PR 
 
 5238 
 P7 
 1895 
 MAIN 
 
 B ^ 1D7 6Tb 
 
m 
 
» • ' • » . 1 > 
 
 A BRIEF AIEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. 
 
Taken from that in " The Girlhood 0/ the Blessed 
 Virgin," by D. G. Rossetti. 
 
A BRIEF MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 Christina G. Rossetti. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLEN A. PROCTOR. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 
 W. M. ROSSETTI. 
 
 S.P.C.K., 
 
 LONDON: NCRTIIU-MBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. 
 1895. 
 
[published under the direction of 
 the tract committee.] 
 

 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 Very soon after the death of 
 my beloved sister Christina, 
 on December 29, 1894, I 
 learned that Miss Proctor was 
 disposed to write something 
 concerning her. I encouraged 
 her to do so, being well aware 
 that my sister had entertained 
 a very cordial feeling towards 
 her, had seen a good deal of 
 7 
 
 6l4ii47 
 
her from time to time, and 
 had up to the very last been 
 in communication with her, 
 either personally or by corre- 
 spondence. Indeed, I had 
 more than once, during the 
 closing two or three months 
 of Christina's life, opened 
 some letter addressed to her 
 by Miss Proctor, and had 
 read it aloud to her — for she 
 was then much too far gone 
 to open or read letters for 
 herself, or of course to reply 
 to them. The following pages, 
 written by Miss Proctor in 
 fulfilment of her intention, 
 
have been carefully perused 
 by me. I find them to present 
 a pleasant and interesting 
 httle portrait of my sister, and 
 a true one; for the traits of 
 character indicated by Miss 
 Proctor are such as I was 
 myself highly familiar with. 
 They marked my sister 
 throughout her life of sixty- 
 four years, and more espe- 
 cially in its closing decade. 
 Wm. M. Rossetti. 
 
 London, 
 >//, 1895, 
 
A Brief Memoir of 
 Christina G. Rossetti. 
 
 Although much popular en- 
 thusiasm has been lately called 
 forth by the writings of the late 
 Miss Christina Rossetti, and 
 the nation's regret has found 
 sympathetic expression at her 
 lamented death, a supple- 
 mentary tribute to her saintly 
 
life may not be without in- 
 terest to all who value the 
 religious character of her 
 works. 
 
 For nearly fifteen years I 
 have enjoyed the privilege of 
 her friendship, counsel, sym- 
 pathy, and of that love for 
 others which was the key- 
 note of her life, and showed 
 itself undiminished even in 
 her illness and suffering. One 
 of her last sentences was, " I 
 love everybody. If ever I 
 had an enemy, I should hope 
 to meet and welcome that 
 enemy to heaven." 
 
Christina Georgina Ros-l 
 setti was born on December 
 5, 1830, in Charlotte Street, 
 Portland Place, London, and 
 died on December 29, 1S94, 
 at 3 o, Torrington Square, W. C. , 
 aged sixty-four. She was the 
 youngest child of Gabriel Ros- 
 setti, an Italian poet of high 
 repute in his native country, 
 who, however, was obliged, 
 from political troubles, to take 
 up his abode here. In Eng- 
 land he is best known as a 
 commentator on Dante. Some 
 time after his arrival he mar- 
 ried Frances Polidori, who 
 
was born in England, but of 
 Italian extraction. Her father, 
 Gaetano Polidori, was well 
 known as a translator of 
 Milton into Italian. Her 
 brother was the physician who 
 accompanied Lord Byron to 
 the Continent in the year 1816. 
 The other children of this 
 union were Maria Francesca, 
 the author of a "Shadow of 
 Dante," and other works. This 
 lady entered the si' hood 
 of "All Saints," and aied in 
 1876, three years later. Her 
 loss was deeply felt by Chris- 
 tina, who had previously 
 
expressed her sisterly feeling 
 
 thus — 
 
 "There is no friend like a sister in 
 calm or stormy weather, 
 To cheer one on the tedious way, 
 To fetch one if one goes astray. 
 To lift one if one totters down, 
 To strengthen whilst one stands." 
 
 Her elder brother, Dante 
 Gabriel Rossetti, was born in 
 1828, and died 1882. His 
 fame as a poet and artist is 
 well known. It is enough 
 to s that he was one of 
 the founders of the English 
 pre-Raphaelites, and that his 
 paintings, '^ Beata Beatrix " 
 and the "Annunciation," are 
 15 
 
now in the National Gal- 
 lery. For the latter his sister 
 Christina was the model, as, 
 indeed, she was for a still 
 earlier painting, **The Girl- 
 hood of Mary Virgin," and it 
 is gratifying to know that her 
 features will be remembered, 
 as her writings are sure to be. 
 Her younger brother, Wil- 
 liam Michael Rossetti, is now 
 the last survivor of the family; 
 he it was who tenderly devoted 
 himself to and comforted her 
 in her last ilhiess, and, with 
 his young family, her only 
 other relatives, saw the last 
 
sad duties performed. She 
 sleeps with her mother in 
 Highgate Cemetery, not far 
 from what she called her 
 " world of brick and mortar," 
 where for many years she 
 thought and wrote and prayed 
 so much. 
 
 Mr. William Michael Ros- 
 setti is well known as a poet 
 and critic, and as having 
 edited Shelley. His published 
 poems make us regret that 
 one who can write so well has 
 not written more. 
 
