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Francis Turner Palgrave 

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Francis Turner Palgrave 



Gwenllian F. Palgrave 

What should a man desire to leave? 
A flawless work ; a noble life : 
Some music harmonized from strife, 
Some finish'd thing, ere the slack hands at eve 
Drop, should be his to leave. 

Or in life's homeliest, meanest spot, 
To strike the circle of his years 
A perfect curve through joys and tears. 
Leaving a pure name to be known, or not,— 
This is a true man's lot. 

Ah, 'tis but little that the best. 

Frail children of a fleeting hour, 
Can leave of perfect fruit or flower ! 
Ah, let all else be graciously supprest 

When man lies down to rest ! 





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This little sketch of my father's life has been 
attempted at the wish, not only of many personal 
friends, but also of some who have only known him 
through the ' Golden Treasury ' or his hymns. It 
has been greatly aided by his own journals, which 
are quoted at some length, for in them he speaks 
for himself, expressing many thoughts and opinions 
which could not otherwise have been so plainly 
given. Moreover, they especially help to fill the 
gap resulting from the comparative scarcity of his 
own letters. This scarcity is partly due, unhappily, 
to the fact that very many of my father's contem- 
poraries have died during the last ten years, the 
letters in these cases having been usually de- 
stroyed. The sole correspondence which had been 
preserved in any sense of completeness was between 
him and Mr. Gladstone — generally on purely literary 
subjects — but the letters from Mr. Gladstone have 
had to be inevitably omitted, in deference to the 
wishes of his trustees. Then, again, my father, 
when looking over a large portion of the late Lord 
Tennyson's correspondence, burned the majority of 


the letters which had been written by himself. I 
must here express my gratitude to the present Lord 
Tennyson, not only for his generosity in placing at 
my disposal those which remain, as well as extracts 
already published in the Memoir of his father, but 
also for his very kind assistance in the correction of 
proofs. To my uncle, Mr. Inglis Palgrave, and to 
the Dean'^of Salisbury, I am much indebted for their 
respective recollections of my father's childhood 
and college days ; while among those who have 
given free permission for the publication of letters, 
either to or from my father, I would particularly 
thank Mr. Stopford Brooke, Mrs. Matthew Arnold, 
Miss Gladstone, Lady F. Cavendish, the trustees 
of the late Professor Jowett, the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, Mr. W. M. Rossetti, the Duke of 
Argyll, Professor Ruskin, Mr. Eastlake-Smith, Mr. 
W. E. H. Lecky, Father Neville, and Sir Ludovic 
Grant. My thanks are also due to Messrs. Mac- 
millan & Co. for their courtesy in allowing some 
of my father's poems to be published in these 

In this short narrative I have tried to show my 
father both as a man of true poetical feeling, pos- 
sessed of the purest taste in art and literature, and 
also as one who was loved by an almost infinite 
number of friends, and whose vast sympathy en- 
deared him to them — old and new alike. But 
I have failed to reveal in any adequate degree 
that intense appreciation of all that is good and 


beautiful, that tenderness and chivalry, that humble- 
mindedness which never allowed him to recognise 
his own singularly varied gifts, that perfect truthful- 
ness, and above all that simplicity and transparency 
of nature which made him incapable of inconsistency 
— of ever saying anything that was not strictly true 
to his innermost thoughts or feelings : 

And the work must not only be true, 
But intense with the passion of truth, 

The hatred of coldness and lie, 

To the nobler nature must cry. 
That shall merit eternal youth. 

G. F. P. 

February 1899. 



I. BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS, 1 824 1 848 ... I 


1862 40 

III. MARRIAGE AND HOME LIFE, 1862-1870. ... 74 


CATION OFFICE WORK, 1881-1885 1 58 


1890 188 

VII. LAST YEARS, 1890-1897 220 


INDEX 271 


Portrait of F. T. Palgrave . 

From a photograph by Elliott &' Fry. 


Little Park, Lyme .... 

From a photograph taken October 1897. 

To face p. 131 

Francis Turner Palgrave 



Francis Turner Palgrave, the eldest of the four 
sons of Sir Francis Palgrave, K.H., Deputy Keeper 
of Her Majesty's Records, was born on Septem- 
ber 28, 1824, at Great Yarmouth. His father is 
chiefly remembered as an historian and antiquarian. 
He was the intimate friend of Henry Hallam, while 
among those with whom he was well acquainted 
were such men as Southey, Samuel Rogers, Ma- 
caulay, and Sir Walter Scott. He married Elizabeth, 
daughter of Dawson Turner, a woman of remarkable 
culture and brilliancy of mind. Her influence from 
the beginning tended to foster the innate love of art 
that later on developed into that peculiar refine- 
ment of taste and of criticism which was so apparent 
in her son ; while it was to her father's extensive 
library and collection of the finest engravings that 
he owed his childish appreciation of Italian works of 
art and the power of distinguishing the merits of the 
different schools of painting. Although he seems to 
have been a more than usually intelligent child, his 
mother frequently complained of his childishness 


and love of play ; this was partly due, perhaps, to 
the high standard to which, as an exceptionally 
gifted and clever woman, she expected her children 
to attain at a very early age. Both parents were 
eminently pious people, and were accustomed con- 
stantly to bring forward matters of religion to bear 
upon the occupations and amusements of their 
children. ' To point a moral,' my father has said, 
was one of their first principles in the early training 
and education of their boys. Always imbued with 
strictly Church principles, they were much influenced 
by the Tractarian movement ; while it is easy to 
trace the effect which the teaching of J. H. 
Newman exercised on their lives. With their 
eldest son this regard for Cardinal Newman ripened 
into a reverence and an enthusiastic admiration 
which continued and strengthened to the end. The 
boys were brought up to go to church on weekdays ; 
and on Sundays, besides generally attending two 
services at Hampstead, they would often walk in the 
evening to Christ Church, Albany Street. It was 
Frank's amusement, as a child, to construe the sermon 
into blank verse whilst it was being delivered. 

His mother's Journal thus describes him shortly 
before he was two years old : 

Frank listens with much interest to accounts of any- 
thing he sees — mills, clocks, and wheels are his great 
favourites, and he perpetually asks us to draw these for 
him, requesting that the ' moon may shine on the mill,' 
and thus showing that he understands in some degree 
their several natures. He has continued to improve in 
appearance ; he is fair, rosy, and fat, with yellow curling 


hair and pretty, small features. His beauty has been 
much admired at Yarmouth, and his general good-temper 
and docility have made him a universal favourite. . . . 
People tell me he is a handsome child. I see that he 
is very agreeable-looking when his little face is not dis- 
figured by those wilful passions which so early characterise 
the 'mal seme d' Adamo.' In outward appearance he is 
certainly favoured more than most children — may God 
bless his heart and mind ! 

Again, at three years old : 

Frank does not make a rapid progress in his book at 
present — he seems unable to understand that the letters 
are the symbols of the sound: if pronounced to him, he 
spells them very fairly by ear, but not by eye. . . . His 
memory is excellent, and he knows many little poenis by 

When four and a half, he 
takes pleasure in learning a few Latin words, and considers 
it a reward to be allowed to commit two or three to 
memory after he has spelled and read, and he takes much 
pleasure in acquiring geographical information. He has 
read the first chapter of Genesis by himself, with great 
ease and interest. This day we first took our dear eldest 
child to worship God in His own house (St. Margaret's 
Church, Westminster) : his enizre attention and reverential 
silence proved that his mind was duly influenced. 

At eight years old : 

I think he is fairly advanced for his age, though he is 
fonder of play than of work, and seldom reads any but a 
story book for his own pleasure merely. In contributing 
to the schooling of poor children and such objects of 
charity, Frank at present shows a very liberal spirit. But 
he is disposed to argue and strive for his own will, often 
tyrannical and obstinate ; poor child, human nature in him 


is very strong ! . . . His and Giflfy's faults are mercifully 
so adapted that they seldom disagree, and both admire 
and wonder at the ability of the other, in a way which is 
often very droll. 

At twelve, his 

favourite reading for amusement is anything on the subject 
of architecture, in which he takes great pleasure, and 
which he will, if he has practice, soon draw very nicely ; 
he delights in making temples and altars, &c. in clay, and 
then burning them in the fire ; and he is quite childish, and, 
I hope and believe, innocently minded. 

The greater part of his childhood was spent 
in their pretty old-fashioned house at Hampstead, 
varied by constant visits to Yarmouth, the home of 
their grandfather. He always hated London — quci 
London — with a vehemence which never lessened, 
although he owned that were it to be all London or 
all country, it would have to be all London. He 
has described the feeling of dismay with which as a 
child he had observed a lamp post in a suburban 
lane, that it had hitherto delighted him to fancy was 
in the real country. So it was that until within the 
last few years of his life, he found it hard to realise 
that genuine unspoiled ' country ' was to be reached 
within forty miles of London. His love of the 
country did not spring from any particular zeal for 
country pursuits ; it was a love mainly arising from 
the poetical and artistic side of his mind. He was 
keenly alive to Nature's sounds, and delighted in 
reading Lucretius or Virgil within hearing of a 
trickling stream or the breaking of waves on the 
shore. His first journey to Italy, at the age of four- 


teen, with his parents and his brother Gifford, 
produced an impression never to be effaced, and on 
his return the chief joy of the brothers' playtime was 
painting in fresco fashion on the garden walls, and 
clay modelling in make-believe imitation of Floren- 
tine sculpture. His affection for Italy, her people, 
and above all her Art, became a passion, only 
intensified by each successive visit in later years. 

His education at Charterhouse did not besfin 
until he was fourteen. This he always regretted, 
maintaining that early going to school was the only 
remedy for priggishness — which weakness he ad- 
mitted in himself — or for boyish ' cockyness ' and 
lack of manners ; but in spite of this he quickly fell 
into the ways of school life, entering with consider- 
able zest into the Carthusian games, and making 
many friends. His intense interest in the best 
literature was already very marked in these school 
days, and it was one of his greatest delights to read 
Dante with his mother and the Greek plays with his 
father after the day's lessons were over. These 
readings, together with his amusements, were always 
shared with his brother Gifford, and one of their 
most popular games was acting scenes from Homer. 
This brother, so near in age, so clever and so 
brilliant, Frank always loved and admired with an 
almost touching reverence through the many changes 
of his very varied career. Soon after this began 
the intimacy with Baron Alderson's children, which 
was to prove indeed a lifelong friendship ; perhaps 
among all Frank Palgrave's friends, Mr. Charles 
Alderson was more to him than any other. Another 


early playmate became, in after life, the wife of his 
dear friend Arthur Clough. 

My uncle, Inglis Palgrave, has kindly sent me a 
few recollections of my father's childhood and early 
surroundings : 

Belton, near Great Yarmouth : July 1898. 
My dear Niece, — The early days of your father's life are 
so well described in his graceful poem, ' Recollections of 
Childhood,' that it will be best for me to commence the 
narrative which you desire by quoting them, and to confine 
my own share in this mainly to explanations of what he 
has written. 


I love the gracious littleness 

Of Childhood's fancied reign : 
The narrow chambers and the nooks 

That could a world contain : 
The fairy landscapes on the walls 

And half-imagined faces : 
The stairs that led to wider realms. 

The passage-scene of races. 
— By stranger feet the home is trod, 

Yet still the rooms I see : 
But the blithesome days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me. 

I love the little room where first 

On infant reason broke 
The knowledge we had seen before 

The place in which we woke : 
Where first we link'd a happy eve 

To an all-sunny morning : 
Nor in that rigid chain of time 

Read any note of warning. 


Why are the years together forged 
And bound by Fate's decree, 

If the blithesome days of childhood 
May ne'er return to me ? 


I love the broken plaything ghosts 

That once were living joys : 
The extemporised delight we snatch'd 

From toys that were not toys. 
The hands that tended infant limbs, 

The feet that rock'd our sleeping : 
The lips that told the wholesome lies 

That stay'd our idle weeping. 
These echoes from the past I prize, 

Though faint and rare they be : 
For ah ! the days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me. 


I love the swing that shook between 

The jawbones of the whale : 
The vessel-seeming garden-boat, 

The scene of feast and tale : 
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd 

And scorn'd the storm together : 
The initials flourish'd on the beech 

To tell our loves for ever, 
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd 

Another's eyes might see : — 
-Ah, that the days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me ! 



I love the lawn — the scenes of high 

Hellenic bulrush fights : 
Where Homer's heroes, snatch'd from Pope, 

Gave names to childly knights : 
Where after life was shadow'd out 

In feats of happy daring, 
Till each went off the field with joy 

The victor-trophies sharing : 
To count the shatter'd darts that lay, 

The dints that scarr'd the tree — 
— Ah, that the days of childhood 
May ne'er return to me ! 


I love the palaces we built, 

The fancied brick or stone : 
The forts for happy bloodless siege, 

And conquest gaily won : — 
The mimic puppet-shows we framed 

To act some Shakspeare story ; 
Where Rome and Forres rose once more, 

And Caesar fell in glory : 
Where all was false and all was true 

The moment might decree. — 
— Ah, that the days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me ! 


I love the foolish words — that love 

Recorded as they fell : 
The very faults that then we wept, 

The follies prized too well : — 


Alas for loss that Time has wrought : 

For joys, of grief that borrow : 
For sorrows that we cannot weep, 

And sins that bring no sorrow ! 
Where is that unremorseful grief. 

That unreflecting glee ? — 
Alas ! the days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me. 


I love the timid soul, that blush'd 

Before an elder's look : 
Yet from its equals in the game 

No tyranny could brook : — 
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils 

Of custom interposing : 
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength 

To open hearts disclosing. 
I love the very strife that left 

Our souls for love more free : 
For the truthful days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me. 


— Alas for hands that then we clasp'd : 

For merry tripping feet : 
For daily thoughtless welcomings, 

And partings but to meet ! 
The shout, the song, the leap, the race : 

The light of happy faces : 
The ready aid : the love — alas ! — 

And childly fond embraces. 
— I hoard the thought of things that were, 

And ne'er again shall be : 
For the loving days of childhood 

May ne'er return to me. 


— But, O blithe little ones — that dance, 

And bid me join your play : 
How can I share your blessedness ? 

How can I turn away ? — 
— I catch the gleam of sunny locks: 

The light of happy faces : — 
The hurried breath of quick delight : 

The proffer'd pure embraces : — 
I cannot aught but take the gift, 

The love you lavish free : — 
In you the days of childhood 

May yet return to me. 

The first stanza is no doubt a reminiscence of the house 
of our maternal grandfather, Dawson Turner, at Yarmouth. 
He was a partner in the bank of Gurney & Co., now 
Barclay & Co. Ltd. His father had been a member of the 
firm before him, and the business, after being carried on in 
two or three houses in succession, settled, about the com- 
mencement of the century, in the house on the quay at 
Great Yarmouth, and on that site it has been carried on 
ever since. 

It was in this house that F. T. Palgrave was born, and 
as not only your father's childish days, but in many 
ways the whole course of his pursuits throughout life were 
influenced by his early upbringing, and by the inhabitants 
of that house and its surroundings, it will be well to describe 
these in some detail. 

The front rooms over the bank were warm and sunny, 
and looked to the west over the quay and river Yare, 
crossed at that point by a drawbridge, occasionally raised 
and lowered for the passage of shipping and fishing boats. 
The continual stream of life poured over the bridge, con- 
trasting with the unceasing movement of the tide beneath 
it. Beyond were shipbuilding and repairing yards, and the 


constant ' click ' of the caulkers' tools sounded all the day- 
long. The upper landing of this house ran perfectly level 
along two sides of the structure ; pictures covered the land- 
ing and the staircase walls. These pictures included a 
large musical party by Gaspar Grayer, a very harmonious 
picture ; another said to be by Titian — a man in a rich 
dress of the period holding a mirror to a lady ; and several 
pictures by John Crome— of these most were Norfolk 
scenes — on the rivers, boats, and barges — one was a quarry 
in Wales. It is now in the National Gallery. 

At the back of the house was a wing which looked 
south ; the upper room of this, which years before had been 
employed as the family ' laundry,' was exactly the rough 
sort of room — with huge ironing-boards on trestles, and 
general scantiness of furniture — for children to rejoice in. 
It formed a play-room for us children. The nurserj' proper 
was between this room and the landing-place — ' the passage- 
scene of races.' There were pictures in these rooms too, 
but of a different class. Portraits of the older members of 
the Turner family and their relations looked down on us 
from the walls. The oldest was an austere lady, Mrs. 
Elizabeth Godfrey, whose father. Major Thomas Wilde, 
had been killed in the great sea-fight off Lowestoft in 1665 
between the Dutch under Opdam and Van Tromp, and 
the English under the Duke of York. We did not treat 
all these surroundings with the respect we should have 
done, but the association with earlier days which they gave 
us, helped us to remember there was a past to be considered 
as well as a future. 

The feelings described in stanza III may well have been 
experienced among these surroundings. The day play- 
room contained the odds and ends accumulated by a large 
family, and odd reminiscences from many acquaintances, 
men of science of his period, such as Mr. Turner knew. 
There were spears from islands of the South, Australia and 
other regions, brought back by his friends, botanists and 


travellers in parts of the world but little known at that time ; 
there were dried gourds and many strange fragments, 
skins, teeth, and other wonders. Certainly the commence- 
ment of stanza IV refers to the ' garden ' behind the bank 
house, a very ' towny ' garden — an oblong space, perhaps 
forty yards long and fifteen wide, with flower beds at the 
sides, and a narrow gravel walk surrounding an oblong 
grass-plat, at the corners of which were four great shells of 
the Chavia gigas. These shells had been a gift to Mr. 
Turner, but I cannot trace from whom they came. My 
cousin, Sir Joseph Hooker, whom I asked, is not certain. 
On the grass-plat was a ' swing ' ; the whalebones from 
which it hung were reminiscences of the days when whale 
fishing was carried on from Yarmouth— the ' garden-boat ' 
rocked on a wooden platform laid on the gravel path. A 
rough sketch of all this by John Sell Cotman, who at one 
time gave a drawing lesson every Saturday morning to the 
Miss Turners in the bank drawing-room, is still in my pos- 
session. To return to the ' Recollections of Childhood ' — 
The house in Duke Street (now Delahay Street), West- 
minster, to which our father and mother moved in 1 828, may 
also be reflected in stanza ill. In stanza IV the ' mat-roof'd 
cabin ' is a reminiscence of Irstead, the home of our uncle 
and aunt, John Gunn, Rector of Irstead, and ' Aunt Harriet,' 
a younger sister of our mother, both striking in their 
different ways. He was a clever man, very well informed 
in the geology of his neighbourhood ; she sang charmingly : 
the early delight in Mozart and Beethoven was due to her 
inspiration. The rectory was near Irstead ' Broad,' which 
supplied the weapons for the ' bulrush fights ' of the next 
stanza, and the opportunity for much boating, both sailing 
and rowing. There, too, was a ' beech ' on which ' initials ' 
were cut. Some were also ' flourish'd ' on trees in the 
garden at Hampstead, to which house we moved in 1832. 
A ' lawn ' was there also, and ' Hellenic ' struggles as well, 
but Irstead is probably indicated at this point. There was 


a particular charm in the surroundings of that house for 
boys. It was at Hampstead that the ' palaces ' and ' forts ' 
were mainly constructed, and there also, in the otherwise 
unused coach-house, the ' mimic puppet-shows ' were exhi- 
bited. The materials were of the roughest ; the ' persons 
represented ' were outlined in chalk on wooden ' bricks.' The 
names were marked beneath. The representation of a hero 
or heroine was thus made easy. Our mother's admirable 
Shakespeare reading gave the impetus to these ' dramatic 
performances,' in which your father took a leading part. 

I must now revert again to Mr. Turner's house. The 
influence exercised on your father there continued through- 
out life. Mr. Turner had a very fine library, with a beautiful 
collection of prints. He was an original subscriber to 
Turner's ' Liber Studiorum,' which our mother always 
delighted in and copied with great skill. As most of her 
sisters had been, she was a pupil of Cotman, and the 
instruction she had received was a great assistance to us 
and to your father. There were many fine books of 
prints, of the Louvre Collection, the galleries at Florence 
and elsewhere ; also Hamilton's ' Etruscan Vases.' I remem- 
ber when at Naples with your father in 1885, the collection 
there was quite familiar to us, and, as he reminded me, 
through our grandfather's instruction. I have mentioned 
the pictures on the stairs and in the rooms we occupied as 
children. The collection of which they formed a part, though 
small, was made on the principle of giving, as far as possible, 
examples of the leading schools of the ' Old Masters.' It 
contained a good example of Titian, the ' Rape of Europa,' 
beautiful in colour and elegant in design. A Holy Family 
by Gian Bellini ; a sketch by Rubens of one of the designs 
on the ceiling of the Banqueting House at Whitehall ; 
a very elegant female head by Greuze ; a Cuyp with that 
breadth of atmosphere which that artist knew so well how 
to conve}' ; and a charming portrait of our mother and 
her next sister Mary, by T. Phillips, R.A., who had studied 


Lawrence with success at the beginning of the century. 
This ' wealth of art,' for so it truly was, had a great influ- 
ence on our upbringing, which was carried on by the careful 
teaching of our father and mother. She took great pains 
in teaching him to commit poetry to memory. He had by 
the time he was six years old, she narrates with pleasure, 
' learned by heart all the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," for his 
own pleasure, and he understands it well.' He commenced 
Caesar's Commentaries when he was seven, ' and the Greek 
grammar, which he considers as a great amusement.' 

Perhaps I can best set his progress before you by some 
quotations from his parents' letters, showing the pains they 
took with their children's education, and from your father's 
journals. He was in the habit of writing a journal from 
the time he was a child. The first of these that has been 
preserved, written on the back of a rough draft of his 
father's work, is before me now. The earliest letter I will 
quote was written to Mr. Turner when your father was 
nine years old. Their grandfather constantly took great 
pains in reading Latin and Greek with them whenever 

occasion permitted. 

'Dec. 31, 1833. 

' The children were much pleased with your notice of 

their Latin verses.' [These, no doubt, were nonsense 

verses.] ' Frank had taken as much pleasure in writing 

his, and, indeed, both did them in their playtime.' 

'April II, 1834. 

The children ' had three weeks' holiday, during which 
F. and G. learnt perfectly all the first book of the .^Eneid 
by heart, and wrote down all the Xenophon and Sallust 
they had translated.' 

The first journal is in the form of a letter to his mother. 
It describes one of many visits to Yarmouth. 

'July 1833. — When we left you yesterday, we walked 
along by the side of the river and went over London 


Bridge, where we saw the Monument, and the flames at the 
top did not look like flames, but like a prickly berry. . . . 
We reached Brentwood about nine, where the people had 
breakfast. . . . We went on then for a long way, and as 
we went we saw plenty of orchards filled with apple trees, 
whose boughs were bent down with the fruit. . . . We 
were all very glad when we reached Gorleston, and still 
more so when we came to grandpapa's house. When we 
got there down came grandmama. Aunt Hannah, Uncle 
Dawson, and last of all Monkey. He is a very comely 
dog with a manly aspect — not like Diver or Rover, who 
were effeminated — large for his age and long-leggen. . . . 
The afternoon after we came we went to the beach, and I 
made a prodigious mountain with a deep ditch and a high 
wall around it. ... I made four towers of sand, very 
strong, made of wet sand ; then I made walls between each 
tower ; the walls were about four inches thick at the 
foundation and gradually tapering towards the top, which 
was about an inch thick (all this was intended to make a 
lighthouse), then the inside was filled up with sand, and 
patted on the outside.' These will sufficiently show the 
early amusements at Yarmouth. 

The pains taken with their education were continued, 
as the following letters show : 

From Lady Palgrave to her Father 

Hampstead: Aug. i, 1834. 
. . . They are now reading Virgil and Sallust, and 
Xenophon's ' Cyropaedia.' ... I shall be glad to have a 
steady person to keep a due controul over very childish 

children I certainly never, not even from you^ my 

dear Papa, witnessed more pains taken to advance scholars 
than Mr. Carr . . . uses to urge Frank and Giffy on — 
pointing out to them all the niceties in Latin and Greek 
which a dictionary cannot explain. . . . They are indeed 


well taught — but, alas ! the idlenesses and follies of my 
own childhood are shown me as in a glass by Frank and 
Giffy; and I remember my trying ways to you, my dear 
Papa, . . . and vainly try to make the children avoid 
having the same cause for self-reproach, by urging them to 
greater application and zeal than their mother showed. 

To the same 

Hampstead : July 28, 1835. 

. . . The children have, to their great delight, just 
begun Homer ; and, in Latin, Mr. Knight has put them 
into Horace, but still Giffy's plants and Frank's models 
and inventions to find out perpetual movement (which I 
tell him is nearest attained by his own tongue) are their 
ruling passions at present. . . . 

The summer and early autumn of 1836 were spent with 
his brother Gifford at Begbrook, near Oxford, with their 
uncle and aunt Jacobson. Mr. Jacobson, then Vice- 
Principal of Magdalen Hall, Oxford (afterwards Bishop of 
Chester), had married Ellen, the youngest of our mother's 
sisters. The journal described their stay at Begbrook. 

* In the garden, which is nearly twice as large as ours, 
there is a stone font, very old, and an immense cypress tree 
shooting up to a great height. I brought home more than 
70 shells, they were all filled with smaller shells, as, in 
truth, all the stones here are filled with "jonches," as M. 
Lamartine would say . . . growing in the hedge were the 
Epilobium hirsutum, here called " codlins and cream " ; also 
meadow-sweet, smelling very sweet indeed. . . . There was 
also a large lilac-coloured flower, and a small veronica — 
blue with a yellow spot in the centre. Of these we col- 
lected a nosegay which, as Giffy writes, " would have done 
honour to a garden." . . . We walked to Kidlington ; . . . 
there were the remains of an old stone barn, consisting of 
a gable end and other small ruins, so very pretty I should 
like to have drawn it. . . . At our house there are two dogs. 


Rose and Don ; Rose is a rough terrier who goes foraging 
about for rats and such things, not having any regular 
allowance, as Don, a puppy, has at this house. We saw 
Yarnton Church ; it is very beautiful built of blocks of 
stone excellently cut. In the churchyard is a very beautiful 
old but ruined cross. In a small chapel attached to it, with 
wooden beams and a flat roof, the compartments of the 
beams were painted blue with gilt stars, very pretty.' . . . 

In the autumn of 1837 our father and mother made 
one of many journeys to Italy. The letters to their chil- 
dren during these absences were very useful in keeping up 
their interest in art and in cultivation generally. 

From Lady Palgrave to her Son 

Mantua: Sept. 13, 1837. 
My own dear Frank, — I think }'ou will quite like that 
this letter, which will, I hope, reach you on your birthday, 
should be begun from a place the name of which you know 
so well as that of Mantua. We arrived here yesterday, 
having left Venice with as much regret as we could feel 
in turning our faces to the west instead of the east. Soon 
I hope to turn them to the north also ; and then we shall 
indeed feel as if we were coming home. . . . Dear child, 
though separated from you and your brothers by so many 
miles, we have thought, and do think continually, of you 
all ; and especially we shall think of and pray for you 
to-morrow fortnight, when, as we hope, you will reach 
your thirteenth birthday. ... If I were to tell you the 
many times and places we have especially wished for 
you in, I should more than fill my letter ; but at Venice 
there were some occasions in which we thought you would 
all have been so pleased, that we did more especially long 
for you. One of these times was when we went in a 
gondola to the island of Torcello, which seems to have 
been the first of the twenty-two islands forming the 
Venetian group which was settled. Here there is a fine 



cathedral and a large church still left, and in good repair, 
though there are only twenty-six inhabitants in the island. 
We thought this statement of the population must be 
overrated, for we only saw one man, one woman, and one 
child, besides two large dogs which seemed inclined to 
dispute our landing. ... I have been trying to draw a 
little view of Mantua for you, but in vain, for Virgil has 
received us in his city with rain, the first almost we have 
had of any continuance. His house is pointed out among 
willows and poplars, a few miles from Mantua, but we had 
not enough belief that it ever was his to make us wish to 
visit it. ... I do not doubt you and your brothers look 
out our places on the map and follow us thus. . . . 
Darling, I am 'come to the messages.' Tell my dear 
Giffy, with my love, that I use his Psalter every travelling 
day, and think of him ; . . . and tell my Inglie that I 
much wish for more news of him and Reggie, from whom 
I have heard but once; and tell my Reggie I learn my 
verses every morning with him. I write my journal to you 
every night, and I have made several drawings : have you 
any to show me? . . . 

Your very affectionate Mother. 

From Sir F. Palgrave 

Namur : Aug. 13, 1837. 

My very dear Children, — Your dear mamma might have 
added that she is, thank God, very well, and has much en- 
joyed her journey, and we have often been reckoning upon 
the pleasure which you may have some day with us in 
traversing the same scenes. To-morrow we hope to reach 
the Roman aqueduct built by Drusus, or at least ascribed 
to him ; and the country abounds in Roman remains, and 
still more in recollections and traditions of those conquerors 
of the world. . . . 

Your affectionate Father, F. P. 

F. T. P. S JOURNAL 1 9 

From Lady Palgrave to her Father 

Hampstead : March 19, 1838. 
. . . On Saturday Frank [Sir F. Palgrave] accompanied 
Dr. Jennings to the Duke of Sussex's conversazione, where 
he saw a very great many people and several experiments, 
the account of which has delighted the children. The 
communication by a galvanic telegraph was one of the 
new discoveries exhibited, the station being a quarter of a 
mile off in the garden, and the message was conveyed with 
instantaneous rapidity. . . . The children's Greek Testa- 
ment with their father on Sunday evening is a great delight 
to them, and they afterwards stay to supper with us, at 
which the rise of their spirits after the quietness of the day's 
employments is very pleasing, while it continues, as it has 
hitherto been, tempered with some respect and reverence. 

In 1838 a journey to Wales with his father and brother 
Gifford gave great pleasure. He describes it in his journal : 

August 1838, Chester. — Arrived at the Cathedral, a 
building of the common red .stone of which so much' is 
here. In one of the transepts is a remaining portion of 
Saxon and Norman work, of which I have drawn some. 
The roof is of wood, but it was once intended to be of stone, 
as we could see the projections whence the vaulting would 
have sprung. Afterwards we saw the Chapter House, which 
is in the Lancet Gothic style, and part of the stone bars of 
the windows are double ; beautiful columns in front joined 
to plain stone very thick bars behind, with (in that early 
part) no tracery. Papa exceedingly admired this. . . . 

Conway. — We proceeded to the Castle, which is indeed 
glorious. . . . There are two great courts, by the first of 
which is the dining-hall, once cros.sed (a very rare circum- 
stance, if not almost unique) by eight large and most 
beautiful arches, four of which remain. ... I now proceed 
to give a grand plan of the edifice ! 

In 1838 the education at the Charterhouse began. 


Your father was placed in the fourth form, where he soon 
rose to the second place. He took the prize in that form 
at the Easter examination 1839, and was raised to the fifth 
form, the upper school. He and your Uncle Gifford accom- 
panied their father and mother to Italy in the autumn of 
that year, and I had best close this short notice of his 
early days by the following quotations from his journal : 

August 1839. — At last Beauvais burst on our view. It 
is a most striking town, as a great proportion of the houses 
are of wood ornamented with grotesque faces, carvings, &c. 
The Cathedral is most beautiful. The sculpture of the 
front is more delicate than I almost ever saw, and the 
inside is quite stupendous. On the outside the profusion 
of flying buttresses is quite wonderful, yet some parts of 
this were finished as late as the time of Francis I. . . . 

Paris, August 1839. — The front of Notre Dame is of 
an early date. I especially admired the open gallery con- 
necting the towers. . . . Leaving Macon, we coasted along 
by a beautiful range of hills ; Mont Blanc, on the left, 
became more and more faint every minute. Some of the 
other peaks of the Alps were of a dazzling whiteness, 
quite terrible to look upon. The vine-covered hills and 
white villages continued till we reached Villefranche, a 
village decorated with a fine flamboyant church. . . . 

Lyons, August 1839. — After dinner we walked out, 
passing by a very curious Romanesque portal of a church, 
about the date of Charlemagne, of a very Roman appear- 
ance. ... At last we came to the object we most desired 
to see — namely, the famous speech of Claudius, in which 
he grants freedom to several Gaulish cities, and Lyons, as 
the chief city, in particular. This Magna Charta of Gallia 
Antiqua is most beautifully engraved upon two tables of 
brass, about three feet square together. The words accord 
very nearly with the speech as recorded in Tacitus, which 
may be taken as a proof that the speeches found in that 
author, as well perhaps as those of later times in Livy and 


the other annalists, are not, as commonly supposed, mere 
compositions of the author, after some vague tradition of 
the original, but are literally and indeed the speaker's own 
words. . . . 

September iS;^g, Lucca. — The country we passed coming 
here was indeed fruitful, abounding in vines trained from 
tree to tree, which has a most beautiful effect. We passed 
several fields of millet, a very pretty crop with a dark- 
coloured head of grain. . . . We entered the Church of San 
Michele [Lucca]. The front of this building is most curious ; 
it consists of five ranges of small arches, with grotesque 
columns and capitals inlaid with black and white marble. 
The two uppermost ranges are merely a deception, as there 
is no roof behind them ; thus they form a sort of thin 
tower. The Church of Santa Maria was much in the same 
Early Lombard style, with monsters over the door. . . . 

September 1839, Modena. — At last we came to Modena, 
having pursued the Via Emilia, a perfectly straight road ; 
the country was perfectly flat, the fields divided by rows of 
trees covered with vines, apparently cultivated just as it 
was in the time of Virgil. . . . The Duomo here is the 
most remarkable building of the sort we have seen. . . . 
The outside retains its original Lombard character. . . . 
The carving around the entrance consisted chiefly of foliage 
intermixed with demons and monsters, . . . On the way 
between Parma and Piacenza we passed the little town of 
Borgo San Donnino, and just stopped to look at the very 
early Duomo. In the wall of the E. end is the stone with 
the famous incomprehensible inscription, with the sun 
carved on the stone above. . . . The Casa del Commune 
at Piacenza is of moulded brick in Italian Gothic, and very 
fine, although the mouldings of the windows are flat. . . . 
Every one who visits the Cathedral of Milan must be 
struck on entering it by four things : its great height and 
size ; its perfectness ; the beautiful colour of the marble ; 
and the absence of any clerestory gallery. ... I think that 


although it is pre-eminent in beauty of plan and execution, 
and richer than the Duomo of Florence in decoration, yet 
it has none of the grandeur and solitary appearance of the 
latter. . . . 

* Since our return,' my mother writes, in a journal she 
kept of your father's early days, ' Frank's taste for drawing 
has been quickened, and he is engaged at every spare 
minute in executing frescoes on the walls both in and out- 
side the house.' These rough paintings — on any bit of 
plaster or whitewash that could be found or put up — soon 
faded and disappeared, but the interest in art and poetry 
thus fostered remained with your father through life. I 
hope that what I have said may be a pleasure to you to 
read as showing the affectionate early influences which 
fostered his naturally fine abilities. 

Your affectionate Uncle, 

R. H. Inglis Palgrave. 

In the autumn of 1843 F'"a-nk accompanied his 
father to Rome by way of Antwerp, the Rhine, and 
Switzerland. In two letters, one to Miss Gurney 
and one to his brother Gifford, one clearly notes 
the boyish delight and interest evinced in his former 
journey, developing into the keenest enthusiasm for 
what he sees. Writing to Miss Gurney he says : 

The most interesting thing which we saw at Florence 
was the real Casa Alighieri, in which Dante was born and 
lived till he was so shamefully exiled. . . . There are several 
other relics of that greatest Florentine about the city ; 
beside the baptistery which he so much admired, is a 
stone which marks the place where he is said to have so 
often sat and looked at the rising walls of the beautiful 
Cathedral, and the Campanile designed by his friend 
Giotto. . . . The greatest curiosity is one recently dis- 
covered in the chapel of the Bargello. Giotto painted a 


portrait of Dante, yet young ; this has been uncovered 
from the whitewash, and the portrait of the Altissimo Poeta 
is nearly uninjured ; he is represented with a grave serious 
look, I have the engraving of this now before me, which 
I hope to place in my rooms in Balliol as their greatest 
ornament. . . . The ' Madonna della Seggiola ' is inexpres- 
sibly delicate and beautiful, far beyond any engraving I 
have ever seen of it. . . . 

The followfinof extract is taken from a letter 
addressed to his brother : 

. . . Late at night we entered Siena. Most of the 
houses here are apparently as old as the time of the 
Republic. We saw the two famous pictures by Duccio di 
Buoninsegna painted in 121 1 ; one a noble picture of the 
B.V.M. and Child, most beautiful and tender in expres- 
sion, and then consider its date ! ... In the evening we 
ascended the desolate Apennines to the lofty rock of 
Radicofani. We slept very comfortably in the huge, 
mysterious inn, which was an old hunting seat of the 
Medici. Next day the sun was just marking the line of 
mountainous horizon by a golden streak of light, and the 
stars seemed hung out with a clearness I have never seen, 
although only Orion was visible where I was, and below 
him Sirius was blazing with a tremulous light as large as a 
planet. They gradually faded ; and as we began to de- 
scend the mountain, the glorious sun gradually rose, and 
we saw his light on the highest part of the castle, then on 
the town of Radicofani, before it burst on us ; while long 
ranges of blue hills and undulating valleys extended for 
miles in front. ... As for Bolsena, papa and I never 
thought there was such a place ; scarcely a house in the 
upper town seems altered, or the people either, for six or 
seven hundred years. The narrow steep streets are edged 
with low stone houses with curiously shaped circular 
windows, often with stone steps outside, and the women 


Spinning. . . . Few things struck us so much as the 
Raphael Stanze [at Rome] ; their excessive beauty and 
grace is so mingled with the highest dignity, and yet the 
most perfect truth. . . . All yield in beauty to that of the 
' Deliverance of St. Peter from Prison,' in which the effect 
of the lights, the effulgence of the angel, the glare of the 
soldiers' torches, and the cold quiet moonlight is wonder- 
ful ; while the figure of the angel is as celestial as is pos- 
sible to imagine. ... In 'The School of Athens ' are figures 
combining the greatest dignity and grace ; . . . I especi- 
ally admired the deep love and reverence expressed by 
Alexander to Socrates. ... In the ' Theology,' we found 
the finest of all the frescoes in the Stanze. Nothing can 
express the celestial beauty of many of the figures in this 
glorious picture. . . . The reverence of the Blessed Virgin 
seemed mingled with the deepest love, and was like all the 
feeling with which Dante describes her : ' Vergine Madre, 
Figlia del tuo Figlic' . . . 

Some months before he took up his residence at 
Oxford, and while still at Charterhouse, he obtained 
in 1843 his Balliol scholarship. University life was 
in all respects congenial to him ; even at Charter- 
house he had been a student rather than a schoolboy, 
and now, as an undergraduate, he was able almost 
entirely to devote his spare time to the study of 
literature and art. His was by no means, however, 
the life of a recluse, but, as one who knew him well 
has said, he had the gift of attracting many friends 
around him, and was keenly alive to their sympathy, 
loving above all things to feel that those he best 
cared for were sharing his admiration for what he 
himself appreciated most, in poetry, pictures, or 
people. Thus it was that at this time among his 
group of Oxford friends began his singular power of 


guiding and encouraging the taste of those around 
him in the direction of purest art. Through Hfe, 
public opinion meant nothing to him ; his judgment 
was absolutely independent, and unbiassed by the 
vox populi ; in everything, the best and the best only 
was his standard. As one ^ well qualified to speak 
has said : 

It may be questioned whether, after Arnold, any other 
critic of our time contributed so much to educate public 
taste where in this country it most needs such education. . . . 
He had no taint of vulgarity, of charlatanism, of insincerity. 
He never talked or wrote the cant of the cliques or of the 
multitude. He understood and loved what was excellent, 
he had no toleration for what was common and second- 
rate ; he was not of the crowd. ... In the best and most 
comprehensive sense of the term he was a man of classical 
temper, taste and culture, and had all the insight and 
discernment, all the instincts and sympathies which are 
the result of such qualifications. 

His rooms in college were characteristically 
filled with his mother's copies of Turner's ' Liber 
Studiorum,' of Michael Angelo's figures in the 
Sistine Chapel, and of Correggio's frescoes at Parma ; 
while at this time he bought what he afterwards con- 
sidered one of his choicest treasures — a beautiful 
little mezzotint from another of Correggio's frescoes, 
representing the Madonna and Child. Other en- 
gravings of this his favourite subject covered his 
walls, and earned for him amongst his undergraduate 
friends the nickname of ' Madonna Palgrave.' These 
friends included Alexander Grant, John W. Ogle, 
Robert Morier, Archibald Peel (whom he always 

^ Professor Churton Collins. 


associated at that time with the memory of many 
dehghtful rides), W. Y. Sellar, W. Warburton, 
Matthew Arnold, and Coleridge Patteson. -Another 
friend, Edmund Bastard, who died while still a young 
man, was specially dear to him. His tutor. Pro- 
fessor Jowett, he always held in high regard, and 
though for different reasons his early admiration 
for him lessened, still the friendship was never 
severed, and from 1886 until the Master's death, 
a visit to Balliol was an almost yearly occurrence. 
Jowett entrusted him, when a young man, with 
the choice of many of the engravings which hung 
in his house at Balliol : to collect thus for other 
people, and to make gifts of some of his favourite 
works of art was one of his greatly enjoyed plea- 
sures, and one in which he frequently indulged. 

The strange but beautiful designs of the then 
little-known William Blake had early begun to 
fascinate him. Years afterwards he and the late 
Lord Houghton together attended Mr. Butts' sale 
of Blake's works, and each encouraged the other to 
become the possessor of many of his original draw- 
ings and engravings. It has often been said to us : 
'Your father was one of the first who "preached" 
Blake.' Even somewhat higher still did he rank 
him as poet, perceiving the same qualities in his 
verse as in his art : the ' simple yet often majestic 
imagination, spiritual insight, profound feeling for 
grace and colour. ... His verse is narrow in its 
range, and at times eccentric to the neighbourhood of 
madness. But whatever he writes, his eye is always 
straight upon his subject.' My father would com- 

blake's 'book of job 27 

pare his soul with that of Fra Angelico, each Hving 
in the all-pervading presence of the spiritual life. 
' To men of this class,' he has said, ' the Invisible 
world is the Visible, the Supernatural was the Real.' ' 
The following letter was written in February 1845 : 

To Lady Palgrave. 

My dearest Mother,—. . . Yesterday evening Mr. Jowett 
asked me to have tea with him, after he had looked at some 
Greek of mine ; he was very kind and pleasant, and I hope 
that I shall see him oftener, now that Mr. Lake is away. 
He showed me a book which I dare say papa knows — 
W. Blake's ' Illustrations of the Book of Job.' They are a 
number of little etchings, drawn and etched by Blake ; 
and certainly they show immense power and originality. 
Though often quite out of drawing and grotesque, they 
are most interesting — far more than Flaxman, for instance. 
Schiavonetti's etchings in the ' Grave,' though far more 
correct, give but a faint idea of the force and vigour of 
these. If you can possibly borrow them, I am sure you 
will be exceedingly interested by them — I have seen 
nothing so extraordinary for a long time. Some, as of 
Job in misery, and of the Morning Stars singing for joy, 
are beautiful ; some, as of a man tormented by dreams 
and the Vision of the Night, are most awful ; and what 
adds much to the pleasure of seeing them, is that every 
stroke seems to do its utmost in expression, and to show 
that one mind both planned and executed them. Brothers, 
I am sure, would be much pleased with them ; at least, if 
they agree with their affectionate brother and your v. a. 
and V. d. son, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

' Notes to the Sacred Treasury. 


The following extracts from letters to his mother, 
written during 1 843 to 1 846, give an idea of the life 
at Oxford. 

To Lady Palgrave 

My dearest Mother, — . . . I have been reading Cole- 
ridge's ' Table Talk ' ; most interesting the book is, more 
than any I have read for a long time. But the impression 
reading his opinions leaves on me is just this : to agree 
and be pleased with him when he agrees with you ; where 
he does not, to set it down as no authority at all. So that 
at the end one is little wiser, I fear, than before. For some 
of his opinions I cannot agree with ; as his depreciation of 
Virgil, and his evident dispetto at Dante and Tasso : and 
these, again, make one slow to receive his opinions, when 
they agree with one's own, as really authoritative. . . . You 
always require a double return of thanks from me, for two 
letters in answer to my one, whence I argue that you 
have twice as much to do as I have. There is, however, 
no news here. I went yesterday to Littlemore, and attended 
service there ; I looked at the painted glass, and I was 
much struck with its utter inutility for all but antiquaries ; 
and with its great rudeness, not to say ugliness in detail, 
although the general mosaic effect was rich and beautiful. 
But is this the first aim of painted glass ? The distinction 
between pleasant and agreeable I meant to be this : that 
the one coincides necessarily with one's own mind, and 
the other need not. To look at the ' Ariadne ' of Titian is 
pleasant, at the ' Francia ' close by it, agreeable. Yet if I 
were to choose, I should be much inclined, with Aunt Mary, 
to prefer the Titian. Now do you understand ? I ought 
to add that most agreeable things are also pleasant, as in 
this instance. . . . To-day I have called, with Giffy, on Mr. 
Manuel Johnson, who was, as ever, most kind and pleasant. 
He has bought some more engravings, more exquisite than 


anything that I have yet seen ; especially a proof of R. 
Morghen's ' Guide's Aurora ' ; as different from the general 
impressions as the original from a copy : so light and airy 
and fresco-like, that it was wonderful to see. Then he has 
bought a proof of Desnoyer's ' Belle Jardiniere,' most lovely 
and forcible ; an old and very fine engraving of A. Caracci's 
' Pieta,' and many other lesser ones. On Mrs. Coleridge's 
recommendation, I read some of the ' Sonnets to Liberty,' 
and could not agree in her praises ; did you ? They seem 
like Alison distilled in a weak way. I did not see much 
resemblance to Milton except in one — in another set, I think 
— which begins with ' A book was writ of late, called Peter 
Bell.' A close similarity was observable in this. Pray 
give my love to all, and thank papa for his letter — I should 
no more (please tell him) think of coming without books 
than of leaving my skin behind here in a drawer. 

I am your very affectionate and respectful son, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To the same 

... In great haste I write to wish you many happy 
returns of to-morrow, whose anniversary I had nearly 
forgotten. As for what you say of Coleridge, or rather of 
one's feeling as to the support or opposition of any person 
to one's own opinions, I fear it is often true, in a certain 
extent. But I think in Coleridge far more than usual ; 
both because his life contradicted (in a measure) his 
opinions, and his opinions (I think) often contradict them- 
selves. Thus I should, I hope, acquiesce in, or at least 
reverence, an opinion of Johnson (to take him as an 
instance) (although Coleridge and Wordsworth, like men of 
true greatness of mind, take pleasure in decrying him) ; or 
in one of Southey, or of Mr. Newman ; or, to go up higher 
in age and higher in authority, of Dante, of Cicero, of 
Aristotle. Yet I doubt not Giffy will like the book much, 
as I am sure I did. I go on the water now a good deal in the 


evening, and I can pull seven miles without feeling more 
than very slightly tired after it. I wish papa would repeal 
his wish about skiffing, which really is quite safe enough ; 
and what is continually practised by a thousand men 
cannot be so very dangerous. We had luncheon with 
uncle ' and aunt to-day, who were both, as usual, very kind 
and agreeable. We saw the baby too, who has a well- 
shaped head and a very good and amiable temper. ... I 
have not been to many wines, but last Saturday I gave one, 
and to-morrow I give another. I asked about thirty-five 
men, of whom twenty-five are disengaged. I am, with 
many wishes for the very happy return of your birthday, 

Your V. r. and afif. son, 


To the same 

. . . Sellar is now here and talking to Gifify, but I think 
that I can manage to write to you. I am much pleased to 
hear of the much that E. Coleridge thinks of Bastard ; did 
not what you saw of him confirm it ? I have often seen 
him since this term began. This morning I went first to 
St. Mary's : the preacher thought it his duty to protest 
very greatly against what he fancied the errors of the 
day, in a commonplace railing manner, and when I got 
out I was surprised to find that it was Dr. Hampden. His 
sermon was evidently meant for a counterblast to Dr. 
Pusey's, which I cannot but think very indecent. I really 
do not know what will become of Dr. Pusey with so many 

sorrows falling on him ; for I have no doubt that the ' ' 

has been, with its usual charity, spitting out its venom 
against him, and talking about vital religion all the time. 
I hope you will not be angry with me for writing this. . . . 
In the afternoon I attended the parochial service. The 
church was very full : Mr. Newman preached — and very 

^ Bishop Jacobson. 


beautifully — on the Kingdom of our Saviour in the world. 
. , . Temple is very much satisfied with some work that I 
have done for him, in answering the questions set in the 
Schools on Aristotle this year. I like him continually more 
and more, thinking it well worth while to have come here 
merely to know him better. . . . 

In 1847 h^ took his degree v^^ith a first in Classics, 
and was elected Fellow of Exeter College, where he 
took up his residence for a year, and now saw much 
of Max Mliller and G. D. Boyle, two contemporaries, 
whose lifelong friendship was a source of constant 
happiness. A. H. Clough has already been men- 
tioned, and few perhaps have appreciated more the 
beauty of his character than F. T. Palgrave, who 
wrote of him : 

Here was a man who loved truth and justice, not 
coldly and afar off, as most, but with passion and intensely ; 
. . . who walked the world's way as matter of duty, living 
a life, meanwhile, hidden with higher and holier things. . . . 
Plainer living and higher thinking were the texts on which 
he gave us many a humorous and admirable lesson. . . . 
His influence was always towards whatever should incline 
others to a liberal view of the questions of the day, of the 
claims of the feeble, and the feelings of the poor. 

It is impossible for any one who knew Frank 
Palgrave to read these words without tracing a 
reflection of them in his own character, or observing 
that this gifted friend must have considerably in- 
fluenced him. For he too ' loved truth, not coldly, 
but with passion ' ; while the * claims of the feeble, 
and the feelings of the poor,' were ever before his 
mind. As a poet, he assigned to Arthur Clough a 


high place, as having inherited a double portion of 
the spirit of Wordsworth, shown in his ' fresh, healthy 
manliness'; his 'love of earth, not "only for its 
earthly sake," but for the divine and the eternal 
interfused in it. , . . These noble qualities are rare 
in any literature ; they have a charm so great that, 
like Beauty before the Areopagus, they almost 
disarm the judgment.' This warm and loyal com- 
mendation of his friends is typical of Frank Pal- 
grave : the many whom he loved or admired he 
praised unstintingly, and equally he was never afraid 
to denounce meanness, selfishness, or lack of truth 
in any form. His unswerving courage of opinion, 
often expressed with great fervour and vehemence, 
led some to fear his righteous indignation, and 
others to consider him harsh and hypercritical. 
No doubt he was prejudiced on questions of politics 
and certain theological points — for instance, Oliver 
Cromwell and the Reformation — or rather the evils 
arising from it — were two special antipathies ; but, 
as a rule, his extreme fairmindedness and the justice 
of his criticism were apparent even to those who 
differed from him, while his firm convictions were 
the outcome of a deep and discriminating study of 
the subject in question. He was entirely without 
superficiality, and thoroughly entered into whatever 
new branch of learning he might take up for his 
own pleasure, and, unless he had really mastered it, 
was slow to give his views, always saying, when 
questioned, with habitual frankness, ' I am afraid I 
can tell you nothing, for I have never sufficiently 
studied the subject.' 


His Oxford journals — for the most part confined 
to mere facts of lectures attended, work accom- 
plished, and friends seen — show also a lively interest 
in English and foreign political affairs ; the re- 
awakening of the Republic in France in 1848, the 
flight of Louis Philippe, Guizot's resignation, and 
Mole's attempt to form a Ministry, are all dwelt on, 
and entries of a similar nature mark his stay in 
Paris in April of the same year, when he was accom- 
panying Dean Stanley, Professor Jowett, and Sir 
Robert Morier on a short tour in France. An 
account of this expedition to Paris has been given, 
with some extracts from F. T. Palgrave's diary, in 
the ' Life of Professor Jowett,' and a still fuller 
description has appeared in the ' Life of Dean 
Stanley.' Lamartine, ' tall and noble, and Louis 
Blanc, next in interest of expression,' struck him 
greatly, while the distribution of colours to the troops 
of the Republic was the most impressive sight of 
all. He concludes his account with the words : ' Stay 
at Paris most pleasant, from its intense interest and 
from the hearty friendship of S., J., and M.' 

The friendship of Sir Francis Palgrave with Mr. 
Gladstone led to his son Frank's appointment as his 
assistant private secretary during the year 1846, 
together with Sir Stafford Northcote.^ The year 
of this secretaryship was taken out from his Oxford 
career before returning there to take his degree. 
It was at the time of the triumph of Free Trade, 
when Mr. Gladstone was Colonial Secretary. This 
period was one of much work and experience, and it 

' Afterwards Earl of Iddesleigh. 



must have been also one of extreme interest and 
enjoyment, for he mentions with the greatest en- 
thusiasm, in his journal, personal intercourse with 
his chief, pleasant dinners at his house, and above 
all, readings of Virgil and Tacitus with his ' most 
kind, considerate, and noble master.' ^ 

For the following recollections, chiefly of my 
father's youth, I am indebted to the great kindness 
of his friend, G. D. Boyle, Dean of Salisbury : 

In the year 1843 I first knew Francis Palgrave. He 
and his three brothers came daily from their home at 
Hampstead to Charter House School. I had not been 
long there, before I heard from my friend Elwyn - of the 
wonderful abilities of the two eldest Palgraves, and their 
love for poetry and many books. A library had lately 
been formed for the boarders of the Head Master's house, 
and the two elder Palgraves had put upon its shelves as 
their gift Keble's ' Christian Year ' and J. H. Newman's 
' Church of the Fathers.' One evening early in my school 
life, the four brothers spent some time with us, and shared 
our evening tea, or supper as it was called, and I remember 
as if it were yesterday, the ardent zeal with which the two 
brothers Francis and W. G. Palgrave read some of their 
favourite bits of Wordsworth and Coleridge, and told us 
how their mother read to them long passages of Spenser's 
' Fairy Queen,' when their evening work was over. Never 
can I read ' Ruth,' ' The Wishing Gate,' and ' Christabel ' 

1 In writing to him on his success in Liiej-ce Hiananiores, Mr. 
Gladstone remarked that it had given him the ' Hvehest satisfaction,' 
particularly on account of the interruption which he had been the 
means of causing to Palgrave's studies. He also said : 'As matters 
stand, it can only add to your honour that you have overcome the 
disadvantage it must have caused you. I should have felt a par- 
ticular responsibility if you had not been able to do so.' 

