on literary sub-
 
 LETTER FROM DR. BLAND. 17 
 
 jects. It would appear from the following letter, 
 that the Doctor had some taste for more modern 
 poetry than that of his celebrated " Greek An- 
 thology :" 
 
 " Kenilworth, 22nd March, 1821. 
 
 " My dear Harness, 
 " My work has been nominally published for 
 two weeks and two days ; really, I don't believe 
 it is published yet. How helpless am I, at this 
 distance from head-quarters ! Can you — will you 
 — assist me in ascertaining whether it was adver- 
 tised in the * Chronicle,' ' Courier,' * Times ' and 
 ' Herald ?' Do me this favour by calling at the 
 Royal Institution and looking" over the files of the 
 newspapers ; and again, in writing to me on this 
 subject, just say whether you think the work pub- 
 li'shed, in the sense of palam factum. As for 
 writing tales, God knows, my dear friend, I feel 
 but too far — too much inclined to indulg-e in this 
 idle, heedless passion. I dream of cascades and 
 that ^ddog vXrjg so sweet, so inspiring, and so pro- 
 fitless, unless the dream be painted by more able 
 brushes. No ; should this work succeed, should 
 the soothing breath of ' Well done !' speak comfort 
 to my almost frozen heart, my vocation is irrevo- 
 cably fixed, and the year rolls not away, provided 
 I have health, unproductive of something more 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 LETTER FROM DR. BLAND. 
 
 genial than * Lord St. George,' This latter, how- 
 ever, is but a too faithful picture of a country 
 Barony ; it is exact. If it fails, it fails for want 
 of spirit, variety, wit, gravity, the intangible es- 
 sence — in short, the graces necessary to verse. 
 Who has read it? Do you know, and can you 
 report any opinions ? I mean, faithfully report 
 them — ay, in all their asperities ! Let me hear 
 from you, my dear Harness ; and will you enclose 
 for me the lines of Lord Byron to which you 
 
 allude on the subject of Lord C ? I have 
 
 never seen them, and think they might do me good. 
 
 " Most affectionately yours, 
 
 Eo Bland."
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MK. HARNESS ENTERS THE MINISTRY. — HIS HAPPINESS IN A COUNTRT 
 PARISH. — DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN LORD AND LADY BYRON. — BYRON'b 
 ECCENTRICITY. — INJURIOUS CHARACTER OF HIS LATER WORKS. — MR. 
 HARNESS APPOINTED BOYLE LECTURER. 
 
 Me. Haeness did not enter the ministry witb any 
 view to worldly advantage. He was not ignorant 
 of the fact that the labourer in the vineyard is but 
 seldom a partaker of its fruit. So thorouglily did 
 he understand the prospects of a clergyman in the 
 Church of England, that he said he should have 
 hesitated to follow his inclinations had he not had 
 some expectations of independent means.* But no 
 prudential obstacle interposing, and having the full 
 sanction of his parents, he was ordained to the 
 curacy of Kilmeston near Alresford, shortly after 
 his graduating at Cambridge. Such a change, from 
 a brilliant intellectual society to a retired curacy, 
 
 * His graadmotber, however, took a different view, and told him 
 tliiit a curate requii-ed a very small income. " He should keep a 
 horse," she baid, "and his horse should keep him." 
 
 c 2
 
 20 BYRON REPROVED. 
 
 where liis books were liis only companions and liis 
 country walks Lis only relaxation, would have been 
 to some insufferably depressing ; but to him, on the 
 contrary, those tranquil days seemed some of the 
 happiest of his life ; and he was more than content 
 to remain, 
 
 " The world forgetting, by the world forgot." 
 
 He afterwards removed to Dorking; but it was 
 only upon the urgent remonstrances of his father, 
 who was unwillinq; to see his talents thus obscured, 
 that he consented to leave his sphere of quiet use- 
 fulness, and enter upon the arduous labours of a 
 London cure. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Harness's friendly intercourse 
 with Lord Byron was not interrupted, though car- 
 ried on under some disadvantages. The Poet was 
 prevented from dedicating " Cliilde Harold " to him, 
 " for fear it should injure him in his profession." 
 And it is evident that in some of his letters Mr. 
 Harness reproved him for his thoughtlessness and 
 dissipation. 
 
 " You censure my life. Harness," Byron writes in 
 reply. " When I compare myself with these men, 
 my elders and my betters, I really begin to con- 
 ceive myself a monument of prudence — a walking 
 statue — without feeling or failing ; and yet the 
 world in general hath given me a proud pre-emi- 
 nence over them in profligacy !"
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH LYRO^. 21 
 
 "From tliis time," writes Mr. Harness, "our 
 paths lay much asunder. Bjron returned to 
 London. His poem was pubhshed. The success 
 was instantaneous ; and he * awoke one morning 
 and found himself famous.' I was in orders, and 
 living an almost solitary life in a country curacy ; 
 but we kept up a rather rapid interchange of letters. 
 He sent me his poems as they now appeared in 
 rather quick succession ; and during my few weeks' 
 holidays in London we saw one another very often 
 of a morning at each other's rooms, and not un- 
 frequently again in society of an evening. So far, 
 and for these few years, all that I saw or heard of 
 his career was bright and prosperous : kindness 
 and poetry at home, smiles and adulation abroad. 
 But then came his marriage ; and then the rupture 
 with his wife ; and then his final departure from 
 England. He became a victim of that revolution of 
 popular feeling which is ever incident to the spoilt 
 children of society, when envy and malice obtain a 
 temporary ascendancy, and succeed in knocking 
 down and trampling any idol of the day beneath 
 their feet, who may be wanting in the moral courage 
 required to face and out-brave them. 
 
 Such was not the spirit that animated Byron. 
 He could not bear to look on the altered coun- 
 tenances of his acquaintances. To his susceptible 
 temperament and generous feelings, the reproach
 
 22 LORD AND LADY BYRON. 
 
 of having ill-used a woman must liave been poign- 
 ant in the extreme. It was repulsive to his chi- 
 valrous character as a gentleman ; it belied all he 
 had written of the devoted fervour of his attach- 
 ments ; and rather than meet the frowns and sneers 
 which awaited him in the world, as many a less 
 sensitive man might have done, he turned his back 
 on them and fled. He would have drawn himself 
 up, and crossed his arms and curled his lip, and 
 looked disdainfully on any amount of clamorous 
 hostility ; but he stole away from the ignominy of 
 being silently cut. His whole course of conduct, 
 at this crisis of his life, was an inconsiderate mis- 
 take. He should have remained to learn what the 
 accusations against him really were ; to expose the 
 exaggerations, if not the falsehoods, of the grounds 
 they rested on ; or, at all events, to have quietly 
 abided the time when the London world should 
 have become wearied of repeating its vapid scan- 
 dals, and returned to its senses respecting him. 
 That change of feeling did come — and not long 
 after his departure from England — but he was at 
 a distance, and could not be persuaded -to return to 
 take advantage of it. 
 
 Of the matrimonial quarrel I personally know 
 nothing ; nor, with the exception of Dr. Lushing- 
 ton, do I believe that there is anybody living who 
 has any certain knowledge about the matter. The
 
 LADY BYRON. 23 
 
 marriage was never one of reasonable promise. 
 The bridegroom and the bride were ill-assorted. 
 They were two only children, and two sjpoilt 
 children. I was acquainted with Lady Byron as 
 Miss Milbanke. The parties of Lady Milbanke, her 
 mother, were frequent and agreeable, and composed 
 of that mixture of fashion, literature, science, and 
 art, than which there is no better society. The 
 daughter was not without a certain amount of pret- 
 tiness or cleverness ; but her manner was stiff and 
 formal, and gave one the idea of her being self- 
 willed and self-opinionated. She was almost the 
 only young, pretty, well-dressed girl we ever saw 
 who carried no cheerfulness along with her. I 
 seem to see her now, moving slowly along her 
 mother's drawing-rooms, talking to scientific men 
 and literary women, without a tone of emotion in 
 hev voice or the faintest glimpse of a smile upon 
 her countenance. A lady who had been on inti- 
 mate terms with her from their mutual childhood 
 once said to me, " If Lady Byron has a heart, it 
 is deeper seated and harder to get at than anybody 
 else's heart whom I have ever known." And 
 though several of my friends whose regard it was 
 no slight honour to have gained — as Mrs. Siddons, 
 Joanna Baillie, Ma^ria Edgeworth, and others of less 
 account, — were never heard to speak of Lady 
 Byron except in terms of admiration and attach-
 
 24 LOED AND LADY BYRON. 
 
 ment, it is certain that tlie impression wliich slie 
 produced on the majority of her acquaintance was 
 unfavourable : they looked upon her as a reserved 
 and frigid sort of being whom one would rather 
 cross the room to avoid than be brought into con- 
 versation with unnecessarily. Such a person, 
 whatever quality might have at first attracted him 
 — (could it have been her coldness ?) — was not 
 likely to acquire or retain any very powerful hold 
 upon Byron. At the beginning of their married 
 life, when first they returned to London society 
 together, one seldom saw two young persons who 
 appeared to be more devoted to one another than 
 they were. At parties, he would be seen hanging 
 over the back of her chair, scarcely talking to any- 
 body else, eagerly introducing his friends to her, 
 and, if they did not go away together, himself 
 handing her to her carriage. This outward show 
 of tenderness, so far as my memory serves me, was 
 observed and admired as exemplary, till after the 
 birth of their daughter. From that time the world 
 began to drop its voice into a tone of compassion 
 when speaking of Lady Byron, and to whisper tales 
 of the misery she was sufiering — poor thing — on 
 account of the unkindness of her husband. 
 
 The first instances of his ill-usage which were 
 heard, were so insignificant as to be beneath re- 
 cording. " The poor lady had never had a com-
 
 ALLEGED VEXATIONS. 25 
 
 fortable meal since their mamag^e." " Her bus- 
 band bad no fixed hour for breakfast, and was 
 always too late for dinner." " At bis express desire, 
 she bad invited two elderly ladies* to meet tbem 
 in ber opera-box. Notbing could be more cour- 
 teous tban bis manner to tbem, wbile tbey re- 
 mained ; but no sooner bad tbey gone tban be 
 began to annoy bis wife by venting bis ill-bumour, 
 in a strain of bitterest satire, against tbe dress 
 and manners of ber friends." Tbere were some 
 relations of Lady Byron wbom, after repeated re- 
 fusals, be bad reluctantly consented to dine witb. 
 When tbe day arrived be insisted on ber going 
 alone, alleging bis being unwell as an excuse for 
 bis absence. It was summer time. Forty years 
 ago people not only dined earlier tban tbey do 
 now, but by daybgbt ; and after tbe assembled 
 party were seated at table, be amused bimself 
 by driving backwards and forwards opposite tbe 
 dining-room windows. f 
 
 Tbere was a multitude of such nonsensical stories 
 as tbese, wbicb one began to bear soon after Ada's 
 birtb ; and I believe I bave told tbe worst of 
 tbem. 'No doubt, as tbe tbings occurred, tbey 
 must bave been vexatious enougb, but tbey do not. 
 
 * Mrs. Joanna Baillie and her sister. 
 
 t The above gossip all came to me from diflFcrent friends of Lady 
 Byron.
 
 26 LORD AND LADY BYRON. 
 
 amount to grievous wrongs. They were faults of 
 temper, not moral delinquencies; a thousand of 
 them would not constitute an injury. Nor does 
 one know to what extent they may have been pro- 
 voked. They would, in all probability, have ceased, 
 had they been gently borne with — and perhaps 
 were only repeated because the culprit was amused 
 by witnessing their effects. At all events they were 
 no more than a sensible woman, who had either a 
 proper feehng for her husband's reputation, or a 
 due consideration of her own position, would have 
 readily endured ; and a really good wife would 
 never have allowed herself to talk about them. 
 And yet it was by Lady Byron's friends, and as 
 coming immediately from her, that I used to hear 
 them. The complaints, at first so trifling, gra- 
 dually acquired a more serious character. " Poor 
 Lady Byron was afraid of her life." *' Her hus- 
 band slept with loaded pistols by his bedside, and 
 a dagger under his pillow." Then there came 
 rumours of cruelty — no one knew of what kind, 
 or how severe. Nothing was definitely stated. But 
 it was on all hands allowed to be " very bad — 
 very bad indeed." And as there was nothing to 
 be known, everybody imagined what they pleased. 
 
 But whatever Lord Byron's treatment of his 
 wife may have been, it could not have been all 
 evil. Any injuries she suffered must have occurred
 
 FOND EEMEMBRANCE. 27 
 
 during moody and angry fits of temper. They 
 could not Lave been habitual or frequent. Ilis 
 conduct was not of such a description as to have 
 utterly extinguished whatever love she might have 
 felt at her marriage, or to have left any sense of 
 terror or aversion behind it. This is evident from 
 facts. Years after they had met for the last time, 
 Lady Byron went with Mrs. Jameson, from whom 
 I repeat the circumstance, to see Thorwaldsen's 
 statue of her husband, which was at Sir Richard 
 Westmacott's studio. After lookins^ at it in silence 
 for a few moments, the tears came into her eyes, 
 and she said to her companion, "It is very beau- 
 tiful, but not so beautiful as my dear Byron." 
 However interrupted by changes of caprice or 
 irritability, the general course of her husband's 
 conduct must have been gentle and tender, or it 
 never would, after so long a cessation of inter- 
 course, have left such kindly impressions behind 
 it. I have, indeed, reason to believe that these 
 feelino-s of affectionate remembrance lino^ered in the 
 heart of Lady Byron to the last. Not a fortnight 
 before her death, I dined in company with an old 
 lady who was at the time on a visit to her. On 
 this lady's returning home, and mentioning whom 
 she had met, Lady Byron evinced great curiosity 
 to learn what subjects we had talked about, and 
 what I had heard of them, " because I had been
 
 28 CHAKACTERISTICS OP BYKON. 
 
 such a friend of her husband's." This instance of 
 fond remembrance, after an interval of more than 
 forty years, in a woman of no very sensitive nature 
 — a woman of more intellect than feeling — conveys 
 to my mind no slight argument in defence of 
 Byron's conduct as a husband. His wife, though 
 unrelenting, manifestly regretted his loss. May 
 not some touch of remorse for the exile to which 
 she had dismissed him — for the fame over which 
 she had cast a cloud — for the energies which she 
 had diverted from their course of useful action in 
 the Senate,* to be wasted in no honourable idleness 
 abroad — and for the so early death to which her 
 unwife-like conduct doomed him, have mingled its 
 bitterness with the pain of that regret ? 
 
 But what do I know of Byron ? The ill I will 
 speak of presently. Personally, I know nothing 
 but good of him. Of what he became in his foreign 
 banishment, when removed from all his natural ties 
 and hereditary duties, I, personally, am ignorant. 
 In all probability he deteriorated ; he would have 
 been more than human if he had not. But when 
 I was in the habit of familiarly seeing him, he was 
 kindness itself. At a time when Coleridge was in 
 great embarrassment, Rogers, when calling on 
 Byron, chanced to mention it. He immediately 
 
 * He had made some good speeches in the House.
 
 ETNDNESS TO FRIENDS AND SERVANTS. 29 
 
 went to his writiiig-desk, and brought back a cheque 
 for a hundred pounds, and insisted on its being 
 forwarded to Coleridge. *' I did not like taking 
 it," said Rogers, who told me the story, " for I 
 knew that he was in want of it himself." His 
 servants he treated with a gentle consideration for 
 their feelings which I have seldom witnessed in any 
 other, and they were devoted to him. At New- 
 stead there was an old man who had been butler 
 to his mother, and I have seen Byron, as the old 
 man waited behind his chair at dinner, pour out 
 a glass of wine and pass it to him when he thought 
 we were too much engaged in conversation to ob- 
 serve what he was doing. The transaction was 
 a thing of custom ; and both parties seemed to 
 flatter themselves that it was clandestinely effected. 
 A hideous old woman, who had been brought in to 
 nurse him when he was unwell at one of his lodg- 
 ings, and whom few would have cared to retain 
 about them longer than her services were required, 
 was carried with him, in improved attire, to his 
 chambers in the Albany, and was seen, after his 
 marriage, gorgeous in black silk at his house in 
 Piccadilly. She had done him a service, and he 
 could not forget it. Of his attachment to his 
 friends, no one can read Moore's life and entertain 
 a doubt. He required a great deal from them — not 
 more, perhaps, than he, from the abundance of
 
 30 byeon's bad qualities. 
 
 his love, freely and fully gave — but more than they 
 had to return. The ardour of his nature must 
 have been in a normal state of disappointment. 
 He imagined higher qualities in them than they 
 possessed, and must very often have found his 
 expectations sadly balked by the dulness of talk, 
 the perversity of taste, or the want of enthusiasm, 
 Avhich he encountered on a better or rather longer 
 acquaintance. But, notwithstanding, I have never 
 yet heard anybody complain that Byron had once 
 appeared to entertain a regard for him, and had 
 afterwards capriciously cast him off. 
 
 Now, after these good and great qualities, I re- 
 vert to the evil of Bvron's character and conduct. 
 And here, if he were bad, were there no extenua- 
 tions, derived from the peculiarities of his position 
 and education, to be pleaded for him ? Was he not 
 better, instead of worse, than most young men 
 have proved who were similarly circumstanced ? 
 He had virtually never known a father's love, or a 
 mother's tenderness. He was from early childhood 
 wholly cut off from those motives to virtue, and 
 those restraints from vice, which, amid a band of 
 brothers and sisters, grow up around us with the 
 family affections. Home is the only school in which 
 right principles and generous feelings find a genial 
 soil and attain a natural growth. Without a home 
 the boy sees nothing, knows nothing, considers
 
 ONE PEE-EMINENT FAULT. 31 
 
 nothing, and feels for nothing but himself; and a 
 home Byron never had. The domestic charities 
 and their ameliorating influences were only known 
 to him by name. He was from boyhood his own 
 master; and would it have been strange, if, with 
 strong passions, an untutored will, fervent imagina- 
 tion, and no one with authority to control him, he 
 was sometimes led astray ? But during the time 
 he was in London society, what young men were 
 there, with the same liberty to range at will as he, 
 who were less absorbed by its dissipations ? Who 
 among them abstracted so much time from the fas- 
 cinations of the world as he, to study as he studied, 
 and to write as he wrote? I have little doubt, 
 though I don't know it, that in the season of his 
 unparalleled success he was not likely to have been 
 more rigid in his conduct than his companions were 
 in their principles. But it is at least extraordinary 
 that, while thus courted and admired, if his life 
 was as licentious as some have represented, the 
 only scandal which disturbed the decorum of so- 
 ciety, and with which Byron's name is connected, 
 did not originate in any action of his, but in the 
 insane and unrequited passion of a woman. 
 
 Byron had one pre-eminent fault — a fault which 
 must be considered as deeply criminal by every 
 one who does not, as I do, believe it to have 
 resulted from monomania. He had a morbid
 
 32 STRANGE IDIOSYNOFASY. 
 
 love of a bad reputation. There was hardly an 
 offence of which he would not, with perfect in- 
 difference, accuse himself. An old schoolfellow, 
 who met him on the Continent, told me that he 
 would continually write paragraphs against him- 
 self in the foreign journals, and delight in their 
 republication by the English newspapers as in the 
 success of a practical joke. When anybody has 
 related anything discreditable of Byron, assuring 
 me that it must be true, for he had heard it from 
 himself, I have always felt that he could not have 
 spoken with authority, and that, in all probability, 
 the tale was a pure invention. If I could remember, 
 and were willing to repeat, the various misdoings 
 which I have from time to time heard him attribute 
 to himself, I could fill a volume. But I never 
 believed them. I verv soon became aware of this 
 strange idiosyncrasy. It puzzled me to account 
 for it; but there it was — a sort of diseased and 
 distorted vanity. The same eccentric spirit would 
 induce him to report things which were false with 
 regard to his family, which anybody else would 
 have concealed though true. He told me more 
 than once that his father was insane and killed 
 himself. I shall never forget the manner in 
 which he first told me this. While washing his 
 hands, and singing a gay Neapolitan air, he stopped, 
 looked round at me, and said, " There always was
 
 SELF-MALIGNMENT. 33 
 
 a madness in the family." Then after continuing 
 his washing and his song, as if speaking of a matter 
 of the shghtest indifference, "My father cut his 
 throat." The contrast between the tenor of the 
 subject and the levity of the expression was fear- 
 fully painful : it was like a stanza of " Don Juan." 
 In this instance, I had no doubt that the fact was 
 as he related it, but in speaking of it only a few 
 years since to an old lady* in whom I had perfect 
 confidence, she assured me that it was not so; 
 that Mr. Byron, who was her cousin, had been 
 extremely wild, but wa.s quite sane and had died 
 quietly in his bed. What Byron's reasons could 
 have been for thus calumniatino:, not onlv himself, 
 but the blood that was flowing in his veins, who 
 can divine ? But, for some reason or other, it 
 seemed to be his determined purpose to keep him- 
 self unknown to the great body of his fellow-crea- 
 tures — to present himself to their view in moral 
 masquerade, and to identity himself in their ima- 
 ginations with Childe Harold and the Corsair, 
 between which characters and his own — as God and 
 education had made it — the most microscopic inspec- 
 tion would fail to discern a single point of resemblance. 
 Except this love of an ill-name — this tendency 
 to malign himself — this hypocrisy reversed, I have 
 no personal knowledge whatever of any evil act or 
 
 * Mrs. Villiers, Lord Clarendon's mother. 
 
 D
 
 34 byeon's maeriage. 
 
 evil disposition of Lord Byron's. I once said this 
 to a gentleman* who was well acquainted with 
 Lord Byron's London life. He expressed himself 
 astonished at what I said. " Well," I replied, *' do 
 you know any harm of him but what he told you 
 himself?" " Oh, yes, a hundred things !" " I 
 don't want you to tell me a hundred things, I shall 
 be content with one." Here the conversation was 
 interrupted. We were at dinner — there was a largo 
 party, and the subject was again renewed at table. 
 But afterwards in the drawing-room, Mr. Drury 
 came up to me and said, " I have been thinking of 
 what you were saying at dinner. I do not know any 
 harm of Byron but what he has told me of himself." 
 Mr. Harness's testimony to the good points in 
 Byron's character is especially valuable as it comes 
 from one who was not in the least blinded by the 
 brilliancy of his genius. So delicately sensitive, 
 indeed, was Mr. Harness's nature, that he always, 
 as he confessed, felt Byron's poetry to be a little 
 too " strong " for him. He attributed a large part 
 of Byron's reckless conduct in after-life to the 
 misfortune of his ill-assorted marriage. " It was 
 brought about," he observed, " by well-meaning 
 friends, who knew that Byron wanted money and 
 thought they were consulting his best interests." 
 He formed the aUiance, as is often the case, be- 
 
 * The Rev. Henry Drury.
 
 LADY BYKON. 35 
 
 cause other people liked it ; but they did not take 
 ioto consideration how many elements are required 
 to constitute the happiness of sensient human 
 beings. Lady Byron was a person entirely defi- 
 cient in tact and reflection, and made no allowances 
 for the usual eccentricities of genius. In some 
 periods of our history she might have aspired to a 
 real crown of martyrdom, for she was a Puritan in 
 creed, and an unflinching advocate of her own 
 views. Miss Mitford justly asks, "Why did she 
 marry Byron ? His character was well known, 
 and he was not a deceiver !" Possibly she hoped 
 to make an illustrious convert of him, or thought 
 that she might at once share his celebrity and re- 
 strain his follies. If so, she greatly overrated her 
 influence, and ignored the perversity of human nature. 
 Byron had a childish weakness for dramatic effect 
 and excitement, and it was his habit to amuse him- 
 self at times by indulging in fantastical rhapsodies, 
 full of trao'ic extravao^ance. Harness knew these 
 occasions, and merely lapsed into silence, and when 
 the poet found that no one was horrified or delighted, 
 he very soon came to the end of his performance, 
 But Lady Byron was too conscientious, or too 
 severe, to allow the fire thus to die out. She took 
 seriously every word he uttered, weighed it in her 
 precise balance, and could not avoid expressing her 
 condemnation of his principles and her abhorrence 
 
 D 2
 
 36 btron's later writings. 
 
 of liis language. This fanned the flame, in- 
 creased his irritation, or added zest to his amuse- 
 ment. Whatever crime she accused him of he was 
 not only ready to admit, but even to trump by 
 the confession of some greater enormity. Few of 
 us have sufiicient taste and delicacy for the ofEce 
 of a censor, or sufficient humility to profit by re- 
 buke ; but in the present case the difficulties were 
 unusually great. " There can be no doubt," ob- 
 served Mr. Harness, " that Byron was a little 
 * maddish.' " He was afflicted with a more than 
 usual share of that eccentricity which so ofte'i turns 
 aside the keen edge of genius ; but he was amiable and 
 might have been led, though he would not be driven. 
 Mr. Harness had no communication with Byron 
 during the latter years of his life. He nevertheless al- 
 ways continued to take a kindly view of the character 
 of his old school-fellow and college friend, and endea- 
 voured to make every allowance for his conduct ; 
 but at the same time we must not suppose that he 
 permitted any personal feeling to interfere with his 
 sense of right, or to prevent his denouncing the 
 principles advocated in his friend's later writings. 
 We have already noticed his disapproval of Byron's 
 conduct, and as it became more marked, he spoke 
 in stronger language. Their intimacy then ceased, 
 and Byron recklessly abandoned himself to those 
 dissipations which ended in his early death. In
 
 ME. HARNESS APPOINTED BOYLE LECTURER. 37 
 
 1822, Mr. Harness was appointed Boyle Lecturer 
 by the University of Cambridge ; and his duty was 
 " to be ready to satisfy such real scruples as any may 
 have concerning matters of religion, and to an- 
 swer such new objections and difficulties as may be 
 started." Lord Byron's works were then at the 
 height of their popularity ; and as some of them 
 seemed to be exercising a very pernicious influence, 
 Mr. Harness selected for special consideration the 
 poem* in which an attempt was made to represent 
 God as responsible for the origin of Sin. 
 
 " By a fiction of no ordinary power," he observes, 
 " the rebellious son of a rebelHous father is dis- 
 closed to the imagination as upon the borders of Para- 
 dise, and within the shadowy regions of the dead, 
 holding personal communion with the spiritual 
 enemy of man. Each is represented as advocating 
 the cause uf his impiety to the partial judgment of 
 his companion in iniquity. Miserable they are ; but 
 still they are arrogant and stern, remorseless and 
 unsubdued by misery. For them adversity has no 
 sweet or hallowed uses. While they make mutual 
 confession of the wretchedness their sin has 
 caused them, they appear to glory in it, as if 
 ennobled by its magnitude and exalted by its 
 presumption. To their licentious apprehensions all 
 excellence appears corrupted and reversed. They 
 
 * "Cain."
 
 38 BYEON's " CAIN. 
 
 J> 
 
 call good evil, and evil they call good. Pride is 
 virtue, and rebellion duty. Lucifer is the friend, 
 and Jehovah is the enemy ' of man ; and while they 
 reciprocate the arguments of a bewildering sophis- 
 try, the benevolence of the Deity is arraigned, as 
 if He rejoiced in the affliction of His creatures, first 
 conferred an efficacy on the temptation and then 
 delighted to exact the penalties of transgression." 
 
 Byron had attempted to justify himself by assert- 
 ing that he had expressed no sentiments worse than 
 those which were to be found in Milton ; but even 
 were this the case (Mr, Harness observed), there 
 would be a peculiar danger in reproducing them in 
 a specious form, and in times when faith was 
 already obscured : " The danger is heightened by 
 the peculiar character of the times. Had the 
 allegations of these malignant spirits been preferred 
 in an age of more general and fervent piety, there 
 had been little peril in their publication. They had 
 only awakened in the breast of the reader a more 
 entire abhorrence of the beings by whom they were 
 entertained and uttered. It was thus in the days 
 of Milton. Every taunt of Satan was then opposed 
 by the popular spirit of devotion, and armed against 
 his cause the deepest and the holiest affections of 
 the heart. But the spirit of those times has past. 
 Zeal has yielded to indifference, anc3 faith to scep- 
 ticism. We have become so impatient of the re-
 
 BYEO^^'s FEIENDSnir JOK ME. HAENESS. 39 
 
 straint of Christianity, and so indulgent to every 
 argument that endows our iuchnations with an 
 apology for sin, that few and transient are the feel- 
 ings of religious gratitude which are offended by 
 the impieties of Cain or Lucifer, and their appeal 
 against the dispensations of Almighty Providence 
 is calmly heard and favourably deliberated ; for, in 
 the skilful extenuation of tlieir guilt, we appear 
 to listen to the arguments that soothe us with the 
 justification of our own. There is also a danger 
 in the manner with which these antiquated cavils are 
 revived and recommended. United with the dra- 
 matic interest and the seductions of poetry, they 
 obtain a wider circulation. Thev srain an introduc- 
 tion to the studies of the young ; they pass into the 
 hands of that wide class of readers, who only find 
 in literature another variety of dissipation, and 
 who, after having eagerly received the contagion of 
 demoralizing doubts, would indolently cast aside the 
 cold metaphysical essay that conveyed their refu- 
 tation." 
 
 Byron's friendship for Mr. Harness, who even 
 during their intimacy did not scruple to reprove and 
 oppose his principles, was perhaps the most pleasing 
 episode in his private career ; and his accusers should 
 know that, during the whole of their correspondence, 
 he never penned a single line to his friend which might 
 not have been addressed to the most delicate woman.
 
 40 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. — RISE AND PROGRESS OF THE DRAMA. — THE ELIZABETHAN 
 AGE. — MR. HARNESS VISITS STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. — EDITS SHAKES- 
 PEARE. — HIS CHARACTER OP THE POET. — CONTEMPORARY STANDARD OF 
 MORALITY. — EARLY THEATRES. — CRITIQUE ON " THE TEMPEST." — THE 
 KEMBLES IN AMERICA. 
 
 If any gifted men have been insensible to 
 tlie beauties of Shakespeare, Mr, Harness was not 
 among their number. On the contrary, he was a 
 devoted student of the writings of the great 
 dramatist, and ever found that the deeper that 
 mine was worked, the richer was the ore which was 
 brought to hght. In such feelings of admiration he 
 coincided with the views of some of the most 
 eminent and learned divines, especially with those 
 of Dr. Sortin and Bishop Warburton.* " Shakes- 
 peare," writes Mr. Harness, " was not only habi- 
 tually conversant with the chronicles of his country, 
 but had also deeply imbibed the Scriptures." 
 
 History teaches that theatrical representations 
 originally partook of a ceremonial character. They 
 
 * He edited Shakespeare's works.
 
 EISK AND PROGRESS OF THE DRAMA. 41 
 
 were performed in honour of Dionysus, the great 
 symbolic deity of Earth, Heaven, and Hell, before he 
 received, in degenerate days, the unworthy name and 
 attributes of Bacchus. The plays of j3i]schylus, 
 the father of Tragedy, are so full of sublime and 
 spiritual conceptions, that, notwithstanding the dim 
 light in which his creations move, they convey 
 high instruction and admonition ; indeed, were it 
 not for the glory of his poetry, he might incur the 
 imputation of being distastefully moralizing and 
 transcendental. In the same way, we find that 
 Comedy arose from a joyous festival at harvest, 
 or rather at vintage-home, in which the grape- 
 gatherers acknowledged the bounty of the Giver 
 of all good with mystic dances, thanksgivings, 
 and sacrifices ; and ignorant and misguided as 
 those worshippers were, no one can read the 
 literature of their times without feeling con- 
 vinced that their piety, though false in direction, 
 was in many respects of a genuine and religious 
 character. 
 
 Notwithstandiuo; a lono- obscuration in the latter 
 age of Greece and Rome, the drama never entirely 
 lost its instructive and ethical character ; and we 
 find the Latin church availing itself of it in the 
 early part of the Middle Ages, for the representa- 
 tion of the most solemn scenes in our Saviour's 
 sufierings.
 
 42 THE ENGLISH DRAMA. 
 
 Those who have studied the transformations of 
 rehgion, or, as I should better say, the steps by 
 which false systems have changed into the true, 
 will admit that ancient customs have been very 
 often retained, although their signification has been 
 entirely altered.* The cause of the revival in this 
 case may have been the general recognition of the 
 influence of dramatic action and impersonation ; 
 but we may safely affirm that had the uses of the 
 stage been polluted, it would never have been 
 brought into connection with the Christian Church. 
 
 Our modern plays long retained a religious 
 character, and even in later years were used as a 
 vehicle for moral instruction. In tracing the rise 
 and progress of the English Drama, we cannot do 
 better than quote Mr. Harness's own words : — 
 
 "It is impossible for any art to have attained a 
 more rapid growth than was attained by the art of 
 dramatic writing in this country. The people had 
 indeed been long accustomed to a species of ex- 
 hibition called ' miracles ' or ' mysteries,' founded 
 
 * Many instances of adaptation will probably occur to the reader. 
 In the Early Church, we find a great attempt made to encumber 
 Christianity with Jewish ceremonies. The Komanists adopted those 
 of the surrounding Pagans. A remarkable continuance of the 
 sanctity of a locality is traceable at Le Puy; in the floor of the 
 cathedral lies the table-stone of a druidical dolmen ; in the walls are 
 fragments of a Roman Temple ; it is now Roman Catholic, and, we 
 must hope, will some day be Protestant.
 
 MYSTERIES AND MOIiALIT:ES. 43 
 
 on sacred subjects, and performed by the ministers 
 of religion themselves on the holy festivals in or 
 near the churches, and designed to instruct the 
 ignorant in the leading facts of sacred history.* 
 From the occasional introduction of allegorical 
 characters, such as Faith, Death, Hope, or Sin into 
 these religious dramas, representations of another 
 kind, called ' moralities,' had by degrees arisen, of 
 which the plots were more artificial, regular, and 
 connected, and which were entirely formed of such 
 personifications. But the first rough draught of a 
 regular tragedy and comedy that appeared, Lord 
 Sackville's ' Gorboduc,' and Still's * Gammer Gur- 
 ton's Needle,' were not produced till within the 
 latter half of the sixteenth century, and but little 
 more than twenty years previous to Shakespeare's 
 arrival in the metropolis. 
 
 "About that time the attention of the public 
 began to be more generally directed to the stage, 
 and it throve admirably beneath the cheerful beams 
 of popularity. The theatrical performances which 
 
 * Mr. Harness here adds a note to the effect that the most ancient 
 collection of this kind — the Chester mysteries — were not written by 
 Ealph Higden, as supposed by Warton, Malone and others ; but by 
 an earlier Ecclesiastic of Chester, named Randall, and that they 
 were first enacted between 1268 and 1276. In the Harl. MSS., we 
 read : " Exhibited at Chester in 1327, at the expense of the Trading 
 Companies of the City : The ' Fall of Lucifer,' by the Tanners ; 
 ' Abraham, Melchisedeck, and Lot,' by the Bai'bers ; the ' Purifica-
 
 44 THEATEES IN LONDON. 
 
 had, in tlie early part of the reign of Ehzabeth, been 
 exhibited on temporary stages, erected in such halls 
 or apartments as the actors could procure, or more 
 generally in the yards of the great inns, while the 
 spectators surveyed them from the windows and 
 galleries, began to be established in more con- 
 venient and permanent situations. About the year 
 1569 a regular play-house under the appropriate 
 name of ' The Theatre ' was built. It is supposed 
 to have stood somewhere in Blackfriars ; and three 
 years after the commencement of this establishment 
 (yielding to her inclination for the amusement of 
 the theatre, and disregarding the remonstrances of 
 the Puritans,) the Queen granted a license and 
 authority to the servants of the Earl of Leicester 
 * to use, exercise- and^occupie the arte and facultie 
 of playinge commedies, tragedies, interludes, stage- 
 playes, as well for the recreation of our lovinge 
 subjects as for our own solace and pleasure, when 
 we shall think good to see them, throughoute our 
 realm of England.' From this time the number of 
 theatres increased with the ripening taste and the 
 increasing demands of the people. Various noble- 
 
 tion,' by the Blacksranhs ; the ' Temptation,' by the Butchers ; 'The 
 Last Supper,' by the Bakers; the 'Descent into Hell,' by the 
 Cooks ; the ' Resurrection,' by the Skinners ; the ' Ascension,' by the 
 Tailors,' &c." We know not at how early a date these plays were 
 acted in the Latin Chui'ch. They were continued in Cornwall after 
 they had lost the support of the clergy.
 
 ENTHUSIASM FOE SHAKESPEAEE. 45 
 
 men liad tlieir respective companies of performers, 
 who were associated as tlieir servants, and acted 
 under their protection ; and during the period of 
 Shakespeare's theatrical career, not less than seven 
 principal play-houses were open in the metro- 
 polis." 
 
 Mr. Harness yielded to few in his enthusiasm for 
 Shakespeare, He was wont to say that his plays 
 contained almost everything. In his early years, 
 inspired with youthful ardour, he made a pilgrimage 
 to the birthplace of the great poet, and although he 
 started with the intention of staying there only four 
 days, he ended by remaining five weeks. He was 
 charmed with the place, and spent his time most 
 enjoyably in exploring the beauties of the country, 
 and in visiting the spots hallowed by the dramatist's 
 memory. He told me that at the close of one long 
 summer day, after returning from a walk to Anne 
 Hathaway's cottage, he took out his volume of 
 Shakespeare, which was his constant companion, and 
 opening it at " King John," became completely 
 absorbed in the tragic story. Time flew by rapidly 
 and unheeded, until warned by his waning lamp, he 
 started up and found that it was past midnight. 
 He went to the window ; the stars were shining 
 brightly in the clear sky and shedding their thin 
 light over the old gabled houses and lofty elm trees ; 
 the night was breezeless, and all was shrouded in
 
 46 HAENESS'S EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 silence. Suddenly the cliurcli clock struck one. 
 The deep booming reverberated tlirougli the still- 
 ness as though it would awake the spirits of the 
 past ; the hour and the scene were alike inspired. 
 Mr. Harness thought how " that great man " might 
 have listened to the same solemn stroke, and 
 recalled the lines : — 
 
 " The midniglit bell 
 Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth 
 Sound ' one ' unto the drowsy race of night."* 
 
 Mr. Harness found the inscription on Shakes- 
 peare's monument in a very imperfect condition. 
 He had it restored at his own expense. Above the 
 epitaph by Ben Jonson is the line : — 
 
 " Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem," 
 
 the false quantity in which offended Mr. Harness's 
 classical ear, and he proposed to substitute 
 " Sophoclem " for " Socratem." The mistake might 
 have been due to some ignorant copyist ; and the 
 genius of Shakespeare seemed as much allied to 
 that of the great tragedian as to that of the 
 philosopher. He much regretted that the original 
 colouring of the bust had not been allowed to 
 remain. 
 
 His Edition of Shakespeare was pubhshed by Mr. 
 Harness immediately after his appointment to St. 
 
 * Act iii. ; Scene 3.
 
 BIOGRAPHY OP SHAKE SPEAEE. 47 
 
 Pancras. It bad been prepared wlien ho was re- 
 siding at Hampstead, and had no parochial cure, 
 but onty Sunday duty in London. He did not 
 confine himself in his undertaking to merely addiug 
 notes to the text of the Poet ; but also pre- 
 fixed a Life, which occupied the first volume* 
 This biography was remarkable for its scrupulous 
 impartiality ; no such record being in his opinion 
 instructive or valuable, which was not absolutelv 
 faithful in all its details, and which did not chronicle 
 the frailties as well as the virtues of its subject. 
 Miss Mitford, in praising the work, says, *' I am 
 quite delighted with your edition of Shakespeare. 
 It must do. The ' Life ' is like the portrait affixed 
 to it ; the old beloved, well-known features which 
 we all have by heart, but inspired with a fresh 
 spirit." She objects, however, to his over-sensi- 
 tiveness and anxiety to notice all the invidious 
 alleofations made agj'ainst his author's fame. But 
 Mr. Harness thought it unworthy of the character 
 
 * Mr. Harness's Edition of Shakespeare was published in 1825, in 
 8 vols, octavo; a second edition, with plates, appeared in 1830; and 
 a third, with 40 plates by Heath, in 1833. In the latter year also 
 he published an edition in Imperial 4to, one volume, with 100 of 
 Boydell's plates ; and a one volume edition in Eoyal octavo was pub- 
 lished in 1836, and again in 1840 and 1842; the last reprint being 
 for the American market. The edition of 1840 is still sometimes to 
 be met with ; its only illustration is a very fine engraving of the 
 Cliandos portrait.
 
 48 shakespeaee's disposition. 
 
 of the great poet to allow liim to gain anything by 
 concealment ; and speaking of his early days at 
 Stratford, and of the probability that he assisted 
 his father in the unpoetical trade of a butcher, he 
 emphatically rejects " that absurd spirit of refine- 
 ment which is only too common among the writers 
 of biography, as well as history, and which induces 
 them to conceal or misrepresent every occurrence 
 which is at all of a humiliating nature, and does not 
 accord with those false and effeminate notions so 
 generally entertained respecting the dignity of that 
 peculiar class of composition." He, at the same 
 time, blames the severity with which Shakespeare's 
 early vagaries were punished by Sir Thomas Lucy. 
 " Every contemporary," he says, " who has spoken 
 of our author, has been lavish in the praise of his 
 temper and disposition. ' The gentle Shakespeare ' 
 seems to have been his distinguishing appellation. 
 No slight portion of our enthusiasm for his writings 
 may be traced to the fair picture which they present 
 of the author's character. We love the tenderness 
 of heart, the candour and openness and singleness 
 of mind, the largeness of sentiment, the liberality 
 of opinion, which the whole tenor of his works 
 proves him to have possessed. His faults seem to 
 have been the transient aberrations of a thou^-htless 
 moment, which reflection never failed to correct ; 
 the ebullition of high spirits might mislead him ;
 
 " WILL SHAKESPEARE !" 49 
 
 but the principles and the affections never swerved 
 from what was right. Against such a person, the 
 extreme severity of the magistrate should not have 
 been exerted. But the powerful enemy of Shake- 
 speare was not to be appeased ; the heart of the 
 Puritan or the game-preserver is very rarely formed 
 of ' penetrable stuff.' Our author fled from the 
 inflexible persecutions of his opponent to seek 
 shelter in the metropolis ; and he found friends and 
 wealth and fame where he had only hoped for an 
 asylum. Sir Thomas Lucy remained to enjoy tho 
 triumph of his victory, and he yet survives, in tho 
 character of Justice Shallow, as the laughing-stock 
 of posterity."* 
 
 " Shakespeare's first employment in connexion 
 with the theatre in London presents us with a 
 characteristic picture of the times. He was to 
 receive the horses of those who rode to the per- 
 formance, and was to hold them until the end of 
 the performance. He became, we are told, such a 
 favourite in this office that every one, when he 
 alighted, called out, ' Will Shakespeare !' and ho 
 soon was in such demand that he hired young men 
 
 * (Note by Mr. Harness.) " There can be no doubt that Justice 
 Shallow was designed as the representative of the Knight. If the 
 traditional authority of this fact were not quite satisfactory, the de- 
 scription of his coat of arms in the first scene of ' The Merry Wives 
 of Windsor,' which is, with very slight deviation, that of the Lucys, 
 would be sufficient to direct us to the original of the portrait. " 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 HIS IMPERSONATIONS. 
 
 to assist him, who would present themselves, 
 saying, 'I am Shakespeare's boy, Sir!' That the 
 above anecdote was really communicated by Pope," 
 adds Mr. Harness, " there is no room to doubt." 
 
 " But however inferior," he continues, " was the 
 situation which Shakespeare first occupied, his 
 talents were not long buried in obscurity. He 
 rapidly rose to the first station in the theatre, and 
 by the power of his genius raised our national 
 dramatic poetry, then in its infancy, to the highest 
 state of perfection which it is perhaps capable of 
 reaching." 
 
 Speaking of the characters played by Shakespeare, 
 Mr. Harness draws the following conclusions : — "^ It 
 would appear that the class Of characters to which 
 the histrionic exertions of Shakespeare were con- 
 fined was that of elderly persons — parts rather of 
 declamation than of passion. With a countenance 
 which, if any of his pictures is a genuine resem- 
 blance of him, we may adduce that one as our 
 authority for esteeming capable of every variety 
 of expression ; with a knowledge of the art which 
 rendered him fit to be the teacher of the first actors 
 of his day, and to instruct Joseph Taylor in the 
 character of ' Hamlet,' and John Lowine in that of 
 *King Henry the Eighth;' with such admirable 
 qualifications for pre-eminence, we must infer that 
 nothing but some personal defect could have reduced
 
 PERSONAL INFIRiriTY. 51 
 
 liim to limit the exercise of his powers, and even in 
 youth assume the slow and deliberate motion which 
 is the characteristic of old age. In his minor poems 
 we perhaps trace the origin of this direction of his 
 talents. It appears from two places in his Sonnets 
 that he was lamed by some accident. In the 37th 
 Sonnet he writes : — 
 
 ' So I made lame by Fortune's dearest spite.' 
 
 And in the 89th he again alludes to his infirmity, 
 
 and says, 
 
 ' Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt.' 
 
 This imperfection would necessarily have rendered 
 him unfit to appear as the representative of any 
 characters of youthful ardour, in which rapidity of 
 movement or violence of exertion was demanded, 
 and would oblige him to apply his powers to such, 
 parts as were compatible with his measured and 
 impeded action. Malone has most inefiBciently 
 attempted to explain away the palpable meaning of 
 the above lines, and adds, ' If Shakespeare was in 
 truth lame, he had it not in his power to halt oc- 
 casionally for this or any other purpose, the defect 
 must have been fixed and permanent.' Not so ! 
 Surely many an infirmity of the kind may be skil- 
 fully concealed, or only become visible in the 
 moments of hurried movement. Either Sir Walter 
 Scott or Lord Byron might, without any irapro- 
 
 E 2
 
 52 IMPERFECT STATE OF HIS WRITINGS 
 
 priety, have written the verses in question ; they 
 would have been apphcable to either of them. In- 
 deed the lameness of Lord Byron was exactly such 
 as Shakespeare's might have been ; and I remember, 
 as a boy, that he selected those speeches for de- 
 clamation which would not constrain him to the 
 use of such exertions as mis^ht obtrude the defect of 
 his person into notice." 
 
 These observations are interesting when we re- 
 member the writer's experience in his own infirmity. 
 