 Christina Rossetti was en- 
 tirely educated at home . under 
 
the supervision of her highly 
 accomplished and intellectual 
 mother, whose sterling charac- 
 ter and strong reHgious prin- 
 ciples influenced her childish 
 years. As the constant com- 
 panion of her brothers, it may 
 not be wrong to say that she 
 acquired an independence of 
 thought and feeling which, 
 with an ordinary English edu- 
 cation, she could scarcely have 
 attained. Hers was a delight- 
 fully happy home: love, poetry, 
 art, religion, — everything that 
 could make life sweet. Of 
 her mother she writes in 
 
 i8 
 
dedicating her poems to her, 
 *'To my mother, to whom I 
 inscribe my book in all reve- 
 rence and love/* and again — 
 
 " To my first love, my mother, 
 On whose knee I learnt love-lore 
 
 that is not troublesome, 
 Whose service is my special 
 
 dignity, 
 And she my lode-star." 
 
 The brothers and sisters 
 read very much, and almost 
 the same books. Italian they 
 knew perfectly, and their 
 father's poems influenced their 
 early notions and habits of 
 mind. When but ten years 
 old, Christina read the ope- 
 
ratic poems of Metastasio in 
 Italian, which contain many 
 graceful lyrics. She read and 
 admired Shakespeare at a 
 very early age, as did her 
 brothers — " Hamlet " being 
 a favourite play. Scott, 
 Byron, and to some extent 
 Burns, were read in turns. 
 Pope's '' Iliad " was an espe- 
 cial favourite, and at the age 
 of eleven Dante Gabriel made 
 a series of pen-and-ink illus- 
 trations for it. Ariosto's " Or- 
 lando Furioso " was read by 
 the brothers in the original. 
 Goethe's "Faust," Carleton's 
 
" Traits and Stories of the 
 Irish Peasantry," Miss Edge- 
 worth's stories, and Peter Par- 
 ley's books were much appre- 
 ciated. In addition, the 
 "Arabian Nights," "Robin- 
 son Crusoe," ''The Ballad of 
 Chevy Chase," even " Jack the 
 Giant Killer," had been read 
 by the family with great in- 
 terest in their youthful days. 
 
 Scriptural lore was not for- 
 gotten, and the Rossettis were 
 well versed in this at an early 
 age. 
 
 Christina Rossetti's first 
 poem, on her mother's birthday, 
 
was written in 1842, whsn 
 she was but eleven years old. 
 It ran thus — 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 WITH A NOSEGAY. 
 
 "To-day's your natal day, 
 Sweet flowers I bring : 
 Mother, accept, I pray, 
 My offering. 
 
 "And may you happy live, 
 And long us bless ; 
 Receiving as you give 
 Great happiness." 
 
 This, and many other poems 
 also written at a very early 
 age, were privately printed by 
 her grandfather Polidori, and 
 
are marvellous productions for 
 one so young. Even at this 
 time a religious element 
 strongly pervades the series. 
 
 In January, 1850, a perio- 
 dical called the Germ (or, 
 T/icughfs towards Nature in 
 Poetry^ Literature^ and Art) 
 first appeared. This was a 
 monthly journal, at the head of 
 which were the brothers Ros- 
 setti. Holman Hunt, Wool- 
 ner, and others contributed. 
 
 Christina Rossetti, who 
 wrote under the nom de plume 
 of Ellen Alleyne, was herself 
 a contributor. One of her 
 
most characteristic poems, 
 called " Dream-Land," ap- 
 peared in the first number of 
 the Gerjn^ January, 1850. 
 
 "Where sunless rivers weep 
 Their waves into the deep, 
 She sleeps a charmed sleep : 
 
 Awake her not. 
 Led by a single star, 
 She came from very far, 
 To seek where shadows are, 
 
 Her pleasant lot. 
 
 " She left the rosy morn. 
 She left the fields of corn, 
 For twilight cold and torn, 
 
 And water-springs. 
 Thro' sleep as thro' a veil, 
 She sees the sky look pale, 
 And hears the nightingale 
 
 That sadly sings. 
 
"Rest, rest, a perfect rest, 
 Shed over brow and breast ; 
 Her face is toward the west, 
 
 The purple land. 
 She cannot see the grain 
 Ripening on hill and plain. 
 She cannot feel the rain 
 Upon her hand. 
 
 " Rest, rest for evermore, 
 Upon a mossy shore ; 
 Rest to the heart's core, 
 
 Till time shall cease. 
 Sleep that no pain shall wake, 
 Night that no morn shall break, 
 Till joy shall overtake 
 
 Her perfect peace." 
 
 "A Pause of Thought" 
 and a *' Testimony," from the 
 pen of Eilen Alleyne, appeared 
 the following month, February, 
 
1850. During the continuance 
 of the periodical she contri- 
 buted regularly to it. This 
 was her first essay in public 
 writing. In the February 
 number of this publication 
 the " Blessed Damozel " of 
 her elder brother appeared — 
 a creation he afterwards em- 
 bodied on canvas. The tender 
 beauty of this poem alone 
 would have made his fame. 
 The " Cordelia " of Mr. Wil- 
 liam M. Rossetti followed. 
 
