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J. 8. Gushing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Masi. U.S.A. 


I OWE the suggestion of this volume to my friend, 
Professor Albert H. Smyth. I am indebted to him 
also for kind and efficient help in preparing it for 

Professor Smyth's wide knowledge of English lit- 
erature and his keen desire to further the love of it 
in others make his influence in Philadelphia akin to 
that of the late Professor Henry Reed. 

The first of the following papers was written mainly 
in 1889. I have made slight changes in it since. 

The paper, " A Visit to Wordsworth," was in part 
published by Dr. Christopher Wordsworth (afterward 
Bishop of Lincoln), in 1851, in his life of the poet; 
passages were omitted by him because of their ref- 
erence to persons then living; there is no reason 
now why my record should not appear as a whole. 

I rejoice to be able to say something in regard 
to Sir John Taylor Coleridge, better known as 
Mr. Justice Coleridge, the friend at once of Dr. 
Arnold and of Mr. Keble. Nothing in the way of 
memoir of this eminent man has ever appeared in 
this country, nor has any adequate life been written 


in England. Dr. Arnold's letters to him form a very 
important part of Stanley's " Life of Arnold." Judge 
Coleridge's letters to Arnold unhappily were not pre- 
served ; a like fate attended his letters to our great 
lawyer, Horace Binney. Judge Coleridge told me 
he had preserved all Mr. Binney's letters. Both Dr. 
Arnold and Mr. Binney, I believe, thought it their 
duty to direct that the letters they had received should 
be destroyed. In these two cases, at least, the loss 
to literature and to recent history has been serious. 

In publishing what I can recall of William Edward 
Forster, I cannot but be impressed by the thought 
that what was his supreme desire as a statesman 
seems now at last to be fulfilled, the essential 
union of England and America, a union not of a 
treaty or of diplomatic arrangement, but the declara- 
tion, as by a common instinct, of two great peoples 
that their interests are one, and that in their stand- 
ing together lies the chief hope for the peace and 
advancement of the world. Englishmen of far-reach- 
ing view have at different times expressed a wish 
for this union. As early as 1808 Bishop Watson, 
Bishop of Llandaff, a man of much weight of 
character and of high intelligence, declared it to be 
his strong desire that England should enter " as speed- 
ily as possible into an alliance, cordial, sincere, offen- 
sive and defensive, with America." I may note also 
that in 1804 Bishop Watson expressed it as his belief 


that America was destined to become the greatest 
naval power on the globe. 

I have referred in my final paper to Mr. Bright's 
deep interest in America, his strong belief in our 
future, and his earnest wish for a cordial union of 
all English-speaking men. 

My thanks are due to the publishers of Lippin- 
cotfs Magazine for permission to reprint the articles 
" Walks and Visits in Wordsworth's Country " and 
" Charles Kingsley : a Reminiscence." 


March, 1899. 
















GIGANTIC daughter of the West, 

We drink to thee across the flood; 
We know thee most, we love thee best, 

For art thou not of British blood? 
Should war's mad blast again be blown, 

Permit not thou the tyrant powers 
To fight thy mother here alone, 

But let thy broadsides roar with ours. 
Hands all round ! 
God the tyrants' cause confound ! 
To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends, 
And the great name of England round and round. 

TENNYSON (1852). 



IT occurs to me to send my thoughts back over a 
portion of the great space of life that I have travelled, 
and to bring up in succession matters that were of 
interest to me in a period, let us say, of sixty, or even 
seventy, years. 

The coming of Lafayette to America in 1824, what 
an event that was for young and old ! For days and 
weeks there had been excitement and preparation 
here in Philadelphia. A triumphal arch in front 
of the State House, medals and badges for sale in 
the streets, rows of lamps and candles in all windows 
for the appointed illumination, all this was enough 
to arouse a child's wonder. At last, the eagerly ex- 
pected moment came, and there, in an open carriage, 
drawn by six cream-coloured horses, sat the hero the 
Nation's guest. I gazed on him with a boy's amaze- 
ment and delight. In pomp like this he went over all 
the land a great and rejoicing nation offering him 
everywhere of their best. He had come to us in the 
fervour of his youth, and now, after fifty years, he was 
here to look on the land and the people whose inde- 
pendence he had helped to win. There were three 
millions at his first coming ; he found them ten mill- 



ions, and there seemed no limit to the promise of 
their future. It is good to think of that visit, and of 
the gratitude expressed in every conceivable way by 
an entire people. 

There is a curious historical parallel in Lafayette's 
two returns from America : five years after his first 
return, on the closing of the War of the Revolution, 
he took a leading part in the great French Revolu- 
tion ; so, five years after his return from his visit to 
us of 1824-5, he was the chief actor in the Revolution 
of 1830, which drove Charles X. from the throne. 

A vivid recollection which comes back to me of 
1827 is the battle of Navarino. I wonder how many 
people know of that great victory. Even as a boy I 
shared in the transports of joy with which the news of 
it was received. The combined fleets of England, 
France, and Russia attacked the Turkish fleet in the 
Bay of Navarino and destroyed it utterly. It was 
clear at once, to the whole world, that this meant the 
independence of Greece. For five years the hearts of 
men in England and America had been wrung by tid- 
ings of the bloody deeds of the Turks. At last the 
great powers had intervened. But there was disquie- 
tude in England at the weakening of the power of 
Turkey, lessening her ability to make head against 
Russia. A single word in the King's speech in the 
opening of Parliament, the Duke of Wellington being 
then Prime Minister, was in men's mouths for years : 
the great batt.le was spoken of as an untoward occur- 
rence. On the other hand, Lord John Russell spoke 


of it as a glorious victory, and as honest a victory as 
had been won since the beginning of the world. The 
Turks die hard, and though they have lost wide lands 
and millions of subjects in the past fifty years, they are 
still a great power. 

The years from 1829 to 1833 were years of vast and 
sweeping change both in England and France. I re- 
member, as if it were yesterday, the news of Catholic 
Emancipation, and the passing of the first Reform 
Bill, the tidings of the beginning of the Ministry of 
Earl Grey with Brougham made Lord Chancellor and 
raised to the peerage. 

But in America there were great political struggles 
to occupy the mind. With 1829 John Quincy Adams's 
four years of rule came to an end, and our political 
system took a great plunge downwards under the 
Presidency of Andrew Jackson. Midway in that eight 
years' rule there was a progress of General Jackson 
through the Northern cities : he rode on horseback 
probably the last President who so traversed our 
streets. An imposing figure truly ! with his shock of 
grey hair, and his resolute look, and his natural grace 
of bearing, and his easy command of his horse, as with 
hat in hand he acknowledged the cheers of the people 
and bowed to the ladies who filled the windows on 
either side. The popularity of Jackson was retained 
to the last ; in his daring and his strength of will he 
well represented the South. As his administration 
closed in 1837, the predominance of the South seemed 
assured to all time. But an agitation had begun at 


the North which was to keep the subject of slavery 
constantly before the people. The speeches and writ- 
ings of the antislavery leaders infuriated the South, 
and made them the more resolute to secure for their 
bad system increased protection from the National 
Government. Few in number though the Abolition- 
ists were, their leaders were of such ability and ear- 
nestness that they powerfully affected opinion. It 
chanced that I had abundant opportunity of listening 
to the talk of these leaders from the beginning of the 
movement. Under the roof of my Aunt Lucretia 
Mott, I met Benjamin Lundy, who might be called 
the American Clarkson ; Harriet Martineau, who ap- 
peared here just as the agitation began ; George 
Thompson the English Abolitionist; Gerrit Smith, 
the great landed proprietor of New York, who, from 
being a munificent supporter of the scheme of Afri- 
can colonization, had passed over to the antislavery 
camp ; Wendell Phillips ; the poet Whittier ; and, last 
and greatest, William Lloyd Garrison. Lucretia Mott, 
the chief female figure of the movement, was a pow- 
erful help to it by the charm of her personal presence, 
her refinement, the deep earnestness of her manner, 
and what one might call her intellectual spirituality. 

In Mrs. Mott's house I met Dr. Channing, whose 
writings against slavery were of earlier date than 
that of the beginning of the movement. I recall his 
grave, thoughtful face and the old-time dignity of his 
bearing. My first meeting with Emerson was at the 
same house. Frederika Bremer I met there, too, and 


I recall her speaking of the devotion to Emerson 
which she had found to be the feeling of the Boston 
circle. A lady, herself of high accomplishments, had 
said : " If he but mentions my name, I feel ennobled." 
Emerson was not of the movement, though he was in 
sympathy with it. He was so gracious in manner, 
and so gentle in his ways, and so kind of heart, that I 
could perfectly understand how strong was his hold 
upon all who were about him. 

I was a looker-on, as it were, while the antislavery 
agitation was under full headway, for I never was con- 
vinced that the mode of attack of which Garrison was 
the chief champion was wise. The years went on, 
and the condition of the slaves grew worse. The 
Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, which denied the right 
of trial by jury to a man seized in a Northern State 
and claimed as a slave, greatly strengthened antislav- 
ery feeling. There was case after case under this 
law in Philadelphia, in Boston, and elsewhere, which 
almost led to riot. 

At the time of which I write I had come to know 
Charles Sumner, who was for some months in Phila- 
delphia for medical treatment, after the assault made 
upon him in the Senate chamber by Brooks, of South 
Carolina. Other years went by, and in the spring of 
1860 I was arranging to go to Europe, and having 
occasion to write to Mr. Sumner, I asked him his 
opinion upon the political situation, or, what he 
thought was at hand : it was the year for a Presiden- 
tial nomination. He replied that he was confident 


that whoever was nominated by the Republicans at 
Chicago would be elected ; that he felt equally sure 
the Gulf or Cotton States would not acquiesce in the 
result, but would raise the black flag, and attempt to 
set up a separate government that he, for one, 
would not lift a ringer to retain them. I reminded 
him of this letter two years afterwards when we were 
in the full tide of war. I was sitting with him in his 
own apartment at Washington. He said he had 
been of opinion that we ought to let the Slave States 
go, until the actual breaking out of war that Judge 
Chase was of the same opinion, and had come to him 
" here in this room " and asked him to go to 
New York and make a speech advocating this policy 
of acquiescence, or rather, surrender. Suddenly, how- 
ever, war was begun by the South. " I went at once 
to Mr. Lincoln," said Mr. Sumner, " and told him I 
was with him now, heart and soul ; that under the war 
power the right had come to him to emancipate the 

It will be remembered that Horace Greeley openly 
advocated letting the Slave States go. " Erring sisters 
depart in peace," were his words. I have always been 
of the opinion that with him and with Judge Chase 
there was a passionate longing for the Presidency 
that each thought his chance would be good for a 
nomination as Chief Magistrate of " the United States 
of the North." 

The summer of 1860 I passed in England. The 
rain of all that season was incessant, and the wheat 


harvest was ruined. There was one result of these 
torrents which I, as an American, little foresaw. A 
great market was given to our Northern and Western 
States for their breadstuffs during the year that fol- 
lowed, when a war had begun which was to strain our 
resources to the utmost. But in that midsummer 
season of 1860 one's thoughts in England were occu- 
pied with the details of Garibaldi's brilliant descent 
upon Sicily: of the melting away of all opposition; 
of his crossing to Italy; of his entry in triumph into 
Naples, the entire population hailing him with trans- 
ports of joy as their deliverer. 

I interrupt my survey, so to call it, of events, to 
refer to Garibaldi's coming to England in 1862. 
The wildest excitement was caused by his presence 
in London. The Government feared an outbreak 
should he proceed to Birmingham as was his plan. 
At their suggestion Garibaldi's host, the Duke of 
Sutherland, offered the hero his yacht, which was 
then at Portsmouth, if he would like to proceed at 
once to the Mediterranean, to his island home. Gari- 
baldi was beginning to be weary of the adulation and 
turmoil, and so fell in with the Duke's suggestion, and 
the Government was relieved of their anxiety. Vari- 
ous were the conjectures as to the cause of the sudden 
flight. Punch said he had been pestered out of his 
life by applications for his autograph, and had given 
away the contents of two hair mattresses in reply to 
requests for locks of his hair. I add, what has just 
now a certain significance, that Archbishop Trench 


notes in his journal of this date (1862) a saying 
then current in London. The Dowager Duchess of 
Sutherland had seemed greatly drawn to Garibaldi: 
" Why should not Garibaldi marry the Duchess ? " 
said some one. The instant reply was, " Garibaldi 
has a wife already." " Oh," said Lord Palmerston, 
"that doesn't matter Gladstone will explain her 

To return to my proper narrative. News came to 
England of the nomination of Lincoln at Chicago. 
Who was Abraham Lincoln ? was on all sides the in- 
quiry. I could tell my friends little about him. But 
it was plain that a stormy season was at hand. I 
returned to America in October and found intense 
excitement prevailing. I obtained at once a volume 
of 250 pages, containing a full report of speeches of 
Lincoln and Douglas during the contest in Illinois 
of 1858. Douglas's term of service as senator was 
expiring, and if he failed to secure its renewal, his 
chance for the Presidential nomination of 1860 would 
be gone. He was a man of great ability, but unscru- 
pulous as a politician, and of a coarse mind. Charles 
Sumner, who had had bitter passages with him in the 
Senate, spoke of him once in a letter to me in terms 
of strong dislike. His restless energy, and his skill 
as a demagogue, had given him extraordinary success. 
But there had arisen in his own State a rival who, 
besides gifts of mind, had the strength of high moral 
purpose. The volume of which I have spoken was 
the record of the long debate between these two men 


the United States senatorship being the prize for 
which each was striving. I read it with extreme care, 
and saw that, throughout, Mr. Lincoln had clearly the 
advantage. In a letter to England for publication in 
The Guardian, of the date of October, 1860, I said: 
" Mr. Lincoln is a man of vigorous understanding : 
his utterances are marked by so much originality as 
to stamp him as a man of genius." This favourable 
judgment as to Mr. Lincoln, expressed before he had 
become President, was more and more my conviction 
as the weeks and months went on. December, Janu- 
ary, and February, were months of intense agitation. 
All minds were stirred. I talked with men of wisdom 
and experience wherever I had opportunity. Horace 
Binney, then eighty years of age, said to me, referring 
to a plan of settlement known as the Crittenden Com- 
promise, that he for one would never agree to it, let 
the consequences of refusal be what they would. He 
said he was old, and he might have added, as the 
Duke of Wellington once said of himself, his "life 
had been passed in honour." He said he would not 
at the end of it take upon his conscience the sin of 
slavery. The Crittenden Compromise would have 
put this weight on the consciences of the people of 
all the land. 

One State after another declared itself out of the 
Union, and neither the Government at Washington 
nor any State Government except Massachusetts, was 
making any preparation to bring back these " erring 
sisters." Mr. Russell, as correspondent of the London 


Times, wrote, as the result of his intercourse in New 
York with leading men, that there would be no war. 
" Compromise, concession," was the burden of the talk 
he heard. Even men of high patriotic spirit feared 
the Union was gone. The late Morton McMichael, 
a man for whom I felt warm regard, and in whose 
judgment I had great confidence, said to me in Feb- 
ruary, 1860, that no one could see the press of the 
country (he was editor of the leading newspaper of 
Philadelphia) as he saw it, without feeling that the 
Union could not be preserved. All we could do, he 
said, was to seek to lessen the difficulties which would 
follow separation. On the other hand, the then 
Bishop of Pennsylvania, Bishop Bowman, said people 
might talk as they liked about the success of the 
secession movement, but no one could see the interior 
of Pennsylvania, as he saw it, without being con- 
vinced that the body of the people would never con- 
sent to the dismemberment of the country. 

At the end of February came the progress of Abra- 
ham Lincoln from Springfield, Illinois, to Washing- 
ton. From city to city he went by a zigzag course, 
welcomed everywhere by countless multitudes. His 
reception in Philadelphia, though wanting in show or 
accessories of every kind, was very impressive. As 
I saw approaching, along the wide street, the dense 
mass of men, with horses' heads and plumes rising 
among them, and by and by the slowly moving con- 
course drew near, it was impossible not to share in the 
excitement that all felt at the thought that a man 


chosen from among thirty millions was moving on- 
ward to a work of awful perplexity, solemnity, and 
peril. There was prodigious interest in the sight 
of one on whom so heavy a responsibility had 
fallen. Even in the distance I thought I discerned 
a light in his eye showing him to be a man of 

I may not say much of the uprising of the people 
which followed the attack upon Fort Sumter, nor of 
the four awful years of war. It was an amazing error 
on the part of the South their beginning the war; 
the Government at Washington would have had great 
difficulty in beginning it there was doubt whether 
a majority of the people would support them in 
such beginning. It was the attempt to victual Fort 
Sumter which drew the fire of the South, and made 
them the aggressors. 

About a month before Bull Run I spent a few 
days in Washington, and had the honour of an inter- 
view with the President. I was received by him in 
the large audience chamber on the second floor of the 
White House ; he sat at a table, at the end of the 
room, with one of the windows at his right looking 
down on the gardens. His manner was courteous, 
his look open and resolute, and at the same time 
gentle. His eyes were deep-set and of a certain full- 
ness and lustre, and his features were expressive. 
He was composed and cheerful ; there was a serenity 
about him, indeed, which seemed surprising, consider- 
ing the heavy responsibility which was upon him. 


He talked quietly of the contest which was just 
beginning: said the South had the advantage that 
the fighting would be on their own ground. I re- 
member thinking he overrated the Union feeling of 
the South. He spoke a good deal of the attitude of 
England toward us, and, what was thought, the too 
early recognition of the South as belligerents. This 
had caused great, perhaps undue, excitement at the 
North. He said he had never been in England, but 
he thought the state of things there was this: The 
aristocracy, who had hitherto had control of the Gov- 
ernment, might be unfriendly to us, regarding us as a 
menace to their system " One of their lords has just 
said 'the bubble has burst" 1 (this, I think, was a 
remark of Sir John Burgoyne in the House of Com- 
mons) and the cotton spinners of Manchester, either 
from cupidity, or from a natural wish to obtain cotton, 
so as to give employment to their hands, might wish 
the South to succeed; but he believed the body of 
the people the middle and the lower classes still 
had their old feeling in regard to slavery. This last 
remark showed the confidence felt by Mr. Lincoln in 
the steadfastness of England as a whole, and also his 
conviction that they knew slavery to be the real cause 
of the quarrel, and that the fate of the system was 
bound up in its issue. The President was certainly 
right as to the feeling of the majority of the English 
people. I was told in Liverpool, just before the war 
closed, by men whose sympathies had been strongly 
with the North, that nowhere in England had the 


Southern sympathizers dared to call a public meeting 
in support of the Confederate cause. , 

I was deeply impressed by this interview. Although 
the struggle which was to decide so much had scarcely 
begun, I felt that I was in the presence of a true leader 
of men. I knew the humble life from which Abraham 
Lincoln had come, and yet he seemed to me a man of 
heroic mould, and one who was to do great deeds. I 
went away from him with a rejoicing heart, feeling that, 
in the hour of our deepest need, a man of clear mind 
and singleness of purpose indeed of the noblest 
impulses would be our supreme chief and leader. 

A month from the time of this interview came the 
catastrophe of Bull Run. Well do I remember hours 
passed in the office of Morton McMichael, as the de- 
tails came in of the terrible disaster. I recall the pale 
faces, the gloom, almost despondency, written on every 
countenance. " It is not, all is lost but honour," said 
Mr. Henry Carey, " for honour has been lost as well." 
Commodore, afterwards Admiral, Dupont came in: 
he alone was serene ; his look was almost cheerful. 
" Gentlemen," he said, " this is war ! " 

The country rallied quickly, however, from this dis- 
aster, and there can be no doubt that the prolonging 
of the war, due to the defeat, led to the more effectual 
making an end of slavery, and thus to a lasting peace. 
I need say no more of the war and of our American 

One incident of the year 1838 caused a thrill 
of emotion on this continent, and I remember as 


if it was yesterday my own feeling the arrival at 
New York ol; a steamship from England, the steamer 
Sirius. A tremendous event this truly ! as drawing 
the New World nearer to the Old. Deep was the im- 
pression that was made. The going abroad became a 
vision of delight to old and young. I remember hear- 
ing Emerson say, some forty years ago, with a certain 
sarcasm : " The object of education in the United 
States seems to be to fit persons to travel in Europe." 
There was admonition in his question which followed, 
41 Who are these Americans who are passing their 
time in Paris and elsewhere who seem so little missed 
in their own country ? " 

My first voyage to England was in 1849. I have 
always considered that we in America are Englishmen 
over again, and so, when I landed in England, I still 
felt myself, in a certain sense, at home. I say this, 
although every ancestor of mine for two hundred 
years was born in America. A deep interest in Eng- 
lish literature and in English politics had animated 
me always, true though, I consider, was my love for 
my own country, and keen my desire for its advance- 
ment. I venture to quote, as some justification for the 
feeling which has always animated me, the words of 
Mr. Phelps, our late Minister to England, at his leave- 
taking in London, 1889. " You are not sending me 
away," he said to the distinguished company he was 
addressing, "you are not sending me away empty- 
handed or alone. I go freighted and laden with 
happy memories, inexhaustible and unalloyed, of Eng- 


land, its warm-hearted people, and their measureless 
kindness. Spirits more than twain will cross with 
me, messengers of your good-will. Happy the nation 
that can thus speed its parting guest ! Fortunate the 
guest who has found his welcome almost an adoption, 
and whose farewell leaves half his heart behind." I 
put with this passage, so felicitous in expression, an 
extract from a letter from Lord Coleridge to myself, 
written immediately after the Phelps dinner. 

"We sent away Mr. Phelps in a perfect gale of good 
wishes. I like him very much, and truly grieve at his depar- 
ture. I have known a good many American Ministers, and 
some of them very remarkable, almost great men, but I never 
knew one so delightful in all ways, learned, accomplished, 
amiable, a most charming companion to spend a week with, 
and yet a most prudent and dignified Minister ; he is one of 
the very best men in all ways you have ever sent us. We 
became real friends, and it would be a sorrow to me to think 
that I should never see him again." 

Lord Coleridge adds, in reference to a remark of 
mine, for which I naturally take shame, 

" I am surprised that he was, as you tell me, somewhat 
unknown in America. I can only say it reminds me of Lord 
Brougham's famous sarcastic dedication to Lord Wellesley in 
which, after celebrating Lord Wellesley himself, he adds (to 
the effect, I forget the words) the rare felicity of England 
so rich in men of genius and capacity for affairs that she 
can spare from her councils such men as he." 

I saw in London, at my visit of 1849, tne Duke of 
Wellington. I stood, at about five in the afternoon, 
at the entrance of the House of Lords. Some one 


who was near gave me one famous name after another 
as Peers, temporal and spiritual, went in. A great 
debate was to take place on a motion of Lord 
Brougham's. Soon a carriage drew up, and there 
was the cry, " The Duke, the Duke ! " The Duke 
of Wellington was handed out. I can never forget 
the strangely softened, the benignant expression of 
the aged face which I had now the happiness to look 
upon. He acknowledged slightly the deferential bear- 
ing of all who stood by, as he passed from his carriage 
to the Peers' entrance of the House of Lords. His 
meek look was what first struck me a mild serenity 
the happiest result of advanced age. His hair was 
white, but his complexion was clear and delicate. He 
was in full evening dress, knee breeches and black 
silk stockings, blue coat and white waistcoat, a broad 
ribbon across his breast the ribbon of the Garter. 

I was present afterwards at the debate, and watched 
from my seat in the gallery the Duke as he sat close to 
Lord Brougham, listening with his hand to his ear, to 
the words of that great orator. He remained, I think, 
during the whole of the speech, which lasted two and 
a half hours. As I listened I hardly perceived the 
passage of time. I am not sure whether it was then, 
or on another occasion, that Lord Brougham said, 
looking directly at the Duke, " For, my Lords, there 
are few men who, like my noble friend, have been 
equally great in council and in the field." 

With my own impression of Wellington given 
above, it was a delight to me to read Carlyle's ac- 


count of him as he saw him in June, 1850, a year after 
the date of my seeing him ; it was at a ball at Lady 
Ashburton's. He says: 

" By far the most interesting figure present was the old 
Duke of Wellington, who appeared between twelve and one, 
and slowly glided through the rooms truly a beautiful old 
man : I had never known till now how beautiful : and what 
an expression of graceful simplicity, veracity, and nobleness 
there is about the old hero, when you see him close at hand ! 
His very size had hitherto deceived me. He is a shortish, 
slightish figure, about five feet eight, of good breadth, how- 
ever, and all muscle or bone. His legs I think the short part 
of him, for certainly on horseback I have always taken him 
to be tall. Eyes beautiful light blue, full of mild valour, with 
infinitely more faculty and geniality than I had fancied be- 
fore. The face wholly gentle, wise, valiant, and venerable. 
The voice too, as I again heard, is aquiline, clear, perfectly 
equable, uncracked that is and perhaps almost musical, but 
essentially tenor, almost treble voice. Eighty-two, I under- 
stand. He glided slowly along, slightly saluting this and 
that other, clear, clean, fresh as this June morning itself, till 
the silver buckle of his stock vanished into the door of the 
next room. Except Dr. Chalmers I have not for many years 
seen so beautiful an old man." 

It is good to connect great men with each other, so 
I add a description of Wellington of the date of 1826, 
twenty-five years earlier than that of Carlyle's men- 
tion of him. I quote from Eckermann's " Conversa- 
tions with Goethe." Eckermann says : 

" If you ever look at his face, all the portraits are naught. 
One needs only see him once never to forget him, such an 
impression does he make. His eyes are of the serenest brill- 


iancy ; one feels the effect of his glance ; his mouth speaks 
even when it is closed ; he looks a man who has had many 
thoughts, and has lived through the greatest deeds, and whom 
nothing more can disturb. He seemed to me as hard and 
tempered as a Damascus blade. By his appearance he is 
far advanced in the fifties ; is upright, slim and not very tall 
or stout. There was something uncommonly cordial in his 
salutation, as he passed through the crowd, and with a very 
slight bow touched his hat with his finger. Goethe listened 
to my description with visible interest. ' You have seen one 
hero more,' said he, ' and that is saying something.' Napo- 
leon was mentioned. Goethe said of him, ' What a compen- 
dium of the world.' " 

Lord John Russell was Prime Minister in that year 
of my first visit to England, 1849. I heard him in 
the House of Commons, a man of halting, hesitat- 
ing speech, but whose words, all the same, were well 
chosen and weighty. I had the good fortune, also, to 
hear Sir Robert Peel, an orator of infinite grace. The 
debate was on the Encumbered Estates Bill, the sec- 
ond of the great measures for the relief of Ireland 
passed by the British Parliament. The Catholic 
Emancipation Bill of 1829 was the first. Mr. Napier, 
member for Dublin University, followed Sir Robert 
Peel. One sentence of his speech comes back to me. 
Speaking of Ireland, he said, " Sir, I am sure there is 
no member of this House who does not feel deep sym- 
pathy with that unhappy country in its present mis- 
ery." It was the year following the great famine. 

I have spoken of the debate in the House of Lords 
in which Lord Brougham made his great speech ; he 
moved a resolution of censure of the Government for 


not withholding assent to the action of the Canadian 
Parliament by which the rebels of 1838 were to be 
remunerated for their losses, chiefly in the burning of 
houses, barns, etc. Lord Derby, " the Rupert of de- 
bate," spoke with great fire and energy in support of 
Brougham's motion. Lord Lyndhurst had spoken 
on the same side, saying, at the end, that it was per- 
haps the last time he should trouble their Lordships. 
Lord Campbell, speaking for the Government, rather 
jeered at this remark of Lyndhurst. Lord Derby de- 
nounced Campbell for his sneering reference to the 
speech of the venerable man. (As it happened, how- 
ever, Lord Lyndhurst spoke at intervals for fifteen 
years afterward.) 

Lord Brougham's motion prevailed by a good ma- 
jority, but the House of Commons refused to follow 
the Lords. Earl Grey was then the Colonial Secre- 
tary : it was his wisdom that inspired Lord Russell's 
Government in their refusal to withdraw from Can- 
ada the self-rule they had but just conferred. 

It scarcely befits the gravity of my record, but it 
may perhaps help to the understanding of what the 
going to Europe was fifty years ago, if I mention 
the following incident. I was walking, soon after 
my first return, in a street in Philadelphia with Dr. 
Allibone, of Dictionary fame. There were cases of 
merchandise or other obstruction, and we had to go 
single file. " After you," said my friend ; " you have 
been to Europe." 

I have told in papers which follow of many of my 


personal experiences in visits to England, subsequent 
to that of 1849. It occurs to me to say here what I 
can of a man of whom comparatively little is known 
except as he appears in his writings. John Stuart 
Mill never took part in what would be called 
society ; he seemed to live only for intellectual cul- 
tivation, and for setting forward in the world what 
he thought would further the real improvement of 
men. There is a noble passage in a speech made 
by him in the House of Commons which I give here 
as a key to the essential features of his character, 
and as a preface to what I have to say as to my 
personal sight of him. 

" I beg very strongly indeed to press upon the House the 
duty of taking these things into serious consideration, in the 
name of that dutiful concern for posterity which has been 
very strong in every nation that ever did anything great, and 
which has never left the minds of any such nation until, as 
in the case of the Romans under the Empire, it was already 
falling into decrepitude and ceasing to be a nation. . . . 
Whatever has been done for mankind by the idea of poster- 
ity whatever has been done for mankind by philanthropic 
concern for posterity by a conscientious sense of duty for 
posterity even by the less pure but still noble ambition of 
being remembered and honoured by them, all this we owe 
to posterity, and all this it is our duty, to the best of our 
limited ability, to repay. All the great deeds of the founders 
of nations, and of those second founders of nations, the great 
reformers; all that has been done for us by the authors of 
those laws and institutions to which free countries are in- 
debted for their freedom, and well-governed countries for 
their good government, all the heroic lives which have 
been led and the deaths which have been died in defence of 


liberty and law against despotism and tyranny, from Mara- 
thon and Salamis down to Leipsic and Waterloo all those 
traditions of wisdom and of virtue which are enshrined in 
the history and literature of the past, all the schools and 
universities by which the culture of a former time has been 
brought down to us, and all that culture itself all that we 
owe to the great masters of human thought, to the great 
masters of human emotion all this is ours, because those 
who preceded us have taken thought for posterity." 

It is well known that for many years perhaps 
twenty Mr. Mill lived in the closest intellectual 
companionship with Mrs. John Taylor; their thoughts 
and speculations, he says, were completely in com- 
mon. She was united, Mill also says, to one for 
whom he had "the sincerest respect, and she the 
strongest affection. Her incomparable worth," he 
declares, "had made her friendship the greatest source 
to him both of happiness and of improvement " dur- 
ing many years in which they " never expected to be 
in any closer relation to each other." Mr. Taylor's 
premature death in July, 1849, was followed in April, 
1851, by Mr. Mill's marriage to Mrs. Taylor; their 
partnership of " thought, feeling, and writing, which 
had long existed, became a partnership of their en- 
tire existence." 

It is proper to say that the Carlyles, and Mrs. 
Grote and the Austins and Sir Henry Taylor, with 
whom Mill had intimate companionship, seem hardly 
to have had a share in his friendship with Mrs. Tay- 
lor: he was not the man to make explanations to 
them, or to crave their forbearing judgment. Mr. 


Carlyle speaks of her, in his caustic way, in one of 
his letters, as Mrs. Platonica Taylor. 

Mr. Taylor, as I have said, died in July, 1849. It 
was in June of that year that Mr. Herbert Taylor, the 
eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, with whom I had 
become acquainted upon a visit he had made to Phila- 
delphia some months before, said to me when I was 
with him in London, " I cannot ask you to our house 
for my father is dying." In 1851, my friend Herbert 
Taylor was again in Philadelphia. He gave me a 
paper on the " Enfranchisement of Women," which 
he said was from the pen of his mother: he added, 
"my mother has become Mrs. Mill." He told me 
then of the long friendship there had been between 
his mother and Mr. Mill, for whom he seemed to have 
nothing but respect and regard. The following year, 
1852, I was in London and received an invitation to 
dine with Mr. and Mrs. Mill at their home, Black- 
heath, near Greenwich. What I have written above 
will show that I had no knowledge of Mrs. Mill but 
what had been told me by her son. Seven years were 
to pass before Mill gave to the world his estimate of 
her mind and character in his dedication of his book 
on Liberty. Some of his words are as follows : 

"To the beloved and deplored memory of her who was 
the inspirer and in part the author of all that is best in my 
writings the friend and wife whose exalted sense of truth 
and right was my strongest incitement, and whose approba- 
tion was my chief reward, I dedicate this volume. . . . Were 
I but capable of interpreting to the world one-half the great 


thoughts and noble feelings which are buried in her grave, I 
should be the medium of a greater benefit to it than is ever 
likely to arise from anything that I can write unprompted 
and unassisted by her all but unrivalled wisdom." 

My visit to Mr. and Mrs. Mill was in the second 
year of their marriage : the record in my journal is 
mainly this : 

" Mr. Mill is of dignified appearance, about forty-five years 
of age, somewhat bald, complexion delicate, of a grave but 
sweet courtesy. He has a nervous twitching of the eyelids, 
which perhaps leads to his raising his hand now and again 
to his brow. There is something almost of timidity in his 
manner, which surprises one, considering his great place in 
the world as a writer. He is especially courteous in giving 
careful heed to what is said to him. You feel him to be a 
man of good heart, and of entire simplicity. I was struck 
with his deferential attention to remarks of his wife from 
her end of the table. Mrs. Mill looks to be in very weak 
health, having a curvature of the spine. Mr. Mill took her 
out to dinner, I think because of her enfeebled condition. I 
took out Mrs. Taylor, an old lady, I presume Mrs. Mill's 
mother-in-law of her previous marriage. Her two sons and 
her daughter, Miss Helen Taylor, made up the party. My 
seat was at Mrs. Mill's right. Her face is thin and pale, but 
her eyes are of a peculiar lustre, and they seem to dilate 
when she speaks in an animated way, and her soul looks out 
of them. A woman of keen intellect there can be no doubt 
whatever marvellously in fellowship with her husband in 
all his thought. When she looks fully at you and becomes 
interested in her subject, she seems to put you under her 
spell. I recalled my feeling when with Mrs. Henry Nelson 
Coleridge ; it seemed strange to me that these two women, 
each so gifted, living at the same time in London, should 
have known nothing of each other. 


" There was talk of the English Universities and of Eng- 
lish scholarship Mr. Mill spoke disparagingly of both 
said they were not to compare with the German. Mrs. Mill 
was careful to impress upon me that her husband was 
competent to give this opinion, being himself of excellent 
classical learning. Mr. Mill spoke of our American slavery, 
in answer to a remark of mine, with strong condemnation ; 
he would not admit that any defence for it could be made. 
Kossuth, who has lately been here, as also in America, he 
expressed sympathy with as to his faults which people 
spoke of, it was but another way of saying he was an Hun- 
garian. 'Puseyism ' was spoken of. Mr. Mill said it was the 
'romance of Church of Englandism.' Of Dr. Pusey both 
Mr. and Mrs. Mill spoke as a true and a very earnest man, 
for whom they felt sincere respect." 

I have little other record of conversation on this, to 
me, most interesting occasion. The feeling that chiefly 
remains with me, after the great lapse of years, is my 
sense of the intellectual companionship of Mr. Mill 
and his wife. He had at that time written nothing 
concerning her : * it seemed plain to me that here was 
a mind which was on a level with his own. 

John Stuart Mill became a Member of Parliament 
in 1865. He consented to stand for Westminster 
only on the condition that no money whatever was to 
be contributed by himself toward the expenses of the 
election. I remember standing with William Edward 
Forster and Matthew Arnold in Forster's drawing- 
room on the evening of the day the announcement 
was made that Mill was to stand. Forster made the 

1 Herbert Taylor told me that some of the copies of Mill's " Political 
Economy" were dedicated to Mrs. Taylor, not the whole issue. 


prediction that he would not succeed in the House. 
His first speech was, it is true, a failure, but on every 
subsequent occasion he was listened to with the great- 
est interest. Mill stood again in 1868, but was de- 
feated by W. H. Smith, a man of great wealth and 

In 1849, I went by steamer from London to Rot- 
terdam, so that my first sight of the continent was 
Holland, with its canals, and its windmills, and its 
quaint costumes, and customs, some of which are no 
longer the delight of travellers. Ascending the Rhine, 
I entered the Grand Duchy of Baden, and at the town 
of Carlsruhe my further progress on the east bank of 
the river was stopped by military operations. An in- 
surrection against the rule of the Grand Duke had 
only been put down by the coming of fifteen thousand 
Prussian troops, with the Prince of Prussia at their 
head, afterward the Emperor William. The remain- 
ing insurgents were shut up in the walled town of 
Rastadt, fifteen miles distant, and the Baden troops 
with the Prussians were laying siege to it. With much 
difficulty my companion and I obtained permission to 
go down in a military train to look on at the siege. I 
enjoyed hugely the excitement of it all, and the novel 
feeling of being near to actual warfare. I mention 
this because of the following curious circumstance. 
A month or two ago (1889), at a Civil Service Reform 
dinner in Philadelphia, my seat chanced to be next to 
Mr. Carl Schurz, whom I had never met before. After 
some preliminaries of talk, I said to him, " You, I be- 


lieve, were of the force which was shut up in Rastadt 
exactly forty years ago, when the Prussians and the 
Baden troops laid siege to the town." He answered 
quickly, " I was," and seemed much surprised. I told 
him I was present on one of the days of the siege as 
a looker-on. I spoke of a little old church in the vil- 
lage of Mugglesturm close to Rastadt, the spire of 
which we had ascended to look across to the walled 
town. He said he knew the church well ; they " had 
a fight there at a sortie on June 30." My visit was 
on July 4. Mr. Schurz, as I knew, then a very 
young man, was one of the leaders of the insurrection, 
and would doubtless have been shot if he had been 
captured. The place, I think, held out for six 
weeks. " How did you get away ? " I asked. He 
said, " Through the sewer ; " he and two compan- 
ions ; they were for three days without food. 

Little did I think that of the military leaders, 
shut up in that small town, was one who was to fight, 
in one of the decisive battles of the world, on the soil 
of my own State, Pennsylvania. General Schurz com- 
manded a division at Gettysburg. 

I will not indulge in any raptures in regard to my 
first sight of Switzerland, though the day of one's first 
glimpse of a snow mountain is one to date from. I 
may refer to my journey from Geneva to Paris, when 
my Swiss tour was over, because the mode of travel is 
entirely of the past. I went by malle-poste, limited to 
two passengers. Railway there was none in that part 
of France. At three in the afternoon we left Geneva 


in a sort of open barouche, with four horses, my 
Geneva fellow-traveller and I. We had each a cold 
chicken and a bottle of wine ; and my companion had 
some macaroons which, he said, were a specialite of 
Geneva. I remember their perfection to this day ! 
The postilion cracked his whip portentously, and the 
guard, from his high seat behind, blew his horn. Off 
we went at high speed. In ascending the glorious 
slopes of the Jura we went at a fast trot, but for the 
rest of the way, wherever the ground would permit, at 
full gallop. So we sped along, night and day, through 
the poplar valleys of France, by Dijon, and by many 
a village of white-walled houses making the journey 
of some 330 miles at an average speed of ten or eleven 
miles an hour. I remember the irresistible appeal of 
a beggar at Dijon it was that we would not refuse 
him, we who were travelling so joyfully! 

It was in the grey of the morning that I had my 
first sight of Paris. Our entry was in the quarter 
of the Place de la Bastille something truly to 
awaken memory! on and on, through the then 
silent streets to the beautiful Rue de Rivoli and to 
the Hotel Meurice. The windows of the room 
assigned me opened upon the leads. I stepped out 
and there before me was the fair garden of the Tui- 
leries; in the distance were the towers of Notre Dame 
and the dome of the Invalides, to the right was the 
Obelisk, and far away the Arc de Triomphe to the 
left the stately palace of the Tuileries, glorious re- 
naissance work now, alas! every stone of it gone. 


To many who read, the mention of these names will 
bring back happy memories. I found the great build- 
ings daubed with the words " Liberte, Egalite, Frater- 
nite." It was the first year of the Republic under the 
presidency of Louis Napoleon. I had the strongest 
sense that there was no stability in the then state of 
things that there would be no continuance of con- 
stitutional government under the then Chief Magis- 
trate. " You don't suppose he is only to be President 
for three years," Lucien Murat, then a member of the 
Assemblee Nationale, said to me. In two years came 
the coup d'etat, and then the miserable personal rule 
of Louis Napoleon began, of which the end was not 
to be for twenty years. When I next saw Paris in 
1852, Murat, formerly of Bordentown, New Jersey, 
had become his Imperial Highness, the Prince Lu- 
cien Murat. Most true was the after remark of 
Gambetta, " the Bonapartists were not a party, but a 



IT was about noon on the eighteenth of August, 
1849, that I started with my friends from their house 
near Bowness to drive to Ambleside. Our route was 
along the shore of Lake Windermere. My friends 
congratulated me on the clearness of the atmosphere 
and the bright skies. Sunlight is all important in 
bringing out the full beauty of the Lake Region, and 
in this respect I was very fortunate. I had been al- 
ready deeply moved by the tranquil beauty of Win- 
dermere, for as I came out of the cottage, Elleray, 
formerly Professor Wilson's, where I had passed the 
night, there it lay in all its grandeur, its clear 
waters, its green islands, and its girdle of solemn 
mountains. It was quite dark when I was conducted 
to this cottage the night before, so that I saw the 
lake for the first time in the light of early morning. 
The first impression was confirmed by every new 
prospect as we drove along. The vale seemed a very 
paradise for its sweet seclusion. I had been told that, 
after Switzerland, I should find little to attract me in 
this region, but such was not the case. Nothing can 
be more lovely than these lakes and mountains, the 
latter thickly wooded and rising directly from the 
water's edge. The foliage is of the darkest green, 

D 33 


giving to the lake in which it is reflected the same 
sombre hue. 

It was half past one when we reached Ambleside, 

when I left Mr. and Mrs. B and walked on alone 

to Rydal Mount. At two o'clock I was at the wicket 
gate opening into Wordsworth's grounds. I walked 
along the gravel pathway leading through shrubbery 
to the open space in front of the long two-story cot- 
tage, the poet's dwelling. The view from it is its 
chief charm. Rydalmere, with its islands, and the 
mountains beyond it, are all in sight. I had but a 
hasty enjoyment of all this beauty ; nor could I notice 
carefully the flowers which were around. It was evi- 
dent that the greatest attention had been paid to the 
grounds, for the flowerbeds were tastefully arranged, 
and the gravel walks were in complete order. 

My letter of introduction was from my friend, Pro- 
fessor Henry Reed, Wordsworth's chief American 
disciple. I was shown to the drawing-room. It was 
with a curious emotion that I felt myself in the house 
of the great poet and awaiting his coming. It was 
a long apartment, the ceiling low, with two windows 
at one end looking out on the lawn and shrubbery. 
Many engravings were on the walls. The famous 
Madonna of Raphael, known as that of the Dresden 
gallery, hung directly over the fireplace. Inman's 
portrait of the poet, Professor Reed's gift to Mrs. 
Wordsworth, had a conspicuous place. I could have 
waited patiently a long time indulging the thoughts 
which the place called up. In a few minutes, how- 


ever, I heard steps in the entry, the door was opened, 
and Wordsworth came in; it could be no other a 
tall figure, a little bent with age, his hair thin and 
grey, and his face deeply wrinkled. The expression 
of his countenance was sad, mournful I might say; 
he seemed one on whom sorrow pressed heavily. He 
gave me his hand and welcomed me cordially, though 
without smiling. Leading the way, he conducted me 
at once to the dining room. I could not but notice 
that his step was feeble. At the head of the table 
sat Mrs. Wordsworth, and their three grandchildren 
made up the party. It was a quaint apartment, not 
ceiled, the rafters dark with age being visible ; having 
a large old-fashioned fireplace with a high mantel- 

Wordsworth asked after Mr. George Ticknor of 
Boston, who had visited him a few months before, 
and for whom he expressed much regard. Some 
other questions led me to speak of the progress we 
were making in America in the extension of our ter- 
ritory; the settlement of California, which was then 
going forward, the eager rush of population to the 
Pacific coast all this involving the rapid spread of 
our English speech. Wordsworth at this looked up, 
and I noticed a fixing of his eye as if on some remote 
object. He said that considering this extension of 
our language, it behoved those who wrote to see to 
it that what they put forth was on the side of virtue. 
This remark, although thrown out at the moment, 
was made in a serious, thoughtful way, and I was 


much impressed by it. I could not but reflect that 
to him a deep sense of responsibility had ever been 
present; to purify and elevate had been the purpose/ 
of all his writings. 

Some inquiries having been made as to my travels, 
" What are they doing in France ? " was a question 
that followed. I said every one felt there was no 
stability in the existing government ; a speedy change 
was looked for; all was uncertainty. Referring to the 
revolution of the previous year, Wordsworth remarked 
that Louis Philippe and Guizot had shown a sad want 
of courage, but for this the result might have been 
very different. Lamartine he spoke of very slight- 
ingly, " a poor writer of verses, not having the least 
claim to be considered a statesman." 

Queen Victoria was mentioned ; her visit to Ire- 
land which had just been made ; the courage she had 
shown. " That is a virtue," said he, " which she has 
to a remarkable degree." 

Mrs. Wordsworth invited me to take wine with 
her; and this reminds me that I have said nothing 
about her. She seemed most refined and simple man- 
nered, about the same age as her husband, slender, her 
face much furrowed, features small ; she was dressed 
in black. I could see that she was still mistress of 
her household, presiding with dignity and natural 
grace. Dinner being over, she rose, saying they fol- 
lowed the American fashion of not sitting long at 
the table, and led the way to the drawing-room. She 
took a seat on one side of the bright fire, and Words- 


worth on the other. He seemed now fully in the 
vein for conversation, although the sadness of his 
manner still continued. I knew the cause of this : it 
was grief for the loss of his daughter, Mrs. Quillinan. 

Inman's portrait of him I alluded to as being very 
familiar to me, the copy which hung in the room call- 
ing it to mind : this led him to speak of the one 
painted by Pickersgill for St. John's College, Cam- 
bridge. " I was a member of that college," he said, 
" and the Fellows and students did me the honour 
to ask me to sit, and allowed me to choose the artist. 
I wrote to Mr. Rogers on the subject, and he recom- 
mended Pickersgill, who came down soon afterwards, 
and the picture was painted here." He believed he 
had sat twenty-three times. My impression is he was 
in doubt whether Inman's or Pickersgill's portrait 
was the better one. I think it was this mention of 
honours which had been paid to him which seemed 
to bring to mind the University degrees he had re- 
ceived. Oxford and Durham had made him D.C.L. 
Cambridge would have done the same had he not 
declined. Mrs. Wordsworth smiled as he said this, 
though without looking up from her knitting, as if 
he was speaking too much of his own dignities. But 
there was perfect simplicity and naturalness in his 
way of saying this. 

Trinity College, Cambridge, was mentioned, which 
was founded by Henry VIII. Of that king he spoke 
in terms of the strongest abhorrence. I wish I could 
recall his exact words ; the concluding sentence was. 


V" I loathe his very memory." I alluded to Holbein's 
portrait of Henry which I had lately seen at Oxford 
at the Bodleian Library. "Yes, there he is," he 
said, "his hand grasping the dagger." The subject 
which came up next was the Chancellorship of Cam- 
bridge. Prince Albert's election he much regretted. 
The Earl of Powis, he thought, ought to have been 
chosen, one who had served the Church faithfully, and 
was an eminent member of the University. Prince 
Albert, he considered, had no claim whatever : had he 
(Wordsworth) still retained his connection with the 
University, he should have gone up to give his vote 
against him. The Heads of Houses and others had 
allowed themselves to be influenced by a wish to 
please the Queen ; which was not a worthy motive 
in a case like this. He spoke strongly, saying, at the 
same time, that he was not unmindful of the position 
he held as Poet Laureate. He said Prince Albert's 
German education, his training at Bonn, was in itself 
a disqualification. He was supposed to entertain 
opinions opposed to classical study as pursued at 
the English Universities, and to have intimated a 
wish for extensive changes. This Wordsworth dep- 
recated strongly: he spoke with great animation of 

V the importance of the study of the classics Greek 
especially. " Where," said he, " would one look for a 
greater orator than Demosthenes, or finer dramatic 
poetry, next to Shakespeare, than that of ^Eschylus 
and Sophocles, not to speak of Euripides?" Herod- 
otus he thought " the most interesting and instruc- 


tive book next to the Bible, which had ever been 
written." Modern discoveries had only tended to 
confirm the general truth of his narrative. In this, 
and perhaps other things that Wordsworth said, there 
was something of the extravagance which might be 
allowed in talk to make one's meaning clear. 

Continuing to speak of Cambridge, he considered 
the rule an unfortunate one which obliged those 
holding Fellowships to resign them at the end of 
seven years unless they took Holy Orders. Many 
men, he said, began the study of law when this period 
was over, but finding their academic life had unfitted 
them for this profession, leading them as it did to the 
open world, they returned to the University, and took 
Orders as though they could not help themselves. 
Archdeacon Hare was one of these, and Bishop Thirl- 
wall (the Bishop of St. David's). Of the former he 
had a high opinion, although he did not agree with 
him as to some of his judgments his extreme ad- 
miration for Luther, for instance. Bishop Thirlwall, 
he said, he did not altogether like, his manner was 
disagreeable to him he had a "sneering way of talk- 
ing." Mrs. Wordsworth reminded her husband, in 
her quiet way, that he was now a bishop. " Well, I 
hope he has improved, then. I speak of my own in- 
tercourse with him some years ago." Moreover, Mr. 
Thirlwall had proposed, while he was a Fellow at 
Cambridge, that the attendance of the students at the 
Daily Service should no longer be strictly required. 
" This my brother, who was Master of Trinity, and 


whose will was law at the University, strongly op- 

France was our next subject, and one which seemed 
very near his heart. He had been much in that coun- 
try at the outbreak of the Revolution and afterward 
during its wildest excesses. He was at Orleans at the 
time of the September massacres in Paris. Address- 
ing Mrs. Wordsworth, he said: " I wonder how I came 
to stay there so long, and at a period so exciting." 
He had known many of the abbe's and other ecclesi- 
astics, and thought highly of them as a class : they 
were earnest, faithful men : being unmarried, he must 
say they were the better able to fulfil their sacred 
duties ; they were married to their flocks. In the 
towns there seemed, he admitted, very little religion ; 
but in the country there had always been a great deal. 
" I should like to spend another month in France," he 
said, " before I close my eyes." 

Seeing Manning's Sermons on the book-shelves, I 
alluded to them, and mentioned that I had heard the 
Archdeacon in London a short time before. Mrs. 
Wordsworth took interest in my account and joined 
almost for the first time in conversation. The ser- 
mons were evidently well known to her and much 
valued. Wordsworth said to her, calling her " Mary," 
" Did I buy that copy ? " " No," said she ; " it was a 
present." " From the Archdeacon ? " he inquired. 
" No ; a present to me from Miss Fenwick." There 
was tenderness in the tones of his voice when speak- 
ing with his wife. 


" Peace settles where the intellect is meek," is a 
familiar line from one of the beautiful poems which 
Wordsworth addressed to her, and this seemed pecu- 
liarly the temper of her spirit peace the holy 
calmness of a heart to which Love had been " an un- 
erring light." 

I cannot forbear to quote here that beautiful pas- 
sage near the end of " The Prelude," in which he 
speaks for the first time of his wife. After apostro- 
phizing his sister, " Child of my parents ; Sister of my 
soul," and dwelling on what she had been to him from 
his boyhood up, he adds : 

" Thereafter came 

One whom with thee friendship had early paired ; 
She came, no more a phantom to adorn 
A moment, but an inmate of the heart, 
And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined 
To penetrate the lofty and the low ; 
Even as one essence of pervading light 
Shines, in the brightest of ten thousand stars 
And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp 
Couched in the dewy grass." 

I have been led away from my narrative, but I 
wished to note how much I felt drawn to Mrs. Words- 
worth, as I saw her thus for the first time. She was 
then in her eightieth year. Little could I foresee that 
again, and yet again, I was to be under her roof, and 
partake of her gracious hospitality. As the years 
went on, and I knew her better, I could feel how true 
the words were that she had been " like the Poet's 
Guardian Angel for near fifty years." 


After an hour or two had passed I rose to go. 
Wordsworth, without rising himself, begged me to sit 
down again : they had no engagements ; at this sea- 
son they gave themselves up to visitors. For eight 
months of the year they saw only their immediate 
neighbours. " Pray sit down again, if you like." I 
could not resist this. Mrs. Wordsworth added they 
had visitors constantly, and from various quarters 
more Americans by far than all other foreigners put 

I ventured to remark to Wordsworth that I had 
observed from a note, in the last-published volume 
of his poems, that he looked with favour on what 
is known as the Oxford movement in the English 
Church, the results of which were everywhere visi- 
ble. I asked him whether late events had led him 
to alter his judgment. He replied deliberately that 
his opinion was unchanged. " I foresaw," said he, 
" that the movement was for good, and such I con- 
ceive it has been beyond all question." Continuing 
to speak of the English Church, he said there ought 
to be an increase in the number of Bishops, they 
ought to be five times as many ; the duties in Par- 
liament of the present bench were important, and 
took up much of their time. The clergy having 
no representatives in the House of Commons, the 
presence of the Bishops in the House of Lords was 
the more necessary. 