 Mr. Harness was accustomed to say that all that 
 Shakespeare wrote was good, but that many pas- 
 sages were attributed to him which were not au- 
 thentic. He explains his views on the corruptions 
 of the text in the followino^ words : 
 
 " If Shakespeare still appears to us the first of 
 poets, it is in spite of every possible disadvan- 
 tage to which his own sublime contempt of applause 
 had exposed his fame, from the ignorance, the 
 avarice, or the ofl&ciousness of his early editors. To 
 these causes it is to be ascribed that the writings 
 of Shakespeare have come down to us in a state 
 more imperfect than those of any other author of 
 his time, and requiring every exertion of critical 
 skill to illustrate and amend them. That so little 
 should be known with certainty of the history of 
 his life was the natural consequence of the events 
 which immediately followed his dissolution. It is
 
 AND BIOGEAPHY. 53 
 
 true that the age in which he flourished was little 
 curious about the lives of literary men; but our 
 ignorauce must not wholly be attributed to the 
 want of curiosity in the immediate successors of 
 the poet. The public mind soon became violently 
 agitated in the conflict of opposite opinions. Every 
 individual was called upon to take his stand as the 
 partisan of a religious or political faction. Each 
 was too intimately occupied with his personal 
 interest to find leisure for so peaceful a pursuit as 
 tracing the biography of a poet. If this was the 
 case during the time of civil commotion, under 
 the Puritanical dynasty of Cromwell the stage was 
 totally destroyed ; and the life of a dramatic author, 
 however eminent his merits, would not only have 
 been considered as a subject undeserving of inquiry, 
 but only worthy of contempt and abomination. 
 The genius of Shakespeare was dear to Milton and 
 to Dryden ; to a few lofty minds and gifted spirits ; 
 but it was dead to the multitude of his countrymen, 
 who, in their foolish bigotry, would have considered 
 their very houses polluted if they had contained a 
 copy of his works. 
 
 "After the Restoration these severe restric- 
 tions were relaxed; and, as is universally the 
 case, the counter-action was correspondent to the 
 action. The nation suddenly exchanged the rigid 
 austerity of Puritanism for the extreme of pro-
 
 64 PUKITY OF HIS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 fligacy and licentiousness. When the Drama was 
 revived, it existed no longer to inculcate such les- 
 sons of morality as were enforced by the contrition 
 of Macbeth, the purity of Isabel, or the suffer- 
 ing constancy of Imogen ; but to teach modesty to 
 blush at its own innocence, to corrupt the heart by 
 pictures of debauchery, and to exalt a gay selfish- 
 ness and daring sensuality above all that is noble in 
 principle and honourable in action. At this period 
 Shakespeare was forgotten. He wrote not for such 
 profligate times. His sentiments would have been 
 met by no correspondent feehngs in the breasts of 
 such audiences as were then collected within the 
 walls of the Metropolitan theatres, composed of men 
 who came to hear their vices flattered, and of 
 women masked, ashamed to show their faces at 
 representations which they were sufliciently aban- 
 doned to delight in. The jesting, lying, bold in- 
 triguing rake, whom Shakespeare had rendered 
 contemptible in Lucio, and hateful in lachimo, was 
 the very character that the dramatists of Charles's 
 time were painting after the model of the Court 
 favourites, and representing in false colours as a 
 deserving object of approbation. French taste and 
 French morals had banished our author from the 
 stage, and his name had faded from the memory of 
 the people. Tate, in his, altered play of "King 
 Lear," mentions the original, in his dedication, as
 
 TEMPOEAEY OBSCURATION. 65 
 
 an obscure piece. The author of the " Tatler," in 
 quoting some linos of " Macbeth," cites them from 
 the disfigured alteration of D'Avenant. The works 
 of Shakespeare were only read by those whom the 
 desire of literary plunder induced to pry into the 
 volumes of antiquated authors, with the hope of 
 discovering some neglected jewels that might be 
 clandestinely transferred to enrich their own po- 
 verty of invention ; and so little were the produc- 
 tions of the most gifted poet that ever ventured to 
 embark on the varying waters of the imagination 
 known to the generality of his countrymen, that 
 Otway stole the character of the Nurse, and all the 
 love-scenes of " Romeo and Juliet," and published 
 them as his own without the slightest acknowledg- 
 ment of the obligation or any apprehension of 
 detection. A better taste rt !:urned ; but when, 
 nearly a century after the death of Shakespeare, 
 Rowe undertook to superintend an edition of his 
 Plays, and to collect the memoirs of his life, the 
 race had passed away from whom any certain re- 
 collections of the great national poet might have 
 been gathered, and nothing better was to be ob- 
 tained than the slight notes of Aubrey, the scat- 
 tered hints of Oldys, the loose intimations which 
 had escaped from D'Avenant, and the vague reports 
 which Betterton had gleaned in his pilgrimage to 
 Stratford."
 
 56 EAELY THEATRES. 
 
 The following sketcli by Mr. Harness of tlie 
 manner in wliich the performances of the theatre 
 were conducted, affords an interesting picture of 
 the times : he was always fond of characteristic de- 
 tails : 
 
 " The * Globe ' and the playhouse in ' Blackfriars ' 
 were the property of the company to which Shakes- 
 peare was himself attached, and by whom all his 
 productions were exhibited. The ' Globe ' appears 
 to have been a wooden building, of a considerable 
 size, hexagonal without and circular within ; it was 
 thatched in part, but a large portion of the roof 
 was open to the weather. This was the company's 
 Summer theatre, and the plays were acted by day- 
 light. At the ' Blackfriars,' on the contrary, which 
 was the Winter theatre, the top was entirely closed, 
 and the performances were exhibited by candle- 
 light. In every other respect the economy and 
 usages of the houses appear to have been the same, 
 and to have resembled those of every other con- 
 temporary theatre. 
 
 " With respect to the interior arrangements there 
 were very few points of difference between our 
 modern theatres and those of the days of Shakes- 
 peare. The terms of admission indeed were con- 
 siderably cheaper ; to the boxes the entrance was a 
 shilling ; to the pit and galleries only sixpence ; 
 sixpence also was the price paid for stools upon the
 
 INTERNAL ARRANGEMENTS. 57 
 
 stasre : and these seats, as we learn from Dekker's 
 ' Gull's Hornbook,' were peculiarly affected by the 
 wits and critics of the time. The conduct of the 
 audience was less restrained by the sense of pubhc 
 decorum, and smoking tobacco, playing at cards, 
 eating and drinkiug, were generally prevalent 
 among them. The hour of performance also was 
 earlier ; the play beginning at first at one, and 
 afterwards at three o'clock in the afternoon. During 
 the time of representation a flag was unfurled at 
 the top of the theatre, and the floor of the stage (as 
 was the case with every floor at the time from the 
 cottage to the palace) was strewn with rushes. 
 But in other respects, the ancient theatres seem to 
 have been very nearly similar to those of modern 
 times ; they had their pit, where the inferior class 
 of spectators, the ' groundlings,' vented their cla- 
 morous censure or approbation; they had their 
 boxes, to which the right of exclusive admission 
 was hired by the night for the more wealthy and 
 refined portion of the audience; and there were 
 again the galleries or scafiblds above the boxes, for 
 those who were content to purchase inferior accom- 
 modation at a cheaper rate. " On the stage, the 
 arrangements appear to have been nearly the same 
 as at present ; the curtain divided the audience from 
 the actors, which at the third sounding — not indeed 
 of the bell, but of the trumpet — was withdrawn
 
 58 USE OF SCENERY. 
 
 for the commencement of tine performance. With 
 regard to the use of scenery, it is scarcely possible, 
 from the very circumstances of the case^ that such 
 a contrivance should have escaped our ancestors. 
 All the materials were ready to their hands ; they 
 had not to invent for themselves, but to adapt an 
 old invention to their purposes, and at a time when 
 every better apartment was adorned with tapestry ; 
 when even the rooms of the commonest taverns 
 were hung with painted cloths ; while all the 
 essentials of scenery were continually before their 
 eyes, we can hardly believe our forefathers to 
 have been so deficient in ingenuity as never to 
 have conceived the design of converting the com- 
 mon ornaments of their walls into the decorations 
 of their theatres. Mr. Gilford, who adheres to 
 Malone's opinion, says, ' A table, with a pen and 
 ink thrust in, signified that the stage was a count- 
 in e- house : if these were withdrawn and two stools 
 put in their places, it was then a tavern;' and 
 this might be satisfactory as long as the business of 
 the play was supposed to be passing within doors ; 
 but when it was removed to the open air, such 
 meagre devices would no longer be sufficient to guide 
 the imagination of the audience, and some new 
 method must have been adopted to indicate the 
 place of action. After giving the subject consider- 
 able attention, I cannot help thinking that Steevens
 
 CAST BY THE KEMi!LES. 59 
 
 was riglit in rejecting the evidence of Malone, and 
 concluding that the spectators were, as at the 
 present day, assisted in following the progress of 
 the story by means of painted and moveable 
 scenery o"* 
 
 It must be remembered that, in the days in which. 
 Mr. Harness wrote, the legitimate drama had not 
 yet been superseded by extravagant and ephemeral 
 representations. A charge of pedantry might have 
 been brought against the stage with more justice 
 than one of frivolity. The theatres, of which there 
 were but two, were not places for idleness and 
 dissipation, but for study and intellectual enjoy- 
 ment. There were then no stalls ; nor did the pit 
 offer that cheap rate of accommodation which has 
 tempted managers to introduce performances of a 
 broad and tawdry character. Moreover, the lovers 
 of Shakespeare could then have their taste gratified 
 to an extent which has since been impossible. The 
 works of the great dramatist were rightly repre- 
 sented by the combined talent of the Kemble 
 family. Under them, the stage became a source of 
 high moral, as well as artistic, instruction. Never, 
 since the days of classic Attica had the drama 
 
 * This opinion is confirmed by the ancient stage directions. In 
 the folio Shakespeare, of 1623, we read ' Enter Brutus, in his 
 orchard;' 'Enter Timon, in the woods;' 'Enter Timon, from Mb- 
 cave.'
 
 GO MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 struck so deeply the finer chords of the human 
 heart ; and the well-read volume was as frequent in 
 the pit as was the white handkerchief in the gilded 
 tiers. So jealous at this time were the audience of 
 the fame of the great dramatist, that I have been 
 told that the omission of a single hue, or even of a 
 word, would call forth an immediate expression of 
 disapproval. The proud sovereign of this assemblage 
 of high-born women and scholarly men was no 
 less a person than Mrs. Siddons, who seems to 
 have enjoyed a celebrity verging upon adoration. 
 At her appearance enthusiastic applause rang 
 through the crowded house. None who had not 
 seen her could ever realize the impression she 
 made. As she walked the stage like one of Nature's 
 queens, all could understand the dignity of motion 
 implied in Virgil's expression : 
 
 '* Incessu patuit dea." 
 
 Campbell speaks of " her lofty beauty, her grace- 
 ful walk and gesture." And when we add to this 
 the charm of her fl.exible and expressive voice, we 
 cannot be suprised at the admiration she awakened. 
 Few who saw her ever forgot her. Crabbe 
 Eobinson used to say that he prided himself 
 on three things ; he had been intimate with Gothe, 
 he had made a walking tour with Wordsworth, and 
 he had seen Mrs. Siddons. Mr. Harness could not
 
 M:iS. SIDDONS. 61 
 
 be less deeply impressed by one who so eloquently 
 interpreted his favourite oracle ; and as niiglit have 
 been expected, ha regarded her performance from a 
 critical point of view. " Her high judgment 
 watched over her qualifications." " It was not merely 
 her appearance that gave her such power," observed 
 Mr. Harness, " she owed much to her persevering 
 industry. She admitted to me one day, in reply to 
 a question, that, although it might sound egotistical 
 for her to say it, she did not think that there would 
 be again such an impersonation of Calista* as her 
 own, taking into consideration the voice, the use of 
 the stage, and above all the laborious stiidy." On 
 a later occasion, when he was referring to the 
 excellence of her intonation, she observed that 
 over-exertion in large theatres had injured her 
 power of expression, which was much greater in her 
 earlier days. The perfection at which she had 
 arrived in her art, and the skill with which she 
 equalled Nature, may be estimated from a reply 
 made to Mr. Harness by a well-known critic, when 
 he observed that Mrs. Siddons had played her part 
 with spirit on the previous night. " Yes," returned 
 his friend, "but I never before saw her so much 
 like an actress." 
 
 Mr. Harness related the following anecdote in 
 which the conduct of the great actress was very 
 
 * A part in " The Fair Penitent " for which she was celebrated.
 
 62 ENTHUSIASM FOR THE STAGE. 
 
 characteristic. He was dining at Lord Lonsdale's, 
 and among the company were Mrs. Siddons and 
 Mr. and Miss Edgeworth. Mr. Edgeworth, who 
 was sitting next to Mrs. Siddons, Sam Rogers 
 being on the other side of her, observed after dinner, 
 " Madam, I think I saw you perform Millamont 
 thirty-five years ago." "Pardon me, sir." "Oh! 
 then it was forty years ago ; I distinctly recollect 
 it." "You will excuse me, sir, I never played 
 Millamont." "Oh, yes, ma'am, I recollect." "I 
 think," she replied, turning to Mr. Rogers, " it is 
 time for me to change my place," and she rose with 
 her own peculiar dignity.* 
 
 The enthusiasm for the stage which prevailed at 
 that day can scarcely be understood at present. 
 As there were no numbered seats in the pit, 
 those who entered first took the best places. The 
 performance commenced at six o'clock, and as early 
 as two in the afternoon the play-goers began to 
 collect outside the theatre. Two old gentlemen in 
 Mr. Harness's recollection were especially con- 
 spicuous from always posting themselves early 
 against the doors. As they had to wait several 
 hours, and found the time hang heavily, they 
 adopted the good idea of bringing a portable chess- 
 
 * This incident is said, by Crabbe Eobinson, to have occurred at 
 Mr. Sotheby's; but there was some confusion in his mind on the 
 subject. It was related to him by Mr. Harness.
 
 DRAMATIC CRITTOISM. 63 
 
 board with tliem. Thus they whiled away the time 
 in alternate checkmates until the clock struck the 
 magic hour, when they put up their board, folded 
 their arms, and made ready for the rush to secure 
 the fi^ont seats. 
 
 Mr. Harness objected much to the over-in- 
 quisitive spirit which some critics have evinced in 
 the study of Shakespeare. In a review in the 
 Quarterly of " Hunter on the * Tempest,' " in which 
 he blames the writer for his persistent endeavours 
 to define the localities mentioned in that play ; he 
 writes as follows : — 
 
 " The island was called into existence by a far 
 more potent magician than even Prospero ; and 
 ' like the baseless fabric of a vision ' melted ^ into 
 thin air,' leaving ' no rack behind,' with a deep and 
 solemn sound of funeral music, on the 23rd April, 
 1G16, the day when that mighty master died. 
 After the departure of Prospero and Miranda, it 
 was never visited again by any human creature. 
 The unearthly inhabitants possessed it altogether 
 till the hour of its dissolution. They were then 
 variously dispersed. Caliban, clinging to one of 
 the largest logs which Ferdinand had so industri- 
 ously piled up, but which had never been ' burnt,' 
 was floated on it in safety to the coast of Algiers. 
 Ariel, with all his subtle company, the ' elves of 
 hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,' clapping
 
 64 DRAMATIC CRITICISM. 
 
 their tiny hands, and singing ' Where the bee sucks' 
 in sweetest melody and fullest chorus, flitter away 
 delighted to meet the spirit of the great magician 
 from whose fancy they had derived their life and being, 
 and to pour forth their gratulations around him as ho 
 ascended on his upward way to regions more bright 
 and pure and ethereal than any to which they even 
 * in their pride of flight ' could venture to aspire. 
 Since that happy hour they have all dwelt in 
 harmony together in one of the fairest and most 
 secluded valleys of ' Araby the Blest.' We know 
 the spot ; but for worlds we would not be wicked 
 enough to deliver them over in their merry ignor- 
 ance to the tender mercies of the commentators. 
 Were we to let fall the slightest hint of the position 
 of their melodious home, we are well aware that 
 Mr. Hunter or Mr. Rodd, or both those gentlemen 
 together, would start off to Rotherhithe to-morrow 
 morning, would hire a steamer and go paddling 
 away in a cloud of thick black smoke in pursuit of 
 them ; and having reached the spot, they would, 
 without the least sense of compunction, gather the 
 sweetest blossoms that Ariel ever sucked his honey 
 from and crush them between the leaves of their 
 hortus siccus; they would hunt down the innocent 
 spirits themselves ; they would scare them with 
 unearthly sounds ; they would catch them with 
 bird-limed twigs and butterfly nets, run pins through
 
 THE KEMBI.ES IN AMEEICA. 65 
 
 their delicate bodies, fix them to the bottoms of 
 glazed boxes, and bear them away in triumph to be 
 deposited as curiosities among the natural history 
 shelves of the British Museum." 
 
 Macready lost, as he said, £2,000 a year owing 
 to an article written by Mr. Harness in the Quar- 
 terhj. So much weight had his critiques with the 
 public of the day. 
 
 The following letters are interesting as giving an 
 account of the Kembles' visit to America : — 
 
 To the Bev. William Karness, 
 
 " Boston, Sunday, May 5th, 1833. 
 
 " Do not imagine that I have any intention of 
 letting you forget me, my dear Mr. Harness, or 
 that I mean to delegate to newspapers, and such 
 like unsatisfactory channels of information, the 
 task of keeping my recollection alive with you. I 
 certainly have suffered a tolerably long interval to 
 escape since the writing of my first epistle; but 
 that it did not follow from thence that I never 
 meant to write to you again, this is proof. If I 
 were to ask you all the questions I should like 
 answered with regard to things in general, and 
 particularly in my poor dear little country, I might 
 fill my letter with one huge note of interrogation, 
 and leave you to answer all that is ' being, doing 
 and suffering ' in England ; but I rather think some
 
 66 THE KEMBLES IN AMEEIOA. 
 
 account of ourselves might be more satisfactory to 
 you ; and so, according to your noble and poetical 
 friend, * Here goes !' (By-the-by, his Life by Moore 
 is a terrible pity ; why couldn't his works be left to 
 speak for him ? They are his best record after alL) 
 
 " We are all in excellent health, except that my 
 
 father is lame and cross, D sleepy and cross, 
 
 and I purely cross, and nothing else. With regard 
 to my father's lameness, he caught it — or, rather, 
 it caught him — by the calf of the leg, in the act of 
 springing off the stage after me, in Benedick. 
 'Tis an accident of no great importance — a sprain 
 or fracture of one or two of the smaller fibres in 
 the leg, which makes him go a little haltingly just 
 now, but is not likely to inconvenience him long. 
 As for all the other ailments, that is the crossness, 
 'tis owing to a bitter bleak east wind, which is the 
 only air that blows in Boston, and keeps us all in a 
 state of misanthropy and universal dissatisfaction. 
 Perhaps, under these circumstances, I had better 
 have deferred writing to you ; but, had I waited 
 till the wind changed its quarter, I must have 
 waited till we returned to New York; for Boston 
 is the abiding place of the east wind. 
 
 " Our houses, wherever we go, are very fine ; 
 our business most successful. The people and 
 places vie with each other in kindness and civility to 
 us ; and as for me, I am so praised, so admired, so
 
 THE KEMBLES I-S AMERICA. 67 
 
 courted, and so flattered, that I am thrown into the 
 depths of humility, sometimes, 'when I come to 
 consider my own unworthiness ; and only fear that 
 at last I shall acquire such an idea of my own ex- 
 cellence, importance, and admirableness that I 
 shall come to the conviction that ' the world is mine 
 oyster.' Seriously, I am sometimes perplexed at 
 the universal kindness and almost affection that is 
 expressed towards me, when I cannot help feeling 
 that indeed I have done nothing really to deserve 
 it. However, thank God for it ! And as for the 
 desert, why perhaps it is with me as with the man 
 who said he did not know whether he could play on 
 the fiddle or not, for he'd never tried. 
 
 " Boston is a Yankee town, which I daresay is 
 as much as you know about it ; but, Sir, 'tis more- 
 over the wealthiest town in the Union ; 'tis. Sir, the 
 most helles-letterish and blue town in the Union ; 
 'tis. Sir, the most aristocratic town in the Union, 
 and decidedly bears the greatest resemblance to an 
 English town of any I have seen. The country 
 round it, too, is more like a bit of the old land 
 than anything I have yet seen ; and, though some 
 of the wild romantic scenery round Philadelphia 
 enchanted me very much, the white clean cottages, 
 the blossoming apple-trees and flowering garden- 
 plots of the villages round this place have recalled 
 England more vividly, and given me more pleasure 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE KEMBLES IN AMEEICA. 
 
 than anything I have yet seen. The society is a 
 httle stiff; they have, unfortunately, a reputation 
 in this good town for superior intellect, and are 
 proportionately starched and stupid. However, to 
 have known Webster, and even Audubon, is in itself 
 somethiug; and though Channing has been obliged 
 by ill-health to leave Boston for the South, 
 I trust yet to have the privilege of knowing 
 him — who, I think, reflects more honour ou his 
 native city than all its other superiorities put to- 
 gether. 
 
 " We act every night here but Saturday. I 
 grumble dreadfully at this hard work — not because 
 it tires me, but because I am idle and like two 
 holidays in a week. However, when I consider 
 that every night lost is a large sum of money lost 
 (for our profits are very great) I am willing to give 
 up my laziness, so long as the work is not too much 
 either for my father or myself. I take an amazing 
 quantity of exercise on horseback ; 'tis meat and 
 drink and sleep to me, and affords me, moreover, 
 the best opportunity of seeing the country, which 
 one never does well in a carriage ; and 'tis quite en- 
 tertaining to see how, before I have been a fort- 
 night in a place, all the women are getting into 
 riding-skirts and up upon horses. I have received 
 ever so many thanks for the improved health of the 
 ladies here who, since my arrival, are all horseback-
 
 THE KEMELES IN AMEKICA. 69 
 
 mad; and I truly tliink a good shaking does a 
 woman good in every way. 
 
 " I have acted several new parts since I have 
 been in this new world; Katherine, the Shrew, which 
 I do pretty well, Bizarre, which I also do pretty 
 well, but particularly the dancing — Violante in 
 ' The Wonder,' which I do worse than anything that 
 can be seen, and Mary Copp in ' Charles the 
 Second,' which I do very fairly well, leaving out 
 the singing. Bianca seems to be my favourite part 
 with the public, in tragedy, and Julia in the 
 ' Hunchback,' in comedy. I hear Knowles has 
 written another play with a magnificent woman's 
 part. Of course we shall have it out here before 
 long ; I am curious to see it. 
 
 " I have seen Washington Irving several times 
 since I have been in this country. He is idolized 
 here, and talks of settling himself in some little 
 sunnv nook on the Hudson — that broadest, britrhtest 
 river in the world. He is very delightful, a most 
 happy, cheerful, benevolent, simple person. His 
 absence of seventeen years from this country has 
 produced changes in it which seem to fill him with 
 amazement and admiration. And, indeed, 'tis a most 
 marvellous country ! It stands unparalleled under 
 every aspect in which it can be considered, and 
 presents one of the most interesting and extra- 
 ordinary subjects of contemplation that the eye of
 
 70 THE KEMBLES IN AMKRICA. 
 
 a politician, or the more extensive gaze of a philo- 
 sopher, can scan. A land peopled, as this has been, 
 by the overflowings of all other lands ; to the south 
 colonized by the adventurous but thrifty younger 
 branches of noble families of England, and in great 
 measure also by men whose vices and crimes, as well 
 as their utter poverty, drove them to find shelter 
 away from the society whose laws they had out- 
 raged; to the north, again, this new world owing 
 its first civilized inhabitants to the purest and 
 loftiest spirit of Freedom — the holiest and most 
 steadfast spirit of Eeligion (emanating from En- 
 gland, too) ; and all having received their first dawn 
 of civilization from bodies of men differing from each 
 other in object, in religious faith, in country and 
 lineage : a whole continent thus strangely reclaimed 
 from utter savageness, and in the process of a cen- 
 tury and a half becoming, from a desolate and utter 
 wilderness, a great political existence, taking a 
 firm and honourable station among the powers of 
 the world. A land abounding in cultivation, civili- 
 zation, populous towns, full of wealth, of business, 
 of trade, of importance ; vast ports receiving the 
 flags of every nation under Heaven ; to see huge 
 ocean steamboats carrying hundreds of people to 
 and fro every hour along the Hudson, the St. Law- 
 rence, the Mississippi, whose waters, a hundred 
 years ago, were never visited but by the Indian
 
 THE KEMBLES IN AMERICA. 71 
 
 canoe ; to see forests felled, and towns arising, rail- 
 ways and canals traversing and connecting what 
 were wild tracts of interminable wood and waste ; 
 to see life, and all its wonderful arts and sciences, 
 reclaiming these vast solitudes to the uses of man 
 and the purposes of civilized existence : this mighty 
 operation which is at this instant going on under 
 our very eyes makes this country one of great 
 interest, of admiration, of anxious observation to 
 all the world. 'Tis a marvellous country indeed ! 
 
 " Bless my soul, I didn't mean to be cross* to 
 you, because that's an infliction ! Don't you wish 
 that you and I wrote better hands? Pray, dear 
 Mr. Harness, if you have time to spare, write to 
 me again ; it pleases me to hear from England, and 
 it pleases me to hear from you. 
 
 " For I am very truly, and with great regard, 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " Fanny Kemble." 
 
 To tJw Bev. W. Harness. 
 
 "New York, 24th April, 1834 
 
 " My dear friend, 
 
 " When I left England I promised I would write 
 
 to you, and I am ashamed that I have so long 
 
 neglected to redeem my promise ; but I rely upon 
 
 your good-nature to excuse me, although I confess 
 
 * The last page of the letter is crossed.
 
 72 THE KEMBLES IN AMEEICA. 
 
 I hardly deserve forgiveness. Fanny, I know, has 
 already told you all that we have seen and done ; so 
 that you have not been left in ignorance of our pro- 
 ceedings by my sin of omission. Pray, which are 
 considered more deadly by Divines, sins of omis- 
 sion, or sins of commission ? You will not have 
 time to answer me on this point before we meet ; 
 therefore, I must seek for information from my 
 friends of the cloth in this hemisphere — Dr. Wain- 
 wriglit or Dr. Channing : both learned men and 
 pious Christians. Wainwright, with whom I am 
 better acquainted than I am with Channing, seems 
 to me more of a man of the world ; he mixes with 
 general society, and is a well-bred, liberal clergy- 
 man, an Episcopalian, and likely to become the 
 next Bishop of Boston. Channing, you know, is 
 a Unitarian, a mild, engaging person in discourse, 
 an eloquent and impressive preacher in the pulpit. 
 Wainwright is a good preacher, too ; he has much 
 more physical power than Channing, but in my 
 opinion is far his inferior in point of intellect. 
 
 " So much for the leaders in your profession. 
 For those in mine, you are almost as well ac- 
 quainted with their merits as I am. Mr. Booth, 
 as well as Mr. Hamblin, you must have seen in 
 England ; and Mr. Forrest you will probably see, 
 for report says he is to visit London. He is in per- 
 son of Herculean proportions, fitter, in appear-
 
 THE KEMBLES IN AMERICA. 73 
 
 ance, for a drayman or a porter than an actor. I 
 have seen him but in two parts, Pierre, which he 
 acted indifferently well ; the other, Oroloosa, an 
 Indian; in the representation of which characters 
 he has acquired his reputation. There was an 
 American of the name of Scott, whom I preferred, 
 in the same tragedy ; but he is thought by his 
 countrymen very inferior to Forrest. There are two 
 favourite actresses, too, not very distinguished for 
 talent. Miss Vincent and Miss Clifton : the latter 
 is a very tall but beautiful girl. 
 
 " We hope to find you and your dear sister 
 at home when we reach Loudon. We did intend 
 to sail from New York on the IGth of June, but, 
 for the advantages of a superior ship and a more 
 agreeable captain, we have been induced to post- 
 pone our departure until the 24th of June : so pray 
 look out for the arrival of the ' United States/ 
 commanded by Captain Holdritch. How happy 
 Fanny's friends will be to see her once more before 
 she is married, won't they ? The legitimate drama 
 will have another chance, I hope, of resuscitation ; 
 and we shall both at least take leave of the British 
 stage in a manner worthy of the house of Kemble ! 
 
 " God bless you ! give my affectionate regard to 
 your dear sister ; and believe me, my very dear 
 friend, unalterably yours, 
 
 " C. Kemble.
 
 ^4 CHARLES KEAN. 
 
 " Fanny has told you of the irreparable loss we 
 have sustained by the death of her aunt. May all 
 our deaths be as peaceful and as happy !" 
 
 Mr. Harness took little interest in the drama of 
 the present day. Low comedy and scenic effects 
 were his aversion ; and he was wont to say that 
 acting was now a debased art. He still knew a 
 few of the elder members of the histrionic profes- 
 sion, and especially Charles Kean, for whom he 
 had- a great personal regard. He remarked how 
 much he had done to raise the social character of 
 the stage, and was deeply affected when he was 
 sent for to attend his friend in his last hours. He 
 had an equal esteem for Mrs. Kean. Referring to 
 her kindness and good-nature, he said that she took 
 great interest in the little children who came to act 
 in the pantomimes, and that she used to teach them 
 their Catechism between the pieces, thus endeavour- 
 ing to compensate for their loss of regular instruc- 
 tion. Mr. Harness's schools, Uke many others 
 in London, suffered much from the withdrawal 
 of little pupils in the Winter. On first entering his 
 schools at Knightsbridge, after the Christmas 
 holidays, he inquired why the attendance was so 
 small? "Because, Sir," replied the teacher, "so 
 many of the children are gone to bo angels !"
 
 75 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHARADES BY MK. HARNESS AND MISS MITFORD. — MAGAZINE ARTICLES. — 
 EDITION OF MASSINGER COMMENCED. — DRAMATIC POEMS. — MEMORIALS 
 OP CATHERINE FANSHAWE. 
 
 DuKiNG Mr. Harness's residence at Hampstead, 
 in what may be termed the hohday period of his 
 life, he occasionally indulged his fancy in the com- 
 position of short poems, such as were then in fashion 
 and were considered to add grace and sentiment to 
 the routine of correspondence. In his intercourse 
 with his friends he also found another way of con- 
 tributing to the entertainment and sociability of 
 those around him. Many of his young lady ac- 
 quaintances were proficient in acting charades, and 
 found much pleasure in such exercises of ingenuity. 
 As he was known to be a man of taste, he was soon 
 called upon to use his skill for their benefit, and he 
 accordingly planned a somewhat more elaborate per- 
 formance than they had hitherto tried, by the intro- 
 duction of a little dramatic scene and dialogue to 
 represent each word. The attempt was successful,
 
 76 CHARADES. 
 
 and Mr. Harness's charades met with considerable 
 approbation. 
 
 Miss Mitford was one of those who were most 
 pleased with his idea, and as she was then writing for 
 the magazines, requested permission to publish some 
 of his charades in Blackwood. This was granted ; for, 
 although Mr. Harness wished to keep them for the 
 use of his own friends, he was unwilling to lose any 
 opportunity of affording pecuniary assistance to his 
 early companion. They accordingly appeared in the 
 year 1826 ; Miss Mitford adopting Mr. Harness's 
 plans, and developing them with her own facility of 
 expression. " I enclose my charades," she writes to 
 him, " which, in all but their faults, might more pro- 
 perly be called yours.'' In a letter written at this 
 time, Mr. Harness thus alludes to them, and gives 
 some interesting^ details about his interview with 
 Deville the phrenologist : — 
 
 " My dear Miss Mitford, 
 " Send me the charades, and I will forward them to 
 Blachivood. T have not a doubt of their doing your 
 opera at Covent Garden, if Charles find it likely to 
 succeed — which, from the nature of the story, must, 
 I should think, be the case. I really think Deville 
 was right about my head ; and right, in fact, even 
 when he appeared to be wrong in his description. 
 For instance, he said that I should be offended by
 
 PHRENOLOGY. 77 
 
 glaring colours, which, is not the case. I have 
 the eyes of colours, but am extremely annoyed by 
 colours that don't harmonize, though I am rather 
 fond of strong colours. I forget whether, in my 
 hurry of writing to you, I told you of his extraor- 
 dinary exposition of the character of my friend 
 Newman's little boy. The child went with me; 
 and Deville having told me the propensities of the 
 child's character, said, ' There is one thing very re- 
 markable in this boy's head ; I never saw any 
 English child with the perceptive organs so strongly 
 marked. In general, the EngUsh have strong re- 
 flection, and the Foreigners strong perception ; but 
 in this boy there is an exact and beautiful equality 
 subsisting between the two. His mother is, as you 
 know, a Portuguese. This was an admirable hit. 
 
 By-the-by, would it not be better to reserve your 
 charades for your novel ? They would take as new, 
 and, at the present time, novelty of incident is the 
 very thing that novels want. 
 
 "With kindest remembrances to Dr. and Mrs. 
 Mitford. 
 
 Best love, 
 Yours ever most faithfully, 
 William Harness." 
 
 One of these charades formed a complete little 
 drama of the time of the Commonwealth. The word
 
 ^^ * EEVERSES.' 
 
 was " Match-lock," and the personas a Puritan's 
 daughter, a Cavaher, and the irritable old Puritan 
 himself. The last of the series published was com- 
 posed entirely by Miss Mitford. Tt was on " Black- 
 wood," and gave an exquisite specimen of the 
 authoress's poetic talent, and of her power in de- 
 scribing sylvan scenery. 
 
 In the following year (1827) Mr. Harness pub- 
 lished in Blackwood's Magazine a little story, 
 possessing interest as advocating that cheerful 
 view of life which was so congenial to his tempera- 
 ment. The hero of the tale commences in the 
 following joyous mood : — 
 
 " I was alone; my heart beat lightly ; my pulse 
 was quickened by the exercise of the morning ; my 
 blood flowed freely through my veins as meeting 
 with no checks or impediments to its current, and 
 my spirits were elated by a multitude of happy 
 remembrances and of brilliant hopes." Everything 
 seemed to him delightful ; even the fire at which he 
 sat. " ' What capital coals these are' (he breaks 
 forth), * there is nothing in the world so cheering — 
 so enlivening — as a good hot, blazing sea-coal 
 fire.' I broke a large lump into fragments with 
 the poker as T spoke. 'It's all mighty fine,' I 
 continued, ' for us travellers to harangue the ignor- 
 ant on the beauty of foreign cities, of their buildings 
 without dust, and their skies without a cloud ; but
 
 ' EEVEKSES.' 79 
 
 for my own part, I like i-o sec a dark, thick, heavy 
 atmosphere hanging over a town. It forewarns the 
 traveller of his approach to the habitations, the 
 business, and the comforts of his civilized fellow- 
 creatures. It gives an air of grandeur and im- 
 portance and mystery to the scene. It conciHates 
 our respect : we know that there must be some fire 
 where there is so much smoke.' I confirmed my 
 argument in favour of our metropolitan obscurity 
 by another stroke of the poker against the largest 
 fragment of the broken coal ; and then, letting fall 
 my weapon and turning my back to the fire, I ex- 
 claimed, * Certainly — there's no kind of furniture 
 like books ; nothing else can afibrd one an equal 
 air of comfort and habituality. Such a resource 
 too ! A man never feels alone in a library. He 
 lives surrounded by companions who stand ever 
 obedient to his call, coinciding with every caprice of 
 temper, and harmonizing with every turn and dis- 
 position of the mind. Yes ! I love my books ; 
 they are my friends — my counsellors — my com- 
 panions ! Yes ! I have a real personal attachment, 
 a very tender regard for my books !' " 
 
 Those who knew Mr. Harness's cheerful tempera- 
 ment, and remember how well the walls of his rooms 
 were lined with the works of great men, may easily 
 imagine that he was here speaking his own senti- 
 ments. The story, which is named " Reverses,'*
 
 80 ' REVERSES.' 
 
 proceeds to narrate that the joyous bachelor has just 
 sold his estates for £80,000, and is about to be 
 married to the most lovely and accomplished of 
 woman-kind. After a delicious dream about white 
 favours and bridal festivities, he is awakened next 
 morning by his valet, who is the bearer of the over- 
 whelming intelligence that his solicitor, into whose 
 hands the £80,000 had just been paid, had ab- 
 sconded during the night. Our jubilant hero is in a 
 moment prostrated. He betakes himself to his 
 solicitor's partner, but finds him only full of his 
 own misfortunes. He calls upon his old school- 
 fellow, Fraser, but finds he has left town, and the 
 servant intimates that his friend went off in haste 
 on hearing of the disaster. Luttrell — such was our 
 hero's name — returns to his lodgings in the lowest 
 despondency. Everything seemed lost; but still, as 
 he pondered over his misfortunes, one bright image 
 presented itself to him. " My fortune is gone," he 
 exclaimed; "my friend has deserted me; but 
 Maria ! thou, dearest, still remainest true to me ! 
 I'll tranquiUize my mind with the sweet counse] of 
 your daily letter, and then proceed to deliberate and 
 act for myself." To his dismay, no letter arrived ! 
 Maria, then, had deserted him in his distress, and 
 had been unable to bear so severe a test ! His 
 misery was now at its height ; but as he strode 
 about his room he caught the eye of his Newfound-
 
 ' REVERSES.' 81 
 
 laud dog fixed wistfully and tenderly upon liim. 
 "Yes, Neptune," he cried, "everything on earth 
 lias forsaken me, except you — you, alone, my good 
 and faithful dog are constant to me in my hours of 
 affliction." 
 
 He now began to take a misanthropic view of 
 life, and in his fever of excitement thanked Heaven 
 for the calamity which had befallen him, as it had 
 shown him the true character of those he had un- 
 wisely trusted. He meditated suicide, and actually 
 left his home with a pistol in his pocket. Having 
 been accustomed to row on the river he w^ent down 
 to his boat, as he thought he should thus escape 
 from observing eyes. His dog alone accompanied 
 him, and he pulled rapidly past Chelsea. Ceasing 
 to row, and beginning again to declaim against the 
 depravity of the world, he at length so much irri- 
 tated his canine friend, who was lying in the bot- 
 tom of the boat, that the dog growled. " Right ! 
 right !" he exclaimed. " My very dog turns against 
 me !" In his desperation he seized the animal and 
 attempted to fling him into the water : he lost his 
 balance in the attempt, and being unable to swim 
 would have been inevitably drowned but for the 
 assistance of his belied companion. Thus preserved 
 fi^om a watery grave, and somewhat sobered by the 
 cold immersion, he began, when seated on the bank, 
 to take a more moderate view of the world in
 
 82 « EEVEESES.' 
 
 gGDeral. The noble act of bis clog, wliom he intended 
 to shoot, caused him to feel humbled and self-con- 
 demned. He made his way home in a different 
 mood from that in which he had started, and on his 
 arrival found a note from his Maria, explaining why 
 she had not written on the previous day, and saying 
 that, although their income would be greatly dimi- 
 nished, there would, she was sure, be no diminution 
 of their united happiness. Soon afterwards, a 
 knock came at the door. It was no other than 
 Eraser, whose sudden disappearance was owing to 
 his having started in pursuit of his friend's abscond- 
 ing attorney. He had overtaken him, horsewhipped 
 him, and recovered the money. The tale ends in 
 the same genial tone with which it commenced, and 
 Luttrell exclaims enthusiastically. " The world's a 
 good world — the women are all true, the friends are 
 all faithful, and the dogs are all attached and 
 staunch ; and if any individual is induced at any 
 moment to hold an opposite opinion, depend upon 
 it that unhappy man is deluded by false appear- 
 ances, and that a little inquiry would convince him 
 of his mistake." 
 
 Speaking of this story, Miss Mitford remarks, 
 " How capital ' Reverses ' was ! I don't know 
 when I have been so delighted with anything. The 
 tone of fashion, and the little air of laughing at 
 fashion even whilst adopting it, were admirable,
 
 EDITION OF MASSINGER. 83 
 
 and you and your books are done to the life ; only 
 you should not have thought of shooting the New- 
 foundland. But the conclusion makes amends for 
 all, and is so like your own real manner that I 
 should have known it for yours anywhere." 
 
 Mr. Harness entirely sympathised with Miss Mit- 
 ford in her warm feelings towards her friends, and 
 indeed towards mankind in general, but did not 
 follow her in her devotion to animals. He was wont 
 to say that we should not bestow upon the lower 
 creation what was rightly due to the higher ; and 
 for this reason he objected to Byron's epitaph, on 
 his dog, saying that it was an unfair aspersion on 
 mankind, and that we received from our friends 
 fully as much regard as our own conduct towards 
 them deserved. 
 
 The success which attended Mr. Harness's edition 
 of Shakespeare, and the knowledge he possessed of 
 the beauties of our earlier literature, induced Mr. 
 Murray to propose that he should publish a family 
 edition of the works of the elder dramatists. The 
 merits of these writings had been long obscured, 
 if not ignored, owing to the coarse expressions 
 which occasionally disfigure their pages, and which 
 were due to the rude vocabulary of that unrefined 
 ao-e. The fault was not, as Mr. Harness observes, 
 properly attributable to the writers themselves, who 
 merely adopted the ordinary phraseology : " The 
 
 G '2
 
 84 EDITION OF MASSINGEE. 
 
 old Englisli dramatists, the friends and contem- 
 poraries of Shakespeare, have contributed one of 
 the most valuable portions to the poetic literature 
 of our country. But, abounding as they do in 
 wit and fancy, in force and copiousness of expres- 
 sion, in truth and variety of character, in rapid 
 change of incident, in striking and interesting 
 situations, and above all in justice and elevation of 
 sentiment, their works are totally unknown to the 
 generality of readers, and are only found in the. 
 hands of the adventurous few who have deviated 
 from the beaten paths of study to explore for them- 
 selves less familiar and exhausted tracts of literary 
 amusement. The neglect of these authors, in an 
 aofe so favourable to works of imasfination as the 
 present, can only be ascribed to that occasional 
 coarseness of language which intermixes with and 
 pollutes the breath of their most exquisite scenes. 
 For what may be termed the licentiousness of the 
 stage, for immorality of principle, for that offence 
 which was transplanted from France to England 
 with the Court of Charles the Second, our old dra- 
 matists do not require the aid of any apologist. 
 They are innocent of attempting to confound the 
 notion of right and wrong, or of seeking to influ- 
 ence the bad passions of our nature against the 
 first great principles of morals. These were the 
 corruptions of a later and more vicious age."
 
 EEL AX ATI ON. 85 
 
 Mr. Harness never completed tlie ^ork whicli lie 
 commenced. The duties of his large London parish 
 now fully occupied his time; and although the 
 remuneration was some object to him, he finally 
 relinquished the undertaking, after the publica- 
 tion of the four first volumes of " Massinger's 
 Plays." 
 
 To the love of more serious study Mr. Harness 
 united an artist's appreciation of the beauty of 
 form and colour. When he closed his heavy tomes 
 of learned theoloo:v and left their subdued lio^ht, he 
 opened the more sunny pages of the Book of 
 Nature and walked abroad by streams and mountain 
 sides, with a heart full of fresh and joyous im- 
 pulses. No one enjoyed his short holiday ramble 
 more thoroughly than he; and whether he strolled 
 along the banks of the legendary Loire, or througli 
 the intricate windings of some antique Dutch town, 
 or, nearer home, explored the mountain regions of 
 Wales or Cumberland, he always brought back 
 some interesting sketches as remembrances of his 
 summer excursion. 
 
 On one occasion, during his earlier London 
 duty, he returned with an unusually rich collection 
 from Holland, and in 1837 he composed a dramatic 
 poem, the scenes of which were laid in Antwerp. 
 The story was one of love; a silken and shghtly- 
 woveu tissue, little valued or elaborated by its
 
 86 DEAMATIC rOEM. 
 
 author. It contained, nevertheless, some fine 
 sentiments and graceful descriptions ; as where, 
 for instance, the happy old age of Kessel, a 
 rich burgher of Antwerp is thus pictured : 
 
 Steinhault. Whose eye more bright, whose spirit is more 
 
 gay, 
 
 Whose step more firm, whose heart more warm, thau Kessel's r 
 
 With you a green and vigorous old age 
 
 Throws off the burden of its many years, 
 
 Disdaining Time's shght malice. Eighty winters. 
 
 As shadows on some noble monument, 
 
 Have fall'n and passed and done you no disservice ! 
 
 Kessel. Mark me, my friend, my course of life has been 
 Most highly favoured, a serene repose. 
 Free from disturbing passions ; a sweet calm 
 Of kindness and prosperity and honour ; 
 A holiday voyage along a sunny stream ; 
 A summer's day, of which the moonlight eve 
 Wears the noon's brightness, though the sun has set. 
 In this tranquillity the lamp of being 
 Burns with a steady and unvarying flame, 
 And none observes how wastes the oil within. 
 I — I alone — perceive the weakening force 
 Of life's high energies — I only feel 
 The sense of my decline. Let all things rest 
 Prosperous and bright around me as they are. 
 And some years longer maj- old Kessel live 
 To welcome at his board the friends he loves : 
 But peace is now essential to existence ; 
 I have no strength for conflict. Should afiliction 
 Lay its hard hand upon me, I well know 
 The spirit's gone which might have struggled with it, 
 And sorrow's touch would be the stroke of death. 
 
 I
 
 DRAMATIC POEM. 87 
 
 Some of the lines, interpreted by late events, 
 seem almost prophetic :* 
 
 " Show me the city, howe'er rich and feared, 
 Secure in men and arms, fenced up to heaven, 
 And in her massive walls impregnable. 
 Which holy wedlock holds in slight respect ; 
 And I, a sure interpreter of fate, 
 Judging the future by the past, will tell 
 Where the foe lurks in subtle ambushment. 
 That shall her deep foundations undermine, 
 O'erclimb her lofty bulwarks, drain her wealth. 
 Quench in enervating licentiousness 
 The valour of her sons, to bondage lead them. 
 And on the barren plain or sounding shore 
 Leave her the ruined haunt of savage creatures !" 
 
 Further on the same subject is again touched 
 upon : 
 
 " Of a fair tree the elder poets speak 
 Which — while it stands entire — bears lovely blossoms, 
 And fruit according ; but, if haply thence 
 A branch, a bud, a leaf be broken off, 
 The whole plant withering dies : and even such — 
 So beautiful of growth, so frail of being — 
 Is marriage happiness. Its mutual trust 
 In the faith of each to each, firm and entire. 
 It is the sovereign gift of all the bounties 
 Heaven hath awarded man. But once impair, 
 
 * SiJeaking of France, Mr. Harness said that he did not enjoy 
 Paris, as it seemed to be the city of the idle. " The French," he 
 added, referring to their civil commotions — " don't know what they 
 want, and will never be satisfied till they get it."
 
 88 DRAMATIC POEM. 
 
 E'en in the least degree, that confidence 
 Which is its vital principle, and straight 
 Earth's fairest flower perishes away, 
 Never to bloom again." 
 
 Mr. Harness read this poem to Lady Dacre, an 
 intimate friend, and one of the Hterary authorities 
 of the day. He probably preferred submitting it 
 to a lady, as she would be a better judge in social 
 matters. Lady Dacre desired to have the MS. for 
 her private perusal, and having succeeded in de- 
 ciphering the author's enigmatical handwriting, 
 sent him the following critique on the work. 
 