* Late Master of the Charterhouse in London. 


without thinking of the enthusiastic admiration of the 
future editor of the ' Golden Treasury,' and the distinguished 
traveller, for these well-known poems. There was great 
joy in our school, and the usual half-holiday, when F. T. 
Palgrave was elected Scholar of Balliol, and his brother 
soon after became Scholar of Trinity, Oxford. An admir- 
able translation of part of Pope's Elegy upon an ' Unfor- 
tunate Lady ' was handed about in Oxford, as well as at 
Charter House (the work of W. G. Palgrave), and the late 
Dean of Durham used to speak of the elder brother's work 
at Balliol as most brilliant. I suppose few schoolboys 
have ever shown, early in life, so much real love for litera- 
ture as the Palgrave brothers. I owed to the third, who 
is still alive, my first acquaintance with Sara Coleridge's 
' Phantasmion ' ; and Sir Reginald Palgrave, whose his- 
torical tastes are well known, told me with glee, that his 
father's ' Merchant and Friar ' was about to be reprinted in 
a cheap form. The power of interesting his friends in all 
that he admired, F. T, Palgrave possessed very strongly. 

I do not wish to intrude myself in this attempt to 
describe what he was at this time of his life, but I must 
now turn to the time when I first went to Oxford, and 
found him, after he had ceased to be Mr, Gladstone's 
private secretary, still a scholar of Balliol, reading hard 
for honours. He was good enough to ask me to breakfast, 
and I found that his friends, J. Riddell, E. Palmer, H. J. 
Smith, and Alexander Grant, appreciated his love of poetry 
and literature most fully. His book-shelves were crowded 
with various occupants. George Sand's ' Consuelo,' a 
Dante which his grandfather had just given him, Prichard's 
' Researches,' Bopp's Grammar, and a translation of Kant, 
were not often seen on undergraduates' shelves. Though 
busy for the Schools, he found time to read F. D. Maurice's 
' Religions of the World,' and by his advice the book was 
read by more than one of the breakfast party. But his 
lifelong admiration for Tennyson was then in full vigour. 

D 2 


Passages from the two volumes were read out to us, with 
that murmur of admiration his friends knew so well, and 
we were all cheered with the news that a new poem might 
be expected at Christmas. Very soon after this (to me) 
memorable breakfast, he was elected, as an undergraduate, 
Fellow of Exeter, and in my second term at Oxford he 
was placed in the first class. He was resident at Exeter 
College where I was, and during that time my intimacy with 
him grew greater. The two men of whom he saw most in 
Oxford during his year of grace were J. A. Froude and 
A. H. Clough. I do not think that in later years, when 
he had parted company in many ways with Froude, he 
would readily have admitted the influence which Froude 
undoubtedly had over him, and the direction he gave to 
his reading. Jowett he looked upon at that time in a light 
in which he did not latterly regard him. But his loyalty 
and allegiance to his constant friend, whose Vice-Principal 
he afterwards became at Kneller Hall, Archbishop Temple, 
was always unshaken and enduring. 

Palgrave's love for Scott, Wordsworth, and Tennyson 
continued to grow ; and all who knew him at this time 
will remember the delight he showed in Ruskin's revelation 
of the greatness of Turner, and his intense interest in 
music. No one enjoyed the pleasant evenings at Sir Henry 
Acland's, where good music was well performed, more than 
he did ; and one or two members of a circle of friends still 
remaining will frankly acknowledge how much they owe 
to the inspiring power with which he would recite some of 
his friend Clough's verses, or read some passage from 
Emerson, a great favourite in those days, though not so 
prized in maturer years. I think many of his Oxford 
friends, though very sorry to miss him, felt that it was good 
for him to be taken from the general pursuit of literature 
to the serious work of the training school. But those who 
felt that their own sympathies were enlarged and their best, 
tastes elevated, missed him sorely when he left Oxford 


and only visited it occasionally. One feature of his life at 
Oxford ought certainly to be remembered, the hold which 
he never lost on theology and history, and which became 
so evident in his later years. I have often discussed with 
him the positions of Newman, Arnold, Maurice, and 
Jowett ; and remember well how he used to put his finger 
with real discrimination on certain weak places, not always, 
as I thought, sufficiently mindful of the particular view 
advanced. For Newman and R. W. Church he had always 
the warmest admiration, and for A. P. Stanley, though 
differing from him in many ways, he had the truest 

When I entered on active clerical life I only saw him 
occasionally in London, but whenever we met he had 
always something interesting to tell, and dwelt, as his 
friends knew, upon the merits or demerits of prominent 
politicians or authors. It was certainly a delight to him 
to know that a taste for Wordsworth's poetry had been 
revived by his judicious selections in the 'Golden Treasury.' 
I think nearly every piece contained in the early editions 
was talked over by him at his house in London or at the 
Athenaeum, and he delighted to tell me how careful he 
had been to secure the verdict of Tennyson in his work. 

When one meets a friend occasionally after a time of 
great intimacy, it is always interesting to note changes of 
opinion on important questions. Palgrave grew gradually 
to dislike many of the projects of his more Liberal friends 
at Oxford, and he also took a different view of Carlyle's 
literary and historical judgments, and would often express 
himself with great vehemence. I remember, however, that 
in his earlier days he took a strong side in the controversy 
about Cromwell's character, and used to speak of the 
advantage he had enjoyed from the sober historical 
methods of his father. Sir Francis Palgrave, and the his- 
torian Hallam. It was a great delight to him to find that 
Bishop Stubbs highly approved of the line he took, in his 


notes in the ' Visions of England.' In later years his 
admiration for Bishop Lightfoot and his writings was un- 
bounded, and I shall not forget the delight with which he 
told me that his son was to join the band of young men 
who read under the Bishop's direction at Auckland Castle. 
I pass over many pleasant meetings in London at his own 
house, when the merits of Matthew Arnold's poetry, and 
his first volume of ' Essays in '"riticism,' the place of 
Clough in poetry, and the revival of interest in Words- 
worth's poetry and Coleridge's philosophy, in two fresh and 
suggestive essays by his old Balliol friend, J. C. Shairp, 
were the theme of many talks, prolonged sometimes to 
late hours, and always ending in rapturous readings from 
* Maud ' and ' In Memoriam,' and enlivened by personal 
recollections of the last visit to the Isle of Wight, and the 
last conversations held with the great poet. Tennyson 
has had many admirers and many interpreters, but Pal- 
grave was certainly one of the very first to recognise the 
distinctive quality and nobility of the poetry which has 
made so deep a mark on English thought and taste. 
When an essay on Tennyson's poetry by G. Brimley first 
appeared in a volume of ' Cambridge Essays,' many thought 
the eulogy overstrained, but Palgrave stoutly maintained 
that the place of Tennyson would in the next generation 
be very near Wordsworth's. As years went on it was 
delightful to find in him the same freshness and purity of 
taste. The result of his Oxford lectures in ' Landscape in 
Poetry ' is a standing evidence of the dignity he claimed 
for Alfred Tennyson. 

After Palgrave's election to the chair of Poetry at 
Oxford, his visits to me at Salisbury were almost annual, 
and it was an intense pleasure to talk over the days of 
Oxford life, when Max Muller charmed us with his delight- 
ful playing of Mendelssohn's masterpieces, and the last 
sermon of Stanley, Jowett, or Pusey was discussed. In all 
plans for the educational advancement in the diocese of 


Salisbury, Palgrave, as a resident at Lyme and a member 
of the Synod, took a hearty and generous interest. No 
Hterary work he engaged in interested him more than the 
choice selection of 'Sacred Poems' he edited for the Oxford 
Press. Sensational literature he had a horror of, and his 
feeling for Scott as a poet and novelist seemed to me to 
grow greater every time we met. The careful revision of 
the ' Golden Treasury,' and the inclusion of one or two 
poems unduly neglected, was a marked feature of later 
years. On all great subjects his thoughts seemed to me 
to have deepened and strengthened, and although I was 
sometimes at variance with him as to the positions taken 
by some of our old friends, nothing ever occurred to mar 
the familiarity of our intercourse. It is not easy to set 
down in plain terms any proper expression of the debt one 
owes to a friend with whom one has travelled along passes 
known only to the few, and with whom one has held true 
communion of thought, but I can freely assert that I am 
only one of many who will long look back with real grati- 
tude to the high elevation in poetry, art, and music to 
which Francis Palgrave delighted to point as the goal for 
all rightly directed human effort. 



I 849-1862 

March 31, 1849, formed an epoch in F. T. Pal- 
grave's life, for it was the day on which he first met 
Alfred Tennyson, at the house of Mr. W. H. 
Brookfield in Portman Street. So much has been 
said and written concerning this intercourse and 
friendship of forty-three years, that it is not neces- 
sary to touch more than slightly on the impression 
Alfred Tennyson made on him. It was indeed a 
strong and mutual friendship, but more than this — 
with F. T. Palgrave it was a hero-worship most 
utterly loyal and true, one of the chiefest influences 
of his life. To attempt to describe all that Alfred 
Tennyson was to him would be especially super- 
fluous now, for it is so lately that we have had given 
to us, in the ' Life of Tennyson,' my father's own 
recollections and impressions of this beloved and 
honoured friend. He wrote: 'Tennyson's affec- 
tionate friendship has been one of the mainstays of 
my life ' ; and those who have heard him speak of 
the poet, cannot fail to remember that he never 
mentioned him but with the profoundest reverence 
and gratitude. The first meeting is briefly de- 
scribed in his journal : 


March 31, 1849. — In the evening to Mr. Brookfield's. 
Found there Lingen, A. Tennyson ; afterwards Thackeray 
and H. Hallam came. Walked towards Hampstead with 
A. Tennyson. Conversed on Universities, the ' Princess,' 
his plans, &c. ; he very open and friendly : a noble, solid 
mind, bearing the look of one who had suffered greatly : — 
strength and sensitiveness blended. 

April 2, 1849. — In the afternoon to A. Tennyson's in 
the Hampstead Road. Long conversation with him ; he 
read me songs to be inserted in the ' Princess,' and poems 
on A. Hallam, some exquisite. 

He often makes mention too, at this time, of 
meetings with Mr. Carlyle, whom he describes as 
' rough and genial : a man of great sympathies, 
hence Weltschmerz' Despite this, Carlyle's opinions, 
historical and otherwise, were wholly antagonistic 
and distasteful to him ; and they saw but little of 
one another in after years. Thackeray he often 
saw during 1849, and allusion is always made to his 
geniality and friendliness. His pleasure and interest 
in meeting Macready is also recorded. Palgrave 
and Arthur Clough would sometimes go to the play 
or the opera together ; for music was at all times a 
delight to him. In 1848 he heard the ' Sonnambula ' 
for the first time : 

Went to the Opera. Heard the ' Sonnambula ' : Jenny 
Lind's first appearance — unspeakably perfect in singing 
and acting ; above all her ' Ah non giunge.' She was 
received most enthusiastically. Saw the Queen and the 
old Duke. 

And again later in the same year he writes : 

■A'^i- 5- — With Arthur Stanley to ' I Puritani ' (he to 


hear Jenny Lind for the first time in an opera — and the 
last). Admired her acting more than ever — the simplicity 
of a great soul, who never acts^ but shows her thoughts, in 
action : — the singing perfection, as before. A. P. S. rather 
shocked at the intense reality of the madness — delighted 
with the joyous, irresistibly winning, cheerful parts. The 
last time, alas ! that I shall hear in an opera the great 
Jenny Lind — now about to retire. . . . Heard Grisi in 
' Norma ' : very noble ; then Alboni's most beautiful ' Non 
piu mesta ' ; last and best, the last act of ' La Favorita ' — 
with cathedral scenery and music — and Grisi's and Mario's 
' Angiol d'amore,' most impassioned and beautiful acting and 
singing. Grisi's acting in ' La Favorita ' equal to J. Lind. 
. . . Walked with Mr. Gladstone and talked of A. P. S. 

'Ah non giunge' remained one of his favourite 
airs, and thouo-h his taste in music, as in the other 
fine arts, was pre-eminently classical — Mozart, Beet- 
hoven, and Weber being foremost with him — Italian 
opera had a peculiar entrancing attraction for him, 
and he loved the melody of Bellini and Verdi. 
With a remarkable knowledge and love of music, 
it was curious that he could not play a note on the 
piano, and did not usually distinguish whether others 
were playing correctly or the reverse. He was 
fond of playing the violin, and was, fortunately for his 
own pleasure, quite unconscious of the often discor- 
dant notes which he produced ; the beauty of the air 
he might be hearing or playing completely carrying 
him away. 

The choice of what should be his permanent work 
was now much occupying him and his father. For 
some time his own inclination leaned strongly to- 
wards the study of architecture as a profession, for 
he inherited this moher's unusually great love and 


knowledge of the subject ; and his own architectural 
sketches, though without Lady Palgrave's extreme 
ability and beauty of drawing, were distinguished 
by accuracy of detail and much delicacy of touch. 
Although this project was abandoned, he never 
ceased to enjoy making designs for imaginary build- 
ings, and not many years after, he had the pleasure 
of designing a school-house for a friend in Ireland ; 
in this little work he is said to have shown much 
originality and pure architectural feeling. Later in 
life he was often asked by personal friends to design 
churchyard crosses and gravestones. Perhaps of 
all these, the most graceful and chaste in design is 
the churchyard cross he erected to his wife's memory 
at Lyme Regis. The mere fact of being in a beauti- 
ful building always gave him a sensible feeling of 
happiness, and I remember his saying once on 
entering Milan Cathedral, ' Does not the almost too 
exquisite beauty seem to add another day to your 
life ? ' A ruin, on the other hand, was inexpressibly 
melancholy to him ; a dismantled abbey — the broken 
shaft of an arch — produced the same pathetic im- 
pression as the faded remains of Leonardo's ' Cenacolo. ' 
Besides this more or less aesthetic point of view, a 
feeling ever pervaded him of the deepest regret that 
such buildings would never be used again as the 
monastic houses they originally were. Even the 
splendid Certosa of Pavia, after its dissolution, he 
looked upon in a similar light, saying, ' To me there 
is little more satisfaction in seeing it, than if it were 
a ruin, it seems so dead and like a fair mockery.' 

He ultimately decided upon entering the Educa- 
tion Department (Privy Council) in Whitehall, as an 


Examiner first, and afterwards as Assistant Secretary 
successively under Lord Lingen and the late Lord 
Sandford, both of whom he looked up to with much 
affection and sincere regard. When the training 
college for schoolmasters at Kneller Hall was started 
under the auspices of the Education Department in 
1850, he became Vice-Principal, and held that post 
during the five years of its existence. The Principal 
was the present Archbishop of Canterbury (Frederick 
Temple), whom he had known and admired since the 
time when he first went to Oxford, and whose 
lectures he had always attended. They were close 
and intimate friends, and my father to the very end 
of his life counted it one of his highest privileges to 
have been thus closely connected with one whom he 
revered so deeply. He was very popular among the 
students, and never found it necessary to ' call the 
names over ' for his lectures for the purpose of seeing 
who was absent, as no pupil ever missed his instruc- 
tion. He took a continued interest in some of these 
youths, one or two marking out for themselves in 
after years a literary career, and their gratitude to 
him always touched him much. The nearness of 
Kneller Hall to Chapel House, Twickenham, brought 
about more intercourse with the Tennysons ; but 
during these few years his journals, when written at 
all, are very scanty. In the summer of 1852 he went 
for a short time to Germany with Professor Max 
Miiller, where they met and saw much of Coleridge 
Patteson and other of his Coleridge cousins : 

July 3, 1852. — Started early with Max Miiller for 
Cologne, Dresden, &c. . . . The first impression of the 
* San Sisto ' was of flatness and fresco-like character in 



colour, rendering the forms less marked than in the en- 
gravings. ... In the afternoon with Max to a restaurant on 
the bank of the Elbe ; found there his mother, a fine-looking 
lady, but unhappily very deaf Many persons sitting round 
tables in the garden below : this out-of-door sociality is the 
strong point of external German life, and must be much 
missed by Germans in England. . . . July 12. — Parted 
from Max Miiller with great regret, from whom I have 
receiv^ed every kindness. 

When he returned, a great sorrow awaited him, 
for in August of the same year his beloved mother 
died. To all her sons she had been the ideal mother, 
being perhaps even more to them than most mothers 
are to their sons. In their comparative poverty, she 
had a cheerful, ennobling and stimulating influence, 
ever striving for them, loving them, moulding them 
and early forcing them to realise the need of using 
their several abilities to the utmost. Frank had 
loved her with all the strength and ardour of his 
warm affectionate nature, and it was a severance 
from one whose interests and sympathies had always 
been so much his own : 

Grief brings no anodyne for grief : 

And to forget were worse relief : — 
— The day glides on with its own burden rife, 

Life heeds no former life. 
Our lesson speaks where she lies low ; 

We hide our woe within our woe : — 
— For as of yore the fields are green. 

The eternal heavens blue : 
Moon, stars, and sun their courses run. 

And Life is born anew. 

(F T P.. Feb. 1853.) 


In a letter from Professor Jowett to F. T. Pal- 
grave, dated August ii, 1852, he writes : 

The last time I saw her [Lady Palgrave] was about a 
year ago. She was as cheerful and pleasing in conversa- 
tion, and as much interested about others as if she had 
been in health. I remember her repeating several passages 
of Wordsworth. She said that she wished to tell me, as I 
was a friend of yours, what a comfort you had been to her 
in her illness. She also mentioned the pleasure it had 
given her to be able to continue writing your father's 
history. . . . 

Do not think that there is a blank or solitude because 
she has departed. There are many pleasant memories of 
the dead come back upon us if we keep them daily in the 
mind's eye. They seem to urge us onward to do something 
in life before the end which is so near.' 

The training school at Kneller Hall was given up 
in 1855, and he then returned to the Privy Council, 
devoting himself to his father until his death in 
1 86 1, and living with him in the old home at Hamp- 
stead. His holiday in 1853 was spent in Scotland, 
visiting his college friend Professor Sellar. 

To Sir F. Palgrave 

Ardtornish, Morvern, Argyllshire : Aug. 3, 1853. 

My dearest Father, — I reached this wild place to-day 
and wish at once to thank you for your very welcome 
letter. . . . The post in these regions is rare ; to-morrow 
is vowed to lona and Staffa, and so I write a little rather 
than delay. ... I travelled to Oban last night with 
Tennyson, and came over here to Sellar to-day in an open 
boat through splendid scenery. We came slowly through 
' Life and Letters of Benjamin Jowett, vol. i. p. 223. 


Edinburgh, where we stayed three or four days with Robert 
Menteith, who is a very noble creature : most simple, and 
interesting from knowledge of various kinds, as well as for 
general thoughtfulness about things rather perhaps than 
for any power of thought. . . . Tennyson was in a happy 
humour, he discussed many matters in his large and noble- 
natured way : and I was very glad to have had the privilege 
of accompanying him. . . . 

Ever yr. very affect, and respectful Son, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

His brother Gifford had, after some years in the 
Indian service, resigned his commission. He 
became a Roman Catholic, and in 1854 Frank 
Palgrave made a journey to Rome to visit him, he 
having lately settled there in the house of the Jesuit 
Fathers, to v^hich order he belonged during fifteen 
years ; he was at that time studying in Rome pre- 
paratory to working as a missionary among the 
Arab races. 

To Sir Francis Palgrave 

Rome : July 1854. 
My dearest Father, — Gifford received me this morning 
with great affection, and seems to take a real pleasure both 
in seeing me and in anticipating your visit. . . . To both 
of us I trust it will be a time to which we shall look back 
with pleasure and thankfulness. . . . He looks fatigued 
with study and confesses he is tired. I hope to be able to 
see him for two or three hours daily. . . . Grant,' my most 
agreeable and affectionate companion, came with me from 
Marseilles to Genoa. ... In a shop at Genoa I saw one 
volume of an (apparently) very literal translation of Enrico 

' Late Sir Alexander Grant. 


Hallam's 'Constitutional History.' ... It is much to the 
credit of author and readers that a book to Englishmen so 
abstruse should be brought out in a Turin ' Biblioteca 
Populare.' I will bring it in returning if Mr. Hallam has 
not received it. . . . At Pisa I saw what three hours could 
permit. Nothing can be more barbarian than the restora- 
tion of the baptistery, which is proceeding with that 
peculiarly ignorant and unnatural zeal that canons and 
bishops display when paying attention to their ecclesiastical 
buildings. . . . The cathedral and campanile at Florence 
are even more beautiful than I had remembered. . . . 
Ever yr. very affect, and very respectful Son, 


His intense grief at parting with Gifford when 
he cut short his brilliant career at Oxford in 1847, 
by entering the Indian service, was the theme of 
one of his early poems, a few stanzas of which are 
inserted here : 


I knew thy love could not increase. 

For it had reach'd its prime : 
I had no fear its flower would sere, 

Shrunk by the touch of Time. 

I knew that Birth had cast our lot, 
Had twined our thread in one : 

How then should Time unloose the knot 
A higher Fate had spun ? 

Mine were the treasures of thy love, 

The blessing of thy sight : 
I ask'd not joys around, above, 

Secure in such delight. 

' ABSENCE ' 49 

Mine was the guidance of thy tongue : 
Thy thoughts to mine were known : — 

—Another's ear thy voice may hear, 
And rob me of mine own. 

Was it my sin that I should build 

A home for hope on thee : 
Though now the hope rest unfulfill'd, 

The home deserted be ? 

— Thou saidst : I go : yet space may bind 

Near household ties yet nearer ; 
I go : yet absence hours shall find 

Dear hearts to dear hearts dearer. 

This is my deepest source of pain : 

I cannot see thy face : 
That long horizons part us twain : 

Blue pathless tracts of space. 

I feel thy fingers clasp'd in mine ; 

A touch of loyal greeting : 
A transient touch, that gives no sign 

Of a long sigh'd-for meeting. 

With signs of thee the room is rife, 

A sad remindful scene : 
The relics of thy daily life, 

And where thy feet have been. 

I know the phantom bliss of night 
Must leave the heart still aching ; — 

— Yet worse the vacant stir of light, 
The joyless joys of waking. 

I 'd give the morning for the night 

E'en through such hours to be 
Loosed from the chain of action vain 

Alone with thoughts of thee. 


' Idyls and Songs,' the first poems my father 
pubHshed, came out in 1854. They had been 
written during the six preceding years, and include, 
besides many sonnets to friends, three or four 
vigorous, if rather crude attempts at blank verse. 
Others show very distinctly some of his especial 
tastes and predilections — his love of children, in 
the ' Age of Innocence,' and in several verses 
descriptive of the children whom he knew. The 
dedicatory verses in the little volume beginning 
' Your honour'd name, dear Friend,' are addressed 
to Alfred Tennyson, and have been often admired. 
A year later he contributed to Kugler's ' Handbook 
to Italian Painting ' a chapter on the first century of 
Italian engraving. Ruskin expressed his appre- 
ciation of it in the following letter : 

Denmark Hill : March 22 [1855]. 

Dear Palgrave, — I have read your essay with great 
interest and satisfaction. As far as regards the method and 
manner of it — you know, as well as I, that it is a most 
valuable contribution to the history of painting. I shall 
use it for reference when I come to the subject of en- 
graving — (meaning shortly to have full tilt at Marc- 
Antonio) — however, I have been meaning so many things 
and so long that I had better say no more of my meanings 
till something is done. I have done something, however, 
this winter, as I hope to show you soon in certain drawings 
which I have got done by carpenters and painters. I shall 
be delighted to see you any day next week, or any other 
week, in the afternoon — about one or two o'clock, if you 
will let me know a day or two before. When I say I have 
read your essay, I mean so much of it as refers to people 

* PRECIOSA ' 5 1 

whom I know ; which is not — I am sorry to say — the 
greater part of it. I have no doubt if I knew more 
about it I should find one or two matters to fight for : 
but at present it all seems to me much of my own way 
of thinking — and I have not a single cavil to make. 
You will do immense good by setting people to think 
about engraving. Pray come and have a chat as soon 
as you can. 

Believe me always most truly yours, 


The history and the art of engraving were 
matters of much interest to Palgrave. The word 
eizgraving is here used in its broader sense, compre- 
hending etching, v^^ood engraving, &c. It v^^as but 
a fev^ years later that he devoted much of his spare 
time to attempts at etching ; these v^ere so suc- 
cessful, and he showed so much skill in this form 
of draftsmanship, that many regretted he did not 
continue it. 

Some two years previous to the publication of 
' Idyls and Songs,' he had written a short love- 
story entitled ' Preciosa ' ; it was a tale of reflection, 
with no tangible plot, and with very little incident ; 
yet, despite the faults and inconsistencies of an 
unpractised hand, it was highly praised by some of 
the contemporary reviewers. The ' Times ' laid 
stress on ' the tenderness, the deep feeling, and 
exquisite felicity of language,' which marked its best 
passages : 

' Preciosa ' has something in it akin to the few really 
great works in which the master painters of the passion of 
love have sounded its bitter depths. . . . Let a man to 

E 2 


whom such a subject is really interesting — a man who 
would be unaffectedly happy if left alone for a day with 
Shakespeare's Sonnets, or ' In Memoriam' — read 'Preciosa,' 
disposed to see its good points as well as its bad, and we 
are confident that he will rise from its perusal with the 
feeling that he has found something which must henceforth 
rank among the modes by which he has learned to appre- 
hend the finer and more delicate shades of intense feeling. 
Such a work necessarily appeals to a very limited class of 
readers. It would be caviare to the votaries of the ' last 
new novel.' . . . But there are some books which it is vain 
to criticise ; in a sense of new and peculiar beauty the 
reader forgets the faults, however numerous and glaring. 
We think that ' Preciosa ' is one of these books. 

His prose writing was at all times marked by 
great refinement of phrase and careful choice of 
words, but his English is neither mannered nor af- 
fected. He himself was never satisfied with his own 
composition, and constantly lamented his inability 
to express himself tersely, considering his diction 
over-elaborate and wordy. 

In the September of 1856 F. T. Palgrave and 
his father made a journey to Spain. 

Sept. 1856, Bayonne. — The neighbourhood of Spain 
is very distinctly marked by inscriptions on shops, ' dili- 
gencia ' advertisements ; but the town, except the long 
arcades that support many houses, has no particular couleur 
locale. Basque is frequent in the streets, a not very har- 
monious language. The Basque features partially resemble 
the Gascon ; but the Basque, with greater vivacity, has less 
prettiness. I thought a certain rudeness and quarrelsome- 
ness appeared in their manners. But it is impossible not 
to see these relics of a race anterior to all our world — the 


European contemporaries, probably, of the Egyptians of 
Pharaoh — without an interest deeper and stranger than 
Art or Nature generally awakens. . . . 

Pau. — There is a peculiar interest about a little colony 
so much English, in a land so distant. . . . We walked 
through the little cemetery, which no one can visit without 
the thought of a peculiar intensity of pain which must 
inevitably be associated with similar burial-fields. The 
survivors have left those they accompanied, never perhaps 
altogether without hope, in a resting-place they can probably 
never even hope to see again. In how many hearts must 
this fair landscape — the great mountain, the rich valley, 
the trees below, pure sky — be recollected in connection 
with the last look at this thickly planted graveyard, before 
the thousand miles of solitary return to the darkened fireside 
and altered home ! . . . We climbed towards the Breche de 
Roland over rough rocks fissured in a thousand radia- 
tions. ... It struck me that the scenery here was the 
model reproduced by Tennyson in the Shepherd Idyll of 
his ' Princess.' I repeated what I remembered of that 
beautiful song, and the ' Come into the garden ' of ' Maud,' 
to ease the horrid fatigue of an ascent almost entirely 
unvaried : but I found that the labour of memory, when so 
wearied, was only one labour more. . . . Spain itself was 
before us when a few steps had placed us on the further 
side of the Breche — a scene how wild ! how appealing to 
imagination ! . . . But only when the descent has been 
fairly begun does the exceeding strangeness, the imagina- 
tive fulness of the landscape appear ; the utter and terrible 
desolation, the loca deserta pastorum of a country less 
changed than any other since Roman times. There was 
' something fearful,' as Pascal said of the starry sky, about 
the silence of these ' infinite spaces.' . . . Before sunset we 
had entered by rugged paths the labyrinth of walls which 
form the village of Faulo. Only India or China would, I 
suppose, now renew for me the intense novelty and surprise 


I felt on entering this place. Spain was Spanish far beyond 
my anticipation. . . . Between Faulo and Broto we halted 
by a torrent which rushed into a green level basin. . . . 
Two women in red petticoats, white linen sleeves, and 
coloured handkerchiefs round head and shoulders, with a 
boy in Murillo dress, were by the waterside. They pointed 
out for me the coolest and purest of the springs. As they 
ate their bread, and stood in attitudes gracefully contrasted, 
to drink the trickling waters, the scene was already a 
picture. . . . Everything most singular and picturesque 
seemed collected into the little town of Broto ; a large 
church crowned the heap of dry walls which form a Spanish 
village, buttressed by thick piers. The houses stood as if 
dropped there by a child at play, at every angle. . . . 
Thence to Torla, where we rested for an hour, entertained 
with salt pig soup. The old woman who resided in the 
kitchen gave another sample of manners utterly unlike 
what Europe elsewhere presents. To the shouts and 
inquiries of the guide she gave not the least attention ; 
whilst I sketched the wonderful arrangements of her stone- 
paved den she offered neither help nor opposition ; but 
when the food was ready, set it before us with a perfect 
straightforwardness and a few pleasant words of hospi- 
tality. . . . The valley of Cauteretz is the 'vale of Ida,* 
where CEnone hid herself and Paris gave the prize to 
Venus. . . . Over Cauteretz itself rises an Ida as we see it 
in Art or fancy in Homer : many-peaked, and feathered 
with pine along each sky-line. . . . 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Cauteretz, Pyrenees : Sept. 19, 1856. 

My dear Tennyson, — It would be sad and strange if 
you are by chance hidden anywhere in the region from 


which I write. As my last news of your summer journey 
was that it might possibly be to the Pyrenees, as soon as 
my father had decided to come here I wrote to Mrs. Weld 
to inquire where you were ; but her answer probably is 
waiting me in England. However, I have hunted through 
registers and local arrivals, and have comforted myself for 
finding no notice of you by deciding that whilst I am in 
the land of Charlemagne and Roland, you are in British 
or Armorican Arthuria. 

Unless alone, I think you have done wisely in not 
coming : the expense of travelling and living is very high, 
and the weather has been unusually broken. Yet I am 
very glad to have seen a region so full of beauty and wild- 
ness ; so different from any mountain country I know. 
Your mountain imagery, it has often struck me here, 
seems much moulded on Pyrenean experiences. At least 
I have pleased myself with discovering the scenery of the 
Shepherd Idyll in the ' Princess ' in the mountains near 
the Breche de Roland, and the valley of Ida in this of 
Cauteretz. Perhaps these are fancies ; but they give a 
human interest to sight-seeing. 

But the interest of the French side of the Pyrenees is 
far inferior to the Spanish. I crossed for two days, and 
walked and rode through deserts of astonishing wildness 
and extent, and through valleys where everything that 
composes the indefinable idea of picturesqueness exists on 
a scale which I have never elsewhere seen equalled. Even 
without these greater and larger interests, the sight of a 
Spanish village would repay the great fatigue of the expe- 
dition. Spain seems, like the works of Creation spoken of 
in the Prologue to ' Faust,' unchanged ... in its strange- 
ness as on the first day. I suppose nowhere else in the 
world can there be a contrast so marked as that which one 
day gives — between a French watering-place and a village 
in Arragon. But I hope to talk over with you details and 
descriptions which you may endure or like over a pipe or 


in the drawing-room at Farringford ; but which are terrible 
in a letter. 

To-morrow we leave this noble region for plains, and 
parish churches, and the common curiosities of a journey — 
matters which do not compensate for the dust of dili- 
gences, the constant change of scene, the suspected beds, 
the want of the familiar faces, and the other many plagues 
of the ' t7-iste plaisir de voyager' I do not know exactly 
how we return ; I expect to be at Paris on this day 
fortnight . . . and to cross by Dieppe two days after. I give 
these details on the vague chance that this note may reach 
you in Brittany and render the pleasure of a conjunction 
possible to me. . . . 

The news of the death of Grant's father, accidentally 
brought to me by a lady I met riding over a glacier, makes 
me dread a new dispersion of his family. 

I have hardly left space for my very best remem- 
brances to Mrs. Tennyson, my love to the children, and 
my hope that you and they have enjoyed all health and 
happiness. It seems very long since I saw you. 

Believe me, ever yours affectionately, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

An interruption to his work in the Education 
Office occurred about this time, vi^hen he acted for 
a short period as private secretary to Lord Gran- 
ville — Lord Frederick Cavendish, one of his most 
loved and valued friends, being his fellov^^-worker — 
after which he continued in the Education Depart- 
ment until he resigned in 1884. He was often 
engaged in writing articles of various kinds for dif- 
ferent magazines, beginning by contributions to 
Sharp's ' London Magazine,' and, a little later on, 
writing articles for the ' Quarterly Review,' the 
' Fine Arts Quarterly,' and the ' Westminster Re- 
view.' One of the cleverest of these was an article 


published in the first volume of ' Oxford Essays ' 
on the works of Alfred de Musset, when his slight 
underrating of Victor Hugo was commented on. 
Architecture was again a favourite theme, and 
literary subjects were often discussed. These essays 
were most helpful to students, and many have been 
indebted to him for ideas borrowed from them. 
They, as well as those of his later years, are noted, 
as Mr. Stopford- Brooke remarks, for a sober, emi- 
nently ' unflashy ' style of criticism ; ' their value 
lies in their sanity.' 

The following letter was written in February 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Dear Tennyson, — . . . My father reports very brightly 
of Mr. Hallam, who is now in town. I have so given up 
going out that I fear I have seen no other friends. ... I 
mean to send for you Ruskin's ' Lectures on Art,' a little 
book, and Brown's ' Essays and Lectures.' I think these 
show much power combined with some fallacies ; my 
reason for sending them is that the essays on Mesmerism, 
Ghosts, Alchemy, &c. are very clear and suggestive, and 
written, I think, with an impartiality not universal, when 
scientific men deal with the debatable ground where So^a 
does battle with sina-Trifxri. . . . 

I hope the Guinevere and Arthur episode is becoming 
a real thing, and that a theory of mine which I believe I 
wrote about to you, that shorter lyrical poems should be 
added to take up other portions of the Arthur cycle, may 
have found favour. In reading 'Merlin ' over I began to 
wish for the war song sung when they chased the wonder- 
ful hart, and to think it might follow the poem. . . . 

Ever yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 


From 1854 to 1863 Frank Palgrave spent each 
Christmastide at Farringford, while in August 1859 
he accompanied Tennyson and Crauford Grove to 
Portugal. His diary of the events of this fortnight 
was published in 1868 in a magazine called ' Under 
the Crown.' 

A few extracts are given : 

Vt£;o: P. & O. steamer ' Vectis,' Aug. 20, 1859. — 
English recollections, and the little features of a calm 
voyage over the great bay, monotonous and pleasant, had 
mainly occupied us hitherto ; but waking in Vigo Bay 
brought other thoughts and images. . . . Reminding us by 
many features of Naples and of Rio, Vigo Bay wants only 
some noble city, perhaps, to surpass them. Almost land- 
locked by its length, and by a bar of rocky islets at the 
mouth, it looks an inland lake, edged on each side by 
vineyards and deep maize-fields, interspersed with many 
trees, cottages, and towns, and walled by long lines of 
broken sierra. ... In the town itself were no waving flags, 
no smoke, no visible sign of life ; but many craft were 
riding below, or slowly dropping down the bay, with the 
shouts and measured cry of the sailors ; and from the 
opposite northern shore a white village sent forth boat 
after boat to the morning market. . . . Behind field and 
village the green plains of upland rose into many sierras of 
varied and charming outline, some keen and pure, some 
fringed with lacelike pinaster ; but each at that hour one 
mass of lilac haze which, in the furthest and loftiest ranges, 
glowed with almost intolerable brilliancy. Valleys clothed 
with trees were dimly traceable between, and seemed to 
invite the spectator to days of pleasant wandering, to hold 
out hopes of some vague and as yet undiscovered happi- 
ness. Peace, hitherto unknown, I fancied, in the melan- 
choly musing of the moment, might lie beyond — some 


peace of that quality which the ' world cannot give,' but 
which we are never weary of asking the world to give us. 
There, at least, life might be gliding on at this moment in 
some charming old-world fashion ; — no club scandal ; no 
scientific bluster ; no one to quote the ' Times ' to you, or 
believe in Lord Palmerston ; ... no niaiseries about art 
and the opera. Shepherd boys as handsome as Murillo's, 
playing national melodies much superior to the Scotch ; 
sheep with merino wool feeding close by ; peasant girls 
carrying waterpots, as upright as Juno, and with immense 
brown eyes ; Don Quixote to tell us a romance, Sancho to 
make jokes, Dulcinea to giggle and hide her face at them ; 
. . . there, in short, might be the Golden Age ! But in 
the midst of these visions the bell rang, and the engine 
whistled, and the nervous passengers ran below before they 
should be in rough water, and we are leaving Vigo. 

Aug. 22. . . . Lisbon is indeed nobly placed on the 
broad lakelike river, and the line of opposite shore is 
picturesque and varied. But the water, though pure and 
plentiful, wants any peculiar Southern tinge, any special 
azure; the absence of general verdure in the landscape 
is faintly compensated by gardens scattered amongst the 
houses of the suburbs; nor perhaps can any capital— no 
European capital at least, unless Madrid is the exception — 
be so much without conspicuous or characteristic buildings. 
Like Caleb Balderstone's fire at Ravenswood Castle, we 
supposed the earthquake must account for all deficiencies. 
. . . The few days we spent altogether in Lisbon would 
have been indeed insufficient for even a superficial insight 
into the real life of the inhabitants. Yet, on the smaller 
points which are seen, or sometimes not seen, when one 
looks round streets and market-places, churches and 
palaces, and thus fall more fitly within the scope of the 
passer-by, we might reasonably feel that we could frame 
some judgment. In all this, as in general appearance, the 
peculiarity of Lisbon is that so little is peculiar. The type 


of face prevalent to English eyes is foreign rather than 
national, the dress of the citizens quite without mark or 
character : only the frightful and unmeaning European 
style which a world-wide acceptance almost justifies France 
in mistaking for a triumph oF French good taste. . . . 
Roads are slowly extending through Portugal ; not more 
than three at present available for carriages start from 
Lisbon. Perhaps no European country in this respect is 
in so absolutely primitive a condition. Villages five miles 
from the capital, even the large town Setubal within fifteen, 
are accessible only by boats or the saddle. Portugal is as 
civilised as France ; in some essential points more civilised ; 
yet, so far as I could learn, Britain before the Romans 
fairly represents its existing road system and travelling 
accommodations. This, which to the Portuguese of fifty 
years hence will most likely appear incredible, is the result 
of very simple causes. Hatred and distrust of Spain, like 
the old Scottish feeling towards England, has induced the 
nation to keep its Spanish marches almost impenetrable ; 
at the same time, the possession of ultramarine colonies 
turned seaward all mercantile enterprise and spirit of 
adventure. . . . 

Cintra^ Aug. 23. — Three hours' drive over a fair road 
brought us under the noble Sierra of Cintra — a triple wave 
of insulated hill, which runs out for some seven miles as a 
headland into the Atlantic above Colares. On the authority 
of Byron and Beckford we had expected a region little 
touched by man, but rich in the decoration of nature — 
myrtle and orange groves scattered over rocks which were 
to overhang the sea. But an hour's walk at evening 
showed us that we were in what might be best called a 
larger Malvern in Portugal. . . . Here and there the stone- 
pine or cork-tree spoke of the South ; else the many well- 
appointed inhabitants we met, polite parties sauntering and 
smiling, or riding in easy style, might have made us think 
we had come to Cintra to find the Bois de Boulogne. . . . 


Aug. 24. — To-day we climbed the Rock of Cintra by a 
long path between splintered granite and pine-trees, and 
fringed with geranium and wild flowers, to the other castle 
above the town. . . . Here, as elsewhere, we noticed that 
the quantity, not the specific character of flowers, is the 
main difference between the gardens of England and 
Portugal. . . . 

Colares. — But our most characteristic and interesting 
excursion was to the sea-coast below Colares, a village 
famous for vines, and once for wine, three miles westward 
of Cintra. . , . Winding through the apple gardens of the 
Varsea and by a shallow stream, the road passes out 
between hedges of aloe and bamboo, to die away at last in 
a wide sandy plain, which, like the sea-forest by Ravenna, 
is covered with innumerable pines. We thought we had 
never seen colours so vivid as where, ranged alonsr an 
undulating ridge, the flat tops of the trees, dark below, 
blazing green above, stand like tables of malachite set in 
the wilderness, all beneath the pale translucent aether, 
deepening upwards in intensity from the horizon. . . . 

Circo dos Touros. — Returning to Lisbon on Sunday 
evening, we saw the weekly bull-fight in the Campo de 
Sta. Anna. As the bull's horns are securely guarded, the 
fight never prolonged to blood, and accidents unknown, 
this Portuguese amusement becomes a rather pleasing trial 
of address, and possibly more than the Spanish — where 
the horses only go as to another shambles, and are unfit 
for manoeuvring — displays the rider's skill. Certainly the 
recent adoption of this milder form of bull-fight shows a 
finer sense of humanity and civilisation in the people of 
Lisbon ; yet we could not but feel, that which makes it a 
more humane sport deprives it of reality. . . . On the 
whole, this Portuguese popular amusement can only be 
ranked on a level with the rank cigar, or ranker pipe, 
which satisfies the German in his biergarten ; one step 
only above the domino- plajing in a dirty cafe, which 


makes, or seems to make, so much of a Frenchman's Hfe ; 
one step only above the Englishman's favourite— but that, 
the reader knows, is a matter altogether different. 

To Emily Lady Tennyson 

Oct. 7, 1859. 

. . . By this time you will have heard the whole story 
of our journey, and will have guessed too, what you will 
not have heard, how unceasingly kind Mr. Tennyson was 
to his fellow-travellers. . . . You would have been pleased 
with the real respect and real good manners which were 
almost always shown him. ... I fear I have nothing of 
all-the-year-roundism in me, and am totally disqualified for 
magazine writing, or indeed from writing anything which 
anybody would care to read. ... I need hardly add my 
affectionate remembrances to Mr. Tennyson, or many other 
remarks which five weeks with him might suggest — you 
will easily guess them. My love to the children. 

A year later he again v\^as Tennyson's com- 
panion on a short tour in Cornwall and the Scilly 
Islands, when they were joined by Holman Hunt, 
Mr. Val Prinsep, and Mr. Woolner. Many stories 
were told in London, at the time, of the * five most 
extraordinary men,* as they were once designated 
by a stranger, who, when dining in the same hotel 
and after listening excitedly to their conversation, 
exclaimed : ' Of all the most extraordinary and in- 
teresting men I have ever seen you are the most 
so.' Then turning to Palgrave he added, ' Please 
tell me who you all are.' While walking to- 
gether the friends talked so fast and so eagerly 


that they sometimes found it necessary to make 
a rule that each one, when particularly desirous 
of being heard, should enforce silence on the 
part of the others by prefacing his words with an 
uplifted hand. It was during this expedition, ' while 
traversing the wild scenery of Treryn Dinas,' that the 
scheme of the ' Golden Treasury ' was first brought 
forward, and received that encouragement and help 
from the Poet Laureate which caused the work to be 
immediately begun on F, T. Palgrave's return to 
London. ' Every time I had the honour of travel- 
ling with him,' my father has said, ' the enormous 
grandeur and simplicity of his character impressed 
me more and more, and no one can imagine his 
unfailing considerateness to me,' or words to that 
effect. When he next visited the Scilly Islands 
thirty-three years later, he took a mournful pleasure 
in chronicling on paper the fact of Lord Tennyson's 
stay at the little inn on St. Mary's Island, to the 
pride of the landlady, and for the benefit of all future 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Privy Council Office : Oct. 30, i860. 
Dear Tennyson, — . . . Except Woolner, I have not 
seen any of our companions. A man living at Kensington 
is almost as remote from me as a man living at Penzance. . . . 
I really wish you would read the poem he [Woolner] wrote 
in the summer ; it seems to me not far short of excellence, 
although one feels that it is the work of a hand unpractised 
in that art. I think it would do him good to have it 


Since I returned I have worked steadily for two or 
three hours a day at making the collection of English 
Lyrical Poems which we discussed in Cornwall ; and I 
have spoken about it to Macmillan, who gives a conditional 
consent to act publisher. I have gone through the whole 
of Chalmer's Collection, and through several of the writers 
not included in it, and have thus made a preliminary list of 
contents, which I am going over with Woolner. Whenever 
this is in order I hope you will let me go through it with 
you. Besides many special points of doubt, I hesitate 
whether Elegies such as Gray's, and Sonnets should properly 
be included. They are lyrical in structure, and sonnets 
have always ranked as lyrical ; but their didactic tone 
appears to me not decisively lyrical in a whatever strictness 
of sense so vague a word can bear. What do you think ? 
The Greeks classified elegies as non-lyrical, and they had 
no sonnets. 

With my best remembrances to Mrs. Tennyson and 
my love to the children, and hopes that all are well, 

Believe me, ever yours, 


To the same 

Oct. 1861. 
... I am now domiciled, after a fashion, at 29 Welbeck 
Street, which I hope may furnish you with a quiet harbour 
when you come up on business. . . . Jowett's account of 
the ' Farmer's Death ' ^ makes me wish extremely to see it. 1 
hope you are really pleased with the ' Treasury ' — dedication 
included. It sells well, and seems not only to give pleasure, 
but to arouse thought and discussion about poetry, which I 
regard as the causa finalis of such a book much more than 
mere acquiescence in any one person's selection. I have 
received gracious messages about it from her Majesty and 
from old Carlyle. . . . The making the book suggested 

1 Northern Fanner. Old Style. 


many thoughts on our poetry, some of which I have set 
down in a little paper which you will find in the just- 
published ' Quarterly,' and which I hope may more or less 
please you. ... I have now a fancy to make a collection 
of English love poems only, of all dates : to include a few 
omitted from the ' Golden Treasury ' as too high-kilted — 
i.e. such as Spenser's ' Epithalamion,' some of Sidney's 
Sonnets, Moore, &c. — all to be called ' Under the Rose ' ; 
the tone being never coarse, but decidedly amorous. 
What do you think ? ' Pueris ' rather than ' Virginibus.' 
Remember me very heartily to Mrs. Tennyson. . . . 

The first edition of the ' Golden Treasury ' was 
published in the summer of 1861, and was recog- 
nised from the beginning as the best anthology of 
its kind. The work of compiling it was naturally 
one of the greatest happiness to my father, enabling 
him, as it did, to become familiar with much of the 
most beautiful English poetry hitherto but little 
known to him. There is no doubt that this little 
book has taught many — in all ranks of life — to know 
and love much of our best lyrical poetry which 
might otherwise have always remained untrodden 
ground. Some have objected to the large propor- 
tion of Wordsworth which fills its pages, but the 
majority of people have been grateful for having 
had him set before them with all the careful discern- 
ment and taste which characterises the ' Golden 
Treasury ' throughout. The only shadow of fault 
which my father ever found in Wordsworth was the 
undercurrent of ' preachiness ' which he felt spoiled 
his poetry at times. ' The Brothers ' was his great- 
est favourite of all, and one which he usually chose to 



read aloud, as he was frequently asked to do. This 
poem, with ' The Maid of Neidpath,' Tennyson's 
' Children's Hospital,' and Burns's lines in ' Farewell 
to Nancy ' — ' Had we never loved sae kindly,' &c. — 
he considered the most pathetic creations in our 

To the late Lord Lyttelton 

Privy Council Office : Feb. 5, 1863. 
Dear Lord Lyttelton, — I have read your lecture with 
great interest, and am much obliged to you for it, as well 
as for the very handsome notice of the ' Treasury.' Your 
objections, and others which have been made, have con- 
vinced me that in attempting to make omissions and to 
justify them, I have come upon perilous ground. . . . 

You will find that I have noticed the omission of the 
last stanza of Shelley's ' Lines at Naples,' with all my other 
retrenchments, in a note on page 6, No. ix. on page 309.^ . . . 
It is, as I felt very strongly at the time, a serious responsi- 
bility to touch in any way the work of so great a master. 
If Shelley had lived to give an authentic edition of his 
works, or if I were printing one, or quoting the poem as a 
part of his biography, I should not think of omitting 
stanza v. But the very beauty and personal quality of 
that stanza seemed to me to render the poem less universal 
in interest — to bring it more within the class of individual 
or occasional poems — to place it among those which require 
biographical notes, and thus to remove it from the class of 
poems which Tennyson and I wished to unite in the 
selection. . . . Your interest in English poetry — ' the most 
splendid and most enduring of the many glories of England ' 
— and your kind interest in wishing to see my book made 

' See Notes to the Golden Treasitiy. 


better, made me unwilling to pass over your suggestions 
in silence. ... If you call, please look at my little collection 
of drawings and other forms of art ; there are also several 
out-of-the-way books of poetry which I shall hope some 
day to show you. . . . 

It was but a f&w days before the appearance of 
the ' Golden Treasury ' that the death of Sir Francis 
Palgrave occurred (July 8, 1861). His other sons 
having left Hampstead a few years previously, the 
old home there was broken up, and F, T. Palgrave 
went to live in the same house with his friend 
Thomas Woolner, in Welbeck Street, for the en- 
suing year. He had always been a dutiful and 
loving son, and after his mother's death he had 
watched over and cared for his father with increasing 
tenderness and devotion. But his extreme con- 
scientiousness and humility always made him feel 
that he rendered far less return than he might have 
done to those whom he loved best. In his sorrow 
this feeling of remorse had evidently been expressed 
to Professor Jowett, whose reply is sympathetic, 
though practical and ' bracing ' in its advice. 

From B. Jowett (the late Master of Balliol) 

Whitby: July 24, 1861. 

My dear Palgrave,^. . . I shall depend on your coming 
to us. Lyulph Stanley is with me. Newman will come 
on Saturday, and a youth named Kekewich in the course 
of the week. 

I fear you think that I offered you some of ' the vacant 
chaff well meant for grain,' in reference to your father's 
death. But, indeed, what I said was true, that . . . you 


had been a good and devoted son to him. Though it is 
still more true, as you reply, that, ' after we have done all, 
we have been unprofitable servants.' 

I am very much pleased at your father's kind thoughts 
of me. He several times mentioned to me that your 
mother had remembered me shortly before her death. I 
have not done either for you or others what I might have 
done or ought to have done (in younger days when it was 
natural for you to receive the influence of another). But I 
hope, if my life and mind are spared for ten or twenty years 
longer, to do more with increasing experience. Perhaps 
this is a delusion, but it is one that is very fixed in my 

Do you go to the Council Office every day ? It must 
be weary work just now. '^^pr) rerXdvai sfjuTrr^s. I hope 
you will try to form plans for yourself; it is absolutely 
necessary that you should make it [this sorrow] a motive 
to a higher life, to be lived in patience until it shall please 
God to restore us to the inhabitants of another world. 
For no one who is surrounded by his fellow-creatures ought 
really to be desolate. (He will be so, of course, for a time, 
longer or shorter according to his circumstances or tempera- 
ment.) But no one should hug his grief in the hope of 
never getting rid of it. 

I have to thank you for your ' Golden Treasury,' which 
I found at the post office this morning. It is the best 
collection I have ever seen. 

Ever yours affectionately, 


From F. Temple (Archbishop of Canterbury) 

Rugby : July 1861. 

My dear Palgrave, — I fear that the death of your 
father must have been a severe blow to you. ... I know 
how entirely you have for many years devoted yourself to 


his comfort, and how keenly you will feel his loss. He was 
a father to be proud of as well as to love, and you inherit 
from him a widely honoured name. But he was more to 
you, I know, than most fathers are to their sons : and your 
pride in him and in his high reputation was probably but 
a small part of what you felt towards him. It is something 
now, that you have so earnestly endeavoured to do your 
duty by him. Indeed for some years you have been the 
stay of his life. It is not a trifle to have done that. . . . 
Your very kind and very sad letter went to my heart. . . . 
It is one of the strangest mysteries of life that you should 
have so hard a lot. I know well how entirely duty and 
happiness can be disjoined ; but except in your case I 
never saw it so complete — so long a separation. I do not 
give advice, simply because I feel that no advice would 
help you. But I wish that the sympathy of friends had 
more power to comfort, and then certainly you would be 

I have been reading your ' Golden Treasury ' with the 
greatest interest and pleasure. ... I like the book exceed- 
ingly : nearly everything that I cared for is in it ; hardly 
anything that I did not care for. . . . 

Yours ever affectionately, 

F. Temple. 

From the late Earl of Selborne 

July 25, j86i. 

My dear Palgrave, — I need not assure you of my strong 
sympathy with you, I also know that there is no loss in 
life of the same kind with that of a good father ; and 
though other losses occurring less in the due course of 
nature, and perhaps of time, might be attended with more 
acute suffering, none can ever leave a deeper and more 
permanent impression. My father was to me as a good 
guardian angel, filling truly and worthily the offices and 


functions of love and loving authority which we are taught 
to look upon as the nearest representation to us on earth 
of our relation to Him whom we address as ' Our Father ' 
in Heaven. I can well believe that it was the same with 
you ; for I know how much there was in your father to 
revere and love. . . . 

Thank you for your Anthology, which I have already 
looked at sufficiently to be sure that my expectation will 
not be disappointed. . , . 

Believe me very truly yours, 

RouNDELL Palmer. 

From J. A. Froude 

My dear Palgrave, — Most deeply I feel for you. If I 
were to say more now it would sound to you but empty 
words — and yet there is more. It must be something to 
you at least to feel that you have made your father's last 
years brighter. 