It is of course impossible to give the whole of 
what was said, or to do justice to the conversation 


by what I am able to recall of it. I may note that 
Wordsworth's manner throughout was animated, and 
that his words were felicitous to such degree as to 
enchain attention. There was sustained vigour, and 
a mode of expression denoting habitual thought- 

I rose a second time to go. Wordsworth told me 
I was to say to his friends in America that he and 
his wife were well, that they had had a great grief 
of late in the loss of their only daughter. He 
added, " I suppose we shall never get over it." 
Two years had then passed since the death of Mrs. 
Quillinan. I recalled that the poet had himself 
condemned " long and persevering grief " for " ob- 
jects of our love removed from this unstable world," 
reminding one so sorrowing of that state: 

" Of pure, imperishable blessedness 
Which reason promises, and Holy Writ 
Ensures to all believers." 

But, as if foreseeing his own case, he has added in 
words of touching power: 

" And if there be whose tender frames have drooped 
Even to the dust, apparently, through weight 
Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power 
An agonizing sorrow to transmute, 
Deem not that proof is here of hope withheld 
When wanted most : a confidence impaired 
So pitiably that, having ceased to see 
With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love 
Of what is lost, and perish through regret." 


I could see most clearly that it was the weakness 
of his bodily frame which took away his power of 
tranquil endurance. Bowed down by the weight of 
years, he had not strength to bear this further bur- 
den, grief for the child who had always been the 
object of his tenderest love; the one, too, who had 
been, more than either of his other children, the 
companion of his mind. 

I turned to take leave of his granddaughter, who 
had remained in the room. He said in his simple 
way, " That is the child of our eldest son." I men- 
tion this because his manner in telling me was 
kind and gentle ; there seemed affection in the tones 
of his voice. He walked out into the entry with 
me, and then asked me to go again into the dining 
room to look at an old oak cabinet richly and 
curiously carved. It bore a Latin inscription stating 
that it was made three hundred years ago for Will- 
iam Wordsworth, " who was the son of," etc., giving 
the ancestors of the said William for many genera- 
tions, and ending, " On whose souls may God have 
mercy." This Wordsworth repeated twice in an 
emphatic way, as if taking comfort in the religious 
spirit of his ancestor while adopting for himself the 
solemn ejaculation. 

I asked to see the cast from Chantrey's bust of 
him, which he at once showed me; also a crayon 
sketch by Haydon, and one by Margaret Gillies. 

We went out together upon the lawn and stood 
for a while to enjoy the views; Wordsworth pulled 


aside the shrubbery or hedge in places, that I might 
see to better advantage. He accompanied me to 
the gate, and then said, if I had a few minutes 
longer to spare, he would like to show me the 
waterfall which was close by, the lower fall of 
Rydal. I gladly assented, and he led the way 
across the grounds of Lady Fleming which were 
opposite to his own to a small summer house. 
The moment we opened the door, the waterfall was 
before us, the summer house being so placed as to 
occupy the exact spot from which it was to be seen, 
the rocks and shrubbery around closing it in on 
every side. The effect was magical. The view from 
the rustic house, the rocky basin into which the 
water fell, and the deep shade in which the whole 
was enveloped made it a lovely scene. Wordsworth 
seemed to have much pleasure in exhibiting this 
beautiful retreat; it is described in one of his 
earlier poems, " The Evening Walk." 

As we returned he walked very slowly, occasion- 
ally stopping when he said anything of importance; 
and again I noticed that looking into remote space 
of which I have already spoken. His eyes, though 
not glistening, had yet in them the fire which be- 
tokened the greatness of his genius. This no painter 
could represent, and this it was that gave his counte- 
nance its high intellectual expression. His features 
were not good ; indeed but for this keen grey eye with 
its wondrous light his face could hardly have been 
called pleasing; but this atoned for all. His step I 


have already said was feeble, tottering ; there was, too, 
this peculiarity that he walked with so uneven a gait 
as to encroach on my side of the path. One hand 
was generally thrust into his half-unbuttoned waist- 
coat. His dress was a black frock coat, grey trousers, 
a black waistcoat, and cravat of black silk carelessly 
tied; his appearance, in fact, was somewhat rough, 
but not slovenly; his clothes were not old fashioned, 
nor did he dress as an old man in any peculiar way. 

The few minutes I was to devote to the Falls be- 
came a walk and further talk of three-quarters of 
an hour. One of the questions Wordsworth asked 
me at this time was, " What age do men reach in 
America ? " He wished to know whether the aver- 
age of life was longer with us than in England. He 
spoke of Mr. Everett, whom he had seen and of whom 
he thought highly. Webster he had also met; his 
dark complexion and his eye gave him somehow the 
look of our North American Indians. 

I mentioned Henry Taylor's name to him. He 
said he knew him well, that he was a very estimable 
man, and of remarkable abilities. He added that he 
was without the advantage of a classical education, 
and this Wordsworth considered a great loss. He 
had acted lately with much propriety and forbearance 
in declining promotion which was offered him in the 
Colonial Office where he had long been engaged ; he 
was content with the lower station, although his sal- 
ary would have been almost doubled had he accepted 
the higher. With the former he had more leisure for 


literary work and for his family; this, in short, was 
more to him than money. 

Of Hartley Coleridge he spoke with much affection : 
he was beloved by all who knew him, notwithstanding 
his wayward and careless life. " There is a single 
line," he added, " in one of his father's poems which 
I consider explains the after-life of the son. He is 
speaking of his own confinement in London, and then 

" ' But thou, my child, shalt wander like a breeze.' " 

Of Southey he said that he had had the misfortune 
to outlive his faculties; his mind, he thought, had 
been weakened by long watching by the sick bed of 
his wife, who had lingered for many years in a very 
distressing state. 

The last subject he touched on was the interna- 
tional copyright question the absence of protection 
in our country to the works of foreign authors. He 
said mildly that he thought it would be better for us 
if some acknowledgment, however small, was made. 
The fame of his own writings, as far as pecuniary 
advantage was concerned, he had long regarded with 
indifference; happily he had now an income more 
than sufficient for all his wants. 

I happened to have in my pocket a small volume 
of selections from his poems made some years before 
by Professor Reed. I produced it and asked him if 
he had ever seen it. He replied he had not. He 
took it with evident interest, turned to the title-page, 


which he read, with its motto. He began the preface 
then, in the same way. But here I must record a 
trifling incident, which may yet be worth noting. 
We were standing together in the road when a man 
accosted us, asking chanty, a beggar of the better 
class. Wordsworth, scarcely looking off the book, 
thrust his hand into his pockets, as if instinctively 
acknowledging the man's right to beg by this prompt 
action. He seemed to find nothing, however; and he 
said, in a sort of soliloquy, " I have given to four or 
five already to-day," as if to account for his being then 
unprovided. Wordsworth, as he turned over one leaf 
after another, said, " But I shall weary you." " By no 
means," said I ; for I could have been content to 
stand there for hours to hear, as I did, the Poet 
read from time to time, with fitting emphasis, the 
choice passages which Professor Reed had quoted 
in the preface, and the biographical sketch which 
followed. Most impressive was it to hear from the 
lips of the venerable man such words as these: " His 
has been a life devoted to the cultivation of the poet's 
art for its best and most lasting uses, a self-dedication 
as complete as the world has ever witnessed." A 
further remark, that he had " outlived many of his 
contemporaries among the poets," he read with affect- 
ing simplicity, his manner being that of one who 
looked backward to the past with tranquillity, and 
forward with sure hope. It was clear that he felt that 
his life was drawing rapidly to a close. 

He made but little comment on Professor Reed's 


notice of him. Occasionally he would say, as he 
came to a particular fact, " That's quite correct," or 
after reading a quotation from his own works, he 
would add, " That's from my writings." These quota- 
tions he read in a way that much impressed me; it 
seemed almost as if he was awed by the greatness 
of his own power, the gifts with which he had been 
endowed. 1 It was a solemn time to me, this part of 
my interview ; and I felt it to be indeed a crowning 
happiness to stand, as I did, by his side on that bright 
summer day, and listen to his voice. I thought of 
his long life; that he was one who had felt himself! 
from early youth a dedicated spirit, 

" singled out 
For holy services," 

one who had listened to the teachings of Nature, and 
communed with his own heart in the seclusion of 
these beautiful vales and mountains until his thoughts 
were ready to be uttered for the good of his fellow- 
men. And there had come back to him in all the 
later years of his life offerings of love and gratitude 
and admiration from perhaps as great a multitude 
as had ever before paid their homage to a living 

1 Mr. Lowell ("Among my Books") does me the honour to quote this 
sentence. He says finely, to somewhat the same effect : " The fact that 
what is precious in Wordsworth's poetry was a gift rather than an achieve- 
ment should always be borne in mind in taking the measure of his power," 
and further, "Wordsworth's better utterances have the bare sincerity,! 
the absolute abstraction from time and place, the immunity from decayJ 
that belong to the grand simplicities of the Bible. They seem not morel 
his own than ours and every man's, the word of the unalterable mind." 


Still holding the little book in his hand, he said, " I 
will write my name in it if you like." I produced my 
pencil gladly, and he wrote with a trembling hand : 
"William Wordsworth, Rydal, August i8th, 1849." 
" You can mend it," he said. I am glad to note this 
little act of kindness. 

He walked with me as far as the main road to 
Ambleside. As we passed the little church built by 
Lady Fleming, there were persons, tourists evidently, 
talking with the sexton at the door. Their inquiries, 
I fancied, were about Wordsworth, perhaps as to the 
hour of service the next day (Sunday), with the hope 
of seeing him there. One of them caught sight of 
the venerable man at the moment, and at once seemed 
to perceive who it was, for she motioned to the others 
to look, and they watched him with earnest gaze. He 
stopped when we reached the main road, saying his 
strength was not sufficient for a further walk. Giving 
me his hand, he desired again to be remembered to 
his friends in America, and wished me a safe return 
to my own home, and so we parted. I went on my 
way happy in the recollection of this to me memora- 
ble interview. My mind was in a tumult of excite- 
ment, for I felt that I had been in the familiar pres- 
ience of one of the noblest of our race. The sense of 
Wordsworth's intellectual greatness had been with me 
during the whole interview. I may speak, too, of the 
strong perception of his moral elevation which I had 
at the same time. He seemed to me a man living as 
in the presence of God by habitual recollection. A 


strange feeling almost of awe had impressed me while 
I was thus with him. 

Believing as I do that his memory will be had 
in honour in all coming time, I am indeed thankful 
that I was permitted to have the intercourse with 
him of which I have now sought to tell. I owed 
this great happiness to my dear friend, Professor 
Henry Reed. I was in a manner his representative 
as I drew near to the great and gracious presence, v 
The kindness with which I was received was the 
acknowledgment which the poet was prompt to 
make of a devotion as absolute and unwearied as 
any of which literary history affords us an example. 
Professor Reed was, during all his mature years, 
the instant and unwearied upholder of Wordsworth's 
poetry. He had the profoundest sense of its value, 
and he accepted almost as a divine call the duty 
of bringing its holy and elevating influences home 
to the hearts of his countrymen. Wordsworth was 
quick to discern that here across the sea was one 
whose heart and mind were kindred to his own. 
The letters to Professor Reed which Dr. Words- 
worth's "Memoirs" contain would seem to have 
been the most important that Wordsworth wrote. 
Alas ! that it was not granted to this true-hearted 
man to see face to face the great poet toward 
whom he felt such utter loyalty of heart. 



August n, 1855. In company with my friend, 
the Rev. Derwent Coleridge, I called to-day at Rydal 
Mount. I had great interest in entering again the 
grounds and the house which six years ago I visited 
with such eager expectation. Everything remains 
as it was in the poet's lifetime the books and the 
pictures and the furniture. Wordsworth's chair 
stands in its accustomed place by the drawing-room 
fireside. Mrs. Wordsworth seems also unchanged. 
Her manners are simple and unpretending, but she 
received me very cordially. As was natural, almost 
the first inquiries were after Mrs. Henry Reed and 
her children. She spoke with much feeling of Pro- 
fessor Reed and Miss Bronson, who scarcely a year 
ago perished in the Arctic. They left Rydal Mount 
for Liverpool to embark, and it was little more than 
a week after their parting from this dear venerable 
lady that the waves closed over them. Mrs. Words- 
worth is almost eighty-five, and is as clear in mind 
as ever. You forget her great age in talking with 
her. And what tenderness there is in the tones 
of her voice, and what truthful simplicity in her 



words ! We did not remain very long. I accepted 
her invitation to drink tea the next evening in com- 
pany with Mr. Coleridge. As we drove away, we 
passed the spot where Wordsworth gave me his 
hand in parting six years ago, and but six months 
before his death. Later in the day, Mr. Coleridge 
and I took a walk along the Brathay to Skelwith 
Force and back, a round of six miles. The valley 
through which we went was familiar ground to Mr. 
Coleridge, he and his brother Hartley, " My poor 
brother Hartley ! " as Mr. Coleridge says when he 
speaks of him, having spent five or six years 
there in their schoolboy days. We went to the 
cottage where they had lived, and the well-remem- 
bered rooms brought up to my friend a crowd of 
recollections of forty years ago. He talked much 
of those early days as we walked together along 
that sweet valley. We reached the Force, which 
is a pretty waterfall, and returned on the other side 
of the valley. It rained occasionally, but one gets 
used to this in England. 

August 1 2, Sunday. I went to the new Amble- 
side church this morning. It is one of Gilbert 
Scott's works, but not altogether pleasing. I sat 
with Dr. John Davy, brother of Sir Humphry. We 
were close to the memorial window for which Dr. 
Davy had applied, through Professor Reed, for 
American contributions. When the service was 
over, I remained to study this window. Its appro- 
priate inscription is : 


" Gulielmi Wordsworth Amatores et Amici, 
partim Angli, partim Anglo-Americani." 

Other smaller windows are near by, commemorating 
members of the Wordsworth family, so that the cor- 
ner becomes a Wordsworth chapel. One window re- 
mains without inscription. 

At two o'clock I started for my walk to Grasmere, 
five miles distant, where I had agreed to meet Mr. 
Coleridge. My way at first was along the Rothay by 
the lovely road at the base of Loughrigg, which 
mountain seems to embrace as with an encircling arm 
one side of the Ambleside valley. There was deep 
shade here and there, and for a part of the way there 
was the shadow of the mountain itself. I passed Fox 
How, where there are only servants at present. 
Other pretty houses, with lovely shade about them, I 
also passed, and the sweep of the road gave me a per- 
petually changing view. Then I crossed a bridge, 
and soon found myself in the Vale of Rydal. Skirt- 
ing the small Rydalmere, I next entered the sweet 
Grasmere Vale. In the distance was the church 
which was my destination, the square tower being a 
striking object in the view. It was a day of wonder- 
ful brightness, and the green of the mountain sheep- 
pastures and the purple of the slate rock, which is seen 
here and there, made a lovely contrast in the sunlight. 

The church, which I reached at length, is the one 
commemorated by Wordsworth in the " Excursion " : 

" Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, 
But large and massy, for duration built, 


With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld 

By naked rafters intricately crossed, 

Like leafless under-boughs 'mid some thick grove." 

The interior is interesting. The pavement is of blue 
flagstones worn and uneven. The pillars support two 
rows of low stone arches, one above the other, and on 
these rest the beams and other framework, black with 
age, which uphold the roof. The pillars are square 
and are of separate stones, and all has the look of rude 
strength, the rough work of very ancient days. The 
congregation was large. Mr. Coleridge preached. 
When the service was over I waited a while to look 
at the tablet to Wordsworth, which is on the wall di- 
rectly over the pew he occupied for many years. The 
inscription is a translation from the Latin of the dedi- 
cation to him of Mr. Keble's " Lectures on Poetry," 

and is as follows : 

" To the memory of 
A true philosopher and poet, 
Who by the special gift and calling of 

Almighty God, 

Whether he discoursed on man or Nature, 
Failed not to lift the heart 

to holy things, 
Tired not of maintaining the cause 

of the poor and simple, 
And so in perilous times was raised up 

to be a chief minister, 

Not only of noblest poesy, 

but of high and sacred truth." 

Mr. Coleridge and I now started for the walk we had 
arranged to take together. It was to be a vigorous 


climb, and then a descent and a circuit of the vales of 
Rydal and Grasmere ; and we had two hours for it. 
We took a narrow road leading up the mountain on 
the west side of Grasmere Lake : coming down a 
little, we ascended once more to look down on Rydal 
Water. The views were very lovely, and the moun- 
tain-air was exhilarating. These lakes, with their 
dark mountain settings, are like mirrors in their black 
transparency. Rydal Water is dotted with islands, 
each with its few trees, everything seeming in minia- 
ture. We went to a house which is the highest human 
habitation in England, save one on the top of Kirk- 
stone Pass. The people occupying it knew Mr. 
Coleridge well: they showed me, at his request, the 
kitchen with its pavement of flagstones, and the open- 
ing between the rafters which served for the chimney 
a curious specimen of Westmoreland cottage-life. 

We reached at length Rydal Mount, which was 
our destination, and found there Miss Edith Cole- 
ridge, daughter of Sara Coleridge; William Words- 
worth, a grandson of the poet; and Mr. Carter, 
Wordsworth's secretary for forty years. Young 
Wordsworth has his grandfather's face: he seems 
thoughtful, and, though silent, his manner is prepos- 
sessing. He is about twenty years of age, and is 
an undergraduate of Balliol College, Oxford. 

Mr. Coleridge left us soon after tea, having to re- 
turn to Grasmere. I walked out on the terrace with 
Mr. Carter, and enjoyed the fine view it commands 
of the valley of the Rothay, with Lake Windermere 


in the distance. It is a double terrace, with flower- 
beds interspersed, rich in bloom and fragrance. On 
either hand there is shrubbery of luxuriant growth, 
and one wall of the house is ivy-grown. All speaks 
of loving and tender care. Much of the work of 
raising the terraces was done, I believe, by Words- 
worth's own hands. There are seats here and there 
on which one would be tempted to spend many an 
hour watching the changing lights on the distant 
hillsides and the fair valleys. Mr. Carter pointed 
out to me the valley down which " the Wanderer " 
and his party came to the "churchyard among the 
mountains " (the Grasmere church). He showed me 
also the stone with its inscription 

" In these fair vales hath many a tree 

At Wordsworth's suit been spared, 
And from the builder's hand this stone, 
For some rude beauty of its own, 

Was rescued by the bard : 
So let it rest, and time will come 

When here the tender-hearted 
May heave a gentle sigh for him 

As one of the departed." 

Mr. Carter was most helpful to the poet during 
the long years of his association with him. One 
could fancy that he appreciated from the first the 
dignity of the service he was thus rendering. Mrs. 
Wordsworth has only a lease of Rydal Mount: at 
her death it must pass to strangers, for neither of 
her sons will be able to live there. I have omitted 


to say that she is rapidly losing her sight, but she 
has scarcely any other infirmity of age. 

August 13. Early this morning I started for an 
excursion which had been planned for me by Mr. 
Coleridge. I went by coach from Ambleside, ascend- 
ing the Kirkstone Pass. I was outside, and could 
enjoy at first, as I looked back, the sweet morning 
view of Lake Windermere with its islands and its 
fair green hillsides. But soon the sharp ascent of 
the road brought us between steep mountain-declivi- 
ties, shutting out all view except their desolate grey 
slopes. There were but scanty patches of grass here 
and there : all else was stony and barren. I walked 
in advance of the coach, enjoying the silence and the 
solitude, and the grand slopes of the naked moun- 
tains on either hand. Up and up we went, until at 
last the summit of the pass is reached. There stands 
the old stone house said to be the highest inhabited 
house in England a rude enough dwelling, and at 
present an alehouse. Beginning now our descent 
toward Patterdale, we had from the summit of the 
pass a view of the little lake of Brotherswater, and 
soon our road was along the margin of this fair high- 
lying tarn. The mountains stand quite around the 
lake, leaving only space for the road. From the foot 
of the pass a drive of a few miles brought us to 
Patterdale, and there my coach-journey ended. I 
climbed to a stone-quarry on the hillside opposite, 
and thence had a view of the valley through which 
I had just passed, and of the lake of Ullswater 


stretching off to the right. Returning to the inn at 
Patterdale, I engaged a boat to take me to Lyulph's 
Tower, distant five or six miles. A young man with 
drawing-materials and pack slung over his shoulder 
was about to leave the inn. I asked him to take a 
seat with me, and we were soon side by side in the 
open boat on the beautiful lake. From the level of 
the water the mountains rising on either hand ap- 
peared in their full dignity. The lake is quite shut 
in by these steep and lofty hills. For a while the 
clouds were threatening, but we dreaded wind more 
than rain, for these lakes are often lashed by sudden 
storms. We landed and climbed to Lyulph's Tower, 
and there below, in its fair loveliness, lay the sweet 
Ullswater, this upper reach of it being of quite won- 
derful beauty. Thence we made our way to Aira 
Force, a mile distant a dashing waterfall in a nar- 
row gorge. Its height is about eighty feet. The 
" woody glen " and the " torrent hoarse," as Words- 
worth describes it, are appropriate words. 

A mile farther we found a road and a little inn. 
We asked for luncheon, but in the principal room, 
to which we were shown, two travelling tailors were 
at work. It seemed pleasanter to be in the open 
air, so we had our table under the trees outside. 
My companion proved to be a clergyman: he was 
fresh from Oxford, and had just taken orders. We 
had fallen at once into intimacy, but we had imme- 
diately to part company. My way was onward to 
Keswick, a walk of eleven miles. I ascended first a 


long hill, and then my route wound along or around 
the side of a mountain. Above and below me was 
bare heath or mountain-moor: there were no trees 
whatever. For near two hours I saw no house or 
sign of cultivation, nor did I meet a human being. 
The wind blew strongly in my face, but my blood 
coursed through all my veins, and I had ever before 
me a wide sweeping view. I descended at length 
into the fair valley through which the Greta flows, 
and about two hours more of steady walking brought 
me to Keswick. My stopping-place, however, was at 
the inn at Portinscale on the banks of Derwent- 
water, a mile out of Keswick, where I had agreed 
to meet Mr. Coleridge. I dined, and was resting 
after my long walk, when I heard his voice in the 
hall inquiring for me. With him were three other 
gentlemen, one of them the friend with whom he 
was staying, who asked me to return with them and 
drink tea at his house. One of the four was Dr. 
Carlyle, a brother of the Chelsea philosopher, him- 
self a man of letters, the prose translator of Dante. 
I soon found myself in a pretty drawing-room look- 
ing out on Derwentwater. Mr. Leitch was our host. 
We had a great deal of animated talk at the tea- 
table, and later in the long twilight Mr. Coleridge 
read to us the " Ancient Mariner " and " Genevieve," 
his father's matchless poems. He reads extremely 
well. We sat by one of the large windows, and the 
lake stretching before us and the mountains beyond 
seemed to put one in the mood for the poetry. 


August 14. I went to Mr. Leitch's to breakfast 
this morning, meeting nearly the same party, and had 
another hour of pleasant talk. Then Dr. Carlyle, 
Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Leitch, and I rowed across the 
lake. Landing near the town, Mr. Coleridge and I 
took leave of the others and went up into Keswick, 
and so out to Greta Hall, the former residence of 
Southey, now occupied by strangers. It has a lovely 
situation on a knoll, Skiddaw looking down upon it, 
and other mountains standing around and in the dis- 
tance, and the Greta flowing, or rather winding, by ; 
for it is a stream which has many twists and turnings. 
We called at the house, and Mr. Coleridge sent in his 
name, telling the servant he had a friend with him, 
an American, to whom he would like to show some of 
the rooms, adding, " I was born here." There was a 
little delay, for the occupant of the house was a bach- 
elor and his hours were late. So we looked first at 
the grounds, and my friend, as we walked slowly 
along under the trees and looked down on the Greta, 
seemed to be carried altogether back to his childhood. 
On that spot it was that his brother Hartley used to 
tell to him and to their sister Sara, as well as to 
Southey's children, stories literally without end one 
narration in particular in its ceaseless flow going on 
year after year. " Here, too," said my friend, pointing 
to a small house near by, " was the residence of the 
Bhow Begum." Need I add that this reference was 
to that strange book, " The Doctor " ? 

We were now summoned to the house, and though 


we saw no one except the civil housekeeper who ac- 
companied us, all was thrown open to us. My friend 
at every room had some explanation to make : " This 
was the dining-room;" "here was Mr. Southey's seat;" 
" here sat my mother." One room was called Paul, 
for some one had said its furniture was taken wrongly 
from another room robbing Peter to pay Paul. Up- 
stairs was the library, the room of all others sacred, 
for there had passed so much of the thirty years of 
Southey's life of unwearied labour. The very walls 
seemed to speak of that honourable industry. I looked 
from the windows on those glories of lake and moun- 
tain which had been the poet's solace and delight, and 
recalled his own description of the view in " The Vis- 
ion of Judgment " : 

" Mountain and lake and vale ; the hills that calm and majestic 
Lifted their heads in the silent sky." 

Near the library was the room in which he died after 
years of mental darkness. In the same room Mrs. 
Southey had been released from life after a still longer 
period of mental decay. 

Leaving Greta Hall with all its interesting associ- 
ations, we returned to the road. Near the gateway 
were some cottages. " An old fiddler used to live 
here," said Mr. Coleridge. Then inquiring of some 
men at work near by, he learned to his surprise that 
he was still there. " But it is more than forty years 
since I knew him : he used to teach me to play on the 
violin." " He is still there," the men repeated ; and 


we entered the cottage. An old man rose from his 
seat near the fire as Mr. Coleridge asked for him by 
name. " Do you remember me ? " said my friend. 
" You gave me lessons on the violin more than forty 
years ago, until my uncle Southey interfered and said 
I should play no longer : he feared it would make me 
idle." " I remember you perfectly," said the old man. 
" You would have done very well if you had kept 
on." Then followed mutual inquiries. The wife of 
the old man sat by his side crippled with rheumatism, 
from which he himself also suffered. " But she bears 
it very patiently, sir," said he. There seemed Chris- 
tian submission in the old people a tranquil waiting 
for the end. 

Our next visit was to Miss Katherine Southey, who 
lives in a beautiful cottage close at the foot of Skid- 
daw. Three little children, Robert, Edith, and Bertha 
Southey, grandchildren of the poet, came out to meet 
us. Miss Southey greeted her cousin warmly. She 
is of cheerful, agreeable manners. We talked of Greta 
Hall, and the cousins called up their old recollections. 
Mr. Coleridge went upstairs to see the aged Mrs. 
Lovell, his aunt, the last of her generation, so to say 
sister of Mrs. Coleridge and Mrs. Southey. It 
was one of Southey's good deeds that he cared for 
this lady from the beginning of her early widowhood 
as long as his own life lasted. She was, I believe, 
one of his household and family for more than 
forty years ; and since his death his children have 
continued the same dutiful offices. (As I copy 


these notes, now long after the date of my visit, 
I may add that Mrs. Lovell died in 1862, aged 

Miss Southey showed me some of the manuscripts 
of her father very minute, but exquisitely neat and 
clear. When the cousins took leave of each other, 
Miss Southey 's eyes were filled with tears. We now 
took to our boat again, and started for the Falls of 
Lodore at the other end of Derwentwater. We 
stopped at Marshall's Island, so called from the 
owner, who has made it a summer residence of mar- 
vellous beauty, though the extent of it is but five acres. 
Trees of every variety adorn the grounds. The house 
is in the centre, of stately proportions : the drawing- 
room in the second story opens upon a balcony com- 
manding a view which is beyond measure enchanting. 
Books in profusion lay upon the table, and pictures 
and drawings were upon the walls, all telling of refine- 
ment as well as of abundance of this world's goods. 
Returning to our boat, my friend and I took the oars. 
Our next stopping-place was at St. Herbert's Island 
a hermitage a thousand or more years ago. A few 
remains of what may have been an oratory are still to 
be seen. St. Herbert was the friend of the good St. 
Cuthbert, whose especial shrine and memorial is Dur- 
ham Cathedral. Once a year, according to Bede, he 
left his cell to visit St. Cuthbert and " receive from 
him the food of eternal life." And in Wordsworth's 
verse is embalmed the tradition that, pacing on the 
shore of this small island, St. Herbert prayed that he 


and his friend might die in the same moment ; " nor 
in vain so prayed he : " 

"Those holy men both died in the same hour." 

At length we reached Lodore. Here our real work 
was to begin. We climbed to the top of the hill down 
which the stream falls over rocks piled upon rocks, 
forming a succession of cascades. It was a ladder- 
like ascent of no little difficulty. After admiring the 
view of the rocky chasm and the falls, we turned to 
enjoy the prospect which opened before us from Lad- 
derbrow, as it is called. Derwentwater lay stretched 
before us, and Skiddaw rose in its giant majesty in the 
distance. The view is a celebrated one. We then 
entered the wood, crossed a beck or small stream, 
losing our way once, and at length reached an upland 
valley Watendlath very retired and secluded, with 
its small hamlet, and near by a tarn "A little lake, 
and yet uplifted high among the mountains." The 
day was cloudy, but there was not much mist. Climb- 
ing another ridge, we found ourselves looking down 
upon Borrowdale and the little village of Rosthwaite, 
one of the loveliest views I ever beheld. Sunlight was 
upon the vale while we stood in the shadow. We were 
looking up Borrowdale to the Sty-head Pass. As we 
descended into the valley we could enjoy the view of 
it every step of the way. At Rosthwaite we had 
luncheon. It was half past three. We had still a 
mountain to climb ; and as there was something of 
danger, for we might lose our way should the mist 


increase, we took a guide, a man well known to Mr. 
Coleridge one of the dalesmen of Borrowdale. We 
started at a vigorous pace, and, following the course 
of a stony brook, ascended the steep mountain-side. 
It was very sharp work, for it was an absolutely con- 
tinuous ascent, and there was no pathway whatever.- 
There was no sign of human habitation. On either 
hand were only the stony mountain slopes. It seemed 
a long and weary way, but at the end of two hours of 
steady climbing we reached the summit. A cold mist 
here enveloped us. We hastened on, our guide ac- 
companying us a short distance over the moor as we 
began our descent: he saw us clear of the mist and 
safely on our way. When we had reached an emi- 
nence from which we could look down into Far Eas- 
dale, our route was clear to us, and we turned and 
waved our adieus to our friendly guide. We were 
already a long way off from him, and he was resting 
where we had left him, waiting to see that we took 
the right course. Descending rapidly, we went on 
and on through the desolate and lonely valley of Far 
Easdale a vale within a vale, for it opens into Eas- 
dale. Hereabouts it was that George and Sarah Green 
lost their way and perished on a winter's night, as the 
story is recorded in Wordsworth's verse and De Quin- 
cey's exquisite prose. So dreary is the solitude that 
scarcely a sheep-track is to be found in the valley. All 
around there is nothing but a bare and stony heath. 

We hastened on, for Mr. Coleridge knew there 
would be anxiety in regard to us, as evening was 


drawing on. Another ascent being accomplished, 
we looked down into Easdale, surrounded by its 
mountain-girdle. The sun was setting, and as we 
were drawing near our destination I almost forgot 
my fatigue. At length we reached Mr. Coleridge's 
cottage at the entrance to the Vale of Grasmere. 
Mrs. Coleridge came out to meet us, and expressed 
much relief at seeing us. She knew the perils of a 
long walk over these lonely mountains. 

I found an invitation for me from Mrs. Fletcher, a 
venerable lady of eighty-five, who had been a friend 
of Jeffrey, and one of the literary circle of Edinburgh 
of sixty years and more ago. After refreshing our- 
selves, my friend and I sallied forth. Lancrigg is 
the name of Mrs. Fletcher's beautiful cotfage. We 
found a brilliant company assembled. Mrs. Fletcher 
welcomed me with sweet but stately courtesy. "I 
am always glad to see Americans," she said; "my 
father used to drink General Washington's health 
every day of his life." Her look was radiant as she 
said this: there was light in her eyes and colour in 
her cheeks, and altogether her appearance was most 
striking. I never saw a more beautiful old age. I 
talked with her son, Mr. Angus Fletcher, a sculptor 
of some distinction. A bust of Wordsworth and one 
of Joanna Baillie, works of his, were in the drawing- 
room. He told me of his having lately been to see 
Tennyson, who is on Coniston Water in this neigh- 
bourhood, in a house lent him by Mr. Marshall of 
Marshall's Island. Mr. Fletcher said he asked Ten- 


nyson to read some of his poetry to him. " No," was 
the reply; " I will do no such thing. You only want 
to take me off with the blue-stockings about here." 
But they got on well together in their after-talk, and 
Tennyson, softening a little, said he would read him 
something. " Nothing of my own, however ; I will 
not give you that triumph. I will read you some- 
thing from Milton." "Oh, very well," said Mr. 
Fletcher ; " I consider that quite as good poetry." 

The evening over, a drive of six miles brought me 
to the friends with whom I was staying at Rothay 
Bank, near Ambleside. 

August 15. Dined to-day at Rydal Mount the 
one o'clock dinner which is always the hour there 
with Mrs. Wordsworth, young William Wordsworth, 
and Mr. Carter. Six years almost to a day since I 
last sat in that quaint room in the familiar presence 
of the great poet himself. It is a low room without 
a ceiling the rafters showing. A great number of 
small prints in black frames are on the walls, chiefly 
portraits. There are portraits of the royal family 
also, but these are in gilt frames ; they were the gift 
of the Queen to Wordsworth. I was glad to see 
again the bust of Wordsworth by Chantrey, and also 
the old oak cabinet or armoire with its interesting 
Latin inscription, both of which the great poet showed 
to me as among his choice possessions. James, who 
has lived there for thirty years, waited at the table. 
Mrs. Wordsworth asked me to take wine with her, 
the courtesy of the old days, the single glass of port 


which she drinks daily. It was the last day of her 
eighty-fourth year. 

The library, which adjoins the drawing-room, is 
smaller in size, and the collection of books is not 
large. I noticed that many were presentation copies : 
in one of them, a folio volume describing the Skerry- 
vore Rock Lighthouse was the following inscription 
(the author of the book was the architect of the light- 
house) : " To William Wordsworth, a humble token of 
admiration for his character as a man and his genius 
as a poet, and in grateful remembrance of the peace 
and consolation derived from the companionship of 
his writings during the author's solitude on the 
Skerryvore Rock." 1 

John, the loquacious but intelligent coachman of 
the friend at whose house I am staying, told me of 
his waiting at dinner at Rydal Mount a good many 
years ago : his then master was one of the guests. 
Miss Martineau, Hartley Coleridge, and F. W. Faber 
were present. Mr. Faber had then charge of the 
little church at Rydal. There was a rush and flow 
of talk, as one could well imagine such a chatter, 
John said, as he had never heard but the instant 
Wordsworth spoke all were attention. John himself 
was awed by the great man's talk, and described well 
its power. He told me also of a slight incident in 
regard to Wordsworth's last hours. Very shortly 
before his death it was thought he might be more 

1 The architect was Alan Stevenson, uncle of Robert Louis Steven- 


comfortable if he were shaved. Accordingly, he was 
raised in the bed, and his faithful servant was about 
to minister to him in this way when Wordsworth 
said in his serious, calm voice, " James, let me die 
easy." I may note here something which has been 
told me in regard to poor Hartley Coleridge's last 
days. During his illness a little child, the daughter 
of an artist who lived near him, quite an infant, used 
to be brought to him, and he would sit for hours 
holding it in his arms and looking down upon it 
with mournful tenderness. 

Sunday, August 19. Walked to the Rydal church 
this morning. Just as I reached the porch, I saw 
Mrs. Wordsworth with her arm extended feeling for 
the door. I went forward to assist her; she turned 
her kind face toward me, not knowing who it was. 
I told my name. " Oh," said she, " I am glad to see 
you. You will take a seat with us, of course." 
William, her grandson, was now close behind us. 
We went to the pew, the nearest to the chancel on 
the left, and I sat in what had doubtless been 
Wordsworth's seat. The prayer-book I took up 
had on the fly-leaf, " Dorothy Wordsworth to Will- 
iam Wordsworth, Jr., 1819." The service over, Mrs. 
Wordsworth said to me, " You will dine with us, of 
course." She took my arm, and as we went out 
of the church I was struck with the looks of affec- 
tionate reverence in the faces of those we passed. 
As we walked along she said in her kind way, " I 
should have been glad if you had taken up your 


abode with us while here, but you expected to leave 
Ambleside immediately when I last saw you." The 
Misses Quillinan, the step-daughters of the late Dora 
Quillinan, who was Dora Wordsworth, were the 
guests beside myself to-day. In the drawing-room 
after dinner it was interesting to me to look at 
the portrait of the elder Miss Quillinan (Jemima), 
taken when a child six years old, and to recall the 
lines addressed to her, or rather suggested by the 
picture : 

" Beguiled into forgetfulness of care, 
Due to the day's unfinished task, of pen 
Or book regardless, and of that fair scene 
In Nature's prodigality displayed 
Before my window, oftentimes and long 
I gaze upon a portrait whose mild gleam 
Of beauty never ceases to enrich 
The common light." 

The sonnet, too, beginning 

" Rotha, my spiritual child ! this head was grey 
When at the sacred font for thee I stood, 
Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood, 
And shalt become thy own sufficient stay " 

came naturally to my mind as I talked with the 
younger sister. These ladies are intelligent and re- 
fined, and of very pleasing manners : their mother 
was a daughter of Sir Egerton Brydges. They live 
at a pretty cottage underneath Loughrigg, not far 
from Fox How. 

We went to church again at half past three : I 
walked with Mrs. Wordsworth. She spoke of her- 


self said she was rapidly growing blind: in the 
last week she had perceived a great change. One 
would get used to the deprivation, she supposed, 
however. Her life had been a happy one, she 
added : she had very much to be thankful for. Her 
manner in church, I may mention, is most reverent, 
her head bowed and her hands clasped. As I re- 
turned from church with her, a tourist accosted me: 
Could I tell him which was Mr. Wordsworth's house ? 
I pointed it out to him. " We have many such in- 
quiries," Mrs. Wordsworth said. 

I had now to make my final adieus to the dear 
venerable lady. (I little thought I should ever see 
her again.) Her serene and tranquil old age, I said 
to myself, would be a remembrance to me for life. 
She wished me a good voyage and a safe return to 
my friends. 

William Wordsworth kindly went with me for a 
mountain-climb. We ascended Loughrigg, from 
which we looked down on three lakes, Windermere, 
Rydal, and Grasmere a last view of all this beauty. 
How lovely were the evening lights on mountain 
and valley! . 

Rothay Bank, Ambleside, August 7, 1857. Again, 
after a two years' absence, I find myself in this sweet 

region. With my kind host, Mr. C , I went this 

morning to call on Mrs. Arnold at Fox How. We 
found six or eight persons in the drawing-room. It 
was my first meeting with Mrs. Arnold : she came 
forward to receive us, welcomed me cordially, and 


presented me to her three daughters, Mrs. Twining, 
Mrs. Cropper, and Miss Frances Arnold. I was fresh 
from Wharfeside, the home of her eldest daughter, 
Mrs. Forster. We talked about that home of such 
peculiar intellectual brightness, and I told of the 
happy days I had passed there. Mrs. Arnold's man- 
ners are gentle and winning. She asked me what 
evening I could spend with them, and Sunday was 
agreed upon. Fox How I was most glad to see with 
the stream of life flowing on in it: when I was last 
here the family were away. Mr. Penrose, a brother 
of Mrs. Arnold, a clergyman of Lincolnshire, Mrs. 
Penrose, and Dr. and Mrs. Perry of Bonn were the 
others in the room. Dr. Arnold's portrait was on 
the wall, also prints of Mr. Justice Coleridge, of 
Archbishop Whately, of Wordsworth, and of Julius 
Hare. The views from the windows had their own 
peculiar beauty, half hidden though the landscape 
was to-day in rolling mist. 

August 8. Walked to-day along the beautiful road 
under Loughrigg, that huge winding mountain, past 
Fox How and many other lovely country homes. 
Went then into the Vale of Rydal and skirted this 
beautiful lake, watched the reflections in the water, 
and gazed on the noble hills which surround the 
vale. I continued on : Grasmere came in sight a 
large lake with a view in the distance of the square 
white tower of the church under whose shadow 
Wordsworth lies. I passed the cottage in which 
Hartley Coleridge lived and in which he died. At 


length I reached the head of the lake, and then the 
church which was my destination. Once more I 
stood at the grave of Wordsworth, that sacred spot 
which, as I believe, many generations will visit, and 
whence a voice, we may hope, will ever speak to men 
of the beauty of this fair earth and the higher glory 
of which it is the shadow. The great poet lies by 
the side of his daughter, Dora Quillinan ; next to her 
lies Dorothy Wordsworth, his sister; then Edward 
Quillinan and his first wife ; and there is space left 
for Mrs. Wordsworth. Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs. 
Wordsworth's sister, also lies here: on the stone 
which marks her grave is the following: 

" Near the graves of two young children, 
removed from a family to which through life she was 

Here lies the body 



the beloved sister and faithful friend 

of mourners who have caused this stone to be erected 

with an earnest wish that their own remains 

may be laid by her side, and a humble hope 

that through Christ they may together 
be made partakers of the same Blessed Resurrection." 

Here follow the dates of her birth and death, and then 

" In fulfilment of the wish above expressed here repose 

the remains of 



[Space being left for Mary Wordsworth.] A little 
farther on are the graves of the two young children 


alluded to in the foregoing. On the tombstone of 
one is this inscription : 

" Six months to six years added he remained 
Upon this sinful earth, by sin unstained. 
O Blessed Lord, whose mercy then removed 
A child whom every eye that looked on loved ! 
Support us, make us calmly to resign 
What we possessed, but now is wholly Thine." 

I lingered near an hour around these graves, and 
then retraced my steps along the water-side and be- 
neath the shade of the solemn hills. I passed Town 
End, once the residence of Wordsworth, and halfway 
between Grasmere and Rydal I climbed the old road 
to the Wishing Gate, from which there is a beauti- 
ful view of Grasmere. Looking down on this fair 
and peaceful scene, I did not wonder that what 
Wordsworth calls " the superstitions of the heart " 
had invested the place with a magic power. It 
seemed natural, too, to think that only what was 
best and purest in each soul would be touched by 
the spell. 

" The local Genius ne'er befriends 
Desires whose course in folly ends, 
Whose just reward is shame." 

Continuing my walk, I reached the Vale of Rydal, 
and then turned by the pretty shady ascending road 
leading to Rydal Mount. I entered by the small 
gateway the fair terraced garden so rich in bloom and 
fragrance. I saw once more the old greeting, Salve! 


as I stood on the threshold. James, the old servant, 
welcomed me and conducted me to the drawing-room. 
I found Mrs. Wordsworth seated in her old place by 
the fireside. Her greeting was simple and cordial, 
but only by my voice could she know me, for I saw at 
once that she was quite blind. Her grandson Will- 
iam was with her. She was cheerful and bright, and 
talked of the events of the day in the sweet quiet man- 
ner peculiar to her, and with clear intelligence, and 
yet she was within a few days of being eighty-seven. 
She was mindful, too, of the duties of hospitality, for 
finding I had walked about eight miles she insisted 
on ordering some luncheon for me. I had a good 
deal of talk with young Wordsworth. His resem- 
blance to his grandfather has become quite remark- 
able. He has the same dreamy eyes and the same 
forehead. But there seemed a benediction in the very 
presence of Mrs. Wordsworth, so much did her coun- 
tenance express peace and purity, so gentle and so 
sweetly gracious was her bearing. 

August 9, Sunday. I went this afternoon to the 
little Rydal church, and I sat in Mrs. Wordsworth's 
pew. No one was there but young Wordsworth. 
Mrs. Arnold's pew is directly opposite, both being at 
the end of the church nearest to the chancel. Mrs. 
Arnold and her three daughters were present. The 
old clerk from his desk near the pulpit said at the end 
of the service, " Let us sing to the praise and glory of 
God the 'undredth psalm the 'undredth psalm," and 
then with feeble step walked down the aisle to take his 


place as leader of the choir. The preacher was a 
stranger, and the sermon was an appeal for missions. 
He seemed a good and earnest man, but his manner 
was odd, and some things he said were odd too. The 
woman of Samaria was the text : " You remember 

that when Dr. of the Scotch Church was in the 

Holy Land he visited the well, and as he sat there he 
took out his Bible to read the chapter, and he let it 
fall into the well, and it was not recovered for a long 
time afterward : the well was deep." But still stranger 
was what followed. Speaking of our Lord's humility: 
" We do not hear of His going about except on foot, 
never in any vehicle. Once only do we hear of His 
riding on an ass, and that was a borrowed one." 
There was a quaintness in this that was worthy of the 
old days, and certainly there was nothing of irrever- 
ence in the preacher's manner. John Mason Neale, I 
remember, quotes somewhere the following equally 
quaint utterance from a Middle- Age writer : 

" Be Thou, O Lord, the Rider, 

And we the little ass, 
That to the Holy City 
Together we may pass." 

After the service I walked up to Rydal Mount with 
Mrs. Arnold. Mrs. Wordsworth was in the drawing- 
room. It was an interesting sight to see the two 
ladies talking with each other on the. one side rev- 
erence and respect, on the other strong regard, and 
on both manifest affection. I thought, would the 
poet and the teacher have been what they were to the 


world but for the help and example which each had at 
hand in his household life ? 

At half past six I went to Fox How, where I was 
to drink tea. We were a large party at the table : 
we did not remain long, however, for we were to as- 
cend Loughrigg to see the sun set. We had a 
lovely climb in the long summer twilight. We wan- 
dered on to a jutting rock, and from thence we saw 
the sun go down in glory behind the mountains, leav- 
ing a splendour of crimson in the light clouds for 
long afterward. Below us was Loughrigg Tarn, 
which Wordsworth has somewhere commemorated. 
Mrs. Twining told us of a walk with the poet she 
recalled, though she was very young at the time, 
which occasioned the poem : her father too was with 
them. A row of pines ascending a mountain on the 
opposite side of the valley was pointed out as " Fan's 
Funeral" " A joke against me," said Miss Arnold. 
It seemed that in childhood she had somehow got the 
impression that it was a troop of mourners following 
a bier perhaps some one had said, " How like a 
funeral ! " and many times afterward, in visiting the 
spot, the child still supposed it was a funeral, and 
wondered it should be so long stationary. 

As we came down the mountain, Miss Arnold 
spoke of her recollection of the day of Wordsworth's 
death. She and one of her young friends were almost 
alone at Fox How. They knew that the end was at 
hand, and their minds were filled with the thought of 
it. They climbed one of the hills looking down on 


Rydal Mount, their hearts bowed with a solemnity of 
feeling burning, one might almost say, within them 
as they thought of the moment that approached. 
Suddenly as they looked they saw that the windows 
of the house were being closed, and they knew thus 
of the faring forth of the great soul. It was almost as 
if they themselves had witnessed his departure. I 
could well understand how the solemn Nature around 
would have a grave and awful look to them as they 
pondered in their young hearts that ending and that 
beginning. I spoke of Wordsworth's own lines on 
hearing that " the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly 

expected " : 

" A power is passing from the earth 

To breathless Nature's dark abyss ; 
But when the great and good depart, 
What is it more than this 

" That man, who is from God sent forth, 

Doth yet again to God return ? 
Such ebb and flow must ever be : 
Then wherefore should we mourn?" 

At Fox How we assembled again in the pleasant 
drawing-room : books were brought out, and passages 
referred to which had been suggested in our walk. 
At length the bell was rung for prayers, and the ser- 
vants came in : Mr. Penrose officiated. One could 
not but think how often Dr. Arnold's voice had been 
heard there saying the same office. Some refresh- 
ment was brought in. I remained but a few minutes 
longer. Mrs. Arnold asked me to dine with them on 


August 10. My kind host has arranged an excur- 
sion of about three days, that I may see a part of this 
Lake District which is seldom visited. We started 
from his gate at ten o'clock by coach for Broughton, 
by way of Coniston Water a beautiful drive, the 
weather delightful and all very promising. At 
Broughton we had a glimpse of the valley of the 
Duddon. Thence we went by rail along the sea- 
coast as far as Ravenglass, a lonely fishing village. 
Here we hired a car for Strand's near Wast Water, a 
distance of seven or eight miles. We stopped, how- 
ever, a mile from Ravenglass, at Muncaster Castle, 
" the seat of the ancient family of the Penningtons." 
The guidebooks say that Henry VI. was entertained 
here on his flight after the battle of Hexham, and that 
when he left Muncaster he gave to Sir John Penning- 
ton an enamelled glass vase. The glass has been care- 
fully preserved in the castle, the tradition being that 
the family would never want a male heir while it re- 
mained unbroken. We drove through the park by a 
winding road, which brought us to the castle. The 
chief thing here is what is known as the terrace, cut 
on a hillside, and commanding a view which is said to 
be the finest in Cumberland. All around are noble 
trees and beautiful shrubbery and gay flowers, so that 
one could hardly think the great sea so near. Indeed, 
it had seemed like enchantment, the turning in from 
the bleak coast to all this rich foliage and summer 
beauty. Very lovely are the grounds, because so 
unartificial. Nature has been the great beautifier. 


After we left the terrace we came to a little church 
quite embosomed in the trees as secluded a nook as 
one could imagine : it is in the castle grounds, but is 
the church of the neighbourhood. 

We continued our drive. Alas ! the promise of 
the morning was not fulfilled. Clouds had gathered, 
and at length the rain began. At Strand's we found 
rooms in a very small inn, and concluded to stay 
there quietly for the night. So we had our tea- 
dinner, and composed ourselves to such indoor 
occupation as was possible. Books there were few 
of some volumes of Swift's works, two volumes 
of poems Liverpool poets of fifty years ago who 
had not achieved fame. However, with the aid of 
these notes, which had fallen in arrear, and with 
occasional talk, the hours were beguiled. 

August ii. Still rainy and lowering. We break- 
fasted and waited, hoping for fair-weather signs. The 
rain did for a while cease, and I drove alone to Wast 
Water, two miles distant. This lake of black waters, 
with the bare mountains rising round it, showed well 
under the sombre sky. The mountains were capped 
with mist, so I could only imagine their height, but 
the whole length of the lake lay stretched out before 
me. In desolate savage beauty this surpasses all the 
other lakes of the region. It is said to look its best 
on gloomy days: its dark colour is perhaps due to 
the great depth of the water. 

Returning to the inn, I found my friends all ready 
for our start for Seathwaite, eight miles distant. We 


had still to keep to the one-horse car, the only vehi- 
cle to be had in these out-of-the-way places. At 
Seathwaite we obtained an open carriage for the rest 
of the journey, eighteen miles. We passed through 
Egremont, and saw the ruins of the castle through 
Ennerdale, and stopped to look at the churchyard, 
the scene of Wordsworth's beautiful pastoral " The 
Brothers." At Scale Hill, which was our destina- 
tion, we had again good weather, and it was a lovely 
view with which our journey for the day closed. My 
friends' carriage was awaiting us at the hotel, and 
the coachman had brought us our letters. He left 
Rothay Bank this morning, and came by way of 
Keswick, a drive of thirty miles. We dined, and 
then, as the clouds had broken away and the sun 
was about setting, we went out to enjoy the evening. 
We climbed the hill, from which a beautiful view 
of Crummock Water opened before us. John the 
coachman came up afterward, bringing his bugle, 
on which he plays very well. He soon set for us 
" the wild echoes flying," and all the vale below was 
filled with the sound. We then wandered away to 
the edge of the lake and watched the play of the 
evening light on the tranquil waters. 

Aiigust 12. We started at half past six this morn- 
ing to drive to Keswick to breakfast, twelve miles. 
The weather was beautiful, and all the fair vales 
and hills were in their full loveliness in the morning 
light. As we drew near Keswick we saw from a 
hill Derwentwater and Bassenthwaite Lake, and the 


town in the centre of the valley, which lay below us. 
We passed the church where Southey lies, and then 
crossed the Greta and drove by Greta Hall, and so 

into Keswick. Here we breakfasted, and our horses 

had a two hours' rest, and we then started again for 
Ambleside, seventeen miles. We ascended first the 
long hill from which there is the noble view of the 
Vale of Keswick and of its lakes, and of Skiddaw 
and the other mountains a view which twice be- 
fore I have had the happiness to see. When I last 
looked down on it, it was under a cloudy sky: now 
there was the full beauty of sunlight. But every 
foot of the way between Keswick and Ambleside 
has its charm : Southey calls it the most beautiful 
drive in the world. Why should I attempt to de- 
scribe it? I may note the wonderful reflections in 
the lakes of Grasmere and Rydal, especially the 
latter. There was no ripple to disturb the glassy 
transparency. The islands, the sloping shores, the 
hedges, and the grazing sheep, all were doubled, 
and no water-line was to be seen. I suppose the 
mountains around protect the lake from currents of 
wind, and give a blackness to it which makes it so 
excellent a mirror. 

At a little after one, my friends set me down at 
the entrance to Fox How. I was to dine there to 
meet Thomas Arnold and William Wordsworth, and 
we were to have a walk together in the afternoon. 
But Arnold had been suddenly called to Dublin, 
and had just started. Wordsworth, however, was 


there, and with him Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson, 
who had just come to spend a few days at Rydal 
Mount an old man of eighty-three, but fresh and 
gay and wonderfully fluent in discourse. He was 
a great friend of Wordsworth's, and was twice his 
companion in travelling on the Continent. Southey, 
Coleridge, and Lamb he knew well also. I was pre- 
sented to him, and reminded him that five years ago 
I had the honour to breakfast with him in London 
a fact which, I grieve to record, he seemed quite 
to have forgotten. 