 " The Hoc, Nov. 8, 1832. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Harness, 
 " If I had not known you had another copy of 
 ' The Wife of Antwerp,' I should have been in a 
 great fidget about keeping this so long. I always 
 meant to send it to London by Mrs. Ellice, and her 
 departure is fixed for next Tuesday. At her house 
 then (57, Park Street, Grosvenor Square) you will 
 find it ; and she bids me say she will be delighted 
 to see you, and that you must call for it, and that 
 she will not send it to you. I studied the play and 
 made myself mistress of the handwriting, and read 
 it off like print to our party, who were all exceed- 
 ingly pleased and interested by it. Have you made 
 any alterations since you read it here ? It is much
 
 CRITIQUE BY LADY DACRE. 81) 
 
 too good to be laid aside in disgust, as you seem 
 half inclined to do. And yet I think you might im- 
 prove it, in what I consider the mere drudgery of 
 the business. You have poetry, passion, situation, 
 and strong interest ; only look to the dove-tailing, 
 the accounting for things as they take place. You 
 are quite right in avoiding divided affections in a 
 woman who is to interest (her own sex at least), but 
 any degree of timidity or female softness may be ad- 
 missible in a very young girl. * * * 
 
 " These are merely loose suggestions for your 
 better judgment. If they set you thinking your own 
 thoughts (for they must be your own for you to ex- 
 press them effectively), I have done all I wished. 
 We have so many heroines with grand characters and 
 high sentiments, why not give interest to what is 
 most weakly feminine ? * * * Now, think away, and 
 if anything should occur that may improve the mere 
 management of the incidents of the play, don't be 
 idle. If you should be so kind as to write to say 
 you have received the MS., and forgive all my 
 nonsense, pray say a word of Mr. Kemble and 
 others in the New World. 
 
 '' Yours truly, 
 
 "B. Dacre. 
 
 " Pray excuse this incoherent scrawl ; I am in 
 company, and talking to several others as well as to
 
 90 REVIEW. 
 
 you ; and never could bring myself to write a letter 
 over again in ray life." 
 
 Mr. Harness Lad not sufficient confidence or am- 
 bition to be induced to publish upon such uncertain 
 commendation. He determined to commit the 
 poem to the flames, but, in the act of destruc- 
 tion, his hand was fortunately arrested by his 
 old friend, Mr. Dyce. This discriminating gentle- 
 man, familiarly versed in the beauties of the elder 
 poets, saw much to admire in this composition, and 
 at his request Mr. Harness had it printed for private 
 circulation, and, as in duty bound, dedicated it to 
 its preserver. Its title was changed to that of 
 " Welcome and Farewell ;" and it was reviewed 
 in the " Quarterly," where long extracts from 
 it were given. The article terminated with the 
 words : — 
 
 " Thus closes this very pleasing specimen — not 
 indeed of the highest kind of drama — it is not 
 tragedy, which 'in her gorgeous pall comes sweep- 
 ing by' — but of a simple and affecting household 
 story thrown with great skill into a dramatic form. 
 And we cannot conclude without remarking that 
 which ought hardly to be, but unhappily, in the 
 present state of our imaginative literature, is a dis- 
 tinctive excellence, the pure and healthful moral 
 tone which prevails throughout the poem. There
 
 CRITIQUE BY MISS MTTFOPvD. 91 
 
 is nothing of the cold and elaborate propriety of a 
 writer wishing to create a favourable impression of 
 his own character, and seizing every opportunity of 
 inculcating trite and obvious truth ; but the genuine 
 and spontaneous impulse of a good and pure heart, 
 speaking in every sentiment, and tempering every 
 expression." 
 
 Miss Mitford in the following letter speaks of her 
 friend's production with her characteristic en- 
 thusiasm : — 
 
 " Thi-ee Mile Cross, November 4th, 1839. 
 
 " My dear Friend, 
 " Let me thank you most sincerely and heartily 
 for the thrice beautiful play. I have read it with 
 equal pride and pleasure — a triumphant pleasure in 
 such an evidence of the sweet and gentle power of 
 my oldest and, I might almost say, my kindesu 
 friend. It breathes the spirit of the old dramatists 
 from first to last, especially of Heywood, whose 
 ' Woman killed with Kindness ' is forcibly recalled ; 
 but by that sort of resemblance which springs from 
 a congeniality of talent, and makes one say, ' Hey- 
 wood might have written this, although there is 
 much more of the letter of poetry, more finished and 
 beautiful passages, than can be found in any single 
 play of the ' Prose Shakespeare.' I do not know 
 when I have read a drama which bore such evi-
 
 92 CRITIQUE BY MISS MITFORD. 
 
 clence of tlie author's mind, so good, so pure, so 
 indulgent, so gentlemanly. Lady Dacre told me 
 that it was full of beauty ; but I did not expect so 
 much poetry, and I feel sincerely grateful to Mr. 
 Dyce (whom I always liked very heartily on his 
 own account) for rescuing this charming play from 
 the flames. When I said that I had not for a long 
 time seen a drama so full of the author, I fibbed 
 unconsciously, for it is into plays that authors do 
 put their very selves. The character of Kessel is 
 very beautiful and original, and the high-minded 
 Albert, and poor, poor Margaret, have made me 
 cry more than I can tell. At all events, I rejoice to 
 have it printed. It fixes you in the same high 
 position poetically that you have always occupied 
 socially and professionally. It is a thing for your 
 friends to be proud of, in every sense of the word. 
 If the tableaux go on, I shall come to you for a 
 dramatic scene. Has that book been sent yet ? 
 You will be very much pleased with Miss Barrett's 
 ballad, in spite of a little want of clearness, and 
 with Mr. Proctor's spirited poem. In short, it is 
 the only book bearing my name of which I was 
 ever proud ; but if we go on, I shall be still prouder 
 next year to have you added to my list of poets 
 and friends. What a thing it is, by mere self- 
 postponement and sympathy in the claims of others, 
 to have hidden such a gift ! It is just like what your
 
 *THE FIEST BORN.' 93 
 
 sister does, who — cleverer and better than half her 
 acquaintances — always speaks of her^ If as no- 
 body. 
 
 " God bless you ! A thousand thanks for all 
 your kindness. 
 
 " Ever most faithfully yours, 
 
 " M. R. MlTFOED." 
 
 On a later occasion, during an excursion in Wales 
 in 1843, Mr. Harness composed a play, which on 
 his return he printed and dedicated to Lord Lans- 
 downe. This poem, although in a dramatic form, 
 more resembles a Bucolic or Georgic, and is prin- 
 cipally remarkable for the picturesque country 
 sketches with which it abounds. Mr. Harness does 
 not seem to claim for it any niche in the Temple of 
 Thalia, when he merely refers to it as " Scenes 
 written last Autumn during some solitary walks at 
 the Lakes and in North Wales." The dialoo-ue 
 commences in a harvest field when the work of the 
 sickle is being suspended, owing to a contention 
 between two young reapers — George and Walter. 
 The immediate cause of the dissension is that 
 George has been taunting Walter with his unknown 
 parentage ; but the true origin of the mischief is as 
 usual — a woman. George has known and b( en 
 devoted to his cousin Mary from childhood ; and 
 he thus touchingly records their intimacy : —
 
 94 ' THE FIRST BORN.' 
 
 " When first my father 
 Purchased the farm hard by, she was an infant. 
 And I a boy not more than ten years old ; 
 Yet then I loved her. When sent here, 
 As oft I was, on errands from my home, 
 'Twas my delight to see that, as I entered. 
 She would spring forth and spread her little arms 
 And laugh aloud, and try to come to me. 
 Even from her mother's lap. As she grew up, 
 And 'gau to walk alone, she'd take my hand. 
 And stroll for hours about the fields and lanes. 
 Gathering the wild rose and the eglantine. 
 As I bent down the branches to her reach. 
 In all my boyhood's light and stirring hours. 
 There was no spot i' th' green, nor chase a-field — 
 Though well I loved them — gave me half the joy 
 I found in idling with that soft-eyed child. 
 And when with feigned reluctance I forbore, 
 She, with her pretty wiles and promised kisses. 
 Would woo me still to be her playfellow. 
 Then afterwards, in all her school-day troubles, 
 To me she ran to hide her bursting tears ; 
 In all her school-day triumphs, first to me 
 Would run to show the prize she had obtained ; 
 Nor did she wish for any living thing — 
 Kitten, or bird, or squirrel from the wood, 
 To cast her girlish care and fondness on, 
 But Cousin George must seek it. And, till Walter 
 Began to train his slight and delicate limbs 
 To our field labours, and to haunt the farm 
 With his soft voice and gently flowing speech. 
 His rhymes of love, to suit old scraps of tunes, 
 His tales of distant lauds and former times, 
 Conn'd from the Vicar's book, her kindness never 
 Knew shadow of abatement or caprice. 
 
 But Walter, conscious of the untoward circum-
 
 'THE FIRST BORN.' 95 
 
 stances of his bii*th, has never dared to confess his 
 ]ove, althoagh Marj, who loves George oily as a 
 brother, evidently ftivours him. Changing the scene, 
 we have some rapid and telling repartee between Sir 
 Charles Tracy and Lady EUinor his wife, because 
 he will not allow her to frequent the gay Court of 
 Charles the Second. Lady Ellinor exhibits all the 
 predilections and prejudices of a lady of fashion, 
 and her worldly wisdom is a foil for Sir Charles's 
 unambitious contentment. Sir Charles remarks 
 that the poor enjoy many blessings unknown to 
 the rich, and in the following passage we observe 
 some of Mr. Harness's own sentiments : — 
 
 Lady Ellinok. Does your philosophy contemplate, then, 
 In its next transformation, to reduce 
 Our state to the condition you admire 
 And test their happiness ? 
 
 Sir Charles. 'Twere all in vain. 
 
 The simple bliss enjoyed by simple people. 
 Once forfeited, can never be reclaimed. 
 Learning, refinement, arts, inducing wants 
 Foreign to nature, opening a wider scope 
 For objects vague, for wishes infinite, 
 For aspirations after viewless things. 
 Teach us to scorn the blessings at our feet. 
 And long for some vast, undefined delights. 
 Which, if existent, never can be reached. 
 Knowledge, a doubtful acquisition, shedding 
 Its light upon our souls, like Psyche's lamp. 
 Expels the good best suited to their nature. 
 And yields no reparation for its loss.
 
 TG ' THE FIRST BOKN.' 
 
 Walter is really their son, wlio is supposed to 
 be dead. The discovery, and the meeting be- 
 tween him and Lady Ellinor's son is drawn with 
 great power and delicacy. She disapproves his 
 engagement to Mary, a yeoman's daughter, and 
 wishes him to become the head of an abbey in 
 France. He replies that his faith precludes him 
 from such fulfilment. 
 
 Lady Ellinou. Deem you, then, 
 
 The church your glorious forefathers all died in, 
 And millions of your fellow-Christians live. 
 Is, as the shallow Puritan asserts, 
 A second Babylon — an Antichrist ? 
 So young, a bigot! 
 
 Walter. I am not ignorant 
 
 She still maintains the faith, but so obscured 
 By the accumulated superstitions gathered 
 In the dark lapse of former centuries, 
 That truth lies hid beneath the crust of error. 
 Like a fair statue negligently kept. 
 Till overgrowing moss and envious lichens 
 Mar and conceal its beauty. I have never 
 Reproached her with hard epithets ; but must 
 Avoid all falsehood, and adhere to Truth ! 
 
 Further on, in the high sentiments expressed by 
 Sir Charles, we trace the author's free and natural 
 turn of mind; and in the commendation of a re- 
 tired country life we are reminded of his predilec- 
 tions :
 
 ' THE FIRST BORN.' 97 
 
 Sir Charles. Oh, Ellinor, there's a nobility — 
 Decked with no orders, by no titles marked — 
 Which far, in its essential excellence, 
 Transcends the paltry dignity conferred 
 By th' herald's blazoned scroll and doiibtful lore. 
 
 Lady Ellinor. And resides where ? 
 
 Sir Charles. Among our neighbours round. 
 
 Lady Ellinor. Indeed ! so near at hand ! 
 
 Sir Charles. For centuries 
 
 The families of these our villagers. 
 The honest son the honest sire succeeding, 
 In the same lowly tenements have dwelt, 
 And spent their lives in tilling the same fields. 
 
 Lady Ellinor. A novel patent of nobility ! 
 
 Sir Charles. Age after age their line has been prolonged 
 From times beyond the date of history. 
 
 Lady Ellinor. A dull and spiritless herd unknown to fame, 
 Because they lacked the virtues that aspire ! 
 
 Sir Charles. Rather, unknown to fame because their souls, 
 By vice unstained, from selfish passion free, 
 In humble occupations found content 
 And in the home-afiections placed their joys ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I hold that honour honourably won, 
 
 Titles and coronets, renown and station. 
 
 Afford the purest stimulants to action, 
 
 Which men, untouched by heavenward desires. 
 
 Can raise their hopes or bend their efforts to. 
 
 But glittering orders and proud appellations 
 
 Are but as stigmas when the unworthy wear them; 
 
 And to degenerate from a father's greatness, 
 
 To soil the badge of honour with foul acts, 
 
 To shame by vice the rank by virtue won. 
 
 To have the state which speaks a gentleman, 
 
 Yet want the generous, humble, kindly spirit 
 
 H
 
 98 'THE FIRST BOEN.' 
 
 Imported in the name — stamps a reproach 
 On the base scion of a noble stock, 
 Which sinks him so much lower than the people, 
 As were the heights above them whence he fell ! 
 
 The engagement between Walter and Mary, 
 though much against Lady ElUnor's wishes, is 
 finally agreed to, and Sir Charles assigns the young 
 couple a residence at " Aber by the sea," hard by 
 
 the Menai's sparkling straits, 
 Where, with its satellite isle, fair Anglesea 
 Rests on a plain of waters, which beyond 
 Blend with the distant sky ; while to the east, 
 Huge Penmaenmawr, and mountains further still. 
 That girdle in old Conway's quiet bay, 
 Bask in the full light of the setting sun ; 
 And Bangor's hallowed towers and solemn woods 
 Rise in deep shade toward the glowing West. 
 
 There is a healthy tone in this poem ; free and 
 wide as are the views it advocates, it never tends to 
 unsettle the mind, but teaches a wholesome lesson 
 of contentment and moderation. 
 
 Dm^ing the holiday excursion to the Lakes of Cum- 
 berland, in which the above " scenes" were written, 
 Mr. Harness visited Southey and Wordsworth, with 
 whom he had become previously acquainted. Southey 
 he described to me as a man of middle height, with 
 keen eyes and a large nose. His library pre- 
 sented a strange appearance, being full of books 
 which his daughter had bound in stamped cotton
 
 'vii:M)En.LS OF CATHERINE TANSHAWE.' 99 
 
 I'Dd inscribed with their names in markinsr ink. 
 '' He lived too much alone," Mr. Harness observed, 
 *' but in his state of softening of the brain was 
 unfit to marry." Wordsworth lived nearer Amble- 
 side. Mr. Harness liked his old-fashioned resi- 
 dence. It had been a farm-house, added to, and in 
 the dining-room the kitchen-range and oven re- 
 mained. 
 
 One of the undertakings of Mr. Harness's later 
 years was the preparation, for private circulation, of 
 the Memorials of Miss Catherine Fanshawe. This 
 lady had been one of his most intimate friends, and 
 had even proposed to make him her heir, but he 
 refused the offer, averring that he could not endure 
 the thought that lie should in any way benefit 
 by her death. He was often wont to say that he 
 could not understand the desire which some persons 
 evinced to obtain legacies ; for, as he well observed, 
 it was impossible to receive one without incurrino- 
 the loss of a friend more valuable than any money 
 thus acquired. Miss Fanshawe accordingly only 
 made him the bequest of her etchings and manu- 
 scripts, which he gladly accepted. From these Mr. 
 Harness compiled a small volume of " Memorials," 
 to rescue her memory from the oblivion which 
 threatened it. Those who have only heard of her in 
 connection with the riddle on the letter H, have little 
 idea of the range of her endowments or the elegance 
 
 H 2
 
 100 'memorials op CATHERINE FANSHAWE.' 
 
 of her taste. Mr. Harness speaks with affectiooate 
 remembrance of " her varied accomphshments, her 
 acute perception of the beautiful, her playful fancy, 
 her charming conversation, her gentle and retiring 
 manners, her lively sympathy with the sorrows and 
 the joys of others, and, above all, her simple piety ;" 
 and he observes that she was a cherished member 
 of that society, not very extended, but intimately 
 united by a common love of literature, art, and 
 science, which existed in Loudon at the close of the 
 last and the opening of the present centuries, and 
 which, perhaps, " taken for all in all, has never been 
 surpassed." 
 
 Miss Fanshawe's poems and sketches evince a 
 considerable appreciation of humour. One of the 
 latter, representing an evening party some eighty 
 years since, with two politicians gesticulating before 
 the fire-place, surrounded by a languid knot of fops 
 and dandies, while the ladies are left to themselves, 
 dosing and yawning behind their fans at the other 
 end of the room, might, but for tlie quaintness of 
 costume, remind us of many similar festivities at the 
 present day. But Miss Fanshawe's great success 
 lay in her delineation of children, of whose varying 
 moods and expressions of countenance she seems to 
 have possessed an admirable perception. Many 
 charming groups of them are here photographed 
 from her sketches.
 
 * MEJIOrJALS OP CATUEiilNE FAA'SHAWE.' 101 
 
 The celebrated riddle by which Miss Fanshawe is 
 best known arose, Mr. Harness said, from an ac- 
 cidental conversation at the Deep Dene. Mr. Hope 
 was at the time entertaining with his usual liberality 
 a number of eminent and literary friends, and in the 
 course of the evenins;' some remarks turned the con- 
 versation upon the letter H, and the unworthy treat- 
 ment it received in the centre of metropolitan civil- 
 ization. The party retired soon afterwards, but the 
 subject of discussion had touched Miss Fanshawe's 
 ingenious fancy, and while others slept her mind 
 was busily employed. Next morning at breakfast 
 she brought down the poem and read it to the de- 
 lighted and astonished guests : — 
 
 " 'Twas whispered* in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell. 
 
 And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell ; 
 
 On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest. 
 
 And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed. 
 
 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder, 
 
 Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder. 
 
 'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath, 
 
 Attends at his birth, and awaits him in death ; 
 
 Presides o'er his happiness, honour and health ; 
 
 Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. 
 
 In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care. 
 
 But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir. 
 
 It begins every hope, every wish it must bound. 
 
 With the husbandman toils, with the monarch is crowned. 
 
 * Mr. Harness said that the original commenced : 
 " Twas in Heaven pi'onounced."
 
 102 * MEMORIALS OF CATHERINE EANSHAWE.' 
 
 Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam, 
 
 But woe to the wretch that expeis it from home ! 
 
 In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found, 
 
 Nor e'en in the whirlpool of passion be drowned. 
 
 'Twill not soften the heart; but, though deaf be the ear, 
 
 It will make it acutely and instantly hear. 
 
 Yet in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower ; 
 
 Ah ! breathe on it softly — it dies in an hour." 
 
 These lines thus first introduced were soon well- 
 known and admired tlirougliout the country, and 
 from their style and curious felicity were attributed 
 to Byron, the popular poet of the age. They after- 
 wards crept into some foreign editions of his works, 
 and are even at the present day often ascribed to 
 him. 
 
 One of the odes in this volume records the 
 lecture delivered by Sydney Smith on " The Sub- 
 lime," and the gay dresses and toilettes of his fair 
 audience. There is much wit and elegance in the 
 poem, which is after the manner of Gray ; but it 
 was only suggested by Miss Fanshawe, and written 
 by Miss Berry. (Mr. Harness often met this lady 
 in society ; she received the sobriquet of Black- 
 berry from her dark eyes, and to distinguish her 
 from her sister, who received the uncomplimentary 
 title of Goose-berry). 
 
 The following specimen of Miss Fanshawe's 
 humorous talent was much admired by one of the 
 late Prime Ministers :
 
 * MEMORIALS OF CATHETilNE FANSIIAWE.' 3 OS 
 
 SPEECH OF TEE MEMBER FOR OLDHAM. 
 
 Mr. Cobbett asked leave to bring in very soon 
 
 A Bill to abolish the sun and the moon. 
 
 The Honourable Member proceeded to state 
 
 Some arguments used in a former debate. 
 
 The heavenly bodies, like those upon earth, 
 
 Had, he said, been corrupt from the day of their birth ; 
 
 With reckless profusion expending the light. 
 
 One after another, by day and by night. 
 
 And what classes enjoyed it ? The upper alone , 
 
 Upon such they had always exclusively shone : 
 
 But when had they ever emitted a spark 
 
 For the people who toil underground, in the dark — 
 
 The people of England, the miners and borers, 
 
 Of earth's hidden treasures the skilful explorers ? 
 
 But their minds were enlightening ; they learn every hour 
 
 That discussion is knowledge, and knowledge is power. 
 
 Long humbled and crushed, like a giant they rise. 
 
 And sweep off the cobwebs that darken the skies ; 
 
 To sunshine and moonshine their duties assign. 
 
 And claim equal rights for the mountain and mine. 
 
 Turn to other departments. High time to inquire 
 What abuses exist in air, water, and fire. 
 Why keep up volcanoes ? that idle display ! 
 That pageant was all very well in its day ; 
 But the reign of utility now has commenced. 
 And wisdom with such exhibitions dispensed. 
 When so many were starving with cold, it was cruel 
 To make such a waste of good fire and fuel. 
 As for Nature, how little experience had taught her 
 Appeared in the administration of water. 
 Was so noble a capital duly employed ? 
 Or was it by few (if by any) enjoyed?
 
 104 SlEMOKTALS OP CATHERINE FANSHAWE.' 
 
 Poured on marshes and fens which were better without, 
 
 While pasture and arable perished for drought ; 
 
 When flagrant injustice so often occurs 
 
 Abler hands must be wanted and younger than hers ; 
 
 ITot to speak of old Ocean's insatiable needs, 
 
 Or of seas so ill-ploughed they bear nothing but weeds. 
 
 At some future day he perhaps should be able 
 To lay the details of their cost on the table. 
 At present, no longer the House to detain, 
 He'd confine his remarks to the subject of rain. 
 Was it wanted ? A more economical plan, 
 More equably working, more useful to man. 
 In this age of improvement might surely be found. 
 By which all would be sprinkled, and none would be drowned. 
 He would boldly appeal to the nation's good sense, 
 Not to sanction this useless, enormous expense. 
 If the wind did but shift, if a cloud did but lower, 
 What millions of rain-drops were spent in a shower ? 
 Let them burst through the shackles of wind and of weather, 
 Do away with the office of rain altogether ; 
 Let the whole be remodelled on principles new, 
 And consolidate half the old funds into dew. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 He hoped that the House a few minutes would spare 
 While he offered some brief observations on air. 
 Not the sun nor the moon, nor earth, water, or fire, 
 Nor Tories themselves when with Whigs they conspire. 
 Were half so unjust, so despotic, so blind. 
 So deaf to the cries and the claims of mankind, 
 As air and his wicked prime minister, wind. 
 Goes forth the despoiler, consuming the rations 
 Designed for the lungs of unborn generations ! 
 What a waste of the elements made in a storm ! 
 And all this comes on in the teeth of Reform ! 
 Hail, lightning, and thunder, in volleys and peals ! 
 The tropics are trembling, the universe reels ;
 
 *MEMOKL\LS OF CATKF.EINE FANSIIAWE.' 105 
 
 Come whirlwind and hurricane, tempest, tornadoes. 
 
 Woe! woe! to Antigua, Jamaica, Barbadoes ! 
 
 Plantations uprooted, and sugar dissolved ; 
 
 Rum, coffee, and spice in ruin involved ; 
 
 And while the Caribbees were ruined and rifled, 
 
 Not a breeze reached Guiana, and England was stifled ! 
 
 Rate all that exists at its practical worth — 
 'Twas a system of humbug from heaven to earth ! 
 These abuses must cease — they had lasted too long; 
 Was there anything right ? Was not everything wrong ? 
 The crown was too costly, the Church was a curse ; 
 Old Parliaments bad, Reformed Parliaments worse ; 
 All revenues ill-managed, all wants ill-provided ; 
 Equality, liberty, justice derided ! 
 But the people of England no more would endure 
 Any remedy short of a Radical cure. 
 Instructed, united, a nation of Sages 
 Would look with contempt on the wisdom of ages ; 
 Provide for the world a more just legislature. 
 And impose an agrarian law upon Nature. 
 
 In speaking of Cobbett's private life, Mr. Har- 
 ness observed that he was somewhat tyrannical in his 
 own house, and not, as Sir H. Bulwer states, 
 " under petticoat goverDment."
 
 106 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PAMSH DUTIES. — SUCCESS IlSf THE PULPIT. — STYLE AND DELIVERY. — 
 ATTACHMENT TO THE CHUKCH OF ENGLAND. — CAUSES OF RITUALISM. — 
 UNIMPORTANT DISTINCTIONS. — DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN. — 
 OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS. — SKETCH OF OLD ENGLISH PATRIARCHAL 
 LIFE — PSALMODY. 
 
 The most conspicuous period in Mr, Harness's 
 career commenced on liis removal to London. He 
 was at this time private chaplain to the Dowager 
 Countess Delaware, and became successively morn- 
 ing Preacher at Trinity Chapel, Conduit Street, and 
 Minister and Evening Lecturer at St. Ann's, Soho ; 
 appointments which proved how much his talent as 
 a preacher was esteemed. A note casually jotted 
 down on the back of one of his sermon cases, in 
 commiseration of some country visitors, bears in- 
 cidental testimony that even at this early stage he 
 commanded the confidence of the most eminent 
 clergymen in the metropolis :— " Sept. 7, 1823 : I 
 preached to-day at St. George's, St. Pancras, and 
 the Magdalen, and was heard at each place by the 
 same party from the country, who went to St. Greorge's 
 to hear the Dean of Carlisle, to St. Pancras to hear
 
 PEEFERMENT. 
 
 107 
 
 Moore, and to tlie Magdalen tc bear Pitman ! Poor 
 creatures ! tliey were ignorant tliat the great preachers 
 are away in September !" In 1825, Mr. Harness 
 was appointed Minister of Regent Square Chapel, St. 
 Pancras, an important and arduous post, which he 
 occupied for twenty years. His success in the pulpit 
 was the principal cause of his being selected for it ; 
 and during his time the chapel was densely crowded, 
 not only by parishioners, but by members of other 
 congregations. A large increase took place in 
 the pew-rents, but unfortunately he did not 
 profit by it, for his stipend was limited to £400 a 
 year, the surplus being appropriated to the support 
 of other places of worship. He was obliged, out 
 of that sum, to provide two curates, and to contri- 
 bute to the charitable relief of a population of 
 20,000 souls ; so that, taken on the whole, he 
 found his clerical remuneration less than when he 
 was only a curate on £60 a year. 
 
 Mr. Harness was, from this time, enrolled among 
 the most able and popular preachers of the day. He 
 had continually invitations to preach at neighbour- 
 ing churches, and young clergymen attended to take 
 notes of his sermons, many of which were afterwards 
 printed at the express desire of the congregation.* 
 
 * lu a letter to Mr. Harness, dated 1832, I find the following 
 request, somewhat characteristic of the times : — " A friend of mine in 
 a distant part of the country has been appointed by the bishop of hL
 
 108 SUCCESS IN THE PULPIT. 
 
 His teacliiag was cliaracterized by learning and 
 moderation. "Our Religion," he often observed, 
 " is the Rehgion of common sense ;" and lie never 
 was intentionally sensational, or attempted anything 
 approaching to declamation. But he had a con- 
 stant advantage in a soft, expressive voice and 
 correct ear. At the commencement of a discourse 
 he was occasionally somewhat too rapid in his 
 delivery, owing to his being a victim to that 
 nervousness from which so many eloquent men have 
 suffered ; and he was wont to say that at any time 
 throughout his whole career he felt, on entering the 
 pulpit, as though he might have been " stricken 
 down by a feather." But as he proceeded he be- 
 came deliberate and powerful, and his consistent 
 life and conversation gave weight to the nobleness 
 of his sentiments. There was something in his 
 manner which showed that he felt and practised 
 what he taught — an excellence without which no 
 preaching can be effectual. Sometimes, when 
 speaking of the pain inflicted on sensitive natures 
 by broken faith or false calumny, he was unable to 
 
 diocese to preach before the judges at the approaching assizes. He 
 is apprehensive of not doing justice to the occasion, and desires me 
 to endeavour to procure him the assistance of some gentleman of 
 known abiUty. The advantageous terms in which I have heard my 
 friend Miss Aikin speak of you has induced me to take the liberty of 
 asking whether you would be disposed to give my friend the assist- 
 ance of your pen."
 
 DOCTRINE. 109 
 
 restrain himself, and betrayed visible emotion. In 
 tliose days the impulses of the heart appear to have 
 been stronger or under less control than they are at 
 present, and it not unfrequently occurred that the 
 congregation were so deeply affected that they 
 openly gave way to their feelings. Miss Mitford men- 
 tions an occasion on which Mrs. Siddons was moved 
 to tears during one of Mr. Harness's discourses. 
 
 The views he entertained with regard to doctrine 
 were characterized by a just veneration for the past. 
 He had a high esteem for the piety and learning of 
 the primitive fathers, diligently studied their com- 
 mentaries, and frequently enriched his discourses 
 with extracts from their writings. Speaking of these 
 men, and of the reverence due to the great creeds of 
 which they were the authors or first expositors, " I 
 differ," he observes, " from the Romanists ; and 
 why ? Because they have added no less than thir- 
 teen articles to the creed which from the time of the 
 apostles to the Council of Trent (a space of no less 
 than fifteen hundred years) was the faith of the 
 Church. I also differ from the Dissenters ; and 
 why ? Because, with the exception of the first 
 article, which declares the existence of ' God the 
 Father Almighty,' there is no article of the Creed 
 which is not impugned by some of them. Those 
 persons," he continues, " do appear to rae to exhibit 
 a most insane ambition, a most capricious love of
 
 110 VEJS'EEATION FOE THE PAST. 
 
 licence, a most child-like impatience of intellectual 
 guidance, who would wilfully put aside that tra- 
 ditional teaching of the Church which instructs 
 them in what sense the Holy Scriptures were 
 read and understood by the immediate disciples 
 of the apostles, and by the early bishops, for 
 the sake of obtaining the dangerous privilege of 
 wandering abroad, without a guide, in the im- 
 measurable field of theological speculation, and 
 putting themselves in possession of the liberty 
 of judging wrong. I thank God that His merciful 
 and ever-careful Providence has not entrusted the 
 weak and fallible powers of my understanding with 
 so perilous an enfranchisement." 
 
 And aofain : — " As I stand within the venerable 
 shade of some old abbey — of Netley or of Kirkstall, 
 of Fountains or of Tintern — and as I mark the de- 
 vastation which has befallen it, I lament the ruin 
 of so much beauty and magnificence. I feel as 
 indignant as any can at the impiety of the bar- 
 barous and sacrilegious men by whose command, or 
 by whose hands, a temple so worthy the service of 
 the Almighty has been despoiled and desecrated. 
 But the moral which such scenes suggest to me is 
 very diff'erent from that which the Romanist and 
 men of his inclining would impress upon our minds. 
 I see in them the traces of the Divine judgment on 
 the offending church of our ancestors ; and I derive
 
 ERA OF THE REFORMATION. Ill 
 
 from tliem most pregnant admonitions for the 
 church of our own age. God's word assures me 
 that so extensive a destruction would never have 
 been permitted to waste the houses of God through- 
 out the land, if in them His name had been hon- 
 oured with a pure and simple worship, as in the 
 days of old, and if they had never been perverted to 
 idolatrous and superstitious uses. ' The wicked are 
 the sword of the Lord ;' and that sword would 
 never have been allowed to cut so deeply, or to 
 range so widely, if it had not been called into action 
 by the iniquities of the Church." 
 
 Whilst Mr. Harness strongly denounced and re- 
 probated the conduct of those churches which had 
 fallen away from the early Apostolic faith, he bore 
 noble testimony to the purity of the Church of Eng- 
 land, of which he was always a staunch and con- 
 sistent supporter. He speaks as follows of the age 
 of the Reformation, and of the great men by whom 
 the foundations of our church were laid — : 
 
 "In acquiring the knowledge necessary for the 
 accomplishment of this wise and holy scheme of Re- 
 formation, Cranmer and his friends applied for in- 
 struction to every quarter from which instruction 
 might be gained. They not only carefully weighed 
 every intimation of the New Testament, but they 
 consulted the writings of the Early Fathers. They 
 not only looked for information to the Epistles of
 
 1 i 2 ERA OF THE refor:jation. 
 
 the Apostles, but they iuquired into the primitive 
 constitution of the churches to which those epistles 
 were addressed. In thus acting, they pursued the 
 course which. Melaucthon had most earnestly ad- 
 vocated." * * * <« Our church became what it 
 is in the very brightest era of the English intellect. 
 At a time when strong, energetic, manly good sense 
 was the characteristic of the English people ; when 
 the sound mind delighted to entertain the thought 
 of vast and arduous enterprises, and the sound body 
 felt itself capable of achieving them ; when Bacon, 
 by the vigour of his understanding, set philosophy 
 free from the region of misty speculations within 
 which she had been for centuries confined, and 
 brought her into contact with realities ; when 
 Shakespeare invested the maxims of a moral wis- 
 dom which can never perish with the beauties of a 
 poetry which can never be surpassed ; when our 
 island was fruitful of such men and her people were 
 capable of appreciating their worth, our National 
 Church received her present form and government, 
 her liturgy, her offices, her homilies, and her articles ; 
 and every document which interprets her mind bears 
 the stamp of the masculine intellect of the period 
 during which her restoration was gradually per- 
 fected. The peculiar characteristic of the Church 
 of Enofland is derived from that sound common 
 sense which characterized the age of her spiritual
 
 LETTER ON CHURCH ENDOWMENTS. 113 
 
 revival, and by which all her great authorities are 
 distinguished. 
 
 In a letter to Mr. Culling, a Dissenter, he thus 
 combats certain objections made to the endowments 
 of the Church of England : 
 
 "Kensington Gore, Dec. 1st, 1848. 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 " AVhat a strano;e thino- human nature is ! and 
 how very strange that two persons who, I sincerely 
 believe, both look for the truth of things, and nothing 
 else, should come to such opposite conclusions as 
 you and I ! Why should not the Bishops have 
 carriages and horses, as well as any Christian gentle- 
 man of the same income ? And why should deep 
 learning, like that of the Bishop of Lincoln, or 
 Lichfield, or Peterborough, or Ely, or of the late 
 and present Archbishops of Canterbury, be denied 
 a rate of income in the Church which it would 
 have commanded at the Bar or in Medicine ? I 
 cannot see any reason. And I can see many strong 
 reasons why it should be so rewarded, particularly 
 the reason of old Bishop Jewel, which is (I forget 
 the exact words), ' that men who dedicate them- 
 selves to the Ministry don't require such induce- 
 ments, but they are wanting to induce parents to 
 educate their sons for the Ministry.' Christianity 
 has nothing to do, according to my views of the 
 
 I
 
 114 LETTER ON CHURCH ENDOWMENTS. 
 
 Gospel, with the possession of the riches and dis- 
 tinctions of hfe ; but it has to do with the humihty, 
 the self-denial, and the grateful temper with which 
 they are held ; and I must say that, in my some- 
 what extended range of intercourse with society, I 
 have oftener met those dispositions among the few 
 residents of palaces, whom it has been my good 
 fortune to be acquainted with, than among the 
 many whom I have daily intercourse with in my own 
 and humbler walks of life. I must think that every 
 class of society, from the highest to the lowest, 
 ought to have the Ministers of the Gospel circulating 
 in habits of intimacy among them; and those of 
 the highest class must be possessed of incomes 
 suitable to the station of the persons whom they 
 have to live among, or they would (till the world 
 is very different in its moral condition from what it 
 is) very soon find themselves excluded from the 
 sphere of their usefulness, in luhich they are 
 so useful. Voluntary poverty was one of the in- 
 ventions of Popery, adopted from the Jewish sect 
 of the Essenes ; but it never was a part of the 
 Christian religion. Neither is the example of our 
 Blessed Lord to be servilely copied in its actions, 
 but in its principles. In submission to the Divine 
 "Will, He did His duty in going about the Holy 
 Land for three years, out of thirty -three, ' doing 
 good ;' and it is the duty of every ordinary Christian
 
 LETTKR ON CHURCH EXDOW.MENTS. 115 
 
 ^lio would eyince an equal submission to tlie Divine 
 Will, to copy those retired and laborious thirty 
 years of his Saviour's life which were spent in the 
 home of His parents in Nazareth. A Bishop in his 
 palace, if a Christian, shows lis how a Christian 
 nobleman ought to live; as a rector or a curate, if 
 God's grace be with him, may set an example for 
 humbler disciples of our Lord to follow. 
 
 " As to the sale of livings ; those only are sold 
 which are iwivate ]}ropertyj and generally the private 
 property of laymen. And whatever notional ob- 
 jections may lie against the practice, I can see none 
 in theory or in expediency ; but just the reverse. 
 If a young man, who has spent several thousands 
 of pounds on his education, purchases a living of 
 £180 a year (like that mentioned in your advertise- 
 ment), from which he will not derive perhaps above 
 £8 per cent per annum on the purchase money, it 
 is a guarantee that he has an independent income, 
 and that a gentleman is going to reside in, and take 
 the duty of, a remote agricultural parish, who will 
 be employing, and spending money among the 
 population, as well as attending to their spiritual 
 instruction. As a dissenter, you have no notion of 
 the immense amount of private property which is thus 
 brought into the Church and scattered over the 
 country by persons who love their profession and 
 are careless of its emoluments. 1 had, the day 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LETTER ON CHURCH ENDOWMENTS. 
 
 before yesterday, a gentleman with me wlio relin- 
 quished a practice at the Bar which was producing 
 him between £1,500 and £2,000 a year, to take 
 orders, and go to live on a small cure of £30 a year 
 which he had possessed himself of in Oxfordshire. 
 I don't like speaking of myself; but, this year, I 
 have disbursed on the schools, the clothing fund, 
 and the sick poor of our district (I confine my relief 
 entirely to the sick) more than three times the 
 amount of my stipend as Minister of the District, 
 which (including Easter offerings) is about £40. 
 All that my experience and reading teach me of the 
 Church and its Ministers is that there is no form of 
 Christianity so pure and apostolic in its doctrines 
 and discipline ; and that, in spite of some weak 
 and some wicked members of the flock, I know no 
 such learned, accomplished, and self-denying men 
 out of the Ministry as I am acquainted with in it. 
 And, remember, they make no fuss about it ! 
 
 " I am ashamed to have bored you with this long 
 letter ; but, as the French philosopher says, ' I have 
 not time to write a short one ;' and I did not like 
 you to remain unanswered. 
 
 " We shall, clearly, never agree on these Church 
 matters ; but there is one matter on which we are 
 perfectly agreed : Mrs. Barbauld's prose is, I think, 
 much better than her poetry. But she lived in a 
 good age of j;rose writers, and at the end of a good,
 
 CONCILIATORY VIEWS. 117 
 
 but not the best, sort of verse writers ; and while 
 in the latter, as a clever artist, she was not inferior 
 to many, in the former she was superior to most of 
 her contemporaries. 
 
 '* Believe me to be, my dear Sir, 
 
 " Yours very faithfully, 
 
 "W. Harness." 
 
 The views which Mr. Harness entertained on 
 Church subjects were essentially moderate and un- 
 assuming. Many passages in his sermons showed 
 that he had no sympathy with Ritualism, or that 
 " morbid delicacy of sense which requires that the 
 sight may rest on graceful forms and emblazoned 
 ornament and an ever-changing picture." " No- 
 thing histrionic," he observes, " can be consistent 
 with the spirit of our services." But he neverthe- 
 less desired to assuage the bitterness of party spirit, 
 was willing to grant a certain latitude to those with 
 whom he differed, and considered that the unhappy 
 contests in our Church were generally about un- 
 important or obscure matters. He longed to see 
 unity among Christians, and exhorted to forbear- 
 ance and brotherly love. 
 
 " If there be any to whom the magnificence of 
 architecture and the charms of music afford valu- 
 able assistance to devotion, is it fair that we whose 
 imaginations are pleased by a more simple worship,
 
 118 CONCILIATORY VIEWS. 
 
 should interfere with those whose imaginations are 
 differently affected, so long as the same liturgical 
 services are retained, and no ceremonies are ad- 
 mitted which might afford an opening for the in- 
 sidious introduction of false doctrine? If a man 
 change his habitual attendance at some well-regu- 
 lated cathedral service for the service of a small 
 village church, where the prayers are only moder- 
 ately well read, the sermon is not unsuited to the 
 place, and no other music is heard than the psal- 
 mody of the rustic congregation, he will find his 
 devotional feeling unusually elevated, and will con- 
 ceive that such an humble and simple worship is 
 most in harmony with the humble and simple 
 character of the Gospel. But, on the other hand, 
 if a man who has been all his life accustomed to 
 that villao;e service be introduced to the solemnities 
 of a cathedral, a similar vividness of the devotional 
 sentiment will be awakened by the novelty, and he 
 will confess that the Creator, in such a noble wor- 
 ship, is honoured as He ought to be by His crea- 
 tures. Both are good ; both are salutary." 
 
 " How really trivial are the questions about which 
 differences are raised ! With what astonishment 
 and pity do you read of the disputes which agitated 
 the controversial leaders of early times ; the unin- 
 telligible subtilties of their theology ; their pre- 
 sumptuous attempt to subject the essence of the
 
 o 
 
 ON CEHEMONIAL QUESTIONS. 11? 
 
 Godh'jacl to tlie analysis of human metapliysics ! 
 Reviewing such discussions, calmly and from a 
 distance, we comprehend how useless and how 
 vain they were. But they appear as the emana- 
 tions of wisdom itself in comparison with those of 
 our own days. Their arguments (however pre- 
 sumptuously entered on or mystically treated) were 
 almost always connected with the most important 
 article of Eevelation — the Divinity of the Messiah's 
 nature. But w^hat are the miserable grounds on 
 which we (in an age of great religious light, and 
 in opposition to our Lord's command) are idle 
 enough to quarrel ? Why, we cannot agree whether 
 the same prayers shall be read or intoned ; whether 
 the sermon shall be delivered in the clerical or the 
 academic dress; whether the Minister shall stand 
 in front or at the side of the Lord's table ! And 
 for matters so frivolous as these (which have nc 
 reference to piety — which concern the antiquary 
 rather than the Christian) we do not scruple to 
 range ourselves on one side or the other, with all 
 the bitter animosities of the partisan." 
 
 Mr. Harness was in every sense a minister of 
 peace. Exhortations to mutual forbearance and 
 consideration formed a leading characteristic in his 
 teaching. He inculcated this duty not only with 
 reference to political and rehgious quesdons, but 
 also to these smaller and apparently unimportant
 
 120 DUTIES OF PAEKNTS. 
 
 matters which occur in ordinary every-day life. In 
 this exhortation he had more immediately in view 
 the prevention of family dissensions. He said that 
 he ceased to be astonished at the disruption of 
 domestic ties, when he considered the rude and 
 overbearing manner which relations too often 
 assumed towards each other — a manner which no 
 stranger would for a moment tolerate. 
 
 He frequently warned parents of their respon- 
 sibility with regard to the education of their child- 
 ren, and of the influence which example and 
 precept exercise upon the young. "You may in 
 words," he observed, " teach your children that 
 they ought to believe and obey the Gospel ; but 
 unless you yourselves practice what you teach, the 
 lesson is in vain. You sow the good seed with one 
 hand, and the seed of tares with the other. But 
 the weed is cast more strongly, and received on a 
 more congenial soil, and it strikes root and grows 
 up and thrives and fructifies, while the good seed 
 only rests upon the surface and dries up and 
 perishes away." In continuing the subject, he ob- 
 serves that a child is instructed by its parent, that 
 Heaven is the only object worthy of pursuit, and 
 that he should exert all his energies to attain it; 
 but how is this excellent truth enforced upon the 
 young ? " Does the parent, as the child grows up, 
 direct him to follow the example of pious and self-
 
 DUTIES OF PARENTS. 121 
 
 sacrificing men ? Does tie enlarge upon the wisdom 
 of those who, regardless of all earthly interests, 
 have pressed on, like Christian, possessed of but one 
 idea, ' Life — Life — Eternal Life ?' No ! Is not the 
 hero he sets before his son the ' successful' man of 
 the world, who, without anv reference to a future 
 state, has striven most successfully in this ; who 
 has pushed all his little advantages to the utmost ; 
 who has toiled and toiled, and spared and spared, 
 until he has at length outstripped his competitors 
 in the race for this world's honours and emolu- 
 ments ? By teaching the great principles of re- 
 ligious truth to your child, and not living in corre- 
 spondence with the principles you inculcate, you do 
 a far worse thing than teach those principles iu 
 vain ; you altogether destroy the influence of re- 
 ligious impressions upon the heart of your child. 
 While you speak to him of the rewards of an ever- 
 lasting life, you induce him by your conduct to 
 suppose that those rewards are matters of very 
 insignificant consideration." 
 
 And not only did he inculcate mutual confidence 
 and consideration upon those who were members of 
 the same family, but also upon all who lived under 
 the same roof. " He who has known the worth of 
 an honest and abiding servant, knows that no price 
 can be adequate to that servant's value, and that 
 there is more of grateful afioctiou mingled with iho
 
 122 MASTERS AND SERVANTS. 
 
 esteem wliicli is borne towards that humble mem- 
 ber of his family than is commonly extended to- 
 wards any being in whose veins the blood of kindred 
 does not flow. But that amicable bond is the effect 
 of confidence, and the slightest act of fraud, or false- 
 hood, or duplicity will sever it at once and for ever. 
 Confidence is of slow growth, but rapid in decay. 
 Like a bird of timid nature, if once disturbed, she 
 will abandon the nest, and return to it no more. 
 Like that tree of which the poet speaks, if only a 
 leaf be broken off, the whole plant will wither away. 
 And from the moment that confidence is lost, the 
 feelings of mutual kindness which should subsist be- 
 tween those who rule and those who serve in the 
 same house, are exchanged for suspicion of wrong 
 on the one hand, and the fear of detection on the 
 other." 
 