 The first collection of 
 Miss Rossetti's poems, bearing 
 her own name, and entitled 
 
 s6 
 
"Goblin Market, and other 
 Poems/' was printed in 1862. 
 This volume, containing as it 
 does some of her most charm- 
 ing lyrics, became speedily 
 popular. 
 
 The grotesque, uncanny 
 figures conjured up in "Gob- 
 lin Market " struck the public 
 fancy, and the fame of the young 
 poetess was at once established. 
 
 Many of her songs are 
 
 mournfully sweet, as the 
 
 following : — 
 
 ••Come to me in the silence of the 
 night, 
 Come in the speaking silence of a 
 dream ; 
 
 27 
 
Come wilh soft rounded checks, 
 and eyes as bright 
 As sunlight on a stream ; 
 Come back in tears, 
 O memory, hope, love of finished 
 years I 
 
 Oh ! dream how sweet, too sweet, 
 
 too bitter sweet, 
 Whose waking should have been 
 
 in Paradise, 
 Where souls brimful of love abide 
 
 and meet. 
 Where thirsty longing eyes 
 Watch the slow door. 
 That opening, letting in, lets out 
 
 no more ! 
 
 ' Yet come to me in dreams, that 
 
 I may live 
 My very life again, though cold 
 in death ! 
 
Come back to me in dreams, that 
 I may give 
 Pulse for pulse, breath for 
 breath : 
 Speak low, lean low. 
 As long ago, my love, how long 
 ago!" 
 
 About a year before her 
 death I was visiting Miss 
 Rossetti. We talked of poetry 
 and various authors, alluding 
 to the poem I have just 
 quoted. I asked her if she 
 knew the author of the follow- 
 ing lines : — 
 
 " Oh ! love, I am unblest, 
 
 With monstrous doubts opprest, 
 Of much that's dark and nether ! 
 29 
 
Much that's holiest and best, — 
 Could I but win you for an hour 
 
 from off that starry shore, 
 The hunger of my soul were stilled ; 
 
 For Death has told you more 
 Than the melancholy world doth 
 know, 
 Things beyond all lore." 
 
 She was very much struck 
 with the lines, and said, "I 
 felt like that once; now I • 
 trust and submit." 
 
 But to stop digression: that 
 she had attained a stage be- 
 yond the hopeless yearning 
 for the loved and lost, is 
 marked in her poem en- 
 titled " Up Hill." 
 
 30 
 
"Does the road wind uphill all 
 the way? 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 Will the day's journey take the 
 
 whole long day? 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 
 *' But is there for the night a resting- 
 place? 
 A roof for when the slow dark 
 hours begin ? 
 May not the darkness hide it Lorn 
 my face ? 
 You cannot miss that inn. 
 
 "Shall I meet other wayfarers at 
 night ? 
 Those who have gone before. 
 Then must I knock, or call when . 
 
 just in sight? 
 They will not keep you standing: 
 at that door. 
 
 31/ 
 
** Shall I find comfort, travel-sore 
 and weak ? 
 Of labour you shall find the 
 sum. 
 "Will there be beds for me and all 
 who seek ? 
 Yea, beds for all who come." 
 
 At the close of her book 
 are devotional pieces, and at 
 the end of an old-year ditty 
 she concludes with — 
 
 *' Watch with me, Jesus, in my 
 loneliness ; 
 Though others say me nay, yet 
 
 say Thou yes j 
 Though others pass me by, stop 
 
 Thou to bless ! 
 Yea, Thou dost stop with me 
 this vigil night j 
 33 
 
To-night of pain, to-morrow of 
 
 delight. 
 I, Love, am Thine ; Thou, Lord 
 
 my God, art mine." 
 
 In 1866 Miss Rossetti pub- 
 lished "The Prince's Pro- 
 gress, and other Poems." In 
 1870, a volume named " Com- 
 monplace, and other Short 
 Stories." Two years later, 
 " Sing-Song," a nursery-rhyme 
 book which any child can 
 enjoy. The same may be 
 said of " Speaking Likenesses," 
 published in 1874 — both vol- 
 umes being illustrated. A 
 contrast to the latter also 
 
appeared in 1874, "Annus 
 Domini/' a volume of prayers 
 for each day in the year. In 
 1879, "Short Studies of the 
 Benedicite," and ''Seek and 
 Find," both prose works. 
 ''Called to be Saints," a 
 volume in which the Minor 
 Festivals are devotionally 
 studied, was published the 
 following year, and dedicated, 
 in hope of reunion, to the 
 dear and gracious memory 
 of her sister. In 1881, "A 
 Pageant, and other Poems" 
 was published; "Letter and 
 Spirit/' or Notes on the Com- 
 
mandments, 1883; and shortly 
 after, "Time Flies," a diary 
 in prose and verse. A com- 
 mentary on the Revelation 
 was next published, entitled 
 "The Face of the Deep." 
 This was dedicated "To my 
 mother, for the first time to 
 her beloved, revered, cherished 
 memory," and published in 
 1892. 
 
 Miss Rossetti's position as 
 one of the first poets of the 
 nineteenth century being fully 
 established, criticism on her 
 worksj which have been so ably 
 reviewed, would be valuelessT 
 
 35 
 
The Century Magazine for 
 1894 describes her as the 
 most perfect of the contempo- 
 rary poets. The Right Hon. 
 W. E. Gladstone has expressed 
 the same opinion. Her son- 
 nets are perfect in form, and 
 it has been said the influence 
 of Dante may be seen in the 
 perfection of finish of her 
 most playful and even fan- 
 tastic work. 
 