Dinner was soon announced, and the large table 
was again well filled. Mr. Robinson took the talk 
pretty much. He sat on Mrs. Arnold's right, and I 
was directly opposite. Perhaps it was having me in 
full view that led him to speak so much of the Ameri- 
cans he had known in the last forty years. He told 
us of his chance meeting with young Goddard of 
Boston in Switzerland in 1820, when he and Words- 
worth were travelling together, and how that meeting 
had caused poor Goddard's death. Wishing to be in 
Wordsworth's company, he had asked Mr. Robinson's 
permission to join them in the ascent of the Rigi. 
He altered by so doing his course of travel, and a day 
or two afterward, in crossing the Lake of Zug in an 
open boat with a companion, a storm came on, the 
boat was upset, and he was drowned ; his companion 
escaped by swimming to shore. We recalled Words- 
worth's elegiac stanzas on the occasion, and I ven- 
tured to add, as a conclusion to the story, that when 


Professor Reed was getting together the American 
contribution to the Wordsworth memorial window, a 
letter came from Mrs. Goddard, the mother of the 
young man who near forty years before had perished, 
desiring to take part in the commemoration, and 
referring to the imperishable monument to her son 
which the great poet had reared. She was then 
eighty-five, and had lived to give this token of her 

Mr. Robinson had a great deal to say about the 
Rev. James Richmond, an American, a man of genius, 
but famous chiefly for his eccentricity. But I need 
make no further note of his discourse. He diverged 
perpetually, and sometimes did not come back to the 
main track of his story. I was half sorry that my 
presence should be the occasion of his talking so 
much about my countrymen. I should have pre- 
ferred a subject which would have been of more inter- 
est to the others who were present. But it was 
idle to attempt to direct the current of his speech. 
Equally futile was Mrs. Arnold's effort to retain pos- 
session of the joint which was placed before her, and 
which she was about to carve. Mr. Robinson insisted 
with peremptory courtesy on relieving her, and as he 
brandished the great knife, continuing the while his 
animated talk, there was naturally a less skilful per- 
formance of the duty which was then of immediate 
urgency. Glances were exchanged by Mrs. Arnold 
with some of her guests, in part of apology and in 
part of amusement at the spectacle. And, sooth to 


say, the fair tablecloth suffered from Mr. Robinson's 
double mind. 

I remained most of the afternoon at Fox How, 
walking about the grounds or sitting under the shade 
of trees near the house, talking with one or other of 
the ladies. Seldom have I passed pleasanter hours. 
In the evening I was again with Mrs. Arnold and her 
daughters on a visit at one of the neighbouring houses. 
Nine o'clock came, and with it the Times, which was 
eagerly opened. The news from India is just now of 
absorbing interest. [It will be remembered that this 
was the year of the Sepoy Rebellion.] I should men- 
tion that Mrs. Arnold read us this afternoon letters 
from her son William, author of " Oakfield," from the 
Punjaub. Under date of February last he speaks of 
a Mohammedan secret organization, having its centre 
at Delhi, and ramifications everywhere, which he 
thinks means evil. He is the more of this opinion 
because his Persian secretary, whom he thinks very 
ill of, belongs to it. Writing under date of June 15, 
he says the Bengal Sepoy no longer exists, and that 
the civilization of fifty years has gone in a day. The 
laying of the Atlantic cable is another matter of great 
interest just now. All England is watching its prog- 
ress. Despatches from the ship come almost hourly 
as it steams westward. 

August 16. My last Sunday in England. I went 
by the beautiful Fox How road to Rydal to church, 
and sat in Mrs. Wordsworth's pew. She and Mr. 
Crabb Robinson and William Wordsworth were there. 


Mrs. Wordsworth to-day enters her eighty-eighth 
year. I sat by her side as I did two years ago, in 
this same pew, the Sunday before I sailed. Her 
meek countenance, her reverent look, I saw once 
more the face of one to whom the angels seemed 
already ministering. Service being over, I shook 
hands with her, and received a kind invitation to dine 
at Rydal Mount. Leaning on Mr. Robinson's arm, she 
went out, Wordsworth and I following. Mrs. Arnold 
and her daughters stopped to make their congratula- 
tions on her birthday, as others did, following her 
afterward with loving looks. We ascended the steep 
hill, Mr. Robinson talking, as usual, a great deal. 

Once more I was at Rydal Mount ; there were the 
books, the pictures, the old chairs. I went upstairs 
with Wordsworth to his room; it is the one that 
Dorothy Wordsworth, the poet's sister, occupied so 
long the room in which she died. The house is 
very old, the passages narrow, the ceilings low, yet 
there is an air of comfort everywhere. At dinner 
Mr. Robinson was the talker, as he always is. He 
told us of his intercourse with Goethe. He said he 
never mentioned Wordsworth's name to Goethe, fear- 
ing that he would either say he had never read his 
poetry or that he did not like it. He said Southey 
was only a collector of other men's thoughts : Words- 
worth gave forth his own. Wordsworth was like the 
spider, spinning his thread from his own substance ; 
Southey the bee, gathering wherever he could. Mrs. 
Wordsworth did not join us at table till the dessert ' 


came in. Then her one glass of port having been 
poured out for her, she took it in her hand and turning 
her face toward me, said, " I wish you your health, and 
a prosperous voyage and a safe return to your friends ! " 
The interval after dinner was short. I received, if 
I may so say, Mrs. Wordsworth's final blessing and 
went my way, thankful it had been given me to draw 
near to one so pure, to a nature so nobly simple. 
Not only her children, but all who have come in 
contact with her, will rise up to call her blessed. 
Surely, thrice blessed was the poet with such a wife ; 
and indeed he himself with wonderful fulness has 
declared she was almost as the presence of God to 

" That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear, 
Tells that these words thy humbleness offend ; 
Yet bear me up else faltering in the rear 
Of a steep march : support me to the end. 

" Peace settles where the intellect is meek, 
And Love is dutiful in thought and deed ; 
Through thee communion with that love I seek ; 
The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the creed." 

My last evening in this sweet region was spent at 
Fox How. With Mr. Thomas Arnold and Miss Ar- 
nold I once more in the long twilight climbed Lough- 
rigg Fell. There stretching out before us was range 
after range of grey mountains, with Skiddaw in the 
distance a solemn and peaceful view, and to me a 
leave-taking of one of the loveliest regions of the earth. 

Hotel, Windermere Station, July 4, 1873. Again, 


after sixteen years' interval, I am on the threshold 
of this lovely region. I have been walking in the 
twilight hours through bowery lanes, hoping to reach 
the lake ; but I took a wrong direction, and only when 
it was time to return did I get from a high part of the 
road a glimpse of the fair waters. I passed many gate- 
ways, with broad gravelled drives leading from them, 
doubtless to beautiful homes, for all this neighbour- 
hood is occupied by lovely dwellings, more or less 
secluded and embowered in all luxuriant greenery. 
It was between nine and ten o'clock when I got 
back to the solitude of the hotel. There were people 
there, no one of whom I knew. I can stand being 
alone with Nature ; but the constrained silence of the 
coffee-room of an English inn is a trifle depressing. 

July 5. I started early in a fly for the ferry at 
Bowness, then crossed the lake in almost a toy 
steamer to the Nab promontory, and thence took 
my way on foot by a quickly ascending road toward 
Hawkshead. From the summit of the ridge I looked 
back upon Lake Windermere, with its wooded prom- 
ontories and its islands and its encircling mountains. 
The morning was beautiful, and the whole scene was 
in its rich summer loveliness. I had forgotten how 
fair and glorious were these Westmoreland lakes and 
mountains. Farther on I came to Esthwaite Water, 
a lake a mile and a half in length, and soon afterward 
I entered the Vale of Hawkshead. The old church, 
on a rocky eminence, is the chief object as you ap- 
proach the town. At the base of the hill on which 


it stands is the grammar school at which Wordsworth 
received his first lessons, as he tells us in " The Prel- 
ude." I found carpenters at work in the old school- 
room, and one of them told me he had himself been 
a scholar there, and he showed me the desk at which 
Wordsworth sat. The schoolhouse, the church, and 
the streets of the town had all a quaint and antique 
look. I could fancy there had been little change 
since Wordsworth and his brother Christopher, after- 
ward master of Trinity College, Cambridge, were 
scholars here, near a hundred years ago. It had 
been the chief object of my pilgrimage the sight of 
this schoolhouse. Coniston was my further destina- 
tion. A coach was standing at the door of an inn, 
which I found was just starting for this place, so I 
climbed to an outside seat, and found as my sole com- 
panion a good-natured man who at once entered into 
talk with me. He seemed a well-to-do man, and as 
he told me soon whence he had come and whither 
he was going, I naturally imparted to him what had 
been the object of my pilgrimage to Hawkshead. He 
seemed to find it hard to account to himself for my 
enthusiasm ; still, the only inquiry he made of me in 
endeavouring to enlighten himself was a singular 
one. " Was he a rich man ? " he asked me, referring 
to Wordsworth. I was obliged to admit that he was 
not. Then we talked of the races at Newcastle, and 
on this subject my companion had greatly the advan- 
tage of me. 

We descended upon Coniston Water by a long 


steep hill. The hotel known as the Waterhead Inn 
is beautiful as to architecture, and there were about 
it flower-beds with geraniums in glorious bloom 
such splendour of colour as I never saw before. I 
went out in a boat on the lake, and enjoyed for a 
while the view of the hills around. Then rain came 
on, and I had to row quickly back, and my remaining 
hours were spent at the inn. But the spacious coffee- 
room commanded such a delightful view that there 
was little hardship in remaining indoors. At about 
five in the afternoon I started on the coach for Amble- 
side. I was on top, by the coachman, a civil fellow 
who knew every foot of the way. Three young ladies 
sat on the still higher seat behind. They were of 
severe propriety of manner, but they were refined, and 
talked with a careful modulation of voice which is 
peculiarly English. The afternoon was dull, but it 
did not rain. The road was perpetually either up 
hill or down, and the views every step of the way 
were lovely. We went through Yewdale, and stopped 
within a few minutes' walk of Skelwith Force, a water- 
fall reminding one of a single portion of Trenton Falls. 
Time was allowed us to see this, and then we climbed 
to our high seats again, the young ladies having the 
help of a ladder, and drove along the banks of the 
Brathay, passing as I drew near Ambleside the gate- 
way of the pretty house which had been a home to 
me in two former visits. Alas ! the dispensers of that 
gracious hospitality, my kind host and hostess, have 
both been removed by death. At the Salutation Inn, 


Ambleside, I received the welcome answer that I could 
have a room : the travelling season has begun, and as 
I had not written in advance, I had my fears. 

July 6. It rained last night when I went to bed, 
but the day broke gloriously, and this wonderful, this 
enchanting region seemed to have a new and fresh 
charm. A young Canadian joined me in my walk to 
the Rydal church just under Rydal Mount. There 
was the little church just as I had last seen it, only 
that it had been greatly improved as to the exterior 
architecture. Inside it was but little changed: the 
old high-backed pews remained. There in her ac- 
customed place, in the large square pew near the 
chancel, sat Mrs. Arnold, and by her Miss Frances 
Arnold, both fronting the small congregation. I 
looked at the pew on the other side and missed 
the sweet and aged face of Mrs. Wordsworth. But 
the whole church seemed a memorial of her. My 
meeting with Mrs. Arnold and Miss Arnold was very 
pleasant and cordial when the service was over; 
they asked me to dine with them, and introduced me 
to the dean of Durham, who was with them. Mrs. 
Arnold and the dean drove. Miss Arnold said she 
would walk, so she and her nephew (a son of 
Thomas Arnold, looking wonderfully like his uncle, 
Matthew Arnold) and I went by that most lovely 
road which winds underneath Loughrigg. The walk 
and the talk were delightful to me ; the day was 
of rare splendour, and there was the unspeakable 
beauty of the valley and of the mountains around. 


At Fox How, Mrs. Arnold and the dean were in 
the garden; the dear old lady (she is now eighty-two) 
came forward and made the kindest inquiries about 
those I had left at home, and was in every way most 
gentle and gracious. And then we walked into the 
house, and into the drawing-room, and it seemed like 
a bit of enchantment, the view from the window 
looking back over the way we had come the sol- 
emn mountains shutting all the beauty in, as it were, 
giving a framework and a setting to it. We sat and 
talked, and there was such a sense of kindly feeling 
as to make the hospitality I was enjoying doubly 
grateful. The ladies went away for a moment, and 
I could look at the books and the pictures. Every- 
thing spoke of culture and of thought. Much 
seemed to have been added to the room since I 
last saw it. A fine drawing in water-colour, a por- 
trait of Mrs. Arnold, hung over the fireplace a 
recent picture. On the table I saw two thick vol- 
umes the memoir and letters of Sara Coleridge. 
I had not known that the book was out: it seemed 
strange that I should see it for the first time at Fox 

Our talk at dinner was very pleasant. The dean 
of Durham is Dr. Lake; he was, as Miss Arnold in- 
formed me, Dr. Arnold's favourite pupil. The fact 
of his being a dean was proof of his learning and 
high reputation ; for in latter times these appoint- 
ments are only given on the ground of distinguished 
merit. He said Emerson dined with him some 


months ago when at Durham; that he spoke of having 
seen a good deal of Carlyle when in London ; that 
he, Carlyle, was out of health and depressed. The 
loss of his wife preyed on him ; he was unable to 
sleep, and the chief comfort he found in his sleepless 
hours was in saying over and over again the Lord's 
Prayer. Emerson's daughter was travelling with him, 
but being unwell, she could not go to dine at the 
dean's. At the table something from Keble was 
quoted, but neither Emerson nor the dean could get 
it right. " Oh, I'll ask my daughter," said Emerson. 
Emerson went with the dean to the cathedral service, 
and seemed greatly impressed by it. We talked of 
the Hare book, " Memorials of a Quiet Life." Miss 
Arnold had known well both Augustus and Maria 
Hare, as well as Julius and Esther Hare ; indeed, it 
was probably at Fox How that the engagement of 
Julius Hare to Esther Maurice took place. The 
writer of the " Memorials " was well known to them 
at Fox How a man of some eccentricity of char- 
acter. Miss Arnold said she had within a few days 
talked about the book with Miss Martineau, who de- 
nounced it on some fantastic ground or other. Miss 
Arnold said it was not pleasant to her to hear this 
adverse criticism " But you know one cannot tell a 
lady of great age, through a trumpet, that you utterly 
object to what she is saying." The dean spoke of 
Professor Jowett with admiration, though he could 
not wholly agree with him. Of Maurice the dean 
spoke with great respect; he said Hutton, the editor 


of the Spectator, was the chief representative of his 
opinions. Mr. Forster, too, might be mentioned as a 
leading man on whom the teaching of Maurice had 
had a strong influence. Mrs. Arnold took part with 
much animation in all the talk ; she seemed perfectly 
bright in mind. I was delighted to see her cheerful- 
ness and serenity, and to feel that her closing days 
had so much of joy in them. 

As I climbed Loughrigg late in the afternoon I 
thought of the long thirty years of Mrs. Arnold's 
widowhood, and of how much had been given to 
cheer its loneliness, the loving dutifulness of her 
children, her home in this beautiful region, around 
which must cling, for her, such vivid and tender 
associations, the ever recurring evidences of the fruit- 
fulness of her husband's teaching. All this must 
have brought peace to her in the slowly passing 
years. I thought of Wordsworth, too, when, my view 
widening with each step, I at last reached a height 
from which I could look down on Rydal Water as 
well as Windermere. I wondered whether this grand 
Nature had made the man, or whether his genius had 
invested it with something of the charm which it has 
now for all beholders. I stood among grey mossy 
rocks ; sheep were browsing on the grassy spaces be- 
tween; below me lay the whole Ambleside Valley, 
with the church in the centre. A very Sabbath still- 
ness seemed on all the hills and in the vale beneath. 
I said to myself, " Surely to any man such sights as 
these must give elevation of mind : how much more 


to a poet!" I could understand the good that must 
have come to Wordsworth, wandering as he did over 
these hills, with the thought ever present to him that 
Nature was to be his teacher, and that it was to be 
his work to interpret her to men. 

Late in the afternoon I called on the Misses Quil- 
linan (Jemima and Rotha, commemorated by Words- 
worth), and had pleasant talk with them over the past. 
They told me that my friend of former visits, William 
Wordsworth, the poet's grandson, was now at home 
from India on a visit; he has been head of a college 
at Poonah for twelve years. I shall hope to see him 
when I reach Cockermouth. The ladies told me that 
the old Wishing Gate had been removed, and a new 
gate put in its place; they showed me a bar of the 
old gate, and I sought to make trial once more of 
its mystic power. The Misses Quillinan, as being 
the step-daughters of Dora Quillinan, are the nearest, 
and indeed the only, representatives of Wordsworth 
remaining here in the neighbourhood of Rydal Mount. 

July 7. I left Ambleside to-day for Keswick. I 
was on the outside of the coach, and had a full view 
of the slopes of the hills, the green of the pastures, 
fretted here and there by crags; and I saw the 
sweet lakes once more, Rydal and Grasmere, and 
farther on there were numerous flocks of sheep com- 
ing down the mountains, probably for the shearing. 
Dogs were guiding them and keeping them together 
with wonderful and unerring instinct. And then we 
passed Thirlmere, which is the highest of the Eng- 


lish lakes. Here the view had become wild and 
desolate, the hillsides bare and rocky. We descended 
from this high valley into a fair smiling country once 
more. The coach stopped at the entrance to St. 
John's Vale, and I determined to walk to Keswick 
by that route. It is a narrow, winding valley, shut 
in by deep hills, with a stream flowing through it. 
On either side of the water there is thick wood, but 
with open spaces here and there, and farmhouses. 
The rocks which overhang the vale at about the 
centre have the look of a fortress. I entered the 
vale of the Greta, and then descended the long 
Saddleback, and made my way at length to the 
Portinscale Hotel; there I rested after my three 
hours' walk, and in the evening went on by rail to 
the neighbourhood of Cockermouth, where I was to 
spend a few days at the house of some friends. 

Of this visit I need make but little record. I saw 
at Cockermouth the square and respectable mansion, 
quite the most considerable house -in the town, in 
which Wordsworth was born April 7, 1770. The 
house has undergone but little change, it is said, 
since that date. I met William Wordsworth, too, as 
I had hoped I should. He and his wife were staying 
with his father, the Rev. John Wordsworth, vicar of 
Cockermouth. He was bearded and bronzed and 
otherwise changed, as a man well might be after twelve 
years in India. His wife showed more of the ill effect 
of the climate ; her appearance was extremely delicate. 


I may note one interesting incident which Mr. 
Wordsworth told me. He had been on a visit to 
Professor Jowett at Oxford, and was there on a 
Saturday, the day on which Jowett gathers about 
him people of distinction. " On this occasion," said 
Wordsworth, " I was to hand out to dinner a par- 
ticular lady, but her name was not mentioned to 
me, or at least I did not catch it. She, however, 
was told that I was a grandson of Wordsworth. 
' Oh,' said she, ' I began to read Wordsworth when 
I was fifteen, and have gone on ever since with con- 
tinually increasing pleasure ; ' and then her talk 
flowed on with such strength and power, and showed 
such elevation of mind and such grasp and mastery 
of all learning, that I was certain she could be no 
other than Mrs. Lewes. So I asked her if she was 
not the author of " Middlemarch," and she said she 
was. In the drawing-room afterward she showed 
herself on the same level with Greek scholars and 
men of science, with whom she talked, rilling with 
wonder all who listened." 

Mr. Wordsworth spoke of his important position 
at Poonah, giving him direction of the education 
both of Hindoos and Europeans. I could not doubt 
his fitness for the work he had undertaken ; but I 
remembered what I thought was the promise of six- 
teen years ago, and I fancied that whatever India 
might have gained, England had lost a man of 
letters perhaps a poet. He was the last of my 
friends of the Lake District with whom I had inter- 


course in that visit of 1873. It chanced that he 
accompanied me on my journey from Cockermouth 
to Carlisle, and there, on the threshold as it were 
of the region, we parted he for the East when 
his brief furlough should be over, I for the West. 
I felt always that I had much in common with him ; 
but now, with half the globe between us, and the 
changes which the flowing years might bring, the 
chance was small of our ever meeting again. 



MY introduction to the son and the daughter of 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge was by a letter from Pro- 
fessor Henry Reed. With the kindness of heart 
peculiar to him, he came to me the evening before I 
left Philadelphia, to tell me he had just received a 
long and very interesting letter from Mrs. Henry 
Nelson Coleridge, the poet's daughter Sara (she 
had married her cousin), that she had written in a 
manner so open and friendly that he felt quite justi- 
fied in giving me a note of introduction to her here 
it was. 

I had known her, in a way, because of other re- 
markable letters from her, which Professor Reed had 
allowed me to see ; I had especially been brought into 
association with her from the pleasure with which I 
had read her notes to her father's " Biographia Lite- 
raria." Marvels of learning and wisdom these notes 
seemed to be ; but what especially had charmed me 
was the criticism they contained, supplementing her 
father's, of the poetry of Wordsworth. Henry Nel- 
son Coleridge, a man of high accomplishment, had 



begun the editing of the " Biographia Literaria," 
but, after his early death, it was left to his widow to 
complete the commentary and to publish. A distinct 
gain to literature are her additions and criticisms; 
her soul speaks out to one as she aims to interpret 
her father to the world. One cannot but think what 
would have been the joy and comfort of Coleridge had 
he known what his daughter was to do for his fame. 

It was with something of the ardour of youth that 
I called on Mrs. Coleridge in London in June of 1849. 
I was now to have my first meeting in England with 
one of the band of writers to whom I had been in- 
debted for many happy hours. My love of literature 
had been great from boyhood, and my feeling for 
Wordsworth's poetry was almost a passion. The lady 
I was soon to see was the one in all England who 
best represented Wordsworth, her mind being in part 
the creation of his own. 

I see her now as she entered her pretty drawing- 
room, her face pale, her complexion almost trans- 
parent, her eyes large and of a peculiar lustre. I 
could well understand that she had been beautiful in 
youth. She received me with gentle cordiality. I 
felt sure that her feeling for my introducer could not 
but be warm, so like-minded was he in his interest in 
literature, and so at one with her in his estimate of 
her father's writings, and his deep sense of the value 
to the world of the poetry of Wordsworth. I was 
received, as I have said, with much kindness, and was 
an eager listener to Mrs. Coleridge's pleasant and ani- 


mated talk on the subjects of the day. The Oxford 
Tract writers, Newman and others, were much in the 
minds of men at the time. Manning, still in the Eng- 
lish Church, had published sermons in the manner of 
Newman, but much more rhetorical. Mrs. Coleridge 


spoke of him as a " much weaker Newman." Dr. 
Pusey she had been greatly impressed by as a 
preacher. But she could not give her assent to the 
theories of the Tract writers, as a whole, regarding 
them as essentially at variance with the teaching of 
the English Church. At that time men of the high- 
est grasp were delivering themselves on questions of 
theology. Sara Coleridge had inherited a deep inter- 
est in these questions. Her talk impressed me much ; 
for I felt how rich was her mental endowment, how 
high and pure her thought. Aubrey de Vere, in 
speaking of her, has dwelt on " the radiant spirituality 
of her intellectual and imaginative being," and no 
words can better describe the charm of her personal 
presence. Yet there was, as I talked with her, a look 
almost of languor in her eyes, an undefined something 
showing that her health might be frail. The hand of 
death was probably even then on her, known only to 
herself. I learned afterward that she gave no sign 
to those nearest to her of her dread anticipation. 

I was able to see Mrs. Coleridge again after my 
return from the Continent. I was with her for an 
hour and a half. She talked with peculiar animation ; 
there was the glow of genius in her face a radiant 
expression that put one under a spell. She expressed 


regret that I was not to remain in London to take 
part in their Winter Society. I said to myself, what 
joy would be greater ! 

The cholera was at that time a subject of dread in 
London because of its ravages in Paris of two months 
before, the deaths there having been nine hundred a 
day for many days. 

I may note here an incident, personal to myself, of 
the cholera visitation in Paris of June, 1849. I was 
in London at the time, and met, one morning, at a 
house at which I had my lodgings, a gentleman who 
had arrived from Paris the night before. I was pres- 
ent as he told the lady of the house that he had left 
Paris suddenly because he had been obliged to close 
his establishment his men would not remain. " I 
had no fear myself," he said, " my father died in my 
arms; I kissed him when he died." He spoke with 
strong emotion, and I remember the tears which were 
in the eyes of the lady to whom he talked. He seemed 
a man of cultivation and refinement; I did not learn 
his name. Six weeks afterward I was in Paris, and 
was asked by an American friend to go with him to 
meet M. Henri Gerente, the leading maker of stained 
glass in Paris. My friend wished to give him an order 
for a window for the church of St. James the Less, 
Philadelphia. M. Gerente was of high reputation ; 
he had just done important work at Ely Cathedral ; 
and the Government of Louis Philippe had given 
over to him the restoration of the Sainte Chapelle, 
especially the renewal of the great windows of that 


glorious gem of thirteenth century Gothic. It was at 
the Sainte Chapelle we were to meet him. We found 
him there. Behold, it was the gentleman with whom 
I had had my early morning meeting in London ! 
He drew rapidly for us the design he proposed for the 
St. James the Less window a series of medallions 
in which the figures would be very small, and thus a 
jewel-like radiance secured. We instantly approved. 
The east window at St. James the Less as glorious 
a piece of colour as there is in America stands, I 
trust, for all time, to sustain our judgment. 

After some study of the lovely Sainte Chapelle, 
under M. Gerente's guidance, he drove with us to 
Notre-Dame, where very important work was going 
on the rebuilding of the South Transept; Viollet- 
le-Duc had charge of this, the most eminent architect 
of France, perhaps of Europe. We were fortunate in 
rinding him there. M. Gerente presented us to him, 
a man tall and of striking presence. When my friend 
and I drove away, we left M. Gerente standing on the 
pavement in front of the great western towers; he 
waved his hand to us ; I see him now as he smiled in 
bidding us adieu. A fortnight afterward he died 
of cholera. Though I did not then know of it, it was 
about the time of my visit to Mrs. Coleridge. 

I note here a passage from a letter of Mrs. Cole- 
ridge to Professor Reed, of some months later, refer- 
ring to my visit. I make the extract, partly because 
of the message of kindness it contains, and partly be- 
cause it is in itself somewhat singular. 


" I think I have not written to you since I saw your friend 
Mr. Yarnall. Will you give my kind remembrances to him, 
and say that I look back to our last conversation with much 
interest, and that both my brother and I should feel much 
pleasure in seeing him again if he ever revisited England. 
He was here at a fearful time, when the mysterious visitation 
of cholera, and its sudden destruction of human life, kept me 
in a perpetual tremor. I thought with concern that he was 
about to go back into the cholera atmosphere of highest 
intensity ; but he appeared calm and strong in spirit, and, in 
the midst of pity for him, I felt envy, after a sort, of his firm- 
ness and tranquillity." 

I cannot recall the slightest feeling of anxiety on 
my own part. Yet the fact remains that not long 
after I left London the visitation came, and the 
deaths were for a time over two thousand a day. I 
went northward, after leaving London, and, from 
some chance of travel, I was in the town of South 
Shields, near Newcastle on Tyne, on a certain day in 
August. I said to myself, as I walked in the narrow 
streets, " What a place this would be for cholera to 
find victims ! " A year later I read in the official 
record of the ravages of the disease in England that 
the place of greatest mortality in proportion to popu- 
lation was this town of South Shields, and that the 
day on which the deaths rose to the greatest number 
was the day on which I chanced to walk through its 

During the three years that passed before my next 
visit to England, I had some correspondence with 
Mrs. Coleridge. Once I wrote while on a journey to 


the Northwest. My letter was of some length, tell- 
ing of the new country I was seeing, and speaking 
also of matters of literature in which I had then inter- 
est. There came at once a reply, fourteen pages 
the large letter sheet of those days, closely written. 
Its arrival is a vivid remembrance to me. I read it 
again and again, struck always with its wisdom, its 
felicity of expression, its keen and subtle criticism on 
literary matters. It lies before me now in its faded 
pages, and I find as I go over it that my judgment in 
regard to it is the same as at my first reading. I had 
told, in my letter, of the tragic death of a young man 
of excellent promise to whom I was strongly bound. 
Referring to this she speaks of such deaths as " an 
evidence that here we have no abiding city that the 
best estate of frail mortals, so frail as earthly beings, 
so strong in the heavenly part of their constitution, is 
when they feel themselves to be strangers and pilgrims 
here below. What a depth," she says, " of consolation 
there is in some of those expressions in the eleventh 
chapter of the Hebrews! How they articulate the 
voices of immortality within us, and countervail the 
melancholy oracle of Lucretius with their calm and 
confident assurances ! " 

I give this as showing what was the supreme and 
animating feeling of the writer. Through all the 
intellectual brightness of the letter, and varied as are 
its contents, there is manifest her deep sense of reli- 
gion. She speaks of her weakened health, says she 
cannot give a good account of herself ; but there is no 


word of murmuring. At the end she says with what 
seems the prompting of a saint-like thought for an- 
other out of the depth of acquiescence in the hard 
trial allotted for herself, " May you long have health 
and strength to enjoy the infinite delights of litera- 
ture, and the loveliness of this bright breathing world, 
which the poets teach us to admire, and the Gospel 
makes us hope to find again in that unseen world 
whither we are all going." Strange that now, after 
forty-eight years, I can record the fulfilment of this 
gracious desire for me. 

I had but one other letter from her after this long 
one; it showed increasing bodily weakness, though the 
same kind thought for others. With the feeling I have 
for her memory I cannot deny myself the pleasure of 
noting here that she speaks of a letter of mine telling, 
among other things, of a winter visit to Niagara as 
having quite brightened her invalid room. 

Carlyle's " Life of Sterling " she comments on, " Very 
beautiful and interesting as a biography, but very pain- 
ful in its avowal of Pantheism." She resents Carlyle's 
reference to her father, says the chapter on him is a 
pure libel. She adds, " But my father's folly and sin 
in the eyes of the Pantheist is his firm adherence to 
Christianity, not only ideal, but historical, factual, and 
doctrinal." She will write again if strength admits. 
" If you do not hear again, you will understand that 
strength has failed" She speaks of her longing to see 
again her own native hills and streams and then ex- 
claims, " O that my remains, and those of my dear 


mother, could rest in that dear Keswick churchyard 
where my Uncle Southey's lie, with those hills around ! " 

I sailed for England four months after this letter was 
written, having the hope strong within me that some 
further personal intercourse might be granted me. 
Alas ! it was not to be. I heard in Liverpool of the 
death of Mrs. Coleridge ; it had occurred while I was 
at sea. 

Sara Coleridge was, as to her mental part, almost 
the child of Southey. She grew up under his roof at 
Keswick, and drew in daily from the outpourings of his 
affluent mind. His fine library was open to her, and 
the example of his life of unwearied industry as a stu- 
dent and a writer was ever before her. The In labore 
quies of Southey's bookplate was the motto by which 
her own life was guided. And in all matters of con- 
duct, and of high endeavour, he was her loving and 
unerring teacher. She said of him in emphatic words, 
that he was upon the whole the best man she had ever 
known. As to her intellectual part she was probably 
even more indebted to Wordsworth, whose impressive 
discourse she had constant opportunities of listening 
to at Rydal Mount, and at Greta Hall, and in rambles, 
in the company of the great poet, among the moun- 
tains. With Dora Wordsworth, her bosom friend, she 
grew up under the influence and in the companionship 
of men of the noblest gifts. She showed in all her 
after life the blessing which had come to her in heart 
and mind in the opportunity which had been granted 
her. It is said of her that in the serene and lofty 


regions of the spiritual province of human nature she 
walked hand in hand with her father ; her interests 
were kindred with his own, but in her case there was 
no alloy of lower impulse to weaken her thought. 
Well does her own daughter say of her : 

" Possessing, as she did, a knowledge of theology 
rare in any woman (perhaps in any layman), she had 
received from heaven a still more excellent gift, even 
the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit." 

But to dwell more particularly on the early years of 
Sara Coleridge in the house of Southey, one can 
readily imagine what the charm to him must have been 
of helping in the development of a mind so gifted as 
that of this fair young creature, who seemed to live 
only for intellectual effort and enjoyment. Under his 
guidance she had taught herself French, Italian, Ger- 
man, and Spanish ; before she was five and twenty she 
had made herself acquainted with the leading Greek 
and Latin classics. There could have been little op- 
portunity, in that far Cumberland region, for a young 
woman to obtain anything equivalent to college train- 
ing. Had there been such opportunity, money would 
have been wanting, and Southey had never a year's 
income in advance. The charge of the three children 
of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hartley, Derwent, and 
Sara, and of their mother, was, in part at least, upon 
Southey ; his reward came in their unceasing devotion 
and affection. 

On my first visit to Mrs. Coleridge she referred with 
much feeling to the loss of her brother Hartley ; he 


had died in January of that year. Tears filled her eyes 
as she spoke of him. Though she had been long sepa- 
rated from him, he was the object of her tenderest love. 
I may note here what I read when her letters were pub- 
lished. Speaking of the death of Hartley, she says : 

" Nothing has ever so shaken my hold upon earth. Our 
long separation made me dwell the more earnestly on thoughts 
of a reunion with him ; and the whole of my early life is so 
connected with him, he was in my girlhood so deep a source 
of pride and pleasure, and at the same time the cause of such 
keen anguish and searching anxiety, that his departure brings 
my own before me more vividly, and with more of reality, 
than any other death ever has done." 

Again she writes : 

" He was the most attaching of men ; and if tributes of 
love and admiration, of deep regard, in spite of his sad 
infirmity, which did himself such wrong, could remove or 
neutralize sorrow, my cup would have lost its bitterness. 
Never was a man more loved in life or mourned in death." 

The comfort and the joy which Sara Coleridge 
must have been in her girlhood to both her brothers 
can well be imagined. I remember at Heath's Court 
Mr. Justice Coleridge, father of the late Lord Cole- 
ridge, taking down from his shelves " An Account of 
the Abipones, an Equestrian People of Paraguay," in 
three volumes, octavo, from the Latin of Martin Dob- 
rizhoffer. He told me that Hartley Coleridge had 
begun the translation, the money he was to receive for 
it from Murray befng needed for his college expenses. 
He soon tired of the work, however, and his sister, 
then twenty years of age, undertook it, and brought it 


to completion truly an extraordinary achievement. 
Her father said of it, " My dear daughter's transla- 
tion of this book is unsurpassed for pure Mother- 
English by anything I have read for a long time." 
And Charles Lamb spoke of her as " the unobtrusive 
quiet soul, who digged her noiseless way so persever- 
ingly through that rugged Paraguay mine. How she 
Dobrizhoffered it all out puzzles my slender latinity to 

But no words can be better than those of Aubrey 
de Vere to tell of the chief characteristics of this re- 
markable woman. He says : 

" With all her high literary powers she was utterly unlike 
the mass of those who are called literary persons. Few have 
possessed such learning; and when one calls to mind the 
arduous character of those studies, which seemed but a re- 
freshment to her clear intellect, like a walk in mountain air, 
it seems a marvel how a woman's faculties could have grap- 
pled with those Greek philosophers and Greek Fathers, just 
as no doubt it seemed a marvel when her father, at the age 
of fourteen, ' woke the echoes ' of that famous old cloister 
with declamations from Plato and Plotinus. But in the 
daughter as in the father, the real marvel was neither in the 
accumulated knowledge nor in the literary power ; it was. 
the spiritual mind. 

" ' The rapt-one of the Godlike forehead, 
The Heaven-eyed creature,' 

was Wordsworth's description of Coleridge. Of her some 
one had said, Her father had looked down into her eyes, 
and left in them the light of his own. 

" When Henry Taylor saw Sara Coleridge first, as she en- 
tered Southey's study at Keswick, she seemed to him, as he 


told me, a form of compacted light, not of flesh and blood, so 
radiant was her hair, so slender her form, so buoyant her step 
and heaven-like her eyes." 

But beside the help which Sara Coleridge may have 
given her brothers, it fell to her to comfort and sup- 
port her mother during that excellent lady's long years 
of trial. A single letter which the Memoir contains 
makes it clear that the mother's reliance, up to a late 
period of life, was upon the daughter for spiritual help 
and consolation. Mrs. Coleridge, the elder, though 
not without ability, was never the companion of her 
husband in intellectual things, nor could she reach the 
level of either of her gifted children. She was weak 
of nerves and of anxious temperament. Until her 
daughter's marriage at the age of twenty-seven, the two 
were never separated. The mother was in a fever of 
anxiety as to the daughter always, as to her health, and 
as to everything concerning her. Strange had been 
the trials in the life of the mother in the alienation of 
her husband, and his long separation from her; for 
the last twenty-five years of his life they had lived 
wholly apart. 

With Samuel Taylor Coleridge genius was accom- 
panied by eccentricity in largest measure. We must 
take a great man as he is given to us, and in regard to 
Coleridge we must follow his own rule as applied to 
art criticism, and not judge of him by his defects. 
Southey had upon him, in large degree, the stress and 
burden of his brother-in-law's shortcomings. He said 
of him, " Coleridge whenever he sees anything in the 


light of a duty is unable to perform it." In a further 
moment of irritation, he said, even as to his intellectual 
part, " Coleridge writes so that there are but ten men 
in England who can understand him, and I am not 
one of the ten." With Wordsworth and with his 
sister Dorothy, with Mrs. Wordsworth and her sister 
Sarah Hutchinson, Coleridge's companionship was of 
the closest. The Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, 
now given to the world in full, are the record of this 
extraordinary fellowship. Sara Coleridge never failed 
in filial devotion to her father, although she was sepa- 
rated from him during almost her whole life. 

I never saw Hartley Coleridge, but I seem almost 
to have known him, so much have I heard of him, and 
so vividly present does he seem to one in his writings, 
fragmentary though they are. Great as the failure 
of his life was, the impression he made on literature 
was extraordinary. Now, near fifty years after his 
death, his intellectual gifts and the charm of his per- 
sonal character are constantly referred to. Aubrey de 
Vere, in Reminiscences just published, says of him, 
" He is said always to have lived an innocent life, 
though astray; and he might, perhaps, have been 
more easily changed into an angel than into a simple 
strong man." At my first visit to the Lake country, 
and at every later visit, I heard words of kindness 
spoken of him from gentlefolk and simple. He could 
never have had an enemy. Wordsworth himself spoke 
to me of him with tender regard. The great poet felt 
for him almost as a son, as did Mrs. Wordsworth; his 


death affected them deeply. " Let him lie by us," 
was Wordsworth's request, as arrangement was being 
made for his burial in the Grasmere churchyard. 
Hartley Coleridge's one weakness was intemperance. 
Probably until he went to Oxford the failing hardly 
showed itself. It is stated that he was of premature 
birth : perhaps to this fact his weakness of will was in 
some way due. The undergraduate life of Oxford of 
eighty years ago presented great temptations. His 
wonderful gifts of intellect, as well as his oddity of 
manner, made him a favourite guest at " wine parties." 
Says Alexander Dyce : 

" He knew that he was expected to talk, and talking was 
his delight. Leaning his head on one shoulder, turning up 
his dark bright eyes, and swinging backward and forward 
on his chair, he would hold forth by the hour (for no one 
wished to interrupt him) on whatever subject might have 
been started, either of literature, politics, or religion, 
with an originality of thought, a force of illustration, and 
a facility and beauty of expression which I question if any 
man then living, except his father, could have surpassed." 

Hartley Coleridge's career at Oxford was distin- 
guished, and he won a Fellowship at Oriel. At the 
close of his probationary year, he was judged to have 
forfeited this on the ground mainly of intemperance. 
Says Derwent Coleridge: 

"The stroke came upon his father with all the aggrava- 
tions of surprise, as a peal of thunder out of a clear sky. 
I was with him at the time, and have never seen any human 
being, before or since, so deeply afflicted ; not, as he said, 


by the temporal consequences of his son's misfortune, heavy 
as these were, but for the moral offence which it involved." 

Thus did what promised to be a brilliant career 
come to an end. The thirty years that followed, 
though blameless but for the one infirmity, were 
years of little connected literary achievement. 

" He lived " [as said James Spedding] " the life of a soli- 
tary student by the banks of Grasmere and Rydal ; depend- 
ent, indeed, upon the help of his relations for what small 
provision he needed, but requiring no more than they could 
cheerfully supply. Everywhere he was a welcome guest to 
the high and low, the learned and the ignorant. Here his 
defects could do least injury to himself or others. His wan- 
derings were but transient eclipses. The shadow past, he 
came forth as pure and bright as before. Once when some 
of his friends thought of asking him to visit them in the 
south of England, the project being mentioned to Words- 
worth, he strongly disapproved of it, ' It is far better for 
him to remain where he is,' said he, ' where everybody knows 
him, and everybody loves and takes care of him.' " 

It seems proper to note here words of Derwent 
Coleridge in loving extenuation of Hartley's failure 
and fall. 

" My brother's life at school was so blameless, he seemed 
and was not merely so simple, tender-hearted, and affectionate, 
but so truthful, dutiful, and thoughtful, so religious if not 
devout, that if his after years had run in a happier course, 
the faults of his boyhood might well have been overlooked, 
and nothing seen but that which promised good. An eye 
sharpened for closer observation may, in the retrospect, 
descry the shadow of a coming cloud. A certain infirmity 
of will the specific evil of his life had already shown 


itself. His sensibility was intense, and he had not where- 
withal to control it. He could not open a letter without 
trembling. He shrank from mental pain he was beyond 
measure impatient of constraint. He was liable to parox- 
ysms of rage, often the disguise of pity, self-accusation, or 
other painful emotion, anger it could hardly be called, 
during which he bit his arm or finger violently. It looked 
like an organic defect a congenital imperfection. I do not 
offer this as a sufficient explanation. There are mysteries 
in our moral nature upon which we can only pause and 

I cannot but note here a remarkable incident of 
his childhood as showing what one might almost 
fancy to be the forbearance of a dumb animal in 
regard to him. He came in one day with the mark 
of a horse's hoof on his pinafore, and it was found 
on inquiry that he had been pulling hairs out of a 
horse's tail ; it was easy to imagine indeed, it was 
his father's firm belief that the animal had pushed 
him back with a gentle shove. 

Little need be said of the poetry of Hartley Cole- 
ridge ; it came near to excellence, and but for the 
catastrophe of his life might have reached the high- 
est level. His sonnets are probably nearest to those 
of Wordsworth of all the moderns. His prose is 
vigorous and of easy flow; the best of it is to be 
found in his " Biographia Borealis, or Lives of Dis- 
tinguished Northerns." I quote the following from 
the "Life of Lord Fairfax": 

" Fifty thousand subjects of one King stood face to face 
on Marston Moor. The numbers on each side were not far 


unequal, but never were two hosts, speaking one language, 
of more dissimilar aspects. The Cavaliers flushed with recent 
victory, identifying their quarrel with their honour and their 
love, their loose locks escaping beneath their plumed helmets, 
glittering in all the martial pride which makes the battle day 
like a pageant or a festival ; and prancing forth with all the 
grace of gentle blood, as they would make a jest of death; 
while the spirit-rousing strains of the trumpets made their 
blood dance and their steeds prick up their ears. The Round- 
heads, arranged in thick dark masses, their steel caps and 
high crown hats drawn close over their brows, looking de- 
termination, expressing with furrowed foreheads and hard 
closed lips the inly-working rage which was blown up to 
furnace heat by the extempore effusions of their preachers, 
and found vent in the terrible denunciations of the Hebrew 
Psalms and Prophets. . . . The Royalists regarded their 
adversaries with that scorn which the gay and high-born 
always feel or affect for the precise and sour-mannered. The 
Soldiers of the Covenant looked on their enemies as the ene- 
mies of Israel, and considered themselves as the elect and 
chosen people a creed which extinguished fear and re- 
morse together. It would be hard to say whether there 
were more praying on one side or swearing on the other, 
or which, to a truly Christian ear, had been the most offen- 

One other extract I give from its being of interest 
as a condemnation, sixty years beforehand, of the 
Revised Version. The passage is in the " Life of 
Dr. Jno. Fothergill." 

" We doubt whether any new translation, however learned, 
exact, or truly orthodox will ever appear to English Christians 
to be the real Bible. The language of the Authorized Version 
is the perfection of English, and it can never be written again, 
for the language of prose is one of the few things in which 


the English have really degenerated. Our tongue has lost 
its holiness." 

I came to know the Rev. Derwent Coleridge 
through the introduction of his sister immediately 
after my first visit to her. I was very kindly received, 
in part from the warm feeling of both the brother and 
the sister for Henry Reed. Even by letter the sweet 
nature and refined mind of the American professor 
had become abundantly manifest, and their regard for 
him was as though he was of their own blood. Der- 
went Coleridge was then the Principal of St. Mark's 
College, Chelsea, a training school for youths who 
looked to become teachers, or who expected to pre- 
pare themselves for Holy Orders. I spent a delightful 
Sunday there. The chapel service was choral, Mr. 
Helmore, the chief authority on Plain Song, being 
the leader. It was the period when interest in choral 
music had just been awakened. Mr. Coleridge in- 
toned the service and preached the sermon. After- 
wards I walked with him in the college grounds 
the flowers and shrubbery being in all their June 
freshness and we had full and pleasant talk. I felt 
at once his intellectual brightness, and perceived how 
wide had been his range of reading and of study. 
His large dark eyes were fixed upon me as we talked, 
seeming to look me through. Very soon I perceived 
how kind he was of heart. At luncheon I first met 
Mrs. Derwent Coleridge a beautiful woman of much 
dignity and grace of manner. In the drawing-room 
afterward, Mr. Coleridge placing his hands on either 


side of the head of his daughter Christabel, then about 
eight years old, said, " This is the best representative 
of S. T. C. I can show you." I saw the full eyes of 
the poet and something of the dreamy look of genius. 
Miss Christabel Coleridge, I must mention, grew up 
to be a writer of books, novels, and short stories of 
excellent merit. 

I found myself drawing close to Derwent Cole- 
ridge ; his affectionate nature was manifest to me from 
the first. The day which I passed with him so happily 
proved the beginning of a friendship to last until his 
death, at the end of nearly thirty years. For twenty- 
five years I had correspondence with him ; he had the 
gift of letter writing common to his race. And in my 
frequent visits to England I saw him nearly always. 
I walked with him for days in the Lake country ; I 
visited Rydal Mount with him after Wordsworth's 
death ; and I made visits with him in Devonshire. Of 
our talk on that first day I remember that he spoke 
of the group of men who had been around him at 
Cambridge Praed (of whom he was the biographer), 
Moultrie, also a poet (who lived to advanced age), 
Macaulay, Chauncey Hare Townshend, and Henry 
Nelson Coleridge. With all of these his intimacy 
had continued of the closest. He spoke with great 
respect of our Washington Allston, and repeated a 
remark of Allston's on his death-bed, concerning 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, " He was the greatest 
man I ever knew, and more sinned against than sin- 
ning." I record this because of what I know to have 


been a saying of Wordsworth's, " I have known many 
remarkable men, but the most wonderful man I ever 
knew was Coleridge." I feel compelled to add, how- 
ever, the following as a deliverance of Wordsworth's, 
in a moment, let us presume, of impatience, at a late 
period of Coleridge's life. Wordsworth with Rogers 
had spent an evening with Coleridge at Highgate. 
As the two poets walked away together "I did not 
altogether understand the latter part of what Cole- 
ridge said," was the cautious remark of Rogers. " I 
did not understand any of it," was Wordsworth's hasty 
reply. " No more did I ! " exclaimed Rogers, doubt- 
less much relieved. 

Three years from the date of my first visit to Der- 
went Coleridge I was again in England. I very soon 
made my way to him at Chelsea, and was warmly 
welcomed. He gave me the details of his sister's 
illness and of her then very recent death. Her disease 
was cancer. Two years before her medical attendant 
had become aware of its existence and saw how great 
was her danger. Hope for her, however, was cher- 
ished; but for the last few months the progress of 
the disease was rapid. She bore her sufferings with 
remarkable fortitude. There was everything they 
could desire as to her frame of mind ; there was stoi- 
cism rather religious resignation which was re- 
markable. Her own words had been, in a letter written 
a few months before her death : " My great endeavour 
is not to foreshape the future in particulars, but know- 
ing that my strength always has been equal to my 


day, when the day is come, to feel that it will be so 
on to the end, come what may, and that all things, 
except a reproaching conscience, are ' less dreadful ' 
than they seem." She quoted then from the " White 
Doe of Rylstone," 

" Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave 
To fortitude without reprieve," 

adding, " Wordsworth was more to my opening mind 
in the way of religious consolation than all books put 
together except the Bible." 

Mr. Coleridge continued, in regard to his sister. 
She had gone on with her literary labours to the last, 
and was able to complete the preface to a forthcoming 
edition of her father's poems in an admirable way. It 
was wonderful that one so much the victim of disease 
could have had such clearness of mind. My friend 
showed deep feeling as he spoke of his own love for 
his sister ; she had been his companion in childhood ; 
he had been her tutor, had taught her Latin; they 
had wandered together over the beautiful Cumber- 
land region ; he had carried her on his back over the 
streams. He turned his face from me, he could say 
no more. My talk with him had been in his study. 
He took me into the drawing-room to see Mrs. Cole- 
ridge and his niece, Miss Edith Coleridge, the daugh- 
ter of Sara Coleridge, the tones of whose voice 
brought her mother vividly to my mind. I had a 
most pleasant interview with them all ; their manner 
was natural, though grave ; they seemed to look upon 


me as one who had a right to share with them their 

Mr. Coleridge accompanied me on my return to 
London, a walk of two and a half miles. We talked 
of poetry Mrs. Browning's, Mr. Coleridge said, with 
all its beauty, was often imperfect, showed want of 
finish. Mr. Browning's, though very powerful, was 
rugged and rough ; neither were likely to live, because 
of their defects. I may add here what I know to have 
been a remark of Tennyson's. " Browning would do 
well to add something of beauty to the great things 
he gives to the world." Mr. Coleridge spoke of the 
high art and finish of Tennyson's poetry and the 
splendour of it, spite of the evidence everywhere of 
great elaboration. His brother Hartley's poems he 
thought the perfection of spontaneity. As we walked 
on, he said to me, " You ought to see Mr. Rogers," 
then, after reflecting a moment, he added, " I am going 
to breakfast with him to-morrow, and if you will call 
at twelve at his house, St. James's Place, I think I shall 
be able to introduce you to him. You must take 
your chance," he said, "for he is in extreme old age 
eighty-eight and may not be well enough to see 
you." I thanked him, and said I was quite willing to 
take the risk. He said Rogers was perhaps the only 
man in London who had seen Garrick act. He might 
have added that Rogers could have talked with Johnson, 
for at the age of fifteen he had knocked at Johnson's 
door, Bolt Court, but, his courage failing him, he ran 
away before it was opened. Mr. Coleridge spoke also 


of Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson as a notable person 
whom I ought to see a link between the present 
generation and the past (I did see Mr. Robinson 
both at his house in London and some years after- 
ward in the Lake Region). We stopped at Mr. 
Moxon's, to whom Mr. Coleridge introduced me, 
the publisher of the modern poets, himself, too, a 
poet. He owed his position in life to Mr. Rogers, 
who lent him money and enabled him to advance 
himself in the world. 

I drove the next day to St. James's Place, according 
to appointment. Mr. Coleridge came to me at once 
and said he had prepared the way for me with Mr. 
Rogers, and that I must come in. I was ushered into 
the famous breakfast room, where I found the venerable 
man seated in a large armchair, dressed in black and 
wearing a black cap his features fine, his look placid, 
but his face very pale. His pallor, indeed, was what 
first struck me. He welcomed me and said at once, 
" You knew my friend Mr. Wordsworth." Mr. Cole- 
ridge had told him this. I sat near him and we had a 
few minutes' talk. But the appearance of great age 
awes one almost as much as great reputation. Mrs. 
Derwent Coleridge and her niece, Miss Edith, were 
there, and another lady and Lord Glenelg. Mr. Cole- 
ridge took me round the long room to see the pictures, 
Raphael and Rembrandt, Rubens and the Poussins 
and Claude, the famous Giotto, two heads taken 
from the burial of St. John all most interesting. It 
was a brief pleasure. When I was taking leave of Mr. 


Rogers, he held my hand, evidently wishing to say 
something. He rang for his attendant. " Edward," 
said he, "when can this gentleman breakfast with 
me?" "There is no day till Friday," said Edward. 
Then taking the book in which engagements were 
noted, Edward corrected himself. " Thursday there 
is, sir." " Put him down for Thursday," said Mr. 
Rogers. Then to me. " You'll breakfast with me on 
Thursday." I bowed my acknowledgments and took 
my leave. 

A further instance of Mr. Coleridge's kindness in 
giving me sight of a man of distinction in letters was 
upon my visit to England in 1857, when he invited me 
to meet Macaulay. I had declined going to dinner as 
I knew the party had been made up some time before 
I reached London. I accepted for nine o'clock. 
When I reached Chelsea I found the ladies already in 
the drawing-room. Mrs. Coleridge told me to go at 
once to the dining room the servant would announce 
me. Accordingly I was ushered in, was warmly re- 
ceived by Mr. Coleridge, who made room for me next 
to himself. On his left sat the great man. I looked 
with keen interest on the pale but handsome counte- 
nance. Age was beginning, prematurely, to give signs 
of its approach, though he was but fifty-seven ; his hair 
was grey, his complexion pallid. But the flash of the 
eye, the rapid change of expression, the vivacity, the 
quick movement of the head all showed a keenness 
of the mental faculties as yet unimpaired. 

The talk at first was about Nollekens some details 


as to his parsimony Macaulay gave. Then he came 
to speak of art in general ; he did not consider the 
faculty for it a high gift of mind. He told of Francis 
Grant, an eminent portrait painter to whom Sir 
George Cornewall Lewis had lately been sitting. The 
artist, knowing Lewis was an author, thought he ought 
to make acquaintance with his books that he might 
talk with him about them. Accordingly he read " The 
Monk." Lewis, in order to show him it was quite im- 
possible he could have written the novel in question, 
said it appeared two years before he was born. All 
who know the author of the " Credibility of Early Ro- 
man History " would appreciate his appealing to dates 
to show he was not also the author of " The Monk." 
Music, Macaulay also maintained, was an art which it 
required no high mental power to master ; he could 
conceive of a great musician and composer being a 
dull man. Mozart, the Raphael of music, he believed 
was not in other ways remarkable ; he was a wonderful 
performer at six years old. " Now," said Macaulay, 
" we cannot conceive of any one being a great poet at 
the age of six a Shakespeare, for instance." Some 
one said, " But we know very little about Mozart." 