 Mr. Harness had a great affection for tried and 
 faithful servants : so much so that he erected a 
 stained glass window in his church to the memory 
 of his aged nurse. He loved to recall the times 
 when servants and masters lived together as mem- 
 bers of the same family, with mutual respect and 
 common interests ; and in a passage in which he 
 deplores the change which has now taken place, he 
 sketches a pleasing picture of their former con- 
 fidential relations : — " Worldly circumstances used 
 not to sever classes. A little more than fifty years
 
 DOilESTIC SOCIADILTTY. 123 
 
 ago, when Crabbe tbe poet resided for some time in 
 tlie house of Mr. Tovell, a gentleman of considerable 
 landed property in Suffolk, he found the drawing- 
 and dining-rooms only opened on state occasions, 
 and the family generally living with the domestics 
 in the old-fashioned kitchen ; where, while the 
 master of the house read his book or his newspaper 
 by the capacious fire-side, the lady sat at a little 
 round table superintending the work, and working 
 with the maids. In this manner kindly feelings 
 were naturally produced ; civilization was diffused 
 by intercourse ; and the science of house manage- 
 ment acquired by the servant at the hall was car- 
 ried with her on her marriage to make the comfort 
 of her husband's cottage. In houses of a higher 
 rank, there were always some domestics who had 
 lived long enough in the family to be considered as 
 a part of it ; who held a confidential place in the re- 
 gard of the lord or lady ; and who formed a con- 
 necting link between them and the menials — every 
 one of whom, perhaps, was born on the estate ; 
 while a knowledge of the merits or demerits, the 
 weal or woe, of all was maintained by the superintend- 
 ence of that most important but now obsolete mem- 
 ber of every large establishment, the chaplain. This 
 tie of friendly care on the one hand, and of at- 
 tached dependence on the other, has been gradually 
 loosened. Instead of it, there has grown up, be-
 
 124 MASTERS AND SERVANTS. 
 
 tween master and servant, a cold, unsympatliis- 
 ing, incommunicable distance — an obstinate, impene- 
 trable reserve — wliicli exists in no otlier country, 
 wliicli every really Christian heart feels it painful to 
 keep up, and wliicb no one of ordinary good-nature 
 could think of maiutainino; towards a dos^ or a cat 
 that he happened to come as frequently in contact 
 with. By such a state of things both parties are 
 losers ; the master and the mistress, perhaps, the 
 most. It may be taken as a rule without exception 
 that the members of a family cannot live long in a 
 state of indifference towards each other. If they are 
 not united by feelings of regard, they will be severed 
 by feelings of enmity. If the master takes no care 
 to attach his domestics by words and acts of kind- 
 ness, they very soon begin to look upon him with an 
 evil eye, to lose all concern for his interests ; and 
 if they abstain from defrauding Mm themselves, 
 they rejoice in the success of the cheat by which 
 he is defrauded. It is only latterly that all the 
 links of good feeling between the higher and lower 
 members of the same household have been broken 
 asunder. They used to be bound together by a joint 
 interest in the younger branches of the family. 
 Some years ago, there still remained the old foot- 
 man, or the grey-headed groom, or the trusty nurse- 
 maid to whom the children could be safely given in 
 charge — who loved the children, and were loved by
 
 INTELLECT AND VIETUE. 125 
 
 them in turn. But now, these are exploded. What 
 is wanted is the restoration of an humbler, kindlier, 
 freer manner of intercourse between manufacturers 
 and their men, farmers and their labourers, masters 
 of families and their domestic servants. I hardly 
 know a more disgusting piece of hypocrisy than 
 that which I see at the present day so constantly 
 exhibited, when some arrogant woman of fashiou, 
 who treats her country neighbour with supercilious 
 incivility, her less exclusive relatives with the coldest 
 indifference, and her domestics with a most wither- 
 ing stiffness, passes by all the legitimate objects of 
 her kindness, and goes out of her way to lavish her 
 factitious sympathy and capricious interest on the 
 unknown inmates of some garret or cellar of a Lon- 
 don alley." 
 
 In another passage, he deprecates the tendency 
 of the present day to estimate intellectual abilities 
 above private virtues : — " Every age has its peculiar 
 species of idolatry, and intellect is the idol of our 
 own. Discoveries in science, success in art, repu- 
 tation in literature, power as a public speaker, are 
 the first objects of popular admiration. To attain 
 some such triumph is the great aim of our ambi- 
 tion. And if a man be thus intellectually distin- 
 guished, that is quite sufficient. The actions of 
 his life (unless flagrantly scandalous), or the quali- 
 ties of his character (unless socially offensive), are
 
 126 THE ' OLD WAY.' 
 
 allowed to pass as venial, or become altogether lost 
 siglit of in the glory of his intellectual celebrity. 
 Now, that exaggerated value of talent would be 
 reasonable enough if the whole world were an 
 exhibition room — if our life were a show — and if 
 we drew our chief happiness from the applause of 
 popular assemblies. But as such is not the case, 
 as the feats of science and the dexterities of art do 
 little more than amuse us for the moment, and as 
 the general well-being of existence never can 
 depend on the cheers of a multitude, but on the 
 character of the few with whom we have inter- 
 course from hour to hour in our dailv business and 
 concerns, it appears self-evident that the sterling 
 moral virtues (which promote our permanent happi- 
 ness), and not the showy intellectual accomplish- 
 ments (which merely serve for our occasional enter- 
 tainment), are the qualities which deserve to be held 
 dearest in the estimation of mankind." 
 
 In ordering the performance of Divine Service, it 
 was Mr. Harness's care that it should be conducted 
 with simplicity and decorum — in the " old way" to 
 which he had been accustomed when young. 
 Several persons endeavoured, on various occasions, 
 to introduce into his church emblematic devices and a 
 more effective ritual ; but he systematically resisted 
 such attempts. Novelties, in religion were, in his 
 opinion, self-condemned. In one respect he carried
 
 PSALMS OF DAVID. 127 
 
 out this opinion to a point where it seemed to par- 
 take of prejudice : he would allow no hymns to be 
 sung in his church, nor any psalms but those of 
 David. He expresses his views on this subject in a 
 passage in which he thus beautifully alludes to the 
 composer of these songs of Ziou : — 
 
 " David is introduced to us as a shepherd lad 
 having charge over the few sheep of his father. 
 His only occupation during the long solitary day 
 was to keep his flock together, to prevent their 
 wandering, and to defend them against harm. 
 This light employ, though not devoid of its cares 
 and dangers, abounds in leisure. He devotes his 
 companionless and unoccupied hours to famihariz- 
 ing his hand with the rude harp of his country ; 
 and so perfect a mastery does he attain over it, 
 that when music is required to soothe the passion- 
 troubled mind of his sovereign, none other can bo 
 found whose skill is to be compared with that of 
 David, the shepherd lad from the mountains of 
 Bethlehem. And to what themes does he make the 
 melodies of that harp subservient ! Its notes aro 
 tuned, its strings are touched, to the highest of a!l 
 arguments — the praises of Jehovah. As he passes 
 his lonely hours with his flock ; as he leads them to 
 their pasture grounds at morning and at evening ; 
 as he reposes with them in the shade during tiie 
 sultry hours of mid-day; as he keeps wa1ch over
 
 128 PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 them by niglit beneath the starry canopy of Heaven, 
 his soul, awakened to a pious sense of gratitude 
 by the beauty and the grandeur of the scenes around 
 him, finds expression for the ardour of its emotions 
 iu hymns of adoration and thanksgiving to the 
 Creator. From that age to our own the hymns of 
 that shepherd youth have been accepted among the 
 Psalms of the Church. They have, for well nigh 
 three thousand years, been reverenced as supplying 
 the most appropriate terms in which the children of 
 God, from generation to generation, could pour 
 forth their offerings of gratitude and praise before 
 the throne of their Heavenly Father. As hymns, 
 reflecting the various changes of religious feeling, 
 tliey have never been equalled. Even in our metri- 
 cal translation (hurried and careless as it is) every 
 man of educated taste will feel how immeasurably 
 superior the Psalms of David are to all those de- 
 votional compositions of modern times, which, with 
 their trifling conceits, their sentimental prettinesses, 
 their affected unction, and their insidious heresy, 
 have, in so many congregations, been allowed to 
 supersede them." 
 
 Some minor reasons for his objection to the in- 
 troduction of other psalms were — that it rendered 
 the Prayer Book insufficient for the service, and 
 that it necessitated the selection of one of those 
 Hymn Books, none of which he considered alto-
 
 STATE OP THE ENGLISH BIBLE. 129 
 
 gether satisfactory. One of his cliurcliwardens, 
 who was aware of his peculiar views, asked him 
 one day, twittingly, whether he would not adopt 
 "Hymns Ancient and Modern?" "I would as 
 soon read ' Paradise Lost ' for the first lesson," was 
 his terse reply. 
 
 Nevertheless, on some Church questions Mr. 
 Harness was in advance of his age — especially 
 with regard to the revision of the Bible. Writing 
 in the Edinburgh Bevieiv he notices " the mischief 
 that has ben inflicted on the sense of the inspired 
 writings by the mode of breaking them up into 
 chapter and verse ;" and, speaking further of the 
 translation, he observes that the phrase of the 
 Hebrew lano^uaofe is retained to a most confusinof 
 extent. He cites such instances as the following, 
 " the covenant of salt," meaning " a friendly con- 
 tract." " They are crushed in the gate," for " they 
 are found guilty in a Court of Justice." " The 
 colour of the lips," for " praises and thanksgivings," 
 '•' I have given you cleanness of teeth," meaning 
 " extreme scarcity." " Such are," he observes, 
 the sort of Hebraisms of which Selden says, *' what 
 gear do the common people make of them?" He 
 also objects to the combination of all the books of 
 Scripture into one volume, rendering it either small 
 in type or inconvenient in size. " If a man would 
 fain take his evening walk into the fields, with the
 
 130 EDWARD IRVING. 
 
 Prophecies of Isaiah as his companion, it is no light 
 grievance to him that he must either forego his 
 inclination, or carry along with him at the same time 
 the Law of Moses and the History of the Jews, the 
 Psalms of David and the Proverbs of Solomon." 
 
 One of the most remarkable circumstances con- 
 nected with Mr. Harness's cure in St. Pancras was, 
 that he was brought into close proximity with the 
 celebrated Edward Irving, who was then attracting 
 many followers. The Scotch church was on the 
 opposite side of Regent Square, and the perfor- 
 mances which took place in it were so distasteful 
 to Mr, Harness, and led astray so many weak 
 brethren, that — although with great reluctance, 
 for he disliked polemical discussions — he preached 
 a sermon (afterwards published) in which he 
 pointed out the utter groundlessness of Mr. Irving's 
 pretensions. 
 
 He showed how different were the unintelligible 
 rhapsodies of the Irvingites fi'om that Divine gift 
 of foreign languages which was so necessary for 
 Gospel missionaries in the early centuries. " There 
 is nothing," he observes, " so frugal as Providence. 
 What ! persons inspired to speak languages un- 
 known to others and unintelligible to themselves ! 
 As a blessing, a gift, a grace, an illumination from 
 the Almighty to His saints, there is nothing parallel 
 to this to be met with in the whole range of the
 
 EDWARD IRVING. 131 
 
 Scriptures ; and, as a punishment, a blindness, and 
 a curse upon his enemies, it surpasses even the 
 malediction against the people of Babel." In a 
 letter to a friend, in which he reiterates his com- 
 mendation of the sober, steady teaching of the 
 Church of England, Mr. Harness observes, *' Ed- 
 ward Irving told me several times that he could 
 not understand why he met with no such true 
 Christians as in the orthodox Church of England. 
 He used the word ' orthodox ' in the sense of anti- 
 Calvinistic. And even when we were standing: 
 talking in Regent Square, on one side of which his 
 church stood, and mine on the other, he said, 
 pointing first to his own, and then to mine, ' I don't 
 know how it is I have no such humble, quiet Chris- 
 tians hei^e as you contrive to assemble about you 
 there r That cannot be a bad system which works 
 such effects." 
 
 The influence which Mr. Irving exerted, not 
 only over a large section of the laity, but also over 
 some of the clergy, is thus casually alluded to in a 
 postscript to a letter from Dr. Milman to Mr. Har- 
 ness : — " Can you send me a good, steady, humble- 
 minded curate ? I have just parted with one after 
 three months, who will be a follower of Irving in 
 three more — the acting of the Strand Theatre with 
 the reasoning faculties of St. Luke's ; dfailleurs, a 
 good kind of young man." 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. — FRIENDSHIPS WITH REMARKABLE 
 MEN. — KINDNESS OF LORD LANSDOWNE. — CRABBE. — SCOTT, — COLERIDGE. 
 — JOANNA BAILLIE. — MISS MARTINEAU. 
 
 Asceticism, as we have already observed, formed 
 no part of Mr. Harness's creed ; lie took no misan- 
 thropic view of the world : on the contrary, he 
 loved society and its humanizing influences. Natur- 
 ally of a genial disposition, he found himself every- 
 where welcomed by those who appreciated his 
 talents and his gentle and retiring manners. A 
 certain amount of social intercourse he considered 
 indispensably necessary for the maintenance of a 
 duly-balanced mind ; and he believed that some of 
 the writings of our eminent literary men would 
 have been more generally valuable, had their 
 authors not too much secluded themselves from the 
 outer world. He did not consider it to be the duty 
 of a Christian to avoid the society of his fellow- 
 men, even though he might disapprove of their 
 conduct. " If the practice of withdrawing our- 
 selves from the more promiscuous society of our
 
 SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 133 
 
 fellow-creatures, under the hope of attaining greater 
 facilities of salvation, has a natural tendency to 
 foster our spiritual pride and destroy our charity, 
 there is nothing which will more readily conduce to 
 humble that pride and rectify our views — to instruct 
 us in the virtues we have overlooked in others 
 and the defects we have neglected in ourselves — ■ 
 than such a degree of impartial intercourse with 
 all classes of men as a Christian (without any com- 
 promise of principle or sacrifice of duty) may holily 
 entertain. There is not perhaps a single individual 
 of our race but may prove to be our superior in 
 some moral or intellectual quality; and there is 
 consequently no individual of our race from whom 
 we may not derive an experimental lesson in humility. 
 As there is no man so righteous as to be wholly 
 free from evil, neither is there any man so depraved 
 as to be wholly destitute of good .... If there be 
 many lessons of heavenly import which the worldly 
 man may receive from the disciple of the Gospel, 
 there are also admonitions on very material points 
 of duty for which the disciple of the Gospel may 
 in return be indebted to him." 
 
 Mr. Harness obeyed the Apostle's injunction " to 
 use the world as not abusing it." He was not a 
 man to lose the instruction or refreshment which 
 social intercourse affords ; and it was one of the 
 happiest features in his character that, notwith-
 
 134 TESTIMONY OF MISS MiTFOED. 
 
 standing the laborious duty of a London parish, 
 which made him daily conversant with all that was 
 destitute and depressing, his mind still remained 
 vigorous and elastic, and equal to taking an interest 
 in the brighter paths of life. Especially was he 
 attracted to the study of human nature, and of the 
 varying phases of our emotions ; and the insight 
 thus obtained gave additional success to his 
 persuasive exhortations in the pulpit. Not only 
 was he adapted to benefit by social intercourse, 
 but also to shine in it; indeed the sowing and reap- 
 ing are in this case closely connected. " From 
 the first," writes Miss Mitford, " he took rank as 
 one of the best conversationalists of the day." And 
 in a later letter she says, " He is one of the finest 
 preachers in London, but still better known as the 
 friend of all that has been eminent for the last 
 forty years, having lived in the closest intimacy 
 with every person who combined high talent with 
 fair character. It is to the honour of the highest 
 part of the aristocracy, the Lord Lansdownes and 
 Lord Derbys, that he has invitations to dinner 
 amongst them every day through the season, and 
 very many to stay on visits at large country-houses. 
 Certainly he is the most charming person that ever 
 trod the earth, and as good as he is charming." 
 
 The pleasure derived by others from his infor- 
 mation gave him the means of increasing his store
 
 POWERS OF OBSERVATION. 135 
 
 of knowledge, and be tlius enjoyed opportunities 
 such as seldom fall to the lot of any one individual. 
 He had also gifts which enabled him to turn these 
 opportunities to account. Ordinary persons would 
 never have remarked the distinctive character of 
 their friends' conversation ; fewer would have noted 
 particularly any of their observations ; and fewer 
 still would have remembered them in after-years, 
 and been able to retail them in nearly their original 
 words. But a man in whom memory and observa- 
 tion co-exist in such a hio4i deg'ree of excellence 
 as to be equal to the task, is eminently qualified to 
 be the social historian of his times. Had Mr. 
 Harness committed to writing all the remarkable 
 conversations in which he took Dart, we should 
 have possessed such a history; but unfortunately 
 he kept no record of them, and only accidentally 
 quoted words and made allusions to them in his 
 occasional intercourse with his friends. Broken 
 flowers thus casually dropt can scarcely be formed 
 into a closely woven wreath ; but it would still be 
 culpable to leave them to perish by the wayside, and 
 preserve none of their sweet fragrance as an offering 
 for future years. 
 
 " A society which, taken for all in all, has never 
 been surpassed !" Such are the words in which 
 Mr. Harness describes the social circle in which he 
 lived. The limits of " societv " were then more
 
 136 CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY. 
 
 defined than they are at present ; and within those 
 limits there was greater freedom and intimacy. 
 Confidence was not restricted by the presence of 
 those heterogeneous elements which disjoint the 
 intercourse of the present day. The small aris- 
 tocracy which then existed was one exclusively 
 of birth, formed of men who had received a liberal 
 education, and who had time which they were able to 
 devote to the cultivation of elegant accompHshments. 
 Hence arose the elaborate dandyism, the poUshed 
 manners, the classical taste of the age when men 
 
 " played and lost, and wooed and won, 
 Like gentlemen and scholars," 
 
 and which, notwithstanding its pedantry, leaves 
 pleasant recollections of bygone days. 
 
 Literature had of late shown signs of life. 'Romans' 
 and ' Grecians' walked the London Parks ; even Grub 
 Street had produced some butterflies ; and gentle- 
 men had begun to apostrophize their mistresses, and 
 ladies their lap-dogs, in odes which displayed a cer- 
 tain improvement in wit and sentiment. But now 
 the talismanic names of Scott, Byron, and Words- 
 worth were to raise the belles-lettres to a position 
 they had never occupied before, and to rivet the 
 attention of a world not yet dazzled by the bar- 
 baric splendours of wealth. Literature became the 
 fashion. The great autocrats of society, appearing 
 as the Msecenates of the day, did not disdain to
 
 LOED LANSDOWNE. 137 
 
 sliine in the reflected lustre of their satellites, and 
 to raise tlie nobility of rank by associating it witli 
 that of nature. The most conspicuo js among these 
 patrons was Lord Lansdowne, who was unwearied 
 in his kindness and liberality to men of genius. 
 Mr. Harness was not only indebted to this noble- 
 man for many acts of hospitality, but also for a very 
 substantial benefit conferred upon him shortly before 
 he left St. Pancras. The office of Clerical Registrar 
 to the Privy Council happened to fall vacant, and 
 Lord Lansdowne immediately designed to ofi'er it 
 to his literary friend. He was himself too generous 
 a man to be influenced by party prejudice, but he 
 thought it necessary, for the satisfaction of his 
 colleagues, to inquire of Dr. Milman whether their 
 friend had ever published anything calculated to 
 kindle political animosity. The Dean was able to 
 give the fullest assurances on the point, for he 
 well knew that Mr. Harness had always to the 
 utmost in his power avoided every sort of polemical 
 discussion. On receiving this intelhgence. Lord 
 Lansdowne wrote to make the ofi'er, which was 
 highly valued by its recipient, both as a proof of 
 friendship and esteem, and as a material addition 
 to his somewhat limited income. 
 
 Although it would be impossible to collect from 
 memory one half of the brilliant fragments which 
 made Mi*. Harness's conversation so delight ful, or
 
 133 EAELY EEMTNISCENCES. 
 
 to reset them in tlieir original mosaic, I have yet 
 been tempted to undertake a certain amount of 
 restoration; and, imperfect as such a work must 
 be, I hope I may succeed in giving some idea of 
 the variety and beauty of the store from whence 
 these small specimens are derived. 
 
 Mr. Harness's recollections formed an interesting 
 link between several generations of literary men. 
 As a child he had known Joseph Warton, whose 
 brother, the celebrated poet, had been acquainted 
 with Pope; who, in turn, could remember to have 
 seen Racine walking in his red stockings in Paris. 
 Sir George Beaumont told him that when at Rome 
 he had spoken to the donkey-man who had ^accom- 
 panied Claude and Gaspar Poussin on their sketching 
 excursion to Tivoli. In his youth he remembered 
 Dr. Parr — his snappish wit, and the long pipe he 
 smoked after dinner ; the latter causing him especial 
 astonishment, as smoking was then rare and un- 
 fashionable. He might also have known Paley, 
 but his information about him was probably derived 
 from some of the tutors at Christ's College, to which 
 the great apologist had himself belonged. Mr. 
 Harness had several little anecdotes illustrative of 
 Paley's homely manners and rough humour. At 
 the first visitation he attended, after his preferment 
 to the archdeaconry, he dined in company with a 
 large assemblage of clergymen; all of whom were
 
 CRAB BE. 139 
 
 eager to hear Lis observations. He remained silent, 
 to their great disappointment, until the second 
 course was served. At length the great man spoke ; 
 every ear was strained. What was his oracular ut- 
 terance ? "I don't think these puddens are much 
 good unless the seeds are taken out of the raisins !" 
 At another banquet, shortly after his perferment, 
 he found himself exposed to an unpleasant draught 
 of air. " Shut that window behind me," he called 
 out to one of the waiters, " and open one lower 
 down, behind one of the curates !" 
 
 Later than these was Crabbe, the poet, who 
 after publishing " The Library," " The Village," and 
 other poems, disappeared from public sight in a 
 country living for two and twenty years, and was 
 generally supposed to be dead, until he revived 
 ao^ain in the " ReQ:ister" in 1807, and re-entered 
 London literary circles in 1813. Mr. Harness greatly 
 admired his poems; perhaps he appreciated them 
 the more because they referred so much to country 
 parish life. He particularly noticed the beauty of 
 a little story in the " Tales," where an heiress is 
 prevented by a rich aunt from marrying a man of 
 inferior position. She by degrees forgets him, and 
 becomes entirely engrossed with the accumulation 
 of money. Her lover, on the other hand, becomes 
 poorer, and is at last an inmate of an alms-house. 
 He reminds her of her promise, which she di!-:.0Y-.'nL.
 
 140 CEABBE. 
 
 " He sliares a parish-gift ; at church he sees 
 The pious Dinah dropped upon her knees ; 
 Thence, as she walks the streets with stately air, 
 As chance directs, oft meet the parted pair ; 
 When he, with thickest coat of badgeman's blue. 
 Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue ; 
 When his thin locks of gray approach her braid, 
 A costly purchase made in beauty's aid; 
 When his frank air, and his unstudied pace, 
 Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace. 
 It might some wonder in a stranger move. 
 How these together could have talked of love." 
 
 Crabbe visited Edinburgh in 1822, when the 
 festivities in honour of the arrival of George the 
 Fourth drew together such a brilliant assemblage 
 of rank and talent. Scott was too much engaged 
 to do the honours for all his distinguished friends, 
 and assigned some of them to Lockhart, who, to 
 afford mutual gratification, introduced Crabbe to 
 Brewster. Next day. to his consternation, Crabbe 
 observed, " That Dr. Brewster seems an agreeable 
 man — what is he ?" and Brewster, on meeting Lock- 
 hart, inquired, " By-the-way, who was that old 
 clergyman you brought to see me P Did you say 
 his name was Crabbe ?" 
 
 In the opening article of the " Quarterly," for 
 January, 1868, a review appeared of the "Life of 
 Scott," written by Dean Milman, and towards the 
 end of it was the following reference : — " Proofs of 
 the veneration in which all classes held him greeted
 
 INCIDENT OF THE CORONATION. 141 
 
 Scott wherever he went. Twice on the occasion of 
 the Coronation of George the Fourth this was shown 
 in a remarkable way. The Rev. Mr. Harness, the 
 accomphshed friend of Mrs. Siddons and Lord 
 Byron, describes that, while he was standing in 
 Westminster Hall, a spectator of the Coronation 
 Feast, he observed Sir Walter trying, but in vain, 
 to make his way through a crowd to a seat which 
 had been reserved for him. * There's Sir Walter 
 Scott,' said Mr. Harness ; ' let's make way for him.' 
 There was no need for more ; the throng pressed 
 itself back so as to make a lane for Scott, and he 
 passed through without the slightest inconvenience." 
 Milman was writing from memory, and Mr. Harness 
 told me that the facts were not quite accurately 
 given in this account. Scott had been in Lord 
 Willoughby's box, but had left it, and on returning 
 found it full of ladies. He was accordingly left 
 without a seat, and while looking hopelessly about 
 was seen by Harness from the balcony, who 
 immediately beckoned to him ; and all the people, 
 when they heard who he was, compressed them- 
 selves to make room for him. He said, however, 
 that they were very anxious to know whether he 
 was quite sure that he was Sir Walter Scott ? 
 
 Few persons who heard him speak could have 
 doubted Scott's nationality ; it could not have been 
 said with justice that Scott —
 
 1 42 SCOTT. 
 
 " hung 
 On the soft phrase of Southern tongue." 
 
 His accent, on the contrary, was so broad that 
 Mr. Harness said he sometimes could not under- 
 stand him without difficulty. One day when they 
 had been talking of " Lucia di Lammermuir," which 
 had lately appeared, he changed the subject by ob- 
 serving, " Weel ! I think we've a'most had enow of 
 that chiel." Literature, according to Scott's account, 
 was much better paid then than it is at present ; for 
 on a friend asking him to subscribe to assist a poor 
 author, he refused to comply, asserting that he 
 knew no one worthy of the name — except Coleridge — 
 who was not making from £500 to £12,000 a-year. 
 Mr. Harness used occasionally to visit Coleridge 
 when the latter was staying with Mr. Gillman, the 
 apothecary-doctor, at Highgate. The poet originally 
 went there to recover his health, which he had 
 broken down by over-indulgence in opium. He 
 placed himself there under a sort of voluntary re- 
 straint, and strict orders were given by Mr. Gillman 
 that no drugs of any kind were to be allowed him. 
 Coleridge, missing the stimulant to which he had 
 been long accustomed, pined and languished under 
 the restriction ; he abandoned his pen and sank into 
 utter despondency. One day a large roll of papers 
 came to the poet from the publisher, and on Mr. 
 Gillman' s visiting him in the evening he found him
 
 COLEE[DGE. 
 
 143 
 
 an altered man ; Coleridge was himself again, full of 
 animation and energy, and busily employed in writ- 
 ing an article for tlie forthcoming Bevieiv. The 
 change was so sudden and remarkable that the 
 Doctor's suspicions were aroused. He instituted 
 inquiries and found that a roll of opium had, at the 
 Poet's entreaty, been enclosed in the packet which 
 had arrived that morning from the publisher. 
 
 Eminent literary men have often been remarkable 
 for the fertility of their conversation, and their 
 powers in this respect have not unfrequently been 
 used without due restraint and discrimination. 
 Coleridge was no exception to this rule ; he would 
 continue to talk on in an unbroken flow, and con- 
 nect his arguments and observations so adroitly 
 that until you had left him you could not detect 
 their fallacy* Mr. Harness called on him one day 
 with Milman, on their return from paying a visit 
 to Joanna Baillie. The poet seemed unusally in- 
 spired, and rambled on, raising his hands and his 
 head in the manner which Charles Mathews so 
 cleverly caricatured ; and asserting, among other 
 
 * Wordsworth and Eogers called on him one forenoon in Pall 
 Mall. He talked uninterruptedly for two hours, during which time 
 Wordsworth listened with profound attention. On leaving, Rogers 
 said to Wordsworth, " Well ! I could not make head or tail of Cole- 
 ridge's oration : did you understand it ?" " Not a syllable," re- 
 plied Woi'dsworth. Sometimes, however, his conversation was ad- 
 mirable.
 
 144 COLERIDGE. 
 
 strange theories, that Shakespeare was a man of 
 too pure a mind to be able to depict a really worth- 
 less character. •' All his villains," he said, "were 
 bad upon good principles ; even Caliban had some- 
 thing good in him." Coleridge, in his old age, 
 became a characteristic feature in Highgate. He 
 was the terror and amusement of all the little 
 children who bowled their hoops along the poplar 
 avenue. Notwithstanding his fondness for them — 
 he called them ^ Kingdom-of-Heaven-ites ' — his 
 Cyclopean figure and learned language caused them 
 indescribable alarm. Sometimes he would lay his 
 hand on the shoulders of one of them and walk 
 along discoursing metaphysics to the trembling 
 cnptive, while the rest fled for refuge and peeped 
 Giil with laughing faces from behind the trees. 
 " I never," he exclaimed one day to the baker's 
 buy — " I never knew a man good because he was 
 1 ehgious, but I have known one religious because 
 I f> was good." 
 
 AVe can scarcely mention Coleridge without being 
 IT minded of his friend and schoolfellow Charles 
 ^amb. On reading the life of this author, lately 
 published by Barry Cornwall, Mr. Harness observed 
 til at it must surprise every one how such a clever 
 man as Lamb could have said so few good things. 
 He was chief jester to the " Morning Post," and 
 though it by no means follows — he was a man of
 
 CHATtLES LAMB. 145 
 
 undoubted wit. Mr. Harness remembered many 
 bright bits of fun wliicb from time to time sparkled 
 ill his conversation. On one occasion, an old lady 
 was pouring into his ear a tirade, more remarkable 
 for length than substance, when, observing that 
 the Essayist was fast lapsing into a state of ob- 
 livion, she aroused him by remarking in a loud 
 voice, " I'm afraid, Mr. Lamb, you are deriving no 
 benefit from my observations !" " Well, Madam !" 
 he replied, recollecting himself, " I cannot say that 
 lam; but perhaps the lady on the other side of 
 me is, for they go in at one ear and out of the 
 ol-her." 
 
 At another time, when making a journey in a 
 stage-coach, after they had- halted for dinner, a 
 passenger presented himself, requesting accommo- 
 (lai^ion. " Are you full inside ?" asked the guard 
 ill the window, " I can't answer for the other 
 .';ontlemen," replied Lamb, "but that pudding has 
 ^ione for me." 
 
 Elliston, the actor, a self-educated man, was 
 playing cribbage one evening with Lamb, and on 
 ih'awing out his first card, exclaimed, " When Greek 
 meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." " Yes," 
 replied Lamb, " and when yoit meet Greek, you 
 don't understand it." 
 
 The name of Lamb reminds us of the Burneys. 
 Madame d'Arblay has written the following on 
 
 L
 
 140 JOANNA BAILLIB. 
 
 tlie fly-leaf of a presentation copy of lier father's 
 life : — " To the Rev. William Harness, to whose 
 active good offices the immediate publication of this 
 work is indebted." 
 
 Joanna Baillie, the authoress, was a great friend 
 of Mr. Harness, who was a warm admirer of her 
 genius. The following letter seems to be written in 
 acknowledgment of the receipt of a copy of some of 
 his published sermons. Mr. Harness, as I have 
 before remarked, always took a genial view of the 
 world, and of mankind in general, and never allowed 
 the depravity of a certain portion of our nature to 
 conceal the lustre of its more generous impulses. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Harness, 
 " I am very much obliged to you for your friendly 
 present, and beg you will accept my best thanks. 
 I have read vour excellent sermons on the * Imag-e of 
 God'* with much satisfaction, and hope they will 
 find many readers who will agree with you as 
 heartily as I do. You have made out your argu- 
 ment clearly, both from reason and Scripture, and I 
 hope it will have a good effect on some of the gloomy 
 Calvinists of these days, who seem so intent upon 
 establishing eternal damnation as the decreed por- 
 tion of the greater part of mankind, and are anxious 
 
 * Four sermons delivered by Mr. Harness at Cambridge -when 
 Select Preacher.
 
 MISS AUSTEN. 147 
 
 to cast a kindred gloom over every young person 
 with whom tliey have influence. 
 
 " Was the subject given you by the University of 
 Cambridge, or was it your own choosing ? A more 
 useful one could not have been taken up at the 
 present time. 
 
 " I hope you and Miss Harness are well, and offer 
 my sister's kind regards to you both, joined with 
 those of your faithful friend. 
 
 " J. Baillie." 
 
 Among authoresses, Joanna Baillie ranked next 
 to Miss Austen in Mr. Harness's estimation. The 
 latter was his greater favourite, and he was never 
 tired of reading and re-reading her novels. Loving 
 quiet and domestic scenes, rather than the more 
 exciting episodes of life, he preferred the simple 
 story of "Persuasion," to those more stirring nar- 
 ratives upon which the fame of the authoress was 
 founded. Miss Austen was very inadequately re- 
 munerated for her earlier productions ; " Sense and 
 Sensibility," her best, bringing her only £150, and 
 she often remarked to Mr. Harness that she could 
 not understand why at first she received so little, 
 although afterwards she was so amply paid. Miss 
 Mitford, in one of her letters, spoke somewhat 
 disparagingly of Miss Austen. "Mamma says th.nt 
 she was the prettiest, silliest, most affected, husbaud- 
 
 L 2
 
 148 HAEEIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 hunting butterfly she ever remembers" ;* and this 
 so offended Mr. Harness's jealous admiration of his 
 favourite, that he took exception to it, and added 
 the note: "Every other account of Jane Austen, 
 from whatever quarter, represents her as handsome, 
 graceful, amiable, and shy." 
 
 The following letter comes from the hand of 
 another celebrated authoress : — 
 
 "Tynemouth, June 3rd, [ ] 
 
 ^' Dear Mr. Harness, 
 
 '' My fi^iend Mrs. Reid has just arrived ; and she 
 brings me the very agreeable news that your sermons 
 are coming to me from yourself. I had seen the 
 advertisement, with a sort of envious feeling of 
 those in whose way that book would come ; and I 
 am not a little pleased at the prospect of having it, 
 and from your hand. 
 
 " A parcel will soon be coming to me from Mrs. 
 Reid's (6, Grenville Street, Brunswick Square), and 
 I shall be much obhged if you will either have the 
 book left there, or tell lier servants to which of my 
 publishers to send for the parcel. 
 
 " Some months ago, when publishing ' The Hour 
 and the Man,' I ordered a copy to be sent to you. 
 I did this, not with any idea that you would not 
 
 * Miss Mitford's letter of April 3rd, 1815, to Sir William Elford. 
 See Vol I., at pages 305-6 of her Life.
 
 HAKKIET MARTINEAU. 149 
 
 discover and feel the artistical faults of the book, or 
 with any hope that you, who have never known 
 neo-roes in any but a deorraded state, could believe 
 them to be what I have represented ; but because I 
 remember your saying that it must be the most 
 delightful thing in the world to spend a summer in 
 the country, in the exclusive society of one's own 
 personages. It is true, you doubtless took for 
 granted two very important things which I had not 
 — health, and the power of going out of doors ; but 
 still I found your words so for true as to be moved 
 to send you the book ; and I hope you received it. 
 
 *'You will have heard (so many common friends 
 as we have) that I am not better, nor expecting to 
 be so. Your experience among the sick will prevent 
 your being surprised, perhaps, at what has surprised 
 me — that I have never once felt the slightest and 
 most transient desire to be well. The divine repose 
 of life in tiuo rooms (especially with a fine sea-view) ; 
 the simplification of duty to one rather prone to be 
 tender-conscienced ; and the perpetual feast of the 
 heart administered by the kindness of friends, are 
 good things, in the midst of which bodily troubles 
 are lost and forgotten on review, if not from moment 
 to moment. Into another part of the matter, Pascal 
 had insight : ' Quand on se porte bien, on ne com- 
 prend pas comment on pourrait faire si Ton etait 
 malade ; et. quand on Test, on prend medecine gaie-
 
 150 HAERIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 ment : le mal y resout. On n'a plus les passions et 
 les desirs des divertissements et des promenades, 
 que la sante donnait, et qui sont incompatibles 
 avec les necessites de la maladie. La nature donne 
 alors des passions et des desirs conformes a I'etat 
 present. Ce ne sont que les craintes que nous nous 
 donnons nous-memes, et non pas la nature, qui nous 
 troublent; parce-qu'elles joignent a I'etat ou nous 
 sommes les passions de I'etat oil nous ne sommes 
 pas.' 
 
 " I should not have thought he had known 
 enough of health to write the above. On the whole, 
 his deficiencies seem to be those which arise from 
 want of knowledge of a healthy state, and of sym- 
 pathy with those who are well. 
 
 " Pray remember nie kindly to Miss Harness, 
 and believe me, very truly yours. 
 
 "Haeriet Maetineau."
 
 151 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 ANECDOTES CONTINUED. — SHERIDAN. — ROGERS, — MRS. GORE. — AMERICAN 
 FRIENDS. — THEODORE HOOK. — LYDIA WHITE. — VISIT TO IRELAND. — 
 REMARKABLE DREAM. — MISCELLANEOUS REFERENCES. — CHRISTMAS 
 STORIES. 
 
 Among the distinguished persons with, whom Mr. 
 Harness was acquaintedj he not unfrequently met 
 the celebrated Sheridan. He was present at some 
 of the sumptuous entertainments with which the 
 Dramatist regaled his friends, and remarked that, 
 although his guests denounced his extravagance, they 
 never refused his invitations. Sheridan was not de- 
 void of that vanity which so often accompanies 
 talent. On one occasion, at a Theatrical Fund Din- 
 ner, he made a very high-flown speech, in which he 
 spoke of himself as being " descended from the 
 loins of kings !" " That is quite true," said Dr. 
 Spry, who was sitting next to Harness ; " the last 
 time I saw his father,* he was the King of Den- 
 mark." 
 
 * He was an actor.
 
 152 ROGRRS. 
 
 Sheridan's solicitor found liis client's wife one day 
 walking up and down lier drawing-room, apparently 
 in a frantic state of mind. He inquired the cause 
 of such violent perturbation. She only replied, 
 " that her husband was a villain." On the man of 
 business further interrogating her as to what had so 
 suddenly awakened her to a sense of that fact, she at 
 length answered, with some hesitation, " Why, I 
 have discovered that all the love-letters he sent me 
 were the very same as those which he sent to his 
 first wife !' ' 
 
 The poet Rogers was a more intimate friend. He 
 was one of those few instances in which talent is 
 found united with wealth and energetic labour. In 
 his literary work he was most persevering; so much 
 so that he spent no less than seventeen years in 
 writing and revising " The Pleasures of Memory." 
 The hasty shp-shod style of the present day was not 
 to his taste. Rogers, like Byron and his compeers, 
 aimed at producing finished pieces; and though 
 they sometimes thus confined their eagle-flight, they 
 at least avoided an ignominious fall to the ground. 
 But Rogers was not only a wealthy banker and 
 rural poet ; he had also a keen sense of humour, 
 and there was something in the deadness of his 
 countenance and the dryness of his manner which 
 seemed to give additional point to his sarcasms. Mr. 
 Harness said that many of his most telling hits
 
 KOGEES. 153 
 
 seemed to have little force, when related under 
 different circumstances. Some, however, the reader 
 will, as I imagine, be able to understand without any 
 oral interpretation. Rogers' dwelling was " a cabi- 
 net of Art," and he kept a model bachelor's house- 
 hold ; his servants consisting of three men and one 
 woman. When one of the former, who had been 
 a long time in his service, died, a kind-hearted 
 friend called to condole with him on the loss he had 
 sustained. " Well !" exclaimed Rogers, after listen- 
 ing for some time to his expressions of sympathy, "I 
 don't know that I feel his loss so very much, 
 after all. For the first seven years he was an ob- 
 liging servant ; for the second seven years an agree- 
 able companion ; but for the last seven he was a 
 tyrannical master."* 
 
 Speaking of France brought him to the following 
 story, to which he gave considerable effect : — 
 " An Englishman and a Frenchman had to 
 fight a duel. That they might have the better 
 chance of missing one another, they were to 
 fight in a dark room. The Englishman fired up 
 the chimney, and, by Jove ! he brought down the 
 
 * The poet seems to have been somewhat unfortunate in his ser- 
 vants. On one occasion when in the country, his favourite groom, 
 with whom he used to drive every day, gave notice to leave. Rogers 
 asked him why he was going, and what he had to complain of? 
 " Nothing," replied the mail ; " but you are so dull in the 
 buggy."
 
 154 MOOEE. 
 
 Frencliman ! When I tell this story in Paris," ob- 
 served Rogers, " I put the Englishman up the 
 chimney I" 
 
 Mr. Harness had many other little mteresting 
 scraps about Rogers. The Poet greatly disliked 
 writing letters of condolence, and when he had that 
 melancholy duty to perform, he generally copied 
 one of Cowper's. Lord Lansdowne once spoke to 
 him in congratulatory terms about the marriage of 
 a common friend. '^ I do not think it so desirable," 
 observed Rogers. " No !" replied Lord Lansdowne, 
 " why not ? His friends approve of it !" " Happy 
 man !" returned Rogers, "to satisfy all the world. 
 His friends are pleased, and his enemies are de- 
 lighted r 
 
 Moore was a friend of Rogers, and also of Mr. 
 Harness ; but I seldom heard the latter speak of 
 hira, except with reference to Byron, and to his 
 having asked for information and letters which 
 might be of use in the " Life" he was compiling. 
 Speaking of Moore's taste for biography, and the 
 number of Memoirs he had composed, Rogers one 
 day cynically observed,*' — Why, it is not safe to die 
 while Moore's alive !" 
 
 The following letter from Mrs. Charles Gore is in- 
 teresting in connection with this subject : —
 
 MRS. CHARLES GOEE. 155 
 
 " Hamble Cliff, Friday. 
 
 *' Dear Mr. Harness, 
 
 " Thanks a thousand times. Pray make no further 
 inquhnes about the books. You have told me all I 
 want to know, in the names of the publishers. I 
 had previously fancied that Hope's ' Essays' were 
 suppressed, and I remember giving £10 for a sup- 
 pressed ' English Bard.' Ajpropos to the latter work, 
 having been here quite alone lately (even my 
 daughter away, on a visit) I have been reading over 
 Byron's Memoirs, and it made one melancholy to 
 think that, of the galaxy therein glorified, only two 
 were left — then the 'old boys' of the party: i.e., 
 Hogers and Moore. While moralizing over the fact, 
 I suddenly started up with ' No ! by Jove — there is 
 William Harness (and younger than ever).' I after- 
 wards recollected the Guiccioli (then a bride), and 
 another William, best forgotten. Five and thirty 
 years have certainly passed over you more lightly 
 than over the rest. 
 
 " 1 am sorry I cannot persuade you to come and 
 listen to the melancholy autumnal song of the 
 robins and the screaming of the gulls. They wou^d 
 afford you texts without end ; and I have a bit of 
 sea-shore all to myself, with a pleasant seat beside 
 it, where you might go and talk to the waves like, 
 little Dombey or King Canute — whose chair, by the 
 way, was set up hard by the seat in qnestiou — ^"r
 
 156 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 we are close to Netley. Again, many thanks for 
 your letter, and believe me, 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 "C. F. GOEE." 
 
 Among the American friends of this literary 
 coterie, Washington Irving may be mentioned, 
 though he was scarcely to be called an American, 
 inasmuch as his father was an Englishman, and his 
 mother a Scotchwoman. He was often in this 
 couutrv, as his brother was a merchant in Liver- 
 pool; and when he visited London, he usually 
 breakfasted with Mr. Harness, and dined with 
 Rogers. Alluding to the vanity and self-apprecia- 
 tion of young America, not unnatural in a rising 
 nation, Mr. Harness told me that a friend of his 
 spoke in the following manner of a play he had 
 lately written : — " I wrote a tragedy last winter 
 — and a very good one it was ; and my father 
 said he wished to read it, and I allowed him ; 
 and lie said it was a very good one. And he said 
 he should like to go over it with me, word for word, 
 and line for line ; and we went over it word for 
 word, aud line for line ; and he said he should like 
 to show it to Washington Irving, and so he did ; 
 aud lie thought it was very good, and he said he 
 should like to go over it with me word for word and 
 line for line. And so we did, and it vms beautiful to
 
 MTRS SrOGWlCK. 157 
 
 observe the difference between that old man and, 
 me r 
 
 lu noticing the peculiar phraseology which has 
 grown up in America, Mr. Harness said that, one 
 day at dinner, Daniel Webster, in referring to 
 Devonshire, in which he had been travelling, de- 
 scribed its scenery in the concise words, " Clever 
 country." Shortly afterwards he asked Mr. Harness 
 whether he had heard Sydney Smith preach. He 
 replied in the affirmative. " Handsome preacher," 
 remarked Webster. Mr. Harness observed that the 
 epithets might have been advantageously transposed. 
 
 Amono^ Mr. Harness's friends and corresDondents 
 was Miss Sedgwick, the American authoress. It is 
 said that she alludes to him in the following passage, 
 though only an initial is given. (She came late to 
 Loftus Lowndes' dinner party, thinking the invita- 
 tion was for eight instead of seven.) " To my 
 dismay," she writes, "and in spite of my protesta- 
 tions, Mrs. insisted on re-beo-iunino; at the 
 
 ' O CD 
 
 alpha of the dinner; the guests had reached the 
 omega. The soup was brought back. JEl. averred 
 that it was most fortunate for him ; he had been 
 kept talking, and had not eaten half a dinner ; so he 
 started fresh with me and went bond fide through, 
 covering me with his a^gis as I ran my gauntlet 
 through the courses. The age of chivalry is not 
 past. Match this deed of courtesy, if you can, from
 
 158 
 
 THEODORE HOOK. 
 
 the lives of the preux chevaliers, taken from their 
 sun-rising to their sun-setting: !" 
 
 At Mrs. Siddons' receptions, Mr. Harness became 
 acquainted with Theodore Hook, who was then in 
 general request in fashionable and literary society. 
 He was an accomplished musician, and almost as 
 remarkable for his improvisatore talent as for his 
 brilliance in repartee. Wherever he happened to 
 be present, he was looked upon as the wag of the 
 party, and his love of merriment sometimes caused 
 him to indulge in pleasantries which, though suffi- 
 ciently harmless in themselves, verged too closely 
 upon the limits of propriety. One evening, Mr. Har- 
 ness, who shared the prejudices then entertained 
 about waltzing, observed to Theodore that he was 
 glad to hear that he disapproved of the new dance. 
 " Well, I don't know about that," returned his 
 friend, " 'tis a mere matter of feeliuo"." 
 
 When Theodore was travellino; along: the south 
 coast, he arrived in the course of his journey at 
 Dover, and alighting at the Ship Hotel, changed his 
 ]jcots, ordered a slight dinner, and went out for a 
 stroll through the town. Returning at the appointed 
 time, he was surprised to find the whole establishment 
 in confusion. A crowd had collected outside the door 
 — the master of the house was standing at the foot 
 of the stairs with two candles in his hands, and on 
 Theodore's entrance, he walked backwards before
 
 THEODORE HOOK. 159 
 
 liim, and concluc^ed him into the principal saloon, 
 where all the waiters were standing, and a magni- 
 ficent repast had becx. provided. The wit was 
 much amused at the dignity to which he had been 
 promoted ; but, being an easy-going fellow, made no 
 scruples, and sitting down, did full justice to what 
 was set before him. Next day he signified his 
 intention of departing, and ordered a coach ; when, 
 to his astonishment, a carriage-and-four drove up to 
 convey him to his destination. He inquired, with 
 some apprehension, what he was to pay for all this 
 grandeur, and was no less astonished than gratified 
 on receiving the answer, " Nothing whatever, your 
 Royal Highness." He was never more thoroughly 
 mystified] but the next night, on taking off" his 
 boots, which he had bought ready made just before 
 he went to Dover, he found " H.S.H. the Prince of 
 Orange " written inside them. They had been 
 originally made for the Prince, who was then in 
 England, sueing for the hand of Princess Charlotte, 
 and notice had been given that all his expenses 
 while in the country should be set down to the 
 charge of the Government. 
 