 This is noticeable even in 
 her childish work, privately 
 printed; for instance, "Lady 
 Isabella" and "Vanity of 
 Vanities," sonnets which are 
 
 36 
 
perfect, containing two sets of 
 four quatrains and two sets 
 of three terzettes, with the 
 leading thought well sustained 
 throughout. This could not 
 have been said always, even 
 of the company of "courtly 
 makers" of the Elizabethan 
 age, Wyatt excepted. 
 
 The *' Prince's Progress" 
 is a poem which, once read, 
 creates a desire to read over 
 again and again. It might 
 be called a Tennysonian 
 poem; it haunts the brain and 
 the memory, and is a perfect 
 piece of w^ord-painting ; as — 
 
 37 
 
"What is this that comes through 
 the door, 
 The face covered the feet before ? 
 
 Veiled figures carrying her 
 Sweep by, yet make no stir ; 
 A bride- chant burdened with one 
 name ; 
 The bride-song rises steadier 
 Than the torches' flame." 
 
 Her maidens chide the dila- 
 tory prince with — 
 
 *' Is she fair now as she lies? 
 Once she was fair ; 
 Meet queen for any kingly king. 
 
 With gold-dust on her hair ; 
 Now these are poppies in her 
 locks, 
 White poppies she must wear. 
 
" You should have wept her yester- 
 day, 
 Wasting upon her bed. 
 
 Lo, we who love weep not to- 
 day, 
 But crown her royal head. 
 Let be these poppies that we 
 strew ; 
 Your roses are too red." 
 
 Christina Rossetti's poems 
 are not all of this dirge-like 
 character. " Maiden - Song " 
 terminates with the marriages 
 of three sisters. " Goblin 
 Market " finishes in like cha- 
 racter ; and what more joyful 
 paean can be found than " The 
 Birthday"?— 
 
** My heart is like a singing-bird, 
 Whose nest is in a watered 
 shoot ; 
 My heart is like an apple tree, 
 Whose boughs are bent with 
 thick-set fruit ; 
 My heart is like a rainbow shell, 
 That paddles in a halcyon 
 sea J 
 My heart is gladder than all 
 these, 
 Because my love is come to 
 me. 
 
 'Raise me a dais of silk and 
 down, 
 Hang it with vair and purple 
 dyes ; 
 Carve it in doves and pome- 
 granates, 
 And peacocks with a hundred 
 
 eyes; 
 40 
 
Work it in gold and silver grapes, 
 In leaves and silver fleurs-de- 
 lys; 
 Because the birthday of my life 
 Is come, my love is come to 
 me." 
 
 Here the imagery seems partly 
 suggested by the Song of 
 Solomon. 
 
 My acquaintance with Miss 
 Rossetti commenced in this 
 wise. We met at the house of 
 
 a mutual friend, Miss C , 
 
 a lady well known in Blooms- 
 bury and at St. Giles's Poor- 
 house for her good works. 
 A group of ladies assembled 
 41 
 
at afternoon tea were talking 
 on various subjects. It was 
 somehow mentioned that I 
 had recently returned from 
 the Cape, and different ques- 
 tions about the country were 
 asked me. One lady near 
 me seemed much interested. 
 The conversation turned on 
 the Zulu war and its dis- 
 asters, and the ill-fated 24th 
 Regiment. I was eloquent on 
 this subject. I had known 
 many of the killed at Isan- 
 dula, and had even been 
 taken to supper by Melville 
 at their last ball, given by 
 42 
 
Lady Frere in Cape Town. 
 When I described the dash 
 made for the Queen's colours 
 by the two friends, Coghill 
 and Melville, this lady said, 
 "It sounds like the knights 
 of old doing battle for a lady's 
 favour." I believe I quoted 
 the lines of Sir Francis Doyle — ■ 
 
 "And now, forgetting that wild 
 ride, forgetful of all pain, 
 High amongst those who have 
 not lived, who have not died, 
 in vain. 
 By strange stars watched, they 
 sleep afar." 
 
 At length I began to re- 
 member that I was talking 
 
 43 
 
rather long and exclusively 
 to this one lady with the elo- 
 quent speaking eyes, and 
 changed the subject. In a 
 short time some others rose 
 to leave, and one said, "Good- 
 bye, Miss Rossetti." I turned 
 to my late companion, and 
 said, "Are you Miss Ros- 
 setti?" "Yes," she said 
 cheerily, " I am." " Miss 
 Christina Rossetti?" I con- 
 tinued. " Christina Rossetti, 
 at your service ! " was the re- 
 ply. She was smiling now, 
 and her face seemed to say, 
 "What a wonder you make 
 
of me ! " And I repeated, 
 "Did you really write that 
 beautiful hymn, 'Good Fri- 
 day'?" "Yes," she said 
 slowly, " I did." And her 
 face at once became grave 
 and solemn. I may here 
 transcribe the poem — 
 
 "Am I a stone, and not a sheep, 
 That I can stand, O Christ, beneath 
 
 Thy cross, 
 To number drop by drop Thy 
 Blood's slow loss, 
 And yet not weep ? 
 