Live for his sake still, and earn fresh honour for his 
name, which he has already made illustrious. . . . You do 
not require the world's testimony to know how widely and 
deeply your father was admired and respected — yet I am 
sure you will value the assurance of it which you will not 
fail to find in the way in which the news that he is gone 
will be received. I myself feel that I have lost a most 
kind friend : I may say I owe to him any little reputation 
that I may have gained, in the first lift which he gave me. 

My dear old fellow, I will come to you when you will 
let me, but I will not intrude upon you till you tell me you 
will like to see me. 

Ever your affectionate 

J. A. Froude. , 

This was a sad time of deeply felt losses, for in 
the autumn of the same year Arthur Clough died at 


Florence. When the posthumous edition of his 
poems was published in 1862, a short memoir of him 
was added to the book by F. T. Palgrave, corrected 
from a paper which he wrote for ' Fraser's Magazine.' 

To Sir Alexander Grant 

29 Welbeck Street, London : Feb. 22, 1862. 

My dear Alexander, — . . . Before now I hope you will 
have got my little Anthology. It seems to have pleased 
people here, and has revealed an ignorance of poetry and 
an interest in it — both of which rather surprised me. That 
it should be of any real use is exactly what I wish. . . . 
Tennyson's remarks on the different poems as he went over 
them and selected were admirable — a kind of school of 
fine judgment. I hope you liked the arrangement and 
my notes &c. In this sort of paste-and-scissors author- 
ship these trifles are all one can call one's own. . . . You 
will see, I suppose, in the next (March) ' Eraser ' a little 
memoir of our dear A. H. Clough by me. It was difficult 
enough to do, but I could not find any one else who would 
try. ... I have tried hard for severe Art in my paper ; 
I should like to know if you think me at all successful — 
although I think your genius and mine (bless the mark !) 
have not always been accordant on these matters. ... I 
see you kindly inquire where I live — where and how are 
now little matters to me — but the uolkos slaoUrja-ts, as I 
think Philoctetes calls it, is a little humanised by my living 
with Woolner the sculptor, who is a man of a great honesty 
and keenness of mind. . . . Now, as I write, I remember 
you have met him at Farringford. Your memory lives 
there as vividly as ever with those good souls and true. . . . 

Ever your affect. 

F. T. Palgrave. 


The Handbook to the Fine Art Collections of 
the Exhibition of 1862, that my father was com- 
missioned to write, gave him the first public oppor- 
tunity of openly declaring his views on contemporary 
artists. Although these opinions were generally 
recognised as revealing the finest taste and know- 
ledge of his subject, they failed to be so useful and 
convincing as they might have been from their 
vigorous and vehement criticism and condemnation 
of the work of certain artists, more particularly of 
Marochetti's sculpture. The study of sculpture en- 
grossed him, and was one to which he devoted much 
leisure time, and he could never understand why 
this — the usually admitted noblest of the fine arts 
— has so little hold on the minds of many otherwise 
art-loving people. The sole melancholy reason he 
could suggest was the deplorably forlorn state to 
which sculpture had sunk. A well-known artist 
remarked of the Handbook that ' he had come to 
regard it as most admirable, and not containing an 
opinion from which he dissented — in fact it seemed 
to him quite wonderful that any one but a severely 
trained artist could have such sound and clear 

The following comments on criticism by Mr. 
Ruskin on receiving the Handbook, my father after- 
wards marked as ' Very true ' : 

... I looked at your book — it is very nice — but I 
have come to feel profoundly how right Turner was in 
always telling me that criticism was useless. If the public 
don't know music when they hear it — nor painting when 
they see it — nor sculpture when they feel it — no talk will 


teach them. It seems to do good — but in truth does none 
— or more harm than good. (Art is an emanation of 
national character : not a taught accomplishment.) This 
is not a cheerful or very kind acknowledgment of your 
memory of me : but I am glad of it for all that. . . . 

From Sir Alexander Grant 

Bombay: July 11, 1862. 

My dear Frank, — You appear of late to have been the 
most famous man in England. In every newspaper I have 
seen something about you and your ' Catalogue.' But as yet 
I haven't seen the Catalogue itself, so I hope you'll send me 
a copy per post. It will be read in a sympathetic spirit by 
Hughlings and myself I suppose you had a great sale 
for it, and have made a perfect fortune in twopences. . . . 
And so now you live with Woolner. I hope the time is 
not very distant when I may burn the tobacco of midnight 
in your artistic abode ; but 'tis an expensive job coming to 
England, and the gold-mohur tree isn't what it used to 
be. . . . This is undoubtedly an interesting country to live 
in. The progress of education and politics is in both 
cases so full of backward and forward movements, that it is 
endlessly entertaining to watch what goes on. . . . 

The ' Golden Treasury ' is an immense comfort out 
here. Hughlings and I had been talking of it for some 
time, and were waiting to see if it would not be suitable as 
an English class-book for the higher native students. I 
hope you won't think this a degradation. English poetry 
is to these people what Homer is to us. . . . God bless 
you, my dear Frank ! Write, if you can, soon again. 

Ever thy affectionate 

A. Grant. 




It was while staying with Lord Houghton at Frys- 
ton during the summer of 1862 that my father first 
met Cecil Grenville Milnes, elder daughter of Mary 
and James Milnes-Gaskell. He was Member for 
Much Wenlock for thirty-six years, and was so able 
a politician that Mr. Gladstone said of him, ' He 
might have been Prime Minister had it not been for 
his indolence.' His wife has often been described 
as a typical * Grande dame ' of the old school ; she 
was sister to Charlotte Williams- Wynn, one of the 
most brilliant women of her day. Cecil had been 
brought up partly in London and partly at their 
house in Yorkshire ; for they never lived at Wenlock 
Abbey, the beautiful old home in Shropshire, until 
shortly before her marriage. A very few weeks 
after this meeting at Fryston, she became engaged 
to my father. Lord and Lady Houghton often 
spoke with pleasure to my father and mother of 
having brought them together. No more beautiful 
description of my mother can be given than that 
contained in the little poem my father wrote about 
this time : 

POEM ON C. G. M. P. 75 

What pearl of price within her lay 

I could not know when first I met her : 

So little studious for herself, 

Almost she ask'd we should forget her : 

As the rose-heart at prime of dawn, 

Herself within herself withdrawn : 

And yet we felt that something there 

Was fairer than the fairest fair. 

I mark'd her goings through the day. 

Intent upon her maiden mission : 
The manners moulded on the mind ; 

The flawless sense, the sweet decision : 
So gracious to the hands she task'd, 
She seem'd to do the thing she ask'd : 
And then I knew that something there 
Was fairer than the fairest fair. 

Her eyes spoke peace ; and voice and step 

The message of her eyes repeated ; 
Truth halo-bright about her brows, 

And Faith on the fair forehead seated : — 
And lips where Candour holds his throne. 
And sense and sweetness are at one : 
I look and look ; and something there 
Is fairer than the fairest fair. 

This engagement gave great satisfaction to his 
many friends, who felt that his was a nature too 
deeply affectionate to be wasted on a solitary life. 

From F. Temple (Archbishop of Canterbury) 

Rugby : Sept. 28, 1862. 
My dear Palgrave, — I really do not think I ever had a 
letter in my life which gave me such downright pleasure as 


yours which came this morning. I am most truly rejoiced. 
I most heartily wish you joy. It is the one thing to com- 
plete your life. Shall I add that I have often prayed for 
it for you ? That you will make a woman that loves you 
happy I have no doubt whatever. And I have no doubt 
that you yourself will gain wonderfully in every way by 
being made happy. I shall be very glad indeed some day 
to know your Cecil. . . . Tell her how much I wish to 
know her and how certain I am to like her ; and how 
much I hope that she will be able to like me, at any rate 
a little. 

Yours ever affectionately, 

F. Temple. 

The intimacy betv^reen his father-in-law^ and Mr, 
Gladstone had begun when schoolboys together at 
Eton ; while his mother-in-law and Mrs. Gladstone 
were connected by cousinhood as well as by long 
friendship. She wrote the following characteristi- 
cally warm letter in congratulation : 

From Mrs. Gladstone 

Hawarden Castle : Sept. 30, 1862. 
My dear Mr. Palgrave, — We all forgive you, and can- 
not think of our own disappointment at not seeing you 
here to visit our dear home. Your great news was received 
at our breakfast table with the greatest interest. My 
husband and I do wish you joy — not in the common 
acceptation, but earnestly — really. Will you say this to 
Cecil, with our love ? We do rejoice in your happiness, 
and pray that God may bless you both abundantly. The 
mother will have a loss, but then you may both be a great 
deal with her, and she is too unselfish to think of herself 
Pray give her and her husband our best love, in which his 


old friend joins — you will know I mean my husband by 
the old friend, the friend of such early days. It is so very 
delightful to be able to write real congratulations, and you 
have indeed reason to be happy, for who does not speak 
well of her you have chosen ? My brother desires every- 
thing kind, and hopes that some day you will pay the visit 
to Hawarden Castle not alone. 

Yours, dear Mr. Palgrave, very sincerely, 

Catherine Gladstone. 

To Emily Lady Tennyson 

Privy Council Office : Oct. i8, 1862. 

Dear Mrs. Tennyson, — A world of work of all kinds, 
but some of it pleasant enough, has stayed me hitherto 
from thanking you for your kind note of good wishes to 
me, with Mr. Tennyson's P.S. It gave great pleasure also 
to the lady fair, who has a most earnest wish to be cared 
for by my friends. 

It seems to me that she has an uncommonly unselfish, 
unworldly nature, very careless of wealth and show, and 
thus I feel hopeful that you may care for her for her own 
sake, as I am sure you will for mine. We think we have 
found a house, which, for London, is certainly very airy and 
pretty, on the edge of the Regent's Park, about five minutes' 
walk from Welbeck Street. Thus I hope that when you 
and Mr. Tennyson come up, you will have this also to 
repair to. 

The wise, who look into millstones, inform me that I 
am to be married about the middle of December. . . . 

My love to Mr. Tennyson and the children. 
Ever very truly yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

My father and mother were married in St. 
Thomas's Church, Orchard Street, by the friend 


of both families, Dr. Hook, Dean of Chichester, 
on December 30, 1862. The bridesmaids — four 
children — wore wreaths of holly on their heads, and 
it has been described as a very pretty Christmas 
wedding. My father's work prevented their having 
a honeymoon of any length, and after a short time 
in Norfolk, they spent a few days with the Tenny- 
sons at Farringford, returning early in January to 
live in the corner house in York Gate which they 
had chosen as their home. The first year of their 
marriage was chiefly given up to seeing their many 
friends and relations. The evenings were often spent 
in music at home, for my mother played the piano 
charmingly, and her touch was much admired by her 
music-master. Dr. Sterndale Bennett. They would 
have violin and pianoforte duets too, and life was a 
dream — 'a very real dream' — of joy for them both. 
This was the beginning of twenty-seven years' per- 
fect happiness. As an intimate friend has said, 
* She was the pivot on which all turned.' 

Eight hours of the day were occupied at the 
Privy Council Office, and besides this my father 
was for some years art critic to the ' Saturday 
Review.' When he ceased to be on its staff he was 
offered the same post on the ' Times,' but this he 
declined on the ground that he could not conscien- 
tiously praise the work of many of the smaller con- 
temporary artists, and yet could not bear that his 
censure or criticism should be a possible means 
of discouragement to them. He greatly admired 
Cruikshank's curious designs, and possessed a large 
number of his proof etchings. The following letter 


was prompted by an appreciative notice he wrote 
concerning the Cruikshank Exhibition : 

From George Cruikshank 

363 Hampstead Road, N.W. : July 25, 1863. 

Dear Sir, — I have to thank you very sincerely for your 
kind notice of the ' Cruikshank Exhibition,' and also for 
your friendly note, which makes me feel that I ought to 
do myself the honour and the pleasure of waiting upon you 
(which I propose to do on Tuesday morning, between nine 
and ten o'clock) to acknowledge personally the obligation 
you have conferred upon me. 

Dear sir, yours very truly, 

Geo. Cruikshank. 

Mention has been made of my father's know- 
ledge and love of old engravings. The collection 
which he had begun to form of these at Oxford 
was increasing from time to time, and soon included 
beautiful little original etchings by Rembrandt and 
Albert Durer, some of them of the utmost rarity ; 
his favourite old prints from Raphael and Mantegna 
were also among his rarest treasures. This little 
collection he largely drew upon for the vignettes 
with which he usually liked to decorate the title- 
pages of his anthologies. But what perhaps gave 
him still more pleasure was the almost unique group 
of mezzotints from Reynolds's pictures of children, 
all of them proof impressions, and many of them 
in first, or very early, states, which covered his 
dining-room walls in London. These he never 
parted with, but the drawings by Michael Angelo 


and Flaxman, which he possessed at one time, were 
sold to the British Museum, with the exception of 
but a few. 

To the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone 

Dear Mr. Gladstone, — Herewith is the Flaxman draw- 
ing which, with your permission, I am to have the pleasure 
of giving you. This is truly a much greater pleasure to 
me than keeping it ; and it is also a very small recognition 
of the obligations of all kinds under which I lie to you. 
As I have above 150 drawings by this great artist, which 
do not form any organic whole as a collection, and which 
I have never planned keeping together now or after my 
death, you see that I can very well disperse a few now to 
those who value his work. 

I only wish that this one had illustrated Homer rather 
than Hesiod. But of the few Homeric designs in the sale, 
not one fell to my lot. 

Believe me 
Ever very truly and respectfully yours, 


During the later years of his life he gave three 
of his best pictures to the National Gallery : a 
'Holy Family,' by Eustache Le Sueur; another 
large picture of the same subject, with saints below, 
by Bonvicino (Moretto) ; and a mystic little paint- 
ing of Our Lord's Entombment, by William Blake. 
An excellent copy of Sir Joshua's Marlborough 
family, by his pupil Smith, was especially admired 
by Mr. Ruskin, who said it might easily be taken 
for the work of the master himself I think few 
nurseries can ever have been hung with such choice 
pictures and prints as he provided for his children — 


some of the rarest engravings from Stothard, others 
from Turner, three or four delicate water-colour 
drawings — one or two such by Turner when a boy — 
and of course many of his favourite line-engravings 
from the Italian masters. From the time we were 
about five years old, he loved to give us some 
choice engraving or carefully chosen book of old 
prints on every birthday, such as Rogers's ' Italy ' 
or Fra Angelico's outline drawings. 

During the summer of 1863 my father and 
mother were the guests of Professor Jowett at 
Oxford. This visit was followed by a short journey 
in Normandy and Brittany, which they called their 
weddinor tour. 

My father continued to see much of Alfred 
Tennyson. During the preceding summer they 
had been travelling together In Derbyshire and 
Yorkshire, besides being guests, with Mr. Glad- 
stone, at Cliveden.^ This year (1863) Tennyson 
paid my father and mother, then living at York 
Gate, a visit which was prolonged owing to an 
attack of eczema ; and ' very charming indeed as a 
guest in every way did he make himself,' my mother 
has often said. 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Privy Council Ofifice : July 1863. 
Dear Tennyson, — I hear rumours that you are likely 
to be soon in London. I hope you will give me notice, 
that we may have a chance of entertaining you in what- 
ever way you like best. My last news of you is from 

^ The Duke of Westminster's. 



Jowett, whom I saw last week at Oxford in excellent 
health and spirits, which, I am bound to add, his persecu- 
tors seemed to share. They are all now outwardly bland 
and mild, and roasters and roastees lie down together in 
peace, like the lion and the lamb, in that holy mountain. 
You quiet Cambridge men would be astonished at the 
number of new places they are building at Oxford ; for it 
is a kind of field of architectural display in all manners 
and styles of Gothic. My wife and I spent four days 
there very pleasantly, and thought London detestable 
when we returned. Every day I am more puzzled to know 
why anybody who can live among trees and fields and 
running waters lives here ; and all that I see of ' going out,' 
and the purtenance thereof, confirms me in my wonder. 

You will, I am sure, be glad to hear that, after a year's 
silence, I have good news from my Jesuit brother. He 
has been travelling in disguise through the very centre of 
Arabia, where he would have been killed at once if dis- 
covered ; then the ship he was in, on the Persian Gulf, went 
down at night, and he and a few more only were saved 
with extreme difficulty, and when on shore he was all but 
carried off by fever. Now he writes on his way to Aleppo, 
and hopes to be in England in the autumn. . . . 

My best remembrances, with my little wife's, to Mrs. 
Tennyson, and love to the children. Cecil will have great 
pleasure in seeing her again. . . . Your region must be 
looking paradisaical now. 

Ever yours, 


To Sir Alexander Grant 

London : Aug. 8, 1863. 
Dear Alexander, — We write as rarely to each other 
as Horace to Augustus, which I take as a proof of the 
imaginative influence that distance exerts. I at least 


remember you very often ; but somehow one don't write. 
. . . Your last letter was one of kind well-wishing on my 
marriage. These good wishes have been fulfilled. Saint 
Cecilia, as you called her, is everything a saint ought to 
be, and a woman too. And she has one special good 
quality, I know not whether a saintly or a womanly, that 
she receives all my friends with an absolute friendship. 
Thus, whenever the Great Day comes, and you again visit 
the foggy west — having a vague hope that the Great Day 
may be coming on us quickly and suddenly, like that 
other, not anticipated with equal complacency, which Holy 
Writ tells of — you will have the best welcome. . . . Jowett 
has paid us two visits in capital health and ' go.' Strang- 
ford is at Constantinople. He never will be quiet. . . . 
Sellar has just got the Edinburgh Latin Professorship by 
a large majority ; he was a week in town lately, and as 
jolly as of old. ... A. Tennyson was three weeks in my 
house a month ago . . . and of course I enjoyed his com- 
pany greatly. Round him, whilst with us, gathered a 
goodly company : old [Sir John] Simeon, J. A. Froude, 
J. Spedding, Holman Hunt, Carlyle, Robert Browning, 
and others. ... I don't mean to go on with periodicals 
long, but having been much pressed this year to write in 
the ' Saturday Review ' &c., I thought it would clarify 
one's style and give facility — besides a chance of a word 
in season now and then. ... In a week Cecil and I cfo 
for a month to North France. Write soon, now, and tell 
me your Loca, facta, nationes. 

Ever affly. yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To Emily Lady Tennyson 

Privy Council Office : Oct. 8, 1863. 
. . . Cecil and I had a very pleasant tour in France, 
seeing the best things in Normandy and some of the 

G 2 


Celtic portions of Brittany, then round to Paris. I saw a 
good deal of the people in different ways, and was much 
pleased. Whatever ill-feeling may have existed against 
England formerly has certainly died clear out, and their 
heads are filled with much more laudable ambition than 
that of annexing us. The government is neither popular 
nor unpopular ; acquiesced in as a kind of necessity : but 
as it has outlived whatever popularity it may have had at 
first, the mistakes which Napoleon makes about Mexico 
and the Church are likely enough to tell against him 
severely, in case of any accidental positive misfortune. 
He and his people seem to me like flowers stuck in a 
garden, with no root or hold on the country. . . . 

Woolner has done a head of Mr. Gladstone, which he 
thinks his best work hitherto. Even in the plaster, it looks 
wonderfully like and animated. . . . 

Jowett left Yorkshire for a visit to Edmund Lushing- 
ton. He (Jowett) was very well and bright, and charmed 
every one in the house ; they looked upon him as an 

My love to Mr. Tennyson and the boys. I hope they 
are grinding away for school : I dare say as delighted with 
the prospect as their mother would be if the separation 
could be avoided. . . . 

An article written in the ' Saturday Review,' 
after his return from France, called forth these 
interesting words from his friend Mr. Matthew 
Arnold : 

Durham Castle : Dec. 2, 1863. 

My dear Palgrave, — I take the article in the ' Saturday 
Review' on Paris and London to be yours. Excellent, 
most excellent ! It has a moderation which, to say the 
truth, I have not always noticed in you, and it is because 
of the pleasure it gives me to see this, that I write these 


lines. True doctrine you have always had, but in trying 
to heal the British demoniac this is not enough ; one must 
convey the true doctrine with studied moderation, for if 
one commits the least extravagance the poor madman 
seizes hold of this, tears and rends it, and quite fails to 
perceive that you have said anything else. 

Don't trouble yourself to answer this. How beautiful 
is this place ! I give the second part of my French Eton 
in February ; then I wrap my face in my mantle and seek 
the Lord, I hope, in silence for a year or two. Adieu ! 

Sincerely yours, 

M. A. 

This happy year ended with the joy of wel- 
coming their first child — a joy which was felt as 
deeply at the birth of all his children. 

To Emily Lady Tennyson 

Privy Council Office : Dec. 12, 1863. 
Dear Mrs. Tennyson, — Woolner tells me he has let 
you know of my dear Cecil's and my happiness. I would 
have written had I not been overwhelmed with work. . . . 
The little girl is said to promise well. We mean to call 
her Cecil Ursula — the last as an old family and Norfolk 
name. She is, we hope, to be placed under the spiritual 
protection of Jowett, Pro-Con-fessor. ... I am delighted 
that you are pleased with Woolner's poem [' My Beautiful 
Lady ']. All the reviews I have seen or heard of praise it ; 
... I hope people will now have the sense to see that a 
sculpturesque poet must also be a poetical sculptor. . . . 
My love to Mr. Tennyson. It will be a great pleasure if 
he will come and look in health at the place where he lay 
ill. Love also to the boys. 

Ever very truly yours, 

F. T. P. 


From the late Lord Houghton 

Dec. 13. 
My dear Palgrave, — The 'Times' gave you a daughter, 
the 'Post' a son, so we thought it might be both, one the 
Pretty, the other the Beautiful. As it is, all good luck to 
the little maiden (who, by her name, will be so eleven 
thousand times over) ! And to the happy mamma ! I 
wonder whether you will like your own children as well as 
you do those of others : it does not always follow. It is 
' most best ' of you (as some old poets have said) to write 
such charming letters to Amy.' They are an education in 
themselves — far better than the ' New Code '. . . . What a 
capital book Froude's is ! so new, indeed, that one feels 
rather like the freshly instructed, though mature gent, 
who would not be told the end of the story of King 
Charles the First before he had read it through. Elizabeth 
was perhaps the greatest woman of the lot, but then she 
was, by so much, the ugliest. . . . The children all well. 
Lady H. told Robin ^ the other day, he knew more about 
his animals than his papa did. 'Yes,' said the dutiful 
youth ; ' but papa knows more about the lions of his 
country.' ... 

Yours ever affectionately, 


No man's love of children could ever have 
exceeded F. T. Palgrave's. He delighted in taking 
those whom he made his friends to a picture-gallery, 
in sending them books, or in writing to them. In 
the letter just given. Lord Houghton alludes to a 
correspondence which my father kept up with his 
little daughter. Unfortunately, most of the letters 

* The Hon. Lady Fitzgerald. '^ Earl of Crewe. 


written to children, with the exception of the fol- 
lowing one and of some to his own children written 
in their early childhood, have been destroyed. 

To the Hon. Lady Fitzgerald 

29 Welbeck Street : Oct. 16, 1862. 

Dear Amicia, — It was very nice of you to write to me, 
and I only wish I had such a charming piece of green 
paper to put my answer on. I dare say I should have, if I 
only had the luck to be a lovely young lady at Fryston. 
Only I can't make out why you ' don't know whether to be 
glad or sorry ' about Cecil and me ; pray make up your 
mind directly, and be good enough to be very glad, or we 
shall not forgive you, and think you a little puss and 
old maid already ! She tells me to give you an invitation 
to come and be one of her bridesmaids, if you like and 
can ; the others are to be May Doyle and two little girls, 
under seven years old — real little girls, you see. It is 
supposed by the wise that you will be wanted about the 
1 2th of December. But if you can't manage this, then 
Cecil and I beg leave (if we can be trusted enough) to invite 
you and Flory and Robin to come and see us in our house, 
which we hope we have discovered (through a long tele- 
scope) in York Gate, Regent's Park. 

I am glad you went again to the Exhibition, and that 
you used your own eyes about the things there. ... I 
thought the Japanese things the most charming of their 
kind in all the Exhibition — such loves of cabinets ! such 
ducks of trays ! such darlings of teacups — such lovely 
ugly monsters ! Give my love to Flory and Robin, and 
my kindest regards to your father and mother, and please 
give him the paper enclosed. . . . 

Ever your affect, friend, 

F. T. Palgrave. 


To his Daughter 

My own dear little Cecy, — I have been often and often 
thinking of you, my darling, and how to-morrow will be 
your birthday, and how happy I hope you will be. . . . 
But as you grow up, you will sometimes think on your 
birthday of the sad things that happen to all of us in our 
lives, and how your life is going by, which now seems so 
long to you ; and then I hope you will think kindly of your 
old papa, and how much he cared for you. Mamma tells 
me that you are good and happy, and I shall expect to 
hear a great deal about all you have seen when you come 
back ; and then you and Frank will tell me what you 
would like me to give you for Christmas presents. It 
seems to us dreadfully long since you went away, and 
dreadfully long before you will come back. Good-bye, 
my dear little seven-year-old girl ! 

Your loving 


To the same 

Horrid London : 1873. 
My dear little eldest one, — I hope you will he proud 
to-morrow when you have a letter, and poor Mum has 
none ! Frank — the dear fellow ! — was so pleased with your 
letter this morning ; it was read over several times, and he 
said it had such a number of subjects and was so well 
spelt. I told a certain wonderful baby what you said 
about her, and she grunted a little to show that she was 
pleased. Her godpapa came all the way from Kensington 
to see her, but she only pouted at him, naughty girl ! Did 
you have any children going about with flowers and 
dressed up yesterday ? I saw some poor little things going 
about in horrid London, and was so sorry for them. Also 
some horses came in from the country covered with 
coloured ribbons, and pleased two little girls with whom I 


was driving. . . . We wonder what fir-cone frames (not 
fraims, 7na petite !) are like. Now give my best and 
biggest love to Mum, and 100 kisses to her. To-night I 
shall have my two little comforts at dinner, now that my 
two other comforts have run away, like naughty female 
sex as they are. 

Your loving 


To his Daughter 

London : Aug. 1875. 

My very dear little Gwenny, — Mum tells me that you 
have not been well, and so, though I have no adventures 
to tell you of, not so much as a rabbit or a pony, I cannot 
help writing to ask how you are, and to tell you how much 
I think about my darling little one and long to see her. 
It makes me think of Eternity, the days seem so long to 
me now, and so long since I last saw all your dear faces. 
Also I have never heard the very difficult name of the 
lovely large doll which was given you at the ^a^aap. 

It was such pretty country where I was yesterday. . . . 
There are tall hills all around covered with trees, oaks and 
ashes ; the hedges are high, like ours ; but there are not so 
many wild flowers, and then there is no mountain like 
Golden Cap, and no sea. Mr. Roundell is very proud of 
his two Alderney cows. . . . 

I think you would soon be tired of the rocking opcrs if 
you bought him. Mv/Lt says you are doing your music 
nicely. Good-bye, my precious little thing, 

Yr. loving 


To the same 


Ym hanwylyd Gwenllian, — ... I am sure that both 
Frank and you would have highly enjoyed the country 


about Haslemere. It is almost as hilly as our Dorset- 
Devon, and has, I think, even more wild nature and un- 
touched surface about it. The view from the house [Aid- 
worth] is splendid : one looks over flowers and a hedge of 
tall evergreens (all grown since Tennyson came there), 
then a precipitous wooded slope, to a rich plain below with 
hedges and villages, and long misty lines of hill (the South 
Downs) beyond. . . . We often sat on the terrace and 
talked together. Hallam is perfection as the entertainer : 
most, perhaps, of this now falling upon him ; and no 
daughter could be more to a mother than he to his. I 
read several printed but unpublished poems, and was much 
interested ; . . . a nm^rative poem, on the subject of the 
Theban prophet Teiresias, was magnificent ; and equally 
so two rhymed poems, one humorous, one sad, which 
made a kind of frame to the main subject : — these were 
written with a grace and a depth of feeling which probably 
no one alive could even approach. He was also better in 
health than when in London, and I had much very inte- 
resting and charming talk with him — (these epithets refer 
to his part !) There were three dogs about : one blind 
and deaf with age whom he scratched with a stick, saying 
he wished to give him what pleasure he could during his 
life ! . . . Good-bye, my darling. 

Ever your loving 


To his Son 

Holker Hall, Carnforth : Oct. ii, 1877. 
My very dear little Child, — . . . One day whilst we 
were at Robert Cunliffe's, I did long for you ! We drove 
over to Wynnstay, where mamma's cousins, the Watkin 
Williams- Wynns, live, and they took me all over the stables. 
They are said to be one of the very finest in England, or 
anywhere indeed, for the number of first-rate hunters which 
they contain. They love hunting above all things. There 


were near sixty horses in the whole stable, more than forty 
being hunters. Lord Portsmouth, Aunt Catty's father, has 
about as many : they were so gentle in their boxes, and 
turned round and showed their grand heads and necks, 
and their coats shone like so many dark looking-glasses. 

Yesterday I went a walk up a hillside, and on our way 
we found a poor little rabbit with his leg broken in a trap, 
but Lord F. Cavendish and the Duke both said there was 
nothing to be done but to kill it, and they looked very sad, 
and so it was done. They are both so very kind and good 
to everything, that I supposed they were right ; but I ran 
on up the hill and felt wretched. We had a very fine view 
of the Lake Mountains. The garden is full of flowers and 
great cypresses. . . . 

To the same 


My very dear Boy, — I wish that the place of my letters 
to you were always taken as pleasantly as it was last 
Saturday ! We, at least, shall have no such nice days 
again until you come back to us in the holidays. And I 
hope that the remembrance of all the pleasant things we 
saw, and of your sisters' company, and the little white 
donkey at Hatfield will have served to cheer you up at 
school. I remember how much agreeable memories of this 
kind used to inspirit me at Charterhouse. I hope that 
you are not too particular and unsociable, but make the 
best you can of your schoolfellows. You will not find 
friends made for you in life : they only come if one takes 
some pains oneself to make them, and if one makes the 
best of those about one. . . . You must keep up your 
spirits like a man. ... I am sorry to say that I fear the 
' four-in-hand club,' which has taken to driving about 
lately, keeps up tight bearing-reins, just as if Mr. Flower 
had never written anything ! I do hope the holidays will 


not end till some way into September, that we may have 
some good scrambles together. How I long for them ! 

Ever your loving 

F. T. P. 

To his Daughter 

Education Department, Whitehall: Aug. 1883. 
My darling duck Margaret, — You asked for a letter on 
Sunday evening in bed : and I wish I could write you 
anything amusing. Now I say, the day after to-morrow, I 
can say, I hope to see you again on the day after to- 
morrow ! Although I think you will be fast asleep and 
dreaming of a doll when I come. It seems dreadfully 
long since you went away. I hope you have had a nice 
drive and ride or two with Frank. . . . Yesterday after- 
noon I sallied out and called on two nice old cats in 

Terrace, who each purred very amiably to me, and offered 
me five o'clock milk. One of them had just seen poor 
Lady Eastlake, and found that her rheumatism had taken 
a better turn. I hope there is plenty of verbena and nas- 
turtium in the garden . . . also some sunflowers, that we 
may all look artistical ! The house does not look like 
itself, for mamma and I live downstairs, and we are study- 
ing Welsh together at every spare minute. Please tell 
Gwenny and Annora that if they have done any exercises, 
and like to send them here, Mr. Evans will be delighted 
to correct them. I have got a few plays for you all to 
read at Nevin, and a lot of colour-boxes &c. Good-bye, 
my sweet little one. 

Ever your very loving Father, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

It vi^as perfect pleasure to him to have children 
about him, and if this was so regarding other people's 
children, so much the more vi^as it in the case of his 


own. He worshipped them from their babyhood, 
playing with them, walking out with them, sharing 
their interests, and encouraging them to share his as 
soon as childhood began. He gave them almost 
unrestrained liberty while with him, allowing them 
the free run of all his books, and never restrictinof 
them further than to say ' That's rubbish, and waste 
of time to read it.' He liked having them, too, in 
his study while he was working, and would often 
thank them for their company, even though he 
might not have spoken to them for hours, being 
wholly concentrated on his work. His humility to 
them was touching : he would reprove them with 
great diffidence, and afterwards would always apolo- 
gise to them for having rebuked them at all. He 
retained his buoyancy and an eternal youthfulness 
to the very end of his life. In spite of deeply felt 
sorrows — almost overwhelming him at times — his 
interests, always manifold, increased year by year, 
and into such as affected those he loved he threw 
all his ardour and sympathy — and it was a wonderful 
sympathy — given as freely and unreservedly in the 
matter of choosing a doll or reading a child's story- 
book, as it was in those matters nearest his heart. 
Devotion to the smallest child, and even babies, had 
indeed been always one of his characteristics. He 
took the keenest delight in gathering around him 
many poor little children as he walked through St. 
James's Park while returning from his work, often 
distributing threepenny bits or sweets among them ; 
and the sight of particularly poorly dressed little 
girls invariably made him regret that he could not 


walk out stocked with new frocks for them all. But 
it was not only children who claimed this tender- 
heartedness ; any destitute woman or girl especially 
appealed to his sympathy and to his sense of chival- 
rous protection, and he was generous to the last 
degree in giving practical help to schemes furthered 
for their welfare. More than one of his friends 
have said, ' I have never seen such unbounded 
generosity as Palgrave's, he is one of the very few 
who realise the duty of giving, and who gives up for 
the sake of giving' ; and another, * His charity list 
seemed unending.' 

Robert Browning was a frequent visitor at my 
father's house, particularly during these years, when 
he constantly spent Sunday afternoons with him 
and my mother. In the following letter he refers to 
a detrimental article on some of his poems, which 
had been erroneously ascribed to my father : 

From Robert Browning 

19 Warwick Crescent : Oct. 19, 1864. 

My dear Palgrave, — Thank you indeed for your letter 
and the pleasant news of your return. We were not near 
each other in France — I went southward to the Pyrenees 
and Biarritz — indeed, I saw Fontarabia and St. Sebastian. 
We'll talk it all over soon, but, I much fear, not to-night, 
for I have a vile cold and cough and must care for my sweet 
self. If I can look in I will, of course. 

You write the article ? No, indeed ! Were you minded 
to review me, you might easily have much to say against 
the general cut of my coat, but would not — I fancy — go 
grubbing among my old wardrobe of thirty years' accumu- 
lation, and, picking off here a quaint button, there a queer 


tag and tassel, exhibit them as my daily wear. Bless us ! 
in the course of my musical exercises, and according to the 
moods of many a year, I may have treated myself to an 
occasional whistle, cherrup, and guffaw, besides the regular 
symphonies — and even in these, it's not unlikely that 
' Strafford,' written twenty-eight years ago, is far from 
perfect ; whereupon . . . but see the Review and then 
smash it ! I had supposed that the ramshackle old ' Edin- 
burg,' under a succession of sleepy editors, was cleaned in 
the crannies : but — body o' me ! — here's a bug again ! 

Ever yours most truly, 

Robert Browning. 

Shortly before the Christmas of 1865 Tennyson 
was my parents' guest for a fortnight, and this was 
naturally the occasion for many noteworthy friends 
to gather round him, among them being Mr. Glad- 
stone and Mr. Browning, 

This year had brought forth two anthologies, 
the one a selection from Wordsworth's poems in 
Moxon's * Miniature Poets ' series, with a biogra- 
phical preface ; the other, Shakespeare's Lyrical 
Songs and Sonnets. This selection differs from 
others of its kind in that it excludes the ' Venus 
and Adonis,' and the * Lucrece,' which he thought 
were ' marked by a warmth of colouring unsuited 
for the world at large ' ; other lyrics are absent 
from the little book which were considered as * too 
closely involved in the action of the plays.' 

It was in 1866 that his 'Essays on Art' ap- 
peared in book form, most of these having been 
published before in the ' Saturday Review ' and 
other periodicals. These dealt with the recent 


exhibitions of the Royal Academy, with the work 
of single contemporary painters, and with two or 
three more general views of Art. Of this latter 
class, the two entitled ' Poetry and Prose in Art ' 
and ' Sensational Art ' were commonly considered 
admirable. He had been much connected with the 
spread of pre-Raphaelitism, and was an ardent 
admirer of that school. The essay on Mr. Ford 
Madox- Brown's pictures did something to foster at 
large an appreciation of his painting, for his archaic 
picturesqueness was too strange and original to 
appeal forcibly to more than a comparative few. Of 
his perhaps best-known picture — ' Work ' — my father 
says that it is ' so far as we know the most truthfully 
pathetic, and yet the least sentimental rendering of 
the dominant aspect of English life that any of our 
painters have given us.' He also points out the 
unconventional style and creative originality in his 
handling of Scriptural subjects, and his skilful use 
of detail and colour, comparing ' Elijah and the 
Widow's Son,' in its 'dramatic intensity,' with the 
designs of Giotto.^ The essay on Mr. Holman Hunt 
is almost wholly commendatory, special praise being 
given to his London Bridge ('The Sea King's 
Peaceful Triumph ') : 'A representation of the 
Londoners of our age so profoundly faithful, giving 

^ In a letter to Mr. W. M. Rossetti, dated May 1897, my father 
writes : — ' You lost the F. M. Brown Exhibition : which impressed 
me more than the contemporary Watts and Leighton Shows, in- 
teresting and instructive as they were. Where F. M. B. was good, he 
rose (to my mind) far above either. But I compare him to Browning : 
the execution, too rarely doing justice to the thought. But I shall 
perhaps be a heretic in your eyes on both R. B. and F. M. B.' 

'the five days' entertainments' 97 

the whole, without caricature, yet without common- 
place, we have never seen. We are glad that high 
art — for such, and only such, we should consider all 
really good art — has been employed for once on 
such a subject as this.' It is curious to note how in 
essentials my father's opinion of modern painters 
remained practically unchanged through life. Hence 
Mr. Watts continued to be his ideal colourist — his 
painting the nearest approach in my father's mind to 
that of the Old Masters — the only artist to recall 
Titian : while for purely poetical painting he placed 
George Mason first, and latterly remarked that one 
of his pictures would perhaps give him more plea- 
sure to have constantly before him than the work 
of any other artist. Mason's beauty of line in his 
drawing of children he would compare with that of 
Sir Joshua Reynolds. Three years later [1869] his 
* Gems of English Art ' came out, a book contain- 
ing illustrations printed in colour from wood blocks, 
from the oil-paintings by English artists of the first 
half of this century ; there are accompanying papers 
which describe the illustrations, showing the connec- 
tion between the art of each period and the larger 
national influences of the same time. ' The Five 
Days' Entertainments ' came out almost simulta- 
neously — a set of fairy stories on the five senses, 
most of them original, a few only being gathered 
and re-written from old sources. A charm and in- 
terest of this book lies in the beautifully designed 
woodcuts by Arthur Hughes. To the Globe edition 
of Sir Walter Scott's Poems he contributed in 1866 
a critical memoir, besides copious notes. This 



essay is, however, biographical rather than critical, 
and gives a delightful portrait of Scott's life and 
character. Of this, my father remarked years after- 
wards that it was ' the least unsatisfactory piece of 
prose-work, I think, that I have done.' Principal 
Shairp warmly admired this tribute to Scott, and 
wrote thus about it to my father : 

Anything about Scott would always be welcome. Your 
Essay is all the more so that it brings out a truer view of 
him than either Lockhart or Carlyle gives. I never 
believe that such poetry as his — coming from a living 
enthusiasm in his subjects — ever could have been written 
by one at the core a worldling, as a mere bye-play ; nor 
that the love of money could be the soil which grew such 
a harvest. You have done good service by bringing out the 
contrary. . . . 

My father and mother were in the habit of spend- 
ing part of the summer holiday at Lyme Regis, a 
little old town of some historical interest, which lies 
on the borders of Dorset and Devon in a particu- 
larly beautiful curve of Portland Bay. Here in 
August 1867 they were visited by Alfred Tennyson, 
who had been led there, like my father before him, 
by Miss Austen's description of the place, in ' Per- 
suasion.' My father has often described the intense 
interest which Lord Tennyson showed in the classical 
Cobb whence Louisa Musgrove fell, and in the end- 
less lovely walks in the near country. After this 
visit my father and he traversed Dartmoor and 
other parts of Devonshire. In writing to Mr. F. G. 
Waugh he says : 

I had a very enviable fortnight whilst in the South 


with A. Tennyson. We went over Dartmoor and the 
peninsula of Salcombe together in the finest weather, and 
enjoyed ourselves like schoolboys in defiance of Time, 
children, and the other cares of life. If not nodes coenceque 
deum^ the half-hours of talk, or reading Horace together, 
with a pipe, and in some choice spot of hillside or torrent 
or woodland, or by the sea, were hardly less divine. 

Some of his friends urgfed his standing- for the 
Professorship of Poetry at Oxford in 1867, the chair 
having become vacant ; but he refused to do so, 
being anxious that Sir Francis Doyle should hold 
the post. 

To Mr. Waugh 

Feb. 1867. 

Dear Mr. Waugh, — My sole and all-sufficient reason 
for not standing for the Poetry Professorship (modesty 
apart) is that I am much attached to Doyle ^ (who is my 
uncle), and think he would do the work very tidily. . . . 

Many thanks for your kindness in sending the etching, 
which is a real bit from Rembrandt's hand. From the 
look of the paper, I conjecture it was taken from the plate 
rather after Rembrandt's time ; a particular I notice, be- 
cause in buying old prints it is useful to keep it in mind. 
A print shop is as full of ingenuities and subterfuges as 

I fear Theed's group would not convert me to your 
admiration. When a man of fifty or sixty has been all his 
life engaged on an art, and never reaches knowledge of 
form, or force in rendering character, or poetry of invention, 
one must perforce give up further hope. Hence my despair 
about Theed, Noble, Marochetti, and several other men. 
When I hear anything new by them described as, ' Oh, but 
this is quite different from what you have seen, quite 

^ Sir F. Doyle, Bart., late Professor of Poetry at Oxford. 

H 3 


superior!' I am as unable to share the speaker's confidence 
as if he said * Tupper has now written a really first-rate 
poem.' But you know many people think taste mere 
matter of individual fancy ; many admire Tupper honestly. 
All I can advance is a very long and careful study of sculp- 
ture from boyhood, and under great advantages of learning, 
however I may have employed them. To one who, like 
yourself, cares about art, and wishes to form his inde- 
pendent opinion on sculpture, I could only say, wait till 
you hear a little more of the 'Tricks of the Trade' before 
you make up your judgment. 

Ever truly yours, 


To the same 

. . . Thanks for the Sonnets. It is good that you 
should work on, success in poetry being almost always as 
much matter of practice as in any other art. The differ- 
ence between Virgil and Bavius [?] lies quite as much in 
the greater accuracy and completeness of Virgil as in his 
greater inspiration. But the inspiration has such charms 
when one is young, that I dare say you will consider this 
doctrine as mechanical. . . . 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Oct. 27, 1868. 

We were very sorry you could not come to us at Lyme, 
where ... I discovered several new walks of greater 
beauty than any known to us last year. After that we 
went to a valley in Montgomeryshire of almost equal 
beauty, and then to a little visit with the Gladstones at 
Hawarden Castle, which I enjoyed as much as any two 
days I can remember. We heard, as you may fancy, much 
more about Homer than about the House. . . . 

You would have been charmed with some pictures in 
the Leeds exhibition. A girl's head by Leonardo da 


Vinci is one of the most beautiful and most individual 
portraits I ever saw ; I remember it as one of the faces 
one has long known, though I was but a few minutes in 
the gallery. . . . 

To the same 

April 22, 1869. 

... I have had a sight lately of two very charming 
old friends, who have lost nothing of their vividness and 
geniality — Alexander Grant and B. Morier. Grant has 
returned to his acropolis : Morier will be in England till 
autumn ; ... he is rich in strange experiences from Ger- 
many. They and Jowett met here, and we all determined 
never to grow old — a virtuous resolution, in which we 
regard j^ou as setting us an admirable example. This is 
another version of the prayer ' to die young ' — and perhaps 
a better one. 

I have been deeply interested by Lecky's new book 
[' History of Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne ']. It 
seems to me as brilliant and as rich in varied knowledge 
as his ' Rationalism,' with greater power of thought and 
argument. The opening chapter, in which he compares 
the rival systems of ' intuitive and utilitarian ' morality — 
arguing strongly in favour of the ' intuitive ' — is singularly 
clear and striking. But indeed the whole book is one 
which you should read. Do you know Lecky ? He is a 
very pleasing man. . . . 

The follovv^ing letter from Cardinal Newman 
alludes to an article by my father on ' Verses on 
Various Occasions ' : 

From Cardinal Newman 

The Oratory, Birmingham : Jan. 26, 1868. 
My dear Mr. Palgrave, — A friend had sent me the 
number of the ' Pall Mall Gazette ' before your welcome 
letter of this morning, and I had taken the great liberty 


with you already, of conjecturing that the article on my 
volume of verses was your writing. 

I so fancied, first because I saw it was the writing of 
one who was perfectly at home in literary criticism, and 
next because I felt that, did you write about me, you 
would be sure, like the writer of the article, to be kind to 
me in your notice beyond my deserts. 

And now I can but pray that those who, like you, think 
and speak of me with interest and tenderness, may have a 
great reward for their goodness. 

Most sincerely yours, 

John H. Newman. 

P.S. — I will not forget your kind wish, should I again 
come to London. 

Part of a letter from my father to a friend is here 
inserted. His estimate of Tennyson in comparison 
with Browning is clearly portrayed ; much as he 
admired Browning, Tennyson always remained in 
his mind ' ten times the greater poet and thinker.' 

March 17, 1869. 

I was much interested by your remarks on Conington's 
pamphlet. . . . Whilst I am compelled to agree in his 
general estimate of the superior poetical art assigned to 
Virgil, and perhaps to Horace, I agree with you that he 
does not do full justice to the vivida vis animi oi Lucretius. 
But I think that the modernism of Lucretius (a quality 
which he shares with the greater Greek minds) gives us a 
kind of bias in his favour which perhaps imparts another 
element than poetical criticism into our estimate of him. 
When one looks at the subject matter of great works of 
art, it does seem difficult to find a common measure for 
them. Yet the fact that the pleasure which we receive 
from, e.g., the ' Iliad,' the ' Divina Commedia,' and the 


' Excursion,' so far as it is poetical pleasure, is (or seems 
to me) identical in nature, points to the great common 
ground on which all may be tried ; whilst the great differ- 
ences equally warn us that, as in astronomical calcula- 
tions, a vast number of accidental points must be first 

I have just finished reading ' The Ring and the Book ' 
through to my wife. Within a rather narrow range it has 
amazing power and subtlety. What I do not find are 
charm and delicacy. . . . Tennyson seems to me ten times 
the greater poet, and ten times the wider and deeper 
thinker. But Brownings individuality is of course his 
own. . . . However, the whole poem certainly adds some 
marvellously living figures to our gallery of English poetry, 
and is excellent sui generis. 

To the Right Hon. J. G. Talbot, M.P. 

London : Aug. 1880. 

I have it on my conscience to say that my criticisms 
on Browning's want of poetry was only an inferior modi- 
fication . of a review on his ' Ring and Book ' which I 
once saw. In this, after pointing out this and that merit, 
the writer wound up : 'In short, we may say with the 
Shepherd in Virgil, 

Nihil hie nisi carmina desunt ! 

Is not this very felicitous ? I envied it, although, as one 
should never sacrifice ones friend to one's joke, or one's 
review, I would not have said it, had it occurred to me. . . . 

The spring of 1869 was clouded by the death of 
his mother-in-law, which took place in April at 
Bordeaux. My mother went to see her shortly 
before she died. 


To his Wife 

Privy Council Office : April 1869. 

... I cannot tell in what state exactly you may have 
found your dear mother : but I know it must be a state 
which fills you with grief on your own account, and with 
even greater grief for his sake to whom this will truly be 
taking the life out of his life. ... If there be time and 
occasion, will you assure your mother of my true love and 
respect, and that I have truly felt for her as a son ever 
since September 1862. . . . 

The friends on Saturday seemed to be very happy, and 
Morier did not go till 1.30 A.M. He returned to breakfast 
at nine, with A. Grant, and they all sat and talked till two. 
After that, I took the children ; and at 6.30 Jowett returned 
to dinner, and spent the evening quietly with me. . . . 

In the August of this year my father made a 
short journey in Savoy with three of Baron Alder- 
son's family ; after which he and my mother visited 
some of the wildest parts of South Wales. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

Laon: Aug. 14, 1869. 

I cannot remember a more striking effect than these 
vast towers on the summit of a green hill. . . . The four 
towers are perhaps the very best known to me : for a union 
of elegance and solidity, and for the greatest air of ap- 
parent height, they are incomparable. The facade is also 
noble, so largely arranged, yet with sufficient detail. We 
saw also some noble pieces of palace &c. in the same 
grand style around the Cathedral : and I never felt more 
decidedly the sort of ' line of life ' which parts the great 
Gothic of 1 200 from the later developments. . . . 

Ati£: 20, La Grande Chartreuse. — It is very difficult to 


put the recollections of these two days on paper. Perhaps 
the impression which we all received sums up the matter 
best — that the great celebrity of the place falls below its 
merits, that we never saw more beauty and more impres- 
siveness together. We had a brilliant day : the road goes 
between lofty walls of rock, feathered from top to base 
with lovely trees left to their free fancies — wherever they 
can plant themselves — and often in spots where one cannot 
understand how they can take root. . . . The rock used 
by St. Bruno as an altar is enclosed within a marble 
reredos. The chapel bore no traces of special age, but was 
covered with rude oil paintings internally. What a gulf 
seems to part our whole world of thought and action, and 
that in which this holy man lived ! I looked at the great 
scattered rocks by his chapel — at the great jagged crests 
of the mountain above, and thought that these at least 
must give to my eye the same impressions of form and 
colour as to St. Bruno. But what he saw was not the 
beauty of the wood, or the grandeur of the mountain, the 
pathos and the terror which such scenes afford to Rousseau 
or Wordsworth : ' but something deeper far than these ' — 
raptures and ecstasies and adorations. The difference 
between the mediaeval and the modern life is nowhere 
shown more vividly than by some shrine like this, so small, 
so trivial in itself, so deep in far-reaching memories. . . . 
We left the place with great regret. I had hardly cared 
to go ; but, like the Alps or Rhine, though commonplace 
beings and cockneydom may crowd it, yet the place bears 
itself and its profound impressiveness — picturesque and 
moral — high above these things, and has given us one of 
the days that are not likely to be forgotten. Yet after all 
we did enjoy the total freedom from other presences on 
our long ride back through a hundred woodland spaces 
and torrent sides which would have been ' a joy for ever ' 
in themselves, had we not been in a land so rich in such 
treasures. ... I write out some lines begun in the valley 


of the Guier, and which 1 finished in the Grande Char- 

Torrent under lofty beeches, under larches fringeing high, 
Wanderer by the wandering stranger, slipping softly, 
surely, by ; 

Born among Savoyan snows, and where Saint Bruno, hid 

with God, 
Far from human home and love, his path in tears and 

rapture trod : 

Joining then the valley-streamlet, then the golden-green 

I sere, 
Then where Rhone's broad currents to the blue their 

lordly burden bear : 

Torrent under lofty beeches, under larches fringeing high^ 
Thou art southward set, and southward all thy waters 
strain and fly. 

Ah ! another vision calls me, calls me to the northern isle ; 
Voices from beyond the mountain, smiles that dim the 
sun's own smile ; 

And I set my soul against thee, water of the southern sea ; 
Thine are not the currents toward the haven where my 
heart would be.^ 

. . . Paris, Sept. 3. — Paris is a place where everything 
strikes you and nothing penetrates you. I am surprised 
at the absence of salient points. The Louvre, now that it 
begins to lose its first brilliancy, seems to me very wanting 
in grandeur ; it has neither the life nor elegance of Gothic 
architecture, nor any trace of the union of grace with 
severity of the Greek. . . . 

' Lyfical PolVhs, Macmillan, 1871. 


To Sir Alexander Grant 

5 York Gate, London : Oct. 12, 1869. 
Dear Alexander, — ... I went through France to 
Grenoble, out of all question the richest piece of the pictu- 
resque I ever saw. ... I had very pleasant companions in 
three of the gens Alderson : nevertheless, I felt that to 
travel without my wife, who had stayed at Walmer with 
the children, was vanity. I then took her for a fortnight 
to South Wales ; . . . and we enjoyed it immensely. This 
country has a wildness and beauty which is all one wants 
in its way ; it was ' all-sufficient,' even after the greater 
splendours and more penetrating sublimities of Dauphine 
and High Savoy. I have now put the yoke on again, and 
find that also ' all-sufficient,' in the sense of absorbing my 
working powers, which are certainly in the ' stationary 
state,' if not deteriorating. . . . Hughlings lingered long in 
Anglia and came to say farewell, when I gave him Matt's 
complete poems as a souvenir. There is a great charm of 
nature about him, besides an unusual vividness and origin- 
ality of mind. He has as much as poor Clough in him, 
if he could get it out. . . . The Stowe-Byron affair . . . 
seems to me the most disgraceful thing to all concerned in 
the way of literature that has happened in our time. Badly 
as I had long seen one must think of Lady B., I did not 
know the case was so thoroughly bad against her. ... I 
am greatly pleased at Temple's appointment,^ almost the 
only one in Church matters which could really interest me. 
If Bishop of London, he would be one of the most felt 
men of the day. 

Ever affly. yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

Two letters to his cousin, Lady Eastlake, follow, 

^ To the Bishopric of Exeter. 


on the subject of the memoir she was at that time 
writing of her husband. 

To Lady Eastlake 

5 York Gate : Oct. 15, 1869. 

My dear Lady Eastlake, — I have gone twice carefully 
through the enclosed ; ' I need not say, with the greatest 
interest, both from its revelations of the artist's mind, and 
from the height and beauty of the nature set before one. 

Substantially, there is but little that I wish to see 
altered : yet I fear that your first impression in looking at 
the sheets will not be one altogether of charity to the 
critic ! I have revised them pretty much as if it were my 
own book — ^just as I have revised much for Gififord, Max 
M tiller, and others much beyond myself both in fame and 
in ability. I am perfectly aware of the implied vanity of 
such a process — that every correction carries with it a sort 
of ' I am better than thou ! ' but it seems also to me more 
consistent with a humble performance of the work of re- 
visal to put away such thoughts, and simply suggest a way, 
as best one can, and I may, 1 think, honestly add, without 
any desire to impose my preferences on another. . . . 