 Among those most celebrated for their hospitali- 
 ties during Mr. Harness's earlier residence in 
 London, was Miss Lydia White. She kept a ' mena- 
 gerie,' and was herself not the least remarkable 
 specimen it contained. Brave in paint and plaster —
 
 ] ' liYDIA WHITE. 
 
 a wonderful work of art — she underwent all the 
 labour necessary to produce the grand effect, not 
 from any vanity or affectation, but from motives of 
 pure benevolence. " Were T," she observed, " to 
 present myself, as I naturally am, without any of 
 these artificial adornments, instead of being a source 
 of pleasure, and perhaps amusement, to my friends, I 
 should plunge them into the profoundest melan- 
 choly." This considerate lady was not only fond 
 of clever conversation, but sometimes herself joined 
 in the tournament of wit. Mr. Harness remem- 
 bered many salHes of playful nonsense which he had 
 heard from her ; one of those he preserved was the 
 following: — On the return of Charles X. to Paris, 
 Talma was engaged to play ' Sylla ;' but he looked 
 so much like Napoleon, that he was ordered to put 
 on a curly wig. " Why," said L3^dia, " were he to 
 do that, we should hardly know Scylla from Cha- 
 rj^bdis." 
 
 On another occasion, at one of her small and 
 most agreeable dinners in Park Street, the company 
 (most of them, except the hostess, being Whigs) 
 were discussing, in rather a querulous strain, the 
 desperate prospects of their party. " Yes," said 
 Sydney Smith, " we are in a deplorable condition ; 
 we must do something to help ourselves ; I think 
 we had better sacrifice a Tory Virgin." This was 
 partially addressed to Lydia White, who at once
 
 MR. HOPE. 161 
 
 catcliing and applying the allusion to Iphigenia, 
 answered, "Well, I believe there is nothing the 
 Whigs vYould not do to raise the wind T 
 
 Among Mr. Harness's more intimate friends, the 
 name of Henry Hope should not be omitted. This 
 celebrated millionaire, the author of " Anastasius," 
 and the unfortunate hero in the picture of " Beauty 
 and the Beast," was unremitting in his kindness and 
 hospitality towards the young clergyman. He fre- 
 quently invited him to stay at the Deep Dene, and 
 here Mr. Harness found himself surrounded by all the 
 talent and wealth of E no-land. The tone of the 
 conversation sometimes amused him much ; as 
 when Eothschild observed to Hope that a man 
 must be a "a poor scoundrel who could not afford 
 to lose two millions ;" or replied to a nobleman who 
 said he must be a supremely happy man, " 1 
 happy ! when only this morning 1 received a letter 
 from a man to say that, if I did not send him £500, 
 he would blow out my brains !"* Mr. Hope had 
 a tutor for his sons at the Deep Dene. One day, 
 when Mr. Harness was staying there, he found this 
 gentleman pacing up and down the room in the 
 most distressing agitation of mind. " Is there any- 
 
 * The demands made upon the great are certainly most extra- 
 ordinary. I remember the late Archbishop Sumner telling me that 
 a man wrote to him to send him immediately £500, as it would save 
 him from " some unpleasant complications." It was to be dii'ected 
 to X. Y. Z., Fost Office, Bristol. 
 
 M
 
 162 ME. HOPE. 
 
 tliiag the matter ?" inquired Mr. Harness, anxiously. 
 " The matter !" he rephecl, " I should think there 
 was ! Three of the worst things that can possibly 
 happen to a man : I'm in love — I'm in debt — and 
 I've doubts about the doctrine of the Trinity !" 
 
 Mr. Hope died in 1831. The night after his death 
 Mr. Harness dreamed that he saw Lord Beresford's 
 country residence in an unusual state of commotion. 
 He woke up with the impression that some death or 
 other great calamity had happened there ; and 
 though he afterwards thought lightly of the matter, 
 he determined, as he was going in that direction, to 
 call at Lord Beresford's in Duchess Street, on his 
 way home. On arriving there, he found the blinds 
 down, and the house shut up ; and upon inquiring, 
 the gate-porter told him that Mr. Thomas Hope 
 had died the day before at Bedgebury Park. Mr. 
 Harness had not known that his friend was either 
 ill or in England. Mr. Hope left Mr. Harness his 
 literary executor. 
 
 The friendship which had subsisted between Mr. 
 Harness and the father was continued with the son, 
 and he was a frequent guest at the Deep Dene, and 
 at Castle Blaney, in Ireland, after it had been pur- 
 chased by Mr. Hope. During these visits he some- 
 times extended his journey, and spoke admiringly, 
 and with an artist's taste^ of the beauty of the coun- 
 try, and of the violet eyes and dark hair which in
 
 IRISH PRIEST. 163 
 
 some places cliaracterized the peasantry. He 
 generally crossed by Holyhead, but on one occasion 
 he took the longer sea-passage by Bristol, and on 
 the voyage made acquaintance with a Roman 
 Catholic Priest. He said that this Irish ecclesiastic 
 seemed one of the most finished gentlemen he had 
 ever met with, and he thought himself highly for- 
 tunate when, on landing, he offered to accompany 
 him and show the lions of the good city of Cork. 
 They walked through the town arm-in-arm, Mr. 
 Harness and the Priest, the latter treading the 
 streets with a majestic step and lofty mien, which 
 approached almost to sublimity when the people 
 bowed down before him, counted their beads and 
 besought his blessing. At length, having made the 
 round of the town, and visited Father Mathew's 
 statue, and the principal buildings, " And now, 
 sir," said the Priest, " perhaps you would like to see 
 / the Beggars' Market ;' and, indeed, I have a little 
 business to do there myself." Mr. Harness as- 
 sented, and he led the way to a place where there 
 seemed to be every sort of tiling which nobody 
 could possibly want. Rusty hinges, broken keys, 
 and old coffins formed a considerable part of the 
 miscellaneous collection. The Priest's business was, 
 it appeared, to buy souie second-hand soda-water 
 bottles, which he intended to fill with 'cherry-bounce.' 
 He presently found out an old woman who had sncli 
 
 M 2
 
 164 EEMAEKABLE PEESENTIMENT. 
 
 articles for sale, and he accordingly began to bar- 
 gain with her for them. But, good Heavens ! what 
 a transformation ! His elegant manners and lofty 
 bearing disappeared as if by magic ; his voice became 
 loud and menacing, his countenance dark and fero- 
 cious. His gesticulations as he continued became still 
 more alarming, and the vileness and profanity of his 
 language quite took his companion's breath away. 
 When by these means he had accomplished his end — 
 the cheapening of a dozen bottles from tenpence to 
 sevenpence — he resumed his wonted tranquillity ; 
 and, thrusting his arm through that of Mr. Harness, 
 walked away as majestically as if nothing had oc- 
 curred. 
 
 Alluding to the strange coincidence above men- 
 tioned, in the case of Mr. Hope's death, and to 
 other remarkable dreams, Mr. Harness related that 
 a ladv friend of his, when about to return with her 
 husband from India, prayed him to reconsider his 
 determination, as she had dreamed that she was 
 drowned, and that, as she was dying, she saw a white 
 cloud passing over her. He laughed at her fears, 
 and represented to her how absurd it would appear 
 to their friends to say they had determined to remain 
 in India because she had had the nightmare on the 
 eve of their departure. They accordingly sailed as 
 they had arranged and reached Alexandria in safety. 
 " What do you think of your dream now ?" inquired
 
 SERJEANT TALFOUHD. 165 
 
 her husband. " We are not yet in London," she 
 rephed doubtfully. They soon arrived safely in 
 Paris. " We are not far from London now," 
 he observed jocosely. " But we are not yet 
 there," she persisted. They crossed to Dover, and 
 were proceeding by rail to town, when the well- 
 known accident occurred to the train at Staple- 
 hurst ; the carriages were overturned into the water ; 
 the lady was drowned, and the white steam of the 
 enofine was blown across her like a cloud. 
 
 It was throuo^h Miss Mitford's introduction that 
 Mr. Harness became intimate with Serjeant Tal- 
 fourd. He had been a Reading boy — a pupil of 
 Dr. Valpy's — and the authoress felt an admiration 
 for his talents even greater than that she en- 
 tertained for everything else of worth which 
 emanated from her " Belford Regis." He was one 
 of those many ])roteges for whom she predicted a 
 successful career; and when, in after-years, her 
 prophecy had proved true, she often stayed on a 
 visit at his house in London. One of these occa- 
 sions was shortly after the production and favour- 
 able reception of the Serjeant's well-known play of 
 " Ion." Miss Mitford was also herself at the zenith 
 of her fame. " Rienzi" had run for fifty nights at 
 Drury Lane; and the attention she received, and 
 the crowds of visitors she attracted, kindled a flame 
 of jealousy in the breast of the rival author. Some
 
 166 SERJEANT TALFOUED. 
 
 complaints of his unreasonable conduct towards her 
 may be found in her letters at this period. It was, 
 perhaps, natural that a man who had just written a 
 successful play should feel a little proud of his 
 bantling ; but the Serjeant seems, in this respect, to 
 have altogether exceeded the bounds of moderation. 
 One morning at breakfast, during Miss Mitford's 
 visit, he opened a newspaper and came upon a 
 review depreciating his beloved play. This 
 brought matters to a crisis. He loudly inveighed 
 against the injustice of the critic ; and on Miss 
 Mitford's endeavouring to pacify him, by remarking 
 that it was really not so severe, and that she should 
 not have felt so much had the strictures been 
 made on her " Eienzi," "Your ' Rienzi,' indeed !" 
 replied the Seijeant contemptuously ; " I dare say 
 not ! That is very different !" I have even heard 
 it stated that the dissension on this subject became 
 so unpleasant that Miss Mitford packed up her 
 boxes one morning and drove away to Mr. Harness's. 
 The Serjeant may, perhaps, be pardoned, for his 
 affection for " Ion" was deep and constant. On one 
 occasion, when Dickens was calling on Rogers 
 at Broadstairs, he observed, " We shall have Tal- 
 fourd here to-night." " Shall we ?" returned the 
 Poet; " I am rejoiced to hear it. I hope he will 
 come and dine ; but how do you know he is com- 
 inor ?" "Because 'Ion' is to be acted at Margate,
 
 SERJEANT TALFOUED. 167 
 
 and he is never absent from any of its representa- 
 tions." 
 
 There was as much careless freedom in Tal- 
 fourd's household as in that of most men of 
 genius. Goldsmith himself could not have desired 
 a more entire absence of conventionality. One day, 
 when Mr. Harness was dining at their house in 
 company with several judges, the Serjeant and Mrs. 
 Talfourd sat throughout dinner each with a cat in 
 their lap. On another occasion, Mrs. Talfourd re- 
 quested him to carve a chicken which was placed 
 before him. He essayed to comply, but on his 
 making the attempt the bird spun round and shot 
 off the dish. Mr. Harness, who was a little timid 
 in society, was much perturbed by this misadven- 
 ture ; but on examining the cause of it, he found 
 that he had been given a fork with only one prong ! 
 " Will you be so good as to cut that tart before 
 you," said the hostess to another guest. " Certainly, 
 if you desire it," was the reply; " but perhaps you 
 are not aware that it has not been in the oven ?" 
 
 Dickens was a very kind friend to Mr. Harness ; 
 he regarded him as one of the literary men of the 
 past, and occasionally asked his opinion, and sent 
 him little presents, which were of course very grati- 
 fying. Mr. Harness thoroughly appreciated the great 
 novelist and his works, and was supremely happy 
 whenever he could persuade ' Charles' to be a guest
 
 168 
 
 DICKENS. 
 
 at his table. When Dickens was giving Readings in 
 his later years, he told Mr. Harness that he would 
 always have a chair placed for him close to the plat- 
 form; but Mr. Harness never accepted the kind 
 offer, although he attended all his Recitations ; and 
 on those appointed nights it was impossible to per- 
 suade him to accept any invitation. Notes fre- 
 quently passed between them, but they were short 
 and unimportant, though always neatly worded. 
 The following will serve as a specimen : — 
 
 " My dear Harness, 
 " Will Miss Harness and you come and dine with 
 us, at the Star and Garter at Richmond, on Monday 
 the 26th at a quarter past six ? Besides ourselves 
 there will be only A. Townshend and a young bride, 
 a friend of ours, who from being a quiet clergy- 
 man's daughter in the Isle of Wight has suddenly 
 expanded (like a girl in a Fairy Tale) into fifty 
 thousand a year and a castle, 
 
 " Affectionately yours always, 
 
 " Chaeles Dickens." 
 
 Dickens was too fully engaged to write long 
 letters, even had he not been a man of too active a 
 character to spend his time in that way. Mr. 
 Harness, alluding to his industry and talent, re- 
 marks that " wiien Hume coniplained that his
 
 THACKERAY. , 169 
 
 speeches were not faithfully reported in the ' Times,' 
 the Editor put on Dickens, who was then a re- 
 porter, and the dissatisfied member very soon cried, 
 
 The name of Dickens brings us to that of his great 
 contemporary, Thackeray ; with regard to whom 
 Mr. Harness appeared to entertain some prejudice. 
 He thought his Bohemianism andthe ffoneral toneof 
 his writings exercised an injurious influence on the 
 rising generation. His first personal experience of 
 the novelist was certainly not calculated to remove 
 this impression. Thackeray invited him to dinner, 
 and Mr. Harness accepted with delight, promising 
 himself a rich intellectual feast at the house of a man 
 of such literary reputation. He was gratified in 
 one respect, for when he arrived he found learning 
 and talent most ably represented. The party at 
 dinner was large; and while the ladies remained 
 the conversation wandered softly among fl.owers 
 and wine and airy compliments. At length the 
 movement came — the flutter of fans and silks — 
 and the gay cortege of youth and beauty made its 
 way to the upper world. The light element had now 
 passed away ; the hour had arrived ; and Mr. Har- 
 ness looked forward to such a discussion as should 
 surpass the days of yore. Now was the time for 
 sharp repartee and for the settling of accounts 
 between rival wits — for the cut and thrust and skiliYil
 
 170 
 
 CEABB ROBINSON, 
 
 parry. He settled himself in bis chair, prepared to 
 take his part if necessary, and kept his eyes and 
 ears open, so as not to lose a single word or gesture. 
 " Do yon smoke ?" inquired the host. " Smoke ?" 
 Mr. Harness had never been guilty of such an 
 offence against social morality. In his day, tars and 
 bargemen were the only smokers — except Dr. Parr 
 — and he retained all the old prejudices against such 
 an imitation of chimney-pots. He would as soon 
 have thought of going to carouse at a public-house 
 as of smoking in the dining-room after dinner. 
 " Smoke, Sir? I do not." But his firm refusal had 
 no effect whatever on the epicurean company by 
 which he was surrounded. Cio-ars and tobacco were 
 placed upon the table ; punch and negus followed ; 
 and the observations which were made during the 
 rest of the sitting consisted only of such in- 
 structive remarks as " Pass the box," and '' Fill 
 up ! " 
 
 Another literary man, whom Mr. Harness con- 
 stantly met, but who has derived most of 
 his renown from his Diary, was Crabb Robinson. 
 Mr. H. said that he was one of the few men 
 who, having worked to obtain a competence for 
 literary leisure, did actually, when the time arrived, 
 retire from public life and remunerative employ- 
 ment. Crabb Robinson often mentions his friend in 
 an incidental way in his Diary. In oue place we
 
 BISHOP PHILLrOTTS. 171 
 
 read, " The first time I dined with Harness was in 
 1839, and I met Babbage. He has written some 
 elegant poems. He was, and is a man of taste — of 
 High Church principles, and liberal in spirit. Among 
 our common friends were John L. Kenyon and Miss 
 Burdetb Coutts." He made a mistake in caUing Mr. 
 Harness a High Clmrchman, for he always wished 
 to keep things in the " old way," to which he had 
 been accustomed in his youth. He said that Crabb 
 Robinson was a great talker, but often drifted about 
 from one subject to another in a most disconnected 
 manner. 
 
 Many eminent men might be enumerated among 
 Mr. Harness's clerical friends and acquaintances. 
 He often spoke with admiration of Dr. Phillpotts, 
 the celebrated nonagenarian Bishop of Exeter. The 
 Bishop was remarkable, not only for erudition, but 
 for that social tact and elegance which rarely accom- 
 panies it. One day his lawyers were dining with 
 him, and he wished his wife to retire from the table 
 early, that he might discuss with them his course of 
 action in one of those unfortunate suits in which he 
 was so constantly involved. The lady, however, 
 found the legal gentlemen agreeable, and notwith- 
 standing repeated nods, and winks, and hints from 
 her lord, remained immoveable in her place. At 
 lenorth she understood his meaning, and rose hur- 
 riedly to depart. " AVhat ! so sooHy my lover 
 
 V"
 
 172 BR. MILMAN. 
 
 demanded the Bishop, blandly, as he opened the 
 door for her with an obsequious bow. 
 
 Lady Morley told Dr. Phillpotts she was going to 
 leave Torquay sooner than she had intended. The 
 Bishop inquired what cause was to deprive them of 
 the pleasure of her company. " I am going for 
 advice about ray eyes," she replied; '* they give me 
 constant pain." " Well, Madam," he returned, "it is 
 perhaps only fair that eyes which have done so much 
 execution, should in turn suffer something them- 
 selves." 
 
 Dr. Milman, who was for a long period Yicar of 
 Eeading, before he became Dean of St. Paul's, was 
 one of Mr. Harness's and Miss Mitford's earliest 
 friends. Speaking of his celebrated poem, Mr. 
 Harness observed that one day he found Mr. 
 Murray in an unusual state of disquietude and in- 
 dignation. " Would you believe it," demanded the 
 publisher, " Milman has written to ask me for an 
 additional sum for the second edition of the ' Fall of 
 Jerusalem ?' Why, it was I who made that poem." 
 "You?" repeated Mr. Harness, in much astonish- 
 ment ; for although Mr. Murray was an excellent 
 man of business, he could never have been accused 
 of being in the least degree poetical — " you made 
 the * Fall of Jerusalem ?' " " Yes," maintained the 
 publisher, stoutly. " I should like to know what 
 that poem would have been if I had not brought it
 
 PETSON CHAPLAIN. 
 
 173 
 
 out in an octavo firm?" Mr. Murray sent the 
 MS. of " Philip van Artevelde" to Milraan and Har- 
 ness for their opinions as to its prospects of success. 
 Both, strange to say, were unfavourable to it. Mr. 
 Harness said he never knew a book look so different 
 in print from what it did in manuscript. There 
 was to the last much sympathy and intercourse be- 
 tween these remarkable brother-clergymen. Mr. 
 Harness said that the unfortuuate weakness of the 
 spine from which his friend suffered, was inherited ; 
 but that when young, he was an athletic man, a 
 good oarsman and cricketer. 
 
 Dr. Selwyn, the late Bishop of New Zealand, men- 
 tioned to Mr. Harness that on askiug an old Maori 
 what he thought of the English colonists, the 
 reply was, " Well, first come the little flies, and then 
 the big flies. We are the little flies, and you are 
 the bio; ones who are to succeed us." He said 
 the natives were an intelligent but idle race. 
 
 On our conversation turning one day upon the 
 fact that clergymen generally were destined to 
 witness but small results from their labours, Mr. 
 Harness remarked that allusion had been made to 
 the same subject previously when he was visiting a 
 prison chaplain. Mr. Harness asked him whether his 
 ministry had been attended with success. " With 
 very little, I grieve to say," was the reply. "A 
 short time since I thought I had brought to a better
 
 174 
 
 A COUNTRY CLEEGYMAN. 
 
 state of mind a man who had attempted to murder 
 a woman and had been condemned to death. He 
 showed great signs of contrition after the sentence 
 was passed upon him, and I thought I could observe 
 the dawnings of grace upon his souh I gave him a 
 Bible, and he was most assiduous in the study of it, 
 frequently quoting passages from it which he said 
 convinced him of the heinousness of his offence. 
 The man gave altogether such a promise of refor- 
 mation, and of a change of heart and life, that I 
 exerted myself to the utmost, and obtained for him 
 such a commutation of his sentence as would 
 enable him soon to begin the world again, and as I 
 hoped with a happier result. I called to inform him 
 of my success. His gratitude knew no bounds ; he 
 said I was his preserver, his deliverer. ' And here,' 
 he added, as he grasped my hand in parting, ' here 
 is your Bible. I may as well return it to you, for I 
 hope that 1 shall never want it again.^ " 
 
 The following humourous allusions occurred in 
 Mr. Harness's conversations with me, and although 
 they are trifling in their nature, may not form 
 an unpleasant conclusion to this chapter. 
 
 A country Rector, coming up to preach at Oxford 
 in his turn, complained to Dr. Routh, the vener- 
 able Principal of Maudlin, that the remunera- 
 tion was very inadequate, considering the travelling 
 expenses, and the labour necessary for the composi-
 
 CONVERSATIONAL ANECDOTES. 175 
 
 tion of the discourse. " How much did they give 
 you?" iuquired Dr. Routh. "Only five pounds," 
 was the reply. " Only five pounds ?" repeated the 
 Doctor. " Why, I would not have preached that 
 sermon for fifty." 
 
 When Lawrence (the Doctor) received so many 
 black balls at the Athenaeum, every one said, " Think 
 of the Clergy being so ill-natured!" It was found 
 that only two blackballs came from clergymen, and 
 eleven from doctors ! 
 
 At a dinner party a somewhat dull couple, who 
 afi'ected literature, informed their friend that they 
 were going to visit the city of Minerva. Mr. Har- 
 ness, who happened to be sitting next to the 
 humorous Jekyll, heard him mutter to himself, 
 " To the Greeks — foolishness." 
 
 The Bishop of Derry was disputing with a Roman 
 Catholic Priest about Purgatory. " Well, my Lord," 
 replied the Priest in conclusion, " you may go 
 further and fare worse." 
 
 Jones, the tailor, was asked by a customer who 
 thought much of his cut, to go down and have some 
 shooting with him in the country. Among the party 
 was the Duke of Northumberland. "Well, Mr. 
 Jones," observed his Grace, " I'm glad to see that 
 you are becoming a sportsman. What sort of gun 
 do you shoot with ?" " Oh, with a double-breasted 
 one, your Grace," was the reply.
 
 173 CONVEESATrONAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Speaking of Bruramell, Mr. Harness remarked 
 tkat many of the dandies of his time were men of 
 wit, and not mere clothes-horses. He remembered 
 a party standing to admire a sunset where the orb 
 of day was departing in a golden glory. " Does it 
 very well, doesn't he ?" observed Brummell. On 
 another occasion Brummell was walking with a 
 friend past the newly erected bronze statue in Han- 
 over Square. *' Well," said his friend, " I never 
 thought Pitt had been so tall a man." " Nor so 
 green a one," added Brummell. Belvoir Castle was 
 at that time very famous for its hospitalities. So 
 large was the number of invitations that people nsed 
 to come and go almost without the knowledge of 
 the Duke. When one set had left, another succeeded 
 as a matter of course, without waiting for any 
 formal invitation. Brummell was among those who 
 enjoyed these privileges. On one occasion a friend 
 went down to Belvoir, and as usual applied for an 
 apartment. " There are none vacant," replied the 
 housekeeper. " JSFone vacant!" returned the dis- 
 majed visitor; "how can that be! I know that 
 Mr. Brummell came up to town yesterday." "Yes, 
 Sir," replied the lady, " but he took the hey along 
 with himj."" 
 
 Speaking of Mr. Lowe's speeches, Mr. Harness re- 
 marked that nothing so chastened the taste as the 
 study of the classics ; not even that of Shakespeare.
 
 IIDMOlTlifSTS. 177 
 
 He also observed that humour was in tlie mind, 
 and had nothing to do with the animal spirits. 
 Charles Mathews, Liston, and Leach were all given 
 to despondency. The story about the Doctor 
 recommending^ Grimaldi to (^o and hear himself 
 really referred to an actor in Italy. 
 
 Having consorted with so many of the most bril- 
 liant wits for half a century, Mr. Harness had heard 
 so many racy sayings, that it was difficult to produce 
 any jeu d^ esprit which seemed to him really original. 
 On one occasion (when he had been dining in com- 
 pany with the Bishop of Oxford and Mr. Gladstone) 
 I inquired how he enjoyed his privilege, and what 
 was the character of the intellectual banquet ? 
 ' Well," he replied, " after dinner the gentlemen 
 began to relate anecdotes, and to say the truth 
 I don't think I ever heard so many stale ' Joe 
 Millers' in my life." 
 
 One December, when I was about to leave for the 
 country, he told me the following stories with which 
 I might amuse my friends round the Christmas 
 hearth. They are interesting as being supported 
 by a stronger amount of evidence than such 
 accounts usually possess. 
 
 On one occasion, in the time of our grandfathers, 
 a hundred and fifty years ago, the mansion of Lord 
 Townshend at Rainham, was so full, that the rooms 
 in ordinary use were not sufficient to accommodate 
 
 N
 
 178 SUPERNATUI^M. ArPEARANOES. 
 
 tho guests. To solve tbis difiSculty, it was proposed 
 to Dlace one of the visitors in a cliamber which was 
 generally supposed to be haunted by a white female 
 figure. It was late at night when Lord Townshend 
 conducted his friend to his apartment, and the con- 
 sternation of both may be imagined when, on open- 
 ing the door, they perceived somethiug white and 
 tall, like a female in a long robe, gliding across, 
 and disappearing through a panel opposite. Next 
 day Lord Townshend examined the wainscoting, 
 and observing a slight peculiarity in the panel, 
 ordered it to be removed. Behind it a kind of niche 
 was discovered, containing a human skeleton. It 
 was now learnt, from some of the oldest inhabitants 
 in the neighbourhood, that the white apparition had 
 formerly been considered to be connected with a 
 Lady Townshend about whose death there had 
 been something dark and mysterious. Lord Towns- 
 hend ordered the coffin, in which she was supposed 
 to have been buried, to be brought up from the vault, 
 and a strano^e confirmation was o^iven to the ancient 
 
 O CD 
 
 rumour, when, on its being opened, it was found to 
 be empty. 
 
 Lord Glenelo-'s father told Mr. Harness that once 
 when his son was staying at a country house, and 
 the party were assembled at the breakfast table, he 
 observed from the window a lady — who was to have 
 left that morning — crossing* the lawn. On making
 
 SUPEPNATUI1\L APPEAllANCER. 179 
 
 inquines, it was found tliat the lady in question 
 had left the house, and it subsequently transpired 
 that an accident had occurred in which she had lost 
 her life, at the very time when she appeared to be 
 passing before the windows. 
 
 Dr. Baring, when Bishop of Gloucester and 
 Bristol, rented for a short period a house which had 
 belonged to Sir J. Paul, the grandfather of the 
 present Baronet. Miss was soon after- 
 wards staying with him as a visitor. One night, on 
 putting out her candle and lying down in bed, she 
 beheld, to her astonishment and alarm, a little old 
 man sitting in the arm-chair, warming his hands 
 over the fire. Her first impulse was to call for 
 help ; but she restrained herself, and, the figure con- 
 tinuing motionless, she at length fell asleep. In the 
 morning she related what she had seen, and from 
 the description she gave of the old gentleman, one 
 of the party at once recognized him as the deceased 
 baronet to whom the house had previously be- 
 longed. 
 
 A vessel was sailing in the Atlantic, when the 
 mate, on looking into the captain's cabin, saw a 
 stranger sitting at the writing-desk. A sentence 
 was afterwards found written there : " Steer to the 
 north-west." The captain supposed it must have 
 been written by one of the crew, but none of their 
 handwritino's in the least resembled that found in 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SUPERNATURAL APREARANCES. 
 
 the cabin. After some consultation, the captain 
 changed Ms course and stood for the north-west. 
 When they had sailed a considerable distance, they 
 came in sio-ht of an ice-bound vessel. "There" 
 cried the mate, as soon as they went aboard her, 
 *■ there is the man I saw writing in the cabin !" 
 He was one of the sailors, and had been asleep at 
 the time stated.
 
 18] 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 POLITICS. — BENEFITS OF SETTLED GOVERNMENT TO RICU AND POOR. — 
 POLITICAL ALLUSIONS UNSUITABLE IN THE PULPIT. — NECESSARY EX- 
 CEPTIONS. — CONDUCT OF THE GOVERNMENT IN INDIA. — ABSENCE OF 
 RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE IN THE COUNCILS OF THE NATION. — STATE 
 AID. — REFINEMENT NOT NECESSARILY CONDUCIVE TO MORALITY. — 
 OBJECTIONS TO UNSECTARIAN EDUCATION. 
 
 It will be unnecessary to inform the reader who 
 has perused the foregoing chapters that Mr. 
 Harness was, in every sense, a clergyman of the 
 old school. He took a pride in being so, and as 
 he advanced in life his character became more 
 marked in this respect. It must be remembered 
 that he had lived in times widely different from the 
 present, and had known the day when he incurred 
 the charge of affectation for not powdering his hair 
 like his brother clergymen. He was then regarded 
 as somewhat in advance of his age ; but he still 
 retained a great suspicion of novelties, and was doubt- 
 ful whether changes would be found generally advan- 
 tageous. His deportment was in every respect in 
 unison with his sentiments. No one could be in his
 
 182 POLITICAL VIEWS. 
 
 company without observing the neatness of his 
 attire, the precision of his language, and the studious 
 poHteness of his manner. He was an admirable 
 specimen of the past age, and deplored the care- 
 less dress, the ' fast ' conversation, and the broad 
 opinions of the rising generation. " There seems 
 to be some truth," he would say, " in what I have 
 heard among my contemporaries, that there are no 
 gentlemen like the old gentlemen." In politics, Mr. 
 Harness belonged to the old 'Church and Kino;' 
 school — a staunch conservative ; but if not pro- 
 fessedly ' liberal ' in principle he was always prac- 
 tically generous ; and that he held enlightened views 
 may be inferred from the following passages : — 
 
 " The Gospel naturally directs to equal rule and 
 liberal government. It opposes a permanent re- 
 sistance to every species of tyranny and injustice; 
 it operates with a steady, even, and continued 
 agency for the amelioration of the condition of 
 mankind. It is the good seed which the Lord has 
 sown ; and it will inevitably arise in majesty and 
 spread its protecting branches over us, if, with 
 faith in the wisdom and devout reliance on the 
 Providence of God, we wall allow it to grow up 
 and flourish beneath the genial influence of Heaven, 
 and not destroy the promise of its blossoms by 
 endeavours to anticipate the fruit." 
 
 " Savage and barbarous life is not an unmixed
 
 BENEFITS OF SECURITY. 183 
 
 evil ; civil and orderly life is not an unmixed good. 
 And it most unfortunately happens that the evils of 
 civil and orderly life always seem to bear, with the 
 full oppression of their weight, on that most nu- 
 merous class amono: whom its grood is least imme- 
 diately perceptible. The benefits which result from 
 the existence of an established government, and 
 from the due subordination of the different classes 
 of society, are very distinctly seen by those who 
 enjoy (under such a state of things) the security of 
 their property, and the possession of all the luxuries 
 and comforts which such security affords. But the 
 wisdom of such a system is by no means so self- 
 evident to the humbler and poorer many. The 
 meditative mind, indeed, may trace its kindly in- 
 fluence from the heart to the extremities of society, 
 and discover that, as there is no part uncherished 
 by the support which it diffuses, neither is there 
 any part (however abject or remote) that would not 
 be injured by its abolition. Tliis is a truth — but it 
 is an obscure truth. The good which the poor and 
 labouring^ class derive from the institutions of civil 
 life approaches them by such circuitous and com- 
 plicated channels that none but an educated eye can 
 follow it through all its windings, and track it up- 
 wards to its source Doubtless, the poor would be 
 sufferers from the miseries of anarchy ; doubtless, 
 they have a vital interest in the security of govern-
 
 184 BENEFITS OF SECURITY. 
 
 ment aad the inviolability of the laws ; but the 
 portion of that general benefit which descends to 
 them appears so small, in comparison with that 
 which is afforded their superiors, and sheds so cold 
 a comfort around their destitute and narrow homes, 
 that they may well be pardoned if they sometimes 
 fail to perceive in what manner their welfare can be 
 connected with the orderly and tranquil subsistence 
 of institutions which secure to their masters the 
 enjoyment of ease, wealth, and power, and seem 
 to leave nothimy for them but an unwelcome residue 
 of indigence, labour, and privations." 
 
 " Exactly in proportion as property is secure, 
 civilization advances : exactly in proportion as 
 property is insecure, civilization declines. ' Righ- 
 teousness,' says Solomon, ' exalteth a nation, but 
 sin is a reproach to any people." As governments 
 are oppressive, as laws are partially administered, 
 as the dealino-s between man and man become more 
 mingled with falsehood or attainted by fraud, as 
 rapine and violence are allowed to escape un- 
 punished — the fair fruits of art and science, of 
 sound learning and liberal opinion, of gentle man- 
 ners and mild affections, perish gradually away, and 
 give place to all the evil progeny which are en- 
 gendered of malignant passions, narrow-minded 
 bigotry, and all-grasping selfishness." 
 
 Mr. Harness very seldom touched upon politics in
 
 THE rUEACHING OF TEACE. 185 
 
 his public ministry ; he wished to remove as far as 
 possible all party feeling from the worship of God. 
 Alluding to his conduct in this respect, he observes : 
 **I have purposely avoided all allusion to subjects of 
 a mere temporal nature. The passing interests of 
 the day — the dissensions of politicians — the occur- 
 rences which engage and disturb society, have found 
 no reverberating echoes here. My desire has been 
 that when we were met together for our brief Sab- 
 bath hour, that hour should be one of calm and 
 peace, shedding over the soul the purifying rest of 
 Sabbath feelings ; an hour snatched from the ordi- 
 nary cares, thoughts, and business of the world, 
 and saved from the turmoil of those factions and 
 feuds, competitions and enmities, which tumultuously 
 rage without the wall of this ' house of prayer,' like 
 the angry waves of the deluge about the Ark. On 
 the same principle, we have never perplexed our- 
 selves, here, with the disputes of the religious 
 parties of the day. Without ever shrinking from the 
 full and distinct avowal of my own view^s, which, I 
 trust, are ahke supported by the authority of Scrip- 
 ture and the Church, T have abstained from disturb- 
 ing your minds with the discussion of the views of 
 those who differ from us. I have studiously avoided 
 stimulating your animosities against any class of 
 your brother Christians, either by denunciations of 
 the Roman Catholics, or attacks on the Calvinists, or
 
 18G THE PREACHING OP PEACE. 
 
 anathemas agaiust the Tractarians. I have shunned 
 such topics, because they tend to produce mahgnity, 
 and not charity; because the preaching against 
 others is virtually an exalting of ourselves, and I 
 know whom it is the Lord delighteth to abase; 
 because every error of opinion among the disciples 
 of the Gospel is combined with a certain degree of 
 truth derived from the Gospel, and it requires far 
 greater nicety of discrimination than the brief and 
 hasty notices of the pulpit will allow to escape the 
 danger of treading down the wheat of truth, while 
 attempting to eradicate the tares of error ; and 
 because every year I live, my conviction becomes 
 stronger that ' piety never begins till controversy 
 ends.' My only object has been to concentrate your 
 attention on the great essential doctrines of Chris- 
 tianity, and so to bring them to bear on your con- 
 sciences as to secure their practical influence on 
 your duty towards God and man. Apart from all 
 exciting arguments — all declamatory appeals to the 
 passions — all startling paradoxes which are gradually 
 resolved by the alchemy of rhetoric into axiomatic 
 truths — all subtle theological disquisitions — and all 
 ingenious and novel but very questionable interpre- 
 tations of Scripture, I have been content to tread 
 the level ground ofi'ered by the common themes of 
 pastoral instruction, without regarding the imputa- 
 tion of being considered common-place ; for I have
 
 PRACTICAL IKRKLIGION. 187 
 
 always felt that niy office here is not to teach 
 divinity, as a science, to the learned few, but reli- 
 gion to the ignorant many, as presenting the highest 
 objects of human hopes, and the noblest and purest 
 motives of human conduct." 
 
 But there were occasions on which he deemed it 
 culpable that a Minister of the Gospel should hold 
 his peace. Under such pressure he felt it his duty to 
 express his opinion in firm and uncompromising 
 terms, and boldly condemned the temporizing policy 
 of expediency. 
 
 " Either the information flowing in upon us day 
 by day, and from different quarters, must be sub- 
 ject to a strange perversion, or there are delin- 
 quencies attaching to the Indian Government and 
 to the Enghsh sojourners in India, which alone 
 may be accounted as sufficient to invite the wrath 
 of the Almighty against them ; delinquencies, not only 
 of such a description as could never have occurred, 
 had the great body of our countrymen in the Bast 
 been duly sensible of the responsibility of their posi- 
 tion as Christian men among heathen people, but such 
 as were sure, according to those ordinary counsels 
 of Divine Providence which are revealed to us in the 
 Bible, to expose and lay them bare to the wrath of 
 God. I refer to no mere temporal transactions; I 
 ignore all allusion to their civil oppressions — their 
 heavy exactions — their deadly opium trade — their
 
 188 ABSENCE OF IJELIGION 
 
 grasping avarice — tbeir questionable annexations ; 
 I speak simply of their conduct as members of the 
 Church of Christ, and with reference to the Gospel 
 of Christ. Has their influence been righteously 
 employed for the diminution of Heathenism among 
 the people ? Has it not been employed in a con- 
 trary direction ? And has not Idolatry of the 
 grossest description been sustained, in decided 
 opposition to God's commandments, by the fostering 
 smiles and cheering patronage of the authorities ? 
 It is one thing to abstain from attacking a false 
 religion with violence, and another to pay homage 
 to it; but unless the information of competent 
 authorities deceives us, we have, by our conduct, 
 been inducing the belief that religious error and 
 rehgious truth are matters of indifference — that 
 Idolatry is no vain thing — and that we, who are 
 worshippers of Jehovah, may, at any time, and 
 with impunity, be allowed to mingle our devotions 
 with the votaries of Baal and Moloch " 
 
 Again, with reference to our Home legislation, he 
 observes : — 
 
 " Look to the great councils of the nation ! 
 What is the operation of faith there ? Where do 
 you find among the members who form them the 
 pure, the righteous, the holy principles of the 
 Gospel referred to, with . the view of discovering 
 what God's Word really does direct, that that
 
 IN THE COUNCILS OP THE NATION. 189 
 
 Word may be taken as their guide, and strictly 
 followed out in their acts of legislation ? No. It 
 is cited ' as if they believed in it ; a courteous 
 obeisance of respect is made to it in passing ; but 
 passed by it is ; and while they acknowledge its 
 divine authority with their lips, they repudiate its 
 divine authority by their practice. I would cite, 
 in proof of this statement, the bent of modern 
 legislation to relax the restraints which our Chris- 
 tian forefathers have placed upon the passions, as 
 evinced in the Divorce Bill, and in the repeated 
 attempts to authorize a man's marriage with his 
 wife's sister. In the first of these bills, the legis- 
 lation is directly opposed to God's Word ; in the 
 second, it is, to say the least, but little accordant 
 with the the spirit of God's law. Christian faith, if 
 it really and influentially possessed the hearts of 
 our legislators, would direct them to an opposite 
 course. It would prompt them to strengthen, a -id 
 not to weaken, the marriage tie — to extend, and 
 not to contract, the circle of pure affections about 
 the hearth." 
 
 Directing his views by the light of God's Word 
 alone, he alternately reprobated the irreligious con- 
 duct both of rulers and people. Some good re- 
 marks on the fluctuations of public opinion are 
 contained in the following passage : 
 
 " If it were allowed us to form our notions of
 
 100 rUTlLTf^ OPINION. 
 
 the Divine GoverrimeTit from what we see going on 
 in the world around us, we miffht be led to believe 
 that any course of ponduct, however vicious, if 
 followed by the majority of a nation, must neces- 
 sarily pass unpunished. As far as this world is 
 concerned we know that all things are ultimately 
 governed by opinion — that the opinion which 
 governs is the opinion of the many — that the opinion 
 of the many, like every other earthly thing, is liable 
 to incessant mutation — that if, in one age, Religion 
 and Virtue be sustained by the suffrages of the 
 people, in another, ungodliness and vice may, 
 under the same powerful auspices, become ascen- 
 dant — and that when evil, sanctioned by the senti- 
 ments and habits of the multitude, thus stands 
 omnipotent in the support of public opinion, any 
 human monarch who might attempt to restrain it 
 by laws or subject it to penalties, would as much 
 exert himself in vain as if he tried to control the 
 violence of the winds or to regulate the rush and 
 swell of the ocean. 
 
 " But is such the case with the Government of 
 God ? Is His authority liable to be controlled or 
 swayed by any such external influences ? Can the 
 fluctuations of human opinion affect the measures of 
 His dominion ? No. The most mighty Lord of 
 Heaven and Earth holds in His own wisdom the 
 certain invariable principles of moral good and evil.
 
 STATE ATD. 
 
 IIIL 
 
 And, in accordance with those principles, the 
 reward and punishment of His justice will inevitably 
 be determined. All other things may change ; 
 God is immutable." 
 
 From a due appreciation of the weakness and in- 
 stability of human nature, Mr. Harness considered 
 it of importance that the Church should be sup- 
 ported by the State :* 
 
 "Although State aid was necessary, in the dark 
 days of barbarism, it is presumed that no such help 
 is required in our present times of light and civiliza- 
 tion — that Christianity may now be safely left to 
 find its level without the superintending care of 
 Government — and that, as with every other essentials 
 to the welfare of human life, the want would create 
 the demand, and the demand would secure the 
 supply. Nothing can be more erroneous than such 
 a supposition. It is founded on a fallacy altogether. 
 There is not only no analogy between the cases ; 
 but, as Dr. Chalmers admirablv demonstrated in his 
 evidence before the Irish Committee, there is the 
 most direct opposition between them. With regard 
 
 * In late years, speaking of the Bill for the Disestablishment of 
 the Irish Church, he observed how great were the disadvantages of 
 the Voluntary system. A clergyman under it must preach what 
 the people wish to bear. " A Dissenting congregation," ho 
 added, " lately dismissed their minister, on the ground that no 
 man could make a living if he acted on the principles which he 
 advocated !"
 
 192 NATIONAL EDUCATION. 
 
 to all otlier things that are Decessary to our happi- 
 ness, the demand i7Lcreases in proportion to the 
 want, and consequently the supply may be safely 
 entrusted to the operation of ordinary causes, with- 
 out requiring the interference of the legislator to 
 stimulate or assist their action ; but with Religion, 
 ou the contrary, the demand always diminishes in 
 proportion to the want, and the greater the state of 
 spiritual destitution, the greater need there is for the 
 interposition of some extraordinary means to induce 
 the apprehension of it. 
 
 On the subject of Education, Mr. Harness did 
 not take such wide views as are in favour at the 
 present day. He was entirely opposed to those 
 visionary theorists who think that all classes should 
 receive instruction in the higher branches of litera- 
 ture and science. "People," he said '^ should be 
 educated according to their station ;" and reading, 
 writing, and arithmetic were all that he considered 
 necessary for the National Schools, with the ex- 
 ception of religious training, and such instruction 
 in industrial work as might be of use to the children 
 in after-life. " I cannot help thinking that such 
 instruction is sufficient. I cannot perceive the 
 wisdom of attempting to teach more. It is certainly 
 just and right — kind to the individual and advan- 
 tageous to the public — that every man endowed 
 witli extraordinary talents, such as Sir Richard
 
 FEHFLAR KDUrATION\ 193 
 
 Arkwriglit or Professor Lee, should, however 
 humble his condition, be afforded the educational 
 means of raising himself above it. To effect this, 
 if he be imbued with sound Christian principles as 
 his guide, reading and writing — the ability of 
 collecting the ideas of others and imparting his 
 own — are quite enough ; while, with regard to the 
 great mass of the population, which must always 
 consist of persons endowed with ordinary talents, 
 it is a subject of grave doubt whether a wider range 
 of instruction should be provided for them by public 
 or charitable sources. Education above a man's 
 condition, implies wants above his wages ; and 
 when those wants exist without the natural capacity 
 which may be required to raise his condition to 
 their level, they only too frequently become the 
 origin of a painful but ineffective hankering after 
 something better — a restless impatience of labour — 
 an undefined sense of injury, and a resentful feeling 
 of envy against all persons of a superior position. 
 
 "But crime, misery, and drunkenness are on the 
 increase ;' and it is presumed that ignorance lies at 
 the root of all this evil. Ignorance of wliat ? If it 
 be said, virtual ignorance of the faith, then we are 
 agreed. That sort of ignorance does lie at the root 
 of all this evil. But if it be asserted that the moral 
 mischief follows as the consequence of ignorance of 
 secular knowledge, the proposition is refuted by 
 

 
 194 SECULAR EDUCATION 
 
 the facts whicli are, day by day, taking place before 
 our eyes. Are the fraudulenu offences, of which we 
 have lately witnessed such oft-recurring and in- 
 genious instances, to be attributed to ignorance in 
 secular knowledge ? Does the licentiousness by 
 which so many fair-looking streets of the Metropolis 
 are rendered disreputable, emanate from ignorance 
 in secular knowledge ? There is undoubtedly a 
 class of violent crimes and an immense amount of 
 misery which ensue from drunkenness; and that 
 may be a reason why the drunkard should be 
 rigorously punished; but I have yet to learn that 
 the great mass of drunkards have become the de- 
 graded things they are, on account of their being 
 less well-informed than others of their own rank. 
 On the contrary, as far as my own experience of 
 the class will enable me to judge, they would appear 
 to be chiefly composed of persons who are some- 
 what better educated than the poor generally are — 
 who have a taste for the conversation, the music, 
 the gaming, the politics, the conviviality of the 
 tavern — who from the force of such allurements 
 have been led to neglect their business, till they 
 were alike bankrupt of capital and character — and 
 wdio, having once given way to dissolute habits, 
 have gravitated from lower and lower, to the lowest 
 depths of wretchedness, under the depressing weight 
 of their vices."
 
 INSUFFICIENT, 
 
 195 
 
 " But it has been assumed that all such characters 
 must of necessity be ignorant, and that if they had 
 possessed some branch of knowledge to occupy their 
 minds, they would never have fallen into such a state 
 of degradation. ' Impart to them,' it is said, ' the 
 rudiments of Science and Art in childhood, and pro- 
 vide for them the means of intellectual amusement in 
 their manhood, and they will be drawn away by 
 such attractions from the present haunts of their 
 drunkenness and gaming and impurity.' Will they ? 
 Do we find this to be the case among the dissolute 
 of our own station ? Are they only lost in sin 
 because they have not an ear for music or an eye for 
 colour ? Are they only fraudulent and licentious 
 because they have not been so deeply imbued wdth 
 secular learning as their compeers ? Is it a pro- 
 perty of our nature to extinguish the stronger excite- 
 ment by the weaker ? No ; depend upon it, the 
 scientific lecture, the reading-room, will avail 
 nothing in effecting the reformation of that vicious 
 portion of society for whom their attractions are 
 prepared." 
 