The talk somehow turned to Homer, whether or no 
the Homeric poems were the product of one mind. 
Macaulay maintained they were; it was inconceiv- 
able that there could have been at the Homeric 
period more than one poet equal to the production 
of the " Iliad " and the " Odyssey." He considered 
there had been six great poets, Homer, Shakespeare, 


Dante, Milton, Sophocles, and ^schylus. Appearing, 
as these had, at long intervals of time, could it be 
supposed that at the Homeric age there was more 
than one with a great endowment of " the vision and 
the faculty divine ? " Then as to the " Iliad " and the 
"Odyssey" being both the production of Homer 
the first being admitted to be, that the other was 
seemed to follow as a matter of course; it was the 
test of Paley over again the finding the watch and 
the presumption from it of a maker; and in this case 
there was the watchmaker's shop close by. He urged, 
too, that Homer was the only great poet who did not, 
in narrating past events, use the present tense 
speak of them as happening at the moment. He 
quoted a long passage from " Paradise Lost," to show 
how Milton would fall into the present tense having 
begun in the past. The fact that, throughout the 
many thousand lines of Homer, no instance of the 
sort could be found, seemed to make it clear that 
but one person produced them. Other quotations 
Macaulay made from Burns and from old ballads 
all showing his wonderful memory. The full flow of 
the great man's talk was sometimes checked by the 
wish of others at the table to be heard. Among the 
persons present were Blore, the architect of Abbots- 
ford (a friend of Sir Walter Scott's), Mr. Helmore, 
the writer on Plain Song, and Mr. Herbert Cole- 
ridge, son of Sara Coleridge, a young man of brilliant 
promise. The year after his mother's death he had 
won a double First Class at Oxford. Macaulay and 


he had the discussion about Homer chiefly to them- 

Macaulay declined returning to the drawing-room ; 
his carriage was in waiting ; he was afraid to make 
the exertion of going again upstairs. A shortness of 
breath troubled him. I will add, it was in the follow- 
ing year he was made a peer; and in the year after- 
ward, 1859, he died. A saying of his, perhaps at 
the dinner table, reported by Mr. Coleridge, was that 
what troubled us most in life were trifles insignifi- 
cant things. " If a hundred megatheriums were let 
loose on the world, in twenty-four hours they would 
all be in museums." 

I put with this slight record of a meeting with 
Macaulay the following note of Hawthorne's sight of 
the same remarkable man in 1856, a year previous 
to my interview. .At a breakfast given by Monckton 
Milnes, Hawthorne, who had taken in Mrs. Browning, 
says he had been too much engaged in talk with her 
to attend much to what was going on elsewhere : 

" But," he adds, " all through breakfast I had been more 
and more impressed by the aspect of one of the guests sit- 
ting next to Milnes. He was a man of large presence, 
grey haired, but scarcely as yet aged ; and his face had a 
remarkable intelligence, not vivid nor sparkling, but con- 
joined with great quietude, and if it gleamed or brightened 
at one time more than another, it was like the sheen over a 
broad surface at sea. There was a somewhat careless self- 
possession, large and broad enough to be called dignity ; and 
the more I looked at him, the more I knew that he was a dis- 
tinguished personage and wondered who. He might have 


been a Minister of State ; only there is not one of them who 
has any right to such a face and presence. At last I do 
not know how the conviction came but I became aware 
that it was Macaulay, and began to see some slight resem- 
blances to his portraits. As soon as I knew him I began to 
listen to his conversation, but he did not talk a great deal 
contrary to his usual custom ; for I am told he is apt to 
engross all the talk to himself. Mr. Ticknor and Mr. Pal- 
frey were among his auditors and interlocutors, and as the 
conversation seemed to turn much on American subjects, he 
could not well have assumed to talk them down. I am glad 
to have seen him a face fit for a scholar, a man of the world, 
a cultivated intelligence." 

Derwent Coleridge had something of his father's 
power of continuous and most impressive discourse 
on questions of high import. I listened again and 
again to deliverances which were revelations to me, as 
by a sudden flash, of the departed eloquence. I would 
fain have made record at once of what seemed to me 
expressions of subtle and ingenious thought. Alas ! 
the effort was beyond me. 

I remember Mrs. Derwent Coleridge's telling me of 
her recollections of her father-in-law in her early mar- 
ried life. She listened with great wonder, she said, to 
the flow of his discourse ; there was no hesitation or 
pause on and on it went. The bedroom candles 
would be brought in and placed on a table near the 
door of the drawing-room. Coleridge would move 
slowly across the room, continuing his discourse the 
while, continuing it as he went through the hall to the 
staircase, continuing it as he slowly mounted the stairs, 
until his voice was lost in the distance. Mrs. Cole- 


ridge said also that it was her wish and that of Mr. 
Coleridge, soon after their marriage, that their father 
should come to live with them. This was proposed 
to him and he gave consent, but when Mr. and Mrs. 
Gillman heard of the matter they said it would be im- 
possible for them to let him go. Wherever he went, 
they would have to go too : they could not be sepa- 
rated from him. 

Well does Ernest Coleridge, the son of Derwent 
and grandson of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, say of this 
wonderful devotion of the Gillmans : 

" With Coleridge's name and memory must ever be associ- 
ated the names of James and Anne Gillman. It was beneath 
the shelter of their friendly roof that he spent the last eighteen 
years of his life, and it was to their wise and loving care that 
the comparative fruitfulness and well-being of those years 
was due. They thought themselves honoured by his pres- 
ence, and he repaid their devotion with unbounded love and 
gratitude. Friendship and loving kindness followed Cole- 
ridge all the days of his life. What did he not owe to Poole, 
to Southey, for his noble protection of his family ; to the Mor- 
gans for their long-tried faithfulness and devotion to himself ? 
But to the Gillmans he owed the ' crown of his cup and gar- 
nish of his dish,' a welcome which lasted till the day of his 
death. Doubtless there were chords in his nature which 
were struck for the first time by these good people, and in 
their presence, and by their help he was a new man. But, 
for all that, their patience must have been inexhaustible, their 
loyalty unimpeachable, their love indestructible. Such friend- 
ship is rare and beautiful and merits a most honourable re- 

Ernest Hartley Coleridge, who pays this noble trib- 
ute to the Gillmans, has given to the world within 


the last few years the Letters of his grandfather, and 
has so done his work as distinctly to raise one's esti- 
mate of the great poet. 

I am glad to note here the following which I find 
in the Life of Tennyson. 

" Arthur Hallam, after visiting Coleridge at High- 
gate in 1830, wrote : 

' Methought I saw a face whose every line 
Wore the pale cast of thought, a good old man 
Most eloquent, who spoke of things divine. 
Around him youths were gathered, who did scan 
His countenance so grand, and drank 
The sweet sad tears of wisdom.' " 

Withdrawn as Samuel Taylor Coleridge was, dur- 
ing almost all his married life, from care of his fam- 
ily, his spirit seemed nevertheless to overshadow 
them; the three children were bound together by 
the closest ties, and were at one with each other 
in their feeling for their father. The household life 
of Derwent Coleridge I looked upon again and 
again for five and twenty years. It was a home of 
peculiar intellectual brightness. Books were every- 
where, for Mr. Coleridge's library was of eight thou- 
sand volumes, and he read in all languages. After 
twenty-three years of service as Principal of St. 
Mark's College, the time for retirement had come ; 
his labour had been great, and it had borne abun- 
dant fruit, but rest was needed. He accepted the 
living of Hanwell, a village about seven miles 
from Paddington, offered him by the Bishop of 


London. The rectory, a spacious, rambling building, 
ivy-covered, with a beautiful lawn and garden, became 
his home for sixteen years. The parish work was 
heavy, but the ladies of his family, among them 
Miss Edith Coleridge, the daughter of Sara Cole- 
ridge, were efficient helpers. But a love of teaching 
was strong with Derwent Coleridge, and at the sug- 
gestion of the Rev. Dr. Coit, Rector of St. Paul's 
School, Concord, he consented to receive into his 
family a few American pupils. Four or five St. 
Paul's boys came to him in this way as a beginning. 
One of them, Mr. Augustus M. Swift, paid a noble 
tribute to his "dear master" in an address delivered 
before St. Paul's School in 1880. In it he says: "I 
shall always count among the greatest blessings and 
happiest chances of my life my becoming a member 
of the family at Hanwell Rectory." Mr. Coleridge's 
drawing toward America was gratified by receiving 
in succession under his roof ten or twelve American 
youths. " We were received," says Mr. Swift, " almost 
as sons into one of the most intellectual and delight- 
ful homes in England." They were hardly pupils ; 
Mr. Coleridge was to them as a father and friend. 
His talk with them at his table and in his walks 
with them was in itself instruction. The extent of 
his knowledge, his amazing linguistic attainments, 
and his delight in giving forth his acquirements 
made him an incomparable instructor. Dean Stan- 
ley said once at a garden party at Fulham Palace, 
" You young Yankees may not realize that you are 


reading with the greatest master of language in Eng- 
land." The refining influence of the ladies of the 
household was no small part of the good which came 
to these youths. Mr. Swift tells of his having gone 
to Miss Edith Coleridge for help over more than 
one difficult passage in Plato. Mrs. Coleridge, with 
her native grace and dignity, could further her hus- 
band in every way in his work of training. It is a 
satisfaction to me to record her saying to me, in 
speaking of these youths, that their charge of them 
had brought them no anxiety. " We could hardly," 
she said, "have admitted to our family life English 
young men of the same age." The gentle and cour- 
teous ways of the American youths made them 
agreeable inmates always. They were constant in 
their devotion to Mr. Coleridge, were eager to do 
small services for him, to see that his hat and his 
coat were in proper trim when he went out. They 
were all delighted to walk with him, and to listen 
to his talk. In the drawing-room and at the table 
they were refined and considerate. There is, per- 
haps, more of the sense of companionship between 
young men and their elders in America than in 

I can scarcely refer much in this paper to letters 
I received from Derwent Coleridge during a long 
course of years. In one of them, of the date of 1874, 
he said finely, " As we grow old we get to be more 
and more content with home comforts, the family 
circle, the fireside, the returns of food and rest, and, 


in my case, books, the only earthly pursuit for 
which I should desire the assurance of long life." 
He lived but six years after thus writing, dying in 
1880. He was born, as Macaulay was, with the 
century. One further extract I will give as it refers 
to the dear friend to whom I owed my introduction 
to Sara and to Derwent Coleridge as also to Words- 
worth. The awful catastrophe of the loss of the 
Arctic, occurring though it did a lifetime since, 
awakens the keenest sorrow in remembrance even 
now. Derwent Coleridge wrote to me : 

" You will know how Professor Reed has been mourned 
by all who knew him in this country to which he did honour, 
as assuredly he did to his own ; he honoured us, I speak 
advisedly, by his esteem and regard. He was a golden link 
between us. His knowledge and fine appreciation of our 
literature (I speak of our modern literature, for our elder 
worthies of course we share in common) joined to his very 
attractive personal qualities, made him, as it were, one of 
ourselves. Yet he was every inch an American. To me, in 
particular, his loss is irreparable. Yet, while I say this, I do 
not forget that I have other friends across the Atlantic whom 
I shall henceforward value more than ever for his sake as 
well as for their own." 

I add here an extract from a letter of Thackeray to 
the late William B. Reed, on the tidings of the awful 
shipwreck reaching England : 

" I have kept back writing, knowing the powerlessness of 
consolation, and having I don't know what vague hopes that 
your brother and Miss Bronson might have been spared. 
That ghastly struggle over, who would pity any man that 


departs? It is the survivors one commiserates, of such a 
good, pious, tender-hearted man as he seemed whom God 
Almighty has just called back to Himself. He seemed to 
me to have all the sweet domestic virtues, which make the 
pang of parting only the more cruel to those who are left 
behind ; but that loss what a gain to him ! A just man, sum- 
moned by God, for what purpose can he go but to meet the 
Divine Love and Goodness ? I never think about deploring 
such ; and as you and I send for our children, meaning them 
only love and kindness, how much more Pater Noster ? So we 
say, and weep the beloved ones, whom we lose all the same, with 
the natural selfish sorrow. I remember quite well my visit to 
your brother; the pictures in his room which made me see which 
way his thoughts lay ; his sweet melancholy pious manner. 
That day I saw them here in Dover Street, I don't know 
whether I told them, but I felt at the time that to hear their 
very accents affected me somehow ; they were just enough 
American to be national ; and where shall I ever hear voices 
in the world that have spoken more kindly to me ? It was 
like being in your grave, calm, kind, old Philadelphia over 
again, and behold ! now they are to be heard no more ! 

" I only saw your brother once in London ... I believe 
I said I should like to be going with him in the Arctic, and 
we parted with a great deal of kindness, please God, and 
friendly talk of a future meeting. May it happen one day, for 
I feel sure he was a just man." 

There is, indeed, peculiar fitness in the commemo- 
ration of Henry Reed in a paper which seeks to do 
honour to Samuel Taylor Coleridge and his children. 
Had Professor Reed been brother in blood of Sara 
Coleridge, there could not have been more of sympathy 
with her in mind and heart. The " sweet domestic 
virtues," to use Thackeray's words, were characteristic 
of both. With both study, intellectual effort, was the 


law of their being, and with both there was the keenest 
desire to quicken the interest of others in literature, 
and to raise the thoughts of men to noble themes. 
Henry Reed was acquiring always, and was eager 
always to impart knowledge. He would tell with fine 
animation of some gem of literature he had lighted 
upon, seeking to convey to another the pleasure he 
himself felt in the new acquisition. With his intense in- 
terest in English literature, and his sense of fellowship 
with modern English writers he was in heart and soul 
a lover of his country. I recall the delight with which 
he showed me a note which Wordsworth, at his sug- 
gestion, had added to the sonnet " To the Pennsylva- 
nians." The sonnet reflected severely on the people 
of Pennsylvania because of the suspension or delay of 
payment for a year or two of interest on the State 
debt ; and the note was to the effect that the reproach 
was no longer applicable. The note was on the fly- 
leaf of the fifth volume of the last edition of the poems 
published in the poet's lifetime, and was probably the 
last sentence composed by Wordsworth for the press. 

I have spoken of Henry Reed's personal influence 
and of his desire to awaken in others the interest in 
literature which so peculiarly characterized him. As 
a college professor his influence was invaluable, for 
nothing gave him more pleasure than helping young 
inquirers in the path of knowledge. But as he moved 
in society, and as he appeared now and again as a 
lecturer, an influence for good always went out from 


Can I ever forget an interview forty-four years ago, 
in a late October evening, with one of the survivors of 
the wreck of the Arctic ? It was at the house of Pro- 
fessor Reed's brother. The survivor was one of a very 
small number of persons, who by a desperate effort had 
saved themselves on a miserably constructed raft. Mr. 
William B. Reed asked Mr. Morton Me Michael and 
myself to be with him when he received the young 
man. He was shown photographs of Henry Reed and 
of his sister-in-law, Miss Bronson. He at once re- 
called them as having been near him at the table ; he 
had never had speech with them. The last sight he 
had of them they were sitting quietly, side by side, on 
the deck, in the awful hours of suspense, when they 
awaited their doom. For four hours they doubtless 
knew there was no hope. Discipline on the ship there 
had been none; firemen and crew, with certain of the 
passengers, had seized the boats, and had gone most 
of them only to perish. The few that clung to the 
raft saw the great ship, with its precious remaining 
freight, sink beneath the waters. 

So perished a true scholar and gentleman. One 
who was the soul of honour, and whose life was pure 
from all stain. So long as Wordsworth's verse is 
valued in this land will the name of Professor Henry 
Reed be cherished as that of his chief American 

As I began my paper with the mention of the friend 
to whom in all my life I seem to have owed the most, 
with his name I will make an end. 





THE father and son, whose names I have placed 
together, figure to me a friendship which I count as 
among the choicest gains of my life. At my visit to 
England, in 1855, I had introduction to each, and from 
each there came prompt and cordial response. They 
made at that time one household, both in London and 
at Ottery St. Mary, Devon. John Duke Coleridge, 
the son, I saw first. Our real knowledge of each 
other began in a walk from his chambers in the 
Temple, northward for a mile or more, by Regent 
Street to All Saint's Church, Margaret Street, a very 
interesting work of Butterfield's, then nearing com- 
pletion. I felt instantly at one with my new friend. 
Life was bright with promise before him ; success had 
already come in his profession, and his future was 
assured. But it was plain that his supreme love was 
for literature. A brilliant career at Oxford, and his 
family traditions, had made intellectual things his 
chief interest. It was plain to me that he had genius, 
and that his memory was remarkable, and that he had 
been an omnivorous reader. Our best American 

L I 4S 


writers were dear to him, and I especially remember 
his glowing words as to Hawthorne ; they brought to- 
me a feeling of self-reproach, for I had hardly at that 
time taken the full measure of the author of the 
" Scarlet Letter." But in that first conversation it 
was the genius of Burke on which my friend dwelt 
with especial animation; his writings he considered 
superior to those of any man of his time. It showed, 
I thought, my friend's fine instinct that at the outset 
of his own career he should have this devotion to one, 
who, as philosopher, statesman, scholar, figures to us 
all excellence as an upholder of Constitutional Gov- 

The object of our walk was to visit, as I have said, 
a church in which Coleridge took a deep interest, 
because of his friendship for Butterfield, the architect, 
and his admiration for his genius. It was a church of 
red and black brick, the windows having brown stone 
mullions and arches, the spire covered with slate. 
The chief merit seemed to me the skilful way in which 
the architect had made use of all the ground he had 
ordinary building lots in a street of dwelling houses. 
Tower, nave, and choir were sideways with the street, 
parish buildings, with gables on the street front at 
either end of the church lot, leaving space between 
for the Gothic gateway or portal, and an opening 
sufficient to disclose the nave windows and the win- 
dows of the clerestory. The interior was unfinished, 
but already there was rich adornment of marbles and 
alabaster. There could be no east window, but 


the wall which was in place of it was to be covered 
with frescoes by Dyce. One, of the Ascension, was 
already finished. We climbed the long ladder to 
the platform in front of it ; even a near view showed 
it to be a work of great beauty. The great west 
window the chief light of the church is by 
Gerente of Paris. The cost of the church up to 
that time had been ,26,000, of which Mr. Beres- 
ford Hope had given .5000, Mr. Tritton, a banker, 
had given the remainder, but his name was for some 
years unknown. The church for a long time was 
incorrectly spoken of as Mr. Hope's. 

In this year, 1855, the Oxford Movement still had 
the strongest hold on men who, like Coleridge, had, 
during their University career, been under its full in- 
fluence. He spoke of Newman's sermons at St. 
Mary's, and described the effect produced on the young 
men who listened ; he told of their standing on either 
side of the path by which the preacher walked as he 
went from the pulpit, eager to get a near view of his 
striking face. It was about the time of the closing of 
Coleridge's Oxford career (1845) that Newman left the 
Church of England. In 1851 Manning and James 
Hope (afterward Hope-Scott) went over. It is of this 
period that Gladstone has spoken as " eminently the 
time of secessions. Then departed from us James 
Hope, who may with little exaggeration be called the 
flower of his generation. The Papal Brief, very closely 
followed by the Gorham Judgment, was a powerful 
cause of a blast which swept away, to their own great 


detriment as well as ours, a large portion of our most 
learned, select, and devoted clergy." I give this as a 
somewhat remarkable deliverance of Gladstone, and 
also as showing what was the atmosphere in the years 
immediately before the time at which my acquaintance 
with John Coleridge began. 

My first sight of Sir John Taylor Coleridge, better 
known as Mr. Justice Coleridge, was at dinner a few 
days after my first meeting with John Duke Coleridge. 
This was at Park Crescent, the joint home of father 
and son. The party was eighteen ; but the guests of 
chief interest to me were a young Hindoo and his wife, 
who were announced as Mr. and Mrs. Tangar. Judge 
Coleridge introduced me immediately. I said, " You 
are from the East and I from the West." The Hin- 
doo's reply was, " Sir, England and America and Aus- 
tralia will divide the globe." How often in the more 
than forty years which have followed has this remark 
occurred to me; and now, in 1898, has come the prac- 
tical alliance between England and America which 
presages a rapid increase in the progress of English 
civilization over the earth. 

My Hindoo friend asked me questions about Amer- 
ica, showing wide range of reading; he wished to know 
whether our Judge Story was a Unitarian. It was 
perhaps natural that a great writer on Constitutional 
Government should be of interest to a student; the 
young man was a graduate of King William's College, 
Calcutta. He was small, narrow-chested, with straight 
black hair, and large lustrous eyes. His dress was a 


black tunic, and he wore a red scarf round his neck. 
His wife was small and black haired ; she wore a dress 
of green silk, embroidered with gold. As she sat by 
Judge Coleridge as he and this young Hindoo woman 
sat side by side in the midst of a brilliant company I 
thought what a contrast they presented ; they figured 
to me the conquering race and the subject one, and 
the superiority of our own race as to bodily develop- 
ment was strikingly shown. The Judge's face charmed 
me from the first a peculiar benignity was expressed, 
the sweetest courtesy. His hair was grey, but his 
complexion clear ; the look of health which is so much 
more the characteristic of the English than it is of our- 
selves. He wore a ruffled shirt the last I have known 
of this old-time badge of a gentleman. Alas ! that it 
is no more seen. I remember of the after-dinner talk, 
Sir Cornewall Lewis's " Credibility of Early Roman 
History " being a subject, John Coleridge asked, had 
any one at the table ever read that book ? The Hindoo 
was the only one who answered, he had read it. The 
English of the young man was perfect ; he was fluent, 
but his language was measured and stately, almost 
that of books. I may note one of his remarks, though 
it was not made to myself an Oriental view of mar- 
riage. Referring to his wife, he said with dignity, " I 
was under obligation to her father, and I married his 

I saw no more of father or son in that year, 1855. 
Two years later I enjoyed their joint hospitality, and 
was further witness to their true companionship of 


heart and mind. They had kept alive the same love 
of literature with all their devotion to the profession 
in which each had achieved such great success. With 
each, too, there was deep interest in whatever con- 
cerned the Church of England. Sir John had been 
the lifelong friend of Keble, and the son was of the 
intellectual following of Newman a feeling which 
mastered him all his years. Father and son, while 
manifesting the utmost affection each for the other, 
argued together as if they were of equal age. Sir John, 
it will be remembered, had, early in his career, for a 
short time been editor of the Quarterly Review. I 
refer to this as showing the bent of his mind toward 
literature as the possible work of his life. His brother, 
Henry Nelson Coleridge, was another instance of high 
literary attainment, united to eminence in the profes- 
sion of the law. 

At a dinner in Park Crescent, in 1857, I met Dean 
Milman and Dr. Hawtrey, Provost of Eton. Sir John 
told me that these two with himself had been contem- 
poraries at Eton, and, I think, at Oxford. The Dean 
was a striking personality, small, bent with rheumatism, 
swarthy of complexion, with bright piercing eyes. In 
his knee-breeches and his black silk stockings, and his 
apron, and his great shoe-buckles, he seemed the very 
pattern of a scholar and a high ecclesiastic. I was 
opposite to him at table. He talked to me of Panizzi 
and the struggle it had cost to get him elected Libra- 
rian of the British Museum ; he was opposed because 
of his being a foreigner. The Dean had taken the 


strongest interest in the contest. Already great good 
had come from the election. The great reading room, 
the Dean said, was Panizzi's suggestion, the finest 
single room in Europe, accommodation for three 
hundred readers, costing ,170,000. He complained, 
half seriously, of the stream of old books, priceless in 
value, that was now going across the Atlantic, to the 
great loss of English scholars books that would never 
come back. He mentioned as something for me, as 
an American, to carry away, that he had been at a 
dinner lately at which there had been present the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer, Cornewall Lewis, and an 
ex-Chancellor, Gladstone ; and Lord Aberdeen, an ex- 
Prime Minister, was to have been present, and the 
occasion of the dinner was that there might be a dis- 
cussion about Homer. Judge Coleridge supplemented 
this by saying that pages upon pages of criticism of 
Homer had been passing lately between Cornewall 
Lewis and Gladstone, until the former's Budget as 
Chancellor of the Exchequer came out. Then, said 
Sir John, Gladstone's knife was at Lewis's throat in a 

At another dinner at Judge Coleridge's I met Mr. 
Butterfield, the distinguished architect of whom I have 
already spoken. It was curious to me to hear the ac- 
count which he and John Coleridge gave of the close 
of the remarkable case in the Court of Queen's Bench 
in which Dr. Achilli sued Dr. John Henry Newman 
for having published a defamatory libel. The verdict 
of the jury had been for the plaintiff the sentence 


was a fine of ^300. The judgment was delivered by 
Mr. Justice Coleridge, and was of the nature of a rep- 
rimand. The court room was crowded, the deepest 
interest was felt in the case all over England, and 
almost to a like extent in this country. Dr. Achilli, 
an ex-Catholic priest, had been delivering addresses 
in England denouncing the Church of Rome. On his 
arriving in Birmingham Dr. Newman published in a 
newspaper of the city, in great detail, a statement of 
wicked and loathsome deeds of Achilli, specifying 
places in Italy and giving dates. The general opin- 
ion was that the story thus published was true, and 
in consequence Dr. Achilli's crusade came soon to an 
end. All that was left to him was to sue. Dr. New- 
man was then put to great expense in bringing on wit- 
nesses, from Italy and elsewhere. Unfortunately for 
him evidence in support of many of the charges could 
not be produced ; hence the verdict. The two young 
men, John Coleridge and his friend, listened with in- 
tense interest to the carefully considered, trenchant, 
and at the same time tender and touching words from 
the Bench feeling for the Judge, as well as for the 
ecclesiastic who was receiving sentence, almost the 
same reverence and affection. They told me of 
the half-smile on the lips of Newman as he received 
the admonition of the Judge, and then, as the final 
words came, his promptly paying the ^"300, and, with 
certain of his friends, going his way. 

But however serene might have been Newman's 
bearing at the close of this passage of his life, we 


know what the affair had been to him from his dedi- 
cation of his " Discourses on University Education," 
published in 1854, " To the Friends and Benefactors 
who by their prayers and munificent alms had broken 
for him the stress of a great anxiety." 

There are few things in literature or in the history 
of religious opinion more striking than this judgment 
of Sir John Coleridge in pronouncing the sentence of 
the Court of Queen's Bench on Dr. Newman for the 
misdemeanour of having published a defamatory libel 
reflecting on Dr. Achilli. Judge and defendant had 
met early in the race of life ; each had won high dis- 
tinction ; and each through all divergence of opinion 
had retained deep respect for the other. They met 
now in a court of justice, the one to be condemned 
by the other. There is a tone of deep tenderness in 
the Judge's words, while there is no shrinking from 
duty in his comment on the misdemeanour of which 
the defendant had been convicted. At the outset 
there is the very careful statement, that in the opinion 
of every member of the court Dr. Newman had hon- 
estly believed the allegations he had made against 
Dr. Achilli. But it was then very clearly stated that 
proof had not been produced for some of the gravest 
of the charges. There was reproof, moreover, for 
what seemed the tone in which the allegations were 

" A spirit of ferocious merriment, partly in triumph, partly 
in exultation over the unhappy man whose foul offences you 
were producing before your hearers." " It is sad," Judge 


Coleridge continues, "to see that speaking of the Reformed 
Church you should begin with such a sentence as this ' In 
the midst of outrages such as these, my brethren of the Ora- 
tory, wiping its mouth and clasping its hands, and turning up 
its eyes, it trudges to the town hall to hear Dr. Achilli expose 
the Inquisition.' " 

Yet Judge Coleridge refers to writings which had 
proceeded from the pen of Dr. Newman while he was 
a member of the Church of England, in which, 

" Great as was their ability, sound as was their doctrine, 
urgent as they were in teaching holiness of life, nothing was 
more remarkable than the tenderness and gentleness of spirit 
that pervaded the whole." 

Some of the final words of the judgment were as 
follows : 

" Firmly attached as I am to the Church of England in 
which I have lived and in which I hope to die, yet there is 
nothing in my mind on seeing you now before me but the 
deepest regret. I can hardly expect that you will take in 
good part many of the observations I have felt it my duty to 
make. Suffer me, however, to say one or two words more. 
The great controversy between the churches will go on, we 
know not, through God's pleasure, how long. Whether, 
henceforward, you will take any part in it or not, it will be 
for you to determine, but I think the pages before you should 
give you this warning, upon calm consideration, that if you 
again engage in this controversy, you should engage in it 
neither personally nor bitterly. The best road to unity is 
by increase of holiness of life." 

John Coleridge, the son, had always an immense 
drawing to Newman. Better for him it would have 


been had Keble, his father's friend, been more the 
guide of his life. In a striking letter contributed by 
John Coleridge to his father's Memoir of Keble, 
he speaks of a walk he took with the poet, " He en- 
joying the sunshine and the air, and I the kindness, 
perhaps I may presume to say the affection which 
he showed me then, as always, and which I recall 
always with a sense of self-reproach." Later on in 
this letter John Coleridge says: 

"Our conversation fell upon Charles I. with regard to 
whose truth and honour I had used some expressions in a 
review, which had, as I heard, displeased him. I referred to 
this, and he said it was true. I replied that I was very sorry to 
displease him by anything I said or thought, adding that a man 
could but do his best to form an honest opinion upon histori- 
cal evidence, and, if he had to speak, to express that opinion. 
On this, he said, I remember, with a tenderness and humility 
not only most touching, but to me most embarrassing, that 
'it might be so; what was he to judge of other men ; he was 
old, and things were now looked at very differently ; that he 
knew he had many things to unlearn, and to learn afresh, and 
that I must not mind what he had said, for that, in truth, be- 
lief in the heroes of his youth had become a part of him.' " 

I give this as showing what was John Coleridge's rev- 
erence of feeling toward his father's friend. When 
he first went to Oxford Keble was no longer in resi- 
dence there, and the Newman influence was at its 
height. The young undergraduate came under the 
spell of that marvellous rhetoric ; he remained under 
it in a sense for all his life. Coleridge, the father, 
was of the same entirely religious mind as Keble, 


whose " Christian Year " shows a devout feeling akin 
to that of St. Augustine or St. Bernard. 

I spent the summer of 1860 in England. John 
Coleridge had thriven greatly by that time, and had 
his own establishment in London, his father having 
retired from the Bench on his pension after twenty- 
five years of service; he had been sworn in, more- 
over, of the Privy Council; Heath's Court, Ottery 
St. Mary, being thenceforth his only home. John, 
the son, told me of his own great success at the 
bar; he said he had become the fashion, and re- 
tainers were flowing in. So rapidly, indeed, had his 
reputation risen that he had been offered the Chief 
Justiceship of Calcutta, at a salary of ^"8000, with a 
retiring pension after ten years of service of ,3000. 
Very wisely he had declined this, though he could 
not have foreseen that in fifteen or eighteen years 
he was to be Lord Chief Justice of England. In 
speaking to me of the beginning of his career he 
said that for the few years that followed his first 
admission to the bar he had taken charge of the 
literary department of the Guardian, of which his 
friend Mountague Bernard was the editor. A sharp 
controversy with Charles Kingsley had arisen be- 
cause of a review by Coleridge of " Yeast." Fred- 
erick Maurice had come to the defence of Kingsley, 
and it became a fierce passage at arms, leaving, as I 
know, bitter memories on both sides. The Guardian 
rose rapidly in circulation and influence. John Cole- 
ridge's connection with it, no doubt, gave him increased 


facility as a writer. But his profession soon claimed 
him. Never, however, did his interest in matters of 
literature suffer abatement. It could be said of him 
eminently that he had genius. His brilliant power 
of talk made him a delight to dinner-table guests at 
his own house or elsewhere. It was at his table in 
1860 that I first met Matthew Arnold.* A very brill- 
iant person was Arnold in those days, but of sweet 
and winning manner; as an especial mark of emi- 
nence he was singularly urbane and gracious. Ex- 
quisite was he in dress, and his black hair and fine 
eyes, and his easy bearing and pleasant talk, made 
him altogether fascinating. The friendship between 
him and Coleridge was of the closest: it was but 
the continuing of the almost brotherhood of Mr. 
Justice Coleridge and Dr. Arnold. One remark of 
Matthew Arnold at this first meeting I recall. Cole- 
ridge had said to his wife from his end of the table, 
referring to the Guardian period, " We were very 

poor in those days, J " " Yes, we were," was the 

quick reply. " Ah," said Arnold, " you talk of having 
been poor, when at any time you could sit down and 
in an hour write an article for the Guardian for which 
you would get your ten pounds. Now it costs me 
a great deal of trouble to write." I have often 
thought of this in reading the smoothly flowing sen- 
tences of Arnold ; their very simplicity showing that 
infinite pains had been bestowed upon them. 

With Arnold and with Coleridge there was a pecul- 
iar interest in Americans, an eagerness to learn what 


they could of the civilization across the sea. Coleridge 
told me of his receiving a copy of Arnold's first pub- 
lished volume of poems they were anonymous poems 
by " A." Meeting Arnold soon afterward Coleridge 
spoke of having received such a volume, " Ah, yes," 
said Arnold, " by an American." I mentioned this 
half seriously at a dinner given to Arnold in Phila- 
delphia, as showing how desirous our distinguished 
guest had been from a very early period of life to 
identify himself with our great country ! 

My first visit to Heath's Court, Ottery St. Mary, 
was in this year, 1860. I had full opportunity then of 
observing how close was the friendship, so to call it, 
of father and son. The fact that the father had been 
of high distinction as a judge, and that the son was 
midway in his brilliant career at the bar, made them 
companions in mind to a remarkable degree. Each 
was proud of the other. Judge Coleridge was of rare 
sweetness and nobleness of character, of great refine- 
ment of mind, of great literary acquirement, and of an 
interest in literature which had never flagged in all 
his professional career. Before his work at the bar 
had engrossed him he was, as I have said, for a year or 
two editor of the Quarterly Review. Southey helped 
to obtain his appointment to this position, and ex- 
pressed his satisfaction at it, for the reason especially 
that kindlier reference to American writers was thence- 
forth assured. But John Taylor Coleridge had pecul- 
iar qualification for the Bench, and in the roll of 
English judges there is no more honourable name. 


It was a joy to me to be under his roof, and every 
hour of his society was a delight. Endless was the 
talk that went on. I could not but be amused at the 
vehemence with which the son would utter opinions 
startling to the father ; there would be gentle and 
mild remonstrance, then a further burst from my im- 
petuous friend, but in all the warmth of discussion 
there was never a sign of any straining of affection. 

I was not in England between 1860 and 1865. I 
had active correspondence, however, in that interval 
with John Coleridge, and some interchange of letters 
with his father. Writing under the date of May, 1861, 
Sir John says : 

" John's progress is all I could have wished much more 
than I could have hoped. All through his younger days, at 
school, at college, and in training, for the law, I used to fancy 
he was never doing himself justice, always suffering in the 
next stage from want of due preparation in the one preced- 
ing. But he has gone beyond my hopes in the present por- 
tion of his career : nothing but doubts as to his bodily strength 
stand between him and the highest place ; and then the older 
he gets, and the greater, I find him the more loving and con- 

Sir John speaks in the same letter of his brother-in- 
law, Sir John Patteson, the father of the Bishop, 
John Coleridge Patteson : 

" He is dying," he says, " of a hopeless disease, and he 
knows it, and you could scarcely contemplate a voyage to Eng- 
land with more calmness, hope, and resignation than he does 
his death and passage to another world. Yet there is not a 
grain of presumption. . . . He knows whom he has served 


and in whom he has trusted all his life long. From Eton," 
he adds, "up to this hour we have lived in unbroken and 
close intimacy, of the same profession, and on the same 
Bench, my brother by marriage, and always living near to 
each other since we left college, you may fancy what it is 
to me at seventy-one to part with him." Sir John goes on to 
say, " I have just lost my nephew, Herbert Coleridge, grand- 
son of the poet, and only son of Henry Nelson and Sara 
Coleridge. They all sleep side by side, and there could 
hardly be another plot of ground in which so much genius, 
learning, and goodness sleep. Herbert Coleridge, owing to 
circumstances, used to look up to me as what he called his 
father and mother, and I certainly loved him as my own 

There is so much that is worth dwelling on in 
regard to the Coleridge race that I may here insert 
one or two passages from a paper in Macmillaris 
Magazine of November, 1861, by John, Duke Cole- 
ridge on his cousin Herbert. Henry Nelson Coleridge, 
the father, editor of the works of Samuel Taylor Cole- 
ridge, is first spoken of a person whose intellectual 
and social qualities were of the highest order as 
editor of the Literary Remains, the chief contributor 
to the permanent fame of the poet-philosopher. Sara 
Coleridge, Herbert's mother, her nephew refers to 
with great warmth of affection. Her scholarship and 
wide and varied learning he dwells on, and then 
adds : 

" And when to these endowments there is added great 
power of conversation and remarkable personal beauty, it is 
easy to understand the striking impression she made on the 
society wherein her lot was cast. Those, however, who only 


saw her in society could not know how tender and feminine a 
nature lay under that bright and attractive exterior." 

John Coleridge tells in his paper the story of his 
cousin's achievement in his short life, and then speaks 
of the strong impression of power and promise he 
made upon all who knew him well. 

" They think," he says, " with a certain sad regret of his 
unfulfilled renown. They will treasure the memory of his 
warm heart and affectionate disposition ; of his character, 
temper softened from any harshness, and refined and purified 
from any selfishness into considerate and almost tender gen- 
tleness, by the affliction which he took, as becomes a Chris- 
tian to take, what it pleases God to send ; of his religion, 
sincere and deep, thoughtful, as might be expected in the 
grandson and profound admirer of Samuel T. Coleridge, 
but remarkably free from pretence or display ; of a man 
careless, perhaps too careless, about general society and 
ordinary acquaintance, but giving his whole heart where he 
gave it at all, and giving it steadfastly." 

Returning to my correspondence with Sir John 
Coleridge, he speaks, under date of September, 1863, 
of a family reunion they had had at Heath's Court, 
" For a few days," he says " we had our Jesuit son with 
us, after some years' absence, and very happy we were 
together, he as gentle, as natural, as affectionate, as 
full of old recollections as ever." This was the only 
reference Sir John ever made either by letter or in 
conversation to one of the sorrows of his life, the 
going away of his second son Henry from the Church 
of England, a defection due to the influence of 
Newman, or rather to the combined influence of cer- 



tain of the Oxford writers when the Movement was. 
in its period of highest activity. Father Coleridge, as 
he became, was highly prized in the Roman Com- 
munion during the more than thirty years that fol- 
lowed his change ; he was editor for many years of 
the Catholic magazine, The Month. 

During the period of our war, I had important 
letters from Sir John; they were admirable in their 
expression of sympathy with the people of the North,, 
though there were now and then criticisms of our 
action, and expressions of fear as to the possibility of 
our success. There was the further foreboding that 
the restoration of the old Union would be impractica- 
ble even in the event of our complete military triumph. 
Englishmen were slow to realize the strength which 
the cause of the North had in the leadership of Lin- 
coln. In an interview I had with Mr. Gladstone in 
March, 1865, I drew from him an admission of the 
great qualities of Lincoln ; but this was just as the 
war was closing. 

In 1867 I made my second visit to Heath's Court. 
Sir John welcomed me with sweet cordiality. I was 
more than ever impressed with his simple, natural 
manner, and the courtesy which influenced every 
word and action. John Coleridge arrived after I did, 
from a house he had taken for a time on Dartmoor. 
Welcomes were said and then followed animated talk 
on events of the day, and again I looked on at the 
companionship which was that of the closest friend- 
ship between father and son. John was by this time 


in Parliament, being member for Exeter. I may note 
as one of the records of the days of my visit my friend's 
comment on Gladstone from his House of Commons 
experience of him. (I am writing, it will be remem- 
bered, of a period more than thirty years ago.) My 
friend considered him wanting in worldly wisdom, 
deficient in skill as a political leader. Mrs. Glad- 
stone, he said, gave him no help in keeping the party 
together. The two were not to be named with Lord 
and Lady Palmerston in tact and sagacity as to such 
management. John Coleridge considered the Liberal 
Party irretrievably broken up by reason of this imper- 
fection in Gladstone's temperament. Bright, he said, 
was incontestably the leading mind in the House as 
to the Reform legislation. John Stuart Mill my 
friend spoke of with warmth of admiration. " I can- 
not tell you," he said, " the satisfaction it is to me to 
sit next him as I do in the House." Mill's shy 
refined ways attracted him ; his quiet humour he 
dwelt on. Once Mill had to take notice of the fre- 
quent quotations members on the opposite side made 
from his writings in order, really, to badger him. Of 
course they were passages which these men had seen 
as extracts and had committed. Mill said, " I feel 
greatly the compliment paid me by these frequent 
quotations : it is, perhaps, not good for me to be thus 
referred to, yet my vanity is kept down by what 
becomes more and more obvious to me, that hon- 
ourable gentlemen who thus quote me have really 
read no other portions of my writings? The House 


roared at this clever turn, so discomfiting to Mill's 

Of Sir John Coleridge's conversation I have the 
record of what he told me of Nassau Senior, who was 
with him at Eton and afterward at Oxford. Senior 
was of excellent parts, but he professed to care noth- 
ing for university honours, said a degree was all he 
wanted, and accordingly he was idle, but cutting the 
thing rather too close, he was plucked. This being 
very mortifying to him he put himself under Whately 
to be coached. His friends believed in him, and a bet, 
the curious one of those wine-drinking days, " A rump 
and a dozen," (a rump steak and a dozen of port) was 
made that he would still take honours. Sure enough, 
in six months he had won a place in the first class. 
He went to the bar afterward and was appointed a 
Master in Chancery. Subsequently his particular of- 
fice was abolished, but his salary was continued as a 
pension. So for the rest of his life he had his ^"2000 
a year with nothing to do. He wasted no moment of 
his time, however, and as he had to travel a good deal 
in search of health he kept careful journals, chiefly 
notes of the talk of leading men. His way was, after 
a conversation with any one, for instance, with Guizot, 
to write out what had been said and then submit to 
Guizot the record, and ask him for his approval of it. 
Then he would go, perhaps, to Thiers, and say, " Here 
is what Guizot thinks, what comment have you to 
make." Of course men, knowing they were to be 
reported, would talk in a less simple, natural way 


than otherwise ; but, as confidence was felt in Senior, 
things of great importance were said to him. He was 
received everywhere ; he was known to be a very close 
friend of De Tocqueville, and this gave him distinc- 
tion in France. It was universally known that at a 
proper time the Journals would be published. Sir 
John had seen them and could bear witness to their 
extraordinary interest. 

The Journals of Nassau Senior began to be pub- 
lished some two years after the date of this conversa- 
tion. They are most valuable as records of the 
opinions of leading men in all the countries visited. 
The picture of Egypt of the date of 1856, when the 
Suez Canal was first projected, is very striking, from 
the opportunity given for comparison with the benefi- 
cent change which has come with the English occu- 
pation. It is the glory of England that this benefit 
has been wrought : well is it for us in America, at the 
moment when we are undertaking the responsibilities 
of similar rule, that so noble an example is before us. 
Hardly since the world began has greater good come 
to a subject race. India as a whole is a like example, 
but Egypt, with its ten millions of people is an 
object lesson from which it is impossible to turn 

My last sight of dear Sir John Coleridge was as 
he gave me his blessing at the end of my visit of 

At a short visit to England of 1869, I dined with 
William Edward Forster at the Reform Club to meet 


Sir John Duke Coleridge, as he had then become, 
having been knighted on his appointment as Solicitor 
General. Mr. Forster had tried to get his brother-in- 
law, Matthew Arnold, also, but telegrams had failed 
to reach him. The chief subject of talk at this pleas- 
ant dinner was the Alabama controversy, which was 
then at its height. I was put to it to defend our 
American view against men of such distinction. I 
could only dwell on the danger to England of her 
allowing it to stand as a precedent that neutrals could 
allow warships to go out to prey upon the commerce 
of belligerents rather that neutrals were not to be 
held to account if ships fitted for war escaped from 
their ports. Forster, I remember, rejected utterly 
what had been urged in America by Mr. Sumner and 
others, that England was to be held answerable for 
the standing given to the Southern cruisers by the 
acknowledgment of the South as belligerents. He 
said that he had himself urged on Lord Palmerston's 
Government this acknowledgment, thinking it neces- 
sary on the ground of humanity. I may add that 
three years later came the settlement known as the 
Geneva Arbitration, and the payment by England of 
three millions sterling as compensation to us for the 
ravages of the Alabama. 

Forster and Coleridge, at the time of this Reform 
Club dinner, were both members of the first Gladstone 
Government, and were each of great promise of dis- 
tinction. I saw in Coleridge the fine result of uni- 
versity training founded on unmistakable genius, and 


in Forster the instinct of rule, rather the quiet inward 
feeling that the highest position might one day be his. 
Through all I perceived in Forster an absolute devo- 
tion to his country, with a supreme desire for the ad- 
vancement of its best interests. As I looked on at 
the intercourse of these gifted men I perceived that 
Coleridge was fully conscious of Forster's power : he 
deferred to him, almost unconsciously, as to one who 
was born to rule. 

Four years passed before I again saw Sir John 
Duke Coleridge. During this period his name had 
been much in the mouths of people from his having 
been counsel of the Tichborne family in their famous 
case. His speech for the defence occupied some 
twenty days, covering two whole sides of the Times 
daily perhaps the longest speech on record in a 
jury trial. His cross-examination of the claimant had 
lasted fourteen days; that it should have lasted so 
long was evidence of the cunning and audacity of the 
claimant. Strange that such a man should have had 
his upholders among people of education ! Coleridge 
said to me, " Sir Roger Tichborne, who disappeared 
at the age of seventeen was a proficient in music ; 
when I handed the claimant a music-book, and he 
held it upside down, I thought no further evidence 
was needed of his being an ignorant pretender." For 
almost a year the English Courts were occupied with 
the case, first with the suit brought by the man Orton 
(the claimant) and then by his trial for perjury. I 
read almost the whole of Coleridge's speech, as the 


numbers of the Times came here, and found it of re- 
markable interest. While the case was in progress 
Coleridge became Attorney General. In 1874, as one 
of the last acts of the Gladstone Government, which 
ended in that year, he was made Lord Chief Justice 
of the Common Pleas and raised to the peerage, be- 
coming Baron Coleridge of Ottery St. Mary. On the 
death of Sir Alexander Cockburn in the following 
year, he became Lord Chief Justice of England. 

Lord Selborne in " Memorials Personal and Politi- 
cal " (I. 324), writes: 

"In 1874, Sir John Duke Coleridge received with a peer- 
age, the promotion due, not only to his official position and 
his great powers and services, but to the self-denial with 
which, when no such prospect was in view, he had declined 
the Mastership of the Rolls. I rejoiced that his father, my 
constant friend, then in his eighty-fourth year, should have 
lived to see these crowning honours of the intellectual emi- 
nence, which had descended in that remarkable family 
through three generations." 

Sir John Coleridge's health had begun to fail during 
the years of his son's rapid advancement. It was at 
this time that he wrote the " Life of Keble " a book 
which was almost of the nature of an autobiography, 
as he told of the closeness of his personal union with 
the subject of his Memoir. It remains as a model of 
sympathetic biography, and as showing that in the 
busiest career there is abundant opportunity for up- 
lifted thought. 

Sir John Coleridge, as I know from Lord Coleridge, 


declined a peerage which was offered him by Mr. 
Gladstone. One of his reasons was that as he had 
never been in the House of Commons he was without 
the parliamentary experience needed for debating in 
the House of Lords. But he was more influenced, 
doubtless, by unwillingness to exchange the quiet of 
his Devonshire home for the turmoil of London. It 
was granted him to decline slowly, preserving his fac- 
ulties to the last, dying in 1876 at the age of eighty- 
six. From the letter I wrote to Lord Coleridge on 
this news reaching me I extract as follows : 

"... The sweet graciousness of his hospitality first of all 
charmed me and then I came to see on what a deep feeling 
of religious thoughtfulness his character rested. I feel it to 
be one of the chief blessings of my life to have known him. 
It was indeed a great privilege to have familiar intercourse 
with one who had taken part in such important matters 
one whose gifts of mind and whose high cultivation, and 
whose purity of thought made him a guide and example. 
All this comes to my mind as I think of his long life passed 
in honour, and of his sweet and noble presence. Even to me 
the world seems other than it was now that he is gone. 
What then must be your feeling ! I know well what the love 
was between you how that besides the affection that was 
natural, there was deep respect each for the other, and, as 
one might say, a most tender friendship. What joy for you 
that your father lived to witness your own high advance- 
ment! What joy for you that his help and guidance re- 
mained to you so long beyond the time when such strength is 
ordinarily vouchsafed ! But while to you and to all belong- 
ing to him he has been thus so priceless a blessing, in another 
sense he has been to all who have drawn near to him a bene- 
factor of the mind and heart." 


Coleridge replied: 

"... I knew that you, and some other brothers across 
the water, would feel with us and for us in our sorrow a 
very great and indeed at times almost a crushing sorrow it 
is. I think my father was the most beautiful character I 
ever knew. Looking back on fifty years of life, I really 
cannot recollect one single thing in which, now, I think 
my father did or said wrong. His gentleness, tenderness 
never failed to any one, or under any circumstances, and 
yet he was as brave and manly a man as ever lived. He 
never shrank from doing an act or saying a thing, which he 
thought right, because it might give offence. He was, all 
his life, the most liberal of Conservatives, and was constantly 
shocking his High Church Tory friends, by doing and saying 
things which they could not understand, but which he felt it 
right to do and say, though it pained him to pain them. It 
is quite indescribable the loss he is to me, and even more to 
my dear sister who lived with him. To her he was the very 
centre of her life, and her life seems torn up by the roots. 
To me he was the one person to whom I could turn for 
sympathy and counsel in all my public and professional life, 
and never did he fail me : so that a large portion of my life 
must now needs be lonely, and it is not easy to measure the 
sadness which this brings with it. To be always looking 
down instead of looking up, as hitherto I have done all my 
life, is a solemn change. Our loss had every comfort which 
such a loss can have; the kindness of friends, the respect 
and regard shown him by the whole county as evidenced in 
his funeral are great comforts, no doubt; and the thought 
that he was fit to go and did not wish to stay is, perhaps, 
the greatest of all. He did not suffer much pain, not 
even in the very last illness, but he was weak and weary: 
his journal shows that life was a sorrow to him, and cer- 
tainly he was taken when no one who really loved him could 
wish that he should be left. All this is comforting, and 
I pray God it may be more so but my father is dead." 


In 1878 a great blow fell upon Lord Coleridge in 
the death of his wife. His letter in reply to my 
words of sympathy is an expression of deepest grief, 
from which I hardly feel that I can quote ; it showed 
what the companionship was that had come to an 
end. Lady Coleridge was distinctly of genius as an 
artist. Her first work was in miniature painting; 
later on she drew, in crayon, life-size portraits, of 
which the most notable were of her father-in-law, 
Sir John Coleridge, Cardinal Newman, and Lord 
Coleridge. These are of remarkable excellence. She 
drew also for the staircase at Sussex Square Lord 
Coleridge's London residence copies from Michael 
Angelo, reproductions in crayon, which, under great 
sheets of glass, are very striking. 

In the Abbey Church of St. Mary Ottery is the 
memorial by Lord Coleridge of his wife, a recum- 
bent effigy of singular beauty; at the base is this 
inscription : - 

" To the fair and tender memory of 
Jane Fortescue, Baroness Coleridge, 
her husband dedicates this marble, 
thankful for his happiness, sorrowing for 
his loss, hoping steadfastly, through 
God's mercy, to meet her when the 
night is passed, in the perfect and 
unending day." 

Five years after this bereavement of Lord Cole- 
ridge, he made a visit to America. He came in 1838 
at the invitation of the Bar Association of New 
York. The event was important, seeing that he 


was the highest English official that had ever crossed 
the Atlantic. His only superior was the Lord Chan- 
cellor, but his coming was not to be thought of, con- 
sidering his solemn charge of the Great Seal. When 
Lord Brougham was Chancellor, he was meditating 
a trip to the Rhine, but found he would be unable 
to leave England unless he placed the Great Seal 
in commission. The cost of this would have been 
^1400. I remember hearing Mr. Forster, then a 
Cabinet Minister, ask in a cheerful way at his own 
table whether the Lord Chancellor slept with the 
Great Seal. 

The legal profession, wherever Lord Coleridge 
went in the United States, received him with great 
distinction. He figured to them the source and cen- 
tre of their knowledge. He charmed every one by 
his urbanity, by the silver tones of his voice, by his 
delightful talk, and his great store of knowledge. 
Mr. G. W. Russell, a man of great experience of 
English society, has recently said : 

" I had an almost fanatical admiration for Lord Coleridge's 
genius ; in many of the qualities which make an agreeable 
talker he was unsurpassed. Every one who heard him at the 
Bar or on the Bench, must recall that silvery voice, and that 
perfect elocution, which prompted a competent judge of such 
matters to say, ' I should enjoy listening to Coleridge if he 
only read out a page of Bradshaw.' To these gifts were 
added an immense store of varied knowledge, a genuine 
enthusiasm for whatever is beautiful in literature or art, an 
inexhaustible copiousness of anecdote, and a happy knack of 
exact yet not offensive mimicry. All this, at a dinner table 


was delightful ; and everything derived a double zest from 
the exquisite precision of English in which it was conveyed." 