In regard to points of wider importance. I fully agree 
with you that the tone of such a book must be, and ought 
to be, one of warm admiration. But the writer's object is 
not so much to have the pleasure of expressing this, as to 
carry the reader's mind with him. It seems to me that (as 
a general rule) this is effected best by restraining phrases of 
praise to a man's nature and character, leaving the praise 
of his ability as an artist or a thinker to come from the 
reader, as the result of the reader's knowledge of the works, 
or his perusal of the writings. Holding this opinion, you 
will not, however, find that I have wished to suggest many 

^ Memoir of Sir Charles Eastlake^ P.R.A. 


changes, although I have here and there ventured to put 
the words in what seemed to me a more effective, because 
a more impersonal, form. . . . Now I need only add that 
it has been the greatest pleasure to me to do any work on 
behalf of a friend so valued and honoured — as well as on your 
own. I shall be equally glad to have been allowed to do 
it, if you should not concur in anything I have suggested ; 
all I hope is, that if you are wrathful (as I should certainly 
be in my own case !) at some remarks, yet that in the end 
you will charitably forgive the critic, and forget the criti- 
cism, out of regard to his intention. . . . 

Your aff. Cousin, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To the same 

Jan. 4, 1870. 

My dear Lady Eastlake, — I shall value very highly the 
copy of the ' Memoir.' ' I am truly pleased if I have been 
of any use, whether in helping you, or in assisting this little 
monument in honour of so noble a nature and so gifted a 
man as he whom you lament so faithfully. I hope to read 
it all carefully through within a few days. 

Your memoir of Gibson has also interested me much. I 
do not think that I underrate his art nearly so much as you 
seem to believe. He seems to me a man of much feeling 
for grace and refinement, and a fair degree of inventive- 
ness, and also much better grounded in the material side 
of his art than most of his contemporaries. I regret that 
he should have so rarely used these gifts upon subjects of 
real interest or vitality. I doubt whether he admired the 
Greeks more than I : but this very admiration seems to 
warn one against second-hand Hellenising at two thousand 
years' distance. But the Life shows how natural this direc- 
tion was to Gibson. So far as my knowledge of modern 

^ Memoir of Sir Charles Eastlake, P.R.A. 


Roman sculpture goes, I put him above Thorwaldsen, 
above Tenerani ; under Canova, despite Canova's modern- 
isms. But they seem to me, one and all, so far below 
Flaxman as hardly to enter into competition with him. 

Cis begs me to send you her love, with all good wishes 
for this and future years. . . . We drank to the health of 
1870 very cheerfully at Hatfield, where we spent a few 
days last week with much pleasure. 

Ever yr. affecte. cousin, 


To the late Lord de Tabley 

Privy Council Office : Oct. 4, 1865. 

Dear Warren, — ... I won't say that reading ' The 
Bibliography of Tennyson' has been an effectual conso- 
lation to me for giving up free life in Wales for this place ; 
but I will say I read it with great pleasure and thought it 
showed a real critical faculty for poetry — a remark which 
Woolner, who has a good deal of it himself, also made to 
me. What you want is to feel that it is worth your while 
to take more pains, and hence to work a subject out in a 
more detailed, consecutive way. Now if you don't choose 
to do this, I shall set it down, not to Modesty, but to'ther 
woman in the Sciarra picture. . . . The ' Olympias ' figure, 
as you say, is very fine ; but where is the man of money 
with sense enough — only common sense — to take your 
suggestion ? 

My holiday was mainly spent with wife and children at 
Aberystwyth ; if one must stop at a seaside place, one of 
the best, or the best I know. We diverged, however, into 
Shropshire for visits, and made a car-round through the 
best parts of North Wales, which we enjoyed extremely. 
I hope this will find you in some similar scene. . . . 


To Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

I own I can't find that the published or oral criticisms 
by artists have the value which one would wish to find in 
them ; with some very rare exceptions. Certainly, abso- 
lute contradictions of estimate are as common among 
artists as among the blessed ptcd/iaan itself. On the other 
hand, artists give flashes of insight of far higher value than 
those of outsiders. I think a very valuable and charming 
book might be made of brief aphorisms and criticisms by 
artists. From Hogarth onwards we have them. The 
Academy lectures, of course, would supply something ; the 
lives of men like Blake more and better. I wish you, who 
seem to have a wonderful and enviable power of work in 
leisure hours, would think of this. Your first papers on 
style, and then those on modern English painters, strike 
me as those in which you unite ability and completeness 
of treatment most. . . . The impression Turner made on 
me was just that of a Dr. M'Culloch — gtezt general ability 
and quickness. Whatever subject of talk was started, he 
seemed master of it — books, politics, &c. This confirms 
me in my general view of art — that it is less the product 
of a special artistic faculty than of a powerful or genial 
nature, expressing itself through paint or marble. This is 
Goethe's idea of genius. But much is to be said on the 
other side, and no one has urged it better than you. . . . 
I saw Hamerton yesterday. I believe he will review you 
in the ' Saturday,' where he succeeded me two years ago. 
He is a v^ery good sort of fellow, and I like many of his 
criticisms, which are certainly of the professional kind. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

Dec. 1869.— The other day I went to the British 
Museum. The Greek sculpture and vases impressed me 


more profoundly than ever : the designs are so exquisite, 
the grace so unfailing, the touch so fine, that I know 
no school of fine art equal to what is shown here. A 
hundred nameless potters are better than the best men of 
the Renaissance. We justly praise Flaxman, but Athens 
or Corinth had each a whole crowd of working men who 
probably did not reckon as artists at all to rival him. . . . 

On Wednesday last Cis and I went to Hatfield House. 
What with the beauty of the noble old house, and the 
imaginative interest of its history and contents, it surpasses 
most private dwellings I have seen. No human creatures 
could be more wholly simple than our hosts [Lord and 
Lady S.], the good and the evil of life could find nothing 
to spoil in them. ... I suppose that highest of all prin- 
ciples — unthoughtfulness of self — is their principle. , . . 
There is a lovely little Reynolds here of a little girl with 
sheep, a perfect specimen of his naivete and subdued 
brilliancy of colour. The evenings generally passed in 
talk, but on Friday there was some experimental dancing 
in the Long Gallery in preparation for a ball to come. 
Then we sat up and listened to the bells, and drank the 
health of the New Year. There are few from which I 
have parted more readily than 1869, with its series of 
deprivals, from Strangford ^ onwards to Aunt Harriet.^ 

Jan. 2, 1870. — Browning has been for an hour, giving 
a very animated account of his autumn, which he had 
spent in a long course of visits, enjoying it all himself, and 
no doubt a source of enjoyment to others. 

Mardi 9, 1870. — Cis and I dined at the Lord Chancel- 
lor's, meeting the De Greys, A. Stanleys, old Panizzi and 
others. I sat next to Lord Hatherley. He talked to me 
about the Queen Caroline affair, in which he, then very 
young, took a share. . . . He said that from his position at the 
time he might of course be held a not wholly disinterested 

1 Lord Strangford. " Mrs. John Gunn. 


witness, yet that he now, looking back on the whole, on his 
soul and honour, acquitted her of anything beyond exces- 
sive want of propriety, and added, ' My verdict is — Not 
Guilty.' ... I know no nature more charming and attractive 
than his, nor any perhaps that has so much of the wisdom 
from above. . . . Seeing friends has been the main business 
of the last month — the one thing which makes London 
endurable. I have seen more of Charles Alderson than 
of any other friend. . . . April, 1870. — Spent Easter at 
Chichester with Dean Hook, who showed all his hearty 
humour, and their usual Easter guests the Hatherleys were 
there. . . . Cis and I have taken little Cecy and Frank to 
Worthing. The sweet nature of my little boy always 
grows upon me ; the child seems as if he could not think 
a mean or selfish thought. . . . We returned to London on 
the 29th. Many parties, a pleasant one at Devonshire 
House, also the Grant-Duffs. Cis and I went to the Deanery 
at Westminster ; certainly no one can be more genuinely 
kind friends than the Dean and Lady Augusta. . . . 

The following letters concerning an edition of 
Shelley's Poems, being then [1869] prepared by 
Mr. W. M. Rossetti, may find a place here. 

To Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

Feb. 20, 1869. 
Dear Rossetti, — Having happened to get a second- 
hand number of the ' Quarterly' for October 1861, and to 
cut it up, I saved from the debris an article on Shelley, 
and send it you by book post. I remember nothing about 
it, and should not expect to find that it takes the view you 
will probably take ; but when trying some minor attempts 
in biography, I found that any other person's view was of 
value ; and if I am right in thinking your ' Opus ' includes 
a life, you may like to refer to it. You have a rather 



enviable task, I think, in editing Shelley, who seems to me 
to want the process more than most men. In case of such 
an edition as yours, my wish would be that the text should 
absolutely follow the MS. (except, perhaps, as to spelling 
and punctuation), and that all emendations of supposed 
errors in the original writing down, or varies lectiones 
where the MS. is itself dubious, should appear as notes. 
The more I read, the more doubtful do the most ingenious 
conjectures appear to me. But I have no doubt you have 
pondered all these points already. I hope your edition 
will not contain more than specimens, at the most, of the 
Margaret Nicolson verses, or those juvenilia which Hogg 
has printed, and also, I think, Garnett. No man is so 
immortal that the world cannot afford to lose some drops 
of him ! I hardly know a crueller thing to genius — 
especially genius like Shelley's — than, when he is dead and 
defenceless, to overwhelm his memory with his rejected or 
careless pieces. . . . Every weak thing in a book, I some- 
times think, is like the weak place in a beam — that by 
which its durability is ultimately measured. But perhaps 
I am here misled by a metaphor. . . . 

From Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

56 Euston Square : Feb. 1869. 
Dear Palgrave, — Very much obliged for your friend- 
liness in thinking of my Shelley work. I have now read 
through the ' Quarterly ' article ; there is nothing new to 
me in it nozv, as I have been saturating myself with 
Shelley material, but I shall keep it by me, and may turn 
it to some usd*yet. ... I see — with regret but obduracy — 
that you will not consider my text the right kind of thing. 
I introduce various emendations, corrections of slight 
grammatical slips, and some of the conjectural class. 
Vastly more of these are only suggested in notes. . . . 
I put in all verses I can find — Peg Nicolson, &c., but this 


rubbish only in an appendix. It appears to me that each 
enthusiast is entitled to take his own feelings very much as 
the standard in such cases. Now I am a Shelley enthusiast, 
and I like to see all this vile nonsense, and form a tolerably 
correct (instead of a haphazard) opinion as to the develop- 
ment of so splendid a poetic genius. Ergo, all is shovelled 
in — but not confounded with what is worth reading for its 
own sake. I quite agree with you that selected editions of 
poets are most desirable, but not exclusively desirable. 
Let me know everything, and then hold fast to the 
good. . . . 

Yours always, 


To Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

Feb. 1869. 
Dear Rossetti,— Your note gives me a new insight into 
your work, and does away with nine-tenths of what I said. 
I had inferred from your first letter that your changes of 
text were not, necessarily and uniformly, to be accom- 
panied with an explanatory note. The main point is that 
a reader shall be able to know precisely what the author 
wrote or printed : if this be done once for all, it is more 
a matter of simple taste than anything whether obvious 
errors shall be corrected above or below. I have no doubt 
that you are right in reprinting all that has been printed, 
although I own that some pages in Garnett's Vol. of 1862 
present a sadly Herculanean appearance. I disagree with 
several that he considers ' felicitous ' corrections, and 
should withdraw most of mine if I reprinted the ' Golden 
Treasury.' Felicitous to one at the first blush, I find that 
(whether my own or others) they are apt, after a lapse of 
years, to carry no conviction. But there are a few excep- 
tions to this. ... I am extremely sorry and disappointed 
to hear that you will not have the MSS. to refer to. . . . 

I 2 


For those poems which were posthumously printed they 
are indispensable for a true text, and they would be very 
valuable for those poems which were printed in England, 
and the incorrectness of which Shelley himself deplored. 
. . . No one can admire more than I the taste and skill 
your brother showed in his corrections of Blake ; but (even 
in that case) I still desiderate notes showing the original, 
and I also think that a similar amount of correction in 
Shelley is not so admissible as it really was for Blake, 
who was ' super grammaticam ' as well as super many other 
things. . . . 

From Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

I am gratified to find you and I approximate closer 
than had before been apparent. I fear the time for the 
revision will have passed without my seeing any of the 
MSS., the property of the Shelley family, whom I know 
not. . . . About my brother's Blake I am to a considerable 
extent on your side. I have observed, however, that 
several objectors never seem to take into account the fact 
that Gabriel possesses MS. authority for several of the 
more noticeable alterations. . . . 




To write a really good hymn my father considered 
a most difficult task, even for the greatest poets. 
His own are generally sacred poems rather than 
hymns. In 1867 he gathered together those he had 
written from time to time in a little volume, many 
of them having already appeared in individual col- 
lections. A few of these hymns deal with questions 
of faith, and are abstruse and complex in parts. 
Others, again, are marked by a simplicity of lan- 
guage and by great poetical feeling ; such as his 
' Little Child's Hymn,' here inserted, which has 
been one of the most popular, its directness and 
simple charm appealing to many. This little hymn- 
book has met with great favour among many classes 
of people ; the following is one of many apprecia- 
tions from an American stranger : 

I think it may be pleasant to you to know that these 
exquisite hymns are known and loved so far away from 
the place of their origin. As for the book itself, I learned 
of it through the ' Spectator,' and have given away several 
dozens of copies of the various editions. Please accept 
from a distant and unknown admirer his grateful acknow- 
ledgment of the spiritual quickening and thoughtful con- 
solation which your hymns have afforded to him and his. 
Let me frankly own it has been a satisfaction to have any 


excuse for telling you how very highly I prize the ' small 
volume but great book ' you have given to us. 

Thou that once, on mother's knee, 
Wast a little one like me, 
When I wake or go to bed 
Lay Thy hands about my head ; 
Let me feel Thee very near, 
Jesus Christ, our Saviour dear. 

Be beside me in the light, 

Close by me through all the night ; 

Make me gentle, kind, and true, 

Do what I am bid to do ; 

Help and cheer me when I fret, 

And forgive when I forget. 

Once wert Thou in cradle laid, 
Baby bright in manger-shade, 
With the oxen and the cows. 
And the lambs outside the house : 
Now Thou art above the sky ; 
Canst Thou hear a baby cry ? 

Thou art nearer when we pray. 
Since Thou art so far away ; 
Thou my little hymn will hear, 
Jesus Christ, our Saviour dear, 
Thou that once, on mother's knee, 
Wast a little one like me. 

In 187 1 my father's second volume of original 
verse was published — ' Lyrical Poems.' The first two, 
here quoted, have their origin in facts taken from the 
lives of some in whom he had a particular Interest ; 
while the pathetic story of little Margaret Wilson 
was naturally one which greatly touched him. 


A Very Simple Story 

* Fifty years and more, Love, 

We have been together ; 
Gone through frost and fire, 

Tears and tearless weather. 
Now the Master's message 

Bids our hands dissever ; 
But will it be long. Love, 

Ere they are together, 
Together, Love ! 

Once again together ? ' 

Then she closed his eyelids. 

Saying ' Now and ever ! ' 
Went about her household ; 

' Will he come ? O never ! ' 
Till Death join'd the hands, that 

Lately he bade sever. 
Now two hearts united 

Beat in one for ever ; 
For ever. Love ! 

One henceforth for ever. 

A Mother's Lament 

With the cottage girls and the poor 

It often is so, they say : 
Yet 'tis to each mother as much 
As if she were the only such 

Whose daughter has wander'd astray. 

She troubled and pain'd me oft ; 

Yet I loved her beyond them all. 
Fanciful ever and wild. 
My dark-eyed gipsy child, 

Dark-hair'd and nut-brown and tall. 


They say she loved notice and dress ; 

There was nothing to make me amazed 
Perhaps it was vanity there ; 
For her looks an overcare, 

An overcare to be praised. 

Yet no such sweet temper as hers, 

No smiles like hers in the place ; 
When she garnish'd the cottage out, 
Or carried the youngest about. 

And she with her mere child's face ! 

And I guarded her all I could ; 

But what can be done by the poor ? 
She went from her home far away, 
Where respite was none, night or day, 

Nor comfort within the door. 

Yet if she had had her chance, 

She would have been gentle and good ; 
Have kept a pure maiden breast. 
By respect for herself repress'd 
The dance of the youthful blood. 

But praise, on her simple looks. 

And gold, on her wearisome life 
Where never a happiness came. 
Like sunbeams fell : — and the shame 
Was hid in some whisper of ' wife.' 

I know not if she believed, 

For she was only a child ; 
She took his base jewels for true ; 
She could not keep out of his view, 

And turn'd unsettled and wild. 


And jest and lust and the pride 
Of conquest urged on the suit ; 

Half force, half folly :— but O 

The shame of advantage, so 
Won on a child by a brute ! 

And he had his play and his laugh, 

And pass'd on to his pleasures elsewhere : 

But she — where she hides her head, 

And if with the living or dead. 
To think I cannot dare. 

She dares not come back, nor knows 
For her face how I linger and yearn : — 

Whatever there be, I forgive, — 

O one hour, to tell if you live, 
Only one hour, return ! 

— If ever the child has her chance 

She may yet be honest and good. 
God will pity the lost, and exact 
From the tempter the price of his act ; 
For upon his head is her blood. 

Margaret Wilson ^ 

Four children at their little play 
Across the iron-furrow'd way ; 
Joyous in all the joy of May. 

^ ' A noble instance of self-sacrifice was witnessed at Newcastle on 
Sunday (May 31). While four children were playing on the railway 
near the station an engine and tender came up. One little fellow ran 
for the platform, and his example was followed by his elder sister. 
Looking back, however, she saw that the other two children were in 
imminent danger. She returned to them, and drew them to her side, 
between the rails and the platform. As the engine passed, the con- 
necting-rod struck her down, and she died in a few moments. The 
children she had so nobly protected escaped almost unhurt. The 
name of this heroic little maiden was Margaret Wilson, daughter of a 
miner.' — Daily News, June 3, 1868. 


Three, babies ; and one, Margaret, 

In charge upon the others set 

To Hft and soothe them if they fret. 

The sky is blue ; the sun is bright ; 
The Httle voices, pure and light, 
Make music as they laugh outright. 

The noiseless weight of giant wheels 
Amongst them in a moment steals, 
And death is rolling at their heels. 

She ran with one to reach the side. 

And reach'd it, and look'd back, and spied, 

Where the dark wheels right towards them slide. 

The other two, that were forgot, 
Playing by Death, and knowing not ; — 
And drew them to the narrow spot 

Between the rails and platform-side, 
Safe nestling down ; — but as they glide 
The wheel-rods struck her, and she died. 

By those she died for, there she lay, 
Nor any word could Margaret say. 
But closed her eyes, and pass'd away. 

— My little heroine ! though I ne'er 
Can look upon thy features fair, 
Nor kiss the lips that mangled were : 

Too small a thing from Fame to have 
A portion with the great and brave, 
And unknown in thy lowly grave : 

Yet in thy true heart, and fearless faith, 
And agony of love in death 
God saw, and He remembereth. 


Many of the Lyrical Poems are upon classical 
subjects, and of these ' Alcestis ' is the most interest- 
ing and original. 

From the late Lord de Tabley 

April 1871. 
My dear Palgrave, — I have been much interested by 
your book of lyrics, and really thank you for sending it to 
me. ... I will tell you what struck me : ' The Esquiline 
Field,' ' A Maiden's Prayers ' — very graceful and perfect — 
' Melusine ' — extremely nice, but with bits I should like out 
here and there — ' William Wordsworth ' — excellent. Then 
your anti-Huxleian pieces are thoroughly original and 
striking ... I think you have in them hit out quite a line 
of your own . . . but certainly the ' Alcestis ' is the most 
important piece in the volume. I like it extremely. ... I 
see you take the Athenian aesthetic school of the time of 
Pericles as your masters, and so after a humble manner do 
I. I think many stanzas in form and taste admirable : in 
fact, I like your ' Alcestis ' quite as much as I do Words- 
worth's ' Laodamia,' but I humbly claim to believe that 
both are much more Teutonic, Romantic, or whatever you 
like to call them, than Sophoclean or Euripidean or Peri- 
clean. Your whole volume is a very pleasant and healthy 
one. The work is good throughout and extremely even. 
It will not bore even the Philistine, while it contains plenty 
to interest even the children of light. I dare say it is very 
presumptuous my writing all this, as really on all poetry, 
except classical, I have no right to give an opinion. And 
I believe few people have a better critical knowledge of 
English poetry of all ages and kinds and schools than 
yourself. ... 

Yours ever, 

J. L. Warren. 


Some time before this Mr. Matthew Arnold 
wrote thus to my father on the subject of ' Words- 
worth,' one of the Lyrical Poems : 

Good and interesting :^and the right points taken — 
the pareness particularly. I would rather wait and see the 
' Alcestis ' in print — it is a real injustice to anything, so far 
as I am concerned, to read it in manuscript. Some of 
Clough's best things I was not just to, which, if I had read 
them in print, I should have seen with the same eyes as 
now, . . . You should undoubtedly collect and publish 
your poetical pieces. 

At Lyme, some three years later, he published 
on behalf of a local charity a small collection of 
poems mostly descriptive of the scenery in the 
neighbourhood. The first three stanzas of the 
poem written to his mother's memory are inserted 
here. It is the poem alluded to in the letter from 
Cardinal Newman given below. 

So many years are gone since last I saw thee. 
And I, alas ! so young 

When that black hour its shadow o'er me flung, 
That with but feeble hints. 
Vague strokes, half-lights, time-troubled tints. 
E'en to the inner eye my heart can draw thee. 
Yet sometime memory wakes, — 
O ! not in night, or sadness, but when dawn 
Slopes all her silver o'er the dewy lawn, 
Or golden day dimples on mountain-lakes, 
Or evening's wild-dove tolls her brooding strain, — 
Then I remember me of what thou wast. 
And see thee once again. 


Though denizen 'd so long in far-off bowers 
And in another air, 

Her form I know 'mong all the blest ones there. 
Before toward me she turns 
My gazing heart within me burns, 
And a new rose-flush flames through all the flowers. 
I know the step, the dress, 

The grace around her way like sunbeams shed ; 
The worshipp'd hand, on my then-golden head 
Laid with the touch of utter gentleness ; 
The hair — but O ! no more what it had been, 
Silver'd with pain, not age, — but fair as once 
In youth, by me unseen. 

'Mong all the bright ones there is none such other ! 
Clear through that myriad throng 
Like some sweet subtle scent I catch her song : — 
O by whatever name 
Now named, thy child, my part I claim ; 
My soul goes forth to thee ; I call thee, Mother ! 
Smile the low serious smile 
Which animated youth to highest aims : 
Lay thy soft hand upon the fever-flames 
That manhood's brain to foolishness beguile : 
Hold me once more upon the faithful breast : 
Kiss my life- wearied eyelids, say My child! 
And then I shall find rest. 

From Cardinal Newman 

The Oratory : Sept, 5, 1874. 
Dear Mr. Palgrave, — I think it very kind in you to 
have sent me your Lyme Poems, and have read them with 
that special pleasure, soothing and satisfying, which it is 
the ofiice of Poetry to create. 


Indeed, their subjects run in such various directions, 
that it would be hard if a reader was not interested in one 
or other of them. 

What struck me most myself was the keen sensitive- 
ness they show both to the beauty and the perishableness 
of the natural world, a contrast which many men would 
feel enough to madden them, if it were not for religion. 
This makes you, as it seems to me, more moderate in your 
praise of autumn than painters are. Somehow, I always 
feel with Crabbe, that the year in the autumn months 
(I can't quote him with verbal accuracy) is like a beauty, 

when her bloom is lost, 
Attires with more magnificence and cost. 

Of course the poem at p. 14 is the best, as well as the 
most touching in the collection, . . . 

Very sincerely yours, 

John H. Newman. 

From Dr. Hook 

Chichester : Sept. 12, 1874. 

My dear Palgrave, — You will be amused to hear that 
my not having thanked you for your poems before, 
originated in Cecil's desire that I should answer you in 
rhyme. If you reach the age of seventy-seven and feel as 
I do, that you must soon depart hence, and write, as I am 
writing (by the kind hand of my son) the Life of Laud — 
you will find that the brain of a departing man will not 
rise to such an occasion. 

I like your poems ' extremely : . . . I particularly like 
the difficult eloquence of your phraseology, and I suppose, 
as civilisation advances, poetry will partake more and 
more of this character. 

' Lyrical Poems. 


My house at present is full ; my son Walter and his 
wife have brought their sweet children to receive my last 
blessing. Hatherley told me that you desired that blessing 
to extend to your children : may you and your wife, 
during the few short days which remain to me, let me have 
your blessing. 

Your affectionate friend, 

W. F. Hook. 

The otherwise happy life of these years was 
overcast by the death, in 1870, of his second little 
son in infancy. His other children were an in- 
creasing delight to him, and although he never 
regularly taught them himself, he enjoyed giving 
them lessons in such subjects as architecture and 
Latin. For many years he was in the habit of 
reading aloud to them the Waverley Novels, Shake- 
speare, or translations from the Iliad and Odyssey; 
often, too, he would read to them children's story- 
books, Mrs. Mozley's ' Fairy Bower ' and ' Mrs. 
Leicester's School,' by Charles and Mary Lamb, 
being his particular favourites. The pleasure which 
he took in reading aloud was equalled in later years 
by his pleasure in listening to reading. He used to 
say, ' I can conceive no greater luxury than being 
read aloud to.' His memory for most things, 
almost miraculously good, was conveniently short 
when exercised on novels ; and he could bear such 
books as Miss Austen's, Scott's, Boswell's ' Life of 
Johnson,' Dickens and Thackeray, to be read to him 
again and again, after but a short lapse of time. 
Sensational literature was an abhorrence to him, 
though he recognised its value in some modern 


dramas — character-drawing being the first thing he 
looked for. Among his favourite modern noveHsts 
were Miss Lawless, W. E. Norris, Miss Yonge, and 
Lady Margaret Majendie, one of whose stories on 
life in Florence he thought admirable. Not long 
ago he was greatly struck by Miss Montgomery's 
* Blue Veil,' a child's story, which he considered a 
perfect masterpiece in its way, and he listened to 
it with intense interest and amusement. Of serious 
contemporary writing, he admired much the essays 
of J. B. Mozley and Dean Church, and read them 
many times ; but he never cared for reading 
sermons, except those by Cardinal Newman. His 
appreciation of Mozley's ' Essays ' is shown in the 
following letter. 

To Lady Frederick Cavendish 

15 Chester Terrace : Aug. 20, 1878. 

Dear Lady Frederick, — ... I hope that the sport has 
been good and that the salt-cauldrons of Droitwich 
(which must somewhat resemble certain hot pits described 
by Dante, though not in the ' Paradiso ') have thoroughly 
set your husband up to his work. Considering how much 
he does — not on the moors only ! — he wants all the strength 
he can get. 

The two volumes of Mozley's ' Essays ' turn out even 
abler and more interesting than I had expected. There 
is a kind of unevenness in his style and treatment : 
didactic passages curiously interposed : which I suppose 
are traceable to diffidence and to the habit of working too 
much by himself. But the power shown is exceptional : 
there is a clearness of statement, a judicial weight — some- 
times a judicial scorn — an insight into human nature and 
character, of which our literature has now less than it has 


at any time had of such rare qualities. The essays on 
Cromwell, on Dr. Arnold, and on Job, so far as I have 
read, strike me most. Those on Strafford and Laud were 
written before much evidence came to light, and are 
biassed by Mozley's [then] High Church view. This bias 
ought, however, to have its hearing, in reference to a part 
of our history which hitherto no one, not even Hallam 
altogether, has treated without bias. . . . Have any draw- 
ings ever been missed from Chatsworth ? I saw last week, 
at a sale at Sotheby's, three drawings the frames and 
mounting of which were very like those in the gallery 
there. They are by Salanio and two other late Italians, 
and not worth having, it is true. And the frames may 
have been imitated by some one who had seen Chatsworth 
— a collection I never think of without a sigh for its safety, 
and a fervent wish for a fireproof room. . . . 

By this time I hope the E. Talbots will have met Dean 
Church. They are certainly to be envied for the oppor- 
tunity of seeing so much more of so interesting a man 
than can be managed in London. . . . There is something 
of singular charm about him, and I fancy one sees it also 
in his writing. At least the essay on Dante has some ex- 
quisite passages ' halfway between beauty and goodness,' 
if I may so parody one of his quotations. 

Please give my best remembrances to your family and 
my love to Freddy. . . . 

On the subject of his children's education he had 
distinct theories ; the knov^^ledge of some Latin and 
Greek he considered should be as much part of a 
girl's as of a boy's education. The schoolroom, 
however, was a far less agreeable room to him 
than the nursery, and he always maintained, to the 
horror of the schoolroom's presiding genius, that 
holidays should be the rule and lessons the exception, 



invariably hoping that mother-wit, general reading 
and travelling, might in after years supply all defi- 

To Sir Alexander Grant 

5 York Gate, London : Nov. 20, 1872. 
Dear Grant, — Received, with many thanks, your lecture 
on Female Education. I read it with much interest, and I 
think you take a very rational view of a subject which pro- 
vokes a good deal of talk, but is, however, of supreme 
importance. In one point I do not quite follow you : 
doubting whether without the spur of personal competition 
boys would do much, whilst you seem to deprecate this as 
a bad lever for girls. . . . Half the weakness of our present 
girls' education arises from the necessity of finishing at 
eighteen the subjects which boys are only then beginning. 
. . . However, you are crying a jam satis, if you have 
accompanied me thus far. ... I was at Balliol for two 
days last summer, and met Lord Westbury, who is de- 
cidedly the most marked and amusing ' character ' or 
' nature ' I ever saw. Was this type once more common ? 
Or is this an illusion ? Certainly one sees few such decisive 
individualities in England, although I suppose you retain 
a few more, fortified by provincialism, if I may use the 
word — ' small nationality ' might be better. M, I'Abbe 
Jowett, as I call him, was very well and enjoys life much 
as Master : but he is a less facile head than had been antici- 
pated, and, I fancy, works the men rather too hard at times. 

Ever yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

5 York Gate : March 1871 
Dear Tennyson, — I do not like month after month to 
go by without knocking at your door, at any rate, and 



asking Mrs. Tennyson whether you are well. . . , You 
should have been here during the last three weeks and 
heard Jowett's lectures on Socrates at the Royal Institution. 
, . . The lectures were a brilliant success, and the interest 
went on increasing till the room was overcrowded. I 
dare say Socrates has sent you his book. Probably Cam- 
bridge can urge something against the scholarship of it. 
But as a piece of pure translation it seems to me one of the 
rare masterpieces in that ' art of the impossible ' which are 
produced about once in a century or two : — and the Intro- 
ductions are written with a lucidity which is perfectly 
marvellous. . . . 

The journal of these years (1870-75) makes 
frequent mention of seeing many friends. There 
was much intercourse with Mr. Gladstone, which 
continued steadily, until in 1885 their strong friend- 
ship was severed on political grounds, and for this 
reason they seldom again met. 

Lyme Regis continued to have such an attrac- 
tion for my parents that in 1872 they made it a 
permanent second home by purchasing the two 
picturesque old gabled cottages, lately thrown into 
one, and the adjoining fields which have been known 
since the time of Charles I. as * Little Park,' thus 
named by the Royalist party in contradistinction to 
the ' Great Park ' which they held on the other side of 
the valley, and which is now called Colway Manor 
Farm. During the siege of Lyme in 1644, one or 
two skirmishes took place here, Cromwell's men 
firing from the Little Park hillside. Here my 
father spent a part of every spring and summer, 
always finding new beauties in the scenery, and 
increasing charm in life at the little place. It was a 

K 2 


very quiet life : the mornings spent in working and 
reading in the summer-house he built, overlooking 
the lovely bay ; the afternoons in long walks, or 
drives with my mother. Above all things he loved 
reading in the open air, particularly after rheumatism 
had crippled him during the last few years of his 
life, and had rendered much walking impracticable. 
Then he would call it a day lost if he could not sit 
out for some portion of the day until late in the 
autumn. He was at all times an incessant worker 
and reader, and though open to the interruption of 
friends' visits, he never let them shorten his reading 
hours, often studying hard till far into the night. 
He was a good and brilliant talker, always speaking 
with animation and absorbing interest on a variety 
of subjects ; a peculiarity of his being that he gave 
his best talk as freely alike to dull or wholly un- 
educated people as to his equals in mind and cultiva- 
tion. He would show the liveliest sympathy in his 
intercourse with labourers and school-children, with- 
out ever talking ' down ' ; in fact, as an old labourer 
said, ' he never has any condescension, no patron- 
ising ; he just talks the same to us as he does to the 
gentry, and always so kind and thoughtful.' 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

July 1870. — On the 14th of July we welcomed another 
little boy. After eight or nine days this little darling 
began to pine, and my dear Cis wishing to have him bap- 
tised, he received the names Arthur Frederick, the second 
after Freddy Cavendish, who promised to be godfather. 
The baby looked at us with deep violet eyes, as if asking 


to live. I could not realise fear, though his dear mother 
had begun to realise she must resign her treasure. But 
in the afternoon of the 31st, as this sweet patient little 
Arthur lay on Cecil's lap, every hope was clearly over. 
. . . We buried him in the quiet country ground at Barnes, 
where Cecil's Aunt Sidney ^ lies. Dear, dear little one. — 
Cecil's love and courage made her say even thus she would 
rather have had him. . . . Some time after this I break- 
fasted with the Gladstones. Every one must have wished 
for distinct announcements on the war,"^ but he pre- 
served a general reticence ; ... he was very happ)- in that 
mixture of openness and reserve which is the proper atmo- 
sphere of a statesman in a responsible place : on any other 
matter, he showed that charming frankness which is, 
equally, the natural region of genius. 

Nov. 23, 1870. — The war still, but with more than one 
difference. In so great and complex an action and where 
so much human feeling is mixed, a cause cannot remain 
true to itself: initial right and justice are insufficient to 
leaven the vast mass of after events. It seems clear that 
the French will die as a nation, sooner than make a sur- 
render of defeat. . . . From 1 2th to 15th, visit to Hatfield: 
same impression of deep and lofty goodness. Then a visit 
to our old friends the Capel-Cures at Blake Hall. . . . 
Have seen several friends — Tennyson, Brooke, Woolner, 
Howards, Aldersons, Doyles. 

May 27, 1 87 1, Wenlock Abbey. — Cis and I came to 
be Carlo's guests at Wenlock yesterday : found the 
old place looking its best. In the evening Sir Arthur 
Monck came, and we walked to the edge and saw that 
noble view. 

2(^th. — All to Stokesay Castle, a singularly perfect speci- 
men of domestic residence temp. Edward I. The site of 
this small ancient relic, lovely amid green wooded hills and 

^ Lady Doyle. '^ Franco-Prussian war. 


mountainesque horizon — -indebted much to the haze of an 
exquisite summer day. Thence to Ludlow : the castle here 
of all dates, is as fine as that uncomfortable thing, a ruin, 
ever can be. 

May 31. — Left Wenlock . . . Lady Mary Egerton and 
Uncle Frank ^ called, and we read aloud some of * In 
Memoriam ' : the diction I think less ornamentalised than 
in the ' Princess,' and the poem is of an ethereal and ele- 
vated cast of thought . . . June and July we passed in 
London, seeing a good many friends. A. Tennyson came 
to us, and was very lively and pleasant. He read me a 
new Idyl on the subject of Sir Tristram . . . There is a 
very pretty song in the poem, and some good touches of 
character, and of course the skilful hand is visible through- 

July 21. — Came to Lyme. In the evenings I am reading 
to Cis the * Bride of Lammermoor ' : this seems to me to 
stand above all other novels, like a play by Shakespeare 
above all other plays. Indeed, in astonishing truthfulness 
and variety in creation of character, in power and pathos, I 
cannot see how this, at least, is inferior to Shakespeare 
. . . We have spent four agreeable days at the Palace at 
Exeter : I had one long walk with the Bishop,^ and a really 
good discussion on Darwin and cognate topics. He was 
at his best on such points : large and wise and liberal . . . 
After that a brief visit to Whitestaunton, a charming house 
of early Elizabethan date ; we much regretted the brevity 
of our visit, having greatly liked our hosts.^ On the 9th of 
September, we went to stay with Robert Meade ^ in his 
pretty little place at Ightham ; drove through Knole Park, 
passing the truly lordly old house, and by lovely wooded 
roads and hills. Spent Sunday there very agreeably with 
Meade, whose charm lies in his singular beauty and deli- 

^ Sir Francis Doyle. ^ Bishop Temple. 

' Mr. and Mrs. Charles Elton. * Late Hon. Sir Robert Meade. 


cacy of nature. His sisters-in-law, Lady Louisa Mills and 
M. Lascelles, were there too. 

On 14th of October to Aldworth. Found there, besides 
A. Tennyson and his always charming wife, his very 
pleasant brother Charles. A. T. himself remarkably full of 
life and spirit. The country is beautiful, both in the near 
landscape and the noble view — the ' immense plain,' which 
Tennyson confessed ' sometimes weighed upon his spirits.' 
He read Wordsworth on Sunday evening, and we had a 
general service of reverence to that great poet, agreeing 
that what he had left us was the greatest gift any one poet, 
since Milton, had conferred on England. 

On the 20th [October] we came to Lyme, and Cis and 
I went carefully over our little intended purchase, Little 
Park. It is a pretty little old place, with its many little 
rooms and pretty garden and lovely views. May it be a 
true haunt of peace to us and our dear ones ! . . . Returned 
home to a warm welcome from our dear, dear lively little 

June I, 1872. — Cis and I went to Oxford to stay with 
Jowett ; the party in the house including Lord Westbury 
and Miss Bethell, Charles Roundell, and others. On the 
whole the old ex-Chancellor ^ is the most amusing ' cha- 
racter ' I ever remember. What would be buffoonery in 
most men — his remarks being intended as much to make 
you laugh at as with him — is avoided here by a certain 
geniality and sense of power. His daughter very intelligent 
and pleasant. . . . We have had one or two lively parties 
at our house ; on the 14th Jowett, the George Howards, 
Lady F. Herbert, Morier, Lord Portsmouth, and Professor 
Tyndall— a very lively party, and Jowett was at his best. 
. . We spent August at Little Park, and have fallen 
more and more in love with our Dorset and Devonian 
valleys. We have some remarkably pleasant neighbours 

^ Lord Westbury. 


. . . On the 31st with CistoFryston : Lord Houghton and 
his daughter Florence/ an uncommonly nice girl, met us 
at the station. A very lively evening. Read aloud A. 
Tennyson's latest idyl, ' Gareth,' which we all agreed in 
admiring ; also Hutton's 'Essays ' — some good criticism lost 
in the flood of verbiage, begot by journalism. . . . 

November 30. — From Hatfield we drove over with Lord 
and Lady S. to Panshanger ; ^ the early Raphael much the 
most beautiful and the most truly felt, though the larger 
one shows much advance in style and command of form. 
One sees the influence of Bartolomeo. The Reynolds 
group of the three Lamb boys has that childly grace, beau- 
tiful arrangement, and that look of life and mobility which 
is perhaps rarer than all. 

1873. — The loss of Milnes-Gaskell I feel to be a real 
one. I saw him last on January 23 in the drawing-room 
in Norfolk Street, weak and changed looking, but cheerful 
and talking of political history, with apparent hopes of 
soon rallying. . . . Mr. Gladstone, whom I have seen, spoke 
of him with tenderest affection, and of his friendship of 
forty years. My own intercourse with my father-in-law 
from the first time of meeting him in the autumn of '61 has 
been wholly unclouded. . . . To the world at large he 
has done nothing to show that when young, and for years 
after, his best contemporaries ranked him amongst the 
best, and that only the will was wanted to place him (with 
so many external advantages) in the first rank of political 
life. With my dear Cis to the funeral at Wenlock Abbey. 
... A pleasant summer at Lyme ; Reggie and Grace ^ 
and Cis's cousin Sidney Doyle have paid us visits, and we 
have had long and interesting drives. 

On the 26th Cis and I came to Hawarden, where Mr. 

^ Now Hon. Mrs. Arthur Henniker. - Earl Cowper's house. 

^ Sir R. and Lady Palgrave. 


and Mrs. Gladstone and Sir Stephen Glynne received us 
very kindly. Mr. G. spoke much of Samuel Rogers and 
his kindness to himself as a young man ; wondering, in his 
way, what Rogers's real inner nature had been — such a 
contrast of kindness and sarcasm and reticence. Also of 
Wordsworth, who had come pretty often to see him ; said 
there was a remarkable charm to him about Wordsworth, 
great simplicity and openness, no stiffness or egotism. Then 
we went on to poetry, he placing Dante with Homer and 
Shakespeare, a sort of triad apart. Would not allow Milton 
to be one ; he confessed to a dislike of Milton from the 
unworthy arguments placed in our Saviour's mouth in the 
' Paradise Regained,' and from Milton's gross undervaluing 
of the Greeks. September 27. — Much conversation on Greek 
mythology and Homer with Mr. Gladstone ; walked in 
the park with him and the Stuart Wortleys. In the evening 
music and talk. On Sunday to Hawarden Church. After 
service walked with Mr. Gladstone, who spoke warmly of 
Hallam, whom he described as ' the most judicial mind of 
the century.' Much talk, too, with him on religious aspects 
of the time, philosophy, poetry, &c. He read Johnson's 
epitaph on Thrale with high praise. I hardly remember a 
more interesting evening, nor a more profound impression 
given by any man — variety, strange subtlety with strange 
simplicity, insight and vital energy — in a word, genius and 
greatness of nature. No one could be kinder to us than he 
and his wife and family have been throughout. . . . Life 
at Hawarden comes nearer Wordsworth's ' plain living and 
high thinking ' than anything I have ever seen. On 
our return to London I saw Mr. Gladstone alone for 
one evening, and he said : ' I cannot fancy anything 
less desirable than to grow old in this horrible life ' — i.e. 

July 4, 1874. — We went to Chichester, taking little 
Cecy and Frank. A year has much shaken the good old 


Dean, but when pretty well there was all his old charm 
and life. He is about the best type of a former age that I 
know, or, rather, he has the best of the last age joined with 
our modern movement. 

July 23, Naworth Castle. — Came here to-day, and was 
welcomed by George [Howard], his wife, and Lady Stanley 
of Alderley. 

2^th. — A long walk with George by the Irthing, thence 
up to Birdoswald, a house built in a Roman camp. The 
walls and gates, with the wall of Hadrian and its great 
ranges of trench and vallum, took one back charmingly to 
ancient days. 

2^th. — Drove through the lovely valley of the Gelt, 
where we saw a Roman inscription on a rock which A. 
Tennyson saw when here and has noticed in ' Gareth.' 
The glen has the beautiful character of all those about 
here. . . . Many of the children came with us, they are dar- 
lings. . . . Left these hospitable towers on the 31st July. 

Heard of the death on the 29th September of our dear 
aunt Mary ; ^ in her we lose the one who has been the centre 
and head of us all for many years, the one to whom all 
looked for interest, for sympathy, for those counsels in 
which a natural love of wisdom was guided by the wisdom 
of love. With her went also how much traditionary know- 
ledge on Norfolk — how much taste, how much charity to 
others, we shall never know. 

May 4, 1875. — Took my sweet little Cecy (as her dear 
mother was unable to go) to the ' Freischutz ' ; does any 
opera so wholly consist of gems as this ? Even ' Fidelio ' 
has not more absolute finish in every detail. Yet it suffers, 
first, from the original absence of recitative ; second, 
from the feeble story, which, however ' national,' has the 
weakness of the romantic style as contrasted with the 

^ Miss Dawson Turner. 


May 5. — Last night with the Bishop of Chester, who is 
now our guest, dined with the (De Tabley) Warrens — John 
and the two sisters — to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. 
Mr. G. was interesting to the last degree. He gave 
analysis of Ayrton's character and powers, of J. H. Newman, 
and Manning. 

June 5. — My dear Cis, with our little Cecy and Frank, 
and I went to Oxford (Balliol) and found Jowett well and 
lively, and as full of kindness as ever. . . . We sat long in 
the quad of Keble, where Butterfield's new chapel seems to 
me decisively the most beautiful church built within my 
knowledge — proportions, details equally lovely and origi- 
nal ; the whole with a shrine-like air, yet also with a look 
of size and power most rarely united. . . . Seeing Mr. 
Gladstone the other night, I asked for his * Homeric Age ' 
for our little Frank, as the child had done remarkably well 
in Greek during the school term just ended. Mr, Glad- 
stone broke out with a warmth and liveliness of congratu- 
lation to us on having a boy of such sure promise, such as 
few parents even would reach. How charming was this ! 
What a splendid nature ! We saw him several times this 
year, and always with the same fascination. 

September 30, Lyme. — I have been reading the ' Iliad ' ; 
the marvellous force of poetry now breaks on me with 
astonishment ; the great style everywhere found ; the 
sublimity, the dramatic rendering of character ; the singular 
and overwhelming tenderness. And what a picture of 
human life ! So strange as to be almost incredible, yet 
so vivid that it is like a chronicle of to-day. I have 
also read over Stopford Brooke's first-rate little ' History 
of English Literature.' 

About this time my parents made the acquaint- 
ance of George Eliot, and some pleasant meetings 
with her are mentioned. 


To his Wife 

London : March 1874. 
I have had such a mass of work that only now have 
I the spare time to write to you. ... In the afternoon I 
called on the Lewes's : she [George Eliot] was very charm- 
ing, her manner is so fine and peculiar. . . . To-day I have 
been to make my adieux at the Casa Gladstone. I shall 
miss them much, especially as Mary is my only P.F. play- 
ing friend. . . . The G. Howards very kindly took me last 
night to the St. James' Hall Concert ; there was a fine 
Quartette by Beethoven ; but the Andante of another by 
Haydn was by far the most charming ' movement,' so clear, 
so sweet — so Greek, in short, in point of art compared with 
the Gothic depths and irregularities of Beethoven. ... I 
have just seen the Bard in great strength and liveliness. . . . 
A. Thackeray was at the concert, and looked ready to 
jump out of her skin every minute. ... I have had a 
pleasant dinner at the Athenaeum with Joseph,' and Maske- 
leyne, and Huxley, in which the philosophers appeared in 
their most favourable aspect : I think we discoursed most 
on what kind of fish we liked best ! . . . Thanks to my 
dear little Cecy for her letter ; tell her that Cambridge is 
going to win. She should get a blue periwinkle to wear ; a 
wild hyacinth will do for Oxford. 

To Sir Alexander Grant 

London : Dec. 1875. 

Dear Alexander, — ... I forget whether I ever wrote 
to say with what great pleasure and advantage I read your 
' Ethics ' essays. You seem to me to deal admirably with 
the results of foreign criticism, steering between pedantic 

^ Sir Joseph Hooker. 

'the children's treasury' 141 

or fanatical adhesion to ultra-critical theories, and the 
common-sense and traditionary history, I was hence not 
surprised to see a priggish attack on you in the Academy : 
a paper which, though much the best of the kind we now 
have, has an exorbitant number of prigs on its staff. . . . 
I saw Mrs. Lewes [George Eliot] not long ago : she was 
very pleasant, but weak in health and (I believe) writing 
poetry — both melancholy circumstances. . . . Read a Mr. 
Ward's history of our drama to 1700. Barring a little 
heaviness in style — which, indeed, human powers can very 
rarely eliminate from weightiness — it seems to me a real 
thorough piece of good work, and in pointed opposition, 
as such, to the flimsy essayisms of . . . and our younger 
men. Only I confess that to me it is always hard work to 
read a play meant for the stage, though this, in its turn, is 
much less hard than to read one not meant for it. ' Queen 
Mary ' hovers between these classes ; I cannot imagine it 
will succeed at the Lyceum. Yet it has singular merit, 
and, on the whole, improves act by act. I hope Tennyson 
will try again ; when I saw him in the summer he was 
anxious to do so. . . . 

Ever your affectionate, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

During these years my father was busy in pre- 
paring the ' Children's Treasury,' which appeared 
in 1875. In many ways this little book follows the 
lines of the ' Golden Treasury ' in that it admits 
only the best lyrical verse in our language. This 
principle, and the wish to include only what is 
suitable or interesting to children, are the main 
motives of this treasury ; the ' encouragement of 
virtue ' or the pointing of useful morals having 
but a secondary or indirect place in his choice of the 
poems. Living authors were admitted, and it was 


a great pleasure to him to be able to introduce two 
or three of William Barnes' poems in the Dorset 
dialect. He much regretted that this dialect should 
form such an obstacle to his poetry being more 
widely read and appreciated. He himself gave him 
a foremost place among our modern poets. 

From W. Barnes 

Came Recton', Dorchester: Nov. 29, 1875. 

Dear Sir, — I thank you very much for the copies of your 
charming little books, and for the honour with which you 
have marked my little poems. , . . An old Bordic I read 
gives a love of children as one of the marks of a good man. 
I must believe that you have it, and I trust the rising genera- 
tion will be the better in heart for your gifts to them in 
your works. In this time of worldly teaching in hard and 
cold truths for the head, it is well that the heart should be 
thought worthy of attention. As some writer has said, ' Man 
is born not only to know, but to feel.' 

I mean to read the ' Burning Babe ' as the ending of a 
Christmas sermon. . . . 

I should, indeed, be very glad to see you here in my 
' cottage near a wood,' but only about a mile from the 
Dorchester South-Western station, and the chances are 
that we could give you a bed. Do come, if you should be 
called near to us, and pass two or three days with me. 

Yours very truly, 

W. Barnes. 

To the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone 

Little Park, Lyme, Dorset : Oct i, 1875. 
Dear Mr. Gladstone, — By book post I send the last 
part of my little poetry book for children ; most of the 


pieces will be familiar to you ; but you may not have seen 
the last,^ a poem which seems to me one of great beauty 
and originality. Poor Southwell's book, though not 
absolutely rare in a bibliomaniac sense, is not often seen, 
and has been reprinted in no collection. It is a pleasure 
to me to hope that this little poem may now, after 300 
years, have a chance of the readers and the fame which 
Ben Jonson thought due to it. Dibdin's fine ' Anchor- 
smiths ' I inserted in consequence of your praise of it some 
years ago. It is truly so much grander in style than his sea- 
songs, and so different in manner, that, except yourself, I 
have met with no one who knew it. Longfellow's ' Launch ' 
is finely imagined and has many good lines ; but it seems 
to me to want power to sustain its length, nor is it free 
from the writer's sentimental moralisation. My list of 
poems by our contemporaries is sadly short (Tennyson, 
from whom I marked ten or twelve, was forbidden me by 
... his publisher, King.) This paucity Tif I have judged 
correctly) is due to what, in one word, I should call the 
morbid character of recent poetry. Health and motion, 
animated and simple narrative ; thoughts at once plain 
and high : these qualities it almost wants. . . . Even in 
M. Arnold and Clough, who in some ways to me seem 
more truly gifted, this ' subjective ' vein prevails every- 
where. Shelley, in contrast with Scott and Byron, has 
this character ; but, compared with our poets since Tenny- 
son, he belongs to a healthier world. But what a chasm 
between all of these and Homer ! "^ Since I came here, I 
have been reading through the ' Iliad ' : which (to you I 
confess with some shame) I have not consecutively studied 
since leaving college. It is almost a pleasure, in one way, 

1 The Burning Babe, by R. Southwell. 

2 On this IMr. Gladstone afterwards said : ' Your appreciation of 
the king of objective poets delights me, while I think your observa- 
tions on modern poetry most true. The Southwell poem is beautiful, 
and I do not repent of having recommended Dibdin.' 


that it should be so. It opens on me, as Keats put it, 
like a ' new planet,' or, like one of those districts of which 
geologists speak, where the vast strata of an earlier 
world are revealed, with its strange inhabitants, at once 
like and unlike their later types, and bearing witness to 
forces operating on a larger scheme than our experience 
knows, though they are forces not generically different. At 
first the difference between the mind and life displayed, 
and those of Greece in historical times most impressed me. 
Now I see that, from Marathon to the ruin of Athens, the 
Greeks are nearer Homer's world than any other race. 
Yet at what time, and under what sort of polity, can we 
place Homer's ' Hellas ' as a real living society ? Such, if 
I remember correctly, you hold it ; nor can one imagine 
that it could have been created, as the scene for his drama, 
by anyone. Yet, how strange that, except here, it should 
survive in no historical tradition. Was the vast mass of 
heroic legend handed down orally ? As to the poem, 
whatever of such traditional material coalesced in it, all 
that we have seems to me not only wrought into one by 
one conscious artist, but far more completely wrought into 
unity than almost any long work of later time. Every detail 
tells in the total effect, and is vitally connected with it — 
more than, e.g., we find in Milton or Tasso. Having read so 
many analytic criticisms of the chorisontic character, I am 
astonished at the absolute art of the poem. Michelangelo's 
Sistine ceiling does not appear to me more marked by 
vital ' artistic unity.' 

On these and many other points I hope I may have 
the opportunity of hearing your opinion next year. More 
strange than any is the treatment of the gods, on which I 
know you have worked. It is an inversion of what one 
would expect, that they are painted in a light so morally 
contemptible in that very primitive age when one looks 
for most reverence. 

I fear you may find that I touch crudely and 


ignorantly on points on which I ought, in reason, to be 
better read. But I am not wrong in the singular impression 
at once of grandeur and of tenderness which is everywhere 
given. This indeed is no discovery ! Yet the difference 
is immense between taking the greatness of the poet on 
trust, and having personal experience of it. And what an 
extraordinary power, that is as fresh now as when it 
moved the court of Pisistratus ! What a race, whose 
literature begins with poems which seem as if they had 
sufficient vitality to outlast all others, which are as true 
to nature now as 3,000 years ago. I ha\'e ill expressed 
all this, but you love Homer too well not to excuse an 
awkward admiration. 

My wife sends her best love to Mrs. Gladstone. . . . 
Do you know this country ? It is, if one excepts direct 
mountain scenery, perhaps the England which most unites 
beauty and wildness, and no region is so little visited. . . . 