 Mr. Harness thought that the advantages to be 
 derived from intellectual endowments were erro- 
 neously estimated. " Nothing," he says, " is so 
 common as to hear persons dilate in society on the 
 humanizing influences of painting and statuary, of 
 music and poetry, and recommend the encourage- 
 
 o 2
 
 196 GENIUS 
 
 mont of a taste for these things as a means of ele- 
 vating and refining the public mind. But by what 
 intelhgible process is this effected ? In what man- 
 ner do they act upon each other ? It is possible — 
 and I think it is so — that persons born with that 
 peculiar temperament which is called genius, and by 
 which they are rendered easily impressible by works 
 of Art, appear to be distinguished above their 
 fellows by a rare tenderness and instinctive delicacy 
 of nature. It is a perilous gift to them. Their sen- 
 sibility to pain is more than an equivalent to their 
 susceptibility of pleasure ; and we may fairly doubt 
 whether the few by whom it is possessed ought to be 
 allowed more than a very limited indulgence of their 
 taste for the things that they delight in. Its grati- 
 fication only serves to soften a character which 
 requires to be annealed — to excite feelings which 
 ought to be repressed — to encourage visions of hap- 
 piness which can never be realized — to cherish, 
 affections which never can be reciprocated — and to 
 prepare the heart for the reception of sorrows which 
 can never be consoled. How far ic may, or may not, 
 be desirable, in this hard, struggling, working-day 
 world of ours, to have that kind of character more 
 generally diffused among us, I leave for others to 
 decide. I am quite sure that it cannot be good to 
 induce an affectation of its qualities ; and I am 
 equally sure that their reality will never be created
 
 INCOMMUNICABLE. 197 
 
 by any attempt of ours to cultivate an exotic taste 
 for the productions of Art in tiie minds of the people. 
 Such things do not modify the national character ; 
 the national character modifies them. This is seen 
 by the differences by which the different schools of 
 Art are distinguished. The Dutch or the Italian 
 masters took their models from the objects before 
 their eyes ; and both one and the other seem to 
 have left their countrymen pretty much what they 
 had found them. Indeed, to suppose that the higher 
 moral sensibilities of genius can be engendered in 
 souls of a coarser nature by imparting to them a 
 critical appreciation of pictures and statues, and 
 music and poetry, involves, to my mind, as gross a 
 metaphysical absurdity as if we should expect to 
 awaken a grateful sense of melody in the deaf by 
 teaching them harmonies — or to impart a feeling for 
 the beauties of nature in the blind by making them 
 acquainted with the rules of perspective. Pleasure 
 in works of art, all men take ; because, perhaps, 
 we are of an imitative nature, and are intuitively 
 pleased by witnessing efforts of successful imitation. 
 But the pleasure will only be produced by such 
 efforts as accord with the state of our character and 
 the habits of our lives." 
 
 " Many horrors were perpetrated in the most 
 enlightened period of the Heathen world. The pro- 
 gress of the arts and sciences did nothing for religion.
 
 198 OBJECTIONS TO 
 
 It enabled the idolater to erect more splendid 
 temples, to carve larger and finer statues, to over- 
 lay them curiously with ivory, to invent more or- 
 namental rites, to weave more graceful dances, and 
 to breathe more refined and complicated harmonies 
 around the shrines of his visionary deities ; but it 
 did no more. This was all that the March of In- 
 tellect, in classic times, ever efi'ected for national 
 religion." 
 
 The advocates of unsectarian education found no 
 favour with Mr. Harness. He did not believe that, 
 even if such a system could be practically carried out, 
 it would really tend to the benefit of the community. 
 " Secular instruction," he writes, " worketh, with 
 other things, for good when it is combined with 
 Religion ; but separated from Religion, it is a mere 
 accident whether it have a good, or an evil, or any 
 influence at all on the formation of moral character. 
 Yet, as I have said, an opinion is gaining ground 
 among a certain class of philanthropists, that, as 
 Religion cannot be taught, on account of our sec- 
 tarian differences, the Government should produce 
 some measure for the establishment of common 
 schools in which — Religion being excluded — the 
 teaching: mis^ht be confined to such secular matters 
 as we are all perfectly agreed upon. Now, this 
 scheme, if it is ever brought to bear, must prove 
 injurious to Christian faith. Such a measure — what-
 
 TJNSECTAKIAN EDUCATION. 199 
 
 ever may be the preamble of the Bill — would have 
 the effect of placing the knowledge of God's Word 
 and Law in a secondary position. The multitude 
 would infer that what the State refrained from 
 teaching must needs be of very inferior consequence 
 to that which it undertakes to teach ; and the result 
 would be a gradual diminution and final loss of re- 
 verence for the Gospel. 
 
 " Nothing can sound more innocent than the pro- 
 position of assembling the children of all denomin- 
 ations in a common school-room, to be taught 
 literature and science. But the common school-room 
 involves a common school-master; and of what 
 relioion is that master to be ? Is he to be of no 
 religion ? or of no particular religion ? or of what 
 religion ? I know not how the Vicar of Leeds* 
 may feel upon the matter ; but, for myself, no 
 amount of literary or scientific attainments would 
 induce me to entrust any child in whom I was in- 
 terested, during six hours a day for six days in 
 the week, within tlie contagious sphere of the 
 principles of a master who either held extreme 
 Calvinistic views or who denied the divinity of our 
 Lord. Others would act the same — and properly 
 too, if they felt the same — towards a master who 
 maintained the doctrines of the Roman or of the 
 English Churches. But we are told that a man is 
 
 * Dr. Hook had published a letter on the subject.
 
 200 OUJECTIOISS TO 
 
 not to teach Religion ! Why, he can't help teach- 
 ing it ! If he have any reUgious opinions they will 
 inevitably evince themselves ; and if he be of no 
 religion, it will have an influence on his instruc- 
 tions. 
 
 " Why, ever since the first dawn of the Reforma- 
 tion, the characters who occupy the principal places 
 in our annals bear a different hue to every class of 
 religionists among us. According to the bias of 
 one sect, the chief promoters of the Reformation 
 are regarded either as ministers of Satan or of 
 God. Anne Bullen is either an incestuous adul- 
 tress, the wily instigator of the ruin of Wolsey 
 and the murder of Sir Thomas More; or she is the 
 loveliest and the gayest, the most artless and the 
 most innocent of victims ! Queen Mary the First is 
 either a patriot queen, acting justly and firmly, but 
 not more severely than the spirit of her age allowed, 
 iu opposition to the attacks of a band of rebellious 
 fanatics; or she is a benighted and unrelenting 
 bigot, rejoicing in the persecution and polluted with 
 the blood of the Saints ! Now, these contradictory 
 historical opinions are inseparably amalgamated. 
 To every High Churchman, Charles the First is the 
 last, and not the least revered, of Anglican Martyrs; 
 to the whole body of Dissenters, he is the most 
 subtle and impracticable of hypocrites." 
 
 Again, he remarks : "If schools of such an un-
 
 UNSECTAUIAN EDUCATlOxX. 201 
 
 sanctified description as some desire to see, be raised 
 and continued, it is to be apprehended that ' when 
 the Son of Man cometh ' He will not ' find faith on 
 the eartli.' Such a fearful consequence may be 
 inferred from an experiment of nineteen years 
 which has been tried in the United States of 
 America. There, they have a general educacion on 
 this plan. They have tried the effect of such com- 
 mon schools for worldly literature and art and 
 science, but without religion ; and I will cite a few 
 passages from a considerable number of authorities 
 at my command, which will enable you to form 
 some notion of its results. The opinions I am 
 about to adduce were all delivered by citizens of the 
 United States, not by clergymen who might be 
 suspected of taking a prejudiced view of the 
 question, but by laymen to whom no such suspicion 
 can attach. 
 
 " ' The persons,' says one, ' who, in former yeara 
 were zealous in maturing our common school system 
 have begun to open their eyes. They stand aghast 
 at their own work, fearing that, instead of cherish- 
 ing a lamb, they have been training up a wolf.' ' I 
 know,' says another, ' thirteen young men who 
 came from one school, and every one of them has 
 rushed headlong to destruction.' ' I do not affirm,' 
 says another, ' that education causes crime ; I only 
 afiirm that the two are co-existing lacts, and that
 
 202 SCHEME PROPOSED. 
 
 the system of common school education is attended 
 with an increase of crime, because it is the educa- 
 tion of only one side of human nature, and that 
 not the controlhno; side. Man's moral and relio^ious 
 nature constitutes his other and better but unde- 
 veloped self.' ' The common school system,' says 
 another, ' is proving a disastrous failure. From its 
 first establishment to the present time it has been 
 injurious to the character of the rising generation. 
 The patrons of the system forgot that educated 
 mind, without religion, is educated vice ; and that 
 mind can only be stimulated to seek its improve- 
 ment by something higher, deeper, and more earnest 
 than itself. Now they are reminded of it by the 
 failure of the experiment.' " 
 
 " My plan," continues Mr. Harness, '' a plan 
 which has been floating in my mind for years and 
 been often discussed among my friends, is simply 
 this. The Government, insisting on its right, as 
 rulers of a Christian nation, to see the people 
 abundantly provided with the facilities of education 
 and religious worship, should institute a permanent 
 rate on all dwelling-houses, payable by the landlord, 
 for building educational and religious edifices in 
 populous places, and for supplying them with effi- 
 cient ministers and masters. On paying the rate, 
 the ratepayer should intimate whether his quota 
 should contribute to the fund of the Church of
 
 GRATIFYING TESTIMONY. 203 
 
 England, the Roman Caiiiolics, or tlic Dissenters." 
 Mr. Harness had observed in his own parishes 
 the happy results of religious education, not only 
 upon the children, but also upon their parents. 
 He alludes to them as follows : — 
 
 " ' Truly do I thank my God,' said a mother, 
 whose children had been educated at one of the 
 National Schools, ' truly do I thank my God for the 
 instruction which my children have received.' 
 And hear her reason ! Before her children were 
 admitted to the school, she and her husband never 
 attended any place of worship and were almost 
 ignorant of God. After the elder daughter had 
 been there some time, she said to her mother, 
 ' Mother, you never go either to church or chapel ; 
 why do you not go ?' She was so struck with this, 
 and at her being taught in this manner by her child 
 that from that time she has constantly attended 
 Divine Service ; and the united examples of the 
 mother and the children have not been lost upon 
 the father. 
 
 " Another instance is yet more strong. It relates 
 to a father — a loose, disorderly, profligate kind of 
 man, who spent much of his time and money in low 
 excesses, and had reduced his wife and child to a 
 state of the most abject and starving poverty. One 
 Sunday afternoon, the intoxicated father had been 
 swearing much, when his child told him that, from
 
 204 HAPPY EESULTS. 
 
 what she had learnt at school, she knew such con- 
 duct to be extremely wicked. The father made no 
 reply at the time ; but on the Monday mornmg his 
 wife was surprised to see him go out and procure 
 food for his family ; and so strong was the influence 
 of his child's reproof, that he has been from that 
 hour a reformed and altered being — a sober, quiet, 
 and industrious man, a good husband, and a good 
 father."
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN DISTRICT- VISITING ASSOCIATION. — EVIL RESULTS OF 
 INJUDICIOUS CHARITY. 
 
 In 1844 Mr. Harness, under the name of " Pres- 
 byter Catholicus," wrote a pamphlet which at- 
 tracted considerable attention. It was called forth 
 by a proposal on the part of the Bishop of London 
 to establish a " Metropolitan Visiting and Relief 
 Association." Mr. Harness was strongly opposed 
 to such a measure. He considered that charitable 
 relief could be more advantageously bestowed in 
 private, to those with whose wants and characters 
 we are personally acquainted, than by the means 
 of the agency of any public society. " The private 
 course," he remarks, " is safest for ourselves, 
 without desiring to derogate from the praise of 
 those who extend themselves beyond the bounds 
 of their ordinary duties to set on foot schemes of 
 distant charity, and who are led by an ardent zeal 
 for the welfare of their race to divert the streams of 
 their benevolence into channels far wider and more
 
 20C PURLIC CHAKITIER. 
 
 remote than those in which they wouh"" naturally 
 flow. I cannot help observing that there are very 
 few who venture, without danger, to emulate their 
 conduct. Before a man devotes his time, his facul- 
 ties, and his fortune to the benefit of strangers, he 
 ought to occvipy a situation absolutely free from the 
 responsibility of all the claims of relatives, friends, 
 and neig^hbours. 
 
 " Public charities," he observes, " create the 
 necessity they relieve, but do not relieve all the 
 necessity they create ;" and he strongly objects to 
 money being distributed in that way, except under 
 the careful supervision of a responsible and well 
 qualified Government officer. This opinion he cor- 
 roborates by facts, in the following terms : 
 
 " Pray, my Lord, allow me to call your attention 
 for a moment to the consequences which, from the 
 natural course of things, might have been expected, 
 and which in fact have, to a certain degree, followed 
 the institution of this society, 
 
 " In the midst of the mildest Winter we ever 
 happen to remember, when the poor at the north of 
 London were perhaps better ofi* than they had been 
 for years; during a Christmas which, it is said, 
 witnessed the dressing of more meat dinners in St. 
 Giles's than its cellars and its garrets had for a 
 long time rejoiced in the savour of; at this mo- 
 ment — when such a measure was perfectly uncalled-
 
 KELTEF ASSOCIATION. 
 
 207 
 
 for by any extraordinary emf^rgency — 1^ ere appeared 
 a public announcement in all the newspapers of a new 
 association for promoting the Relief of the Desti- 
 tution in the Metropolis. These very advertise- 
 ments were pregnant with immediate evil. No sooner 
 had they made it known over the kingdom that 
 such a scheme of ill-judging philanthropy^ sup- 
 ported by Royal patronage, and managed by Patri- 
 cian Directors, was in agitation, than multitudes of 
 the labouriuG: classes who were not so well off as 
 might be desired in the country, begged their way 
 to London, to participate in the distribution of the 
 funds. The sum already collected appeared to be 
 immense. New subscribers were daily adding to 
 its amount. What it might eventually become, none 
 could calculate ; far less could any calculate, or 
 even think of calculating, what would be the 
 numbers likely to apply to it for succour, or what 
 the infinitesimal portion of relief which would fall 
 to the lot of each, when the advertised thousands 
 were subjected to the process of reduction and 
 division to answer the demands of its claimants. 
 At once London was looked upon as the El Dorado 
 of the indigent; and thither every adventurous 
 pauper within a practicable distance bent his way. 
 The march of intellect had disabused them of the 
 idle notions which existed in the days of Whitting- 
 ton ; they no longer believed that the Metropolis
 
 208 EPFfiCTS OP THE 
 
 was paved with gold, and that there any man might 
 fill his pm\se by picking up the stones ; but they 
 believed, and they had high, royal, noble, episcopal 
 authority for believing, that there no one, except 
 a madman or an idiot, need ever be in want, and 
 that all might fill their bellies by applying to the 
 stores of 'The Metropolitan Visiting and Relief 
 Association." If there was distress before — as 
 there was, and always will be — the announcement 
 of this institution doubled and trebled it. There 
 was not suflBcient work in Loudon to occupy all 
 the hands which were stretching out their fingers 
 for employment; and thousands of additional 
 hands were summoned,* as if by a stirring reveille, 
 to join the scramble, and increase the difficulty of 
 obtaining any odd job that might happen to occur. 
 At the outset, a great injury was thus done to the 
 labouring poor of London. A multitude of strangers 
 was introduced to compete with them for employ- 
 ment. But this was not all. These emigrants 
 from the country came, with their wants and appli- 
 
 * " This circumstance is alluded to, but very tenderly, in the last 
 Report of the Mendicity Society : ' The managers are of opinion, that 
 the great facility now afforded the idle and profligate to obtain food 
 and shelter has greatly diminished their anxiety to seek for employ- 
 ment ; and that very many have been drawn to London who would 
 never have ventured to come there, without the security now afforded 
 to them against the evils to which improvidence would formerly have 
 exposed them.' — Befortfor 1844"
 
 RELIEF ASSOCIATION. 209 
 
 cations, to drain those charitable suppUes of coal 
 and bread, of flannels and blankets, of soup and 
 potatoes, which rightfully belonged to our resident 
 mendicants, and which they had calculated upon as 
 part of their Winter resomxes. When we consider 
 the loss thus incurred by our own poor, and add 
 to it all the wretchedness which must have been 
 suffered, both on their journey and after their 
 arrival, by those deluded persons who flocked to 
 Loudon on seeing the advertisement of the " Metro- 
 politan Relief Association," we can have no doubt 
 but that for the £20,000 worth of good which its 
 directors promised to do, according to their widely 
 promulgated subscription list, they must have in- 
 flicted at least double that amount of misery ; and 
 this, probably, before their plans were sufficiently 
 matured to have enabled them to disburse a farthing 
 for its relief. So impossible is public charity ! So 
 indispensable is it that in alms-giving the left hand 
 should not know what the right doeth.' " 
 
 Mr. Harness proceeds to trace the probable 
 course of the movement in a particular parish : — 
 " Let us look at the working of the scheme. The 
 Rev. Mr. A., Licumbent of B., is anxious to show his 
 respect for his diocesan, by acting in correspondence 
 with your Lordship's views. He is also not unwilling to 
 possess himself of a portion of the funds, which he 
 finds are at the disposal of the General Committee, and 
 
 p
 
 ^10 QUALITIES NEOESSAEY 
 
 which he thicks may be very well expended on some 
 of his more indigent parishioners. Stimulated by 
 this compound motive, he summons a certain num- 
 ber of his more steady churchgoers and frequent 
 communicants to meet him in his school-room ; reads 
 
 Mr. 's circular to them ; lays before them as 
 
 much as he can collect of the scheme proposed ; 
 states his intention of adopting it in his own parish ; 
 and requests the favour of their co-operation as 
 visitors. Now, who are these visitors to be ? The 
 noblemen and gentlemen of the General Committee 
 do not seem to have contemplated any difficulty on 
 this score. Every obstacle is evaporated before the 
 glowing heat of their enthusiasm, like clouds before 
 the sun. Speak to them of visitors ; and — it 
 matters not where the parish, or what the popula- 
 tion — their active fancy instantly conjures up a 
 group of Christian ladies and self-denying Christian 
 gentlemen, with knowledge equal to their zeal, and 
 zeal proportioned to their knowledge, with plenty of 
 time at their disposal, and willingness (at a hint from 
 their pastor) to spend it all in the service of the 
 poor ; with humility which can meet every man on 
 terms of equahty as a brother ; with gentleness 
 which can never offend ; with charitv which can 
 sympathize with every description of distress ; with 
 a quick insight into character which intuitively dis- 
 tinguishes the true from the false — the sufferer
 
 FOU DISTRICT- VISITORS. 211 
 
 from the impostor ; and with a uice tact and judg- 
 ment which, apprehending at a gLince the nature of 
 the ill to be relieved, never allow them to be mis- 
 taken as to the best mode of administering the relief 
 required. 
 
 " Such are the qualities necessary to form a 
 good visitor of the poor — who is to go, a stranger 
 among strangers, to deal with affliction in all its 
 variety of forms, and with imposture in all its Protean 
 transformations. Can the General Committee really 
 suppose that the characters fitted for such an office 
 are readily to be met with ? or that, when met 
 with, they will require no discipline and education 
 to prepare them for its duties ? Talk of the imagi- 
 native powers of the lover, the lunatic, or the poet ! 
 Why, such persons are not half so ' compact of ima- 
 gination' as the staid members of this new Joint 
 Stock Charity Association ! A very few days since, 
 one of its zealous supporters told your Lordship's 
 correspondent that ' nothing was easier to be met 
 with than men and women calculated to act as dis- 
 trict visitors, for the only qualities required were 
 sincere religious ])rinci'ples and sound common sense !' 
 Nothing more ! The two rarest qualities in the 
 world to be found — apart ; and, of course, still 
 more rare to be met with — in union ! But sup- 
 posing the Parish of B. should be most highly blest, 
 and be peculiarly rich in individuals of this happy 
 
 P 2
 
 212 NECESSARY DUTIES. 
 
 religious and mental constitution ; tbey are pre- 
 cisely the individuals whom the ReVo Mr. A. will, on 
 establishing his Visiting Society, endeavour in vain 
 to press into his service. The man of sincere reli- 
 gious principles and sound common sense is, of all 
 others, the least ready to take such charges upon 
 himself. He has his own business to attend to ; he 
 has his duty to fulfil in that state of hfe to which it 
 has pleased God to call him ; he is alive to all its 
 weighty responsibilities ; he does not do all he ought, 
 and heartily desires to do more ; he knows that in 
 taking upon himself the charge of families with 
 which he has no connexion, but the very loose ties 
 of the same parochial tenancy, he thrusts himself into 
 the responsibilities of those relations or friends, 
 neighbours or employers, who are morally and reli- 
 giously bound to render them what assistance may 
 be required ; and he conscientiously objects to 
 undertake such offices, and thus to violate the 
 Apostle's precepts by ' stretching himself beyond his 
 measure.' 
 
 " But when these, the most valuable members of 
 his congregation, have drifted off from him, where 
 is the Rev. Mr. A. to look for his coadjutors ? He 
 may command the services of the morbid pietist — of 
 the restless fanatic — of the idler who is weary of 
 himself— and of the prying, curious, chattering 
 busy-body who wants to know how everybody lives
 
 UNSUITABLE VISITORS. 213 
 
 and to settle everybody's affairs according to lier 
 rule. Mr. Tiramius has retired from business ; be 
 has always finished his newspaper by twelve ; and, 
 between that and his luncheon at one, he will have 
 no objection to see a few poor families in hi-', 
 neighbourhood. Miss Yeddenly and her sister, 
 Miss Laura, who have nothing in the world to do 
 from breakfast to dinner — after they have watered 
 the geraniums, cleaned the canary birds, and fed 
 the cat — will be only too happy to undertake any 
 charge to oblige the Rector. ]\Iiss Groves has a 
 kind of jpenchant for the red-haired curate ; and, 
 though her mother (who is rather blind and very 
 rheumatic) wishes her to remain at home and read 
 ElUn Middleton to her, she is altogether at the 
 disposal of her spiritual guide. Mrs. Gilks, a widow 
 of small independence and questionable gentility, is 
 delighted to accept an avocation which promises to 
 briuo- her into familiar contact with the more 
 aristocratic portion of her neighbours. Mr. Docket, 
 the little solicitor, hopes to obtain the advantages 
 of being advertised all over the parish as ' the 
 Honorary Secretary ' of the charity, and volunteers 
 the services of his v/ife and daughter; while Mr. 
 Grills, the butcher, Mr. Allum, the baker, Mr. Crib, 
 the grocer, Mr. Slate, the coal-merchant, Mr. Serge, 
 the draper, and Mr. Spriggett, of the potato ware- 
 house, are all ardent in tlie cause — partly with a
 
 214 
 
 UNSUITABLE VISITORS. 
 
 view of pleasing their excellent customer the Rector ; 
 partly on account of the beadle-like cousequence to 
 be derived from the office; and, partly, from a 
 consideration of the amount to which their visits 
 among the poor may be remunerated by tickets for 
 articles on their respective shops. 
 
 *' This is the class of persons, my Lord, on 
 whom will devolve the most delicate chargre that 
 can be entrusted to the despatch of man — the 
 charge of administering comfort to the desponding, 
 the suffering, and the broken-hearted. At first, for a 
 month or so, the Rev. Mr. A. may persuade a few 
 more able hands to assist him in getting his scheme 
 out of dock and setting it afloat. But these will 
 one by one desert him, and eventually leave it to 
 be worked by the sort of people I have described. 
 At all events, from July to November, when every 
 body is out of town, into such hands it must in- 
 evitably fall. 
 
 " But, however, after a little time, ' The B. 
 Visiting and Relief Society ' is formed. The Presi- 
 dent, the Treasurer, the Secretary, the Committee, 
 are appointed ; the number of visitors is complete; 
 the grant from the great central fund has been paid, 
 and is increased by a numerous list of annual sub- 
 scriptions. The parish is divided into districts, and 
 a certain number of ladies and gentlemen appointed 
 as superintendents to each.
 
 INJUDICIOUS CHARITY. 
 
 215 
 
 "You sot np au office for the distribution of 
 unearned food and fuel ! Immediately, all tlio 
 idle and improvident, tlie drunken and the dis- 
 solute, will flock to the scramble ; and these will 
 be followed, in rapidly increasing numbers, by 
 others whom the display of the gifts bestowed upoa 
 the first applicants will tempt away from their daily 
 labour, to try the chance of winning for themselves 
 a share of those fruits of idleness which are, at 
 first, so sweet in flavour, but which leave so bitter 
 an after-taste. 
 
 " I cannot refrain from citing, on this subject, 
 some cases described by Mr. Brushfield.* This 
 gentleman was one of the parish officers of Christ 
 Church, Spitalfields. He states : ' My general 
 mode of investigation was, not to make inquiries 
 elsewhere, but to visit the residences of those 
 persons whom I suspected — which, by the way, was 
 most of the paupers — first on the Saturday, and 
 next on the Sunday. On Saturday they expected 
 me, and I had, generally, some cause to doubt the 
 appearance of their dwellings on that day. In 
 general, those who wanted to impose upon us over- 
 coloured the picture; and certainly the pictures 
 they drew were often very appalhng. One Satur- 
 day, accompanied by one of the churchwardens, I 
 visited ten places. The scenes of distress were 
 
 * In the same Parliamentary Paper, p. 279.
 
 216 SIMULATION OF DISTRESS. 
 
 quite frightful. There were two cases which seemed 
 to be cases of extreme misery. In one house a 
 man named Bags:, who had a wooden leg, was 
 found sitting as if sunk in despair. He said he had 
 no work, and had no food that day, nor since the 
 evening before. His wife was afflicted with a bad 
 leg ; she was in bed, and stated that she had not 
 been able to get out of bed for six weeks. The 
 room was in a miserable plight, dirty and wretched. 
 I looked into the cupboard, and found no provisions 
 there. The appearance of the place was such that 
 the churchwarden could not forbear giving the man 
 some pecuniary relief at once. The other case was 
 that of a man named Anster, who had for some 
 time before been chargeable to the parish as an out- 
 pauper. The appearance of his room was most 
 deplorable. There was no trace of any kind of 
 food ; and the children were ragged, dirty, squalid, 
 and wretched. I desired the wife to tell her hus- 
 band to apply to me for relief in the evening; when, 
 as I was fully convinced of the necessity by the 
 misery I witnessed, it had been my intention to 
 give them some assistance. In the evening, the 
 husband and wife called together, I expressed my 
 regret that they should be obhged to come to the 
 parish, and asked if the husband had any prospect- 
 of obtaining work? He declared that he had 
 neither work, nor any prospect of getting any at
 
 7MP0SITJ0M. 217 
 
 present. I judged by his appearance that he had 
 been drinking, and said, ' Well, call upon me on 
 Monday morning, and I will see what I can do for 
 you.' They expressed themselves very much 
 obliged to me, and went away apparently quite 
 pleased ; though, according to their representa- 
 tion, they were absolutely in a state of starva- 
 tion. 
 
 " * On the Sunday morning ' (continues Mr. 
 Brushfield), ' I renewed my visits. The first case 
 I went to was that of this man, Anster. It was 
 about nine o'clock in the raornino- when I called. I 
 opened the door, and then knocked, when I found 
 they were in bed. I saw the wife jump out of bed, 
 and run in great haste to fling a cloth over a table 
 which was standing in the middle of the room ; but, 
 in her haste to get away, and in her confusion, she 
 pulled the covering off, and exposed to my view a 
 large piece of beef, a piece of mutton, and parcels 
 of tea, sugar, bread, butter, &c. The man called 
 from the bed, 'D — n them, never mind them; you 
 know they belong to your father.' I told them 
 that was enough, and immediately left the place. 
 They never afterwards applied for relief. 
 
 " ' When T visited the house of Bagg ' (continues 
 Mr. Brushfield), ' I found Mrs. Bagg out of bed and 
 at breakfast ; she had her tea, and he had his coffee. 
 I saw a neck of mutton on one shelf, and two loaves
 
 218 DETECTION. 
 
 on another slielf of the cupboard, whicli was empty 
 the clay before. I went into his workshop — he was 
 a silk-dresser — and found it full of work. The 
 man swore horribly ; and I left the place. I do 
 not know that he ever asked for assistance 
 again.' 
 
 " But," resumes Mr. Harness, " I will take the 
 very fairest view of the working of the B. Society, 
 I will imagine the impossible case, that no imposi- 
 tion shall be practised on the visitors — or, at all 
 
 events, that the plans of the Eev. Mr. A. and 
 
 his Committee have been so well arranged as to 
 crush it in the bud. The parish is split into such 
 small and manageable portions that every visitor 
 has only a very few bouses under his superintendence. 
 These he will call at from time to time ; and, by 
 personally making himself acquainted with the cir- 
 cumstances and wants of each family, will not only 
 anticipate the necessity of any application for 
 assistance, but preclude the possibility of fraud. 
 Now, admirable as this scheme may appear to 
 many, I beg leave to state, from my intimate know- 
 ledge of the best class of the labouring poor, that, 
 though they may not exhibit any incivility to the 
 strange lady or gentleman who thus — impertinently 
 and without invitation — forces her or his way into 
 their apartments, they feel, as they will very often 
 express themselves, quite as much hurt by such an
 
 TNTEUSrONS ON THE POOli. 219 
 
 indecent outrage on tlie sacred privacy of their 
 home as that lady or gentleman visitor would feel 
 if any poor person were to obtrude himself, uncalled 
 for, into the boudoir of the one or the librarv of 
 the other. When your correspondent, my Lord, 
 once asked an old Scotchwoman ' why she 
 always locked her door against the visiting lady ?' 
 her answer was, ' She's an idle, chattering body ; 
 and I'd rather want her coals than be fashed wi' 
 her questions !' 
 
 " The English population will be fallen low, 
 indeed, when tlie industrious classes are so degraded 
 as to have lost all sense of the reverence which is 
 due to their own hearths, and not to feel the 
 republican part of their national character rise 
 indignantly against the arrogance which considers a 
 better coat and a fuller purse as affording any one 
 who may choose to enter upon the office a sufficient 
 warrant for breaking in, at all times, however in- 
 convenient, upon their families and interfering with 
 their concerns. ' Poverty has naturally a proud 
 spirit : pauperism a base one — now servile, now 
 insolent.'* 
 
 " But I will return to the Eev. Mr. A , and 
 
 the B. Visiting Society. It is now ready for busi- 
 ness ; the season for its operation has commenced. 
 Work is slack ; the snow is on the ground ; and 
 
 * Walker's "Original," page 196.
 
 220 DISCRIMINATION REQUISITE 
 
 there is a considerable degree of distress among 
 the inhabitants of the poorer districts. The visitor 
 sets out upon his round, to do his best towards 
 discovering where it presses most severely, and to 
 apply, as judiciously as he can, the funds entrusted 
 to him for its relief. I will put no imaginary case : 
 I will only describe such circumstances as I have 
 known to exist, and are fresh in my recollection. 
 He comes to a house inhabited entirely by labour- 
 ing people — a family in each room. On the first 
 floor, in one apartment, he finds a man, his wife, 
 and two children. They have every comfort about 
 them. The husband is a shoe-maker; the wife 
 helps at the binding ; the eldest child is sent to 
 school at two-pence a week ; the other is too young 
 to leave the mother. At present, their whole earn- 
 ings do not exceed ten shillings a week ; but they 
 had saved some money in the summer, and they 
 hope to be in receipt of better wages in the spring. 
 In the other apartment, lives a man with his wife 
 and one child. He is also a shoe-maker. His room 
 is filthy, offensive in smell, and destitute of any 
 furniture, except his bench, a black tea-kettle, two 
 or three articles of damaged earthenware, and a 
 lump of dirty shavings, which, with some old 
 horse-cloths, are bundled up in a corner of the 
 room by day, and spread out at night to serve the 
 I'amily as a bod. The circumstances of this man,
 
 IN AFFORDING RELIEF. 221 
 
 as to the amount of his weekly earnings, are pre- 
 cisely those of his neighbour in the next room; 
 though in one sense he is better off, as he has only 
 one child to feed, and no schooling to pay for. But 
 he earns only ten shillings a week. This must 
 supply him, his wife and child, with lodging, cloth- 
 ing, food, and firing. In the Spring, Summer, and 
 Autumn, he had higher wages ; but then he owed a 
 large bill at the shop, and had spent the rest ; so 
 that, now, he is really in a state of poverty, having 
 borrowed whenever he could fiud any neighbour 
 to lend — run in debt wherever he could get credit 
 — and pawned every article of dress or furniture on 
 which a penny could be raised. 
 
 " Here, then, are two cases, in which the visitor is 
 called upon take an active part ; they may be con- 
 sidered as fair representatives of nearly all the cases 
 which he will meet with in the course of his per- 
 ' nbulations. How is the visitor to deal with them ? 
 Will he not give to either ? Then he may as well 
 fling his Journal, and his relief tickets, and all the 
 apparatus of a district- visitor into the fire ; for he 
 will very rarely meet with any necessity greater 
 than that of the family I have last described. The 
 distress, it is true, has been brought on by im- 
 prudence and vice ; but if he refuses help to all the 
 misery which originates in such causes, he will find 
 very few claimants on his benevolence.
 
 222 EVIL P^FPECTS 
 
 " Will he, then, assist this case ? If he does, he will 
 confer on the dissolute and imprudent that which 
 his prudent and virtuous neighbour in the adjoining 
 room is unable to purchase. The Visitor's ticket 
 for bread and coals renders this unworthy fellow's 
 income for the week far better than that of the in- 
 dustrious, independent, high-minded man who is 
 bravely struggling against his difficulties on the 
 other side of the partition v^rhich divides their 
 rooms ; and alms, so given, operate, to all intents 
 and purposes, as a premium on vice and a great 
 discouragement to virtue, 
 
 " I cannot, my Lord, help thinking that the ex- 
 perience of Mr. J. K. Barker might be very ad- 
 vantageously taken as a guide to the District Visitor 
 on such an occasion. This gentleman had been most 
 kindly active in the administration of the parochial 
 affairs of Hambledon. He says :* " There were two 
 labourers who were reported to me as extremely in- 
 dustrious men, maintaining large families. Neither of 
 them had ever applied for parish relief. I thought it 
 advisable that they should receive some mark of public 
 approbation ; and we gave them one pound apiece 
 from the parish. Very shortly after this, they 
 both became applicants for relief, and have con- 
 tinued so ever since. I am not aware that any 
 other cause existed for this change in the con- 
 
 * " Administration of tlie Pooi' Laws," page 85.
 
 OF GKATUITOUS ASSISTANCE. 223 
 
 duct of the two rtieo, except the above-mentioned 
 gratuity.' 
 
 " Nothing can permanently better the condition 
 of the working classes but an increase of prudence.'* 
 The Visiting Society has a direct tendency to 
 destroy the exercise of this virtue. In addressing 
 the labouring classes, it takes the care of themselves 
 out of their own hands. Were the father of a family 
 to say, ' If, my lads, you are in any difficulty about 
 paying your bills at Christmas, never mind, come to 
 me, I'll settle them for you,' does not your Lord- 
 ship think he would very soon find his lads always 
 in difficulty about their Christmas bills, and that he 
 ■would have more presented than he could con- 
 veniently pay ? The case is precisely the same with 
 Relief Societies. The effect which they have upon 
 the poor population of a parish cannot be better 
 illustrated than by an anecdote related by Thomas 
 "Walker, the late excellent Police Magistrate : ' The 
 founder of Guy's Hospital left to the Trustees a fund 
 to be distributed to such of his relations as should, 
 from time to time, fall into distress. The fund, at 
 length, became insufficient to meet the applications ; 
 and the Trustees, thinking it hard to refuse any 
 claimants, trenched upon the funds of the Hospital ; 
 the consequence of which was that no Guy was 
 ever known to prosper. So that if any individual 
 
 * Walker's " Original," page 251.
 
 224 LAWS OF PROVIDEKCE. 
 
 could be wicked enough to wish the ruin of his pos- 
 terity for ever, his surest means would be to leave 
 his property in trust, to be distributed ' to them only 
 in distress.' 
 
 " Just so is it with all these public charities for 
 the poor. Like Guy's fund, they set before the eyes 
 of the labourino^ classes an inducement to distress ; 
 and those classes will never prosper till such ill- 
 judging friends as the ' Metropolitan District Visit- 
 ing and Relief Association' can be persuaded to 
 withdraw their peinicious protection from them. 
 All these newly-invented benevolent Institutions, 
 which are formed to help the poor through every dif- 
 ^culty of life, are framed in direct opposition to the 
 counsels of Providence ; for all those difficulties 
 were designed by the Almighty as a part of a wise 
 but severe discipline, to compel us to look beyond 
 the present and provide for the future, by suffering 
 from the idleness or imprudence of the past. 
 
 " Whenever we attempt to amend the scheme of 
 Providence and to interfere with the govern- 
 ment of the world, we had need to be very 
 circumspect, lest we do more harm than good. 
 In New England, they once thought blacJcbirds 
 useless and mischievous to the corn ; and they made 
 efforts to destroy them. The consequence was the 
 blackbirds were diminished ; but a kind of worm 
 which devoured their grass, and which the black-
 
 TRUCK CHAEITY. 225 
 
 birds used to feed on, increased prodigiously. Then, 
 findinof their loss in o-rass much orreater than their 
 saving in corn, they wished again for the black- 
 birds.'* Nothing can be more apt than this illus- 
 tration. The corn represents the cardinal virtues — 
 the blacJchirds the ordinary exigencies of human life 
 — the efforts to destroy them public charities — 
 and the worms, which multiplied in proportion 
 as the blackbirds were destroyed, are the vices, 
 sloth, intemperance, and carelessness of the 
 future." 
 
 With reference to giving relief in kind instead of 
 money, Mr. Harness adds : " A poor person will 
 always make a shilling purchase twice as much again 
 as a rich one will do for him. As one out of many 
 cases which I could cite in proof of this, I will extract 
 from the Journal of a Clergyman (who, by-the-by, is 
 a London Curate of eighteen years' standing, and 
 identifies himself in all my views) what was done 
 by one of his poor with the small sum of sixpence 
 farthing : 
 
 lib. of meat .... 2^ 
 Jib. of flour . . . • I4 
 
 Carried forward . . . 3f 
 
 * A letter of Franklin's, preserved in "The Diary of a Lover 
 of Literature." See Gentleman's Magazine, New Series, Vol. I„ 
 page 12. 
 
 Q
 
 226 A CLERGYMAN S JOURNAL. 
 
 Brouglit forward . . • 3f 
 
 71bs. of coals . . . . I4; 
 
 Carrots ..... ^ 
 
 Potatoes .... J 
 
 Turnips ..... 5 
 
 6^d. 
 
 Tlie meat was the trimmings of tongues, excellent 
 beef and no bone ; the fat was used as suet to con- 
 vert the flour into dumplings. The articles were 
 all, except the meat, bought of the small dealers who 
 alone will give themselves the trouble of selling such 
 small quantities 'I never', says my friend, 'wish 
 to taste better soup than this made. It dined the 
 widow and her son, a lad of fifteen, for two days ; 
 and gave him a supper besides.' Yet we are told the 
 poor can't manage their own affairs ! They must be 
 relieved with tickets, not with money ! What could 
 any visiting lady or gentleman have done with such 
 a pittance ? 
 
 " Besides, under this system of trucJc charity, how 
 do we know that the visitor will always have the 
 discretion to adjust properly the sort of relief which 
 is required by the nature of the necessity ? As an 
 example of the egregious blunders committed in this 
 way, we must give another extract from the Journal 
 of our clerical friend ; ' Went to see Mrs. Cole.
 
 A clergyman's journal. 227 
 
 Tlie visiting gentlemaa from Chapel was in the 
 
 room. This scene occmTed. The visitor asked 
 the poor woman, who was very ill, " Are you mar- 
 ried ?" " Yes."—*' Husband in work ?" '' No."— 
 " How many children have you ?" " Six." — " What 
 provisions have you in the house ?" " Only the 
 loaf from the parish." — " Husband out of work, 
 wife ill in bed, six children, very little provisions." 
 This he said aloud while writing in a book ; then 
 giving a scrap of paper to Mrs. Cole, he added 
 " Here's an order for six yards of flannel," and 
 walked out of the room.' 
 
 " Again (I copy the words of the journal) : ' There 
 is no creature in the world so hard-hearted as the 
 woman who makes charity her business. This 
 morning's scene has annoyed and grieved me very 
 much. I called on poor Mrs. Smart. She cannot 
 have more than a day or two to live. The poor 
 creatuT'e was, as usual, on the three chairs placed 
 together, which form her only bed ; but sitting up, 
 and in a state of frightful nervous agitation. Her 
 hands were clasped and pressed tight against her 
 breast. She was rocking herself backward and 
 forward as violently as her weakness would allow, 
 and repeating with continually increased rapidity 
 of utterance, till the words became confounded 
 and were scarcely distinguishable, " Oh ! Lord ! 
 take away my heart of stone, and give me a 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 A clergyman's journal. 
 
 lieart of flesh !" Beside lier, stood a tall, stout, 
 bolt-upright woman, securely defended against 
 the Winter's cold by an impenetrable mass of 
 shawls and furs, with a face rubicund and 
 shining, and looking as if Providence had 
 placed an ample supply of the treasures of this 
 life at her disposal, of which she availed herself 
 in three ample meals a day, with a pint of porter 
 at each. 
 
 " On my entering the room, the Visitor noticed 
 me with that air of formal and supercilious 
 distance which party-spirited ladies are apt to 
 exhibit towards those of the clergy whom they 
 condemn as not sufficiently spiritual in their 
 views. Pointing to the dying creature, she said : 
 *' A sad sight, Sir ! A miserable end ! No 
 hope, I fear, here ?" " Why, what has hap- 
 pened? There was none of this excitement 
 when I left this morning." " The heart of stone ! 
 The heart of stone ! No answer to her prayers ! 
 No fruit of the Spirit ! No joy !" " Oh ! Madam ! 
 why do you pass so severe a sentence on our 
 poor sister ?" " Can you consider this anything 
 but a state of reprobation? Where is the heart 
 of flesh? Where is the joy?" ''Joy! Madam!" 
 " What ! do you mean to assert, Sir, that joy 
 is not an indispensable fruit of the Spirit?" 
 «' This is really no place or time for religious
 
 A clergyman's jouenal. 229 
 
 controversy ; when you have finished your visit, 
 I will return to Mrs. Smart." "I have done 
 Sir! I am going; pray don't let me drive 
 you away." And doubling her boa over her 
 double chin, without deigning to look at the 
 poor creature whom she had condemned to 
 everlasting perdition, she stalked out of the 
 room. 
 
 " As soon as the visiting lady left us, I sat 
 down on a box beside poor, ignorant, inoffensive 
 Mrs. Smart, and did my best to tranquillize 
 her. I first induced her to stop the quick, 
 anxious, hysterical repetition of the words which 
 had been put into her mouth. When I had 
 succeeded in this, and she became composed, I 
 explained the nature both of " a heart of stone " 
 and " a heart of flesh." I showed her that the 
 one signified a state of mind which was in- 
 sensible to all religious impressions ; the other, 
 a state of mind which was open to such im- 
 pressions. I, by my questions, led her back, 
 through a calm course of self-examination on 
 these important subjects, to the hopeful reliance 
 on God's mercy through Christ, which she had 
 enjoyed in my previous visits ; and then, after 
 reading some prayers from the Visitation Service, 
 I took my leave of her for to-day'." 
 
 Mr. Harness proceeds to suggest that, instead of
 
 230 LAY-READERS. 
 
 lay-readers being employed, the number of the 
 educated clergy should be increased. " My experi- 
 ence teaches me that the individuals on whom the 
 office of lay-reader* is apt to fall, are the last, even 
 among persons inadequately instructed, to whom it 
 could be safely confided. 
 
 " By far the most creditable specimen of this class 
 whom I have known employed in that part of 
 London where T reside, was an Irishman, and not 
 wanting in those gifts of fluency and quickness 
 which are common to his nation. By trade he was a 
 journeyman house-painter ; but he had a spirit which 
 disdained the fustian jacket and the paper cap. 
 He cast about for some less humble and more 
 lucrative mode of life ; and, after absenting himself 
 for a few weeks, he returned among us, in a full 
 suit of mourning, and sent circulars round the 
 neio^hbourhood to inform all those who were willino; 
 to trust their teeth in his hands, that he was prac- 
 tising as a ' surgeon-dentist.' This business he 
 did not pursue for a much longer period than 
 he had devoted to acquiring the knowledge of 
 it. 
 
 " Not meeting with the success he had anticipated 
 
 * He proposed as a substitute to admit to Holy Orders men " who 
 had retired from their profession or business, and desired to dedicate 
 the remainder of their days to thc' service of God and the succour 
 of His creatures."
 
 LAY-READERS. 231 
 
 in this profession, he resumed the red pipkin and the 
 paint brusli, and did jobs, as his printed cards 
 assured us, * on the most moderate terms and his 
 own account.' But Art proving as httle produc- 
 tive to him as Science, he again appeared in his 
 black habihments, and was seen perambulating the 
 streets of the next parish as the lay-reader, or, as 
 he designated himself, the ' acting minister,' under 
 the auspices of one of the Societies who have 
 undertaken the supply of cheap religion to the 
 poor. What has lately become of him I know not. 
 The last time I saw him, he talked very seriously 
 of offering himself, unordained as he was, to supply 
 the vacant chaplaincy of one of the prisons. I know 
 no harm of the man except his fickleness of 
 purpose ; but whether an individual in whose 
 bonnet the bee buzzes so incessantly is exactly 
 fitted for the very serious ofiice of inculcating the 
 truths of the Gospel beside the hearths of the 
 afflicted or by the pillows of the dying, will, I 
 believe, be doubted by everyone who does not 
 consider fluency and excitability as better qualifica- 
 tions for a religious teacher than calm piety and 
 enlightened judgment." 
 
 The pamphlet from which the above extracts are 
 taken was a development of an article which Mi'. 
 Harness had sent to Mr. Lockhart for insertion iu
 
 232 KEPLY OF MR. LOCKHART. 
 
 the Quarterly Bevieiv. Mr. Lockliart declined it iu 
 tlie following terms : — 
 
 " My dear Harness, 
 " I have read your MS. It is exceedingly able 
 — most effective — most capital, in short; and I 
 have no doubt you are right in the main. 
 ■"'I don't doubt, however, that good has 
 been and is daily done by the sort of Societies 
 you are attacking, and I could not publish the 
 article without several interpolations. 
 
 " But I couldn't; were it one chrysolite, accept 
 it for this number. I told you truly — I am full. I 
 publish this month, and no article ever has much 
 chance unless it comes to hand at a much earlier 
 litsige of my operations. 
 
 " I am sorry indeed, but can't help this. I see 
 you are in a hurry, and no wonder ; for really 
 iimch of it is as good as anything Sydney Smith 
 ever wrote. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 "H. L." 
 