Lord Coleridge, I am glad to say, was very favour- 
ably impressed with the leading lawyers and judges 
whom he met in the United States. In the West 
especially, he came to know men who seemed to 
him of real distinction. Judge Drummond, of Chi- 
cago, I remember, impressed him greatly. He had 
grateful recollection always of the kindness that had 
been shown him. " I should be afraid to go again," 
he said, " lest I should be found out." He said also, 
writing eight years after his visit, " I am never tired of 
thinking of the noble Americans I met, and whom I 
shall never see again." It is curious to note, as show- 
ing a state of things which we can hope has passed 
away, that an army officer was detailed by our Gov- 
ernment to accompany Lord Coleridge in his jour- 
neyings, and detectives also were at hand for his 
protection. It was the time when Irish outrages were 
of constant occurrence. It was the wish of his own Gov- 
ernment that he should not visit Canada ; they thought 
the danger would be greater there than in the United 
States. I remember telling him that if a murderous 
attack were made upon him, there might be consola- 
tion in the thought that in America and in England 
indignation would be so great as to put an end for- 
ever to Irish violence. He refused to admit there 
would be any comfort in this consideration. " You 
would prefer," I said, " that the risk should be taken 
by a minor canon ? " reminding him of a story of his 


father's of a meeting with Sydney Smith. A bishop 
who was present had just finished the rebuilding of 
his palace, and was doubtful whether it would be safe 
to occupy it at once. " My Lord," said Sydney, 
" could you not send down one of the minor canons 
to begin residence ? " 

While Lord Coleridge was in America, some family 
matters, very distressing to him, culminated, making 
his home dreary on his return. Two years later he 
married Mrs. Lawford, daughter of an English judge, 
whose chief service had been in India. Nine years 
remained to him of life, in which the duties of his 
high office occupied him, relieved in London by the 
exercise of a graceful hospitality. His stately home 
in Sussex Square had the especial adornment of a 
magnificent library. His chief enjoyment, however, 
was probably his Devonshire residence, Heath's Court, 
which he had enlarged and beautified under the di- 
rection of his lifelong friend, Mr. Butterfield. There, 
too, he delighted to show hospitality, entertaining dur- 
ing the long vacation a constant succession of visitors. 
The drawing-room there remained as it was in the 
time of his father. The library was new, a room 
of great size, large spaces on the shelves were 
unoccupied, for the books at Sussex Square were to 
be placed there on Lord Coleridge's retiring from the 
Bench. Alas ! he did not live to complete the term 
of service that would entitle him to retire on a pen- 
sion. The books already in the great room were some 
4000 in number, chiefly the collection of his father. 


My last visit to Lord Coleridge at his Devonshire 
home was at the beginning of June, 1891. In his 
kind note, asking me to come, he said he and Lady 
Coleridge would be alone there; there would be no 
other guests; nothing to disturb or distract. So I 
went, and had three days of the happiest companion- 
ship, and was more than ever struck with the affec- 
tionate nature of my friend. " Lord Coleridge has 
been unendingly kind," was the remark of Mrs. Mat- 
thew Arnold to me, referring to what he had done for 
her since the death of her husband. I can add from 
my own experience that as a friend he was the most 
steadfast of men. 

Within a week after my leaving Heath's Court I 
was Lord Coleridge's guest in London. He had 
arranged for my being present at a great dinner in 
the Hall of the Middle Temple at which he was to 
preside. The chief guest for this occasion was to be 
the young Duke of Clarence, the heir to the throne. 
The company gathered for the banquet in one of 
the drawing-rooms of the great hall. Each on arriv- 
ing was announced in a loud voice. All were ready 
except the chief guest. " How long must we wait 
fora Royal Highness?" asked Lord Strafford of the 
one next him. " Oh, till he comes," was the reply. 
At length came the announcement," His Royal High- 
ness, the Duke of Clarence and Avondale." A tall 
youth, self-possessed, his face with a pleasant expres- 
sion, a broad blue ribbon, I suppose of the Garter, 
was across his breast. An equerry accompanied him. 


Lord Coleridge advanced to meet him. Soon came 
the great voice at the door, "Your Royal Highness, 
my Lords and Gentlemen, dinner is served." Then 
names were called and men walked out two by two. 
Each guest was assigned to a bencher. What a sight 
it was as we entered the great hall ! The long tables 
running at right angles to the dais were filled with a 
great multitude either of barristers or students. All 
were standing as our procession, headed by Lord 
Coleridge and the Prince, walked up. I noticed 
some dark skinned men among the students, one of 
inky blackness. We took our allotted places at the 
table on the dais; then grace was read by Canon 
Ainger, Reader of the Temple an ancient form. 
The Prince was on the right of Lord Coleridge ; 
behind his chair was his own footman or servant in 
the royal scarlet .and gold a fine-looking fellow. 
In the middle of the dinner came three loud raps 
on the table from the Master of Ceremonies. " My 
Lords and Gentlemen, I pray you charge your 
glasses ! " All rose, and Lord Coleridge gave " the 
health of her Majesty the Queen." A hip, hip, 
hurrah, followed, and we sat down. A little later 
came another three raps and another " Charge your 
glasses," and the health of his Royal Highness, the 
Duke of Clarence was proposed. The Duke as he 
sat bowed gracefully and repeatedly from side to side 
to the standing company. It is the settled rule or 
understanding at the dinners of the Middle Temple 
that there are to be no speeches. At a great dinner 


there of the previous month the Prince of Wales 
was the chief guest. Lord Coleridge proposed his 
health, and the Prince, as being above ordinary rules, 
gave a few words of acknowledgment, and ended by 
proposing the health of the Lord Chief Justice. Lord 
Coleridge rose and acknowledged the courtesy, add- 
ing, "The text that rises to my mind as I thus re- 
turn my thanks is ' Put not your trust in Princes.' " 
He then sat down. The Prince's little scheme failed 
of success. Later came the loving cup, and at last 
another rap on the table when all rose and Canon 
Ainger read a quaint form of words which was the 
giving of thanks. The dinner was not over, for, 
Lord Coleridge and the Prince leading the way, we 
retired from the noble hall, in procession as we had 
come in, and entered another apartment in which 
was a table with dessert. Our final move was into 
a drawing-room where there was coffee. 

The Prince and his equerry having at length de- 
parted, the rest of the company were free to go their 

At breakfast, the morning after this Middle Temple 
function, Lord Coleridge asked me if I would not like 
to look in on the Gordon Cumming trial the famous 
baccarat case. I would, certainly. I would not have 
asked for admission knowing the pressure there had 
been on the Chief for seats. I drove down with him 
to the Law Courts. People were waiting to see the 
Lord Chief Justice arrive. The Chief went to his 
apartment to put on his robes and wig. I was 


shown a seat on the Bench. As I entered there 
was the entire space of the Court filled with barris- 
ters in costume sitting closely together, and above 
was the crowded gallery. A bevy of ladies came in 
and filled the space on the right of the Judge's seat. 
My seat, I should say, was on the extreme left. Im- 
mediately next the Judge's seat on the left was a red 
cushioned armchair for the Prince of Wales. Lord 
Coleridge came in and all in the Court rose. Soon 
afterward came the Prince of Wales. He bowed 
pleasantly to the Chief Justice and then to the ladies 
to the right and to the left. My recollection is that 
no one rose as he entered except the Chief Justice. 
I saw his side face as I sat. His bearing was quiet 
and composed. At eleven Sir Charles Russell (now 
the Lord Chief Justice) rose to begin his speech for 
the defence. It will be remembered that Sir William 
Gordon Cumming was the plaintiff; the defendants 
were five persons whom he charged with defamation 
of character. Sir Charles bore terribly upon Gordon 
Cumming in his speech, which lasted for an hour 
and a half; his guilt seemed clear beyond question. 
Yet one hoped against hope for him, for he was a 
soldier of gallant record and was of ancient family. 
The first witness for the defence was young Wil- 
son ; he had been the first to see the foul play. He 
told his story well. I could not stay for the cross- 
examination, nor could I go next day to hear Lord 
Coleridge's charge. A masterpiece this seemed to 
me as I read it in the Times ; it occupied four hours 


in the delivery. Lord Coleridge, as I know, dreaded 
having to try the case ; but once it was entered upon 
he gave it the most careful thought. 

I may mention that when the Prince of Wales 
was examined as a witness in the case, the lawyers 
on both sides forbore to ask the direct question 
whether he believed the plaintiff was guilty. At 
the end of his testimony, one of the jury rose and 
asked, " Your Royal Highness, did you believe Sir 
Gordon Gumming was cheating ? " The Prince's 
immediate reply was, " I could not resist the testi- 
mony of five persons." 

I had other experience of the administration of 
law in England, as I chanced to be Lord Coleridge's 
guest when he was on circuit, at Gloucester, at 
Bury St. Edmund's, and at Manchester. The old- 
time pomp of these occasions was interesting to 
me, the going in state from the Judges' Lodgings 
to the Court, or, if it were Sunday, to the Cathedral, 
the new liveries and perhaps the new equipages of 
the high sheriffs, the javelin men in procession, 
and the " God save the Queen " from a single trum- 
pet at the departure from the Lodgings, or when 
the Cathedral or the Court was reached, all this 
was striking. The buildings known as the Judges' 
I o Igings in the Assize towns, though often quaint 
and ancient, are ample for the exercise of hospitality 
of bed and board. 

Every hour of my stay with my friend was of en- 
joyment to me, wherever it might be. I have not 


spoken of the happiness enjoyed by me and mine 
in receiving him under our roof. He was fasci- 
nating to young and old. He could not but feel 
how absolutely at one with him we all were, and he 
could feel as to myself, as I did as to him, that 
friendship had been cemented by a great lapse of 

Lord Coleridge died in London, on June 14, 
1894. On that day I wrote in my journal: 

"... The blow to me is heavy. I came to know John 
Coleridge, as he then was, in 1855. My correspondence 
with him began in the following year, and has had no check 
until now. I have kept every letter. I have some of them 
near me as I write ; and as I read them, here and there, he 
is again before me, and I am listening to the tender, sweet 
tones of his voice. They are a priceless possession, for, at 
any moment, I can feel that I am once more with him. I 
owe to him more than I can say. His fine intellect fasci- 
nated me, and gave bent to my thoughts, and left on me 
enduring impression." 

He said to me in almost his last letter, " I have 
kept all your letters." I have not as yet received 
these from London, but their return is promised me. 
It may chance that those who come after me will 
put in print a correspondence between England and 
America during thirty-seven eventful years. Whether 
I receive back my letters or no, there will be safe- 
keeping here of his. They are more than one hun- 
dred in number, and hardly one of them is without 
passages of distinct literary value. 



THE heat of London in the midsummer of 1857, 
even to my American apprehension, was intense. 
The noise of the streets oppressed me, and perhaps 
the sight now and again of freshly- watered flowers, 
which beautify so many of the window-ledges, and 
which seem to flourish and bloom whatever the 
weather, filled me the more with a desire for the 
quiet of green fields and the refreshing shade of 
trees. I had just returned from Switzerland, and 
the friends with whom I had been journeying in 
that land of all perfections had gone back to their 
home among the wealds and woods of Essex. I 
began to feel that sense of solitude which weighs 
heavily on a stranger in the throng of a great city ; 
so that it was with keen pleasure I looked forward 
to a visit to Mr. Kingsley. A most kind invitation 
had come from him, offering me "a bed and all 
hospitality in their plain country fashion." 

At four in the afternoon of a hot July day, I 
started for Winchfield, which is the station on the 
London and Southampton Railway nearest to Evers- 
ley a journey of an hour and a half. I took a fly 
at Winchfield for Eversley, a distance of six miles. 



My way lay over wide silent moors; now and then 
a quiet farmstead came in view moated granges 
they might have been but these were few and far 
between, this part of Hampshire being owned in 
large tracts. It was a little after six when I drew 
near to the church and antique brick dwelling-house 
adjoining it which were the church and rectory of 
Eversley. There were no other houses near, so that 
it was evidently a wide and scattered parish. Old 
trees shaded the venerable, irregularly-shaped par- 
sonage, ivy and creeping plants covered the walls, 
and roses peeped out here and there. Mr. Kingsley 
himself met me at the open hall-door, and there 
was something in his clear and cheerful tone that 
gave a peculiar sense of welcome to his greeting. 
" Very glad to see you," said he. Then taking my 
bag from the fly, " Let me show you your room at 
once, that you may make yourself comfortable." So, 
leading the way, he conducted me upstairs and along 
a somewhat intricate passage to a room in the oldest 
part of the house. It was a quaint apartment, with 
leaden casements, a low ceiling, an uneven floor 
a room four hundred years old, as Mr. Kingsley told 
me, but having withal a very habitable look. " I 
hope you'll be comfortable here," said my host as 
he turned to go " as comfortable as one can be in 
a cottage. Have you everything you want? There 
will be a tea-dinner or a dinner-tea in about half an 
hour." Then, as he lingered, he asked, " When did 
you see Forster last ? " 


"Six weeks ago," I said "in London. He had 
just received news of the vacancy at Leeds, and at 
once determined to offer himself as the Liberal 
candidate. He went to Leeds for this purpose, but 
subsequently withdrew his name. I gather from his 
speech at the banquet his supporters gave him after- 
ward that this was a mistake, and that if he had 
stood he would have been elected." 

" Ah," said Kingsley, " I should like to see Fors- 
ter in Parliament. He is not the man, however, 
to make head against the tracasseries of an election 

Some other talk we had, and then he left me, 
coming back before long to conduct me to the 
drawing-room. Two gentlemen were there, one a 
visitor who soon took leave; the other, the tutor 
to Mr. Kingsley's son. Mrs. Kingsley came in now 
and shook hands with me cordially, and I had very 
soon the sense of being at one with them all. Our 
having mutual friends did much toward this good 
understanding, but it was partly that we seemed at 
once to have so much to talk of on the events of 
the day, and on English matters in which I took 
keen interest. 

India was naturally our first subject, and the 
great and absorbing question of the mutiny. I told 
what the London news was in regard to it, and how 
serious was the look of things. Kingsley said there 
must be great blame somewhere that as to the 
British rule in India, no man could doubt that it 


had been a great blessing to the country, but the 
individual Englishman had come very far short of 
his duty in his dealings with the subject race ; a 
reckoning was sure to come. " Oakfield " was men- 
tioned, a story by William Arnold of which the 
scene was laid in India, and which contained evi- 
dence of this ill-treatment of the Hindoos by their 
white masters. Kingsley spoke highly of this book. 
I said I thought it had hardly been appreciated in 
England. Kingsley thought the reason was it was 
too didactic there was too much moralizing. Only 
the few could appreciate this ; the many did not care 
for it in a novel. 

Our tea-dinner was announced : it was served in 
the hall. Mrs. Kingsley spoke laughingly of their 
being obliged to make this their dining room. The 
talk at the table -fell on American affairs. Sumner's 
name was mentioned. I said he was in London, and 
that I had had a long conversation with him a few 
days before. Would I give them his address ? they 
asked : they must have a visit from him. I said he 
would be glad to visit them, I was sure, for when I 
told him I was coming here he said he envied me. 
He was at present engaged in a round of dinners 
expected to go to France in August to stay with De 
Tocqueville, but would be again in England in the 
autumn. Kingsley spoke of Brooks's death of the 
suddenness of it seeming almost a judgment. I said 
Brooks, as I happened to know, was thought a good 
fellow before the assault that he really had good 


qualities, and was liked even by Northern men. " So 
we have heard from others," said Kingsley, " and one 
can well believe it. The man who suffers for a bad 
system is often the best man one with attractive 
qualities." Charles I. and Louis XVI. were instances 
he gave to illustrate this. A recent article in the 
Edinburgh Review on slavery was spoken of. I said 
it had attracted a good deal of attention with us, be- 
cause we saw immediately it could only have been 
written by an American. Of slavery Mr. Kingsley 
spoke in calm and moderate words. I told him his 
introductory chapter to " Two Years Ago " showed that 
he appreciated the difficulties with which the question 
was encumbered. He said it would be strange if he 
did not see these difficulties, considering that he was 
of West Indian descent (his grandfather had married 
a West Indian heiress). He admitted that the result 
of emancipation in the West Indies was not encourag- 
ing as it regarded the material condition of the isl- 
ands, especially of Jamaica, and he was quite able to 
understand how powerfully this fact would weigh on 
our Southern planters, and how it tended to close 
their ears to all antislavery argument. They could 
hardly be expected to look beyond this test of sugar- 
production to the moral progress of the black race 
which freedom alone could insure. 

Our pleasant meal being over, we strolled out on 
the lawn and sat down under one of the fine old trees, 
where we continued our talk about slavery. Mr. 
Kingsley said he could quite believe any story he 


might hear of cruelty practised upon slaves. He 
knew too well his own nature, and felt that under the 
influence of sudden anger he would be capable of 
deeds as violent as any of which we read. This, of 
course, was putting out of view the restraints which 
religion would impose ; but it was safe for no man to 
have the absolute control of others. 

He left us to go into the house, and Mrs. Kingsley 
then spoke of his parochial labours. She wished I 
could spend a Sunday with them " I should so like 
you to see the congregation he has. The common 
farm labourers come morning and afternoon : the rea- 
son is, he preaches so that they can understand him. 
I wish you could have been with us last Sunday, we 
had such an interesting person here Max Miiller, 
the great linguist and Orientalist. But we can't have 
pleasant meets here : we have only one spare room." 

" How old is Max Miiller ? " I asked. 

" Twenty-eight, and he scarcely looks to be twenty- 

" How long has Mr. Kingsley been here ? " I asked. 

" Fifteen years two years as curate, and then the 
living becoming vacant, it was given to him." 

She told me a funeral was to take place directly 
that of a poor woman who had been a great sufferer. 
"Ah, here it comes," she said. 

There was the bier borne on men's shoulders and 
a little company of mourners, the peasantry of the 
neighbourhood, the men wearing smock-frocks. They 
were awaiting the clergyman at the lich-gate. Mr. 


Kingsley appeared at the moment in his surplice, and 
the procession entered the churchyard, he saying as he 
walked in front the solemn sentences with which the 
service begins. It was the scene which I had witnessed 
in another part of Hampshire some years before, when 
the author of " The Christian Year " was the officiat- 
ing clergyman. Mrs. Kingsley and I joined the proces- 
sion and entered the church. It was a small, oddly 
arranged interior brick pavements, high-backed 
pews, the clerk's desk adjoining the reading-desk, but 
a little lower. Mr. Kingsley read the service in a 
measured tone, which enabled him to overcome the 
defect in his utterance noticeable in conversation. 
At the grave the rest of the office was said, and here 
the grief of the poor mourners overcame them. The 
family group consisted of the husband of the deceased, 
a grown-up daughter, and a son, a boy of fifteen. All 
were much moved, but the boy the most. He cried 
bitterly a long wail, as if he could not be comforted. 
Mr. Kingsley tried to console him, putting his arm 
over his shoulders. He said words of sympathy to 
the others also. They went their way over the heath 
to their desolate home. Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley spoke 
of the life of toil which had thus ended, and of the 
patience with which long-continued bodily pain had 
been borne. It was clear that the popular author was 
first of all a parish priest. 

We went now into his study, where he lighted a 
long pipe, and we then returned to a part of the lawn 
which he called his quarter-deck, and where we walked 


up and down for near an hour. What an English sum- 
mer evening it was ! dewy and still. Now and then 
a slight breeze stirred in the leaves and brought with 
it wafts of delicate odours from the flowers somewhere 
hidden in deep shadows, though as yet it was not 
night and the sweet twilight lay about us like a charm. 
He asked if I knew Maurice. I did slightly had 
breakfasted with him six weeks before, and had 
seen enough of him to understand the strong per- 
sonal influence he exerted. " I owe all that I am 
to Maurice," said Kingsley. " I aim only to teach 
to others what I get from him. Whatever facility 
of expression I have is God's gift, but the views I 
endeavour to enforce are those which I learn from 
Maurice. I live to interpret him to the people of 

A talk about the influence of the Oxford writers 
came next : on this subject I knew we should not 
agree, though of course it was interesting to me to 
hear Mr. Kingsley's opinion. He spoke with some 
asperity of one or two of the leaders, though his chief 
objection was to certain young men who had put 
themselves forward as champions of the movement. 
Of Mr. Keble he spoke very kindly. He said he 
had at one time been much under the influence 
of these writings. I mentioned Alexander Knox 
as being perhaps the forerunner of the Oxford men. 
"Ah," he said, "I owe my knowledge of that good 
man to Mrs. Kingsley ; you must talk with her 
about him." We joined the party in the drawing- 


room, and there was some further conversation on 
this subject. 

At about ten o'clock the bell was rung, the servants 
came in, prayers were said, and the ladies (Mrs. 
Kingsley and their daughter's governess) bid us good 
night. Then to Mr. Kingsley 's study, where the rest 
of the evening was spent from half-past ten to half- 
past twelve the pipe went on, and the talk a con- 
tinuous flow. Quakerism was a subject. George Fox, 
Kingsley said, was his admiration : he read his " Jour- 
nal" constantly thought him one of the most remark- 
able men that age produced. He liked his hostility to 
Calvinism. " How little that fellow Macaulay," he 
said, " could understand Quakerism ! A man needs 
to have been in Inferno himself to know what the 
Quakers meant in what they said and did." He 
referred me to an article of his on Jacob Boehme and 
the mystic writers, in which he had given his views in 
regard to Fox. 

We talked abdut his parish work: he found it, he 
said, a great help to him, adding emphatically that his 
other labour was secondary to this. He had trained 
himself not to be annoyed by his people calling on 
him when he was writing. If he was to be their 
priest, he must see them when it suited them to 
come ; and he had become able if called off from his 
writing to go on again the moment he was alone. 
I asked him when he wrote. He said in the morn- 
ing almost always: sometimes, when much pushed, he 
had written for an hour in the evening, but he always 


had to correct largely the next morning the work 
thus done. Daily exercise, riding, hunting, together 
with parish work, were necessary to keep him in a 
condition for writing: he aimed to keep himself in 
rude health. I asked whether " Alton Locke " had 
been written in that room. "Yes," he said "from 
four to eight in the mornings ; and a young man was 
staying with me at the time with whom every day I 
used to ride, or perhaps hunt, when my task of writ- 
ing was done." 

A fine copy of St. Augustine attracted my attention 
on his shelves five volumes folio bound in vellum. 
" Ah," he said, " that is a treasure I must show you ; " 
and taking down a volume he turned to the fly- 
leaf, where were the words " Charles Kingsley from 
Thomas Carlyle," and above them " Thomas Carlyle 
from John Sterling." One could understand that 
Carlyle had thus handed on the book, notwithstand- 
ing its sacred associations, knowing that to Kingsley 
it would have a threefold value. My eye caught also 
a relic of curious interest a fragment from one of 
the vessels of the Spanish Armada. It lay on the 
mantelpiece: I could well understand Kingsley's 
pleasure in possessing it. 

At the breakfast-table the next morning we had 
much talk in regard to American writers. Kingsley 
admitted Emerson's high merit, but thought him too 
fragmentary a writer and thinker to have enduring 
fame. He had meant that this should be implied 
as his opinion in the title he gave to - " Phaethon " 


"Loose Thoughts for Loose Thinkers" a book he 
had written in direct opposition to what he under- 
stood to be the general teaching of Emerson. I re- 
marked upon the great beauty of some of Emerson's 
later writings and the marvellous clearness of insight 
which was shown in his " English Traits." Kingsley 
acquiesced in this, but referred to some American 
poetry, so called, which Emerson had lately edited, 
and in his preface had out-Heroded Herod. Kings- 
ley said the poems were the production of a coarse, 
sensual mind. His reference, of course, was to Walt 
Whitman, and I had no defence to make. Of Lowell, 
Mr. Kingsley spoke very highly : his " Fable for Critics " 
was worthy of Rabelais. Mr. Froude, who is Kings- 
ley's brother-in-law, had first made him acquainted 
with Lowell's poetry. Hawthorne's style he thought 
was exquisite : there was scarcely any modern writing 
equal to it. Of all his books he preferred the " Blithe- 
dale Romance." 

We talked of Mr. Froude, whom Kingsley spoke 
of as his dearest friend : he thought Froude sincerely 
regretted ever having written the " Nemesis of Faith." 
Mr. Helps, author of " Friends in Council," he spoke 
of as his near neighbour there in Hampshire, and his 
intimate friend. Mr. Charles Reade he knew, and I 
think he said he was also a neighbour: his "Christie 
Johnstone," he thought showed high original power. 
Mrs. Gaskell we talked of, whose " Life of Charlotte 
Bronte " had just then been published : Mr. Kingsley 
thought it extremely interesting and " slightly slan- 


derous." He told me of the author of " Tom Brown's 
School-days," a copy of which, fresh from the publish- 
ers, was lying on his table. Mr. Hughes is now so 
well known to us I need only mention that Mr. 
Kingsley spoke of him as an old pupil of Arnold's 
and a spiritual child of Maurice. He spoke most 
warmly of him, and offered me a letter of introduc- 
tion to him. I could not avail myself of this, having 
so little time to remain in London. 

I must mention, as showing further Mr. Kingsley's 
state of mind toward Maurice, that he had named his 
son after him. He spoke of the boy as being in- 
tended for the army; the family, he said, had been 
soldiers for generations. " That is the profession Eng- 
land will need for the next five-and-twenty years." 
Of Forster he said, " What a pity he had not been 
put in the army at the age of eighteen ! he would 
have been a general now. England has need of such 
men." I note this as showing the curious apprehen- 
sion of war which he, an Englishman, felt eighteen 
years ago, 1 and which he expressed to me, an Ameri- 
can. How little either of us thought of the struggle 
which men of English blood were to engage in in 
three years from that time ! How little I could dream 
that one of the decisive battles of the world was so 
soon to be fought in my own State, Pennsylvania ! 

Our morning was spent in all this varied talk, walk- 
ing partly on the lawn, partly in the study. His pipe 
was still his companion. He seemed to need to walk 

1 Written in 1895. 


incessantly, such was his nervous activity of tempera- 
ment. He asked me if it annoyed me for him to 
walk so much up and down his study. The slight 
impediment in his speech one forgot as one listened 
to the flow of his discourse. He talked a volume 
while I was with him, and what he said often rose to 
eloqyence. There was humour too in it, of which I 
can give no example, for it was fine and delicate. 
But what most impressed me was his perfect sim- 
plicity of character. He talked of his wife with the 
strongest affection wished I could remain longer 
with them, if only to know her better. Nothing could 
be more tender than his manner toward her. He 
went for her when we were in the study, and the last 
half hour of my stay she sat with us. She is one of 
five sisters who are all married to eminent men. 

It occurs to me to note, as among my last recollec- 
tions of our talk, that I spoke of Spurgeon, whom I 
had heard in London a short time before, and was 
very favourably impressed with. I could not but com- 
mend his simple, strong Saxon speech, the charm of 
his rich, full voice, and above all the earnest aim 
which I thought was manifest in all he uttered. Mr. 
Kingsley said he was glad to hear this, for he had 
been told of occasional irreverences of Spurgeon's, 
and of his giving way now and then to a disposition 
to make a joke of things. Not that he objected alto- 
gether to humour in sermons: he had his own temp- 
tations in this way. " One must either weep at the 
follies of men or laugh at them," he added. I told 


him Mr. Maurice had spoken to me of Mr. Spurgeon 
as no doubt an important influence for good in the 
land, and he said this was on the whole his own 
opinion. He told me, however, of teaching of quite 
another character, addressed to people of cultivation 
mainly, and to him peculiarly acceptable. His refer- 
ence was to Robertson's " Sermons " ; he showecj me 
the volume the first series just then published. 
The mention of this book perhaps led to a reference 
by Mr. Kingsley to the Unitarians of New England, 
of whom he spoke very kindly, adding, in effect, that 
their error was but a natural rebound from Calvinism, 
that dreary perversion of God's boundless love. 

But I had now to say good-by to these new friends, 
who had come to seem old friends, so full and cordial 
had been their hospitality, and so much had we found 
to talk of in the quickly-passing hours of my visit. 
Mr. Kingsley drove me three miles on my way to 
Winchfield. His talk with me was interspersed with 
cheery and friendly words to his horse, with whom 
he seemed to be on very intimate terms. " Come and 
see us again," he said, as we parted ; " the second visit, 
you know, is always the best." 



IT was on a bright morning in June, 1852, that I 
left London for my second visit to Oxford. The fifty 
miles journey was made in little over an hour, and 
soon afterward I was comfortably quartered at the 
quaint old inn, " The Mitre." 

I found the streets well filled ; it was term-time and 
the undergraduates, as well as the Fellows, and other 
university men were everywhere to be seen ; their 
caps and gowns, which by rigid law they are com- 
pelled to wear, adding much to the quaint old-time 
look of the city. 

I called in the afternoon at Oriel College to deliver 
a letter of introduction to the Rev. Charles Marriott, 
Fellow of Oriel and Vicar of St. Mary the Virgin's 
the successor of Mr. Newman, holding precisely his 
position in the university, and occupying his rooms. 
Not finding him, I went at four to the cathedral, which 
is really the chapel of Christ Church College, to even- 
ing service. I had the hope that Dr. Pusey would 
be there. The small congregation had already assem- 
bled. I was shown by the verger to one of the high 
stalls. There were several of the canons, or students 
of the college, answering to the Fellows of other col- 



leges, present, but no one of these could be Dr. Pusey. 
At the very stroke of four a quick step was heard, a 
man of middle age, of grave countenance, pale, but 
seeming vigorous, came in and went to a stall very 
near me. He wore, as the others did, a surplice and 
rose-lined hood. When the service was over he 
passed me in going out, and I had a full view of his 
countenance. I was struck with its intellectual ex- 
pression his serious thoughtful look. " Is that Dr. 
Pusey ? " I asked the verger at the door. " Yes," said 
he, and so my wish was gratified. I had felt for him, 
for years, admiration and reverence ; the sight of him, 
though it was nothing more, gave me pleasure. Al- 
ready he had become the most conspicuous figure at 
Oxford, though the period of which I write was forty- 
seven years ago ; and this in spite of his shrinking 
from any personal distinction, or even notice. It was 
a true instinct of the popular heart that affixed his 
name to the great movement of 1833, although New- 
man had more to do with its actual beginning than 
he. Dr. Newman informs us that he felt for him, as 
early as 1827-28, enthusiastic admiration. He adds, 
" His great learning, his immense diligence, his 
scholar-like mind, his simple devotion to the cause of 
religion overcame me." Newman speaks of him fur- 
ther, of the date of 1834, as having a vast influence in 
consequence, in part, of his deep religious seriousness, 
and the munificence of his charities. 

But to return to my passing sight of him. He 
was joined as he crossed what is known as the " Tom 


Quadrangle " so called because of the great bell, 
" Tom of Oxford " that sounds over it from its cupola, 
by a youth whom I noticed in the cathedral, who 
was quite lame ; also by a young lady. The two were, 
as I afterward learned, his son and daughter. His 
wife had died ten years before. I stood looking after 
them until they had reached the opposite side of the 
Quadrangle, and entered their own apartments that 
part of the old range of buildings which constituted 
Dr. Pusey's residence as Canon of Christ Church. 

I may note here that Dr. Pusey's weight and influ- 
ence in Oxford was at the first in some degree due to 
the fact of his holding a professorship, and also to his 
family connections. He was of an ancient family; his 
brother, the late Philip Pusey, of Pusey, Member of 
Parliament, and a great agriculturalist, was long at the 
head of it. At a celebration some fifty years ago, of 
the thousandth anniversary of the birthday of Alfred, 
the Pusey horn was produced a precious posses- 
sion, the tradition being that their direct ancestor, then 
a boy, had sounded it from a hill-top to give notice of 
a Danish invasion. 

Dr. Pusey's son, whom I have spoken of as accom- 
panying him, bore the name of Philip. He was very 
lame, in fact deformed. It is probable that on this 
account he did not take Orders. He became, how- 
ever, as I have understood, a man of curious learning 
and especially an authority in regard to the text of 
the New Testament. He made journeys to the Le- 
vant and elsewhere, spite of his infirmities, in search 


of manuscripts. A visitor at Mt. Athos was inquired 
of by the monks, some years after one of young 
Pusey's visits, for tidings of " Philip of England." 

To return to my narrative. Later in the afternoon 
I wandered from one college to another, entering the 
Quadrangles, and studying the architecture, and look- 
ing at the old statues of founders, many of them 
crumbling away under the gnawing tooth of Time. 
The spire of St. Mary's I stood long to admire ; it 
had just been almost completely rebuilt one of the 
most beautiful spires in England, not lofty, but of 
admirable proportions. The High Street, the noblest, 
perhaps, in Europe, with colleges and churches on 
either side, was the one along which I was walking. 
I reached Magdalen, and passing through the Quad- 
rangle came at length to the gardens, and the famous 
water-walk along the banks of the Cherwell. The 
noble trees formed a green archway. As I walked 
along I thought of the many to whom these sweet 
shades had brought peace, and with it elevation of 
mind. Addison's name is perhaps the most famous 
in literature of the students of Magdalen (Maudlin, 
as it is mostly called). Besides this water-walk there 
is a park connected with the college grounds. There 
were many deer under the noble trees. 

I met by chance Mr. Marriott in the Chapel of 
Merton, with some friends to whom he was showing 
the beautiful restorations in this chapel. He had 
been to " The Mitre " he said, to look for me. He 
welcomed me cordially. His manners were grave 


and quiet. He pointed out to me the beauty of the 
chapel we were in, and afterward some very ancient 
parts of the college perhaps the most ancient archi- 
tecture in Oxford. We went into the library where 
there were some books chained to their shelves. 
Thence we walked to Christ Church meadows and 
along the banks of the " Silver Isis." A boat-race 
was going on, and a large number of the young 
Oxford men were gathered, representing, doubtless, 
some of the best blood of England. We stood to 
watch the gay scene, and I thought of Wordsworth's 
lines referring to a similar scene at Cambridge 

"Who . . . 

Could have beheld, with undelighted heart, 
So many happy youths, so wide and fair 
A congregation in its budding time 
Of health, and hope, and beauty, all at once 
So many divers samples from the growth 
Of life's sweet season could have seen unmoved 
That miscellaneous garland of wild flowers 
Decking the matron temples of a place 
So famous through the world?" 

The beautiful tower of Magdalen was often in view 
as we followed the windings of the water-walk ; it 
seemed almost to move as we did, and ever to end 
the prospect. We had some pleasant talk. One sub- 
ject was Mr. Gladstone, and the canvass which was 
then going on at the University; a general election 
was at hand. The Oxford men were beginning to 
be restive under the leaning toward liberal opinions 
which they discovered in their then representative. 


Mr. Marriott said he was going in the evening to 
Dr. Acland's afterward Sir Henry Acland a son 
of Sir Thomas Acland, and that he would be glad if 
I would accompany him. I accordingly joined him 
at his rooms at a little after eight. His study, as I 
have said, was once Mr. Newman's: here the Paro- 
chial Sermons were written, those remarkable produc- 
tions which to so many persons stood for years in 
the place of a living teacher. Principal Shairp, who 
heard these sermons, has said of them: 

" The look and bearing of the preacher were as of one who 
dwelt apart ; who, though he knew his age well, did not live 
in it. From his seclusion of study, and abstinence and prayer, 
from habitual dwelling in the unseen, he seemed to come forth 
that one day of the week to speak to others of the things he 
had seen and known. To call these sermons eloquent would 
not be the word for them ; high poems they rather were, as 
of an inspired singer, or the outpourings of a prophet, rapt, 
yet self-possessed. And the tone of voice in which they were 
spoken, once you grew accustomed to it, sounded like a fine 
strain of unearthly music. After hearing these sermons you 
might come away still not believing the tenets of the High 
Church system ; but you would be harder than most men if 
you did not feel more than ever ashamed of coarseness, self- 
ishness, worldliness, if you did not feel the things of faith 
brought close to the soul." 

I had never myself the happiness to hear Mr. New- 
man, but the associations of the room in which I 
found myself were of strange interest. Books were 
everywhere in the apartment, so that there was, indeed, 
but little space left for the piano and table which were 


in the middle of the room. Music appeared to be the 
one recreation of Mr. Marriott's studious solitude. 

We set off soon on our walk. The spire of St. 
Mary's we looked at long as we drew near to it in the 
evening light ; the reflected glow of the western sky 
was upon it, tinting it with pale gold. It was in this 
church that Mr. Newman's sermons were preached. 
At Dr. Acland's I met agreeable, cultivated people. 
The Rev. Sir George Prevost I had much talk 
with. I enjoyed the quiet evening extremely ; it was 
yet another glimpse to me of the best household life 
of England an experience of the sort from which 
an American traveller may gain a true knowledge of 
" Our Old Home." 

I breakfasted the next morning with Mr. Marriott 
to meet Sir George Prevost and a few others, one of 
them the Rev. Charles Page Eden, editor of the new 
edition of Jeremy Taylor. I had wondered, when Mr. 
Marriott had asked me, the evening before, how he 
could entertain us in his room in which books had so 
much the upper hand ; but, behold ! his large library 
table had been cleared of its usual occupants, and a 
cloth was spread, and there was promise of a sub- 
stantial meal. 

Mr. Marriott made the coffee and the tea, for there 
was fire on the hearth. His "grace" was "Benedictus 
benedicat" a form of words which has been in use at 
Oriel since the Middle Ages. There was animated 
talk, chiefly upon Church matters, though many ques- 
tions were asked me about America. Mr. Eden I was 


glad to meet; he had just completed a stupendous work, 
verifying every quotation made by Jeremy Taylor, 
giving the reference at the foot of each page a task 
requiring almost the learning of Jeremy himself. 

Sir George Prevost in parting asked me to visit 
him in Gloucestershire, and offered to introduce me 
to his brother-in-law, the Rev. Isaac Williams, author 
of " The Cathedral " and other poems, and one of the 
leading Oxford Tract writers a man for whom I 
had high admiration. This visit I was unable to 
accomplish, nor did I ever see afterward Sir George 
Prevost. He was a baronet as well as a clergyman, and 
had always much weight and influence in the English 
Church. He was very simple and gentle in manner. 

When our pleasant breakfast party was over I 
walked for a while in the beautiful gardens of New 
College. Never was there richer green than that of 
the turf on which the shadows of these colleges, and 
their walls and towers, now and again fall, and never 
fuller, richer, more abundant foliage. 

I returned to Oriel to take my leave of Mr. Mar- 
riott. He inquired very kindly as to my further 
journeying in England, and offered me introductions, 
among them one to Mr. Keble. I gladly accepted 
this, and he then wished me God-speed and I went 
my way. I must note that he died some years after- 
ward, and what was printed in regard to him at the 
time showed that his life had been saintly in its zeal 
and devotion. He impressed me as a man of great 
singleness of mind, of high and unworldly aims. 


My thoughts had been, naturally, much of Mr. 
Newman while I was in the room which spoke so 
continually of his presence. But indeed the whole 
air of Oriel College seemed to tell of him. In the 
very year of my visit he uttered this half-wistful recol- 
lection of it, speaking with something of the narrow- 
ness which had come to him with his new faith. 

" In the heart of Oxford there is a small plot of ground, 
hemmed in by public thoroughfares, which has been the pos- 
session and the home of one Society for above five hundred 
years. In the old time of Boniface the Eighth and John the 
Twenty-second, in the age of Scotus and Occam and Dante, 
before Wicklif or Huss had kindled those miserable fires 
which were to be the ruin of souls innumerable down to this 
day, an unfortunate King of England, Edward the Second, 
flying from the field of Bannockburn, is said to have made a 
vow to the Blessed Virgin to found a religious house in her 
honour if he got back in safety. Prompted and aided by his 
almoner, he decided on placing this house in the City of 
Alfred ; and the Image of Our Lady which is opposite its 
entrance, is the token of the vow and its fulfilment to this 
day. King and almoner have long been in the dust, and 
strangers have entered into their inheritance, and their creed 
has been forgotten, and their holy rites disowned ; but day 
by day a memento is still made in the Holy Sacrifice by at 
least one Catholic priest, once a member of that College, for 
the souls of those Catholic benefactors who fed him there for 
so many years." 

Against this passage, with its strangely unchari- 
table words, I place one other showing Newman's 
deep love for Oxford as a whole, and what a wrench 
it must have been to his spirit to leave it. 


"There are those [he says] who, having felt the influ- 
ence of this ancient school and being smit with its splendour 
and its sweetness, ask wistfully if never again it is to be Catho- 
lic, or whether at least some footing for Catholicity may not 
be found there. All honour and merit to the charitable and 
zealous hearts who so enquire ! Nor can we dare to tell what, 
in time to come, may be the inscrutable purposes of that Grace 
which is ever more comprehensive than human hope and as- 
piration. But for me, from the day I left its walls, I never, 
for good or bad, have had anticipation of its future; and 
never for a moment have I had a wish to see again a place 
which I have never ceased to love, and where I lived for 
nearly thirty years." 

It was with the sweet influence of Oxford still upon 
me that I arrived at Winchester on a Saturday after- 
noon, intending the next day to present myself at 
Hursley, the home of Mr. Keble. But Winchester 
had its own attractions, chiefest of all the cathedral. 
I found the same open space of greensward about it, 
which adds so much to the beauty of the English 
cathedrals as compared with those of the Continent. 
I entered by the west door, and was delighted and 
astonished at the grandeur of the nave. It is as long 
as that of York, 250 feet; the extreme length of the 
cathedral is 560 feet. The noble pillars, white and 
fair as if the work of yesterday, and the view of them 
from the west door with the vista of the distant choir 
opening beyond, and the aisles in like manner, with 
their springing arches in long perspective, afford a 
whole which it is a deep delight to look upon. Haw- 
thorne says of York that it is the most " wonderful 
work that ever came from the hands of man, seeming 


indeed like a house not made with hands, but to have 
come down from above, bringing an awful majesty 
and sweetness with it." He adds, " I thank God that 
I saw this cathedral again, and I thank Him that He 
inspired the builders to build it, and that mankind 
has so long enjoyed it, and will continue to enjoy it." 
One may not go beyond such glowing words as these, 
and yet the interior of Winchester surpasses in some 
respects that of York. 

I was taking my full of pleasure as I walked slowly 
up the nave, and I had paused opposite the chantry 
and tomb of William of Wykeham, when the verger 
approached and asked me to join the party to whom 
he was then showing the cathedral. We went into 
the choir, and there the first object that struck me 
was the tomb of William Rufus. I was rather fresh 
at the time from Lingard, and so I looked with pecul- 
iar interest on the very spot where the hasty burial 
took place, in the year 1 100, of the second of the Nor- 
man kings. His life, Lingard says, had been base and 
impious, and so there were no religious rites. 

"... they laid him in the Cathedral Church 
Because he had been a King. 

" But never a heart at his death was sore 
And never an eye was dim ; 
The Church bells toll for rich and poor, 
But they never toll'd for him." 

And here is this further record of him from Neale's 
version of the old chronicler's story : 


" There was never a night but he lay down 

A worse man than he rose ; 
And never a morning but up he sprung 
Worse than at evening's close." 

Another interesting historical association of Win- 
chester Cathedral is the fact that there, at the high 
altar, the marriage of Philip and Mary was solemnized. 
In the south transept under a plain slab in the pave- 
ment lies Izaak Walton, and not far off is a monu- 
ment to Jane Austen. Such are the contrasts of an 
English cathedral the associations utterly separated 
as to time and strangely various in character. 

After my dinner at " The George," I walked in the 
sweet summer evening to the hospital of St. Cross, 
about a mile distant. This is one of the quaint relics 
of the Middle Ages which happily are still preserved 
in England : originally called " The Almshouse of 
Noble Poverty," it is a house for a certain number of 
poor men. The buildings are of the thirteenth cen- 
tury and are of curious interest. At the porter's gate 
a dole of bread and beer is given to all who apply for 
it until the supply for the day is exhausted. Some 
years after the date of my visit, an immense stir was 
made about this endowment, and its perversion from 
its true use, by the then Earl of Guilford. Mr. Trol- 
lope's novel, " The Warden," is based upon the story 
of this old foundation, and the abuses of long years 
which were brought to light at the time of which I 
speak. As I saw the hospital of St. Cross it was 
wonderfully picturesque, and nothing indicated to me 


the sham and hypocrisy that I suppose it really was. 
The beer did appear to me of the smallest as I tasted 
my pilgrim's share of it. 

I was up betimes the next morning, Sunday, that I 
might attend morning prayers at the cathedral at half 
past seven. I was shown to one of the high stalls in 
the choir. Somehow in the freshness of the early 
morning there seemed a sublimer beauty in pillar and 
lofty arch. The service was short, morning prayer 
only, as far as the litany, but it seemed to give a 
glory to the day. 

Two hours later I started for Hursley, five miles 
distant the parish of which Mr. Keble was vicar. 
I had a delightful walk over the Hampshire hills. 
Now and again I came upon a flock of sheep with a 
shepherd and his dog attending them quiet pas- 
toral scenes. From the first ridge or eminence after 
leaving Winchester I had a fine view of the town 
with the cathedral in its majesty rising far above all 
the other buildings, seeming to gather them under its 
sheltering arms. It was interesting to think of the 
importance of the city in the old days and of the 
great things which had come to pass there. It was 
a most important post or encampment of the Romans, 
and when their power passed away it fell into the 
hands of the Saxons and became the capitol of Wes- 
sex. Alfred held his witan there; and there in 1522 
the great Emperor Charles V. was entertained by 
Henry VIII. 

It was eleven o'clock when I reached the village 


church at Hursley a new and beautiful church, 
built in the main, as I afterward learnt, out of the 
profits of " The Christian Year." I could give no 
study to the exterior, for service had begun. The 
church was well filled ; the men and women sat on 
different sides. The men were for the most part the 
peasantry of the neighbourhood, wearing the white 
smock-frock peculiar to this part of England. There 
were no pews, so that rich and poor were in a true 
sense met together. The psalms for the day were 
chanted, and I noticed that the entire congregation 
seemed to take part in the singing. There were three 
clergymen in the chancel, and one of them I saw at 
once was Mr. Keble. A print of him which I had 
long possessed, from a portrait by Richmond, guided 
me, though the picture was of twenty years earlier 
date the period indeed of his prime. Now his hair 
was grey, and the spectacles he wore gave a further 
look of age. The choristers had their seats in the 
chancel boys in white surplices. I mention this 
fact because of a little incident of a later period of my 
narrative. Mr. Keble read the litany and a part of 
the ante-communion service, but he did not preach. 
To my disappointment, one of the other clergymen, 
also grey-haired, went into the pulpit. But the ser- 
mon was excellent, plain, and earnest, and quite of the 
character of those of Mr. Keble's I had read. 

I lingered for a while in the church and church- 
yard when the service was over, and then entered 
the garden or grounds of the vicarage. Mr. Keble 


at the moment appeared at the hall door, and I 
delivered in person my line of introduction from 
Mr. Marriott. " What a pleasing countenance ! " I 
said to myself, as I thus saw him. " What a look 
of gentleness and benignity ! " He led me to the 
drawing-room, and then asked me about my travels. 
There was a certain shyness or half timidity of man- 
ner at the first, but this soon passed off. I was 
struck with the brightness of his eye, and at the 
same time with his look of purity and guilelessness. 
The print, of which I have spoken, gives with re- 
markable fidelity the sweet smile and the lustre of 
the eye, which, as it were, constituted the charm of 
his countenance. I thought I had never seen a 
more winning look in one on whom age had begun 
to tell. The room was pretty and bright, looking 
out on the garden, which was gay with its summer 
bloom, and across to the church and churchyard. 
On the walls were some fine prints, among them 
the Dresden Madonna engraved by Miiller. Books 
were there in abundance, showing that the library 
had overflowed into the drawing-room. 

I had no thought of making my visit other than 
a call, but, when I rose to go, Mr. Keble rose at the 
same moment, and, taking my hat from me, said, 
" You will stay and take luncheon with us, and din- 
ner afterward at six, after Evening Service." The 
invitation was in the light of a command, and I was 
only too happy to obey. Soon afterward luncheon 
was announced. Mr. Keble said: "Let me explain 


to you whom you will see. My wife will be at the 
head of the table ; the gentleman is my brother, the 
elderly lady is my sister, two of the young ladies are 
my brother's daughters, the other is Miss Richards. 
Except the last, the names are all Keble." So we 
went to the dining room, and I was duly presented. 
I was struck with Mrs. Keble's sweet expression of 
countenance. Mr. Keble's brother proved to be 
the preacher to whom I had just listened, the 
Rev. Thomas Keble, vicar of Bisley. Somehow I 
felt drawn to him at once. I knew of him as hav- 
ing been one of the Oxford Tract writers. The 
meal was informal, and I think no servant was 
present. Mr. Keble himself went round the table 
offering wine to his guests. There seemed some- 
thing characteristic in this simple act. 

When we returned to the drawing-room, Mr. 
Keble soon said that he had his school to look 
after/ but that his brother would remain with me. 
So for an hour or two I talked with the good vicar 
of Bisley, and was charmed with his quiet humour, 
and the quick intelligence which was manifest under 
the quaint simplicity of his manner. He asked me 
many questions about my country, but our talk was 
chiefly about Church matters. I felt at the time 
lively interest in the Oxford Movement, and was 
especially curious to know about Hurrell Froude, 
who was the bosom friend of Keble and of Newman, 
and who was as much answerable as any man for the 
great awakening, so to speak, of 1834. "A man of 


the highest gifts," Newman testifies ; " so truly many- 
sided," he says, " that it would be presumptuous in 
me to attempt to describe him." " Would he have 
been likely," I asked, " if he had lived, to follow 
Newman in his great change ? " " A question diffi- 
cult to answer," said the good vicar of Bisley, with 
a smile. " Newman thinks he would certainly have 
gone with him, but I believe myself that he would 
have remained with my brother and Dr. Pusey." 
He added that Froude had never been betrayed 
into sharp denunciation of Rome, as Newman had, 
so there was no rebound of feeling. Mr. Keble said 
further that there was something of strangeness in 
Froude, and that people did not at first understand 
him ; he had been himself a little afraid of him, be- 
cause of his abrupt way of speaking, but, as he came 
to know him better, he saw the essential nobleness 
and beauty of his character. 

The afternoon service was at three o'clock, and 
was well attended, and this time the sermon was by 
the author of " The Christian Year." It was very 
simple ; the text was, " Heaven and earth shall pass 
away, but my word shall not pass away." There 
was no gesture, nor were there any high-wrought 
expressions ; the tones of the preacher's voice were 
touching in their earnestness, but the matter of the 
discourse was level to the understanding of the most 
unlearned of his hearers. He held his manuscript 
in his hand as he read, but his manner now and 
then had a sort of plaintive tenderness which com- 


pelled attention. It was impossible not to feel that 
he was speaking to those whose inmost souls lay 
open to him. The people of the scattered hamlets 
which formed the village of Hursley were almost as 
his own household. I had been told I should find 
him a pattern vicar, and that Sir William Heath- 
cote, his lifelong friend and the lord of the manor, 
might well be considered a pattern squire. Cer- 
tainly everything in the church and out of it seemed 
to speak of watchful care and guidance. 

Service being over, I remained in the church to 
study the windows, which are beautiful ; the designs 
for them were contributed by various artists, Copley 
Fielding, Mr. Dyce, and others. The church itself 
was paid for, as I have said, almost wholly out of the 
profits of " The Christian Year," and the cost of the 
windows was in part defrayed from receipts from 
the same source. Mr. Keble had told me there would 
be a funeral shortly, and in a few minutes I saw him 
standing at the lich-gate to meet the mourners. From 
a distance I looked on. The procession came very 
slowly up the avenue of old trees, the vicar repeating 
at intervals the solemn sentences with which the burial 
service begins. It was the funeral of a child; they were 
poor people who followed, women chiefly, with black 
dresses, but wearing white veils or hoods, and the coffin 
was covered with a fair linen cloth. Mr. Keble looked 
upward to the clear heavens, and seemed as if awed 
by the solemnity of the duty he had to perform ; cer- 
tainly if it had been a child of the noblest of the land 


he could not, with more touching earnestness, have 
uttered the consoling words of the service. The sweet 
summer afternoon, and the beautiful church, and the 
quiet country around made the scene memorable to me. 

I returned to the vicarage, where I had some further 
talk with Mr. Thomas Keble. I may note that I 
afterward learned in regard to this good man that he 
exercised much influence on those associated with 
him, though modest and retiring to an extreme de- 
gree. He was but two years younger than his 
brother. Dr. Pusey said of him that, though known 
to the world only as a simple parish priest, he exer- 
cised a silent and unconscious influence on such a 
mind as Newman's. " It used to be noted at an early 
period," Dr. Pusey says, " that a visit to the vicar of 
Bisley was attended by the unconscious reappearance 
of some of his thoughts in the pulpit of St. Mary's." 

At six o'clock the same company that I had met at 
luncheon assembled in the drawing-room, and dinner 
was announced. Mr. Keble had been occupied with 
the duties of the day up to this time, but now his 
work was over and he seemed happy to be again with 
his family and friends. His poet's eye was bright and 
his countenance gay and smiling. Mrs. Keble seemed 
to me a charming person, sympathizing with her 
husband, I could readily see, in all his thoughts and 
feelings. She was some fifteen years younger than he. 
She seemed frail in health. When the ladies left us, 
Mr. Keble took his wife's place at the table, and thus 
I was close to him. The talk which went on was free 


and flowing. I mentioned my having lately seen Dr. 
Pusey, and that I thought his appearance was that of 
vigorous health. Mr. Keble said he was stronger 
than he had been for a year or two previous. He had 
felt deeply " the cruel attacks " upon him of Mr. 
Dodsworth and others men who had gone over 
to Rome, and had alleged Dr. Pusey's influence as a 
cause, and had upbraided him for not accompanying 
them. One of these men, Mr. Keble said, had been 
greatly beholden to Dr. Pusey, and then came the 
half involuntary ejaculation, " Nasty conceited prig ! " 
Mr. Keble turned to me, after he said this, with a 
pleasant smile, as if apologizing for his vehemence. 
The two brothers talked further of certain persons 
who, while they had not gone over to Rome, were very 
harsh in their judgment of matters in England, speak- 
ing, Mr. Keble said, in a " miserably undutiful way of 
the English Church." Manning's going over had 
taken place a year or two before; I had alluded to 
this and to the pain it had caused in America. Mr. 
Keble said there had, of course, been great feeling in 
England. "But," he added, "the strength of the 
Church of England is not with her leading men ; 
there are old women in my parish, please God, with 
whom I should far rather say is found the true life of 
the Church ; such as they are our true witnesses, 
the simple-hearted poor." 