Ever very truly yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To the same 

5 York Gate : October 22, 1875. 
Dear Mr. Gladstone, — I send this ^ because I know you 
will hold no attempt to honour that great and good man 

1 In Memoriam W. F. Hook 
October 20, 1875 
To some, the conqueror's crown, the patriot's fame, 
The one achievement which creates a name ; 
And, had he cared to shine in human eyes. 
He who Hes here had but to claim his prize ; 
In God's good gifts so rich, he might have gain'd 
Whate'er Ambition schemed, or Fancy feign'd. 
But now — since others' joy, and others' smart, 
Lay nearer than himself to that great heart. 
And, finding glory dross, and life a day, 
For others' lives he gave his own away, 


we have lost quite without value. I have tried to speak of 
him as he might have wished : and you will recognise the 
sublime lines which have supplied the form for mine — for 
the contents, unhappily, Sarpedon could not help me. 

If I can master the literature of the subject enough, I 
wish to write a paper showing the untenability of Grote's 
Achilleis. He would be a very able judge, if the meaning 
of Poetry were not — that it is not Prose. 

It has struck me much when reading the Iliad that the 
idea of an eight or nine years' anterior struggle (though 
once, and once only, so far as I remember, recognised) was 
very slightly before Homer's mind. Perhaps he here 
simply felt bound to accept a tradition. The faint realisa- 
tion of it, however (if I am here correct), serves to assist 
in explaining Thucydides' old perplexity as to the fortifi- 
cation. I speculate often with curiosity as to your intended 
review of the theology of the poems. At present, the low 
standard of the gods is my great difficulty. Please do not 
answer. I know your engagements. 

Ever very truly yours, 


To the same 

1 5 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park : April 4, 1 876. 
Dear Mr. Gladstone, — If you have not seen this exhibi- 
tion, I think you will certainly be much interested by it : 
although I confess, with pain, that the high place which 
Blake had held with me on the strength of a few of his 
works is not sustained by the sight of his collected ' Opera.' 
There is much puerility, much almost sensational spiritual- 
ism, much even (I suspect) of commonplace concealed by 

With the forgotten casting in his lot — 
Oh yet his name is, elsewhere, unforgot ! 
High 'mid His faithful ones in Christ's own fold, 
And in the Eternal Memory enroll'd. 


eccentricity of manner. Yet there is also a singular 
directness and originality in his conception of subjects, 
great intensity of imagination within certain limits, occa- 
sionally charm of colour and of form. I am very sorry 
that this (and other) orders were not sent to me last week, 
before the family dispersed. On Saturday morning I am 
to see the Flaxmans at Christie's (which are to be sold on 
the 1 2th) privately. This will be O how much higher a 
sight than even Blake's ' glorious incompleteness.' 

To the late Professor Sellar 

London : February 21, 1877. 
Dear Sellar, — I have waited to thank you for the 
Vergil, until I had done so elaborate and long-considered 
a book the justice of such study as I could give it. . . . 
Except in regard to a very few points, the book has given 
me more immediate pleasure, and a stronger anticipation 
of enduring gain, than anything I have read for a long 
time. You seem to me to have gained in every way ; in 
taste and management, as well as, naturally, in knowledge ; 
Vergil, like Raphael among painters, has always seemed 
to me one of the most difficult artists to speak of with 
fairness and thoroughness. The balance between judg- 
ment and enthusiasm is here very hard to hold. Hence 
one approaches any writing on these men with imperfect 
confidence. You seem to me to hold this difficult balance 
admirably, and to justify your view throughout with very 
unusual success. Thanks are also due for your avoidance 
of that odious writing of poetry in prose which is one of 
the worst forms of word-painting prevalent amongst con- 
temporary essayists. In short, you have made me look 
for your volume on Horace with an interest which I have 
wholly ceased to feel in the ' births of time ' which may be 
reserved for Tennyson or Browning or Mrs. Lewes. . . . 

Ever your affectionate, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

L 2 


' Chrysomela,' a selection from Herrick's lyrical 
poems, followed closely on the ' Children's 
Treasury.' A main object of the book, as is stated 
in the dedication, was to render a poet ' hitherto 
little known in proportion to his charm and his 
deserts, accessible to readers in general.' This was 
the occasion when the two following letters were 

From the Earl of Carlisle 

Naworth Castle, Cumberland : July 18, 1877. 

My dear Frank, — I told you that I would write to you 
about your preface to Herrick when I had ' read, marked, 
learned, and inwardly digested ' it. I have done this for 
some time — so long, indeed, that the process of digestion 
at least should have been long over by this time. . . . As 
you are unluckily not likely to look in at the studio this 
rainy morning, I feel induced to make some short observa- 
tions of your artistically finished essays. 

First let me say that I think what you say of the poet 
and his poetry excellent, and charmingly said ; but there 
are some ' genuine notes of Palgravian descent,' which you 
will not expect me to agree with. It seems to me a pity 
that you should have made this ' preface ' a kind of excuse 
for airing your greatest paradoxes about ' art ' in general. 
. . . The plan of building the tomb of a prophet and using 
it as a fort from which to hurl missiles of different descrip- 
tions is an old one, but it has not the note of ' sanity,' 
' simplicity,' or even of ' lucidity.' For I admit that the 
missiles are only such to the understanding of the initiated ; 
for though poetry and painting are, or ought to be, written 
down to the understanding of the vulgar, your literary 
criticism is to be written for the initiative. . . . After all 

'chrysomela' 149 

I agree with you about the charm of Herrick, but I think 
that though you may be ' a messenger from heaven,' you 
will not convert the stockbrokers and soap-boilers to 
Herrick. . . . Well, you have only to write me an amusing 
letter, and tell me how the great world moves, and what 
the wholesome Hellenic view of things in general is. . . . 
I hope that you do not over-work yourself — an idea which 
causes me anxiety. 

Ever your affectionate, 

George Howard. 

From the late Lord de Tabley 

67 Onslow Square, June 19, 1877. 
Dear Palgrave, — I should have written sooner to 
thank you for your charming present of ' Chrysomela,' but I 
could not, till yesterday, get time to look into its pages. 
It is an admirably done selection. That, of course, I 
expected from your ' Treasury,' but I did not think that so 
dainty a collection could have been gleaned from the old 
rake under his decenter aspects. You have unearthed at 
least a dozen pieces — all perfect in their way — which I 
had quite missed, though I flattered myself I knew Herrick 
fairly well. Your introduction is very nicely done and 
suggestive, though of course in your attitude to the 
moderns I can't quite go along with you, or upon our 
old argument as to what is truly classical. Barnes and 
Crabbe I cannot profess to care greatly about. . . . Your 
book has really pleased me more than any I have received 
for ever so long ; I do hope you will do some more work 
of the kind. What a delightful little gem for your frontis- 
piece — one of your own collection, I suppose. Hardly 
Greek, I should guess, from the sentiment. An a.d. 
rather than a B.C. design. The modern with whom 
somehow I always unconsciously compare Herrick is 
Landor ; I dare say you won't agree. Though I see also 


the Blake resemblance you note in the child-pieces and 
the directness of phrase — and also in the want of selection 
in his subjects. Yours is a charming anthology, and I 
could write about it for pages. 

Yours sincerely, 

J. L. Warren. 

From Mr. Stopford Brooke 

January 1877. 
My dear Palgrave, — I think this is quite exhaustive, 
and a real and suggestive contribution to our knowledge 
and our criticism. I admire exceedingly all you have said 
of Herrick, and I do not think it could have been done 
better. But I think in some places it is said in too obscure 
and abrupt a way, in too ' curious ' a fashion. I may best 
express it by saying that the passages I allude to and 
which I have marked, read as if they were transcribed 
from jottings in your note-book in which the thought is 
only laid down, without being finished, for future enlarge 
ment. And these passages sometimes come in among 
elaborate and delightful sentences, and are of the strangest 
effect. A few additional words would remove this blot 
. . . But when these little things are said, all is said. The 
stuff of the thing is quite admirable, and only makes me 
regret more and more that you do not do work of this 
kind on a larger scale. 

Yours ever, 

S. A. Brooke. 

In 1877 he stood for the Professorship of Poetry 
at Oxford, but shortly before the election he re- 
signed in favour of Principal Shairp, who held the 
Chair until his death in 1885. 


From Principal Shairp 

Edinburgh : May 22, 1877. 
My dear Palgrave, — It is only an hour ago I read for 
the first time in the 'Times ' of yesterday your letter about 
the Poetry Chair. I need hardly assure you how much I 
feel the kind and generous way in which you speak of me. 
The one painful element to me in the whole matter has 
been that your interests and mine should have crossed 
each other. You have done your utmost to remove this, 
and have made me feel by the way you have acted how 
true and deeply rooted our old sympathy has been. If 
your supporters now join with mine, I think there will be 
little doubt as to the issue. But however it may go, I 
hope I ma}' be able in future to show how truly I appre- 
ciate your generosity, and that I may be enabled to fulfil 
the prophecy of good which your letter contains. 

Believe me always, 

Very sincerely yours, 

J. C. Shairp. 

In the spring of 1878 the degree of LL.D. 
was conferred on my father at Edinburgh. This 
was an occasion of great enjoyment to him, for it 
enabled him to see some of his many Scottish 
friends and to make a short tour in the Highlands. 
The following year my parents visited Dartmoor 
and Cornwall. For the rest, the journal for these 
years gives a pleasant record of ordinary life. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

March 9, 1876. — I have just returned from the Abbey, 
where as large a crowd as probably has been gathered at 
the funeral of a private lady were collected by the grave 


of Lady Augusta Stanley. ... I suppose there were not 
twenty beside myself who were present now little more 
than twelve years ago when that great happiness began. 
. . . He had the courage to read the final blessing to the 
whole vast crowd with a voice and expression not likely 
to be forgotten by those who were present : a number 
including the Queen. 

March 10. — A. P. Stanley asked me to walk with him 
to-day. He spoke mostly of his wife. . . . On January i, 
when he and she for the first time gave up hope, she asked 
him to read several times the long form of blessing which 
he used in the Abbey, and she said : ' You will think of me 
when you use it.' Hence it was that he made the great 
effort to pronounce it yesterday. . . . 

April 8. — I have been carefully through the exhibition 
of works by Blake with Maud Cecil ^ and Lord Cranborne. 
The result is other than I had expected. Blake is greater 
as a poet than as an artist : greater as an engraver than a 
painter. . . . It is painful to see how rapidly in proportion 
to increased size he advances to bad drawing, distorted 
expression, coarseness and inefficiency of colour. One sees 
that although Blake has a strange intensity, yet that it 
produced a very few types in art ; but he has a directness 
of idea, an absolute sincerity in his mannerism. Had he 
lived with Giotto he would have been the leading mystic, 
the first inventor of new types of his age. ... If we com- 
pare his imperfection — amounting as it often does to sheer 
artistic incompetency — with the imperfection of most 
minor artists, we must feel that there is a high and rare 
gift in the intensity of his vision, lifting him into a far 
deeper sphere of interest than belongs to many men 
far more aesthetically competent, but of less intellectual 
aim. . . . 

June 21. — This morning Tennyson read to me the last 

^ Countess of Selborne. 


act of ' Harold ' : it seemed to me full of life, character, 
and passion. . . . He then went off with little Cecy and 
Gwenny to the Zoological Gardens. 

March 20, 1877. — Dined with the Tennysons in Upper 
Wimpole Street : met Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, Joachim, 
Browning, and Lord Monteagle. I had a good deal of talk 
with the Lord of the Violin, who seems a man of much 
taste in literature, and wholly untouched and unspoiled by 
his great fame. 

March 22. — Breakfasted with Lord Houghton, who was 
very pleasant and lively as ever. Then Cis and I to 
luncheon with those equally dear friends — the Hatherleys. 

March 29. — Came to Little Park. The weather quite 
warm here, but the flora rather sparse. Robert ^ came to 
visit us for a few days. He made himself delightful. We 
walked to the Landslip one day. Since he left I have had 
several walks with Brooke Egerton. 

July 5. — Last night we dined with Lady Portsmouth, 
whose eldest daughter is our charming new sister-in-law. - 
It was only a family party, and we met Lord Caernarvon 
and the Duke of Norfolk. I sat next to Lady Camilla,^ 
who was again unusually clever and pleasant. 

October 4. — Cis and I came to Acton by Wrexham ; 
there Robert and Eleanor * welcomed us most pleasantly. 
On the 5th we all drove to Hawarden, and Mr. Gladstone 
presently took us for a long walk through those eminently 
picturesque grounds, he swinging along with the alacrity of 

October 10. — To Holker. In the afternoon with the 
Duke and F. C. a very picturesque walk to the foot of 
Hobarrow : a magnificent view of the whole panorama of 
hills ; the whole range came out, and the effect was 
beautiful, with some snow on the peak over Coniston. 

* Sir Robert Cunliffe. - Lady Catherine Milnes-Gaskell. 

2 Lady C. Gurdon, who died in 1894. 

* Sir R. and Lady Cunliffe. 


April 20, 1878. — Cis and Cecy and I reached Edinburgh 
yesterday, and were received by Grant ' and his family. 
Sellar ^ and his wife came to dinner. . . , Walked up the 
Canongate, enjoying that singular view ; not English, yet 
not exactly foreign, something peculiar, both in outward 
look and historical memories, to Edinburgh. A sort of 
State dinner followed. Lord Houghton, certain professors, 

April 22. — To-day we all went together to the hall of 
the General Assembly : the honorary D.D.s were first pre- 
sented, the LL.D.s followed, gracefully introduced by 
Professor Mackay. . . , 

May 1878. — Gifford and his wife have been staying 
with us for a few days. Cousin Joseph,^ the Cunlififes, 
Browning, Sir Walter " and Lady James to dinner, to meet 
them. Giffy's experience of half civilised races is singularly 
wide, and his judgment greatly improved. 

Jtdy d^, 1878. — An extremely agreeable dinner: Glad- 
stones, Hatherleys, J. R. Green and his wife, Meade, &c. 
Not a word of politics. Mr. G. in his most fascinating 
character. We wished that Green should have a chance 
of knowing this great contributor to his ' Primers.' 

October 21, 1878. — ... I read ' Philip van Artevelde ' 
through, and other poems by H. Taylor. There is so much 
merit in them that one wonders all the time what ' one 
thing is wanting.' 

November 19, 1878. — A very great loss in Lady Hather- 
ley's death. She had been my friend from first recollections, 
and Cecil's from childhood. . . . 

January 1879. — On the rumour of Ruskin's retirement 
from the Oxford Chair of Art, Jowett proposed to me to 
stand ; but before I could learn details the withdrawal was 

* Sir Alexander Grant. '^ The late Professor Sellar. 

* Sir Joseph Hooker. * The late Lord Northbourne. 


April 1879, Lyme. — Greatly shocked by hearing of the 
sudden death of dear Charles Howard, one of my most 
valued friends. ' O he was good, if e'er a good man 
lived ! ' 

J/rtj/31, 1879. — Cis and I took all the children — except, 
of course, Baby — to Winchester to see our dear Frank. 
Drove to Otterbourne to see Miss Yonge, who was very 
interesting and attractive, and striking looking too. 

July 23, 1879. — Cis and I took the two eldest children 
to ' Hamlet.' I had not seen any serious acting for years, 
and went expecting to find my greatest pleasure in the 
dear children's ; but I returned very deeply impressed with 
the frequent admirable renderings of Irving as ' Hamlet ' 
and Miss Terry as ' Ophelia.' . . . Above all, the amazing 
difficulty of the art impressed me ; as with painting, I 
doubt how far the spectator can pretend to point out the 
way in which parts might be improved, though he may 
lawfully feel not satisfied. What was good also, both in 
these and in the other actors, is to me so much clearly 
gained. Also if ' Hamlet ' acted unequally, how unequally, 
a vvai dire., is ' Hamlet ' written ! 

Octoberi%yg. — With Cis and little Annora to Yarmouth, 
where we were affectionately received by Inglis and Maria.' 
I was surprised at the great beauty of the intensely rural 
and eastern county scenery. 

January 7, 1 880. — The children performed the little fairy 
play of ' Snowdrop,' which I had written for them, aided 
by their cousins. T think all acted with great spirit and 
intelligence. About two hundred looked on. 

February 5. — Have dined with the T. Williams'.'^ We 
met a person who carried me back to years long past — 
Lady Charlotte Bacon, nee Harley, to whom Byron in 
181 2 dedicated 'Childe Harold.' She might well have been 

' Mr. and Mrs. R. H. I. Palgrave. 
^ Dr. Theodore Williams. 


the child beauty he describes then, to judge by features : 
a sensible, open, straightforward lady. She confirmed the 
impression of the sweetness and charm which Byron had 
and could show, which I have always read in his character. 
He was fond of taking her walks and rowing her at the 
family place in Herefordshire. This love of the company 
of a little girl is in itself — natural as it seems to me! — 
almost a virtue in a spoilt young man ! . . . 

March 10. — At Buckingham Palace the other day I 
glanced at the very interesting Picture Gallery, and also 
came across Leighton's ' Cimabue.' The difference in 
ability between this and any signal thing that he has since 
done is truly surprising. It is so good that it cannot have 
been a first effort. 

March 17. — A. Tennyson has been in London and 
I have seen him repeatedly. He read me ' Camma,' his 
latest play, a piece powerfully written and very original : 
perhaps having the fault of being almost confined to 
one, though that a very tragic, situation. ' Becket,' which 
he has lent me, is admirably written, and the dialogue 
often excellent. 

April 8, Lyme. — Drove to Dowlands, and walked 
down to the Landslip ; the west end, where it opens to the 
sea, is of singular beauty. I found the place where I had 
sat with A. Tennyson in 1867. . . . We took the children to 
Ware Cliff, and roasted eggs and potatoes, to their delight. . . . 
Alas, that by returning to London to-morrow I must just 
lose the full green outburst of spring. 

May 29. — With Cis and Catty^ to Sir Richard Wallace's 
house. In the French gallery I was struck by a too 
dominant glare, although the pictures are not very recent. 
The Meissoniers disappointed me much ; he has neither the 
technique nor the fine chiaroscuro nor the unafifectedness 
of the Dutch of the seventeenth century. The Reynolds 

' Lady Catherine Milnes-Gaskell. 


room was marked by subdued richness and exquisite senti- 
ment. Despite his technical deficiencies, assuredly he 
must rank with the very highest in his art. ... In the 
evening Cis and I dined with Lord Hatherley, his first 
dinner-party since his wife's death, meeting the great 
Bishop Lightfoot, J. G. Talbots, &c. 






My father's poems on episodes in English history, 
entitled 'Visions of England,' privately printed in 
1880, were published in 1881. In many of them 
there is an open avowal of some of his political and 
historical views : these are particularly defined in 
those lyrics commemorative of the events of the 
great rebellions in the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries. Of his feeling in regard to Cromwell 
something has been already given ; the severe 
sentiments respecting him in ' The Return of Law ' 
and in the notes to ' The Mourning Muses ' — a 
poem of regret for the treasures in art and literature 
which perished during the Civil War — are brought 
out with vivid and intense conviction. He writes, 
too, with a just indignation and an unflinching 
severity of the wrongs and persecutions which 
Catholic Ireland underwent from the hands of 
William III. Perhaps the battle-songs on the wars 
of the Plantagenets are the most spirited, and have 
been most popular for use in schools. Throughout 
the notes my father's firm confidence in Hallam's 


and Ranke's historical judgments makes itself 
strongly felt. It may be mentioned here that the 
Histories by Hallam and Lingard were those he 
valued most, and oftenest suggested for the reading 
of his own children. Though of course he greatly 
admired Macaulay's picturesqueness of writing and 
brilliancy of style, he was opposed to the idea of any 
one founding opinions on what he considered such 
an unreliable historical basis. As a young man my 
father had held Liberal opinions, but as time went 
on these views gradually changed, and his sympathies 
were subsequently altogether with the Conservative 
party ; a fervent patriotic feeling and unqualified 
respect for the Royal Family especially dominated 
his views. In writing to my father about the ' Visions 
of England ' Lord George Hamilton thus empha- 
sises the importance of encouraging patriotism : 
' You could not have written on behalf of any one 
quality which now more requires encouragement and 
eulogy than patriotism. The ridicule thrown at what 
was called "Jingoism" was undoubtedly indirectly 
levelled at self-sacrifice and patriotism, and in these 
days of individual selfishness and cosmopolitanism 
a more inspiriting theme could not be selected.' 
Many interesting letters were received about these 
poems, a few of which are given here. The first, 
from Mr. J. R. Green, alludes only to the poem 
named * Trafalgar,' and was written some three 
years before the publication of the book ; while 
the three letters following refer to the privately 
printed edition. 


From John Richard Green 

50 Welbeck Street, W. : September 18, 1878. 

My dear Palgrave, — I need hardly say how glad I was 
to get your * Trafalgar,' or how yet gladder I should be to 
use it in my ' Reader.' It reads to me like a true battle- 
poem ; it has a rough fiery movement from beginning to 
end ; and as to the bulk of it, I think it tells its own tale 
very clearly, and by no means requires the notes and 
explanations which you fancy it needs, . . . 

Yours, with thanks, dear Palgrave, 

J. R. Green. 

From Henry W. Longfellow 

Cambridge [U.S.A.]: June 25, 1880. 

My dear Sir, — I am extremely obliged to you for 
counting me among the fifty who would most value your 
volume of ' The Visions of England.' 

An admirable volume it is, and I have read it with 
delight and admiration. It is needless, perhaps, to par- 
ticularise ; but I cannot help saying how very much I like 
the ballad of ' Crecy.' It is a fit companion-piece to 
Drayton's ' Agincourt,' which I have always thought one of 
the finest ballads in the language. 

For one and all I thank you, and am, my dear sir, with 
great regard, 

Faithfully yours, 

Henry W. Longfellow. 

From the Right Hon. W. H. Lecky 

38 Onslow Gardens, S.W. : April 27, 1881. 

Dear Mr. Palgrave, — I was so very glad to receive the 
new volume you have so kindly sent me and to find that 


you have (as I presume) completed your task. I hope 
very much you will publish the book. I do not suppose it 
would ever become widely popular, for it is too full of rather 
recondite allusions, too purely intellectual, and too high 
pitched for the general public ; but it could hardly fail to 
find a considerable circle of genuine admirers. 

I must thank you much for the very kind way you 
speak of me in the notes. 

I was much struck with your remark that Reynolds 
created childhood in art. I must think more about it, but 
I believe it is substantially true, for Correggio's and Albano's 
Cupids hardly fall into the category of ordinary children. 
I do not know whether Reynolds's ' Infant Samuel ' is an 
original conception. If it is, I think it must be the one 
religious type in art which England has given to the 
world. . . . 

Believe me, yours very sincerely, 

W. H. Lecky. 

From Lord Hatherley 

The Red House, Ipswich : April 5, 1880. 

Dear Palgrave, — I have had leisure at last quietly to 
read (parts more than once) the ' Poem,' for it is one con- 
sisting of its several ' rhapsodies,' and I can honestly say 
it grows upon me on each perusal. 

There is a little to get over in some of the metres, more 
especially the longer ones. ... I think the relief of shorter 
lines at the end of each stanza, giving a brisker movement, 
as in ' Hastings,' is preferable. . . . The spirit of ' Hastings ' 
and ' Evesham ' does not flag in ' Elizabeth at Tilbury,' 
and I am very much pleased with your transition pieces on 
advancing civilisation. . . . The pathos of London Bridge ' 
and Lady Catherine's lament touched me deeply. . . . 




I am most struck with the manner in which you have 
preserved the truth of history in combination with the 
deep tragic undertone of poor Mary of Scotland's Hfe ; the 
beautiful line at the end of the sixteenth stanza prepares us 
for the reciprocal forgiveness which they should exercise 
who harshly condemn her. . . . Has Tennyson seen it ? 
I should have asked that before I ventured on writing what 
I have done. I congratulate yourself and Mrs. Palgrave 
on the constant resource which you may both find in the 
continuation of the work. 

Yours most sincerely, 


From William Stubbs (Bishop of Oxford) 

Kettel Hall, Oxford : February 26, 1882. 
Dear Mr. Palgrave, — The ' Visions of England ' reached 
me just as I was leaving Oxford for London. ... I have 
read them twice since, and like them better each time 
liking them very much to begin with. I do not think that 
there is one which does not carry my thorough consent and 
sympathy all through. I wish thoughtful people would 
read them and keep them, in sight. . . . Let me thank you 
in the name of all who have an intelligent love of England, 
and a feeling that their fathers are a part of themselves, for 
the ' Visions.' 

Ever yours faithfully, 
William Stubbs. 

From Sir Mountstuart Grant Duff 

York House, Twickenham : January 24, 1890. 

My dear Palgrave, — . . . I have not read as much as I 
should like to have read before I acknowledged your kind 
gift. I am interested to observe that you still believe in 
Mary Stuart. I have never read up the controversy, but in 


Scotland the partisans of the Queen are now few even 
amongst those who lean strongly against the policy and 
practices of her opponents — many of whom were un- 
doubtedly ruffians of the first water. 

You have a wonderful power of uniting happy and 
pregnant poetical sayings. 

What can be more perfectly descriptive of the Nadder 
behind Bemerton than 

The eternal lullaby of the level brook, 

With bird-like chirpings rippHng, glassy-clear. 

or, on another order of ideas : 

Waking perchance, or not, in death to find 
Man fights a losing fight who fights mankind. 

I am 

Very sincerely yours, 
M. E. Grant Duff. 

From Mr. Henry James 

3 Bolton Street, Mayfair : February 7, 1881. 

My dear Palgrave, — Your book has given me a great 
deal of pleasure — I think it extremely interesting. The 
idea seems to me fine, and the work rich. The thing is 
full of England — full of knowledge and feeling about her 
history, and of an impregnated quality which seems to me 
rare and valuable. 

I not only read your verses to myself, but read them 
also aloud to a wise old friend of mine (Fanny Kemble), 
and we talked them over. It seems to me very much the 
poetry of reflection, of association — rather than of whatever 
t'other thing is that makes lyric verse. It strikes one as 
begotten very much by the love of poetry and the know- 


ledge and study of it, and as being full of echoes and 
reverberations of poetic literature. I don't accuse you of 
' lifting,' but you write from such a lettered mind that your 
strain is a kind of coil of memories. All this to me is a 
merit, and I suppose the merit you aimed at — that of com- 
memoration. I think the best thing is the ' Danish Barrow ' 
farewell. . . . Many good wishes to your house. 

Yours ever, 

H. James. 

The deaths of three great friends are a main 
subject in the journals of 1881 and 1882. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

August 2, 1880.— Worked hard at the 'Visions.' A 
letter from Longfellow has given more encouragement 
than anything else. 

August 21. — Came to Falconhurst.^ I walked to 
Hever Castle with Talbot, a lovely old castellated house. 
J. Talbot's great sweetness of nature and the very lively 
intelligent children made it a very pleasant visit. . . . Then I 
went on to Englemere, where I was most kindly welcomed 
by Robert Meade. . . . 

October 1880. — After a pleasant time at Lyme, Cis and 
I took our two eldest for a little tour in Wales, and, after 
a visit or two, we stayed a few days at Dolgelly and 
Beddgelert, which we reached by the very fine Aberglaslyn 
Pass. I had no idea that the mountain circle of this 
British Chamounix was so fine. Wales has less gloomy 
grandeur than Scotland ; but more amenity, more wealth 
of trees. Took my darling children to the summit of 
Snowdon, which was covered with white drifting clouds. 
The sea seen high and golden in sunlight over Cardigan Bay 

^ The house of the Right Hon. J. G. Talbot, M.P. 

'the cup' 165 

and the green valley below were wonderful in a sort of 
sublime beauty. This is our dear little Gwenny's first 
journey, and we took her and Cecy for their first visit to 
Hawarden. Mr. Gladstone and Alfred Lyttelton took 
them over the old castle. Mr. Gladstone shone in his 
most fascinating way, and we discussed Scott, placed by 
him, as by me, next to Shakespeare in our inventive 
literature. He ranked highest the ' Bride of Lammermoor ' 
and ' Kenilworth,' talking of them to the children, to whom 
I had just read them. We talked of Dickens, of Dante, 
in whom he rated the ' Paradiso ' highest, as most ' super- 
naturally imaginative.' Afterwards, with me, he discussed 
the attitude of the proselytising suction of physics. 

March 26, 1881. — Took the children to the Lyceum. 
They had been well prepared for ' The Cup ' by Tennyson's 
good nature, who had allowed them to read his copy 
thoroughly. Without this, the difficulties of verse and the 
attractions to the eye of acting and scenery would have 
rendered the play less intelligible. . . . Miss Terry as 
Gamma seemed to me nearly perfect from her conception 
of the part and her gifts. I doubt whether if a tragedy so 
remote from English experience as this would not in fact 
have lost in impressiveness and interest to our eyes in the 
hands of a more complete tragedian, such as a Rachel or a 
Ristori. The sight of women moving in Greek dress was 
very curious. Many little motives of ancient art were 
explained ; but what was new to me was the intense 
femininity of the dress — these women looked plus feviine 
que les notres in their pallia. The Temple itself was 
striking ; the columns of Ephesus being admirably ren- 
dered, and the image of Artemis having all the air of the 
effect of such a shrine. But the low proportions interfered 
much with strictly architectural effect. The melodramatic 
and highly spectacular ' Corsican Brothers ' followed, and 
as illusion was wonderful. But of character, in the real 
sense, there is hardly a trace. 


May 26, 1 88 1.- — To breakfast in Downing Street. A 
very small party. Mr. Gladstone talked mainly of the 
new ' Revised Version,' to the use of which in place of the 
old he was much opposed. 

July II, 1 88 1. — Yesterday morning passed away one 
of the last friends of my parents and of myself from child- 
hood, in Lord Hatherley. . . . His was, I think, the last 
house to which my dear father, about i860, was tempted 
out. He and his wife were perhaps more like near 
relations in hearty affection to both dear Cecil and me 
than any friends — they were amongst those who had been 
her friends also . . . from early years. . . . 

Jtily 19, 1 88 1. — 'Another friend,' another 'deadly 
blow ' ! Cis and I thought little when we went to the Flower 
Show party in Westminster on the 7th that this was to be 
the last time we were to see that bright face [Dean Stan- 
ley] which at least from 1846 has never looked on me but 
with kindness. He who also was one of those who in my 
own dear father's later years showed him affection and 
interest. It seems another world now, that when as an 
undergraduate I first met Stanley with Shairp and Clough, 
and so many more of Oxford now gone ; when his own 
interests were much in Norfolk, whither in the summer of 
1846 he invited me to the Palace at Norwich, and we were 
there with the Alderson and Blomfield groups. . . . Then 
in 1848 the journey with him and others to Paris, and his 
interest in the then Republic. Since then came his happy 
marriage with Lady Augusta, who at once took his friends 
for hers ; the loss and gloom, during which I had the 
privilege several times of walking with him at his wish ; 
then the gradual cheering under the influence of faith and 
energy and the duty to live. That house has been a 
comfort to daily routine life at Whitehall, one where I 
never wanted the most hearty and frank welcome. I feel 
as though I had never loved and valued him enough — 


and yet I do think he cared for me and felt my care 
for him. 

August 20. — Came to stay with Charlie Alderson near 
Ascot, Cecil having taken the children to Lyme. Very 
pleasant walks with Charlie and Arthur Coleridge, who is 
also here. 

October 14, Ely. — On the whole this is one of the very 
first-class cathedrals of the world for dignity and original 
beauty. One window by Dyce was of quite singular 
beauty ; it was art — the rest, decoration. 

October 29. — By early train to London. Returned 
home to find my two little ones awaiting me, sitting up in 
their red dressing-gowns in bed. They are still mere baby- 
children, begging for rides on my back, earthquakes on 
my knees, and kisses, and bidding me a ' Good-night, 
Sweetheart,' when I go to the nursery at night. 

December 1881. — I have been reading 'Emma' and 
' Mansfield Park ' to Cecy and little Gwenny during their 
' Mumps.' These masterpieces seem to me admirable 

March 2, 1882. — Heard of Aunt Hannah's death,^ 
and felt that we had lost a very dear and bright life, 
for she eminently preserved her youthful brightness to 
the age of all but seventy-four. . . . Cis and I went to 
stay with Inglis at Yarmouth for the funeral at the old 

May 1882. — Meanwhile the most terrible shock I have 
known was overhanging. On Friday the 5th I met dear 
Freddy Cavendish on the Column steps and turned back 
with him across the park, wishing him as fervent wishes as 
I could to any man for success in this most difficult task.^ 
He was affectionately serious — indeed, neither of us could 
say much. On the 6th I went to luncheon with his wife. 

1 Mrs. T. Brightwen. 

'^ Lord F. Cavendish had just been appointed to the Irish Chief 

1 68 


. . . She was bright and hopeful. . . . Within six hours 
his pure and just spirit was with God. . . . This news- 
darkened London next morning. ... In him I lose the 
friend whom I loved as much as anyone now alive : one to 
whose affection and counsel I have looked without question 
since 1859, when Lord Granville brought him to the Privy 
Council Office in his bright youth to be with me as Private 
Secretary, saying : ' I bring you a charming colleague ' ; 
and the charm and brightness remained unlessened to the 
last — the last ! . . . What must the end, and such an end, 
be to her ? . . . No man could be more prepared for 
sudden death, if entire unselfishness, purity of thought 
and deed, justice in mind and act, such as I have rarely 
seen approached, be a preparation. . . . 

June 1882. — On the i6th I took the children to the 
Lyceum, where we saw ' Romeo and Juliet,' the latter ren- 
dered admirably — rendered to perfection, I should be 
disposed to say, by Ellen Terry. The Nurse good,^ but a 
little too hard and realistic ; Mercutio ^ excellent ; much 
merit in Irving's Romeo. 

August 31. — Came to stay with Reggie at Hillside. . . . 
Brought his two younger girls back to Lyme, and lively 
rehearsals of ' Cinderella ' and my Charade proceeded. 
They performed this before eighty people, who were 

October 1882. — Came to Wenlock with Cis and the two 
elder girls, and Carlo showed them over the Abbey and 
the picturesque ruins. Saw the very singular and beautiful 
lavatory which he has dug out ; this must in design and in 
sculpture have fully equalled the best Italian work of the 
same date, which I take to be cir. 11 20, and, so far as I 
know, it is unique in England, if not abroad. . . . From 
thence went to Buildwas. These ruins in their matter-of- 
fact plainness and propriety of design form a curious con- 

^ The late Mrs. Stirling. 

- The late Mr. Terriss. 


trast to the delicate fancy of VVenlock. . . . After a few- 
visits to relations in Wales . . . we drove to Hawarden. 
I had a long walk with Mr. Gladstone in the park, going 
over many things, and repeating on Carlyle his old view of 
power in language unaccompanied by power in thought. 
He spoke also of his own early training in strict Evangeli- 
canism, and its unintellectual character. Mr. Gladstone 
talked to Gwenny with great animation, and asked her her 
opinion on the minds of the rich as compared to the poor. 
' Don't you think the very rich,' he said laughingly, ' are par- 
ticularly poor in mind ? ' He took as much pains to interest 
and amuse her, a child, as he did to the rest of the party. 
He then took me into his library, and showed me an Italian 
translation of a hymn of Cowper's (' Hark ! my soul ') dated 
' W. E. G. July 23, 1882.' Stanza iv. seems to me the best 
in this curiosity. 

' L' Amor mio sempre dura, 
Alto piu d' ogn' altr' altura, 
Tocca in giu le nere porte. 
Franco e fido, infin a morte.' 

From Lady F. Cavendish 

21 Carlton House Terrace : June 21, 1882. 

Dear Mr. Palgrave, — How can I ever thank you enough 
for sending me those noble lines — true to the life, and 
beautiful in their truth ? As I read them, the hope revives 
. . . that his influence will live on and ' shine as the stars 
for ever and ever.' I do not mean it presumptuously, but 
only in so far as the light that shone in him was from the 
One Divine Sun. . . . 

Of the multitudes of letters that have come to me, and 
that I have loved to read, few indeed have given me the 
pleasure that yours did. You are too old a friend for me 
to feel I need apologise for not answering before. . . . 


Every word you say of him is true and precious to me, and 
understanding him as you do, you will Uke the texts I have 
chosen in memor}- of him : ' Blessed are the pure in heart, 
for they shall see God ; ' ' Blessed are the peacemakers, 
for they shall be called the children of God.' 

Ever very sincerely and gratefully yours, 

Lucy C. F. Cavendish. 

In the above letter Lady F. Cavendish alludes 
to the sonnet griven below. In the followino- letter 
she mentions it again. 

From Lady F. Cavendish 

My sister-in-law ^ writes to me in answer to my question 
about your sonnet : ' I had seen and greatly admired the 
sonnet, and I should especially like it to be published. 
. . . One knows nothing could grate that he would put in.' 

For myself, as I told you, it is a true pleasure to think 
that the beautiful lines, so complete and perfect in their 
truth, as in their form, should be read (widely I hope) by 
those who can appreciate real poetry. 

F. C. C. 6 May, 1882 

Fair Soul, who in this faltering age didst show 
Manhood's right image, constant, courteous, pure, 
In silence strong to do and to endure, 

'Neath self-suppression veiling inner glow, — 

Justice at one with gentleness : — The throe 
Of lightning-death found thee, if any, fit, — 
Secure in faith, — to bare thy breast to it : — 

Ah ! thine the joy, beloved ! — ours the woe! 

' Lady Louisa Egerton. 


For thou hast ta'en thine innocence on high, 
The child-simplicity of thy stainless years ; 
And on thy brows we see the diadem 

Of those who walk with Christ in purity, 

Fair souls, and wept, like thee, with lifelong tears, 
Sword-slain in Ephrataean Bethlehem. 

Writing to Lady F. Cavendish in December 
1882, concerning the monument erected to Lord 
Frederick Cavendish's memory in Cartmel Church, 
my father says : 

. . . My sole idea of a rule is : any artist may fail in 
posthumous likeness ; it is more uncertain, inevitably, even 
than ordinary portraiture The safe course seems there- 
fore to be : take the ablest and most accomplished artist 
who can be found, his work will offer the best probability 
of permanently satisfactory success. This reasoning would, 
as our sculpture now stands — and so far as is known to 
me — lead me to Mr. Woolner. Thus you see it is nar- 
rowed at last to a mere personal judgment. . . . 

That children should have loved him [Lord F. Cavendish] 
is just what I should have expected. It is a pretty fancy 
that children instinctively know who care for them : what 
they do very quickly discern is whether they are loved dis- 
interestedly. ... I often remember our last visit to Holker 
with a sense, indeed, of loss ; but also of how great a 
blessing I was allowed in him who was taken. 

To Hallam Lord Tennyson 

March 1883. 
My dear Hallam, — I am sorry that your father (and 
you also, I suppose) will miss seeing the Rossetti pictures ; 
which, with patent defects and limitations in art and in 



aim, yet seem to me to reveal a very high and rare quality 
of genius. 

I have not seen any of the Gladstone party yet. The 
air of Cannes, which gave him sleep, kept Mrs. Gladstone 
awake. But this is a fair conjugal interchange. Pray 
thank your father for his invitation. Nothing would please 
me better, on all accounts, than to pay him and you a 
visit ; but my time of absence is so greatly hampered, and 
the journey to the island consumes so much, that I hope 
he will allow me to defer until you reach the more 
accessible region of Aldworth. . . , Do you and he know 
the Porlock-Minehead country ? From the accounts which 
we receive of it from my boy (who is reading there with a 
tutor), and from sketches, it must be quite one of the most 
beautiful, and, thus far, unspoiled, of non-mountainous 
England. . . . 

My father was an exceptional instance of an 
Englishman who both read and spoke the Welsh 
language with considerable fluency. He was greatly 
interested in the ancient literature of the country, 
and was an enthusiastic member of the Honourable 
Society of Cymmrodorion. This love of Wales and 
care for her welfare led him to take an active interest 
in the Welsh colony in London, and he liberally 
contributed to their Church and to institutions main- 
tained for the benefit of the Welsh poor. The 
poverty of the Church in Wales appealed strongly 
to his sympathy, and he rarely, if ever, refused the 
help which so many of her poor clergy asked for 
their schools and families. A visit to Wales was 
generally part of the year's holiday, and in 1883 
we spent some weeks at Nevin, a small village 
on the Lleyn Promontory, which was at that time 


completely unknown and unspoiled. Here he en- 
joyed talking with the inhabitants of the village in 
their own language. He was so much struck with 
the beauty and extreme wildness of the coast that 
through his suggestion Mr. J. C. Hook visited the 
place, and made it the subject of one of his charming 

In the autumn of 1884 my father resigned his 
Assistant Secretaryship in the Education Depart- 
ment of the Privy Council Office, after some thirty 
years' service. 

From Mr. Matthew Arnold 

243 Upper Brook Street, Manchester : October 25, 1884. 

My dear Palgrave,— I cannot find you gone from the 
office without a word of farewell and goodwill. Year slips 
away after year, and one begins to find that the office has 
really had the main part of one's life, and that little 
remains. I have quite decided to follow your example at 
Michaelmas next, if I live so long. . . . Then I ' feel like ' 
retiring to Florence and rarely moving from it again. 

But I write to urge you to put yourself in communica- 
tion with Jowett, if yoii have not already done so, about 
the literary professorship to be founded at Oxford. I have 
quite determined to take no part whatever ; but you have 
not yet served your time as a professor, and I should like 
to see you at Oxford. Do not wait for Shairp's vacancy ; 
' the future is not ours and the past is lost,' as the Sicilian 
song says. 

Kindest regards to your wife. 

Ever yours sincerely, 

Matthew Arnold. 



During the next year [1885] my father brought 
out a selection from Tennyson's lyrical poems. In 
the Dedication to Lady Tennyson he explains that 
it was the Poet Laureate's modesty in barring any of 
his lyrics from appearing in the 'Golden Treasury' — 
that ' Treasury ' claiming to include but the best — 
which had led my father to exclude all living authors 
from that collection, and it was to supply this defi- 
ciency of Tennyson's poems that he formed this col- 
lection of his lyrical work in an annotated edition. 

He had lately published (1884) a small edition 
of the works of John Keats, for whose poetry he 
had a peculiar love. One of the especial aims of 
this, as of other of his anthologies, was to present 
Keats's work in a form suitable for reading at all 
times and in all places ; for this reading of the poets 
in * the fortunate moments of travel or the country ' 
was singularly after his own heart. 

At the unveiling of the bust of Keats in Hamp- 
stead Parish Church in July 1894, ^" ^ short speech 
dwelling on his life and character he spoke of him 
as ' not only one of the most profoundly interesting, 
but one of the most attractive, the most lovable 
figures in literature. Like that English ambassador 
who always deceived his fellow diplomatists by 
uniformly speaking the truth, Keats was too pro- 
foundly candid, too utterly modest, to be understood 
by the common crowd of critics. In Hampstead 
also were partly written the poems published (181 7) 
in the first of his three precious volumes ; full of 
untutored fresh delight in nature and friendship and 
art ; and here, but three years later, some of these 


Splendid lyrical tales and odes which must always 
rank amongst the best of his work — work which, 
as Alfred Tennyson more than once said to me, 
gave a secure promise that had life been spared 
Keats would have proved our greatest in poetry 
since Milton. Not only by native force and inspira- 
tion, but by most careful devotion to his art, in 
some four years' work [he] made himself worthy of 
the praise bestowed on him by Tennyson : whilst 
he also gave clear proof that human life in its deepest 
and highest sense, yet always under the law of 
Beauty, would have been the subject of his maturer 
verse.' In the following letter Mr. Sidney Colvin 
alludes to an * Encyclopaedia ' article on Keats written 
by my father. 

From Mr. Sidney Colvin 

... It has been one of my chief pleasures in connection 
with my Keats work that you have liked it, and I am 
grateful for your mention of it in the ' Encyclopaedia ' 
article. The editors are lucky to have got you to do the 
article for them, it seems to me excellent for its scale and 
purpose ; and I am particularly glad you have brought 
out what too many critics deny — the predominance of 
human interest over all other which was growing every 
day in the poet's mind. . . . 

The additional leisure which his resignation 
afforded gave him the opportunity of more frequently 
indulging in foreign travel. Probably no pleasure 
was more enjoyed by him than a journey to Italy, 
and in 1885 he accompanied his brother Inglis and 
his wife on a tour through that country. Apart 


from his enthusiastic love for that country itself, he 
loved her people hardly second to his own country- 
men. This particular journey was made v/ith a 
view to studying those painters of the fourteenth, 
fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries whose pictures 
were to illustrate a Life of our Lord which the 
National Society published in 1885, and to which 
he contributed descriptive and critical notes, and an 
introduction which contains a short history of 
religious art in Italy. A letter from Lady Eastlake 
concerning this book may not be out of place 

From Lady Eastlake 

7 Fitzroy Square: November i8, 1885. 

My dear Frank, — You have sent me a most beautiful 
book, which has claims both on my admiration and on my 
affection. For I value very dearly your kind feeling 
towards me. Then also it is a continuation of (and an 
improvement on) my own special subject. The conse- 
quence was that I never halted in your ' Introduction ' till 
I finished it. 

It is practically true what you say of the influence of 
Greek Art, through Byzantium ; whether it be philosophi- 
cally true is a question which I am debating to myself 
Nature is ever unaltered in beauty and teaching, and 
Nature must have been the inspiration of the Greeks. Till 
she inspire another favoured race in the same way I grant 
that Art of a high class is played out. It is fortunate that 
you and I can love her homelier forms — anything that is 
true to her ! But let me add that I think your ' Introduction ' 
beautiful both in form and substance. ... Of course, the 
chromo system is more favourable to some plates than to 


others — none more beautiful than the first, the ' Angelic 
Salutation ' ; the tones are exquisite. The garishness arises 
from the smaller scale. If form be diminished, colour must 
also be in the same proportion. You have made a delight- 
ful Christmas contribution. I shall be glad to send a copy- 
to Russia. 

With love to Cecil. , . . 
I am, dear Frank, 

Yours affectionately, 

Elizabeth Eastlake. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

March 1883.—. . . I think the sight of Rossetti's 
pictures has been the most moving thing during this time. 
With all his defects and limitations, his eccentric originality 
conquered. For rendering of delicate truth in expression, 
for an absolutely imaginative and sincere conception of 
subject, and, with this, for splendour and novelty of colour 
— res olim dissociabiles — I hardly know how not to rank 
him with artists or art of the finest quality. 

March 29, Little Park. — Even in this singularly cold 
and flowerless spring the country was beautiful. In the after- 
noon of Easter Day all to the dcr^oSsXayv Xsificova near Hole 
Farm, to pick daffodils. The children listened to some of 
the immortal passages of ' Lucretius,' which J read to them, 
with eager enthusiasm. ... I have read ' Antigone ' and 
' Vergil ' with Frank, and have myself finished the ' Purga- 
torio ' ; the last books are astonishing, they seem to have 
the merits of Vergil and Shakespeare in one. . . . Mrs. 
William Morris called ; still just as in Rossetti's portraits 
in feature. She is a very pleasing person. Finished reading 
the ' ^neid ' with my dear boy. 

/ufy 17. — We took the children to 'The Merchant of 
Venice ' for the second time. Irving's Shy lock seemed to 



me a fine and true rendering of Shakespeare's intention— 
viz. the mediaeval Jew a little raised in dignity and 
humanity. The Terry Portia was generally admirable. 
This play gains, certainly, immensely by representation 
. . , the sort of tradition which gives Shylock the pro- 
tagonist, if not the hero part, is amply justified. ... I 
certainly think that those who cannot see that Irving gave 
a very powerful, and Miss Terry a very beautiful, interpre- 
tation, and that the piece as a whole was a thoroughly 
' adequate ' representation of what Shakespeare meant, 
must never expect to be satisfied by human art. 

August 25. — Went to Aldworth. Found Mrs. Tennyson 
as bright in mind and charming as ever during the thirty 
years and more since I first saw her at Twickenham. 
On Sunday morning I had a longish walk with A. T. ; 
he is as interesting, as rich in mind, almost as ready for 
humour and liveliness as when he showed his poems to 
me in MS. in his dingy lodging by Mornington Crescent 
in 1849. He read to me in the evening an old poem — 
forty years old, he said he believed — which he had written 
out from his old sketches, with a prologue to Fitzgerald, 
his college friend, written just before Fitzgerald's death. 
The central poem is in his finest early style ; the two 
other poems seemed to me to be also perfect masterpieces. 

September 1883, Nevin. — . . . The village is much the 
wildest and most primitive place we have ever stayed in. . . . 
Yesterday sat and looked at the lovely coast landscape ; 
the grey gleaming silvery mountains, whose unique feature 
is that of running down sheer into the sea. . . . All drove 
to Bodfal Hall, the birthplace of Mrs. Thrale. It is a very 
perfect house of about the time of James I., with a grace- 
ful staircase and wainscot walls, and that singular air of 
home comfort which those days always gave to a house. 
... I took the children to the Welsh service on Sunday 
evening, as they, with Cis, have fairly mastered the lan- 
guage ; it interested me greatly. . . . 


October i, 1883. — All came to Gwydir Castle.' It is a 
most singular Scotch-looking old house, with a very pic- 
turesque garden. The house much less modernised than I 
remembered, . . . 

December 1883. — Giffy is with us, bright in mind, but 
sick in body through the climate of Siam. It is a great 
happiness to us both to have this very dear and gifted 
brother here. 

March i, 1884. — With Cis to Oxford to stay at 
Trinity. Met the ever pleasant Max Mullers, &c. ; and 
heard a truly notable Bampton Lecture from Temple ^ — 
' Science and Religion,' a subject few men are as well 
qualified to handle. . . . 

April 1884. — Tennyson and Hallam have been in 
London, and we went together to the very interesting 
Reynolds exhibition. . . . The next day with the John 
Talbots and my own three over the Ellesmere Gallery. 
This is on the whole the best private English collection 
known to me. 

August 1884. — I have taken leave gradually of the 
office. . . . The loss of Sandford,^ vv^hom I so greatly 
esteem and who has been my close colleague for so many 
years, makes me regret it the less. . . . For the rest I trust 
to be enabled to do some useful work, and not rest idly for 
whatever elder years may be laid up for me. 

January 10, 1885. — To Aldworth, where I found Jowett. 
One evening A. T. read us several recent poems in his 
ballad style of extraordinary power and beauty. On the 
1 2th Mr. V. Stanford, the agreeable musician, came. Her 
[Lady Tennyson] I saw but little, but there was always the 
old bright intelligence and indescribable gracious charm. 

March 25, 1885. — Left home early with Inglis and 
Maria [Palgrave]. . . . Kent looked peacefulness itself; 

' The house of Lord Ancaster. - Archbishop of Canterbury. 

' The late Lord Sandford, who was retiring at that time. 

N 2 


the villages with that charm which I was to find elsewhere 
all but wholly absent. The cottages in those long tra- 
verses from Calais to Basle have no grace, no look of 
happy age : squalid and poor, or white and staring. Nor 
was the flora more satisfactory ; pasture land almost 
absent, and the total want of hedges, whilst it gives a 
certain width to the landscape, deprives it of rural grace. 

March 2"^, Milan. — A second visit to the Duomo makes 
me rank it as the most beautiful, the most appropriate, 
shrine for Christian worship known to me. . . . Raphael's 
' Sposalizio,' compared with Luini's fresco of the same 
subject, is tame : Raphael has here many lovely forms, but 
he is not inspired. It suggests a mariage de convenance. 
At San Ambrogio is a ' Christ bearing Cross ' by Luini of 
the highest possible tenderness and dignity. Opposite, a 
Deposition by Gaudenzio Ferrari — his fittest fresco in 
Milan. As Tennyson said of Scott's ' Maid of Neidpath,' 
this was almost more pathetic than a man had the right 
to be. I never saw grief expressed, so varied, so intense, 
yet never transcending the beautiful. 

March 30, Milan. — Had a long talk with Ceriani [the 
Librarian of the Ambrosian Library] — a most cultivated 
and pleasing man. He took me into his own room, and 
we held a colloquy on English and Roman views of cer- 
tain religious topics which impressed me very favourably 
as to his disposition. . . . The early walks I take show 
quite another population — of workmen, &c. . . . The fashion 
of the women and girls wearing light veils on their heads 
is very graceful and feminine : this headdress particularly 
prevails here. . . . 

April I, Parma. — This is a true native city : I feel 
truly in Italy and with all her old charm over me. . . . 
Correggio's great Assumption fresco is indeed what only 
great genius could attempt, but what genius, however 
great, could not come near accomplishing. As a piece of 
delicate chiaroscuro, of lovely colour, it must, when fresh, 


have been magical. ... Here a lovely little band of one 
blind fiddler and two other players come in and play 
ravishingly lovely and pathetic airs from Bellini : the blind 
man's soul went into his music, and he had tones of true 
passion. This was a delightful scene of real ' local colour ' 
such as only a small place, where the genius loci could come 
out, could furnish. 

Easier Day, Rome. — Early to the Forum, which is now 
an open-air museum of ungainly fragments, in place of 
that field of reverie and poetry which I remember it in 
1854. Addio meraviglia ! Went into the Saint Calixtus 
Catacomb with Bishop Lightfoot.^ Here was a touching 
chapel, devoted to children ; little winged Psyche children 
were painted about their small loculi. The one impression 
is the number and unity of simple faith of the primitive 
Church in Rome. 

April 7, Naples. — . . . The Pompeian frescoes and mosaics 
are much beyond what I expected in quality of Art : the 
invention is so copious, the handling so absolutely assured, 
that I fully felt the sad lesson how Art (despite a few 
reactions) has had one long downward career for two 
thousand years. 

April \A^, Salerno. — . . . The wind and rain are furious. 
There were fireflies among the cacti in the inn garden last 
night ; but what is a cactus when one wishes for coals, 
or fireflies when one longs for a fire in a grateless room .'' 
In the evening to the theatre, where for fifteen pence we 
had seats in the third row of the stalls. The opera was 
' Rigoletto ' : to real music what scene painting is to true 
art. I did not know Verdi sank so low. The singers 
roared — but musically ; one duet was really fine and 

April 15. — A better day for Paestum could not be 
found. For the beauty of the way thither I was not pre- 
pared. To the left was a view of rock and mountains in 
' Late Bishop of Durham. 


endless number and gradation, which for a kind of imagi- 
native wildness — desolate, yet not harsh — surpassed every- 
thing I have seen. There is an impression of weight and 
mass and beauty of proportion in the temples at Paestum 
which no print gives. Round the great Temple were sheep 
feeding on a flowery meadow ; a little flock of goats also 
came up ; the shepherds piped on reeds ; it was something 
Arcadian — something delicious ! 