 On receiving the above letter, Mr. Harness pub- 
 lished a considerable part of this article in the 
 'Times ; and it was so well received that the editor 
 wrote to him requesting further communications on 
 the subject.,
 
 PAKDCHIAL LABOUKS. 23'J 
 
 The year after tliis pamphlet appeared, Mr. Har- 
 ness left St. Pancras. More than one reason in- 
 duced him to seek a change. Twenty years of un- 
 remitting labour in a metropolitan district, which 
 had meanwhile increased from 16,000 to 23,000, 
 had rendered him less capable of bodily exertion ; 
 and an accident which had befallen him on a 
 summer excursion, made his parochial duties more 
 laborious to him. Notwithstanding his lameness 
 from infancy — which always caused him more or 
 less pain in walking — Mr. Harness was an active 
 pedestrian, sometimes accomplishing as much as 
 thirty miles in one day ; and when on a tour in 
 Wales, about ten years before this date, as he 
 was descending a hill with a heavy knapsack on his 
 back, his knee suddenly gave way, and he found 
 that he had fractured the knee-pan. After this 
 accident, he was always in danger of falling; he 
 required the assistance of a stick ; and the mount- 
 ing steep and narrow stair-cases became a matter 
 of difficulty, if not of danger, to him. To these 
 reasons for resigning his London cure, we should 
 add that he always loved the country, and now 
 became unusually weary of his long confinement to 
 town. 
 
 In a letter to Miss Mitford, written at this time, 
 he thus expresses his feelings : — 
 
 " I wish I could get to Reading to visit you ;
 
 234 LONGING FOR THE COUNTKY. 
 
 but alas ! my every hour is fettered with occupa- 
 tions. Oh, country ! country ! country ! Do you 
 know the old play in which a lad, who had been a 
 beggar, but became civilized and domesticated in 
 the house of a county magistrate, grows wild for 
 liberty every Spring, and flies from his quiet com- 
 fortable home to live at random in the fields, and 
 under the shade of trees ? I'm just like that man. 
 The sun never shines upon a green twig in the 
 Square* but I pine for the beauties and the calm 
 of the country." 
 
 Mr. Harness thought that now, in his fifty-fourth 
 year, he might very suitably retire and accept a 
 less onerous sphere of usefulness. He was never 
 an ambitious man, and rather avoided than courted 
 public commendation. But he loved those among 
 whom he had laboured during the Spring and 
 Summer-tide of his life, and was deeply touched at 
 the concern they manifested on his departure ; and 
 in his farewell address he confessed that he should 
 not even then have negotiated for an exchange, 
 had he not been suffering from " some, unaccount- 
 able languor and depression of spirits." It was 
 til en too late for him to alter his determination ; 
 but his parishioners, in memory of his long and 
 faithful ministry among them, subscribed for a 
 
 ^ Mecklenburgh Square. He then lived in Hcathcote Street, just 
 '>f the Square.
 
 UNFLliiUNATE EXCHANGE. 2'So 
 
 handsome testimonial,* vvliicli was publicly pre- 
 sented to him by Mr. Serjeant Talfourd. 
 
 The change proved truly unfortunate. Althougli 
 Mr. Harness had constantly moved in what is called 
 " the world " (it was his pride to say that he as- 
 sociated with all classes, from the highest to the 
 lowest), there never was a man less imbued with 
 its maxims, or less animated by its spirit. Generous 
 and unsuspicious to a fault, he attributed to others 
 the high motives by which he was himself actuated. 
 As a consequence he was, therefore, generally un- 
 fortunate in business transactions ; even to such an 
 extent that his income would have been considerably 
 diminished, had it not been from time to time unex- 
 pectedly supplemented by legacies from friends and 
 strangers. In the present instance, without instituting 
 the necessary inquiries, he accepted a retired livimj-, 
 in place of his Loudon incumbency ; and when he 
 came to take possession of his rural retreat, he 
 found to his cost that justice had now deserted not 
 only the town, but also the country. The church 
 and parsonage had been allowed to fall completely 
 out of repair ; and as he would have been personally 
 liable for dilapidations, he finall}^ resolved to adopt 
 the advice of a friend and not to enter into pos- 
 session. 
 
 Having thus lost his position, he was obliged to 
 
 * A massive silver candulebfum.
 
 236 BROMPTON CHAPEL. 
 
 seek some otlier duty, and he became Minister of 
 Brompton Chapel. Here he remained for three 
 years, when, at the suggestion of his old friend, 
 Dean Milman, he commenced to collect funds and 
 make arrangemets for the building of All Saints, 
 Kuightsbridge.
 
 237 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BUILDING OF ALL SAINTs', K-NIGHTSBRIDGE. — CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP 
 
 BETWEEN MR. HARNESS AND MISS MITFORD. — TOKEN OF ESTEEM. 
 
 HER LAST LETTERS AND DEATH. — COMMENCEMENT OF THE " LIFE OP 
 MARY RUSSELL MITFOKD." — DIFFICULTIES. — PROGRESS OF THE WORK. 
 INTIMACY WITH MR. DYCE. 
 
 Mr, Harness's longing for the country was to a 
 certain extent gratified by bis position at Knights- 
 bridge. When lie first resided in Hyde Park 
 Terrace, the neighbourhood bordering on Rotten 
 Row was laid out in large gardens shaded by luxuriant 
 trees, and melodious with the songs of the linnet 
 and nightingale. His own house, while it faced 
 the Park, commanded from the back a wide view 
 over the country as far as Epsom and the Surrey 
 hills. At first, the intention was to build the church 
 just inside the railings of Hyde Park, and a piece 
 of ground had been assigned for the purpose; but 
 the Commissioners of Woods and Forests afterwards 
 withdrew their grant, and Mr. Harness was. obliged 
 to content himself with a site somewhat further 
 removed from the Kensington Road than was desir-
 
 238 ALL SAlXTh', KNIGHTSBEIDGE. 
 
 able. The money collected for the building 
 amounted to £10,500; £1,100 of which was contri- 
 buted by Mr. Harness, and a considerable portion 
 of the remainder by his personal friends. 
 
 Mr. Harness was fond of classic designs, and the 
 Italian style of architecture was selected for the 
 church, a bell-tower, or campanile, being after- 
 wards added to it.* The Minister's income was 
 almost entirely dependent upon the pew-rents ; and 
 although the gross revenue exceeded £1,100 per 
 annum, Mr. Harness scarcely received £400 out of 
 it ; partly owing to the liberal manner in which all 
 those in his employment were remunerated. He 
 was always unwilling to tax his congregation, and 
 persistently refused to allow charity sermons to be 
 preached for any but local objects. At the same 
 time, he never called for any assistance towards de- 
 fraying the cost of repairs or other outgoings con- 
 nected with the edificCj which amounted to a very 
 considerable sum. 
 
 The incidental notices which have occurred in the 
 foregoing chapters are sufficient to indicate the affec- 
 tionate friendship which throughout life existed be- 
 tween Mr. Harness and Miss Mitford. They were 
 bound together not only by early associations, but by 
 a mutual geniality of temperament, and a sympathy in 
 
 * In 1860, at a cost of £1,400, to which Mr. Harness contributed 
 £500.
 
 MISS MITFORD. 239 
 
 each other's tastes and pursuits. Both were ardent 
 lovers of literature, especially of the more social 
 branches of it, and both fully appreciated the powerful 
 influence obtained by the Drama. Miss Mitford 
 had an especial predilection for this kind of com- 
 position. " If I have any talent," she writes, "it is 
 for the Drama;" and we can imagine the relief with 
 which she must have flown from the cold cynicism 
 of her father to the kindly encouragement of her 
 early friend, who bade her continue in the path she 
 loved. Nor can we assert that his support was ill- 
 judged, when we read the many noble and touching 
 passages which adorn " Eienzi," and recollect the 
 success it achieved — a success which would have dis- 
 ting-uished its author had she never etched a sins^le 
 episode of village life. There may perhaps have 
 been also a kinder motive for Mr. Harness's encou- 
 ragement ; for the theatre then offered better hopes 
 of pecuniary remuneration than any other field of 
 literature. 
 
 The aff'ectionate regard whicli Miss Mitford felt 
 towards her early friend is well shown by the follow- 
 ing gratifying offer : 
 
 "Three Mile Cross, 
 
 "April 4, 1837. 
 
 " My Dear Wilham, 
 " I have only one moment in which to offer a peti-
 
 24-0 DEDICATION TO MR. EARNESS. 
 
 tion to you. I have a little trumpery volume called 
 ' Country Stories,' about to be published by Saun- 
 ders and Otley. Will you permit me to give these 
 Tales some httle value in my own eyes by inscribing 
 them (of course in a few true and simple words) to 
 you, my old and most kind friend? I would not 
 dedicate a play to you, for fear of causing you 
 injury in your profession ; but I do not think that 
 this slight testimony of a very sincere affection could 
 do you harm in that way ; for even those who do 
 not allow novels in their house, sanction my little 
 
 books. 
 
 " Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 " M. E,. MlTFORD." 
 
 The dedication was as follows : — 
 
 To 
 
 THE KEY. WILLIAM HARNESS, 
 
 Whose old hereditary friendship 
 
 Has been the pride and pleasure 
 
 Of her happiest hours, 
 
 Her consolation in the sorrows, 
 
 and 
 
 Her support in the difficulties of life, 
 
 This little volume 
 
 Is most respectfully and affectionately 
 
 Inscribed by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 But although there was such a congeniahty in
 
 HEU ..LMGIOUS VIEWS. 241 
 
 literary taste between Mr. Harness anr. Miss Mit- 
 ford, tiiey were at issue on a more important sub- 
 ject. Miss Mitford's views on Religion were de- 
 cidedly ' broad,' although they would have appeared 
 narrow in comparison with some of the present day. 
 Mr. Harness, as we have seen, was a man of sound 
 doctrine and faithfully attached to the Church of 
 England, and his friend's views caused some dis- 
 satisfaction to his orthodox mind. He desired to 
 bring her round to more correct opinions, and appa- 
 rently wrote to her on the subject ; for we find her, 
 in a letter, tenderly requesting him not to press 
 arguments upon her which could not alter her con- 
 victions, and deprecating the discussion of anything 
 which might create a distance between two such 
 early friends. After this, Mr. Harness forbore 
 making any further allusions to such matters ; but 
 it is satisfactory to know that Miss Mitford remained 
 a member of the Church in which she had been edu- 
 cated. 
 
 If there was any person beyond the pale of 
 Mr. Harness's Christian forbearance, that indivi- 
 vidual was Dr. Mitford. The reckless manner in 
 which he squandered the family property, and his 
 selfishness even to the last, when he became 
 entirely dependent on his daughter's incessant 
 toil, often continued by night as well as by day.
 
 242 
 
 DR. jMITPORD. 
 
 would have estranged the affections of any but 
 one, 
 
 " Whose kind heart refused to discover 
 The faults which so many could find." 
 
 The history of Dr. Mitford's extravagance and 
 folly have been written by Mr. Harness himself. 
 Like other men of his stamp, the Doctor seems to 
 have been in turn the impostor and the dupe. Mr. 
 Harness disliked not only his morals, but also his 
 manners, his self-sufficiency and loud talk, and 
 could scarcely understand the amount of filial in- 
 fatuation which led Miss Mitford to speak of his 
 "modesty" and "excellence." 
 
 Notwithstanding Miss Mitford's slavery at the 
 pen, the Doctor died considerably in debt; and 
 although her poverty was great, she retained such 
 a filial regard for his memory, that she boldly an- 
 nounces : — " Everybody shall be paid, if I sell the 
 gown off my back, or pledge my little pension." 
 In these difficulties a suggestion was made, by 
 those who knew her wide popularity, that a sub- 
 scription should be set on foot to raise a sum to 
 meet these liabilities. The response to the appeal 
 thus made by Mr. Harness and other friends was 
 more Hberal than could have been expected. The 
 following is a letter from Mrs. Opie on this sub- 
 ject : —
 
 :\[HS. OPJE. 
 
 243 
 
 " Lady's Lane, 
 "2nd Month, 24tli, 1843. 
 
 " My Dear Friend, 
 
 " I thought I should see thy name on poor dear 
 Miss Mitford's Committee. What a sad tale she 
 has to tell ! How she has been tried ! And what 
 a daughter she has been to a most unworthy 
 father ! I know no one like her in self-sacrifice 
 and patient endurance. Surely, under such cir- 
 cumstances, the creditors will take less than their 
 due, and wait for the rest till she can pay it. So 
 few persons like to subscribe to pay debts, that 
 this debt of £800 or £900 will hang, I fear, hke 
 a millstone over the subscription. But I forget — 
 this debt paid, she may, perhaps, by the labours 
 of her pen, support herself without help. And 
 I do hope the Queen will double her pen- 
 sion. 
 
 " In the meanwhile, I am begging for her. I 
 intend to raise £20, and to get more if I can. I 
 shall ask a sovereign from eighteen persons — I have 
 in hand seven already — and then send the £20 
 up to some one, or pay it into Gurney's bank, to 
 be remitted to her bankers. In such a case, and 
 in many cases, begging is a Christian duty. She 
 has written to me and sent me the papers to dis- 
 tribute. 
 
 I think she would have gained more by an 
 
 R 2 
 
 (C
 
 244 MISS MITFOED. 
 
 appeal to the public in the papers, witli a list of 
 subscribers; but she aud you and her agents 
 know best what to do. I shall be very sorry if 
 I do not raise £20 or more. How I wish it were 
 as easy for me to serve thy nephew ! 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Much thine, 
 
 "Amelia Opie." 
 
 The sum collected was not only sufficient to 
 cover all the outstanding habiUties, but also to 
 add something to the authoress's narrow in- 
 come. 
 
 During the last two years of her life Miss 
 Mitford's health rapidly declined. Mr. Harness 
 frequently visited her at this time ; and in a 
 letter to a friend shortly before her death she 
 speaks with her old enthusiasm of her early 
 
 friend : — 
 
 " By the way, this most dear friend of mine 
 has been here for ten days — came for one — found 
 himself a lodging, and has stayed ever since, and 
 will stay ten days longer. Did you ever hear of 
 him ? . . . . He has every grace and accomplishment 
 
 person (even at sixty odd), voice, manner, 
 
 talent, literature, and, more than all, the sweetest 
 of natures. His father gave away my mother. 
 We were close friends in childhood, and have re-
 
 DER LAST INSTRUCTIONS. 245 
 
 mained such ever since. And now lie leaves the 
 Deep-dene, with all its beauty of scenery and 
 society, to come to me, a poor sick old woman, 
 just because I am sick, and old, and poor ; and 
 because we have loved each other like brother 
 and sister all our lives. How I wish you were 
 here to hear him read Shakespeare, and to listen 
 to conversation that leaves his reading far be- 
 hind !" 
 
 In a note written to himself about this time, 
 and in contemplation of her own approaching 
 dissolution, she observes : — 
 
 " You are left, dear friend, to be the one green 
 oak of the forest, after the meaner trees have 
 fallen around you. May God long preserve 
 you to the many still left to grow up under 
 your shade !" 
 
 One of the last letters written by Miss Mitford 
 to Mr. Harness, and marked " immediate," con- 
 tained directions with regard to the publication 
 of her life and correspondence. With character- 
 istic thoughtfulness, she avoids preferring any 
 formal request that might inconvenience her friend 
 or involve him in a laborious and unprofitable 
 undertaking. She does not even express any 
 opinion as to the value of her literary remains, 
 but rather implies a doubt whether any one would 
 think them worth pubhshing. Finally, however.
 
 246 LIFE OF MISS MITFOED. 
 
 she gives a list of persons in possession of 
 her correspondence, and observes that no one 
 knew the course of her life better than himself. 
 From the tenor of this letter it is evident that 
 she wished Mr. Harness to write some biographical 
 notice of her; and some conversations which 
 had passed between them confirmed him in this 
 opinion. 
 
 Soon after his friend's death, Mr. Harness com- 
 menced the task of lookingr throuo-h her letters, 
 but he found the work much more arduous than he 
 had anticipated. Although her habits were in every 
 respect frugal, her favourite economy seemed to be 
 in paper. Her letters were scribbled on innumerable 
 small scraps — sometimes on printed circulars — 
 sometimes across engravings — and half a dozen of 
 these would form one epistle, and had in course 
 of time become confused and interchano^ed in 
 their envelopes. When we add to this that 
 towards the end of her life Miss Mitford's hand- 
 writing became almost microscopic, it can easily 
 be understood that the arrangement of these 
 Sibylline leaves was no short or easy undertaking. 
 Mr. Harness worked hard at it, out of affec:^ion 
 for his lost friend, but at last he felt that, from 
 failing health, he must either abandon his design 
 or call in to his assistance some person who 
 had more time and energv to devote to its
 
 HER WILL. 
 
 247 
 
 prosecution. Under these circumstances, be ap- 
 plied to Mr. Henry Chorley, a man of well- 
 known literary skill, and one of Miss Mitford's 
 most intimate friends. 
 
 In the meanwhile a difiBculty arose from a 
 most unexpected quarter. A year before Miss 
 Mitford's death, she made her will, and left her 
 servants K. and Sam her residuary legatees. It 
 is possible that at that time she thought nothing 
 about her letters, or any life which might be 
 written of her, and felt satisfied that at all 
 events she w^as leaving- evervthino; in the safe 
 custody of her executors. 
 
 No literary person would ever dream of com- 
 mitting their private correspondence to the hands of 
 half-educated servants, or indeed to those of any 
 one in whose judgment and ability they had not the 
 fullest confidence. Something seems to have occur- 
 red to her mind on this subject at the very last, and, 
 being ignorant of law, she thought a letter to Mr. Har- 
 ness, her executor, would be in every way a sufiicient 
 safeguard.* Towards the end of her life, she became 
 very much dependent on her maid, and probably in 
 one of those ebullitions of generosity for which she 
 was remarkable, left her all her little property. On 
 account of the objections raised, Mr. Chorley refused 
 
 * The Svveetmans afterwards filed a bill in chancery against Mr. 
 Jientley and myself. It was dismissed without costs.
 
 248 
 
 STATE OF PIER CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 to proceed with the work, unless an arrangement 
 could be made with the Sweetmans. They, on their 
 part, put in exorbitant claims, and Mr. Chorley with- 
 drew, observing that the work would barely remu- 
 nerate the Editor. The undertaking was then relin- 
 quished, apparently for ever. 
 
 Mr. Harness always considered the demands 
 of the Sweetmans to be merely vexatious, as 
 he knew well the wishes of his life-long friend 
 and the entire confidence she placed in him. 
 He was also fully convinced that her servants 
 had no legal claim whatever on any portion of 
 her literary correspondence. 
 
 We thus entered upon the work with a flow- 
 ing sail, and spent two years not unpleasantly 
 in deciphering and arranging the multifarious 
 materials, so as to form an agreeable and continuous 
 narrative of the life of the popular authoress. One 
 great difficulty we encountered spoke favourably 
 for the promise of the book. We had such a re- 
 dundance of good matter, of clever criticism and 
 graceiul description, that we found it very difficult 
 to compress it into anything like readable propor- 
 tions. 
 
 During the following years I was much with Mr. 
 Harness. Our work was principally carried on in 
 his little study — a room well lined with books and 
 adorned with sketches, several of them by Miss
 
 MR. DYCE. 249 
 
 Fanshawe. H^s residence was in every way a 
 charming bijou — a combination of ornament and 
 comfort ; and as in his dress lie exhibited the most 
 scrupulous neatness and precision, so his household 
 arrangements bespoke taste without extravagance. 
 In his furniture lie studied colour and form, and 
 would point out to an intimate friend the little effects 
 which he had produced by certain ingenious dispo- 
 sitions. At the head of the staircase leading to 
 the drawing-room, stood a large mirror reflecting 
 persons entering the room. The apartment itself 
 was in good keeping with the character of its 
 owner. The walls were covered with cases of 
 brightly bound volumes alternating with mirrors 
 draped like the windows. Beside the mantel-piece 
 stood a model of Shakespeare's monument and his 
 bust. 
 
 During this period, no one was a more frequent 
 visitor in Mr. Harness's study than the well-known 
 Shakespearian critic, Mr. Dyce. He was a tall thin 
 man, with keen eyes and a strong Scotch accent, 
 They had been literary friends through life ; and 
 now, as septuagenarians, they were fond of talk- 
 ing over by-gone days, and sometimes indulging in 
 a httle old-fashioned badinage. " My rheumatism," 
 Mr. Dyce would observe, " has become more 
 troublesome of late." "Very probably," returned 
 Mr. Harness jocosely ; " what is the good of such
 
 250 MK. DYOK. 
 
 an old fellow as you?" (Dyce was eight years the 
 youngor ) " Don't insult me," the other replied, 
 with well-affected indignation. 
 
 The conversation during these visits frequently 
 turned upon Miss Mitford and her writings, or 
 upon the edition of Shakespeare which Mr. Dyce 
 had then in preparation. With regard to the latter 
 w^ork, Mr. Harness, while fully acknowledging the 
 learning and research of his friend, thought that 
 he had scarcely sufficient enterprise for the task, 
 and was somewhat slow in admitting judicious 
 emendations. He had, for instance, left uncorrected 
 a corrupt and unintelligible passage in the 
 Tempest.'* 
 
 I rn 
 
 " A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 
 Now useless boiled within thy skull !" 
 
 Mr. Harness observed that in Shakespeare's time 
 the c and s were formed almost alike, and were 
 frequently interchanged ; also that the passive 
 " boiled" is inelegant and inapplicable to the brains, 
 whereas the active " boil " would give a good idea 
 of violent mental commotion. In many passages 
 Mr. Dyce did adopt his friend's views. But he 
 mentions the epitaph on Shakespeare's wife with- 
 out noticing his suggestion that the widow 
 
 * Act v., Scene 1.
 
 LETTEP. FROM MR. TIALT-IWELL. 251 
 
 married again. Mr. Harness, when investigating 
 that point, laid the evidence before an actuary, 
 who replied that " it would be as difficult to dis- 
 prove the fact of Mrs. Shakespeare having become 
 Mrs. James as that Georg^e the Third is now on 
 the throne." 
 
 The following: extract from a letter received about 
 this time from Mr. Halliwell, bears interesting 
 and valuable testimony to Mr. Harness's critical 
 proficiency : — 
 
 " I am constantly reminded of you by your ex- 
 cellent edition of Shakespeare, your oivn explana- 
 tory notes to which are, in my opinion (excuse my 
 presumption, but I am always at it, and therefore 
 ought to be able to judge), the best, next to Dr. 
 Johnson's, ever made. I most earnestly wish you 
 would publish another edition with more of 
 them." 
 
 On the last occasion on which we walked in the 
 South Kensington Museum, Mr. Harness met his 
 old friend, Mr. Longman. They began to talk of 
 bygone times, and Mr. Longman said he remembered 
 his old enthusiasm for Shakespeare, and asked 
 whether he retained it. " Yes," replied Mr. Har- 
 ness, " I do. There never was such another man, 
 and there never will be."
 
 252 LTTEEARY LABOUES. 
 
 The Life of Mary Russell Mitford, commenced 
 in 1866, was three years in progress. In the 
 Autumn of 1868 ifc appeared to be ready, and we 
 offered it to several leading publishers, who all 
 declined it upon different grounds. Even Mr. 
 Bentley, who at first entertained the proposal, 
 afterwards withdrew on receiving an adverse 
 critique. He at the same time observed that if 
 the work were reduced to half its dimensions he 
 might still entertain it. Mr. Harness undertook 
 the abridgment, and, but for my strenuous opposi- 
 tion, would have curtailed his own introductory 
 notices, and omitted the first letter, which is 
 characteristic and interesting from its date. In a 
 few months he resis^ned his undertaking^: he was 
 feeling the weakness inseparable from advanced 
 age ; and the careful reduction of six volumes to 
 three required no slight amount of reading and 
 attention. He accordingly placed the further re- 
 vision of the work entirely in ray hands. 
 
 Since Mr. Harness's age had become remarkable, 
 it had been his custom to celebrate his birthday by 
 giving a little party to his immediate friends and 
 relations, and they in turn marked the anniversary 
 by congratulations and other tokens of regard. 
 In this year I was obliged, as it happened, to leave 
 London on the day before this interesting occasion ; 
 but in [)assing I left a bouquet at his house.
 
 LOVE OP FLOWET^S. 
 
 253 
 
 Next raorning, I received an envelope contaiuin 
 the followino: lines : — ■ 
 
 
 & 
 
 " Sweet ai'e your flowers; for tbo' this sunless Spring 
 With perfume slight their beauty rare enhances, 
 A sweeter fragrance to my hearth they bring, 
 As breathing a kind friend's remembrances. 
 
 'o 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 *'W. H." 
 
 Mr. Harness was always fond of flowers. When 
 the Hon. William Cowper was in office, he sug- 
 gested to him the establishment of a flower-market 
 in Trafalgar Square His reply was that he thought 
 it already sufficiently ornamental.
 
 254 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LETTERS FROM MR. HARNESS, FOR 1866, DURING THE PREPARATION OF 
 " THE LIFE OF MARY RUSSELL MITFORD." 
 
 Me. Harness's opinion, tliat changes are not pro- 
 ductive of unmixed good, proved true with regard 
 to the Penny Postage, which effectually destroyed 
 the art of letter-writing. Formerly, people were 
 accustomed to send a letter from one county of 
 England to another, such as they would now 
 despatch to India or the Colonies. It was written 
 upon large square sheets of paper, was carefully 
 and leisurely composed, and filled up to the " way- 
 bits " with a pleasant farrago of soHd information 
 and amusing gossip. The whole was finally secured 
 and preserved from prying eyes, by an enormous 
 seal, exhibiting all the weapons and animals that 
 had ever made the fiimily bearings formidable. 
 
 Neither in their cost nor in their contents had 
 letters then been reduced to the penny stamp. 
 They had even some little title to epistolary 
 dignity, and letter-writing was regarded as no
 
 HORTICULTUEAL GAT^DENS. 255 
 
 unimportant brancli of literature. Mr. Harness, 
 among those of his day, was not deficient in 
 this eleo-ant and social accomplishment, and 
 he never altogether condescended to the rapid 
 business style of the present time, but continued 
 to the last to write at some little length, re- 
 cording the thoughts passing through his mind 
 and the incidents which occurred in his every- 
 day life. 
 
 The following letters were written during the 
 preparation of the Life of Miss Mitford, and 
 are interesting from their references to it, and 
 to some events of the time. 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 " May 28, 1866. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 "Your MS. arrived duly and in safety on 
 Saturday ; but I was so occupied all the day 
 that I had not a moment to spare even to 
 write a line to you. I went out early to take 
 a glimpse of the Horticultural Garden Show, 
 and paid half-a-crown to see it in a gradual state 
 of demolition : all that was best already gone, 
 and the rest in a state of removal. The ' pitcher 
 tree ' (do you know it ?) was the only thing 
 curious that 1 had not seen a good specimen of 
 before. That is eminently curious. But the con-
 
 2l)(j TAINTTNGS BY REINSTADT. 
 
 elusion which I drew from what remained is, 
 that the gardeners are by force of art cultivating 
 away all the beauty of flowers, as the music- 
 masters are practising and straining their pupils 
 out of all the charm of sinmnsf. A rose on its 
 natural stem is a beautiful flower ; but what 
 can be the beauty of a large red-cabbage sort 
 of thing growing like this (a sketch) at the top 
 of a stiff twig ? An azalea is a beautiful thinsf 
 blooming here and there amid green leaves in 
 its own natural manner ; but what is there in 
 a pyramid (another sketch), all flowers and no 
 leaves, superior to the same sort of thing made 
 of pink, yellow, or white silver paper ? 
 
 " After walking till I was tired, and abusing 
 what remained of the Exhibition, because there 
 was so little left to look at, I went to a shop 
 in the Haymarket, next door to the theatre, to 
 see a very beautiful landscape which had been sent 
 over from America. It is a large view of a scene in 
 the Rocky Mountains, and is well nigh the finest 
 landscape I have ever seen. I wish you had been 
 with me ! It is by a man named Reinstadt. 
 He's a German, living and educated in America ; 
 and if he can paint more as good pictures as 
 this is, he is the first landscape-painter of our 
 time. My hand is swollen, but free from pain, 
 and I still have no power of voice. So
 
 KULES FOR HEALTH. 257 
 
 voice. So altogether, I'm in a bad case, and am 
 going to take advice. Write to me, and remember 
 that I am always, 
 
 " Affectionately yours, 
 
 "W. H. 
 " Have you read ' the Spanish Gipsy ' — a poem 
 by the author of ' Adam Bede ?' If you have 
 not, do ! It is really very good ; and consider- 
 ing that it is a nineteenth century production, 
 almost intelligible throughout. I have read no- 
 thing so like English for many a day." 
 
 " Privy Council Office, 
 " June 5, 1866. 
 
 " My dear L' Estrange, 
 *' I'm sorry to hear that your friend is so unwell, 
 and more sorry to hear that he has so great a 
 fool for his doctor as to be allowed to keep his 
 bed, or even his room, for influenza. Bed is 
 always the worst place anybody can be in, except 
 for the purposes of bodily rest. My father used to 
 say (and he was the cleverest physician I ever 
 knew), that, 'if it was a good place to cure 
 you of a cold, it was also the place to ensure 
 your catching another.' It weakens a man, body, 
 mind, and nerves ; and it's my belief that those 
 are healthiest, wisest, and most energetic, who 
 contrive to keep out of it the most. Nothing but 
 
 s
 
 25S INVITATIONS. 
 
 tlie necessity of sleep from fatigue, or the in- 
 capacity of sitting or standing from sickness, can 
 be an excuse for lying in bed. It is not one person 
 in a thousand who keeps his window open, and 
 fairly ventilates the chamber he sleeps in . . . I for- 
 get what the occasion of this tirade on bed-keeping 
 was ; but, at all events, those are my opinions, 
 and I could fill half-a-dozen sheets of paper in 
 further explication of them if I had time to write, 
 or you cared to read them. 
 
 " I've been very ill. I'm better, and am come 
 down to the office to-day; but I'm as weak as 
 water, and every exertion of mind, even the 
 writing this letter to you (' an office I delight 
 in,' — Shakespeare), seems to puzzle my brain. I 
 was quite well last Friday. I dined at Captain 
 Boyle's, and went afterwards to Miss Coutts' party 
 to meet the Duchess of Cambridge, the Princess 
 Mary and her intended, and to hear Grisi and 
 Mario sing. Enjoyed myself very much, staid till 
 past one, and went home to bed perfectly well. 
 But oh ! in the middle of the night I awoke so 
 ill ! . . . At present I'm on my way to recovery ; 
 but I mayn't go this evening to hear ' David 
 Copperfield,' as I should like to do, and 
 Bence Jones, who never arrived till Sunday, 
 has forbidden my dining out for some days to 
 come.
 
 EOYAL MARRIAGE. 259 
 
 " Now, this is more than enough about myself — 
 but is the Teck that is to marry the Princess 
 Mary a Prince or a Grand Duke ? I forget — 
 however it does not signify which he is for the 
 purpose of this letter : Pll call him Prince. Ho 
 is really very good-looking, he has — a wonderful 
 thing in a German — good prominent features and 
 •white teeth, bright, expressive dark eyes, plea- 
 sant smile, graceful bearing, neat, straight, slim 
 figure, and is rather tall; but he looks quite a 
 boy. He may look younger than he is; but, 
 making all due allowance for that (in the present 
 instance) inconvenient advantage, he can't be 
 above two and twenty. She looks charmed with 
 him, and herself, and her situation. But, as she 
 stood near him — or rather he near her — in the 
 ample bloom of her person and her crinoline, she 
 seemed completely to eclipse him. He has a de- 
 ficiency, a craniological deficiency ; his head wants 
 back to it. This, to me, is unpleasant, it argues 
 want of power. A man may be a very good 
 monk without it in a cloister, and become a very 
 bright saint without it in Paradise ; but in this 
 world of strife and struggle I should be afraid lest 
 he would succumb before the slightest opposition, 
 and be unable to maintain his own opinion. 
 
 " When well, I get on with the MSS. How you 
 love polysyllabic words ! For instance, I write 
 
 s 2
 
 2G0 DR. MITFOT^D. 
 
 ' The Doctor used to tell bis friends that lie should 
 settle the money on his daughter.' You write ' in- 
 form.' Why, my dear boy, the old brute never 
 informed his friends of anything. To ' inform' im- 
 plies some kind of seriousness and solemnity in 
 relating a matter — which the Doctor never had. All 
 that his friends ever knew of him or of his affairs — 
 or whatever, false or true, that he intended them to 
 believe about them — came out carelessly from him 
 in his loose, disjointed talk. 
 
 " God bless you ! Write to me fully about what 
 you are doing. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " William Harness." 
 
 " P.S. — I must preach at St. Paul's on Sunday ; 
 and soon after that I shall arrange for a few days 
 country by the sea, or on high land. Where shall 
 you be?" 
 
 " Privy Council Office, 
 
 " June 14, 1866. 
 
 " My dear L'E strange, 
 " I was so glad to receive your kind note, and to be 
 assured by your autograph that you had not quite 
 forgotten the exertions I had to undergo last Sun- 
 day. Considering that I'm not well, and have not 
 preached these three months, and that the weather 
 was very hot, I got through my work more easily
 
 SEllMON AT ST. PAULS. 2G1 
 
 than I expected. I was called at seven, breakfasted 
 at eight, started for the cathedral at a quarter before 
 nine, and arrived at its door at half-past nine. So 
 that my primary fear of not being in time was hap- 
 pily dissipated. The cathedral felt very cold, which 
 was a good thing for me, as I had not the lassitude 
 of heat, as well as the weakness of indisposition and 
 the infirmities of old age, to fight against. So that, 
 althogether, I did much better than I expected to do. 
 Sultry as the day was, St. Paul's was so much the 
 reverse, that on coming out I was quite glad to find 
 myself in the blaze of the sun again. I was too 
 tired afterwards to go up to Holly Lodge, as Miss 
 Coutts wished me to do ; but went quietly home,, as 
 soon as I had paid a little visit to the Deanery to 
 look at Milman's picture by Watts. It is very good 
 indeed, like the work of an old master, and bearing 
 a strong resemblance to the Dean, with the excep- 
 tion that the drooping of his left eye is strikingly 
 exaggerated. 
 
 " I am not well ; I am weak from my illness ; and 
 in spite of the iron which Bence Jones is giving me, 
 I don't feel stronger. 1 mean to see him again to- 
 morrow. But the season is against me. I had a 
 dinner at home last Friday, which I could not put 
 off; and, though I have excused myself from dining 
 out ever since, I have Charles Dickens and some 
 other people to dinner to-day, who have been invited
 
 26^ DINNER PARTY. 
 
 since the first of the month, and whom I must enjoy 
 — as I shall — the pleasure of receiving ; though I 
 fearfully anticipate the fatigue of it. I have a notion 
 of going to Margate on Monday for a day or two. 
 There is a fine jetty to walk on into the midst of the 
 sea. The air is excellent. It is the haunt of cock- 
 neys, of whom I don't know one ; so that I may 
 fairly hope to enjoy there a very comfortable and 
 salubrious retirement with my Shakespeare as sole 
 companion : unless you would join me there on 
 Monday evening ! 
 
 " Believe me to be yours, 
 
 " Ever affectionately, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 "Kensington Gore, 
 
 "June 23, 1866. 
 
 *' My dear L' Estrange, 
 
 " Where did you find the authority for saying that 
 Miss Mitford was bridesmaid at Lady Charles 
 Aynesley's wedding ? She certainly never was in 
 the North till the year 1806 ; and I take it for 
 granted that in the North the marriage of a North- 
 umberland heiress must have taken place. 
 
 " London at this present moment is very full, and 
 appears to be very gay ; but, except at dinners, I 
 see mightily little of its gaiety. Strange to say, the 
 only extreme bit of dissipation I have been tempted
 
 FOliTUNATE KESULT. 2G3 
 
 into, did me considerable good. For several weeks 
 I had been feeling as old as the hills and as weak as 
 water ; but Miss Coutts asked me to dine in Strat- 
 ton Street on Thursday ' quite quietly, nobody to be 
 there but the party staying in the house' — so I went. 
 After dinner, as the ladies were leaving the room, 
 she said, ' Now you must not be angry ; we are 
 going to take you to the Opera. You may sit quite 
 quiet, and go away when you like ; and we don't 
 think it will do you any harm.' So I went. The 
 heat was intense : I was in a vapour bath with all 
 my clothes on, from half-past eight till half-past 
 eleven. It was a sultry thunderstorm outside the 
 walls of the theatre, and a fiery furnace of gas and 
 human beings within. I was all the time in such 
 an overpowering heat that every inch of my 
 coat was as wet as if J had been in a shower- 
 bath. 
 
 " "Well, I thought it would be the death of a 
 poor wretch in my exhausted condition ! Not 
 a bit of it. I came home — went to bed — slept 
 all night — and woke the next morning, for the 
 first time this month, refreshed and unfatigued, 
 and longing to sing while I was shaving my- 
 self. What an odd composition a human being 
 is ! The very thing which has set me to rights 
 and made me feel myself, is the very thing that any 
 doctor would have advised me against, and which
 
 264 MISS mttford's 
 
 I myself on premeditation should have shrunk 
 from ! 
 
 " I shall not leave town till after the eighth. I 
 think then of going to the Deepdeue to Mrs. Hope 
 for a few days — thence to the sea, and remaining 
 away a fortnight. I never went to Broadstairs ! It 
 was so cold, I could not make up my mind to leave 
 home. If one was to sit shivering in-doors, I 
 thought I had better execute the performance in 
 my own study than in the coffee-room of a sea-side 
 hotel. Let me hear from you. 
 " And believe me to be, 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 " ' Rienzi' did come out on the 9th of October, 
 1828. It was my mistake in looking for it in 
 November instead of October, in my old diary ; 
 but ' Otto' was written in 1827. The first copy of 
 the MS. was in my hands on the 26th of Novem- 
 ber, 1828, and the arrangement with Forrest 
 in 1837 or 38 was merely for the reviewing of 
 the play to suit him. What day do you dine here ? 
 Any day except Monday."
 
 LIFE AND WAITINGS. 265 
 
 " Holly Lodge, Highgate, London, W. 
 "Till the 21st of July, 186G. 
 "16th, to-day. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 "Your letter arrived and found me here on 
 Saturday, but I have not had any time to answer 
 it till this morning (half-past six a.m.) in my bed- 
 room. I had thought, from not hearing of you, 
 that you and the vessel must have gone on a 
 voyage of discovery, and that your next letter 
 would be from some island in which you were illu- 
 minating the dark minds of the savages. I would 
 not allow myself to imagine for a moment that you 
 had disappeared from the face of the ocean by a 
 catastrophe so sudden as that of the 'Amazon.' 
 But how come you not to have got my letter ? I 
 wrote a big packet ever so long ago, of which I 
 forget the details, but the gist of it was that I 
 thought Miss Mitford's letters, in the year 1810, 
 were becoming sufficiently interesting to be pub- 
 lished consecutively, with an occasional note here 
 and there, and with certain omissions. I have 
 done up to 1810, and want back the MSS. of 
 1811, which you have, that, with the help of your 
 papers, I may set them in order in accordance with 
 this plan. 
 
 " My disgust of the old fither increases with 
 every letter I read. lie's a detestable old humbug.
 
 2G6 VISIT TO BATTLE 
 
 I wish we could get some letters from the 
 re]ations in Northumberland ! There was an 
 old Mary Mitford (the sister, I think, of Lady 
 Charles Ayuesley), with whom our Miss Mitford 
 used to correspond ; but I believe she died first. 
 It is not at all unlikely but she may have pre- 
 served her cousin's letters, and equally likely 
 that her executors have burnt them. Do you 
 happen to know any of those people or their con- 
 nexions ? 
 
 " I have not done as much as I ought, because 
 I have not been well ; I have been uncommonly 
 relaxed by the heat, and I have been visiting. The 
 doctor said that unless I went to the sea I should 
 not recover my strength ; so I went to Battle and 
 staid with Crake, who drove me down to the sea, 
 or up to the heights, where I could either see or 
 smell the sea, every day from five till eight, when 
 we dined ; and all the rest of the day I sat in tl^e 
 garden under the shade of the house, and inhaled 
 that mitigated saline air which to me is far more 
 agreeable than the sea itself, for it is health and 
 cheerfulness without any association with the terror 
 vf being drowned, or the loathsome feeling of sea- 
 sickness. 
 
 " I stay here till Saturday. On Monday, the 
 23rd, I go to the Milmans; on Thursday, the 26th, 
 I go to Southsea; on Saturday, the 28th, I get
 
 AND BAGSHOT. 2G7 
 
 Lome again. But Brace goes for his holiday in 
 August, and Majendie for his marriage in Septem- 
 ber ; so (as any wise man would) I am catching 
 all the country air I can in the intervals allowed 
 me for mine. Take care of yourself. Don't get 
 drowned. 
 
 " And believe me to be 
 
 " Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 "William Haeness." 
 
 •* Kensington Gore, 
 
 "Augusts, 1866. 
 
 '^ My dear L' Estrange, 
 " I have been very idle ; for, first, I went to stay 
 a week at Crake's ; then I staid the best part of a 
 fortnight at Holly Lodge ; then I went to the 
 Dean of St. Paul's for all the working days of 
 the week, from Sunday to Sunday, who has taken 
 up his Summer residence at a very pretty place 
 near Bagshot, a village which now stands in the 
 midst of cultivated land and flowery hedgerows, 
 but which I was wont to pass through, on the top 
 of the Portsmouth coach, as a sort of lodge in 
 the wilderness, surrounded by a desolate extent of 
 heath. What chans^es we live to see ! And 
 to-day I am going for a fortnight to the Osbornes, 
 (Sutgrave House, Cirencester, Gloucestershire), 
 intending, if weather suit, to take a look at
 
 2G8 MISS mitpoed's lettees. 
 
 Tintern Abbey and the Wizard Cliff before I return, 
 wbich must be the 18th, for Brace goes off for 
 his holiday of three weeks on Monday, the 
 13th ; and as soon as he returns Majendie 
 is off for five Sundays on his marriage tour. 
 So a deductive mind hke yours will easily dis- 
 cover that I'm tied to town during all the latter 
 part of this month, the whole of September, and 
 the first two weeks of October. In that time 
 I intend to w^ork hard at the letters. I think 
 that they, with a very few notes and a few short 
 passages of explanation, will tell the story of an 
 interesting literary life. 
 
 I have done, and had copied, subject to your ap- 
 proval, everything to the end of 1810, and should 
 like to have the letters which are in your hands, to go 
 on with the work after my return from the Osbornes. 
 We must print them, for she evidently took great 
 pains with them ; but how much inferior Miss 
 Mitford's letters to Sir William Elford are to 
 those which she dashed off to her father and 
 mother ! There is a great deal of life and spirit 
 in her ordinary style, when she lets her words 
 drop from her pen without any premeditation, at 
 the prompting of her emotions; but in the 
 elaborated letters there is hardly any merit but 
 high, cold polish, and all freshness of thought is 
 lost in care about the expression. I think we
 
 ADVICE. 269 
 
 shall have to shorten our commencement ; so 
 many long letters remain to be read and copied, 
 and the letters improve as she grows older. 
 
 " You seem to have had a most delightful voyage. 
 I wish I had been with you, but am very glad 
 that you did not buy the house that you looked 
 at on the banks of the Blackwater ! What would 
 you have done there ? Besides, if you ever take up 
 your abode in Ireland, it must be on your own 
 property, where there are duties to fulfil which 
 are suj6B.cient to give an interest and business to 
 life the moment a man sets his heart earnestly 
 to the discharge of them. I must now end my 
 letter as it is necessary for me to prepare for 
 leaving home. But let me hear of you, and tell 
 me when you are likely to be in town again. I 
 shall send this to Clifton, as there is no guessing 
 where you and your yacht (I hope the word is 
 spelt right) , may be ; and with the kindest regards 
 from my sister and cousin, 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " Yours ever aflPectionately, 
 "William Haeness."
 
 270 • ARKANGEMENTS. 
 
 "Privy Council Office, 
 
 " Sept. 1, 1866. 
 
 " Mj dear L'EstraDge, 
 
 " I feel quite ashamed of having so long delayed 
 acknowledging the receipt of your parcel with 
 the letters. I have intended to do it every morn- 
 ing since they arrived ; but I have had so much 
 to do here, that by post-time I have felt that 
 unpleasant feeling in my old brain which warned 
 me that I had done enough, and that it would 
 be useless, if not wrong, for me to keep ray 
 head over paper, with a pen in my hand, any 
 longer. 
 
 " This is the sole impediment to my being as 
 good and regular a correspondent as I should wish 
 to be. I'm getting very old, and my pericranium 
 very weak ... I doubt if I shall be able to do 
 the parish work. My stay in town will be pro- 
 tracted to the middle of October. I'm then in- 
 vited to Clumber; but I have not answered the 
 Duchess to say whether I will go or not ; for — 
 whether it's age or this continued damp, I 
 know not — I really feel too weak and inapt for 
 society to have any inclination for leaving home. 
 
 Your friend Mrs. D has a little girl : she is 
 
 doing very well, but was rather suffering from 
 the weather when I called to inquire after her 
 yesterday. But I had the good luck to find her
 
 SIT?, s. baker's expedition. 271 
 
 father at home and get some conversation with 
 him, which was very much in the manner of a 
 Greek Tragedy — not those parts in which the 
 dialogue is kept briskly up 'ia alternate lines, but 
 those in which the great gun fires off a volley 
 of several pages, and the attendant chorus ex- 
 claims ''Ot(jbot, while he recovers his breath for 
 another explosion. 
 
 "In London, with nothing to do, I have 
 been reading Baker's * Journey in Search of the 
 Albert (Nyanza) Lake,' and ' the Source of the Nile.' 
 It has interested me a good deal; not but that 
 I think him a most bumptious and self-laudatory 
 individual, who quite as often disgusts me with 
 his conceit as he excites my wonder by his spirit 
 of enterprise and powers of endurance. As for 
 his wife, who accompanied him in his troubles 
 among savages — dragged through mud and broil- 
 ing through deserts — she must have been some- 
 thing far stronger in mind and body than the 
 ordinary members of her sex. It is defrauding 
 the curiosity of the public not to lead her about 
 the country as a show. 
 
 " On Majendie's return I shall go to the sea, 
 certainly, to get up strength, and be home by 
 the beginning of December to shut myself up 
 comfortably for the Winter. I hear that, when 
 old Mitford was engaged to his wife, she had a
 
 272 LONDOX I^ SEPTEMBER. 
 
 set of shirts made for him, lest it should be 
 said that ' she had married a man without a 
 shirt to his back !' Of course the story is not 
 true ; but it expressed what folk thought of 
 his deplorable poverty and the impossibility of his 
 making that settlement on her, for which my 
 father was trustee, out of funds of his own, as 
 Miss Mitford suggests. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "W. Harness." 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 
 " Sept. 26, 1866. 
 