I have mentioned in speaking of the morning ser- 
vice at the church that the boy choristers had their 
seats in the chancel. While I was sitting with the 


two brothers in this after-dinner talk, Mr. Keble in 
drawing his handkerchief from his pocket found a 
knot in it. He seemed to puzzle over this for a 
moment, and then said, "Oh, I remember. One of 
the boys of the choir was eating an apple while the 
service was going on, fancying that nobody could see 
him. I put a knot in my handkerchief that I might 
remember to tell his mother to give him no more 
apples for a while." I felt a certain pity for the small 
offender, and I thought the incident showed, as in the 
case of the sharp remark before quoted, something 
of the severity which Mr. Keble was no doubt equal 
to on occasion. But I fancied he was half amused, 
all the same, at the young rogue's delinquency. 

In Mr. Thomas Keble there was a rich overflow 
of this kindly humour which went far, no doubt, to 
make him dear to his friends. But in England a 
quick sense of humour is very often to be found in 
highly educated men. As I sat by the two brothers, 
I felt strongly that matters of the deepest and gravest 
thought were unceasingly present to them, and yet 
with them both there was a sort of sunny radiance 
that gave a peculiar charm to their conversation. In 
looking as I have done since I began to copy out 
these notes, at that delightful book, Sir John Cole- 
ridge's " Life of Keble," I find a passage in a letter 
of Mr. Keble's of a date some years later than that 
of my visit; he is speaking of a visit he had paid 
his brother at Bisley, and of their going together to 
the Musical Festival at Gloucester Cathedral, where 


" The Elijah " was given, and " where," to quote his 
own words, " the two old codger Kebles were seen 
sitting side by side." 

I may note that the more than brotherhood of 
these two extended over a period of seventy years 
and upward. Thomas Keble survived the poet five 
or six years. Each was the main help and stay of 
the other. They were the children of a clergyman 
whose living was of small value, but who, educating 
them himself, as far as preparation for college went, 
so fitted them that each won scholarships. More- 
over, John Keble, when scarcely eighteen, obtained a 
double First Class, a distinction which up to that time 
no one had earned but Sir Robert Peel, with whose 
examination the University was ringing, Sir John Cole- 
ridge says, when Keble began his Oxford residence. 
Keble's success was the more remarkable because of 
his youth, and of what might well have seemed his 
imperfect preparation for college. It was understood 
that his father had never compelled him to study, and 
that he was taught only when he liked to learn. 

As I draw to an end with my own very slight 
narrative, I recall a remarkable incident which is told 
by Sir John Coleridge, the visit of Dr. Newman to 
Hursley in the last year of Keble's life. The account 
is mainly given in a letter of Newman's to Sir John. 
He came without being expected. Mr. Keble was at 
his door speaking to a friend. He did not know 
Newman, and asked him his name. What was more 
wonderful, Newman did not know him, though he 


had come purposely to see him. He gave him his 
card without speaking. Then they found each other 
out, and Keble with that " tender flurry of manner " 
which Newman says " he recollected so well," told 
him Pusey was there. Then came the meeting of 
the three. They had not seen each other for twenty 
years they who had been so closely united for so 
many years. Four or five hours passed in this re- 
newed intercourse. Newman tells very little of their 
talk. Dr. Pusey, he says, was full of the question of 
the inspiration of Holy Scripture, and Keble ex- 
pressed his joy that it was a common cause on which 
there could be substantial agreement. Pusey left 
them, and Keble and Newman walked a little way, 
and " stood looking," the latter says, " at the church 
and churchyard so beautiful and calm." Newman 
adds that Keble began then to converse with him 
with more than his old intimacy, as if they had never 
been parted. Newman went away to the Isle of 
Wight, intending to repeat his visit, but Mrs. Keble's 
illness prevented. Many notes, he says, passed be- 
tween him and Keble about this time ; in one of 
them the latter made a reference to the lines in 
" Macbeth " : 

"When shall we three meet again? 
When the hurly-burly's done, 
When the battle's lost and won." 

The date of this remarkable and last meeting of the 
three was September, 1865 ; the following April Keble 
was gathered to his rest. 


I have little more to tell of my own day at Hursley. 
Mr. Keble asked me to visit them again on my re- 
turn from the Continent. Mrs. Keble, too, said some 
kind words to me, and then the two brothers walked 
with me to the wicket-gate, and, with the blessing of 
the elder, I went my way. 





DURING a visit to Oxford in June of 1860, I wit- 
nessed a " Commemoration." I was a guest of one of 
the Fellows of St. John's College, Mr. William West 
Jones a Fellow, as I have said, though still an under- 
graduate. He looked to taking orders, and certainly 
there was everything in his personal bearing to make 
this seem natural. May I say it, his sweet cheerful- 
ness of spirit betokened a purity of heart and mind 
which was of rich promise for his future life. The 
years have brought their fulfilment, for my kind host 
of those days became afterward bishop of Cape Town 
and Metropolitan of South Africa. 

On the Sunday morning of that Oxford visit we 
went to St. Mary's to hear the sermon to be preached 
before the University the last of the Bampton 
Lectures of that year. Many of the Dons were there ; 
the Vice-Chancellor in a pew raised above the others 
and sitting alone ; the proctors and heads of houses 
around him. A large congregation was present. It 
was eleven o'clock; there was no service because in 
all the colleges there had been morning service at 
eight. A metrical psalm was exquisitely sung by the 
Q 225 


choristers present, and then the preacher read that 
admirable collocation of words the " bidding prayer." 
It is a calling upon men to pray for the sovereign, for 
the nobility, for the magistrates, for the institutions 
of learning, for all, in short, who are in any way in 
authority, and for every earthly means through which 
blessings can come ; and then there is a giving of 
thanks for all the good which has flowed to men in 
times past for the great departed whose labours 
have blessed the world " and herein I am especially 
bound to name the founder of the college of St. John, 
and Dr. William Laud and Dr. William Juxon, suc- 
cessively heads of that college, and Archbishops of 
Canterbury." These last are some of the words I 
recall of this impressive prayer. The preacher was of 
course a member of St. John's College. 

On the Monday there was a visit to the Bodleian, 
where wonderful manuscripts were shown us, and 
where various portraits by Holbein looked down upon 
us from the walls. I lunched with my kind host at 
St. John's on that Monday with a small party; we 
had some of the old college plate huge tankards of 
silver, and wine-coolers ; and the cheer was bountiful 
as well as scholastic. I should mention that our 
host, while he entertained us with university gossip, 
was briskly compounding the love cup. It proved 
a delicious beverage, and it contained the borage, 
which is, I believe, indispensable to give mystic sig- 
nificance to the draught. The tankard used for it 
was especially antique in form, and so heavy that 


the two handles had to be grasped to raise it to the 

Of the procession of boats on that sweet summer 
evening one of the spectacles of Commemoration 
week and of the flower-show the next day in the 
gardens of Worcester College, where the Woolwich 
band was in attendance, I need say little. All Oxford 
was gay with the company which the coming cere- 
monies had gathered. I may mention my dining on 
the Tuesday with my friend Mr. Jones in the hall 
of St. John's. A curious Oxford scene that was: 
the Dons, at the high table on the dais at the upper 
end of the hall, and also at a table at right angles 
with it extending down the centre, had their friends 
with them, many of them ladies, who had come up for 
the Commemoration. Among the dignitaries present 
was Professor Mansel, the chief ornament then of St. 
John's, afterward dean of St. Paul's a robust, well- 
looking man. All the college plate was displayed, 
and there were flowers and other decorations. From 
the walls portraits of Laud and Juxon and others 
looked down on the scene, and far above was the 

open-work roof. My place was with J at the 

undergraduates' table, where there was perhaps a 
trifle more freedom than at the high table. My com- 
panions were certainly a jolly set. One of them de- 
clared that the president of St. John's the august 
head of the college had just sent for " gooseberry 
fool " for himself and his especial guest, and that the 
order which went sounding from the hall to the but- 


tery adjoining was " president and friend, two fools." 
We adjourned before long to Jones's room, and then 

followed what is known as an Oxford wine. J 's 

scout was sent out to order dessert, and soon oranges 
and ices were brought, and sherry-cobblers were made, 
and claret was produced, and talk went on, and the thing 
was like a chapter out of " Tom Brown." There is the 
utmost freedom with each other on the part of the 
Oxford men, but there is courtesy and evident good 
feeling. They love Oxford intensely and all belong- 
ing to it. The wine-drinking, I may say, was very 

At length the great day dawned Wednesday. I 
breakfasted with Mr. Mountague Bernard at All Souls' 
Professor of International Law at Oxford and a 
very accomplished man. He was a Fellow of All 
Souls'; this college has the distinction which I am 
sure all professors elsewhere will thoroughly appre- 
ciate, that it has no students. Such was the case at 
the time of which I write. But a period of change 
was then beginning, and the stately leisure of the All 
Souls' Fellows and professors may have since been en- 
croached upon. (I may mention that Mr. Bernard 
twelve years later was one of the High Commis- 
sioners who arranged the Geneva Arbitration.) -The 
time came for us to go, and my host, putting on his 
cap and his embroidered gown being that which 
his professorship entitled him to wear conducted 
me to the entrance to the theatre. All was excite- 
ment there. A mob was assembled to see the privi- 


leged ones go in, and carriages were going about, and 
there was all the movement and stir that marks a great 
day. Under Mr. Bernard's protection I passed safely 
through the files of university police and entered the 
theatre. What a scene it was ! A huge semicircular 
room with seats all around it, those in the middle be- 
ing for ladies, tier above tier. And over their seats a 
gallery in which the undergraduates were gathered, 
piled, as it were, thick upon each other, and roaring 
and yelling like madmen. My place was on the floor 
standing-room only there were no seats. It was 
ten o'clock; the ceremonies would not begin until 
eleven. The ladies were nearly all in their places, 
but a few who were late came dropping in. Of 
course the undergraduates thought it necessary to 
remonstrate with them for being late; they thought 
it right also to urge the proctors to find seats for 
these fair ones without delay. " Do your duty, Ben ! " 
was their cry addressed to the warden of Wadham, 
who in his red robes of office was the chief figure in 
conducting these late comers. The ladies themselves, 
on whom all eyes were thus turned, looked sufficiently 
uncomfortable. Then the attention of the young men 
would be drawn to persons entering the theatre with- 
out uncovering. " Hats off ! " was the peremptory 
cry. Once a straw hat was observed. " Out with 
that straw ! Officers, do your duty ! " was the long- 
continued shout. Names were called to be cheered. 
The " Bishop of Oxford " (Wilberforce) was among 
the first proposed ; then " Garibaldi," who had just 


begun his splendid Italian career. Gladstone's name 
was much disputed over cheers and groans. Groans 
for John Bright were given very heartily. It was the 
period when the aristocracy of England had little 
love for that great man. Cheers for the "ladies 
in pink," " in mauve," for the " ladies under twenty- 
one " ; tremendous cheers for the " Prince of Wales " ; 
then " for ourselves " ; " for everybody " " except John 
Bright," a single voice added. 1 It was all very excit- 
ing. The ladies assembled showed lively interest in 
all that was going on ; they were a brilliant company, 
their costumes making a splendour of colour in the 
midday light. 

The Vice-Chancellor's seat was, as it were, flanked 
by the seats of the ladies, and it was directly opposite 
the grand entrance. I may mention that the Vice- 
Chancellor is the head of the whole University. The 
Chancellor is always a nobleman of the highest rank, 
but he appears only on great occasions, and at rare 
intervals. The Duke of Wellington was Chancellor 
for many years ; at the time of which I write the Earl 
of Derby held the office ; it is now held by the Mar- 
quis of Salisbury. To the right of the Vice-Chancel- 
lor's chair was a seat on the back of which was a gilt 
crown or crest surmounted by gilded plumes. It was 
the chair used by the Prince Regent at the visit of the 

1 S,ome twenty years later Oxford did honour to itself by conferring 
its degree on John Bright. Time had wrought its wholesome change in 
opinion. The appearance in the theatre of the great Liberal chief in his 
doctor's robes was the signal for a tempest of cheers ; the new genera- 
tion showed themselves of one mind in their wish to do him honour. 


Allied Sovereigns, and was now to be occupied by the 
Prince of Wales. 

Eleven o'clock at length struck; the great doors 
were thrown open, and " God save the Queen," was 
given forth by the organ. First of all in the proces- 
sion, as ranking all, came the Prince a fair, slender 
boy. True, he was between eighteen and nineteen, 
but he had a very youthful look. (It will be perceived 
I am speaking of a period nearly forty years ago, when 
the Prince was an Oxford student). His face had a 
certain sweetness a grave, pensive expression. He 
smiled pleasantly as he bowed. There was little that 
was intellectual in his countenance, yet he seemed in- 
terested in what went on around him. I fancied in 
him a certain repose or serenity befitting a royal per- 
sonage. To me there was, at that time, a fascination 
about the youth. Doubtless it was the remembrance 
of the long line of kings from whom he has sprung, 
and there was something, too, in the thought of his 
tender years, and the cares which were by and by to 
come on him. A storm of applause greeted him as 
he ascended to his seat. The ladies, and all the com- 
pany, stood up. He bowed again and again to those 
of them he knew. Mrs. Gladstone, who was nearest 
him, he shook hands with a handsome woman, 
sprightly in manner. 

The Vice-Chancellor took his seat, and the other 
dignitaries, all in grand costume, ranged themselves 
in their allotted places. Canon Stanley, as he then 
was, afterward the famous Dean, was in professorial 


robes of scarlet, or black and scarlet. The first busi- 
ness of the day was the reading by the Vice-Chancel- 
lor of a Latin paper setting forth the especial claim or 
merit of the persons on whom degrees were to be con- 
ferred ; and then the proposing to the members of the 
University their names for approval or otherwise, 
"Placetne Vobis Domini Doc fores ? " said he, address- 
ing the Doctors present, and then "Placcfae Vobis 
Magistri ? " turning to two Masters of Arts who stood 
in cap and gown to figure that entire portion of the 
academic body. 

Lord Brougham was one of those who were that 
day to be honoured. The time had at length come 
when Oxford was willing to recognize the eminence 
of the great Whig leader. When his name was read 
in the list there was tremendous applause, and it was 
some time before the Vice-Chancellor could go on. 
The Swedish Ambassador and some other foreign 
dignitary were two of the names read and accepted 
without much disturbance. Next in order was the 
name of Sir Richard Bethell. No sooner had this 
been uttered than shouts of dissent came from the 
galleries, and there was prodigious uproar. The un- 
dergraduates, it was plain, were utterly opposed to 
this Whig lawyer's receiving a degree. He was ob- 
noxious to the Conservative party as being a leading 
member, in the Whig interest, of Lord Palmerston's 
Government, and as the author of the Divorce Bill. I 
may add that he was afterward Lord Chancellor under 
the title of Lord Westbury. 


The Vice-Chancellor waited, as well he might, for no 
word of his could have been heard. At length there 
was a slight lull ; the "Placetne Vobis" was hurried 
over as quickly as possible, but not without the yells of 
disapproval being again sent forth. Then came the 
name of Sir Leopold McClintock discoverer of the 
remains of Sir John Franklin's expedition an adroit 
arrangement this, for a popular name would appease 
the incensed crowd. Instantly a shout of approval 
burst forth, and cheer after cheer was given. Last of 
all was the name of John Lothrop Motley; this was 
received respectfully but calmly. 

Now came the entry into the theatre of the men who 
were to be thus honoured. Each was in flowing robes of 
scarlet. The Regius Professor of Civil Law, Dr. Twiss, 
conducted them singly toward the Vice-Chancellor, and 
then in sonorous Latin set forth their achievements 
or their fame. First, the Swedish Ambassador ; his 
merits having been recited by Dr. Twiss, the Vice- 
Chancellor addressed him as " Vir illustrissime" and 
then conferred the degree. The Ambassador wore 
his scarlet robe over his foreign uniform, or court 
dress. He ascended the steps, and the Vice-Chancel- 
lor gave him his hand, and he took his seat among 
the other dignitaries. Lord Brougham was the next, 
and his appearance was the signal for such a frenzy of 
cheering as, I fancy, had not often before been heard 
within those walls. I was close to the old man, and 
watched the play of muscles in his countenance, as 
with downcast eyes he received the recognition of the 


young men of England of his great name and fame. 
He was then over eighty, and his hair was entirely 
white. I thought, as I looked at him, of the great 
part he had played in modern English history of 
the trial of Queen Caroline, the stormy debates in 
regard to Catholic Emancipation and the Reform 
Bill, the long struggle for the freedom of the West 
Indian slaves. I could not foresee that in the very 
next year, when the great cause of emancipation in 
my own country was in sore need of moral support 
from Lord Brougham, that support would be coldly 
withheld. But it is charitable to suppose that age had 
in those last days dimmed faculties that were once so 

At length the Professor of Civil Law was allowed to 
go on. When the Vice-Chancellor addressed the ven- 
erable man, there was a renewed burst of enthusiasm, 
and when he gave him his hand, there was another. 
Turning round and facing the assembly, the aged 
peer bowed with dignity in acknowledgment of his 
great reception. At length there was quiet. Now 
appeared Sir Richard Bethell. At once there were 
groans and hisses and cries of all kinds a fearful 
din. Again I watched the countenance of the man 
who was standing thus, the object of all eyes and 
of every one's thoughts. His brow grew dark. I 
feared that the proceedings might be brought to a 
sudden end. Dr. Stanley had told us, at his break- 
fast-table the day before, that the Vice-Chancellor 
had resolved, if the uproar exceeded a certain limit, 


he would at once break up the convocation. By 
and by there was a pause ; hastily the concluding 
words of the orator were said, and quickly, too, the 
Vice-Chancellor did his part; then Sir Richard 
ascended the steps, and, turning round, looked up 
at the galleries and bowed, as though he had some- 
thing to thank the young men for. This unexpected 
act seemed to awaken their better feelings, and there 
was at once applause. And so the matter ended 
better than it began. 

What a contrast there was when McClintock ap- 
peared ! The Oxford men appreciate hardihood ; 
here was a hero they could thoroughly understand. 
I thought what a reward it was for long trials and 
endurance to receive honours from this renowned 
University. McClintock was a small man, unpre- 
tending in look. He wore his naval uniform under 
his doctor's robes. When he ascended the steps, 
it seemed difficult at first to find a place for him. 
He took a low seat, but immediately room was made 
for him higher up, quite among the ladies. " None 
but the brave deserve the fair," came in a clear 
voice from the undergraduates' gallery, and immedi- 
ately there was a shout of laughter and cheers. 

Mr. Motley was next in order, and with him the 
list of doctors closed. His form and features are 
familiar to us now, but to me he was until then a 
stranger, and I certainly saw no finer face in all that 
company than his. The young Oxford men seemed 
to know little of him (only his " Dutch Republic " had 


then appeared), for they received him with but mod- 
erate cheers. I should mention that when, at the 
beginning of the proceedings, the Vice-Chancellor 
recited his claim to the honour it was proposed to 
confer, and dwelt on his merits as an author, he 
used the word luculentissime (most luminous, per- 
spicuous), and for some reason or other it caused 
a laugh. The Vice-Chancellor himself smiled. 
Whether it was that the phrase was a stilted one, 
the learned must decide. I remember further that 
when the question Placetne was put, " Oh, by all 
means ! " was the prompt reply from the gallery. 

I must mention here a little incident as showing 
how pitiless young men are. One of the eminent 
personages on whom a degree was to be conferred 
indeed it was Mr. Motley had as a measure of 
precaution brought, his umbrella in with him. He 
might cling to it any day of that rainy summer of 
1860. He doubtless thought he had it well hidden 
under his scarlet robes, but a quick-sighted and un- 
merciful youth in the gallery got a glimpse of it, 
as the new-made D. C. L. was taking his seat, and at 
once there came the shrill cry, " Three cheers for 
the umbrella ! " 

The conferring of degrees had now ended, but 
the address which gives title to the day was yet to 
be delivered an address commemorating Founders 
and Benefactors. There was stir and confusion, for 
people were arranging to depart. The address was 
to be in Latin. Matthew Arnold was the orator; 


he appeared in a reading-desk or pulpit projecting 
from a side gallery, and began his task. Nobody 
seemed to listen, but Mr. Arnold's manner gave 
one the impression that he did not in the least 
expect attention would be paid to him. With the 
ending of his address, the proceedings closed. 

I have said little of Oxford as a whole, for I 
shrink from attempting to define its especial dig- 
nity and charm. Again and again I have been 
there, and each time, "smit with its splendour and 
its sweetness," I have felt envy of the men whose 
minds have been moulded under influences so pecul- 
iar and so enduring. I have experienced what New- 
man describes as the fascination which the very face 
and smile of a University possess over those who 
come within its range. Oxford has indeed attrac- 
tions quite indescribable ; and it would be well if 
more of our countrymen would seek to enter into 
the spirit of the place, and experience, as they as- 
suredly would, its manifold impressiveness. At the 
visit of which I have now told, certain ladies were 
my companions. From a letter from one of them 
I give the following, which I deem a fit ending of 
my story. 

" Surely never was there a place that had such 
a subtle charm as that old city, sitting like some 
ancient sibyl among her deep, flowery meadows and 
embowering trees, with such a mystery of learning 
and wisdom in her musing eyes." 



ON my first visit to England in 1849, among my 
letters of introduction in those days a very im- 
portant part of one's preparation for travel was 
a letter to Robert Forster of Tottenham, a leading 
member of the Society of Friends. I was received 
by him and his four sisters very cordially, at their 
pleasant home in one of the quietest of the small 
towns of the London radius. They were all past mid- 
dle age, and none of them had married. Their elder 
brother, William, had married a sister of Sir Thomas 
Fowell Buxton, and the son and only child of this 
marriage, William Edward Forster, was then begin- 
ning to make himself a name. He was the one repre- 
sentative of his generation, of this excellent family, 
and it is of him that I have now chiefly to speak. 
I was greatly impressed with the purity and uplifted 
souls of this Tottenham household their interest in 
works of charity of every kind, and their deep sense of 
religion. The saintly life has its illustration in quiet 
and retired family groups everywhere here it was 
peculiarly manifest. Robert Forster I sat with, in a 
summer-house of his garden, late in the sweet June 

R 241 


evening, and it was natural to me to open, in a way, 
my mind to him. It was interesting to him to know 
how it was that as my family had been Friends from 
almost George Fox's time, I had strayed from the fold. 
I made what explanation I could, and at the end, the 
good old man put his arm round my neck, saying, 
almost with emotion, " I hope thou wilt keep thy 
mind open to conviction." I felt in regard to him 
and his, I can truly say, after this first meeting, that 
they were a family which had been " ennobled by 
purity of moral life for many generations." 

Some three years later I was travelling in Switzer- 
land, and at Interlachen met again Robert Forster 
and his four sisters. I was with them for a day or 
two, and felt once more the influence that went out 
from them, making it good to be near them. They 
were kind to me. in every way, regarding me, perhaps, 
as a " proselyte of the gate." They said to me, " Thou 
must know our nephew, William Edward Forster ; we 
will write to him, and will hope thou canst make him 
a visit." I was only too glad to respond to this, for I 
knew of him, and of literary work he had already done, 
and I had read especially his reply to Macaulay in de- 
fence of Penn a vigorous and convincing pamphlet, 
showing that questionable acts attributed by Macaulay 
in his history, to William Penn, were really the work 
of quite another person, a certain George Penne. I 
knew also of William Edward Forster's keen interest 
in all political matters in England, and in the great 
question of slavery in America. I knew, too, of his 


having been, on his first coming of age, private secre- 
tary to his uncle, Sir Thomas Powell Buxton. This, 
in fact, had been the beginning of his efforts to fit 
himself for the career of a statesman. I was eager, 
therefore, to meet one from whom I could learn so 
much, and whose future seemed to me so full of prom- 
ise. I knew that he had married, a year or two before, 
the eldest daughter of Dr. Arnold of Rugby; this 
fact was of great interest to me. 

On my return to England I received a note from 
William Forster, asking me to come to them at their 
Yorkshire home at Burley, in the valley of the Wharfe. 
I replied that I should arrive at Ben Rhyding, a 
watering-place within a mile or two of their residence, 
on a Saturday night, and should perhaps see them at 
church the next day. I was early at the church, and, 
as I sat on one side of the main aisle, a young lady of 
slight and graceful figure passed me, and took a seat 
on the opposite side, higher up. I knew by a sort of 
instinct that this was no other than the daughter of 
Dr. Arnold. Soon a tall man, thin and wiry, with a 
resolute expression, walked up and took a seat beside 
her; this was Forster, I felt no doubt. The service went 
on. At the end of the sermon, as it was a Communion 
Sunday, many of the congregation went out Mr. 
Forster among them. I remained for the second service. 
He stopped for a moment where I was sitting, told me 
his name, and said his wife would remain, and asked if 
I would walk with her to their home. At the church 
door my acquaintance with this admirable person 


began now forty-six years ago; her age then was 
about thirty. My instant feeling was that intelligence, 
refinement, high and pure thought, met in her, to- 
gether with all feminine charm. Long afterward I 
learned that Wordsworth had said that in all that 
went to make up excellence in women Jane Arnold 
was as fine an example as he had known. 

What a vision it is for my memory, that pretty 
home at Wharfeside, where I first came to know Will- 
iam Edward and Jane Forster! Never was there 
closer intellectual companionship; each, as it were, 
supplementing the other his rugged strength, his 
quick mind, his wide knowledge of books, of men, 
and of affairs her keen intelligence, her grace of 
manner, her sweet dignity, her tenderness of feeling. 

The pretty river, the Wharfe, flowed at the foot of 
their grounds, and soon after our pleasant meal we 
went out on its waters Forster rowed, Mrs. Forster 
and I sitting in the stern. I remember his saying to 
me, " I understand you have become an Episcopal 
that is, that you have given up a religious fellowship 
in which there were no slaves, for one in which there 
are more slaves per head than any other." His wife 
reproved him for his seeming discourtesy, but, as his 
look showed anything but malice, I could forgive him. 
The remark showed where we were in that year of 
grace, 1852. It was the year of the "Uncle Tom's 
Cabin " excitement. I may mention that I arrived at 
Liverpool at the end of April of that year, and told of 
that remarkable book in various households in which 


I had chanced to visit. These friends have always 
since maintained that I brought the news of the book 
to England. Certainly, when I came back from the 
Continent at the end of four months, I found the 
whole land ringing with it. 

Another characteristic remark of Forster's was 
after inquiring after my Aunt Lucretia Mott "I 
remember listening in London in 1840 to a discussion 
between Mrs. Mott and a Reverend Someone, I think 
an American, on the woman question." After a 
pause, Forster added, " She whipped him to everlast- 
ing smash." Mr. Forster perhaps thought it polite 
to use the language of my country in telling me of 
this incident. 

The few days of my visit went quickly by, and 
every hour was of enjoyment. The evening talks 
in the library a large room which was, at the same 
time, the drawing-room gave me the keenest pleas- 
ure. The walls were covered with books, showing 
interest in literature of the widest range. But it was 
plain that all literary interests were subordinate to 
a deep concern in questions of politics and Govern- 
ment. My new friend was to me a striking example 
of a man of affairs, a man giving close attention to 
business, and yet securing to himself always the in- 
finite solace of books and study. Yet it was clear 
that the hope ever before him was the taking part 
in Government. He caught eagerly at every oppor- 
tunity of informing himself on all matters of public 
concern, on all Colonial questions, on our American 


slavery, and on subjects of chief discussion and con- 
troversy in the United States. He seemed from the 
first to have a vague feeling that America was to 
go hand in hand with England in influencing the 
future of the world. With his wife he was abso- 
lutely one in thought and feeling, and she "for- 
warded him unweariedly," to use Carlyle's words, 
"as none else could in all of worthy he did or at- 
tempted." She had come to him from an atmos- 
phere purely intellectual. Fox How had been the 
gathering place, always, of men of distinction Bun- 
sen and Whately, Julius Hare, Wordsworth, Mr. Jus- 
tice Coleridge, Hartley Coleridge, Frederick Faber, 
Crabb Robinson, Caroline Fox, Mrs. Fletcher, Dr. 
John Davy, Lady Richardson, and Harriet Martineau, 
are the names that rise first to one's mind. But 
Wordsworth was the commanding figure to whom 
all paid instinctive reverence. 

Dr. Arnold stood for literary cultivation as much 
as any man in England ; his name had become a 
household word in America from the wide circula- 
tion of "Stanley's Life" far wider, owing to the 
'cheap reprint, than had been reached in England. 
Mrs. Forster seemed to me peculiarly to reflect her 
father. When I came later to know her sisters at 
Fox How, one of them said to me ; " You know the 
one of us who most resembles our father." I felt 
from the first how remarkably she was fitted to be 
the wife of a statesman. She could well cherish the 
hope that when the opportunity he longed for came 


to her husband, she could aid him in work which 
would have been dear to her father's heart. 

I took my leave after this first visit, trusting a be- 
ginning had been granted me of a friendship that 
would endure. It did last until Forster's death 
thirty-four years later, and now twelve more years 
have passed, and I can count as a blessing which 
remains to me, my friendship with Mrs. Forster. 
Three of my children, too, have seen and known her, 
and I can truly say for them their feeling is alto- 
gether that of reverent affection and admiration. 

My second visit to Wharfeside was in 1855. I 
rejoiced to take part once more in that keenly in- 
tellectual life. My friends very kindly went with me 
on a visit to Fountains Abbey as glorious a ruin 
as any in England. I remember noticing that in 
the group of persons who were that day making the 
round of the Abbey there was an unconscious 
leadership on the part of Forster; I was strength- 
ened by this in the feeling that rule or government 
would one day fall to him. It was something, as I 
have said, unconscious on his part the bearing of 
a born ruler of men. It was at this visit I asked 
him whether he did not look to entering Parliament. 
He said he did, but that as yet he was hardly well 
enough off. It was clear to me that during the in- 
terval of my visits he had been steadily preparing 
himself for the work of a legislator. He had written 
for the Westminster Review a paper on " American 
Slavery " in regard to which I had had correspondence 


with him. In common with all thoughtful men, he 
was considering what could be the outcome of the 
slavery agitation in America, which was each year 
becoming more acute. As yet the war was five 
years distant. But the Crimean war was at that 
time a subject of keenest interest and anxiety. 
Gladstone and Lord John Russell had just retired 
from the Aberdeen Government, declaring that peace 
ought to be made, although Sebastopol had not as 
yet fallen. I find in my journal the record that 
Forster was furious against Gladstone especially, for 
thus abandoning his colleagues, he having been 
answerable equally with them for the beginning of 
the war. 

I remember asking Forster whether he could look 
forward to a time when John Bright would become 
a member of the Government. He said the ques- 
tion was a difficult one because of Bright's views 
as to war and in regard to the Church. He added, 
however, his conviction that whatever Government 
Bright became a member of he would practically 
control so great, he considered, was his ability. 
Some twelve years afterward, Bright did become 
one of the Ministry, and the Irish Land Bill of 
1870 was his work; this, with the Bill for Disestab- 
lishing the Irish Church, and Forster's Education 
Bill, were the chief acts of the Gladstone Govern- 
ment of 1868-1874. 

Forster, at the time of my visit of 1855, was em- 
ploying in his mills some eight hundred people, 


he and his partner, and yet in some way he seemed 
to secure a good deal of leisure, and to be able to 
give thought to literature and public concerns. He 
was fortunate then, and later, when he entered Par- 
liament, in having a partner who was willing to 
release him for public duty, taking upon himself 
the full burden of their important manufacturing 
operations. These operations prospered, however, 
through all, and Forster, when he became a mem- 
ber of Parliament and afterwards of the Govern- 
ment, was wholly without anxiety as to his business 

But at my visit of 1855, the prospect of a seat in 
Parliament was as yet remote. The work of prepa- 
ration was going on unceasingly, so that delay was 
only fitting him more for the position he could feel 
sure would be his, if life lasted. I may note here 
a prediction of the first Sir Powell Buxton in regard 
to his nephew Forster, then twenty-two. " I shall 
not live to see it, but that young man will make 
his mark." I give this from the " Life of W. E. 
Forster," by Wemyss Reid. I can truly say that a 
like conviction was never absent from my mind from 
my first knowledge of my friend. 

In this waiting time of 1855, literary matters could 
claim much of Forster's attention. In that month 
of August " Maud " had just appeared, and had 
caused a great stir. I remember that in railway 
carriages you constantly found people reading it. 
Much talk of it went on at Wharfeside. The " Ode 


to the Duke of Wellington," which appeared in the 
same volume, impressed Forster profoundly. I re- 
member the feeling with which he read it aloud to 
us that and the "Charge of the Six Hundred." 
The two poems seemed to go to his inmost heart. 
Charles Kingsley, whom I came to know in 1857, 
said to me Forster should have gone into the army : 
" He would have been a major-general by this 
time." But he was an Englishman before all things, 
animated by an extreme desire for liberal progress 
and for the true advancement of his country. 

The Crimean war ended, and our slavery matters 
were more and more occupying the attention of 
statesmen on both sides the Atlantic. I was in 
England again in 1857, and was staying at Fenton's 
Hotel, St. James's Street, London. A knock at my 
door in the morning there was my friend! He 
had come up to London suddenly, because of a 
parliamentary vacancy which had just occurred. He 
had seen my name on the books of the hotel. He 
had strong hope of securing the nomination, but, by 
some chicanery of a committee, it was given to 
another. As I have already quoted from Charles 
Kingsley, Forster was hardly the man to deal with the 
tracasseries of an election contest ; his time of waiting 
and of preparation was to go on for yet three years. 

In a month or two I was once more at Wharfe- 
side. I found there Thomas Arnold, Mrs. Forster's 
brother, with his wife and little children, fresh 
from Tasmania. Arnold's history, as Forster in- 


formed me, was that, after a distinguished career 
at Oxford, he went out to New Zealand, Dr. Arnold 
having bought land there. The young scholar gave 
himself to sheep farming. Happily, before much 
time had been wasted on this occupation, Captain 
Owen Stanley, brother of the afterwards famous 
Dean, calling at Auckland in command of one of 
her Majesty's ships, heard of young Arnold, and, 
meeting him, saw at once how unfitted he was for 
bucolic pursuits. Captain Stanley's next call was 
at a port in Tasmania then known as Van Diemen's 
Land. He told Sir William Denison, the governor, 
of Arnold. Sir William at once sent for him and 
made him Inspector of Schools for Tasmania. He 
remained there, and there also became a Roman 
Catholic. I asked Forster if this change was the re- 
sult of Oxford and High Church influences. " Quite 
the contrary," said Forster; "it was a reaction from 
Latitudinarianism." My impression is that Jowett 
had more influence on him than any one else in 
his Oxford days. His wife had not followed him 
in his change. Mrs. Forster remarked to me that, 
though it would seem strange for her to say it, she 
could almost regret that her sister-in-law had not 
gone with her husband. The little children who were 
playing there were too young for me to take much 
note of. One of them is now Mrs. Humphry Ward. 

I had delightful walks and talks with Forster and 
his brother-in-law "our Papist brother" he called 
him. I was much impressed with Thomas Arnold; 


he seemed a keenly intellectual man, and to have 
deep conviction of the truth of the opinions he had 
embraced. He is, I think, the only man I have ever 
known, who has made that change, who awakened any 
questionings in my own mind. He had made sacri- 
fice, I think, of his worldly fortune by his change. 

I remember Forster's saying to him one day after 
dinner, " Tom, I had an experience lately at a meeting 
to consider my nomination for Parliament. A story 
had got about that I had High Church leanings, and 
that as my brother-in-law had turned Papist, I might 
go the same way. I was anxious to meet this, so I 
arranged for some one to put the question to me. 
The meeting, however, silenced the questioner at 
once, and my little scheme failed." 

But the animated conversations on political and 
literary matters in the large drawing-room-library are 
the chief memory for me of my visit of that year. 
Each evening the talk went on, Mrs. Forster making 
tea for us. The Indian mutiny was of absorbing 
interest, the arrival of the Times in the early after- 
noon being the chief event of the day. William 
Arnold, another brother of Mrs. Forster, was at that 
time Inspector of Schools in the Punjaub. Letters 
from him were read showing his forebodings of three 
months before ; his latest letters were read, also show- 
ing his belief that the Punjaub would be a tower of 
strength to the English rule in India. The Punjaub, 
under the lead of Sir John Lawrence, did, in fact, save 


Ireland was another of the subjects of our talk, 
then, and for long years before, of chief concern to 
English legislators. Forster had been Carlyle's com- 
panion on a short Irish tour in 1849. But Carlyle's 
feeling at the misery they witnessed was more of 
wrath than of pity, for to him the suffering was but 
the people's deserving. Forster, who had seen the 
famine of two years before, and had taken an active 
part in administering relief, was shocked at the almost 
exultation of Carlyle at the wretchedness of the peo- 
ple. The travelling companionship soon came to an 
end, and the intercourse between the two thereafter 
was slight. A scene described by Forster in a letter 
may be worth quoting here, of the date of 1847, some 
years before his marriage. Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle were 
Forster's guests at Rawdon for three weeks. He took 
them to the Derbyshire region, and at Buxton at a 
table d'hote Forster was at the bottom as last comer, 
Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle at his right, and a tall, starched, 
gentlemanly Irish parson on his left. 

" For a time all went on easily [says Forster], in silent 
feeding or low grumbling, till at last Carlyle began to con- 
verse with parson, then to argue with him on Ireland, then 
to lose thought of all arguments or table d'hote, and to de- 
claim. How they did stare ! All other speech was hushed ; 
some looked aghast, others admiring ; none of them had ever 
heard or seen anything approach to such monster. We re- 
mained incog the whole time, spite of all the schemes of the 
guests, and the entreaties of the waiter to book our names, 
and my proposal to Mrs. Carlyle to save our expenses by 
showing him at so much a head." 


Another incident of this visit of the Carlyles to 
Forster was his being thrown from a gig when driv- 
ing with Mrs. Carlyle. The horse took fright and 
dashed down a long hill. Mrs. Carlyle showed won- 
derful presence of mind turning her back to the 
horse and embracing the gig, and so when it was over- 
turned, rolling out without being hurt. Forster was 
a somewhat reckless driver. He tells himself this 
further story of his bachelor days. He had picked 
up an old man, one of his work people. " The pace 
down the hill astonished the old man, who shut his 
eyes and clenched the seat in mortal fear. He 
reached his home, however, safely, and soon after his 
son came in looking very glum : ' What's t' matter 
with thee, lad ? ' ' What's t' matter with thee, fey- 
ther? Why could na' thou see me, a bit sin'? 
Thou might have taken notice of thy son, though 
thou was in Mr. Forster's gig.' ' Eh, bless thee, 
lad ; I had more to do than to take notice of thee. 
I was ower throng (busy) making my peace with my 

Forster's comment on Carlyle after the three weeks' 
visit was : " He certainly is a most delightful com- 
panion, a rich store of hearty, genial, social kindness 
shining through his assumed veil of misanthropy, and 
often the more conspicuous from his efforts to con- 
ceal or disown it, and his eccentric humour, striking 
laughter out of all manner of every-day, trivial 

A proposal to abolish the Lord Lieutenantship of 


Ireland was a subject of discussion in 1857, and I 
remember Forster's taking down from his shelf 
Thackeray's Ballads and reading with inimitable 
effect " Molony's Lament " 

" O Tim, did ye hear of thim Saxons, 

And read what the peepers repoort? 
They're goan to recal the Liftinant, 

And shut up the Castle and Coort ! 
Our desolate counthry of Oireland, 

They're bint, the Blagyards, to desthroy, 
And now, having murthered our counthry, 

They're goin' to kill the viceroy, 

Dear boy ; 
'Twas he was our proide and our joy ! " 

and again : 

" And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, 

And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, 
When the Coort of imparial splindor 

From Doblin's sad city departs ? 
And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers, 

When the deuce of a Coort there remains? 
And wher'll be the bucks and the ladies, 

To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains? 

In sthrains 
It's thus that ould Erin complains ! " 

Forster had a true sense of humour; I remember 
the delight with which he read, at a later visit, bits 
from Artemus Ward. But the conversation on Ire- 
land, at the time of which I speak, and the quotation 
from Thackeray, were of peculiar interest to me in 
recollection thirteen years later, when my friend had 
taken on himself the awful burden and responsibility 
of the government of that unhappy country. 


In my visit of 1857, I saw in Forster's intense 
interest in all that concerned his country how much 
there was in him of the making of a statesman, 
and I longed more than ever for his entry into 
Parliament. In February, 1861, he was returned for 
Bradford, and that constituency he represented for 
five and twenty years though he had contest after 
contest to sustain. 

My correspondence with my friend continued after 
my return to America in 1857. The clouds were 
gathering, and it was plain that momentous days were 
at hand. The nomination of Lincoln in 1860, or, 
perhaps I should say, the debate between Lincoln 
and Douglas in Illinois in 1858, was the first signal 
of the great conflict. No Englishman had more thor- 
oughly informed himself as to the question involved 
in the great struggle. Our war went on, and its 
varying fortunes were watched by Forster with in- 
tense solicitude, and both in Parliament and before his 
constituents his voice was raised in our behalf. No 
one, except Mr. Bright, was more conspicuous than 
he in our defence, for no one spoke with fuller know- 
ledge. He felt, as Mr. Bright did, that the cause of 
free institutions was involved in the issue. He was 
vigilant in the House of Commons in making head 
against the men who were in sympathy with the 
South. I regret to say that Lord Robert Cecil, now 
the Marquis of Salisbury, was very prominent among 
the friends of the Confederates. Few men in public 
life have advanced more, morally as well as intellec- 


tually, with advancing life, than the present Prime 
Minister of England. 

William Forster was in constant communication 
with Charles Francis Adams during the war, giving 
him all the aid he could. Mr. Adams told me this, 
and especially of his suggestion to him of a legal 
adviser when, as to the matter of the Alabama, it 
became necessary to employ English counsel. The 
opinion then given compelled the English Govern- 
ment to act though all too late. 

Forster made his mark in the House very early, 
though he was not what would be called a good 
speaker. His force of character, his clearness of 
mind, and his wide knowledge were at once recog- 
nized. In 1865, he had been four years in Parlia- 
ment ; before the year closed he was a member of 
the Ministry. Lord Palmerston had died and Lord 
Russell was once more Prime Minister. The Reform 
Bill the Government brought in failed because of the 
defection of Robert Lowe. Lord Russell resigned 
and Lord Derby came in. Disraeli, as leader of the 
House in the new Government, brought in another 
Reform Bill more advanced than the one which had 
been defeated. Disraeli's object in this measure was 
to "dish the Whigs." "Household suffrage," Sir 
Henry Maine says, " was introduced into towns to 
dish one side, and into counties to dish the other." 
Sir Henry Maine makes the further acute remark 
that " universal suffrage in England would have pro- 
hibited the spinning-jenny and the power-loom." " A 


leap in the dark," Lord Derby called this bill of Dis- 
raeli's, but, all the same, he accepted it as a party meas- 
ure, and the Tories and landed proprietors voted for 
it, and it became law. I was present at the final vote 
oft this measure in the House of Lords in August, 
1867. I had my own thoughts at this further widening 
of the suffrage in view of our American experience. 
" Shooting Niagara," Carlyle called it, saying, " it is 
well that he they call Dizzy is to do it a superlative 
Hebrew conjuror, spellbinding all the great Lords, 
great Parties, great Interests of England, to his hand 
in this manner, and leading them by the nose, like 
helpless, mesmerized, somnambulant cattle." 

I anticipate events by stating that while Disraeli's 
bill became law, he did not remain long in power. 
The Liberals came in and went on with reform in 
their own fashion. In 1872 there seemed a pause, 
and Disraeli took the opportunity to say in a speech 
at Manchester : 

" As I sat opposite the treasury bench the Ministers 
reminded me of those marine landscapes not unusual 
on the coasts of South America. You behold a range 
of exhausted volcanoes. Not a flame flickers on a 
single pallid crest. But the situation is still danger- 
ous. There are occasional earthquakes, and ever and 
anon the dark rumbling of the sea." 

Walter Bagehot said of Disraeli, " His wheat is 
worthless, but his chaff the best in the world." Of 
this latter the above is a fine example. 

I had but brief sight of William Forster in that 


year, 1867. In 1868 Gladstone came into office for 
the first time as Prime Minister, and Forster was 
made vice-president of the Council, though, to the 
surprise of many, he was not of the Cabinet proper. 
It was not until the death of Lord Clarendon in 1870, 
that he was sworn in as one of the group of ten or 
twelve men on whom the Government of England 
rests. I had companionship with him in this year, 
and looked on for a night or two as he was carrying 
through the House his great Education Bill, a 
measure to give common school education to the 
English people. I remember a speech from below 
the gangway on the Government side, which was flow- 
ing and eloquent and which was in support of the 
bill, though it closed with the offer of an amendment. 
The speaker was Sir William Harcourt. When he 
sat down Forster rose, and said he must express the 
satisfaction of the Government at the support of the 
honourable and learned member, but that this satis- 
faction would have been greater if the support had 
been offered at an earlier stage of the bill. With 
regard to the particular amendment offered by the 
honourable and learned member he must take leave 
to say that no amendment had been offered that had 
less to recommend it. I saw plainly enough from 
Forster's remark that there was something of political 
rivalry between these two eminent men. 

The Education Act of 1870 was the especial work 
of William Edward Forster. Again and again 
schemes for common school education had been 


brought forward, and again and again there had been 
failure. The leading feature of Forster's plan was 
the recognition of the schools which had been estab- 
lished by the different religious bodies of the country, 
for the education of the poor continuing them and 
subsidizing them. Wherever there was no school, 
the Government would establish and maintain one, 
the local authority directing it such school to be 
known as a Board School. Forster had full charge of 
the difficult work of carrying through Parliament this 
great measure. He told me he had always the cor- 
dial support of Gladstone, as his chief, but the meas- 
ure was essentially his, and he had ever to be on the 
watch to meet opposers. Alas ! for human weakness, 
the Nonconformists raised the cry that the Church 
of England would receive benefit from the measure. 
Members of the Church had been far more active than 
the Dissenters had been ; hence the Government aid 
would seem to be especially extended to them. Fors- 
ter knew that this would be complained of, but he knew 
also that there would be no possibility of carrying 
through a scheme of education for the whole of Eng- 
land except by the plan he proposed. Any other plan 
would have involved the building of schoolhouses 
everywhere, and the throwing over of the schools, 
which, as works of charity and religion, had already 
been set up. William Forster was not himself a 
Churchman ; he was aiming before all things to edu- 
cate the people ; in no other way could he accomplish 
this. He saw how seriously his personal popularity 


would be affected by the course he took, but he acted 
in the light of duty. His scheme, moreover, involved 
the recognition of religion as a primary influence in 
the beginning of education. His heart was made 
heavy by the outcry that was raised. He told me the 
opposition of the Nonconformists was a blow struck 
at once at religion, and at education. Even John 
Bright was not free from what I must call sectarian 
prejudice, in the half-hearted support he gave to Fors- 
ter. Yet Forster was almost of the same faith as 
Bright. He told me that, while he had ceased to be 
in formal membership with the Society of Friends, 
he could never be of any other religious body. The 
Friends, he said, had disowned him for the best act 
of his life, which was his marriage (marrying, as the 
phrase is, "out of meeting"). This in no way affected 
his feeling for them. The memory of his father was, 
moreover, to him almost a religion. William Forster 
the elder was a man of saintly life, considering, through 
all his days, the supreme duty laid upon him to be the 
deepening a sense of religion in the souls of men. I 
must add, however, a remark once made to me by 
Forster : " It was hard on my mother. I was but a 
year old when my father made his first religious visit 
to America, and he was gone five years." His mother 
remained alone in a cottage in Dorsetshire with her 
young child, and, though frail in health, made occa- 
sional religious journeys ; for she too was a minister 
among Friends. Forster used to tell of an incident 
of his childhood. He was travelling in a coach in the 


charge of his nurse when a benevolent old gentleman 
began to talk to him. " Where is your papa, my 
dear ? " said his fellow-passenger. " Papa is preaching 
in America," was the reply. " And where is your 
mamma ? " continued the gentleman. " Mamma is 
preaching in Ireland," was the answer which the 
astonished stranger received. 

It will readily be seen how strong were the influ- 
ences favourable to Quakerism in his youth, and how 
closely he was bound to that religious body in heart 
and mind. It was not from them that opposition 
came to his education measure, but from the class 
that Matthew Arnold called " Political Dissenters." 
Very serious to Forster was this opposition. He had 
ambition, a passion which, as Burke has said, is the 
instinct of all great souls, indeed a necessary quali- 
fication for a statesman. His rise in the House of 
Commons had been so rapid that his reaching the 
leadership had seemed altogether a possibility. Now 
arose a cry against him which could not be disre- 
garded. He went on, however, without faltering, and 
his bill became a law. For several years there was 
no relaxing of the opposition. In 1872, Lord Salis- 
bury spoke as follows : 

" Nothing is more surprising to me than the plea on which 
the present outcry is made against the Church of England. I 
could not believe that in the nineteenth century the charge 
against the Church of England should be that churchmen, 
and especially the clergy, had educated the people. If I 
were to fix on one circumstance more than another which 
redounded to the honour of churchmen it is that they should 


fulfil this noble office, and, next to being 'Stewards o f Divine 
Mysteries,' I should think the greatest distinction of the clergy 
is the admirable manner in which they have devoted their 
lives and their fortunes to this first of national objects. I 
have due and great respect for the Non-Conformist body. If 
I could have found that, in the Education Act, any injustice 
had been done to the Non-Conformists, I should have voted 
with them." 

I quote this because it bears on the opposition 
the Education Act had, in its first years, to meet 
with. In the year 1874 the Gladstone Government 
came to an end. In the next year (1875) Mr. Glad- 
stone by reason of his then advanced age retired from 
the leadership of his party. He felt admonished, he 
said, by declining strength, to betake himself some- 
what to seclusion and study. (A pretty lively hermit 
he was, we must all admit!) A successor had, how- 
ever, to be chosen. Forster's name was the only one 
mentioned in opposition to Lord Hartington; but 
for the education matter the contest would have 
been close. The result seemed the loss to Mr. 
Forster of the chief place, when next there was a 
change of government, but as Gladstone very soon 
resumed, practically, the leadership, Lord Harting- 
ton's position became altogether nominal. 

As proof of what I have stated as to the high 
position Forster had reached in the country, I may 
cite here a passage from the diary of the late Dr. 
Norman Macleod of the date of 1872. "At Bal- 
moral I met Forster, the Cabinet Minister. He, and 
Helps and I, had great arguments on theological sub- 


jects till very late. I never was more impressed by 
any man as deep, independent, thoroughly honest, and 
sincere. I conceived a great love for him. I never met 
a statesman whom for high-minded honesty and justice 
I would sooner follow. He will be Premier some day." 
In visits to England of 1869 and 1870, it was a 
peculiar satisfaction to me to see my friend at last 
in his true position as a member of the Government. 
At his table in London there was naturally talk of 
the heated feeling which remained in America grow- 
ing out of the Alabama matter. I could report the 
universal opinion with us that the position of Eng- 
land was one of peril so long as the dispute re- 
mained unsettled that while the Alabama precedent 
remained, our Government could not prevent the 
going out of privateers in case of England being at 
war with a Continental power. I remember a singu- 
lar offhand reply of Forster's hardly a serious one 
that this risk could be covered by insurance, and 
that the cost to England would not be greater than 
the loss which had been caused by the Overend-Gur- 
ney failure. All the same, no man in England worked 
harder than Forster did to bring about the great set- 
tlement. Charles Sumner by his elaborate, but un- 
wise, speech demanding that the indirect claims 
should be presented at Geneva, among them a claim 
for an enormous sum for England's having acknow- 
ledged the South as belligerents, caused intense ex- 
citement and indignation, making it doubtful whether 
the English Government could proceed with the arbi- 


tration. Forster made a very careful speech in reply 
to Sumner, whom he knew personally, and had regard 
for. Then as a member of the Cabinet he laboured 
with the utmost ardour to prevent the abandonment 
of the arbitration. " As toward America," as has been 
well said, "his record was clear, for no American 
could doubt his sympathy with the party and the 
Government which had triumphed in the war. On 
the other hand his English self-respect was clear." 
Gladstone, to his great honour, stood firm, and the 
Court of Arbitration met. It is proper to add that 
at this supreme crisis in the history of the two coun- 
tries, Grant and Fish displayed conspicuous wisdom. 
The English Cabinet awaited news of the first pro- 
ceedings at Geneva with anxiety, Forster with 
breathless interest. At length the tidings came: "The 
indirect claims ruled out." This was for Forster one 
of the happiest moments of his political life. 

In 1874, when the Gladstone Government went 
out, Mr. Forster took advantage of his leisure to pay 
a visit to America. A chief object was to visit the 
grave of his father, who had died in Tennessee when 
on a religious visit some twenty years before. Fors- 
ter's companion was his cousin, Sir Fowell Buxton, 
grandson of the first Sir Fowell, now the governor of 
South Australia. I cannot but record here that my 
wife, who saw Mr. Forster then for the first time, had 
an instant sense of his power, while she saw very 
plainly the tender and loving traits there were in him. 

Writing to an English relative, my wife said : 


" Mr. Forster strikes me as a man a head and shoulders, 
morally and intellectually, above other men. His individu- 
ality is singularly strong, and you are instantly at rest with 
him because he is *so true and single-hearted. He impresses 
you immensely as a man of character, a man entirely himself, 
not influenced by those around him ; but he has deep feeling 
and refinement, and a shrinking from display of all kinds. 