 *' Not so those women loved, 
 Who with exceeding grief lamented 
 
 Thee; 
 Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly ; 
 Not so the thief was moved ; 
 
" Not so the sun and moon, 
 Which hid their faces in a starless 
 
 sky, 
 A horror of great darkness at broad 
 noon ;— 
 I, only I. 
 
 " Yet give not o'er, 
 But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd 
 
 of the flock. 
 Greater than Moses, turn and look 
 once more. 
 And smite a rock." 
 
 This it was that cemented 
 our friendship, the sympathy 
 in Ctirist's suffering ; and no 
 stronger bond could be found 
 for her, none could touch the 
 core of her heart like that. 
 Thus years rolled on; we met 
 
 46 
 
often, and I was always re- 
 ceived as a welcome guest. I 
 left the country again for some 
 years, during which time we 
 regularly corresponded. It was 
 during my absence her fatal 
 illness commenced. She did 
 not like to distress me with the 
 knowledge of what that illness 
 was. She had undergone a 
 serious operation, and wrote 
 to me from Brighton — 
 
 "Your letter arrived when 
 I was too ill to attend to 
 correspondence; now I have 
 rallied considerably. My good 
 old aunt [Miss Polidori] keeps 
 
fairly well, and I am happy to 
 find that my daily letter to her 
 since I came here has amused 
 her. Good accounts of her 
 have followed me hither, and 
 to-morrow I hope to resume 
 my post in her room." 
 
 Always self-sacrificing and 
 ready to devote herself to 
 others, yet she writes that it 
 was full five years since she had 
 left London before, and that 
 the change had been "truly 
 reviving and refreshing." 
 When often urged to have a 
 change to the country, her 
 reply was, " Not on any 
 
 48 
 
accoi nt would I leave my 
 aunt for a day, even ; my duty 
 lies here. One day, perhaps, 
 when I am left alone, I shall 
 see the country again." In 
 one of her poems she says — 
 
 *' \Yhy, one day in the country 
 Is worth a month in town ; 
 Is worth a day and a year." 
 
 She sometimes said, " When 
 my aunt leaves me, should I 
 survive her, I should like to 
 live in Kent, near Rochester, 
 if possible." That wish was 
 never to be realized. Although, 
 after her aunt's death, she had 
 quite deciJed on leaving 
 
 E 49 
 
London, her malady; in- 
 creased so rapidly that her 
 departure was found to be 
 impracticable. Miss Rossetti 
 was a devout member of the 
 English Church, as she says 
 herself, " The beloved Angli- 
 can Church of my baptism." 
 Her former clergyman. Rev. 
 H. W. Burrows, had become a 
 Canon of Rochester Cathedral ; 
 hence her desire to live near it. 
 At the close of 1890 a 
 break occurred in the mono- 
 tony of her life, and she wrote 
 to me at the Cape : " I have 
 just lately been having my 
 
brother and his family (six in 
 number) staying here, as they 
 were changing their abode. 
 This made a great change 
 and stir up in my quiet habits; 
 and as they all seemed very 
 comfortable in their temporary 
 quarters, I was comfortable 
 too." 
 
 During my stay at the Cape, 
 and referring to my home in 
 Wynberg, she wrote, "What 
 a lovely picture — a garden full 
 of arums 1 " And again, " I 
 wonder what blue plumbago 
 is like ? Perhaps I may have 
 seen, but I do not identify it 
 
 SI 
 
Surely it is not to be despised 
 
 at your window, though it may 
 
 not vie with primroses?* 
 
 As I no longer go to the 
 
 country fiom time to time, 
 
 I may say the country very 
 
 graciously comes to me, for 
 
 friends send or bring me 
 
 flowers." 
 
 About this time the failure 
 
 * I should have mentioned that 
 blue plumbago is the pride of Wyn- 
 berg, where all the hedges are com- 
 posed of it ; that is, when they are 
 not of blue myrtle. When left to 
 Nature, sheets of pale blue flov/ers 
 enchant all beholders. There are, 
 however, many Vandals who keep 
 such carefully clipped. 
 
of the Cape of Good Hope 
 Bank, following after another, 
 caused widespread distress. 
 
 Miss Rossetti wrote, *' I 
 have seen the bank failure 
 announced in the paper, and 
 am sorry for all whom it in- 
 volves in ruin or distress ; 
 even to a wealthy person 
 ^^'3500 is a serious loss. Poor 
 Miss ! Really it is some- 
 times a comfort not to pos- 
 sess a fortune, so that one 
 cannot lose it." 
 
 At Christmas she wrote, ** I 
 do not know how long a 
 letter takes on its way to the 
 
 S3 
 
Cape ; but this is intended to 
 wish you every blessing of 
 Christmas, and of 1892. We 
 twain are much as of yore, 
 my poor old aunt still linger- 
 ing on without (most merci- 
 fully) any very great apparent 
 suffering." 
 
 Of Ireland she writes in 
 1888, "I trust your stay in 
 Ireland promoted your health 
 as well as spirits. I used to 
 think I should like to see 
 something of that near-at-hand 
 island; but, then, I do not 
 particularly fancy the rough 
 passage, not to hint at the 
 
 54 
 
alienated section of the nation ! 
 So, apparently, I am as well, 
 or better, at home, which is 
 convenient. As to recovery, 
 my aunt's state is hopeless; 
 yet I know not at all how long 
 her gradual decay may last. 
 Very mercifully she is spared 
 much pain." 
 