 " My dear L' Estrange, 
 " I was very glad to see your handwriting 
 this morning. You don't know what it is to 
 be alone in London. Everybody is away ; and, 
 strange to say, though at the Athenseum there 
 are several men wandering about, they are ail 
 military-looking men, with moustache and martial 
 swagger, who belong to the United Service Club 
 over the way, and are disputing over newspapers 
 and dozing in our arm-chairs while their own 
 house is repairing. All the Athengeum men are 
 either on long vacation, or sketching on the 
 Continent, or doing something sportsmanlike in 
 Scotland. I am really pining to get away ; but 
 of course I can't think of moving till Majendie is
 
 MISS M1TF0T7D's LETTERS. 273 
 
 fairly returned, which will not be before the 18th, 
 or 20th. of next month ! When I do get away 
 I go first to some friends in Hampshire, then to 
 Crake for sea-air and strength, then to the Arch- 
 dales, then to Clumber, and then home. This 
 round will, I think, occupy me till the first week 
 in December, when I hope to come back to London 
 and to find you here. 
 
 " I have got on wonderfully well, I think, with 
 our letters. They seem to make a regular record of 
 Miss Mitford's life and opinions — to me much 
 more interesting than most letters. She often 
 repeats herself, and some of her * dearest loves' 
 and overflowing affection to that humbug, her 
 father, must be slightly mitigated ; its exuberance 
 must be a little repressed. 
 
 " My sister is wonderfully well, and desires her 
 kindest regards to you. 
 
 ** Yours ever, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 
 « Oct. 8, 1866. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 *' If Lady Belcher could procure Miss Mit- 
 ford's letters to Miss Goldsmid we should be very 
 much obliged to her. Miss Goldsmid is a very 
 clever and learnpd lady, and Miss M.'s letters 
 
 T
 
 274 cRiTJcr«M. 
 
 to hfir would be on ^ood topics and in the writer's 
 best style. 
 
 " Miss Mitford's connection with the Mitfords 
 of Mitford Castle was (as I always understood) this : 
 Dr. Mitford's father was first cousin to the father 
 of the Bertram Mitford who was head of the 
 family ; and when she went to the North she 
 stayed with Lady Charles Aynesley. Lady Charles 
 and her sister stood in the same relation to 
 him as Dr. Mitford, as the children of brothers. 
 Miss Mitford was another generation re- 
 moved. 
 
 " I think we shall have a charming book ; but 
 we must go through all the letters and com- 
 plete it before we talk to any publisher about 
 it ; for my views respecting the plan of publi- 
 cation change as I see more and more what it is 
 we have to publish. My present view is that the 
 book should be called ' Life and Opinions of M. 
 R. M., as given in her Letters, with Notes by 
 the Editors.' I like all the letters I have read, 
 except parts of the letters to Sir W. Elford, 
 which (except when she forgets whom she is writ- 
 ing to and is herself again) are in conventional 
 English and almost vulgar in their endeavour to 
 be something particularly good. If I send you 
 off a lot of letters wUhout date, should you 
 have time to read them over and exercise your
 
 LONDON IN OCTOBER. 275 
 
 skill in tvymg to ascertain when tlaey were 
 written. 
 
 " You can have no idea of the utter dreariness 
 and solitude which we have been experiencing 
 since the end of July in this ' Deserted Village.' 
 Till yesterday and to-day we have had nothing 
 but rain and mist, with evenings so cold that 
 one was obliged to have a blazing fire — not, as 
 usual at that season of the year, for cheerful- 
 ness-sake, but for actual warmth and comfort. 
 Adieu, with kindest regards from my sister and 
 cousin, and ray best compliments to Mr, and Mrs, 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " My dear Guy, 
 " Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " W. Haeness." 
 
 " Of an evening I'm re-reading the first volume 
 of Froude's History, to prepare my memory for the 
 enjoyment of the four last. Adieu ! " 
 
 " The Deanery, Battle, Sussex. 
 
 "Nov. 2, 1866. 
 
 ' ' My dear L'Estrange, 
 " Your letter I found here, after my sojourn 
 with my old friends at my first curacy in Hamp- 
 shire : and I write, almost at the first pause I 
 have had since my arrival at Crake's, to tell you how 
 
 T 2
 
 276 MISS mitford's letters. 
 
 much obliged I am for your thinking of me and 
 sending me the Shakespeare photograph. It is 
 from the Chandos picture, which the late Lord 
 Ellesmere purchased at the sale of the late Duke 
 of Buckingham's effects at Stowe, and of which 
 a print is hanging up opposite my drawing-room 
 door in town. You would not imagine the photo 
 as a copy from the same original, because it is so 
 much darker. 
 
 " The letters improve as I get on. Even those 
 to Sir W Elford get easier and better, as she 
 became less upon punctilio and more familiar 
 with him ; in fact, as — with all her asserted 
 deference — she felt herself more and more his 
 superior in intellect and information. When we 
 meet in town we will get on swimmingly, as I 
 have no longer any sermons to prepare : I have 
 given up preaching altogether. The first thing 
 to be done is to arrange in chronological order 
 all the letters to Mrs. Browning, that they may 
 come into their fitting places ; for I find, to my 
 surprise, that Miss Mitford was acquainted with 
 Miss Barrett as early as 1814. 
 
 "I shall stay here, in all probability, till the 
 end of the month, and then go home, light my 
 fire, and pack myself up in my study for the 
 rest of the year, and till the end of Winter. 
 
 *' I'll tell Dyce to send his Shakespeare to the
 
 SnAKESPEARE. 277 
 
 Museum at Stratford; but it is not yet finished* 
 There is one volume (if not a second) yet to come. 
 "With best regards, 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 "Yours ever affectionately, 
 " W. Harness. 
 " Have you heard that they expect Fenian dis- 
 turbances in Ireland ? I hope it is not true." 
 
 * I had mentioned to Mr. Harness that Mr. Dyce's Edition was 
 not in the Shakespearian Musenm.
 
 278 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF LETTERS FROM MR. HARNESS FOR 1867-68-69. — OUR 
 LAST INTERVIEW. — HIS SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED DEATH. 
 
 The allusions in the preceding and following letters 
 show that Mr. Harness's health became uncertain 
 during the last few years of his life. Nevertheless, his 
 spirits were so good, and his temperament was so 
 cheerful, that except on some unfavourable days it 
 was difficult to realize that he had reached an 
 advanced age. He no longer occupied his pulpit, 
 as his voice had become weak; but to the last 
 he was never absent from church, and always 
 took some part in the service. 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 
 " May 18, 1867. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 " I have not been able to write to you, for 
 
 the letters take up as much work of my hand 
 
 as I am able to do . . . Longman has all the 
 
 MS. of our two first volumes. He fears there
 
 MISS MITFORD's PlilENDS. 279 
 
 is more tlian the public will care for, but says 
 he will look it over and let me hear. He 
 seemed pleased with the offer of the book. I'm 
 doing now 1831 ; and am more than half througli 
 it. The letters to Miss Jephson are very unin- 
 teresting to any but the ladies themselves — par- 
 ticularly as their friend Mr. Cathcart* failed at 
 Covent Garden, and afterwards at the Haymarket. 
 He was not quite so bad as her other protege, 
 Mr. Fitzharris, who failed in ' Othello ' at Covent 
 Garden : but he was a miserable actor, who, in 
 spite of a good deal of genius and passion, was 
 perfectly incompetent for any but a very subor- 
 dinate place at a London theatre — such as London 
 theatres were forty years ago. I shall be very 
 glad to see you again. 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " William Harness." 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 
 "June 13, 1867. 
 
 '* My dear L' Estrange, 
 " The man alluded to in that note of Miss 
 
 * Owing to Miss Mitford's partiality for Cathcart, Charles 
 Kemble gave him a trial at Covent Garden ; but after he had been 
 acting for three nights, he refused to continue unless he received 
 an engagement for the whole season. Miss Mitford requested Mr.
 
 280 WAINEWKTGHT. 
 
 Mitford's, as the prototype of a scoundrel in 
 one of Bulwer's novels, was named Wainewright. 
 He wrote charming articles on art under the 
 signature of ' Janus.' He was a friend of Barry 
 Cornwall (Procter) Macready, Talfourd, and all 
 that clique of artists and authors. Charles Lamb 
 was very fond of him, and used to call him 
 the ' light-hearted.' He was born to some in- 
 heritance, which he soon spent, and subsequently 
 replenished his finances by murder. The first 
 person he is supposed to have poisoned was his 
 uncle, the proprietor of the Montlihj Review, whom 
 I knew, but whose name I can't recall, nor shall 
 I — till I don't want it. They say that, first and 
 hist, he assisted at least eleven friends and admirers 
 out of their miseries in this world ; and, entirely 
 free from any apparent depression of spirits, con- 
 cluded his eventful and cheerful life as a very 
 successful portrait-painter at Botany Bay. Ask 
 me about him on Monday, and I raay be able 
 to tell you more of his story. A real account of 
 the man and his character, such as Charles Lamb, 
 or Procter, or Macready might have written, would 
 present one of the most extraordinary psycho- 
 Harness to use his influence with Ketnble on his behalf. " I cannot 
 give an engagement," was the manager's reply; " Cathcart does 
 well enough as Jaffler to my Pierre ; but how would that little 
 fellow look in a breeches part !"
 
 LITEKAKY WORK. 
 
 281 
 
 logical phenomena that ever was witnessed among 
 mankind. 
 
 *' Yours, 
 
 "W. H." 
 
 "Privy Council OflBcc, 
 
 "July 4, 1867. 
 
 " My dear L' Estrange, 
 
 *' I won't tell you how often I complained of 
 your silence ! But your letter, when it appeared 
 yesterday at dinner-time, appeased me; and I am 
 at this moment writing, in my usual most com- 
 placent state of mind towards that intrepid seaman, 
 the Rev. A. G. L'Estrange. I have done nothing 
 about the book, except read and arrange letters. 
 All my considerations by day, with the MSS. before 
 me, and by night, as I think about them, have 
 led me to this conclusion, that we must finish the 
 book as fast as we can ; read the first part over 
 for condensation ; and then publish the whole to- 
 gether. 
 
 " I am very well at present, and trust that I may 
 remain so ; but at seventy-eight (I was going to write 
 eighty-seven) who, without infinite presumption, can 
 depend on life or its faculties for a moment be- 
 yond the present ? I shall, if Providence permit, leave 
 town as early in the month as I can, after getting 
 in my pew-rents and paying my house-rent and
 
 C x^w.r. . ' 
 
 282 ' DOEA. 
 
 taxes — the latter movement being contingent on the 
 first. 
 
 " I have not done much since you removed from 
 the metropolis, except dining out twice, giving a 
 dinner on the anniversary of my niece's wedding- 
 day,* going twice to garden-parties at Holly Lodge, 
 and seeing * Dora ' at the Olympic. This latter piece 
 of dissipation took place on Monday last. I had 
 heard the play so praised, that I was determined to 
 see it ; and so, taking two stall tickets, I asked 
 Mr. Smith to be so good as to go with me and 
 take care of me, which he most kindly did ; and, 
 after being bored with a preKminary farce, I poured 
 out my fullest approbation in tears to * Dora,' from 
 the end of the first act till the green curtain 
 dropped upon the last. I dine out to-day at the 
 Dean of Armagh's. 
 
 " When I leave town I shall go to Scottowe, and 
 remain there till I return home. I wish I did 
 not turn sea-sick at the thought of a yacht, or 
 I would follow my letter, and take a sail with 
 
 you. 
 
 *' My sister's kind regards. 
 
 *' Yours aff'ectionately, 
 
 "W. Harness." 
 
 * "And a very pleasant party, though you would not stay 
 for it."
 
 FINX'IIDEN. 283 
 
 " Privy Council Oflice, 
 
 "July 24, 1867. 
 
 *' My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 *' I have had a note from Bentlev soliciting^ the 
 pubUcation of our book. I have told him that as 
 soon as it is finished he shall hear of it, and be 
 referred to ; but that we can't bind ourselves to 
 publish with anybody till we know what terms may 
 be offered us. 1 have been very much better these 
 last few days, notwithstanding that I've been 
 working like a horse. The letters of 1836 took 
 me a long time, for several hours a day. Those 
 for 1837 will be in Makeham's* hands by the end 
 of the week. 
 
 " So your little friend. Miss Orpen, (is not that 
 the name of Lady Chatterton's niece ?) is married at 
 last. She seems to be charmed with her condition, 
 and I had a note from her, signed ' R. D. Ferrers,' 
 which reached me the day after the announcement 
 of the marriage appeared in the newspapers. She 
 is living at Finchden, which is Lady Chatterton's 
 place, and which as she describes it (an old house 
 of black and white timber, with seven antique 
 and carved gables to it) must be in excellent keep- 
 ing with its inhabitants. It seems that they are 
 
 * Mr. Harness's amanuensis for five-aud-twenty years.
 
 284 THE BELGIANS. 
 
 all going to live together, aunt and niece with their 
 respective husbands, at the black and white house 
 with its seven gables. 
 
 " Lady Chatterton has written a play — a tragedy 
 — called ' Oswald of Deria,' which is to be bound 
 in white in honour of Mrs. Ferrers' marriage, and 
 it is hoped that it will eventually be acted in the 
 larofe drawingf-room of Finchden, which has been 
 re-constructed and enlarged by Lady Chatterton 
 ' expressly for private theatricals. I am to have a 
 copy of the play. 
 
 " We have had marvellous doings here with 
 foreign visitors ! Miss Coutts's luncheon to the 
 Belgians was magnificent ! A beautiful thing to 
 see the troops defiling before her and marching 
 through the grounds to the banqueting tents — 
 2,400 of them (men, not tents), and all finding 
 their places and eating their dinners with the 
 greatest goiU, appetite, and decorum. They had 
 a splendid repast, with grapes, pines, peaches, &c. ; 
 and one hundred and fifty-four dozens of champagne 
 were dismissed before the dinner was over. The 
 day — at least so much of it as was wanted for 
 Holly Lodge — was just what one would wish. It 
 was fair, with occasional gleams of bright sun- 
 shine, but never too hot. Archdale talked a 
 good deal to the Belgians, and they all ex-
 
 AT n(JLLY LODGE. 285 
 
 pressed themselves in terms of wondering^ delight 
 at the entertainment they had received. The 
 Sultan says that ' in Paris he saw what civiliza- 
 tion was — in England he saw what it was that 
 produced it.' 
 
 " Good-bye ! God bless you ! I can't write 
 long together. It fatigues my eyes ; and so, 
 with Mary's love, believe me to be, my dear 
 L'Estrange, 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "W. Harness." 
 
 " Scottowe, Norwich, 
 
 " August ] 1, 1867. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 *' I don't believe you ever received a long 
 letter which I wrote to you from London and 
 directed to Finisterre, for you ought to have had 
 it some days before the date of your last, which 
 is written from some place that I never heard 
 of before, and am not quite sure that I read 
 correctly. 
 
 " We have moved from London at last to Scottowe 
 with the Archdales, arriving all together last 
 Wednesday. We left rain behind us and arrived 
 in rain ; but the fine weather set in on our 
 arrival, and the glass is now at ' fair,' the sky clear,
 
 286 ELY CATHEDIiAL. 
 
 the wind in the east (which in Norfolk is an 
 especial favourite), and the sun as hot and scorching 
 as any human being could possibly desire. 
 
 " I had rather a dread of taking so long a 
 journey at one heat ; so I started on the Tues- 
 day, slept at Ely, and proceeded to Norwich by 
 a mid-day train the next day, in time to meet 
 and accompany my sister and the Archdales to 
 this place. I was perfectly delighted with Ely. 
 I did not go to the Cathedral on the Tuesday 
 evening, for I only arrived at my hotel (the 
 ' Lamb,' a most comfortable house), in time for 
 a late dinner; but I was up early the next 
 morning, and spent several hours in the magni- 
 ficent building. The restorations are not quite 
 finished, but all that has been done is wonder- 
 fully well done, and though the funds do not 
 come in so rapidly and liberally as at first they 
 did, they are still progressing with the work. 
 Nothing can be better than the taste and skill 
 with which Styleman L'Estrange painted the ceil- 
 ing, and the piece which he died before complet- 
 ing, and left Gambier Parry to do, is so well 
 done that no eye could distinguish where the 
 one left off and the other began. The duty was 
 very well performed ; but I hated the intoning till 
 the Dean took it up at the Lord's Prayer in the
 
 CATHEDKAT. .-liRVICE. 287 
 
 Litany, and finished tho service. T tlien saw, or 
 rather heard, bliat intoning mi<^ht be made very 
 agreeable, and tha*". there is as raucli difference 
 between the intoning of one man and ano'ther 
 as between one man's reading and another's. I 
 intend, if well enough, to go to Ely in late 
 Autumn for a couple of niglits — Saturday and 
 Sunday nights — and have a full treat of the 
 service. If you are good, I'll ask you to go 
 with me. 
 
 " I have just been reading a novel called 
 ' Sprung np like a Flower.' It's all about a 
 decayed family of L'Estranges, very clever and 
 very heart-breaking. 
 
 " It is my intention to stay here till September 
 30, making, if well enough, a short episodical 
 visit to Clumber ; and after my return we must 
 work. I have almost finished the letters of 1838. 
 I shan't write any more, for I know you'll never 
 get the letter. But whether you do or not, 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "W. Harness."
 
 288 ' FAIRY.' 
 
 " The New Inn, Mandeslcy, Norwich, 
 "Oct. 9, 1867. 
 
 " Mv dear L'E strangle, 
 " Your letter reached me, via London, yester- 
 day morning; and I'm very sorry to hear so 
 sad an account of your mother's health. Nobody 
 ought to be ill at Malvern, where everybody goc 
 to be made well ; and where, if report be true, 
 everybody feels himself better. I'm glad to 
 find that your account of Mrs. Simmouds (i.e. 
 Harris), is not so bad as I had fancied. She is 
 a good old soul, but I have always had a terror 
 of the husband as a religious humbug. 
 
 " The story of the dog is not quite exactly 
 the facto The dog was mine — given me as a 
 puppy by Henry Hope. It was a clever, cun- 
 ning, fawning, unamiable dog ; and, as Mrs. 
 Harris liked it, when she married I let her 
 have it. Its beauty, in its youth, was so great 
 that Prince Albert wanted to purchase it, and 
 the man who rode up to my servant to nego- 
 tiate the transaction offered £50 for her. But 
 the last glimpse I had at ' Fairy' was through a 
 photographic representation of her from Guern- 
 sey, in which all the beauty and grace seemed 
 gone, and she looked like a drowned dog that 
 had swollen a week in the water. 
 
 " I am come to a dead stop with the letters ;
 
 LITEEAKY WOPiK. 289 
 
 tlici*3 are only two or tliree dreadfully dull ones, 
 for 1846 and '47. Some of the best, to Miss 
 Barrett, are not there — particularly one on the 
 ill effects of scenery in dramatic representa- 
 tions, which is excellent, and almost original in 
 its notions. 
 
 " Memo : I have not the orimnals of the let- 
 ters which are copied ; and (as I never lool; 
 at the copies, from having been so worried by tliu 
 mistakes in writing the names of people) those 
 letters are virtually absent. So that I have really 
 nothing to go on upon but Mrs. Jenning's MS. 
 We must have all the letters to Miss Barrett which 
 we can fairly print, and make our abridgment:^ 
 in the be^'innino- of the book : we can cut out 
 plenty there. 
 
 " I'm better, but I feel that my principal ail- 
 ment is old age. My sister desires her kindest 
 regards and best thanks to Mrs. L' Estrange. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 " The New Inn, Mundesley, Norwich, 
 " Oct. 21, 1867. 
 
 " My dear L' Estrange, 
 " I can't write more than a few lines, to tell 
 you of my v/hereabouts, for my eyes are dim 
 with working ever since breakfast at Miss Gold- 
 
 u
 
 290 LITERARY WORK. 
 
 smid's letters. I have begun at the e^id, at poor 
 Miss Mitford's death, and am working back. I 
 have done all the long MS. of Mrs. Jen- 
 nings. 
 
 " There was a great deal to be cut out — 
 things told in other letters, and some things 
 actionable as calumny — viz. : ' the account of the 
 raffle for Southey's copyrights.' The dissensions 
 of that family were very painful and very incom- 
 prehensible. In London, everybody was of Mrs. 
 S.'s faction : at Keswick, everybody was of the 
 children's faction. I suppose, as in all family 
 quarrels, everybody was a little right, and as 
 much wrong as they could be. 
 
 " We hope to leave this and begin our return 
 home on Monday. On getting home, I shall 
 write to my acquaintance Appleton, the New 
 York publisher, and negotiate with him for the 
 publication of the book in America, as well as in 
 England. It seems to me that Miss Mitford's 
 reputation there was greater than with us. There 
 is a means of securing copyright in both quarters 
 of the globe, but we must inquire what those means 
 are. 
 
 " Believe me to be. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 a
 
 DR. MILMAN. 201 
 
 " Privy Council Office, 
 
 " March 18, 1868. 
 
 " My dear L'E strange, 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that the tranquiUity of your 
 mind has been discomposed by a landstorm about 
 your yacht; as, from your father and mother having 
 recovered themselves a little, there was a brighter 
 promise of enjoying your visit to Clifton than your 
 friends had anticipated for you. But what has hap- 
 pened ? What is the delinquency of the captain ? 
 I'm quite nervous to hear. 
 
 " Last Saturday was my birthday : I entered my 
 79th year amid the congratulations and cheers of 
 my friends, who seemed to eat a very merry dinner 
 on the occasion, at which I was too deaf to hear a 
 word that was spoken. Indeed, I have caught a 
 cold, and have a wheezing on my chest, which, with 
 my deafness, renders me a most useless and ex- 
 tremely stupid individual. 
 
 " I have just been calling on Milman. He has been 
 most seriously ill, but is a good deal better. He saw 
 me, and told me rather an amusing anecdote. An 
 Irish farmer, who had been corrupted by reading 
 some liberal books, refused to pay his priest's dues. 
 * No, he wouldn't; the Priest might turn him into 
 mice, if he could, and said he would do ; but he 
 denied his power, and would not give him a six- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 INDISPOSITION. 
 
 pence.' The farmer remaioed contmnacious and 
 victorious. But still, triumpliant infidel as lie was, 
 when night drew on, and they were preparing for 
 bed, he said to his wife, ' Biddy, don't you think we 
 had better lock up the cats ?' 
 
 *' Good-bye ! I can't write long. 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 "Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 " Privy Council Oflfice, 
 
 " March 23, 1868. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 " I am a good deal better, but feel oppressed in 
 my chest, and don't expect to be altogether right 
 and sprightly, as a youth in his seventy -ninth year 
 ought to be, till the sun has had time enough to air 
 the wind, and these occasional sharp fits of Winter 
 have finally disappeared. However, I have been 
 doing some work here {i.e. Council Office,) to-day; 
 and I did some Miss Mitford before I left home 
 this morning. 
 
 "In one of Mrs. Hoare's letters there is, in very 
 fair writing, the word * fritillaries,'— a plant, a 
 wild plant; do you know anything about such a 
 creature ? 
 
 " The far-seeing world, who know what the Devil 
 intends to do next, are all prophesying a *No-
 
 AN IRISH SToay. 
 
 293 
 
 Popery' cry. If it arise, the effects in Ireland and 
 England will be terrible. In England, tbe sufferers 
 will be the Ritualists ; in Ireland, it will in all pro- 
 bability provoke a civil war. 
 
 " A story : ' Oh ! Pat ; and what do ye think 
 will be your feelings at the Day of Judgment, when 
 you meet Mrs. Mahone}^, and the pig you stole from 
 her, face to face ?' * Does your Reverence think the 
 pig will be there ?' * Ay, indeed will he ; and what 
 will ye say then r' * I shall say, your Reverence, 
 *' Mrs. Mahoney, dear, here's the pig that I borrowed 
 of ye, and I'm mighty glad to have this opportunity 
 of restoring him !' " 
 
 " AYe must shorten the early part of Miss Mitford's 
 life to bring it into proportion with the latter part. 
 This can easily be done by leaving out some of the 
 poetry, and cutting shorter her letters to Sir AY, 
 Elford ; or rather abridging those epistles into 
 letters. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say. 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " My dear Guy, 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " W. IIauness." 
 
 " Riddle : — I give you £100, and you are to give 
 me one hundred animals. The cows cost £5, the 
 pigs £1, and the hens onn shilling each. Kow
 
 294 HEAT OF THE WEATHER. 
 
 many of each kind will you send me in return for 
 ray cheque ? I must have one hundred animals for 
 my money." 
 
 "Privy Council Office 
 
 " June 22, 1868. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 " I have been all last week at Holly Lodge, 
 doing the only thing that I was capable of, in 
 such intense and continuous heat — sitting out of 
 doors in the shade, with my mouth a-jar to catch 
 the little air that was moving, and ready for talk 
 with anybody that happened to pass by. I did 
 not return till Saturday morning; and, I suppose, 
 I shall soon go back again, I certainly shall, if 
 the weather be as it has been. Yesterday (a sad 
 breach of the Sabbath, but really the day excused 
 it) I gave way to a kind solicitation of Mrs. Disney, 
 and drove out with her from four to six to see if 
 any air could be found on Barnes Common and 
 Putney Heath ; for there was none to speak of — • 
 a mere sufficiency for the sustenance of a gasping 
 existence —to be had in London. AVe succeeded in 
 our exertions, and finding a breeze under the shade 
 of a tree on the Barnes road, we stopped the 
 carriage, and sat nearly an hour in the placid en- 
 joyment of it. 
 
 "I have done nothing with Miss Mitford, nor
 
 THE * MESSIAH.' 295 
 
 till the weather is cooler shall I attempt it. I 
 have not strength to untie the parcel. To reduce 
 the Life to one volume, is re-writing the book and 
 making a Biography of my friend — which I never 
 intended, and now have not the strength to under- 
 take. It would have been, at first, less trouble 
 than the assorting her letters and making them 
 tell her story. I am glad to hear your mother 
 is so much better; keep her out of doors and 
 amused. 
 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "William Harness. 
 '' I went to hear the * Messiah ' the other night. 
 The music, of course, charmed me ; but I had heard 
 it all better sung, with more heart and feeling, in 
 the olden times, in the Hanover Square Rooms. 
 At Exeter Hall the voices are strained, and with 
 all their straining are lost in space." 
 
 " Privy Council Office, 
 
 " Oct. 2. 1868. 
 
 *' Thank you, my dear L'Estrange, for your 
 kind note of this morning. I was, and am, a 
 good deal affected by poor Milman's death. We 
 had been friends ever since 1 802 ; and the death 
 of one whom I have known so long, and who 
 was so near my own age, seems like the pulling
 
 296 DR. milman's death. 
 
 up the young roots of one's life from the ground. 
 I was at Lis funeral, whicli was very solemn and 
 very affecting to those who were as much attached 
 to him as myself. 
 
 " I should be off a-tree-planting, were T in 
 your place, at once, that the job may be finished 
 and yourself in England before the election rows 
 begin in Ireland. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 *'W. Harness." 
 
 "Privy Council Office, 
 
 "Feb. 18, 1869. 
 
 *' My dear L' Estrange, 
 
 *' I was very glad to get your letter, for I began 
 to wonder what could have become of you. I 
 was not quite sure but you might have been blown 
 off the cliff. 
 
 " Ever since you left town, as the weather has 
 been growing damper and damper, I have been 
 growing deafer and deafer ! Now, it is really very 
 painful, this absence of the sense of hearing when 
 I'm in company. It renders me a bore to ray 
 companions, and a burden to myself. I trust, 
 however, that, as the days clear, and the ground 
 dries, and the sun brightens, it may partly dis- 
 appear. 
 
 *' Yesterday, and I believe to-day, there is a pair
 
 *TnE EEflGAR GIEL.' 297 
 
 of artificial second-hand le9:s ou cxLibition at an 
 auction-room in Bond Street. It is not said 
 wlietlier they are on sale or not. But the ex- 
 hibition of them is very disgusting to my mind. 
 They were the legs worn by Sir Thomas Trow- 
 bridge, and more respect was due to them as 
 having been worn by that excellent man and 
 distinguished soldier. 
 
 " I'm reading a novel written by Mrs. Coventry's 
 grandmother, which I read (almost the first /?(7Z- 
 grown book I ever did read) in the year my sister 
 was born, 1811. I have never seen it since. ^The 
 Beggar Girl ;' there are eight volumes of it. I 
 have almost read the first volume, and seem to 
 have a dream-like remembrance of what is to come. 
 It's different from novels of the present day, 
 and contains some occasional bad English ; but 
 it's very clever. She was a great beauty, as well 
 as an authoress — a Mrs. Bennett — and also the 
 mother of old Mrs. Scott Waring, who died last 
 year at the age of 102, and whom, I dare say, 
 you may remember to have seen at church. 
 " Believe me to be, 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " William Haeness."
 
 298 JIELIGIOUS CELIBACY. 
 
 " Kensington Gore, 
 
 " Feb. 27, 1869. 
 
 ^' Many thanks, ray dear L' Estrange, for your 
 present, with which my brother and I opened our 
 dinner yesterday. They are excellent and most 
 acceptable. 
 
 " I enter my eightieth year to-morrow fortnight ! 
 All my romance about convent life is put to flight 
 f )r ever; and I am told, by those who have seen the 
 nuns, that their ugliness is past belief. I think it 
 would be an excellent thing — as very many Roman 
 Catholics do — that it would be a great reform of 
 their ecclesiastical system, if the clergy were allowed 
 to marry, i.e , if no vow of celibacy were enforced on 
 ordination ; but I must condemn the man who first 
 voluntarily takes the vow, and then considers him- 
 self justified in breaking it. 
 
 " I don't understand about zoophytes ; you must 
 teach me. I was very much shocked to hear of 
 poor Delawarr's death. He was an excellent and 
 charming person. Considering that he always 
 looked delicate and consumptive in early life, it 
 was a marvel that he lived to be so old. He 
 and I were great friends once ; but I never 
 could be at the trouble of keeping up noble friend- 
 ships, unless the coronet did two-thirds of the 
 business. 
 
 " 1 believe there was no actual quarrel with
 
 COUNTIiY ItETREAT. 21>9 
 
 Byron. It was simply a case of incompatibility^ 
 The ardour of B. was more tlian D. could ade- 
 quately meet. But I must be off to read the 
 Chief Justice's charge anent the nuns ; and I 
 have very little time to do it in, as I must go 
 and see poor Dyce, who is very ill indeed. Mrs. 
 Disney is dead. The Dean is in deep grief. 
 " My sister's kind remembrances. 
 
 " Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 " William Harness." 
 
 "Worting, Basingstoke, Hants, 
 
 "July 31, [18G9.] 
 
 "My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 " I came here to my brother's last Thursday, 
 directly after marrying two young people who 
 had asked me to perform the service, and for 
 whose sake I remained the beginning of the week 
 in town. They seemed very happy on the occa- 
 sion ; and I felt myself supremely happy in getting 
 the ceremony over, and being able to escape 
 into the country. 
 
 " I am already better — more alive — for the 
 change of air. It really is a delightfLd thing, 
 having nothing to do. The cottage is so small 
 that my servant is always hitting his head against 
 the doors, and says the rooms were only made 
 for little people ; but it is a great pleasure to
 
 800 COUKTEY EETREAT. 
 
 move about from oae room to tlie otlaerj and 
 then to sit awliile in tlie little ball with tlie 
 door between the two, and enjoy the fresh air 
 of the Hampshire hills, brisk from the sea, and 
 unadulterated by any metropolitan mixtures. 
 
 " I shall be away from town, and in all proba- 
 bility here, till the 18th of September, when the 
 churcli will again be opened. It closes on Monday 
 for painting and repairing, and the congregation 
 assembles in the large room at Kent House, which 
 Mr. Henry has been so good as to lend me for 
 the occasion. 
 
 *' Believe me, 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " William Harness." 
 
 ''Worting, Basingstoke, 
 
 " Aug. 18, 1869. 
 
 "My dear L'EstrangCj 
 *' I liave had nothing to tell, and therefore 
 Jiave not written. Day follows day, each like 
 the other in every thing, I am happy to say ; as 
 I certainly am a great deal better and less deaf 
 every day that I am content to remain in this 
 quiet home. I have not for these five years felt 
 iso free from all uneasiness or agedness as T am 
 feeling at present. Thank God ! 
 
 This is our life : breakfast at nine, luncheon 
 
 li
 
 CO'JNTRY Rli:TiiEAT. 301 
 
 at one, tea at five, dinner at seven, coffee at nine, 
 bed at half-past ten. Every meal exact to time, 
 except tea at five; that varies, as Arthur drives 
 Coe and me out in a basket-carriage after lun- 
 cheon, and we very often don't get back from 
 our excursion so soon ; indeed sometimes we are so 
 late as not to have any tea at all. 
 
 "You now know the whole course of my life; 
 and when you have heard that between whiles 
 I play with the dog, or doze over Crabb Robin- 
 son's " Journal," I don't think you have any more 
 to hear of the present doings of W. H, 
 
 '' I have just had a letter from Miss Skerrett ; 
 it is, strange to say, legible. She claims the 
 fulfilment of a promise that, should any of Miss 
 Mitford's letters to her be printed, proofs of the 
 MS. should be shown to her, and not published 
 without her consent. I have written to assure 
 her that her wish shall be complied with; but, 
 as far as I recollect, no letters to her are 
 given. 
 
 " I don't know whither to send this. I must try 
 Dover. My sister is gone to Norfolk, on her 
 way to Lincolnshire, and I think of following her 
 in about a fortnight. How the time does fly 
 when one is happy and in good air ! 
 
 " Grod bless you ! 
 
 " William Harness."
 
 302 LETTERS OP MISS MITFOBD. 
 
 " Worting, Basingstoke, 
 
 "Aug. 31, 1869. 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 " I hasten to answer your question as well as 
 
 I can. ' The Revenge ' is a very popular tragedy, 
 
 by Young (Edward, I think), and the principal 
 
 character is Zanga. The ' Bellario ' you want 
 
 I can't tell. There are at least fifty Bellarios 
 
 in the old English Drama; but I can't guess, 
 
 from the slight hint you give me, which this 
 
 alluded to by Miss Mitford may be, unless it be 
 
 the young lady in disguise who is the heroine 
 
 in 'Philaster,' a celebrated play of Beaumont 
 
 and Fletcher's. George Darnley wrote two plays, 
 
 very good, on Enghsh history, about thirty years 
 
 ago. I have them both, but can't remember the 
 
 names of them. He was a very studious literary 
 
 person, and well nigh stone-deaf. I could help 
 
 vou, if I could see the text in full and had my 
 
 books at hand ; but here, except scientific books, 
 
 we have nothing but ' Crabb Robinson's Life ' 
 
 and a few novels. 
 
 " About ' Clarissa's ' work I can't make a guess. 
 I suppose it has some reference to Mademoiselle 
 D'Arblay's novel. You must not forget to put 
 a note on Hugh Pearson when you insert his 
 letters from Miss Mitford. He is a very able 
 and accomplished man, and from the time of
 
 FINAL INTERVIEW, 303 
 
 being appointed Rector of Sonning, wliicli hap- 
 pened when he was quite young in orders, a 
 kindred taste for hterature attracted him to the 
 companionship of Miss Mitford, to whom he 
 eventually became a most invaluable friend. If 
 you look his name out in Crockford's Clerical 
 Guide, you will find tlie dates of his preferment. 
 
 " If you go to Sandwich again, do try to get 
 me some seeds or cuttings of the Trumpet tree. 
 I shall be here till the 28tb, if I don't leave on 
 Friday. Adieu ! I'm going to Basingstoke for 
 letters. 
 
 " Yours ever affectionately, 
 "W. H." 
 
 The last time I saw Mr. Harness was about a 
 fortnight before his death. I was passing through 
 London, and, hearing that he was at home, deter- 
 mined to call upon him on my way. He was in his 
 little study, looking as happy and genial as ever, 
 and our conversation turned on the passing events 
 of the day, and especially on the scandalous im- 
 putations which Mrs. Stowe had recently brought 
 against Lord Byron. He said that he had heard 
 the charsfe lono; before — that it arose out of the 
 publication of Manfred ; but was as untrue as it 
 was revolting. He reiterated what he had before 
 said of Byron's love of romancing and of exaggerat-
 
 304 FINAL INTERVIEW. 
 
 ing bis dissipations, and that he was encouraged 
 in such rhapsodies by the serious interpre- 
 tation his wife put upon them. His wilful con- 
 duct in this respect had greatly tarnished his 
 memory. 
 
 As I was taking my leave, I referred to the 
 forthcoming Life of Mary Russell Mitford, and 
 speaking about the payment to be made by 
 Bentley, inquired whether he would not receive 
 a portion of it. In reply, he generously said that 
 he would not ; that I had been much occupied 
 in the preparation of the work, and all he wished 
 to bo taken out of the money was £20 to be 
 given to the Sweetmans. I was much surprised 
 at the nature of this request ; but I knew that 
 he had a great affection for old servants — he 
 had (as already mentioned) put up a stained 
 v/indow in All Saints' Church in memory of his 
 nurse — and I merely inquired whether I should 
 jive them more, as I was ready to comply in 
 every way v/ith his wishes. To this he replied 
 '^No; twenty pounds;' and as he offered no ex- 
 planation I remained for a long time in ignorance 
 of his motive.* 
 
 Wlien our conversation was ended, I wished 
 Mr. Harness farewell, little thinking our parting 
 
 * In Miss Mitford's last letter to Mr. Harness, she requested him 
 to give them a part of the profits.
 
 LASL LyriRk. bOo 
 
 was to bo for ever ! We were in fact looking 
 forward to the pleasure of an early meeting, and 
 to the arrival of an especially interesting anni- 
 versary, when he should accomplish his 80th 
 year. 
 
 The last letter I received from him was the 
 followino- : — 
 
 o 
 
 " London, 
 
 " Nov. 6, 1869. 
 
 *' My dear L'Estrange, 
 
 " Nothing has happened since I came back, 
 except the arrival of Mr. Archdale in town, who 
 has been driven from Norfolk by the bitter- 
 ness of the cold. I was very happy at Sher- 
 borne. I like living in a school ; it is so regular 
 in the hours, and the meals are so ample and 
 plain and good. To be sure I felt very much 
 as if I was a pupil, and subject to the laws of the 
 school, from which, when I transgressed them 
 by appearing too late at breakfast or dinner, I 
 was only absolved from the punishment by some 
 illogical and partial exception. 
 
 " My pen won't write, and when that is the 
 case, my mind is always suggesting false words to 
 my ink. 
 
 " When shall you be back ? I am told to go to 
 the sea for a few days, and intend being with 
 
 X
 
 306 EEV. MR. CRAKE. 
 
 Crake at Battle from Monday till Saturday. I 
 hope the sea-air will carry away my cough before 
 it gets fixed for the Winter. I'm very old ; and 
 at that age in which keeping alive seems to be the 
 sole object of living. 
 
 " I have heard nothing of Miss Mitford nor of 
 Miss Austen ; the life of the latter I'm looking 
 for with great anxiety. In the meantime, I've 
 been spending my evenings on the dullest of 
 books, with clever things in it — Noblesse 
 oblige. 
 
 " When do you come back. I'm off to dine 
 with my niece. 
 
 " Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 " W. Harness." 
 
 Among those to whom Mr. Harness was most 
 warmly attached was Mr. Crake, who had been 
 for twelve years his curate at Knightsbridge. 
 Their intimacy continued after the latter had 
 become Dean of Battle ; and Mr. Harness knew 
 that he was always welcome at the Deanery, and 
 frequently accepted his friend's hospitality. It 
 was a pleasant and easy change for him from the 
 cares and toils of London ; and the freedom from 
 conventionality which he there enjoyed was as 
 grateful to him as the fresh sea-breezes were invigo- 
 rating. Even the old Deanery itself possessed
 
 STRANGE FATALITY. 307 
 
 an attraction for hitn, with its battlements, its wide 
 hearths and panelled walls. 
 
 On the occasion of which we are about to speak, 
 there would seem to have been almost a lataL / 
 in his visit. The day before his departure, a note 
 arrived from Mr. Tysley, in Prince's Gardens, invit- 
 ing him to dine on the following Thursday. Mr. 
 Harness, h.owever, was a man who seldom altered 
 his plans ; he felt a longing for country air, 
 and wrote to the Dean that he could always make 
 himself happy with his books, in however lonely a 
 position. 
 
 He therefore started to pay the fatal visit on the 
 day he originally named; he seemed remarkably 
 well when he arrived, and spent the greater part of 
 Tuesday and Wednesday sitting in his arm-chair, 
 with his favourite Shakespeare in his hand — the 
 changing play of his countenance, as he read, show- 
 ing he was still alive to his old enthusiasm. On 
 Thursday, he walked for a considerable time up and 
 down the garden, and returning to the house by 
 some new stairs, remarked to the Dean, " When 
 you are an old man, you'll repent having placed 
 those stairs there !" 
 
 Later in the day some friends called, and a lady 
 observed that he seemed in unusually good spirits, 
 and that, but for his slight deafness, no one would 
 have tliought him an old man. He talked with ani- 
 
 X 2
 
 308 FATAL ACCIDENT. 
 
 Tnation, and seemed to take as much interest as ever 
 in the affairs of life, although he observed, somewhat 
 eadl}^ that he had survived all his contemporary 
 friends. They left at six o'clock, and, the Dean 
 having by this time started to keep an engagement 
 iu St. Leonards, Mr. Harness was left quite alone. 
 At half-past six his servant came to the study to 
 inform him that it was time to prepare for dinner, 
 when, to his consternation, he found the room 
 vacant; and almost at the same time the butler, 
 who was going across the hall, was horrified at 
 finding Mr. Harness's body lying head-foremost at 
 the bottom of the stone stairs. He saw at once 
 that he was dead ; his head was lying in a pool of 
 blood ; but his expression was so peaceful and 
 benign, the man said, that, although he knew 
 he was dead, he could almost have imagined he 
 was asleep. 
 
 It seems probable that Mr. Harness left the 
 study when the light was uncertain, just before the 
 lamps were lit, and in the dusk did not observe the 
 staircase. On examination, it was found that the 
 skull was severely fractured. 
 
 A fortnight after our separation in London, one 
 calm autumnal day at the end of the long summer, 
 when the yellow leaves were dropping silently from 
 the trees — I was sitting at the window of my study 
 at Clifton, reading the first copy of Miss Mitford's
 
 INTLLMUENCE RECEIVED. 309 
 
 Life, which had just been forwarded by the publisher. 
 I was musing over and reviewing the results of our 
 three years' labour, with those mingled feelings 
 which seem to attend the completion of all literary 
 enterprises. Suddenly, I heard the sharp knock of 
 the postman at the door, and in a few minutes the 
 servant entered the room with a letter. I broke 
 the seal. I had observed the deep black border, 
 but never could have conceived the crushing in- 
 telligence it conveyed. The words were as 
 follows : — 
 
 " The Deanery, Battle, 
 
 " Nov. 12, [1869.] 
 
 " My dear L'Estrange, 
 " Our poor dear old friend Harness is no more. 
 He fell down a flight of stone steps at the Deanery 
 last night, and was instantly killed. 
 
 " Poor Miss Harness and Miss Archdale have 
 been here, but have returned home. The funeral 
 takes place here on Monday afternoon. 
 " I will not attempt to tell my sorrow. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "E. N. Ceake." 
 
 The blow was so sudden and severe that for 
 some moments I could not comprehend the in- 
 telligence. Dead ! One whom T had so intimately
 
 310 VIGOUR OP MIND AND BODY. 
 
 known, and had seen a few days before in the 
 enjo3mient of the fullest health and vigour ! I 
 could not realize the fact ; it seemed overwhelm- 
 ing. 
 
 Mr. Harness was never married ; but I have 
 heard that there was some romance and dis- 
 appointment in his early life. In speaking of 
 cehbacy, he was wont to say, " There is always 
 some story connected with it." He felt less than 
 others his isolated position, inasmuch as he had 
 a sister to whom he was devotedly attached, and 
 who superintended his household. I never saw 
 his usual buoyancy of spirits desert him but 
 when she was unwell ; then, he was an altered 
 man, and seemed equally unable to attend either 
 to business or pleasure. They had a rule, which 
 to some may appear strange — Neither of them was, 
 on ordinary occasions, to make inquiries after the 
 other's health. Mr. Harness thought the expres- 
 sion of such solicitude had an injurious effect, 
 and led people to imagine themselves suffering 
 from ailments. 
 
 His health, even in old age, was remarkably 
 good, and his faculties were to the last in a 
 wonderful state of preservation. His hair, though 
 changed in colour, was as thick as ever, and 
 clustered in curls as in his early youth ; his com- 
 plexion was clear and fresh; his teeth beautifully
 
 OLD AGE. 311 
 
 white and perfect ; and he could see so well as to 
 be able to read the newspaper without glasses. 
 He still, to the last, retained remnants of that 
 beauty which Sir Thomas Lawrence had admired 
 in his childhood. Old as^e had no Winter for his 
 genial nature. Indeed, he used to say that the 
 older we grow the happier we become. In one 
 of his sermons, written after he had passed his 
 seventh decade, he observes, " There is one time 
 when the age of even threescore years and ten 
 seems by no means great ; and that is, when you 
 have reached it yourself." 
 
 It was remarkable, in connection with his fate, 
 that he never dreaded an unexpected death, but 
 always said he should prefer it to a lingering 
 illness. He objected to the prayer in the Litany 
 on this subject, and said he wished the proposed 
 word " unprepared " had been substituted for 
 " sudden." In this desii'e, therefore, as in his 
 life, he seems to have been blessed ; for he died 
 without a struggle, and, as far as could be as- 
 certained, without any suffering. 
 
 It is almost surprising, when we consider the 
 infirmity (lameness) with which he was afflicted 
 through life, and his constant danger of falling, 
 that he ever reached the span of an octogenarian. 
 On several occasions he met with severe falls ; on 
 one especially, when, in company with the Dean
 
 312 PREVIOUS ACCIDENTS. 
 
 of Battle, thej nad been attending a visitation 
 charge at St. Paul's. They had stood for five 
 hours, and on lea,ving the Cathedral by the south 
 entrance, Mr, Harness's knee gave way at the 
 top of the flight of steps, and he fell head-fore- 
 most to the bottom. The Dean thought he must 
 have been killed on the spot; but, as he said, 
 he seemed to have fallen " like a child ;" and such 
 ^Yas Mr. Harness's spirit and unwillingness to dis- 
 appoint his friends, that he would not put off a 
 dinner engagement which he had made for that 
 evening. 
 
 Mr. Harness was buried at Battle, where he 
 died. His simple funeral was attended by his 
 brother and nephew and by two or three attached 
 friends. Shortlv afterwards, a committee was 
 formed with the view of raising a subscription to 
 commemorate his labours and his virtues ; and 
 it is worthy of record, as marking the respeci; 
 in which he was held by those who differed 
 from his views, that although he consistently 
 opposed the claims of Rome, one of the 
 eailiest contributors to the fund was a Roman 
 Catholic. 
 
 After much consideration as to what 
 would be the most suitable kind of rremorial, 
 it was determined that a prize bearing his name 
 should be founded at Cambridge for the study
 
 MEMORIAL. 313 
 
 of Shakespearian Literature, and that a brass 
 tablet should be placed in the centre aisle of 
 All Saints' Church, Knightsbridge, " As a record 
 of his generous actions and faithful ministry, by 
 his friends and grateful parishioners." 
 
 TUE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 Printed l^' ^- Sclmlze, 13, Poliuid Street.
 
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