" He has met many of our political men while in this coun- 
try ; some, I hope, have felt, from personal intercourse with 
him, how grand and great the office of a statesman is when 
the heart is pure and true and duty-loving. There is a beau- 
tiful sermon of Maurice's, which I remember reading years 
ago, in which he says how different rulers and those in au- 
thority would be if they but realized at all that it was God 
who was allowing them to help Him to govern the world." 

Every one who saw him was impressed by him. I 
remember a dinner at Mr. John Welsh's, a party of 
sixteen, which lasted for four hours and was extremely 
pleasant. Mr. Welsh placed Mr. Forster at the mid- 
dle of the table on one side, Sir Powell Buxton at the 
middle on the other, himself and Mr. William Welsh 
were at the two ends. The talk was general. Men 
of distinction were present. I mention only the names 
of Judge Sharswood and Morton McMichael. Mr. 
Forster said to the company that his wife in a late 
letter had asked the cause of the political change here 
as shown by the elections then just over. Many re- 
plies and explanations were given. At the end Fors- 
ter said : " Gentlemen, this is all extremely interesting, 
but what am I to write to my wife ? " Forster enjoyed 
the occasion much. He said to me afterward Judge 
Sharswood was the strongest man of all that company. 


Forster made two speeches in America, one here in 
Philadelphia at the celebration of the fiftieth anniver- 
sary of the founding of the Historical Society, the 
other before the Union League of New York. The 
burden and drift of each was a plea for the essential 
union and co-working of English-speaking men. This 
I may say was the dream and desire of his whole po- 
litical life. My own sight of my friend ended with 
his visit here of 1874. I was not in England between 
1874 and 1886. Two of my children received kind- 
ness from him in London and were greatly impressed 
by him. He introduced my eldest daughter and a 
friend to the Ladies' Gallery of the House of Com- 
mons. As they followed him up the narrow staircase 
my daughter said she felt as if she was being con- 
ducted by a friendly lion. His tall figure had by this 
time become broad, and he was, perhaps, somewhat 
shaggy, but there was that in him always that denoted 
distinction. My eldest son, then nineteen, was much 
touched by the gracious kindness of his manner toward 
him ; he cherishes this as among his best recollec- 
tions. In early life Forster was long-limbed and 
slim, and seemed loosely knit together, his look of a 
half-humorous sternness. Mrs. Forster once asked 
me if I did not think he looked like an American. 
Though born in the South of England, and resident 
there through all his youth, he had the look of York- 
shire ; it used to be said of him that he was a very 
" stage Yorkshireman." 

Of the years that followed 1875, I need not speak 


at length. He was not wholly of accord with Glad- 
stone in regard to the Bulgarian question. He trav- 
elled through Servia, Bulgaria, and Turkey, to see 
with his own eyes the state of things there. He felt 
the utmost horror of Turkish oppression and misrule, 
but could hardly give assent to the " bag and bag- 
gage " policy until he saw what was to take its place. 
He was especially cautious as a statesman wise in 
judgment and was misunderstood, because of his 
determination to hear both sides, by men of extreme 
opinions. His training as a man of affairs had taught 
him this wisdom. His constituents, again and again, 
complained that he was not true to his party. Caucus 
rule, a system which had been begun at Birmingham, 
sought to establish itself at Bradford. Forster made 
strenuous resistance to this from the first ; he stood 
for the absolute independence of a member of Parlia- 
ment, and fought against the rule of wire-pullers, 
which he saw would result from caucus supremacy. 
The very moderation of his position in 1877 and 1878 
made his influence the greater in opposing Disraeli's 
policy of that period, which threatened to involve 
England in war with Russia in behalf of Turkey. 

In 1880 came the overthrow of Lord Beaconsfield's 
* Ministry and the accession of Gladstone. Forster, it 
was generally thought, would be Secretary for the 
Colonies. But the Parnell agitation in Ireland was 
then at its height, and a statesman of the first class 
was needed for the Chief Secretaryship the Chief 
Secretary being practically the chief ruler. Forster 


took the place because, as he said, he thought it would 
have been his father's wish that he should do so. 
Then followed two years of storm, and anxiety, and 
peril, on which I need not now dwell. Mrs. Forster 
said, in a letter to me from the Chief Secretary's 
Lodge, it was hard there should be all this crime and 
outrage to contend with when a Government was in 
power every member of which was pledged to do all 
that possibly could be done for Ireland. Again and 
again assassins lay in wait for Forster, their plans only 
failing by strange accident. His courage never for- 
sook him. In the very height of the agitation he 
made a journey to the Tipperary region, County Clare, 
- the most disturbed district, without guard of mil- 
itary and scarcely of police. He addressed the people 
several times and no harm came to him. In a speech 
he made to his Bradford constituents soon afterward, 
he spoke of his journey and of his safety in it. His 
sense of humour would not, however, allow of his fail- 
ing to tell them of resolutions which had been passed 
by the women's branch of the National League at a 
place not far from Tipperary. These resolutions were 
in stern condemnation of the Tipperary Nationalists, 
that they had allowed the opportunity to pass of deal- 
ing with the Chief Secretary as he deserved, adding 
that if the " old gorilla " would come their way they 
would show him ! 

Gladstone's policy of surrender to Parnell, which 
began with the Kilmainham Treaty of 1882, Forster 
was wholly unable to acquiesce in ; he retired from 


office with great dignity, accepting calmly isolation, 
and what to many seemed the closing of his political 
career. No one of his colleagues accompanied him. 
Strange to say Chamberlain, afterward to be so emi- 
nent in opposing Gladstone's Irish policy, was a 
leader who was behind Gladstone in refusing to sup- 
port Forster. In less than three years Gladstone's 
complete surrender was made, and then Bright, 
Chamberlain, Lord Hartington, Goschen, the Duke of 
Argyll, Lord Selborne, nearly all the great chiefs of 
the Liberal party, were by the side of Forster, being 
absolutely one in mind with him in opposition to 
Gladstone. Bright wrote to Gladstone that if any 
one else had proposed the Home Rule scheme there 
would not have been twenty men in the House of 
Commons, apart from the Irish members, to support 
it. I dwell on this Irish matter to illustrate the 
wisdom which I have maintained was Forster's char- 
acteristic. He was before all men in noting the 
limitations of Gladstone "a bewitching, a fasci- 
nating personality," to use Matthew Arnold's words, 
" but a dangerous minister." 

The subject of Imperial Federation, as yet but a 
shadowy beginning, occupied much of Forster's atten- 
tion during the period of his retirement from office. 
South Africa and Egypt were also matters of close 
study to him. The vacillating policy of the Govern- 
ment in regard to Egypt he strongly condemned in 
the beginning of the session of 1884. His anxiety in 
regard to Gordon was then very great; he was mad- 


dened by the delay of the Government in despatching 
an expedition for his rescue. Finally he delivered 
himself in the House of Commons as follows. Speak- 
ing of the danger of Gordon's position, he said : " I 
believe every one but the Prime Minister is already 
convinced of that danger, and I attribute his not being 
convinced to his wonderful power of persuasion. He 
can persuade most people of most things, and, above 
all, he can persuade himself of almost anything." The 
words made a profound impression, although party 
leaders at the time condemned them. 

I may venture to add the following as almost a 
personal confirmation of this charge of Forster's that 
the delay of the starting of the Nile expedition was 
due to Gladstone. My son, then nineteen, at the end 
of June, 1884, sat alongside Sir Redvers Buller at 
dinner in an English country house. Sir Redvers 
Buller was next to Lord Wolseley, in command of the 
expedition. He said, " I have always been a Liberal, 
but I cannot, for the life of me, understand why the 
Government delays ordering the expedition to start." 
Two months were yet to pass. The starting was in 
September. Alas ! for the result. 

The Queen, in writing to Gordon's sister when the 
news of his death came, said, " That the promises of 
support were not fulfilled, which I so frequently and 
so constantly pressed on those who asked him to go 
is to me grief inexpressible, indeed, it has made me 
ill." These words seem to me to imply censure for 
inexcusable delay. 


But almost as I write my eye falls on a copy of the 
London Times in which I read that at a dinner given 
in Edinburgh to Lord Wolseley, the Earl of Wemyss, 
who presided, said that Lord Wolseley dined with 
him shortly before starting on the Nile expedition. 
Lord Wolseley said to the lady next to him at that 
dinner, " What would I not give for those three 
months when Gladstone was trying to make up his 
mind." I have reason to believe that Gladstone gave 
reluctant consent to the sending out of Gordon ; he 
clung, too, to the belief that, if he had to abandon 
Khartoum, he could escape to the southward. 

I cannot but add, as some relief to the painful story 
on which I have been dwelling, the following, which 
was told me by an eminent London artist, Edward 
Clifford. Gordon sat to Clifford for his portrait just 
before starting for Khartoum. He said to Clifford he 
had one objection to the expedition on which the 
Government was sending him, viz.: that if he suc- 
ceeded, they would be giving him one of their 
" beastly titles." 

To return to Mr. Gladstone. Forster was as sensi- 
ble as any man of his great qualities, but, as I have 
said, he noted very early certain intellectual defi- 
ciencies. When he became associated with him as a 
ministerial colleague, and especially when he was under 
him as his chief, his feeling for him was of affec- 
tion, as well as respect and admiration. But the trial 
to Forster was great when suddenly his chief refused 
longer to support him. He could but retire and 


await, but with a heavy heart, what the future would 
bring. This was in 1882. In 1886 I chanced to hear 
Dean Burgon say to Sir Thomas Acland, referring to 
Gladstone, that it was " the great moral fall of the age." 
The dean was a man of learning and ability, but 
unrestrained in speech ; Sir Thomas was Gladstone's 
lifelong friend; he smiled at the vehemence of the 
dean. It was a parting shot of the sturdy ecclesiastic. 
I visited Mrs. Forster soon afterward at Fox Ghyll, 
and mentioning to her the dean's remark, she said in 
her gentle way, " Perhaps a better word would be a 
moral deterioration? Then she added, holding her 
hand before her, " Mr. Gladstone when he decides 
on a view or opinion or course of conduct will listen 
to no contrary views or arguments, he will see only 
the line he has determined to take." 

I venture to think that the late Bonamy Price, a 
distinguished Oxford professor, stated with wonder- 
ful clearness Gladstone's chief characteristic : " Glad- 
stone sees every side of the truth, but he only sees 
one side at once. You will find him fervent on one 
side; a little time goes by, and that whole point 
of view has passed away from him ; he has forgotten 
that he ever held it; with equal fervour and perfect 
sincerity, he urges a quite different side. He never 
balances the two together. I call that a dangerous 

At the end of December, 1885, when William 
Forster was on what proved to be his death-bed, 
a rumour reached Mr. Gladstone that he might not 


be unfavourable to the Home Rule scheme which 
was about to be brought forward. A letter came 
to him from Mr. Gladstone, expressing a hope that 
this report had foundation. Forster dictated a re- 
ply, acknowledging the kind tone of Mr. Gladstone's 
letter, adding, however, this distinct utterance : 

" This Irish matter is indeed most full of difficul- 
ties, and I wish to say that I have looked at Home 
Rule with a most earnest endeavour to form an 
impartial judgment. I have employed hours, I may 
say days, in overhauling my previous views, but I 
cannot come to any other conclusion than the one 
I gave in a late-published letter." In this letter 
he had stated, explicitly, that he believed a Parlia- 
ment in Dublin would be fraught with danger to 
both England and Ireland. 

In Mrs. Forster's very touching account of her 
husband's last illness, there is a record of a fortnight 
later date than that of the letter to Gladstone, which 
is as follows : 

"January 15, 1886. This afternoon I read him a letter 
I had had from Mr. Tuke, in which he said that he thought 
Mr. Forster would like to know that in the Friends' ' Meet- 
ing for Sufferings' his recovery had been earnestly prayed 
for. My beloved husband was greatly moved. ' The Church 
of my fathers has not forgotten me ! ' he said, bursting into 

William Edward Forster died on the 5th of April, 
1886. His death made a profound impression. At 
the suggestion of the Times, a funeral service was 


held in Westminster Abbey, which was attended by 
a vast throng of his old political associates and 
friends, by representatives of the Colonies, and by 
the general public. The next day, April loth, there 
was the simple Quaker funeral on the hillside bury- 
ing-ground at Burley, near the home he had loved 
so well. His biographer says of those who stood 
around on that wild winter's day, that they wit- 
nessed " the last farewell to the friend and neigh- 
bour, who had risen high in the councils of the 
State, but whose heart had remained unaffected by 
all the changes of fortune ; who had never varied 
in his affection for the friends of his youth, or in 
his bearing toward the humblest of those among 
whom his lot was cast ; whose temper had not been 
soured by trials, nor his sympathies narrowed by 
the growth of years; whose spirit had remained 
young whilst his head grew grey; and the horizon 
of whose mental vision had seemed ever to grow 
wider and brighter as he drew nearer to the end 
of life." 

William Forster was childless, and was the last of 
his race. In 1859 he adopted the four orphan chil- 
dren of his brother-in-law, William Arnold ; their 
mother had died in the Punjaub, their father at 
Gibraltar, on his way to England. Forster at once 
took upon him the whole charge of these children ; 
they grew up to be, to both Mr. and Mrs. Forster, as 
if they had been of their own blood. Never had a 
good action received an ampler reward, and never was 


there a fuller return of love and gratitude. One of 
these adopted sons, Mr. Oakley Arnold-Forster is a 
member of Parliament of distinction and promise, and 
a writer of ability. One of the daughters is married 
to a nephew of Aubrey de Vere. This lady, then 
Miss Florence Arnold-Forster, tells in her journal of 
Mr. Forster's energy and enthusiasm as a traveller, 
his eagerness to obtain information. She says : 

" Whether it was with an enthusiastic Czech professor at 
Prague, or with a cultivated Austrian merchant returning to 
his home in the Bukowina, or a gentlemanly whist-playing 
Pole at some German watering-place, or a party of Russian 
volunteers going to help the Servians, or a Hungarian Honved 
officer, or a government official in a Roumanian railway car- 
riage, or a shrewd English man of business in the fair at Nijni 
Novgorod, or some high diplomatic magnate at Constanti- 
nople or Vienna, or an active politician and deputy at Berlin, 
Pesth, or Athens wherever or with whomsoever it might 
be, my father seemed always to have the faculty of getting 
straight on to some topic that thoroughly interested both him- 
self and the man he was talking to, if it was only for a five 
minutes' conversation." 

In what I have written in regard to William Ed- 
ward Forster I have had chiefly in mind the example 
which his career affords for instruction here. The 
fact that he always spoke of himself as a politician 
shows the meaning which the term bears in England 
in contrast with the lower meaning which attaches 
to it in this country. With us it has become almost 
a term of reproach. But no words can be better than 
his own to illustrate this contrast. In 1876 he was 


chosen Lord Rector of the University of Aberdeen. 
In the address he made there, he thus summed up the 
qualifications of the true politician : 

" There remain these two absolute necessities the know- 
ledge, the quick perception, of right and wrong ; and the 
desire to do right. It is not for me to turn this address into 
a sermon, or to attempt to preach the lessons which many a 
man here has learned in his Highland home from the Bible 
read by the father or mother ; but remember this, that the 
politician you have so kindly heard to-day declares that, of 
all possible occupations, politics is the most unprofitable, the 
least worth following, if for any personal, or still more tempting 
party object its true aim be forgotten ; and that true aim is 
this the fulfilment by our country of her duty, by which 
fulfilment, and by which alone, can be secured her power 
and her superiority and the well-being of her sons." 



I SAILED from New York for Liverpool on the 
Australasian on the 22d of February, 1865. Our 
voyage was prosperous, and on the tenth day we 
were in sight of land. Some hours later we were 
following the line of the Irish coast, looking with 
keen interest on the green, treeless headlands. The 
sea was calm and the sun was bright, and there was 
the peculiar gladness in one's heart which comes 
from the thought of the safe passage over the great 
waters. I know few sights which are more exhila- 
rating, and of which the recollection is more vivid, 
than that of the Irish coast after a voyage from 
America. But now we had the further pleasure of 
being the bearers of news of victory. It was the 
year before the laying 01 the Atlantic cable. 

When we were perhaps a hundred miles from the 
entrance to the harbour of Queenstown, a small 
steamer was seen to put out from the shore and 
head toward us. Soon a tin box with a long float 
of wood was brought on deck, and, when the little 
steamer was near, the box or canister, with its long 
pole attached, was thrown into the sea. We saw 



the little steamer hook it up, and then turn and 
make for the land. We knew that the box con- 
tained despatches with the latest war news, and 
that in an hour London and Liverpool and all of 
Europe would know of the fall of Charleston. 

I landed in Liverpool on March 4 the day 
of Mr. Lincoln's second inauguration. I had occa- 
sion to remain there for a few days, and was glad 
of the opportunity of conferring with the small 
group of persons who, in that city, had been in 
sympathy with the North from the beginning of the 
war. Mr. Dudley, our consul, lived chiefly in the 
society of this handful of persons. He could look 
for little other companionship as opinion then was. 
Perhaps his high-tariff principles helped to make 
the Liverpool merchants shy of him. But hardly 
anywhere in England was there stronger desire for 
the success of the South than in that busy city 
which owed so much of its growth and prosperity 
to American cotton. Mr. Dudley told me of the 
hard life he had led there in the watch he had to 
keep over the efforts of the Confederates to get 
out their cruisers. He said he had also to keep up 
the hopes of the friends of the North as well as he 
could, during the long period of our adverse for- 
tune. Mr. Bright, he said, had several times come 
to him with a feeling almost of despair. He spoke 
of the mass of testimony he had sent to Mr. Adams 
in London to support the representation the latter 
had constantly to make to Lord John Russell, then 


Foreign Secretary, in regard to the action of Con- 
federate agents in Liverpool in violation of inter- 
national law. Mr. Dudley's whole soul was enlisted 
in the effort to resist these Confederate schemes; 
and his skill and experience as a lawyer made him 
an efficient representative of our Government in that 
period of its trial. 

I remember one dinner-table experience in Liver- 
pool, when I was in an atmosphere entirely hostile 
to the cause of the North. Our host and all the 
guests but myself were in sympathy with the South. 
Our host, I should say, was an old friend of mine, 

an agreeable and cultivated man. The talk at the 
beginning was chiefly in regard to the war. Our host 
was careful to ground his opposition to it on what 
he called its fratricidal character. He said the spec- 
tacle in this age of the world was a sad one truly 

the bloody strife of men of the same brotherhood ; 
that all war seemed contrary to the spirit of the 
present day. He hoped we would soon see our 
way to the settling of our contest and letting the 
South go. The others at the table supported this 
advocacy of peace, and especially a legal gentleman 
who urged it with great zeal and earnestness. Talk 
took another direction; and, some little time having 
passed, I referred to the Trent matter, and asked 
my legal friend whether he really thought there 
would have been war if the United States had re- 
fused to deliver up Mason and Slidell. He replied 
instantly that England would have given her " last 


man and her last shilling" to compel the surrender 
of the envoys. The very mention of the matter 
seemed to set his soul on fire. " Oh," I said, " then 
you think it would be the duty of a nation to carry 
on a contest at any sacrifice of life because two 
men, not its own citizens, had been taken from one 
of its mail steamers, but that it is not right for peo- 
ple to resist by force of arms the dismemberment 
of their country the blotting out of their national 
existence." Our host laughed, and upbraided his 
legal guest at having so seriously damaged himself 
and the common cause by his unfortunate admission. 

I reached London within a week from the time of 
my landing. I soon saw my friend, then of many 
years, William Edward Forster, and had a prolonged 
conversation with him in regard to our war. He had 
been our strenuous defender through the whole of it, 
and had greatly aided our minister, Mr. Adams, in the 
heavy work which had been upon him from the mo- 
ment of his reaching London. 

I was with Mr. Forster the day before he was to 
speak on the general subject of the relations of Eng- 
land with America. The particular occasion was this. 
Lord Derby, in the House of Lords, had called upon 
the Government to see to it that Canada was provided 
with adequate defences as against attack from the 
United States. He had urged that hostility to Eng- 
land was deep-seated in America, and that, as the war 
was probably drawing to a close, there was imminent 
danger that the forces which would then be free to 


act elsewhere would be turned against Canada. The 
Times had taken up this foolish cry, and at the 
moment the excitement which had been caused was 
sufficient to affect the funds. I could, of course, tell 
Mr. Forster how absurd such a suggestion was, that 
the one desire of the people of the North was for an 
honourable peace; that such a peace would be wel- 
comed with passionate joy, and once it was secured 
armies would disband. Mr. Forster fully understood 
this, and was eager to reply to Lord Derby and the 
Times. The opportunity offered in a debate which 
was appointed for March 13 on the Canadian De- 
fences Bill. My friend kindly arranged for my being 
present at that debate, and for my having a seat upon 
what is called the floor of the house. I went in with 
him at four o'clock, and was taken to a bench at the 
end of the house, immediately fronting the Speaker. 
There were two benches there precisely alike. 

I may mention here a slight incident showing the 
curious care of the House of Commons to magnify 
the office of the Speaker as a mode of maintaining 
their Own dignity. In one of the pauses of the pro- 
ceedings of the evening a member, with whom I had 
slight acquaintance, very civilly came to shake hands 
with me. He was behind me and I turned half round 
to talk with him. When he was about to go I rose to 
say good-by to him, turning fully round. Instantly 
with a look of alarm he said to me, " Don't turn your 
back on Mr. Speaker." I am told that when the 
Speaker proceeds from the House to his apartments 


persons of whatever dignity who may be in the cor- 
ridors are swept from his path by men with great 
staves of office who exclaim with solemnity, " Make 
way for Mr. Speaker ! " 

From my excellent seat I looked on for near an 
hour on what to me was an interesting scene, though 
the immediate proceedings were not wholly intelli- 
gible. Name after name was called by the Speaker, 
and a member would rise and say a few words rapidly, 
and then descend, with what appeared to be a peti- 
tion, to the clerks' table. Then one member after 
another rose to ask a question, notice of which he had 
given previously, and a short reply was at once made 
from the Treasury Bench. I was glad to hear on one 
of these occasions the clear, ringing voice of Mr. Glad- 
stone, then Chancellor of the Exchequer. During this 
time the House was gathering, and it was evident from 
the full attendance that an important debate was ex- 
pected. A flood of mild light poured suddenly on 
the scene near five o'clock ; it came from the ceiling 
through squares of ground glass, and thus was every- 
where diffused. 

I noticed that members entering the House, or 
going out, were always uncovered, and that when 
they took their seats they generally put their hats 
on. If a member rose to speak to another only a 
few feet distant he instantly removed his hat. This 
little custom is, however, well known. Side by side, 
sitting closely together, were the men from England, 
Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, who were the real rulers 


of England Sovereign and Ministers being but the 
servants of their will. As I looked I could well un- 
derstand why to be a member of Parliament was so 
extreme an object of desire. 

At five o'clock Mr. Fitzgerald, from the front 
Opposition bench, rose to begin the evening's dis- 
cussion ; his seat was next to that of Mr. Disraeli. 
In his opening remarks he showed much solicitude 
lest offence should be given to the Americans. But 
he urged upon the Government increase of energy 
in the construction of fortifications at Quebec and 
elsewhere. He said England was especially bound 
to defend Canada against the Americans, because it 
was only the conduct of England which had excited 
American hostility. It was England, and not Canada, 
that had precipitately given to the South belligerent 
rights, and it was England, and not Canada, that had 
suffered the Alabama to escape. Remarkable lan- 
guage this, I thought, to come from the Tory side 
of the House ; it amounted almost to a confession 
that these particular acts could not be defended. 
The whole speech was based on the idea of there 
being irritation against England in America which 
might at any moment lead to war. It was admitted 
that good feeling between the two Governments then 
existed, this being largely due to the " wise, discreet, 
and prudent conduct " of the American representa- 
tive in England, who had done more than any man 
living to preserve peace between the two countries. 
Cheers came from both sides of the House at this 


reference to Mr. Adams. Mr. Fitzgerald went on to 
point out how imperfect were the present defences of 
the Canadian frontier; how feeble the force on the 
Lakes. He said the Guards were in Canada, the 
flower of the army; that there were in all 8,000 or 
10,000 troops; that had war broken out during the 
previous three years the only counsel to be given to 
these troops would be to take to their ships. He 
suggested, in conclusion, that, in the intoxication pro- 
duced by a successful ending of the war, the popula- 
tion of the North might insist on attacking Canada 
under the belief that she was incapable of making 
any defence. 

While Mr. Fitzgerald was speaking a slight move- 
ment on the bench immediately before the one on 
which I sat led me to glance that way. A young 
man was sitting down and several other persons 
were rising as he did so. " Do not move," he said 
quietly, and all was still again. Another glance at 
the side face of the young man thus taking his place 
as a peer to listen to a debate in the Commons 
House of Parliament confirmed my first thought 
it was the Prince of Wales. The expression of his 
countenance was pleasing ; it was to me that of a man 
of kind heart. This, too, was my feeling when I saw 
him five years before at Oxford and in Philadelphia. 

Mr. Forster was given the floor to reply to Mr. 
Fitzgerald. He remarked first that the expense of 
fortifications as proposed would be enormous, and 
that there was no feeling in America toward England 


that would justify the outlay. He said the alarm that 
prevailed was due first to the speech of Lord Derby, 
and next to the leaders of the Times. In a late arti- 
cle there had been this passage, " If the Federals 
can go to war with the prospect of success, they will 
go to war ; " the article concluding with the expres- 
sion of the hope that the present contest in America 
might continue so that the Northern people might 
become exhausted and unable to attack. Mr. Forster 
admitted that articles hostile to England had ap- 
peared in the American papers, but he asked whether 
what the English papers had said at different times 
was not a fair offset to them. He attributed the then 
excitement to the influence of Confederate agents and 
Confederate sympathizers who sought, as a last effort, 
to frighten England into some action hostile to the 
North ; and, further, to the efforts of persons who had 
foretold from day to day the miserable failure of the 
Federal power, and who now sought to divert atten- 
tion from their mistakes by urging that the success 
of the North would but herald war with England. 
He said the people of the North were not greedy of 
empire and of dominion ; they were fighting to pre- 
vent the destruction of their country; neither were 
they vindictive, and eager for revenge ; nor was it true 
that their Government was unable to control them. 
Further, the Americans could not but appreciate the 
adherence of the Lancashire operatives to their cause. 
He said : " For one man in this country who has 
deluded himself into the belief that the greatest ex- 


periment of modern times is a failure, there are a hun- 
dred who have hoped from the beginning that the 
great Republic would come out of the struggle un- 
scathed, and who rejoice now that it seems likely that 
she will emerge purified from that slavery which has 
been her weakness and shame, because it has been 
her sin." Mr. Forster concluded by saying that peace 
in the United States would be the best defence for 
Canada ; that the prosperity of the country North and 
South, which would surely follow, would put away all 
thought of war ; that the time, he trusted, was at hand 
when all English-speaking men, either in the British 
Islands or their dependencies, or in the great Repub- 
lic, would feel themselves so bound together by com- 
mon interests, by ties of language, blood, faith, and 
common freedom, as to make them essentially one 
people and brotherhood. 

Mr. Disraeli was one of the next speakers ; he said 
he was not one of the mortified and baffled prophets 
to whom the honourable member (Mr. Forster), had 
referred. " Now the right honourable gentleman 
opposite " (Mr. Gladstone) " made the most confident 
predictions of the success of the South." He sought 
also to defend his chief, Lord Derby, by saying that 
living, as he did, with that eminent statesman in per- 
fect confidence, he could declare that they shared the 
same sentiments as to American affairs. He said he 
had from the first been of opinion that the Govern- 
ment of the United States, under circumstances of 
unprecedented difficulty, had conducted itself with 


great energy and great discretion. He thought there 
was no immediate danger of war; the Americans of 
the North were a sagacious people, and were not 
likely to seize the moment of exhaustion as the one 
most favourable for beginning another contest. The 
talk of some of their newspapers rowdy rhetoric he 
might call it was no more to be considered the 
settled judgment of the people, than the strange and 
fantastic drinks of which England heard so much 
were to be regarded as their ordinary potations. The 
American democracy, he said, was a territorial de- 
mocracy ; he added, " Aristotle, who has taught us 
most of the wise things we know, never said a wiser 
thing than that the cultivators of the soil are the class 
least inclined to sedition and violent courses." 

But, he said, a strong central government would be 
necessary in the United States to preserve order in 
the South, and an army would be required to uphold 
it. This might entail danger to Canada. It was Eng- 
land's duty to defend Canada so long as she desired 
to continue her connection with the mother country. 
On this general ground he was in favour of greater 
energy in carrying on works of fortification. 

Disraeli was followed by Mr. Lowe at that time 
a distinguished member of the House a man of the 
most acute and vigorous mind. He spoke with ex- 
traordinary rapidity and animation. He urged the 
House to take a common-sense view of matters ; said 
that it was impossible to cope with the Americans on 
the Lakes; that in 1813 and 1814 they, the English, 


had got well thrashed there. Then there were no 
railways ; now by means of the New York Central and 
the Erie Railroads the Americans could put ten gun- 
boats on Lake Erie or Lake Ontario to the Cana- 
dians' one. As to troops, the Americans could invade 
with ten times the number that Canada could bring 
into the field. " Could anything be more wild," he 
said, " than an attempt to vie with America on her 
own ground?" He reminded the House that General 
Montgomery, in the War of Independence, had to 
struggle through almost impenetrable woods, in the 
depth of winter. America, he said, now has railways 
which could transport to the frontier any number of 
men she pleased. In regard to Quebec, he said Gen- 
eral Wolfe cannonaded it from Point Levi, three quar- 
ters of a mile from the town, even with the artillery of 
that day. If Point Levi were seized, it was certain 
that, with modern artillery, Quebec would be abso- 
lutely at the mercy of the enemy. He said he had 
never seen a place which seemed to be commanded 
from more points. When Wolfe attacked it and gained 
the Heights of Abraham, Montcalm judged it pru- 
dent to march out into the open field instead of await- 
ing the assault behind his fortifications. Mr. Lowe 
added, what sounded oddly to me after all this, that he 
would not object to improving the fortifications, but 
he thought it impossible, when the troops were once 
hunted into Quebec and Montreal, that they should 
ever escape again. It had been assumed, he said, that 
you could only make war in Canada during the sum- 


mer, and then ships in the St. Lawrence could aid in 
the defence ; but General Montgomery, who besieged 
Quebec, had made his way through Maine in the depth 
of a severe winter. He assaulted the city at that time 
of year, and if an extraordinary casualty had not hap- 
pened if he with seventeen of his staff had not been 
killed by the discharge of a single cannon he might 
have taken Quebec, and the destinies of Canada might 
have been entirely changed. Mr. Lowe urged the 
withdrawal of the British troops from Canada because 
their presence there would be an incentive, in Amer- 
ica, to war the desire to capture a small army and 
lead it in triumph through the States would be irresis- 
tible. He said he grudged the Americans this gratifi- 
cation, and he wished to take away every motive for 
war. War with America he said, in conclusion, would 
be the greatest calamity that could befall either coun- 
try, perhaps the whole human race. 

Mr. White, member for Brighton, who was one of 
the next speakers, referred to the satisfactory tone and 
temper of the Opposition speeches of the evening, as 
contrasted with the speech of their leader, Lord Derby, 
in the House of Lords. He thought that noble Lord 
would not have ventured on such inflammatory lan- 
guage had he regarded his early return to power as 

One of the most sensible things said in the debate 
was a remark of Mr. Ayrton's, viz., that, instead of for- 
tifying Canada, it would be better to yield to the 
American demand for arbitration that Lord Rus- 


sell's refusal to entertain this was the real cause of irri- 
tation in the United States ; the demand would be 
repeated when the United States had again become 
strong, and then England might have to yield it or go 
to war. 

Prophetic words these were, for though six years 
later the Government of Mr. Gladstone, to its great 
honour, yielded to the demand, unaccompanied by a 
threat of war, yet England had come to see the peril- 
ous position she was in by allowing it to stand as a 
precedent that the escape of the Alabama was not 
a matter for which she was to be called to account. 
To Mr. Gladstone the credit of the great act of the 
Geneva Arbitration is mainly due ; this is some offset 
to what was the prodigious error of his previous politi- 
cal life the public and confident prediction of the 
success of the South. 

Lord Robert Cecil, now the Marquis of Salisbury, 
spoke next; he scouted the idea of arbitration, and 
urged the most vigorous efforts for the defence of 
Canada. At eleven o'clock Mr. Bright took the floor, 
beginning what proved to be one of his greatest 
speeches the last, I think, of the splendid orations 
by which that eminent man upheld the cause of the 
American Union during the period of its awful trial. 
He addressed himself to the particular matter of the 
vote asked for, and said at once there was no power 
in the United Kingdom to defend successfully the 
territory of Canada against the power of the United 
States. He begged honourable gentlemen not to talk 


folly, and be called afterward to act folly. He said 
there was not a man in the United States whose 
opinion was worth considering who desired to attack 
Canada ; nor had the Canadians any real hostility to 
their neighbours. They had been unwise in not pre- 
venting the raids which bands of Confederates had 
made across the frontier; but the Government of 
Canada was now doing all in its power to check these 
raids. All was calm in that region, and the United 
States was making no complaint. It was plain then 
that if war broke out it would be because of hostility 
between America and England, between the Govern- 
ment of Washington and the Government of London. 
Was there any one in that House, he asked, who 
desired such a war? He noticed with delight the 
change which had come over the House in regard to 
American questions. Honourable members had come 
to the conclusion that England was not in favour of 
war with America. The Government had preserved, 
in the main, its neutrality during the struggle ; it had 
resisted a motion to break the blockade ; it had re- 
sisted the efforts of the Confederate Government to 
obtain recognition, although France had urged Eng- 
land to join her in granting this. The question then 
came up : Did the United States wish war? Mr. Bright 
maintained that the relations between the two coun- 
tries were entirely amicable, and had been growing 
more and more so during the past months. He said 
there never was an administration in the United 
States, since the time of the Revolutionary War, more 


favourable to peace with England than the Govern- 
ment of which President Lincoln was the head. Not 
a line of President Lincoln's could be shown, since 
his accession to power, which betrayed anger against 
England. But if the United States did not want war, 
and Canada did not, and England did not, whence 
was it to come? Why the anxiety? People said 
" the City " was alarmed. Well, he never knew the 
City to be right. As to the newspapers, he agreed 
with Mr. Forster in thinking the course they were 
taking showed a wish to hide their own confusion. 
Mr. Bright asked the House whether they had not in 
their heart of hearts a feeling that their course in the 
past four years had not been fair toward the United 
States whether some stings of conscience were not 
the cause of the uneasiness which was felt. 

He proceeded then to review some of the acts of 
England of which America, he said, had cause to 
complain. First the acknowledgment of the bellig- 
erent rights of the South. He did not condemn the 
Government for this action, except on the ground of 
the undue haste of it. Fort Sumter was fired on on 
the 1 2th of April, 1861. Mr. Dallas, the then Ameri- 
can Minister, declined to discuss any important matter 
with the Government, as he did not represent the 
President ; his successor was on the way, and would 
arrive on such a day. Mr. Adams did arrive on the 
1 3th of May, and, on opening his newspaper the next 
morning, he found the proclamation of neutrality, and 
the acknowledgment of the belligerent rights of the 


South. Mr. Bright said the Government should have 
awaited Mr. Adams's arrival in order to explain the 
need of the action they contemplated, and that they 
might thus disclaim unfriendly feeling toward the 
United States Government. Their not doing so made 
the act seem to the Americans almost hostile ; it 
caused grief and irritation at the North, while it gave 
comfort and courage at Richmond. 

Then, as to the Trent matter, undoubtedly the 
Americans were wrong in seizing the envoys. True, 
there were English precedents for such action, but 
they belonged to the long past. The Government 
was right in demanding explanation, but no defence 
could be made for their instant conclusion that the 
United States Government would justify the act, 
nor for their at once preparing for war. There was 
not the slightest evidence that Captain Wilkes had 
acted under orders from Washington. But this was 
not all. It became known later that the American 
Secretary of State, Mr. Seward, the moment the news 
of the seizure reached Washington, wrote to Mr. 
Adams informing him the Government had not au- 
thorized it, and that they were ready to enter into 
consideration of it with the British Government. The 
despatch was communicated by Mr. Adams to the 
Foreign Secretary, and was conclusive as to the fact 
that the Americans were ready for friendly discussion 
of the matter. The Government, strange to say, with- 
held from the public the knowledge that such a des- 
patch had been received, and went on with war 


preparations. Further than this, a journal, supposed to 
be the organ of the Prime Minister (Lord Palmerston), 
had denied with solemnity that any such despatch had 
been received. The result was that for almost a month 
the English people were allowed to remain in full ex- 
pectation of war. It might almost have seemed that 
the purpose of the Government was to fan the flames 
of war, even when the ground for it had been removed. 

I may mention here that I had myself evidence of 
this withholding of important evidence of the friendly 
feeling of the Americans at that critical time, for a 
copy of the newspaper of the date of about Decem- 
ber 15, referred to by Mr. Bright, containing a de- 
nial of the report that a despatch friendly in tone 
had been received by Mr. Adams, was sent to me 
from London. It was on November 15 that news of 
the seizure of the envoys was received in America, 
and late in the month the news reached England. 
The despatch of Mr. Seward to Mr. Adams reached 
him about December 10. News of the settlement at 
Washington of the Trent matter reached England 
about January 10, 1862. 

I may venture further to interrupt my abstract of 
Mr. Bright's speech, by quoting two passages from 
letters of mine to the London Guardian, one bear- 
ing date before the settlement was accomplished, the 
other when the crisis was at an end. On December 
17, 1 86 1, I wrote: 

" The news which has come to-day has caused indescribable 
excitement, for it seems almost to amount to a declaration of 


war by England. The law officers of the Crown, it is said, 
have decided against us ; and at once, without awaiting the 
reply of our Government, vast military preparations have 
been ordered. One statement is that our very forbearance 
in not stopping the voyage of the Trent, and sending her 
into port for adjudication, makes our act illegal. Thus, on 
a lawyer's opinion that our exercise of the belligerent right 
of search has in this instance been marked by some circum- 
stance of informality, England is about to begin a war with 
a nation allied to her in blood, and at a time when she was 
especially bound to show that nation forbearance and consid- 
eration. Long ago I ventured to express the opinion that we 
were fighting England's battle, inasmuch as our domestic con- 
test was to prevent the spread of slavery. Of late it has 
seemed that slavery would everywhere cease in this land un- 
less the men who had taken up arms to extend and strengthen 
it should prevail in the struggle, and unless England should 
interfere in their behalf. This latter contingency, it may be, 
is now to become a reality, and the ruin, for a time, of my 
country and the triumph of slavery to be hereafter on the 
consciences of Englishmen. In the awful solemnities of the 
hour you will not deny me the utterance of these sad forebod- 
ings, if so be that a single voice might help to stay a fearful 
wrong. A demand made on this country for the surrender of 
the men taken from the Trent, with war as the alternative of 
the refusal, must, of course, have but one reply. We cannot 
yield to menace, when we consider law to be on our side, and 
expect to hold hereafter our position among the nations. Wide- 
spread ruin may, it is true, follow to all our material interests, 
but we shall not be alone in our suffering. England has vast 
interests in this country which will at once be imperilled ; the 
market here for her products will cease to exist ; her commerce 
in every quarter of the globe may be assailed. The little navy, 
which the Times says can be swept so quickly from the seas, 
is one that has grown in seven months from 46 vessels to 
264. But it is distressing to write such words as these ; and 


they lead one away from the question of chief concern to 
Christian men. Is England about to begin an unjust war ? 
I think our people would be willing to refer the case to any 
impartial umpire, or even to a neutral prize court. Every- 
where I hear suggestions like these, while the opinion is uni- 
versal that to yield simply to a display of force is utterly 

On the 6th of January, 1862, I wrote: 

" Although the case of the Trent is settled and beginning 
to fade from the remembrance of people here, it is proper 
I should state the fact that much soreness of feeling toward 
England remains. The conviction that we had overstepped 
the limits of law does, it is true, gain strength, but men are 
unable to see that the offence was such as to warrant an 
instant beginning of war by England. We cannot but con- 
sider, too, that there was little of the charity that hopeth 
all things in the action of your Government, presuming, as 
they seem to have done, that this country would not listen 
to reason, and was incapable of wishing to make reparation 
if wrong had been done. The hasty embarkation of troops 
for Canada, and the vast warlike preparations of every kind, 
of which each steamer now brings us accounts, leads us the 
more to dwell on this low view of America which has been 
taken by England. We ask ourselves further, what must 
be the judgment of the world on the spectacle which has 
been presented to it ? What effect, it might be questioned, 
has Christianity had upon the nations, if the two of all others 
the nearest allied in blood, and in which it is claimed that 
religion has most influenced the lives of men, are ready on 
so trivial a pretext to rush to arms ? " 

I have given the above passages because they 
show plainly enough the fever of excitement in 
which we all lived in those days. It is not to be 
forgotten that two ill-judged actions on our part 


afforded some justification for the steps taken by 
England. One was a hasty letter of our Secretary 
of the Navy, Gideon Welles, commending the action 
of Captain Wilkes; the other, a public meeting in 
Boston, in which a Judge of the United States 
Supreme Court took part, the purpose of it being 
to express approval of the seizure of the envoys. 
The sober second thought of the people of this 
country was, I think, to the effect that while, by 
British decisions and British precedents, the act of 
Captain Wilkes might readily be defended, it failed 
of justification under that interpretation of inter- 
national law for which the United States had always 
earnestly striven. 

The final remark to be made on the Trent matter 
is that it was given to Prince Albert to do a service 
to civilization as great as any man has been able 
to perform in these latter times. The despatch in 
which the surrender of the envoys was demanded 
being submitted to him, he insisted, on behalf of 
the Queen, on such modification of it as would re- 
move from it everything which was of the nature 
of menace. It may well be said that by this change 
war was averted. 

To resume my notice of Mr. Bright's important 
speech. He took a final opportunity of referring to 
Mr. Laird, the builder of the Alabama, "a mem- 
ber of the House who is careful not to be present 
this evening." He said, " I do not complain of the 
friendship of that honourable member for Captain 


Semmes, who might be described, as another sailor 
once was, as "the mildest-mannered man that ever 
scuttled a ship " ; but he did complain -that he, a 
member of Parliament and a magistrate of a county, 
should, by his building of the Alabama, drive Eng- 
land into an infraction of international law. He 
referred to a retort of Mr. Laird's to him, Mr. 
Bright, of two years before, that he would rather 
be the builder of a dozen Alabamas than be one 
to stir up class against class, words which had 
been received with repeated cheering on the Oppo- 
sition side of the House. He referred to the fact 
that this same gentleman or firm, after they had 
seen the peril into which the country was drifting 
on account of the Alabama, had gone on audaciously 
to build the two rams. These great vessels, Mr. 
Bright said, the Government had only summoned 
up courage to seize when war was on the eve of 
breaking out on account of them. 

Mr. Bright made impressive allusion to the stead- 
fastness of the bulk of the great counties of Yorkshire 
and Lancashire under their sufferings from the failure 
of the cotton supply. Not an expression of sympathy 
with the Confederacy could ever be wrung from them. 
Indeed, the fact that peace had been preserved between 
England and America was due more to the laborious 
millions than to the wealthy and the cultivated. 

Very striking was the conclusion of this great 
speech. " Nature," he said, " will not be baffled be- 
cause we are jealous of the United States. The 


decrees of Providence will not be overthrown by aught 
we can do." He dwelt then on the certain growth of 
population; it was then 35,000,000; the increase 
would be more than a million persons per year. Jeal- 
ousies were sure to disappear ; there had been undue 
excitement in America, and there had been inadequate 
knowledge of the real state of events in that country 
since the beginning of the war, even among persons 
high in rank and distinguished in culture in England. 
Mr. Bright said finally : 

" It is on record that when the author of ' The Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire ' was about beginning his 
great work, David Hume wrote a letter to him urging him 
not to employ the French, but the English tongue, because, 
he said, our establishments in America promise superior sta- 
bility and duration to the English language. How far that 
promise has been in part fulfilled, we who are living now can 
state; but how far it will be more largely and more com- 
pletely fulfilled in after times, we must leave to after times to 
tell. I believe that in the centuries which are to come, it will 
be the greatest pride and the highest renown of England that 
from her loins have sprung a hundred millions it may be 
two hundred millions of men who dwell and prosper on that 
continent which the old Genoese gave to Europe. Sir, if the 
sentiments which I have uttered shall become the sentiments 
of the Parliament and people of the United Kingdom if the 
moderation which I have described shall mark the course and 
Government of the people of the United States then, not- 
withstanding some present irritation and some present distrust, 
and I have faith both in us and them, I believe that these 
two great commonwealths will march abreast, the parents and 
the guardians of freedom and justice, wheresoever their lan- 
guage shall be spoken and their power shall extend." 


A day or two after the important debate of which 
I have been telling I had an interesting interview with 
Mr. Adams. As I looked forward to meeting him, 
I recalled what Mr. Sumner told me seven years 
before, that Charles Francis Adams, having finished 
the Life of his grandfather, was about to enter public 
life that he was to be elected to Congress; and 
that he was as great a man as his father or his 
grandfather. I little foresaw the great service he was 
to render to his country, as her representative in Eng- 
land, at a time when only the highest wisdom would 
avail for the duties of an American Minister. I found 
him hale and cheerful, with a serenity of bearing, 
indeed, which told of difficulties overcome, and a path- 
way now clear. I could not but endeavour to express 
to him, almost at once, the feeling of gratitude toward 
him common to us all at the North for the great work 
it had been given him to perform in London. I might 
have said, indeed, that he had seemed to me, from the 
first, to have the same marvellous qualifications for 
his high and difficult position, that Mr. Lincoln had 
for the Presidency. But I did say to him that it was 
a great pleasure to me to hear, as I had a night or 
two before, in the House of Commons, the cheers 
which came from both sides of the House at every 
mention of his name. He replied : 

" Oh, the English have always been kind to me personally. 
One matter which occurred early helped me with them. My 
letter of instructions I had been ordered to read to the For- 
eign Secretary on my first interview with him, and to give 


him a copy of it. But as I read this paper of Mr. Seward's 
myself carefully, I felt satisfied that portions of it would give 
offence. I was certain that in the extremely delicate condi- 
tion of our then relations with England, it would be danger- 
ous to lay before the Foreign Secretary a document in which 
our attitude toward the British Government, and the demands 
we made, were stated so uncompromisingly indeed, in al- 
most the language of menace. I accordingly determined to 
disobey this particular of my instructions, although I knew I 
ran a risk in doing so. I resolved to make my communica- 
tion to Lord John Russell in my own words, rather than in 
Mr. Seward's. Of course I had fully possessed my mind with 
the substance of the letter. I soon had my interview with 
the Foreign Secretary ; I was with him for three hours, and 
was able, I thought, to remove many wrong impressions 
which he had received, and under which the Government had 
been acting. The truth is that Lord Lyons had misled them. 
Living as he did at Washington, where the controlling influ- 
ences of society were distinctly Southern, and seeing how 
resolute the Southern leaders were, and how intense was 
their feeling, it was natural for him to make up his mind that 
the slave States would certainly succeed in establishing their 
separate government. Such, clearly, had been the tenor of 
his despatches on the breaking out of the war, and for months 
preceeding it. All this, I had to show Lord John Russell, was 
a hasty conclusion, not warranted by the full facts of the case. 
I was satisfied with the impression I made, and felt that I had 
done all that I could be expected to do, as I had been per- 
mitted to state thus fully the grounds on which the North 
built their hopes of success. I, of course, acquainted our 
Government with the fact that I had withheld the letter. I 
was aware that letters or despatches addressed by the Secre- 
tary of State to a foreign minister are sometimes intended 
mainly for the home public ; such, I supposed, might be the 
case in this instance. I took a similar responsibility, to this 
that I have stated, by withholding the full text of Mr. Seward's 


instructions to me in the event of the refusal of the British 
Government to prevent the going out of the two rams from 
the port of Liverpool. In this latter case Mr. Seward, find- 
ing I had not given to the Foreign Secretary copies of the 
despatches he had addressed to me, ordered them to be pub- 
lished. They appeared, accordingly, precisely as though 
they had been communicated to Lord John Russell. At 
once there were stern enquiries in both Houses of Parlia- 
ment how it was that the Foreign Secretary had allowed 
such language to be laid before him. Lord John made the 
quiet reply that no such words had been submitted to him, 
that he saw them then for the first time. The fact that I had 
withheld them was considered to my credit, and strengthened 
the good feeling of the English toward me." 

I said to Mr. Adams it had been matter of great 
surprise to me that the Government had allowed the 
building of the two rams to go on so long as they did ; 
their being ships of war without any armament made 
their very preparation so flagrant a violation of inter- 
national law. 1 asked whether he thought there was 
real danger of their being allowed to go out. He said 
certainly there was ; he had again and again submitted 
evidence to the Foreign Secretary showing the char- 
acter of the vessels, and always the reply was that 
Government was assured they were private property, 
and therefore they could not interfere. One final 
batch of testimony, Mr. Adams said, he submitted, 
intimating plainly that his instructions were to de- 
mand his passports in case the vessels were allowed 
to go out. Lord John replied that he saw no more 
in the evidence submitted than in that which the Gov- 
ernment had already considered. Mr. Adams then 


replied briefly that this was war. On receipt of these 
very serious words Lord John summoned Lord Palm- 
erston, the Prime Minister, to London, and the result 
of the consultation was that an order was issued to 
seize the rams. The precise words of Mr. Adams, in 
the note referred to, as I learnt afterward, were as fol- 
lows. After expressing profound regret at the conclu- 
sion to which her Majesty's Government had come, 
he added, " It would be superfluous in me to point out 
to your Lordship that this is war." 

Mr. Adams went on further to explain to me in re- 
gard to the action of the Government, that they had, 
from the beginning of the war, been compelled to pro- 
ceed warily ; the Opposition were constantly on the 
watch to trip them up on the American Question ; 
the Tories, as a party, were in sympathy with the 

Some curious particulars Mr. Adams mentioned in 
regard to the tardy efforts of the Government to pre- 
vent the going out of the Alabama. He said Mr. 
Dudley brought him some evidence, which they both 
thought was conclusive, as to the character of the ves- 
sel ; it was not stronger than other evidence which 
Mr. Adams had submitted to counsel, with no satis- 
factory result ; he hesitated about throwing away 
more of the money of the American Government in 
lawyer's fees. Just then Mr. Forster came in, and 
Mr. Adams asked his advice. He said he thought 
Mr. Collier, who was a member of the House and an 
eminent Queen's counsel, would give a good opinion. 


Mr. Adams submitted the evidence, which Mr. Dud- 
ley had brought, to Mr. Collier, who soon gave the 
opinion that if the Foreign Enlistment Act was not 
sufficient to hold the vessel it was no better than waste 
paper. Fortified with this, Mr. Adams made a further 
appeal to the Foreign Secretary. By him the papers 
were referred to the Advocate General, and exactly at 
this point of time this functionary became insane. A 
delay of a few days followed, and this was one of the 
causes of the escape of the Alabama. She went out, 
as is well known, under pretence of a trial trip, and 
did not return. 

I had a few other meetings in London which were 
of much interest tome in those days of March, 1865, 
when here, on this side the ocean, the great drama of 
war was drawing toward its closing scene. At Mr. 
Forster's table I had the happiness to find myself next 
to John Bright. I could tell him of the gratitude 
which was felt toward him in all loyal American 
hearts. He remarked to me that the American war 
had caused him more anxiety than any event of his 
whole political life. I understood him to mean that 
he felt that the cause of free constitutional govern- 
ment was staked on its issue. Of the company pres- 
ent was Matthew Arnold, and I remember being 
struck with the fact that he and Mr. Bright met then 
for the first time. Next to me on my right was a 
clergyman, a Mr. Fraser, of pleasing manners, and as 
I felt, from my talk with him, of high intelligence. 
Five years afterward I again met him ; he was then 


Bishop of Manchester. He died but a few years ago, 
after a distinguished and honoured episcopate of fifteen 
years. It was Mr. Forster to whom his elevation was 
chiefly due. He selected him, when only the vicar of 
a country parish, to go out to America to examine as 
to our common-school system. The report he made 
drew Mr. Gladstone, the Prime Minister's attention to 
him ; he was made Bishop of Manchester. He threw 
himself into his work with such ardour, and with so 
truly catholic a spirit, that by some one's happy in- 
stinct he was designated as the " Bishop of all Denom- 
inations." But I recall his saying to me when I met 
him, after his elevation, that he would have preferred 
to remain in his simple way of life. 

On the 28th of March I was present at another 
field-night in the House of Commons. It was a de- 
bate on the Church Establishment in Ireland. Very 
important this proved in its after results. I went be- 
tween four and five. Members with their hats on 
were sitting carelessly on the cushioned benches, and 
others, hats off, were moving about. There was the 
hum of conversation everywhere, and somehow there 
was that in the atmosphere which betokened a stirring 
debate at hand. At five o'clock a certain Mr. Darby 
Griffith, member for Devizes, rose, and at once there 
broke from every part of the House cheer after cheer. 
There was something peculiar in the sound, and yet 
it was natural for me to suppose that here was some 
notable member appearing after a long absence, and 
greeted accordingly. I soon found my mistake ; the 


cheers were ironical, and the House was merely ex- 
pressing its vexation at the thought of the infliction 
that awaited it ; the member for Devizes was an insuf- 
ferable bore. He stood firm, notwithstanding the ridi- 
cule thus levelled against him at the outset. At 
length there was a pause, and he began with entire 
calmness his dreary harangue, and maundered on, 
spite of efforts, again and again renewed, to stop him. 
Conversation went on at a high key during such inter- 
vals as there were between the bolder efforts at inter- 
ruption. The drowsy " Order, order, "of the Speaker 
had little effect to restrain the House. For three 
quarters of an hour the infliction lasted. 