 In a later letter she said, 
 " I am not well, nor do I look 
 forward to ever being very 
 strong again." This was 
 alarming. I returned from the 
 Cape in 1892, and found 
 matters much worse than 
 I had supposed. She had 
 
 £5 
 
undergone an operation for 
 cancer, and her heart's action 
 was also seriously affected. No 
 one, however, ever heard her 
 complain or murmur. She 
 always received me with cheer- 
 fulness, which only gave way to 
 sadness when listening to any 
 tale of woe concerning others. 
 I have frequently seen tears 
 in her eyes on such occasions. 
 
 During my stay in Dorset- 
 shire she wrote constantly. 
 In one letter she says — 
 
 " What a haven of rest a 
 country rectory must be ! I 
 do not know your part of the 
 
 55 
 
world, but doubt not it In- 
 cludes features I should ad- 
 mire; amongst others, Pur- 
 beck marble, which I recall 
 to memory. When I was in 
 Devonshire (once only, at 
 Torquay), I was much struck 
 with the varied beauty of the 
 Devon marbles." 
 
 Here Miss Rossetti v/as 
 confounding Dorsetshire with 
 Devon ; she would have been 
 still more struck with the 
 beauty of the Isle of Purbeck, 
 with Swanage and its lovely 
 bay, whose perfect curve 
 delights the painter. 
 
 57 
 
Her last surviving aunt, 
 Miss Polidori, died in June, 
 1893, so that practically her 
 cares were over. On the 
 day of Miss Polidori's funeral 
 I sat for some hours with her. 
 "I hope to retain her good 
 nurse for myself," she said. 
 "I shall require her services, 
 for, humanly speaking, my 
 malady does not admit of a 
 cure." I may here mention 
 that the nurse. Miss Read, 
 remained with her to the last, 
 and was a great comfort, and 
 most devoted to her patient 
 Miss Read accompanied Miss 
 58 
 
Rossetti to Brighton in August, 
 1893, for a few months' visit. 
 At this time I lost an aunt, 
 and went over to Ireland to 
 settle up her affairs. From 
 Brighton she wrote, " This is 
 such a quiet life that we are 
 leading, it supplies but little 
 matter for letters. Sometimes 
 I go out in a chair, now and 
 then in a fly, pretty often for ; 
 a short walk, very short ; but 
 I am obviously better, and who ;: 
 knows what another fortnight: 
 may effect?" She did re-, 
 turn to London considerably! 
 better, and I also came backj 
 
from Ireland in November, 
 greatly harassed by my land 
 difficulties. Miss Rossetti 
 was the sympathizing friend, 
 who was ready to condole 
 with, and give help and 
 counsel in all emergencies. 
 
 I returned to the Isle of 
 Saints at Christmas, 1893, 
 and she wrote, " What a com- 
 plication of anxious trouble ! 
 You far exceed me in spirit ; 
 but what I should do in your 
 place I know not. I look 
 forward to hearing from you 
 again, and shall want to know 
 how matters went on the 23rd, 
 
 60 
 
but of course I can fully under- 
 stand how busy and occupied 
 you may be, and I beg you 
 not to write till convenient 
 and agreeable to yourself." 
 
 I had at this time to serve 
 three ejectments before I 
 could gain possession of my 
 late aunt's house or lands. 
 Having succeeded with all 
 three, she wrote, "I con- 
 gratulate you heartily on this 
 success after a long strain 
 of anxiety." The success, 
 however, was temporary and 
 short-lived. 
 
 I regret that at this time 
 
I was much occupied with 
 my own affairs, and I fear 
 more a trouble than a com- 
 fort to my friend, who was 
 always cheerful herself, and 
 took the brightest side of 
 things. Yet she condescended 
 to notice ordinary events. In 
 one letter she writes, "My 
 cat has presented us with a 
 kitten, for which we have 
 found a home, so the nice 
 little thing is being reared." 
 
 The faithful "Muff"— the 
 cat here mentioned — was a 
 great favourite, and has now 
 found comfortable quarters in 
 
 62 
 
the home of Mr. W. M. Ros- 
 setti. Of her may be said — 
 
 " A Poet's cat, sedate and grave, 
 As Poet well might wish to have." 
 
 On August 29, 1893, 
 Miss Rossetti wrote from 
 Brighton to Ireland : " I am 
 very glad you have safely 
 performed your journey to 
 Rathcoursey, and received 
 two hearty welcomes. May 
 more follow ! No wonder you 
 were driven back by the heat 
 when you kindly set off to 
 see me. Nurse and I came 
 hither on that most broiling 
 day, Wednesday the i6th, 
 63 
 
and I feel all the better for 
 this complete change. All 
 favouring, I propose to re- 
 main here four weeks, thus 
 going home on the 13th. I 
 am glad your cats find friends. 
 Our poor Muff, it seems, 
 missed us at first, but has 
 since recovered her equani- 
 mity." 
 
 In 1893, Miss Rossetti 
 wrote of her last Christmas 
 but one, "My Christmas 
 Day was very quiet; I could 
 not go to church, and saw no 
 one but my small household. 
 For the first time on that 
 
 64 
 
day I saw my nurse in your 
 pretty Madeira apron. Most 
 of the other fine pieces of 
 needlework I gave to my 
 sister-in-law, who duly ad- 
 mired them, I trust. I must 
 thank you for the pleasure 
 which I had in giving them 
 away " — alluding to some 
 work I had brought from 
 Madeira. 
 