May 7, Ravenna. — The roof of the Baptistery is 
covered with fifth- or sixth-century mosaics. The invention 
in decoration here shown is astonishing, and the exquisite 
beauty of colour not less ; if the art was such at so late 
a time of Roman art (it looked wholly untouched by 
Byzantine or Lombard feeling), what must have been the 
great palaces and baths at Rome ? A thought to make 
one infinitely sad. Certainly at Rome is nothing remotely 
approaching this work. Thence we went to the tomb 
of Dante, a much more tasteful building than I had ex- 
pected, and full of the repose of which Dante found so little. 

May 9. — Early in delicious freshness and sky through 
the pretty wide low streets of Ravenna to the monument 
of Theodoric — that curious anticipation of round arched 
style . . . Ravenna does credit to Lord Byron's predilec- 
tion ; it is eminently curious, and it is much more English 
than any Italian town I know. 

May 10, Bologna. — To San Giacomo in Monte ; saw 
the lovely Bentivoglio Francia, fixed in my mind since 
1854 as a wonder. One meets here girls' faces strongly 
like Francia's type. 

May 12, Milan. — At the top of theDuomo by 5.35 A.M. 
The whole panorama of the Alps was in view ; the first 
impression of the mass of Monte Rosa was almost fright- 
ful. All the snow summits were lighted ; the lower part 
of the range dark grey. As the sun went up, the clearer 
definition of the nearer hills and change in the tints 
lessened the dignity of the scene. 


May IS' — • • • A very picturesque journey by the Alps, 
seeing the snowy Adamello and Bernina, to Brescia. In 
the gallery here is a noble bronze ' Victory,' more Greek 
in style than anything in Rome or Naples. . . . Bonvicino ^ 
seems to me one of the very greatest artists ! In point of 
feeling, of truth to his subject, of sou/ in short, he leaves 
far behind far more celebrated names. 

May 19. — By diligence up the Sesia valley to Varallo. 
Lovely wooded rocks on either side and snowy peaks 
beyond. Here I found Mr. Goodall, the artist sent by 
the National Society to copy pictures for the series of the 
* Life of our Lord.' With him to the plain old Franciscan 
church, where is a vast wall covered with early frescoes by 
Gaudenzio Ferrari, the finest I know anywhere in art of 
this subject. Thence up the Sacro Monte and through the 
chapels, a sight impressive beyond imagination. 

Maj/y London. — How great was the difference in light 
and colour in England I had no idea ; how great also, the 
absence of that mountain horizon which in Italy is hardly 
ever wanting. Virgil's praises of his own land now seem 
to me simply true. I return loving Italy more, but England 
no less, with its inner picturesqueness, its nearer and dearer 

To his Wife 

Rome : April 1885. 
. . . The views of some ruins at a distance and of the 
mountains about Rome are infinitely lovelier than the 
regular shows : and I keep promising myself all manner 
of delicious lounges with you. . . . To-day we went with 
Bishop Lightfoot to some of the oldest catacombs, and 
saw the tombs and pictures of the Christians so far back 
as A.D. 200 ; not fine in art, but very curious as show- 
ing the simplicity and fervour of their faith, and also the 

^ Better known as Moretto. 


vast numbers of the early church. We were very fortu- 
nate in having such a capital guide as the Bishop. We 
left him plunging deep into another cavern ... we feared 
that the inch of taper, which he had left him, would be 
exhausted before he re-appeared ! . . . We saw the Stuart 
monument in St. Peter's ; it is an ugly affair, but is the 
most interesting thing in that beautiful church. ... So 
far as I see, our scenery will be as lovely as ever to me ; 
England seems to me far more a thing by itself, more 
unlike any another country than the rest are to each 
other. . . . 

The climate here is very different from Naples and 
Salerno. There the orange and lemon trees were as thick 
with fruit as a Dorset orchard ; here they are just like ours 
in England. . . . Every morning as I take my walks 
abroad, I see flocks of goats standing and lying about in 
quiet corners ; the little girls come with their glasses and 
get them filled with milk. . . . 

... At Amalfi we found great spreads of macaroni 
of different sorts, laid out on the hot pavements, and 
women and children were turning it over to get dry and 
hard in the sun. . . . 

Ravenna. — . . . Last night I strolled out after our 
queer table ahote in this rough little inn the Spada d'oro : 
in the old square was a band playing most lovely regular 
Italian music, and crowds of people were walking quickly 
about. The band was wind instruments mostly, and they 
did really play with all their souls. The different instru- 
ments sent up their notes like voices round the circle in 
which the band was arranged. For a beautiful dance air 
it divided itself for more effect ; one sat towards the end of 
the Piazza, and answered the air, and presently another 
answer came from a great old balcony at the other end ; 
the effect was quite magical, it was like a thing on the 
stage coming true in real life. . . . These little unexpected 


things are one great pleasure in a journey, and go to make 
up for rain and being without you. . . . 

In October 1885 my father had the pleasure of 
visiting William Barnes, the Dorset poet, in his home 
near Dorchester. This was the first and only time 
of their meeting, and the peculiarly pleasant impres- 
sions of this visit are charmingly described in the 
Journal. From thence he attended the Church 
Congress, which was held that year at Portsmouth, 
having been asked to speak on the subject of 
' Religion in Art.' 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

October 2, Dorchester. — Here with Cis, C. F., and G. . . . 
Walked with Frank through twilight to Winterbourne 
Came : a pretty little thatched house among trees. I was 
allowed to go up to the great aged poet in the bedroom 
which — at eighty-four and with now failing bodily strength 
— he is not likely to quit. Mr. Barnes had invited me 
when Frank visited him last Christmas, and truly glad was 
I, and honoured did I feel, to accomplish it. A very finely 
cut face, expressive blue eyes, a long white beard, hands 
fine like a girl's — all was the absolute ideal of a true poet. 
Few in our time equal him in variety and novelty of 
motive : in quantity of true sweet inspiration and musical 
verse. None have surpassed him in exquisite wholeness 
and unity of execution. He was dressed in red with white 
fur of some sort, and a darker red cap : Titian or Tintoret 
had no nobler, no more high born looking sitter among the 
doges of Venice. His welcome was equally cordial and 
simple ; and, despite his bodily weakness, the soul, bright 
and energetic, seemed equally ready for death or for life. 
He talked of his visit to Tennyson ; of his own work, 


saying he had taken Homer, and him only, as his model in 
aiming at choosing the one proper epithet when describing : 
also his love for the old pure English. I shall remember 
this most interesting half-hour all my life, and my dear 
Frank, I trust, will remember it many years beyond me. 

October y, Portsmouth. — Came here yesterday from 
Lyndhurst for the Church Congress. I read my paper 
to-day on ' Religion in Art.' Courthope followed with a 
very suggestive paper. Heard speeches of remarkable 
sense and eloquent skill from Dr. Westcott and Canon 

Returned and found Gwenny's poor dear little Persian 
cat, who had been ailing for some weeks, had died. 

The last words quoted are curiously characteristic 
of my father, whose devotion to the feline tribe was 
as great as his aversion to pet pugs. A prettily 
worded piece which he wrote for his children's own 
family magazine on the death of this cat is given 
below. He was delighted if a cat sat staring at 
him while he was working, and would say, ' Don't 
disturb the dear old thing ; when they look so wise 
I always wonder if they are thinking of their 
Egyptian ancestors.' 

In Memoriam 

We have lost a friend, and our paper, though in 
general happily devoted to recording bright and pleasant 
things, ought not, I think, to pass over in silence a loss 
which we had hoped would have been at least deferred, if 
not prevented, by her visit to Little Park. The ancestors 
of this friend came from the East, to judge by her delicately 
brilliant eyes, fine silky hair, and singularly lithe and 
graceful form. This removal from Persia to England may 
have been man)- years ago, for she had no knowledge of 


her pedigree, and I have looked to no purpose for her 
family in the ' Peerage ' and the ' Landed Gentry.' But we 
have reason to fear that she was not acclimatised in our 
somewhat damp and chilly country. For about two months 
ago she showed symptoms of failing strength ; and although 
the best professional advice was called in, neither medicine 
nor change to our soft and healthy Lyme air was of any 
avail. She faded away peacefully, and, we hope, without 
much pain, on yesterday afternoon. How different from 
what, some five years ago, she looked in her gay, though 
timid, childhood, on her first entrance into our family ! She 
had a singular gentleness, I might say beauty, of character ; 
all that is good and attractive in the ancient race to which 
she belonged, without any of its less amiable characteristics. 
Often she seemed as if she would have fain broken through 
the party-wall of reserve, which divided her nature from 
ours ; she would look at us with her clear eyes, as if begging 
us to understand her, and understand how much more she 
felt than she was capable of expressing. Even in her last 
hours of weakness, when able only to lift her little face and 
look, she acknowledged her young mistress' hand and 
PURRED her affectionate gratitude. 

For it was but a cat after all — and a little cat — which 
we have lost, as the cold world would say, laughing at our 
sentiment, or bidding us reserve it for worthier objects. I 
am not of this opinion. This little creature gave us her 
best ; she gave us all the love she could. She lies now 
beneath the broken garden elm, and I think that some 
will never look on the spot without a sense of tenderness 
and gratitude to the poor little one. 




By the death of Principal J. C. Shairp in 1885 the 
Professorship of Poetry at Oxford again became 
vacant. My father stood as a candidate, and 
was supported, among others, by Mr. Browning, 
Mr. Matthew Arnold, Sir Francis Doyle, Sir 
Henry Acland, Lord Harrowby, and many Oxford 
Dons. The late Lord Tennyson warmly espoused 
his cause, and wrote thus to him : ' I hear to-day 
that you are a candidate for the Oxford Professor- 
ship of Poetry. I know no one worthier of that 
Chair than yourself, and I most heartily wish you 
success.' An effort had been made to induce 
Mr. Matthew Arnold to return to the office which 
he had filled with such distinction some five-and- 
twenty years previously, but with great generosity 
he declined to stand in his friend's way. ' I think 
myself bound,' he wrote to his Oxford supporters, 
' by a wish formally expressed for Mr. Palgrave's 
success on the next vacancy for the Poetry Chair 
not to interfere with his candidature.' Thus Pro- 
fessor W. J. Courthope was his most formidable 
opponent. The result of the poll gave my father 
307 votes, being a majority of sixty. After a tenure 


of five years he was re-elected, his full term expiring 
in 1895. ^ ^^^ ^f hi^ lectures have appeared in 
the Nineteenth Century and the National Review. 
His inaugural lecture was delivered in February 
1886, and was entitled ' The Province and Study of 
Poetry.' After this came three on Poetry compared 
with the other Fine Arts, one on William Barnes 
being interpolated at the time of his death. A series 
on the ' Renaissance Movement in English Poetry ' 
followed ; and, after treating of certain recent English 
poets ' who failed to obtain due honour,' he gave a 
course on ' Landscape in Poetry,' which he afterwards 
corrected and revised, and which was published 
in the spring of 1897. These lectures, with the 
Creweian Oration, which fell to him to speak every 
alternate year, called him often to Oxford, and this 
renewal of Oxford ties, and the happiness of visiting 
many kind friends there, formed a very welcome 
element in his life during these years, independent 
of the intense pleasure and interest he derived from 
his work. For these lectures he and my mother 
generally stayed with Professor Jowett, the Rector 
of Lincoln, or the Rector of Exeter ; also with 
Dr. I nee (who had been very kind in regard to the 
election) and with his old friend, Professor Max 
Miiller. In later years my father was frequently the 
guest of the late Mr, G. J. Romanes and his wife, 
in their beautiful house in St. Aldate's ; the kindness 
and hospitality of these comparatively recent friends 
particularly touched him, and he greatly valued 
their warm friendship. He much admired some 
of Mr. Romanes' poems. The task of adjudging the 


Prize Poem, which he shared with two or three 
others, was always carried out with the utmost care- 
fulness, and many undergraduates expressed their 
gratitude for the help and personal interest he gave 
them in their work. The three following letters 
refer to the appointment to the Professorship. 

Prom Professor Jowett 

Balliol College : Nov. 30, 1885. 

My dear * Professor,' — . . . Your appointment gives 
me the greatest pleasure. . . . 

I think the appointment a great good, both for the 
university and for yourself Now you must write your * Lives 
of the Poets.' I have another reason for being pleased. It 
has always appeared to me that you had not a fair share 
of the honours and distinctions of this world. 

I hope that when you give your Inaugural Lecture, 
you and Mrs. Palgrave and your family will come and 
stay with me. 

From Professor W. J. Courthope 

Nov. 27, 1885. 
My dear Palgrave, — Thank you very much for your 
kind letter, which I find on my return from Sussex this 
morning. The result of this election, which I had for some 
time foreseen, was telegraphed to me last night, and I had 
fully meant to write and congratulate you on your success. 
This I do most sincerely, and pray give my congratulations 
to Mrs. Palgrave as well. The Chair will be admirably 
filled ; and I am pleased to think that the battle was 
fought from beginning to end with such good temper and 
fairness. . . . 


To Alfred Lord Tennyson 

London : Nov. 1885. 

My dear Tennyson, — Your kind note was a very 
pleasant surprise to me ; it was a laiis laudati viri such as 
one can rarely hope for. The ' Times ' printed the note to- 
day as part of its Oxford news, and my friends all expect 
that it will convert the uncertain, of whom I hear that 
Oxford contains a large number. 

I often wondered during the summer-autumn where you 
were — especially when for a few hours in the Isle of 
Wight early in October. We crossed from Portsmouth 
and had not time to pass beyond the eastern end of the 
Island, but we managed a good view of the Ventnor 
Undercliff (which was new to us all), and which we saw 
with the additional interest of comparison with that at 
Lyme. Ours is so much the wilder, however, that a strict 
comparison is difficult. We also saw Carisbrook ; with its 
memories of Charles I. and the poor Princess-child 
Elizabeth, a true Castle Dolorous I thought it — not with- 
out anxious fear lest many of the evils of the bad years 
of the seventeenth century may not be approach- 
in?. . . . 

To the Right Hon. W. E. H. Lecky 

15 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park : 15 June, 1887. 
Dear Mr. Lecky, — I waited to thank you for your much 
valued gift till I had read through the two volumes, think- 
ing that I should like to express in some detail the impres- 
sion which they left on me. But I find now that I have 
not the time, or, perhaps, the requisite knowledge and 
ability to do this, and I will only allow myself the pleasure 
of recording the great interest with which I have read your 
work, and the gain in historical view received from it. The 


chapter on life and manners everyone will wish had been 
longer. Of course it is Ireland about which you tell most 
which is little known ; but the chapter on the relations of 
the French Revolution to England and the origin of the 
war is, to me, at least as valuable. I will venture here on 
one hasty criticism — viz. that your portrait of Pitt at the 
beginning of vol. v. seems to me rather cold, when com- 
pared with the successive steps of his policy which you 
narrate and the extracts from his letters which explain it. 
Or I might put it thus : that your picture of his career 
would justify a picture of a man drawn in warmer colours, 
and showing him as less of a mere skilful manager of the 
House of Commons. But perhaps his management of the 
Union may display him less favourably. 

I question your remark (vol. v. p. 309, line 8, &c.). It is 
true of several writers : distinctly not true, as it seems to 
me, of the great mass of readers. The solidarity of ' free- 
thinking ' (to use a very bad phrase) and of revolutionary 
politics is, to me, one of the most marked and evil-omened 
signs of the time. 

Your two or three paragraphs allusive to recent Glad- 
stonian politics strike me greatly for their force and 
fairness. . . . 

Do you know ' A History of the Reformation,' in three 
vols, thus far, by a Canon Dixon ? It is full of original 
matter and original thought. I mention it, because it has 
some notice of the Irish ^^oXicy sub Hen. VIII. and Edw. VI., 
which is very curious. 

With renewed thanks, 
Believe me. 

Ever truly yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

Other tours in Italy took place in the spring of 
1886 and of 1888, the latter one including a short 
stay on the Riviera with his eldest daughter and her 


husband. The followino- letter from Mr. Brownuior 
was written shortly before her marriage. 

From Robert Browning 

19 Warwick Crescent, W. : Nov. 26, 1886. 

My dear Palgrave, — You do well to be sure I sym- 
pathise with whatever affects you, as must such an event 
in your family as you announce. I wish your daughter 
and her parents every possible happiness, and believe them 
to deserve it. 

So, you were in Wales — perhaps at the ' Hand ' 
[Llangollen], where we made a stay of full ten weeks . . . 
but my sister and myself were in a sluggish and wholly 
unadventurous mood, and we saw nothing, out of the 
immediate surroundings, except Chirk Castle. 

I am very glad to have your news of Tennyson ; he is 
rarely out of my mind, nor the sweet lady ; I thank you 
very much for telling me what you do. . . . 

All regards to Mrs. Palgrave, and do you remember 
me always as 

Yours most truly, 

Robert Browning. 

The next two letters bear chiefly on an Ode, 
which my father wrote, by request, on the Queen's 
Jubilee in 1887. 

From Aubrey de Vere 

May 31, 1888. 

... I must tell you that I was greatly pleased with 

the 'Jubilee Ode' you sent me. It seemed to me full of 

beauty of a sort not often found in that form of poetry, 

and executed throughout with much skill and tact, also. . . . 

It may please you to know that a year or two ago 



when I was visiting Cardinal Manning I found him read- 
ing your volume of poetry with enthusiastic pleasure, and 
that he insisted on reading several pages of it to me, to 
my great pleasure. This is not usual in an ecclesiastic 
nearly eighty years old, and with many cares. . . . 

From Sir Francis Doyle, Bart. 

II Upper Brook St. W. : June 24, 1887. 

My dear Frank, — I think you are quite right in writing 
your ' Jubilee Ode.' If I had been occupying your 
position I certainly should have tried to do my best, 
though that best, owing to my black pessimism, would 
have been about as bad as possible. I take such a gloomy 
view of things that I could not have put any life into the 
composition. I think you have done a great deal better ; 
the Queen's childhood is well introduced, and makes a 
good start, though I don't know what authority you have 
for ' rosing ' as a participle. 

What you say of Prince Albert is well said, and 
thoroughly deserved. What you say about science strikes 
me as a little too elaborate and complicated. . . . 

And finally, I wish that the ode had ended at the 
seventh paragraph. Still I like it, and think it is quite 
worth your while to have written it. . . . 

Yours affectionately, 

F. H. Doyle. 

F. T. P.'s Journal 

Nov. 26, London. — Ince telegraphed that, I was elected 
Professor of Poetry by a majority of sixty. The pleasure this 
gave at home, and the many kind letters called forth from 
friends, have been the really agreeableelements in this success. 
It will be difficult to satisfy expectations — to face the illus- 
trious images of ancestors in the Chair. But I am glad of a 


chance to be a little useful before the night cometh, if I 
may be so allowed. 

December 7. — To Chichester. A very long talk with 
[Dean] Burgon on New Testament textual criticism. The 
main point he brought out was that he regarded the ' tradi- 
tional ' text as simply the text of the autographs — of course, 
with transcriptional errors ... I remember Burgon from early 
boyhood — 1836, I think, as a guest at Yarmouth. His 
fondness for children as we walked and met groups was 
touching and charming. 

February 25, 1886. — To Oxford with Cis for my first 
lecture, which I understood was well received . . . Stayed 
with our kind friends, the Inces. 

March 13, 1886. — Took Cecy and Gwenny to Paris, 
and ran through the Louvre with them. Was amazed by 
the number of pictures and their terribly overcrowded 
state. Many looked dim and dirty, and all want the 
gem-like look given by glass. Titian's deep harmonies of 
colour struck me quite as a new thing. . . . The ' Melos ' 
as lovely and unique as ever. . . . 

March 21, Florence. — The plastic power of Michel- 
angelo strikes me more and more. . . . The significance 
of the reclining figures * is both obscure and without any 
natural reference to the persons commemorated. Their 

effect is partly due, I think, to the unfinished male heads 

Andrea del Sartos in the Annunziata Church are really 
lovely, if not deeply felt. Saw Sir J. Hudson, who seems 
to me one of the brightest and clearest and most straight- 
forward minds I ever met. He told me much about 
Cavour, and how his just mind would have revolted from 
many later measures, especially those relating to Church 
matters. . . . 

March 24. — To Cortona. Ascended the long hill and 
found ourselves in one of the most singular towns I ever 

' In the sacristy of San Lorenzo. 

O 2 


saw, even in Italy, Here are Angel ico's earliest works, as 
I suppose. A lovely Pridella (Life of B.V.M.) in his most 
refined style . . . Also there are eight or ten pictures by 
Luca Signorelli, showing the growth of his style, which is 
very much his own ... A very pleasant walk down hill 
seeing a ruined Etruscan tomb. Passed the lovely lake 
Trasimeno and reached Perugia in the dark. . . . 

March 26. — Came to Assisi, and walked up the valley 
behind the Castle. Monte Subasio and the hills beyond 
looked weird and desolate. There was no sound but the 
bells of the town and the rushing stream and a bird or 
two. . . . Then to San Francesco to Mass, when the music 
was exquisite. Then looked with veneration at the rock 
hewn tomb where this true saint ^ lies. The sombre lower 
Church surpasses all expectation in singularity and wealth 
in fresco, of which the nave is a wonder. . . . Spring is at 
last beginning. We saw many coloured anemones — not so 
delicate as our nemorosa in growth. . . . After some 
pleasant days at Pistoia and Bologna, came to Venice. . . . 
To San Rocco, where Tintoret's great originality and 
power shine out. But his sense of grace and propriety is 
not always equal to his inventiveness, and to rely on 
select colour to the work of select for'yn is surely an 
easier and lower range of art. 

April 6, 1886. — Started early in gondola with C. and 
G. for Torcello, under a tender sky flecked with white 
cloud. Torcello was wonderful — Santa Fosca standing in a 
green field, and the gray antiquity of those early Byzantine 
buildings. After Vicenza and Padua came to Verona. 
With my dear Gwenny to the garden of the Palazzo Giusti. 
Fine cypresses and a beautiful view over city and Lombard 
Plain. In the afternoon to San Zeno. Saw many little chil- 
dren confirmed in the elevated Choir by the Cardinal Arch- 
bishop Canossa, a noble-looking old man : who then gave a 
short and admirable address. It was a very pretty sight. 

' St. Francis of Assisi. 


April 14, 1886, Pavia. — Drove to Certosa, which was 
of course interesting, though it fell below expectation ; 
being now only a ' monument,' and not used for religious 
purposes, it is to my mind but a fair body without a soul. 
The monks were turned out five years since from their free- 
hold by the stupid Government. , . . Thence, after a night 
at Novara, to Varallo. Went at once to the Gaudenzio 
frescoes, which looked as unique and splendid as ever. In 
the afternoon to the Sacro Monte. 

April 18, 1886. — To-day to High Mass at San 
Gaudenzio, Then drove down Val Mastalone to Rimella, 
the whole way one interchange and succession of beauty 
and magnificence. 

April 23, 1886, Mendrisio. — To-day, being Good 
Friday, the churches are full. The kissing of the crucifix 
is very impressive. It was charming to see the little 
children going through this, how passionately they threw 
themselves over it and kissed it again and again. 

An Incident at Mendrisio ' 
April 2 7^, 1886 

It was the Day, the sad, the good, 

The Day thrice-blest, when He, 
The Love uniting God with man, 

Hung on the Tree : — 

And where within the transept wide 

A vacant space was made. 
With reverent touch the village hands 

His Image laid ; 

Not such as old Donato wrought : 

Yet this rude craftsman's heart 
With deeper passion stamp'd the wood 

Than finer art. 

* Printed in Amenophis^ and ot/ier Poetns, Macmillan, 1892. 


And all the Italian throng was there, 
Bronze-wrinkled crone, and maid, 

Fathers with sons ; the lame, the blind, 
Where Christ was laid. 

They knelt for prayer ; they kiss'd for love 

Their Saviour's riven Side, 
The Hands, the Feet, the bleeding Heart 

For us Who died. 

But in the throng what part has she. 

The little maiden sweet, 
Who climbs and trembles to the Cross 

With fervent feet ? 

Like her, the Blessed Virgin Child 

Who clomb the Temple-stair, 
God-given, given back to God, 

Pure, sacred, fair. 

— With kisses fast and close, herself 

Upon the Face she throws ; 
The innocent breath with love is warm. 

Sweet as the rose. 

Ah, darling ! though thine infant heart 

Outrun thy knowledge dim, 
E'en on God's throne that eager love 

Is dear to Him. 

In the evening watched a curious procession, peculiar 
to Mendrisio — the march to Calvary. Soldiers on horse- 
back first, a chief priest, then the Christ bearing the cross, 
then the two thieves, who made a great pretence to escape ; 
Herod on horseback followed attended by a dozen boys 
holding his train, and confraternities of Our Lord and the 
B.V.M. ended the procession. It was a most striking 

VARALLO ■ 199 

sight, although rather lessened in splendour through the 
bad weather. The man who represents Christ does it as 
an act of penitence ; he puts down his name three years 
before, and is shut up in the parish church, so that his 
name may not be known. 

April 27, Bellinzona. — After a few days on the Lakes 
came here, and drove up the San Bernardino Valley. Saw 
the lofty fall of Buffalora : it was a sort of Spirit of the 
Waters. I had no notion that rock and mountain, stream 
and waterfall, could form a union so perfect and so ever 

April 28, Lucerne. — Was greatly grieved to see dear 
Lionel Tennyson's death on April 20. 

To his Daughter 

Varallo, North Italy : April 18, 1886. 
My darling Little One,—. . . When one is among the 
mountains, especially when just under Monte Rosa, one must 
expect rain : it is the tax one has to pay for the magnificence 
of the scenery. . . . [This morning] off we went, through 
the narrow streets and up some great flights of stone steps 
to the Church of S. Gaudenzio, which stands on a rock, 
I fancy, and has arcades all round it. Outside it is quite 
plain, like most of the churches hereabouts ; but inside it 
is richer than anything you ever saw, with pictures of all 
sorts, and the columns and arches partly hung with bright 
red stuff with gold fringes. . . . There was a long service, 
all in Latin, and mostly chaunted with old-fashioned 
chants ; no organ or other music, ... so the music was rather 
harsh and rough. Great bunches of olive boughs (brought 
from the Riviera, I believe) were put on the altar, and the 
clergy in pretty coloured robes carried each a long bough 
about the church, repeating some litany or hymn as they 


It is often as cold here as March, and we could not get 
on without a wood fire in the very comfortable long sort of 
gallery in which we have meals and sit together. We are 
the only people in the inn, it is so early for travelling, and 
the only English people in the little old city. . . . 

In the afternoon we had a delicious walk, beginning 
with the ' Holy Mount' This is a huge rock, which over- 
hangs the town and looks very fine from the open galleries 
round the inn-yard. The sides have many trees and 
much green, and the top is covered with a sort of village 
of white chapels. There are more than forty. ... In each 
is a room, large or little, divided from us by a grating of 
open work, with holes in it so that one looks through and 
sees the inside of the chapel. . . . Between each separate 
building one has the most wonderful views on all sides ; 
now of rich wooded hills, then of a wide valley with ranges 
of hills on each side, and Varallo beneath our feet like a 
toy-town ; then again we looked up into the Alps, and 
saw great towering ridges and peaks of glistening snow 
against the sky. One very delicate sharp peak was Monte 
Rosa. . . . 

I am sure you would have enjoyed the drive which we 
had yesterday. Our road was always alongside of a splendid 
mountain torrent called the Mastalone ; all the way above 
us for the fifteen miles of drive were huge mountains, down 
the sides of which one waterfall came down after another — 
they looked like veins of silvery lace. The road kept twist- 
ing about like a snake. Presently it was all covered with 
snow, and the poor primroses, of which there were quanti- 
ties, looked quite dismal. Gwenny found such a number of 
lovely flowers, crocuses white and lilac, pansies, and a most 
lovely pink flower like a star growing on the rocks ; also 
some splendid deep blue gentian, perhaps the handsomest 
wild flower we ever saw. After a long drive, we stopped 
at a village called Fobello, and had a charming sitting on 
rocks on the edge of the torrent, . . . Arona, April 20. — 


Here we are on the edge of the Lago Maggiore, with misty 
mountains around it. ... I am afraid we shall not be 
able to climb the Monte Generoso, any more than last 

Ever your affectionate father, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

May 1886. — After a fortnight at Lyme all returned to 
London, where we are having a succession of guests staying 
with us. Went over the Indian-Colonial Exhibition. The 
narrow range of Indian art was a lesson to me : it is like a 
flower always springing up, and always blighted before it 
reaches full inflorescence . . . Have read through ' Romola ' 
after many years. A sense of gloom and heaviness and 
anatomical power remains with all the ability and know- 
ledge shown ; one hardly ever escapes the feeling that it is 
all mosaic-work, not brushwork, all put together, little grown. 
Much of the traits of the main characters are told us, not 
shown before us . . . The whole narrative is infected and 
narrowed by the poison of suppressed Calvinism. 

June 28, 1886. — Cis and I took the girls to Oxford for 
Commemoration, and for my Creweian speech in the 
theatre. Frank rowed us to Iffley, and I saw many of his 
friends. In the evening to the Vice-Chancellor's,' where 
we had a pleasant talk with Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, a 
very attractive specimen of U.S.A. 

July 12, 1886. — To see Browning and his sister. Both 
very pleasant. He showed me the ' Book,' and talked of 
his wife with great warmth and admiration. 

August 1886. — With Cis for a fortnight to Wales. 
Then to Tewkesbury. The massive Norman nave of the 
Abbey, the half-hexagon Edwardian apse, absence of over- 
great height, all make it one of the very best interiors for 
seemly use I know, and it avoids any air of competing 

^ Professor Jowett. 


with cathedral forms. There are more old houses than I 
now remember in any other English town. 

October 1886, Lyme. — Have just returned with Frank 
from the funeral of that true poet and admirable man — 
William Barnes ; a loss to us both as man and as friend. 
No public notice had been given, and there were but a 
hundred and fifty present, including school-children. 

November 1886, Aldworih. — Found A. T., though 
saddened by the loss of Lionel, unbroken in strength and 
mind. He stoops a little, but strode along steadily down 
hill and up rough road, through rain and mud, talking much, 
depressed by the state of England and his own loss . . . 
He read aloud to me a second part of ' Locksley Hall,' 
a long poem of great force ; also the third act of ' The 
Promise of May ' : this is certainl}' very tragic and fine . . . 

February 3, 1887. — A very pleasant visit to Browning. 
He was very affectionate and open, and told much of his 
earlier days. I was sorry to hear that he had lately been 
clearing his papers, and had burnt letters which, w hile his 
parents lived, he had written to them by way of minute 
daily journal from Russia, Italy, and England. 

February 10, 1887. — My dear eldest girl was married 
to James Duncan.^ Amongst the many friends who came 
to the house were Browning and Matt Arnold, who were 
among those signing the marriage register. . . . 

July 1887. — This has been a lively summer : much 
going out and a few pleasant parties at home . . . ' Much 
ado about Nothing ' at the Lyceum, where we took my dear 
M. for her first play. Irving's comedy quite admirable, 
while Ellen Terry's delicate humour was inconceivably 
charming, never overstepping bounds : the last scene and 
dance Shakespeare all over . . . The general unanimity 
and fervour over England on the occasion of the Jubilee 
was surprising. I should doubt if so entire a loyalty has 

1 Late Canon of Canterbury' and Secretary to the National Society. 


ever been shown before, at any period . . . Gififord has 
been spending this summer with us, which is a real happi- 
ness. Cis and I both rejoice at his complete reconciliation 
to his old Church [Catholic] ... To Winchester with 
Gwenny to stay with Warburton for a few days in his 
charming old house. Walked to St. Cross ; how many 
such foundations must have existed before the robber>- and 
waste of the cursed Reformation ! This thought destroys 
my pleasure in this or other portional relics of what might 
have been such objects of use and beauty . . . Then to see 
Miss Yonge, who talked interestingly on novels. I gathered 
that she ranks Thackeray a greater humorist than Dickens, 
wherein I differ . . . 

September i, 1887. — Came up to London with Cis to 
see dear Gifford before he leaves for Montevideo. Woolner 
dined with us, and was very amusing and talked well . . . 
Bade an affectionate farewell to the dear brother, who 
returns to his distant abode with much better heart. I am 
heartily glad to have had this sight of him : he and I 
understand each other so well . . . 

November 1887. — With Cis and Gwenllian to Balliol 
for the autumn lecture, where the Master [B. Jowett] gave 
us a delightful two days. Then I went on to Birmingham 
and spoke in the theatre on the ' Decline of Art ' before a 
large crowd ... I was allowed an interview with Cardinal 
Newman at the Oratory. There sat that aged man with 
his snow-white hair ; he rose and thanked me for coming 
and for caring for him with a sort of young child's gracious 
simplicity. He was much changed, of course, since I had 
last seen him many years ago : the look of almost anxious 
searching had passed into the look of perfect peace. His 
mind was not only bright as ever, but with the cheerfulness 
and humour of youth. He talked of his old Oxford days 
. . . Then of [Dean] Church, ' whom no one could know 
without loving.' He spoke of his voyage long ago in the 
Mediterranean ; how little he had, however, seen of Italy. 


We talked of Rome, of Varallo, when he at once recalled 
the Gaudenzio ' Nativity ' which I sent him last Christmas. 
He went on to speak of Creighton's ' Papacy,' and the 
Renaissance and its evils in high places ; and he broke out, 
with a bright smile of tenderness : ' How wonderful was 
the revival in the Church soon after under Loyola, St. 
Philip Neri, San Carlo Borromeo ! ' Then he spoke of 
Tennyson, and said that in poetry one went back to what 
one knew in youth. I said Wordsworth perhaps — at which 
he smiled, and quoted the first stanza of the parody in the 
* Rejected Addresses,' ending with 

And burnt off half its nose. 

He went on to say that Scott had been his favourite, 
and alluded playfully to his age (eighty-seven in January 
next) as a reason why he read less than he would have 
liked. He thanked me again for what he called my kind- 
ness in caring to see him. This great and perfect humility 
was almost overwhelming in its strikingness. No wonder 
he looked up with reverence to the two Borromei, whom he 
mentioned with special admiration. What a strange and 
beautiful union of the saint and the poet ! His voice has 
much of its old strange sweetness, such as I heard it at 
Littlemore in my Oxford days — -how far off for both of us ! 

December 30, 1887. — My own dearest Cis and I are 
keeping our silver wedding by a series of small dinner 
parties, chiefly relations and old friends . . . 

March 1888, Mentone. — Gwenny and I have joined 
dear Cecy and her husband here. It is a fine coast, 
though everywhere the limestone mountains are unpleasant 
in their dirty gray and have little refinement in form. . . . 
The road to Castellar winds through olive groves, which I 
first saw here in something of forestal size and shadow ; 
over-coloured French houses are scattered about, unlike 
the true gray Italian cottages, which seem native to the 
landscape. . . . 


Mai'ch 23, 1888, Genoa. — I have not been here since 
1854, when with my dear Alexander Grant. In the 
Durazzo Palace are some lovely child-pictures by Van 
Dyck : a little boy in white — exquisitely tender and yet 
dignified. He comes very near Reynolds in child-por- 
traiture, and of course surpasses him in technical mastery. 
... I like Genoa better than I did before ; the Palace 
streets are full of grace and variety. If the designs are 
not severe, they have life and elegance ; more colour is the 
great want. 

March 27, Pisa. — Of purely Italian interiors the Duomo 
here seems to me one of the most satisfactory ; the 
mode in which the line of arches and triforium are carried 
across the transepts is very picturesque. . . . That of 
Lucca (seen to-day) is a singularly striking interior in the 
peculiar Basilican style of Lucca . . . This day is, how- 
ever, saddened by the news of the sudden death of our 
Aunt Annora ' ; from her, since the beginning, I have had 
the most uniform kindness, and I had fondly thought that 
at her age (born 1822) we should in her have an aunt for 
life. . . . Returning to Pisa we drove through the Pineta ; 
the truth of Shelley's description of the pools is wonderful. 
The noble Carrara Mountains all summits in snow. . . . 

April 1888, Rome. — The pleasure of showing Rome to 
my dear Gwenny is great. . . . We have ascended the 
dome of St. Peter's ; the peep down into the church from 
the uppermost gallery was very singular, almost awful. 
. . . When we came down we saw the very interesting 
exhibition of a priest appearing high above the High 
Altar on the north-west pier, holding a silver frame with a 
glazed centre ; this was the very Veronica, sung by Dante 
in his exquisite lines. . . . The Sistine Chapel ' Last Judg- 
ment ' is getting coarse in colour, but when Raphael himself 
is seen his Mozart-like charm is at once felt. He almost 

^ Lady Annora Williams- Wynn. 


approaches sentimentalism at times — e.g. the ' Muses in the 
Parnassus ' — he has not the perfectly balanced Vergilian 
art. . . . The little Madonna [in the Vatican] by Angelico 
is absolutely ethereal for tenderness. . . . We both just 
saw the Pope ; his is a singularly interesting and refined 
face. . . . We have had a delightful walk through the only 
remaining part of Rome as she was, beyond San Stefano 
Rotondo ; in this part one still sees great fragments bold 
against the sky, villas, &c. on tree-clad heights— the 
southern picturesque, the Rome of poetry. 

Apj'il 6, 1888. — Took my darling Gwenllian to Albano. 
We walked by the beautiful wild road to Ariccia, that 
model of desolate dignity. Thence walked on under ilex 
to Castel Gandolfo. We accepted a gracious contadino's 
offer to drive in his cart, as it was raining, for a short 
distance, and then continued walking for some nine miles 
to Frascati. . . . 

April 10, 1888, Naples. — Rose with the first day of 
warmth and brilliant sun we have so far had in Italy, and 
drove along the ridge to Posilippo. . . . Drove by Castella- 
mare to Sorrento. ... A beautiful drive to La Cava. . . . 
We stayed here a few days, driving to Amalfi on one of 
them. As a piece of coast scenery it is much beyond any- 
thing we ever saw, and when one adds the long range of 
shadowy Calabrian and coast mountains, there is no com- 
parison between this and the Riviera. . . . Then I mounted 
Gwenny on a donkey and we climbed the long steep glen 
to Ravello. We were long in the church admiring the 
wonderful pulpit. The mosaics and the white marblework 
quite support the view that they represent a Magna Grcecia 
school of art anterior to N. Pisano. The chief moulding is 
Byzantine, with almost a touch or anticipation of the floral 
moulding common in French and English Gothic (1260-90). 
The street of Amalfi was filled with macaroni and wheat 
laid out to dry in the sun, and constantly turned over. . . . 
On Sunday G. drove me to the Cava monastery, where 


we attended High Mass, accompanied by the splendid 
organ — considered the most beautiful in Italy. . . . 

April 1888, Orvieto. — Slowly we ascended the long hill 
to this very curious place ; we went out at once to the 
Duomo. The brilliant mosaics of the facade I cannot 
bring into harmony with the architecture, yet the effect is 
glowing and imposing to a degree. . . . The town, I think, 
equals even Assisi in its endless relics of ancient splendour 
and quaint picturesqueness. . . . This and Cava are the 
first absolutely new cities I have seen in Italy on this 
journey. In San Domenico is a beautiful tomb by Arnolfo 
da Cambio, also a Crucifix (11 00) which spoke to 
St. Thomas Aquinas. ... At sunset the Apennines after 
we had passed Arezzo glowed purple and lilac, but the 
general aspect was wonderfully changed from the Neapoli- 
tan region, almost Northern in look both of nature and of 
man's works. . . . Another loss ! In the ' Popolo Romano ' 
we read of Matt Arnold's sudden death. I suppose of the 
heart disease which he half-jokingly used to say he had 
inherited. I liked him greatly, and had known him from 
my first college days in 1843. • • • After Southern Italy 
the purity and reserve of Florentine taste is very per- 
ceptible every where. ... In the Pitti, Correggio's ' Adorante 
Madonna ' is far beyond the little Neapolitan pictures in 
transparency and completeness. One sees in them the 
remains of his early style influenced by Dossi. ... I 
know not if Luca della Robbia be not on the whole the 
really greatest of the Renaissance sculptors, putting Michel- 
angelo's strange personality aside. In the cloister of San 
Marco ^ Angelico's * Emmaus ' is very impressive. It is 
perfect in dramatic rendering, yet keeps always within a 
' Greek ' reserve. Angelico, in fact, has this quality often, 
shown in his lovely drapery as well as in his chastened 
feeling ; I know no other Italian who ever reminds of 
Hellenic art, far away as he is in sentiment ! 
* At Florence. 


April 1888, Venice. — This visit reinstates Gian 
Bellini to his former place in my admiration, but one must 
add Cima as very near him. . . . Zuan Palmarin, our 
pleasant gondolier of years past as of this year, has rowed 
us to his home — a poor one enough ; but his pride in his 
children was delightful, and so was his gratitude when I 
gave them a little parting regalo. This gracious gratitude 
is native to the Italian, as well as the simple courtesy and 
genuine good-feeling and straight-forwardness which one 
meets with everywhere. They are in sooth a charming 
people. . . . 

To his Daughter 

Florence : April 19, 1888. 

... In spite of the picture of Sorrento above, you see 
that we are much nearer to you than that. But I thought 
you would like to see something of the view of that lovely 
place ; the sea, of course, you must fancy blue and green 
like a peacock's tail. . . . Vesuvius, as you see, like Uncle 
Gifford (not to mention anyone else), is always smoking. . . . 

Between Rome and this place we had a delightful day 
at Orvieto. This wild old city is built on a huge rock, 
which rises almost straight up like a wall on the top of a 
great green hill ; with four horses it took us nearly an 
hour to climb up. But when we were there it was simply 
delightful ! such wonderful old streets all full of ancient 
remains, great arches and vaults, and beautiful old carved 
windows ; and from the edge of the cliff a view all over 
the valley of the Tiber, surrounded by beautiful hills, one 
or two with the snow still upon them, looking so strange in 
the blazing sunlight. . . . We have seen hedges with plenty 
of wild flowers, and those at Cava (which was the prettiest 
place south we reached) had most beautiful lilac cycla- 
mens. . . . The lizards are often gray, now and then a 
light green. ... 


To Mrs. Matthew Arnold 

15 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park : May 27, 1888. 

Dear Mrs. Arnold, — C. H. Alderson tells me that he 
has received a kind letter, which pleased and interested 
him much, from you. This encourages me to say a few 
words upon that great and sudden loss which has fallen 
upon me, with so many others. Words are of but little 
use in face of these inevitable sorrows : yet I must, with 
m}- wife, express the deep s}'mpathy which we feel for you 
and your family, as well as the sense of affection for one 
so gifted and so charming now taken from us all. 

I am late in thus speaking. But the news fell on me 
like a physical stroke in an Italian newspaper, when 
travelling with a daughter between Orvieto and Florence 
in mid April. Hence I was unable to write and express 
my strong regret that I could not be present at Laleham. 
Hence I also missed most of the newspaper notices : those 
which I saw were such as will have pleased >'ou in their 
tone, incomplete and unsatisfying as such must ever be. 
To me, it is a great piece, as it were, taken out of my life : 
a blank which can never be filled. Thus we seem to die 
before death. 

Please remember me to Miss Arnold. A little walk 
with her and him last summer comes back very clearly to 
my mind now. 

Ever truly yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

The Commemoration speech at Oxford falls to my 
turn this year. I can no more reach his grace and eloquence 
in Latin than in English, but I hope I may find words to 
express something of his genius and charm of character 
and elevation of aim. . . . 

In 1888 the death of his old friend Matthew 
Arnold formed the subject of his Latin speech at 



Oxford. This speech was very generally appreciated, 
and Mrs. Matthew Arnold and Professor Butcher 
wrote thus to my father concerning it : 

From Mrs. Matthew Arnold 

... It is comforting to know how truly my beloved 
Matt was appreciated and loved by his friends. Every 
word you write of him is valued by me. . . . You feel so 
entirely all that was so true and great in him, and the 
charm there was about him, that any mention you may 
make of him in your Oxford speech would, I am sure, 
touch and gratify me, as it would certainly have done him, 
and he would have felt it all the more as coming from 
such an old friend and one in whom he always felt so 
affectionate an interest. . . . 

From Professor Butcher 

I received the report of your Latin Oration, which you 
were good enough to send me, just as I was leaving 
London, and have ever since intended to thank you for it. 
In all that has been written about Matthew Arnold I 
do not know where so much truth has been so happily 
expressed^ — certainly not in so short a space. The Latin 
itself was far from needing any apologies. . . . 

In the autumn of this same year (1888) came 
the great sorrow of his brother Gifford's death at 
Montevideo. The words written in his Journal at 
the time show something of what this loss meant to 
him. Although parted for the greater portion of 
their lives by thousands of miles, they never lost 
touch with one another, nor were they divided in 
sympathy for a single day. Probably no two 
brothers have ever loved and admired each other 


more — each in his own sphere of Hfe, and often 
differing in opinions. It was a great happiness to 
my father and mother that he had been their guest 
durmg most of the summer of 1887, before he left 
England as Minister Resident at Montevideo. 

From Cardinal Newman 

The Oratory, Birmingham : October i6, 1888. 

My dear Mr. Palgrave, — I have seen a notice in the 
papers of a loss which I feel must try you much, and 
which throws me back on old Oxford days with sad and 
affectionate remembrances. 

I think I did not know you or your brother personally, 
but you were introduced to my thoughts by my acquain- 
tance with your dear father, who was a kind critic of my 
first essays in writing, as you have been in more recent 
years yourself 

Excuse these lines by the hand of another, which is 
my only way of writing. 

Yours affectionately, 

John H. Card. Newman. 

The ' Treasury of Sacred Song ' was published 
in the October of 1889. This book largely owes 
its existence to a desire on the part of the authorities 
of the Clarendon Press, and to Professor Jowett's 
often expressed wish, that my father should compile 
such a Treasury while so closely connected with the 
University of Oxford. Four days after its publica- 
tion (by the Clarendon Press) the first edition, 
consisting of 585 large-paper copies, was sold out. 
The nature of the book ensured a wide popula- 
rity, and many have felt that the biographical and 



explanatory notes are written with an especial 
delicacy and lucidity of expression. The selection 
is gathered from the English poetry of four centuries, 
some living writers being included. Much promi- 
nence is given to the verse of Henry Vaughan — a 
poet whom my father held in high estimation, and 
whose work he deemed unfamiliar to too many. To 
the objection sometimes raised that he had admitted 
too much Newman or too much Keble, he would 
have answered, as in the words of his Preface : 
' To offer poetry for poetry's sake ' was his first aim 
and leading principle, thereby necessitating the 
admission of a great proportion of the work of poets 
whose standard of excellence in sacred verse is so 
uniformly high as that of Newman and Keble. One 
of my father's own chief favourites in the collection 
was Miss A. L. Waring's ' Cry of the Lost 

From Canon Wilton 

Londesborough Rectory, Market Weighton : 
November 21, 1889. 

My dear Sir, — I do not know how adequately to thank 
you for your kindness in giving me a copy of your 
' Treasury of Sacred Song.' That precious book has 
brought into my quiet retired life a happiness such as I 
have seldom experienced. I have gone through it already 
with the utmost delight ; the poems in a cursory manner, 
and the notes with more deliberate enjoyment ; all, of 
course, to be returned upon again and again. As my son 
Cecil says — he had got the book in London : ' I cannot 
tell you what a pleasure and pride Palgrave is to me. It 
seems to be an introduction for me to the beautiful sacred 


poetry of all England. Palgrave is so classical and pure 
in his taste ; one can lean on it with perfect faith, and his 
wonderful notes are like a bit of sculpture in their refined 
perfection.' . . . 

But what hours of purest enjoyment are before me in 
the study of your lovely book, which it is a pleasure to look 
at with my eyes and handle with my hands. . . . Again 
thanking you for your gift of lifelong preciousness, 
I remain, 

Yours very sincerely, 

Richard Wilton. 

From Edward Benson (late Archbishop 
of Canterbury) 

Addington Park, Croydon : December 16, 1889. 

My dear Mr. Palgrave, — You honoured me very much 
and gave me great delight by sending me ' from the editor ' 
the volume of the ' Treasury.' 

You give it me, I know, as the seal of a favour which I 
made bold to ask long ago. It lives with us still, for the 
favourite hymn of my wife and children, which we sing 
constantly in our chapel — and which has helped many a 
stranger — is ' O Thou not Made with Hands ' ; and I trust 
that I have left it for ever for the Wellington College boys. 

This is, indeed, a most beautiful book. It is a happi- 
ness to think what numbers of people are the better and 
happier for it in these few weeks. 

May I venture to say what a strength to English 
judgment, and what a refinement to English taste, your 
Preface must be ? . . . 

Believe me. 

Yours sincerely, 

Edward Cantuar. 


To Canon Wilton 

15 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park : January 12, 1889. 

My dear Sir, — I have delayed thanking you heartily for 
your beautiful present ' till I had gone through the volumes 
for a first time. ... It was a great pleasure to me to read 
through your volumes. Often the ' Sonnets ' remind me of 
C. Tennyson Turner. . . . Him I had little opportunities 
of knowing ; but his poems have been a permanent source 
of delight. ... I had marked several pieces of yours as 
striking me in particular ; but in truth your work is so even 
and complete in finish that it is difficult to select this or 
that. . . . The one point on which I venture to confess a 
difference in point of taste is the use of the French forms 
recently popular in a little circle. Probably they suit 
French poetry — always more eminent for cleverness and 
neatness than depth of sentiment, or a music denied to 
the language. But in our more favoured English the idea 
of cleverness almost always (to me) becomes the dominant 
note — and then, addio maraviglia ! 

' The Sonnet,' consecrated from the first in Italy to 
strong but delicate passion, seems to me the only elaborate 
metrical form which really suits our genius ; and even in 
this, the use of only four-rhyme endings often brings about 
a little sacrifice of .sense to sound. 

With renewed thanks, 

Ever truly yours, 


F. T. P.'s Journal 

May 1888, Lyme. — Came here after two days in 
London, where I saw the ever charming and sweet- 
natured Ponsonby. . . . My eyes are now returning to the 

' Wood-Notes and Church Bells, &c., by R. Wilton. 


scale of this landscape, so attractive, but so strangely un- 
like Italy. . . . With my dear Frank to Montacute, which 
is perhaps the most untouched and perfect Elizabethan 
house I ever saw. Inside, the whole ancient appearance 
remains even to doors and locks. 

June 1888, London. — We went to see May Lacaita on 
the 7th, who reported Uncle Frank ' less well. The very 
next morning he was called away rather suddenly, but 
without loss of mind. In him Cis and I lose an old memory 
— a memory of kindness. His gifts were so great and 
varied, one almost fancies greater than his use of them, and 
he gave this same impression from his Eton days, as the 
letters of Arthur Hallam, Mr. Gladstone, and my father-in- 
law seem to me to show. He leaves some lyrics which 
will, I think, live long. . . . We are seeing many friends, 
most often C. H. A., and just now the Balzanis. The 
Count is a singularly gifted man, and we greatly like them 
both ; they are charming-natured people. ... I was much 
interested at a jnatince we went to in aid of the Actors' 
Benevolent Fund. Miss Lottie Venne was excessively 
amusing in a scene from ' The Arabian Nights.' Miss 
Rehan was excellent, and, to my mind, quite in her ele- 
ment, in the ' Taming of the Shrew ' — that little more 
than a Shakespearean farce. But very good acting gave 
way to a perfectness beyond art when Ellen Terry gave 
us a too short scene from Wills' ' Charles I.' Even in the 
miserably poor and prosaic lines she had to speak, one felt 
her genius, as one always did with Jenny Lind, in becoming 
the part, not acting it. I hope she may be to our children 
what Jenny Lind was to us and our generation. . . . 

August 1888. — With Cis and Gwenny to Castle Howard 
for a few days. We drove with George [Lord Carlisle] 
to Rivaulx. The beauty of the situation and of the 
architecture as admirable as I expected, and the view of 

1 Sir F. H. Doyle, Bart. 


the valley from the upper terrace very fine. . . . We are 
filled with admiration at Mrs. Howard's energy in help- 
ing the poor. . . . The two elder girls remain charming 
to a degree hardly known. . . . Came on to Edinburgh, 
which I place below no city, known to me, in general 
picturesqueness. . . . The town of St. Andrews is much 
richer in fragmentary antiquity than I recollected. . . . 
We have had a pleasant visit to Sir John and Lady Clark 
at Tillypronie, which is in interesting scenery, with a 
vast mountain horizon. On our return visited Bishop 
Lightfoot at Castle Auckland. A great man is the 
greatest and most absorbing of all spectacles, and he was 
fascinating, while his ability is quite staggering. 

September 1888, Lyme. — It is a lovely autumn. We 
have had a few guests here, but I have had many pleasant 
rambles with Cis and the children. ... I have rowed 
Annora and Margaret a bit, and in honour of my dear 
little M.'s birthday I took her an immense ride to Map- 
perton and Melplash in the midst of wildest Dorset 
country. . . . 

October 1888, Lyme. — I little thought when writing 
above what woe was hanging over me ; that I should see 
the telegram in the daily paper from Montevideo an- 
nouncing the death of my very dear, dear Gifford on 
September 30. . . . It is a most specially irreparable loss to 
me ; from him I had very rarely been parted through child- 
hood and youth till he left for Indian service in 1847 ; to 
whom I looked up, and whose love for me henceforward 
through all the changes of his chanceful life never slackened. 
I saw him next at Rome in 1854 at the Collegio Romano — 
a strange, but delightful meeting. Then when he appeared 
suddenly in his Syrian robes as priest at our house in 
Hampstead. . . . Whatever opinions holding, my full con- 
viction is that in all spheres and offices he did his duty to 
his very best and manliest May I be as ready ! As 
worthy or near it anywhere I cannot be. How much of 

JOURNAL 2 1 7 

one's whole life is gone ; so much too, that I had hoped 
for fully, from his loving and sympathetic society. No one, 
I think, shared or understood oneself so much ; no one 
would have better enjoyed, with his vivid intelligence and 
fine taste, rest after labour, had it been granted him on 
earth. . . . 

November i, i888. — A message from Hallam [Tenny- 
son] telling me his father was better and would like to see 
me brings me to Aldworth. A. T. received me with all 
his wonted kindness, and presently his voice grew firm 
and strong, his conversation was full of life as ever. He 
emphatically repeated to me his constant estimate of 
Wordsworth as the greatest of our poets in this centur}'. 
He gave me to read a very lovely and skilful poem on 
Gifford as Ulysses. . . . 