The speech of Mr. Dillwyn, with which the de- 
bate of the evening opened, was rather a halting 
one ; its purpose was to show that the Irish Church 
Establishment was a great wrong to the body of 
people. An Irish member, known as " The O'Don- 
oghue," seconded the resolution with which Mr. 
Dillwyn's speech had closed. Sir George Grey on 
the part of the Government opposed the motion. 
His speech was fluent and very direct and clear; 
it was that of a practised debater, to whom long 
years of parliamentary life had given grace of man- 
ner. He admitted there was a grievance, but urged 
that to attempt to redress it would involve the coun- 
try in dissensions which would be totally destructive 
to peace and progress. Mr. Gathorne Hardy fol- 
lowed in what struck me as a brilliant oration, 
lasting for an hour and a half. He spoke from the 


front Opposition bench. He urged that to attack 
the Irish Church was to attack the English ; but 
he seemed sincere in his conviction that the con- 
tinuance of the Establishment in Ireland was for 
the good of the Irish people. There was a charm 
in his readiness and his perfect self-possession. I 
listened without a thought of fatigue, though it was 
nine o'clock when he came to an end. 

Five hours had now passed. Members who had 
gone away for dinner were returning. I noticed, 
however, that Lord Palmerston and Mr. Gladstone 
had scarcely been absent at all. The Speaker left 
the chair, and there was a pause of ten minutes. 
Then Mr. Gladstone took the floor. For one hour 
this great orator enchained the attention of the 
House, controlling it in part by his eloquence, and 
in part by the interest which was excited by the 
desire to know what line he would take in regard 
to the perplexing subject under discussion. To the 
surprise of, I think, most of those who listened, he 
gave his adhesion, clearly and distinctly, to the 
statement that the condition of the Irish Church 
Establishment was unsatisfactory. He stated that 
condition to be this: in a nation of between five 
and six millions of people, about 600,000 or 700,000 
had the exclusive possession of the ecclesiastical 
property of the country intended to be applied to 
the religious instruction of all. He argued that this 
state of things could not continue, but he denied 
that the time for dealing with the question had yet 


fully come. The speech seemed eminently wise, 
and it was uttered in an earnest way, enforcing one's 
assent. The moment he came to an end, an emi- 
nent Opposition orator, Mr. Whiteside, started to 
his feet, and, with the air of a man confident in 
himself and rejoicing in his opportunity, addressed 
himself to the work of a reply. It was a splendid 
arena on which he looked round, for the House 
was now crammed, and it was evident the speaker 
was one to whom all delighted to listen. He spoke 
mainly from the inspiration of the moment, for Mr. 
Gladstone's speech was in great part his text. He 
knew well the importance of the declaration to 
which he was thus replying, and he was conscious, 
too, that the great body of his Tory supporters, sit- 
ting in close phalanx behind him, relied on him to 
do his best. So his Irish blood, one could suppose, 
was all aglow at the thought of his being thus a 
recognized champion in what was likely to prove 
a memorable contest. Not for a moment did he 
pause to collect his ideas, but, starting at once in 
a high strain of eloquence, he swept on with irre- 
sistible force and effect. It was a flood of denun- 
ciation and of sarcasm, and there was withal a sort 
of rollicking humour showing itself through the 
scholarly refinement that really characterized his 
speech. Once the House was moved to uncon- 
trollable laughter at the orator's expense ; he was 
betrayed into the curious Hibernian statement that 
the province of Ulster returned thirty members to 


this House, some of whom had sat in Parliament 
for two centuries. He explained, in some adroit 
way, his meaning as soon as the House would listen, 
and the flow of his eloquence swept on. He closed 
his speech soon afterward in a tempest of cheers. 

It was after eleven o'clock when he sat down, and 
the chief interest of the debate was now over. What 
gave great importance to the evening's discussion was 
that it had been the occasion of one of the memorable 
declarations of Mr. Gladstone's life, committing him 
further as a Liberal, but involving the sacrifice of 
something dear to him, his seat as a member for the 
University of Oxford. The honour he lost in the 
general election of 1868 was bestowed upon his oppo- 
nent in this debate of 1865, Mr. Gathorne Hardy. It 
has been sometimes charged against Mr. Gladstone 
that he assailed the Irish Church, and urged disestab- 
lishment, when he was out of office, and as a means 
of recovering power. The record of this debate 
shows that he pronounced against it in 1865, when 
he was in office. The bill for disestablishment was 
passed in 1869. 

The day after the debate of which I have been 
telling, I had the great satisfaction of an interview of 
an hour with Mr. Gladstone. He had appointed half 
past ten for my call at Carlton House Terrace. As 
I entered the wide hall he was entering it from the 
staircase. He had a book or review in his hand. As 
the House had sat late, it was natural that his face 
should show signs of short hours of sleep. He led 


me at once into the library, a large room, and gave 
me a seat near the fire. He referred, of course, very 
soon to the war, and asked me what I thought was 
likely to be the course of it. I said it was plain to 
me it was near its close. But, he asked, had not the 
South still resources to draw on ; he had seen the state- 
ment that they were about themselves to declare the 
slaves free, and put arms in their hands. I said this sug- 
gestion was really one of despair, that a Confederate 
officer had told me it came from Mr. Benjamin, who 
owned no slaves himself. Moreover, I said, the blacks 
knew the North to be their friends. Northern soldiers 
escaping from prisons at the South had always been 
helped on their way by the slaves. I then added that 
two governments were really impossible within the 
limits of the United States. He asked at once why 
they were impossible, and rather held me to precise and 
definite objections. I said there was no natural boun- 
dary; that the West and Northwest could never allow 
the mouth of the Mississippi to be beyond their control ; 
that New Orleans could never be surrendered by the 
Federal Government, nor could the control of Chesa- 
peake Bay be given up. I referred to the fact that 
separate governments would imply frontier fortresses 
and separate fleets. 

Mr. Gladstone then referred to his own state of 
mind in regard to the war ; said he had thought the 
North was t attempting the impossible; he had never 
opened his mouth on the merits of the contest. He 
added with warmth that it was a vulgar error to sup- 


pose that any but the most inconsiderable portion of 
the English people desired the downfall of the United 
States. He went on to say that he, with many others, 
thought our system of government was not capable of 
bearing the strain of a great civil war ; that the States 
seemed too loosely knit together. " But," he said, 
speaking with great animation, "in the constancy 
which has been shown, the fortitude, the self-sacrifice, 
I for one perceive the extraordinary strength which is 
given by free institutions." He said further, though I 
cannot give his precise words, that the love of country 
which had been exhibited had given to the world a 
very striking lesson. He qualified this by saying that 
a similar heroic spirit had been shown by the South. 
It was natural for me to wish to obtain from Mr. 
Gladstone some expression in regard to Mr. Lincoln. 
I said I hoped he appreciated the advantage the 
United States had had, in this great crisis, in the 
gifts of mind of the President and his singleness of 
heart. He replied at once, with his peculiar anima- 
tion, almost vehemence of manner, that he did most 
fully. He had always, he said, thought well of Mr. 
Lincoln, and considered that he had high qualities as 
a leader; but his Inaugural Address, which had just 
come, filled him with admiration ; he saw in it evi- 
dence of a moral elevation most rare in a statesman, 
or indeed in any man. " I am taken captive," he said 
in substance, " by so striking an utterance as this. I 
see in it the effect of sharp trial when rightly borne to 
raise men to a higher level of thought and feeling. 


It is by cruel suffering that nations are sometimes 
born to a better life; so it is with individual men. 
Mr. Lincoln's words show that upon him anxiety and 
sorrow have wrought their true effect." Mr. Glad- 
stone spoke with approval of Mr. Forster's bearing in 
regard to the war. " Mr. Bright," he said, " does cruel 
injustice to the South." This remark I thought 
showed that Mr. Gladstone's sympathies had been 
with the South, though they might, if the phrase is 
allowable, be called unconscious sympathies. 

I cannot forbear to give here those last words of 
President Lincoln which made so profound an impres- 
sion on Mr. Gladstone, and which will cause men to 
lift up their hearts while our English tongue endures. 

"The Almighty has his own purposes. 'Woe unto the 
world because of offences, for it must needs be that offences 
come,' 'but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh.' 
If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of these 
offences, which in the providence of God must needs come, 
but which, having continued through His appointed time, He 
now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and 
South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the 
offence came, shall we discern there any departure from those 
divine attributes which the believers in a living God always 
ascribe to Him. Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, 
that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet 
if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the 
bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil 
shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the 
lash be paid by another drawn by the sword, as it was said 
three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, that ' the 
judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.' 


" With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firm- 
ness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us finish 
the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care 
for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow 
and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cher- 
ish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all 

On the 3d of April England was startled by news 
of the death of Richard Cobden. In the House of 
Commons Lord Palmerston and Mr. Disraeli spoke, 
the same evening, in sober and graceful eulogy of 
him; the latter characterized him as, without doubt, 
the greatest political character the pure middle class 
of England had yet produced. Mr. Bright's few and, 
I think, broken words were as follows: 

" Sir, I feel that I cannot address the House on this occa- 
sion ; but every expression of sympathy which I have heard 
has been most grateful to my heart. But the time which has 
elapsed since in my presence, the manliest and gentlest spirit 
that ever tenanted or quitted a human form took its flight, is 
so short that I dare not even attempt to give utterance to the 
feelings by which I am oppressed. I shall leave to some 
calmer moment, when I may have an opportunity of speaking 
before some portion of my countrymen, the lesson which I 
think may be learned from the life and character of my friend. 
I have only to say that, after twenty years of most intimate 
and almost brotherly friendship with him, I little knew how 
much I loved him until I found that I had lost him." 

On the 8th of April I embarked at Liverpool for 
my return voyage, and on the iQth, at six o'clock in 
the morning, we took on board a pilot, who brought 


us news of the fall of Richmond and the surrender of 
Lee. Although we were but one hundred miles from 
New York, the intelligence we thus received only 
reached to the date of Friday, the i4th. The Ameri- 
cans on board had six hours of high rejoicing over 
our glorious successes, little knowing what a terrible 
calamity had, on the night of that same Friday, 
befallen the country. Our good ship, the Persia, 
steamed rapidly on, and the American coast grew 
more and more distinct. The day was of marvellous 
brightness, and most of the passengers were on deck 
to enjoy the interesting approach. All, too, were 
happy in the thought of the speedy ending of a 
prosperous voyage. We paused off Sandy Hook, 
just at the entrance to the Narrows, for there we 
were to deliver a letter bag to be put on board the 
China, the steamer of that day for Europe, and which 
was already under way. I leaned over the ship's 
side, watching the approach of the small boat which 
was thus to convey letters from one steamer to the 
other. Slowly it came over the bright waters ; the 
bag was thrown down to it, and some late English 
newspapers ; and in return a New York paper of that 
day was handed up to our captain. Looking from 
above, I saw that the paper was in mourning. Some- 
thing very serious, it was plain, had happened. An 
Englishman near me suggested that the mourning 
might be for Cobden. " No," said I, " that cannot be 
the explanation." Fifteen minutes passed before Cap- 
tain Lot, who had taken the paper to his cabin, re- 


turned with it, and handed it to his passengers, with 
its terrible announcement. Then the tidings went 
instantly from one to another, " Mr. Lincoln is dead, 
he has been assassinated." Who that was of suffi- 
cient years to understand the meaning of the words 
can ever forget the shock and horror of them ! To 
us, on the ship, there was the further element of be- 
wilderment that the when, where, and how of the 
murder were still unknown to us. The one news- 
paper we had was chiefly filled with details of the 
pursuit of the assassin, and the acts of the new Presi- 
dent, Johnson. This suspense lasted for an hour or 
two. With the coming of the quarantine officers we 
received the full tidings. 

I landed, and everywhere signs of sorrow met my 
eye. It was the day of the funeral at Washington ; 
and, in town and country, work and business were 
alike suspended. Other days of lamentation followed, 
for in every household the feeling was that of personal 

The funeral at Washington was the beginning of 
the slow, solemn tread of a procession which went 
from city to city, awakening grief anew, as one eager 
waiting multitude after another was reached. I saw, 
in Philadelphia, the hearse drawn slowly onward along 
the same streets by which the living man had gone, 
attended by rejoicing multitudes, to begin his solemn 
work. He had uttered here on that memorable occa- 
sion, in front of the Hall of Independence, words which 
almost expressed foreboding of his doom. Momentous 


years came and went; his steady hand guided us 
through our awful danger, until at last his country's 
deliverance was wrought. Then to his great and pure 
soul came the release, the relief shall we not say the 
reward of death. 


Abbotsford, built by Blore, 131. 
Aberdeen, Lord, 151, 248. 
Aberdeen, University of, 277. 
Achilli, Dr., sues Dr. Newman, 151- 


Acland, Sir Henry, 204. 
Acland, Sir Thomas, 204, 273. 
Adams, Charles Francis, 257, 282, 287, 

288, 296, 297, 298; interview with, 


Adams, John Quincy, 5. 
Addison, Joseph, 202. 
^Eschylus, 38. 
Ainger, Canon, 176, 177. 
Aira Force, 62. 
Alabama Controversy, the, 166, 257, 

264, 265, 287, 301, 302, 307, 308. 
Alfred, the thousandth anniversary of 

King, 201; City of, 207, 211. 
All Saints' Church, the building of, 145, 

146, 147. 

All Souls' College, 228. 
Allibone, S. A., 21. 
Allston, Washington, 124. 
"Alton Locke" (Kingsley), 192. 
Ambleside, 33, 61, 75, 86, 94, 98. 
Ambleside Church, memorial window to 

Wordsworth in, 56-57. 
American Literature, how treated in the 

Quarterly Review, 158. 
" Ancient Mariner " (Coleridge), 63. 
Antislavery movement, 6-7. 
Arctic, wreck of, 55, 139, 141. 
Argyll, Duke of, 270. 
Aristotle, 291. 

Arnold, Frances, 75, 76, 81-82. 
Arnold, Jane, see Mrs. W. E. Forster. 
Arnold, Matthew, 26, 95, 157, 158, 1 66, 

236, 237, 262, 270, 308. 
Arnold, Matthew (Mrs.), 175. 

Arnold, Thomas, 86, 90, 95, 250-252. 
Arnold, Thomas (Dr.), 76, 82, 96, 194, 

243, 246. 
Arnold, Thomas (Mrs.), 75, 76, 79, 80, 

82, 87, 88, 89, 90, 95, 96, 98. 
Arnold, William D., 89, 186, 252, 275. 
Arnold-Forster, Florence (Miss), 276. 
Arnold-Forster, H. O., 276. 
Ashburton, Lady, 19. 
Atlantic cable, laying of the, 89, 281. 
Auckland, 251. 
Australasian, steamship, 281. 
Ayrton, his part in a debate in the 

House of Commons (1865), 293. 

Baccarat case, the, 177-179. 

Bagehot, Walter, 258. 

Baillie, Joanna, bust of, 70. 

Balliol College, Oxford, 59. 

Balmoral, 263, 

Hampton Lectures, 225. 

Bannockburn, 207. 

Bassenthwaite, Lake, 85. 

Beaconsfield, Lord, 268. 

Belligerent rights of the South, English 

acknowledgment of, 296-297. 
Ben Rhyding, 243. 
Benjamin, Judah P., 314. 
Bernard, Mountague, editor of the 

Guardian, 156, 157, 228. 
Bethell, Sir Richard, 232, 234, 235. 
Bhow Begum, 64. 
Bidding Prayer, the, 226. 
Binney, Horace, n. 
" Biographia Borealis," 121. 
" Biographia Literaria," 105, 106. 
Birmingham, 152, 268. 
" Bishop of all Denominations," the 

(Bishop of Manchester), 309. 
Bishop of Cape Town, 225. 




Bishop of Oxford, 229. 

Bisley, Vicar of, 214, 215, 217, 219. 

Black Heath, home of John Stuart 

Mill, 24. 
"Blithedale Romance" (Hawthorne), 


Blore, architect of Abbotsford, 131. 

Board Schools, 260. 

Bodleian Library, 38, 226. 

Boehme, Jacob, 191. 

Bolt Court, Rogers's visit to, 127. 

Boniface VIII., 207. 

Borage, the, 226. 

Borrowdale, 68. 

Bowman, Bishop, 12. 

Bradford, 268, 269. 

Brathay, 56. 

Bremer, Frederika, 6. 

Bright, John, 163, 230, 248, 256, 261, 
270, 282, 294-298, 301-303; inter- 
view with, 308; 316. 

British Museum, reading room, 150-151. 

Bronson, Miss (sister-in-law of Henry 
Reed), 55, 141. 

Bronte, Charlotte, life of, 193. 

Brooks, Preston S., 1 86, 187. 

Brotherswater, 61. 

Brougham, Lord, 5, 18, 172, 232, 233, 


Broughton, 83. 
Browning, E. B., 127, 132. 
Browning, Robert, 127. 
Brydges, Sir Egerton, 74. 
Bulgarian atrocities, 268. 
Buller, Sir Redvers, 271. 
Bunsen, 246. 
Burgon, Dean, 273. 
Burgoyne, Sir John, 14. 
Burke, Edmund, 146, 262. 
Burley, W. E. Forster buried at, 275. 
Bury St. Edmunds, 179. 
Butterfield, architect of All Saints' 

Church, 145, 146, 151, 174. 
Buxton, 253. 
Buxton, Sir Thomas Fowell, 241, 249, 


Calcutta, 148; chief justiceship of, 156. 
California, the settlement of, 35. 
Campbell, Lord, 21. 

Canadian Defences Bill, 284-285, 287- 

Carey, Henry, 15. 

Carlisle, 102. 

Carlton House Terrace, home of Glad- 
stone, 313. 

Carlyle, Jane Welsh, 253, 254. 

Carlyle, John, translator of Dante, 63, 64. 

Carlyle, Thomas, description of Welling- 
ton, 1 8, 19; allusion to Mrs. Taylor, 
24; 112, 192, 246; visit to Ireland, 
253; Forster's comment on, 254; 258. 

Carter, Mr., secretary to Wordsworth, 
59, 60, 71. 

Catholic emancipation, 5, 20, 234. 

Cecil, Lord Robert, see Marquess of 

Chalmers, Thomas, 19. 

Chamberlain, Joseph, 270. 

Chancellorship of Cambridge Univer- 
sity, 38. 

Chancellorship of Oxford University, 

Channing, W. E., 6. 

Chantrey's bust of Wordsworth, 44, 71. 

"Charge of the Six Hundred" (Tenny- 
son), 250. 

Charles I., 155, 187. 

Charles V., 211. 

Charles X., banishment of, 4. 

Charleston, fall of, 282. 

Chase, Judge, 8. 

Cherwell, the, 202. 

China, steamship, 318. 

Cholera, in France and England (1849), 

Choral music, awakened interest in, 123. 

Christ Church College, Oxford, 199, 201, 

"Christian Year" (Keble), 156, 212, 
215, 216. 

" Christie Johnstone " (Reade), 193. 

Church establishment in Ireland, debate 
on, 309-313. 

Civil War in America, 11-15. 

Clarence and Avondale, Duke of, 175, 

Clarendon, Lord, 259. 

Clarkson, Thomas, 6. 

Clifford, Edward, artist, 272. 



Cobden, Richard, death of, 317-318. 
Cockburn, Sir Alexander, death of, 168. 
Cockermouth, 99, 100, 102. 
Coit, Rev. Dr., rector of St. Paul's 

School, Concord, 136. 
Coleridge, Christabel, 124. 
Coleridge, Derwent, 55, 61, 63, 64, 114, 

119, 120; personal memories of, 123- 

Coleridge, Derwent (Mrs.), 123, 128, 

129. 133- 
Coleridge, Edith (daughter of Sara 

Coleridge), 59, 126, 128, 129; her 

recollections of S. T. C., 133. 
Coleridge, Ernest (son of Derwent 

Coleridge), 134. 
Coleridge, Hartley, his wayward life, 47, 

56, 64, 72; his last days, 73, 76; 114, 

115, 118-122, 246. 

Coleridge, Henry Nelson, 105, 124, 150. 

Coleridge, Henry Nelson (Mrs.), see 
Sara Coleridge. 

Coleridge, Herbert, 131. 

Coleridge, John Duke, see Lord Cole- 

Coleridge, John Taylor, 76, 115, 148- 
165; his "Life of Keble," 168; 169, 
170, 174, 219, 220, 246. 

Coleridge, Lady, 171. 

Coleridge, Lord, 17, 115, 145-150* 154- 

Coleridge, Mr. Justice, see John Taylor 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 87, 105, 1 14, 

1 1 6, 117, 124, 125; conversation of, 

133-134; '35 '39- 
Coleridge, Sara, 25, 59, 64,96, 105-117; 

death of, 125, 126, 131, 136, 138, 139. 
Collier, Mr., a Queen's Counsel, 307- 


Confederate schemes, 282-283. 
Coniston, 70, 93. 
Coniston Water, 83. 
" Credibility of Early Roman History " 

(Lewis), 130, 149. 
Creweian Oration, the, 236. 
Crimean War, 248, 250. 
Crittenden Compromise, II. 
Cropper, Mrs., daughter of Dr. Arnold, 

7 6. 

Crummock Water, 85. 

Cumberland, scenery of, 83, 114, 126. 

Dallas, George M., Minister to England, 

Dante, translated by Dr. Carlyle, 63 ; 


Dartmoor, 162. 
Davy, John (Dr.), 56, 246. 
Davy, Sir Humphry, 56. 
Delhi, during the Mutiny, 89. 
Demosthenes, 38. 
Dennison, Sir William, Governor of Van 

Diemen's Land, 251. 
De Quincey, Thomas, 69. 
Derby, Lord, 21, 230, 257, 258, 284- 

285, 290. 

Derwentwater, 63, 67, 68, 85. 
De Tocqueville, 165, 186. 
De Vere, Aubrey, 107, 116, 118, 276. 
Devizes, 309, 310. 
Dillwyn, Mr., speech on the Irish Church 

Establishment, 310. 
" Discourses on University Education " 

(Newman), 153. 
Disraeli, Benjamin, 257, 258, 287, 290, 


Dissenters object to the Education Bill, 

Dobrizhoffer, Martin, 115. 

Dodsworth, his attack upon Keble, 218. 

Douglas, debate with Lincoln, 10, u, 

Drummond, Judge, 1 73. 

Dublin, 86. 

Duddon, valley of the, 83. 

Dudley, Thomas H., consul at Liver- 
pool, 282, 283, 307, 308. 

Dupont, Admiral, 15. 

Durham Cathedral, 67. 

Dyce, his frescoes in All Saints' Church, 
147, 216. 

Dyce, Alexander, 119. 

Easdale, 69, 70. 

Eckermann, conversations with Goethe, 


Eden, Charles Page (Rev.), 205. 
Edinburgh, literary circle of, 70. 
Edinburgh Review, 187. 



Education Bill, Forster's, 248, 259-263. 

Egremont, castle of, 85. 

Egypt (in 1856), 165; (in 1884), 270. 

Elleray, home of Professor Wilson, 33. 

Ely Cathedral, 108. 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 6, 7, 16, 96; 

Kingsley's opinion of, 192-193. 
Encumbered Estates Bill, 20. 
" Enfranchisement of Women " (Mrs. 

Mill), 24. 

"English Traits" (Emerson), 193. 
Ennerdale, 85. 
Esthwaite Water, 92. 
Euripides, 38. 
Everett, Edward, 46. 
Eversley, home of Kingsley, 183, 184. 
Exeter, John Duke Coleridge, member 

for, 163. 

Faber, F. W., 72, 246. 

"Fable for Critics" (Lowell), 193. 

Fellowships, conditions of holding, 39. 

Fenton's Hotel, St. James's Street, Lon- 
don, 250. 

Fielding, Copley, 216. 

Fish, Hamilton, 265. 

Fitzgerald, Mr., his speech in the House 
of Commons (1865), 287-288. 

Fleming, Lady, 50. 

Fletcher, Angus, 70. 

Fletcher, Mrs., 70, 246. 

Foreign Enlistment Act, 308. 

Forster, Robert, 241, 242. 

Forster, William, 241, 261. 

Forster, William Edward, prediction 
concerning J. S. Mill, 26 ; a disciple 
of Maurice, 98; the Alabama claims, 
165167; Kingsley's opinion of, 184, 
185, 194; 241-277, 284, 285, 288- 
290, 296, 308, 309. 

Forster, W. E. (Mrs.), 76, ?j\/\, 246, 247, 
250, 251, 252, 266, 269, 273, 274, 275. 

Fountains Abbey, 247. 

Fox, Caroline, 246. 

Fox, Charles James, lines on the death 
of, 82. 

Fox, George, 191, 242. 

Fox Ghyll, home of W. E. Forster, 273. 

Fox How, home of Dr. Arnold, 57, 74, 
76, 81, 82, 86-89, 9*> 96, 246. 

Franklin, Sir John, 233. 

Fraser, Mr. (Bishop of Manchester), 


"Friends in Council" (Helps), 193. 
Froude, Hurrell, 214, 215. 
Froude, J. A., 193. 
Fugitive Slave Law, 7. 
Funeral, a rural, 188-189, 216-217. 

Gambetta, 30. 

Garibaldi's descent upon Sicily, 9, 229. 

Garrick, David, 127. 

Garrison, William Lloyd, 6, 7. 

Gaskell, Mrs., 193. 

Geneva Arbitration, 166, 228, 264, 265, 

"Genevieve" (Coleridge), 63. 

George Eliot, 101. 

Gerente, H., 108-109, 147. 

Gibbon, Edward, 303. 

Gibraltar, William Arnold's death at, 

Gillies, Margaret, 44. 

Gillman, James and Anne, their care of 
S. T. Coleridge, 134. 

Gladstone, W. E., 10; account of the 
Oxford movement, 147, 148; his 
scholarship, 151; his appreciation of 
Lincoln, 162, 315, 316; Lord Cole- 
ridge's opinion of, 163; his govern- 
ment, 1 66; offers a peerage to Sir 
John Coleridge, 169; Oxford feeling 
for, 203, 230; the Crimean War, 248; 
as Prime Minister, 259, 260; his re- 
tirement in 1865, 263, 265; succeeds 
Lord Beaconsfield, 268 ; his Irish 
Policy, 269-270 ; the desertion of 
Gordon, 270-272 ; the character of, 
273-274, 286 ; his attitude toward 
the Civil War, 290 ; promotes the 
Geneva Arbitration, 294 ; appoints 
the Bishop of Manchester, 309 ; 
speech upon Church Establishment in 
Ireland, 311313 ; an interview con- 
cerning American affairs, 313-316. 

Gladstone, W. E. (Mrs.), 231. 

Glenelg, Lord, 128. 

Gloucester, 179. 

Gloucester Cathedral, musical festival 
at, 219. 



Goddard, Wordsworth's lines on the 

death of, 87-88. 
Goethe, 20, 90. 

Gordon, Chinese, desertion of, 270-272. 
Gordon Gumming trial, the, 177-179. 
Gorham Judgment, the, 147. 
Goschen, Hon. G. J., 270. 
" Grace," at Oriel College, 205. 
Grant, Sir Francis, 130. 
Grant, U. S., 265. 

Grasmere, 57, 59, 60, 70, 75, 86, 99, 119. 
Great Seal, charge of, 172. 
Greek, the study of, 39. 
Greeley, Horace, 8. 
Greta, 63, 64, 86, 100. 
Greta Hall (home of Southey), 64, 65, 

66,86, 113. 
Grey, Earl, 5, 21. 
Grey, Sir George, 310. 
Griffith, Darby, 309-310. 
Grote, Mrs., 23. 

Guardian, the, II, 156, 157, 298. 
Guilford, Earl of, 210. 
Guizot, Wordsworth's opinion of, 36; 

Nassau Senior's acquaintance with, 


Hallam, Arthur (quoted), 135. 

Hanwell, Derwent Coleridge accepts the 
living of, 135. 

Harcourt, Sir William, 259. 

Hardy Gathorne, 310-311, 313. 

Hare, Augustus, 97. 

Hare, Esther, 97. 

Hare, Julius, 39, 76, 97, 246. 

Hare, Maria, 97. 

Hartington, Lord, 263, 270. 

Hawkshead, 92, 93. 

Hawthorne, N., his description of Ma- 
caulay, 132; Lord Coleridge's appre- 
ciation of, 146; Kingsley's criticism 
of, 193; his description of York 
Minster, 208-209. 

Hawtrey, Dr., Provost of Eton, 150. 

Heathcote, Sir William, 216. 

Heath's Court, home of Mr. Justice 
Coleridge, 115, 156, 158, 162, 174, 175. 

Heights of Abraham, 292. 

Helmore, Mr., authority on Plain Song, 
123, 131- 

Helps, Arthur, 193, 263. 

Henry VI., flight after battle of Hexham, 


Henry VIII., Wordsworth's opinion of, 
37; his entertainment of Charles V., 


Herodotus, 38. 

Hexham, battle of, 83. 

Highgate, home of S. T. Coleridge, 125, 


High Street, Oxford, 202. 

Holbein, portrait of Henry VIII., 38; 
portraits by, 226. 

Homer, authorship of, 130-131; criti- 
cism of, 150. 

Home Rule, 269-270, 272-274. 

Hope, Beresford, 147. 

Hope, James, 147. 

Hope-Scott, see James Hope. 

Hughes, Thomas, 194. 

Hume, David, 303. 

Hursley, the home of John Keble, 208, 

211, 212, 2l6, 22O, 222. 

Hutchinson, Sarah, Mrs. Wordsworth's 

sister, 77, 118. 
Hutton, R. H., 97, 98. 

Imperial Federation, 270. 

Inaugural address, Lincoln's, 315-317. 

Inman, his portrait of Wordsworth, 


Interlachen, 242. 
International copyright, 47. 
Ireland, Carlyle's visit to, 253; Lord 

Lieutenantship of, 254-255. 
Irish Church, bill for disestablishing 

the, 248. 

Irish Land Bill (of 1870), 248. 
Irish outrages, 173. 
Irish policy, Gladstone's, 270. 
Isis, the (river in Oxford), 203. 
Isle of Wight, Newman at the, 221. 

Jackson, Andrew, 5. 
Jeffrey, Francis, 70. 
John XXII., 207. 
Johnson, Andrew, 319. 
Johnson, Samuel, 127. 
Jones, William West, Bishop of Cape 
Town, 225, 227, 228. 



Jowett, B., Master of Balliol, 101, 

Juxon, William (Dr.), founder of St. 

John's College, Oxford, 226, 227. 

Keble, John, the dedication to Words- 
worth of his " Lectures on Poetry," 
58; quoted by Emerson, 97; friend- 
ship for Sir John Coleridge, 150, 155, 
156; friendship for Kingsley, 189, 
190; 206, 208, 211-222. 

Keble, John (Mrs.), 217. 

Keble, Thomas (Rev.), 214, 216, 217, 
218, 219. 

Keswick, 62, 63, 85, 86, 99, 100, 113, 

Khartoum, 272. 

Kilmainham Treaty (1882), 269. 

Kingsley, Charles, controversy with Sir 
John Coleridge, 156; interview with, 
183196; his comment on British 
rule in India, 185, 186; on American 
affairs, 186; on slavery, 187, 1 88; on 
the Oxford Movement, 190; on Quak- 
erism, 191; on American writers, 192, 
193; his feeling for Maurice, 194; 
on Spurgeon's sermons, 195; opinion 
of Forster, 250. 

Kingsley, Charles (Mrs.)', 185, 1 86, 188, 
189, 190, 191. 

King William's College, Calcutta, 148. 

Kirkstone Pass, 59, 61. 

Knox, Alexander, 190. 

Kossuth, 26. 

Ladderbrow, 68. 

Lafayette, his reception in Philadelphia 

in 1824, 3-4. 
Laird, Mr., the builder of the Alabama, 


Lamb, Charles, 87, n 6. 
Lancashire operatives, their sympathy 

with the Northern States, 289, 302. 
Lancrigg, home of Mrs. Fletcher, 70. 
Laud, Dr. William, 226, 227. 
Lawford, Mrs., wife of Lord Coleridge, 


Lawrence, Sir John, 252. 
Lee, General R. E., 318. 
Leeds, Forster at, 185. 

Leitch, Mr., 63, 64. 

Lewis, Sir George Cornewall, 130, 149, 


" Liberty " (J. S. Mill), dedication of, 

"Life of Dr. Arnold" (Stanley), 246. 

" Life of Dr. John Fothergill " (Hartley 
Coleridge), 122. 

"Life of Keble " (Sir John Coleridge), 
168, 219. 

"Life of Lord Fairfax" (Hartley Cole- 
ridge), 121. 

" Life of Sterling " (Carlyle), 112. 

Lincoln, Abraham, nomination of, 10, 
256 ; debate with Douglas, 10-1 1 ; 
progress to Washington, 12-13; i n ' 
terview with, 13-15; Gladstone's 
opinion of, 162, 315-316; second in- 
auguration of, 282; feeling toward 
England, 296; 304. 

Lingard, John, 209. 

Liverpool, 113, 281, 282, 283, 306, 317. 

Lodore, Falls of, 67, 68. 

London, 282. 

Lord Chancellor, his charge of the 
Great Seal, 172, 232. 

Lot, Captain, commander of the Persia, 


Loughrigg, 57, 74, 75, 76, 81, 91, 95. 
Louis XVI. cited by Kingsley, 187. 
Louis-Philippe, 36; government of, 108. 
Lovell, Mrs., 66, 67. 
Lowe, Robert, 257, 291, 292, 293. 
Lowell, James Russell, 49 (note) ; 193. 
Lucultntissime, 236. 
Lundy, Benjamin, 6. 
Luther, Thirwall's admiration of, 39. 
Lyndhurst, Lord, 21. 
Lyons, Lord, English Minister at Wash- 
ington, 305. 
Lyulph's Tower, 62. 

Macaulay, T. B., 129-133, 191, 242. 

"Macbeth," 221. 

Macleod, Norman, 263. 

Madonna di San Sisto, 34, 213. 

Magdalen College, 202, 203. 

Maine, Montgomery's march through, 


Maine, Sir Henry, 257. 



Malle-poste, travelling by, 28-29. 

Manchester, 179. 

Manning, Cardinal, 40, 107, 147, 218. 

Mansel, Professor, 227. 

Marriage, an Oriental view of, 149. 

Marriott, Charles, Fellow of Oriel and 
Vicar of St. Mary's, 199, 202, 204, 
205, 206. 

Marshall's Island, 67, 70. 

Martineau, Harriet, 6, 72, 97, 246. 

Mason and Slidell, 283-284. 

Master in Chancery, Nassau Senior, 

" Maud " (Tennyson), 249. 

Maurice, Esther, 97. 

Maurice, F. D., Hutton and Forster dis- 
ciples of, 97-98 ; his defence of 
Kingsley, 156, 190; Thomas Hughes 
a disciple of, 194; his estimate of 
Spurgeon, 196, 266. 

McClintock, Sir Leopold, 233, 235. 

McMichael, Morton, 12, 15, 141, 266. 

"Memorials of a Quiet Life" (Hare), 


Merton, chapel of, 202. 
Metropolitan of South Africa, 225. 
Michael Angelo, 171. 
" Middlemarch " (George Eliot), IOI. 
Middle Temple, banquet at the, 175- 


Mill, John Stuart, 22-27, '63. 164. 
Milman, Dean, 150-151. 
Milnes, Monckton, 132. 
Milton, John, Tennyson reciting, 71, 


Mitre, the, an Oxford inn, 199, 202. 
" Molony's Lament" (Thackeray), 255. 
Montcalm, at Quebec, 292. 
Montgomery, General, 292, 293. 
Montreal, 292. 
Motley, J. L., 233, 235, 236. 
Mott, Lucretia, 6, 245. 
Moultrie, John, 124. 
Moxon, poet and publisher, 1 28. 
Mozart, 130. 

Miiller, engraving of the Dresden Ma- 
donna, 213. 
Miiller, Max, 188. 
Muncaster Castle, 83. 
Murat, Lucien, 30. 

Napier, Mr., Member for Dublin Uni- 
versity, 20. 

Napoleon, Louis, 30. 

Navarino, battle of, 4-5. 

Neale, John Mason, 80, 209. 

" Nemesis of Faith " (Froude), 193. 

New College, 206. 

Newman, John Henry, 107 ; effect of 
his sermons, 147; his followers, 150; 
sued by Dr. Achilli, 151-154; influ- 
ence upon Keble, 155; portrait of, 
171; his successor at St. Mary's, 199, 
204; his admiration for Pusey, 200; 
visit to Keble, 220, 221; 205. 

New Zealand, 251. 

Nollekens, his parsimony, 129. 

Nonconformists, their objection to the 
Education Act of 1870, 260-263. 

Notre Dame, rebuilding of the South 
Transept, 109. 

"Oakfield" (W. D. Arnold), 89, 186. 

Occam, 207. 

"O'Donoghue, The," 310. 

"Ode to the Duke of Wellington" 
(Tennyson), 249, 250. 

Oriel College, Hartley Coleridge at, 119. 

Orton (the Tichborne claimant), 167. 

Ottery St. Mary, Devon, home of Mr. 
Justice Coleridge and Lord Cole- 
ridge, 145, 156, 158, 168, 171. 

Overend-Gurney failure, 264. 

Oxford, 199-222, 288. 

Oxford Commemoration, the, 225-237. 

Oxford Movement, 42, 107, 147, 190, 
206, 214. 

Oxford wine, an, 228. 

Paley, William, 131. 
Palfrey, John Gorham, 133. 
Palmerston, Lord, 10, 163, 166, 232, 

257' 2 98,307. 3' I. 3' 7- 
Panizzi, A., 150-151. 
Paris, first sight of (1849), 29. 
Park Crescent, London, home of Mr. 

Justice Coleridge and Lord Coleridge, 

148, 150. 
Parnell, C. S., Gladstone's surrender to, 

" Parochial Sermons " (Newman), 204. 



Patterdale, 61, 62. 

Patteson, Sir John, 159. 

Patteson, John Coleridge, 159. 

Peel, Sir Robert, 20, 220. 

Penn, William, 242. 

Penne, George, 242. 

Penningtons, ancient family of the, 83. 

Pennsylvania Historical Society, cele- 
bration of the fiftieth anniversary of, 

Penrose, Mr., a brother of Mrs. Thomas 
Arnold, 76, 82. 

Perry, Dr. (of Bonn), 76. 

Persia, steamship, 318. 

"Phsethon" (Kingsley), 192. 

Phelps, E. J., 1 6, 17. 

Philadelphia, 288, 319 ; reception of 
Lafayette, 3. 

Philip and Mary, marriage of, 210. 

Phillips, Wendell, 6. 

Pickersgill, portrait of Wordsworth, 37. 

Plain Song, 123, 131. 

Plato, 1 1 6. 

Plotinus, 1 1 6. 

Point Levi, 292. 

Political Dissenters, 262. 

" Political Economy " (Mill), Dedica- 
tion of, 26 (note). 

Politician, the meaning of the word in 
England, 276. 

Poonah, college at, 99, 101. 

Portinscale, 63. 

Portinscale Hotel, 100. 

Powis, Earl of, 37. 

Praed, W. M., 124. 

Prevost, Sir George, 205, 206. 

Price, Bonamy, his opinion of Glad- 
stone, 273. 

Prince Albert, his German education, 
38; his action in the affair of the 
Trent, 301. 

Prince of Wales, 177-179; 230, 231, 

Punch, quoted, 9. 

Punjaub, schools in the, 252, 275. 

Pusey, E. B., Mill's opinion of, 26; Sara 
Coleridge's opinion of, 107; his per- 
sonal appearance, 199-200; his family, 
201-202; 215, 217, 218; meeting with 
Keble and Newman, 221. 

Pusey, Philip, of Pusey, 201. 

Pusey, Philip, son of Dr. Pusey, 201 

Puseyism, Mill's definition of, 26. 

Quakerism, Kingsley on, 191, 261-263. 

Quarterly Review, edited by Sir John 
Taylor Coleridge, 150, 158. 

Quebec, fortifications at, 287, 292, 293. 

Queen Caroline, trial of, 234. 

Queen Victoria, her visit to Ireland, 36; 
her letter upon hearing the news of 
Gordon's death, 271; her action in 
the affair of the Trent, 301. 

Queenstown, 281. 

Quillinan, Dora, death of, 37, 43, 74. 

Quillinan, Jemima, 74, 99. 

Quillinan, Rotha, 74, 99. 

Rabelais, 193. 

Rastadt, battle of, 27-28. 

Ravenglass, 83. 

Rawdon, 253. 

Reade, Charles, 193. 

Reed, Professor Henry, 34, 47, 48, 51, 

55, 56, 88, 105, 109, 123; death of, 

Reed, William B., letter from Thackeray 

to, 138, 141. 
Reform Bill, 5, 234, 257. 
Reid, Wemyss, 249. 
Richardson, Lady, 246. 
Richmond, Va., 297, 318. 
Richmond, portrait of Keble by, 212. 
Richmond, James (Rev.), 88. 
Rigi, ascent of the, 87. 
" Rise and Fall of the Dutch Republic " 

(Motley), 235. 
Robertson, F. W. 196. 
Robinson, Henry Crabb, 87, 89, 128, 


Rogers, Samuel, 37, 125, 127-129. 
Rosthwaite, 68. 
Rothay, 57, 59. 
Rothay Bank, 71, 75, 85. 
Russell, Sir Charles, 1 78. 
Russell, George W., 172. 
Russell, Lord John, on the battle of 

Navarino, 4-5; his oratory, 20; his 

conferring home rule upon Canada, 



21 ; his retirement from the Aberdeen 
government, 248; failure of the Re- 
form Bill (1865), 257; as Foreign 
Secretary, 282-283, 293 ; C. F. 
Adams's official relations with, 305, 
306, 307. 

Rydal, 75, 76, 86, 89, 95. 

Rydal, vale of, 57. 

Rydal, waterfall of, 45. 

Rydal Church, 72, 73, 74. 

Rydalmere, 57. 

Rydal Mount, the home of Wordsworth, 
34. 55. 59, 60, 71, 72, 87, 90, 95, 99, 
113, 124. 

Rydal Water, 59, 98. 

Saddleback, 100. 

St. Augustine, 156, 192. 

St. Bernard, 156. 

St. Cross, hospital of (Winchester), 


St. Cuthbert, 67. 

St. Herbert's Island, 67. 

St. James the Less (church in Phila- 
delphia), 108. 

St. John's College, Cambridge, 37. 

St. John's College, Oxford, 225, 226, 

St. John's Vale, 100. 

St. Mark's College, Chelsea, Derwent 
Coleridge principal of, 123, 135-136. 

St. Mary's, Oxford, Newman's preach- 
ing at, 147, 199, 202, 217, 225. 

St. Paul's (London), 227. 

St. Paul's School (Concord), 136. 

Sainte Chapelle, restoration of, 108- 

Salisbury, Marquess of, 230, 256, 262, 294. 

Salutation Inn (Ambleside), 94. 

Scale Hill, 85. 

"Scarlet Letter" (Hawthorne), 146. 

Schurz, Carl, his escape from Rastadt, 

Scott, Gilbert, 56. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 131. 

Seathwaite, 84, 85. 

Sebastopol, 248. 

Selborne, Lord, appreciation of Lore 
Coleridge, t68; opposition to Glad- 
stone, 270. 

Semmes, Captain, 302. 
Senior, Nassau, 164-165. 
Sepoy Rebellion, 89, 185, 252. 
September massacres, 40. 
Seward, William H., 297, 298, 305, 306. 
Shairp, Principal, 204. 
Shakespeare, 38. 
Sharswood, Judge, 266. 
"Shooting Niagara" (Carlyle), 258. 
Sirius, the first steamship from Eng- 
land, 1 6. 

Skelwith Force, 56, 94. 
Skerryvore Rock Lighthouse, 72. 
Skiddaw, 64, 66, 68, 90. 
Slavery, Garrison's attack upon, 6, 7; 
Kingsley on, 187-188; freedom of the 
West Indian slaves, 234; in America, 
242, 244, 246, 247, 248, 250. 

Smith, Gerrit, 6. 

Smith, Sydney, 74. 

Smith, W. H., 27. 

Sophocles, 38. 

South Australia, governor of, 265. 

South Shields, cholera in, 1 10. 

Southey, Katherine, 66, 67. 

Southey, Robert, 47, 64, 65, 66, 86, 87, 
90, 113, 114, 116. 

Southey's book-plate, 113. 

Spanish Armada, fragment from one of 
the vessels of, 192. 

Speaker of the Commons, respect paid 
to, 285-286. 

Spectator, 98. 

Spedding, James, account of Hartley 
Coleridge, 120. 

Spinning-jenny, 257. 

Spurgeon, C. H. (Rev.), 195, 196. 

Stands, 84. 

Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn (Dean), 136, 
231, 234, 246, 251. 

Stanley Owen (Captain), 251. 

Sterling, John, 192. 

Stevenson, Alan, builder of the Skerry- 
vore Rock Lighthouse, 72 (note). 

Stevenson, R. L., 72 (note). 

Story, Judge, 148. 

Straff ord, Lord, 175. 

Sty-head Pass, 68. 

Suez Canal, 165. 

Suffrage, household, 257. 



Suffrage, universal, 257, 258. 

Suinner, Charles, assault upon, 7, 1 86; 
attitude toward the Civil War, 7-8, 
166; his opinion of Douglas, 10; 
upon the indirect claims, 264, 265; 
opinion of C. F. Adams, 304. 

Sumter, Fort, 13, 296. 

Sussex Square (Lord Coleridge's Lon- 
don residence), 171, 174. 

Sutherland, Dowager Duchess of, 10. 

Sutherland, Duke of, 9. 

Swedish Ambassador, honoured at Ox- 
ford, 232, 233. 

Swift, Augustus M., 136. 

Swift, Dean, 84. 

Tangar, Mr. and Mrs., 148. 

Tasmania, 250, 251. 

Taylor, Sir Henry, 23, 46, 116. 

Taylor, Herbert, 24. 

Taylor, Jeremy, 205, 206. 

Taylor, Mrs. John (Mrs. Mill), 23-25. 

Tennyson, Lord, 70, 71; opinion of 
Browning, 1 27 ; Life by Hallam Ten- 
nyson, 135. 

Thackeray, W. M., his letter to William 
B. Reed, 138-139; " Molony's La- 
ment," 255. 

"The Brothers" (Wordsworth), 85. 

" The Cathedral " (Isaac Williams), 206. 

"The Doctor" (Southey), 64. 

The George, inn at Winchester, 210. 

The Month, 162. 

" The Warden " (Trollope), 210. 

Thiers, 164. 

Thirlmere, 99. 

Thirlwall, Bishop of St. David's, 39. 

Thompson, George, 6. 

Tichborne Case, the, 167. 

Tichborne, Sir Roger, 167. 

Ticknor, George, 35, 133. 

Times, 12, 285, 289, 299. 

Tipperary, disturbances in, 269. 

Tipperary Nationalists, 269. 

" To the Pennsylvanians " (Words- 
worth), 140. 

"Tom Brown's School Days " (Hughes), 
194, 228. 

"Tom Quadrangle," the, 200, 201. 

Tottenham, Robert Forster, of, 241. 

Town End, home of Wordsworth, 78. 
Townshend, Chauncey Hare, 124. 
Trench, Archbishop, 9. 
Trent, affair of the, 283, 284, 297, 298, 

299, 300, 301. 
Trinity College, Cambridge, foundation 

of, 37- 
Tritton, Mr., his liberal gift to AIL 

Saints' Church, 147. 
Trollope, Anthony, 210. 
Twining, Mrs., daughter of Dr. Arnold,. 

76, 81. 
Twiss, Dr., Regius Professor of CiviL 

Law, 233. 
" Two Years Ago " (Kingsley), 187. 

Ullswater, 61, 62. 

" Uncle Tom's Cabin " (Stowe), 744. 
Union League of New York, 267. 
Unitarians of New England, 148, 196. 

Van Diemen's Land, 251. 
Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, 230, 231, 

232, 233, 234, 235, 236. 
Viollet-le-Duc, 109. 
" Vision of Judgment " (Southey), 65. 

Wadham, Warden of, 229. 

Walton, Izaak, 210. 

Ward, Artemus, 255. 

Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 251. 

Washington, drinking the health of, 70. 

Washington, funeral of Lincoln at, 319. 

Watendlath, 68. 

Waterhead Inn, Coniston, 94. 

Welles, Gideon, Secretary of the Navy, 

Wellington, Duke of, 4, II, 17-20, 230, 

Welsh, John, entertains W. E. Forster, 


Welsh, William, 266. 
Wemyss, Earl of, 272. 
Westbury, Lord, 232. 
Westminster Abbey, funeral service for 

Hon. W. E. Forster held in, 275. 
Westminster Review, 247. 
Wharfe, the, 243, 244. 
Wharfeside, home of W. E. Forster, 76, 

244, 249, 250. 



Whately, Archbishop, 76, 164, 246. 
White, Mr., member for Brighton, 293. 
"White Doe of Rylstone" (Words- 
worth), 126. 
Whiteside, Mr., reply to Gladstone, 312- 


Whitman, Walt, 193. 

Wicklif, 207. 

Wilberforce, Samuel, 229. 

Wilkes, Captain, 293, 301. 

William of Wykeham, 209. 

William Rufus, 209. 

Williams, Isaac, 206. 

Wilson, Professor John, 33. 

Winchester, 208, 209, 210, 21 1. 

Winch field, station for Eversley, 183, 

Windermere, Lake, 33, 59, 61, 75, 92, 98. 

Wishing Gate, 78, 99. 

Wolfe, General, 292. 

Wolseley, Lord, 271, 272. 

Woolwich Band, 227. 

Worcester College, 227. 

Wordsworth, Christopher, master of 
Trinity, 39, 93. 

Wordsworth, Dora, 74, 113. 

Wordsworth, Dorothy, 73, 90, 118. 

Wordsworth, John (vicar of Cocker- 
mouth), 100. 

Wordsworth, William, a visit to (1849), 
33-5 1 ; portraits of, 37 ; university 
honours, 37 ; his thought of the 
classics, 38; reflections upon uni- 
versity life, 39; recollections of the 
French Revolution, 40 ; attitude 
toward the Oxford movement, 42; 
opinion on international copyright, 
47; memorial tablet to, 58, 62, 70; 
his grammar school, 93; 71, 72, 73, 
76, 77, 78, 82, 85, 87, 88, 98, 99; 
death of, 81-82; 105, IO*6, 113, 118; 
estimate of Hartley Coleridge, 120; 
opinion of S. T. Coleridge, 125; on 
Pennsylvania, 140; 203, 243, 246. 

Wordsworth, William (Mrs.), 35, 40, 41, 
42, 55, 60, 71, 73, 75, 77, 79, 80, 89, 
90,91,95, 118. 

Wordsworth, William (grandson of the 
poet), 59, 71, 73, 75, 86, 89, 90, 99, 


"Yeast" (Kingsley), 156. 
Yewdale, 94. 

York Cathedral, compared with Win- 
chester, 208-209. 

Zug, Lake of, 87. 

Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Two Vols. 8vo. Cloth. In Box. Price, $10.00, net 

These volumes of over 500 pages each contain many letters written 
or received by Lord Tennyson, to which no other biographer could 
have had access, and in addition a large number of Poems hitherto 

Several chapters are contributed by such of his friends as Dr. Jowett, 
the Duke of Argyll, the late Earl of Selborne, Mr. Lecky, Professor 
Francis T. Palgrave, Professor Tyndall, Mr. Aubrey de Vere, and 
others, who thus expressed their Personal Recollections. 

There are many illustrations, engraved after pictures by Richard 
Doyle, Samuel Lawrence, G. F. Watts, R.A., etc., in all about twenty 
full-page Portraits and other Illustrations. 

" The biography is easily the biography not only of the year, but of the decade, 
and the story of the development of Tennyson's intellect and of his growth 
whatever may be the varying opinions of his exact rank among the greatest poets 
into one of the few masters of English verse, will be found full of thrilling 
interest not only by the critic and student of literature, but by the average 
reader." rA* New York Times. 

" Hallam Lord Tennyson has done wisely. His very self-effacement has en- 
abled him to present a biography that deserves to have applied to it his father's 
line ' in its simplicity sublime.' In the most unostentatious manner it reveals 
the grandeur of its subject." The New York Herald. 

"The poet's son has done his duty in a way which should be an example; and 
many choice spirits among Tennyson's closest friends have added their recollec- 
tions and impressions with generous and loving hands. Such a book is a new 
and priceless gift from the spirit of one of the loveliest and purest poets who have 
set human speech to immortal music." The Century Afagazine. 

" It is no exaggeration to say that it is the most important literary biography 
since Lockhart's ' Scott ' and Moore's ' Byron.' Two reasons combine to give 
this memoir its great value : First, the unique position of Lord Tennyson among 
nineteenth-century poets; and, second, the skill, tact, and taste with which it is 
written." Hartford Daily Times. 

"This Memoir is a witness to the genius, gravity, dignity, and essential sin- 
cerity of its central figure." London Academy. 




Elizabeth Barrett Browning 





Two Volumes. Crown 8vo. Price, $4.00 

The earliest correspondence quoted took place when the writer 
was a young girl, and every period of her life is represented in these 
frank and simple letters. She knew many interesting people, was in 
Paris during the Coup (Fetat in 1851, and lived in Florence during 
years of great excitement in Italy. Among other pen pictures she 
gives one of the few English sketches we have of George Sand, whom 
she met several times. 

INTER-OCEAN, Chicago. 

" Mr. Kenyon has edited this large collection of Mrs. Browning's 
letters in the most perfect way. They tell a chronological story and 
form almost an autobiography. . . . Books and humanity, great 
deeds, and, above all, politics, which include all the grand questions 
of the day, were foremost in her thoughts, and, therefore, oftenest 
on her lips." 



Yarnall, Ellis 

Wordsworth and the