 She had the deepest sym- 
 pathy with the sufferings of the 
 poor, and thus expresses it in 
 January, 1894 — 
 
 " The weather here has 
 been exceptionally rigorous, 
 
 F 65 
 
but now that is over, and 
 comfort revives. Distress is, 
 indeed, widespread — so much 
 so that your young woman" 
 (alluding to a young Irish widow 
 I was interested in), ''who goes 
 four miles for food and six- 
 pence, becomes enviable. 
 The contrast between London 
 luxury and London destitution 
 is really appalling. All sorts 
 of gaieties advertised, and 
 deaths by exposure or starva- 
 tion recorded in the same 
 newspaper. " 
 
 In 1886 and 1887 I was 
 engaged in parish work in 
 
 66 
 
Ratcliff. My mission was to 
 go on Monday nights to the 
 Factory Girls' Club, London 
 Street, under the special care 
 of the vicar, Rev. R. K. 
 Arbuthnot. Here congregated 
 many of Bryant and May's 
 workers, but rope-makers, 
 satchel - makers, jam - makers, 
 and all the industries of the 
 East End were represented. 
 Many were of Irish parentage 
 and Roman Catholics. The 
 object was to try and 
 interest them in something, 
 and get them into the club 
 after work was over. Miss 
 67 
 
Rossetti took a deep interest 
 in the welfare of these young 
 people, and would herself 
 have liked tc become a work- 
 ing member of the club, had 
 her nursing duties allowed it ; 
 but at that time she had two 
 aunts, quite invalids, to tend. 
 In returning home, which I 
 never did before eleven o'clock 
 p.m., many incidents struck 
 me on the route. I was 
 accustomed to relate all to 
 Miss Rossetti, who specially 
 wished to hear how the even- 
 ing had been passed. At one 
 time it was the tiny children 
 
returning home alone, their 
 part being over at the Theatre, 
 that excited her commisera- 
 tion, and she said — 
 
 '* London makes mirth, but I know 
 God hears 
 The sobs in the dark, and the 
 dropping of tears." 
 
 Sometimes my tales were 
 ludicrous scenes at the 
 suppers given, and presided 
 over by Mr. (now Sir) Walter 
 Besant. She was very sympa- 
 thetic with young people, and ' 
 recognized the importance of 
 trying to influence and direct 
 69 
 
the minds of future genera- 
 tions. 
 
 She rallied considerably in 
 the spring of 1894, and wrote, 
 "Thank you for flowers, which 
 bring a country charm and 
 freshness to our world of 
 brick and mortar. Not that I 
 despise the Square trees, which 
 are greening delightfully. 
 Those wild blue hyacinths, 
 not to speak of their com- 
 panions, have a special hold 
 on me." 
 
 Of her last Easter on earth 
 she wrote, " Every blessing 
 of this blessed season to 
 
you. Thank you for the 
 pretty primroses and daisies 
 in their envelope of moss. 
 Thank you for wishing me 
 well. I am not perhaps 
 quite at my best, but I can- 
 not now expect to reach a 
 high standard of health and 
 strength. I should like to 
 have been able to place 
 flowers on my own mother's 
 grave at Easter, even as you 
 placed some on yours, but 
 my health forbids such a 
 pleasure." 
 
 Shortly after she wrote, 
 " The weather here is perfect, 
 
and a box of primroses, etc., 
 has come to-day, bringing 
 something of the country to 
 my little room; so I need 
 not envy you your prim- 
 roses ! And now we are 
 having thunder since I wrote 
 that." 
 
 Two other letters I re- 
 ceived. The last, June ii, 
 1894, commences, " I am very 
 unwell." 
 
 Then came a card in July — 
 " Weak and ill, but glad to 
 hear from you. 
 
 "Always yours, 
 
 " C. G. ROSSETTI." 
 
 7a 
 
Another card in July, and 
 the last I received — 
 
 " Too ill for much writing, 
 but glad of news of you, and 
 sympathizing in what you tell 
 me. 
 
 "C. G. R." 
 
 She lived nearly five months 
 after this, but I only received 
 messages through the nurse, 
 such as " Miss Rossetti sends 
 you her dear love, and bids 
 me say she no longer reads or 
 writes her own letters." She 
 suffered a great deal at this 
 time, and her patience and 
 
 73 
 
fortitude were beyond all 
 praise. She prayed daily for 
 all her friends, and thanked 
 her nurse repeatedly for her 
 kind offices, saying, " I can- 
 not thank you enough, but 
 my mother will thank you in 
 heaven." 
 
 In December, 1894, I 
 saw, from the tone of the 
 bulletins I received, that the 
 end was fast approaching, and 
 left Ireland for London. I saw 
 her on the 21st, but what a 
 change ! The fine features 
 sharpened by agony that was 
 past. She lay on a couch in 
 
the drawing-room. When the 
 nurse announced me, she un- 
 closed her eyes with a look 
 which said, "You see how 
 weak I am ; I cannot speak." 
 In fact, she rarely spoke 
 at this stage. Her brother 
 watched constantly beside her 
 couch, but during the last 
 fortnight of her life she seldom 
 spoke, even to him. She was 
 mercifully spared much pain 
 at this period. Again I saw 
 her on December 23, her last 
 Sunday on earth, but she 
 slept. The doctor came 
 almost at the same time, and 
 
would not disturb her. And 
 very peaceful she looked, re- 
 calling her own lines — 
 
 '* She sleeps a charmed sleep: 
 Awake her not. 
 