February 7, 1889. — With Cis to Oxford for my lecture. 
Stayed at Exeter with the Jacksons. . . . Saw Jowett, 
who is grown deaf, but was very bright and amusing. . . . 

July 1889. — To Aldworth, where I found A. T. in full 
vigour of mind and able to walk a mile. The Duke of Argyll 
is also here, and there has been much interesting talk ; as 
good conversation, perhaps, as I ever heard for variety, real 
interest of subjects, and well put remarks. I showed them 
Mr. Romanes's poems, and they were both greatly struck 
with their ability. . . . Amusing talk also last Sunday 
at Leighton's, where we found Browning. . . . We have 
paid a second visit to ' Macbeth.' Irving's rendering 
generally first-rate, and Miss Terry, considering her native 
range, far more powerful than one anticipated, rising to 
grandeur in the banquet scene. The play struck me as too 
morcelc. . . . The witches I doubt impracticable in our 
age. . . . The very fine scenery seemed to render the 
diablerie and stage asides more incredible, by the contrast 
of realism and calls on the imagination. The Malcolm- 
Macduff dialogue on the whole very good. . . . 

Came to Lyme, which is looking very rich, green, and 


ameno. ... At Rousdon, on September 13, Miss Murray 
sang the old ballad on the Queen's Maries with as perfect 
pathos as anything I ever heard ; it was that kind of 
absolute style which one does not meet ten times in 
one's life. . . . Old Lady Phillimore is here with her 
two very interesting daughters — I had not seen her for 
many a long year — also one or two of Frank's college 
friends. , . . On October i early with Cis to the Catholic 
Chapel, to a Requiem Mass for dear, dear Gifford, which 
we had arranged, as I knew not if anyone in Montevideo 
or here had thought of it. . . . To see Joseph ^ at Ascot. 
His garden is beautiful and laid out with his own peculiar 
skill. . . . To-day (December 12) I learnt that Browning 
was ill at Venice. . . . Even as I wrote above this friend 
was taken. I met him first at Hallam Tennyson's christen- 
ing at Twickenham, but my real knowledge began some- 
where about 1 86 1. For many years after our marriage he 
came often to us on Sunday afternoons, and very pleasant 
visits they were ; but neither then nor afterwards was his 
conversation in any apparent near relation to his work or 
thought as poet ; nor, despite his love for music, could we 
ever get him to touch a note. Latterly he now and then 
dined with us. At his last house I had some long talks 
with him, when he spoke enthusiastically, and much, of his 
wife ; and one day read over passages to me from Troilus 
and Cressida on love, with much warmth. It was in such 
good health that I saw him and bade farewell in July last 
that no fear was on me that I should never look again on 
a face which had never looked on me or mine other than 
with warm friendship for a quarter of a century.^ . . . 

January 2, 1890. — A pleasant long talk with Henry 

' Sir J. Hooker. 

^ In a letter written to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, in 1887, my father 
says : ' Browning reminds me of Mr. Hallam — in his present years 
he has reached so much greater sweetness of judgment. I value his 
friendship very highly, and I think he cares for me.' 


James, who was very bright and interesting. On the 4th 
with Gwenny to Twickenham to stay with Sir Mount- 
stuart Grant-Duff. Found G. Brodrick and Lord Arthur 
Russell's son and daughter. . . . Visited the Casa Tennyson 
[Chapel House], where I really made my friendship with 
them in 185 1. Returned to find my dearest one laid 
up with influenza. . . . On her recovery I took her and 
Margaret to Old Hastings ; the brightness of the place 
and the picturesque climbing streets pleased us much. 
I went with M. to Rye and Winchelsea, those Tuscan- 
like cities, so full of curious relics. . . . The Winchelsea 
Church has some of the very best monuments {circ. Ed. H. 
and III.) I know in England. . . . Looked at the early 
substructions or cellars. The town with its wide regular 
streets and the house-space, now mostly filled by gardens, 
was very singular. . . . Also to Pevensey- -the finest 
Roman work remaining in England, recalling the walls 
of Rome. 

February 27, 1890. — With dearest Cis to Oxford. Saw 
Jowett and Lyttelton Gell, and were received by the 
Rector of Exeter with his usual friendliness. 



LAST YEARS, 189O— 1897 

My father's journal now breaks off with a pathetic 
abruptness; the last entry (February 27, 1890) 
being exactly a month before my mother's death. 
From that time he altogether discontinued keep- 
ing a Journal. It is impossible to write of the 
effect which so near and sacred a sorrow had upon 
him. Such was the depth and the intensity of his 
feeling and reverence towards her, that even in 
her lifetime he only spoke of her — or of her opinions 
and judgment — with a kind of bated breath, as 
though she were too far above him to be men- 
tioned in an ordinary way. During the remain- 
ing years of his life, few days passed without his 
recalling to his children some memory of her un- 
selfishness, her humility, or her beautiful simplicity. 
For the first few months after her death this sorrow 
absolutely crushed him, and his friends, seeing him, 
feared that he would never recover any interest or 
happiness in life. But his own perfect selflessness — 
for with him it was always something more than un- 
selfishness — enabled him to gather up the threads of 
life again for the sake of his children with a courage 
and loving tenderness which were inexpressibly 
touching. Many observed that his devotion to his 

VERSES ON C. G. M. P. 221 

children, strong and intense as it had always been, 
grew as these years passed, not only deeper, but also 
in many senses like that of a mother's. He never 
conceived a plan, nor undertook anything, even for 
his own comfort or pleasure, without first thinking 
whether it would be for their happiness. 

There is no exaggeration of expression in the 
poems which he wrote a year later, and from which 
some stanzas are here quoted. They are simply 
the outpouring of his heart, put into verse — a relief 
which is the natural outcome of a poetical nature. 


O Love, whose every thought towards me was love. 

Thy heart in mine beating through joy and woe. 
Star sent from Heaven to still life's storm and stress, 
Steering the boat now rudderless : 
How should'st thou quit me so, 
From thy dear presence parted, 
Brokenhearted ? 

Star that its earthly course from Heaven to Heaven 

Track'd in thy transit equable and sure : 
All wisdom in thy sweet simplicity, 

The young child's heart that ruled in thee 
From thought of self secure : — 
E'en 'mid the heavenly quire 
My heart's desire. 

O Child of God, my counsellor, strength, and stay ! 

Yet very woman in gay gentleness ; 
Wife, mother, child, at once, I saw thee move ; 
Sweet alternation of one love ; 
With gracious grave caress 
Holding me by thy spell 


— Loved, honour'd past all words, thy prayers I pray, 
My Saint, my own ! prayers ne'er unheard, for grace 
To endure life's merited sin-avenging pain. . . . 

I shun the seat whence oft we watch'd 

The sunset rose the sky : 
All Nature's charm before me flits 

As o'er a dead man's eye. 

In each fair spot a memory hid 

The heart with torture sears : 
The hill by those dear eyes last seen 

I see through blinding tears. 

Ah ! sweet spring days by lamb-starr'd lea, 

Fresh feathery grove, and glen ; 
All earth with three-fold beauty blest, — 

For thou with me wert then ! 

Now o'er the lightsome skies a pall 

Of rayless gray has come. 
For with her going hence is gone 

The sunshine of the home. 

I dread the door where soft steps 

Have pass'd, and pass'd away : 
The bedside where my Saint in Heaven 

Bow'd low for Heaven to pray. 

— O fond faint eyes that turn'd to me 

In that last, bitterest woe ! 
O Love, Love, Love, my Love, my own, 

How could'st thou leave me so ? 

Still o'er the lawn the star-eyed sky 

Lets fall her silver tears : 
The rose that knew thy tending hand. 

Her heedless beauty rears : — 


They reck not, they, that thou art gone. 

Nor how earth's minutes run 
While thy dear face withdrawing fades 

As mist in morning sun. 

Still to my side by night, by day, 

The mortal arrow clings : 
The fair fresh breeze of dawn may waft 

No comfort on her wings : 

The soft security of sleep. 

The blessings of the night, 
These sorrow-streaming eyes in vain. 

In vain to rest invite. 

The letters of sympathy which he received not 
only show how greatly their friends were struck 
with the perfectness of the home, and of her who 
made it what it was. but they also tell how very 
dear my father was to them, and with what warm 
affection they regarded him. For this reason the 
few following are inserted. 

To the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone 

Little Park, Lyme Regis : April 1890. 

Dear Mr. Gladstone, — I am truly grateful for the kind 
words which you and others have sent to me. But com- 
fort, as you will know, if it ever comes, must come from 

You and Mrs. Gladstone, who knew my dearest one 
from childhood, will have known the absolute love, the 
absolute unselfishness, of her nature. But no one can 
know as I have known how gifted she was with that 
wisdom which flows from perfect love and sincerity. She 
has been from our marriage-day my guide and counsellor 


also : I do not think that in anything, great or small, I 
ever acted against her judgment. What I lose thus, her 
dear children, who were wholly trained by her, lose as 
much. Remember them in your prayers. Meanwhile 
they all are doing their very utmost to repay to me the 
love and consideration they received from her. 

Let me thank you again most sincerely for your kind- 
ness, and believe me ever very truly yours, 


From the Archbishop of Canterbury 

Fulham Palace : March 28, 1890. 

My dear, dear Frank, — I cannot express how I grieve 
for your great loss. She was so gracious, so true, so 
simple-minded, so unselfish. It is a terrible loss. May 
God comfort you. 

Your most affectionate friend, 


From the late Lord Northbourne 

Folkestone : March 31, 1890. 

My dear Friend, — I was very much shocked and 
grieved to hear from Godley yesterday that you had had 
the misfortune to lose your most excellent wife. We have 
known each other now for some years, and, from what I 
have seen of your home, your relations of a domestic kind 
always seemed to me so happy — if I may so say, so pure 
and unselfish — that it was easy for all to see from what a 
pure fountain all that goodness sprang. 

We have indeed been this year fellow-sufferers, and 
ought on that account to be able better to sympathise with 
each other. . . . My main comfort now, as I think yours 
must be, will be in the society of my dear children. ... I 


am su7'e from what I saw of yours you will have a like 
blessing. . . . 

Yours warmly, 


From the Countess of Carlisle 

Naworth Castle, Cumberland : April 21, 1890. 

My dear Friend, — I am deeply troubled at your great 
loss. All these long weeks we have been wholly ignorant 
of your sorrow. To-day the sermon ' reached me, directed 
in your handwriting, and only at the end I saw her dear 
name and the words ' lived and died in the faith of Christ.' 
Still I could not believe it, but we have telegraphed to 
London to know, and the answer came back : ' Yes, it is his 
wife.' I am so sad for you, so very, very sad. There 
never was such a marriage — such tender love, such perfect 
companionship, all sundered and lost. And the children, 
left without her great warm beautiful love ! Oh ! the 
sorrow when a real deep union like this is shattered ; how 
you and they will fret and grieve ! . . . You have such a 
heart that even the anxiety of friends grieves you, and now 
the blow has fallen on you in such a way that I scarcely 
know how you will bear it. Yet blessed above most 
marriages has yours been, a true heavenly marriage, and 
it has made all life holy to you. If it is over, at least it 
has been perfect. 

My affection and my tenderest, warmest feelings are 
with you and your dear children. Your home of sorrow 
haunts me, and I am so very sorry. 

Yours always, 

Rosalind Carlisle. 

^ A memorial sermon preached in Christ Church, Albany Street, 
by the Rev. J. W. Festing, Vicar (now Bishop of St. Albans), a much 
valued friend of my parents. 


He spent the greater part of the summer of 
1890 at Lyme, except for a fortnight in the EngHsh 
Lakes, when to a certain extent he enjoyed some 
long walks with his brother Reginald, and with his 
children. The ascent of Helvellyn and the expe- 
dition over Grisedale, from Ulleswater to Grasmere, 
was one of the last long walks he ever took, for in 
the spring of 1891 a sudden access of rheumatic 
arthritis in the hip-joint lamed him for the rest of 
his life. Up to this time he had always had perfect 
health, and had scarcely known what pain meant. 
Now the suffering and sorrow he had undergone in 
the past year resulted in his being seldom after- 
wards free from bodily pain. He bore it so bravely 
that I believe few realised the frequent extreme 
acuteness of the suffering. True to his forgetfulness 
of self, he concealed it as far as possible, and often 
did not let those who loved him know of the agony 
which he underwent in his constantly broken nights. 
Perhaps it was most perceptible in the increasing 
sympathy he showed with any suffering, in whatever 
state of life, and in the enthusiastic manner with 
which he admired the power of endurance in others. 

Walking had always been a great enjoyment to 
him, and enforced inactivity was very hard for one 
so naturally active and energetic. This impelled 
him to study for even longer hours than had been 
his custom hitherto, and as time went on he took 
up new subjects for reading with much of his old 
freshness and keen interest, such as physiology, 
metaphysics; and astronomy. He would say : ' Had 
I been younger, or if I knew more about it, 


astronomy would be a more engrossing study to me 
than any other.' His knowledge of the stars was 
by no means superficial. Like every subject he 
studied, he brought his usual thoroughness to bear 
upon it, and attained to a certain mastery over it. 
A friend who had made astronomy an especial 
study once said of my father: 'It is marvellous 
that at his age he should have acquired so great a 
knowledge of the subject ; he knows more about it 
than I do, in many ways,' ^ 

He did not forego his usual yearly visit to the 
Tennysons, although of the effort he made in 
spending two days at Aldworth in 1 890 he after- 
wards wrote : ' I could not have come, but for the 
thought not only of the years during which the 
affection rendered me by Tennyson and his devoted 
wife had never slackened, but of the years, also, 
now gathering over them.' In November 1891 
he visited Farringford for the first time since he 
had taken his bride there, immediately after their 
marriage, nearly thirty years before. Again in 
May 1892 he was at Farringford, enjoying the 
companionship of him whom he honoured above all 
other friends, and from whom he was so soon to be 
parted. It was not, however, their last meeting ; 

' In a letter to my father, the Duke of Argyll writes : ' Many 
thanks for your very kind letter about my Book. I am much pleased 
that you regard it so favourably, for though you don't call yourself a 
man of science, you are enough of a philosopher to form a sound 
judgment on the bearing of any argument on the greater questions 
which lie behind and beyond all the natural sciences. There are some 
things in your letter which I wish to read over and consider more 
carefully than I can do at this moment, having some heavy work on 
hand just at present.' 

Q 2 


for in the following July he, with his daughters, 
spent a long and delightful day at Aldworth. This 
day my father has described in his personal recol- 
lections of Tennyson,' and also how he felt no 
added pang of parting from any foreboding that 
this sight of him would be the last. But the grief 
and shock of his death was to follow early in 
October. In a letter to a friend a few months after- 
wards, he says: 'Yes, I feel A. T.'s loss more 
than I thought I now could feel anything of the 
kind. But an unvarying friendship from him since 
1849, and the many visits and journeys with him, 
have rendered his death a sort of chasm through 
my life.' 

Literary occupation was a help and a comfort to 
him, and in 1891 he revised and enlarged the 
' Golden Treasury.' Since the publication of the 
first edition, many rare early English poems had 
been reprinted by Dr. Grosart, Mr. Bullen, and 
others, and these aided him greatly in the task of en- 
larging the first book of the Treasury. ' Amenophis 
and other Poems ' was the title given to the little 
book of original verse which he published a year 
later. The title-poem, written many years before, 
is by far the longest, and is based upon the Egyp- 
tian, Greek, and Jewish ideas of the existence of 
God before such ideas had been ' consciously ana- 
lysed,' the framework of the story having been 
principally taken from an Egyptian version of the 
Exodus. Some of the other poems, both sacred 
and secular, had appeared before in ' Lyrical Poems,' 

^ Given in the Memoir of Lord Tennyson by his son. 

' AMENOPHIS ' 229 

and in his collection of hymns ; others had hitherto 
been unpublished, or only dispersedly, in magazines. 

From the Duke of Argyll 

Inveraray : Nov. 27, 1892. 

My dear Professor Palgrave, — Many thanks for having 
sent to me your volume of poems, which I have been 
reading with much pleasure. But I can't quite forgive 
you for having altered the last verse of your lines — 'Go, 
Lord, we follow Thee.' I have so often read it to others, 
who have all admired it, that I don't like the change. I 
am glad to see that in your lines to Dean Hook you have 
taken the sonnet limit of fourteen lines, but have not fol- 
lowed the sonnet structure. I like the combination. There 
is something in the limit, and in 'the idea' within that 
limit, which is pleasing to my ear. 

One feels now, already, how great Tennyson was — 
nobody to come within a thousand miles of him ! 

Yours very sincerely, 


Of the sacred poems in ' Amenophis,' ' Virgini 
Deiparae ' w^as perhaps the most appreciated, and 
was afterwards included in Mr. Orby Shipley's 
' Carmina Mariana,' in the formation of which book 
my father was much interested. ' The Lost Eury- 
dice ' and ' A Summer Sunset in South-Western 
Dorset ' are quoted below in full. 

To Mr. Orby Shipley 

15 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park, N.W. : May 25 [1893]. 
Dear Mr. Shipley, — I have delayed thanking you for 
your kind gift of ' Carmina Mariana ' from yourself until I 
had gone through it. 


You may remember that I feared the book would be 
too scrappy, too loaded with translations, too much like a 
' Lexicon Marianum.' It is, therefore, a real pleasure to 
me to find these fears not realised, and that although edifi- 
cation has been your primary aim, yet that a good standard 
in poetical merit (and hence, in power of holding the 
reader) has generally been reached. In short — if I may, 
without the air of conceit, pronounce such an opinion — ^the 
book seems to me a real success ; and such, I hope, it will 
prove with many readers. . . . On page 115, stanza iii. 
line 8, I feel pretty sure that desert has been printed by 
error for demur : a less usual word, but one which makes 
equal sense and rhymes with her. The conjecture that 
desert was pronounced des^r seems to me baseless. In 
fact, at that time des^r^ is regularly rhymed to h&art^ and 
preserved the old e-cz which survives in Derby, but is 
gradually dying. . . . 

Of course in such a book there must be a considerable 
uniformity of thought and imagery : it is hence but read, 
like a set of sonnets, discontinuously. But I find many 
pieces new to me of much grace and depth of feeling or 
thought. I have not kept a list, but I may name Sir J. C. 
Barrow's * Birth and Passing of Mary,' Dunbar's ' Ballads 
of Our Lady,' and Egan's ' Mary's Woe ' is very striking. 
Also Father Bridgett's work is very successful. . . . Father 
Russell's rendering from Dante I also like, and his thought 
from Cardinal Newman. I wonder you have nothing from 
himself. . . . Verstegan's lovely hymn in one way interests 
me most. I lately found the first /our stanzas only, given 
as a whole poem, and anonymous, in a reprint of a music- 
book of 1620, and reprinted them with delight in the 
* Golden Treasury '. , . . I am very sorry I did not know 
of the whole poem when making my ' Sacred Anthology ' 
in 1889. ... I feel proud to have been allowed to aid even 
so little in such a valuable addition to our Anthologies, 

Ever truly yours, 


'the lost "eurydice"' 231 

The Lost ' Eurydice ' * 

March 24, 1878. 
* Lady,^ she is round the Needles : now Saint Catherine's 

Cape they sight : 
Now her head is set north-eastward ; 'fore the beam the 

Foreland light. 

' Look, we see the light from Southsea,' — and beyond the 

fancy goes, 

Where e'en now the fated keel is gliding under dark 
Dunnose : 

Swanlike gliding, as some cloud that, dark below, the 

storm-wind's hue, 
Towers into silver summits, sailing o'er the tranquil blue. 

O the change ! — and in one hour ! — when, swanlike, on the 

harbour's breast. 
Plumage furl'd and voyage over, safe the gallant ship will 

rest ! 

— All the movement of the heaven spread beneath her eyes 

in vain, 
At a window watch'd the Lady, gazing o'er the sunlit 

main ; 

Thinking, from the Foreland light-ship they perchance 

e'en now might see. 
See the noble ship, — My Ship ! — for brings she not my 

boy to me ? 

Drifted from the waves the splendour ; from the sky died 

out the blue : 
Yet the Lady saw not ; deep beyond herself her sight 


' A menophis and other Poems : Macmillan, 1892. 
- The mother of a young officer, seen at the helm when the 
frigate capsized, was waiting his return at Southsea. 


Sunshine glow'd within her bosom ; happy music in her 

ears ; 
Love in glory painting all the beauty of his youthful years. 

Heart 'twixt brave and tender balanced ; manly child, and 

childlike youth : 
Bright as heaven, as ocean open ; true to true love, true to 


' Fit for earth, and fit for heav'n,' she thinks, ' whate'er his 

destined lot ' ; 
— He is there already. Mother ! Mother ! — and thou 

know'st it not ! 

Thunderbolts of icy storm-wind in its panting bosom piled, 
Sudden, towering angry-black, a cloudy wall climbs wide 
and wild. 

Like a squadron at the signal, forth the mad tornado flies, 
Robed in blinding folds of snow, together mixing seas and 

— From the window turn, Lady ! toward the light-ship 

look no more ; 
Happy that thou canst not see the darkening headland, 

surf-white shore. 

Thirty minutes since they watch'd her : — stately vision 

jocund crew : — 
All beyond from outward witness hidden, lost to mortal 


Voice was none, nor cry of terror ; — as when snowdrifts 

whelm the dell. 
Smitten, slain, at once, and buried, where the mad tornado 


Right upon her side she slipp'd, then turn'd and went 

within the main : 
Only at her helm, the last, the gallant boy was seen ; — in 

vain ! 

'A SUMMER sunset' 233 

— Weep not for thy children, England ! though the wild 

waves hold their prey : — 
England owns a thousand thousand, loyal to the death as 


Ah ! the sun once more, uncaring, glitters o'er the hapless 

Golden shafts through twilight emerald piercing to their 

oozy bed. 

There, ring'd round with foam-fleck'd waters, flapping 

sails and shatter'd poles 
Lift themselves, a desolate beacon, o'er three hundred 

English souls. 

There the sun may blaze, uncaring, there the ripples kiss 

and play. 
Chalk-bright cliffs and grassy headland smiling to the 

smiling bay. 

But within the Lady's soul the music and the glow are 

gone ;— 
This alone is left to cheer thee, Mother ! Mother ! — this 

alone : 

Though the heart's desire on earth thy longing eyes ne'er 

meet again. 
True to God and England, at the helm, thou seest him ; — 

not in vain ! 

A Summer Sunset in South-Western Dorset ' 

This hour is given to peace : — 
The downward-slanting sunbeams graze the vale 
Where Even breathes her stealthy gathering gray ; 

And o'er white stubble-plots, the sheaves 
Like walls of gold put forth their ripe array. 

^ Amenop/ns and other Poems : Macmillan, 1892. 


Upon the green slope sward 
The hedgerow elms lie pencill'd by the sun 
In greener greenness : and, athwart the sky, 

Dotted like airy dust, the rooks 
Oar them homeward with a distant cry. 

And the whole vale beneath. 
To Castle Lammas' violet-bosom'd height, 
With all its wealth outspread of harvest hopes, 

Half green, half russet gold, runs up 
As a fair tapestry shaken o'er the slopes. 

It is an utter calm ! 
The topmost ash-tree sprays have ceased to wave ; 
The cushat checks her sweet redoubled moan ; 

And e'en the gray-wall'd cottages 
Sleep 'mid their crofts like things of Nature's own. 

I hear the shepherd's call ; 
The white specks gather to the crowding fold. 
Their lowly palace of unvex'd repose : 
While o'er the chambers of the sun 
Float filmy fleeces of empurpled rose. 

And now the silent moon 
Lifts her pale shield above a glassy sea, 
And from the highest cloud the sunbeams cease : 

And, tranced in Nature's holy hour. 
The time-sick heart renews its ancient peace. 

— Then in the soul we know 
The presence of our dear ones : Love binds up 
The sore of life, and pours himself in balm : 

While e'en the memories of the dead 
Glide painless through the breast in star-like calm. 

' BECKET ' 235 

To the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone 

15 Chester Terrace, Regent's Park: July 15, 1891. 

Dear Mr. Gladstone, — Very many thanks for the pre- 
sent of your book.^ I shall hope to read it soon in the 
quiet of the country : but I am sure that it contains much 
useful warning against Teutonic speculation — which, year 
by year, I regard with increasing scepticism. As a rule, 
may one not say that the German hews wood and draws 
water with the most unwearied and disinterested diligence, 
but cannot build the house ? 

However one may try to disguise it, life, as years go 
by, is a journey among ruins. I have just seen Lady E. 
Cavendish and Mrs. Church. . . . Mrs. Church gave me 
the news which you will welcome — that she means to 
publish a number of the Dean's sermons, as I understood, 
from those he preached whilst parish priest in Wiltshire. 
These may not be of such intellectual character as the two 
or three small series which he printed whilst at St. Paul's : 
but I think we may expect from them what is worthy 
to stand next and nearest to Newman's at St. Mary's. 
With renewed thanks. 

Ever very truly yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

My father looked forward with considerable 
interest to the production of ' Becket ' at the 
Lyceum ; he had always regarded it as the most 
Shakespearian and the most poetical of Tennyson's 
plays, the one, analogous to the old Greek drama in 
that the four protagonists are brought constantly 
before the audience, and that the * crisis of the 
tragedy ' is introduced ' in a scene of first-rate 

' The Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture. 


comedy.' He, however, had scarcely expected to 
receive such an impression as the acting of the play 
made on him when he first saw it in February 
1893. To him, the difference between seeing great 
plays and only reading them was enormous : he 
used to say that even a mediocre performance 
taught him far more, and gave him as a rule 
greater insight into the beauty of the language than 
a mere reading at home could do ; and in this case 
the perfect acting of the prominent characters, 
united to the exquisite beauty and powerfulness of 
the play, made it one of the most interesting pieces 
he had ever witnessed. At each successive visit to 
' Becket ' he felt that this was Irving's highest piece 
of acting, and always noticed the tenderness and 
pathos with which he spoke the lines — lines which 
my father thought inexpressibly touching — on the 
' wild-fowl sitting on her nest.' ^ Almost simul- 
taneously he saw ' King Lear ' ; but he remarked 
that even this — perhaps the most powerful of Shake- 
speare's tragedies — did not lessen the impression 
which ' Becket ' had produced on him. When, 
some time later, he saw ' A Story of Waterloo,' he 
remarked of Sir Henry Irving's ' Corporal Brewster' : 
' This is not acting — it is becoming the man : it is a 

' ' I once was out with Henry in the days 
When Henry loved me, and we came upon 
A wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so still 
I reach'd my hand and touch'd ; she did not stir ; 
The snow had frozen round her, and she sat 
Stone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold eggs: 
Look ! how this love, this mother, runs thro' all 
The world God made — even the beast — the bird.' 

Becket, act v. sc. 2. 

'cymbeline' 237 

masterpiece. How can anyone — even the greatest 
anti-Irvingite — say he is always Irving?' My 
father held that acting was the most difficult of all 
the fine arts, and this feeling grew upon him. When 
seeing ' Cymbeline ' in 1896, he was greatly struck 
with the acting of the two British lords in the 
opening of the play, saying, ' one could never even 
conceive interpreting the lines as these two com- 
paratively obscure actors do bringing out the mean- 
ing and giving so much life to them.' Of Miss 
Ellen Terry's ' Imogen ' he observed : ' One must 
recognise it as her greatest impersonation, for she is 
at her best in the most difficult, in Shakespeare's 
perhaps most perfect heroine.' The rapid changes 
from joy to sorrow which form so ' beautiful and 
yet so enormously difficult a feature of the part,' he 
thought, were rendered by her with the ' most 
exquisite beauty and skill' He took much interest 
in the drama ; though his own play-going was almost 
entirely confined to one theatre, his admiration of 
the Lyceum acting leading him again and again, 
not only to the same theatre, but frequently to the 
same play. 

My father's visits to Oxford in 1893 and 1894 
were saddened by the illness and death of Mr. 
Romanes. He also felt much the loss of his cousin, 
Lady Eastlake. in 1893. The deaths of two old 
friends — Mr. Thomas Woolner and Professor 
Jowett — were other sorrows : but though the losses 
of friends in these later years were deeply felt by 
him, one might say, as the old Highland widow 
said of her husband, when her children died : 'He 


made a great hole, and the others just slippit 
through, afterwards.' For him, after the crowning 
sorrow of 1890, his Hfe's horizon was so completely 
changed that other troubles, not diminished in them- 
selves, seemed to take a more natural place. 

To Mr. Eastlake-Smith 

Little Park, Lyme Regis : Oct. 12, 1893. 

Dear Mr. Eastlake-Smith, — Many thanks for your kind 
letter, with its full account of your dear aunt's last days. 
I feel very glad that, just before I left London in July, I 
saw her in fair health, as it seemed, and good spirits ; and, 
as always, equally kind and bright. In her I lose a friend, 
older than she can have been to you, as my mother was 
always on close terms of affection with her, and I hence 
remember her from boyhood. She had done a good life's 
work, and was well prepared for the end. . . . 

I always felt no doubt that she would remember the 
National Gallery, but I wish she had included two or three 
of Sir Charles's exquisite and little known Landscapes in 
her bequest. But they and the rest are left in hands which 
will know how to value her many treasures of art. . . . 
Thanking you again for a letter written in the midst of 

Believe me, ever sincerely yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To prevent an increase of his lameness my father 
spent a few weeks every year in taking baths ; at 
first, at Bath and Buxton ; afterwards he found that 
he derived more benefit from the waters of Droit- 
wich. He preferred, too, the smallness of this place 
and its easier access to the countrv. Hotel life was 
distasteful to him, but at Droitwich he always gave 


in to entreaties that he would sit for a short space of 
time in the public drawing-room after dinner. The 
chief pleasure to him in such life was showing kind- 
ness to the servants who waited on him ; they all 
appreciated his goodness to them, and the practical 
interest he showed in their homes and families, 
helping to educate and often to start in life younger 
sisters and brothers, and never losing sight of them 
afterwards. It was not uncommon for him to re- 
ceive such letters as the following : 

Sept. 1897. 

I recived your most kind letter, & also the present 
quite safe, and i must thank you most kindly for it. and 
dear Sir i have gone to live near Birmingham, i rote & 
told Fanny that i had a letter from you, & she wishes to 
be rembered to you, & hopes she shall have the pleasure 
of seeing you when you goes to Droitwich again. Dear Sir, 
you must excuse such bad writing, but i thaught i would 
like to rite a letter to you my self as i often think of your 
kindness to me & we miss you very much when we go 
to your room in a morning, & you can't think how we 
miss you. We often talk about you, and wish you were 
back again. We must hope for next year to come very 
soon for you to come back again. We shall be longing 
for the time to come. . . . 

To his Daug"hter 

St. Anne's Hotel, Buxton : Aug. 1894, 
. . . Dear Frank's absence has been partly supplied to 
me — by whom do you imagine? Your old friend, the 
Right Honble. Sir George ! [Bowen]. I sit at tavola 7'otonda 
by the great man, who turns out not only really warm in 
friendship, but also full of amusing tales and adventures. 


as well as (what you know) a real love of classical litera- 
ture . . . and he is essentially modest in self-estimate ; 
... so that you may fancy how tongues wag : and, mi 
credal mine not the most — or best, perhaps. Miss 

Lascelles is also here, and full of talk ; they and (who 

is a humorous middle-aged kitten) are my only friends 
discoverable in a list of visitors as long and dull as a 
dictionary. O ! the weariness of it ! . . . You would like 
the constant supply of music in a great glass palace in the 
Public Gardens close by ; a little interest in music I find 
returning, and so I cultivate it, but there is now no play in 
view that I care for. The best we have seen was Gold- 
smith's ' She Stoops to Conquer,' which made us both 
laugh fearfully, the chief character was so irresistibly 
comic and clever. ' Charley's Aunt,' which we have also 
seen, is rubbish, but full of very droll things : the contrast 
between its amusing cheap jokes and the fine comedy of 
Goldsmith was most remarkable. One horrid trick some 
people have at the concerts here of beating time, as they 
fancy, audibly ; and they always do it wrong, invariably 
taking any clearly accented note as the beginning of a 
bar. When a woman sins thus, I observe she is always 
plain. . . . 

To his Daughter 

15 Chester Terrace : Jan. 1894. 

Margherita carissima, — Tante tante grazie anche a Lei 
per la sua lettera gentilissima. Mi rincresce di star qui, 
senza la Margherita. Tanto e difficile il parlar e '1 scriver 
la lingua Italiana che non mi sorprende il trovar qualchi 
erroretti piccoli nella Sua lettera! Ma si vede nulladi- 
meno che Ella ha fatto un gran avanzo nella lingua. 

Credo che '1 pranzo alia casa Ponsonby era piacevole a 
Annora. Siamo stati la alle undici e quarto. 

Non c' era un buon pensiero di recarla oggi a! 

'twelfth night 241 

Teatro Daly ? Avemmo letto ambedue la commedia del- 
' Epifania ' ^ accuratamente : mi faceva paura che la parte 
poetica della commedia fosse quasi un fiasco nella bocca 
Americana, ma non era cosi. ' La Viola ' era soddis- 
fattoria e mi sembrava che la parte fu rappresentata con 
molto di grazia, benche her feet never left the boards ! . . . 
Addio fino al domani sera, carissima mia. 

To the same 


Dearest Chuck, — ... It is very cold on this hillside, 
and my arm ached, and thus I am writing to mia cara cara 
in place of driving. The party here is only the Duke of 
Argyll and Lord Stanmore, who, as you know, is a much 
travelled man, and has been Governor of various colonies 
and has much to say. In fact, we talked incessantly from 
four to twelve A.M. (I know Gwenny will grin like a 
Cheshire cat at this, but indeed I did try not to say too 
much !) It was very good talk I heard ; politics, books, 
Italy, &c., but of course I can remember nothing in par- 

The journey after Guildford was lovely — just that sort 
of perfect green country, with great hills thick with trees, 
that one does not get, even at Iseo. . . . 

To his Son 

Little Park, Lyme. 
Dearest Frank, — I must thank you myself for your 
kind and welcome letter. I need not say how much I 
trust that your little expedition will have strengthened you 
for your present work, both bodily, and also by the supply 
of beautiful and pleasant recollections which it must have 
given you. Whether any power of enjoying such things 

' Twelfth Night at Daly's Theatre • Miss Rehan as ' Viola,' 



will ever be restored to me I know not ; meanwhile, it 
was a comfort as true as I can now hope for to have so 
faithful and loving a son as you proved yourself. You 
knew, I think, that I felt your presence such ; but it is 
easier to write it than to say it. . . . Thanks for Croker, 
who reached me safely. If he was not so dialectic, his 
tales might be good for a penny reading. Have you 
begun Edersheim ? 

Jowett's death makes a great gap in my life, having 
known him just fifty years, and during that time received 
much kindness and good advice from him. He was also, 
in his way, a considerable light, although one that often 
flickered very notably. His zeal to help others to work 
was, in my eyes, his highest and noblest feature, as he 
would help pupils or friends with great unselfishness. 

Ever your loving 


After a lapse of six years my father visited Italy 
again in the spring of 1894. It was in many ways 
difficult for him to make up his mind to go, and he 
feared that his lameness would cause him to be a 
drag on his children. In spite of the fatigue of the 
actual travelling and the discomfort which his lame- 
ness gave him, he only made light of it, and was 
the same delightful and interested companion as he 
had always been ; planning everything for his chil- 
dren's enjoyment, and absolutely forgetful, as ever, 
of his own personal comfort and ease. He particu- 
larly enjoyed staying in the more unfrequented 
places : to him ' indifferent food ' and ' very poor 
accommodation ' were items in ' Murray ' which 
made no impression on him, and he never com- 
plained of anything that might be provided, always 


turning into amusement little things which are often 
annoyances to men of his age. The only places 
unfamiliar to him which he visited on this tour were 
Lovere, a picturesque little place on the Lake of 
Iseo, and Faido, a village on the Italian side of the 
St. Gothard Pass, where we halted on the way 
home. He loved to linger in Italy as long as he 
possibly could, dreading the return to his altered 
home. A little poem which he wrote during his 
last night at Faido is here inserted. 

Addio, Italia 

Faido, St. Gothard : April 24, 1894, 

Farewell ! Not as in years of yore 

I quit the lovely land, 
Where on sweet vine-clad vales the hills 

Gaze with august command : 

Where o'er green terraces on high 

Uprear'd 'gainst sunny slopes 
The white bell-towers lift up to heaven 

The sign of human hopes : 

Where snow eternal shines and sleeps 

O'er rock-walls fiercely grim ; 
While 'neath the pine-clad slope exhales 

Ticino's ceaseless hymn : 

Or where the Lombard ocean-plain 

Spreads its green endless maze, 
With dome and tower and farmstead rich, 

And names of Roman days : 

Or regal Venice thrones in pride, 

Saint Mark her diadem, 
Her streets with liquid azure paved. 

Earth's fairest rarest gem. 

R 2 


Yet how should I thy glories name, 
From where the marble shrine 

Greets them who own thee, from the North, 
And more than half divine : 

Where Florence fair upholds to heaven 

Her Giotto's honour'd name, 
From pearly dawn, midday's white fire, 

To eve's red sea of flame : — 

Or where the dome of domes expands 

Its angel-vaulted vault, 
On till the soft blue waves beneath 

Amalfi's haven halt. 

O Land, my childhood's dream, when Life 
Her grave-glooms hid from me, 

What shadow from the past now blots 
Thy bright reality? 

The sudden thunder-cloud of Heaven 

Down flash'd its fatal dart, 
And pall-wise o'er earth's brightness roU'd 

The midnight of the heart. 

Ah ! now too late love owns the truth 

The Tuscan exile sings. 
Woe, worst of woes, when wretchedness 

Remembers happy things. 

Now this wide feast of beauty spread 

Unseen while seen goes by. 
As tree-tops wave, and flowers peep forth 

Above the turf-tomb'd eye. 

O Love, whose gracious skilful hands 
Framed my sweet transient home ; 

Who took this weary world of mine. 
And made the desert bloom : 


Heart of my heart, pure faithful Saint, 

Now safe from earthly harm. 
Wont once to greet my wandering steps, 

Or be the journey's charm : 

Methinks thou says't : ' I wait for thee ; 

I am but gone before : 
Why then should Art and Nature fail 

To charm thee as of yore ? ' 

'Tis vain : the sun of love has fled, 

And dawnless midnight falls ; 
The glory gone from dome and tower 

And old historic walls. 

The rose of sunset from thy hills, 

The sapphire from thy sea : — 
— O charm uncharmed ! O fond regret 

— Farewell, fair Italy ! 

To Dean Boyle 

London : May 1894. 

My dear Boyle,^ — Your kind interesting letter has too 
long lain unthanked for, but a journey of near seven weeks 
to Lombardy has intervened. . . . We went slowly, sleep- 
ing even at small places. . . . The main novelty to me 
was the little Lago d'Iseo between Garda and Brescia : a 
lake wherein the rocks everywhere come down sheer into 
the water — a Scotch loch, in short, with Italian vegetation, 
and a noble view of eternal snows at the north end. If 
you have been there you will pardon this itinerary. ... I 
have had the dreadful task of looking through my corre- 
spondence (letters received) since I went to Oxford ; a true 
via dolorosa among the loved and lost. But Mr. Abbott 
asked me for aid towards the life of Jowett, and I felt it 
was the last little tribute of gratitude I could pay to the 


Master. . . . He had not a few correspondents to whom 
he must have opened himself and written more at length 
than to me. ... I have read most of Arthur Stanley's 
life. In several ways it disappoints me : not, as it were, 
through fault in the editors, but inevitably. . . . The 
career — mostly the external career — fills the book. . . 
With fervour and unselfishness and strongest desire to do 
good, he is all through grasping at problems not even by 
him more than ' half graspable.' He has les defauts de sa 
quality-, so chivalrous, that he, perhaps open-eyed-ly, per- 
petually backs men he only half or not at all agreed with 
from pure charity. . . . Yet the intense magical charm of 
that exquisite nature to whom Charity was all in all, the 
unselfishness, the bravery, the many-sided interests, the 
boy's heart almost to the very end — these things, which 
were his real influence in making everyone love and 
admire the man, pierce through the atmosphere of the 
book. . . . Some of the verses are charming in feeling — 
perhaps rise to poetry or very near it. ... I might trot on 
thus much longer. Sed iam satis ! 

Ever very heartily yours, 


My father took a deep interest in the prepa- 
ration of the ' Memoir of Lord Tennyson,' and he 
felt it a privilege to be allowed to give some help in 
the looking over of part of the large Tennyson 
correspondence ; and to w^rite himself some recol- 
lections of their long friendship. He paid frequent 
visits to Aldv^orth and Farringford while the book 
was being written by Lord Tennyson, and although 
it was only a fortnight before his death that he 
received it in published form, these visits had enabled 
him to enjoy reading it beforehand. 


From the late Lady Tennyson 

Farringford : Nov. 13, 1893. 
My dear Mr. Palgrave, — ... It is no mere verbiage 
when I say that your kindness is wonderful and is a far 
more precious memorial of your friendship than many a 
stately monument in his honour raised by another might be. 
We cannot express our gratitude. . . . Hallam hopes to 
write another day, so I will not add more to the twenty-three 
thousand letters than this and my love to your daughters. 
Ever most gratefully and affectly. yours, 

Emily Tennyson. 

Many of my father's friends regretted that his 
portrait was never painted : his beautiful features and 
fine open forehead, together v^^ith his noble expres- 
sion and the profusion of silvery grey hair, made his 
appearance in old age as striking as when, some 
thirty years before, he sat, at the request of one of 
our foremost artists, as the model for a head of 
Christ. Samuel Lawrence made a fairly successful 
drawing of him in 1872, and in 1895 Lord Carlisle 
made him the subject of one of his delicate pencil 

In 1895, after having lived more than thirty 
years in the Regent's Park, my father moved to a 
smaller house in South Kensington. He missed 
the beautiful view of the park, but the neighbour- 
hood had much changed, for most of his intimate 
friends who had been settled there in the seventies 
were dead or had left that part of London, with the 
exception of Professor Courthope and Miss Anna 
Swan wick. 


To Dean Boyle 

London : Jan. 21, 1895. 
My dear Boyle, — Thanks for your letter, and that true 
sympathy which I always meet with from you, my old 
and much valued friend. It is a sad desolation indeed for 
my poor eldest child — a childless widow at just 31. . . . 
We have to arrange removing to a new house before Mid- 
summer, as my lease here runs out, and I wish for a 
cheaper house to leave my girls in — at 70 even a month's 
tenure of life shows uncertainty, , . . The little series on 
Landscape in Poetry with which, an I live, I propose to 
conclude my term of office [Oxford Lectures] (by end of 
1895) interests me greatly. I deal with Greece and Rome — 
Hebrew, Italian, Celtic — after that, confine myself to 
English poetry. It would be impossible for me to attempt 
modern Italian, French, German, &c., although I suppose 
all, in different ways, exhibit the modern turn to land- 
scape. Yet I think there is every reason to believe that 
our development, from Scott to Tennyson, is by far the 
most important ; just like our Water Colour School. You 
see what a vast sea of curious questions the subject opens, 
many of which I have neither time nor knowledge to 
touch. . . . My best regards to Mrs. Boyle. Often do I 
think with gratitude on your kindness. 

Ever very warmly yours, 


To the same 

15 Cranley Place, S.W. : Dec. 22, 1896. 

My dear Boyle, — ... It grieves me to hear of your 
increased rheumatism : but I think you put up with the 
intolerable bore of a bathing place better than I do. Last 
autumn I had to spend a month at Droitwich, and I fear 


this may be, what Sir J. Paget has told me it ought to be, 
an annual ceremony. 

Certainly the Church History of Ed. VI., Mary, Eliza- 
beth, is very perplexing. What is worse, is the amount of 
discreditable work on which (in the worldly sense) our 
Church is founded. The theological position seems to me 
saved ; but only just saved. Hence I cannot wonder at 
the attitude towards us of Rome on one side and Noncons. 
on the other. . . . 

I am glad you decline Browning. I often have thought 
that to write essays on Shakespeare is one of the easiest 
ways for a man to make a fool of himself You would 
certainly not do this ! But to write on Browning involves 
much the same risk, though on grounds very different. . . . 
I am trying to get my ' Landscape in Poetry ' discourses into 
book form. But prose, in some ways, I always find harder 
than verse. One misses the guidance of restraining law. 

Ever affly, yours, 

F. T. Palgrave. 

To Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

March 10, 1895. 
Dear Rossetti, — . . . Let me now add a few words 
which I ought to have sent to you before ; but many things 
intervened then to hinder me. It is only how deeply and 
truly I felt your sister's loss. Her illness had debarred me 
from se-eing her latterly. But all that I did see before, 
revealed at once, not only a noble character, but a beauti- 
ful soul. There could be no one who more truly and 
charmingly lived what she wrote ; and this is not common. 
It was pleasant, in these days, when criticism of contem- 
poraries is so unsatisfactory, so often idiotic, to read the 
full and free acknowledgment of her great and original 
power in poetry. I do not mean this was unfelt before ; 
but I did not know how deeply poetry, which did not 



prima facie address the world, had made its mark. It was 
a sign of national sanity, underlying the confused cries of 
the moment. And it was a curious parallel to your 
brother's recognition in art, also when he had been taken 
away ' from beyond these voices.' . . . All I have said 
here about your gifted ones are but imperfect truisms. 
Yet it is a pleasure to me to say them. . . . 

His last visit to Italy was in the autumn of 1896. 
It was one of peculiar enjoyment to him ; he was 
bright and zealous in all he did and saw, and even 
planned a journey to Sicily for the following year. 
One very pleasant element in this journey was the 
constant intercourse at Rome with his much loved 
friend. Count Balzani, whose literary and historical 
work is well known in Italy and in England. At 
Perugia he enjoyed being with Miss Margaret 
Symonds and Miss Duff Gordon, who were then 
preparing their little history of that city. His 
delight at again seeing Modena could not have 
been more fresh and boyish when he had last visited 
it as a child with his parents in 1839. Ten days 
were spent in the Bernese Oberland, and again such 
discomforts as travelling in intense cold and occa- 
sional snow in the north of Italy were hardly noticed 
by him. Nothing seemed able to rufifle the sweet- 
ness of his temper, and his will, as usual, was given 
up to that of his children. 

To Lord Carlisle 

Florence : Oct. 20, 1896. 
My dear George, — It is not Italy only that brings you 
before my mind, but the loss which has often made me 
think of you, and not you only. . . . 


We have been now only three weeks out, beginning 
with ten days in Switzerland. The great snowy summits 
repel me as neighbours, and they seem to me also to break 
in sadly on the landscape of rock and the exquisitely rich 
valleys — to spoil the repose of the picture. The ancient 
feeling which reigned all but up to this century now seems 
to me wholly confirmed. But you will, I know, grin at 
my artistic ideas, in which I cannot remember that you 
ever agreed. On the other hand, the absolute Italian 
valley and plain appear to me more lovely than ever. Sir 
J. Hudson, who had lived perhaps most of his life here, 
once said to me that what struck him when in England 
was the monotony in colour of our in-full-leaf landscapes. 
I did not then grasp his idea. But I now feel the truth of 
it : the cypress, walnut, vine, palm, and olive above all, do 
give the greater variety. But the massiveness of English 
woodland, and the presence of really majestic trees, are 
here wanting. But you will read no more if this vein of 
commonplace continues. 

We think of reaching Rome 31st Oct., and staying till 
about 10 Nov. : too short a time for pleasure, but enough 
to give some notion of the city to Margaret, who with 
Gwenny is my companion. It is indeed solely on their 
account that I am here, for the twelfth time, at Florence. 
I was brought here so early by my dear father, who was 
Italianato in the old style to the heart, as a schoolboy of 
thirteen, in time to see the old walls and the old ducal 
government — in short, in ' those wretched days when we 
were so happy,' as some heterodox nations say. And since 
my last visit (1888) the whole picturesque region of the 
Mercato Vecchio, with its old houses marked with the arms 
of the great mediaeval chiefs, and a lovely little Loggia by 
Alberti (I think), have been all swept away. . . . ' The old 
order changes, giving place to new.' 

We seem to be losing our genuine or artificial popu- 
larities rapidly in England : but here, again, perhaps I am 


on burning ground, as I do not admire the folio Chaucer 
or the milk and water domesticities of ' Punch.' 

I wonder the philanthropic mob does not perceive that 
Armenians receive from Turks only the conduct which 
Mahommedans inevitably give to the infidel, and that the 
sweetest Turk is only a varnished Tartar. Whilst they 
believe in the accursed Prophet, these things ' have been 
and will be again.' 

We hope to be in England by i Dec. . . . 
Ever affectely. yours, 


To Mr. F. G. Waugh 

15 Cranley Place : March 9, 1897. 

Dear Mr. Waugh, — I have too often had to regret the 
verbuni emissum, despite vows, forgotten even whilst 
making, to guard my lips. In this case, however, I may 
sincerely rejoice at the result. Your little book ' will 
be of real value to the Club, so long as it endures amidst 
the shocks of modern civilization, as a source not more of 
knowledge than of amusement. I am surprised at the 
amount of memories and incidents which you have been 
able to put together. ... At my age your chronicle mainly 
brings before me the ' Silent Voices ' : though I would not 
be ungrateful to the friendly ones which I still may hear : 
amongst which I gratefully reckon yours. With renewed 
thanks, and best remembrances to your wife, 
Believe me, very truly yours, 


To his Daughter 

15 Cranley Place, S.W. : Feb. i, 1897. 
. . . Last Wednesday afternoon Margaret and I went 

^ The Athenaeum Club and its Associations. By F. G. Waugh, 
M.A. Privately printed 1897. 


to the Carl Rosa Opera^the ' Meistersingers,' a famous 
and favourite piece by Wagner. I had seen it lauded to 
the skies for its beauty, melody, and humour, and, deceived 
by these false lights, took stalls that we might hear to the 
best advantage. I was never so completely done ; the 
story is the most clumsy of German humour — always 
clumsy. There is only one traceable air, which, though 
beautiful, was not of the first quality. The one great thing, 
as in the ' Lohengrin,' is the orchestra, which seemed in 
richness and invention to rival even Mozart or Beethoven, 
except that its endless bits of melody seemed to me dis- 
connected. . . . 

The Bywater and the Coleridge dinners were very 
pleasant to us, we talked Shakespeare and musical glasses 
at the former. 

To Lady Georgiana Peel 

Dec. 28, 1896. 

. . . Your feeling about Christmas and the beautiful 
lines you quote from Wordsworth, alas ! quite agree with 
mine. So also does Archy's misfortune in recent loss of 
friends. I begin to find the contemporary, or even the 
younger, trees rapidly losing their leaves. 

My small book on ' Landscape Poetry ' is nearly through 
the mill of the press, and I suppose will be out in three or 
four weeks' time. I have taken much pains with it, but 
can only hope for very limited success. ... I regret much 
that this one-maji exhibition is to be held. It will prove 
injurious to Leighton's ^ fame : his style and subjects are 
never English, they are also monotonous and not happy 
in colour, and (most of all, perhaps) his first work (' Pro- 
cession of Cimabue ') remains his best. . . . 

' Despite this remark, my father was much impressed by the 
Leighton Exhibition, and felt that his pictures gained through being 
massed together. 


To the President of Magdalen 
(H. Warren) 

May 1897 
... I hope the little book ' [Landscape in Poetry '] may 
serve towards a greater study of the classics from the point 
of view of their poetical and general literary value, which 
is, I think, considerably neglected now in contrast with 
philology in all its spheres. Should the book reach another 
edition, which ... is unlikely, I shall explain more clearly 
that I only deal with non-English poetry where it had a 
distinct influence on our own ; and I shall a little enlarge 
my seventeenth and eighteenth century examples, wherein 
I have trusted too much to readers' memories. 

The life of Tennyson, which I have just gone carefully 
through, seems to me to be very well done by Hallam, the 
inevitable olla podtida character of the materials con- 
sidered. It contains a rich collection of A. T.'s fine large- 
minded sayings, a few of which I could not resist using 
in the ' Landscape.' He was, taken all in all, the best 
talker I have ever known. 

Ever very truly yours, 


In the spring of 1897 'Landscape in Poetry' 
was published ; it consists of chapters on this sub- 
ject from Homer to Tennyson, revised from his last 
course of lectures at Oxford. 

Letters on ' Landscape in Poetry ' 

[From Mr. Arthur Severn^, including some remarks by 
Professor Ruskin on Landscape in Poetry^ 

Brantwood, Coniston Lake: June i, 1897. 
Dear Palgrave, —I found your book to-day, and put it 
into the Professor's hands. It had been rather mislaid with 



Other books, and he had not seen it. Many books come 
here for the Professor to see, but he will hardly ever look 
at any. He demurred at yours even ! But I explained 
about it, &c., &c. ... I put the book into his hands, open 
at the second chapter, put on his spectacles, drew up his 
blind, then sat like a mouse, waiting for any pearls of 
criticism ! which might come. Some did come, and I took 
down as well as I could what I thought of interest and 
not too unpearl like ! . . . The following are some of the 
remarks. . . . 

' The range from Dante to Blake and Wordsworth is 
so curious.' 

' Keeps spelling Virgil with an E, which bothers me.' 

' Immensely clever in its way.' 

'Who is Sellar? ' (I told him this.) 

' I am amazed at the quantity he gets out of Words- 

* Quintilian a person I know nothing about ; they 
always speak of him as a great Latin critic' 

' He seems to have almost every modern Poet' 
' It goes in among people one has never heard of.' 
' Nothing left from Dryden and Pope ! ' 

* I can't even read their Latin as they write it now.' 

Yours sincerely, 

Arthur Severn. 

From Mr. J. W. Mackail 

27 Young Street, Kensington Square : Feb. 25, 1897. 

Dear Mr. Palgrave, — Very many thanks for your book, 
which I have now read through with the greatest interest 
and delight. I have only one reason for regret, that is, 
that you have not been able to include a chapter on land- 
scape in Provencal and early French and Italian poetry. 
The hints you give on this subject are only tantalising. 


I hope you may still add a chapter, or write a separate 
paper or series of papers, on this part of the subject. The 
question, in particular, how far Provencal was affected by 
Arabian poetry is one of extreme interest. 

Another point that arises out of the book — and one 
which I should like to see you treat somewhat fully — is 
whether landscape painting has not lost as well as gained 
by being elevated from the background into the substance 
of a picture ; whether, that is, the moral or human interest 
that is essential to all great art can exist in pure landscape 
painting without putting a greater strain on it than it will 
well bear. Take, for instance, the landscape backgrounds 
of Lorenzo di Credi's pictures in the National Gallery, or 
of the great Perugino triptych. Have they not a moral 
or spiritual quality, as they stand in their place in the 
picture, that they can only have through this elusive (if one 
may say so) treatment ? Somewhat as the vision for 
actual form and colour is more acute when not directed 
straight on the object but on something else a little way off 
it. This subject, too, I should much like to see you treat 

of at length. 

Believe me 

Yours very truly, 


From Mr. Stopford Brooke 

I Manchester Square, W. : March 13, '97. 
Dear Palgrave, — Ever so many thanks for your book. 
I did not like to write and express my gratitude until I 
had read some of it. I have not yet read it all, for I have 
been hurried and worried by many things, but I have read 
more than half of it. It has given me very great pleasure, 
and I feel in the strongest agreement with most of it. Of 
course, in so vast a survey from Homer to Tennyson there 
are opinions which I feel inclined to challenge and 


criticisms which as I read I feel inclined to make. But to 
express these ^would be thankless and needless ; the book 
has to be considered and read as a whole, and it is, as 
such, a most valuable and useful contribution to English 
literature. Moreover, it is a new subject, and you will 
find that it will be the father of a great number of books 
on the same subject, all of which will hail your book as 
their origin. 

For my part I wish the book had been in two volumes. 
It suffers from being too short. But, after all, you have 
laid down the lines in these outlines of a great subject, and 
others, grateful to you for a fresh interest and fresh matter, 
will work out the details. 

Yrs. very sincerely, 

Stopford Brooke. 

From Mr. Henry James 

34 De Vere Gardens : April 24, 1897. 

My dear Palgrave, — I have many things to ask you to 
forgive me. . . . Let the first be this extremity to which I 
am reduced by a lame hand.' . . . My other appeal for your 
indulgence is that of having delayed too many days to 
thank you for your letter of the 15th. It was very good 
of you to write to one so apparently graceless and erring. 
So completely have I broken down on the ' Social ' ques- 
tion that I have in truth succeeded, these past months, in 
seeing much less of you than I could desire. . . . Mean- 
time I hope that in Dorset depths you are having more 
than all the leaf and blossom of these parts and less than 
half the vile east wind that, like the spiteful fairy of the 
nursery tales at the cradle of nursery heroes, curses 
even while it rocks. A propos of fairies, though not of 
curses, I have lately been reading much of your lovely 

* Alluding to the letter being type-wTitten. 


' Landscape ' book, on the copious knowledge and charming 
presentation of which I heartily congratulate you. You 
have truly a genius for illustration and a pair of fingertips 
for plums ! The volume is a priceless pudding of the 
latter ; really a gallery of many rooms, in which one can 
walk and sit. . . . Please recall me to the friendly re- 
membrance of your daughters, and believe me, my dear 
Palgrave, yours less cold-bloodedly than this looks (and, if 
you could hear it tick, sounds). 

Henry James. 

My father's health did not seem to have visibly 
failed by the spring of 1897, although he had him- 
self the feeling constantly before his mind that he 
had reached the same age as his father had at the 
time of his death, and that he would not probably 
long outlive that age. In March he v^^rote thus to 
Dean Boyle : ' May I again invite an invitation to 
your hospitable hearth ? , . . I know you will kindly 
excuse me for this request . . . but it is long since 
I have really seen you, and I feel my days so fast 
diminishing that I could not resist the impulse to 
propose this invasion.' 

It should be mentioned here that the second 
series of the * Golden Treasury,' on which my father 
had been engaged for many months, was finished by 
this time, although for various reasons, chiefly con- 
cerning its simultaneous printing in America, its 
publication was deferred until the autumn. In this 
little volume he largely recognises the merit of 
Arthur O'Shaughnessy's poetry, and many speci- 
mens are also given of William Barnes. He was 
himself fully aware that these predilections would 


bring much adverse criticism, but the poetry of 
O'Shaughnessy and Barnes occupied so high a place 
in his admiration that he could not with satisfaction 
and truth to himself omit any of the specimens 
given. He frankly avowed with regret, however, 
that he had accidentally overlooked two or three 
poems by others which he would gladly have 
inserted. A large place is, of course, assigned to 
Tennyson, and the work of the Rossetti family is 
also specially well represented. 

To Mr. W. M. Rossetti 

May 31, 1896. 

Dear Rossetti, — I am preparing to add to the ' Golden 
Treasury ' lyrics of later date than those now included. 
My wish was to do this by an enlargement of the present 
book. But the immense volume of the finest lyrical work, 
either by poets alive in 1861 (when the book was pub- 
lished), or written since, and the much greater comparative 
length of the poems themselves, has rendered this impos- 
sible. And though I must add a second volume, yet this 
cannot hold above one-half of lyrics which I would wish to 
include. . . . Can you give me Swinburne's address? I 
want, of course, some of his work. . . . Amongst them is 
the opening part of the lovely stanzas on what was then 
your baby, and is now, I hope, one of the comforts of your 
life. . . . For three or four years I have been about this, 
and have gone over everything several times, in the hope 
of doing justice to all, within the narrow limits allowed. 
Yet, of course, I cannot hope to satisfy, perhaps, any one 
reader, far more all of taste who love each writer fondly. 
I thought your Preface to C. G. R. excellent in every way. 

s 2 


To the same 

15 Cranley Place : 1897. 
Dear Rossetti, — Your daughter kindly informed me 
that she had received my cheque. Considering what your 
sister was, both in herself and in poetry, I wish I could 
afford to fill up whatever may be wanted to defray the 
cost of the monument. ... It is indeed but a poor return 
on my part for the beautiful poems by her which you 
kindly allowed me to include in the second series of my 
' Treasury.' . . . The offering is an honour to myself as 
well as an act of gratitude. ... I only regret that I have 
been unable to persuade Swinburne to let me have any 
specimen of his work. . . . The 'Birth Song' of 1875, 
part or all, was one of the poems I particularly wanted ; I 
rank it among Swinburne's very best. . . . 

He enjoyed going out as usual and seeing his 
friends during this summer, and preserved his faculty 
for making new friends of a younger generation ; 
always hospitable, he liked to keep open house and 
to have relations and friends constantly staying with 
him. Later on in the summer, he planned an expe- 
dition to Chobham, to see the Gordon Boys' Home, 
in which he took a very keen and practical interest ; 
but increasing weakness in his leg at this time 
rendered this and other visits impossible. 

To his Daughter 

Peterborough : July 1897. 

Carina mia, — . . Thanks many for your nice little note. 

We have lovely weather, air and sun ; and to-day I have 

been over the cathedral, which is splendid in architecture, 

and has a lovely Italian marble pavement in the choir. 

'the merchant of Venice' 261 

and a really fine altar with a good canopy. But all the 
rest is just cold plain stonework, and to me looks totally 
dead. This is because the Italian churches with their often 
conimonplace decorations, have spoiled me. Nobody can 
be kinder than my hosts. . . . The ' Merchant of Venice,' 
given for the Conference of Librarians at the Lyceum, was 
admirable ; I could not see any of the faults in the 
Shylock which I had before noticed ; it seemed to me, an 
ignorant man, a much more finished and perfect perform- 
ance than on the other occasions when I have seen it. 
The words of the play are so beautiful they almost make 
the tears come into one's eyes, and Irving spoke the passage 
on Leah with great pathos. The Terry Portia was first- 
rate, of course, and it seemed to me that her Mercy speech 
was delivered in as perfect a manner as one can conceive, 
with great dignity and simplicity. She made a beautiful 
picture in her crimson robes. The Jessica was charming — 
such a pretty creature, singularly poetical, and so graceful 
in her elegant drapery. We also saw the last night of 
' Sans-Gene ' ; we must now wait for ' Peter the Great ' in 
the winter. . . . 

He went for a few days to Aldworth at the end 
of July, and then spent a week at Winchelsea, where 
he much enjoyed the quiet of the picturesque old 
village and the beauty of the surrounding country. 
Three weeks at Droitwich followed, and then he 
came to his home at Lyme, finding it as lovely and 
dear to him as ever, but convinced that it would 
be his last autumn there. 

To Miss Ellen Terry 

Droitwich : September 1897. 
You have kindly returned the small attempt at a 
second ' Golden Treasury,' which will, I believe, make its 


appearance in a month or so, with that rare and beautiful 
design by Raphael, upon which I reckon more than upon 
my difficult efforts to do justice to modern poets. It is a 
real pleasure to me that this attempt should have given 
you pleasure at its labour. Grateful shall I be if a fair 
number of others, following your kind good nature, shall 
exist amongst numerous critics who will all quarrel with 
this or that, as I do not doubt in the least. 

who has kindly come to help my stoppage here 

with me, joins every wish that your own health and 
strength shall be happy in your holiday, and with you also 
when the great new theatrical interests will come forward. 
When we return to London your work and success will, 
we hope, be present for us. . . . 

To his Daughter 

Little Park, Lyme : September 1897. 

My darling Annora, — ... I had a very pleasant two 
days at Waresley : ' no one could be more kind than the 
Hamptons. They were charming as ever. I went over 
there again with Margaret, and we regretted much they 
had left London for good. 

You ask a little about Rye and Winchelsea. They 
were both even more picturesque and unique than I had 
remembered them some ten years ago ; Perugia-like in 
their hill situations, while the architecture of the houses 
seemed to me Flemish looking. We had one particularly 
interesting drive to Brede Place, an Elizabethan house, 
and in parts much earlier. I did not get close up to it, as 
the heat was awful, but sat and tried to make a scrawl of 
it for my dear Gwenny. 

The most interesting time to me there was that spent 
in Miss Terry's pretty garden. . . . She was so kind and 

* Lord Hampton's house. 


thoughtful to me ; and we had some interesting conversa- 
tion, when I was very greatly struck by her great literary 
power and originality. She has as fine and pure a taste 
as I have ever seen. I have always known of her beautiful 
unselfish life — it makes one ashamed of oneself. . . . She 
is so true and straightforward, and so perfectly simple, 
with a kind of indescribable largeness and ardour of nature 
which seem to warm one like the sun's rays. . . . 

Gwenny writes from the Drummond-Hays of constant 
rain in Scotland, but M. and I hope to see her this 
week. We have had another letter from dear, dear 
Frank ; the fear that perhaps our letters may not reach 
him, and the general uncertainty of his movements, grieve 
me greatly and make me miserable. Thanks for Mrs. 
Oliphant's book. I fear I shall only moderately like her 
work in anything. I think to go to Betteshanger ' with 
Gwenny in the beginning of October, likewise to White- 
staunton ^ and possibly to Wenlock. My memory remains 

terribly forgetful, but I hope it may recover. is 

as kind and sweet and watchful over me as possible. We 
are seeing a few of our pleasant friends here, and though 
the weather is broken, we manage to sit out. All love to 
you both. You will doubtless in time tell me of your 
schemes. Shall we not have the pleasure of seeing you 
both, part at any rate of our time ? 

Ever your loving 


In the above letter my father alludes to the 
absence of his only son, who some fifteen months 
previously had gone out to North-West Canada 
to work among the Red Indians. It had been a 
tremendous sacrifice to part with him, but his deep 

^ Lord Northbourne's house. * Mr. Charles Elton's house. 


devotion to his son enabled him not only to give 
him up willingly, but almost to conceal the fact that 
it was a sacrifice. He did not allow this grief to 
prey upon him until in this summer my brother 
removed to a most distant and inaccessible spot 
in British Columbia, thereby rendering the chances 
of news from him more and more infrequent and 
remote, and increasingly so with the approach of 
winter. This constant anxiety, united to a failure 
of strength which had gradually been growing per- 
ceptible during the summer months, much impaired 
his health, and towards the end of September he 
found himself obliged to give up literary work and 
much serious reading. He was able, however, to 
read a little Dante with his daughter, and delighted 
in being read aloud to, and he continued his custom 
of reading aloud himself to a blind friend for some 
time after the utterance of words had become a 
difficulty to him. It was curious that on this his 
seventy-third birthday (September 28) he received 
many more congratulatory letters than usual, in- 
cluding a large number from unknown people, 
expressing their wishes for his health and many 
more birthdays. At this time he felt well and was 
bright in spirits, enjoying the company of some 
young guests of whom he was very fond, even 
joining them in a picnic on the Lyme Undercliff. 
He had been looking forward to lecturing to the 
students of the University of North Wales at 
Bangor on 'The Genealogy of an University for 
Eight Hundred Years,' in the beginning of October ; 
but although the lecture was completely written, 


to his great regret he found himself unable to 
deliver it. His inability to express himself in 
words or in writing fretted him at times, but it was 
remarkable in a man of naturally impatient tempera- 
ment that this very real deprivation never made 
him in the least irritable; he would only say to those 
who could not understand him, ' I know the word 
I mean, but it's no use, I can't say it' ; and 
when, on one occasion, he broke down from not 
being able to write his sympathy on the death of 
an old friend,^ he just said : ' Never mind, I must 
get along as best I can.' And another time : ' I 
doubt if I shall ever recover my memory or be able 
to work again ; but I shall be very happy with you, 
only you must not be my slaves.' He sat out as 
usual during his last days at Lyme, and listened 
with interest and animation to ' The Tempest ' and 
' The Two Gentlemen of Verona ' — plays which he 
selected to have read to him. He was very sad at 
leaving Lyme, saying to an old and much valued 
servant, as he bade her good-bye, ' I shall not be 
here again, but don't tell my dear children this.' 
When driving the five miles to the station on the 
lovely October morning, he remarked on the un- 
wonted greenness of the trees, and was full of 
admiration for the beauty of the country. On his 
return to London he was interested in hearing the 
Tennyson ' Life ' read to him, and also in the publica- 
tion of his own little book — the second series of the 
' Golden Treasury,' which had come out during the 
week. He played whist, too, in the evenings. The 

' The late Master of the Charterhouse in London. 


last time he went out it was to visit the National 
Portrait Gallery, scarcely ten days before his death, 
for two days afterwards an attack of hemiplegia 
left him. almost helpless. He was in bed for only 
six days, but, though all power of speech was taken 
from him, his mind was clear and he knew those 
around him, often looking at the prints in his room, 
and having those he specially liked to see, placed on 
his bed. His thought for others never left him, and 
once, when, asking for his nurse, he was told she 
had a headache, he signed that she was not to be 
disturbed. The day before his death his face lighted 
up with pleasure when a letter from his old friend. 
Lord Carlisle, was brought to him, and he intimated 
that he would like it read to him. That evening he 
became suddenly worse, and failed to recognise the 
three friends who came to wish him good-bye.^ 
He died early on Sunday morning, October 24, 
at exactly the same hour as his wife had been 
taken. He lies by her side in the little cemetery 
on Barnes Common, the cross which he designed 
to the memory of his baby boy marking the spot. 
The opening of the Burial Service was read in the 
' strong tender ' tones, as my father called them, of 
him " whom he had known and reverenced since 
college days. ' Abide with me ' was sung, a hymn 

he called a ' perfect poem.' 


The subject of Death had ever been before his 

^ The Archbishop of Canterbury, Mr. Charles Alderson, and 
Mr. A. D. Coleridge. 

* The Archbishop of Canterbury. 


mind, not only during this last year, but all through 
his life ; but he hated speculations on the after-life.^ 
His feeling on this matter is best given in his own 
words, written to his children three years before : 

Of the many friends with whose affection or interest I 
have been favoured, I have now the pain of believing that 
of all but a very few ... I am the survivor. I pray for 
mercy on their souls : and do you, my dearest dearests, 
pray for mine. 

The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction. 

November 11, 1898. 


last time he went out it was to visit the National 
Portrait Gallery, scarcely ten days before his death, 
for two days afterwards an attack of hemiplegia 
left him almost helpless. He was in bed for only 
six days, but, though all power of speech was taken 
from him, his mind was clear and he knew those 
around him, often looking at the prints in his room, 
and having those he specially liked to see, placed on 
his bed. His thought for others never left him, and 
once, when, asking for his nurse, he was told she 
had a headache, he signed that she was not to be 
disturbed. The day before his death his face lighted 
up with pleasure when a letter from his old friend. 
Lord Carlisle, was brought to him, and he intimated 
that he would like it read to him. That evening he 
became suddenly worse, and failed to recognise the 
three friends who came to wish him good-bye.^ 
He died early on Sunday morning, October 24, 
at exactly the same hour as his wife had been 


mind, not only during this last year, but all through 
his life ; but he hated speculations on the after-life.^ 
His feeling on this matter is best given in his own 
words, written to his children three years before : 

Of the many friends with whose affection or interest I 
have been favoured, I have now the pain of believing that 
of all but a very few ... I am the survivor. I pray for 
mercy on their souls : and do you, my dearest dearests, 
pray for mine. 

The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction. 

November 11, 1898. 

^ He particularly disliked the complete assurance of freedom from 
pain and sorrow after death which is expressed in so many religious 


From among the very many affectionate and 
appreciative letters received after my father's death, 
I insert the following from the present Lord Tenny- 
son, as it seems to me to give in brief my father's 
true character, and to show in some measure his 
love for the friend of his manhood, the great poet. 

Your father's is a great loss : and I mourn deeply for 
you and your sisters. But you have the comfort of know- 
ing that his was on the whole a very happy, sunny life. 
With his boundless energy he enjoyed his work to the 
full, and he enjoyed his holidays to the full. Delighting 
in literature, he was able to read assiduously, widely, and 
thoroughly, and, with his keen and vivid intellect, to make 
admirable use of what he read. By his strong indi- 
viduality, his rare simplicity of nature, his warm-hearted 
sympathies, he had attached to himself many true and 
loyal friends. Among these none valued his friendship 
more than my father and mother. Shortly before his 
death he lent me, with his accustomed kindness, several of 
my mother's letters to him, and I have been reading them, 
and dreaming of ' the days that are no more.' 

She writes on October 1 1, 1859 : 'I am grieved that I 
have not said one word directly to yourself of all I hear of 
your great care, and your brotherly kindness for Alfred.' 

Again, on July 15, 1863, while my father was laid up 
with gout at your house in London : ' Your kindness and 


affection for Alfred have been so often proved that I have 
full faith in all the kind and affectionate things you now 
say, and from what I saw of Mrs. Palgrave and have heard 
of her, I think her not less kind and true than yourself 

And again, on June 28, 1885, when he had given her 
his ' Selection of Lyrical Poems by Lord Tennyson,* with 
its affectionate dedication : ' Accept my best thanks for the 
beautiful book, which I shall always value very much as a 
memorial of your unchanging friendship for us all, and as 
a reminder to myself of what I ought to be.' 

Let me say in conclusion that I am glad to hear you 
have undertaken to write a short account of your father's 
life and works ; for, as he has often told me, you possessed 
his entire and absolute confidence. 


AcLAND, Sir Henry, 36, 188 
Alboni, Mme., 42 
Alderson, Baron, 5, 104 
Alderson, Mr. Charles, 5, 1 13, 167, 

209, 215, 266 
Amenophis and other Poems, 228, 

Angelico, Fra, 27, 81, 196, 206, 

Argyll, Duke of, 217, 241 ; letters 

from, 227, 229 
Arnold, Dr., -yj 

— Mr. Matthew, 26, 38, 143, 188, 
202, 207, 209 ; letters from, 84, 

124, 173 

— Mrs. Matthew, letter to, 209 ; 
letter from, 210 

Austen, Jane, 98, 127 
Ayrton, 139 

Bacon, Lady Charlotte, 155 
Balzani, Count, 215, 250 
Barnes, William, 142, 185, 189, 

202, 258 ; letter from, 142 
Bastard, Mr. Edmund, 26, 30 
Bee kef, 235 

Beethoven, 12, 42, 140 
Bellini, Giovanni, 208 
-v., 42, 181 
Benson, Dr. (late Archbishop of 

Canterbury), letter from, 213 
Bethell, Hon. A., 135 
Blake, William, 26, 27, 80, iii, 

116, 146, 147, 152 
Blanc, Louis, 2)2> 
Bonvicino (Moretto), 80, 183 
Bowen, late Rt. Hon. Sir G., 239 

Boyle, G. D. (Dean of Salisbury), 
31, 258; letters to, 245, 248; 
his recollections of F. T. Pal- 
grave, 34-39 

Bnde of Latntnermoor, the, 134 

Brightwen, Mrs. T., 167 

Brimley, G., 38 

Brodrick, Hon. George, 219 

Brooke, Mr. Stopford, 57, 139; 
letters from, 150, 256 

Brookfield, Mr. W. H., 40, 41 

Brown, Ford Madox, 96 

Browning, Robert, 94, 95, 102, 
103, 153, 154,201,202,217,218, 
249 ; letters from, 94, 193 

BuUen, Mr., 228 

Burgon, Dean, 195 

Burns, Robert, 66 

Butcher, Professor, letter from, 

Butterfield, W., 139 

Byron, Lord, 143, 155, 156, 182 

Capel-Cure, :\Ir., 133 

Carlisle, Earl of, 133, 135, 138, 

140, 215, 247, 266 ; letter from, 

148 ; letter to, 250 

— Countess of, 216 ; letter from, 

Carlyle, Thomas, 37, 41, 64, 169 
Cat, in memoriam on, 186 
Cavendish, Lord Frederick, 56, 
91, 128, 132, 153, 167, 168, 171 

— Lady F., letters from, 169, 170 ; 
letters to, 128, 171 

Cavour, Count, 195 
Ceriani, Padre, 180 



Certosa di Pavia, 43, 197 
Charterhouse, 5, 19 
Chartreuse, La Grande, 105 
Children's Treasury, the, 141 
Chrysomela {selection from Mer- 
rick's Lyrical Poems), 148, 149 
Church, R. W. (late Dean of St. 

Paul's), yj, 128, 129, 203, 235 
Clark, Sir John, 216 
Clough, Arthur, 6, 31, 36, 38, 41, 

71, 107, 143, 166 
Coleridge, E., 30 

— Mr. Arthur, 167, 266 

— Mrs. (Sara), 29 

— S. T., 28, 29 

Collins, Professor J. Churton, 25 
Colvin, Mr. Sidney, letter from, 

Conington, 102 
Cornwall, tour in, 62 
Correggio, 25, 180, 207 
Cotman, John Sell, 12, 13 
Courthope, Professor W. J., 186, 

188, 247 ; letter from, 190 
Creighton, Dr. (Bishop ot 

London), 186 
Cromwell, Oliver, 32, 37 
Cruikshank, George, 78 ; letter 

from, 79 
Cunliffe, Sir R., 90, 153, 154 
Cup^ the, 156, 165 

Dante, 5, 22, 24, 28, 29, 137, 
165, 182 ; Piirgatorio, 177 

Devonshire, late Duke of, 91, 153 

Dibdin, C, 143 

Dickens, Charles, 127, 165, 203 

Dixon, Canon, 192 

Doyle, Sir Francis, 99, 133, 134, 
188, 215 ; letter from, 194 

Duncan, late Canon, 202 

Diirer, Albert, 79 

Dyce, 167 

Eastlake, Lady, 92, 237, 238 ; 

letter from, 176 ; letters to, 108, 

Eastlake-Smith, Mr., letter to, 238 
Egerton, Ladv Mary, 134 
— Mr. B. de M., 153 

Eliot, George (Mrs. Lewes), 139, 
140, 141 ; her Romola, 201 

Ehvyn, Canon (late Master of the 
Charterhouse), 34, 265 

Emerson, R., 36 

Essays on Art, 95 

Ferrari, Gaudenzio, 180, 183, 

j Fitzgerald, Edward, 178 
1 — Hon. Lady, letter to, 87 
Five Days' Entertaitvnents, the, 

Flaxman, 27, 80, no, 112, 147 
France, Journeys to, 20, 33, 81, 

Francia, 28, 182 
Freischutz, the, 138 
Froude, J. A., 36 ; letter from, 70 

Gell, Mr. Lyttelton, 219 

Ge7ns of English Art, 97 

Gibson, 109 

Giotto, 22, 152 

Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., n, 
42, 74, 76, 8r, 84, 95, 100, 131, 
133, 136, 137, 139, 153, 154, 
165, 166, 169, 172, 215 ; letters 
to, 80, 142, 145, 146, 223, 235 

— Mrs., 137, 153 ; letter from, 76 

— Miss M. (Mrs. H. Drew), 

Glynne, Sir Stephen, 137 
Golde7i Treasury, the, 63, 64, 65, 

12>, 228 
Golden Treasury, the, Secottd 

Series, 258, 259, 261, 265 
Goldsmith, Oliver, 240 
Goodall, Mr. E., 183 
Gordon, Miss Duff, 250 
Grant, Sir Alexander, 25, 35, 47, 

56, loi, 104, 154, 205; letter 

from, 73 ; letters to, 71, 82, 

107, 130, 140 
Grant-Duff, Sir Mountstuart, 113, 

219 ; letter from, 162 
Granville, Earl, 56, 168 
Green, J. R., 154; letter from, 

Grisi, Mme., 42 
Grosart, Dr., 228 



Grote, Dr., 146 

Grove, Mr. Crauford, 58 

Gunn, Mr. and Mrs. John, 12, 112 

Gurdon, Lady Camilla, 153 

Gumey, Miss, letter to, 22 

Hallam, Arthur, 215 

— Henry, i, 37, 41, 48, 57, 129 

137, 159 

Hamerton, P. G., iii 

Hamilton, Lord George, 159 

Hamlet^ 155 

Hampden, Dr., 30 

Hampton, Lord, 262 

Handbook to Exhibition oj 1862, 
{Fine Art Collections), 72 

Harrowby, Lord, 188 

Hatherley, Lord and Lady, 112, 
113, 127, 153, 154, 157, 166; 
letter from, 161 

Haydn, 140 

Henniker, Hon. Mrs. A., 136 

Herbert, Lady F., 135 

Herrick, R., 148, 149 

Holmes, Dr. Oliver Wendell, 201 

Homer, 100, 137, 143, 1S6 

Hook, Dr. (late Dean of Chiches- 
ter), 78, 113, 138, 145 ; letter 
from, 126 

- J- C, 173 

Hooker, Sir Joseph, 12, 140, 154, 

Houghton, Lord, 26, 74, 136, 153, 

154 ; letter from, 86 
Howard, Mr. Charles, 155 
Hudson, Sir J., 195, 251 
Hughes, Arthur, 97 
Hughlings, Mr., 107 
Hugo, Victor, 57 
Hunt, Mr. W. Holman, 62, 96 
Hutton, Essays by, 136 
Huxley, Professor, 140 

IDDESLEIGH, late Earl of, 33 
Idyls and Songs, 50 
Ince, Dr., 189, 194, 195 
Irving, Sir Henry, 155, 168, 177 

178, 202, 217, 236, 237, 261 
Italy, Journeys to, 5, 21-24, 180- 

184, 192, 195-201, 205-208, 

242-243, 250 

Jackson, Dr. (Rector of Exeter), 

189, 217, 219 
Jacobson, Dr. (late Bishop of 

Chester), 16, 30, 139 
James, Mr. Henry, 219; letters 

from, 163, 257 
Joachim, 153 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 29, 127, 

— Mr. Manuel, 28 

Jonson, Ben, 143 

Journal (of F. T. Palgrave), 14-15, 
16, 19, 20-21, 41-42, 44-45, 
52-54, 58-62, 104-106, 111-113, 
183, 185-186, 194-199, 201- 
208, 214-219 

Jowett, Professor B., 26, 27, 2>3i 
36,37, 38,64,81,82,83,84,85, 
loi, 104, 130, 131, 135, 139, 
154, 179, 189, 201, 203, 211, 
217, 219, 237, 242, 245 ; letters 
from, 46, 67, 190 

Keats, John, 174, 175 
Keats, Poems of, 174 
Keble, Rev. John, 212 
Kemble, Miss Fanny, 163 
Kneller Hall, 36, 44 

Lake, Charles (late Dean of 

Durham), 27, 35 
Lamartine, 16, 2>3 
Lamb, Charles and Mary, 127 
Landscape in Poetry, 189, 248, 

253, 254-258 
Lawless, Hon. E., 128 
Lawrence, Samuel, 247 
Lecky, Rt. Hon. W. E. H., loi ; 

letter from, 160 ; letter to, 

Leighton, Lord, 156, 217, 253 
Life of Our Lord, Illustrated by 

Italian Painters, 176 
Lightfoot, Dr. (late Bishop of 

Durham), 38, 157, 181, 183, 

Lind, Jenny (Mme. Goldschmidt), 

41, 42, 215 
Lingard, E., 159 
Lingen, Lord, 41, 44 




Longfellow, H. W., 143, 164 ; 

letter from, 160 
Louvre, the (at Paris), 13, 106, 

Luca della Robbia, 207 
Luini, 180 

Lyme Garland^ «, 124 
Lyme Regis, 39, 98, 131, 135, 261 
Lyrical Poems, 118, 123, 228 
Lyttelton, Lord, letter to, 66 

Macaulay, I, 159 

Macbeth, 217 

Mackail, Mr. J. W., letter from, 

Mackay, Professor, 154 
Macmillan, late Mr. G., 64 
Macready, W. C, 41 
Magdalen, President of (H. War- 
ren), letter to, 254 
Majendie, Lady Margaret, 128 
Manning, Cardinal, 139, 194 
Mario, 42 
Marochetti, 72, 99 
Maskeleyne, Mr. S., 140 
Mason, George, 97 
Maurice, F. D., 35, 2,7 
Max Miiller, Professor, 31, 38,44, 

45, 108, 179, 189 
Meade, Hon. Sir R., 134, 154, 

Meistersingcrs, the, 253 
Menteith, Robert, 47 
Merchant of Venice, the, 177, 261 
Merry, Dr. (Rector of Lincoln), 

Michel Angelo, 25, 79, 144, 195, 

Milnes-Gaskell, James and Mary, 

74, 76, 103, 104, 136 

— Lady C, 153, 156 

— Mr. Charles, 168 
Milton, 137, 144, 175 
Monck, Sir A., 133 
Monteagle, Lord, 153 
Montgomery, Miss F., 128 
Morier, Sir Robert, 25, 33, loi, 

104, 135 
Morris, Mrs. WilHam, 177 
Mozart, 12, 42 
Mozley, J. B., 128 

— Mrs., 127 

Murray, Miss, 218 
Musset, Alfred de, 57 

Newman, Cardinal, 2, 29, 30, 37, 
124, 128, 139, 203, 204, 212, 
235 ; letters from, loi, 125, 

NoiTis, W. E., 128 

Northboume, late Lord (Sir H. 
James), 154; letter from, 224 

Ogle, Dr. J. W., 25 
O'Shaughnessy, Arthur, 258 

Palgrave, F. T., birth of, i, 10 ; 
Childhood at Hampstead, 4 ; 
at Charterhouse, 5, 19 ; Scholar 
of Balliol, 24, 35 ; Fellow of 
Exeter, 31, 36; Private Secre- 
tary to Mr. Gladstone, 33 ; 
enters Education Office, 43 ; 
Vice-Principal of Kneller Hall, 
44 ; Private Secretary to Lord 
Granville, 56 ; his marriage, 
77 ; Art Critic to the Saturday 
Review, 78 ; his hymns, 117 ; 
LL.D. of Edinburgh, 151 ; 
Member of the Hon. Society 
of the Cymmrodorion, 172 ; 
retires from Education Office, 
173 ; Professor of Poetry at 
Oxford, 188, 194 ; Jubilee Ode, 
193 : his lameness, 226 ; his 
death, 266 

— late Lady, i, 14, 43, 45, 46 ; 
her journal, 2-4 ; letters from, 
15, 16, 17, 18 ; letters to, 27, 

— Mrs. F. T., 74, 76, m, 78, 87, 
103, 126, 133, 220, 221, 223, 
224, 225 ; letters to, 104, 183 

— R. H. Inglis, 18, 155, 175, 179 ; 
his recollections of F. T. Pal- 
grave's childhood, 6-22 

— Sir Francis, i, 33, y], 67 ; 
letter from, 18 ; letters to, 46, 


— Sir Reginald, 18, 35, 136, 168, 

— W. GiflFord, 4, 5, 14, 15, 16, 18, 



19, 28, 29, 30, 34, 35, 47, 48, 
82, 108, 154, 179, 203, 208, 210, 
211, 216, 217, 218; letter to, 

Palmer, Archdeacon, 35 
Patteson, Bishop Coleridge, 26, 


Peel, Lady G., letter to, 253 

— Mr. Archibald, 25, 253 

Phillimore, Charlotte, Lady, 218 

Phillips, T., R.A., 13 

Poems, Recollections of Child- 
Jiood^ 6 ; Absence, 48 ; On 
C. G.M. G., 75 ; In the Valley 
of the Grafide Chartreuse, 106 ; 
A Little Child's Hyinn, 118; 
A Very Simple Story, 119; 
A Mother's Lament, 119; 
Margaret Wilson, 121 ; To 
My Mother's Memory, 1 24 ; 
In Menioriam W. F. Hook, 
145 ; F. C. C, May 6, 1882, 
170; Att Incident at Men- 
drisio, 197 ; DilectissimcE, 221; 
The Lost '■ Eurydice^ 2^1 ; A 
Summer Sunset in South- 
western Dorset, 233 ; Addio, 
Italia, 243 

Ponsonby, Rev. F., 214 

Portsmouth, late Earl of, 91, 135 

Portugal, Journey to, 58-62 

Preciosa, 51 

Prinsep, Mr. Val, 62 

Pusey, Dr., 30, 38 

Queen, H.M. the, 41, 64, 193, 

Ranke, 159 

Raphael, 24, 79, 136, 180, 205, 

Rehan, Miss Ada, 215, 241 
Rembrandt, 79, 99 
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 79, 80, 97, 

112, 136, 156, 161, 205 
Riddell, J., 35 
Rogers, Samuel, i, 81, 137 
Romanes, Mr. G. J., 189, 217, 

Rossetti, D. G., 116, 171, 177, 250 
— Miss Christina, 249, 260 

Rossetti, Mr. W. M., letters from, 

114, 116; letters to, in, 113, 

115, 249, 259,260 
Roundell, Mr. C, 89, 135 
Raskin, J., 36, 80, 154, 254, 255 ; 

letters from, 50, 72 

Sacred Song, Treasury of, 211 
Salisbury, Marquis of, 112, 133, 

Sandford, Lord, 44, 179 
Sarpedon, 146 
Sarto, Andrea del, 195 
Schiavonetti, 27 
Scott, Sir Walter, i, 36, 39, 97, 

98, 127, 143, 165, 180, 204 
Selborne, Countess of, 152 
— late Earl of, letter from, 69 
Sellar, Professor W. Y., 26, 30, 

46, ?,-:,, 154; letter to, 147 
Severn, Mr. Arthur, letter from, 

Shairp, Principal J. C, 38, 98, 
150, 166, 188 ; letter from, 

Shakespeare, William, 127, 137, 

165, 177, 249 
Shakespeare's Lyrical Songs and 

Sonnets, 95 
Shelley, P. B., 66, 113, 114, 143, 

Shipley, Mr. Orby, letter to, 229 
Signorelli, Luca, 196 
Smith, H. J., 35 
Southey, R., i, 29 
Southwell, R., 143 
Spain, Journey to, 52-56 
Stanford, Mr. V., 179 
Stanley, Dean and Lady Augusta, 

Z3, V, 38,41,42, 113, 152, 166, 

Stanmore, Lord, 241 
Stokesay Castle, 133 
Strangford, Lord, 83, 112 
Stubbs, Dr. (Bishop of Oxford), 

yj ; letter from, 162 
Sueur, Eustache le, 80 
Swanwick, Miss Anna, 247 
Swinburne, Mr. Algernon, 259, 

Symonds, Miss Margaret (Mrs. 

Vaughan), 250 



Tabley, de, Lord, 139; letters 
from, 123, 149 ; letter to, no 

Talbot, Rt. Hon. J. G., 157, 164 ; 
letter to, 103 

Tasso, 28, 144 

Taylor, Sir Henry, 154 

Temple, Dr. F. (Archbishop of 
Canterbury), 31, 36, 44, 107, 
1 34, 1 79, 266 ; letters from, 
68, 75, 224 

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 35, 36, 

37, 38, 40, 41, 46, 47, 50, 58, 
62, 66, 71, 78, 81, 83, 90, 95, 98, 
102, 103, 133, 134, 135, 136, 140, 
141, 143, 152,153, 156,162, 174, 
175, 178, 179, 180, 185, 188, 193, 
202, 204, 217, 227, 228, 235, 246, 
254, 259 ; letters to, 54, 57, 63, 
64,81, 100, loi, 130, 191 

— Emily, Lady, 178, 179; letter 
from, 247 ; letters to, 62, yy, 

— Hallam, Lord, 90, 179, 218, 
246, 254 ; letter from, 269 ; 
letter to, 171 

— Hon. Lionel, 199, 202 

Tm-ner, Charles, 135, 214 

Tennysotis Lyrical Poems ^ 1 74 
Teny, Miss Ellen, 155, 165, 168, 

178, 202,215, 217,237, 261,262 ; 

letter to, 261 
Tewkesbur)', 201 
Thackeray, Miss A. (Mrs. Ritchie), 


— W. M., 41, 127, 203 
Theed, 99 

Thrale, Mrs., 178 
Tintoret, 196 
Titian, 28, 97, 195 
Tupper, Martin, 100 
Turner, Dawson, i, 10, 13, 14 ; 
letters to, 15, 16, 19 

— J. W., 13, 25, 36,81, III 

— Miss Mary, 13, 28, 138 

Tyndall, Professor, 135 

Van Dyck, 205 

Vaughan, Henry, 212 

Venne, Miss Lottie, 215 

Verdi, 42, 181 

Vere, de, Mr. Aubrey, letter 

from, 193 
Virgil, 4, 28, 100, 147, 177 
Visions of England, the, 158 

Wales, Visits to, 19, 107, 164, 

172, 178 
Warburton, Canon, 26, 203 
Ward, Professor A. W., 141 
Waring, Miss A. L., 212 
Watts, Mr. G. F., 97 
Waugh, Mr. F. G., letters to, 98, 

99, 100, 252 
Weber, 42 
Wenlock Abbey, 74, 133, 136, 

168, 263 
Westbury, Lord, 130, 135 
Westcott, Dr. (Bishop of Dur- 
ham), 186 
Whitestaunton Manor, 134, 263 
Williams, Dr. Theodore, 155 
• — Wynn, Charlotte, 74 
— Wynn, Lady A., 205 
Wilton, Canon, letter from, 212 ; 

letter to, 214 
Winchelsea, 219, 261, 262 
Woolner, Mr. Thomas, 62, 63, 64, 

67, 71, 84, 85, no, 133, 171, 

203, 237 
Wordsworth, Selection from, 95 
Wordsworth, William, 29, 32, 36, 

37,65, 137, 204,217 

Yarnton, 16 

Yonge, Miss C. M., 128, 155, 203 

Spottiswoode &f Co. Printers, New-street Square, London. 

H Classifieb Catalogue 










iMOIRS, &c. 


LATIONS, ETC. ... - 

MENT, &c. 

&c. - - 

FICTION, HUMOUR, &c. - - - 21 


















COLONIES, &c. .... 8 




uaut'ii r - 

. 10 







Abbott (Evelyn) 


Bain (Alexander) - 14 

Browning (H. Ellen) 


Coolidge (W. A. B.) 


(T. K.) - - 


Baker (Sir S. W.) - 8, 10 

Buck (H. A.) - 


Corbett (Julian S.) - 


(E. A.) - - 


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Buckland (Jas.) 


Corder (Annie) 


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Buckle (H. T.) - 


Coutts (W.) - 


Acton (Eliza) - 


(J. T.) - - 3 

Buckton (C. M.) 


Coventry (A.) - 


Adeane (J. H.)- 


Baring-Gould (Rev. 

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Cox (Harding) 




S.) - - . 27, 29 

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Crake (Rev. A. D.) - 


Ainger (A. C.) - 


Barraud (C. W.) - 19 

Burrows (Montagu) 


Creiehton (Bishop) - 

3. 4 

Albemarle (Earl of) - 


Baynes (T. S.) - - 29 

Butler (E. A.) - 


Crozier (J. B.) - 

7. 14 

Allen (Grant) - 


Beaconsfield (Earl of) 21 

(Samuel) - - i 

5, 29 

Cuningham (G. C.) - 


Allingham (F.) 


Beaufort (Duke of) - 10, 11 

Curzon of Kedleston 

Amos (S.) 


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Cameron of Lochiel 


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Campbell (Rev. Lewis) 


Custance (Col. H. - 


Anstev (F.) 


Bell (Mrs. Hugh) - 19 

Camperdown (Earl of) 


Cutts (Rev. E. L.) - 


Archer (W.) - 


(Mrs. Arthur) - 7 

Cannan (E.) 


Aristophanes - 


Bent (J. Theodore) - 8 

Channing (F. A.) 


Aristotle - 

14, 18 

Besant (Sir Walter)- 3 

Chesney (Sir G.) 


Dallinger (F. W.) - 


Armstrong (G. F. 

Bickerdyke(J.) - 11 

Chisholm (G. G.) - 


Davidson (W. L.) 14 

16, 32 



Bicknell (A. C.) - 8 


Davies (J. F.) - 


(E.J. Savage) 7, 


Bird (R.) - - - 32 

(H.) - - - 


Deland (Mrs ) - 

21, 26 

Arnold (Sir Edwin) - 


Bland (Mrs. Hubert) 20 

Churchill ( W. Spencer) 


Dent (C. T.) - 


(Dr. T.) - 


Boase (Rev. C. W.)- 4 



Deploige (S.) - 


.Ashbourne (Lord) - 


Boedder (Rev. B.) - 16 

Clarke (Rev. R. F.) - 


De Salis (Mrs.) 

28, 29 

Ashby (H.) 


Boevey (A. W. Crawley-) 7 

Clodd (Edward) 

17 De Tocqueville(A.)- 


Ashley (W.J.) - 


Bosanquet (B.) - 14 

Clutterbuck (W. J.)- 

9 Devas (C. S.) - 


A teller du Lys {A uthoro/)2g 

Boyd (Rev. A. K. H.) 29, 32 

Coleridge (S. T.) - 

19 Dickinson (G. L.) - 


Ayre (Rev. J.^ - 


Brassey (Lady) - 9 

Comparetti (D.) 

30 Diderot - 


(Lord) 3, 8, II, 16 

Comyn (L. N.) 

26 Dougall (L.) - 



7. 14 

Brav (C. and Mrs.) - 14 

Conington (John) - 

18 Douglas (Sir G.) - 


Baden-Powell (B. H.) 


Bright (Rev. J. F.) - 3 

Conwav (Sir W. M.) 


Dowden (h.) - 


Bagehot (W.) - 7, 

16, 29 

Broadfoot (Major W.) 10 


Doyle (A. Conan) - 


Bag%vell (R.) - 


Brogger (W. C ^ - 8 

& Howson (Dean) 


Dreyfus (Irma) 



Du Bois fW. E. B.)- 
Dufferin (Marquis of) li 
Dunbar (Mary F.) - 2c 

Eardley-Wilmot (Capt. 

^ S.) - - - 8 

Ebrington (Viscount) 12 

Ellis (J. H.) - - 12 

(R. L.) - - 14 

Evans (Sir John) - 30 

Farrar (Dean) - - 16, 21 
Fitzwygram (Sir F.) 10 
Folkard (H. C.) - 12 
Ford (H.) - - - 12 
Fowler (Edith H.) - 21 
Foxcroft (H. C.) - 7 

Francis (Francis) - 12 
Freeman (Edward A.) 4 

Freshfield (D. W.) - n 
Frothingham (A. L.) 30 
Froude (James A.) 4, 7, g, 21 

Furneaux (W.) 

Galton (W. F.) 
Gardiner (Samuel R.) 
Gathorne-Hardy (Hon 

A. E.) 
Gerard (Dorothea) - 
Gibbons (J. S.) 
Gibson (Hon. H.) - 

(C. H.) - - 

(Hon. W.) 

Gilkes (A. H.) - 
Gleig(Rev. G. R.) - 
Gore-Booth (Eva) - 

(Sir H. W.) - 

Graham (P. A.) 

(G. F.) - 

Granby (Marquis of) 

Grant (Sir A.) - 

Graves (R. P.) - 

Green (T. Hill) 

Greener (E. B.) 

Greville (C. C. F.) - 

Grey (Maria) 

Grose (T. H.) - 

Gross (C.) 

Grove (F. C.) - 

(Mrs. Lilly) 

Gurdon (Ladv Camilla) 

Gwilt (J.) - 

Haggard (H. Rider) 21, 
Hake (O.) - 

Hamlin (A. D. F.) - 
Hammond (Mrs. J. H.) 
Harding (S. B.) 
Harte (Bret) 
Harting(J. E.) - 
Hartwig (G.) - 
Hassall (A.l 

13. 21 


^'^^« I „ Page 

I Hunt (Rev. W.) - 4 

Hunter (Sir W.) - 5 

Hutchinson (Horace G.) 11 

Ingelow (Jean - ig, 26 | 

lames (W.) - . 14 

Jefferies (Richard) - 30 

I Jerome (Jerome K.) - 22 

Johnson (J. & J. H.) 30 

Jones (H. Bence) - 2'i 

Jordan (W. L.) - 16 

Jowett (Dr. B.) - 17 

I Joyce (P. W.) - 5, 22, 30 

I Justinian : - - 14 

1 Kant (I.) - - . 14 

Kaye(Sir J. W.) - 5 I 

Kerr (Rev. J.) - - n 

KiUick (Rev. A.H.) - 14 

Kingsley (Rose G.) - 30 

Kitchin (Dr. G. W.) 4 

Knight (E. F.) - - g, n 

K6stlin(J.) - - 7 

Ladd (G. T.) - - 15 
Lang (Andrew) 5, 10, 11, 13, 
17, 18, 19, 20, 22, 26, 30, 32 
Lascelles (Hon. G.) 

10, II, 12 
Laughton (J. K.) - 8 

Laurence (F. W.) - 17 
Lawley (Hon. I-'.) - n 
Layard (Nina F.) - iq 
Leaf (Walter) - 
j Lear (H. L. Sidney) - ag 
Lecky (W. E. H.) - 5, 19 
Lees (J. A.) - - g 

I Lejeune (Baron) - 7 

j Leslie (T. E. Cliffe) - 16 
Lester (L. V.) - - 7 

Levett-Veats (S.) - -^'o 
Lillie(A.)- - - 13 
Lindley(J.) - - oc 
Lodge (H. C.) - - 4 

Loftie (Rev. W. J.) - 4 

Longman (C. I.) 10, 12, 30 

(F. W.) ■- - 13 

(G. H.) - -11,12 

Lowell (A. L.) - - 5 

Lubbock (Sir John) - 17 
Lucan - . - jy 
Lutoslawski (W.) - 15 
Lvall (Edna) - 
Lyttelton (Hon. R. H.) 

(Hon. A.) - 

Lytton (Earl of) 

AND ^rUTOHS—continuecL 

Montagu (Hon. John 

Moore (T.) 

(Rev. Edward) - 

Morgan (C. Lloyd) - 




20, 22, 31 

Morris (W.) 


Mulhall (M. G.) 

Nansen (F.) 

Nesbit (E.) 

Nettleship (R. L.) - 

Newdigate - Newde- 
gate ^Lady) 

Newman (Cardinal) - 
Oliphant (Mrs.) 
Oliver (W. D.) 
Onslow (Earl oO 
Orchard (T. N.) 
Osbourne (L) - 
Parr (Louisa) - 
Payne-Gallwey (Sir 
R.) - - - 
Peek(Hedley) - 
Pembroke (Earl of) - u 
PhilIipps-'Wollev(C.) 10,22 
Pitman (C. M.) ' - n 
Pleydell-Bouverie (E. O.) 11 

P^Se I Page 

Smith (W. P. Haskett) 9 
Solovyo£f(V. S.) - 31 
Sophocles - - '0 

Soulsby(Liicy H.) 
Spedding(J.) - 
Sprigge (S. Squire) - 
Stanley (Bishop) 
Steel (A. G.) - 
— -(J.H.) - . 
Stephen (Leslie) 
Stephens (H. Morse) 
Stevens (R. W.) 
Stevenson (R. L.) - 
' Stonehenge ' - 
Storr (F.) 

26, 31 

■ 7, 14 



Haweis (Rev. H. R.) 7, 30 

Heath (D. D.) - 
Heathcote (J. M.and 

C. G.) 
Helmholtz (Hermann 

von) - 
Henderson (Lieut- 
Col. G. F.) 
Henry (W.) 
Henty (G. A.) - 
Herbert (Col. Kennev) 
Hewins (W. A. S.) -' 
Hill (Sylvia M.) 
Hillier (G. Lacy) - 10 
Hime(Lieut.-Col. H. 

W. L.) - - 30 
Hodgson (ShadworthH.) 14 


Holroyd (Maria J.) 


Hope (Anthony) 


Hornung (E. W.) 

Houston (D. F.) 

Howell (G.) 

Howitt (W.) - 

Hudson (W. H.) 


Hume (David) - 

Macaulay (Lord) 5, 6, 
MacColl (Canon) - 
Macdonald (G.) 

(Dr. G.) - - 20, 

Macfarren(SirG. A.) 
Mackail (J. VV.) 
Mackinnon (J.) 
Macleod (H. D.) 
Macphersnn (Rev. H A ) 
Madden (D. H.) 
Maher (Rev. M.) 
Malleson (Col. G. B.) 
Marbot (Baron de) - 
Marquand (A.) - 
Marshman (J. C.) - 
Martineau (Dr. James) 
Maskelyne (J.N.) - 
Maunder (S.) - 
Max Miiller (F.) 

7,8,15. 16, 22, 30, • 

(Mrs.) - - 

May (SirT.Erskine) 
Meade (L. T.) - 
Melville (G. I. Whvte) : 
Merivale (Dean) ' - 
Merrimin 'H. S.) - 5 
Mill (James) - 

(John Stuart) - 1=;, 

Moftat (D.) 
Molesworth (Mrs.) - 
Monck (\V. H. S.) - 
Montague (F. C.) - 

Pole (W. 

Pollock (W. H.) - n 

Poole (W.H. and Mrs.) 2c 

Poore (G. V.) - - ,1 

Potter (J.) - - 5'6 

Praeger (S. Rosamond) 26 

Prevost (C.) - - n 

Pritcheit (K. T.) - u 

Proctor (R A.) 13, 24, 28 

Quill (A. W.) - - 18 

Raine (Rev. James) - ,| 
Ransome (Cyril) - 3, 6 

(Emma) - - 8 
Rawlinson (Rev. Canon) 8 

Rhoades (J.) - . 18 

Rhoscomyl (O.) - 23 

Ribblesdale (Lord) - 13 

Rich (A.) - - . IS 

Richardson (C.) - 12 

Kichman (I. 1!.) - g 

Richmond (Ennis) - 31 

Richter (J. Paul) - 31 

Rickaby (Rev. John) 16 

(Rev. Joseph) - 16 

Ridley (Sir E.)- - 18 

Riley (J. W.) - - ,n 
Roget (Peter M.) 
Rolfsen (N.) 
Romanes (G. J.) 

8, 15. 17, 

(Mrs.) - . 

Ronalds (A.) - 
Roosevelt (T.) - 
Rossetti (Maria Fran- 
cesca) - - - 

(W. M.) - 

Rowe (R. P. P.) 
Russell (Bertrand) - 


(Rev. M.) - 

. -/ - 14 

Stuart-Wortley(A.J.) 11,12 
Stubbs (J. W.)- . 6 

Suffolk & Berkshire 

(Earl of) - . II 
Sullivan (Sir E.) - n 
— -(J.F.) - - 
Sully (James) - 
Sutherland (A. and G.) 

(Alex.) - 

Suttner (B. von) 
Swinburne (A. J.) - 
S>mes (J. E.) - 

I Tacitus 

[ Taylor (Col. Meadows) 
Tebbutt (C. G.) 
Thornhill (W. J.) - 
Thornton (T. H.) - 
Todd (A.) - 
Toynbee (A.) - 

(C. P.) - 

(G. M.) - 

Trollope (Anthony) - 
Tupper ( . L.) - ' - 
Turner (ri. G.) 
Tyndall (J.) 
Tyrrell (R. Y.) - 
Tyszkiewicz (M.) 

Upton(F.K.and Bertha) 26 










7, 9 


16, 25 


!0, 32 


Saintsbury (G.) 
Samuels (E.) - 
Sandars (T. C.) 
Sargent (A. J.)- 
Schreiner (S. C. 

Seebohm (l-'.) - . ( 
Selous (F. C.) - 
Sewell (Elizabeth M.) 
Sh,-.nd (A 1.) - 
Sharpe (R. R.) - 
Shearman (M.) - 10, 

Sinclair (A.) 
Smith (R. Hosworth) 
Smith (T. C.) - 

Van D>ke (J. C.) - 
Verney (Frances P. 
and Margaret M.) 

Vivekananda (Swami) 
Vi\'ian (Herbert) 

Wakeman (H. O.) - 
Walford (L. H.) 
Walker (lane H.) - 
Wallas (Graham) - 
Walpole (Sir Spencer) 
Walrond (Col. H.) - ic 
Walsingham (Lord)- 11 
Walter (J.) - . 5 

Warwick (Countess of) 31 
Watson (A. E.T.) 

10, IT, 12, 13,23 

Webb (Mr. and Mrs. 

Sidney) - - 17 

(T. E.) - .15,19 

Weber (A.) - - 15 
Weir (Capt. R.) - n 
Weyman (Stanle\') - 23 
Whately(Archbis'hop) 14, 15 

(E. Jane) - 

Whishaw (F.) - 
White (W. Hale) 
Whitelaw (R.) - 
^Vilcocks {]. C.) 
Wilkins (G.) - 
Willard (A. R.) 
Willich (C. M.I 
Witham (T. M.) 
\Vood (Rev. J. G.) - 25 
NVood-Martin(W. G.) 6 
Woods (Margaret L.') 23 
Wordsworth (Eii/abeth) 26 

(William) - - 20 

Wyatt (A, (.) - - 20 
Wylie (J. H.) - - 6 

Youatt (W.) - - 10 

;o, 31 


4 I Zeller (E.) 



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