 Rest, rest, a perfect rest, 
 Shed over brow and breast ; 
 Her face is toward the west, 
 The purple land." 
 
 My household cares called 
 me back ; I could only kneel 
 beside her for a few minutes, 
 and kiss her cold forehead. I 
 then thought death was near ; 
 she lived, however, five days 
 longer. During this time her 
 Hps were constantly moving 
 
in prayer, and on the morning 
 of December 29 she passed 
 quietly away. 
 
 * ' Her quiet eyelids closed ; she had 
 Another morn than ours " 
 
 She herself wrote — 
 
 ' * When flowers are yet in bud, 
 While the boughs are green, 
 I would get quit of earth, 
 And get robed for heaven j 
 Putting on my raiment white within 
 
 the screen, 
 Putting on my crown of gold whose 
 gems are seven." 
 
 We can have no doubt the 
 latter part of this wish was 
 fulfilled. Of the former, she 
 says — 
 
 77 
 
" So spring must dawn again with 
 warmth and bloom, 
 Or in this world or in the world 
 to come. 
 Sing, voice of spring, 
 Till I too blossom, and rejoice 
 and sing." 
 
 And again — 
 
 " I wonder if the spring-tide of 
 
 this year 
 Will bring another spring both 
 
 lost and dear ; 
 If heart and spirit will find out 
 
 their spring, 
 Or if the world alone will bud 
 
 and sing? 
 Sing, Hope, to me ; 
 Sweet notes, my Hope, soft notes 
 
 for memory." 
 
 On the margin of this she 
 78 
 
wrote, " I was walking in the 
 
 outer circle, Regent's Park, 
 
 when the impulse or thought 
 
 came to me." 
 
 She has entered on her 
 
 first heavenly spring, where 
 
 flowers fairer than primroses 
 
 or her beloved wild hyacinths 
 
 meet her eyes. But more 
 
 than all, the love she pined 
 
 for, even the love of Christ 
 
 that passeth knowledge, she 
 
 can now comprehend with all 
 
 saints. As she writes — 
 
 ' ' Love that dost pass the tenfold 
 seven times seven, 
 Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou 
 my heart above ; 
 
 79 
 
My treasure and my heart store 
 Thou in Thee." 
 
 If ever heart was drawn 
 above, hers was. The world 
 and the world's joys had no 
 place in it. Her great 
 humility was one of her chief 
 characteristics ; never self- 
 asserting, but in lowliness of 
 mind considering others better 
 than herself. This great 
 humility she expresses in one 
 poem — 
 
 "Give me the lowest place: not 
 that I dare 
 Ask for that lowest place, but 
 Thou hast died." 
 80 
 
To those who knew her 
 intimately, these words are, 
 known to be the expression 
 of her continual thought. It- 
 was pain to her to be praised, 
 or to hear any panegyric on 
 her works. Not very long 
 before her death, a para- 
 graph was read to her from 
 some paper, thinking it 
 would interest her. Her 
 comment was, " Woe unto 
 you when all men praise 
 you ! " 
 
 It may be there were times 
 when flesh and heart would 
 fail; as she writes — 
 
 G SC 
 
"Alas for him 
 Who faints, despite thy Pattern, King 
 
 of Saints ! 
 Alas, alas, for me the one that 
 
 fainls ! 
 
 But when our strength shall be 
 made weakness, and our bodies 
 clay, 
 
 Hold Thou us fast, and give us 
 sleep till day." 
 
 Her favourite text during 
 her last illness, " I will trust, 
 and not be afraid,*' was placed 
 in such a position by her de- 
 sire that her eyes might rest 
 upon it at all times. 
 
 But, above all, her chief 
 characteristic was love — love 
 
to the whole human family. 
 She never reahzed evil. Living 
 such a retired life, more like 
 a cloistered nun than any- 
 thing else, she knew little 
 of the world or its ways, and 
 refused on principle to have 
 any distrust. I don't think, 
 in all her writings, one bitter 
 or harsh expression can be 
 found against any member of 
 the human family. Hers was 
 the charity that thinketh no 
 evil. Her fervent piety and 
 childlike faith appear as one 
 of the green spots in a desert, 
 amidst the doubt and despair 
 
 8^ 
 
to which our century has 
 attained. Her memory will 
 be much cherished in Christ 
 Church, Woburn Square, 
 where she was for many 
 years a devout worshipper. 
 
 Her memorial sermon, by 
 the incumbent, Rev. J. J. 
 Nash, has been published, and 
 gives details not mentioned 
 here. She sleeps under no 
 stately dome, but as she 
 herself desired, when she 
 wrote long ago — 
 
 " Be the green grass above me 
 With showers and dewdrops 
 
 wet. 
 84 
 
I shall not see the shadows, 
 
 I shall not feel the rain ; 
 I shall not hear the nightingale 
 
 Sing on, as if in pain : 
 And dreaming through the twilight 
 
 That doth not rise nor set, 
 Haply I may remember, 
 
 And haply may forget." 
 
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